QUESTIONS179. Illustrate the independence of form feeling and content feeling.180. Explain the pleasantness of unity in variety.181. Give examples of unity in variety.182. Illustrate feeling based on association of ideas.183. What examples are given in the text of transference of feeling?184. What are the two relations between theIand the rest of our thought, important for our feeling?185. What is irradiation of feeling?
QUESTIONS
179. Illustrate the independence of form feeling and content feeling.
180. Explain the pleasantness of unity in variety.
181. Give examples of unity in variety.
182. Illustrate feeling based on association of ideas.
183. What examples are given in the text of transference of feeling?
184. What are the two relations between theIand the rest of our thought, important for our feeling?
185. What is irradiation of feeling?
Our preceding discussion shows that an exhaustive description of all our complicated feelings is an enormous task. We cannot enter upon it here. But certain classes of feelings may be described in more detail; namely, emotions and moods.
Those feelings which are based on associated ideas, and which rise at once to great intensity, are called emotions. This definition is somewhat deficient in so far as it is difficult to draw the line which exactly separatesgreat from small intensity and a quick from a slow rise of intensity. Nevertheless, the stormy character of certain feelings not directly attached to sensory stimulation is so conspicuous that a special name is desirable. Anger, fright, distress, and hilarity are such feelings: hilarity distinctly pleasant, fright and distress equally unpleasant; anger also unpleasant, yet mixed sometimes with a certain amount of pleasure. The feeling and the consciousness of its cause are usually so intense in an emotion that there is little room for coherent thought. The judgment of a person in a state of emotion is narrow; his actions may be called shortsighted.
Those feelings which become separated from their original perceptual or ideational substratum and attach themselves to any other kind of perception or ideation—no matter what feelings properly belong to these—are called moods. They are usually, probably because of the separation mentioned, of small intensity. But their duration is often very extended. As typical examples may be mentioned grudge, worry, dejection, and cheerfulness.
Like all feelings, emotions and moods are in some way related to motor activity. Of particular interest here are not the purposive movements, which are by no means absent, but a large number of muscular activities seemingly of little or no usefulness, resulting from inherited nervous connections. In so far as these muscular activities become outwardly noticeable they are called the expressions of the emotions or moods. The angry man instinctively clinches his fist, the hilarious fellow dances about. Laughing, weeping, wrinkling of the forehead, and blushing are further expressions of this class. Contraction of the muscle fibers in the skin causes goose flesh, or the hair to stand on end. Breathing undergoes changes, becomingquicker or slower than normal. The blood vessels expand or diminish in size through the activity of the muscle fibers in their walls, causing the subject to look red or pale, to feel warm or cold, and in the latter case to shiver. Secretion of saliva, perspiration, and secretion of the lachrymal glands may result from the changes in the circulation of the blood. Fatigue, nausea, lack of appetite, and other symptoms of internal processes may occur.
These phenomena were almost entirely neglected by the older psychology, although their significance was understood by physicians. More recently their psychological import has been recognized and even overestimated. It has been said that these phenomena not only occur in emotions, butarethe emotions; that the emotions consist in the organic sensations resulting from these reflex muscular activities (theory of James and Lange). We do not weep because we are sorry, but we are sorry because we weep. We do not tremble because we fear a pistol held up before us, but we are frightened because we tremble. Two arguments favor this view. Let all bodily symptoms be gone, and the strongest emotion is gone too. Anger without clinching the hand is no anger. While I am sitting calmly on a chair, smiling, I cannot be angry. And further, when the bodily symptoms are exactly imitated or produced by drugs or by nervous disease, the emotion is there. Alcohol makes a person hilarious and courageous without any perception of the kind which usually produces this effect. Certain poisons or mania cause rage very much like that produced by an insult.
However, these facts do not prove that an emotion contains nothing else than organic sensations. It is obvious that, according to the laws of association, the contents of an emotion must be reproduced by those organic sensationswhich were present innumerable times when that emotion was present. The organic sensations resulting from poisons or mania perhaps call up an idea of an insult, and the complete emotion of anger naturally follows. Because of the firmly established associations, it is also to be expected that the voluntary substitution of a different set of organic sensations interferes with a present emotion. Introspection makes it clear that an emotion contains much more than a mere group of organic sensations.
The instinctive motor activities characteristic of the various emotions may be classified under two headings: excitation and depression. The difference is especially noticeable in unpleasant emotions: anger is an emotion of excitement; fear, as a rule, of depression. But this distinction is not entirely absent in pleasant emotions. The joy of a grateful memory is characterized, not indeed by depression, but by a restfulness very distinct from the excited joy of expectation or the delight at a present experience, although the pleasantness felt may be of exactly the same degree of intensity. A careful analysis of these motor activities must distinguish, not only excitement and depression, but also their occurrence in either the skeletal or the involuntary muscles, the muscles of the vascular system. Thus one may distinguish four classes of emotions, as characterized chiefly by heightened activity of the skeletal or of the vascular muscles, or by weakened activity of the skeletal or of the vascular muscles. Symptoms resulting from abnormal contraction or relaxation of the vascular muscles are, for example, a person’s growing pallid, or blushing, and the corresponding sensations of cold and warmth.
Two other concepts relating to the emotional life deserve to be mentioned, temperament and passion. Temperamentsare inherited tendencies of the life of feeling in special directions. Since ancient times four have been distinguished: the sanguine, bilious (choleric), melancholic (atrabilious), phlegmatic (lymphatic). The ancients held that temperament is conditioned on the predominance of one of the four humors, the blood, lymph, yellow bile, and black bile. This is of course pure speculation of a prescientific period. But the distinction of the four classes agrees well with common observation, although mixed forms of temperament are more common than the pure types. People are either optimistically or pessimistically inclined. The sanguine and the phlegmatic are the optimists, the bilious and the melancholic the pessimists. On the other hand, some people are excitable, impetuous, others are not easily aroused. The sanguine and the bilious are quickly excited, the melancholic and the phlegmatic are calm and sluggish.
Passions are acquired dispositions toward special kinds of pleasant experiences. We might say that they are foreseeing, voluntary emotions. We speak of the passion of the gambler, the smoker, the collector, the lover. One may also compare an emotion with an acute disease, a passion with a chronic disease. Animals, too, possess emotions, as joy, fear, and rage. But it seems that they are not sufficiently capable of anticipating emotions to be said to possess passions.
QUESTIONS186. How are emotions defined?187. How does an emotion influence coherent thought?188. How are moods defined?189. Mention a number of moods and an equal number of emotions, each comparable to one of the moods.190. What four classes of motor activities characteristic of emotions are distinguished in the text?191. What motor activities are called expressions?192. Give examples of expressions of emotion.193. Give examples of motor activities which are not expressions of emotion, but nevertheless of much significance for the subject’s experience of an emotion.194. What is temperament?195. What is a passion?
QUESTIONS
186. How are emotions defined?
187. How does an emotion influence coherent thought?
188. How are moods defined?
189. Mention a number of moods and an equal number of emotions, each comparable to one of the moods.
190. What four classes of motor activities characteristic of emotions are distinguished in the text?
191. What motor activities are called expressions?
192. Give examples of expressions of emotion.
193. Give examples of motor activities which are not expressions of emotion, but nevertheless of much significance for the subject’s experience of an emotion.
194. What is temperament?
195. What is a passion?
We have shown in an earlier chapter how voluntary—that is, foreseeing—actions develop out of instincts. Sensations result from the instinctive action, are associated with those other impressions which called forth the instinctive response, can then be reproduced by them, and can themselves produce the action. When an action is thus foreseen, it is called voluntary. Such simple voluntary actions are then combined into complicated groups and chain-like progressions. The conscious result of the first movement calls up the idea of a further movement, its execution that of a third movement, and so on. Serial activities of this kind often go on for a long time; for example, walking, eating, dressing, writing, sewing, rowing. As experience of the relations between the external things and practice in the performance advance, such serial actions become more and more perfect in several respects. Their conscious anticipation is more and more extended, so that they may be adapted to very remote consequences, the occurrence of which is not expected until days or weeks afterward. They are more and more refined in that they adjust themselves accurately in direction, speed, and force to the special circumstances of each case. They areperformed in less time and more economically; all detail movements which are either wrong or merely superfluous come to be entirely omitted.
That the conscious processes in voluntary movements tend toward simplification has been mentioned in§ 10. A whole series of movements, which was originally performed by each movement being consciously anticipated in order, is now performed without further consciousness as soon as the series has once begun. One fact, however, is highly interesting in this connection because it shows how the several movements of the series are actually caused. Although consciousness of all those anticipations of the movements is no longer required, the physiological sensory functions must run their course in the normal order or disturbances occur in the movement. This may be demonstrated in an animal by cutting all the sensory nerves of a limb, but carefully leaving all the motor nerves intact. The limb nevertheless appears paralyzed. A similar case in man has been described by Strümpell. A workman received a knife wound in the spinal cord. Complete recovery occurred, with the exception that the right hand and lower arm remained perfectly anesthetic: no kind of cutaneous or organic sensation was any longer perceived. The muscles of the hand and arm functioned almost normally. But movements, even very moderately complicated, could no longer be performed unless the man saw his hand and its movement. The illustration (figure 18) shows his behavior when requested to form a ring with his thumb and index finger. He could do this fairly well when permitted to look at his hand. Otherwise it was impossible, in spite of his will and the muscular capacity to perform this action. We see, then, that the peripheral impressions are necessary to bring about the several partialmovements in this case of acquired serial activity, although these impressions have long ceased to become conscious whenever the act is done.
Fig. 18.—Visual and Kinesthetic Control of Voluntary Action: the Former Intact, the Latter Lost.Fig. 18.—Visual and Kinesthetic Control of Voluntary Action: the Former Intact, the Latter Lost.
When we anticipate a final result of an extended series of movements, it frequently happens that the movement which directly leads to that result is, for one cause or other, not immediately possible. Imagine that a person for the first time sees some one pulling a cork from a bottle, pouring some of the contents into a glass, and inviting him to drink. Seeing the bottle again calls up in his mind the idea of a delicious beverage and the movement of drinking. But drinking is impossible, for there is no glass, and the bottle is corked. In such a case the idea of the result, which because of its importance is being kept constantly in mind, unrolls the total series of ideas in the reverseorder. It calls up first the thoughts directly preceding the final result, then the thoughts preceding these, and so on, until an idea is reached which can be realized by a movement. In our example the person becomes conscious of the idea of pulling the cork, of the corkscrew used for this purpose, the place where the corkscrew was found hanging, the movements of preparing it for the task, and a similar set of ideas for the glass; and he thus becomes able to carry out the whole series of movements which result in the taste of the beverage.
QUESTIONS196. Give examples of serial activities of the foreseeing kind.197. In what ways are activities of the kind just mentioned perfected?198. What is the relation of sensory activity, consciousness, and performance in perfected serial movements?199. Illustrate by a pathological case the relation just spoken of.200. What rule is illustrated by the example in the text of pulling a cork from a bottle?
QUESTIONS
196. Give examples of serial activities of the foreseeing kind.
197. In what ways are activities of the kind just mentioned perfected?
198. What is the relation of sensory activity, consciousness, and performance in perfected serial movements?
199. Illustrate by a pathological case the relation just spoken of.
200. What rule is illustrated by the example in the text of pulling a cork from a bottle?
As experience of the connections, complications, and consequences of things advances, the ideas called up by any impression must clearly become very numerous. Ideas of near and remote, probable and improbable, desirable and undesirable, consequences,—ideas of fit and unfit, direct and indirect means of bringing about or preventing those consequences,—ideas of difficulties and obstacles, facilities and openings must tend to appear, to compete with each other, to disappear and reappear in rapid succession, or merely to approach consciousness ready to appear when their services should be needed. We refer to these variousmental states, according as they appear in one or another form of connection, by such terms asreflecting,considering,choosing,desiring,rejecting,intending,deciding, and many others, all having in common the foreseeing of something to be experienced in the future as the result of our action.
What action occurs in each possible case depends on the relative force of the factors coming into play. The actual sensory impression is as a rule a rather insignificant factor. It sets free the ideas derived from innumerable previous sensory impressions. The resulting action is then nearly always extremely different from the instinctive reaction belonging to the sensory stimulation. Such actions, resulting essentially from factorswithinthe mind, not from external factors which happen to impress the mind at the moment, are calledfreeactions. Their freedom does not mean that they have no causation, that they are free of causes, but they are free of the compulsion exerted by the external stimuli of the moment. They are free actions as opposed to instinctive actions, which are not free of these stimuli of the moment, but on the contrary, completely determined by them.
Scholastic philosophy—and popular thought, which is still largely under the influence of that philosophy—recognizes still another kind of freedom of the mind. It assumes that mind, under the impression of perfectly definite external conditions and with perfectly definite internal motives of thought and action, possesses the faculty of deciding in favor of the action opposed to its own motives and of enforcing this action. This faculty of an absolutely causeless willing is assumed to be added to all the other external and internal factors determining action or, as the case may be, suppressing action. Such a faculty we cannotaccept, since according to our most fundamental conceptionsmindis not a being added to its experiences, but the totality of its experiences, in so far as it knows itself; whereas it is calledbrainin so far as it is known by other minds. The arguments brought forward in favor of a freedom of the will in the sense of a possibility of causeless action are inacceptable to the psychologist because they would make a psychological science impossible. Nevertheless, it is worth while to discuss the more important ones briefly.
Three arguments are most commonly offered. First, immediate experience tells us that, whenever we decide in favor of one action, we could have decided differently. We were conscious of the possibility of acting otherwise. The second and third arguments are of a practical nature. According to the second, the idea of a uniformly effective causation of our actions paralyzes our activity. If everything takes place by necessity, the idea of influencing the physical world or human society becomes meaningless. No one can believe in determination of our action and at the same time make an effort to instruct and educate people to act differently. Thirdly, no one can be held responsible for his actions if he could not help performing them. If all actions are causally determined, punishment becomes mere cruelty.
The first argument fails because our immediate experience under no conditions informs us exactly as to what caused and what did not cause our actions. We have just seen that a serial movement cannot be carried out unless constant sensory impressions are received from the progress of the partial movements. Immediate experience gives us no information about this necessity, which was entirely unsuspected until physiological experiment andpathological observation revealed the fact. Immediate experience tells a person who in his boarding house praises a very ordinary dinner in exaggerated terms, thathe might have kept silentas he usually does—he does not remember that the evening before when he was in a state of hypnosis a suggestion was given to him to praise his dinner the following day. Everybody else knows that he will, that he must, do it. He alone thinks, on the basis of his immediate experience, that it was an act of free will without causation. It was free, uncaused, in the same sense in which the issue of a disease, the outcome of a war, the weather, the crops, are free and uncaused; that is,he was ignorant of the cause.
Paralysis of activity is said to be the consequence of a belief in universal causation. But surely the energetic and ambitious man is not paralyzed by this belief. He feels that he is the tool used by nature to shape the destinies of the world. How could a consciousness of his importance in the causal connections of events paralyze his activity? The idle and indolent may excuse his lack of activity by saying that it is his nature to love inactivity, that he cannot help it. But who would have any more respect for him on that account? Of course it is not his belief in universal causation that makes him indolent. The lesson from history is very significant in this respect, but it must not be read one-sidedly. It is all right to point out that the fatalistic Islam is losing piece after piece of its dominion. But the same fatalistic Islam also conquered a world and for centuries kept all Europe in terror. Thus it cannot be its fatalism that determined both its rise and its downfall. In recent years, did the belief in predestination make the Boers less energetic than the belief in freedom the orthodox Spaniards?
We must say, then, that in general neither belief is of much practical significance. But as a guide in special cases the belief in universal causation is by far preferable. What can give more encouragement to the educator than the conviction that his efforts will bear fruit in one way or other because they must help to shape and direct his pupil’s activities in later life? What can be more discouraging than the belief that, whatever may be his efforts, they are just as likely to be lost on his pupil as to be effective, since the latter has the faculty of causelessly acting either in one way or in the opposite way?
The third argument asserts that universal causation is incompatible with responsibility. But what do we mean by responsibility? Nothing but the fact that society, if it can do so, will punish its members for certain deeds. Why should a belief in universal causation prevent society from punishing its members? Bismarck writes in a letter to his sister: “It is not the wolf’s fault that God has created him as he is. That does not prevent us from killing him whenever we can.” Holding a person responsible, punishing or rewarding him, does not lose its meaning if we regard his actions as being determined by causes. We do not then hold him responsible for the single act, but for his being so natured that under such circumstances he cannot help committing such a deed. The question becomes this: What is the more plausible reason for punishing a person, his abnormal deed or his abnormal, unsocial nature which made this deed possible?
It is true that punishment dealt out by an individual or a small group is often merely an instinctive act of revenge for a single deed. If a person beats me, do I have less pain if I beat him and cause him pain too? Should a gambler beat the roulette because it makes him lose andthe other man gain? Would the roulette act differently for having been beaten? Am I sure that the person whose beating me was undetermined by causes will treat me better the next time? If his actions are caused, he probably will treat me better because the memory of the blows received from me will act as a cause. The instinct of returning blows would be incomprehensible if human action were independent of causes.
But the legal punishment dealt out by the officers of a nation has lost the significance of an instinctive act of revenge. Does this fact make it compatible with the doctrine of causeless activity? Would not punishment, under this doctrine, be cruelty pure and simple? Punishment can be justified only if it can act as a cause determining human behavior. Society introduces fear of threatened punishment and memory of suffered punishment as motives into the mental life of its members, in order to inhibit criminal actions in those who are so natured that they will commit acts inimical to society when occasion offers, or when they are tempted. The degree of the penalty is adapted to the effectiveness of the temptation under different circumstances. Children and intoxicated and insane persons are treated in a different manner because the fundamental condition of punishment—the existence of an idea of punishment capable of serving as a motive of action—is not fulfilled in them. All this becomes entirely purposeless, meaningless, if we accept the doctrine that human actions are not completely determined by causes. Responsibility, social order, and law, far from being called in question by determinism, are, on the contrary, dependent on it for their justification.
Indeterminism, the doctrine of causeless activity of the mind, of freedom of a will which is regarded as an entityadded to the contents of the mind, is no better supported by these special arguments than by general considerations. More than a hundred years ago Priestley said of this doctrine: “There is no absurdity more glaring to my understanding.”
QUESTIONS201. Give at least a dozen words all meaning the foreseeing of a future experience resulting from action.202. How are free actions defined?203. What other name is mentioned in the text for unfree, compulsory action, a name which has already been much used in a previous chapter?204. What are the three arguments mentioned in favor of the assumption that causeless action is possible?205. What do we learn from a post-hypnotic suggestion with respect to the question of free will?206. Give examples from history showing that both energy and indolence are independent of theories about the will.207. Can the belief in causeless activity be expected to contribute to educational endeavor? Give reasons for your answer.208. What is the aim of legal punishment? How is this aim related to the doctrine of causeless activity?209. Why are children not made subject to legal punishment?
QUESTIONS
201. Give at least a dozen words all meaning the foreseeing of a future experience resulting from action.
202. How are free actions defined?
203. What other name is mentioned in the text for unfree, compulsory action, a name which has already been much used in a previous chapter?
204. What are the three arguments mentioned in favor of the assumption that causeless action is possible?
205. What do we learn from a post-hypnotic suggestion with respect to the question of free will?
206. Give examples from history showing that both energy and indolence are independent of theories about the will.
207. Can the belief in causeless activity be expected to contribute to educational endeavor? Give reasons for your answer.
208. What is the aim of legal punishment? How is this aim related to the doctrine of causeless activity?
209. Why are children not made subject to legal punishment?
Intothe remotest distances, spatial and temporal, mind penetrates through the accumulation and theoretical elaboration of experiences. Knowledge may be obtained of the names and the deeds of Assyrian kings, of the shape of the oceans and the continents thousands and hundreds of thousands of years ago, of eclipses of the sun and the moon, of the appearance of the starry sky for any number of years hence. Knowledge means power. Insight into the relations of things enables the mind to adapt itself more perfectly to them. Science and industrial development are the results of this advancement of mental activity.
Nevertheless, it is not exclusively happiness that is thus gained. So complicated is mind that what contributes to its welfare and removes obstacles to its well-being, at the same time creates new sources of unhappiness, which call for new means, new methods, of relief. “La prévoyance, la prévoyance,” complains Rousseau, “voilà la véritable source de toutes nos misères.” We must make allowance for the exaggeration necessary to make the desired impression; but even then there is much truth in Rousseau’s words. Not all evils spring from prescience, but a goodmany do. Three classes of unintended and unpleasant effects of knowledge anticipating future events may be described.
As our knowledge expands we become more and more impressed with the narrow limits placed on this expansion, with our insuperable impotence in so many respects. To a child, who knows little and accomplishes little, his inability, his helplessness, does not give much concern. It is the prevalent, one may even say normal, condition of his life, and therefore scarcely gives rise to unpleasant feelings. But the experienced adult, in the full consciousness of his knowledge, of the advantage which this gives to him, strives to know everything, to extend his power over everything. And he is constrained to learn that he will never come near this end. His prescience, the source of so much pleasant feeling, becomes thus a source of immense unpleasantness. Highly important relations of things remain in almost total darkness. Not even the next day’s weather can be foretold, not the issue of the imminent battle, not the bent of the woman he woos. How numerous are the things against which he is almost powerless: human enemies, wild beasts, storm, earthquake, fire, flood, famine, a host of diseases, and last of all the inevitable death. He foresees all the terrors, aware of their power over him. This must fill his life with anxiety and bitterness. “He whose eye is so keen that he sees the dead in their graves, no longer sees the flowers blooming.”
Other evils have their sources, not directly in the mind’s foreseeing, but in the limitations of foreseeing activity. The most fundamental aims of human activity are self-preservation and the preservation of the species. But our feelings indicate that a third class of activities are essential for the completeness of human life, although their contributionto self-preservation and to preservation of the race seems to be limited. The aim of these activities perhaps is only a training of our powers of attention, of unifying in consciousness a number of impressions which indirectly might benefit the two aims first mentioned. Even primitive man devotes a considerable part of his activity to the production of these effects—esthetic impressions from colors, from tones, from symmetry, from rhythm. He ties feathers into his hair, dyes his clothes, and constructs his implements in symmetrical design without being forced by their use to do this. He works rhythmically, either himself or with others; he dances, thus uniting successive movements into regularly repeated groups. But those activities which serve the purpose of self-preservation and race-preservation directly, often occupy his mental energies so exclusively that no time is left for the exercise of these esthetic tendencies. Their suppression then results in deeply felt unpleasantness.
The activities of preservation are a source of evil in still another way. Whatever pleasure they may give, they do not give a lasting peace. As soon as one goal is reached, it appears as a mere stepping stone to a further one. Why does the merchant earn money? In order to earn more money! The fisherman’s wife in the fairy tale, who had been beggarly poor all her life, did not enjoy the comfortable cottage given to her for more than eight days. Then it appeared small and homely to her, and she desired a castle. This obtained, it took only a day to have her wish to be king. And immediately after the satisfaction of this desire, she asked to be made emperor. It is true, not every one is always thus rent by his cravings: the fairy tale places the sober husband at the side of the greedy woman. But a ceaseless, insatiable longing seems to be,in varying intensities, a normal element of human nature. When the attainment of a further end appears clearly impossible, a quiet enjoyment of one’s possessions may be the natural consequence; but even then there is no lasting peace, for the tormenting experience of tedium takes the place of unsatisfied longing.
A third class of evils take their origin from the effects of foreseeing activity, not only on the acting person, but chiefly on the other members of society. The natural endowment of different individuals for the struggle of preservation differs greatly and results in corresponding differences of achievement. In small communities, for instance in the family, the favorable results obtained by one are shared by all. But as larger social groups are formed, this becomes impossible. The results of the individual’s labor remain with him or at least within a smaller circle. This is the origin of property. Certain members of the social group not only procure more, but through the possession of desirable things become able to hire others to work for them. This enables them to increase still more the rate of accumulation of wealth. Thus a chasm is opened between masters and servants. However, his nature compels man to seek the companionship of other men, and this tends to bridge over the chasm. But between one community and another community a similar chasm remains. To steal from the members of another community, to rob them by force, to make war upon them and carry off the plunder, is the same as to rob an apple tree of its fruit or to kill a sheep. Property thus obtained naturally passes into the hands of the masters, increasing their own and their offspring’s powers. The final result is the existence of enormous contrasts: blessedness of a few and wretchedness of themultitude. The total balance is bad: there is more evil in the world than good.
Of course, those who have secured their masterships will say: Why should it be otherwise? Why should a low level of development of human life in all be preferable to a vastly higher development of a few and a still lower one of all the rest? And those youths who are not yet masters, but feel confident of being destined to become masters, readily applaud. There are, however, at least two objections to this view. First, we must remember that all human thought and feeling is determined by the laws of association. The masters cannot help seeing the wretched condition of the slaves, and must thus suffer themselves, although much less. This interferes with the enjoyment of their privileged condition. But the diminution of their happiness on this account may amount to little if they avoid the sight of poverty whenever possible; and that part of it which they cannot avoid seeing, they get accustomed to.
The following objection is more serious. The slaves are not likely to adopt the view of their masters that the contrast of their positions is the natural and just outcome of their respective endowment with bodily and mental abilities. They easily notice that this is only partly true. Especially the rewarding of sons for the merits of their fathers or grandfathers does not find favor with them. Their practical belief—supported by the strongest desires and nourished by the comparison of their own condition with that of the masters—keeps before their minds ideas of improving their lot, even of becoming masters themselves. The authoritative belief in the excellence of the present status, in spite of generations having become accustomed to this status, loses thus muchof its force. The slave class is restless and little to be relied on; therefore it must be bridled. The chasm between the classes becomes an abyss. Coöperation between all the members of society, though instinctively wished for and so necessary, is made impossible. A whole nation is torn up; its resistance toward attack from outside is diminished. The strongest people is one whose motto is: all for one, each for all; sooner or later it will overthrow the other. If this does not happen, the internal stress is likely at some time to become too great: the slaves rise and sweep the masters away. In either case the existing society is destroyed.
Notwithstanding the happiness which our foreseeing activity gives us, it carries with it three classes of evils: resulting from the limits of our knowledge, from the limits to which our activity is subject, from the contrast and enmity between social classes. Are there any ways for our mind to overcome these evils? There are some, not absolutely exterminating them, but at least restraining them, keeping them within bounds.
QUESTIONS210. What are the three evils originating from the evolution of the foreseeing mind?211. What are the two subdivisions of the limitation to which our active tendencies are subject?212. Why does the third class of these evils not exist in small communities?213. What are the two objections to the theory which regards the division of society into masters and slaves as entirely satisfactory? Which of these objections is the stronger one?
QUESTIONS
210. What are the three evils originating from the evolution of the foreseeing mind?
211. What are the two subdivisions of the limitation to which our active tendencies are subject?
212. Why does the third class of these evils not exist in small communities?
213. What are the two objections to the theory which regards the division of society into masters and slaves as entirely satisfactory? Which of these objections is the stronger one?
Aid against the evils resulting from the limits of knowledge is sought by the human mind in religion. When fire threatens our property, we think of water; when the enemy presses upon us in battle, we think of our comrade. By analogy, when we are under the pressure of uncertainty, in the terror of a great danger, we think of some person or some power that might aid us. We have seen previously that primitive man regards everything as animated and every event as caused by motives like his own. He regards himself as a double being made up of a heavy body and an exceedingly light, shadow-like thing, a soul. In his dreams he recognizes clearly the independence of the two: the soul leaves the body, flies to known and unknown regions, and experiences there the strangest things. Likewise in death. To-day a certain person talks, moves about, does good or harm; to-morrow the same person lies stiff. It is true that one cannot see the cause of this change, but the simplest explanation is obviously that something, the bearer of his powers, has escaped from the body and now rests invisibly elsewhere. Furthermore, are there not those who feel that they are possessed of a demon who compels them to roll about on the ground in convulsions or to attack other people?
Accordingly, man populates everything between heaven and earth, animals and plants, rocks and logs, lakes and streams, the phenomena of the weather, and the constellations, with demons, ghosts, departed souls, specters. These beings are thought of as possessing human-like powers, many of them, however, far mightier than man, handling all those things of which nature consists in a manner similar to man’s handling of his own property. Some haveasserted that man animates the world because of an irrepressible desire for theoretical explanation. But this is scarcely true. Primitive man has no such longing for theories. He does it simply for the sake of his practical interests: in order to make use of the things of nature, he must first comprehend them; and what manner of comprehending them would be preferable to humanizing them? If the things are like men of his acquaintance, he knows how to obtain their favor, their aid. His belief in these demons is a practical belief like the belief of a mother in the future of her son. These demons must exist, for he would have to give up the struggle for life, perplexed, helpless, if they did not exist—if the world were a mass of incomprehensible objects.
Naturally he distinguishes two kinds of demons, as he distinguishes two kinds of men, good and bad. Those who are malicious and hostile bring all the distress of diseases and terrible events, from which he cannot defend himself by his own power. The best one can hope to obtain from these demons is that they stop exerting their evil influence. Man lives in constant fear of them. The demons of the other kind are friendly and helpful. They assist man in his defense against the fiends and in his fight with other men; and they permit him to participate in their knowledge of the future. They are reliable. One is grateful to them and loves them. In the most primitive stage of mankind fear prevails, and therefore also the belief in harmful ghosts and demons. On a higher level of culture, advancing insight into the causal relations of natural events brings about more self-reliance, more hope, and consequently also a growing belief in benevolent demons. Both fear and love, however, remain characteristic of the attitude of man toward his gods.
In order to obtain the good will of the gods, man naturally treats them as he would treat his neighbors. He must earnestly pray to them, flatter them, perhaps also threaten them, promise gifts in exchange for their aid, vow continued faith and obedience, especially make them presents in advance. Prayer, vows, and sacrifice are the means of approaching them. Soon another thought becomes prevalent. In cases where the influence of demons seems particularly conspicuous, in mental diseases, certain persons show themselves much more skilful than the majority in establishing relations with them and thus curing these diseases. One naturally employs these persons in one’s relations to the gods. The medicine man becomes a priest. And he soon establishes himself firmly in this position by inventing mysterious ceremonies with which he alone is familiar, and by acquiring the ability to read and interpret sacred books. His authority, however, rests on his doing what the people expect from their gods: he must possess prophecy and witchcraft. Even the apostles prove their legitimacy by prophesying and performing miraculous cures.
Fear and misery are the parents of religion; and, although it is propagated in the main through authority, it would long ago have become extinct, if it were not born anew out of them all the time. In times of need and oppression religion grows strong. The churches are full, pilgrimages are common, in wars or epidemics. In battle, in disease, aboard a sinking ship, many a one learns to pray. Some fear or some need is always present. Even the highest wisdom and power can only repress, never exterminate these. Therefore they have always brought forth religion and will always do so, provided one does not clumsily attempt to change human nature.
Prayer and sacrifice are not invariably followed by success. But aid requested from human beings also is often refused, so that explanations for the lack of success are not wanting. Perhaps the prayer was not fervent enough, the sacrifice not offered in the correct manner or at the right place. Or the supplicant has offended the god; it is only to be expected that he is thus punished for the offense. Or the god, knowing his most secret failings, wishes to test his faith, his piety, in case all worldly goods and even health are lost. The gods are all-wise: who could understand them and their actions completely? Now and then, when the pious continue to suffer and the godless to prosper, religion is exposed to a serious danger. But religious faith has found the solution of this problem, not everywhere on earth, but here and there; and out of a secret doctrine of certain sects of ancient Greece this solution has become a gospel spread all over the earth: even that hope which remains unsatisfied at the time of death will find its realization. Man’s soul is eternal, is only temporarily united with the body, and when separated from it will continue to live forever. The pious must prepare himself for the future life by turning away from bodily pleasure toward God, by suffering. The godless, who has failed to prepare himself, finds eternal punishment waiting for him.
Under primitive cultural conditions, when everybody has to do every kind of labor for himself, the same régime is applied to the gods. They do not differ much in their abilities, although one can do this, the other that, somewhat better. They are an unorganized crowd like mankind, fighting each other and forming alliances for this purpose. When human societies become established, the gods become differentiated. There are masters and servants,various professions. Complications arising from such occurrences as subjection of one nation to another and a consequent assimilation of their religions, change but little the trend of this development. Of greater influence are the growth of morality and the advance of scientific knowledge.
When man establishes a moral ideal for himself, he applies it to his gods. His gods become moral examples. They no longer require bloody sacrifices, but a clean heart and good deeds. And since there is only one morality, and morality is the chief attribute of Deity, there can be only one God. All those great religious teachers who contributed to the moral development of religion, the Jewish prophets, Zoroaster, Plato, accepted monotheism.
When scientific knowledge advances, when more and more of the phenomena of nature are found to obey simple laws, daring philosophers assert and convince others that all natural phenomena obey such laws, that nothing in nature depends on the whims of human-like wills. Religion, then, seems to be deprived of its foundations. If God does not arbitrarily interfere with the laws of nature, how can any aid come from him? However, the need of religion remains, and religion adapts itself to the new views of the world. The highest form of religion is the outcome of this development. Prayer, then, has a purely mental value for him who prays. It gives him hope, confidence, courage, and thus he succeeds in accomplishing that of which he seemed incapable without aid. The witchcraft of the priest is reduced to a purely mental influence. In the sacrament he brings about a sanctification of the mind. God, far from being lost from the world, is regarded as the world itself, the source from which every phenomenon of nature springs. And again religion can give man whathe longs for, protection from the overpowering unknown, peace for the restless heart.
But life is like a hydra: as fast as one head is hewn off, two others grow. Man overcomes the depression caused by his feeling of impotence by the help of religion, and immediately has two other troubles besetting him.
(1) It is natural that of all the creations of mind religion possesses the strongest inertia. God is unchangeable. But knowledge is changeable: our ways of thinking of the world differ greatly from those of a thousand, five hundred, or a hundred years ago. Much knowledge has become attached to religion. Shall it remain unchanged on that account? The resulting disharmony has been felt at all times, in varying degrees of intensity. The representatives of science cannot help contradicting the faith of their ancestors; and the priests profess that they alone possess true knowledge, that the knowledge of the scientists is merely a mass of hypotheses. Bitter was the struggle about the geocentric system, and no less bitter more recently was the opposition to the theory of evolution. During the later centuries of antiquity scientists tried to comprehend the influence of the sun on plant life by conceiving its power as emanating and yet constantly remaining in its former strength at the point of its origin. The early Christian theologists were very modern in their scientific theories. Could they compare God with anything else better than with the heavenly body on which all earthly life depends? So they developed the conception of emanations flowing from God without diminishing his former powers, that is, the Christian doctrine of the Trinity. Other religions of the time accepted similar emanation doctrines: the Philonic philosophy recognized a twofoldness, the Neo-Platonic a fourfoldness of God.To-day every schoolboy is taught that the sun cannot produce any effect on earth without losing so much of its energy. The ancient theory of emanations has long ceased to have any scientific significance. But the formula exists, and is still thought by many to be the basal concept of the Christian religion, so that the dissension is endless.
(2) Religion is a weapon in the struggle for preservation for him who possesses it; but it soon becomes a weapon also for the others. It is a weapon for the priest, who uses it as the physician uses his knowledge to make a living. There would be little trouble on this account. But religion is, naturally and unfortunately, a mighty weapon in the hands of the masters defending their positions against the slaves. Religion gives peace, quiescence, to the human heart. Religion perhaps teaches that the splendor of wealth is insignificant, worthless; that the poor are better off in the future, eternal life, than those who are now rich. Religion perhaps even teaches that those who do not believe this will be severely punished in the next life. This is not the original meaning of the doctrine—that the wretched should remain wretched; it was meant merely to comfort them in their distress. But the doctrine obviously permits this application, and so the masters have always eagerly adopted religion as one of their safest supports, far superior to brutal force, since it does not incite revolutionary reaction. “Throne and altar” is a motto of kings. When the servants recognize this effect of religion, they naturally tend to free themselves of it, and tremendous conflicts result for human life.
Will mind succeed in overcoming these difficulties by a new form of adaptation? We cannot tell how, since thus far it has not succeeded.