THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 Frederick Slate 
 Professor of Physics 
 
.-■ 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/comtemillspencerOOwatsrich 
 
COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER 
 
PUBLISHED BY 
 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW, 
 publishers to the SlmbersttB. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK. 
 London, - - Simpkin, Hamilton and Co. 
 Cambridge, - Macmillan and Bowes. 
 Edinburgh, - Douglas and Foulis. 
 
 MDCCCXCV. 
 
COMTE, MILL, AND 
 SPENCER 
 
 AN OUTLINE OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 JOHN WATSON, LL.D. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF QUEEN'S COLLEGE 
 KINGSTON, CANADA, AUTHOR OF " KANT AND HIS ENGLISH CRITICS" 
 
 GLASGOW 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS 
 ^publishers to the Shtibersitg 
 
 NEW YORK: MACMTLLAN & CO. 
 1895 
 
<(?* 
 
 K& 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 By the use of a double title I have tried to indicate that 
 my aim in this little work has been at once critical and 
 constructive. The philosophical creed which commends 
 itself to my mind is what in the text I have called In- 
 tellectual Idealism, by which I mean the doctrine that 
 we are capable of knowing Reality as it actually is, and 
 that Reality when so known is absolutely rational. Such 
 a doctrine seems to many to be presumptuous, contrary 
 to the sober spirit of inductive inquiry, and based on an 
 untenable theory of knowledge and conduct. My aim has 
 been to show that these objections rest upon a misunder- 
 standing of the idealistic position, at least as held by 
 such writers as the late Professor T. H. Green and the 
 present Master of Balliol. The general proof of Idealism 
 must consist in showing that, while the determination of 
 Reality by such categories as coexistence, succession, and 
 causality, is capable of vindication so long as it is not 
 regarded as ultimate, it becomes false when affirmed to 
 be final, and that we are compelled at last to characterize 
 existence as purposive and rational. There are various 
 ways of enforcing this view. The method which I have 
 followed here is to attempt to show that the ideas which 
 lie at the basis of Mathematics, Physics, Biology, Psy- 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 chology and Ethics, Religion and Art, are related to each 
 other as developing forms or phases of one idea — the 
 idea of self-conscious Reason. But, partly out of respect 
 for their eminence, and partly as a means of orientation 
 both for myself and for the students under my charge 
 (for whom this Outline was originally prepared), I have 
 examined certain views of Comte, Mill, and Spencer — and 
 also, I may add, of Darwin and Kant — which appear to 
 me inadequate. 
 
 No apology seems needed for the publication at the 
 present time of an Outline of Philosophy. There is no 
 lack of Introductions to Psychology and Ethics, but, so 
 far as I know, there is not in English any book which 
 seeks to give in moderate compass a statement of Phil- 
 osophy as a whole. I am well aware that there is danger 
 in generalities, but there seems to be just now an even 
 greater danger that Philosophy, in the large sense in 
 which it was understood by Plato and Aristotle, should 
 be lost in artificial divisions and in a mass of empirical 
 detail. There is no doubt a vast body of material — 
 biological, psychological, and historical — which will have 
 to be reduced to system some day; but in the meantime 
 there is a certain justification in a work like this, which 
 tries to fix the main outlines of a complete system of 
 philosophy. 
 
 A teacher naturally prefers his own way of putting 
 things, even when he agrees in general with another, but 
 perhaps the following pages, which contain the substance 
 of lectures delivered by the author to his own students, 
 may be of some use to students and even to teachers in 
 other Universities. Should any of my fellow-teachers think 
 of using this Outline in the class-room, I may mention 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 that in my own practice lecturing is only a part, and 
 perhaps the least important part of the work actually 
 done. So far as practicable, it is my habit to insist upon 
 a first-hand study by the class of the authors I criticise. 
 Every year's experience confirms me in the conviction 
 which I ventured to express some years ago in the Preface 
 to my Selections from Kant, that lectures upon authors 
 who have not been read, have very poor educational results. 
 In preparing this Outline I have been most indebted 
 to Green's Prolegomena to Ethics and the criticism of Mill 
 contained in his Philosophical Works ; to Mr. Caird's 
 Comte and Critical Account of the Philosophy of Kant; 
 and, in a lesser degree, to the late Professor Stanley 
 Jevons' articles on Mill's Logic in the Conte?nporary Review. 
 
 University of Queen's College, 
 
 Kingston, Canada, 
 
 i gth Nov., 1894. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The Aristotelian and Platonic definitions of philosophy — These de- 
 finitions explained — Why it is better not to define Philosophy as 
 a "science" — Philosophy and the sciences — Mathematics from 
 the point of view of eminent mathematicians like Riemann, 
 Helmholtz, Clifford, and Sylvester — Mathematics as J. S. Mill 
 views it — Explanation of Mitt's view of mathematics — ( I ) Mathe- 
 matics not an exact science — It rests upon definitions — Which 
 rest upon experience — No real lines, circles, etc. — Discrepancy 
 between geometrical definitions and " sensibles " — (2) Mathe- 
 matics not a necessary science — It rests upon induction — No 
 accumulation of instances can warrant a must — Imagination cannot 
 re-present what has not been presented — Experience can never 
 warrant a conclusion wider than itself — Nothing impossible in 
 straight lines enclosing a space, or in 2 + 3 = 6 — Apparent necessity 
 of mathematical propositions therefore explicable on the principle 
 of "inseparable association" — Mill's view may be put in a 
 sentence: "Mathematics is not an exact or necessary science, 
 but states what we have found to hold good within our limited 
 experience, its apparent necessity being due to confusion between 
 a necessity in the nature of things and the subjective necessity 
 of inseparable association " — Mill's view of mathematics will be 
 considered later — (1) The mathematician never thinks of asking 
 Mill's question — Explanation of the mathematician's view — He 
 has no theory of knowledge, and never asks Plato's question — 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Mill and all philosophers have asked that question — Hence two 
 questions : {a) What do we know about the number and magni- 
 tude of things? {b) What is the nature of mathematical know- 
 ledge? — (2) The absolute opposition of knowledge and the object 
 of knowledge cannot be maintained — Mill's "round square" 
 means that there is no absolute fixity in the quantitative relations 
 of things — Hence we are forced to inquire into the possibility of 
 knowing existence in its ultimate nature — If real existence cannot 
 be known, real knowledge is impossible — Can we not show that 
 we are capable of knowing reality as it truly is ? — This is genuine 
 humility, though it sounds like arrogance — (3) How mathematics 
 originated — It is not a collection of detached propositions, but an 
 organized system. — Mill is well aware of this, and the first lesson 
 of students is to get at Mill's point of view — Familiar illus- 
 tration of that view — Summary: (1) Mathematics directs its 
 attention to the objects of knowledge, philosophy to the nature 
 of knowledge : (2) mathematics assumes that those objects are 
 absolutely real, while philosophy inquires into the truth or false- 
 hood of that assumption : (3) philosophy admits the internal 
 consistency of mathematics, but refuses to admit without criticism 
 that any of its conclusions are true of things as they are in their 
 ultimate nature — The physical sciences assume that no change 
 ever takes place which is not due to some cause — Illustration 
 (taken from Mill's Logic): "A body is found to assume a 
 crystalline form : what is the cause of the change?" — No sensible 
 man ever did, or ever will, question so obvious a fact — Hume 
 thought it impossible to show that there is any necessary con- 
 nection in nature — Explanation of Hume's view of Causation — (1) 
 Another proof (if any were needed) that there is something in 
 Philosophy — Hume's sceptical doctrine evidently rests upon his 
 peculiar theory of knowledge — Perhaps Locke, Hume, and even 
 Mill may be wrong — (2) Obviously, we cannot tell what is the 
 nature of knowledge without determining at the same time the 
 nature of real existence — Illustration from Shakespeare's Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream — (3) We now see that Philosophy has to 
 examine the principles assumed by such sciences as physics and 
 chemistry — Philosophy admits that, in whatever sense any one 
 of the propositions which sciences contain is true, all the rest 
 are true — Philosophy may (provisionally) be divided into — (1) 
 Philosophy of Nature, (2) Philosophy of Mind, (3) Philosophy of 
 God, 1 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 
 
 Explanation of Comte's view of the philosophical doctrine known as 
 the Relativity of Knowledge — His "subjective" and "objective" 
 synthesis — In simple language he means: "Man must be con- 
 tent to gain such a limited knowledge of the world and of 
 human life as will enable him to make use of nature for the 
 perfecting of society" — Comte's own intellectual development is 
 partly explained by his relation to Rousseau and the French 
 Revolution — Sum of Rousseau's teaching: "All the evils of man 
 are due to society, and he can reach perfection only by being 
 freed from all restraint and allowed to follow his natural in- 
 stincts " — Even in the economic region this form of individualism 
 was not justified of its children — What Comte learned from St. 
 Simon — Comte's three stages, theological, metaphysical, positive — 
 Fetichism, Polytheism, and Monotheism — Metaphysic — Physical 
 science — Extract from Cours de Philosophic Positive — What has 
 been given a mere hint of the profound philosophy of Comte — 
 His social philosophy the most valuable part of his system — 
 Formulation of what is (unfortunately) known as Agnosticism 
 — Our question : Is such a doctrine consistent with itself? — 
 Ambiguity in the doctrine as expressed by Comte — (i) It some- 
 times means for him that the only true knowledge is of laws 
 not of causes — Illustration from the first book of the Iliad — How 
 Lewes and Comte deal with Homer— -In his main contention 
 Comte is right ; it is no explanation of a pestilence to say that 
 an offended God sent it in his wrath, or that it is produced by 
 a "poisonous principle" — But Comte does not see that this does 
 not banish religion or even philosophy — (2) Comte also assumes 
 that the human mind is necessarily limited to the knowledge of 
 phenomena, and is conscious of its own limitation — The conceit 
 of knowledge most vigorous in those who have recently learned 
 a few elementary truths — No man ever supposed we have com- 
 plete knowledge (we take the liberty of excluding maniacs) — The 
 question is : Has man a knowledge only of things as to his 
 finite mind they seem to be? — Comte's limitation of knowledge 
 to phenomena implies two mutually exclusive realms ; think out 
 for yourselves what this means ; Comte has not done so — Kant's 
 remark about dogmatism and scepticism worth noting — (a) Are 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 there two spheres of existence f — Surely that is nonsense — 
 {b) After all a phenomenon is merely an appearance — Plato's 5d£a 
 helps to illustrate Comte — Comte's doctrine implies that there 
 are two distinct kinds of intelligence — This seems to be greater 
 nonsense still : it at once affirms and denies the consciousness 
 of limitation, which is self- contradictory — Comte's doctrine of the 
 relativity of knowledge plausible because knowledge is only in 
 its infancy — But knowledge cannot consist in adding particular to 
 particular — Is any knowledge the apprehension of particulars? — 
 A knowledge of mere particular is a contradiction in terms 
 — Simple illustration from seeing a piece of sugar — We cannot 
 perceive, or even imagine, space as a whole, but we can think it 
 as one — Besides the particular aspect of an object there is always 
 implied a certain universal aspect — Bearing of this simple fact on 
 the doctrine of the relativity of knowledge — Illustration from the 
 law of gravitation (Comte's own instance), - - - -21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE. 
 
 GEOMETRY. 
 
 Mathematical knowledge is the science of magnitude — It is usually sup- 
 posed to deal with Space and Motion, though we might add Time — 
 In that case we should have three sciences: Geometry, Kinematics, 
 and Chronometry — Our object therefore to inquire whether geo- 
 metry is a real science of nature — We assume space to be of three 
 dimensions only — Mill says that geometry is not a science — (1) Ex- 
 amination of Mitt's view of geometry— 'His view re-stated, but more 
 in detail — Mill here takes it for granted that we have a knowledge 
 of the actual properties of real things : he is not contrasting a 
 reality unknown to us with a reality as we suppose it to be — 
 Kant takes a different view, holding that to an infinite in- 
 telligence the geometrical properties under which objects present 
 themselves to us are seen to be unreal — Mill's view is truer 
 than Kant's — Euclid would have been unable to understand 
 Mill — The mathematician, while aware that points, lines, etc., 
 are not sensible objects, does not suppose that he is dealing 
 with mere fiction of abstraction — What are "real things?" — 
 Mill's answer — Objections to it — (1) Our perception of the 
 
CONTENTS. Xlll 
 
 position and figure of a sensible object is not derived from 
 sensation — Yet Mill must hold that the geometrical properties of 
 bodies are somehow given us in sensation — Perhaps a number of 
 sensations may be so associated as to appear extended — Hume 
 thought so — Illustration of Hume's view from the perception of 
 the edge of a desk — Conclusion : No geometrical property of a 
 sensible object can be derived from any number or variety of 
 sensations, nor from any association of sensations — An "ultimate 
 inexplicability " a mere refuge of the destitute — What is an 
 '"object?" — We shall be helped to an answer by considering 
 how we come to have a perception of the position of a particle 
 of matter — If space were a sphere with a definite boundary we 
 might locate the particle, but space has no boundary that we 
 can perceive — Are there any purely individual particles? — In the 
 perception of objects as in space, their mutual externality is 
 implied — Hence it involves a peculiar intellectual form of con- 
 sciousness — Now we are in a position to estimate the value of 
 Mill's view of geometry — In a sense every one is an un- 
 conscious mathematician — Geometry does not say that the edge 
 of any object is straight — (2) Mill's denial of the accuracy of 
 geometry has no real foundation; but perhaps the propositions 
 of geometry are not universal and necessary — Detailed examina- 
 tion of Mill's view — Conclusion : The nature of our consciousness 
 is such that any experience of the enclosure of a space by two 
 straight lines is an impossible experience— The author's own 
 view, 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE {Continued). 
 
 ARITHMETIC AND ALGEBRA. 
 
 Statement of Mill's Theory of Numbers — He has two main objects in 
 view : (a) to show that arithmetic and algebra rest upon induc- 
 tion from sensible observations ; (b) to prove that their supposed 
 accuracy and precision arises from their hypothetical character — 
 (1) Mill does not criticise the a priori view, but it might be put 
 thus : it rests (he says) upon induction from sensible observations — 
 The view of the "nominalists" — Mill objects that Nominalism 
 virtually denies the theory of numbers to be based upon inditction y 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 and he is right — What, then, has led the nominalist to suppose 
 that there are no general propositions in regard to numbers? — 
 The reason is that in arithmetical and algebraic operations we 
 deal with symbols of sensible objects — "Ten" represents an actual 
 fact of sensible observation — Arithmetic differs in this respect from 
 geometry — (2) Examination of Milt's Theory of Numbers, - 76 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 THE PHYSICAL SCIENCES. 
 
 Mill seeks to distinguish the processes by which generalizations of 
 science are reached from various logical processes confounded 
 with them — (1) Induction not the mere registration in language of 
 a given number of individual observations — (2) Certain mathe- 
 matical processes not inductive — (3) Description of a set of 
 observed phenomena not inductive — Mill's definition of an induc- 
 tion — Examination of Mill's definition — Causation — Three kinds of 
 laws of nature — The ground of induction is the law of causation 
 — Definitions of a "cause" — Examination of Mill's definition of 
 a cause as an "invariable" and "unconditional" antecedent — A 
 cause is an unchangeable fact — Distinction drawn by Mill between 
 permanent and changeable causes irrelevant and misleading — This 
 introduces new problem, 86 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Third problem of philosophy of nature — Like Aristotle we commonly 
 distinguish between organic and inorganic beings — The distinction 
 is denied by two sets of thinkers: {a) those who " level down"; [b) 
 those who " level up " — Therefore we must not assume it — Is there 
 a biological knowledge of nature? — Spencer defines life as "the 
 power of continuous adjustment of internal relations to external 
 relations" — Perhaps a better definition is " the principle by which 
 a being maintains its individuality by a continuous adaptation to 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 external conditions " — The individuality of a living being is 
 dependent upon the organization of its parts, as Aristotle saw — 
 Where there is little differentiation of organs, it is hard to say 
 whether there is one being or several — Living beings also produce 
 other individuals of the same general type as themselves — Appar- 
 ently, therefore, we must apply to them a different conception, 
 viz., final cause — Some, however, hold that the theory of develop- 
 ment, as enunciated by Darwin, is incompatible with a teleological 
 explanation of the world — Darwin himself assumes a line of 
 demarcation between organic and inorganic beings — Origin of 
 Species illustrated by Alfred Russell Wallace's instance of the 
 rook and crow — Darwin's view is that species are not immutable — 
 (i) Struggle for existence — (2) Principle of heredity — The doctrine 
 extended to man by Darwin {Descent of Man) — Animals said to 
 exhibit most, if not all, the mental and moral faculties, and even 
 to have the rudiments of religion — Lowest races of man very little 
 superior to higher animals — Darwin's view implies (1) a continuous 
 development of intellectual and moral qualities from lower animals 
 up to savages, and from savages up to civilized man ; (2) that this 
 development may be explained by the law of natural selection — As 
 non-scientific men, we must assume the truth of Darwinism as a 
 scientific theory — The principle of natural selection, as Huxley 
 shows, overthrows the old conception of design as formulated by 
 Paley — But is it inconsistent with a philosophical conception of 
 teleology ? — Darwinism presupposes ( 1 ) that the laws of inorganic 
 nature are inviolable ; (2) that in each living being there is a 
 tendency or impulse to maintain itself and to continue its species ; 
 (3) that the variations in the several parts of the living being are 
 consistent with the impulse to self-maintenance and race-mainten- 
 ance — Do these assumptions not presuppose some form of tele- 
 ology? — Darwin, as an unsophisticated scientific man, was unaware 
 that Paley's conception of design was obsolete — Reasons for 
 maintaining a philosophical teleology— (1) If there were no harmony 
 between an organism and its environment, the organism could not 
 exist at all — (2) If there was no self-maintenance and the tendency 
 to race-maintenance, there would be no "struggle for existence " — 
 (3) The tendency to organization implies purpose of some kind — 
 These considerations do not prove teleology, but may show that it 
 is not absurd, 101 
 
XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Re-statement of Darwin's view of man in his relation to the animals 
 — Darwin certainly light in holding that the higher animals dis- 
 play elementary intelligence — What follows ? — Leibnitz saw phil- 
 osophy further than Darwin — Every real thing he holds to be an 
 individual substance or to have a unique existence of its own 
 separating it from all other existence — All existence is discrete — 
 The Atomists made the mistake of supposing that there are real 
 material atoms existing in space, whereas there is no real space 
 (or time) — The "confused" perception of monads — Leibnitz' 
 doctrine suggests how the Darwinian conception must be com- 
 pleted — Tyndall and Haeckel saw this — Darwin really holds two 
 radically different views of the world without knowing it — 
 Tendency of the letter of Darwin to abolish the distinction 
 between intelligence and unintelligence — Rigid application of the 
 theory of natural selection to man yields this result — (a) No 
 freedom of knowledge —(6) Nor can there be any freedom of 
 action — Right and Wrong names for the pleasure of approbation 
 and the pain of disapprobation — Darwin's view implies that 
 mental and moral qualities are free of natural characteristics, 
 received by inheritance and called out by the reaction of the 
 organism on the environment — Natural selection cannot explain 
 the fact of knowledge as it exists in man — Meaning of curiosity, 
 interest, and attention — Knowledge, even as it existed for primi- 
 tive man implied (i) the consciousness of a distinction between 
 the apparent and the real ; (2) the capacity of apprehending 
 the real in virtue of intelligence — Hence the attempt to reduce 
 knowledge to the mere flow of impressions in a subject that 
 passively receives them, makes even the simplest knowledge un- 
 intelligible — But we must be careful not to fall into Descartes' 
 mistake of supposing that there are "innate conceptions" — (1) 
 Suppose the mind to be absolutely separated from all objects, 
 and it has no conceivable nature — Descartes saw this, hence 
 he fell back upon the view that there are certain conceptions 
 which the mind has by its very nature, e.g., that of God — 
 This view untenable — To say, e.g., that a child is a pure 
 potentiality is to use language that has no precise signification — 
 (2) Descartes' other assumption, that there is an apprehension 
 
CONTENTS. XV11 
 
 by the mind of what is external to it, is equally inadmissible — 
 For him there is (logically) no material world — Proof of this 
 statement — The Cartesian doctrine of the separation of mind 
 and matter therefore leads to the denial of all knowledge — 
 Conclusion : Existence cannot be divided into two antithetical 
 halves — So far as we have knowledge we are freed from any 
 unintelligible force acting externally upon us — Final objection 
 to the principle of natural selection as an explanation of the 
 knowledge of man — (i) Darwin's "selfish tendency or impulse" 
 is neither selfish nor unselfish but non-selfish — The fact is that 
 man, grasping the law of his environment, and grasping the law 
 of his own nature, turns the environment into the means of 
 realizing his inchoate ideal — (2) Darwin's ** social impulses " are 
 neither selfish nor unselfish but super-selfish — For (a) man is by 
 his very nature social (as Aristotle says), and forms part of an 
 organism in which the good of each is bound up with the good 
 of all ; and therefore (b) in submitting himself to the law of 
 reason he gains true freedom, 123 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 
 
 Intelligence and will develop pari passu — Apparent conflict between 
 the idea of man and the idea of the world — Spencer says that 
 every philosophy must assume the absolute distinction of "subject" 
 and "object" — His view explained — The plain man accepts it 
 as palpably true, because he does not understand it — Spencer's 
 problem is : Granting the opposition of subject and object, how 
 does the subject come to have a knowledge, or an apparent 
 knowledge, of the object? — His derivation of "relation of sequence 
 and relation of coexistence" {i.e., of time and space) — Parallelism 
 of "feelings" and nervous, changes — Apparently simple feeling 
 really complex — The subject thus reducible to units of feeling, 
 the object to units of force — Objection : How can the subject 
 apprehend the object? — Spencer answers that we do not know 
 reality in its absolute nature — Hence we can think of matter only 
 in terms of mind, and of mind only in terms of matter — Spencer's 
 five propositions — All five untenable — (1) Examination of the 
 absolute opposition of subject and object — It involves a confusion 
 between {a) the separation and {6) the logical distinction of subject 
 
XV111 CONTENTS. 
 
 and object — A subject conscious only of its own states would never 
 become conscious of an external object — Why the separation of 
 subject and object seems indubitable — (i) The objective world 
 is not dependent upon anybody's knowledge — (2) It existed prior 
 to the subject — Similarly, the subject has different properties 
 from the object — The answer of Philosophical Idealism — {a) The 
 supposed "separation" of the object rests upon an untenable 
 dualism — Inorganic things are not independent of one another — 
 Nor are organic beings — Nor can we find Mind existing inde- 
 pendently—The objective world is therefore self-conscious — {b) 
 Scientific evolutionists deny the identity of subject and object, 
 because the objective world existed before the subject — But (1) 
 this assumes that "subject" must mean this or that individual 
 subject — (2) It really abolishes the subject — The category of 
 "cause" falsely applied to the relation between existence as a 
 whole and its modes — Summary of the idealistic view — Comparison 
 of Scientific Evolutionism and Philosophical Idealism — Self- 
 determination in knowledge — Self-determination in action — 
 Criticism of Spencer's second proposition, that the object is for 
 us a complex of feelings, the subject a complex of movements, - 150 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 IDEA OF DUTY. 
 
 (1) "Duty" implies an opposition of an ideal world and the actual 
 world — (2) It also implies an opposition between a law of reason 
 and a lazv of inclination — Why the opposition seems absolute — 
 Analysis of desire — The contrast of the ideal and actual self not 
 absolute — Carlyle [saw this — The Stoical conception of "reason" 
 — How far it is true — The abstract idea of duty, and particular 
 duties — No " natural law" in the "spiritual world " — " Renuncia- 
 tion " not the last word of morality — No real opposition between 
 appetite and reason — "Duty" may be defined as " The identifi- 
 cation of the actual self with the ideal self, by a particular determin- 
 ation of it" — Kant holds that "Duty" implies (1) an absolute law 
 — (2) self-determination by this law — His reasons for maintaining 
 that action done from desire is contrary to duty — Objections to the 
 form of Kant's doctrine — His analysis of the " categorical impera- 
 tive " — Distinguishes between (1) duties of imperfect obligation, 
 
CONTENTS. XIX 
 
 and (2) duties of perfect obligation — His three formulae — Desire for 
 pleasure involves (1) a particular object or end, (2) conceived as 
 desirable for me, (3) which is distinguished both from the object 
 and the subject — Kant is therefore wrong in assuming that desire 
 for an object is desire for pleasure — Problem of morality is : What 
 is the distinguishing characteristic of the object we ought to desire 
 — The solution consists in each individual conceiving of himself as 
 a member in a social organism — Historical proof of this — Strength 
 and weakness of Kant's ethical theory, 195 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY {Continued). 
 
 IDEA OF FREEDOM. 
 
 The problem of freedom has the same root as the problem of duty 
 — The solution turns upon our view of "motives" — "Deter- 
 minism" does not explain the transition from desire to action — 
 What a "motive" really is — Meaningless to say that "the 
 strongest motive" leads to action — There is no "liberty of 
 indifference " — Kant's view of freedom — He holds that in willing 
 the law of reason man is free — This would make man irre- 
 sponsible for doing wrong — How the contrast of freedom and 
 necessity arises. 
 
 THE SUMMUM BONUM. 
 
 Hedonist view of the summum bonum — Kant distinguishes between 
 (a) the chief good and {b) the complete good — Statement of his 
 doctrine — His "postulate" of immortality— His moral proof of 
 the being of God — Objections to his argument for immortality — 
 His proof of the being of God must be revised, - - - 235 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY {Continued). 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHTS. 
 
 Self-realization is exhibited in the sphere of individual rights — 
 Kantian distinction of the sphere of rights from the sphere 
 of morals — Rights (1) belong to persons, not to things, (2) are 
 held against all other persons, (3) are reciprocal — Rights dis- 
 tinguished by Kant as {a) rights of property, {b) right of con- 
 tract, {c) personal rights — The State based upon an "original 
 
XX CONTENTS. 
 
 contract "—Ultimate form of the State a Republic— All class 
 legislation wrong — Kant's view of penal justice — Basis of Inter- 
 national law — Articles for an everlasting peace — Kant's doctrine 
 of rights repeats his opposition of desire and reason in a new 
 form — (i) His theory of society not self- consistent — It virtually 
 admits that society is the basis of rights — Imperfection of his 
 view of the family and the State — (2) Kant's opposition of law 
 and morality untenable — (3) His view of punishment inadequate 
 — Kant's system of moral virtues — Two ends which we ought 
 to realize : (1) our own perfection, (2) the happiness of others — 
 Distinction of "obligations of right" and "obligations of virtue ' 
 — The three characteristics of duty — Duties to ourselves — Duties 
 to others — Kant wrong in opposing these, - - - - 257 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Kant separates Morality from Religion — His interpretation of "Original 
 Sin " — How he treats the Pauline doctrine of Redemption — Kant's 
 conception of evil in advance of the doctrine of the Stoics — 
 But his doctrine must be reinterpreted — He has not got rid of 
 Individualism — No opposition of outer and inner law — Morality 
 not independent of Religion. 
 
 ART. 
 Art an objective presentation of the ideal — Kant distinguishes 
 between the beautiful and the sublime — An aesthetic judgment 
 rests upon a disinterested contemplation of beauty — The sublime 
 due to the disharmony of the object as perceived and as conceived — 
 Two forms of the sublime : mathematical, or that which is too great 
 in magnitude to be pictured by the imagination ; and dynamical, or 
 the feeling which arises in presence of the forces of nature — Beauty 
 excludes the idea of definite purpose — The products of art a symbol 
 of moral ideas — Value of Kant's conception of beauty — Examination 
 of Kant's affirmations (1) that beauty rests upon feeling; (2) that 
 it involves thought, 282 
 
 ERRATUM. 
 Page 76, line 9 from foot, delete "not" after "do.' 
 
COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 "The feeling of wonder," says Plato in his dialogue the 
 Theaetetus, 1 "is the genuine mark of the philosopher; 
 for philosophy has its origin in wonder; and he was no 
 bad genealogist who said that Iris is the child of Wonder." 
 Those who are destitute of this feeling he calls the 
 "uninitiated," who "will not admit that there is any 
 reality but that which they can take hold of with their 
 hands." Philosophy, in other words, at first exists as an 
 immediate feeling or conviction, that things in their real 
 or ultimate nature are not what at first they seem to be. 
 It looks beyond the shows of things to a reality that is 
 felt to be implied, although it is not yet grasped by the 
 mind as a definite object, the nature of which can be 
 expressed in precise and definite language. We can say, 
 negatively, that reality, as it is behind the veil of sense, 
 is not that which we see with our eyes and grasp with 
 our hands; but at first we cannot apply to it any definite 
 
 1 Theaetetus, 155 CD. 
 A 
 
2 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 predicates. Wonder may therefore be said to be a self- 
 contradictory feeling. It denies that what we know is 
 real, and yet it cannot tell us what reality is. We are 
 conscious of our ignorance, and yet we claim to know 
 that we have no knowledge. The man of hard common- 
 sense, the " uninitiated" as Plato would call him, can 
 therefore make out a very good case for his rejection of 
 philosophy as a useless quest for what can never be 
 known. Like Mephistopheles in Goethe's Faust, he prides 
 himself on taking things as they are, and refusing to 
 follow the lead of mere ideas. Plato, on the other hand, 
 finds in the vision of the ideal the true reality. Those 
 who are content with the first or unreflective view of 
 things he likens to men confined within a dark under- 
 ground cave, with a narrow opening towards the light, 
 who see only the shadows of things thrown on the wall as 
 they are carried past the mouth of the cave. In this con- 
 viction of the reality of the invisible and intangible, Plato 
 is at one with those who believe that in art and religion 
 there is revealed something truer than all that we can 
 directly perceive with our senses. Poetry and religion, 
 as well as philosophy, claim that there is a contradiction 
 between what seems and what is, and that true reality 
 can be revealed only to the higher vision. He who is 
 satisfied with the first or unreflective view of things need 
 never hope to know reality as it truly is. There is a 
 divine unrest which compels us to search for the hidden 
 truth of things. As Aristotle says, it is in the effort to 
 be rid of ignorance that men have been led to construct 
 philosophies. The object of philosophy is therefore to 
 search for the first principles of things; to discover, if 
 that be possible, what is as distinguished from what seems 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 3 
 
 to be. Hence Aristotle well says that philosophy has to 
 do with existence as it really is. 
 
 It must be observed, however, that philosophy cannot 
 be defined as the science of reality. For it may be that 
 :he ultimate nature of reality cannot be discovered by 
 man. As a matter of fact there is at the present time 
 an influential class of thinkers who hold that man is so 
 constituted that he never can have a knowledge of ulti- 
 mate reality. Human knowledge, they maintain, never 
 reaches beyond phenomena or appearances. Much may 
 be learned about the nature of phenomena, but nothing 
 about the reality which lies behind phenomena. Carry 
 your investigation to the extreme limits of the phenomenal 
 world; lay bare the laws which govern the minutest and 
 the most distant object accessible to our observation, 
 even when it is aided by the most delicate instruments, 
 and you are as far as ever from the ultimate nature of 
 things. The progress of human knowledge does not 
 enable us to break through the charmed circle within 
 which we are compelled to move, but only serves to 
 bring into bolder relief the great unknowable reality 
 against which the bounded circumference of the known 
 world becomes visible. I hope to show that this doc- 
 trine of the unknowability of ultimate reality cannot be 
 accepted, but manifestly we cannot, in the face of such 
 a denia], assume that reality as it truly is can be known by 
 man. If it can be established that philosophy leads to 
 the knowledge of ultimate reality, we may then define it 
 as the science of first principles ; but, in the meantime, 
 we must be content to say, that it is the search for first 
 principles. 
 
 To understand all that is implied in this definition we 
 
4 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 must make clear to ourselves the distinction between 
 philosophy and other branches of human knowledge, and 
 especially between philosophy and science. 
 
 None of the sciences seems to rest on so firm a 
 foundation as the science of mathematics. That 2 + 2 = 
 4 ; that the straight line between two points is the 
 shortest that can be drawn ; that the interior angles of a 
 triangle are equal to two right angles : such propositions 
 as these are usually assumed to be absolutely true and 
 to admit of no possible exception. The mathematician 
 is therefore accustomed to assume that the propositions 
 of his science are demonstrably true, and that no con- 
 ceivable advance of knowledge can ever upset them. He 
 does not speak with stammering tongue, as Aristotle 
 says of the early Greek philosophers, but announces his 
 results with perfect assurance of their truth. And yet 
 there is a question which mathematics has not raised, 
 and without resolving which the absolute truth of its 
 conclusions cannot be established. It is assumed by the 
 mathematician that the objects which we number and 
 measure could not be of an entirely different nature 
 from what they are for us. When it is said that a 
 straight line is the shortest distance between two points, 
 it is taken for granted that every possible space must be, 
 like ours, of three dimensions and absolutely devoid of 
 curvature. It is further assumed that what is affirmed of 
 lines, triangles, and circles in the abstract is equally true 
 of real lines, triangles, and circles. Now both of these 
 propositions have been denied. It is maintained by such 
 eminent mathematicians as Riemann, Helmholtz, Clifford, 
 and Sylvester, that our space of three dimensions is only 
 one of an infinite number of possible spaces, and that, 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 5 
 
 were our experience wider, we should find that our 
 Euclidian geometry is of very limited and partial applica- 
 tion. It is further maintained by so eminent a thinker 
 as John Stuart Mill, that the propositions of arithmetic 
 and geometry are not absolutely true even in their 
 application to the sensible reality which we are capable 
 of knowing. The only source of our knowledge, it is 
 held, is experience. No real knowledge can be obtained 
 from the mere exercise of our own minds. To get at 
 reality at all we must go to experience. But experience 
 can never assure us that what has presented itself to us 
 in a certain way might not possibly appear in an entirely 
 different form. Hence, mathematics, if it is a science at 
 all, must rest upon the facts of experience. Let us see 
 the conclusion to which this doctrine of Mill naturally 
 leads. 
 
 In the first place, Mill maintains that the supposed 
 exactness and necessity of mathematics is a delusion. 
 (1) Mathematics is not an exact science. What is the 
 foundation of the science of geometry? Plainly the so- 
 called definitions. But upon what do these definitions 
 themselves rest? They cannot be self-evident, because 
 all that a definition can tell us is the meaning attached 
 to certain terms. Definitions are purely verbal, and prove 
 nothing in regard to the reality of that which is defined. 
 I may define a centaur as a being half man and half horse, 
 but it does not follow that a centaur exists in rerum 
 natura. Similarly, I may define a circle as a figure the 
 radii of which are all equal, but it does not follow that 
 a real circle corresponding to my definition actually exists. 
 To determine whether the definitions of geometry are true 
 or false we must have recourse to experience. Now, when 
 
6 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 we go to experience, we find that there are no real things 
 corresponding to our definitions. Where in nature shall 
 we find a point without magnitude, a line that is perfectly 
 straight and without breadth, a circle with all its radii 
 exactly equal, a square with all its angles perfectly right ? 
 An actual sensible point is a surface, a real line is the 
 edge of a sensible object, and such a line is never per- 
 fectly straight; the surface of a thing is always more or 
 less uneven. There is no doubt that geometry deals with 
 real things, but the discrepancy between its definitions 
 and sensible realities shows that it is not dealing with 
 those things as they truly are, but only with a partial 
 aspect of them. We are therefore compelled to conclude 
 that geometry is r not an exact science. (2) Nor is 
 geometry a necessary science. Like other sciences it 
 rests upon induction, or, in other words, it states in a 
 general form what experience has shown us to hold good 
 in a number of particular instances. No accumulation of 
 such instances can warrant us in saying that things must 
 be as our experience has shown them to be. It is true 
 that geometry draws its conclusions from figures that are 
 not directly perceived, but are only represented in imagina- 
 tion. But imagination can never represent what has not 
 been presented beforehand in perception. When I have 
 once perceived two straight lines meet and then diverge, 
 I can imagine them diverging as far as I please, but I 
 can never imagine them as again meeting. It is this 
 peculiarity of our imaginative faculty which explains the 
 apparent necessity of geometrical propositions. We are 
 unable to imagine diverging lines as meeting, however far 
 we may prolong them, because our whole experience 
 contradicts the supposition. We have at one time seen 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 7 
 
 two straight lines diverging from a point, and at another 
 time we have seen two straight lines converging, but we 
 have never seen two straight lines at once diverging and 
 converging. The supposition is excluded from the nature 
 of our experience. But it must be carefully observed, 
 that experience can never warrant a conclusion wider 
 than itself. There is nothing impossible in the supposi- 
 tion that two straight lines should enclose a space. The 
 supposition is contrary to our experience, but it cannot 
 be shown to be contradictory of the nature of things. 
 There is nothing contradictory in the notion that 2 + 3 = 6. 
 Were our experience wider we might meet with objects 
 of a different nature from those with which we have 
 come in contact. Hence, in the second place, Mill ex- 
 plains the apparent necessity of mathematical propositions 
 on the principle of inseparable association. All that is 
 meant by the term "inseparable association" is, that two 
 ideas which have always gone together in our experience 
 become so closely united that, having no contrary experi- 
 ence, we cannot conceive of them as separated. Such 
 ideas are those which are combined in a mathematical 
 proposition. Their apparent necessity is merely the sub- 
 jective necessity of uniform association. Ideas that have 
 never been experienced apart we naturally suppose to be 
 inseparable in nature as they are in our experience. An 
 instance of inseparable association we have in the pro- 
 position that two straight lines cannot be thought of as 
 enclosing a space. We cannot say that two straight lines 
 cannot enclose a space, but only that we cannot think 
 of them as enclosing a space. The only reason we have 
 for our affirmation is that we have had no experience of 
 straight lines enclosing a space, which is a very different 
 
8 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 thing from saying that such an experience is impos- 
 sible. 
 
 The general conclusion, then, is that mathematics is not 
 an exact or necessary science, but merely expresses what 
 we have found to hold good within our limited experience, 
 its apparent necessity being due to the natural confusion 
 between a necessity in the nature of things and the sub- 
 
 I jective necessity of inseparable association. 
 
 An examination of Mill's doctrine of mathematics 
 cannot be profitably entered upon at present. In the 
 meantime we may learn from it something about the 
 relations of philosophy and science, (i) The first thing 
 to be noted is, that the question which Mill asks is one 
 which the mathematician as such does not think of asking. 
 The mathematician usually assumes that the conclusions 
 
 \\ which he reaches are absolutely true, and can be applied 
 J in the numbering and measuring of any object that can 
 1 ever come within the range of his experience. His 
 assumption, stated generally, is, that we can have a real 
 knowledge of the number and magnitude of things. It 
 is true that a mathematician may be aware that there is 
 a further problem which he has not investigated, but it is 
 at least convenient, and conduces to clearness, if we say 
 that mathematics assumes the possibility of real know- 
 ledge, leaving to philosophy the task of inquiring into 
 the possibility and the conditions of knowledge. The 
 science of mathematics, then, as we may say, puts for- 
 ward no theory in regard to the nature of knowledge. 
 Whether its propositions apply only within the limited 
 range of objects as they appear to man, or hold good 
 of all possible objects, is for the mere mathematician a 
 matter of indifference. The question, What is know- 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 9 
 
 ledge? either has never occurred to him, or he sets it 
 aside as irrelevant to his special investigation. He may 
 be said to be in the attitude of the youthful Theaetetus, 
 in the dialogue of Plato to which I have already referred, 
 who, when asked by Socrates, What is Knowledge ? 
 answers that "Knowledge consists of all the things we 
 can learn from Theodorus ; geometry for instance." Mill, 
 on the other hand, and the same thing is true of all 
 philosophers, has become aware that the true meaning 
 of Socrates' question is, What is implied in the act of 
 knowledge? What constitutes knowledge? In seeking 
 to answer this question, Mill is led, like the Greek Pro- 
 tagoras, as represented by Plato, to say that " Knowledge 
 is sensible perception." We may say, then, that mathe- 
 matics seeks to answer the question, What do we know 
 about the number and magnitude of things? while 
 philosophy tries to answer the question, What is the 
 nature of mathematical knowledge? Let us call the first 
 problem scientific and the second philosophic. It would 
 then seem that science directs its attention to the objects 
 of knowledge, philosophy to the nature of knowledge 
 itself. (2) This seems to give us a clear distinction 
 between science and philosophy. But on closer investi- 
 gation we find that" the absolute opposition of knowledge 
 and the object of knowledge is one that cannot be 
 maintained. If Mill is right, we must distinguish between 
 the objects with which mathematics deals, and those 
 objects which lie beyond the range of possible experience, 
 or rather, those objects which perhaps lie beyond that 
 range. For it is held that a time might come when the 
 whole fabric of our present mathematical knowledge would 
 be completely upset. We cannot tell, on Mill's theory, 
 
 (h 
 
IO COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 what a day or an hour might bring forth. Suddenly our 
 experience might completely change its complexion, and 
 diverging lines might be found to enclose a space, parallel 
 lines might meet, squares might appear round, and straight 
 lines curved. " To conceive a round square," says Mill, 
 " would only be to conceive two different sensations as 
 produced in us simultaneously by the same object; and 
 we should probably be as well able to conceive a round 
 square as a hard square, or a heavy square, if it were 
 not that, in our uniform experience, at the instant when 
 a thing begins to be round it ceases to be square, so 
 that the beginning of the one impression is inseparably 
 associated with the departure or cessation of the other." 1 
 It is here implied that there is no absolute fixity in the 
 quantitative relations of things. Now this means that 
 there are infinite possibilities of experience such as we 
 cannot even imagine with any definiteness. A world in 
 which all our mathematical conceptions were completely 
 reversed is so different from anything we can figure to 
 ourselves, that we can only say, generally, that it would 
 be totally unlike anything of which we have had experi- 
 ence. The question is therefore forced upon us, whether 
 we can admit even the possibility of such a world. So 
 long as we admit its possibility, it is plain that we cannot 
 claim to have any knowledge of things as they truly are. 
 Now this conclusion is so contrary to what mathematics 
 and other sciences are accustomed to assume, that we 
 simply must inquire into the possibility of knowing 
 existence in its ultimate nature. The nature of know- 
 ledge is thus bound up with the nature of existence. If 
 real existence cannot be known, real knowledge is im- 
 1 Mill's Examination of Hamilton, ch. vi., p. 68. 
 
 T I I. Xt 
 
 77 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. II 
 
 possible. Philosophy, therefore, must seek to determine 
 the relations of knowledge and existence. If it could 
 be shown that Mill's theory of knowledge is false, there 
 would be some presumption that his tacit denial of the 
 knowability of real existence is also false. But there is 
 no other way of coming to a satisfactory conclusion on 
 the question, than by entering into a thorough investiga- 
 tion of the relations of knowledge and reality. It is vain 
 to say that we cannot help believing in the reality of 
 knowledge. That is true enough, but many things that 
 men have firmly believed have turned out to be mere 
 prejudices. There is no possible way of satisfying doubt 
 but by facing it. To dismiss a problem without inquiry 
 leaves in the mind an uneasy consciousness that the 
 sceptic may after all be right. Philosophy, just because 
 it seeks to determine the ultimate nature of things, can 
 never be satisfied with anything short of truth that may 
 be verified by the unbiased exercise of reason. 
 
 Now if we could only show, by an inquiry into the 
 relations of knowledge and existence, that we are capable 
 of knowing reality as it truly is, or, in other words, that 
 in whatever sense mathematics is true of any existence 
 it is true of all possible existence, the sceptical conclusion 
 of Mill would be proved untrue. It cannot be denied 
 that at first sight there seem to be insuperable difficulties 
 in the way of such a proof. To say that man can, so 
 to speak, contemplate existence from the point of view 
 of omniscience seems to be the extreme of presumption. 
 It must be observed, however, that it is not less pre- 
 sumptuous to say that man cannot know things as they 
 really are. For how can any one say that we do not 
 know real existence unless he has some knowledge of 
 
 I 
 
12 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 what real existence is? Presumptuous or not, philosophy 
 cannot avoid the question : Is the knowledge of real 
 existence possible? Thus the inquiry into the nature of 
 knowledge is necessarily bound up with the inquiry into 
 the nature of existence. (3) We may now see, in some 
 degree, how philosophy is related to the science of mathe- 
 matics. It is the nature of the human mind to pass 
 from one stage of activity to another. The science of 
 mathematics had its origin in the desire to determine 
 with accuracy the number and magnitude of objects in 
 space and time. In a very gradual way more and more 
 perfect methods of measurement have been discovered, 
 until mathematics has now reached the dimensions of a 
 vast body of closely connected propositions. There is 
 no manner of doubt that all those propositions hang 
 closely together, and that to deny any one of them is 
 to deny them all. The science of mathematics, in other 
 words, is not a collection of detached propositions, but 
 an organized system in which every part is connected 
 with and dependent upon every other part. Now you 
 will observe that Mill does not in any way question the 
 coherence of mathematical propositions among themselves. 
 If a mathematician advances a new proposition, it is open 
 to another mathematician to say that it is untrue, on 
 the ground that it is inconsistent with what has been 
 already established, or that there is some flaw in the 
 reasoning by which it is sought to be proved. But this 
 is quite a different class of objection from that which 
 Mill makes when he denies the accuracy and necessity 
 of mathematics. Mill not only grants the internal co- 
 herence and organic unity of the whole body of mathe- 
 matics, but his argument expressly appeals to its internal 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 13 
 
 coherence and unity. Geometry, as he points out, is a 
 science only if its definitions are true, because all its 
 other propositions rest upon and presuppose the truth 
 of those definitions. Mill's objection is not to the inner 
 consistency of mathematics, but to its claim to formulate 
 the relations of all possible existence. If it is true at 
 all, all its propositions are true; if it is false at all, all 
 its propositions are false. The truth or falsehood of 
 mathematics is thus established, so to speak, at one 
 stroke. 
 
 Now, we may learn from this what is the relation of 
 philosophy to mathematics. The mathematician, in Mill's 
 view, is like a man who starts on a journey with no 
 other end in view but to see what objects of interest 
 may be found by the way. Every step he takes brings 
 him in sight of a new object, and he goes on continually 
 adding to what he calls his knowledge. By and by 
 some one suggests that the objects in which he has 
 been so interested, and which he has been at so much 
 pains to observe and systematize, are due to an illusion 
 of his own senses, and have no other reality than for 
 himself and those like himself. This is a new point 
 of view, and one which, once presented, cannot well 
 be dismissed without inquiry. The mathematician may 
 indeed say, that whether the objects on which he has 
 expended so much labour are realities or illusions, it is 
 worth while finding out their nature. Illusions they may 
 be, but there is a wonderful coherence in them. But, 
 granting this, he can never take quite the same view of 
 them as before. His implicit faith in their reality has 
 been shaken. He is doubtful whether they are realities 
 or only appearances. Philosophy, then, does not deny 
 
14 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 the reality of mathematics so far as phenomena are con- 
 cerned, but it raises the question, whether the laws of 
 phenomena are also laws of things as they truly are. 
 Mathematics hands over this latter question to philosophy, 
 and hence by the decision of philosophy its ultimate value 
 must be determined. On the supposition that a single 
 proposition of mathematics holds good of real existence, 
 the whole body of mathematics holds good of it: if a 
 single proposition is true only of apparent existence, the 
 same thing must be said of the science as a whole. We 
 see, then, that the truth of a special science can only 
 mean, prior to the philosophical criticism of its founda- 
 tion, that it is perfectly coherent within itself. Perfectly 
 coherent it may be, however, while yet it rests upon an 
 assumption that has never been justified. It is this 
 assumption that philosophy has to investigate, not the 
 truth of the individual propositions which rest upon it. 
 If philosophy can only show that what mathematics has 
 assumed as self-evident may be justified before the bar 
 of reason, the whole body of mathematics will then rise 
 to the dignity of demonstrated truth. If philosophy fails 
 to justify that assumption, we shall have to conclude that 
 mathematics is at the most merely an account of the 
 relations which we have found to hold good of objects 
 within our limited experience. Whatever conclusion we 
 may reach, this is evident, that philosophy presents us 
 with a problem which we cannot evade without mental 
 unrest and disquiet. 
 
 We have found then, firstly, that mathematics directs its 
 attention to the objects of knowledge, philosophy to the 
 nature of knowledge itself; secondly, that mathematics 
 assumes that those objects are absolutely real, while philo- 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 15 
 
 sophy inquires into the truth or falsehood of that assump- 
 tion ; and, thirdly, that philosophy admits the internal 
 consistency of mathematics, but refuses to admit without 
 criticism that any of its conclusions are true of things as 
 they are in their ultimate nature. Let us now see whether 
 philosophy bears a similar or a different relation to the 
 other special sciences. 
 
 It will be admitted that those sciences assume that no 
 change ever takes place which is not due to some cause- 
 A body, for instance, is found to assume a crystalline form, 
 and the question at once arises as to the cause of the 
 change. As the change never occurs except in the case 
 of the solidification of a substance from a liquid state, we 
 conclude that such solidification is the cause of the crystal- 
 lization. And even in those instances in which we are 
 unable to assign the cause, we feel quite sure that the 
 event has not occurred without a cause. So much is this 
 the case that, were we to find instances in which crystal- 
 lization occurs when a substance was not previously in a 
 liquid state, we should not think of saying that the change 
 arose without any cause, but only that we had not yet 
 found out the cause. The assumption, therefore, which 
 lies at the foundation of all scientific discovery is that the 
 changes which occur in nature do not occur at random, 
 but are connected together in fixed ways. Given the 
 cause, and the effect must follow. As we have found, 
 however, that Mill denies what seems to be the even 
 stronger necessity of mathematical truth, it is not surpris- 
 ing that the assumed connection of events has also been 
 denied. According to Hume it is impossible to show that 
 there is any necessary connection in nature. The only 
 warrant we can produce for our belief that events could 
 
 1 
 
1 6 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 not be connected otherwise than as we have found them 
 to be connected, is the fact that in our experience 
 we have always found them to occur in a certain 
 order. 
 
 Because heat and flame have presented themselves to- 
 gether in our observation, we naturally come to imagine 
 that the one could not occur without the other. It is true 
 that we have never found flame that was not associated 
 with heat, but that does not entitle us to say that they 
 might not be separated. No number of observations can 
 ever rise to the dignity of a necessary law. There is 
 nothing to show that any two events which have been 
 connected in our experience nine hundred and ninety- 
 nine times, should not on the thousandth time be found 
 to be totally unconnected. The reason why we suppose 
 events to be necessarily connected may be explained by 
 the fact that any two ideas which have frequently occurred 
 together or in close succession are naturally supposed to 
 imply an objective connection of events. It is a law of 
 the human mind to expect the recurrence of that which 
 has frequently occurred. Hence when an impression or 
 idea arises in our mind, we naturally pass to the idea 
 which has been often found associated with it. The con- 
 nection of ideas, however, does not prove any necessary 
 connection of events. The supposed connection of events 
 is in reality the subjective connection of habit. Thus 
 Hume completely inverts the ordinary conception of 
 causality. He attributes the connection to the ob- 
 serving subject, not to the observed object. No event 
 is really connected with another, but the transition 
 from one idea to another frequently associated with it 
 is so easy and natural that we are irresistibly led to 
 
THE PROBLEM OF PHILOSOPHY. 1 7 
 
 suppose a real connection where none can be shown to 
 exist. 
 
 Now (i) the doubt which Hume casts upon the real 
 connection of events, like the similar doubt of the neces- 
 sary truth of mathematics, makes it imperative on us to 
 inquire into the nature of knowledge. The ordinary belief, 
 that all changes are due to something in the nature of 
 things, can no longer be assumed without question. If 
 what we have been wont to regard as a law of things 
 should turn out to be a mere fiction of our own minds, 
 we shall be compelled to alter our whole view of the 
 character of the special sciences. So complete a reversal 
 of our common beliefs cannot be allowed to pass without 
 the severest scrutiny. Hume's sceptical doctrine in regard 
 to causality evidently rests upon his peculiar theory of 
 knowledge. Like his follower Mill, and his master Locke, 
 he holds that what we know of nature must come to us 
 in the form of sensible impressions. It may be, however, 
 that this is a false, or, at least, an imperfect account of the 
 origin of knowledge, and that the denial of the real con- 
 nection of things is incompatible with the nature of know- 
 ledge as properly understood. Be this as it may, a 
 searching inquiry into the nature of knowledge is absol- 
 utely indispensable. The belief in causal connection, 
 which all the special sciences assume without misgiving, 
 must be either confirmed or rejected. Here again, there- 
 fore, we find that, whereas science limits itself to objects, 
 philosophy investigates the nature of knowledge. (2) It 
 lies on the very face of Hume's denial of the real con- 
 nection of objects and events, that we cannot tell what 
 is the nature of knowledge without determining at the 
 same time the nature of real existence. If Hume is 
 
 B 
 
1 8 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 right, we must suppose that what we call the course of 
 nature is a perfectly arbitrary succession of events. On 
 his view there is no reason why any event might not be 
 followed by any other event, and therefore no reason 
 why at any moment the whole world of objects might not 
 literally 
 
 " dissolve, 
 
 And, like an insubstantial pageant faded, 
 
 Leave not a rack behind." 
 
 The rays of the sun might suddenly freeze water 
 instead of vaporizing it, and the breath of the north 
 wind set the world on fire. We have no other guarantee 
 of what will be but a fancy of our own, which rests 
 upon a confusion between the customary and the neces- 
 sary. Hume's doctrine is therefore at bottom a denial 
 of all law. There is no limit to the variability of nature 
 but the possible combinations of particular events. What 
 we call laws of nature are merely the accidental juxta- 
 position of events. A theory of knowledge which reduces 
 the apparent connection of events to a "fortuitous con- 
 course" of disconnected particulars is not to be lightly 
 accepted. It compels us to ask whether the world is 
 destitute of internal coherency and system, as Hume 
 would have us believe. Thus the inquiry into the nature 
 of knowledge is once more found to be connected in the 
 closest possible way with the inquiry into the nature of 
 existence as a whole. (3) We may now see that philo- 
 sophy has to examine the principles assumed by such 
 sciences as physics and chemistry, just as it has to 
 examine into the assumed necessity of mathematical 
 truth. Those sciences, taking for granted the principle 
 that every change must have a cause, go on to ask what 
 
f 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF FHJ-fcOSOPHY. 19 
 
 are the partic ular causes whion account for and necessi- 
 tate^ th"e multifarious changes that occur in nature. 
 Philosophy, on the other hand, asks in what sense we 
 can speak of causal connection at all. Thus, while the 
 special sciences are occupied with particular modes of 
 existence, philosophy deals with the relations of these 
 modes to existence as a whole. Should the final result 
 of philosophy be to confirm Hume's view of causality, 
 the assumed unity and systematic connection of nature 
 could only be explained as a disconnected assemblage of 
 objects and events. In any case, it is the task of 
 philosophy to examine into the fundamental principles 
 on which the special sciences are supposed to rest. 
 Philosophy does not, any more than in regard to the 
 propositions of mathematics, deny the inner harmony of 
 the special sciences. It admits that, in whatever sense 
 any one of the propositions which they contain is true, 
 all the rest are true ; but it sets itself to inquire whether 
 any of them has more than a relative value. On the 
 result of this inquiry it depends whether we can, in any 
 proper sense, speak of science at all. 
 
 We have seen that philosophy bears the same general 
 relation to the other sciences which it bears to mathe- 
 matics, and we may now sum up the results to which 
 we have been brought in three propositions. Firstly, 
 science deals with objects as such, philosophy with the 
 knowledge of objects. Secondly, science assumes that 
 real knowledge is possible, philosophy inquires into the 
 
 1 | Ml 
 
 truth of that assumption. Thirdly, science deals with 
 the relations of objects to one another, philosophy with 
 their relations to existence as a whole. More shortly, 
 science treats of modes of existence, philosophy of 
 
20 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 existence in its completeness. And as existence may 
 roughly be divided into the three great related spheres 
 of Nature, Mind, and God (whatever these may ulti- 
 mately be found to mean), there are three main divisions 
 of philosophy : (i) Philosophy of Nature ; (2) Philosophy 
 of Mind; (3) Philosophy of the Absolute. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 
 
 Now, it might seem that, having denned the problem 
 of philosophy, and indicated its three great departments, 
 our next step would be to take up each of those de- 
 partments in turn. But, as we have seen, there are 
 eminent thinkers, who, either expressly or by implication, 
 maintain' that man is by the very nature of his faculties 
 for ever incapable of knowing reality as it ultimately is ; 
 and it is therefore advisable to begin by asking whether 
 this sceptical attitude in regard to the object of philo- 
 sophy has any rational foundation, or whether it does 
 not rather rest upon an untenable assumption. Perhaps 
 the simplest way of approaching this problem will be to 
 examine it in the form in which it is presented by Comte. 
 The fundamental idea which underlies the doctrine of 
 Comte is, that all attempts to obtain an "absolute" view 
 of existence are necessarily futile. This Comte expresses 
 by saying that, while we are capable of a "subjective 
 synthesis " of existence, we are by the necessary limitation 
 of our knowledge incapable of an "objective synthesis." 
 Some explanation of these terms will be necessary. 
 Comte here uses the term "subjective" in the sense of 
 
2 2 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 "limited" or "human"; and with this he contrasts an 
 "objective synthesis," as one in which things would be 
 looked at from the point of view of absolutely complete 
 knowledge. What he contends, therefore, is that man 
 must be content to gain such a limited knowledge of 
 the world and of human life as will enable him to make 
 use of nature, simply for the perfecting of society. Thus 
 Comte would turn our thoughts away from all specula- 
 tions upon the ultimate meaning of existence, and con- 
 centrate them upon the good of humanity. For we find, 
 as he maintains, a tendency to organization in humanity 
 itself, and the aim of the individual is to live a higher 
 life by seeking more and more to make himself instru- 
 mental in advancing the good of the race. This is the 
 main idea in the philosophy of Comte, but it will be 
 profitable to consider more in detail the process by which 
 it is reached. 
 
 The starting-point in Comte's own intellectual develop- 
 ment was his conviction of the falsehood of pure indi- 
 vidualism, as preached by Rousseau and written in letters 
 of blood on the French Revolution. The sum of Rousseau's 
 teaching was that all the evils of man are due to society, 
 and that he can reach perfection only by being freed 
 from all restraint and allowed to follow his natural instincts. 
 This doctrine of pure individualism was not justified of 
 its children. Freedom from social restraint had not brought 
 liberty but licence. Even in the economic region, the 
 result was a fierce fight of individuals with one another, 
 in which the stronger and more crafty worsted the weaker 
 and less cunning. It was therefore natural that an attempt 
 should be made to find a solution of the problem in a 
 reconstruction of the fabric of society. One of the leaders 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 23 
 
 of this movement was St. Simon, who saw the essential 
 weakness of the gospel according to Jean Jacques Rousseau, 
 and tried to substitute for it a new gospel resting upon 
 a socialistic foundation. The great problem of modern 
 times, he held, was the combination of men with one 
 another as a means of turning nature to the use of all. 
 The physical as well as the intellectual and moral advance- 
 ment of all the members of society ought to be aimed 
 at, and especially the elevation of the poorer and weaker 
 members of society. Liberty he regards not as valuable 
 in itself, but only in so far as it is the means of a better 
 form of social organization. The weakness of St. Simon 
 is that, to secure this higher form of society, he would 
 institute a social despotism that would sacrifice men's free 
 intellectual and moral development in order to make them 
 comfortable. 
 
 Now Comte, in his youth, was an ardent disciple of 
 St. Simon, and from him he learned two things : (i) he 
 came to see the essential weakness of pure individualism ; 
 and (2) he was led to seek for a solution of the social 
 problem in the idea of society as an organism. The 
 problem as it presented itself to his mind took this form : 
 How can the organization of society be preserved, while 
 yet the individual is not crushed by the despotic rule of 
 the more cultured members of the state ? And his answer 
 was, that by the development of science, which is secured 
 by the individual, and yet is the product not of caprice 
 but of reason, there may be discovered the best means of 
 securing the highest happiness of humanity. 
 
 The whole history of man is regarded by Comte as the 
 history of association by means of positive science. Man 
 in his primitive state has two opposite tendencies, — the 
 
24 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 tendency to sociality and the tendency to individualism. 
 The social instinct is at first weak, yet its triumph over 
 the personal or selfish instinct is essential to the welfare 
 and even the existence of humanity. Feeling rather than 
 understanding this truth, the first leaders of mankind 
 grasped at a mode of explaining the universe which had 
 at least the merit of strengthening the social bond. Thus 
 arose what Comte calls the theological stage of human 
 development. Nature was supposed to be ruled by a 
 number of supernatural beings. Such a mode of explana- 
 tion was doomed to destruction. As men came to see 
 more and more clearly that the world is governed by law, 
 the gods were removed to a greater and greater distance, 
 — Polytheism arose out of Fetichism, and Monotheism out 
 of Polytheism. What at first seems but the gradual puri- 
 fication of theology is regarded by Comte as really a 
 preparation for its final overthrow. The substitution of a 
 limited for an indefinite number of arbitrary wills, and of 
 one will for a limited number, were but steps in the pro- 
 cess by which all interference of supernatural agents was 
 denied. 
 
 The work of dethronement was continued by metaphysic. 
 In this stage of development phenomena are explained, 
 not by the arbitrary volitions of divine beings, but by 
 abstract powers or essences, supposed to lie behind phe- 
 nomena. These powers or essences were in reality but the 
 ghosts of the vanished gods ; in other words, the truth of 
 the metaphysical era consisted in its negatio?i of theology, 
 not in any positive reconstruction of its own. The final 
 triumph of metaphysic was in the reduction of the various 
 powers of nature to the one abstraction of nature itself. 
 This is a great advance, but its fundamental weakness is 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 25 
 
 that it still supposes nature to be something lying behind 
 phenomena, and distinct from them. 
 
 The third stage in the development of humanity is the 
 positive or scientific, in which man has at last come to 
 see that for him the only realities are neither supernatural 
 beings nor metaphysical abstractions, but the laws of the 
 resemblance, the co-existence, and the succession of phe- 
 nomena as these are revealed by positive science. Now, 
 the extreme degree of specialization which the sciences 
 have now reached makes it necessary to reduce them to a 
 system ; in no other way is it possible to turn the vast 
 accumulation of facts to account for the furtherance of 
 human welfare. This done, social benevolence will rest 
 upon the secure foundation of scientific truth. The secret 
 of the universe can be no further read than is necessary 
 for the development of humanity, but man can give unity 
 to his transitory existence by mastering the laws of 
 phenomena, and especially the laws of his own nature 
 and his immediate environment. To this task let him 
 devote all his powers, abandoning for ever the useless 
 and worse than useless task of prying into the unfathom- 
 able mystery of the great universe. 
 
 In illustration of this hurried sketch of Comte's law of 
 the three stages, I may quote a few passages from the 
 introductory lecture of his Cours de Philosophie Positive. 
 
 " I believe," says Comte, " that I have discovered the 
 law of development exhibited by the human intelligence 
 in its diverse spheres of activity, — a law which can be 
 shown to rest upon a solid foundation by considerations 
 drawn from the nature of our organization, and which is 
 capable of being verified by a careful scrutiny of the past. 
 The law is this : that each of our main conceptions, each 
 
26 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 branch of knowledge, passes in succession through three 
 distinct stages, — the theological or imaginative stage, the 
 metaphysical or abstract, and the scientific or positive. 
 In other words, the mind of man, by its very nature, em- 
 ploys one after the other, in each of its inquiries, three 
 methods of explanation, the essential character of which 
 is not only different but radically distinct : first, the theo- 
 logical method ; next, the metaphysical ; and lastly, the 
 positive. Hence arise three mutually exclusive types of 
 philosophy, or general systems, in regard to the totality 
 of phenomena. The first yields the necessary starting-point 
 of human intelligence ; the third, its fixed goal ; the second 
 simply serves as a means of transition from the one to 
 the other. 
 
 " In the theological stage, the human mind seeks to 
 discover the inner nature of things, the first and the final 
 causes of all the effects which strike the senses ; in short, 
 it aims at absolute knowledge, and regards phenomena as 
 due to the direct and continuous activity of supernatural 
 beings, more or less numerous, whose arbitrary interven- 
 tion explains all the apparent anomalies of the universe. 
 
 " In the metaphysical stage, which is at bottom merely 
 a modification of the theological, for supernatural agents 
 are substituted abstract forces, entities, or personified ab- 
 stractions supposed to be inherent in different classes of 
 things, and to be capable of producing by themselves all 
 the phenomena that we observe. The mode of explana- 
 tion at this stage, therefore, consists in assigning for each 
 class a correspondent entity. 
 
 "Lastly, in the positive stage, the human mind, recog- 
 nizing the impossibility of gaining absolute conceptions 
 of things, gives up the search after the origin and destiny 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 27 
 
 of the universe and the inner causes of phenomena, and 
 limits itself to the task of finding out, by means of 
 experience combined with reflection and observation, 
 the laws of phenomena, i.e., their invariable relations of 
 similarity and succession. The explanation of facts, re- 
 duced to its simplest terms, is now regarded as simply 
 the connection which subsists between diverse particular 
 phenomena and certain general facts, the number of 
 which is continually reduced with the progress of science. 
 
 " The theological reaches its greatest perfection when 
 it substitutes the providential action of a single Being for 
 the numerous independent divinities imagined to be at 
 work in primitive times. Similarly, the highest point 
 reached by the metaphysical system consists in con- 
 ceiving, instead of a number of particular entities, a 
 single great entity, called Nature, which is viewed as the 
 sole source of all phenomena. So also, the perfection 
 of the positive system, a perfection towards which it 
 continually tends, but which it is highly probable it will 
 never quite reach, would consist in being able to represent 
 all observed phenomena as particular instances of a single 
 gene ral fact, such as, say, the fa ct of gravitation. 
 
 " We thus see that the essential character of positive 
 philosophy is to regard all phenomena as subject t o in- 
 variable laws. The aim of all its efforts is the precise 
 discovery of such laws, and the reduction of them to the 
 least possible number. What is called causes — whether 
 these are first causes or final causes — are absolutely 
 inaccessible, and the search for them is a vain search. 
 Everyone knows, in fact, that in positive explanations, 
 even the most perfect, we do not in any way pretend to 
 exhibit the productive causes of phenomena, but only to 
 
28 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 analyze with precision the circumstances of their produc- 
 tion, and to connect them with one another by fixed 
 relations of similarity and succession. 
 
 " Thus, we say that the general phenomena of the 
 universe are explained^ so far as that is possible, by the 
 Newtonian law of gravitation, because, on the one hand, 
 this theory shows the immense variety of astronomical 
 facts to be the very same fact looked at from different 
 points of view, viz., the constant tendency of all the 
 molecules of matter towards one another in direct pro- 
 portion to their mass, and in inverse proportion to the 
 squares of their distances ; while, on the other hand, 
 this general fact is presented simply as the extension of 
 a phenomenon with which we are all familiar, and which 
 by that very fact we regard as thoroughly known, I mean 
 the weight of bodies at the surface of the earth. But 
 what attraction and weight are in themselves we cannot 
 possibly tell ; such questions do not belong to the domain 
 of positive philosophy, and must be relegated to the 
 imagination of the theologian or the subtlety of the 
 metaphysician." 
 
 You must not take what has been said as a complete 
 statement of the philosophy of Comte, but only or chiefly 
 of that philosophy on its negative side. Comte's social 
 philosophy, which is the most valuable part of his system, 
 I have purposely passed over as foreign to our present 
 subject. Now here we have a formulation of the main 
 principle of Agnosticism — the unknowability of any reality 
 beyond phenomena and their laws — a principle which is 
 endorsed by many who would not accept his social 
 philosophy. Our question therefore is, whether Comte 
 and all who accept the general agnostic position are 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 29 
 
 justified in denying to man all knowledge of the Abso- 
 lute. Is such a doctrine consistent with itself? Is it 
 tenable? Can we limit ourselves in our inquiries to 
 what goes on upon this "bank and shoal of time," 
 shutting our eyes to all that may lie beyond it? 
 
 We must begin by pointing out an ambiguity in the 
 doctrine of the Relativity of Knowledge, as expressed by 
 Comte, — an ambiguity of which he was not himself clearly 
 conscious, (i) In the first place, the doctrine sometimes 
 means for him that the only true knowledge is of laws, 
 not of causes. "What is called causes," he says in the 
 passage quoted, "whether these are first or final causes, 
 are absolutely inaccessible, and the search for them is a 
 vain search." What Comte has here before his mind 
 mainly is, that theology and metaphysics have, in his 
 estimation, given a wrong explanation of the facts of 
 nature. Homer, e.g., tells us that Apollo 
 
 [3rj 8e kclt' OvXvfxwoio Kaprjpcov xwo/xevos Krjp, 
 t6£ CbfJ.oi.cnv ^x wpi dfx<p'r]pe<p'e'a re (pap^rprju, 
 etckay^av 8' dp' 6'CcttoI eV wfiwv x^o/jJvolo, 
 avTod KLvr)9evT0S' 6 5' IfCe vvktl eot/ccus. 
 e?£*er' ^reir' dirdvevde veQu, fierd 8' ibv grjicev 
 Seivr) 8e K\ayyr] yher dpyvptoio fiioio. 
 ovprjas fiev irp&rov €Tr(px eT0 KaL t^vas dpyods, 
 avrdp ^7retr' avToicn f3t\os ix e7reVK ^ s excels 
 jSdXX'' aid 8e wvpai vskijwu kollovto da.fj.ei.al. 1 
 
 The fact here, Comte would say, was that a pestilence 
 occurred among the Greek host encamped before Troy; 
 but Homer, instead of attributing it to exposure to the 
 intense heat of the sun and other physical conditions, 
 personifies the sun as Apollo, and supposes the pestilence 
 1 //. 1. 44-52. 
 
30 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 to be due to the wrath of the god. Yet false as the 
 explanation is, there was here no attempt to answer an 
 insoluble problem. To attribute the pestilence to the 
 arbitrary will of a supernatural being is to assign a "cause" 
 instead of giving a law, but it is not to raise a question 
 which, from the very nature of the case, can admit of 
 no solution. The "explanation" as Mr. Lewes says, "so 
 absurd in our eyes, was acceptable to the facile acquies- 
 cence of that epoch ; and expiatory offerings were made 
 to the irritated deity, in a case where modern science, 
 with its sanitary commission, would have seen bad drainage 
 or imperfect ventilation." 1 So in the metaphysical stage 
 men speak of nature as active, forgetting that there is 
 no "nature" apart from the special laws of phenomena. 
 To say, e.g., that "by virtue of her vis medicatrix (cura- 
 tive principle) nature cures a torn tissue or a broken 
 limb, is as absurd as to say that death by poisoning 
 must be attributed to a 'poisoning principle.'" 2 But, 
 foolish and mischievous as all such explanations are, they 
 are merely inadequate answers to questions that we are 
 entitled to ask. They are provisional hypotheses which 
 the advance of science sets aside. In the theological 
 stage, men accounted for observed facts of experience by 
 the arbitrary intervention of divine agency; in the meta- 
 physical stage, they referred them to personified abstrac- 
 tions ; but in both stages they were occupied with problems 
 of perennial interest. In this sense Comte can only mean 
 by the doctrine of the Relativity of Knowledge, that, with 
 the progress of science, the confused and imperfect con- 
 ceptions of an earlier age tend to disappear, phenomena 
 
 1 Comte's Philosophy of the Sciences, p. 28. 
 
 2 Lewes' Comte, p. 30. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 3 1 
 
 being explained by laws of nature, not by supernatural 
 agents or by metaphysical abstractions. 
 
 Now, properly interpreted, the main contention of 
 Comte may be accepted. So far as it merely says that 
 the explanation of particular facts of experience is to be 
 found in the statement of the uniformities obtaining 
 among phenomena, not in the arbitrary will of super- 
 natural agents or in hidden essences which are merely 
 abstractions that tell us nothing, he is simply affirming 
 the principle upon which all modern science rests. It 
 is no explanation of a pestilence to say that an offended 
 god sent it in his wrath, or that it is produced by a 
 " poisonous principle." The universality and necessity 
 of natural law, in other words, is a principle without 
 which no progress in knowledge is possible at all. 
 But what Comte does not see is, that when we have 
 rejected such inadequate explanations of the facts of 
 experience, we have not thereby banished religion and 
 philosophy to the region of falsehood and error. Grant- 
 ing that the phenomena of nature occur in conformity 
 with fixed and unchanging law, it does not follow that 
 in science we have reached the extreme limits of our 
 knowledge, nor would this follow even if we could reduce 
 all phenomena to invariable laws of resemblance, suc- 
 cession, and co-existence. Before we can say that all 
 theology and all metaphysic are but confused and 
 erroneous explanations of the facts of experience, we 
 must be able to show that in bringing phenomena 
 under the dominion of law we have given an ultimate 
 explanation of the universe, or at least the only explana- 
 tion that is possible for us with our limited capacities. 
 Unless this is firmly established — unless it is shown that 
 
32 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 there is no other problem to be solved but that which 
 the special sciences set before us — we are simply starting 
 from an unverified hypothesis, and falling into a mistake 
 not less disastrous than that of explaining experience by 
 the fictions of a false theology and a false metaphysic. 
 Now it may, I think, be shown that Comte has fallen 
 into this fundamental mistake. 
 
 For (2), in the second place, in his doctrine of the 
 Relativity of Knowledge, Comte also assumes that the 
 human mind is necessarily limited to the knowledge of 
 phenomena^ and is conscious of its own limitation. This 
 is the question which lies at the basis of all knowledge, 
 and we must therefore subject it to the most careful 
 scrutiny. 
 
 I have no desire to underestimate the force of the 
 objection to the possibility of absolute knowledge. It 
 is obvious that there is a sense in which man can no 
 more claim to be perfect in knowledge than he can 
 claim to be perfect in conduct. The shadow of ignor- 
 ance accompanies us all through life, and as some things 
 stand -out for us in a clearer light we become more 
 conscious than ever how little we know. The conceit 
 of knowledge is most vigorous in those who have recently 
 learned a few elementary truths, just as spiritual conceit 
 is found in its purest form in men whose religious ex- 
 perience is of a rudimentary and undeveloped kind. 
 The question, however, that is at present before us is 
 not whether man has, or can have, complete knowledge, 
 but whether what he calls knowledge is, strictly speaking, 
 not the apprehension of things as they really are, but 
 only of things as to his finite mind they seem to be. 
 That this is the question will be evident if we draw 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 33 
 
 out the meaning of Comte's limitation of knowledge to 
 phenomena. Observe — 
 
 (a) That this limitation implies that there are two 
 mutually exclusive realms — the realm of phenomena and 
 the realm of things in themselves. Within the former 
 man is free to move. He can range at will through the 
 whole of this domain, ever learning to know it more exactly 
 and more fully. Thus he adds to his knowledge of the 
 laws of mathematics, physics, chemistry, and biology, 
 and, in Comte's view, of the laws of society and even 
 of humanity as a whole. But beyond this he cannot go. 
 He is as absolutely shut up within this limited sphere 
 of existence as Mephistopheles was confined within the 
 pentagram drawn by Faust. At the same time Comte 
 implies that there is a realm of existence lying entirely 
 outside the realm of phenomena. What is the nature 
 of this realm man cannot possibly tell, his knowledge 
 being only of the realm of phenomena. 
 
 {b) Before examining this doctrine further, it is important 
 to see clearly all that it involves. Let us suppose, then, 
 that there are two distinct realms — the realm of phe- 
 nomena and the realm of things in themselves. At first 
 sight the theory seems to imply that there is absolutely 
 nothing in common between the two spheres. For, how- 
 ever far we may push our knowledge of phenomena, we 
 never penetrate to the realm of ultimate realities. It is 
 implied, however, that there actually exists a realm of 
 realities, which might be apprehended if our capacities 
 were different from what they are. We assume, in other 
 words, that there are two kinds of intelligence — the finite 
 or limited intelligence of man, and (^higher) kind of 
 intelligence which is ( nfinite or unlimited.^ We must there- 
 
34 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 fore present the matter to ourselves in this way : The 
 sphere of phenomena is the object of finite intelligence, 
 the sphere of things in themselves is the object of infinite 
 intelligence. Not only, therefore, does the theory of Comte 
 assume two kinds of existence, but it assumes two kinds 
 of intelligence corresponding to them. 
 
 Now, if we allow these assumptions to pass unquestioned 
 without asking by what right they are rnjjxie, the con- 
 clusion of Comte, that man is incapable of jknowing reality 
 and must content himself with a knowledge of appearances, 
 follows as a matter of course. But what Comte has not 
 tried to do is to justify those assumptions. Every theory 
 of knowledge must at least be consistent with itself, i.e., 
 it must not hold two principles that contradict each other. 
 This, however, is just what Comte has done. In his 
 theory, as we have seen, he makes a double assumption : 
 (i) that there are two realms of existence; (2) that there 
 are two kinds of intelligence. I think it may be easily 
 shown that both assumptions are self-contradictory. It 
 is one of the many incisive remarks of Kant, that Dog- 
 matism always leads to Scepticism. In other words, if 
 something is assumed without the previous question being 
 raised, whether it is compatible with the very possibility of 
 knowledge, the logical result is the denial of all knowledge. 
 (1) It is said that there (ar^ two distinct spheres of 
 existence — phenomena and things as they are. These 
 1 two realms are supposed to be so different in their nature, 
 that there is no point of contact between thenjl But (a) 
 
 ^j[ ^ it is assumed by Comte that both are forms of existence. 
 The phenomena that we know are not mere fictions of 
 
 V t v our own individual minds j the^jirS real objects and 
 events, occurring in a real world. On the other hand, 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 35 
 
 Comte tells us, that we have no faculty by which we 
 can apprehend the Absolute, and therefore we cannot go 
 behind the veil of phenomena to see things as they are 
 sub specie aeternitalis. If that be true, does it not follow 
 that the phenomena which appear to us have no proper 
 reality? If we could contemplate the universe from a 
 point of view higher than the human, all would be different. 
 We should then be as gods, knowing existence in its real 
 nature. But, confined as we are to a small section of 
 the great universe, we cannot possibly do more than 
 arrange in an orderly way the illusions that we call / 
 realities. In other words, we have no knowledge at all. / 
 
 (b) On the other hand, Comte speaks of the objects 
 and events that we perceive as phenomena. Now, a / 
 phenomenon is an appearance. Of what, then, are the 
 objects and events that we apprehencT" appearances "? 
 They can only, be appearances or manifestations of the 
 absolute realities which do not appear. Manifestly, that 
 is what Comte means. But, if things as they truly are 
 present themselves to us even imperfectly, it cannot be 
 said that our ignorance of them is absolute. Ignorance 
 is the complete negation of knowledge, not an incomplete 
 apprehension. There is, as Plato said, a middle-region 
 lying between complete ignorance and complete know- 
 ledge, and partaking partly of the nature of both. To 
 this form of apprehension, which Plato called opinion 
 (So£a), the knowledge of phenomena must correspond. 
 A man is not blind because he is short-sightedp* So if 
 the objects that we know are really manifestations of 
 absolute realities, we cannot be completely ignorant ot 
 those realities, though our apprehension of them may be 
 incomplete. Comte's theory therefore involves this funda- 
 
36 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 mental contradiction : it asserts, on the one hand, that 
 we know nothing but phenomena, and, on the other hand, 
 that what we know are manifestations of reality. 
 
 (2) Comte's doctrine further implies that there are two 
 distinct kinds of intelligence, — that which apprehends 
 phenomena only, and that which knows reality as it truly 
 is. The self-contradictory character of this aspect ot 
 Comte's doctrine is even more apparent than the other. 
 What would be the character of an intelligence that was 
 absolutely limited to the apprehension of phenomena? 
 Obviously it would have no consciousness of its own 
 limits. Appearances it would take for realities, and no 
 advance in knowledge could ever suggest to it that its 
 apprehension was only of appearances. The men of 
 Plato's cave supposed that the shadows on the wall of 
 their prison were the only realities, but they were not 
 incapable of freeing themselves from their chains, going 
 up to the light, and seeing the sun and the stars. 
 Comte's conception of human intelligence, on the other 
 hand, is of an intelligence so absolutely limited in its 
 apprehensions that it is absolutely incapable of any know- 
 ledge of absolute reality. Such an intelligence would not 
 be aware of its own limitations. If I know that my 
 knowledge is limited, I must also know something of 
 what is beyond the limit. If we are conscious that the 
 facts and laws that constitute what we call science are 
 manifestations of absolute realities, it must be because 
 our intelligence in some way comprehends both spheres. 
 Comte's doctrine, however, is that human intelligence is 
 absolutely limited to phenomena, and therefore differs 
 fundamentally from an intelligence that knows reality as 
 it is. In other words, he holds that our intelligence is 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 37 
 
 absolutely limited, or, in other words, is incapable of any 
 comprehension of real existence. But, as we have seen, 
 this is the same as saying that human intelligence is un- 
 conscious of its own limits. On the other hand, Comte, 
 in affirming that our knowledge is limited, assumes that 
 our intelligence discerns its own limitations. That is to 
 say, he at once affirms and denies the consciousness of 
 limitation, which is self-contradictory. 
 
 It seems to me, then, that the doctrine of the Relativity 
 of Knowledge, as understood by Comte, rests upon a 
 fundamental contradiction. It separates existence into 
 two mutually exclusive parts — the phenomenal and the 
 real — and it assumes two opposite kinds of intelligence. 
 Both assumptions are self-contradictory. Existence is one, 
 and intelligence is one. In other words, man must be 
 capable of knowing reality as it truly is, and of such 
 knowledge he is capable because in his intelligence is 
 contained the principle by which the secret of existence 
 may be discovered. I propose therefore to start from the 
 principle that there is one intelligible universe and one 
 kind of intelligence. This is not, I think, an assumption, 
 because, as we have seen, any one who begins with the 
 supposition that the universe is not intelligible, and that 
 there are two kinds of intelligence, falls into insoluble 
 contradiction. 
 
 But before attempting to apply the fundamental principle 
 of the unity of the world and the unity of intelligence, 
 in the construction of a system of philosophy, it seems 
 advisable to say a few words on the distinction between 
 absolute knowledge and knowledge of the absolute. 
 
 What gives plausibility to the Comtean doctrine of the 
 Relativity of Knowledge is the manifest fact that knowledge 
 
38 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 is continually growing, and that it is still only in its 
 infancy. But if we know only in part, how, it is naturally 
 asked, can we claim to know the whole? 
 
 Now, it must be pointed out, to begin with, that this 
 way of putting the problem assumes that knowledge con- 
 sists in adding particular to particular, and, as a con- 
 sequence, that a knowledge of the whole is possible only 
 by summing up an infinity of particulars. So stated, the 
 problem is manifestly insoluble. If we can know reality 
 as it is only after we have exhausted all possible par- 
 ticulars, we shall never have a knowledge of reality. We 
 must therefore begin by asking whether any form of 
 knowledge, even the most elementary, can be correctly 
 defined as the apprehension of particulars, and the exten- 
 sion of knowledge as an accumulation of particulars. 
 
 Now, I think it may easily be shown that a knowledge 
 of mere particulars is a contradiction in terms. Take 
 any instance of what would naturally be regarded as the 
 apprehension of a particular, and it will be found to imply 
 a universal. I have before me, e.g., a piece of sugar. 
 Now, certainly we should say that here, if anywhere, we 
 have an instance of a pure particular. The piece of sugar 
 I see is this piece, not any other. It is not like the 
 conception sugar, which, as every one would admit, is not 
 particular; but it seems to be a unique thing, separate 
 and distinct from every other thing in the universe. Let 
 us, then, go on the supposition that the piece of sugar 
 is a mere particular. If so, I must apprehend it purely 
 in itself, and as in no way dependent for its properties 
 on anything else. Now, if I perceive this particular 
 thing to be sugar, manifestly I must perceive its pro- 
 perties. Apart from the properties which characterize 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 39 
 
 it, it would not be what it is. That is, I must apprehend 
 the object before me as occupying a certain position : as 
 cubical, hard, white, sweet, of a certain weight. Take 
 the property of position. This is a property which seems 
 to belong to the sugar as a particular object. For the 
 position which it occupies is unique, and cannot be 
 occupied at the same time by any other object. But 
 what is position"? If it were possible to suppose that 
 there was only one part of space, viz., that occupied 
 by this piece of sugar, I could not say that the sugar 
 had position. For the position of a thing is relative to 
 the position of other things. This sugar is perceived as 
 here, i.e., it is distinguished from other objects that are 
 not here. If there were no other actual or possible 
 objects, I should not perceive the sugar as here or in 
 this position. Position therefore does not attach to the 
 sugar as isolated from all other objects, but only to the 
 sugar as occupying a different part of space from other 
 objects. But this contradicts our first view, that position 
 is a property of this particular thing, the sugar. We 
 might go on to show that every other particular object 
 perceived has position only relatively to other objects. 
 Manifestly, therefore, every so-called particular object 
 exists in a single space, no part of which is peculiar to 
 any one object. That is to say, space is a form of 
 things which unites them together and makes them all 
 belong to one world. 
 
 Now, there is no possibility of perceiving, or even of 
 imagining space as a whole: extend our perception as 
 far as we please and we never come to the end of space. 
 Space must therefore be grasped, not by sense or imagin- 
 ation, but by thought. We can think space as one, 
 
40 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 though we cannot perceive it as one. But what is most 
 important here is, that we cannot perceive any particular 
 object as here, without thinking of it as belonging to 
 the one single space. Even in our simplest knowledge 
 therefore, we are dealing not with particulars, but with 
 particulars connected together in a unity. Knowledge is 
 never of the mere particular. 
 
 I have brought forward this illustration of the sugar in 
 order to show that knowledge is not a mere accumulation 
 of particulars but a comprehension of the particular as 
 a special aspect of one world. If there really were any 
 true particular — any unique object absolutely independent 
 of all others — it would exist in a world by itself; and 
 therefore there would be as many worlds as there were 
 particular objects. Now, even Comte would admit that 
 all the phenomena that we know belong to one world. 
 He is therefore bound to admit that in our apprehension 
 of particulars we must presuppose that they are all parts 
 of one world. More especially, he is bound to admit 
 that every sensible object must, to be known at all, be 
 known as occupying a certain definable position in the 
 one single space which embraces all such objects. And if 
 so, we can lay down this universal proposition: There can 
 be no knowledge of any sensible object that is not in space. 
 
 We have learned then, that besides the particular aspect 
 of an object there is always implied a certain universal 
 aspect. I never can perceive a piece of sugar that does . 
 not occupy a certain relative position in space. I am not 
 in my knowledge tied down to what I am perceiving at 
 any given moment, but I can foretell the necessary con- 
 ditions of all my perceptions, future as well as present. 
 If so, is it not obvious that to have knowledge it is not 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 4 1 
 
 necessary that I should have an infinite number of per- 
 ceptions ? When the principle of knowledge is discovered, 
 we have at the same time discovered what holds true 
 universally and necessarily. If no sensible object can 
 be apprehended at all that is not in space, we can say, 
 without any limitation : Every sensible thing must occupy 
 some position. 
 
 Let us see the bearing of this principle on the general 
 doctrine of the Relativity of Knowledge. Comte argues 
 that the continual advance of knowledge makes it im- 
 possible for us to claim that we know things as they are 
 in their ultimate nature. For how can we say that we 
 comprehend the whole universe if we know only a limited 
 part of it? Now, the direction in which an answer to 
 this difficulty lies may be seen from what has been said. 
 It is not necessary to have a knowledge of all the aspects 
 of the universe in order to show that we apprehend it 
 as it truly is. For when we grasp the fundamental 
 principle, without which a certain kind of knowledge is 
 impossible, by that very fact we establish the absoluteness 
 of our knowledge. However I may extend my know- 
 ledge of sensible objects, I cannot possibly apprehend a 
 sensible object that is not in space. I can therefore 
 say, that while my knowledge of the particular objects 
 existing in the universe may be indefinitely extended, it 
 can be extended only on the lines that I have hitherto 
 followed. Science is continually adding to our knowledge 
 of objects, but it does so in accordance with the nature 
 of space, or — what is the same thing — with the principles 
 of mathematics. Every scientific man assumes that no 
 two bodies can be in the same part of space at the same 
 time. Whether he is aware of it or not, this assumption 
 
42 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 can be seen to follow from the very nature of space, all 
 the parts of which are mutually exclusive. It is sub- 
 stantially the same with the other principles of science. 
 The law of gravitation, e.g., which Comte adduces as a 
 striking instance of the triumph of the "positive" method, 
 is not merely that every body attracts every other body 
 so long as we perceive them ; but that every body must 
 always attract every other body. A law, in other words, 
 is always the expression of a fixed relation that admits 
 of no exception. The extension of knowledge can never 
 overthrow the law, though it may show that it is only 
 one form of a higher law. From all this it follows, that 
 there is nothing in the progress of science to shake our 
 faith in the absoluteness of knowledge. It is not claimed 
 that we have all knowledge, but only that what we know 
 expresses the true nature of things. The progress of 
 knowledge always has two sides : on the one hand, it is 
 an advance to a fuller apprehension of the particular 
 aspects of existence, and, on the other hand, it is an 
 advance to a better comprehension of the laws or fixed 
 relations of existence. We cannot have the one without 
 the other. The very idea of the progress of knowledge 
 implies that as we advance we carry with us what we 
 have already acquired. The course of science is not by 
 discontinuous leaps : it is an evolution in which a principle 
 already grasped is seen to involve a higher principle. 
 But the higher principle does not destroy but only re- 
 interprets the lower. Thus the principles of mathematics 
 are not abolished by physics or chemistry, but are 
 accepted and shown to involve more concrete prin- 
 ciples. Biology does not destroy physics and chemistry, 
 but only shows that they imply wider principles. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE. 
 
 GEOMETRY. 
 
 Philosophy is an inquiry into the possibility and the 
 conditions of real knowledge. As there are three real or 
 apparent spheres of knowledge — Nature, Mind, and God — 
 it will be convenient to begin by asking whether a real 
 knowledge of nature is possible, and, if so, what are its 
 conditions? This problem again breaks up into three 
 subordinate problems — (i) Is there a mathematical know- 
 ledge of nature ? (2) Is there a physical knowledge of 
 nature? (3) Is there a biological knowledge of nature? 
 
 Mathematical knowledge, supposing it to be possible, is 
 the science of magnitude. Now, magnitudes may be dis- 
 tinguished as either continuous or discrete. If I say, "It 
 is a mile to the post-office," I imply that to get there I 
 must proceed continuously from the place where I now 
 am. On the other hand, in judging that the number of 
 objects before me is twelve, I count or sum up units which 
 are regarded as distinct or discrete. But we must further 
 distinguish in continuous magnitudes between those that 
 are extensive, or imply mutual externality, and those that 
 
44 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 are intensive, or exclude mutual externality. Thus every 
 part of space or time is continuous and extensive, whereas 
 the magnitude of a force is continuous and intensive. 
 Limiting ourselves at present to extensive magnitudes, we 
 find that under this head come Space, Time, and Motion. 
 The mathematics of space is Geometry; the mathematics 
 of time has no generally accepted name, but it might be 
 called Chronometry ; the mathematics of motion is now 
 commonly known as Kinematics. Let us begin with 
 Geometry. 
 
 The object we have in view is not to construct a system 
 of geometry, but to inquire whether it is a real science of 
 nature. To this it must be added that the geometrical 
 knowledge of which we speak is that which rests upon 
 the supposition that space is of three, and only three, 
 dimensions ; in other words, that while three lines may be 
 drawn in it at right angles to one another, it is impossible 
 to draw a fourth line which will not coincide with one ol 
 the others. It cannot, of course, be said without in- 
 vestigation that a space of more than three dimensions is 
 impossible; but as even those who maintain such a space 
 to be possible do not claim that we have any direct know- 
 ledge of it, we may assume provisionally that space is 
 only of three dimensions. Our question is therefore this : 
 Do the propositions of ordinary or Euclidian geometry 
 form a real science? 
 
 Mill, as we know, maintains that geometry is not" a 
 science, if by this we mean that its propositions express 
 the real properties of things and are absolutely true. For 
 these propositions, he contends, rest upon the assump- 
 tion that there are real points, lines, surfaces, etc., cor- 
 responding to the definitions of geometry, and this 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 45 
 
 assumption is not borne out by facts. He further 
 maintains that geometrical propositions rest upon induc- 
 tion, and therefore cannot be shown to be universal or 
 necessary. 
 
 Is Mill right in saying that geometry is not an exact 
 science? His doctrine may be put in this way. If 
 geometry is a science at all, the elementary conceptions 
 or definitions on which it rests cannot be mere fictions of 
 the imagination, for no system of fictions, however con- 
 sistent it may be with itself, can tell us anything as to 
 the real nature of things. Geometry must therefore be 
 based upon our perceptions of real things. But when we 
 try it by this test, it is found to be wanting in precision 
 and accuracy. Sensible objects possess, among other pro- 
 perties, a certain definite figure. This desk, e.g., has a 
 certain shape. To my unaided eye its edges seem straight, 
 but if I put them under the microscope I find that they 
 are only approximately straight. No sensible object can 
 be found in nature whose edges are perfectly straight. In 
 fact, " their existence, so far as we can form any judgment, 
 would seem to be inconsistent with the physical constitu- 
 tion of our planet at least, if not of the universe." It is 
 true that no error of any importance will be made by sup- 
 posing the edges of objects to be straight which seem to 
 be so, but this does not alter the fact that geometry does 
 not express the precise nature of sensible magnitudes. The 
 peculiar accuracy supposed to be characteristic of the first 
 principles of geometry is therefore an illusion. The in- 
 ferences which geometry draws from its premises are 
 correct, but as the premises are only approximately true, 
 the conclusions deduced from them share in the same 
 want of precision. 
 
46 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 It is obvious that, in denying the accuracy of geometrical 
 propositions, Mill takes it for granted that we have a know- 
 ledge of the actual properties of real things. The reason 
 why a straight line, as denned in geometry, is not a precise 
 statement, is, that no actual object can anywhere be found 
 whose edge is perfectly straight. We know that as a 
 matter of fact real things differ in their figure from the 
 figures with which geometry deals. The contrast which 
 is drawn is not between some reality that is unknown to 
 us and reality as we suppose it to be, but between the 
 sensible objects which we do know and the inadequate 
 conceptions of them which are found in geometry. It is 
 a possible hypothesis that we have no knowledge of reality 
 as it truly is, and that to a perfect intelligence none of the 
 properties that we ascribe to things really belong to them. 
 Kant, for example, holds that to an infinite intelligence 
 the geometrical properties under which objects present 
 themselves to us are seen to be unreal. We suppose real 
 things to lie apart from one another, and to have figure 
 and size ; but (from the point of view of a wider intelli- 
 gence) these properties are merely the manner in which 
 we present things to ourselves, not the manner in which 
 they actually exist. There is no other way in which we 
 can be conscious of things than by exhibiting them as in 
 space, but this arises from a limitation which attaches to 
 us as finite beings, and which prevents us from knowing 
 reality as it truly is. 
 
 After what has already been said in regard to the 
 doctrine of the limitation of human knowledge, we 
 may assume with Mill that real things actually possess 
 geometrical properties which we are capable of knowing. 
 Nor does there seem any reason to dispute the view 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 47 
 
 that no actual object can be found with its edges perfectly 
 straight, or with a figure exactly corresponding to a 
 triangle, a circle, or any other geometrical conception. 
 Does it follow from this admission, that geometry is not an 
 exact science ? It certainly seems to follow ; for if we 
 know the properties of real things to be different from 
 what geometry assumes them to be, it is hard to resist 
 the conviction that geometry is inconsistent with an 
 actual knowledge of things, and therefore is not, strictly 
 speaking, entitled to the rank of a science. We have 
 therefore to ask whether Mill's conception of geometry is 
 correct. 
 
 The first thing that strikes us is, that whether correct 
 or not, Mill's view of geometry is not that which the 
 mathematician would be inclined to accept. It is safe 
 to say that Euclid, in defining a line as "length without 
 breadth," did not mean that any actual object could be 
 found in nature all length and no breadth. A line is 
 not something that can be seen or felt. We can see or 
 feel the edge of a sensible object, but we cannot see 
 or feel a line. A line drawn on paper or on a black- 
 board is a visible object, but this is not the line with 
 which geometry deals. A line that can be defined as 
 " length without breadth " is from the nature of the case 
 invisible and intangible. It is thus obvious that, in some 
 sense, geometry does not deal with visible or tangible 
 objects, but with invisible and intangible objects. How, 
 then, it is naturally asked, can geometry be said to deal 
 with real things ? Are not all real things sensible objects ? 
 If so, does not geometry in dealing with objects that are 
 not sensible, turn away from reality and operate with 
 fictions of its own construction? 
 
48 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 Now, here again it may be observed that the mathe- 
 matician, while he is perfectly aware that the points, 
 lines, and circles with which he operates are not sensible 
 objects, does not suppose that he is dealing with mere 
 fictions of abstraction. He applies without hesitation the 
 conclusions he reaches to the actual world. The whole 
 of applied mathematics is a proof of this conviction. 
 Hence, unless the mathematician is totally mistaken, 
 there must be a sense in which geometry deals with 
 the real properties of things, though it does not deal 
 with their sensible properties. At first sight this seems 
 to be self-contradictory; it apparently admits that things 
 as they actually exist have sensible properties, and yet it 
 claims that in dealing with non-sensible properties it is 
 dealing with realities and not with fictions. Is there any 
 way of avoiding this contradiction? 
 
 To answer this question we must ask what is implied 
 in the knowledge of real things. By "real things" is 
 here to be understood sensible objects existing in a space 
 of three dimensions. To take a simple case, how do I 
 know that this desk is an object in space, having a certain 
 figure and size? Mill would answer that we obtain a 
 knowledge of it by means of our senses; or, more pre- 
 cisely, by means of our sensations, actual or suggested. 
 As I run my eye over the desk I have a series of 
 sensations of colour; if I press it at any point, I find 
 that I experience a feeling of hardness and of resistance ; 
 if I strike it with my hand, it gives forth a sound. At 
 the present moment, when I am merely looking at the 
 desk, I have no sensations from it of hardness, resistance, 
 or sound; nor have I all the sensations of colour that 
 I am capable of having from it by inspecting it minutely. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 49 
 
 My actual sensations are therefore limited to those of 
 colour, and to some only out of the great number which 
 I am capable of having from this object. But, if you ask 
 me what is the nature of the desk, I can recall in idea 
 the various sensations I have formerly felt, and these sug- 
 gested sensations I regard as indicating real properties not 
 less than those I actually experience at this moment. The 
 desk, therefore, so far as its sensible qualities are concerned, 
 may be said to be a "permanent possibility of sensation." 
 
 At present I shall not dispute this account of how we 
 obtain a knowledge of the sensible qualities of an ex- 
 ternal object. Our immediate concern is not with these, 
 but with the geometrical properties. Granting that I 
 know this desk by means of my sensations to be coloured, 
 hard, solid, resonant, how do we obtain a knowledge of 
 its position, shape, size, etc. ? Are these also revealed to 
 us in sensations, actual or possible? Mill would answer 
 that they are. He speaks of "the exact resemblance of 
 our ideas of form to the sensations which suggest them" 1 
 and of our "impressions of form." 2 I run my eye along 
 the edge of the desk, and I have a series of impressions 
 of colour which give me the perception of its straightness, 
 or rather apparent straightness. This series of impres- 
 sions, and others of a like kind, are the source and the 
 only source of my knowledge of straight lines. It is 
 true that I cannot have a perception of the edge alone, 
 but I can concentrate my attention upon the edge, and 
 neglect the other sensations actual and possible which 
 make up my perception of a desk, including those of its 
 breadth and height. 
 
 Now, in the first place, it may be shown that our per- 
 
 1 Logic, Bk. II., ch. v., § 5. 2 Ibid., §4. 
 D 
 
50 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 ception of the position and figure of a sensible object is 
 not derived from sensation. If it is held to be so 
 derived, it must be possible to state from which class 
 of our sensations, or from what combination of sensations 
 it is derived. Position or figure is not an object of sight, 
 or it would be a colour ; not of touch or the muscular 
 sense, or it would be a feeling; nor of hearing, or it 
 would be a sound j certainly not of taste or smell. Now, 
 if the figure and magnitude ot objects cannot be given 
 in sensation, there is no other source from which, on Mill's 
 theory of knowledge, they can be derived. The old 
 saying, Nihil est in intellectu, quod non fuerit in sensu, is 
 the cardinal principle of that theory. Whatever is present 
 to our minds as an object must first exist, either in whole 
 or in part, in our sensation. When I am not actually 
 experiencing a sensation of colour from this desk, I may 
 yet have an idea or image of it ; but if I had never had 
 the sensation I could not have the idea. Even the 
 elements out of which pure fictions are formed must first 
 have existed as sensations. The Cerberus of classic 
 mythology was formed out of elements given in actual 
 sensation. Imagination can associate sensations in an 
 infinite variety of ways, but it cannot create a single new 
 element. This being Mill's view of the nature of know- 
 ledge, he simply must hold that the geometrical pro- 
 perties of bodies are somehow given to us in sensation. 
 Now, it is manifest that they cannot be given- in indi- 
 vidual sensations. No number of sensations of colour, 
 hardness, resistance, or sound can present to me this 
 desk as extended. 
 
 It may, however, be thought that, while extension is not 
 given in any of these sensations separately, it yet is deriv- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 5 I 
 
 able from them in this sense, that a number of sensations 
 may be so associated as to appear extended. This is the 
 view which Mill, following Hume, adopts. Thus he would 
 say that, when I have repeatedly had a series of impres- 
 sions of colour, as when I perceive the edge of this desk, 
 they become so associated together, that though they are 
 really successive they seem to be coexistent. In this way 
 it is thought that extension may be explained without aid 
 from any principle but association. This explanation may 
 be easily shown to be inadequate. It is admitted that 
 sensations of colour are not themselves extended ; hence 
 no number of them, however they may be associated, can 
 yield the perception of extension. It is no answer to say 
 that by frequency of association they come to seem co- 
 existent when in reality they are simply closely successive ; 
 for the coexistence of sensations of colour is simultaneity 
 or coexistence in time, not extension or coexistence in 
 space. If I look at this desk and at the same time hear 
 the bell ring, the sight of the desk and the sound of the 
 bell are simultaneous, but they are not coexistent in space. 
 Every attempt to reduce extension to simultaneity, or 
 apparent simultaneity, of impressions owes its plausibility 
 to the assumption of what it pretends to explain. Thus 
 Hume, after asserting that our perception of extension is 
 reducible to impressions of colour or hardness, goes on to 
 speak, not of these, but of "points or corpuscles en- 
 dowed with colour and solidity." As by a "point or 
 corpuscle" he can only mean a coloured surface or solid, 
 it is easy enough apparently to account for visible or 
 tangible extension from sensations : the extension is simply 
 assumed, in defiance of the fact that on Hume's own 
 showing no sensation is extended. 
 
52 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 We may conclude, then, that no geometrical property 
 of a sensible object can be derived from any number or 
 variety of sensations, nor from any association of sensa- 
 tions. But, if the sensible figure and magnitude of 
 individual objects is not explicable from sensation, Mill's 
 explanation of the manner in which geometry obtains its 
 data must be false. A sensible line, he says, has breadth 
 as well as length ; but " we can reason about it as if it 
 had no breadth, because we have . . . the power, 
 when a perception is present to our senses ... of 
 attending to a part only of that perception, instead of 
 the whole." In other words, a sensible line is a coloured 
 or tangible surface, but we can abstract, not only from 
 its colour and hardness, but even from its breadth, and 
 direct our attention only to its length. But we cannot 
 abstract from breadth if there is no breadth to abstract 
 from j we cannot attend to length if there is no length 
 to attend to. You must catch your hare before you 
 cook it. Mill's sensible surface, as we have seen, reduces 
 itself to a number of sensations that are really or appar- 
 ently simultaneous, but it contains no hint of extension 
 either in length or breadth. There is therefore no material 
 for abstraction to work upon, and the line of geometry 
 is equally inexplicable with the sensible line from which 
 it is said to be derived. 
 
 We come back, then, to the point that, • granting the 
 sensible properties of things to be sufficiently explained 
 by sensation, their geometrical qualities cannot be so 
 explained. Now, we cannot rest satisfied with that refuge 
 of the destitute, the conclusion that we here reach an 
 " ultimate inexplicability," which is simply another way 
 of saying that our theory has broken down. There can 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 53 
 
 v 
 
 be no doubt that we have the perception of sensible 
 objects as extended and figured, and it cannot be impos- 
 sible to explain how we come to have that perception. 
 The theory that sensation and associations of sensation 
 account for the facts having failed, we must inquire whether 
 there is not in the perception of an extended object an 
 element or operation implied that cannot be described 
 either as sensation or as an association of sensations. 
 
 We have the perception of sensible objects as having 
 position, magnitude, and figure. This is the fact to be 
 explained. Let us first be clear as to what we mean by 
 an "object." This desk may be viewed as an object, 
 but so also may every particle of which it is composed. 
 For the sake of simplicity, let us suppose that we per- 
 ceive one of these particles. Now, according to the 
 hypothesis from which we have started, the colour, hard- 
 ness, and other sensible properties belonging to the particle 
 may be explained by sensation, but not its position, mag- 
 nitude, or figure. Let us ask, first of all, how we come 
 to have a perception of the position of the particle. A 
 very natural answer is, that we apprehend the particle as 
 in a certain part of space, and thus come to know its 
 position : in other words, position is supposed to be a 
 quality belonging to this individual particle. If that is 
 the case, obviously the particle would retain its position 
 even if there were no other particle in the whole of space. 
 Now, we need not trouble ourselves to ask whether the 
 particle as it is in itself, or apart from our knowledge, 
 has position as a quality attaching to it individually; for 
 this at least is plain, that of position in that sense we 
 have no knowledge. I apprehend the particle, it is said, 
 as having a certain position in space. But what is its 
 
54 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 position? What part of space does it occupy? Where 
 is it? If I could perceive the whole of space, I might 
 be able to fix the position of the particle by reference to 
 space alone. Thus, if space were a sphere with a definite 
 boundary, I might locate the particle as occupying a 
 certain position on this sphere. But space has no 
 boundary, or at least no boundary that we can perceive. 
 No one ever saw the end of space. Hence I cannot 
 locate the particle by reference to space. How, then, do 
 I locate it? Manifestly by reference to other particles. 
 Thus, if I view the desk as made up of a number of 
 particles, I can determine the position of any one of 
 them by reference to the position of the others. It thus 
 appears that no individual particle as such has position, 
 but that its position is fixed by reference to the position 
 of other particles. In other words, position is not a 
 quality attaching to the individual particle, but to indi- 
 vidual particles in their relation to one another. What 
 is the nature of this relation? It is a relation of pure 
 externality or outwardness, and of outwardness as imply- 
 ing coexistence. Observe also that the particles have 
 position relatively to one another, because every part of 
 this outwardness is exactly the same as every other part. 
 Unless this were so, I could not determine the position 
 of any one of them. If, e.g., we suppose the particles 
 to be at rest, and the distance between them to be con- 
 tinually contracting and expanding, we could not say that 
 they had any fixed position. But the conception of dis- 
 tance as contracting and expanding is contradictory of the 
 very idea of spatial outwardness. The particles may 
 approach or recede from one another, but space always 
 remains the same, and unless it did so, we could not 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE— GEOMETRY. 55 
 
 perceive the particles to approach or recede from one 
 another. Thus, if two particles approached each other 
 at the rate of one inch per second, and the space between 
 them expanded at the same rate, we could not perceive 
 the particles to move. What this shows is, that in the 
 perception of the distance of one particle from another, 
 we must necessarily presuppose that all the parts of space 
 are absolutely alike. 
 
 We may see the same thing from another point of 
 view. We have supposed that the sensible objects per- 
 ceived by us are individual particles. But are there any 
 purely individual particles? Obviously we cannot per- 
 ceive a particle as concentrated in a point. For a particle 
 to be perceived at all must admittedly be perceived as 
 coloured or hard, and we cannot perceive a mere point 
 as either coloured or hard. The supposed individual 
 particle must therefore be perceived as having within itself 
 parts that are external to one another. We cannot pos- 
 sibly perceive any object, however small, that is not 
 perceived as having parts external to one another. Just 
 as we cannot perceive a maximum of space, so we cannot 
 perceive a minimum of space. Space is illimitable both 
 as a whole and in every one of its parts. Now, if space 
 cannot be perceived either as a whole or as a part, it is 
 plain that it is not something that exists ready-made and 
 can be apprehended or taken up by us as such. There 
 must be in us a peculiar form of consciousness by which 
 it becomes an object for us. What is this form of 
 consciousness ? 
 
 We have found that in the perception of objects, as in 
 space, there is implied their mutual externality, and that 
 this mutual externality is a relation. But the relation of 
 
56 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 mutual externality implies an act of thought, i.e., a dis- 
 crimination and yet relation of elements. If we do not 
 discriminate the objects we cannot perceive them as ex- 
 ternal to one another; if we do not relate them to one 
 another, we cannot perceive them as occupying any position. 
 Now, this complex act of discrimination and relation is 
 essential to every perception of an object, because apart 
 from it the object could not be perceived at all. In other 
 words, the conception of mutual externality is the absolute 
 condition of there being for us any perception whatever. 
 It is not a conception that can be derived from a per- 
 ception, for without it there could be for us no perception. 
 It cannot be reduced to sensation, for a sensation as 
 individual cannot yield the consciousness of relation. 
 Space or the mutual externality of the sensible is there- 
 fore the consciousness of the outwardness of sensible 
 objects as constituted by the activity of thought. It is 
 a purely intellectual element, and in no way a product 
 of sense. 
 
 The perception of an object as in space thus involves 
 a peculiar intellectual form of consciousness. It must 
 not be supposed, however, that this form of conscious- 
 ness could exist purely by itself. As we have seen, pure 
 space is not of itself an object of perception. We per- 
 ceive sensible objects as in space, but we cannot perceive 
 space by itself. And the reason is, that space is simply 
 the conception of the mutual externality of the sensible ; 
 it is a relation, and no relation has any independent 
 reality. We can therefore say on the one hand, that 
 apart from the sensible properties of things we have no 
 consciousness of their geometrical relations; and, on the 
 other hand, that apart from the geometrical relations of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 
 
 57 
 
 things we have no consciousness of their sensible pro- 
 perties. But there is this difference between the two 
 elements implied in perception, that, whereas the sensible 
 properties may widely vary, every sensible object is in 
 space. Hence we can treat space as if it had a reality 
 independently of all the other properties of objects ; and 
 this, as we shall immediately see, is the key to the peculiar 
 character of geometry. 
 
 We are now in a position to estimate the value of Mill's 
 view of geometry. According to that view geometry must 
 express the precise nature of sensible magnitudes or it 
 cannot attain to the rank of a real science. The points, 
 lines, circles, etc., of which it speaks must agree with 
 those that present themselves to us in our sensible ex- 
 perience. It is found that this harmony does not exist, 
 and hence geometry is declared to be deficient in pre- 
 cision and accuracy. Now, after what has been said, it 
 must be obvious that this view of geometry is funda- 
 mentally unsound. Geometry cannot deal with sensible 
 points, lines, and circles, for there are no such magni- 
 tudes. If by a sensible point is meant the faintest 
 impression of colour that we can have, there is no 
 similarity between the point of geometry and this so- 
 called sensible point ; if it means the corner of a sensible 
 object, it is not itself sensible though it is implied in 
 what is sensible. All magnitudes in short are non-sensible. 
 To perceive a particle as in space is to determine its 
 position relatively to other particles, and the idea of posi- 
 tion is just the idea of a point viewed by reference to 
 particular things. We cannot see the position of a particle 
 with our eyes, we can only think it as a limit in a con- 
 tinuous space. Similarly there is no sensible line. The 
 
5^ COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 edge of an object is not visible or tangible; it is merely 
 the boundary of the object, and a boundary can exist for 
 us through the conception of two surfaces as having a 
 common limit only. Hence geometry cannot deal with 
 sensible magnitudes. With what then does it deal? 
 
 There is a sense in which every one is an unconscious 
 mathematician. To present to oneself any sensible object 
 whatever, one must be guided by the conception of ex- 
 ternality, and of the absolute identity of every part of 
 externality. But in our ordinary consciousness we do 
 not make the relation of externality an explicit object of 
 thought. Our interest is not theoretical but practical ; 
 we wish to know how far it is from one point to another, 
 what is the size of this desk, or table, or chair, and 
 hence the separation in thought of the conception of ex- 
 ternality from its applications in individual existences is 
 not made. We assume that there is no break in the 
 continuity of space, and that if the length of one object 
 is a foot, we shall find every other object which may 
 occupy the same space to be also a foot; but we do not 
 make the conception of spatial magnitude the exclusive 
 object of our attention. This direction of attention to 
 pure magnitude is the distinction of geometry from ordinary 
 consciousness. What geometry does is to formulate the 
 intellectual condition of the perception of individual magni- 
 tudes. It sets aside as irrelevant for its purpose the 
 conditions of the perception of the sensible properties of 
 things, and deals only with the conditions of the quanti- 
 tative relations of things. But, as without the latter no 
 perception of an object is possible at all, geometry may 
 very well be called a science of reality. It is not a 
 science of reality in its completeness, for reality as a 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 59 
 
 whole has many other conditions besides those of quantity ; 
 but it is a science of reality in that special aspect of it 
 that geometry alone considers. We can thus see how 
 geometry may be a real science without dealing with the 
 specific properties of sensible objects. The knowledge 
 of such properties is not identical with a knowledge of 
 the fixed relations implied in their being extended objects, 
 but it presupposes such fixed relations. I cannot dis- 
 tinguish the figure, size, or position of a body without 
 presupposing the homogeneity and continuity of space. 
 If I say, "This body is not perfectly round," I pre- 
 suppose the conception of a circle ; if I observe the edge 
 of this desk not to be quite straight, I am testing it by 
 the conception of a straight line, even if I have never 
 heard of Euclid's definition of a straight line. Mill would 
 have us believe that we first perceive objects as apparently 
 round or straight, next confuse apparent with real round- 
 ness or straightness, and then concentrate attention upon 
 this supposed roundness or straightness. He forgets that 
 nothing exists for our knowledge except what actually 
 enters into it. A man may pronounce an object to be 
 round that is not round, but he cannot judge it to be 
 round without having the conception of roundness. Thus 
 even the false judgment, " This is round," presupposes 
 the conception of a circle, though it need not be made 
 an explicit object of consciousness or be formally denned 
 as a line every point of which is equidistant from a 
 central point. Again, when apparent is confused with 
 real roundness, the confusion does not destroy the con- 
 ception of roundness, but presupposes it. And lastly, 
 when an advance is made to the judgment, "This object 
 is not round," that which changes is not the conception 
 
60 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 of roundness, but the identification of the figure of a cer- 
 tain object with that conception. This illustrates the 
 sense in which geometry is a real science. As expressing 
 the figures that may be drawn in consistency with the 
 conception of space as homogeneous and continuous, 
 geometry enables us to make precise judgments in re- 
 gard to the quantitative relations of real things. It tells 
 us what are the conditions under which one given figure 
 can alone be an object of our knowledge, and thus en- 
 ables us to determine how far the figure of a given object 
 deviates from the figure conceived. Geometry does not 
 say that the edge of any object is straight, but it gives 
 us a means of determining with absolute precision its 
 deviation from straightness ; in other words, it tells us 
 what the character of an object would be if there were 
 no other relations of things than those of position. So in 
 other cases. There is an abstraction even within geometry 
 itself. There can be no position of objects without 
 figure, but figure does not arTect position, and, therefore, 
 the latter may be considered by itself. Then we advance 
 from the point to the line, from the line to the surface, 
 from the surface to the solid. But even if we could 
 determine all the possible figures that are consistent with 
 the conception of space, we should not completely de- 
 termine reality. There are many other aspects of things 
 besides the geometrical. Geometry, therefore, deals with 
 abstractions in this sense, that it determines the con- 
 ditions under which objects can be known as extended 
 magnitudes, without determining the other conditions. 
 The elements of reality with which it deals are real as 
 elements, but they have no reality if they are supposed 
 to be real purely by themselves. The only adequate con- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 6 1 
 
 ception of reality is that which implies a knowledge of 
 all the conditions of reality, and such a conception takes 
 us a long way beyond geometry. 
 
 2. I think we may now conclude that Mill's denial of 
 the accuracy of geometry has no real foundation. The 
 definitions of geometry merely express the simplest rela- 
 tions between sensible objects in the way of pure exter- 
 nality, and the very nature of relations is that they are 
 real without being sensible. If there were no law by 
 which the relative position of bodies could be determined, 
 we could say nothing in regard to their position, and so 
 as to other relations of the same kind. Straight lines are 
 what geometry defines them to be, circles have all their 
 radii equal. 
 
 The next question is whether the propositions of geo- 
 metry are universal and necessary. Mill, as we know, 
 answers that they have no wider application than is war- 
 ranted by observation. To say that "two straight lines 
 cannot enclose a space" merely means that "all the 
 straight lines that we have observed are such that they 
 do not enclose a space." But we have no ground for 
 saying, in the strict sense, that two straight lines cannot 
 enclose a space. "We should probably have no difficulty 
 in putting together the two ideas supposed to be incom- 
 patible, if our experience had not first inseparably asso- 
 ciated one of them with the contradictory of the other." 
 
 A complete answer to this doctrine could only be given 
 by showing that the supposition of a world which is spatially 
 determined, and yet admits of the coexistence of elements 
 that in the world as present to our consciousness are 
 incompatible, is a self-contradictory supposition. To 
 attempt the proof of this view would at present lead us 
 
62 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 too far; I shall therefore merely endeavour to show that 
 if there is a world in which straight lines enclose a space, 
 at any rate it is not a world of which we can ever have 
 any experience. If this is proved, it will follow that the 
 propositions of geometry are true, not merely as state- 
 ments of what we have experienced, but as laws of what 
 we always shall experience. 
 
 We propose to show, in other words, that the nature 
 of our consciousness is such that any experience of the 
 enclosure of a space by two straight lines is an impossible 
 experience. 
 
 Mill holds that, as a matter of fact, we have never 
 found the two ideas of intersecting straight lines and en- 
 closure of a space associated, and this, he contends, is 
 the reason why we suppose them to be necessarily dis- 
 connected. He assumes, therefore, that the picture or 
 image of intersecting straight lines is a picture of which 
 we have repeatedly been conscious. How did this image 
 get into our consciousness ? To this Mill would of course 
 answer that it is due to an effort of abstraction by which 
 we attend only to the direction of the two lines. But 
 the lines as we perceive them are sensible lines : let us, 
 for the sake of simplicity, say visible or coloured lines. 
 We have, then, the image of two coloured lines as inter- 
 secting, i»e. t as not enclosing a space. On the other hand 
 we may have the image of two coloured lines as meet- 
 ing at both their extremities, i.e., as enclosing a space. 
 But we never have the picture of two coloured lines that 
 at once intersect and meet. Yet we might, Mill maintains, 
 have such an image. 
 
 Now, the question is this. What is implied in the 
 consciousness of a picture such as Mill speaks of? A 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 63 
 
 picture or image is necessarily individual. I cannot have 
 the image of a line that is neither straight nor curved, 
 for such an object, whatever it might be, would not be 
 an image. Nor, again, can I have an image of a line 
 that is not sensible ; for a non-sensible line would not 
 be an image, but a relation or abstraction. 
 
 We have, then, before our minds the image of a line. 
 What does this imply? The line is coloured, but the line 
 cannot be denned as colour, for the colour may be changed 
 while yet the image is in other respects the same. Suppose 
 the image is that of a coloured straight line. How do 
 we come to have such an image ? We must be conscious 
 of the colour as disposed in a certain direction, i.e., as 
 disposed so as to be straight. Now this image of a 
 straight line cannot be present to our consciousness as 
 straight unless we mentally draw the line. That is, we 
 must produce one part after the other. And each part 
 as coloured will, when it is produced, be a succession of 
 colours, i.e., we must have one sensation of colour after 
 the other. Unless, therefore, we have a succession of 
 colours, we can have no image of a coloured line. The 
 succession of colours, however, is not the line ; what con- 
 stitutes the line is the manner in which these colours 
 are disposed in the image ; and that manner is that of 
 uniform direction. It is therefore evident that the image 
 of a line can be present to our consciousness only if we 
 arrange the colours in a certain fixed way. If the colours 
 are disposed irregularly, we shall have no image of a 
 straight line. At first sight it seems as if the colours 
 might be disposed in any order ; but, on closer examina- 
 tion, it becomes obvious that there are fixed limits to 
 their disposition. If I am to have the image of a coloured 
 
64 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 object at all, the colours must be in some direction — 
 straight or curved, or partly straight and partly curved. 
 In other words, there is a fixed law in regard to the 
 disposition of colours, if they are to form an image. The 
 law is this : that they must be arranged as out of one 
 another or as mutually external, and as mutually external 
 in the three dimensions of space. If, e.g., there were no 
 mutual externality of the colours, they would vanish in 
 a point, and a point cannot form an image. Every part 
 of an image must therefore be of such a nature that any 
 part of it is external to any other part. Hence, to have 
 the image of a line is to produce each part as external 
 to the others. 
 
 But our image must also be individual, i.e., the parts 
 produced as mutually external must be in a straight 
 line or in a curved line. The image we have been 
 considering is that of a straight line. The condition 
 of the consciousness of a straight line is in the mental 
 production or construction of parts that are mutually 
 external and yet are combined in a unity. Now this 
 combination of mutually external parts is not given in 
 the successive feelings of colour : it is an act of thought 
 due to the activity of our minds. The image of a coloured 
 straight line can therefore be present to our conscious- 
 ness only if there is an act of combination which takes 
 place in accordance with the principle, that all the parts 
 of the line are (i) mutually external, (2) together, (3) 
 homogeneous, (4) in one direction. 
 
 (1) Suppose mutual externality absent, and we should 
 have no line, but a number of detached points. (2) 
 Suppose they are not together, and we should have a 
 vanishing series like the moments of time. (3) Suppose 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 65 
 
 they are not homogeneous, and we should have parts of 
 different length, i.e., we should really have a line of 
 discrete parts. (4) Suppose they are not all in one 
 direction, and we should have not a straight but a 
 curved line of some form or other. Hence we can 
 have no image of a straight line that contradicts any 
 of these conditions. But if two straight lines enclosed 
 a space, it must be because one or other of them, or 
 both, is not straight. Thus we affirm and deny straight- 
 ness. But if we deny straightness, we can have no 
 image of a straight line, because the straightness is 
 not in the sensations of colour, but in the manner 
 in which they are disposed. Now, if we could have 
 experience of two straight lines which enclosed a space, 
 i.e., of a line that was in two directions at once, it must 
 be because we can form images that have none of the 
 characteristics of those we do form. For a straight line 
 that encloses a space is the same as one that is in two 
 opposite directions at once. Such a line could not be a 
 determination of space as we know it, but of a totally 
 different space. Thus it would not be an image of the 
 kind we know. Such an image could not be connected 
 with those we have as belonging to the same world. 
 
 What Mill overlooks is, that all images of extended 
 magnitudes are formed in consonance with the principle 
 of the homogeneity of the parts of space. To suppose 
 that we can have a sensible image which contradicts this 
 homogeneity is to suppose that we can have an image 
 which contradicts the fundamental condition of such 
 images. The condition is not one that lies in the sen- 
 sations, but one that lies in the manner in which they 
 must be combined. We cannot present to ourselves the 
 
66 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 image of a coloured line that is in two directions at once, 
 because such a colour would not appear to us as colour, 
 every coloured line being necessarily pictured as in one 
 direction or another. If a line may be in two direc- 
 tions at once, this means that it is not an image, and 
 if there is no image there can be no "association" of images. 
 All determinateness vanishes, and we are in a ghostly 
 world in which we can present nothing as external. Now, 
 if association of images is impossible, Mill's reason for 
 denying the absoluteness of the connection of images 
 vanishes. Where there is no possibility of making images 
 at all there can be no association of images. Deny 
 images, and Mill's objection falls to the ground. His 
 argument in reference to the judgment, "Two straight 
 lines cannot enclose a space," amounts to this, that we 
 have never found subject and predicate together in our 
 experience, but have only found repeated associations of 
 subject and predicate. But there* can be no repetition 
 of an association where there is nothing to associate. 
 Hence, if we deny the universality of the elements im- 
 plied in our judgment, we are denying the possibility 
 of both subject and predicate. To have either we must 
 have both, i.e., the relation is not variable, because its 
 invariability is the condition of any image. A relation 
 which is the condition of any object of consciousness 
 about which we can judge at all is not variable but 
 fixed. Hence we do not obtain geometrical propositions 
 by a repetition of particular judgments; but each judgment 
 is universal. 
 
 Let us now state somewhat more freely what we regard 
 as the true view of the proof of mathematical judgments. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 67 
 
 Whatever we can present before our consciousness as an 
 extended magnitude is external to all other magnitudes, 
 and if we distinguish parts in this extended magnitude, 
 each of these is external to all the other parts, and to all 
 parts that we can distinguish in any other extended mag- 
 nitude. Now, we cannot perceive any part by simply 
 apprehending it as in a particular or separate space. For, 
 firstly, the particular space in which the part is cannot 
 be regarded as a unit which admits of no further division; 
 so regarded it would be a point, and that which is in a 
 point, if there could be such a thing, would not be 
 extended. Secondly, we cannot perceive space as a 
 whole, and fix the position of the part by reference to 
 this whole. To perceive space as a whole would be to 
 have a perception of space as limited, i.e., as having no 
 space beyond it; and such a perception is impossible. 
 We can only perceive one space as surrounded by 
 another wider space, this by a still wider, and so on; 
 but we can never reach a space beyond which there 
 is no wider space. How then can we perceive an object 
 as external to other objects? Only by combining data 
 of sense in such a way as to present them as a single 
 image, the parts of which are mutually external, i.e., 
 by relating the data of sense in such a way as to 
 present them as in space. If this is not done there is no 
 sensible image, and therefore no perception of an ex- 
 tended sensible object. 
 
 So far in regard to the perception of individual sensible 
 images, e.g., this desk, this chair. We may, however, reach 
 a further stage of knowledge by neglecting the peculiarities 
 of this and that sensible object, and directing our atten- 
 tion solely to the relation of mutual externality itself. 
 
68 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 This is what geometry does. In ordinary perception we 
 form images by applying the principle that every part of 
 space is homogeneous with every other, but when we 
 make space itself an object we become conscious of this 
 principle. The reason, then, why geometry applies to all 
 sensible magnitudes is that it simply states explicitly the 
 principle that the mind must make use of in having the 
 perception of any object as extended. 
 
 From these considerations we may see that Mill's account 
 of the manner in which geometrical judgments are formed 
 is unsatisfactory. 
 
 (i) Is every geometrical judgment particular? Is any 
 such judgment particular? 
 
 His view may be stated as follows : In my experience 
 I observe two sensible straight lines meet and then diverge 
 further and further from each other. Thus I make the 
 particular judgment : the straight lines AB do not enclose 
 a space. On another occasion T again perceive two 
 straight lines which do not enclose a space, and this 
 yields another particular judgment : the straight lines CD 
 do not enclose a space. Nor have we in our sensible 
 experience ever found two straight lines enclosing a space. 
 It may be objected, however, that the judgment, " the 
 straight lines AB do not enclose a space," states more 
 than is warranted by perception. For these lines are 
 finite in length : " we cannot follow them to infinity ; for 
 aught our senses can testify, they may immediately beyond 
 the furthest point to which we have traced them begin to 
 approach and at last meet." Thus the judgment warranted 
 by perception would seem to be, not that the straight 
 lines AB do not enclose a space, but that the straight 
 lines AB* so far as we have observed them, do not 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 69 
 
 enclose a space. Such a proposition, so far from being 
 identical with the axiom of Euclid, that " two straight 
 lines cannot enclose a space," i.e., that no two straight 
 lines can enclose a space, will not even warrant the judg- 
 ment that the straight lines AB cannot enclose a space. 
 Geometrical propositions would thus seem to be doubly 
 particular, firstly, as not warranting a judgment about all 
 straight lines j and secondly, as limiting what is said about 
 particular straight lines to what has been observed. The 
 subject, "no two straight lines," must run, "these two 
 straight lines," and the predicate, " can enclose a space," 
 must be modified to " enclose a space so far as our 
 perception goes." Mill, however, refuses to limit the 
 predicate of the judgment. It is true, he says, that we 
 cannot perceive two infinite straight lines, but we can yet 
 affirm that they do not enclose a space. For, if the two 
 lines which we perceive to diverge ever do meet, it must 
 be at a finite distance, and hence we can picture in 
 imagination the manner in which they would present 
 themselves to perception. Now, we cannot imagine two 
 straight lines as diverging and then meeting at a finite 
 distance ; and hence we can say that the two straight lines 
 AB cannot enclose a space. We are entitled, then, it 
 would seem, to make such judgments as, AB cannot en- 
 close a space, nor can CD, EF, etc. ; but we are not 
 entitled to say unconditionally, No two straight lines can 
 enclose a space. For the only warrant we have for our 
 particular judgments is that of particular experiences, and 
 no number of particular experiences can carry us beyond 
 those experiences. A universal judgment is merely a 
 short-hand statement or summary of a number of par- 
 ticular judgments, and no summation of particulars can 
 
70 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 reach the infinite. The precise meaning of the axiom, 
 " Two straight lines cannot enclose a space," is, " No two 
 straight lines observed by us have enclosed a space." But 
 this is not equivalent to the judgment, " No two straight 
 lines can enclose a space." Generality is not necessity. 
 There is nothing to hinder us from supposing that we 
 might in our observation find two straight lines enclosing 
 a space. Hence the axioms of geometry are not neces- 
 sary truths, but generalizations from sensible experience. 
 
 According to Mill, then, the particular judgment, " These 
 two sensible straight lines cannot enclose a space," is 
 legitimate, but the universal judgment, "Two straight 
 lines cannot enclose a space," is illegitimate. It is, in 
 fact, the assumption of the validity of the former which 
 is made the basis for the denial of the latter. We have 
 therefore to ask whether, on Mill's premises, we are entitled 
 to make even a particular geometrical judgment. 
 
 It might be pointed out, as a contradiction in Mill's 
 own theory, that he here assumes the possibility of two 
 sensible lines being straight, whereas he has before main- 
 tained that no sensible lines are straight. This objection, 
 however, we shall not press. Let it be granted that 
 sensible lines are observed by us, and are observed to be 
 straight. Now, it must be carefully borne in mind that 
 the question here is not in regard to any sensible lines 
 which may be supposed to exist in nature independently 
 of our observation. Any one who affirms that there are 
 such lines must be prepared to explain how we come to 
 have a knowledge of them. No doubt there are many 
 things in nature of which we have no knowledge, but if 
 we affirm nature to be constituted in a certain way, we 
 must be able to show that we have a knowledge of how 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 7 I 
 
 it is constituted. It would therefore seem that the lines 
 affirmed to be straight are lines actually present to sense. 
 Obviously such lines cannot extend beyond the visible 
 lines perceived. How, then, can we say that the lines 
 AB cannot enclose a space ? This would mean, as Mill 
 admits, that they would not meet however far they were 
 produced. But we cannot have a perception of sensible 
 lines beyond the point where they cease to be visible. 
 Hence it does not seem that we are entitled to say, The 
 lines AB, if followed out, do not enclose a space, but only 
 that, so far as they have been followed out) they do not 
 enclose a space. Mill is aware of this difficulty, and tries 
 to meet it by saying that, though sensible lines are finite 
 in extent, yet we can imagine them to be produced beyond 
 the point of vision, and we are sure that the imaginary 
 lines exactly resemble the real ones. No doubt ; but 
 there is no guarantee of reality in imaginary lines if Mill 
 is right in holding all real lines to be objects of sense. 
 If the sensible lines AB are one foot in length, the lines 
 imagined as continuing these are not real, and to show 
 that the latter do not meet tells us nothing in regard to 
 the former. We cannot therefore consistently hold that 
 the straight lines AB do not enclose a space ; our judg- 
 ment must be that the straight lines AB, so far as our 
 judgment has gone, do not enclose a space. 
 
 When we look more closely, however, we shall find 
 that even this judgment goes further than is warranted 
 by the data on which it rests. Mill evidently assumes 
 that the sensible lines AB are shown to be real pro- 
 perties of objects, accessible to the observation of any 
 one who looks at them. This, however, is an assumption. 
 If I have no guarantee that two straight lines do not 
 
72 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 meet beyond the point observed by me, what guarantee 
 have I that they do not meet beyond the moment of my 
 observation? It thus appears that my judgment must 
 be still further limited. I must now say, not that two 
 straight lines cannot enclose a space, but that these two 
 straight lines, so far as perceived, and so long as per- 
 ceived, do not enclose a space. For aught I can tell 
 they may take a sudden freak when I am looking the 
 other way, and alter their whole nature. 
 
 A still further limitation has to be made. When I 
 say that the two lines now before me do not enclose a 
 space, I am tacitly distinguishing between the lines as 
 real and my perception of them. Such a distinction is 
 not possible unless I regard my individual state of the 
 moment as indicating a reality not determined by that 
 state. I cannot indeed affirm that the lines in question 
 are as they appear to me when I do not perceive them, 
 but I must distinguish their appearance from their reality. 
 But if I have no other guarantee for their reality than 
 the sensation of the moment, I cannot go beyond that 
 sensation. I am thus limited to the judgment : I have 
 now before my consciousness two straight lines which do 
 not enclose a space. 
 
 Only one step more has to be taken. Two straight 
 lines as meeting and diverging is a complex image, in 
 which there are at least two elements, the colour of the 
 lines and their direction. But sensation can give only 
 the colour : the direction of the lines, as we have already 
 seen, is a relation involving an act of thought. Exclude 
 this act of thought, and we are reduced to the mere 
 sensation of colour, which is not a possible image at all, 
 but merely an element in an image. Thus the subject of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 73 
 
 the judgment disappears, and with it the whole judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Mill's theory, then, does not explain even the judgment, 
 "I am conscious of the straight lines AB as not enclos- 
 ing a space," but is inconsistent with the possibility of 
 any judgment whatever. But if there are no particular 
 judgments, there can of course be no general judgments, 
 which on his doctrine depend upon an inference from 
 particular judgments. 
 
 The conclusion to which we have been brought con- 
 firms the result of our inquiry into the accuracy of 
 geometry. If the assumption that a real line is merely 
 sensible leads to the denial of all judgments, we cannot 
 explain even the appearance of knowledge. A flux of 
 sensations, supposing it to be possible, would not yield 
 even the consciousness of the sensations forming the flux, 
 much less the consciousness of any fixed nature in their 
 content. A real line, in other words, is just one of the 
 fixed relations by which perceptible objects are deter- 
 mined. Like all geometrical relations it rests upon the 
 conception of pure externality. When we get at the right 
 point of view it becomes obvious that no geometrical 
 proposition is based upon induction, in Mill's sense of 
 the word. That two straight lines cannot enclose a space 
 is not a belief generated by repeated experiences of par- 
 ticular lines as not enclosing a space; it is a necessary 
 proposition implied in the simplest perception. The 
 reason we are apt to think otherwise no doubt is, that 
 in our ordinary experience we make use of universal 
 principles of which we are not explicitly conscious. Take 
 the familiar experience of the two lines in a railway 
 
74 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 track. We speak of these as parallel to each other, 
 because when we apply a measure at any point we find 
 that the distance between them is the same. What is 
 implied in this inference? It is manifestly implied 
 that there is outness between bodies, and that this out- 
 ness is exactly the same wherever we measure it. 
 Now, this is implicitly the judgment that parallel lines 
 will never meet. We do not come to this conclusion 
 by frequently observing that given parallel lines do 
 not meet, but assuming constancy in the relations of 
 outness, we affirm that these particular lines are parallel. 
 Our direct interest, however, is not in the principle here 
 made use of, but in the particular objects in question. 
 If we are constructing a railway track, we are concerned 
 to make the lines parallel, not to lay down the principle 
 implied in parallel lines. Thus we seem to be making 
 the merely particular judgment : These lines are parallel. 
 In reality, however, the universal judgment that all equi- 
 distant lines are parallel is presupposed, and, if it were 
 not presupposed, the particular judgment would not be 
 rue. It is not by accumulating particular judgments 
 about parallel lines that we reach the general judgment ; 
 but the general judgment is implied in each of the par- 
 ticular judgments. Geometry simply states in the form 
 of an explicit judgment the conception implied in every 
 one of the particular judgments. Thus the propositions 
 
 (of geometry are universal, because they explicitly formu- 
 late the fixed relation which in the particular judgment 
 is implicit. No induction or accumulation of particular 
 judgments is needed, because the universal principle is 
 already present in the particular judgment. Hence it is 
 not surprising that Mill is at last driven by the stress of 
 
I 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — GEOMETRY. 75 
 
 logic not only to deny that there are, properly speaking, 
 universal judgments, but even to resolve particular judg- 
 ments into an association of particular mental states or 
 images. Thus the judgment that two straight lines 
 cannot enclose a space, merely means that we have fre- 
 quently had the experience of the image of two straight 
 lines accompanied by the image of their divergence, 
 while we have never had the experience of such an image 
 accompanied by the image of their enclosure of a space. 
 The fundamental objection to this view is that it assumes 
 as possible what it tacitly affirms to be impossible. If the 
 image of straight lines is possible at all, as it is assumed 
 to be, the image of their enclosure of a space is im- 
 possible. This may not prove that there cannot be a 
 world in which straight lines enclose a space, but it at 
 least proves that no such world can possibly be an 
 object of our experience. The judgment is therefore not 
 due to an association of images that are independent 
 of one another, but there is one single image of such a 
 character that we cannot be conscious of it as other than 
 it is. In other words, every image implies the conception 
 of an unalterable relation in the elements of sense. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 ARITHMETIC AND ALGEBRA. 
 
 In his Theory of Numbers Mill has two main objects in 
 view : first, to show that arithmetic and algebra rest upon 
 inductions from sensible observations; second, to prove 
 that their supposed accuracy and precision arises from 
 their hypothetical character. 
 
 First. The Science of Numbers rests upon Induction. — 
 Mill does not here, as in the case of geometry, directly 
 examine the a priori view, which maintains that arith- 
 metic and algebra rest in no way upon sensible observation 
 but upon pure conceptions; but indirectly he seeks to 
 overthrow it by showing that they do tiff rest upon sensible 
 observation. We can easily, if we choose, supply the 
 missing disproof of the a priori view. The a priori philo- 
 sopher, Mill would say, must hold that the proposition 
 2 + 2 = 4 is an identical proposition, in which the predicate 
 4 is identical with the subject 2 + 2; in other words, that 
 it is impossible to conceive 2 + 2 as forming anything but 
 4. Now to this view Mill would of course answer, that 
 no real proposition can be based upon the inconceivability 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — ARITHMETIC. 77 
 
 of the opposite, as has been shown in the case of geometry, 
 for there is nothing to hinder us from supposing that in 
 some other planet 2 + 2 might = 5. In fact Mill, when 
 he is dealing with the question of inconceivability, expressly 
 says that the proposition 2 + 2 = 5 * s not self-contradictory, 
 since we should "probably have no difficulty in putting 
 together the two ideas supposed to be incompatible, if 
 our experience had not first inseparably associated one 
 of them with the contradictory of the other." 
 
 Assuming then, that the theory of numbers is not an 
 a priori science, it must rest upon inductions from sensible 
 observations. Now this means that it cannot be based 
 upon " logical definitions," i.e., upon propositions which 
 are purely verbal. The proposition 2 + 1 — 3, if it is a 
 logical definition, merely means that 2 + 1 is another name 
 for what is more neatly expressed by the term 3. This 
 in fact is the view of the nominalists, who maintain that 
 the only real things are individual things, and that the 
 propositions of arithmetic and algebra are but an elaborate 
 system of naming these things. If I see three chairs or 
 three tables, each chair and each table is real; but 
 when I call them three, I only mean that I give the 
 name three to a group of three tables or a group of 
 three chairs. Now Mill's objection to this view is, that it 
 virtually denies the theory of numbers to be based upon 
 induction. For, if we are limited to particular observa- 
 tions in this way, there is no transition from the known 
 to the unknown, and therefore no induction. The nomin- 
 alist therefore denies all general propositions, and thus 
 makes a science of numbers impossible. Mill therefore 
 has to show that arithmetic and algebra do really involve 
 inductions, i.e., inferences from particular observations to 
 
78 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 general propositions. He agrees with the nominalist in 
 holding that the theory of numbers must rest upon par- 
 ticular observations, but he differs in maintaining that 
 from these particular observations general propositions 
 are derived by a process of inductive inference. 
 
 What then, he asks, has led the nominalist to suppose 
 that there are no general propositions in regard to numbers, 
 or, in other words, that a general proposition is merely 
 verbal ? 
 
 The reason is that in arithmetical or algebraic operations 
 we deal with symbols of sensible objects as distinguished 
 from actual sensible perceptions or copies of these in 
 imagination. In geometry we have before us either a 
 sensible figure on paper or on a blackboard, or we form a 
 mental image of a sensible figure j and thus it is evident 
 that all our reasonings are about real sensible things. 
 But in arithmetic and algebra we have no sensible object, 
 and no image of a sensible object before us, and therefore 
 we do not seem to be dealing with real sensible things 
 at all. The reasoner has nothing in his mind during the 
 process but the symbols or names, and hence it is natural 
 to suppose that it is with the symbols or names that he 
 is dealing. If that were the case, there would of course 
 be no induction, for every induction is the process by 
 which we pass from particular observations to a new truth 
 not contained in these observations. Mill must therefore 
 show that in every step of an arithmetical or algebraical 
 calculation there is "a real inference of facts from facts." 
 
 Now the word ten represents an actual fact of sensible 
 observation : it really means ten bodies, or ten sounds, 
 or ten beatings of the pulse, and apart from such particular 
 sensible observations the word ten would be meaningless. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — ARITHMETIC. 79 
 
 But the peculiarity of numbers is, that whatever is true of 
 ten bodies is true also of every object of which we can 
 have sensible observation. In this respect arithmetic differs 
 from geometry; for such a geometrical proposition as that 
 two straight lines do not enclose a space is true only of 
 lines, not of angles, or squares, or circles, whereas the 
 proposition that 2 + 1=3 * s true of all sensible objects, 
 since every such object consists of parts which can be 
 numbered. Thus the number one will serve as a represent- 
 ative of any sensible object whatever, and hence the 
 inferences we draw will hold of every such object. Accord- 
 ingly, arithmetical propositions are based upon inductions 
 from the observation of actual sensible things, and are not 
 merely verbal. 
 
 There is another thing which gives plausibility to the 
 nominalist view, that the theory of numbers deals only 
 with names : the predicate seems to be identical with the 
 subject. If we take a special case, such as "two pebbles 
 and one pebble are three pebbles," we seem to be stating, 
 not that the two collections of pebbles are equal in quantity, 
 but that they are precisely the same or identical. But, 
 in point of fact, what is really affirmed is not identity but 
 equality. For what is meant is, that the same objects 
 produce a different set of sensations when they are 
 grouped in two different ways. And as this is a fact 
 which holds good in all cases, we can say quite generally 
 2 + 1 = 3. The science of number thus rests upon prin- 
 ciples which, like those of geometry, are generalizations 
 from experience. 
 
 Second. The science of number rests upon inductions 
 which are not exactly true, but true only under the hypo- 
 thesis that actual sensible objects are what they are 
 
80 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 assumed to be. In numerical calculations it is taken for 
 granted that the objects numbered are identical as regards 
 quantity. " But this is never practically true, for one 
 actual pound weight is not exactly equal to another, nor 
 one mile's length to another ; a nicer balance, or more 
 accurate measuring instrument, would always detect some 
 difference." 
 
 (i) Mill's first proposition is, that the science of num- 
 ber rests upon induction, i.e., it contains inferences drawn 
 from sensible observations ; and in seeking to make good 
 this proposition he is led to reject (a) the doctrine of the 
 a priori school, who maintain that its judgments are not 
 derived from experience, but are self-evident ; and (b) the 
 doctrine of the nominalists, who hold that its judgments 
 are purely verbal. 
 
 Now (a) Mill is undoubtedly right in rejecting the 
 doctrine that the truths of arithmetic and algebra are in- 
 dependent of all experience, and can be proved to be so 
 by the logical principle of contradiction, i.e., by the im- 
 possibility of conceiving the opposite. No proposition 
 can be proved to be true on the ground that its opposite 
 is inconceivable. The opposite of every proposition is 
 inconceivable so long as we assume that the proposition 
 is true, but not otherwise. Thus the opposite of the 
 proposition, " Light is due to the transmission of material 
 particles," is inconceivable so long as we assume the truth 
 of the proposition j but if we deny its truth, there is no 
 inconceivability in its opposite. Similarly we cannot con- 
 ceive 2 + 1 to be = 4, so long as we assume the truth of 
 the proposition, 2 + 1=3; Dut if tnat proposition is denied, 
 there is no inconceivability in its opposite. It is thus 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — ARITHMETIC. 8 1 
 
 evident that we cannot base the truth of a proposition 
 upon its inconceivability, but, contrariwise, the inconceiva- 
 bility depends upon its truth. The opposite of every true 
 proposition is inconceivable, but not the opposite of a 
 false proposition. The a priori philosophers, therefore, in 
 assuming that the truth of numerical propositions can be 
 established by the inconceivability of their opposite, have 
 really committed themselves to the view that such pro- 
 positions are mere analyses of conceptions, or, in other 
 words, merely state what is already conceived to be true. 
 But manifestly the question still remains whether the con- 
 ceptions are really true, and this question can only be 
 solved by showing that real things are as they are con- 
 ceived to be. 
 
 (b) Mill is also right in rejecting the nominalist doctrine, 
 that the only realities are particular things, and that general 
 propositions are purely verbal. The question is whether 
 his own doctrine can consistently avoid the imperfections 
 of nominalism. Mill evidently assumes that by sensible 
 observation we obtain a knowledge of particular things 
 as distinct from each other, and therefore as numerable, 
 and that the process of induction consists in inferring that 
 all particular things are similarly distinct from each other, 
 and therefore numerable. To this explanation two objec- 
 tions have to be made. In the first place, pure sensation 
 can give no distinction of one thing from another, because, 
 as we saw in the case of geometry, each sensation is a 
 purely individual feeling, and is therefore capable of re- 
 vealing nothing but itself. It is only in so far as one 
 sensation is discriminated from another that there is any 
 consciousness of distinction. But this discrimination is 
 an act of thought. Hence in the simplest form of know- 
 
 F 
 
82 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 ledge the operation of the distinguishing and relating 
 activity of thought is already implied. Now, number pre- 
 supposes this activity of thought, and hence it is not correct 
 to say that by sense we obtain a knowledge of particular 
 things as distinct from each other, and therefore as numer- 
 able. What is called sensible observation already implies 
 the distinguishing activity of thought. In every act of dis- 
 tinction, therefore, there is implicitly a numerical judgment. 
 But though all perception implies such a judgment, it is 
 only when attention is directed to the quantitative element 
 implied in every such judgment that we form explicit 
 numerical judgments. And, when attention is so directed, 
 we set aside all the qualitative aspects of things and con- 
 centrate our thought purely upon their quantitative aspects, 
 or rather upon that quantitative aspect of them in which 
 they are viewed as distinct or discrete, abstracting from 
 all other aspects. The science of number is thus, from 
 its very nature, abstract, *">., it sets aside for its purpose 
 all other aspects of the real world except its numerical 
 aspect. Hence the science of number never deals with 
 the concrete objects of perception as concrete ; it does 
 not deal with pebbles and boxes as pebbles and boxes, 
 but only with these in so far as they are identical, i.e., as 
 discrete units capable of being discriminated from each 
 other, and therefore of being counted. If the objection 
 is raised, that the science of number must deal with real 
 things or it will be no science, but a mere fiction, the 
 answer is that no science deals with real things in their 
 completeness, but only with real aspects of real things, 
 and that number is therefore a science in the same sense 
 as other sciences. Mill's mistake is in assuming that 
 number must deal either with sensibles or with mere 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — ARITHMETIC. 83 
 
 abstractions, whereas it really deals with the sensible as 
 abstract, i.e., with an abstract but real element of existence. 
 
 If we bear this in mind, we shall have no difficulty in 
 seeing that number does not rest upon induction, in Mill's 
 sense of the word. On his view, we must suppose that 
 we have a number of particular observations of sensible 
 things as numerable, and then infer that all sensible 
 things are numerable. For induction, as he explains it, 
 is the process of inference by which we pass from some to 
 all. If this were a true account of the nature of induc- 
 tion, every general proposition would be based upon a 
 pure assumption, which admits of no possible justification. 
 For how can we legitimately conclude that all possible 
 sensible things are numerable if our data give us only some 
 sensible things ? Mill, therefore, if he were consistent, 
 would limit himself to particular numerical propositions, 
 and deny that there are any true general propositions, i.e., 
 he would take the same view as the nominalists. 
 
 This may be shown in another way, if we consider his 
 admission that 2 + 1 might make 4 in another planet, for 
 this startling conclusion is just the legitimate inference 
 from his doctrine that all general propositions are in- 
 ferences from particular propositions. Here, in fact, he 
 tacitly admits that beyond those particular propositions 
 we have no right to go, and that general propositions are 
 due merely to the illegitimate extension of particular pro- 
 positions under the influence of association. 
 
 Mill's doctrine, then, that number rests upon induction 
 from particular propositions cannot be accepted. The 
 true view is, that in the simplest numerical judgment the 
 universal judgment is already implied. For since dis- 
 crimination is presupposed in even the simplest and most 
 
84 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 elementary consciousness as its necessary condition, num- 
 ber is implicit in every act of consciousness. In other 
 words, we can give no explanation of consciousness at all, 
 and therefore no explanation of a particular numerical 
 judgment, unless we admit that every distinguishable 
 element of consciousness is numerable. The numerical 
 relation of things is therefore shown to be absolutely 
 necessary, because without it there would be no conscious- 
 ness at all. It is, in other words, a fixed and unchange- 
 able relation of every possible element of reality that each 
 element is not identical with any other element of reality, 
 i.e., that it must be counted as a unit among other units. 
 In numerical judgments, then, we do not pass from some 
 to all, but in each judgment all is implied. 
 
 (2) After what has been said, we need not spend much 
 time upon Mill's second point, viz., that the theory of 
 number rests upon a hypothesis which is not strictly true. 
 The hypothesis is, that each unit is the same as every 
 other, whereas it is impossible to find in nature any two 
 units exactly the same. The whole force of this reasoning 
 evidently rests upon the assumption, that the science of 
 number can be a real science only if its judgments are 
 derived from sensible things. But if, as we have main- 
 tained, its aim is to state what holds good of all things 
 only in so far as they are looked at from the point of view 
 of discrete magnitude, the fact that any given object differs 
 in its size or in its weight cannot in any way affect the 
 absoluteness of the science of number. And not only so, 
 but no difference in the size or weight of a particular 
 object could be discerned, unless we presupposed the 
 absoluteness of quantitative relations. We could not 
 possibly tell that one pound or one mile was not equal 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — ARITHMETIC. 85 
 
 to another pound or another mile, unless the standard 
 of measurement were absolute. There is therefore no 
 hypothetical element in the mathematical sciences, unless 
 we falsely assume that these sciences formulate the complete 
 nature of things. Viewed as expressing certain unchange- 
 able relations which are presupposed in all our knowledge 
 of real things, mathematics is not a hypothetical but a 
 necessary science. 
 
I */ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 THE PHYSICAL SCIENCES. 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 We have seen that, according to Mill, mathematics rests 
 upon sensible observation ; and we naturally expect to find 
 him giving the same explanation of the foundation of other 
 sciences. But first of all he seeks to distinguish the in- 
 ductive process by which the generalizations of science 
 are reached from various logical processes which are often 
 confounded with it. In the first place, induction is not 
 the mere registration in language of a given number of 
 individual observations. No single observation, and no 
 number of single observations, is an induction, because 
 here there is no inference from the known to the unknown. 
 f The observation, that the moon shines by the sun's light, 
 no one would call an induction ; nor can there be any 
 induction in the successive observations that Mars, Neptune, 
 Saturn, and the other planets each shine by tfye sun's 
 light. And if we collect all these separate observations 
 in the proposition, that "all the planets shine by the 
 sun's light," we are merely recalling what we already 
 know, not advancing to any new truth. In the second 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 87 
 
 place, there are certain mathematical propositions which 
 are improperly called inductions ; as, for instance, the 
 proposition that a straight line cannot meet any section 
 of a cone in more than two points. And, lastly, the 
 description of a set of observed phenomena is not induction. 
 Thus Kepler, after observing a number of the places 
 successively occupied by the planet Mars, found that 
 when joined together they formed an ellipse. The pro- 
 position that Mars described an ellipse was therefore 
 merely the summary of a number of different observations, 
 not the inference to a new truth not contained in those 
 observations; and hence it cannot be called an induction. 
 
 What, then, is an induction? It is defined by Mill 
 as the process by which we infer that what we know 
 to be true in a particular case or cases will be true in 
 all cases which resemble the former in certain assignable 
 respects. The "resemblance" may be either (a) that of 
 individuals belonging to a class, or {b) that of the same 
 individual at different times ; but, in either of these cases, 
 the essence of the induction consists in making a really 
 "general" proposition, i.e., one which holds good, when 
 we pass from the particular to the universal. Thus, the 
 conclusion that "all men are mortal" is an induction, 
 because we pass from what we know of some men to all 
 men. Similarly, when Kepler inferred that, as the orbit 
 of Mars had hitherto been elliptical, it would always be 
 elliptical, he made a genuine induction. 
 
 Now, if induction implies in all cases a transition from 
 the particular to the universal, it is naturally asked by 
 what right the transition is made. It is obvious that, 
 in every case of real induction, we tacitly assume that 
 what holds good in the cases observed will hold good 
 
85 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 in all similar cases ; we assume, in other words, that the 
 course of nature is uniform. What, then, is the justifica- 
 tion of that assumption ? Mill answers that it is itself 
 an instance of induction, and by no means one of the 
 most obvious or the earliest. But, before attempting to 
 prove this, he asks what precisely is meant by the 
 "uniformity of nature." 
 
 (i) It is obvious that by the uniformity of nature it is 
 not meant to exclude infinite diversity. Nobody expects 
 one day to be the mere repetition of the previous day. 
 Yet there is a natural tendency in the human mind to 
 expect that phenomena which have frequently presented 
 themselves in combination will always recur in the same 
 combination. This method of inductio per enutnerationem 
 simplicem is rightly condemned by Bacon. It would be 
 legitimate only if we were certain that we had exhausted 
 all the instances, and such certitude is practically not obtain- 
 able. The truth is that induction to be valid does not 
 depend upon the number of instances observed, but upon 
 something very different. A single instance may be 
 sufficient in one case, a million may not be enough in 
 other cases. 
 
 (2) If, then, the uniformity of nature does not mean 
 invariability, what is its true meaning? 
 
 The first thing to observe is that by the uniformity of 
 nature we should understand a number of uniformities. 
 These uniformities, when reduced to their simplest expression, 
 are called laws of nature. Three such laws are these: (1) 
 that air has weight, (2) that pressure on a fluid is propagated 
 equally in all directions, (3) that pressure in one direction, 
 not opposed by equal pressure in the contrary direction, 
 produces motion, which does not cease until equilibrium 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 89 
 
 is restored. From these three laws or uniformities the 
 rise of mercury in the Torricellian tube might be predicted. 
 But this is not properly a law of nature, but a result of 
 the three laws of nature mentioned. Every true induction 
 is therefore either a law of nature, or a result of laws of 
 nature ; and the problem of induction is to ascertain the 
 laws of nature, and to follow them into their results. 
 
 CAUSATION. 
 
 Now, laws of nature are of three kinds : they are either 
 
 (a) laws which apply indifferently to synchronous or 
 successive phenomena; (b) laws which hold only of syn- 
 chronous phenomena; or (c) laws which hold only of suc- 
 cessive phenomena, (a) The first sort of laws are those of 
 number, which hold whether the phenomena are syn- 
 chronous or successive. Thus, 2 + 2 = 4, whether we are 
 speaking of two coexistent objects or of two events. 
 
 (b) The second set of laws are those contained in geometry, 
 which apply only to coexistent objects. (c) The third 
 set of laws are those which express uniformities in the 
 way of succession. It is with these only that we have 
 here to deal. It has already been shown that the laws 
 of number and of geometry are inductions, and the 
 question is as to the inductions which concern the 
 succession of phenomena, or rather the principle which is 
 presupposed in all such inductions. That principle is 
 causation. The ground of induction, so far as successive 
 phenomena are concerned, is the law of causation, which 
 may be thus stated : " Every fact which has a beginning 
 has a cause." What, then, is a "cause"? 
 
 By a " cause " is to be understood in all cases a 
 phenomenon, i.e., a particular fact or event. Whether 
 
9° COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 there are causes which are not themselves phenomena 
 we shall not inquire. There are certain thinkers (the 
 Cartesians, for example) who hold that, besides physical 
 causes, there are also efficient causes, i.e., causes which, 
 without being themselves events, produce events. But, 
 whether there are such causes or not, at any rate these 
 are not at present in question. In affirming that every 
 event has a cause, we are only affirming that every phe- 
 nomenon in nature is invariably preceded by some other 
 phenomenon. 
 
 Now, as there are at any given instant many phenomena, 
 each of these is preceded by another phenomenon, and 
 invariably preceded by it. A cause is thus an "invariable 
 antecedent" or "set of antecedents," an effect, an "invari- 
 able consequent." There are many antecedents or sets 
 of antecedents = A, B, C, D, etc., and many consequents 
 = a, f3, y, 8, etc., and each of these is separate and 
 distinct from the others. To find out such antecedents 
 is to perform an induction, so far as the succession of 
 phenomena is concerned. If there were any event which 
 had no such antecedent, no induction could take place. 
 The universality and certainty of the law of causation is 
 therefore the basis of all induction as to successive 
 phenomena. 
 
 A cause, then, is an antecedent or set of ante- 
 cedents. But it seldom, if ever, happens that there is 
 only one antecedent of a given consequent. In ordinary 
 language one of these antecedents is singled out and called 
 the cause, the others being distinguished as conditions. 
 But the real cause is the whole of the antecedents, i.e., 
 all the conditions without which the consequent would 
 not exist. The reason why one antecedent is specially 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 9 1 
 
 selected as the cause, is, that it alone is an event, the 
 others being states, which existed prior to the effect, but 
 did not begin to exist immediately prior to it. It thus 
 seems that a cause is the sum of antecedents without 
 which a given event does not take place, but that of 
 those antecedents the greater number are not themselves 
 events. It has to be added that in considering the sum 
 of conditions, we must take into consideration the negative 
 as well as the positive conditions, i.e., those facts which 
 must be absent if the consequent is to take place. The 
 full definition of cause, therefore, is, "the sum total of 
 the conditions, positive and negative, taken together, 
 upon which the consequent invariably follows." 
 
 This view of causation does away with the absolute 
 distinction of agent and patient. A stone falls to the 
 earth, and it is said that the earth acts, and the stone is 
 acted upon. But it is just as correct to say that the 
 stone attracts the earth, as that the earth attracts the 
 stone. The distinction between agent and patient is 
 purely verbal, since patients are always agents. All the 
 positive conditions of a phenomenon are agents, in the 
 sense that without the whole of them the consequent 
 could not take place. 
 
 The cause of anything is "the antecedent which it 
 invariably follows," but it is not "the antecedent which 
 it invariably has followed in our past experience." The 
 sequence must be not only invariable but unconditional. 
 Hence we may define a cause as "the antecedent, or the 
 concurrence of antecedents, on which a phenomenon is 
 invariably and unconditionally consequent." 
 
 It may be admitted that there are cases in which 
 the cause may not be antecedent to an effect, but simul- 
 
92 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 taneous with it. But this is a matter of minor importance. 
 To avoid the difficulty, a cause may be denned as "the 
 assemblage of phenomena, which occurring, some other 
 phenomenon invariably commences." An effect, at any 
 rate, never precedes a cause, though perhaps it may be 
 simultaneous with it. 
 
 Among the causes of phenomena some are permanent, 
 i. e., have subsisted ever since the human race has 
 been in existence, and for an indefinite time previous. 
 Such are the sun, the earth, and planets, with their 
 various constituents, air, water, and other substances. We 
 cannot account for the origin of these causes themselves, 
 nor can we tell why they are distributed as they are, or 
 why they are commingled in certain proportions. These 
 permanent causes are sometimes not objects but recurring 
 events, such as the rotation of the earth. But though 
 we cannot trace these causes back to others, all other 
 things or events are the immediate or remote effects of 
 those primeval causes. Hence the state of the whole 
 universe is the consequence of its state at the previous 
 instant, and if any particular state could ever occur a 
 second time all subsequent states would also recur, and 
 history would repeat itself. That this does not happen 
 arises from the fact that no two states of the universe 
 are identical. 
 
 How far can Mill's account of induction, and especially 
 of that form of induction which consists in the discovery 
 of causes, be accepted? So far as induction is main- 
 tained to be an inference from 'some' to 'all' resting upon 
 resemblance, it is inadequate. Induction always consists 
 in the discovery of identity, not of resemblance. It is of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 93 
 
 course true that in every instance in which an identity 
 has been discovered there must be resemblance, but the 
 induction is not, and cannot be, based upon resemblance. 
 The reason why "all men are mortal" is not that they 
 resemble one another in other ways, and therefore also 
 in the way of "mortality," but because they are identical 
 in the possession of a body which cannot permanently 
 resist the external influences against which it reacts. 
 Certainly, there never is any identity of nature between 
 two things which in no way resemble each other — for no 
 two things can be found which are not similar in certain 
 respects and different in others — but the closest resem- 
 blance will not entitle us to affirm identity, and without 
 identity there is no induction. 
 
 Is Mill's account of causation more satisfactory than 
 his account of induction? 
 
 (1) Mill is undoubtedly right in rejecting the concep- 
 tion of a mysterious "power" in one thing to bring 
 another into existence. A body falls to the ground if 
 unsupported, but the earth does not contain within itself 
 any occult "power" by which it draws the stone to 
 itself, nor does the stone contain any occult power of 
 gravitation by which it moves to the earth. The fact is 
 this, that when a body is placed at a certain distance 
 from the earth it begins to move towards the earth at a 
 certain velocity. If it were beyond a certain distance it 
 would not so move. The fact we may state by saying, 
 either that the stone is attracted by the earth, or that the 
 stone falls by its own weight; but the essence of the 
 fact is the motion of the stone under certain fixed con- 
 ditions. Given these conditions and the effect takes place. 
 
 (2) Mill, however, goes on to say that a "cause" is an 
 
94 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 " invariable antecedent " or " set of antecedents," an effect, 
 an "invariable consequent." Two questions arise here 
 therefore: I. Is a cause an "antecedent"? II. Is it an 
 " invariable " antecedent ? 
 
 I. (a) At first sight it seems as if every effect were a 
 consequent, seeing that it is an event or change. But 
 it is to be observed that we cannot affirm an event to 
 be a "consequent" merely because it is sequent on some- 
 thing else. No doubt there can be no event that does 
 not imply sequence ; but it is not proved to be a con- 
 sequent merely because it is an event. To call an event 
 a consequent is to imply that its cause is antecedent to 
 it, or existed prior to it. But this assumes that the cause 
 cannot be simultaneous with the effect. Now, in the 
 course of his inquiry, Mill admits that a cause may not 
 be antecedent to its effect, though he says that the point 
 is of little or no importance. Whether it is of import- 
 ance or not, it at least compels us to revise the first 
 definition which Mill gives of cause. We can no longer 
 say that a cause is an "invariable antecedent": we must 
 now say that a cause is that which invariably precedes or 
 accompanies a certain event, an effect that which invariably 
 follows or accompanies its cause. 
 
 (b) Can we accept this revised definition ? It is obvious 
 that it presupposes a separation between cause and effect, 
 such that each is an independent phenomenon, not depend- 
 ing for its reality upon the causal relation. Whether 
 the phenomenon or sum of phenomena called the cause 
 precedes or accompanies the phenomenon called the effect, 
 the one exists apart from the other. Thus, the formation 
 of water is one phenomenon, and the bringing together 
 of oxygen and hydrogen in the proportion of two to one 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE— PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 95 
 
 is another phenomenon or rather sum of phenomena. Here 
 the cause seems to precede the effect. Again, fire is the 
 cause of warmth, but the fire is one phenomenon and 
 the warmth is another, though here the cause and the 
 effect seem to be simultaneous, not successive. If, how- 
 ever, we look more closely, we shall find, I think, that 
 the supposed distinction and independence of cause and 
 effect cannot be maintained. Take the case of the forma- 
 tion of water. It is true that oxygen and hydrogen may 
 exist as separate phenomena, and that as long as they are 
 separate they are distinct from water. But oxygen and 
 hydrogen in their separation are not the cause of water. 
 As Mill himself points out, the cause is the sum total of 
 the conditions. Hence oxygen and hydrogen must be 
 brought together before they can be the cause of the 
 formation of water. When do they become the cause? 
 Only at the moment when the formation of water takes 
 place. Obviously, therefore, the cause is not antecedent 
 to the effect, but must at least be simultaneous with it. 
 But is even this account correct? What has become of 
 the hydrogen and oxygen at the moment when the water is 
 formed? They have ceased to be hydrogen and oxygen, 
 and become water. In other words, the formation of 
 water is precisely the same fact as the union of oxygen 
 and hydrogen j i.e., the cause neither precedes nor accom- 
 panies the effect but is identical with it. Thus in dis- 
 covering the cause of the event we are simply discovering 
 an identical relation. The difference between a cause and 
 an effect is not the difference between one phenomenon 
 and another, but consists in the discovery of the fixed 
 nature of the one single fact or phenomenon. 
 
 Take the other instance of fire and heat. Nothing 
 
96 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 seems to be more certain than that we have here two 
 distinct phenomena. The fire does not cease to exist 
 because no one feels its heat; the heat does not at once 
 cease when one is out of range of the fire. Thus the 
 cause and the effect seem to be two distinct phenomena, 
 which are only externally related to each other. But 
 here again it must be observed that the fire is not a 
 cause of heat except in so far as heat is actually pro- 
 duced. Not only so, but, as Mill himself tells us, the 
 cause is the sum of conditions without which the effect 
 could not take place. Now among these conditions the 
 sensitive organization of the subject is indispensable. 
 There is no sensation of heat in any but a living being. 
 The cause of heat is thus the excitation of the living 
 organism, under certain physical conditions. But the 
 excitation of the living organism is the sensation of heat, 
 i.e., the cause is simply the effect resolved into its con- 
 stituent elements or conditions. Wherever these con- 
 ditions are present, heat exists; in other words, heat is 
 a fixed relation obtaining between distinguishable phe- 
 nomena. And as there is no meaning in saying that 
 the relation called the cause precedes or accompanies 
 the relation called the effect, the cause neither precedes 
 nor accompanies the effect, but is identical with it. 
 In the same way it might be shown that every instance 
 of causation is the apprehension of a fixed relation. 
 
 II. If then a cause is identical with an effect, it is 
 plain that we cannot say that a cause invariably precedes, 
 or even that it invariably accompanies, its effect. What 
 then is the meaning of " invariable " ? It can only mean 
 necessary or universal. Hydrogen and oxygen in the 
 proportion of two to one necessarily form water, because 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 97 
 
 their union is involved in the unchanging constitution of 
 things. That it is so is a fact, and a fact grasped, not 
 by sensible observation, but by thought. There is no 
 difference in principle between the chemical law, H 2 0, 
 and the geometrical proposition that the interior angles of 
 a triangle are equal to two right angles. The one fact 
 is as necessary as the other. This is virtually admitted 
 by Mill when he tells us that a cause is not only 
 "invariable" but "unconditional"; for "unconditional" 
 can only mean " universal " or admitting of no exception, 
 and therefore belonging to the unchangeable nature of 
 things. 
 
 A cause, then, is neither an invariable nor an uncon- 
 ditional antecedent, but an unchangeable fact. Mill 
 says that the distinction of agent and patient is purely 
 verbal, since the patient is in all cases an agent, in the 
 sense of being one of the antecedents. It would be more 
 correct to say, that the whole distinction of agent and 
 patient is false. When a stone falls to the earth, neither 
 the stone nor the earth can be regarded as agents. This 
 way of looking at the matter supposes that the stone 
 and the earth have each a separate and independent 
 existence, and that each would be what it is even if 
 the other did not exist. Now, it is of course true that 
 the whole nature of the earth is not exhausted in its 
 relation to the stone, or the whole nature of the stone 
 in its relation to the earth. But when we are seeking 
 for the cause of the fall of the stone, we purposely 
 set aside all the characteristics of the earth and the 
 stone except the fact of the motion of each towards the 
 other. The fact to be explained is therefore purely the 
 approximation of a body of a certain mass to another 
 
f 
 
 98 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 of a much greater mass, and this fact stated in its pre- 
 cision constitutes the cause. The cause is discovered 
 when it is seen that bodies move towards each other 
 (unless there is some negative or counteracting condition) 
 in proportion to their mass and inversely as the square 
 of their distance. This is a fixed relation, and therefore 
 it applies in all cases. But as it is a relation, there can 
 be no more meaning in calling either of the masses the 
 agent or the patient than in calling either the antecedent 
 of the other. Neither, taken by itself, is a cause or an 
 effect; the cause is the relation between the two masses 
 viewed as unchangeable, and the effect is the same rela- 
 tion viewed as manifested in the particular movement of 
 the one towards the other at a certain rate. 
 
 This view of causation explains why we do not suppose 
 invariable succession to establish causal connection. If 
 Mill were right in saying that a cause is an "invariable 
 antecedent," all invariable antecedents ought to be causes. 
 But, if a cause is never an antecedent, we at once under- 
 stand why we distinguish invariable succession from causal 
 connection. Night and day have invariably succeeded 
 each other in all human experience, but the one is never 
 supposed to be the cause of the other. The reason is 
 that they are not related as cause and effect, but as 
 distin ct fa cts, each having its own cause. The condi- 
 tions under which night occurs are as unchangeable as 
 those under which day occurs, but they are not identical, 
 and therefore the one is not the cause or the effect of 
 the other. Each involves an identity, but it is a different 
 identity. 
 
 The last distinction drawn by Mill is between permanent 
 and changeable causes. The sun, the earth, the planets 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — PHYSICAL SCIENCE. 99 
 
 are permanent causes, as also the rotation of the earth ; 
 the phenomena of life, on the other hand, could not exist 
 before the origination of living beings. In drawing this 
 distinction Mill has gone entirely beyond the question of 
 causation and has introduced a new problem. All that 
 causation tells us, is, that no event occurs which does 
 not imply fixity of conditions : that wherever the same 
 conditions exist the same event must occur; but it does 
 not tell us that the same conditions have always existed, 
 or will always exist. 
 
 Thus, if living beings with an organism so differentiated 
 as to have the senses of sight, hearing, taste, smell, and 
 touch exist, the sensations relative to their senses will occur 
 according to fixed laws ; but it by no means follows that 
 such beings have always existed or always will exist. The 
 causes of sensation are therefore not permanent in the 
 sense of continuing through all time : they are only per- 
 manent in the sense that they are always the same when 
 they occur. But the same holds good of what Mill calls 
 permanent causes. No doubt the earth existed prior to 
 the appearance of living beings upon it. But this only 
 means that there were causes which took the form of the 
 relations of material masses to one another, before there 
 were causes which took the form of the relations implied 
 in the sensations of living beings. Whether material masses 
 have always existed the law of causation cannot determine: 
 that is a question which takes us beyond the point of view 
 of causation, and compels us to ask what is the ultimate 
 condition of the existence of any reality. Scientific men are 
 therefore justified in refusing to say whether the material 
 world did or did not begin to be, and limiting themselves 
 to an investigation of the conditions of particular facts, 
 
IOO COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 leaving the question of the ultimate explanation of reality 
 to philosophy. The distinction of permanent and non- 
 permanent causes is therefore irrelevant and misleading. 
 Since every cause is on its particular side an event, no 
 cause can be permanent; and as every cause on its 
 universal side is a fixed relation or unchangeable fact, in 
 whatever sense one cause is permanent all are permanent. 
 The totality of causes is thus either the totality of events, 
 or the totality of relations constituting these events, i.e., 
 the system of relations constituting nature as a whole. 
 But what is the ultimate condition of there being such a 
 system or whole we cannot tell without going beyond the 
 conception of causality. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE (Continued). 
 
 BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 We have now dealt with two of the three philosophical 
 problems that arise in regard to the knowledge of nature : 
 we have inquired into the nature of mathematical and of 
 physical knowledge, and we have found that in both cases 
 alike knowledge rests upon the discovery of certain fixed 
 relations implied in the very constitution of the world as 
 known to us. Our next step is to ask whether our 
 knowledge of nature is exhausted in the apprehension of 
 mathematical and physical relations, or whether there are 
 not certain facts which force us to employ a different 
 conception of things. That there are such facts seems 
 to be implied in the distinction between organic and 
 inorganic beings, between living things and things without 
 life. It is true that this distinction, which to common 
 sense seems to be one of the most obvious and certain, 
 has been denied, and that from two opposite points of 
 view. According to one set of thinkers there is no 
 absolute distinction between organic and inorganic beings, 
 for all the facts of life can be explained in the same way 
 
102 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 as we explain the changes which take place in the material 
 world. If we adopt this view, obviously no conception but 
 that of mechanical causation will be required. Another 
 set of thinkers take exactly the opposite view, maintaining 
 that, instead of saying that organic beings are in no way 
 different in their nature from inorganic beings, we ought 
 to say that inorganic beings are of the same nature as 
 organic: in other words, though there seem to be objects 
 which are entirely destitute of life, this is an illusion : 
 all things are living, and nowhere in the whole world 
 can there be found beings which are inorganic. It is 
 therefore maintained that the conception of mechanical 
 causation is not the only or the highest conception of 
 the world. The distinction between these two sets of 
 thinkers may be expressed by saying that the former 
 "level down," and the latter "level up"; the one class 
 reduce organic beings to the level of inorganic, the other 
 class raise inorganic beings to the level of organic. 
 
 In the presence of such opposite views, it is obvious 
 that we cannot assume the popular distinction between 
 organic and inorganic beings, but must first deal with 
 the preliminary question, whether such a distinction is 
 justifiable at all. On the other hand, supposing it to be 
 proved that the characteristic phenomena of living beings 
 cannot be explained by the conception of mechanical 
 causation, I do not think that we need encumber ourselves 
 with the question, whether even those things which seem 
 to be inorganic are not in reality organic. 
 
 Our problem, then, is this. Is there anything in the 
 nature of those beings ordinarily distinguished as living 
 or organic, which compels us to apply to them a conception 
 different from that which we employ in our physical in- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. IO3 
 
 vestigations ; in other words, is there a biological as 
 distinguished from a physical knowledge of nature? or 
 is biology simply a branch of physics ? 
 
 DEFINITION OF LIFE. 
 
 If we direct our attention to beings usually distinguished 
 as living, can we state wherein their life consists? Mr. 
 Spencer defines life as "the power of continuous adjustment 
 of internal relations to external relations." This definition 
 is so far true, that it emphasizes one aspect of the living 
 being, viz., that it is perpetually going through changes 
 which do not leave it unaltered, but involve new relations 
 to its environment. Thus the living being in one point of 
 view exhibits a great degree of instability. It is continually 
 changing, and the more complex the being, the greater 
 is the number of changes through which it passes in a 
 given time. Mr. Spencer's definition, however, implies that 
 the living being not only changes, but that there is a series 
 of adjustments to new conditions. The relations of a stone 
 to things external to itself are of a comparatively fixed 
 and unchanging type, and seem to imply nothing more 
 than mechanical and chemical relations. After the lapse 
 of an indefinite time it displays the same essential features 
 as at the first. It is otherwise with the living being, which 
 not only exhibits relations to external circumstances, but 
 presents continually new relations from moment to moment. 
 So far therefore, we may regard Mr. Spencers definition as 
 true. But there is one aspect of life which it does not suffi- 
 ciently accentuate. For not only does the living being dis- 
 play continual adjustment in its relations to its environment, 
 changing as they change, but it preserves its unity through 
 all the changes which it undergoes. External forces are 
 
104 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 perpetually acting upon it, and threatening to destroy its 
 unity, but so long as life continues the being recovers 
 its unity. Thus a living being is a unity in a different 
 sense from that in which we can speak of the unity of a 
 stone. The unity of a stone consists in the fixed un- 
 changing identity of the mechanical forces by which its 
 parts are held together : the unity of the living being is 
 an identity which maintains itself by continuous adaptation 
 to external forces which it cannot avoid. In other words, 
 life implies not only adjustment to external relations, but 
 the persistence of unity or individuality. We may therefore 
 define life as the principle by which a being maintains its 
 individuality by a continuous adaptation to external conditions. 
 Now, the unity or individuality of a living being is 
 dependent upon the organization of its parts. If we break 
 up a stone into parts, each part retains the same pro- 
 perties as it had prior to the separation. A living being, 
 or at least a living being which exhibits a definite organiza- 
 tion, cannot be thus broken up into parts without losing 
 its character as a living being. If a limb is severed from 
 the body, it ceases to display the function which it 
 possessed when it formed part of the body. Hence its 
 function does not belong to it in its isolation from the 
 other parts, but only in its relation to them. And this 
 is true of every part of the living being; in fact, we 
 determine what belongs to the individuality of the being 
 by asking what is incapable of being severed from the 
 whole without losing its characteristic function. A hand 
 cannot grasp, an eye cannot see, an ear cannot hear, 
 the lungs cannot breathe, the heart cannot beat, unless 
 the hand, the eye, the ear, the lungs, the heart, form 
 parts of one individual unity. It is not the mere juxta- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 105 
 
 position of the parts which determines the unity of the 
 living being, but a union so close and intimate that none 
 can be what it is apart from its relation to all the rest. 
 Now, this mutual dependence of parts as regards their 
 functions is what we mean by organization. An organism 
 is a union of parts, but the parts are what they are only 
 in their relations to one another, and hence we say that 
 each part is an organ of the whole. 
 
 That this conception of an organic unity is the basis 
 of our distinction of a living from a non-living being may 
 be seen from this, that where there is little differentiation 
 of organs, we find it hard to say whether there is one 
 being or several. The lowest form of animal is simply 
 a mass of tissue, with no distinction of head and foot, 
 digestive and nervous system. Such a being we regard 
 as living at all mainly because it has the capacity of 
 assimilating material, and loses this capacity when it dies. 
 But though there is thus in it a certain unity of parts 
 which cooperate in securing an end, the unity is of 
 such an external character that a part will perform the 
 same function as the whole. Such a being may be cut 
 into parts, and the parts still have life. On the other 
 hand, we find that the greater the division of labour 
 between the parts, the closer is the relation by which 
 the parts are bound together in the unity of the whole. 
 Thus the differentiation of the organism is correlative to 
 its integration. This principle is displayed even in beings 
 which have a distinct nervous system. In lower animals, 
 such as the frog, the spinal cord or the lower part of 
 the brain is capable of discharging functions which in 
 higher animals are devolved upon the higher part of the 
 brain. Thus the more truly individual a being is, the 
 
106 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 greater is the complexity of its organs, and the more 
 highly specialized their functions. 
 
 There is another characteristic which distinguishes living 
 beings from other objects : not only are they organized 
 individuals, with the faculty of self-maintenance by adapta- 
 tion to changing external conditions, but they produce 
 other individuals of the same general type as themselves. 
 
 Now, if living beings have the power of adaptation to 
 external conditions, and if they exhibit such an organiza- 
 tion of parts as tends to their own maintenance, and the 
 maintenance of their species, it seems as if we were forced 
 to apply to them a different conception from that which 
 was adequate so long as we were viewing the world from 
 the purely physical point of view. For a being which 
 not only passes through changes, but in all its changes 
 realizes the end of self-preservation, cannot, it would seem, 
 be properly understood without the conception of final 
 cause. The conception of causality as employed in the 
 physical sciences does not require us to say more than 
 that there are certain fixed conditions under which all 
 the changes in the world take place. The conception of 
 final cause adds that, in the case of living beings at 
 least, those fixed conditions are of such a nature that 
 they are subservient to an end. Thus the conception 
 of external causation tells us that under certain condi- 
 tions there arises the sensation of light ; the conception 
 of final cause affirms that this sensation of light subserves 
 the preservation of the sentient being for whom it exists. 
 If this is so, we must widen our conception of the world 
 by saying that it not only implies unchanging mathematical 
 relations and unchanging physical relations, but also un- 
 changing biological relations. In other words, not only 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 107 
 
 is the world a connected system, but it is an organic 
 system. For, if the living being has the power of per- 
 petuating itself by a continual adaptation to external con- 
 ditions, these conditions must be of such a nature as 
 to admit of such self-adaptation. The world must there- 
 fore be conceived as an organic whole, in which each part 
 is related to all the other parts, i.e., the world must be 
 conceived from a teleological, and not from a mechanical 
 point of view. Accordingly, the physical as well as the 
 mathematical sciences must be regarded as true only in 
 so far as they express what holds good of the world 
 from their limited point of view. Just as there are no 
 separate lines or figures in nature, so there can be no 
 separate objects which are purely mechanical. 
 
 It may be said, however, and indeed it has been said, 
 that, while the teleological view of the world has much 
 plausibility so long as we suppose living beings to form 
 separate and distinct species, this plausibility vanishes 
 when we find that they have all originated in a purely 
 natural and therefore mechanical way. In other words, 
 it is maintained that the theory of development, as enun- 
 ciated by Darwin, is incompatible with a teleological 
 explanation of the world, and hence we must regard the 
 conception of mechanical causation as the ultimate view 
 of things: We must, therefore, ask whether the theory 
 of development confirms, or casts doubt upon, the con- 
 clusions reached independently of it. 
 
 THE DARWINIAN THEORY. 
 
 As stated by Darwin himself, the theory of development 
 assumes that there is a line of demarcation between organic 
 and inorganic beings; and no attempt is made to derive 
 
108 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 the former from the latter. What Darwin maintained in 
 his Origin of Species was, that all living beings have been 
 derived from "one or more primordial forms"; but these 
 "primordial forms" he regarded as themselves living. 
 What Darwin denied was the older biological doctrine 
 that certain animals are clearly distinguishable by pecul- 
 iarities of form, size, colour, etc., and produce offspring 
 that closely resemble their parents, these peculiarities 
 being permanent. Thus, the rook and the crow were 
 regarded as distinct species, because (i) they differ from 
 each other in structure, form, and habits, and because (2) 
 rooks always produce rooks, and crows crows, and they 
 do not interbreed. It was therefore supposed that all 
 existing crows were descended from a single pair of 
 crows, and all the rooks from a single pair of rooks. 
 How the primitive pairs were formed was a " mystery." 
 
 In opposition to this view, Darwin maintains that 
 " species are not immutable, but that those belonging to 
 what are called the same genera (e.g., the crow and the 
 rook) are lineal descendants of some other and generally 
 extinct species, in the same manner as the acknowledged 
 varieties of any one species are the descendants of that 
 species." There are two fundamental principles which 
 explain how species have originated. In the first place, 
 all living beings multiply in a geometrical progression. 
 In the second place, the offspring differ slightly from the 
 parents, though generally they closely resemble them. 
 
 (1) Now, it is impossible that all the beings born into 
 the world should live, because there would not be sufficient 
 food to sustain them. Hence arises a struggle for ex- 
 istence, resulting in the extinction, on an average, of as 
 many as survive. They kill one another, they starve 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 109 
 
 one another, and the forces of nature carry many of them 
 off. Which of them survive? Naturally, those that are 
 stronger, or swifter, or hardier, or more cunning. "The 
 fittest always survive " — not necessarily the strongest, but 
 those which have some peculiarity that enables them to 
 escape destruction. 
 
 (2) There is also another principle at work, the principle 
 of heredity or transmission of variations. In the case of 
 plants or domestic animals, we can improve the stock by 
 carefully selecting the best seed and the finest animals. 
 After a time they may have so improved that it is hard 
 to recognize them as identical with the primitive stock. 
 So, in a state of nature, the beings that have some pecul- 
 iarity that gives them a superiority in the struggle for 
 existence, survive ; but when this variation is no longer 
 useful, those individuals that chance to have a new quality 
 or modification more favourable to their continuance will 
 gradually displace the old. It is in this way that new 
 species originate. The general conclusion reached by 
 such considerations is, that all plants and animals have 
 been gradually evolved from "one or more primordial 
 forms." 
 
 This doctrine, however, is applied not only to plants 
 and the lower animals, but to man. The most superficial 
 examination of man's body shows that it agrees in all 
 essential features with the bodies of other mammalia. 
 " Every detail of structure which is common to the mam- 
 malia as a class is found also in man, while he only differs 
 from them in such ways and degrees as the various species 
 or groups of mammals differ from one another." Now, 
 if it is reasonable to conclude that all mammalia originally 
 descended from some primitive type, are we not compelled 
 
IIO COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 to suppose that man also must trace his origin back to 
 that type? 
 
 Granting that man has originated in the same way as 
 other living beings ; granting, in other words, that as an 
 animal he must be classed with other animals : the question 
 arises whether his mental and moral faculties have also 
 been derived by gradual modification and development 
 from the lower animals. Now, in his Descent of Man, 
 Darwin does not say in express terms that the spiritual 
 nature of man has been derived from the lower animals, 
 "in the same manner and by the action of the same 
 general laws as his physical structure " ; but the whole 
 of his argument tends to that conclusion. 
 
 "The rudiments of most, if not all the mental and moral 
 faculties of man can be detected in some animals. They 
 exhibit curiosity, imitation, attention, wonder, and memory ; 
 they display kindness to their fellows, pride, contempt, and 
 shame." Some are held to possess a rudimentary language, 
 because they utter several different sounds, each of which 
 has a definite meaning to their fellows or to their young ; 
 others possess the rudiments of arithmetic, because they 
 seem to count and remember up to three, four, or even 
 five. They seem to have some sense of beauty, and certain 
 animals are said to have imagination, because they appear 
 to be disturbed by dreams. Even an approach to religion 
 is said to be exhibited in the deep love and complete 
 submission of a dog to his master. 
 
 Again, if we compare the lowest races of man with 
 the higher animals, we find that the mental and moral 
 qualities of the former are very little higher than those 
 of the latter. In the lowest savages there is not a dis- 
 tinct moral sense, but merely certain social instincts 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. Ill 
 
 which develop through circumstances into a moral sense. 
 Those actions which are regarded as contrary to the 
 interests of the tribe excite its disapprobation and are 
 held to be immoral; those actions which as a rule are 
 beneficial to the tribe meet with its approval, and are 
 considered moral. Naturally, the individual has a feeling 
 of satisfaction when he acts so as to gain general 
 approbation, and of discomfort when he does anything 
 contrary to the mind of his tribe. In these feelings orig- 
 inates his consciousness of right and wrong. Conscience 
 arises from the struggle between the desire to do what 
 will benefit oneself and injure others, and the desire to 
 obtain the general approbation of the tribe. The social 
 instincts are thus the foundation of morality. 
 
 Now, you will observe that in this argument two things 
 are implied : firstly, that there has been a continuous 
 development of intellectual and moral faculties, from the 
 lower animals up to savages, and from savages up to 
 civilized man ; and secondly, that this development may 
 be explained by the same law of natural selection that 
 has been employed to account for the natural descent 
 of man from lower forms of being. It will therefore be 
 well to point out clearly the distinction between these 
 two things. Let us ask, therefore, What is the precise 
 nature and value of the proof that man has descended 
 from the lower animals, granting that proof to be as 
 irresistible as scientific men usually suppose it to be? 
 
 I do not propose to inquire into the evidence 
 brought forward by Darwin and his followers in support 
 of the natural descent by inheritance of all living beings 
 from one or more primitive forms. Even if I were com- 
 petent to give an authoritative opinion on that question, 
 
112 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 it would not be my place to do it. I shall therefore 
 assume, with the majority of scientific men, that as a 
 matter of fact the old doctrine of the immutability of 
 species is false, and that in the principle of natural 
 selection we have found the true explanation of the 
 phenomena of organized existence. In other words, we 
 must, in my opinion, be prepared to accept the extension 
 of natural law to living beings. On this view, natural 
 selection is in the organic world very much what gravita- 
 tion is in the sphere of the inorganic. What I wish you 
 to consider is, whether, accepting the theory of develop- 
 ment as the only tenable explanation of the characteristics 
 and changes of living beings, we have reached an ultimate 
 explanation, or whether we have only solved a subordinate 
 problem. 
 
 DARWIN AND PALEY. 
 
 Now there can be no doubt that the principle of 
 natural selection, as conceived by biologists, is incon- 
 sistent with the conception that any organ or organism 
 has been specially constructed with the design of per- 
 forming a particular function. Paley, in his celebrated 
 argument from design, compares the various organs of a 
 living being to the parts of a watch. Just as the watch 
 is put together by the watchmaker so as to fulfil the 
 purpose of showing the time, so the organs of a living 
 being have been constructed by the supreme Artificer in 
 order to secure its existence and well-being. The same 
 adaptation of means to ends is exhibited, he argues, in 
 such an organ as the eye, which has been constructed 
 with th£ express purpose of enabling the individual to see. 
 This argument therefore rests upon the idea that the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 113 
 
 organs of living beings have been specially designed to 
 subserve a particular purpose. Now, this conception of 
 design is not consistent with the doctrine of natural 
 selection. It assumes that the peculiar adjustment of 
 organisms and organs to external conditions cannot be 
 explained without recourse being had to the hypothesis 
 of an artificer external to them, who specially adapted 
 them to their environment. It assumes, in other words, 
 that in the ordinary operation of natural law there is 
 nothing to account for the peculiar character of living 
 beings. For the whole force of the argument lies in 
 this, that there is nothing in the nature of living beings 
 themselves, or in the action of circumstances upon them, 
 to explain the wonderful adjustment of the one to the 
 other. It is because the operation of natural law does not 
 explain the adaptation of an organism to its environment 
 that recourse is had to the conception of an external 
 designer. Just as the parts of a watch would never 
 come together as they are found in the watch, unless 
 they were brought together and arranged by the watch- 
 maker : so the organs of a living being would never 
 come together spontaneously without the special inter- 
 position of a designing intelligence external to them. 
 But this is exactly what Darwin denies. He refuses 
 indeed to say how the primitive forms from which living 
 beings have descended came to be in existence — whether 
 by " special creation " or by evolution from non-living 
 things — but, in regard to the adaptation of all subsequent 
 beings to external conditions, he maintains that the 
 operation of the law of natural selection explains the 
 facts quite irrespective of any hypothesis of special design. 
 A teleologist like Paley would say that an organism 
 
114 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 exists because it was made for the conditions in which 
 it is found ; the Darwinian, that " an organism exists 
 because, out of many of its kind, it is the only one 
 which has been able to persist in the conditions in which 
 it is found." 1 The ordinary teleologist would say that 
 cats have been made in order to catch mice; the Dar- 
 winian, that cats exist because they catch mice well. 
 
 The effect of the Darwinian theory therefore is to 
 exclude from the realm of science all explanation by 
 final causes, and to bring the organic world like the 
 inorganic, under the sway of inviolable law. Nor can 
 there be any doubt that in this procedure it is simply 
 following in the lines of the other sciences, which have 
 discarded the hypothesis of the special interposition of 
 supernatural agency, and have sought only to find out 
 the fixed laws according to which phenomena occur. 
 
 Darwinism, then, seeks to show, firstly, that each living 
 being is fitted for some external conditions, not because 
 it has been externally and artificially constructed for the 
 purpose of living under those conditions, but because it 
 would not have existed at all had it not possessed 
 naturally the organs essential to such existence. Secondly, 
 it explains the existence of all the varieties of living 
 beings, and more particularly the " wonderful development 
 of the highest, by means of the action and reaction 
 between the environment and the simplest organic forms." 
 
 I do not think that any fruitful results in philosophy 
 are to be obtained by attempting to reinstate the con- 
 ception of external design. Our problem rather is this: 
 granting that the Darwinian theory has made it impossible 
 for us any longer to hold to the idea of the external 
 1 Huxley's Lay Sermons, p. 302. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 115 
 
 and artificial adaptation of an organized being to a 
 particular end, must we not seek for a new and higher 
 conception of the relation of the various parts of the 
 universe to one another, and more particularly of the 
 various organized beings to their environment? This is, 
 in fact, the special problem of philosophy as distinguished 
 from science. Science is content to start from the 
 assumed independent existence of individual objects, and 
 to treat them as if they were only externally related to 
 one another. This assumption, however, philosophy can- 
 not allow to pass without criticism, but goes on to ask 
 whether there is not a principle of unity which explains 
 the differences of things by showing that they all belong 
 to one intelligible system. 
 
 In examining the view of Comte, that knowledge is 
 limited to particulars, I tried to show that such a doctrine 
 is inconsistent with the nature of knowable existence. 
 All things that can be observed are related to one 
 another by the fact that they exist in space. We can 
 therefore say, that no sensible object can possibly be 
 known that does not fall within the one world of space. 
 The question therefore arises, whether we are not com- 
 pelled to hold that all living beings in like manner 
 belong to a single system of things, and whether, 
 therefore, we are not forced to return to a teleological 
 conception of the world if we are to bring the theory of 
 development into harmony with the rest of our knowledge. 
 
 I shall begin by pointing out some of the presup- 
 positions with which the theory starts ; and I shall then 
 inquire whether those presuppositions do not take us 
 beyond the theory, and compel us to regard the universe 
 from a teleological point of view. 
 
Il6 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 In the first place, the theory assumes that the laws of 
 inorganic nature are inviolable. The environment, to 
 which living beings must conform on pain of extinction, 
 involves all the ordinary laws of dynamics, physics, and 
 chemistry. Now, these laws rest upon such principles 
 as the indestructibility of matter, the equality of action 
 and reaction, the affinity of elements for each other. The 
 first of these principles affirms that, whatever may be the 
 changes in the sensible properties of things, the quantity 
 of their matter is unchangeable. When a piece of wood 
 is burned, it changes in its sensible properties, but its 
 weight remains the same. So if one body impinges upon 
 another, both alter their position, but the total quantity 
 of energy is the same. Two chemical elements will 
 combine only if they have an affinity for each other, and 
 this affinity is not a mere accident but belongs to the 
 very constitution of the elements. 
 
 Secondly, the Darwinian theory assumes that in each 
 living being there is a tendency or impulse to maintain 
 itself, and to continue its species. This is implied in the 
 "struggle for existence," which is the main principle of 
 the whole doctrine. Unless living beings possessed the 
 impulse towards self-maintenance, and the impulse to 
 continue their species, there would be no struggle for 
 existence. In the very nature of living beings, there is 
 therefore implied a purposive tendency. It is true that 
 the impulse can only be realized under appropriate 
 external conditions, but external conditions themselves 
 will not account for the facts unless we also presuppose 
 the tendency to self-maintenance and race-maintenance. 
 
 Thirdly, the theory also assumes that the variations 
 in the several parts of the living being are consistent 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 117 
 
 with the impulse to self-maintenance and race-maintenance. 
 For however strong that impulse might be, it would be 
 powerless unless the being by inheritance possessed the 
 organs enabling it to maintain itself under the external 
 conditions in which it is placed. 
 
 These three assumptions, then, are clearly implied in 
 the doctrine of evolution. If the laws of inorganic 
 nature were not constant, there could be no continuous 
 development of living beings. If living beings had no 
 impulse to self-maintenance, there would be no struggle 
 to live under given external conditions. And, lastly, if 
 there were no law of inheritance by which offspring 
 resembled their parents and yet varied slightly from them, 
 there would be no development of organisms exhibiting 
 an ever more perfect correlation of parts. Now, I think 
 it may be shown that these assumptions, when we ask 
 what is implied in them, compel us to hold that the 
 world is a system, or, in other words, that we cannot 
 explain existence apart from some form of teleology. 
 
 It is virtually assumed by Darwin that a denial of 
 teleology in the sense in which Paley affirmed it is the 
 same thing as a denial of teleology in any sense. This, 
 however, does not seem to me to follow. On the con- 
 trary, the more clearly we see that no species of living 
 being has been directly formed for a special set of cir- 
 cumstances, the more manifest it becomes that between 
 the inorganic and the organic world there is so close a 
 connection that the one cannot exist without the other. 
 No doubt, if we look at a particular set of circumstances 
 and a particular species of living being, there seems to be 
 no connection except a purely accidental one. Plants 
 that happen to be well armed with spines or hairs may 
 
Il8 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 escape being devoured; a much stronger plant without 
 this accidental advantage may perish. If the one species 
 was constructed with hairs to escape destruction, shall we 
 not have to say that in the construction of the other 
 species there was a failure in foresight? At first sight it 
 therefore seems as if there were no adaptation between 
 the environment and the organism except what is acci- 
 dental. If an organism happens to possess a peculiarity 
 that gives it an advantage in the struggle for existence it 
 survives, if not it dies; but the law of inheritance by 
 which the advantageous peculiarity arises seems to have 
 no necessary relation to external conditions, but to be 
 purely accidental. But, when we look more closely, we 
 shall find, I think, that the connection between the organ- 
 ism and the environment cannot be called accidental. 
 
 For (i) if there were no harmony whatever between an 
 organism and its environment, the organism could not 
 exist at all. Before a being can live, there must be 
 a certain adjustment of the external conditions to the 
 internal ; death, in fact, arises when that adjustment is 
 no longer possible. Even in the case of the beings that 
 do not survive, there is necessarily a certain degree of 
 harmony between them and the conditions in which they 
 are found. The struggle for existence is a struggle to 
 maintain the initial harmony. But, because in some 
 organisms the capacity of adaptation to given conditions 
 is made possible by a peculiar feature not found in others, 
 the harmony of organism and environment is maintained 
 and the being lives and grows. To suppose, therefore, 
 that there is no harmony between living beings and ex- 
 ternal conditions is to suppose that life is impossible; in 
 other words, it is to contradict the fact from which the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 119 
 
 development theory starts. The relation between the 
 inorganic and the organic world is therefore not an 
 accidental relation, but one that is implied in the very 
 existence of the organic world. 
 
 Now, if this is true, we can no longer oppose the 
 organic to the inorganic world as if they were two inde- 
 pendent spheres of existence, only externally and acci- 
 dentally connected ; we must, on the contrary, regard them 
 as belonging to one system of things. It is not a matter 
 of chance that some living beings are incapable of con- 
 tinuous adjustment to the external conditions, and others 
 succeed in effecting an adjustment : it is a matter of 
 necessity. Were the external conditions totally different 
 from what they are, living beings could not exist : that 
 they do exist is sufficient evidence of an essential 
 harmony between them and the conditions of their exist- 
 ence. What the development theory really proves is, not 
 that the relation of organized beings to their environment 
 is a purely accidental one, but that the adjustment is in 
 the case of many living beings imperfect, and ultimately 
 in all. 
 
 (2) We have seen that the theory implies in each living 
 being an impulse to maintain itself. If this were absent 
 there would be no struggle for existence. Hence we 
 cannot regard the relation of organic beings to the en- 
 vironment as the mere action of the environment on the 
 organism, but we must add that the tendency to self- 
 maintenance and to race-maintenance is an essential 
 factor in the case. That is to say, living beings are 
 unconsciously purposive in this sense, that their very 
 existence implies a tendency to continue their own exist- 
 ence and the existence of their species. It is true that 
 
120 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 this tendency is in many individuals never realized, on 
 account of an imperfect relation between the organism 
 and the environment; but it is not less true, that while 
 the individual is sacrificed, the tendency to self-main- 
 tenance is actually realized on the whole. Thus, while 
 the world is not fitted for the realization of the impulse to 
 self-maintenance in every individual, it is fitted for the 
 existence and perpetuation of life on the whole. We can 
 no longer hold that each living being, or even each 
 species, has been specially constructed with a view to its 
 existence under certain definite external conditions ; but 
 we can say, that between organic and inorganic things as 
 a whole there is a necessary harmony. This becomes 
 even clearer if we consider — 
 
 (3) That living beings have not only a tendency to self- 
 maintenance, but a tendency to organization. This tend- 
 ency to organization is explained by Darwin as due to the 
 fact that each organism reproduces itself with slight varia- 
 tions in its offspring, and that those living beings which 
 possess a variation harmonious with the external con- 
 ditions of existence survive, and, reproducing their type 
 with a new variation, give rise to a form of being having 
 a still more perfect capacity of adjustment to the environ- 
 ment. Now, it is true that this mode of explanation is 
 inconsistent with the idea of an external construction of 
 a certain type of organism out of a preexistent material; 
 for, in the living being itself is found the variation which 
 accounts for its adaptation to the environment. But 
 this only shifts the problem, and forces us to ask what 
 is meant by this hereditary tendency to variation. If 
 there were no such tendency, there would be no possibility 
 of development, since that tendency is essential to the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE — BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE. 121 
 
 existence of certain forms, and to the gradual develop- 
 ment of higher forms. While, therefore, the relation of 
 organism and environment is incompatible with the per- 
 petuation of certain forms, it is compatible with others. 
 But what is still more important, it is the very incom- 
 patibility of lower forms with the conditions of existence 
 that explains the development of higher forms. If the 
 simplest and lowest forms of life were better adapted to 
 the environment than the more complex and higher forms, 
 there could have been no evolution of the higher out of 
 the lower. It is just because some beings are less adapted 
 to the environment than others that a perpetual develop- 
 ment of higher forms has taken place. The environment, 
 in other words, is opposed to the continued existence 
 of lower forms of being and harmonious with the con- 
 tinued existence of higher forms. 
 
 Thus the idea of purpose comes back in another and 
 higher form. It is now seen to be implied in the very 
 nature of existence, not to be something external and 
 arbitrary. The organic forms with the inorganic world 
 a systematic unity in which every part is related to every 
 other. We find, in fact, in the evolution of living beings, 
 the same unifying principle that is at work in the inorganic 
 world, only that in the former the tendency to unity is 
 more clearly manifested than in the latter. The parts 
 of a stone, e.g., seem to be only externally related to 
 one another. Break it up and there is in the stone no 
 tendency to a restoration of the unity that has been 
 destroyed. In the living being, on the contrary, there 
 is a perpetual conflict with external forces, resulting, as 
 we have seen, in the development of ever higher forms 
 of life. Hence it is that, in life, as Kant said, the idea 
 
122 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 of purpose first clearly presents itself. Apart from the 
 tendency to organization and unity, there is no life ; and 
 this tendency, in its widest sweep, is exhibited in the 
 gradual ascent of life from its simplest to its most com- 
 plex forms. The higher a being is, the greater is its 
 power of adaptation, and the more perfect its unity. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 We find, therefore, that, when it is interpreted from the 
 philosophical point of view, the theory of development 
 leads to the conclusion that organized existence exhibits 
 the continual evolution of living beings towards a more 
 and more perfect form of unity ; in other words, it implies 
 that the form of existence is necessarily ruled by the idea 
 of unity, and is a realization of unity. And this is the 
 same as saying that the world is in no sense a product 
 of chance, but must be conceived from the point of view 
 of immanent teleology. 
 
 I am well aware that many objections may be raised 
 to this conclusion, and these we shall afterwards have 
 to consider. At present my aim merely is to indicate 
 in general the point of view from which, as I think, the 
 question must be regarded. Assuming, then, that the 
 world is in no sense given over to chance, or, in other 
 words, that it constitutes a systematic unity in which every 
 element is striving towards a definite end, we have 
 next to ask what is the ultimate nature of this unity; 
 we have to ask, in other words, whether the unity of 
 the world implies or does not imply intelligence. It is 
 
124 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 one thing to say that the world is a unity and exhibits 
 in its changes a continual tendency towards a more perfect 
 unity, and it is another thing to say that this unity and 
 tendency to perfection necessarily implies intelligence. It 
 may even be plausibly argued, that as the teleological 
 conception of existence implies absolute fixity in the rela- 
 tions of things, or, in other words, the reign of inviolable 
 law, there is no necessity for the hypothesis of intelligence 
 at all. This is the question which lies at the basis of 
 all philosophy, and we must give our best efforts towards 
 its solution. The only satisfactory answer will consist 
 in the whole system of philosophy, but some preliminary 
 idea of it may be given now. 
 
 We have seen that Darwin not only traces the physical 
 descent of man down from some primitive form of living 
 being, but he seems to find in the principle of natural 
 selection a sufficient explanation even of his intellectual 
 and moral qualities. The whole tenor of his thought in 
 the Descent of Man is that the great gulf supposed to be 
 fixed between man and the animals cannot be shown to 
 exist. If, therefore, we can explain all the characteristics 
 of the animals by the principle of natural selection, why 
 should we not also explain in the same way all the char- 
 acteristics of man ? Here, then, two main propositions 
 are asserted or implied by Darwin : first, that man as 
 regards mental qualities differs from the animals only in 
 degree, not in kind ; second, that the mental qualities 
 of both man and the animals may be accounted for by 
 the law of natural selection. Let us consider these in 
 order. 
 
 First. It is asserted or implied that the mental qualities 
 of man are generically identical with those of the animals. 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 25 
 
 Darwin brings man and the animals closer together, first, 
 by lifting up the animals, and, second, by lowering man. 
 
 (a) The higher animals, he contends, exhibit the same 
 kind of intelligence as man. They display, e.g., curiosity, 
 wonder, memory, imagination j some possess a rudimentary 
 mathematics, language, aesthetics, morality, and religion. 
 We must, therefore, correct our preconception that the 
 animals are destitute of intelligence. The facts show that 
 they possess in an elementary form all that has hitherto 
 been supposed to be distinctive of man. 
 
 (b) On the other hand, we must recognize that man 
 in his lowest stage of development is very little superior 
 in mental qualities to the most developed of the animals. 
 The savage has social instincts which bind him to his 
 fellows, but the same instincts are exhibited by the higher 
 animals. The difference between the highest animal and 
 the savage is no greater, if even so great, as that between 
 the savage and the civilized man. Now, the difference 
 between the civilized man and the savage is only one 
 of degree, and, by parity of reasoning, the difference 
 between the higher animals and the savage must also 
 be one of degree. 
 
 The general conclusion, then, would seem to be that 
 in the animals is found the same kind of intelligence as 
 in man, just as their organism differs from man's only in 
 its being less developed. There is no break in the con- 
 tinuity of development : the high intelligence of civilized 
 man has come out of the low intelligence of the savage, 
 as the latter has been evolved from the still lower in- 
 telligence of the animals. Man used to be defined as 
 a "rational animal," and it was supposed that "rationality" 
 differentiated, him from the lower animals. This definition 
 
126 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 we must now extend to other beings besides man, and we 
 must say that "all animals are rational." 
 
 Now, it is not my intention to dispute the facts upon 
 which Darwin bases his view of the essential identity 
 in mental as in bodily powers of man and the animals. 
 There can, I think, be no doubt that the higher animals 
 exhibit qualities that must be regarded as implying an 
 elementary intelligence. Granting this, I propose to show 
 that we must carry back this principle further than 
 Darwin has done. If, in the animals nearest to man, we 
 find traces of a rudimentary intelligence, must we not 
 expect to find in less developed animals traces of an 
 intelligence still more rudimentary; nay, must we not 
 hold that even plants exhibit intelligence in a still more 
 rudimentary form? Nor does it seem possible to stop 
 here. Following out the same line of thought, must we 
 not go still further back, and look for inchoate intelligence 
 even in inorganic things ? This is the direction in which 
 many men of science have recently gone. It is a revival, 
 in a new form, of a doctrine that was advanced in his 
 day by Leibnitz. Perhaps, therefore, it may help to 
 clear the way, if we first consider the Leibnitzian theory 
 of the essential identity of all forms of existence. 
 
 THE MONADS OF LEIBNITZ. 
 
 Every real thing is held by Leibnitz to be an individual 
 substance, or, in other words, to have a unique existence 
 of its own, separating it from all other existences. From 
 this point of view, the universe is made up of an infinite 
 number of distinct individuals, which, like crystal spheres, 
 are exclusive of one another and mutually repellent. The 
 universe is therefore a collection of separate individuals, 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 27 
 
 not an organic unity, in which each individual is only 
 ideally separable. "There can be nothing real or sub- 
 stantial in the collection, unless the units be substantial." 
 Each is a little world of its own, developing by itself, " as 
 if there were nothing else in existence." 
 
 This, however, is only one side of the Leibnitzian 
 doctrine. Pushed to its logical extreme it would dissolve 
 the universe into fragments. Each "monad," as Leibnitz 
 calls the individual, is in its existence unrelated to every 
 other. There is no really continuous existence, but 
 only discrete existence. Leibnitz naturally had some 
 difficulty in satisfying himself that material things are 
 separate and distinct. For every material thing is in 
 space, and as such it seems to be infinitely divisible. How 
 then shall we reach an absolute individual, an ultimate 
 atom? If the supposed ultimate atom occupies space, 
 it must be divisible, and therefore it cannot be a real 
 individual. To obtain a real individual atom, it would 
 seem as if we required a space that was itself made up 
 of separate parts, and of such a space we can form no 
 conception whatever. Leibnitz gets over this difficulty 
 by boldly denying that space has a real existence, and 
 consequently by denying that material things are really 
 extended. 
 
 The ancient Atomists, he says, made the mistake of 
 supposing that there are real material atoms existing in 
 space; and hence they were forced to hold the self- 
 contradictory doctrine that there are real material atoms 
 which have no parts. Real units, then, are not extended 
 at all ; they are individual " monads " having an inde- 
 pendent existence, but not an existence in space. The 
 idea of space is a "confused idea," *>., an idea resting 
 
128 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 upon the first or apparent view of things. At the 
 stage of sensible perception it seems as if real things 
 were in space and were extended; but, when we reflect 
 on the nature of reality, and bring our knowledge 
 to the clearness of thought, we see that real things 
 are not in space. The same thing is true of time : there 
 is no real time, nor are real existences in time. Yet 
 the external world is not a mere illusion : it has 
 its own definite laws, and, what is more, there is a 
 perfect correspondence between the real relations of 
 "monads" to one another, and the connection of phe- 
 nomena in time and space. The law of phenomena is 
 different from the law of real things. Phenomena are 
 connected by the law of efficient causes, monads by the 
 law of final causes. The monads are determined by 
 their own inner nature, not by the action upon them of 
 external causes, but there is a correspondence between 
 the connection of phenomena and the self-determination 
 of monads. The reason of this correspondence is that 
 the activities of the real monads are refracted in passing 
 through the medium of sense; only this refraction always 
 takes place in a fixed way. For example, if I will to 
 raise my arm, the volition proceeds entirely from me : I 
 am self-determined. But, on the other hand, the move- 
 ment of the arm seems to be sufficiently explained by the 
 cerebral movement, which itself is excited by sense-per- 
 ception. I am myself the real cause of the action, but 
 from the point of view of perception the cause is a 
 bodily movement. 
 
 But why, it may be asked, are monads compelled to 
 represent things in the " confused " form of perception ? 
 If perception is an inadequate view of things, can it be 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 29 
 
 said that the monads are determined purely from them- 
 selves? A monad that represented reality as it is would 
 always view things from the point of view of thought; 
 and hence for it there would be no space or time, no 
 extended or temporal world, no efficient causes. In 
 attempting to meet this difficulty, Leibnitz is forced to 
 modify his first unqualified assertion of the absolute self- 
 determination of the monads. All finite monads are 
 indeed determined from within, but each has a certain 
 limit in its own nature to its activity. It is because of 
 this limit that it does not represent the universe to itself 
 as it truly is, but always in a more or less confused 
 form. It presents to itself a picture of the whole world, 
 but a picture blurred and indistinct. But all monads do 
 not represent the world with equal clearness. There 
 is a regular gradation. God, the "monad of monads," 
 whose activity is absolutely unlimited by any passive 
 element, apprehends all things in the clearness of pure 
 thought. Finite spirits like men apprehend the world 
 partly in the light of thought, partly in the confusion 
 of sense. Animals have only sense perception, while 
 plants and inorganic things represent the world in a still 
 more confused way. Observe, however, that on Leibnitz' 
 view the distinction between man and the animal, 
 between the animal and the plant, and between the 
 plant and the mineral, is one of degree not of kind. 
 Wherever there is existence, there is perception. Every 
 monad is an individual, and there is no individual that 
 has not an ideal centre of perception, in which it re- 
 presents all other existence. It is a " living mirror 
 gifted with an internal activity, whereby it represents the 
 whole universe according to its particular point of view, 
 
130 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 and in such a way that its ideal universe has all the 
 regularity of the real one." 
 
 In this doctrine of Leibnitz we have a suggestion of 
 the manner in which the Darwinian conception of the 
 distinction between the animals and man must be com- 
 pleted. As the animals differ from man only in the 
 degree of their mental qualities, so we must suppose the 
 plant and the mineral to differ in a similar way. This 
 view has been put forward, though with some hesitation, 
 by Tyndall, and Haeckel adopts it without any hesitation. 
 It is pointed out by Tyndall that in the tendency to 
 crystallization of the mineral world we have an anticipation 
 of the organized form of living beings. The whole tend- 
 ency therefore of the Darwinian conception is to deny 
 that there is any fundamental distinction between different 
 orders of existence. The mineral exhibits in an implicit 
 form the same characteristics as are presented in man 
 in an explicit form. We can therefore readily understand 
 why Tyndall says that in matter he discerns the "promise 
 and potency of all kinds and qualities of life." As Darwin 
 denies any generic distinction between man and the 
 animals, so Tyndall would deny any generic distinction 
 between man and the mineral. And the same line of 
 argument is applied by both. As Darwin seeks to show 
 that the higher animals come much nearer to man than 
 is commonly supposed, so Tyndall maintains that in the 
 wonderful symmetry of the crystal we have a close 
 approximation to organized existence. The inference 
 would therefore seem to be, that there is no break in 
 the continuity of. existence, but all existence is of the 
 same fundamental nature. 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 131 
 
 If we examine this conception closely, I think we shall 
 find that it really involves two radically different views 
 of the world, which have not been clearly distinguished 
 from each other. The first view is, that there is nothing 
 in the nature of intelligence as found in man that is not 
 contained in lower forms of existence ; in other words, 
 it is implied that intelligence must be reduced to the 
 same level as other modes of existence. The second 
 view is, that all forms of existence imply intelligence, 
 since even in the mineral we find implicitly what in 
 man we find explicitly. The first view levels down, 
 the second levels up. It is one thing to say that all the 
 characteristics of man as an intelligent being can be ex- 
 plained by the operation of the same laws as those which 
 account for the form and movements of inorganic things, 
 and another thing to say that the laws of inorganic nature 
 properly understood are really laws of intelligence. We 
 must therefore inquire which of these opposite views is 
 really held by men like Darwin and Tyndall, and which 
 is true. 
 
 Now, I think there can be no doubt that the tendency 
 of Darwin's theory of the nature of man is to abolish 
 the distinction between intelligence and non-intelligence. 
 As we have seen, he implies that the mental and moral 
 qualities of man may be explained on the principle of 
 natural selection. Let us see, therefore, what explanation 
 of man's nature must be given in accordance with the 
 theory of natural selection as rigidly applied. 
 
 The evolution of all forms of life has taken place in 
 this way, that the advantageous peculiarities received by 
 inheritance enable certain forms to survive. But these 
 peculiarities simply come to the individual by natural 
 
I32 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 inheritance. No living being can change its inherited 
 qualities. The external conditions are in like manner 
 beyond the control of the individual. Now, whether an 
 individual will survive or not depends upon its power 
 of adaptation to the environment, and this depends en- 
 tirely upon the natural adaptation of its inherited peculi- 
 arities to the circumstances in which it is placed; hence 
 there seems to be in Darwin's theory no place for any 
 spontaneous activity on the part of the individual living 
 being. If therefore, we apply the doctrine of natural 
 selection to man, it seems to make any claim for his 
 freedom, either of intelligence or of action, quite unin- 
 telligible. Man, we are to suppose, inherited from his 
 animal progenitors such qualities as curiosity, wonder, 
 memory, imagination. But these are purely natural tend- 
 encies which the individual can neither make nor 
 unmake; they come to him by inheritance, like his bodily 
 powers, and their direction is determined by the external 
 conditions in which he is placed. Thus the curiosity of 
 primitive man we may suppose to have been excited by 
 something he could not explain, but the feeling itself 
 was due to an inherited tendency, and was called out by 
 the external circumstances. If, therefore, we follow the 
 evolution of man from his primitive to his civilized 
 condition, we shall still find nothing but the reaction 
 of the individual on his environment, — a reaction deter- 
 mined simply by the peculiarities of his inherited 
 disposition. 
 
 (a) There is on this view no more room for any free 
 activity in knowledge on the part of man than on the 
 part of an unconscious thing. Hydrogen exhibits by its 
 natural constitution an affinity for oxygen, but it would 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 33 
 
 be regarded as a pure fiction to endow the hydrogen 
 with any capacity of freely selecting the oxygen as its 
 mate. For, it would be said, hydrogen cannot refuse to 
 unite with oxygen under certain conditions : the union 
 is absolutely determined by the natural characteristics of 
 both. In the same way it must be denied that in man 
 there is any freedom in knowledge ; he can know only 
 that which his inherited disposition fits him to know : to 
 suppose that he could have a different disposition, or 
 react differently under the conditions, is incompatible 
 with the principle of natural selection. 
 
 {b) Nor can there be any freedom of action. Primitive 
 man inherited certain tendencies from his animal ancestors. 
 Thus, like them, he has a selfish tendency and a social 
 tendency. Which of these shall be predominant will be 
 determined by the interaction between the organism and 
 the environment. The moral sense is developed by the 
 conditions under which man is placed. In virtue of his 
 love of approbation and his fear of punishment — both 
 inherited peculiarities — the savage comes to have a feeling 
 of pain when he follows his selfish desire for his own 
 pleasure. Right and wrong are therefore names for the 
 pleasure of approbation and the pain of disapprobation 
 respectively. But the individual man can no more de- 
 termine which of these shall predominate than he can 
 alter his bodily stature or endow himself with new senses. 
 We must suppose that in the majority of men the love 
 of social approbation is stronger than the love of individual 
 pleasure; because otherwise, the extension and develop- 
 ment of the social bond would be impossible. But this 
 only shows that the inherited disposition and the environ- 
 ment tend on the whole to the evolution of higher 
 
134 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 sociality : it does not show that in the individual there 
 is any free activity. 
 
 Thus the theory of natural selection, when it is employed 
 to account for the mental and moral qualities of man, 
 leads to the conclusion that there is no freedom either 
 of knowledge or of action. Now, when we clearly see 
 the results which follow from a rigid adherence to the 
 doctrine of natural selection, we cannot help asking whether 
 Darwin has not made a grave mistake in attempting to 
 explain intelligence and morality by a principle which 
 necessarily excludes all freedom either in knowing or in 
 willing. May it not be that natural selection is only a 
 limited or partial explanation, true within its own sphere, 
 but inadequate and untrue when extended to the explana- 
 tion of conscious beings ? 
 
 In attempting to answer this question, I must begin 
 by reminding you that Darwin at once seeks to approxi- 
 mate the higher animals to man, and to bring man nearer 
 to the higher animals. This he does by saying that in 
 the higher animals are to be found the same characteristics 
 as in man, and that the savage possesses these character- 
 istics in a degree only a little superior to the higher 
 animals. Now, in this contention, it is implied that mental 
 and moral qualities are purely natural characteristics, 
 received by inheritance, and called out by the reaction 
 of the organism on the environment. Darwin, in other 
 words, assumes that the qualities of the animals are due 
 to the influence of natural selection, and, having shown 
 that there is no essential difference between man and 
 the animals in respect of those qualities, he infers that 
 the intelligence of man can be explained in the same 
 way. That is to say, Darwin does not find in the fact 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 35 
 
 that the higher animals possess qualities similar to man's, 
 a reason for doubting whether natural selection is an 
 adequate explanation even of them ; but, assuming the 
 explanation to be adequate when applied to the animals, 
 he infers that it must also be adequate when applied 
 to man. I propose to approach the problem from the 
 other side, and to ask whether the principle of natural 
 selection is adequate to the explanation of the facts of 
 intelligence and morality as these exist in man. If we 
 see reason to deny its adequacy as regards man, we shall 
 have reason to doubt whether it is adequate even when 
 applied to the animals. 
 
 DOES NATURAL SELECTION EXPLAIN KNOWLEDGE? 
 
 Let us first ask whether natural selection explains the 
 fact of knowledge as it exists in man. 
 
 Darwin tells us that man inherited from his non-human 
 ancestors such mental characteristics as curiosity, wonder, 
 and memory. What is curiosity? It implies an interest 
 in some object, and a concentration of attention upon 
 it for the purpose of discovering what are its properties. 
 It is further implied in curiosity that the subject believes 
 in the intelligibility of the object. Now interest, attention, 
 belief in the intelligibility of the object, all involve the 
 faculty of distinguishing one object from another by an 
 apprehension of the properties of each; and this again 
 implies that the apprehending subject is capable of separat- 
 ing between himself and the immediate impression that 
 he has from moment to moment. For if, as each im- 
 pression arose, it vanished for ever, it would be impossible 
 for the subject to distinguish one impression from another, 
 and therefore impossible for him to identify an object 
 
136 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER 
 
 by its peculiar properties. Primitive man was no doubt 
 engaged mainly in a fierce fight for existence, a fight to 
 preserve himself from the destructive influence of the 
 elements and from his natural foes, the lower animals. 
 It was therefore necessary for him to learn to some extent 
 the properties of the elements and the habits of the lower 
 animals. To do this he had to discriminate things by 
 their properties ; to learn the nature of fire, tempest, cold, 
 sunshine, and to find out how the animals might be over- 
 come or captured. But the victory over objects he could 
 achieve only if he had the faculty of grasping the different 
 properties of things. To this end all his energies were 
 directed, and if he made a serious mistake, the forfeit 
 was his life. He had therefore to free himself from the 
 first impressions of the nature of things, by attention, 
 comparison, and discrimination ; that is, he had to separate 
 between his impression of things and their actual nature. 
 Such a faculty of distinguishing between the apparent 
 and the real is the pre-requisite of all knowledge ; and 
 it implies that man was not the sport of the fleeting 
 impression of the moment, but was in some sense its 
 master. His curiosity took the form of an interest in 
 all those properties of things, a comprehension of which 
 was essential to his very existence. Primitive man had 
 no scientific interest in nature; he did not study its 
 phenomena with a view to understanding it for itself. Yet 
 we can readily see in the undeveloped and limited curiosity 
 which he possessed the rudiments of the scientific curiosity 
 of civilized man. For, as I have said, he assumed that 
 what he sought to understand was capable of being under- 
 stood. That is to say, he assumed that in his own intelli- 
 gence could be found the key to the interpretation of 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 37 
 
 things. Knowledge, then, even as it existed for primitive 
 man implied (i) the consciousness of a distinction between 
 the apparent and the real, and (2) the capacity of appre- 
 hending the real in virtue of intelligence. 
 
 It is plain, then, that any attempt to reduce knowledge 
 to the mere flow of impressions in a subject that passively 
 receives them, makes even the simplest knowledge unin- 
 telligible. If consciousness could be described as a mere 
 series of occurrences in the subject, there could be no 
 knowledge. The successive positions taken up by a 
 moving body may perhaps be so described, but the con- 
 sciousness of man refuses to be expressed in such terms. 
 The moving body is not aware of the successive positions 
 it occupies : man not only has impressions, but he is 
 aware that he has them. To the conscious subject we 
 must therefore attribute much greater complexity than to 
 the unconscious thing. Consciousness always involves the 
 opposition of what seems and what is; or, what is the 
 same thing, it implies that impressions as they occur are 
 only the sign or index of what does not occur. Con- 
 sciousness also involves the capacity on the part of the 
 subject of contrasting the stream of occurrences with the 
 permanent nature of the object. It presupposes, in other 
 words, that the objective world is not a mere series of 
 occurrences, but a fixed system of things, and that the 
 subject is capable of finding out what that system is. 
 Knowledge always consists in grasping things from a uni- 
 versal point of view, i.e., in liberation from accidental 
 impressions and associations. This is the real force of 
 Bacon's contention, that man must come to the study 
 of nature free from all preconceptions. For what this 
 implies is, that only in freeing oneself from the accidental 
 
138 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 impressions of the moment, and putting oneself at the 
 point of view of existence as it actually is, can knowledge 
 be obtained. 
 
 THE CARTESIAN CONCEPTION OF MIND. 
 
 What has just been said may also be put in this way, 
 that no knowledge is derivable from mere impressions, 
 but only from impressions that have been brought to the 
 unity of conception. For it is by conception, i.e., by the 
 mental apprehension of the meaning of individual im- 
 pressions when these are viewed by reference to the 
 whole system of things, that we obtain knowledge. We 
 must be careful to observe, however, that we cannot 
 absolutely oppose the conceptions of our own minds to 
 the actual nature of things. Descartes, e.g., maintained 
 that there are certain "innate conceptions," which belong 
 to the mind as it is in itself, while, on the other hand, our 
 particular experiences come to us from without. But if 
 we suppose the mind to supply conceptions purely out of 
 itself, what guarantee can we have that these express the 
 real nature of existence? This whole mode of thought 
 rests upon the supposition, that knowledge is partly 
 obtained by the mind's contemplation of itself, and partly 
 by the mind's passive apprehension of what is without 
 itself. Now, this involves a double misapprehension. In 
 the first place, the mind has no nature when it is separated 
 from all objects actual or possible ; and, in the second 
 place, there is no apprehension by the mind of what is 
 without it. 
 
 (1) Suppose the mind to be absolutely separated from 
 all objects, and it has no conceivable nature. If we try 
 to think of such a mind, we can only describe it by 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 39 
 
 negations : we can say, that it is not extended or mov- 
 able or ponderable : in short, that it has none of the 
 predicates by which we may describe the material world. 
 This was clearly enough perceived by Descartes ; and 
 therefore he went on to say, that mind has none of the 
 attributes of matter, but must be defined as a purely 
 thinking substance. It may be shown, however, that 
 mind in complete isolation from matter cannot be defined 
 even as a thinking substance. For about what is it to 
 think? It cannot be a mind which perceives, because 
 perception is of a world of objects whose properties are 
 those of extension, motion, weight, etc., and, by hypothesis, 
 the mind in itself is a substance that has none of these 
 properties and is entirely removed from all contact with 
 them. And if it cannot perceive, neither can the mind 
 reme?nber or imagine ; for remembrance and imagination 
 presuppose perception. I cannot remember what I have 
 never perceived, nor can I imagine anything that is not 
 a re-arrangement of what has been perceived. 
 
 In this difficulty Descartes falls back upon the view that 
 there are certain conceptions which the mind has by its 
 very nature, — such conceptions as that of God. But the 
 conception of God or the Infinite is not possible apart 
 from the conception of the Finite. If we think of God we 
 must think of Him as the Being who is the source of all 
 existence, and that is impossible if we have no conscious- 
 ness of any existence. Shall we then say, that although 
 the mind has no conception of any object — whether that 
 object is the world or God — it yet has a conception of 
 itself as a pure thinking activity? But a pure thinking 
 activity which thinks nothing is just as inconceivable as 
 a world beyond consciousness or the Infinite in absolute 
 
140 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 separation from the Finite. For there is no possibility of 
 a thinking activity that thinks on nothing. I can think 
 on space or time or the world or God, but how can I 
 think without thinking on anything? Now, to this pure 
 thought, which is the thought of nothing, Descartes is 
 reduced, because he has removed from thought all that 
 can be an object for it. He has, in other words, reduced 
 the mind to the mere possibility or bare capacity of 
 thinking ; but if the mind is the mere capacity of thinking, 
 how can it think itself? A mere capacity cannot think 
 itself as a capacity : to think is the actual exercise of 
 thought, and in this case there can be no actual exercise 
 of thought, because the mind has been reduced to the 
 mere capacity of thinking, a capacity that can never be 
 realized in actual thinking. Plainly, therefore, on Des- 
 cartes' assumption of the absolute separation of the mind 
 from all reality, we are reduced to the idea of a mere 
 potentiality. 
 
 Nor are we even entitled to call this supposititious mind 
 the potentiality of thinking. If I say that a child is poten- 
 tially a man, I use language that is perfectly intelligible, 
 because I define the character of the potentiality : what I 
 am saying is, that the child has capacities which, when they 
 are realized take the form of the activities characteristic of 
 a feeling, perceiving, thinking being. But if I say that a 
 child is a pure potentiality, without defining the form that 
 this potentiality will take, I am using language that has 
 no precise signification. Of what is the child the poten- 
 tiality, it is naturally asked? Do you mean that he is 
 potentially a plant, or an animal, or a man? Now, 
 Descartes cannot say that the mind is the potentiality of 
 anything, and therefore his language has no precise sig- 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 141 
 
 nification. Such a mind is not definable even as mind, 
 since a pure potentiality, if it could be realized, might 
 exhibit the characteristics which Descartes himself ascribes 
 to matter. 
 
 (2) Descartes' other assumption, that there is an appre- 
 hension by the mind of what is external to it, is equally 
 inadmissible ; it is, in fact, but the other side of his 
 assumption that the mind is an independent substance. 
 The material world is conceived by Descartes as in all 
 respects the opposite of mind. The mind is a pure unity, 
 whereas extended substance is pure diversity, being "in- 
 finitely self-external or divided into partes extra partes ad 
 infinitum? Being thus separated from each other "by 
 the whole diameter of being," the difficulty arises how 
 the mind can know the external world at all. Descartes 
 is practically compelled to assume that we have such 
 knowledge. We do not, he admits, directly apprehend 
 the objective world, but we have experience of mental 
 states which we must suppose to represent it correctly. 
 In other words, matter exists beyond the mind, but its 
 action upon the mind takes the form of immediate im- 
 pressions, which compel us to infer its existence. 
 
 Now, it may be shown that this doctrine makes the 
 objective world unintelligible. If I know the material 
 world only through certain mental states of my own, I 
 cannot, on Descartes' premises, attribute these to the 
 object. The impressions of colour, heat, weight, are for 
 me merely my own states. If matter is purely self- 
 external and inert, as Descartes affirms, it is not the 
 subject of states of feeling, such as colour, heat, or weight. 
 Of these I must therefore strip matter. But when these 
 are taken away, matter is no longer definable. A matter 
 
142 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 that has neither colour, nor heat, nor weight, is indis- 
 tinguishable from pure extension. This Descartes himself 
 saw, and hence he held the curious doctrine, that wher- 
 ever there is space there is matter. But space is no 
 more knowable on Cartesian principles than matter, since 
 it exists for us only in the form of our own mental 
 states. We must therefore deny even extension to matter. 
 What remains? Simply the bare idea of something that 
 cannot be further defined. All that we can say of it is, 
 that it is that which is capable of acting on the mind. 
 
 Now, if we bring together the two sides of the Car- 
 tesian doctrine, we get this result : that Mind is the 
 pure capacity of thinking, and Matter the pure capacity 
 of acting. But we have seen that a mere capacity may 
 be the capacity of anything. Hence there is no recogniz- 
 able distinction between mind and matter. The opposi- 
 tion of subject and object disappears, and leaves us with 
 the idea of pure potentiality, and pure potentiality is no 
 reality, being in fact indistinguishable from pure nothing. 
 Thus the Cartesian doctrine of the separation of mind 
 and matter leads to the denial of all knowledge. 
 
 I have made this criticism of the Cartesian theory of 
 knowledge in order to show that existence cannot be 
 divided up into two antithetical halves. If the objective 
 world is in its nature entirely foreign to the knowing 
 subject, knowledge is impossible. If man can know only 
 his own subjective states, he is necessarily shut out from 
 all apprehension of objective existence. Now, we have 
 already seen that it is a contradiction in terms to affirm 
 that we know reality to be unknowable. Let us then 
 start from the principle that the objective world is not 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 43 
 
 essentially foreign to us, but is something that we can 
 know and understand. If that is true, we must hold 
 that the world is in itself essentially rational, i.e., it forms 
 a connected system of things. Because of its rationality, 
 it can be comprehended by reason. Hence, in every act 
 of knowledge, man finds the world to be partially re- 
 ducible to an intelligible system, and the progress of 
 knowledge will just consist in the gradual extension of 
 the consciousness of systematic unity in the world. But 
 in knowledge man not only finds the world to be rational, 
 but he finds that he is himself rational. It is in virtue 
 of his own intelligence that he is capable of finding the 
 world intelligible. And he cannot learn his own ration- 
 ality apart from the process by which he gains a know- 
 ledge of the objective world. Thus the development of 
 the consciousness of what his own nature essentially is, 
 is at the same time a development of his knowledge 
 of objective reality. In man there is a principle, the 
 principle of rationality, which gives him a mastery over 
 the world, just because in the world that rationality is 
 already implied. The whole process of knowledge may 
 thus be viewed either as the development of man's con- 
 sciousness of the world, or as the development of man's 
 consciousness of himself. 
 
 Now, if knowledge is of this character, it is plain that, 
 just in so far as we have knowledge we are freed from 
 any unintelligible force acting externally upon us. In 
 so far as primitive man learned the properties of the 
 objective world, he was free from their influence. Having 
 this knowledge he was not subject to nature, but he 
 subjected nature to himself. His environment was not 
 something that acted upon him externally, but something 
 
144 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 that he could comprehend and therefore master. The 
 only external force that acted upon him was the force 
 he had not yet learned to understand. And the develop- 
 ment of man has been a continuous process of mastering 
 the world more and more perfectly. When we learn the 
 meaning of any fact — say, the fact of electricity — it ceases 
 to be something foreign to us; it does not master us, but 
 we master it. The only limit to man's subjection of the 
 world to himself is his ignorance. But even this limit is 
 never absolute, firstly, because, even when some special 
 fact is not yet put in its proper place in the whole in- 
 telligible system of things, we yet are conscious that it 
 can be known ; and, secondly, because our ignorance is 
 never absolute, but always rests upon partial knowledge. 
 We may now see, I think, that the principle of natural 
 selection cannot explain the knowledge of man. That 
 principle assumes that man is incapable of rising above 
 his immediate circumstances. Knowledge is supposed 
 to be the product of the action of the environment 
 upon certain inherited tendencies. But these inherited 
 tendencies we have seen to be but another name for the 
 capacity of grasping the nature of the environment; and 
 this capacity cannot be explained as the mere effect of 
 the environment; on the contrary, it implies a compre- 
 hension of the nature of the environment, and the power 
 of adapting it to himself. We must therefore say, that 
 man's knowledge begins in the partial subjection of 
 external circumstances to his ideal of himself, and that 
 the development of knowledge consists in an ever more 
 complete realization of himself by means of an ever 
 greater mastery of the law of the world. In so far as 
 he knows man is free. We might say, in fact, that the 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 1 45 
 
 history of man's knowledge is just the history of his sub- 
 stitution of the higher law of reason for the lower law of 
 natural selection. 
 
 DOES NATURAL SELECTION EXPLAIN MORALITY? 
 
 It may be shown by similar reasoning that Darwin's 
 attempt to explain morality by means of natural selection 
 is equally unsuccessful. If we accept his view there is 
 no possible freedom of action, and no distinction between 
 morality and nature. (i) There is no freedom, because 
 the actions of man are determined by the natural im- 
 pulse to pleasure, and that impulse again is due to the 
 action of the environment upon the individual's inherited 
 disposition. (2) Nor is there any moral as distinguished 
 from natural activity; for morality is simply a name for 
 the actions that give more pleasure than pain. 
 
 Now, I have tried to show that knowledge implies 
 freedom, because it lifts man above the flux of immediate 
 impressions and so liberates him from the tyranny of 
 the sensible. Similarly, it may be shown that in his 
 action, as properly understood, man is free because he 
 is not under the dominion of immediate impulses. 
 
 Darwin tells us that primitive man inherited from his 
 animal progenitors two opposite tendencies — the tendency 
 to seek his own good and the tendency to seek the 
 good of others ; and which of these shall be predominant 
 will depend upon the environment. Look, first, at the 
 supposed selfish tendency or impulse. This tendency 
 in primitive man, we must suppose, took the form of 
 a struggle for his own existence and for the satisfaction 
 of his natural wants. These wants were mainly food and 
 
 K 
 
146 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 shelter. Man by his nature as a living being had for 
 these a strong desire, and to get them he was ready to 
 sacrifice all other beings. In particular, he had to 
 struggle with the forces of nature and the lower animals, 
 and individual men had to struggle with one another. 
 Observe, however, that the superiority of man over the 
 lower animals, and of one man over another, arises mainly 
 from the fact that he had a better knowledge of the 
 environment, and by means of this knowledge he could 
 turn it to his own use. He made circumstances the 
 means of satisfying his natural wants. But this adapta- 
 tion of means to ends presupposes in man an idea of 
 the end which he desired to obtain. He desired to 
 secure the satisfaction of his natural desire for food and 
 shelter. In other words, he not only possessed the im- 
 pulse to maintain his life, but he grasped so far the 
 meaning of the impulse. Thus primitive man had a 
 conception of himself as capable of being satisfied. This, 
 indeed, was the necessary condition of a selfish struggle 
 for maintenance at the expense of others. There can 
 be no selfishness where there is no consciousness of self. 
 We thus see, that, just as the knowledge of man implies 
 liberation from the crowd of impressions that are per- 
 petually coming and going, so desire implies liberation 
 from the immediate impulses that arise from time to 
 time. 
 
 If man were merely the passive recipient of impulses 
 that arise on occasion of external stimuli, he could 
 have no consciousness of himself as a possible subject 
 of satisfaction or dissatisfaction. If primitive man, as 
 Darwin says, had a strong tendency to seek his own 
 good, he must have had the consciousness of his own 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 147 
 
 good as distinguished from the good of others. He 
 could not seek for the satisfaction of himself, if he had 
 no idea of himself: he could not seek to satisfy himself 
 at the expense of others, unless he contrasted himself 
 with other selves. What Darwin speaks of as a primitive 
 selfish impulse was not a mere impulse : it was not a 
 mere feeling of the absence of pleasure, but the conscious- 
 ness of self as capable of being satisfied and the effort 
 to obtain that satisfaction at whatever cost to others 
 in the way of their dissatisfaction. Obviously, therefore, 
 we cannot explain the desire for self-preservation as due 
 merely to the excitation of an inherited impulse. The 
 natural appetite for food cannot be called a selfish tend- 
 ency; it becomes selfish only when the individual is 
 conscious of the object of appetite, and when setting 
 that object before his consciousness he seeks to realize 
 it irrespective of the claims of others. It is by learning 
 the meaning of his immediate wants that man learns 
 to satisfy them ; he comes to apprehend their law, 
 and to seek in external nature for the means of their 
 satisfaction. Now, as we have seen in the case of 
 knowledge, to grasp the law of things is to gain a 
 mastery over them, and the only limit to this mastery 
 lies in ignorance of their law. So primitive man, appre- 
 hending the object of his appetites and learning the 
 means by which they could be satisfied, was enabled to 
 satisfy his wants, i.e., to satisfy himself. To speak of 
 such purposive activity as the action of external circum- 
 stances upon an inherited disposition is meaningless : 
 the fact is that man, grasping the law of his environment, 
 and grasping the law of his own nature, turns the environ- 
 ment into the means of realizing his ideal self. He is 
 
148 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCEP. 
 
 not subject to his impulses, but he subjects his impulses 
 to himself. 
 
 We may see the same thing if we look at what Darwin 
 calls the social impulses. There is a tendency in man 
 to seek the good of others as well as of himself. If so, 
 he must be capable not only of abstracting from his 
 own immediate impulses, but of putting himself at the 
 point of view of others. Not only does he conceive of 
 himself as a possible subject of satisfaction, but he con- 
 ceives of others in the same way. Thus he rises to the 
 point of view of a community of selves, each of which 
 has a claim to self-satisfaction. What he now contrasts 
 is his own possible self with the possible self of others. 
 And he is capable of foregoing a certain form of self- 
 satisfaction in order that others may obtain a more com- 
 plete self-satisfaction. The savage may seek the good of 
 his tribe even at the risk of losing his life. What does 
 this mean? It means that he has 'risen above the ideal 
 of his own individual self, and grasped the idea of a 
 common good. Darwin would explain this higher con- 
 sciousness by saying that the individual feels pain when 
 he acts contrary to the common opinion of his tribe. 
 But, in the first place, this does not account for the 
 common opinion. If the tribe condemn action that has 
 for its end the good of the individual as opposed to the 
 good of the community, it is because there has arisen 
 before their consciousness the ideal of a self that can 
 find genuine satisfaction only in seeking the good of all. 
 It is therefore implied that selfishness is not the way to 
 obtain the satisfaction of the individual. It is implied, 
 in other words, that man is by his very nature social, 
 
RELATIONS OF BIOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY. 149 
 
 and forms part of an organism in which the good of 
 each is bound up with the good of all. And, in the 
 second place, the feeling of dissatisfaction experienced 
 by the individual when he acts contrary to the common 
 opinion rests upon the very same consciousness of a self 
 higher than his merely individual self. It is because he 
 has the same consciousness of a social self as is embodied 
 in common opinion that the individual man is dissatisfied 
 with himself when he has sought for the satisfaction of 
 his own separate self at the expense of others. Thus what 
 Darwin calls the " social impulse " really involves the idea 
 of a community of self-conscious beings, all of whom are 
 selves and can find their own satisfaction only in seeking 
 the good of all. To speak of the environment acting 
 on the individual is to leave out of account all that makes 
 sociality intelligible. For the environment here can only 
 mean the constraining power of that higher consciousness 
 of his true self which is revealed to man in virtue of 
 his reason. Learning that his true nature can be realized 
 only by self-identification with the common weal, the 
 individual man is not externally acted upon by a foreign 
 influence. In submitting himself to the law of reason he 
 is submitting himself to his true self, and such submission 
 is true freedom. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 
 
 SPENCER AND THE SCIENTIFIC EVOLUTIONISTS. 
 
 We have seen that neither man's knowledge nor his 
 moral consciousness can be explained on the principle 
 of natural selection. To know is to be beyond a mere 
 state of passivity : it is to grasp the meaning of existence 
 in virtue of a principle implied in the very nature of the 
 knowing subject ; to will is to realize an ideal presented 
 to himself by the subject, an ideal which he has just 
 because he is not limited to his immediate impulses but 
 can put himself at a universal point of view. The progress 
 of knowledge consists in an ever fuller comprehension of 
 the meaning of the world ; the progress in morality consists 
 in an ever fuller realization of what in his ideal nature 
 man truly is. And these two sides of man's nature — his 
 intelligence and his will — his consciousness of the world 
 and his consciousness of himself — do not develop inde- 
 pendently of each other; for as man learns to comprehend 
 the meaning of the world he also learns to comprehend 
 himself. Now, there is great danger of losing sight of 
 this truth. When we once see that mind cannot be 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 15 r 
 
 explained on the supposition that the world acts ex- 
 ternally upon it, we are tempted to say that mind is 
 independent of the world and develops apart from it. 
 Starting from this side of the subject, we seem to find 
 that it can know nothing but its own states. Thus we 
 get into a new difficulty. We have seen that there is 
 an apparent conflict between the idea of the finite and 
 the idea of the infinite. We have also seen that there 
 is an apparent conflict between the idea of the world 
 and the idea of self. We have now to consider the 
 apparent conflict between the idea of self and the idea 
 of the world. To some extent this problem has already 
 been dealt with in what was said of the dualism of 
 Descartes. But it will be profitable to consider it in 
 the form in which it has been presented in our own day. 
 I shall therefore state and examine the doctrine of Mr. 
 Herbert Spencer on this point, a doctrine which has 
 secured a number of adherents. 
 
 There is one datum of consciousness, Mr. Spencer 
 tells us, that must be assumed by every philosophy, viz., 
 the absolute distinction of subject and object. The 
 world of mind and the world of matter are mutually 
 exclusive j or, as Mr. Spencer puts it, subject and 
 object are "antithetically opposed divisions of the entire 
 assemblage of things." We can analyze our idea of the 
 subject and find out the elements implied in it, and 
 similarly we can reduce our idea of the object to its 
 simplest terms; but there is no possibility of reducing 
 these two ideas further : we cannot identify the subject 
 with the object, or the object with the subject. The 
 distinction of subject and object is "the consciousness 
 of a difference transcending all other differences." 1 This 
 1 Psychology ; § 62. 
 
152 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 consciousness must be accepted, because its opposite is 
 not only unbelievable but unthinkable. If I say, "The 
 subject is the object," I have framed a proposition that 
 contradicts itself; for the two terms, "subject" and 
 "object," cannot by any effort be brought before con- 
 sciousness in that relation which the proposition asserts 
 between them; in other words, to identify subject and 
 object contradicts the very idea of subject and of 
 object, because the idea of the one is absolutely distinct 
 from the idea of the other. The attempt to think sub- 
 ject as object, or object as subject, is as futile as the 
 attempt to think of a square as round, or to think of a 
 straight line as bent. Now, when a proposition cannot 
 by any possibility be thought, its opposite must be true, 
 i.e. t we must hold the truth of the proposition, " The 
 subject is not identical with the object." 
 
 Now, there is no doubt that Mr. Spencer, in affirming 
 that subject and object, mind and matter, are absolutely 
 distinct from each other, is affirming what the plain man 
 would accept as palpably true. I perceive that tree 
 before me, but / am not the tree : I am a perceiving, 
 conscious, thinking being, whereas the tree has no per- 
 ception, no consciousness, no thought. The tree, it will 
 be said, has properties that distinguish it toto coelo from 
 me, the subject that perceives it; and therefore the sub- 
 ject is quite distinct in nature from the object. Mr. 
 Spencer can therefore apparently find support for his 
 opposition of subject and object in the ordinary con- 
 sciousness of men. 
 
 But it is very doubtful if the man of common sense 
 would be willing to follow Mr. Spencer when he goes on 
 to reduce subject and object to their lowest terms. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 153 
 
 What is the nature of the object and of the subject? The 
 moment Mr. Spencer proceeds to answer this question, 
 it becomes obvious that his conceptions of object and 
 subject are very different from those ordinarily held. 
 
 Mr. Spencer, then, starts from the opposition of sub- 
 ject and object, and then he goes on to ask how the 
 subject comes to have a knowledge, or an apparent 
 knowledge, of the object. When we speak of the ob- 
 jective world we are thinking of sensible things in space 
 and time; or, in Mr. Spencer's words, of "relations of 
 sequence and relations of coexistence." How do we get 
 a knowledge of these relations? Mr. Spencer's answer 
 is, that we are conscious of a relation of sequence in 
 every change of consciousness. I may have a series of 
 impressions of sound, and the consciousness of this series 
 gives me the apprehension of the relation of sequence. 
 But I obtain the same apprehension in the consciousness 
 of any series of impressions whatever. Thus, my per- 
 ception of the colour of this desk is given in a succession 
 of impressions of colour; and so also is my apprehension 
 of its hardness and smoothness, its resistance and weight. 
 Primarily, therefore, all our perceptions take the form of 
 a succession of impressions. States of consciousness are 
 serial, not coexistent. Originally, therefore, we have a 
 consciousness only of the relation of sequence, not of 
 the relation of coexistence. How, then, do we advance 
 from the consciousness of sequence to the consciousness 
 of coexistence ? How, out of a succession of impressions, 
 do we obtain the consciousness of what is not successive? 
 Mr. Spencer's answer is, that there are certain sequences 
 of impression that do not occur in a fixed order, but 
 can be taken in any order. The series of impressions 
 
154 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 called sounds come in a certain order, but the series of 
 impressions called colours, or tastes, may appear in a 
 different order. Thus, I can apprehend the colour of 
 this desk either by running my eye along the surface 
 from left to right or from right to left. Thus we come 
 to distinguish between sequences proper, and sequences 
 which are only successive in our apprehension. The 
 former is the consciousness of the relation of sequence, 
 the latter the consciousness of the relation of coexistence. 
 Now, we have many experiences of these two kinds of 
 relation, and hence we form an abstract conception of 
 sequence and an abstract conception of coexistence. The 
 abstract of all sequences is time. The abstract of all 
 coexistence is space. 
 
 You will observe that Mr. Spencer here assumes that 
 the individual has a direct consciousness only of his own 
 impressions. For him the properties of the object exist 
 only as a series of states in his own mind, and it is 
 out of this series that he constructs the consciousness 
 of coexistence. There is, Mr. Spencer would say, a cor- 
 respondence between the states of the subject and the 
 properties of the object, but not an identity. This 
 correspondence he explains more fully in treating of the 
 relation between mental states or " feelings " and the 
 nervous changes that accompany, but are distinct from, 
 these feelings. The parallelism is set forth with great 
 minuteness. Thus, (a) nervous action occupies appreci- 
 able time, and so also does feeling ; (&) each nervous 
 action leaves a partial incapacity for a like nervous 
 action, so each feeling leaves a partial incapacity for a 
 like feeling j (c) other things being equal, the intensities 
 of feelings vary as the intensities of the correlative nervous 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 55 
 
 actions \ (d) the difference between direct and indirect 
 nervous disturbances corresponds to the difference between 
 the vivid feelings we call real and the faint feelings we 
 call ideal. 
 
 But the parallelism is even closer. We are apt to 
 suppose that the individual sensations and emotions we 
 experience are absolutely simple. But they are not really 
 so. A musical sound, for example, is supposed to be a 
 simple feeling. If equal blows or taps are made one 
 after another at a rate not exceeding some sixteen per 
 second, the effect of each is perceived as a separate 
 noise ; but when the rapidity with which the blows 
 follow one another exceeds this, the noises are no longer 
 identified in separate states of consciousness, and there 
 arises a continuous state of consciousness called a tone. 
 Thus an apparently simple feeling is really composed of 
 various feelings. Now we must suppose, in the same 
 way, that all kinds of feelings are really complex, though 
 apparently simple. Nay, must we not suppose that all 
 feelings are made up of elements that in the last analysis 
 are absolutely identical in their nature? To this prim- 
 ordial element of consciousness a nervous shock of no 
 appreciable duration may be supposed to correspond. 
 
 You will see from this how far Mr. Spencer has 
 travelled from the point of view of common sense. The 
 mind he conceives as made up of ultimate units of feel- 
 ing, absolutely identical in their nature, just as all nerve 
 action is reducible to simple indistinguishable nervous 
 shocks. The subject, in other words, is in its ultimate 
 nature not the subject that we ordinarily suppose it to 
 be, but a collection of primitive atoms of feeling, just 
 as the object is a collection of primitive units of force. 
 
156 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 Thus the whole complex variety of existence disappears, 
 and what is left is a subject composed of indistinguish- 
 able units of feeling, and an object composed of indis- 
 tinguishable units of force. 
 
 Mr. Spencer thinks that he has thus proved the in- 
 dependence of subject and object, while he has at the 
 same time established their correspondence. We can 
 reduce the subject to units of feeling, and the object to 
 units of force; but we cannot reduce units of feeling to 
 units of force : this is the " difference transcending all 
 other differences," the distinction "never to be tran- 
 scended while consciousness lasts." There is one diffi- 
 culty, however, in maintaining this absolute dualism of 
 subject and object to which Mr. Spencer himself refers. 
 If the subject is absolutely separated from the object, 
 how does it ever apprehend the nature of the object? 
 As a conscious subject I am aware only of my own 
 feelings ; how then do I know that the object is com- 
 posed of units of force? For me force presents itself 
 simply as a feeling of resistance, and a feeling is separated 
 from a unit of force by the whole diameter of being. 
 No relation of consciousness, as Mr. Spencer admits, 
 " can resemble, or be in any way akin " to the actual 
 relations of things. Hence we must say, that "beyond 
 consciousness" there are "conditions of objective mani- 
 festation which are symbolized by relations as we conceive 
 them." These conditions we cannot know ; yet we are 
 compelled to hold that the distinction of units of feeling 
 and units of motion is a distinction relative to our con- 
 sciousness : it is " one and the same Ultimate Reality, 
 which is manifested to us subjectively and objectively." 
 But while the nature of that which is manifested under 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 157 
 
 either form proves to be inscrutable, the order of its 
 manifestations throughout all mental phenomena proves 
 to be the same as the order of its manifestations through- 
 out all material phenomena. Mr. Spencer holds, in short, 
 that we do not know reality in its absolute nature, but 
 we find that it presents itself to us in two parallel forms, 
 which correspond exactly to each other. The develop- 
 ment of the one goes on pari passu with the develop- 
 ment of the other. For example, the nervous system is 
 in the lower animals indefinite and incoherent, but as 
 higher forms emerge there is a gradual advance in integra- 
 tion, complexity, and definiteness. So mind in the lower 
 animals is simple, vague, and incoherent, but when we pass 
 to man, we find that there is a remarkable differentiation 
 and complexity. We must hold, then, on the one hand, 
 that there never is a feeling without a corresponding nerve- 
 movement, or a nerve-movement without a correspond- 
 ing feeling; but, on the other hand, we must maintain 
 that each is but a manifestation of a single reality which 
 to us appears in these two forms. In other words, if we 
 could contemplate reality as it truly is, we should find 
 that in it the distinction of subject and object is abolished; 
 but the character of our intelligence makes it impossible 
 for us to get beyond the absolute dualism of subject and 
 object, because that dualism is the fundamental condition 
 of consciousness itself. 
 
 Mr. Spencer's conclusion then is, that we cannot know 
 the ultimate nature of mind any more than we can know 
 the ultimate nature of matter. Granted that a feeling in 
 consciousness and a molecular motion are the subjective 
 and objective faces of the same thing; yet "we are incap- 
 able of uniting the two, so as to conceive that reality of 
 
158 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 which they are the opposite faces." Consider how we 
 are forced to present each to our consciousness. What 
 for us is matter ? It is a complex of states of conscious- 
 ness, which have objective counterparts that to us are 
 unknown. What is mind for us? It is a synthesis of 
 many feelings, and of the many changes among them. 
 We infer that all our feelings are probably formed of 
 ultimate units of feeling or mental shocks, but we cannot 
 think of such shocks except as undergone by an actual 
 substance. Now "we can form no notion of a substance 
 of mind that has no attributes, and all such attributes! 
 are abstracted from our experiences of material phenomena.! 
 How can we think of the changes of consciousness except I 
 as caused, and how can we think of any cause except as I 
 some form of motion ? " ' 
 
 " See then," says Mr. Spencer, " our predicament. We 
 can think of matter only in terms of mind. We can 
 think of mind only in terms of matter. When we have 
 pushed our explorations of the first to the uttermost limit, 
 we are referred to the second for a final answer, and 
 when we have got the final answer of the second, we 
 are referred back to the first for an interpretation of it. 
 We find the value of x in terms of y ; then we find the 
 value of y in terms of x ; and so on we may continue 
 for ever without coming nearer to a solution. The anti- 
 thesis of subject and object, never to be transcended while 
 consciousness lasts, renders impossible all knowledge of 
 that Ultimate Reality in which subject and object are 
 united." The true conclusion is, that "it is one and 
 the same Ultimate Reality which is manifested to us 
 subjectively and objectively." 1 
 
 1 Psychology, §§ 272, 273. 
 
 \ 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 59 
 
 Mr. Spencer, then, holds that there is no way of re- 
 ducing mind to matter, or matter to mind. To the same 
 effect Dr. Tyndall tells us that " the passage from the 
 physics of the brain to the corresponding facts of con- 
 sciousness is unthinkable. Granted that a definite thought 
 and a definite molecular action in the brain occur simul- 
 taneously, we do not possess the intellectual organ . . . 
 which would enable us to pass by a process of reasoning 
 from the one to the other. They appear together, but 
 we do not know why." And Professor Huxley says, " I 
 know nothing whatever, and never hope to know any- 
 thing, of the steps by which the passage from molecular 
 movement to states of consciousness is effected." 
 
 Now, if we accept this absolute dualism of subject and 
 object, mind and matter, we must be prepared to say 
 that we can know nothing of the ultimate nature of reality : 
 our consciousness of self is in irreconcilable antagonism 
 to our consciousness of the world. And this involves 
 no less than a surrender of the special problem of philo- 
 sophy, the problem to find a unity which shall compre- 
 hend and explain all differences. Before committing 
 ourselves to this hopeless view of the problem of know- 
 ledge, we must ask whether the fault may not lie rather 
 in a false theory than in the limited nature of our intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 The following propositions are maintained by Mr. 
 Spencer : 
 
 i st. We are conscious of an absolute distinction between 
 subject and object, mind and matter. 
 
 2nd. The object is conceivable only as a complex of 
 feelings or mental states; the subject only as a 
 complex of movements. 
 
160 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 3rd. The ultimate constituents of the subject as known 
 are simple feelings, the ultimate constituents of 
 the object as known are simple movements. 
 4th. There is an exact correspondence, but no connec- 
 tion, between the feelings of the subject and 
 the movements of the object. 
 5th. In their real nature subject and object are iden- 
 tical, though we are unable to comprehend that 
 identity. 
 "All which propositions," to apply the famous words 
 of Carlyle, " I must modestly but peremptorily and irre- 
 vocably deny." The ground on which I base that denial 
 may be best understood by an examination of the first 
 of these propositions, on which all the others depend. 
 
 EXAMINATION OF MR. SPENCER'S OPPOSITION OF SUBJECT 
 AND OBJECT. 
 
 The fundamental proposition which Mr. Spencer seeks 
 to establish is, that subject and object are for us absolutely 
 exclusive of each other, because their separation is bound 
 up with the very nature of consciousness. By no effort 
 can I think of subject as object, or object as subject. 
 The elimination of this distinction would be at the same 
 time the destruction of consciousness. 
 
 Now, it may be shown that Mr. Spencer has here con- 
 fused two quite distinct propositions : firstly, that we 
 are conscious of the subject as separate from the object, 
 and, secondly, that we are conscious of the subject as 
 distinguishable from the object. But, so far from these 
 two propositions being identical, they are contradictory 
 the one of the other. The first is false, the second is 
 true; and it is because Mr. Spencer seems to be affirming 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. l6l 
 
 the second, when in reality his theory compels him to 
 deny it, that he is apt to get credit for making out his 
 case. I shall therefore begin by pointing out the dis- 
 tinction between these opposite propositions. 
 
 (a) If I say that I am conscious of the subject as 
 separate from the object, I am claiming that I can conceive 
 the subject by itself, without in any way introducing the 
 conception of the object. Now, we saw in considering 
 the dualism of Descartes that this is impossible. Remove 
 from the conception of the subject all relation to an object, 
 and what remains is not the pure subject, but a pure blank. 
 The very meaning of subject is that which is relative to 
 an object. If the subject is not conscious of an object, 
 it cannot be conscious at all, and in the absence of all 
 consciousness the subject has no properties by which it 
 may be thought. 
 
 Perhaps it may be answered that the object of which 
 the subject is conscious is simply its own state, and that 
 in being conscious of this state it has an object before it, 
 but not the external object. In this case, we shall have 
 to say, that we can think of the subject as conscious of 
 its own states — as conscious of an internal object — without 
 thinking of it as conscious of anything beyond its own 
 states, i.e., any external object. This in fact is what Mr. 
 Spencer does say : he tells us that for the subject the 
 object is always simply its own feelings. We must now 
 suppose the subject with its own states to stand on one 
 side, and the external object with its properties to stand 
 on the other side ; and the contention is, that we can 
 think of the subject as conscious of an internal object, 
 without thinking of an external object at all. 
 
 Now, a subject conscious only of its own states would 
 
l62 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 manifestly never become conscious of any external object. 
 For, if it should ever break through the charmed circle 
 of its own inner life, and get even a glimpse of the object 
 asserted to lie beyond, it would no longer be confined to 
 the internal object, but would have passed over to the 
 external object. Remember, now, that the subject which 
 is so confined to a purely internal life is the human subject. 
 Mr. Spencer must therefore suppose that in his con- 
 sciousness he is absolutely confined to his own internal 
 states, or, in other words, can have no idea of any object 
 other than those states — no idea, that is, of an external 
 object. But if so, the primary datum of consciousness 
 cannot be the absolute distinction of subject from object, 
 by which is meant the absolute distinction of the internal 
 life of the subject from an external reality lying beyond. 
 The primary datum of consciousness must be the con- 
 sciousness simply of self and the states of self. The 
 subject can neither perceive nor imagine anything but 
 his own states, and therefore the supposed opposition of 
 internal subject and external object is for him impossible. 
 The external object has vanished. 
 
 (b) We have seen then that the consciousness of a 
 separate and independent subject, having no relation to 
 any external object, leads to the denial of all objectivity, 
 i.e., of all reality other than the states of the subject. 
 Let us now see whether the same difficulty besets the 
 proposition, that subject and object are distinguishable 
 but not separable. 
 
 I can distinguish a centre from a circumference, the one 
 end of a stick from the other, an inside from an outside, 
 the convex and concave sides of a sphere; but can I 
 separate either from the other ? Manifestly not : it is 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 63 
 
 impossible to think of a centre without relating it to a 
 circle, of one end apart from the other, an inside without 
 an outside, convex without concave. The question is 
 whether subject and object are not of this nature : dis- 
 tinguishable but not separable. We have already seen 
 the difficulties into which we are driven if we suppose 
 the subject to be separate from the object, and to be 
 aware only of its own states. These difficulties suggest 
 that subject and object are not really separable; but, 
 on the other hand, there seem to be as grave difficulties 
 in the way of accepting the doctrine that they are only 
 ideally, not really separable ; and of these we must take 
 account. 
 
 That subject and object are absolutely diverse in their 
 nature, and therefore exist in complete independence of 
 each other, seems to be at first sight a simple statement 
 of an undoubted fact. The dualism of subject and object 
 is apparently indubitable, whether we look at the nature 
 of the one or of the other. Look first at the object. 
 
 (a) If it is said that the object is of the same nature 
 as the subject, it is naturally objected that the object has 
 a nature of its own independently of any knowledge of it 
 by the subject, and independently even of the existence 
 of the subject. 
 
 (1) The existence and nature of the objective world, 
 it is said, is not dependent upon the knowledge of its 
 nature by any human being. The fire goes out whether 
 I am asleep or awake; visible things are continually 
 undergoing changes that have no dependence upon the 
 apprehension of them by man ; gravitation acts whether 
 I know it to act or not. What knowledge reveals to me 
 is what already exists, not what comes into being only 
 
164 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 when I apprehend it. Were it otherwise, it may be said, 
 things would be continually coming into existence and 
 going out of existence. Nothing, in fact, would exist 
 except at the moment when it was present to somebody's 
 consciousness. And this leads to manifold absurdities. 
 To suppose that the world in which we dwell, and the 
 infinite host of heaven, are continually created and 
 destroyed as they are or are not objects of human con- 
 sciousness is the greatest of all absurdities. It is the 
 dream of men who are so intoxicated with ideas, that 
 they have lost all hold of facts. The theory even implies 
 that there are as many objects as their subjects. For 
 the object of each conscious subject will be distinct. 
 Plainly, therefore, the existence and nature of the object 
 is not dependent upon the knowledge of the subject. 
 
 (2) Again, the existence of the objective world is in- 
 dependent of the existence of the subject, because it 
 existed prior to the existence of the subject. We know 
 that, long before conscious beings were on the earth, there 
 were other forms of existence. There was a time when 
 our whole solar system was as yet unformed. It was after 
 millions of years that the primitive nebulous matter shaped 
 itself into distinct worlds, and millions of years elapsed 
 before man appeared on the scene. How then can it be 
 denied that the object is independent of the subject? 
 Can any one seriously maintain, that the object cannot 
 exist without the subject, when the object as a matter 
 of fact did exist before there was any subject? 
 
 (b) The independence of the subject seems to be equally 
 manifest. We say that the subject cannot be of the same 
 nature as the object, 'because its properties are distinct 
 from those of the object. By the object we mean a 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 65 
 
 form of existence which is neither conscious nor self- 
 conscious ; by the subject we mean a form of existence 
 which is both. A stone is not conscious of other objects, 
 nor is it conscious of its own properties. It is not aware 
 that it is one of an infinite number of things, partly 
 similar, partly different ; nor does it perceive itself to be 
 hard, figured, coloured, or to have weight. The subject, 
 on the other hand, is conscious of many other forms of 
 existence besides itself, and of its own peculiar character 
 as a knowing and willing being. How, then, can it be 
 said that the subject is of the same essential nature as 
 the object? 
 
 THE IDEALISTIC VIEW OF THE WORLD. 
 
 These, then, are some of the objections that may be 
 made to the idealistic view of the universe, which maintains 
 that subject and object are of the same essential nature, 
 and can only be logically distinguished, not really separated. 
 I shall take them up in their order. 
 
 (a) It is objected that the object is independent of 
 the subject, because it exists and has a nature of its 
 own whether it is known by the subject or not. 
 
 What is the "subject" here spoken of, which is declared 
 to have no power of affecting the object? Manifestly, 
 the individual human subject — this man or that — the 
 subject that may either know or not know the object. 
 
 Now, the conception of existence which underlies this 
 objection is that individualistic or dualistic conception 
 which we have seen Mr. Spencer to hold. It sets on 
 the one side a number of individual things in space and 
 time, and, on the other side, it sets a number of individual 
 things each endowed with the faculty of knowledge, and 
 
1 66 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 it maintains that the former are real apart from the latter. 
 The changes of things in space and time go on irrespective 
 of the changes which go on in the knowing subjects that 
 stand apart from them. Now, there is no doubt that 
 we do look at object and subject from this point of 
 view, and for certain purposes it is sufficient. If I wish 
 to observe the properties of gold, I may take a par- 
 ticular piece of gold, and, viewing it as if it were a 
 separate and distinct thing, I may note its properties. 
 Thus the chemist finds that gold has this peculiar property, 
 that it is soluble in aqua regia. On the other hand, I 
 may make the knowing subject an object of observation, 
 and I may observe that the subject in knowing is con- 
 tinually passing from one mental state to another, and 
 that these mental states never occur except when certain 
 changes take place in the sensitive organism. Here, 
 again, I am treating the subject as if he were a separate 
 individual, whose whole nature can be determined simply 
 by observation of the changes through which he passes. 
 It is from this point of view that the external object 
 seems to have a nature of its own, apart from the know- 
 ing subject, which also has a nature of its own. If, 
 therefore, any one should say that the external object 
 is not independent of the subject, the answer seems 
 obvious, that by its very nature as revealed in observa- 
 tion, it manifestly is independent, since it possesses 
 different properties and goes through changes that are 
 in no way dependent upon the properties and the changes 
 of the knowing subject. And the answer is undoubtedly 
 convincing when it is directed against any one who admits 
 the fundamental assumption, that there are individual 
 things, external and internal. If the objective world can 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 167 
 
 be properly described as made up of a number of in- 
 dividual things, and if we can similarly speak of a number 
 of individual subjects, it is absurd to say that the former 
 are of the same nature as the latter. Just as an acid 
 differs in its properties from an alkali, so all external 
 objects differ from all knowing subjects in having pro- 
 perties not found in the latter. 
 
 But the question arises whether either the object or 
 the subject can be correctly described as individual 
 things having properties peculiar to themselves. Is not 
 this conception of existence false, when viewed from the 
 highest point of view, however useful it may be from the 
 point of view of mere observation ? 
 
 The objective world, from the individualistic point of 
 view, is made up of a number of individual things in 
 space and time, and each of these is supposed to possess 
 properties peculiar to itself. Now, we have already seen 
 that, so far as the existence of objects in space and time 
 is concerned, no object has a property peculiar to itself. 
 The position of anything in space or time is determined 
 by the position of other things. In other words, the 
 existence of one thing is possible only because it is 
 relative to the existence of all other things. There is 
 only one object or world, and what are distinguished as 
 individual objects are merely particular aspects, from 
 which the one object or world may be viewed. And 
 the same thing holds good if we look at the other pro- 
 perties of the objective world. Weight does not belong 
 as a separate property to this or that thing; it is a pro- 
 perty which is constituted by the fact that all the things 
 which we distinguish by their position tend to move 
 towards one another at a certain rate. Similarly, what 
 
1 68 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 we call the chemical properties of sensible things are 
 relations, belonging to things not as individual, but as 
 parts of a single universe. Hydrogen and oxygen are 
 relations between things, not properties attaching to things 
 in their isolation and independence. 
 
 Speaking of the objective world in the ordinary sense 
 of external reality, i.e. t reality in space and time, we find 
 that it is not made up of separate things, but is a single 
 indivisible unity of which all the supposed separate things 
 are but phases or aspects. Now, it is true that when 
 we have reached the conclusion that there is only one 
 object or world, not a number of individual objects, we 
 have still left opposed to it a number of individual sub- 
 jects, each having a specific existence and nature of its 
 own ; i.e., we have still left an apparently absolute opposi- 
 tion between subject and object. But, if we have found 
 that there are no absolutely individual objects, is it not 
 reasonable to suppose that there are no absolutely in- 
 dividual subjects? 
 
 So far we have spoken of the objective world as if it 
 comprehended only inorganic existence. But this is mani- 
 festly an arbitrary limitation. For organized beings are 
 not less real than inorganic things, and therefore we must 
 enlarge our conception of the object so as to include 
 those forms of existence that we distinguish as living. 
 Is organized existence, then, of such a character that it 
 can be described as purely individual ? Can we say that 
 there is any plant, or any animal, that lives a life of its 
 own, independently of all relation to other modes of 
 existence? 
 
 Now, it is at once manifest that we cannot find among 
 living beings any separate and independent individual, 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 69 
 
 any more than among non-living things. In the first 
 place, a living being — whether plant or animal — is on 
 one side of its nature plainly a part of the objective 
 world. It has a bodily structure, which displays the 
 same characteristics as other bodies. Thus it is in 
 space and time, it is subject to the laws of dynamics, 
 and it passes through chemical changes. What has been 
 said of individual things as inorganic therefore applies 
 equally to organic things so far as their bodily structure 
 is concerned. That is to say, no living being is an 
 independent individual, but is merely a distinguishable 
 aspect of the one great systematic whole, the object or 
 world. Apart from this whole, it could have no exist- 
 ence. We must therefore widen our conception of the 
 object, and include within it all living beings, so far as 
 these are viewed as having a bodily structure. 
 
 But can we stop here? Can we say that in their 
 bodily structure living beings belong to the objective 
 world, while as to their characteristics as living, they are 
 independent individuals? Now, there is no doubt that 
 living beings display characteristics not found in non- 
 living beings. They all, as we have seen, exhibit a 
 tendency to maintain themselves and to continue their 
 species. But this tendency can be realized only in so 
 far as they conform to the conditions of their environ- 
 ment. The possibility of maintaining themselves is there- 
 fore possible only in so far as that possibility is implied 
 in the nature of the external world. The living being 
 has a peculiar form of existence, but like other forms it 
 is bound up with the nature of existence as a whole. If 
 it could separate itself from the world, it would cease to 
 be, because the very nature of its existence is, that it 
 
I70 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 can realize itself only as part of the world. Now, if we 
 find that living beings cannot be separated from other 
 forms of existence, is it not obvious that we must revise 
 our conception of the objective world, and include within 
 it, not merely inorganic existence, and organic existence 
 as to its bodily structure, but organic existence viewed 
 as organic? In other words, by the "object" we must 
 now designate all modes of existence, whether inorganic 
 or organic. The object is therefore not only a systematic 
 unity of parts, but it is in the strict sense an organic 
 unity, i.e., a unity which implies life. But this means 
 that each individual has a life of its own only in so far 
 as it exhibits within itself the life that is implied in the 
 world as a whole. 
 
 The life of the individual is thus one phase of the 
 universal life that pulsates through all existence. Change 
 in the smallest degree the laws of any form of existence, 
 and life becomes impossible. Nor can we give any 
 preference to inorganic as distinguished from organic 
 existence ; for organic existence is not less real than 
 inorganic. The only way in which it may plausibly be 
 shown that the objective world is not an organic unity 
 is by attempting to reduce life to the mere play of 
 mechanical forces. But the futility of this attempted 
 reduction has already been shown. The differentiation 
 and development of living beings can be explained only 
 on the supposition that by their very nature they have 
 an impulse to self-maintenance and a tendency to organiz- 
 ation. And this impulse and this tendency they could 
 not possess were its possibility not bound up with the 
 very nature of the world. The world or object is there- 
 fore something more than a system of mechanical forces: 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 171 
 
 it is a unity containing within itself the principle of 
 life. 
 
 From what has been said, it follows that the object 
 must now be conceived to include all modes of existence, 
 organic as well as inorganic. If, therefore, it is still 
 maintained that the object is independent of the sub- 
 ject, this can only mean, that, while all other modes 
 of existence are related to one another in one single 
 system, there is one form of existence which is outside 
 of this system, and belongs to a separate and independent 
 sphere. This mode of existence is mind or consciousness. 
 
 Now, it must be observed that we do not find mind 
 existing independently of the objective world. Just as 
 there can be no form of life apart from the whole system 
 of external nature, so there can be no form of mind 
 apart from the organism. We find in animals a peculiar 
 faculty, the faculty of feeling, which is not possessed by 
 any other form of being. And we find in man a still 
 higher faculty, the faculty of consciousness. But con- 
 sciousness is not something that exists irrespective of 
 animal sensation. Just as by means of sensation the 
 animal feels within itself a thrill which expresses the 
 nature of what lies beyond its own organism, so in con- 
 sciousness man comes to understand and to interpret the 
 sensations and impulses which, as an animal, he possesses. 
 He not only feels but thinks. 
 
 Now, if the life of consciousness as it exists in man 
 presupposes the life of sensation and impulse, it is plain 
 that any attempt to isolate the conscious subject from 
 the sensitive subject must result in emptying conscious- 
 ness of all content. For in his sensitive life man expresses 
 the life which pervades and gives meaning to all objective 
 
172 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 existence. To suppose that he can apprehend the nature 
 of existence irrespective of sensation, is to suppose that 
 he can apprehend existence without apprehending it. If 
 in the sensitive life the objective world as a whole is 
 implied, to turn away from sensation is to turn away from 
 the objective world. There is therefore no conscious sub- 
 ject that can be separated from the sensitive subject. 
 And this means that no conscious subject is a separate 
 individual. It is true that by no possibility can con- 
 sciousness be identified with sensation. To suppose such 
 an identification is to overlook what is characteristic of 
 consciousness. But while consciousness cannot be identified 
 with sensation, any more than sensation can be identified 
 with chemical action, it is none the less true that con- 
 sciousness is possible only on presupposition of sensation. 
 The individual subject can have no knowledge of objective 
 existence apart from the changing sensations and impulses 
 which are characteristic of his animal life. And the life 
 of feeling, as we have seen, is made possible by the 
 relations which subsist between the feeling subject and 
 all other modes of existence. To apprehend the mean- 
 ing of feeling is therefore to apprehend the meaning of 
 existence as a whole, /.*., to grasp those various aspects 
 under which the one object may be viewed. Unless the 
 conscious subject is capable of such apprehension, he is 
 incapable of knowing reality as it is. But if his conscious 
 life were something entirely apart from his sensitive life, 
 he could know no objective reality. And without such 
 knowledge he could not apprehend himself. Thus to be 
 conscious of himself is to be conscious that he is related 
 to all other modes of existence, and that apart from 
 such relation he could not exist. But if so, he knows 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 73 
 
 himself as at once a being who manifests in himself the 
 life of the whole, and a being who is conscious of the 
 life of the whole. From the former point of view, he 
 is a form of the objective world; in other words, the 
 consciousness which presents itself in man is a conscious- 
 ness that belongs to the very nature of existence. For 
 consciousness is not, as we have seen, something that 
 can be separated from other modes of reality, nor is it 
 something that can be reduced to other modes of reality. 
 None the less, it is possible only because the nature of 
 existence as a whole makes it possible. If consciousness 
 were incompatible with the nature of the universe, it could 
 not be : since it is, it must be regarded as a mode, and 
 the highest mode in which existence presents itself. 
 
 We must therefore revise our view of the nature of 
 objective existence, and say that it includes not only all 
 inorganic and organic things, but that it includes as well all 
 conscious beings. In other words, the consciousness of man 
 is a form and the highest form in which existence appears. 
 The individual man can have no consciousness apart from 
 the one unity which comprehends all existence. But if 
 existence manifests itself as conscious, we must find in 
 the conception of it as conscious its true meaning. The 
 object when properly understood is therefore identical 
 with the subject. If, in other words, the subject as dis- 
 tinguished from the object is that which not only is, but 
 knows itself to be, the object as embracing in its reality 
 the subject must now be defined as that which not only 
 is a systematic unity, but knows itself to be a systematic 
 unity. But this is the same as saying that the objective 
 world properly understood is self-conscious intelligence, 
 or, in ordinary language, is God. 
 
174 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 In this short outline of the proof of intellectual idealism, 
 I have tried to show how, beginning with the first imperfect 
 definition of the object as that which is in space and 
 time, we are forced gradually to widen our definition 
 until we find it embrace all existence. If this proof is at 
 all sound, it follows that there can be no real separation 
 between object and subject. The supposed opposition 
 of subject and object turns out to be simply a distinction 
 in our point of view. When we are looking at the 
 manifestations of intelligence, we speak of the object 
 or world ; when we are thinking of the intelligence which 
 so manifests itself, we speak of the subject; but as the 
 manifestations are those of intelligence, and intelligence 
 is what it manifests, the distinction is no real separation. 
 When, therefore, Mr. Spencer tells us that " the distinction 
 of subject and object" is one "never to be transcended 
 while consciousness lasts," we answer that, so far from 
 this being true, the transcendence of the distinction is 
 necessarily implied in the very nature of consciousness. 
 It is in the apprehension of the object that man apprehends 
 himself; in other words, man learns that all existence 
 is rational, and that he himself is rational, because in his 
 intelligence there is contained the same principle as is 
 implied in all existence. 
 
 We can now deal very easily with the objection that 
 I have supposed to be raised against the idealist view 
 of existence. It is said that the object must be inde- 
 pendent of the subject because it exists whether the subject 
 knows it or not. Certainly, I answer : the individual 
 subject in coming to the knowledge of the object does 
 not bring the object into existence. No sane man makes 
 any such assertion. But this does not show that the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. I 75 
 
 individual subject could have knowledge, were the object 
 generically different from the subject; on the contrary, it 
 shows that it is by coming to a consciousness of what 
 the object is he has knowledge at all. And this means, 
 as we have seen, that the object properly understood 
 includes the subject, or is intelligence. To grasp the 
 nature of the world is thus to apprehend existence as 
 intelligence, and from the point of view of its intelligible 
 nature : it is to see that existence is not only purposive 
 but rational. 
 
 (p) The second objection to the identity of subject and 
 object was, that the objective world existed before the 
 subject existed. If there was existence before conscious 
 beings came to be, how can it be denied that the objective 
 world is independent of the subject? 
 
 This objection is usually urged by scientific evolutionists, 
 who maintain that inorganic things preceded organic, and 
 that living beings without consciousness preceded conscious 
 beings. 
 
 Now (i) the first thing to observe here is, that this 
 objection rests upon the same individualistic assumption 
 as the former objection. It is taken for granted that to 
 deny the dependence of the inorganic world upon this 
 or that individual subject is to prove its absolute independ- 
 ence. But we have already seen that there is no purely 
 individual subject, no conscious being who is conscious 
 in virtue of something belonging to his own individual 
 existence ; and hence to say that the inorganic world does 
 not depend for its existence upon man, regarded as an 
 individual, by no means proves that the inorganic world 
 can exist by itself. This latter proposition can only be 
 established if it is shown that in the whole realm of 
 
176 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 existence there is nothing that cannot be included in the 
 idea and definition of matter ; in other words, that without 
 going beyond the conception of existence as extended, 
 moving, and exhibiting physical and chemical properties, 
 we can explain not only organized but even conscious 
 existence. Now, it has already been pointed out, that 
 it is impossible to account even for life, and much less 
 for consciousness, without widening our definition of the 
 object so as to include the new characteristics peculiar 
 to life and consciousness ; and hence that the supposition 
 of the separate existence of the inorganic world is an 
 untenable hypothesis. 
 
 But (2) the objection we are now considering introduces 
 a new difficulty, drawn from the succession in time of 
 the various orders of existence. The inorganic first existed, 
 it is said, and out of it proceeded, by the operation of 
 ordinary mechanical laws, the forms of existence that we 
 call organic; and similarly, the organic existed prior to 
 conscious existence, and gave rise to it j hence, ultimately, 
 all modes of existence have proceeded from matter. This 
 is the line of thought by which Tyndall, for example, 
 tries to show that matter contains in itself " the promise 
 and potency of all kinds of life." 
 
 Now (a) you will observe that, if this argument is pressed 
 to its consequences, the conclusion must be that conscious- 
 ness is simply a mode of matter. The prior existence of 
 matter, it is held, shows that matter was the cause of 
 life and consciousness. Living beings, who did not yet 
 exist, could not be the cause of their own existence, and 
 hence we must attribute their existence to the only cause 
 that existed, i.e., to matter. If this argument is sound, 
 we must hold that consciousness contains in itself nothing 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 177 
 
 that is not due to matter; in other words, we must hold 
 that mind and matter are identical in their nature. But 
 if so, we can no longer maintain that the conscious subject 
 is independent of the object; we must, on the contrary, 
 maintain that the only existence is the object, and that 
 the supposed independence of subject and object, mind 
 and matter, is a conception which a scientific view of 
 the world shows to be false. On TyndalPs own show- 
 ing, therefore, subject and object are irreducible only in 
 the sense that they are supposed to be irreducible by 
 those who have not reached the scientific point of view. 
 It is true that he still maintains that we are unable to 
 conceive of the identification of subject and object; but 
 this can only consistently mean that we are unable to 
 get rid of a deeply rooted preconception. We cannot 
 maintain, both that mind is a product of matter, and that 
 mind is independent of matter : the reasoning by which we 
 establish the former proposition, precludes the possibility 
 of the latter. 
 
 Thus we find that the very argument by which it is 
 sought to show that the object is independent of the 
 subject leads to the conclusion that there is no such 
 independence. The object is indeed independent of the 
 subject, but only in the sense that there is no subject. 
 We have not established the separation of mind from 
 matter, but abolished mind altogether. I shall try to show 
 that instead of thus reducing mind to matter, we must 
 hold that matter is a form of mind. 
 
 Inorganic existence, it is said, existed prior to life and 
 consciousness, and therefore life and consciousness are 
 the product of inorganic existence. The assumption here 
 is, that consciousness is related to matter as effect to 
 
I78 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 cause. Before we can admit the validity of this assump- 
 tion, we must be certain that the relation between con- 
 sciousness and matter can be conceived as a relation of 
 effect and cause. Now, it is easy to show that the 
 conception of causality here made use of is, at any rate, 
 not the conception that is employed in scientific inquiries. 
 When a scientific man asks what is the cause of the 
 motion of a material body, his aim is to find out the 
 particular conditions which account for this particular 
 event, and the answer that he gives consists in stating 
 those particular conditions. He points out the circum- 
 stances that have to take place before the particular event 
 in question can happen. In all cases the circumstances 
 are some form of motion, because in external things 
 change always takes the form of motion. But when the 
 particular mode of motion assigned as the cause of a 
 particular change has been discovered, nothing has been 
 determined in regard to the nature of existence as a 
 whole; all that has been done is to point out the special 
 relation between two events. The idea of cause and 
 effect, in other words, has a perfectly intelligible meaning 
 when it is employed in explanation of particular events, 
 but it does not follow that it has an intelligible meaning 
 when it is employed to explain existence as a whole. 
 When we pass from the one point of view to the other, 
 we must ask whether we have not changed our conception. 
 Now, if it is said that matter is the cause of life and 
 consciousness, it is plain that by matter cannot here be 
 meant any particular form of material existence. There 
 never is in an effect something essentially different from 
 what is found in the cause. A material body can be 
 called a cause only in this sense, that its motion is the 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 179 
 
 condition of a motion in another body. The reason for 
 distinguishing a material body from a living or a con- 
 scious being is, that while the changes in the former are 
 all modes of motion, the changes in the latter are not 
 modes of motion, but modes of life and consciousness. 
 Now, if a material body, or any number of material 
 bodies, is called the cause of life and consciousness, it is 
 assumed that life and consciousness can be explained 
 simply as modes of motion. If, however, the latter are 
 modes of motion, there is no production of life and 
 consciousness by matter, because there is no life or 
 consciousness to be produced. The contradiction, there- 
 fore, to which the conception of matter as the cause of 
 life and consciousness leads is this : If life and con- 
 sciousness are distinct from matter, they cannot be its 
 effects; and, if they are effects of matter, there is no 
 distinction between them and matter. The ordinary con- 
 ception of cause and effect thus breaks down when we 
 try to explain by it the relation between matter on the 
 one hand, and life and consciousness on the other. If 
 we hold that matter has a real existence independently 
 of life and consciousness, we cannot at the same time 
 hold that it is the cause of these. 
 
 Now the lesson to be learned from this is, that the 
 conception of cause and effect as it is employed in 
 scientific investigation is not adequate as a conception 
 of the relation between existence as a whole and its 
 various modes. We may, if we please, still use the term 
 "cause" to express the relation, but we must give to it 
 a new meaning. Let us see what that meaning is. 
 
 Prior to the existence of living beings, there existed 
 inorganic things. Did these inorganic things exist as 
 
l8o COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 separate individuals, or were they only distinguishable 
 aspects of the one systematic unity? The latter, as 
 we have seen, is the true conception. We have there- 
 fore to conceive of existence prior to the appearance 
 of life, as one single organic whole. But this organic 
 whole had manifested itself only as that which passed 
 through mechanical, physical, and chemical changes. 
 Now, these changes were not related to the whole as 
 effect to cause; they were simply the distinguishable 
 aspects in which the one universe presented itself. These 
 aspects can be viewed as related to one another in the 
 way of cause and effect, but the universe as a whole is 
 not a cause of which all these aspects are effects; or, 
 at least, if we call it a cause, we mean simply that it 
 is a principle of unity manifesting itself in all change. 
 So conceived, cause must now be regarded as self-cause. 
 That is to say, there is nothing outside of the one unity 
 which explains or accounts for it, since beyond it there 
 is nothing : the only cause to which we can assign it 
 is itself. All forms of existence are therefore explained 
 by this unity, but the unity itself is not explained by 
 anything else. 
 
 Now, take another step. At a certain period life 
 makes its appearance. Whence did this life proceed? 
 It proceeded, the scientific evolutionist tells us, from in- 
 organic nature. "Were not man's origin implicated," 
 says Tyndall, "we should accept without a murmur 
 the derivation of animal life from what we call inorganic 
 nature." This language suggests that life is the pro- 
 duct or effect of that which is without life, i.e., that all 
 the particular living beings which first appeared on the 
 earth were originated by particular inorganic things. The 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. l8l 
 
 radical imperfection of this view has already been pointed 
 out. No individual thing originates anything ; for every 
 individual is what it is only by reference to the whole 
 system of the universe. What is implied in the origination 
 of life is not that inorganic nature produced life, but 
 that a new form of existence presented itself at a certain 
 period of time in the history of the earth. But this 
 life, although it has for the first time presented itself 
 is not something that has come into being by a power 
 belonging to inorganic things. And no one would be so 
 absurd as to say that it originated from itself. Its 
 origination can be explained only on the supposition 
 that it was implicit in the nature of existence as a whole. 
 Outside of the unity that comprehends all possible 
 existence there is nothing; and therefore life, when 
 it appears, merely manifests in an explicit form what was 
 already wrapped up in the one single existence that is 
 manifested in all modes of existence. But, if this one 
 all-inclusive unity is now seen to involve within itself 
 organic as well as inorganic existence, its nature cannot 
 be comprehended by looking at either apart from the 
 other. It is neither inorganic nor organic, but both. 
 Further, organic existence is of this nature that, while it 
 contains all that is implied in inorganic nature, it also 
 manifests characteristics that are peculiar to itself. 
 
 The true nature of existence must therefore be defined 
 as organic rather than inorganic; and it is therefore 
 more correct to say, that organic existence has produced 
 inorganic, than that inorganic has produced organic. But 
 both forms of expression are inadequate. For, as no 
 mode of existence originates any other, what we must 
 say is, that in organic existence we have a fuller and 
 
1 82 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 truer expression of the nature of existence as a whole 
 than we have in inorganic existence. Having made this 
 discovery, we can see that in inorganic existence, prior 
 to the rise of life, there was already implied all that 
 subsequently presented itself in organic existence. Thus 
 what is posterior in time is prior in nature : the first is 
 last and the last first. 
 
 I think you will now see that there is nothing in the 
 fact that life has appeared subsequent to non-living things 
 to show that the former is dependent upon the latter. 
 Since no form of existence can present itself that lies 
 outside the one unity of existence, we are compelled to 
 relate both to that unity, and to find in life, rather than 
 in matter, the true nature of reality. And, if this is so, 
 there can be no difficulty in seeing that it is meaningless 
 to speak of matter as the cause of conscious existence. 
 To argue that consciousness is due to matter is to fall 
 into the old mistake of taking the order of time as identical 
 with the order of nature, and of attributing to individual 
 things a power of origination that belongs only to the 
 single principle manifested in all things. 
 
 Consciousness appeared later than life. Granted ; but 
 the consciousness which thus appeared could not arise 
 either from the particular forms of existence prior to it, 
 or from itself: its explanation must be found in this, 
 that existence as a whole contained within itself, prior 
 to its manifestation as consciousness, all that so mani- 
 fested itself. There can be no absolute origination in 
 the case of existence as a whole, since outside of that 
 whole there is no reality and no possibility. What is 
 shown by the appearance in the world of conscious beings 
 is not a new existence, but a higher manifestation of 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 83 
 
 the one existence that always was and is and shall be. 
 We must therefore say, that inorganic existence, as well 
 as organic existence, when it is properly understood, is a 
 phase, though not the highest phase, of the single self- 
 conscious intelligence in whom and through whom and 
 by whom are all things. For, since nothing is apart from 
 the unalterable nature of the one Being that comprehends 
 all reality, to understand completely the nature of the 
 simplest form of existence — say, a stone^ — is to apprehend 
 it as one of the phases in which the absolute intelligence 
 is manifested. It is this that makes all pursuit of know- 
 ledge sacred. In learning the properties of a simple 
 blade of grass we are partially apprehending the nature 
 of God. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC EVOLUTIONISM AND PHILOSOPHICAL IDEALISM. 
 
 These considerations have, I hope, made it plain in 
 what sense idealism maintains that there is no absolute 
 separation of subject and object, mind and matter; that, 
 on the contrary, matter properly understood, is a manifesta- 
 tion of mind. All existence is a manifestation of one 
 supreme all-comprehensive self-consciousness. We may 
 now go on to consider the objection to the identity of 
 subject and object drawn from the character of the subject. 
 It is said that mind must be absolutely independent of 
 matter, because mind is conscious of itself, while matter 
 is not. The idea of the subject thus seems to be exclusive 
 of the idea of the object; or, in Mr. Spencer's language, 
 the distinction is one never to be transcended while con- 
 sciousness lasts. 
 
 This argument manifestly follows a different line of 
 thought from that which we have just considered. So 
 
184 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 far from maintaining that consciousness must be regarded 
 as a product of matter, it asserts that by no possibility 
 can consciousness be reduced to matter. Matter has no 
 consciousness of itself, whereas every subject is a subject 
 just because of self-consciousness. It is therefore inferred 
 that the conscious subject is independent of the object. 
 
 Now, it is peculiar that we find this argument for the 
 independence and diverse nature of the subject put for- 
 ward by those who also maintain that life and consciousness 
 are products of inorganic nature. Spencer, Tyndall, Huxley, 
 and others, all maintain that by the one line of argument 
 we are forced to view mind as a mode of matter, and 
 by the other line of argument we are forced to assert 
 that mind cannot be a mode of matter. Their solution 
 of the difficulty is to fall back upon a Power which is 
 neither mind nor matter, but the nature of this Power, 
 they maintain, is absolutely inscrutable to the intellect 
 of man. The self-contradictory character of this solution 
 we have already seen, and hence we must inquire whether 
 we are really forced to maintain that the fact of self- 
 consciousness is inconsistent with the identity of subject 
 and object. 
 
 When we find the same writer holding that mind is 
 a mode of matter, and that mind is independent of matter, 
 we may be sure that the "fons et origo" of the two 
 discrepant views is to be found in some false assumption 
 common to both. The assumption here is, that each 
 conscious subject, like each material object, is a separate 
 individual whose nature is not in any way relative to the 
 nature of other individuals. In other words, existence 
 is supposed to be made up of a number of individuals, 
 standing opposed to one another as separate and distinct. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 85 
 
 The difference between these individuals is, that some 
 are conscious and some are unconscious; but all alike 
 are what they are in virtue of their own independent 
 existence. The individuality of conscious beings seems 
 to be especially manifest. When I am conscious of 
 myself, I am conscious that I am not to be identified with 
 any other form of existence. I possess, as it has been 
 said, a unique existence and an unsharable conscious- 
 ness, and to deny my individuality is to deny that I am 
 conscious at all. My sensations, my emotions, my thoughts 
 and volitions are mine, and not those of anybody else. 
 I inhabit a world of consciousness that is absolutely 
 impenetrable, and in virtue of this fact I am a self-con- 
 scious subject. My real self is "one and indivisible," 
 different selves are "absolutely and for ever exclusive." 
 
 Now, in one point of view, this assertion of individuality 
 deserves the strongest commendation. In maintaining 
 that all forms of existence are individual, it brings into 
 prominence an aspect of reality that is lost sight of when 
 all concrete forms of being are resolved into an inscrutable 
 and unintelligible Power. And in particular, it emphasizes 
 the distinction between beings that are self-conscious, and 
 beings that are not self-conscious, implying that in the 
 strict sense of the term the only true individual is the 
 self-conscious subject, which, in all the changes through 
 which it passes, is aware of itself as identical. 
 
 But, while it is an important truth, that individuality 
 can properly be affirmed only of a being that is self- 
 conscious, it by no means follows that to be self-conscious 
 is to be aware of oneself as a separate individual, having 
 no relation to any other existence. It may easily be 
 shown that the consciousness of individuality is on this 
 
i86 
 
 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 supposition impossible. If we suppose that in being con- 
 scious of himself, the subject is conscious of nothing else, 
 it is manifest that such a being would have no consciousness 
 even of himself. For all reality would for him be limited 
 to determinations of himself, and therefore he would never 
 contrast with these determinations the determinations of 
 other forms of existence. To be conscious of myself 
 implies that I am conscious of myself as possessing a 
 character which distinguishes me from other modes of 
 being. My individuality is for me the consciousness of 
 what I feel, know, and will. But if I have no consciousness 
 of what is felt, known, and willed by others, I must be in- 
 capable of distinguishing between myself and other selves. 
 It is therefore only in relation and contrast to other selves 
 that I become conscious of what I as an individual am. 
 Assume, therefore, that I am absolutely limited to the 
 consciousness of my own feelings and thoughts and voli- 
 tions, and obviously I should be unaware that others have 
 different feelings, thoughts, and volitions, and therefore 
 unaware of my own peculiar individuality. The conscious- 
 ness of self is therefore relative to the consciousness of 
 other selves. 
 
 It may be said, however, that while I am no doubt 
 conscious of other selves as having feelings, thoughts, 
 and volitions, yet I am capable of distinguishing these 
 from the feelings, thoughts, and volitions which are 
 peculiarly my own, and that the consciousness of what is 
 mine constitutes my peculiar individuality. And this is 
 true; what I feel, think, and will belongs to me in a 
 sense that nothing else does ; it is mine because it 
 implies a peculiar self-activity on my part. It is the dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic of self-conscious beings that they 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 87 
 
 are self-determined. But self-determination is not the 
 same thing as the determination of an exclusive and 
 separate self that has no relation to anything else. This 
 may be shown by a consideration of the two main forms 
 in which self-determination is exhibited, viz., knowledge 
 and action. 
 
 (1) Knoivledge. — To know is to have the consciousness 
 of what really exists. But if we suppose that in our 
 knowledge we are conscious only of our own states, we 
 shall have no consciousness of any reality. Knowledge 
 therefore implies that we can separate between what 
 seems and what is. If in any case we apprehend what 
 is, we do so in virtue of our own self-activity; but what 
 we apprehend is not an arbitrary product of our activity, 
 but what belongs to the actual nature of reality. To 
 know is thus to exercise conscious activity in the appre- 
 hension of that which has an existence and nature not 
 determined by the activity. In so far as the activity of 
 self-consciousness is exercised in setting aside what is 
 accidental and illusory, we have knowledge. As far as 
 we have knowledge we have transcended our mere indi- 
 viduality and identified ourselves with the universal. 
 Thus we have realized by our self-activity that which is 
 objective. True self-activity consists in identification with 
 the object; and true individuality consists in the con- 
 sciousness that our true self is to be found in such 
 identification. Now, if our knowledge were absolutely 
 complete, we should be absolutely identified with the 
 object. Such absolute identification would not be the 
 destruction of our self-activity, but its perfect realization. 
 We therefore see that absolute individuality would mean 
 the absolute transcendence of the opposition of subject 
 
Io5 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 and object. In man, however, this perfect individuality 
 ,is never attained, but remains for him an ideal which, by 
 his self-activity, he is perpetually seeking to realize. If 
 he had no self-activity, he would never get beyond the 
 first opposition of subject and object; if he had complete 
 self-activity, he would absolutely transcend the opposition. 
 In knowledge he is therefore continually abolishing the 
 distinction between subject and object, but it is a dis- 
 tinction which for him is abolished only in idea. Yet in 
 a sense the opposition is already abolished. For, if he 
 had no consciousness of the ultimate unity of subject and 
 object, he would have no consciousness that in his actual 
 knowledge he falls short of his ideal. It is for this 
 reason that a man is aware of himself as having a 
 peculiar individuality which distinguishes him from other 
 men and from God. But this consciousness of his own 
 individuality would be impossible were he not conscious 
 of being beyond it in idea. It is by reference to the 
 standard of complete knowledge as realized in God that 
 a man is conscious of the incompleteness of his own 
 knowledge : it is by reference to the same infinite 
 standard that he pronounces the knowledge of others to 
 be more or less complete than his own. But in all cases 
 the consciousness of one's knowledge, and the conscious- 
 ness of the limited extent of one's knowledge, involves 
 the consciousness, actual or ideal, of the unity of self and 
 not-self. So far is it from being true, that to be con- 
 scious of self is to be conscious of an exclusive self, that 
 the consciousness of self is impossible except as the 
 consciousness of a self that is identical with not-self. 
 
 (2) Action. — The same thing may be seen in the case 
 of action. To act morally is to determine oneself in 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 189 
 
 accordance with the true nature of existence. If I seek 
 my good in what presents itself as good only to me as 
 a separate individual, I shall not realize my true indi- 
 viduality. For, unless I seek my good in what is good 
 absolutely, I shall abandon myself to caprice or to self- 
 will. It is only by willing what is good, absolutely or 
 universally, that I can realize what my true nature fits 
 me to realize. In other words, my self-activity must be 
 determined by the idea of a universal moral law, or it is 
 not a realization of my individuality, because it is con- 
 trary to the true nature of the self. Every moral law is 
 a statement of one of the ways in which the subject may 
 realize what in his ideal nature he is. The consciousness 
 of a moral law is therefore the consciousness of one of 
 the modes in which the subject by his self-activity may 
 identify himself with the object. For the ideal self is 
 capable of being realized only as a self existing in a 
 world that in its ultimate nature is consistent with such 
 realization. If the universe were so constituted that it 
 was inconsistent with the realization of what, in his idea, 
 man is, there would be an absolute antagonism between 
 the self-conscious subject and the object. But such an 
 antagonism is disproved by the fact that in the con- 
 sciousness of the ideal self we already have the promise 
 of the identity of the subject and the object. All moral 
 progress rests upon this idea — upon the idea of an 
 absolute good, which realizes the self because the world 
 exhibits in it a divine purpose. Morality, in other words, 
 is possible at all only if the world is the expression of 
 the divine mind. It is therefore in contrast to the perfect 
 unity of subject and object as conceived to be realized 
 by God, that we become conscious of our own moral 
 
190 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 limitations. In the case of man there always is an 
 opposition between the actual self and the ideal, because 
 man's life is never completely moralized ; but even the 
 consciousness of his moral imperfection would be im- 
 possible were he not conscious of an ideal moral per- 
 fection, and conscious of it as the true nature of the 
 world. Thus, in the practical as in the theoretical 
 consciousness of man, there is implied identification of 
 subject and object. 
 
 From what has been said you will see that in asserting 
 the identity of subject and object we do not maintain 
 that there is no distinction between beings that are self- 
 conscious and beings that are not self-conscious. What 
 we maintain is, that, as every phase of the world must 
 ultimately be viewed as a manifestation of one self- 
 conscious intelligence, so the true life of man consists in 
 coming to the consciousness of this intelligence and in 
 identifying himself with it. True individuality is self- 
 activity in identifying oneself with the object; and just 
 in so far as a man fails in this he fails in knowledge and 
 in morality. 
 
 MR. SPENCER'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 I have dealt thus fully with Mr. Spencer's first pro- 
 position, because it lies at the basis of his whole system. 
 It will not be necessary to consider the other four pro- 
 positions which he maintains, but a few words may be 
 devoted to his second proposition, that the object is for us 
 a complex of feelings, and the subject a complex of move- 
 ments. Let us take each of these assertions by itself. 
 
 (a) The object is conceivable only as a complex of 
 feelings. My perception of any object is not an appre- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 191 
 
 hension of the object in itself, but only of the impressions 
 which it produces in me. These come in an order of 
 succession, and therefore the perception of coexistent 
 objects is in reality only the consciousness of a reversible 
 order in my impressions as distinguished from an irre- 
 versible order. 
 
 Now, Mr. Spencer here fails to distinguish between a 
 mere series of feelings and a conceived order of objective 
 reality. He assumes that the occurrence of feelings is the 
 same as the consciousness of their occurrence. But it is 
 easy to show that if the object were reducible to the 
 mere occurrence of feelings, there would be no con- 
 sciousness of their occurrence, and therefore no conscious- 
 ness of an orderly system of things. To be conscious of 
 feelings as related in time is to be beyond mere feelings. 
 This becomes at once evident if we suppose our con- 
 sciousness reduced simply to the occurrence of feelings. 
 Take, e.g., the occurrence of a number of feelings of 
 sound. (1) If there is in the consciousness of such 
 feelings nothing but the feelings themselves, each feeling 
 of sound will exist only so long as it is felt. But the 
 consciousness of a series of feelings cannot be derived 
 from a number of distinct feelings. To have the con- 
 sciousness of a series there must be the consciousness of 
 the one as distinguishable from the other. To simplify 
 the matter, let us suppose that in their content all the 
 feelings are the same. But manifestly we cannot be 
 conscious of feelings as different, unless we are conscious 
 of them as not absolutely identical. In the present case 
 the difference is purely one of time ; if, therefore, we 
 distinguish the one from the other, we must do so on 
 the ground that one precedes and the other follows. 
 
192 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 Now, this distinction of before and after is a distinction 
 of relation, and therefore it involves the consciousness of 
 a relation — the relation of time — between one feeling and 
 another. This capacity of relating one feeling to another 
 cannot be attributed to the feelings themselves, but 
 involves the capacity of grasping time as a unity of dis- 
 tinguishable moments. That is to say, in the conscious- 
 ness of a series of feelings thought is involved. It is 
 for this reason that I become conscious of all feelings as 
 related to one another in the way of time. And time, as 
 the universal form in which all feelings are related, is 
 not a variable element in my experience; it is a fixed 
 or unalterable relation. Here, then, we have one of the 
 simplest forms in which the consciousness of objectivity 
 presents itself. In being conscious of all feelings as 
 related in the way of time, I have apprehended a universal 
 and necessary relation ; and a universal and necessary 
 relation is what we mean by objectivity. 
 
 You will thus see that it is quite untrue to say that 
 the object is for us a complex of feelings. No number of 
 feelings could ever give us the consciousness of time, and 
 therefore the consciousness of feelings as following in a 
 fixed order in time. The object is not a collection of 
 feelings, but the consciousness of a systematic unity which 
 determines feelings to a fixed order. To be conscious 
 of an object at all, we must have the conception of time 
 as an absolute unity. Hence the conscious subject in 
 the apprehension of his various feelings as successive has 
 already got beyond a series of subjective states, and has 
 grasped these under the objective form of time. 
 
 (b) The subject, Mr. Spencer says, is conceivable only 
 as a complex of movements. If the mind experiences a 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. 1 93 
 
 feeling, this feeling can only be conceived after the manner 
 of a movement in the bodily organism. Thus we are forced 
 to represent the relation of our feelings to one another in 
 terms of the action of one material particle on another. 
 Mr. Spencer indeed denies that this is an adequate view 
 of the nature of mind, but he says it is the only view that 
 makes the fact intelligible to us. Changes of feeling are 
 really different in kind from material movements, but yet 
 we must symbolize the changes of feeling as movements. 
 Now, the difficulty Mr. Spencer has in apprehending 
 the nature of mind is not due to any limitation of our 
 knowledge, but to a false view of the nature of mind. 
 Any attempt to comprehend the nature of consciousness 
 by conceiving of it as made up of separate units of feeling 
 is certain to lead us to suppose that we cannot comprehend 
 mind as it truly is, and have therefore to represent it 
 as it is not. For consciousness is not an assemblage 
 of separate feelings. To suppose it is, leads, as we 
 have seen, to the denial of all consciousness. The dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic of consciousness is, that in all 
 its changing phases it remains identical with itself; what 
 it distinguishes from itself is always a particular aspect of 
 reality, but all aspects of reality are in relation to the 
 one., indivisible self. To speak, therefore, of feelings in 
 terms of nerve-movements is virtually to abolish the dis- 
 tinction between a feeling and a nerve-movement. Now, 
 a feeling as it exists for consciousness is always a particu- 
 lar phase of reality as related by thought to other phases 
 of reality. Apart from consciousness, the feeling has no 
 existence as a known object ; as a known object, it implies 
 the universalizing activity of the one identical subject. But, 
 if prior to the consciousness of the feeling there is no 
 
194 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 known feeling, to speak of a nerve-movement as if it could 
 explain feeling is to assume that a peculiar form of reality 
 can be explained without any reference to that without 
 which it could not exist at all. Consciousness cannot be 
 expressed in terms of motion, because, without supposing 
 consciousness to be distinct from motion, there could be 
 no consciousness at all. 
 
 In the last two chapters the general character of the 
 moral consciousness of man has been incidentally charac- 
 terized, but it is necessary to consider more carefully the 
 problems which arise in connection with that conscious- 
 ness. The discussion of these problems constitutes Moral 
 as distinguished from Mental Philosophy. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 IDEA OF DUTY. 
 
 In our ordinary moral consciousness we distinguish be- 
 tween what is and what ought to be, just as in our ordinary 
 theoretical consciousness we distinguish between what 
 seems and what is. We are continually passing upon our- 
 selves or others such judgments as " This ought to be 
 done," "That ought not to be done." In making such 
 judgments we assume that there is right and wrong con- 
 duct, and that action, whether right or wrong, is to be 
 attributed to an agent. In other words, we find in our 
 ordinary consciousness two correlative ideas, — the idea of 
 Duty or moral obligation, and the idea of Freedom or self- 
 activity. These two ideas lie at the basis of all our moral 
 conceptions, and with them Ethics, as the science of 
 conduct, has mainly to deal. We shall deal first with the 
 idea of duty. 
 
 In the first place, the idea of duty implies an opposition 
 between an ideal or intelligible world and the actual world. 
 This ideal world is conceived as that form of existence 
 which a man is to realize, as distinguished from the form 
 
196 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 of existence that he has realized. In idea man is a mem- 
 ber of the intelligible world, and if he were complete man, 
 he would no longer find any discrepancy between what 
 he ought to be and what he is. But primarily the in- 
 telligible world is not an achievement but a prophecy, not 
 something that man is but something he ought to be. 
 And this is true whether we look at the individual man 
 or at the race. The individual man has an idea of him- 
 self as realizing what he ought to realize, but it presents 
 itself to him as an ideal, because he has not realized it. 
 It is in contrast to this ideal of himself that he becomes 
 conscious of the imperfection of his actual self. If he 
 had no idea of himself as a being that ought to live the 
 ideal life, he would not be aware that "in all things he 
 offends and comes short of the glory of God." The same 
 thing is true of the race. The moral progress of humanity 
 is made possible by an ideal of humanity as it ought to 
 be but is not. There always is in all the strivings of 
 man an ideal man which is set up as the true man, and 
 this ideal is conceived as the real that ought to be, though 
 not the real that is. We can therefore understand why 
 Plato maintained that the ideal is the real. The ideal is 
 the real, not because it is the actual, but because it is 
 what ought to be actual. Man recognizes that his true 
 self is the ideal or moral self, not the self that at any 
 time actually is. 
 
 Hence, secondly, the idea of duty implies an opposition 
 between a law of reason and a law of natural inclination. 
 The law of reason is recognized as that which expresses 
 the true end or destiny of man, the man as he ought to 
 be ; the law of inclination as that which expresses what 
 man, in so far as he fails to realize the ideal end, actually 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 1 97 
 
 is. There is in man an opposition between his desire 
 for the realization of the ideal self, and his desire for the 
 gratification of the lower self, an opposition between the 
 life of spirit and the life of nature. 
 
 Now, it is of supreme importance to apprehend the true 
 relation of the ideal and the actual self, the life of spirit 
 and the life of nature ; for upon this apprehension mainly 
 depends the character of our ethical theory. 
 
 The first view of the relation of the natural and the 
 spiritual self which we are inclined to take is that they 
 are absolute opposites. I find within me, it may be said, 
 certain natural impulses, and these incite me to live a 
 life that is in all respects opposed to the life of reason. 
 It is only by rising entirely above my impulses and acting 
 purely from the law of reason that I can be moral. 
 
 Now, this view manifestly implies that it is possible, on 
 the one hand, to act purely from natural impulse, and, on 
 the other hand, to act purely from reason. But before 
 we can accept such an absolute opposition of Desire and 
 Reason, we must be sure that the opposition exists. Is 
 it then true that man ever does, or ever can, act from 
 mere impulse as distinguished from reason ? 
 
 What has led to the view that man may act purely 
 from immediate impulse ? It seems to be established by 
 the actual facts of human life. Each of us seems to be 
 an individual object among other objects, possessing by 
 nature certain immediate desires which are brought into 
 play by the stimulation of external things. Thus the 
 immediate appetites of hunger and thirst seem to belong 
 to our animal nature, and to present themselves in our 
 consciousness whether we will or no. These appetites 
 take the form of the feeling of a want, and this feeling 
 
198 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 leads to the impulse to satisfy the want. We find that 
 they can be satisfied by certain acts — the acts of eating 
 and drinking, and, impelled by our natural craving, we 
 perform the acts required. Here, it is said, is an impulse 
 with which nature has endowed us, giving rise to an 
 action. It is not reason that supplies the motive to the 
 action, but an impulse of nature. Our reason may show us 
 the means by which the natural want may be satisfied — 
 it may tell us that hunger can be satisfied only by food, 
 and thirst by drink — but it cannot supply the impulse to 
 act, the motive or active power that produces the action. 
 Nor is it different, it may be said, in the case of the 
 desires that we are accustomed to call higher. Thus man 
 has a benevolent impulse, an impulse to do actions that 
 bring pleasure to others. But, like the appetites of hunger 
 and thirst, that impulse springs up in him because he is 
 by nature endowed with a susceptibility which makes 
 him shrink from pain, and causes him to act so as to 
 prevent others from feeling it. To this the Darwinian 
 would add, that the benevolent impulse has come to man 
 by inheritance from his animal progenitors, and is there- 
 fore as purely natural as the appetite of hunger or of 
 thirst. Let the benevolent impulse be in a man stronger 
 than the selfish impulse, and he will inevitably perform 
 benevolent acts. 
 
 Now, plausible as this view of natural desire is, I think it 
 may be shown to rest upon an imperfect apprehension of 
 the nature of desire as it exists in man. It is supposed 
 that man knows himself simply as an individual object, 
 possessing like other individual objects certain properties 
 which are revealed in his consciousness, but which are in 
 no way determined as to their nature by his consciousness. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 199 
 
 Just as a material thing possesses the tendency to gravitate 
 towards other material things, so man possesses by nature 
 such tendencies to action as hunger, thirst, and benevolence. 
 Accordingly, it is supposed that his consciousness of him- 
 self is simply the consciousness that he exists, and is de- 
 termined now by one impulse, now by another. The 
 immediate impulse is in no way affected by man's con- 
 sciousness of it, for his consciousness only tells him that he 
 is and must be affected by the impulse : 
 
 " O who can hold a fire in his hand, 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus." 1 
 
 Thus the consciousness of self seems to be merely the 
 apprehension of a sensitive content, that leaves the content 
 unchanged. From this point of view, the only difference 
 between a merely sensitive and a conscious subject is that 
 the former possesses a certain impulse without being aware 
 of possessing it, while the latter not only has the impulse 
 but knows that he has it. The presence of consciousness, 
 however, seems to leave the impulse just what it was before. 
 If a magnet were to become conscious of its tendency to 
 turn towards the pole, it would be in an analogous con- 
 dition to a self-conscious being that has become aware of 
 itself as having natural impulses. 
 
 Now this account of the consciousness of self leaves out 
 all that is characteristic of it. We are to suppose that the 
 subject can be conscious of being in a particular state of 
 desire, without being conscious of anything else ; in other 
 words, that the self-conscious subject is aware of himself only 
 in the individual states which in succession occur to him. 
 We must further suppose that the subject can be conscious 
 1 Richard II r . i. 3. 
 
200 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 of himself as particular without being conscious of himself 
 as universal. But neither of these assumptions can be ad- 
 mitted to be true, (a) If my consciousness of myself as in 
 a particular state of desire — say, desire for food — were the 
 consciousness only of this desire, I should not be able to 
 think of myself as capable of many desires. Tied down to 
 each desire as it arose, I should be continually varying in 
 my desires as from time to time they arose in me, but I 
 should not be aware of this variable character of myself. 
 To be aware of hunger as a desire to which I am subject, 
 I must therefore be able to compare it with the other 
 desires of which I am susceptible. But this means that I 
 am conscious of myself as a being in whom a conflict of 
 desires may take place. For instance, the desire for food 
 may come into conflict with the desire for knowledge. The 
 consciousness of desire thus implies that the subject appears 
 to himself as an object capable of experiencing various 
 desires which may or may not be harmonious with one 
 another, (b) This consciousness leads to another form of 
 consciousness. I cannot be conscious of myself as capable 
 of having a variety of desires, without conceiving of myself 
 as not identical with any one of them, or even with the 
 whole of them taken together. Thus arises the conscious- 
 ness of self as a subject that is opposed to the self as an 
 object with its varying desires. The very consciousness 
 of self as an object lifts the self above its mere objectivity. 
 Hence arises the opposition between myself as a being 
 striving after complete satisfaction and myself as a being 
 experiencing from time to time the satisfaction of particular 
 desires, but never completely satisfied. 
 
 Self-consciousness thus involves a primary opposition 
 between an ideal self and an actual self. But this oppo- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 201 
 
 sition is not absolute. When I have become aware that 
 I have many desires, all of which seek for satisfaction, my 
 action is not determined by any desire as such. I set 
 before my consciousness the idea of myself as seeking 
 satisfaction in different desires, and I select among them 
 that which seems to have the strongest claim to satisfaction 
 under given conditions. It is not the desire that deter- 
 mines my choice, but / who compare the various desires 
 with one another. Having made my choice I will to 
 follow the line of action calculated, or apparently calculated, 
 to secure the end in view. Thus the self-conscious subject 
 is not the passive subject of this or that desire, but he 
 determines himself to follow the object to which a particular 
 desire points. 
 
 But there is more than this. If I seek for satisfaction 
 in willing the object of a particular desire, I am seeking 
 for satisfaction in that which cannot possibly yield it. 
 For my consciousness of myself is the consciousness of 
 a self that strives after infinite satisfaction. I desire 
 satisfaction not for this side of my nature or for that — 
 not for the present moment only but for all time — and 
 no particular satisfaction can possibly yield complete 
 satisfaction. "Man's unhappiness," says Carlyle, 1 "comes 
 of his Greatness ; it is because there is an Infinite in 
 him, which with all his cunning he cannot quite bury 
 under the Finite. Will the whole Finance Ministers and 
 Upholsterers and Confectioners of modern Europe under- 
 take in joint-stock company, to make one Shoeblack 
 happyt They cannot accomplish it, above an hour or 
 two; for the Shoeblack also has a Soul quite other than 
 his Stomach; and would require, if you consider it, for 
 1 Sartor Resartus, p. 131. 
 
202 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 his permanent satisfaction and saturation, simply this 
 allotment, no more, and no less : God's infinite Universe 
 altogether to himself, therein to enjoy infinitely, and fill 
 every wish as fast as it rose." Thus arises a division in 
 consciousness between the particular and the universal 
 self. On the one hand, I can realize myself only in 
 willing some particular object ; on the other hand, in 
 willing a particular object I have not gained the satisfac- 
 tion at which I aimed. Here then is the origin of the 
 war of flesh and spirit, the actual and the ideal self. 
 Our self-conscious life seems to be in irreconcilable 
 antagonism with itself. Observe, however, that the antag- 
 onism is now seen to be, not between natural desire 
 impelling us to actions that lie outside of our own will, 
 and reason as setting up an ideal beyond all desire; but 
 it is between that form of self-determination which seeks 
 to realize the self in willing a particular object, and that 
 form of self-determination which seeks to realize the self 
 completely. It is a conflict of the subject with himself, 
 not a conflict between external force and will. 
 
 Yet the conflict seems to remain. Is there no way of 
 reconciling it? There is one method which has com- 
 mended itself to many moralists, the method of Asceticism. 
 The only way, it is held, in which man can attain the 
 end of his being is by refusing to be influenced in the 
 smallest degree by his desires, i.e., by the satisfactions 
 which seem to be held out to him by willing one side of 
 his nature. For the true nature of man is reason, and 
 reason demands the complete liberation of man from all 
 the passions that enslave him. Thus it was held by the 
 ancient Stoics, as it has been held in modern times 
 by Kant, that morality consists in acting purely from 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 203 
 
 the law of reason, as distinguished from the law of 
 desire. 
 
 This law of reason seemed to the Stoics to be in 
 complete antagonism to the law of desire. Hence they 
 maintained that we can only live the true life of man by 
 being absolutely indifferent to the solicitations of desire ; 
 we must "dwell with ourselves," 1 and treat all the imagined 
 satisfactions of the particular desires as inconsistent with 
 " our being's end and aim." The passions are " unnatural," 
 for man's real nature is not passion but reason. "Follow 
 nature" therefore means, "follow reason." The man who 
 is moved by the desire for wealth is a slave; he becomes 
 free by learning to despise wealth. To be ambitious is 
 to yield to a desire which never can bring satisfaction, but 
 which, on the contrary, must lead to all sorts of dissatis- 
 faction and even to despair ; the wise man holds himself 
 aloof from all the ambitions of ordinary men. The end 
 of life is to reach the state of self-harmony, or complete 
 indifference (drapagia) to the claims of the particular self. 
 Passion as foreign to the true self must be destroyed ; we 
 must as rational beings devote ourselves to the task of 
 expelling this unwelcome guest. Hence morality consists 
 in the negation of passion. The asceticism of the Stoics 
 thus results from their conception of the particular desires 
 as essentially irrational. Accordingly, the morality they 
 teach is purely negative in its character. They tell us, 
 indeed, that we are to live the life of reason; but when 
 we ask wherein the life of reason consists, the answer we 
 get is, that it consists in the annihilation in ourselves of 
 the power over us of all the desires. 
 
 What is the value of this conception of morality? 
 1 Tecum habita et noris, quam sit tibi curia supellex. — Persius. 
 
204 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 (a) Its main value lies in this, that man in his ideal 
 or perfect nature is something more and higher than the 
 particular forms in which he seeks to realize himself. 
 If I try to realize myself completely in devoting myself 
 to the pursuit of wealth, or honour, or knowledge, I am 
 treating myself as if my whole nature were capable of 
 being expressed in each of these desires. Nay, if I try 
 to find satisfaction in the realization of all my particular 
 desires, I equally assume that I can be identified with 
 these, and that if I can only obtain wealth and honour 
 and knowledge I shall have reached complete self- 
 satisfaction. In neither of these ways can the satisfaction 
 that is sought be attained. Suppose that I succeed in 
 satisfying my desire for wealth, I become conscious that 
 I have left unsatisfied my natural desire for honour and 
 knowledge; if I were to obtain the satisfaction of the 
 desire for honour or knowledge, I should leave unsatisfied 
 the desire for wealth. The truth, however, is, that no 
 desire ever can be completely satisfied. The man who 
 seeks to obtain wealth as the means of self-satisfaction 
 never reaches a point where he can say: Now I have 
 obtained all the wealth that I can possibly desire. For 
 the desire has no limit in itself, and therefore no limited 
 object can satisfy it. 
 
 To suppose, therefore, that any one who makes the 
 satisfaction of all his desires his object can ever attain 
 the satisfaction he seeks, is to suppose that the desire for 
 the infinite can be fed by the finite. The Stoics were 
 therefore right in maintaining that the true end of life 
 cannot be realized by making the objects of particular 
 desires the object aimed at. He who takes the particular 
 as the end will learn by the stern logic of experience 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 205 
 
 that he has been seeking to allay his hunger for the 
 infinite by feeding himself on the husks of the finite. It 
 was therefore natural for the Stoics to say : Give up the 
 effort to find satisfaction in the finite, and learn to be 
 indifferent to the allurements of the passions : if you 
 learn the lesson of indifference to the fascinations of 
 desire, you will no longer be the slave of the passions, 
 but the free man of reason. 
 
 But (b) the difficulty immediately presents itself, that if 
 man must in no case be influenced by the desire for 
 some special form of self-satisfaction, all motive to action 
 seems to be taken away. Reason sets before me the 
 idea of myself as completely satisfied, and this complete 
 satisfaction is not to be found by seeking to secure any 
 definite object. I am not to be actuated by the love of 
 wealth, or honour, or knowledge. In the absence of such 
 motives, how am I to act? Every action must take the 
 form of a volition to realize some particular object. 
 There is no perfectly general action : all action is par- 
 ticular. If I exclude all particular forms of action, 
 nothing remains but the general capacity of acting, and 
 so long as there is nothing but the capacity, there is no 
 realization of the self. Thus the idea of the perfect self 
 remains a mere idea : something that ought to be realized, 
 but which never is realized. Man's actual self and his 
 ideal self remain for ever apart. His duty is to realize 
 the ideal self, but the idea of duty remains a mere idea, 
 because there is no particular line of action that can be 
 followed which does not re-introduce the conception of 
 a particular object to be attained, and so destroy the 
 determination by the abstract idea. 
 
 How, then, are we to get beyond the abstract idea of 
 
206 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 duty to the consciousness of particular duties ? Obviously, 
 only if the idea of self as infinite or perfect is not in 
 irreconcilable antagonism to the idea of self as finite 
 or particular. We must be prepared to show, in other 
 words, that the law of reason is not the abstract opposite 
 of the law of desire, but is in some sense the same 
 law. 
 
 Now, observe that the reconciliation of desire and 
 reason cannot be made by saying that the " natural law " 
 of desire must be extended to the " spiritual world." So 
 long as the natural desires are conceived as desires for a 
 particular form of self-satisfaction, so long they must be 
 opposed to the idea of complete self-satisfaction. But 
 the desires are in reality not merely desires for particular 
 satisfactions. To the individual they may seem so, 
 because he has not become aware of what their true 
 meaning is. The man who seeks his satisfaction in the 
 attainment of wealth may have no clear consciousness 
 that the real motive of his action is not the attainment 
 of wealth, but the attainment of self-satisfaction by means 
 of the attainment of wealth. This is implied in the very 
 nature of desire. Why does a man seek wealth ? If he 
 supposed that in attaining it he would only bring to 
 himself dissatisfaction, would he not, instead of seeking 
 it, shun it by all means in his power ? He desires wealth 
 because he conceives of it as the means of securing many 
 forms of satisfaction — food, shelter, comfort, luxuries, 
 social consideration. The real motive which is operative 
 in the search for wealth is the desire for permanent self- 
 satisfaction. Why, then, is self-satisfaction not found in 
 this way ? It is not found because the man has identified 
 his ultimate good with that which is not his ultimate 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 207 
 
 good. He has sought for the satisfaction of his ideal 
 self in a self that falls short of the ideal. The opposition 
 which is felt in the contrast of desire and attainment is 
 just the man coming to the consciousness of the dis- 
 crepancy between the ideal as it has actually presented 
 itself to him in his search for wealth, and a higher ideal 
 that was not explicitly before his consciousness. He 
 supposed that he was actuated simply by the desire for 
 satisfaction by means of wealth, when in reality he was 
 blindly seeking for the complete satisfaction of his nature. 
 When he becomes aware of the disharmony between the 
 self-satisfaction he has been seeking and the self-satisfaction 
 that is still unrealized, he comes to the consciousness that 
 there is a higher than his actual self: that the self he 
 has been seeking to realize is not his true self. Thus 
 he awakens to the consciousness of what he ought to be 
 as distinguished from what he is, and he opposes the law 
 of duty to the law of inclination. 
 
 Now, it is at this point that there is danger of mis- 
 interpreting the meaning of this higher consciousness. In 
 the first consciousness of a higher life, a man is apt to 
 say to himself : " I have been all wrong in seeking my 
 good in such objects as wealth, or honour, or knowledge j 
 henceforth I will give up the search for satisfaction in 
 these, and live only for my higher self." This is a move- 
 ment of the human spirit of which we are continually 
 seeing examples, though it is seldom that we see it in its 
 purity. A man who has passed the greater part of his 
 life in the acquisition of wealth comes to the conscious- 
 ness of a higher law, and, looking back upon his past life, 
 he condemns it as unspiritual. " The pursuit of wealth," he 
 says to himself, " is unworthy of man, and is antagonistic 
 
2o8 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 with my true nature. Henceforth I will lead a higher 
 life." But, as a rule, he does not interpret this thought 
 into action, and surrender the wealth he has acquired ; 
 at the most, he contents himself with giving away a part 
 of it, reserving the largest part for himself. Sometimes 
 we find examples of a much bolder practical idealism. 
 Thus, in the middle ages, we find men like St. Francis, who 
 carry out to its logical issue the principle of renunciation. 
 "All the desires," they say, "are essentially unspiritual, 
 and must be crucified." Hence they devote themselves to 
 a life of poverty, celibacy, and obedience, renouncing for 
 ever all those objects of satisfaction to which men 
 ordinarily devote themselves. In such men we have in 
 its purest form the realization of the negative conception 
 of duty. 
 
 Can we accept this ideal of life as the highest? Is 
 renunciation the last word of morality? If we consider 
 more particularly the relations of desire and reason, duty 
 and inclination, we shall be forced, I think, to hold that 
 the path of renunciation is not the path that leads to the 
 highest spiritual life. 
 
 In all his desires, as we have seen, man is unconsciously 
 striving after complete self-realization or self-satisfaction. 
 So long as he seeks for self-satisfaction in a particular 
 object, he is laying up for himself inevitable disappoint- 
 ment. But it does not follow that he is therefore to 
 seek for self-satisfaction in separating himself from all 
 particular interests. To act on this principle is to assume 
 that these interests are necessarily antagonistic to the 
 higher interests of man; it is, in other words, to assume 
 that desire and reason are mutually antagonistic. Now, 
 if we examine carefully any of the special desires, we 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 209 
 
 shall find that they are not the opposite of reason, but 
 simply reason in the form of unreason. 
 
 Desire in its most immediate form appears as appetite, 
 the desire for the satisfaction of the wants of our animal 
 nature. It must, however, be observed that the appetites 
 are not simply animal impulses. If they were merely 
 animal impulses, they would not enter into our conscious 
 life. When I become conscious of an appetite, I become 
 conscious of myself as a being who is capable of seeking 
 for the satisfaction of myself so far as this particular desire. 
 is concerned. What I have before my consciousness is 
 the idea of myself as capable of receiving satisfaction 
 by means of a certain act, the act of eating or drinking. 
 Such desires may take the direct form of a desire for 
 food or drink, or they may take the more complicated 
 form of a desire for the satisfaction of my immediate 
 appetite, together with a repetition of the pleasure that 
 I have experienced in that satisfaction. It is this last 
 form of desire that gives rise to the artificial stimulation 
 of appetite and the various means by which the gratifica- 
 tion may be increased. Having once felt the satisfaction 
 attendant upon the gratification of such wants, I am 
 capable of imagining myself as enjoying it even when 
 the animal appetite is not actually felt. 
 
 Now, moralists of the ascetic type have no hesitation 
 in rejecting the second form of appetite. Plato, for example, 
 will have no Sicilian cookery in his ideal state : his guardians 
 must live on plain food and discard all dainties of the 
 palate. But most ascetic moralists go still further. Not 
 only must there be no artificial stimulation of the 
 appetites, but even the gratification of the natural de- 
 sires must be negated as far as possible. The wise man 
 
2IO COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 of the Stoics was indifferent to the satisfaction of his 
 appetites. 
 
 Asceticism, however, is not perfectly consistent with 
 itself. Its principle is that the natural desires should 
 be negated because they are inconsistent with the ideal 
 self of reason. Now, the only way in which a living 
 being can completely get rid of the particular desires 
 which we call the appetites, is by ceasing to live. So 
 long as by eating a man continues to exist, he must be 
 subject to the desire for food, and therefore reason can 
 never absolutely subdue appetite to itself. The negative 
 method of asceticism therefore leads to a practical con- 
 tradiction. The struggle between reason and desire is an 
 ever-renewed fight in which desire must always triumph, 
 because it is bound up with the very existence of the 
 rational subject. Only by one absolute act of self-renuncia- 
 tion, the renunciation of life itself, could the ascetic put 
 an end to the conflict. Now, this self-contradiction in 
 the ascetic conception of morality suggests the question, 
 whether there is any necessary antagonism between appetite 
 and reason. 
 
 It will be found, on reflection, that the assumed 
 opposition is not really between appetite and reason, but 
 between a self that treats appetite as an absolute end 
 and a self that treats it only as a means. Plato had a 
 glimpse of this when he held that his guardians should 
 eat only the plainest food ; for he did so mainly because 
 he believed that luxurious living is hostile to the high 
 thinking and self-abnegation required in a leader of the 
 people. That is to say, Plato virtually condemns as 
 irrational, not appetite as such, but appetite which assumes 
 an importance inconsistent with the complete develop- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 211 
 
 ment of the man. Now, when we look at the matter 
 from this point of view, we see that the opposition 
 supposed by the ascetic to obtain between appetite and 
 reason, really obtains between a higher and lower con- 
 ception of the self. If a man is prepared to sacrifice 
 higher interests to the gratification of his appetites, he 
 acts irrationally, because he substitutes a particular end 
 for a universal. But the immorality of his action does 
 not arise from the fact that he has willed the particular 
 end, but because he has willed it as if it were universal. 
 To realize himself at all, he must will the object indicated 
 by his natural desires ; but the difference between willing 
 the object for itself and willing it for a higher end is 
 spiritually an infinite difference. In the one case he 
 practically affirms that this particular end — this limited 
 self — is universal; in the other case, that this particular 
 end is particular. Or, as we may also put it, in the 
 former case he particularizes the universal; in the latter 
 case, he universalizes the particular. Now, in this uni- 
 versalizing of the particular morality consists. The path 
 to the higher spiritual life cannot be found by negating 
 desire, but by transforming it. Duty does not consist in 
 the destruction of natural inclination, but in subordinating 
 it to the realization of the complete nature of the self. 
 The negative method does not enable the individual to 
 triumph over his appetites, but raises appetite to a bad 
 preeminence. St. Anthony, fasting until he is haunted 
 by spectres of the imagination, gives to appetite an 
 importance that it would not otherwise possess. When, 
 on the other hand, it is recognized that the appetites are 
 means of realizing higher ends, it is seen that their satis- 
 faction is not merely permissible but a duty. It is a 
 
212 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 duty to maintain life, and to maintain it in its highest 
 perfection, because the maintenance of life is essential to 
 the development of the higher self. It is quite true that 
 even the sacrifice of life may be a duty. But it is never 
 a duty unless its maintenance comes into conflict with a 
 higher duty, as when a man betrays his country to save 
 his own life. The same principle which in the one case 
 makes it a duty to maintain life, in the other makes it 
 a duty to sacrifice life : the principle that only in the 
 realization of the ideal self can man realize his real 
 self. 
 
 We see, then, that duty may be defined as the realiz- 
 ation of the universal through the particular ; or, in other 
 words, the identification of the actual self with the ideal 
 self by a particular determination of it. All false theories 
 neglect one of these aspects. Hedonism neglects the 
 universal or the ideal self. Asceticism neglects the par- 
 ticular or the actual self. The former says that duty is 
 simply determination by the particular, i.e., by immediate 
 desire; the latter affirms that duty is direct identification 
 with the universal. The one does not explain the con- 
 ception of duty at all, since a self that is determined by 
 particular desires has no conception of duty j the other 
 allows for the conception of duty, but does not explain 
 how it can be realized. The truth therefore is, that duty 
 is at once the willing of the universal or law, and the 
 willing of the particular. My duty is to realize my ideal 
 self, but my ideal self is the actual self as willing a par- 
 ticular object which I identify with the law. Thus the 
 law gets a definite content, without ceasing to be a 
 law. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 213 
 
 kant's VIEW OF DUTY. 
 
 These somewhat abstract statements will be better 
 understood if we consider the ethical theory of Kant. 
 For in Kant we find the two sides of morality — the 
 particular and the universal — clearly brought out, although 
 they are not perfectly reconciled. 
 
 What is meant by duty? asks Kant. To do one's duty 
 is to act independently of any natural inclination for or 
 against the course pursued. We do not say that a man of 
 abundant vital energy acts from a sense of duty when he 
 does from inclination those things that tend to maintain 
 his own life. It is a duty to maintain one's life, but it 
 is not done as a duty when it is maintained because the 
 agent has a natural pleasure in maintaining it. Self-pre- 
 servation is made a duty only if I maintain my life 
 because I ought to do it, not because I desire to do it. 
 
 Kant maintains, then, that duty implies two things : 
 (1) an absolute law or standard of action; (2) self-deter- 
 mination by this absolute law. In other words, the law 
 and the law alone must be the motive of action. An 
 action is moral quite independently of whether the 
 object aimed at is secured or not. The man who pro- 
 longs his life because he loves it, attains the same object 
 as the man who prolongs his life because it is his duty 
 to do so. On the other hand, there are many men who 
 are actuated by a strong sense of their duty to their 
 fellows, whose benevolent efforts always prove unsuccess- 
 ful, through some lack of those gifts that lead to success. 
 But our estimate of the moral character of such men 
 is not lowered because they are unsuccessful in the 
 accomplishment of the object aimed at; we say that they 
 
214 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 did their duty, and are therefore morally on as high a 
 level as if they had succeeded. It is the motive that 
 makes a man good, not the object sought. 
 
 There are, then, two absolutely discrepant kinds of 
 motive. In the first place, the motive may be the 
 natural desire for a certain object which appears to me 
 as pleasant. The object, e.g., may be the maintenance 
 of my own life, and the motive may be the natural 
 tendency to seek that object. I desire the object, and, 
 desiring it, I do the acts that tend to secure it. In the 
 second place, the motive may be, not desire for the 
 object, but reverence for the law. Here it is not the 
 object to be attained that constitutes the motive, but 
 my consciousness that I ought to seek to attain it. I 
 have no reverence for the maintenance of life; what 
 I reverence is the law that commands me to maintain 
 my life. When I become conscious that there is an 
 absolute law which has no respect for my inclination 
 either to maintain my life or to get rid of it, I am 
 impressed by the majesty of the law, and I may act 
 out of pure reverence for it. Then my action is moral. 
 My only motive is reverence for the law itself. To do 
 one's duty, then, is to recognize the absolute obligation 
 of the law over every rational being, and to will the 
 law purely because I reverence it. 
 
 In further enforcing this view, Kant goes on to contend 
 that all action which is done from desire for a certain 
 object is contrary to duty. (i) If our motive is the 
 desire for a certain object — say, the maintenance of life — 
 it is evident that this object must present itself to us 
 as pleasant. The idea of the continuance of one's life 
 affects our susceptibility to pleasure, and because it 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 215 
 
 appears as pleasant we desire it. Obviously, therefore, 
 the desire is not something that we can make or 
 unmake. If man were so constituted by nature as to 
 be excited to pain on the presentation of the idea of 
 the continuance of his life, he would desire death instead 
 of life. In point of fact there are cases in which a 
 man is so miserable, that the idea of life appears as 
 painful, and he desires death. Desire is thus determined 
 by the action of the object on the natural susceptibility 
 to pleasure and pain. Having once experienced that a 
 certain object produces pleasure, the individual may 
 formulate for himself a rule of action based upon that 
 experience. Thus he may say: "Seek to maintain life, 
 because it brings pleasure." But this is obviously not 
 an absolute law. If by further experience a man finds that 
 life is not pleasant, he may formulate a new rule of 
 action : " Seek the destruction of life, because it is 
 painful." No absolute law can be based upon desire, 
 because desire is not a fixed principle, but is dependent 
 upon the fluctuations of feeling as determined by chang- 
 ing experience. 
 
 (2) There are many desires corresponding to the 
 different objects that may be experienced as pleasant. 
 Hence there are many rules of action. But they all 
 agree in this, that they are based upon the desire for 
 pleasure. Nor does it make any difference what the 
 source of the desire may be, whether in the senses or 
 in the intellect. All desires are of the same kind, 
 because all depend upon the susceptibility of the subject 
 for pleasure in the idea of an object. The desire may 
 be a desire for knowledge, but the motive in this case 
 as in others is the pleasure attendant upon the attain- 
 
2l6 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 ment of the object. Now, if this is true, it follows that 
 a life which is ruled by desire is a life that rests upon 
 mere rules of experience. Such a life presents itself to 
 the individual seeking it as happiness ; for by happiness 
 is meant a life of continuous pleasure. 
 
 (3) Man from his very nature as a finite rational being 
 must desire happiness. For he is necessarily susceptible 
 to the desire for pleasure, and his reason shows him that 
 all his desires are aiming at pleasure. As finite, he must 
 seek for happiness not in himself but in objects without 
 himself. He cannot at first tell, however, what objects 
 his desires aim at; these he must learn from experience, 
 i.e., from a knowledge of their effect upon his peculiar 
 susceptibility. Plainly, therefore, no universal principle of 
 action can be based upon the desire for happiness. We 
 cannot say : Wealth should be sought as a means to happi- 
 ness, because a man may not be susceptible to the desire 
 for wealth. The idea of happiness is merely a name that 
 we apply to all forms of desire for pleasure j it cannot 
 tell us how we are to act in any given case. "Seek 
 happiness" is no guide to conduct. For, when we ask, 
 what then is happiness, no answer can be given except 
 that happiness is what each man from time to time 
 desires ; and, as different men have different desires, and 
 even the same man at different times, happiness cannot 
 be reduced to law. To this Kant adds, that even if all 
 men were susceptible to the same desires, no universal 
 law could be based upon desire, but only a general 
 principle of human action. A law that rests upon the 
 susceptibility to pleasure peculiar to man as a finite being 
 cannot be an absolute law binding upon all rational beings. 
 
 If, then, there are universal laws of action — laws bind- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 217 
 
 ing upon every rational being — they must rest upon the 
 mere idea of duty, not upon desire. An action can be 
 moral only if I am in no way influenced by my desire 
 for an object as pleasurable, but do it purely and solely 
 because it is rational. And it can be rational only if it 
 can be conceived as an act that every rational being is 
 called upon to perform. The test of a moral law is 
 therefore this : Can I view the proposed rule of action 
 as applicable to all, and not simply to myself with my 
 peculiar susceptibilities for certain pleasures ? Is the prin- 
 ciple, in other words, when it is viewed as a rule for all, 
 consistent with itself? If it is, it must be a universal law, 
 since it holds good quite apart from the varying desires 
 of the individual subject ; if it is not, it cannot be a 
 universal law, but, at the most, only a rule of expediency. 
 Kant expresses this idea by saying, that a moral act is 
 one in which we determine ourselves purely by the form 
 of a law, not by its matte?-. Take, for example, the 
 principle, " Respect the property of others." If this 
 means : Respect the property of others, because in this 
 way you will get more pleasure, it is not a law, because 
 some men get more pleasure from dishonesty. But if it 
 means : Respect the property of others, because theft 
 cannot be made a universal principle, and is therefore 
 contrary to reason, we get a universal law. 
 
 The form in which Kant has stated his doctrine is 
 open to grave objections. 
 
 (1) He maintains that in acting morally we must be 
 absolutely uninfluenced by desire, because all desire is 
 excited by the idea of pleasure, or, what is the same 
 thing, by the idea of an object as fitted to bring pleasure. 
 
2l8 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 But, if we exclude all objects of desire, how are we to 
 act at all? I am not to act from the desire for wealth, 
 or honour, or knowledge ; what then am I to do ? If 
 there is no definite object to be sought, am I not re- 
 duced to the condition of acting without having the idea 
 of any positive direction that my action is to take ? Kant 
 answers that I can examine different courses of action, 
 and finding out which can be practised by every one, 
 and which cannot be practised by every one, I can set 
 up the former as a law binding upon me because it is 
 the only kind of principle that is consistent with itself. 
 But if I had no desire for any object in particular, how 
 could I get out of the idea of law in general any guide 
 for action, any specific duty? Suppose that I have no 
 desire for life, how is it possible to arrive at the prin- 
 ciple that the maintenance of life is a principle that is 
 consistent with itself? Unless I had the desire for life, 
 the question would never arise, whether it is right or 
 wrong to preserve life. Kant, therefore, must fall back 
 upon desire to get the particular principles from which 
 we are to act. All that he shows is, that, when particular 
 objects of desire are presented before the mind, we can 
 determine which are right by asking whether we can 
 suppose them to be sought by all without contradiction, 
 while others are wrong because we cannot suppose them 
 to be sought by all without contradiction. But if this is 
 so, how can it be said that we act purely from the idea 
 of law? Do we not rather act from the idea of a certain 
 object which is conceived as a law for all? "Act from 
 the idea of law " supplies no principle of action in any 
 given case, unless we fall back upon some object sup- 
 plied by desire. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 2IQ 
 
 (2) It may be objected that, even if we suppose different 
 courses of action to be suggested by our desires, we cannot 
 tell how we should act in any given case. Kant thinks 
 that certain courses of action can be shown to be wrong 
 because they are incompatible with the very idea of law. 
 Universal stealing, he says, is self-contradictory, because 
 if everyone stole there would be nothing to steal. But 
 the contradiction does not arise from the mere universal- 
 izing of the act, but from attempting to universalize what 
 is self-contradictory before it is universalized. Theft is a 
 contradiction because it recognizes the right of property, 
 but acts contrary to the recognition. Every act of theft 
 is a contradiction of the right of property. The contra- 
 diction does not arise, as Kant supposes, only when theft 
 is universalized, but from the very idea of theft. If there 
 were only one act of theft it would be self-contradictory, 
 that is, the idea of theft presupposes the right of private 
 property. Unless, therefore, we start from the principle, 
 that the right of private property must be recognized as 
 a principle of action, we get no contradiction by supposing 
 theft to be universalized. Suppose, e.g., a community 
 which, resting upon a purely socialistic foundation, does 
 not recognize any right of property; would theft in that 
 case be self-contradictory? It would only be self-contra- 
 dictory in the sense of being impossible ; for where there 
 is no property there can be no theft. Plainly, therefore, 
 we can find a contradiction in the idea of theft only if 
 we assume the absoluteness of private property. But the 
 mere universalizing of an act gives no criterion of action. 
 " Let everyone use what does not belong to him " is the 
 universalized principle of a communistic form of society; 
 "Let no one use what does not belong to him" is the 
 
2 2C COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 universalized principle in a non-communistic form of 
 society. Manifestly, therefore, we can get no criterion 
 of morality by simply universalizing a suggested rule of 
 action. If a rule cannot be shown to be right in itself, 
 it will not be proved right by merely supposing it to be 
 universally acted upon. 
 
 (3) Another objection to Kant's doctrine that has been 
 made is, that it assumes particular rules of action to be 
 absolute, i.e., to admit of no exception. Now, this leads 
 to all the difficulties of casuistry. If there are a number 
 of rules, each of which admits of no exception, we involve 
 ourselves in self-contradiction. If the command, "Thou 
 shalt not steal," is to be taken as absolute, circumstances 
 may arise in which it comes into collision with the com- 
 mand, " Thou shalt not kill." If in a famine those who 
 have food in store stand upon their right of property, the 
 majority of the people may starve, i.e., in maintaining the 
 right of property, the higher right of life is sacrificed. Now 
 Kant's formal principle, that a rule of action is to be judged 
 as moral by its capability of being universalized, implies 
 that no exception can be allowed to its application ; for, if 
 it is once admitted that the rule is not in all cases such 
 that its violation is a contradiction, the whole principle of 
 determining a moral law by universalizing it goes to the 
 ground. 
 
 The objections just made must be held as valid against 
 the letter of Kant's ethical theory. But it may be shown 
 that there is in his doctrine a deeper truth which does not 
 find expression in the formal principle of self-consistency. 
 
 Kant points out that it is one thing to be subject to 
 law, and another thing to act from the consciousness of law. 
 Unless there is a consciousness of law there can be no will. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 22 1 
 
 The "mere animal" is subject entirely to the law of its 
 desires, and therefore it has no will. Now, we can con- 
 ceive of a being who in all cases acts in accordance with 
 the laws of reason, i.e., a being whose will is always good, 
 because never deflected from the path of morality by the 
 influence of desire. Man, however, is not a being of that 
 kind. He is capable of being moved to action by natural 
 desire, and therefore there is in his nature a conflict be- 
 tween the law of desire and the law of reason. Hence 
 it is that he presents before himself the law of reason, not 
 as a law that belongs to his very nature, but as a law that 
 he may or may not obey, but which he ought to obey. It 
 is because he may not act from reason, but from desire, 
 that the moral law presents itself to man in the form of 
 an imperative. 
 
 What, then, is the nature of this imperative? It com- 
 mands categorically or absolutely, i.e., it says that an act 
 must be done because its opposite contradicts the very 
 idea of law. Hence it may be thus expressed : " Act in 
 such a way that, in willing to act, you can will that the 
 maxim of your act should become a universal law." "Act 
 as if by your will the maxim of your act were about to 
 be made into a universal law of nature." 
 
 Now, we may distinguish between (i) duties of perfect 
 obligation and (2) duties of imperfect obligation. 
 
 (1) Suppose that a man is tempted to borrow money, 
 under promise to repay, knowing quite well that he 
 cannot fulfil his promise. He asks himself whether the 
 maxim, "Promise what you know you cannot perform," 
 could become a law for all, and he sees at once that 
 if everyone promised without intending to fulfil his promise, 
 nothing would be promised, since no one would believe 
 
2 22 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 another. The universalizing of a false promise thus con- 
 tradicts the very idea of a promise. 
 
 (2) As an instance of a duty of imperfect obligation, 
 take the case of a man who refuses to help others who 
 are in need. If the maxim, "Give no help to others," 
 is to be regarded as if it were a law of nature, a man 
 must deprive himself of all hope of assistance even when 
 he needs the sympathy of others, and this is a contra- 
 diction. Here we wish a maxim to hold only for ourselves, 
 and not for others ; we affirm that there is a law, only 
 it is not a law for us : and this is an irrational position. 
 Every law is universally applicable. 
 
 This formula is open to the objections already made. 
 It affords no real criterion of action, and it assumes the 
 principles which it pretends to derive. But Kant has a 
 second formula which comes much nearer the truth. 
 The formula is this : " Always treat humanity, both in 
 your own person, and in the person of others, as an end 
 and never merely as a means." 
 
 Here Kant has introduced the new idea of man as an 
 end to himself. In the first formula Kant held that we 
 must exclude all motives that imply any relation to an 
 object or end, because such motives are simply forms of 
 natural desire for individual satisfaction ; in the new 
 formula, he admits that we can have a certain end or 
 object in view, only it is not a particular end, but the 
 conception of the self as an end to itself. Each individual 
 is now conceived as a person, i.e., as a being having a 
 will, and therefore as distinct from a thing. 
 
 But the conception of the individual as an end to 
 himself does not of itself explain how there can be any 
 particular duties. The self is conceived of as a self that 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 223 
 
 is opposed to all the particular desires of the self, and 
 therefore it remains abstract. I am to realize myself, but 
 I am to do so independently of all desire ; but, inde- 
 pendently of all desire, there is no particular way in which 
 my self can be realized. 
 
 Kant, however, has a third formula which comes still 
 nearer the truth : " Act in conformity with the idea that 
 the will of every rational being is a will that lays down 
 universal laws." 
 
 Here we have the conception of a social community 
 of beings, each of which is at once end and means ; we 
 have, in other words, the idea of humanity as a self- 
 conscious organism. The formula includes the two ideas 
 of (a) universal law and {b) the consciousness of that 
 law as identical with the consciousness of oneself as an 
 end which belongs to one as a rational being. Hence 
 we get the idea that, in obeying the universal law, man 
 is obeying a law that his own reason prescribes. This 
 is the principle of the autonomy of the will, the principle 
 that in submitting to universal law man is submitting to 
 his real self. 
 
 But while Kant holds that we must conceive ourselves 
 as in idea belonging to the social organism, he will not 
 admit that this is more than an ideal. For man never 
 gets beyond the influence of his particular desires, and 
 therefore he can never realize the ideal. 
 
 We have now before us the ultimate form in which 
 Kant conceives of morality, and we must ask how far his 
 opposition of the ideal and the real can be maintained. 
 
 What prevents Kant from holding that the conception 
 of men as members of a social organism is a statement 
 of the actual nature of man? Manifestly, his doctrine 
 
224 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 that men as the subjects of desire contain in their nature 
 an element which prevents them from ever realizing the 
 ideal which reason sets before them. Is it true, then, 
 that desire is of such a nature that it is incompatible 
 with the rational ideal? 
 
 Kant's view is, that all the desires are desires for pleasure, 
 and that happiness is simply the idea of the subject as 
 having none of his desires for pleasure unsatisfied. Can 
 we admit that every desire is a desire for pleasure? 
 
 (a) A desire for pleasure is not the same thing as a 
 feeling of pleasure. If I desire the pleasure of music, I 
 am not yet in the condition of experiencing the pleasure. 
 Before I experience it I must therefore set before my 
 consciousness the idea of the pleasure to be experienced 
 from the music. There are here obviously three things 
 involved : Firstly, what is desired is a particular pleasure, 
 the pleasure of music. The desire takes its special character 
 and its power of attraction from the special character of 
 the pleasure conceived. In other words, there is a certain 
 object or end which I set before my consciousness as 
 desirable. Secondly, not only must there be a certain 
 object conceived as desirable, but it is an object con- 
 ceived as desirable for me. Not every one regards music, 
 or, at least, certain kinds of music, as fitted to bring pleasure, 
 but only one who conceives of music as bound up with 
 his own satisfaction. In the desire for pleasure there is 
 therefore implied the distinction of the self desiring from 
 the object desired. Unless the subject distinguished the 
 object desired from himself, there could be no desire for 
 the object, there would merely be an occurrence of a 
 state of pleasure, without any consciousness either of an 
 object as such or a subject as such. Thirdly, the pleasure 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 225 
 
 which is desired must be distinguished both from the object 
 and from the subject. If the desire is for pleasure, it 
 must be possible to separate in thought between the object 
 which is to bring the pleasure, and the subject who is 
 to be pleased. 
 
 Now, it must be observed that all the three elements 
 mentioned are essential to what is called the desire for 
 pleasure. But, if so, obviously it is an imperfect statement 
 of what is involved in desire to say simply that it is a 
 desire for pleasure. If the desire were purely for pleasure, 
 it might arise without any consciousness either of an object 
 in which pleasure is placed, or of a subject to be pleased. 
 But the former is impossible, because pleasure is necessarily 
 not pleasure in general, but a particular kind of pleasure. 
 I desire the pleasure of music, or knowledge, or power, 
 but I never desire pleasure as such. A desire for pleasure 
 in general would lead to nothing, because it would give no 
 direction to my activity. The desire for pleasure there- 
 fore involves the desire for a certain object conceived as 
 pleasurable. Take away the object and you destroy the 
 desire. Equally impossible is the desire for pleasure apart 
 from the idea of the self as the subject to be pleased. 
 For there can be no conception of an object as pleasure- 
 giving, unless the object is conceived as pleasant to the 
 subject desiring it. If the object were not conceived 
 as fitted to bring pleasure to me, it would have no effect 
 upon my activity. I may think of music as an object in 
 which another takes pleasure, but music is not in that 
 case desired by me. What is called the desire for pleasure 
 is therefore in reality the conception of myself as a being 
 whose nature it is to obtain pleasure in a certain object. 
 I must identify myself in thought with the object before 
 
226 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 I can desire it. There is therefore no possibility of 
 realizing myself without realizing the object; and no 
 possibility of feeling myself realized except in the realiza- 
 tion of the object. In other words, what is called the 
 " desire for pleasure " is really the conception on the part 
 of the subject of one of the ways in which by attaining 
 an object, he at the same time has the feeling of a harmony 
 of his individual self with itself and with the world. As 
 Aristotle points out, pleasure is just the feeling of satisfac- 
 tion which accompanies the active realization of the self 
 in relation to external circumstances. 
 
 If this is a correct analysis of desire, we cannot admit 
 what Kant maintains, that desire for an object is desire 
 for pleasure. It is not desire for pleasure simply as 
 pleasure, but desire for an object conceived of as good 
 because conceived of as a means of realizing the self. 
 In realizing myself in the experience of a certain object 
 I no doubt experience pleasure, but what I am in search 
 of is not the experience of pleasure but the good of 
 which the experienced pleasure is a sign or index. Now, 
 Kant assumes that the realization of the self can take 
 place only if the self sets before itself an end which it 
 wills irrespective of all desire for an object. But (i) 
 there is no end that can be realized apart from desire 
 for an object. Unless some object is desired, the self 
 must remain unrealized, because a self in general is not 
 capable of being realized, and a self that is to be realized 
 must be conceived as realizing itself in some particular 
 way, i.e., as desiring an object. (2) There is no reason 
 to exclude all desire for objects, when we see that desire 
 is just the idea of the self as realizing itself in objects. 
 Such realization must be conceived as pleasurable, be- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 227 
 
 cause pleasure is simply the feeling of satisfaction in the 
 realization of oneself. Every realization of the self is its 
 realization in a certain way, i.e., it consists in self-identifi- 
 cation with an object conceived as desirable, and therefore 
 as pleasurable. There is therefore no reason to oppose 
 the law of reason to the law of desire, as if the former 
 absolutely excluded the latter. What reason prescribes 
 is the realization of the self, and, as such realization is 
 impossible apart from the desire for realization in objects, 
 the distinction must lie, not in the presence of an object 
 in the one case, and in its absence in the other, but in 
 the character of the object which is desired. 
 
 The question of morality therefore takes this form : 
 What is the distinguishing characteristic of the object that 
 we ought to desire ? There are objects that we desire 
 which are not those which we ought to desire : can we 
 state the distinction between what ought and what ought 
 not to be desired? 
 
 Now, Kant has himself pointed out, that to be moral 
 is to act as if we belonged to a "kingdom of ends"; in 
 other words, each individual must conceive of himself as 
 a member in a social organism. In this conception of 
 the individual as a member of a community the distinctive 
 mark of moral action must be sought. It may, in fact, 
 be shown historically that out of this consciousness of the 
 unity of himself with others the consciousness of morality 
 has sprung j and that the development of the moral con- 
 sciousness has arisen from the ever clearer consciousness 
 of the unity of each with all. 
 
 At first this consciousness is very imperfectly developed. 
 In purely savage life it takes the form of submission from 
 terror to a superior force. But even in this imperfect 
 
2 28 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 form, there is implied the recognition of a law superior 
 to the caprice of individuals. For, in submitting to one 
 who is superior to himself in courage and contempt of 
 life, the savage recognizes that there is something higher 
 than his merely individual self. Thus there arises some 
 sort of social order. The higher self is still supposed to 
 be embodied in the chief who, by despising the natural 
 desire for life, shows that he has an idea of himself that 
 goes beyond the first immediate promptings of desire. 
 In submitting to his chief the savage thus submits to a 
 higher ideal of himself; for in the chief he finds ex- 
 hibited characteristics that he recognizes as superior to 
 his own. No doubt the form which the moral conscious- 
 ness here takes is inadequate to the idea. The savage 
 recognizes a higher self, but he does not identify himself 
 with it, but conceives of it as something foreign to himself, 
 something which is for him unattainable. And, on the 
 other hand, the chief, while he has a higher ideal of 
 himself and prefers this to the lower self of immediate 
 desire, yet does not recognize that he is acting from a 
 law of reason. The consequence is that, while he acts 
 as a moralizing agent by forcing upon others the con- 
 sciousness of a higher self, he is not himself aware that it 
 is as the embodiment of the higher self that he possesses 
 power and authority. Rather, he views himself as pos- 
 sessing influence over others by his natural superiority. 
 Hence he has no proper sense of the limits of his authority. 
 What he desires is a law for his followers, not because he 
 desires a higher good, but simply because he desires it. 
 His action is therefore largely capricious : what he desires 
 seems to him good, not because it is good, but because 
 he desires it. He does not distinguish between what 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 229 
 
 seems good to him, and what is good because it tends 
 to realize a common good. Yet, if the idea of a common 
 good were not unconsciously at work in him, he would 
 have no authority over others. It is because they recog- 
 nize that he is guided by a higher law that they recognize 
 his authority even when he is capricious and irrational. 
 
 Now, the consciousness of a social good which is at 
 the same time the true good of the individual, a con- 
 sciousness which is implied even in savage life, is the 
 moving principle in the whole evolution of morality. 
 What holds human beings together in society is this idea 
 of a good higher than merely individual good. Every 
 form of social organization rests upon this tacit recogni- 
 tion of a higher good that is realized in the union of 
 oneself with others. Suppose this entirely absent, and 
 the moral consciousness would be impossible. For the 
 moral consciousness always involves the recognition of 
 a higher than individual good, and, because this higher 
 good is partially realized in social laws and institutions, 
 the individual feels himself constrained by his reason to 
 submit to it. It is by reflection upon this good as 
 realized in outward laws and institutions that the in- 
 dividual becomes conscious of moral law. At first, law 
 seems to be externally imposed, but the individual in 
 reflecting upon it recognizes that the real force of the 
 law lies in the fact that it is an expression of his higher 
 self. It is true that in awakening to the consciousness of 
 moral law as deriving its authority from reason, the indi- 
 vidual at first asserts that custom and external law have 
 no authority over him : that the sole authority he can 
 rationally obey is the law of his own reason. But this 
 is only one side of the truth : the other side is, that in 
 
230 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 custom and law there already is realized the law of reason. 
 No doubt society at any time is only a partial realization 
 of the law of reason, and therefore no form of society is 
 final; but it is none the less true that only in so far as 
 morality realizes itself in society can it be realized at all. 
 
 Now, Kant will not admit that morality is actually 
 realized in the community. He criticizes the community 
 by reference to the ideal of a completely rationalized 
 humanity, and he contends that as this must always be 
 an ideal, the individual is forced to seek for the realiza- 
 tion of himself not in any actual form of the community, 
 but in an intelligible world which exists for him only as 
 an unrealizable ideal. Man is in idea the member of a 
 community, but it is a community that never has been 
 and never will be realized. 
 
 In one sense this conception of an ideal community 
 shows that Kant is in the grasp of the larger consciousness 
 of human life which has come to men through Christianity. 
 The Greek could find in the actual community of which 
 he was a member a realization of his whole self, because 
 for him the community was no wider than his own little 
 State, or, at the most, than the community of States 
 composing Greece. But with the removal of this artificial 
 restriction through Christianity man became conscious that 
 there was a larger self than the State, viz,, the community 
 of all men in the life of humanity as a whole. It seems 
 therefore as if no form of the community can possibly 
 be adequate to the ideal community. For humanity has 
 a life wider and more enduring than the narrow and 
 evanescent life of a particular people or nation ; and in 
 this all-embracing life the individual can alone find the 
 realization of himself. And as humanity never is com- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 23 1 
 
 pletely realized, it seems true to say, that morality points 
 to an ideal that can never be realized. 
 
 Now, there can be no doubt that, in setting up the idea 
 of humanity as the only adequate form of morality, Kant 
 has partially seized a most important truth. If we take 
 any existing form of the State and compare it with the 
 ideal of humanity, we are compelled to say that it is not 
 completely rational. There are possibilities in humanity 
 that cannot even be clearly imagined, not to say actually 
 realized. It is therefore important to take note of the 
 inadequacy of any existing form of the community to the 
 ideal community. 
 
 But it must be observed that to be conscious of the 
 incompleteness of existing communities to the perfect 
 community is not to say that morality cannot be realized. 
 Just as knowledge is never complete while yet it is know- 
 ledge, so morality is never perfect while yet it is morality. 
 And just as the idea of completed knowledge is possible 
 only because we already possess knowledge, so the idea 
 of perfect morality is possible only because man is already 
 moral. Had man not already realized in principle the 
 moral ideal he would not be able to contrast the ideal 
 with the actual. Hence we find that the ideal of morality 
 grows and expands with the evolution of the community. 
 The Greek could imagine that in the form of his civic 
 State he had reached finality, and in this he was wrong; 
 but it is none the less true that but for the moralizing 
 influence of the civic community the conception of a higher 
 form of society would have been impossible. In society 
 man learned to comprehend himself. He learned that in 
 devotion to the common good, and in no other way, could 
 he realize himself. Thus he was able to set the social 
 
232 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 ideal against the mere individuality of passion, and in 
 identifying himself with his State he became a moral being. 
 With the Stoics came a perception of the inadequacy of 
 the Greek State to satisfy the ideal man, and therefore the 
 Stoics turned against the existing State, and held that man 
 must be a citizen of the world. In himself he seemed to 
 find a higher ideal than was realized in the community of 
 which he was a member. But this only shows that the 
 community as it existed was not completely rational : it 
 does not show that man can realize himself in isolation. 
 Accordingly, the community must assume a higher form. 
 Morality must no longer be identified with the customs 
 and laws of the narrow civic community, but it must rest 
 upon the wider basis of humanity. This is the principle 
 which is tacitly recognized in all modern forms of the 
 community, however inadequately it may be realized. It 
 is still true that only in identifying himself with a social 
 good can the individual realize himself. And the reason 
 is that in the community the idea of humanity as an organic 
 unity is in process of realization. That the community 
 has not reached its final form only shows that the moral 
 life is the gradual realization of the ideal life. It is not 
 true, therefore, that the ideal of humanity is a mere ideal : 
 it is an ideal that is continually in process of realization. 
 Hence the individual man can find himself, can become 
 moral, only by contributing his share to its realization. 
 He must learn that, to set aside his individual inclinations 
 and make himself an organ of the community is to be 
 moral, and the only way to be moral. He may criticize, 
 and seek to improve the community, but his criticism must 
 rest upon a recognition of the principle that the individual 
 has no right to oppose himself to the community on the 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 233 
 
 ground of inclination, but only on the ground that the 
 community as it actually is in some ways contradicts the 
 principle of the community, the principle that it is the 
 medium in which the complete realization of man is to 
 be found. No criticism can be of any value that denies 
 the principle of a social good, and seeks to substitute the 
 mere individualism of caprice. 
 
 We may now see wherein the real opposition of what 
 ought to be with what is consists. It does not consist, 
 as Kant assumes, in a contradiction between desire and 
 reason, as if reason were exclusive of desire. Morality 
 may be said to consist in having rational desires. The 
 individual who desires the good of all is not actuated by 
 a mere desire for pleasure : for the good of all is the true 
 principle of human action. In seeking his good in the 
 universal, a man turns against the desire for the good of 
 himself as an isolated being, but he does not negate all 
 desire. His desires now take the form of a desire for 
 what is rational ; they are spiritualized, not destroyed. 
 Thus he gets positive content for his desires, while yet 
 the content is not mere individual pleasure. In seeking 
 a universal good, man is seeking for that which must be 
 pleasurable, because pleasure is just the feeling of harmony 
 resulting from the willing of what reason determines as 
 good ; but if he seeks for pleasure, instead of good, the 
 pleasure will not be obtained, because he is then attempting 
 to realize himself as a separate individual, i.e. t to realize 
 himself as that which he is not. What is called a life of 
 pleasure always turns out to be a life of pain. And this 
 is really a proof of the higher nature of man, because pain 
 and dissatisfaction with self must result from the dis- 
 harmony between the rational ideal and the irrational 
 
234 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 actual. Morality is not a search for pleasure, but morality 
 is the only true pleasure. Thus we can see how the three 
 elements involved in desire are reconciled. The moral 
 object of desire is the good, i.e., the good of man, not of 
 individual men ; the moral subject of desire is the subject 
 who identifies himself with this moral good ; and moral 
 feeling is the consciousness of harmony enjoyed by the 
 subject who so identifies himself with a universal good. 
 
 We have seen what is implied in the idea of duty. By 
 duty is properly meant identification with a universal 
 good that is capable of being realized in a community of 
 self-conscious beings. Now, identification with an ideal 
 good is possible only if the conscious subject is capable 
 of such identification. And hence we have now to ask 
 whether the individual man has such a capacity ; in other 
 words, whether he is capable of freedom or self-deter- 
 mination. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY (Continued). 
 
 IDEA OF FREEDOM. 
 
 The problem of human freedom springs from the same 
 root as the problem of duty. In our ordinary judgments 
 we say of ourselves or others, "That ought to be done," 
 11 That ought not to be done," and we assume in making 
 such judgments that the individual may or may not act 
 in a certain way according as he determines himself, or, 
 in other words, wills, to act. But this first assumption of 
 freedom seems to be thrown into doubt when we begin 
 to consider the springs or motives of human conduct. 
 For it may be argued that no action of man can take 
 place without some motive, something that excites his 
 activity. And what is a motive, it may be asked, but a 
 particular desire excited by the idea of a certain object? 
 But the desire is determined by the natural susceptibility 
 of the individual, and this again is determined quite inde- 
 pendently of the individual. One man is more susceptible 
 to pleasure in the contemplation of a certain object than 
 another. Some are more drawn by pleasures of sense, 
 others by intellectual pleasures, still others by benevolent 
 
236 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 pleasures ; but these differences have a purely natural 
 basis. Nor does it alter the case if we adopt the point 
 of view of the theory of development, and say that the 
 susceptibility of the individual is the result of inheritance. 
 And not only is each kind of pleasure apparently due to 
 natural susceptibility, but the quantity of pleasure is also 
 fixed. Of two men who take pleasure in music, one 
 experiences a greater degree of pleasure than the other. 
 It is in fact the degree of pleasure that determines the 
 strength of a motive. If a pleasure of sense is imagined 
 by one man as more intense than a pleasure of intellect, 
 his action will be determined by the pleasure of sense ; 
 if a pleasure of intellect is imagined as more intense than 
 a pleasure of sense his action will be determined by the 
 pleasure of intellect. But in the one case as in the other 
 the pleasure whose intensive quantity is greater will 
 determine the act. How then can it be said that there 
 is any freedom of will ? There is no possibility of making 
 a pleasure seem greater or less, and therefore no possibility 
 of acting otherwise than we do act. Freedom of will is a 
 dream. 
 
 To this it has sometimes been answered that freedom 
 of will is a fundamental fact of consciousness. In acting 
 we are conscious that we act freely. It is further maintained 
 that we are even able to act in opposition to the strongest 
 motive. However pleasant an object may seem to be, 
 we can refuse to be determined by it. This may be 
 shown by the fact that there are cases in which two objects 
 seem equally pleasant, and yet we act. Now, if the 
 quantity of pleasure alone determined the will, in such 
 cases we could not act at all. We should be like the 
 ass of Buridanus which was placed between two bundles 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 237 
 
 of hay so exactly alike that it starved because there was 
 nothing in either to turn the balance of its desires. But 
 man is of a different texture : in such a case he would 
 decide for one or the other, i.e., he would act without any 
 motive. It is therefore possible to act purely from choice, 
 without being influenced by motives. And this agrees with 
 the fundamental fact of consciousness, the consciousness 
 of our own freedom. We always act freely or from choice. 
 When there are different motives before our minds, we 
 choose that which we prefer. Freedom is the power of 
 choice, the power to act independently of motives. 
 
 These two opposite theories show that the problem of 
 freedom is bound up with the question of motives. One 
 school affirms that the strongest motive determines the 
 act, the other maintains that action is determined freely 
 without motives. I think we shall find, however, that 
 neither of these views is true, though both contain an 
 element of truth. The first theory is right in maintaining 
 that we act from motives, wrong in denying that we act 
 freely; the second theory is right in maintaining that we 
 act freely, wrong in denying that we act independently of 
 motives. In other words, motives are essential to freedom, 
 freedom essential to motives. To see this we must inquire 
 into the nature of a " motive." 
 
 Both of these theories assume that a motive is a natural 
 susceptibility to pleasure in the idea of an object, and 
 that the degree of such susceptibility is determined inde- 
 pendently of the subject. The first view infers from this 
 assumed fact that action is the resultant of a conflict of 
 desires, in which the strongest always prevails ; the second 
 view, granting that this would be so if all action were 
 determined by motives, maintains that the subject has 
 
238 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 in himself a power of choice which is independent of 
 motives. 
 
 We have seen above that in man desire is not a mere 
 susceptibility to pleasure, but the conception of self as 
 capable of satisfaction in a certain object. To be conscious 
 of self is to be beyond all merely external excitation. 
 Nothing can act on the self without the activity of the 
 self. We may see this indirectly by considering what 
 would take place if the desire were merely a natural 
 susceptibility. The self we are to suppose is not self- 
 active, but is the passive recipient of certain impulses. We 
 must suppose, then, that a certain impulse arises from the 
 action of an external stimulus upon the individual. Thus, 
 e.g., when the body requires nourishment, a craving arises 
 of which the subject becomes conscious. But the craving 
 is not due to any activity of the subject. The cause or 
 stimulus is the condition of the body which excites the 
 craving. All that the subject can do is to take note of 
 the craving excited in him by the stimulus. The craving 
 thus becomes a "motive" for the subject, i.e., it acts upon 
 the subject and tends to move him in a certain direction ; 
 in other words, to go through the series of movements 
 by which food is supplied to the body for nourishment. 
 To this it may be objected, that the craving for food 
 does not lead to that series of movements until a volition 
 has taken place, and this volition, it may be said, is an 
 activity of the subject. The subject has to will the move- 
 ments before they can take place. But how, it may be 
 asked, does he come to will the movements? Would 
 any subject will the act of eating if he were not impelled 
 to do so by the natural craving? It is true that the 
 movement must take place before the craving can be 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 239 
 
 satisfied, but there would be no movement were there no 
 craving. It is therefore the craving which acts upon or 
 excites the subject to act in a particular way. But, it 
 may again be objected, the craving does not of itself lead 
 to the action ; on the contrary, the subject, feeling the full 
 force of the craving, may yet refuse to give way to it. 
 Now, if the subject can prevent the craving from issuing 
 in action, he must have an activity of his own. A man, 
 e.g., may prefer to starve rather than give way to the crav- 
 ing of hunger, if he can only satisfy his hunger by theft. 
 "Just so," it is answered, "but he does not refrain from 
 eating in such a case without any motive; he does so 
 because he is acted upon by a stronger motive." The 
 motive, in this case, is the desire for a greater pleasure to 
 himself or others. Either he has a stronger desire for 
 the good opinion of others, or of a Supreme Being; or 
 he has a stronger desire for the well-being of others, i.e., 
 for the greater amount of pleasure which will come to 
 others from his abstinence than from his self-indulgence. 
 Thus there is no free activity of the subject, but only an 
 activity determined by the stronger of the two motives. 
 In fact, when there is no competition of motives, there 
 is no possibility of diverse activity. If a man is acted 
 upon by the craving of hunger alone, he will inevitably 
 do the acts by which the craving may be allayed. It is 
 only when different impulses arise in him that a struggle 
 takes place; and the struggle is not between an impulse 
 on the one hand, and a free activity on the other, but 
 between competing impulses. Which way the man shall 
 act will depend upon the impulse which in him is strongest. 
 If the craving for food is stronger than the desire for 
 approbation or for the general good, he will satisfy his 
 
240 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 craving at all hazards ; if the reverse, he will not satisfy it ; 
 but in both cases the strongest motive must prevail. There 
 is no free activity in either case, i.e., no activity that is 
 independent of the motives acting upon the man. Volition, 
 then, is simply the series of movements which issue from 
 the strongest motive. 
 
 The weak point in this explanation is, that it does not 
 explain how the transition is made from desire to action. 
 On the one hand stands desire ; on the other hand, the 
 series of movements by which desire is expressed ; but 
 how the junction is effected between desire and movement 
 is not explained. This will be obvious if we take the 
 instance already referred to. 
 
 There arises in a man the desire for food. This means 
 that the conscious subject experiences a feeling of want, 
 and has the idea of the series of movements by which he 
 may satisfy his want — the series of movements, i.e., im- 
 plied in eating. But a feeling of want, so long as it re- 
 mains a feeling, cannot issue in the series of movements 
 required. I may be ever so hungry, but until a volition 
 precedes the movements no action takes place. 
 
 It may be said that the whole question is whether the 
 desire is strong enough j if it is overpoweringly strong, 
 it will inevitably issue in action. To this it must be 
 answered that a desire as such can never issue in action, 
 however strong it is. All that increase in the intensity of 
 a desire can mean is, that the intensity of the feeling of 
 want grows, and perhaps grows until it becomes the most 
 terrible pain, as in the case of starvation from shipwreck 
 or some other cause. In contrast to this intense pain, 
 there appears before the imagination the most vivid image 
 of the process of eating. But even then the series of 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 241 
 
 movements implied in eating does not take place. Hence 
 between every desire and every series of movements there is 
 interposed a volition ; and without volition there is no 
 action. 
 
 We may now see the mistake into which determinists 
 fall who say that the strongest motive determines the act. 
 By the strongest motive they must mean the most intense 
 desire. That they do mean this is plain from the whole 
 character of the theory. Every desire, it is said, is a 
 desire for pleasure, and a motive is that desire for 
 pleasure which is so strong as to overpower all com- 
 peting desires. A "motive," in other words, is the 
 strongest desire. But we have seen that a desire as such 
 never issues in action, no matter how strong it may be. 
 And there can be no meaning in calling that a "motive" 
 which does not f issue in action, the very meaning of 
 "motive" being that which gives rise to motion. Hence 
 no desire, however strong, can be a motive. We must 
 find the motive in something else than desire, or action 
 would never take place at all. What, then, is a "motive"? 
 
 In the instance already given we are to suppose the 
 subject to experience the feeling of want which we call 
 hunger, and to have an idea of the act of eating as a 
 means of satisfying the want. Now, the feeling of want 
 as experienced is the consciousness on the part of the 
 subject that his actual condition at the moment is not 
 the condition in which he would like to be. Thus the 
 subject contrasts his actual condition with a condition 
 that as yet exists only as an idea. His desire consists 
 in the feeling of dissatisfaction arising from the opposition 
 between his ideal and his actual condition. But still 
 there is no action. If man were only capable of con- 
 
 Q 
 
242 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 trasting in thought his actual and his ideal self, he 
 would never act at all. What more is required? It is 
 required that, having the idea of himself as satisfied, so 
 far as this particular desire for satisfaction is concerned, 
 he should also have the idea of a certain action or series 
 of movements as the means of such satisfaction. But 
 even yet there is no action. I may believe that by the 
 act of eating I should satisfy my desire for food, and 
 yet I may not eat. Before I eat I must determine or 
 will to eat, and it is this self-determination or volition 
 that constitutes the motive. Determining to obtain the 
 satisfaction of myself so far as the desire in question 
 is concerned I will the means, and the action follows. 
 Now the satisfaction of myself in this particular way 
 becomes my motive. It is therefore not the desire for 
 satisfaction that constitutes my motive, ]put the willing of 
 the satisfaction. 
 
 If we now look back to the theory that the strongest 
 motive leads to action, we shall see that it is meaning- 
 less. There was a certain plausibility in saying that the 
 strongest motive prevails, so long as it was supposed 
 that action could proceed from desire. For, if action 
 is the result of a conflict between different desires, the 
 only plausible explanation is, that the desire which has 
 the greatest intensity prevails. It can be known to have 
 the greatest intensity because it prevails, just as of two 
 opposing forces of nature that is strongest which gives 
 rise to the motion of a body. But if desire of itself 
 never issues in action no desire can be a motive, and 
 therefore the strongest desire cannot be a motive. On 
 the other hand, if the motive is the volition, not the 
 desire, there can be no meaning in saying that the 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 243 
 
 strongest motive prevails. Every volition prevails. No 
 volition as such is stronger or weaker than another. 
 But, when we have seen that there is no stronger or 
 weaker volition, it is obvious that there is no such dis- 
 tinction as that between a stronger and weaker motive, 
 since the motive is the volition. Every motive is the 
 act of a subject who, believing that he will find satis- 
 faction in a certain action, determines to do it, and 
 therefore wills it. The motive is thus just the self- 
 determination of the subject. And if so, to have a 
 motive is to be free. If there is no motive apart from 
 self-determination or will, freedom is inseparable from 
 motives. The supposition that an act is not due to 
 the subject arises from the assumption, which we have 
 seen to be false, that an act is the result of the pre- 
 ponderance of a certain desire. When we see that a 
 desire, however strong, would never of itself issue in 
 action, we also see that the subject cannot be deter- 
 mined to act from any preponderance of desire, but acts 
 only as he determines himself to act. 
 
 From this analysis of action we also learn that there 
 can be no "liberty of indifference," i.e., no capacity of 
 acting in opposition to motives. For, if a motive is just 
 one of the modes in which the subject determines him- 
 self, to act contrary to a motive would be to determine 
 himself to act in opposition to his own will, which is 
 absurd. Moreover, if a man could act without any 
 motive, he would be acting from pure caprice, i.e., in 
 opposition to the mode of action of a rational being. 
 
 We have seen, then, that a motive is never a desire, 
 and hence that to have a motive and to be free are 
 the same thing. The doctrine that denies freedom 
 
244 COMTE, MiLL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 because man acts from motives, and the doctrine that 
 affirms freedom because man can act without motives, 
 are equally false; the truth being that man is free 
 because he acts from motives. We have now to consider 
 the view of freedom advanced by Kant, which differs 
 from both of those theories. 
 
 Freedom, according to Kant, is not incompatible with 
 motives, but it is incompatible with all the motives that 
 arise from the natural desires. I am free if I will the 
 moral law, i.e., make duty my sole motive; I am not 
 free if my act springs from a desire for some object which 
 excites my sensibility. 
 
 The idea of freedom, it is held by Kant, is in the 
 first instance a negative idea, arising as it does from its 
 contrast to the necessity of nature. What do we mean 
 by nature? We mean a system of things in which each 
 is dependent upon something else. Nowhere in nature 
 can we find any object that has a nature of its own. 
 If we take any object in space, we find that all its 
 properties consist in relations to something else. If a 
 change occurs in any body, we find that the change 
 would not have occurred unless the body had been acted 
 upon by some other body. The permanence of a body 
 therefore consists in the permanence of its relations to 
 other bodies. Nothing exists as an independent sub- 
 stance. In fact, a substance not related to anything else 
 would not belong to the system of things that we call 
 nature. 
 
 Now, the moral consciousness of man seems to de- 
 mand that we should be absolutely independent of 
 circumstances, or, in other words, that we should be 
 determined purely by ourselves. For the moral law 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 245 
 
 commands absolutely, refusing to abate its claims in view 
 of circumstances. It says : " No matter what your 
 natural tendencies may be you ought to determine your- 
 self by the inner law of your own being." 
 
 But the difficulty arises that we seem to be, on the one 
 hand, objects like other objects, and therefore to belong 
 to the system of nature; while, on the other hand, we 
 seem to be subjects, and therefore independent of the 
 system of nature. How can we be both? How can we 
 be at once under the dominion of natural law, and free 
 from natural law? 
 
 To this Kant answers, that in his moral consciousness 
 man has the idea of himself as under a law of reason, and 
 that in willing this law he is free. When I make the moral 
 law my motive I determine myself by the idea of myself 
 as I really am, and in such determination I am not acted 
 upon by anything external. To make the moral law my 
 motive is to be free, because there is no external com- 
 pulsion in willing what reason shows to be my true self. 
 So far, therefore, as you will observe, Kant recognizes 
 that to be free is to act from a motive. But in limiting 
 freedom to willing the moral law, he manifestly gets into 
 this difficulty, that when a man acts from desire he is not 
 free. Apparently, therefore, we are free to will good 
 actions, but not to will bad actions. And this would 
 seem to imply that we are not responsible for doing 
 wrong, since, when we do wrong, the act is not ours, but 
 flows from the necessity of our nature. 
 
 The difficulty here referred to is inherent in the ethical 
 doctrine of Kant. It arises from the absolute opposition 
 of desire and reason. What we have to see is that such 
 an opposition is inadmissible. 
 
246 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 A desire, as we have seen, is never in itself a motive : it 
 becomes a motive only when the subject identifies his 
 own good with the object corresponding to the desire. 
 Thus if, having the desire for wealth, I determine to 
 seek my good in the pursuit of wealth, and will the acts 
 necessary to secure it, I make wealth the "motive" of 
 my action. There is, therefore, no proper meaning in 
 saying that when a man acts from desire he is not free. 
 For he never acts from desire as such, but only from the 
 idea of himself as capable of being satisfied by the object 
 of a desire. 
 
 Now, Kant holds that we are conscious of freedom only 
 in contrast to our determination by natural desire. This 
 would be a correct account of the matter if a natural 
 desire as it exists in our consciousness were simply a fact 
 or occurrence in consciousness, a mere state of feeling 
 excited in us irrespectively of our self-consciousness. But 
 if desire were merely a feeling that presented itself to us 
 — were it simply an event like any other event — we should 
 not be conscious of it as a desire. If I perceive a stone 
 fall, I am conscious of an event, of a certain change as 
 having occurred, but I am not conscious of it as an event 
 which has occurred to me, as a change in my state. But 
 this is what happens when I am conscious of a desire. 
 When I have the craving of hunger, it is for me not 
 simply an event, but an event that affects me: I am 
 conscious of myself as striving in idea towards an object 
 that promises satisfaction to me. We cannot therefore 
 oppose desire to reason as if the former were a mere 
 mechanical occurrence and the latter involved the con- 
 sciousness of self. Desire, being already the consciousness 
 of oneself as capable of being satisfied, involves self- 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 247 
 
 consciousness. The idea of satisfaction in the object of a 
 desire is therefore already the possibility of will, and so of 
 freedom. Kant is therefore wrong in contrasting action 
 from desire with action from reason, as external determina- 
 tion to self-determination, necessity to freedom. Every 
 motive, whatever its moral character — whether good or 
 bad — involves freedom, because it involves ^^-determina- 
 tion. Kant, in other words, correctly says that freedom 
 consists in willing the idea of self, but he is wrong in 
 saying that willing the idea of self only takes place when 
 we will the good. To show this clearly we must ask how 
 the contrast of freedom and necessity arises for us. 
 
 Self-consciousness is primarily the consciousness of self 
 as opposed to the world, and especially to other self- 
 conscious beings. The self appears to be a single indi- 
 vidual, who is conscious of desires that make for his own 
 satisfaction, as distinguished from the satisfaction of others. 
 But this apparent individuality or separateness of the self 
 is a natural illusion; for it is impossible for the individual 
 to find his own satisfaction apart from the world and from 
 other selves. Selfishness is self-contradictory, because it 
 seeks to satisfy the individual self by breaking the bonds 
 which unite all selves ; and hence it is a repeated effort to 
 obtain satisfaction, ending in repeated failure. 
 
 Here is the point where the opposition of desire and 
 reason presents itself. To act from passion, i.e., from the 
 idea of individual satisfaction, is seen to be to act in 
 contradiction of reason, i.e., to the idea of a universal 
 satisfaction. We may therefore correctly contrast desire 
 and reason, if by this we mean willing a selfish end and 
 willing a universal end. Such a contrast, however, is not 
 identical with the Kantian opposition of desire and reason ; 
 
248 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 for, on Kant's view, desire is a merely natural impulse, 
 reason alone giving the idea of the self. Selfishness involves 
 the idea of self as much as unselfishness ; the difference is 
 that the former seeks to realize the self in what is in- 
 adequate to its true nature, the latter seeks to realize the 
 self in what is adequate to its true nature. We can 
 therefore say that selfishness is irrational, but we cannot 
 say that it is exclusive of reason. Only a rational being 
 can be irrational. Reason involves the possibility of error 
 as well as of truth ; or, more precisely, reason gives man 
 the idea of himself, and makes it possible for him to seek 
 his good in what is inconsistent with that idea, while it 
 also makes it possible for him to seek his good in what 
 is consistent with that idea. The explanation of this 
 anomaly is, that man at first seems to himself to be an 
 individual standing in opposition to others. So appearing, 
 reason tells him to realize this individual self. It is only 
 when in attempting to do so he becomes conscious that 
 he cannot realize himself in selfish ways that he comes 
 to the consciousness of a self-realization through unselfish- 
 ness. In this sense the Fall of Man is necessary to his 
 salvation. Selfishness, in fact, may be called an irrational 
 activity of reason, or a free willing of slavery. Freedom, 
 then, is implied in all man's activity, but freedom can lead 
 to perfect self-realization only when it is exercised in willing 
 the good. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 249 
 
 THE SUMMUM BONUM. 
 
 We have therefore to ask : What is the good ? what is the 
 summum bonum ? 
 
 The answer of the Hedonist is that the highest good 
 will consist in the greatest possible sum of pleasure. We 
 need not stay to show that this cannot be the highest 
 good : pleasure is no doubt involved in the attainment 
 of the highest good, but the highest good must consist 
 in the perfect realization of self, or, in other words, in 
 perfection of character, not in the experience of pleasure. 
 It will be more profitable to consider the Kantian con- 
 ception of the summum bonum, which attempts to show 
 that man can only attain his " being's end and aim " in 
 so far as the conflicting claims of reason and desire are 
 reconciled. 
 
 Kant begins by asking what is meant by the summum 
 bonum; and he answers, that it may mean either (a) the 
 chief good, or (b) the co7nplete good. Now, there is no 
 doubt that virtue is man's chief good, since apart from 
 morality man cannot be good at all. But a finite being 
 cannot attain complete good unless he also obtains happi- 
 ness. The complete good therefore involves the com- 
 bination of perfect goodness with perfect happiness. And 
 as men are not good by nature, but can only gradually 
 approximate towards goodness, reason demands that happi- 
 ness should be experienced by each in proportion to his 
 goodness. 
 
 The first point to be considered is, how happiness is 
 related to virtue. 
 
 The Stoics and Epicureans hold that virtue and happi- 
 
250 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 ness are identical. According to the former, the virtuous 
 man is the only happy man; according to the latter, the 
 happy man is the only virtuous man. This identification 
 Kant rejects. To be virtuous is not necessarily to be 
 happy, to be happy is not necessarily to be virtuous. A 
 man may be virtuous without being happy, or happy 
 without being virtuous. 
 
 The problem therefore remains, and at first sight it 
 seems insoluble. If I will the moral law, do I thereby 
 secure happiness ? By no means : to secure happiness I 
 must learn the laws of nature and be able to turn my 
 knowledge to account in furthering my own ends. If, on 
 the other hand, I make happiness my end, my action 
 ceases to be moral. 
 
 When we look more closely, however, we find that 
 there is an essential difference between the propositions, 
 "Virtue is the necessary consequence of Happiness," and 
 "Happiness is the necessary consequence of Virtue." The 
 former proposition is absolutely false. The man who 
 makes happiness his aim cannot be virtuous, because 
 virtue consists in willing the moral law purely for itself. 
 The latter proposition is not necessarily false. There is 
 a sense in which it may be admitted to be true. We can- 
 not say that by acting virtuously man will secure happi- 
 ness, but it is quite conceivable that virtue should bring 
 happiness, if the world were so arranged as to make 
 happiness follow from virtue. Such a harmony man 
 cannot effect, but it may be effected by a Being who 
 stands to nature in the relation of its Author. The 
 postulate, therefore, of an Author of nature is the only 
 way in which we can conceive of the union of virtue 
 and happiness. 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 25 1 
 
 This idea of nature as conceivably harmonizing with the 
 moral life does not show that man can realize the summum 
 bonum. There are two obstacles to such realization. 
 
 In the first place, man can realize the summum bonum 
 only if he is capable of perfect virtue. To be perfectly 
 virtuous would be to get rid of all immediate desire and 
 act purely from the law of reason. Now, this is impossible, 
 because man cannot get rid of the solicitations of desire, 
 and therefore morality can only be a continual process of 
 subjecting the desires, as they spring up, to the moral law. 
 All that is possible for man is, not the completed harmony 
 of his desires with his reason, but the certain hope of con- 
 tinuous progress in morality, as resting upon the habit of 
 acting virtuously. Now, such a continuity in willing the 
 moral law requires continued existence; and hence the 
 possibility of realizing the chief good requires us to 
 postulate the immortality of man. In no other way can 
 we defend the absolute obligation laid upon us to live the 
 moral life. In this life we can never realize the chief 
 good, and therefore we are tempted to say that man can- 
 not be required to realize it. On the other hand, if we 
 say that in this life a man may become perfectly holy, 
 we fall into " theosophic dreams " of a possible perfection 
 that, with our continual shortcomings, is for us an im- 
 possibility. By the postulate of immortality we avoid 
 both of these fatal alternatives : we do not need to relax 
 the severity of the moral law, because we are capable of 
 continual progress towards perfect holiness : and we do 
 not fall into the dream of an impossible perfection, 
 because we see that morality is an endless progress 
 towards perfection. 
 
 In the second place, the realization of the summum 
 
252 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 bonum implies the union of virtue and happiness. Sup- 
 posing virtue to be more or less perfectly attained, how 
 can we say that happiness in proportion to virtue must 
 be united with it ? Yet, if it is our duty to seek the 
 highest good, it must be possible that it should be 
 realized. Now, it cannot be realized by us, for though 
 we may will the moral law, we cannot by that volition 
 secure happiness. The union of virtue and happiness is 
 therefore possible only independently of our will. It can 
 be produced only by a Being who is distinct from nature 
 and yet the cause of it. And such a Being must be a 
 cause whose character is in conformity with morality, i.e., 
 a Being who is perfectly rational and perfectly good ; in 
 other words, God. 
 
 Kant's first postulate is immortality, or endless time, 
 as the condition of the realization of the chief good, i.e., 
 of virtue. The natural desires are in antagonism to the 
 moral law, and as man cannot get rid of them without 
 ceasing to be man, this subjection to the law of reason 
 is a progressus ad infinitum. Now, to this view it may 
 be objected, in the first place, that not even the postu- 
 late of infinite time will account for the realization of 
 virtue on Kant's premisses. For, so long as man is con- 
 ceived to be a subject of desire, so long he is incapable 
 of realizing perfect virtue. The opposition between reason 
 and desire is supposed to be absolute, and therefore no 
 extension of time will destroy it. If, indeed, we supposed 
 Kant to hold that in a future life man would no longer 
 be the subject of desire, we might suppose perfect virtue 
 to be realized. But this he cannot hold, since his argu- 
 ment for immortality rests upon the conflict between 
 desire and reason. We are compelled to postulate 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 253 
 
 immortality, because reason demands the realization of 
 perfect virtue, and such realization is impossible because 
 the work of reason in subjecting desire to itself is never 
 complete. We must deny, then, that the postulate of 
 immortality solves the problem of the realization of holi- 
 ness. " Infinite time," as has been said, "is not enough 
 for an impossible task." 
 
 In the second place, not only can virtue not be com- 
 pletely realized, but it cannot be realized at all. Kant's 
 argument rests upon the absolute opposition of reason 
 and desire; and it is plainly impossible to bring oppo- 
 sites any nearer to each other. On the other hand, 
 if there is no opposition of reason and desire, the 
 whole argument for a progress to infinity falls to the 
 ground. 
 
 Kant's argument for immortality loses its force because 
 he reasons from the impossibility of morality in a finite 
 time to the possibility of morality in an infinite time. 
 This argument we have seen to be invalid. The nature 
 of a thing is not changed by the mere passing of time. 
 "White is not made any more white," as Aristotle said, 
 in criticizing the eternal ideas of Plato, "by being sup- 
 posed to exist for ever." In other words, unless man 
 can be moral now, he cannot become moral simply if 
 he is supposed to exist for ever. What we must say, 
 therefore, is that every act in which the agent identifies 
 himself with an objective end is a moral act. In Kant's 
 view no progress in morality is possible because morality 
 can never begin. Just as knowledge cannot develop 
 unless there is knowledge, so moral progress can be made 
 only if man can be moral. Now, if man has within 
 him a principle of morality, the argument for immor- 
 
254 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 tality will take a new form. There is no limit, it may 
 be said, to the development of a living principle. If 
 man is capable of knowledge he is capable of growing 
 intellectually until his knowledge " has orbed into the 
 perfect star"; if he is capable of morality he is capable 
 of a progress in morality to which no limits can be set. 
 Thus we may argue, that as man is capable of infinite 
 progress in knowledge and morality — in a word, of 
 infinite self-development — immortality is bound up with 
 the very idea of self-consciousness. To be completely 
 self-conscious would be to know all reality and to have 
 attained to perfect holiness, since perfect self-conscious- 
 ness is possible only in the perfect union of subject and 
 object. In other words, the argument for immortality 
 must be based, not upon what man cannot know or do, 
 but upon what he can know and do. 
 
 Kant's second postulate of God as the Being who har- 
 monizes virtue and happiness is also open to objection. 
 On the one hand Kant argues that the good lies in the 
 will of man, so that it is realized whether a man attains 
 happiness or not. The martyr sacrifices his happiness 
 absolutely in laying down his life, yet in this sacrifice 
 he realizes the good. There can therefore be no reason 
 for postulating the existence of a Supreme Being, so far 
 as the realization of man's true self is concerned. Happi- 
 ness is, from this point of view, a matter of indiffer- 
 ence. Kant, however, holds that reason rightly demands 
 the union of virtue and happiness. But this union, he 
 maintains, cannot be attained by man; and that for two 
 reasons ; firstly, because nature goes on by a law of its 
 own, a law which does not harmonize with the law of 
 reason; and, secondly, because each man is dependent 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 255 
 
 upon others, so that only in a community of perfectly 
 moral beings could happiness be proportionate to virtue, 
 and such a community is an ideal that can never be 
 realized. Kant therefore argues that we must postulate 
 the existence of God, just because in human life happi- 
 ness cannot be united with virtue. They cannot be 
 united, yet reason demands their union, therefore they 
 are united in God. 
 
 But the argument, to be valid, must take a positive 
 form. That the world is incompatible with the realiza- 
 tion of the highest good cannot be a reason for main- 
 taining the existence of God, but rather a reason for 
 denying it. Only if it can be shown that the world is 
 compatible with the highest good can we argue that exist- 
 ence is a manifestation of God. We must, in other 
 words, show that in the moral life happiness and virtue 
 are combined, and are combined just because " all things 
 work together for good to them that love the Lord." 
 This faith is the source of the religious consciousness, 
 and from it spring all the efforts of men to raise them- 
 selves and others. We must therefore say, not that the 
 impossibility of effecting the union of virtue and happi- 
 ness is the ground of our belief in the existence of God, 
 but, on the contrary, the possibility of such union. The 
 union is effected for the individual in the willing of 
 objective ends that bring satisfaction with them. The 
 man who lives for his family at once wills the good and 
 finds his happiness in realizing it. The reformer wills 
 his country, and in devotion to it he finds his happiness. 
 So in all cases of willing an end that is not selfish. It 
 is true that complete happiness is not obtained. But 
 neither is complete goodness. And it is not too much 
 
256 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 to say, that a man is happy in proportion to his good- 
 ness. Even the martyr in the sacrifice of all lower 
 happiness gains a happiness for which nothing else 
 could compensate. It is, then, the possibility of this 
 union of happiness and goodness in man that entitles 
 us to maintain the perfect union of the two in God. 
 If the world is compatible with the relative harmony 
 of virtue and goodness in us, it already shows itself 
 to be the expression of a Being who is perfectly 
 good. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY (Continued). 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHTS. 
 
 We have seen that the idea of Duty implies the identifi- 
 cation of the subject with a universal end in which the 
 true self may be realized ; and that freedom is the capacity, 
 and the highest good the result, of such self-identification. 
 We have now to consider more particularly the forms in 
 which the subject realizes universal ends. The first and 
 simplest form is in relation to external things and services ; 
 in other words, self-realization is exhibited in the sphere 
 of individual Rights. 
 
 Kant distinguishes the sphere of Rights from the sphere 
 of Morais in this way, that in the former the will of man 
 is viewed as expressing itself outwardly in acts, while, in 
 the latter, it is viewed only as determined inwardly by 
 motives. 
 
 The moral law tells us to treat all self-conscious beings 
 as ends, never as means. But here a difficulty arises. 
 When a man acts, his action takes an outer form, and 
 therefore it affects the outer existence of others. If, e.g., 
 
 R 
 
258 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 a man steals ray property, he interferes with that which 
 is necessary to my existence as a particular being. The 
 problem of jurisprudence is therefore to prevent one man 
 from interfering with the free activity of another, and 
 this cannot be done, consistently with the freedom of 
 each, unless each man voluntarily imposes upon himself 
 the same limit as he imposes upon others. Now, the 
 principle of all free will is to act in conformity with a 
 law that can be universalized. Applying this principle to 
 external action, it would take the form : Impose no limit 
 upon others that you do not impose upon yourself. For 
 example, if others are to respect my property, I must 
 respect theirs ; otherwise the maxim on which I act is 
 not universal. 
 
 All acts which prevent another from doing the like are 
 self-contradictory. It is therefore in accordance with the 
 law of freedom that such acts should be prevented or 
 annulled. Hence the compulsion of law is quite consistent 
 with freedom. A man is free to will a universal law, but 
 he is not free to will what is merely agreeable to himself. 
 Law, in compelling men to respect the rights of others, 
 does not interfere with freedom, but only with the 
 unreason of particular desires, which is, in fact, the nega- 
 tion- of freedom. 
 
 Now, in the sphere of Rights, we have nothing to do 
 with the motive from which an action is done, but only 
 with the overt act. If a man respects the rights of pro- 
 perty of others, Law does not ask whether he does so 
 from the fear of punishment, from a desire for the esteem 
 of others, or from regard for the moral law; it is enough 
 that the act conforms to the law. Hence, the aim of law 
 is not to make men act from the highest motives, but to 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 259 
 
 prevent them from acting in opposition to the rights of 
 others. A right is thus something purely external. "When 
 it is said that a creditor has the right of exacting pay- 
 ment from his debtor, this does not mean that he can 
 put it to the conscience of the debtor that he ought to 
 pay. It means that a compulsion to pay in such a case 
 can be applied consistently with everyone's freedom, 
 consistently, therefore, with the debtor's own freedom, 
 according to a universal external law. Right and claim 
 to apply compulsion are therefore the same thing." 
 
 Now, as in law freedom means independence of com- 
 pulsion by another, and the reciprocal limitation of each 
 by the others, the first of rights is equality. No man can 
 demand of me what I cannot demand of him, and I can 
 act towards others as I please so long as I do nothing 
 to prevent them from acting as they please towards me. 
 
 How is such freedom realized in the outer world? 
 What is meant by a right? Nothing can limit the 
 freedom of one man but the freedom of another, (i) 
 Rights belong only to persons, not to things. Outward 
 things are the means of realizing the will of a person. 
 Hence (2) rights are held by one person as against all 
 others. And -(3) lastly, the relation of persons is recip- 
 rocal. Slavery, e.g., is inconsistent with the principle of 
 rights, because it gives all the rights to one person, with- 
 out recognizing that he is only entitled to rights at all 
 if he respects the rights of all other persons. 
 
 The basis of all rights, then, is the inviolability of each 
 person. But each person expresses himself in the objects 
 into which he has put his will, and which are inviolable 
 because expressing the will of an inviolable person. Thus 
 arises property, the distinction of mine and thine. To 
 
260 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 interfere with the objects in which each person expresses 
 his will is to interfere with the person himself. Property 
 is not the same thing as physical possession; it is an 
 "intelligible" possession. A thing is mine, not because 
 I hold it, but because my will is expressed in it. 
 
 (a) The first form, then, of rights is that of jus in 
 rem, or the right of persons over things. Such a right 
 implies other persons while yet it excludes them. It must 
 be recognized, or persons would come into collision with 
 one another. At the same time it does not imply the 
 actual assent of others, and in this it differs from 
 
 (b) Jus in personam, i.e., personal rights, the rights of 
 one person to an object first possessed by another, or to 
 some service which the other can perform for him. Such 
 a right implies a direct act of transference to the one of 
 that which primarily belongs to the other. This is con- 
 tract. Here the right is established not against all, but 
 against a particular person. In the case of contract for 
 service, the service must be limited in extent and char- 
 acter, otherwise the jus in personam would be equivalent 
 to slavery. 
 
 (c) Kant adds a third form of rights, jus realiter 
 personate. Here a person becomes not only the subject 
 but the object of a right, i.e., a person is treated as a 
 thing. Kant should evidently have said that such a right 
 contradicts the very idea of free personality on which 
 rights are based. The contradiction arises from the 
 attempt to apply the idea of rights to the family. In 
 marriage the contracting parties acquire right over each 
 other. Each must surrender to the other. Hence poly- 
 gamy and all irregular unions are contrary to the idea 
 of personal rights, because they give to one a right not 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 26 1 
 
 granted to the other. Again, children have no rights as 
 against parents, except the right to be supported and 
 educated ; corresponding to which is the right of the 
 parents to govern and direct the child while its powers 
 are immature. 
 
 So much as to the nature of Private Rights (Jus Pri- 
 vatum, Jus Naturale). But how is the individual to be 
 secured in his rights? There must be a political power, 
 which at once secures each man's rights and excludes him 
 from interfering with the rights of others. There is there- 
 fore required a universal will armed with absolute power. 
 The condition of those who submit to this power is the 
 civil state. Everyone must enter the civil state, because 
 in it alone is there security for rights. "The act whereby 
 a people constitutes itself into a state ... is the 
 original contract by which all members of the people give 
 up their freedom in order to take it up again as members 
 of a commonwealth." The State frees the individual from 
 his particular desires by bringing him under a law of reason. 
 But Kant holds that the State can only take away hin- 
 drances to freedom. The social contract is therefore a 
 contract men are bound to make; and, when made, it 
 can never be broken. A right of revolution is a contra- 
 diction of the very idea of right. Rebellion can never be 
 just, however imperfect the form of the State. To execute 
 the sovereign, as was done in the case of Charles I. and 
 Louis XVI., is a crime against the very idea of justice. 
 
 At the same time the true or ultimate form of the State 
 is a Republic, and it is obligatory on the sovereign power 
 gradually to bring the State into that form. In the Ideal 
 State the supreme legislative power must be exercised by 
 representatives of the people. This Kant seeks to prove 
 
262 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 as follows. All citizens, as free, equal, and independent, 
 are at once subject and ruler, i.e., they are under a law 
 which they themselves enact. But if so, must not all 
 laws be enacted by all the citizens ? At first Kant seems 
 to say so, but he makes limitations which destroy the 
 force of the admission. (1) There is a distinction between 
 active and passive citizens. Passive citizens include women 
 and children, house servants and day labourers, i.e., all 
 who sell their services. These are only potential citizens, 
 and have no votes until they become actual citizens by 
 gaining a position in which they do not sell their services. 
 (2) There must be a representative system, in which the 
 people do not directly legislate, but elect deputies to do 
 so. The reason is that the legislative must be separated 
 from the executive power. But while the whole people 
 should not legislate, no law should be passed to which 
 the whole people could not give their assent. For ex- 
 ample, a law giving supreme authority to a class is not 
 just. Hence it is wrong to secure such authority to a 
 class by inheritance. But any law that a whole people 
 could possibly accept must be regarded as just, even 
 though at the time the people might not assent to it. 
 Applying this principle, Kant rejects all privileges of 
 birth, all right of inheritance in offices of State, and an 
 established church, especially if it has a fixed creed. So 
 all corporate institutions, for education or charity, are sub- 
 ordinate to the State, and may be abolished at any time 
 and their property seized. The citizens, on the other 
 hand, should have the right of free speech; for all laws 
 must be assumed to be such as the whole people would 
 enact, and therefore the people have the right to show 
 that any law proposed or enacted is contrary to that 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 263 
 
 principle. Kant therefore denies Hobbes' principle, that 
 the sovereign has only rights and not duties. It is the 
 duty of the sovereign to enact nothing that is contrary 
 to justice, and to enact everything that is essential to the 
 maintenance of justice. 
 
 Kant applies this idea of the State to Penal Justice in 
 an unflinching way. Punishment, he holds, must be 
 inflicted without any regard to the happiness either of the 
 criminal or of society, but solely with a view to the main- 
 tenance of justice. Legal penalty {poena forensis) is not 
 like natural penalty {poena naturalis). Vice punishes 
 itself by bringing unhappiness, but the punishment of 
 crime is purely because of the transgression committed. 
 A man is punished because he deserves it; punishment is 
 his own transgression coming back upon himself. Whether 
 punishment is useful is not to the point : for " if justice 
 perish there is no longer any value in the existence of 
 men upon the earth." The principle on which punishment 
 should be inflicted is that of equality. By inflicting evil 
 on another a man affirms that the same amount of evil 
 should be inflicted on himself. Hence the only adequate 
 punishment for murder is death, for nothing is commen- 
 surable with death but death. " Even if a civil society 
 were on the point of being dissolved with the consent of 
 all its members (e.g., if a people dwelling on a desert 
 island had resolved to separate), they would be bound 
 first of all to execute the last murderer in their prisons." 
 
 Passing now to International Law, we have to ask on 
 what principles it is based. It is based, says Kant, on 
 the same principle as the law of the State. Just as indi- 
 vidual men were bound to combine in a State, so all 
 States are bound to combine in a Universal State. But 
 
264 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 the practical difficulties which stand in the way are so 
 great that we must be content to employ the conception 
 of a Universal State mainly as an ideal. An everlasting 
 peace cannot be realized, but to it a continual approxi- 
 mation may be made, and therefore every State ought to 
 act with a view to its realization. Kant even suggests 
 articles for the future Law of Nations, which he thinks 
 would tend to bring about such a peace, (a) No treaty 
 of peace shall be made with the secret reservation of 
 causes of quarrel, (b) No State shall be transferred by 
 inheritance or gift, (c) No public debts shall be con- 
 tracted with a view to war. (d) No State shall in war 
 make use of means that destroy mutual faith, e.g., breach 
 of capitulation or attempts to make use of treachery 
 among the enemy. But these articles are merely prepara- 
 tory. It is further required that every State should be 
 republican in its constitution, for no other constitution is 
 based on the freedom and equality of all the citizens. It 
 is the great body of the people who suffer from war, not 
 the king or governing aristocracy. Starting from one 
 republic, a federation of States may gradually be secured, 
 with the object of preventing war. In such a league 
 one special article would be to secure the rights of each 
 citizen in the contracting States as a "citizen of the 
 world," i.e., to secure to him freedom to visit and to 
 trade in other countries than his own. Finally, the prin- 
 ciple of all politics is that what is right should be 
 done, not what is practicable. We cannot tell what is 
 practicable, but we can tell what is right. The philoso- 
 pher ought therefore to be called in to assist the statesman, 
 i.e., there should be free discussion of the principles on 
 which States are and ought to be based. Thus in 
 
/ 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 265 
 
 politics, as in morals, we shall learn to make what ought 
 to be our standard. 1 
 
 CRITICISM OF KANT'S DOCTRINE OF RIGHTS. 
 
 Kant's Doctrine of Rights may be said to be a trans- 
 ference to the outward acts of man of that opposition 
 between Desire and Reason, which on his general theory 
 is exhibited in the inner world of the individual's own 
 consciousness. The actions of a man may either flow 
 from a desire for his own personal satisfaction, or they 
 may be consistent with the law of reason. In the former 
 case everything which the man desires he will seek to 
 secure by employing the means necessary. Thus he may 
 desire to possess land, or goods, or the services of others, 
 simply because he regards these as fitted to minister to 
 his individual pleasure. But desire has no limit in itself. 
 If I act purely from a desire for land, I shall take it 
 without any reference to the desires of others. It 
 matters not that another may possess the land, and may 
 equally desire it with me. I care nothing for his desires, 
 but only for my own. If I come into collision with 
 another because we both wish to have the same land, 
 the only way to settle the conflicting claims is that "he 
 should take who has the power, and he should keep who 
 can." " Might is right." Thus the unlimited exercise 
 of desire leads to violence, to the war of all against 
 all, in which the strongest or the most cunning will 
 
 1 A fuller statement of Kant's doctrine of Rights will be found in 
 Caird's Critical Accotmt of the Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II., chapter 
 vi., which is so admirable that nothing remained for me to do but to 
 condense it. The same remark applies to the statement of Kant's 
 " System of Moral Duties" given below. 
 
266 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 succeed best. So far as desire is concerned, no indi- 
 vidual has any rights ; because no one recognizes the 
 claims of another, and each seeks to satisfy his own 
 natural desire for what will bring him pleasure. 
 
 With this activity of natural desire Kant contrasts the 
 activity which proceeds from a law of reason. For 
 reason denies the claims of mere desire, and asserts that 
 each man should be treated as a "person," i.e., as a 
 being who has claims to external things. Reason says 
 that I have no more claim to external things than other 
 persons. If limits are to be set to my naturally unlimited 
 desire for my own satisfaction, I must not only claim a 
 right over things, but I must admit that others have an 
 equal claim over them. Now, things are limited, and 
 therefore no single person can lay claim to all things* 
 The only way therefore in which violence can be brought 
 to an end is by each person limiting himself to those 
 things that belong to him. So long as these limits are 
 observed there can be no disputes and no violence. 
 
 But here the difficulty arises, that it is always possible 
 for the individual to fall back upon natural desire. Men 
 are quite willing that others should respect their rights, 
 but under the influence of natural desire they are 
 prompted to deny the rights of others. A piece of land 
 belongs to another, but some one who covets it may 
 get possession of it if he is stronger or more cunning 
 than the rightful possessor. Thus the unlimited claim 
 of desire is substituted for the limited claim of reason. 
 Now, anyone who thus sets up his own desire as ultimate 
 can no longer claim to be treated as a rational being. 
 If he is justified in seizing a thing which belongs to 
 another simply because he desires it, another is equally 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 267 
 
 justified in seizing what belongs to him, and thus the 
 reign of violence begins over again. To act from desire 
 is thus to appeal to violence, and therefore violence may 
 be employed against him. 
 
 It is from this point of view that Kant justifies the 
 existence of the State. A power is needed to compel the 
 desires of men to keep within the limits of reason. If 
 men always respected the rights of others, there would be 
 no need for any external force to compel them to do so. 
 But they do not; and hence a power outside of them- 
 selves is required to make them respect the rights of 
 others, and to make others respect their rights. In the 
 outward sphere, therefore, a State Power is necessary to 
 "compel men to be free." And only the State can be 
 invested with such a power, because violence exerted by 
 an individual is merely a new manifestation of desire. 
 For example, in blood-feuds, the motive is not a law of 
 reason, but the desire of revenge. It is therefore justifi- 
 able to force men to enter into society, since society is 
 the condition of each person becoming free. 
 
 (1) This theory of society is not self-consistent. It 
 holds, on the one hand, that rights belong to individuals 
 irrespective of society, and, on the other hand, that for 
 such rights they are indebted to society. For Kant bases 
 individual rights upon the conception of a person as an 
 abstract or exclusive self. As such an abstract self I can 
 realize myself in independence of other selves. My free- 
 dom consists in this, that there are things in which my 
 will is expressed, and with which no one may interfere. 
 Now, it is no doubt true that the conception of rights 
 as an ideal excludes the interference of others with what 
 is mine. But who is to secure the observance of such 
 
268 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 rights? Obviously, the individual must recognize that 
 the law of reason, and not the law of desire, is to be 
 obeyed, i.e., he must view himself as a member of a 
 community in which the rights of all are bound up with 
 the rights of each. If so, the community is not a matter 
 of accident : it is not a contract into which individuals 
 may or may not enter, but it is a form of association 
 to which they belong, because otherwise they would have 
 no rights. In other words, suppose each man to be 
 only accidentally related to others, and there can be 
 no absolute rights, because no one is bound to combine 
 with others. The individual may say, I prefer to seek 
 my good by myself, i.e., I prefer to find satisfaction for 
 my desires by getting as much as I can for myself. Only 
 if we grant that without society men cannot realize their 
 true self, can it be maintained that no one is justified in 
 separating himself from society. But if society is neces- 
 sary to constitute a right, as distinguished from a mere 
 object of desire, it cannot be said that society is an 
 accidental relation into which men may or may not 
 enter; it is a relation into which they must enter by the 
 very law of their reason. I have rights only as a mem- 
 ber of society, not as a separate individual. 
 
 If we develop what is implied in Kant's theory, we 
 shall see that he virtually admits society to be essential 
 to the existence of rights. For he maintains that men 
 may force others to enter into society, and that it is an 
 absolute duty to respect the order of society when once 
 it has been formed. On what ground can it be main- 
 tained that men may be compelled to enter into society, 
 unless on the ground that only so can man's true nature 
 be realized? On any other supposition society can have 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 269 
 
 power over the individual only because it is stronger 
 than he, i.e., it becomes a mere despotism, interfering with 
 the individual's claim to be free of its regulations. But 
 Kant really implies that the compulsion of society is a 
 compulsion of reason. Men must enter society because 
 in society they get rid of the caprice of their individual 
 desires, which have no limit in themselves. Hence Kant 
 holds that, whether the individual consents or not, the 
 laws imposed by society must be respected ; and this 
 means that society is essential to the very existence of 
 rights, i.e., to the necessary means by which the indivi- 
 dual secures his freedom. 
 
 This may be seen still more clearly if we consider 
 Kant's theory of jus realiter personate. Take, e.g., the 
 family relation. Kant admits that here the principle on 
 which all other rights are based does not properly apply. 
 An ordinary right can exist only in relation to a thing, 
 i.e., an object which has no personality. No one can 
 possess a right in a person, because that would make the 
 person a mere thing, and deprive him of his personality. 
 This is why slavery is contrary to the idea of rights. The 
 slave has no rights. Now, in the family relation, there 
 are no exclusive rights. Husband and wife give up to 
 each other their independent personality, and have no 
 rights as against each other. What belongs to the one 
 belongs also to the other, so far as the relation applies. 
 Here therefore there are no exclusive rights; in other 
 words, the separate personality of each is negated. Kant 
 says that in this case the surrender of personality is re- 
 ciprocal. No doubt this is true; but if personality is 
 surrendered by each, it must be because there is here a 
 bond higher than that of abstract personality; for other- 
 
270 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 wise the relation would be a violation of freedom. The 
 facts thus force Kant to admit that the true nature of 
 man is here realized only on the supposition that man in 
 his true nature is not an abstract person, but is capable 
 of entering into a relation which is higher than abstract 
 personality. 
 
 Now the same thing applies to society. The members 
 of a State are not separate individuals who may or may 
 not combine, but their combination is essential to the 
 freedom of each. Each individual is a member in an 
 organism, and realizes himself only as he makes the 
 common good his end. If society is organic, individuals 
 can have no rights apart from society. In other words, 
 the foundation of the claim for rights must lie in this, 
 that the general good can be realized only by assigning to 
 each individual rights with which no other individual may 
 interfere. The ultimate reason for the claim to rights is 
 not that as an individual a man has such a claim, but 
 that the perfection of his nature as a social being 
 demands it. If it could be shown that men would 
 realize a higher perfection in a society in which there 
 were no individual rights, we should have to say that 
 such rights cannot be permitted. The reason for main- 
 taining personal rights is thus a social one. 
 
 (2) Kant holds that law deals only with overt acts, 
 not at all with the motives from which acts are done. 
 Morality, again, looks only at motives, asking whether 
 the will has been determined purely by the law of reason, 
 and not by desire. What we may seek is a form of the 
 State in which individuals are brought into external har- 
 mony with each other ; but we must not by means of law 
 seek to make men moral. Goodness cannot be produced 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 27 I 
 
 by the compulsion of society, because, while you may 
 make men conform to the external law of society, you 
 cannot make them good. Goodness is something that 
 can be realized only by each subject for himself. It is 
 certainly the individual's duty to do what he can to 
 bring about a more perfect form of society, and he 
 must also try to further the happiness of others; but he 
 cannot be asked to make them good, because it is not in 
 his power to do so. Thus mankind is conceived as a 
 sum of independent persons. 
 
 Now, if there are no rights apart from society, we 
 cannot thus separate the moral development of each in- 
 dividual from that of others. It is no doubt plausible to 
 say that the inner life of each is hidden from every one 
 but himself, or, at least, only imperfectly expressed in his 
 outward actions ; and that we can therefore infer nothing 
 in regard to the inner life of others without first experi- 
 encing it in ourselves. It is indeed a mere truism that 
 what we have had no experience of we cannot learn from 
 without. But this inner experience is not separable from 
 outer experience. We have not first a knowledge of oUr 
 own individual states and then refer these by analogy to 
 others. It is only when we have gone beyond our im- 
 mediate feelings that we understand ourselves at all, 
 and the same process enables us to understand others. 
 Nay, it may be said that we first learn to understand 
 ourselves by understanding others. It is through the 
 community of persons that the individual understands 
 himself. If there were no common life, if society were 
 not an expression of morality, the individual would never 
 realize the meaning of his own moral nature. When 
 a man comes to the consciousness that in his own reason 
 
272 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 there is a law of morality, he at first opposes the idea 
 of himself to the community; but had he not been 
 moralized by the community in the first place, such a 
 return upon himself would be impossible. 
 
 (3) And this leads us to see what is the true meaning of 
 punishment. Kant denies that punishment can be regarded 
 either as preventative or as educational. The sole object 
 of punishment is to vindicate the principle of rights. The 
 criminal affirms the law of his natural desires, and society 
 uses violence to cause his irrational act to recoil on 
 himself. Properly regarded, there is no contradiction 
 between these three theories of punishment. The object 
 of all punishment is to maintain the social unity as against 
 the caprice of individuals. Punishment is therefore pre- 
 ventative in this sense, that, by tending to awaken in men 
 the consciousness that they are all members of one body, 
 it supplies them with an ideal which tends to prevent 
 them from acting as if they were mere individuals. It is 
 also educational, because it tends to awaken the conscious- 
 ness that crime is worthy of punishment. And lastly, it 
 is a vindication of right in the sense that right is the 
 means by which the higher social self may be realized. 
 Observe, however, that punishment is not preventative 
 merely in the sense that it hinders the commission of 
 particular crimes, but in the sense that it affirms the 
 principle which strikes at the root of all crimes. That is 
 to say, the object of punishment is not simply to deter 
 men from crime by the fear of punishment, but to lead 
 them to view crime as irrational. So punishment is edu- 
 cational, not in the sense of making men fear the penalty, 
 but in the sense of making them fear the guilt. And 
 finally, punishment vindicates right, not as the rights of 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 273 
 
 individuals, but as the condition of the higher self which 
 is realized in the social organism, We may therefore 
 say that punishment has to do with the moral nature of 
 man, because it seeks to make the individual substitute 
 the rational motive of self-realization by identification 
 with others for the irrational motive of self-realization by 
 separation from others. Thus the two ends of making 
 men moral and making them happy combine in one : 
 for, as morality is identical with real happiness, to secure 
 the one is to secure the other also. 
 
 SYSTEM OF MORAL VIRTUES. 
 
 What, then, are the special forms in which man realizes 
 himself? What, in other words, are the specific duties 
 of man? 
 
 Kant's conception of duties, as distinguished from rights, 
 is that whereas the latter are enforced by society, the 
 former are enforced by the individual upon himself. Law 
 compels men to respect the rights of others, whatever 
 their natural inclination may be; Morality compels a man 
 to respect the moral law which his own reason reveals to 
 him. The opposition is no longer between an external 
 authority and natural inclination, but between natural 
 inclination and the internal authority of reason. No one 
 can compel a man to be moral, because morality consists 
 in free submission of the individual to the moral law. 
 A man may act in accordance with the idea of duty 
 because he is compelled to do so by the pressure of an 
 external authority, but his act is not therefore moral, 
 because it is not done from a moral motive. In morality 
 the motive as well as the action must be in harmony 
 with the law. This is the single principle of duty. But 
 
•274 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 this principle takes different forms according to the 
 different ends which are sought to be realized, i.e., we 
 can distinguish various duties by distinguishing the 
 various ends of action which we ought to have. 
 
 Now, there are two ends which we ought to realize : 
 (i) our own perfection, (2) the happiness of others. 
 
 (1) By perfection is meant conformity with the moral 
 law. Such conformity is possible only in so far as a man 
 rises above his animal nature and develops the faculties 
 belonging to him as man. Perfection therefore means, 
 
 firstly, the development of the faculties characteristic of 
 man. But, secondly, perfection implies purity of will, i.e., 
 that virtuous temper of mind in which the moral law is 
 the sole motive and standard of action. Our duty to 
 ourselves, then, is to develop all our faculties and to 
 cultivate purity of will. 
 
 (2) Our duty to others is to seek their happiness. It 
 is not our duty to seek our own happiness, for that 
 is an end which natural inclination inevitably prompts 
 us to seek. The happiness of others, again, is not 
 what they think to be their happiness, for often they 
 suppose it to consist in what is inconsistent with it. 
 Nor can we seek the perfection of others directly, for 
 perfection can only be secured by the individual himself; 
 still we may indirectly aid men in their efforts after 
 perfection, by avoiding everything that will mislead them 
 into a false view of their perfection. Thus the moral 
 law implies two commands : (1) Do for yourself all that 
 you regard as binding upon others; (2) Do for others 
 all that you would wish them to do for you. 
 
 We must, however, distinguish between "obligations of 
 right" and "obligations of virtue." There are various 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 275 
 
 duties, and one of these may limit the other to a certain 
 extent. Thus the question may arise how far phil- 
 anthropy is to be limited by one's duty to his own 
 family. It is a man's duty to seek both the general 
 good and the good of his family, and no exception can 
 be admitted; but how far he is to seek the one or the 
 other must be determined by particular considerations. 
 There are three characteristics of duty. 
 
 (1) There is only one ground of each duty. For 
 example, obligation to truthfulness is not the injury done 
 to others by lying, but the moral worthlessness of the liar. 
 
 (2) The difference between virtue and vice is a differ- 
 ence in kind not in degree. Aristotle is therefore wrong 
 in making virtue a mean between two vices. The virtue 
 of good husbandry is not that more is spent than is 
 done by the avaricious man and less than is done by 
 the prodigal. Prodigality and avarice are vices because 
 their motives are immoral. The prodigal spends his 
 money simply as a means to enjoyment^ the avaricious 
 man saves his money because of the enjoyment which 
 is found in its possession ; good husbandry makes use of 
 wealth simply as a means to higher ends. 
 
 (3) Our duties are not determined by our capacity, but 
 our capacity by our duties. We must not say, " I have 
 done all that could be expected of me," but, "I have 
 not attained to the perfect standard of humanity." 
 
 Virtue may be called a " habit," if it is added that it is 
 a "free habit/' or a "habit of acting by the idea of law." 
 Virtue is always advancing, because it is an unattainable 
 ideal : it is always beginning, because the natural desires 
 cannot be got rid of, and therefore we never attain to a 
 perfectly formed state of virtue. If our actions ever 
 
276 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 became merely habitual, they would have no moral 
 character, because there would be no freedom in the 
 choice of maxims of conduct. 
 
 Kant distinguishes between (1) Duties to ourselves 
 and (2) Duties to others. 
 
 I. Duties to Ourselves. 
 1. Negative or Strict. 
 
 (a) Duties to ourselves as having an animal nature. 
 
 These correspond to the three natural impulses of (a) 
 self-preservation, (/?) maintenance of the species, (7) main- 
 tenance of the capacity to use one's powers for useful 
 ends, and for the animal enjoyment of life. These are 
 virtues, because man's physical life is a means to his exist- 
 ence as a person. The vices opposed to them are (a) 
 suicide, (/3) unnatural sensual indulgence, (7) inordinate 
 enjoyment of the pleasures of the table. 
 
 (6) Duties to ourselves as moral beings. 
 
 There are here also three virtues, (a) truthfulness, (/?) 
 good husbandry, (7) self-respect. The corresponding vices 
 are (a) lying, (/?) avarice, (7) false humility. The liar is 
 "a mere semblance of humanity, and not a true man." 
 Avarice is the slavish subjection of oneself to the goods 
 of fortune. As to false humility, "he who makes himself 
 a worm cannot complain if others trample upon him." 
 As a person, a man is above all price, and ought not to 
 crouch before his fellows, as if he had no self-centred 
 life of his own. Even the slavish fear of Eastern devotees 
 before the divine involves a sacrifice of human dignity. 
 
 All the duties of man to himself rest upon his being 
 the "born judge of himself." Hence man's first duty is 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 277 
 
 to ki know himself," in the sense of finding out what con- 
 science commands. " Descent into the hell of self- 
 knowledge is the only way to the heaven of divine 
 excellence." 
 
 2. Positive. 
 
 These are simply the duties of developing the bodily 
 and mental powers, and above all the duty of cultivating 
 purity of will 
 
 II. Duties to Others. 
 
 These are either (a) those which give rise to an obliga- 
 tion on the part of others, or (b) those which do not 
 give rise to an obligation on the part of others. The 
 former are accompanied by the feeling of love, the 
 latter by the feeling of respect. Love and respect ought 
 to be united. We may compare them to a force of 
 attraction and a force of repulsion. " By the principle of 
 mutual love men are called upon to approach each other, 
 by the principle of respect to preserve a certain distance 
 from each other. As mere feelings, love and respect are 
 not duties j the duties are respectively benevolence and 
 reverence for others as persons. 
 
 (a) The maxim of benevolence rests on the principle 
 that we can wish well to ourselves only on condition 
 that we wish well to others. The duties that fall under 
 it are three : (a) beneficence, (/?) gratitude, (y) sympathy. 
 
 (b) The duties of reverence for others arise from "the 
 recognition in other men of a worth for which there is 
 no price or equivalent." We must reverence the dignity 
 of humanity even in the degraded and vicious. Hence 
 we must condemn all punishment by mutilations, which 
 
278 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 bring shame on humanity. So we must respect the in- 
 telligence of others, and in correcting their errors bring 
 out the element of truth in that which misled them. 
 
 The vices opposed to respect for humanity are (a) 
 pride, (/?) evil-speaking, (7) readiness to mock and insult. 
 
 There are other duties determined by age, sex, or cir- 
 cumstances, but they cannot be determined on general 
 principles. Of these the most important is Friendship. 
 
 Kant holds that we can further the happiness of others, 
 but not their moral perfection. For, if a man is acted 
 upon by another, he argues, he cannot be determined 
 purely by the moral law, and therefore he cannot be 
 free. Each man must therefore work out his own moral 
 salvation. It is our duty to seek our own perfection and 
 the happiness of others, but it can never be a duty to seek 
 the perfection of others or the happiness of ourselves. 
 Kant, however, so far modifies his first view as to admit 
 that we may individually assist others in the attainment 
 of moral perfection by taking care not to throw tempta- 
 tions in their way which would lead to their having the 
 misery of a bad conscience. In other words, it is each 
 man's own duty to preserve a blameless conscience, and 
 when he does wrong he can blame no one but himself. 
 To say that "the woman tempted me" is to deny one's 
 freedom as a rational being. But, while no one can 
 blame another for his moral guilt, each may blame himself 
 for putting obstacles in the way of another. For human 
 nature is weak, and is too ready to follow the passions. 
 
 Now, if it is admitted that we may put hindrances in 
 the way of others, it cannot be denied that we may also 
 act so as to help others in their moral life. If a man 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 279 
 
 by his bad example tempts others to wrong, may he not 
 also by his good example induce others to do right? Kant 
 thinks that we cannot affect directly the moral life of 
 others, because morality is a personal matter. Morality 
 is no doubt a personal matter, but it is not therefore 
 carried on in isolation. The influence of good or bad 
 example would not be a moral influence, if men were 
 not capable of appropriating what is good or bad for 
 themselves. Men are not exonerated from moral blame 
 because others act immorally, nor do they cease to deserve 
 moral praise because others act morally ; but this does 
 not alter the fact that morality is essentially social. We are 
 moral beings only as we are capable of viewing ourselves 
 as members of a social organism. We usually deter- 
 mine the moral quality of our actions by reference to the 
 standard of the society to which we belong. If it is 
 objected that in that case we are simply acting from 
 custom, the answer is that to view conduct from the 
 social point of view is not necessarily to act from custom. 
 To act merely from custom is to act by reference to an 
 external standard, the basis of which we do not compre- 
 hend. To act from the social point of view, on the 
 other hand, is to judge all actions, our own and others, 
 from the unexpressed principles on which the common 
 social life rests. The consciousness of these principles 
 gradually grows up in us because we gain the conscious- 
 ness of ourselves only in and through our relations to 
 others. It is true that we may at a later stage come to 
 be conscious that the ordinary standard of action em- 
 bodied in the special form of society to which we belong 
 is inadequate ; but the consciousness of this inadequacy 
 would be impossible for us did not society already 
 
280 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 involve rational principles of action. Thus he who has 
 been so far moralized by coming to the consciousness of 
 the principle upon which the family rests, is prepared for 
 the comprehension of the wider principle upon which the 
 State rests, and, ultimately, for the still wider principle 
 upon which humanity rests. Thus, moral freedom is not 
 the freedom of the mere individual, but the freedom 
 which rests upon self-identification with a universal law 
 that first reveals itself to us in a social law. 
 
 From this point of view we can see that there can be 
 no opposition, such as Kant maintains, between our duty 
 to ourselves and our duty to others. Every duty is at 
 once a duty to ourselves and a duty to others. Thus 
 the duty of furthering one's own physical and moral well- 
 being is at the same time a duty to society, because it 
 is only by doing so that we can become fit members of 
 the social organism. We are to withstand the immediate 
 promptings of desire, but the gratification of these is con- 
 trary at once to our own welfare and the welfare of others. 
 Nor can it be said, as Kant says, that we must give up 
 our own happiness for the good of others and not at all 
 of ourselves. If this were so, the perfect form of society 
 would be one in which each surrendered all that belonged 
 to himself. In such a society, the aim would be to gratify 
 the selfishness of others, not to reach a point in which 
 all selfishness is done away. In point of fact, the attempt 
 to yield up all to the will of another may develop enor- 
 mous selfishness on the part of those to whom the surrender 
 is made. 1 What we ought to seek is to secure the moral 
 
 1 It may be worth while referring to the illuminating poetic treat- 
 ment of this idea in Euripides' Alcestis, at least as "transcribed" 
 and interpreted in Browning's noble " Balaustion's Adventure." 
 
MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 281 
 
 perfection of all, ourselves as well as others ; and this 
 can only be secured by acting from the point of view of 
 a universal good applicable alike to them and to our- 
 selves. Thus only can a higher spirit take possession of 
 every member of the community. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Morality ultimately rests upon the consciousness of an 
 ideal good for man which is identical with the good of 
 existence as a whole. In other words, there is no abso- 
 lute good unless it can be shown that man is seeking to 
 realize what is in conformity with the unchangeable nature 
 of God. A rational faith in God is, therefore, at the basis 
 of morality. 
 
 This is denied by Kant. He maintains that morality 
 is independent of religion, because the reason of man 
 commands him to realize the moral law, even irrespec- 
 tive of the union of virtue and happiness. The idea 
 of morality is its own guarantee, and unless it can be 
 established independently it is impossible to prove the 
 existence of God at all. God is postulated only because 
 on no other supposition can we explain the possibility of 
 the union of virtue and happiness. 
 
 Kant, however, proceeds to ask how far, in consistency 
 with his own theory, he can accept the fundamental ideas 
 of the Christian religion. And, first of all, he discusses 
 the question of Original Sin. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 283 
 
 The problem, as he puts it, is this : There is in all 
 men a bias to evil ; and this bias seems to be a tendency 
 inherited from our ancestors. But, on the other hand, 
 when we do a wrong action, we attribute the evil to 
 ourselves, and that irrespective of any inherited tendency 
 to evil. How, then, are we to say at once that evil is a 
 natural propensity over which we have no control, and 
 that evil is under our own control, or is done freely? 
 
 (1) What constitutes the bias to evil? It does not lie 
 in our natural impulses as such. The appetite of hunger, 
 e.g., is in itself neither good nor bad, and for it we are 
 in no way responsible. Nor can we explain the evil bias 
 as due to a loss of the idea of moral obligation ; for, if 
 we had no idea of moral obligation, we should not be 
 responsible for our acts, nor should we even be con- 
 scious of guilt. So far as we view man as a sensuous 
 being, endowed with immediate impulses, we reduce him 
 to the level of the animals. On the other hand, if man's 
 will were absolutely evil, if he were not conscious of 
 himself as under obligation to obey the moral law, his 
 sole motive would be to act contrary to it. Man would 
 act on the principle of Milton's Satan : " Evil, be thou 
 my good " ; he would, in fact, be " neither more nor less 
 than a devil." Now, if the bias to evil does not lie in 
 the natural impulses, nor in the rational nature of man, 
 wherein can it lie ? It can only lie, Kant answers, in this, 
 that man subordinates moral law to happiness, instead of 
 subordinating happiness to moral law. Thus, though the 
 natural impulses are in themselves morally indifferent, they 
 become evil when they are made the motives of action. 
 The bias to evil is thus the tendency in man to disobey 
 the moral law, which his reason prescribes, by seeking 
 
284 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 for his own individual happiness, i.e., for the satisfaction 
 of all his immediate desires. Kant accepts the scriptural 
 doctrine that "there is none righteous, no not one," 
 but he does not admit that the tendency to evil can be 
 explained by referring it to any person but the agent 
 himself. Evil exists for each man only as he himself 
 wills evil. 
 
 But how are we to explain the fact that every man 
 exhibits this tendency to seek for happiness, instead of 
 making the moral law his sole motive? The tendency 
 undoubtedly exists in man prior to all definite acts of 
 will, and it seems natural to say that the individual must 
 have received the bias not by his own act, but from 
 some external source. This explanation, however, cannot 
 be accepted. If my evil bias comes from another, I am 
 not responsible for it; nothing can be attributed to me 
 but what I freely will. Kant gets over the difficulty in 
 his own peculiar way. Every volition that I exert pro- 
 ceeds from the very centre of my inner being, but I 
 cannot make that inner being an object of my know- 
 ledge. My volitions I must necessarily present to myself 
 as events in time, but in their true nature they are not 
 events in time. Hence a volition is not due to anything 
 but itself; it proceeds from the free activity of the 
 subject. When we do an evil act, we may say that we 
 fall out of the state of innocence into the state of guilt. 
 Every evil act is thus a new fall from innocence : the 
 fall of man is perpetually reenacted. We cannot shift 
 our responsibility for evil to the acts of any one prior 
 to ourselves, because each evil act may be described 
 as an uncaused act, *.*., as an act proceeding straight 
 from our own will. If, however, we ask, Why does man 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 285 
 
 will evil, and thus fall or rather plunge into evil? we can 
 find no answer : the origin of evil is inexplicable. The 
 Biblical narration seems to express this when it makes 
 temptation come from an evil spirit. This, however, 
 leaves unexplained how a being who is pure within 
 could be tempted from without, and we must therefore 
 interpret it to mean, not that man is really tempted by 
 an evil spirit, but that the fall from purity is unsearch- 
 able. We see, however, why it is unsearchable ; for to 
 comprehend the origin of evil we should have to con- 
 template the inner nature of man as free from the form 
 of time, and that is impossible from the necessary limita- 
 tion of our knowledge. 
 
 Similarly, when we read that sin is inherited from our 
 first parents, we must not interpret the statement literally. 
 Our first parents could not sin for us, but only for them- 
 selves. What we must understand is, that we recognize 
 that in his place we should have acted as the first man 
 is represented as acting. And if we cannot comprehend 
 how a free being should fall from innocence into evil, no 
 more can we comprehend how he can turn again from 
 evil to good. We need not, indeed, exclude the idea 
 that some "supernatural cooperation with our will may 
 be needed to remove hindrances, if not to give positive 
 help ; but if such cooperation be possible, we must first 
 make ourselves worthy of it," i.e., we must open our wills 
 to receive it by our own free action. To suppose that we 
 can be made good in any way but by good action, e.g., 
 that a supernatural influence can be got by doing nothing 
 but praying, "which, before an all-seeing Being, is nothing 
 but wishing," is mere superstition. 
 
 On these principles, we must say that man passes from 
 
286 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 evil to good, or from good to evil, in an instantaneous 
 act. Conversion is an instantaneous act in this sense, 
 that it implies an absolute change in the principle of the 
 will, a change which cannot be better expressed than by 
 calling it a new birth or even a new creation. Still we 
 can only realize this change by a progress from worse to 
 better; and only God, whose intelligence is not limited 
 by the form of time, can perceive as a complete whole 
 what for us is a succession. We can only have a relative 
 confidence in the change of principle within us, but as 
 we find our character grow in stability our confidence will 
 be also increased. 
 
 The Pauline doctrine of Redemption, like that of the 
 Fall, is reinterpreted by Kant in his own way. As he 
 denied that moral evil can be imputed to any one because 
 of the guilt of another, so he denies that any one can 
 become morally good by the imputation to him of the 
 righteousness of another. Adam's sin cannot become our 
 sin, nor Christ's goodness our goodness. Yet the Pauline 
 idea of redemption points to a truth. The Stoics supposed 
 that our moral warfare is with passion. The Apostle saw 
 that our "warfare is not with flesh and blood, but with 
 principalities and powers," i.e., with evil spirits. The spirit 
 of evil, however, is not external but internal ; it is a 
 principle of evil in the very nature of our own will. And 
 it can be combated only by another spiritual power, viz., 
 by a principle of good. Yet, though evil and good spring 
 from the individual man himself, the principle of good is 
 by St. Paul personified in a way that corresponds to the 
 truth. We never know our own nature as it is behind 
 the veil. We speak of that as an event, which is indeed 
 the source of all events in the way of volition, but which 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 287 
 
 in its real nature cannot be called an event at all. Thus 
 the root of all moral evil and good lies hidden in the 
 inner nature of man, though it exhibits itself in a long 
 series of acts. The principle of good being in us, and 
 yet not being produced by ourselves, it may properly be 
 said that it has come down from heaven and taken our 
 nature that it may elevate us, who are by nature evil. 
 Hence it is that we must speak of the willing of good 
 as done for us by another, by one who has realized the 
 ideal of humanity; for God cannot love the world except 
 as ideally realized in the complete moral perfection of 
 humanity. Kant, in short, holds that the righteousness of 
 Christ is imputed to us only in the sense that God takes 
 our imperfect goodness (as springing from the eternal 
 principle of goodness in us) as equivalent to perfect 
 goodness. For though man in this life can only approxi- 
 mate to goodness, yet, if the principle of goodness is at 
 work in him, it will ultimately purge his nature of all 
 evil. Thus, in so far as we are conscious of continued 
 purity of will, we may have a foretaste of the joy which 
 must spring from an unalterable will for the good. "This 
 joy we may fitly represent as an eternal bliss of heaven, 
 secured to us through unity with our divinely human 
 Lord; while its opposite sorrow will appear to us as an 
 endless hell, through identification with the spirit of evil." 
 What, then, is to be said of our past guilt ? How can 
 there be atonement for it? Our present obedience is 
 imperfect, and, even if it were perfect, it could not atone 
 for the past. In willing evil in the past we have, it would 
 seem, taken the principle of evil into our inmost being, 
 and therefore merited infinite punishment. To atone for 
 our past guilt, it may appear that at the moment when 
 
288 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 our will proceeds from the principle of evil to the principle 
 of good, we ought to bear an infinite punishment. Kant 
 meets this difficulty by saying that the change from the 
 corrupt to the good man already involves the sacrifice of 
 self and the acceptance of a long series of the evils of 
 life, merely for the sake of the good. 
 
 Kant's subjective view of morality prevents him from 
 doing justice to the truth contained in the Pauline 
 doctrine of the Fall. In St. Paul's conception man is 
 not a separate individual whose inner life is incapable of 
 being influenced by others. On the contrary, he conceives 
 of all men as members of one great organism, so that the 
 evil or good of one communicates itself to all the rest. 
 The sin of Adam passes on from generation to generation, 
 and works increasing woe to man j and the Law, while 
 it makes men conscious of the evil power which has taken 
 hold of them, does not enable them to throw it off. On 
 the other hand, Christ is the source of a new regenerative 
 principle, fitted to restore the whole of humanity to more 
 than its original purity. Viewing this new principle as 
 having already realized what it is fitted to realize, St. Paul 
 says that as in Adam all die, so in Christ all are again 
 made alive. 
 
 Kant, again, denies that either nature, or man, or even 
 God can directly hinder us in our willing of the moral 
 law. He will have no interference with the self-deter- 
 mination of each individual subject. Now, the subject 
 so isolated he conceives of as having no motive but the 
 law of reason, or, in other words, as containing within 
 himself only the principle of good. If so, the willing 
 of evil is not only, as he says, "mysterious," but it 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 289 
 
 is a manifest impossibility. For the subject to will evil, 
 he must cease to be what he is. But Kant had too 
 clear an eye for facts to deny that man wills evil, 
 and therefore he goes on to say that man may will evil 
 in so far as he subordinates reason to passion. The 
 moral recovery of man is not, as the Stoics held, a 
 negation of passion, but its subordination to the moral 
 law. Hence evil must, he says, consist in a perversion 
 of the proper relations between reason and desire : it 
 cannot lie either in the natural desires, which in them- 
 selves are neither good nor evil, or in the corruption of 
 reason, which is impossible. But this opposition is false. 
 (a) The desires of man are good or evil according to 
 their object ; (b) reason does not demand the realization 
 of an abstract good, but of a definite good. The moral 
 perversion of man is not to be explained as a war 
 between two separate principles, but as a conflict in 
 the nature of man himself as capable of willing par- 
 ticular or universal ends. The conflict can only come 
 to an end when the consciousness of an abstract law 
 of goodness is transmuted into the consciousness of 
 social relations. 
 
 Kant, however, has made a step in advance of the 
 Stoics. The Stoics also held morality to be a life 
 according to reason, i.e., a life in which man is in 
 no way under the dominion of passion. But they go 
 further than Kant in maintaining that the moral life 
 consists in the absolute extinction of all the natural 
 desires. The passions, they say, are "unnatural," i.e., 
 they are in absolute contradiction to the rational nature 
 of man. Hence man can only be himself if he expels 
 all the natural desires, and so comes to "harmony'' 
 
290 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 with himself. This doctrine makes the passions some- 
 thing so foreign to the nature of man that the difficulty 
 is to explain how man should ever be under the influence 
 of passion at all. If man is by nature pure reason, how 
 does he come to give way to passion ? Are we not com- 
 pelled to hold that he cannot be pure reason, or, in other 
 words, that passion is his self-surrender to evil? The 
 Stoics, however, simply assume that as a matter of fact 
 natural desire has an influence upon man, and, affirming 
 the passionless life of reason to be the true life, they say 
 that passion must be extruded as a foreign element. 
 Kant, on the other hand, makes an attempt to explain 
 how passion comes into the will of man. Man is by 
 nature a composite being, having both reason and desire. 
 Evil is not the mere determination by desire, but a 
 determination by the will that places desire above reason. 
 The moral recovery of man is therefore not the annihila- 
 tion of desire, but its subordination to reason. This is 
 the compromise by which Kant seeks to harmonize desire 
 and reason. The desire for happiness is reasonable, but 
 not the desire for happiness at the expense of morality ; 
 and in the elevation of happiness over morality he finds 
 the explanation of evil. 
 
 If we carry out to its consequences the view of Kant 
 that man is by nature at once rational and sensuous, we 
 shall have to transform his doctrine. If the moral end 
 is to bring desire into conformity with reason, we cannot 
 hold that desire is the abstract opposite of reason. There 
 can be no truce between irreconcilable enemies. The 
 true realization of self must be a realization in which the 
 sensuous and the rational aspects of man's life are in 
 harmony with each other. The desires of man are not 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 29 1 
 
 impulses, but desires for particular objects which only 
 differ from the universal end of reason in being particular 
 modes in which that end is sought to be realized. The 
 moral division in man's nature does not arise from the 
 conflict of two opposite principles, but from a false ap- 
 plication of the one principle of self-determination. It is 
 the same self that is present in what is called the life of 
 sense and the life of reason. Even a wrong desire is 
 possible only to a being who in his desires is seeking a 
 universal good, a good that will bring harmony to his 
 ideal nature. 
 
 The great imperfection of Kant's view of the moral 
 life lies in its strong individualism. The moral law he 
 conceives as so absolutely a law of our own being that 
 we can be aided in our moral life neither by God nor 
 man. This view is an exaggeration of the principle of 
 individual liberty, which was the watch-word of the Re- 
 formation. Luther insisted upon the absoluteness of the 
 individual conscience, but he maintained that before God 
 the individual has no freedom. The enlightenment of the 
 eighteenth century denied even this reservation, and thus 
 the individual was left alone with himself. Kant accepted 
 the principle of individualism, but he maintained that the 
 individual is truly himself only as he prescribes for him- 
 self a universal lav/ — the law of his own being. The 
 individual is influenced by others only on the side of his 
 sensuous desires, and even that influence is possible only 
 as his will gives assent to them. In opposition to this 
 view, we must say that the law which man prescribes to 
 himself presupposes objective ends in which the indivi- 
 dual may realize himself. It is true that we cannot be 
 satisfied, in the realization of any particular end, with the 
 
292 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 satisfaction of a particular desire ; but this dissatisfaction 
 arises only from the consciousness that in willing a 
 particular end we have not realized the self. This opposi- 
 tion, however, is transcended when the true meaning 
 of the particular desires is apprehended; for then we 
 find that the particular end may be willed as identical 
 with the universal or good. It is this identification of 
 desire with good that constitutes morality. All particular 
 objects of desire become good in so far as they are 
 the specific forms in which universal good is realized. 
 From this it follows that the moral law is primarily 
 social. Our consciousness of ourselves as moral and 
 spiritual beings is made possible only by our con- 
 sciousness of other selves. The outer law which binds 
 the different members of society together is really an 
 inner law. Man can rise above his immediate desires, 
 just because he can rise above the point of view of his 
 own individual life and live in the life of others. At 
 first, indeed, the law of society appears as an external 
 law based upon authority, and when man comes to the 
 consciousness of law as the inner law of his own being, 
 it is only natural that he should oppose this inner law 
 to the outer law of society. But in reality it is both 
 inner and outer, the law of his own being, and a social 
 law which binds him to others. The important thing is, 
 that he should submit to the law of society, not because 
 society imposes the law, but because he consciously 
 recognizes it to be identical with the realization of 
 himself. 
 
 The nearest approximation of Kant to the view that 
 man's moral life is essentially social, is contained in 
 his conception of an invisible ethical community. This 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 293 
 
 community, as he holds, rests upon the idea of the 
 moral law as realizable because it ought to be realized ; 
 and therefore it seeks to remove the hindrances which 
 prevent men from living the moral life. Until such a 
 community is established, all men are in an ethical 
 state of nature, in which they hinder on all sides the 
 moral advancement of the race. The great power of 
 evil in the world is the envious rivalry of men. In 
 society they corrupt each other, and become each other's 
 worst enemies. They ought, therefore, to combine on 
 the basis of a common submission to the moral law. 
 In this community force cannot be employed, because 
 moral freedom is inconsistent with it. This community 
 can only be imperfectly represented by any outward 
 institution. The nearest approach to it is in the growth 
 of the consciousness of the importance of morality. 
 
 This conception of an ethical community is not con- 
 sistent with the general principles of Kant. As we 
 have seen, his principles led him to deny that the 
 individual can further the moral life of others. But he 
 so far modifies this view as to say, that men may put 
 temptations in the way of others, and hence that they 
 may combine to remove hindrances to the moral life. 
 In this doctrine Kant is virtually preparing the way for 
 the idea that true freedom is realized in and through 
 social relations. Man is rational, not because he lives 
 an inner life with which no one can interfere, but 
 because no influence upon him is purely external. The 
 influence of others does not really interfere with the 
 freedom of the individual, because such influence becomes 
 a motive only as it is passed through the transmuting 
 medium of self-consciousness. Thus the influence of 
 
294 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 others may be good or bad, not because it forces the 
 individual to act in a certain way, but because the ideal 
 of self cannot be realized by the individual apart, but 
 only through the development of the ideal in society. 
 Kant's fundamental mistake is to view the natural 
 desires as belonging to the individual sensibility which 
 may be acted upon from without. Every natural desire 
 being, on his view, a susceptibility of the individual 
 to be affected by what is external to him, he assumes 
 that to speak of the influence of society is the same 
 thing as to speak of the influence of natural desire 
 as understood in this unspiritual way. 
 
 It is only another form of the same imperfection that 
 Kant allows of no distinction between morality and religion. 
 Morality is a purely individual matter, and therefore man 
 cannot be aided in his moral life by God any more 
 than by others, or at least only by God, in so far as he 
 himself wills the law of his own reason. Now, if we 
 thus conceive of God as necessarily withdrawn from the 
 inner life of man, we fall back upon a self-determination 
 which is purely individual. The moral law thus becomes 
 a law only for the individual. Man cannot, indeed, being 
 what he is, rid himself of its authority; but, after all, the 
 goal of his efforts may be only the realization of an ideal 
 that does not harmonize with the true nature of things. 
 What he supposes to be moral progress may, from the 
 point of view of God, be moral retrogression. Thus that 
 which constitutes the essential feature in the religious 
 consciousness is lost, or at least becomes problematic. 
 The essence of the religious consciousness is the assurance 
 that in realizing the higher life man is a fellow-worker 
 with God, and that in so realizing himself all things work 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 295 
 
 together for good. If man cannot identify himself with 
 God all his strivings are vain efforts to escape from the 
 prison-house of his own limited individuality. If he can- 
 not know God he can know nothing, because all his 
 apparent knowledge must be infected with the illusion 
 of his finitude; if he cannot identify his will with the 
 will of God, his goodness is from the absolute point 
 of view a mere semblance. Hence the consciousness of 
 the moral law cannot be separated from the conscious- 
 ness of God without losing its power and authority. 
 What gives absoluteness both to the individual conscience 
 and to the laws of society is the identity of both with 
 the infinite perfection of God. It is true that neither 
 involves a complete consciousness of all that is implicit 
 in that perfection j but, except in so far as man is 
 conscious that in himself and others the divine is con- 
 tinually being realized, he has no ground for his faith 
 in goodness. Ultimately, therefore, morality rests upon 
 religion. 
 
 ART. 
 
 The higher consciousness of man expresses itself not 
 only in Religion but in Art. What in the one takes 
 the form of a personal experience, lifting the individual 
 above the flux of the transitory and reconciling him to 
 himself and to the world, takes in the other the form of 
 an objective presentation of the ideal nature of existence 
 in one or more of its manifold phases. To deal with so 
 important and complex a subject as the Philosophy of 
 Art in anything like an adequate way would require much 
 time and care, and we must be content at present with 
 a short statement and criticism of the aesthetic theory of 
 
296 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 Kant, who, in this as in other branches of philosophy, 
 was the first philosopher of modern times who attempted 
 to treat the subject in a comprehensive way. His doctrine 
 is open to grave objections, but it is full of fertile sugges- 
 tion, and is a distinct advance upon the superficial or 
 inadequate theories of his predecessors. 
 
 There are, in Kant's view, two objects of Art, the 
 beautiful and the sublime. Beauty is not, as is usually 
 supposed, a quality of the object, but a peculiar feeling 
 of satisfaction which arises in us in the mere contempla- 
 tion of the object. Our aesthetic judgments are therefore 
 entirely independent of practical utility : a flower, for 
 example, will be pronounced beautiful, quite irrespective 
 of its market value. The feeling of satisfaction awakened 
 in us by a beautiful object is quite unique, and must not 
 be confused either with the feeling of pleasure associated 
 with the satisfaction of desire — say, the desire for a fine 
 wine — or with the feeling which is connected with the 
 willing of a good act. For in both of these cases our 
 satisfaction springs from interest in the object as related 
 to ourselves, whereas the feeling of beauty is entirely 
 disinterested, arising as it does from the bare contemplation 
 of the object called beautiful, and in fact it is the only 
 free and disinterested feeling of which man is capable. 
 It follows from this that, as the feeling of beauty is not 
 determined by the peculiar sensuous susceptibility of the 
 individual, we have no hesitation in affirming that all men 
 must find beautiful the object which awakens in us a 
 disinterested feeling of satisfaction. How, then, are we 
 to explain these peculiarities of our aesthetic judgments? 
 — for manifestly a judgment which rests upon feeling, and 
 yet is universal and necessary, urgently demands explana- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 297 
 
 tion. Kant's answer is, that the secret does not lie in 
 the object as such, but in the fact that in contemplating 
 it the subject is conscious of an immediate harmony in 
 the relation of his faculties of knowledge. His intellect 
 and his perception perfectly correspond, and therefore 
 he naturally feels pleasure so long as he remains in the 
 aesthetic mood. Such pleasure is very different from the 
 satisfaction which accompanies the resolute willing of 
 what is binding upon him by the law of his reason. 
 The feeling of beauty comes without effort the moment 
 we contemplate the beautiful object disinterestedly, and it 
 therefore gives us a sort of prophecy of that union of reason 
 and sense which no effort of ours can actually realize. 
 
 Besides the beautiful we frame aesthetic judgments in 
 regard to the sublime. These judgments agree in their 
 main characteristics with those in regard to beauty, but 
 there are important differences. For one thing, the feeling 
 of sublimity arises in us even when the object as perceived 
 has no definite limits, though it is always conceived as 
 a whole. The feelings themselves are also different in 
 kind, for, whereas the feeling of beauty is direct, the 
 feeling of sublimity involves a momentary check to the 
 vital forces, followed immediately by their more vigorous 
 outflow. The mind is at once attracted and repelled, 
 and the accompanying pleasure is therefore negative rather 
 than positive : it is in fact due to the disharmony between 
 the object perceived and an ideal object existing only 
 for thought. Strictly speaking, therefore, there is no 
 sublimity in nature, but only in ourselves, and in our- 
 selves as rational beings. 
 
 The sublime has two forms, which may be distinguished 
 as the mathematical and the dynamical. In the first 
 
298 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 place, the feeling of sublimity may be called out by 
 that which is too great in magnitude to be pictured by 
 the imagination. Such an object is the immensity of 
 the starry heavens. Here we have the conception of an 
 absolute whole, while yet the imagination utterly fails 
 to give a complete picture of it. We may imagine 
 world on world, and system stretching into system, but 
 by all our efforts we cannot attain to that completeness 
 of view which is contained in our idea of the whole 
 material universe. It is this inability to give form to our 
 thought which gives rise to the feeling of the sublime. 
 The very failure of imagination awakens in us the con- 
 sciousness of a power within ourselves far transcending 
 sense and imagination. " Thus the feeling of the sublime 
 in nature is a kind of reverence for our own character 
 as rational beings which we transfer to an object of 
 nature." 
 
 In the second place, we have the feeling of sublimity 
 in the presence of the forces of nature. We are aware 
 of their greatness, and yet we feel that they cannot over- 
 power us. That force we call great which we cannot 
 resist; yet we may be conscious of our powerlessness 
 without being afraid. " The virtuous man fears God, 
 but is not afraid of Him " ; for he knows that if he desired 
 to disobey His commands he would have reason to fear. 
 So we may be conscious that as physical beings we are 
 impotent to resist the tremendous forces of nature, while 
 yet, there is in us a power that nature cannot overcome. 
 The true sublime is therefore within us. The natural 
 man quakes at the storm or the earthquake : the moral 
 man is raised above fear by the consciousness of moral 
 harmony with the will of God. The feeling of the sub- 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 299 
 
 lime is less common than the feeling of beauty. It 
 implies considerable culture, and hence the rude and 
 undeveloped find the forces of nature simply terrible. 
 From its very nature the feeling of the sublime is a 
 more direct aid to the moral life of man than the feeling 
 of the beautiful ; for it arises in the contrast of the 
 inner to the outer, and therefore it prepares the way 
 for the higher moral interest. Hence the Jewish religion, 
 which was preeminently the religion of sublimity, was 
 also the religion in which moral ideas were most power- 
 ful. 
 
 Turning to the artistic representation of the beautiful, 
 we have to remark that beauty excludes the idea of de- 
 finite purpose. The products of art must appear as free 
 from conscious design as if they were products of nature. 
 The beautiful cannot be produced according to rule; it 
 must proceed fresh from the hands of genius. In this 
 gift of genius the true artist is distinguished from his 
 imitators. He gives expression to aesthetic ideas, i.e., 
 ideas of imagination which give occasion for much 
 thought, but to which no definite conception is adequate. 
 Such ideas are the counterpart of the ideas of reason, 
 to which no perception of sense can be adequate. The 
 productive imagination creates out of the world we know 
 a new world, which is constructed on principles that 
 occupy a higher place in our reason. Its products 
 may well be called ideas, because they arise from 
 the effort after something lying beyond the limits of 
 experience, and give an approximate presentation of 
 the ideas of reason; and because no conception of the 
 understanding can be quite adequate to them. " The 
 poet ventures to give sensuous realization to invisible 
 
300 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 things, the realm of the blessed, heaven, hell, eternity, 
 creation ; or, if he represents that which is exemplified 
 in experience, as, e.g., death, envy, love of fame, yet, 
 imitating by imagination the boundlessness of reason, he 
 seeks to give them a complete sensuous realization for 
 which nature furnishes no parallel." 
 
 As art presents the idea of the supersensible in sen- 
 suous form, its products are a symbol of moral ideas. 
 A symbol is an image which does not adequately present 
 the idea of reason, but only suggests it. The beautiful 
 is the symbol of the morally good, and hence it makes 
 possible the transition from the allurements of sense to 
 a habitual interest in goodness. " When we find a 
 man interested in the beauty of nature, we have reason 
 to believe that there is in him at least a basis for a 
 good moral character." 
 
 The great value of Kant's conception of beauty lies 
 in the accuracy with which he has noted the seemingly 
 self-contradictory elements contained in our aesthetic judg- 
 ments. He is still, it is true, perplexed by his imperfect 
 analysis of human feeling, as apparently fluctuating and 
 uncertain, but he insists, and rightly insists, that beauty 
 is not "subjective" in the sense of having no basis but 
 the changing states of the sensitive individual. Thus he 
 breaks once for all with that shallow hedonistic aesthetics 
 which had in England its representatives in such writers 
 as Burke and Alison. On the other hand, Kant refuses 
 to accept the doctrine of Baumgarten, itself a distorted 
 application of the philosophy of Leibnitz, that our aesthetic 
 judgments rest upon "a confused conception of perfection," 
 seeing clearly that, except by a liberal interpretation of its 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF THE ABSOLUTE. 30 1 
 
 spirit, this doctrine must lead to the final extinction of 
 art as but an imperfect and preparatory stage of abstract 
 science. Kant has therefore to reconcile, as best he may, 
 the two aspects of beauty which are essential to its very 
 nature; and hence he affirms with equal emphasis (i) that 
 it rests upon feeling, and (2) that it involves thought. 
 Thus he is led to say that our aesthetic judgments pro- 
 ceed from a disinterested pleasure in the contemplation 
 of beautiful objects, and that they are universal and 
 necessary, while yet no definite conception can be 
 adduced in support of their claim to universality and 
 necessity. He therefore falls back upon the doctrine, 
 that the peculiar character of such judgments can be ex- 
 plained only on the supposition that the consciousness 
 of beauty arises from the harmony with each other of 
 imagination and understanding, and that their universality 
 is due to the identity of all men in these faculties and 
 their consequent agreement in the experience of aesthetic 
 pleasure in the presence of an object which brings their 
 knowing faculties into harmony with each other. 
 
 Now, if Kant is right, as he certainly is, in saying that 
 in the consciousness of beauty the subject is in harmony 
 with himself, he is not entitled to retain that opposition 
 of the consciousness of self and the consciousness of the 
 object which haunts him like a spectre through the whole 
 of his speculations. Beauty is either a pure illusion, 
 having no foundation in the nature of things, or our 
 aesthetic judgments are "objective" in the most absolute 
 sense. The feeling of harmony with himself which man 
 experiences in the contemplation of beauty must be 
 regarded as the other side of the harmony which under- 
 lies the world as it really is. It is only because Kant is 
 
302 COMTE, MILL, AND SPENCER. 
 
 not able to get rid of the conviction that nothing can be 
 known^ in the strict sense of that term, which cannot be 
 compressed within the framework of the " scientific " 
 categories of thought, that he still speaks of our aesthetic 
 judgments as if they required an apology because they 
 do not rest upon "definite" conceptions. In point of 
 fact, what Kant calls the " indefiniteness " of the concep- 
 tions involved in such judgments is really their compre- 
 hensiveness. It is just the infinity of the beautiful object, 
 i.e., its power of revealing the whole in the part, that 
 gives rise to the peace and harmony of the whole man, 
 and lifts him above the allurements of sense and the 
 strenuous effort of the struggle after goodness. The only 
 sense in which beauty can be called "subjective" is this: 
 that the divine meaning of the world is revealed through 
 it, but is not completely realized in it. This, however, 
 merely shows that the concrete realization of the idea of 
 the whole, which is the differentia of beauty, still leaves 
 room for that reflective grasp of existence which it is the 
 function of philosophy to supply. 
 
 Glasgow: printed at the university press by robert maclehose. 
 
WORKS BY PROFESSOR WATSON. 
 
 KANT AND HIS ENGLISH CRITICS. A Comparison 
 of Critical and Empirical Philosophy. 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 "Decidedly the best exposition of Kant which we have seen in English. 
 We cannot too strongly commend it." — Saturday Review. 
 
 " C'est l'ceuvre d'un penseur et d'un maitre. . . . Nous avons lu 
 le livre de M. Watson avec un vif inte>6t et une grande sympathie." — 
 Revue Philosophique. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KANT, as contained in 
 Extracts from his own Writings. Selected and 
 Translated by John Watson, LL.D., Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy in the University of Queen's College, Kingston, 
 Canada. New Edition. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
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