Thus there is clearly nothing to be gained on the side of teleology by going back to the dim and dismal birth of the nebula; for no "thoroughgoing evolutionist" would for one moment entertain the supposition that natural law in the simplest phases of its development partook any more of a miraculous character than it does in its more recent and vastly more complex phases. The absence of knowledge must not be used as equivalent to its presence; and if analogy can be held to justify any inference whatsoever, surely we may conclude with confidence that if existing general laws admit of being conceivably attributed to a natural genesis, the primordial laws of a condensing nebula must have been the same.
There is another passage in Professor Flint's work to which it seems desirable to refer. It begins thus: "There is the law of heredity: like produces like. But why is there such a law? Why does like produce like?... Physical science cannot answer these questions; but that is no reason why they should not both be asked and answered. I can conceive of no other intelligent answer being given to them than that there is a God of wisdom, who designed that the world should be for all ages the abode of life," &c.
Now here we have in another form that same vicious tendency to take refuge in the more obscure cases of physical causation as proofs of supernatural design—the obscurity in this case arising from thecomplexityof the causes and work, as in the former case it arose from theirremotenessin time. But in both cases the same answer is patent, viz., that although "physical science cannot answer these questions" by pointing out the precise sequence of causes and effects, physical science is nevertheless quite as certain that this precise sequence arises in its last resort from the persistence of force, as she would be were she able to trace the whole process. And therefore, in view of the considerations set forth inChapter IV.of this work, it is no longer open to Professor Flint or to any other writer logically to assert—"I can conceive of no other intelligent answer being given to" such questions "than that there is a God of wisdom."
The same answer awaits this author's further disquisition on other biological laws, so it is needless to make any further quotations in this connection. But there is one other principle embodied in some of these passages which it seems undesirable to overlook. It is said, for instance, "Natural selection might have had no materials, or altogether insufficient materials, to work with, or the circumstances might have been such that the lowest organisms were the best endowed for the struggle for life. If the earth were covered with water, fish would survive and higher creatures would perish."
Now the principle here embodied—viz., that had the conditions of evolution been other than they were, the results would have been different—is, of course, true; but clearly, on the view thatallnatural laws spring from the persistence of force, no other conditions than those which actually occurred, or are now occurring, could ever have occurred,—the whole course of evolution must have been, in all its phases and in all its processes, an unconditional necessity. But if it is said, How fortunate that the outcome, being unconditionally necessary, has happened to be so good as it is; I answer that the remark is legitimate enough if it is not intended to convey an implication that the general quality of the outcome points to beneficent design as to its cause. Such an implication would not be legitimate, because, in the first place, we have no means of knowing in how many cases, whether in planets, stars, or systems, the course of evolution has failed to produce life and mind—the one known case of this earth, whether or not it is the one success out of millions of abortions, being of necessity the only known case. In how vastly greater a number of cases the course of evolution may have been, so to speak, deflected by some even slight, though strictly necessary, cause from producing self-conscious intelligence, it is impossible to conjecture. But this consideration, be it observed, is not here adduced in order todisprovethe assertion that telluric evolution has been effected by Intelligence; it is merely adduced to prove that such an assertion cannot rest on the single known result of telluric evolution, so long as an infinite number of the results of evolution elsewhere remain unknown.
And now, lastly, it must be observed that even in the one case with which we are acquainted, the net product of evolution is not such as can of itself point us tobeneficentdesign. Professor Flint, indeed, in common with theologians generally, argues that it does. I will therefore briefly criticise his remarks on this subject, believing, as I do, that they form a very admirable illustration of what I conceive to be a general principle—viz., that minds which already believe in the existence of a Deity are, as a rule, not in a position to view this question of beneficence in nature in a perfectly impartial manner. For if the existence of a Deity is presupposed, a mind with any particle of that most noble quality—reverence—will naturally hesitate to draw conclusions that partake of the nature of blasphemy; and therefore, unconsciously perhaps to themselves, they endeavour in various ways to evade the evidence which, if honestly and impartially considered, can scarcely fail to negative the argument from beneficence in the universe.
Professor Flint argues that the "law of over-production," and the consequent struggle for existence, being "the reason why the world is so wonderfully rich in the most varied forms of life," is "a means to an end worthy of Divine Wisdom." "Although involving privation, pain, and conflict, its final result is order and beauty. All the perfections of sentient creatures are represented as due to it. Through it the lion has gained its strength, the deer its speed, and the dog its sagacity. The inference seems natural that these perfections were designed to be attained by it; that this state of struggle was ordained for the sake of the advantages which it is actually seen to produce. The suffering which the conflict involves may indicate that God has made even animals for some higher end than happiness—that he cares for animal perfection as well as for animal enjoyment; but it affords no reason for denying that the ends which the conflict actually serves it was intended to serve."
Now, whatever may be thought of such an argument as an attempted justification of beneficent design already on independent ground believed to exist, it is manifestly no argument at all as establishing any presumption in favour of such design, unless it could be shown that the Deity is so far limited in his power of adapting means to ends that the particular method adopted in this case was the best, all things considered, that he was able to adopt. For supposing the Deity to be, what Professor Flint maintains that he is—viz., omnipotent—and there can be no inference more transparent than that such wholesale suffering, for whatever ends designed, exhibits an incalculably greater deficiency of beneficence in the divine character than that which we know in any, the very worst, of human characters. For let us pause for one moment to think of what suffering in nature means. Some hundreds of millions of years ago some millions of millions of animals must be supposed to have been sentient. Since that time till the present, there must have been millions and millions of generations of millions of millions of individuals. And throughout all this period of incalculable duration, this inconceivable host of sentient organisms have been in a state of unceasing battle, dread, ravin, pain. Looking to the outcome, we find that more than half of the species which have survived the ceaseless struggle are parasitic in their habits, lower and insentient forms of life feasting on higher and sentient forms; we find teeth and talons whetted for slaughter, hooks and suckers moulded for torment—everywhere a reign of terror, hunger, and sickness, with oozing blood and quivering limbs, with gasping breath and eyes of innocence that dimly close in deaths of brutal torture! Is it said that there are compensating enjoyments? I care not to strike the balance; the enjoyments I plainly perceive to be as physically necessary as the pains, and this whether or not evolution is due to design. Therefore all I am concerned with is to show, that if such a state of things is due to "omnipotent design," the omnipotent designer must be concluded, so far as reason can infer, to be non-beneficent. And this it is not difficult to show. When I see a rabbit panting in the iron jaws of a spring-trap, I abhor the devilish nature of the being who, with full powers of realising what pain means, can deliberately employ his noble faculties of invention in contriving a thing so hideously cruel. But if I could believe that there is a being who, with yet higher faculties of thought and knowledge, and with an unlimited choice of means to secure his ends, has contrived untold thousands of mechanisms no less diabolical than a spring-trap; I should call that being a fiend, were all the world besides to call him God. Am I told that this is arrogance? It is nothing of the kind; it is plain morality, and to say otherwise would be to hide our eyes from murder because we dread the Murderer. Am I told that I am not competent to judge the purposes of the Almighty? I answer that if these arepurposes, Iamable to judge of them so far as I can see; and if I am expected to judge of his purposes when they appear to be beneficent, I am in consistency obliged also to judge of them when they appear to be malevolent. And it can be no possible extenuation of the latter to point to the "final result" as "order and beauty," so long as the means adopted by the "OmnipotentDesigner" are known to have been so revolting. All that we could legitimately assert in this case would be, that so far as observation can extend, "he cares for animal perfection"to the exclusion of"animal enjoyment," and even to thetotal disregardof animal suffering. But to assert this would merely be to deny beneficence as an attribute of God.
The dilemma, therefore, which Epicurus has stated with great lucidity, and which Professor Flint quotes, appears to me so obvious as scarcely to require statement. The dilemma is, that, looking to the facts of organic nature, theists must abandon their belief, either in the divine omnipotence, or in the divine beneficence. And yet, such is the warping effect of preformed beliefs on the mind, that even so candid a writer as Professor Flint can thus write of this most obvious truth:—
"The late Mr. John Stuart Mill, for no better reason than that nature sometimes drowns men and burns them, and that childbirth is a painful process, maintained that God could not possibly be infinite. I shall not say what I think of the shallowness and self-conceit displayed by such an argument. What it proves is not the finiteness of God, but the littleness of man. The mind of man never shows itself so small as when it tries to measure the attributes and limit the greatness of its Creator."
But the argument—or rather the truism—in question is an attempt to do neither the one nor the other; it simply asserts the patent fact that, if God is omnipotent, and so had an unlimited choice of means whereby to accomplish the ends of "animal perfection," "animal enjoyment," and the rest; then the fact of his having chosen to adopt the means which he has adopted is a fact which is wholly incompatible with his beneficence. And on the other hand, if he is beneficent, the fact of his having adopted these means in order that the sum of ultimate enjoyment might exceed the sum of concomitant pain, is a fact which is wholly incompatible with his omnipotence. To a man who already believes, on independent grounds, in an omnipotent and beneficent Deity, it is no doubt possible to avoid facing this dilemma, and to rest content with the assumption that, in a sense beyond the reach of human reason, or even of human conception, the two horns of this dilemma must be united in some transcendental reconciliation; but if a man undertakes to reason on the subject at all, as he must and ought when the question is as to theexistenceof such a Deity, then clearly he has no alternative but to allow that the dilemma is a hopeless one. With inverted meaning, therefore, may we quote Professor Flint's words against himself:—"The mind of man never shows itself so small as when it tries to measure the attributes ... of its Creator;" for certainly, if Professor Flint's usually candid mind has had a Creator, it nowhere displays the "littleness" of prejudice in so marked a degree as it does when "measuring his attributes."
Thus in a subsequent chapter he deals at greater length with this difficulty of the apparent failure of beneficence in nature, arguing, in effect, that as pain and suffering "serve many good ends" in the way of warning animals of danger to life, &c., therefore we ought to conclude that, if we could see farther, we should see pain and suffering to be unmitigated good, or nearly so. Now this argument, as I have previously said, may possibly be admissible as between Christians or others whoalreadybelieve in the existence and in the beneficence of God; but it is only the blindest prejudice which can fail to perceive that the argument is quite without relevancy when the question is as to theevidencesof such existence and theevidencesof such character. For where thefactof such an existence and character is the question in dispute, it clearly can be no argument to state its bare assumption by saying that if we knew more of nature we should find the relative preponderance of good over evil to be immeasurably greater than that which we now perceive. The platform of argument on which the question of "Theism" must be discussed is that of the observable Cosmos; and if, as Dr. Flint is constrained to admit, there is a fearful spectacle of misery presented by this Cosmos, it becomes mere question-begging to gloss over this aspect of the subject by any vague assumption that the misery must have some unobservable ends of so transcendentally beneficent a nature, that were they known they would justify the means. Indeed, this kind of discussion seems to me worse than useless for the purposes which the Professor has in view; for it only serves by contrast to throw out into stronger relief the natural and the unstrained character of the adverse interpretation of the facts. According to this adverse interpretation, sentiency has been evolved by natural selection to secure the benefits which are pointed out by Professor Flint; and therefore the fact of this, its cause, having been amindlesscause, clearly implies that therestrictionof pain and suffering cannot be an active principle, or avera causa, as between species and species, though it must be such within the limits of the same organism, and to a lesser extent within the limits of the same species. And this is just what we find to be the case. Therefore, without the need of resorting to wholly arbitrary assumptions concerning transcendental reconciliations between apparently needless suffering and a supposed almighty beneficence, the non-theistic hypothesis is saved by merely opening our eyes to the observable facts around us, and there seeing that pain and misery, alike in the benefits which they bring and in the frightful excesses which they manifest, play just that part in nature which this hypothesis would lead us to expect.
Therefore, to sum up these considerations on physical suffering, the case between a theist and a sceptic as to the question of divine beneficence is seen to be a case of extreme simplicity. The theist believes in such beneficence by purposely concealing from his mind all adverse evidence—feeling, on the one side, that to entertain the doubt to which this evidence points would be to hold dalliance with blasphemy, and, on the other side, that the subject is of so transcendental a nature that, in view of so great a risk, it is better to avoid impartial reasoning upon it. A sceptic, on the other hand, is under no such obligation to preconceived ideas, and is therefore free to draw unbiassed inferences as to the character of God, if he exists, to the extent which such character is indicated by the sphere of observable nature. And, as I have said, when the subject is so viewed, the inference is unavoidable that, so far as human reason can penetrate, God, if he exists, must either be non-infinite in his resources, or non-beneficent in his designs. Therefore it is evident that when thebeingof God, as distinguished from hischaracter, is the subject in dispute, Theism can gain nothing by an appeal to evidences ofbeneficentdesigns. If such evidences were unequivocal, then indeed the argument which they would establish to an intelligent cause of nature would be almost irresistible; for the fact of the external world being in harmony with the moral nature of man would be unaccountable except on the supposition of both having derived their origin from a commonmoralsource; and morality implies intelligence. But as it is, all the so-called evidence of divine beneficence in nature is, without any exception of a kind that is worthless as provingdesign; for all the facts admit of being explained equally well on the supposition of their having been due to purely physical processes, acting through the various biological laws which we are now only beginning to understand. And further than this, so far are these facts from proving the existence of a moral cause, that, in view of the alternative just stated, they even ground a positive argument to its negation. For, as we have seen, all these facts are just of such a kind as we should expect to be the facts, on the supposition of their having been due to natural causes—i.e., causes which could have had no moral solicitude for animal happiness as such. Let us now, in conclusion, dwell on this antithesis at somewhat greater length.
If natural selection has played any large share in the process of organic evolution, it is evident that animal enjoyment, being an important factor in this natural cause, must always have been furtheredto the extent in which it was necessary for the adaptation of organisms to their environmentthat it should. And such we invariably find to be the limits within which animal enjoymentsareconfined. On the other hand, so long as the adaptations in question are not complete, so long must more or less of suffering be entailed—the capacity for suffering, as for enjoyment, being no doubt itself a product of natural selection. But as all specific types are perpetually struggling together, it is manifest that the competition must prevent any considerable number of types from becoming so far adapted to their environment of other types as to become exempt from suffering as a result of this competition. There being no one integrating cause of an intelligent or moral nature to supply the conditions of happiness to each organic type without the misery of this competition, such happiness as animals have is derived from the heavy expenditure of pain suffered by themselves and by their ancestry.
Thus, whether we look to animal pleasures or to animal pains, the result is alike just what we should expect to find on the supposition of these pleasures and pains having been due to necessary and physical, as distinguished from intelligent and moral, antecedents; for how different is that which is from that which might have been! Not only might beneficent selection have eliminated the countless species of parasites which now destroy the health and happiness of all the higher organisms; not only might survival of the fittest, in a moral sense, have determined that rapacious and carnivorous animals should yield their places in the world to harmless and gentle ones; not only might life have been without sickness and death without pain;—but how might the exigences and the welfare of species have been consulted by the structures and the habits of one another! But no! Amid all the millions of mechanisms and habits in organic nature, all of which are so beautifully adapted to the needs of the species presenting them, there isno single instanceof any mechanism or habit occurring in one species for the exclusive benefit of another species—although, as we should expect on the non-theistic theory, there are some comparatively few cases of a mechanism or a habit which is of benefit to its possessor being also utilised by other species. Yet, on the beneficent-design theory, it is impossible to understand why, when all mechanisms and habits in the same species are invariably correlated for the benefit of that species, there should never be any such correlation between mechanisms and habits of different species. For how magnificent, how sublime a display of supreme beneficence would nature have afforded if all her sentient animals had been so inter-related as to minister to each other's happiness! Organic species might then have been likened to a countless multitude of voices, all singing to their Creator in one harmonious psalm of praise. But, as it is, we see no vestige of such correlation; every species is for itself, and for itself alone—an outcome of the always and everywhere fiercely raging struggle for life.
So much, then, for the case ofphysicalevil; but Dr. Flint also treats of the case ofmoralevil. Let us see what this well-equipped writer can make of this old problem in the present year of grace. He says—"But it will be objected, could not God have made moral creatures who would be certain always to choose what is right, always to acquiesce in His holy will?... Well, far be it from me to deny that God could have originated a sinless moral system.... But if questioned as to why He has not done better, I feel no shame in confessing my ignorance. It seems to me that when you have resolved the problem of the origin of moral evil into the question, Why has God not originated a moral universe in which the lowest moral being would be as excellent as the archangels are? you have at once shown it to bespeculatively incapable of solution[italics mine], and practically without importance[!]. The question is one which would obviously give rise to another, Why has God not created only moral beings as much superior to the archangels as they are superior to the lowest Australian aborigines? But no complete answer can be given to a question which may be followed by a series of similar questions to which there is no end. We have, besides, neither the facts nor the faculties to answer such questions."[46]
Now I confess that this argument presents to my mind more of subtlety than sense. I had previously imagined that the archangels were supposed to enjoy a condition of moral existence which might fairly be thought to remove them from any association with that of the Australian aborigines. But as this question is one that belongs to Divinity, I am here quite prepared to bow to Professor Flint's authority—hoping, however, that he is prepared to take the responsibility should the archangels ever care to accuse me of calumny. But, as a logician, I must be permitted to observe, that if I ask, Why am I not better than I am? it is no answer to tell me, Because the archangels are not better than they are. For aught that I know to the contrary, the archangels may be morallyperfect—as an authority in such matters has told us that even "just men" may become,—and therefore, for aught that I know to the contrary, Professor Flint's regress of moral degreesad infinitum, may be an ontological absurdity. But granting, for the sake of argument, that archangels fall infinitely short of moral perfection, and I should only be able to see in the fact a hopeless aggravation of my previous difficulty. If it is hard to reconcile the supreme goodness of God with the moral turpitude of man, much more would it be hard to do so if his very angels are depraved. Therefore, if the reasonable question which I originally put "may be followed by a series of similar questions to which there is no end," the goodness of God must simply be pronounced a delusion. For the question which I originally put was no mere flimsy question of a stupidly unreal description. My own moral depravity is a matter of painful certainty to me, and I want to know why, if there is a God of infinite power and goodness, he should have made me thus. And in answer I am told that my question is "practically without importance," because there may be an endless series of beings who, in their several degrees, are in a similar predicament to myself. Perhaps they are; but if so, the moral evil with which I am directly acquainted is made all the blacker by the fact that it is thus but a drop in an infinite ocean of moral imperfection. When, therefore, Professor Flint goes on to say, "We ought to be content if we can show that what God has done is wise and right, and not perplex ourselves as to why He has not done an infinity of other things," I answer, Most certainly; butcanwe show that what God has done is wise and right? Unquestionably not. That what he has donemaybe wise and right, could we see his whole scheme of things, no careful thinker will deny; but to suppose it can beshownthat he has done this, is an instance of purblind fanaticism which is most startling in a work onTheism. "The best world,we may be assured, that our fancies can feign, would in reality be far inferior to the world God has made, whatever imperfections we may think we see in it." Are we leading a sermon on the datum "God is love"? No; but a work on the questions, Is there a God? and, if so, Is he a God of love? And yet the work is written by a man who evidently tries to argue fairly. What shall we say of the despotism of preformed beliefs? May we not say at least this much—that those who endeavour to reconcile their theories of divine goodness with the facts of human evil might well appropriate to themselves the words above quoted, "We have neither the facts nor the faculties to answer such questions"? For the "facts" indeed are absent, and the "faculties" of impartial thought must be absent also, if this obvious truth cannot be seen—that "these questions" only derive their "speculatively unanswerable" character from the rational falsity of the manner by which it is sought to answer them. The "facts" of our moral nature, so far as honest reason can perceive, belie the hypothesis of Theism; and although the "faculties" of man may be forced by prejudice into an acceptance of contradictory propositions, the truth is obvious that only by the hypothesis of Evolution can that old-tied knot be cut—the Origin of Evil. The form of Theism for which Dr. Flint is arguing is the current form, viz., that there is a God who combines in himself the attributes ofinfinitepower andperfectgoodness—a God at onceomnipotentandwhollymoral. But, in view of the fact that moral evil exists in man, the proposition that God is omnipotent and the proposition that he is wholly moral become contradictory; and therefore the fact of moral evil can only be met, either by abandoning one or other of these propositions, or by altogether rejecting the hypothesis of Theism.
As a continuation of my criticism on Mr. Fiske's views, I think it is desirable to add a few words concerning the speculative annihilation with which he supposes Mr. Spencer's doctrines to have visited Materialism. Of course it is a self-evident truism that the doctrine of Relativity is destructive of Materialism, if by Materialism we mean a theory which ignores that doctrine. In other words, the doctrine of Relativity, if accepted, clearly excludes the doctrine that Matter,as known phenomenally, is at all likely to be a true representative of whateverthing-in-itselfit may be that constitutes Mind. But this position is fully established by the doctrine of Relativity alone, and is therefore not in the least affected, either by way of confirmation or otherwise, by Mr. Spencer's extended doctrine of the Unknowable—it being only because the latter doctrine presupposes the doctrine of Relativity that it is exclusive of Materialism in the sense which has just been stated. So far, therefore, Mr. Spencer's writings cannot be held to have any special bearing on the doctrine of Materialism. Such a special bearing is only exerted by these writings when they proceed to show that "it seems an imaginable possibility that units of external force may be identical in nature with the units of the force known as feeling." Let us then ascertain how far it is true that the argument already quoted, and which leads to this conclusion, is utterly destructive of Materialism.
In the first place, I may observe that this argument differs in several instructive particulars from the anti-materialistic argument of Locke, which we have already had occasion to consider. For while Locke erroneously imagined that the test of inconceivability is of equivalent valuewhereverit is applied, save only where it conflicts with preconceived ideas on the subject of Theism (seeAppendix A.), Spencer, of course, is much too careful a thinker to fall into so obvious a fallacy. But again, it is curious to observe that in the anti-materialistic argument of Spencer the test of inconceivability is used in a manner the precise opposite of that in which it is used in the anti-materialistic argument of Locke. For while the ground of Locke's argument is that Materialism must be untrue because it is inconceivable that Matter (and Force) should be of a psychical nature; the ground of Spencer's argument is that what we know as Force (and Matter) maynotinconceivably be of a psychical nature. For my own part, I think that Spencer's argument is, psychologically speaking, the more valid of the two; but nevertheless I think that, logically speaking, it is likewise invalid to a perceptibly great, and to a further indefinite, degree. For the argument sets out with the reflection that we can only know Matter and Force as symbols of consciousness, while we know consciousness directly, and therefore that we can go further in conceivably translating Matter and Force into terms of Mind thanvice versa. And this is true, but it does not therefore follow that the truth is more likely to lie in the direction that thought can most easily travel. For although I am at one with Mr. Spencer, whom Mr. Fiske follows, in regarding his test of truth—viz., inconceivability of a negation—as the mostultimatetest within our reach, I cannot agree with him that in this particular case it is the mosttrustworthytest within our reach. I cannot do so because the reflection is forced upon me that, "as the terms which are contemplated in this particular case are respectively the highest abstractions of objective and of subjective existence, the test of truth in question is neutralised by directly encountering the inconceivable relation that exists between subject and object." Or, in other words, as before stated, "whateverthe cause of Mind may be, we can clearly perceive it to be a subjective necessity of the case that, in ultimate analysis, we should find it more easy to conceive of this cause as resembling Mind—the only entity of which we are directly conscious—than to conceive of it as any other entity of which we are only indirectly conscious." When, therefore, Mr. Spencer argues that "it is impossible to interpret inner existence in terms of outer existence," while it is not so impossible to interpret outer existence in terms of inner existence, the fact is merely what we should in any case expectà priorito be the fact, and therefore as a fact it is not a very surprising discoveryà posteriori. So that when Mr. Fiske proceeds to make this fact the basis of his argument, that because we can more conceivably regard objective existence as like in kind to subjective existence than conversely, therefore we should conclude that there is a corresponding probability in favour of the more conceivable proposition, I demur to his argument. For, fully accepting the fact on which the argument rests, and it seems to me, in view of what I have said, that the latter assigns an altogether disproportionate value to the test of inconceivability in this case. Far from endowing this test with so great an authority in this case, I should regard it not only as perceptibly of very small validity, but, as I have said, invalid to a degree which we have no means of ascertaining. If it be asked, What other gauge of probability can we have in this matter other than such a direct appeal to consciousness? I answer, that this appeal being hereà prioriinvalid, we are left to fall back upon the formal probability which is established by an application of scientific canons to objective phenomena. (See footnote in§ 14.) For, be it carefully observed, Mr. Spencer, and his disciple Mr. Fiske, are not idealists. Were this the case, of course the test of an immediate appeal to consciousness would be to them the only test available. But, on the contrary, as all the world knows, Mr. Spencer asserts the existence of an unknown Reality, of which all phenomena are the manifestations. Consequently, what we call Force and Matter are, according to this doctrine, phenomenal manifestations of this objective Reality. That is to say, for aught that we can know, Force and Matter may be anything within the whole range of the possible; and the only limitation that can be assigned to them is, that they are modes of existence which are independent of, or objective to, our individual consciousness, but which are uniformly translated into consciousness as Force and Matter. Now it does not signify one iota for the purposes of Materialism whether these our symbolical representations of Force and Matter are accurate or inaccurate representations of their corresponding realities,—unless, of course, someindependentreason could be shown for supposing that in their reality they resemble Mind. Call Forcexand Mattery, and so long as we are agreed thatxandyareobjective realities which are uniformly translated into consciousness as Force and Matter, the materialistic deductions remain unaffected by this mere change in our terminology; these essential facts are allowed to remain substantially as before, namely, that there is an external something or external somethings—Matter and Force, orxandy—which themselves display no observable tokens of consciousness, but which are invariably associated with consciousness in a highly distinctive manner.
I dwell at length upon this subject, because although Mr. Spencer himself does not appear to attach much weight to his argument, Mr. Fiske, as we have seen, elevates it into a basis for "Cosmic Theism." Yet so far is this argument from "ruling out," as Mr. Fiske asserts, the essential doctrine of Materialism—i.e., the doctrine that what we know as Mind is an effect of certain collocations and distributions ofwhat we knowas Matter and Force—that the argument might be employed with almost the same degree of effect, or absence of effect, to disprove any instance of recognised causation. Thus, for example, the doctrine of Materialism is no more "ruled out" by the reflection that what we cognise as cerebral matter is only cognised relatively, than would the doctrine of chemical equivalents be "ruled out" by the parallel reflection that what we cognise as chemical elements are only cognised relatively. I say advisedly, "withalmostthe same degree of effect," because, to be strictly accurate, we ought not altogether to ignore the indefinitely slender presumption which Mr. Spencer's subjective test of inconceivability establishes on the side of Spiritualism, as against the objective evidence of causation on the side of Materialism. As this is an important subject, I will be a little more explicit. We are agreed that Force and Matter are entities external to consciousness, of which we can possess only symbolical knowledge. Therefore, as we have said, Force and Matter may be anything within the whole range of the possible. But we know that Mind is a possible entity, while we have no certain knowledge of any other possible entity. Hence we are justified in saying, It is possible that Force and Matter may be identical with the only entity which we know as certainly possible; but forasmuch as we do not know the sum of possible entities, we have no means of calculating the chances there are that what we know as Force and Matter are identical in nature with Mind. Still, that there isachance we cannot dispute; all we can assert is, that we are unable to determine its value, and that it would be a mistake to suppose we can do so, even in the lowest degree, by Mr. Spencer's test of inconceivability. Nevertheless, the fact that there is such a chance renders it in some indeterminate degree more probable that what we know as Force and Matter are identical with what we know as Mind, than that what we know as oxygen and hydrogen are identical with what we know as water. So that to this extent the essential doctrine of Materialism is "ruled out" in a further degree by the philosophy of the Unknowable than is the chemical doctrine of equivalents. But, of course, this indefinite possibility of what we know as Force and Matter being identical with what we know as Mind does not neutralise, in any determinable degree, the considerations whereby Materialism in its present shape infers that what we know as Force and Matter are probably distinct from what we know as Mind.
But I see no reason why Materialism should be restricted to this "its present shape." Even if we admit to the fullest extent the validity of Mr. Spencer's argument, and conclude with Professor Clifford as a matter of probability that "the universe consists entirely of Mind-stuff," I do not see that the admission would affect Materialism in any essential respect. For here again the admission would amount to little else, so far as Materialism is directly concerned, than a change of terminology: instead of calling objective existence "Matter," we call it "Mind-stuff." I say "tolittleelse," because no doubt in one particular there is here some change introduced in the speculative standing of the subject. So long as Matter and Mind,xandy, are held to be antithetically opposed in substance, so long must Materialism suppose that a connection ofcausalitysubsists between the two, such that the former substance isproducedin some unaccountable way by the latter. But when Matter and Mind,xandy, are supposed to be identical in substance, the need for any additional supposition as to a causal connection is excluded. But unless we hold, what seems to me an uncalled-for opinion, that the essential feature of Materialism consists in a postulation of a causal connection betweenxandy, it would appear that the only effect of supposingxandyto be really but one substancez, must be that ofstrengtheningthe essential doctrine of Materialism—the doctrine, namely, that conscious intellectual existence isnecessarilyassociated with that form of existence which we know phenomenally as Matter and Motion. If it is true that a "a moving molecule of inorganic matter does not possess mind or consciousness, but it possesses a small piece of Mind-stuff," then assuredly the central position of Materialism is shown to be impregnable. For while it remains as true as ever that mind and consciousness can only emerge when what we know phenomenally as "Matter takes the complex form of a living brain," we have abolished the necessity for assuming even a causal connection between the substance of what we know phenomenally as Matter and the substance of what we know phenomenally as Mind: we have found that, in the last resort, the phenomenal connection between what we know as Matter and what we know as Mind is actually even more intimate than a connection of causality; we have found that it is a substantial identity.
To sum up this discussion. We have considered the bearing of modern speculation on the doctrine of Materialism in three successive stages of argument. First, we had to consider the bearing on Materialism of the simple doctrine of Relativity. Here we saw that Materialism was only affected to the extent of being compelled to allow that what we know as Matter and Motion are not known as they are in themselves. But we also saw that, as the inscrutable realities are uniformly translated into consciousness as Matter and Motion, it still remains as true as ever thatwhat we knowas Matter and Motion may be the causes of what we know as Mind. Even, therefore, if the supposition of causality is taken to be an essential feature of Materialism, Materialism would be in no wise affected by substituting for the words Matter and Motion the symbolsxandy.
The second of the three stages consisted in showing that Mr. Spencer's argument as to the possible identity of Force and Feeling is not in itself sufficient to overthrow the doctrine that what we know as Matter and Motion may be the cause of what we know as Mind. For the mere fact of its being moreconceivablethat units of Force should resemble units of Feeling than conversely, is no warrant for concluding that in reality any corresponding probability obtains. The test of conceivability, although the most ultimate test that is available, is here rendered vague and valueless by theà prioriconsideration thatwhateverthe cause of Mind may be (if it has a cause), we must find it more easy to conceive of this cause as resembling Mind than to conceive of it as resembling any other entity of which we are only conscious indirectly.
Lastly, in the third place, we saw that even if Mr. Spencer's argument were fully subscribed to, and Mind in its substantial essence were conceded to be causeless, the central position of Materialism would still remain unaffected. For Mr. Spencer does not suppose that his "units of Force" are themselves endowed with consciousness, any more than Professor Clifford supposes his "moving molecules of inorganic matter" to be thus endowed. So that the only change which these possibilities, even if conceded to be actualities, produce in the speculative standing of Materialism, is to show that the raw material of consciousness, instead of requiring to becausedby other substances—Matter and Force,xandy,—occurs ready made as those substances. But the essential feature of Materialism remains untouched—namely, that what we know as Mind is dependent (whether by way of causality or not is immaterial) on highly complex forms ofwhat we knowas Matter, in association with highly peculiar distributions ofwhat we knowas Force.
Some physicists are inclined to dispute the fundamental proposition in which the whole of Mr. Spencer's system of philosophy may be said to rest—the proposition, namely, that the fact of the "persistence of force" constitutes the ultimate basis of science. For my own part, I cannot but believe that any disagreement on this matter only arises from some want of mutual understanding; and, therefore, in order to anticipate any criticisms to which the present work may be open on this score, I append this explanatory note.
I readily grant that the term "persistence of force" is not a happy one, seeing that the word "force," as used by physicists, does not at the present time convey the full meaning which Mr. Spencer desires it to convey. But I think that any impartial physicist will be prepared to admit that, in the present state of his science, we are entitled to conclude that energy of position is merely the result of energy of motion; or, in other words, that potential energy is merely an expression of the fact that the universe, as a whole, is replete with actual energy, whose essential characteristic is that it is indestructible. And this may be concluded without committing ourselves to any particular theory as to the physical explanation of gravity; all we need assert is, that in some way or other gravity is the result of ubiquitous energy. And this, it seems to me, we must assert, or else conclude that gravity can never admit of a physical explanation. For all that we mean by a physical explanation is the proved establishment of an equation between two quantities of energy; so that if energy of position does not admit of being interpreted in terms of energy of motion, we must conclude that it does not admit of being interpreted at all—at least not in any physical sense.
Throughout the foregoing essays, therefore, I have assumed that all forms of energy are but relatively varying expressions of the same fact—the fact, namely, which Mr. Spencer means to express when he says that force is persistent. And it seems to me almost needless to show that this fact is really the basis of all science. For unless this fact is assumed as a postulate, not only would scientific inquiry become impossible, but all experience would become chaotic. The physicist could not prosecute his researches unless he presupposed that the forces which he measures are of a permanent nature, any more than could the chemist prosecute his researches unless he presupposed that the materials which he estimates by energy-units are likewise of a permanent nature. And similarly with all the other sciences, as well as with every judgment in our daily experience. If, therefore, any one should be hypercritical enough to dispute the position that the doctrine of the conservation of energy constitutes the "ultimate datum" of science, I think it will be enough to observe that if this isnotthe "ultimate datum" of science, science can have no "ultimate datum" at all. For any datum more ultimate than permanent existence is manifestly impossible, while any such datum as non-permanent existence would clearly render science impossible. Even, therefore, if such hypercriticism had a valid basis of apparently adverse fact whereon to stand, I should feel myself justified in neglecting it onà priorigrounds; but the only basis on which such hypercriticism can rest is, not the knowledge of any adverse facts, but the ignorance of certain facts which we must either conclude to be facts or else conclude that science can have no ultimate datum whereon to rest. In the foregoing essays, therefore, I have not scrupled to maintain that the ultimate datum of science is destructive of teleology as a scientific argument for Theism; because, unless we deny the possibility of any such ultimate datum, and so land ourselves in hopeless scepticism, we must conclude that there can be no datum more ultimate than this—Permanent Existence; and this is just the datum which we have seen to be destructive of teleology as a scientific argument for Theism.
It may be well to point out that from this ultimate datum of science—or rather, let us say, of experience—there follows a deductive explanation of the law of causation. For this law, when stripped of all the metaphysical corruptions with which it has been so cumbersomely clothed, simply means that a given collocation of antecedents unconditionally produces a certain consequent. But this fact, otherwise stated, amounts to nothing more than a re-statement of the ultimate datum of experience—the fact that energy is indestructible. For if this latter fact be granted, it is obvious that the so-called law of causation follows as a deductive necessity—or rather, as I have said, that this law becomes but another way of expressing the same fact. This is obvious if we reflect that the only means we have of ascertaining that energy isnotdestructible, is by observing that similar antecedentsdoinvariably determine similar consequents. It is as a vast induction from all those particular cases of sequence-changes which collectively we call causation that we conclude energy to be indestructible. And, obversely, having concluded energy to be indestructible, we can plainly see that in any particular cases of its manifestation in sequence-phenomena, the unconditional resemblance between effects due to similar causes which is formulated by the law of causation is merely the direct expression of the fact which we had previously concluded. It seems to me, therefore, that the old-standing question concerning the nature of causation ought now properly to be considered as obsolete. Doubtless there will long remain a sort of hereditary tendency in metaphysical minds to look upon cause-connection as "a mysterious tie" between antecedent and consequent; but henceforth there is no need for scientific minds to regard this "tie" as "mysterious" in any other sense than the existence of energy is "mysterious." To state the law of causation is merely to state the fact that energy is indestructible.
And from this there also arises at once the explanation and the justification of our belief in the uniformity of nature. If energy is, in its relation to us, ubiquitous and persistent, it clearly follows that in all its manifestations which collectively we call nature, similar preceding manifestations must always determine similar succeeding manifestations; for otherwise the energy concerned would require on one or on both of the occasions, either to have become augmented by creation, or dissipated by annihilation. Thus our belief in the uniformity of nature, as in the validity of the law of causation, is merely an expression of our belief in the ubiquitous and indestructible character of energy.
Such being the case, we may fairly conclude that all these old-standing "mysteries" are now merged in the one mystery of existence. And deeper than this it is manifestly impossible that they can be merged; for it is manifestly impossible that Existence in the abstract can ever admit of what we call explanation. Hence we can clearly see that, in a scientific sense, there must always remain a final mystery of things. But although we can thus see that, from the very meaning of what we call explanation, it follows that at the base of all our explanations there must lie a great Inexplicable, I think that the mystery of Existence in the abstract may be rendered less appalling if we reflect that, as opposed to Existence, there is only one logical alternative—Non-existence. Supposing, then, our physical explanations to have reached their highest limits by resolving all modes of Existence into one mode—force, matter, life, and mind, being shown but different manifestations of the same Infinite Existence—the final mystery of things would then become resolved into the simple question, Why is there Existence?—Why is there not Nothing?
Let us then first ask, What is "Nothing"? Is it a mere word, which presents no meaning as corresponding to any objective reality, or has the word a meaning notwithstanding its being an inconceivable one? Or, otherwise phrased, is Nothing possible or impossible? Now, although in ordinary conversation it is generally taken for granted that Nothing is possible, there is certainly no more ground for this supposition than there is for its converse—viz., that Nothing is merely a word which signifies the negation of possibility. For analysis will show that the choice between these two counter-suppositions can only be made in the presence of knowledge which is necessarily absent—the knowledge whether the universe of Existence is finite or infinite. If the universe as a whole is finite, the word Nothing would stand as a symbol to denote an unthinkable blank of which a finite universe is the content. And forasmuch as Something and Nothing would then become actual, as distinguished from nominal correlatives, we could have no guarantee that, in an absolute or transcendental sense, it may not be possible, although it is inconceivable, for Something to become Nothing or Nothing Something. Hence, if Existence is finite, No-existence becomes possible; and the doctrine of the indestructibility of Existence becomes, for aught that we can tell, of a merely relative signification. But, on the other hand, if Existence is infinite, No-existence becomes impossible; and the doctrine of the indestructibility of Existence becomes, in a logical sense, of an absolute signification. For it is manifest that if the universe of Existence is without end in space and time, the possibility of No-existence is of necessity excluded, and the word "Nothing" thus becomes a mere negation of possibility.[47]
Thus, if it be conceded that the universe as a whole is infinite both in space and time, the concession amounts to an abolition of the final mystery of things. For all that we mean by a mystery is something that requires an explanation, and the whole of the final mystery of things is therefore embodied in the question, "Why is there Existence?—Why is there not Nothing?" But if the universe of Existence be conceded infinite, this question is sufficiently met by the answer, "Because Existence is, and Nothing is not." If it is retorted, But this is no real answer; I reply, It is as real as the question. For to ask, Why is there Existence? is, upon the supposition which has been conceded, equivalent to asking, Why is the possible possible? And if such questions cannot be answered, it is scarcely right to say that on this account they embody a mystery; because the questions are really not rational questions, and therefore the fact of their not admitting of any rational answer cannot be held to show that the questions embody any rational mystery. That thereisa rational mystery, in the sense of there being something which can never beexplained, I do not dispute; all I assert is, that this mystery is inexplicable, onlybecause there is nothing to explain; the mystery being ultimate, to ask for an explanation of that which, being ultimate, requires no explanation, is irrational. Or, to state the case in another way, if it is asked, Why is there not Nothing? it is a sufficient answer, on supposition of the universe being infinite, to say, Because Nothing is nothing; it is merely a word which presents no meaning, and which, so far as anything can be conceived to the contrary, never can present any meaning.
The above discussion has proceeded on the supposition of Existence being infinite; but practically the same result would follow on the counter-supposition of Existence being finite. For although in this case, as we have seen, Non-entity would still be included within the range of possibility, it would still be no more conceivable as such than is Entity; and hence the question, Why is there not Nothing? would still be irrational, seeing that, even if the possibility which the question supposes were realised, it would in no wise tend to explain the mystery of Something. And even if it could, the final mystery would not be thus excluded; it would merely be transferred from the mystery of Existence to the mystery of Non-existence. Thus under every conceivable supposition we arrive at the same termination—viz., that in the last resort there must be a final mystery, which, as forming the basis of all possible explanations, cannot itself receive any explanation, and which therefore is really not, in any proper sense of the term, a mystery at all. It is merely a fact which itself requires no explanation, because it is a fact than which none can be more ultimate. So that even if we suppose this ultimate fact to be an Intelligent Being, it is clearly impossible that he should be able toexplainhis own existence, since the possibility of any such explanation would imply that his existence could not be ultimate. In the sense, therefore, of not admitting of any explanation, his existence would require to be a mystery to himself, rendering it impossible for him to state anything further with regard to it than this—"I am that I am."
I do not doubt that this way of looking at the subject will be deemed unsatisfactory at first sight, because it seems to be, as it were, a merely logical way of cheating our intelligence out of an intuitively felt justification for its own curiosity in this matter. But the fault really lies in this intuitive feeling of justification not being itself justifiable. For this particular question, it will be observed, differs from all other possible questions with which the mind has to deal. All other questions being questions concerning manifestations of existence presupposed as existing, it is perfectly legitimate to seek for an explanation of one series of manifestations in another—i.e., to refer a less known group to a group better known. But the case is manifestly quite otherwise when, having merged one group of manifestations into another group, and this into another for an indefinite number of stages, we suddenly make a leap to the last possible stage and ask, "Into what group are we to merge the basis of all our previous groups, and of all groups which can possibly be formed in the future? How are we to classify that which contains all possible classes? Where are we to look for an explanation of Existence?" When thus clearly stated, the question, is, as I have said, manifestly irrational; but the point with which I am now concerned is this—When in plain reason the question isseento be irrational, why in intuitive sentiment should it not befeltto be so? The answer, I think, is, that the interrogative faculty being usually occupied with questions which admit of rational answers, we acquire a sort of intellectual habit of presupposing every wherefore to have a therefore, and thus, when eventually we arrive at the last of all possible wherefores, which itself supplies the basis of all possible therefores, we fail at first to recognise the exceptional character of our position. We fail at first to perceive that, from the very nature of this particular case, our wherefore is deprived of the rational meaning which it had in all the previous cases, where the possibility of a corresponding therefore was presupposed. And failing fully to perceive this truth, our organised habit of expecting an answer to our question asserts itself, and we experience the same sense of intellectual unrest in the presence of this wholly meaningless and absurd question, as we experience in the presence of questions significant and rational.