First Principles
by Herbert Spencer
1862

Part I



The Unknowable




Chapter 1




Religion and Science




§1. We too often forget that not only is there "a soul of goodness
in things evil," but very generally also, a soul of truth in things
erroneous. While many admit the abstract probability that a falsity has usually
a nucleus of verity, few bear this abstract probability in mind, when passing
judgment on the options of others. A belief that is proved to be grossly
at variance with fact, is cast aside with indignation or contempt; and in
the heat of antagonism scarcely any one inquires what there was in this belief
which commended it to men's minds. Yet there must have been something. And
there is reason to suspect that this something was its correspondence with
certain of their experiences: an extremely limited or vague correspondence
perhaps, but still, a correspondence. Even the absurdest report may in nearly
every instance be traced to an actual occurrence; and had there been no such
actual occurrence, this preposterous misrepresentation of it would never
have existed. Though the distorted or magnified image transmitted to us through
the refracting medium of rumour, is utterly unlike the reality; yet in the
absence of the reality there would have been no distorted or magnified image.
And thus it is with human beliefs in general. Entirely wrong as they may
appear, the implication is that they originally contained, and perhaps still
contain, some small amount of truth.




Definite views on this matter would be very useful to us. It is important
that we should form something like a general theory of current options, so
that we may neither over-estimate nor under-estimate their worth. Arriving
at correct judgments on disputed questions, much depends on the mental attitude
preserved while listening to, or taking part in, the controversies; and for
the preservation of a right attitude, it is needful that we should learn
how true, and yet how untrue, are average human beliefs. On the one hand,
we must keep free from that bias in favour of received ideas which expresses
itself in such dogmas as "What every one says must be true," or
"The voice of the people is the voice of God." On the other hand,
the fact disclosed by a survey of the past that majorities have usually been
wrong, must not blind us to the complementary fact that majorities have usually
not been entirely wrong. And the avoidance of these extremes being a pre-requisite
to catholic thinking, we shall do well to provide ourselves with a safeguard
against them, by making a valuation of opinions in the abstract. To this
end we must contemplate the kind of relation that ordinarily subsists between
opinions and facts. Let us do so with one of those beliefs which under various
forms has prevailed among all nations in all times.




§2. Early traditions represent rulers as gods or demigods. By their
subjects, primitive kings were regarded as superhuman in origin and superhuman
in power. They possessed divine titles, received obeisances like those made
before the altars of deities, and were in some cases actually worshipped.
Of course along with the implied beliefs there existed a belief in the unlimited
power of the ruler over his subjects, extending even to the taking of their
lives at will; as until recently in Fiji, where a victim stood unbound to
be killed at the word of his chief himself declaring, "whatever the
king says must be done."




In other times and among other races, we find these beliefs a little modified.
The monarch, instead of being thought god or demigod, is conceived to be
a man having divine authority, with perhaps more or less of divine nature.
He retains, however, titles expressing his heavenly descent or relationships,
and is still saluted in forms and words as humble as those addressed to the
Deity. While in some places the lives and properties of his people, if not
so completely at his mercy, are still in theory supposed to be his.




Later in the progress of civilization, as during the middle ages in Europe,
the current opinions respecting the relationship of rulers and ruled are
further changed. For the theory of divine origin there is substituted that
of divine right. No longer god or demigod, or even god-descended, the king
is now regarded simply as God's vicegerent. The obeisances made to him are
not so extreme in their humility; and his sacred titles lose much of their
meaning. Moreover his authority ceases to be unlimited. Subjects deny his
right to dispose at will of their lives and properties, and yield allegiance
only in the shape of obedience to his commands.




With advancing political option has come still greater restriction of
monarchical power. Belief in the supernatural character of the ruler, long
ago repudiated by ourselves for example, has left behind it nothing more
than the popular tendency to ascribe unusual goodness, wisdom, and beauty
to the monarch. Loyalty, which originally meant implicit submission to the
king's will, now means a merely nominal profession of subordination, and
the fulfilment of certain forms of respect. By deposing some and putting
others in their places, we have not only denied the divine rights of certain
men to rule, but we have denied that they have any rights beyond those originating
in the assent of the nation. Though our forms of speech and our State-documents
still assert the subjection of the citizens to the ruler, our actual beliefs
and our daily proceedings implicitly assert the contrary. We have entirely
divested the monarch of legislative power, and should immediately rebel against
his or her dictation even in matters of small concern.




Nor has the rejection of primitive political beliefs resulted only in
transferring the power of a autocrat to a representative body. The views
held respecting governments in general, of whatever form, are now widely
different from those once held. Whether popular or despotic, governments
in ancient times were supposed to have unlimited authority over their subjects.
Individuals existed for the benefit of the State; not the State for the benefit
of individuals. In our days, however, not only has the national will been
in many cases substituted for the will of the king, but the exercise of this
national will has been restricted. In England, for instance, though there
has been established no definite doctrine respecting the bounds to governmental
action, yet, in practice, sundry bounds to it are tacitly recognized by all.
There is no organic law declaring that a legislature may not freely dispose
of citizens' lives, as kings did of old, but were it possible for our legislature
to attempt such a thing, its own destruction would be the consequence, rather
than the destruction of citizens. How fully we have established the personal
liberties of the subject against the invasions of State-power, would be quickly
shown were it proposed by Act of Parliament to take possession of the nation,
or of any class, and turn its services to public ends, as the services of
the people were turned by Egyptian kings. Not only in our day have the claims
of the citizen to life, liberty, and property been thus made good against
the State, but sundry minor claims likewise. Ages ago laws regulating dress
and mode of living fell into disuse, and any attempt to revive them would
prove that such matters now lie beyond the sphere of legal control. For some
centuries we asserted in practice, and have now established in theory, the
right of every man to choose his own religious beliefs, instead of receiving
State-authorized beliefs. Within the last few generations complete liberty
of speech has been gained, in spite of all legislative attempts to suppress
or limit it. And still more recently we have obtained under a few exceptional
restrictions, freedom to trade with whomsoever we please. Thus our political
beliefs are widely different from ancient ones, not only as to the proper
depositary of power to be exercised over a nation, but also as to the extent
of that power.




Nor even here has the change ended. Besides the average opinions just
described as current among ourselves, there exists a less widely-diffused
opinion going still further in the same direction. There are to be found
men who contend that the sphere of government should be narrowed even more
than it is in England. They hold that the freedom of the individual, limited
only by the like freedom of other individuals, is sacred. They assert that
the sole function of the State is the protection of persons against one another,
and against a foreign foe; and they believe that the ultimate political condition
must be one in which personal freedom is the greatest possible and governmental
power the least possible.




Thus in different times and places we find, conceding the origin, authority,
and functions of government, a great variety of opinions. What now must be
said about the truth or falsity of these opinions? Must we say that some
one is wholly right and all the rest wholly wrong; or must we say that each
of them contains truth more or less disguised by errors? The latter alternative
is the one which analysis will force upon us. Every one of these doctrines
has for its vital element the recognition of an unquestionable fact. Directly
or by implication, each insists on a certain subordination of individual
actions to social dictates. There are differences respecting the power to
which this subordination is due; there are differences respecting the motive
for this subordination; there are differences respecting its extent; but
that there must be some subordination all are agreed. The most submissive
and the most recalcitrant alike hold that there are limits which individual
actions may not transgress -- limits which the one regards as originating
in a ruler's will, and which the other regards as deducible from the equal
claims of fellow-citizens.




It may doubtless be said that we here reach a very unimportant conclusion.
The question, however, is not the value or novelty of the particular truth
in this case arrived at. My aim has been to exhibit the more general truth,
that between the most diverse beliefs there is usually something in common,
-- something taken for granted in each; and that this something, if not to
be set down as an unquestionable verity, may yet be considered to have the
highest degree of probability. A postulate which, like the one above instanced,
is not consciously asserted but unconsciously involved, and which is unconsciously
involved not by one man or body of men, but by numerous bodies of men who
diverge in countless ways and degrees in the rest of their beliefs, has a
warrant far transcending any that can be usually shown.




Do we not thus arrive at a generalization which may habitually guide us
when seeking for the soul of truth in things erroneous? While the foregoing
illustration brings home the fact that in opinions seeming to be absolutely
wrong something right is yet to be found, it also indicates a way of finding
the something right. This way is to compare all opinions of the same genus;
to set aside as more or less discrediting one another those special and concrete
elements in which such opinions disagree; to observe what remains after these
have been eliminated; and to find for the remaining constituent that expression
which holds true throughout its various disguises.




§3. A consistent adoption of the method indicated will greatly aid
us in dealing with chronic antagonisms of belief. By applying it not only
to ideas with which we are unconcerned, but also to our own ideas and those
of our opponents, we shall be enabled to form more correct judgments. We
shall be led to suspect that our convictions are not wholly right, and that
the adverse convictions are not wholly wrong. On the one hand, we shall not,
in common with the great mass of the unthinking, let our creed be determined
by the mere accident of birth in a particular age on a particular part of
the Earth's surface, while, on the other hand, we shall be saved from that
error of entire and contemptuous negation, fallen into by most who take up
an attitude of independent criticism.




Of all antagonisms of belief the oldest, the widest, the most profound,
and the most important, is that between Religion and Science. It commenced
when recognition of the commonest uniformities in surrounding things, set
a limit to all-pervading superstitions. It shows itself everywhere throughout
the domain of human knowledge; affecting men's interpretations alike of the
simplest mechanical accidents and the most complex events in the histories
of nations. It has its roots deep down in the diverse habits of thought of
different orders of minds. And the conflicting conceptions of Nature and
Life which these diverse habits of thought severally generate, influence
for good or ill the tone of feeling and the daily conduct.




A battle of opinion like this which has been carried on for ages under
the banners of Religion and Science, has generated an animosity fatal to
a just estimate of either party by the other. Happily the times display an
increasing catholicity of feeling, which we shall do well to carry as far
as our natures permit. In proportion as we love truth more and victory less,
we shall become anxious to know what it is which leads our opponents to think
as they do. We shall begin to suspect that the pertinacity of belief exhibited
by them must result from a perception of something we have not perceived.
And we shall aim to supplement the portion of truth we have found with the
portion found by them. Making a rational estimate of human authority, we
shall avoid alike the extremes of undue submission and undue rebellion --
shall not regard some men's judgments as wholly good and others as wholly
bad; but shall, contrariwise, lean to the more defensible position that none
are completely right and none are completely wrong. Preserving, as far as
may be, this impartial attitude, let us then contemplate the two sides of
this great controversy. Keeping guard against the bias of education and shutting
out the whisperings of sectarian feeling, let us consider what are the a
priori probabilities in favour of each party.




§4. The general principle above illustrated must lead us to anticipate
that the diverse forms of religious belief which have existed and which still
exist, have all a basis in some ultimate fact. Judging by analogy the implication
is, not that any one of them is altogether right, but that in each there
is something right more or less disguised by other things wrong. It may be
that the soul of truth contained in erroneous creeds is extremely unlike
most, if not all, of its several embodiments; and indeed if, as we have good
reason to assume, it is much more abstract than any of them, its unlikeness
necessarily follows. But some essential verity must be looked for. To suppose
that these multiform conceptions should be one and all absolutely groundless,
discredits too profoundly that average human intelligence from which all
our individual intelligences are inherited.




To the presumption that a number of diverse beliefs of the same class
have some common foundation in fact, must in this case be added a further
presumption derived from the omnipresence of the beliefs. Religious ideas
of one kind or other are almost universal. Grant that among all men who have
passed a certain stage of intellectual development there are found vague
notions concerning the origin and hidden nature of surrounding things, and
there arises the inference that such notions are necessarily products of
progressing intelligence. Their endless variety serves but to strengthen
this conclusion: showing as it does a more or less independent genesis --
showing how, in different places and times like conditions have led to similar
trains of thought, ending in analogous results. A candid examination of the
evidence quite negatives the supposition that creeds are priestly inventions.
Even as a mere question of probabilities it cannot rationally be concluded
that in every society, savage and civilized, certain men have combined to
delude the rest in ways so analogous. Moreover, the hypothesis of artificial
origin fails to account for the facts. It does not explain why under all
changes of form, certain elements of religious belief remain constant. It
does not show how it happens that while adverse criticism has from age to
age gone on destroying particular theological dogmas, it has not destroyed
the fundamental conception underlying those dogmas. Thus the universality
of religious ideas, their independent evolution among different primitive
races, and their great vitality unite in showing that their source must be
deep-seated. In other words, we are obliged to admit that if not supernaturally
derived as the majority contend, they must be derived out of human experiences,
slowly accumulated and organized.




Should it be asserted that religious ideas are products of the religious
sentiment which, to satisfy itself, prompts imaginations that it afterwards
projects into the external world, and by-and-by mistakes for realities, the
problem is not solved, but only removed farther back. Whence comes the sentiment?
That it is a constituent in man's nature is implied by the hypothesis, and
cannot indeed be denied by those who prefer other hypotheses. And if the
religious sentiment, displayed constantly by the majority of mankind, and
occasionally aroused even in those seemingly devoid of it, must be classed
among human emotions, we cannot rationally ignore it. Here is an attribute
which has played a conspicuous part throughout the entire past as far back
as history records, and is at present the life of numerous institutions,
the stimulus to perpetual controversies, and the prompter of countless daily
actions. Evidently as a question in philosophy we are called on to say what
this attribute means; and we cannot decline the task without confessing our
philosophy to be incompetent.




Two suppositions only are open to us; the one that the feeling which responds
to religious ideas resulted, along with all other human faculties, from an
act of special creation; the other that it, in common with the rest, arose
by a process of evolution. If we adopt the first of these alternatives, universally
accepted by our ancestors and by the immense majority of our contemporaries,
the matter is at once settled: man is directly endowed with the religious
feeling by a creator; and to that creator it designedly responds. If we adopt
the second alternative, then we are met by the questions -- What are the
circumstances to which the genesis of the religious feeling is due? and --
What is its office? Considering, as we must on this supposition, all faculties
to be results of accumulated modifications caused by the intercourse of the
organism with its environment, we are obliged to admit that there exist in
the environment certain phenomena or conditions which have determined the
growth of the religious feeling, and so are obliged to admit that it is as
normal as any other faculty. Add to which that as, on the hypothesis of a
development of lower forms into higher the end towards which the progressive
changes tend, must be adaptation to the requirements of life, we are also
forced to infer that this feeling is in some way conducive to human welfare.
Thus both alternatives contain the same ultimate implication. We must conclude
that the religious sentiment is either directly created or is developed by
the slow action of natural causes, and whichever conclusion we adopt requires
us to treat the religious sentiment with respect.




One other consideration should not be overlooked -- a consideration which
students of Science more especially need to have pointed out. Occupied as
such are with established truths, and accustomed to regard things not already
known as things to be hereafter discovered, they are liable to forget that
information, however extensive it may become, can never satisfy inquiry.
Positive knowledge does not, and never can, fill the whole region of possible
thought. At the uttermost reach of discovery there arises, and must ever
arise, the question -- What lies beyond? As it is impossible to think of
a limit to space so as to exclude the idea of space lying outside that limit.
so we cannot conceive of any explanation profound enough to exclude the question
-- What is the explanation of that explanation? Regarding Science as a gradually
increasing sphere, we may say that every addition to its surface does not
bring it into wider contact with surrounding nescience. There must ever remain
therefore two antithetical modes of mental action. Throughout all future
time, as now, the human mind may occupy itself, not only with ascertained
phenomena and their relations, but also with that unascertained something
which phenomena and their relations imply. Hence if knowledge cannot monopolize
consciousness -- if it must always continue possible for the mind to dwell
upon that which transcends knowledge, then there can never cease to be a
place for something of the nature of Religion; since Religion under all its
forms is distinguished from everything else in this, that its subject matter
passes the sphere of the intellect.




Thus, however untenable may be the existing religious creeds, however
gross the absurdities associated with them, however irrational the arguments
set forth in their defence, we must not ignore the verity which in all likelihood
lies hidden within them. the general probability that widely-spread beliefs
are not absolutely baseless, is in this case enforced by a further probability
due to the omnipresence of the beliefs. In the existence of a religious sentiment,
whatever be its origin, we have a second evidence of great significance.
And as in that nescience which must ever remain the antithesis to science,
there is a sphere for the exercise of this sentiment, we find a third general
fact of like implication. We may be sure, therefore, that religions, even
though no one of them be actually true, are yet all adumbrations of a truth.




§5. As, to the religious, it will seem absurd to set forth any justification
for Religion, so, to the scientific, it will seem absurd to defend Science.
Yet to do the last is certainly as needful as to do the first. If there exist
some who, in contempt for its follies and disgust at its corruptions, have
contracted towards Religion a repugnance which makes them overlook the fundamental
truth contained in it; so, there are others offended to such a degree by
the destructive criticisms men of science make on the religious tenets they
hold essential, that they have acquired a strong prejudice against Science
at large. they are not prepared with any reasons for their dislike. they
have simply a remembrance of the rude shakes which Science has given to many
of their cherished convictions, and a suspicion that it may eventually uproot
all they regard as sacred; and hence it produces in them an inarticulate
dread.




What is Science? To see the absurdity of the prejudice against it, we
need only remark that Science is simply a higher development of common knowledge;
and that if Science is repudiated, all knowledge must be repudiated along
with it. The extremest bigot will not suspect any harm in the observation
that the Sun rises earlier and sets later in summer than in winter. but will
rather consider such an observation as a useful aid in fulfilling the duties
of life. Well, Astronomy is an organized body of kindred observations, made
with greater nicety, extended to a larger number of objects, and so analyzed
as to disclose the real arrangements of the heavens and to dispel our false
conceptions of them. That iron will rust in water, that wood will burn, that
long kept viands become putrid, the most timid sectarian will teach without
alarm, as things useful to be known. But these are chemical truths: Chemistry
is a systematized collection of such facts, ascertained with precision, and
so classified and generalized as to enable us to say with certainty, concerning
each simple or compound substance, what change will occur in it under given
conditions. And thus is it with all the sciences. They severally germinate
out of the experiences of daily life. insensibly as they grow they draw in
remoter, more numerous, and more complex experiences; and among these, they
ascertain laws of dependence like those which make up our knowledge of the
most familiar objects. Nowhere is it possible to draw a line and say -- here
Science begins. And as it is the function of common observation to serve
for the guidance of conduct; so, too, is the guidance of conduct the office
of the most recondite and abstract results of Science. Through the countless
industrial processes and the various modes of locomotion it has given to
us, Physics regulates more completely our social life than does his acquaintance
with the properties of surrounding bodies regulate the life of the savage.
All Science is prevision; and all prevision ultimately helps us in greater
or less degree to achieve the good and avoid the bad. Thus being one in origin
and function, the simplest forms of cognition and the most complex must be
dealt with alike. We are bound in consistency to receive the widest knowledge
our faculties can reach, or to reject along with it that narrow knowledge
possessed by all.




To ask the question which more immediately concerns our argument -- whether
Science is substantially true? -- is much like asking whether the Sun gives
light. And it is because they are conscious how undeniably valid are most
of its propositions, that the theological party regard Science with so much
secret alarm. They know that during the five thousand years of its growth,
some of its larger divisions -- mathematics, physics, astronomy -- have been
subject to the rigorous criticism of successive generations, and have notwithstanding
become ever more firmly established. They know that, unlike many of their
own doctrines, which were once universally received but have age by age been
more widely doubted, the doctrines of Science, at first confined to a few
scattered inquirers, have been slowly growing into general acceptance, and
are now in great part admitted as beyond dispute. They know that scientific
men throughout the world subject one another's results to searching examination;
and that error is mercilessly exposed and rejected as soon as discovered.
And, finally they know that still more conclusive evidence is furnished by
the daily verification of scientific predictions, and by the never-ceasing
triumphs of those arts which Science guides.




To regard with alienation that which has such high credentials is a folly.
Though in the tone which many of the scientific adopt towards them, the defenders
of Religion may find some excuse for this alienation, yet the excuse is an
insufficient one. On the side of Science, as on their own side, they must
admit that short-comings in the advocates do not tell essentially against
that which is advocated. Science must be judged by itself; and so judged,
only the most perverted intellect can fail to see that it is worthy of all
reverence. Be there or be there not any other revelation, we have a veritable
revelation in Science -- a continuous disclosure of the established order
of the Universe. This disclosure it is the duty of every one to verify as
far as in him lies; and having verified, to receive with all humility.




§6. Thus there must be right on both sides of this great controversy.
Religion, everywhere present as a warp running through the weft of human
history, expresses some eternal fact; while Science is an organized body
of truths, ever growing, and ever being purified from errors. And if both
have bases in the reality of things, then between them there must be a fundamental
harmony. It is impossible that there should be two orders of truth in absolute
and everlasting opposition. Only in pursuance of some Manichean hypothesis,
which among ourselves no one dares openly avow, is such a supposition even
conceivable. That Religion is divine and Science diabolical, is a proposition
which, though implied in many a clerical declamation, not the most vehement
fanatic can bring himself distinctly to assert. And whoever does not assert
this, must admit that under their seeming antagonism lies hidden an entire
agreement.




Each side, therefore, has to recognize the claims of the other as representing
truths which are not to be ignored. It behoves each to strive to understand
the other, with the conviction that the other has something worthy to be
understood; and with the conviction that when mutually recognized this something
will be the basis of a reconciliation.




How to find this something thus becomes the problem we should perseveringly
try to solve. Not to reconcile them in any makeshift way, but to establish
a real and permanent peace. The thing we have to seek out is that ultimate
truth which both will avow with absolute sincerity -- with not the remotest
mental reservation. There shall be no concession -- no yielding on either
side of something that will by-and-by be reasserted; but the common ground
on which they meet shall be one which each will maintain for itself. We have
to discover some fundamental verity which Religion will assert, with all
possible emphasis, in the absence of Science; and which Science, with all
possible emphasis, will assert in the absence of Religion. We must look for
a conception which combines the conclusions of both -- must see how Science
and Religion express opposite sides of the same fact: the one its near or
visible side, and the other its remote or invisible side.




Already in the foregoing pages the method of seeking such a reconciliation
has been vaguely shadowed forth. Before proceeding, however, it will be well
to treat the question of method more definitely. To find that truth in which
Religion and Science coalesce, we must know in what direction to look for
it, and what kind of truth it is likely to be.




§7. Only in some highly abstract proposition can Religion and Science
find a common ground. Neither such dogmas as those of the trinitarian and
unitarian, nor any such idea as that of propitiation, common though it may
be to all religions, can serve as the desired basis of agreement; for Science
cannot recognize beliefs like these: they lie beyond its sphere. Not only,
as we have inferred, is the essential truth contained in Religion that most
abstract element pervading all its forms, but, as we here see, this most
abstract element is the only one in which Religion is likely to agree with
Science.




Similarly if we begin at the other end, and inquire what scientific truth
can unite Science with Religion. Religion can take no cognizance of special
scientific doctrines; any more than Science can take cognizance of special
religious doctrines. The truth which Science asserts and Religion indorses
cannot be one furnished by mathematics; nor can it be a physical truth; nor
can it be a truth in chemistry. No generalization of the phenomena of space,
of time, of matter, or of force, can become a Religious conception. Such
a conception, if it anywhere exists in Science, must be more general than
any of these -- must be one underlying all of them.




Assuming, then, that since these two great realities are constituents
of the same mind, and respond to different aspects of the same Universe,
there must be a fundamental harmony between them, we see good reason to conclude
that the most abstract truth contained in Religion and the most abstract
truth contained in Science must be the one in which the two coalesce. The
largest fact to be found within our mental range must be the one of which
we are in search. Uniting these positive and negative poles of human thought,
it must be the ultimate fact in our intelligence.




§8. Before proceeding let me bespeak a little patience. The next
three chapters, setting out from different points and converging to the same
conclusion, will be unattractive. Students of philosophy will find in them
much that is familiar and to most of those who are unacquainted with modern
metaphysics, their reasonings may prove difficult to follow.




Our argument, however, cannot dispense with these chapters, and the greatness
of the question at issue justifies even a heavier tax on the reader's attention.
Though it affects us little in a direct way, the view we arrive at must indirectly
affect us all in our relations -- must determine Our conceptions of the Universe,
of Life, of Human Nature -- must influence our ideas of right and wrong,
and therefore modify our conduct. To reach that point of view from which
the seeming discordance of Religion and Science disappears, and the two merge
into one, must surely be worth an effort.




Here ending preliminaries let us now address ourselves to this all-important
inquiry.




Chapter 2




Ultimate Religious Ideas




§9. When, on the sea-shore, we note how the hulls of distant vessels
are hidden below the horizon, and how, of still remoter vessels, only the
uppermost sails are visible, we may conceive with tolerable clearness the
slight curvature of that portion of the sea's surface which lies before us.
But when we try to follow out in imagination this curved surface as it actually
exists, slowly bending round until all its meridians meet in a point eight
thousand miles below our feet, we find ourselves utterly baffled. We cannot
conceive in its real form and magnitude even that small segment of our globe
which extends a hundred miles on every side of us, much less the globe as
a whole. The piece of rock on which we stand can be mentally represented
with something like completeness: we are able to think of its top, its sides,
and its under surface at the same time, or so nearly at the same time that
they seem present in consciousness together; and so we can form what we call
a conception of the rock. But to do the like with the Earth is impossible.
If even to imagine the antipodes as at that distant place in space which
it actually occupies, is beyond our power much more beyond our power must
it be at the same time to imagine all other remote points on the Earth's
surface as in their actual places. Yet we commonly speak as though we had
an idea of the Earth -- as though we could think of it in the same way that
we think of minor objects.




What conception, then, do we form of it? the reader may ask. That its
name calls up in us some state of consciousness is unquestionable; and if
this state of consciousness is not a conception, properly so called, what
is it? The answer seems to be this: -- We have learnt by indirect methods
that the Earth is a sphere; we have formed models approximately representing
its shape and the distribution of its parts; usually when the Earth is referred
to, we either think of an indefinitely extended mass beneath our feet, or
else, leaving out the actual Earth, we think of a body like a terrestrial
globe; but when we seek to imagine the Earth as it really is, we join these
two ideas as well as we can -- such perception as our eyes give us of the
Earth's surface we couple with the conception of a sphere. And thus we form
of the Earth not a conception properly so called, but only a symbolic conception.(*)

<* Those who may have before met with this term, will perceive that it
is here used in quite a different sense.>




A large proportion of our conceptions, including all those of much generality,
are of this order. Great magnitudes, great durations, great numbers, are
none of them actually conceived, but are all of them conceived more or less
symbolically; and so, too, are all those classes of objects of which we predicate
some common fact. When mention is made of any individual man, a tolerably
complete idea of him is formed. If the family he belongs to be spoken of,
probably but a part of it will be represented in thought: under the necessity
of attending to that which is said about the family, we realize in imagination
only its most important or familiar members, and pass over the rest with
a nascent consciousness which we know could, if requisite, be made complete.
Should something be remarked of the class, say farmers, to which this family
belongs, we neither enumerate in thought all the individuals contained in
the class, nor believe that we could do so if required; but we are content
with taking some few samples of it, and remembering that these could be indefinitely
multiplied. Supposing the subject of which something is predicated be Englishmen,
the answering state of consciousness is a still more inadequate representative.
Yet more remote is the likeness of the thought to the thing, if reference
be made to Europeans or to human beings. And when we come to propositions
concerning the mammalia, or conceding the whole of the vertebrata, or concerning
all organic beings, the unlikenesses of our conceptions to the realities
become extreme.




Throughout which series of instances we see that as the number of objects
grouped together in thought increases, the concept, formed of a few typical
samples joined with the notion of multiplicity, becomes more and more a mere
symbol; not only because it gradually ceases to represent the size of the
group, but also because, as the group grows more heterogeneous, the typical
samples thought of are less like the average objects which the group contains.




This formation of symbolic conceptions, which inevitably arises as we
pass from small and concrete objects to large and to discrete ones, is mostly
a useful, and indeed necessary, process. When, instead of things whose attributes
can be tolerably well united in a single state of consciousness, we have
to deal with things whose attributes are too vast or numerous to be so united,
we must either drop in thought part of their attributes, or else not think
of them at all -- either form a more or less symbolic conception, or no conception.
We must predicate nothing of objects too great or too multitudinous to be
mentally represented, or we must make our predications by the help of extremely
inadequate representations of them.




But while by doing this we are enabled to form general propositions, and
so to reach general conclusions, we are perpetually led into danger, and
very often into error. We mistake our symbolic conceptions for real ones;
and so are betrayed into countless false inferences. Not only is it that
in proportion as the concept we form of any thing, or class of things, misrepresents
the reality, we are apt to be wrong in any assertion we make respecting the
reality; but it is that we are led to suppose we have truly conceived many
things which we have conceived only in this fictitious way; and then to confound
with these some things which cannot be conceived in any way. How we fall
into this error almost unavoidably it will be needful here to observe.




From objects fully representable, to those of which we cannot form even
approximate representations, there is an insensible transition. Between a
pebble and the entire Earth a series of magnitudes might be introduced, severally
differing from adjacent ones so slightly that it would be impossible to say
at what point in the series our conceptions of them became inadequate. Similarly,
there is a gradual progression from those groups of a few individuals which
we can think of as groups with tolerable completeness, to those larger and
larger groups of which we can form nothing like true ideas. Thus we pass
from actual conceptions to symbolic ones by infinitesimal steps. Note next
that we are led to deal with our symbolic conceptions as though they were
actual ones, not only because we cannot clearly separate the two, but also
because, in most cases, the first serve our purposes nearly or quite as well
as the last -- are simply the abbreviated signs we substitute for those more
elaborate signs which are our equivalents for real objects. Those imperfect
representations of ordinary things which we make in thinking, we know can
be developed into adequate ones if needful. Those concepts of larger magnitudes
and more extensive classes which we cannot make adequate, we still find can
be verified by some indirect process of measurement or enumeration. And even
in the case of such an utterly inconceivable object as the Solar System,
we yet, through the fulfilment of predictions founded on our symbolic conception
of it, gain the conviction that this stands for an actual existence, and,
in a sense, truly expresses certain of its constituent relations. So that
having learnt by long experience that our symbolic conceptions can, if needful,
be verified, we are led to accept them without verification. Thus we open
the door to some which profess to stand for known things, but which really
stand for things that cannot be known in any way.




The implication is clear. When our symbolic conceptions are such that
no cumulative or indirect processes of thought can enable us to ascertain
that there are corresponding actualities, nor any fulfilled predictions be
assigned in justification of them, then they are altogether vicious and illusive,
and in no way distinguishable from pure fictions.




§10. And now to consider the bearings of this general truth on our
immediate topic -- Ultimate Religious Ideas.




To the primitive man sometimes happen things which are out of the ordinary
course-diseases, storms, earth-quakes, echoes, eclipses. From dreams arises
the idea of a wandering double; whence follows the belief that the double,
departing permanently at death, is then a ghost. Ghosts thus become assignable
causes for strange occurrences. The greater ghosts are presently supposed
to have extended spheres of action. As men grow intelligent the conceptions
of these minor invisible agencies merge into the conception of a universal
invisible agency; and there result hypotheses concerning the origin, not
of special incidents only, but of things in general.




A critical examination, however will prove not only that no current hypothesis
is tenable, but also that no tenable hypothesis can be framed.




§11. Respecting the origin of the Universe three verbally intelligible
suppositions may be made. We may assert that it is self-existent; or that
it is self-created; or that it is created by an external agency. Which of
these suppositions is most credible it is not needful here to inquire. The
deeper question, into which this finally merges, is, whether any one of them
is even conceivable in the true sense of the word. Let us successively test
them.




When we speak of a man as self-supporting, of an apparatus as self-acting,
or of a tree as self-developed, our expressions, however inexact, stand for
things that can be figured in thought with tolerable completeness. Our conception
of the self-development of a tree is doubtless symbolic. But though we cannot
really represent in consciousness the. entire series of complex changes through
which the tree passes, yet we can thus represent the leading traits of the
series; and general experience teaches us that by long continued observation
we could gain the power of more fully representing it. That is, we know that
our symbolic conception of self-development can be expanded into something
like a real conception; and that it expresses, however rudely, an actual
process. But when we speak of self-existence and, helped by the above analogies,
form some vague symbolic conception of it, we delude ourselves in supposing
that this symbolic conception is of the same order as the others. On joining
the word self to the word existence, the force of association makes us believe
we have a thought like that suggested by the compound word self-acting. An
endeavour to expand this symbolic conception, however, will undeceive us.
In the first place, it is clear that by self-existence we especially mean
an existence independent of any other -- not produced by any other: the assertion
of self-existence is an indirect denial of creation. In thus excluding the
idea of any antecedent cause, we necessarily exclude the idea of a beginning.
for to admit that there was a time when the existence had not commenced,
is to admit that its commencement was determined by something, or was caused,
which is a contradiction. Self-existence, therefore, necessarily means existence
without a beginning; and to form a conception of self-existence is to form
a conception of existence without a beginning. Now by no mental effort can
we do this. To conceive existence through infinite past-time, implies the
conception of infinite past-time, which is an impossibility. To this let
us add that even were self-existence conceivable, it would not be an explanation
of the Universe. No one will say that the existence of an object at the present
moment is made easier to understand by the discovery that it existed an hour
ago, or a day ago, or a year ago; and if its existence now is not made more
comprehensible by knowledge of its existence during some previous finite
period, then no knowledge of it during many such finite periods, even could
we extend them to an infinite period, would make it more comprehensible.
Thus the Atheistic theory is not only absolutely unthinkable, but, even were
it thinkable, would not be a solution. The assertion that the Universe is
self-existent does not really carry us a step beyond the cognition of its
present existence; and so leaves us with a mere re-statement of the mystery.




The hypothesis of self-creation, which practically amounts to what is
called Pantheism, is similarly incapable of being represented in thought.
Certain phenomena, such as the precipitation of invisible vapour into cloud,
aid us in forming a symbolic conception of a self-evolved Universe; and there
are not wanting indications in the Heavens, and on the Earth, which help
us in giving to this conception some distinctness. But while the succession
of phases through which the visible Universe has passed in reaching its present
form, may perhaps be comprehended as in a sense self-determined; yet the
impossibility of expanding our symbolic conception of self-creation into
a real conception, remains as complete as ever. Really to conceive self-creation,
is to conceive potential existence passing into actual existence by some
inherent necessity, which we cannot. We cannot form any idea of a potential
existence of the Universe, as distinguished from its actual existence. If
represented in thought at all, potential existence must be represented as
something, that is, as an actual existence: to suppose that it can be represented
as nothing involves two absurdities -- that nothing is more than a negation,
and can be positively represented in thought, and that one nothing is distinguished
from all other nothings by its power to develop into something. Nor is this
all. We have no state of consciousness answering to the words an inherent
necessity by which potential existence became actual existence. To render
them into thought, existence, having for an indefinite period remained in
one form, must be conceived as passing without any external impulse into
another form; and this involves the idea of a change without a cause -- a
thing of which no idea is possible. Thus the terms of this hypothesis do
not stand for real thoughts, but merely suggest the vaguest symbols not admitting
of any interpretation. Moreover, even were potential existence conceivable
as a different thing from actual existence, and could the transition from
the one to the other be mentally realized as self-determined, we should still
be no forwarder: the problem would simply be removed a step back. For whence
the potential existence? This would just as much require accounting for as
actual existence, and just the same difficulties would meet us. The self-existence
of a potential Universe is no more conceivable than the self-existence of
the actual Universe. The self-creation of a potential Universe would involve
over again the difficulties just stated -- would imply behind this potential
universe a more remote potentiality, and so on in an infinite series, leaving
us at last no forwarder than at first. While to assign an externa1 agency
as its origin, would be to introduce the notion of a potential Universe for
no purpose whatever.




There remains the commonly -- received or theistic hypothesis -- creation
by external agency. Alike in the rudest creeds and in the cosmogony long
current among ourselves, it is assumed that the Heavens and the Earth were
made somewhat after the manner in which a workman makes a piece of furniture.
And this is the assumption not only of theologians but of most philosophers.
Equally in the writings of Plato and in those of not a few living men of
science, we find it assumed that there is an analogy between the process
of creation and the process of manufacture. Now not only is this conception
one which cannot by any cumulative process of thought, or the fulfilment
of predictions based on it, be shown to answer to anything actual; but it
cannot be mentally realized, even when all its assumptions are granted. Though
the proceedings of a human artificer may vaguely symbolize a method after
which the Universe might be shaped, yet imagination of this method does not
help us to solve the ultimate problem; namely, the origin of the materials
of which the Universe consists. The artizan does not make the iron, wood,
or stone, he uses, but merely fashions and combines them. If we suppose suns,
and planets, and satellites, and all they contain to have been similarly
formed by a "Great Artificer," we suppose merely that certain pre-existing
elements were thus put into their present arrangement. But whence the pre-existing
elements? The production of matter out of nothing is the real mystery which
neither this simile nor any other enables us to conceive; and a simile which
does not enable us to conceive this may as well be dispensed with. Still
more manifest becomes the insufficiency of this theory of things, when we
turn from material objects to that which contains them -- when instead of
matter we contemplate space. Did there exist nothing but an immeasurable
void, explanation would be needed as much as it is now. There would still
arise the question -- how came it so? If the theory of creation by external
agency were an adequate one, it would supply an answer; and its answer would
be -- space was made in the same manner that matter was made. But the impossibility
of conceiving this is so manifest that no one dares to assert it. For if
space was created it must have been previously non-existent. The non-existence
of space cannot, however, by any mental effort be imagined. And if the non-existence
of space is absolutely inconceivable, then, necessarily, its creation is
absolutely inconceivable. Lastly, even supposing that the genesis of the
Universe could really be represented in thought as due to an external agency,
the mystery would be as great as ever; for there would still arise the question
-- how came there to be an external agency? To account for this only the
same three hypotheses are possible -- self-existence, self-creation, and
creation by external agency. Of these the last is useless: it commits us
to an infinite series of such agencies, and even then leaves us where we
were. By the second we are led into the same predicament; since, as already
shown, self-creation implies an infinite series of potential existences.
We are obliged, therefore, to fall back on the first, which is the one commonly
accepted and commonly supposed to be satisfactory. Those who cannot conceive
a self-existent Universe, and therefore assume a creator as the source of
the Universe, take for granted that they can conceive a self-existent Creator.
The mystery which they recognize in this great fact surrounding them on every
side, they transfer to an alleged source of this great fact, and then suppose
that they have solved the mystery. But they delude themselves. As was proved
at the outset of the argument, self-existence is inconceivable; and this
holds true whatever be the nature of the object of which it is predicated.
Whoever agrees that the atheistic hypothesis is untenable because it involves
the impossible idea of self-existence, must perforce admit that the theistic
hypothesis is untenable if it contains the same impossible idea.




Thus these three different suppositions, verbally intelligible though
they are, and severally seeming to their respective adherents quite rational,
turn out, when critically examined, to be literally unthinkable. It is not
a question of probability, or credibility, but of conceivability. Experiment
proves that the elements of these hypotheses cannot even be put together
in consciousness; and we can entertain them only as we entertain such pseud-ideas
as a square fluid and a moral substance -- only by abstaining from the endeavour
to render them into actual thoughts. Or, reverting to our original mode of
statement, we may say that they severally involve symbolic conceptions of
the illegitimate and illusive kind. Differing so widely as they seem to do,
the atheistic, the pantheistic, and the theistic hypotheses contain the same
ultimate element. It is impossible to avoid making the assumption of self-existence
somewhere; and whether that assumption be made nakedly or under complicated
disguises, it is equally vicious, equally unthinkable. Be it a fragment of
matter, or some fancied potential form of matter, or some more remote and
still less imaginable mode of being, our conception of its self-existence
can be framed only by joining with it the notion of unlimited duration through
past time. And as unlimited duration is inconceivable, all those formal ideas
into which it enters are inconceivable; and indeed, if such an expression
is allowable, are the more inconceivable in proportion as the other elements
of the ideas are indefinite. So that in fact, impossible as it is to think
of the actual Universe as self-existing, we do but multiply impossibilities
of thought by every attempt we make to explain its existence.




§12. If from the origin of the Universe we turn to its nature, the
like insurmountable difficulties rise up before us on all sides -- or rather,
the same difficulties under new aspects. We find ourselves obliged to make
certain assumptions; and yet we find these assumptions cannot be represented
in thought.




When we inquire what is the meaning of the effects produced on our senses
-- when we ask how there come to be in our consciousness impressions of sounds,
of colours, of tastes, and of those various attributes we ascribe to bodies,
we are compelled to regard them as the effects of some cause. We may stop
short in the belief that this cause is what we call matter. Or we may conclude,
as some do, that matter is only a certain mode of manifestation of spirit,
which is therefore the true cause. Or, regarding matter and spirit as proximate
agencies, we may ascribe the changes wrought in our consciousness to immediate
divine power. But be the cause we assign what it may, we are obliged to suppose
some cause. And we are obliged not only to suppose some cause, but also a
first cause. The matter, or spirit or other agent producing these impressions
on us, must either be the first cause of them or not. If it is the first
cause the conclusion is reached. If it is not the first cause, then by implication
there must be a cause behind it, which thus becomes the real cause of the
effect. Manifestly however complicated the assumptions, the same conclusion
must be reached. We cannot ask how the changes in our consciousness are caused,
without inevitably committing ourselves to the hypothesis of a First Cause.




But now if we ask what is the nature of this First Cause, we are driven
by an inexorable logic to certain further conclusions. Is the First Cause
finite or infinite? If we say finite we involve ourselves in a dilemma. To
think of the First Cause as finite, is to think of it as limited. To think
of it as limited implies a consciousness of something beyond its limits:
it is impossible to conceive a thing as bounded without assuming a region
surrounding its boundaries. What now must we say of this region? If the First
Cause is limited, and there consequently lies something outside of it, this
something must have no First Cause -- must be uncaused. But if we admit that
there can be something uncaused, there is no reason to assume a cause for
anything. If beyond that finite region over which the First Cause extends,
there lies a region, which we are compelled to regard as infinite, over which
it does not extend -- if we admit that there is an infinite uncaused surrounding
the finite caused; we tacitly abandon the hypothesis of causation altogether.
Thus it is impossible to consider the First Cause as finite. But if it cannot
be finite it must be infinite.




Another inference conceding the First Cause is equally necessary. It must
be independent. If it is dependent it cannot be the First Cause; for that
must be the First Cause on which it depends. It is not enough to say that
it is partially independent; since this implies some necessity which determines
its partial dependence, and this necessity, be it what it may, must be a
higher cause, or the true First Cause, which is a contradiction. But to think
of the First Cause as totally independent, is to think of it as that which
exists in the absence of all other existence; seeing that if the presence
of any other existence is necessary, it must be partially dependent on that
other existence, and so cannot be the First Cause. Not only however must
the First Cause be a form of being which has no necessary relation to any
other form of being, but it can have no necessary relation within itself.
There can be nothing in it which determines change, and yet nothing which
prevents change. For if it contains something which imposes such necessities
or restraints, this something must be a cause higher than the First Cause,
which is absurd. Thus the First Cause must be in every sense perfect, complete,
total: including within itself all power and transcending all law. Or to
use the established word, it must be Absolute.




Certain conclusions respecting the nature of the Universe, thus seem unavoidable.
In our search after causes, we discover no resting place until we arrive
at a First Cause; and we have no alternative but to regard this First Cause
as Infinite and Absolute. These are inferences forced on us by arguments
from which there appears no escape. Nevertheless neither arguments nor inferences
have more than nominal values. It might easily be shown that the materials
of which the arguments are built, equally with the conclusions based on them,
are merely symbolic conceptions of the illegitimate order. Instead, however,
of repeating the disproof used above, it will be well to pursue another method;
showing the fallacy of these conclusions by disclosing their mutual contradictions.




Here I cannot do better than avail myself of the demonstration which Mr.
Mansel, carrying out in detail the doctrine of Sir William Hamilton, has
given in his Limits of Religious Thought. And I gladly do this, not only
because his mode of presentation cannot be improved, but also because, writing
as he does in defence of the current Theology, his reasonings will be the
more acceptable to the majority of readers.




§13. Having given preliminary definitions of the First Cause, of
the Infinite, and of the Absolute, Mr. Mansel says: --




"But these three conceptions, the Cause, the Absolute, the Infinite,
all equally indispensable, do they not imply contradiction to each other,
when viewed in conjunction, as attributes of one and the same Being? A Cause
cannot, as such, be absolute: the Absolute cannot, as such, be a cause. The
cause, as such, exists only in relation to its effect: the cause is a cause
of the effect; the effect is an effect of the cause. On the other hand, the
conception of the Absolute implies a possible existence out of all relation.
We attempt to escape from this apparent contradiction, by introducing the
idea of succession in time. The Absolute exists first by itself, and afterwards
becomes a Cause. But here we are checked by the third conception, that of
the Infinite. How can the Infinite become that which it was not from the
first? If Causation is a possible mode of existence, that which exists without
causing is not infinite; that which becomes a cause has passed beyond its
former limits. * * *




"Supposing the Absolute to become a cause, it will follow that it
operates by means of freewill and consciousness. For a necessary cause cannot
be conceived as absolute and infinite. If necessitated by something beyond
itself, it is thereby limited by a superior power; and if necessitated by
itself, it has in its own nature a necessary relation to its effect. The
act of causation must therefore be voluntary; and volition is only possible
in a conscious being. But consciousness again is only conceivable as a relation.
There must be a conscious subject, and an object of which he is conscious.
The subject is a subject to the object; the object is an object to the subject;
and neither can exist by itself as the absolute. This difficulty, again,
may be for the moment evaded, by distinguishing between the absolute as related
to another and the absolute as related to itself. The Absolute, it may be
said, may possibly be conscious, provided it is only conscious of itself.
But this alternative is, in ultimate analysis, no less self-destructive than
the other. For the object of consciousness, whether a mode of the Subject's
existence or not, is either created in and by the act of consciousness, or
has an existence independent of it. In the former case, the object depends
upon the subject, and the subject alone is the true absolute. In the latter
case, the subject depends upon the object, and the object alone is the true
absolute. Or if we attempt a third hypothesis, and maintain that each exists
independently of the other, we have no absolute at all, but only a pair of
relatives; for coexistence, whether in consciousness or not, is itself a
relation.




"The corollary from this reasoning is obvious. Not only is the Absolute,
as conceived, incapable of a necessary relation to anything else but it is
also incapable of containing, by the constitution of its own nature, an essential
relation within itself; as a whole, for instance, composed of parts, or as
a substance consisting of attributes, or as a conscious subject in antithesis
to an object. For if there is in the absolute any principle of unity, distinct
from the mere accumulation of parts or attributes, this principle alone is
the true absolute. If, on the other hand, there is no such principle, then
there is no absolute at all, but only a plurality of relatives. The almost
unanimous voice of philosophy, in pronouncing that the absolute is both one
and simple, must be accepted as the voice of reason also, so far as reason
has any voice in the matter. But this absolute unity, as indifferent and
containing no attributes, can neither be distinguished from the multiplicity
of finite beings by any characteristic feature, nor be identified with them
in their multiplicity. Thus we are landed in an inextricable dilemma. The
Absolute cannot be conceived as conscious, neither can it be conceived as
unconscious; it cannot be conceived as complex, neither can it be conceived
as simple: it cannot be conceived by difference, neither can it be conceived
by the absence of difference: it cannot be identified with the universe,
neither can it be distinguished from it. The One and the Many, regarded as
the beginning of existence, are thus alike incomprehensible.




"The fundamental conceptions of Rational Theology being thus self-destructive,
we may naturally expect to find the same antagonism manifested in their special
applications. * * * How, for example. Can Infinite Power be able to do all
things, and yet Infinite Goodness be unable to do evil? How can Infinite
Justice exact the utmost penalty for every sin, and yet Infinite Mercy pardon
the sinner? How can Infinite Wisdom know all that is to come, and yet Infinite
Freedom be at liberty to do or to forbear? How is the existence of Evil compatible
with that of an infinitely perfect Being; for if he wills it, he is not infinitely
good; and if he will it not, his will is thwarted and his sphere of action
limited? * * *




"Let us, however, suppose for an instant that these difficulties
are surmounted, and the existence of the Absolute securely established on
the testimony of reason. Still we have not succeeded in reconciling this
idea with that of a Cause: we have done nothing towards explaining how the
absolute can give rise to the relative, the infinite to the finite. If the
condition of causal activity is a higher state than that of quiescence, the
Absolute, whether acting voluntarily or involuntarily, has passed from a
condition of comparative imperfection to one of comparative perfection; and
therefore was not originally perfect. If the state of activity is an inferior
state to that of quiescence, the Absolute, in becoming a cause, has lost
its original perfection. There remains only the supposition that the two
states are equal, and the act of creation one of complete indifference. But
this supposition annihilates the unity of the absolute, or it annihilates
itself. If the act of creation is real, and yet indifferent, we must admit
the possibility of two conceptions of the absolute, the one as productive,
the other as non-productive. If the act is not real, the supposition itself
vanishes. * * *




"Again, how can the relative be conceived as coming into being? If
it is a distinct reality from the absolute, it must be conceived as passing
from non-existence into existence. But to conceive an object as non-existent,
is again a self-contradiction; for that which is conceived exists, as an
object of thought, in and by that conception. We may abstain from thinking
of an object at all; but, if we think of it, we cannot but think of it as
existing. It is possible at one time not to think of an object at all, and
at another to think of it as already in being; but to think of it in the
act of becoming, in the progress from not being into being, is to think that
which, in the very thought, annihilates itself. * * *




"To sum up briefly this portion of my argument. The conception of
the Absolute and Infinite, from whatever side we view it, appears encompassed
with contradictions. There is a contradiction in supposing such an object
to exist, whether alone or in conjunction with others; and there is a contradiction
in supposing it not to exist. There is a contradiction in conceiving it as
one; and there is a contradiction in conceiving it as many. There is a contradiction
in conceiving it as personal; and there is a contradiction in conceiving
it as impersonal. It cannot, without contradiction, be represented as active;
nor, without equal contradiction, be represented as inactive. It cannot be
conceived as the sum of all existence; nor yet can it be conceived as a part
only of that sum."




§14. And now what is the bearing of these results on the question
before us? Our examination of Ultimate Religious Ideas has been carried on
with the view of making manifest some fundamental verity contained in them.
Thus far, however, we have arrived at negative conclusions only. Passing
over the consideration of credibility, and confining ourselves to that of
conceivability we have seen that Atheism, Pantheism, and Theism, when rigorously
analyzed, severally prove to be wholly unthinkable. Instead of disclosing
a fundamental verity existing in each, our inquiry seems rather to have shown
that there is no fundamental verity contained in any. To carry away this
conclusion, however, would be a fatal error, as we shall shortly see.




Leaving out the accompanying code of conduct, which is a supplementary
growth, a religious creed is definable as a theory of original causation.
By the lowest savages the genesis of things is not inquired about: only strange
appearances and actions raise the question of agency. But be it in the primitive
Ghost-theory, which assumes a human personality behind each unusual phenomenon;
be it in Polytheism, in which such personalities are partially generalized;
be it in Monotheism, in which they are wholly generalized; or be it in Pantheism,
in which the generalized personality becomes one with the phenomena; we equally
find an hypothesis which is supposed to render the Universe comprehensible.
Nay, even that which is regarded as the negation of all Religion -- even
positive Atheism -- comes within the definition; for it, too, in asserting
the self-existence of Space, Matter and Motion, propounds a theory from which
it holds the facts to be deducible. Now every theory tacitly asserts two
things: first, that there is something to be explained; second, that such
and such is the explanation. Hence, however widely different speculators
disagree in the solutions they give of the same problem, yet by implication
they agree that there is a problem to be solved. Here then is an element
which all creeds have in common. Religions diametrically opposed in their
overt dogmas, are perfectly at one in the tacit conviction that the existence
of the world with all it contains and all which surrounds it, is a mystery
calling for interpretation.




Thus we come within sight of that which we seek. In the last chapter,
reasons were given for inferring that human beliefs in general, and especially
the perennial ones, contain, under whatever disguises of error, some soul
of truth; and here we have arrived at a truth underlying even the rudest
beliefs. We saw, further, that this soul of truth is most likely some constituent
common to conflicting opinions of the same order; and here we have a constituent
contained by all religions. It was pointed out that this soul of truth would
almost certainly be more abstract than any of the creeds involving it; and
the truth above reached is one exceeding in abstractness the most abstract
religious doctrines. In every respect, therefore, our conclusion answers
to the requirements.




That this is the vital element in all religions is further shown by the
fact that it is the element which not only survives every change but grows
more distinct the more highly the religion is developed. Aboriginal creeds,
pervaded by thoughts of personal agencies which are usually unseen, conceive
these agencies under perfectly concrete and ordinary forms-class them with
the visible agencies of men and animals; and so hide a vague perception of
mystery in disguises as unmysterious as possible. Polytheistic conceptions
in their advanced phases, represent the presiding personalities in idealized
shapes, working in subtle ways, and communicating with men by omens or through
inspired persons; that is, the ultimate causes of things are regarded as
less familiar and comprehensible. The growth of a Monotheistic faith, accompanied
as it is by lapse of those beliefs in which the divine nature is assimilated
to the human in all its lower propensities, shows us a further step in the
same direction; and however imperfectly this higher faith is at first held,
we yet see in altars "to the unknown and unknowable God," and in
the worship of a God who cannot by any searching be found out, that there
is a clearer recognition of the inscrutableness of creation. Further developments
of theology, ending in such assertions as that "a God understood would
be no God at all," and "to think that God is, as we can think him
to be, is blasphemy," exhibit this recognition still more distinctly.
It pervades all the cultivated theology of the present day. So that while
other elements of religious creeds one by one drop away, this remains and
grows ever more manifest, and thus is shown to be the essential element.




Here, then, is a truth in which religions in general agree with one another,
and with a philosophy antagonistic to their special dogmas. If Religion and
Science are to be reconciled, the basis of reconciliation must be this deepest,
widest, and most certain of all facts-that the Power which the Universe manifests
to us is inscrutable.




Chapter 3




Ultimate Scientific Ideas




§15. What are Space and Time? Two hypotheses are current respecting
them: the one that they are objective, the other that they are subjective.
Let us see what becomes of these hypotheses under analysis.




To say that Space and Time exist objectively, is to say that they are
entities. The assertion that they are non-entities is self-destructive: non-entities
are non-existences; and to allege that non-existences exist objectively is
a contradiction in terms. Moreover, to deny that Space and Time are things,
and so by implication to call them nothings, involves the absurdity that
there are two kinds of nothing. Neither can they be regarded as attributes
of some entity. Not only is it impossible to conceive any entity of which
they are attributes, but we cannot think of them as disappearing, even if
everything else disappeared; whereas attributes necessarily disappear along
with the entities they belong to. Thus as Space and Time can be neither non-entities
nor the attributes of entities, we are compelled to consider them as entities.
But while, on the hypothesis of their objectivity, Space and Time must be
classed as things, we find that to represent them in thought as things is
impossible. To be conceived at all, a thing must be conceived as having attributes.
We can distinguish something from nothing, only by the power which the something
has to act on our consciousness. The effects it mediately or immediately
produces on our consciousness we attribute to it, and call its attributes;
and the absence of these attributes is the absence of the terms in which
the something is conceived, and involves the absence of a conception. What,
now, are the attributes of Space? The only one which it is possible to think
of as belonging to it is that of extension, and to credit it with this is
to identify object and attribute. For extension and Space are convertible
terms: by extension, as we ascribe it to surrounding objects, we mean occupancy
of Space; and thus to say that Space is extended, is to say that Space occupies
Space. How we are similarly unable to assign any attribute to Time, scarcely
needs pointing out. Nor are Time and Space unthinkable as entities only from
the absence of attributes. There is another peculiarity, familiar to most
people, which equally excludes them from the category. All entities actually
known as such, are limited; and even if we suppose ourselves either to know
or to be able to conceive some unlimited entity, we necessarily in so classing
it separate it from the class of limited entities. But of Space and Time
we cannot assert either limitation or the absence of limitation. We find
ourselves unable to form any mental image of unbounded Space; and yet are
unable to imagine bounds beyond which there is no Space. Similarly at the
other extreme: it is impossible to think of a limit to the divisibility of
Space; yet equally impossible to think of its infinite divisibility. And,
without stating them, it will be seen that we labour under like impotences
in respect to Time. Thus we cannot conceive Space and Time as entities, and
are equally disabled from conceiving them as either the attributes of entities
or as non-entities. We are compelled to think of them as existing, and yet
cannot bring them within those conditions under which existences are represented
in thought.




Shall we then take refuge in the Kantian doctrine? Shall we say that Space
and Time are forms of the intellect, -- "a priori laws or conditions
of the conscious mind?" To do this is to escape from great difficulties
by rushing into greater. The proposition with which Kant's philosophy sets
out, verbally intelligible though it is, cannot by any effort be rendered
into thought -- cannot be interpreted into an idea properly so called, but
stands merely for a pseud-idea. In the first place, to assert that Space
and Time are subjective conditions is, by implication, to assert that they
are not objective realities: if the Space and Time present to our minds belong
to the ego, then of necessity they do not belong to the non-ego. Now it is
impossible to think this. The very fact on which Kant bases his hypothesis
-- namely that our consciousness of Space and Time cannot be suppressed --
testifies as much; for that consciousness of Space and Time which we cannot
rid ourselves of, is the consciousness of them as existing objectively. It
is useless to reply that such an inability must inevitably result if they
are subjective forms. The question here is -- What does consciousness directly
testify? And the direct testimony of consciousness is, that Time and Space
are not within the mind but without the mind; and so absolutely independent
that we cannot conceive them to become non-existent even supposing the mind
to become non-existent. Besides being positively unthinkable in what it tacitly
denies, the theory of Kant is equally unthinkable in what it openly affirms.
It is not simply that we cannot combine the thought of Space with the thought
of our own personality, and contemplate the one as a property of the other
-- though our inability to do this would prove the inconceivableness of the
hypothesis -- but it is that the hypothesis carries in itself the proof of
its own inconceivableness. For if Space and Time are forms of intuition,
they can never be intuited; since it is impossible for anything to be at
once the form of intuition and the matter of intuition. That Space and Time
are objects of consciousness, Kant emphatically asserts by saying that it
is impossible to suppress the consciousness of them. How then, if they are
objects of consciousness, can they at the same time be conditions of consciousness?
If Space and Time are the conditions under which we think, then when we think
of Space and Time themselves, our thoughts must be unconditioned; and if
there can thus be unconditioned thoughts, what becomes of the theory?




It results, therefore, that Space and Time are wholly incomprehensible.
The immediate knowledge which we seem to have of them proves, when examined,
to be total ignorance. While our belief in their objective reality is insurmountable,
we are unable to give any rational account of it. And to posit the alternative
belief (possible to state but impossible to realize) is merely to multiply
irrationalities.




§16. Were it not for the necessities of the argument, it would be
inexcusable to occupy the reader's attention with the threadbare, and yet
unended, controversy respecting the divisibility of matter. Matter is either
infinitely divisible or it is not: no third possibility can be named. Which
of the alternatives shall we accept? If we say that Matter is infinitely
divisible, we commit ourselves to a supposition not realizable in thought.
We can bisect and re-bisect a body, and continually repeating the act until
we reduce its parts to a size no longer physically divisible, may then mentally
continue the process. To do this, however, is not really to conceive the
infinite divisibility of matter, but to form a symbolic conception not admitting
of expansion into a real one, and not admitting of other verification. Really
to conceive the infinite divisibility of matter, is mentally to follow out
the divisions to infinity. and to do this would require infinite time. On
the other hand, to assert that matter is not infinitely divisible, is to
assert that it is reducible to parts which no power can divide; and this
verbal supposition can no more be represented in thought than the other.
For each of such ultimate parts, did they exist, must have an under and an
upper surface, a right and a left side, like any larger fragment. Now it
is impossible to imagine its sides so near that no plane of section can be
conceived between them; and however great be the assumed force of cohesion,
it is impossible to shut out the idea of a greater force capable of overcoming
it. So that to human intelligence the one hypothesis is no more acceptable
than the other; and yet the conclusion that one or other must agree with
the fact, seems to human intelligence unavoidable.




Again, let us ask whether substance has anything like that extended solidity
which it presents to our consciousness. The portion of space occupied by
a piece of metal, seems to eyes and fingers perfectly filled: we perceive
a homogeneous, resisting mass, without any breach of continuity. Shall we
then say that Matter is actually as solid as it appears? Shall we say that
whether it consists of an infinitely divisible element or of units which
cannot be further divided, its parts are everywhere in actual contact? To
assert as much entangles us in insuperable difficulties. Were Matter thus
absolutely solid it would be -- what it is not -- absolutely incompressible;
since compressibility, implying the nearer approach of constituent parts,
is not thinkable unless there is unoccupied space among the parts.




The supposition that Matter is absolutely solid being untenable, there
presents itself the Newtonian supposition, that it consists of solid atoms
not in contact but acting on one another by attractive and repulsive forces,
varying with the distances. To assume this, however, merely shifts the difficulty.
For granting that Matter as we perceive it, is made up of dense extended
units attracting and repelling, the question still arises -- What is the
constitution of these units? We must regard each of them as a small piece
of matter. Looked at through a mental microscope, each becomes a mass such
as we have just been contemplating. Just the same inquiries may be made respecting
the parts of which each atom consists; while just the same difficulties stand
in the way of every answer. Even were the hypothetical atom assumed to consist
of still minuter ones, the difficulty would reappear at the next step; and
so on perpetually.




Boscovich's conception yet remains to us. Seeing that Matter could not,
as Leibnitz suggested, be composed of unextended monads (since the juxtaposition
of an infinity of points having no extension could not produce that extension
which matter possesses), and perceiving objections to the view entertained
by Newton, Boscovich proposed an intermediate theory. This theory is that
the constituents of Matter are centres of force -- points without dimensions
-- which attract and repel one another in such wise as to be kept at specific
distances apart. And he argues, mathematically, that the forces possessed
by such centres might so vary with the distances that, under given conditions,
the centres would remain in stable equilibrium with definite interspaces;
and yet, under other conditions, would maintain larger or smaller interspaces.
This speculation, however, escapes all the inconceivabilities above indicated
by merging them in the one inconceivability with which it sets cut. A centre
of force absolutely without extension is unthinkable. The idea of resistance
cannot be separated in thought from the idea of something which offers resistance,
and this something must be thought of as occuppying space. To suppose that
central forces can reside in points having positions only, with nothing to
mark their positions -- points in no respect distinguishable from surrounding
points which are not centres of force -- is beyond human power.




But though the conception of Matter as consisting of dense indivisible
units is symbolic, and cannot by any effort be thought out, it may yet be
supposed to find indirect verification in the truths of chemistry. These,
it is argued, necessitate the belief that Matter consists of particles of
specific weights, and therefore of specific sizes. The law of definite proportions
seems impossible on any other condition than the existence of ultimate atoms;
and though the combining weights of the respective elements are termed by
chemists their "equivalents," for the purpose of avoiding a questionable
assumption, we are unable to think of the combination of such definite weights,
without supposing it to take place between definite molecules. Thus it would
appear that the Newtonian view is at any rate preferable to that of Boscovich.
A disciple of Boscovich, however, may reply that his master's theory is involved
in that of Newton, and cannot indeed be escaped. "What holds together
the parts of these ultimate atoms?" he may ask. "A cohesive force,"
his opponent must answer. "And what," he may continue, "holds
together the parts of any fragments into which, by sufficient force, an ultimate
atom might be broken?" Again the answer must be -- a cohesive force.
"And what," he may still ask, "if the ultimate atom were reduced
to parts as small in proportion to it, as it is in proportion to a tangible
mass of matter -- what must give each part the ability to sustain itself?"
Still there is no answer but -- a cohesive force. Carry on the mental process
and we can find no limit until we arrive at the symbolic conception of centres
of force without any extension.




Matter then, in its ultimate nature, is as absolutely incomprehensible
as Space and Time. Whatever supposition we frame leaves us nothing but a
choice between opposite absurdities.*




<* To discuss Lord Kelvin's hvpothesis of vortex-atoms, from the scientific
point of view, is beyond my ability. From the philosophical point of view,
however I may say that since it postulates a homogeneous medium which is
strictly continuous (non-molecular), which is incompressible, which is a
perfect fluid in the sense of having no viscosity, and which has inertia,
it sets out with what appears to me an inconceivability. A fluid which has
inertia, implying mass, and which is yet absolutely frictionless. so that
its parts move among one another without any loss of motion, cannot be truly
represented in consciousness. Even were it otherwise, the hypothesis is held
by Prof. Clerk Maxwell to be untenable (see art. "Atom," Ency.
Brit.).>




§17. A body impelled by the hand is perceived to move, and to move
in a definite direction; doubt about its motion seems impossible. Yet we
not only may be, but usually are, quite wrong in both these judgments. Here,
for instance, is a ship which we will suppose to be anchored at the equator
with her head to the West. When the captain walks from stem to stern, in
what direction does he move? East is the obvious answer -- an answer which
for the moment may pass without criticism. But now the anchor is heaved,
and the vessel sails to the West with a velocity equal to that at which




the captain walks. In what direction does he now move when he goes from
stem to stern? You cannot say East, for the vessel is carrying him as fast
towards the West as he walks to the East; and you cannot say West for the
converse reason In respect to things outside the vessel he is stationary,
though to all on board he seems to be moving. But now are we quite sure of
this conclusion? -- Is he really stationary? On taking into account the Earth's
motion round its axis, we find that he is travelling at the rate of 1000
miles per hour to the East; so that neither the perception of one who looks
at him, nor the inference of one who allows for the ship's motion, is anything
like right. Nor indeed, on further consideration, do we find this revised
conclusion to be much better. For we have not allowed for the Earth's motion
in its orbit. This being some 68,000 miles per hour, it follows that, assuming
the time to be midday, he is moving, not at the rate of 1000 miles per hour
to the East, but at the rate of 67,000 miles per hour to the East. Nay not
even now have we discovered the true rate and the true direction of his movement.
With the Earth's progress in its orbit, we have to join that of the whole
Solar system towards the constellation Hercules. When we do this, we perceive
that he is moving neither East nor West, but in a line inclined to the plane
of the Ecliptic, and at a velocity greater or less (according to the time
of the year) than that above named. And were the constitution of our Sidereal
System fully known, we should probably discover the direction and rate of
his actual movement to differ considerably even from these. Thus we are taught
that what we are conscious of is not the real motion of any object, either
in its rate or direction, but merely its motion as measured from an assigned
position -- either our own or some other. Yet in this very process of concluding
that the motions we perceive are not the real motions, we tacitly assume
that there are real motions. We take for granted that there is an absolute
course and an absolute velocity and we find it impossible to rid ourselves
of this idea. Nevertheless, absolute motion cannot even be imagined, much
less known. Apart from those marks in space which we habitually associate
with it, motion is unthinkable. For motion is change of place; but in space
without marks, change of place is inconceivable, because place itself is
inconceivable. Place can be conceived only by reference to other places;
and in the absence of objects dispersed through space, a place could be conceived
only in relation to the limits of space; whence it follows that in unlimited
space, place cannot be conceived -- all places must be equidistant from boundaries
which do not exist. Thus while obliged to think that there is an absolute
motion, we find absolute motion cannot be represented in thought.




Another insuperable difficulty presents itself when we contemplate the
transfer of Motion. Habit blinds us to the marvellousness of this phenomenon.
Familiar with the fact from childhood, we see nothing remarkable in the ability
of a moving thing to generate movement in a thing that is stationary. It
is, however, impossible to understand it. In what respect does a body after
impact differ from itself before impact? What is this added to it which does
not sensibly affect any of its properties and yet enables it to traverse
space? Here is an object at rest and here is the same object moving. In the
one state it has no tendency to change its place, but in the other it is
obliged at each instant to assume a new position. What is it which will for
ever go on producing this effect without being exhausted? and how does it
dwell in the object? The motion you say has been communicated. But how? --
What has been communicated? The striking body has not transferred a thing
to the body struck; and it is equally out of the question to say that it
has transferred an attribute. What then has it transferred?




Once more there is the old puzzle concerning the connexion between Motion
and Rest. A body travelling at a given velocity cannot be brought to a state
of rest, or no velocity, without passing through all intermediate velocities.
It is quite possible to think of its motion as diminishing insensibly until
it becomes infinitesimal; and many will think equally possible to pass in
thought from infinitesimal motion to no motion. But this is an error. Mentally
follow out the decreasing velocity as long as you please, and there still
remains some velocity; and the smallest movement is separated by an impassable
gap from no movement. As something, however minute, is infinitely great in
comparison with nothing; so is even the least conceivable motion infinite
as compared with rest.




Thus neither when considered in connexion with Space, nor when considered
in connexion with Matter, nor when considered in connexion with Rest, do
we find that Motion is truly cognizable. All efforts to understand its essential
nature do but bring us to alternative impossibilities of thought.




§18. On lifting a chair the force exerted we regard as equal to that
antagonistic force called the weight of the chair, and we cannot think of
these as equal without thinking of them as like in kind; since equality is
conceivable only between things that are connatural. Yet, contrariwise, it
is incredible that the force existing in the chair resembles the force present
to our minds. It scarcely needs to point out that since the force as known
to us is an affection of consciousness, we cannot conceive the force to exist
in the chair under the same form without endowing the chair with consciousness.
So that it is absurd to think of Force as in itself like our sensation of
it, and yet necessary so to think of it if we represent it in consciousness
at all.




How, again, can we understand the connexion between Force and Matter?
Matter is known to us only through its manifestations of Force: abstract
its resistance mediately or immediately offered and there remains nothing
but empty extension. Yet, on the other hand, resistance is equally unthinkable
apart from Matter -- apart from something extended. Not only are centres
of force devoid of extension unimaginable, but we cannot imagine either extended
or unextended centres of force to attract and repel other such centres at
a distance, without the intermediation of some kind of matter. The hypothesis
of Newton, equally with that of Boscovich, is open to the charge that it
supposes one thing to act on another through empty space -- a supposition
which cannot be represented in thought. This charge is indeed met by introducing
a hypothetical fluid existing among the atoms or centres. But the problem
is not thus solved: it is simply shifted, and reappears when the constitution
of this fluid is inquired into. How impossible it is to elude the difficulty
is best seen in the case of astronomical forces. The Sun gives us sensations
of light and heat; and we have ascertained that between the cause as existing
in the Sun, and the effect as experienced on the Earth, a lapse of eight
minutes occurs: whence unavoidably result in us the conceptions of both a
force and a motion. So that for assuming a luminiferous ether, there is the
defence, not only that the exercise of force through 92,000,000 of miles
of absolute vacuum is inconceivable, but also that it is impossible to conceive
motion in the absence of something moved. Similarly in the case of gravitation.
Newton described himself as unable to think that the attraction of one body
for another at a distance, could be exerted in the absence of an intervening
medium. But now let us ask how much the forwarder we are if an intervening
medium be assumed. This ether whose undulations according to the received
hypothesis constitute heat and light, and which is the vehicle of gravitation
-- how is it constituted? We must regard it in the way that physicists usually
regard it, as composed of atoms or molecules which attract and repel one
another: infinitesimal it may be in comparison with those of ordinary matter,
but still atoms or molecules. And remembering that this ether is imponderable,
we are obliged to conclude that the ratio between the interspaces of these
atoms and the atoms themselves is immense. Hence we have to conceive these
infinitesimal molecules acting on one another through relatively vast distances.
How is this conception easier than the other? We still have mentally. to
represent a body as acting where it is not, and in the absence of anything
by which its action may be transferred; and what matters it whether this
takes place on a large or a small scale? Thus we are obliged to conclude
that matter, whether ponderable or imponderable, and whether aggregated or
in its hypothetical units, acts on matter through absolutely vacant space;
and yet this conclusion is unthinkable.




Another difficulty of conception, converse in nature but equally insurmountable,
must be added. If, on the one hand, we cannot in thought see matter acting
upon matter through vacant space; on the other hand, it is incomprehensible
that the gravitation of one particle of matter towards another, and towards
all others, should be the same whether the intervening space is filled with
matter or not. I lift from the ground, and continue to hold, a pound weight.
Now, into the vacancy between it and the ground, is introduced a mass of
matter of any kind whatever, in any state whatever; and the gravitation of
the weight is entirely unaffected. Each individual of the infinity of particles
composing the Earth acts on the pound in absolutely the same way, whatever
intervenes, or if nothing intervenes. Through eight thousand miles of the
Earth's substance, each molecule at the antipodes affects each molecule of
the weight, in utter indifference to the fullness or emptiness of the space
between them. So that each portion of matter in its dealings with remote
portions, treats all intervening portions as though they did not exist; and
yet, at the same time, it recognizes their existence with scrupulous exactness
in its direct dealings with them.




While then it is impossible to form any idea of Force in itself, it is
equally impossible to comprehend its mode of exercise.




§19. Turning now from the outer to the inner world, let us contemplate,
not the agencies to which we ascribe our subjective modifications, but the
subjective modifications themselves. These constitute a series. Difficult
as we find it distinctly to individualize them, it is nevertheless beyond
question that our states of consciousness occur in succession.




Is this chain of states of consciousness infinite or finite? We cannot
say infinite; not only because we have indirectly reached the conclusion
that there was a period when it commenced, but also because all infinity
is inconceivable -- an infinite series included. If we say finite we say
it inferentially; for we have no direct knowledge of either of its ends.
Go back in memory as far as we may, we are wholly unable to identify our
first states of consciousness. Similarly at the other extreme. We infer a
termination to the series at a future time, but cannot directly know it;
and we cannot really lay hold of that temporary termination reached at the
present moment. For the state of consciousness recognized by us as our last,
is not truly our last. That any mental affection may be known as one of the
series, it must be remembered -- represented in thought, not presented. The
truly last state of consciousness is that which is passing in the very act
of contemplating a state just past -- that in which we are thinking of the
one before as the last. So that the proximate end of the change eludes us,
as well as the remote end.




"But," it may be said, "though we cannot directly know
consciousness to be finite in duration, because neither of its limits can
be actually reached, yet we can very well conceive it to be so." No:
not even this is true. We cannot conceive the terminations of that consciousness
which alone we really know -- our own -- any more than we can perceive its
terminations. For in truth the two acts are here one. In either case such
terminations must be, as above said, not presented in thought, but represented;
and they must be represented as in the act of occurring. Now to represent
the termination of consciousness as occurring in ourselves, is to think of
ourselves as contemplating the cessation of the last state of consciousness;
and this implies a supposed continuance of consciousness after its last state,
which is absurd.




Hence, while we are unable to believe or to conceive that the duration
of consciousness is infinite, we are equally unable either to know it as
finite, or to conceive it as finite: we can only infer from indirect evidence
that it is finite.




§20. Nor do we meet with any greater success when, instead of the
extent of consciousness, we consider its substance. The question -- What
is this that thinks? admits of no better solution than the question to which
we have just found none but inconceivable answers.




The existence of each individual as known to himself, has always been
held the most incontrovertible of truths. To say -- "I am as sure of
it as I am sure that I exist," is, in common speech, the most emphatic
expression of certainty. And this fact of personal existence, testified to
by the universal consciousness of men, has been made the basis of more philosophies
than one.




Belief in the reality of self cannot, indeed, be escaped while normal
consciousness continues. What shall we say of these successive impressions
and ideas which constitute consciousness? Are they affections of something
called mind, which, as being the subject of them, is the real ego? If we
say this we imply that the ego is an entity. Shall we assert that these impressions
and ideas are not the mere superficial changes wrought on some thinking substance,
but are themselves the very body of this substance -- are severally the modified
forms which it from moment to moment assumes? This hypothesis, equally with
the foregoing, implies that the conscious self exists as a permanent continuous
being; since modifications necessarily involve something modified. Shall
we then betake ourselves to the sceptic's position, and argue that our impressions
and ideas themselves are to us the only existences, and that the personality
said to underlie them is a fiction? We do not even thus escape; since this
proposition, verbally intelligible but really unthinkable, itself makes the
assumption which it professes to repudiate. For how can consciousness be
wholly resolved into impressions and ideas, when an impression of necessity
imples something impressed? Or again, how can the sceptic who has decomposed
his consciousness into impressions and ideas, explain the fact that he considers
them as his impressions and ideas? Or once more, if, as he must, he admits
that he has an impression of his personal existence, what warrant can he
show for rejecting this impression as unreal while he accepts all his other
impressions as real?




But now, unavoidable as is this belief, it is yet a belief admitting of
no justification by reason: nay, indeed, it is a belief which reason, when
pressed for a distinct answer, rejects. One of the most recent writers who
has touched on this question -- Mr. Mansel -- does, indeed, contend that
in the consciousness of self we have a piece of real knowledge. His position
is that "let system makers say what they will, the unsophisticated sense
of mankind refuses to acknowledge that mind is but a bundle of states of
consciousness, as matter is (possibly) a bundle of sensible qualities."
But this position does not seem a consistent one for a Kantist, who pays
but small respect to "the unsophisticated sense of mankind" when
it testifies to the objectivity of space. Moreover, it may readily be shown
that a cognition of self, properly so called, is negatived by those laws
of thought which he emphasizes. The fundamental condition to all consciousness,
insisted upon by Mr. Mansel in common with Sir William Hamilton and others,
is the antithesis of subject and object. On this "primitive dualism
of consciousness," "from which the explanations of philosophy must
take their start," Mr. Mansel founds his refutation of the German absolutists.
But now what is the corollary, as bearing on the consciousness of self? The
mental act in which self is known implies, like every other mental act, a
perceiving subject and a perceived object. If, then, the object perceived
is self, what is the subject that perceives? or if it is the true self which
thinks, what other self can it be that is thought of? Clearly, a true cognition
of self implies a state in which the knowing and the known are one -- in
which subject and object are identified; and this Mr. Mansel rightly holds
to be the annihilation of both.




So that the personality of which each is conscious, and the existence
of which is to each a fact beyond all others the most certain, is yet a thing
which cannot be known at all, in the strict sense of the word.




§21. Ultimate Scientific Ideas, then, are all representative of realities
that cannot be comprehended. After no matter how great a progress in the
colligation of facts and the establishment of generalizations ever wider
and wider, the fundamental truth remains as much beyond reach as ever. The
explanation of that which is explicable, does but bring into greater clearness
the inexplicableness of that which remains behind. Alike in the external
and the internal worlds, the man of science sees himself in the midst of
perpetual changes of which he can discover neither the beginning nor the
end. If he allows himself to entertain the hypothesis that the Universe originally
existed in a diffused form, he finds it impossible to conceive how this came
to be so; and equally, if he speculates on the future, he can assign no limit
to the grand succession of phenomena ever unfolding themselves before him.
In like manner if he looks inward he perceives that both ends of the thread
of consciousness are beyond his grasp. Neither end can be represented in
thought. When, again, he turns from the succession of phenomena, external
or internal, to their intrinsic nature, he is just as much at fault. Supposing
him in every case able to resolve the appearances, properties, and movements
of things, into manifestations of Force in Space and Time; he still finds
that Force, Space, and Time pass all understanding. Similarly, though analysis
of mental actions may finally bring him down to sensations, as the original
materials out of which all thought is woven, yet he is little forwarder;
for he can give no account either of sensations themselves or of that which
is conscious of sensations. Objective and subjective things he thus ascertains
to be alike inscrutable in their substance and genesis. In all directions
his investigations eventually bring him face to face with an insoluble enigma;
and be ever more clearly perceives it to be an insoluble enigma. He learns
at once the greatness and the littleness of the human intellect -- its power
in dealing with all that comes within the range of experience, its impotence
in dealing with all that transcends experience. He, more than any other,
truly knows that in its ultimate nature nothing can be known.




Chapter 4




The Relativity of all Knowledge




§22. The same conclusion is thus arrived at from whichever point
we set out. Ultimate religious ideas and ultimate scientific ideas, alike
turn out to be merely symbols of the actual, not cognitions of it.




The conviction, so reached, that human intelligence is incapable of absolute
knowledge, is one that has been slowly gaining ground. Each new ontological
theory, propounded in lieu of previous ones shown to be untenable, has been
followed by a new criticism leading to a new scepticism. All possible conceptions
have been one by one tried and found wanting; and so the entire field of
speculation has been gradually exhausted without positive result: the only
result reached being the negative one above stated -- that the reality existing
behind all appearances is, and must ever be, unknown. To this conclusion
almost every thinker of note has subscribed. "With the exception,"
says Sir William Hamilton, "of a few late Absolutist theorizers in Germany,
this is, perhaps, the truth of all others most harmoniously re-echoed by
every philosopher of every school." And among these he names -- Protagoras,
Aristotle, St. Augustin, Boethius, Averroes, Albertus Magnus, Gerson, Leo
Hebraeus, Melancthon, Scaliger, Francis Piccolomini, Giordano Bruno, Campanella,
Bacon, Spinoza, Newton, Kant.




It remains to point out how this belief may be established rationally,
as well as empirically. Not only is it that, as in the earlier thinkers above
named, a vague perception of the inscrutableness of things in themselves
results from discovering the illusiveness of sense-impressions; and not only
is it that, as shown in the foregoing chapters, experiments evolve alternative
impossibilities of thought out of every fundamental conception; but it is
that the relativity of our knowledge may be proved analytically. The induction
drawn from general and special experiences, may be confirmed by a deduction
from the nature of our intelligence. Two ways of reaching such a deduction
exist. Proof that our cognitions are not, and never can be, absolute, is
obtainable by analyzing either the product or thought, or the process of
thought. Let us analyze each.




§23. If, when walking through the fields some day in September, you
hear a rustle a few yards in advance, and on observing the ditch-side where
it occurs, see the herbage agitated, you will probably turn towards the spot
to learn by what this sound and motion are produced. As you approach there
flutters into the ditch a partridge; on seeing which your curiosity is satisfied
-- you have what you call an explanation of the appearances. The explanation,
mark, amounts to this; that whereas throughout life you have had countless
experiences of disturbance among small stationary bodies, accompanying the
movement of other bodies among them, and have generalized the relation between
such disturbances and such movements, you consider this particular disturbance
explained, on finding it to present an instance of the like relation. Suppose
you catch the partridge; and, wishing to ascertain why it did not escape,
examine it, and find at one spot a trace of blood on its feathers. You now
understand, as you say, what has disabled the partridge. It has been wounded
by a sportsman -- adds another case to the cases already seen by you, of
birds being killed or injured by the shot discharged at them from fowling-pieces.
And in assimilating this case to other such cases, consists your understanding
of it. But now, on consideration, a difficulty suggests itself. Only a single
shot has struck the partridge, and that not in a vital place: the wings are
uninjured, as are also those muscles which move them; and the creature proves
by its struggles that it has abundant strength. Why then, you inquire of
yourself, does it not fly? Occasion favouring, you put the question to an
anatomist, who furnishes you with a solution. He points out that this solitary
shot has passed close to the place at which the nerve supplying the wing-muscles
of one side, diverges from the spine; and explains that a slight injury to
this nerve, extending even to the rupture of a few fibres, may by preventing
a perfect co-ordination in the actions of the two wings, destroy the power
of flight. You are no longer puzzled. But what has happened? -- what has
changed your state from one of perplexity to one of comprehension? Simply
the disclosure of a class of previously known cases, along with which you
can include this case. The connexion between lesions of the nervous system
and paralysis of limbs has been already many times brought under your notice;
and you here find a relation of cause and effect that is essentially similar.




Let us suppose you are led to ask the anatomist questions about some organic
actions which, remarkable though they are, you had not before cared to understand.
How is respiration effected? You ask -- why does air periodically rush into
the lungs? The answer is that influx of air is caused by an enlargement of
the thoracic cavity, due, partly to depression of the diaphragm, partly to
motion of the ribs. But how can these bony hoops move, and how does motion
of them enlarge the cavity? In reply the anatomist explains that though attached
by their ends the ribs can move a little round their points of attachment;
he then shows you that the plane of each pair of ribs makes an acute angle
with the spine; that this angle widens when the sternal ends of the ribs
are raised; and he makes you realize the consequent dilatation of the cavity,
by pointing out how the area of a parallelogram increases as its angles approach
to right angles: you understand this special fact when you see it to be an
instance of a general geometrical fact. There still arises, however, the
question -- why does the air rush into this enlarged cavity? To which comes
the answer that, when the thoracic cavity is enlarged, the contained air,
partially relieved from pressure, expands, and so loses some of its resisting
Power; that hence it opposes to the pressure of the external air a less pressure;
and that as air, like every other fluid, presses equally in all directions,
motion must result along any line in which the resistance is less than elsewhere;
whence follows an inward current. And this interpretation you recognize as
one, when a few facts of like kind, exhibited more plainly in a visible fluid
such as water, are cited in illustration. Again, after being shown that the
limbs are compound levers acting in essentially the same way as levers of
iron, you would consider yourself as having obtained a partial rationale
of animal movements. The contraction of a muscle, seeming before quite unaccountable,
would seem less unaccountable were you shown how, by a galvanic current,
a series of soft iron magnets could be made to shorten itself through the
attraction of each magnet for its neighbours: -- an alleged analogy which
especially answers the purpose of our argument, since, whether real or fancied,
it equally illustrates the mental illumination that results on finding a
class of cases within which a particular case may perhaps be included. Similarly
when you learn that animal heat arises from chemical combination, and so
may be classed with heat evolved in other chemical combinations -- when you
learn that the absorption of nutrient liquids through the coats of the intestines
is an instance of osmotic action -- when you learn that the changes undergone
by food during digestion, are like changes artificially producible in the
laboratory; you regard yourself as knowing something about the natures of
these phenomena.




Observe now what we have been doing. We began with special and concrete
facts. In explaining each, and afterwards explaining the general facts of
which they are instances, we have got down to certain highly general facts:
-- to a geometrical principle, to a simple law of mechanical action, to a
law of fluid equilibrium -- to truths in physics, in chemistry, in thermology.
The particular phenomena with which we set out have been merged in larger
and larger groups of phenomena; and as they have been so merged, we have
arrived at solutions we consider profound in proportion as this process has
been carried far. Still deeper explanations are simply further steps in the
same direction. When, for instance, it is asked why the law of action of
the lever is what it is, or why fluid equilibrium and fluid motion exhibit
the relations they do, the answer furnished by mathematicians consists in
the disclosure of the principle of virtual velocities -- a principle holding
true alike in fluids and solids -- a principle under which the others are
comprehended.




Is this process limited or unlimited? Can we go on for ever explaining
classes of facts by including them in larger classes; or must we eventually
come to a largest class? The supposition that the process is unlimited, were
any one absurd enough to espouse it, would still imply that an ultimate explanation
could not be reached, since infinite time would be required to reach it.
While the unavoidable conclusion that it is limited, equally implies that
the deepest fact cannot be understood. For if the successively deeper interpretations
of Nature which constitute advancing knowledge, are merely successive inclusions
of special truths in general truths, and of general truths in truths still
more general; it follows that the most general truth, not admitting of inclusion
in any other, does not admit of interpretation. Of necessity, therefore,
explanation must eventually bring us down to the inexplicable. Comprehension
must become something other than comprehension, before the ultimate fact
can be comprehended.




§24. The inference which is thus forced on us when we analyze the
product of thought, as exhibited objectively in scientific generalizations,
is equally forced on us by an analysis of the process of thought, as exhibited
subjectively in consciousness. The demonstration of the relative character
of our knowledge, as deduced from the nature of intelligence, has been brought
to its most definite shape by Sir William Hamilton. I cannot here do better
than extract from his essay on the "Philosophy of the Unconditioned,"
the passage containing the substance of his doctrine.




"The unconditionally unlimited, or the Infinite, the unconditionally
limited, or the Absolute, cannot positively be construed to the mind; they
can be conceived, only by a thinking away from, or abstraction of, those
very conditions under which thought itself is realized; consequently, the
notion of the Unconditioned is only negative, -- negative of the conceivable
itself. For example, on the one hand we can positively conceive, neither
an absolute whole, that is, a whole so great, that we cannot also conceive
it as a relative part of a still greater whole; nor an absolute part, that
is, a part so small, that we cannot also conceive it as a relative whole,
divisible into smaller parts. On the other hand, we cannot positively represent,
or realize, or construe to the mind (as here understanding and imagination
coincide), an infinite whole, for this could only be done by the infinite
synthesis in thought of finite wholes, which would itself require an infinite
time for its accomplishment; nor, for the same reason, can we follow out
in thought an infinite divisibility of parts. The result is the same, whether
we apply the process to limitation in space, in time, or in degree. * * *




"As the conditionally limited (which we may briefly call the conditioned)
is thus the only possible object of knowledge and of positive thought --
thought necessarily supposes conditions. To think is to condition; and conditional
limitation is the fundamental law of the possibility of thought. For, as
the greyhound cannot outstrip his shadow, nor (by a more appropriate simile)
the eagle outsoar the atmosphere in which he floats, and by which alone he
may be supported; so the mind cannot transcend that sphere of limitation,
within and through which exclusively the possibility of thought is realized.
* * * How, indeed, it could ever be doubted that thought is only of the conditioned,
may well be deemed a matter of the profoundest admiration. Thought cannot
transcend consciousness; consciousness is only possible under the antithesis
of a subject and object of thought, known only in correlation, and mutually
limiting each other; while, independently of this, all that we know either
of subject or object, either of mind or matter, is only a knowledge in each
of the particular, of the plural, of the different, of the modified, of the
phaenomenal. We admit that the consequence of this doctrine is, -- that philosophy,
if viewed as more than a science of the conditioned, is impossible. Departing
from the particular, we admit, that we can never, in our highest generalizations,
rise above the finite; that our knowledge, whether of mind or matter, can
be nothing more than a knowledge of the relative manifestations of an existence,
which in itself it is our highest wisdom to recognize aS beyond the reach
of philosophy. * * *




"We are thus taught the salutary lesson, that the capacity of thought
is not to be constituted into the measure of existence; and are warned from
recognizing the domain of our knowledge as necessarily co-extensive with
the horizon of our faith. And by a wonderful revelation, we are thus, in
the very consciousness of our inability to conceive aught above the relative
and finite, inspired with a belief in the existence of something unconditioned
beyond the sphere of all comprehensible reality."




Clear and conclusive as this statement of the case appears when carefully
studied, it is expressed in so abstract a manner as to be not very intelligible
to the general reader. A more popular presentation of it. with illustrative
applications, as given by Mr. Mansel in his Limits of Religious Thought,
will make it more fully understood. The following extracts, which I take
the liberty of making from his pages, will suffice.




"The very conception of consciousness in whatever mode it may be
manifested, necessarily implies distinction between one object and another.
To be conscious, we must be conscious of something; and that something can
only be known, as that which it is, by being distinguished from that which
it is not. But distinction is necessarily imitation; for, if one object is
to be distinguished from another, it must possess some form of existence
which the other has not, or it must not possess some form which the other
has. * * * If all thought is limitation; -- if whatever we conceive is, by
the very act of conception, regarded as finite, -- the infinite, from a human
point of view, is merely a name for the absence of those conditions under
which thought is possible. To speak of a Conception of the Infinite is, therefore,
at once to affirm those conditions and to deny them. The contradiction, which
we discover in such a conception, is only that which we have ourselves placed
there, by tacitly assuming the conceivability of the inconceivable. The condition
of consciousness is distinction; and condition of distinction is limitation.
We can have no consciousness of Being in general which is not some Being
in particular: a thing, in consciousness, is one thing out of many. In assuming
the possibility of an infinite object of consciousness, I assume, therefore,
that it is at the same time limited and unlimited; -- actually something,
without which it could not be an object of consciousness, and actually nothing,
without which it could not be infinite. * * *




"A second characteristic of Consciousness is, that it is only possible
in the form of a relation. There must be a Subject, or person conscious,
and an Object, or thing of which he is conscious. There can be no consciousness
without the union of these two factors; and, in that union, each exists only
as it is related to the other. The subject is a subject, only in so far as
it is conscious of an object; the object is an object, only in so far as
it is apprehended by a subject: and the destruction of either is the destruction
of consciousness itself. It is thus manifest that a consciousness of the
Absolute is equally self-contradictory with that of the Infinite. To be conscious
of the Absolute as such, we must know that an object, which is given in relation
to our consciousness, is identical with one which exists in its own nature,
out of all relation to consciousness. But to know this identity, we must
be able to compare the two together; and such a comparison is itself a contradiction.
We are in fact required to compare that of which we are conscious with that
of which we are not conscious; the comparison itself being an act of consciousness,
and only possible through the consciousness of both its objects. It is thus
manifest that, even if we could be conscious of the absolute we could not
possibly know that it is the absolute: and, as we can be conscious of an
object as such, only by knowing it to be what it is, this is equivalent to
an admission that we cannot be conscious of the absolute at all. As an object
of COnsciousness, every thing is necessarily relative; and what a thing may
be out of consciousness no mode of consciousness can tell us. * * *




"This contradiction, again, admits of the same explanation as the
former, * * * Existence, as we conceive it, is but a name for the several
ways in which objects are presented to our consciousness, -- a general term,
embracing a variety of relations. The Absolute, on the other hand, is a term
expressing no object of thought, but only a denial of the relation by which
thought is constituted."




Here let me point out how the same general inference may be evolved from
another fundamental condition to thought, omitted by Sir W. Hamilton and
not supplied by Mr. Mansel; -- a condition which, under its obverse aspect,
we have already contemplated in the last section. Every complete act of consciousness,
besides distinction and relation, also implies likeness. Before it can constitute
a piece of knowledge, or even become an idea, a mental state must be known
not only as separate in kind or quality from certain foregoing states to
which it is known as related by succession, but it must further be known
as of the same kind or quality with certain other foregoing states. That
organization of changes which constitutes thinking, involves continuous integration
as well as continuous differentiation. Were each new affection of the mind
perceived simply as an affection in some way contested with preceding ones
-- were there but a chain of impressions, each of which as it arose was merely
distinguished from its predecessors; consciousness would be a chaos. To produce
that orderly consciousness which we call intelligence, there requires the
assimilation of each impression to others that occurred earlier in the series.
Both the successive mental states, and the successive relations which they
bear to one another, must be classified; and classification involves not
only a parting of the unlike, but also a binding together of the like. In
brief, a true cognition is possible only through an accompanying recognition.
Should it be objected that if so there cannot be a first cognition, and hence
there can be no cognition, the reply is that cognition proper arises gradually
-- that during the first stage of incipient intelligence, before the feelings
produced by intercourse with the outer world have been put into order, there
are no cognitions; and that, as every infant shows us, these slowly emerge
out of the confusion of unfolding consciousness as fast as the experiences
are arranged into groups -- as fast as the most frequently repeated sensations,
and their relations to one another, become familiar enough to admit of their
recognition as such or such, whenever they recur. Should it be further objected
that if cognition presupposes recognition, there can be no cognition, even
by an adult, of an object never before seen; there is still the sufficient
answer that in so far as it is not assimilated to previously-seen objects
it is not known, and that it is known only in so far as it is assimilated
to them. Of this paradox the interpretation is, that an object is classifiable
in various ways with various degress of completeness. An animal hitherto
unknown (mark the word), though not referable to any established species
or genus, is yet recognized as belonging to one of the larger divisions-mammals,
birds, reptiles, or fishes; or should it be so anomalous that its alliance
with any of these is not determinable, it may yet be classed as vertebrate
or invertebrate; or if it be one of those organisms in which it is doubtful
whether the animal or vegetal traits predominate, it is still known as a
living body. Even should it be questioned whether it is organic, it remains
beyond question that it is a material object, and it is cognized by being
recognized as such. Whence it is clear that a thing is perfectly known only
when it is in all respects like certain things previously observed. that
in proportion to the number of respects in which it is unlike them, is the
extent to which it is unknown; and that hence when it has absolutely no attribute
in common with anything else, it must be absolutely beyond the bound of knowledge.




Observe the corollary which here concerns us. A cognition of the Real,
as distinguished from the Phenomenal, must, if it exists, conform to this
law of cognition in general. The First Cause, the Infinite, the Absolute,
to be known at all, must be classed. To be positively thought of, it must
be thought of as such or such -- as of this or that kind. Can it be like
in kind to anything of which we have experience? Obviously not. Between the
creating and the created, there must be a distinction transcending any of
the distinctions between different divisions of the created. That which is
UnCauSed cannot be assimilated to that which is caused: the two being, in
the very naming, antithetically opposed. The Infinite cannot be grouped along
with something finite; since, in being so grouped, it must be regarded as
not infinite. It is impossible to put the Absolute in the same category with
anything relative, so long as the Absolute is defined as that of which no
necessary relation can be predicated. Is it then that the Actual, though
unthinkable by classification with the Apparent, is thinkable by classification
with itself? This supposition is equally absurd with the other. It implies
the plurality of the First Cause, the Infinite, the Absolute; and this implication
is self-contradictory. There cannot be more than one First Cause; seeing
that the existence of more than one would involve the existence of something
necessitating more than one, which something would be the true First Cause.
How self-destructive is the assumption of two or more Infinites, is manifest
on remembering that such Infinites, by limiting each other, would become
finite. And similarly, an Absolute which existed not alone but along with
other Absolutes, would no longer be an absolute but a relative. The Unconditioned
therefore, as classable neither with any form of the conditioned nor with
any other Unconditioned, cannot be classed at all. And to admit that it cannot
be known as of such or such kind, is to admit that it is unknowable.




Thus, from the very nature of thought, the relativity of our knowledge
is inferable in three ways. As we find by analyzing it, and as we see it
objectively displayed in every proposition, a thought involves relation,
difference, likeness. Whatever does not present each of these does not admit
of cognition. And hence we may say that the Unconditioned, as presenting
none of them, is trebly unthinkable.




§25. From yet another point of view we may discern the same great
truth. If, instead of examining our intellectual powers directly as displayed
in the act of thought, or indirectly as displayed in thought when expressed
by words, we look at the connexion between the mind and the world, a like
conclusion is forced on us. The very definition of Life, phenomenally considered,
when reduced to its most abstract shape, discloses this ultimate implication.




All vital actions, considered not separately but in their ensemble, have
for their final purpose the balancing of certain outer processes by certain
inner processes. There are external forces having a tendency to bring the
matter of which living bodies consist, into that stable equilibrium shown
by inorganic bodies; there are internal forces by which this tendency is
constantly antagonized; and the unceasing changes which constitute Life,
may be regarded as incidental to the maintenance of the antagonism. For instance,
to preserve the erect posture certain weights have to be neutralized by certain
strains: each limb or other organ, gravitating to the Earth and pulling down
the parts to which it is attached, has to be preserved in position by the
tension of sundry muscles; or, in other words, the forces which would if
allowed bring the body to the ground, have to be counterbalanced by other
forces. Again, to keep up the temperature at a particular point, the external
process of radiation and absorption of heat by the surrounding medium, must
be met by a corresponding internal process of chemical combination, whereby
more heat may be evolved; to which add that if from atmospheric changes the
loss becomes greater or less, the production must become greater or less.
Similarly throughout the organic actions at large.




In the lower kinds of life the adjustments thus maintained are direct
and simple; as in a plant, the vitality of which mainly consists in osmotic
and chemical actions responding to the co-existence of light, heat, water,
and carbon-dioxide around it. But in animals, and especially in the higher
orders of them, the adjustments become extremely complex. Materials for growth
and repair not being, like those which plants require, everywhere present,
but being widely dispersed and under special forms, have to be found, to
be secured, and to be reduced to a fit state for assimilation. Hence the
need for locomotion; hence the need for the senses; hence the need for prehensile
and destructive appliances; hence the need for an elaborate digestive apparatus.
Observe, however, that these complications are nothing but aids to the maintenance
of the organic balance, in opposition to those physical, chemical, and other
agencies which tend to overturn it. And observe, further, that while these
complications aid this fundamental adaptation of inner to outer actions,
they are themselves nothing but additional adaptations of inner to outer
actions. For what are those movements by which a predatory creature pursues
its prey, or by which its prey seeks to escape, but certain changes in the
organism fitted to meet certain changes in its environment? What is that
operation which constitutes the perception of a piece of food, but a particular
correlation of nervous modifications, answering to a particular correlation
of physical properties? What is that process by which food when swallowed
is made fit for assimilation, but a set of mechanical and chemical actions
responding to the mechanical and chemical characters of the food? Hence,
while Life in its simplest form is the correspondence of certain inner physico-chemical
actions with certain outer physico-chemical actions, each advance to a higher
form of Life consists in a better preservation of this primary correspondence
by the establishment of other correspondences.




So that, passing over its noumenal nature of which we know nothing, Life
is definable as the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external
relations. And when we so define it, we discover that the physical and the
psychical life are equally comprehended by the definition. This which we
call Intelligence, arises when the external relations to which the internal
ones are adjusted become numerous, complex, and remote in time or space.
Every advance in Intelligence essentially consists in the establishment of
more varied, more complete, or more involved adjustments. And even the highest
generalizations of science consist of mental relations of co-existence and
sequence, so co-ordinated as exactly to tally with certain relations of co-existence
and sequence that occur externally. A caterpillar, finding its way on to
a plant having a certain odour, begins to eat -- has inside of it an organic
relation between a particular impression and a particular set of actions,
answering to the relation outside of it between scent and nutriment. The
sparrow, guided by the more complex correlation of impressions which the
colour form, and movements of the caterpillar gave it, and guided by other
correlations which measure the position and distance of the caterpillar,
adjusts certain correlated muscular movements so as to seize the caterpillar.
through a much greater distance is the hawk, hovering above, affected by
the relations of shape and motion which the sparrow presents; and the much
more complicated and prolonged series of related nervous and muscular changes,
gone through in correspondence with the sparrow's changing relations of position,
finally succeed when they are precisely adjusted to these changing relations.
In the fowler, experience has established a relation between the appearance
and flight of a hawk and the destruction of other birds, including game.
There is also in him an established relation between those visual impressions
answering to a certain distance in space, and the range of his gun. And he
has learned, too, what relations of position the sights must bear to a point
somewhat in advance of the flying bird, before he can fire with success.
Similarly if we go back to the manufacture of the gun. By relations of co-existence
between colour, density, and place in the earth, a particular mineral is
known as one which yields iron; and the obtainment of iron from it, results
when certain correlated acts of ours are adjusted to certain correlated affinities
displayed by ironstone, coal, and lime, at a high temperature. If we descend
yet a step further, and ask a chemist to explain the explosion of gunpowder,
or apply to a mathematician for a theory of projectiles, we still find that
special or general relations of co-existence and sequence among properties,
motions, spaces, etc., are all they can teach us. And lastly, let it be noted
that what we call truth guiding us to successful action and consequent maintenance
of life, is simply the accurate correspondence of subjective to objective
relations; while error, leading to failure and therefore towards death, is
the absence of such accurate correspondence.




If, then, Life, as knowable by us, inclusive of Intelligence in its highest
forms, consists in the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external
relations, the relative character of our knowledge is necessarily implied.
The simplest cognition being the establishment of some connexion between
subjective states, answering to some connexion between objective agencies;
and each successively more complex cognition being the establishment of some
more involved connexion of such states, answering to some more involved connexion
of such agencies; it is clear that the process, no matter how far it be carried,
can never bring within the reach of Intelligence, either the states themselves
or the agencies themselves. Ascertaining which things occur along with which,
and what things follow what, supposing it to be pursued exhaustively must
still leave us with co-existences and sequences only. If every act of knowing
is the formation of a relation in consciousness answering to a relation in
the environment, then the relativity of knowledge is self-evident -- becomes
indeed a truism. Thinking being relationing, no thought can ever express
more than relations.




And here let us note how that to which our intelligence is confined, is
that with which alone our intelligence is concerned. The knowledge within
our reach is the only knowledge that can be of service to us. This maintenance
of a correspondence between internal actions and external act ions, merely
requires that the agencies acting upon us shall be known in their co-existences
and sequences, and not that they shall be known in themselves. If x and y
are two uniformly connected properties in some outer object, while a and
b are the effects they produce in our consciousness, then the sole need is
that a and b and the relation between them, shall always answer to x and
y and the relation between them. It matters nothing to us if a and b are
like x and y or not. Could they be identical with them, we should not be
one whit the better off; and their total dissimilarity is no disadvantage.




Deep down then in the very nature of Life, the relativity of our knowledge
is discernible. The analysis of vital actions in general, leads not only
to the conclusion that things in themselves cannot be known to us, but also
to the conclusion that knowledge of them, were it possible, would be useless.




§26. There remains the final question -- What must we say concerning
that which transcends knowledge? Are we to rest wholly in the consciousness
of phenomena? Is the result of inquiry to exclude utterly from our minds
everything but the relative? or must we also believe in something beyond
the relative?




The answer of pure logic is held to be that by the limits of our intelligence
we are rigorously confined within the relative, and that anything transcending
the relative can be thought of as a pure negation, or as a non-existence.
"The absolute is conceived merely by a negation of conceivability"
writes Sir William Hamilton. "The Absolute and the Infinite," says
Mr. Mansel, "are thus, like the Inconceivable and the Imperceptible,
names indicating, not an object of thought or of consciousness at all, but
the mere absence of the conditions under which consciousness is possible."
So that since reason cannot warrant us in affirming the positive existence
of that which is cognizable only as a negation, we cannot rationally affirm
the positive existence of anything beyond phenomena.




Unavoidable as this conclusion seems, it involves, I think, a grave error.
If the premiss be granted the inference must be admitted; but the premiss,
in the form presented by Sir William Hamilton and Mr. Mansel, is not strictly
true. Though, in the foregoing pages, the arguments used by these writers
to show that the Absolute is unknowable, have been approvingly quoted; and
though these arguments have been enforced by others equally thoroughgoing;
yet there remains to be stated a qualification which saves us from the scepticism
otherwise necessitated. It is not to be denied that so long as we confine
ourselves to the purely logical aspect of the question, the propositions
quoted above must be accepted in their entirety; but when we contemplate
its more general, or psychological, aspect, we find that these propositions
are imperfect statements of the truth: omitting, or rather excluding, as
they do, an all-important fact. To speak specifically: -- Besides that definite
consciousness of which Logic formulates the laws, there is also an indefinite
consciousness which cannot be formulated. Besides complete thoughts, and
besides the thoughts which though incomplete admit of completion, there are
thoughts which it is impossible to complete; and yet which are still real,
in the sense that they are normal affections of the intellect.




Observe, in the first place, that every one of the arguments by which
the relativity of our knowledge is demonstrated, distinctly postulates the
positive existence of something beyond the relative. To say that we cannot
know the Absolute, is, by implication, to affirm that there is an Absolute.
In the very denial of our power to learn what the Absolute is, there lies
hidden the assumption that it is; and the making of this assumption proves
that the Absolute has been present to the mind, not as a nothing but as a
something. Similarly with every step in the reasoning by which this doctrine
is upheld. The Noumenon, everywhere named as the antithesis to the Phenomenon,
is necessarily thought of as an actuality. It is impossible to conceive that
our knowledge is a knowledge of Appearances only without at the same time
assuming a Reality of which they are appearances; for appearance without
reality is unthinkable. Strike out from the argument the terms Unconditioned,
Infinite, Absolute, and in place of them write, "negation of conceivability,"
or "absence of the conditions under which consciousness is possible,"
and the argument becomes nonsense. To realize in thought any one of the propositions
of which the argument consists, the Unconditioned must be represented as
positive and not negative. How then can it be a legitimate conclusion from
the argument, that our consciousness of it is negative? An argument the very
construction of which assigns to a certain term a certain meaning, but which
ends in showing that this term has no such meaning, is simply an elaborate
suicide. Clearly, then, the very demonstration that a definite consciousness
of the Absolute is impossible to us, unavoidably presupposes an indefinite
consciousness of it.




Perhaps the best way of showing that we are obliged to form a positive
though Vague consciousness of this which transcends distinct consciousness,
is to analyze our conception of the antithesis between Relative and Absolute.
It is a doctrine called in question by none, that such antinomies of thought
as Whole and Part, Equal and Unequal, Singular and Plural, are necessarily
conceived as correlatives: the conception of a part is impossible without
the conception of a whole; there can be no idea of equality without one of
inequality. And it is undeniable that in the same manner, the Relative is
itself conceivable as such, only by opposition to the Irrelative or Absolute.
Sir William Hamilton, however, in his trenchant (and in most parts unanswerable)
criticism on Cousin, contends, in conformity with his position above stated,
that one of these correlatives is nothing more than the negation of the other.
"Correlatives,' he says, "certainly suggest each other, but correlatives
may, or may not, be equally real and positive. In thought contradictories
necessarily imply each other, for the knowledge of contradictories is one.
But the reality of one contradictory, so far from guaranteeing the reality
of the other, is nothing else than its negation. Thus every positive notion
(the concept of a thing by what it is) suggests a negative notion (the concept
of a thing by what it is not); and the highest positive notion, the notion
of the conceivable, is not without its corresponding negative in the notion
of the inconceivable. But though these mutually suggest each other, the positive
alone is real; the negative is only an abstraction of the other, and in the
highest generality, even an abstraction of thought itself." Now the
assertion that of such contradictories "the negative is only an abstraction
of the other" -- "is nothing else than its negation," -- is
not true. In such correlatives as Equal and Unequal, it is obvious enough
that the negative concept contains something besides the negation of the
positive one; for the things of which equality is denied are not abolished
from consciousness by the denial. And the fact overlooked by Sir William
Hamilton is, that the like holds even with those correlatives of which the
negative is inconceivable, in the strict sense of the word. Take for example
the Limited and the Unlimited. Our notion of the Limited is composed, firstly
of a consciousness of some kind of being, and secondly of a consciousness
of the limits under which it is known. In the antithetical notion of the
Unlimited, the consciousness of limits is abolished, but not the consciousness
of some kind of being. It is quite true that in the absence of conceived
limits, this consciousness ceases to be a concept properly so called; but
it is none the less true that it remains as a mode of consciousness. If,
in such cases, the negative contradictory were, as alleged, "nothing
else" than the negation of the other, and therefore a mere non-entity
then it would follow that negative contradictories could be used interchangeably:
the Unlimited might be thought of as antithetical to the Divisible; and the
Indivisible as antithetical to the Limited. While the fact that they cannot
be so used, proves that in consciousness the Unlimited and the Indivisible
are qualitatively distinct, and therefore positive or real; since distinction
cannot exist between nothings. The error, (naturally fallen into by philosophers
intent on demonstrating the limits and conditions of consciousness,) consists
in assuming that consciousness contains nothing but limits and conditions;
to the entire neglect of that which is limited and conditioned. It is forgotten
that there is something which alike forms the raw material of definite thought
and remains after the definiteness which thinking gave it has been destroyed.
Now all this applies by change of terms to the last and highest of these
antinomies -- that between the Relative and the Non-relative. We are conscious
of the Relative as existence under conditions and limits. It is impossible
that these conditions and limits can be thought of apart from something to
which they give the form. The abstraction of these conditions and limits
is, by the hypothesis, the abstraction of them only. Consequently there must
be a residuary consciousness of something which filled up their outlines.
And this indefinite something constitutes our consciousness of the Non-relative
or Absolute. Impossible though it is to give to this consciousness any qualitative
or quantitative expression whatever, it is not the less certain that it remains
with us as a positive and indestructible element of thought.




More manifest still will this truth become when it is observed that our
conception of the Relative itself disappears' if our consciousness of the
Absolute is a pure negation. It is admitted, or rather it is contended, by
the writers I have quoted above, that contradictories can be known only in
relation to each other -- that equality, for instance, is unthinkable apart
from Inequality; and that thus the Relative can itself be conceived only
by opposition to the Non-relative. It is also admitted, or rather contended,
that the consciousness of a relation implies a consciousness of both the
related terms. If we are required to conceive the relation between the Relative
and Non-relative without being conscious of both, "we are in fact"
(to quote the words of Mr. Mansel differently applied) "required to
compare that of which we are conscious with that of which we are not conscious;
the comparison itself being an act of consciousness, and only possible through
the consciousness of both its objects." What then becomes of the assertion
that "the Absolute is conceived merely by a negation of conceivability,"
or as "the mere absence of the conditions under which consciousness
is possible?" If the Non-relative or Absolute, is present in thought
only as a mere negation, then the relation between it and the Relative becomes
unthinkable, because one of the terms of the relation is absent from consciousness.
And if this relation is unthinkable, then is the Relative itself unthinkable,
for want of its antithesis: whence results the disappearance of all thought
whatever.




Both Sir William Hamilton and Mr. Mansel do, in other places, distinctly
imply that our consciousness of the Absolute, indefinite though it is, is
positive. The very passage in which Sir William Hamilton asserts that "the
absolute is conceived merely by a negation of conceivability," itself
ends with the remark that, "by a wonderful revelation we are thus, in
the very consciousness of our inability to conceive aught above the relative
and finite, inspired with a belief in the existence of something unconditioned
beyond the sphere of all comprehensible reality." The last of these
assertions practically admits that which the first denies. By the laws of
thought as Sir William Hamilton interprets them, he finds himself forced
to the conclusion that our consciousness of the Absolute is a pure negation.
He nevertheless finds that there does exist in consciousness an irresistible
conviction of the real "existence of something unconditioned."
And he gets over the inconsistency by speaking of this conviction as "a
wonderful revelation," "a belief" with which we are "inspired:"
thus apparently hinting that it is supernaturally at variance with the laws
of thought. Mr. Mansel is betrayed into a like inconsistency. When he says
that "we are compelled, by the constitution of our minds, to believe
in the existence of an Absolute and Infinite Being, -- a belief which appears
forced upon us, as the complement of our consciousness of the relative and
the finite;" he clearly says by implication that this consciousness
is positive, and not negative. He tacitly admits that we are obliged to regard
the Absolute as something more than a negation -- that our consciousness
of it is not "the mere absence of the conditions under which consciousness
is possible."




The supreme importance of this question must be my apology for taxing
the reader's attention a little further, in the hope of clearing up the remaining
difficulties. The necessarily positive character of our consciousness of
the Unconditioned, which, as we have seen, follows from an ultimate law of
thought, will be better understood on contemplating the process of thought.




One of the arguments used to prove the relativity of our knowledge, is,
that we cannot conceive Space or Time as either limited or unlimited. It
is pointed out that when we imagine a limit, there simultaneously arises
the consciousness of a space or time beyond the limit. This remoter space
or time, though not contemplated as definite, is yet contemplated as real.
Though we do not form of it a conception proper, since we do not bring it
within bounds, there is yet in our minds the unshaped material of a conception.
Similarly with our consciousness of Cause. We are no more able to form a
circumscribed idea of Cause, than of Space or Time; and we are consequently
obliged to think of the Cause which transcends the limits of our thought
as positive though indefinite. As on conceiving any bounded space, there
arises a nascent consciousness of space outside the bounds; so, when we think
of any definite cause, there arises a nascent consciousness of a cause behind
it; and in the one case as in the other, this nascent consciousness is in
substance like that which suggests it, though without form. The momentum
of thought carries us beyond conditioned existence to unconditioned existence;
and this ever persists in us as the body of a thought to which we can give
no shape.




Hence our firm belief in objective reality. When we are taught that a
piece of matter, regarded by us as existing externally, cannot be really
known, but that we can know only certain impressions produced on us, we are
yet, by the relativity of thought, compelled to think of these in relation
to a cause -- the notion of a real existence which generated these impressions
becomes nascent. If it be proved that every notion of a real existence which
we can frame, is inconsistent with itself -- that matter, however conceived
by us, cannot be matter as it actually is, our conception, though transfigured,
is not destroyed: there remains the sense of reality, dissociated as far
as possible from those special forms under which it was before represented
in thought. Though Philosophy condemns successively each attempted conception
of the Absolute -- though in obedience to it we negative, one after another;
each idea as it arises; yet, as we cannot expel the entire contents of consciousness,
there ever remains behind an element which passes into new shapes. The continual
negation of each particular form and limit, simply results in the more or
less complete abstraction of all forms and limits; and so ends in an indefinite
consciousness of the unformed and unlimited.




And here we come face to face with the ultimate difficulty -- How can
there be constituted a consciousness of the unformed and unlimited, when,
by its very nature, consciousness is possible only under forms and limits?
Though not directly withdrawn by the withdrawal of its conditions, must not
the raw material of consciousness be withdrawn by implication? Must it not
vanish when the conditions of its existence vanish? That there must be a
solution of this difficulty is manifest; since even those who would put it
do, as already shown, admit that we have some such consciousness; and the
solution appears to be that above shadowed forth. Such consciousness is not,
and cannot be, constituted by any single act, but is the product of many
mental acts. In each concept there is an element which persists. It is impossible
for this element to be absent from consciousness, or for it to be present
in consciousness alone. Either alternative involves unconsciousness -- the
one from want of the substance; the other from want of the form. But the
persistence of this element under successive conditions, necessitates a sense
of it as distinguished from the conditions, and independent of them. The
sense of a something that is conditioned in every thought cannot be got rid
of, because the something cannot be got rid of. How then must the sense of
this something be constituted? Evidently by combining successive concepts
deprived of their limits and conditions. We form this indefinite thought,
as we form many of our definite thoughts, by the coalescence of a series
of thoughts. Let me illustrate this. A large complex object, having attributes
too numerous to be represented at once, is yet tolerably well conceived by
the union of several representations, each standing for part of its attributes.
On thinking of a piano, there first rises in imagination its outer appearance,
to which are instantly added (though by separate mental acts) the ideas of
its remote side and of its solid substance. A complete conception, however,
involves the strings, the hammers, the dampers, the pedals; and while successively
adding these, the attributes first thought of lapse partially or wholly out
of consciousness. Nevertheless, the whole group constitutes a representation
of the piano. Now as in this case we form a definite concept of a special
existence, by imposing limits and conditions in successive acts; so, in the
converse case, by taking away limits and conditions in successive acts, we
form an indefinite notion of general existence. By fusing a series of states
of consciousness, from each of which, as it arises, the limitations and conditions
are abolished, there is produced a consciousness of something unconditioned.
To speak more rigorously: -- this consciousness is not the abstract of any
one group of thoughts, ideas, or conceptions; but it is the abstract of all
thoughts, ideas, or conceptions. That which is common to them all we predicate
by the word existence. Dissociated as this becomes from each of its modes
by the perpetual change of those modes, it remains as an indefinite consciousness
of something constant under all modes -- of being apart from its appearances.
The distinction we feel between specialized existences and general existence,
is the distinction between that which is changeable in us and that which
is unchangeable. The contrast between the Absolute and the Relative in our
minds, is really the contrast between that mental element which exists absolutely,
and those which exist relatively.




So that this ultimate mental element is at once necessarily indefinite
and necessarily indestructible. Our consciousness of the unconditioned being
literally the unconditioned consciousness, or raw material of thought to
which in thinking we give definite forms, it follows that an ever-present
sense of real existence is the basis of our intelligence. As we can in successive
mental acts get rid of all particular conditions and replace them by others,
but cannot get rid of that undifferentiated substance of consciousness which
is conditioned anew in every thought, there ever remains with us a sense
of that which exists persistently and independently of conditions. While
by the laws of thought we are prevented from forming a conception of absolute
existence; we are by the laws of thought prevented from excluding the consciousness
of absolute existence: this consciousness being, as we here see, the obverse
of self-consciousness. And since the measure of relative validity among our
beliefs, is the degree of their persistence in opposition to the efforts
made to change them, it follows that this which persists at all times, under
all circumstances, has the highest validity of any.




The points in this somewhat too elaborate argument are these: In the very
assertion that all knowledge, properly so called, is Relative, there is involved
the assertion that there exists a Non-relative. In each step of the argument
by which this doctrine is established, the same assumption is made. From
the necessity of thinking in relations, it follows that the Relative is itself
inconceivable, except as related to a real Non-relative. Unless a real Non-relative
or Absolute be postulated, the Relative itself becomes absolute, and so brings
the argument to a contradiction. And on watching our thoughts we have seen
how impossible it is to get rid of the consciousness of an Actuality lying
behind Appearances; and how from this impossibility, results our indestructible
belief in that Actuality.




Chapter 5




The Reconcilation




§27. Thus do all lines of argument converge to the same conclusion.
Those imbecilities of the understanding which disclose themselves when we
try to answer the highest questions of objective science, subjective science
proves to be necessitated by the laws of that understanding. Finally we discover
that this conclusion which, in its unqualified form, seems opposed to the
instinctive convictions of mankind, falls into harmony with them when the
missing qualification is supplied. Here, then, is that basis of agreement
we set out to seek. This conclusion which objective science illustrates and
subjective science shows to be unavoidable, -- this conclusion which brings
the results of speculation into harmony with those of common sense; is also
the conclusion which reconciles Religion with Science. Common Sense asserts
the existence of a reality; Objective Science proves that this reality cannot
be what we think it; Subjective Science shows why we cannot think of it as
it is, and yet are compelled to think of it as existing; and in this assertion
of a Reality utterly inscrutable in nature, Religion finds an assertion essentially
coinciding with her own. We are obliged to regard every phenomenon as a manifestation
of some Power by which we are acted upon; though omnipresence is unthinkable,
yet, as experience discloses no bounds to the diffusion of phenomena, we
are unable to think of limits to the presence of this Power; while the criticisms
of Science teach us that this Power is Incomprehensible. And this consciousness
of an Incomprehensible Power, called omnipresent from inability to assign
its limits, is just that consciousness on which Religion dwells.




To understand fully how real is the reconciliation thus reached, it will
be needful to look at the respective attitudes that Religion and Science
have all along maintained towards this conclusion.




§28. In its earliest and crudest forms Religion manifested, however
vaguely and inconsistently, an intuition forming the germ of this highest
belief in which philosophies finally unite. The consciousness of a mystery
is traceable in the rudest ghost-theory. Each higher creed, rejecting those
definite and simple interpretations of Nature previously given, has become
more religious by doing this. As the concrete and conceivable agencies assigned
as the causes of things, have been replaced by agencies less concrete and
conceivable, the element of mystery has necessary become more predominant.
Through all its phases the disappearance of those dogmas by which the mystery
was made unmysterious, has formed the essential change delineated in religious
history. And so Religion has been approaching towards that complete recognition
of this mystery which is its goal.




For its essentially valid belief Religion has constantly done battle.
Gross as were the disguises under which it first espoused this belief, and
cherishing this belief, even still, under disfiguring vestments, it has never
ceased to maintain and defend it. Though from age to age Science has continually
defeated it wherever they have come in collision, and has obliged it to relinquish
one or more of its positions, it has held the remaining ones with undiminished
tenacity. After criticism has abolished its arguments, there has still remained
with it the indestructible consciousness of a truth which, however faulty
the mode in which it had been expressed, is yet a truth beyond cavil.




But while from the beginning, Religion has had the all-essential office
of preventing men from being wholly absorbed in the relative or immediate,
and of awakening them to a consciousness of something beyond it, this office
has been but very imperfectly discharged. In its early stages the consciousness
of supernature being simply the consciousness of numerous supernatural persons
essentially man-like, was not far removed from the ordinary consciousness.
As thus constituted, Religion was and has ever been more or less irreligious;
and indeed continues to be largely irreligious even now. In the first place
(restricting ourselves to Religion in its more developed form), it has all
along professed to have some knowledge of that which transcends knowledge,
and has so contradicted its own teachings. While with one breath it has asserted
that the Cause of all things passes understanding, it has, with the next
breath, asserted that the Cause of all things possesses such or such attributes
-- can be in so far understood. In the second place, while in great part
sincere in its fealty to the great truth it has had to uphold, it has often
been insincere, and consequently irreligious, in maintaining the untenable
doctrines by which it has obscured this great truth. Each assertion respecting
the nature, acts, or motives of that Power which the Universe manifests to
us, has been repeatedly called in question, and proved to be inconsistent
with itself, or with accompanying assertions. Yet each of them has been age
after age insisted on. Just as though unaware that its central position was
impregnable, Religion has obstinately held every outpost long after it was
obviously indefensible. And this introduces us to the third and most serious
form of irreligion which Religion has displayed; namely, an imperfect belief
in that which it especially professes to believe. How truly its central position
is impregnable, Religion has never adequately realized. In the devoutest
faith as we commonly see it, there lies hidden a core of scepticism; and
it is this scepticism which causes that dread of inquiry shown by Religion
when face to face with Science. Obliged to abandon one by one the superstitions
it once tenaciously held, and daily finding other cherished beliefs more
and more shaken, Religion secretly fears that all things may some day be
explained; and thus itself betrays a lurking doubt whether that Incomprehensible
Cause of which it is conscious, is really incomprehensible.




Of Religion then, we must always remember, that amid its many errors and
corruptions it has asserted and diffused a supreme verity. From the first,
the recognition of this supreme verity, in however imperfect a manner, has
been its vital element; and its chief defects, once extreme but gradually
diminishing, have been its failures to recognize in full that which it recognized
in part. The truly religious element of Religion has always been good; that
which has proved untenable in doctrine and vicious in practice, has been
its irreligious element; and from this it has been undergoing purification.




§29. And now observe that the agent which has effected the purification
has been Science. On both sides this fact is overlooked. Religion ignores
its immense debt to Science; and Science is scarcely at all conscious how
much Religion owes it. Yet it is demonstrable that every step by which Religion
has progressed from its first low conception to the comparatively high one
now reached, Science has helped it, or rather forced it, to take; and that
even now, Science is urging further steps in the same direction.




When we include under the name Science all definite knowledge of the order
existing among phenomena, it becomes manifest that from the outset, the discovery
of an established order has modified that conception of disorder or undetermined
order, which underlies every superstition. As fast as experience proves that
certain familiar changes always present the same sequences, there begins
to fade from the mind the conception of special personalities to whose variable
wills they were before ascribed. And when, step by step, accumulating observations
do the like with the less familiar changes, a similar modification of belief
takes place respecting them.




While this process seems to those who effect it, and those who undergo
it, an anti-religious one, it is really the reverse. Instead of the specific
comprehensible agency before assigned, there is substituted a less specific
and less comprehensible agency; and though this, standing in opposition to
the previous one, cannot at first call forth the same feeling, yet, as being
less comprehensible, it must eventually call forth this feeling more fully.
Take an instance. Of old the Sun was regarded as the chariot of a god, drawn
by horses. How far the idea thus grossly expressed was idealized, we need
not inquire. It suffices to remark that this accounting for the apparent
motion of the Sun by an agency like certain visible terrestrial agencies,
reduced a daily wonder to the level of the commonest intellect. When, many
centuries after, Copernicus having enunciated the heliocentric theory of
the solar system, Kepler discovered that the orbits of the planets are ellipses,
and that the planets describe equal areas in equal times, he concluded that
in each of them there must exist a spirit to guide its movements. Here we
see that with the progress of Science, there had disappeared the idea of
a gross mechanical traction, such as was first assigned in the case of the
Sun; but that while for the celestial motions there was substituted a less-easily
conceivable force, it was still thought needful to assume personal agents
as causes of the regular irregularity of the motions. When, finally it was
proved that these planetary revolutions with all their variations and disturbances,
conform to one universal law -- when the presiding spirits which Kepler conceived
were set aside, and the force of gravitation put in their places; the change
was really the abolition of an imaginable agency, and the substitution of
an unimaginable one. For though the law of gravitation is within our mental
grasp, it is impossible to realize in thought the force of gravitation. Newton
himself confessed the force of gravitation to be incomprehensible without
the intermediation of an ether; and, as we have already seen, (§18),
the assumption of an ether does not help us. Thus it is with Science in general.
Its progress in grouping particular relations of phenomena under laws, and
these special laws under laws more and more general, is of necessity a progress
to causes more and more abstract. And causes more and more abstract, are
of necessity causes less and less conceivable; since the formation of an
abstract conception involves the dropping of certain concrete elements of
thought. Hence the most abstract conception, to which Science is slowly approaching,
is one that merges into the inconceivable or unthinkable, by the dropping
of all concrete elements of thought. And so is justified the assertion that
the beliefs which Science has forced upon Religion, have been intrinsically
more religious than those which they supplanted.




Science, however, like Religion, has but very incompletely fulfilled its
office. As Religion has fallen short of its function in so far as it has
been irreligious; so has Science fallen short of its function in so far as
it has been unscientific. Let us note the several parallelisms. In its earlier
stages Science, while it began to teach the constant relations of phenomena,
and thus discredited the belief in separate personalities as the causes of
them, itself substituted the belief in casual agencies which, if not personal,
were yet concrete. When certain facts were said to show "Nature's abhorrence
of a vacuum," when the properties of gold were explained as due to some
entity called "aureity," and when the phenomena of life were attributed
to "a vital principle;" there was set up a mode of interpreting
the facts which, while antagonistic to the religious mode, because assigning
other agencies, was also unscientific, because it assumed a knowledge of
that about which nothing was known. Having abandoned these metaphysical agencies
-- having seen that they are not independent existences, but merely special
combinations of general causes, Science has more recently ascribed extensive
groups of phenomena to electricity, chemical affinity, and other like general
powers. But in speaking of these as ultimate and independent entities, Science
has preserved substantially the same attitude as before. Accounting thus
for all phenomena, it has not only maintained its seeming antagonism to Religion,
by alleging agencies of a radically unlike kind; but, in so far as it has
tacitly implied its comprehension of these agencies, it has continued unscientific.
At the present time, however, the most advanced men of science are abandoning
these later conceptions, as their predecessors abandoned the earlier ones.
Magnetism, heat, light, etc., which were early in the century spoken of as
so many distinct imponderables, physicists now regard as different modes
of manifestation of some one universal force; and in so regarding them are
ceasing to think of this force as comprehensible. In each phase of its progress,
Science has thus stopped short with superficial solutions -- has unscientifically
neglected to ask what were the natures of the agents it familiarly invoked.
Though in each succeeding phase it has gone a little deeper, and merged its
supposed agents in more general and abstract ones, it has still, as before,
rested content with these aS if they were ascertained realities. And this,
which has all along been an unscientific characteristic of Science, has all
along been a part-cause of its conflict with Religion.




§30. Thus from the outset the faults of both Religion and Science
have been the faults of imperfect development. Originally a mere rudiment,
each has been growing more complete; the vice of each has in all times been
its incompleteness; the disagreements between them have been consequences
of their incompleteness; and as they reach their final forms they come into
harmony.




The progress of intelligence has throughout been dual. Though it has not
seemed so to those who made it, every step in advance has been a step towards
both the natural and the supernatural. The better interpretation of each
phenomenon has been, on the one hand, the rejection of a cause that was relatively
conceivable in its nature but unknown in the order of its actions, and, on
the other hand, the adoption of a cause that was known in the order of its
actions but relatively inconceivable in its nature. The first advance involved
the conception of agencies less assimilable to the familiar agencies of men
and animals, and therefore less understood; while, at the same time, such
newly-conceived agencies, in so far as they were distinguished by their uniform
effects, were better understood than those they replaced. All subsequent
advances display the same result; and thus the progress has been as much
towards the establishment of a positively unknown as towards the establishment
of a positively known. Though as knowledge advances, unaccountable and seemingly
supernatural facts are brought into the category of facts that are accountable
or natural; yet, at the same time, all accountable or natural facts are proved
to be in their ultimate genesis unaccountable and supernatural. And so there
arise two antithetical states of mind, answering to the opposite sides of
that existence about which we think. While our consciousness of Nature under
the one aspect constitutes Science, our consciousness of it under the other
aspect constitutes Religion.




In other words, Religion and Science have been undergoing a slow differentiation,
and their conflicts have been due to the imperfect separation of their spheres
and functions. Religion has, from the first, struggled to unite more or less
science with its nescience; Science has, from the first, kept hold of more
or less nescience as though it were a part of science. So long as the process
of differentiation is incomplete, more or less of antagonism must continue.
Gradually as the limits of possible cognition are established, the causes
of conflict will diminish. And a permanent peace will be reached when Science
becomes fully convinced that its explanations are proximate and relative,
while Religion becomes fully convinced that the mystery it contemplates is
ultimate and absolute.




Religion and Science are therefore necessary correlatives. To carry further
a metaphor before used,they are the positive and negative poles of thought;
of which neither can gain in intensity without increasing the intensity of
the other.




§31. Some do indeed allege that though the Ultimate Cause of things
cannot really be conceived by us as having specified attributes, it is yet
incumbent upon us to assert those attributes. Though the forms of our consciousness
are such that the Absolute cannot in any manner or degree be brought within
them, we are nevertheless told that we must represent the Absolute to ourselves
as having certain characters. As writes Mr. Mansel, in the work from which
I have already quoted largely -- "It is our duty, then, to think of
God as personal; and it is our duty to believe that He is infinite."




Now if there be any meaning in the foregoing arguments, duty requires
us neither to affirm nor deny personality. Our duty is to submit ourselves
to the established limits of our intelligence, and not perversely to rebel
against them. Let those who can, believe that there is eternal war set between
our intellectual faculties and our moral obligations. I, for one, admit no
such radical vice in the constitution of things.




This which to most will seem an essentially irreligious position, is an
essentially religious one -- nay is the religious one, to which, as already
shown, all others are but approximations. In the estimate it implies of the
Ultimate Cause, it does not fall short of the alternative position, but exceeds
it. Those who espouse this alternative position, assume that the choice is
between personality and something lower than personality; whereas the choice
is rather between personality and something that may be higher. Is it not
possible that there is a mode of being as much transcending Intelligence
and Will, as these transcend mechanical motion? Doubtless we are totally
unable to imagine any such higher mode of being. But this is not a reason
for questioning its existence; it is rather the reverse. Have we not seen
how utterly unable our minds are to form even an approach to a conception
of that which underlies all phenomena? Is it not proved that we fail because
of the incompetency of the Conditioned to grasp the Unconditioned ? Does
it not follow that the Ultimate Cause cannot in any respect be conceived
because it is in every respect greater than can be conceived? And may we
not therefore rightly refrain from assigning to it any attributes whatever,
on the ground that such attributes, derived as they must be from our own
natures, are not elevations but degradations? Indeed it seems strange that
men should Suppose the highest worship to lie in assimilating the object
of their worship to themselves. Not in asserting a transcendent difference,
but in asserting a certain likeness, consists the element of their creed
which they think essential. It is true that from the time when the rudest
savages imagined the causes of things to be persons like themselves but invisible,
down to our own time, the degree of assumed likeness has been diminishing.
But though a bodily form and substance similar to that of man, has long since
ceased, among cultivated races, to be a literally-conceived attribute of
the Ultimate Cause -- though the grosser human desires have been also rejected
as unfit elements of the conception -- though there is some hesitation in
ascribing even the higher human feelings, save in idealized shapes; yet it
is still thought not only proper, but imperative, to ascribe the most abstract
qualities of our nature. To think of the Creative Power as in all respects
anthropomorphous, is now considered impious by men who yet hold themselves
bound to think of the Creative. Power as in some respects anthropomorphous;
and who do not see that the one proceeding is but an evanescent form of the
other. And then, most marvellous of all, this course is persisted in even
by those who contend that we are wholly unable to frame any conception whatever
of the Creative Power. After it has been shown that every supposition respecting
the genesis of the Universe commits us to alternative impossibilities of
thought -- after it has been shown why by the very constitution of our minds,
we are debarred from thinking of the Absolute; it is still asserted that
we ought to think of the Absolute thus and thus. In all ways we find thrust
on us the truth, that we are not permitted to know -- nay are not even permitted
to conceive that Reality which is behind the veil of Appearance; and yet
it is said to be our duty to believe (and in so far to conceive) that this
Reality exists in a certain defined manner. Shall we call this reverence?
or shall we call it the reverse?




Volumes might be written upon the impiety of the pious. Through the printed
and spoken thoughts of religious teachers, may everywhere be traced a professed
familiarity with the ultimate mystery of things, which, to say the least
of it, is anything but congruous with the accompanying expressions of humility.
The attitude thus assumed can be fitly represented only by further developing
a simile long current in theological controversies -- the simile of the watch.
If for a moment we made the grotesque supposition that the tickings and other
movements of a watch constituted a kind of consciousness; and that a watch
possessed of such a consciousness, insisted on regarding the watchmaker's
actions as determined like its own by springs and escapements; we should
simply complete a parallel of which religious teachers think much. And were
we to suppose that a watch not only formulated the cause of its existence
in these mechanical terms, but held that watches were bound out of reverence
so to formulate this cause, and even vituperated, as atheistic watches, any
that did not venture so to formulate it; we should merely illustrate the
presumption of theologians by carrying their own argument a step further.
A few extracts will bring home to the reader the justice of this comparison.
We are told, for example, by one of high repute among religious thinkers
that the Universe is "the manifestation and abode of a Free Mind, like
our own; embodying His personal thought in its adjustments, realizing His
own ideal in its phenomena, just as we express our inner faculty and character
through the natural language of an external life. In this view, we interpret
Nature by Humanity; we find the key to her aspects in such purposes and affections
as our own consciousness enables us to conceive; we look everywhere for physical
signals of an ever-living Will; and decipher the universe as the autobiography
of an Infinite Spirit, repeating itself in miniature within our Finite Spirit."
The same writer goes still further. He not only thus parallels the assimilation
of the watchmaker to the watch, -- he not only thinks the created can "decipher"
"the autobiography" of the Creating; but he asserts that the necessary
limits to the one are necessary limits to the other. The primary qualities
of bodies, he says, "belong eternally to the material datum objective
to God" and control his acts; while the secondary ones are "products
of pure Inventive Reason and Determining Will" -- constitute "the
realm of Divine originality." * * * "While on this Secondary field
His Mind and ours are thus contrasted, they meet in resemblance again upon
the Primary; for the evolutions of deductive Reason there is but one track
possible to all intelligences; no merum arbitrium can interchange the false
and true, or make more than one geometry, one scheme of pure Physics, for
all worlds; and the Omnipotent Architect Himself, in realizing the Kosmical
conception, in shaping the orbits out of immensity and determining seasons
out of eternity, could but follow the laws of curvature, measure and proportion."
That is to say the Ultimate Cause is like a human mechanic, not only as "shaping"
the "material datum objective to" Him, but also as being obliged
to conform to the necessary properties of that datum. Nor is this all. There
follows some account of "the Divine psychology," to the extent
of saying that "we learn" "the character of God -- the order
of affections in Him" from "the distribution of authority in the
hierarchy of our impulses." In other words, it is alleged that the Ultimate
Cause has desires that are to be classed as higher and lower like our own.*
<fn* These extracts are from an article entitled " Nature and God,"
published in the National Review for October, 1860, by Dr. Martineau.>
Every one has heard of the king who wished he had been present at the creation
of the world, that he might have given good advice. He was humble, however,
compared with those who profess to understand not only the relation of the
Creating to the created, but also how the Creating is constituted. And yet
this transcendent audacity, which thinks to penetrate the secrets of the
Power manifested through all existence -- nay, even to stand behind that
Power and note the conditions to its action -- this it is which passes current
as piety! May we not affirm that a sincere recognition of the truth that
our own and all other existence is a mystery absolutely beyond our comprehension,
contains more of true religion than all the dogmatic theology ever written?




Meanwhile let us recognize whatever of permanent good there is in these
persistent attempts to frame conceptions of that which cannot be conceived.
From the beginning it has been only through the successive failures of such
conceptions to satisfy the mind, that higher and higher ones have been gradually
reached; and doubtless, the conceptions now current are indispensable as
transitional modes of thought. Even more than this may be willingly conceded.
It is possible, nay probable, that under their most abstract forms, ideas
of this order will always continue to occupy the background of our consciousness.
Very likely there will ever remain a need to give a shape to that indefinite
sense of an Ultimate Existence, which forms the basis of our intelligence.
We shall always be under the necessity of contemplating it as some mode of
being; that is -- of representing it to ourselves in some form of thought,
however vague. And we shall not err in doing this so long as we treat every
notion we thus frame as merely a symbol. Perhaps the constant formation of
such symbols and constant rejection of them as inadequate, may be hereafter,
as it has hitherto been, a means of discipline. Perpetually to construct
ideas requiring the utmost stretch of our faculties, and perpetually to find
that such ideas must be abandoned as futile imaginations, may realize to
us more fully than any other course, the greatness of that which we vainly
strive to grasp. By continually seeking to know and being continually thrown
back with a deepened conviction of the impossibility of knowing, we may keep
alive the consciousness that it is alike our highest wisdom and our highest
duty to regard that through which all things exist as The Unknowable.




§32. An immense majority will refuse, with more or less of indignation,
a belief seeming to them so shadowy and indefinite. "You offer us,"
they will say, "an unthinkable abstraction in place of a Being towards
whom we may entertain definite feelings. Though we are told that the Absolute
is the only reality, yet since we are not allowed to conceive it, it might
as well be a pure negation. Instead of a Power which we can regard as having
some sympathy with us, you would have us contemplate a Power to which no
emotion whatever can be ascribed. And so we are to be deprived of the very
substance of our faith." This kind of protest of necessity accompanies
every change from a lower creed to a higher. The belief in a community of
nature between himself and the object of his worship, has always been to
Man a satisfactory one; and he has always accepted with reluctance those
successively less concrete conceptions which have been forced upon him. Doubtless,
in all times and places, it has consoled the barbarian to think of his deities
as like himself in nature, that they might be bribed by offerings of food;
and the assurance that deities could not be so propitiated must have been
repugnant, because it deprived him of an easy method of gaining supernatural
protection. To the Greeks it was manifestly a source of comfort that on occasions
of difficulty they could obtain, through oracles, the advice of their gods,
-- nay might even get the personal aid of their gods in battle; and it was
probably a very genuine anger which they visited upon philosophers who called
in question these gross ideas of their mythology. A religion which teaches
the Hindoo that is is impossible to purchase eternal happiness by placing
himself under the wheel of Juggernaut, can scarcely fail to seem a cruel
one to him; since it deprives him of the pleasurable consciousness that he
can at will exchange miseries for joys. Nor is it less clear that to our
Catholic ancestors, the beliefs that crimes could be compounded for by the
building of churches, that their own punishments and those of their relatives
could be abridged by the saying of masses, and that divine aid or forgiveness
might be gained through the intercession of saints, were highly solacing
ones; and that Protestantism, in substituting the conception of a God so
comparatively unlike themselves as not to be influenced by such methods,
must have appeared hard and cold. Naturally therefore, we must expect a further
step in the same direction to meet with a similar resistance from outraged
sentiments. No mental revolution can be accomplished without more or less
laceration. Be it a change of habit or a change of conviction, it must, if
the habit or conviction be strong, do violence to some of the feelings; and
these must of course oppose it. For long-experienced, and therefore definite,
sources of satisfaction, have to be substituted sources of satisfaction that
have not been experienced, and are therefore indefinite. That which is relatively
well known and real, has to be given up for that which is relatively unknown
and ideal. And of course such an exchange cannot be made without a conflict
involving pain. Especially, then, must there arise a strong antagonism to
any alteration in so deep and vital a conception as that with which we are
here dealing. Underlying, as this conception does, all ideas conceding the
established order of things, a modification of it threatens to reduce the
superstructure to ruins. Or to change the metaphor -- being the root with
which are connected our ideas of goodness, rectitude, or duty, it appears
impossible that it should be transformed without causing these to wither
away and die. The whole higher part of the nature takes up arms against a
change which seems to eradicate morality.




This is by no means all that has to be said for such protests. There is
a deeper meaning in them. They do not simply express the natural repugnance
to a revolution of belief, here made specially intense by the vital importance
of the belief to be revolutionized; but they also express an instinctive
adhesion to a belief that is in one sense the best -- the best for those
who thus cling to it, though not abstractedly the best. For here it is to
be remarked that what were above spoken of as the imperfections of Religion,
at first great but gradually diminishing, have been imperfections as measured
by an absolute standard, and not as measured by a relative one. Speaking
generally, the religion current in each age and among each people, has been
as near an approximation to the truth as it was then and there possible for
men to receive. The concrete forms in which it has embodied the truth, have
been the means of making thinkable what would otherwise have been unthinkable;
and so have for the time being served to increase its impressiveness. If
we consider the conditions of the case, we shall find this to be an unavoidable
conclusion. During each stage of progress men must think in such terms of
thought as they possess. While all the conspicuous changes of which they
can observe the origins, have men and animals as antecedents, they are unable
to think of antecedents in general under any other shapes; and hence creative
agencies are almost of necessity conceived by them in these shapes. If, during
this phase, these concrete conceptions were taken from them, and the attempt
made to give them comparatively abstract conceptions, the result would be
to leave their minds with none at all; since the substituted ones could not
be mentally represented. Similarly with every successive stage of religious
belief, down to the last. Though, as accumulating experiences slowly modify
the earliest ideas of causal personalities, there grow up more general and
vague ideas of them; yet these cannot be at once replaced by others still
more general and vague. Further experiences must supply the needful further
abstractions, before the mental void left by the destruction of such inferior
ideas can be filled by ideas of a superior order. And at the present time,
the refusal to abandon a relatively concrete consciousness for a relatively
abstract one, implies the inability to frame the relatively abstract one;
and so implies that the change would be premature and injurious. Still more
clearly shall we see the injuriousness of any such premature change, on observing
that the effects of a belief upon conduct must be diminished in proportion
as the vividness with which it is realized becomes less. Evils and benefits
akin to those which the savage has personally felt, or learned from those
who have felt them, are the only evils and benefits he can understand; and
these must be looked for as coming in ways like those of which he has had
experience. His deities must be imagined to have like motives and passions
and methods with the beings around him; for motives and passions and methods
of a higher character being unknown to him, and in great measure unthinkable
by him, cannot be so represented in thought as to influence his deeds. During
every phase of civilization, the actions of the Unseen Reality, as well as
the resulting rewards and punishments, being conceivable only in such forms
as experience furnishes, to supplant them by higher ones be fore wider experiences
have made higher ones conceivable, is to set up vague and uninfluential motives
for definite and influential ones. Even now for the great mass of men, unable
to trace out with clearness those good and bad consequences which conduct
brings round through the established order of things, it is well that there
should be depicted future punishments and future joys -- pains and pleasures
of definite kinds, produced in ways direct and simple enough to be clearly
imagined. Nay still more must be conceded. Few are as yet wholly fitted to
dispense with such conceptions as are current. The highest abstractions take
so great a mental power to realize with any vividness, and are so inoperative
on conduct unless they are vividly realized, that their regulative effects
must for a long period to come be appreciable on but a small minority. To
see clearly how a right or wrong act generates consequences, internal and
external, that go on branching out more widely as years progress, requires
a rare power of analysis. And to estimate these consequences in their totality
requires a grasp of thought possessed by none. Were it not that throughout
the progress of the race, men's experiences of the effects of conduct have
been slowly generalized into principles -- were it not that these principles
have been from generation to generation insisted on by parents, upheld by
public opinion, sanctified by religion, and enforced by threats of eternal
damnation for disobedience -- were it not that under these potent influences
habits have been modified, and the feelings proper to them made innate; disastrous
results would follow the removal of those strong and distinct motives which
the current belief supplies. Even as it is, those who relinquish the faith
in which they have been brought up, for this most abstract faith in which
Science and Religion unite, may not uncommonly fail to act up to their convictions.
Left to their organic morality, enforced only by general reasonings difficult
to keep before the mind, their defects of nature will often come out more
strongly than they would have done under their previous creed. The substituted
creed can become adequately operative only when it becomes, like the present
one, an element in early education, and has the support of a strong social
sanction. Nor will men be quite ready for it until, through the continuance
of a discipline which has partially moulded them to the conditions of social
existence, they are completely moulded to those conditions.




We must therefore recognize the resistance of a change of theological
opinion, as in great measure salutary. Forms of religion, like forms of government,
must be fit for those who live under them; and in the one case as in the
other, the form which is fittest is that for which there is an instinctive
preference. As a barbarous race needs a harsh terrestrial rule, and shows
attachment to a despotism capable of the necessary rigour; so does such a
race need a belief in a celestial rule that is similarly harsh, and shows
attachment to such a belief. And as the sudden substitution of free institutions
for despotic ones, is sure to be followed by a reaction; so, if a creed full
of dreadful ideal penalties is all at once replaced by one presenting ideal
penalties that are comparatively gentle, there will inevitably be a return
to some modification of the old belief. The parallelism holds yet further.
During those early stages in which there is extreme incongruity between the
relatively best and the absolutely best, both political and religious changes,
when at rare intervals they occur, are violent; and they entail violent retrogressions.
But as the incongruity between that which is and that which should be, diminishes,
the changes become more moderate, and are succeeded by more moderate counter-movements;
until, as these movements and counter-movements decrease in amount and increase
in frequency, they merge into an almost continuous growth. This holds true
of religious creeds and forms, as of civil ones. And so we learn that theological
conservatism, like political conservatism, has an important function.




§33. That spirit of toleration which is so marked a trait of modern
times, has thus a deeper meaning than is supposed. What we commonly regard
simply as a due respect for the right of private judgment, is really a necessary
condition to the balancing of the progressive and conservative tendencies
-- is a means of maintaining the adaptation between men's beliefs and their
natures. It is therefore a spirit to be fostered; and especially by the catholic
thinker, who perceives the functions of these conflicting creeds. Doubtless
whoever feels the greatness of the error his fellows cling to and the greatness
of the truth they reject, will find it hard to show a due patience. It is
hard to listen calmly to the futile arguments used in support of irrational
doctrines, and to the misrepresentations of antagonist doctrines. It is hard
to bear the display of that pride of ignorance which so far exceeds the pride
of science. Naturally such a one will be indignant when charged with irreligion
because he declines to accept the carpenter-theory of creation as the most
worthy one. He may think it needless, as it is difficult, to conceal his
repugnance to a creed which tacitly ascribes to The Unknowable a love of
adulation such as would be despised in a human being. Convinced as he is
that pain, as we see it in the order of nature, is an aid to the average
welfare, there will perhaps escape from him an angry condemnation of the
belief that punishment is a divine vengeance, and that divine vengeance is
eternal. He may be tempted to show his contempt when he is told that actions
instigated by an unselfish sympathy or by a pure love of rectitude, are intrinsically
sinful; and that conduct is truly good only when it is due to a faith whose
openly-professed motive is other-worldliness. But he must restrain such feelings.
Though he may be unable to do this during the excitement of controversy,
he must yet qualify his antagonism in calmer moments; so that his mature
judgment and resulting conduct may be without bias.




To this end let him bear in mind three cardinal facts -- two of them already
dwelt on, and one still to be pointed out. The first is that with which we
commenced; namely, the existence of a fundamental verity under all forms
of religion, however degraded. In each of them there is a soul of truth.
The second, set forth at length in the foregoing section, is that while those
concrete elements in which each creed embodies this soul of truth, are bad
as measured by an absolute standard, they are good as measured by a relative
standard. The remaining one is that these various beliefs are parts of the
constituted order of things, and, if not in their special forms yet in their
general forms, necessary parts. Seeing how one or other of them is everywhere
present, is of perennial growth, and when cut down redevelops in a form but
slightly modified, we cannot avoid the inference that they are needful accompaniments
of human life, severally fitted to the societies in which they are indigenous.
We must recognize them as elements in that great evolution of which the beginning
and end are beyond our knowledge or conception -- as modes of manifestation
of The Unknowable, and as having this for their warrant.




Our toleration therefore should be the widest possible. In dealing with
alien beliefs our endeavour must be, not simply to refrain from injustice
of word or deed, but also to do justice by an open recognition of positive
worth. We must qualify our disagreement with as much as may be of sympathy.




§34. These admissions will perhaps be held to imply that the current
theology should be passively accepted, or, at any rate, should not be actively
opposed. "Why," it may be asked, "if creeds are severally
fit for their times and places, should we not rest content with that to which
we are born? If the established belief contains an essential truth -- if
the forms under which it presents this truth, though intrinsically bad, are
extrinsically good -- if the abolition of these forms would be at present
detrimental to the great majority -- nay, if there are scarcely any to whom
the ultimate and most abstract belief can furnish an adequate rule of life;
surely it is wrong, for the present at least, to propagate this ultimate
and most abstract belief."




The reply is that though existing religious ideas and institutions have
an average adaptation to the characters of the people who live under them,
yet, as these characters are ever changing, the adaptation is ever becoming
imperfect. and the ideas and institutions need remodelling with a frequency
proportionate to the rapidity of the change. Hence, while it is requisite
that free play should be given to conservative thought and action, progressive
thought and action must also have free play. Without the agency of both there
cannot be those continual re-adaptations which orderly progress demands.




Whoever hesitates to utter that which he thinks the highest truth, lest
it should be too much in advance of the time, may reassure himself by looking
at his acts from an impersonal point of view. Let him remember that opinion
is the agency through which character adapts external arrangements to itself,
and that his option rightly forms part of this agency -- is a unit of force
constituting with other such units, the general power which works out social
changes; and he will perceive that he may properly give utterance to his
innermost conviction: leaving it to produce what effect it may. It is not
for nothing that he has in him these sympathies with some principles and
repugnance to others. He, with all his capacities, and aspirations, and beliefs,
is not an accident but a product of the time. While he is a descendant of
the past he is a parent of the future; and his thoughts are as children born
to him, which he may not carelessly let die. Like every other man he may
properly consider himself as one of the myriad agencies through whom works
the Unknown Cause; and when the Unknown Cause produces in him a certain belief,
he is thereby authorized to profess and act out that belief. For, to render
in their highest sense the words of the poet --




<poem>

Nature is made better by no mean,

But nature makes that mean: over that art

Which you say adds to nature, is an art

That nature makes.

</poem>




Not as adventitious therefore will the wise man regard the faith which
is in him. The highest truth he sees he will fearlessly utter: knowing that,
let what may come of it, he is thus playing his right part in the world --
knowing that if he can effect the change he aims at -- well; if not -- well
also; though not so well.




Postscript to Part I




OF multitudinous criticisms made on the preceding five chapters since
the publication of First Principles in 1862, it is practicable to notice
only those of chief importance. Even to do this would be impracticable were
it not that most of them are essentially the same and may be met by the same
answers.




Several opponents have contended that it is illegitimate to assert of
the Ultimate Reality lying behind Appearance, that it is unknown and unknowable.
The statement that it is unknowable is said to assume knowledge greater than
we can have: alike as putting an arbitrary limit to possible human faculty
and as asserting something concerning that of which we are said to know nothing:
a contradiction.




To the first of these objections, that an arbitrary limit is put to possible
human faculty an answer has already been given in §24, where it has
been shown that knowledge involves the three elements, Relation, Difference,
Likeness; and that unconditioned existence, of which no one of these can
be affirmed without contradiction, consequently does not present a subject-matter
for knowledge. Further, in the next section it was pointed out that in the
process of knowing there is the same implication. Thinking being relationing,
no thought can express more than relations. From which truth it is inferable
that human faculty must become fundamentally unlike what it is, and knowledge
must become something other than what we call knowledge, before anything
can be known about the Unconditioned.




The second objection is not thus easily met. It is doubtless true that
saying what a thing is not, is, in some measure, saying what it is; since
if, of all possible assertions respecting it, one is cancelled, the cancelling,
by diminishing the number of possible assertions, implies an incipient definition.
A series of statements of what it is not, excluding one possibility after
another, becomes eventually a line of exclusions drawn round it -- a definition
of it. The game of Twenty Questions illustrates this. Hence it cannot be
denied that to affirm of the Ultimate Reality that it is unknowable is, in
a remote way, to assert some knowledge of it, and therefore involves a contradiction.




This extreme case, however, does but serve to bring out the truth that,
limited as our intelligence is to the relative, and obliged as we are to
use words which have been moulded to it, we cannot say anything concerning
the non-relative without carrying into our propositions meanings connoted
by those words -- meanings foreign to a subject-matter which transcends relations.
Intellect being framed simply by and for converse with phenomena, involves
us in nonsense when we try to use it for anything beyond phenomena. This
inability of the thinking faculty in presence of the Unconditioned, is shown
not only by the self-contradictory nature of its product, but also by the
arrest of its process before completion. In attempting to pass the limit
it breaks down before it has finished its first step. For since every thought
expresses a relation -- since thinking is relationing -- thinking ceases
when one of the two terms of a relation remains blank. As the relation is
incomplete there is no thought properly so called: thought fails. So that
we cannot rightly conceive even a connexion between noumenon and phenomenon.
We are unable in any consistent way to assert a Reality standing in some
relation to the Apparent. Such a relation is not truly imaginable.




And yet by the very nature of our intelligence we are compelled continually
to ascribe the effects we know to some cause we do not know -- to regard
the manifestations we are conscious of as implying something manifested.
We find it impossible to think of the world as constituted of appearances,
and to exclude all thought of a reality of which they are appearances. The
inconsistencies in the views set forth are in fact organic. Intellectual
action being a perpetual forming of relations between the states from moment
to moment passing, and being incapable of arresting itself, tends irresistibly
to form them when it reaches the limit of intelligence. The inevitable effect
of our mental constitution is that on reaching the limit thought rushes out
to form a new relation and cannot form it. A conflict hence arises between
an effort to pass into the Unknowable and an inability to pass -- a conflict
which involves the inconsistency of feeling obliged to think something and
being unable to think it.




And here we come as before to the conclusion that while it is impossible
for us to have a conception, there yet ever remains a consciousness -- a
consciousness of which no logical account can be given, but which is the
necessary result of our mental action; since the perpetually-foiled endeavour
to think the relation between Appearance and Reality, ever leaves behind
a feeling that though a second term cannot be framed in thought yet there
is a second term. This distinction, here emphasized as it was emphasized
in §26, my critics have ignored. Their arguments are directed against
one or other elements in a conception which they ascribe to me: forgetting
that, equally with them, I deny the possibility of any conception, and affirm
only that after all our futile attempts to conceive, there remains the undefinable
substance of a conception -- a consciousness which cannot be put into any
shape.




But now let it be understood that the reader is not called on to judge
respecting any of the arguments or conclusions contained in the foregoing
five chapters and in the above paragraphs. The subjects on which we are about
to enter are independent of the subjects thus far discussed; and he may reject
any or all of that which has gone before, while leaving himself free to accept
any or all of that which is now to come.




When drawing up the programme of the Synthetic Philosophy, it appeared
to me that, in the absence of any statement of theologico-metaphysical beliefs,
the general doctrine set forth might be misconstrued; and Part I, "The
Unknowable," was written for the purpose of excluding the possible misconstructions.
Unfortunately I did not foresee that Part I would be regarded as a basis
for Part II; with the result that the acceptance or rejection of the conclusions
in Part I, would be supposed to determine acceptance or rejection of those
in Part II. Very many have in consequence been prevented from reading beyond
this point.




But an account of the Transformation of Things, given in the pages which
follow, is simply an orderly presentation of facts; and the interpretation
of the facts is nothing more than a statement of the ultimate uniformities
they present -- the laws to which they conform. Is the reader an atheist?
the exposition of these facts and these laws will neither yield support to
his belief nor destroy it. Is he a pantheist? The phenomena and the inferences
as now to be set forth will not force on him any incongruous implication.
Does he think that God is immanent throughout all things, from concentrating
nebulae to the thoughts of poets? Then the theory to be put before him contains
no disproof of that view. Does he believe in a Deity who has given unchanging
laws to the Universe? Then he will find nothing at variance with his belief
in an exposition of those laws and an account of the results.




 March, 1899.




Part II




The Knowable




Chapter 1




Philosophy Defined




§35. After concluding that we cannot know the ultimate nature of
that which is manifested to us, there arise the questions -- What is it that
we know? In what sense do we know it? And in what consists our highest knowledge
of it? Having repudiated as impossible the Philosophy which professes to
formulate Being as distinguished from Appearance, it becomes needful to say
what Philosophy truly is -- not simply to specify its limits, but to specify
its character within those limits. Given the sphere to which human intelligence
is restricted, and there remains to define that product of human intelligence
which may still be called Philosophy.




Here, we may fitly avail ourselves of the method followed at the outset
-- that of separating from conceptions which are partial1y or mainly erroneous,
the element of truth they contain. As in the chapter on "Religion and
Science," it was inferred that religious beliefs, wrong as they may
severally be, nevertheless probably each contain an essential verity, and
that this is most likely common to them all; so in this place it is to be
inferred that past and present beliefs respecting the nature of Philosophy,
are none of them wholly false, and that that in which they are true is that
in which they agree. We have here, then, to do what was done there -- to
compare all opinions of the same genus; to set aside as more or less discrediting
one another those elements in which such opinions differ; to observe what
remains after the discordant components have been cancelled; and to find
for this remaining component that expression which holds true throughout
its divergent forms.




§36. Earlier speculations being passed over we see that among the
Greeks, before there had arisen any notion of Philosophy in general, those
particular forms of it from which the general notion was to arise, were hypotheses
respecting some universal principle which was the essence of all kinds of
being. To the question -- "What is that invariable existence of which
these are variable states?" there were sundry answers -- Water, Air,
Fire. A class of suppositions of this all-embracing character having been
propounded, it became Possible for Pythagoras to conceive of Philosophy in
the abstract, as knowledge the most remote from practical ends; and to define
it as "knowledge of immaterial and eternal things;" "the cause
of the material existence of things" being, in his view, Number. Thereafter,
was continued a pursuit of Philosophy as some deepest explanation of the
Universe, assumed to be possible, whether actually reached in any case or
not. And in the course of this pursuit, various such interpretations were
given as that "One is the beginning of all things;" that "the
One is God;" that "the One is Finite;" that "the One
is Infinite;" that "Intelligence is the governing principle of
things;" and so on. From all which it is plain that the knowledge supposed
to constitute Philosophy, differed from other knowledge in its exhaustive
character. After the Sceptics had shaken men's faith in their powers of reaching
such transcendent knowledge, there grew up a much-restricted conception of
Philosophy. Under Socrates, and still more under the Stoics, Philosophy became
little else than the doctrine of right living. Not indeed that the proper
ruling of conduct, as conceived by sundry of the later Greek thinkers to
constitute the subject-matter of Philosophy, answered to what was popularly
understood by the proper ruling of conduct. The injunctions of Zeno were
not of the same class as those which guided men in their daily observances,
sacrifices, customs, all having more or less of religious sanction; but they
were principles of action enunciated without reference to times, or persons,
or special cases. What, then, was the constant element in these unlike ideas
of Philosophy held by the ancients? Clearly this last idea agrees with the
first, in implying that Philosophy seeks for wide and deep truths, as distinguished
from the multitudinous detailed truths which the surfaces of things and actions
present. By comparing the conceptions of Philosophy that have been current
in modern times, we get a like result.




The disciples of Schelling and Fichte join the Hegelian in ridiculing
the so-called Philosophy which has been current in England. Not without reason,
they laugh on reading of "Philosophical instruments;" and would
deny that any one of the papers in the Philosophical Transactions
has the least claim to come under such a title. Retaliating on their critics,
the English may, and most of them do, reject as absurd the imagined Philosophy
of the German schools. They hold that whether consciousness does or does
not vouch for the existence of something beyond itself, it at any rate cannot
comprehend that something; and that hence, in so far as any Philosophy professes
to be an Ontology, it is false. These two views cancel one another over large
parts of their areas. The English criticism on the Germans, cuts off from
Philosophy all that is regarded as absolute knowledge. The German criticism
on the English tacitly implies that if Philosophy is limited to the relative,
it is at any rate not concerned with those aspects of the relative which
are embodied in mathematical formulae, in accounts of physical researches,
in chemical analyses, or in descriptions of species and reports of physiological
experiments. Now what has the too-wide German conception in common with the
conception current among English men of science; which, narrow and crude
as it is, is not so narrow and crude as their misuse of the word philosophical
indicates? The two have this in common, that neither Germans nor English
apply the word to unsystematized knowledge -- to knowledge quite un-co-ordinated
with other knowledge. Even the most limited specialist would not describe
as philosophical, an essay which, dealing wholly with details, manifested
no perception of the bearings of those details on wider truths.




The vague idea of Philosophy thus raised may be rendered more definite
by comparing what has been known in England as Natural Philosophy with that
development of it called Positive Philosophy. Though, as M. Comte admits,
the two consist of knowledge essentially the same in kind; yet, by having
put this kind of knowledge into a more coherent form, he has given it more
of that character to which the term philosophical is applied. Without saying
anything about the character of his co-ordination, it must be conceded that,
by the fact of its co-ordination, the body of knowledge organized by him
has a better claim to the title Philosophy, than has the comparatively-unorganized
body of knowledge named Natural Philosophy.




If subdivisions of Philosophy be contrasted with one another or with the
whole, the same implication comes out. Moral Philosophy and Political Philosophy,
agree with Philosophy at large in the comprehensiveness of their reasonings
and conclusions. Though under the head Moral Philosophy, we treat of human
actions as right or wrong, we do not include special directions for behaviour
in school, at table, or on the Exchange; and though Political Philosophy
has for its topic the conduct of men in their public relations, it does not
concert itself with modes of voting or details of administration. Both of
these sections of Philosophy contemplate particular instances only as illustrating
truths of wide application.




§37. Thus every one of these conceptions implies belief in a possible
way of knowing things more completely than they are known through simple
experiences, mechanically accumulated in memory or heaped up in cyclopaedias.
Though in the extent of the sphere which they have supposed Philosophy to
fill, men have differed and still differ very widely; yet there is a real
if unavowed agreement among them in signifying by this title a knowledge
which transcends ordinary knowledge. That which remains as the common element
in these conceptions of Philosophy, after the elimination of their discordant
elements, is -- knowledge of the highest degree of generality. We see this
tacitly asserted by the simultaneous inclusion of God, Nature, and Man, within
its scope; or still more distinctly by the division of Philosophy as a whole
into Theological, Physical, Ethical, etc. For that which characterizes the
genus of which these are species, must be something more general than that
which distinguishes any one species.




What must be the shape here given to this conception? Though persistently
conscious of a Power manifested to us, we have abandoned as futile the attempt
to learn anything respecting that Power, and so have shut out Philosophy
from much of the domain supposed to belong to it. The domain left is that
occupied by Science. Science concerts itself with the co-existences and sequences
among phenomena; grouping these at first into generalizations of a simple
or low order, and rising gradually to higher and more extended generalizations.
But if so, where remains any subject-matter for Philosophy?




The reply is -- Philosophy may still properly be the title retained for
knowledge of the highest generality. Science means merely the family of the
Sciences -- stands for nothing more than the sum of knowledge formed of their
contributions; and ignores the knowledge constituted by the fusion of these
contributions into a whole. As usage has defined it, Science consists of
truths existing more or less separated, and does not recognize these truths
as entirely integrated. An illustration will make the difference clear.




If we ascribe the flow of a river to the same force which causes the fall
of a stone, we make a statement that belongs to a certain division of Science.
If, to explain how gravitation produces this movement in a direction almost
horizontal, we cite the law that fluids subject to mechanical forces exert
re-active forces which are equal in all directions, we formulate a wider
truth, containing the scientific interpretations of many other phenomena;
as those presented by the fountain, the hydraulic press, the steam-engine,
the air-pump. And when this proposition, extending only to the dynamics of
fluids, is merged in a proposition of general dynamics, comprehending the
laws of movement of solids as well as of fluids, there is reached a yet higher
truth; but still a truth that comes wholly within the realm of Science. Again,
looking around at Birds and Mammals, suppose we say that air-breathing animals
are hot-blooded; and that then, remembering how Reptiles, which also breathe
air, are not much warmer than their media, we say, more truly, that animals
(bulks being equal) have temperatures proportionate to the quantities of
air they breathe; and that then, calling to mind certain large fish, as the
tunny, which maintain a heat considerably above that of the water they swim
in, we further correct the generalization by saying that the temperature
varies as the rate of oxygenation of the blood; and that then, modifying
the statement to meet other criticisms, we finally assert the relation to
be between the amount of heat and the amount of molecular change -- supposing
we do all this, we state scientific truths that are successively wider and
more complete, but truths which, to the last, remain purely scientific. Once
more if, guided by mercantile experiences, we reach the conclusions that
prices rise when the demand exceeds the supply; that commodities flow from
places where they are abundant to places where they are scarce; that the
industries of different localities are determined in their kinds mainly by
the facilities which the localities afford for them; and if, studying these
generalizations of political economy, we trace them all to the truth that
each man seeks satisfaction for his desires in ways costing the smallest
efforts -- such social phenomena being resultants of individual actions so
guided; we are still dealing with the propositions of Science only.




How, then, is Philosophy constituted? It is constituted by carrying a
stage further the process indicated. So long as these truths are known only
apart and regarded as independent, even the most general of them cannot without
laxity of speech be called philosophical. But when, having been severally
reduced to a mechanical axiom, a principle of molecular physics, and a law
of social action, they are contemplated together as corollaries of some ultimate
truth, then we rise to the kind of knowledge which constitutes Philosophy
proper.




The truths of Philosophy thus bear the same relation to the highest scientific
truths, that each of these bears to lower scientific truths. As each widest
generalization of Science comprehends and consolidates the narrower generalizations
of its own division; so the generalizations of Philosophy comprehend and
consolidate the widest generalizations of Science. It is therefore a knowledge
the extreme opposite in kind to that which experience first accumulates.
It is the final product of that process which begins with a mere colligation
of crude observations, goes on establishing propositions that are broader
and more separated from particular cases, and ends in universal propositions.
Or to bring the definition to its simplest and clearest form: -- Knowledge
of the lowest kind is un-unified knowledge; Science is partially-unified
knowledge; Philosophy is completely-unified knowledge.




§38. Such, at least, is the meaning we must here give to the word
Philosophy, if we employ it at all. In so defining it, we accept that which
is common to the various conceptions of it current among both ancients and
moderns -- rejecting those elements in which these conceptions disagree.
In short, we are simply giving precision to that application of the word
which has been gradually establishing itself.




Two forms of Philosophy as thus understood, may be distinguished and dealt
with separately. On the one hand, the things contemplated may be the universal
truths: all particular truths referred to being used simply for proof or
elucidation of these universal truths. On the other hand, setting out with
the universal truths, the things contemplated may be the particular truths
as interpreted by them. In both cases we deal with the universal truths;
but in the one case they are passive and in the other case active -- in the
one case they form the products of exploration and in the other case the
instruments of exploration. These divisions we may appropriately call General
Philosophy and Special Philosophy respectively.




The remainder of this volume will he devoted to General Philosophy. Special
Philosophy, divided into parts determined by the natures of the phenomena
treated, will be the subject-matter of subsequent volumes.




Chapter 2




The Data of Philosophy




§39. Every thought involves a whole system of thoughts and ceases
to exist if severed from its various correlatives. As we cannot isolate a
single organ of a living body, and deal with it as though it had a life independent
of the rest, so, from the organized structure of our cognitions, we cannot
cut out one, and proceed as though it had survived the separation. The development
of formless protoplasm into an embryo is a specialization of parts, the definiteness
of which increases only as fast as their combination increases. Each becomes
a distinguishable organ only on condition that it is bound up with others,
which have simultaneously become distinguishable organs. Similarly, from
the unformed material of consciousness, a developed intelligence can arise
only by a process which, in making thoughts defined also makes them mutually
dependent -- establishes among them certain vital connexions the destruction
of which causes instant death of the thoughts. Overlooking this all-important
truth, however, speculators have habitually set out with some professedly
-- simple datum or data; have supposed themselves to assume nothing beyond
this datum or these data; and have thereupon proceeded to prove or disprove
propositions which were, by implication, already unconsciously asserted along
with that which was consciously asserted.




This reasoning in a circle has resulted from the misuse of words: not
that misuse commonly enlarged upon -- not the misapplication or change of
meaning whence so much error arises; but a more radical and less obvious
misuse. Only that thought which is directly indicated by each word has been
contemplated; while numerous thoughts indirectly indicated have been left
out of consideration. Because a spoken or written word can be detached from
all others, it has been inadvertently assumed that the thing signified by
a word can be detached from the things signified by all other words. How
profoundly this error vitiates the conclusions of one who makes it, we shall
quickly see on taking a case. The sceptical metaphysician, wishing his reasonings
to be as rigorous as possible, says to himself -- "I will take for granted
only this one thing." What now are the tacit assumptions inseparable
from his avowed assumption? The resolve itself indirectly asserts that there
is some other thing, or are some other things, which he might assume; for
it is impossible to think of unity without thinking of a correlative duality
or multiplicity. In the very act, therefore, of restricting himself, he takes
in much that is professedly left out. Again, before proceeding he must give
a definition of that which he assumes. Is nothing unexpressed involved in
the thought of a thing as defined? There is the thought of something excluded
by the definition -- there is, as before, the thought of other existence.
But there is much more. Defining a thing, or setting a limit to it, implies
the thought of a limit; and limit cannot be thought of apart from some notion
of quantity extensive, protensive, or intensive. Further, definition is impossible
unless there enters into it the thought of difference; and difference, besides
being unthinkable without having two things that differ, implies the existence
of other differences than the one recognized; since without them there cannot
have been formed the general conception of difference. Nor is this all. As
before potted out (§24) all thought involves the consciousness of likeness:
the one thing avowedly postulated cannot be known absolutely as one thing,
but can be known only as of such or such kind -- only as classed with other
things in virtue of some common attribute. Thus, along with the single avowed
datum, we have surreptitiously brought in a number of unavowed data -- existence
other than that alleged, quantity, number, limit, difference, likeness, class,
attribute. Now in these unacknowledged postulates, we have the outlines of
a general theory; and that theory can be neither proved nor disproved by
the metaphysician's argument. Insist that his symbol shall be interpreted
at every step into its full meaning, with all the complementary thoughts
implied by that meaning, and you find already taken for granted in the premisses
that which in the conclusion is asserted or denied.




In what way, then, must Philosophy set out? The developed intelligence
is framed upon certain organized and consolidated conceptions of which it
cannot divest itself; and which it can no more stir without using than the
body can stir without help of its limbs. In what way, then, is it possible
for intelligence, striving after Philosophy, to give any account of these
conceptions, and to show either their validity or their invalidity? There
is but one way. Those of them which are vital, or cannot be severed from
the rest without mental dissolution, must be assumed as true provisionally.
The fundamental intuitions that are essential to the process of thinking,
must be temporarily accepted as unquestionable: leaving the assumption of
their unquestionableness to be justified by the results.




§40. How is it to be justified by the results? As any other assumption
is justified -- by ascertaining that all the conclusions deducible from it
correspond with the facts as directly observed -- by showing the agreement
between the experiences. There is no mode of establishing the validity of
any belief except that of showing its congruity with all other beliefs. If
we suppose that a mass which has a certain colour and lustre is the substance
called gold, how do we proceed to prove that it is gold? We represent to
ourselves certain other impressions which gold produces on us, and then observe
whether, under the appropriate conditions, this particular mass produces
on us such impressions. We remember that gold has a high specific gravity;
and if, on poising this substance on the finger, we find that its weight
is great considering its bulk, we take the correspondence between the represented
impression and the presented impression as further evidence that the substance
is gold. Knowing that gold, unlike most metals, is insoluble in nitric acid,
we imagine to ourselves a drop of nitric acid placed on the surface of this
yellow, glittering, heavy substance, without causing corrosion; and when,
after so placing a drop of nitric acid, no effervescence or other change
follows, we hold this agreement between the anticipation and the experience
to be an additional reason for thinking that the substance is gold. And if,
similarly, the great malleability assessed by gold we find to be paralleled
by the great malleability of this substance; if, like gold, it fuses at about
2,000 deg.; crystallizes in octahedrons; is dissolved by selenic acid; and,
under all conditions, does what gold does under such conditions; the conviction
that it is gold reaches what we regard as the highest certainty -- we know
it to be gold in the fullest sense of knowing. For, as we here see, our whole
knowledge of gold consists in nothing more than the consciousness of a definite
set of impressions, standing in definite relations, disclosed under definite
conditions; and if, in a present experience, the impressions, relations,
and conditions, perfectly correspond with those in past experiences, the
cognition has all the validity of which it is capable. So that, generalizing
the statement, hypotheses, down even to those simple ones which we make from
moment to moment in our acts of recognition, are verified when entire congruity
is found between the states of consciousness constituting them, and certain
other states of consciousness given in perception, or reflection, or both;
and no other knowledge is possible for us than that which consists of the
consciousness of such congruities and their correlative incongruities.




Hence Philosophy, compelled to make those fundamental assumptions without
which thought is impossible, has to justify them by showing their congruity
with all other dicta of consciousness. Debarred as we are from everything
beyond the relative, truth, raised to its highest form, can be for us nothing
more than perfect agreement, throughout the whole range of our experience,
between those representations of things which we distinguish as ideal and
those presentations of things which we distinguish as real. If, by discovering
a proposition to be untrue, we mean nothing more than discovering a difference
between a thing inferred and a thing perceived; then a body of conclusions
in which no such difference anywhere occurs, must be what we mean by an entirely
true body of conclusions.




And here, indeed, it becomes also obvious that, setting out with these
fundamental intuitions provisionally assumed to be true, the process of proving
or disproving their congruity with all other dicta of consciousness becomes
the business of Philosophy; and the complete establishment of the congruity
becomes the same thing as the complete unification of knowledge in which
Philosophy reaches its goal.




§41. What is this datum, or rather, what are these data, which Philosophy
cannot do without? Clearly one primordial datum is involved in the foregoing
statement. Already by implication we have assumed that congruities and incongruities
exist, and are cognizable by us. We cannot avoid accepting as true the verdict
of consciousness that some manifestations are like one mother md some are
unlike one another. Unless consciousness be a competent judge of the likeness
and unlikeness of its states, there can never be established that congruity
throughout the whole of our cognitions which constitutes Philosophy; nor
can there ever be established that incongruity by which only any hypothesis,
Philosophical or other, can be shown erroneous.




It is useless to say, as Sir W. Hamilton does, that "consciousness
is to be presumed trustworthy until proved mendacious." It cannot be
proved mendacious in this, its primordial act; since proof involves a repeated
aCceptance of this primordial act. Nay more, the very thing supposed to be
proved cannot be expressed without recognizing this primordial act as valid;
since unless we accept the verdict of consciousness that they differ, mendacity
and trustworthiness become identical. Process and product of reasoning both
disappear in the absence of this assumption.




It may, indeed, be often shown that what, after careless comparison, were
supposed to be like states of consciousness, are really unlike; or that what
were carelessly supposed to be unlike, are really like. But how is this shown?
Simply by a more careful comparison, mediately or immediately made. And what
does acceptance of the revised conclusion imply? Simply that a deliberate
verdict of consciousness is preferable to a rash one; or, to speak more definitely
-- that a consciousness of likeness or difference which survives critical
examination must be accepted in place of one that does not survive -- the
very survival being itself the acceptance.




And here we get to the bottom of the matter. The permanence of a consciousness
of likeness or difference, is our ultimate warrant for asserting the existence
of likeness or difference; and, in fact, we mean by the existence of likeness
or difference, nothing more than the permanent consciousness of it. To say
that a given congruity or incongruity exists, is simply our way of saying
that we invariably have a consciousness of it along with a consciousness
of the compared things. We know nothing more of existence than continued
manifestation.




§42. But Philosophy requires for its datum some substantive proposition.
To recognize as unquestionable a certain fundamental process of thought,
is not enough: we must recognize as unquestionable some fundamental product
of thought, reached by this process. If Philosophy is completely -- unified
knowledge -- if the unification of knowledge is to be effected only by showing
that some ultimate proposition includes and consolidates all the results
of experience; then, clearly, this ultimate proposition which has to be proved
congruous with all others, must express a piece of knowledge, and not the
validity of an act of knowing. Having assumed the trustworthiness of consciousness,
we have also to assume as trustworthy some deliverance of consciousness.




What must this be? Must it not be one affirming the widest and most profound
distinction which things present? An ultimate principle that is to unify
all experience, must be co-extensive with all experience. That which Philosophy
takes as its datum, must be an assertion of some likeness and difference
to which all other likenesses and differences are secondary. If knowing is
classifying, or grouping the like and separating the unlike; and if the unification
of knowledge proceeds by arranging the smaller classes of like experiences
within the larger, and these within the still larger; then, the proposition
by which knowledge is unified, must be one specifying the antithesis between
two ultimate classes of experiences, in which all others merge.




Let us consider what these classes are. In drawing the distinction between
them, we cannot avoid using words which have implications wider than their
meanings -- we cannot avoid arousing thoughts that imply the very distinction
which it is the object of the analysis to establish. Keeping this fact in
mind, we can do no more than ignore the connotations of the words, and attend
only to the things they avowedly denote.




§43. Setting out from the conclusion lately reached, that all things
known to us are manifestations of the Unknowable, and suppressing every hypothesis
respecting that which underlies one or other order of these manifestations;
we find that the manifestations, considered simply as such, are divisible
into two great classes, called by some impressions and ideas, The implications
of these words are apt to vitiate the reasonings of those who use the words;
and it is best to avoid the risk of making unacknowledged assumptions. The
term sensation, too, commonly used as the equivalent of impression, implies
certain psychological theories -- tacitly, if not openly, postulates a sensitive
organism and something acting upon it: and can scarcely be employed without
bringing these postulates into the thoughts and including them in the inferences.
Similarly, the phrase state of consciousness, as signifying either an impression
or an idea, is objectionable. As we cannot think of a state without thinking
of something of which it is a state, and which is capable of different states,
there is involved a foregone conclusion -- an undeveloped system of metaphysics.
Here, accepting the inevitable implication that the manifestations imply
something manifested, our aim must be to avoid any further implications.
Though we cannot exclude further implications from our thoughts, and cannot
carry on our argument without tacit recognitions of them, we can at any rate
refuse to recognize them in the terms with which we set out. We may do this
most effectually by classing the manifestations as vivid and faint respectively.
Let us consider what are the several distinctions that exist between these.




And first a few words on this most conspicuous distinction which these
names imply. Manifestations that occur under the conditions called those
of perception (which conditions we must separate from all hypotheses, and
regard as themselves a certain group of manifestations) are ordinarily far
more distinct than those which occur under the conditions known as those
of reflection, or memory, or imagination, or ideation. These vivid manifestations
do, indeed, sometimes differ but little from the faint ones. When it is nearly
dark we may be unable to decide whether a certain manifestation belongs to
the vivid order or the faint order -- whether as we say, we really see something
or fancy we see it. In like manner, between a very feeble sound and the imagination
of a sound, it is occasionally difficult to discriminate. But these exceptional
cases are extremely rare in comparison with the enormous mass of cases in
which, from instant to instant, the vivid manifestations distinguish themselves
unmistakeably from the faint. Conversely, it now and then happens (though
under conditions which we distinguish as abnormal) that manifestations of
the faint order become so strong as to be mistaken for those of the vivid
order. Ideal sights and sounds are in the insane so much intensified as to
be classed with real sights and sounds -- ideal and real being here supposed
to imply no other contrast than that which we are considering. These cases
of illusion, as we call them, bear, however, so small a ratio to the great
mass of cases, that we may safely neglect them, and Say that the relative
faintness of manifestations of the second order is so marked, that we are
never in doubt as to their distinctness from those of the first order. Or
if we recognize the exceptional occurrence of doubt, the recognition serves
but to introduce the significant fact that we have other means of deciding
to which order a particular manifestation belongs, when the test of comparative
vividness fails us.




Manifestations of the vivid order precede, in our experience, those of
the faint order. To put the facts in historical sequence -- there is first
a presented manifestation of the vivid order, and then, afterwards. may come
a represented manifestation that is like it except in being much less distinct.
After having those vivid manifestations known as particular places and persons
and things, we can have those faint manifestations which we call recollections
of the places, persons, and things, but cannot have these previously. Before
tasting certain substances and smelling certain perfumes, we are without
those faint manifestations called ideas of their tastes and smells; and where
certain orders of the vivid manifestations are shut out (as the visible from
the blind and the audible from the deaf) the corresponding faint manifestations
never come into existence. It is true that special faint manifestations precede
the vivid. What we call a conception of a machine may presently be followed
by a vivid manifestation matching it -- a so-called actual machine. But in
the first place this occurrence of the vivid manifestation after the faint
is not either spontaneous or easy like that of the faint after the vivid.
And in the second place, though a faint manifestation of this kind may occur
before the vivid one answering to it, yet its component parts may not. Without
the foregoing vivid manifestations of wheels and bars and cranks, the inventor
could have no faint manifestation of his new machine. Thus it cannot be denied
that the two orders of manifestations are distinguished from one another
as independent and dependent.




Note next that they form concurrent series; or rather let us call them,
not series, which implies linear arrangements, but heterogeneous streams
or processions. These run side by side; each now broadening and now narrowing,
each now threatening to obliterate its neighbour and now in turn threatened
with obliteration, but neither ever quite excluding the other from their
common channel. Let us watch the mutual actions of the two currents. During
what we call states of activity, the vivid manifestations predominate. We
simultaneously receive many and varied presentations -- a crowd of sights,
sounds, resistances, tastes, odours, etc.; some groups of them changing and
others temporarily fixed, but altering as we move; and when we compare in
its breadth and massiveness this stream of vivid manifestations with the
stream of faint ones, these last sink into relative insignificance. They
never wholly disappear, however. Always along with the vivid manifestations,
even in their greatest obtrusiveness, there goes a thread called thoughts
constituted of the faint manifestations. Or if it be contended that the occurrence
of a deafening explosion or an intense pain may for a moment exclude every
idea, it must yet be admitted that such breach of continuity can never be
immediately known as occurring; since the act of knowing is impossible in
the absence of ideas. On the other hand, after certain vivid manifestations
which we call the acts of closing the eyes and adjusting ourselves so as
to enfeeble the vivid manifestations called pressures, sounds, etc., the
faint manifestations become relatively predominant. The current of them,
no longer obscured by the vivid current, grows distinct, and seems almost
to exclude the vivid current. But the vivid manifestations, however small
the current of them becomes, still continue: pressure and touch do not wholly
disappear. It is only during the state termed sleep, that manifestations
of the vivid order cease to be distinguishable as such, and those of the
faint order come to be mistaken for them. And even of this we remain unaware
till manifestations of the vivid order recur on awaking. We can never inter
that manifestations of the vivid order have been absent, until they are again
present; and can therefore never directly know them to be absent. Thus, of
the two streams of manifestations, each preserves its continuity. As they
flow side by side, either trenches on the other; but at no moment can it
be said that the one has, then and there, broken through the other.




Besides this longitudinal cohesion there is a lateral cohesion, both of
the vivid to the vivid and of the faint to the faint. The components of the
vivid series are bound together by ties of co-existence as well as by ties
of succession; and the components of the faint series are similarly bound
together. Between the degrees of union in the two cases there are, however,
marked and very significant differences. Let us observe them. Over a limited
area of consciousness, as we name this double stream, lights and shades and
colours and outlines constitute a group to which we give a certain name distinguishing
it as an object; and while they continue present, these united vivid manifestations
remain inseparable. So, too, is it with co-existing groups of manifestations:
each persists as a special combination; and most of them preserve unchanging
relations with those around. Such of them as do not -- such of them as are
capable of what we call independent movements, nevertheless show us a constant
connexion between certain of the manifestations they include, along with
a variable connexion of others. And though after certain vivid manifestations
known as a change in the conditions of perception, there is a change in the
proportions among the vivid manifestations constituting any group, their
cohesion continues. Turning to the faint manifestations, we see that their
lateral cohesions are much less extensive, and in most cases by no means
so rigorous. After the group of feelings I call closing my eyes, I can represent
an object now standing in a certain place, as standing in some other place,
or as absent. While I look at a blue vase, I cannot separate the vivid manifestation
of blueness from the vivid manifestation of a particular shape; but, in the
absence of these vivid manifestations, I can separate the faint manifestation
of the shape from the faint manifestation of blueness, and replace the last
by a faint manifestation of redness, and I can also change the shape and
the size of the vase to any extent. It is so throughout: the faint manifestations
cling together to a certain extent, but most of them may be re-arranged with
facility. Indeed none of the individual faint manifestations cohere in the
same indissoluble way as do the individual vivid manifestations. Though along
with a faint manifestation of pressure there is always some faint manifestation
of extension, yet no particular faint manifestation of extension is bound
up with a particular faint manifestation of pressure. So that whereas in
the vivid order the individual manifestations cohere indissolubly usually
in large groups, in the faint order the individual manifestations none of
them cohere indissolubly, and are most of them loosely aggregated: the only
indissoluble cohesions among them being between certain of their generic
forms.




While the components of each current cohere strongly with their neighbours
of the same current, most of them do not cohere strongly with those of the
other current. Or, more correctly, we may say that the vivid current unceasingly
flows on quite undisturbed by the faint current; and that the faint current,
though often largely determined by the vivid, and always to some extent carried
with it, may yet maintain a substantial independence, letting the vivid current
slide by. We will glance at the interactions of the two. Save in peculiar
cases hereafter to be dealt with, the faint manifestations fail to modify
in the slightest degree the vivid manifestations. Those vivid manifestations,
which I know as components of a landscape, as surgings of the sea, as whistlings
of the wind, as movements of vehicles and people, are absolutely uninfluenced
by the accompanying faint manifestations which I know as my ideas. On the
other hand, the current of faint manifestations is always perturbed by the
vivid. Frequently it consists mainly of faint manifestations which cling
to the vivid ones, and are carried with them as they pass, memories and suggestions
as we call them. At other times when, as we say, absorbed in thought, the
disturbance of the faint current is but superficial. The vivid manifestations
drag after them such few faint manifestations only as constitute recognitions
of them: to each impression adhere certain ideas which make up the interpretation
of it as such or such, and sometimes not even this cohesion happens. But
there meanwhile flows on a main stream of faint manifestations wholly unrelated
to the vivid manifestations -- what we call a reverie, perhaps, or it may
be a process of reasoning. And occasionally, during the state known as absence
of mind, this current of faint manifestations so far predominates that the
vivid current scarcely affects it at all. Hence, these concurrent series
of manifestations, each coherent with itself longitudinally and transversely
have but a partial coherence with one another. The vivid series is quite
unmoved by its passing neighbour; and though the faint series is always to
some extent moved by the adjacent vivid series, and is often carried bodily
along with the vivid series, it may nevertheless become in great measure
separate.




Yet another all-important difference has to be named. The conditions under
which these two orders of manifestations occur, are unlike; and the conditions
of occurrence of each order belong to itself. Whenever the immediate antecedents
of vivid manifestations are traceable, they prove to be other vivid manifestations;
and though we cannot say that the antecedents of the faint manifestations
always lie wholly among themselves, yet the essential ones do. These statements
need a good deal of explanation. Changes among the motions and sounds and
aspects of what we call objects, are either changes that follow certain other
motions, sounds, and aspects, or changes of which the antecedents are unapparent.
Some of the vivid manifestations, however, occur only under conditions that
seem of another order. Those known as colours and visible forms presuppose
open eyes. But what is opening of the eyes, translated into the terms we
are here using? Literally it is an occurrence of certain vivid manifestations.
The preliminary idea of opening the eyes does, indeed, consist of faint manifestations,
but the act of opening them consists of vivid manifestations. And the like
is still more obviously the case with those movements of the eyes and the
head which are followed by new groups of vivid manifestations. Similarly
with the antecedents to the vivid manifestations which we distinguish as
touch and pressure. All the changeable ones have for their conditions of
occurrence certain vivid manifestations called sensations of muscular tension.
It is true that the conditions to these conditions are manifestations of
the faint order -- those ideas of muscular actions which precede muscular
actions. And here arises a complication, for what is called the body, is
present to us as a set of vivid manifestations connected with the faint manifestations
in a special way-a way such that in it alone certain vivid manifestations
are capable of being produced by faint manifestations. There must be named,
too, the kindred exception furnished by the emotions -- an exception which,
however, serves to enforce the general proposition. For while it is true
that the emotions must be classed as vivid manifestations, which admit of
being produced by the faint manifestations we call ideas; it is also true
that because the conditions to their occurrence thus exist among the faint
manifestations, we regard them as belonging to the same general aggregate
as the faint manifestations -- do not class them with such other vivid manifestations
as colours, sounds pressures, smells, etc. But omitting these peculiar vivid
manifestations which we know as muscular tensions and emotions, we may say
of the rest, that their antecedents are manifestations belonging to their
own class. In the parallel current we find a parallel truth. Though many
manifestations of the faint order are partly caused by manifestations of
the vivid order, which call up memories, as we say, and suggest inferences,
yet these results mainly depend on certain antecedents belonging to the faint
order. A cloud drifts across the Sun, and may or may not change the current
of ideas: the inference that it will rain may arise, or the previous train
of thought may continue -- a difference determined by conditions among the
thoughts. Again, such power as a vivid manifestation has of causing certain
faint manifestations depends on the pre-existence of appropriate faint manifestations.
If I have never heard a curlew, the cry which an unseen one makes, fails
to produce an idea of the bird. And on remembering what various trains of
thought are aroused by the same sight, we see that the occurrence of each
faint manifestation chiefly depends on its relations to other faint manifestations
that have gone before or co-exist.




Here we are introduced, lastly, to one of the most important of the differences
between those two orders of manifestations. The conditions of occurrence
are not distinguished solely by the fact that each set, when identifiable,
belongs to its own order of manifestations. They are further distinguished
in a very significant way. Manifestations of the faint order have traceable
antecedents; can be made to occur by establishing their conditions of occurrence;
and can be suppressed by establishing other conditions. But manifestations
of the vivid order continually occur without previous presentation of their
antecedents; and in many cases they persist or cease in such ways as to show
that their antecedents are beyond control. The sensation known as a flash
of lightning, breaks across the current of our thoughts absolutely without
notice. The sounds from a band that strikes up in the street or from a crash
of china in the next room, are not connected with any previously-present
manifestations, either of the faint order or of the vivid order. Often these
vivid manifestations, arising unexpectedly, persist in thrusting themselves
across the current of the faint ones; which not only cannot directly affect
them, but cannot even indirectly affect them. A wound produced by a blow
from behind, is a vivid manifestation the conditions of occurrence of which
were neither among the faint nor among the vivid; and the conditions to the
persistence of which are bound up with the vivid manifestations in some unmanifested
way. So that whereas in the faint order, the conditions of occurrence are
always among the pre-existing or co-existing manifestations; in the vivid
order, the conditions of occurrence are often neither present nor can be
made present.




Let me briefly enumerate these distinctive characters. Manifestations
of the one order are vivid and those of the other are faint. Those of the
one order are originals, while those of the other are copies. The first form
with one another a heterogeneous current that is never broken; and the second
also form with one another a heterogeneous current that is never broken:
or, to speak strictly, no breakage of either is ever directly known. Those
of the first order cohere with one another, not only longitudinally but also
transversely; as also do those of the second order with one another. Between
manifestations of the first order the cohesions, both longitudinal and transverse,
are indissoluble by any direct action of the second order; but between manifestations
of the second order, these cohesions are most of them dissoluble with ease.
While the members of each current are so coherent with one another that it
cannot be broken, the two currents, running side by side, have but little
coherence. The conditions under which manifestations of either order occur,
themselves belong to that order; but whereas in the faint order the conditions
are always present, in the vivid order they are often not present, but lie
somewhere outside of the series. Seven separate characters, then, mark off
these two orders of manifestations from one another.




§44. What is the meaning of this? The foregoing analysis was commenced
in the belief that the proposition postulated by Philosophy, must affirm
some ultimate classes of likenesses and unlikenesses, in which all other
classes merge; and here we have found that all manifestations of the Unknowable
are divisible into two such classes. What is the division equivalent to?




Obviously it corresponds to the division between object and Subject. This
profoundest distinction among manifestations of the Unknowable, we recognize
by grouping them into self and not-self. These faint manifestations, forming
a continuous whole differing from the other in the quantity, quality, cohesion,
and conditions of existence of its parts, we call the ego; and these vivid
manifestations, bound together in relatively-immense masses, and having independent
conditions of existence, we call the non-ego. Or rather, more truly -- each
order of manifestations carries with it the irresistible implication of some
power that manifests itself; and by the words ego and non-ego respectively,
we mean the power that manifests itself in the faint forms, and the power
that manifests itself in the vivid forms.




This segregation of the manifestations and coalescence of them into two
distinct wholes, is in great part spontaneous, and precedes all deliberate
judgments; though it is endorsed by such judgments when they come to be made.
For the manifestations of each order have not simply that kind of union implied
by grouping them as belonging to the same class, but they have that much
more intimate union implied by cohesion, Their cohesive union exhibits itself
before any acts of classing take place. So that, in truth, these two orders
of manifestations are substantially self-separated and self-consolidated.
The members of each, by clinging to one another and parting from their opposites,
themselves form the united wholes known as object and subject. It is this
self-union of their members which gives to these wholes formed of them, their
individualities as wholes, and that separateness from each other which transcends
judgment; and judgment merely aids by assigning to their respective classes,
such manifestations as have not distinctly united themselves with the rest
of their kind.




One further perpetually-repeated act of judgment there is, indeed, which
strengthens this fundamental antithesis, and gives a vast extension to one
term of it. We continually learn that while the conditions of occurrence
of faint manifestations are always to be found, the conditions of occurrence
of vivid manifestations are often not to be found. We also continually learn
that vivid manifestations which have no perceivable antecedents among the
vivid manifestations, are like certain preceding ones which had perceivable
antecedents among the vivid manifestations. Junction of these two experiences
produces the irresistible belief that some vivid manifestations have conditions
of occurrence existing out of the current of vivid manifestations -- existing
as potential vivid manifestations capable of becoming actual. And so we are
made conscious of an indefinitely-extended region of power or being, not
merely separate from the current of faint manifestations constituting the
phenomenal ego, but lying beyond the current of vivid manifestations constituting
the immediately-present portion of the phenomenal non-ego.




§45. In a very imperfect way, passing over objections and omitting
needful explanations, I have thus indicated the nature and justification
of that fundamental belief which Philosophy requires as a datum. I might,
indeed, safely have assumed this ultimate truth; which Common Sense asserts,
which every step in Science takes for granted, and which no metaphysician
ever for a moment succeeded in expelling from consciousness. But as all that
follows proceeds upon this postulate, it seemed desirable briefly to show
its warrant, with the view of shutting out criticisms which might else be
made. It seemed desirable to prove that this deepest cognition is neither,
as the idealist asserts, an illusion, nor as the sceptic thinks, of doubtful
worth, nor as is held by the natural realist, an inexplicable intuition;
but that it is a legitimate deliverance of consciousness elaborating its
materials after the laws of its normal action. While, in order of time, the
establishment of this distinction precedes all reasoning; and while, running
through our mental structure as it does, we are debarred from reasoning about
it without taking for granted its existence; analysis nevertheless enables
us to justify the assertion of its existence, by showing that it is also
the outcome of a primary classification based on accumulated likenesses and
accumulated differences. In other words -- Reasoning, which is itself but
a formation of cohesions among manifestations, here strengthens, by the cohesions
it forms, the cohesions which it finds already existing.




Before proceeding a further preliminary is needed. The manifestations
of the Unknowable, separated into the two divisions of self and not-self,
are re-divisible into certain most general forms, the reality of which Science,
as well as Common Sense, from moment to moment assumes. In the chapter on
"Ultimate Scientific Ideas," it was shown that we know nothing
of these forms, considered t themselves. As, nevertheless, we must continue
to use the words signifying them, it is needful to say what interpretations
are to be put on these words.




Chapter 3




Space, Time, Matter, Motion, and Force




§46. That sceptical state of mind which the criticism of Philosophy
usually produce, is, in great measure, caused by the misinterpretation of
words. These have by association acquired meanings quite different from those
given to them in philosophical discussion; and the ordinary meanings being
unavoidably suggested, there results more or less of that dream-like illusion
which is so incongruous with our instinctive convictions. The word phenomenon
and its equivalent word appearance, are in great part to blame for this.
In ordinary speech these always imply visual perceptions. Habit almost, if
not quite, disables us from thinking of appearance except as something seen;
and though phenomenon has a more generalized meaning, yet we cannot rid it
of associations with appearance. When, therefore, Philosophy proves that
our knowledge of the external world can be but phenomenal -- when it concludes
that the things of which we are conscious are appearances; it inevitably
suggests an illusiveness like that to which our visual perceptions are so
liable. Good pictures show us that the aspects of things may be very nearly
simulated by colours on canvas. The looking-glass distinctly proves how deceptive
is sight when unverified by touch; as does also the apparent bend in a straight
stick inclined in the water. And the cases in which we think we see something
which we do not see, further shake our faith in vision. So that the implication
of uncertainty has infected the very word appearance. Hence, Philosophy,
by giving it an extended meaning, leads us to think of all our senses as
deceiving us in the same way that our eyes do; and so makes us feel ourselves
in a world of phantasms. Had phenomenon and appearance no such misleading
associations, little, if any, of this mental confusion would result. Or if,
when discussing the nature of our knowledge, we always thought of tactual
impressions instead of visual impressions -- if instead of the perceptions
of objects yielded by our eyes we always insisted upon thinking of the perceptions
yielded by our hands, the idea of unreality would in large measure disappear.
Metaphysical criticism would then have merely the effect of proving to us
that feelings of touch and pressure produced by an object give us no knowledge
of its nature, at the same time that the criticism would by implication admit
that there was a something which produced these feelings. It would prove
to us that our knowledge consists simply of the effects wrought on our consciousness,
and that the causes of those effects remain unknown; but it would not in
doing this tend in any degree to disprove the existence of such causes: all
its arguments tacitly taking them for granted. And when the two were always
thought of in this immediate relation, there would be little danger of falling
into the insanities of idealism.




Such danger as might remain, would disappear on making a further verbal
correction. We increase the seeming unreality of that phenomenal existence
which we can alone know; by contrasting it with a noumenal existence which
we imagine would, if we could know it, be more truly real to us. But we delude
ourselves with a verbal fiction. What is the meaning of the word real? In
the interpretation given to it, the discussions of philosophy retain one
element of the vulgar conception of things while they reject the rest, and
create confusion by the inconsistency. The peasant, on contemplating an object,
does not regard that which he is conscious of as something in himself, but
believes it to be the external object itself: to him the appearance and the
reality are one and the same thing. The metaphysician, however, while his
words imply belief in a reality sees that consciousness cannot embrace it,
but only the appearance of it; and so he transfers the appearance into consciousness
and leaves the reality outside. This reality left outside, he continues to
think of much in the same way that the peasant thinks of the appearance.
The realness ascribed to it is constantly spoken of as though it were known
apart from all acts of consciousness. It seems to be forgotten that the idea
of reality can be nothing more than some mode of consciousness; and that
the question to be considered is -- What is the relation between this mode
and other modes?




By reality we mean persistence in consciousness: a persistence which is
either unconditional, as our consciousness of space, or which is conditional,
as our consciousness of a body while grasping it. The real, as we conceive
it, is distinguished solely by the test of persistence; for by this test
we separate it from what we call the unreal. Between a person standing before
us and the idea of such a person, we discriminate by our ability to expel
the idea from consciousness and our inability, while looking at him, to expel
the person from consciousness. And when in doubt as to the trustworthiness
of some impression made on our eyes in the dusk, we settle the matter by
observing whether the impression persists on closer inspection; and we predicate
reality if the persistence is complete. How truly persistence is what we
mean by reality, is shown in the fact that when, after criticism has proved
that the real as presented in perception is not the objectively real, the
vague consciousness which we retain of the objectively real, is of something
which persists absolutely, under all changes of mode, form, or appearance.
And the fact that we cannot form even an indefinite notion of the absolutely
real, except as the absolutely persistent, implies that persistence is our
ultimate test of the real whether as existing under its unknown form or under
the form known to us.




Consequently, the result must be the same to us whether that which we
perceive be the Unknowable itself, or an effect invariably wrought on us
by the Unknowable. If, under certain conditions furnished by our constitutions,
some Power of which the nature is beyond conception, always produces a certain
mode of consciousness -- if this mode of consciousness is as persistent as
would be this Power were it in consciousness; the reality will be to consciousness
as complete in the one case as in the other. Were Unconditioned Being itself
present in thought, it could but be persistent; and if, instead, there is
Being conditioned by the forms of thought, but no less persistent, it must
be to us no less real.




Hence there may be drawn these conclusions: -- First, that we have an
indefinite consciousness of an absolute reality transcending relations, which
is produced by the absolute persistence in us of something which survives
all changes of relation. Second, that we have a definite consciousness of
relative reality, which unceasingly persists in us under one or other of
its forms, and under each form so long as the conditions of presentation
are fulfilled; and that the relative reality, being thus continuously persistent
in us, is as real to us as would be the absolute reality could it be immediately
known. Third, that thought being possible only under relation, the relative
reality can be conceived as such only in connexion with an absolute reality;
and the connexion between the two being absolutely persistent in our consciousness,
is real in the same sense as the terms it unites are real.




Thus then we may resume, with entire confidence, those realistic conceptions
which Philosophy at first sight seems to dissipate. Though reality under
the forms of our consciousness is but a conditioned effect of the absolute
reality, yet this conditioned effect standing in indissoluble relation with
its unconditioned cause, and being equally persistent with it so long as
the conditions persist, is, to the consciousness supplying those conditions,
equally real. Much as our visual perceptions, though merely symbols found
to be the equivalents of tactual perceptions, are yet so identified with
those tactual perceptions that we appear actually to see the solidity and
hardness which we do but infer, and thus conceive as solid objects what are
only the signs of solid objects; so, on a higher stage, do we deal with these
relative realities as though they were the actual existences instead of effects
of the actual existences. And we may legitimately continue so to deal with
them as long as the conclusions to which they help us are understood as relative
and not absolute.




This general conclusion it now remains to interpret specifically in its
application to each of our ultimate scientific ideas.




§47(*) <fn* For the psychological conclusions briefly set forth
in this section and the three sections following it, the justification will
be found in the writer's Principles of Psychology.> We think in
relations. We have seen (Chap. iii. Part I) that ultimate modes of being
cannot be known or conceived as they exist in themselves; that is, out of
relation to our consciousness. We have seen, by analyzing the product of
thought, that it always consists of relations, and cannot include anything
deeper than the most general of these. On analyzing the process of thought,
we found that cognition of the Absolute is impossible, because it presents
neither relation nor its elements -- difference and likeness. And lastly,
it was shown that though by the relativity of our thought we are eternally
debarred from knowing or conceiving Absolute Being; yet that this very relativity
of our thought, necessitates that vague consciousness of Absolute Being which
no mental effort can suppress. That relation is the universal form of thought,
is thus a truth which all kinds of demonstration unite in proving. By the
transcendentalists, certain other elements of consciousness are regarded
as forms of thought, or more strictly of intuition, which is the ultimate
component of thought. While relation would of necessity be admitted by them
to be a universal mental form, they would class with it two others as also
universal. Were their doctrine otherwise tenable, however, it must still
be rejected if such alleged further forms are interpretable as generated
by the primary form. If we think in relations, and if relations have certain
universal forms, it is manifest that such universal forms of relations will
become universal forms of consciousness. And if these further universal forms
are thus explicable, it is superfluous, and therefore unphilosophical, to
assign them an independent origin. Now relations are of two orders -- relations
of sequence, and relations of coexistence; of which the one is original and
the other derived. The relation of sequence is given in every change of consciousness.
The relation of co-existence, which cannot be originally given in a consciousness
of which the states are serial, becomes distinguished only when it is found
that certain relations of sequence have their terms presented in consciousness
in either order with equal facility; while the others are presented only
in one order. Relations of which the terms are not reversible, become recognized
as sequences proper; while relations of which the terms occur indifferently
in both directions, become recognized as co-existences. Endless experiences,
which from moment to moment present both orders of these relations, render
the distinction between them perfectly definite; and at the same time generate
an abstract conception of each. The abstract of all sequences is Time. The
abstract of all co-existences is Space. From the fact that in thought, Time
is inseparable from sequence, and Space from co-existence, we do not here
infer that Time and Space are original forms of consciousness under which
sequences and co-existences are known; but we infer that our conceptions
of Time and Space are generated, as other abstracts are generated from other
concretes: the only difference being that the organization of experiences
has, in these cases, been going on throughout the entire evolution of intelligence.




This synthesis is confirmed by analysis. Our consciousness of Space is
a consciousness of co-existent Positions. A portion of space can be conceived
only by representing its limits as co-existing in certain relative Positions;
and each of its imagined boundaries, be it line or plane, can be thought
of in no other way than as made up of co-existent positions in close proximity
And since a position is not an entity -- since the congeries of positions
which constitute any conceived portion of space, and mark its bounds, are
not sensible existences; it follows that the co-existent positions which
make up our consciousness of Space are not co-existences in the full sense
of the word (which implies realities as their terms), but are the blank forms
of co-existences, left behind when the realities are absent; that is, are
the abstracts of co-existences. The experiences out of which, during the
evolution of intelligence, this abstract of all co-existences has been generated,
are experiences of individual positions ascertained by touch; and each of
such experiences involves the resistance of an object touched, and the muscular
tensions which measure this resistance. By countless unlike muscular adjustments,
involving unlike muscular tensions, different resisting positions are disclosed;
and these, as they can be experienced in one order as readily as another,
we regard as co-existing. But since, under other circumstances, the same
muscular adjustments do not produce contacts with resisting positions, there
result the same states of consciousness minus the resistances -- blank forms
of co-existence from which the co-existent objects before experienced are
absent. And from a building up of these, too elaborate to be here detailed,
results that abstract of all relations of co-existence which we call Space.
It remains only to point out, as a truth hereafter to be recalled, that the
experiences from which the consciousness of Space arises, are experiences
of force, A plexus of muscular forces we ourselves exercise, constitutes
the index of each position as originally disclosed to us; and the resistance
which makes us aware of something existing in that position, is an equivalent
of the pressure we consciously exert. Thus, experiences of forces variously
correlated, are those from which our consciousness of Space is abstracted.




Our Space-consciousness being thus shown to be purely relative, what are
we to say of that which causes it? Is there an absolute Space which relative
Space in some sort represents? Is Space in itself a form or condition of
absolute existence, producing in our minds a corresponding form or condition
of relative existence? These are unanswerable questions. Our conception of
Space is produced by some mode of the Unknowable; and the complete unchangeableness
of our conception of it simply implies a complete uniformity in the effects
wrought by this mode of the Unknowable upon us. But therefore to call it
a necessary mode of the Unknowable is illegitimate. All we can assert is
that Space is a relative reality; that our consciousness of this unchanging
relative reality implies an absolute reality equally unchanging in so far
as we are concerned; and that the relative reality may be unhesitatingly
accepted in thought as a valid basis for our reasonings; which, when rightly
carried on, will bring us to truths that have a like relative reality --
the only truths which concern us or can possibly be known to us.




Concerning Time, relative and absolute, a parallel argument leads to parallel
conclusions. These are too obvious to need specifying in detail.




§48. Our conception of Matter, reduced to its simplest shape, is
that of co-existent positions that offer resistance; as contrasted with our
conception of Space, in which the co-existent positions offer no resistance.
We think of Body as bounded by surfaces that resist, and as made up throughout
of parts that resist. Mentally abstract the co-existent resistances, and
the consciousness of Body disappears, leaving behind it the consciousness
of Space. And since the group of co-existing resistant positions gives us
impressions of resistance whether we touch its near, its remote, its right,
or its left side; it results that as different muscular adjustments indicate
different co-existences, we are obliged to conceive every portion of matter
as containing more than one resistant position -- that is, as occupying Space.
Hence the necessity we are under of representing to ourselves the ultimate
elements of Matter as being at once extended and resistant: this being the
universal form of our sensible experiences of Matter, becomes the form which
our conception of it cannot transcend, however minute the fragments which
imaginary subdivisions produce. Of these two inseparable elements, the resistance
is Primary and the extension secondary. Occupied extension, or Body, being
distinguished in consciousness from unoccupied extension, or Space, by its
resistance, this attribute must clearly have precedence in the genesis of
the idea. If, as was argued in the last section, the experiences, mainly
ancestral, from which our consciousness of Space is abstracted, can be received
only through impressions of resistance made on the organism; the implication
is, that experiences of resistance being those from which the conception
of Space is generated, the resistance-attribute of Matter must be regarded
as primordial and the space-attribute as derivative. Whence it becomes clear
that our experiences of force, are those out of which the idea of Matter
is built. Matter as opposing our muscular energies, being immediately present
to consciousness in terms of force; and its occupancy of Space being known
by an abstract of experiences originally given in terms of force; it follows
that forces, standing in certain correlations, form the whole content of
our idea of Matter.




Such being our cognition of the relative reality, what are we to say of
the absolute reality? We can only say that it is some mode of the Unknowable,
related to the Matter we know as cause to effect. The relativity of our cognition
of Matter is shown alike by the above analysis, and by the contradictions
which are evolved when we deal with the cognition as an absolute one (§16).
But. as we have lately seen, though known to us only under relation, Matter
is as real in the true sense of that word, as it would be could we know it
out of relation; and further, the relative reality which we know as Matter,
is necessarily represented to the mind as standing in a persistent or real
relation to the absolute reality. We may therefore deliver ourselves over,
without hesitation, to those terms of thought which experience has organized
in us. We need not in our physical, chemical, or other researches, refrain
from dealing with Matter as made up of extended and resistant atoms; for
this conception, necessarily resulting from our experiences of Matter, is
not less legitimate than the conception of aggregate masses as extended and
resistant. The atomic hypothesis, and the kindred hypothesis of an all-pervading
ether consisting of units, are simply developments of those universal forms
which the actions of the Unknowable have wrought in us. The conclusions logically
worked out by their aid are sure to be in harmony with all others which these
same forms involve, and will have a relative truth that is equally complete.




§49. The conception of Motion, as presented or represented in the
developed consciousness, involves the conceptions of Space, of Time, and
of Matter. A something perceived; a series of positions occupied by it in
succession; and a group of co-existent positions united in thought with the
successive ones -- these are the constituents of the idea. And since, as
we have seen, these are severally elaborated from experiences of force as
given in certain correlations, it follows that from a further synthesis of
such experiences, the idea of Motion is also elaborated. A certain other
element in the idea, which is in truth its fundamental element (namely, the
necessity which the moving body is under to go on changing its position),
results immediately from the earliest experiences of force. Movements of
different parts of the organism in relation to one another, are the first
presented in consciousness. These, produced by the actions of the muscles,
entail reactions On consciousness in the shape of sensations of muscular
tension. Consequently, each stretching-out or drawing-in of a limb, is originally
known as a series of muscular tensions, varying as the position of the limb
changes. And this rudimentary consciousness of Motion, consisting of serial
impressions of force, becomes inseparably united with the consciousnesses
of Space and Time as fast as these are abstracted from other impressions
of force. Or rather, out of this primitive conception of Motion, the adult
conception of it is developed simultaneously with the development of the
conceptions of Space and Time: all three being evolved from the more multiplied
and varied impressions of muscular tension and objective resistance.




That this relative reality answers to some absolute reality it is needful
only for form's sake to assert. What has been said above, respecting the
Unknown Cause which produces in us the effects called Matter, Space, and
Time, will apply, on simply changing the terms, to Motion.




§§ 50, 51. We come down, then, finally to Force, as the ultimate
of ultimates. Though Space, Time, Matter, and Motion, are apparently all
necessary data of intelligence, yet a psychological analysis (here indicated
only in rude outline) shows us that these are either built up of, or abstracted
from, experiences of Force. Matter and Motion as we know them are concretes
built up from the contents of various mental relations; while Space and Time
are abstracts of the forms of these various relations. Deeper down than these,
however, are the primordial experiences of Force. A single impression of
force is manifestly receivable by a sentient being devoid of mental forms.
Grant but sensibility, with no established power of thought, and a force
producing some nervous change, will still be presentable at the supposed
seat of sensation. Though no single impression of force so received, could
itself produce a consciousness (which implies relations between different
states), yet a multiplication of such impressions, differing in kind and
degree, would give the materials for the establishment of relations, that
is, of thought. And if such relations differed in their forms as well as
in their contents, the impressions of such forms would be organized simultaneously
with the impressions they contained. It needs but to remember that consciousness
consists of changes, to see that the ultimate datum of consciousness must
be that of which change is the manifestation; and that thus the force by
which we ourselves produce changes, and which serves to symbolize the cause
of changes in general, is the final disclosure of analysis.




That this undecomposable mode of consciousness into which all other modes
may be decomposed, cannot be itself the Power manifested to us through phenomena,
has been already proved (§18). We saw that to assume identity of nature
between the cause of changes as it exists absolutely, and that cause of change
of which we are conscious in our own muscular efforts, betrays us into alternate
impossibilities of thought. Force, as we know it, can be regarded only as
a conditioned effect of the Unconditioned Cause -- as the relative reality
indicating to us an Absolute Reality by which it is immediately produced.




Chapter 4




The Indestructibility of Matter




§52. Not because the truth is unfamiliar, is it needful here to assert
the indestructibility of Matter; but partly because the symmetry of our argument
demands enunciation of this truth, and partly because the evidence on which
it is accepted must be examined. Could it be shown, or could it with reason
be supposed, that Matter, either in its aggregates or in its units, ever
becomes nonexistent, it would be needful either to ascertain under what conditions
it becomes non-existent, or else to confess that Science and Philosophy are
impossible. For if, instead of having to deal with fixed quantities and weights,
we had to deal with quantities and weights which are apt, wholly or in part,
to be annihilated, there would be introduced an incalculable element, fatal
to all positive conclusions. Clearly, therefore, the proposition that matter
is indestructible must be deliberately considered.




So far from being admitted as a self-evident truth, this would, in primitive
times, have been rejected as a self-evident error. There was once universally
current, a notion that things could vanish into nothing, or arise out of
nothing. If men did not believe this in the strict sense of the word (which
would imply that the process of creation or annihilation was clearly represented
in consciousness), they still believed that they believed it; and how nearly,
in their confused thoughts, the one was equivalent to the other, is shown
by their conduct. Nor, indeed, have dark ages and inferior minds alone betrayed
this belief. In its dogmas respecting the beginning and end of the world,
the current theology clearly implies it; and it may be questioned whether
Shakespeare, in his poetical anticipation of a time when all things shall
disappear and "leave not a wrack behind," was not under its influence.
The accumulation of experiences, however, and still more the organization
of experiences, has slowly reversed this conviction. All apparent proofs
that something can come out of nothing, a wider knowledge has one by one
cancelled. The comet which is suddenly discovered and nightly waxes larger,
is proved not to be a newly-created body but a body which was until lately
beyond the range of vision. The cloud formed a few minutes ago in the sky,
consists not of substance that has just begun to be, but of substance that
previously existed in a transparent form. And similarly with a crystal or
a precipitate in relation to the fluid depositing it. Conversely, the seeming
annihilations of matter turn out to be only changes of state. It is found
that the evaporated water, though it has become invisible, may be brought
by condensation to its original shape. Though from a discharged fowling-piece
the gunpowder has disappeared, there have appeared in place of it certain
gases which, in assuming a larger volume, have caused the explosion. Not,
however, until the rise of quantitative chemistry, could the conclusion suggested
by such experiences be harmonized with all the facts. When, having ascertained
not only the combinations formed by various substances, but also the proportions
in which they combine, chemists were enabled to account for the matter that
had made its appearance or become invisible, scepticism was dissipated. And
of the general conclusion thus reached, the exact analysis daily made, by
which the same portion of matter is pursued through numerous disguises and
finally separated, furnish never-ceasing confirmations.




Such has become the effect of this specific evidence, joined to that general
evidence which the continued existence of familiar objects gives us, that
the Indestructibility of Matter is now held by many to be a truth of which
the negation is inconceivable.




§53. This last fact rises the question whether we have any higher
warrant for this fundamental belief than the warrant of conscious induction.
Before showing that we have a higher warrant, some explanations are needful.




The consciousness of logical necessity, is the consciousness that a certain
conclusion is implicitly contained in certain premises explicitly stated.
If, contrasting a young child and an adult, we see that this consciousness
of logical necessity, absent from the one is present in the other, we are
taught that there is a growing up to the recognition of certain necessary
truths, merely by the unfolding of the inherited intellectual forms and facilities.




To state the case more specifically: -- Before a truth can be known as
necessary, two conditions must be fulfilled. There must be a mental structure
capable of grasping the terms of the proposition and the relation alleged
between them; and there must be such definite and deliberate mental representation
of these terms, as makes possible a clear consciousness of this relation.
Non-fulfilment of either condition may cause non-recognition of the necessity
of the truth. Let us take cases.




The savage who cannot count the fingers on one hand, can frame no definite
thought answering to the statement that 7 and 5 are 12; still less can he
frame the consciousness that no other total is possible.




The boy adding up figures inattentively says to himself that 7 and 5 are
11; and may repeatedly bring out a wrong result by repeatedly making this
error.




Neither the non-recognition of the truth that 7 and 5 are 12, which in
the savage results from undeveloped mental structure, nor the assertion,
due to the boy's careless mental action, that they make 11, leads us to doubt
the necessity of the relation between these two separately-existing numbers
and the sum they make when existing together. Nor does failure from either
cause to apprehend the necessity of this relation, make us hesitate to say
that when its terms are distinctly represented in thought, its necessity
will be seen; and that, apart from multiplied experiences, this necessity
becomes cognizable when structures and functions are so far developed that
groups of 7 and 5 and 12 can be mentally grasped.




Manifestly, then, there are recognitions of necessary truths, as such,
which accompany mental evolution. And there are ascending gradations in these
recognitions. A boy who has intelligence enough to see that things which
are equal to the same thing are equal to one another, may be unable to see
that ratios which are severally equal to certain other ratios that are unequal
to each other, are themselves unequal; though to a more-developed mind this
last axiom is no less obviously necessary than the first.




All this which holds of logical and mathematical truths, holds, with change
of terms, of physical truths. There are necessary truths in Physics for the
apprehension of which, also, a developed and disciplined intelligence is
required; and before such intelligence arises, not only may there be failure
to apprehend the necessity of them, but there may be vague beliefs in their
contraries. Up to comparatively-recent times, all mankind were in this state
of incapacity respecting physical axioms; and the mass of mankind are so
still. Effects are expected without causes of fit kinds; or effects extremely
disproportionate to causes are looked for; or causes are supposed to end
without effects.(*) <* I knew a lady who contended that a dress folded
up tightly, weighed more than when loosely folded up; and who under this
belief, had her trunks made large that she might diminish the charge for
freight! Another whom I know, ascribes the feeling of lightness which accompanies
vigour. to actual decrease of weight; believes that by. stepping gently,
she can press less upon the ground; and, when cross-questioned. asserts that.
If placed in scales, she can make herself lighter by an act of will!>
But though many are unable to grasp physical axioms, it no more follows that
physical axioms are not knowable a priori by a developed intellect, than
it follows that logical relations are not necessary, because undeveloped
intellects cannot perceive their necessity.




It is thus with the notions which have been current respecting the creation
and annihilation of Matter. In the first place, there has been a confounding
of two radically-different things -- disappearance of Matter from a visible
form, say by evaporation, and passage of Matter from existence into non-existence.
Until this confusion is avoided, the belief that Matter can be annihilated
readily obtains currency. In the second place, the currency of it continues
so long as there is not power of introspection enough to make manifest what
results from the attempt to annihilate Matter in thought. But when the vague
ideas arising in a nervous structure imperfectly organized, are replaced
by the clear ideas arising in a definite nervous structure; this definite
structure, moulded by experience into correspondence with external things,
makes necessary in thought the relations answering to uniformities in things.
Hence, among others, the conception of the Indestructibility of Matter.




For self-analysis shows this to be a datum of consciousness. Conceive
space to be cleared of all bodies save one. Now imagine the remaining one
not to be removed from its place, but to lapse into nothing while standing
in that place. You fail. The space which was solid you cannot conceive becoming
empty, save by transfer of that which made it solid. What is termed the ultimate
incompressibility of Matter, is an admitted law of thought. However small
the bulk to which we conceive a piece of matter reduced, it is impossible
to conceive it reduced into nothing. While we can represent to ourselves
its parts as approximated, we cannot represent to ourselves the quantity
of matter as made less. To do this would be to imagine some of the parts
compressed into nothing, which is no more possible than to imagine compression
of the whole into nothing. Our inability to conceive Matter becoming non-existent,
is consequent on the nature of thought. Thought consists in the establishment
of relations. There can be no relation established, and therefore no thought
framed, when one of the related terms is absent from consciousness. Hence
it is impossible to think of something becoming nothing, for the same reason
that it is impossible to think of nothing becoming something -- the reason,
namely, that nothing cannot become an object of consciousness. The annihilation
of Matter is unthinkable for the same reason that the creation of Matter
is unthinkable.




It must be added that no experimental verification of the truth. that
Matter is indestructible, is possible without a tacit assumption of it. For
all such verification implies weighing, and weighing assumes that the matter
forming the weight remains the same.




§54. And here we are introduced to that which it most concerns us
to observe -- the nature of the perceptions by which the permanence of Matter
is perpetually illustrated. These perceptions under all their forms simply
reveal this -- that the force which a given quantity of matter embodies remains
always the same under the same conditions. A toy which long unseen produces
in us a set of visual and tactual feelings like those produced in childhood
is recognized as the same because it has the power of affecting us in the
same ways. The downward strain of some sovereigns which the bank-clerk weighs
to save himself the trouble of counting, proves the special amount of a special
kind of Matter; and the goldsmith uses the same test when the shape of the
Matter has been changed by a workman. So, too, with special properties. Whether
a certain crystal is or is not diamond, is decided by its resistance to abrasion
and the degree to which it bends light out of its course. And so the chemist
when a piece of substance lately visible and tangible has been reduced to
an invisible, intangible gas, but has the same weight, or when the quantity
of a certain element is inferred from its ability to neutralize a given quantity
of some other element, he refers to the amount of action which the Matter
exercises as his measure of the amount of Matter.




Thus, then, by the Indestructibility of Matter, we reilly mean the indestructibility
of the force with which Matter affects us. And this truth is made manifest
not only by analysis of the a posteriori cognition, but equally so by analysis
of the a priori one.(*)




<* Lest he should not have observed it, the reader must be warned that
the terms "a priori truth" and "necessary truth," as
used in this work, are to be interpreted not in the old sense, as implying
cognitions wholly independent of experiences, but as implying cognitions
that have been rendered organic by immense accumulations of experiences,
received partly by the individual, but mainly by all ancestral individuals
whose nervous systems he inherits. On referring to the Principles of Psychology
(§§426-433), it will be seen that the warrant alleged for one of
these irreversible ultimate convictions is that, on the hypothesis of Evolution,
it represents an immeasurably-greater accumulation of experiences than can
be acquired by any single individual.>




Chapter 5




The Continuity of Motion




§55. Like the Indestructibility of Matter, the Continuity of Motion,
or, more strictly, of that something which has Motion for one of its sensible
forms, is a truth on which depends the possibility of exact Science, and
therefore of a Philosophy which unifies the results of exact Science. Motions,
visible and invisible, of masses and of molecules, form the larger half of
the phenomena to be interpreted; and if such motions might either proceed
from nothing or lapse into nothing, there could be no scientific interpretation
of them.




This second fundamental truth, like the first, is not self-evident to
primitive men nor to the uncultured among ourselves. Contrariwise, to uninstructed
minds the opposite seems self-evident. The facts that a stone thrown up soon
loses its ascending motion, and that after the blow its fall gives to the
Earth, it remains quiescent, apparently prove that the principle of activity(*)<*
Throughout this chapter I use this phrase. not with any metaphysical meaning,
but merely to avoid foregone conclusions.> which the stone manifested
may disappear absolutely. Accepting the dicta of unaided perception, all
men once believed, and most believe still, that motion can pass into nothing,
and ordinarily does so pass. But the establishment of certain facts having
opposite implications, led to inquiries which have proved these appearances
to be illusive. The discovery that the celestial motions do not diminish,
raised the suspicion that a moving body, when not interfered with, will go
on for ever without change of velocity; and suggested the question whether
bodies which lose their motion, do not at the same time communicate as much
motion to other bodies. It was a familiar fact that a stone would glide further
over a smooth surface, as that of ice, presenting no small objects to which
it could part with its motion by collision, than over a surface strewn with
such small objects; and that a stick hurled into the air would travel a far
greater distance than if hurled into a dense medium like water. Thus the
primitive notion that moving bodies have an inherent tendency to stop --
a notion which the Greeks did not get rid of, and which lasted till the time
of Galileo -- began to give way. It was further shaken by such experiments
as those of Hooke, which proved that a top spins the longer in proportion
as it is prevented from communicating motion to surrounding matter.




To explain here all disappearances of visible motions is out of the question.
It must suffice to state, generally, that the molar motion which disappears
when a bell is struck by its clapper, re-appears in the bell's vibrations
and in the waves of air they produce; that when a moving mass is stopped
by coming against a mass that is immovable, the motion which does not show
itself in sound shows itself in molecular motion; and that when bodies rub
against one another, the motion lost by friction is gained in the motion
of molecules. But one aspect of this general truth, as it is displayed in
the motions of masses, we must carefully contemplate; for, otherwise, the
doctrine of the Continuity of Motion will be misapprehended.




§56. As expressed by Newton, the first law of motion is that "every
body must persevere in its state of rest, Or of uniform motion in a straight
line, unless it be compelled to change that state by forces impressed upon
it."




With this truth may be associated the truth that a body describing a circular
orbit round a centre which detains it by a tractive force, moves in that
orbit with undiminished velocity.




The first of these abstract truths is never realized in the concrete,
and the second of them is but approximately realized. Uniform motion in a
straight line implies the absence of a resisting medium; and it further implies
the absence of forces, gravitative or other exercised by neighbouring masses:
conditions never fulfilled. So, too, the maintenance of a circular orbit
by any celestial body, implies that there are no perturbing bodies, and that
there is an exact adjustment between its velocity and the tractive force
of its primary: neither requirement ever being conformed to. In actual orbits,
sensibly elliptical as they are, the velocity is sensibly variable. And along
with great eccentricity there goes great variation.




With the case of these celestial bodies which, moving in eccentric orbits,
display at one time little motion and at another much motion, may be associated
as partially analogous the case of the pendulum. With speed now increasing
and now decreasing, the pendulum alternates between extremes at which motion
ceases.




How shall we so conceive these allied phenomena as to express rightly
the truth common to them? The first law of motion, nowhere literally fulfilled,
is yet, in a sense, implied by these facts which seem at variance with it.
Though in a circular orbit the direction of the motion is continually being
changed, yet the velocity remains unchanged. Though in an elliptical orbit
there is now acceleration and now retardation, yet the average speed is constant
through successive revolutions. Though the pendulum comes to a momentary
rest at the end of each swing, and then begins a reverse motion, yet the
oscillation, considered as a whole, is continuous: friction and atmospheric
resistance being absent, this alternation of states would go on for ever.




What, then, do these cases show us in common? That which vision familiarizes
us with in Motion, and that which has thus been made the dominant element
in our conception of Motion, is not the element of which we can allege continuity.
If we regard Motion simply as change of place, then the pendulum shows us
both that the rate of this change may vary from instant to instant, and that,
ceasing at intervals, it may be afresh initiated.




But if what we may call the translation-element in Motion is not continuous,
what is continuous? If, like Galileo, we watch a swinging chandelier, and
observe, not the isochronism of its oscillations but the recurring reversal
of direction, we are impressed with the fact that though, at the end of each
swing, the translation through space ceases, yet there is something which
does not cease; for the translation recommences in the opposite direction.
And on remembering that when a violent push was given to the chandelier it
described a larger arc, and was a longer time before the resistance of the
air brought it to rest, we are shown that what continues to exist during
its alternating movements is some correlative of the muscular effort which
put it in motion. The truth forced on our attention is that translation through
space is not itself an existence; and that hence the cessation of Motion,
considered simply as translation, is not the cessation of an existence, but
is the cessation of a certain sign of an existence.




Still there remains a difficulty If that element in the chandelier's motion
of which alone we can allege continuity is the correlative of the muscular
effort which moved, the chandelier, what becomes of this element at either
extreme of the oscillation? Arrest the chandelier in the middle of its swing,
and it gives a blow to the hand-exhibits some principle of activity such
as muscular effort can give. But touch it at either turning point and it
displays no such principle of activity. This has disappeared just as much
as the translation through space has disappeared. How then, can it be alleged
that though the Motion through space is not continuous, the principle of
activity implied by the Motion is continuous?




Unquestionably the facts show that the principle of activity continues
to exist under some form. When not perceptible it must be latent. How is
it latent? A clue to the answer is gained on observing that though the chandelier
when seized at the turning point of its swing, gives no impact in the direction
of its late movement, it forthwith begins to pull in the opposite direction;
and on observing, further, that its pull is great when the swing has been
made extensive by a violent push. Hence the loss of visible activity at the
highest point of the upward motion, is accompanied by the production of an
invisible activity which generates the subsequent motion downwards. To conceive
this latent activity gained, as an existence equal to the perceptible activity
lost, is not easy; but we may help ourselves so to conceive it by considering
cases of another class.




§57. When one who pushes against a door that has stuck fast, produces
by great effort no motion, but eventually by a little greater effort bursts
the door open, swinging it back and tumbling headlong into the room, he has
evidence that the first muscular strain which did not produce transfer of
matter through space, was yet equivalent to a certain amount of such transfer.
Again, when a railway-porter gradually stops a detached carriage by pulling
at the buffer, he shows us that (supposing friction, etc., absent) the slowly-diminished
motion of the carriage over a certain space, is the equivalent of the constant
backward strain put upon the carriage while it is traveling through that
space. Carrying with us the conception thus reached, we will now consider
a case which makes it more definite.




When used as a plaything, a ball fastened to the end of an india-rubber
string yields a clear idea of the correlation between perceptible activity
and latent activity. If, retaining one end of the string, a boy throws the
ball from him horizontally, its motion is resisted by the increasing strain
on the string; and the string, stretched more and more as the ball recedes,
presently brings it to rest. Where now exists the principle of activity which
the moving ball displayed? It exists in the strained thread of india-rubber.
Under what form of changed molecular state it exists we need not ask. It
suffices that the string is the seat of a tension generated by the motion
of the ball, and equivalent to it. When the ball has been arrested the stretched
string begins to generate in it an opposite motion, and continues to accelerate
that motion until the ball comes back to the point at which the stretching
of the string commenced -- a point at which, but for loss by atmospheric
resistance and molecular redistribution, its velocity would be equal to the
original velocity. Here the truth that the principle of velocity, alternating
between visible and invisible modes, does not cease to exist when the translation
through space ceases to exist, is readily comprehensible; and it becomes
easy to understand the corollary that at each point in the path of the ball,
the quantity of its perceptible activity, plus the quantity which is latent
in the stretched string, yields a constant sum.




Aided by this illustration, we can vaguely conceive what happens between
bodies connected, not by a stretched string, but by a traction exercised
by an invisible agency. It matters not to our general conception that the
intensity of this traction varies in a different manner: decreasing as the
square of the distance increases, but being practically constant for terrestrial
distances. Notwithstanding these differences there is a truth common to the
two cases. The weight of something held in the hand shows that between one
body in space and another there exists a strain. This downward pull affects
the hand as it might be affected by a stretched elastic string. Hence, when
a body projected upwards and gradually retarded by gravity, finally stops,
we must regard the principle of activity manifested as having become latent
in the strain between it and the Earth -- a strain of which the quantity
is to be conceived as the product of its intensity and the distance through
which it acts. Carrying a step further our illustration of the stretched
string, will elucidate this. To simulate the action of gravity at terrestrial
distances, let us imagine that when the attached moving body has stretched
the elastic string to its limit, say at the distance of ten feet (from which
point it is prevented from contracting back), a second like string could
instantly be tied to the end of the first and to the body, which continuing
its course stretched this second string, and so on with a succession of such
strings, till the body was arrested. Then, obviously, the quantity of the
principle of activity which the moving body possessed, but which has now
become latent in the stretched strings, is measured by the number of such
strings over which the strain extends. Now though the tractive force of the
Earth is not exercised in a like way -- though gravity, utterly unknown in
its nature, is probably a resultant of actions pervading the ethereal medium;
yet the above analogy suggests the belief that the principle of activity
exhibited by a stone thrown up and presently arrested, has not ceased to
exist, but has become so much imperceptible or latent activity in the medium
occupying space; and that when the stone falls, this is re-transformed into
its equivalent of perceptible activity. If we conceive the process at all,
we must conceive it thus: otherwise, we have to conceive that a power has
been changed into a space-relation, and this is inconceivable.




Here, then, is the solution of the difficulty The space-element of Motion
is not in itself a thing. Change of position is not an existence, but the
manifestation of an existence. This existence (supposing it not transferred
by collision or friction) may cease to display itself as translation; but
it can do so only by displaying itself as strain. And this principle of activity
now shown by translation, now by strain, and often by the two together, is
alone that which in Motion we can call continuous.




§58. What is this principle of activity? Vision gives us no idea
of it. If by a mirror we cast the image of an illuminated object on to a
dark wall, and then suddenly changing the attitude of the mirror make the
reflected image pass from side to side, no thought arises that there is present
in the image a principle of activity. Before we can conceive the presence
of this, we must regard the visual impression as symbolizing something tangible.
Sight of a moving body suggests a principle of activity which would be appreciable
by skin and muscles were the body laid hold of. This principle of activity
which Motion shows us, is the objective sense of effort. By pushing and pulling
we get feelings which, generalized and abstracted, yield our ideas of resistance
and tension. Now displayed by changing position and now by unchanging strain,
this principle of activity is ultimately conceived by us under the single
form of its equivalent muscular effort. So that the continuity of Motion,
as well as the indestructibility of Matter, is really known to us in terms
of Force. Here, however, the Force is of the kind known as Energy -- a word
applied to the force, molar or molecular, possessed by matter in action,
as distinguished from the passive force by which matter maintains its shape
and occupies space: a force which physicists appear to think needs no name.




§59. And now we reach the truth to be here especially noted. All
proofs of the Continuity of Motion involve the postulate that the quantity
of Energy is constant. Observe what results when we analyze the reasonings
by which the Continuity of Motion is shown.




A particular planet is identified by its constant power to affect our
eyes in a special way. Further, such planet has not been seen to move by
the astronomer; but its motion is inferred from a comparison of its present
position with the position it before occupied. This comparison proves to
be a comparison between the different impressions produced on him by the
different adjustments of his observing instruments. And the validity of the
inferences. drawn depends on the truth of the assumption that these masses
of matter, celestial and terrestrial, continue to affect his senses in the
same ways under the same conditions. On going a step further back, it turns
out that difference in the adjustment of his observing instrument, and by
implication in the planet's position, is meaningless until shown to correspond
with a certain calculated position which the planet must occupy, supposing
that no motion has been lost. And if, finally, we examine the implied calculation,
we find that it takes into account those accelerations and retardations which
ellipticity of the orbit involves, as well as those variations of motion
caused by adjacent planets -- we find, that is, that the motion is concluded
to be indestructible not from the uniform velocity of the planet, but from
the constant quantity of motion exhibited after allowances have been made
for the motions communicated to, or received from, other celestial bodies.
And when we ask how this is estimated, we discover that the estimate assumes
certain laws of force or energy; which laws, one and all, embody the postulate
that energy cannot be destroyed.




Similarly with the a priori conclusion that Motion is continuous. That
which defies suppression in thought (disciplined thought, of course), is
the force which the motion indicates. We can imagine retardation to result
from the actions of other bodies. But to imagine this we must imagine loss
of some of the energy implied by the motion. We are obliged to conceive this
energy as impressed in the shape of reaction on the bodies causing the retardation.
And the motion communicated to them, we are compelled to regard as a product
of the communicated energy. We can mentally diminish the velocity or space-element
of motion, by diffusing the momentum or force-element over a larger mass
of matter; but the quantity of this force-element is unchangeable in thought.*




<* This exposition differs in its point of view from the expositions
ordinarily given; and some of the words employed, such as strain, have somewhat
larger implications. Unable to learn anything about the nature of Force,
physicists have, of late years, formulated ultimate physical truths in such
ways as often tacitly to exclude the consciousness of Force: conceiving cause,
as Hume proposed, in terms of antecedence and sequence only. "Potential
energy," for example, is defined as constituted by such relations in
space as permit masses to generate in one another certain motions, but as
being in itself nothing. While this mode of conceiving the phenomena suffices
for physical inquiries.  It does not suffice for the purposes of philosophy.
In the Principles of Psychology, §§ 347-350, I have shown
that our ideas of Body, Space, Motion, are derived from our ideas of muscular
tension, which are the ultimate symbols into which all our other mental symbols
are interpretable. Hence to formulate phenomena in the proximate terms of
Body, Space, Motion, while discharging from the concepts the consciousness
of Force, is to acknowledge the superstructure while ignoring the foundation.




When, in 1875, I recast the foregoing chapter, and set forth more fully
the doctrine contained in the answering chapters of preceding editions, I
supposed myself to be alone in dissenting from the prevailing doctrine. But
a year after, in the Philosophical Magazine for October, 1876, I was
glad to see the same view enunciated and defended by Dr. Croll, in an essay
"On the Transformation of Gravity." I commend his arguments to
those who are not convinced by the arguments used above.




Let me add a remark concerning the nature of the question at issue. It
is assumed that, as a matter of course, it is a question falling within the
sphere of the mathematicians and physicists. I demur to the assumption. It
is a question falling within the sphere of the psychologists -- a question
concerning the right interpretation of our ideas.>




Chapter 6




The Persistence of Force (*)




<* Some explanation of this title is needful. In the text itself are
given the reasons for using the word "force" instead of the word
"energy" and here I must say why I think "persistence"
preferable to "conservation." Some two years ago (this was written
in 1861) I expressed to my friend Prof. Huxley, my dissatisfaction with the
(then) current expression -- "Conservation of Force," assigning
as reasons, first, that the word "conservation" implies a conserver
and an act of conserving; and, second, that it does not imply the existence
of the force before the particular manifestation of it which is contemplated.
And I may now add, as a further fault, the tacit assumption that, without
some act of conservation, force would disappear. All these implications are
at variance with the conception to be conveyed. In place of "conservation"
Prof. Huxley suggested persistence. This meets most of the objections; and
though it may be urged that it does not directly imply pre-existence of the
force at any time manifested, yet no word less faulty in this respect can
be found. In the absence of a word coined for the Purpose, it seems the best;
and as such I adopt it.>




§60. In the foregoing two chapters, manifestations of force of two
fundamentally-different classes have been dealt with -- the force by which
matter demonstrates itself to us as existing, and the force by which it demonstrates
itself to us as acting.




Body is distinguishable from space by its power of affecting our senses,
and, in the last resort, by its opposition to our efforts. We can conceive
of body only by joining in thought extension and resistance: take away resistance,
and there remains only space. In what way this force which produces space-occupancy
is conditioned we do not know. The mode of force which is revealed to us
only by opposition to our own powers, may have for one of its factors the
mode of force which reveals itself by the changes initiated in our consciousness.
That the space a body occupies is in part determined by the degree of that
activity of its molecules known as heat, is a familiar truth. Moreover, such
molecular rearrangement as occurs when water is changed into ice, is shown
to be accompanied by an evolution of force which may burst the containing
vessel and give motion to the fragments. Nevertheless, the forms of our experience
oblige us to distinguish between two modes of force; the one not a worker
of change and the other a worker of change, actual or potential. The first
of these -- the space-occupying kind of force -- has no specific name.




For the second kind of force, the specific name now accepted is "Energy."
That which in the last chapter was spoken of as perceptible activity, is
called by physicists, "actual energy;" and that which was there
spoken of as latent activity, they call "potential energy." While
including the mode of activity shown in molar motion, Energy includes also
the several modes of activity into which molar motion is transformable --
heat, light, etc. It is the common name for the power shown alike in the
movements of masses and in the movements of molecules. To our perceptions
this second kind of force differs from the first kind as being not intrinsic
but extrinsic.




In aggregated matter as presented to sight and touch, this antithesis
is, as above implied, much obscured. Especially in a compound substance,
both the latent energy locked up in the chemically-combined molecules and
the actual energy made perceptible to us as heat, complicate the manifestations
of intrinsic force by the manifestations of extrinsic force. But the antithesis,
here partially hidden, is clearly seen on reducing the data to their lowest
terms -- a unit of matter, or atom, and its motion. The force by which it
exists is passive but independent; while the force by which it moves is active
but dependent on its past and present relations to other atoms. These two
cannot be identified in our thoughts. For as it is impossible to think of
motion without something that moves, so it is impossible to think of energy
without something possessing the energy.




While recognizing this fundamental distinction between that intrinsic
force by which body manifests itself as occupying space, and that extrinsic
force distinguished as energy, I here treat of them together as being alike
persistent. And I thus treat of them together partly because, in our consciousness
of them, there is the same essential element. The sense of effort is our
subjective symbol for objective force in general, passive and active. Power
of resisting that which we know as our own muscular strain, is the ultimate
element in our idea of body as distinguished from space; and any motor energy
which we give to body, or receive from it, is thought of as equal to a certain
amount of muscular strain. The two consciousnesses differ essentially in
this, that the feeling of effort common to them is in the last case joined
with consciousness of change of position, but in the first case is not.*
<* Concerning the fundamental distinction here made between the space-occupying
kind of force, and the kind of force shown by various modes of activity I
am, as in the last chapter, at issue with some of my scientific friends.
They do not admit that the conception of force is involved in the conception
of a unit of matter. From the psychological point of view however, Matter,
in all its properties, is the unknown cause of the sensations it produces
in us; of which the one which remains when all ot hers are absent, is resistance
to our efforts -- a resistance we are obliged to symbolize as the equivalent
of the muscular force it opposes. In imagining a unit of matter we may not
ignore this symbol, by which alone a unit of matter can be figured in thought
as an existence. It is not allowable to speak as though there remained a
conception of an existence when that conception has been eviscerated -- deprived
of the element of thought by which it is distinguished from empty space.
Divest the conceived unit of matter of the objective correlate to our subjective
sense of effort, and the entire fabric of physical conceptions disappears.>




There is, however, a further and more important reason for here dealing
with the proposition that Force under each of these forms persists. We have
to examine its warrant.




§61. A little more patience is asked. We must reconsider the reasoning
by which the indestructibility of Matter and the continuity of Motion are
established, that we may see how impossible it is to arrive by parallel reasoning
at the Persistence of Force.




In all three cases the question is one of quantity. Does the Matter or
Motion, or Force, ever diminish in quantity? Quantitative science implies
measurement, and measurement implies a unit of measure. The units of measure
from which all others of any exactness are derived, are units of linear extension.
Our units of linear extension are the lengths of masses of matter or the
spaces between marks made on the masses, and we assume these lengths, or
these spaces between marks, to remain unchanged while the temperature is
unchanged. From the standard-measure preserved at Westminster, are derived
the measures for trigonometrical surveys, for geodesy, the measurement of
terrestrial arcs, and the calculations of astronomical distances, dimensions,
etc., and therefore for Astronomy at large. Were these units of length, original
and derived, irregularly variable, there could be no celestial dynamics,
nor any of that verification yielded by it of the constancy of the celestial
masses and of their energies. Hence, persistence of the space-occupying species
of force cannot be proved, for the reason that it is tacitly assumed in every
experiment or observation by which it is proposed to prove it. The like holds
of the force distinguished as energy. The endeavour to establish this by
measurement, takes for granted both the persistence of the intrinsic force
by which body manifests itself as existing, and the persistence of the extrinsic
force by which body acts. For it is from these equal units of linear extension,
through the medium of the equal-armed lever or scales, that we derive our
equal units of weight, or gravitative force; and only by means of these can
we make those quantitative comparisons by which the truths of exact science
are reached. Throughout the investigations leading the chemist to the conclusion
that of the carbon which has disappeared during combustion, no portion has
been lost, what is his repeatedly-assigned proof? That afforded by the scales.
In what terms is the verdict of the scales given? In grammes -- in units
of weight -- in units of gravitative force. And what is the total content
of the verdict? That as many units of gravitative force as the carbon exhibited
at first, it exhibits still. The validity of the inference, then, depends
entirely upon the constancy of the units of force. If the force with which
the portion of metal called a gramme-weight tends towards the Earth, has
varied, the inference that matter is indestructible is vicious. Everything
turns on the truth of the assumption that the gravitation of the weights
is persistent; and of this no proof is assigned, or can be assigned. In the
reasonings of the astronomer there is a like implication, from which we may
draw the like conclusion. No problem in celestial dynamics can be solved
without the assumption of some unit of force. This unit need not be, like
a pound or a ton, one of which we can take direct cognizance. It is requisite
only that the mutual attraction which some two of the bodies concerned exercise
at a given distance, shall be taken as one; so that the other attractions
with which the problem deals, may be expressed in terms of this one. Such
unit being assumed, the motions which the respective masses will generate
in one another in a given time, are calculated; and compounding these with
the motions they already have, their places at the end of that time are predicted.
The prediction is verified by observation. From this, either of two inferences
may be drawn. Assuming the masses to be unchanged, their energies may be
proved undiminished; or assuming their energies undiminished, the masses
may be proved unchanged. But the validity of one or other inference depends
wholly on the truth of the assumption that the unit of force is unchanged.
Let it be supposed that the gravitation of the two bodies towards each other
at the given distance has varied, and the conclusions drawn are no longer
true. Nor is it only in their concrete data that the reasonings of terrestrial
and celestial physics assume the Persistence of Force. The equality of action
and reaction is taken for granted from beginning to end of either argument;
and to assert that action and reaction are equal and opposite, is to assert
that Force persists. The implication is that there cannot be an isolated
force, but that any force manifested implies an equal antecedent force from
which it is derived, and against which it is a reaction.




We might indeed be certain, even in the absence of any such analysis as
the foregoing, that there must exist some principle which, as being the basis
of science, cannot be established by science. All reasoned-out conclusions
whatever must rest on some postulate. As before shown (§23), we cannot
go on merging derivative truths in those wider truths from which they are
derived, without reaching at last a widest truth which can be merged in no
other, or derived from no other. And the relation in which it stands to the
truths of science in general, shows that this truth transcending demonstration
is the Persistence of Force. To this an ultimate analysis brings us down,
and on this a rational synthesis must build up.




§62. But now what is the force of which we predicate persistence?
That which the word ordinarily stands for is the consciousness of muscular
tension -- the feeling of effort which we have either when putting something
in motion or when resisting a pressure. This feeling, however, is but a symbol.




In §18 it was said that though, since action and reaction are equal
and opposite, we are obliged to think of the downward pull of a weight as
equal to the upward pull which supports it, and though the thought of equality
suggests kinship of nature, yet, as we cannot ascribe feeling to the weight,
we are obliged to admit that Force as it exists beyond consciousness has
no likeness to force as we conceive it, though there is between them the
kind of equivalence implied by simultaneous variation. The effort of one
who throws a cricket ball is followed by the motion of the ball through space,
and its momentum is re-transformed into muscular strain in one who catches
it. What the force was when it existed in the flying cricket ball it is impossible
to imagine: we have no terms of thought in which to represent it. And it
is thus with all the transformations of energy taking place in the world
around. Those illustrations given in §66, showing the changes of form
which energy undergoes and the equivalence between so much of it in one form
and so much in another, fail to enlighten us respecting the energy itself.
It assumes under this or that set of conditions this or that shape, and the
quantity of it is not altered during its transformations. For that interpretation
of things which is alone possible for us this is all we require to know --
that the force or energy manifested, now in one way now in another, persists
or remains unchanged in amount. But when we ask what this energy is, there
is no answer save that it is the noumenal cause implied by the phenomenal
effect.




Hence the force of which we assert persistence is that Absolute Force
we are obliged to postulate as the necessary correlate of the force we are
conscious of. By the Persistence of Force, we really mean the persistence
of some Cause which transcends our knowledge and conception. In asserting
it we assert an Unconditioned Reality, without beginning or end.




Thus, quite unexpectedly, we come down once more to that ultimate truth
in which, as we saw, Religion and Science coalesce -- the continued existence
of an Unknowable as the necessary correlative of the Knowable.




Chapter 7




The Persistence of Relation Among Forces




§63. The first deduction to be drawn from the ultimate universal
truth that force persists, is that the relations among forces persist. Supposing
a given manifestation of force, under a given form and given conditions,
be either preceded by or succeeded by some other manifestation, it must,
in all cases where the form and conditions are the same, be preceded by or
succeeded by such other manifestation. Every antecedent mode of the Unknowable
must have an invariable connexion, quantitative and qualitative, with that
mode of the Unknowable which we call its consequent.




For to say otherwise is to deny the persistence of force. If in any two
cases there is exact likeness not only between those conspicuous antecedents
which we call the causes, but also between those accompanying antecedents
which we call the conditions, we cannot affirm that the effects will differ,
without affirming either that some force has come into existence or that
some force has ceased to exist. If the co-operative forces in the one case
are equal to those in the other, each to each, in distribution and amount;
then it is impossible to conceive the product of their joint action in the
one case as unlike that in the other; without conceiving one or more of the
forces to have increased or diminished in quantity; and this is conceiving
that force is not persistent.




To impress the truth thus enunciated under its most abstract form, some
illustrations will be desirable.




§64. Let two bullets, equal in weights and shapes, be projected with
equal energies; then, in equal times, equal distances must be travelled by
them. The assertion that one of them will describe an assigned space sooner
than the other, though their initial momenta were alike and they have been
equally resisted (for if they are unequally resisted the antecedents differ)
is an assertion that equal quantities of force have not done equal amounts
of work; and this cannot be thought without thinking that some force has
disappeared into nothing or arisen out of nothing. Assume, further that during
its night one of them has been drawn by the Earth a certain number of inches
out of its original line of movement; then the other, which has moved the
same distance in the same time, must have fallen just as far towards the
Earth. No other result can be imagined without imagining that equal attractions
acting for equal times, have produced unequal effects; which involves the
inconceivable proposition that some action has been created or annihilated.
Again, one of the bullets having penetrated the target to a certain depth,
penetration by the other bullet to a smaller depth, unless caused by greater
local density in the target, cannot be mentally represented. Such a modification
of the consequents without modification of the antecedents, is thinkable
only through the impossible thought that something has become nothing or
nothing has become something.




It is thus not with sequences only, but also with simultaneous changes
and permanent co-existences. Given charges of powder alike in quantity and
quality, fired from barrels of the same structure, and propelling bullets
of equal weights, sizes, and forms, similarly rammed down;*<* This was
written while muzzle-loading was still usual.>  and it is a necessary
inference that the concomitant actions which make up the explosion, will
bear to one another like relations of quantity and quality in the two cases.
The proportions among the different products of combustion will be equal.
The several amounts of energy taken up in giving momentum to the bullet,
heat to the gases, and sound on their escape, will preserve the same ratios.
The quantities of light and smoke in the one case will be what they are in
the other; and the two recoils will be alike. For no difference, of relation
among these concurrent phenomena can be imagined as arising, without imagining
it as arising by the creation or annihilation of energy.




That which holds between these two cases must hold among any number of
cases; and that which here holds between comparatively simple antecedents
and consequents, must hold however involved the antecedents become and however
involved the consequents become.




§65. Thus Uniformity of Law, resolvable as we find it into the persistence
of relations among forces, is a corollary from the persistence of force.
The general conclusion that there exist constant connexions among phenomena,
ordinarily regarded as an inductive conclusion only, is really a conclusion
deducible from the ultimate datum of consciousness.




More than this may be said. Every apparent inductive proof of the uniformity
of law itself takes for granted both the persistence of force and the persistence
of relations among forces. For in the exact sciences, in which alone we may
seek relations definite enough to prove uniformity, any alleged demonstration
must depend on measurement; and as we have already seen, measurement, whether
of matter or force, assumes that both are persistent in assuming that the
measures have not varied. While at the same time every determination of the
relations among them -- in amount, proportion, direction, or what not --
similarly implies measurement, the validity of which as before implies the
persistence of force.




That uniformity of law thus follows inevitably from the persistence of
force, will become more and more clear as we advance. The next chapter will
indirectly supply abundant frustrations of it.




Chapter 8




The Transformation and Equivalence of Forces




§66. When, to the unaided senses, Science began to add supplementary
senses in the shape of measuring instruments, men began to perceive various
phenomena which eyes and fingers could not distinguish. Of known forms of
force, minuter manifestations became appreciable; and forms of force before
unknown were rendered cognizable and measurable. Where forces had apparently
ended in nothing, and had been carelessly supposed to have actually done
so, instrumental observation proved that effects had in every instance been
produced: the forces having reappeared in new shapes. Here has at length
arisen the inquiry whether the force displayed in each surrounding change,
does not in the act of expenditure undergo metamorphosis into an equivalent
amount of some other force or forces. And to this inquiry experiment is giving
an affirmative answer, which becomes daily more decisive. Séguin,
Mayer, Joule, Grove, and Helmholtz, are more than others to be credited with
the enunciation of this doctrine. Let us glance at the evidence on which
it rests.




Motion, wherever we can directly trace its genesis, we find had pre-existed
as some other mode of force. Our own voluntary acts have always certain sensations
of muscular tension as their antecedents. When, as in letting fall a relaxed
limb we are conscious of a bodily movement requiring no effort, the explanation
is that the effort was exerted in raising the limb to the position whence
it fell. In this case, as in the case of an inanimate body descending to
the Earth, the force accumulated by the downward motion is equal to the force
previously expended in the act of elevation. Conversely, Motion that is arrested
produces, under different circumstances, heat, electricity, magnetism, light.
From the warming of the hands by rubbing them together, up to the ignition
of a railway-brake by intense friction -- from the lighting of detonating
powder by percussion, up to the setting on fire a block of wood by a few
blows from a steam-hammer; we have abundant instances in which heat arises
as Motion ceases. It is uniformly found that the heat generated is great
in proportion as the Motion lost is great; and that to diminish the arrest
of motion by diminishing the friction, is to diminish the quantity of heat
evolved. The production of electricity by Motion is illustrated equally in
the boy's experiment with rubbed sealing-wax, in the common electrical machine,
and in the apparatus for exciting electricity by the escape of steam. Wherever
there is friction between heterogeneous bodies electrical disturbance is
one of the consequences. Magnetism may result from Motion either immediately,
as through percussion on steel, or mediately as through electric currents
previously generated by Motion. And similarly, Motion may create light; either
directly, as in the minute incandescent fragments struck off by violent collisions,
or indirectly, as through the electric spark. "Lastly, Motion may be
again reproduced by the forces which have emanated from Motion; thus, the
divergence of the electrometer, the revolution of the electrical wheel, the
deflection of the magnetic needle, are, when resulting from frictional electricity
palpable movements reproduced by the intermediate modes of force, which have
themselves been originated by motion."




That mode of force which we distinguished as Heat, is now regarded as
molecular motion -- not motion as displayed in the changed relations of sensible
masses to one another, but as assessed by the units of which such sensible
masses consist. Omitting cases in which there is structural rearrangement
of the molecules, heated bodies expand; and expansion is interpreted as due
to movements of the molecules in relation to one another: wider oscillations.
That radiation through which anything of higher temperature than things around
it, communicates Heat to them, is clearly a species of motion. Moreover,
the evidence afforded by the thermometer that Heat thus diffuses itself,
is simply a movement caused in the mercurial column. And that the molecular
motion which we call Heat, may be transformed into visible motion, familiar
proof is given by the steam-engine; in which "the piston and all its
concomitant masses of matter are moved by the molecular dilatation of the
vapour of water." Where Heat is absorbed without apparent result, modern
inquiries have detected unobtrusive modifications: as in glass, the molecular
state of which is so far changed, that a Alarized ray of light passing through
it becomes visible, which it does not when the glass is cold; or as on polished
metallic surfaces, which are altered in molecular structure by radiations
from objects very close to them. The transformation of Heat into electricity
occurs when dissimilar metals touching each other are heated at the point
of contact: electric currents being so produced. Solid, incombustible matter
put into heated gas, as lime into the Oxyhydrogen flame, becomes incandescent;
and so exhibits the conversion of Heat into light. The production of magnetism
by Heat, if it cannot be proved to take place directly, may be proved to
take place indirectly through the agency of electricity. And through the
same agency may be established the correlation of Heat and chemical affinity
-- a correlation which is directly shown by the marked influence Heat exercises
on chemical composition and decomposition.




The transformations of Electricity into other modes of force are clearly
demonstrable. Produced by the motion of heterogeneous bodies in contact,
Electricity, through attractions and repulsions, will immediately reproduce
motion in neighbouring bodies. In this case a current of Electricity magnetizes
a bar of soft iron; and in that case the rotation of an equipped magnet generates
currents of Electricity. Here is the cell of a battery in which, from the
play of chemical affinities, an electric current results; and there, in the
adjacent cell, is an electric current effecting chemical decomposition. In
the conducting wire we witness the transformation of Electricity into heat;
while in electric sparks and in the voltaic arc we see light produced. Molecular
arrangement, too, is changed by Electricity: as instance the transfer of
matter from pole to pole of a battery; the fractures caused by the disruptive
discharge; the formation of crystals under the influence of electric currents.
And then that, conversely, Electricity is directly generated by rearrangement
of the molecules of matter, is shown when a storage-battery or accumulator
is used.




How from Magnetism the other physical forces result, must be next briefly
noted -- briefly, because in each successive case the illustrations become
in great part the obverse forms of those before given. That Magnetism produces
motion is the ordinary evidence we have of its existence. In the magneto-electric
machine a rotating magnet evolves electricity. and the electricity so evolved
may immediately after exhibit itself as heat, light, or chemical affinity.
Faraday' s discovery of the effect of Magnetism on polarized light, as well
as the discovery that change of magnetic state is accompanied by heat, point
to further like connexions. Lastly, experiments show that the magnetization
of a body alters its internal structure; and that, conversely, the alteration
of its internal structure, as by mechanical strain, alters its magnetic condition.




Improbable as it seemed, it is now proved that from Light also may proceed
the like variety of agencies. Rays of light change the atomic arrangements
of particular crystals. Certain mixed gases, which do not otherwise combine,
combine in the sunshine. In some compounds light produces decomposition.
Since the inquiries of photographers have drawn attention to the subject,
it has been shown that "a vast number of substances, both elementary
and compound, are notably affected by this agent, even those apparently the
most unalterable in character, such as metals." And when a daguerreotype
plate is connected with a proper apparatus "we get chemical action on
the plate, electricity circulating through the wires, magnetism in the coil,
heat in the helix, and motion in the needles."




The genesis of all other modes of force from Chemical Action, scarcely
needs pointing out. The ordinary accompaniment of chemical combination is
heat; and when the affinities are intense, light also is produced. Chemical
changes involving alteration of bulk, cause motion, both in the combining
elements and in adjacent masses of matter: witness the propulsion of a bullet
by the explosion of gunpowder. In the galvanic battery we see electricity
resulting from chemical composition and decomposition. While through the
medium of this electricity, Chemical Action produces magnetism.




These facts, the larger part of which are culled from Grove's work on
The Correlation of Physical Forces, show that each force is transformable,
directly or indirectly, into the others. In every change Force (or Energy,
as in these cases it is called) undergoes metamorphosis; and from the new
form or forms it assumes, may subsequently result either the previous one
or any of the rest, in endless variety of order and combination. It is further
now manifest that the physical forces stand not simply in qualitative correlations
with one another, but also in quantitative correlations. Besides proving
that one mode of force may be transformed into another mode, experiments
show that from a definite amount of one, the amounts of others that arise
are definite. Ordinarily it is difficult to show this; since it mostly happens
that the transformation of any force is not into some one of the rest but
into several of them: the proportions being determined by ever-varying conditions.
But in certain cases positive results have been reached. Mr. Joule has ascertained
that the fall of 772 lb. through one foot, will raise the temperature of
a pound of water one degree of Fahrenheit. Dulong, Petit, and Neumann, have
proved a relation in amount between the affinities of combining bodies and
the heat evolved during their combination. Between chemical action and voltaic
electricity a quantitative connexion has been established by Faraday. The
well-determined relations between the amounts of heat generated and of water
turned to steam, or still better the known expansion produced in steam by
each additional degree of heat, may be cited in further evidence. Hence it
is no longer doubted that among the several forms which force assumes, the
quantitative relations are fixed.




§67. Throughout the Cosmos this truth must invariably hold. Every
change, or group of changes, going on in it, must be due to forces affiliable
on the like or unlike forces previously existing; while from the forces exhibited
in such change or changes must be derived others more or less transformed.
And besides recognizing this necessary linking of the forces at any time
manifested with those preceding and succeeding them, we must recognize the
amounts of these forces as necessarily producing such and such quantities
of results, and as necessarily limited to those quantities.




That unification of knowledge which is the business of Philosophy, is
but little furthered by the establishment of this truth under its general
form. We must trace it out under its leading special forms. Changes, and
the accompanying transformations of forces, are everywhere in progress, from
the movements of stars to the currents of commodities; and to comprehend
the great fact that forces, unceasingly metamorphosed, are nowhere increased
or decreased, it is requisite to contemplate the changes of all kinds going
on that we may learn whence arise the forces they and what becomes of these
forces. Of course if answerable at all, these questions can be answered only
in the establish rudest way. The most we can hope is to establish a qualitative
correlation that is indefinitely quantitative -- quantitative to the extent
of implying something like a due proportion between causes and effects.




Let us, then, consider the several classes of phenomena which the several
concrete sciences deal with.




§68. The antecedents of those forces which our Solar System displays,
belong to a past of which we can never have anything but inferential knowledge.
Many and strong as are the reasons for believing the Nebular Hypothesis,
we cannot yet regard it as more than an hypothesis. If, however, we assume
that the matter of our Solar System was once diffused and had irregularities
of shape and density such as existing nebulae display, or resulted from the
coalescences of moving nebulous masses, we have, in the momenta of its parts,
original and acquired forces adequate to produce the motions now going on.




Various stages in the formation of spiral nebulae imply that rotation
in many cases results from concentration: whether always, there is no proof;
for large nebulae are too diffused, small ones too dense, and others are
seen too much edgeways, to yield evidence. But in the absence of adverse
pre-arrangement some rotation may safely be inferred. So far as the evidence
carries us, we perceive some quantitative relation between the motions generated
and the gravitative forces expended in generating them. In the Solar System
the outermost planets, formed from that matter which has travelled the shortest
distance towards the common centre of gravity, have the smallest velocities.
Doubtless this is explicable on the teleological hypothesis, since it is
a condition to equilibrium. But without insisting that this is beside the
question, it will suffice to point out that the like cannot be said of the
planetary rotations. No such final cause can be assigned for the rapid axial
movement of Jupiter and Saturn, or the slow axial movement of Mars. If, however,
we look for the natural antecedents of these gyrations which all planets
exhibit, the nebular hypothesis furnishes them; and they bear manifest quantitative
relations to the rates of motions. For the planets that turn on their axes
with extreme rapidity are those having large orbits -- those of which the
once-diffused components, probably formed into broad rings, moved to their
centres of aggregation in immense spaces, and so acquired high velocities.
While conversely; the planets which rotate with relatively small velocities,
are those formed out of small nebulous rings.




"But what," it may be asked, "has in such case become of
all that motion which ended in the aggregation of this diffused matter into
solid bodies?" The answer is that it has been radiated in the form of
heat and light; and this answer the evidence, so far as it goes, confirms.
Geologists and physicists agree in concluding that the heat of the Earth's
interior is but a remnant of the heat which once made molten the whole mass.
The mountainous surfaces of the Moon and of Venus, indicating, as they do,
crusts which have, like our own, been corrugated by contraction, imply that
these bodies, too, have undergone refrigeration. Lastly we have in the Sun
a still-continued production of the heat and light which result from the
arrest of diffused matter moving towards a common centre of gravity . Here
also, as before, a quantitative relation is traceable. Mars, the Earth, Venus,
and Mercury, which severally contain comparatively small amounts of matter
whose centripetal motion has been destroyed, have already lost nearly all
the produced heat; while the great planets, Jupiter and Saturn, imply by
their low specific gravity, as well as by the perturbations of their surfaces,
that they still retain much heat. And then the Sun, a thousand times as great
in mass as the largest planet, and having to give off an enormously greater
quantity of heat and light due to that loss of molar motion which concentration
entails, is still radiating with great intensity.




§69. Those forces which have wrought the surface of our planet into
its present shape, are traceable to the primordial source just assigned.
Geologic changes are either direct or indirect results of the unexpended
heat caused by nebular condensation. They are commonly divided into igneous
and aqueous -- heads under which we may most conveniently consider them.




All those disturbances known as earthquakes, all those elevations and
subsidences which they severally produce, all those accumulated effects of
many such elevations and subsidences exhibited in ocean-basins, islands,
continents, table-lands, mountain-chains, and all those formations which
are distinguished as volcanic, geologists now regard as modifications of
the Earth's crust caused by the actions and reactions of its interior. Even
supposing that volcanic eruptions, extrusions of igneous rock, and upheaved
mountain-chains, could be otherwise satisfactorily accounted for, it would
be impossible otherwise to account for those wide-spread elevations and depressions
whence continents and oceans result. Such phenomena as the fusion or agglutination
of sedimentary deposits, the warming of springs, the sublimation of metals
into the fissures where we find them as ores, may be regarded as positive
results of the residuary heat of the Earth's interior; while fractures of
strata and alterations of level are its negative results, since they ensue
on its escape. The original cause of all these effects is still, however,
as it has been from the first, the gravitating movement of the Earth's matter
towards the Earth's centre; seeing that to this is due both the eternal heat
itself and the collapse which takes place as it is radiated into space.




To the question -- Under what forms previously existed the force which
works out the geological changes classed as aqueous, the answer is less obvious.
The effects of rain, of rivers, of winds, of waves, of marine currents, do
not manifestly proceed from one general source. Analysis, nevertheless, proves
that they have a common genesis. If we ask, -- Whence comes the power of
the river-current, bearing sediment down to the sea? the reply is, -- The
gravitation of water throughout the tract which this river drains. If we
ask, -- How came the water to be dispersed over this tract? the reply is,
-- It fell in the shape of rain. If we ask, -- How came the rain to be in
that position whence it fell? the reply is, -- The vapour from which it was
condensed was drifted there by the winds. If we ask, -- How came this vapour
to be at that height? the reply is, -- It was raised by evaporation. And
if we ask, -- What force thus raised it? the reply is, -- The Sun's heat.
Just that amount of gravitative force which the Sun's heat overcame in raising
the molecules of water, is given out again in the fall of those molecules
to the same level. Hence the denudations effected by rain and rivers, during
the descent of this condensed vapour to the level of the sea, are indirectly
due to the radiated energy of the Sun. Similarly with the winds that transport
the vapours hither and thither. Consequent as atmospheric currents are on
differences of temperature (either general, as between the equatorial and
polar regions, or special as between tracts of the Earth's surface having
unlike physical characters) all such currents are due to that source from
which the irregularly distributed heat proceeds. And if the winds thus originate,
so too do the waves raised by them on the sea's surface. Whence it follows
that whatever changes waves produce -- the wearing away of cliffs, the breaking
down of rocks into shingle, sand, and mud -- are also traceable to the solar
rays as their primary cause. The same may be said of ocean-currents. Generated
as the larger ones are by the excess of heat which the ocean in tropical
climates acquires from the Sun; and determined as the smaller ones are in
part by local shapes of land; it follows that the distribution of sediment
and other geological processes which these marine currents effect, are affiliable
upon the energy the Sun radiates. The only aqueous agency otherwise originating
is that of the tides -- an agency which, equally with the others, is traceable
to unexpended celestial motion. But making allowance for the changes this
works, we conclude that the slow wearing down of continents and gradual filling
up of seas, effected by rain, rivers, winds, waves, and ocean-streams, are
the indirect effects of solar heat.




Thus we see that while the geological changes classed as igneous, arise
from the still-progressing motion of the Earth's substance to its centre
of gravity; the antagonistic changes classed as aqueous, arise from the still-progressing
motion of the Sun's substance towards its centre of gravity.




§70. That the forces exhibited in vital actions, vegetal and animal,
are similarly derived, is an obvious deduction from the facts of organic
chemistry. Let us note first the physiological generalizations; and then
the generalizations which they necessitate.




Plant-life is all directly or indirectly dependent on the heat and light
of the Sun-directly dependent in the immense majority of plants, and indirectly
dependent in plants which, as the fungi, flourish in the dark: since these,
growing at the expense of decaying organic matter, mediately draw their forces
from the same original source. Each plant owes the carbon and hydrogen of
which it mainly consists, to the carbon dioxide and water contained in the
surrounding air and earth. These must, however, be decomposed before their
carbon and hydrogen can be assimilated. To overcome the affinities which
hold their elements together requires the expenditure of energy; and this
energy is supplied by the Sun. When, under fit conditions, plants are exposed
to the solar rays, they give off oxygen and accumulate carbon and hydrogen.
In darkness this process ceases. It ceases, too, when the quantities of light
and heat received are greatly reduced, as in winter. Conversely, it is active
when the light and heat are great, as in summer. And the like relation is
seen in the fact that while plant-life is luxuriant in the tropics, it diminishes
in temperate regions, and disappears as we approach the poles. Thus the irresistible
inference is that the forces by which plants grow and carry on their functions,
are forces which previously existed as solar radiations.




That in the main, the processes of animal life are opposite to those of
vegetal life is a truth long current among men of science. Chemically considered,
vegetal life is chiefly a process of de-oxidation, and animal life chiefly
a process of oxidation; chiefly we must say, because in so far as plants
are expenders of force for the purposes of organization, they are oxidizers;
and animals, in some of their minor processes, are probably de-oxidizers.
But with this qualification, the general truth is that while the plant, decomposing
carbon dioxide and water and liberating oxygen, builds up the detained carbon
and hydrogen (along with a little nitrogen and small quantities of other
elements) into stem, branches, leaves, and seeds; the animal, consuming these
branches, leaves, and seeds, and absorbing oxygen, re-composes carbon dioxide
and water, forming also certain nitrogenous compounds in minor amounts. And
while the decomposition effected by the plant is at the expense of energies
emanating from the Sun, the re-composition effected by the animal is at the
profit of these energies, which are liberated during the combination of such
elements. Thus the movements, internal and external, of the animal, are re-appearances
in new forms of a power absorbed by the plant under the shape of light and
heat. Just as the solar forces expended in raising vapour from the sea's
surface, are given out again in the fall of rain and rivers to the same level,
and in the accompanying transfer of solid matters; so, the solar forces that
in the plant raised certain chemical elements to a condition of unstable
equilibrium, are given out again t the actions of the animal during the fall
of these elements to a condition of stable equilibrium.




Besides thus tracing a qualitative correlation between these two great
orders of organic activity, as well as between both of them and inorganic
activities, we may rudely trace a quantitative correlation. Where vegetal
life is abundant, we usually find abundant animal life; and as we advance
from torrid to temperate and frigid climates, the two decrease together.
Speaking generally, the animals of each class reach larger sizes in regions
where vegetation is luxuriant, than in those where it is sparse.




Certain facts of development in both plants and animals, illustrate still
more directly the truth we are considering. In pursuance of a suggestion
made by Mr. (afterwards Sir William) Grove, Dr. Carpenter pointed out that
a connexion between physical and vital forces is exhibited during incubation.
The transformation of the unorganized contents of an egg into the organized
chick, is a question of heat: withhold heat and the process does not commence;
supply heat and it goes on while the temperature is maintained, but ceases
when the egg is allowed to cool. The developmental changes can be completed
only by keeping the temperature with tolerable constancy at a definite height
for a definite time; that is -- only by supplying a definite quantity of
heat. Though the proclivities of the molecules determine the typical structure
assumed, yet the energy supplied by the thermal undulations gives them the
power of arranging themselves into that structure. In the metamorphoses of
insects we may discern parallel facts. The hatching of their eggs is determined
by temperature, as is also the evolution of the pupa into the imago; and
both are accelerated or retarded according as heat is artificially supplied
or withheld. It will suffice just to add, that the germination of plants
presents like relations of cause and effect, as every season shows .




Thus then the various changes exhibited by the organic creation, whether
considered as a whole, or in its two great divisions, or in its individual
members, conform, so far as we can ascertain, to the general principle.




§71. Even after all that has been said in the foregoing part of this
work, many will be alarmed by the assertion that the forces which we distinguish
as mental, come within the same generalization. Yet there is no alternative
but to make this assertion: the facts which justify, or rather which necessitate,
it being abundant and conspicuous. At the same time they are extremely involved.
The essential correlations occur in organs which are mostly invisible, and
between forces or energies quite other than those which are apparent. Let
us first take a superficial view of the evidence.




The modes of consciousness called pressure, motion, sound, light, heat,
are effects produced in us by agencies which as otherwise expended, crush
or fracture pieces of matter, generate vibrations in surrounding objects,
cause chemical combinations, and reduce substances from a solid to a liquid
form. Hence if we regard the changes of relative position, of aggregation,
or of chemical union, thus arising, as being transformed manifestations of
certain energies; so, too, must we regard the sensations which such energies
produce in us. Any hesitation to admit this must disappear on remembering
that the last correlations, like the first, are not qualitative only but
quantitative. Masses of matter which, by scales or dynamometer, are shown
to differ greatly in weight, differ as greatly in the feelings of pressure
they produce on our bodies. In arresting moving objects, the strains we are
conscious of are proportionate to the momenta of such objects as otherwise
measured. The impressions of sounds given to us by vibrating strings, bells,
or columns of air, are found to vary in strength with the amount of force
applied. Fluids or solids proved to be markedly contrasted in temperature
by the different degrees of expansion they produce in the mercurial column,
produce in us correspondingly different degrees of the sensation of heat.
And unlike intensities in our impressions of light, answer to unlike effects
as measured by photometers.




Besides the correlation and equivalence between external physical forces
and the mental forces generated by them under the form of sensations, there
appears to be a correlation and equivalence between sensations and those
physical forces which, in the shape of bodily actions, result from them.
In addition to the excitements of secreting organs, sometimes traceable,
there arise contractions of the involuntary muscles. Sensations increase
the action of the heart, and recent experiments imply that the muscular fibres
of the arteries are at the same time contracted. The respiratory muscles,
too are stimulated. The rate of breathing is visibly and audibly augmented
both by pleasurable and painful excitements of the nerves, if these reach
any intensity. When the quantity of sensation is great, it generates contractions
of the voluntary muscles, as well as of the involuntary ones. Violent pains
cause violent struggles. The start that follows a loud sound, the wry face
produced by an extremely disagreeable taste, the jerk with which the hand
or foot is snatched out of very hot water exemplify the genesis of motions
by feelings; and in these cases it is manifest that the quantity of bodily.
action is proportionate to the quantity of sensation. even where pride causes
suppression of the screams and groans expressive of great pain (also indirect
results of muscular contraction), we may still see in the clenching of the
hands, the knitting of the brows, and the setting of the teeth, that the
bodily actions excited are as great, though less obtrusive in their results.
If we take emotions instead of sensations, we find the correlation and equivalence
similarly suggested. emotions of moderate intensity, like sensations of moderate
intensity, generate little beyond excitement of the heart and vascular system,
joined sometimes with increased action of glandular organs. But as the emotions
rise in strength, the muscles of the face, body, and limbs, begin to move.
Of examples may be mentioned the frowns, dilated nostrils, and stampings
of anger; the contracted brows, and wrung hands, of grief; the laughs and
leaps of joy; the frantic struggles of terror or despair. Passing over cases
in which extreme agitation causes fainting, we see that whatever be the kind
of emotion, there is a manifest relation between its amount, and the amount
of muscular action induced, from the fidgettiness of impatience up to the
almost convulsive movements accompanying great mental agony. To these several
orders of evidence must be joined the further order, that between feelings
and those voluntary motions which result from them, there comes the sensation
of muscular tension, standing in manifest correlation with both -- a correlation
that is distinctly quantitative: the sense of strain varying, other things
equal, directly as the quantity of momentum generated.




§71a. But now, reverting to the caution which preceded these two
paragraphs, we have to note, first, that the facts do not prove transformation
of feeling into motion but only a certain constant ratio between feeling
and motion; and then we have further to note that what seems a direct quantitative
correlation is illusory. For example, tickling is followed by almost uncontrollable
movements of the limbs; but obviously there is no proportion between the
amount of force applied to the surface and the amount of feeling or the amount
of motion: rather there is an inverse proportion, for while a rough touch
does not produce the effect a gentle one does. Even when it is recognized
that the feeling is not the correlate of the external touching action but
of a disturbance in certain terminal tactile structures, it still remains
demonstrable that there is no necessary relation between the amount of such
disturbance and the amount of feeling produced; for under some conditions
muscular motion results without the intercalation of any feeling. When the
spinal cord has been so injured as to cut off all nervous communication between
the lower part of the body and the brain, tickling the sole of the foot produces
convulsion of the leg more violent than it would do were it accompanied by
sensation: there is a reflex transmission of the stimulus and genesis of
motion without passage through consciousness. Cases of another class show
that between central feelings or emotions and the muscular movements they
initiate there are no fixed ratios: instance the sense of effort felt in
making a small movement by one who is exhausted, or the inability of an patient
to raise a limb from the bed however strong the desire to do it. So that
neither the feelings peripherally initiated nor those centrally initiated,
though they are correlated with motions, are quantitatively correlated. Even
still more manifest becomes the lack of direct relation, either qualitative
or quantitative, between outer stimuli and inner feelings, or between such
inner feelings and muscular motions, when we contemplate the complex kinds
of mental processes. The emotions and actions of a man who has been insulted
are clearly not equivalents of the sensations produced by the words in his
ears for the same words otherwise arranged, would not have caused them. The
thing said bears to the mental action it excites, much the same relation
that the pulling of a trigger bears to the subsequent explosion -- does not
produce the power but merely liberates it. Whence, then, arises this immense
amount of nervous energy which a whisper or a glance may call forth?




Evidently we shall go utterly wrong if the problem of the transformation
and equivalence of forces is dealt with as though an organism were simple
and passive instead of being complex and active. In the living body there
are already going on multitudinous transformations of energy very various
in their natures, and between any physical action filling on it and any motion
which follows, there are intercalated numerous changes of kind and quantity.
The fact of chief significance for us here, is that organization is, under
one of its aspects, a set of appliances for the multiplication of energies
-- appliances which, by their successive actions, make the energy eventually
given out enormous as compared with the energy which liberated it. A physical
stimulus affecting an organ of sense, is in some cases multiplied by local
nervous agents; the augmented energy is again multiplied in some part of
the spinal cord or in some higher ganglion; and this usually again multiplied
in the cerebrum and discharged to the muscles, is there enormously multiplied
in the contracting fibres. Of these transformations Only some carried on
centrally have accompanying states of consciousness; so that, manifestly,
there can be no quantitative equivalence either between the sensation and
the original stimulus, or between it and the eventual motion. All we can
say is that, other things equal, the three vary together; so that if in one
case successive stages of increase are 1, 9, 27, 270 they in another case
be 2, 18, 54, 540. This kind of correlation is all which the foregoing facts
imply. But now let us glance at the indirect evidences which confirm the
view that mental and physical forces are connected, though in an indirect
way.




Nowadays no one doubts that mental processes and the resulting actions
are contingent on the presence of a nervous system; and that, greatly obscured
as it is by numerous and involved conditions, a general relation may be traced
between the size of this system and the quantity of mental action as measured
by its results. Further, this nervous apparatus has a chemical constitution
on which its activity, depends; and there is one element in it between the
amount of which and the amount of function performed, there is an ascertained
connexion: the proportion of phosphorus present in the brain being the smallest
in infancy, old age, and idiotcy, and the greatest during the prime of life.
Note, next, that the evolution of thought and emotion varies, other things
equal, with the supply of blood to the brain. On the one hand, an arrest
of the cerebral circulation from stoppage of the heart, immediately entails
unconsciousness. On the other hand, excess of cerebral circulation (unless
it is such as to cause undue pressure) results in unusual excitement. Not
the quantity only but also the condition, of the blood passing through the
brain, influences the mental manifestations. The arterial currents must be
duly aerated, to produce the normal amount of cerebration. If the blood is
not allowed to exchange its carbon dioxide for oxygen, there results asphyxia,
with its accompanying stoppage of ideas and feelings. That the quantity of
consciousness is, other things equal, determined by the constituents of the
blood, is unmistakably seen in the exaltation which certain vegeto-alkalies
commonly produce when taken into it. The gentle exhilaration which tea and
coffee create, is familiar to all; and though the gorgeous imaginations and
intense feelings produced by opium and hashish, have been experienced by
few (in this country at least), the testimony of those who have experienced
them is sufficiently conclusive. Yet another proof that the genesis of the
mental energies depends on chemical change, is afforded by the fact that
the effete products separated from the blood by the kidneys, vary in character
with the amount of cerebral action. Excessive activity of mind is accompanied
by excretion of an unusual quantity of the alkaline phosphates.




§71b. But now after recognizing the classes of facts which unite
to prove that the law of metamorphosis, and in a partial way the law of equivalence,
holds between physical energies and nervous energies, let us enter upon the
ultimate question -- What is the nature of the relation between nervous energies
and mental states? how are we to conceive molecular changes in the brain
as producing feelings, or feelings as producing molecular changes which end
in motion?




In his lecture on Animal Automatism, Prof. Huxley set forth the proofs
that alike in animals and in Man, the great mass of those complex actions
which we associate with purpose and intelligence may be performed automatically:
and contended that the consciousness which ordinarily accompanies them is
outside the series of changes constituting the nervous coordination -- does
not form a link in the chain but is simply a "concomitant" or a
"collateral product." In so far as it correlates the nervous actions
by which our bodily and mental activities are carried on, with physical forces
in general, Prof. Huxley's conclusion accords with the conclusions above
set forth; but in so far as it regards the accompanying states of consciousness
as collateral products only, and not as factors in any degree, it differs
from them. Here I cannot do more than indicate the set of evidences by which
I think my own conclusion is supported if not justified.




One of them we have in the facts of habit, which prove that states of
consciousness which were at first accompaniments of sensory impressions and
resulting motions, gradually cease to be concomitants. The little boy who
is being taught to read has definite perceptions and thoughts about the form
and sound of each letter, but in maturity all these have lapsed, so that
only the words are consciously recognized: each letter produces its effect
automatically. So, too, the girl learning to knit is absorbed in thinking
of each movement made under the direction of her eyes, but eventually the
movements come to be performed almost like those of a machine while her mind
is otherwise occupied. Such cases seem at variance with the belief that consciousness
is outside the lines of nervous communication, and suggest, rather that it
exists in any line of communication in course of establishment and disappears
when the communication becomes perfect. If it is not a link in the line,
it is not easy to see how these changes can arise.




Sundry facts appear to imply that consciousness is needful as an initiator
in cases where there are no external stimuli to set up the co-ordinated nervous
changes: the nervous structures, though capable of doing everything required
if set going, are not set going unless there a rises an idea. Now this implies
that an idea, or co-ordinated set of feelings, has the power of working changes
in the nervous centres and setting up motions: the state of consciousness
is a factor.




Then what we may call passive emotions -- emotions which do not initiate
actions -- apparently imply that between feelings and nervous changes there
is not merely a concomitance but a physical nexus. Intense grief or anxiety
in one who remains motionless, is shown to be directly dependent on nervous
changes by the fact that there is an unusual excretion of phosphates by the
kidneys. Now unless we suppose that in such cases there is great activity
of certain nervous plexuses ending in nothing, we must say that the feeling
is a product of the molecular changes in them.




Once more there is the question -- if feeling is not a factor how is its
existence to be accounted for? To any one who holds in full the Cartesian
doctrine that animals are automata, and that a howl no more implies feeling
than does the bark of a toy dog, I have nothing to say. But whoever does
not hold this, is obliged to hold that as we ascribed anger and affection
to our fellow-men, though we literally know no such feelings save in ourselves,
so must we ascribe them to animals under like conditions, if so, however
-- if feelings are not factors and the appropriate actions might be automatically
performed without them -- then, on the supernatural hypothesis it must be
assumed that feelings were given to animals for no purpose, and on the natural
hypothesis it must be assumed that they have arisen to do nothing.




§71c. But whether feeling is only a concomitant of certain nervous
actions, or whether it is, as concluded above, a factor in such actions,
the connexion between the two is inscrutable. If we suppose that in which
consciousness inheres to be an immaterial something, not implicated in these
nervous actions but nevertheless affected by them in such way as to produce
feeling, then we are obliged to conceive of certain material changes -- molecular
motions -- as producing changes in something in which there is nothing to
be moved; and this we cannot conceive. If, on the other hand, we regard this
something capable of consciousness, as so related to certain nervous changes
that the feelings arising in it jot them in producing muscular motions, then
we meet the same difficulty under its converse aspect. We have to think of
an immaterial something -- a something which is not molecular motion -- which
is capable of affecting molecular motions: we have to endow it with the power
to work effects which, so far as our knowledge goes, can be worked only by
material forces. So that this alternative, too, is in the last resort inconceivable.




The only supposition having consistency is that that in which consciousness
inheres is the all-pervading ether. This we know can be affected by molecules
of matter in motion and conversely can affect the motions of molecules; as
witness the action of light on the retina. In pursuance of this supposition
we may assume that the ether which pervades not only all space but all matter,
is, under special conditions in certain parts of the nervous system, capable
of being affected by the nervous changes in such way as to result in feeling,
and is reciprocally capable under these conditions of affecting the nervous
changes. But if we accept this explanation we must assume that the potentiality
of feeling is universal, and that the evolution of feeling in the ether takes
place only under the extremely complex conditions occurring in certain nervous
centres. This, however, is but a semblance of an explanation, since we know
not what the ether is, and since, by the confession of those most capable
of judging, no hypothesis that has been framed accounts for all its powers.
Such an explanation may be said to do no more than symbolize the phenomena
by symbols of unknown natures.




Thus though the facts oblige us to say that physical and psychical actions
are correlated, and in a certain indirect way quantitatively correlated,
so as to suggest transformation, yet how the material affects the mental
and how the mental affects the material, are mysteries which it is impossible
to fathom. But they are not profounder mysteries than the transformations
of the physical forces into one another. They are not more completely beyond
our comprehension than the natures of Mind and Matter. They have simply the
same insolubility as all other ultimate questions. We can learn nothing more
than that here is one of the uniformities in the order of phenomena.




§72. If the general law of transformation and equivalence holds of
the forces we class as vital and mental, it must hold also of those which
we class as social. Whatever takes place in a society results either from
the undirected physical energies around, from these energies as directed
by men, or from the energies of the men themselves.




While, as among primitive tribes, men's actions are mainly independent
of one another, social forces can scarcely be said to exist: they come into
existence along with co-operation. The effects which can be achieved only
by the joint actions of many, we may distinguish as social. At first these
are obviously due to accumulated individual efforts, but as fast as societies
become large and highly organized, they acquire such separateness from individual
efforts as to give them a character of their own. The network of roads and
railways and telegraph wires -- agencies in the formation of which individual
labours were so merged as to be practically lost -- serve to carry on a social
life that is no longer thought of as caused by the independent doings of
citizens. The prices of stocks, the rates of discount, the reported demand
for this or that commodity, and the currents of men and things setting to
and from various localities, show us large movements and changes scarcely
at all affected by the lives and deaths and deeds of persons. But these and
multitudinous social activities displayed in the growth of towns, the streams
of traffic in their streets, the daily issue and distribution of newspapers,
the delivery of food at people's doors, etc., are unquestionably transformed
individual energies, and have the same source as these energies -- the food
which the population consumes. The correlation of the social with the physical
forces through the intermediation of the vital ones, is, however, best shown
in the different amounts of activity displayed by the same society according
as its members are supplied with different amounts of force from the external
world. A very bad harvest is followed by a diminution of business. Factories
are worked half-time railway traffic falls; retailers find their sales lessened;
and if the scarcity rises to famine, a thinning of the population still more
diminishes the industrial vivacity . Conversely, an unusually abundant supply
of food, occurring under conditions not otherwise unfavourable, both excites
the old producing and distributing agencies and sets up new ones. The surplus
social energy finds vent in speculative enterprises. Labour is expended in
opening new channels of communication. There is increased encouragement to
those who furnish the luxuries of life and minister to the aesthetic faculties.
There are more marriages, and a greater rate of increase in population. Thus
the society grows larger, more complex, and more active. When the whole of
the materials for subsistence are not drawn from the area inhabited, but
are partly imported, the people are still supported by certain harvests elsewhere
grown at the expense of certain physical forces, and the energies they expend
originate from them.




If we ask whence come these physical forces, the reply is of course as
heretofore -- the Sun's rays. Based as the life of a society is on animal
and vegetal products, and dependent as these are on the light and heat of
the Sun, it follows that the changes wrought by men as socially organized,
are effects of forces having a common origin with those which produce all
the other orders of changes we have analyzed. Not only is the energy extended
by the horse harnessed to the plough, and by the labourer guiding it, derived
from the same reservoir as is the energy of the cataract and the hurricane;
but to this same reservoir are traceable those subtler and more complex manifestations
of energy which humanity, as socially embodied, evolves. The assertion is
startling but it is an unavoidable deduction.




Of the physical forces that are directly transformed into social ones,
the like is to be said. Currents of air and water, which before the use of
steam were the only agents brought in aid of muscular effort for performing
industrial processes, are, as we have seen, generated by solar heat. And
the inanimate power that now, to so vast an extent, supplements human labour,
is similarly derived. Sir John Herschel was the first to recognize the truth
that the force impelling a locomotive, originally emanated from the Sun.
Step by step we go back -- from the motion of the piston to the evaporation
of the water; thence to the heat evolved during the burning of coal; thence
to the assimilation of carbon by the plants of whose imbedded products coal
consists; thence to the carbon di-oxide from which their carbon was obtained;
and thence to the rays of light which effected the de-oxidation. Solar forces
millions of years ago expended on the Earth's vegetation, and since locked
up in deep-seated strata, now smelt the metals required for our machines,
turn the lathes by which the machines are shaped, work them when put together,
and distribute the fabrics they produce. And since economy of labour makes
possible a larger population, gives a surplus of human power that would else
be absorbed in manual occupations, and thus facilitates the development of
higher kinds of activity; these social forces which are directly correlated
with Physical forces anciently derived from the Sun, are only less important
than those of which the correlates are the vital forces recently derived
from it.




§73. Many who admit that among physical phenomena at large, transformation
of forces is now established, will probably say that inquiry has not yet
gone far enough to enable us to assert equivalence. And in respect of the
forces classed as vital, mental, and social, the evidence assigned they will
consider by no means conclusive even of transformation, much less of equivalence.




But the universal truth above followed out under its various aspects,
is a corollary from the persistence of force. From the proposition that force
can neither come into existence nor cease to exist, the several foregoing
conclusions inevitably follow. Each manifestation of force can be interpreted
only as the effect of some antecedent force; no matter whether it be an inorganic
action, an animal movement, a thought, or a feeling. Either bodily and mental
energies, as well as inorganic ones, are quantitatively correlated to certain
energies expended in their production, and to certain other energies which
they initiate; or else nothing must become something and something must become
nothing. The alternatives are, to deny the persistence of force, or to admit
that from given amounts of antecedent energies neither more nor less than
certain physical and psychical changes can result. This corollary cannot
indeed be made more certain by accumulating illustrations. Whatever proof
of correlation and equivalence is reached by experimental inquiry, is based
on measurement of the forces expended and the forces produced. But, as was
shown in the last chapter, any such process implies the use of some unit
of force which is assumed to remain constant; and its constancy can be assumed
only as being a corollary from the persistence of force. How then can any
reasoning based on this corollary, prove the equally direct corollary that
when a given quantity of force ceases to exist under one form, an equal quantity
must come into existence under some other form or forms?




"What, then," it may be asked, "is the use of investigations
by which transformations and equivalence of forces is sought to be inductively
established? If the correlation cannot be made more certain by them than
it is already does not their uselessness necessarily follow?" No. They
are of value as disclosing the many particular implications which the general
truth does not specify. They are of value as teaching us how much of one
mode of force is the equivalent of so much of another mode. They are of value
as detecting under what conditions each metamorphosis occurs. And they are
of value as leading us to inquire in what shape the remnant of force has
escaped, when the apparent results are not equivalent to the cause.




Chapter 9




The Direction of Motion




§74. The Absolute Cause of changes, no matter what may be their special
natures, is not less incomprehensible in respect of the unity or duality
of its action, than in all other respects. Are phenomena due to the variously-conditioned
workings of a single force, or are they due to the conflict of two forces?
Whether everything is explicable on the hypothesis of universal pressure,
whence so-called tension results differentially from inequalities of pressure;
or whether things are to be explained on the hypothesis of universal tension,
from which pressure is a differential result; or whether, as most physicists
hold, pressure and tension everywhere co-exist; are questions which it is
impossible to settle. Each of these three suppositions makes the facts comprehensible,
only by postulating an inconceivability. To assume a universal pressure,
confessedly requires us to assume an infinite plenum -- an unlimited space
full of something which is everywhere pressed by something beyond; and this
assumption cannot be mentally realized. That universal tension is the agency,
is an idea open to a parallel and equally fatal objection. And verbally intelligible
as is the proposition that pressure and tension everywhere co-exist, yet
we cannot truly represent to ourselves one ultimate unit of matter as drawing
another while resisting it.




Nevertheless, this last belief we are compelled to entertain. Matter cannot
be conceived except as manifesting forces of attraction and repulsion. In
our consciousness, Body is distinguished from Space by its opposition to
our muscular energies; and this opposition we feel under the twofold form
of a cohesion which hinders our efforts to rend, and a resistance which hinders
our efforts to compress. Without resistance there can be nothing but empty
extension. Without cohesion there can be no resistance. Probably this conception
of antagonistic forces originates from the antagonism of our flexor and extensor
muscles. But be this as it may we are obliged to think of all objects as
made up of parts that attract and repel one another, since this is the form
of our experience of all objects.




By a higher abstraction results the conception of attractive and repulsive
forces pervading space. We cannot dissociate force from occupied extension,
or occupied extension from force, because we have never an immediate consciousness
of either in the absence of the other. Nevertheless, we have abundant proof
that force is exercised through what appears to our senses a vacuity. Mentally
to represent this exercise, we are hence obliged to fill the apparent vacuity
with a species of matter -- an ethereal medium. The constitution we assign
to this ethereal medium, however, is necessarily an abstract of the impressions
received from tangible bodies. The opposition to pressure which a tangible
body offers to us, is not shown in one direction only, but in all directions;
and so likewise is its tenacity. Suppose countless lines radiating from its
centre, and it resists along each of these lines and coheres along each of
these lines. Hence the constitution of those ultimate units through the instrumentality
of which phenomena are interpreted. Be they molecules of ponderable matter
or molecules of ether, the properties we conceive them to possess are nothing
else than these perceptible properties idealized. Centres of force attracting
and repelling one another in all directions, are simply insensible portions
of matter having the endowments common to sensible portions of matter --
endowments of which we cannot by any mental effort divest them. In brief,
they are the invariable elements of the conception of matter, abstracted
from its variable elements -- size, form, quality, etc. And so to interpret
manifestations of force which cannot be tactually experienced, we use the
terms of thought supplied by our tactual experiences, and this for the sufficient
reason that we must use these or none.




It needs scarcely be said that these universally co-existent forces of
attraction and repulsion, must not be taken as realities, but as our symbols
of the reality. They are the forms under which the workings of the Unknowable
are cognizable by us -- modes of the Unconditioned as presented under the
conditions of our consciousness. How these ideas st and related to the absolute
truth we cannot know, but we may unreservedly surrender ourselves to them
as relatively true, and may proceed to evolve a series of deductions having
a like relative truth.




§75. Universally co-existent forces of attraction and repulsion,
imply certain laws of direction of all movement. Where attractive forces
alone are concerned, or rather are alone appreciable, movement takes place
in the direction of their resultant; which may, in a sense, be called the
line of greatest traction. Where repulsive forces alone are concerned, or
rather are alone appreciable, movement takes place along their resultant;
which is usually known as the line of least resistance. And where both attractive
and repulsive forces are concerned, and are appreciable, movement takes place
along the resultant of the tractions and resistances. Strictly speaking this
last is the sole law; since, by the hypothesis, both forces are everywhere
in action. But very frequently the one kind of force is so immensely in excess,
that the effect of the other kind may be left out of consideration. Practically,
we may say that a body falling to the Earth follows the line of greatest
traction; since, though the resistance of the air must, if the body be irregular,
cause some divergence from this line (quite perceptible with feathers and
leaves), yet, ordinarily the divergence is so slight that we may disregard
it. In the same manner though the courses taken by steam from an exploding
boiler, differ somewhat from those which it would take were gravitation out
of the question; yet, as gravitation affects its courses only infinitesimally,
we are justified in saying that the escaping steam goes along lines of least
resistance. Motion, then, always follows the line of greatest traction, or
the line of least resistance, or the resultant of the two; and though the
last is alone strictly true, the others are in many cases sufficiently near
the truth for practical purposes.




Motion set up in any direction is itself a cause of further motion in
that direction, since it is the manifestation of a surplus force in that
direction. This holds equally with the transit of matter through space, the
transit of matter through matter, and the transit through matter of any kind
of vibration. In the case of matter moving through space, this principle
is expressed in the law of inertia -- a law which all the calculations of
physical astronomy assume. In the case of matter moving through matter, we
trace the same truth under the familiar experience that any breach made by
one solid through another, or any channel formed by a fluid through a solid,
becomes a route along which, other things equal, subsequent movements of
like nature most readily take place. And in the case of motion passing through
matter under the form of an impulse communicated from part to part, the facts
of magnetization appear to imply that the establishment of undulations along
certain lines, determines their continuance along those lines.




It further follows from the conditions, that the direction of movement
can rarely if ever be perfectly straight. For matter in motion to pursue
continuously the exact line in which it sets out, the forces of attraction
and repulsion must be symmetrically disposed around its path; and the chances
against this are infinitely great. It may be added that in proportion as
the forces at work are numerous and varied, the line a moving body describes
is necessarily complex: witness the contrast between the flight of an arrow
and the gyrations of a stick tossed about by breakers.




As a step towards unification of knowledge, we have now to trace these
general laws throughout the various orders of changes which the Cosmos exhibits.




§76. In the Solar System the principles thus briefly summarized are
every instant exemplified. Each planet aid satellite has a momentum which
would, if acting alone, carry it forward in the direction it is at any instant
pursuing -- a momentum which would make a straight line its line of least
resistance. Each planet and satellite, however, is drawn by a force which,
if it acted alone, would take it in a straight line towards its primary.
And the resultant of these two forces is that curve which it describes --
a curve consequent on the unsymmetrical distribution of the forces around.
When more closely examined, its path supplies further illustrations. For
it is not an exact circle or ellipse; which it would be were the tangential
and centripetal forces the only ones concerned. Adjacent members of the Solar
System, ever varying in their relative positions, cause perturbations; that
is, slight divergences from that circle or ellipse which the two chief forces
would produce. These perturbations severally show us in minor degrees, how
the line of movement is the resultant of all the forces engaged; and how
this line becomes more complicated in proportion as the forces are multiplied.




If instead of the motions of the planets and satellites as wholes, we
consider the motions of their parts, we meet with comparatively complex illustrations.
Every portion of the Earth's substance in its daily rotation; describes a
curve which is in the main a resultant of that resistance which checks its
nearer approach to the centre of gravity, that momentum which would carry
it off at a tangent, and those forces of gravitation and cohesion which keep
it from being so carried off. When with this axial motion is contemplated
the orbital motion, the course of each part is seen to be a much more involved
one. And we find it to have a still greater complication on taking into account
that lunar attraction which mainly produces the tides and the precession
of the equinoxes.




§77. We come next to terrestrial changes: present ones as observed,
and past ones as inferred by geologists. Let us set out with the unceasing
movements in the Earth's atmosphere; descend to the slow alterations in progress
on its surface; and then to the still slower ones going on beneath.




Masses of air absorbing heat from surfaces warmed by the Sun, expand,
and ascend: the resistance being less than the resistance to lateral movement.
Adjacent atmospheric masses, moving in the directions of the diminished resistance,
displace the expanded air. When, again, by the ascent of heated air from
great tracts like the torrid zone, there is produced at the upper surface
of the atmosphere a protuberance -- when the air forming this protuberance
overflows laterally towards the poles; it does so because, while the tractive
force of the Earth is nearly the same, the lateral resistance is diminished.
And throughout the course of each current thus generated, as well as throughout
the course of each counter-current flowing into the space vacated, the direction
is always the resultant of the Earth's tractive force and the resistance
offered by the surrounding masses of air: modified only by conflict with
other currents similarly generated, and by collision with prominences on
the Earth's crust. The movements of water, in both its gaseous and liquid
states, furnish further examples. Evaporation is the escape of particles
of water in the direction of least resistance; and as the resistance (which
is due to gaseous pressure) diminishes, the evaporation increases. On the
other hand condensation, which takes place when any portion of atmospheric
vapour has its temperature much lowered, may be interpreted as a diminution
of the mutual pressure among the condensing particles, while the pressure
of surrounding particles remains the same; and so is a motion taking place
in the direction of lessened resistance. In the course followed by the resulting
raindrops, we have one of the simplest instances of the joint effect of the
two antagonist forces. The Earth's attraction, and the resistance of atmospheric
currents ever varying in direction and intensity, give as their resultants,
lines which incline to the horizon in countless different degrees and undergo
perpetual variations. In the course the rain-drops take while trickling over
the surface, in every rill, in every larger stream, and in every river, we
see them descending as straight as the antagonism of surrounding objects
permits. So far from a cascade furnishing an exception, it furnishes but
another illustration. For though all solid obstacles to a vertical fall of
the water are removed, yet the water's horizontal momentum is an obstacle;
and the parabola in which the stream leaps from the projecting ledge is generated
by the combined gravitation and momentum.




The Earth's solid crust undergoes changes which supply another group of
illustrations. The denudation of lands and the depositing of the removed
sediment in new strata at the bottoms of seas and lakes, is a process throughout
which motion is obviously determined in the same way as is that of the water
effecting the transport. Again, though we have no direct inductive proof
that the forces classed as igneous expend themselves along lines of least
resistance, yet what little we know of them is in harmony with the belief
that they do so. Earthquakes continually revisit the same localities, and
special tracts undergo for long periods together successive elevations or
subsidences: facts which imply that already-fractured portions of the Earth's
crust are those most prone to yield under the pressure caused by further
contractions. The distribution of volcanoes along certain lines, as well
as the frequent recurrence of eruptions from the same vents, are facts of
like meaning.




§78. That organic growth takes place in the direction of least resistance,
is a proposition set forth and illustrated by Mr. James Hinton, in the Medico-Chirurgical
Review for October, 1858. After detailing a few of the early observations
which led him to this generalization, he formu1ates it thus: --




"Organic form is the result of motion."

"Motion takes the direction of least resistance."

"Therefore organic form is the result of motion in the direction of
least resistance."




After an elucidation and defence of this position, Mr. Hinton proceeds
to interpret, in conformity with it, sundry phenomena of development. Shaking
of plants, he says: --




"The formation of the root furnishes a beautiful illustration of
the law of least resistance, for it grows by insinuating itself, cell by
cell, through the interstices of the soil; it is by such minute additions
that it increases, winding and twisting whithersoever the obstacles it meets
in its path determine, and growing there most, where the nutritive materials
are added to it most abundantly. As we look on the roots of a mighty tree,
it appears to us as if they had forced themselves with giant violence into
the solid earth. But it is not so; they were led on gently cell added to
cell, softly as the dews descended, and the loosened earth made way. Once
formed, indeed, they expand with an enormous power, but the spongy condition
of the growing radicles utterly forbids the supposition that they are forced
into the earth. Is it not probable, indeed, that the enlargement of the roots
already formed may crack the surrounding soil, and help to make the interstices
into which the new rootlets grow? * * *




"Throughout almost the whole of organic nature the spiral form is
more or less distinctly marked. Now, motion under resistance takes a spiral
direction, be seen by the motion of a body rising or falling through water.
A bubble rising rapidly in water describes a spiral closely resembling a
corkscrew, and a body of moderate specific gravity dropped into water may
be seen to fall in a curved direction, the spiral tendency of which may be
distinctly observed. * * * In this prevailing spiral form of organic bodies,
therefore, it appears to me, that there is presented a strong prima facie
case for the view I have maintained. * * * The spiral form of the branches
of many trees is very apparent, and the universally spiral arrangement of
the leaves around the stem of plants needs only to be referred to. * * *
The heart commences as a spiral turn, and in its perfect form a manifest
spiral may be traced through the left ventricle, right ventricle, right auricle,
left auricle, and appendix. And what is the spiral turn in which the heart
commences but a necessary result of the lengthening, under a limit, of the
cellular mass of which it then consists? * * *




"Every one must have noticed the peculiar curling up of the young
leaves of the common fern. The appearance is as if the leaf were rolled up,
but in truth this form is merely a phenomenon of growth. The curvature results
from the increase of the leaf, it is only another form of the wrinkling up,
or turning at right angles by extension under limit.




"The rolling up or imbrication of the petals in many flower-buds
is a similar thing; at an early period the small petals may be seen lying
side by side; afterwards growing within the capsule, they become folded round
one another. * * *




"If a flower-bud be opened at a sufficiently early period, the stamens
will be found as if moulded in the cavity between the pistil and the corolla,
which cavity the anthers exactly fill; the stalks lengthen at an after period.
I have noticed also in a few instances, that in those flowers in which the
petals are imbricated, or twisted together, the pistil is tapering as growing
up between the petals; in some flowers which have the petals so arranged
in the bud as to form a dome (as the hawthorn; e.g.), the pistil is flattened
at the apex, and in the bud occupies a space precisely limited by the stamens
below, and the enclosing petals above and at the sides. I have not, however,
satisfied myself that this holds good in all cases."




Without endorsing all Mr. Hinton's illustrations, his conclusion may be
accepted as a large instalment of the truth. But in the case of organic growth,
as in all other cases, the line of movement is in strictness the resultant
of tractive and resistant forces; and the tractive forces here form so considerable
an element that the formula is not complete without them. The shapes of plants
are manifestly modified by gravitation. The direction of each branch is not
what it would have been in the absence of the pull exercised by the Earth;
and every flower and leaf is somewhat altered in the course of development
by the weight of its parts. Though in animals such effects are less conspicuous,
yet the instances in which flexible organs have their directions in great
measure determined by gravity, justify the assertion that throughout the
whole organism the forms of parts must be affected by this force.




The organic movements which constitute growth, are not, however, the only
organic movements to be interpreted. There are also those which constitute
function; and throughout these the same general principles are discernible.
That the vessels and ducts along which blood, lymph, bile, and all the secretions,
find their ways, are channels of least resistance, is an illustration almost
too conspicuous to be named. Less conspicuous, however, is the truth that
the currents set ting along these vessels are affected by the tractive force
of the Earth; witness varicose veins; witness the relief to an inflamed part
obtained by raising it; witness the congestion of head and face produced
by stooping. And in the facts that dropsy in the legs gets greater by day
and decreases at night, while, conversely that oedematous fullness under
the eyes common in debility, grows worse during the hours of reclining and
decreases after getting up, we see how the transudation of liquid through
the walls of the capillaries, varies according as change of position changes
the effect of gravity in different parts of the body .




It may be well just to note the bearing of the principle on the development
of species. From a dynamic point of view, "natural selection" implies
structural changes along lines of least resistance. The multiplication of
any kind of plant or animal in localities that are favourable to it, is a
growth where the antagonistic forces are less than elsewhere. And the preservation
of varieties which succeed better than their allies in coping with surrounding
conditions, is the continuance of vital movements in those directions where
the obstacles to them are most eluded.




§79. Throughout mental phenomena the law enunciated is not readily
established. In a large part of them, as those of thought and emotion, there
is no perceptible movement. Even in sensation and action, which show us in
one part of the body an effect produced by a force applied to another part,
the intermediate movement is inferential only. Some suggestions may be made
however.




A stimulation implies a force added to, or evolved in, that part of the
organism which is its seat; while a mechanical movement implies an expenditure
or loss of force in that part of the organism which is its seat: implying
some tension of molecular state between the two localities. Hence if, in
the life of a minute animal, there are circumstances involving that a stimulation
in one particular place is habitually followed by a contraction in another
particular place -- if there is thus a repeated motion through some line
of least resistance between these places; what must be the result as respects
the line? If this line -- this channel -- is affected by the discharge --
if the obstructive action of the tissues traversed, involves any reaction.
upon them, deducting from their obstructive power; then a subsequent motion
between these two points will meet with less resistance along this channel
than the previous motion met with, and will consequently take this channel
still more decidedly. Every repetition will further diminish the resistance
offered; and thus will gradually be formed a permanent line of communication,
differing greatly from the surrounding tissue in respect of the ease with
which force traverses it. Hence in small creatures may result rudimentary
nervous connexions. Only an adumbration of nervous processes thus hinted
as conforming to the general law, is here possible. But the effects of associations
between impressions and motions as seen in habits, all yield illustrations.
In knitting, in reading aloud, in the performance of the skilled pianist
who talks while he plays, we have examples of the way in which channels of
nervous communication are eventually made so permeable by perpetual discharges
along them as to bring about a state almost automatic or reflex: illustrating
at once the fact that molecular motion follows lines of least resistance,
and the fact that motion along such lines, by diminishing the resistance,
further facilitates the motion. Though qualifications arising in the same
manner as those indicated in the last chapter complicate these nervo-motor
processes in ways which cannot here be followed, they do not conflict with
the law set forth. Moreover they are congruous with the principle that in
proportion to the frequency with which any external connexion of phenomena
is experienced, will be the strength of the answering internal connexion
of nervous states. In this way will arise all degrees of cohesion among nervous
states, as there are all degrees of commonness among the surrounding co-existences
and sequences that generate them. Whence must result a general correspondence
between associated ideas and associated actions in the environment.(*)

<fn* This paragraph is a re-statement, somewhat amplified, of an idea
set forth in the Medico-Chirurgical Review for January, 1859 (pp.
189 and 190); and contains the germ of the intended fifth part of the Principles
of Psychology, which was withheld for reasons given in the preface to
that work.>




The relation between emotions and actions may be similarly construed.
Observe what happens with emotions which are undirected by volitions. As
was pointed out in the last chapter, there result movements of the involuntary
and voluntary muscles, that are great in proportion as the emotions are strong.
It remains here to add that the order in which these muscles are affected
conforms to the principle. A pleasurable or painful feeling of but slight
intensity does little more than increase the action of the heart. Why? For
the reason that the relation between nervous excitement and cardiac contraction,
being common to every species of feeling, is the one of most frequent repetition;
that hence the nervous connexion offering the least resistance to a discharge,
is the one along which a feeble force produces motion. A stronger sentiment
affects not only the heart but the muscles of the face, and especially those
around the mouth. Here the like explanation applies; since these muscles,
being both comparatively small and, for purposes of speech, perpetually used,
offer less resistance than other voluntary muscles to the nervo-motor forces.
By a further increase of emotion the respiratory and vocal muscles become
perceptibly excited. Finally, under violent passion, the muscles of the trunk
and limbs are strongly contracted. The single instance of laughter, which
is an undirected discharge of feeling that affects first the muscles round
the mouth, then those of the vocal and respiratory apparatus, then those
of the limbs, and then those of the spine; suffices to show that when no
special route is opened for it, a force evolved in the nervous centres produces
motion along channels which offer the least resistance, and if is too great
to escape by these, produces motion along channels offering successively
greater resistance.*

<*For details see a paper on "The Physiology of Laughter," published
in Macmillan's Magazine for March, 1860, and reprinted in Essays, vol. II.>




Probably it will be thought impossible to extend this reasoning so as
to include voluntary acts. Yet we are not without evidence that the transition
from special desires to special muscular motions, conforms to the same principle.
The mental antecedents of a voluntary movement, are such as temporarily make
the line through which this movement is initiated, the line of least resistance.
For a volition, suggested as it is by some previous thought joined with it
by associations that determine the transition, is itself a representation
of the movements which are willed, and of their sequences. But to represent
in consciousness certain of our own movements, is partially to arouse the
sensations accompanying such movements, inclusive of those of muscular tension
-- is partially to excite the appropriate motor-nerves and all the other
nerves implicated. That is to say, the volition is itself an incipient discharge
along a line which previous experiences have rendered a line of least resistance.
And the passing of volition into action is simply a completion of the discharge.




One corollary must be noted; namely that the particular set of movements
by which an object of desire is reached, are usually movements implying the
smallest total of forces to be overcome. As the motion initiated by each
feeling takes the line of least resistance, it is inferable that a group
of feelings constituting a more or less complex desire will initiate motions
along a series of lines of least resistance; that is, the desired end will
be achieved with the smallest effort. Doubtless through want of knowledge
or want of skill or want of resolution to make immediate exertion, a man
often takes the more laborious of two courses. But it remains true that relatively
to his mental state at the time, his course is the easiest to him -- the
one least resisted by the aggregate of his feelings.




§80. As with individual men so is it with aggregations of men. Social
changes take directions that are due to the joint actions of citizens, determined
as are those of all other changes wrought by composition of forces.




Thus when we note the direction of a nation's growth, we find it to be
that in which the aggregate of opposing forces is least. Its units have energies
to be expended in self-maintenance and reproduction. These energies are met
by various antagonistic energies -- those of geologic origin, those of climate,
of wild animals, of other human races with whom there is enmity or competition.
And the tracts the society spreads over, are those in which there is the
smallest total of antagonisms while they yield the best supply of food and
other materials which further the genesis of energies. For these reasons
it happens that fertile valleys where water and vegetal products abound,
are early peopled. Sea-shores, too, supplying much easily-gathered food,
are lines along which mankind have commonly spread. The general fact that,
so far as we can judge from the traces left by them, large societies first
appeared in those warm regions where the fruits of the earth are obtainable
with comparatively little exertion, and where the cost of maintaining bodily
heat is but slight, is a fact of like meaning. And to these instances may
be added the allied one daily furnished by emigration, which we see going
on towards countries presenting the fewest obstacles to the self-preservation
of individuals, and therefore to national growth. Similarly with that resistance
to the movements of a society which neighbouring societies offer. Each of
the tribes or nations inhabiting any region, increases in numbers until it
outgrows its means of subsistence. In each there is thus a force ever pressing
outwards on to adjacent areas -- a force antagonized by like forces in the
tribes or nations occupying those areas. And the wars that result -- the
conquests of weaker tribes or nations, and the overrunning of their territories
by the victors, are instances of social movements taking place in the directions
of least resistance. Nor do the conquered peoples, when they escape extermination
or enslavement, fail to show us movements which are similarly determined.
For, migrating as they do to less fertile regions -- taking refuge in deserts
or among mountains -- moving in directions where the resistances to social
growth are comparatively great; they still do this only under an excess of
pressure in all other directions: the physical obstacles to self-preservation
they encounter; being really less than the obstacles offered by the enemies
from whom they fly.




Internal social movements also may be thus interpreted. Localities naturally
fitted for producing particular commodities -- that is, localities in which
such commodities are got at the least cost of energy -- that is, localities
in which the desires for these commodities meet with the least resistance;
become localities devoted to the obtainment of these commodities. Where soil
and climate render wheat a profitable crop, or a crop from which the greatest
amount of life-sustaining power is gained by a given quantity of effort,
the growth of wheat becomes a dominant industry. Where wheat cannot be economically
produced, oats, or rye, or maize, or potatoes, or rice, is the agricultural
staple. Along sea-shores men support themselves with least effort by catching
fish, and hence fishing becomes the occupation. And in places which are rich
in coal or metallic ores, the population, finding that labour expended in
raising these materials brings a larger return of food and clothing than
when otherwise expended, becomes a population of miners. This last instance
introduces us to the phenomena of exchange, which equally illustrate the
general law. For the practice of barter begins as soon as it facilitates
the fulfilment of men's desires, by diminishing the exertion needed to reach
the objects of those desires. When instead of growing his own corn, weaving
his own cloth, sewing his own shoes, each man began to confine himself to
farming, or weaving, or shoemaking; it was because each found it more laborious
to make everything he wanted, than to make a great quantity of one thing
and barter the surplus for other things. Moreover, in deciding what commodity
to produce, each citizen was, as he is at the present day, guided in the
same manner. In choosing those forms of activity which their special circumstances
and special faculties dictate, the social units severally move towards the
objects of their desires in the directions which present to them the fewest
obstacles. The process of transfer which commerce presupposes, supplies another
series of examples. So long as the forces to be overcome in procuring any
necessary of life in the district where it is consumed, are less than the
forces to be overcome in procuring it from an adjacent district, exchange
does not take place. But when the adjacent district produces it with an economy
that is not outbalanced by cost of transit -- when the distance is so small
and the route so easy that the labour of conveyance plus the labour of production
is less than the labour of production in the consuming district, transfer
commences. Movement in the direction of least resistance is also seen in
the establishment of the channels along which intercourse takes place. At
the outset, when goods are carried on the backs of men and horses, the paths
chosen are those which combine shortness with levelness and freedom from
obstacles -- those which are achieved with the smallest exertion. And in
the subsequent formation of each highway, the course taken is that which
deviates horizontally from a straight line so far only as is needful to avoid
vertical deviations entailing greater labour in draught. The smallest total
of obstructive forces determines the route, even in seemingly exceptional
cases; as where a detour is made to avoid the opposition of a landowner.
All subsequent improvements, ending in macadamized roads, canals, and railways,
which reduce the antagonism of friction and gravity to a minimum, exemplify
the same truth. After there comes to be a choice of roads between one point
and another, we still see that the road chosen is that along which the cost
of transit is the least: cost being the measure of resistance. When there
arises a marked localization of industries, the relative growths of the populations
devoted to them may be interpreted on the same principle. The influx of people
to each industrial centre is determined by the payment for labour -- that
is, by the quantity of commodities which a given amount of effort will obtain.
To say that artisans flock to places where, in consequence of facilities
for production, an extra proportion of produce can be given in the shape
of wages, is to say that they flock to places where there are the smallest
obstacles to the Support of themselves and families; and so growth of the
social organism takes place where the resistance is least.




Nor is the law less clearly to be traced in those functional changes daily
going on. The flow of capital into businesses yielding the largest returns,
the buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest, the introduction
of more economical modes of manufacture, the development of better agencies
for distribution, exhibit movements taking place in directions where they
are met by the smallest totals of opposing forces. For if we analyze each
of these changes -- if instead of interest on capital we read surplus of
products which remains after maintenance of labourers -- if we thus interpret
large interest or large surplus to imply labour expended with the greatest
results -- and if labour expended with the greatest results means muscular
action so directed as to evade obstacles as far as possible; we see that
all these commercial phenomena imply complicated motions set up along lines
of least resistance.




Social movements of these various orders severally conform to the two
derivative principles named at the outset. In the first place we see that,
once set up in given directions, such movements, like all others, tend to
produce continuance in these directions. A commercial mania or panic, a current
of commodities, a social custom, a political agitation, or a popular delusion,
maintains its course long after its original cause has ceased, and requires
antagonistic forces to arrest it. In the second place it is to be noted that
in proportion to the complexity of social forces is the tortuousness of social
movements. The involved series of various processes through which a man is
returned to Parliament, or through which afterwards, by an Act he finally
gets passed, certain doings of his fellow-citizens are changed, show this.




§81. And now of the general truth above set forth what is our ultimate
evidence? Must we accept it simply as an empirical generalization? or may
it be established as a corollary from a still deeper truth? The reader will
anticipate the answer.




Suppose several tractive forces, variously directed, to be acting on a
given body. By what is known as the composition of forces, there may be found
for any two of these, a single force of such amount and direction as to produce
on the body an exactly equal effect. Such a resultant force, as it is called,
may be found for any pair of forces throughout the group. Similarly, for
any pair of resultants a single resultant may be found. And by repeating
this course, all of them may be reduced to two. If these two are equal and
opposite -- that is, if there is no line of greatest traction, motion does
not arise. If they are opposite but not equal, motion arises in the direction
of the greater. If they are neither equal nor opposite, motion arises in
the direction of their resultant. For in either of these cases there is an
unantagonized force in one direction. And this residuary force must move
the body in the direction in which it is acting. To assert the contrary is
to assert that a force can be expended without effect; and this involves
a denial of the persistence of force. If in place of tractions we take resistances,
the argument equally holds; and it holds also where both tractions and resistances
are concerned. Thus the law that motion follows the line of greatest traction,
or the line of least resistance, or the resultant of the two, is a necessary
deduction from that primordial truth which transcends proof.




Reduce the proposition to its simplest form, and its truth becomes still
more obvious. Suppose two weights suspended over a pulley, or suppose two
men pulling against each other. The heavier weight will descend, and the
stronger man will draw the weaker towards him. If asked how we know which
is the heavier weight or the stronger man, we can only reply that it is the
one producing motion in the direction of its pull. But if of two opposing
tractions we can know one as greater than the other only by the motion it
generates in its own direction, then the assertion that motion occurs in
the direction of greatest traction is a truism. When, going a step further
back, we seek a warrant for the assumption that of the two conflicting forces,
the one which produces motion in its own direction is the greatest, we find
no other than the consciousness that such part of the greater force as is
unneutralized by the lesser, must produce its effect -- the consciousness
that this residuary force cannot disappear, but must manifest itself in some
equivalent change -- the consciousness that force is persistent. Here too,
as before, it may be remarked that no number of varied illustrations, like
those of which this chapter mainly consists, can give greater certainty to
the conclusion thus immediately drawn from the ultimate datum of consciousness.
For in all cases, as in the simple ones just given, we can identify the greatest
force only by the resulting motion.




From this same primordial truth, too, may be deduced the principle that
motion once set up along any line, becomes itself a cause of subsequent motion
along that line. The mechanical axiom that, if left to itself, matter moving
in any direction will continue in that direction with undiminished velocity,
is but an indirect assertion of the persistence of that kind of force called
energy; since it is an assertion that the energy manifested in the transfer
of a body along a certain length of a certain line in a certain time, cannot
disappear without producing some equal manifestation: a manifestation which,
in the absence of conflicting forces, must be a further transfer in the same
direction at the same velocity. In the case of matter traversing matter a
like inference is necessitated. Here however the actions are complicated.
A liquid that follows a certain channel through or over a solid, as water
along the Earth's surface, loses part of its motion in the shape of heat,
through friction and collision with the matters forming its bed. A further
amount may be absorbed in overcoming the forces it liberates; as when it
loosens a mass which falls into its channel. But after these deductions,
any further deduction from the energy embodied in the motion of the water,
is at the expense of a reaction on the channel which diminishes its obstructive
power: such reaction being shown in the motion acquired by the detached portions
carried away. The cutting out of river-courses perpetually illustrates this
truth. Still more involved is the case of motion passing through matter by
impulse from part to part; as a nervous discharge through animal tissue.
There are conceivable anomalies. Some chemical change wrought along the route
traversed, may render it less fit than before for conveying a current. Or
some obstructive form of force may be generated; as in metals, the conducting
power of which is, for the time, decreased by the heat which the electric
current produces. The real question is, however, what structural modification,
if any, is produced throughout the matter traversed, apart from incidental
disturbing forces -- apart from everything but the necessary resistance of
the matter: that, namely which results from the inertia of its units. If
we confine our attention to that part of the motion which, escaping transformation,
continues its course, then the persistence of force necessitates that as
much of it as is taken up in changing the positions of the units, must leave
these by so much less able to obstruct subsequent motion in the same direction.




Thus in all the changes displayed by the Solar System, in all those which
are going on in the Earth's crust, in all processes of organic development
and function, in all mental actions and the effects they work on the body,
and in all modifications of structure and activity in societies, the implied
movements are of necessity determined in the manner above set forth. The
truth set forth holds not only of one class, or of some classes, of phenomena,
but it is among those universal truths by which our knowledge of phenomena
in general is unified.




Chapter 10




The Rhythm of Motion




§82. When the pennant of a vessel lying becalmed shows the coming
breeze, it does so by gentle undulations which travel from its fixed to its
free end. Presently the sails begin to flap; and their blows against the
mast increase in rapidity as the breeze rises. Even when, being fully bellied
out, they are in great part steadied by the strain of the yards and cordage,
their free edges tremble with each stronger gust. And should there come a
gale, the jar that is felt on laying hold of the shrouds shows that the rigging
vibrates; while the whistle of the wind proves that in it, also, rapid undulations
are generated. Ashore the conflict between the current of air and the things
it meets results in a like rhythmical action. The leaves all shiver in the
blast; each branch oscillates; and every exposed tree sways to and fro. The
blades of grass and dried bents in the meadows, and still better the stalks
in the neighbouring corn-fields, exhibit the same rising and falling movements.
Nor do the more stable objects fail to do the like, though in a less manifest
fashion; as witness the shudder that may be felt throughout a house during
the paroxysms of a violent storm. Streams of water produce in opposing objects
the same general effects as do streams of air. Submerged weeds growing in
the middle of a brook, undulate from end to end. Branches brought down by
the last flood, and left entangled at the bottom where the current is rapid,
are thrown into a state of up and down movement that is slow or quick t proportion
as they are large or small; and where, as in great rivers like the Mississippi,
whole trees are thus held, the name "sawyers," by which they are
locally known, sufficiently describes the rhythm produced in them. Note,
again, the effect of the antagonism between the current and its channel.
In shallow places, where the action of the bottom on the water flowing over
it is visible, we see a ripple produced -- a series of undulations. If we
study the action and reaction going on between the moving fluid and its banks,
we still find the principle illustrated, though in a different way. For in
every rivulet, as in the mapped-out course of every great river, the bends
of the stream from side to side throughout its tortuous course constitute
a lateral undulation -- an undulation so inevitable that even an artificially-straightened
channel is eventually changed into a serpentine one. Kindred phenomena may
be observed when the water is stationary and the solid matter moving. A stick
drawn laterally through the water with much force, proves by the throb which
it communicates to the hand that it is in a state of vibration. Even where
the moving body is massive, it only requires that great force should be applied
to get a sensible effect of like kind: instance the screw of a screw-steamer
[of the primitive type], which instead of a smooth rotation falls into a
rapid rhythm that sends a tremor through the whole vessel. The sound produced
when a bow is drawn over a violin-string, shows us vibrations accompanying
the movement of a solid. In lathes and planing machines, the attempt to take
off a thick shaving causes a violent jar of the whole apparatus, and the
production of a series of waves on the iron or wood that is cut. Every boy
in scraping his slate-pencil finds it scarcely possible to help making a
ridged surface. If you roll a ball along the ground or over the ice, there
is always more or less up and down movement -- a movement that is visible
while the velocity is considerable, but becomes too small and rapid to be
seen by the unaided eye as the velocity diminishes. However smooth the rails,
and however perfectly built the carriages, a railway-train inevitably acquires
oscillations, both lateral and vertical. Even where a moving mass is suddenly
arrested by collision, the law is still illustrated; for both the body striking
and the body struck are made to tremble; and trembling is rhythmical movement.
Little as we habitually observe it, it is yet certain that the impulses our
actions impress from moment to moment on surrounding objects, are propagated
through them in vibrations. It needs but to look through a telescope of high
power, placed on a table, to be convinced that each pulsation of the heart
gives a jar to surrounding things. Motions of another order -- those namely
of the ethereal medium -- teach us the same thing. Every fresh discovery
confirms the hypothesis that light consists of undulations, and that the
rays of heat have a like fundamental nature: their undulations differing
from those of light only in their comparative lengths. Nor do the movements
of electricity fail to furnish us with illustrations; though of a different
order. The northern aurora may often be observed to pulsate with waves of
greater brightness; and the electric discharge through a vacuum shows by
its stratified appearance that the current is not uniform, but comes in gushes
of greater and lesser intensity. Should it be said that there are some motions,
as those of projectiles, which are not rhythmical, the reply is that the
exception is apparent only, and that these motions would be rhythmical if
they were not interrupted. It is common to assert that the trajectory of
a cannon-ball is a parabola; and it is true that (omitting atmospheric resistance)
the curve described differs so slightly from a parabola that it may practically
be regarded as one. But, strictly speaking, it is a portion of an extremely
eccentric ellipse, having the Earth's centre of gravity for its remoter focus;
and but for its arrest by the substance of the Earth, the cannon-ball would
travel round that focus and return to the point whence it started; again
to repeat this slow rhythm. Indeed, while seeming to do the reverse, the
discharge of a cannon furnishes one of the best illustrations of the principle
enunciated. The explosion produces violent undulations in the surrounding
air. The whizz of the shot, as it flies towards its mark, is due to another
series of atmospheric undulations. And the eccentric movement round the Earth's
centre, which the cannon-ball is beginning to perform, being checked by solid
matter, is transformed into a rhythm of another order; namely, the vibration
which the blow sends through neighbouring bodies.* <* After having for
some years supposed myself alone in the belief that all motion is rhythmical,
I discovered that my friend Professor Tyndall also held this doctrine.>




Rhythm is very generally not simple but compound. There are usually at
work various forces, causing undulations differing in rapidity; and hence
besides the primary rhythms there arise secondary rhythms, produced by the
periodic coincidence and opposition of the primary ones. Double, triple,
and even quadruple rhythms, are thus generated. One of the simplest instances
is afforded by what in acoustics are known as "beats": recurring
intervals of sound and silence which are perceived when two notes of nearly
the same pitch are struck together and which are due to the alternate correspondence
and antagonism of the atmospheric waves. In like manner the phenomena due
to what is called interference of light, result from the periodic agreement
and disagreement of ethereal undulations -- undulations which, by alternately
intensifying and neutralizing each other, produce intervals of increased
and diminished light. On the sea-shore may be noted sundry instances of compound
rhythms. We have that of the tides, in which the daily rise and fall undergoes
a fortnightly increase and decrease, due to the alternate coincidence and
antagonism of the solar and lunar attractions. We have again that which is
perpetually furnished by the surface of the sea: every large wave bearing
smaller ones on its side, and these still smaller ones, with the result that
each flake of foam, along with the portion of water bearing it, undergoes
minor ascents and descents of several orders while it is being raised and
lowered by the greater billows. A different and very interesting example
of compound rhythm occurs in the little rills which, at low tide, run over
the sand out of the shingle banks above. Where the channel of one of these
is narrow and the stream runs strongly, the sand at the bottom is raised
into a series of ridges corresponding to the ripple of the water. On watching,
it will be seen that these ridges are being raised higher and the ripple
growing stronger; until at length, the action becoming violent, the whole
series of ridges is suddenly swept away, the stream runs smoothly, and the
process commences afresh.




Rhythm results wherever there is a conflict of forces not in equilibrium.
If the antagonist forces at any point are balanced, there is rest; and in
the absence of motion there can of course be no rhythm. But if instead of
a balance there is an excess of force in one direction -- if, as necessarily
follows, motion is set up in that direction; then for the motion to continue
uniformly in that direction, the moving matter must, notwithstanding its
unceasing change of place, present unchanging relations to the sources of
force by which its motion is produced and opposed. This however is impossible.
Every further transfer through space, by altering the ratio between the forces
concerned, must prevent uniformity of movement. And if the movement cannot
be uniform, then (save where it is destroyed, or rather transformed, as by
the collision of two bodies travelling through space in a straight line towards
each other) the only alternative is rhythm.




A secondary conclusion must not be omitted. In the last chapter we saw
that motion is never absolutely rectilinear; and here it remains to add that,
as a consequence, rhythm is necessarily incomplete. A truly rectilinear rhythm
can arise only when the opposing forces are in exactly the same line, and
the probabilities against this are infinitely great. To generate a perfectly
circular rhythm, the two forces concerned must be exactly at right angles
to each other, and must have exactly a certain ratio; and against this the
probabilities are likewise infinitely great. All other proportions and directions
of the two forces (omitting such as produce parabolas or hyperbolas) will
produce an ellipse of greater or less eccentricity. And when, as always happens,
above two forces are engaged, the curve described must be more complex, and
cannot exactly repeat itself. So that throughout nature, this action and
reaction of forces never brings about a complete return to a previous state.
Where the movement is that of some aggregate whose units are partially independent,
regularity is no longer traceable. And on the completion of any periodic
change, the degree in which the state arrived at differs from the state departed
from, is marked in proportion as the influences at work are numerous.




§83. That spiral arrangement common among the more structured nebulae,
shows us the progressive establishment of revolution, and therefore of rhythm,
in those remote spaces which the nebulae occupy. Double stars, moving in
more or less eccentric orbits round common centres of gravity in periods
some of which are now ascertained, exhibit settled rhythmical actions in
distant parts of our Sidereal System.




The periodicities of the planets, satellites, and comets, familiar though
they are, must be named as so many grand illustrations of this general law
of movement. But besides the revolutions of these bodies in their orbits
(all more or less eccentric), the Solar System presents us with rhythms of
a less manifest and more complex kind. In each planet and satellite there
is the revolution of the nodes -- a slow change in the position of the orbit-plane,
which after completing itself commences afresh. There is the gradual alteration
in the length of the axis major of the orbit, and also of its eccentricity:
both of which are rhythmical alike in the sense that they alternate between
maxima and minima, and in the sense that the progress from one extreme to
the other is not uniform, but is made with fluctuating velocity. Then, too,
there is the revolution of the line of apsides round the heavens -- not regularly,
but through complex oscillations. And, further, we have changes in the directions
of the planetary axes -- that known as nutation, and that larger gyration
which, in the case of the Earth, causes the precession of the equinoxes.
These rhythms, already more or less compound, are compounded with one another.
One of the simplest re-compoundings is seen in the secular acceleration and
retardation of the moon, consequent on the varying eccentricity of the Earth's
orbit. Another, having more important consequences, results from the changing
direction of the axis of rotation in a planet having a decidedly eccentric
orbit. The Earth furnishes the best example. During a certain long period
it presents more of its northern than of its southern hemisphere to the Sun
at the time of nearest approach to him; and then again, during a like period,
presents more of its southern hemisphere than of its northern: a recurring
coincidence which involves an epoch of 21,000 years, during which each hemisphere
goes through a cycle of temperate seasons and seasons that are extreme in
their heat and cold. Nor is this all. There is even a variation of this variation.
For the summers and winters of the whole Earth become more or less strongly
contrasted, as the eccentricity of its orbit increases or decreases. Hence
during the increase of the eccentricity, the epochs of moderately contrasted
seasons and epochs of strongly contrasted seasons, through which alternately
each hemisphere passes, must grow more and more different in the degrees
of their contrasts; and contrariwise during decrease of the eccentricity.
So that in those movements of the Earth which determine the varying quantities
of light and heat which any portion of it receives from the Sun, there goes
on a quadruple rhythm: that causing day and night; that causing summer and
winter; that causing the changing position of the axis at perihelion and
aphelion, taking 21,000 years to complete; and that causing the variation
of the orbit's eccentricity, gone through in millions of years.




§84. Those terrestrial processes directly depending on the solar
heat, of course exhibit a rhythm that corresponds to the periodically changing
amount of heat which each part of the Earth receives. The simplest, though
the least obtrusive, instance is supplied by the magnetic variations. In
these there is a diurnal increase and decrease, an annual increase and decrease,
and a decennial increase and decrease: the latter answering to a period during
which the solar spots become alternately abundant and scarce. And besides
known variations there are probably others corresponding to the astronomical
cycles just described. More obvious examples are furnished by the movements
of the ocean and the atmosphere. Marine currents from the equator to the
poles above, and from the poles to the equator beneath, show us an unceasing
backward and forward motion throughout this vast mass of water -- a motion
varying in amount according to the seasons, and compounded with smaller like
motions of local origin. The similarly-caused general currents in the air,
have similar annual variations similarly modified. Irregular as they are
in detail, we still see in the monsoons and other tropical atmospheric disturbances,
or even in our autumn equinoctial gales and spring east winds, a periodicity
sufficiently decided. Again, we have an alternation of times during which
evaporation predominates with times during which condensation predominates;
shown in the tropics by strongly marked rainy seasons and seasons of drought,
and in the temperate zones by changes of which the periodicity is less definite.
The diffusion and precipitation of water furnish us with examples of rhythm
of a more rapid kind. During wet weather lasting over some weeks, the tendency
to condense, though greater than the tendency to evaporate, does not show
itself in continuous rain; but the period is made up of rainy days and days
which are wholly or partially fair. Nor is it in this rude alteration only
that the law is manifested. During any day throughout this wet weather a
minor rhythm is often traceable; and especially so when the tendencies to
evaporate and to condense are nearly balanced. Among mountains this minor
rhythm and its causes may be studied to advantage. Moist winds, which do
not precipitate their contained water in passing over the comparatively warm
lowlands, lose so much heat when they reach the cold mountain peaks, that
condensation rapidly takes place. Water, however, in passing from the gaseous
to the liquid state, gives out heat; and therefore the resulting clouds are
warmer than the air that precipitates them, and much warmer than the high
rocky surfaces round which they fold themselves. Hence in the course of the
storm, these high rocky surfaces are raised in temperature, partly by radiation
from the enwrapping cloud, partly by contact of the falling rain-drops. Consequently
they no longer lower so much the temperature of the air passing over them,
and cease to precipitate its contained water. The clouds break; the sky begins
to clear; and a gleam of sunshine promises that the day is going to be fine.
But the small supply of heat which the cold mountains' tops have received,
is soon lost: especially when partial dispersion of the clouds permits radiation
into space. Very soon, therefore, these elevated surfaces, becoming as cold
as at first, begin again to condense the vapour in the air above, and there
comes another storm, followed by the same effects as before. In lower lands
this action and reaction is less conspicuous, because the contrast of temperatures
is less marked. Even here, however, it may be traced, not only on showery
days, but on days of continuous rain; for in these we do not see uniformity:
always there are fits of harder and gentler rain.




Of course these meteorologic rhythms involve corresponding rhythms in
the changes wrought by wind and water on the Earth's surface. Variations
in the quantities of sediment brought down by rivers that rise and fall with
the seasons, must cause variations in the resulting strata -- alternations
of colour or quality in the successive laminae. Beds formed from the detritus
of shores worn down and carried away by the waves, must similarly show periodic
differences answering to the periodic winds of the locality. In so far as
frost influences the rate of denudation, its recurrence is a factor in the
rhythm of sedimentary deposits. And the geological changes produced by glaciers
must similarly have their alternating periods of greater and less intensity.




There is some evidence that modifications in the Earth's crust due to
igneous action have an indefinite periodicity. Volcanic eruptions are not
continuous but intermittent, and as far as the data enable us to judge, have
something like an average rate of recurrence, as witness the case of Kilauea;
which rate is complicated by rising into epochs of greater activity and falling
into epochs of comparative quiescence. So too, according to Mallet, is it
with earthquakes and the elevations or depressions caused by them. Sedimentary
formations yield indirect evidence. At the mouth of the Mississippi the alternation
of strata gives decisive proof of successive sinkings of the surface, that
have taken place at tolerably equal intervals. Everywhere in the extensive
groups of conformable strata that imply small subsidences recurring with
a certain average frequency, we see a rhythm in the action and reaction between
the Earth's crust and its contents -- a rhythm compounded with those slower
ones shown in the termination of groups of strata, and the commencement of
other groups not conformable to them.




§85. Perhaps nowhere are illustrations of rhythm so numerous and
so manifest as among the phenomena of life. Plants do not, indeed, usually
show us any decided periodicities, save those determined by day and night
and by the seasons. But in animals we have a great variety of movements in
which the alternation of opposite extremes goes on with all degrees of rapidity.
The swallowing of food is effected by a wave of constriction passing along
the oesophagus; its digestion is largely aided by a muscular action of the
stomach that is also undulatory; and the peristaltic motion of the intestines
is of like nature. The blood obtained from this food is propelled in pulses,
and is aerated by lungs that alternately contract and expand. All locomotion
results from oscillating movements. Even where it is apparently continuous,
as in many minute forms, the microscope proves the vibration of cilia to
be the agency by which the creature is moved smoothly forwards.




Primary rhythms of the organic actions are compounded with secondary ones
of longer duration. We see this in the periodic need for food, and in the
periodic need for repose. Each meal induces a more rapid rhythmic action
of the digestive organs; the pulsation of the heart is accelerated; the inspirations
become more frequent. During sleep, on the contrary, these several movements
slacken. So that in the course of the twenty-four hours, those small undulations
of which the different kinds of organic action are constituted, undergo one
long wave of increase and decrease, complicated with several minor waves.
Experiments have shown that there are still slower rises and falls of functional
activity. Waste and assimilation are not balanced by every meal, but one
or other maintains for some time a slight excess; so that a person in ordinary
health undergoes an increase and decrease of weight during recurring intervals
of tolerable equality. There are oscillations of vigour too. Even men in
training cannot be kept stationary at their highest power, but when they
have reached it begin to retrograde. Further evidence of rhythm in the vital
movements is furnished by invalids. Sundry disorders are named from the intermittent
character of their symptoms. Even where the periodicity is not very marked,
it is mostly traceable. Patients rarely if ever become uniformly worse; and
convalescents have usually their days of partial relapse or of less decided
advance.




Aggregates of living creatures illustrate the general truth in other ways.
If each species of organism be regarded as a whole, it displays two kinds
of rhythm. Life as it exists in every member of such species, is an extremely
complex kind of movement, more or less distinct from the kinds of movement
which constitute life in other species. This extremely complex kind of movement
begins, rises to its climax, declines, and ceases in death. And every individual
in each generation thus exhibits a wave of that peculiar activity characterizing
the species as a whole. The other form of rhythm is seen in that variation
of number which each tribe of animals and plants undergoes. Throughout the
unceasing conflict between the tendency of a species to increase and the
antagonistic tendencies, there is never an equilibrium: one always predominates.
In the case even of a cultivated plant or domesticated animal, where artificial
means are used to maintain the supply at a uniform level, oscillations of
abundance and scarcity cannot be avoided. And among creatures uncared for
by man, such oscillations are usually more marked. After a race of organisms
has been greatly thinned by enemies or innutrition, its surviving members
become more favourably circumstanced than usual. During the decline in their
numbers their food has grown relatively abundant, while their enemies have
somewhat diminished from want of prey. The conditions thus remain for some
time favourable to their increase, and they multiply rapidly. By-and-by their
food is rendered relatively scarce, at the same time that their enemies have
become more numerous; and the destroying influences being thus in excess,
their number begins to diminish again. Yet one more rhythm, extremely slow,
may be traced in the phenomena of Life under their most general aspect. The
researches of palaeontologists show that there have been going on, during
the vast period of which our sedimentary rocks bear record, successive changes
of organic forms. Species have appeared, become abundant, and then disappeared.
Genera, at first constituted of but few species, have for a time gone on
growing more multiform, and then have declined in the number of their subdivisions:
leaving at last but one or two, or none at all. During longer epochs whole
orders have thus arisen, culminated, and dwindled away. And even those wider
divisions containing many orders have similarly undergone a gradual rise,
a high tide, and a long-continued ebb. The stalked Crinoidea, for example,
which during the carboniferous epoch became abundant, have almost disappeared:
only a single species being extant. Once a large family, the Brachiopoda
have now become rare. The shelled Cephalopods, at one time dominant among
the inhabitants of the ocean, both in number of forms and of individuals,
are in our day nearly extinct. And after an "age of reptiles" has
come an age in which reptiles have been in great measure supplanted by mammals.
Thus Life on the Earth has not progressed uniformly, but in immense undulations.




§86. It is not manifest that changes of consciousness are in any
sense rhythmical. Yet here, too, analysis proves both that the mental state
existing at any moment is not uniform, but is decomposable into rapid oscillations,
and also that mental states pass through longer intervals of increasing and
decreasing intensity.




Though while attending to any single sensation, or any group of related
sensations constituting the consciousness of an object, we seem to remain
in a persistent and homogeneous condition of mind, self-examination shows
that this apparently unbroken mental state is traversed by many minor states,
in which various other sensations and preceptions are rapidly presented and
disappear. As thinking consists in the establishment of relations, it follows
that continuance of it in any one state to the entire exclusion of other
states, would be a cessation of thought, that is, of consciousness. So that
any seemingly uniform feeling, say of pressure, really consists of portions
of that feeling perpetually recurring after momentary intrusions of other
feelings and ideas -- quick thoughts concerning the place where it is felt,
the external object producing it, its consequences, etc. Much more conspicuous
rhythms, having longer waves, are seen during the outflow of emotion into
dancing, poetry and music. The current of mental energy expended in one of
these modes of bodily action, is not continuous but falls into successive
pulses. The measure of a dance is produced by the alternation of strong muscular
contractions with weaker ones; and, save in measures of the simplest order,
such as are found among barbarians and children, this alternation is compounded
with longer rises and falls in the degree of muscular excitement. Poetry
is a form of speech in which the emphasis is regularly recurrent, that is,in
which the muscular effort of pronunciation has definite periods of greater
and less intensity: periods that are complicated with others answering to
the successive verses. Music more variously exemplifies the law. There are
the recurring bars, in each of which there is a primary and a secondary beat.
There is the alternate increase and decrease of muscular strain implied by
the ascents and descents to the higher and lower notes -- ascents and descents
composed of smaller waves, breaking the rises and falls of the larger ones,
in a mode peculiar to each melody. And then we have, further, the alternations
of piano and forte passages. That these several kinds of rhythm, characterizing
aesthetic expression, are not, in the common sense of the word, artificial,
but are intenser forms of an undulatory movement habitually generated by
feeling in its bodily discharge, is shown by the fact that they are all traceable
in ordinary speech, which in every sentence has its primary and secondary
emphases, and its cadence containing a chief rise and fall complicated with
subordinate rises and falls. Still longer undulations may be observed by
every one in himself and in others, on occasions of extreme pleasure or extreme
pain. During hours in which bodily pain never actually ceases, it has its
variations of intensity -- fits or paroxysms; and then after these intervals
of suffering there usually come intervals of comparative ease. Moral pain
has the like smaller and larger waves. One possessed by intense grief does
not utter continuous moans, or shed tears with an equable rapidity; but these
signs of passion come in recurring bursts. Then after a time during which
such stronger and weaker waves of emotion alternate, there comes a calm --
a time of comparative deadness; after which dull sorrow rises afresh into
acute anguish, with its series of paroxysms. Similarly great delight, as
shown by children who display it without control, undergoes variations in
intensity: there are fits of laughter and dancing about, separated by pauses
in which smiles, and other slight manifestations of pleasure, suffice to
discharge the lessened excitement. Nor are there wanting evidences of mental
undulations greater in length than any of these. We continually hear of moods
which recur at intervals. Many persons have their days of vivacity and days
of depression. Others have periods of industry following periods of idleness;
and times at which particular subjects or tastes are cultivated with zeal,
alterating with times at which they are neglected. Respecting which slow
oscillations the only qualification to be made is, that being affected by
numerous influences they are irregular.




§87. In nomadic societies the changes of place, determined by exhaustion
or failure of the supply of food, are periodic; and in many cases recur with
the seasons. Each tribe that has become partially fixed in its locality,
goes on increasing until, under pressure of hunger, there results migration
of some part of it -- a process repeated at intervals. From such excesses
of population, and such waves of migration, come conflicts with other tribes;
which are also increasing and tending to diffuse themselves. Their antagonisms
result not in a uniform motion, but in an intermittent one. War, exhaustion,
recoil-peace, prosperity, and renewed aggression: -- see here the alteration
as occurring among both savage and civilized peoples. And irregular as is
this rhythm, it is not more so than the different sizes of the societies,
and the involved causes of variation in their strengths, would lead us to
anticipate.




Passing from external to internal social changes, we meet this backward
and forward movement under many forms. In commercial currents it is especially
conspicuous. Exchange during early times is carried on mainly at fairs, held
at long intervals. The flux and reflux of people and commodities which each
of these exhibits, becomes more frequent as national development brings greater
social activity. The rapid rhythm of weekly markets begins to supersede the
slow rhythm of fairs. And eventually exchange becomes at some places so active,
as to bring about daily meetings of buyers and sellers -- a daily wave of
accumulation and distribution of cotton, or corn, or capital. In production
and consumption there are undulations almost equally obvious. Supply and
demand are never completely adjusted, but each, from time to time in excess,
leads presently to excess of the other. Farmers whO have one season grown
wheat abundantly, are disgusted with the consequent low price, and next season,
sowing a much smaller quantity, bring to market a deficient crop; whence
follows a converse effect. Consumption undergoes parallel undulations that
need not be specified. The balancing of supplies between different districts,
too, entails oscillations. A place at which some necessary of life is scarce,
becomes a place to which currents of it are set up from other places where
it is relatively abundant; and these currents lead to a wave of accumulation
where they meet -- a glut: whence follows a recoil -- a partial return of
the currents. But the undulatory character of these actions is best seen
in the rises and falls of prices. These, when tabulated and reduced to diagrams,
show us in the clearest manner how commercial movements are compounded of
oscillations of various magnitudes. The price of consols or the price of
wheat, as thus represented, is seen to undergo vast ascents and descents
having highest and lowest points that are reached only in the course of years.
These largest waves of variation are broken by lesser ones extending over
periods of months. On these come others severally having a week or two's
duration. And were the changes marked in greater detail, we should see the
smaller undulations that take place each day and the still smaller ones which
brokers telegraph from hour to hour. The whole outline would show a complication
like that of a vast ocean-swell, having on its surface large billows, which
themselves bear waves of moderate size, covered by wavelets, that are roughened
by a minute ripple. Similar diagrammatic representations of births, marriages,
and deaths, of disease, of crime, of pauperism, exhibit involved conflicts
of rhythmical motions throughout society under these several aspects.




There are like traits in social changes of more complex kinds. Both in
England and on the Continent the actions and reactions of political progress
are now generally recognized. Religion has its periods of exaltation and
depression -- generations of belief and self-mortification, following generations
of indifference and laxity. There are poetical epochs, and epochs in which
the sense of the beautiful seems almost dormant. Philosophy, after having
been awhile dominant, lapses for a long season into neglect, and then again
slowly revives. Each concrete science has its eras of deductive reasoning,
and its eras in which attention is chiefly directed to collecting and colligating
facts. And that in such minor phenomena as those of fashion, there are oscillations
from one extreme to the other, is a trite observation.




As may be foreseen, social rhythms well illustrate the irregularity that
results from combination of many causes. Where the variations are those of
one simple element in national life, as the supply of a particular commodity,
we do indeed witness a return, after many involved movements, to a previous
state -- the price becomes what it was before: implying a like relative abundance.
But where the action is one into which many factors enter, there is never
a complete recurrence. A political reactIon never brings round just the old
form of things. The rationalism of the present day differs widely from the
rationalism of the last century. And though fashion from time to time revives
extinct types of dress, these always reappear with decided modifications.




§88. Rhythm being thus manifested in all forms of movement, we have
reason to suspect that it is determined by some primordial condition to action
in general. The tacit implication is that it is deducible from the persistence
of force. This we shall find to be the fact.




When the prong of a tuning-fork is pulled on one side by the finger, some
extra tension is produced among its cohering particles, which resist any
force that draws them out of their state of equilibrium. As much force as
the finger exerts, so much opposing force arises among the cohering particles.
Hence, when the prong is liberated, it is urged back by a force equal to
that used in detecting it. When, therefore, the prong reaches its original
position, the force impressed during its recoil, has generated in it a corresponding
amount of momentum -- an amount nearly equivalent to the force originally
impressed (nearly, we must say, because a certain portion has gone in giving
motion to the air, and a certain other portion has been transformed into
heat). This momentum carries the prong beyond the position of rest, nearly
as far as it was originally drawn in the reverse direction; until at length,
being gradually used up in producing an opposing tension among the particles,
it is all lost. This opposing tension then generates a second recoil, and
so on continually: the vibration eventually ceasing only because at each
movement a certain amount of force goes in creating atmospheric and ethereal
undulations. Now evidently this repeated action and reaction is a consequence
of the persistence of force. The force exerted by the finger in bending the
prong cannot disappear. Under what form then does it exist? It exists under
the form of that cohesive tension which it has generated among the particles.
This cohesive tension cannot cease without an equivalent result. What is
its equivalent result? The momentum generated in the prong while being carried
back to its position of rest. This momentum too -- what becomes of it? It
must either continue as momentum, or produce some correlative force of equal
amount. It cannot continue as momentum, since change of place is resisted
by the cohesion of the parts; and thus it gradually disappears by being transformed
into tension among these parts. This is retransformed into the equivalent
momentum; and so on continuously. If, instead of motion that is directly
antagonized by the cohesion of matter, we consider motion through space,
as of a comet, the same truth presents itself under another form. Though
while it is approaching the Sun no opposing force seems at work, and therefore
no cause of rhythm, yet its own accumulated momentum must eventually carry
the moving body beyond the attracting body; and so must become a force in
conflict with that which generated it. This force cannot be destroyed, but
it can have its direction changed by the still continued attraction: the
result being that a passage round the attracting body is followed by a retreat
during which this embodied force, gradually becoming non-apparent, is transformed
into gravitative strain, until all of it having been thus transformed there
begins a return from aphelion.




Before ending, two qualifications must be made. As the rhythm of motion
itself postulates continuity of motion, it cannot be looked for when motion
has suddenly become invisible. A hint tacitly given in §82 implies that
what we may call a fragmentary motion -- a motion which under its perceptible
form is suddenly brought to an end -- cannot under that form exhibit rhythm:
instance the stoppage of a hammer by an anvil. In such cases, however, we
observe that this non-continuous motion is transformed into motions that
are continuous and rhythmical -- the sound-waves, the ether-waves of the
heat generated, and the waves of vibration sent through the mass struck:
the rhythms of these motions continuing as long as the motions themselves
do.




The other qualification is that the motions shall be those occurring within
a closed system, such as is constituted by our own Sun, planets, satellites,
and periodic comets. If a body approaching a centre of attraction from remote
space, has any considerable proper motion not towards that centre, this body,
passing round it, may take a course which negatives return -- an hyperbola.
I say an hyperbola because the chances against a parabolic course are infinity
to one.




But bearing in mind these two qualifications, of which the last may be
considered almost nominal, we may conclude that under the conditions existing
within our Solar System and among terrestrial phenomena, rhythm, everywhere
arising from the play of antagonist forces, is a corollary from the persistence
of force.




Chapter 11




Recapitulation, Criticism, and Recommencement




§89. Let us pause awhile to consider how far the contents of the
foregoing chapters go towards forming a body of knowledge answering to the
definition of Philosophy.




In respect of its generality, the proposition enunciated and exemplified
in each chapter is of the required kind -- is a proposition transcending
those class-limits which Science, as currently understood, recognizes. "The
Indestructibility of Matter" is a truth not belonging to mechanics more
than to chemistry -- a truth assumed alike by molecular physics and the physics
that deals with sensible masses -- a truth which the astronomer and the biologist
equally take for granted. Not merely do those divisions of Science which
deal with the movements of celestial and terrestrial bodies postulate "The
Continuity of Motion," but it is no less postulated in the physicist's
investigations into the phenomena of light and heat, and is tacitly if not
avowedly, implied in the generalizations of the higher sciences. So, too,
"The Persistence of Force," involved in each of the preceding propositions,
is co-extensive with them, as is also its corollary, "The Persistence
of Relations among Forces." These are not highly general truths; they
are universal truths. Passing to the deductions drawn from them, we see the
same thing. That force is transformable, and that between its correlates
there exist quantitative equivalences, are ultimate facts not to be classed
with those of mechanics, or thermology, or electricity, or magnetism; but
they are frustrated throughout phenomena of every order. Similarly, the law
that motion follows the line of least resistance or the line of greatest
traction or the resultant of the two, we found to be an all-pervading law;
conformed to alike by each planet in its orbit, and by, the moving matters,
aerial, liquid, and solid, on its surface-conformed to no less by every organic
movement and process than by every inorganic movement and process. And so,
likewise, it has been shown that rhythm is exhibited universally, from the
slow gyrations of double stars down to the inconceivably rapid oscillations
of molecules -- from such terrestrial changes as those of recurrent glacial
epochs down to those of the winds and tides and waves; and is no less conspicuous
in the functions of living organisms, from pulsations of the heart up to
paroxysms of the emotions.




These truths have the character which constitutes them parts of Philosophy.
They are truths which unify concrete phenomena belonging to all divisions
of Nature; and so must be components of that all-embracing conception of
things which Philosophy seeks.




§90. But now what parts do these truths play in forming such a conception?
Does any one of them singly convey an idea of the Cosmos: meaning by that
word the totality of the manifestations of the Unknowable? Do all of them
taken in succession yield us an adequate idea of this kind? Do they even
when thought of in combination compose anything like such an idea? To each
of these questions the answer must be -- No.




Neither these truths nor any other such truths, separately or jointly,
constitute that integrated knowledge in which Philosophy finds its goal.
It has been supposed by one thinker that when Science has reduced all more
complex laws to some most simple law, as of molecular action, knowledge will
have reached its limit. Another authority holds that all minor facts are
so merged in the major fact that the force everywhere in action is nowhere
lost, that to express this is to express "the constitution of the universe."
But either conclusion implies a misapprehension of the problem.




For these are all analytical truths, and no analytical truth, nor any
number of analytical truths, will make up that synthesis of thought which
alone can be an interpretation of the synthesis of things. The decomposition
of phenomena into their elements is but a separation for understanding phenomena
in their state of composition, as actually manifested. To have ascertained
the laws of the factors is not to have ascertained the laws of their co-operation.
The thing to be expressed is the joint product of the factors under all its
various aspects. A clear comprehension of this matter is important enough
to justify some further exposition.




§91. Suppose a chemist, a geologist, and a biologist, have given
the deepest explanations furnished by their respective sciences, of the processes
going on in a burning candle, in a region changed by earthquake, and in a
growing plant. To the assertion that their explanations are not the deepest
possible, they will probably rejoin, "What would you have? What remains
to be said of combustion when light and heat and the dissipation of substance
have all been traced down to the liberation of molecular motion as their
common cause? When all the actions accompanying an earthquake are explained
as consequent upon the slow loss of the Earth's internal heat, how is it
possible to go lower? When the influence of light on the oscillations of
molecules has been proved to account for vegetal growth, what is the imaginable
further rationale? You ask for a synthesis. You say that knowledge does not
end with the resolution of phenomena into the actions of certain factors,
each conforming to ascertained laws; but that the laws of the factors having
been ascertained, there comes the chief problem -- to show how from their
joint action result the phenomena in all their complexity. Well, do not the
above interpretations satisfy this requirement? Do we not, starting with
the molecular motions of the elements concerned in combustion, build up synthetically
an explanation of the light, and the heat, and the produced gases, and the
movements of the produced gases? Do we not, setting out from the still-continued
radiation of the Earth's heat, construct by synthesis a clear conception
of its nucleus as contracting, its crust as collapsing, as becoming shaken
and fissured and contorted and burst through by lava? And is it not the same
with the chemical changes and accumulation of matter in the growing plant?"




To all which the reply is, that the ultimate interpretation to be reached
by Philosophy, is a universal synthesis comprehending and consolidating such
special syntheses. The synthetic explanations which Science gives, even up
to the most general, are more or less independent of one another. Must there
not be a deeper explanation including them? Is it to be supposed that in
the burning candle, in the quaking Earth, and in the organism that is increasing,
the processes as wholes are unrelated to one another? If it be admitted that
each of the factors concerned always operates in conformity to a law, is
it to be concluded that their co-operation conforms to no law? These various
changes, artificial and natural, organic and inorganic, which for convenience
sake we distinguish, are not from the highest point of view to be distinguished;
for they are all changes going on in the same Cosmos, and forming parts of
one vast transformation. The play of forces is essentially the same in principle
throughout the whole region explored by our intelligence; and though, varying
infinitely in their proportions and combinations, they work out results everywhere
different, yet there cannot but be among these results a fundamental community.
The question to be answered is -- what is the common element in the histories
of all concrete processes?




§92. To resume, then, we have now to seek a law of composition of
phenomena, co-extensive with those laws of their components set forth in
the foregoing chapters. Having seen that matter is indestructible, motion
continuous, and force persistent -- having seen that forces perpetually undergo
transformations, and that motion, following the line of least resistance,
is always rhythmic, it remains to find the formula expressing the combined
consequences of the laws thus separately formulated.




Such a formula must be one that specifies the course of the changes undergone
by both the matter and the motion. Every transformation implies re-arrangement
of parts; and a definition of it, while saying what has happened to the sensible
or insensible portions of substance concerned, must also say what has happened
to the movements, sensible or insensible, which the rearrangement of parts
implies. Further, unless the transformation always goes on in the same way
and at the same rate, the formula must specify the conditions under which
it commences, ceases, and is reversed.




The law we seek, therefore, must be the law of the continuous redistribution
of matter and motion. Absolute rest and permanence do not exist. Every object,
no less than the aggregate of all objects, undergoes from instant to instant
some alteration of state. Gradually or quickly it is receiving motion or
losing motion, while some or all of its parts are simultaneously changing
their relations to one another. And the question is -- What dynamic principle,
true of the metamorphosis as a whole and in its details, expresses these
ever-changing relations?




Chapter 12




Evolution and Dissolution




§93. An entire history of anything must include its appearance out
of the imperceptible and its disappearance into the imperceptible. Any account
of an object which begins with it in a concrete form, or leaves off with
it in a concrete form, is incomplete; since there remains an era of its existence
undescribed and unexplained. While admitting that knowledge is limited to
the phenomenal, we have, by implication, asserted that the sphere of knowledge
is co-extensive with the phenomenal -- co-extensive with all modes of the
Unknowable which can affect consciousness. Hence, wherever we now find Being
so conditioned as to act on our senses, there arise the questions -- how
came it to be thus conditioned? and how will it cease to be thus conditioned?
Unless on the assumption that it acquired a sensible form at the moment of
perception, and lost its sensible form the moment after perception, it must
have had an antecedent existence under this sensible form, and will have
a subsequent existence under this sensible form. And knowledge of it remains
incomplete until it has united the past, present, and future histories into
a whole.




Our daily sayings and doings presuppose more or less such knowledge, actual
or potential, of states which have gone before and of states which will come
after. Knowing any man personally, implies having before seen him under a
shape much the same as his present shape; and knowing him simply as a man,
implies the inferred antecedent states of infancy, childhood, and youth.
Though the man's future is not known specifically, it is known generally.
that he will die and decay, are facts which complete in outline the changes
to be gone through by him. So with all objects around. The pre-existence
under concrete forms of our woollens, silks, and cottons, we can trace some
distance back. We are certain that our furniture consists of matter which
was aggregated by trees within these few generations. Even of the stones
composing the walls of the house, we are able to say that years or centuries
ago, they formed parts of some stratum in the Earth. Moreover, respecting
the hereafter of the wearable fabrics, the furniture, and the walls, we can
assert this much, that they are all decaying, and in periods of various lengths
will lose their present coherent shapes. This information which all men gain
conceding the past and future careers of surrounding things, Science continues
unceasingly to extend. To the biography of the individual man, it adds an
intra-uterine biography beginning with him as a minute germ; and following
out his ultimate changes it finds his body resolved into certain gaseous
products of decomposition. Not stopping short at the sheep's back and the
caterpillar's cocoon, it identifies in wool and silk the nitrogenous matters
absorbed by the sheep and the caterpillar from plants. The substance of a
plant's leaves, in common with the wood from which furniture is made, it
again traces back to certain gases in the air and certain minerals in the
soil. And the stratum of stone which was quarried to build the house, it
leads was once a loose sediment deposited in an estuary or on the sea-bottom.




If, then, the past and the future of each object is a sphere of possible
knowledge; and if intellectual progress consists largely, if not mainly,
in widening our acquaintance with this past and this future; it is obvious
that the limit towards which we progress is an expression of the whole past
and the whole future of each object and the aggregate of objects. It is no
less obvious that this limit, if reached, can be reached only in a very qualified
sense: inference more than observation must bring us to it. This garden-annual
we trace down to a seed planted in the spring, and analogy helps us back
to the microscopic ovule whence the seed arose. Observation, verifying forecast,
extends our knowledge to the flowers and the seeds, and afterwards to the
death and decay which, sooner or later, ends in diffusion, partly through
the air, partly through the soil. Here the rise of the aggregate out of the
imperceptible and its passage back into the imperceptible is indistinct at
each extreme. Nevertheless we may say that in the case of this organism,
as of organisms in general, the account, partially based on observation but
largely based on inference, fulfils the definition of a complete history
fairly well. But it is otherwise throughout the inorganic world. Inference
here plays the chief part. Only by the piecing together of scattered facts
can we form any conception of the past or future of even small inorganic
masses, and still less can we form it of greater ones; and when we come to
the vast masses forming our Solar System, the limits to their existence,
alike in the past and in the future, can be known but inferentially: direct
observation no longer aids us. Still, science leans more and more to the
conclusion that these also once emerged from the imperceptible through successive
stages of condensation and will in an immeasurably remote future lapse again
into the imperceptible. So that here, too, the conception of a complete history
is in a sense applicable, though we can never fill it out in more than an
indefinite way.




But after recognizing the truth that our knowledge is limited to the phenomenal
and the further truth that even the sphere of the phenomenal cannot be penetrated
to its confines, we must nevertheless conclude that so far as is possible
philosophy has to formulate this passage from the imperceptible into the
perceptible, and again from the perceptible into the imperceptible.




This last sentence contains a tacit suggestion which must, however, be
excluded. The apparent implication is that a confessedly imperfect theory
may, by extension after the manner described, be changed into an avowedly
perfect one. But we may anticipate that the extension will prove in large
measure impracticable. Complete accounts of the beginnings and ends of individual
objects cannot in most cases be reached: their initial and terminal stages
are left vague after investigation has done its best. Still more, then, with
the totality of things must we conclude that the initial and terminal stages
are beyond the reach of our intelligence. As we cannot fathom either the
infinite past or the infinite future, it follows that both the emergence
and immergence of the totality of sensible existences must ever remain matters
of speculation only: speculation more or less justified by reasoning from
established data, but still -- speculation.




Hence the conception of Philosophy above implied must be regarded as an
ideal to which the real can never do more than approximate. Ideals in general
-- even those of the exact sciences -- cannot be reached, but can only be
nearly approached; and yet they in common with other ideals, are indispensable
aids to inquiry and discovery. So that while it may remain the aim of philosophy
to give that comprehensive account of things which includes passage from
the imperceptible into the perceptible and again from the perceptible into
the imperceptible, yet it may be admitted that it must ever fall short of
this aim. Still, while recognizing its inevitable incompleteness, we infer
that such approach to completeness as is possible will be affected under
guidance of the conceptions reached in the last two chapters. That general
law of the redistribution of matter and motion which we lately saw is required
to unify the various kinds of changes, must also be one that unifies the
successive changes which sensible existences, separately and together, pass
through between their appearance and their disappearance. Only by some formula
combining these characters can knowledge be reduced to a coherent whole.




§94. Already in the foregoing paragraphs the formula is foreshadowed.
Already in recognizing the fact that Science, tracing back the histories
of various objects, finds their components were once in diffused states,
and forecasting their futures sees that diffused states will be again assumed
by them, we have recognized the facts that the formula must be one comprehending
the two opposite processes of concentration and dispersion. And already in
thus describing the general nature of the formula, we have approached a specific
expression of it. The change from a dispersed, imperceptible state to a concentrated,
perceptible state, is an integration of matter and concomitant dissipation
of motion; and the change from a concentrated, perceptible state to a dispersed,
imperceptible state, is an absorption of motion and concomitant disintegration
of matter. These are truisms. Constituent parts cannot aggregate without
losing some of their relative motion; and they cannot separate without more
relative motion being given to them. We are not concerned here with any motion
which the components of a mass have with respect to other masses: we are
concerned only with the motion they have with respect to one another. Confining
our attention to this internal motion, and to the matter possessing it, the
axiom which we have to recognize is that a progressing consolidation involves
a decrease of internal motion; and that increase of internal motion involves
a progressing unconsolidation.




When taken together, the two opposite processes thus formulated constitute
the history of every sensible existence under its simplest form. Loss of
internal motion and consequent integration, eventually followed by gain of
internal motion and consequent disintegration -- see here a statement comprehensive
of the entire series of changes passed through: comprehensive in an extremely
general way, as any statement which holds of sensible existences at large
must be; but still, comprehensive in the sense that all the changes gone
through fall within it. This will probably be thought too sweeping an assertion,
but we shall quickly find it justified.




§95. For here we have to note the further all-important fact, that
every change suffered by every sensible existence, is a change in one or
other of these two opposite directions. Apparently an aggregate which has
passed out of some originally discrete state into a concrete state, thereafter
remains for an indefinite period without undergoing further integration,
and without beginning to disintegrate. But this is untrue. All things are
growing or decaying, accumulating matter or wearing away, integrating or
disintegrating. All things are varying in their temperatures, contracting
or expanding, integrating or disintegrating. Both the quantity of matter
contained in an aggregate and the quantity of motion contained in it, increase
or decrease; and increase or decrease of either is an advance towards greater
diffusion or greater concentration. Continued losses or gains of substance,
however slow, imply ultimate disappearance or indefinite enlargement; and
losses or gains of insensible motion will, if continued, produce complete
integration or complete disintegration. Heat rays falling on a cold mass,
augmenting the molecular motions throughout it, and causing it to occupy
more space, are beginning a process which if carried far will disintegrate
the mass into liquid, and if carried farther will disintegrate the liquid
into gas. Conversely, the decrease of bulk which a volume of gas undergoes
as it parts with some of its molecular motion, is a decrease which, if the
loss of molecular motion proceeds, will be followed by liquefaction and eventually
by solidification. And since there is no such thing as a constant temperature,
the necessary inference is that every aggregate is at every moment progressing
towards either greater concentration or greater diffusion.




§96. A general idea of these universal actions under their simplest
aspects having been obtained, we may now consider them under certain more
complex aspects. Thus far we have supposed one or other of the two opposite
processes to go on alone -- we have supposed an aggregate to be either losing
motion and integrating or gaining motion and disintegrating. But though every
change furthers one or other of these processes, neither process is ever
unqualified by the other. For each aggregate is at all times both gaining
motion and losing motion.




Every mass from a grain of sand to a planet, radiates heat to other masses,
and absorbs heat radiated by other masses; and in so far as it does the one
it becomes integrated, while in so far as it does the other it becomes disintegrated.
In inorganic objects this double process ordinarily works but unobtrusive
effects. Only in a few cases, among which that of a cloud is the most familiar,
does the conflict produce rapid and marked transformations. One of these
floating bodies of vapour expands and dissipates, if the amount of molecular
motion it receives from the Sun and Earth exceeds that which it loses by
radiation into space and towards adjacent surfaces; while, contrariwise,
if, drifting over cold mountain-tops, it radiates to them much more heat
than it receives, the loss of molecular motion is followed by increasing
integration of the vapour, ending in the aggregation of it into liquid and
the fall of rain. Here, as elsewhere, the integration or the disintegration
is a differential result.




In living aggregates, and especially in animals, these conflicting processes
go on with great activity under several forms. There is not merely what we
may call the passive integration of matter, which inanimate masses effect
by simple molecular attractions, but there is an active integration of it
under the form of food. In addition to that passive superficial disintegration
which inanimate objects suffer from external agents, animals produce in themselves
active internal disintegration, by absorbing such agents. While, like inorganic
aggregates, they passively radiate and receive motion, they are also active
absorbers of motion latent in food, and active expenders of that motion.
But notwithstanding this complication of the two processes, and the immense
exaltation of the conflict between them, it remains true that there is always
a differential progress towards either integration or disintegration. During
the earlier part of the cycle of changes the integration predominates --
there goes on what we call growth. The middle part of the cycle is usually
characterized, not by equilibrium between the integrating and disintegrating
processes, but by alternate excesses of them. And the cycle closes with a
period in which the disintegration, beginning to predominate, eventually
puts a stop to integration, and after death undoes what integration had originally
done. At no moment are assimilation and waste so balanced that no increase
or decrease of mass is going on. Even in cases where one part is growing
while other parts are dwindling, and even in cases where different parts
are differently exposed to external sources of motion, so that some are expanding
while others are contracting, the truth still holds. For the chances are
infinity to one against these opposite changes balancing one another; and
if they do not balance, the aggregate as a whole is integrating or disintegrating.




Hence that the changes ever going on are from a diffused imperceptible
state to a concentrated perceptible state, and back again to a diffused inmperceptible
state, must be that universal law of redistribution of matter and motion,
which serves to unify the seemingly diverse groups of changes, as well as
the entire course of each group.




§97. The processes thus everywhere in antagonism, and everywhere
gaining now a temporary and now an enduring predominance the one over the
other, we call Evolution and Dissolution. Evolution under its most general
aspect is the integration of matter and concomitant dissipation of motion;
while Dissolution is the absorption of motion and concomitant disintegration
of matter.




The last of these titles answers its purpose tolerably well, but the first
is open to grave objections. Evolution has other meanings, some of which
are incongruous with, and some even directly opposed to, the meaning here
given to it. The evolution of a gas is literally an absorption of motion
and distintegration of matter, which is exactly the reverse of that which
we here call Evolution. As ordinarily understood, to evolve is to unfold,
to open and expand, to throw out; whereas as understood here, the process
of evolving, though it implies increase of a concrete aggregate, and in so
far an expansion of it, implies that its component matter has passed from
a more diffused to a more concentrated state -- has contracted. The antithetical
word Involution would more truly express the nature of the change; and would,
indeed, describe better those secondary characters of it which we shall have
to deal with presently. We are obliged, however, notwithstanding the liabilities
to confusion resulting from these unlike and even contradictory meanings,
to use Evolution as antithetical to Dissolution. The word is now so widely
recognized as signifying, not, indeed, the general process above described,
but sundry of its most conspicuous varieties, and certain of its secondary
but most remarkable accompaniments, that we cannot now substitute another
word.




While, then, we shall by Dissolution everywhere mean the process tacitly
implied by its ordinary meaning -- the absorption of motion and disintegration
of matter; we shall everywhere mean by Evolution, the process which is always
an integration of matter and dissipation of motion, but which, as we shall
now see, is in most cases much more than this.




Chapter 13




Simple and Compound Evolution




§98. Where the only forces at work are those directly tending to
produce aggregation or diffusion, the whole history of an aggregate will
comprise no more than the approaches of its components towards their common
centre and their recessions from their common centre. The process of evolution,
including nothing beyond what was described at the outset of the last chapter,
will be simple.




Again, where the forces which cause movements towards a common centre
greatly exceed all other forces, any changes additional to those of aggregation
will be comparatively insignificant: there will be integration slightly modified
by further kinds of redistribution.




Or if because of the smallness of the mass, or because of the little motion
it receives from without in return for the motion it loses, the integration
proceeds rapidly; there will similarly be wrought but insignificant effects
by secondary forces, even though these are considerable.




But when, conversely, the integration is slow. either, because the quantity
of motion contained in the aggregate is relatively great; or because, though
the quantity of motion which each part possesses is not relatively great,
the large size of the aggregate prevents easy dissipation of the motion.
or because, though motion is rapidly lost more motion is rapidly received;
then, other forces will cause in the aggregate sensible modifications. Along
with the change constituting integration, there will take place further changes.
The Evolution, instead of being simple, will be compound.




These several propositions require some explanation.




§99. So long as a body moves freely through space, every force which
acts on it produces an equivalent in the shape of some change in its motion.
No matter how high its velocity the slightest lateral traction or resistance
causes it to deviate from its line of movement; and the effect of the perturbing
influence goes on accumulating in the ratio of the squares of the times during
which its action continues uniform. But when this same body is held fast
by gravitation or cohesion, small incident forces, instead of giving it some
relative motion through space, are otherwise dissipated.




What thus holds of masses holds, in a qualified way, of the sensible parts
of masses, and of molecules. As the sensible parts of a mass, and the molecules
of a mass, are, by virtue of their aggregation, not perfectly free, it is
not true of each of them, as of a body moving through space, that every incident
force produces an equivalent change of position: part of the force goes in
working other changes. But in proportion as the parts of the molecules are
freely bound together, incident forces effect marked re-arrangements among
them. Where the integration is so slight that the parts, sensible or insensible,
are almost independent, they are almost completely amenable to every additional
action; and along with the concentration going on there go on other re-distributions.
Contrariwise, where the parts are so close that what we call the attraction
of cohesion is great, additional actions, unless intense, have little power
to cause secondary re-arrangements. The firmly-united parts do not change
their relative positions in obedience to small perturbing forces; but each
small perturbing force usually does nothing more than temporarily modify
the insensible molecular motions.




How may we best express this difference in general terms? An aggregate
that is widely diffused, or but little integrated, is an aggregate containing
a large quantity of motion -- actual or potential or both. An aggregate that
has become completely integrated or dense, is one containing comparatively
little motion: most of the motion its parts once had has been lost during
the integration that has rendered it dense. Hence, other things equal, in
proportion to the quantity of motion an aggregate contains will be the quantity
of secondary change in the arrangement of its parts that accompanies the
primary change in their arrangements. Hence also other things equal, in proportion
to the time during which the internal motion is retained, will be the quantity
of this secondary re-distribution. It matters not how these conditions are
fulfilled. Whether the internal motion continues great because the components
are of a kind that will not readily aggregate, or because surrounding conditions
prevent them from parting with their motion, or because the loss of their
motion is impeded by the size of the aggregate they form, or because they
directly or indirectly obtain more motion in place of that which they lose;
it throughout remains true that much retained internal motion renders secondary
re-distributions facile, and that long retention of it makes possible an
accumulation of such secondary re-distributions. Conversely, non-fulfilment
of these conditions, however caused, entails opposite results. Be it that
the components of the aggregate have special aptitudes to integrate quickly,
or be it that the smallness of the aggregate permits easy escape of their
motion, or be it that they receive little or no motion in exchange for that
which they lose; it alike holds that but little secondary re-distribution
can accompany the primary re-distribution constituting their integration.




Let us, before studying simple and compound Evolution as thus determined,
contemplate a few cases in which the quantity of internal motion is artificially
changed, and note the effects on the re-arrangement of parts.




§100. When a vessel has been filled to the brim with loose fragments,
shaking it causes them to settle down into less space, so that more may be
put in. And when among th e fragments there are some of much greater specific
gravity than the rest, these, in the course of a prolonged shaking, find
their way to the bottom. What are these results, expressed in general terms?
We have a group of units acted on by an incident force -- the attraction
of the Earth. So long as these units are not agitated, this incident force
cannot change their relative positions; agitate them, and their loose arrangement
passes into a more compact arrangement. Again, so long as they are not agitated,
the incident force cannot separate the heavier units from the lighter; agitate
them, and the heavier units begin to segregate. Mechanical disturbances of
more minute kinds, acting on the parts of much denser masses, produce analogous
effects. A piece of iron which, when it leaves the workshop, is fibrous in
structure, becomes crystalline if exposed to a perpetual jar. The polar forces
mutually exercised by the atoms, fail to change their disorderly arrangement
into an orderly arrangement while they are relatively quiescent; but these
forces succeed in rearranging them when they are kept in a state of intestine
motion. Similarly, the fact that a bar of steel suspended in the magnetic
meridian and repeatedly struck, becomes magnetized, is ascribed to a re-arrangement
of particles produced by the magnetic force of the Earth when vibrations
are propagated through them. Now imperfectly as these cases parallel those
we are considering. they yet serve roughly to illustrate the effect which
adding to the quantity of motion an aggregate contains, has in facilitating
re-distribution of its components.




More fully illustrative are the instances in which, by artificially adding
to or substracting from the molecular motion called its heat, we give an
aggregate increased or diminished facility of re-arranging its molecules.
The process of tempering steel or annealing glass, shows us that internal
re-distribution is aided by insensible vibrations, as we have just seen it
to be by sensible vibrations. When some molten glass is dropped into water,
and its outside is thus, by sudden solidification, prevented from participating
in that contraction which subsequent cooling of the inside tends to produce;
the units are left in such a state of tension, that the mass flies into fragments
if a small portion be broken off. But if this mass be kept for a day or two
at a considerable heat, though a heat not sufficient to alter its form, this
extreme brittleness disappears: the component particles being thrown into
greater agitation, the tensile forces are enabled to re-arrange them into
a state of equilibrium. Much more conspicuous is the effect of heat where
the re-arrangement of parts taking place is that of visible segregation.
An instance is furnished by the subsidence of fine precipitates. These sink
down very slowly from solutions which are cold; while warm solutions deposit
them with comparative rapidity. That is to say, exalting the molecular oscillation
throughout the mass, allows the suspended particles to separate more readily
from the particles of fluid. The influence of heat on chemical changes is
so familiar that examples are scarcely needed. Be the substances concerned
gaseous, liquid, or solid, it equally holds that their chemical unions and
disunions are aided by rise of temperature. Affinities which do not suffice
to effect the re-arrangement of mixed units that are in a state of feeble
agitation, suffice to effect it when the agitation is raised to a certain
point. And so long as this molecular motion is not great enough to prevent
those chemical cohesions which the affinities tend to produce, exalting it
facilitates chemical re-arrangement.




Let us pass to illustrations of a different class. Other things equal,
the liquid form of matter implies a greater quantity of contained motion
than the solid form: the liquidity being itself a consequence of such greater
quantity. Hence, an aggregate made up partly of liquid matter and partly
of solid matter, contains more motion than one which, otherwise like it,
is made up wholly of solid matter. It is inferable, then, that a liquid-solid
aggregate, or, as we call it, a plastic aggregate, will admit of internal
re-distribution with comparative facility; and the inference is verified
by experience. While a magma of unlike substances ground up with water continues
thin there goes on a settlement of its heavier components -- a separation
of them from the lighter. As the water evaporates this separation is impeded,
and ceases when the magma becomes thick. But even when it has reached the
semi-solid state in which gravitation fails to cause further segregation
of its mixed components, other forces may still produce segregation: witness
the fact that when the pasty mixture of ground flints and kaolin, prepared
for making porcelain, is kept some time, it becomes gritty and unfit for
use -- the particles of silica separate themselves from the rest and unite
into grains; or witness the fact known to every housewife, that in long-kept
currant-jelly the sugar takes the shape of imbedded crystals.




No matter then under what form the motion contained by an aggregate exists
-- be it visible agitation, or such vibrations as produce sound, be it molecular
motion absorbed from without, or the constitutional molecular motion of some
component liquid, the same truth holds. Incident forces work secondary re-distributions
easily when the contained motion is large in quantity; and work them with
increasing difficulty as the contained motion diminishes.




§101. Yet another class of facts which fall within the same generalization
must be named before proceeding. They are those presented by certain contrasts
in chemical stability. Speaking generally, stable compounds contain but little
molecular motion, and in proportion as the contained molecular motion is
great the instability is great.




The most common and marked illustration of this, is that chemical stability
decreases as temperature increases. Compounds of which the elements are strongly
united and compounds of which the elements are feebly united, are alike in
this, that heating them or adding to the quantities of their contained molecular
motion, diminishes the strengths of the unions of their elements; and by
continually augmenting the contained molecular motion, a point is in each
case reached at which the union is destroyed. That is to say the re-distribution
of matter which constitutes simple chemical decomposition, is easy in proportion
as the quantity of contained motion is great. The like holds with double
decompositions. Two compounds, A B and C D, mingled together and kept at
a low temperature, may severally remain unchanged: the cross-affinities between
their components may fail to cause re-distribution. Raise the heat of the
mixture, and re-distribution takes place; ending in the formation of the
compounds A C and B D.




Another truth having a like implication, is that chemical elements which,
as they ordinarily exist, contain much motion, have combinations less stable
than those of which the elements, as they ordinarily exist, contain little
motion. The gaseous form of matter implies a relatively large amount of molecular
motion, while the solid form implies a relatively small amount. What are
the traits of their respective compounds? Those which the permanent gases
form with one another, cannot resist high temperatures: most of them are
easily decomposed by heat; and at a red heat, even the stronger ones yield
up their components. On the other hand, the chemical unions between elements
that are solid except at high temperatures, are very stable. In many, if
not indeed in most, cases, such unions are not destroyed by any heat we can
produce.




There is, again, the relation, which appears to have a kindred meaning,
between instability and amount of composition. "In general, the molecular
heat of a compound increases with the degree of complexity." With increase
of complexity there also goes increased facility of decomposition. Whence
it follows that molecules with contain much motion in virtue of their complexity,
are those of which the components are most easily re-distributed. This holds
not only of the complexity arising from the union of several unlike elements;
it holds also of the complexity arising from the union of the same elements
in higher multiples. Matter has two solid states, distinguished as crystalloid
and colloid; of which the first is due to union of the individual atoms or
molecules, and the second to the union of groups of such individual atoms
or molecules; and of which the first is stable and the second unstable.




But the most conclusive illustration is furnished by the combinations
into which nitrogen enters. These are specially unstable and contain specially
great quantities of motion. A peculiarity of nitrogen is that, instead of
giving out heat when it combines with other elements, it absorbs heat. Besides
carrying with it into the liquid or solid compound it forms, the motion which
previously constituted it a gas, it takes up additional motion; and where
the other element with which it unites is gaseous, the molecular motion proper
to this, also, is locked up in the compound. Now these nitrogen-compounds
are unusually prone to decomposition; and the decompositions of many of them
take place with extreme violence. All our explosive substances are nitrogenous
-- the most destructive of them all, chloride of nitrogen, being one which
contains the immense quantity of motion proper to its component gases, plus
a further quantity of motion.




Evidently these general chemical truths are parts of the more general
physical truth we are tracing out. We see in them that what holds of sensible
masses, holds also of the insensible masses we call molecules. Like the aggregates
formed of them, these ultimate aggregates become more or less integrated
according as they lose or gain motion; and like them also, according as they
contain much or little motion, they are more or less liable to undergo secondary
re-distributions along with the primary re-distribution.




§102. And now having brought this general principle clearly into
view, let us observe how, in conformity with it, Evolution becomes, according
to the conditions, either simple or compound.




If a little sal-ammoniac or other volatile solid be heated, it is disintegrated
by the absorbed molecular motion and rises in gas. If this gas comes in contact
with a cold surface, and loses it excess of molecular motion, integration
takes place -- the substance assumes the form of crystals. This is a case
of simple evolution. The concentration of matter and dissipation of motion
do not here proceed gradually -- do not pass through stages; but the molecular
motion which caused assumption of the gaseous state being dissipated, the
matter passes suddenly to a solid state. The result is that along with this
primary re-distribution there go on no appreciable secondary re-distributions.
Substantially the same thing holds with crystals deposited from solutions.
Loss of that molecular motion which, down to a certain point, keeps the molecules
from uniting, and sudden solidification when the loss goes below that point,
occur here as before; and here as before, the absence of a period during
which the molecules are partially free and gradually losing their freedom,
is accompanied by the absence of minor re-arrangements.




Mark, conversely, what happens when the concentration is slow. A gaseous
mass losing its heat and undergoing a consequent decrease of bulk, undergoes
also many simultaneous changes. The great quantity of molecular motion contained
in it, giving great molecular freedom, renders every part sensitive to every
incident force; and, as a result, its parts have various motions besides
that implied by their progressing integration. Indeed these secondary motions
which we know as currents, are so conspicuous as quite to subordinate the
primary motion. Suppose that, presently, the loss of molecular motion has
reached the point at which the gaseous state can no longer be maintained,
and condensation follows. Under their more closely-united form, the parts
of the aggregate display, to a considerable degree, the same phenomena as
before. The molecular motion and accompanying molecular mobility implied
by the liquid state, permit easy re-arrangement; and hence there go on rapid
and marked changes in the relative positions of parts -- local streams produced
by slight disturbing forces. But now, if instead of a mobile liquid we take
a sluggish one such as molten pitch or asphalte, what happens as the molecular
motion decreases? The liquid thickens -- its parts cease to be movable among
one another with ease; and the transpositions caused by feeble incident forces
become slow. Little by little the currents are stopped, but the mass still
continues modifiable by stronger incident forces. Gravitation makes it bend
or spread out when not supported on all sides, and it may easily be indented.
As it cools, it continues to grow stiffer; and eventually, further loss of
heat renders it quite hard: its parts are no longer appreciably re-arrangeable
by any save violent actions.




Among inorganic aggregates, then, secondary redistributions accompany
the primary re-distributions where this is gradual. During the gaseous and
liquid stages, the secondary re-distributions, rapid and extensive as they
are, leave no traces: the molecular mobility being such as to negative the
fixed arrangement of parts we call structure. On approaching solidity we
arrive at a plastic condition in which re-distributions can still be made,
though much less easily; and in which they have a certain persistence --
a persistence which can, however, become decided only where solidification
stops further re-distribution.




Here we see what are the conditions under which Evolution becomes compound,
while we see how the compounding of it can be carried far only in cases more
special than any hitherto contemplated; since, on the one hand, extensive
secondary re-distributions are possible only where there is a great quantity
of contained motion, and, on the other hand, such re-distributions can have
permanence only where the contained motion has become small: opposing conditions
which seem to negative any large amount of permanent secondary re-distribution.




§103. And now we are in a position to see how these apparently contradictory
conditions are reconciled. We shall appreciate the peculiarity of the aggregates
classed as organic, in which Evolution becomes so high; and shall see that
this peculiarity consists in the combination of matter into forms embodying
enormous amounts of motion at the same time that they have a great degree
of concentration.




For notwithstanding its semi-solid consistence, organic matter contains
molecular motion locked up in each of the ways above contemplated separately.
Let us note its distinctive traits. Three out of its four chief components
are gaseous; and in their uncombined states these gases united in it have
so much molecular motion that they are condensible only with extreme difficulty.
Hence it is to be inferred that the proteid-molecule concentrates an immense
amount of motion in a small space. And since many equivalents of these gaseous
elements unite in one of these proteid-molecules, there must be in it a large
quantity of relative motion in addition to that which the ultimate atoms
possess. Moreover, organic matter has the peculiarity that its molecules
are aggregated into the colloid and not into the crystalloid arrangement;
forming, as is supposed, clusters of clusters which have movements in relation
to one another. Here, then, is a further mode in which molecular motion is
included. Yet again, these compounds of which the essential parts of organisms
are built, are nitrogenous; and we have lately seen it to be a peculiarity
of nitrogenous compounds that, instead of giving out heat during their formation,
they absorb heat. To all the molecular motion possessed by gaseous nitrogen,
is added more motion; and the whole is concentrated in semi-solid protein.
Organic aggregates are very generally distinguished, too, by having much
insensible motion in a free state -- the motion we call heat. Though in many
cases the quantity of this contained insensible motion is inconsiderable,
in other cases a temperature much above that of the environment is constantly
maintained. Once more, there is the vast quantity of motion embodied in the
water that permeates organic matter. It is this which, giving to the water
its high molecular mobility, gives mobility to the organic molecules partially
suspended in it; and preserves that plastic state which so greatly facilitates
re-distribution.




These several statements yield no adequate idea of the extent to which
living organic substance is thus distinguished from other substances having
like sensible forms of aggregation. But some approximation to such an idea
may be obtained by contrasting the bulk occupied by this substance, with
the bulk which its constituents would occupy if uncombined. An accurate comparison
cannot be made in the present state of science. What expansion would occur
if the constituents of the nitrogenous compounds could be divorced without
adding motion from without, is too complex a question to be answered. But
respecting the constituents of that which forms four-fifths of the weight
of an ordinary animal -- its water -- a tolerably definite answer can be
given. Were the oxygen and hydrogen of water to lose their affinities, and
were no molecular motion supplied to them beyond that contained in water
at blood-heat, they would assume a volume twenty times that of the water.*<*
I am indebted for this result to Dr. [afterwards Sir] Edward Frankland, who
has been good enough to have the calculation made for me.> Whether protein
under like conditions would expand in a greater or a less degree, must remain
an open question; but remembering the gaseous nature of three out of its
four chief components, remembering the above-named peculiarity of nitrogenous
compounds, remembering the high multiples and the colloidal form, we may
conclude that the expansion would be great. We shall not be wrong, therefore,
in saying that the elements of the human body if suddenly disengaged from
one another, would occupy far more than a score times the space they do:
the movements of their molecules would compel this wide diffusion. Thus the
essential characteristic of living organic matter, is that it unites this
large quantity of contained motion with a degree of cohesion which permits
temporary fixity of arrangement.




§104. Besides seeing that organic aggregates differ from other aggregates,
alike in the quantity of motion they contain and the amount of re-arrangement
of parts which accompanies the progressive integration; we shall see that
among organic aggregates themselves, differences in the quantities of contained
motion are accompanied by differences in the amounts of re-distribution.




The contrasts among organisms in chemical composition yield us the first
illustration. Animals are distinguished from plants by their far greater
amOunts of structure, as well as by far greater rapidity with which changes
go on in them; and, in comparison with plants, animals contain immensely
larger proportions of those nitrogenous molecules in which so much motion
is locked up. So, too, is it with the contrasts between the different parts
of each animal. Though certain nitrogenous parts, as cartilage, are stable
and inert, yet the parts in which secondary re-distributions have gone on,
and are ever going on, most actively, are those mainly formed of highly-compounded
nitrogenous molecules; while parts which, like deposits of fat, consist of
relatively-simple molecules, that are non-nitrogenous, are seats of but little
structure and but little change.




We find proof, too, that the continuance of the secondary re-distributions
by which organic aggregates are distinguished depends on the presence of
that locked-up motion which gives mobility to the water diffused through
them; and that, other things equal, there is a direct relation between the
amount of re-distribution and the amount of contained water. The evidences
may be put in three groups. There is the familiar fact that a plant has its
formative changes arrested by cutting off the supply of water: the primary
redistribution continues -- it withers and shrinks or becomes more integrated
-- but the secondary re-distributions cease. There is the less familiar fact
that the like result occurs in animals -- occurs, indeed, after a relatively
smaller diminution of water. Certain of the lower animals furnish additional
proofs. The Rotifera may be rendered apparently lifeless by desiccation,
and will yet revive if wetted. When the African rivers it inhabits are dried
up the Lepidosiren remains torpid in the hardened mud until return of the
rainy season brings water. Humboldt states that during the summer drought,
the alligators of the Pampas lie buried in a state of suspended animation
beneath the parched surface, and struggle up out of the earth as soon as
it becomes humid. The history of each organism teaches the same thing. The
young plant, just putting its head above the soil, is more succulent than
the adult plant; and the amount of transformation going on in it is relatively
greater. In that portion of an egg which displays the formative processes
during the early stages of incubation, the changes of arrangement are more
rapid than those which an equal portion of the body of a hatched chick undergoes.
As may be inferred from their respective powers to acquire habits and aptitudes,
the structural modifiability of a child is greater than that of an adult;
and the structural modifiability of a young man is greater than that of an
old man: contrasts which are associated with contrasts in the densities of
the tissues; since the ratio of water to solid matter diminishes with advancing
age. And then we have this relation repeated in the contrasts between parts
of the same organism. In a tree, structural changes go on rapidly at the
ends of shoots, where the ratio of water to solid matter is very great; while
the changes are very slow in the dense and almost dry substance of the trunk.
Similarly in animals, we have the contrast between the high rate of change
going on in a soft tissue like the brain, and the low rate of change going
on in dry non-vascular tissues -- hairs, nails, horns, etc.




Other groups of facts prove that the quantity of secondary re-distribution
in an organism varies, caeteris paribus, according to the contained quantity
of the motion called heat. The contrasts between different organisms, and
different states of the same organism, unite in showing this. Speaking generally,
the amounts of structure and rates of structural change, are smaller throughout
the vegetal kingdom than throughout the animal kingdom; and, speaking generally,
the heat of plants is less than the heat of animals. Comparisons of the several
divisions of the animal kingdom with one another, disclose parallel relations.
Regarded as a whole, vertebrates are higher in temperature than invertebrates;
and they are as a whole higher in activity and complexity. Between subdivisions
of the Vertebrata themselves, like differences in the degrees of molecular
vibration accompany like differences in the degrees of evolution. The least
compounded of the Vertebrata are the fishes; and, usually, the heat of fishes
is nearly the same as that of the water in which they swim: only some large
ones being decidedly warmer. Though we habitually speak of reptiles as cold-blooded,
and though they have not much more power than fishes of maintaining a temperature
above that of their medium, yet since their medium (which is, in the majority
of cases, the air of warm climates) is on the average warmer than the medium
inhabited by fishes, the temperature of the class reptiles is higher than
that of the class fishes; and we see in them a correspondingly higher complexity.
The much more active molecular agitation in mammals and birds, goes along
with a considerably greater multiformity of structure and a far greater vivacity.
The most instructive contrasts, however, are those occurring in the same
organic aggregates at different temperatures. Structural changes in plants
vary in rate as the temperature varies. Though light effects those molecular
changes causing vegetal growth, yet in the absence of heat, such changes
are not effected: in winter there is enough light, but not enough heat. That
this is the sole cause of the suspension of growth, is proved by the fact
that at the same season, plants contained in hot-houses go on producing leaves
and flowers. We see, too, that their seeds, to which light is not simply
needless but detrimental, germinate only when the return of a warm season
raises the rate of molecular agitation. In like manner the ova of animals,
undergoing those changes which produce structure in them, must be kept more
or less warm: in the absence of a certain amount of motion among their molecules,
the re-arrangement of parts does not go on. Hybernating animals also supply
proof that loss of heat carried far, retards extremely the vital transformations.
In animals which do not hybernate, as in man, prolonged exposure to intense
cold causes extreme sleepiness, which implies a lowered rate of organic changes;
and if the loss of heat continues, there comes death, or stoppage of these
changes.




Here, then, is an accumulation of proofs. Living aggregates are distinguished
by the associated facts, that during integration they undergo remarkable
secondary changes which other aggregates do not undergo to anything like
the same extent; and that they contain (bulks being supposed equal) immensely
greater quantities of motion, locked up in various ways.




§105. The last chapter closed with the remark that while Evolution
is always an integration of Matter and dissipation of Motion, it is in most
cases much more. And this chapter opened by specifying the conditions under
which Evolution is integrative only, or remains simple, and the conditions
under which it is something further than integrative, or becomes compound.
In illustrating this contrast between simple and compound Evolution, and
in explaining how the contrast arises, a vague idea of Evolution in general
has been conveyed. Unavoidably, we have to some extent forestalled the full
discussion of Evolution about to be commenced.




There is nothing in this to regret. A preliminary conception, indefinite
but comprehensive, is needful as an introduction to a definite conception.
A complex idea is not communicable directly, by giving one after another
its component parts in their finished forms; since if no outline pre-exists
in the mind of the recipient these component parts will not be rightly combined.
Much labour has to be gone through which would have been saved had a general
notion, however cloudy, been conveyed before the distinct and detailed delineation
was commenced.




That which the reader has incidentally gathered respecting the nature
of Evolution from the foregoing sections, he may thus advantageously use
as a rude sketch. He will bear in mind that the total history of every sensible
existence is included in its Evolution and Dissolution; which last process
we leave for the present out of consideration. He will not forget that whatever
aspect of it we are for the moment considering, Evolution is always to be
regarded as an integration of Matter and dissipation of Motion, which may
be, and usually is, accompanied by other transformations of Matter and Motion.
And he will everywhere expect to find that the primary re-distribution ends
in forming aggregates which are simple where it is rapid, but which become
compound in proportion as its slowness allows the effects of secondary re-distributions
to accumulate.




§106. There is much difficulty in tracing out transformations so
vast, so varied, and so intricate as those now to be entered upon. Besides
having to deal with concrete phenomena of all orders, we have to deal with
each group of phenomena under several aspects, no one of which can be fully
understood apart from the rest and no one of which can be studied simultaneously
with the rest. Already we have seen that during Evolution two great classes
of changes are going on together; and we shall presently see that the second
of these great classes is re-divisible. Entangled with one another as all
these changes are, explanation of any one class or order involves direct
or indirect reference to others not yet explained. We can do no more than
make the best compromise.




It will be most convenient to devote the next chapter to a detailed account
of Evolution under its primary aspect; tacitly recognizing its secondary
aspects only so far as the exposition necessitates.




The succeeding two chapters, occupied exclusively with secondary re-distributions,
will make no reference to the primary re-distribution beyond that which is
unavoidable: each being also limited to one particular trait of the secondary
re-distributions.




In a further chapter will be treated a third, and still more distinct,
character of the secondary re-distributions.




Chapter 14




The Law of Evolution




§107. Deduction has now to be verified by induction. Thus far the
argument has been that all sensible existences must, in some way or other
and at some time or other, reach their concrete shapes through processes
of concentration; and the facts named have been named merely to clarify the
perception of this necessity. But we have not arrived at that unified knowledge
constituting Philosophy, until we have seen how existences of all orders
do exhibit a progressive integration of Matter and accompanying loss of Motion.
Tracing, so far as we may by observation and inference, the objects dealt
with by the Astronomer and the Geologist, as well as those which Biology,
Psychology, and Sociology treat of, we have to consider what direct proof
there is that the Cosmos, in general and in detail, conforms to this law.




Throughout the classes of facts successively contemplated, attention will
be directed not so much to the truth that every aggregate has undergone,
or is undergoing, integration, as to the further truth that in every more
or less separate part of every aggregate, integration has been, or is, in
progress. Instead of simple wholes and wholes of which the complexity has
been ignored, we have now to deal with wholes as they actually exist -- mostly
made up of many members combined in many ways. And in them we shall have
to trace the transformation under several forms -- a passage of the total
mass from a more diffused to a more consolidated state; a concurrent similar
passage in every portion of it that comes to have a distinguishable individuality;
and a simultaneous increase of combination among such individualized portions.




§108. Our Sidereal System by its general form, by its clusters of
stars of various degrees of closeness, and by its nebulae in all stages of
condensation, gives grounds for suspecting that, generally and locally, concentration
is going on. Assume that its matter has been, and still is being, drawn together
by gravitation, and we have an explanation of its leading traits of structure
-- from its solidified masses up to its collections of attenuated flocculi
barely discernible by the most powerful telescopes, from its double stars
up to such complex aggregates as the nubeculae. Without dwelling on this
evidence, however, let us pass to the case of the Solar System.




The belief, so variously supported, that this has had a nebular genesis,
is the belief that it has arisen by the integration of matter and concomitant
loss of motion. Evolution, under its primary aspect, is illustrated most
simply and clearly by this passage of the Solar System from a diffused incoherent
state to a consolidated coherent state. While, according to the nebular hypothesis,
there has been going on a gradual concentration of the Solar System as an
aggregate, there has been a simultaneous concentration of each partially-independent
member. The changes of every planet in passing through its stages of nebulous
ring, gaseous spheroid, liquid spheroid, and spheroid externally solidified,
have in essentials -- dissipation of motion and aggregation of matter --
paralleled the changes gone through by the general mass; and those of every
satellite have done the like. Moreover, at the same time that the matter
of the whole, as well as the matter of each partially-independent part, has
been thus integrating, there has been the further integration implied by
increasing combination among the parts. The satellites of each planet are
linked with their primary into a balanced cluster, while the planets and
their satellites form with the Sun, a compound group of which the members
are more strongly bound together than were the far-spread portions of the
nebulous medium out of which they arose.




Even apart from the nebular hypothesis, the Solar System furnishes facts
having a like general meaning. Not to make much of the meteoric matter perpetually
added to the Earth, and probably to the other planets, as well as, in larger
quantities, to the Sun, it will suffice to name two generally-admitted instances.
The one is the retardation of comets by the ethereal medium, and the inferred
retardation of planets -- a process which must in time, as Lord Kelvin argues,
bring comets, and eventually planets, into the Sun. The other is the Sun's
still-continued loss of motion in the shape of radiated heat; accompanying
the still-continued integration of his mass.




§109. To astronomic evolution we pass without break to the evolution
which, for convenience, we separate as geologic. The history of the Earth,
as traced out from the structure of its crust, carries us back to that molten
state which the nebular hypothesis implies; and, as before pointed out (§69),
the changes called igneous are accompaniments of the advancing consolidation
of the Earth's substance and loss of its contained motion. The general effects
and the local effects must be briefly exemplified.




Leaving behind the time when the more volatile elements now existing as
solids were kept by the high temperature in a gaseous form, we may begin
with the fact that until the Earth's surface had cooled far below red heat,
the mass of water at present covering three-fifths of it, must have existed
as vapour. This enormous volume of unintegrated liquid became integrated
as fast as dissipation of the Earth's contained motion allowed; leaving,
at length, a comparatively small portion uncondensed, which would condense
but for the unceasing absorption of molecular motion from the Sun. In the
formation of the Earth's crust we have a similar change similarly caused.
The passage from a thin solid film, everywhere fissured and movable on the
subjacent molten matter, to a crust so thick and strong as to be but now
and then very slightly dislocated by disturbing forces, illustrates the process.
And while, in this superficial solidification, we see under one form how
concentration accompanies loss of contained motion, we see it under another
form in that diminution of the Earth's bulk implied by superficial corrugation.




Local or secondary integrations have advanced along with this general
integration. A molten spheroid merely skinned over with solid matter, could
have presented nothing beyond small patches of land and water. Differences
of elevation great enough to form islands of considerable size, imply a crust
of some rigidity; and only as the crust grew thick could the land be united
into continents divided by oceans. So, too, with the more striking elevations.
The collapse of a thin layer round its cooling and contracting contents,
would throw it into low ridges. The crust must have acquired a relatively
great depth and strength before extensive mountain systems of Vast elevation
became possible: continued integration of it made possible great local integrations.
In sedimentary changes a like progress is inferable. Denudation acting on
the small surfaces exposed during early stages, would produce but small local
deposits. The collection of detritus into strata of great extent, and the
union of such strata into extensive "systems," imply wide surfaces
of land and water, as well as subsidences great in both area and depth; so
that integrations of this order must have grown more pronounced as the Earth's
crust thickened.




§110. Already we have recognized the fact that the evolution of an
organism is primarily the formation of an aggregate, by the continued incorporation
of matter previously spread through a wider space. Every plant grows by taking
into itself elements that were before diffused, and every animal grows by
re-concentrating these elements previously dispersed in surrounding plants
or other animals. Here it will be proper to complete the conception by pointing
out that the early history of a plant or animal, still more clearly than
its later history, shows us this fundamental process. For the microscopic
germ of each organism undergoes, for a long time, no other change than that
implied by absorption of nutriment. Cells embedded in the stroma of an ovarium,
become ova by little else than continued growth at the expense of adjacent
materials. And when, after fertilization, a more active evolution commences,
its most conspicuous trait is the drawing-in, to a germinal centre, of the
substance which the ovum contains.




Now, however, our attention must be directed mainly to the secondary integrations
which accompany the primary integration. We have to observe how, along with
the formation of a larger mass of matter, there goes on a gathering together
and consolidation of this matter into parts, as well as a closer combination
of the parts. In the mammalian embryo the heart, at first a long pulsating
blood-vessel, by-and-by twists upon itself and integrates. The bile-cells
constituting the rudimentary liver, do not simply become different from the
wall of the intestine in which they at first lie, but, while accumulating,
they diverge from it and consolidate into an organ. The anterior portion
of the cerebrospinal axis, at first continuous with. the rest, and not markedly
distinguished from it, undergoes a union of its rapidly-growing parts; and
at the same time the resulting head folds into a mass marked off from the
spine. The like process, variously exhibited in other organs, is meanwhile
exhibited by the body as a whole; which becomes integrated somewhat in the
same way that an outspread handkerchief and its contents become integrated
when its edges are drawn in and fastened to make a bundle. Kindred changes
go on after birth, and continue even up to old age. In man, that solidification
of the bony framework which, during childhood, is seen in the coalescence
of portions of the same bone ossified from different centres, is afterwards
seen in the coalescence of bones that were originally distinct. The appendages
of the vertebrae join with the vertebral centres to which they belong: a
change not completed until towards thirty. At the same time the epiphyses,
formed separately from the main bodies of their respective bones, have their
cartilaginous connexions turned into osseous ones -- are fused to the masses
beneath them. The component vertebra of the sacrum, which remain separate
till about the sixteenth year, then begin to unite; and in ten or a dozen
years more their union is complete. Still later occurs the junction of the
coccygeal vertebra; and there are some other bony unions which remain unfinished
unless advanced age is reached. To which add that the increase of density,
going on throughout the tissues at large during life, is the formation of
a more fully integrated substance.




The species of change thus illustrated, may be traced in all animals.
That mode of it which consists in the union of similar parts originally separate,
has been described by Milne-Edwards and others, as exhibited in various Invertebrata;
though it does not seem to have been included by them as an essential trait
of organic development. We shall, however, see that local integration is
an all-important part of this process, when we find it not only in the successive
stages passed through by every embryo, but also in ascending from the lower
creatures to the higher. As manifested in either way, it goes on both longitudinally
and transversely; under which different forms we may conveniently consider
it. Of longitudinal integration, the sub-kingdom Annulosa * <* I adhere
to this name though of late years the two divisions Annelida and Arthropoda
have usurped its place. Their kinship as lower and higher is admitted, and
the name is descriptive of both; for the being formed of rings is their most
conspicuous structural trait.> supplies abundant examples. Its lower members,
such as worms and next to them myriapods, are mostly characterized by the
great numbers of their segments; reaching in some cases to several hundreds.
But in the higher divisions -- crustaceans, insects, and arachnids -- this
number is reduced to twenty-two, thirteen, or even fewer; while, accompanying
the reduction, there is a shortening or integration of the whole body, reaching
its extreme in the crab and the spider. The significance of these contrasts,
as bearing on the doctrine of Evolution, will be clear when it is observed
that they are parallel to those which arise during the development of individual
annulose animals. The head and thorax of a lobster form one compact box,
made by the union of a number of segments which in the embryo were separable.
Similarly, the butterfly shows us segments so much more closely united than
they were in the caterpillar, as to be, some of them, no longer distinguishable
from one another. The Vertebrata again, throughout their successively higher
classes, furnish like instances of longitudinal union. In most fishes, and
in limbless reptiles, none of the vertebra coalesce. In most mammals and
in birds, a variable number of vertebra become fused to form the sacrum;
and in the higher apes and in man, the caudal vertebra also lose their separate
individualities in a single oscoccygis. That which we may distinguish as
transverse integration, is well illustrated among the Annulosa in the development
of the nervous system. Leaving out those most degraded forms which do not
present distinct ganglia, we find that the lower annulose animals, in common
with the larva of the higher, are severally characterized by a double chain
of ganglia running from end to end of the body; while in the more perfectly-formed
annulose animals, the two chains unite into a single chain. Mr. Newport has
described the course of this concentration in insects, and by Rathke it has
been traced in crustaceans. During the early stages of the common cray-fish,
there is a pair of ganglia to each ring. Of the fourteen pairs belonging
to the head and thorax, the three pairs in advance of the mouth consolidate
to form the cephalic ganglion or brain. Meanwhile, of the remainder, the
first six pairs severally unite in the median line, while the rest remain
more or less separate. Of these six double ganglia thus formed, the anterior
four coalesce into one mass; the remaining two coalesce into another mass,
and then these two masses coalesce. Here longitudinal and transverse integration
go on simultaneously and in the highest crustaceans they are both carried
still further. The Vertebrata exhibit transverse integration in the development
of the generative system. The lowest mammals -- the Monotremata -- in common
with birds, to which they are in many respects allied, have oviducts which
towards their lower extremities are dilated into cavities, each imperfectly
performing the function of a uterus. "In the Marsupialia there is a
closer approximation of the two lateral sets of organs on the median line:
for the oviducts converge towards one another and meet (without coalescing)
on the median line; so that their uterine dilatations are in contact with
each other, forming a true 'double uterus.'... As we ascend the series of
'placental' mammals, we find the lateral coalescence becoming more and complete....
In many of the Rodentia the uterus still remains completely divided into
two lateral halves; whilst in others these coalesce at their lower portions,
forming a rudiment of the true 'body' of the uterus in the human subject.
This part increases at the expense of the lateral 'cornua' in the higher
herbivora and carnivora; but even in the lower quadrumana the uterus is somewhat
cleft at its summit."* <* Carpenter's Prin. of Comp. Phys., p. 617.>




Under the head of organic integrations, there remain to be noted another
class of illustrations. Whether the Annulosa referred to above are or are
not originally compound animals, it is unquestionable that there are compound
animals among other classes of invertebrates: integration is displayed not
within the limits of an individual only but by the union of many individuals.
The Salpidae are composite creatures having the shape of chains joined more
or less permanently; and Pyrosoma shows us a large number united into a cylinder.
Moreover in the Botryllidae the merging of the individualities goes so far
that instead of having separate skins they are enclosed within a common skin.
Among the Caeienterata integration produces half-fused colonies of types
unlike these. There are the branched Hydrozoa in which many individuals form
an aggregate in such a way as to have a common system of nutrition, while
some of them undertake special functions; and much the same may be said of
those compound Actinozoa which are imbedded in the calcareous frameworks
we know as corals. And then in certain pelagic types, grouped as Siphonophora,
the united individuals, in some cases alike, are in other cases severally
transformed in adaptation to various functions; so that the component individuals,
assuming the characters of different organs, become practically combined
into a single organism.




From this kind of integration we pass to a kind in which the individuals
are not physically united but simply associated -- are integrated only by
their mutual dependence. We may set down two kinds -- those which occur within
the same species, and those which occur between members of different species.
More or less of the gregarious tendency is common among animals; and when
it is marked, there is, in addition to simple aggregation, some degree of
combination. Creatures that hunt in packs, or that have sentinels, or that
are governed by leaders, form bodies partially united by co-operation. Among
polygamous mammals and birds this mutual dependence is closer; and the social
insects show us still more consolidated assemblages: some of them having
their members so united that they cannot live independently How organisms
in their totality are mutually dependent, and in that sense integrated, we
shall see on remembering -- first, that while all animals live directly or
indirectly on plants, plants utilize the carbon dioxide excreted by animals;
second, that among animals the flesh-eaters cannot exist without the plant-eaters;
third, that a large proportion of plants can continue their respective races
only by the help of insects. Without detailing the more complex connexions,
which Mr. Darwin has so beautifully illustrated, it will suffice to say that
the Flora and Fauna in each habitat, constitute an aggregate so far integrated
that many of its species die out if placed amid the plants and animals of
another habitat. And this integration, too, increases as organic evolution
advances.




§111. The phenomena set down in the foregoing paragraph introduce
us to others of a higher order, with which they ought, in strictness, to
be grouped-phenomena which we may term super-organic. Inorganic bodies present
us with certain facts. Additional facts, mostly of a more involved kind,
are presented by organic bodies. There remain yet further facts, not presented
by any organic body taken singly, but which result from the actions of aggregated
organic bodes. Though phenomena of this order are, as we see, foreshadowed
among inferior organisms, they become so conspicuous in mankind as socially
united, that practically we may consider them to commence here.




In the social organism integrative changes are abundantly exemplified.
Uncivilized societies display them when wandering families, such as those
of Bushmen, join into tribes of considerable size. A further progress in
mass results from the subjugation of weak tribes by strong ones; and in the
subordination of their respective chiefs to the conquering chief. Such combinations
which, among aboriginal races, are continually being formed and continually
broken up, become, among superior races, relatively permanent. If we trace
the stages through which our own society, or any adjacent one, has passed,
we see this unification from time to time repeated on a larger scale and
gaining in stability The consequent establishment of groups of vassals bound
to their respective lords; the subsequent subjection of groups of inferior
nobles to dukes or earls; and the still later growth of the kingly power
over dukes and earls; are so many instances of increasing consolidation.
This process slowly completes itself by destroying the original lines of
demarcation. And of the European nations it may be further remarked, that
in the tendency to form alliances, in the restraining influences exercised
by governments over one another, in the system of settling international
arrangements by congresses, as well as in the weakening of commercial barriers
and the increasing facilities of communication, we see the beginnings of
a European federation -- a still larger integration that any now established.




But it is not only in these external unions of groups with groups, and
of the compound groups with one another, that the general law is exemplified.
It is exemplified also in unions which take place internally, as the groups
become better organized. There are two orders of these, broadly distinguishable
as regulative and operative. A civilized society is made unlike a savage
tribe by the establishment of regulative classes-governmental, administrative,
military, ecclesiastical, legal, etc., which, while they severally have their
bonds of union, constituting them sub-classes, are also held together as
a general class by a certain community of privileges, of blood, of education,
of intercourse. In some societies, fully developed after their particular
types, this consolidation into castes, and this union among the upper castes
by separation from the lower eventually grow very decided: to be afterwards
rendered less decided, only in cases of social metamorphosis caused by the
industrial régime. The integrations seen throughout the operative
or industrial organization, later in origin, are not merely of this indirect
kind, but they are also direct -- they show us physical approach. We have
integrations consequent on the growths of adjacent parts performing like
functions; as, for instance, the junction of Manchester with its calico-weaving
suburbs. We have other integrations which arise when, out of several places
producing a particular commodity, one gaining more and more of the business,
draws to it masters and workers, and leaves the other places to dwindle;
as witness the growth of the Yorkshire cloth-districts at the expense of
those in the West of England; or the absorption by Staffordshire of the pottery-manufacture,
and the consequent decay of establishments at Derby and elsewhere. We have
those more special integrations that arise within the same city; whence result
the concentration of corn-merchants about Mark Lane, of civil engineers in
Great George Street, of bankers in the centre of the city. Industrial integrations
which consist, not in the approximation or fusion of parts, but in the establishment
of centres of connexion, are shown in the Bankers' clearing-house and the
Railway clearing-house. While of yet another species are those unions which
bring into relation dispersed citizens who are occupied in like ways; as
traders are brought by the Exchange, and as are professional men by institutes
like those of Civil Engineers, Architects, etc.




These seem to be the last of our instances. Having followed up the general
law to social aggregates, there apparently remain no other aggregates to
which it can apply. This, however, is not true. Among what were above distinguished
as super-organic phenomena, there are sundry further groups of remarkable
illustrations. Though evolutions of the various products of social activities
cannot be said directly to exemplify the integration of matter and dissipation
of motion, yet they exemplify it indirectly. For the progress of Language,
of Science, and of the Arts, industrial and aesthetic, is an objective register
of subjective changes. Alterations of structure in human beings, and concomitant
alterations of structure in aggregates of human beings, jointly produce corresponding
alterations of structure in all those things which humanity creates. As in
the changed impress on the wax, we read a change in the seal; so in the integrations
of advancing Language, Science, and Art, we see reflected certain integrations
of advancing human structure, individual and social. A section must be devoted
to each group.




§112. Among uncivilized races, the many-syllabled names of not uncommon
objects, as well as the descriptive character of proper names, show that
the words used for the less-familiar things are formed by uniting the words
used for the more-familiar things. This process of composition is sometimes
found in its incipient stage -- a stage in which the component words are
temporarily joined to signify some unnamed object, and, from lack of frequent
use, do not permanently cohere. But in most inferior languages, the process
of "agglutination" has gone far enough to produce some stability
in the compound words: there is a manifest integration. How small is this
integration, however, in comparison with that reached in well-developed languages,
is shown both by the great length of the compound words used for common things
and acts, and by the separableness of their elements. Certain North-American
tongues illustrate this very well. In a Ricaree vocabulary extending to fifty
names of common objects, which in English are nearly all expressed by single
syllables, there is not one monosyllabic word. Things so familiar to these
hunting tribes as dog and bow, are, in the Pawnee language, ashakish and
teeragish; the hand and the eyes are respectively iksheeree and keereekoo.
for day the term is shakoorooeeshairet, and for devil it is tsaheekshkakooraiwah.
while the numerals are composed of from two syllables up to five, and in
Ricaree up to seven. That the great length of these familiar words implies
low development, and that in the formation of higher languages out of lower
there is a gradual integration, which reduces the polysyllables to dissyllables
and monosyllables, is an inference confirmed by the history of our own language.
Anglo-Saxon steorra has been in course of time consolidated into English
star, mona into moon, and nama into name. The transition through semi-Saxon
is clearly traceable. Sunu became in semi-Saxon sune, and in English son;
the final e of sune being an evanescent form of the original u. The change
from the Anglo-Saxon plural, formed by the distinct syllable as, to our plural
formed by the appended consonant s, shows the same thing: smithas in becoming
smiths, and endas in becoming ends, illustrate progressive coalescence. So,
too does the disappearance of the terminal an in the infinitive mood of verbs;
as shown in the transition from the Anglo-Saxon cuman to the semi-Saxon cumme,
and to the English come. Moreover the process has been slowly going on, even
since what we distinguish as English was formed. In Elizabeth's time, verbs
were still frequently pluralized by the addition of en -- we tell was we
tellen; and in some places this form of speech may even now be heard. In
like manner the terminal ed of the past tense, has united with the word it
modifies. Burn-ed has in pronunciation become burnt; and even in writing,
the terminal t has in some cases taken the place of the ed. Only where antique
forms in general are adhered to, as in the church-service, is the distinctness
of this inflection still maintained. Further, we see that the compound vowels
have been in many cases fused into single vowels. That in bread the e and
a were originally both sounded, is proved by the fact that they are still
so sounded in parts where old habits linger. We, however have contracted
the pronunciation into bred; and we have made like changes in many other
common words. Lastly, let it be noted that where the repetition is greatest,
the process is carried furthest; as instance the contraction of lord (originally
hlaford) into lud in the mouths of barristers; and, still better, the coalescence
of God be with you into Good bye.




Besides thus exhibiting the integrative process, Language equally exhibits
it throughout all grammatical development. The lowest kinds of human speech,
having merely nouns and verbs without inflections, permit no such close union
of the elements of a proposition as results when their relations are marked
either by inflections or by connective words. Such speech is what we significantly
call "incoherent." To a considerable extent, incoherence is seen
in the Chinese language. "If, instead of saying I go to London, figs
come from Turkey, the sun shines through the air, we said, I go end London,
figs come origin Turkey, the sun shines passage air, we should discourse
after the manner of the Chinese." From this "aptotic" form,
there is a transition, by coalescence, to a form in which the connexions
of words are expressed by joining with them certain inflectional words. "In
Languages like the Chinese," remarks Dr. Latham, "the separate
words most in use to express relation may become adjuncts or annexes."
To this he adds the fact that "the numerous inflexional languages fall
into two classes. In one, the inflexions have no appearance of having been
separate words. In the other, their origin as separate words is demonstrable."
From which the inference drawn is, that the "aptotic" languages,
by the more and more constant use of adjuncts, gave rise to the "agglutinate"
languages, or those in which the original separateness of the inflexional
parts can be traced; and that out of these, by further use, arose the "amalgamate"
languages, or those in which the original separateness of the inflexional
parts can no longer be traced. Strongly corroborative of this inference is
the fact that, by such a process, there have grown out of the amalgamate
languages, the "anaptotic" languages, of which our own is the best
example -- languages in which, by further consolidation, inflexions have
almost disappeared, while, to express the verbal relations, new kinds of
words have been developed. When we see the Anglo-Saxon inflexions gradually
lost by contraction during the development of English, and, though to a less
degree, the Latin inflexions dwindling away during the development of French,
we cannot deny that grammatical structure is modified by integration; and
seeing how clearly the earlier stages of grammatical structure are explained
by it, we must conclude that it has been going on from the first.




In proportion to the degree of this integration, is the extent to which
integration of another order is carried. Aptotic languages are, as already
pointed out, necessarily incoherent -- the elements of a proposition cannot
be completely tied into a whole. But as fast as coalescence produces inflected
words, it becomes possible to unite them into sentences of which the parts
are so mutually dependent that no considerable change can be made without
destroying the meaning. Yet a further stage in this process may be noted.
After the development of those grammatical forms which make definite statements
possible, we do not at first find them used to express anything beyond statements
of a simple kind. A single subject with a single predicate, accompanied by
but few qualifying terms, are usually all. If we compare, for instance, the
Hebrew scriptures with writings of modern times, a marked difference of aggregation
among the groups of words, is visible. In the number of subordinate propositions
which accompany the principal one; in the various complements to subjects
and predicates; and in the numerous qualifying clauses -- all of them united
into one complex whole -- many sentences in modern compositions exhibit a
degree of integration not to be found in ancient ones.




§113. The history of Science presents facts of the same meaning at
every step. Indeed the integration of groups of like entities and like relations,
constitutes the most conspicuous part of scientific progress. A glance at
the classificatory sciences, shows that the confused incoherent aggregations
which the vulgar make of natural objects, are gradually rendered complete
and compact, and bound up into groups within groups. While, instead of considering
all marine creatures as fish, shell-fish, and jellyfish, Zoology establishes
among them subdivisions under the heads Vertebrata, Annulosa, Mollusca, Coelenterata,
etc.; and while, in place of the wide and vague assemblage popularly described
as "creeping things," it makes the specific classes Annelida, Myiiapoda,
Insecta, Arachnida; it simultaneously gives to these an increasing consolidation.
The several species, genera, and orders of which each consists, are arranged
according to their affinities and tied together under common definitions;
at the same time that, by extended observation and rigorous criticism, the
previously unknown and undetermined forms are integrated with their respective
congeners. Nor is the process less clearly displayed in those sciences which
have for their subject-matter, not classified objects but classified relations.
Under one of its chief aspects, scientific advance is the advance of generalization;
and generalizing is uniting into groups all like co-existences and sequences
among phenomena. The colligation of many concrete relations into a generalization
of the lowest order, exemplifies this process in its simplest form; and it
is again exemplified in a more complex form by the colligation of these lowest
generalizations into higher ones, and these into still higher ones. Year
by year connexions are established among orders of phenomena that appear
unallied; and these connexions, multiplying and strengthening, gradually
bring the seemingly unallied orders under a common bond. When, for example,
Humboldt quotes the observation of the Swiss -- "it is going to rain
because we hear the murmur of the torrents nearer," -- when he recognizes
the kinship between this and an observation of his own, that the cataracts
of the Orinoco are heard at a greater distance by night than by day -- when
he notes the analogy between these facts and the fact that the unusual visibility
of remote objects is also an indication of coming rain -- and when he points
out that the common cause of these variations is the smaller hindrance offered
to the passage of both light and sound, by media which are comparatively
homogeneous, either in temperature or hygrometric state; he helps in bringing
under one generalization certain traits of light and certain traits of sound.
Experiments having shown that light and sound conform to like laws of reflection
and refraction, the conclusion that they are both produced by undulations
--though undulations of unlike kinds -- gains probability: there is an incipient
integration of two classes of facts between which no connexion was suspected
in times past. A still more decided integration has been of late taking place
between the once independent sub-sciences of Electricity, Magnetism, and
Light.




The process will manifestly be carried much further. Such propositions
as those set forth in preceding chapters, on "The Persistence of Force,"
"The Transformation and Equivalence of Forces," "The Direction
of Motion," and "The Rhythm of Motion," unite within single
bonds phenomena belonging to all orders of existences. And if there is such
a thing as that which we here understand by Philosophy, there must eventually
be reached a universal integration.




§114. Nor do the industrial and aesthetic Arts fail to supply us
with equally conclusive evidence. The progress from small and simple tools,
to complex and large machines, is a progress in integration. Among what are
classed as the mechanical powers, the advance from the lever to the wheel-and-axle
is an advance from a simple agent to an agent made up of several simple ones.
On comparing the wheel-and-axle, or any of the mechanical appliances used
in early times with those used now, we see that in each of our machines several
of the primitive machines are united. A modern apparatus for spinning or
weaving, for making stockings or lace, contains not simply a lever, an inclined
plane, a screw, a wheel-and-axle, joined together, but several of each --
all made into a whole. Again, in early ages, when horsepower and man-power
were alone employed, the motive agent was not bound up with the tool moved;
but the two have now become in many cases joined together. The firebox and
boiler of a locomotive are combined with the machinery which the steam works.
A much more extensive integration is seen in every factory. Here numerous
complicated machines are all connected by driving shafts with the same steam-engine
-- all united with it into one vast apparatus.




Contrast the mural decorations of the Egyptians and Assyrians with modern
historical paintings, and there is manifest an advance in unity of composition
-- in the subordination of the parts to the whole. One of these ancient frescoes
is made up of figures which vary but little in conspicuousness: there are
no gradations of light and shade. The same trait may be noted in the tapestries
of medieval days. Representing perhaps a hunting scene, one of these contains
men, horses, dogs, beasts, birds, trees, and flowers, miscellaneously dispersed:
the living objects being variously occupied, and mostly with no apparent
consciousness of one another's proximity. But in paintings since produced,
faulty as many of them are in this respect, there is always some co-ordination
-- an arrangement of attitudes, expressions, lights, and colours, such as
to combine the parts into a single scene; and the success with which unity
of effect is educed from variety of components, is a chief test of merit.




In music, progressive integration is displayed in more numerous ways.
The simple cadence embracing but a few notes, which in the chants of savages
is monotonously repeated, becomes, among civilized races, a long series of
different musical phrases combined into one whole; and so complete is the
integration that the melody cannot be broken off in the middle, nor shorn
of its final note, without giving us a painful sense of incompleteness. When
to the air, a bass, a tenor, and an alto are added; and when to the different
voice-parts there is joined an accompaniment; we see integrations of another
order which grow gradually more elaborate. And the process is carried a stage
higher when these complex solos, concerted pieces, choruses, and orchestral
effects, are combined into the vast ensemble of an oratorio or a musical
drama.




Once more the Arts of literary delineation, narrative and dramatic, furnish
us with illustrations. The tales of primitive times, like those with which
the storytellers of the East still amuse their listeners, are made up of
successive occurrences, mostly unnatural, that have no natural connexions:
they are but so many separate adventures put together without necessary sequence.
But in a good modern work of imagination, the events are the proper products
of the characters living under given conditions; and cannot at will be changed
in their order or kind, without injuring or destroying the general effect.
Further, the characters themselves, which in early fictions play their respective
parts without showing how their minds are modified by one another or by the
events, are now presented to us as held together by complex moral relations,
and as acting and reacting on one another's natures.




§115. Evolution, then, under its primary aspect, is a change from
a less coherent form to a more coherent form, consequent on the dissipation
of motion and integration of matter. This is the universal process through
which sensible existences, individually and as a whole, pass during the ascending
halves of their histories. This proves to be a character displayed in those
earliest changes which the visible Universe is supposed to have undergone,
and in those latest changes which we trace in societies and the products
of social life. And, throughout, the unification proceeds in several ways
simultaneously.




Alike during the evolution of the Solar System, of a planet, of an organism,
of a nation, there is progressive aggregation. This may be shown by the increasing
density of the matter already contained in it; or by the drawing into it
of matter that was before separate: or by both. But in any case it implies
a loss of relative motion. At the same time, the parts into which the mass
has divided, severally consolidate in like manner. We see this in that formation
of planets and satellites which has gone on along with the progressive concentration
of the nebula that originated the Solar System; we see it in that growth
of separate organs which advances, pari passu, with the growth of each organism;
we see it in that rise of special industrial centres and special masses of
population, which is associated with the development of each society. Always
more or less of local integration accompanies the general integration. And
then, beyond the increased closeness of juxtaposition among the components
of the whole, and among the components of each part, there is increase of
combination, producing mutual dependence of them. Dimly foreshadowed as this
mutual dependence is among inorganic existences, both celestial and terrestrial,
it becomes distinct among organic and super-organic existences. From the
lowest living forms upwards, the degree of development is marked by the degree
in which the several parts constitute a co-operative assemblage -- are integrated
into a group of organs that live for and by one another. The like contrast
between undeveloped and developed societies is conspicuous: there is an ever-increasing
coordination of parts. And the same thing holds true of social products,
as, for instance, of Science; which has become highly integrated not only
in the sense that each division is made up of dependent propositions, but
in the sense that the several divisions cannot carry on their respective
investigations without aid from one another.




Chapter 15




The Law of Evolution (continued)




§116. Changes great in their amounts and various in their kinds,
which accompany those dealt with in the last chapter, have thus far been
ignored; or, if tacitly recognized, have not been avowedly recognized. Integration
of each whole has been described as taking place simultaneously with integration
of each of the parts into which it divides itself. But how comes the whole
to divide itself into parts? This is a transformation more remarkable than
the passage of the whole from an incoherent to a coherent state; and a formula
which says nothing about it omits more than half the phenomena to be formulated.




This larger half of the phenomena we have now to treat. Here we are concerned
with those. secondary re-distributions of matter and motion which go on along
with the primary re-distribution. We saw that while in very incoherent aggregates,
secondary redistributions produce but evanescent results, in aggregates that
reach and maintain a certain medium state, neither very incoherent nor very
coherent, results of a relatively persistent kind are produced -- structural
modifications. And our next inquiry must be -- What is the universal expression
for these structural modifications?




Already an implied answer has been given by the title -- Compound Evolution.
Already in distinguishing as simple Evolution, that integration of matter
and dissipation of motion which is unaccompanied by secondary re-distributions,
it has been tacitly asserted that where secondary re-distributions occur
complexity arises; the mass, instead of remaining uniform, must have become
multiform. The proposition is an identical one. To say that along with the
primary re-distribution there go secondary re-distributions, is to say that
along with the change from a diffused to a concentrated state, there goes
a change from a homogeneous state to a heterogeneous state. The components
o f the mass while becoming integrated have also become differentiated.*
<* The terms here used must be understood in relative senses. Since we
know of no such thing as absolute diffusion or absolute concentration, the
change can never be anything but a change from a more diffused to a less
diffused state -- from smaller coherence to greater coherence; and, similarly,
as no concrete existences present us with absolute simplicity -- as nothing
is perfectly uniform -- as we nowhere find complete homogeneity, the transformation
is literally always towards greater complexity or increased multiformity
or further heterogeneity. This qualification the reader must bear in mind.>




This, then, is the second aspect under which we have to study Evolution.
In the last chapter we contemplated existences of all orders as displaying
progressive integration. In this chapter we have to contemplate them as displaying
progressive differentiation.




§117. A growing variety of structure throughout our Sidereal System,
is implied by the contrasts which indicate aggregation throughout it. We
have nebulae that are diffused and irregular, and others that are spiral,
annular, spherical. We have groups of stars the members of which are scattered,
and groups concentrated in all degrees down to closely-packed globular clusters.
We have these groups differing in the numbers of their members, from those
containing several thousand stars to those containing but two. Among individual
stars there are great contrasts, real as well as apparent, of size; and from
their unlike colours, as well as from their unlike spectra, many contrasts
among their physical states are inferable. Beyond which heterogeneities in
detail there are general heterogeneities. Nebulae are numerous in some regions
of the heavens, while in others there are only stars. Here the celestial
spaces are almost void of objects, and there we see dense aggregations, nebular
and stellar together.




The matter of our Solar System during its integration has become more
multiform. The concentrating gaseous spheroid, dissipating its contained
molecular motion, acquiring more marked unlikeness of density and temperature
between interior and exterior, and leaving behind from time to time annular
portions of its mass, underwent differentiations which increased in number
and degree, until there was evolved the existing organized group of Sun,
planets, and satellites. The heterogeneity of this is variously displayed.
There are the immense contrasts between the Sun and the planets, in bulk
and in weight; as well as the subordinate contrasts of like kind between
one planet and another, and between the planets and their satellites. There
is the further contrast between the Sun and the planets in respect of temperature;
and there are indications that the planets differ from one another in their
proper heats, as well as in the heats which they receive from the sun. Bearing
in mind that they also differ in the inclinations of their orbits, the inclinations
of their axes, in their specific gravities, and in their physical constitutions,
we see how decided is the complexity wrought in the Solar System by those
secondary redistributions which have accompanied the primary redistribution.




§118. Passing from illustrations, which, as assuming the nebular
hypothesis, must be classed as more or less hypothetical, let us descend
to evidence less open to objection.




It is now agreed among geologists that the Earth was once a molten mass.
Originally, then, it was comparatively homogeneous in consistence; and, because
of the circulation which takes place in heated liquids, must have been comparatively
homogeneous in temperature. It must, too, have been surrounded by an atmosphere
consisting partly of the elements of air and water, and partly of those various
other elements which assume gaseous forms at high temperatures. Cooling by
radiation must, after an immense time, have resulted in differentiating the
portion most able to part with its heat; namely, the surface. A further cooling,
leading to deposition of all solidifiable elements contained in the atmosphere,
and then to precipitation of the water, leaving behind the air, must thus
have caused a second marked differentiation; and as the condensation commenced
on the coolest parts of the surface-namely, about the poles there must so
have resulted the first geographical distinctions.




To these illustrations of growing heterogeneity, inferred from known laws,
Geology adds an extensive series that have been inductively established.
The Earth' s structure has been age after age further complicated by additions
to the strata which form its crust; and it has been age after age made more
various by the increasing composition of these strata; the more recent of
which, formed from the detritus of the more ancient, are many of them rendered
highly complex by the mixtures of materials they contain. This heterogeneity
has been vastly augmented by the actions of the Earth's nucleus on its envelope;
whence have resulted not only many kinds of igneous rocks, but the tilting
up of sedimentary strata at all angles, the formation of faults and metallic
veins, the production of endless dislocations and irregularities. Again,
geologists teach us that the Earth's surface has been growing more varied
in elevation -- that the most ancient mountain-systems are the smallest,
and the Andes and Himalayas the most modern; while, in all probability, there
have been corresponding changes in the bed of the ocean. As a consequence
of this ceaseless multiplication of differences, we now find that no considerable
portion of the Earth's exposed surface, is like any other portion, either
in contour, in geologic structure, or in chemical composition.




There has been simultaneously going on a gradual differentiation of climates.
As fast as the Earth cooled and its crust solidified, inequalities of temperature
arose between those parts of its surface most exposed to the Sun and those
less exposed; and thus in time there came to be the marked contrasts between
regions of perpetual ice and snow regions where winter and summer alternately
reign for periods varying according to the latitude, and regions where summer
follows summer with scarcely an appreciable variation. Meanwhile, elevations
and subsidences, recurring here and there over the Earth's crust, and producing
irregular distributions of land and sea, have entailed various modifications
of climate beyond those dependent on latitude; while a yet further series
of such modifications has been caused by increased differences of height
in the surface, which in sundry places have brought arctic, temperate, and
tropical climates to within a few miles of one another. The general results
are, that every extensive region has its own meteorological conditions, and
that every locality in each region differs more or less from others in those
conditions: as also in its structure, its contour, its soil.




Thus between our existing Earth, the phenomena of whose varied crust neither
geographers, geologists, mineralogists, nor meteorologists have yet enumerated,
and the molten globe out of which it was evolved, the contrast in heterogeneity
is striking.




§119. The clearest, most numerous, and most varied illustrations
of the advance in multiformity that accompanies the advance in integration,
are furnished by living bodies. Distinguished as these are by the great quantity
of their contained molecular motion, they exhibit in an extreme degree the
secondary re-distributions which contained motion facilitates. The history
of every plant and every animal, while it is a history of increasing bulk,
is also a history of simultaneously-increasing differences among the parts.
This transformation has several aspects.




The chemical composition which is almost uniform throughout the substance
of a germ, vegetal or animal, gradually ceases to be uniform. The several
compounds, nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous, which were homogeneously mixed,
segregate by degrees, become diversely proportioned in diverse places, and
produce new compounds by transformation or modification. In plants the albuminous
and amylaceous matters which form the substance of the embryo, give origin
here to a preponderance of chlorophyll and there to a preponderance of cellulose.
Over the parts that are becoming leaf-surfaces, certain of the materials
are metamorphosed into wax. In this place starch passes into one of its isomeric
equivalents, sugar; and in that place into another of its isomeric equivalents,
gum. By secondary change some of the cellulose is modified into wood; while
some of it is modified into the allied substance which, in large masses,
we call cork. And the more numerous compounds thus arising, initiate further
unlikenesses by mingling in unlike ratios. The yelk, or essential part of
an animal-ovum, having components which are at first evenly diffused among
one another, chemically transforms itself in like manner. Its protein, its
fats, its salts, become dissimilarly proportioned in different localities;
and multiplication of isomeric forms leads to further mixtures and combinations
that constitute minor distinctions of parts. Here a mass darkening by accumulation
of hematine, presently dissolves into blood. There fatty and albuminous matters
uniting, compose nerve-tissue. At this spot the nitrogenous substance takes
on the character of cartilage; and at that, calcareous salts, gathering together
in the cartilage, lay the foundation of bone. All these chemical differentiations
slowly become more marked and more numerous.




Simultaneously arise contrasts of minute structure. Distinct tissues take
the place of matter that had previously no recognizable unlikenesses of parts;
and each of the tissues first produced undergoes secondary modifications,
causing sub-species of tissues. The granular protoplasm of the vegetal germ,
equally with that which forms the unfolding point of every shoot, gives origin
to cells that are at first alike. Some of these, as they grow, flatten and
unite by their edges to form the outer layer. Others lengthen, and at the
same time join together in bundles to lay the foundation of woody-fibre.
Before much elongating, certain of these cells show a breaking-up of the
lining deposit, which, during elongation, becomes a spiral thread, or a reticulated
framework, or a series of rings; and by the longitudinal union of cells so
lined, vessels are formed. Meanwhile each of these differentiated tissues
is re-differentiated: instance that constituting the essential part of a
leaf, the upper stratum of which is composed of chlorophyll-cells remaining
closely packed, while the lower stratum becomes spongy. Of the same general
character are the transformations undergone by the fertilized ovum, which,
at first a cluster of similar cells, quickly reaches a stage marked by dissimilarity
of the cells. More frequently recurring fission of the superficial cells,
a resulting smaller size of them, and subsequent union of them into an outer
layer, constitute the first differentiation; and the middle area of this
layer is rendered unlike the rest by still more active processes of like
kind. By such modifications upon modifications, many and various, arise the
classes and sub-classes of tissues which, intricately combined one with another,
compose organs.




Equally conforming to the law are the changes in general shape and in
the shapes of organs. All germs are at first spheres and all limbs are at
first buds or mere rounded lumps. From this primordial uniformity and simplicity,
there take place divergences, both of the wholes and of the leading parts,
towards multiformity of contour and towards complexity of contour. Remove
the compactly-folded young leaves that terminate every shoot, and the nucleus
is found to be a central knob bearing lateral knobs, one of which may grow
into either a leaf, a sepal, a petal, a stamen, or a carpel: all these eventually
-- unlike parts being at first alike. The shoots themselves also depart from
their primitive unity of form; and while each branch becomes more or less
different from the rest, the whole exposed part of the plant becomes different
from the imbedded part. So, too, is it with the organs of animals. One of
the Arthropoda, for instance, has limbs that were originally indistinguishable
from one another -- composed a homogeneous series; but by continuous divergences
there have arisen among them unlikenesses of size and form, such as we see
in the crab and the lobster. Vertebrate creatures equally exemplify this
truth. The wings and legs of a bird are of similar shapes when they bud-out
from the sides of the embryo.




Thus in every plant and animal, conspicuous secondary re-distributions
accompany the primary re-distribution. A first difference between two parts;
in each of these parts other differences which presently become as marked
as the first; and a like multiplication of differences in geometrical progression,
until there is reached that complex combination constituting the adult. This
is the history of all living things whatsoever. Pursuing an idea which Harvey
set afloat, it has been shown by Wolff and Von Baer, that during its development
each organism passes from a state of homogeneity to a state of heterogeneity.
For a generation this truth has been accepted by biologists.*

<* It was in 1852 that I became acquainted with Von Baer's expression
of this general principle. The universality of law had ever been with me
a postulate, carrying with it a correlative belief, tacit if not avowed,
in unity of method throughout Nature. This statement that every plant and
animal, originally homogeneous, becomes gradually heterogeneous, set up a
co-ordination among thoughts which were previously unorganized, or but partially
organized. It is true that in Social Statics (Part IV, §§12-16),
published before meeting with Von Baer's formula, the development of an individual
organism and the development of a social organism, are described as alike
consisting in advance from simplicity to complexity, and from independent
like parts to mutually-dependent unlike parts. But though admitting of extension
to other super-organic phenomena, this statement was too special to admit
of extension to inorganic phenomena. The great aid tendered by Von Baer's
formula arose from its higher abstractness; since, only when organic transformations
had been expressed in the most abstract terms, was the way opened for seeing
what they had in common with inorganic transformations. The conviction that
this process of change gone through by each unfolding organism, is a process
gone through by all things, found its first coherent statement in an essay
on "Progress: its Law and Cause" which I published in the Westminster
Review for April, 1857 -- an essay with the first half of which this
chapter coincides in substance, and partly in form. In that essay, how ever,
as also in the first edition of this work, I fell into the error of supposing
that the transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous constitutes
Evolution. We have seen that this is not so. It constitutes the secondary
re-distribution accompanying the primary re-distribution in that Evolution
which we distinguish as compound; or rather is we shill presently see, it
constitutes the most conspicuous trait of this secondary re-distribution.>




§120. When we pass from individual forms of life to life at large,
and ask whether the same law is seen in the ensemble of its manifestations
-- whether modern plants and animals have more heterogeneous structures than
ancient ones, and whether the Earth's present Flora and Fauna are more heterogeneous
than the Flora and Fauna of the past, -- we find the evidence so fragmentary
that nearly every conclusion is open to dispute. Three-fifths of the Earth's
surface being covered by water; a great part of the exposed land being inaccessible
to, or untravelled by, the geologist; the most of the remainder having been
scarcely more than glanced at; and even familiar portions, as England, having
been so imperfectly explored that a new series of strata has been added within
these few years; it is clearly impossible to say with any certainty what
creatures have, and what have not, existed at any particular period. Considering
the perishable nature of many of the lower organic forms, the metamorphosis
of many beds of sediment, and the gaps that occur among the rest, we shall
see further reason for distrusting our deductions. On the one hand, the repeated
discovery of vertebrate remains in strata previously supposed to contain
none -- of reptiles where only fish were thought to exist, and of mammals
where it was believed there were no creatures higher than reptiles; renders
it daily more manifest how small is the value of negative evidence. On the
other hand, the worthlessness of the assumption that we have found the earliest,
or anything like the earliest, organic remains, is becoming equally clear.
That the oldest known aqueous formations have been greatly changed by igneous
action, and that still older ones have been totally transformed by it, is
becoming undeniable. And the fact that sedimentary strata earlier than any
we know have been melted up, being admitted, it must also be admitted that
we cannot say how far back in time this destruction of sedimentary strata
has been going on. For aught we know to the contrary, only the last chapters
of the Earth's biological history may have come down to us.




Most inferences must thus be extremely questionable. If a progressionist
argues that the earliest known vertebrate remains are those of Fishes, which
are the most homogeneous of the Vertebrata; that Reptiles, which are more
heterogeneous, are later; and that later still, and more heterogeneous still,
are Mammals and Birds; it may be replied that the Palaeozoic deposits, not
being estuary deposits, are not likely to contain the remains of terrestrial
Vertebrata, which may nevertheless have existed. A like answer may be made
to the argument that the vertebrate fauna of the Palaeozoic period, consisting,
so far as we know, entirely of Fishes, was less heterogeneous than the modern
vertebrate fauna, which includes Reptiles, Birds and Mammals, of multitudinous
genera; while a uniformitarian may contend with great show of truth, that
this appearance of higher and more varied forms in later geologic eras, was
due to progressive immigration -- that a continent slowly upheaved from the
ocean at a point remote from pre-existing continents, would necessary be
peopled from them in a succession like that which our strata display. At
the same time the counter-arguments may be proved equally inconclusive. When,
to show that there cannot have been a continuous evolution of the more homogeneous
organic forms into the more heterogeneous ones, the uniformitarian points
to the breaks which occur in the succession of these forms, there is the
sufficient answer that current geological changes show us why such breaks
must occur, and why, by subsidences and elevations of large areas, there
must be produced breaks so immense as those which divide the great geologic
epochs. Or again, if the opponent of the development hypothesis cites the
facts set forth by Professor Huxley in his lecture on "Persistent Types"
-- if he points out that "of some two hundred known orders of plants,
not one is exclusively fossil," while "among animals, there is
not a single totally extinct class; and of the orders, at the outside not
more than seven per cent are unrepresented in the existing creation"
-- if he urges that among these some have continued from the Silurian epoch
to our own day with scarcely any change and if he infers that there is a
much greater average resemblance between the living forms of the past and
those of the present, than consists with the hypothesis; there is still a
satisfactory reply, on which in fact Prof. Huxley insists; namely, that we
have evidence of a "pre-geologic era" of unknown duration. And,
indeed, when we remember that the enormous subsidences of the Silurian period
show the Earth's crust to have been approximately as thick then as it is
now -- when we conclude that the time taken to form so thick a crust, must
have been immense as compared with the time which has since elapsed -- when
we assume, as we must, that during this comparatively immense time the geologic
and biologic changes went on at their usual rates; it becomes manifest, not
only that the palaeontological records which we find do not negative the
theory of evolution, but that they are such as might rationally be looked
for.




Moreover, though the evidence suffices neither for proof nor disproof,
yet some of its most conspicuous facts support the belief, that the more
heterogeneous organisms and groups of organisms, have been evolved from the
less heterogeneous ones. The average community of type between the fossils
of adjacent strata, and especially the community found between the latest
tertiary fossils and creatures now existing, is one of these facts. The discovery
in some modern deposits of such forms as the Pataeotherium and Anaplotherium,
which, according to Prof. Owen, had a type of structure intermediate between
some of the types now existing, is another of these facts. And the comparatively
recent appearance of Man, is a third fact of this kind, which possesses still
greater significance.*<*I leave these sentences as they stood when written
nearly forty years ago, thinking it better to name in a note the vast amount
of confirmatory evidence which has accumulated in the interval, and which
renders unassailable the conclusion drawn. In 1862 no one thought it possible
that there could be proof of a transition between reptiles and birds; and
yet since that time forms unquestionably transitional have been found. Though
the indications of many other such kinships, by the discoveries of intercalary
forms, have not yet in most cases been followed by proofs of continuous genealogy,
yet it is otherwise in the case of the horse, the ancestry of which has been
traced. Evidence of descent from a three-toed animal of the Miocene period
is considered by Prof. Huxley as conclusive: sceptical and cautious though
he is. In his Inaugural Address to the Geological Society in 1870, on "Paleontology
and the Doctrine of Evolution." many further illustrations are given
of kinships between ancient and modern types. Nowadays, indeed, there is
universal agreement among naturalists (a few surviving disciples of Cuvier
in France being excepted) that all organic forms have arisen by the superposing
of modifications upon modifications: increase in heterogeneity being an average
implication.>

Hence we may say that though our knowledge of past life upon the Earth is
relatively small, yet what we have, and what we continually add to it, support
the belief that there has been an evolution of the simple into the complex
alike in individual forms and in the aggregate of forms.




§121. Advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous is clearly
displayed in the progress of the latest and most heterogeneous creature --
Man. While the peopling of the Earth has been going on, the human organism
has grown more heterogeneous among the civilized divisions of the species;
and the species, as a whole, has been made more heterogeneous by the multiplication
of races and the differentiation of them from one another. In proof of the
first of these statements may be cited the fact that, in the relative development
of the limbs, civilized men depart more widely from the general type of the
placental mammalia, than do the lowest men. Though often possessing well-developed
body and arms, the Papuan has very small legs: thus reminding us of the man-like
apes, in which there is no great contrast in size between the hind and fore
limbs. But in the European, the greater length and massiveness of the legs
has become marked -- the fore and hind limbs are relatively more heterogeneous.
The greater ratio which the cranial bones bear to the facial bones, illustrates
the same truth. Among the Vertebrata in general, evolution is marked by an
increasing heterogeneity in the vertebral column, and especially in the components
of the skull: the higher forms being distinguished by the relatively larger
size of the bones which cover the brain, and the relatively smaller size
of those which form the jaws, etc. Now this trait, which is stronger in Man
than in any other creature, is stronger in the European than in the savage.
Moreover, from the greater extent and variety of faculty he exhibits, we
may infer that the civilized man has also a more complex or heterogeneous
nervous system than the uncivilized man; and, indeed, the fact is in part
visible in the increased ratio which his cerebrum bears to the subjacent
ganglia. If further elucidation be needed, every nursery furnishes it. In
the infant European we see sundry resemblances to the lower human races;
as in the flatness of the alae of the nose, the depression of its bridge,
the divergence and forward opening of the nostrils, the form of the lips,
the absence of a frontal sinus, the width between the eyes, the smallness
of the legs. Now as the developmental process by which these traits are turned
into those of the adult European, is a continuation of that change from the
homogeneous to the heterogeneous displayed during the previous evolution
of the embryo; it follows that the parallel developmental process by which
the like traits of the barbarous races have been turned into those of the
civilized races, has also been a continuation of the change from the homogeneous
to the heterogeneous. The truth of the second statement is so obvious as
scarcely to need illustration. Every work on Ethnology, by its divisions
and subdivisions of races, bears testimony to it. Even were we to admit that
Mankind originated from several separate stocks, it would still remain true
that as, from each of these stocks, there have sprung many now widely different
tribes, which are proved by philological evidence to have had a common origin,
the race as a whole is more heterogeneous than it once was. Add to which
that we have, in the Anglo-Americans, an example of a new variety arising
within these few generations; and that, if we may trust to the descriptions
of observers, we are likely soon to have another such in Australia.




§122. On passing from Humanity under its individual form to Humanity
as socially embodied, we find the general law still more variously exemplified.
The change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous is displayed equally
in the progress of civilization as a whole, and in the progress of every
tribe or nation; and it is still going on with increasing rapidity.




Society in its first and lowest stage is a homogeneous assemblage of individuals
having like powers and like functions: the only marked difference of function
being that which accompanies difference of sex. Every man is warrior, hunter,
fisherman, tool-maker, builder; every woman performs the same drudgeries;
every family is self-sufficing, and, save for purposes of companionship,
aggression, and defence, might as well live apart from the rest. Very early,
however, in the course of social evolution, we find an incipient differentiation
between the governing and the governed. Some kind of chieftainship soon arises
after the advance from the state of separate wandering families to that of
a nomadic tribe. The authority of the strongest and cunningest makes itself
felt among savages, as in a herd of animals or a posse of schoolboys: especially
in war. At first, however, it is indefinite, uncertain; is shared by others
of scarcely inferior power; and is unaccompanied by any difference in occupation
or style of living: the first ruler kills his own game, makes his own weapons,
builds his own hut, and, economically considered, does not differ from others
of his tribe. Along with conquests and the massing of tribes, the contrast
between the governing and the governed grows more decided. Supreme power
becomes hereditary in one family; the head, first military and then political,
ceasing to provide for his own wants, is served by others; and he begins
to assume the sole office of ruling. At the same time there has been arising
a co-ordinate species of government -- that of Religion. Ancient records
and traditions show that the earliest conquerors and kings came to be regarded
as divine personages. The maxims and commands they uttered during their lives
were held sacred after their deaths, and were enforced by their divinely-descended
successors; who in their turns were promoted to the pantheon of the race,
there to be worshipped and propitiated along with their predecessors. For
a long time these connate forms of government -- civil and religious -- remain
closely associated. For many generations the king continues to be the chief
priest, and the priesthood to be members of the royal race. For many ages
religious law continues to contain more or less of civil regulation, and
civil law to possess more or less of religious sanction; and even among the
most advanced nations these two controlling agencies are by no means completely
differentiated from each other. Having a common root with these, and gradually
diverging from them, we find yet another controlling agency -- that of Manners
or ceremonial usages. Titles of honour were originally the names of the god-king;
afterwards of God and the king; still later of persons of high rank; and
finally came, some of them, to be used between man and man. Forms of complimentary
address were at first expressions of propitiation from prisoners to their
conqueror, or from subjects to their ruler, either human or divine -- expressions
that were afterwards used subordinate authorities, and slowly descended into
ordinary intercourse. Modes of salutation were once signs of subjection to
a victor, afterwards obeisances made before the monarch and used in worship
of him when dead. Presently others of the god-descended race were similarly
saluted; and by degrees some of the salutations have become the due of all.*<*
For detailed proof see essay on "Manners and Fashion" in Essays,
etc., Vol. III.> Thus, no sooner does the originally homogeneous social
mass differentiate into the governed and the governing parts, than this last
exhibits an incipient differentiation into religious and secular-Church and
State; while at the same time or still earlier there begins to take shape,
that less definite species of government which rules our daily intercourse
-- a species of government which, as we may see in heralds' colleges, in
books of the peerage, in masters of ceremonies, is not without a certain
embodiment of its own. Each of these kinds of government is itself subject
to successive differentiations. In the course of ages, there arises, as among
ourselves, a highly complex political organization of monarch, ministers,
lords and commons, with their subordinate administrative departments, courts
of justice, revenue offices, etc., supplemented in the provinces by municipal
governments, county governments, parish or union governments -- all of them
more or less elaborated. By its side there grows up a highly complex religious
organization, with its various grades of officials from archbishops down
to sextons, its colleges, convocations, ecclesiastical courts, etc.; to all
which must be added the ever-multiplying independent sects, each with its
general and local authorities. And simultaneously there is developed a complicated
system of customs, manners, and temporary fashions, enforced by society at
large, and serving to control those minor transactions between man and man
which are not regulated by civil and religious law. Moreover, it is to be
observed that this increasing heterogeneity in the governmental appliances
of each nation, has been accompanied by an increasing heterogeneity in the
governmental appliances of different nations. All peoples are more or less
unlike in their political systems and legislation, in their creeds and religious
institutions, in their customs and ceremonial usages.




Meanwhile there has been going on a differentiation of a more familiar
kind; that, namely, by which the mass of the community has been segregated
into distinct classes and orders of workers. While the governing part has
undergone the complex development above indicated, the governed part has
undergone a more complex development, which has resulted in that minute division
of labour characterizing advanced nations. It is needless to trace out this
progress from its first stages, up through the caste-divisions of the East
and the incorporated guilds of Europe, to the elaborate producing and distributing
organization existing among ourselves. Political economists have long since
described the industrial progress which, through increasing division of labour,
ends with a civilized community whose members severally perform different
actions for one another; and they have further pointed out the changes through
which the solitary producer of any one commodity, is transformed into a combination
of producers who, united under a master, take separate parts in the manufacture
of such commodity. But there are yet other and higher phases of this advance
from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous in the industrial organization
of society. Long after considerable progress has been made in the division
of labour among the different classes of workers, there is relatively little
division of labour among the widely separated parts of the community: the
nation continues comparatively homogeneous in the respect that in each district
the same occupations are pursued. But when roads and other means of transit
become numerous and good, the different districts begin to assume different
functions, and to become mutually dependent. The calico-manufacture locates
itself in this county, the woollen-manufacture in that; silks are produced
here, lace there; stockings in one place, shoes in another; pottery, hardware,
cutlery, come to have their special towns; and ultimately every locality
grows more or less distinguished from the rest by the leading occupation
carried on in it. Nay, more, this subdivision of functions shows itself not
only among the different parts of the same nation, but among different nations.
That exchange of commodities which free-trade promises so greatly to increase,
will ultimately have the effect of specializing, in a greater or less degree,
the industry of each people. So that beginning with a primitive tribe, almost
if not quite homogeneous in the functions of its members, the progress has
been, and still is, towards an economic aggregation of the whole human race;
growing ever more heterogeneous in respect of the separate functions assumed
by separate nations, the separate functions assumed by the local sections
of each nation, the separate functions assumed by the many kinds of producers
in each place, and the separate functions assumed by the workers united in
growing or making each commodity. And then, lastly, has to be named the vast
organization of distributers, wholesale and retail, forming so conspicuous
an element in our town-populations, which is becoming ever more specialized
in its structure.




§123. Not only is the law thus exemplified in the evolution of the
social organism, but it is exemplified in the evolution of all products of
human thought and action, whether concrete or abstract, real or ideal. Let
us take Language as our first illustration.




The lowest form of language is the exclamation, by which an entire idea
is vaguely conveyed through a single sound; as among the lower animals. That
human language ever consisted solely of exclamations, and so was strictly
homogeneous in respect of its parts of speech, we have no evidence. But that
language can be traced down to a form in which nouns and verbs are its only
elements, is an established fact. In the gradual multiplication of parts
of speech out of these primary ones -- in the differentiation of verbs into
active and Passive, of nouns into abstract and concrete - in the rise of
distinctions of mood, tense, person, or number and case -- in the formation
of auxiliary verbs, of adjectives, adverbs, pronouns, prepositions, articles
-- in the divergence of those orders, genera, species, and varieties of parts
of speech by which civilized races express minute modifications of meaning;
we see a change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. And it may be
remarked that it is more especially because it has carried this subdivision
of functions further than any other language, that the English language is
structurally superior. Another process throughout which we may trace the
development of language, is the differentiation of words of allied meanings.
Philology early disclosed the truth that in all languages words may be grouped
into families having each a common ancestry. An aboriginal name, applied
indiscriminately to each member of an extensive and ill-defined class of
things or actions, presently undergoes modifications by which the chief divisions
of the class are expressed. These several names springing from the primitive
root, themselves become the parents of other names still further modified.
And by the aid of those systematic modes, which presently arise, of making
derivatives and forming compounds expressing still smaller distinctions,
there is finally developed a tribe of words so heterogeneous in sound and
meaning, that to the initiated it seems incredible they should have had a
common origin. Meanwhile, from other roots there are being evolved other
such tribes, until there results a language of a hundred thousand different
words, signifying as many different objects, qualities, acts. Yet another
way in which language advances from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous,
is by the multiplication of languages. Whether, as Max Müller and Bunsen
think, all languages have grown from one stock, or whether, as some philologists
say, they have grown from two or more stocks, it is clear that since large
families of languages, as the Indo-European, are of one parentage, there
have arisen multiplied kinds through a process of continuous divergence.
The diffusion over the Earth's surface which has led to differentiation of
the race, has simultaneously led to differentiation of its speech: a truth
which we see further illustrated in each country by the dialects found in
separate districts. Thus linguistic changes conform to the general law, alike
in the evolution of languages, in the evolution of families of words, and
in the evolution of parts of speech. If in our conception of language we
include not its component words only but those combinations of them by which
distinct ideas are conveyed -- namely sentences -- we have to recognize one
more aspect of its progress from homogeneity to heterogeneity which has accompanied
the progress in integration. Rude speech consists of simple propositions
having subjects and predicates indefinitely linked; and anything like a complex
meaning is conveyed by a succession of such propositions connected only by
juxtaposition. Even in the speech of comparatively developed peoples, as
the Hebrews, we find very little complexity. Compare a number of verses from
the Bible with some paragraphs from a modern writer, and the increase in
heterogeneity of structure is very conspicuous. And beyond the fact that
many of our ordinary sentences are by the supplementary clauses, secondary
propositions, and qualifying phrases they contain made relatively involved,
there is the fact that there is great variety among the sentences in a page:
now long, now short, now formed in one way, now in another, so that a double
progress in heterogeneity in the style of composition is displayed.




On passing from spoken to written language, we come upon several classes
of facts, having similar implications. Written language is connate with Painting
and Sculpture; and at first all three are appendages of Architecture, and
have a direct connexion with the early form of settled government -- the
theocratic. Merely noting the fact that sundry wild races, as the Australians
and the tribes of South Africa, are given to depicting personages and events
on the walls of caves, which are probably regarded as sacred places, let
us pass to the case of the Egyptians. Among them, as also among the Assyrians,
we see mural paintings used to decorate the temple of the god and the palace
of the king (which were, indeed, originally identical); and as such they
were governmental appliances in the same sense that stage-pageants and religious
feasts were. Further, they were governmental appliances in virtue of representing
the worship of the god, the triumphs of the god-king, the submission of his
subjects, and the punishment of the rebellious. And yet again they were governmental,
as being the products of an art reverenced by the people as a sacred mystery.
From the constant use of this pictorial representation, there grew up the
but slightly-modified practice of picture-writing -- a practice which was
found still extant among the Mexicans at the time they were discovered. By
abbreviations analogous to those still going on in our own language, the
most familiar of these pictured figures were successively simplified; and
ultimately there grew up symbols, most of which had but distant resemblances
to the things for which they stood. The inference that the hieroglyphics
of the Egyptians thus arose, is confirmed by the fact that the picture-writing
of the Mexicans was found to have given birth to a like family of ideographic
forms; and among them, as among the Egyptians, these had been partially differentiated
into the kuriological or imitative, and the tropical or symbolic: which were,
however, used together in the same record. In Egypt, written language underwent
a further differentiation, resulting in the hieratic and the epistolographic
or enchorial: both derived from the original hieroglyphic. At the same time
for proper names, which could not be otherwise expressed, phonetic symbols
were employed; and though the Egyptians never achieved complete alphabetic
writing, yet it can scarcely be doubted that among other peoples phonetic
symbols, occasionally used in aid of ideographic ones, were the germs out
of which alphabetic writing arose. Once having become separate from hieroglyphics,
alphabetic writing itself underwent numerous differentiations -- multiplied
alphabets were produced: between most of which, however, connexions can still
be traced. And in each civilized nation there have now grown up, for the
representation of one set of sounds, several sets of written signs, used
for distinct purposes. Finally, through a yet more important differentiation
came printing; which, uniform in kind as it was at first, has since become
multiform.




§124. While written language was passing through its earlier stages
of development, the mural decoration which formed its root was being differentiated
into Painting and Sculpture. The gods, kings, men, and animals represented,
were originally marked by indented outlines and coloured. In most cases these
outlines were of such depth, and the object they circumscribed so far rounded,
as to form a species of work intermediate between intaglio and bas-relief.
In other cases we see an advance upon this: the spaces between the figures
being chiselled out, and the figures themselves appropriately tinted, a painted
bas-relief was produced. The restored Assyrian architecture at Sydenham exhibits
this style of art carried to greater perfection: the persons and things represented,
though still barbarously coloured, are carved with more truth and in greater
detail; and in the winged lions and bulls used for the angles of gateways,
we see advance towards a completely sculptured figure; which, nevertheless,
is still coloured and still forms part of the building. But though in Assyria
the production of a statue proper seems to have been little, if at all, attempted,
we may trace in Egyptian art the gradual separation of the sculptured figure
from the wall. While a walk through the collection in the British Museum
will afford an opportunity of observing transitions, it will bring into view
much evidence that the independent statues were derived from bas-reliefs:
newly all of them not only display that lateral attachment of the arms with
the body which is a characteristic of bas-relief, but have the back of the
statue united from head to foot with a block which stands in place of the
original wall. Greece repeated the leading stages of this progress. As in
Egypt and Assyria, these twin arts were at first united with each other and
with their parent, Architecture; and were aids of Religion and Government.
On the friezes of Greek temples, we see coloured bas-reliefs representing
sacrifices, battles, processions, games -- all in some sort religious. On
the pediments we see painted sculptures partially united with the tympanum,
and having for subjects the triumphs of gods or heroes. Even when we come
to statues that are definitely separated from the buildings to which they
pertain, we still find them coloured; and only in the later periods of Greek
civilization, does the differentiation of painting from sculpture appear
to have become complete. In Christian art there occurred a parallel re-genesis.
All early paintings and sculptures throughout Europe were religious in subject
-- represented Christs, crucifixions, virgins, holy families, apostles, saints.
They formed integral parts of church architecture, and were among the means
of exciting worship: as in Roman Catholic countries they still are. Moreover,
the early sculptures of Christ on the cross, of virgins, of saints, were
coloured; and it needs but to call to mind the painted madonnas and crucifixes
still abundant in continental churches, to perceive the significant fact
that painting and sculpture continue in closest connexion with each other,
where they continue in closest connexion with their parent. Even when Christian
sculpture become separate from painting, it was still at first religious
and governmental in its subjects -- was used for tombs in churches and statues
of saints and kings; while, at the same time, painting, where not purely
ecclesiastical, was applied to the decoration of palaces, and after representing
royal personages, was almost wholly devoted to sacred legends. Only in modern
times have painting and sculpture become entirely secular arts. Only within
these few centuries has painting been divided into historical, landscape,
marine, architectural, animal, still-life, etc., and sculpture grown heterogeneous
in respect of the variety of real and ideal subjects with which it occupies
itself.




Strange as it seems then, all forms of written language, of painting,
of sculpture, have a common root in those rude drawings on skins and cavern-walls
by which savages commemorated notable deeds of their chiefs, and which, during
social progress, developed into the politico-religious decorations of ancient
temples and palaces. Little resemblance as they now have, the bust that stands
on the console, the landscape that hangs against the wall, and the copy of
The Times lying upon the table, are remotely akin. The brazen face
of the knocker which the postman has just lifted, is related not only to
the woodcuts of the Illustrated London News which he is delivering,
but to the characters of the billet-doux which accompanies it. Between the
painted window the prayer-book on which its light falls, and the adjacent
monument, there is consanguinity. The effigies on our coins, the signs over
shops, the figures that fill every ledger, the coat-of-arms outside the carriage-panel,
and the placards inside the omnibus, are, in common with dolls, blue-books,
and paper-hangings, lineally descended from the sculpture-paintings and picture-writings
in which the Egyptians represented and recorded the triumphs and worship
of their god-kings. Perhaps no example can be given which more vividly illustrates
the multiplicity and heterogeneity of the products that in course of time
may arise by successive differentiations from a common stock.




The transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous thus displayed
in the separation of Painting and Sculpture from Architecture and from each
other, and in the greater variety of subjects they embody, is further displayed
in the structure of each work. A modern picture or statue is of far more
complex nature than an ancient one. An Egyptian sculpture-fresco represents
all its figures as on one plane -- that is, at the same distance from the
eye; and so is less heterogeneous than a painting that represents them as
at various distances. It exhibits all objects as similarly lighted; and so
is less heterogeneous than a painting which exhibits different objects, and
different parts of each object, as in different degrees of light. It uses
scarcely any but the primary colours, and these in their full intensities;
and so is less heterogeneous than a painting which, introducing the primary
colours but sparingly, employs an endless variety of intermediate tints,
each of heterogeneous composition, and differing from the rest not only in
quality but in strength. Moreover, these earliest works manifest great uniformity
of conception. In ancient societies the modes of representation were so fixed
that it was sacrilege to introduce a novelty. In Egyptian and Assyrian bas-reliefs,
deities, kings, priests, attendants, winged-figures and animals, are in all
cases depicted in like positions, special to each class, holding like implements,
doing like things, and with like expression or non-expression of face. If
a palm-grove is introduced, all the trees are of the same height, have the
same number of leaves, and are equidistant. When water is imitated, each
wave is a counterpart of the rest; and the fish, almost always of one kind,
are evenly distributed. The beards of the Assyrian kings, gods, and winged-figures,
are everywhere similar; as are the manes of the lions, and equally so those
of the horses. Hair is represented throughout by one form of curl. The king's
beard is built up of compound tiers of uniform curls, alternating with twisted
tiers placed transversely and arranged with perfect regularity; and the terminal
tufts of the bulls' tails are represented in exactly the same manner. Without
tracing out analogous traits in early Christian art, in which, though less
striking, they are still visible, the advance in heterogenity will be sufficiently
manifest on remembering that in the pictures of our own day the composition
is endlessly varied; the attitudes, faces, expressions, unlike; the subordinate
objects different in size, form, position, texture. Or, if we compare an
Egyptian statue, seated upright on a block, with hands on knees, fingers
outspread and parallel, eyes looking straight forward, and the two sides
perfectly symmetrical, with a statue of the advanced Greek or the modern
school, which is asymmetrical in respect of the position of the head, the
body, the limbs, the arrangement of the hair, dress, appendages, and in its
relations to neighbouring objects, we see the change from the homogeneous
to the heterogeneous clearly manifested.




§125. In the co-ordinate origin and gradual differentiation of Poetry,
Music, and Dancing, we have another series of illustrations. Rhythm in speech,
rhythm in sound, and rhythm in motion, were in the beginning, parts of the
same thing. Among existing barbarous tribes we find them still united. The
dances of savages are accompanied by some kind of monotonous chant, the clapping
of hands, the striking of rude instruments: there are measured movements,
measured words, and measured tones; and the whole ceremony, usually having
reference to war or sacrifice, is of governmental character. The early records
of the historic races similarly show these three forms of metrical action
united in religious festivals. In the Hebrew writings we read that the triumphal
ode composed by Moses on the defeat of the Egyptians, was sung to an accompaniment
of dancing and timbrels. The Israelites danced and sung "at the inauguration
of the golden calf. And as it is generally agreed that this representation
of the Deity was borrowed from the mysteries of Apis, it is probable that
the dancing Was copied from that of the Egyptians on those occasions."
There was an annual dance in Shiloh on the sacred festival; and David danced
before the ark. Again, in Greece the like relation existed: the original
type being there, as probably in other cases, a simultaneous chanting and
mimetic representation of the achievements of the god. The Spartan dances
were accompanied by hymns; and in general the Greeks had "no festivals
or religious assemblies but what were accompanied with songs and dances"
-- both of them being forms of worship used before altars. Among the Romans,
too, there were sacred dances: the Salian and Lupercalian being named as
of that kind. Even in the early Christian church, dances in the choir at
festivals, occasionally led by bishops, were among the forms of worship,
and in some places continued down to the 18th century. The incipient separation
of these once united arts from each other and from religion, was early visible
in Greece. Probably diverging from dances partly religious, partly warlike,
as the Corybantian, came the war-dances proper, of which there were various
kinds; and from these resulted secular dances. Meanwhile Music and Poetry,
though still joined, came to have an existence separate from dancing. The
primitive Greek poems, religious in subject, were not recited but chanted;
and though at first the chant of the poet was accompanied by the dance of
the chorus, it ultimately grew into independence. Later still, when the poem
had been differentiated into epic and lyric -- when it became the custom
to sing the lyric and recite the epic-poetry proper was born. As, during
the same period, musical instruments were being multiplied, we may presume
that music came to have an existence apart from words. And both of them were
beginning to assume other forms than the religious. Facts having like implications
might be cited from the histories of later times and peoples: as the practices
of our Anglo-Saxon "gleemen" and Celtic bards, who sang to the
harp heroic narratives versified by themselves to music of their own composition:
thus uniting the now separate offices of poet, composer, vocalist, and instrumentalist.
The common origin and gradual differentiation of Dancing, Poetry, and Music
is thus sufficiently manifest.




Besides being displayed in the separation of these arts from one another
and from religion, growing heterogeneity is also displayed in the multiplied
differentiations which each of them afterwards undergoes. Just referring
to the numberless kinds of dancing that have, in course of time, come into
use, and to the progress of poetry, as seen in the development of the various
forms of metre, of rhyme, and of general organization, let us confine our
attention to music as a type of the group. As argued by Dr. Burney, and as
implied by the customs of extant savages, the first musical instruments were
percussive-sticks, calabashes, tom-toms -- and were used simply to mark the
time of the dance. So, too, the vocal music of various semi-civilized races
consists of simple phrases endlessly reiterated. In this constant repetition
of the same sounds we see music in its most homogeneous form. The Egyptians
had a lyre with three strings. The early lyre of the Greeks had four, constituting
their tetrachord. In course of some centuries lyres of seven and eight strings
came to be employed. And, by the expiration of a thousand years, they had
advanced to their "great system" of the double octave. Through
all which changes of course arose a greater heterogeneity of melody or rather
recitative. Simultaneously came into use the different modes -- Dorian, Ionian,
Phrygian, AEolian, and Lydian -- answering to our keys; and of these there
were ultimately fifteen. As yet, however, there was but little heterogeneity
in the time of their music. Instruments being used merely to accompany the
voice, the vocal music being completely subordinated to words, -- the singer
being also the poet, chanting his own compositions and making the lengths
of his notes agree with the feet of his verses -- there unavoidably arose
a tiresome uniformity of measure which, as Dr. Burney says, "no resources
of melody could disguise." Lacking the complex rhythm obtained by our
equal bars and unequal notes, the only rhythm was that produced by the quantity
of the syllables, and was of necessity monotonous. And further, the chant
thus resulting being like recitative, was much less differentiated from ordinary
speech than is our modern song. Nevertheless, considering the extended range
of notes in use, the variety of modes, the occasional variations of time
consequent on changes of metre, and the multiplication of instruments, we
see that music had, towards the close of Greek civilization, attained to
considerable heterogeneity: not indeed as compared with our music, but as
compared with that which preceded it. As yet, however, there existed nothing
but serial combinations of notes (for so we must call them since they were
not melodies in our sense): harmony was unknown. It was not until Christian
church-music had reached some development, that music in parts was evolved;
and then it came into existence through an unobtrusive differentiation. The
practice which led to it was the employment of two choirs singing alternately
the same air. Afterwards it became the habit (possibly first suggested by
a mistake) for the second choir to commence before the first had ceased:
thus producing a fugue. With the simple airs then in use, a partially harmonious
fugue might not improbably result; and a very partially harmonious fugue
satisfied the ears of that age, as we know from still preserved examples.
The idea having once been given, the composing of airs productive of fugal
harmony would naturally grow up; as in some way it did grow up out of this
alternate choir-singing. And from the fugue to concerted music of two, three,
four, and more parts, the transition was easy. Without pointing out in detail
the increasing complexity that resulted from introducing notes of various
lengths, from the multiplication of keys, from the use of accidentals, from
varieties of time, from modulations and so forth, it needs but to contrast
music as it is with music as it was, to see how immense is the increase of
heterogeneity. We see this also if, looking at music in its ensemble, we
enumerate its many different genera and species -- if we consider the divisions
into vocal, instrumental, and mixed; and their subdivisions into music for
different voices and different instruments -- if we observe the many forms
of sacred music, from the simple hymn, the chant, the canon, motet, anthem,
etc., up to the oratorio; and the still more numerous forms of secular music,
from the ballad up to the serenata, from the instrumental solo up to the
symphony. Again, the same truth is seen on comparing any one sample of aboriginal
music with a sample of modern music -- even an ordinary song for the piano;
which we find to be relatively very heterogeneous, not only in respect of
varieties in the intervals and in the lengths of the notes, the number of
different notes sounding at the same instant in company with the voice, and
the variations of strength with which they are sounded and sung, but in respect
of the changes of key, the changes of time, the changes of timbre of the
voice, and the many other modifications of expression. While between the
old monotonous dance-chant and a grand opera of our own day, the contrast
in heterogeneity is so extreme that it seems scarcely credible that the one
is the ancestor of the other.




§126. Many further illustrations of the general law throughout social
products might be detailed. Going back to the time when the deeds of the
god-king, chanted and mimetically represented in dances before his altar,
were further narrated in picture-writings on the walls of temples and palaces,
and so constituted a rude history, we might trace the development of Literature
through phases in which, as in the Hebrew Scriptures, it presents in one
work, theology, cosmogony, history, biography, civil laws, ethics, poetry;
through other phases in which, as in the Iliad, the religious, martial, historical,
the epic, dramatic, and lyric elements are similarly commingled; down to
its present heterogeneous development, in which its divisions and subdivisions
are so numerous and varied as to defy complete classification. Or we might
track the unfolding of Science; beginning with the era in which it was not
yet differentiated from Art, and was, in union with Art, the handmaid of
Religion; passing through the era in which the sciences were so few and rudimentary,
as to be simultaneously cultivated by the same philosophers; and ending with
the era in which the genera and species are so multitudinous that few can
enumerate them, and no one can adequately grasp even one genus. Or we might
do the like with Architecture, with the Drama, with Dress. But doubtless
the reader is already weary of illustrations, and my promise has been amply
fulfilled. The advance from the simple to the complex through successive
modifications upon modifications, is seen alike in the earliest changes of
the Heavens to which we can reason our way back, and in the earliest changes
we can inductively establish; it is seen in the geologic and climatic evolution
of the Earth, of every individual organism on its surface and in the aggregate
of organisms; it is seen in the evolution of Humanity, whether contemplated
in the civilized man, or in the assemblage of races; it is seen in the evolution
of Society, in respect alike of its political, its religious, and its economical
organization; and it is seen in the evolution of those countless concrete
and abstract products of human activity, which constitute the environment
of our daily life. From the remotest past which Science can fathom, up to
the novelties of yesterday, an essential trait of Evolution has been the
transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous.




§127. So that the general formula arrived at in the last chapter
needs supplementing. It is true that Evolution, under its primary aspect,
is a change from a less coherent state to a more coherent state, consequent
on the dissipation of motion and integration of matter; but this is far from
being the whole truth. Along with a passage from the coherent to the incoherent,
there goes on a passage from the uniform to the multiform. Such, at least,
is the fact wherever Evolution is compound; which it is in the immense majority
of cases. While there is a progressing concentration of the aggregate, caused
either by the closer approach of the matter within its limits, or by the
drawing in of further matter, or by both; and while the more or less distinct
parts into which the aggregate divides and subdivides are also severally
concentrating; these parts are simultaneously becoming unlike -- unlike in
size, or in form, or in texture, or in composition, or in several or all
of these. The same process is exhibited by the whole and by its members.
The entire mass is integrating, and at the same time differentiating from
other masses; while each member of it is also integrating and at the same
time differentiating from other members.




Our conception, then, must unite these characters. As we now understand
it, Evolution is definable as a change from an incoherent homogeneity to
a coherent heterogeneity, accompanying the dissipation of motion and integration
of matter.




Chapter 16




The Law of Evolution (continued)




§128. But does this generalization express the whole truth? Does
it include everything essentially characterizing Evolution and exclude everything
else? Does it comprehend all the phenomena of secondary redistribution which
Compound Evolution presents, without comprehending any other phenomena? A
critical examination of the facts will show that it does neither.




Changes from the less heterogeneous to the more heterogeneous, which are
not included in what we here call Evolution, occur in every local disease.
In a morbid growth we see a new differentiation. Whether this morbid growth
be, or be not, more heterogeneous than the tissues in which it is seated,
is not the question. The question is whether the organism as a whole is,
or is not, rendered more heterogeneous by the addition of a part unlike every
pre-existing part, in form, or composition, or both. To this question there
can be none but an affirmative answer. Again, the earlier stages of decomposition
in a dead body involve increase of heterogeneity. Supposing the chemical
changes to commence in some parts sooner than in others, as they commonly
do, and to affect different tissues in different ways, as they must, it seems
clear that the entire body, made up of undecomposed parts and parts decomposed
in various modes and degrees, has become more heterogeneous than it was.
Though grater homogeneity will be the eventual result, the immediate result
is certainly not Evolution. Other instances are furnished by social disorders
and disasters. A rebellion which, while leaving some provinces undisturbed,
develops itself here in secret societies, there in public demonstrations,
and elsewhere in actual conflicts, necessarily renders the society, as a
whole, more heterogeneous. Or when a dearth causes commercial derangement
with its entailed bankruptcies, closed factories, discharged operatives,
food-riots, incendiarisms; it is manifest that as a large part of the community
retains its ordinary organization displaying the usual phenomena, these new
phenomena must be regarded as adding to the complexity previously existing.
But such changes, so far from constituting further Evolution, are steps towards
Dissolution.




So that the definition arrived at in the last chapter is an imperfect
one. The changes above instanced as coming within the formula as it now stands,
are so obviously unlike the rest, that the inclusion of them implies some
distinction hitherto overlooked. Such further distinction we have now to
supply.




§129. At the same time that Evolution is a change from the homogeneous
to the heterogeneous, it is a change from the indefinite to the definite.
Along with an advance from simplicity to complexity, there is an advance
from con fusion to order -- from undetermined arrangement to determined arrangement.
Development, no matter of what kind, exhibits not only a multiplication of
unlike parts, but an increase in the clearness with which these parts are
marked off from one another. And this is the distinction sought. For proof,
it needs only to reconsider the instances given above. The changes constituting
local disease, have no such definiteness, either in place, extent, or outline,
as the changes constituting development. Though certain morbid growths are
more common in some parts of the body than in others (as warts on the hands,
cancer in the breasts, tubercle in the lungs), yet they are not confined
to these parts; nor, where found, are they anything like so precise in their
relative positions as are the normal parts around. Their sizes are very variable:
they bear no such constant proportions to the body as organs do. Their forms,
too, are far less specific than organic forms. And they are extremely confused
in their internal structures. That is, they are in all respects comparatively
indefinite. The like peculiarity may be traced in decomposition. That total
indefiniteness to which a dead body is finally reduced, is a state towards
which the putrefactive changes tend from their commencement. The advancing
destruction of the organic compounds blurs the tissue-structures -- diminishes
their distinctness. From the portions that have undergone most decay, there
is a gradual transition to the less decayed portions, not a sharp demarcation.
And step by step the lines of organization, once so precise, disappear. Similarly
with social changes of an abnormal kind. The disaffection initiating a political
outbreak, implies a loosening of those ties by which citizens are bound up
into distinct classes and sub-classes. Agitation, growing into revolutionary
meetings, fuses ranks that are usually separated. Acts of insubordination
break through the ordained limits to individual conduct, and tend to obliterate
the lines between those in authority and those beneath them. At the same
time arrest of trade causes artizans and others to lose their occupations;
and, ceasing to be functionally distinguished, they merge into an indefinite
mass. When at last there comes positive insurrection, all magisterial and
official powers, all class distinctions, all industrial differences, cease:
organized society lapses into an unorganized aggregate of social units. Similarly,
in so far as famines and pestilences cause changes from order towards disorder,
they cause changes from definite arrangements to indefinite arrangements.




Thus, then, is that increase of heterogeneity which is not a trait of
Evolution, distinguished from that increase of heterogeneity which is. Though
in disease and after death, individual or social, the earliest modifications
are additions to the pre-existing heterogeneity, they. are not additions
to the pre-existing definiteness. From the outset they begin to destroy this
definiteness, and gradually produce a heterogeneity that is indeterminate
instead of determinate. As a city, already multiform in its variously-arranged
structures of various architecture, may be made more multiform by an earthquake,
which leaves part of it standing and overthrows other parts in different
ways and degrees, but is at the same time reduced from orderly arrangement
to disorderly arrangement; so may organized bodies be made for a time more
multiform by changes which are nevertheless disorganizing changes. And in
the one case as in the other, it is the absence of definiteness which distinguishes
the multiformity of regression from the multiformity of progression.




If advance from the indefinite to the definite is an essential characteristic
of Evolution, we shall of course find it everywhere displayed; as in the
last chapter we found displayed the advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous.
To see whether it is so, let us now consider the same several classes of
facts.




§130. Beginning, as before, with a hypothetical illustration, we
have to note that each step in the evolution of the Solar System, supposing
it to have originated from diffused matter, was an advance towards more definite
structure. As usually conceived, the initial nebula was irregular in shape
and with indistinct margins, like those of nebulae now existing. Having partially-different
proper motions, the parts of its attenuated substance, while being drawn
together, generated, by the averaging of their motions, as well as by changes
in the directions of these motions, a certain angular momentum; and the entire
mass as it concentrated and acquired rotation must have assumed the form
of an oblate spheroid which with every increase of density, became more specific
in outline, and had its surface more distinctly marked off from the surrounding
void. Simultaneously, the constituent portions of nebulous matter, instead
of moving round their common centre of gravity in various planes, as they
would at first do, must have had these planes more and more merged into a
single plane, that became less vague as the concentration progressed -- became
gradually defined.




According to the hypothesis, change from indistinct characters to distinct
ones, was repeated in the evolution of planets and satellites. A gaseous
spheroid is less definitely limited than a liquid spheroid, since it is subject
to larger undulations of surface, and to greater distortions of general form;
and, similarly, a liquid spheroid, covered as it must be with waves of various
magnitudes, tidal and other, is less definite than a solid spheroid. The
decrease of oblateness which goes along with increase of integration, brings
relative definiteness of other elements. A concentrating planet having an
axis inclined to the plane of its orbit, must, while very oblate, have its
plane of rotation much disturbed by external attractions; whereas its approach
to a spherical form, involves a smaller precessional motion, and less marked
variations in the direction of its axis.




With progressing settlement of the space-relations, the force-relations
simultaneously become more settled; and the exact calculations of physical
astronomy show us how definite these force-relations now are. In short, it
needs but to think of the contrast between the chaos of the primitive nebula
and the ordered relations of the Solar System in the sizes, shapes, motions,
and combined inter-actions of its members, to see that increase of definiteness
has been a marked trait of its evolution.




§131. From that primitive molten state of the Earth inferable from
geological data as well as from the nebular hypothesis (probably a liquid
shell having a nucleus of gases above the "critical point" of temperature,
kept by pressure at a density as great as that of the superjacent liquid)
the transition to its existing state has been through stages in which the
characters became more determinate. A liquid spheroid is less specific than
a solid spheroid in having no fixed distribution of parts. Currents of molten
matter, though kept to certain general circuits by the conditions of equilibrium,
cannot, in the absence of solid boundaries, be precise in their limits and
directions: all parts must be in motion with respect to other parts. But
a superficial solidification, even though partial, is a step towards the
establishment of definite relations of position. In a thin crust, however,
often ruptured by disturbing forces, and moved by every tidal undulation,
fixity of relative position can be but temporary. Only as the crust thickens
can there arise distinct and settled geographical positions. Observe, too,
that when, on a surface adequately cooled, there begins to precipitate the
water floating above as vapour, the deposits cannot maintain definiteness
either of state or place. Falling on a solid envelope not thick enough to
preserve anything beyond slight variations of level, the water must form
small and shallow pools over the coolest areas; which areas must pass insensibly
into others that are too hot to allow condensation. With progressing refrigeration,
however -- with a thickening crust, a consequent formation of larger elevations
and depressions, and the precipitation of more atmospheric water, there comes
an arrangement of parts which is comparatively fixed; and the definiteness
of position increases, until there result continents and oceans -- a distribution
that is not only topographically settled, but presents separations of land
from water more definite than could have existed when all the uncovered areas
were low islands with shelving beaches, over which the tide ebbed and flowed
to great distances.




Respecting the characters classed as geological, we may draw kindred inferences.
While the Earth's crust was thin, mountain-chains were impossibilities: there
could not have been long and well-defined axes of elevation, with distinct
water-sheds and areas of drainage. Moreover, the denudation of small islands
by small rivers, and by tidal streams both feeble and narrow, would produce
no clearly-marked sedimentary strata. Confused and varying masses of detritus,
such as we now find at the mouths of brooks, must have been the prevailing
formations. And these could give place to distinct strata, only as there
arose continents and oceans, with their great rivers, long coast-lines, and
wide-spreading marine currents.




There must simultaneously have resulted more definite meteorological conditions.
Differences of climates and seasons grew relatively decided as the heat derived
from the Sun became distinguishable from the proper heat of the Earth; and
the production of more specific conditions in each locality was aided by
increasing permanence in the distribution of lands and seas. These are conclusions
sufficiently obvious.




§132. We come now to the evidence yielded by organic bodies. In place
of deductive illustrations, we shall here find illustrations which have been
inductively established, and are therefore less open to criticism. The course
of mammalian development, for example, will supply us with numerous proofs
ready-described by embryologists.




The first change which the ovum of a mammal undergoes after repeated segmentation
has reduced it to a mulberry-like mass, is the appearance of a distinction
between the peripheral or epiblastic cells of this mass and the internal
or hypoblastic cells. While growing rapidly the cluster of cells becomes
hollow, and the blastodermic vesicle so formed presents a definite contrast
between the outer layer, or epiblast, and its contents. The mass of hypoblast
cells, having at first an indefinite, lens-like figure attached to the inside
of the epiblast, spreads out and flattens into a membrane, the boundary of
which is irregular -- indefinite alike in form and constitution. And then
the middle or thicker part presently becomes an opaque circular spot constituting
the embryonic area: a spot which gradually acquires a pronounced outline.
In the centre of this there at length comes the primitive streak or trace,
which, as its name implies, is indefinite but by-and-by "becomes a more
pronounced structure." Within this streak or trace the vertebrate axis
first shows itself. Beginning as a shallow groove, it becomes slowly more
pronounced; its sides grow higher; their summits overlap and at last unite;
and so the indefinite groove passes into a definite tube, forming the vertebral
canal. In this vertebral canal the leading divisions of the brain are at
first discernible only as slight bulgings; while the proto-vertebrae commence
as indistinct modifications of the tissue bounding the canal. Meanwhile in
kindred ways the indefinite out-spread membrane through which are absorbed
the materials for the unfolding structures around, is changed, into a definite
alimentary canal. And in an analogous manner the entire embryo, which at
first lies outspread on the yelk-sack, gradually rises up from it, and by
the infolding of its ventral region becomes a separate mass, definitely outlined,
connected with the yelk-sack only by a narrow duct.




These changes through which the general structure is marked out with slowly-increasing
precision, are paralleled in the evolution of each organ. The liver commences
by multiplication of certain cells in the wall of the intestine. The thickening
produced by this multiplication, "increases so as to form a projection
upon the exterior of the canal -- a hollow bud;" and at the same time
that the organ grows and becomes distinct from the intestine, the channels
running through it are transformed into ducts having clearly-marked walls.
Similarly, certain cells of the external coat of the alimentary canal at
its upper portion, accumulate into lumps or buds from which the lungs are
developed; and these, in their general outlines and detailed structure, acquire
distinctness step by step. But even were no examples given, it would be undeniable
that since a simple cluster of similar cells grows into head, trunk, and
limbs of distinct shapes, each made up of many organs containing parts severally
having clear outlines and composed of specific tissues, increase of definiteness
has been a leading trait of the transformation.




Changes of this order continue long after birth; and, in the human being,
are some of them not completed till middle life. During youth, most of the
articular surfaces of the bones remain rough and fissured -- the calcareous
deposit ending irregularly in the surrounding cartilage. But between puberty
and the age of thirty, these articular surfaces are finished off into smooth,
hard, sharply-cut "epiphyses." Generally, indeed, we may say that
increase of definiteness continues when there has ceased to be any appreciable
increase of heterogeneity. And there is reason to think that those modifications
which take place after maturity bringing about old age and death, are modifications
of this nature; since they cause rigidity of structure, a consequent restriction
of movement and of functional pliability, a gradual narrowing of the limits
within which the vital processes go on, ending in an organic adjustment too
precise -- too narrow in its margin of possible variation to permit the requisite
adaptation to changes of external conditions.




§133. To give clear proof that the Earth's Flora and Fauna, regarded
either as wholes or in their separate species, have progressed in definiteness,
is no more possible than it was to prove that they have progressed in heterogeneity:
the facts are not sufficient. If, however, we allow ourselves to reason from
the hypothesis, now daily rendered more probable, that every species has
arisen through the accumulation of modifications upon modifications, just
as every individual arises. we shall see that there must have been a progress,
from the indeterminate to the determinate, both in the particular forms and
in the groups of forms.




We may set out with the significant fact that the lowest organisms (which
are analogous in structure to the germs of all higher ones) have so little
definiteness that it is difficult, if not impossible, to decide whether they
are plants or animals. Respecting sundry of them there are unsettled disputes
between zoologists and botanists. Note next that among the Protozoa, great
indefiniteness of shape is general. Of sundry shell-less Rhizopods the form
is so irregular as to admit of no description: it is neither alike in any
two individuals nor in the same individual at successive moments. By aggregation
of Protozoa, are produced, among other creatures, the Sponges, most of which
are indefinite in size, in contour, in internal arrangement; and such more
definite aggregates as the Hydra are made indefinite both by the great differences
between their contracted and expanded states and by their reproductive developments.
As further showing how relatively indeterminate are the simplest organisms,
it may be mentioned that their structures vary greatly with surrounding conditions:
so much so that, among the Protozoa and Protophyta, many forms which were
once classed as distinct species, and even as distinct genera, are found
to be merely varieties of one species. If, now, we call to mind how precise
in their traits are the highest organisms -- how sharply cut their outlines,
how invariable their proportions, and how comparatively constant their structures
under changed conditions; we cannot deny that greater definiteness is one
of their characteristics. If they have been evolved out of lower organisms,
increase of definiteness has been an accompaniment of their evolution.




That, in course of time, species have become more sharply marked off from
other species, genera from genera, and orders from orders, is a conclusion
not admitting of a more positive establishment than the foregoing. If, however,
species and genera and orders have arisen by evolution, then, as Mr. Darwin
shows, the contrasts between groups must have become greater. Disappearance
of intermediate forms, less fitted for special spheres of existence than
the extreme forms they connected, must have made the differences between
the extreme forms decided; and so, from indistinct varieties, must have been
produced distinct species: an inference which is in harmony with what we
know respecting races of men and races of domestic animals.




§134. The successive phases through which societies pass, obviously
display the progress from indeterminate arrangements to determinate arrangements.
A wandering tribe of savages, being fixed neither in its locality nor in
its internal distribution, is far less definite in the relative positions
of its parts than a nation. In such a tribe the social relations are confused
and unsettled. Political authority is vague. Distinctions of rank are neither
clearly marked nor impassable. And save in the different occupations of men
and women, there are no decided industrial divisions. Only in tribes of considerable
size, which have enslaved other tribes, is economic differentiation distinct.




But one of these primitive societies that evolves, becomes step by step
more specific. Increasing in size, consequently ceasing to be so nomadic,
and restricted in its range by neighbouring societies, it acquires, after
prolonged border warfare, a settled territorial boundary. The distinction
between the ruling race and the people, sometimes amounts, in the popular
belief, to a difference of nature. The warrior-class attains a perfect separation
from classes devoted to the cultivation of the soil or to other occupations
regarded as servile. And there arises a priesthood which is defined in its
rank, its functions, its privileges. This sharpness of definition, growing
both greater and more variously exemplified as societies advance to maturity,
is extremest in those which have reached their full development or are declining.
Of ancient Egypt we read that its social divisions were precise and its customs
rigid. Recent investigations make it more than ever clear that among the
Assyrians and surrounding peoples, not only were the laws unalterable, but
even the minor habits, down to those of domestic routine, Assessed a sacredness
which insured their permanence. In India at the present day, the unchangeable
distinctions of caste, not less than the constancy in modes of dress, industrial
processes, and religious observances, show how definite are the arrangements
where the antiquity is great. Nor does China, with its long-settled political
organization, its elaborate and precise conventions, fail to exemplify the
same truth.




The successive phases of our own and adjacent societies, furnish facts
somewhat different in kind but similar in meaning. Originally monarchical
authority was more baronial, and baronial authority more monarchical, than
afterwards. Between modern priests and the priests of old times, who while
officially teachers of religion were also warriors, judges, architects, there
is a marked difference in definiteness of function. And among the people
engaged in productive occupations, like contrasts hold: the regulative parts
have become definitely distinct from the operative parts and the distributive
parts from both. The history of our constitution, reminding us how the powers
of King, Lords, and Commons have been gradually settled, describes analogous
changes. Countless facts bearing the like construction meet us when we trace
the development of legislation; in the successive stages of which we find
statutes gradually rendered more specific in their applications to particular
cases. Even now each new law beginning as a vague proposition, is, in the
course of enactment, elaborated into specific clauses; and only after its
interpretation has been established by judges' decisions in courts of justice,
does it reach its final definiteness. From the annals of minor institutions
like evidence may be gathered. Religious, charitable, literary, and all other
societies, starting with ends and methods roughly sketched out and easily
modifiable, show us how, by the accumulation of rules and precedents, the
purposes become more precisely formulated and the modes of action more restricted;
until at last decay follows a fixity which admits of no adaptation to new
conditions. Should it be objected that among civilized nations there are
examples of decreasing definiteness (instance the breaking down of limits
between ranks), the reply is, that such apparent exceptions are the accompaniments
of a social metamorphosis -- a change from the military type of social structure
to the industrial type, during which old lines of structure are disappearing
and new ones becoming more marked.




§135. All organized results of social action -- all super-organic
structures, pass through parallel phases. Being, as they are, objective products
of subjective processes, they must display corresponding changes; and that
they do this, the cases of Language, of Science, of Art, clearly prove.




Strike out from our sentences everything but nouns and verbs, and there
stands displayed the vagueness characterizing undeveloped tongues. Each inflection
of a verb, or addition by which the case of a noun is marked, by limiting
the conditions of action or of existence, enables men to express their thoughts
more precisely. That the application of an adjective to a noun, or an adverb
to a verb narrows the class of things or changes indicated, implies that
the additional word serves to make the proposition more distinct. And similarly
with other parts of speech.




The like effect results from the multiplication of words of each order.
When the names for objects, and acts, and qualities, are but few, the range
of each is proportionately wide, and its meaning therefore unspecific. The
similes and metaphors so much used by aboriginal races, indirectly and imperfectly
suggest ideas which they cannot express directly and perfectly from lack
of words. Or to take a case from ordinary life, if we compare the speech
of the peasant who, out of his limited vocabulary, can describe the contents
of the bottle he carries, only as "doctor's stuff" which he has
got for his "sick" wife, with the speech of the physician, who
tells those educated like himself the particular composition of the medicine
and the particular disorder for which he has prescribed it; we have vividly
brought home to us the precision which language gains by the multiplication
of terms.




Again, in the course of its evolution, each tongue acquires a further
accuracy through processes which fix the meaning of each word. Intellectual
intercourse slowly diminishes laxity of expression. By-and-by dictionaries
give definitions. And eventually, among the most cultivated, indefiniteness
is not tolerated, either in the terms used or in their grammatical combinations.




Once more, languages considered as wholes become more sharply marked off
from one another, and from their common parent; as witness, in early times,
the clear distinction that arose between the two connate languages Greek
and Latin, and in later times the divergence of three Latin dialects into
Italian, French, and Spanish.




§136. In his History of the Inductive Sciences, Dr. Whewell
says that the Greeks failed in physical philosophy because their "ideas
were not distinct, and appropriate to the facts." I do not quote this
remark for its luminousness; since it would be equally proper to ascribe
the indistinctness and inappropriateness of their ideas to the imperfection
of their physical philosophy; but I quote it because it serves as good evidence
of the indefiniteness of primitive science. The same work and its fellow,
The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences, yield other evidences equally
good, because equally independent of any such hypothesis as is here to be
established. Respecting mathematics, we have the fact that geometrical theorems
grew out of empirical methods; and that these theorems, at first isolated,
did not acquire the clearness which demonstration gives, until they were
arranged by Euclid into a series of dependent propositions. At a later period,
the same general truth was exemplified in the progress from the "method
of exhaustions" and the "method of indivisibles" to the "method
of limits;" which is the central idea of the infinitesimal calculus.
in early mechanics may be traced a dim perception that action and reaction
are equal and opposite; though, for ages after, this truth remained unformulated.
And similarly, the property of inertia, though not distinctly comprehended
until Kepler lived, was vaguely recognized long before. "The conception
of statical force," "was never presented in a distinct form till
the works of Archimedes appeared;" and "the conception of accelerating
force was confused, in the mind of Kepler and his contemporaries, and did
not become clear enough for purposes of sound scientific reasoning before
the succeeding century." To which specific assertions may be added the
general remark, that "terms which originally, and before the laws of
motion were fully known, were used in a very vague and fluctuating sense,
were afterwards limited and rendered precise." When we turn from abstract
scientific conceptions to the concrete previsions of science, of which astronomy
furnishes numerous examples, a like contrast is visible. The times at which
celestial phenomena will occur, have been predicted with ever-increasing
accuracy. Errors once amounting to days are now diminished to seconds. The
correspondence between the real and supposed forms of orbits has been gradually
rendered more precise. Originally thought circular, then epicyclical, then
elliptical, orbits are now ascertained to be curves which always deviate
from perfect ellipses, and are ever undergoing changes.




But the general advance of Science in definiteness is best shown by the
contrast between its qualitative stage and its quantitative stage. At first
the facts ascertained were that between such and such phenomena some connexion
existed -- that the appearances a and b always occurred together or in succession;
but it was known neither what was the nature of the relation between a and
b, nor how much of a accompanied so much of b. The development of Science
has in part been the reduction of these vague connexions to distinct ones.
Most relations have been classed as mechanical, chemical, thermal, electric,
magnetic, etc.; and we have learnt to infer the relative amounts of the antecedents
and consequents with exactness. Of illustrations, some furnished by physics
have been given, and from other sciences plenty may be added. We have ascertained
the constituents of numerous compounds which our ancestors could not analyze,
and of a far greater number which they never even saw; and the combining
equivalents of the elements are now accurately calculated. Physiology shows
advance from qualitative to quantitative prevision in ascertaining definite
relations between organic products and the materials consumed; as well as
in measurement of functions by spirometer and sphygmograph. By Pathology
it is displayed in the use of the statistical method of determining the sources
of diseases, and the effects of treatment. In Botany and Zoology, the numerical
comparisons of Floras and Faunas, leading to specific conclusions respecting
their sources and distributions, illustrate it. And in Sociology, questionable
as are many conclusions drawn from the classified sum-totals of the census,
from the Board-of-Trade tables, and from criminal returns, it must be admitted
that these imply a progress towards more precise conceptions of social phenomena.




That an essential characteristic of advancing Science is increase in definiteness,
appears indeed almost a truism, when we remember that Science may be described
as definite knowledge, in contradistinction to that indefinite knowledge
possessed by the uncultured. And if, as we cannot question, Science has,
in the course of ages, been evolved out of this indefinite knowledge of the
uncultured, then, the gradual acquirement of that great definiteness which
now distinguishes it, must have been a leading trait in its evolution.




§137. The arts, industrial and aesthetic, supply illustrations perhaps
still more striking. Palaeolithic flint implements show the extreme want
of precision in men's first handiworks. Though a great advance on these is
seen in the tools and weapons of existing savage tribes, yet an inexactness
in forms and fittings distinguishes such tools and weapons from those of
civilized races. In a smaller degree, the productions of the less-advanced
nations are characterized by like defects. A Chinese junk, with all its contained
furniture and appliances, nowhere presents a line that is quite straight,
a uniform curve, or a true surface. Nor do the utensils and machines of our
ancestors fail to exhibit a similar inferiority to our own. An antique chair,
an old fireplace, a lock of the last century, or almost any article of household
use that has been preserved for a few generations, proves by contrast how
greatly the industrial products of our time excel those of the Past in their
accuracy. Since planing machines have been invented, it has become possible
to produce absolutely straight lines, and surfaces so truly level as to be
air-tight when applied to each other. While in the dividing-engine of Troughton,
in the micrometer of Whitworth, in microscopes that show fifty thousand divisions
to the inch, and in ruled divisions up to 200,000, we have an exactness as
far exceeding that reached in the works of our great-grandfathers, as theirs
exceeded that of the aboriginal celt-makers.




In the Fine Arts there has been a parallel progress. From the rudely-carved
and painted idols of savages, through the early sculptures characterized
by limbs without muscular detail, wooden-looking drapery, and faces devoid
of individuality, up to the later statues of the Greeks or some of those
now produced, the increased accuracy of representation is conspicuous. Compare
the mural paintings of the Egyptians with the paintings of medieval Europe,
or these with modern paintings, and the more precise rendering of the appearances
of objects is manifest. It is the same with fiction and the drama. In the
marvellous tales current among Eastern nations, in the romantic legends of
feudal Europe, as well as in the mystery-plays and those immediately succeeding
them, we see great want of correspondence to the realities of life; alike
in the predominance of supernatural events, in the extremely improbable occurrences,
and in the vaguely-indicated personages. Along with social advance, there
has been a progressive diminution of unnaturalness -- an approach to truth
of representation. And now, cultivated men applaud novels and plays in proportion
to the fidelity with which they exhibit characters. improbabilities, like
the impossibilities which preceded them, are disallowed; and we see fewer
of those elaborate plots which life rarely furnishes: realities are more
definitely pictured.




§138. Space might be filled with evidences of other kinds, but the
basis of induction is already wide enough. Proof that all Evolution is from
the indefinite to the definite, we find not less abundant than proof that
all Evolution is from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous.




It should, however, be added that this advance in definiteness is not
a primary but a secondary phenomenon -- is a result incidental on other changes.
The transformation of a whole that was originally diffused and uniform into
a concentrated combination of multiform parts, implies progressive separation
both of the whole from its environment and of the parts from one another.
While this is going on there must be indistinctness. Only as the whole gains
density, does it become sharply marked off from the space or matter lying
outside of it; and only as each division draws into its mass those peripheral
portions which are at first imperfectly disunited from the peripheral portions
of neighbouring divisions, can it acquire anything like a precise outline.
That is to say, the increasing definiteness is a concomitant of the increasing
consolidation, general and local. While the secondary re-distributions are
ever adding to the heterogeneity, the primary redistribution, while augmenting
the integration, is incidentally giving distinctness to the increasingly
unlike parts as well as to the aggregate of them.




But though this universal trait of Evolution is a necessary accompaniment
of the traits set forth in preceding chapters, it is not expressed in the
words used to describe them. It is therefore needful further to modify our
formula. The more specific idea of Evolution now reached is -- a change from
an indefinite, incoherent homogeneity, to a definite coherent heterogeneity,
accompanying the dissipation of motion and integration of matter.




Chapter 17




The Law of Evolution (concluded)




§139. The conception of Evolution elaborated in the foregoing chapters,
is still incomplete. True though it is, it is not the whole truth. The transformations
which all things undergo during the ascending phases of their existence,
we have contemplated under three aspects; and by uniting these three aspects
as simultaneously presented, we have formed an approximate idea of the transformations.
But there are concomitant changes about which nothing has yet been said,
and which, though less conspicuous, are no less essential.




For thus far we have attended only to the re-distribution of Matter, neglecting
the accompanying redistribution of Motion. Distinct or tacit reference has,
indeed, repeatedly been made to the dissipation of Motion, that goes on along
with the concentration of Matter; and were all Evolution absolutely simple,
the total fact would be contained in the proposition that as Motion dissipates
Matter concentrates. But while we have recognized the ultimate re-distribution
of the Motion, we have passed over its proximate re-distribution. Though
something has from time to time been said about the escaping motion, nothing
has been said about the motion which does not escape. In proportion as Evolution
becomes compound -- in proportion as an aggregate retains, for a considerable
time, such quantity of motion as permits secondary re-distributions of its
component matter, there necessarily arise secondary redistributions of its
retained motion. As fast as the parts are transformed, there goes on a transformation
of the sensible or insensible motions possessed by the parts. They cannot
become more integrated, either individually or as a combination, without
their motions, individual or combined, becoming more integrated. There cannot
arise among them heterogeneities of size, of form, of quality, without there
also arising heterogeneities in the amounts and directions of their motions,
or the motions of their molecules. And increasing definiteness of the parts
implies increasing definiteness of their motions. In short, the rhythmical
actions going on in each aggregate, must differentiate and integrate at the
same time that the structures do so.




§139a. The general theory of this re-distribution of the retained
motion, must here be briefly stated. Properly to supplement our conception
of Evolution under its material aspect by a conception of Evolution under
its dynamical aspect, we have to recognize the source of the integrated motions
that arise, and to see how their increased multiformity and definiteness
are necessitated.




If Evolution is passage from a diffused state to an aggregated state,
then the motions of the celestial bodies must have resulted from the uncancelled
motions of their once dispersed components. Along with the molecular motions
everywhere active, there were molar motions of those vast streams of nebulous
matter which were generated during the process of concentration -- molar
motions of which large portions were gradually dissipated as heat, leaving
undissipated portions. But since the molar motions of these nebulous streams
were constituted from the motions of multitudinous incoherent gaseous parts
severally moving more or less independently it follows that when aggregation
into a liquid and finally solid celestial mass was reached, these partially
independent motions of the incoherent parts became merged into the motion
of the whole: or, in other words, unintegrated motions became an integrated
motion.




While we must leave in the shape of hypothesis the belief that the celestial
motions have thus originated, we may see, as a matter of fact, that the integration
of insensible motions originates all sensible motions on the Earth's surface.
As all know, the denudation of lands and deposit of new strata, are effected
by water while descending to the sea, or during the arrest of those undullations
produced on it by winds; and, as before said, the elevation of water to the
height whence it fell, is due to solar heat, as is also the genesis of those
aerial currents which drift it about when evaporated and agitate its surface
when condensed. That is to say, the molecular motion of the ethereal medium
is transformed into the motion of gases, thence into the motion of liquids,
and thence into the motion of solids: stages in each of which a certain amount
of molecular motion is lost and an equivalent motion of masses gained. It
is the same with organic movements. Certain rays issuing from the Sun, enable
the plant to reduce special elements existing in gaseous combinations around
it, to solid forms -- enable the plant, that is, to grow and carry on its
functional changes. And since growth, equally with circulation of sap, is
a mode of sensible motion, while those rays which have been expended in generating
both consist of insensible motions, we have here, too a transformation of
the kind alleged Animals, derived as their forces are, directly or indirectly,
from plants, carry this transformation a step further. The automatic movements
of the viscera, together with the voluntary movements of the limbs and body
at large, arise at the expense of certain molecular movements throughout
the nervous and muscular tissues; and these originally arose at the expense
of certain other molecular movements propagated by the Sun to the Earth;
so that both the structural and functional motions which organic Evolution
displays, are motions of aggregates generated by the arrested motions of
units. Even with the aggregates of these aggregates the same rule holds.
For among associated men the progress is ever towards a merging of individual
actions in the actions of corporate bodies. In militant life this is seen
in the advance from the independent fighting of separate warriors to the
combined fighting of regiments, and in industrial life in the advance from
the activities of separate workers to the combined activities of factory
hands. So is it, too, when instead of acting alone citizens act in bodies
-- companies, unions, associations, etc. While, then, during Evolution the
escaping motion becomes, by widening dispersion, more disintegrated, the
motion that is for a time retained, becomes more integrated; and so, considered
dynamically, Evolution is a decrease in the relative movements of parts and
an increase in the relative movements of wholes -- using the words parts
and wholes in their most general senses. The advance is from the motions
of simple molecules to the motions of compound molecules; from molecular
motions to the motions of masses; and from the motions of smaller masses
to the motions of larger masses.




The accompanying change towards greater multiformity among the retained
motions, takes place under the form of an increased variety of rhythms. A
multiplication of rhythms must accompany a multiplication in the degrees
and modes of aggregation, and in the relations of the aggregated masses to
incident forces. The degree or mode of aggregation will not, indeed, affect
the rate or extent of rhythm where the incident force increases as the aggregate
increases, which is the case with gravitation: here the only cause of variation
in rhythm is difference of relation to the incident force; as we see in a
pendulum which, though unaffected in its movements by a change in the weight
of the bob, alters its rate of oscillation when its length is altered or
when, otherwise unchanged, it is taken to the equator. But in all cases where
the incident forces do not vary as the masses, every new order of aggregation
initiates a new order of rhythm: witness the conclusion drawn from the recent
researches into radiant heat and light, that the molecules of different gases
have different rates of undulation.*<* This was written in 1867.> So
that increased multiformity in the arrangement of matter necessarily generates
increased multiformity of rhythm; both through increased variety in the sizes
and forms of aggregates, and through increased variety in their relations
to the forces which move them. That these motions, as they become more integrated
and more heterogeneous, must become more definite, is a proposition that
need not detain us. In proportion as any part of an evolving whole segregates
and consolidates, and in so doing loses the relative mobility of its components,
its aggregate motion must obviously acquire distinctness.




Here, then, to complete our conception of Evolution, we must contemplate
throughout the Cosmos, these metamorphoses of retained motion which accompany
the metamorphoses of component matter. We may do this with comparative brevity:
the reader having now become so familiar with the mode of looking at the
facts, that less illustration will suffice. To save space, it will be convenient
to deal with the several aspects of the metamorphoses at the same time.




§140. Masses of diffused matter moving towards a common centre, from
many points at many distances with many degrees of indirectness, must carry
into the nebulous mass eventually formed, numerous momenta unlike in their
amounts and directions. As the integration progresses, such parts of these
momenta as conflict are mutually neutralized, and dissipated as heat. Unless
the original distribution is quite symmetrical, which is infinitely improbable,
rotation will result. The mass having at first unlike angular velocities
at the periphery and at various distances from the centre will have its differences
of angular velocity gradually reduced; advancing towards a final state, now
nearly reached by the Sun in which the angular velocity of the whole mass
is the same -- in which the motion is integrated. So, too, with each planet
and satellite. Progress from the motion of a nebulous ring, incoherent and
admitting of much relative motion within its mass, to the motion of a dense
spheroid, is progress to a motion that is completely integrated. The rotation,
and the translation through space, severally become one and indivisible.
Meanwhile, there has been established that further integration displayed
by the motions of the Solar System as a whole. Locally in each planet and
its satellites, and generally in the Sun and the planets, we have a system
of simple and compound rhythms, with periodic and secular variations, forming
together an integrated set of movements.




Along with advancing integration of the motions there has gone advance
in the multiformity and distinctness of them. The matter which, in its original
diffused state, had movements that were confused, indeterminate, or without
sharply-marked distinctions, has, during the evolution of the Solar System,
acquired definitely heterogeneous movements. The periods of revolution of
all the planets and satellites are unlike; as are also their times of rotation.
Out of these definitely heterogeneous motions of a simple kind, arise others
that are complex, but still definite; -- as those produced by the revolutions
of satellites compounded with the revolutions of their primaries; as those
of which precession is the result; and as those which are known as perturbations.
Each additional complexity of structure has caused additional complexity
of movements; but still, a definite complexity, as is shown by having calculable
results.




§141. While the Earth's surface was molten, the currents in the voluminous
atmosphere surrounding it, mainly of ascending heated gases and of descending
precipitated liquids, must have been local, numerous, indefinite, and but
little distinguished from one another. But when after a vast period the surface,
now solidified, had so far cooled that solar radiation began to cause appreciable
differences of temperature between the equatorial and polar regions, an atmospheric
circulation from poles to equator and from equator to poles, must have slowly
established itself: other vast moving masses of air becoming, at last, trade-winds
and other such permanent definite currents. These integrated motions, once
comparatively homogeneous, were rendered heterogeneous as great islands and
continents arose, to complicate them by periodic winds, caused by the varied
heating of wide tracts of land at different seasons. Rhythmical motions of
a constant and simple kind, were, by increasing multiformity of the Earth's
surface, differentiated into an involved combination of constant and recurrent
rhythmical motions, joined with smaller motions that are irregular.




Parallel changes must have taken place in the motions of water. On a thin
crust, admitting of but small elevations and depressions, and therefore of
but small lakes and seas, none beyond small local circulations were possible.
But along with the formation of continents and oceans, came the vast movements
of water from warm latitudes to cold and from cold to warm -- movements increasing
in amount, in definiteness, and in variety of distribution, as the features
of the Earth's surface became larger and more contrasted. The like holds
with drainage waters. The tricklings of insignificant streams over small
tracts of land, were once alone possible; but as fast as wide areas came
into existence, the motions of many tributaries became massed into the motions
of great rivers; and instead of motions very much alike, there arose motions
considerably varied.




Nor can we well doubt that the changes in the Earth's crust itself, have
presented an analogous progress. Small, numerous, local, and like one another,
while the crust was thin, the movements of elevation and subsidence must,
as the crust thickened, have extended over larger areas, must have continued
for longer eras in the same directions, and must have been made more unlike
in different regions by local differences of structure.




§142. In organisms the advance towards a more integrated, heterogeneous,
and definite distribution of the retained motion, which accompanies the advance
towards a more integrated, heterogeneous, and definite distribution of the
component matter, is mainly what we understand as the development of functions.
All active functions are either sensible movements, as those produced by
contractile organs; or such insensible movements as those propagated through
nerves; or such insensible movements as those by which, in secreting organs,
molecular re-arrangements are effected, and new combinations of matter produced.
And during evolution functions, like structures, become more consolidated
individually, as well as more combined with one another, at the same time
that they become more multiform and more distinct.




The nutritive juices in animals of low types move hither and thither through
the tissues quite irregularly, as local strains and pressures determine:
in the absence of a true blood and a distinct vascular system, there is no
definite circulation. But along with the structural evolution which establishes
a good apparatus for distributing blood, there goes on the functional evolution
which establishes large and rapid movements of blood, definite in their courses
and definitely distinguished as efferent and afferent, and that are heterogeneous
both in their directions and in their characters: being here divided into
gushes and there continuous.




Again, accompanying the structural differentiations and integrations of
the alimentary canal, there arise differentiations and integrations both
of its mechanical movements and its actions of a non-mechanical kind. Along
an alimentary canal of a primitive type there pass, almost uniformly from
end to end, waves of constriction. But in a well-organized alimentary canal,
the waves of constriction are widely unlike at different parts, in their
kinds, strengths, and rapidities. In the oesophagus they are propulsive in
their office, and travelling with considerable speed, take place at intervals
during eating, and then do not take place till the next meal. In the stomach
another modification of this originally uniform action occurs: the muscular
constrictions are powerful, and continue during the long periods that the
stomach contains food. Throughout the upper intestines, again, a further
difference shows itself -- the waves travel along without cessation but are
relatively moderate. Finally, in the rectum this rhythm departs in another
way from the common type: quiescence, lasting for many hours, is followed
by a series of strong contractions. Meanwhile, the essential actions which
these movements aid, have been growing more definitely heterogeneous. Secretion
and absorption are no longer carried on in much the same way from end to
end of the tube; but the general function divides into various subordinate
functions. The solvents and ferments furnished by the coats of the canal
and the appended glands, become widely unlike at upper, middle, and lower
parts of the canal; implying different kinds of molecular changes. Here the
process is mainly secretory there it is mainly absorbent, and in other places,
as in the oesophagus, neither secretion nor absorption takes place to any
appreciable extent. While these and other internal motions, sensible and
insensible, are being rendered more various, and severally more integrated
and more distinct, there is advancing the integration by which they are united
into local groups of motions and a combined system of motions. While the
function of alimentation subdivides, its subdivisions become co-ordinated,
so that muscular and secretory actions go on in concert, and so that excitement
of one part of the canal sets up excitement of the rest. Moreover, the whole
alimentary function, while it supplies matter for the circulatory and respiratory
functions, becomes so integrated with them that it cannot for a moment go
on without them. And, as evolution advances, all three of these fundamental
functions fall into greater subordination to the nervous functions -- depend
more and more on the due mount of nervous discharge; while at the same time
their motions become co-ordinated, or in a sense integrated, with those of
the nervo-muscular system, on which they depend for the supply of materials.




When we trace up the functions of motor organs the same truth discloses
itself. Microscopic creatures are moved through the water by the oscillations
of cilia, here large and single or double, and here smaller and numerous;
and various larger forms, as the Turbellaria, progress by ciliary action
over solid surfaces. These motions of cilia are, in the first place, severally
very minute; in the second place they are homogeneous; and in the third place
there is but little definiteness in them individually, or in their joint
product, which is mostly a random change of position not directed to any
selected point. Contrasting this ciliary action with the action of developed
locomotive organs, we see that instead of many small or unintegrated movements
there are a few comparatively large or integrated movements; that actions
all alike are replaced by actions partially or wholly unlike; and that instead
of being very feebly or almost accidentally co-ordinated, their definite
co-ordination renders the motions of the body as a whole, precise. A parallel
contrast, less extreme but sufficiently decided, is seen when we pass from
the lower types of creatures with limbs to the higher types of creatures
with limbs. The legs of a Centipede have motions that are numerous, small,
and homogeneous; and are so little integrated that when the creature is divided
and subdivided, the legs belonging to each part propel that part independently.
But in one of the higher Arthropoda: as a Crab, the relatively few limbs
have motions which are comparatively large in their amounts, which are considerably
unlike one another, and which are integrated into total bodily movements
of much definiteness.




§143. The last illustrations introduce us to illustrations of the
kind classed as mental. They are the physiological aspects of the simpler
among those functions which, under a more special and complex aspect, we
distinguish as psychological. The phenomena subjectively known as changes
in consciousness, are objectively known as nervous excitations and discharges,
which science now interprets into modes of motion. Hence, in following up
organic evolution, advance of the retained motion alike in integration, in
heterogeneity, and in definiteness, may be expected to show itself both in
the visible nervo-muscular actions and in the correlative mental changes.
We may conveniently look at the facts as exhibited during individual evolution,
before looking at them as exhibited in general evolution.




The progress of a child in speech very clearly displays the transformation.
Infantine noises are comparatively homogeneous; alike as being severally
long-drawn and nearly uniform from end to end, and as being constantly repeated
with but little variation of quality. They are quite un-co-ordinated -- there
is no integration of them into compound sounds. They are inarticulate, or
without those definite beginnings and endings and joinings characterizing
words. Progress shows itself first in the multiplication of the inarticulate
sounds: the extreme vowels are added to the medium vowels, and the compound
to the simple. Presently the movements which form the simpler consonants
are achieved, and some of the sounds become sharply cut; but this definiteness
is partial, for only initial consonants being used, the sounds end vaguely.
While an approach to distinctness thus results, there also results, by combination
of different consonants with the same vowels, an increase of heterogeneity;
and along with the complete distinctness which terminal consonants give,
arises a further great addition to the number of unlike sounds produced.
The more difficult consonants and the compound consonants, imperfectly articulated
at first, are by-and-by articulated with precision; and hence arises another
multitude of different and definite words -- words that imply many kinds
of vocal movements, severally performed with exactness, as well as perfectly
integrated into complex groups. The subsequent advance to dissyllables and
polysyllables, and to involved combinations of words, shows the still higher
degree of integration and heterogeneity eventually reached by these organic
motions.




The acts of consciousness correlated with these nervo-muscular acts, of
course go through parallel phases; and the advance from childhood to maturity
yields daily proof that the changes which, on their physical side are nervous
processes, and on their mental side are processes of thought, become more
various, more defined, more coherent. At first the intellectual functions
are much alike in kind -- recognitions and classifications of simple impressions
alone go on; but in course of time these functions become multiform. Reasoning
grows distinguishable, and eventually we have conscious induction and deduction;
deliberate recollection and deliberate imagination are added to simple unguided
association of ides; more special modes of mental action, as those which
result in mathematics, music, poetry, arise; and within each of these divisions
the mental movements are ever being further differentiated. In definiteness
it is the same. At first the infant makes its observations so inaccurately
that it fails to distinguish individuals. The child errs continually in its
spelling, its grammar, its arithmetic. The youth forms incorrect judgments
on the affairs of life. Only with maturity comes that precise co-ordination
of data which is implied by a good adjustment of thoughts to things. Lastly,
with the integration by which simple mental acts are combined into complex
mental acts, we see the like. In the nursery you cannot obtain continuous
attention -- there is inability to form a coherent series of impressions;
and there is a parallel inability to unite many co-existent impressions,
even of the same order: witness the way in which a child's remarks on a picture,
show that it attends only to the individual objects represented, and never
to the picture as a whole. But advancing years bring the ability to understand
an involved sentence, to follow long trains of reasoning, to hold in one
mental grasp numerous concurrent circumstances. A like progressive integration
takes place among the mental changes we distinguish as feelings; which in
a child act singly, producing impulsiveness, but in an adult act more in
concert, producing a comparatively balanced conduct.




After these illustrations supplied by individual evolution, we may deal
briefly with those supplied by general evolution, which are analogous to
them. A creature of very low intelligence, when aware of some large object
in motion near it, makes a spasmodic movement, causing, it may be, a leap
or a dart. The perceptions implied are relatively simple, homogeneous, and
indefinite: the moving objects are not distinguished in their kinds as injurious
or otherwise, as advancing or receding. The actions of escape, too, are all
of one kind, have no adjustments of direction, and may bring the creature
nearer the source of peril instead of further off. At a higher stage the
dart or the leap is away from danger: the nervous changes are so far specialized
that there results distinction of direction; indicating a greater variety
among them, a greater co-ordination or integration of them in each process,
and a greater definiteness. In still higher animals, able to discriminate
between enemies and not-enemies, as a bird which flies from a man but not
from a cow, the acts of perception have severally become united into more
complex wholes, since cognition of certain differential attributes is implied;
they have also become more multiform, since each additional component impression
adds to the number of possible compounds; and they have, by consequence,
become more specific in their correspondences with objects -- more definite.
And then in animals so intelligent that they identify by sight not species
only but individuals of a species, the mental changes are yet further distinguished
in the same three ways. In the course of human evolution the law is equally
manifested. The thoughts of the savage are nothing like so heterogeneous
in their kinds as those of the civilized man, whose complex environment presents
a multiplicity of new phenomena. His mental acts, too are much less involved
-- he has no words for abstract ideas, and is found to be incapable of integrating
the elements of such ideas. And in all but simple matters there is none of
that precision in his thinking, and that grasping of many linked conceptions,
which, among civilized men, leads to the exact conclusions of science.




§144. How in societies the movements or functions produced by the
confluence of individual actions, increase in their amounts, their multiformities,
their precision, and their combination, scarcely needs insisting upon after
what has been potted out in foregoing chapters. For the sake of symmetry
of statement, however, a typical example or two may be set down.




At first the military activities, undifferentiated from the rest (all
men in primitive societies being warriors) are relatively homogeneous, ill-combined,
and indefinite: savages making a joint attack severally fight independently;
in similar ways, and without order. But as societies evolve the movements
of the thousands of soldiers which replace the tens of warriors, are divided
and re-divided in their kinds of movements: here are gunners, there infantry
and elsewhere cavalry. Within each of the differentiated functions of these
bodies there come others: there are distinct actions of privates, sergeants,
captains, colonels, generals, as also of those who constitute the commissariat
and those who attend to the wounded. The clustered motions that have thus
become comparatively heterogeneous in general and in detail, have simultaneously
increased in precision; so that in battle, men and the regiments formed of
them, are made to take definite positions and perform definite acts at definite
times. Once more, there has gone on that integration by which the multiform
actions of an army are directed to a single end. By a co-ordinating apparatus
having the commander-in-chief for its centre, the charges, and halts, and
retreats are duly concerted; and a hundred thousand individual motions are
united under one will.




Again on comparing the rule of a savage chief with that of a civilized
government, aided by its subordinate local governments and their officers,
down to the police, we see how, as men have advanced from tribes of hundreds
to nations of millions, the regulative action has grown large in amount;
how, guided by written laws, it has passed from vagueness and irregularity
to comparative precision; and how it has subdivided into processes increasingly
multiform. Or after observing how the barter that goes on among barbarians
differs from our own commercial processes, by which a million's worth of
commodities is distributed daily; by which the relative values of articles
immensely varied in kinds and qualities are exactly measured, and the supplies
adjusted to the demands; and by which industrial activities of all orders
are so combined that each depends on the rest and aids the rest; we see that
the kind of movement which constitutes trade, has become progressively more
vast, more varied, more definite, and more integrated.




§145. A finished conception of Evolution thus includes the re-distribution
of the retained motion, as well as that of the component matter. This added
element of the conception is scarcely, if at all, less important than the
other. The movements of the Solar System have a significance equal to that
which the sizes, forms, and relative distances of its members possess. The
Earth's geographical and geological structure are not more important elements
in the order of Nature than are the motions, regular and irregular, of the
water and the air clothing it. And of the phenomena presented by an organism,
it must be admitted that the combined sensible and insensible actions we
call its life, do not yield in interest to its structural traits. Leaving
out, however, all implied reference to the way in which these two orders
of facts concern us, it is clear that with each redistribution of matter
there necessarily goes a re-distribution of motion; and that the unified
knowledge constituting Philosophy, must comprehend both aspects of the transformation.




Our formula, therefore, needs an additional clause. To combine this satisfactorily
with the clauses as they stand in the last chapter, is scarcely practicable;
and for convenience of expression it will be best to change their order.
On doing this, and making the requisite addition, the formula finally stands
thus: -- Evolution is an integration of matter and concomitant dissipation
of motion; during which the matter passes from an indefinite, incoherent
homogeneity to a definite, coherent heterogeneity and during which the retained
motion undergoes a parallel transformation.




[Note. Only at the last moment, when this sheet is ready for press and
all the rest of the volume is standing in type, so that new matter cannot
be introduced without changing the "making up" throughout 150 pages,
have I perceived that the above formula should be slightly modified. Hence
my only practicable course is to indicate here the alteration to be made,
and to set forth the reasons for it in Appendix A.




The definition of Evolution needs qualifying by introduction of the word
"relatively" before each of its antithetical clauses. The statement
should be that "the matter passes from a relatively indefinite, incoherent
homogeneity to a relatively definite, coherent heterogeneity." Already
this qualification has been indicated in a note to §116 (page 295),
but, more effectually to exclude misapprehensions, it must be incorporated
in the definition. In Appendix A are named the circumstances which led to
inadequate recognition of it.]




Chapter 18




The Interpretation of Evolution




§146. Is this law ultimate or derivative? Must we rest satisfied
with the conclusion that throughout all classes of concrete phenomena such
is the course of transformation? Or is it possible for us to ascertain why
such is the course of transformation? May we seek for some all-pervading
principle which underlies this all-pervading process? Can the inductions
set forth in the preceding four chapters be reduced to deductions?




Manifestly this community of result implies community of cause. It may
be that of the cause no account can be given, further than that the Unknowable
is manifested to us after this mode. Or, it may be that this mode of manifestation
is implied by a simpler mode, from which these many complex effects follow.
Analogy suggests the latter inference. Just as it was possible to interpret
the empirical generalizations called Kepler's laws, as necessary consequences
of the law of gravitation; so it may be possible to interpret the foregoing
empirical generalizations as necessary consequences of some deeper law.




Unless we succeed in finding a rationale of this universal metamorphosis,
we obviously fall short of that completely unified knowledge constituting
Philosophy. As they at present stand, the several conclusions we have lately
reached appear to be independent. There is no demonstrated connexion between
increasing definiteness and increasing heterogeneity, or between both and
increasing integration. Still less proof is there that these laws of the
re-distribution of matter and motion, are necessarily correlated with those
laws of the direction of motion and the rhythm of motion, previously set
forth. But until we see these now separate truths to be implications of one
truth, our knowledge remains imperfectly coherent.




§147. The task before us, then, is that of exhibiting the phenomena
of Evolution in synthetic order. Setting out from an established ultimate
principle, it has to be shown that the course of transformation among all
kinds of existences, cannot but be that which we have seen it to be. It has
to be shown that the re-distribution of matter and motion, must everywhere
take place in those ways, and produce those traits, which celestial bodies,
organisms, societies, alike display. And it has to be shown that in this
universality of process, is traceable the same necessity which we find in
each simplest movement around us, down to the accelerated fall of a stone
or the recurrent beat of a harp-string.




In other words, the phenomena of Evolution have to be deduced from the
Persistence of Force. As before said -- "to this an ultimate analysis
brings us down, and on this a rational synthesis must build up." This
being the ultimate truth which transcends experience by underlying it, furnishes
a common basis on which the widest generalizations stand; and hence these
widest generalizations are to be unified by referring them to this common
basis. Already the truths that there is equivalence among transformed forces,
that motion follows the line of least resistance or greatest traction and
that it is universally rhythmic, we have found to be severally deducible
from the persistence of force; and this affiliation of them on the persistence
of force has reduced them to a coherent whole. Here we have similarly to
affiliate the universal traits of Evolution, by showing that, given the persistence
of force, the re-distribution of Matter and Motion necessarily proceeds in
such ways as to produce these traits. By doing this we shall unite them as
correlative manifestations of one law, at the same time that we unite this
law with the foregoing simpler laws.




§148. Before proceeding it will be well to set down some principles
that must be borne in mind. In interpreting Evolution we shall have to consider,
under their special forms, the various resolutions of force or energy which
accompany the re-distributions of matter and motion. Let us glance at such
resolutions under their most general forms.




Any incident force is primarily divisible into its effective and non-effective
portions. In mechanical impact the entire momentum of a striking body is
never communicated to the body struck: even under those most favourable conditions
in which the striking body loses all its sensible motion, there still remains
with it some of the original momentum under the shape of that insensible
motion produced among its particles by the collision. Again, of the light
or heat falling on any mass, a part, more or less considerable, is reflected;
and only the remaining part works molecular changes in the mass. Next it
is to be noted that the effective force is itself divisible into the temporarily
effective and the permanently effective. The units of an aggregate acted
on may undergo only those rhythmical changes of relative position which constitute
increased vibration; or they may also undergo changes of relative position
which are not from instant to instant neutralized by opposite ones. Of these
the first, disappearing in the shape of radiating undulations, leave the
molecular arrangement as it originally was; while the second conduce to one
form of that re-arrangement characterizing compound Evolution. Yet a further
distinction has to be made. The permanently effective force works out changes
of relative position of two kinds -- the insensible and the sensible. The
insensible transpositions among the units are those constituting molecular
changes, including what we call chemical composition and decomposition; and
it is these which largely constitute the qualitative differences that arise
in an aggregate. The sensible transpositions are such as result when certain
of the units -- molar units as well as molecular units -- instead of being
put into different relations with their immediate neighbours, are carried
away from them and deposited elsewhere.




Concerning these divisions and subdivisions of any force affecting an
aggregate, the fact which it chiefly concerts us to observe is, that they
are complementary to one another. Of the whole incident force, the effective
must be that which remains after deducting the non-effective. The two parts
of the effective force must vary inversely as each other: where much of it
is temporarily effective, little of it can be permanently effective; and
vice versa. Lastly, the permanently effective force, being expended in working
both the insensible re-arrangements which constitute molecular modification,
and the sensible re-arrangements which result in structure, must generate
of either kind an amount that is great or small in proportion as it has generated
a small or great amount of the other.




Chapter 19




The Instability of the Homogenous Exemplifying Instability at Large(*)




<* The idea developed in this chapter originally formed part of an
article on "Transcendental Physiology," published in 1857. See
Essays, Vol. I.>




§149. The difficulty of dealing with transformations so many-sided
as those which all existences have undergone, or are undergoing, is such
as to make a definite or complete deductive interpretation seem almost hopeless.
So to grasp the total process of re-distribution, as to see simultaneously
its several necessary results in their actual interdependence, is scarcely
possible. There is, however, a mode of rendering the process as a whole tolerably
comprehensible. Though the genesis of the re-arrangement undergone by every
evolving aggregate is in itself one, it presents to our intelligence several
factors; and after interpreting the effects of each separately, we may, by
synthesis of the interpretations, form an adequate conception.




The proposition which comes first in logical order, is, that some re-arrangement
must result; and this proposition may be best dealt with under the more specific
shape, that the condition of homogeneity is a condition of unstable equilibrium.




First, as to the meanings of the terms, respecting which some readers
may need explanation. The state of "unstable equilibrium," so named
in mechanics, is well illustrated by a stick standing on its lower end, in
contrast with the state of stable equilibrium of a stick suspended by its
upper end: the one instantly losing its equilibrium and the other regaining
it if disturbed. But the reader must be warned against confusing the instability
thus exemplified with the instability here to be treated of. The one shown
by a stick on end may be called an external instability, while that which
we have now to consider is an internal instability. It is not alleged that
a homogeneous aggregate is liable because of its homogeneity to be overthrown
or deranged by an external force. The allegation is that its component parts
cannot maintain their arrangements unaltered: they must forthwith begin to
change their relations to one another. Let us take a few illustrations.




Of mechanical ones the most familiar is that of the scales. If they be
accurately made and not clogged by dirt or rust, it is impossible to keep
a pair of scales perfectly balanced: eventually one scale will descend and
the other ascend -- they will assume a heterogeneous relation. Could a mass
of water be brought into a state of perfect homogeneity -- a state of complete
quiescence, and exactly equal density throughout -- yet the radiation of
heat from neighbouring bodies, by affecting differently its different parts,
would inevitably produce inequalities of density and consequent currents;
and would so render it to that extent heterogeneous. Take a piece of red-hot
matter, and however evenly heated it may at first be, it will quickly cease
to be so: the exterior, cooling faster than the interior will become different
from it in temperature. And the lapse into heterogeneity of temperature,
so obvious. in this extreme case, takes place more or less in the cases of
all surrounding objects, which are ever being warmed or cooled. The action
of chemical forces supplies other illustrations. Expose a fragment of metal
to air or water, and in course of time it will be coated with a film of oxide,
carbonate, or other compound: its outer parts will become unlike its inner
parts. Often the heterogeneity produced by the actions of chemical forces
on the surfaces of masses, is not striking, because the changed portions
are soon washed away, or otherwise removed. But if this be prevented comparatively
complex structures result. In some quarries of trap-rock there are striking
examples. Not unfrequently a piece of trap may be found reduced, by the action
of the weather, to a number of loosely-adherent coats, like those of an onion.
Where the block has been undisturbed, we may trace the whole series of these,
from the angular, irregular outer one, through successively included ones
in which the shape becomes gradually rounded, ending at length in a spherical
nucleus. On comparing the original mass of stone with this group of concentric
coats, each differing from the rest in form, and probably in the state of
decomposition it has arrived at, we get a marked illustration of the multiformity
to which, in lapse of time, a uniform body may be brought by external chemical
action. The instability of the homogeneous is equally seen in the changes
set up throughout the interior of a mass, when it consists of units that
are not rigidly bound together. The molecules of a slowly-settling precipitate
do not remain separate, and equably distributed through the fluid in which
they make their appearance. They aggregate either into crystalline grains
or into flocculi; and where the mass of fluid is great and the process prolonged,
these flocculi do not continue equi-distant, but asSemble into groups. That
is to say, there is a destruction of the balance at first subsisting among
the diffused particles, and also of the balance at first subsisting among
the groups into which these particles unite.




The instability thus variously illustrated is consequent on the fact that
the several parts of any homogeneous aggregate are exposed to different forces
-- forces which differ either in kind or amount; and are of necessity differently
modified. The relations of outside and inside, and of comparative nearness
of the parts to neighbouring sources of influence, imply the reception of
influences that are unlike in quantity or quality, or both: unlike changes,
now temporary now permanent, being caused.




For like reasons the process must repeat itself in each of the component
masses of units that are differentiated by the modifying forces. Each of
these minor groups, like the major group, must gradually, in obedience to
the unlike influences acting on it, lose its balance of parts, and pass from
a uniform into a multiform state. And so on continuously. Whence, indeed,
it follows that not only must the homogeneous lapse into non-homogeneous,
but the more homogeneous must tend ever to become less homogeneous. If any
given whole, instead of being absolutely uniform throughout, consist of parts
distinguishable from one another -- if each of these parts, while somewhat
unlike other parts, is uniform within itself; then, each of them being in
unstable equilibrium, it follows that while the changes set up within it
must render it multiform, they must at the same time render the whole more
multiform than before. The general principle, now to be followed out in its
applications, is thus somewhat more comprehensive than the title of the chapter
implies.




No demurrer to the conclusions drawn, can be based on the truth that perfect
homogeneity nowhere exists; since, whether that state with which we commence
be or be not one of perfect homogeneity, the process must equally be towards
a relative heterogeneity.




§150. The stars are distributed with a threefold irregularity. There
is first the marked contrast between the Milky Way and other parts of the
heavens, in respect of the quantities of stars within given visual areas.
There are secondary contrasts of like kind in the Milky Way itself, which
has its thick and thin places; as well as throughout the celestial spaces
in general, which are more closely strewn in some regions than in others.
And there is a third order of contrasts produced by the aggregation of stars
into small clusters. Besides this heterogeneity in the distribution of stars,
considered without distinctions of kind, a further heterogeneity is disclosed
when they are classified by their differences of colour, which answer to
differences of physical constitution. While yellow stars are found in all
parts of the heavens, red and blue stars are not so: there are wide regions
in which both red and blue stars are rare; there are regions in which the
blue occur in considerable numbers, and there are other regions in which
the red are comparatively abundant. Yet one more irregularity of like significance
is presented by the nebulae. These are not dispersed with anything like uniformity,
but are far more numerous around the poles of the galactic circle than in
the neighbourhood of its plane.




No one will expect that anything like a definite interpretation of this
structure can be given on the hypothesis of Evolution, or any other hypothesis.
Such an interpretation would imply some reasonable assumption respecting
the pre-existing distribution of the stellar matter and of the matter forming
nebulae, and we have no warrant for any assumption. If we allow imagination
to range back through antecedent Possibilities and probabilities, we see
it to be unlikely that homogeneous matter filled the space which our Sidereal
System now fills, at a time immediately preceding its initiation. Rather
the evidence which the heavens present implies that the distribution out
of which the present distribution arose, was irregular in all respects. Though
certain traits of our galaxy suggest that it has a vague individuality, and
that, along with their special motions, its stars have some general motion;
yet the evidence forces on us the conclusion that many varieties of changes
have been simultaneously going on in its different parts. We find nebulae
in all stages of concentration, star-clusters variously condensed, groups
of larger stars approximating in different degrees, as well as regions like
those which the nubeculae occupy, presenting complex structures and apparently
active changes. The most which can be said respecting this total distribution
is that, subject as all parts of our Sidereal System are to the law of gravitation,
the heterogeneities it exhibits, everywhere implying a progressing concentration,
that is, integration, point backward to a less heterogeneous state and point
forward to a more heterogeneous state. But, leaving aside this too transcendent
question, we may without undue rashness consider from the evolution point
of view the changes to be anticipated in one of those collections of matter
described as a diffused nebulosity, or one of those more distinct ones of
which the outlying parts are compared to wisps of cloud blown about by the
wind. The only evolutional process which can at first be displayed is the
primary one of integration -- the gathering together through mutual attraction
of the parts; for in this early stage in which indefiniteness and incoherence
are so fully exemplified, there does not yet exist such an aggregate as is
capable of exhibiting secondary re-distributions: we have only the dispersed
components of such an aggregate. Contemplating, then, only the process of
integration, we may, without asking anything about the previous history of
an irregular nebula, safely assume that its parts have their respective proper
motions; for the chances are infinity to one against a state of rest relatively
to one another. Further, the chances are infinity to one against their proper
motions being such that during concentration they will cancel one another:
the motion of some part, or the resultant of the motions of several parts,
will constitute a proper motion distinct from that which mutual gravitation
generates -- a motion which, unless just counterbalanced by an opposite one
(again an infinite improbability) will generate rotation. It may, indeed,
be argued that, apart from any pre-existing proper motions of its parts,
a nebulous mass, if irregular, will acquire rotation while integrating; since
each outlying fragment, arriving after the rest have been gathered together,
is infinitely unlikely to fall into the mass in such a manner that its motion
will be entirely cancelled by resistance; but, falling into it so as to be
deflected laterally, will have its motion of approach so changed in direction
as to become in part a motion of revolution: a resultant of all such motions,
largely conflicting, being an eventual rotation of the mass. It must not,
however, be assumed that this will necessarily be the rotation of a solitary
aggregate. The great nebula in Andromeda does not appear on the way to form
a single body; and is an advanced spiral of which the that in Canes Venatici
outer parts have a tangential motion too great to permit of their being drawn
into the centre. Rather the apparent implication of the structure is that
there will be formed a cluster of masses revolving round a common centre
of gravity. Such cases, joined with those of the annular nebula, suggest
that often the processes of integration result in compound structures, various
in their kinds, while in other cases, and perhaps most frequently, single
masses of rotating nebulous matter are formed.




Ignoring all such possibilities and probabilities, however, and limiting
our attention to that form of the nebular hypothesis which regards the solar
system as having resulted from a rotating spheroid of diffused substance;
let us consider what consequence the instability of the homogeneous necessitates.
Being oblate in figure, unlike in the densities of its centre and surface,
unlike in their temperatures, and probably unlike in the angular velocities
of its parts, such a mass cannot be called homogeneous; and any further changes
exhibited by it can illustrate the general law, only as being changes from
a more homogeneous to a less homogeneous state. Just noting that one of these
changes is the increasing oblateness of form, let us go on to observe those
which are to be found in the transformations of such of its parts as are
at first homogeneous within themselves. If we accept the conclusion that
the equatorial portion of this rotating and contracting spheroid will, at
successive stages, have a centrifugal force great enough to prevent nearer
approach to the centre of rotation, and will so be left behind; we shall
find, in the fate of the detached ring, an exemplification of the principle
we are following out. Consisting of gaseous matter such a ring, even if uniform
at the time of its detachment, could not continue so. In the absence of equality
among the forces, internal and external, acting on it, there must be a point
or points at which the cohesion of its parts would be less than elsewhere
-- a point or points at which rupture would therefore take place. The original
assumption was that the ring would rupture at one place only, and would then
collapse on itself. But this was a more than questionable assumption: such,
at least, I know to have been the opinion of the late Sir John Herschel.
So vast a ring, consisting of matter having such feeble cohesion, must break
up into many parts. Nevertheless, appeal to another high authority -- the
late Sir G. B. Airy -- yielded verification for the belief that the ultimate
result which Laplace predicted would take place. And here is furnished a
further illustration of the instability of the homogeneous. For even supposing
the masses of nebulous matter into which such a ring separated, were so much
alike in their sizes and distances as to attract one another with exactly
equal forces (which is infinitely improbable); yet the unequal actions of
external disturbing forces would inevitably destroy their equilibrium --
there would be one or more points at which adjacent masses would begin to
part company. Separation, once commenced, would with accelerating speed lead
to a grouping of the masses. A like result would eventually take place with
the groups thus formed; until they at length aggregated into a single mass.




§151. Already so many references have been made to the formation
of a crust over the originally incandescent Earth, that it may be thought
superfluous again to name it. It has not, however, been thus far considered
in connexion with the general principle under discussion. Here it must be
noted as a necessary consequence of the instability of the homogeneous. In
this cooling and soldification of the Earth's surface, we have one of the
simplest, as well as one of the most important, instances of that change
from a uniform to a multiform state which occurs in any mass through exposure
of its component parts to unlike conditions. To the differentiation of the
Earth's exterior from its interior, thus brought about, we must add one of
the most conspicuous differentiations which the exterior itself afterwards
undergoes, as being similarly brought about. Were the forces to which the
surface of the Earth is subject, alike in all directions, there would be
no reason why certain of its parts should become permanently unlike the rest.
But being unequally exposed to the chief external centre of force -- the
Sun -- its main divisions become unequally modified. While the crust thickens
and cools, there arises that contrast, now so decided, between the polar
and equatorial regions.




Along with these most marked physical differentiations of the Earth, there
have been going on numerous chemical differentiations, admitting of similar
interpretation. Leaving aside all speculations concerning the origin of the
so-called simple substances, it will suffice to show how in place of that
comparative homogeneity of the Earth's crust, chemically considered, which
must have existed when its temperature was high, there has arisen, during
its cooling, an increasing chemical heterogeneity. Let us contemplate this
change somewhat in detail. At an extreme heat the bodies we call elements
cannot combine. Even under such heat as can be generated artificially, some
very strong affinities yield; and the great majority of chemical compounds
are decomposed at much lower temperatures. Probably, therefore, when the
Earth was in its first state of incandescence, there were no chemical combinations.
But without drawing this inference, let us set out with the unquestionable
fact that the compounds which can exist at the highest temperatures, and
which must therefore have been the first formed as the Earth cooled, are
those of the simplest constitutions. The protoxides (including under that
head the alkalies, earths, etc.) are, as a class,the most stable compounds
known -- the least changeable by heat. These, consisting severally of one
atom of each component element, are but one degree less homogeneous than
the elements themselves. More heterogeneous than these, more decomposable
by heat, and therefore later in the Earth's history, are the deutoxides,
tritoxides, peroxides, etc.; in which two, three, four, or more atoms of
oxygen are united with one atom of metal or other base. Still less able to
resist heat are the salts, which present us with compound atoms each made
up of five, six, seven, eight, ten, twelve, or more atoms, of three or more
kinds. Then there are the hydrated salts of a yet greater heterogeneity,
which undergo partial decomposition at much lower temperatures. After them
come the further-complicated supersalts and double salts, having a stability
again decreased; and so throughout. After making a few unimportant qualifications
demanded by peculiar affinities, it may be asserted as a general law of these
inorganic combinations that, other things equal, the stability decreases
as the complexity increases. When we pass to the compounds which make up
organic bodes, we find this general law further exemplified; we find much
greater complexity and much less stability. A molecule of albumen, for instance,
consists of more than two hundred ultimate units of five different kinds.
According to the latest analyses it contains in each molecule, 72 of carbon,
18 of nitrogen, 1 of sulphur, 112 of hydrogen, and 22 of oxygen -- in all,
225 atoms; or, more strictly speaking, equivalents. And this substance is
so unstable as to decompose at quite moderate temperatures; as that to which
the outside of a joint of roasting meat is exposed. Possibly it will be objected
that some inorganic compounds, as phosphuretted hydrogen, chloride of nitrogen,
and the nitrogen-explosives in general, are more decomposable than most organic
compounds. This is true. But the admission may be made without damage to
the argument. The proposition is not that all simple combinations are more
stable than all complex ones. To establish our inference it is necessary
only to show that, as an average fact, the simple combinations can exist
at a higher temperature than the complex ones. And this is beyond question.
Thus it is manifest that the present chemical heterogeneity of the Earth's
surface, and of the bodies upon it, has arisen by degrees as the decrease
of heat has permitted; and that it has shown itself in three forms: -- first,
in the multiplication of chemical compounds; second, in the greater number
of different elements contained in the more modern of these compounds; and
third, in the higher and more varied multiples in which these more numerous
elements combine.




Without specifying them, it will suffice just to name the meteorologic
processes eventually set up in the Earth's atmosphere, as further illustrating
the alleged law. They equally display that destruction of a homogeneous state
which results from unequal exposure to incident forces.




§152. Take a mass of unorganized but organizable matter -- either
the body of one of the lowest living forms, or the germ of one of the higher:
both comparatively homogeneous. Consider its circumstances. Either it is
immersed in water or air or is contained within a parent organism. Wherever
placed, however, its outer and inner parts stand differently related to surrounding
agencies -- nutriment, oxygen, and the various stimuli. But this is not all.
Whether it lies quiescent at the bottom of a pool or on the leaf of a plant;
whether it moves through the water preserving some definite attitude; or
whether it is in the inside of an adult; it equally happens that certain
parts of its surface are more exposed to surrounding agencies than other
parts -- in some cases more exposed to light, heat, or oxygen, and in other
cases to the maternal tissues and their contents. Hence must follow the loss
of its original equilibrium. This may take place in one of two ways. Either
the disturbing forces may be such as to over-balance the affinities of the
organic elements, and there results decomposition; or, as ordinarily occurs,
such changes are induced as do not destroy the organic compounds but only
modify them: the parts most exposed to the modifying forces being most modified.
To elucidate this a few cases are required.




Observe first what appear to be exceptions. Certain minute animal forms
present either no appreciable differentiations or differentiations so obscure
as to be made out with great difficulty. Concerning these forms, however,
note the fact that in all cases (some say in nearly all) the presence of
a nucleus shows conformity to the general law, since it implies a contrast
between the innermost protoplasm and the protoplasm surrounding it. But let
us pass on to the seemingly exceptional fact that the surrounding protoplasm
does not exhibit the kind of differentiation between inner and outer above
alleged. To this objection, there immediately presents itself the answer
that this homogeneous body-substance does not become heterogeneous because
its parts are not subject to any permanent heterogeneity of conditions: it
has no fixed surface. In all members of the lowest group, Proteomyxa, the
protoplasm continually protrudes itself, now in thicker now in thinner processes
-- pseudopodia; proved to have no limiting membranes by often coalescing.
These, when they touch fragments of nutriment, contract and draw them into
the mass of the body; so that what was just before external now becomes internal.
Thus there are no fixed relations of parts and therefore no differentiations.
And it is noteworthy that in certain of the Amoebae, less excursive than
others of the type in the movements of their substance, we see an incipient
differentiation: sometimes there is an investing film, "delicate and
evanescent," implying that an outer part which is for a short time stationary,
begins to be differentiated. Perceiving, then, that this apparent exception
is in fact a verification, we go on to observe that permanent relations of
inner and outer are followed by permanent differentiations. Elsewhere (Essays,
i, 439) I have quoted from Sachs various proofs that a portion of protoplasm,
whether normally detached, as in a spore, or abnormally detached, as by a
rupture, forthwith becoming globular, at once acquires a surface denser than
the interior; and Kerner similarly describes the protoplasm of a zoospore
as "fixing itself and putting on a delicate cell-wall." These cases,
joined with those of various Protozoa which, ceasing their active changes
of form, pass into a resting stage and become enclosed in a cyst, and joined
with the cases of Protophyta, like Sphaerella nivalis or "Red Snow,"
which, in its young stage ovoid, flagellate, locomotive, and secreting a
skin, presently passes into a resting stage and becomes spherical and covered
by a substantial cell-membrane, yield clear evidence that in these lowest
types there is a lapse from a more homogeneous state into a less homogeneous
state. And throughout the higher Protozoa and Protophyta, the primary contrast
is between cell-membrane and cell-contents -- between the part exposed to
environing forces and the part sheltered from them.




The transition -- the most important transition which the organic world
presents -- between the simple forms above exemplified and those compound
forms in which a number of such are united into a colony, is well seen in
certain minute algae, Pandorina and Eudorina: each being a spherically-arranged
colony of sixteen or thirty-two members. In this first advance from unicellular
types to multicellular types we find conformity to the general law in so
far that the hollow sphere conspicuously displays the primary contrast between
outer and inner; a primitive amorphous cluster has undergone a marked differentiation
of parts corresponding to the difference of conditions. Still more instructive
is the evidence furnished by types slightly in advance of these -- Pleodorina
and Volvox; the first consisting of some 128 cells and the second of 10,000
or more. Hollow spheres like the foregoing, they present in common the significant
trait that, revolving, as they do, on a constant axis and moving forward
approximately in the line of that axis, their two ends are exposed to slightly
different conditions, and the primitive homogeneity of the members of the
colony has, in consequence, lapsed into appropriate heterogeneity. These
ciliated alga-cells, whether living singly or joined into groups, severally
have a minute red speck which is proved to be sensitive to light, and causes
motion towards it. Now in these compound forms just named, the eye-spots
are more developed in those cells forming the anterior part of the spherical
colony-cells which also carry on more actively the nutritive function; while
those cells which form the posterior part of the sphere, and carry on the
reproductive function, have smaller eye-spots. On passing to the animal kingdom
(which at its root is so little differentiated from the vegetal kingdom that
there are unsettled disputes respecting the inclusion of the lowest forms
in the one or the other) we meet with parallel illustrations. The nucleated
cell, which is the common starting point for all organisms, animal and vegetal,
presents us as before with the primary contrast between inner and outer.
And as in the multicellular plants so in the multicellular animals, a like
primary contrast is forthwith repeated in the initial clusters of cells.
Produced by the repeated fissions of the primitive germ-cell, each such cluster
presently forms itself into a hollow sphere: the "cleavage cavity"
being manifestly homologous with the cavity of the Vilvox-sphere.*<* I
may remark in passing that in the one case (and possibly by inheritance in
the other) this formation of a hollow sphere is the result of the more rapid
growth of the outer parts than the inner parts of a solid group. Being dependent
for nutrition on light and carbon-dioxide in the water, the outside components
of a Volvox (either the cells or the chlorophyll in each cell) have a great
advantage over the cells or portions of cells which are more centrally placed;
and it needs but to consider what happens if the periphery of a sphere increases
at a proportionately greater rate than its contents to see that it must either
leave the contents behind or draw them after it and become hollow. An analogous
effect of excessive peripheral growth may occasionally be seen exempted when,
after a dry fit during which potatoes have not grown much, there comes rain
and a rapid increase of bulk; this being the explanation of the fact that
in very large potatoes there is not uncommonly a split in the interior, caused
by the strain which the disproportionate growth of the periphery necessarily
causes.> In simple types of Metazoa, as the hydroid polyps, the blastula,
being thus established in conformity with the primary contrast of conditions,
there presently begins a secondary differentiation which, like that we have
seen in the Volvox but in a more pronounced manner, answers to the secondary
contrast of conditions; for this spherical assemblage of cells becomes ovoid,
and by the aid of its cilia moves through the water broad end foremost: the
lapse from homogeneity of form being in some cases made more pronounced by
the assumption of a sausage-shape. Simultaneously the component cells of
the two ends become unlike in character. A far more marked differentiation,
or lapse into greater heterogeneity, is seen when this single-layered spheroid
of ciliated cells is changed into a double-layered spheroid by introversion
of one side: a sack with the mouth sewn up and the bottom thrust in as far
as it will go, serving to illustrate the relations of parts. Hence results
the gastrula with its ectoderm and endoderm; severally playing contrasted
parts in subsequent development. So that at successive stages there is repeated
this rise of a contrast of structures answering to a contrast of conditions
-- that which occurs in the simple cell, that which occurs in the hollow
sphere of such cells, and that which occurs in the double-walled sphere.




Illustrations presenting the law under another aspect -- one from each
organic kingdom -- are instructive. The ciliated germ or planula of a Zoophyte
which, during its locomotive stage, is distinguishable only into outer and
inner tissues, no sooner becomes fixed than its upper end begins to assume
a different structure from its lower. The disc-shaped gemmae of the Marchantia,
originally alike on both surfaces, and falling at random with either side
uppermost, immediately begin to develop rootlets on their under sides and
stomata on their upper sides: a fact proving beyond question, that this primary
differentiation is determined by this fundamental contrast of conditions.




Of course in the germs of higher organisms, the metamorphoses immediately
due to the instability of the homogeneous, are soon masked by those due to
the assumption of the hereditary type. Even in the early stages above described
there are to be traced modifications thus originating. Even before the primary
cell-multiplication begins, there is said to be an observable distinction
between the two poles of the egg-cell, foreshadowing the different germ-layers.
Of course as development progresses assumption of the transmitted type of
structure quickly obscures these primary lapses from homogeneity; though
for some time the fundamental relations of inner and outer are recognizable
in the differentiations. But what has been said suffices to establish the
alleged general truth. It is enough that incipient organisms, setting out
from relatively homogeneous arrangements, forthwith begin to fall into relatively
heterogeneous ones. It is enough that the most conspicuous differentiations
which they display, correspond to the most marked differences of conditions
to which their parts are subject. It is enough that the habitual contrast
between outside and inside, which we know is produced in inorganic masses
by unlikeness of exposure to incident forces, is paralleled by the first
contrast which makes its appearance in all organic masses.




It remains to point out that in the assemblage of organisms constituting
a species, the principle enunciated is no less traceable. We have abundant
materials for the induction that each species will not remain uniform --
is ever becoming to some extent multiform; and there is ground for the deduction
that this lapse from homogeneity to heterogeneity is caused by the subjection
of its members to unlike circumstances. Tending ever to spread from its original
habitat into adjacent habitats, each species must have its peripheral parts
subject to sets of forces unlike those to which its central parts are subject,
and so must tend to have its peripheral members made different from its central
members.




§153. Among mental phenomena full establishment of the alleged law
would involve an analysis too extensive for the occasion. To show satisfactorily
how states of consciousness, relatively homogeneous, become heterogeneous
through differences in the changes wrought by different external forces,
would require us to trace out the organization of early experiences. Without
here attempting this it must suffice to set down the conclusions to be drawn.




The development of intelligence is, under one of its chief aspects, a
classifying of the unlike things previously confounded together -- a formation
of sub-classes and sub-sub-classes, until the once confused aggregate of
objects known, is resolved into an aggregate which unites great heterogeneity
among its multiplied groups, with complete homogeneity among the members
of each group. On following through ascending grades of creatures, the genesis
of that vast structure of knowledge acquired by sight, we see that in the
first stage, where eye-specks suffice only for discriminating light from
darkness, there can be no classifications of objects seen, save those based
on the manner in which light is obstructed, and the degree in which it is
obstructed. By such undeveloped visual organs, the shadows perceived would
be merely distinguished into those of the stationary objects which the creature
passed during its own movements, and those of the moving objects which came
near while it was at rest; so that the extremely general classification of
visible things into stationary and moving, would be the earliest formed.
A kindred step follows. While the simplest eyes cannot distinguish between
an obstruction of light caused by a small object close to, and an obstruction
caused by a large object at some distance, eyes a little more developed can
distinguish them; whence must result a vague differentiation of the class
of moving objects into the nearer and the more remote. Further developments
which make possible a better estimation of distances by adjustment of the
optic axes, and those which, through enlargement and subdivision of the retina,
make possible the discrimination of shapes, must give greater definiteness
to the classes already formed, and subdivide these into smaller classes,
consisting of objects less unlike. In every infant may be traced the analogous
transformation of a confused aggregate of impressions of surrounding things,
not recognized as differing in their distances, sizes, and shapes, into separate
classes of things unlike one another in these and various other respects.
And in both cases the change from this first indefinite, incoherent, and
comparatively homogeneous consciousness, to a definite, coherent, and heterogeneous
one, is due to differences in the actions of incident forces on the organism.
These brief indications must suffice. Probably they will give adequate clue
to an argument by which each reader may satisfy himself that the course of
mental evolution offers no exception to the general law. In further aid of
such an argument, I will here add an illustration which is comprehensible
apart from the process of mental evolution as a whole.




It has been remarked (I am told by Coleridge) that with the advance of
language, words which were originally alike in their meanings acquire unlike
meanings -- a change he expressed by the formidable word "de-synonymization."
Among indigenous words this loss of equivalence cannot be clearly shown;
because in them the divergences of meaning began before the dawn of literature.
But among words that have been coined, or adopted from other languages, since
the writing of books commenced, it is demonstrable. By the old divines, miscreant
was used in its etymological sense of unbeliever; but in modern speech it
has entirely lost this sense. Similarly with evil-doer and malefactor. Exactly
synonymous as these are by derivation, they are no longer synonymous by usage.
By a malefactor we now under stand a convicted criminal, which is far from
being the acceptation of evil-doer. The verb produce bears in Euclid its
primary meaning -- to prolong or draw out; but the now largely-developed
meanings of produce, have little in common with the meanings of prolong,
or draw out. In the Church of England liturgy an odd effect now results from
the occurrence of prevent in its original sense -- to come before, instead
of its modern specialized sense -- to come before with the effect of arresting.
But the most conclusive cases are those in which the contrasted words consist
of the same parts differently combined, as in go under and undergo. We go
under a tree, and we undergo a pain. But though, if analytically considered,
the meanings would be the same were the words transposed, habit has so far
modified their meanings that we could not without absurdity speak of undergoing
a tree and going under a pain. Many such instances show that between two
words which are originally of like force, an equilibrium cannot be maintained.
Unless they are daily used in exactly equal degrees, in exactly similar relations
(which is infinitely improbable), there necessarily aries a habit of associating
one rather than the other with particular acts, or objects. Such a habit
once commenced, becomes confirmed; and gradually their homogeneity of meaning
disappears.




Should any difficulty be felt in understanding how these mental changes
exemplify a law of physical transformations that are wrought by physical
forces, it will disappear on contemplating acts of mind as nervous functions.
It will be seen that each loss of equilibrium above instanced, is a loss
of functional equality between some two elements of the nervous system. And
it will be seen that, as in other cases, this loss of functional equality
is due to differences in the incidence of forces.




§154. Masses of men, in common with all other masses, show a like
proclivity similarly caused. Small combinations and large societies equally
manifest it; and in the one, as in the other, both governmental and industrial
differentiations are initiated by it. Let us glance at the facts under these
heads.




A business-partnership, balanced as the authorities of its members may
theoretically be, presently becomes a union in which the authority of one
partner is tacitly recognized as greater than that of the other or others.
Though the shareholders have given equal powers to the directors of their
company, inequalities of power soon arise among them; and often the supremacy
of some one director grows so marked, that his decisions determine the course
which the board takes. Nor in associations for political, charitable, literary,
or other purposes, do we fail to find a like process of division into dominant
and subordinate parties; each having its leader, its members of less influence,
and its mass of uninfluential members. These minor instances in which unorganized
groups of men, standing in homogeneous relations, may be watched gradually
passing into organized groups of men standing in heterogeneous relations,
give us key to social inequalities. Barbarous and civilized communities are
alike characterized by separation into classes, as well as by separation
of each class into more important and less important units; and this structure
is the gradually-consolidated result of a process like that daily exemplified
in trading and other combinations. So long as men are constituted to act
on one another, either by physical force or by force of character the struggles
for supremacy must finally be decided in favour of some class or some one;
and the difference once commenced must tend to become ever more marked. Its
unstable equilibrium being destroyed, the uniform must gravitate with increasing
rapidity into the multiform. And so supremacy and subordination must establish
themselves, as we see they do, throughout the whole structure of a society,
from the great class-divisions pervading its entire body, down to village
cliques, and even down to every posse of schoolboys. Probably it will be
objected that such changes result, not from the homogeneity of the original
aggregations, but from their non-homogeneity -- from certain slight differences
existing among their units at the outset. This is doubtless the proximate
cause. In strictness, such changes must be regarded as transformations of
the relatively homogeneous into the relatively heterogeneous. But an aggregation
of men absolutely alike in their endowments, would eventually undergo a similar
transformation. For in the absence of uniformity in the lives severally led
by them -- in their occupations, physical conditions, domestic relations,
and trains of thought and feeling -- there must arise differences among them;
and these must eventually initiate social differentiations. Even inequalities
of health caused by accidents will, by entailing inequalities of physical
and mental power, disturb the exact balance of mutual influences among the
units; and the balance once disturbed, will inevitably be lost.




Turning to the industrial organization, and noting that its division into
regulative and operative is primarily determined, like the preceeding, by
differences of power (women and slaves being the first working classes);
admitting, too, that even among savages some small specializations arise
from individual aptitudes; we go on to observe that the large industrial
divisions into which societies gravitate, are due to unlikenesses of external
circumstances. Such divisions are absent until such unlikenesses are established.
Nomadic tribes do not permanently expose any groups of their members to special
local conditions; nor does a stationary tribe, when occupying only a small
area, maintain from generation to generation marked contrasts in the local
conditions of its members; and in such tribes there are no decided economic
differentiations. But a community which, by conquest, or otherwise, has overspread
a large tract, and has become so far settled that its members live and die
in their respective districts, keeps its several sections in different circumstances;
and then they no longer remain alike in their occupations. Those who live
dispersed continue to hunt or cultivate the earth; those who spread to the
sea-shore fall into maritime occupations; while the inhabitants of some spot
chosen, perhaps for its centrality, as one of periodic assemblage, become
traders, and a town springs up. In the adaptations of these social units
to their respective functions, we see a progress from uniformity to multiformity
caused by unlike incidence of forces. Later in the process of social evolution
these local adaptations are greatly multiplied. Differences in soil and climate,
cause the rural inhabitants in different parts of the kingdom to have their
occupations partially specialized, and to be come known as chiefly producing
cattle, or sheep, or wheat, or oats, or hops, or fruit. People living where
coal-fields are discovered are transformed into colliers; Cornishmen take
to mining because Cornwall is metalliferous; and iron-manufacture is the
dominant industry where iron-stone is plentiful. Liverpool has taken to importing
cotton, because of its proximity to the district where cotton-goods are made;
and for analogous reasons Hull has become the chief port at which foreign
wools are brought in. Thus in general and in detail, industrial heterogeneities
of the social organism primary depend on local influences. Those divisions
of labour which, under another aspect, were interpreted as due to the setting
up of motion in the directions of least resistance (§80), are here interpreted
as due to differences in the incident forces; and the two interpretations
are quite consistent with each other. For that which in each determines the
direction of least resistance, is the distribution of the forces to be overcome;
and hence unlikenesses of distribution in separate localities, entails unlikenesses
in the lines of human actions in those localities -- entails industrial differentiations.




§155. It has still to be shown that this general truth is demonstrable
a priori -- that the instability of the homogeneous is a corollary from the
persistence of force. Already this has been tacitly implied, but here it
will be proper to expand the tacit implication into definite proof.




On striking a mass of matter with such force as either to indent it or
make it fly to pieces, we see both that the blow affects differently its
different parts, and that the differences are consequent on the unlike relations
of its parts to the force impressed. The part struck is driven in towards
the centre of the mass. It thus compresses, and tends to displace, the more
centrally situated portions. These, however, cannot be compressed or thrust
out of their places without pressing on surrounding portions. And when the
blow is violent enough to fracture the mass, we see, in the radial dispersion
of the fragments, that the original momentum has been divided into numerous
minor momenta, unlike in their directions. We see that the parts are differently
affected by the disruptive force, because they are differently related to
it in their directions and attachments -- that the effects being the joint
products of the force and the conditions cannot be alike in parts which are
differently conditioned. A body on which radiant heat is falling, exemplifies
this truth still more clearly. Take the simplest case -- that of a sphere.
While the part nearest to the radiating centre receives the rays at right
angles, the rays strike the other parts of the exposed side at all angles
from 90° down to 0°. The molecular vibrations propagated through
the mass from the surface which receives the heat, proceed inwards at angles
differing for each point. Further, the interior parts reached by the vibrations
proceeding from all points of the heated side, must be dissimilarly affected
in proportion as their positions are dissimilar. So that whether they be
on the recipient area, in the middle, or at the remote side, the constituent
molecules are thrown into states of vibration more or less unlike one another.




But now, what is the ultimate meaning of the conclusion that a force produces
different changes throughout a uniform mass, because the parts of the mass
stand in different relations to the force? Fully to understand this, we must
contemplate each part as simultaneously subject to other forces -- those
of gravitation, of cohesion, molecular motion, etc. The effect wrought by
an additional force, must be a resultant of it and the forces already in
action. If the forces already in action on two parts of any aggregate, are
different in their resultant directions, the effects produced on these two
parts by equal additional forces must be different in their directions. Why
must they be different? Because such unlikeness as exists between the two
sets of factors, is made by the presence in the one of some specially-directed
force that is not present in the other; and that this force will produce
an effect, rendering the total result in the one case unlike that in the
other, is a necessary corollary from the persistence of force. Still more
manifest does it become that the dissimilarly-placed parts of any aggregate
must be dissimilarly modified by an incident force, when we remember that
the quantities of the incident force to which they are severally subject,
are not equal, as above supposed, but are nearly always unequal. Look again
at the above examples. The amounts of any external radiant force which the
different parts of an aggregate receive, are widely contrasted: we have the
contrast between the quantity falling on the side next the radiating centre,
and the quantity, or rather no quantity, falling on the opposite side; we
have contrasts in the quantities received by differently-placed areas on
the exposed side; and we have endless contrasts between the quantities received
by the various parts of the interior. Similarly when mechanical force is
expended on any aggregate, either by collision, continued pressure, or tension,
the amounts of strain distributed throughout the mass are manifestly unlike
for unlike positions. And it is obvious that ordinary chemical action affects
surface more than centre, and often one part of the surface more than another.
But to say the different parts of an aggregate receive different quantities
of any force capable of changing them, is to say that if they were before
homogeneous they must be rendered to a proportionate extent heterogeneous;
since, force being persistent, the different quantities of it falling on
the different parts, must work in them different quantities of effect-different
changes. Yet one more kindred deduction is required to complete the argument.
Even apart from the action of any external force, the equilibrium of a homogeneous
aggregate must be destroyed by the unequal actions of its parts on one another.
That mutual influence which produces aggregation (not to mention other mutual
influences) must work different effects on the different parts; since they
are severally exposed to it in unlike amounts and directions. This will be
clearly seen on remembering that the portions of which the whole is made
up, may be severally regarded as minor wholes; that on each of these minor
wholes, the action of the entire aggregate then becomes an external incident
force; that such external incident force must, as above shown, work unlike
changes in the parts of any such minor whole; and that if the minor wholes
are severally thus rendered heterogeneous, the entire aggregate is rendered
heterogeneous.




The instability of the homogeneous is thus deducible from that primordial
truth which underlies our intelligence. One stable homogeneity only, is hypothetically
possible. If centres of force, absolutely uniform in their powers, were diffused
with absolute uniformity through unlimited space, they would remain in equilibrium.
This however, though a verbally intelligible supposition, is one that cannot
be represented in thought; since unlimited space is inconceivable. But all
finite forms of the homogeneous -- all forms of it which we can know or conceive,
must inevitably lapse into heterogeneity; and the less heterogeneous must
lapse into the more heterogeneous. In three several ways does the persistence
of force necessitate this. Setting external agencies aside, each unit of
a homogeneous whole must be differently affected from any of the rest by
the aggregate action of the rest upon it. The resultant force exercised by
the aggregate on each unit, being in no two cases alike in both amount and
direction, and usually not in either, any incident force, even if uniform
in amount and direction, cannot produce like effects on the units. And as
the various positions of the parts in relation to any incident force, prevents
them from receiving it in uniform amounts and directions, a further difference
in the effects wrought on them inevitably arises.




One further remark is needed. The conclusion that the changes with which
Evolution commences, are thus necessitated, has to be supplemented by the
conclusion that these changes must continue. The absolutely homogeneous (supposing
it to exist) must lose its equilibrium; and the relatively homogeneous must
lapse into the relatively less homogeneous. That which is true of any total
mass, is true of the parts into which it segregates. The uniformity of each
such part must as inevitably be lost in multiformity, as was that of the
original whole; and for like reasons. And thus the continued changes characterizing
Evolution, in so far as they are constituted by the lapse of the homogeneous
into the heterogeneous, and of the less heterogeneous into the more heterogeneous,
are necessary consequences of the persistence of force.




[A small change in the definition of Evolution indicated in a note at
the end of Chapter XVII of this part, must be recalled as involving a correlative
change in this chapter. Here, as before, the required change, though already
implied (page 367), has not been sufficiently emphasized, and lack of the
emphasis invites misinterpretation. For reasons like those before given,
the requisite explanations cannot be made in this place. The reader will
find them in Appendix A.




Replies to certain criticisms on the general doctrine set forth in this
chapter will be found in Appendix C.]




Chapter 20




The Multiplication of Effects




§156. To the cause of increasing complexity set forth in the last
chapter, we have in this chapter to add another. Though secondary in order
of time, it is scarcely secondary in order of importance. Even in the absence
of the cause already assigned, it would necessitate a change from the homogeneous
to the heterogeneous; and joined with it, it makes this change both more
rapid and more involved. To come in sight of it we have but to pursue a step
further that conflict between force and matter already delineated. Let us
do this.




As already shown, when the components of a uniform aggregate are subject
to a uniform force, they being differently conditioned, are differently modified.
But while we have contemplated the various parts of the aggregate as undergoing
unlike changes, we have not yet contemplated the unlike changes simultaneously
produced on the various parts of the incident force. These must be as numerous
as the others. In differentiating the parts on which it falls in unlike ways,
the incident force must itself be correspondingly differentiated. Instead
of being as before, a uniform force, it must thereafter be a multiform force
-- a group of dissimilar forces. A few illustrations will make this truth
manifest.




In the case, lately cited, of a body shattered by violent collision, besides
the change of the homogeneous mass into a heterogeneous group of scattered
fragments, there is a change of the homogeneous momentum into a group of
momenta, heterogeneous in both amounts and directions. Similarly with the
forces we know as light and heat. After the dispersion of these by a radiating
body towards all points, they are re-dispersed towards all points by the
bodies on which they fall. Of the Sun's rays, issuing from him on every side,
some few strike the Moon. Reflected at all angles from the Moon's surface,
some few of these strike the Earth. By a like process the few which reach
the Earth are again diffused: some into space, some from object to object.
And on each occasion, such portions of the rays as are transmitted instead
of reflected, undergo refractions or other changes which equally destroy
their uniformity. More than this is true. By conflict with matter a uniform
force is in part changed into forces differing in their kinds. When one body
is struck against another, that which we usually regard as the effect, is
a change of position or motion in one or both bodies. But this is a very
incomplete view of the matter. Besides the visible mechanical result, sound
is produced -- a vibration in one or both bodies and in the surrounding air;
and under some circumstances we call this the effect. Moreover, the air has
not simply been made to vibrate; it has had currents raised in it by the
transit of the bodies. Further, if there is not that great structural change
which we call fracture, there is a disarrangement of the particles of the
two bodies around their point of collision; amounting in some cases to a
visible condensation. Yet more, this condensation is accompanied by genesis
of heat. In some cases a spark -- that is, light -- results from the incandescence
of a portion struck off. Thus by the original mechanical force expended in
the collision, at least five kinds of forces have been produced. Take, again,
the lighting of a candle. Primarily, this is a chemical change consequent
on a rise of temperature. The process of combination having once been set
going by extraneous heat, there is a continued formation of carbon dioxide,
water, etc. Along with this process of combination there is a production
of heat; there is a production of light; there is an attending column of
hot gases generated; there are currents caused in the surrounding air. Nor
does the decomposition of one force into many forces end here. Each of the
several changes worked becomes the parent of further changes. The carbon
dioxide formed will eventually combine with some base; or under the influence
of sunshine give up its carbon to the leaf of a plant. The water will modify
the hygrometric state of the air around; or, if the current of hot gases
containing it comes against a cold body, will be condensed: altering the
temperature, and perhaps the chemical state, of the surface it covers. The
heat given out melts the subjacent tallow and expands whatever else it warms.
The light, falling on various substances, calls forth from them reactions
by which it is decomposed, and divers colours are thus produced. Similarly
with these secondary actions, which may be traced out into ever-multiplying
ramifications, until they become too minute to be appreciated. Universally,
then, the effect is more complex than the cause. Whether the aggregate on
which it falls be homogeneous or otherwise, an incident force is transformed
by the conflict into a number of forces that differ in their amounts, or
directions, or kinds; or in all these respects. And of this group of variously-modified
forces, each ultimately undergoes a like transformation.




Let us now mark how the process of evolution is furthered by this multiplication
of effects. An incident force decomposed by the reactions of a body into
a group of unlike forces, becomes the cause of a secondary increase of multiformity
in the body which decomposes it. By the reactions of the various parts, differently
modified as we have seen they must be, the incident force itself must be
divided into differently modified parts. Each differentiated division of
the aggregate thus becomes a centre from which a differentiated division
of the original force is again diffused. And since unlike forces must produce
unlike results, each of these differentiated forces must produce, throughout
the aggregate, a further series of differentiations. This secondary cause
of the change from homogeneity to heterogeneity, obviously becomes more potent
in proportion as the heterogeneity increases. When the parts into which any
evolving whole has segregated itself, have diverged widely in nature, they
will necessarily react very diversely on any incident force -- they will
divide an incident force in to so many strongly contrasted groups of forces.
And each of them becoming the centre of a quite distinct set of influences,
must add to the number of distinct secondary changes wrought throughout the
aggregate. Yet another corollary must be added. The number of unlike parts
of which an aggregate consists, is an important factor in the process. Every
additional specialized division is an additional centre of specialized forces,
and must be a further source of complication among the forces at work throughout
the mass -- a further source of heterogeneity. The multiplication of effects
must proceed in geometrical progression.




§157. The scattered parts of an irregular nebula in course of being
drawn together or integrated, cannot display in a definite manner the secondary
traits of evolution: these presuppose an aggregate already formed. We can
say only that the half-independent components, each attracted by all and
all by each, exhibit in their various momenta, different in their amounts
and directions, a multiplication of effects produced by a single gravitative
force.




But assuming that the integrative process has at length generated a single
mass of nebulous matter, then the simultaneous condensation and rotation
show us how two effects of the aggregative force, at first but slightly divergent,
become at last widely differentiated. An increase of oblateness in this spheroid
must take place through the joint action of these two forces, as the bulk
diminishes and the rotation grows more rapid; and this we may set down as
a third effect. The genesis of heat, accompanying augmentation of density,
is a consequence of yet another order -- a consequence by no means simple;
since the various parts of the mass, being variously condensed, must be variously
heated. Acting throughout a gaseous spheroid, of which the parts are unlike
in their temperatures, the forces of aggregation and rotation must work a
further series of changes: they must set up circulating currents, both general
and local. At a later stage light as well as heat will be generated. Thus
without dwelling on the likelihood of chemical combinations and electric
disturbances, it is manifest that, supposing matter to have originally existed
in a diffused state, the once uniform force which caused its aggregation,
must have become gradually divided into different forces; and that each further
stage of complication in the resulting aggregate, must have initiated further
subdivisions of this force -- a further multiplication of effects, increasing
the previous heterogeneity.




This section of the argument may however be adequately sustained without
having recourse to any such hypothetical illustrations as the foregoing.
The astronomical attributes of the Earth will, even by themselves, suffice
for our purpose. Consider first the effects of its rotation. There is the
oblateness of its form; there is the alternation of day and night; there
are certain constant marine currents; and there are certain constant aerial
currents. Consider next the secondary series of consequences due to the divergence
of the Earth's plane of rotation from the plane of its orbit. The many variations
of the seasons, both simultaneous and successive, which pervade its surface,
are thus caused. External attraction of the Moon and Sun acting on the equatorial
protuberance of this rotating spheroid with inclined axis, produces the motion
called nutation, and that slower and larger one from which follows the precession
of the equinoxes, with its several sequences. And then, by this same force,
are generated the tides, aqueous and atmospheric.




Perhaps, however, the simplest way of showing the multiplication of effects
among phenomena of this order, will be to set down the influences of any
member of the Solar System on the rest. A planet directly produces in neighbouring
planets certain appreciable perturbations, complicating those otherwise produced
in them; and in the remoter planets it directly produces certain less visible
perturbations. Here is a first series of effects. But each of the perturbed
planets is itself a source of perturbations -- each directly affects all
the others. Hence, planet A having drawn planet B out of the position it
would have occupied in A's absence, the perturbations which B causes are
different from what they would else have been; and similarly with C, D, E,
etc. Here then is a secondary series of effects; far more numerous though
far smaller in their amounts. As these indirect perturbations must to some
extent modify the movements of each planet, there results from them a tertiary
series; and so on in ever multiplying and diminishing waves throughout the
entire system.




§158. If the Earth was formed by the concentration of diffused matter,
it must at first have been incandescent; and whether the nebular hypothesis
be accepted or not, this original incandescence of the Earth may now be regarded
as inductively established -- or, if not established, at least rendered so
probable that it is a generally admitted geological doctrine. Several results
of the gradual cooling of the Earth -- as the formation of a crust, the solidification
of sublimed elements, the precipitation of water, etc. -- have been already
noticed, and I again refer to them merely to point out that they are simultaneous
effects of the one cause, diminishing heat. Let us now, however, observe
the multiplied changes afterwards arising from the continuance of this one
cause. The Earth, falling in temperature, must contract. Hence the solid
crust at any time existing is presently too large for the shrinking nucleus,
and, being unable to support itself, inevitably follows the nucleus. But
a spheroidal envelope cannot sink down into contact with a smaller internal
spheroid, without disruption: it will run into wrinkles as the rind of an
apple does when the bulk of its interior decreases from evaporation. As the
cooling progresses and the envelope thickens, the ridges consequent on these
contractions must become greater, rising ultimately into hills and mountains;
and the later systems of mountains thus produced must not only be higher,
as we find them to be, but must be longer, as we also find them to be. Thus,
leaving out of view other modifying forces, we see what immense heterogeneity
of surface arises from the one cause, loss of heat -- a heterogeneity which
the telescope shows us to be paralleled on the Moon, where aqueous and atmospheric
agencies have been absent. But we have yet to notice another kind of heterogeneity
of surface, simultaneously caused. While the Earth's crust was thin, the
ridges produced by its contractions must not only have been small in height
and length, but the tracts between them must have rested with comparative
smoothness on the subjacent liquid spheroid; and the water in those arctic
and antarctic regions where it first condensed, must have been evenly distributed.
But as fast as the crust grew thicker and gained corresponding strength,
the lines of fracture from time to time caused in it, occurred at greater
distances apart; the intermediate surfaces followed the contracting nucleus
with less uniformity; and there consequently resulted larger areas of land
and water. If any one, after wrapping an orange in tissue paper and observing
both how small are the wrinkles and, how evenly the intervening spaces lie
on the surface of the orange, will then wrap it in thick cartridge-paper,
and note both the greater height of the ridges and the larger spaces throughout
which the paper does not touch the orange, he will see that as the Earth's
solid envelope thickened, the areas of elevation and depression became greater.
In place of islands more or less homogeneously scattered throughout an all-embracing
sea, there must have gradually arisen heterogeneous arrangements of continent
and ocean, such as we now know. These simultaneous changes in the ex tent
and in the elevation of the lands, involved yet another species of heterogeneity
-- that of coast-line. A tolerably even surface raised out of the ocean will
have a simple, regular sea-margin; but a surface varied by table-lands and
intersected by mountain-chains, will, when raised out of the ocean, have
an outline extremely irregular, alike in its leading features and in its
details. Thus endless is the accumulation of geological and geographical
results brought about by this one cause -- escape of the Earth's primitive
heat.




When we pass from the agency which geologists term igneous, to aqueous
and atmospheric agencies, we see a like ever-growing complication of effects.
The denuding actions of air and water have, from the beginning, been modifying
every exposed surface: everywhere working many different changes. As already
said (§69) the original source of those gaseous and fluid motions which
effect denudation, is the solar heat. The transformation of this into various
modes of energy, according to the nature and conditions of the matter on
which it falls, is the first stage of complication. The Sun's rays, striking
at all angles a sphere that from moment to moment presented and withdrew
different parts of its surface, and each of them for a different time daily
throughout the year, would produce a considerable variety of changes even
were the sphere uniform. But falling as they do on a sphere surrounded by
an atmosphere containing wide areas of cloud, but which here unveils vast
tracts of sea, there of level land, there of mountains, there of snow and
ice, they cause in it countless different movements. Currents of air of all
sizes, directions, velocities, and temperatures, are set up; as are also
marine currents similarly contrasted in their characters. In this region
the surface is giving off vapour; in that, dew is being precipitated; and
in another, rain is descending -- unlikenesses which arise from the changing
ratio between the absorption and radiation of heat in each place. At one
hour a rapid fall in temperature leads to the formation of ice, with an accompanying
expansion throughout the moist bodies frozen; while at another a thaw unlocks
the dislocated fragments of these bodies. And then, passing to a second stage
of complication, we see that the many kinds of motion directly or indirectly
caused by the Sun's rays, severally produce results which vary with the conditions.
Oxidation, drought, wind, frost, rain, glaciers, rivers, waves, and other
denuding agents effect disintegrations that are determined in their amounts
and qualities by local circumstances. Acting on a tract of granite, such
agents here work scarcely an appreciable effect; there cause exfoliations
of the surface and a resulting heap of debris and boulders; and elsewhere,
after decomposing the feldspar into a white clay, carry away this with the
accompanying quartz and mica, and deposit them in separate beds, fluviatile
or marine. When the exposed land consists of several unlike formations, sedimentary
and igneous, changes proportionately more heterogeneous are wrought. The
formations being disintegrable in different degrees, there follows an increased
irregularity of surface. The areas drained by adjacent rivers being differently
constituted, these rivers carry down to the sea unlike combinations of ingredients;
and so sundry new strata of distinct compositions arise. And here, indeed,
we may see very clearly how the heterogeneity of the effects increases in
a geometrical progression with the heterogeneity of the object acted upon.
Let us, for the fuller elucidation of this truth in relation to the inorganic
world, consider what would follow from an extensive cosmical catastrophe
-- say a great subsidence throughout Central America. The immediate results
would themselves be sufficiently complex. Besides the numberless dislocations
of strata, the ejections of igneous matter, the propagation of earthquake
vibrations many thousands of miles around, the loud explosions, and the escape
of gases, there would be an inrush of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, a
subsequent recoil of enormous waves, which would traverse both these oceans
and produce myriads of changes along their shores, and corresponding atmospheric
waves complicated by the currents surrounding each volcanic vent, as well
as electrical discharges with which eruptions are accompanied. But these
temporary effects would be insignificant compared with the permanent ones.
The complex currents of the Atlantic and Pacific would be altered in their
directions and amounts. The distribution of heat achieved by these currents
would be different from what it is. The arrangement of the isothermal lines,
not only on the neighbouring continents but even throughout Europe, would
be changed. The tides would flow differently from what they do now. There
would be more or less modification of the winds in their periods, strengths,
directions, qualities; and rain would fall scarcely anywhere at the same
times and in the same quantities as at present. In these many changes, each
including countless minor ones, may be seen the immense heterogeneity of
the results wrought out by one force, when that force expends itself on a
previously complicated area: the implication being that from the beginning
the complication has advanced at an increasing rate.




§159. We have next to trace throughout organic evolution, this same
all-pervading principle. And here, where the transformation of the homogeneous
into the heterogeneous was first observed, the production of many changes
by one cause is least easy to demonstrate in a direct way. Heredity complicates
everything. Nevertheless, by indirect evidence we may establish our proposition.




By way of preparation observe how numerous are the changes which any marked
stimulus works on an adult organism -- a human being for instance. An alarming
sound or sight, besides impressions on the organs of sense and the nerves,
may produce a start, a scream, a distortion of the face, a trembling consequent
on general muscular relaxation, a burst of perspiration, and perhaps an arrest
of the heart followed by syncope; and if the system be feeble, an illness
with its long train of complicated symptom may set in. Similarly in cases
of disease. A minute portion of the small-pox virus taken into the system
will, in a severe case, cause, during the first stage, rigors, heat of skin,
accelerated pulse, furred tongue, loss of appetite, thirst, epigastric uneasiness,
vomiting, headache, pats in the back and limbs, muscular weakness, convulsions,
delirium, etc.; in the second stage, cutaneous eruption, itching, tingling,
sore throat, swelled fauces, salivation, cough, hoarseness, dyspnoea, etc.;
and in the third stage, oedematous inflammations, pneumonia, pleurisy, diarrhoea,
inflammation of the brain, ophthalmia, erysipelas, etc.: each of which enumerated
symptoms is itself more or less complex. Now it needs only to consider that
this working of many changes by one force on an adult organism, must be partially
paralleled in an embryo-organism, to understand that in it too there must
be a multiplication of effects, ever tending to produce increasing heterogeneity.
Each organ as it is developed, serves, by its actions and reactions on the
rest, to initiate new complexities. The first pulsations of the foetal heart
must simultaneously aid the unfolding of every part. The growth of each tissue,
by taking from the blood special proportions of elements, must modify the
constitution of the blood; and so must modify the nutrition of all the other
tissues. The distributive actions, implying as they do a certain waste, necessitate
an addition to the blood of effete matters, which must influence the rest
of the system, and perhaps, as some think, initiate the formation of excretory
organs. The nervous connexions established among the viscera must further
multiply their mutual influences. And so is it with every modification of
structure -- every additional part and every alteration in the ratios of
parts. Proof of a more direct kind is furnished by the fact, that the same
germ may be evolved into different forms according to circumstances. Thus,
during its earliest stages, every germ is sexless -- originates either male
or female as the balance of forces acting on it determines. Again, there
is the familiar truth that the larva of a working-bee will develop into a
queen-bee if, before a certain period, it is fed after a manner like that
in which the larvae of queen-bees are fed. Then there is the still more striking
evidence furnished by ants and termites. Riley, Grassi, Haviland, and Hart,
have shown that differences of nutrition not only originate the differences
between males and females but also the different traits of solders, workers,
and nurses.*<* See Principles of Biology, Vol. I, pp. 680-8.> Varying
degree of nutrition, after initiating the unlikeness of sex, then determines
the unlikenesses of external organs possessed by the various classes of sexless
individuals. Next comes the evidence, still more directly relevant, supplied
by the effects of castration. If the removal of certain organs prevents the
development of certain other organs in remote parts of the system -- in man
the vocal structures, the beard, some traits of general form, some instincts
and other mental characters -- then it is clear that where these organs have
not been removed, the presence of them determines the occurrence of these
various changes of development, and doubtless many minor ones which are unobtrusive.
Here the fact that one cause produces many effects in the course of organic
evolution is indisputable. Doubtless we are, and must ever continue, unable
to conceive those mysterious properties which make the germ when subject
to fit influences undergo the special changes initiating, and mainly constituting,
the transformations of an unfolding organism; though we may consistently
suppose that they represent an infinite series of inherited modifications
consequent on the instability of the homogeneous, the multiplication of effects,
and one further factor still to be set forth. All here contended is that,
given a germ possessing these mysterious properties, the evolution of an
organism from it depends, in part, on that multiplication of effects which
we have seen to be one cause of evolution in general, so far as we have yet
traced it.




When, leaving the development of single plants and animals, we pass to
that of the Earth's Flora and Fauna, the course of the argument again becomes
clear and simple. Though, as before admitted, the fragmentary facts Palaeontology
has accumulated, do not clearly warrant us in saying that, in the lapse of
geologic time, there have been evolved more heterogeneous organisms, and
more heterogeneous assemblages of organisms; yet we shall now see that there
must ever have been a tendency towards these results. We shall find that
the production of many effects by one cause, which, as already shown, has
been all along increasing the physical heterogeneity of the Earth, has further
necessitated an increasing heterogeneity of its inhabiting organisms, individually
and collectively. An illustration will make this clear.




Suppose that by upheavals, occurring, as they are known to do, at long
intervals, the East Indian Archipelago were raised into a continent, and
a chain of mountains formed along the axis of elevation. By the first of
these upheavals, the plants and animals of Borneo, Sumatra, New Guinea, and
the rest, would be subjected to slightly-modified sets of conditions. The
climate of each would be altered in temperature, in humidity, and in its
periodical variations, while the local differences would be multiplied. The
modifications would effect, perhaps inappreciably, the entire Flora and Fauna
of the region. The change of level would entail additional modifications,
varying in different species, and also in different members of the same species,
according to their distance from the axis of elevation. Plants growing only
on the sea-shore in special localities, might become extinct. Others, living
only in swamps of a certain humidity, would, if they survived at all, probably
undergo visible changes of appearance. While more marked alterations would
occur in some of the plants that spread over the lands newly raised out of
the water. The animals and insects living on these modified plants, would
themselves be in some degree modified by changes of food, as well as by changes
of climate; and the modifications would be more marked where, from the dwindling
or disappearance of one kind of plant, an allied kind was eaten. In the lapse
of the many generations arising before the next upheaval, the sensible or
insensible alterations thus produced in each species, would become organized
-- in all the races which survived there would be more or less adaptation
to the new conditions. The next upheaval would superinduce further organic
changes, implying wider divergences from the primary forms; and so repeatedly.
Now, however, observe that this revolution would not be a substitution of
a thousand modified species for the thousand original species; but in place
of the thousand original species there would arise several thousand species,
or varieties, or changed forms. Each species being distributed over an area
of some extent, and tending continually to colonize the new area exposed,
its different members would be subject to different sets of changes. Plants
and animals migrating towards the equator would not be affected in the same
way with others migrating from it. Those which spread towards the new shores,
would undergo changes unlike the changes undergone by those which spread
into the mountains. Thus, each original race of organisms would become the
root from which diverged several races, differing more or less from it and
from one another; and while some of these might subsequently disappear, probably
more than one would survive into the next geologic period. Not only would
certain modifications be thus caused by changes of physical conditions and
food, but also, in some cases, other modifications caused by changes of habit.
The fauna of each island, peopling, step by step, the newly-raised tracts,
would eventually come in contact with the faunas of other islands; and some
members of these other faunas would be unlike any creatures before seen.
Herbivores meeting with new beasts of prey would, in some cases, be led into
modes of defence or escape differing from those previously used; and simultaneously
the beasts of prey would modify their modes of pursuit and attack. We know
that when circumstances demand it, such changes of habit do take place in
animals; and we know that if the new habits become the dominant ones, they
must eventually in some degree alter the organization. Note, now, a further
consequence. There must arise not simply a tendency towards the differentiation
of each race of organisms into several races; but also a tendency to the
occasional production of a somewhat higher organism. Taken in the mass, these
divergent varieties, which have been caused by fresh physical conditions
and habits of life, will exhibit alterations quite indefinite in kind and
degree, and alterations that do not necessarily constitute an advance. Probably
in most cases the modified type will be not appreciably more heterogeneous
than the original one. But it must now and then occur that some division
of a species, falling into circumstances which give it rather more complex
experiences, and demand actions somewhat more involved, will have certain
of its organs further differentiated in proportionately small degrees --
will become slightly more heterogeneous. Hence, there will from time to time
arise an increased heterogeneity both of the Earth's flora and fauna, and
of individual races included in them. Omitting detailed explanations, and
allowing for qualifications which cannot here be specified, it is sufficiently
clear that geological mutations have all along tended to complicate the forms
of life, whether regarded separately or collectively That multiplication
of effects which has been a part-cause of the transformation of the Earth's
crust from the simple into the complex, has simultaneously led to a parallel
transformation of the Life upon its surface.(*)<fn* Had this paragraph,
first published in the Westminster Review in April, 1857, been written
after the appearance of Mr. Darwin's work on The Origin of Species,
instead of before, it would doubtless have been otherwise expressed. Reference
would have been made to the process of "natural selection," as
greatly facilitating the differentiations described. As it is, however, I
prefer to let the passage stand in its original shape; partly because it
seems to me that these successive changes of conditions would produce divergent
varieties or species, apart from the influence of "natural selection"
(though in less numerous ways as well as less rapidly); and partly because
I conceive that in the absence of these successive changes of conditions,
"natural selection" would effect comparatively little. Let me add
that though these positions are not enunciated in The Origin of Species,
yet a common friend gives me reason to think that Mr. Darwin would coincide
in them.




The deduction here drawn from the established truths of geology and the
general laws of life, gains immensely in weight on finding it to be in harmony
with an induction drawn from direct experience. Just that divergence of many
races from one race, above described as continually occurring during geologic
time, we know to have occurred during the pre-historic and historic periods,
in man and domestic animals. And just that multiplication of effects which
we concluded must have been instrumental to the first, we see has in great
measure wrought the last. Single causes, as famine, pressure of population,
war, have periodically led to further dispersions of men and of dependent
creatures: each such dispersion initiating new modifications, new varieties.
Whether all the human races be or be not derived from one stock, philology
shows that in many cases a group of races, now easily distinguishable from
one another, was originally one race -- that the diffusion of one race into
different regions and conditions of existence has produced many altered forms
of it. Similarly with domestic animals. Though in some cases, as that of
dogs, community of origin will perhaps be disputed, yet in other cases, as
that of the sheep or the cattle of our own country, it will not be questioned
that local differences of climate, food, and treatment, have transformed
one original breed into many breeds, now become so far distinct as to produce
unstable hybrids. Moreover, through the complication of effects flowing from
single causes, we here find, what we before inferred, not only an increase
of general heterogeneity, but also of special heterogeneity. While of the
divergent divisions and subdivisions of the human race, many have undergone
changes not constituting an advance; others have become more heterogeneous.
The civilized European departs more widely from the mammalian archetype than
does the Australian.




§160. A sense-impression does not expend itself in arousing some
single state of consciousness; but the state of consciousness aroused is
made up of various represented sensations connected by co-existence or sequence
with the presented sensation. And that, in proportion as the grade of intelligence
is high, the number of ideas suggested is great, may be readily inferred.
Let us, however, look at the proof that here, too, each change is the parent
of many changes and that the multiplication increases in proportion as the
area affected is complex.




Were some hitherto unknown bird, driven by stress of weather from the
remote north, to make its appearance on our shores, it would excite no speculation
in the sheep or cattle amid which it alighted: a perception of it as a creature
like those constantly flying about, would be the sole interruption of that
dull current of consciousness which accompanies grazing and rumination. The
cowherd, by whom we may suppose the exhausted bird to be presently caught,
would probably gaze at it with some slight curiosity, as being unlike any
he had before seen would note its most conspicuous markings, and vaguely
ponder on the questions, where it came from, and how it came. By the sight
of it, the village bird-stuffer would have suggested to him sundry forms
to which it bore a little resemblance; would receive from it more numerous
and more specific impressions respecting structure and plumage; would be
reminded of other birds brought by storms from foreign parts; would tell
who found them, who stuffed them, who bought them. Supposing the unknown
bird taken to a naturalist of the old school, interested only in externals,
(one of those described by Edward Forbes, as examining animals as though
they were skins filled with straw,) it would excite in him a more involved
series of mental changes. There would be an elaborate examination of the
feathers, a noting of all their technical distinctions, with a reduction
of these perceptions to certain equivalent written symbols; reasons for referring
the new form to a particular family order, and genus would be sought out
and written down; communications with the secretary of some society or editor
of some journal, would follow; and probably there would be not a few thoughts
about the addition of the ii to the describer's name, to form the name of
the species. Lastly, in the comparative anatomist such a new species, should
it have any marked internal peculiarity, might produce additional sets of
changes -- might suggest modified views respecting the relationships of the
division to which it belonged; or, perhaps, alter his conceptions of the
homologies and developments of certain organs; and the conclusions drawn
might possibly enter as elements into still wider inquiries concerning the
origin of organic forms.




From ideas let us turn to emotions. In a young child, a father's anger
produces little else than vague fear -- a sense of impending evil, taking
various shapes of physical suffering or deprivation of pleasures. In elder
children the same harsh words will arouse additional feelings: sometimes
a sense of shame, of penitence, or of sorrow for having offended; at other
times, a sense of injustice and a consequent anger. In the wife, yet a further
range of feelings may come into existence -- perhaps wounded affection, perhaps
self-pity for ill-usage, perhaps contempt for groundless irritability, perhaps
sympathy for some suffering which the irritability indicates, perhaps anxiety
about an unknown misfortune which she thinks has produced it. Nor are we
without evidence that among adults, the like differences of development are
accompanied by like differences in the number of emotions aroused, in combination
or rapid succession: the lower natures being characterized by that impulsiveness
which results from the uncontrolled action of a few feelings; and the higher
natures being characterized by the simultaneous action of many secondary
feelings, modifying those first awakened.




Perhaps it will be objected that the illustrations here given, are drawn
from the functional changes of the nervous system, not from its structural
changes; and that what is proved among the first does not necessarily hold
among the last. This must be admitted. Those, however, who recognize the
truth that the structural changes are the slowly accumulated results of the
functional changes, will readily draw the corollary that a part-cause of
the evolution of the nervous system, as of other evolution, is this multiplication
of effects which becomes ever greater as the development becomes higher.




§161. If the advance of Man towards greater heterogeneity, in both
body and mind, is in part traceable to the production of many effects by
one cause, still more clearly may the advance of Society towards greater
heterogeneity be so explained.




Consider the growth of industrial organization. When some individual of
a tribe displays unusual aptitude for making weapons, which were before made
by each man for himself, there arises a tendency towards the differentiation
of that individual into a maker of weapons. His companions, warriors and
hunters all of them, severally wishing to have the best weapons that can
be made, are certain to offer strong inducements to this skilled individual
to make weapons for them. He, on the other hand, having both an unusual faculty,
and an unusual liking, for making weapons (capacity and desire being commonly
associated), is predisposed to fulfil these commissions on the offer of adequate
rewards: especially as his love of distinction is also gratified. This first
specialization of function, once commenced, tends ever to become more decided.
On the side of the weapon-maker, continued practice gives increased skill.
On the side of his clients, cessation of practice entails decreased skill.
Thus this social movement tends to become more decided in the direction in
which it was first set up; and the incipient heterogeneity is, on the average
of cases, likely to become permanent for that generation, if no longer.




Such a differentiation has a tendency to initiate other differentiations.
The advance described implies the introduction of barter. The maker of weapons
has to be paid in such other articles as he agrees to take. Now he will not
habitually exchange for one kind of article. He does not want mats only,
or skins, or fishing-gear. He wants all these, and on each occasion will
bargain for the particular things he then most needs. What follows? If among
the members of the tribe there exist any slight differences of skill in the
manufacture of these various things the weapon-maker will take from each
one the thing which that one excels in making. But he who has bartered away
his mats or his fishing-gear, must make other mats or fishing-gear for himself;
and in so doing must, in some degree, further develop his aptitude. If such
transactions are repeated, these specializations may become appreciable.
And whether or not there ensue distinct differentiations of other individuals
into makers of particular articles, it is clear that the one original cause
produces not only the first dual effect, but a number of secondary dual effects,
like in kind but minor in degree. This process, of which traces may be seen
among groups of schoolboys, cannot well produce a lasting distribution of
functions in an unsettled tribe; but where there grows up a fixed and multiplying
community, it will become permanent, and increase with each generation. An
addition to the number of citizens, involving a greater demand for every
commodity, intensifies the functional activity of each specialized person
or class; and this renders the specialization more definite where it exists,
and establishes it where it is nascent. By increasing the pressure on the
means of subsistence, a larger population again augments these results; since
every individual is forced more and more to confine himself to that which
he can do best, and by which he can gain most. And this industrial progress
opens the way for further growth of population, which reacts as before. Under
the same stimuli new occupations arise. Among competing workers, some discover
better processes or better materials. The substitution of bronze for stone
entails on him who first makes it a great increase of demand -- so great
an increase that presently all his time is occupied in making the bronze
for the articles he sells, and he is obliged to depute the fashioning of
these articles to others; so that eventually the making of bronze, thus differentiated
from a pre-existing occupation, becomes an occupation by itself. But now
mark the ramified changes which follow this change. Bronze soon replaces
stone not only in the articles it was first used for, but in many others;
and so affects the manufacture of them. Further, it affects the processes
which such improved utensils subserve, and the resulting products -- modifies
buildings, carvings, dress, personal decorations. And all these changes react
on the people-increase their manipulative skill, their intelligence, their
comfort-refine their habits and tastes.




This increasing social heterogeneity that results from the production
of many effects by one cause, cannot of Course be followed out. But leaving
the intermediate phases of social development, let us take an illustration
from its passing phase. To trace the effects of steampower, in its manifold
applications to mining, navigation, and manufactures, would carry us into
unmanageable detail. Let us confine ourselves to the latest embodiment of
steam-power -- the locomotive engine. This, as the proximate cause of our
railway-system, has changed the face of the country, the course of trade,
and the habits of the people. Consider, first, the complicated sets of changes
that precede the making of every railway -- the provisional arrangements,
the meetings, the registration, the trial-section, the parliamentary survey,
the lithographed plans, the books of reference, the local deposits and notices,
the application to Parliament, the passing Standing-Orders Committee, the
first, second, and third readings: each of which brief heads indicates a
multiplicity of transactions, and a further development of sundry occupations,
(as those of engineers, surveyors, lithographers, parliamentary agents, share-brokers,)
and the creation of sundry others (as those of traffic-takers, reference-makers).
Consider, next, the yet more marked changes implied in railway construction
-- the cuttings, embankings, tunnellings, diversions of roads; the building
of bridges, viaducts, and stations; the laying down of ballast, sleepers,
and rails; the making of engines, tenders, carriages, and wagons: which processes,
acting upon numerous trades, increase the importation of timber, the quarrying
of stone, the manufacture of iron, the mining of coal, the burning of bricks;
institute a variety of special manufactures weekly advertised in the Railway
Times; and call into being some new classes of workers-drivers, stokers,
cleaners, plate-layers, signalmen. Then come the changes, more numerous and
involved still, which railways in action produce on the community at large.
The organization of every business is modified. Ease of communication makes
it better to do directly what was before done by proxy; agencies are established
where previously they would not have paid; goods are obtained from remote
wholesale houses instead of near retail ones; and commodities are used which
distance once rendered inaccessible. Rapidity and economy of carriage tend
to specialize more than ever the industries of different districts -- to
confine each manufacture to the parts in which, from local advantages, it
can be best carried on. Cheap distribution equalizes prices, and also, on
the average, lowers prices: thus bringing divers articles within the reach
of those before unable to buy them. At the same time the practice of travelling
is immensely extended. People who before could not afford it, take annual
trips to the sea, visit their distant relations, make tours, and so are benefited
in body, feelings, and intellect. The prompter transmission of letters and
of news produces further changes -- makes the pulse of the nation faster.
Yet more, there arises a wide dissemination of cheap literature through railway
book-stalls, and of advertisements in railway carriages: both of them aiding
ulterior progress. So that beyond imagination are the changes, thus briefly
indicated, consequent on the invention of the locomotive engine.




It should be added that we here see more clearly than, ever, how in proportion
as the area over which any influence extends becomes heterogeneous, the results
are in a yet higher degree multiplied in number and kind. While among the
uncivilized men to whom it was first known, caoutchouc caused but few changes,
among ourselves the changes have been so many and varied that the history
of them occupies a volume. Upon the small, homogeneous community inhabiting
one of the Hebrides, the electric telegraph would produce, were it used,
scarcely any results; but in England the results it produces are multitudinous.




Space permitting, the synthesis might here be pursued in relation to all
the subtler products of social life. It might be shown how, in Science, an
advance of one division presently advances other divisions -- how Astronomy
has been immensely forwarded by discoveries in Optics, while other optical
discoveries have initiated Microscopic Anatomy, and greatly aided the growth
of Physiology -- how Chemistry has indirectly increased our knowledge of
Electricity, Magnetism, Biology, Geology -- how Electricity has reacted on
Chemistry and Magnetism, developed our views of Light and Heat, and disclosed
sundry laws of nervous action. But it would needlessly tax the reader's patience
to detail, in their many ramifications, these various changes; so involved
and subtle as to be followed with difficulty.




§162. After the argument which closed the last chapter, a parallel
one here seems scarcely required. For symmetry's sake, however, it will be
proper briefly to point out how the multiplication of effects, like the instability
of the homogeneous, is a corollary from the persistence of force.




Things which we call different are things which react in different ways;
and we can know them as different only by the differences in their reactions.
When we distinguish bodies as hard or soft, rough or smooth, we mean that
certain like muscular forces expended on them are followed by unlike reactive
forces, causing unlike sets of sensations. Objects classed as red, blue,
yellow etc., are objects which decompose light in contrasted ways; that is,
we know contrasts of colour as contrasts in the changes produced in a uniform
incident force. The proposition that the different parts of any whole must
react differently on a uniform incident force, and must thus reduce it to
a group of multiform forces, is in essence a truism. Suppose we reduce this
truism to its lowest terms.




When, from unlikeness between the effects they produce on consciousness,
we predicate unlikeness between two objects, what is our warrant? and what
do we mean by the unlikeness, objectively considered? Our warrant is the
persistence of force. Some kind or amount of change has been wrought in us
by the one which has not been wrought by the other. This change we ascribe
to some force exercised by the one which the other has not exercised. And
we have no alternative but to do this, or to assert that the change had no
antecedent, which is to deny the persistence of force. Whence it is further
manifest that what we regard as the objective unlikeness is the presence
in the one of some force, or set of forces, not present in the other -- something
in the kinds or amounts or directions of the constituent forces of the one,
which those of the other do not parallel. But now if things or parts of things
which we call different, are those of which the constituent forces differ
in one or more respects, what must happen to any like forces, or any uniform
force, falling on them? Such like forces, or parts of a uniform force, must
be differently modified. The force which is present in the one and not in
the other, must be an element in the conflict -- must produce its equivalent
reaction; and must so affect the total reaction. To say otherwise is to say
that this differential force will produce no effect, which is to say that
force is not persistent.




I need not develop this corollary further. It manifestly follows that
a uniform force falling on a uniform aggregate, must undergo dispersion;
that falling on an aggregate made up of unlike parts, it must undergo dispersion
from each part, as well as qualitative differentiations; that in proportion
as the parts are unlike, these qualitative differentiations must be marked;
that in proportion to the number of the parts, they must be numerous; that
the secondary forces so produced must undergo further transformations while
working equivalent transformations in the parts that change them; and similarly
with the forces they generate. Thus the conclusions that a part-cause of
Evolution is the multiplication of effects, and that this increases in geometrical
progression as the heterogeneity becomes greater, are not only to be established
inductively, but are deducible from the deepest of all truths.




Chapter 21




Segregation




§163. The general interpretation of Evolution is far from being completed
in the preceding chapters. We must contemplate its changes under yet another
aspect, before we can form a definite conception of the process constituted
by them. Though the laws already set forth furnish a key to the re-arrangement
of parts which Evolution exhibits, in so far as it is an advance from the
uniform to the multiform, they furnish no key to this rearrangement in so
far as it is an advance from the indefinite to the definite. On studying
the actions and reactions everywhere going on, we have found it to follow
from a certain primordial truth, that the homogeneous must lapse into the
heterogeneous, and that the heterogeneous must become more heterogeneous;
but we have not discovered why the differently-affected parts of any simple
whole, become clearly marked off from one another, at the same time that
they become unlike. Thus far no reason has been given why there should not
ordinarily arise a vague chaotic heterogeneity, in place of that orderly
heterogeneity displayed in Evolution. It still remains to find out the cause
of that local integration which accompanied local differentiation -- that
gradually-completed segregation of like units into a group, distinctly separated
from neighbouring groups which are severally made up of other kinds of units.
The rationale will be conveniently introduced by a few instances in which
we may watch this segregative process taking place.




When, late in September, the trees are gaining their autumn colours, and
we are hoping soon to see a further change increasing the beauty of the landscape,
we are sometimes disappointed by the occurrence of an equinoctial gale. Out
of the mixed mass of foliage on each branch , the strong current of air carries
away the decaying and brightly-tinted leaves, but fails to detach those which
are still green. And while these last, frayed and seared by long-continued
beatings against one another, give a sombre colour to the woods, the red
and yellow and orange leaves are collected together in ditches and behind
walls and in corners where eddies allow them to settle. That is to say ,
by that uniform force which the wind exerts on both kinds, the dying leaves
are picked out from among their still-living companions and gathered in places
by themselves. Again, the separation of particles of different sizes, as
dust and sand from pebbles, may be similarly effected, as we see on every
road in March. And from the days of Homer downwards, the power of currents
of air, natural and artificial, to part from one another units of unlike
characters, has been habitually utilized in the winnowing of chaff from wheat.
In every brook we see how the mixed materials carried down are separately
deposited -- how in rapids the bottom gives rest to nothing but boulders
and pebbles; how where the current is not so strong, sand is let fall; and
how , in still places, there is a sediment of mud. This selective action
of moving water is commonly applied in the arts to obtain masses of particles
of different degrees of fineness. Emery, for example, after being ground,
is carried by a slow current through successive compartments; in the first
of which the largest grains subside; in the second of which the grains that
settle before the water has escaped, are somewhat smaller; in the third smaller
still; until in the last there are deposited those finest particles which
have not previously been able to reach the bottom. And in a way that is different
though equally significant, this segregative effect of water in motion, is
exemplified in the carrying away of soluble from insoluble matters -- an
application of it hourly made in every laboratory. The effects of the uniform
forces which aerial and aqueous currents exercise, are paralleled by those
of uniform forces of other orders. Electric attraction will separate small
bodies from large, or light bodies from heavy. By magnetism, grains of iron
may be selected from other grains; as by the Sheffield grinder, whose magnetized
gauze-mask filters out the steel-dust his wheel gives off , from the stone-dust
which accompanies it. And how the affinity of any agent acting differently
on the mixed components of a body, enables us to take away some component
and leave the rest behind , is perpetually shown in chemical experiments.




What, now, is the general truth here variously presented? How are these
facts, and countless similar ones, to be expressed in terms that embrace
them all? In each case we see in action a force which may be regarded as
simple or uniform-fluid motion in a certain direction at a certain velocity;
electric or magnetic attraction of a given amount; chemical affinity of a
particular kind; or rather, in strictness, the acting force is compounded
of one of these with some other uniform force, as gravitation, etc. In each
case we have an aggregate made up of unlike units -- either atoms of different
substances combined or intimately mingled, or fragments of the same substance
of different sizes, or other constituent parts that are unlike in their specific
gravities, shapes, or other attributes. And in each case these unlike units,
or groups of units, of which the aggregate consists, are, under the influence
of some resultant force acting indiscriminately on them all, separated from
one another -- segregated into minor aggregates, each consisting of units
that are severally like one another and unlike those of the other minor aggregates.
Such being the common aspect of these changes, let us look for the common
interpretation of them.




In the chapter on "The Instability of the Homogeneous," it was
shown that a uniform force falling on any aggregate, produces unlike modifications
in its different parts -- turns the uniform into the multiform and the multiform
into the more multiform. The transformation thus wrought, consists of either
insensible or sensible changes of relative position among the units, or of
both. Such portion of the permanently effective force as reaches each different
part, or differently-conditioned part, may be expended in modifying the mutual
relations of its constituents; or it may be expended in moving the part to
another place; or it may be expended partially in the first and partially
in the second. And if little or none is absorbed in re-arranging the components
of a compound unit, much or the whole must show itself in motion of such
compound unit to some other place in the aggregate. and conversely. What
must follow from this, in cases where none or only part of the force generates
chemical re-distributions, what physical re-distributions must be generated?
Parts that are similar to each other will be similarly acted on by the force,
while parts that are dissimilar will be dissimilarly acted on. Hence the
permanently effective incident force, when wholly or partially transformed
into mechanical motion of the units, will produce like motions in units that
are alike, and unlike motions in units that are unlike. If then, in an aggregate
containing two or more orders of mixed units, those of the same order will
be moved in the same way, and in a way that differs from that in which units
of other orders are moved, the respective orders must segregate. A group
of like things on which are impressed motions that are alike in amount and
direction, must be transferred as a group to another place, and if they are
mingled with some group of other things, on which the motions impressed are
like one another, but unlike those of the first group in amount or direction
or both, these other things must be transferred as a group to some other
place -- the mixed units must undergo a simultaneous selection and separation.




Further to elucidate this process, let me set down a few instances in
which we may see that the definiteness of the separation is in proportion
to the definiteness of the differences among the units. Take a handful of
pounded substance, containing fragments of all sizes, and let it fall gradually
while a gentle breeze is blowing. The large fragments will be collected on
the ground almost immediately under the hand; somewhat smaller fragments
will be carried a little to the leeward; still smaller ones further away;
and those minute particles we call dust, will be drifted far before they
reach the earth: that is, the segregation is indefinite where the differences
among the fragments are indefinite, though the divergences are greatest where
the differences are greatest. If, again, the handful be made up of distinct
orders of units -- as pebbles, coarse sand, and dust -- these will, under
like conditions, be segregated with greater definiteness. The pebbles will
drop almost vertically; the sand, falling obliquely, will deposit itself
within a tolerably circumscribed space beyond the pebbles; while the dust
will be blown almost horizontally to a great distance. A case in which another
kind of force comes into play, will still better illustrate this truth. Through
a mixed aggregate of soluble and insoluble substances, let water slowly percolate.
There will in the first place be a distinct parting of the substances that
are the most widely unlike: the soluble will be carried away; the insoluble
will remain behind. Further, some separation, though a less definite one,
will be effected among the soluble substances; since the first part of the
current will remove the most soluble in the largest amounts, and after these
have been dissolved, it will continue to bring out the remaining less soluble.
Even the undissolved matters will have simultaneously undergone some segregation;
for the percolating fluid will carry down the minute fragments from among
the large ones, and will often deposit those of small specific gravity in
one place, and those of great specific gravity in another. To complete the
elucidation we must glance at the obverse fact; namely that mixed units which
differ but slightly, are moved in but slightly different ways by incident
forces, and can therefore be separated only by such adjustments of the incident
forces as allow slight differences to become appreciable factors in the result.
The parting of alcohol from water by distillation is a good example. Here
we have molecules consisting of oxygen and hydrogen, mingled with molecules
consisting of oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon. The two orders of molecules have
a considerable likeness of nature: they similarly maintain a fluid form at
ordinary temperatures; they similarly become gaseous more and more rapidly
as the temperature is raised; and they boil at points not very far apart.
Now this comparative likeness of the molecules is accompanied by difficulty
in segregating them. If the mixed fluid is unduly heated, much water distils
over with the alcohol: it is only within a narrow range of temperature that
molecules of the one kind are driven off rather than the others; and even
then not a few of the others accompany them. The most interesting and instructive
example, however, is furnished by certain phenomena of crystallization. When
several salts that have little analogy of constitution, are dissolved in
the same body of water, they are separated without much trouble, by crystallization:
subject as they are to uniform forces, they segregate. The crystals of each
salt do, indeed, usually contain certain small amounts of the other salts
present in the solution; but from these they are severally freed by repeated
re-solutions and crystallizations. Mark now, however, that the reverse is
the case when the salts contained in the same body of water are chemically
homologous. The nitrates of baryta and lead, or the sulphates of zinc, soda,
and magnesia, unite in the same crystals; nor will they crystallize separately
if these crystals be dissolved afresh, and afresh crystallized. On seeking
the cause of this anomaly, chemists found that such salts were isomorphous-that
their molecules, though not chemically identical, are identical in the proportions
of acid, base, and water, composing them, and in the crystalline forms they
assume when uniting. Here, then, we see clearly that units of unlike kinds
are selected out and separated with a readiness proportionate to the degree
of their unlikeness.




There is a converse cause of segregation which it is needless here to
treat of with equal fullness. If different units acted on by the same force,
must be differently moved; so, conversely units of the same kind must be
differently moved by different forces. Supposing some group of units forming
part of a homogeneous aggregate, are unitedly exposed to a force which is
unlike in amount or direction to the force acting on the rest of the aggregate,
then this group of units will separate from the rest, provided that, of the
force so acting on it, there remains any portion not dissipated in molecular
vibrations or absorbed in producing molecular rearrangements. After all that
has been said above, this proposition needs no defence.




Before ending our preliminary exposition, a complementary truth must be
specified; namely that mixed forces are segregated by the reaction of uniform
matters, just as mixed matters are segregated by the action of uniform forces.
Of this truth a complete and sufficient illustration is furnished by the
dispersion of refracted light. A beam of light, made up of ethereal undulations
of different orders, is not uniformly deflected by a homogeneous refracting
body; but the different orders of undulations it contains are deflected at
different angles: the result being that these different orders of undulations
are separated and integrated, and so produce the colours of the spectrum.
A segregation of another kind occurs when rays of light traverse an obstructing
medium. Those which consist of comparatively short undulations are absorbed
before those which consist of comparatively long ones; and the red rays,
which consist of the longest undulations, alone penetrate when the obstruction
is very great. How, conversely, there is produced a separation of like forces
by the reaction of unlike matters, is also made manifest by the phenomena
of refraction; since adjacent and parallel beams of light, falling on, and
passing through, unlike substances, are made to diverge.




§164. In vague ways the heavenly bodies exemplify that cause of material
segregation last assigned -- the action of unlike forces on like units.




I say in vague ways because our Sidereal System displays more of aggregation
than of segregation. That the irregular swarms of stars constituting the
Milky Way with its branches and gaps and denser regions, have been gathered
together from a more widely diffused state, may be reasonably inferred; though
as we know nothing of the preceding distribution such a change cannot be
proved: still less can there be proved a segregative process.




It is true that in clusters of stars, beginning with those having members
considerably dispersed and ending with those having members closely concentrated-globular
clusters -- we see strong evidence of aggregation; and it may be contended
that since the mutual gravitations of the stars forming a cluster, differ
in their degrees and directions from those of the stars from which they have
separated, there is a kind of segregation. But it must be admitted that the
conformity to the above-named principle is but an indefinite one.




There are, however, two classes of facts which exhibit segregation, though
they leave us ignorant of its causes. The first is that star-clusters are
abundant along the course of the Milky Way: by far the larger number of them
lying in the neighbourhood of its plane and relatively few in regions on
either side. The second is that, contrariwise, the nebulae are sparsely scattered
in and about the galactic circle and are relatively numerous in the spaces
remote from it. Though there are thus presented two cases of segregation
there is no evidence that these different classes of bodies have been separated
from a mixed assemblage, nor is there any indication of the forces by which
this contrast in distribution has been produced. We can only say that the
facts are congruous with the belief that segregation, probably indirect rather
than direct in its cause, has been going on.




The formation and detachment of a nebulous ring, illustrates the same
general principle. To conclude, as Laplace did, that the equatorial portion
of a rotating nebulous spheroid will, during concentration, acquire a centrifugal
force sufficient to prevent it from following the rest of the contracting
mass, is to conclude that such portions will remain behind as are in common
subject to a certain differential force. The line of division between the
ring and the spheroid, must be a line inside of which the aggregative force
is greater than the force resisting aggregation; and outside of which the
force resisting aggregation is greater than the aggregative force. Hence
the alleged process conforms to the law that among like units, exposed to
unlike forces, the similarly conditioned separate from the dissimilarly conditioned.




§165. Those geologic changes usually classed as aqueous, display
under numerous forms the segregation of unlike units by a uniform incident
force. On seashores the waves are ever sorting-out and separating the mixed
materials against which they break. From each mass of fallen cliff, the tide
carries away all those particles which are so small as to remain long suspended
in the water; and, at some distance from shore, deposits them in the shape
of fine sediment. Large particles, sinking with comparative rapidity, are
accumulated into beds of sand near low water-mark. The small pebbles collect
together at the bottom of the incline up which the breakers rush; and on
the top lie the larger stones and boulders. Still more specific segregations
may occasionally be observed. Flat pebbles, produced by the breaking down
of laminated rock, are sometimes separately collected in one part of a shingle
bank. On this shore the deposit is wholly of mud; on that it is wholly of
sand. Here we find a sheltered cove filled with small pebbles almost of one
size; and there, in a curved bay one end of which is more exposed than the
other we see a progressive increase in the massiveness of the stones as we
walk from the less exposed to the more exposed end. Trace the history of
each geologic deposit, and we are quickly led down to the fact that mixed
fragments of matter, differing in their sizes or weights, are, when exposed
to the momentum and friction of water, joined with the attraction of the
Earth, selected from one another, and united into groups of comparatively
like fragments. And we see that, other things equal, the separation is definite
in proportion as the differences of the units are marked. After they have
been formed, sedimentary strata exhibit segregations of another kind. The
flints and the nodules of iron pyrites that are found in chalk, as well as
the silicious concretions which sometimes occur in limestone, are interpreted
as aggregations  of molecules of silex or sulphuret of iron, originally diffused
through the deposit, but gradually collected round centres, notwithstanding
the solid or semi-solid state of the surrounding matter. Bog iron-ore supplies
the conditions and the result in still more obvious correlation.




Among igneous changes we do not find so many examples of the process described.
Nevertheless, geological phenomena of this order are not barren of illustrations.
Where the mixed matters composing the Earth's crust have been raised to a
very high temperature, segregation commonly takes place as the temperature
falls. Sundry of the substances that escape in a gaseous form from volcanoes,
sublime into crystals on coming against cool surfaces; and solidifying, as
these substances do, at different temperatures, they are deposited at different
parts of the crevices through which they are emitted together. The best illustration,
however, is furnished by the changes that occur during the slow cooling of
igneous rock. When, through one of the fractures from time to time made in
the Earth's crust, a portion of the molten nucleus is extruded, and when
this is cooled with comparative rapidity, there results trap or basalt --
a substance that is uniform in texture, though made up of various ingredients.
But when, not escaping through the superficial strata, such a portion of
the molten nucleus is slowly cooled, granite is the result: the mingled particles
of quartz, feldspar, and mica, being kept for a long time in a fluid and
semi-fluid state -- a state of comparative mobility-undergo those changes
of position which the forces impressed on them by their fellow units necessitate.
The differential forces arising from mutual polarity, segregate the quartz,
feldspar, and mica, into crystals. How completely this is dependent on the
long-continued agitation of the mixed particles, and consequent long-continued
movableness by small differential forces, is proved by the fact that in a
granite dyke the crystals in the centre, where the fluidity or semi-fluidity
continued for a longer time, are much larger than those at the sides, where
contact with the neighbouring rock caused more rapid cooling and solidification.




§166. The actions going on throughout an organism are so involved,
that we cannot expect to identify the forces by which particular segregations
are effected. Among the few instances admitting. of interpretation, the best
are those in which mechanical pressures and tensions are the agencies at
work.




The spine of a vertebrate animal is subjected to certain general strains
-- the weight of the body, together with the reactions involved by all considerable
muscular efforts; and under these conditions it has become segregated as
a whole. At the same time being exposed to different forces during those
lateral bendings which the movements necessitate, its parts retain a certain
separateness. If we trace up the development of the vertebral column from
its primitive form of a cartilaginous cord in the lowest fishes, we see that,
throughout, it maintains an integration corresponding to the unity of the
incident forces, joined with a division into segments corresponding to the
variety of the incident forces. Each segment, considered apart, exemplifies
the truth more simply. A vertebra is not a single bone, but consists of a
central mass with sundry appendages or processes, and in unfinished types
of vertebra these appendages are separate from the central mass, and, indeed,
exist before it makes its appearance. But these several independent bones
constituting a primitive spinal segment, are subjected to a certain aggregate
of forces which agree more than they differ: as the fulcrum to a group of
muscles habitually acting together, they perpetually undergo certain reactions
in common. And accordingly, in the course of development, they gradually
coalesce. Still clearer is the illustration furnished by spinal segments
that become fused together where they are together exposed to some predominant
strain. The sacrum consists of a group of vertebra firmly united. In the
ostrich and its congeners there are from seventeen to twenty sacral vertebra;
and, besides being confluent with one another , these are confluent with
the iliac bones, which run on each side of them. If, now , we assume these
vertebra to have been originally separate, as they still are in the embryo
bird, and if we consider the forces to which they must in such case have
been exposed, we shall see that their union results in the alleged way. For
through these vertebra the entire weight of the body is transferred to the
legs: the legs support the pelvic arch; the pelvic arch supports the sacrum;
and to the sacrum is articulated the rest of the spine, with all the organs
attached to it and upheld by it. Hence, if separate, the sacral vertebra
must be held firmly together by strongly-contracted muscles, and must, by
implication, be prevented from partaking in those lateral movements which
the other vertebra undergo -- they must be subjected to a common strain,
while they are preserved from strains which would affect them differently;
and so they fulfil the conditions under which segregation occurs. But the
cases in which cause and effect are brought into the most obvious relation,
are supplied by the limbs. The metacarpal bones (those which in man support
the palm of the hand) are separate from one another in most mammals: the
separate actions of the toes entailing on them slight amounts of separate
movements. This is not so however in the ox-tribe and the horse-tribe. In
the ox-tribe, only the middle metacarpals (third and fourth) are developed;
and these, attaining massive proportions, coalesce to form the cannon bone.
In the horse-tribe, the segregation is what we may distinguish as indirect:
the second and fourth metacarpals are present only as rudiments united to
the sides of the third, while the third is immensely developed; thus forming
a cannon bone which differs from that of the ox in being a single cylinder,
instead of two cylinders fused together. The metatarsus in these quadrupeds
exhibits parallel changes. Now each of these metamorphoses occurs where the
different bones grouped together have no longer any different functions,
but retain only a common function. The feet of oxen and horses are used solely
for locomotion -- are not put, like those of unguiculate mammals, to purposes
which involve some relative movements of the metacarpals. Thus there directly
or indirectly results a single mass of bone where the incident force is single.
And for the inference that these facts have a causal connexion, we find confirmation
throughout the entire class of birds, in the wings and legs of which, like
segregations are found under like conditions. While this sheet is passing
through the press (1862), a fact illustrating this general truth in a yet
more remarkable manner, has been mentioned to me by Prof. Huxley who kindly
allows me to make use of it while still unpublished by him. The Glyptodon,
an extinct mammal found fossilized in South America, has long been known
as a large uncouth creature allied to the Armadillo, but having a massive
dermal armour consisting of polygonal plates closely fitted together so as
to make a vast box, inclosing the body in such way as effectually to prevent
it from being bent, laterally or vertically, in the slightest degree. This
box, which must have weighed several hundredweight, was supported on the
spinous processes of the vertebrae, and on the adjacent bones of the pelvic
and thoracic arches. And the significant fact is that here, where the trunk
vertebrae were together exposed to the pressure of this heavy dermal armour,
at the same time that, by its rigidity , they were preserved from all relative
movements, they were united into one solid, continuous bone.




The formation and maintenance of a species, considered as an assemblage
of similar organisms, is interpretable in an analogous way. Already we have
seen that in so far as the members of a species are subject to different
sets of incident forces, they are differentiated, or divided into varieties.
Here it remains to add that such of them as are subject to like sets of incident
forces, are segregated. For by the process of "natural selection,"
there is a continual purification of each species from those individuals
which depart from the common type in ways that unfit them for the conditions
of their existence. Consequently, there is a continual leaving behind of
those individuals which are in all respects fit for the conditions of their
existence, and are therefore nearly alike. The circumstances to which any
species is exposed, being an involved combination of incident forces; and
the members of the species having among them some that differ more than is
usual from the average structure required for meeting these forces; it results
that these forces are constantly separating such divergent individuals from
the rest, and so preserving the uniformity of the rest -- keeping up its
integrity as a species or variety. Just as the changing autumn leaves are
picked out by the wind from among the green ones around them, or just as,
to use Prof. Huxley's simile, the smaller fragments pass through a sieve
while the larger are kept back; so, the uniform incidence of external forces
affects the members of a group of organisms similarly in proportion as they
are similar, and differently in proportion as they are different; and thus
is ever segregating the like by parting the unlike from them. Whether these
separated members are killed off, as mostly happens, or whether, as otherwise
happens, they survive and multiply into a distinct variety, in consequence
of their fitness to certain partially-unlike conditions, matters not to the
argument. The one case conforms to the law that the unlike units of an aggregate
are sorted into their kinds and parted, when uniformly subject to the same
incident forces, and the other to the converse law that the like units of
an aggregate are parted and separately grouped when subject to different
incident forces. And on consulting Mr. Darwin's remarks on divergence of
character, it will be seen that the segregations thus caused tend ever to
become more definite.




§167. Mental evolution under one of its leading aspects, we found
to consist in the formation in the mind of groups of like objects and like
relations -- a differentiation of the various things originally confounded
together in one assemblage, and an integration of each separate order of
things into a separate group (§153). Here it remains to point out that
while unlikeness in the incident forces is the cause of such differentiations,
likeness in the incident forces is the cause of such integrations. For what
is the process through which classifications are established? How do plants
become grouped in the mind of the botanist into orders, genera, and species?
Each plant he examines yields him a certain complex impression. Now and then
he picks up a plant like one before seen; and the recognition of it is the
production in him of a like connected group of sensations, by a like connected
group of attributes. That is to say there is produced throughout the nerve-centres
concerned, a combined set of changes, similar to a combined set of changes
before produced. Considered analytically, each such combined set of changes
is a combined set of molecular modifications wrought in the affected part
of the organism. On every repetition of the impression, a like combined set
of molecular modifications is superposed on the previous ones, and makes
them greater: thus generating an internal plexus of.modifications, with its
answering idea, corresponding to these similar external objects. Meanwhile,
another kind of plant produces in the brain of the botanist another set of
molecular modifications -- a set which does not agree with the one we have
been considering, but disagrees with it; and by repetition of such there
is generated a different idea answering to a different species. What, now,
is the nature of this process expressed in general terms? On the one hand
there are the like and unlike things from which severity emanate the groups
of forces by which we perceive them. On the other hand, there are the organs
of sense and percipient centres, through which, in the course of observation,
these groups of forces pass. In passing through them the like groups of forces
are segregated, or separated from the unlike groups of forces; and each such
separate series of groups of forces, answering to an external genus or species,
produces an idea of the genus or species. We before saw that as well as a
separation of mixed matters by the same force, there is a separation of mixed
forces by the same matter; and here we may further see that the unlike forces
so separated, work unlike structural changes in the aggregate that separates
them -- structural changes each of which thus represents the integrated series
of motions that has produced it.




By a parallel process, the relations of co-existence and sequence among
impressions, become sorted into kinds and grouped. When two phenomena that
have been experienced in a given order, are repeated in the same order, those
nerve-centres which before were affected by the transition are again affected;
and such molecular modification as they received from the first motion propagated
through them is increased by this second motion. Each such motion works a
structural alteration which, in conformity with the law set forth in Chapter
IX, involves a diminished resistance to all such motions that afterwards
occur. The segregation of these successive motions (or more strictly, the
permanently effective portions of expanded them in overcoming resistance)
thus becomes the cause of, and the measure of, the mental connexions between
the impressions which the phenomena produced. Meanwhile, phenomena different
from these, being phenomena that affect different nervous elements, will
have their connexions severally represented by motions along other routes;
and along each of these other routes, the nervous discharges will severally
take place with a readiness proportionate to the frequency with which experience
repeats the connexions of phenomena. The classification of relations must
hence go on pari passu with the classification of the related things. In
common with the mixed sensations received from the external world, the mixed
relations it presents cannot be impressed on the organism.without more or
less segregation of them resulting. And through this continuous sorting and
grouping of changes or motions, which constitutes nervous function, there
is gradually wrought that sorting and grouping of matter, which constitutes
nervous structure.




§168. In social evolution, the collecting together of the like and
the separation of the unlike by incident forces, is primarily displayed in
the same manner as we saw it to be among groups of inferior creatures. The
human races tend to differentiate and integrate, as do races of other living
forms.




Of the forces which effect and maintain the segregations of mankind, may
first be named those external ones classed as physical conditions. The climate
and food which are favourable to an indigenous people, are more or less detrimental
to an alien people of different bodily constitution. In tropical regions
the northern races cannot permanently exist: if not killed off in the first
generation, they are so in the second, and, as in India, can maintain their
footing only by the artificial process of continuous immigration and emigration.
That is to say, the external forces acting equally on the inhabitants of
a given locality, tend to expel all who are not of a certain type, and thus
to keep up the integration of those who are of that type. Even among the
Indian peoples themselves the like happens: some of the hill-tribes being
segregated by surviving the malarious influences which kill off Hindus who
enter their habitat. The other foxes conspiring to produce these national
segregations, are those mental ones shown in the affinities of men for others
like themselves. Units of one society who are obliged to reside in another,
generally form colonies in the midst of that other -- small societies of
their own. Races which have been artificially severed, show tendencies to
re-unite. Now though these segregations caused by the mutual likings of kindred
men, do not seem due to the general principle enunciated, they really are
thus interpretable. When treating of the direction of motion (§80),
it was shown that the actions performed by men for the satisfaction of their
wants, are always motions along lines of least resistance. The feelings characterizing
a member of a given race, are feelings which get complete satisfaction only
among other members of that race a satisfaction partly derived from sympathy
with those having like feelings, but mainly derived from the adapted social
conditions which grow up where such feelings prevail. When, therefore, a
citizen of any nation is, as we see, attracted towards others of his nation,
the rationale is that certain agencies which we call desires, move him in
the direction of least resistance. Human motions, like all other motions,
being determined by the distribution of forces, it follows that such segregations
of races as are not produced by incident external forces, are produced by
forces which the units of the races exercise on one another.




During the development of each society we see analogous segregations caused
in analogous ways. A few of them result from minor natural affinities; but
those most important ones which constitute political and industrial organization,
result from the union of men in whom similarities have been produced by training.
Men brought up to bodily labour are men who have had wrought in them a certain
likeness -- a likeness which, in respect of their powers of action, obscures
and subordinates their natural differences. Those trained to brain-work have
acquired a certain other community of character which makes them, as social
units, more like one another than like those trained to manual occupations.
And there arise class-segregations answering to these super-induced likenesses.
More definite segregations take place among the more definitely assimilated
members of any class who are brought up to the same calling. Even where the
necessities of their work forbid concentration in one locality, as among
artizans happens with masons and bricklayers, and among traders happens with
the retail distributers, and among professionals happens with the medical
men, there are not wanting Operative Builders' Unions, and Grocers' Societies,
and Medical Associations, implying a process of sifting out and grouping.
And where, as among the manufacturing classes, the functions discharged do
not require the dispersion of citizens who are artificially assimilated,
there is an aggregation of them in special localities, and a consequent increase
in the definiteness of industrial divisions. If, now, we seek the causes
of these segregations, considered as results of force and motion, we are
brought to the same general principle as before. This likeness produced in
the members of any class or sub-class by training, is an aptitude acquired
by them for satisfying their wants in like ways. That is, the occupation
has become to each a line of least resistance. Hence under that pressure
which determines all men to activity these similarly -- modified social units
are similarly affected, and tend to take similar courses. If, then, there
be any locality which, either by its physical peculiarities or by peculiarities
wrought on it during social evolution, is rendered a place where a certain
kind of industrial action meets with less resistance than elsewhere, it follows
from the law of direction of motion that those social units who have been
moulded to this kind of industrial action, will be segregated by moving towards
this place. If, for instance, the proximity of coal and iron mines to a navigable
river, gives to Glasgow an advantage in the building of iron-ships-if the
total labour required to produce a given vessel, and get its equivalent in
food and clothing, is less there than elsewhere; there is caused a concentration
of iron-ship builders at Glasgow, either by detention of the population born
to iron-ship building, or by immigration of those elsewhere engaged in it,
or by both. The principle equally holds where the occupation is mercantile
instead of manufacturing. Stock-brokers cluster where the amount of effort
to be severally gone through by them in discharging their functions, and
obtaining their profits, is less than elsewhere. A local exchange having
once been established, becomes a place where the resistance to be overcome
by each is smaller than in any other place; and, being like units under stress
of common desires, pursuit of the course of least resistance by each involves
their aggregation around this place.




Of course, with units so complex as those which constitute a society ,
and with forces so involved as those which move them, the resulting selections
and separations must be far more entangled, or far less definite, than those
we have hitherto considered. For men's likenesses being of various kinds,
lead to various orders of segregation. There are likenesses of disposition,
likenesses of taste, likenesses produced by education, likenesses that result
from class-habits, likenesses of political feeling; and it needs but to glance
round at the caste-divisions, the associations for philanthropic, scientific,
and artistic purposes, the religious parties and social cliques, to see that
some species of likeness among the component members of each body determines
their union. Now the different segregative processes, by traversing one another
and often by their indirect antagonism, more or less obscure one another's
effects, and prevent any one differentiated class from completely integrating.
But if this cause of incompleteness be borne in mind, social segregations
will be seen to conform to the same principle as all other segregations.




§169. Can the general truth thus variously illustrated be deduced
from the persistence of forte, in common with foregoing truths? Probably
the exposition at the beginning of the chapter will have led most readers
to conclude that it can be so deduced.




The abstract propositions involved are these: -- First, that like units,
subject to a uniform force capable of producing motions in them, will be
moved to like degrees in the same direction. Second, that like units if exposed
to unlike forces capable of producing motion in them, will be differently
moved-moved either in different directions or to different degrees in the
Same direction. Third, that unlike units if acted on by a uniform force capable
of producing motion in them, will be differently moved -- moved either in
different directions or to different degrees in the same direction. Fourth,
that the incident forces themselves must be affected in analogous ways: like
forces falling on like units must be similarly modified by the conflict;
unlike forces falling on like units must be dissimilarly modified; and like
forces falling on unlike units must be dissimilarly modified. These propositions
may be reduced to a still more abstract form. They all imply that in the
actions and reactions of force and matter, an unlikeness in either of the
factors necessitates an unlikeness in the effects, and that in the absence
of unlikeness in either of the factors the effects must be alike.




When they are thus generalized, the dependence of these propositions on
the persistence of force is obvious. Any two forces that are not alike, are
forces which differ either in their amounts or directions or both; and by
what is called the resolution of forces, it may be proved that this difference
is constituted by the presence in the one of some force not present in the
other. Similarly, any two units or portions of matter which are unlike in
size, form, weight, or other attribute, can be known as unlike only through
some unlikeness in the forces they impress on us; and hence this unlikeness
also, is constituted by the presence in the one of some force or forces not
present in the other. Such being the common nature of these unlikenesses,
what is the corollary? Any unlikeness in the incident forces, where the things
acted on are alike, must generate a difference between the effects; since,
otherwise, the differential force produces no effect, and force is not persistent.
Any unlikeness in the things acted on, where the incident forces are alike,
must generate a difference between the effects; since, otherwise, the differential
force whereby these things are made unlike, produces no effect, and force
is not persistent. While, conversely, if the forces acting and the things
acted on are alike, the effects must be alike; since, otherwise, a differential
effect can be produced without a differential cause, and force is not persistent.




Thus these general truths being necessary implications. of the persistence
of force, all the re-distributions above traced out as characterizing Evolution
in its various phases, are also implications of the persistence of force.
If of the mixed units making up any aggregate, those of the same kind have
like motions impressed on them by a uniform force, while units of another
kind are moved by this uniform force in ways more or less unlike the ways
in which those of the first kind are moved, the two kinds must separate and
integrate. If the units are alike and the forces unlike, a division of the
differently affected units is equally necessitated. Thus there inevitably
arises the demarcated grouping which we everywhere see. By virtue of this
segregation, growing ever more decided while there remains any possibility
of increasing it, the change from uniformity to multiformity is accompanied
by a change from indistinctness in the relations of parts to distinctness
in the relations of parts. As we before saw that the transformation of the
homogeneous into the heterogeneous is inferable from that ultimate truth
which transcends proof; so we here see that from this same truth is inferable
the transformation of an indefinite homogeneity into a definite heterogeneity.




Chapter 22




Equilibration




§170. towards what do these changes tend? Will they go on for ever?
or will there be an end to them? Can things increase in heterogeneity through
all future time? or must there be a degree which the differentiation and
integration of Matter and Motion cannot pass? Is it possible for this universal
metamorphosis to proceed in the same general course indefinitely? or does
it work towards some ultimate state admitting no further modification of
like kind? The last of these alternative conclusions is that to which we
are inevitably driven. Whether we watch concrete processes, or whether we
consider the question in the abstract, we are alike taught that Evolution
has an impassable limit.




The re-distributions of matter which go on around us, are ever being brought
to conclusions by the dissipation of the motions which effect them. The rolling
stone parts with portions of its momentum to the things it strikes, and finally
comes to rest; as do also, in like manner, the various things it has struck.
Descending from the clouds and trickling over the Earth's surface till it
gathers into brooks and rivers, water, still running towards a lower level,
is at last arrested by the resistance of other water that has reached the
lowest level. In the lake or sea thus formed, every agitation raised by a
wind or the immersion of a solid body, propagates itself around in waves
which diminish as they widen, and gradually become lost to observation in
motions communicated to the atmosphere and the matter on the shores. The
impulse given by a player to a harp-string is transformed through its vibrations
into aerial pulses; and these, spreading on all sides, and weakening as they
spread, soon cease to be perceptible, and are gradually expended in generating
thermal undulations that radiate into space: each aerial pulse causing compression
and evolution of heat. Equally in the cinder which falls out of the fire,
and in the vast mass of molten lava ejected by a volcano, we see that the
molecular agitation disperses itself by radiation; so that the temperature
inevitably sinks at last to the same degree as that of surrounding bodies.
The proximate rationale of the process exhibited under these several forms,
lies in the fact dwelt on when treating of the Multiplication of Effects,
that motions are ever being decomposed into divergent motions, and these
into re-divergent motions. The rolling stone sends off the stones it hits
in directions differing more or less from its own, and they do the like with
the things they hit. Move water or air, and the movement is quickly resolved
into dispersed movements. The heat produced by pressure in a given direction
diffuses itself by undulations in all directions. That is to say, these motions
undergo division and subdivision, and by continuance of this process without
limit they are, though never lost, gradually dissipated.




In all cases, then, there is a progress toward equilibrium. That universal
co-existence of antagonist forces which, as we before saw, necessitates the
universality of rhythm, and which, as we before saw, necessitates the decomposition
of every force into divergent forces, at the same time necessitates the ultimate
establishment of a balance. Every motion, being motion under resistance,
is continually suffering deductions; and these unceasing deductions finally
result in the cessation of the motion.




The general truth thus frustrated under its simplest aspect, we must now
look at under those more complex aspects it usually presents throughout Nature.
In nearly all cases, the motion of an aggregate is compound; and the equilibration
of each of its components, being carried on independently, does not affect
the rest. The ship's bell that has ceased to vibrate, still continues those
vertical and lateral oscillations caused by the ocean-swell. The water of
a smooth stream on whose surface have died away the undulations caused by
a rising fish, moves as fast as before towards the sea. The arrested bullet
travels with undiminished speed round the Earth's axis. And were the rotation
of the Earth destroyed, there would not be implied any diminution of the
Earth's movement with respect to the Sun and other external bodies. So that
in every case, what we regard as equilibration is a disappearance of some
one or more of the many movements a body possesses, while its other movements
continue as before. That this process may be duly realized and the state
of things towards which it tends fully understood, it will be well here to
cite a case in which we may watch this successive equilibration of combined
movements more completely than we can do in those above instanced. Our end
will best be served not by the most imposing but by the most familiar example.
Let us take that of a spinning top. When the string which has been wrapped
round a top's axis is violently drawn off, and the top falls on to the table,
it usually happens that besides the rapid rotation two other movements are
given to it. A slight horizontal momentum, unavoidably impressed on it when
leaving the handle, carries it. away bodily from the place on which it drops;
and in consequence of its axis being more or less inclined, it falls into
a certain oscillation, described by the expressive though inelegant word
"wabbling." These two subordinate motions, variable in their proportions
to each other and to the chief motion, are commonly soon brought to a close
by separate processes of equilibrium. The momentum which carries the top
bodily along the table, resisted somewhat by the air but mainly by the irregularities
of the surface, shortly disappears; and the top thereafter continues to spin
on one spot. Meanwhile, in consequence of that opposition which the axial
momentum of a rotating body makes to any change in the plane of rotation,
(so beautifully exhibited by the gyroscope,) the "wabbling" diminishes,
and like the other is quickly ended. These minor motions having been dissipated,
the rotatory motion, interfered with only by atmospheric resistance and the
friction of the pivot, continues some time with such uniformity that the
top appears stationary: there being thus temporary established a condition
which the French mathematicians have termed equilibrium mobile. It is true
that when the velocity of rotation sinks below a certain point, new motions
commence and increase till the top falls; but these are merely incidental
to a case in which the centre of gravity is above the point of support. Were
the top, having an axis of steel, to be suspended from a surface adequately
magnetized, the moving equilibrium would continue until the top became motionless,
without any further change of attitude. Now the facts which it behoves us
here to observe are these. First, that the various motions which an aggregate
possesses are separately equilibrated: those which are smallest, or which
meet with the greatest resistance, or both, disappearing first; and leaving
at last that which is greatest, or meets with least resistance, or both.
Second, that when the aggregate has a movement of its parts with respect
to each other which encounters but little external resistance, there is apt
to be established a moving equilibrium. Third, that this moving equilibrium
eventually lapses into complete equilibrium.




Fully to comprehend the process of equilibration, is not easy; since we
have simultaneously to contemplate various phases of it. The best course
will be to glance separately at what we may conveniently regard as its four
different orders. The first order includes the comparatively simple motions,
as those of projectiles, which are not prolonged enough to exhibit their
rhythmical character, but which, being quickly divided and subdivided into
motions communicated to other portions of matter, are presently dissipated
in the rhythm of ethereal undulations. In the second order, comprehending
various kinds of ordinary vibration or oscillation, the implied energy is
used up in generating a tension which, having become equal to it or momentarily
equilibrated with it, thereupon produces a motion in the opposite direction,
that is subsequently equilibrated in like manner: thus causing a visible
rhythm which is presently lost in invisible rhythms. The third order of equilibration,
not hitherto noticed, obtains in those aggregates which continually receive
as much energy as they expend. The steam-engine (and especially that kind
which feeds its own furnace and boiler) supplies an example. Here the energy
from moment to moment dissipated in overcoming the resistance of the machinery
driven, is from moment to moment re-placed from the fuel; and the balance
of the two is maintained by a raising or lowering of the expenditure according
to the variation of the supply: each increase or decrease in the quantity
of steam, resulting in a rise or fall of the engine's movement, such as brings
it to a balance with the increased or decreased resistance. This, which we
may fitly call the dependent moving equilibrium, should be specify noted;
since it is one that we shall commonly meet with throughout various phases
of Evolution. The equilibrium to be distinguished as of the fourth order,
is the independent or perfect moving equilibrium. This we see illustrated
in the rhythmical motions of the Solar System, which, being resisted only
by a medium of inappreciable density, undergo no sensible diminution in such
periods of time as we can measure.




Something has still to be added. The reader must note two leading truths
brought out by the foregoing exposition: the one concerning the ultimate,
or rather the penultimate, state of motion which the processes described
tend to bring about; the other concerning the concomitant distribution of
matter. This penultimate state of motion is the moving equilibrium, which
tends to arise in an aggregate having compound motions, as a transitional
state on the way towards complete equilibrium. Throughout Evolution of all
kinds there is a continual approximation to, and more or less complete maintenance
of, this moving equilibrium. As in the Solar System there has been established
an independent moving equilibrium -- an equilibrium such that the relative
motions of its members are continually so counterbalanced by opposite motions,
that the mean state of the aggregate never varies; so is it, though in a
less distinct manner, with each form of dependent moving equilibrium. The
state of things exhibited in the cycles of terrestrial changes, in the balanced
functions of organic bodies that have reached their adult forms, and in the
acting and re-acting processes of fully-developed societies, is similarly
one characterized by compensating oscillations. The involved combination
of rhythms seen in each of these cases, has an average condition which remains
practically constant during the deviations ever taking place on opposite
sides of it. And the fact which we have here to observe is that, as a corollary
from the general law of equilibrium, every evolving aggregate must go on
changing until a moving equilibrium is established; since, as we have seen,
an excess of force which the aggregate possesses in any direction, must eventually
be expended in overcoming resistances to change in that direction: leaving
behind only those movements which compensate one another, and so form a moving
equilibrium. Respecting the structural state simultaneously reached, it must
obviously be one presenting an arrangement of forces that counterbalance
all the forces to which the aggregate is subject. So long as there remains
a residual force in any direction -- be it excess of a force exercised by
the aggregate on its environment, or of a force exercised by its environment
on the aggregate, equilibrium does not exist; and therefore the re-distribution
of matter must continue. Whence it follows that the limit of heterogeneity
towards which every aggregate progresses, is the formation of as many specializations
and combinations of parts, as there are specialized and combined forces to
be met.




§171. Those successively changed forms which, if the nebular hypothesis
be granted, must have arisen during the evolution of the Solar System, were
so many transitional kinds of moving equilibrium, severally giving place
to more enduring kinds. Thus the assumption of an oblate spheroidal figure
by condensing nebulous matter, was the assumption of a temporary and partial
moving equilibrium among the component parts -- a moving equilibrium that
must have grown more settled as local conflicting movements were dissipated.
In the formation and detachment of the nebulous rings which, according to
this hypothesis, from time to time took place, we have instances of progressive
equilibration severally ending in the establishment of a complete moving
equilibrium. For the genesis of each such ring implies a balancing of that
attractive force which the whole spheroid exercises on its equatorial portion,
by that centrifugal force which the equatorial portion has acquired during
previous concentration. So long as these two forces are not equal, the equatorial
portion follows the contracting mass; but as soon as the second force has
increased up to an equality with the first, the equatorial portion can follow
no further and remains behind. While, however, the resulting ring, regarded
as a whole, has reached a state of moving equilibrium, its parts are not
balanced with respect to one another. As we before saw (§150) the probabilities
against the maintenance of an annular form by nebulous matter are great:
from the instability of the homogeneous, it is inferable that nebulous matter
so distributed will break up into portions, and eventually concentrate into
a single mass. That is to say, the ring will progress towards a moving equilibrium
of a more complete kind, during the dissipation of that motion which maintained
its particles in a diffused form; leaving at length a planetary body attended
perhaps by a group of minor bodies similarly produced, constituting a moving
equilibrium that is all but perfect.*

<* Sir David Brewster has cited with approval, a calculation by M. Babinet,
to the effect that on the hypothesis of nebular genesis, the matter of the
Sun, when it filled the Earth's orbit, must have taken 3181 years to rotate;
and that therefore the hypothesis cannot be true. This calculation of M.
Babinet may pair-off with that of M. Comte who, contrariwise, made the time
of this rotation agree very nearly with the Earth's period of revolution
round the Sun. For if M. Comte's calculation involved a petitio principii,
that of M. Babinet is based on two assumptions both of which are gratuitous,
and one of them inconsistent with the doctrine to be tested. He has evidently
proceeded on the current supposition respecting the Sun's internal density,
which is not proved, and from which there are reasons for dissenting; and
he has evidently taken for granted that all parts of the nebulous spheroid,
when it filled the Earth's orbit, has the same angular velocity; whereas
if (as is implied in the nebular hypothesis, rationally understood) this
spheroid resulted from the concentration of widely-diffused matter, the angular
velocity of its equatorial portion would obviously be far greater than that
of its central portion.>




Hypothesis aside, the principle of equilibration is still perpetually
illustrated in those minor changes of state which the Solar System undergoes.
Each planet, satellite, and comet, exhibits at its aphelion a momentary equilibrium
between that force which urges it further away from its primary, and that
force which retards its retreat. In like manner at perihelion a converse
equilibrium is momentarily established. The variation of each orbit in eccentricity,
and in the position of its plane, has similarly a limit at which the forces
producing change in the one direction, are equalled by those antagonizing
it; and an opposite limit at which an opposite arrest takes place. Meanwhile,
each of these simple perturbations, as well as each of the complex ones resulting
from their combination, exhibits, besides the temporary equilibration at
each of its extremes, a certain general equilibration of compensating deviations
on either side of a mean state. That the moving equilibrium thus constituted
tends, in the course of indefinite time, to lapse into a complete equilibrium,
by the gradual decrease of planetary motions and eventual integration of
all the separate masses composing the Solar System, is a belief suggested
by certain observed cometary retardations -- a belief entertained by some
of high authority. The received option that the appreciable diminution in
the period of Encke's comet, implies a loss of momentum caused by resistance
to the ethereal medium, commits astronomers who hold it, to the conclusion
that this same resistance must cause a loss of planetary motions -- a loss
which, infinitesimal though it may be in such periods as we can measure,
will, if indefinitely continued, bring these motions to a close. Even should
there be, as Sir John Herschel suggests, a rotation of the ethereal medium
in the same direction with the planets, this arrest, though immensely postponed,
would not be absolutely prevented. Such an eventuality, however, must in
any case be so inconceivably remote as to have no other than a speculative
interest for us. It is referred to here, simply as illustrating the still-continued
tendency towards complete equilibrium, through the still-continued dissipation
of sensible motion, or transformation of it into insensible motion.




But there is another species of equilibration going on in the Solar System,
with which the human race is less remotely concerned. The tacit assumption
that the Sun can continue to give off an undiminished amount of light and
heat through all future time, is now abandoned. Involving as it does, under
a disguise, the conception of power produced out of nothing, it is of the
same order as the belief which misleads perpetual-motion schemers. The spreading
recognition of the truth that whatever force is manifested under one shape
must previously have existed under another shape, implies recognition of
the truth that the force known to us in solar radiations, is the changed
form of some other force of which the Sun is the seat; and that, by the emission
of these radiations, this other force is being slowly exhausted. The force
by which the Sun's substance is drawn to his centre of gravity, is the only
one which physical laws warrant us in concluding to be the correlate of the
forces emanating from him: the only assignable source for the insensible
motions constituting solar light and heat, is the sensible motion which disappears
during the concentration of the Sun's mass. We before saw it to be a corollary
from the nebular hypothesis, that there is such a progressing concentration
of the Sun's mass. And here remains to be added the further corollary, that
just as in the case of the small members of the Solar System, the heat generated
by concentration, once escaping rapidly, has in each left a central residue
which escapes but slowly; so in the case of that immensely larger mass forming
the Sun, the immensely greater quantity of heat generated and still in process
of rapid diffusion, must, as the concentration approaches its limit, diminish
in amount, and eventually leave but a relatively small internal remnant.
With or without the accompaniment of that hypothesis of nebular condensation
whence it naturally follows, the doctrine that the Sun is gradually losing
his heat, has now gained general acceptance; and calculations have been made,
both respecting the amount of heat and light already radiated, as compared
with the amount that remains, and respecting the period during which active
radiation will continue. Prof. Helmholtz estimates that since the time when,
according to the nebular hypothesis, the matter composing the Solar System
extended to the Orbit of Neptune, there has been evolved by the arrest of
sensible motion, an amount of heat 454 times as great as that which the Sun
still has to give out. He also makes an approximate estimate of the rate
at which this remaining 1/464th is being diffused: showing that decrease
of the Sun's diameter to the extent of 1/10,000 would produce heat, at the
present rate, for more than 2000 years; or in other words, that a contraction
of 1/20,000,000 of his diameter, suffices to generate the light and heat
annually emitted; and that thus at the present rate of expenditure, the Sun's
diameter will diminish by something like 1/20 in the lapse of the next million
years.*<* See paper "On the Inter-action of Natural Forces,"
by Prof. Helmholtz, translated by Prof. Tyndall, and published in the Philosophical
Magazine, supplement to Vol. XI, in the fourth series.> Of course
these conclusions are but rude approximations to the truth. Until quite recently,
we have been totally ignorant of the Sun's chemical composition, and even
now have obtained but a superficial knowledge of it. We know nothing of his
internal structure; and it is quite possible that the assumptions respecting
central density, made in the foregoing estimates, are wrong.




But no uncertainty in the data on which these calculations proceed, and
no consequent error in the inferred rate at which the Sun is expending his
reserve energy, militates against the general proposition that this reserve
of energy is being expended, and must in time be exhausted.




Thus while the Solar System, if evolved from diffused matter, has illustrated
the law of equilibration in the establishment of a moving equilibrium; and
while, as at present constituted, it illustrates the law of equilibration
in the perpetual balancing of all its movements; it also illustrates this
law in these processes which astronomers and physicists infer are still going
on. That motion of masses produced during Evolution, is being slowly rediffused
in molecular motion of the ethereal medium; both through the progressive
integration of each mass, and the resistance to its motion through space.
Infinitely remote as may be the state when all the relative motions of its
masses shall be transformed into molecular motion, and all the molecular
motion dissipated; yet such a state of complete integration and complete
equilibration, is that towards which the changes now going on throughout
the Solar System inevitably tend.




§172. A spherical figure is the one which can alone equilibrate the
forces of mutually-gravitating molecules. If an aggregate of such molecules
rotates, the form of equilibrium becomes a spheroid of greater or less oblateness,
according to the rate of rotation; and it has been ascertained that the Earth
is an oblate spheroid, diverging just as much from sphericity as is requisite
to counterbalance the centrifugal force consequent on its velocity round
its axis. That is to say, during the evolution of the Earth, there has been
reached an equilibrium of those forces which affect its general outline.
The only other equilibration which the Earth as a whole can exhibit, is the
loss of its rotation; and that any such loss is going on we have no direct
evidence. It has been contended, however, by Prof. Helmholtz and others,
that inappreciable as may be its effect within known periods of time, the
friction of the tidal wave must be diminishing the Earth's motion round its
axis, and must eventually destroy it. Now though it seems an oversight to
say that the axial motion can thus be destroyed, since the extreme effect,
to be reached only in infinite time, would be an extension of the Earth's
day to the length of lunation; yet it seems clear that this friction of the
tidal wave is a real cause of decreasing rotation. Slow as its action is,
we must recognize its retarding effect as exemplifying, under another form,
the universal progress towards equilibrium.(*)<fn* While the effect of
tidal friction is to decrease the rate of rotation, the still-continued contraction
of the Earth has the effect of increasing it. How. the difference between
these conflicting effects is to be ascertained it is not easy to see.>




It is needless to show in detail how those movements which the Sun's rays
generate in the air and water on the Earth's surface, and through them in
the Earth's solid substance,(*) <fn* Until I recently consulted his Outlines
of Astronomy on another question, I was not aware that so far back as
1833, Sir John Herschel had pointed out that "the sun's rays are the
ultimate source of almost every motion which takes place on the surface of
the earth." He expressly includes geologic, meteorologic, and vital
actions; as also those which we produce by the combustion of coal.> one
and all teach the same general truth. Evidently the winds and waves and streams,
as well as the denudations and depositions they effect, illustrate on a grand
scale, and in endless modes, that gradual dissipation of motions described
in the first section, and the consequent tendency towards a balanced distribution
of forces. Each of these sensible motions, produced directly or indirectly
by integration of those insensible motions communicated from the Sun, becomes
divided and subdivided into motions less and less sensible; until by gradual
or sudden arrest of each, and production of its equivalent in molecular motion,
there is an escape of it into space in the shape of thermal undulations.
In their totality, these complex motions constitute a dependent moving equilibrium.
As we before saw there is traceable throughout them an involved combination
of rhythms. The unceasing circulation of water from the ocean to the land
and from the land back to the ocean, is a type of these various compensating
actions which, in the midst of all the irregularities produced by their mutual
interferences, maintain an average. And in this, as in other equilibrations
of the third order, we see that the energy ever in course of dissipation,
is ever renewed from without: the rises and falls in the supply being balanced
by rises and falls in the expenditure; as witness the variations of meteorologic
activity in northern zones caused by changes of the seasons. But the fact
it chiefly concerts us to note is that this process must go on bringing things
ever nearer to complete rest. These mechanical movements, meteorologic and
geologic, which are continually being equilibrated, both temporary by counter-movements
and permanently by the dissipation of such movements and counter-movements,
will slowly diminish as the quantity of force received from the Sun diminishes.
As the insensible motions propagated to us from the centre of our system
become feebler, the sensible motions here produced by them must decrease;
and at that remote period when the solar heat has ceased to be appreciable,
there will no longer be any appreciable re-distributions of matter on the
surface of our planet.




Thus, all terrestrial changes are incidents in the course of cosmical
equilibration. It was before pointed out (§69), that of the incessant
alterations which the Earth's crust and atmosphere undergo, those which are
not due to the action of the moon and to the still-progressing motion of
the Earth's substance towards its centre of gravity, are due to the still-progressing
motion of the Sun's substance towards its centre of gravity. Here it is to
be remarked that this continuance of integration in the Earth and in the
Sun, is a continuance of that transformation of sensible motion into insensible
motion which we have seen ends in equilibrium; and that the arrival in each
case at the extreme of integration, is the arrival at a state in which no
more sensible motion remains to be transformed into insensible motion --
a state in which the forces producing integration and the forces opposing
integration have become equal.




§173. Every living body exhibits, in a four-fold form, the process
we are tracing out -- exhibits it from moment to moment in the balancing
of mechanical forces; from hour to hour in the balancing of functions; from
year to year in the changes of state that compensate changes of conditions;
and finally in the arrest of vital movements at death. Let us consider the
facts under these heads.




The sensible motion constituting each visible action of an animal, is
soon brought to a close by some opposing force within or without the animal.
When a man's arm is raised, the motion given to it is antagonized partly
by gravity and partly by the internal resistances consequent on structure;
and its motion, thus suffering continual deduction, ends when the arm has
reached a position at which the forces are equilibrated. The limits of each
systole and diastole of the heart, severally show us a momentary equilibrium
between muscular strains that produce opposite movements; and each gush of
blood has to be immediately followed by another because the rapid dissipation
of its momentum would otherwise soon bring the circulating mass to a stand.
As much in the actions and reactions going on among the internal organs,
as in the mechanical balancing of the whole body there is at every instant
a progressive equilibration of the motions at every instant produced. Viewed
in their aggregate, and as forming a series, the organic functions constitute
a dependent moving equilibrium, a moving equilibrium of which the motive
power is ever being dissipated through the special equilibrations just exemplified,
and is ever being renewed by the taking in of additional motive power. The
force stored up in food continually adds to the momentum of the vital actions,
as much as is continually deducted from them by the forces overcome. All
the functional movements thus maintained are rhythmical (§85); by their
union compound rhythms of various lengths and complexities are produced;
and in these simple and compound rhythms, the process of equilibration, besides
being exemplified at each extreme of every rhythm, is seen in the habitual
preservation of a constant mean, and in the re-establishment of that mean
when accidental causes have produced divergence. from it. When, for instance,
there is a great expenditure of muscular energy, there arises a reactive
demand on those stores of energy which are laid up in the form of consumable
matter throughout the tissues: increased respiration and increased circulation
aid an extra genesis of force, that counterbalances the extra dissipation
of force. This unusual transformation of molecular motion into sensible motion,
is presently followed by an unusual absorption of food -- the source of molecular
motion; and the prolonged draft on the spare capital in the tissues, is followed
by a prolonged rest, during which the abstracted capital is replaced. If
the deviation from the ordinary course of the functions has been so great
as to derange them, as when violent exertion produces loss of appetite and
loss of sleep, an equilibration is still eventually effected. Providing the
disturbance is not such as to destroy life (in which case complete equilibration
is suddenly effected), the ordinary balance is by-and-by re-established:
the returning appetite is keen in proportion as the waste has been large;
while sleep, sound and prolonged, makes up for previous wakefulness. Not
even when some extreme excess has wrought a derangement that is never wholly
rectified, is there an exception to the general law; for in such cases the
cycle of the functions is, after a time, equilibrated about a new mean state,
which thenceforth becomes the normal state of the individual. And this process
exemplifies in a large way what physicians call the vis medicatrix naturae.
The third form of equilibration displayed by organic bodies, is a sequence
of that just illustrated. When, through a change of habit or circumstance,
an organism is permanently subject to some new influence, or different amount
of an old influence, there arises, after more or less disturbance of the
organic rhythms, a balancing of them around the new average condition produced
by this additional influence. if the quantity of motion to be habitually
generated by a muscle becomes greater than before, its nutrition becomes
greater than before. if the expenditure of the muscle bears to its nutrition,
a greater ratio than expenditure bears to nutrition in other parts of the
system, the excess of nutrition becomes such that the muscle grows. And the
cessation of its growth is the establishment of a balance between the daily
waste and the daily repair. The like is manifestly the case with all organic
modifications consequent on changes of climate or food. If we see that a
different mode of life is followed, after a period of derangement, by some
altered condition of the system -- if we see that this altered condition,
becoming by-and-by established, continues without further change; we have
no alternative but to say that the new forces brought to bear on the system,
have been compensated by the opposing forces they have evoked. And this is
the interpretation of the process called adaptation. Finally, each organism
illustrates the law in the ensemble of its life. At the outset it daily absorbs
under the form of food, an amount of force greater than it daily expends;
and the surplus is daily equilibrated by growth. As maturity is approached
this surplus diminishes; and in the perfect organism the day's absorption
of latent energy balances the day's expenditure of actual energy. That is
to say, during adult life there is continuously exhibited an equilibrium
of the third order. Eventually, the daily loss begins to outbalance the daily
gain, and there results a diminishing amount of functional action; the organic
rhythms extend less and less widely on each side of the medium state; and
there finally comes that complete equilibrium we call death.




The ultimate structural state accompanying that ultimate functional state
towards which an organism tends, may be deduced from one of the propositions
set down in the opening section of this chapter. We saw that the limit of
heterogeneity is reached when the equilibration of any aggregate becomes
complete -- that the re-distribution of matter can continue so long only
as there continues some motion unbalanced. What is the implication in the
case of organic aggregates? We have seen that to maintain the moving equilibrium
of one, requires the habitual genesis of internal forces corresponding in
number, directions, and amounts to the external incident forces -- as many
inner functions, single or combined, as there are single or combined outer
actions to be met. But functions are the correlatives of organs; amounts
of functions are, other things equal, the correlatives of sizes of organs;
and combinations of functions the correlatives of connexions of organs. Hence
the structural complexity accompanying functional equilibrium, is definable
as one in which there are as many specialized parts as are capable, separately
and jointly, of counteracting the separate and joint forces amid which the
organism exists. And this is the limit of organic heterogeneity. to which
Man has approached more nearly than any other creature.




Groups of organisms display this universal tendency towards a balance
very obviously. in §85, every species of plant and animal was shown
to be perpetually undergoing a rhythmical variation in number -- now from
abundance of food or absence of enemies rising above its average; and then,
by a consequent scarcity of food or abundance of enemies, being depressed
below its average. And here we have to observe that there is thus maintained
an equilibrium between the sum of those forces which result in the increase
of each race, and the sum of those forces which result in its decrease. Either
limit of variation is a point at which the one set of forces, before in excess
of the other, is counterbalanced by it. And amid these oscillations produced
by their conflict, lies that average number of the species at which its expansive
tendency is in equilibrium with surrounding repressive tendencies. Nor can
it be questioned that this balancing of the preservative and destructive
forces which we see going on in every race, must necessarily go on. Increase
of number cannot but continue until increase of mortality stops it; and decrease
of number cannot but continue until it is either arrested by fertility or
extinguishes the race entirely.




§174. The equilibrations of those nervous actions which constitute
the obverse face of mental life, may be classified in like manner with those
which constitute what we distinguish as bodily life. We may deal with them
in the same order.




Each pulse of nerve force from moment to moment generated, (and it was
explained in §86 that nerve currents are not continuous but rhythmical,)
is met by counteracting forces, in overcoming which it is dispersed and equilibrated.
Such part of it as does not work mental changes works bodily changes -- contractions
of the involuntary muscles, the voluntary muscles, or both; as also some
stimulation of secreting organs. That the movements thus initiated are ever
being brought to a close by the opposing forces they evoke, we have just
seen; and here it is to be observed that the like holds with the cerebral
changes thus initiated. The arousing of a thought or feeling, involves the
overcoming of a certain resistance: instance the fact that where the association
of mental states has not been frequent, a sensible effort is needed to call
up the one after the other; instance the fact that during nervous prostration
there is a comparative inability to think -- the ideas will not follow one
another with the ordinary rapidity; instance the converse fact that at times
of unusual energy, natural or artificial, thinking is easy, and more numerous,
more remote, or more difficult connexions of ideas are formed. That is to
say, the wave of nervous energy each instant generated, propagates itself
throughout body and brain, along those channels which the passing conditions
render lines of least resistance; and spreading widely in proportion to its
amount, ends only when it is equilibrated by the resistances it everywhere
meets. If we contemplate mental actions as extending over hours and days,
we discover equilibrations analogous to those hourly and daily established
among the bodily functions. This is seen in the daily alternation of mental
activity and mental rest -- the forces expended during the one being compensated
by the forces acquired during the other. It is also seen in the recurring
rise and fall of each desire. Each desire reaching a certain intensity, is
equilibrated either by expenditure of the energy it embodies in the desired
actions, or, less completely, in the imagination of such actions: the process
ending in that satiety or that comparative quiescence, forming the opposite
limit of the rhythm. And it is further manifest under a two-fold form on
occasions of intense joy or grief. Each paroxysm, expressing itself in violent
actions and loud sounds, presently reaches an extreme whence the counteracting
forces produce return to a condition of moderate excitement; and the successive
paroxysms, finally diminishing in intensity, end in a mental equilibrium
either like that before existing, or having a partially different medium
state. But the kind of mental equilibration to be especially noted, is that
shown in the establishment of a correspondence between relations among our
ideas and relations in the external world. Each outer connexion of phenomena
which we are capable of perceiving, generates, through accumulated experiences,
an inner connexion of mental states; and the result towards which this process
tends, is the formation of a mental connexion having a relative strength
that answers to the relative constancy of the physical connexion represented.
In conformity with the general law that motion pursues the line of least
resistance, and that, other things equal, a line once taken by motion is
made a line which will be more readily taken by future motion, we have seen
that the ease with which nervous impressions follow one another is, other
things equal, great in proportion to the number of times they have been repeated
together in experience. Hence, corresponding to such an invariable relation
as that between the resistance of an object and some extension possessed
by it, there arises an indissoluble connexion in consciousness; and this
connexion, being as absolute internally as the answering one is externally,
undergoes no further change -- the inner relation is in perfect equilibrium
with the outer relation. Conversely, it happens that, answering to such uncertain
relations of phenomena as that between clouds and rain, there arise relations
of ideas of like uncertainty; and if, under given aspects of the sky, the
tendencies to infer fair or foul weather, corresponds to the frequencies
with which fair or foul weather follows such aspects, the accumulation of
experiences has balanced the mental sequences and the physical sequences.
When it is remembered that between these extremes there are countless orders
of external associations having different degrees of constancy, and that
during the evolution of intelligence there arise answering eternal associations
having different degrees of cohesion; it will be seen that there is a progress
towards equilibrium between the relations of thought and the relations of
things. The like general truths are exhibited in the process of moral adaptation,
which is a continual approach to equilibrium between the emotions and the
kinds of conduct required by surrounding conditions. Just as repeating the
association of two ideas facilitates the excitement of the one by the other,
so does each discharge of feeling into action render the subsequent discharge
of such feeling into such action more easy. Thus it happens that if an individual
is placed permanently in conditions which demand more action of a special
kind than has before been requisite, or than is natural to him -- if by every
more frequent or more lengthened performance of it under such pressure, the
resistance is somewhat diminished; then, dearly, there is an advance towards
a balance between the demand for this kind of action and the supply of it.
Either in himself, or in his descendants continuing to live under these conditions,
enforced repetition must at length bring about a state in which this mode
of directing the energies will be no more repugnant than the other modes
previously natural to the race. Hence the limit towards which emotional modification
perpetually tends, is a combination of desire that correspond to the various
orders of activity which the circumstances of life call for. In acquired
habits, and in the moral differences of races and nations that are produced
by habits maintained through successive generations, we have illustrations
of this progressive adaptation, which can cease only with the establishment
of equilibrium between constitution and conditions.




§175. Each society displays the process of equilibration in the continuous
adjustment of its population to its means of subsistence. A tribe of men
living on wild animals and fruits, is manifestly, like every tribe of inferior
creatures, always oscillating from side to side of that average number which
the locality can support. Though, by artificial production unceasingly improved,
a superior race continually alters the limit which external conditions put
to population; yet there is ever a checking of population at the temporary
limit reached. It is true that where the limit is being rapidly changed,
as among ourselves, there is no actual stoppage: there is only a rhythmical
variation in the rate of increase. But in noting the causes of this rhythmical
variation -- in watching how, during periods of abundance, the proportion
of marriages increases, and how it decreases during periods of scarcity,
it will be seen that the expansive force produces unusual advance whenever
the repressive force diminishes, and vice versa; and thus there is as near
a balancing of the two as the changing conditions permit.




The internal actions constituting social functions, exemplify the general
principle no less clearly. Supply and demand are continually being adjusted
throughout all industrial processes; and this equilibration is interpretable
in the same way as preceding ones. The production and distribution of a commodity
imply a certain aggregate of forces causing special kinds and amounts of
motion. The price of this commodity, is the measure of a certain other aggregate
of forces expended in other kinds and amounts of motion by the labourer who
purchases it. And the variations of price represent a rhythmical balancing
of these forces. Every rise or fall in the value of a particular security,
implies a conflict of forces in which some, becoming temporarily predominant,
cause a movement that is. presently arrested, or equilibrated, by the increased
opposing forces; and amid these daily and hourly oscillations lies a more
slowly-varying medium, into which the value ever tends to settle, and would
settle but for the constant addition of new influences. As in the individual
organism so in the social organism, functional equilibrations generate structural
equilibrations. When on the workers in any trade there comes an increased
demand, and when in return for the increased supply they receive an amount
of other commodities larger than before -- when, consequently, the resistances
overcome by them in sustaining life are less than the resistances overcome
by other workers; there results a flow of other workers into this trade.
This flow continues until the extra demand is met, and the wages so far fall
that the total resistance overcome in obtaining a livelihood, is as great
in this newly-adopted occupation as in the occupations whence it drew recruits.
The occurrence of motion along lines of least resistance, was before shown
to necessitate the growth of population in those places where the labour
required for self-maintenance is the smallest; and here we further see that
those engaged in any such advantageous locality, must multiply till there
arises an approximate balance between its population and that of others available
by the same citizens.




These various industrial actions and reactions constitute a dependent
moving equilibrium like that maintained among the functions of an individual
organism, and like it tends ever to become more complete. During early stages
of social evolution, while the resources of the locality inhabited are unexplored
and the arts of production undeveloped, there is never anything more than
a temporary and partial balancing of such actions. But when a society approaches
the maturity of that type on which it is organized, the various industrial
activities settle down into a comparatively constant state. Moreover, advance
in organization, as well as advance in growth, is conducive to a better equilibrium
of industrial functions. While the diffusion of mercantile information is
slow and the means of transport deficient, the adjustment of supply to demand
is very imperfect. Great over-production of a commodity is followed by great
under-production, and there results a rhythm having extremes that depart
widely from the mean state in which demand and supply are equilibrated. But
when good roads are made and there is a rapid diffusion of printed or written
intelligence, and still more when railways and telegraphs come into existence
-- when the periodical fairs of early days grow into weekly markets, and
these into daily markets, there is gradually produced a better balance of
production and consumption: the rapid oscillations of price within narrow
limits on either side of a comparatively uniform mean, indicate a near approach
to equilibrium. Evidently this industrial progress has for its limit, that
which Mr. Mill has called "the stationary state." When population
shall have become dense over all habitable parts of the globe; when the resources
of every region have been fully explored; and when the productive arts admit
of no further improvements; there must result an almost complete balance,
both between the fertility and mortality in each society, and between its
producing and consuming activities. Each society will exhibit only minor
deviations from its average number, and the rhythm of its industrial functions
will go on from day to day and year to year with comparatively insignificant
perturbations.




One other kind of social equilibration has still to be considered: --
that which results in the establishment of governmental institutions, and
which becomes complete as these institutions fall into harmony with the desires
of the people. Those aggressive impulses inherited from the pre-social state
-- those tendencies to seek self-satisfaction regardless of injury to other
beings, which are essential to a predatory life, constitute an anti-social
force tending ever to cause conflict and separation. Contrariwise, those
desires which can be fulfilled only by co-operation and those which find
satisfaction through intercourse with fellow-men, as well as those resulting
in what we call loyalty, are forces tending to keep the units of a society
together. On the one hand, there is in each man more or less of resistance
against restraints imposed on his actions by other men -- a resistance which,
tending ever to widen each man's sphere of action, and reciprocally to limit
the spheres of action of other men, constitutes a repulsive force mutually
exercised by the members of a social aggregate. On the other hand, the general
sympathy of man for man and the more special sympathy of each variety of
man for others of the same variety, together with allied feelings which the
social state gratifies, act as an attractive force, tending ever to keep
united those who have a common ancestry. And since the resistances to be
overcome in satisfying the totality of their desires when living separately,
are greater than the resistances to be overcome in satisfying the totality
of their desires when living together, there is a residuary force that prevents
separation. Like other opposing forces, those exerted by citizens on one
another produce alternating movements which, at first extreme, undergo gradual
diminution on the way to ultimate equilibrium. In small, undeveloped societies,
marked rhythms result from these conflicting tendencies. A tribe that has
maintained its unity for a generation or two, reaches a size at which it
will no longer hold together; and, on the occurrence of some event causing
unusual antagonism among its members, divides. Each primitive nation exhibits
wide oscillations between an extreme in which the subjects are under rigid
restraint, and an extreme in which the restraint fails to prevent rebellion
and disintegration. In more advanced nations of like type, we always find
violent actions and reactions of the same essential nature: "despotism
tempered by assassination," characterizing a political state in which
unbearable repression from time to time brings about a bursting of bonds.
Among ourselves the conflicts between Conservatism (which stands for the
restraints of society over the individual) and Reform (which stands for the
liberty of the individual against society), fall within slowly approximating
limits. so that the temporary predominance of either produces a less marked
deviation from the medium state -- a smaller disturbance of the moving equilibrium.




Of course in this case, as in preceding cases, there is involved a limit
to the increase of heterogeneity. A few pages back, it was shown that an
advance in mental evolution is the establishment of some further internal
action corresponding to some further external action. We inferred that each
such new function, involving some new modification of structure, implies
an increase of heterogeneity; and that thus, increase of heterogeneity must
go on while there remain any outer relations affecting the organism which
are unbalanced by inner relations. Evidently the like must simultaneously
take place with society. Each increment of heterogeneity in the individual
implies, as cause or consequence, some increment of heterogeneity in the
arrangements of the aggregate of individuals. And the limit to social complexity
can be reached only with the establishment of the equilibrium, just described,
between social and individual forces.




§176. Here presents itself a final question, which has probably been
taking shape in the minds of many while reading this chapter. "If Evolution
of every kind is an increase in complexity of structure and function that
is incidental to the universal process of equilibration, and if equilibration
must end in complete rest, what is the fate towards which all things tend?
If the Solar System is slowly dissipating its energies -- if the Sun is losing
his heat at a rate which will tell in millions of years -- if with decrease
of the Sun's radiations there must go on a decrease in the activity of geologic
and meteorologic processes as well as in the quantity of vegetable and animal
life -- if Man and Society are similarly dependent on this supply of energy
which is gradually coming to an end; are we not manifestly processing towards
omnipresent death?"




That such a state must be the outcome of the changes everywhere going
on, seems beyond doubt. Whether any ulterior process may reverse these processes
and initiate a new life, is a question to be considered hereafter. For the
present it must suffice that the end of all the transformations we have traced,
is quiescence. This admits of a priori proof. The law of equilibration, not
less than the preceding general laws, is deducible from the ultimate datum
of consciousness.




The forces of attraction and repulsion being, as shown in §74, universally
co-existent, it follows that all motion is motion under resistance: either
that exercised on the moving body by other bodies, or that exercised by the
medium traversed. There are two corollaries. The first is that deductions
perpetually made by the communication of motion to that which resists, cannot
but bring the motion of the body to an end in a longer or shorter time. The
second is that the motion of the body cannot cease until these deductions
destroy it. In other words, movement must continue while equilibration is
incomplete, and equilibration must eventually become complete. Both these
are manifest deductions from the persistence of force. Hence this primordial
truth is our warrant for the conclusions that the changes which Evolution
presents cannot end until equilibrium is reached, and that equilibrium must
at last be reached.




At the same time it follows that in every aggregate having compound motions,
there results a comparatively early dissipation of the motions which are
smaller and much resisted, followed by long-continuance of the larger and
less resisted motions; and that so there arise moving equilibria. Hence,
also, may be inferred the tendency to conservation of such moving equilibria.
For any new motion given to the parts of a moving equilibrium by a disturbing
force, must either be such that it cannot be dissipated before the pre-existing
motions, in which case it brings the moving equilibrium to an end. or else
it must be such that it can be dissipated before the pre-existing motions,
in which case the moving equilibrium is re-established.




Thus from the persistence of force follow, not only the various direct
and indirect equilibrations going on around, together with th at cosmical
equilibration which brings Evolution under all its forms to a close, but
also those less manifest equilibrations shown in the readjustments of moving
equilibria that have been disturbed. By this ultimate principle is provable
the tendency of every organism, disordered by some unusual influence, to
return to a balanced state. To it also may be traced the capacity, possessed
in a slight degree by individuals and in a greater degree by species, of
becoming adapted to new circumstances. And not less does it afford a basis
for the inference that there is a gradual advance towards harmony between
man's mental nature and the conditions of his existence.




Chapter 23




Dissolution




§177. When, in Chapter 22, we glanced at the cycle of changes through
which every existence passes, in a short time or in a time almost infinitely
long -- when the opposite re-distributions of matter and motion implied were
severally distinguished as Evolution and Dissolution. the natures of the
two, and the conditions under which they respectively occur, were specified
in general terms. Since then, we have contemplated the phenomena of Evolution
in detail, and have followed them out to those states of equilibrium in which
they all end. To complete the argument we must now contemplate, somewhat
more in detail than before, the complementary phenomena of Dissolution. Not,
indeed, that we need dwell long on Dissolution, which has none of those various
and interesting aspects which Evolution presents; but something more must
be said than has yet been said.




It was shown that neither of these two antagonist processes goes on unqualified
by the other, and that a movement towards either is a differential result
of the conflict between them. An evolving aggregate, while on the average
losing motion and integrating, is always, in one way or other, receiving
some motion and to that extent disintegrating; and after the integrative
changes have ceased to predominate, the reception of motion, though perpetually
checked by its dissipation, constantly tends to produce a reverse transformation,
and eventually does produce it. When Evolution has run its course -- when
an aggregate has reached that equilibrium in which its changes end, it thereafter
remains subject to all actions in its environment which may increase the
quantity of motion it contains, and which in course of time are sure, either
slowly or suddenly, to give its parts such excess of motion as will cause
disintegration. According as its size, its nature, and its conditions determine,
its dissolution may come quickly or may be indefinitely delayed -- may occur
in a few days or may be postponed for billions of years. But exposed as it
is to the contingencies not simply of its immediate neighbourhood but of
a Universe everywhere in motion, the time must at last come when, either
alone or in company with surrounding aggregates, it has its parts dispersed.




The process of dissolution so caused we have here to look at as it takes
place in aggregates of different orders. The course of change being the reverse
of that hitherto traced, we may properly take the illustrations of it in
the reverse order -- beginning with the most complex and ending with the
most simple.




§178. Regarding the evolution of a society as at once an increase
in the number of individuals integrated into a corporate body, an increase
in the masses and varieties of the parts into which this corporate body divides,
as well as of the actions called their functions, and an increase in the
degree of combination among these masses and their functions; we shall see
that social dissolution conforms to the general law in being, materially
considered, a disintegration, and, dynamically considered, a decrease in
the movements of wholes and an increase the movements of parts; while it
further conforms to the general law in being, caused by an excess of motion
in some way or other received from without.




It is obvious that the social dissolution which follows the aggression
of mother nation, and which, as history shows us, is apt to occur when social
evolution has ended and decay has begun, is, under its broadest, aspect,
the reception of a new external motion; and when, as sometimes happens, the
conquered society is dispersed, or when its component divisions fall apart,
its dissolution is literally a cessation of those corporate movements which
the society, both in its army and in its industrial bodies, presented, and
a lapse into individual or uncombined movements.




Again, social disorder, however caused, entails a decrease of integrated
movements and an increase of disintegrated movements. As the disorder progresses
the political actions previously combined become uncombined: there arise
the antagonistic actions of riot or revolt. Simultaneously, the industrial
and commercial processes that were co-ordinated throughout the body politic,
are broken up; and only the local, or small, trading transactions continue.
And each further disorganizing change diminishes the joint operations by
which men satisfy their wants, and leaves them to satisfy their wants, as
best they can, by separate operations. Of the way in which such distintegrations
are set up in a society that has evolved to the limit of its type, and reached
a state of moving equilibrium, a good illustration is furnished by Japan.
The finished fabric into which its people have organized themselves, maintained
an almost constant state so long as it was preserved from fresh external
forces. But as soon as it received an impact from European civilization,
partly by armed aggression, partly by commercial impulse, partly by the influence
of ideas, this fabric began to fall to pieces. There is now in progress a
political dissolution.*<* This was written in 1867.> Probably a political
reorganization will follow; but, be this as it may, the change thus far produced
by an outer action is a change towards dissolution -- a change from integrated
motions to disintegrated motions.




Even where a society that has developed into the highest form permitted
by the characters of its units, begins to dwindle and decay, the progressive
dissolution is still essentially of the same nature. Decline of numbers is,
in such case, brought about partly by emigration; for a society having the
fixed structure in which evolution ends, is one that will not yield and modify
under pressure of population: so long as its structure is plastic it is still
evolving. Hence the surplus population is continually dispersed: the influences
brought to bear on the citizens by other societies cause their detachment,
and there is an increase of the uncombined motions of units instead of an
increase of combined motions. Gradually as the society becomes still less
capable of changing into the form required for successful competition with
more plastic societies, the number of citizens who can live within its unyielding
framework becomes positively smaller. Hence it dwindles both through continued
emigration and through the diminished multiplication that follows innutrition.
And this further dwindling is similarly a decrease in the total quantity
of combined motion and an increase in the quantity of uncombined motion --
as we shall presently see when we come to deal with individual dissolution.




Considering, then, that social aggregates differ so much from aggregates
of other kinds, formed, as they are, of units held together loosely and indirectly,
in such variable ways by such complex forces, the processes of dissolution
among them conforms to the general law quite as clearly as could be expected.




§179. When from these super-organic aggregates we descend to organic
aggregates, the truth that Dissolution is a disintegration of matter caused
by the reception of additional motion from without, becomes easily demonstrable.
We will look first at the transformation and afterwards at its cause.




Death, or that final equilibration which precedes dissolution, is the
bringing to a close all those many conspicuous integrated motions that arose
during evolution. The impulsions of the body from place to place first cease;
presently the limbs cannot be stirred; later still the respiratory actions
stop; finally the heart becomes stationary and, with it, the circulating
fluids. That is, the transformation of molecular motion into the motion of
masses, comes to an end. The process of decay involves an increase of insensible
movements; since these are far greater in the gases generated than they are
in the fluid-solid matters out of which the gases arise. Each of the complex
chemical units composing an organic body, possesses a rhythmic motion in
which its many component units jointly partake. When decomposition breaks
up these complex molecules, and their constituents assume gaseous forms,
there is, besides that increase of motion implied by diffusion, a resolution
of such motions as the complex molecules possessed, into motions of their
constituent molecules. So that in organic dissolution we have, first, an
end put to that transformation of the motions of units into the motions of
aggregates, which constitutes evolution, dynamically considered; and we have
afterwards, though in a subtler sense, a transformation of the motions of
aggregates into the motions of units. Still it is not thus shown that organic
dissolution answers to the general definition of dissolution -- the absorption
of motion and concomitant disintegration of matter. The disintegration of
matter is, indeed, conspicuous enough; but the absorption of motion is not
conspicuous. True, the fact that motion has been absorbed may be inferred
from the fact that particles previously integrated into a solid mass, occupying
a small space, have most of them moved away from one another and now occupy
a great space; for the motion implied by this expansion must have been obtained
from somewhere. But its source is not obvious. A little search, however,
will bring us to its derivation.




At a temperature below the freezing point of water, decomposition of organic
matter does not take place. Dead bodies kept at this temperature are prevented
from decomposing for an indefinitely long period: witness the frozen carcases
of mammoths (elephants of a species long ago extinct) that are found imbedded
in the ice at the mouths of Siberian rivers; and which, though they have
been there for many thousands of years, have flesh so fresh that when at
length exposed it is devoured by wolves. What, now, is the meaning of such
exceptional preservations? A body kept below freezing point, is a body which
receives very little heat by radiation or conduction; and the reception of
but little heat is the reception of but little molecular motion. That is
to say,in an environment which does not furnish it with molecular motion
passing a certain amount, an organic body does not undergo dissolution. Confirmatory
evidence is yielded by the variations in rate of dissolution which accompany
variations of temperature. All know that in cool weather the organic substances
used in our households keep longer, as we say, than in hot weather. Equally
certain, if less familiar, is the fact that in tropical climates decay proceeds
much more rapidly than in temperate climates. Thus, dispersion of the dead
body into gases is rapid in proportion as the molecular motion received from
without is great. The still-quicker decompositions produced by exposure to
artificially-raised temperatures, afford further proofs: instance those which
occur in cooking. The charred surfaces of parts much heated, show us that
the molecular motion absorbed has served to dissipate in gaseous forms all
the elements but the carbon.




The nature and causes of Dissolution are thus clearly displayed by the
aggregates which so clearly display the nature and causes of Evolution. One
of these aggregates being made of that peculiar matter to which a large quantity
of constitutional motion gives great plasticity, and the ability to evolve
into a highly complex form, (§103); it results that after evolution
has ceased, a small amount of molecular motion added to that already contained
in its peculiar matter, suffices to cause dissolution. Though at death there
is reached an equilibrium among the sensible masses, or organs, which make
up the body; yet, as the insensible units or molecules of which these organs
consist are chemically unstable, small incident forces suffice to overthrow
them, and hence disintegration proceeds rapidly.




§180. Most inorganic aggregates, having arrived at dense forms in
which comparatively little motion is retained, remain long without marked
changes. Each has lost so much motion in passing from the unintegrated to
the integrated state, that much motion must be given to it to cause resumption
of the unintegrated state; and an immense time may elapse before there occur
in the environment, changes great enough to communicate to it the requisite
quantity of motion. We will look first at those few inorganic aggregates
which retain much motion, and therefore readily undergo dissolution.




Among these are the liquids and volatile solids which dissipate under
ordinary conditions -- water that evaporates, camphor that wastes away by
the dispersion of its molecules. In all such cases motion is absorbed; and
always the dissolution is rapid in proportion as the quantity of heat or
motion which the mass receives from its environment is great. Next come the
cases in which the molecules of a highly integrated or solid aggregate, are
dispersed among the molecules of a less integrated or liquid aggregate; as
in aqueous solutions. One evidence that this disintegration of matter has
for its concomitant the absorption of motion, is that soluble substances
dissolve the more quickly the hotter the water: supposing always that no
elective affinity comes into play. Another and still more conclusive evidence
is, that when crystals of a given temperature are placed in water of the
same temperature, the process of solution is accompanied by a fall of temperature
-- often a very great one. Omitting instances in which some chemical action
takes place between the salt and the water, it is a uniform law that the
motion which disperses the molecules of the salt through the water, is at
the expense of the molecular motion possessed by the water. An allied and
still better example is furnished by cases in which the dissolution of two
solids results from mixing them, as happens with snow and salt. Here dissolution
necessitates so great an absorption of molecular motion as greatly to lower
the temperature of the liquid produced.




Masses of sediment accumulated into strata, afterwards compressed by many
thousands of feet of superincumbent strata, and reduced in course of time
to a solid state, may remain for untold millions of years unchanged; but
in subsequent millions of years they are inevitably exposed to disintegrating
actions. Raised along with other such masses into a continent, denuded and
exposed to rain, frost, and the grinding actions of glaciers, they have their
particles gradually separated, carried away, and widely dispersed. Or when,
as otherwise happens, the encroaching sea arrives, the undermined cliffs
formed of them fall from time to time; the waves, rolling about the small
pieces, and in storms knocking together the larger blocks, reduce them to
boulders and pebbles, and at last to sand and mud. Even if portions of the
disintegrated strata accumulate into shingle banks which afterwards become
solidified, the process of dissolution, arrested though it may be for some
enormous geologic period, is finally resumed. As many a shore shows us, the
conglomerate itself is sooner or later subject to the like processes; and
its cemented masses of heterogeneous components are broken up and worn away
by impact and attrition -- that is, by communicated mechanical motion.




When not thus effected, the disintegration is effected by communicated
molecular motion. A consolidated stratum in some area of subsidence, brought
down nearer and nearer to the regions occupied by molten matter, comes eventually
to have its particles brought to a plastic state by heat, or finally melted
down into liquid. Whatever may be its subsequent transformations, the transformation
then exhibited by it is an absorption of motion and disintegration of matter.




Thus be it simple or compound, small or large, a crystal or a mountain-chat,
every inorganic aggregate on the Earth undergoes, at some time or other,
a reversal of those changes undergone during its evolution. Not that it usually
passes back from the perceptible into the imperceptible, during any period
in which it is or can be exposed to human observation. It does not become
aeriform and invisible, as organic aggregates do in great part, though not
wholly. But still its disintegration and dispersion carry it some distance
on the way towards the imperceptible; and there are reasons for thinking
that its arrival there is but delayed. At a period immeasurably remote, every
such inorganic aggregate, along with all undissipated remnants of organic
aggregates, must be reduced to a state of gaseous diffusion, and so complete
the cycle of its changes.




§181. For the Earth as a whole, when it has gone through the entire
series of its ascending transformations, must remain exposed to the contingencies
of its environment; and in the course of those ceaseless changes going on
throughout a Universe of which all parts are in motion, must, at some period
beyond the utmost stretch of imagination, be subject to energies sufficient
to cause its complete disintegration. Let us glance at the energies competent
to disintegrate it.




In his essay on "The Inter-action of Natural Forces," Prof.
Helmholtz states the thermal equivalent of the Earth's movement through space,
as calculated on the now received datum of Mr. Joule. "If our Earth,"
he says, "were by a sudden shock brought to rest in her orbit -- which
is not to be feared in the existing arrangement of our system -- by such
a shock a quantity of heat would be generated equal to that produced by the
combustion of fourteen such Earths of solid coal. Making the most unfavourable
assumption as to its capacity for heat, that is, placing it equal to that
of water, the mass of the Earth would thereby be heated 11,200 degrees; it
would therefore be quite fused, and for the most part reduced to vapour.
If then the Earth, after having been thus brought to rest, should fall into
the Sun, which of course would be the case, the quantity of heat developed
by the shock would be 400 times greater." Now though this calculation
seems to be nothing to the purpose, since the Earth is not likely to be suddenly
arrested in its orbit and not likely therefore suddenly to fall into the
Sun; yet, as before pointed out (§171), there is a force at work which
it is held must at last bring the Earth into the Sun. This force is the resistance
of the ethereal medium. From ethereal resistance is inferred a retardation
of all moving bodies in the Solar System -- a retardation which some astronomers
contend even now shows its effects in the relative nearness to one another
of the orbits of the older planets. If, then, retardation is going on, there
must come a time, no matter how remote, when the slowly diminishing orbit
of the Earth will end in the Sun; and though the quantity of molar motion
to be then transformed into molecular motion, will not be so great as that
which the calculation of Helmholtz supposes, it will be great enough to reduce
the substance of the Earth to a gaseous state.




This dissolution of the Earth and, at intervals, of every other planet,
is not, however, a dissolution of the Solar System. All the changes exhibited
throughout the Solar System, are incidents accompanying the integration of
the entire matter composing it: the local integration of which each planet
is the scene, completing itself long before the general integration is complete.
But each secondary mass leaving gone through its evolution and reached a
state of equilibrium among its parts (supposing that the available time suffices,
which in the cases of Jupiter and Saturn it may not), thereafter continues
in its extinct state, until, by the still-progressing general integration,
it is brought into the central mass. And though each such union of a secondary
mass with the central mass, implying transformation of molar motion into
molecular motion, causes partial diffusion of the total mass formed, and
adds to the quantity of motion that has to be dispersed in the shape of light
and heat; yet it does but postpone the period at which the total mass must
become completely integrated, and its excess of contained motion radiated
into space.




§182. Here we come to the question raised at the close of the last
chapter -- Does Evolution as a whole, like Evolution in detail, advance towards
complete quiescience? Is that motionless state called death, which ends Evolution
in organic bodies, typical of the universal death in which Evolution at large
must end? And have we thus to contemplate as the outcome of things, a boundless
space holding here and there extinct Suns, fated to remain for ever without
further change?




To so speculative an inquiry, none but a speculative answer is to be expected.
Such answer as may be ventured, must be taken less as a positive answer than
as a demurrer to the conclusion that the proximate result must be the ultimate
result. If, pushing to its extreme the argument that Evolution must come
to a close in complete equilibrium or rest, the reader suggests that for
aught which appears to the contrary there must result a Universal Death which
will continue indefinitely, two replies may be made. The first is that the
evidence presented in the heavens at large implies that while of the multitudinous
aggregates of matter it presents, most are passing through those stages --
which must end in local rest, there are others which, having barely commenced
the series of changes constituting Evolution, are on the way to become theatres
of life. The second reply is that when we contemplate our Sidereal System
as a whole, certain of the great facts which science has established imply
potential renewals of life, now in one region now in another, followed, possibly,
at a period unimaginably remote by a more general renewal. This conclusion
is suggested when we take into account a factor not yet mentioned.




For hitherto we have considered only that equilibration which is taking
place within our Solar System and within similar systems; taking no note
of that immeasurably greater equilibration which remains to take place: ending
those motions through space which such systems possess. That the stars, in
old times called fixed, are all in motion, has now become a familiar truth,
and that they are moving with velocities ranging from say 10 miles per second
up to some 70 miles per second (which last is the velocity of a "runaway
star" supposed to be passing through our Sidereal System) is a truth
deduced from observations by modern astronomers. To be joined with this is
the fact that there are dying stars and probably dead stars. Beyond the evidence
furnished by the various kinds of light they emit, of which the red indicates
relatively advanced age, there is the evidence that in some cases bright
stars have attendants which are dark or almost dark: the most conspicuous
case being that of Sirius, round which revolves a body of about one-third
its size but yielding only 1/30000th part of its light -- a star approaching
to our Sun in size, which has gone out. The implication appears to be that
beyond the luminous masses constituting the visible Sidereal System, there
are non-luminous masses, perhaps fewer in number perhaps more numerous, which
in common with the luminous ones are impelled by mutual gravitation. How
then are to be equilibrated the motions of these vast masses, luminous and
nonluminous, having high velocities?




This question may be divided into two, a major and a minor, of which the
minor admits of something like an answer, while the major seems unanswerable.




§182a. Scattered through immensurable space, but more especially
in and about the region of the Milky Way, are numerous star-clusters, varying
in their characters from those which are hardly distinguishable from unusually
rich portions of the heavens, to those which constitute condensed swarms
of stars; kinds of which may be named, as at the one extreme, 24 Persei,
103 Cassiopeia and 32 Cygni, and at the other extreme, 13 Herculis and 2
Aquarei.(*)<fn* The clusters here named are exhibited in Dr. Isaac Roberts's
splendid series of Photographs of Stars, Star-Clusters, and Nebulae
(two vols.), in which also will be found the references presently to be made.>
The varieties between these extremes were regarded by Sir William Herschel
as implying progressive concentration; and in his opinion Sir John Herschel
apparently agreed. Pursuing the argument the latter wrote: --




"Among a crowd of solid bodies of whatever size, animated by independent
and partially opposing impulses, motions opposite to each other must produce
collision, destruction of velocity, and subsidence or near approach towards
the centre of preponderant attraction; while those which conspire, or which
remain outstanding after such conflicts, must ultimately give rise to circulation
of a permanent character." (Outlines of Astronomy, 9th ed., p.
641.) The problem, however, is here dealt with purely as a mechanical one:
the assumption being that the mutually arrested masses will continue as masses.
Writing in 1849 Sir John Herschel did not take account of the results reached
and verified during the few preceding years by Mayer and Joule, respecting
the quantitative equivalence between motion and heat. But accepting, as we
must now do, the conclusion drawn by Helmho1tz (§171) congruous with
one previously drawn by Mayer, we are obliged to infer that stars moving
at the high velocities acquired during concentration, will, by mutual arrest,
be dissipated into gases of extreme tenuity constituting what we conceive
as nebulous matter. When we infer this the problem becomes different; and
a different conclusion seems unavoidable. For the diffused matter produced
by such conflicts must form a resisting medium, occupying that central region
of the cluster through which its members from, time to time pass in describing
their orbits -- a resisting medium which they cannot move through without
having their velocities diminished. Every additional collision, by augmenting
this resisting medium, and making the losses of velocity greater must aid
in preventing the establishment of that equilibrium which would else arise;
and so must conspire to produce more frequent collisions. And the nebulous
matter thus formed, presently enveloping the whole cluster, must, by continuing
to shorten the gyrations of the moving masses, entail an increasingly active
integration and reactive disintegration of them, until they are all dissipated.*




<* I leave these three sentences as they stood in the revised edition
of this work published in 1867, because evidence since obtained goes far
to show that the process described is going on. In the photographs contained
in the second volume of his Stars, Star-Clusters, and Nebulae, and
by the accompanying description; Dr. Roberts shows that in some of them (as
instance, M. 3 Canum Venaticorum) there is distinctly visible a nebulous
central region, such as might be produced at early stages of the process
described; and that he conceives such a process to be taking place is proved
by his remarks on page 178.>




Products of the kind implied are presented in the large diffused, and
irregular nebulae, such as the one in Orion Sir John Herschel describes them
(p. 650) as "very great in extent," "irregular and capricious
in their shapes," "no less so in the distribution of their light,"
and not having "any similarity of figure or aspect." And then he
remarks that "they have one important character in common" -- "they
are all situated in or near the borders of the Milky Way." That is to
say, they are found in that region of the heavens in which star-clusters
also are most abundant. Thus in their distribution and in their characters
these nebulae are congruous with the supposition that they have resulted
from dissipation of clusters arising in the way described.




What may we say concerning the future of one of these vast irregular nebulae?
The first remark is that as, in conformity with the foregoing speculation,
it contains the matter not of one star but of many stars, so in conformity
with its aspect it is not a nebulous mass of the kind out of which a single
star or sun originates: being so large that it covers numerous interstellar
spaces. The second remark is that when its widest diffusion has been reached
concentration will commence, and the implication is that after an immense
period a rotating nebula of one or other of the kinds so abundantly exemplified
will result. That a spiral nebula is produced by concentration of one of
these vast diffused masses, containing the matter of many stars, is an inference
supported by the fact that in some spiral nebulae many stars and nebulous
stars embedded within the spiral structure have manifestly been formed or
are forming while the general concentration is going on -- instance 74 Piscium,
100 Comae, and M. 51 Canum Venaticorum -- and suggesting that a new concentrating
cluster will eventually arise. If so, the implication appears to be that
there will eventually again arise a process like that just suggested -- collisions
of concentrating masses and progressing diffusion until the nebulous form
is again produced.




If in pursuance of this view we regard (1) the star-clusters variously
condensed, (2) the diffused and irregular nebulae, (3) the spiral and other
nebulae that are concentrating into star-systems, as exhibiting different
stages of the same process, then the implication is that in many thousands
of places throughout our Sidereal System there are going on alterations of
Evolution and Dissolution. And this conception may be taken as a sufficient
answer to the inference above drawn that equilibration must end in universal
death -- a speculative demurrer to a speculative conclusion.




§182b. There still presents itself the question which, unanswerable
though it may be, we cannot ignore -- What are we to think concerning the
future of the visible Universe? To the conception of alternating evolutions
and dissolutions taking place in multitudinous different parts of it, there
must be joined the conception of it as either remaining in its present state
or as changing; and that rises the question -- Changing towards what other
state? That its state must change is clear: the irregular distribution of
it being such as to render even a temporary moving equilibrium impossible.




At the outset there arises the doubt whether our Sidereal System is an
aggregate at all, in such sense as is implied by conformity to the law of
Evolution and Dissolution -- whether it does not transcend those limits implied
by conformity to the law. When, reducing its stars and their distances to
dimensions that may be imagined, we think of them as comparable to peas one
hundred miles apart, the conception of them as forming a whole held together
only by mutual gravitation seems somewhat strained. The assumed unity seems
more questionable on observing the marks of independence in the dispersed
parts. Besides multitudinous cases of the kind above described in which star-clusters
apparently carry on their transformations irrespective of the Sidereal System
as a whole, there are some far larger local transformations that appear to
be of kindred nature. I refer to those going on in the Magellanic clouds
or nubeculae, major and minor -- two closely-packed agglomerations, not,
indeed, of single stars only, but of single stars, of clusters regular and
irregular, of nebula, and of diffused nebulosity. That these have been formed
by mutual gravitation of parts once widely scattered, there is evidence in
the barrenness of the surrounding celestial spaces: the nubecula minor especially,
being seated, as Humboldt says, in "a kind of starless desert."
And since the traits of these chaotic aggregates are such as do not consist
with any process of evolution, we must infer that they are passing through
the counter-process of dissolution: the resulting nebulous matter having
already enveloped large portions of their miscellaneous components; a conclusion
receiving support from the fact that while the one lies in a space devoid
of stars the other has around it numerous outlying nebula and star-clusters,
which must in course of time be drawn into it. Thus there are considerable
difficulties in the way of regarding our Sidereal System as a whole, subject
to the processes of evolution and dissolution.




Nevertheless sundry traits seem to imply that throughout a past so immense
that the time occupied in the evolution of a solar or stellar system becomes
by comparison utterly insignificant, there has been a gathering together
of the matter of our Universe from a more dispersed state; and its disc-like
form, or else annular form, indicated by the encircling appearance of the
Milky Way, rises the thought that it has a combined motion within which all
minor motions are included. Moreover the contrast between the galactic circle,
with its closely packed millions of stars dotted with numerous star-clusters,
and the regions about the galactic poles, in which the more regular nebula
are chiefly congregated, yields further evidence that our Sidereal System
has some kind of unity, and that during an immeasurable past it has undergone
transformations due to general forces. If, then, we must contemplate the
visible Universe as an aggregate, subject to processes of evolution and dissolution
of the same essential nature as those traceable in minor aggregates, we cannot
avoid asking what is likely to be its future.




In his Outlines of Astronomy (pp. 630-1), Sir John Herschel refers
to speculations respecting the rotation of our Sidereal System in the plane
of the galactic circle. Dismissing the hypothesis of Mädler that the
centre of rotation is in the Pleiades, he thinks that no opinion can reasonably
be formed whether rotation exists or not, until after some thirty or forty
years of observations of a special class. In any case, however, the irregularities
of the Milky Way necessitate the conclusion that there is going on, and must
continue to go on, a general change of structure. The greater massiveness
of it in the northern than in the southern hemisphere, the cleft form, the
breach of continuity, the branchings, the narrow connecting necks, and the
parts that are almost or quite islanded, exclude the idea of equilibrium,
whether the system as a whole be stationary or whether it be rotating. In
§150, when referring to the fate of nebulous rings, I cited the option
of Sir John Herschel to the effect that a nebulous ring would not break at
one place and collapse, but would break at many places and form separate
masses. I joined with it the opinion of Sir G. B. Airy, to whom I put the
question whether these would remain separate, and who agreed that the masses
thus formed, parting more widely at some one place, would eventually collapse
into a single mass. Parallel conclusions respecting changes in the Milky
Way seem legitimate, or rather, indeed, seem necessitated. Separation of
it into parts -- minor Sidereal Systems -- is a result to which its present
aspect points. That such minor sidereal systems could remain permanently
independent is not to be supposed. Mutual attraction would cause in some
cases the formation of binary sidereal systems, and in other cases coalescence,
according to the directions and amounts of their respective proper motions.
The implication is that there may be repeated, on vaster scales, changes
like those described as occurring in star-clusters: local concentrations
taking place within these minor sidereal systems, with resulting evolutions
and dissolutions, at the same time that the minor sidereal systems themselves,
progressively uniting, become more condensed, and consequently the scenes
of more active changes of like kinds. If, giving imagination the rein, we
suppose this process carried to its limit, and ultimately to present on an
immensely larger scale the kind of change which the nubeculae exhibit, there
arises the thought of a progressing destruction of the molar motions possessed
by the concentrating stars, and a simultaneous diffusion of their substances,
which, as the process comes to a close, spreads the matter of the Sidereal
System in its nebulous form throughout the whole of that space which it originally
filled -- a diffusion reversing the preceding concentration -- a dissolution
that prepares the way for a new evolution. Reduced to its abstract form,
the argument is that the quantity of motion implied by dispersion must be
as great as the quantity of motion implied by aggregation, or rather must
be the same motion, taking now the molar form and now the molecular form;
and if we allow ourselves to conceive this as an ultimate result there arises
the conception not only of local evolutions and dissolutions throughout our
Sidereal System but of general evolutions and dissolutions alternating indefinitely.




But we cannot draw such a conclusion without tacitly assuming something
beyond the limits of possible knowledge, namely, that the energy contained
in our Sidereal System remains undiminished. Continuance of such alterations
without end presupposes that the quantity of molecular motion radiated by
each star in the course of its formation from diffused matter, shall either
not escape from our Sidereal System or shall be compensated by an equal quantity
of molecular motion radiated into it from other parts of space. If the ether
which fills the interspaces of our Sidereal System has a boundary somewhere
beyond the outermost stars, it is inferable that motion is not lost by radiation
beyond that boundary; and if so the original degree of diffusion may be resumed.
Or if, supposing that the ether is unbounded, the temperature of space is
the same within and without our Sidereal System, then it is inferable that
the quantity of motion contained within our Sidereal System remaining undiminished,
its alternate concentrations and diffusions may continue undiminished. But
we shall never be able to say whether either condition is fulfilled.




We may indeed dismiss such questions as passing the bounds of rational
speculation. They have here been touched upon for the purpose of showing
that it is not inferable from the general progress towards equilibrium that
a state of universal quiescence or death will be reached; but that if a process
of reasoning ends in that conclusion, a further process of reasoning points
to renewals of activity and life.




Here, however, it is needless for the adequate presentation of the general
doctrine, that Evolution and Dissolution should be traced in either direction
to their ends. In §93 it was said that no actual philosophy can fill
out the scheme of an ideal philosophy -- cannot even of a small aggregate
trace the entire history from its appearance to its disappearance, and must
be immeasurably far from doing this with the all-comprehensive aggregate.




But unable though we must ever remain to give a complete account of the
transformation of things, even in any of its minor parts, and still more
in its totality we are able to recognize throughout it the same general law;
and may reasonably infer that it holds in those parts of the transformation
which are beyond the reach of our intelligence as it does in those parts
which are within its reach.




Chapter 24




Summary and Conclusion




§184. At the close of a work like this, it is more than usually needful
to contemplate as a whole that which the successive chapters have presented
in parts. A coherent knowledge implies something more than the establishment
of connexions: we must not rest after seeing how each minor group of truths
falls into its place within some major group, and how all the major groups
fit together. It is requisite that we should retire a space, and, looking
at the entire structure from a distance at which details are lost to view,
observe its general character.




Something more than recapitulation -- something more even than an organized
re-statement, will come within the scope of the chapter. We shall find that
in their ensemble the general truths reached exhibit, under certain aspects,
a oneness not hitherto observed.




There is, too, a special reason for noting how the various divisions and
subdivisions of the argument consolidate; namely, that the theory at large
thereby obtains a final illustration. The reduction of the generalizations
which have been set forth separately to a completely integrated state, exemplifies
once more the process of Evolution, and strengthens still further the general
fabric of conclusions.




§185. Here, indeed, we find ourselves brought round unexpectedly
to the truth with which we set out, and with which our re-survey must commence.
For this integrated form of knowledge is the form which, apart from the doctrine
of Evolution, we decided to be the highest form.




When we inquired what constitutes Philosophy -- when we compared men's
various conceptions of Philosophy, so that, eliminating the elements in which
they differed, we might see in what they agreed; we found in them all the
tacit implication that Philosophy is completely unified knowledge. Apart
from each scheme of unified knowledge, and apart from proposed methods by
which unification is to be effected, we traced in every case a belief that
unification is possible, and that the end of Philosophy is achievement of
it.




After reaching this conclusion we considered the data with which Philosophy
must set out. Fundamental propositions, or propositions not deducible from
deeper ones can be established only by showing the complete congruity of
all the results reached through the assumption of them; and, premising that
they were simply assumed till thus established, we took as our data those
components of our intelligence without which there cannot go on the mental
processes implied by philosophizing.




From the specification of these we passed to certain primary truths --
"The Indestructibility of Matter," "The Continuity of Motion,"
and "The Persistence of force;" of which the last is ultimate and
the others derivative. Having previously seen that our experiences of Matter
and Motion are resolvable into experiences of force, we further saw the truths
that Matter and Motion are unchangeable in quantity, to be implications of
the truth that Force is unchangeable in quantity. This we concluded is the
truth by derivation from which all other truths are to be proved.




The first of the truths which presented itself to be so proved, is "The
Persistence of the relations among Forces." This, which is ordinarily
called Uniformity of Law, we found to be a necessary implication of the truth
that Force can neither arise out of nothing nor lapse into nothing.




The next deduction was that forces which seem to be lost are transformed
into their equivalents of other forces; or, conversely, that forces which
become manifest, do so by disappearance of pre-existing equivalent forces.
These truths we found illustrated by the motions of the heavenly bodies,
by the changes going on over the Earth's surface, and by all organic and
super-organic actions.




It was shown to be the same with the law that everything moves along the
line of least resistance, or the line of greater traction, or their resultant.
Among movements of all orders, from those of stars down to those of nervous
discharges and commercial currents, it was shown both that this is so, and
tat, given the Persistence of Force, it must be so.




So, too, we saw it to be with "The Rhythm Of Motion." All motion
alternates -- be it the motion of planets in their orbits or ethereal molecules
in their undulations be it the cadences of speech or the rises and falls
of prices; and, as before, it became manifest that Force being persistent,
this perpetual reversal of Motion between limits is inevitable.




§186. These truths holding of existences at large, were recognized
as of the kind required to constitute what we distinguish as Philosophy.
But, on considering them, we perceived that as they stand they do not form
a Philosophy. and that a Philosophy cannot be formed by any number of such
truths separately known. Each expresses the law of some one factor by which
phenomena, as we experience them, are produced; or, at most, expresses the
law of co-operation of some two factors. But knowing what are the elements
of a process, is not knowing how these elements combine to effect it. That
which alone can unify knowledge must be the law of co-operation of the factors
-- a law expressing simultaneously the complex antecedents and the complex
consequents which any phenomenon as a whole presents.




A further inference was that Philosophy, as we understand it, must not
unify the changes displayed in separate concrete phenomena only; and must
not stop short with unifying the changes displayed in separate classes of
concrete phenomena; but must unify the changes displayed in all concrete
phenomena. If the law of operation of each factor holds true throughout the
Cosmos, so, too, must the law of their co-operation. And hence in comprehending
the Cosmos as conforming to this law of co-operation, must consist that highest
unification which Philosophy seeks.




Descending to a more concrete view, we saw that the law sought must be
the law of the continuous re-distribution of Matter and Motion. The changes
everywhere going on, from those which are slowly altering the structure of
our galaxy down to those which constitute a chemical decomposition, are changes
in the relative positions of component parts; and everywhere necessarily
imply that along with a new arrangement of Matter there has arisen a new
arrangement of Motion. Hence it follows that there must be a law of the concomitant
redistribution of Matter and Motion which holds of every change, and which,
by thus unifying all changes, must be the basis of a Philosophy.




In commencing our search for this universal law of re-distribution, we
contemplated from another point of view the problem of Philosophy, and saw
that its solution could not but be of the nature indicated. It was shown
that an ideally complete Philosophy must formulate the whole series of changes
passed through by existences separately and as a whole in passing from the
imperceptible to the perceptible and again from the perceptible to the imperceptible.
If it begins its explanations with existences that already have concrete
forms, or leaves off while they still retain concrete forms, then, manifestly,
they had preceding histories, or will have succeeding histories, or both,
of which no account is given. Whence we saw it to follow that the formula
sought, equally applicable to existences taken singly and in their totality,
must be applicable to the whole history of each and to the whole history
of all. This must be the ideal form of a Philosophy, however far short of
it the reality may fall.




By these considerations we were brought within view of the formula. For
if it had to express the entire progress from the imperceptible to the perceptible
and from the perceptible to the imperceptible; and if it Was also to express
the continuous re-distribution of Matter and Motion, then, obviously, it
could be no other than one defining the opposite processes of concentration
and diffusion in terms of Matter and Motion. And if so, it must be a statement
of the truth that the concentration of Matter implies the dissipation of
Motion, and that, conversely, the absorption of Motion implies the diffusion
of Matter.




Such, in fact, we found to be the law of the entire cycle of changes passed
through by every existence. Moreover we saw that besides applying to the
whole history of each existence, it applies to each detail of the history.
Both processes are going on at every instant. but always there is a differential
result in favour of the first or the second. And every change, even though
it be only a transposition of parts, inevitably advances the one process
or the other.




Evolution and Dissolution, as we name these opposite transformations,
though thus truly defined in their most general characters, are but incompletely
defined; or rather, while the definition of Dissolution is sufficient, the
definition of Evolution is extremely insufficient. Evolution is always an
integration of Matter and dissipation of Motion; but it is in nearly all
cases much more than this. The primary re-distribution of Matter and Motion
is accompanied by secondary re-distributions.




Distinguishing the different kinds of Evolution thus produced as simple
and compound, we went on to consider under what conditions the secondary
re-distributions which make Evolution compound, take place. We found that
a concentrating aggregate which loses its contained motion rapidly, or integrates
quickly, exhibits only simple Evolution; but in proportion as its largeness,
or the peculiar constitution of its components, hinders the dissipation of
its motion, its parts, while undergoing that primary re-distribution which
results in integration, undergo secondary re-distributions producing more
or less complexity.




§187. From this conception of Evolution and Dissolution as together
making up the entire process through which things pass; and from this conception
of Evolution as divided into simple and compound; we went on to consider
the law of Evolution, as exhibited among all orders of existences, in general
and in detail.




The integration of Matter and concomitant dissipation of Motion, was traced
not in each whole only, but in the parts into which each whole divides. By
the aggregate Solar System, as well as by each planet and satellite, progressive
concentration has been, and is still being, exemplified. In each organism
that general incorporation of dispersed materials which causes growth, is
accompanied by local incorporations, forming what we call organs. Every society,
while it displays the aggregative process by its increasing mass of population,
displays it also by the rise of dense masses on special parts of its area.
And in all cases, along with these direct integrations there go the indirect
integrations by which parts are made mutually dependent.




From this primary re-distribution we were led on to consider the secondary
re-distributions, by inquiring how there came to be a formation of parts
during the formation of a whole. It turned out that there is habitually a
passage from homogeneity to heterogeneity along with the passage from diffusion
to concentration. While the matter composing the Solar System has been assuming
a denser form, it has changed from unity to variety of distribution. Solidification
of the Earth has been accompanied by a progress from comparative uniformity
to extreme multiformity. In the course of its advance from a germ to a mass
of relatively great bulk, every plant and animal also advances from simplicity
to complexity. The increase of a society in numbers and consolidation has
for its concomitant an increased heterogeneity both of its political and
its industrial organization. And the like holds of all super-organic products
-- Language, Science, Art, and Literature.




But we saw that these secondary re-distributions are not thus completely
expressed. While the parts into which each whole is resolved become more
unlike one another, they also become more sharply marked off. The result
of the secondary re-distribution is therefore to change an indefinite homogeneity
into a definite heterogeneity. This additional trait also we found in evolving
aggregates of all orders. Further consideration, however, made it apparent
that the increasing definiteness which goes along with increasing heterogeneity
is not an independent trait, but that it results from the integration which
progresses in each of the differentiating parts, while it progresses in the
whole they form.




Further, it was pointed out that in all evolutions, inorganic, organic,
and super-organic, this change in the arrangement of Matter is accompanied
by a parallel change in the arrangement of contained Motion: every increase
in structural complexity involving a corresponding increase in functional
complexity. It was shown that along with the integration of molecules into
masses, there arises an integration of molecular motion in to the motion
of masses; and that as fast as there results variety in the sizes and forms
of aggregates and their relations to incident forces, there also results
variety in their movements.




The transformation thus contemplated under separate aspects, being in
itself but one transformation, it became needful to unite these separate
aspects into a single conception -- to regard the primary and secondary redistributions
as simultaneously working their various effects. Everywhere the change from
a confused simplicity to a distinct complexity, in the distribution of both
matter and motion, is incidental to the consolidation of the matter and the
loss of its internal motion. Hence the re-distribution of the matter and
of its retained motion, is from a relatively diffused, uniform, and indeterminate
arrangement, to a relatively concentrated, multiform, and determinate arrangement.




§188. We come now to one of the additions that may be made to the
general argument while summing it up. Here is the fit occasion for observing
a higher degree of unity in the foregoing inductions, than we observed while
making them.




The law of Evolution has been thus far contemplated as holding true of
each order of existences, considered as a separate order. But the induction
as so presented, falls short of that completeness which it gains when we
contemplate these several orders of existences as forming together one natural
whole. While we think of Evolution as divided into astronomic, geologic,
biologic, psychologic, sociologic, etc., it may seem to some extent a coincidence
that the same law of metamorphosis holds throughout all its divisions. But
when we recognize these divisions as mere conventional groupings, made to
facilitate the arrangement and acquisition of knowledge -- when we remember
that the different existences with which they severally deal are component
parts of one Cosmos; we see at once that there are not several kinds of Evolution
having certain traits in common, but one Evolution going on everywhere after
the same manner, We have repeatedly observed that while any whole is evolving,
there is always going on an evolution of the parts into which it divides
itself; but we have not observed that this equally holds of the totality
of things, which is made up of parts within parts from the greatest down
to the smallest. We know that while a physically-cohering aggregate like
the human body is getting larger and taking on its general shape, each of
its organs is doing the same; that while each organ is growing and becoming
unlike others, there is going on a differentiation and integration of its
component tissues and vessels; and that even the components of these components
are severally increasing and passing into more definitely heterogeneous structures.
But we have not duly remarked that while each individual is developing, the
society of which he is an insignificant unit is developing too; that while
the aggregate mass forming a society is integrating and becoming more definitely
heterogeneous, so, too, that total aggregate, the Earth, is continuing to
integrate and differentiate; that while the Earth, which in bulk is not a
millionth of the Solar System, progresses towards its more concentrated structure,
the Solar System similarly progresses.




So understood, Evolution becomes not one in principle only, but one in
fact. There are not many metamorphoses similarly carried on, but there is
a single metamorphosis universally progressing, wherever the reverse metamorphosis
has not set in. In any locality, great or small, where the occupying matter
acquires an appreciable individuality, or distinguishableness from other
matter, there Evolution goes on; or rather, the acquirement of this appreciable
individuality is the commencement of Evolution. And this holds regardless
of the size of the aggregate, and regardless of its inclusion in other aggregates.




§189. After making them, we saw that the inductions which, taken
together, establish the law of Evolution, do not, so long as they remain
inductions, form that whole rightly named Philosophy; nor does even the foregoing,
from agreement into identity passage of these inductions suffice to produce
the unity sought. For, as was pointed out at the time, to unify the truths
thus reached with other truths, they must be deduced from the Persistence
of Force. Our next step, therefore, was to show why, Force being persistent,
the transformation which Evolution shows us necessarily results.




The first conclusion was, that any finite homogeneous aggregate must lose
its homogeneity, through the unequal exposures of its parts to incident forces,
and that the imperfectly homogeneous must lapse into the decidedly non-homogeneous.
It was pointed out that the production of diversities of structure by diverse
forces, and forces acting under diverse conditions, has been illustrated
in astronomic evolution; and that a like connexion of cause and effect is
seen in the large and small modifications undergone by our globe. The early
changes of organic germs supplied further evidence that unlikenesses of structure
follow unlikenesses of relations to surrounding agencies -- evidence enforced
by the tendency of the differently-placed members of each species to diverge
into varieties. And we found that the contrasts, political and industrial,
which arise between the parts of societies, serve to illustrate the same
principle. The instability of the relatively homogeneous thus everywhere
exemplified, we saw also holds in each of the distinguishable parts into
which any whole lapses; and that so the less heterogeneous tends continually
to become more heterogeneous.




A further step in the inquiry disclosed a secondary cause of increasing
multiformity. Every differentiated part is not simply a seat of further differentiations,
but also a parent of further differentiations; since in growing unlike other
parts, it becomes a centre of unlike reactions on incident forces, and by
so adding to the diversity of forces at work, adds to the diversity of effects
produced. This multiplication of effects proved to be similarly traceable
throughout all Nature -- in the actions and reactions that go on throughout
the Solar System, in the never-ceasing geologic complications, in the involved
changes produced in organisms by new influences, in the many thoughts and
feelings generated by single impressions, and in the ever-ramifying results
of each additional agency brought to bear on a society. To which was joined
the corollary that the multiplication of effects advances in a geometrical
progression along with advancing heterogeneity.




Completely to interpret the structural changes constituting Evolution,
there remained to assign a reason for that increasingly-distinct demarcation
of parts, which accompanies the production of differences among parts. This
reason we discovered to be the segregation of mixed units under the action
of forces capable of moving them. We saw that when unlike incident forces
have made the parts of an aggregate unlike in the natures of their component
units, there necessarily arises a tendency to separation of the dissimilar
units from one another, and to a clustering of those units which are similar.
This cause of the definiteness of the local integrations which accompany
local differentiations, turned out to be likewise exemplified by all kinds
of Evolution -- by the formation of celestial bodies, by the moulding of
the Earth's crust, by organic modifications, by the establishment of mental
distinctions, by the genesis of social divisions.




At length, to the query whether these processes have any limit, there
came the answer that they must end in equilibrium. That continual division
and subdivision of forces which changes the uniform into the multiform and
the multiform into the more multiform, is a process by which forces are perpetually
dissipated; and dissipation of them, continuing as long as there remain any
forces unbalanced by opposing forces, must end in rest. It was shown that
when, as happens in aggregates of various orders, many movements go on together,
the earlier dispersion of the smaller and more resisted movements, establishes
moving equilibria of different kinds: forming transitional stages on the
way to complete equilibrium. And further inquiry made it apparent that for
the same reason, these moving equilibria have certain self-conserving powers;
shown in the neutralization of perturbations, and in the adjustment to new
conditions. This general principle of equilibration, like the preceding general
principles, was traced throughout all forms of Evolution -- astronomic, geologic,
biologic, mental, and social. And our concluding inference was, that the
penultimate stage of equilibration in the organic world, in which the extremest
multiformity and most complex moving equilibrium are established, must be
one implying the highest state of humanity.




But the fact which here chiefly concerts us, is that each of these laws
of the re-distribution of Matter and Motion, was found to be a derivative
law-a law deducible from the fundamental law. The Persistence of Force being
granted, there follow as inevitable inferences "The Instability of the
Homogeneous" and "The Multiplication of Effects;" while "Segregation"
and "Equilibration" also become corollaries. And on thus discovering
that the processes of change grouped under these titles are so many different
aspects of one transformation, determined by an ultimate necessity we arrive
at a complete unification of them -- a synthesis in which Evolution in general
and in detail becomes known as an implication of the law that transcends
proof. Moreover, in becoming thus unified with one another the complex truths
of Evolution become simultaneously unified with those simpler truths shown
to have a like origin -- the equivalence of transformed forces, the movement
of every mass and molecule along its line of least resistance, and the limitation
of its motion by rhythm. Which further unification brings us to a conception
of the entire plexus of changes presented by each concrete phenomenon, and
by the aggregate of concrete phenomena, as a manifestation of one fundamental
fact -- a fact shown alike in the total change and in all the separate changes
composing it.




§190. Finally we turned to contemplate, as exhibited throughout Nature,
that process of Dissolution which forms the complement of Evolution, and
which, at some time or other, undoes what Evolution has done.




Quickly following the arrest of Evolution in aggregates that are unstable,
and following it at periods often long delayed but reached at last in the
stable aggregates around us, we saw that even to the vast aggregate of which
all these are parts even to the Earth as a whole -- Dissolution must eventually
come. Nay we even saw grounds for the belief that local assemblages of those
far vaster masses. we know as stars will eventually be dissipated: the question
remaining unanswered whether our Sidereal System as a whole may not at a
time beyond the reach of finite imagination share the same fate. While inferring
that in many parts of the visible universe dissolution is following evolution,
and that throughout these regions evolution will presently recommence, the
question whether there is an alteration of evolution and dissolution in the
totality of things is one which must be left unanswered as beyond the reach
of human intelligence.




If, however, we lean to the belief that what happens to the parts will
eventually happen to the whole, we are led to entertain the conception of
Evolutions that have filled an immeasurable past and Evolutions that will
fill an immeasurable future. We can no longer contemplate the visible creation
as having a definite beginning or end, or as being isolated. It becomes unified
with all existence before and after; and the Force which the Universe presents,
falls into the same category with its Space and Time, as admitting of no
limitation in thought.




§191. This conception is congruous with the conclusion reached in
Part I, where we dealt with the relation between the Knowable and the Unknowable.




It was there shown by analysis of both religious and scientific ideas,
that while knowledge of the Cause which produces effects on consciousness
is impossible, the existence of a Cause for these effects is a datum of consciousness.
Belief in a Power which transcends knowledge is that fundamental element
in Religion which survives all its changes of form. This inexpugnable belief
proved to be likewise that on which all exact Science is based. And this
is also the implication to which we are now led back by our completed synthesis.
The recognition of a persistent Force, ever changing its manifestations but
unchanged in quantity throughout all past time and all future time, is that
which we find alone makes possible each concrete interpretation, and at last
unifies all concrete interpretations.




Towards some conclusion of this order, inquiry scientific, metaphysical,
and theological, has been, and still is, manifestly advancing. The coalescence
of polytheistic conceptions into the monotheistic conception, and the reduction
of the monotheistic conception to a more and more general form, in which
personal superintendence becomes merged in universal immanence, clearly shows
this advance. It is equally shown in the fading away of old theories about
"essences," "potentialities," "occult virtues,"
etc.; in the abandonment of such doctrines as those of "Platonic Ideas,"
"Pre-established Harmonies," and the like; and in the tendency
towards the identification of Being as present in consciousness, with Being
as otherwise conditioned beyond consciousness. Still more conspicuous is
it in the progress of Science, which, from the beginning, has been grouping.isolated
facts under laws, uniting special laws under more general laws, and so reaching
on to laws of higher and higher generality; until the conception of universal
laws has become familiar to it.




Unification being thus the characteristic of developing thought of all
kinds, and eventual arrival at unity being fairly inferable, there arises
yet a further support to our conclusion. Since, unless there is some other
and higher unity, the unity we have reached must be that towards which developing
thought tends.




Let no one suppose that any such implied degree of trustworthiness is
alleged of the various minor propositions brought in illustration of the
general argument. Such an assumption would be so manifestly absurd, that
it seems scarcely needful to disclaim it. But the truth of the doctrine as
a whole, is unaffected by errors in the details of its presentation. If it
can be shown that the Persistence of Force is not a datum of consciousness;
or if it can be shown that the several laws of force above specified are
not corollaries from it; or if it can be shown that, given these laws, the
re-distribution of Matter and Motion does not necessarily proceed as described;
then, indeed, it will be shown that the theory of Evolution has not the high
warrant claimed for it. But nothing short of this can invalidate the general
conclusions lived at.




§193. If these conclusions be accepted -- if it be agreed that the
phenomena going on everywhere are parts of the general process of Evolution,
save where they are parts of the reverse process of Dissolution; then we
may infer that all phenomena receive their complete interpretation only when
recognized as parts of these processes. Whence it follows that the limit
towards which Knowledge advances can be reached only when the formulae of
these processes are so applied as to yield interpretations of phenomena in
general. But this is an ideal which the real must ever fall short of.




For true though it may be that all phenomenal changes are direct or indirect
results of the persistence of force, the proof that they are such can never
be more than partially given. Scientific progress is progress in that adjustment
of thought to things which we saw is going on, and must continue to go on,
but which can never arrive at anything like perfection. Still, though Science
can never be reduced to this form, and though only at a far distant time
can it be brought anywhere near it, a good deal may even now be done in the
way of approximation.




Of course, what may now be done cannot be done by any single individual.
No one can possess that encyclopaedic information required for rightly organizing
even the truths already established. Nevertheless, as all organization, beginning
in faint and blurred outlines, is completed by successive modifications and
additions, advantage may accrue from an attempt, however rude, to reduce
the facts now accumulated -- or rather certain classes of them -- to something
like co-ordination. Such must be the plea for the several volumes which are
to succeed this; dealing with the respective divisions of what we distinguished
at the outset as Special Philosophy.




§194. A few closing words must be said, conceding the general bearings
of the doctrines that are now to be further developed.




Though it is impossible to prevent misrepresentations, especially when
the questions involved are of a kind that excite so much animus, yet to guard
against them as far as may be, it will be well to make a succinct and emphatic
restatement of the Philosophico-Religious doctrine which pervades the foregoing
pages.




Over and over again it has been shown in various ways, that the deepest
truths we can reach, are simply statements of the widest uniformities in
our experiences of the relations of Matter, Motion, and Force; and that Matter,
Motion, and Force are but symbols of the Unknown Reality. A Power of which
the nature remains for ever inconceivable, and to which no limits in Time
or Space can be imagined, works in us certain effects. These effects have
certain likenesses of kind, the most general of which we class together under
the names of Matter, Motion, and Force; and between these effects there are
likenesses of connexion, the most constant of which we class as laws of the
highest certainty. Analysis reduces these several kinds of effect to one
kind of effect; and these several kinds of uniformity to one kind of uniformity.
And the highest achievement of Science is the interpretation of all orders
of phenomena, as differently-conditioned manifestations of this one kind
of effect, under differently-conditioned modes of this one kind of uniformity.
But when Science has done this, it has done nothing more than systematize
our experiences, and has in no degree extended the limits of our experiences.
We can say no more than before, whether the uniformities are as absolutely
necessary as they have become to our thought relatively necessary. The utmost
possibility for us is an interpretation of the process of things as it presents
itself to our limited consciousness; but how this process is related to the
actual process we are unable to conceive, much less to know. Similarly, it
must be remembered that while the connexion between the phenomenal order
and the ontological order is for ever inscrutable; so is the connexion between
the conditioned forms of being and the unconditioned form of being for ever
inscrutable. The interpretation of all phenomena in terms of Matter, Motion,
and Force, is nothing more than the reduction of our complex symbols of thought,
to the simplest symbols; and when the equation has been brought to its lowest
terms the symbols remain symbols still. Hence the reasonings contained in
the foregoing pages, afford no support to either of the antagonist hypotheses
respecting the ultimate nature of things. As before implied, their implications
are no more materialistic than they are spiritualistic; and no more spiritualistic
than they are materialistic. The establishment of correlation and equivalence
between the forces of the outer and the inner worlds, serves to assimilate
either to the other, according as we set out with one or other term. But
he who rightly interprets the doctrine contained in this work, will see that
neither of these terms can be taken as ultimate. He will see that though
the relation of subject and object renders necessary to us these antithetical
conceptions of Spirit and Matter; the one is no less than the other to be
regarded as but a sign of the Unknown Reality which underlies both.