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diff --git a/58179-0.txt b/58179-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf7331d --- /dev/null +++ b/58179-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1800 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58179 *** + + + + + + + + + +THE PURPOSE OF HISTORY + + +COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS +SALES AGENTS + +NEW YORK: +LEMCKE & BUECHNER +30-32 WEST 27TH STREET + +LONDON: +HUMPHREY MILFORD +AMEN CORNER, E. C. + + + + +THE PURPOSE OF HISTORY + +BY +FREDERICK J. E. WOODBRIDGE + +[Illustration: Logo] + +New York +COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS +1916 +_All rights reserved_ + + +Copyright, 1916, +BY COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS. + +Printed from type, July, 1916. + + + + +NOTE + + +This book contains three lectures delivered at the University of North +Carolina on the McNair Foundation in March of the current year. It +expresses certain conclusions about history to which I have been led by +the study of the history of philosophy and by reflection on the work of +contemporary philosophers, especially Bergson, Dewey, and Santayana. + +I am happy to acknowledge my indebtedness to the Faculty and Students of +the University of North Carolina for a most delightful visit at Chapel +Hill. + +F. J. E. W. + +COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY +IN THE CITY OF NEW YORK +JUNE, 1916 + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. FROM HISTORY TO PHILOSOPHY 1 + + II. THE PLURALISM OF HISTORY 27 + +III. THE CONTINUITY OF HISTORY 58 + + + + +THE PURPOSE OF HISTORY + + + + +I + +FROM HISTORY TO PHILOSOPHY + + +The serious study of history is characteristic of a certain maturity of +mind. For the intellectually young, the world is too new and attractive +to arouse in them a very absorbing interest in its past. Life is for +them an adventure, and the world is a place for excursions and +experiences. They care little about what men have done, but much about +what they might do. History, to interest them, must be written as a +romance which will fire their imagination, rather than as a philosophy +which might make them wise. But maturity, somewhat disciplined and +disillusioned, confirms the suspicion, which even youth entertains at +times, that the world, while offering an opportunity, hedges the offer +about with restrictions which must be understood and submitted to, if +effort is to be crowned with success. The mature may thus become eager +to understand life without ceasing to enjoy it. They may become +philosophical and show their wisdom by a desire to sympathize with what +men have done and to live rationally in the light of what is possible. +They may study history, convinced that it enlarges their sympathies and +promotes rational living. + +We might, therefore, conclude that the prevailing interest in historical +studies is a sign that the age is growing in maturity and is seeking an +outlook upon life which is both sane and encouraging. This may well be +true. But even if the study of history indicate a certain maturity of +mind, it is not a guarantee that history will not be studied in the +spirit of youth. History may do little more than afford a new world for +wild adventure and undisciplined experience. Moreover, maturity is not +necessarily wise. Disgust, revolt, and loss of sympathy are not always +strangers to it. Historical studies may be pursued with little +comprehension of their aim or meaning; and history may be taught with +little reflection on its philosophical significance. It would appear, +therefore, that the study of history itself affords an opportunity for +philosophical inquiry, and may profitably stimulate questions about the +character of those facts with which history is concerned. + +In these lectures I intend to deal with the purpose of history. I would +not, however, be misunderstood. My aim is not, by making another attempt +to find the increasing purpose running through the ages, to win +permanently the laurel which, hitherto, ambitious philosophers have worn +only for a season. There is, no doubt, a kind of rapture in seeing +history as St. Augustine saw it,--the progress of the City of God from +earth to heaven; and there is a kind of pride not wholly ignoble, in +seeing it as Hegel did,--the vibrating evolution from the brooding +absolution of the East to the self-conscious freedom of one's own +philosophy embraced and made universal by the civilizing energy of one's +own state. My aim is more modest. It is not romantic, but technical. +Metaphysics rather than poetry is to be my domain, although I cherish +the hope that poetry may not, therefore, be misprized. If it may +ultimately appear, not only as an ornament to living, but also as an +exemplary method of living well, I may even now invoke the Muses to my +aid, but Clio first, and, afterwards, Calliope. It is my aim, through an +examination of what the historian himself proposes, to discover in what +sense the idea of purpose in history is appropriate, and to what ideas +we are led when we think of history as the record of human progress. + +The conclusions I hope to clarify, I may here anticipate. There is +discoverable in history no purpose, if we mean by purpose some future +event towards which the whole creation moves and which past and present +events portend; but there is purpose in history, if we mean that the +past is utilized as material for the progressive realization, at least +by man, of what we call spiritual ends. More generally, history is +itself essentially the utilization of the past for ends, ends not +necessarily foreseen, but ends to come, so that every historical thing, +when we view it retrospectively, has the appearance of a result which +has been selected, and to which its antecedents are exclusively +appropriate. In that sense purpose is discoverable in history. But this +purpose is not single. History is pluralistic and implies a pluralistic +philosophy. There are many histories, but no one of them exists to the +prejudice of any other. And, finally, progress is not aptly conceived as +an evolution from the past into the future. Evolution is, rather, only a +name for historical continuity, and this continuity itself is a fact to +be investigated and not a theory which explains anything, or affords a +standard of value. The past is not the cause or beginning of the +present, but the effect and result of history; so that every historical +thing leaves, as it were, its past behind it as the record of its life +in time. Progress may mean material progress when we have in mind the +improvement in efficiency of the instruments man uses to promote his +well-being; it may mean rational progress when we have in mind the +idealization of his natural impulses. Then he frames in his imagination +ideal ends which he can intelligently pursue and which, through the +attempt to realize them, justify his labors. Such are the conclusions I +hope to clarify, and I shall begin by considering the purpose men +entertain when they write histories. + +It is natural to quote Herodotus. The Father of History seems to have +been conscious of his purpose and to have expressed it. We are told that +he gave his history to the world "in order that the things men have done +might not in time be forgotten, and that the great and wonderful deeds +of both Greeks and barbarians might not become unheard of,--this, and +why they fought with one another." This statement seems to be, in +principle, an adequate expression of the purpose of writing histories, +even if Herodotus did not execute that purpose with fidelity. The +limitations of its specific terms are obvious. One might expect that the +great deeds were mainly exploits at arms, that the history would be +military, and that the causes exposed would be causes of war. But the +history itself deals with geography and climate, with manners, customs, +traditions, and institutions, fully as much as with heroes and battles. +Professor Gilbert Murray says of it: "His work is not only an account of +a thrilling struggle, politically very important, and spiritually +tremendous; it is also, more perhaps than any other known book, the +expression of a whole man, the representation of all the world seen +through the medium of one mind and in a particular perspective. The +world was at that time very interesting; and the one mind, while +strongly individual, was one of the most comprehensive known to human +records. Herodotus's whole method is highly subjective. He is too +sympathetic to be consistently critical, or to remain cold towards the +earnest superstitions of people about him: he shares from the outset +their tendency to read the activity of a moral God in all the moving +events of history. He is sanguine, sensitive, a lover of human nature, +interested in details if they are vital to his story, oblivious of them +if they are only facts and figures; he catches quickly the atmosphere of +the society he moves in, and falls readily under the spell of great +human influences, the solid impersonal Egyptian hierarchy or the +dazzling circle of great individuals at Athens; yet all the time shrewd, +cool, gentle in judgment, deeply and unconsciously convinced of the +weakness of human nature, the flaws of its heroism and the excusableness +of its apparent villainy. His book bears for good and ill the stamp of +this character and this profession."[1] + +The history of Herodotus would, then, preserve a record of the world of +human affairs as he discovered it and an exposition of the causes and +conditions which have influenced human action. He would record what men +have done in order that their deeds might be remembered and in order +that they might be understood. Like all other historians he had his +individual limitations, but for all of them he seems to have expressed +the purpose of their inquiries. That purpose may be worked out in many +different fields. We may have military history, political history, +industrial history, economic history, religious history, the history of +civilization, of education, and of philosophy, the history, indeed, of +any human enterprise whatever. But always the purpose is the same, to +preserve a faithful record and to promote the understanding of what has +happened in the affairs of men. I need hardly add that, for the present, +I am restricting history to human history. Its wider signification will +not be neglected, but I make the present limitation in order that +through a consideration of the writing of human history, we may be led +on to the conception of history in its more comprehensive form. + +To conceive the purpose of writing history adequately is not the same +thing as to execute that purpose faithfully. If Herodotus may be cited +in illustration of the adequate conception, he will hardly be cited by +historians in illustration of its faithful execution. They have +complained of him from time to time ever since Thucydides first accused +him of caring more about pleasing his readers than about telling the +truth. He is blamed principally for his credulity and for his lack of +criticism. Credulous he was and less critical than one could wish, but +it is well to remember, in any just estimate of him, that he was much +less credulous and much more critical than we should naturally expect a +man of his time to be. He wrote in an age when men generally believed +spontaneously things which we, since we reflect, can not believe, and +when it was more congenial to listen to a story than to indulge in the +criticism of it. He frequently expresses disbelief of what he has been +told and is often at great pains to verify what he has heard. With all +his faults he remains among the extraordinary men. + +These faults, when they are sympathetically examined, indicate far less +blemishes in the character of Herodotus than they do the practical and +moral difficulties which beset the faithful writing of all history. That +is why he is so illustrative for our purpose. A faithful and true record +is the first thing the historian desires, but it is a very difficult +thing to obtain. Human testimony even in the presence of searching +cross-examination is notoriously fallible, and the dumb records of the +past, with all their variations and contradictions, present a stolid +indifference to our curiosity. The questions we ask of the dead, only we +ourselves can answer. Herodotus wrote with these practical and moral +difficulties at a maximum. We have learned systematically to combat +them. There has grown up for our benefit an abundant literature which +would instruct the historian how best to proceed. The methods of +historians, their failures and successes, have been carefully studied +with the result that we have an elaborate science of writing history +which we call historiography. Therein one may learn how to estimate +sources, deal with documents, weigh evidence, detect causes, and be +warned against the errors to which one is liable. Moreover, +anthropology, archæology, and psychology have come to the historian's +aid to help him in keeping his path as clear and unobstructed as +possible. In other words, history has become more easy and more +difficult to write than it was in the days of Herodotus. The better +understanding of its difficulties and of the ways to meet them has made +it more easy; but the widening of its scope has made it more difficult. +We still face the contrast between the adequate conception of the +purpose of writing history and the faithful execution of that purpose. +But it would seem that only practical and moral difficulties stand in +the way of successful performance. Ideally, at least, a perfect history +seems to be conceivable. + +It is, indeed, conceivable that with adequate data, with a wise and +unbiased mind, and with a moderate supply of genius, an historian might +faithfully record the events with which he deals, and make us understand +how they happened. It is conceivable because it has in many cases been +so closely approximated. Our standards of judgment and appraisement here +are doubtless open to question by a skeptical mind. We may lack the +evidence which would make our estimate conclusive. But what I mean is +this: histories have been written which satisfy to a remarkable degree +the spirit of inquiry. They present that finality and inevitability +which mark the master mind. There are, in other words, authorities which +few of us ever question. They have so succeeded, within their +limitations, in producing the sense of adequacy, that their reputation +seems to be secure. Their limitations have been physical, rather than +moral or intellectual, so that the defects which mar their work are less +their own than those of circumstance. They thus appear to be substantial +witnesses that the only difficulties in the way of faithfully executing +the purpose of writing history are practical and moral--to get the +adequate data, the wise and unbiased mind, and the moderate supply of +genius. There are no other difficulties. + +Yet when we say that there are no other difficulties we may profitably +bear in mind that Herodotus has been charged not only with being +credulous and uncritical, but also with not telling the truth. At first +this might not appear to indicate a new difficulty. For if Herodotus +lied, his difficulty was moral. But it is not meant that Herodotus lied. +It is meant rather that within his own limitations he did not, and +possibly could not, give us the true picture of the times which he +recorded. He saw things too near at hand to paint them in that +perspective which truthfully reveals their proportions. His emphases, +his lights and shadows, are such as an enlightened man of his time might +display, but they are not the emphases, the lights and shadows which, as +subsequent historians have proved, give us ancient Greece with its true +shading. We understand his own age much better than he did because Grote +and other moderns have revealed to us what Greece really was. But what, +we may ask, was the real Greece? Who has written and who can write its +true history? Grote's reputation as an historian is secure, but his +history has already been superseded in many important respects. We are +told that, since its publication, "a great change has come over our +knowledge of Greek civilization." What then shall we say if neither +Herodotus, who saw that civilization largely face to face, nor Grote, +who portrays it after an exceptionally patient and thorough study of its +records, supplemented by what he calls scientific criticism and a +positive philosophy, has given us the real Greece? Clearly it looks as +if the perfect history is yet to be written, and as if every attempt to +write it pushes it forward into the future. And clearly we face, if not +a new difficulty, a fact at least which is of fundamental importance in +the attempt to understand what history itself is. + +So Herodotus becomes again illustrative. His history once written and +given to the world becomes itself an item in the history of Greece, +making it necessary that the story be retold. In the face of a fact, at +once so simple and so profound, how idle is the boast of the publisher +who could say of the author of a recent life of Christ[2] that she "has +reproduced the time of Christ, not as we would understand it, but as He +himself saw it. She has told what He believed and did, rather than what +He is reported to have said. She has stripped Him of tradition and +shown Him as He was; she has given to literature an imperishable figure, +not of the wan Galilean of the Middle Ages, but of the towering figure +of all history." How idle, I repeat, is such a boast of finality when we +know that this new history of Christ, instead of ending the matter, may +cause another history to be written by some student who comes to the old +record with a new insight and a new inspiration. It is possible, we may +say, to portray the Christ of His own day, or the wan Galilean of the +Middle Ages, or the figure which commands the attention of the twentieth +century, but the real Christ, the towering figure of all history,--who +will portray that? It is yet to be done and done again. No historical +fact can ever have its history fully written: and this, not because the +adequate data, the wise and unbiased mind, and the moderate supply of +genius are lacking, but because it is itself the producer of new history +the more it is historically understood. It grows, it changes, it expands +the more adequately we apparently grasp it. We seem never to be at the +end of its career and we must stop abruptly with its history still +unfinished. Others may take up our task, but they will end as we have +ended. The history of nothing is complete. + +It is well-nigh impossible to avoid the suspicion of paradox in such +statements as these. Yet I feel confident that every historical student +keenly alive to his task is abundantly sensible of this truth. Where +will he end the history of Greece or of Rome? What will be the final +chapter of the French Revolution? No: there is no paradox here, but +there is an ambiguity. For history is not only a record written to +preserve memory and promote understanding, it is also a process in time. +"With us," Professor Flint writes, "the word 'history,' like its +equivalents in all modern languages, signifies either a form of literary +composition or the appropriate subject or matter of such +composition--either a narrative of events, or events which may be +narrated. It is impossible to free the term of this doubleness and +ambiguity of meaning. Nor is it, on the whole, to be desired. The +advantages of having one term which may, with ordinary caution, be +innocuously applied to two things so related, more than counterbalance +the dangers involved in two things so distinct having the same name. The +history of England which actually happened can not easily be confounded +with the history of England written by Mr. Green; while by the latter +being termed history as well as the former, we are reminded that it is +an attempt to reproduce or represent the course of the former. +Occasionally, however, the ambiguity of the word gives rise to great +confusion of thought and gross inaccuracy of speech. And this occurs +most frequently, if not exclusively, just when men are trying and +professing to think and speak with especial clearness and exactness +regarding the signification of history--i.e., when they are labouring to +define it. Since the word history has two very different meanings, it +obviously can not have merely one definition. To define an order of +facts and a form of literature in the same terms--to suppose that when +either of them is defined the other is defined--is so absurd that one +would probably not believe it could be seriously done were it not so +often done. But to do so has been the rule rather than the exception. +The majority of so-called definitions of history are definitions only of +the records of history. They relate to history as narrated and written, +not to history as evolved and acted; in other words, although given as +the only definitions of history needed, they do not apply to history +itself, but merely to accounts of history. They may tell us what +constitutes a book of history, but they can not tell us what the +history is with which all books of history are occupied. It is, however, +with history in this latter sense that a student of the science or +philosophy of history is mainly concerned."[3] + +It is because history is not only something "narrated and written," but +also something "evolved and acted" that we are led to say that the +history of nothing is complete. The narrative may begin and end where we +please; and might conceivably, within its scope, be adequate. But the +beginning and the end of the action are so interwoven with the whole +time process that adequacy here becomes progressive. That is the +fundamental reason why Grote's history surpasses that of Herodotus in +what we call historical truth. For the truth of history is a progressive +truth to which the ages as they continue contribute. The truth for one +time is not the truth for another, so that historical truth is something +which lives and grows rather than something fixed to be ascertained once +for all. To remember what has happened, and to understand it, carries us +thus to the recognition that the writing of history is itself an +historical process. It, too, is something "evolved and acted." It is +perennially fresh even if the events with which it deals are long since +past and gone. The record may be final, but our understanding of what +has been recorded can make no such claim. The accuracy of the record is +not the truth of history. We are well assured, for instance, that the +Greeks defeated the Persians at the battle of Marathon in 490 B.C. The +record on that point is not seriously questionable, although we have to +rely on documents which have had a precarious fortune. And, coming to +our own day, we can have little doubt that the record of this greater +Marathon of Europe will surpass all others in fulness and accuracy. +There are, indeed, as Thucydides pointed out long ago, difficulties in +the way of exactness even when we are dealing with contemporaneous +events. "Eye-witnesses of the same events speak differently as their +memories or their sympathies vary." Such difficulties we have learned +how to check until our records closely approach truth of fact. +Consequently the records of what men have done, or may be doing, may be +relatively unimpeachable. But it is quite a different matter to +understand what they have done and are doing. Without that +understanding, history is no better than a chronicle, a table of events, +but not that "thing to possess and keep always" after which the +historian aspires. + +To understand is not simply difficult, it is also endless. But this fact +does not make it hopeless. The understanding of history grows by what it +feeds on, enlarges itself with every fresh success, constantly reveals +more to be understood. Our illustrations may serve us again. From the +accessible records of the battle of Marathon we can understand with +tolerable success the immediate antecedents and consequents of that +great event. But in calling the event great we do not simply eulogize +its participants. We indicate, rather, that its antecedents and +consequents have been far-reaching and momentous. Greece, we say, was +saved. But what are we to understand by that salvation? To answer we +must write and rewrite her own history, the history of what she has been +and is; and with every fresh writing the battle of Marathon becomes +better understood. It becomes a different battle with a different truth. +And more than this: with every rewriting we understand better what went +before and what followed after until the battle itself becomes but the +symptom of deeper things. So, too, is it with Europe's present struggle. +Already its history has begun with many volumes. Following the example +of Thucydides in the Peloponnesian war, men are writing it +contemporaneously by summers and winters. The consequences they can only +guess at, but they have done much with the antecedents, so much that the +last fifty years of Europe are better understood than they were a year +ago. The record of them has changed little; our understanding of them +has changed much. It has changed so much that they have already become a +different half-century from what they were. The truth about them last +year is not the truth about them to-day. Fifty years hence what will the +truth about them be? + +I venture another illustration, one from the history of philosophy. I +choose Plato. He is such a commanding figure that the desire to +understand him is exceptionally keen. The record of his life and of his +conscious aims and purposes is very unsatisfactory. We have no assured +authorities on these points. That is greatly to be regretted, because a +correct record is naturally the best of aids towards a correct +understanding. But the unsatisfactory record is not very material to the +illustration in hand. The record might be correct, but Plato would, even +so, remain an historical figure to be understood. He would continue to +be the producer of what we call Platonism, and we should have to +understand him as that producer. In that case, evidently, the details of +his life, his span of years, his immediate aims and activities would +involve but the beginning of an inquiry which would last as long as +Plato is studied by those who would understand him. Who, then, would be +the real Plato? The man about whom Aristotle wrote, or the man about +whom Professor Paul Shorey writes? Undoubtedly the real Plato is the man +about whom they both write, but that can mean only that he is the man +about whom writers can write so diversely. He is not the same man to +Professor Shorey that he was to Aristotle; and it is, consequently, a +nice question which of the two disciples has given us the correct +estimate of their master. Who was the real Plato? And that question +could still be asked even if the Platonic tradition were in its record, +what it is not, a continuous and uniformly accepted tradition. For it is +quite evident that the Platonic tradition has grown from age to age as +students of Plato have tried to understand him and to understand also +what other students have understood about him. The true Plato is still +the quest of Platonists. + +It seems clear, therefore, that historical truth, if we do not mean by +that simply the truth of the records with which we deal, is something +which can not be ascertained once for all. It is a living and dynamic +truth. It is genuinely progressive. We may say that it is like something +being worked out in the course of time, and something which the sequence +of events progressively exposes or makes clear. If, therefore, we +declare that Herodotus, or any other historian, has not told the truth, +and do not mean thereby that he has uttered falsehoods, we mean only +that the truth has grown beyond him and his time. For his time it might +well be that he told the truth sufficiently. Ancient Greece may then +have been precisely what he said it was. To blame him for not telling us +what ancient Greece is now, is to blame him irrationally. In the light +of historical truth, the Father of History and all his children have +been, not simply historians of times old and new, but also contributors +to that truth and progressive revealers of it. If they have been +faithful to their professed purpose of preserving the memory of what has +happened and in making what has happened understood, they are not rivals +in the possession of truth. They have all been associated in a common +enterprise, that of conserving the history of man in order that what +that history is and what it implies may be progressively better known. + +History is therefore not simply the telling of what has happened; it is +also and more profoundly the conserving of what has happened in order +that its meaning may be grasped. A book of history differs radically +from a museum of antiquities. In the museum, the past is preserved, but +it is a dead past, the flotsam and jetsam of the stream of time. It may +afford material for history, and then it is quickened into life. In a +book of history, the past lives. It is in a very genuine sense +progressive. It grows and expands with every fresh study of it, because +every fresh study of it puts it into a larger, a more comprehensive, and +a new perspective, and makes its meaning ever clearer. The outcome of +reflections like these is that history is constantly revealing something +like an order or purpose in human affairs, a truth to which they are +subject and which they express. History is, therefore, a career in time. +That is why no historical item can be so placed and dated that the full +truth of it is definitely prescribed and limited to that place and date. +Conformably with the calendar and with geography we may be able to +affirm that a given event was or is taking place, but to tell what that +event is in a manner which ensures understanding of it, is to write the +history of its career in time as comprehensively as it can be written. +It is to conserve that event, not as an isolated and detached specimen +of historical fact, but as something alive which, as it continues to +live, reveals more and more its connections in the ceaseless flow of +history itself. + +The writer of history may, consequently, attain his purpose within the +limits of the practical and moral difficulties which beset it in either +of two ways. He may give us the contemporaneous understanding of what +has happened in terms of the outlook and perspective of his own day, +giving us a vision of what has gone before as an enlightened mind of his +time might see it. His history might then be that of ancient peoples +beheld in the new perspective into which they have now been placed. +Could he, by miracle, recall the ancients back to life, they would +doubtless fail to recognize their own history, truthful as it might be. +But comprehension might dawn upon them as they read, and they might +exclaim: "These were the things we were really doing, but we did not +know it at the time; we have discovered what we were; our history has +revealed to us ourselves." Or the historian, by the restrained exercise +of his imagination, may give us what has happened in the perspective of +the time in which it happened, or in a perspective anterior to his own +day. He may seek to recover the sense, so to speak, of past +contemporaneity, transplanting us in imagination to days no longer ours +and to ways of feeling and acting no longer presently familiar. Such a +history would be less comprehensive and complete than the former. It +would also be more difficult to write, because historical imagination of +this kind is rare and also because it is not easy to divest the past of +its present estimate. Yet the imagination has that power and enables us +to live again in retrospect what others have lived before us. But in +both cases the history would be an active conservation of events in +time; it would reveal their truth, their meaning, and their purpose. + +If now we ask what may be this truth and meaning, or in what sense may +we appropriately speak of a purpose in history, we pass from history to +philosophy. No longer shall we be concerned with the purpose of writing +history, but rather with the character of the facts which stimulate +that purpose and assist in its attainment. From history as the attempt +to preserve memory and promote understanding we pass to history as a +characteristic of natural processes. We shall try to analyze what the +career of things in time involves; but we shall keep this career in mind +in those aspects of it which bear most significantly upon the history of +man. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Murray, Gilbert. "Ancient Greek Literature." D. Appleton & Co., +1908. Page 133. + +[2] Austin, Mary. "The Man Jesus." Harper, 1915. + +[3] Flint, Robert. "History of the Philosophy of History." Charles +Scribner's Sons, 1894. Page 5. + + + + +II + +THE PLURALISM OF HISTORY + + +History leads to philosophy when it raises in a fundamental way the +question of truth. As we have seen, the term "truth," when applied to +history, has a double meaning. It may mean that the record of what has +happened is correct, and it may mean that the understanding of what has +happened is correct. If the record is correct, its truth seems to be +something fixed once for all and unchanging. The perfect record may +never be possessed, but it seems to be ideally possible, because the +events which the record would keep in memory must have happened, and, +therefore, might have been recorded if fortune had been favorable. If, +however, the understanding of what has happened is correct, its truth +can not be something fixed once for all. It is fixed only from time to +time. One correct understanding of what has happened does not displace +another as truth might displace error, but one supplements and enlarges +another. Histories which have gone before are not undone by those that +follow after. They are incorporated into them in a very real way. +Historical truth, therefore, when it does not mean simply the +correctness of the records of history, is progressive. If the record of +what has happened is correct, its truth is perpetual; if the +understanding of what has happened is correct, its truth is +contemporaneous. Now what does this distinction involve? Does it involve +merely the recognition that facts may remain unchanged while our +knowledge of them grows? A suspicion, at least, has been created that it +involves something more, namely, the recognition that the facts +themselves, being something "evolved and acted," are also progressive. +Historical facts are careers in time. It is their occurrence which is +recorded and it is their career which is understood. We may, therefore, +undertake an inquiry into the nature of facts like these. + +We may start from the distinction between facts and our knowledge of +them, for it is clear that whatever the character of the facts may be, +our knowledge of them, at least, is progressive. The past is dead and +gone. It is something over and done with, so that any change in it is +forever impossible. We should then, if we would be precise, say, not +that it is the past which grows and enlarges, but only our knowledge of +it. We recover and conserve it in memory and imagination only, and as we +recover it more and more completely and relate it more and more +successfully, we know and understand it better. Plato is dead, and not +one feature, circumstance, or action of his life can now be changed. He +lives only in the memory of man; and because he lives there and +stimulates the imagination, there is born a Plato of the imagination. +There are thus two Platos, the one real and the other historical. The +one lived and died long ago; the other still lives in human history. The +real Plato has produced the historical Plato and affords a check upon +historians in their representation of him. That representation may +approach progressively nearer to what the real Plato was like, but it +can never be the man who has passed away. History would be thus a branch +of human knowledge, and grow with the growth of knowledge, while its +objects remain unchanged. That is why history has constantly to be +rewritten. Furthermore, in the rewriting, new types of history appear +with new or altered emphases. The moral and religious type is +supplemented by the political, and the political by the economic and +social. For with the growth of knowledge the past looks different to us +and we discover that what appeared once adequate has to be revised. + +We may admit, therefore, that history, whatever else it may be, is at +any rate a kind of human knowledge. Like all knowledge it leads us to +recognize that there is a distinction between knowledge itself and its +objects, and that the progressive character of knowledge indicates an +approximation to an adequate representation of the objects and not +changes in their own character. This distinction in its application to +history is evidently not a distinction between literature and its +subject-matter. For the past, if we now take the past to be the proper +subject-matter of written history, appears to have a twofold character. +It is all that has happened precisely as it happened, and it is all that +is remembered and known, precisely as it is remembered and known. There +are, we may say, a real past and an historical past. The latter never is +the former, but always a progressively more adequate representation of +the former. + +Now this distinction between the real past and the historical past may +be fruitful. It may also be treacherous, for the terms in which it is +expressed are treacherous terms. For it is very easy to claim that the +real past is after all only the historical past, because the past itself +being dead and gone is now real only as it is preserved in history. Yet +properly understood, the distinction is essential to any philosophical +comprehension of what history is. It points out that history is not the +past, but is its recovery and conservation. Events begin and end; men +are born and die; events and men disappear into the past in a manner and +an order which are unalterable. But it is not their disappearance which +constitutes their existence in time a history. Their historical +existence is a kind of continuing life. It may be that it continues only +in human knowledge, but, even so, it clearly illustrates the nature of +history as a process in time. In other words the life of knowledge, of +memory and imagination, is itself a continual recording of what has +happened, a continual understanding of it, and a continual putting of it +in a new and enlarged perspective. Here, too, within the narrow limits +of man's perceiving and comprehending life to which we have now +restricted history, events begin and end, men are born and die, and +events and men disappear into the past in a manner and an order which +are unalterable. Yet even as they disappear never to return in the +precise and identical manner of their first existence, they are +conserved, and continue the process of dying as occurrences in order to +live as a history. Yesterday as yesterday is gone forever. Its +opportunities are over and its incidents dead. As an historical +yesterday it lives as material for to-day's employment. It becomes an +experience to profit by, a mistake to remedy, or a success to enjoy. +History is thus the great destroyer and the great preserver. We must +speak of it in apparent paradoxes. The child becomes a man only by +ceasing to be a child; Plato becomes an historical figure only by dying; +whatever happens is conserved only by being first destroyed. + +But the conservation of what happens is obviously not a perpetuation. +History is not the staying of events, for time forbids that they stay. +The conservation is rather a utilization, a kind of employment or +working over of material. Through it discriminations and selections are +made and connections discovered; the moving panorama is converted into +an order of events which can be understood, because consequences are +seen in the light of their antecedents and antecedents are seen in the +light of the consequences to which they lead. There is thus a genuine +incorporation of what has happened into what does happen, of yesterday +into to-day, so that yesterday becomes a vital part of to-day and finds +its enlargement and fulfilment there. We can thus write our own +biographies. It is possible for us to discover what mistakes we have +made and what ends we have attained. Our history appears thus to be a +utilization of material, a realization of ends, a movement with purpose +in it. Selection is characteristic of it very profoundly. Other +histories, of other men, of times, of peoples, of institutions, we write +in the same way because in the same way we discover and understand what +has happened in their case. Such a destroying, conserving, utilizing, +selective, and purposeful movement in time, history appears to be when +we restrict it to the domain of human knowledge. + +It seems, however, idle so to restrict it. For other things besides our +knowledge grow--animals and plants, and the stars even. They, too, have +a history, and it may be that their history, being also an affair in +time, is not unlike in character to our own growth in knowledge. Or +perhaps it were even better to say that both they and our knowledge +illustrate equally what history is, discovering time itself to be the +great historian. All time-processes, that is, appear to be, when we +attentively consider them, processes which supplement, complete, or +transform what has gone before. They are active conservations and +utilizations of the past as material. They save what has happened from +being utterly destroyed, and, in saving it, complete and develop it. +Time is, thus, constantly rounding out things, so to speak, or bringing +them to some end or fulfilment. That is why we call its movement +purposeful. + +Yet there have been philosophies which have tried to make of time a +magical device by which man might represent to himself in succession +that which in itself is never in succession. They picture his journey +through life as a journey through space where all that he sees, one +thing after another, comes successively into view like the houses on a +street along which he may walk. But as the houses do not exist in +succession, neither do the facts he discovers. They, too, come into view +as he moves along. These philosophies, consequently, would have us think +of a world in itself, absolute and complete, to which nothing can be +added and from which nothing can be subtracted. It is somehow fixed and +finished now; but our human experience, being incomplete and +unfinished, gives to it the appearance of a process in time and +discloses to us what it would be like if all its factors and the laws +which hold them in perfect equilibrium were experienced in succession. +History would thus be a kind of temporal revelation of the absolute and +we should read it as we read a book, from cover to cover, discovering +page by page a story which is itself finished when we begin. + +Or philosophy, when it has not conceived the world to be thus finished +and complete in itself and only appearing to us as a temporal +revelation, has often thought of movements in time as only the results +of preceding movements. Whatever happens is thus conceived to be the +effect of what has already happened, rather than the active conservation +and working over of what has already happened. The past is made the +cause and producer of the present, so that the state of the world at any +moment is only the result or outcome of what it was in the preceding +moment. To-day is thought to be the effect of yesterday and the cause of +to-morrow, and is thus but a transition from one day to another. +Time-processes are thus robbed of any genuine activity or productivity, +and time itself is made to be nothing but the sequential order in which +events occur. Purpose, conservation, utilization, and all that active +supplementing and working over of the past on which we have dwelt, +become illusions when applied to the world at large. They represent our +way of conceiving things, but not nature's way of doing things. + +But these philosophies, as Professor Bergson especially among recent +philosophers has pointed out,[4] gain whatever force they have +principally from the fact that they think of time in terms of space. +They picture it as a line already drawn, when they should picture it as +a line in the process of being drawn. As already drawn, the line has a +beginning, an end, and consequently, a middle point. Let us call the +middle point the present. All the line to the left of that point we will +call the past and all to the right of it the future. We thus behold time +spatially with all its parts coexistent as the points on the line. +Events are then conceived to move from the past through the present into +the future, just as a pencil point may pass from the beginning of the +line through its middle point to the end. But, unlike the pencil point, +they can not go backward. This fact gives us a characteristic by which +we may distinguish time from space even if we have represented time +spatially. The spatial order is reversible, the temporal is not. Time is +like a line on which you can go forward, but on which you can not go +backward. But you can go forward. Everything goes from the past to the +future. The present is but the transition point of their going. + +There are, undoubtedly, advantages in thinking of time in this spatial +way. Thereby we are able to make calendars and have a science of +mechanics. It affords a basis for many successful predictions. But, +quite evidently, time is neither such a line nor anything like it. +Nothing whatever goes from the past through the present into the future. +We can not make such a statement intelligible. For "to go" from the past +to the future is not like going from New York to Boston. Boston is +already there to go to, but the future is not anywhere to go to. And New +York is there to leave, but the past is not anywhere to leave. What then +is this mysterious "going" if its starting-point and its end are both +non-existent now? Clearly it is a "going" only in a metaphorical sense. +We call it a "going" because we can so represent it by dates and places. +We can say that here we have been going from Friday through Saturday to +Sunday. But it is quite clear that to-day is neither past nor future, +that it is neither yesterday nor to-morrow, and that if we go anywhere +we must start to-day. When Sunday comes, Saturday will be yesterday. But +note now the strange situation into which we have fallen--only in the +future is this day ever in the past! And that is true of every day in +the world's history. It becomes a past day only in its own future. + +Clearly then time is not like a line already drawn. It is more like a +line in the drawing. You take the pencil and the line is left behind it +as the pencil moves. New points are being constantly added to what has +gone before. The line is being manufactured. Let us call so much of it +as has now been drawn the past and that which has not yet been drawn the +future. It is clear then that the present is not the middle point of the +line nor any point whatever upon it, for all of the line that has been +drawn belongs to the past and all the rest of it to the future. Its past +has already been done; its future is not yet done, but only possible. +Furthermore, it is clear that no point moves from the past into the +future. Such a movement is unintelligible. If there is any movement of +points at all, it is a movement into the past. That is, the line, +instead of growing into the future, grows into the past--continually +more and more of it is drawn. For remember that the future of the line +is not the place on the paper or in the air which by and by the line may +occupy. Its future is a genuine future, a possibility as yet nowhere +realized. It is the part of the line which always will be, but never is; +or, better, it is that part of the line which will have a place and a +date if the line continues to be drawn. The movement of time is thus not +a movement from the past to the future, but from the possible to the +actual, from what may be to what has been. The present is not the +vanishing point between past and future; it is not, so to speak, in the +same line or dimension with them. It is something quite different. It is +all that we mean by activity or eventuality. It is the concrete, +definite, and effective transforming of the possible into the actual. It +is the _drawing_ of the line, but in no sense is it a part or point of +the line itself. + +There are, doubtless, difficulties in thinking of time in this way, for +it is not entirely free from spatial reminiscences. But it serves to +point out that past, present, and future are not like parts of a whole +into which an absolute or complete time is divided. They are more like +derivatives of the time process itself in the concrete instances of its +activity. They are what every growing or changing thing involves, +whether it be the knowledge of man or the crust of the earth, for +everything that grows or changes manufactures a past by realizing a +future. It leaves behind it the record of what it has done conserved by +memory or by nature, and in leaving that record behind constantly +enlarges or transforms it. The growth moves in a manner and an order +which when once performed are unalterable, but there is growth none the +less. Since time is like this, it seems evidently unintelligible to +restrict it and history to human experience and make the world in itself +absolute. It would be better to say that it is history in the large +sense applicable to the world itself that makes human experience +possible. Yet it would be more advisable not to make such a distinction +at all, but to recognize that human experience is one kind of history, +namely, history conscious of itself, the time process deliberately at +work. + +Now it is evident that history in this latter sense is purposive and +selective. That which has happened is not remembered as a whole or +understood as a whole. Not only are details forgotten or neglected, but +things and events otherwise important are omitted for the sake of +securing emphasis and distinction among the things remembered. Herodotus +spoke of "wonderful deeds" and others following this example have +regarded history as concerned only with great men and great events. It +is true that the little men and the little events tend to disappear, but +we should remember that it is the selective character of history which +makes them little. Speaking absolutely, we may say that no item, however +apparently insignificant, is really insignificant in the historical +development of any people or any institution, for in some measure every +item is material to that development. But all are not equally material. +The absence of any one of them might undoubtedly have changed the whole +history, but given the presence of them all, some are of greater +significance than others. + +The history of the English people may be regarded as a development of +personal liberty. It is doubtless more than that, but it is that. As +such a development, it is evident that there are many things which an +historian of personal liberty will disregard in order that the +particular movement he is studying may be emphasized and distinguished. +It will be that particular movement which will determine for him what is +great and what little. So it comes about that histories are diversified +even when they are histories of the same thing. There are many histories +of England which differ from one another not only in accuracy, +philosophical grasp, and brilliancy, but also in the purpose they +discover England to be fulfilling. By purpose here is not meant a +predestined end which England is bound to reach, but the fact that her +history can be construed as a development of a specific kind. In other +words her past can be understood only when it is seen to be relevant to +some particular career which has its termination in her existing +institutions. Her past has contributed through time to definite results +which are now apparent. The things that have happened have not all +contributed to these results in the same measure. Some have contributed +more, some less. What is true in this illustration appears to be true +generally. Every history is a particular career in the development of +which some facts, persons, and events have been more significant than +others, so that the termination of the career at any time is like an end +that has been reached or a consequence to which its antecedents are +peculiarly appropriate. That is the sense in which history is purposeful +and selective. + +The selection is twofold. First, there is selection of the type of +career, and secondly, there is selection of the items especially +relevant to its progress. We may have the military, the political, the +social, the industrial, the economic, or the religious history of +England, for instance, and although these histories will overlap and +involve one another, each of them will exhibit a career which is +peculiar and distinct from its fellows. When reading the industrial +history we shall not be reading the religious history. In the one we +shall find circumstances and events recorded which we do not find in the +other, because all circumstances and events do not have significance +equally for the development of industry and religion. Historical +selection is, therefore, twofold,--the selection of a career to be +depicted and of events and circumstances peculiarly relevant to that +career. + +Is this selection, we may ask, only a device on the historian's part to +facilitate our comprehension, or is it a genuine characteristic of the +time process itself? Does the historian read purpose into history or +does he find it there? It may assist in answering such questions to +observe that if selection is a device of the historian, it is one to +which he is compelled. Without it history is unintelligible. Unless we +understand events and circumstances as contributing to a definite result +and contributing in different measures, we do not understand them at +all. The Magna Charta, the British Constitution, the Tower of London, +the River Thames, the mines of Wales, the plays of Shakespeare--all +these things and things like them are for us quite unintelligible if +they illuminate no career or illustrate no specific movements to which +they have particularly contributed. Selection is, consequently, not a +device which the historian has invented; it is imposed upon him by his +own purpose to preserve the memory and promote the understanding of what +has happened. The procedure of the historian is not arbitrary, but +necessary. It is imposed upon him by the character of the facts with +which he deals. These facts are movements from the possible to the +actual and are helped and hindered by other such movements. An +historical fact is not only spread out in space and exists equally with +all its contemporaries at an assignable place in reference to them, it +also persists in time, comes before and after other persisting facts, +and persists along with others in a continuance equal to, or more or +less than, theirs. In a figure we may say, facts march on in time, but +not all at the same speed or with the same endurance; they help or +impede one another's movement; they do not all reach the goal; some of +them turn out to be leaders, others followers; their careers overlap and +interfere; so that the result is a failure for some and a success for +others. The march is their history. + +This is figure, but it looks like the fact. Simple illustrations may +enforce it. The seeds which we buy and sow in the spring are not simply +so many ounces of chemical substances. They are also so many possible +histories or careers in time, so many days of growth, so much promise of +fruit or flower. Each seed has its own peculiar history with its own +peculiar career. The seeds are planted. Then in the course of time, soil +and moisture and atmosphere and food operate in unequal ways in the +development of each career. Each is furthered or hindered as events +fall out. Some careers are cut short, others prosper. Everywhere there +is selection. Everywhere there is adaptation of means to ends. The +history of the garden can be written because there is a history there to +write. + +Such an illustration can be generalized. Our world is indubitably a +world in time. That means much more than the fact that its events can be +placed in accordance with a map or dated in accordance with a calendar. +It means that they are events in genuine careers, each with its own +particular character and its own possibility of a future, like the seeds +in the garden. Things with histories have not only structures in space +and are, accordingly, related geometrically to one another; they have +not only chemical structures and are thus analyzable into component +parts; they have also structures in time. They are not now what they +will be, but what they will be is always continuous with what they are, +so that we must think of them stretched out, so to speak, in time as +well as in space, or as being so many moments as well as so much volume. +What they become, however, depends not only on their own time +structures, but also on their interplay with one another. They are +helped and hindered in their development. The results reached at any +time are such as complete those which have gone before, for each career +is the producer, but not the product of its past. + +It seems clear, therefore, that there is purpose in history. But +"purpose" is a troublesome word. It connotes design, intention, +foresight, as well as the converging of means upon a specific end. Only +in the latter sense is it here used, but with this addition: the end is +to be conceived not in terms of any goal ultimately reached, but in +terms of the career of which it is the termination; and in this career, +the present is continually adding to and completing the past. The +growing seeds end each in its own specific flower or fruit. They are +each of its own kind and named accordingly. It is only because each of +them has its specific structure in time that their growth presents that +convergence of means toward an end by which we distinguish them and for +which we value them. In purpose construed in this way there is evidently +no need of design or intention or foresight. In making a garden there is +such need. The purposes of nature may be deliberately employed to attain +the purposes of men. But apart from beings who foresee and plan there +appears to be no evidence of intention in the world. When we speak of +nature's designs, we speak figuratively, and impute to her rational and +deliberate powers. But we can not clearly affirm that the rain falls in +order that the garden may be watered, or that the eye was framed in +order that we might see. The evidence for design of that character has +been proved inadequate again and again with every careful examination of +it. To say, therefore, that nature is full of purpose does not mean that +nature has been framed in accordance with some preconceived plan, but +rather that nature is discovered to be an historical process, the +conversion of the possible into the actual in such a way that there is +conserved a progressive record of that conversion. + +From the selective character of history it follows that a single +complete history of anything is impossible--certainly a single complete +history of the world at large. History is pluralistic. This conclusion +might be reached as others have already been reached by pointing out how +it follows from the purpose of writing history, and how this purpose +indicates the character of movements in time. Indeed this has already +been done in pointing out that the history of England is its many +histories and the history of a garden the history of its many seeds. +Always there is a particular career and particular incidents appropriate +to it. Any career may be as comprehensive as desired, but the more +inclusive it is the more restricted it becomes. The history of Milton +contains details which the history of English literature will omit; and +the history of the cosmos shrinks to nothing when we try to write it. +The only universal history is the exposition of what history itself is, +the time process stripped of all its variety and specific interests. +Consequently, a single purpose is not discoverable; there are many +purposes. When we try to reduce them all to some show of singleness we +again do no more than try to tell what a temporal order is like. It is +metaphysics and not history we are writing. + +To affirm that history is pluralistic is, however, only to reaffirm the +selective character of history generally. A history of the world in +order to be single, definite, and coherent, must exhibit a single, +definite, and coherent purpose or time process. That means, of course, +that it is distinguished from other purposes equally single, definite, +and coherent. There are thus many histories of the world distinguished +from one another by the incidence of choice or emphasis. The flower in +the crannied wall with its history fully recorded and understood would, +consequently, illustrate the universe. All that has ever happened might +be interpreted in illumination of its career. Yet it would be absurd to +maintain that either nature or Tennyson intended that the little flower +should be exclusively illustrative. The wall would do as well, or its +crannies, or the poet. Nature exhibits no preference either in the +choice of a history or in the extent of its comprehensiveness. Man may +be thought to be, and man is, an incident in the universe, and the +universe may be thought to be, and the universe is, the theater of man's +career. + +The same principle may be illustrated from human history exclusively. We +who are of European ancestry and largely Anglo-Saxon by inheritance are +pleased to write history as the development of our own civilization with +its institutions, customs, and laws; and we regard China and Japan, for +example, as incidental and contributory to our own continuation in time. +Because our heritage is Christian we date all events from the birth of +Christ. Yet we gain some wisdom by pausing to reflect how our procedure +might impress an enlightened historian from China or Japan. Would he +begin with the cradle of European civilization, pass through Greece and +Rome, and then from Europe to America, remarking that in 1852 A.D. +Commodore Perry opened Japan to the world? Surely he would begin +otherwise, and not unlike ourselves would construe the history of the +world in a manner relevant to the progress of his own civilization. +Europe and America and Christianity would contribute to that +development, but would not constitute its essential or distinctively +significant factors. The historian is himself an historical fact +indicating a selection, a distinction, and an emphasis in the course of +time. His history is naturally colored by that fact. Other histories he +can write only with an effort at detachment from his own career. He must +forget himself if he would understand others; but he must understand +himself first, if he is successfully to forget what he is. He must know +what history is, recognize its pluralistic character, and try to do it +justice. + +To do justice to the pluralistic character of history is not, however, +simply to write other histories than one's own with commendable +impartiality. It is also to be keenly alive to the philosophical +implications of this pluralism. The most significant of them is +doubtless this: since philosophically considered history is a thing not +written, but evolved and acted, to no one history can absolute +superiority or preference be assigned. Absolutely considered the history +of man can not claim preëminence over the history of the stars. He is no +more the darling of the universe than is the remotest nebula. It is just +as intelligible and just as true to say that man exists as an +illustration of stellar evolution as to say that the sun exists to +divide light from darkness for the good of man. Absolutely considered +the cosmos is impartial to its many histories. But even that is not well +said, for it implies that the cosmos might be partial if it chose. We +should rather say that there is no considering of history absolutely at +all. For history is just the denial of absolute considerations. It is +the affirmation of relative considerations, of considerations which are +relative to a selected career. There is no other kind of history +possible. + +The recognition of this fact does not, however, imply the futility of +all history. It does not imply that any history is good enough for men +since all histories are good enough for the cosmos. So to conclude is to +disregard completely the implications of pluralism. If no history can +claim absolute distinction, all histories are distinguished, +nevertheless, from one another. If no history can claim preëminence over +any other, it is true also that none can be robbed by any other of its +own distinction and character. The fact that the morning stars do not +sing together is not the universe's estimate of the value of poetry. The +fact that the rain falls equally upon the just and the unjust is +evidence neither of the impartial dispensations of deity nor of the +equal issue of vice and virtue. Each event in its own history and +illustrative of its own career is the law. + +Yet men have been prone to write their own history as if it were +something else than a human enterprise, as if it were something else +than the history of humanity. Those who seek to read their destiny from +the constellations ascendant at their birth are generally called +superstitious; but those who seek to read it from the constitution of +matter, or from the mechanism of the physical world, or from the +composition of chemical substances, although no less superstitious, are +too frequently called scientists. But "dust thou art and unto dust thou +shalt return" is an essential truth only about the history of dust; it +is only an incidental truth about the history of man. One learns nothing +peculiarly characteristic of humanity from it. It affords no measure of +the appreciation of poetry, of the constitution of a state, or of the +passion for happiness. Human history is human history only. The hopes +and fears, the aspirations, the wisdom and the folly of man are to be +understood only in the light of his career. They are to be understood in +terms of that into which they may and do eventuate for him, by the way +in which they are incorporated into his past to make it more fully +remembered and more adequately understood, and by the way they are used +for his future to make his past more satisfactory to remember and more +satisfying to understand. + +Yet some there are who stop worshipping the stars when they discover +that the stars neither ask for worship nor respond to it, and who +dismiss reverence and piety when they discover that a god did not create +the world. Perhaps they should not worship the stars nor believe in God, +but neither astronomy nor geology affords good reasons for putting an +end to human reverence and faith. If the stars have not begged man to +worship them, he has begged them to be an inspiration to a steadfast +purpose. It is in his history, not in theirs, that they have been +divine. How stupid of him therefore, and how traitorous to his own +history, if he shames his capacity for reverence, when once he has found +that the stars have a different history from his own. + +The inevitable failure of astronomy and geology to afford man gods +suitable for his worship is not a recommendation that he should +vigorously embrace the superstitions of his ancestors. To counsel that +would be an infamy equal to that which has just been condemned. The +counsel is rather that what is not human should not be taken as the +standard and measure of what is human. Human history can not be wholly +resolved into physical processes nor the enterprises of men be construed +solely as the by-product of material forces. Such resolution of it +appears to be unwarranted in view of the conclusions to which a +consideration of what history is, leads. The obverse error has long +since been sufficiently condemned. We have been warned often enough that +water does not _seek_ its own level or nature _abhor_ a vacuum. Even +literary criticism warns us against the pathetic fallacy. But in +refusing to anthropomorphize matter, we ought not to be led to +materialize man. We should rather be led to recognize that the reasons +which condemn anthropomorphic science are precisely the reasons which +commend humanistic philosophy. It is just because history is pluralistic +that it is unpardonable to confound different histories with one +another. So we may conclude that the pluralism of history which makes +all histories, when absolutely considered, of equal rank and of +indifferent importance, does not rob them, therefore, of their specific +characters, nor make human history a presumptuous enterprise for them +that write it not in the language of nature, but in the language of man. + +This conclusion needs greater refinement of statement if it is to be +freed from ambiguity. For the distinction between nature and man is an +artifice. It is not a distinction which philosophy can ultimately +justify. Undoubtedly man is a part or instance of nature, governed by +nature's laws and intimately involved in her processes. But he is so +governed and involved not as matter without imagination, but as a being +whose distinction is the historical exercise of his intelligence. Nature +is not what she would be without him and that is why his history can +never be remembered or understood if he is forgotten. He can not be +taken out of nature and nature be then called upon to explain him. As a +part or instance of nature man is to be remembered and understood, but +as the part or instance which he himself is, and not another. His +history, consequently, can never be adequately written solely in terms +of physics or chemistry, or even of biology; it must be written also in +terms of aspiration. + +All time processes are histories, but man only is the writer of them, so +that historical comprehension becomes the significant trait of human +history. To live in the light of a past remembered and understood is to +live, not the life of instinct and emotion, but the life of +intelligence. It is to see how means converge upon ends, and so to +discover means for the attainment of ends desired. Human history becomes +thus the record of human progress. From it we may learn how that +progress is to be defined and so discover the purpose of man in history. +For him the study of his own history is his congenial task to which all +his knowledge of other histories is contributory; and for him the +conscious, reflective, and intelligent living of his own history is his +congenial purpose. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[4] See especially his "Données immédiates de la conscience," 1888. +(Eng. tr. "Time and Free Will," by F. L. Pogson. The Macmillan Company, +1912.) "L'évolution créatrice," 1908. (Eng. tr. "Creative Evolution," by +Arthur Mitchell. Henry Holt and Company, 1913.) + + + + +III + +THE CONTINUITY OF HISTORY + + +Although history is pluralistic, it is not, therefore, discontinuous. We +can not divide it in two in such a manner that its parts will be wholly +unconnected. Any division we may make, although we make it as plain as +the fence which divides a field, gives us a boundary which, like the +fence, belongs equally to the parts on either side of it. Novelty and +distinction may abound in the world, but nothing is so novel or distinct +that it is wholly cut off from antecedents and consequences of some +sort. It is this fact which we denote when we speak of the continuity of +history. We indicate that every action of time, every conversion of the +possible into the actual, is intimately woven into the order of events +and finds there a definite place and definite connections. Consequently +it becomes easy to represent the movement of history as a kind of +progress from earlier to later things, from ancestors to descendants, or +from the original or primitive to the derived. If, however, progress is +to mean anything more than just this representation of historical +continuity, if, for example, it is to mean, besides a progression from +the earlier to the later, some improvement also, clearly a criterion is +necessary, by which progress may be judged and estimated. An inquiry is +thus suggested into the continuity of history to see in what sense +progress may be affirmed of it and by what criteria that affirmation may +be warranted. As a preliminary to this inquiry it is advisable to +envisage the continuity itself and determine how far it assists in +understanding what has happened. + +From among the many illustrations which might be cited to bring the fact +of historical continuity visibly before us, these from Professor Tylor's +"Primitive Culture" are particularly suggestive because they deal with +familiar things: "Progress, degradation, survival, modification, are all +modes of the connection that binds together the complex network of +civilization. It needs but a glance into the trivial details of our own +daily life to set us thinking how far we are really its originators, and +how far but the transmitters and modifiers of the results of long past +ages. Looking round the rooms we live in, we may try here how far he +who knows only his own time can be capable of rightly comprehending even +that. Here is the honeysuckle of Assyria, there the fleur-de-lis of +Anjou, a cornice with a Greek border runs round the ceiling, the style +of Louis XIV and its parent the Renaissance share the looking-glass +between them. Transformed, shifted, or mutilated, such elements of art +still carry their history plainly stamped upon them; and if the history +yet farther behind is less easy to read, we are not to say that because +we can not clearly discern it there is therefore no history there. It is +thus even with the fashion of the clothes men wear. The ridiculous +little tails of the German postilion's coat show of themselves how they +came to dwindle to such absurd rudiments; but the English clergyman's +bands no longer so convey their history to the eye, and look +unaccountable enough till one has seen the intermediate stages through +which they came down from the more serviceable wide collars, such as +Milton wears in his portrait, and which gave their name to the +'band-box' they used to be kept in. In fact, the books of costume, +showing how one garment grew or shrank by gradual stages and passed into +another, illustrate with much force and clearness the nature of the +change and growth, revival and decay, which go on from year to year in +more important matters of life. In books, again, we see each writer not +for and by himself, but occupying his proper place in history; we look +through each philosopher, mathematician, chemist, poet, into the +background of his education,--through Leibnitz into Descartes, through +Dalton into Priestly, through Milton into Homer. + +"'Man,' said Wilhelm von Humboldt, 'ever connects on from what lies at +hand (der Mensch knüpft immer an Vorhandenes an).' The notion of the +continuity of civilization contained in this maxim is no barren +philosophic principle, but is at once made practical by the +consideration that they who wish to understand their own lives ought to +know the stages through which their opinions and habits have become what +they are. Auguste Comte scarcely overstated the necessity of this study +of development, when he declared at the beginning of his 'Positive +Philosophy' that 'no conception can be understood except through its +history,' and his phrase will bear extension to culture at large. To +expect to look modern life in the face and comprehend it by mere +inspection, is a philosophy whose weakness can easily be tested. +Imagine any one explaining the trivial saying, 'a little bird told me,' +without knowing of the old belief in the language of birds and beasts, +to which Dr. Dasent in the introduction to the Norse Tales, so +reasonably traces its origin. To ingenious attempts at explaining by the +light of reason things which want the light of history to show their +meaning, much of the learned nonsense of the world has indeed been +due."[5] + +The illustrations are drawn from the domain of human interests. They +could be paralleled by others drawn from natural history. The +honeysuckle may carry us elsewhere than to Assyria, revealing +unsuspected kinships in the world of plants. Biology has made the +conception of the continuity of living forms a familiar commonplace, and +geology can find in the earth's crust the story of countless years. So +familiar has the idea of continuity become that terms like "evolution" +and "development" have ceased to be technical and have become terms of +common speech. We speak readily of the evolution of man, of government, +of the steam-engine, of the automobile, and of the atom. The idea has so +possessed all departments of inquiry that a large part of the +literature of every subject is occupied with setting forth connections +which have gone before. Not only do we go through Milton into Homer, but +through yesterday into an ever receding past which grows more alluring +the more it recedes. The quest for origins has been of absorbing +interest. It would seem that we can never understand anything at all +until we have discovered its origin in something which preceded it. + +In the first lecture I pointed out how impossible it appears ever to end +any history finally. We now seem to face a corresponding impossibility, +namely, the impossibility of ever really beginning it successfully. It +would appear that we stop only because we do not care to go farther, or +lack the means to do so, and not because we can say that we have found a +first beginning with no antecedents before it. We may begin the history +of philosophy with the Greeks, with Thales of Miletus, but the question +has been repeatedly asked, Was not Thales a Semite? Did he not derive +his ideas from Egypt and Babylonia? And whence came philosophy itself? +Was it not the offspring of religion which preceded it, so that, before +we begin its history, we must pass, as Professor Cornford suggests,[6] +from religion to philosophy? Then what of religion itself? What were its +antecedents and whence was its descent? So the questions multiply +interminably until we must admit that "in the beginning" is a time +arbitrarily fixed or only relatively determined. History, being +continuous, has neither beginning nor end. + +This fact, however, ought not to bewilder any one who contemplates it +steadily. It is an obvious consequence of the nature of time, for every +present has a past and a future, and a first or last present is, +consequently, quite unintelligible. The historian, least of all, should +be bewildered. If he has recognized that history is pluralistic, he will +recognize also that beginnings and ends are, in any intelligible sense, +the termini of distinctions. There is not an absolute first or last in +history taken as a whole, for, as we have seen, the attempt to take +history as a whole, if it has any meaning at all, means the attempt to +define history. It gives us the metaphysics of time, but not an +absolute, complete, and finished whole, whose boundaries, although never +empirically reached, are ideally conceivable. Our thinking moves in a +direction quite different. It leads us to observe that distinctions +begin and end, and begin and end as absolutely as one chooses, but do +not, thereby, cut themselves off from all connections. These lectures +began to be delivered last Friday, but not the day before; the first +word of them was written at a perfectly definite time and place which +can never be changed; they will end with a definiteness equally precise; +but these beginnings and endings destroy no continuity. Every history is +equally continuous, undisturbed by its beginnings and endings. Each +action of time is preceded and followed by everything which precedes and +follows it, and yet each action of time begins and ends with its own +peculiar and individual precision. In affirming this we are affirming, +by means of a particular instance, the metaphysical nature of continuity +itself. For by continuity we mean the possibility of precise and +definite distinctions. The continuity of a line may be divided at its +middle point. It is then precisely divided, but is not, thereby, broken +into two separate lines.[7] After this manner the continuity of history +is to be conceived. And in the light of this conception we should +understand what the continuity of history can explain. + +It is tempting to say that it can explain nothing at all, but it is +evident that there is an uncertainty of meaning in such a claim. For +things may be explained or made clear in a variety of ways with little +resemblance to one another. What we mean by a circle may be made clear +by defining a circle, or by an algebraical formula, or by drawing a +circle. All these ways will be fruitful, but they will be fruitful +relatively to the problem which provokes them. To explain anything at +all, it is necessary to keep in mind the questions to which the proposed +explanation is relevant. If I am asked to draw a circle it will not do +simply to define it; and if I am asked to tell what it is algebraically, +it will not do simply to draw it. So it is apparent that, when we wish +to know what the continuity of history can explain, or when we affirm +that it explains nothing, we should have in mind, first of all, the +questions to which the continuity of history would be an appropriate +answer. There appears to be only one such question, and that is, What +have been the antecedents of any given fact? These antecedents the +continuity of history explains in that it makes them clear. It may also +make clear what the consequences of a given fact have been or may be. +But this explanatory value is a derivative of the preceding or an +enlargement of it, through our habit of looking at consequences as +derived from their antecedents, and of basing our expectations of what +may happen upon our observations of what has happened. Further +explanatory value in the continuity of history it seems difficult to +find, even if we make the statement of it less general and more precise. + +But in saying this, it is not implied that this value is mean or +inconsiderable. The continuity of history is both entertaining and +instructive. It is entertaining because it reveals unsuspected kinships +and alluring connections. It is instructive because it furnishes a +foundation for inference and practice. To man it gives the long +experience of his race to enjoy and profit by. It guides his +expectations and enhances the control of his own affairs. It is the same +with the continuities of nature generally. They beget the vision of an +ordered world and help to frame rules which are applicable in the +control of nature. Accordingly it is not disparagement which is here +intended, but a limitation which should be appreciated. + +When we say to our children, "A little bird told me," both we and our +children may be quite ignorant of Dr. Dasent's introduction to the Norse +Tales. We may be quite unconscious that we are using an expression +traceable to a time when people believed in such language of birds and +beasts as gifted persons could understand. It may be that we repeat the +words simply because we remember that our parents once successfully +deceived us in our childhood by using them, and that our parents did but +follow the example of theirs. But evidently we should not explain the +trivial saying simply by following it back endlessly into antiquity +unless we concluded that it had always been characteristic of parents to +deceive children in this manner. In that case we should have discovered +a metaphysical truth about the nature of parents, and no further +explanation would be required. + +If, however, we are not willing to admit that parents are such by nature +that they will cite birds as sources of information when it is expedient +to keep the real source hidden, but insist that this habit be otherwise +explained, we ask for an explanation which the continuity of history +alone can not afford. An explanation in contemporaneous terms is +required. We do not use the phrase because our ancestors used it, +although we may have derived it from them; we use it because of its +known efficacy. We may, however, discover that our ancestors--or Norse +parents--used it for a different reason, namely, because they believed +in a language of beasts and birds. But if we ask why they so believed, +it will not profit us to pursue antiquity again, unless by so doing we +come upon the contemporaneous, experimental origin of that belief. For +it is evident that if the belief had an origin, there was a time +anterior when it did not exist, and its origin can not, therefore, be +explained solely in terms of that anterior time. Its origin points, not +to continuity, but to action. It indicates not that the originators of +the belief had ancestors, but that, in view of their contemporaneous +circumstances, they acted in a certain way. To explain the origin of +anything, therefore, we can not trust to the continuity of history +alone. That continuity may carry us back to the beginnings of beliefs +and institutions which have persisted and been transmitted from age to +age; it may reveal to us experimental factors which have shaped beliefs +and institutions, but which have long since been forgotten; but it can +never, of itself, reveal the experimental origin of any belief or +institution whatever. That is, in principle, the limitation by which the +explanatory value of historical continuity is restricted. To understand +origins we must appeal to the contemporaneous experience of their own +age, or to experimental science.[8] + +Simple as this consideration is, it has been too much neglected by +historians and philosophers in recent times on account of the profound +influence of the doctrine of evolution. The great service, which that +doctrine has rendered, has been to fix our attention on the evident fact +of continuity from which our minds had been distracted by a too +exclusive preoccupation with theories of the atomic kind. Through +several centuries, philosophy had acquired the habit of thinking +generally in terms of elements and their compounds, whenever it +addressed itself to a consideration of nature, or of the mind, or of the +relation between the two. Its principal problem was to discover means +of connection and unification which might make clear how that which is +essentially discrete and discontinuous might, none the less, be combined +into a unity of some sort. As it failed, it usually took refuge in the +opposite idea, and attempted to conceive an original unity out of which +diversity was generated by some impulsion in this initial and primal +being. Philosophy thus vibrated between the contrasted poles of the same +fundamental endeavor, between the attempt to combine elements into a +unity, and the attempt to resolve unity into elements. The latter +attempt, especially in men like Hegel and Spencer, had the advantage of +involving the idea of continuity, and became the controlling +philosophical enterprise of the latter part of the last century. But it +was principally the doctrine of evolution or development as set forth by +biologists, anthropologists, and historians that made the fact of +continuity convincingly apparent and freed philosophy from the necessity +of attempting to explain it. Continuity became a fact to be appreciated +and understood, and ceased to be a riddle to be solved. The doctrine of +evolution thus wrought a real emancipation of the mind. + +But this freedom has been often abused. Relieved of the necessity of +explaining continuity, philosophers, biologists, historians, and even +students of language, literature, and the arts, have been too frequently +content to let the fact of continuity do all the explaining that needs +to be done. To discover the historical origins and trace the descent of +ideas, institutions, customs, and forms of life, have been for many the +exclusive and sufficient occupation, to the neglect of experimental +science and with the consequent failure to make us very much wiser in +our attempts to control the intricate factors of human living. If we +would appreciate our own morals and religion we are often advised to +consider primitive man and his institutions. If we would evaluate +marriage or property, we are often directed to study our remote +ancestors. And this practical advice has sometimes taken the form of +metaphysics. If we wish to know the nature of things or to appraise +their worth, we are told to contemplate some primitive cosmic stuff from +which everything has been derived. Thus man and all the varied panorama +of the world vanish backward into nebulæ, and life disappears into the +impulse to live. Not trailing clouds of glory do we come, but trailing +the primitive and the obsolete. + +Such considerations as these have diverse effects according to our +temperaments. They quite uniformly produce, however, disillusionment and +sophistication. That is the usual result of inquisitions into one's +ancestry. But disillusionment and sophistication may produce either +regret or rebellion. This exaltation of the past, as the ancestral home +of all that we are, may make us regret our loss of illusions and our +disconcerting enlightenment. It had been better for us to have lived +then when illusions were cherished and vital, than to live now when they +are exposed and artificial. The joy of living has been sapped, and we +may cry with Matthew Arnold's Obermann + + + "Oh, had I lived in that great day!" + + +Or disillusionment and sophistication may beget rebellion. We may break +with the past, scorn an inheritance so redolent of blood and lust and +superstition, revel in an emancipation unguided by the discipline of +centuries, strive to create a new world every day, and imagine that, at +last, we have begun to make progress. + +But progress is not to be construed in terms of a conservatism which is +artificial and reactionary, or of a radicalism which is undisciplined +and irresponsible. Conservatism and radicalism are, as already +indicated, temperamental affections which a too exclusive and irrational +contemplation of our ancestry may produce in us. They are born of fear +or impatience, and are not the legitimate offspring of history. For +historical continuity, just because it does not of itself reveal the +experimental origin of any belief or institution, does not of itself +disclose progress or any standard by which progress may be estimated. It +teaches no lesson in morals and provides no guide to the perplexed. And +the reason for this is simple. History is continuous, and, therefore, +there is no point, no date, no occurrence, no incident, no origin, no +belief, and no institution, which can claim preëminence simply on +account of its position. If men were once superstitious because of their +place in history and are now scientific for precisely the same reason, +we can not therefore conclude, with any intelligent or rational +certainty, that evolution has progressed from superstition to science, +or that science is better than superstition. Values are otherwise +determined. The continuity of history levels them all. + +Yet there may be laws of history. The comparative study of history, +whether the history be of civilizations or of living forms or of +geological formations, reveals uniformities and sequences which promote +our understanding and aid our practice. If we should find that wherever +men have lived, their institutions, laws, customs, religion, and +philosophy tend to show a uniformity of direction in their development, +we should feel justified in concluding that the tendency indicated a law +of history. Yet such laws would not be indications of progress. They +would indicate rather the conditions under which progress is or can be +made. For laws are expressions of the limitations under which things may +be done. They show the forms and structures to which actions conform. +But whether these actions are good or bad, upward or downward, +progressive or retrogressive, they do not show. For decline no less than +progress is in conformity with law, and the continuity of history is +indifferent to both. Were we, therefore, in possession of all the laws +and uniformities of history, we should not have discovered thereby what +either decline or progress is; but were we in possession of a knowledge +of what decline and progress are, the laws and uniformities of history +would teach us better to avoid the one and attain the other. + +It would seem to follow from these considerations that progress +involves something more than the continuous accumulation of results in +some specified direction, the piling of them up on one another in such a +way that the total heap is more impressive than any of the portions +added to it, and more illustrative, consequently, of a particular +career. There might, indeed, be progress in this sense, if we divorced +the conception of it from any standard which might intelligently judge +it and set a value upon it. For the passage from seed to fruit, or any +movement in time which attains an end illustrative of the steps by which +it has been reached is in that sense progressive. But progress in this +sense means no more than the fact of history. The career of things in +time is precisely that sort of movement, and indicates the sense in +which history is naturally purposeful. To call it progress adds nothing +to the meaning of it unless a standard is introduced by which it can be +measured. If we will risk again the treacherous distinction between man +as intelligent and nature as simply forceful, we may say that progress +rightfully implies some improvement of nature. We should then see that +to improve nature involves the doing of something which nature, left to +herself, does not do, and, consequently, that nature herself affords no +indication of progress and no measure or standard of it. Nor does +history afford them, if we divorce history from every moral estimate of +it. For again, we may say that progress implies some improvement of +history, so that to judge that there has been progress is not to +discover that history by evolving has put a value upon itself. It is +rather to judge that history has measured up to a standard applied to +it. It seems idle, therefore, to suppose that history apart from such a +standard can tell us what progress is or whether it has been made. + +Yet history might do so if we are ready to admit man makes moral +judgments as naturally as the sun shines. If his morality were some +miracle, supernaturally imposed upon his natural career, we should need +supernatural sanctions for it, for no natural achievement of his could +justify it. These sanctions might justify him and what he does, if he +conformed to them, but neither he nor his actions could give them +natural warrant. They would express nothing after which he naturally +aspires, and could, consequently, afford him no vision of a goal the +attainment of which would crown his history with its own natural +fruition. But if his morality is natural, his ideals and standards of +judgment express what he has discovered he might be, and point out to +him what his history might attain, had he knowledge and power enough to +turn it in the direction of his own conscious purposes. Accordingly his +history then might reveal both progress and the criterion of it. But it +would do so not simply because it is a history, but because it is a +history of a certain kind. Man makes progress because he can conceive +what progress is, and use that conception as a standard of selection and +as a goal to be reached. He participates in his own history consciously, +and that means that he participates in it morally, with a sense of +obligation to his career. For to be conscious implies the anticipation +in imagination of results which are not yet attained, but which might be +attained if appropriate means were found. Conceiving thus what he might +be, man always has some standard and measure of what he is. He sees +ahead of him, and moves, therefore, with care and discrimination. All +the forces and impulses of his nature do not simply impel him on from +behind; they also draw him on from before through his ability to +conceive to what enlargement and fruition they might be carried. He +condemns his life as miserable, only because he conceives a happiness +which condemns it; and he calls it good, only because joys, once +anticipated but now attained, have blessed it. Progress is thus +characteristic of human history, because it is characteristic of man +that progress should be conceived. His life is not only a life of +nutrition and reproduction, or of pleasures and pains, but a life also +of hopes and fears. And when hope and fear are not blind, but +enlightened, his life is also a life of reason, for reason is the +ability to conceive the ends which clarify the movements toward them. + +"Without reason, as without memory, there might still be pleasures and +pains in existence. To increase those pleasures and reduce those pains +would be to introduce an improvement into the sentient world, as if a +devil suddenly died in hell or in heaven a new angel were created. Since +the beings, however, in which these values would reside, would, by +hypothesis, know nothing of one another, and since the betterment would +take place unprayed-for and unnoticed, it could hardly be called a +progress; and certainly not a progress in man, since man, without the +ideal continuity given by memory and reason, would have no moral being. +In human progress, therefore, reason is not a casual instrument, having +its sole value in its service to sense; such a betterment in sentience +would not be progress unless it were a progress in reason, and the +increasing pleasure revealed some object that could please; for without +a picture of the situation from which a heightened vitality might flow, +the improvement could be neither remembered nor measured nor +desired."[9] + +Carrying thus the conception and measure of progress in his own career, +man can judge his history morally, and decide what progress he has made. +He speaks aptly of "making" progress, recognizing in that expression +that he uses the materials at his command for the ends he desires. But +the materials at his command are not of his own making. He may, indeed, +have modified them by former use, but in each instance of his using them +they are always so much matter with a structure and character of their +own. This fact puts the continuity of history in a new light. It forbids +the attempt to conceive it as a movement pushing forward, as it were, +into the future. We should conceive it rather from the point of view of +the time process as we have already analyzed it. Then we should see that +the continuity of history is the continuity of the results of the +conversion of the possible into the actual--the part of the line which +has been drawn. It comprises all that has been accomplished, conserved +either by man's memory or by nature at large, and existing for continued +modification or use. As such, it has its own structure, its own +uniformities, and its own laws. To them every modification made is +subject. That is why everything "connects on from what lies at hand," +and why everything we do--even the expressions we use--points backward +to what our ancestors have done. Since what they have done is only +material for what we may do, it can not of itself explain our use of it, +or judge our own values. An understanding of it should, however, make us +wiser in the use of it. That is why we need contemporaneous experience +and empirical science. We need to discover, either by our own experience +or by reconstituting the experience of others, what happens when given +material is used in a given way. Such discoveries are the only genuine +explanations. They reveal the conditions to which actions must conform +if the ends we desire are to be attained. + +More generally expressed the continuity of history is the continuity of +matter. It comprises in sum the structure to which every movement in +time is subject. It makes up what we call the laws of nature conformably +to which whatever is done must be done. But in itself it is inert and +impotent. Activity of some sort must penetrate it, if there is to be +anything effected. And what is effected reveals, when experimentally +understood, the laws as limitations within which the control of any +movement is possible. + +A wall is built by laying stone on stone. It may be torn down and built +again, or left a ruin. The placing or overthrow of every stone occurs as +just that event but once, never to return, but the stones, though +chiseled or worn in the handling, remain constant material for constant +use. The result is a wall or a ruin, both of which illustrate the law of +gravitation, but neither of which was produced by that law. That is what +history is like. It is an activity which transforms the materials of the +world without destroying them, and transforms them subject to laws of +their own. The world is thus ever new, but never lawless. It is always +fresh and always old. The present is, as Francis Bacon said, its real +antiquity. Time is thus the arch-conservative and the arch-radical. +Forever it revises its inheritance, but it is never quit of it. + +Man's inheritance comprises both what he has derived from his ancestors, +and also the world bequeathed to him from day to day. This material he +uses with some knowledge of its laws, and with the conscious desire to +convert it to his own ends. The kinds of progress he can make are thus +relevant to the purposes he sets before him. Since the satisfaction of +his physical needs and the desire of comfortable living require some +mastery of physical resources, his progress can naturally be measured by +the degree of success he makes in providing for satisfactions of this +kind. Such progress is material progress, and its standards are economy +and efficiency, or the attainment of the maximum result with the minimum +of effort. This kind of progress is very diversified, embracing all the +economic concerns of life, and much of society and the arts. But +material prosperity is provisional. To be well-housed, well-fed, +well-clothed, and even to have friends and the opportunity for unlimited +amusement, these things have never been permanently regarded as +defining human happiness to the full. Having these things man is still +curious to know what he will do. Material progress indicates mastery of +the necessities of his existence in order that he may then be free to +act. If no free act follows upon such mastery, life loses its savor, and +pleasures grow stale. Material progress would thus seem to be a +preliminary to living well, but would not be living well itself. For man +would be in a sorry plight if he succeeded in mastering the physical +resources of his world, and then found nothing to do. + +There seems to be nothing further for him to do than to reflect, or +rather what he does further, flows from his reflections. Since he +satisfies his bodily wants, not blindly, but consciously and through +exercise of his intelligence, looking before and after, and trying to +see his life from beginning to end, his reflections lead him to +self-consciousness. He discovers his personality and makes the crucial +distinction between his body and his soul. He speaks of _his_ world, of +_his_ friends, of _his_ life. He begins then to wonder for what purpose +and by what right his possessive attitude is warranted; for unless he +suppresses his reflections or yields himself thoughtlessly to his +instincts and emotions, he can not fail to observe that things are no +more rightfully his than another's, and that to belong rightfully to any +one there must be some warrant drawn from a world with which his soul +could be congenial. Even his soul begins to appear as not rightfully +his, for why should he have now this haunting sense of belonging to +another world, and of being a visitor to this in need of introduction +and credentials? Reflection thus gives birth to a new kind of life in +which also progress may be made. We call it rational progress, for it +involves the attempt to justify existence by discovering sanctions which +reason can approve, and to which all should give assent, because each +soul must, on seeing them, recognize them as its own. + +Reflection may lead man to do generous things. He may comfort the +distressed, help the poor, relieve pain, or reform society. The world +affords him abundant opportunity for his benefactions. He may create +beautiful things which he and others can enjoy perfectly in the mere +beholding of them. He may worship the gods, dimly conscious that they at +least lead the perfect life, and that to dwell with them is immortality. +Such exercises of the spirit yield him a new kind of happiness. But his +danger lies in supposing that his existence can be thus externally +justified: that others will bless him for his benefactions; that Beauty +lurks hidden to be gloriously seen even at the risk of destruction; or +that God intended him to be happy. If, however, he is saved from thus +superstitiously converting the ideal possibilities of his life into +justifying reasons why he should exist at all, he may see in them the +fruition of all his history. Even his material progress gives him a hint +of this, for it is genuine progress and justifies itself naturally +through the attainment of its ends. For he needs no sanction to warm his +body when cold, or to feed it when hungry. It is sufficient that he sees +the end to be reached and finds the means to reach it. The hunger of the +soul may be no less efficacious. Although these cravings tend to bring +uneasiness and distaste into his animal enjoyments, they find some +satisfaction if these enjoyments are idealized and transformed into a +vision of what they might be freed from the material grossness which +clogs them. Man then begins to conceive ideal love and friendship, and +an ideal society. If only he were the free partaker of such perfect +things, his existence would need no justification. In acknowledging +this, however, he may rediscover himself and learn more adequately what +the purpose of his history is. It is so to use the materials of the +world that they will be permanently used in the light of the ideal +perfection they naturally suggest. Man can conceive no occupation more +satisfying and no happiness more complete. In entering upon it he makes +rational progress. Its measure is the degree of success he attains in +making his animal life minister to ideals he can own without reserve and +love without regret. + +Human history is something more than the lives of great men, the rise +and fall of states, the growth of institutions and customs, the vagaries +of religion and philosophy, or the controlling influence of economic +forces. It is also a rational enterprise. Expressed in naturalistic +terms it is history conscious of what history is. To remember and to +understand what has happened is not, therefore, simply an interesting +and profitable study; it may be also an illustration of rational living. +It may be an indication that man, in finally discovering what his +history genuinely is, is at the same time making it minister constantly +and consciously to its own enlargement and perfection. That intelligent +beings should recover their history is no reason why they should +repudiate it, even if they find many things of which to be ashamed; for +they are examples of the recovery of the past with the prospect of a +future. In reading their own history, they may smile at that which once +they reverenced, and laugh at that which once they feared. They may have +to unlearn many established lessons and renounce many cherished hopes. +They may have to emancipate themselves continually from their past; but +note that it is from their past that they would be emancipated and that +it is freedom that they seek. It is not a new form of slavery. Into what +greater slavery could they fall than into that implied by the +squandering of their inheritance or by blaming their ancestors for +preceding them? They will be ancestors themselves one day and others +will ask what they have bequeathed. These others may not ask for Greece +again or for Rome or for Christianity, but they will ask for the like of +these, things which can live perennially in the imagination, even if as +institutions they are past and dead. He is not freed from the past who +has lost it or who regards himself simply as its product. In the one +case he would have no experience to guide him and no memories to +cherish. In the other he would have no enthusiasm. To be emancipated is +to have recovered the past untrammeled in an enlightened pursuit of that +enterprise of the mind which first begot it. It is not to renounce +imagination, but to exercise it illumined and refreshed. + +History is, then, not only the conserving, the remembering, and the +understanding of what has happened: it is also the completing of what +has happened. And since in man history is consciously lived, the +completing of what has happened is also the attempt to carry it to what +he calls perfection. He looks at a wilderness, but, even as he looks, +beholds a garden. For him, consequently, the purpose of history is not a +secret he vainly tries to find, but a kind of life his reason enables +him to live. As he lives it well, the fragments of existence are +completed and illumined in the visions they reveal. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[5] Tylor, Edward B. "Primitive Culture." Henry Holt & Co., 1889. Vol. +I, pages 17 ff. + +[6] Cornford, Francis M. "From Religion to Philosophy." Longmans, Green +& Co., 1912. + +[7] See Dedekind, Richard. "Continuity and Irrational Numbers," in +"Essays on the Theory of numbers." Tr. by Wooster W. Beman. Open Court +Publishing Co., 1901. + +[8] If space permitted, this same limitation could be abundantly +illustrated from the sciences, especially the biological sciences. They +have made very clear what an essential difference there is between the +continuity of living forms and the origin of new forms. This difference +can be readily appreciated by comparing a work on "evolution" or +"natural history" with a work on "experimental biology." + +[9] Santayana, George. "The Life of Reason," 1905. Vol. I, pages 3-4. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Purpose of History, by +Frederick James Eugene Woodbridge + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58179 *** |