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diff --git a/old/lfhb10h.htm b/old/lfhb10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b55bc0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/lfhb10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7776 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Life and Habit</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Life and Habit, by Samuel Butler</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Life and Habit, by Samuel Butler +(#13 in our series by Samuel Butler) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Life and Habit + +Author: Samuel Butler + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6138] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 18, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1910 Jonathan Cape edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>LIFE AND HABIT</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Since Samuel Butler published “Life and Habit” thirty-three +<a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> years have elapsed +- years fruitful in change and discovery, during which many of the mighty +have been put down from their seat and many of the humble have been +exalted. I do not know that Butler can truthfully be called humble, +indeed, I think he had very few misgivings as to his ultimate triumph, +but he has certainly been exalted with a rapidity that he himself can +scarcely have foreseen. During his lifetime he was a literary +pariah, the victim of an organized conspiracy of silence. He is +now, I think it may be said without exaggeration, universally accepted +as one of the most remarkable English writers of the latter part of +the nineteenth century. I will not weary my readers by quoting +the numerous tributes paid by distinguished contemporary writers to +Butler’s originality and force of mind, but I cannot refrain from +illustrating the changed attitude of the scientific world to Butler +and his theories by a reference to “Darwin and Modern Science,” +the collection of essays published in 1909 by the University of Cambridge, +in commemoration of the Darwin centenary. In that work Professor +Bateson, while referring repeatedly to Butler’s biological works, +speaks of him as “the most brilliant and by far the most interesting +of Darwin’s opponents, whose works are at length emerging from +oblivion.” With the growth of Butler’s reputation +“Life and Habit” has had much to do. It was the first +and is undoubtedly the most important of his writings on evolution. +From its loins, as it were, sprang his three later books, “Evolution +Old and New,” “Unconscious Memory,” and “Luck +or Cunning”, which carried its arguments further afield. +It will perhaps interest Butler’s readers if I here quote a passage +from his note-books, lately published in the “New Quarterly Review” +(Vol. III. No. 9), in which he summarizes his work in biology:</p> +<p>“To me it seems that my contributions to the theory of evolution +have been mainly these</p> +<p>“1. The identification of heredity and memory, and the +corollaries relating to sports, the reversion to remote ancestors, the +phenomena of old age, the causes of the sterility of hybrids, and the +principles underlying longevity - all of which follow as a matter of +course. This was ‘Life and Habit’ [1877].</p> +<p>“2. The re-introduction of teleology into organic life, +which to me seems hardly, if at all, less important than the ‘Life +and Habit’ theory. This was ‘Evolution Old and New’ +[1879].</p> +<p>“3. An attempt to suggest an explanation of the physics +of memory. This was Unconscious Memory’ [1880]. I +was alarmed by the suggestion and fathered it upon Professor Hering, +who never, that I can see, meant to say anything of the kind, but I +forced my view upon him, as it were, by taking hold of a sentence or +two in his lecture, ‘On Memory as a Universal Function of Organised +Matter,’ and thus connected memory with vibrations.</p> +<p>“What I want to do now (1885) is to connect vibrations not +only with memory but with the physical constitution of that body in +which the memory resides, thus adopting Newland’s law (sometimes +called Mendelejeff’s law) that there is only one substance, and +that the characteristics of the vibrations going on within it at any +given time will determine whether it will appear to us as, we will say, +hydrogen, or sodium, or chicken doing this, or chicken doing the other.” +[This is touched upon in the concluding chapter of “Luck or Cunning?” +1887].</p> +<p>The present edition of “Life and Habit” is practically +a re-issue of that of 1878. I find that about the year 1890, although +the original edition was far from being exhausted, Butler began to make +corrections of the text of “Life and Habit,” presumably +with the intention of publishing a revised edition. The copy of +the book so corrected is now in my possession. In the first five +chapters there are numerous emendations, very few of which, however, +affect the meaning to any appreciable extent, being mainly concerned +with the excision of redundancies and the simplification of style. +I imagine that by the time he had reached the end of the fifth chapter +Butler realised that the corrections he had made were not of sufficient +importance to warrant a new edition, and determined to let the book +stand as it was. I believe, therefore, that I am carrying out +his wishes in reprinting the present edition from the original plates. +I have found, however, among his papers three entirely new passages, +which he probably wrote during the period of correction and no doubt +intended to incorporate into the revised edition. Mr. Henry Festing +Jones has also given me a copy of a passage which Butler wrote and gummed +into Mr. Jones’s copy of “Life and Habit.” These +four passages I have printed as an appendix at the end of the present +volume.</p> +<p>One more point deserves notice. Butler often refers in “Life +and Habit” to Darwin’s “Variations of Animals and +Plants under Domestication.” When he does so it is always +under the name “Plants and Animals.” More often still +he refers to Darwin’s “Origin of Species by means Natural +Selection,” terming it at one time “Origin of Species” +and at another “Natural Selection,” sometimes, as on p. +278, using both names within a few lines of each other. Butler +was as a rule scrupulously careful about quotations, and I can offer +no explanation of this curious confusion of titles.</p> +<p>R. A. STREATFEILD.<br /><i>November</i>, 1910.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>AUTHOR’S PREFACE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The Italics in the passages quoted in this book are generally mine, +but I found it almost impossible to call the reader’s attention +to this upon every occasion. I have done so once or twice, as +thinking it necessary in these cases that there should be no mistake; +on the whole, however, I thought it better to content myself with calling +attention in a preface to the fact that the author quoted is not, as +a general rule, responsible for the Italics.</p> +<p>S. BUTLER.<br /><i>November</i> 13, 1877.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER I - ON CERTAIN ACQUIRED HABITS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It will be our business in the following chapters to consider whether +the unconsciousness, or quasi-unconsciousness, with which we perform +certain acquired actions, would seem to throw any light upon Embryology +and inherited instincts, and otherwise to follow the train of thought +which the class of actions above-mentioned would suggest; more especially +in so far as they appear to bear upon the origin of species and the +continuation of life by successive generations, whether in the animal +or vegetable kingdoms.</p> +<p>In the outset, however, I would wish most distinctly to disclaim +for these pages the smallest pretension to scientific value, originality, +or even to accuracy of more than a very rough and ready kind - for unless +a matter be true enough to stand a good deal of misrepresentation, its +truth is not of a very robust order, and the blame will rather lie with +its own delicacy if it be crushed, than with the carelessness of the +crusher. I have no wish to instruct, and not much to be instructed; +my aim is simply to entertain and interest the numerous class of people +who, like myself, know nothing of science, but who enjoy speculating +and reflecting (not too deeply) upon the phenomena around them. +I have therefore allowed myself a loose rein, to run on with whatever +came uppermost, without regard to whether it was new or old; feeling +sure that if true, it must be very old or it never could have occurred +to one so little versed in science as myself; and knowing that it is +sometimes pleasanter to meet the old under slightly changed conditions, +than to go through the formalities and uncertainties of making new acquaintance. +At the same time, I should say that whatever I have knowingly taken +from any one else, I have always acknowledged.</p> +<p>It is plain, therefore, that my book cannot be intended for the perusal +of scientific people; it is intended for the general public only, with +whom I believe myself to be in harmony, as knowing neither much more +nor much less than they do.</p> +<p>Taking then, the art of playing the piano as an example of the kind +of action we are in search of, we observe that a practised player will +perform very difficult pieces apparently without effort, often, indeed, +while thinking and talking of something quite other than his music; +yet he will play accurately and, possibly, with much expression. +If he has been playing a fugue, say in four parts, he will have kept +each part well distinct, in such a manner as to prove that his mind +was not prevented, by its other occupations, from consciously or unconsciously +following four distinct trains of musical thought at the same time, +nor from making his fingers act in exactly the required manner as regards +each note of each part.</p> +<p>It commonly happens that in the course of four or five minutes a +player may have struck four or five thousand notes. If we take +into consideration the rests, dotted notes, accidentals, variations +of time, &c., we shall find his attention must have been exercised +on many more occasions than when he was actually striking notes: so +that it may not be too much to say that the attention of a first-rate +player may have been exercised - to an infinitesimally small extent +- but still truly exercised - on as many as ten thousand occasions within +the space of five minutes, for no note can be struck nor point attended +to without a certain amount of attention, no matter how rapidly or unconsciously +given.</p> +<p>Moreover, each act of attention has been followed by an act of volition, +and each act of volition by a muscular action, which is composed of +many minor actions; some so small that we can no more follow them than +the player himself can perceive them; nevertheless, it may have been +perfectly plain that the player was not attending to what he was doing, +but was listening to conversation on some other subject, not to say +joining in it himself. If he has been playing the violin, he may +have done all the above, and may also have been walking about. +Herr Joachim would unquestionably be able to do all that has here been +described.</p> +<p>So complete would the player’s unconsciousness of the attention +he is giving, and the brain power he is exerting appear to be, that +we shall find it difficult to awaken his attention to any particular +part of his performance without putting him out. Indeed we cannot +do so. We shall observe that he finds it hardly less difficult +to compass a voluntary consciousness of what he has once learnt so thoroughly +that it has passed, so to speak, into the domain of unconsciousness, +than he found it to learn the note or passage in the first instance. +The effort after a second consciousness of detail baffles him - compels +him to turn to his music or play slowly. In fact it seems as though +he knew the piece too well to be able to know that he knows it, and +is only conscious of knowing those passages which he does not know so +thoroughly.</p> +<p>At the end of his performance, his memory would appear to be no less +annihilated than was his consciousness of attention and volition. +For of the thousands of acts requiring the exercise of both the one +and the other, which he has done during the five minutes, we will say, +of his performance, he will remember hardly one when it is over. +If he calls to mind anything beyond the main fact that he has played +such and such a piece, it will probably be some passage which he has +found more difficult than the others, and with the like of which he +has not been so long familiar. All the rest he will forget as +completely as the breath which he has drawn while playing.</p> +<p>He finds it difficult to remember even the difficulties he experienced +in learning to play. A few may have so impressed him that they +remain with him, but the greater part will have escaped him as completely +as the remembrance of what he ate, or how he put on his clothes, this +day ten years ago; nevertheless, it is plain he remembers more than +he remembers remembering, for he avoids mistakes which he made at one +time, and his performance proves that all the notes are in his memory, +though if called upon to play such and such a bar at random from the +middle of the piece, and neither more nor less, he will probably say +that he cannot remember it unless he begins from the beginning of the +phrase which leads to it. Very commonly he will be obliged to +begin from the beginning of the movement itself, and be unable to start +at any other point unless he have the music before him; and if disturbed, +as we have seen above, he will have to start <i>de novo</i> from an +accustomed starting-point.</p> +<p>Yet nothing can be more obvious than that there must have been a +time when what is now so easy as to be done without conscious effort +of the brain was only done by means of brain work which was very keenly +perceived, even to fatigue and positive distress. Even now, if +the player is playing something the like of which he has not met before, +we observe he pauses and becomes immediately conscious of attention.</p> +<p>We draw the inference, therefore, as regards pianoforte or violin +playing, that the more the familiarity or knowledge of the art, the +less is there consciousness of such knowledge; even so far as that there +should seem to be almost as much difficulty in awakening consciousness +which has become, so to speak, latent, - a consciousness of that which +is known too well to admit of recognised self-analysis while the knowledge +is being exercised - as in creating a consciousness of that which is +not yet well enough known to be properly designated as known at all. +On the other hand, we observe that the less the familiarly or knowledge, +the greater the consciousness of whatever knowledge there is.</p> +<p>Considering other like instances of the habitual exercise of intelligence +and volition, which, from long familiarity with the method of procedure, +escape the notice of the person exercising them, we naturally think +of writing. The formation of each letter requires attention and +volition, yet in a few minutes a practised writer will form several +hundred letters, and be able to think and talk of something else all +the time he is doing so. It will not probably remember the formation +of a single character in any page that he has written; nor will he be +able to give more than the substance of his writing if asked to do so. +He knows how to form each letter so well, and he knows so well each +word that he is about to write, that he has ceased to be conscious of +his knowledge or to notice his acts of volition, each one of which is, +nevertheless, followed by a corresponding muscular action. Yet +the uniformity of our handwriting, and the manner in which we almost +invariably adhere to one method of forming the same character, would +seem to suggest that during the momentary formation of each letter our +memories must revert (with an intensity too rapid for our perception) +to many if not to all the occasions on which we have ever written the +same letter previously - the memory of these occasions dwelling in our +minds as what has been called a residuum - an unconsciously struck balance +or average of them all - a fused mass of individual reminiscences of +which no trace can be found in our consciousness, and of which the only +effect would seem to lie in the gradual changes of handwriting which +are perceptible in most people till they have reached middle-age, and +sometimes even later. So far are we from consciously remembering +any one of the occasions on which we have written such and such a letter, +that we are not even conscious of exercising our memory at all, any +more than we are in health conscious of the action of our heart. +But, if we are writing in some unfamiliar way, as when printing our +letters instead of writing them in our usual running hand, our memory +is so far awakened that we become conscious of every character we form; +sometimes it is even perceptible as memory to ourselves, as when we +try to remember how to print some letter, for example a g, and cannot +call to mind on which side of the upper half of the letter we ought +to put the link which connects it with the lower, and are successful +in remembering; but if we become very conscious of remembering, it shows +that we are on the brink of only trying to remember, - that is to say, +of not remembering at all.</p> +<p>As a general rule, we remember for a time the substance of what we +have written, for the subject is generally new to us; but if we are +writing what we have often written before, we lose consciousness of +this too, as fully as we do of the characters necessary to convey the +substance to another person, and we shall find ourselves writing on +as it were mechanically while thinking and talking of something else. +So a paid copyist, to whom the subject of what he is writing is of no +importance, does not even notice it. He deals only with familiar +words and familiar characters without caring to go behind them, and +thereupon writes on in a quasi-unconscious manner; but if he comes to +a word or to characters with which he is but little acquainted, he becomes +immediately awakened to the consciousness of either remembering or trying +to remember. His consciousness of his own knowledge or memory +would seem to belong to a period, so to speak, of twilight between the +thick darkness of ignorance and the brilliancy of perfect knowledge; +as colour which vanishes with extremes of light or of shade. Perfect +ignorance and perfect knowledge are alike unselfconscious.</p> +<p>The above holds good even more noticeably in respect of reading. +How many thousands of individual letters do our eyes run over every +morning in the “Times” newspaper, how few of them do we +notice, or remember having noticed? Yet there was a time when +we had such difficulty in reading even the simplest words, that we had +to take great pains to impress them upon our memory so as to know them +when we came to then again. Now, not even a single word of all +we have seen will remain with us, unless it is a new one, or an old +one used in an unfamiliar sense, in which case we notice, and may very +likely remember it. Our memory retains the substance only, the +substance only being unfamiliar. Nevertheless, although we do +not perceive more than the general result of our perception, there can +be no doubt of our having perceived every letter in every word that +we have read at all, for if we come upon a word misspelt our attention +is at once aroused; unless, indeed, we have actually corrected the misspelling, +as well as noticed it, unconsciously, through exceeding familiarity +with the way in which it ought to be spelt. Not only do we perceive +the letters we have seen without noticing that we have perceived them, +but we find it almost impossible to notice that we notice them when +we have once learnt to read fluently. To try to do so puts us +out, and prevents our being able to read. We may even go so far +as to say that if a man can attend to the individual characters, it +is a sign that he cannot yet read fluently. If we know how to +read well, we are as unconscious of the means and processes whereby +we attain the desired result as we are about the growth of our hair +or the circulation of our blood. So that here again it would seem +that we only know what we know still to some extent imperfectly, and +that what we know thoroughly escapes our conscious perception though +none the less actually perceived. Our perception in fact passes +into a latent stage, as also our memory and volition.</p> +<p>Walking is another example of the rapid exercise of volition with +but little perception of each individual act of exercise. We notice +any obstacle in our path, but it is plain we do not notice that we perceive +much that we have nevertheless been perceiving; for if a man goes down +a lane by night he will stumble over many things which he would have +avoided by day, although he would not have noticed them. Yet time +was when walking was to each one of us a new and arduous task - as arduous +as we should now find it to wheel a wheelbarrow on a tight-rope; whereas, +at present, though we can think of our steps to a certain extent without +checking our power to walk, we certainly cannot consider our muscular +action in detail without having to come to a dead stop.</p> +<p>Talking - especially in one’s mother tongue - may serve as +a last example. We find it impossible to follow the muscular action +of the mouth and tongue in framing every letter or syllable we utter. +We have probably spoken for years and years before we became aware that +the letter h is a labial sound, and until we have to utter a word which +is difficult from its unfamiliarity we speak “trippingly on the +tongue” with no attention except to the substance of what we wish +to say. Yet talking was not always the easy matter to us which +it is at present - as we perceive more readily when we are learning +a new language which it may take us months to master. Nevertheless, +when we have once mastered it we speak it without further consciousness +of knowledge or memory, as regards the more common words, and without +even noticing our consciousness. Here, as in the other instances +already given, as long as we did not know perfectly, we were conscious +of our acts of perception, volition, and reflection, but when our knowledge +has become perfect we no longer notice our consciousness, nor our volition; +nor can we awaken a second artificial consciousness without some effort, +and disturbance of the process of which we are endeavouring to become +conscious. We are no longer, so to speak, under the law, but under +grace.</p> +<p>An ascending scale may be perceived in the above instances.</p> +<p>In playing, we have an action acquired long after birth, difficult +of acquisition, and never thoroughly familiarised to the power of absolutely +unconscious performance, except in the case of those who have either +an exceptional genius for music, or who have devoted the greater part +of their time to practising. Except in the case of these persons +it is generally found easy to become more or less conscious of any passage +without disturbing the performance, and our action remains so completely +within our control that we can stop playing at any moment we please.</p> +<p>In writing, we have an action generally acquired earlier, done for +the most part with great unconsciousness of detail, fairly well within +our control to stop at any moment; though not so completely as would +be imagined by those who have not made the experiment of trying to stop +in the middle of a given character when writing at fit speed. +Also, we can notice our formation of any individual character without +our writing being materially hindered.</p> +<p>Reading is usually acquired earlier still. We read with more +unconsciousness of attention than we write. We find it more difficult +to become conscious of any character without discomfiture, and we cannot +arrest ourselves in the middle of a word, for example, and hardly before +the end of a sentence; nevertheless it is on the whole well within our +control.</p> +<p>Walking is so early an acquisition that we cannot remember having +acquired it. In running fast over average ground we find it very +difficult to become conscious of each individual step, and should possibly +find it more difficult still, if the inequalities and roughness of uncultured +land had not perhaps caused the development of a power to create a second +consciousness of our steps without hindrance to our running or walking. +Pursuit and flight, whether in the chase or in war, must for many generations +have played a much more prominent part in the lives of our ancestors +than they do in our own. If the ground over which they had to +travel had been generally as free from obstruction as our modern cultivated +lands, it is possible that we might not find it as easy to notice our +several steps as we do at present. Even as it is, if while we +are running we would consider the action of our muscles, we come to +a dead stop, and should probably fall if we tried to observe too suddenly; +for we must stop to do this, and running, when we have once committed +ourselves to it beyond a certain point, is not controllable to a step +or two without loss of equilibrium.</p> +<p>We learn to talk, much about the same time that we learn to walk, +but talking requires less muscular effort than walking, and makes generally +less demand upon our powers. A man may talk a long while before +he has done the equivalent of a five-mile walk; it is natural, therefore, +that we should have had more practice in talking than in walking, and +hence that we should find it harder to pay attention to our words than +to our steps. Certainly it is very hard to become conscious of +every syllable or indeed of every word we say; the attempt to do so +will often bring us to a check at once; nevertheless we can generally +stop talking if we wish to do so, unless the crying of infants be considered +as a kind of <i>quasi</i>-speech: this comes earlier, and is often quite +uncontrollable, or more truly perhaps is done with such complete control +over the muscles by the will, and with such absolute certainty of his +own purpose on the part of the wilier, that there is no longer any more +doubt, uncertainty, or suspense, and hence no power of perceiving any +of the processes whereby the result is attained - as a wheel which may +look fast fixed because it is so fast revolving. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a></p> +<p>We may observe therefore in this ascending scale, imperfect as it +is, that the older the habit the longer the practice, the longer the +practice, the more knowledge - or, the less uncertainty; the less uncertainty +the less power of conscious self-analysis and control.</p> +<p>It will occur to the reader that in all the instances given above, +different individuals attain the unconscious stage of perfect knowledge +with very different degrees of facility. Some have to attain it +with a great sum; others are free born. Some learn to play, to +read, write, and talk, with hardly an effort - some show such an instinctive +aptitude for arithmetic that, like Zerah Colburn, at eight years old, +they achieve results without instruction, which in the case of most +people would require a long education. The account of Zerah Colburn, +as quoted from Mr. Baily in Dr. Carpenter’s “Mental Physiology,” +may perhaps be given here.</p> +<p>“He raised any number consisting of <i>one</i> figure progressively +to the tenth power, giving the results (by actual multiplication and +not by memory) <i>faster</i> <i>than they could be set down in figures</i> +by the person appointed to record them. He raised the number 8 +progressively to the <i>sixteenth</i> power, and in naming the last +result, which consisted of 15 figures, he was right in every one. +Some numbers consisting of <i>two</i> figures he raised as high as the +eighth power, though he found a difficulty in proceeding when the products +became very large.</p> +<p>“On being asked the <i>square root</i> of 106,929, he answered +327 before the original number could be written down. He was then +required to find the cube root of 268,336,125, and with equal facility +and promptness he replied 645.</p> +<p>“He was asked how many minutes there are in 48 years, and before +the question could be taken down he replied 25,228,800, and immediately +afterwards he gave the correct number of seconds.</p> +<p>“On being requested to give the factors which would produce +the number 247,483, he immediately named 941 and 263, which are the +only two numbers from the multiplication of which it would result. +On 171,395 being proposed, he named 5 × 34,279, 7 × 24,485, +59 × 2905, 83 × 2065, 35 × 4897, 295 × 581, +and 413 × 415.</p> +<p>“He was then asked to give the factors of 36,083, but he immediately +replied that it had none, which was really the case, this being a prime +number. Other numbers being proposed to him indiscriminately, +he always succeeded in giving the correct factors except in the case +of prime numbers, which he generally discovered almost as soon as they +were proposed to him. The number 4,294,967,297, which is 2^32 ++ 1, having been given him, he discovered, as Euler had previously done, +that it was not the prime number which Fermat had supposed it to be, +but that it is the product of the factors 6,700,417 × 641. +The solution of this problem was only given after the lapse of some +weeks, but the method he took to obtain it clearly showed that he had +not derived his information from any extraneous source.</p> +<p>“When he was asked to multiply together numbers both consisting +of more than these figures, he seemed to decompose one or both of them +into its factors, and to work with them separately. Thus, on being +asked to give the square of 4395, he multiplied 293 by itself, and then +twice multiplied the product by 15. And on being asked to tell +the square of 999,999 he obtained the correct result, 999,998,000,001, +by twice multiplying the square of 37,037 by 27. He then of his +own accord multiplied that product by 49, and said that the result (viz., +48,999,902,000,049) was equal to the square of 6,999,993. He afterwards +multiplied this product by 49, and observed that the result (viz., 2,400,995,198,002,401) +was equal to the square of 48,999,951. He was again asked to multiply +the product by 25, and in naming the result (viz., 60,024,879,950,060,025) +he said it was equal to the square of 244,999,755.</p> +<p>“On being interrogated as to the manner in which he obtained +these results, the boy constantly said he did not know <i>how</i> the +answers came into his mind. In the act of multiplying two numbers +together, and in the raising of powers, it was evident (alike from the +facts just stated and from the motion of his lips) that <i>some</i> +operation was going forward in his mind; yet that operation could not +(from the readiness with which his answers were furnished) have been +at all allied to the usual modes of procedure, of which, indeed, he +was entirely ignorant, not being able to perform on paper a simple sum +in multiplication or division. But in the extraction of roots, +and in the discovery of the factors of large numbers, it did not appear +that any operation <i>could</i> take place, since he gave answers <i>immediately</i>, +or in a very few seconds, which, according to the ordinary methods, +would have required very difficult and laborious calculations, and prime +numbers cannot be recognised as such by any known rule.”</p> +<p>I should hope that many of the above figures are wrong. I have +verified them carefully with Dr. Carpenter’s quotation, but further +than this I cannot and will not go. Also I am happy to find that +in the end the boy overcame the mathematics, and turned out a useful +but by no means particularly calculating member of society.</p> +<p>The case, however, is typical of others in which persons have been +found able to do without apparent effort what in the great majority +of cases requires a long apprenticeship. It is needless to multiply +instances; the point that concerns us is, that knowledge under such +circumstances being very intense, and the ease with which the result +is produced extreme, it eludes the conscious apprehension of the performer +himself, who only becomes conscious when a difficulty arises which taxes +even his abnormal power. Such a case, therefore, confirms rather +than militates against our opinion that consciousness of knowledge vanishes +on the knowledge becoming perfect - the only difference between those +possessed of any such remarkable special power and the general run of +people being, that the first are born with such an unusual aptitude +for their particular specialty that they are able to dispense with all +or nearly all the preliminary exercise of their faculty, while the latter +must exercise it for a considerable time before they can get it to work +smoothly and easily; but in either case when once the knowledge is intense +it is unconscious.</p> +<p>Nor again would such an instance as that of Zerah Colburn warrant +us in believing that this white heat, as it were, of unconscious knowledge +can be attained by any one without his ever having been originally cold. +Young Colburn, for example, could not extract roots when he was an embryo +of three weeks’ standing. It is true we can seldom follow +the process, but we know there must have been a time in every case when +even the desire for information or action had not been kindled; the +forgetfulness of effort on the part of those with exceptional genius +for a special subject is due to the smallness of the effort necessary, +so that it makes no impression upon the individual himself, rather than +to the absence of any effort at all. <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a></p> +<p>It would, therefore, appear as though perfect knowledge and perfect +ignorance were extremes which meet and become indistinguishable from +one another; so also perfect volition and perfect absence of volition, +perfect memory and utter forgetfulness; for we are unconscious of knowing, +willing, or remembering, either from not yet having known or willed, +or from knowing and willing so well and so intensely as to be no longer +conscious of either. Conscious knowledge and volition are of attention; +attention is of suspense; suspense is of doubt; doubt is of uncertainty; +uncertainty is of ignorance; so that the mere fact of conscious knowing +or willing implies the presence of more or less novelty and doubt.</p> +<p>It would also appear as a general principle on a superficial view +of the foregoing instances (and the reader may readily supply himself +with others which are perhaps more to the purpose), that unconscious +knowledge and unconscious volition are never acquired otherwise than +as the result of experience, familiarity, or habit; so that whenever +we observe a person able to do any complicated action unconsciously, +we may assume both that he must have done it very often before he could +acquire so great proficiency, and also that there must have been a time +when he did not know how to do it at all.</p> +<p>We may assume that there was a time when he was yet so nearly on +the point of neither knowing nor willing perfectly, that he was quite +alive to whatever knowledge or volition he could exert; going further +back, we shall find him still more keenly alive to a less perfect knowledge; +earlier still, we find him well aware that he does not know nor will +correctly, but trying hard to do both the one and the other; and so +on, back and back, till both difficulty and consciousness become little +more than a sound of going in the brain, a flitting to and fro of something +barely recognisable as the desire to will or know at all - much less +as the desire to know or will definitely this or that. Finally, +they retreat beyond our ken into the repose - the inorganic kingdom +- of as yet unawakened interest.</p> +<p>In either case, - the repose of perfect ignorance or of perfect knowledge +- disturbance is troublesome. When first starting on an Atlantic +steamer, our rest is hindered by the screw; after a short time, it is +hindered if the screw stops. A uniform impression is practically +no impression. One cannot either learn or unlearn without pains +or pain.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER II - CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS KNOWERS - THE LAW AND GRACE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>In this chapter we shall show that the law, which we have observed +to hold as to the vanishing tendency of knowledge upon becoming perfect, +holds good not only concerning acquired actions or habits of body, but +concerning opinions, modes of thought, and mental habits generally, +which are no more recognised as soon as firmly fixed, than are the steps +with which we go about our daily avocations. I am aware that I +may appear in the latter part of the chapter to have wandered somewhat +beyond the limits of my subject, but, on the whole, decide upon leaving +what I have written, inasmuch as it serves to show how far-reaching +is the principle on which I am insisting. Having said so much, +I shall during the remainder of the book keep more closely to the point.</p> +<p>Certain it is that we know best what we are least conscious of knowing, +or at any rate least able to prove, as, for example, our own existence, +or that there is a country England. If any one asks us for proof +on matters of this sort, we have none ready, and are justly annoyed +at being called to consider what we regard as settled questions. +Again, there is hardly anything which so much affects our actions as +the centre of the earth (unless, perhaps, it be that still hotter and +more unprofitable spot the centre of the universe), for we are incessantly +trying to get as near it as circumstances will allow, or to avoid getting +nearer than is for the time being convenient. Walking, running, +standing, sitting, lying, waking, or sleeping, from birth till death +it is a paramount object with us; even after death - if it be not fanciful +to say so - it is one of the few things of which what is left of us +can still feel the influence; yet what can engross less of our attention +than this dark and distant spot so many thousands of miles away?</p> +<p>The air we breathe, so long as it is neither too hot nor cold, nor +rough, nor full of smoke - that is to say, so long as it is in that +state within which we are best acquainted - seldom enters into our thoughts; +yet there is hardly anything with which we are more incessantly occupied +night and day.</p> +<p>Indeed, it is not too much to say that we have no really profound +knowledge upon any subject - no knowledge on the strength of which we +are ready to act at all moments unhesitatingly without either preparation +or after-thought - till we have left off feeling conscious of the possession +of such knowledge, and of the grounds on which it rests. A lesson +thoroughly learned must be like the air which feels so light, though +pressing so heavily against us, because every pore of our skin is saturated, +so to speak, with it on all sides equally. This perfection of +knowledge sometimes extends to positive disbelief in the thing known, +so that the most thorough knower shall believe himself altogether ignorant. +No thief, for example, is such an utter thief - so <i>good</i> a thief +- as the kleptomaniac. Until he has become a kleptomaniac, and +can steal a horse as it were by a reflex action, he is still but half +a thief, with many unthievish notions still clinging to him. Yet +the kleptomaniac is probably unaware that he can steal at all, much +less that he can steal so well. He would be shocked if he were +to know the truth. So again, no man is a great hypocrite until +he has left off knowing that he is a hypocrite. The great hypocrites +of the world are almost invariably under the impression that they are +among the very few really honest people to be found and, as we must +all have observed, it is rare to find any one strongly under this impression +without ourselves having good reason to differ from him.</p> +<p>Our own existence is another case in point. When we have once +become articulately conscious of existing, it is an easy matter to begin +doubting whether we exist at all. As long as man was too unreflecting +a creature to articulate in words his consciousness of his own existence, +he knew very well that he existed, but he did not know that he knew +it. With introspection, and the perception recognised, for better +or worse, that he was a fact, came also the perception that he had no +solid ground for believing that he was a fact at all. That nice, +sensible, unintrospective people who were too busy trying to exist pleasantly +to trouble their heads as to whether they existed or no - that this +best part of mankind should have gratefully caught at such a straw as +“<i>cogito ergo sum</i>,” is intelligible enough. +They felt the futility of the whole question, and were thankful to one +who seemed to clench the matter with a cant catchword, especially with +a catchword in a foreign language; but how one, who was so far gone +as to recognise that he could not prove his own existence, should be +able to comfort himself with such a begging of the question, would seem +unintelligible except upon the ground of sheer exhaustion.</p> +<p>At the risk of appearing to wander too far from the matter in hand, +a few further examples may perhaps be given of that irony of nature, +by which it comes about that we so often most know and are, what we +least think ourselves to know and be - and on the other hand hold most +strongly what we are least capable of demonstrating.</p> +<p>Take the existence of a Personal God, - one of the most profoundly-received +and widely-spread ideas that have ever prevailed among mankind. +Has there ever been a <i>demonstration</i> of the existence of such +a God as has satisfied any considerable section of thinkers for long +together? Hardly has what has been conceived to be a demonstration +made its appearance and received a certain acceptance as though it were +actual proof, when it has been impugned with sufficient success to show +that, however true the fact itself, the demonstration is naught. +I do not say that this is an argument against the personality of God; +the drift, indeed, of the present reasoning would be towards an opposite +conclusion, inasmuch as it insists upon the fact that what is most true +and best known is often least susceptible of demonstration owing to +the very perfectness with which it is known; nevertheless, the fact +remains that many men in many ages and countries - the subtlest thinkers +over the whole world for some fifteen hundred years - have hunted for +a demonstration of God’s personal existence; yet though so many +have sought, - so many, and so able, and for so long a time - none have +found. There is no demonstration which can be pointed to with +any unanimity as settling the matter beyond power of reasonable cavil. +On the contrary, it may be observed that from the attempt to prove the +existence of a personal God to the denial of that existence altogether, +the path is easy. As in the case of our own existence, it will +be found that they alone are perfect believers in a personal Deity and +in the Christian religion who have not yet begun to feel that either +stands in need of demonstration. We observe that most people, +whether Christians, or Jews, or Mohammedans, are unable to give their +reasons for the faith that is in them with any readiness or completeness; +and this is sure proof that they really hold it so utterly as to have +no further sense that it either can be demonstrated or ought to be so, +but feel towards it as towards the air which they breathe but do not +notice. On the other hand, a living prelate was reported in the +“Times” to have said in one of his latest charges: “My +belief is that a widely extended good practice must be founded upon +Christian doctrine.” The fact of the Archbishop’s +recognising this as among the number of his beliefs is conclusive evidence +with those who have devoted attention to the laws of thought, that his +mind is not yet clear as to whether or no there is any connection at +all between Christian doctrine and widely extended good practice. <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a></p> +<p>Again, it has been often and very truly said that it is not the conscious +and self-styled sceptic, as Shelley for example, who is the true unbeliever. +Such a man as Shelley will, as indeed his life abundantly proves, have +more in common than not with the true unselfconscious believer. +Gallio again, whose indifference to religious animosities has won him +the cheapest immortality which, so far as I can remember, was ever yet +won, was probably if the truth were known, a person of the sincerest +piety. It is the unconscious unbeliever who is the true infidel, +however greatly he would be surprised to know the truth. Mr. Spurgeon +was reported as having recently asked the Almighty to “change +our rulers <i>as soon as possible</i>.” There lurks a more +profound distrust of God’s power in these words than in almost +any open denial of His existence.</p> +<p>So it rather shocks us to find Mr. Darwin writing (“Plants +and Animals under Domestication,” vol. ii., p. 275): “No +doubt, in every case there must have been some exciting cause.” +And again, six or seven pages later: “No doubt, each slight variation +must have its efficient cause.” The repetition within so +short a space of this expression of confidence in the impossibility +of causeless effects would suggest that Mr. Darwin’s mind at the +time of writing was, unconsciously to himself, in a state of more or +less uneasiness as to whether effects could not occasionally come about +of themselves, and without cause of any sort, - that he may have been +standing, in fact, for a short time upon the brink of a denial of the +indestructibility of force and matter.</p> +<p>In like manner, the most perfect humour and irony is generally quite +unconscious. Examples of both are frequently given by men whom +the world considers as deficient in humour; it is more probably true +that these persons are unconscious of their own delightful power through +the very mastery and perfection with which they hold it. There +is a play, for instance, of genuine fun in some of the more serious +scientific and theological journals which for some time past we have +looked for in vain in “ --- .”</p> +<p>The following extract, from a journal which I will not advertise, +may serve as an example:</p> +<p>“Lycurgus, when they had abandoned to his revenge him who had +put out his eyes, took him home, and the punishment he inflicted upon +him was sedulous instructions to virtue.” Yet this truly +comic paper does not probably know that it is comic, any more than the +kleptomaniac knows that he steals, or than John Milton knew he was a +humorist when he wrote a hymn upon the circumcision, and spent his honeymoon +in composing a treatise on divorce. No more again did Goethe know +how exquisitely humorous he was when he wrote, in his Wilhelm Meister, +that a beautiful tear glistened in Theresa’s right eye, and then +went on to explain that it glistened in her right eye and not in her +left, because she had had a wart on her left which had been removed +- and successfully. Goethe probably wrote this without a chuckle; +he believed what a good many people who have never read Wilhelm Meister +believe still, namely, that it was a work full of pathos, of fine and +tender feeling; yet a less consummate humorist must have felt that there +was scarcely a paragraph in it from first to last the chief merit of +which did not lie in its absurdity.</p> +<p>Another example may be taken from Bacon of the manner in which sayings +which drop from men unconsciously, give the key of their inner thoughts +to another person, though they themselves know not that they have such +thoughts at all; much less that these thoughts are their only true convictions. +In his Essay on Friendship the great philosopher writes: “Reading +good books on morality is a little flat and dead.” Innocent, +not to say pathetic, as this passage may sound it is pregnant with painful +inferences concerning Bacon’s moral character. For if he +knew that he found reading good books of morality a little flat and +dead, it follows he must have tried to read them; nor is he saved by +the fact that he found them a little flat and dead; for though this +does indeed show that he had begun to be so familiar with a few first +principles as to find it more or less exhausting to have his attention +directed to them further - yet his words prove that they were not so +incorporate with him that he should feel the loathing for further discourse +upon the matter which honest people commonly feel now. It will +be remembered that he took bribes when he came to be Lord Chancellor.</p> +<p>It is on the same principle that we find it so distasteful to hear +one praise another for earnestness. For such praise raises a suspicion +in our minds (<i>pace</i> the late Dr. Arnold and his following) that +the praiser’s attention must have been arrested by sincerity, +as by something more or less unfamiliar to himself. So universally +is this recognised that the world has for some time been discarded entirely +by all reputable people. Truly, if there is one who cannot find +himself in the same room with the life and letters of an earnest person +without being made instantly unwell, the same is a just man and perfect +in all his ways.</p> +<p>But enough has perhaps been said. As the fish in the sea, or +the bird in the air, so unreasoningly and inarticulately safe must a +man feel before he can be said to know. It is only those who are +ignorant and uncultivated who can know anything at all in a proper sense +of the words. Cultivation will breed in any man a certainty of +the uncertainty even of his most assured convictions. It is perhaps +fortunate for our comfort that we can none of us be cultivated upon +very many subjects, so that considerable scope for assurance will still +remain to us; but however this may be, we certainly observe it as a +fact that the greatest men are they who are most uncertain in spite +of certainty, and at the same time most certain in spite of uncertainty, +and who are thus best able to feel that there is nothing in such complete +harmony with itself as a flat contradiction in terms. For nature +hates that any principle should breed, so to speak, hermaphroditically, +but will give to each an help meet for it which shall cross it and be +the undoing of it; as in the case of descent with modification, of which +the essence would appear to be that every offspring should resemble +its parents, and yet, at the same time, that no offspring should resemble +its parents. But for the slightly irritating stimulant of this +perpetual crossing, we should pass our lives unconsciously as though +in slumber.</p> +<p>Until we have got to understand that though black is not white, yet +it may be whiter than white itself (and any painter will readily paint +that which shall show obviously as black, yet it shall be whiter than +that which shall show no less obviously as white), we may be good logicians, +but we are still poor reasoners. Knowledge is in an inchoate state +as long as it is capable of logical treatment; it must be transmuted +into that sense or instinct which rises altogether above the sphere +in which words can have being at all, otherwise it is not yet vital. +For sense is to knowledge what conscience is to reasoning about right +and wrong; the reasoning must be so rapid as to defy conscious reference +to first principles, and even at times to be apparently subversive of +them altogether, or the action will halt. It must, in fact, become +automatic before we are safe with it. While we are fumbling for +the grounds of our conviction, our conviction is prone to fall, as Peter +for lack of faith sinking into the waves of Galilee; so that the very +power to prove at all is an <i>à priori</i> argument against +the truth - or at any rate the practical importance to the vast majority +of mankind - of all that is supported by demonstration. For the +power to prove implies a sense of the need of proof, and things which +the majority of mankind find practically important are in ninety-nine +cases out of a hundred above proof. The need of proof becomes +as obsolete in the case of assumed knowledge, as the practice of fortifying +towns in the middle of an old and long settled country. Who builds +defences for that which is impregnable or little likely to be assailed? +The answer is ready, that unless the defences had been built in former +times it would be impossible to do without them now; but this does not +touch the argument, which is not that demonstration is unwise, but that +as long as a demonstration is still felt necessary, and therefore kept +ready to hand, the subject of such demonstration is not yet securely +known. <i>Qui s’excuse, s’accuse</i>; and unless a +matter can hold its own without the brag and self-assertion of continual +demonstration, it is still more or less of a parvenu, which we shall +not lose much by neglecting till it has less occasion to blow its own +trumpet. The only alternative is that it is an error in process +of detection, for if evidence concerning any opinion has long been denied +superfluous, and ever after this comes to be again felt necessary, we +know that the opinion is doomed.</p> +<p>If there is any truth in the above, it should follow that our conception +of the words “science” and “scientific” should +undergo some modification. Not that we should speak slightingly +of science, but that we should recognise more than we do, that there +are two distinct classes of scientific people corresponding not inaptly +with the two main parties unto which the political world is divided. +The one class is deeply versed in those sciences which have already +become the common property of mankind; enjoying, enforcing, perpetuating, +and engraving still more deeply unto the mind of man acquisitions already +approved by common experience, but somewhat careless about extension +of empire, or at any rate disinclined, for the most part, to active +effort on their own part for the sake of such extension - neither progressive, +in fact, nor aggressive - but quiet, peaceable people, who wish to live +and let live, as their fathers before them; while the other class is +chiefly intent upon pushing forward the boundaries of science, and is +comparatively indifferent to what is known already save in so far as +necessary for purposes of extension. These last are called pioneers +of science, and to them alone is the title “scientific” +commonly accorded; but pioneers, unimportant to an army as they are, +are still not the army itself; which can get on better without the pioneers +than the pioneers without the army. Surely the class which knows +thoroughly well what it knows, and which adjudicates upon the value +of the discoveries made by the pioneers - surely this class has as good +a right or better to be called scientific than the pioneers themselves.</p> +<p>These two classes above described blend into one another with every +shade of gradation. Some are admirably proficient in the well-known +sciences - that is to say, they have good health, good looks, good temper, +common sense, and energy, and they hold all these good things in such +perfection as to lie altogether without introspection - to be not under +the law, but so utterly and entirely under grace that every one who +sees them likes them. But such may, and perhaps more commonly +will, have very little inclination to extend the boundaries of human +knowledge; their aim is in another direction altogether. Of the +pioneers, on the other hand, some are agreeable people, well versed +in the older sciences, though still more eminent as pioneers, while +others, whose services in this last capacity have been of inestimable +value, are noticeably ignorant of the sciences which have already become +current with the larger part of mankind - in other words, they are ugly, +rude, and disagreeable people, very progressive, it may be, but very +aggressive to boot.</p> +<p>The main difference between these two classes lies in the fact that +the knowledge of the one, so far as it is new, is known consciously, +while that of the other is unconscious, consisting of sense and instinct +rather than of recognised knowledge. So long as a man has these, +and of the same kind as the more powerful body of his fellow-countrymen, +he is a true man of science, though he can hardly read or write. +As my great namesake said so well, “He knows what’s what, +and that’s as high as metaphysic wit can fly.” As +usual, these true and thorough knowers do not know that they are scientific, +and can seldom give a reason for the faith that is in them. They +believe themselves to be ignorant, uncultured men, nor can even the +professors whom they sometimes outwit in their own professorial domain +perceive that they have been outwitted by men of superior scientific +attainments to their own. The following passage from Dr. Carpenter’s +“Mesmerism, Spiritualism,” &c., may serve as an illustration:-</p> +<p>“It is well known that persons who are conversant with the +geological structure of a district are often able to indicate with considerable +certainty in what spot and at what depth water will be found; and men +<i>of less scientific knowledge, but of considerable practical experience</i>” +- (so that in Dr. Carpenter’s mind there seems to be some sort +of contrast or difference in kind between the knowledge which is derived +from observation of facts and scientific knowledge) - “frequently +arrive at a true conclusion upon this point without being able to assign +reasons for their opinions.</p> +<p>“Exactly the same may be said in regard to the mineral structure +of a mining district; the course of a metallic vein being often correctly +indicated by the shrewd guess of an <i>observant</i> workman, when <i>the +scientific reasoning</i> of the mining engineer altogether fails.”</p> +<p>Precisely. Here we have exactly the kind of thing we are in +search of: the man who has observed and observed till the facts are +so thoroughly in his head that through familiarity he has lost sight +both of them and of the processes whereby he deduced his conclusions +from them - is apparently not considered scientific, though he knows +how to solve the problem before him; the mining engineer, on the other +hand, who reasons scientifically - that is to say, with a knowledge +of his own knowledge - is found not to know, and to fail in discovering +the mineral.</p> +<p>“It is an experience we are continually encountering in other +walks of life,” continues Dr. Carpenter, “that particular +persons are guided - some apparently by an original and others by <i>an +acquired intuition</i> - to conclusions for which they can give no adequate +reason, but which subsequent events prove to have been correct.” +And this, I take it, implies what I have been above insisting on, namely, +that on becoming intense, knowledge seems also to become unaware of +the grounds on which it rests, or that it has or requires grounds at +all, or indeed even exists. The only issue between myself and +Dr. Carpenter would appear to be, that Dr. Carpenter, himself an acknowledged +leader in the scientific world, restricts the term “scientific” +to the people who know that they know, but are beaten by those who are +not so conscious of their own knowledge; while I say that the term “scientific” +should be applied (only that they would not like it) to the nice sensible +people who know what’s what rather than to the discovering class.</p> +<p>And this is easily understood when we remember that the pioneer cannot +hope to acquire any of the new sciences in a single lifetime so perfectly +as to become unaware of his own knowledge. As a general rule, +we observe him to be still in a state of active consciousness concerning +whatever particular science he is extending, and as long as he is in +this state he cannot know utterly. It is, as I have already so +often insisted on, those who do not know that they know so much who +have the firmest grip of their knowledge: the best class, for example, +of our English youth, who live much in the open air, and, as Lord Beaconsfield +finely said, never read. These are the people who know best those +things which are best worth knowing - that is to say, they are the most +truly scientific. Unfortunately, the apparatus necessary for this +kind of science is so costly as to be within the reach of few, involving, +as it does, an experience in the use of it for some preceding generations. +Even those who are born with the means within their reach must take +no less pains, and exercise no less self-control, before they can attain +the perfect unconscious use of them, than would go to the making of +a James Watt or a Stephenson; it is vain, therefore, to hope that this +best kind of science can ever be put within the reach of the many; nevertheless +it may be safely said that all the other and more generally recognised +kinds of science are valueless except in so far as they tend to minister +to this the highest kind. They have no <i>raison d’être</i> +except so far as they tend to do away with the necessity for work, and +to diffuse good health, and that good sense which is above self-consciousness. +They are to be encouraged because they have rendered the most fortunate +kind of modern European possible, and because they tend to make possible +a still more fortunate kind than any now existing. But the man +who devotes himself to science cannot - with the rarest, if any, exceptions +- belong to this most fortunate class himself. He occupies a lower +place, both scientifically and morally, for it is not possible but that +his drudgery should somewhat soil him both in mind and health of body, +or, if this be denied, surely it must let him and hinder him in running +the race for unconsciousness. We do not feel that it increases +the glory of a king or great nobleman that he should excel in what is +commonly called science. Certainly he should not go further than +Prince Rupert’s drops. Nor should he excel in music, art, +literature, or theology - all which things are more or less parts of +science. He should be above them all, save in so far as he can +without effort reap renown from the labours of others. It is a +<i>lâche</i> in him that he should write music or books, or paint +pictures at all; but if he must do so, his work should be at best contemptible. +Much as we must condemn Marcus Aurelius, we condemn James I. ever more +severely.</p> +<p>It is a pity there should exist so general a confusion of thought +upon this subject, for it may be asserted without fear of contradiction +that there is hardly any form of immorality now rife which produces +more disastrous effects upon those who give themselves up to it, and +upon society in general, than the so-called science of those who know +that they know too well to be able to know truly. With very clever +people - the people who know that they know - it is much as with the +members of the early Corinthian Church, to whom St. Paul wrote, that +if they looked their numbers over, they would not find many wise, nor +powerful, nor well-born people among them. Dog-fanciers tell us +that performing dogs never carry their tails; such dogs have eaten of +the tree of knowledge, and are convinced of sin accordingly - they know +that they know things, in respect of which, therefore, they are no longer +under grace, but under the law, and they have yet so much grace left +as to be ashamed. So with the human clever dog; he may speak with +the tongues of men and angels, but so long as he knows that he knows, +his tail will droop. More especially does this hold in the case +of those who are born to wealth and of old family. We must all +feel that a rich young nobleman with a taste for science and principles +is rarely a pleasant object. We do not even like the rich young +man in the Bible who wanted to inherit eternal life, unless, indeed, +he merely wanted to know whether there was not some way by which he +could avoid dying, and even so he is hardly worth considering. +Principles are like logic, which never yet made a good reasoner of a +bad one, but might still be occasionally useful if they did not invariably +contradict each other whenever there is any temptation to appeal to +them. They are like fire, good servants but bad masters. +As many people or more have been wrecked on principle as from want of +principle. They are, as their name implies, of an elementary character, +suitable for beginners only, and he who has so little mastered them +as to have occasion to refer to them consciously, is out of place in +the society of well-educated people. The truly scientific invariably +hate him, and, for the most part, the more profoundly in proportion +to the unconsciousness with which they do so.</p> +<p>If the reader hesitates, let him go down into the streets and look +in the shop-windows at the photographs of eminent men, whether literary, +artistic, or scientific, and note the work which the consciousness of +knowledge has wrought on nine out of every ten of them; then let him +go to the masterpieces of Greek and Italian art, the truest preachers +of the truest gospel of grace; let him look at the Venus of Milo, the +Discobolus, the St. George of Donatello. If it had pleased these +people to wish to study, there was no lack of brains to do it with; +but imagine “what a deal of scorn” would “look beautiful” +upon the Venus of Milo’s face if it were suggested to her that +she should learn to read. Which, think you, knows most, the Theseus, +or any modern professor taken at random? True, the advancement +of learning must have had a great share in the advancement of beauty, +inasmuch as beauty is but knowledge perfected and incarnate - but with +the pioneers it is <i>sic vos non vobis</i>; the grace is not for them, +but for those who come after. Science is like offences. +It must needs come, but woe unto that man through whom it comes; for +there cannot be much beauty where there is consciousness of knowledge, +and while knowledge is still new it must in the nature of things involve +much consciousness.</p> +<p>It is not knowledge, then, that is incompatible with beauty; there +cannot be too much knowledge, but it must have passed through many people +who it is to be feared must be more or less disagreeable, before beauty +or grace will have anything to say to it; it must be so incarnate in +a man’s whole being that he shall not be aware of it, or it will +fit him constrainedly as one under the law, and not as one under grace.</p> +<p>And grace is best, for where grace is, love is not distant. +Grace! the old Pagan ideal whose charm even unlovely Paul could not +understand, but, as the legend tells us, his soul fainted within him, +his heart misgave him, and, standing alone on the seashore at dusk, +he “troubled deaf heaven with his bootless cries,” his thin +voice pleading for grace after the flesh.</p> +<p>The waves came in one after another, the sea-gulls cried together +after their kind, the wind rustled among the dried canes upon the sandbanks, +and there came a voice from heaven saying, “Let My grace be sufficient +for thee.” Whereon, failing of the thing itself, he stole +the word and strove to crush its meaning to the measure of his own limitations. +But the true grace, with her groves and high places, and troups of young +men and maidens crowned with flowers, and singing of love and youth +and wine - the true grace he drove out into the wilderness - high up, +it may be, into Piora, and into such-like places. Happy they who +harboured her in her ill report.</p> +<p>It is common to hear men wonder what new faith will be adopted by +mankind if disbelief in the Christian religion should become general. +They seem to expect that some new theological or quasi-theological system +will arise, which, <i>mutatis mutandis</i>, shall be Christianity over +again. It is a frequent reproach against those who maintain that +the supernatural element of Christianity is without foundation, that +they bring forward no such system of their own. They pull down +but cannot build. We sometimes hear even those who have come to +the same conclusions as the destroyers say, that having nothing new +to set up, they will not attack the old. But how can people set +up a new superstition, knowing it to be a superstition? Without +faith in their own platform, a faith as intense as that manifested by +the early Christians, how can they preach? A new superstition +will come, but it is in the very essence of things that its apostles +should have no suspicion of its real nature; that they should no more +recognise the common element between the new and the old than the early +Christians recognised it between their faith and Paganism. If +they did, they would be paralysed. Others say that the new fabric +may be seen rising on every side, and that the coming religion is science. +Certainly its apostles preach it without misgiving, but it is not on +that account less possible that it may prove only to be the coming superstition +- like Christianity, true to its true votaries, and, like Christianity, +false to those who follow it introspectively.</p> +<p>It may well be we shall find we have escaped from one set of taskmasters +to fall into the hands of others far more ruthless. The tyranny +of the Church is light in comparison with that which future generations +may have to undergo at the hands of the doctrinaires. The Church +did uphold a grace of some sort as the <i>summum bonum</i>, in comparison +with which all so-called earthly knowledge - knowledge, that is to say, +which had not passed through so many people as to have become living +and incarnate - was unimportant. Do what we may, we are still +drawn to the unspoken teaching of her less introspective ages with a +force which no falsehood could command. Her buildings, her music, +her architecture, touch us as none other on the whole can do; when she +speaks there are many of us who think that she denies the deeper truths +of her own profounder mind, and unfortunately her tendency is now towards +more rather than less introspection. The more she gives way to +this - the more she becomes conscious of knowing - the less she will +know. But still her ideal is in grace.</p> +<p>The so-called man of science, on the other hand, seems now generally +inclined to make light of all knowledge, save of the pioneer character. +His ideal is in self-conscious knowledge. Let us have no more +Lo, here, with the professor; he very rarely knows what he says he knows; +no sooner has he misled the world for a sufficient time with a great +flourish of trumpets than he is toppled over by one more plausible than +himself. He is but medicine-man, augur, priest, in its latest +development; useful it may be, but requiring to be well watched by those +who value freedom. Wait till he has become more powerful, and +note the vagaries which his conceit of knowledge will indulge in. +The Church did not persecute while she was still weak. Of course +every system has had, and will have, its heroes, but, as we all very +well know, the heroism of the hero is but remotely due to system; it +is due not to arguments, nor reasoning, nor to any consciously recognised +perceptions, but to those deeper sciences which lie far beyond the reach +of self-analysis, and for the sturdy of which there is but one schooling +- to have had good forefathers for many generations.</p> +<p>Above all things, let no unwary reader do me the injustice of believing +in <i>me</i>. In that I write at all I am among the dammed. +If he must believe in anything, let him believe in the music of Handel, +the painting of Giovanni Bellini, and in the thirteenth chapter of St. +Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians.</p> +<p>But to return. Whenever we find people knowing that they know +this or that, we have the same story over and over again. They +do not yet know it perfectly.</p> +<p>We come, therefore, to the conclusion that our knowledge and reasoning +thereupon, only become perfect, assured, unhesitating, when they have +become automatic, and are thus exercised without further conscious effort +of the mind, much in the same way as we cannot walk nor read nor write +perfectly till we can do so automatically.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER III - APPLICATION OF FOREGOING CHAPTERS TO CERTAIN HABITS +ACQUIRED AFTER BIRTH WHICH ARE COMMONLY CONSIDERED INSTINCTIVE.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>What is true of knowing is also true of willing. The more intensely +we will, the less is our will deliberate and capable of being recognised +as will at all. So that it is common to hear men declare under +certain circumstances that they had no will, but were forced into their +own action under stress of passion or temptation. But in the more +ordinary actions of life, we observe, as in walking or breathing, that +we do not will anything utterly and without remnant of hesitation, till +we have lost sight of the fact that we are exercising our will.</p> +<p>The question, therefore, is forced upon us, how far this principle +extends, and whether there may not be unheeded examples of its operation +which, if we consider them, will land us in rather unexpected conclusions. +If it be granted that consciousness of knowledge and of volition vanishes +when the knowledge and the volition have become intense and perfect, +may it not be possible that many actions which we do without knowing +how we do them, and without any conscious exercise of the will - actions +which we certainly could not do if we tried to do them, nor refrain +from doing if for any reason we wished to do so - are done so easily +and so unconsciously owing to excess of knowledge or experience rather +than deficiency, we having done them too often, knowing how to do them +too well, and having too little hesitation as to the method of procedure, +to be capable of following our own action without the utter derangement +of such action altogether; or, in other cases, because we have so long +settled the question, that we have stowed away the whole apparatus with +which we work in corners of our system which we cannot now conveniently +reach?</p> +<p>It may be interesting to see whether we can find any class or classes +of actions which would seem to link actions which for some time after +birth we could not do at all, and in which our proficiency has reached +the stage of unconscious performance obviously through repeated effort +and failure, and through this only, with actions which we could do as +soon as we were born, and concerning which it would at first sight appear +absurd to say that they can have been acquired by any process in the +least analogous to that which we commonly call experience, inasmuch +as the creature itself which does them has only just begun to exist, +and cannot, therefore, in the very nature of things, have had experience.</p> +<p>Can we see that actions, for the acquisition of which experience +is such an obvious necessity, that whenever we see the acquisition we +assume the experience, gradate away imperceptibly into actions which +would seem, according to all reasonable analogy, to presuppose experience, +of which, however, the time and place seem obscure, if not impossible?</p> +<p>Eating and drinking would appear to be such actions. The new-born +child cannot eat, and cannot drink, but he can swallow as soon as he +is born; and swallowing would appear (as we may remark in passing) to +have been an earlier faculty of animal life than that of eating with +teeth. The ease and unconsciousness with which we eat and drink +is clearly attributable to practice; but a very little practice seems +to go a long way - a suspiciously small amount of practice - as though +somewhere or at some other time there must have been more practice than +we can account for. We can very readily stop eating or drinking, +and can follow our own action without difficulty in either process; +but, as regards swallowing, which is the earlier habit, we have less +power of self-analysis and control: when we have once committed ourselves +beyond a certain point to swallowing, we must finish doing so, - that +is to say, our control over the operation ceases. Also, a still +smaller experience seems necessary for the acquisition of the power +to swallow than appeared necessary in the case of eating; and if we +get into a difficulty we choke, and are more at a loss how to become +introspective than we are about eating and drinking.</p> +<p>Why should a baby be able to swallow - which one would have said +was the more complicated process of the two - with so much less practice +than it takes him to learn to eat? How comes it that he exhibits +in the case of the more difficult operation all the phenomena which +ordinarily accompany a more complete mastery and longer practice? +Analogy would certainly seem to point in the direction of thinking that +the necessary experience cannot have been wanting, and that, too, not +in such a quibbling sort as when people talk about inherited habit or +the experience of the race, which, without explanation, is to plain-speaking +persons very much the same, in regard to the individual, as no experience +at all, but <i>bonâ fide</i> in the child’s own person.</p> +<p>Breathing, again, is an action acquired after birth, generally with +some little hesitation and difficulty, but still acquired in a time +seldom longer, as I am informed, than ten minutes or a quarter of an +hour. For an ant which has to be acquired at all, there would +seem here, as in the case of eating, to be a disproportion between, +on the one hand, the intricacy of the process performed, and on the +other, the shortness of the time taken to acquire the practice, and +the ease and unconsciousness with which its exercise is continued from +the moment of acquisition.</p> +<p>We observe that in later life much less difficult and intricate operations +than breathing acquire much longer practice before they can be mastered +to the extent of unconscious performance. We observe also that +the phenomena attendant on the learning by an infant to breathe are +extremely like those attendant upon the repetition of some performance +by one who has done it very often before, but who requires just a little +prompting to set him off, on getting which, the whole familiar routine +presents itself before him, and he repeats his task by rote. Surely +then we are justified in suspecting that there must have been more <i>bonâ +fide</i> personal recollection and experience, with more effort and +failure on the part of the infant itself than meet the eye.</p> +<p>It should be noticed, also, that our control over breathing is very +limited. We can hold our breath a little, or breathe a little +faster for a short time, but we cannot do this for long, and after having +gone without air for a certain time we must breath.</p> +<p>Seeing and hearing require some practice before their free use is +mastered, but not very much. They are so far within our control +that we can see more by looking harder, and hear more by listening attentively +- but they are beyond our control in so far as that we must see and +hear the greater part of what presents itself to us as near, and at +the same time unfamiliar, unless we turn away or shut our eyes, or stop +our ears by a mechanical process; and when we do this it is a sign that +we have already involuntarily seen or heard more than we wished. +The familiar, whether sight or sound, very commonly escapes us.</p> +<p>Take again the processes of digestion, the action of the heart, and +the oxygenisation of the blood - processes of extreme intricacy, done +almost entirely unconsciously, and quite beyond the control of our volition.</p> +<p>Is it possible that our unconsciousness concerning our own performance +of all these processes arises from over-experience?</p> +<p>Is there anything in digestion, or the oxygenisation of the blood, +different in kind to the rapid unconscious action of a man playing a +difficult piece of music on the piano? There may be in degree, +but as a man who sits down to play what he well knows, plays on, when +once started, almost, as we say, mechanically, so, having eaten his +dinner, he digests it as a matter of course, unless it has been in some +way unfamiliar to him, or he to it, owing to some derangement or occurrence +with which he is unfamiliar, and under which therefore he is at a loss +now to comport himself, as a player would be at a loss how to play with +gloves on, or with gout in his fingers, or if set to play music upside +down.</p> +<p>Can we show that all the acquired actions of childhood and after-life, +which we now do unconsciously, or without conscious exercise of the +will, are familiar acts - acts which we have already done a very great +number of times?</p> +<p>Can we also show that there are no acquired actions which we can +perform in this automatic manner, which were not at one time difficult, +requiring attention, and liable to repeated failure, our volition failing +to command obedience from the members which should carry its purposes +into execution?</p> +<p>If so, analogy will point in the direction of thinking that other +acts which we do even more unconsciously may only escape our power of +self-examination and control because they are even more familiar - because +we have done them oftener; and we may imagine that if there were a microscope +which could show us the minutest atoms of consciousness and volition, +we should find that even the apparently most automatic actions were +yet done in due course, upon a balance of considerations, and under +the deliberate exercise of the will.</p> +<p>We should also incline to think that even such an action as the oxygenisation +of its blood by an infant of ten minutes’ old, can only be done +so well and so unconsciously, after repeated failures on the part of +the infant itself.</p> +<p>True, as has been already implied, we do not immediately see when +the baby could have made the necessary mistakes and acquired that infinite +practice without which it could never go through such complex processes +satisfactorily; we have therefore invented the words “hereditary +instinct,” and consider them as accounting for the phenomenon; +but a very little reflection will show that though these words may be +a very good way of stating the difficulty, they do little or nothing +towards removing it.</p> +<p>Why should hereditary instinct enable a creature to dispense with +the experience which we see to be necessary in all other cases before +difficult operations can be performed successfully?</p> +<p>What is this talk that is made about the experience <i>of the race</i>, +as though the experience of one man could profit another who knows nothing +about him? If a man eats his dinner, it nourishes <i>him</i> and +not his neighbour; if he learns a different art, it is <i>he</i> that +can do it and not his neighbour. Yet, practically, we see that +the vicarious experience, which seems so contrary to our common observation, +does nevertheless appear to hold good in the case of creatures and their +descendants. Is there, then, any way of bringing these apparently +conflicting phenomena under the operation of one law? Is there +any way of showing that this experience of the race, of which so much +is said without the least attempt to show in what way it may or does +become the experience of the individual, is in sober seriousness the +experience of one single being only, repeating in a great many different +ways certain performances with which he has become exceedingly familiar?</p> +<p>It would seem that we must either suppose the conditions of experience +to differ during the earlier stages of life from those which we observe +them to become during the heyday of any existence - and this would appear +very gratuitous, tolerable only as a suggestion because the beginnings +of life are so obscure, that in such twilight we may do pretty much +whatever we please without danger of confutation - or that we must suppose +the continuity of life and sameness between living beings, whether plants +or animals, and their descendants, to be far closer than we have hitherto +believed; so that the experience of one person is not enjoyed by his +successor, so much as that the successor is <i>bonâ fide</i> but +a part of the life of his progenitor, imbued with all his memories, +profiting by all his experiences - which are, in fact, his own - and +only unconscious of the extent of his own memories and experiences owing +to their vastness and already infinite repetitions.</p> +<p>Certainly it presents itself to us at once as a singular coincidence +-</p> +<p>I. That we are <i>most conscious of, and have most control +over</i>, such habits as speech, the upright position, the arts and +sciences, which are acquisitions peculiar to the human race, always +acquired after birth, and not common to ourselves and any ancestor who +had not become entirely human.</p> +<p>II. That we are <i>less conscious of, and have less control +over</i>, eating and drinking, swallowing, breathing, seeing and hearing, +which were acquisitions of our prehuman ancestry, and for which we had +provided ourselves with all the necessary apparatus before we saw light, +but which are still, geologically speaking, recent, or comparatively +recent.</p> +<p>III. That we are <i>most unconscious of, and have least control +over</i>, our digestion and circulation, which belonged even to our +invertebrate ancestry, and which are habits, geologically speaking, +of extreme antiquity.</p> +<p>There is something too like method in this for it to be taken as +the result of mere chance - chance again being but another illustration +of Nature’s love of a contradiction in terms; for everything is +chance, and nothing is chance. And you may take it that all is +chance or nothing chance, according as you please, but you must not +have half chance and half not chance.</p> +<p>Does it not seem as though the older and more confirmed the habit, +the more unquestioning the act of volition, till, in the case of the +oldest habits, the practice of succeeding existences has so formulated +the procedure, that, on being once committed to such and such a line +beyond a certain point, the subsequent course is so clear as to be open +to no further doubt, to admit of no alternative, till the very power +of questioning is gone, and even the consciousness of volition? +And this too upon matters which, in earlier stages of a man’s +existence, admitted of passionate argument and anxious deliberation +whether to resolve them thus or thus, with heroic hazard and experiment, +which on the losing side proved to be vice, and on the winning virtue. +For there was passionate argument once what shape a man’s teeth +should be, nor can the colour of his hair be considered as ever yet +settled, or likely to be settled for a very long time.</p> +<p>It is one against legion when a creature tries to differ from his +own past selves. He must yield or die if he wants to differ widely, +so as to lack natural instincts, such as hunger or thirst, or not to +gratify them. It is more righteous in a man that he should “eat +strange food,” and that his cheek should “so much as lank +not,” than that he should starve if the strange food be at his +command. His past selves are living in him at this moment with +the accumulated life of centuries. “Do this, this, this, +which we too have done, and found our profit in it,” cry the souls +of his forefathers within him. Faint are the far ones, coming +and going as the sound of bells wafted on to a high mountain; loud and +clear are the near ones, urgent as an alarm of fire. “Withhold,” +cry some. “Go on boldly,” cry others. “Me, +me, me, revert hitherward, my descendant,” shouts one as it were +from some high vantage-ground over the heads of the clamorous multitude. +“Nay, but me, me, me,” echoes another; and our former selves +fight within us and wrangle for our possession. Have we not here +what is commonly called an <i>internal tumult</i>, when dead pleasures +and pains tug within us hither and thither? Then may the battle +be decided by what people are pleased to call our own experience. +Our own indeed! What is our own save by mere courtesy of speech? +A matter of fashion. Sanction sanctifieth and fashion fashioneth. +And so with death - the most inexorable of all conventions.</p> +<p>However this may be, we may assume it as an axiom with regard to +actions acquired after birth, that we never do them automatically save +as the result of long practice, and after having thus acquired perfect +mastery over the action in question.</p> +<p>But given the practice or experience, and the intricacy of the process +to be performed appears to matter very little. There is hardly +anything conceivable as being done by man, which a certain amount of +familiarity will not enable him to do, as it were mechanically and without +conscious effort. “The most complex and difficult movements,” +writes Mr Darwin, “can in time be performed without the least +effort or consciousness.” All the main business of life +is done thus unconsciously or semi-unconsciously. For what is +the main business of life? We work that we may eat and digest, +rather than eat and digest that we may work; this, at any rate, is the +normal state of things: the more important business then is that which +is carried on unconsciously. So again the action of the brain, +which goes on prior to our realising the idea in which it results, is +not perceived by the individual. So also all the deeper springs +of action and conviction. The residuum with which we fret and +worry ourselves is a mere matter of detail, as the higgling and haggling +of the market, which is not over the bulk of the price, but over the +last halfpenny.</p> +<p>Shall we say, then, that a baby of a day old sucks (which involves +the whole principle of the pump, and hence a profound practical knowledge +of the laws of pneumatics and hydrostatics), digests, oxygenises its +blood (millions of years before Sir Humphry Davy discovered oxygen), +sees and hears - all most difficult and complicated operations, involving +a knowledge of the facts concerning optics and acoustics, compared with +which the discoveries of Newton sink into utter insignificance? +Shall we say that a baby can do all these things at once, doing them +so well and so regularly, without being even able to direct its attention +to them, and without mistake, and at the same time not know how to do +them, and never have done them before?</p> +<p>Such an assertion would be a contradiction to the whole experience +of mankind. Surely the <i>onus probandi</i> must rest with him +who makes it.</p> +<p>A man may make a lucky hit now and again by what is called a fluke, +but even this must be only a little in advance of his other performances +of the same kind. He may multiply seven by eight by a fluke after +a little study of the multiplication table, but he will not be able +to extract the cube root of 4913 by a fluke, without long training in +arithmetic, any more than an agricultural labourer would be able to +operate successfully for cataract. If, then, a grown man cannot +perform so simple an operation as that we will say, for cataract, unless +he have been long trained in other similar operations, and until he +has done what comes to the same thing many times over, with what show +of reason can we maintain that one who is so far less capable than a +grown man, can perform such vastly more difficult operations, without +knowing how to do them, and without ever having done them before? +There is no sign of “fluke” about the circulation of a baby’s +blood. There may perhaps be some little hesitation about its earliest +breathing, but this, as a general rule, soon passes over, both breathing +and circulation, within an hour after birth, being as regular and easy +as at any time during life. Is it reasonable, then, to say that +the baby does these things without knowing how to do them, and without +ever having done them before, and continues to do them by a series of +lifelong flukes?</p> +<p>It would be well if those who feel inclined to hazard such an assertion +would find some other instances of intricate processes gone through +by people who know nothing about them, and never had any practice therein. +What <i>is</i> to know how to do a thing? Surely to do it. +What is proof that we know how to do a thing? Surely the fact +that we can do it. A man shows that he knows how to throw the +boomerang by throwing the boomerang. No amount of talking or writing +can get over this; <i>ipso facto</i>, that a baby breathes and makes +its blood circulate, it knows how to do so and the fact that it does +not know its own knowledge is only proof of the perfection of that knowledge, +and of the vast number of past occasions on which it must have been +exercised already. As we have said already, it is less obvious +when the baby could have gained its experience, so as to be able so +readily to remember exactly what to do; but it is more easy to suppose +that the necessary occasions cannot have been wanting, than that the +power which we observe should have been obtained without practice and +memory.</p> +<p>If we saw any self-consciousness on the baby’s part about its +breathing or circulation, we might suspect that it had had less experience, +or profited less by its experience, than its neighbours - exactly in +the same manner as we suspect a deficiency of any quality which we see +a man inclined to parade. We all become introspective when we +find that we do not know our business, and whenever we are introspective +we may generally suspect that we are on the verge of unproficiency. +Unfortunately, in the case of sickly children, we observe that they +sometimes do become conscious of their breathing and circulation, just +as in later life we become conscious that we have a liver or a digestion. +In that case there is always something wrong. The baby that becomes +aware of its breathing does not know how to breathe, and will suffer +for his ignorance and incapacity, exactly in the same way as he will +suffer in later life for ignorance and incapacity in any other respect +in which his peers are commonly knowing and capable. In the case +of inability to breath, the punishment is corporal, breathing being +a matter of fashion, so old and long settled that nature can admit of +no departure from the established custom, and the procedure in case +of failure is as much formulated as the fashion itself in the case of +the circulation, the whole performance has become one so utterly of +rote, that the mere discovery that we could do it at all was considered +one of the highest flights of human genius.</p> +<p>It has been said a day will come when the Polar ice shall have accumulated, +till it forms vast continents many thousands of feet above the level +of the sea, all of solid ice. The weight of this mass will, it +is believed, cause the world to topple over on its axis, so that the +earth will be upset as an ant-heap overturned by a ploughshare. +In that day time icebergs will come crunching against our proudest cities, +razing them from off the face of the earth as though they were made +of rotten blotting-paper. There is no respect now of Handel nor +of Shakespeare; the works of Rembrandt and Bellini fossilise at the +bottom of the sea. Grace, beauty, and wit, all that is precious +in music, literature, and art - all gone. In the morning there +was Europe. In the evening there are no more populous cities nor +busy hum of men, but a sea of jagged ice, a lurid sunset, and the doom +of many ages. Then shall a scared remnant escape in places, and +settle upon the changed continent when the waters have subsided - a +simple people, busy hunting shellfish on the drying ocean beds, and +with little time for introspection yet they can read and write and sum, +for by that time these accomplishments will have become universal, and +will be acquired as easily as we now learn to talk; but they do so as +a matter of course, and without self-consciousness. Also they +make the simpler kinds of machinery too easily to be able to follow +their own operations - the manner of their own apprenticeship being +to them as a buried city. May we not imagine that, after the lapse +of another ten thousand years or so, some one of them may again become +cursed with lust of introspection, and a second Harvey may astonish +the world by discovering that it can read and write, and that steam-engines +do not grow, but are made? It may be safely prophesied that he +will die a martyr, and be honoured in the fourth generation.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IV - APPLICATION OF THE FOREGOING PRINCIPLES TO ACTIONS +AND HABITS ACQUIRED BEFORE BIRTH</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>But if we once admit the principle that consciousness and volition +have a tendency to vanish as soon as practice has rendered any habit +exceedingly familiar, so that the mere presence of an elaborate but +unconscious performance shall carry with it a presumption of infinite +practice, we shall find it impossible to draw the line at those actions +which we see acquired after birth, no matter at how early a period. +The whole history and development of the embryo in all its stages forces +itself on our consideration. Birth has been made too much of. +It is a salient feature in the history of the individual, but not more +salient than a hundred others, and far less so than the commencement +of his existence as a single cell uniting in itself elements derived +from both parents, or perhaps than any point in his whole existence +as an embryo. For many years after we are born we are still very +incomplete. We cease to oxygenise our blood vicariously as soon +as we are born, but we still derive our sustenance from our mothers. +Birth is but the beginning of doubt, the first hankering after scepticism, +the dreaming of a dawn of trouble, the end of certainty and of settled +convictions. Not but what before birth there have been unsettled +convictions (more’s the pity) with not a few, and after birth +we have still so made up our minds upon many points as to have no further +need of reflection concerning them; nevertheless, in the main, birth +is the end of that time when we really knew our business, and the beginning +of the days wherein we know not what we would do, or do. It is +therefore the beginning of consciousness, and infancy is as the dosing +of one who turns in his bed on waking, and takes another short sleep +before he rises. When we were yet unborn, our thoughts kept the +roadway decently enough; then were we blessed; we thought as every man +thinks, and held the same opinions as our fathers and mothers had done +upon nearly every subject. Life was not an art - and a very difficult +art - much too difficult to be acquired in a lifetime; it was a science +of which we were consummate masters.</p> +<p>In this sense, then, birth may indeed be looked upon as the most +salient feature in a man’s life; but this is not at all the sense +in which it is commonly so regarded. It is commonly considered +as the point at which we begin to live. More truly it is the point +at which we leave off knowing how to live.</p> +<p>A chicken, for example, is never so full of consciousness, activity, +reasoning faculty, and volition, as when it is an embryo in the eggshell, +making bones, and flesh, and feathers, and eyes, and claws, with nothing +but a little warmth and white of egg to make them from. This is +indeed to make bricks with but a small modicum of straw. There +is no man in the whole world who knows consciously and articulately +as much as a half-hatched hen’s egg knows unconsciously. +Surely the egg in its own way must know quite as much as the chicken +does. We say of the chicken that it knows how to run about as +soon as it is hatched. So it does; but had it no knowledge before +it was hatched? What made it lay the foundations of those limbs +which should enable it to run about? What made it grow a horny +tip to its bill before it was hatched, so that it might peck all round +the larger end of the eggshell and make a hole for itself to get out +at? Having once got outside the eggshell, the chicken throws away +this horny tip; but is it reasonable to suppose that it would have grown +it at all unless it had known that it would want something with which +to break the eggshell? And again, is it in the least agreeable +to our experience that such elaborate machinery should be made without +endeavour, failure, perseverance, intelligent contrivance, experience, +and practice?</p> +<p>In the presence of such considerations, it seems impossible to refrain +from thinking that there must be a closer continuity of identity, life, +and memory, between successive generations than we generally imagine. +To shear the thread of life, and hence of memory, between one generation +and its successor, is so to speak, a brutal measure, an act of intellectual +butchery, and like all such strong high-handed measures, a sign of weakness +in him who is capable of it till all other remedies have been exhausted. +It is mere horse science, akin to the theories of the convulsionists +in the geological kingdom, and of the believers in the supernatural +origin of the species of plants and animals. Yet it is to be feared +that we have not a few among us who would feel shocked rather at the +attempt towards a milder treatment of the facts before them, than at +a continuance of the present crass tyranny with which we try to crush +them inside our preconceived opinions. It is quite common to hear +men of education maintain that not even when it was on the point of +being hatched, had the chicken sense enough to know that it wanted to +get outside the eggshell. It did indeed peck all round the end +of the shell, which, if it wanted to get out, would certainly be the +easiest way of effecting its purpose; but it did not, they say, peck +because it was aware of this, but “promiscuously.” +Curious, such a uniformity of promiscuous action among so many eggs +for so many generations. If we see a man knock a hole in a wall +on finding that he cannot get out of a place by any other means, and +if we see him knock this hole in a very workmanlike way, with an implement +with which he has been at great pains to make for a long the past, but +which he throws away as soon as he has no longer use for it, thus showing +that he had made it expressly for the purpose of escape, do we say that +this person made the implement and broke the wall of his prison promiscuously? +No jury would acquit a burglar on these grounds. Then why, without +much more evidence to the contrary than we have, or can hope to have, +should we not suppose that with chickens, as with men, signs of contrivance +are indeed signs of contrivance, however quick, subtle, and untraceable, +the contrivance may be? Again, I have heard people argue that +though the chicken, when nearly hatched, had such a glimmering of sense +that it pecked the shell because it wanted to get out, yet that it is +not conceivable that, so long before it was hatched, it should have +had the sense to grow the horny tip to its bill for use when wanted. +This, at any rate, they say, it must have grown, as the persons previously +referred to would maintain, promiscuously.</p> +<p>Now no one indeed supposes that the chicken does what it does, with +the same self-consciousness with which a tailor makes a suit of clothes. +Not any one who has thought upon the subject is likely to do it so great +an injustice. The probability is that it knows what it is about +to an extent greater than any tailor ever did or will, for, to say the +least of it, many thousands of years to come. It works with such +absolute certainty and so vast an experience, that it is utterly incapable +of following the operations of its own mind - as accountants have been +known to add up long columns of pounds, shillings, and pence, running +the three fingers of one hand, a finger for each column, up the page, +and putting the result down correctly at the bottom, apparently without +an effort. In the case of the accountant, we say that the processes +which his mind goes through are so rapid and subtle as to elude his +own power of observation as well as ours. We do not deny that +his mind goes though processes of some kind; we very readily admit that +it must do so, and say that these processes are so rapid and subtle, +owing, as a general rule, to long experience in addition. Why +then should we find it so difficult to conceive that this principle, +which we observe to play so large a part in mental physiology, wherever +we can observe mental physiology at all, may have a share also in the +performance of intricate operations otherwise inexplicable, though the +creature performing them is not man, or man only in embryo?</p> +<p>Again, after the chicken is hatched, it grows more feathers and bones +and blood, but we still say that it knows nothing about all this. +What then do we say it <i>does</i> know? One is almost ashamed +to confess that we only credit it with knowing what it appears to know +by processes which we find it exceedingly easy to follow, or perhaps +rather, which we find it absolutely impossible to avoid following, as +recognising too great a family likeness between them, and those which +are most easily followed in our own minds, to be able to sit down in +comfort under a denial of the resemblance. Thus, for example, +if we see a chicken running away from a fox, we do admit that the chicken +knows the fox would kill it if it caught it.</p> +<p>On the other hand, if we allow that the half-hatched chicken grew +the horny tip to be ready for use, with an intensity of unconscious +contrivance which can be only attributed to experience, we are driven +to admit that from the first moment the men began to sit upon it - and +earlier too than this - the egg was always full of consciousness and +volition, and that during its embryological condition the unhatched +chicken is doing exactly what it continues doing from the moment it +is hatched till it dies; that is to say, attempting to better itself, +doing (as Aristotle says all creatures do all things upon all occasions) +what it considers most for its advantage under the existing circumstances. +What it may think most advantageous will depend, while it is in the +eggshell, upon exactly the same causes as will influence its opinions +in later life - to wit, upon its habits, its past circumstances and +ways of thinking; for there is nothing, as Shakespeare tells us, good +or ill, but thinking makes it so.</p> +<p>The egg thinks feathers much more to its advantage than hair or fur, +and much more easily made. If it could speak, it would probably +tell us that we could make them ourselves very easily after a few lessons, +if we took the trouble to try, but that hair was another matter, which +it really could not see how any protoplasm could be got to make. +Indeed, during the more intense and active part of our existence, in +the earliest stages, that is to say, of our embryological life, we could +probably have turned our protoplasm into feathers instead of hair if +we had cared about doing so. If the chicken can make feathers, +there seems no sufficient reason for thinking that we cannot do so, +beyond the fact that we prefer hair, and have preferred it for so many +ages that we have lost the art along with the desire of making feathers, +if indeed any of our ancestors ever possessed it. The stuff with +which we make hair is practically the same as that with which chickens +make feathers. It is nothing but protoplasm, and protoplasm is +like certain prophecies, out of which anything can be made by the creature +which wants to make it. Everything depends upon whether a creature +knows its own mind sufficiently well, and has enough faith in its own +powers of achievement. When these two requisites are wanting, +the strongest giant cannot lift a two-ounce weight; when they are given, +a bullock can take an eyelash out of its eye with its hind-foot, or +a minute jelly speck can build itself a house out of various materials +which it will select according to its purpose with the nicest care, +though it have neither brain to think with, nor eyes to see with, nor +hands nor feet to work with, nor is it anything but a minute speck of +jelly - faith and protoplasm only.</p> +<p>That this is indeed so, the following passage from Dr. Carpenter’s +“Mental Physiology” may serve to show:-</p> +<p>“The simplest type of an animal consists of a minute mass of +‘protoplasm,’ or living jelly, which is not yet <i>differentiated</i> +into ‘organs;’ every part having the same endowments, and +taking an equal share in every action which the creature performs. +One of these ‘jelly specks,’ the amœba, moves itself +about by changing the form of its body, extemporising a foot (or pseudopodium), +first in one direction, and then in another; and then, when it has met +with a nutritive particle, extemporises a stomach for its reception, +by wrapping its soft body around it. Another, instead of going +about in search of food, remains in one place, but projects its protoplasmic +substance into long pseudopodia, which entrap and draw in very minute +particles, or absorb nutrient material from the liquid through which +they extend themselves, and are continually becoming fused (as it were) +into the central body, which is itself continually giving off new pseudopodia. +Now we can scarcely conceive that a creature of such simplicity should +possess any distinct <i>consciousness</i> of its needs” (why not?), +“or that its actions should be directed by any <i>intention</i> +of its own; and yet the writer has lately found results of the most +singular elaborateness to be wrought out by the instrumentality of these +minute jelly specks, which build up tests or casings of the most regular +geometrical symmetry of form, and of the most artificial construction.”</p> +<p>On this Dr. Carpenter remarks:- “Suppose a human mason to be +put down by the side of a pile of stones of various shapes and sizes, +and to be told to build a dome of these, smooth on both surfaces, without +using more than the least possible quantity of a very tenacious, but +very costly, cement, in holding the stones together. If he accomplished +this well, he would receive credit for great intelligence and skill. +Yet this is exactly what these little ‘jelly specks’ do +on a most minute scale; the ‘tests’ they construct, when +highly magnified, bearing comparison with the most skilful masonry of +man. From <i>the same sandy bottom</i> one species picks up the +<i>coarser</i> quartz grains, cements them together with <i>phosphate +of iron</i> secreted from its own substance” (should not this +rather be, “which it has contrived in some way or other to manufacture”?) +and thus constructs a flask-shaped ‘test,’ having a short +neck and a large single orifice. Another picks up the <i>finest</i> +grains, and puts them together, with the same cement, into perfectly +spherical ‘tests’ of the most extraordinary finish, perforated +with numerous small pores disposed at pretty regular intervals. +Another selects the <i>minutest</i> sand grains and the terminal portions +of sponge spicules, and works them up together - apparently with no +cement at all, by the mere laying of the spicules - into perfect white +spheres, like homœopathic globules, each having a single-fissured +orifice. And another, which makes a straight, many-chambered ‘test,’ +that resembles in form the chambered shell of an orthoceratite - the +conical mouth of each chamber projecting into the cavity of the next +- while forming the walls of its chambers of ordinary sand grains rather +loosely held together, shapes the conical mouth of the successive chambers +by firmly cementing together grains of ferruginous quartz, which it +must have picked out from the general mass.”</p> +<p>“To give these actions,” continues Dr. Carpenter, “the +vague designation of ‘instinctive’ does not in the least +help us to account for them, since what we want is to discover the <i>mechanism</i> +by which they are worked out; and it is most difficult to conceive how +so artificial a selection can be made by a creature so simple” +(Mental Physiology, 4th ed. pp. 41-43)</p> +<p>This is what protoplasm can do when it has the talisman of faith +- of faith which worketh all wonders, either in the heavens above, or +in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth. Truly +if a man have faith, even as a grain of mustard seed, though he may +not be able to remove mountains, he will at any rate be able to do what +is no less difficult - make a mustard plant.</p> +<p>Yet this is but a barren kind of comfort, for we have not, and in +the nature of things cannot have, sufficient faith in the unfamiliar, +inasmuch as the very essence of faith involves the notion of familiarity, +which can grow but slowly, from experience to confidence, and can make +no sudden leap at any time. Such faith cannot be founded upon +reason, - that is to say, upon a recognised perception on the part of +the person holding it that he is holding it, and of the reasons for +his doing so - or it will shift as other reasons come to disturb it. +A house built upon reason is a house built upon the sand. It must +be built upon the current cant and practice of one’s peers, for +this is the rock which, though not immovable, is still most hard to +move.</p> +<p>But however this may be, we observe broadly that the intensity of +the will to make this or that, and of the confidence that one can make +it, depends upon the length of time during which the maker’s forefathers +have wanted the same thing before it; the older the custom the more +inveterate the habit, and, with the exception, perhaps, that the reproductive +system is generally the crowning act of development - an exception which +I will hereafter explain - the earlier its manifestation, until, for +some reason or another, we relinquish it and take to another, which +we must, as a general rule, again adhere to for a vast number of generations, +before it will permanently supplant the older habit. In our own +case, the habit of breathing like a fish through gills may serve as +an example. We have now left off this habit, yet we did it formerly +for so many generations that we still do it a little; it still crosses +our embryological existence like a faint memory or dream, for not easily +is an inveterate habit broken. On the other hand - again speaking +broadly - the more recent the habit the later the fashion of its organ, +as with the teeth, speech, and the higher intellectual powers, which +are too new for development before we are actually born.</p> +<p>But to return for a short time to Dr. Carpenter. Dr. Carpenter +evidently feels, what must indeed be felt by every candid mind, that +there is no sufficient reason for supposing that these little specks +of jelly, without brain or eyes, or stomach, or hands, or feet, but +the very lowest known form of animal life, are not imbued with a consciousness +of their needs, and the reasoning faculties which shall enable them +to gratify those needs in a manner, all things considered, equalling +the highest flights of the ingenuity of the highest animal - man. +This is no exaggeration. It is true, that in an earlier part of +the passage, Dr. Carpenter has said that we can scarcely conceive so +simple a creature to “possess any distinct <i>consciousness</i> +of its needs, or that its actions should be directed by any intention +of its own;” but, on the other hand, a little lower down he says, +that if a workman did what comes to the same thing as what the amœba +does, he “would receive credit for great intelligence and skill.” +Now if an amœba can do that, for which a workman would receive +credit as for a highly skilful and intelligent performance, the amœba +should receive no less credit than the workman; he should also be no +less credited with skill and intelligence, which words unquestionably +involve a distinct consciousness of needs and an action directed by +an intention of its own. So that Dr. Carpenter seems rather to +blow hot and cold with one breath. Nevertheless there can be no +doubt to which side the minds of the great majority of mankind will +incline upon the evidence before them; they will say that the creature +is highly reasonable and intelligent, though they would readily admit +that long practice and familiarity may have exhausted its powers of +attention to all the stages of its own performance, just as a practised +workman in building a wall certainly does not consciously follow all +the processes which he goes through.</p> +<p>As an example, however, of the extreme dislike which philosophers +of a certain school have for making the admissions which seem somewhat +grudgingly conceded by Dr. Carpenter, we may take the paragraph which +immediately follows the ones which we have just quoted. Dr. Carpenter +there writes:-</p> +<p>“The writer has often amused himself and others, when by the +seaside, with getting a <i>terebella</i> (a marine worm that cases its +body in a sandy tube) out of its house, and then, putting it into a +saucer of water with a supply of sand and comminuted shell, watching +its appropriation of these materials in constructing a new tube. +The extended tentacles soon spread themselves over the bottom of the +saucer and lay hold of whatever comes in their way, ‘all being +fish that comes to their net,’ and in half an hour or thereabouts +the new house is finished, though on a very rude and artificial type. +Now here the organisation is far higher; the instrumentality obviously +serves the needs of the animal and suffices for them; and we characterise +the action, on account of its uniformity and apparent <i>un</i>intelligence, +as instinctive.”</p> +<p>No comment will, one would think, be necessary to make the reader +feel that the difference between the terebella and the amœba is +one of degree rather than kind, and that if the action of the second +is as conscious and reasonable as that, we will say, of a bird making +her nest, the action of the first should be so also. It is only +a question of being a little less skilful, or more so, but skill and +intelligence would seem present in both cases. Moreover, it is +more clever of the terebella to have made itself the limbs with which +it can work, than of the amœba to be able to work without the +limbs; and perhaps it is more sensible also to want a less elaborate +dwelling, provided it is sufficient for practical purposes. But +whether the terebella be less intelligent than the amœba or not, +it does quite enough to establish its claim to intelligence of a higher +order; and one does not see ground for the satisfaction which Dr. Carpenter +appears to find at having, as it were, taken the taste of the amœba’s +performance out of our mouth, by setting us about the less elaborate +performance of the terebella, which he thinks we can call unintelligent +and instinctive.</p> +<p>I may be mistaken in the impression I have derived from the paragraphs +I have quoted. I commonly say they give me the impression that +I have tried to convey to the reader, <i>i.e</i>., that the writer’s +assent to anything like intelligence, or consciousness of needs, an +animal low down in the scale of life, is grudging, and that he is more +comfortable when he has got hold of onto to which he can point and say +that mere, at any rate, is an unintelligent and merely instinctive creature. +I have only called attention to the passage as an example of the intellectual +bias of a large number of exceedingly able and thoughtful persons, among +whom, so far as I am able to form an opinion at all, few have greater +claims to our respectful attention than Dr. Carpenter himself.</p> +<p>For the embryo of a chicken, then, we damn exactly the same kind +of reasoning power and contrivance which we damn for the amœba, +or for our own intelligent performances in later life. We do not +claim for it much, if any, perception of its own forethought, for we +know very well that it is among the most prominent features of intellectual +activity that, after a number of repetitions, it ceases to be perceived, +and that it does not, in ordinary cases, cease to be perceived till +after a very great number of repetitions. The fact that the embryo +chicken makes itself always as nearly as may be in the same way, would +lead us to suppose that it would be unconscious of much of its own action, +<i>provided it were always the same chicken which made itself over and +over again</i>. So far we can see, it always <i>is</i> unconscious +of the greater part of its own wonderful performance. Surely then +we have a presumption that <i>it is the same chicken which makes itself +over and over again</i>; for such unconsciousness is not won, so far +as our experience goes, by any other means than by frequent repetition +of the same act on the part of one and the same individual. How +this can be we shall perceive in subsequent chapters. In the meantime, +we may say that all knowledge and volition would seem to be merely parts +of the knowledge and volition of the primordial cell (whatever this +may be), which slumbers but never dies - which has grown, and multiplied, +and differentiated itself into the compound life of the womb, and which +never becomes conscious of knowing what it has once learnt effectually, +till it is for some reason on the point of, or in danger of, forgetting +it.</p> +<p>The action, therefore, of an embryo making its way up in the world +from a simple cell to a baby, developing for itself eyes, ears, hands, +and feet while yet unborn, proves to be exactly of one and the same +kind as that of a man of fifty who goes into the City and tells his +broker to buy him so many Great Northern A shares - that is to say, +an effort of the will exercised in due course on a balance of considerations +as to the immediate expediency, and guided by past experience; while +children who do not reach birth are but prenatal spendthrifts, ne’er-do-weels, +inconsiderate innovators, the unfortunate in business, either through +their own fault or that of others, or through inevitable mischances, +beings who are culled out before birth instead of after; so that even +the lowest idiot, the most contemptible in health or beauty, may yet +reflect with pride that they were <i>born</i>. Certainly we observe +that those who have had good fortune (mother and sole cause of virtue, +and sole virtue in itself), and have profited by their experience, and +known their business best before birth, so that they made themselves +both to be and to look well, do commonly on an average prove to know +it best in after-life: they grow their clothes best who have grown their +limbs best. It is rare that those who have not remembered how +to finish their own bodies fairly well should finish anything well in +later life. But how small is the addition to their unconscious +attainments which even the Titans of human intellect have consciously +accomplished, in comparison with the problems solved by the meanest +baby living, nay, even by one whose birth is untimely! In other +words, how vast is that back knowledge over which we have gone fast +asleep, through the prosiness of perpetual repetition; and how little +in comparison, is that whose novelty keeps it still within the scope +of our conscious perception! What is the discovery of the laws +of gravitation as compared with the knowledge which sleeps in every +hen’s egg upon a kitchen shelf?</p> +<p>It is all a matter of habit and fashion. Thus we see kings +and councillors of the earth admired for facing death before what they +are pleased to call dishonour. If, on being required to go without +anything they have been accustomed to, or to change their habits, or +do what is unusual in the case of other kings under like circumstances, +then, if they but fold their cloak decently around them, and die upon +the spot of shame at having had it even required of them to do thus +or thus, then are they kings indeed, of old race, that know their business +from generation to generation. Or if, we will say, a prince, on +having his dinner brought to him ill-cooked, were to feel the indignity +so keenly as that he should turn his face to the wall, and breathe out +his wounded soul in one sigh, do we not admire him as a “<i>real</i> +prince,” who knows the business of princes so well that he can +conceive of nothing foreign to it in connection with himself, the bare +effort to realise a state of things other than what princes have been +accustomed to being immediately fatal to him? Yet is there no +less than this in the demise of every half-hatched hen’s egg, +shaken rudely by a schoolboy, or neglected by a truant mother; for surely +the prince would not die if he knew how to do otherwise, and the hen’s +egg only dies of being required to do something to which it is not accustomed.</p> +<p>But the further consideration of this and other like reflections +would too long detain us. Suffice it that we have established +the position that all living creatures which show any signs of intelligence, +must certainly each one have already gone through the embryonic stages +an infinite number of times, or they could no more have achieved the +intricate process of self-development unconsciously, than they could +play the piano unconsciously without any previous knowledge of the instrument. +It remains, therefore, to show the when and where of their having done +so, and this leads us naturally to the subject of the following chapter +- Personal Identity.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER V - PERSONAL IDENTITY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>“Strange difficulties have been raised by some,” says +Bishop Butler, “concerning personal identity, or the sameness +of living agents as implied in the notion of our existing now and hereafter, +or indeed in any two consecutive moments.” But in truth +it is not easy to see the strangeness of the difficulty, if the words +either “personal” or “identity” are used in +any strictness.</p> +<p>Personality is one of those ideas with which we are so familiar that +we have lost sight of the foundations upon which it rests. We +regard our personality as a simple definite whole; as a plain, palpable, +individual thing, which can be seen going about the streets or sitting +indoors at home, which lasts us our lifetime, and about the confines +of which no doubt can exist in the minds of reasonable people. +But in truth this “we,” which looks so simple and definite, +is a nebulous and indefinable aggregation of many component parts which +war not a little among themselves, our perception of our existence at +all being perhaps due to this very clash of warfare, as our sense of +sound and light is due to the jarring of vibrations. Moreover, +as the component parts of our identity change from moment to moment, +our personality becomes a thing dependent upon the present, which has +no logical existence, but lives only upon the sufferance of times past +and future, slipping out of our hands into the domain of one or other +of these two claimants the moment we try to apprehend it. And +not only is our personality as fleeting as the present moment, but the +parts which compose it blend some of them so imperceptibly into, and +are so inextricably linked on to, outside things which clearly form +no part of our personality, that when we try to bring ourselves to book, +and determine wherein we consist, or to draw a line as to where we begin +or end, we find ourselves completely baffled. There is nothing +but fusion and confusion.</p> +<p>Putting theology on one side, and dealing only with the common daily +experience of mankind, our body is certainly part of our personality. +With the destruction of our bodies, our personality, as far as we can +follow it, comes to a full stop; and with every modification of them +it is correspondingly modified. But what are the limits of our +bodies? They are composed of parts, some of them so unessential +as to be hardly included in personality at all, and to be separable +from ourselves without perceptible effect, as the hair, nails, and daily +waste of tissue. Again, other parts are very important, as our +hands, feet, arms, legs, &c., but still are no essential parts of +our “self” or “soul,” which continues to exist +in spite of their amputation. Other parts, as the brain, heart, +and blood, are so essential that they cannot be dispensed with, yet +it is impossible to say that personality consists in any one of them.</p> +<p>Each one of these component members of our personality is continually +dying and being born again, supported in this process by the food we +eat, the water we drink, and the air we breathe; which three things +link us on, and fetter us down, to the organic and inorganic world about +us. For our meat and drink, though no part of our personality +before we eat and drink, cannot, after we have done so, be separated +entirely from us without the destruction of our personality altogether, +so far as we can follow it; and who shall say at what precise moment +our food has or has not become part of ourselves? A famished man +eats food; after a short time his whole personality is so palpably affected +that we know the food to have entered into him and taken, as it were, +possession of him; but who can say at what precise moment it did so? +Thus we find that we are rooted into outside things and melt away into +them, nor can any man say he consists absolutely in this or that, nor +define himself so certainly as to include neither more nor less than +himself; many undoubted parts of his personality being more separable +from it, and changing it less when so separated, both to his own senses +and those of other people, than other parts which are strictly speaking +no parts at all.</p> +<p>A man’s clothes, for example, as they lie on a chair at night +are no part of him, but when he wears them they would appear to be so, +as being a kind of food which warms him and hatches him, and the loss +of which may kill him of cold. If this be denied, and a man’s +clothes be considered as no part of his self, nevertheless they, with +his money, and it may perhaps be added his religious opinions, stamp +a man’s individuality as strongly as any natural feature could +stamp it. Change in style of dress, gain or loss of money, make +a man feel and appear more changed than having his chin shaved or his +nails cut. In fact, as soon as we leave common parlance on one +side, and try for a scientific definition of personality, we find that +there is none possible, any more than there can be a demonstration of +the fact that we exist at all - a demonstration for which, as for that +of a personal God, many have hunted but none have found. The only +solid foundation is, as in the case of the earth’s crust, pretty +near the surface of things; the deeper we try to go, the damper and +darker and altogether more uncongenial we find it. There is no +knowing into what quagmire of superstition we may not find ourselves +drawn, if we once cut ourselves adrift from those superficial aspects +of things, in which alone our nature permits us to be comforted.</p> +<p>Common parlance, however, settles the difficulty readily enough (as +indeed it settles most others if they show signs of awkwardness) by +the simple process of ignoring it: we decline, and very properly, to +go into the question of where personality begins and ends, but assume +it to be known by every one, and throw the onus of not knowing it upon +the over-curious, who had better think as their neighbours do, right +or wrong, or there is no knowing into what villainy they may not presently +fall.</p> +<p>Assuming, then, that every one knows what is meant by the word “person” +(and such superstitious bases as this are the foundations upon which +all action, whether of man, beast, or plant, is constructed and rendered +possible; for even the corn in the fields grows upon a superstitious +basis as to its own existence, and only turns the earth and moisture +into wheat through the conceit of its own ability to do so, without +which faith it were powerless; and the lichen only grows upon the granite +rock by first saying to itself, “I think I can do it;” so +that it would not be able to grow unless it thought it could grow, and +would not think it could grow unless it found itself able to grow, and +thus spends its life arguing in a most vicious circle, basing its action +upon a hypothesis, which hypothesis is in turn based upon its action) +- assuming that we know what is meant by the word “person,” +we say that we are one and the same from the moment of our birth to +the moment of our death, so that whatever is done by or happens to any +one between birth and death, is said to happen to or be done by one +individual. This in practice is found to be sufficient for the +law courts and the purposes of daily life, which, being full of hurry +and the pressure of business, can only tolerate compromise, or conventional +rendering of intricate phenomena. When facts of extreme complexity +have to be daily and hourly dealt with by people whose time is money, +they must be simplified, and treated much as a painter treats them, +drawing them in squarely, seizing the more important features, and neglecting +all that does not assert itself as too essential to be passed over - +hence the slang and cant words of every profession, and indeed all language; +for language at best is but a kind of “patter,” the only +way, it is true, in many cases, of expressing our ideas to one another, +but still a very bad way, and not for one moment comparable to the unspoken +speech which we may sometimes have recourse to. The metaphors +and <i>façons de parler</i> to which even in the plainest speech +we are perpetually recurring (as, for example, in this last two lines, +“plain,” “perpetually,” and “recurring,” +are all words based on metaphor, and hence more or less liable to mislead) +often deceive us, as though there were nothing more than what we see +and say, and as though words, instead of being, as they are, the creatures +of our convenience, had some claim to be the actual ideas themselves +concerning which we are conversing.</p> +<p>This is so well expressed in a letter I have recently received from +a friend, now in New Zealand, and certainly not intended by him for +publication, that I shall venture to quote the passage, but should say +that I do so without his knowledge or permission which I should not +be able to receive before this book must be completed.</p> +<p>“Words, words, words,” he writes, “are the stumbling-blocks +in the way of truth. Until you think of things as they are, and +not of the words that misrepresent them, you cannot think rightly. +Words produce the appearance of hard and fast lines where there are +none. Words divide; thus we call this a man, that an ape, that +a monkey, while they are all only differentiations of the same thing. +To think of a thing they must be got rid of: they are the clothes that +thoughts wear - only the clothes. I say this over and over again, +for there is nothing of more importance. Other men’s words +will stop you at the beginning of an investigation. A man may +play with words all his life, arranging them and rearranging them like +dominoes. If I could <i>think</i> to you without words you would +understand me better.”</p> +<p>If such remarks as the above hold good at all, they do so with the +words “personal identity.” The least reflection will +show that personal identity in any sort of strictness is an impossibility. +The expression is one of the many ways in which we are obliged to scamp +our thoughts through pressure of other business which pays us better. +For surely all reasonable people will feel that an infant an hour before +birth, when in the eye of the law he has no existence, and could not +be called a peer for another sixty minutes, though his father were a +peer, and already dead, - surely such an embryo is more personally identical +with the baby into which he develops within an hour’s time than +the born baby is so with itself (if the expression may be pardoned), +one, twenty, or it may be eighty years after birth. There is more +sameness of matter; there are fewer differences of any kind perceptible +by a third person; there is more sense of continuity on the part of +the person himself; and far more of all that goes to make up our sense +of sameness of personality between an embryo an hour before birth and +the child on being born, than there is between the child just born and +the man of twenty. Yet there is no hesitation about admitting +sameness of personality between these two last.</p> +<p>On the other hand, if that hazy contradiction in terms, “personal +identity,” be once allowed to retreat behind the threshold of +the womb, it has eluded us once for all. What is true of one hour +before birth is true of two, and so on till we get back to the impregnate +ovum, which may fairly claim to have been personally identical with +the man of eighty into which it ultimately developed, in spite of the +fact that there is no particle of same matter nor sense of continuity +between them, nor recognised community of instinct, nor indeed of anything +which goes to the making up of that which we call identity.</p> +<p>There is far more of all these things common to the impregnate ovum +and the ovum immediately before impregnation, or again between the impregnate +ovum, and both the ovum before impregnation and the spermatozoon which +impregnated it. Nor, if we admit personal identity between the +ovum and the octogenarian, is there any sufficient reason why we should +not admit it between the impregnate ovum and the two factors of which +it is composed, which two factors are but offshoots from two distinct +personalities, of which they are as much part as the apple is of the +apple-tree; so that an impregnate ovum cannot without a violation of +first principles be debarred from claiming personal identity with both +its parents, and hence, by an easy chain of reasoning, <i>with each +of the impregnate ova from which its parents were developed.</i></p> +<p>So that each ovum when impregnate should be considered not as descended +from its ancestors, but as being a continuation of the personality of +every ovum in the chain of its ancestry, which every ovum <i>it actually +is</i> quite as truly as the octogenarian <i>is</i> the same identity +with the ovum from which he has been developed.</p> +<p>This process cannot stop short of the primordial cell, which again +will probably turn out to be but a brief resting-place. We therefore +prove each one of us to <i>be actually</i> the primordial cell which +never died nor dies, but has differentiated itself into the life of +the world, all living beings whatever, being one with it, and members +one of another.</p> +<p>To look at the matter for a moment in another light, it will be admitted +that if the primordial cell had been killed before leaving issue, all +its possible descendants would have been killed at one and the same +time. It is hard to see how this single fact does not establish +at the point, as it were, of a logical bayonet, an identity, between +any creature and all others that are descended from it.</p> +<p>In Bishop Butler’s first dissertation on personality, we find +expressed very much the same opinions as would follow from the above +considerations, though they are mentioned by the Bishop only to be condemned, +namely, “that personality is not a permanent but a transient thing; +that it lives and dies, begins and ends continually; that no man can +any more remain one and the same person two moments together, than two +successive moments can be one and the same moment;” in which case, +he continues, our present self would not be “in reality the same +with the self of yesterday, but another like self or person coming up +in its room and mistaken for it, to which another self will succeed +to-morrow.” This view the Bishop proceeds to reduce to absurdity +by saying, “It must be a fallacy upon ourselves to charge our +present selves with anything we did, or to imagine our present selves +interested in anything which befell us yesterday; or that our present +self will be interested in what will befall us to-morrow. This, +I say, must follow, for if the self or person of to-day and that of +to-morrow are not the same, but only like persons, the person of to-day +is really no more interested in what will befall the person of to-morrow +than in what will befall any other person. It may be thought, +perhaps, that this is not a just representation of the opinion we are +speaking of, because those who maintain it allow that a person is the +same as far back as his remembrance reaches. And indeed they do +use the words <i>identity</i> and <i>same person</i>. Nor will +language permit these words to be laid aside, since, if they were, there +must be I know not what ridiculous periphrasis substituted in the room +of them. But they cannot consistently with themselves mean that +the person is really the same. For it is self-evident that the +personality cannot be really the same, if, as they expressly assert, +that in which it consists is not the same. And as consistently +with themselves they cannot, so I think it appears they do not mean +that the person is really the same, but only that he is so in a fictitious +sense; in such a sense only as they assert - for this they do assert +- that any number of persons whatever may be the same person. +The bare unfolding of this notion, and laying it thus naked and open, +seems the best confutation of it.”</p> +<p>This fencing, for it does not deserve the name of serious disputation, +is rendered possible by the laxness with which the words “identical” +and “identity” are commonly used. Bishop Butler would +not seriously deny that personality undergoes great changes between +infancy and old age, and hence that it must undergo some change from +moment to moment. So universally is this recognised, that it is +common to hear it said of such and such a man that he is not at all +the person he was, or of such and such another that he is twice the +man he used to be - expressions than which none nearer the truth can +well be found. On the other hand, those whom Bishop Butler is +intending to confute would be the first to admit that, though there +are many changes between infancy and old age, yet they come about in +any one individual under such circumstances as we are all agreed in +considering as the factors of personal identity rather than as hindrances +thereto - that is to say, there has been no death on the part of the +individual between any two phases of his existence, and any one phase +has had a permanent though perhaps imperceptible effect upon all succeeding +ones. So that no one ever seriously argued in the manner supposed +by Bishop Butler, unless with modifications and saving clauses, to which +it does not suit his purpose to call attention.</p> +<p>Identical strictly means “one and the same;” and if it +were tied down to its strictest usage, it would indeed follow very logically, +as we have said already, that no such thing as personal identity is +possible, but that the case actually is as Bishop Butler has supposed +his opponents without qualification to maintain it. In common +use, however, the word “identical” is taken to mean anything +so like another that no vital or essential differences can be perceived +between them; as in the case of two specimens of the same kind of plant, +when we say they are identical in spite of considerable individual differences. +So with two impressions of a print from the same plate; so with the +plate itself, which is somewhat modified with every impression taken +from it. In like manner “identity” is not held to +its strict meaning - absolute sameness - but is predicated rightly of +a past and present which are now very widely asunder, provided they +have been continuously connected by links so small as not to give too +sudden a sense of change at any one point; as, for instance, in the +case of the Thames at Oxford and Windsor or again at Greenwich, we say +the same river flows by all three places, by which we mean that much +of the water at Greenwich has come down from Oxford and Windsor in a +continuous stream. How sudden a change at any one point, or how +great a difference between the two extremes is sufficient to bar identity, +is one of the most uncertain things imaginable, and seems to be decided +on different grounds in different cases, sometimes very intelligibly, +and again at others arbitrarily and capriciously.</p> +<p>Personal identity is barred at one end, in the common opinion, by +birth, and at the other by death. Before birth, a child cannot +complain either by himself or another, in such way as to set the law +in motion; after death he is in like manner powerless to make himself +felt by society, except in so far as he can do so by acts done before +the breath has left his body. At any point between birth and death +he is liable, either by himself or another, to affect his fellow-creatures; +hence, no two other epochs can be found of equal convenience for social +purposes, and therefore they have been seized by society as settling +the whole question of when personal identity begins and ends - society +being rightly concerned with its own practical convenience, rather than +with the abstract truth concerning its individual members. No +one who is capable of reflection will deny that the limitation of personality +is certainly arbitrary to a degree as regards birth, nor yet that it +is very possibly arbitrary as regards death; and as for intermediate +points, no doubt it would be more strictly accurate to say, “you +are the now phase of the person I met last night,” or “you +are the being which has been evolved from the being I met last night,” +than “you are the person I met last night.” But life +is too short for the pen-phrases which would crowd upon us from every +quarter, if we did not set our face against all that is under the surface +of things, unless, that is to say, the going beneath the surface is, +for some special chance of profit, excusable or capable of extenuation.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VI - PERSONAL IDENTITY - (Continued)</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>How arbitrary current notions concerning identity really are, may +perhaps be perceived by reflecting upon some of the many different phases +of reproduction.</p> +<p>Direct reproduction in which a creation reproduces another, the <i>facsimile</i>, +or nearly so, of itself may perhaps occur among the lowest forms of +animal life; but it is certainly not the rule among beings of a higher +order.</p> +<p>A hen lays an egg, which egg becomes a chicken, which chicken, in +the course of time, becomes a hen.</p> +<p>A moth lays an egg, which egg becomes a caterpillar, which caterpillar, +after going through several stages, becomes a chrysalis, which chrysalis +becomes a moth.</p> +<p>A medusa begets a ciliated larva, the larva begets a polyp, the polyp +begets a strobila, and the strobila begets a medusa again; the cycle +of reproduction being completed in the fourth generation.</p> +<p>A frog lays an egg, which egg becomes a tadpole; the tadpole, after +more or fewer intermediate stages, becomes a frog.</p> +<p>The mammals lay eggs, which they hatch inside their own bodies, instead +of outside them; but the difference is one of degree and not of kind. +In all these cases how difficult is it to say where identity begins +or ends, or again where death begins or ends, or where reproduction +begins or ends.</p> +<p>How small and unimportant is the difference between the changes which +a caterpillar undergoes before becoming a moth, and those of a strobila +before becoming a medusa. Yet in the one case we say the caterpillar +does not die, but is changed (though, if the various changes in its +existence be produced metagenetically, as is the case with many insects, +it would appear to make a clean sweep of every organ of its existence, +and start <i>de novo</i>, growing a head where its feet were, and so +on - at least twice between its lives as caterpillar and butterfly); +in this case, however, we say the caterpillar does not die, but is changed; +being, nevertheless, one personality with the moth, into which it is +developed. But in the case of the strobila we say that it is not +changed, but dies, and is no part of the personality of the medusa.</p> +<p>We say the egg becomes the caterpillar, not by the death of the egg +and birth of the caterpillar, but by the ordinary process of nutrition +and waste - waste and repair - waste and repair continually. In +like manner we say the caterpillar becomes the chrysalis, and the chrysalis +the moth, not through the death of either one or the other, but by the +development of the same creature, and the ordinary processes of waste +and repair. But the medusa after three or four cycles becomes +the medusa again, not, we say, by these same processes of nutrition +and waste, but by a series of generations, each one involving an actual +birth and an actual death. Why this difference? Surely only +because the changes in the offspring of the medusa are marked by the +leaving a little more husk behind them, and that husk less shrivelled, +than is left on the occasion of each change between the caterpillar +and the butterfly. A little more residuum, which residuum, it +may be, can move about; and though shrivelling from hour to hour, may +yet leave a little more offspring before it is reduced to powder; or +again, perhaps, because in the one case, though the actors are changed, +they are changed behind the scenes, and come on in parts and dresses, +more nearly resembling those of the original actors, than in the other.</p> +<p>When the caterpillar emerges from the egg, almost all that was inside +the egg has become caterpillar; the shell is nearly empty, and cannot +move; therefore we do not count it, and call the caterpillar a continuation +of the egg’s existence, and personally identical with the egg. +So with the chrysalis and the moth; but after the moth has laid her +eggs she can still move her wings about, and she looks nearly as large +as she did before she laid them; besides, she may yet lay a few more, +therefore we do not consider the moth’s life as continued in the +life of her eggs, but rather in their husk, which we still call the +moth, and which we say dies in a day or two, and there is an end of +it. Moreover, if we hold the moth’s life to be continued +in that of her eggs, we shall be forced to admit her to be personally +identical with each single egg, and, hence, each egg to be identical +with every other egg, as far as the past, and community of memories, +are concerned; and it is not easy at first to break the spell which +words have cast around us, and to feel that one person may become many +persons, and that many different persons may be practically one and +the same person, as far as their past experience is concerned; and again, +that two or more persons may unite and become one person, with the memories +and experiences of both, though this has been actually the case with +every one of us.</p> +<p>Our present way of looking at these matters is perfectly right and +reasonable, so long as we bear in mind that it is a <i>façon +de parler</i>, a sort of hieroglyphic which shall stand for the course +of nature, but nothing more. Repair (as is now universally admitted +by physiologists) is only a phase of reproduction, or rather reproduction +and repair are only phases of the same power; and again, death and the +ordinary daily waste of tissue, are phases of the same thing. +As for identity it is determined in any true sense of the word, not +by death alone, but by a combination of death and failure of issue, +whether of mind or body.</p> +<p>To repeat. Wherever there is a separate centre of thought and +action, we see that it is connected with its successive stages of being, +by a series of infinitely small changes from moment to moment, with, +perhaps, at times more startling and rapid changes, but, nevertheless, +with no such sudden, complete, and unrepaired break up of the preceding +condition, as we shall agree in calling death. The branching out +from it at different times of new centres of thought and action, has +commonly as little appreciable effect upon the parent-stock as the fall +of an apple full of ripe seeds has upon an apple-tree; and though the +life of the parent, from the date of the branching off of such personalities, +is more truly continued in these than in the residuum of its own life, +we should find ourselves involved in a good deal of trouble if we were +commonly to take this view of the matter. The residuum has generally +the upper hand. He has more money, and can eat up his new life +more easily than his new life, him. A moral residuum will therefore +prefer to see the remainder of his life in his own person, than in that +of his descendants, and will act accordingly. Hence we, in common +with most other living beings, ignore the offspring as forming part +of the personality of the parent, except in so far as that we make the +father liable for its support and for its extravagances (than which +no greater proof need be wished that the law is at heart a philosopher, +and perceives the completeness of the personal identity between father +and son) for twenty-one years from birth. In other respects we +are accustomed, probably rather from considerations of practical convenience +than as the result of pure reason, to ignore the identity between parent +and offspring as completely as we ignore personality before birth. +With these exceptions, however, the common opinion concerning personal +identity is reasonable enough, and is found to consist neither in consciousness +of such identity, nor yet in the power of recollecting its various phases +(for it is plain that identity survives the distinction or suspension +of both these), but in the fact that the various stages appear to the +majority of people to have been in some way or other linked together.</p> +<p>For a very little reflection will show that identity, as commonly +predicated of living agents, does not consist in identity of matter, +of which there is no same particle in the infant, we will say, and the +octogenarian into whom he has developed. Nor, again, does it depend +upon sameness of form or fashion; for personality is felt to survive +frequent and radical modification of structure, as in the case of caterpillars +and other insects. Mr. Darwin, quoting from Professor Owen, tells +us (Plants and Animals under Domestication, vol. ii. p. 362, ed. 1875), +that in the case of what is called metagenetic development, “the +new parts are not moulded upon the inner surfaces of the old ones. +The plastic force has changed its mode of operation. <i>The outer +case, and all that gave form and character to the precedent individual, +perish, and are cast off; they are not changed</i> into the corresponding +parts of the same individual. These are due to a new and distinct +developmental process.” Assuredly, there is more birth and +death in the world than is dreamt of by the greater part of us; but +it is so masked, and on the whole, so little to our purpose, that we +fail to see it. Yet radical and sweeping as the changes of organism +above described must be, we do not feel them to be more a bar to personal +identity than the considerable changes which take place in the structure +of our own bodies between youth and old age.</p> +<p>Perhaps the most striking illustration of this is to be found in +the case of some Echinoderms, concerning which Mr. Darwin tells us, +that “the animal in the second stage of development is formed +almost like a bud within the animal of the first stage, the latter being +then cast off like an old vestment, yet sometimes maintaining for a +short period an independent vitality” (“Plants and Animals +under Domestication,” vol. ii. p. 362, ed. 1875).</p> +<p>Nor yet does personality depend upon any consciousness or sense of +such personality on the part of the creature itself - it is not likely +that the moth remembers having been a caterpillar, more than we ourselves +remember having been children of a day old. It depends simply +upon the fact that the various phases of existence have been linked +together, by links which we agree in considering sufficient to cause +identity, and that they have flowed the one out of the other in what +we see as a continuous, though it may be at times, a troubled stream. +This is the very essence of personality, but it involves the probable +unity of all animal and vegetable life, as being, in reality, nothing +but one single creature, of which the component members are but, as +it were, blood corpuscles or individual cells; life being a sort of +leaven, which, if once introduced into the world, will leaven it altogether; +or of fire, which will consume all it can burn; or of air or water, +which will turn most things into themselves. Indeed, no difficulty +would probably be felt about admitting the continued existence of personal +identity between parents and their offspring through all time (there +being no <i>sudden</i> break at any time between the existence of any +maternal parent and that of its offspring), were it not that after a +certain time the changes in outward appearance between descendants and +ancestors become very great, the two seeming to stand so far apart, +that it seems absurd in any way to say that they are one and the same +being; much in the same way as after a time - though exactly when no +one can say - the Thames becomes the sea. Moreover, the separation +of the identity is practically of far greater importance to it than +its continuance. We want to be ourselves; we do not want any one +else to claim part and parcel of our identity. This community +of identities is not found to answer in everyday life. When then +our love of independence is backed up by the fact that continuity of +life between parents and offspring is a matter which depends on things +which are a good deal hidden, and that thus birth gives us an opportunity +of pretending that there has been a sudden leap into a separate life; +when also we have regard to the utter ignorance of embryology, which +prevailed till quite recently, it is not surprising that our ordinary +language should be found to have regard to what is important and obvious, +rather than to what is not quite obvious, and is quite unimportant.</p> +<p>Personality is the creature of time and space, changing, as time +changes, imperceptibly; we are therefore driven to deal with it as with +all continuous and blending things; as with time, for example, itself, +which we divide into days, and seasons, and times, and years, into divisions +that are often arbitrary, but coincide, on the whole, as nearly as we +can make them do so, with the more marked changes which we can observe. +We lay hold, in fact, of anything we can catch; the most important feature +in any existence as regards ourselves being that which we can best lay +hold of rather than that which is most essential to the existence itself. +We can lay hold of the continued personality of the egg and the moth +into which the egg develops, but it is less easy to catch sight of the +continued personality between the moth and the eggs which she lays; +yet the one continuation of personality is just as true and free from +quibble as the other. A moth becomes each egg that she lays, and +that she does so, she will in good time show by doing, now that she +has got a fresh start, as near as may be what she did when first she +was an egg, and then a moth, before; and this I take it, so far as I +can gather from looking at life and things generally, she would not +be able to do if she had not travelled the same road often enough already, +to be able to know it in her sleep and blindfold, that is to say, to +remember it without any conscious act of memory.</p> +<p>So also a grain of wheat is linked with an ear, containing, we will +say, a dozen grains, by a series of changes so subtle that we cannot +say at what moment the original grain became the blade, nor when each +ear of the head became possessed of an individual centre of action. +To say that each grain of the head is personally identical with the +original grain would perhaps be an abuse of terms; but it can be no +abuse to say that each grain is a continuation of the personality of +the original grain, and if so, of every grain in the chain of its own +ancestry; and that, as being such a continuation, it must be stored +with the memories and experiences of its past existences, to be recollected +under the circumstances most favourable to recollection, <i>i.e</i>., +when under similar conditions to those when the impression was last +made and last remembered. Truly, then, in each case the new egg +and the new grain <i>is</i> the egg, and the grain from which its parent +sprang, as completely as the full-grown ox is the calf from which it +has grown.</p> +<p>Again, in the case of some weeping trees, whose boughs spring up +into fresh trees when they have reached the ground, who shall say at +what time they cease to be members of the parent tree? In the +case of cuttings from plants it is easy to elude the difficulty by making +a parade of the sharp and sudden act of separation from the parent stock, +but this is only a piece of mental sleight of hand; the cutting remains +as much part of its parent plant as though it had never been severed +from it; it goes on profiting by the experience which it had before +it was cut off, as much as though it had never been cut off at all. +This will be more readily seen in the case of worms which have been +cut in half. Let a worm be cut in half, and the two halves will +become fresh worms; which of them is the original worm? Surely +both. Perhaps no simpler case than this could readily be found +of the manner in which personality eludes us, the moment we try to investigate +its real nature. There are few ideas which on first consideration +appear so simple, and none which becomes more utterly incapable of limitation +or definition as soon as it is examined closely.</p> +<p>Finally, Mr. Darwin (“Plants and Animals under Domestication,” +vol. ii. p. 38, ed. 1875), writes -</p> +<p>“Even with plants multiplied by bulbs, layers, &c., which +may <i>in one sense</i> be said to form part of the same individual,” +&c., &c.; and again, p. 58, “The same rule holds good +with plants when propagated by bulbs, offsets, &c., which <i>in +one sense</i> still form parts of the same individual,” &c. +In each of these passages it is plain that the difficulty of separating +the personality of the offspring from that of the parent plant is present +to his mind. Yet, p. 351 of the same volume as above, he tells +us that asexual generation “is effected in many ways - by the +formation of buds of various kinds, and by fissiparous generation, that +is, by spontaneous or artificial division.” The multiplication +of plants by bulbs and layers clearly comes under this head, nor will +any essential difference be felt between one kind of asexual generation +and another; if, then, the offspring formed by bulbs and layers is in +one sense part of the original plant, so also, it would appear, is all +offspring developed by asexual generation in its manifold phrases.</p> +<p>If we now turn to p. 357, we find the conclusion arrived at, as it +would appear, on the most satisfactory evidence, that “sexual +and asexual reproduction are not seen to differ essentially; and . . +. . that asexual reproduction, the power of regrowth, and development +are all parts of one and the same great law.” Does it not +then follow, quite reasonably and necessarily, that all offspring, however +generated, is <i>in one sense</i> part of the individuality of its parent +or parents. The question, therefore, turns upon “in what +sense” this may be said to be the case? To which I would +venture to reply, “In the same sense as the parent plant (which +is but the representative of the outside matter which it has assimilated +during growth, and of its own powers of development) is the same individual +that it was when it was itself an offset, or a cow the same individual +that it was when it was a calf - but no otherwise.”</p> +<p>Not much difficulty will be felt about supposing the offset of a +plant, to be imbued with the memory of the past history of the plant +of which it is an offset. It is part of the plant itself; and +will know whatever the plant knows. Why, then, should there be +more difficulty in supposing the offspring of the highest mammals, to +remember in a profound but unselfconscious way, the anterior history +of the creatures of which they too have been part and parcel?</p> +<p>Personal identity, then, is much like species itself. It is +now, thanks to Mr. Darwin, generally held that species blend or have +blended into one another; so that any possibility of arrangement and +apparent subdivision into definite groups, is due to the suppression +by death both of individuals and whole genera, which, had they been +now existing, would have linked all living beings by a series of gradations +so subtle that little classification could have been attempted. +How it is that the one great personality of life as a whole, should +have split itself up into so many centres of thought and action, each +one of which is wholly, or at any rate nearly, unconscious of its connection +with the other members, instead of having grown up into a huge polyp, +or as it were coral reef or compound animal over the whole world, which +should be conscious but of its own one single existence; how it is that +the daily waste of this creature should be carried on by the conscious +death of its individual members, instead of by the unconscious waste +of tissue which goes on in the bodies of each individual (if indeed +the tissue which we waste daily in our own bodies is so unconscious +of its birth and death as we suppose); how, again, that the daily repair +of this huge creature life should have become decentralised, and be +carried on by conscious reproduction on the part of its component items, +instead of by the unconscious nutrition of the whole from a single centre, +as the nutrition of our own bodies would appear (though perhaps falsely) +to be carried on; these are matters upon which I dare not speculate +here, but on which some reflections may follow in subsequent chapters.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VII - OUR SUBORDINATE PERSONALITIES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We have seen that we can apprehend neither the beginning nor the +end of our personality, which comes up out of infinity as an island +out of the sea, so gently, that none can say when it is first visible +on our mental horizon, and fades away in the case of those who leave +offspring, so imperceptibly that none can say when it is out of sight. +But, like the island, whether we can see it or no, it is always there. +Not only are we infinite as regards time, but we are so also as regards +extension, being so linked on to the external world that we cannot say +where we either begin or end. If those who so frequently declare +that man is a finite creature would point out his boundaries, it might +lead to a better understanding.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, we are in the habit of considering that our personality, +or soul, no matter where it begins or ends, and no matter what it comprises, +is nevertheless a single thing, uncompounded of other souls. Yet +there is nothing more certain than that this is not at all the case, +but that every individual person is a compound creature, being made +up of an infinite number of distinct centres of sensation and will, +each one of which is personal, and has a soul and individual existence, +a reproductive system, intelligence, and memory of its own, with probably +its hopes and fears, its times of scarcity and repletion, and a strong +conviction that it is itself the centre of the universe.</p> +<p>True, no one is aware of more than one individuality in his own person +at one time. We are, indeed, often greatly influenced by other +people, so much so, that we act on many occasions in accordance with +their will rather than our own, making our actions answer to their sensations, +and register the conclusions of their cerebral action and not our own; +for the time being, we become so completely part of them, that we are +ready to do things most distasteful and dangerous to us, if they think +it for their advantage that we should do so. Thus we sometimes +see people become mere processes of their wives or nearest relations. +Yet there is a something which blinds us, so that we cannot see how +completely we are possessed by the souls which influence us upon these +occasions. We still think we are ourselves, and ourselves only, +and are as certain as we can be of any fact, that we are single sentient +beings, uncompounded of other sentient beings, and that our action is +determined by the sole operation of a single will.</p> +<p>But in reality, over and above this possession of our souls by others +of our own species, the will of the lower animals often enters into +our bodies and possesses them, making us do as they will, and not as +we will; as, for example, when people try to drive pigs, or are run +away with by a restive horse, or are attacked by a savage animal which +masters them. It is absurd to say that a person is a single “ego” +when he is in the clutches of a lion. Even when we are alone, +and uninfluenced by other people except in so far as we remember their +wishes, we yet generally conform to the usages which the current feeling +of our peers has taught us to respect; their will having so mastered +our original nature, that, do what we may, we can never again separate +ourselves and dwell in the isolation of our own single personality. +And even though we succeeded in this, and made a clean sweep of every +mental influence which had ever been brought to bear upon us, and though +at the same time we were alone in some desert where there was neither +beast nor bird to attract our attention or in any way influence our +action, yet we could not escape the parasites which abound within us; +whose action, as every medical man well knows, is often such as to drive +men to the commission of grave crimes, or to throw them into convulsions, +make lunatics of them, kill them - when but for the existence and course +of conduct pursued by these parasites they would have done no wrong +to any man.</p> +<p>These parasites - are they part of us or no? Some are plainly +not so in any strict sense of the word, yet their action may, in cases +which it is unnecessary to detail, affect us so powerfully that we are +irresistibly impelled to act in such or such a manner; and yet we are +as wholly unconscious of any impulse outside of our own “ego” +as though they were part of ourselves; others again are essential to +our very existence, as the corpuscles of the blood, which the best authorities +concur in supposing to be composed of an infinite number of living souls, +on whose welfare the healthy condition of our blood, and hence of our +whole bodies, depends. We breathe that they may breathe, not that +we may do so; we only care about oxygen in so far as the infinitely +small beings which course up and down in our veins care about it: the +whole arrangement and mechanism of our lungs may be our doing, but is +for their convenience, and they only serve us because it suits their +purpose to do so, as long as we serve them. Who shall draw the +line between the parasites which are part of us, and the parasites which +are not part of us? Or again, between the influence of those parasites +which are within us, but are yet not <i>us</i>, and the external influence +of other sentient beings and our fellow-men? There is no line +possible. Everything melts away into everything else; there are +no hard edges; it is only from a little distance that we see the effect +as of individual features and existences. When we go close up, +there is nothing but a blur and confused mass of apparently meaningless +touches, as in a picture by Turner.</p> +<p>The following passage from Mr. Darwin’s provisional theory +of Pangenesis, will sufficiently show that the above is no strange and +paradoxical view put forward wantonly, but that it follows as a matter +of course from the conclusions arrived at by those who are acknowledged +leaders in the scientific world. Mr. Darwin writes thus:-</p> +<p>“<i>The functional independence of the elements or units of +the body</i>. - Physiologists agree that the whole organism consists +of a multitude of elemental parts, which are to a great extent independent +of one another. Each organ, says Claude Bernard, has its proper +life, its autonomy; it can develop and reproduce itself independently +of the adjoining tissues. A great German authority, Virchow, asserts +still more emphatically that each system consists of ‘an enormous +mass of minute centres of action. . . . Every element has its +own special action, and even though it derive its stimulus to activity +from other parts, yet alone effects the actual performance of duties. +. . . Every single epithelial and muscular fibre-cell leads a +sort of parasitical existence in relation to the rest of the body. . +. . Every single bone corpuscle really possesses conditions of +nutrition peculiar to itself.’ Each element, as Sir J. Paget +remarks, lives its appointed time, and then dies, and is replaced after +being cast off and absorbed. I presume that no physiologist doubts +that, for instance, each bone corpuscle of the finger differs from the +corresponding corpuscle of the corresponding joint of the toe,” +&c., &c. (“Plants and Animals under Domestication,” +vol ii. pp. 364, 365, ed. 1875).</p> +<p>In a work on heredity by M. Ribot, I find him saying, “Some +recent authors attribute a memory” (and if so, surely every attribute +of complete individuality) “to every organic element of the body;” +among them Dr. Maudsley, who is quoted by M. Ribot, as saying, “The +permanent effects of a particular virus, such as that of the variola, +in the constitution, shows that the organic element remembers for the +remainder of its life certain modifications it has received. The +manner in which a cicatrix in a child’s finger grows with the +growth of the body, proves, as has been shown by Paget, that the organic +element of the part does not forget the impression it has received. +What has been said about the different nervous centres of the body demonstrates +the existence of a memory in the nerve cells diffused through the heart +and intestines; in those of the spinal cord, in the cells of the motor +ganglia, and in the cells of the cortical substance of the cerebal hemispheres.”</p> +<p>Now, if words have any meaning at all, it must follow from the passages +quoted above, that each cell in the human body is a person with an intelligent +soul, of a low class, perhaps, but still differing from our own more +complex soul in degree, and not in kind; and, like ourselves, being +born, living, and dying. So that each single creature, whether +man or beast, proves to be as a ray of white light, which, though single, +is compounded of the red, blue, and yellow rays. It would appear, +then, as though “we,” “our souls,” or “selves,” +or “personalities,” or by whatever name we may prefer to +be called, are but the <i>consensus</i> and full flowing stream of countless +sensations and impulses on the part of our tributary souls or “selves,” +who probably know no more that we exist, and that they exist as part +of us, than a microscopic water-flea knows the results of spectrum analysis, +or than an agricultural labourer knows the working of the British constitution: +and of whom we know no more, until some misconduct on our part, or some +confusion of ideas on theirs, has driven them into insurrection, than +we do of the habits and feelings of some class widely separated from +our own.</p> +<p>These component souls are of many and very different natures, living +in territories which are to them vast continents, and rivers, and seas, +but which are yet only the bodies of our other component souls; coral +reefs and sponge-beds within us; the animal itself being a kind of mean +proportional between its house and its soul, and none being able to +say where house ends and animal begins, more than they can say where +animal ends and soul begins. For our bones within us are but inside +walls and buttresses, that is to say, houses constructed of lime and +stone, as it were, by coral insects; and our houses without us are but +outside bones, a kind of exterior skeleton or shell, so that we perish +of cold if permanently and suddenly deprived of the coverings which +warm us and cherish us, as the wing of a hen cherishes her chickens. +If we consider the shells of many living creatures, we shall find it +hard to say whether they are rather houses, or part of the animal itself, +being, as they are, inseparable from the animal, without the destruction +of its personality.</p> +<p>Is it possible, then, to avoid imagining that if we have within us +so many tributary souls, so utterly different from the soul which they +unite to form, that they neither can perceive us, nor we them, though +it is in us that they live and move and have their being, and though +we are what we are, solely as the result of their co-operation - is +it possible to avoid imagining that we may be ourselves atoms, undesignedly +combining to form some vaster being, though we are utterly incapable +of perceiving that any such being exists, or of realising the scheme +or scope of our own combination? And this, too, not a spiritual +being, which, without matter, or what we think matter of some sort, +is as complete nonsense to us as though men bade us love and lean upon +an intelligent vacuum, but a being with what is virtually flesh and +blood and bones; with organs, senses, dimensions, in some way analogous +to our own, into some other part of which being, at the time of our +great change we must infallibly re-enter, starting clean anew, with +bygones bygones, and no more ache for ever from either age or antecedents. +Truly, sufficient for the life is the evil thereof. Any speculations +of ours concerning the nature of such a being, must be as futile and +little valuable as those of a blood corpuscle might be expected to be +concerning the nature of man; but if I were myself a blood corpuscle, +I should be amused at making the discovery that I was not only enjoying +life in my own sphere, but was <i>bonâ fide</i> part of an animal +which would not die with myself, and in which I might thus think of +myself as continuing to live to all eternity, or to what, as far as +my power of thought would carry me, must seem practically eternal. +But, after all, the amusement would be of a rather dreary nature.</p> +<p>On the other hand, if I were the being of whom such an introspective +blood corpuscle was a component item, I should conceive he served me +better by attending to my blood and making himself a successful corpuscle, +than by speculating about my nature. He would serve me best by +serving himself best, without being over curious. I should expect +that my blood might suffer if his brain were to become too active. +If, therefore, I could discover the vein in which he was, I should let +him out to begin life anew in some other and, <i>quâ</i> me, more +profitable capacity.</p> +<p>With the units of our bodies it is as with the stars of heaven: there +is neither speech nor language, but their voices are heard among them. +Our will is the <i>fiat</i> of their collective wisdom, as sanctioned +in their parliament, the brain; it is they who make us do whatever we +do - it is they who should be rewarded if they have done well, or hanged +if they have committed murder. When the balance of power is well +preserved among them, when they respect each other’s rights and +work harmoniously together, then we thrive and are well; if we are ill, +it is because they are quarrelling with themselves, or are gone on strike +for this or that addition to their environment, and our doctor must +pacify or chastise them as best he may. They are we and we are +they; and when we die it is but a redistribution of the balance of power +among them or a change of dynasty, the result, it may be, of heroic +struggle, with more epics and love romances than we could read from +now to the Millennium, if they were so written down that we could comprehend +them.</p> +<p>It is plain, then, that the more we examine the question of personality +the more it baffles us, the only safeguard against utter confusion and +idleness of thought being to fall back upon the superficial and common +sense view, and refuse to tolerate discussions which seem to hold out +little prospect of commercial value, and which would compel us, if logically +followed, to be at the inconvenience of altering our opinions upon matters +which we have come to consider as settled.</p> +<p>And we observe that this is what is practically done by some of our +ablest philosophers, who seem unwilling, if one may say so without presumption, +to accept the conclusions to which their own experiments and observations +would seem to point.</p> +<p>Dr. Carpenter, for example, quotes the well-known experiments upon +headless frogs. If we cut off a frog’s head and pinch any +part of its skin, the animal at once begins to move away with the same +regularity as though the brain had not been removed. Flourens +took guinea-pigs, deprived them of the cerebral lobes, and then irritated +their skin; the animals immediately walked, leaped, and trotted about, +but when the irritation was discontinued they ceased to move. +Headless birds, under excitation, can still perform with their wings +the rhythmic movements of flying. But here are some facts more +curious still, and more difficult of explanation. If we take a +frog or a strong and healthy triton, and subject it to various experiments; +if we touch, pinch, or burn it with acetic acid, and if then, after +decapitating the animal, we subject it to the same experiments, it will +be seen that the reactions are exactly the same; it will strive to be +free of the pain, and to shake off the acetic acid that is burning it; +it will bring its foot up to the part of its body that is irritated, +and this movement of the member will follow the irritation wherever +it may be produced.</p> +<p>The above is mainly taken from M. Ribot’s work on heredity +rather than Dr. Carpenter’s, because M. Ribot tells us that the +head of the frog was actually cut off, a fact which does not appear +so plainly in Dr. Carpenter’s allusion to the same experiments. +But Dr. Carpenter tells us that <i>after the brain of a frog has been +removed</i> - which would seem to be much the same thing as though its +head were cut off - “if acetic acid be applied over the upper +and under part of the thigh, the foot of the same side will wipe it +away; <i>but if that foot be cut off, after some ineffectual efforts +and a short period of inaction</i>,” during which it is hard not +to surmise that the headless body is considering what it had better +do under the circumstances, “<i>the same movement will be made +by the foot of the opposite side</i>,” which, to ordinary people, +would convey the impression that the headless body was capable of feeling +the impressions it had received, and of reasoning upon them by a psychological +act; and this of course involves the possession of a soul of some sort.</p> +<p>Here is a frog whose right thigh you burn with acetic acid. +Very naturally it tries to get at the place with its right foot to remove +the acid. You then cut off the frog’s head, and put more +acetic acid on the some place: the headless frog, or rather the body +of the late frog, does just what the frog did before its head was cut +off - it tries to get at the place with its right foot. You now +cut off its right foot: the headless body deliberates, and after a while +tries to do with its left foot what it can no longer do with its right. +Plain matter-of-fact people will draw their own inference. They +will not be seduced from the superficial view of the matter. They +will say that the headless body can still, to some extent, feel, think, +and act, and if so, that it must have a living soul.</p> +<p>Dr. Carpenter writes as follows:- “Now the performance of these, +as well as of many other movements, that show a most remarkable adaptation +to a purpose, might be supposed to indicate that sensations are called +up by the <i>impressions</i>, and that the animal can not only <i>feel</i>, +but can voluntarily direct its movements so as to get rid of the irritation +which annoys it. But such an inference would be inconsistent with +other facts. In the first place, the motions performed under such +circumstances are never spontaneous, but are always excited by a stimulus +of some kind.”</p> +<p>Here we pause to ask ourselves whether any action of any creature +under any circumstances is ever excited without “stimulus of some +kind,” and unless we can answer this question in the affirmative, +it is not easy to see how Dr. Carpenter’s objection is valid.</p> +<p>“Thus,” he continues, “a decapitated frog” +(here then we have it that the frog’s head was actually cut off) +“after the first violent convulsive moments occasioned by the +operation have passed away, remains at rest until it is touched; and +then the leg, or its whole body may be thrown into sudden action, which +suddenly subsides again.” (How does this quiescence when +it no longer feels anything show that the “leg or whole body” +had not perceived something which made it feel when it was not quiescent?) +- “Again we find that such movements may be performed not only +when the brain has been removed, the spinal cord remaining entire, but +also when the spinal cord has been itself cut across, so as to be divided +into two or more portions, each of them completely isolated from each +other, and from other parts of the nervous centres. Thus, if the +head of a frog be cut off, and its spinal cord be divided in the middle +of the back, so that its fore legs remain connected with the upper part, +and its hind legs with the lower, each pair of members may be excited +to movements by stimulants applied to itself; but the two pairs will +not exhibit any consentaneous motions, as they will do when the spinal +cord is undivided.”</p> +<p>This may be put perhaps more plainly thus. If you take a frog +and cut it into three pieces - say, the head for one piece, the fore +legs and shoulder for another, and the hind legs for a third - and then +irritate any one of these pieces, you will find it move much as it would +have moved under like irritation if the animal had remained undivided, +but you will no longer find any concert between the movements of the +three pieces; that is to say, if you irritate the head, the other two +pieces will remain quiet, and if you irritate the hind legs, you will +excite no action in the fore legs or head.</p> +<p>Dr. Carpenter continues: “Or if the spinal cord be cut across +without the removal of the brain, the lower limbs may be <i>excited</i> +to movement by an appropriate stimulant, though the animal has clearly +no power over them, whilst the upper part remains under its control +as completely as before.”</p> +<p>Why are the head and shoulders “the animal” more than +the hind legs under these circumstances? Neither half can exist +long without the other; the two parts, therefore, being equally important +to each other, we have surely as good a right to claim the title of +“the animal” for the hind legs, and to maintain that they +have no power over the head and shoulders, as any one else has to claim +the animalship for these last. What we say is, that the animal +has ceased to exist as a frog on being cut in half, and that the two +halves are no longer, either of them, the frog, but are simply pieces +of still living organism, each of which has a soul of its own, being +capable of sensation, and of intelligent psychological action as the +consequence of sensations, though the one part has probably a much higher +and more intelligent soul than the other, and neither part has a soul +for a moment comparable in power and durability to that of the original +frog.</p> +<p>“Now it is scarcely conceivable,” continues Dr Carpenter, +“that in this last case sensations should be felt and volition +exercised through the instrumentality of that portion of the spinal +cord which remains connected with the nerves of the posterior extremities, +but which is cut off from the brain. For if it were so, there +must be two distinct centres of sensation and will in the same animal, +the attributes of the brain not being affected; and by dividing the +spinal cord into two or more segments we might thus create in the body +of one animal two or more such independent centres in addition to that +which holds its proper place in the head.”</p> +<p>In the face of the facts before us, it does not seen far-fetched +to suppose that there <i>are</i> two, or indeed an infinite number of +centres of sensation and will in an animal, the attributes of whose +brain are not affected but that these centres, while the brain is intact, +habitually act in connection with and in subordination to that central +authority; as in the ordinary state of the fish trade, fish is caught, +we will say, at Yarmouth, sent up to London, and then sent down to Yarmouth +again to be eaten, instead of being eaten at Yarmouth when caught. +But from the phenomena exhibited by three pieces of an animal, it is +impossible to argue that the causes of the phenomena were present in +the quondam animal itself; the memory of an infinite series of generations +having so habituated the local centres of sensation and will, to act +in concert with the central government, that as long as they can get +at that government, they are absolutely incapable of acting independently. +When thrown on their own resources, they are so demoralised by ages +of dependence on the brain, that they die after a few efforts at self-assertion, +from sheer unfamiliarity with the position, and inability to recognise +themselves when disjointed rudely from their habitual associations.</p> +<p>In conclusion, Dr. Carpenter says, “To say that two or more +distinct centres of sensation and will are present in such a case, would +really be the same as saying that we have the power of constituting +two or more distinct egos in one body, <i>which is manifestly absurd</i>.” +One sees the absurdity of maintaining that we can make one frog into +two frogs by cutting a frog into two pieces, but there is no absurdity +in believing that the two pieces have minor centres of sensation and +intelligence within themselves, which, when the animal is entire, act +in much concert with the brain, and with each other, that it is not +easy to detect their originally autonomous character, but which, when +deprived of their power of acting in concert, are thrown back upon earlier +habit, now too long forgotten to be capable of permanent resumption.</p> +<p>Illustrations are apt to mislead, nevertheless they may perhaps be +sometimes tolerated. Suppose, for example, that London to the +extent, say, of a circle with a six-mile radius from Charing Cross, +were utterly annihilated in the space of five minutes during the Session +of Parliament. Suppose, also, that two entirely impassable barriers, +say of five miles in width, half a mile high, and red hot, were thrown +across England; one from Gloucester to Harwich, and another from Liverpool +to Hull, and at the same time the sea were to become a mass of molten +lava, so no water communication should be possible; the political, mercantile, +social, and intellectual life of the country would be convulsed in a +manner which it is hardly possible to realise. Hundreds of thousands +would die through the dislocation of existing arrangements. Nevertheless, +each of the three parts into which England was divided would show signs +of provincial life for which it would find certain imperfect organisms +ready to hand. Bristol, Birmingham, Liverpool, and Manchester, +accustomed though they are to act in subordination to London, would +probably take up the reins of government in their several sections; +they would make their town councils into local governments, appoint +judges from the ablest of their magistrates, organise relief committees, +and endeavour as well as they could to remove any acetic acid that might +be now poured on Wiltshire, Warwickshire, or Northumberland, but no +concert between the three divisions of the country would be any longer +possible. Should we be justified, under these circumstances, in +calling any of the three parts of England, England? Or, again, +when we observed the provincial action to be as nearly like that of +the original undivided nation as circumstances would allow, should we +be justified in saying that the action, such as it was, was not political? +And, lastly, should we for a moment think that an admission that the +provincial action was of a <i>bonâ fide</i> political character +would involve the supposition that England, undivided, had more than +one “ego” as England, no matter how many subordinate “egos” +might go to the making of it, each one of which proved, on emergency, +to be capable of a feeble autonomy?</p> +<p>M. Ribot would seem to take a juster view of the phenomenon when +he says (p. 222 of the English translation) -</p> +<p>“We can hardly say that here the movements are co-ordinated +like those of a machine; the acts of the animal are adapted to a special +end; we find in them the characters of intelligence and will, a knowledge +and choice of means, since they are as variable as the cause which provokes +them.</p> +<p>“If these, then, and similar acts, were such that both the +impressions which produced them and the acts themselves were perceived +by the animal, would they not be called psychological? Is there +not in them all that constitutes an intelligent act - adaptation of +means to ends; not a general and vague adaptation, but a determinate +adaptation to a determinate end? In the reflex action we find +all that constitutes in some sort the very groundwork of an intelligent +act - that is to say, the same series of stages, in the same order, +with the same relations between them. We have thus, in the reflex +act, all that constitutes the psychological act except consciousness. +The reflex act, which is physiological, differs in nothing from the +psychological act, save only in this - that it is without consciousness.”</p> +<p>The only remark which suggests itself upon this, is that we have +no right to say that the part of the animal which moves does not also +perceive its own act of motion, as much as it has perceived the impression +which has caused it to move. It is plain “the animal” +cannot do so, for the animal cannot be said to be any longer in existence. +Half a frog is not a frog; nevertheless, if the hind legs are capable, +as M. Ribot appears to admit, of “perceiving the impression” +which produces their action, and if in that action there is (and there +would certainly appear to be so) “all that constitutes an intelligent +act, . . . a determinate adaptation to a determinate end,” one +fails to see on what ground they should be supposed to be incapable +of perceiving their own action, in which case the action of the hind +legs becomes distinctly psychological.</p> +<p>Secondly, M. Ribot appears to forget that it is the tendency of all +psychological action to become unconscious on being frequently repeated, +and that no line can be drawn between psychological acts and those reflex +acts which he calls physiological. All we can say is, that there +are acts which we do without knowing that we do them; but the analogy +of many habits which we have been able to watch in their passage from +laborious consciousness to perfect unconsciousness, would suggest that +all action is really psychological, only that the soul’s action +becomes invisible to ourselves after it has been repeated sufficiently +often - that there is, in fact, a law as simple as in the case of optics +or gravitation, whereby conscious perception of any action shall vary +inversely as the square, say, of its being repeated.</p> +<p>It is easy to understand the advantage to the individual of this +power of doing things rightly without thinking about them; for were +there no such power, the attention would be incapable of following the +multitude of matters which would be continually arresting it; those +animals which had developed a power of working automatically, and without +a recurrence to first principles when they had once mastered any particular +process, would, in the common course of events, stand a better chance +of continuing their species, and thus of transmitting their new power +to their descendants.</p> +<p>M. Ribot declines to pursue the subject further, and has only cursorily +alluded to it. He writes, however, that, on the “obscure +problem” of the difference between reflex and psychological actions, +some say, “when there can be no consciousness, because the brain +is wanting, there is, in spite of appearances, only mechanism,” +whilst others maintain, that “when there is selection, reflection, +psychical action, there must also be consciousness in spite of appearances.” +A little later (p. 223), he says, “It is quite possible that if +a headless animal could live a sufficient length of time” (that +is to say, if <i>the hind legs of an animal</i> could live a sufficient +length of time without the brain), “there would be found in it” +<i>(them</i>) “a consciousness like that of the lower species, +which would consist merely in the faculty of apprehending the external +world.” (Why merely? It is more than apprehending +the outside world to be able to try to do a thing with one’s left +foot, when one finds that one cannot do it with one’s right.) +“It would not be correct to say that the amphioxus, the only one +among fishes and vertebrata which has a spinal cord without a brain, +has no consciousness because it has no brain; and if it be admitted +that the little ganglia of the invertebrata can form a consciousness, +the same may hold good for the spinal cord.”</p> +<p>We conclude, therefore, that it is within the common scope and meaning +of the words “personal identity,” not only that one creature +can become many as the moth becomes manifold in her eggs, but that each +individual may be manifold in the sense of being compounded of a vast +number of subordinate individualities which have their separate lives +within him, with their hopes, and fears, and intrigues, being born and +dying within us, many generations, of them during our single lifetime.</p> +<p>“An organic being,” writes Mr. Darwin, “is a microcosm, +a little universe, formed of a host of self-propagating organisms, inconceivably +minute, and numerous as the stars in heaven.”</p> +<p>As these myriads of smaller organisms are parts and processes of +us, so are we but parts and processes of life at large.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII - APPLICATION OF THE FOREGOING CHAPTERS - THE ASSIMILATION +OF OUTSIDE MATTER</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Let us now return to the position which we left at the end of the +fourth chapter. We had then concluded that the self-development +of each new life in succeeding generations - the various stages through +which it passes (as it would appear, at first sight, without rhyme or +reason) - the manner in which it prepares structures of the most surpassing +intricacy and delicacy, for which it has no use at the time when it +prepares them - and the many elaborate instincts which it exhibits immediately +on, and indeed before, birth - all point in the direction of habit and +memory, as the only causes which could produce them.</p> +<p>Why should the embryo of any animal go through so many stages - embryological +allusions to forefathers of a widely different type? And why, +again, should the germs of the same kind of creature always go through +the same stages? If the germ of any animal now living is, in its +simplest state, but part of the personal identity of one of the original +germs of all life whatsoever, and hence, if any now living organism +must be considered without quibble as being itself millions of years +old, and as imbued with an intense though unconscious memory of all +that it has done sufficiently often to have made a permanent impression; +if this be so, we can answer the above questions perfectly well. +The creature goes through so many intermediate stages between its earliest +state as life at all, and its latest development, for the simplest of +all reasons, namely, because this is the road by which it has always +hitherto travelled to its present differentiation; this is the road +it knows, and into every turn and up or down of which, it has been guided +by the force of circumstances and the balance of considerations. +These, acting in such a manner for such and such a time, caused it to +travel in such and such fashion, which fashion having been once sufficiently +established, becomes a matter of trick or routine to which the creature +is still a slave, and in which it confirms itself by repetition in each +succeeding generation.</p> +<p>Thus I suppose, as almost every one else, so far as I can gather, +supposes, that we are descended from ancestors of widely different characters +to our own. If we could see some of our forefathers a million +years back, we should find them unlike anything we could call man; if +we were to go back fifty million years, we should find them, it may +be, fishes pure and simple, breathing through gills, and unable to exist +for many minutes in air.</p> +<p>It is admitted on all hands that there is more or less analogy between +the embryological development of the individual, and the various phases +or conditions of life through which his forefathers have passed. +I suppose, then, that the fish of fifty million years back and the man +of to-day are one single living being, in the same sense, or very nearly +so, as the octogenarian is one single living being with the infant from +which he has grown; and that the fish has lived himself into manhood, +not as we live out our little life, living, and living, and living till +we die, but living by pulsations, so to speak; living so far, and after +a certain time going into a new body, and throwing off the old; making +his body much as we make anything that we want, and have often made +already, that is to say, as nearly as may be in the same way as he made +it last time; also that he is as unable as we ourselves are, to make +what he wants without going through the usual processes with which he +is familiar, even though there may be other better ways of doing the +same thing, which might not be far to seek, if the creature thought +them better, and had not got so accustomed to such and such a method, +that he would only be baffled and put out by any attempt to teach him +otherwise.</p> +<p>And this oneness of personality between ourselves and our supposed +fishlike ancestors of many millions of years ago, must hold also between +each individual one of us and the single pair of fishes from which we +are each (on the present momentary hypothesis) descended; and it must +also hold between such pair of fishes and all their descendants besides +man, it may be some of them birds, and others fishes; all these descendants, +whether human or otherwise, being but the way in which the creature +(which was a pair of fishes when we first took it in hand though it +was a hundred thousand other things as well, and had been all manner +of other things before any part of it became fishlike) continues to +exist - its manner, in fact, of growing. As the manner in which +the human body grows is by the continued birth and death, in our single +lifetime, of many generations of cells which we know nothing about, +but say that we have had only one hand or foot all our lives, when we +have really had many, one after another; so this huge compound creature, +LIFE, probably thinks itself but one single animal whose component cells, +as it may imagine, grow, and it may be waste and repair, but do not +die.</p> +<p>It may be that the cells of which we are built up, and which we have +already seen must be considered as separate persons, each one of them +with a life and memory of its own - it may be that these cells reckon +time in a manner inconceivable by us, so that no word can convey any +idea of it whatever. What may to them appear a long and painful +process may to us be so instantaneous as to escape us altogether, we +wanting some microscope to show us the details of time. If, in +like manner, we were to allow our imagination to conceive the existence +of a being as much in need of a microscope for our time and affairs +as we for those of our own component cells, the years would be to such +a being but as the winkings or the twinklings of an eye. Would +he think, then, that all the ants and flies of one wink were different +from those of the next? or would he not rather believe that they were +always the same flies, and, again, always the same men and women, if +he could see them at all, and if the whole human race did not appear +to him as a sort of spreading and lichen-like growth over the earth, +not differentiated at all into individuals? With the help of a +microscope and the intelligent exercise of his reason, he would in time +conceive the truth. He would put Covent Garden Market on the field +of his microscope, and would perhaps write a great deal of nonsense +about the unerring “instinct” which taught each costermonger +to recognise his own basket or his own donkey-cart; and this, <i>mutatis +mutandis</i>, is what we are getting to do as regards our own bodies. +What I wish is, to make the same sort of step in an upward direction +which has already been taken in a downward one, and to show reason for +thinking that we are only component atoms of a single compound creature, +LIFE, which has probably a distinct conception of its own personality +though none whatever of ours, more than we of our own units. I +wish also to show reason for thinking that this creature, LIFE, has +only come to be what it is, by the same sort of process as that by which +any human art or manufacture is developed, <i>i.e</i>., through constantly +doing the same thing over and over again, beginning from something which +is barely recognisable as faith, or as the desire to know, or do, or +live at all, and as to the origin of which we are in utter darkness, +- and growing till it is first conscious of effort, then conscious of +power, then powerful with but little consciousness, and finally, so +powerful and so charged with memory as to be absolutely without all +self-consciousness whatever, except as regards its latest phases in +each of its many differentiations, or when placed in such new circumstances +as compel it to choose between death and a reconsideration of its position.</p> +<p>No conjecture can be hazarded as to how the smallest particle of +matter became so imbued with faith that it must be considered as the +beginning of LIFE, or as to what such faith is, except that it is the +very essence of all things, and that it has no foundation.</p> +<p>In this way, then, I conceive we can fairly transfer the experience +of the race to the individual, without any other meaning to our words +than what they would naturally suggest; that is to say, that there is +in every impregnate ovum a <i>bonâ fide</i> memory, which carries +it back not only to the time when it was last an impregnate ovum, but +to that earlier date when it was the very beginning of life at all, +which same creature it still is, whether as man or ovum, and hence imbued, +so far as time and circumstance allow, with all its memories. +Surely this is no strained hypothesis; for the mere fact that the germ, +from the earliest moment that we are able to detect it, appears to be +so perfectly familiar with its business, acts with so little hesitation +and so little introspection or reference to principles, this alone should +incline us to suspect that it must be armed with that which, so far +as we observe in daily life, can alone ensure such a result - to wit, +long practice, and the memory of many similar performances.</p> +<p>The difficulty is, that we are conscious of no such memory in our +own persons, and beyond the one great proof of memory given by the actual +repetition of the performance - and of some of the latest deviations +from the ordinary performance (and this proof ought in itself, one would +have thought, to outweigh any save the directest evidence to the contrary) +we can detect no symptom of any such mental operation as recollection +on the part of the embryo. On the other hand, we have seen that +we know most intensely those things that we are least conscious of knowing; +we will most intensely what we are least conscious of willing; we feel +continually without knowing that we feel, and our attention is hourly +arrested without our attention being arrested by the arresting of our +attention. Memory is no less capable of unconscious exercise, +and on becoming intense through frequent repetition, vanishes no less +completely as a conscious action of the mind than knowledge and volition. +We must all be aware of instances in which it is plain we must have +remembered, without being in the smallest degree conscious of remembering. +Is it then absurd to suppose that our past existences have been repeated +on such a vast number of occasions that the germ, linked on to all preceding +germs, and, by once having become part of their identity, imbued with +all their memories, remembers too intensely to be conscious of remembering, +and works on with the same kind of unconsciousness with which we play, +or walk, or read, until something unfamiliar happens to us? and is it +not singularly in accordance with this view that consciousness should +begin with that part of the creature’s performance with which +it is least familiar, as having repeated it least often - that is to +say, in our own case, with the commencement of our human life - at birth, +or thereabouts?</p> +<p>It is certainly noteworthy that the embryo is never at a loss, unless +something happens to it which has not usually happened to its forefathers, +and which in the nature of things it cannot remember.</p> +<p>When events are happening to it which have ordinarily happened to +its forefathers, and which it would therefore remember, if it was possessed +of the kind of memory which we are here attributing to it, <i>it acts +precisely as it would act if it were possessed of such memory.</i></p> +<p>When, on the other hand, events are happening to it which, if it +has the kind of memory we are attributing to it, would baffle that memory, +or which have rarely or never been included in the category of its recollections, +<i>it acts precisely as a creature acts when its recollection is disturbed, +or when it is required to do something which it has never done before.</i></p> +<p>We cannot remember having been in the embryonic stage, but we do +not on that account deny that we ever were in such a stage at all. +On a little reflection it will appear no more reasonable to maintain +that, when we were in the embryonic stage, we did not remember our past +existences, than to say that we never were embryos at all. We +cannot remember what we did or did not recollect in that state; we cannot +now remember having grown the eyes which we undoubtedly did grow, much +less can we remember whether or not we then remembered having grown +them before; but it is probable that our memory was then, in respect +of our previous existences as embryos, as much more intense than it +is now in respect of our childhood, as our power of acquiring a new +language was greater when we were one or two years old, than when we +were twenty. And why should this power of acquiring languages +be greater at two years than at twenty, but that for many generations +we have learnt to speak at about this age, and hence look to learn to +do so again on reaching it, just as we looked to making eyes, when the +time came at which we were accustomed to make them.</p> +<p>If we once had the memory of having been infants (which we had from +day to day during infancy), and have lost it, we may well have had other +and more intense memories which we have lost no less completely. +Indeed, there is nothing more extraordinary in the supposition that +the impregnate ovum has an intense sense of its continuity with, and +therefore of its identity with, the two impregnate ova from which it +has sprung, than in the fact that we have no sense of our continuity +with ourselves as infants. If then, there is no <i>à priori</i> +objection to this view, and if the impregnate ovum acts in such a manner +as to carry the strongest conviction that it must have already on many +occasions done what it is doing now, and that it has a vivid though +unconscious recollection of what all, and more especially its nearer, +ancestral ova did under similar circumstances, there would seem to be +little doubt what conclusion we ought to come to.</p> +<p>A hen’s egg, for example, as soon as the hen begins to sit, +sets to work immediately to do as nearly as may be what the two eggs +from which its father and mother were hatched did when hens began to +sit upon them. The inference would seem almost irresistible, - +that the second egg remembers the course pursued by the eggs from which +it has sprung, and of whose present identity it is unquestionably a +part-phase; it also seems irresistibly forced upon us to believe that +the intensity of this memory is the secret of its easy action.</p> +<p>It has, I believe, been often remarked, that a hen is only an egg’s +way of making another egg. Every creature must be allowed to “run” +its own development in its own way; the egg’s way may seem a very +roundabout manner of doing things; but it <i>is</i> its way, and it +is one of which man, upon the whole, has no great reason to complain. +Why the fowl should be considered more alive than the egg, and why it +should be said that the hen lays the egg, and not that the egg lays +the hen, these are questions which lie beyond the power of philosophic +explanation, but are perhaps most answerable by considering the conceit +of man, and his habit, persisted in during many ages, of ignoring all +that does not remind him of himself, or hurt him, or profit him; also +by considering the use of language, which, if it is to serve at all, +can only do so by ignoring a vast number of facts which gradually drop +out of mind from being out of sight. But, perhaps, after all, +the real reason is, that the egg does not cackle when it has laid the +hen, and that it works towards the hen with gradual and noiseless steps, +which we can watch if we be so minded; whereas, we can less easily watch +the steps which lead from the hen to the egg, but hear a noise, and +see an egg where there was no egg. Therefore, we say, the development +of the fowl from the egg bears no sort of resemblance to that of the +egg from the fowl, whereas, in truth, a hen, or any other living creature, +is only the primordial cell’s way of going back upon itself.</p> +<p>But to return. We see an egg, A, which evidently knows its +own meaning perfectly well, and we know that a twelvemonth ago there +were two other such eggs, B and C, which have now disappeared, but from +which we know A to have been so continuously developed as to be part +of the present form of their identity. A’s meaning is seen +to be precisely the same as B and C’s meaning; A’s personal +appearance is, to all intents and purposes, B and C’s personal +appearance; it would seem, then, unreasonable to deny that A is only +B and C come back, with such modification as they may have incurred +since their disappearance; and that, in spite of any such modification, +they remember in A perfectly well what they did as B and C.</p> +<p>We have considered the question of personal identity so as to see +whether, without abuse of terms, we can claim it as existing between +any two generations of living agents (and if between two, then between +any number up to infinity), and we found that we were not only at liberty +to claim this, but that we are compelled irresistibly to do so, unless, +that is to say, we would think very differently concerning personal +identity than we do at present. We found it impossible to hold +the ordinary common sense opinions concerning personal identity, without +admitting that we are personally identical with all our forefathers, +who have successfully assimilated outside matter to themselves, and +by assimilation imbued it with all their own memories; we being nothing +else than this outside matter so assimilated and imbued with such memories. +This, at least, will, I believe, balance the account correctly.</p> +<p>A few remarks upon the assimilation of outside matter by living organisms +may perhaps be hazarded here.</p> +<p>As long as any living organism can maintain itself in a position +to which it has been accustomed, more or less nearly, both in its own +life and in those of its forefathers, nothing can harm it. As +long as the organism is familiar with the position, and remembers its +antecedents, nothing can assimilate it. It must be first dislodged +from the position with which it is familiar, as being able to remember +it, before mischief can happen to it. Nothing can assimilate living +organism.</p> +<p>On the other hand, the moment living organism loses sight of its +own position and antecedents, it is liable to immediate assimilation, +and to be thus familiarised with the position and antecedents of some +other creature. If any living organism be kept for but a very +short time in a position wholly different from what it has been accustomed +to in its own life, and in the lives of its forefathers, it commonly +loses its memories completely, once and for ever; but it must immediately +acquire new ones, for nothing can know nothing; everything must remember +either its own antecedents, or some one else’s. And as nothing +can know nothing, so nothing can believe in nothing.</p> +<p>A grain of corn, for example, has never been accustomed to find itself +in a hen’s stomach - neither it nor its forefathers. For +a grain so placed leaves no offspring, and hence cannot transmit its +experience. The first minute or so after being eaten, it may think +it has just been sown, and begin to prepare for sprouting, but in a +few seconds, it discovers the environment to be unfamiliar; it therefore +gets frightened, loses its head, is carried into the gizzard, and comminuted +among the gizzard stones. The hen succeeded in putting it into +a position with which it was unfamiliar; from this it was an easy stage +to assimilating it entirely. Once assimilated, the grain ceases +to remember any more as a grain, but becomes initiated into all that +happens to, and has happened to, fowls for countless ages. Then +it will attack all other grains whenever it sees them; there is no such +persecutor of grain, as another grain when it has once fairly identified +itself with a hen.</p> +<p>We may remark in passing, that if anything be once familiarised with +anything, it is content. The only things we really care for in +life are familiar things; let us have the means of doing what we have +been accustomed to do, of dressing as we have been accustomed to dress, +of eating as we have been accustomed to eat, and let us have no less +liberty than we are accustomed to have, and last, but not least, let +us not be disturbed in thinking as we have been accustomed to think, +and the vast majority of mankind will be very fairly contented - all +plants and animals will certainly be so. This would seem to suggest +a possible doctrine of a future state; concerning which we may reflect +that though, after we die, we cease to be familiar with ourselves, we +shall nevertheless become immediately familiar with many other histories +compared with which our present life must then seem intolerably uninteresting.</p> +<p>This is the reason why a very heavy and sudden shock to the nervous +system does not pain, but kills outright at once; while one with which +the system can, at any rate, try to familiarise itself is exceedingly +painful. We cannot bear unfamiliarity. The part that is +treated in a manner with which it is not familiar cries immediately +to the brain - its central government - for help, and makes itself generally +as troublesome as it can, till it is in some way comforted. Indeed, +the law against cruelty to animals is but an example of the hatred we +feel on seeing even dumb creatures put into positions with which they +are not familiar. We hate this so much for ourselves, that we +will not tolerate it for other creatures if we can possibly avoid it. +So again, it is said, that when Andromeda and Perseus had travelled +but a little way from the rock where Andromeda had so long been chained, +she began upbraiding him with the loss of her dragon, who, on the whole, +she said, had been very good to her. The only things we really +hate are unfamiliar things, and though nature would not be nature if +she did not cross our love of the familiar with a love also of the unfamiliar, +yet there can be no doubt which of the two principles is master.</p> +<p>Let us return, however, to the grain of corn. If the grain +had had presence of mind to avoid being carried into the gizzard stones, +as many seeds do which are carried for hundreds of miles in birds’ +stomachs, and if it had persuaded itself that the novelty of the position +was not greater than it could very well manage to put up with - if, +in fact, it had not known when it was beaten - it might have stuck in +the hen’s stomach and begun to grow; in this case it would have +assimilated a good part of the hen before many days were over; for hens +are not familiar with grains that grow in their stomachs, and unless +the one in question was as strongminded for a hen, as the grain that +could avoid being assimilated would be for a grain, the hen would soon +cease to take an interest in her antecedents. It is to be doubted, +however, whether a grain has ever been grown which has had strength +of mind enough to avoid being set off its balance on finding itself +inside a hen’s gizzard. For living organism is the creature +of habit and routine, and the inside of a gizzard is not in the grain’s +programme.</p> +<p>Suppose, then, that the grain, instead of being carried into the +gizzard, had stuck in the hen’s throat and choked her. It +would now find itself in a position very like what it had often been +in before. That is to say, it would be in a damp, dark, quiet +place, not too far from light, and with decaying matter around it. +It would therefore know perfectly well what to do, and would begin to +grow until disturbed, and again put into a position with which it might, +very possibly, be unfamiliar.</p> +<p>The great question between vast masses of living organism is simply +this: “Am I to put you into a position with which your forefathers +have been unfamiliar, or are you to put me into one about which my own +have been in like manner ignorant?” Man is only the dominant +animal on the earth, because he can, as a general rule, settle this +question in his own favour.</p> +<p>The only manner in which an organism, which has once forgotten its +antecedents, can ever recover its memory, is by being assimilated by +a creature of its own kind; one, moreover, which knows its business, +or is not in such a false position as to be compelled to be aware of +being so. It was, doubtless, owing to the recognition of this +fact, that some Eastern nations, as we are told by Herodotus, were in +the habit of eating their deceased parents - for matter which has once +been assimilated by any identity or personality, becomes for all practical +purposes part of the assimilating personality.</p> +<p>The bearing of the above will become obvious when we return, as we +will now do, to the question of personal identity. The only difficulty +would seem to lie in our unfamiliarity with the real meanings which +we attach to words in daily use. Hence, while recognising continuity +without sudden break as the underlying principle of identity, we forget +that this involves personal identity between all the beings who are +in one chain of descent, the numbers of such beings, whether in succession, +or contemporaneous, going for nothing at all. Thus we take two +eggs, one male and one female, and hatch them; after some months the +pair of fowls so hatched, having succeeded in putting a vast quantity +of grain and worms into false positions, become full-grown, breed, and +produce a dozen new eggs.</p> +<p>Two live fowls and a dozen eggs are the present phase of the personality +of the two original eggs. They are also part of the present phase +of the personality of all the worms and grain which the fowls have assimilated +from their leaving the eggshell; but the personalities of these last +do not count; they have lost their grain and worm memories, and are +instinct with the memorises of the whole ancestry of the creature which +has assimilated them.</p> +<p>We cannot, perhaps, strictly say that the two fowls and the dozen +new eggs actually <i>are</i> the two original eggs; these two eggs are +no longer in existence, and we see the two birds themselves which were +hatched from them. A bird cannot be called an egg without an abuse +of terms. Nevertheless, it is doubtful how far we should not say +this, for it is only with a mental reserve - and with no greater mental +reserve - that we predicate absolute identity concerning any living +being for two consecutive moments; and it is certainly as free from +quibble to say to two fowls and a dozen eggs, “you are the two +eggs I had on my kitchen shelf twelve months ago,” as to say to +a man, “you are the child whom I remember thirty years ago in +your mother’s arms.” In either case we mean, “you +have been continually putting other organisms into a false position, +and then assimilating them, ever since I last saw you, while nothing +has yet occurred to put <i>you</i> into such a false position as to +have made you lose the memory of your antecedents.”</p> +<p>It would seem perfectly fair, therefore, to say to any egg of the +twelve, or to the two fowls and the whole twelve eggs together, “you +were a couple of eggs twelve months ago; twelve months before that you +were four eggs;” and so on, <i>ad infinitum</i>, the number neither +of the ancestors nor of the descendants counting for anything, and continuity +being the sole thing looked to. From daily observation we are +familiar with the fact that identity does both unite with other identities, +so that a single new identity is the result, and does also split itself +up into several identities, so that the one becomes many. This +is plain from the manner in which the male and female sexual elements +unite to form a single ovum, which we observe to be instinct with the +memories of both the individuals from which it has been derived; and +there is the additional consideration, that each of the elements whose +fusion goes to make up the impregnate ovum, is held by some to be itself +composed of a fused mass of germs, which stand very much in the same +relation to the spermatozoon and ovum, as the living cellular units +of which we are composed do to ourselves - that is to say, are living +independent organisms, which probably have no conception of the existence +of the spermatozoon nor of the ovum, more than the spermatozoon or ovum +have of theirs.</p> +<p>This, at least, is what I gather from Mr. Darwin’s provisional +theory of Pangenesis; and, again, from one of the concluding sentences +in his “Effects of Cross and Self Fertilisation,” where, +asking the question why two sexes have been developed, he replies that +the answer seems to lie “in the great good which is derived from +the fusion of two somewhat differentiated individuals. With the +exception,” he continues, “or the lowest organisms this +is possible only by means of the sexual elements - <i>these consisting +of cells separated from the body</i>” (<i>i.e</i>., separated +from the bodies of each parent) “<i>containing the germs of every +part</i>” (<i>i.e</i>., consisting of the seeds or germs from +which each individual cell of the coming organism will be developed +- these seeds or germs having been shed by each individual cell of the +parent forms), “<i>and capable of being fused completely together</i>” +(<i>i.e</i>., so at least I gather, capable of being fused completely, +in the same way as the cells of our own bodies are fused, and thus, +of forming a single living personality in the case of both the male +and female element; which elements are themselves capable of a second +fusion so as to form the impregnate ovum). This single impregnate +ovum, then, is a single identity that has taken the place of and come +up in the room of two distinct personalities, each of whose characteristics +it, to a certain extent, partakes, and which consist, each one of them, +of the fused germs of a vast mass of other personalities.</p> +<p>As regards the dispersion of one identity into many, this also is +a matter of daily observation in the case of all female creatures that +are with egg or young; the identity of the young with the female parent +is in many respects so complete, as to need no enforcing, in spite of +the entrance into the offspring of all the elements derived from the +male parent, and of the gradual separation of the two identities, which +becomes more and more complete, till in time it is hard to conceive +that they can ever have been united.</p> +<p>Numbers, therefore, go for nothing; and, as far as identity or continued +personality goes, it is as fair to say to the two fowls, above referred +to, “you were four fowls twelve months ago,” as it is to +say to a dozen eggs, “you were two eggs twelve months ago.” +But here a difficulty meets us; for if we say, “you were two eggs +twelve months ago,” it follows that we mean, “you are now +those two eggs;” just as when we say to a person, “you were +such and such a boy twenty years ago,” we mean, “you are +now that boy, or all that represents him;” it would seem, then, +that in like manner we should say to the two fowls, “you <i>are</i> +the four fowls who between them laid the two eggs from which you sprung.” +But it may be that all these four fowls are still to be seen running +about; we should be therefore saying, “you two fowls are really +not yourselves only, but you are also the other four fowls into the +bargain;” and this might be philosophically true, and might, perhaps, +be considered so, but for the convenience of the law courts.</p> +<p>The difficulty would seem to arise from the fact that the eggs must +disappear before fowls can be hatched from them, whereas, the hens so +hatched may outlive the development of other hens, from the eggs which +they in due course have laid. The original eggs being out of sight +are out of mind, and it is without an effort that we acquiesce in the +assertion, - that the dozen new eggs actually are the two original ones. +But the original four fowls being still in sight, cannot be ignored, +we only, therefore, see the new ones as growths from the original ones.</p> +<p>The strict rendering of the facts should be, “you are part +of the present phase of the identity of such and such a past identity,” +<i>i.e</i>., either of the two eggs or the four fowls, as the case may +be; this will put the eggs and the fowls, as it were, into the same +box, and will meet both the philosophical and legal requirement of the +case, only it is a little long.</p> +<p>So far then, as regards actual identity of personality; which, we +find, will allow us to say, that eggs are part of the present phase +of a certain past identity, whether of other eggs, or of fowls, or chickens, +and in like, manner that chickens are part of the present phase of certain +other chickens, or eggs, or fowls; in fact, that anything is part of +the present phase of any past identity in the line of its ancestry. +But as regards the actual memory of such identity (unconscious memory, +but still clearly memory), we observe that the egg, as long as it is +an egg, appears to have a very distinct recollection of having been +an egg before, and the fowl of having been a fowl before, but that neither +egg nor fowl appear to have any recollection of any other stage of their +past existences, than the one corresponding to that in which they are +themselves at the moment existing.</p> +<p>So we, at six or seven years old, have no recollection of ever having +been infants, much less of having been embryos; but the manner in which +we shed our teeth and make new ones, and the way in which we grow generally, +making ourselves for the most part exceedingly like what we made ourselves, +in the person of some one of our nearer ancestors, and not unfrequently +repeating the very blunders which we made upon that occasion when we +come to a corresponding age, proves most incontestably that we remember +our past existences, though too utterly to be capable of introspection +in the matter. So, when we grow wisdom teeth, at the age it may +be of one or two and twenty, it is plain we remember our past existences +at that age, however completely we may have forgotten the earlier stages +of our present existence. It may be said that it is the jaw which +remembers, and not we, but it seems hard to deny the jaw a right of +citizenship in our personality; and in the case of a growing boy, every +part of him seems to remember equally well, and if every part of him +combined does not make <i>him</i>, there would seem but little use in +continuing the argument further.</p> +<p>In like manner, a caterpillar appears not to remember having been +an egg, either in its present or any past existence. It has no +concern with eggs as soon as it is hatched, but it clearly remembers +not only having been a caterpillar before, but also having turned itself +into a chrysalis before; for when the time comes for it to do this, +it is at no loss, as it would certainly be if the position was unfamiliar, +but it immediately begins doing what it did when last it was in a like +case, repeating the process as nearly as the environment will allow, +taking every step in the same order as last time, and doing its work +with that ease and perfection which we observe to belong to the force +of habit, and to be utterly incompatible with any other supposition +than that of long long practice.</p> +<p>Once having become a chrysalis, its memory of its caterpillarhood +appears to leave it for good and all, not to return until it again assumes +the shape of a caterpillar by process of descent. Its memory now +overleaps all past modifications, and reverts to the time when it was +last what it is now, and though it is probable that both caterpillar +and chrysalis, on any given day of their existence in either of these +forms, have some sort of dim power of recollecting what happened to +them yesterday, or the day before; yet it is plain their main memory +goes back to the corresponding day of their last existence in their +present form, the chrysalis remembering what happened to it on such +a day far more practically, though less consciously, than what happened +to it yesterday; and naturally, for yesterday is but once, and its past +existences have been legion. Hence, it prepares its wings in due +time, doing each day what it did on the corresponding day of its last +chrysalishood and at length becoming a moth; whereon its circumstances +are so changed that it loses all sense of its identity as a chrysalis +(as completely as we, for precisely the same reason, lose all sense +of our identity with ourselves as infants), and remembers nothing but +its past existences as a moth.</p> +<p>We observe this to hold throughout the animal and vegetable kingdoms. +In any one phase of the existence of the lower animals, we observe that +they remember the corresponding stage, and a little on either side of +it, of all their past existences for a very great length of time. +In their present existence they remember a little behind the present +moment (remembering more and more the higher they advance in the scale +of life), and being able to foresee about as much as they could foresee +in their past existences, sometimes more and sometimes less. As +with memory, so with prescience. The higher they advance in the +scale of life the more prescient they are. It must, of course, +be remembered, and will later on be more fully dwelt upon, that no offspring +can remember anything which happens to its parents after it and its +parents have parted company; and this is why there is, perhaps, more +irregularity as regards our wisdom-teeth than about anything else that +we grow; inasmuch as it must not uncommonly have happened in a long +series of generations, that the offspring has been born before the parents +have grown their wisdom-teeth, and thus there will be faults in the +memory.</p> +<p>Is there, then, anything in memory, as we observe it in ourselves +and others, under circumstances in which we shall agree in calling it +memory pure and simple without ambiguity of terms - is there anything +in memory which bars us from supposing it capable of overleaping a long +time of abeyance, and thus of enabling each impregnate ovum, or each +grain, to remember what it did when last in a like condition, and to +go on remembering the corresponding period of its prior developments +throughout the whole period of its present growth, though such memory +has entirely failed as regards the interim between any two corresponding +periods, and is not consciously recognised by the individual as being +exercised at all?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IX - ON THE ABEYANCE OF MEMORY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Let us assume, for the moment, that the action of each impregnate +germ is due to memory, which, as it were, pulsates anew in each succeeding +generation, so that immediately on impregnation, the germ’s memory +reverts to the last occasion on which it was in a like condition, and +recognising the position, is at no loss what to do. It is plain +that in all cases where there are two parents, that is to say, in the +greater number of cases, whether in the vegetable or animal kingdoms, +there must be two such last occasions, each of which will have an equal +claim upon the attention of the new germ. Its memory would therefore +revert to both, and though it would probably adhere more closely to +the course which it took either as its father or its mother, and thus +come out eventually male or female, yet it would be not a little influenced +by the less potent memory.</p> +<p>And not only this, but each of the germs to which the memory of the +new germ reverts, is itself imbued with the memories of its own parent +germs, and these again with the memories of preceding generations, and +so on <i>ad infinitum</i>; so that, <i>ex hypothesi</i>, the germ must +become instinct with all these memories, epitomised as after long time, +and unperceived though they may well be, not to say obliterated in part +or entirely so far as many features are concerned, by more recent impressions. +In this case, we must conceive of the impregnate germ as of a creature +which has to repeat a performance already repeated before on countless +different occasions, but with no more variation on the more recent ones +than is inevitable in the repetition of any performance by an intelligent +being.</p> +<p>Now if we take the most parallel case to this which we can find, +and consider what we should ourselves do under such circumstances, that +is to say, if we consider what course is actually taken by beings who +are influenced by what we all call memory, when they repeat an already +often-repeated performance, and if we find a very strong analogy between +the course so taken by ourselves, and that which from whatever cause +we observe to be taken by a living germ, we shall surely be much inclined +to think that there must be a similarity in the causes of action in +each case; and hence, to conclude, that the action of the germ is due +to memory.</p> +<p>It will, therefore, be necessary to consider the general tendency +of our minds in regard to impressions made upon us, and the memory of +such impressions.</p> +<p>Deep impressions upon the memory are made in two ways, differing +rather in degree than kind, but with two somewhat widely different results. +They are made:-</p> +<p>I. By unfamiliar objects, or combinations, which come at comparatively +long intervals, and produce their effect, as it were, by one hard blow. +The effect of these will vary with the unfamiliarity of the impressions +themselves, and the manner in which they seem likely to lead to a further +development of the unfamiliar, <i>i.e</i>., with the question, whether +they seem likely to compel us to change our habits, either for better +or worse.</p> +<p>Thus, if an object or incident be very unfamiliar, as, we will say, +a whale or an iceberg to one travelling to America for the first time, +it will make a deep impression, though but little affecting our interests; +but if we struck against the iceberg and were shipwrecked, or nearly +so, it would produce a much deeper impression, we should think much +more about icebergs, and remember much more about them, than if we had +merely seen one. So, also, if we were able to catch the whale +and sell its oil, we should have a deep impression made upon us. +In either case we see that the amount of unfamiliarity, either present +or prospective, is the main determinant of the depth of the impression.</p> +<p>As with consciousness and volition, so with sudden unfamiliarity. +It impresses us more and more deeply the more unfamiliar it is, until +it reaches such a point of impressiveness as to make no further impression +at all; on which we then and there die. For death only kills through +unfamiliarity - that is to say, because the new position, whatever it +is, is so wide a cross as compared with the old one, that we cannot +fuse the two so as to understand the combination; hence we lose all +recognition of, and faith in, ourselves and our surroundings.</p> +<p>But however much we imagine we remember concerning the details of +any remarkable impression which has been made us by a single blow, we +do not remember as much or nearly as much as we think we do. The +subordinate details soon drop out of mind. Those who think they +remember even such a momentous matter as the battle of Waterloo recall +now probably but half-a-dozen episodes, a gleam here, and a gleam there, +so that what they call remembering the battle of Waterloo, is, in fact, +little more than a kind of dreaming - so soon vanishes the memory of +any unrepeated occurrence.</p> +<p>As for smaller impressions, there is very little of what happens +to us in each week that will be in our memories a week hence; a man +of eighty remembers few of the unrepeated incidents of his life beyond +those of the last fortnight, a little here, and a little there, forming +a matter of perhaps six weeks or two months in all, if everything that +he can call to mind were acted over again with no greater fulness than +he can remember it. As for incidents that have been often repeated, +his mind strikes a balance of its past reminiscences, remembering the +two or three last performances, and a general method of procedure, but +nothing more.</p> +<p>If, then, the recollection of all that is not very novel, or very +often repeated, so soon fades from our own minds, during what we consider +as our single lifetime, what wonder that the details of our daily experience +should find no place in that brief epitome of them which is all we can +give in so small a volume as offspring?</p> +<p>If we cannot ourselves remember the hundred-thousandth part of what +happened to us during our own childhood, how can we expect our offspring +to remember more than what, through frequent repetition, they can now +remember as a residuum, or general impression. On the other hand, +whatever we remember in consequence of but a single impression, we remember +consciously. We can at will recall details, and are perfectly +well aware, when we do so, that we are recollecting. A man who +has never seen death looks for the first time upon the dead face of +some near relative or friend. He gazes for a few short minutes, +but the impression thus made does not soon pass out of his mind. +He remembers the room, the hour of the day or night, and if by day, +what sort of a day. He remembers in what part of the room, and +how disposed the body of the deceased was lying. Twenty years +afterwards he can, at will, recall all these matters to his mind, and +picture to himself the scene as he originally witnessed it.</p> +<p>The reason is plain; the impression was very unfamiliar, and affected +the beholder, both as regards the loss of one who was dear to him, and +as reminding him with more than common force that he will one day die +himself. Moreover the impression was a simple one, not involving +much subordinate detail; we have in this case, therefore, an example +of the most lasting kind of impression that can be made by a single +unrepeated event. But if we examine ourselves closely, we shall +find that after a lapse of years we do not remember as much as we think +we do, even in such a case as this; and that beyond the incidents above +mentioned, and the expression upon the face of the dead person, we remember +little of what we can so consciously and vividly recall.</p> +<p>II. Deep impressions are also made by the repetition, more +or less often, of a feeble impression which, if unrepeated, would have +soon passed out of our minds. We observe, therefore, that we remember +best what we have done least often - any unfamiliar deviation, that +is to say, from our ordinary method of procedure - and what we have +done most often, with which, therefore, we are most familiar; our memory +being mainly affected by the force of novelty and the force of routine +- the most unfamiliar, and the most familiar, incidents or objects.</p> +<p>But we remember impressions which have been made upon us by force +of routine, in a very different way to that in which we remember a single +deep impression. As regards this second class, which comprises +far the most numerous and important of the impressions with which our +memory is stored, it is often only by the fact of our performance itself +that we are able to recognise or show to others that we remember at +all. We often do not remember how, or when, or where we acquired +our knowledge. All we remember is, that we did learn, and that +at one time and another we have done this or that very often.</p> +<p>As regards this second class of impressions we may observe:-</p> +<p>1. That as a general rule we remember only the individual features +of the last few repetitions of the act - if, indeed, we remember this +much. The influence of preceding ones is to be found only in the +general average of the procedure, which is modified by them, but unconsciously +to ourselves. Take, for example, some celebrated singer, or pianoforte +player, who has sung the same air, or performed the same sonata several +hundreds or, it may be, thousands of times: of the details of individual +performances, he can probably call to mind none but those of the last +few days, yet there can be no question that his present performance +is affected by, and modified by, all his previous ones; the care he +has bestowed on these being the secret of his present proficiency.</p> +<p>In each performance (the performer being supposed in the same state +of mental and bodily health), the tendency will be to repeat the immediately +preceding performances more nearly than remoter ones. It is the +common tendency of living beings to go on doing what they have been +doing most recently. The last habit is the strongest. Hence, +if he took great pains last time, he will play better now, and will +take a like degree of pains, and play better still next time, and so +go on improving while life and vigour last. If, on the other hand, +he took less pains last time, he will play worse now, and be inclined +to take little pains next time, and so gradually deteriorate. +This, at least, is the common everyday experience of mankind.</p> +<p>So with painters, actors, and professional men of every description; +after a little while the memory of many past performances strikes a +sort of fused balance in the mind, which results in a general method +of procedure with but little conscious memory of even the latest performances, +and with none whatever of by far the greater number of the remoter ones.</p> +<p>Still, it is noteworthy, that the memory of some even of these will +occasionally assert itself, so far as we can see, arbitrarily, the reason +why this or that occasion should still haunt us, when others like them +are forgotten, depending on some cause too subtle for our powers of +observation.</p> +<p>Even with such a simple matter as our daily dressing and undressing, +we may remember some few details of our yesterday’s toilet, but +we retain nothing but a general and fused recollection of the many thousand +earlier occasions on which we have dressed, or gone to bed. Men +invariably put the same leg first into their trousers - this is the +survival of memory in a residuum; but they cannot, till they actually +put on a pair of trousers, remember which leg they <i>do</i> put in +first; this is the rapid fading away of any small individual impression.</p> +<p>The seasons may serve as another illustration; we have a general +recollection of the kind of weather which is seasonable for any month +in a year; what flowers are due about what time, and whether the spring +is on the whole backward or early; but we cannot remember the weather +on any particular day a year ago, unless some unusual incident has impressed +it upon our memory. We can remember, as a general rule, what kind +of season it was, upon the whole, a year ago, or perhaps, even two years; +but more than this, we rarely remember, except in such cases as the +winter of 1854-1855, or the summer of 1868; the rest is all merged.</p> +<p>We observe, then, that as regards small and often repeated impressions, +our tendency is to remember best, and in most detail, what we have been +doing most recently, and what in general has occurred most recently, +but that the earlier impressions though forgotten individually, are +nevertheless, not wholly lost.</p> +<p>2. When we have done anything very often, and have got into +the habit of doing it, we generally take the various steps in the same +order; in many cases this seems to be a <i>sine quâ non</i> for +our repetition of the action at all. Thus, there is probably no +living man who could repeat the words of “God save the Queen” +backwards, without much hesitation and many mistakes; so the musician +and the singer must perform their pieces in the order of the notes as +written, or at any rate as they ordinarily perform them; they cannot +transpose bars or read them backwards, without being put out, nor would +the audience recognise the impressions they have been accustomed to, +unless these impressions are made in the accustomed order.</p> +<p>3. If, when we have once got well into the habit of doing anything +in a certain way, some one shows us some other way of doing it, or some +way which would in part modify our procedure, or if in our endeavours +to improve, we have hit upon some new idea which seems likely to help +us, and thus we vary our course, on the next occasion we remember this +idea by reason of its novelty, but if we try to repeat it, we often +find the residuum of our old memories pulling us so strongly into our +old groove, that we have the greatest difficulty in repeating our performance +in the new manner; there is a clashing of memories, a conflict, which +if the idea is very new, and involves, so to speak, too sudden a cross +- too wide a departure from our ordinary course - will sometimes render +the performance monstrous, or baffle us altogether, the new memory failing +to fuse harmoniously with the old. If the idea is not too widely +different from our older ones, we can cross them with it, but with more +or less difficulty, as a general rule in proportion to the amount of +variation. The whole process of understanding a thing consists +in this, and, so far as I can see at present, in this only.</p> +<p>Sometimes we repeat the new performance for a few times, in a way +which shows that the fusion of memories is still in force; and then +insensibly revert to the old, in which case the memory of the new soon +fades away, leaving a residuum too feeble to contend against that of +our many earlier memories of the same kind. If, however, the new +way is obviously to our advantage, we make an effort to retain it, and +gradually getting into the habit of using it, come to remember it by +force of routine, as we originally remembered it by force of novelty. +Even as regards our own discoveries, we do not always succeed in remembering +our most improved and most striking performances, so as to be able to +repeat them at will immediately: in any such performance we may have +gone some way beyond our ordinary powers, owing to some unconscious +action of the mind. The supreme effort has exhausted us, and we +must rest on our oars a little, before we make further progress; or +we may even fall back a little, before we make another leap in advance.</p> +<p>In this respect, almost every conceivable degree of variation is +observable, according to differences of character and circumstances. +Sometimes the new impression has to be made upon us many times from +without, before the earlier strain of action is eliminated; in this +case, there will long remain a tendency to revert to the earlier habit. +Sometimes, after the impression has been once made, we repeat our old +way two or three times, and then revert to the new, which gradually +ousts the old; sometimes, on the other hand, a single impression, though +involving considerable departure from our routine, makes its mark so +deeply that we adopt the new at once, though not without difficulty, +and repeat it in our next performance, and henceforward in all others; +but those who vary their performance thus readily will show a tendency +to vary subsequent performances according as they receive fresh ideas +from others, or reason them out independently. They are men of +genius.</p> +<p>This holds good concerning all actions which we do habitually, whether +they involve laborious acquirement or not. Thus, if we have varied +our usual dinner in some way that leaves a favourable impression upon +our minds, so that our dinner may, in the language of the horticulturist, +be said to have “sported,” our tendency will be to revert +to this particular dinner either next day, or as soon as circumstances +will allow, but it is possible that several hundred dinners may elapse +before we can do so successfully, or before our memory reverts to this +particular dinner.</p> +<p>4. As regards our habitual actions, however unconsciously we +remember them, we, nevertheless, remember them with far greater intensity +than many individual impressions or actions, it may be of much greater +moment, that have happened to us more recently. Thus, many a man +who has familiarised himself, for example, with the odes of Horace, +so as to have had them at his fingers’ ends as the result of many +repetitions, will be able years hence to repeat a given ode, though +unable to remember any circumstance in connection with his having learnt +it, and no less unable to remember when he repeated it last. A +host of individual circumstances, many of them not unimportant, will +have dropped out of his mind, along with a mass of literature read but +once or twice, and not impressed upon the memory by several repetitions; +but he returns to the well-known ode with so little effort, that he +would not know that he was remembering unless his reason told him so. +The ode seems more like something born with him.</p> +<p>We observe, also, that people who have become imbecile, or whose +memory is much impaired, yet frequently retain their power of recalling +impression which have been long ago repeatedly made upon them.</p> +<p>In such cases, people are sometimes seen to forget what happened +last week, yesterday, or an hour ago, without even the smallest power +of recovering their recollection; but the oft repeated earlier impression +remains, though there may be no memory whatever of how it came to be +impressed so deeply. The phenomena of memory, therefore, are exactly +like those of consciousness and volition, in so far as that the consciousness +of recollection vanishes, when the power of recollection has become +intense. When we are aware that we are recollecting, and are trying, +perhaps hard, to recollect, it is a sign that we do not recollect utterly. +When we remember utterly and intensely, there is no conscious effort +of recollection; our recollection can only be recognised by ourselves +and others, through our performance itself, which testifies to the existence +of a memory, that we could not otherwise follow or detect.</p> +<p>5. When circumstances have led us to change our habits of life +- as when the university has succeeded school, or professional life +the university - we get into many fresh ways, and leave many old ones. +But on revisiting the old scene, unless the lapse of time has been inordinately +great, we experience a desire to revert to old habits. We say +that old associations crowd upon us. Let a Trinity man, after +thirty years absence from Cambridge, pace for five minutes in the cloister +of Neville’s Court, and listen to the echo of his footfall, as +it licks up against the end of the cloister, or let an old Johnian stand +wherever he likes in the third Court of St. John’s, in either +case he will find the thirty years drop out of his life, as if they +were half-an-hour; his life will have rolled back upon itself, to the +date when he was an undergraduate, and his instinct will be to do almost +mechanically, whatever it would have come most natural to him to do, +when he was last there at the same season of the year, and the same +hour of the day; and it is plain this is due to similarity of environment, +for if the place he revisits be much changed, there will be little or +no association.</p> +<p>So those who are accustomed at intervals to cross the Atlantic, get +into certain habits on board ship, different to their usual ones. +It may be that at home they never play whist; on board ship they do +nothing else all the evening. At home they never touch spirits; +on the voyage they regularly take a glass of something before they go +to bed. They do not smoke at home; here they are smoking all day. +Once the voyage is at an end, they return without an effort to their +usual habits, and do not feel any wish for cards, spirits, or tobacco. +They do not remember yesterday, when they did want all these things; +at least, not with such force as to be influenced by it in their desires +and actions; their true memory - the memory which makes them want, and +do, reverts to the last occasion on which they were in circumstances +like their present; they therefore want now what they wanted then, and +nothing more; but when the time comes for them to go on shipboard again, +no sooner do they smell the smell of the ship, than their real memory +reverts to the times when they were last at sea, and striking a balance +of their recollections, they smoke, play cards, and drink whisky and +water.</p> +<p>We observe it then as a matter of the commonest daily occurrence +within our own experience, that memory does fade completely away, and +recur with the recurrence of surroundings like those which made any +particular impression in the first instance. We observe that there +is hardly any limit to the completeness and the length of time during +which our memory may remain in abeyance. A smell may remind an +old man of eighty of some incident of his childhood, forgotten for nearly +as many years as he has lived. In other words, we observe that +when an impression has been repeatedly made in a certain sequence on +any living organism - that impression not having been prejudicial to +the creature itself - the organism will have a tendency, on reassuming +the shape and conditions in which it was when the impression was last +made, to remember the impression, and therefore to do again now what +it did then; all intermediate memories dropping clean out of mind, so +far as they have any effect upon action.</p> +<p>6. Finally, we should note the suddenness and apparent caprice +with which memory will assert itself at odd times; we have been saying +or doing this or that, when suddenly a memory of something which happened +to us, perhaps in infancy, comes into our head; nor can we in the least +connect this recollection with the subject of which we have just been +thinking, though doubtless there has been a connection, too rapid and +subtle for our apprehension.</p> +<p>The foregoing phenomena of memory, so far as we can judge, would +appear to be present themselves throughout the animal and vegetable +kingdoms. This will be readily admitted as regards animals; as +regards plants it may be inferred from the fact that they generally +go on doing what they have been doing most lately, though accustomed +to make certain changes at certain points in their existence. +When the time comes for these changes, they appear to know it, and either +bud forth into leaf or shed their leaves, as the case may be. +If we keep a bulb in a paper bag it seems to remember having been a +bulb before, until the time comes for it to put forth roots and grow. +Then, if we supply it with earth and moisture, it seems to know where +it is, and to go on doing now whatever it did when it was last planted; +but if we keep it in the bag too long, it knows that it ought, according +to its last experience, to be treated differently, and shows plain symptoms +of uneasiness; it is distracted by the bag, which makes it remember +its bulbhood, and also by the want of earth and water, without which +associations its memory of its previous growth cannot be duly kindled. +Its roots, therefore, which are most accustomed to earth and water, +do not grow; but its leaves, which do not require contact with these +things to jog their memory, make a more decided effort at development +- a fact which would seem to go strongly in favour of the functional +independence of the parts of all but the very simplest living organisms, +if, indeed, more evidence were wanted in support of this.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER X - WHAT WE SHOULD EXPECT TO FIND IF DIFFERENTIATIONS OF +STRUCTURE AND INSTINCT ARE MAINLY DUE TO MEMORY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>To repeat briefly; - we remember best our last few performances of +any given kind, and our present performance is most likely to resemble +one or other of these; we only remember our earlier performances by +way of residuum; nevertheless, at times, some older feature is liable +to reappear.</p> +<p>We take our steps in the same order on each successive occasion, +and are for the most part incapable of changing that order.</p> +<p>The introduction of slightly new elements into our manner is attended +with benefit; the new can be fused with the old, and the monotony of +our action is relieved. But if the new element is too foreign, +we cannot fuse the old and new - nature seeming equally to hate too +wide a deviation from our ordinary practice, and no deviation at all. +Or, in plain English - if any one gives us a new idea which is not too +far ahead of us, such an idea is often of great service to us, and may +give new life to our work - in fact, we soon go back, unless we more +or less frequently come into contact with new ideas, and are capable +of understanding and making use of them; if; on the other hand, they +are too new, and too little led up to, so that we find them too strange +and hard to be able to understand them and adopt them, then they put +us out, with every degree of completeness - from simply causing us to +fail in this or that particular part, to rendering us incapable of even +trying to do our work at all, from pure despair of succeeding.</p> +<p>It requires many repetitions to fix an impression firmly; but when +it is fixed, we cease to have much recollection of the manner in which +it came to be so, or of any single and particular recurrence.</p> +<p>Our memory is mainly called into action by force of association and +similarity in the surroundings. We want to go on doing what we +did when we were last as we are now, and we forget what we did in the +meantime.</p> +<p>These rules, however, are liable to many exceptions; as for example, +that a single and apparently not very extraordinary occurrence may sometimes +produce a lasting impression, and be liable to return with sudden force +at some distant time, and then to go on returning to us at intervals. +Some incidents, in fact, we know not how nor why, dwell with us much +longer than others which were apparently quite as noteworthy or perhaps +more so.</p> +<p>Now I submit that if the above observations are just, and if, also, +the offspring, after having become a new and separate personality, yet +retains so much of the old identity of which it was once indisputably +part, that it remembers what it did when it was part of that identity +as soon as it finds itself in circumstances which are calculated to +refresh its memory owing to their similarity to certain antecedent ones, +then we should expect to find:-</p> +<p>I. That offspring should, as a general rule, resemble its own +most immediate progenitors; that is to say, that it should remember +best what it has been doing most recently. The memory being a +fusion of its recollections of what it did, both when it was its father +and also when it was its mother, the offspring should have a very common +tendency to resemble both parents, the one in some respects, and the +other in others; but it might also hardly less commonly show a more +marked recollection of the one history than of the other, thus more +distinctly resembling one parent than the other. And this is what +we observe to be the case. Not only so far as that the offspring +is almost invariably either male or female, and generally resembles +rather the one parent than the other, but also that in spite of such +preponderance of one set of recollections, the sexual characters and +instincts of the <i>opposite</i> sex appear, whether in male or female, +though undeveloped and incapable of development except by abnormal treatment, +such as has occasionally caused milk to be developed in the mammary +glands of males; or by mutilation, or failure of sexual instinct through +age, upon which, male characteristics frequently appear in the females +of any species.</p> +<p>Brothers and sisters, each giving their own version of the same story, +though in different words, should resemble each other more closely than +more distant relations. This too we see.</p> +<p>But it should frequently happen that offspring should resemble its +penultimate rather than its latest phase, and should thus be more like +a grand-parent than a parent; for we observe that we very often repeat +a performance in a manner resembling that of some earlier, but still +recent, repetition; rather than on the precise lines of our very last +performance. First-cousins may in this case resemble each other +more closely than brothers and sisters.</p> +<p>More especially, we should not expect very successful men to be fathers +of particularly gifted children; for the best men are, as it were, the +happy thoughts and successes of the race - nature’s “flukes,” +so to speak, in her onward progress. No creature can repeat at +will, and immediately, its highest flight. It needs repose. +The generations are the essays of any given race towards the highest +ideal which it is as yet able to see ahead of itself, and this, in the +nature of things, cannot be very far; so that we should expect to see +success followed by more or less failure, and failure by success - a +very successful creature being a <i>great</i> “fluke.” +And this is what we find.</p> +<p>In its earlier stages the embryo should be simply conscious of a +general method of procedure on the part of its forefathers, and should, +by reason of long practice, compress tedious and complicated histories +into a very narrow compass, remembering no single performance in particular. +For we observe this in nature, both as regards the sleight-of-hand which +practice gives to those who are thoroughly familiar with their business, +and also as regards the fusion of remoter memories into a general residuum.</p> +<p>II. We should expect to find that the offspring, whether in +its embryonic condition, or in any stage of development till it has +reached maturity, should adopt nearly the same order in going through +all its various stages. There should be such slight variations +as are inseparable from the repetition of any performance by a living +being (as contrasted with a machine), but no more. And this is +what actually happens. A man may cut his wisdom-teeth a little +later than he gets his beard and whiskers, or a little earlier; but +on the whole, he adheres to his usual order, and is completely set off +his balance, and upset in his performance, if that order be interfered +with suddenly. It is, however, likely that gradual modifications +of order have been made and then adhered to.</p> +<p>After any animal has reached the period at which it ordinarily begins +to continue its race, we should expect that it should show little further +power of development, or, at any rate, that few great changes of structure +or fresh features should appear; for we cannot suppose offspring to +remember anything that happens to the parent subsequently to the parent’s +ceasing to contain the offspring within itself; from the average age, +therefore, of reproduction, offspring would cease to have any further +experience on which to fall back, and would thus continue to make the +best use of what it already knew, till memory failing either in one +part or another, the organism would begin to decay.</p> +<p>To this cause must be referred the phenomena of old age, which interesting +subject I am unable to pursue within the limits of this volume.</p> +<p>Those creatures who are longest in reaching maturity might be expected +also to be the longest lived; I am not certain, however, how far what +is called alternate generation militates against this view, but I do +not think it does so seriously.</p> +<p>Lateness of marriage, provided the constitution of the individuals +marrying is in no respect impaired, should also tend to longevity.</p> +<p>I believe that all the above will be found sufficiently well supported +by facts. If so, when we feel that we are getting old we should +try and give our cells such treatment as they will find it most easy +to understand, through their experience of their own individual life, +which, however, can only guide them inferentially, and to a very small +extent; and throughout life we should remember the important bearing +which memory has upon health, and both occasionally cross the memories +of our component cells with slightly new experiences, and be careful +not to put them either suddenly or for long together into conditions +which they will not be able to understand. Nothing is so likely +to make our cells forget themselves, as neglect of one or other of these +considerations. They will either fail to recognise themselves +completely, in which case we shall die; or they will go on strike, more +or less seriously as the case may be, or perhaps, rather, they will +try and remember their usual course, and fail; they will therefore try +some other, and will probably make a mess of it, as people generally +do when they try to do things which they do not understand, unless indeed +they have very exceptional capacity.</p> +<p>It also follows that when we are ill, our cells being in such or +such a state of mind, and inclined to hold a corresponding opinion with +more or less unreasoning violence, should not be puzzled more than they +are puzzled already, by being contradicted too suddenly; for they will +not be in a frame of mind which can understand the position of an open +opponent: they should therefore either be let alone, if possible, without +notice other than dignified silence, till their spleen is over, and +till they have remembered themselves; or they should be reasoned with +as by one who agrees with them, and who is anxious to see things as +far as possible from their own point of view. And this is how +experience teaches that we must deal with monomaniacs, whom we simply +infuriate by contradiction, but whose delusion we can sometimes persuade +to hang itself if we but give it sufficient rope. All which has +its bearing upon politics, too, at much sacrifice, it may be, of political +principles, but a politician who cannot see principles where principle-mongers +fail to see them, is a dangerous person.</p> +<p>I may say, in passing, that the reason why a small wound heals, and +leaves no scar, while a larger one leaves a mark which is more or less +permanent, may be looked for in the fact that when the wound is only +small, the damaged cells are snubbed, so to speak, by the vast majority +of the unhurt cells in their own neighbourhood. When the wound +is more serious they can stick to it, and bear each other out that they +were hurt.</p> +<p>III. We should expect to find a predominance of sexual over +asexual generation, in the arrangements of nature for continuing her +various species, inasmuch as two heads are better than one, and a <i>locus +pœnitentiæ</i> is thus given to the embryo - an opportunity +of correcting the experience of one parent by that of the other. +And this is what the more intelligent embryos may be supposed to do; +for there would seem little reason to doubt that there are clever embryos +and stupid embryos, with better or worse memories, as the case may be, +of how they dealt with their protoplasm before, and better or worse +able to see how they can do better now; and that embryos differ as widely +in intellectual and moral capacity, and in a general sense of the fitness +of things, and of what will look well into the bargain, as those larger +embryos - to wit, children - do. Indeed it would seem probable +that all our mental powers must go through a quasi-embryological condition, +much as the power of keeping, and wisely spending, money must do so, +and that all the qualities of human thought and character are to be +found in the embryo.</p> +<p>Those who have observed at what an early age differences of intellect +and temper show themselves in the young, for example, of cats and dogs, +will find it difficult to doubt that from the very moment of impregnation, +and onward, there has been a corresponding difference in the embryo +- and that of six unborn puppies, one, we will say, has been throughout +the whole process of development more sensible and better looking - +a nicer embryo, in fact - than the others.</p> +<p>IV. We should expect to find that all species, whether of plants +or animals, are occasionally benefited by a cross; but we should also +expect that a cross should have a tendency to introduce a disturbing +element, if it be too wide, inasmuch as the offspring would be pulled +hither and thither by two conflicting memories or advices, much as though +a number of people speaking at once were without previous warning to +advise an unhappy performer to vary his ordinary performance - one set +of people telling him he has always hitherto done thus, and the other +saying no less loudly that he did it thus; - and he were suddenly to +become convinced that they each spoke the truth. In such a case +he will either completely break down, if the advice be too conflicting, +or if it be less conflicting, he may yet be so exhausted by the one +supreme effort of fusing these experiences that he will never be able +to perform again; or if the conflict of experience be not great enough +to produce such a permanent effect as this, it will yet, if it be at +all serious, probably damage his performances on their next several +occasions, through his inability to fuse the experiences into a harmonious +whole, or, in other words, to understand the ideas which are prescribed +to him; for to fuse is only to understand.</p> +<p>And this is absolutely what we find in fact. Mr. Darwin writes +concerning hybrids and first crosses:- “The male element may reach +the female element, but be incapable of causing an embryo to be developed, +as seems to have been the case with some of Thuret’s experiments +on Fuci. No explanation can be given of these facts any more than +why certain trees cannot be grafted on others.”</p> +<p>I submit that what I have written above supplies a very fair <i>primâ +facie</i> explanation.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin continues:-</p> +<p>“Lastly, an embryo may be developed, and then perish at an +early period. This latter alternative has not been sufficiently +attended to; but I believe, from observations communicated to me by +Mr. Hewitt, who has had great experience in hybridising pheasants and +fowls, that the early death of the embryo is a very frequent cause of +sterility in first crosses. Mr. Salter has recently given the +results of an examination of about five hundred eggs produced from various +crosses between three species of Gallus and their hybrids; the majority +of these eggs had been fertilised; and in the majority of the fertilised +eggs, the embryos had either been partially developed, and had then +perished, or had become nearly mature, but the young chickens had been +unable to break through the shell. Of the chickens which were +born more than four-fifths died within the first few days, or at latest +weeks, ‘without any obvious cause, apparently from mere inability +to live,’ so that from the five hundred eggs only twelve chickens +were reared” (“Origin of Species,” 249, ed. 1876).</p> +<p>No wonder the poor creatures died, distracted as they were by the +internal tumult of conflicting memories. But they must have suffered +greatly; and the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals may +perhaps think it worth while to keep an eye even on the embryos of hybrids +and first crosses. Five hundred creatures puzzled to death is +not a pleasant subject for contemplation. Ten or a dozen should, +I think, be sufficient for the future.</p> +<p>As regards plants, we read:-</p> +<p>“Hybridised embryos probably often perish in like manner . +. . of which fact Max Wichura has given some striking cases with hybrid +willows . . . It may be here worth noticing, that in some cases of parthenogenesis, +the embryos within the eggs of silk moths, which have not been fertilised, +pass through their early stages of development, and then perish like +the embryos produced by a cross between distinct species” <i>(Ibid).</i></p> +<p>This last fact would at first sight seem to make against me, but +we must consider that the presence of a double memory, provided it be +not too conflicting, would be a part of the experience of the silk moth’s +egg, which might be then as fatally puzzled by the monotony of a single +memory as it would be by two memories which were not sufficiently like +each other. So that failure here must be referred to the utter +absence of that little internal stimulant of slightly conflicting memory +which the creature has always hitherto experienced, and without which +it fails to recognise itself. In either case, then, whether with +hybrids or in cases of parthenogenesis, the early death of the embryo +is due to inability to recollect, owing to a fault in the chain of associated +ideas. All the facts here given are an excellent illustration +of the principle, elsewhere insisted upon by Mr. Darwin, that <i>any</i> +great and sudden change of surroundings has a tendency to induce sterility; +on which head he writes (“Plants and Animals under Domestication,” +vol. ii. p. 143, ed. 1875):-</p> +<p>“It would appear that any change in the habits of life, whatever +their habits may be, if great enough, tends to affect in an inexplicable +manner the powers of reproduction.”</p> +<p>And again on the next page:-</p> +<p>“Finally, we must conclude, limited though the conclusion is, +that changed conditions of life have an especial power of acting injuriously +on the reproductive system. The whole case is quite peculiar, +for these organs, though not diseased, are thus rendered incapable of +performing their proper functions, or perform them imperfectly.”</p> +<p>One is inclined to doubt whether the blame may not rest with the +inability on the part of the creature reproduced to recognise the new +surroundings, and hence with its failing to know itself. And this +seems to be in some measure supported - but not in such a manner as +I can hold to be quite satisfactory - by the continuation of the passage +in the “Origin of Species,” from which I have just been +quoting - for Mr. Darwin goes on to say:-</p> +<p>“Hybrids, however, are differently circumstanced before and +after birth. When born, and living in a country where their parents +live, they are generally placed under suitable conditions of life. +But a hybrid partakes of only half of the nature and condition of its +mother; it may therefore before birth, as long as it is nourished within +its mother’s womb, or within the egg or seed produced by its mother, +be exposed to conditions in some degree unsuitable, and consequently +be liable to perish at an early period . . . ” After which, +however, the conclusion arrived at is, that, “after all, the cause +more probably lies in some imperfection in the original act of impregnation, +causing the embryo to be imperfectly developed rather than in the conditions +to which it is subsequently exposed.” A conclusion which +I am not prepared to accept.</p> +<p>Returning to my second alternative, that is to say, to the case of +hybrids which are born well developed and healthy, but nevertheless +perfectly sterile, it is less obvious why, having succeeded in understanding +the conflicting memories of their parents, they should fail to produce +offspring; but I do not think the reader will feel surprised that this +should be the case. The following anecdote, true or false, may +not be out of place here:-</p> +<p>“Plutarch tells us of a magpie, belonging to a barber at Rome, +which could imitate to a nicety almost every word it heard. Some +trumpets happened one day to be sounded before the shop, and for a day +or two afterwards the magpie was quite mute, and seemed pensive and +melancholy. All who knew it were greatly surprised at its silence; +and it was supposed that the sound of the trumpets had so stunned it +as to deprive it at once of both voice and hearing. It soon appeared, +however, that this was far from being the case; for, says Plutarch, +the bird had been all the time occupied in profound meditation, studying +how to imitate the sound of the trumpets; and when at last master of +it, the magpie, to the astonishment of all its friends, suddenly broke +its long silence by a perfect imitation of the flourish of trumpets +it had heard, observing with the greatest exactness all the repetitions, +stops, and changes. <i>The acquisition of this lesson had, however, +exhausted the whole of the magpie’s stock of intellect, for it +made it forget everything it had learned before</i>” (“Percy +Anecdotes,” Instinct, p. 166).</p> +<p>Or, perhaps, more seriously, the memory of every impregnate ovum +from which every ancestor of a mule, for example, has sprung, has reverted +to a very long period of time during which its forefathers have been +creatures like that which it is itself now going to become: thus, the +impregnate ovum from which the mule’s father was developed remembered +nothing but horse memories; but it felt its faith in these supported +by the recollection of a <i>vast number</i> of previous generations, +in which it was, to all intents and purposes, what it now is. +In like manner, the impregnate ovum from which the mule’s mother +was developed would be backed by the assurance that it had done what +it is going to do now a hundred thousand times already. All would +thus be plain sailing. A horse and a donkey would result. +These two are brought together; an impregnate ovum is produced which +finds an unusual conflict of memory between the two lines of its ancestors, +nevertheless, being accustomed to <i>some</i> conflict, it manages to +get over the difficulty, <i>as on either side it finds itself backed +by a very long series of sufficiently steady memory</i>. A mule +results - a creature so distinctly different from either horse or donkey, +that reproduction is baffled, owing to the creature’s having nothing +but its own knowledge of itself to fall back upon, behind which there +comes an immediate dislocation, or fault of memory, which is sufficient +to bar identity, and hence reproduction, by rendering too severe an +appeal to reason necessary - for no creature can reproduce itself on +the shallow foundation which reason can alone give. Ordinarily, +therefore, the hybrid, or the spermatozoon or ovum, which it may throw +off (as the case may be), finds one single experience too small to give +it the necessary faith, on the strength of which even to try to reproduce +itself. In other cases the hybrid itself has failed to be developed; +in others the hybrid, or first cross, is almost fertile; in others it +is fertile, but produces depraved issue. The result will vary +with the capacities of the creatures crossed, and the amount of conflict +between their several experiences.</p> +<p>The above view would remove all difficulties out of the way of evolution, +in so far as the sterility of hybrids is concerned. For it would +thus appear that this sterility has nothing to do with any supposed +immutable or fixed limits of species, but results simply from the same +principle which prevents old friends, no matter how intimate in youth, +from returning to their old intimacy after a lapse of years, during +which they have been subjected to widely different influences, inasmuch +as they will each have contracted new habits, and have got into new +ways, which they do not like now to alter.</p> +<p>We should expect that our domesticated plants and animals should +vary most, inasmuch as these have been subjected to changed conditions +which would disturb the memory, and, breaking the chain of recollection, +through failure of some one or other of the associated ideas, would +thus directly and most markedly affect the reproductive system. +Every reader of Mr. Darwin will know that this is what actually happens, +and also that when once a plant or animal begins to vary, it will probably +vary a good deal further; which, again, is what we should expect - the +disturbance of the memory introducing a fresh factor of disturbance, +which has to be dealt with by the offspring as it best may. Mr. +Darwin writes: “All our domesticated productions, with the rarest +exceptions, vary far more than natural species” (“Plants +and Animals,” &c., vol ii. p. 241, ed. 1875).</p> +<p>On my third supposition, <i>i.e</i>., when the difference between +parents has not been great enough to baffle reproduction on the part +of the first cross, but when the histories of the father and mother +have been, nevertheless, widely different - as in the case of Europeans +and Indians - we should expect to have a race of offspring who should +seem to be quite clear only about those points, on which their progenitors +on both sides were in accord before the manifold divergencies in their +experiences commenced; that is to say, the offspring should show a tendency +to revert to an early savage condition.</p> +<p>That this indeed occurs may be seen from Mr. Darwin’s “Plants +and Animals under Domestication” (vol ii. p. 21, ed. 1875), where +we find that travellers in all parts of the world have frequently remarked +“<i>on the degraded state and savage condition of crossed races +of man</i>.” A few lines lower down Mr. Darwin tells us +that he was himself “struck with the fact that, in South America, +men of complicated descent between Negroes, Indians, and Spaniards seldom +had, whatever the cause might be, a good expression.” “Livingstone” +(continues Mr. Darwin) “remarks, ‘It is unaccountable why +half-castes are so much more cruel than the Portuguese, but such is +undoubtedly the case.’ An inhabitant remarked to Livingstone, +‘God made white men, and God made black men, but the devil made +half-castes.’” A little further on Mr. Darwin says +that we may “perhaps infer that the degraded state of so many +half-castes <i>is in part due to reversion to a primitive and savage +condition, induced by the act of crossing</i>, even if mainly due to +the unfavourable moral conditions under which they are generally reared.” +Why the crossing should produce this particular tendency would seem +to be intelligible enough, if the fashion and instincts of offspring +are, in any case, nothing but the memories of its past existences; but +it would hardly seem to be so upon any of the theories now generally +accepted; as, indeed, is very readily admitted by Mr. Darwin himself, +who even, as regards purely-bred animals and plants, remarks that “we +are quite unable to assign any proximate cause” for their tendency +to at times reassume long lost characters.</p> +<p>If the reader will follow for himself the remaining phenomena of +reversion, he will, I believe, find them all explicable on the theory +that they are due to memory of past experiences fused, and modified +- at times specifically and definitely - by changed conditions. +There is, however, one apparently very important phenomenon which I +do not at this moment see how to connect with memory, namely, the tendency +on the part of offspring to revert to an earlier impregnation. +Mr. Darwin’s “Provisional Theory of Pangenesis” seemed +to afford a satisfactory explanation of this; but the connection with +memory was not immediately apparent. I think it likely, however, +that this difficulty will vanish on further consideration, so I will +not do more than call attention to it here.</p> +<p>The instincts of certain neuter insects hardly bear upon reversion, +but will be dealt with at some length in Chapter XII.</p> +<p>V. We should expect to find, as was insisted on in the preceding +section in reference to the sterility of hybrids, that it required many, +or at any rate several, generations of changed habits before a sufficiently +deep impression could be made upon the living being (who must be regarded +always as one person in his whole line of ascent or descent) for it +to be unconsciously remembered by him, when making himself anew in any +succeeding generation, and thus to make him modify his method of procedure +during his next embryological development. Nevertheless, we should +expect to find that sometimes a very deep single impression made upon +a living organism, should be remembered by it, even when it is next +in an embryonic condition.</p> +<p>That this is so, we find from Mr. Darwin, who writes (“Plants +and Animals under Domestication,” vol. ii. p. 57, ed. 1875) - +“There is ample evidence that the effect of mutilations and of +accidents, especially, or perhaps exclusively, when followed by disease” +(which would certainly intensify the impression made), “are occasionally +inherited. There can be no doubt that the evil effects of the +long continued exposure of the parent to injurious conditions are sometimes +transmitted to the offspring.” As regards impressions of +a less striking character, it is so universally admitted that they are +not observed to be repeated in what is called the offspring, until they +have been confirmed in what is called the parent, for several generations, +but that after several generations, more or fewer as the case may be, +they often are transmitted - that it seems unnecessary to say more upon +the matter. Perhaps, however, the following passage from Mr. Darwin +may be admitted as conclusive:-</p> +<p>“That they” (acquired actions) “are inherited, +we see with horses in certain transmitted paces, such as cantering and +ambling, which are not natural to them - in the pointing of young pointers, +and the setting of young setters - in the peculiar manner of flight +of certain breeds of the pigeon, &c. We have analogous cases +with mankind in the inheritance of tricks or unusual gestures.” +. . . (“Expression of the Emotions,” p. 29).</p> +<p>In another place Mr. Darwin writes:-</p> +<p>“How again can we explain <i>the inherited effects</i> of the +use or disuse of particular organs? The domesticated duck flies +less and walks more than the wild duck, and its limb bones have become +diminished and increased in a corresponding manner in comparison with +those of the wild duck. A horse is trained to certain paces, and +the colt inherits similar consensual movements. The domesticated +rabbit becomes tame from close confinement; the dog intelligent from +associating with man; the retriever is taught to fetch and carry; and +these mental endowments and bodily powers are all inherited” (“Plants +and Animals,” &c., vol. ii. p. 367, ed. 1875).</p> +<p>“Nothing,” he continues, “in the whole circuit +of physiology is more wonderful. How can the use or disuse of +a particular limb, or of the brain, affect a small aggregate of reproductive +cells, seated in a distant part of the body in such a manner that the +being developed from these cells inherits the character of one or both +parents? Even an imperfect answer to this question would be satisfactory” +(“Plants and Animals,” &c. vol. ii. p. 367, ed. 1875).</p> +<p>With such an imperfect answer will I attempt to satisfy the reader, +as to say that there appears to be that kind of continuity of existence +and sameness of personality, between parents and offspring, which would +lead us to expect that the impressions made upon the parent should be +epitomised in the offspring, when they have been or have become important +enough, through repetition in the history of several so-called existences +to have earned a place in that smaller edition, which is issued from +generation to generation; or, in other words, when they have been made +so deeply, either at one blow or through many, that the offspring can +remember them. In practice we observe this to be the case - so +that the answer lies in the assertion that offspring and parent, being +in one sense but the same individual, there is no great wonder that, +in one sense, the first should remember what had happened to the latter; +and that too, much in the same way as the individual remembers the events +in the earlier history of what he calls his own lifetime, but condensed, +and pruned of detail, and remembered as by one who has had a host of +other matters to attend to in the interim.</p> +<p>It is thus easy to understand why such a rite as circumcision, though +practised during many ages, should have produced little, if any, modification +tending to make circumcision unnecessary. On the view here supported +such modification would be more surprising than not, for unless the +impression made upon the parent was of a grave character - and probably +unless also aggravated by subsequent confusion of memories in the cells +surrounding the part originally impressed - the parent himself would +not be sufficiently impressed to prevent him from reproducing himself, +as he had already done upon an infinite number of past occasions. +The child, therefore, in the womb would do what the father in the womb +had done before him, nor should any trace of memory concerning circumcision +be expected till the eighth day after birth, when, but for the fact +that the impression in this case is forgotten almost as soon as made, +some slight presentiment of coming discomfort might, after a large number +of generations, perhaps be looked for as a general rule. It would +not, however, be surprising, that the effect of circumcision should +be occasionally inherited, and it would appear as though this was sometimes +actually the case.</p> +<p>The question should turn upon whether the disuse of an organ has +arisen:-</p> +<p>1. From an internal desire on the part of the creature disusing +it, to be quit of an organ which it finds troublesome.</p> +<p>2. From changed conditions and habits which render the organ +no longer necessary, or which lead the creature to lay greater stress +on certain other organs or modifications.</p> +<p>3. From the wish of others outside itself; the effect produced +in this case being perhaps neither very good nor very bad for the individual, +and resulting in no grave impression upon the organism as a whole.</p> +<p>4. From a single deep impression on a parent, affecting both +himself as a whole, and gravely confusing the memories of the cells +to be reproduced, or his memories in respect of those cells - according +as one adopts Pangenesis and supposes a memory to “run” +each gemmule, or as one supposes one memory to “run” the +whole impregnate ovum - a compromise between these two views being nevertheless +perhaps possible, inasmuch as the combined memories of all the cells +may possibly <i>be</i> the memory which “runs” the impregnate +ovum, just as we <i>are</i> ourselves the combination of all our cells, +each one of which is both autonomous, and also takes its share in the +central government. But within the limits of this volume it is +absolutely impossible for me to go into this question.</p> +<p>In the first case - under which some instances which belong more +strictly to the fourth would sometimes, but rarely, come - the organ +should soon go, and sooner or later leave no rudiment, though still +perhaps to be found crossing the life of the embryo, and then disappearing.</p> +<p>In the second it should go more slowly, and leave, it may be, a rudimentary +structure.</p> +<p>In the third it should show little or no sign of natural decrease +for a very long time.</p> +<p>In the fourth there may be absolute and total sterility, or sterility +in regard to the particular organ, or a scar which shall show that the +memory of the wound and of each step in the process of healing has been +remembered; or there may be simply such disturbance in the reproduced +organ as shall show a confused recollection of injury. There may +be infinite gradations between the first and last of these possibilities.</p> +<p>I think that the facts, as given by Mr. Darwin (“Plants and +Animals,” &c., vol i. pp. 466-472, ed. 1875), will bear out +the above to the satisfaction of the reader. I can, however, only +quote the following passage:-</p> +<p>“ . . . Brown Séquard has bred during thirty years many +thousand guinea-pigs, . . . nor has he ever seen a guinea-pig born without +toes which was not the offspring of parents <i>which had gnawed off +their own toes</i>, owing to the sciatic nerve having been divided. +Of this fact thirteen instances were carefully recorded, and a greater +number were seen; yet Brown Séquard speaks of such cases as among +the rarer forms of inheritance. It is a still more interesting +fact - ‘that the sciatic nerve in the congenitally toeless animal +has inherited the power of passing through <i>all the different morbid +states</i> which have occurred in one of its parents <i>from the time +of division</i> till after its reunion with the peripheric end. +It is not therefore the power of simply performing an action which is +inherited, but the power of performing a whole series of actions in +a certain order.’”</p> +<p>I feel inclined to say it is not merely the original wound that is +remembered, but the whole process of cure which is now accordingly repeated. +Brown Séquard concludes, as Mr. Darwin tells us, “that +what is transmitted is the morbid state of the nervous system,” +due to the operation performed on the parents.</p> +<p>A little lower down Mr. Darwin writes that Professor Rolleston has +given him two cases - “namely, of two men, one of whom had his +knee, and the other his cheek, severely cut, and both had children born +with exactly the same spot marked or scarred.”</p> +<p>VI. When, however, an impression has once reached transmission +point - whether it be of the nature of a sudden striking thought, which +makes its mark deeply then and there, or whether it be the result of +smaller impressions repeated until the nail, so to speak, has been driven +home - we should expect that it should be remembered by the offspring +as something which he has done all his life, and which he has therefore +no longer any occasion to learn; he will act, therefore, as people say, +<i>instinctively</i>. No matter how complex and difficult the +process, if the parents have done it sufficiently often (that is to +say, for a sufficient number of generations), the offspring will remember +the fact when association wakens the memory; it will need no instruction, +and - unless when it has been taught to look for it during many generations +- will expect none. This may be seen in the case of the humming-bird +sphinx moth, which, as Mr. Darwin writes, “shortly after its emergence +from the cocoon, as shown by the bloom on its unruffled scales, may +be seen poised stationary in the air with its long hair-like proboscis +uncurled, and inserted into the minute orifices of flowers; <i>and no +one I believe has ever seen</i> this moth learning to perform its difficult +task, which requires such unerring aim” (“Expression of +the Emotions,” p. 30).</p> +<p>And, indeed, when we consider that after a time the most complex +and difficult actions come to be performed by man without the least +effort or consciousness - that offspring cannot be considered as anything +but a continuation of the parent life, whose past habits and experiences +it epitomises when they have been sufficiently often repeated to produce +a lasting impression - that consciousness of memory vanishes on the +memory’s becoming intense, as completely as the consciousness +of complex and difficult movements vanishes as soon as they have been +sufficiently practised - and finally, that the real presence of memory +is testified rather by performance of the repeated action on recurrence +of like surroundings, than by consciousness of recollecting on the part +of the individual - so that not only should there be no reasonable bar +to our attributing the whole range of the more complex instinctive actions, +from first to last, to memory pure and simple, no matter how marvellous +they may be, but rather that there is so much to compel us to do so, +that we find it difficult to conceive how any other view can have been +ever taken - when, I say, we consider all these facts, we should rather +feel surprise that the hawk and sparrow still teach their offspring +to fly, than that the humming-bird sphinx moth should need no teacher.</p> +<p>The phenomena, then, which we observe are exactly those which we +should expect to find.</p> +<p>VII. We should also expect that the memory of animals, as regards +their earlier existences, was solely stimulated by association. +For we find, from Prof. Bain, that “actions, sensations, and states +of feeling occurring together, or in close succession, tend to grow +together or cohere in such a way that when any one of them is afterwards +presented to the mind, the others are apt to be brought up in idea” +(“The Senses and the Intellect,” 2d ed. 1864, p. 332). +And Prof. Huxley says (“Elementary Lessons in Physiology,” +5th ed. 1872, p. 306), “It may be laid down as a rule that if +any two mental states be called up together, or in succession, with +due frequency and vividness, the subsequent production of the one of +them will suffice to call up the other, <i>and that whether we desire +it or not</i>.” I would go one step further, and would say +not only whether we desire it or not, but <i>whether we are aware that +the idea has ever before been called up in our minds or not</i>. +I should say that I have quoted both the above passages from Mr. Darwin’s +“Expression of the Emotions” (p. 30, ed. 1872).</p> +<p>We should, therefore, expect that when the offspring found itself +in the presence of objects which had called up such and such ideas for +a sufficient number of generations, that is to say, “with due +frequency and vividness” - it being of the same age as its parents +were, and generally in like case as when the ideas were called up in +the minds of the parents - the same ideas should also be called up in +the minds of the offspring “<i>whether they desire it or not</i>;” +and, I would say also, “whether they recognise the ideas as having +ever before been present to them or not.”</p> +<p>I think we might also expect that no other force, save that of association, +should have power to kindle, so to speak, into the flame of action the +atomic spark of memory, which we can alone suppose to be transmitted +from one generation to another.</p> +<p>That both plants and animals do as we should expect of them in this +respect is plain, not only from the performance of the most intricate +and difficult actions - difficult both physically and intellectually +- at an age, and under circumstances which preclude all possibility +of what we call instruction, but from the fact that deviations from +the parental instinct, or rather the recurrence of a memory, unless +in connection with the accustomed train of associations, is of comparatively +rare occurrence; the result, commonly, of some one of the many memories +about which we know no more than we do of the memory which enables a +cat to find her way home after a hundred-mile journey by train, and +shut up in a hamper, or, perhaps even more commonly, of abnormal treatment.</p> +<p>VIII. If, then, memory depends on association, we should expect +two corresponding phenomena in the case of plants and animals - namely, +that they should show a tendency to resume feral habits on being turned +wild after several generations of domestication, and also that peculiarities +should tend to show themselves at a corresponding age in the offspring +and in the parents. As regards the tendency to resume feral habits, +Mr. Darwin, though apparently of opinion that the tendency to do this +has been much exaggerated, yet does not doubt that such a tendency exists, +as shown by well authenticated instances. He writes: “It +has been repeatedly asserted in the most positive manner by various +authors that feral animals and plants invariably return to their primitive +specific type.”</p> +<p>This shows, at any rate, that there is a considerable opinion to +this effect among observers generally.</p> +<p>He continues: “It is curious on what little evidence this belief +rests. Many of our domesticated animals could not subsist in a +wild state,” - so that there is no knowing whether they would +or would not revert. “In several cases we do not know the +aboriginal parent species, and cannot tell whether or not there has +been any close degree of reversion.” So that here, too, +there is at any rate no evidence <i>against</i> the tendency; the conclusion, +however, is that, notwithstanding the deficiency of positive evidence +to warrant the general belief as to the force of the tendency, yet “the +simple fact of animals and plants becoming feral does cause some tendency +to revert to the primitive state,” and he tells us that “when +variously-coloured tame rabbits are turned out in Europe, they generally +re-acquire the colouring of the wild animal;” there can be no +doubt,” he says, “that this really does occur,” though +he seems inclined to account for it by the fact that oddly-coloured +and conspicuous animals would suffer much from beasts of prey and from +being easily shot. “The best known case of reversion:” +he continues, “and that on which the widely-spread belief in its +universality apparently rests, is that of pigs. These animals +have run wild in the West Indies, South America, and the Falkland Islands, +and have everywhere re-acquired the dark colour, the thick bristles, +and great tusks of the wild boar; and the young have re-acquired longitudinal +stripes.” And on page 22 of “Plants and Animals under +Domestication” (vol. ii. ed. 1875) we find that “the re-appearance +of coloured, longitudinal stripes on young feral pigs cannot be attributed +to the direct action of external conditions. In this case, and +in many others, we can only say that any change in the habits of life +apparently favours a tendency, inherent or latent, in the species to +return to the primitive state.” On which one cannot but +remark that though any change may favour such tendency, yet the return +to original habits and surroundings appears to do so in a way so marked +as not to be readily referable to any other cause than that of association +and memory - the creature, in fact, having got into its old groove, +remembers it, and takes to all its old ways.</p> +<p>As regards the tendency to inherit changes (whether embryonic, or +during post-natal development as ordinarily observed in any species), +or peculiarities of habit or form which do not partake of the nature +of disease, it must be sufficient to refer the reader to Mr. Darwin’s +remarks upon this subject (“Plants and Animals Under Domestication,” +vol. ii. pp. 51-57, ed. 1875). The existence of the tendency is +not likely to be denied. The instances given by Mr. Darwin are +strictly to the point as regards all ordinary developmental and metamorphic +changes, and even as regards transmitted acquired actions, and tricks +acquired before the time when the offspring has issued from the body +of the parent, or on an average of many generations does so; but it +cannot for a moment be supposed that the offspring knows by inheritance +anything about what happens to the parent subsequently to the offspring’s +being born. Hence the appearance of diseases in the offspring, +at comparatively late periods in life, but at the same age as, or earlier, +than in the parents, must be regarded as due to the fact that in each +case the machine having been made after the same pattern (which <i>is</i> +due to memory), is liable to have the same weak points, and to break +down after a similar amount of wear and tear; but after less wear and +tear in the case of the offspring than in that of the parent, because +a diseased organism is commonly a deteriorating organism, and if repeated +at all closely, and without repentance and amendment of life, will be +repeated for the worse. If we do not improve, we grow worse. +This, at least, is what we observe daily.</p> +<p>Nor again can we believe, as some have fancifully imagined, that +the remembrance of any occurrence of which the effect has been entirely, +or almost entirely mental, should be remembered by offspring with any +definiteness. The intellect of the offspring might be affected, +for better or worse, by the general nature of the intellectual employment +of the parent; or a great shock to a parent might destroy or weaken +the intellect of the offspring; but unless a deep impression were made +upon the cells of the body, and deepened by subsequent disease, we could +not expect it to be remembered with any definiteness, or precision. +We may talk as we will about mental pain, and mental scars, but after +all, the impressions they leave are incomparably less durable than those +made by an organic lesion. It is probable, therefore, that the +feeling which so many have described, as though they remembered this +or that in some past existence, is purely imaginary, and due rather +to unconscious recognition of the fact that we certainly have lived +before, than to any actual occurrence corresponding to the supposed +recollection.</p> +<p>And lastly, we should look to find in the action of memory, as between +one generation and another, a reflection of the many anomalies and exceptions +to ordinary rules which we observe in memory, so far as we can watch +its action in what we call our own single lives, and the single lives +of others. We should expect that reversion should be frequently +capricious - that is to say, give us more trouble to account for than +we are either able or willing to take. And assuredly we find it +so in fact. Mr. Darwin - from whom it is impossible to quote too +much or too fully, inasmuch as no one else can furnish such a store +of facts, so well arranged, and so above all suspicion of either carelessness +or want of candour - so that, however we may differ from him, it is +he himself who shows us how to do so, and whose pupils we all are - +Mr. Darwin writes: “In every living being we may rest assured +that a host of long-lost characters lie ready to be evolved under proper +conditions” (does not one almost long to substitute the word “memories” +for the word “characters?”) “How can we make +intelligible, and connect with other facts, this wonderful and common +capacity of reversion - this power of calling back to life long-lost +characters?” (“Plants and Animals,” &c., +vol. ii. p. 369, ed. 1875). Surely the answer may be hazarded, +that we shall be able to do so when we can make intelligible the power +of calling back to life long-lost memories. But I grant that this +answer holds out no immediate prospect of a clear understanding.</p> +<p>One word more. Abundant facts are to be found which point inevitably, +as will appear more plainly in the following chapter, in the direction +of thinking that offspring inherits the memories of its parents; but +I know of no single fact which suggests that parents are in the smallest +degree affected (other than sympathetically) by the memories of their +offspring <i>after that offspring has been born</i>. Whether the +unborn offspring affects the memory of the mother in some particulars, +and whether we have here the explanation of occasional reversion to +a previous impregnation, is a matter on which I should hardly like to +express an opinion now. Nor, again, can I find a single fact which +seems to indicate any memory of the parental life on the part of offspring +later than the average date of the offspring’s quitting the body +of the parent.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XI - INSTINCT AS INHERITED MEMORY</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I have already alluded to M. Ribot’s work on “Heredity,” +from which I will now take the following passages.</p> +<p>M. Ribot writes:-</p> +<p>“Instinct is innate, <i>i.e., anterior to all individual experience</i>.” +This I deny on grounds already abundantly apparent; but let it pass. +“Whereas intelligence is developed slowly by accumulated experience, +instinct is perfect from the first” (“Heredity,” p. +14).</p> +<p>Obviously the memory of a habit or experience will not commonly be +transmitted to offspring in that perfection which is called “instinct,” +till the habit or experience has been repeated in several generations +with more or less uniformity; for otherwise the impression made will +not be strong enough to endure through the busy and difficult task of +reproduction. This of course involves that the habit shall have +attained, as it were equilibrium with the creature’s sense of +its own needs, so that it shall have long seemed the best course possible, +leaving upon the whole and under ordinary circumstances little further +to be desired, and hence that it should have been little varied during +many generations. We should expect that it would be transmitted +in a more or less partial, varying, imperfect, and intelligent condition +before equilibrium had been attained; it would, however, continually +tend towards equilibrium, for reasons which will appear more fully later +on.</p> +<p>When this stage has been reached, as regards any habit, the creature +will cease trying to improve; on which the repetition of the habit will +become stable, and hence become capable of more unerring transmission +- but at the same time improvement will cease; the habit will become +fixed, and be perhaps transmitted at an earlier and earlier age, till +it has reached that date of manifestation which shall be found most +agreeable to the other habits of the creature. It will also be +manifested, as a matter of course, without further consciousness or +reflection, for people cannot be always opening up settled questions; +if they thought a matter over yesterday they cannot think it all over +again to-day, but will adopt for better or worse the conclusion then +reached; and this, too, even in spite sometimes of considerable misgiving, +that if they were to think still further they could find a still better +course. It is not, therefore, to be expected that “instinct” +should show signs of that hesitating and tentative action which results +from knowledge that is still so imperfect as to be actively self-conscious; +nor yet that it should grow or vary, unless under such changed conditions +as shall baffle memory, and present the alternative of either invention +- that is to say, variation - or death. But every instinct must +have poised through the laboriously intelligent stages through which +human civilisations <i>and mechanical inventions</i> are now passing; +and he who would study the origin of an instinct with its development, +partial transmission, further growth, further transmission, approach +to more unreflecting stability, and finally, its perfection as an unerring +and unerringly transmitted instinct, must look to laws, customs, <i>and +machinery</i> as his best instructors. Customs and machines are +instincts <i>and organs</i> now in process of development; they will +assuredly one day reach the unconscious state of equilibrium which we +observe in the structures and instincts of bees and ants, and an approach +to which may be found among some savage nations. We may reflect, +however, not without pleasure, that this condition - the true millennium +- is still distant. Nevertheless the ants and bees seem happy; +perhaps more happy than when so many social questions were in as hot +discussion among them, as other, and not dissimilar ones, will one day +be amongst ourselves.</p> +<p>And this, as will be apparent, opens up the whole question of the +stability of species, which we cannot follow further here, than to say, +that according to the balance of testimony, many plants and animals +do appear to have reached a phase of being from which they are hard +to move - that is to say, they will die sooner than be at the pains +of altering their habits - true martyrs to their convictions. +Such races refuse to see changes in their surroundings as long as they +can, but when compelled to recognise them, they throw up the game because +they cannot and will not, or will not and cannot, invent. And +this is perfectly intelligible, for a race is nothing but a long-lived +individual, and like any individual, or tribe of men whom we have yet +observed, will have its special capacities and its special limitations, +though, as in the case of the individual, so also with the race, it +is exceedingly hard to say what those limitations are, and why, having +been able to go so far, it should go no further. Every man and +every race is capable of education up to a certain point, but not to +the extent of being made from a sow’s ear into a silk purse. +The proximate cause of the limitation seems to lie in the absence of +the wish to go further; the presence or absence of the wish will depend +upon the nature and surroundings of the individual, which is simply +a way of saying that one can get no further, but that as the song (with +a slight alteration) says:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Some breeds do, and some breeds don’t,<br />Some breeds +will, but this breed won’t,<br />I tried very often to see if +it would,<br />But it said it really couldn’t, and I don’t +think it could.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It may perhaps be maintained, that with time and patience, one might +train a rather stupid plough-boy to understand the differential calculus. +This might be done with the help of an inward desire on the part of +the boy to learn, but never otherwise. If the boy wants to learn +or to improve generally, he will do so in spite of every hindrance, +till in time he becomes a very different being from what he was originally. +If he does not want to learn, he will not do so for any wish of another +person. If he feels that he has the power he will wish; or if +he wishes, he will begin to think he has the power, and try to fulfil +his wishes; one cannot say which comes first, for the power and the +desire go always hand in hand, or nearly so, and the whole business +is nothing but a most vicious circle from first to last. But it +is plain that there is more to be said on behalf of such circles than +we have been in the habit of thinking. Do what we will, we must +each one of us argue in a circle of our own, from which, so long as +we live at all, we can by no possibility escape. I am not sure +whether the frank acceptation and recognition of this fact is not the +best corrective for dogmatism that we are likely to find.</p> +<p>We can understand that a pigeon might in the course of ages grow +to be a peacock if there was a persistent desire on the part of the +pigeon through all these ages to do so. We know very well that +this has not probably occurred in nature, inasmuch as no pigeon is at +all likely to wish to be very different from what it is now. The +idea of being anything very different from what it now is, would be +too wide a cross with the pigeon’s other ideas for it to entertain +it seriously. If the pigeon had never seen a peacock, it would +not be able to conceive the idea, so as to be able to make towards it; +if, on the other hand, it had seen one, it would not probably either +want to become one, or think that it would be any use wanting seriously, +even though it were to feel a passing fancy to be so gorgeously arrayed; +it would therefore lack that faith without which no action, and with +which, every action, is possible.</p> +<p>That creatures have conceived the idea of making themselves like +other creatures or objects which it was to their advantage or pleasure +to resemble, will be believed by any one who turns to Mr. Mivart’s +“Genesis of Species,” where he will find (chapter ii.) an +account of some very showy South American butterflies, which give out +such a strong odour that nothing will eat them, and which are hence +mimicked both in appearance and flight by a very different kind of butterfly; +and, again, we see that certain birds, without any particular desire +of gain, no sooner hear any sound than they begin to mimick it, merely +for the pleasure of mimicking; so we all enjoy to mimick, or to hear +good mimicry, so also monkeys imitate the actions which they observe, +from pure force of sympathy. To mimick, or to wish to mimick, +is doubtless often one of the first steps towards varying in any given +direction. Not less, in all probability, than a full twenty per +cent. of all the courage and good nature now existing in the world, +derives its origin, at no very distant date, from a desire to appear +courageous and good-natured. And this suggests a work whose title +should be “On the Fine Arts as bearing on the Reproductive System,” +of which the title must suffice here.</p> +<p>Against faith, then, and desire, all the “natural selection” +in the world will not stop an amœba from becoming an elephant, +if a reasonable time be granted; without the faith and the desire, neither +“natural selection” nor artificial breeding will be able +to do much in the way of modifying any structure. When we have +once thoroughly grasped the conception that we are all one creature, +and that each one of us is many millions of years old, so that all the +pigeons in the one line of an infinite number of generations are still +one pigeon only - then we can understand that a bird, as different from +a peacock as a pigeon is now, could yet have wandered on and on, first +this way and then that, doing what it liked, and thought that it could +do, till it found itself at length a peacock; but we cannot believe +either that a bird like a pigeon should be able to apprehend any ideal +so different from itself as a peacock, and make towards it, or that +man, having wished to breed a bird anything like a peacock from a bird +anything like a pigeon, would be able to succeed in accumulating accidental +peacock-like variations till he had made the bird he was in search of, +no matter in what number of generations; much less can we believe that +the accumulation of small fortuitous variations by “natural selection” +could succeed better. We can no more believe the above, than we +can believe that a wish outside a plough-boy could turn him into a senior +wrangler. The boy would prove to be too many for his teacher, +and so would the pigeon for its breeder.</p> +<p>I do not forget that artificial breeding has modified the original +type of the horse and the dog, till it has at length produced the dray-horse +and the greyhound; but in each case man has had to get use and disuse +- that is to say, the desires of the animal itself - to help him.</p> +<p>We are led, then, to the conclusion that all races have what for +practical purposes may be considered as their limits, though there is +no saying what those limits are, nor indeed why, in theory, there should +be any limits at all, but only that there are limits in practice. +Races which vary considerably must be considered as clever, but it may +be speculative, people who commonly have a genius in some special direction, +as perhaps for mimicry, perhaps for beauty, perhaps for music, perhaps +for the higher mathematics, but seldom in more than one or two directions; +while “inflexible organisations,” like that of the goose, +may be considered as belonging to people with one idea, and the greater +tendency of plants and animals to vary under domestication may be reasonably +compared with the effects of culture and education: that is to say, +may be referred to increased range and variety of experience or perceptions, +which will either cause sterility, if they be too unfamiliar, so as +to be incapable of fusion with preceding ideas, and hence to bring memory +to a sudden fault, or will open the door for all manner of further variation +- the new ideas having suggested new trains of thought, which a clever +example of a clever race will be only too eager to pursue.</p> +<p>Let us now return to M. Ribot. He writes (p. 14):- “The +duckling hatched by the hen makes straight for water.” In +what conceivable way can we account for this, except on the supposition +that the duckling knows perfectly well what it can, and what it cannot +do with water, owing to its recollection of what it did when it was +still one individuality with its parents, and hence, when it was a duckling +before?</p> +<p>“The squirrel, before it knows anything of winter, lays up +a store of nuts. A bird when hatched in a cage will, when given +its freedom, build for itself a nest like that of its parents, out of +the same materials, and of the same shape.”</p> +<p>If this is not due to memory, even an imperfect explanation of what +else it can be due to, “would be satisfactory.”</p> +<p>“Intelligence gropes about, tries this way and that, misses +its object, commits mistakes, and corrects them.”</p> +<p>Yes. Because intelligence is of consciousness, and consciousness +is of attention, and attention is of uncertainty, and uncertainty is +of ignorance or want of consciousness. Intelligence is not yet +thoroughly up to its business.</p> +<p>“Instinct advances with a mechanical certainty.”</p> +<p>Why mechanical? Should not “with apparent certainty” +suffice?</p> +<p>“Hence comes its unconscious character.”</p> +<p>But for the word “mechanical” this is true, and is what +we have been all along insisting on.</p> +<p>“It knows nothing either of ends, or of the means of attaining +them; it implies no comparison, judgment, or choice.”</p> +<p>This is assumption. What is certain is that instinct does not +betray signs of self-consciousness as to its own knowledge. It +has dismissed reference to first principles, and is no longer under +the law, but under the grace of a settled conviction.</p> +<p>“All seems directed by thought.”</p> +<p>Yes; because all <i>has been</i> in earlier existences directed by +thought.</p> +<p>“Without ever arriving at thought.”</p> +<p>Because it has <i>got past thought</i>, and though “directed +by thought” originally, is now travelling in exactly the opposite +direction. It is not likely to reach thought again, till people +get to know worse and worse how to do things, the oftener they practise +them.</p> +<p>“And if this phenomenon appear strange, it must be observed +that analogous states occur in ourselves. <i>All that we do from +habit - walking, writing, or practising a mechanical act, for instance +- all these and many other very complex acts are performed without consciousness.</i></p> +<p>“Instinct appears stationary. It does not, like intelligence, +seem to grow and decay, to gain and to lose. It does not improve.”</p> +<p>Naturally. For improvement can only as a general rule be looked +for along the line of latest development, that is to say, in matters +concerning which the creature is being still consciously exercised. +Older questions are settled, and the solution must be accepted as final, +for the question of living at all would be reduced to an absurdity, +if everything decided upon one day was to be undecided again the next; +as with painting or music, so with life and politics, let every man +be fully persuaded in his own mind, for decision with wrong will be +commonly a better policy than indecision - I had almost added with right; +and a firm purpose with risk will be better than an infirm one with +temporary exemption from disaster. Every race has made its great +blunders, to which it has nevertheless adhered, inasmuch as the corresponding +modification of other structures and instincts was found preferable +to the revolution which would be caused by a radical change of structure, +with consequent havoc among a legion of vested interests. Rudimentary +organs are, as has been often said, the survivals of these interests +- the signs of their peaceful and gradual extinction as living faiths; +they are also instances of the difficulty of breaking through any cant +or trick which we have long practised, and which is not sufficiently +troublesome to make it a serious object with us to cure ourselves of +the habit.</p> +<p>“If it does not remain perfectly invariable, at least it only +varies within very narrow limits; and though this question has been +warmly debated in our day, and is yet unsettled, we may yet say that +in instinct immutability is the law, variation the exception.”</p> +<p>This is quite as it should be. Genius will occasionally rise +a little above convention, but with an old convention immutability will +be the rule.</p> +<p>“Such,” continues M. Ribot, “are the admitted characters +of instinct.”</p> +<p>Yes; but are they not also the admitted characters of actions that +are due to memory?</p> +<p>At the bottom of p. 15, M. Ribot quotes the following from Mr. Darwin:-</p> +<p>“We have reason to believe that aboriginal habits are long +retained under domestication. Thus with the common ass, we see +signs of its original desert-life in its strong dislike to cross the +smallest stream of water, and in its pleasure in rolling in the dust. +The same strong dislike to cross a stream is common to the camel which +has been domesticated from a very early period. Young pigs, though +so tame, sometimes squat when frightened, and then try to conceal themselves, +even in an open and bare place. Young turkeys, and occasionally +even young fowls, when the hen gives the danger-cry, run away and try +to hide themselves, like young partridges or pheasants, in order that +their mother may take flight, of which she has lost the power. +The musk duck in its native country often perches and roosts on trees, +and our domesticated musk ducks, though sluggish birds, are fond of +perching on the tops of barns, walls, &c. . . . We know that +the dog, however well and regularly fed, often buries like the fox any +superfluous food; we see him turning round and round on a carpet as +if to trample down grass to form a bed. . . . In the delight with which +lambs and kids crowd together and frisk upon the smallest hillock we +see a vestige of their former alpine habits.”</p> +<p>What does this delightful passage go to show, if not that the young +in all these cases must still have a latent memory of their past existences, +which is called into an active condition as soon as the associated ideas +present themselves?</p> +<p>Returning to M. Ribot’s own observations, we find he tells +us that it usually requires three or four generations to fix the results +of training, and to prevent a return to the instincts of the wild state. +I think, however, it would not be presumptuous to suppose that if an +animal after only three or four generations of training be restored +to its original conditions of life, it will forget its intermediate +training and return to its old ways, almost as readily as a London street +Arab would forget the beneficial effects of a weeks training in a reformatory +school, if he were then turned loose again on the streets. So +if we hatch wild ducks’ eggs under a tame duck, the ducklings +“will have scarce left the egg-shell when they obey the instincts +of their race and take their flight.” So the colts from +wild horses, and mongrel young between wild and domesticated horses, +betray traces of their earlier memories.</p> +<p>On this M. Ribot says: “Originally man had considerable trouble +in taming the animals which are now domesticated; and his work would +have been in vain had not heredity” (memory) “come to his +aid. It may be said that after man has modified a wild animal +to his will, there goes on in its progeny a silent conflict between +two heredities” (memories), “the one tending to fix the +acquired modifications and the other to preserve the primitive instincts. +The latter often get the mastery, and only after several generations +is training sure of victory. But we may see that in either case +heredity” (memory) “always asserts its rights.”</p> +<p>How marvellously is the above passage elucidated and made to fit +in with the results of our recognised experience, by the simple substitution +of the word “memory” for “heredity.”</p> +<p>“Among the higher animals” - to continue quoting - “which +are possessed not only of instinct, but also of intelligence, nothing +is more common than to see mental dispositions, which have evidently +been acquired, so fixed by heredity, that they are confounded with instinct, +so spontaneous and automatic do they become. Young pointers have +been known to point the first time they were taken out, sometimes even +better than dogs that had been for a long time in training. The +habit of saving life is hereditary in breeds that have been brought +up to it, as is also the shepherd dog’s habit of moving around +the flock and guarding it.”</p> +<p>As soon as we have grasped the notion, that instinct is only the +epitome of past experience, revised, corrected, made perfect, and learnt +by rote, we no longer find any desire to separate “instinct” +from “mental dispositions, which have evidently been acquired +and fixed by heredity,” for the simple reason that they are one +and the same thing.</p> +<p>A few more examples are all that my limits will allow - they abound +on every side, and the difficulty lies only in selecting - M. Ribot +being to hand, I will venture to lay him under still further contributions.</p> +<p>On page 19 we find:- “Knight has shown experimentally the truth +of the proverb, ‘a good hound is bred so,’ he took every +care that when the pups were first taken into the field, they should +receive no guidance from older dogs; yet the very first day, one of +the pups stood trembling with anxiety, having his eyes fixed and all +his muscles strained <i>at the partridges which their parents had been +trained to point</i>. A spaniel belonging to a breed which had +been trained to woodcock-shooting, knew perfectly well from the first +how to act like an old dog, avoiding places where the ground was frozen, +and where it was, therefore, useless to seek the game, as there was +no scent. Finally, a young polecat terrier was thrown into a state +of great excitement the first time he ever saw one of these animals, +while a spaniel remained perfectly calm.</p> +<p>“In South America, according to Roulin, dogs belonging to a +breed that has long been trained to the dangerous chase of the peccary, +when taken for the first time into the woods, know the tactics to adopt +quite as well as the old dogs, and that without any instruction. +Dogs of other races, and unacquainted with the tactics, are killed at +once, no matter how strong they may be. The American greyhound, +instead of leaping at the stag, attacks him by the belly, and throws +him over, as his ancestors had been trained to do in hunting the Indians.</p> +<p>“Thus, then, heredity transmits modification no less than natural +instincts.”</p> +<p>Should not this rather be - “thus, then, we see that not only +older and remoter habits, but habits which have been practised for a +comparatively small number of generations, may be so deeply impressed +on the individual that they may dwell in his memory, surviving the so-called +change of personality which he undergoes in each successive generation”?</p> +<p>“There is, however, an important difference to be noted: the +heredity of instincts admits of no exceptions, while in that of modifications +there are many.”</p> +<p>It may be well doubted how far the heredity of instincts admits of +no exceptions; on the contrary, it would seem probable that in many +races geniuses have from time to time arisen who remembered not only +their past experiences, as far as action and habit went, but have been +able to rise in some degree above habit where they felt that improvement +was possible, and who carried such improvement into further practice, +by slightly modifying their structure in the desired direction on the +next occasion that they had a chance of dealing with protoplasm at all. +It is by these rare instances of intellectual genius (and I would add +of moral genius, if many of the instincts and structures of plants and +animals did not show that they had got into a region as far above morals +- other than enlightened self-interest - as they are above articulate +consciousness of their own aims in many other respects) - it is by these +instances of either rare good luck or rare genius that many species +have been, in all probability, originated or modified. Nevertheless +inappreciable modification of instinct is, and ought to be, the rule.</p> +<p>As to M. Ribot’s assertion, that to the heredity of modifications +there are many exceptions, I readily agree with it, and can only say +that it is exactly what I should expect; the lesson long since learnt +by rote, and repeated in an infinite number of generations, would be +repeated unintelligently, and with little or no difference, save from +a rare accidental slip, the effect of which would be the culling out +of the bungler who was guilty of it, or from the still rarer appearance +of an individual of real genius; while the newer lesson would be repeated +both with more hesitation and uncertainty, and with more intelligence; +and this is well conveyed in M. Ribot’s next sentence, for he +says - “It is only when variations have been firmly rooted; when +having become organic, they constitute a second nature, which supplants +the first; when, like instinct, they have assumed a mechanical character, +that they can be transmitted.”</p> +<p>How nearly M. Ribot comes to the opinion which I myself venture to +propound will appear from the following further quotation. After +dealing with somnambulism, and saying, that if somnambulism were permanent +and innate, it would be impossible to distinguish it from instinct, +he continues:-</p> +<p>“Hence it is less difficult than is generally supposed, to +conceive how intelligence may become instinct; we might even say that, +leaving out of consideration the character of innateness, to which we +will return, we have seen the metamorphosis take place. <i>There +can then be no ground for making instinct a faculty apart, sui generis</i>, +a phenomenon so mysterious, so strange, that usually no other explanation +of it is offered but that of attributing it to the direct act of the +Deity. This whole mistake is the result of a defective psychology +which makes no account of the unconscious activity of the soul.”</p> +<p>We are tempted to add - “and which also makes no account of +the <i>bonâ</i> <i>fide</i> character of the continued personality +of successive generations.”</p> +<p>“But we are so accustomed,” he continues, “to contrast +the characters of instinct with those of intelligence - to say that +instinct is innate, invariable, automatic, while intelligence is something +acquired, variable, spontaneous - that it looks at first paradoxical +to assert that instinct and intelligence are identical.</p> +<p>“It is said that instinct is innate. But if, on the one +hand, we bear in mind that many instincts are acquired, and that, according +to a theory hereafter to be explained” (which theory, I frankly +confess, I never was able to get hold of), <i>“all instincts are +only hereditary habits</i>” (italics mine); “if, on the +other hand, we observe that intelligence is in some sense held to be +innate by all modern schools of philosophy, which agree to reject the +theory of the <i>tabula rasa</i>” (if there is no <i>tabula rasa</i>, +there is continued psychological personality, or words have lost their +meaning), “and to accept either latent ideas, or <i>à priori</i> +forms of thought” (surely only a periphrasis for continued personality +and memory) “or pre-ordination of the nervous system and of the +organism; <i>it will be seen that this character of innateness does +not</i> <i>constitute an absolute distinction between instinct and intelligence</i>.</p> +<p>“It is true that intelligence is variable, but so also is instinct, +as we have seen. In winter, the Rhine beaver plasters his wall +to windward; once he was a builder, now a burrower; once he lived in +society, now he is solitary. Intelligence itself can scarcely +be more variable . . . instinct may be modified, lost, reawakened.</p> +<p>“Although intelligence is, as a rule, conscious, it may also +become unconscious and automatic, without losing its identity. +Neither is instinct always so blind, so mechanical, as is supposed, +for at times it is at fault. The wasp that has faultily trimmed +a leaf of its paper begins again. The bee only gives the hexagonal +form to its cell after many attempts and alterations. It is difficult +to believe that the loftier instincts” (and surely, then, the +more recent instincts) “of the higher animals are not accompanied +<i>by at least a confused consciousness</i>. There is, therefore, +no absolute distinction between instinct and intelligence; there is +not a single characteristic which, seriously considered, remains the +exclusive property of either. The contrast established between +instinctive acts and intellectual acts is, nevertheless, perfectly true, +but only when we compare the extremes. <i>As instinct rises it +approaches intelligence - as intelligence descends it approaches instinct</i>.”</p> +<p>M. Ribot and myself (if I may venture to say so) are continually +on the verge of coming to an understanding, when, at the very moment +that we seem most likely to do so, we fly, as it were, to opposite poles. +Surely the passage last quoted should be, “As instinct falls,” +<i>i.e</i>., becomes less and less certain of its ground, “it +approaches intelligence; as intelligence rises,” <i>i.e</i>., +becomes more and more convinced of the truth and expediency of its convictions +- “it approaches instinct.”</p> +<p>Enough has been said to show that the opinions which I am advancing +are not new, but I have looked in vain for the conclusions which, it +appears to me, M. Ribot should draw from his facts; throughout his interesting +book I find the facts which it would seem should have guided him to +the conclusions, and sometimes almost the conclusions themselves, but +he never seems quite to have reached them, nor has he arranged his facts +so that others are likely to deduce them, unless they had already arrived +at them by another road. I cannot, however, sufficiently express +my obligations to M. Ribot.</p> +<p>I cannot refrain from bringing forward a few more instances of what +I think must be considered by every reader as hereditary memory. +Sydney Smith writes:-</p> +<p>“Sir James Hall hatched some chickens in an oven. Within +a few minutes after the shell was broken, a spider was turned loose +before this very youthful brood; the destroyer of flies had hardly proceeded +more than a few inches, before he was descried by one of these oven-born +chickens, and, at one peck of his bill, immediately devoured. +This certainly was not imitation. A female goat very near delivery +died; Galen cut out the young kid, and placed before it a bundle of +hay, a bunch of fruit, and a pan of milk; the young kid smelt to them +all very attentively, and then began to lap the milk. This was +not imitation. And what is commonly and rightly called instinct, +cannot be explained away, under the notion of its being imitation” +(Lecture xvii. on Moral Philosophy).</p> +<p>It cannot, indeed, be explained away under the notion of its being +imitation, but I think it may well be so under that of its being memory.</p> +<p>Again, a little further on in the same lecture, as that above quoted +from, we find:-</p> +<p>“Ants and beavers lay up magazines. Where do they get +their knowledge that it will not be so easy to collect food in rainy +weather, as it is in summer? Men and women know these things, +because their grandpapas and grandmammas have told them so. Ants +hatched from the egg artificially, or birds hatched in this manner, +have all this knowledge by intuition, without the smallest communication +with any of their relations. Now observe what the solitary wasp +does; she digs several holes in the sand, in each of which she deposits +an egg, though she certainly knows not (?) that an animal is deposited +in that egg, and still less that this animal must be nourished with +other animals. She collects a few green flies, rolls them up neatly +in several parcels (like Bologna sausages), and stuffs one parcel into +each hole where an egg is deposited. When the wasp worm is hatched, +it finds a store of provision ready made; and what is most curious, +the quantity allotted to each is exactly sufficient to support it, till +it attains the period of wasphood, and can provide for itself. +This instinct of the parent wasp is the more remarkable as it does not +feed upon flesh itself. Here the little creature has never seen +its parent; for by the time it is born, the parent is always eaten by +sparrows; and yet, without the slightest education, or previous experience, +it does everything that the parent did before it. Now the objectors +to the doctrine of instinct may say what they please, but young tailors +have no intuitive method of making pantaloons; a new-born mercer cannot +measure diaper; nature teaches a cook’s daughter nothing about +sippets. All these things require with us seven years’ apprenticeship; +but insects are like Molière’s persons of quality - they +know everything (as Molière says), without having learnt anything. +‘Les gens de qualité savent tout, sans avoir rien appris.’”</p> +<p>How completely all difficulty vanishes from the facts so pleasantly +told in this passage when we bear in mind the true nature of personal +identity, the ordinary working of memory, and the vanishing tendency +of consciousness concerning what we know exceedingly well.</p> +<p>My last instance I take from M. Ribot, who writes:- “Gratiolet, +in his <i>Anatomie Comparèe du Système Nerveux</i>, states +that an old piece of wolf’s skin, with the hair all worn away, +when set before a little dog, threw the animal into convulsions of fear +by the slight scent attaching to it. The dog had never seen a +wolf, and we can only explain this alarm by the hereditary transmission +of certain sentiments, coupled with a certain perception of the sense +of smell” (“Heredity,” p. 43).</p> +<p>I should prefer to say “we can only explain the alarm by supposing +that the smell of the wolf’s skin” - the sense of smell +being, as we all know, more powerful to recall the ideas that have been +associated with it than any other sense - “brought up the ideas +with which it had been associated in the dog’s mind during many +previous existences” - he on smelling the wolf’s skin remembering +all about wolves perfectly well.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XII - INSTINCTS OF NEUTER INSECTS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In this chapter I will consider, as briefly as possible, the strongest +argument that I have been able to discover against the supposition that +instinct is chiefly due to habit. I have said “the strongest +argument;” I should have said, the only argument that struck me +as offering on the face of it serious difficulties.</p> +<p>Turning, then, to Mr. Darwin’s chapter on instinct (“Natural +Selection,” ed. 1876, p. 205), we find substantially much the +same views as those taken at a later date by M. Ribot, and referred +to in the preceding chapter. Mr. Darwin writes:-</p> +<p>“An action, which we ourselves require experience to enable +us to perform, when performed by an animal, more especially a very young +one, without experience, and when performed by many animals in the same +way without their knowing for what purpose it is performed, is usually +said to be instinctive.”</p> +<p>The above should strictly be, “without their being conscious +of their own knowledge concerning the purpose for which they act as +they do;” and though some may say that the two phrases come to +the same thing, I think there is an important difference, as what I +propose distinguishes ignorance from over-familiarity, both which states +are alike unself-conscious, though with widely different results.</p> +<p>“But I could show,” continues Mr. Darwin, “that +none of these characters are universal. A little dose of judgement +or reason, as Pierre Huber expresses it, often comes into play even +with animals low in the scale of nature.</p> +<p>“Frederick Cuvier and several of the older metaphysicians have +compared instinct with habit.”</p> +<p>I would go further and would say, that instinct, in the great majority +of cases, is habit pure and simple, contracted originally by some one +or more individuals; practised, probably, in a consciously intelligent +manner during many successive lives, until the habit has acquired the +highest perfection which the circumstances admitted; and, finally, so +deeply impressed upon the memory as to survive that effacement of minor +impressions which generally takes place in every fresh life-wave or +generation.</p> +<p>I would say, that unless the identity of offspring with their parents +be so far admitted that the children be allowed to remember the deeper +impressions engraved on the minds of those who begot them, it is little +less than trilling to talk, as so many writers do, about inherited habit, +or the experience of the race, or, indeed, accumulated variations of +instincts.</p> +<p>When an instinct is not habit, as resulting from memory pure and +simple, it is habit modified by some treatment, generally in the youth +or embryonic stages of the individual, which disturbs his memory, and +drives him on to some unusual course, inasmuch as he cannot recognise +and remember his usual one by reason of the change now made in it. +Habits and instincts, again, may be modified by any important change +in the condition of the parents, which will then both affect the parent’s +sense of his own identity, and also create more or less fault, or dislocation +of memory, in the offspring immediately behind the memory of his last +life. Change of food may at times be sufficient to create a specific +modification - that is to say, to affect all the individuals whose food +is so changed, in one and the same way - whether as regards structure +or habit. Thus we see that certain changes in food (and domicile), +from those with which its ancestors have been familiar, will disturb +the memory of a queen bee’s egg, and set it at such disadvantage +as to make it make itself into a neuter bee; but yet we find that the +larva thus partly aborted may have its memories restored to it, if not +already too much disturbed, and may thus return to its condition as +a queen bee, if it only again be restored to the food and domicile, +which its past memories can alone remember.</p> +<p>So we see that opium, tobacco, alcohol, hasheesh, and tea produce +certain effects upon our own structure and instincts. But though +capable of modification, and of specific modification, which may in +time become inherited, and hence resolve itself into a true instinct +or settled question, yet I maintain that the main bulk of the instinct +(whether as affecting structure or habits of life) will be derived from +memory pure and simple; the individual growing up in the shape he does, +and liking to do this or that when he is grown up, simply from recollection +of what he did last time, and of what on the whole suited him.</p> +<p>For it must be remembered that a drug which should destroy some one +part at an early embryonic stage, and thus prevent it from development, +would prevent the creature from recognising the surroundings which affected +that part when he was last alive and unmutilated, as being the same +as his present surroundings. He would be puzzled, for he would +be viewing the position from a different standpoint. If any important +item in a number of associated ideas disappears, the plot fails; and +a great internal change is an exceedingly important item. Life +and things to a creature so treated at an early embryonic stage would +not be life and things as he last remembered them; hence he would not +be able to do the same now as he did then; that is to say, he would +vary both in structure and instinct; but if the creature were tolerably +uniform to start with, and were treated in a tolerably uniform way, +we might expect the effect produced to be much the same in all ordinary +cases.</p> +<p>We see, also, that any important change in treatment and surroundings, +if not sufficient to kill, would and does tend to produce not only variability +but sterility, as part of the same story and for the same reason - namely, +default of memory; this default will be of every degree of intensity, +from total failure, to a slight disturbance of memory as affecting some +one particular organ only; that is to say, from total sterility, to +a slight variation in an unimportant part. So that even <i>the +slightest conceivable variations should be referred to changed conditions, +external or internal, and to their disturbing effects upon the memory</i>; +and sterility, without any apparent disease of the reproductive system, +may be referred not so much to special delicacy or susceptibility of +the organs of reproduction as to inability on the part of the creature +to know where it is, and to recognise itself as the same creature which +it has been accustomed to reproduce.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin thinks that the comparison of habit with instinct gives +“an accurate notion of the frame of mind under which an instinctive +action is performed, but not,” he thinks, “of its origin.”</p> +<p>“How unconsciously,” Mr. Darwin continues, “many +habitual actions are performed, indeed not rarely in direct opposition +to our conscious will! Yet they may be modified by the will or +by reason. Habits easily become associated with other habits, +with certain periods of time and states of body. When once acquired, +they often remain constant throughout life. Several other points +of resemblance between instincts and habits could be pointed out. +As in repeating a well-known song, so in instincts, one action follows +another by a sort of rhythm. If a person be interrupted in a song +or in repeating anything by rote, he is generally forced to go back +to recover the habitual train of thought; so P. Huber found it was with +a caterpillar, which makes a very complicated hammock. For if +he took a caterpillar which had completed its hammock up to, say, the +sixth stage of construction, and put it into a hammock completed up +only to the third stage, the caterpillar simply re-performed the fourth, +fifth, and sixth stages of construction. If, however, a caterpillar +were taken out of a hammock made up, for instance, to the third stage, +and were put into one finished up to the sixth stage, so that much of +its work was already done for it, far from deriving any benefit from +this, it was much embarrassed, and in order to complete its hammock, +seemed forced to start from the third stage, where it had left off, +and thus tried to complete the already finished work.”</p> +<p>I see I must have unconsciously taken my first chapter from this +passage, but it is immaterial. I owe Mr. Darwin much more than +this. I owe it to him that I believe in evolution at all. +I owe him for almost all the facts which have led me to differ from +him, and which I feel absolutely safe in taking for granted, if he has +advanced them. Nevertheless, I believe that the conclusion arrived +at in the passage which I will next quote is a mistaken one, and that +not a little only, but fundamentally. I shall therefore venture +to dispute it.</p> +<p>The passage runs:-</p> +<p>“If we suppose any habitual action to become inherited - and +it can be shown that this does sometimes happen - then the resemblance +between what originally was a habit and an instinct becomes so close +as not to be distinguished. . . . <i>But it would be a serious error +to suppose that the greater number of instincts have been acquired by +habit in one generation, and then transmitted by inheritance to succeeding +generations. It can be clearly shown that the most wonderful instincts +with which we are acquainted - namely, those of the hive-bee and of +many ants, could not possibly have been acquired by habit</i>.” +(“Origin of Species,” p. 206, ed. 1876.) The italics +in this passage are mine.</p> +<p>No difficulty is opposed to my view (as I call it, for the sake of +brevity) by such an instinct as that of ants to milk aphids. Such +instincts may be supposed to have been acquired in much the same way +as the instinct of a farmer to keep a cow. Accidental discovery +of the fact that the excretion was good, with “a little dose of +judgement or reason” from time to time appearing in an exceptionally +clever ant, and by him communicated to his fellows, till the habit was +so confirmed as to be capable of transmission in full unself-consciousness +(if indeed the instinct be unself-conscious in this case), would, I +think, explain this as readily as the slow and gradual accumulations +of instincts which had never passed through the intelligent and self-conscious +stage, but had always prompted action without any idea of a why or a +wherefore on the part of the creature itself.</p> +<p>For it must be remembered, as I am afraid I have already perhaps +too often said, that even when we have got a slight variation of instinct, +due to some cause which we know nothing about, but which I will not +even for a moment call “spontaneous” - a word that should +be cut out of every dictionary, or in some way branded as perhaps the +most misleading in the language - we cannot see how it comes to be repeated +in successive generations, so as to be capable of being acted upon by +“natural selection” and accumulated, unless it be also capable +of being remembered by the offspring of the varying creature. +It may be answered that we cannot know anything about this, but that +“like father like son” is an ultimate fact in nature. +I can only answer that I never observe any “like father like son” +without the son’s both having had every opportunity of remembering, +and showing every symptom of having remembered, in which case I decline +to go further than memory (whatever memory may be) as the cause of the +phenomenon.</p> +<p>But besides inheritance, teaching must be admitted as a means of +at any rate modifying an instinct. We observe this in our own +case; and we know that animals have great powers of communicating their +ideas to one another, though their manner of doing this is as incomprehensible +by us as a plant’s knowledge of chemistry, or the manner in which +an amœba makes its test, or a spider its web, without having gone +through a long course of mathematics. I think most readers will +allow that our early training and the theological systems of the last +eighteen hundred years are likely to have made us involuntarily under-estimate +the powers of animals low in the scale of life, both as regards intelligence +and the power of communicating their ideas to one another; but even +now we admit that ants have great powers in this respect.</p> +<p>A habit, however, which is taught to the young or each successive +generation, by older members of the community who have themselves received +it by instruction, should surely rank as an inherited habit, and be +considered as due to memory, though personal teaching be necessary to +complete the inheritance.</p> +<p>An objection suggests itself that if such a habit as the flight of +birds, which seems to require a little personal supervision and instruction +before it is acquired perfectly, were really due to memory, the need +of instruction would after a time cease, inasmuch as the creature would +remember its past method of procedure, and would thus come to need no +more teaching. The answer lies in the fact, that if a creature +gets to depend upon teaching and personal help for any matter, its memory +will make it look for such help on each repetition of the action; so +we see that no man’s memory will exert itself much until he is +thrown upon memory as his only resource. We may read a page of +a book a hundred times, but we do not remember it by heart unless we +have either cultivated our powers of learning to repeat, or have taken +pains to learn this particular page.</p> +<p>And whether we read from a book, or whether we repeat by heart, the +repetition is still due to memory; only in the one case the memory is +exerted to recall something which one saw only half a second ago, and +in the other, to recall something not seen for a much longer period. +So I imagine an instinct or habit may be called an inherited habit, +and assigned to memory, even though the memory dates, not from the performance +of the action by the learner when he was actually part of the personality +of the teacher, but rather from a performance witnessed by, or explained +by the teacher to, the pupil at a period subsequent to birth. +In either case the habit is inherited in the sense of being acquired +in one generation, and transmitted with such modifications as genius +and experience may have suggested.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin would probably admit this without hesitation; when, therefore, +he says that certain instincts could not possibly have been acquired +by habit, he must mean that they could not, under the circumstances, +have been remembered by the pupil in the person of the teacher, and +that it would be a serious error to suppose that the greater number +of instincts can be thus remembered. To which I assent readily +so far as that it is difficult (though not impossible) to see how some +of the most wonderful instincts of neuter ants and bees can be due to +the fact that the neuter ant or bee was ever in part, or in some respects, +another neuter ant or bee in a previous generation. At the same +time I maintain that this does not militate against the supposition +that both instinct and structure are in the main due to memory. +For the power of receiving any communication, and acting on it, is due +to memory; and the neuter ant or bee may have received its lesson from +another neuter ant or bee, who had it from another and modified it; +and so back and back, till the foundation of the habit is reached, and +is found to present little more than the faintest family likeness to +its more complex descendant. Surely Mr. Darwin cannot mean that +it can be shewn that the wonderful instincts of neuter ants and bees +cannot have been acquired either, as above, by instruction, or by some +not immediately obvious form of inherited transmission, but that they +must be due to the fact that the ant or bee is, as it were, such and +such a machine, of which if you touch such and such a spring, you will +get a corresponding action. If he does, he will find, so far as +I can see, no escape from a position very similar to the one which I +put into the mouth of the first of the two professors, who dealt with +the question of machinery in my earlier work, “Erewhon,” +and which I have since found that my great namesake made fun of in the +following lines:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>. . . “They now begun<br />To spur their living engines on.<br />For +as whipped tops and bandy’d balls,<br />The learned hold are animals:<br />So +horses they affirm to be<br />Mere engines made by geometry,<br />And +were invented first from engines<br />As Indian Britons were from Penguins.”<br /><i> - +Hudibras</i>, Canto ii. line 53, &c.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I can see, then, no difficulty in the development of the ordinary +so-called instincts, whether of ants or bees, or the cuckoo, or any +other animal, on the supposition that they were, for the most part, +intelligently acquired with more or less labour, as the case may be, +in much the same way as we see any art or science now in process of +acquisition among ourselves, but were ultimately remembered by offspring, +or communicated to it. When the limits of the race’s capacity +had been attained (and most races seem to have their limits, unsatisfactory +though the expression may very fairly be considered), or when the creature +had got into a condition, so to speak, of equilibrium with its surroundings, +there would be no new development of instincts, and the old ones would +cease to be improved, inasmuch as there would be no more reasoning or +difference of opinion concerning them. The race, therefore, or +species would remain in <i>statu quo</i> till either domesticated, and +so brought into contact with new ideas and placed in changed conditions, +or put under such pressure, in a wild state, as should force it to further +invention, or extinguish it if incapable of rising to the occasion. +That instinct and structure may be acquired by practice in one or more +generations, and remembered in succeeding ones, is admitted by Mr. Darwin, +for he allows (“Origin of Species,” p. 206) that habitual +action does sometimes become inherited, and, though he does not seem +to conceive of such action as due to memory, yet it is inconceivable +how it is inherited, if not as the result of memory.</p> +<p>It must be admitted, however, that when we come to consider the structures +as well as the instincts of some of the neuter insects, our difficulties +seem greatly increased. The neuter hive-bees have a cavity in +their thighs in which to keep the wax, which it is their business to +collect; but the drones and queen, which alone bear offspring, collect +no wax, and therefore neither want, nor have, any such cavity. +The neuter bees are also, if I understand rightly, furnished with a +proboscis or trunk for extracting honey from flowers, whereas the fertile +bees, who gather no honey, have no such proboscis. Imagine, if +the reader will, that the neuter bees differ still more widely from +the fertile ones; how, then, can they in any sense be said to derive +organs from their parents, which not one of their parents for millions +of generations has ever had? How, again, can it be supposed that +they transmit these organs to the future neuter members of the community +when they are perfectly sterile?</p> +<p>One can understand that the young neuter bee might be taught to make +a hexagonal cell (though I have not found that any one has seen the +lesson being given) inasmuch as it does not make the cell till after +birth, and till after it has seen other neuter bees who might tell it +much in, <i>quâ</i> us, a very little time; but we can hardly +understand its growing a proboscis before it could possibly want it, +or preparing a cavity in its thigh, to have it ready to put wax into, +when none of its predecessors had ever done so, by supposing oral communication, +during the larvahood. Nevertheless, it must not be forgotten that +bees seem to know secrets about reproduction, which utterly baffle ourselves; +for example, the queen bee appears to know how to deposit male or female, +eggs at will; and this is a matter of almost inconceivable sociological +importance, denoting a corresponding amount of sociological and physiological +knowledge generally. It should not, then, surprise us if the race +should possess other secrets, whose working we are unable to follow, +or even detect at all.</p> +<p>Sydney Smith, indeed, writes:-</p> +<p>“The warmest admirers of honey, and the greatest friends to +bees, will never, I presume, contend that the young swarm, who begin +making honey three or four months after they are born, and immediately +construct these mathematical cells, should have gained their geometrical +knowledge as we gain ours, and in three months’ time outstrip +Mr. Maclaurin in mathematics as much as they did in making honey. +It would take a senior wrangler at Cambridge ten hours a day for three +years together to know enough mathematics for the calculation of these +problems, with which not only every queen bee, but every undergraduate +grub, is acquainted the moment it is born.” This last statement +may be a little too strong, but it will at once occur to the reader, +that as we know the bees <i>do</i> surpass Mr. Maclaurin in the power +of making honey, they may also surpass him in capacity for those branches +of mathematics with which it has been their business to be conversant +during many millions of years, and also in knowledge of physiology and +psychology in so far as the knowledge bears upon the interests of their +own community.</p> +<p>We know that the larva which develops into a neuter bee, and that +again which in time becomes a queen bee, are the same kind of larva +to start with; and that if you give one of these larvæ the food +and treatment which all its foremothers have been accustomed to, it +will turn out with all the structure and instincts of its foremothers +- and that it only fails to do this because it has been fed, and otherwise +treated, in such a manner as not one of its foremothers was ever yet +fed or treated. So far, this is exactly what we should expect, +on the view that structure and instinct are alike mainly due to memory, +or to medicined memory. Give the larva a fair chance of knowing +where it is, and it shows that it remembers by doing exactly what it +did before. Give it a different kind of food and house, and it +cannot be expected to be anything else than puzzled. It remembers +a great deal. It comes out a bee, and nothing but a bee; but it +is an aborted bee; it is, in fact, mutilated before birth instead of +after - with instinct, as well as growth, correlated to its abortion, +as we see happens frequently in the case of animals a good deal higher +than bees that have been mutilated at a stage much later than that at +which the abortion of neuter bees commences.</p> +<p>The larvæ being similar to start with, and being similarly +mutilated - i.e., by change of food and dwelling, will naturally exhibit +much similarity of instinct and structure on arriving at maturity. +When driven from their usual course, they must take <i>some</i> new +course or die. There is nothing strange in the fact that similar +beings puzzled similarly should take a similar line of action. +I grant, however, that it is hard to see how change of food and treatment +can puzzle an insect into such “complex growth” as that +it should make a cavity in its thigh, grow an invaluable proboscis, +and betray a practical knowledge of difficult mathematical problems.</p> +<p>But it must be remembered that the memory of having been queen bees +and drones - which is all that according to my supposition the larvæ +can remember, (on a first view of the case), in their own proper persons +- would nevertheless carry with it a potential recollection of all the +social arrangements of the hive. They would thus potentially remember +that the mass of the bees were always neuter bees; they would remember +potentially the habits of these bees, so far as drones and queens know +anything about them; and this may be supposed to be a very thorough +acquaintance; in like manner, and with the same limitation, they would +know from the very moment that they left the queen’s body that +neuter bees had a proboscis to gather honey with, and cavities in their +thighs to put wax into, and that cells were to be made with certain +angles - for surely it is not crediting the queen with more knowledge +than she is likely to possess, if we suppose her to have a fair acquaintance +with the phenomena of wax and cells generally, even though she does +not make any; they would know (while still larvæ - and earlier) +the kind of cells into which neuter bees were commonly put, and the +kind of treatment they commonly received - they might therefore, as +eggs - immediately on finding their recollection driven from its usual +course, so that they must either find some other course, or die - know +that they were being treated as neuter bees are treated, and that they +were expected to develop into neuter bees accordingly; they might know +all this, and a great deal more into the bargain, inasmuch as even before +being actually deposited as eggs they would know and remember potentially, +but unconsciously, all that their parents knew and remembered intensely. +Is it, then, astonishing that they should adapt themselves so readily +to the position which they know it is for the social welfare of the +community, and hence of themselves, that they should occupy, and that +they should know that they will want a cavity in their thighs and a +proboscis, and hence make such implements out of their protoplasm as +readily as they make their wings?</p> +<p>I admit that, under normal treatment, none of the above-mentioned +potential memories would be kindled into such a state of activity that +action would follow upon them, until the creature had attained a more +or less similar condition to that in which its parent was when these +memories were active within its mind: but the essence of the matter +is, that these larvæ have been treated <i>abnormally</i>, so that +if they do not die, there is nothing for it but that they must vary. +One cannot argue from the normal to the abnormal. It would not, +then, be strange if the potential memories should (owing to the margin +for premature or tardy development which association admits) serve to +give the puzzled larvæ a hint as to the course which they had +better take, or that, at any rate, it should greatly supplement the +instruction of the “nurse” bees themselves by rendering +the larvæ so, as it were, inflammable on this point, that a spark +should set them in a blaze. Abortion is generally premature. +Thus the scars referred to in the last chapter as having appeared on +the children of men who had been correspondingly wounded, should not, +under normal circumstances, have appeared in the offspring till the +children had got fairly near the same condition generally as that in +which their fathers were when they were wounded, and even then, normally, +there should have been an instrument to wound them, much as their fathers +had been wounded. Association, however, does not always stick +to the letter of its bond.</p> +<p>The line, again, might certainly be taken that the difference in +structure and instincts between neuter and fertile bees is due to the +specific effects of certain food and treatment; yet, though one would +be sorry to set limits to the convertibility of food and genius, it +seems hard to believe that there can be any untutored food which should +teach a bee to make a hexagonal cell as soon as it was born, or which, +before it was born, should teach it to prepare such structures as it +would require in after life. If, then, food be considered as a +direct agent in causing the structures and instinct, and not an indirect +agent, merely indicating to the larva itself that it is to make itself +after the fashion of neuter bees, then we should bear in mind that, +at any rate, it has been leavened and prepared in the stomachs of those +neuter bees into which the larva is now expected to develop itself, +and may thus have in it more true germinative matter - gemmules, in +fact - than is commonly supposed. Food, when sufficiently assimilated +(the whole question turning upon what <i>is</i> “sufficiently”), +becomes stored with all the experience and memories of the assimilating +creature; corn becomes hen, and knows nothing but hen, when hen has +eaten it. We know also that the neuter working-bees inject matter +into the cell after the larva has been produced; nor would it seem harsh +to suppose that though devoid of a reproductive system like that of +their parents, they may yet be practically not so neuter as is commonly +believed. One cannot say what gemmules of thigh and proboscis +may not have got into the neutral bees’ stomachs, if they assimilate +their food sufficiently, and thus into the larva.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin will be the first to admit that though a creature have +no reproductive system, in any ordinary sense of the word, yet every +unit or cell of its body may throw off gemmules which may be free to +move over every part of the whole organism, and which “natural +selection” might in time cause to stray into food which had been +sufficiently prepared in the stomachs of the neuter bees.</p> +<p>I cannot say, then, precisely in what way, but I can see no reason +for doubting that in some of the ways suggested above, or in some combination +of them, the phenomena of the instincts of neuter ants and bees can +be brought into the same category as the instincts and structure of +fertile animals. At any rate, I see the great fact that when treated +as they have been accustomed to be treated, these neuters act as though +they remembered, and accordingly become queen bees; and that they only +depart from their ancestral course on being treated in such fashion +as their ancestors can never have remembered; also, that when they have +been thrown off their accustomed line of thought and action, they only +take that of their nurses, who have been about them from the moment +of their being deposited as eggs by the queen bee, who have fed them +from their own bodies, and between whom and them there may have been +all manner of physical and mental communication, of which we know no +more than we do of the power which enables a bee to find its way home +after infinite shifting and turning among flowers, which no human powers +could systematise so as to avoid confusion.</p> +<p>Or take it thus: We know that mutilation at an early age produces +an effect upon the structure and instincts of cattle, sheep, and horses; +and it might be presumed that if feasible at an earlier age, it would +produce a still more marked effect. We observe that the effect +produced is uniform, or nearly so. Suppose mutilation to produce +a little more effect than it does, as we might easily do, if cattle, +sheep, and horses had been for ages accustomed to a mutilated class +living among them, which class had been always a caste apart, and had +fed the young neuters from their own bodies, from an early embryonic +stage onwards; would any one in this case dream of advancing the structure +and instincts of this mutilated class against the doctrine that instinct +is inherited habit? Or, if inclined to do this, would he not at +once refrain, on remembering that the process of mutilation might be +arrested, and the embryo be developed into an entire animal by simply +treating it in the way to which all its ancestors had been accustomed? +Surely he would not allow the difficulty (which I must admit in some +measure to remain) to outweigh the evidence derivable from these very +neuter insects themselves, as well as from such a vast number of other +sources - all pointing in the direction of instinct as inherited habit. +<a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a></p> +<p>Lastly, it must be remembered that the instinct to make cells and +honey is one which has no very great hold upon its possessors. +Bees <i>can</i> make cells and honey, nor do they seem to have any very +violent objection to doing so; but it is quite clear that there is nothing +in their structure and instincts which urges them on to do these things +for the mere love of doing them, as a hen is urged to sit upon a chalk +stone, concerning which she probably is at heart utterly sceptical, +rather than not sit at all. There is no honey and cell-making +instinct so strong as the instinct to eat, if they are hungry, or to +grow wings, and make themselves into bees at all. Like ourselves, +so long as they can get plenty to eat and drink, they will do no work. +Under these circumstances, not one drop of honey nor one particle of +wax will they collect, except, I presume, to make cells for the rearing +of their young.</p> +<p>Sydney Smith writes:-</p> +<p>“The most curious instance of a change of instinct is recorded +by Darwin. The bees carried over to Barbadoes and the Western +Isles ceased to lay up any honey after the first year, as they found +it not useful to them. They found the weather so fine, and materials +for making honey so plentiful, that they quitted their grave, prudent, +and mercantile character, became exceedingly profligate and debauched, +ate up their capital, resolved to work no more, and amused themselves +by flying about the sugar-houses and stinging the blacks” (Lecture +XVII. on Moral Philosophy). The ease, then, with which the honey-gathering +and cell-making habits are relinquished, would seem to point strongly +in the direction of their acquisition at a comparatively late period +of development.</p> +<p>I have dealt with bees only, and not with ants, which would perhaps +seem to present greater difficulty, inasmuch as in some families of +these there are two, or even three, castes of neuters with well-marked +and wide differences of structure and instinct; but I think the reader +will agree with me that the ants are sufficiently covered by the bees, +and that enough, therefore, has been said already. Mr. Darwin +supposes that these modifications of structure and instinct have been +effected by the accumulation of numerous slight, profitable, spontaneous +variations on the part of the fertile parents, which has caused them +(so, at least, I understand him) to lay this or that particular kind +of egg, which should develop into a kind of bee or ant, with this or +that particular instinct, which instinct is merely a co-ordination with +structure, and in no way attributable to use or habit in preceding generations.</p> +<p>Even so, one cannot see that the habit of laying this particular +kind of egg might not be due to use and memory in previous generations +on the part of the fertile parents, “for the numerous slight spontaneous +variations,” on which “natural selection” is to work, +must have had some cause than which none more reasonable than sense +of need and experience presents itself; and there seems hardly any limit +to what long-continued faith and desire, aided by intelligence, may +be able to effect. But if sense of need and experience are denied, +I see no escape from the view that machines are new species of life.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin concludes: “I am surprised that no one has hitherto +advanced this demonstrative case of neuter insects against the well-known +doctrine of inherited habit as advanced by Lamarck” (“Natural +Selection,” p. 233, ed. 1876).</p> +<p>After reading this, one feels as though there was no more to be said. +The well-known doctrine of inherited habit, as advanced by Lamarck, +has indeed been long since so thoroughly exploded, that it is not worth +while to go into an explanation of what it was, or to refute it in detail. +Here, however, is an argument against it, which is so much better than +anything advanced yet, that one is surprised it has never been made +use of; so we will just advance it, as it were, to slay the slain, and +pass on. Such, at least, is the effect which the paragraph above +quoted produced upon myself, and would, I think, produce on the great +majority of readers. When driven by the exigencies of my own position +to examine the value of the demonstration more closely, I conclude, +either that I have utterly failed to grasp Mr. Darwin’s meaning, +or that I have no less completely mistaken the value and bearing of +the facts I have myself advanced in these few last pages. Failing +this, my surprise is, not that “no one has hitherto advanced” +the instincts of neuter insects as a demonstrative case against the +doctrine of inherited habit, but rather that Mr. Darwin should have +thought the case demonstrative; or again, when I remember that the neuter +working bee is only an aborted queen, and may be turned back again into +a queen, by giving it such treatment as it can alone be expected to +remember - then I am surprised that the structure and instincts of neuter +bees has never (if never) been brought forward in support of the doctrine +of inherited habit as advanced by Lamarck, and against any theory which +would rob such instincts of their foundation in intelligence, and of +their connection with experience and memory.</p> +<p>As for the instinct to mutilate, that is as easily accounted for +as any other inherited habit, whether of man to mutilate cattle, or +of ants to make slaves, or of birds to make their nests. I can +see no way of accounting for the existence of any one of these instincts, +except on the supposition that they have arisen gradually, through perceptions +of power and need on the part of the animal which exhibits them - these +two perceptions advancing hand in hand from generation to generation, +and being accumulated in time and in the common course of nature.</p> +<p>I have already sufficiently guarded against being supposed to maintain +that very long before an instinct or structure was developed, the creature +descried it in the far future, and made towards it. We do not +observe this to be the manner of human progress. Our mechanical +inventions, which, as I ventured to say in “Erewhon,” through +the mouth of the second professor, are really nothing but extra-corporaneous +limbs - a wooden leg being nothing but a bad kind of flesh leg, and +a flesh leg being only a much better kind of wooden leg than any creature +could be expected to manufacture introspectively and consciously - our +mechanical inventions have almost invariably grown up from small beginnings, +and without any very distant foresight on the part of the inventors. +When Watt perfected the steam engine, he did not, it seems, foresee +the locomotive, much less would any one expect a savage to invent a +steam engine. A child breathes automatically, because it has learnt +to breathe little by little, and has now breathed for an incalculable +length of time; but it cannot open oysters at all, nor even conceive +the idea of opening oysters for two or three years after it is born, +for the simple reason that this lesson is one which it is only beginning +to learn. All I maintain is, that, give a child as many generations +of practice in opening oysters as it has had in breathing or sucking, +and it would on being born, turn to the oyster-knife no less naturally +than to the breast. We observe that among certain families of +men there has been a tendency to vary in the direction of the use and +development of machinery; and that in a certain still smaller number +of families, there seems to be an almost infinitely great capacity for +varying and inventing still further, whether socially or mechanically; +while other families, and perhaps the greater number, reach a certain +point and stop; but we also observe that not even the most inventive +races ever see very far ahead. I suppose the progress of plants +and animals to be exactly analogous to this.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin has always maintained that the effects of use and disuse +are highly important in the development of structure, and if, as he +has said, habits are sometimes inherited - then they should sometimes +be important also in the development of instinct, or habit. But +what does the development of an instinct or structure, or, indeed, any +effect upon the organism produced by “use and disuse,” imply? +It implies an effect produced by a desire to do something for which +the organism was not originally well adapted or sufficient, but for +which it has come to be sufficient in consequence of the desire. +The wish has been father to the power; but this again opens up the whole +theory of Lamarck, that the development of organs has been due to the +wants or desires of the animal in which the organ appears. So +far as I can see, I am insisting on little more than this.</p> +<p>Once grant that a blacksmith’s arm grows thicker through hammering +iron, and you have an organ modified in accordance with a need or wish. +Let the desire and the practice be remembered, and go on for long enough, +and the slight alterations of the organ will be accumulated, until they +are checked either by the creature’s having got all that he cares +about making serious further effort to obtain, or until his wants prove +inconvenient to other creatures that are stronger than he, and he is +hence brought to a standstill. Use and disuse, then, with me, +and, as I gather also, with Lamarck, are the keys to the position, coupled, +of course, with continued personality and memory. No sudden and +striking changes would be effected, except that occasionally a blunder +might prove a happy accident, as happens not unfrequently with painters, +musicians, chemists, and inventors at the present day; or sometimes +a creature, with exceptional powers of memory or reflection, would make +his appearance in this race or in that. We all profit by our accidents +as well as by our more cunning contrivances, so that analogy would point +in the direction of thinking that many of the most happy thoughts in +the animal and vegetable kingdom were originated much as certain discoveries +that have been made by accident among ourselves. These would be +originally blind variations, though even so, probably less blind than +we think, if we could know the whole truth. When originated, they +would be eagerly taken advantage of and improved upon by the animal +in whom they appeared; but it cannot be supposed that they would be +very far in advance of the last step gained, more than are those “flukes” +which sometimes enable us to go so far beyond our own ordinary powers. +For if they were, the animal would despair of repeating them. +No creature hopes, or even wishes, for very much more than he has been +accustomed to all his life, he and his family, and the others whom he +can understand, around him. It has been well said that “enough” +is always “a little more than one has.” We do not +try for things which we believe to be beyond our reach, hence one would +expect that the fortunes, as it were, of animals should have been built +up gradually. Our own riches grow with our desires and the pains +we take in pursuit of them, and our desires vary and increase with our +means of gratifying them; but unless with men of exceptional business +aptitude, wealth grows gradually by the adding field to field and farm +to farm; so with the limbs and instincts of animals; these are but the +things they have made or bought with their money, or with money that +has been left them by their forefathers, which, though it is neither +silver nor gold, but faith and protoplasm only, is good money and capital +notwithstanding.</p> +<p>I have already admitted that instinct may be modified by food or +drugs, which may affect a structure or habit as powerfully as we see +certain poisons affect the structure of plants by producing, as Mr. +Darwin tells us, very complex galls upon their leaves. I do not, +therefore, for a moment insist on habit as the sole cause of instinct. +Every habit must have had its originating cause, and the causes which +have started one habit will from time to time start or modify others; +nor can I explain why some individuals of a race should be cleverer +than others, any more than I can explain why they should exist at all; +nevertheless, I observe it to be a fact that differences in intelligence +and power of growth are universal in the individuals of all those races +which we can best watch. I also most readily admit that the common +course of nature would both cause many variations to arise independently +of any desire on the part of the animal (much as we have lately seen +that the moons of Mars were on the point of being discovered three hundred +years ago, merely through Galileo sending to Kepler a Latin anagram +which Kepler could not understand, and arranged into the line - “<i>Salve +umbistineum geminatum Martia prolem</i>,” and interpreted to mean +that Mars had two moons, whereas Galileo had meant to say “<i>Altissimum +planetam tergeminum observavi</i>,” meaning that he had seen Saturn’s +ring), and would also preserve and accumulate such variations when they +had arisen; but I can no more believe that the wonderful adaptation +of structures to needs, which we see around us in such an infinite number +of plants and animals, can have arisen without a perception of those +needs on the part of the creature in whom the structure appears, than +I can believe that the form of the dray-horse or greyhound - so well +adapted both to the needs of the animal in his daily service to man, +and to the desires of man, that the creature should do him this daily +service - can have arisen without any desire on man’s part to +produce this particular structure, or without the inherited habit of +performing the corresponding actions for man, on the part of the greyhound +and dray-horse.</p> +<p>And I believe that this will be felt as reasonable by the great majority +of my readers. I believe that nine fairly intelligent and observant +men out of ten, if they were asked which they thought most likely to +have been the main cause of the development of the various phases either +of structure or instinct which we see around us, namely - sense of need, +or even whim, and hence occasional discovery, helped by an occasional +piece of good luck, communicated, it may be, and generally adopted, +long practised, remembered by offspring, modified by changed surroundings, +and accumulated in the course of time - or, the accumulation of small +divergent, indefinite, and perfectly unintelligent variations, preserved +through the survival of their possessor in the struggle for existence, +and hence in time leading to wide differences from the original type +- would answer in favour of the former alternative; and if for no other +cause yet for this - that in the human race, which we are best able +to watch, and between which and the lower animals no difference in kind +will, I think, be supposed, but only in degree, we observe that progress +must have an internal current setting in a definite direction, but whither +we know not for very long beforehand; and that without such internal +current there is stagnation. Our own progress - or variation - +is due not to small, fortuitous inventions or modifications which have +enabled their fortunate possessors to survive in times of difficulty, +not, in fact, to strokes of luck (though these, of course, have had +some effect - but not more, probably, than strokes of ill luck have +counteracted) but to strokes of cunning - to a sense of need, and to +study of the past and present which have given shrewd people a key with +which to unlock the chambers of the future.</p> +<p>Further, Mr. Darwin himself says (“Plants and Animals under +Domestication,” ii. p. 237, ed. 1875):-</p> +<p>“But I think we must take a broader view and conclude that +organic beings when subjected during several generations to any change +whatever in their conditions tend to vary: <i>the kind of variation +which ensues depending in most cases in a far higher degree on the nature +or constitution of the being, than on the nature of the changed conditions</i>.” +And this we observe in man. The history of a man prior to his +birth is more important as far as his success or failure goes than his +surroundings after birth, important though these may indeed be. +The able man rises in spite of a thousand hindrances, the fool fails +in spite of every advantage. “Natural selection,” +however, does not make either the able man or the fool. It only +deals with him after other causes have made him, and would seem in the +end to amount to little more than to a statement of the fact that when +variations have arisen they will accumulate. One cannot look, +as has already been said, for the origin of species in that part of +the course of nature which settles the preservation or extinction of +variations which have already arisen from some unknown cause, but one +must look for it in the causes that have led to variation at all. +These causes must get, as it were, behind the back of “natural +selection,” which is rather a shield and hindrance to our perception +of our own ignorance than an explanation of what these causes are.</p> +<p>The remarks made above will apply equally to plants such as the misletoe +and red clover. For the sake of brevity I will deal only with +the misletoe, which seems to be the more striking case. Mr. Darwin +writes:-</p> +<p>“Naturalists continually refer to external conditions, such +as climate, food, &c., as the only possible cause of variation. +In one limited sense, as we shall hereafter see, this may be true; but +it is preposterous to attribute to mere external conditions, the structure, +for instance, of the woodpecker, with its feet, tail, beak, and tongue, +so admirably adapted to catch insects under the bark of trees. +In the case of the misletoe, which draws its nourishment from certain +trees, which has seeds that must be transported by certain birds, and +which has flowers with separate sexes absolutely requiring the agency +of certain insects to bring pollen from one flower to another, it is +equally preposterous to account for the structure of this parasite with +its relations to several distinct organic beings, by the effect of external +conditions, or of habit, or of the volition of the plant itself” +(“Natural Selection,” p. 3, ed. 1876).</p> +<p>I cannot see this. To me it seems still more preposterous to +account for it by the action of “natural selection” operating +upon indefinite variations. It would be preposterous to suppose +that a bird very different from a woodpecker should have had a conception +of a woodpecker, and so by volition gradually grown towards it. +So in like manner with the misletoe. Neither plant nor bird knew +how far they were going, or saw more than a very little ahead as to +the means of remedying this or that with which they were dissatisfied, +or of getting this or that which they desired; but given perceptions +at all, and thus a sense of needs and of the gratification of those +needs, and thus hope and fear, and a sense of content and discontent +- given also the lowest power of gratifying those needs - given also +that some individuals have these powers in a higher degree than others +- given also continued personality and memory over a vast extent of +time - and the whole phenomena of species and genera resolve themselves +into an illustration of the old proverb, that what is one man’s +meat is another man’s poison. Life in its lowest form under +the above conditions - and we cannot conceive of life at all without +them - would be bound to vary, and to result after not so very many +millions of years in the infinite forms and instincts which we see around +us.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII - LAMARCK AND MR. DARWIN</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It will have been seen that in the preceding pages the theory of +evolution, as originally propounded by Lamarck, has been more than once +supported, as against the later theory concerning it put forward by +Mr. Darwin, and now generally accepted.</p> +<p>It is not possible for me, within the limits at my command, to do +anything like justice to the arguments that may be brought forward in +favour of either of these two theories. Mr. Darwin’s books +are at the command of every one; and so much has been discovered since +Lamarck’s day, that if he were living now, he would probably state +his case very differently; I shall therefore content myself with a few +brief remarks, which will hardly, however, aspire to the dignity of +argument.</p> +<p>According to Mr. Darwin, differentiations of structure and instinct +have mainly come about through the accumulation of small, fortuitous +variations without intelligence or desire upon the part of the creature +varying; modification, however, through desire and sense of need, is +not denied entirely, inasmuch as considerable effect is ascribed by +Mr. Darwin to use and disuse, which involves, as has been already said, +the modification of a structure in accordance with the wishes of its +possessor.</p> +<p>According to Lamarck, genera and species have been evolved, in the +main, by exactly the same process as that by which human inventions +and civilisations are now progressing; and this involves that intelligence, +ingenuity, heroism, and all the elements of romance, should have had +the main share in the development of every herb and living creature +around us.</p> +<p>I take the following brief outline of the most important part of +Lamarck’s theory from vol. xxxvi. of the Naturalist’s Library +(Edinburgh, 1843):-</p> +<p>“The more simple bodies,” says the editor, giving Lamarck’s +opinion without endorsing it, “are easily formed, and this being +the case, it is easy to conceive how in the lapse of time animals of +a more complex structure should be produced, <i>for it must be admitted +as a fundamental law, that the production of a new organ in an animal +body results from any new want or desire it may experience</i>. +The first effort of a being just beginning to develop itself must be +to procure subsistence, and hence in time there comes to be produced +a stomach or alimentary cavity.” (Thus we saw that the amœba +is in the habit of “extemporising” a stomach when it wants +one.) “Other wants occasioned by circumstances will lead +to other efforts, which in their turn will generate new organs.”</p> +<p>Lamarck’s wonderful conception was hampered by an unnecessary +adjunct, namely, a belief in an inherent tendency towards progressive +development in every low organism. He was thus driven to account +for the presence of many very low and very ancient organisms at the +present day, and fell back upon the theory, which is not yet supported +by evidence, that such low forms are still continually coming into existence +from inorganic matter. But there seems no necessity to suppose +that all low forms should possess an inherent tendency towards progression. +It would be enough that there should occasionally arise somewhat more +gifted specimens of one or more original forms. These would vary, +and the ball would be thus set rolling, while the less gifted would +remain <i>in statu quo</i>, provided they were sufficiently gifted to +escape extinction.</p> +<p>Nor do I gather that Lamarck insisted on continued personality and +memory so as to account for heredity at all, and so as to see life as +a single, or as at any rate, only a few, vast compound animals, but +without the connecting organism between each component item in the whole +creature, which is found in animals that are strictly called compound. +Until continued personality and memory are connected with the idea of +heredity, heredity of any kind is little more than a term for something +which one does not understand. But there seems little <i>à +priori</i> difficulty as regards Lamarck’s main idea, now that +Mr. Darwin has familiarised us with evolution, and made us feel what +a vast array of facts can be brought forward in support of it.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin tells us, in the preface to his last edition of the “Origin +of Species,” that Lamarck was partly led to his conclusions by +the analogy of domestic productions. It is rather hard to say +what these words imply; they may mean anything from a baby to an apple +dumpling, but if they imply that Lamarck drew inspirations from the +gradual development of the mechanical inventions of man, and from the +progress of man’s ideas, I would say that of all sources this +would seem to be the safest and most fertile from which to draw.</p> +<p>Plants and animals under domestication are indeed a suggestive field +for study, but machines are the manner in which man is varying at this +moment. We know how our own minds work, and how our mechanical +organisations - for, in all sober seriousness, this is what it comes +to - have progressed hand in hand with our desires; sometimes the power +a little ahead, and sometimes the desire; sometimes both combining to +form an organ with almost infinite capacity for variation, and sometimes +comparatively early reaching the limit of utmost development in respect +of any new conception, and accordingly coming to a full stop; sometimes +making leaps and bounds, and sometimes advancing sluggishly. Here +we are behind the scenes, and can see how the whole thing works. +We have man, the very animal which we can best understand, caught in +the very act of variation, through his own needs, and not through the +needs of others; the whole process is a natural one; the varying of +a creature as much in a wild state as the ants and butterflies are wild. +There is less occasion here for the continual “might be” +and “may be,” which we are compelled to put up with when +dealing with plants and animals, of the workings of whose minds we can +only obscurely judge. Also, there is more prospect of pecuniary +profit attaching to the careful study of machinery than can be generally +hoped for from the study of the lower animals; and though I admit that +this consideration should not be carried too far, a great deal of very +unnecessary suffering will be spared to the lower animals; for much +that passes for natural history is little better than prying into other +people’s business, from no other motive than curiosity. +I would, therefore, strongly advise the reader to use man, and the present +races of man, and the growing inventions and conceptions of man, as +his guide, if he would seek to form an independent judgement on the +development of organic life. For all growth is only somebody making +something.</p> +<p>Lamarck’s theories fell into disrepute, partly because they +were too startling to be capable of ready fusion with existing ideas; +they were, in fact, too wide a cross for fertility; partly because they +fell upon evil times, during the reaction that followed the French Revolution; +partly because, unless I am mistaken, he did not sufficiently link on +the experience of the race to that of the individual, nor perceive the +importance of the principle that consciousness, memory, volition, intelligence, +&c., vanish, or become latent, on becoming intense. He also +appears to have mixed up matter with his system, which was either plainly +wrong, or so incapable of proof as to enable people to laugh at him, +and pooh-pooh him; but I believe it will come to be perceived, that +he has received somewhat scant justice at the hands of his successors, +and that his “crude theories,” as they have been somewhat +cheaply called, are far from having had their last say.</p> +<p>Returning to Mr. Darwin, we find, as we have already seen, that it +is hard to say exactly how much Mr. Darwin differs from Lamarck, and +how much he agrees with him. Mr. Darwin has always maintained +that use and disuse are highly important, and this implies that the +effect produced on the parent should be remembered by the offspring, +in the same way as the memory of a wound is transmitted by one set of +cells to succeeding ones, who long repeat the scar, though it may fade +finally away. Also, after dealing with the manner in which one +eye of a young flat-fish travels round the head till both eyes are on +the same side of the fish, he gives (“Natural Selection,” +p. 188, ed. 1875) an instance of a structure “which apparently +owes its origin exclusively to use or habit.” He refers +to the tail of some American monkeys “which has been converted +into a wonderfully perfect prehensile organ, and serves as a fifth hand. +A reviewer,” he continues, . . . “remarks on this +structure - ‘It is impossible to believe that in any number of +ages the first slight incipient tendency to grasp, could preserve the +lives of the individuals possessing it, or favour their chance of having +and of rearing offspring.’ But there is no necessity for +any such belief. Habit, and this almost implies that some benefit, +great or small, is thus derived, would in all probability suffice for +the work.” If, then, habit can do this - and it is no small +thing to develop a wonderfully perfect prehensile organ which can serve +as a fifth hand - how much more may not habit do, even though unaided, +as Mr. Darwin supposes to have been the case in this instance, by “natural +selection”? After attributing many of the structural and +instinctive differences of plants and animals to the effects of use +- as we may plainly do with Mr. Darwin’s own consent - after attributing +a good deal more to unknown causes, and a good deal to changed conditions, +which are bound, if at all important, to result either in sterility +or variation - how much of the work of originating species is left for +natural selection? - which, as Mr. Darwin admits (“Natural Selection,” +p. 63, ed. 1876), does not <i>induce variability</i>, but “implies +only the preservation of <i>such variations as arise</i>, and are beneficial +to the being under its conditions of life?” An important +part assuredly, and one which we can never sufficiently thank Mr. Darwin +for having put so forcibly before us, but an indirect part only, like +the part played by time and space, and not, I think, the one which Mr. +Darwin would assign to it.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin himself has admitted that in the earlier editions of his +“Origin of Species” he “underrated, as it now seems +probable, the frequency and importance of modifications due to spontaneous +variability.” And this involves the having over-rated the +action of “natural selection” as an agent in the evolution +of species. But one gathers that he still believes the accumulation +of small and fortuitous variations through the agency of “natural +selection” to be the main cause of the present divergencies of +structure and instinct. I do not, however, think that Mr. Darwin +is clear about his own meaning. I think the prominence given to +“natural selection” in connection with the “origin +of species” has led him, in spite of himself, and in spite of +his being on his guard (as is clearly shown by the paragraph on page +63 “Natural Selection,” above referred to), to regard “natural +selection” as in some way accounting for variation, just as the +use of the dangerous word “spontaneous,” - though he is +so often on his guard against it, and so frequently prefaces it with +the words “so-called,” - would seem to have led him into +very serious confusion of thought in the passage quoted at the beginning +of this paragraph.</p> +<p>For after saying that he had underrated “the frequency and +importance of modifications due to spontaneous variability,” he +continues, “but it is impossible to attribute to this cause the +innumerable structures which are so well adapted to the habits of life +of each species.” That is to say, it is impossible to attribute +these innumerable structures to spontaneous variability.</p> +<p>What <i>is</i> spontaneous variability?</p> +<p>Clearly, from his preceding paragraph, Mr. Darwin means only “so-called +spontaneous variations,” such as “the appearance of a moss-rose +on a common rose, or of a nectarine on a peach-tree,” which he +gives as good examples of so-called spontaneous variation.</p> +<p>And these variations are, after all, due to causes, but to unknown +causes; spontaneous variation being, in fact, but another name for variation +due to causes which we know nothing about, but in no possible sense +a <i>cause of variation</i>. So that when we come to put clearly +before our minds exactly what the sentence we are considering amounts +to, it comes to this: that it is impossible to attribute the innumerable +structures which are so well adapted to the habits of life of each species +to <i>unknown causes.</i></p> +<p>“I can no more believe in <i>this</i>,” continues Mr. +Darwin, “than that the well-adapted form of a race-horse or greyhound, +which, before the principle of selection by man was well understood, +excited so much surprise in the minds of the older naturalists, can +<i>thus</i> be explained” (“Natural Selection,” p. +171, ed. 1876).</p> +<p>Or, in other words, “I can no more believe that the well-adapted +structures of species are due to unknown causes, than I can believe +that the well-adapted form of a race-horse can be explained by being +attributed to unknown causes.</p> +<p>I have puzzled over this paragraph for several hours with the sincerest +desire to get at the precise idea which underlies it, but the more I +have studied it the more convinced I am that it does not contain, or +at any rate convey, any clear or definite idea at all. If I thought +it was a mere slip, I should not call attention to it; this book will +probably have slips enough of its own without introducing those of a +great man unnecessarily; but I submit that it is necessary to call attention +to it here, inasmuch as it is impossible to believe that after years +of reflection upon his subject, Mr. Darwin should have written as above, +especially in such a place, if his mind was really clear about his own +position. Immediately after the admission of a certain amount +of miscalculation, there comes a more or less exculpatory sentence which +sounds so right that ninety-nine people out of a hundred would walk +through it, unless led by some exigency of their own position to examine +it closely but which yet upon examination proves to be as nearly meaningless +as a sentence can be.</p> +<p>The weak point in Mr. Darwin’s theory would seem to be a deficiency, +so to speak, of motive power to originate and direct the variations +which time is to accumulate. It deals admirably with the accumulation +of variations in creatures already varying, but it does not provide +a sufficient number of sufficiently important variations to be accumulated. +Given the motive power which Lamarck suggested, and Mr. Darwin’s +mechanism would appear (with the help of memory, as bearing upon reproduction, +of continued personality, and hence of inherited habit, and of the vanishing +tendency of consciousness) to work with perfect ease. Mr. Darwin +has made us all feel that in some way or other variations <i>are accumulated</i>, +and that evolution is the true solution of the present widely different +structures around us, whereas, before he wrote, hardly any one believed +this. However we may differ from him in detail, the present general +acceptance of evolution must remain as his work, and a more valuable +work can hardly be imagined. Nevertheless, I cannot think that +“natural selection,” working upon small, fortuitous, indefinite, +unintelligent variations, would produce the results we see around us. +One wants something that will give a more definite aim to variations, +and hence, at times, cause bolder leaps in advance. One cannot +but doubt whether so many plants and animals would be being so continually +saved “by the skin of their teeth,” as must be so saved +if the variations from which genera ultimately arise are as small in +their commencement and at each successive stage as Mr. Darwin seems +to believe. God - to use the language of the Bible - is not extreme +to mark what is done amiss, whether with plant or beast or man; on the +other hand, when towers of Siloam fall, they fall on the just as well +as the unjust.</p> +<p>One feels, on considering Mr. Darwin’s position, that if it +be admitted that there is in the lowest creature a power to vary, no +matter how small, one has got in this power as near the “origin +of species” as one can ever hope to get. For no one professes +to account for the origin of life; but if a creature with a power to +vary reproduces itself at all, it must reproduce another creature <i>which +shall also have the power to vary</i>; so that, given time and space +enough, there is no knowing where such a creature could or would stop.</p> +<p>If the primordial cell had been only capable of reproducing itself +once, there would have followed a single line of descendants, the chain +of which might at any moment have been broken by casualty. Doubtless +the millionth repetition would have differed very materially from the +original - as widely, perhaps, as we differ from the primordial cell; +but it would only have differed by addition, and could no more in any +generation resume its latest development without having passed through +the initial stage of being what its first forefather was, and doing +what its first forefather did, and without going through all or a sufficient +number of the steps whereby it had reached its latest differentiation, +than water can rise above its own level.</p> +<p>The very idea, then, of reproduction involves, unless I am mistaken, +that, no matter how much the creature reproducing itself may gain in +power and versatility, it must still always begin <i>with itself again</i> +in each generation. The primordial cell being capable of reproducing +itself not only once, but many times over, each of the creatures which +it produces must be similarly gifted; hence the geometrical ratio of +increase and the existing divergence of type. In each generation +it will pass rapidly and unconsciously through all the earlier stages +of which there has been infinite experience, and for which the conditions +are reproduced with sufficient similarity to cause no failure of memory +or hesitation; but in each generation, when it comes to the part in +which the course is not so clear, it will become conscious; still, however, +where the course is plain, as in breathing, digesting, &c., retaining +unconsciousness. Thus organs which present all the appearance +of being designed - as, for example, the tip for its beak prepared by +the embryo chicken - would be prepared in the end, as it were, by rote, +and without sense of design, though none the less owing their origin +to design.</p> +<p>The question is not concerning evolution, but as to the main cause +which has led to evolution in such and such shapes. To me it seems +that the “Origin of Variation,” whatever it is, is the only +true “Origin of Species,” and that this must, as Lamarck +insisted, be looked for in the needs and experiences of the creatures +varying. Unless we can explain the origin of variations, we are +met by the unexplained <i>at every step</i> in the progress of a creature +from its original homogeneous condition to its differentiation, we will +say, as an elephant; so that to say that an elephant has become an elephant +through the accumulation of a vast number of small, fortuitous, but +unexplained, variations in some lower creatures, is really to say that +it has become an elephant owing to a series of causes about which we +know nothing whatever, or, in other words, that one does not know how +it came to be an elephant. But to say that an elephant has become +an elephant owing to a series of variations, nine-tenths of which were +caused by the wishes of the creature or creatures from which the elephant +is descended - this is to offer a reason, and definitely put the insoluble +one step further back. The question will then turn upon the sufficiency +of the reason - that is to say, whether the hypothesis is borne out +by facts.</p> +<p>The effects of competition would, of course, have an extremely important +effect upon any creature, in the same way as any other condition of +nature under which it lived, must affect its sense of need and its opinions +generally. The results of competition would be, as it were, the +decisions of an arbiter settling the question whether such and such +variation was really to the animal’s advantage or not - a matter +on which the animal will, on the whole, have formed a pretty fair judgement +for itself. <i>Undoubtedly the past decisions of such an arbiter +would affect the conduct of the creature</i>, which would have doubtless +had its shortcomings and blunders, and would amend them. The creature +would shape its course according to its experience of the common course +of events, but it would be continually trying and often successfully, +to evade the law by all manner of sharp practice. New precedents +would thus arise, so that the law would shift with time and circumstances; +but the law would not otherwise direct the channels into which life +would flow, than as laws, whether natural or artificial, have affected +the development of the widely differing trades and professions among +mankind. These have had their origin rather in the needs and experiences +of mankind than in any laws.</p> +<p>To put much the same as the above in different words. Assume +that small favourable variations are preserved more commonly, in proportion +to their numbers, than is perhaps the case, and assume that considerable +variations occur more rarely than they probably do occur, how account +for any variation at all? “Natural selection” cannot +<i>create</i> the smallest variation unless it acts through perception +of its mode of operation, recognised inarticulately, but none the less +clearly, by the creature varying. “Natural selection” +operates on what it finds, and not on what it has made. Animals +that have been wise and lucky live longer and breed more than others +less wise and lucky. Assuredly. The wise and lucky animals +transmit their wisdom and luck. Assuredly. They add to their +powers, and diverge into widely different directions. Assuredly. +What is the cause of this? Surely the fact that they were capable +of feeling needs, and that they differed in their needs and manner of +gratifying them, and that they continued to live in successive generations, +rather than the fact that when lucky and wise they thrived and bred +more descendants. This last is an accessory hardly less important +for the <i>development</i> of species than the fact of the continuation +of life at all; but it is an accessory of much the same kind as this, +for if animals continue to live at all, they must live <i>in some way</i>, +and will find that there are good ways and bad ways of living. +An animal which discovers the good way will gradually develop further +powers, and so species will get further and further apart; but the origin +of this is to be looked for, not in the power which decides whether +this or that way was good, but in the cause which determines the creature, +consciously or unconsciously, to try this or that way.</p> +<p>But Mr. Darwin might say that this is not a fair way of stating the +issue. He might say, “You beg the question; you assume that +there is an inherent tendency in animals towards progressive development, +whereas I say that there is no good evidence of any such tendency. +I maintain that the differences that have from time to time arisen have +come about mainly from causes so far beyond our ken, that we can only +call them spontaneous; and if so, natural selection which you must allow +to have at any rate played an important part in the <i>accumulation</i> +of variations, must also be allowed to be the nearest thing to the cause +of Specific differences, which we are able to arrive at.”</p> +<p>Thus he writes (“Natural Selection,” p. 176, ed. 1876): +“Although we have no good evidence of the existence in organic +beings of a tendency towards progressive development, yet this necessarily +follows, as I have attempted to show in the fourth chapter, through +the continued action of natural selection.” Mr. Darwin does +not say that organic beings have no tendency to vary at all, but only +that there is no good evidence that they have a tendency to progressive +development, which, I take it, means, to see an ideal a long way off, +and very different to their present selves, which ideal they think will +suit them, and towards which they accordingly make. I would admit +this as contrary to all experience. I doubt whether plants and +animals have any <i>innate tendency to vary</i> at all, being led to +question this by gathering from “Plants and Animals under Domestication” +that this is Mr. Darwin’s own opinion. I am inclined rather +to think that they have only an innate <i>power to vary</i> slightly, +in accordance with changed conditions, and an innate capability of being +affected both in structure and instinct, by causes similar to those +which we observe to affect ourselves. But however this may be, +they do vary somewhat, and unless they did, they would not in time have +come to be so widely different from each other as they now are. +The question is as to the origin and character of these variations.</p> +<p>We say they mainly originate in a creature through a sense of its +needs, and vary through the varying surroundings which will cause those +needs to vary, and through the opening up of new desires in many creatures, +as the consequence of the gratification of old ones; they depend greatly +on differences of individual capacity and temperament; they are communicated, +and in the course of time transmitted, as what we call hereditary habits +or structures, though these are only, in truth, intense and epitomised +memories of how certain creatures liked to deal with protoplasm. +The question whether this or that is really good or ill, is settled, +as the proof of the pudding by the eating thereof, <i>i.e</i>., by the +rigorous competitive examinations through which most living organisms +must pass. Mr. Darwin says that there is no good evidence in support +of any great principle, or tendency on the part of the creature itself, +which would steer variation, as it were, and keep its head straight, +but that the most marvellous adaptations of structures to needs are +simply the result of small and blind variations, accumulated by the +operation of “natural selection,” which is thus the main +cause of the origin of species.</p> +<p>Enough has perhaps already been said to make the reader feel that +the question wants reopening; I shall, therefore, here only remark that +we may assume no fundamental difference as regards intelligence, memory, +and sense of needs to exist between man and the lowest animals, and +that in man we do distinctly see a tendency towards progressive development, +operating through his power of profiting by and transmitting his experience, +but operating in directions which man cannot foresee for any long distance. +We also see this in many of the higher animals under domestication, +as with horses which have learnt to canter and dogs which point; more +especially we observe it along the line of latest development, where +equilibrium of settled convictions has not yet been fully attained. +One neither finds nor expects much <i>a priori</i> knowledge, whether +in man or beast; but one does find some little in the beginnings of, +and throughout the development of, every habit, at the commencement +of which, and on every successive improvement in which, deductive and +inductive methods are, as it were, fused. Thus the effect, where +we can best watch its causes, seems mainly produced by a desire for +a definite object - in some cases a serious and sensible desire, in +others an idle one, in others, again, a mistaken one; and sometimes +by a blunder which, in the hands of an otherwise able creature, has +turned up trumps. In wild animals and plants the divergences have +been accumulated, if they answered to the prolonged desires of the creature +itself, and if these desires were to its true ultimate good; with plants +or animals under domestication they have been accumulated if they answered +a little to the original wishes of the creature, and much, to the wishes +of man. As long as man continued to like them, they would be advantageous +to the creature; when he tired of them, they would be disadvantageous +to it, and would accumulate no longer. Surely the results produced +in the adaptation of structure to need among many plants and insects +are better accounted for on this, which I suppose to be Lamarck’s +view, namely, by supposing that what goes on amongst ourselves has gone +on amongst all creatures, than by supposing that these adaptations are +the results of perfectly blind and unintelligent variations.</p> +<p>Let me give two examples of such adaptations, taken from Mr. St. +George Mivart’s “Genesis of Species,” to which work +I would wish particularly to call the reader’s attention. +He should also read Mr. Darwin’s answers to Mr. Mivart (p. 176, +“Natural Selection,” ed. 1876, and onwards).</p> +<p>Mr. Mivart writes:-</p> +<p>“Some insects which imitate leaves extend the imitation even +to the very injuries on those leaves made by the attacks of insects +or fungi. Thus speaking of the walking-stick insects, Mr. Wallace +says, ‘One of these creatures obtained by myself in Borneo (<i>ceroxylus +laceratus</i>) was covered over with foliaceous excrescences of a clear +olive green colour, so as exactly to resemble a stick grown over by +a creeping moss or jungermannia. The Dyak who brought it me assured +me it was grown over with moss, though alive, and it was only after +a most minute examination that I could convince myself it was not so.’ +Again, as to the leaf butterfly, he says, ‘We come to a still +more extraordinary part of the imitation, for we find representations +of leaves in every stage of decay, variously blotched, and mildewed, +and pierced with holes, and in many cases irregularly covered with powdery +black dots, gathered into patches and spots so closely resembling the +various kinds of minute fungi that grow on dead leaves, that it is impossible +to avoid thinking at first sight that the butterflies themselves have +been attacked by real fungi.’”</p> +<p>I can no more believe that these artificial fungi in which the moth +arrays itself are due to the accumulation of minute, perfectly blind, +and unintelligent variations, than I can believe that the artificial +flowers which a woman wears in her hat can have got there without design; +or that a detective puts on plain clothes without the slightest intention +of making his victim think that he is not a policeman.</p> +<p>Again Mr. Mivart writes:-</p> +<p>“In the work just referred to (‘The Fertilisation of +Orchids’), Mr. Darwin gives a series of the most wonderful and +minute contrivances, by which the visits of insects are utilised for +the fertilisation of orchids - structures so wonderful that nothing +could well be more so, except the attribution of their origin to minute, +fortuitous, and indefinite variations.</p> +<p>“The instances are too numerous and too long to quote, but +in his ‘Origin of Species’ he describes two which must not +be passed over. In one (<i>coryanthes</i>) the orchid has its +lower lip enlarged into a bucket, above which stand two water-secreting +horns. These latter replenish the bucket, from which, when half-filled, +the water overflows by a spout on one side. Bees visiting the +flower fall into the bucket and crawl out at the spout. By the +peculiar arrangement of the parts of the flower, the first bee which +does so, carries away the pollen mass glued to his back, and then when +he has his next involuntary bath in another flower, as he crawls out, +the pollen attached to him comes in contact with the stigma of that +second flower and fertilises it. In the other example (<i>catasetum</i>), +when a bee gnaws a certain part of the flower, he inevitably touches +a long delicate projection which Mr. Darwin calls the ‘antenna.’ +‘This antenna transmits a vibration to a membrane which is instantly +ruptured; this sets free a spring by which the pollen mass is shot forth +like an arrow in the right direction, and adheres by its viscid extremity +to the back of the bee’” (“Genesis of Species,” +p. 63).</p> +<p>No one can tell a story so charmingly as Mr. Darwin, but I can no +more believe that all this has come about without design on the part +of the orchid, and a gradual perception of the advantages it is able +to take over the bee, and a righteous determination to enjoy them, than +I can believe that a mousetrap or a steam-engine is the result of the +accumulation of blind minute fortuitous variations in a creature called +man, which creature has never wanted either mousetraps or steam-engines, +but has had a sort of promiscuous tendency to make them, and was benefited +by making them, so that those of the race who had a tendency to make +them survived and left issue, which issue would thus naturally tend +to make more mousetraps and more steam-engines.</p> +<p>Pursuing this idea still further, can we for a moment believe that +these additions to our limbs - for this is what they are - have mainly +come about through the occasional birth of individuals, who, without +design on their own parts, nevertheless made them better or worse, and +who, accordingly, either survived and transmitted their improvement, +or perished, they and their incapacity together?</p> +<p>When I can believe in this, then - and not till then - can I believe +in an origin of species which does not resolve itself mainly into sense +of need, faith, intelligence, and memory. Then, and not till then, +can I believe that such organs as the eye and ear can have arisen in +any other way than as the result of that kind of mental ingenuity, and +of moral as well as physical capacity, without which, till then, I should +have considered such an invention as the steam-engine to be impossible.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV - MR. MIVART AND MR. DARWIN</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>“A distinguished zoologist, Mr. St. George Mivart,” writes +Mr. Darwin, “has recently collected all the objections which have +ever been advanced by myself and others against the theory of natural +selection, as propounded by Mr. Wallace and myself, and has illustrated +them with admirable art and force (“Natural Selection,” +p. 176, ed. 1876). I have already referred the reader to Mr. Mivart’s +work, but quote the above passage as showing that Mr. Mivart will not, +probably, be found to have left much unsaid that would appear to make +against Mr. Darwin’s theory. It is incumbent upon me both +to see how far Mr. Mivart’s objections are weighty as against +Mr. Darwin, and also whether or not they tell with equal force against +the view which I am myself advocating. I will therefore touch +briefly upon the most important of them, with the purpose of showing +that they are serious as against the doctrine that small fortuitous +variations are the origin of species, but that they have no force against +evolution as guided by intelligence and memory.</p> +<p>But before doing this, I would demur to the words used by Mr. Darwin, +and just quoted above, namely, “the theory of natural selection.” +I imagine that I see in them the fallacy which I believe to run through +almost all Mr. Darwin’s work, namely, that “natural selection” +is a theory (if, indeed, it can be a theory at all), in some way accounting +for the origin of variation, and so of species - “natural selection,” +as we have already seen, being unable to “induce variability,” +and being only able to accumulate what - on the occasion of each successive +variation, and so during the whole process - must have been originated +by something else.</p> +<p>Again, Mr. Darwin writes - “In considering the origin of species +it is quite conceivable that a naturalist, reflecting on the mutual +affinities of organic beings, or their embryological relations, their +geographical distribution, geological succession, and other such facts, +might come to the conclusion that species had not been independently +created, but had descended, like varieties from other species. +Nevertheless, such a conclusion, even if well founded, would be unsatisfactory, +until it could be shown how the innumerable species inhabiting this +world had been modified, so as to acquire that perfection of structure +and co-adaptation which justly excites our admiration” (“Origin +of Species,” p. 2, ed. 1876).</p> +<p>After reading the above we feel that nothing more satisfactory could +be desired. We are sure that we are in the hands of one who can +indeed tell us “how the innumerable species inhabiting this world +have been modified,” and we are no less sure that though others +may have written upon the subject before, there has been, as yet, no +satisfactory explanation put forward of the grand principle upon which +modification has proceeded. Then follows a delightful volume, +with facts upon facts concerning animals, all showing that species is +due to successive small modifications accumulated in the course of nature. +But one cannot suppose that Lamarck ever doubted this; for he can never +have meant to say, that a low form of life made itself into an elephant +at one or two great bounds; and if he did not mean this, he must have +meant that it made itself into an elephant through the accumulation +of small successive modifications; these, he must have seen, were capable +of accumulation in the scheme of nature, though he may not have dwelt +on the manner in which this is accomplished, inasmuch as it is obviously +a matter of secondary importance in comparison with the origin of the +variations themselves. We believe, however, throughout Mr. Darwin’s +book, that we are being told what we expected to be told; and so convinced +are we, by the facts adduced, that in some way or other evolution must +be true, and so grateful are we for being allowed to think this, that +we put down the volume without perceiving that, whereas Lamarck <i>did</i> +adduce a great and general cause of variation, the insufficiency of +which, in spite of errors of detail, has yet to be shown, Mr. Darwin’s +main cause of variation resolves itself into a confession of ignorance.</p> +<p>This, however, should detract but little from our admiration for +Mr. Darwin’s achievement. Any one can make people see a +thing if he puts it in the right way, but Mr. Darwin made us see evolution, +in spite of his having put it, in what seems to not a few, an exceedingly +mistaken way. Yet his triumph is complete, for no matter how much +any one now moves the foundation, he cannot shake the superstructure, +which has become so currently accepted as to be above the need of any +support from reason, and to be as difficult to destroy as it was originally +difficult of construction. Less than twenty years ago, we never +met with, or heard of, any one who accepted evolution; we did not even +know that such a doctrine had been ever broached; unless it was that +some one now and again said that there was a very dreadful book going +about like a rampant lion, called “Vestiges of Creation,” +whereon we said that we would on no account read it, lest it should +shake our faith; then we would shake our heads and talk of the preposterous +folly and wickedness of such shallow speculations. Had not the +book of Genesis been written for our learning? Yet, now, who seriously +disputes the main principles of evolution? I cannot believe that +there is a bishop on the bench at this moment who does not accept them; +even the “holy priests” themselves bless evolution as their +predecessors blessed Cleopatra - when they ought not. It is not +he who first conceives an idea, nor he who sets it on its legs and makes +it go on all fours, but he who makes other people accept the main conclusion, +whether on right grounds or on wrong ones, who has done the greatest +work as regards the promulgation of an opinion. And this is what +Mr. Darwin has done for evolution. He has made us think that we +know the origin of species, and so of genera, in spite of his utmost +efforts to assure us that we know nothing of the causes from which the +vast majority of modifications have arisen - that is to say, he has +made us think we know the whole road, though he has almost ostentatiously +blindfolded us at every step of the journey. But to the end of +time, if the question be asked, “Who taught people to believe +in evolution?” there can only be one answer - that it was Mr. +Darwin.</p> +<p>Mr. Mivart urges with much force the difficulty of <i>starting</i> +any modification on which “natural selection” is to work, +and of getting a creature to vary in any definite direction. Thus, +after quoting from Mr. Wallace some of the wonderful cases of “mimicry” +which are to be found among insects, he writes:-</p> +<p>“Now, let us suppose that the ancestors of these various animals +were all destitute of the very special protection they at present possess, +as on the Darwinian hypothesis we must do. Let it be also conceded +that small deviations from the antecedent colouring or form would tend +to make some of their ancestors escape destruction, by causing them +more or less frequently to be passed over or mistaken by their persecutors. +Yet the deviation must, as the event has shown, in each case, be in +some definite direction, whether it be towards some other animal or +plant, or towards some dead or inorganic matter. But as, according +to Mr. Darwin’s theory, there is a constant tendency to indefinite +variation, and as the minute incipient variations will be <i>in all +directions</i>, they must tend to neutralise each other, and at first +to form such unstable modifications, that it is difficult, if not impossible, +to see how such indefinite modifications of insignificant beginnings +can ever build up a sufficiently appreciable resemblance to a leaf, +bamboo, or other object for “natural selection,” to seize +upon and perpetuate. This difficulty is augmented when we consider +- a point to be dwelt upon hereafter - how necessary it is that many +individuals should be similarly modified simultaneously. This +has been insisted on in an able article in the ‘North British +Review’ for June 1867, p. 286, and the consideration of the article +has occasioned Mr. Darwin” (“Origin of Species,” 5th +ed., p. 104) “to make an important modification in his views (“Genesis +of Species,” p. 38).</p> +<p>To this Mr. Darwin rejoins:-</p> +<p>“But in all the foregoing cases the insects in their original +state, no doubt, presented some rude and accidental resemblance to an +object commonly found in the stations frequented by them. Nor +is this improbable, considering the almost infinite number of surrounding +objects, and the diversity of form and colour of the host of insects +that exist” (“Natural Selection,” p. 182, ed. 1876).</p> +<p>Mr. Mivart has just said: “It is difficult to see how such +indefinite modifications of insignificant beginnings <i>can ever build +up a sufficiently appreciable resemblance to a leaf, bamboo, or other +object, for</i> ‘<i>natural selection</i>’ <i>to work upon</i>.”</p> +<p>The answer is, that “natural selection” did not begin +to work <i>until, from unknown causes, an appreciable resemblance had +nevertheless been presented</i>. I think the reader will agree +with me that the development of the lowest life into a creature which +bears even “a rude resemblance” to the objects commonly +found in the station in which it is moving in its present differentiation, +requires more explanation than is given by the word “accidental.”</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin continues: “As some rude resemblance is necessary +for the first start,” &c.; and a little lower he writes: “Assuming +that an insect originally happened to resemble in some degree a dead +twig or a decayed leaf, and that it varied slightly in many ways, then +all the variations which rendered the insect at all more like any such +object, and thus favoured its escape, would be preserved, while other +variations would be neglected, and ultimately lost, or if they rendered +the insect at all less like the imitated object, they would be eliminated.”</p> +<p>But here, again, we are required to begin with Natural Selection +when the work is already in great part done, owing to causes about which +we are left completely in the dark; we may, I think, fairly demur to +the insects <i>originally</i> happening to resemble in some degree a +dead twig or a decayed leaf. And when we bear in mind that the +variations, being supposed by Mr. Darwin to be indefinite, or devoid +of aim, will appear in every direction, we cannot forget what Mr. Mivart +insists upon, namely, that the chances of many favourable variations +being counteracted by other unfavourable ones in the same creature are +not inconsiderable. Nor, again, is it likely that the favourable +variation would make its mark upon the race, and escape being absorbed +in the course of a few generations, unless - as Mr. Mivart elsewhere +points out, in a passage to which I shall call the reader’s attention +presently - a larger number of similarly varying creatures made their +appearance at the same time than there seems sufficient reason to anticipate, +if the variations can be called fortuitous.</p> +<p>“There would,” continues Mr. Darwin, “indeed be +force in Mr. Mivart’s objection if we were to attempt to account +for the above resemblances, independently of ‘natural selection,’ +through mere fluctuating variability; but as the case stands, there +is none.”</p> +<p>This comes to saying that, if there was no power in nature which +operates so that of all the many fluctuating variations, those only +are preserved which tend to the resemblance which is beneficial to the +creature, then indeed there would be difficulty in understanding how +the resemblance could have come about; but that as there is a beneficial +resemblance to start with, and as there is a power in nature which would +preserve and accumulate further beneficial resemblance, should it arise +from this cause or that, the difficulty is removed. But Mr. Mivart +does not, I take it, deny the existence of such a power in nature, as +Mr. Darwin supposes, though, if I understand him rightly, he does not +see that its operation <i>upon small fortuitous variations</i> is at +all the simple and obvious process, which on a superficial view of the +case it would appear to be. He thinks - and I believe the reader +will agree with him - that this process is too slow and too risky. +What he wants to know is, how the insect came even rudely to resemble +the object, and how, if its variations are indefinite, we are ever to +get into such a condition as to be able to report progress, owing to +the constant liability of the creature which has varied favourably, +to play the part of Penelope and undo its work, by varying in some one +of the infinite number of other directions which are open to it - all +of which, except this one, tend to destroy the resemblance, and yet +may be in some other respect even more advantageous to the creature, +and so tend to its preservation. Moreover, here, too, I think +(though I cannot be sure), we have a recurrence of the original fallacy +in the words - “If we were to account for the above resemblances, +independently of ‘natural selection,’ through mere fluctuating +variability.” Surely Mr. Darwin does, after all, “account +for the resemblances through mere fluctuating variability,” for +“natural selection” does not account for one single variation +in the whole list of them from first to last, other than indirectly, +as shewn in the preceding chapter.</p> +<p>It is impossible for me to continue this subject further; but I would +beg the reader to refer to other paragraphs in the neighbourhood of +the one just quoted, in which he may - though I do not think he will +- see reason to think that I should have given Mr. Darwin’s answer +more fully. I do not quote Mr. Darwin’s next paragraph, +inasmuch as I see no great difficulty about “the last touches +of perfection in mimicry,” provided Mr. Darwin’s theory +will account for any mimicry at all. If it could do this, it might +as well do more; but a strong impression is left on my mind, that without +the help of something over and above the power to vary, which should +give a definite aim to variations, all the “natural selection” +in the world would not have prevented stagnation and self-stultification, +owing to the indefinite tendency of the variations, which thus could +not have developed either a preyer or a preyee, but would have gone +round and round and round the primordial cell till they were weary of +it.</p> +<p>As against Mr. Darwin, therefore, I think that the objection just +given from Mr. Mivart is fatal. I believe, also, that the reader +will feel the force of it much more strongly if he will turn to Mr. +Mivart’s own pages. Against the view which I am myself supporting, +the objection breaks down entirely, for grant “a little dose of +judgement and reason” on the part of the creature itself - grant +also continued personality and memory - and a definite tendency is at +once given to the variations. The process is thus started, and +is kept straight, and helped forward through every stage by “the +little dose of reason,” &c., which enabled it to take its +first step. We are, in fact, no longer without a helm, but can +steer each creature that is so discontented with its condition, as to +make a serious effort to better itself, into <i>some</i> - and into +a very distant - harbour.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It has been objected against Mr. Darwin’s theory that if all +species and genera have come to differ through the accumulation of minute +but - as a general rule - fortuitous variations, there has not been +time enough, so far as we are able to gather, for the evolution of all +existing forms by so slow a process. On this subject I would again +refer the reader to Mr. Mivart’s book, from which I take the following:-</p> +<p>“Sir William Thompson has lately advanced arguments from three +distinct lines of inquiry agreeing in one approximate result. +The three lines of inquiry are - (1) the action of the tides upon the +earth’s rotation; (2) the probable length of time during which +the sun has illuminated this planet; and (3) the temperature of the +interior of the earth. The result arrived at by these investigations +is a conclusion that the existing state of things on the earth, life +on the earth, all geological history showing continuity of life, must +be limited within some such period of past time as one hundred million +years. The first question which suggests itself, supposing Sir +W. Thompson’s views to be correct, is: Has this period been anything +like enough for the evolution of all organic forms by ‘natural +selection’? The second is: Has the period been anything +like enough for the deposition of the strata which must have been deposited +if all organic forms have been evolved by minute steps, according to +the Darwinian theory?” (“Genesis of Species,” +p. 154).</p> +<p>Mr. Mivart then quotes from Mr. Murphy - whose work I have not seen +- the following passage:-</p> +<p>“Darwin justly mentions the greyhound as being equal to any +natural species in the perfect co-ordination of its parts, ‘all +adapted for extreme fleetness and for running down weak prey.’ +Yet it is an artificial species (and not physiologically a species at +all) formed by a long-continued selection under domestication; and there +is no reason to suppose that any of the variations which have been selected +to form it have been other than gradual and almost imperceptible. +Suppose that it has taken five hundred years to form the greyhound out +of his wolf-like ancestor. This is a mere guess, but it gives +the order of magnitude. Now, if so, how long would it take to +obtain an elephant from a protozoon or even from a tadpole-like fish? +Ought it not to take much more than a million times as long?” +(“Genesis of Species,” p. 155).</p> +<p>I should be very sorry to pronounce any opinion upon the foregoing +data; but a general impression is left upon my mind, that if the differences +between an elephant and a tadpole-like fish have arisen from the accumulation +of small variations that have had no direction given them by intelligence +and sense of needs, then no time conceivable by man would suffice for +their development. But grant “a little dose of reason and +judgement,” even to animals low down in the scale of nature, and +grant this, not only during their later life, but during their embryological +existence, and see with what infinitely greater precision of aim and +with what increased speed the variations would arise. Evolution +entirely unaided by inherent intelligence must be a very slow, if not +quite inconceivable, process. Evolution helped by intelligence +would still be slow, but not so desperately slow. One can conceive +that there has been sufficient time for the second, but one cannot conceive +it for the first.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>I find from Mr. Mivart that objection has been taken to Mr. Darwin’s +views, on account of the great odds that exist against the appearance +of any given variation at one and the same time, in a sufficient number +of individuals, to prevent its being obliterated almost as soon as produced +by the admixture of unvaried blood which would so greatly preponderate +around it; and indeed the necessity for a nearly simultaneous and similar +variation, or readiness so to vary on the part of many individuals, +seems almost a postulate for evolution at all. On this subject +Mr. Mivart writes:-</p> +<p>“The ‘North British Review’ (speaking of the supposition +that species is changed by the survival of a few individuals in a century +through a similar and favourable variation) says -</p> +<p>“‘It is very difficult to see how this can be accomplished, +even when the variation is eminently favourable indeed; and still more, +when the advantage gained is very slight, as must generally be the case. +The advantage, whatever it may be, is utterly outbalanced by numerical +inferiority. A million creatures are born; ten thousand survive +to produce offspring. One of the million has twice as good a chance +as any other of surviving, but the chances are fifty to one against +the gifted individuals being one of the hundred survivors. No +doubt the chances are twice as great against any other individual, but +this does not prevent their being enormously in favour of <i>some</i> +average individual. However slight the advantage may be, if it +is shared by half the individuals produced, it will probably be present +in at least fifty-one of the survivors, and in a larger proportion of +their offspring; but the chances are against the preservation of any +one “sport” (<i>i.e</i>., sudden marked variation) in a +numerous tribe. The vague use of an imperfectly-understood doctrine +of chance, has led Darwinian supporters, first, to confuse the two cases +above distinguished, and secondly, to imagine that a very slight balance +in favour of some individual sport must lead to its perpetuation. +All that can be said is that in the above example the favoured sport +would be preserved once in fifty times. Let us consider what will +be its influence on the main stock when preserved. It will breed +and have a progeny of say 100; now this progeny will, on the whole, +be intermediate between the average individual and the sport. +The odds in favour of one of this generation of the new breed will be, +say one and a half to one, as compared with the average individual; +the odds in their favour will, therefore, be less than that of their +parents; but owing to their greater number the chances are that about +one and a half of them would survive. Unless these breed together +- a most improbable event - their progeny would again approach the average +individual; there would be 150 of them, and their superiority would +be, say in the ratio of one and a quarter to one; the probability would +now be that nearly two of them would survive, and have 200 children +with an eighth superiority. Rather more than two of these would +survive; but the superiority would again dwindle; until after a few +generations it would no longer be observed, and would count for no more +in the struggle for life than any of the hundred trifling advantages +which occur in the ordinary organs.</p> +<p>“‘An illustration will bring this conception home. +Suppose a white man to have been wrecked on an island inhabited by negroes, +and to have established himself in friendly relations with a powerful +tribe, whose customs he has learnt. Suppose him to possess the +physical strength, energy, and ability of a dominant white race, and +let the food of the island suit his constitution; grant him every advantage +which we can conceive a white to possess over the native; concede that +in the struggle for existence, his chance of a long life will be much +superior to that of the native chiefs; yet from all these admissions +there does not follow the conclusion, that after a limited or unlimited +number of generations, the inhabitants of the island will be white. +Our shipwrecked hero would probably become king; he would kill a great +many blacks in the struggle for existence; he would have a great many +wives and children . . . In the first generation there will be some +dozens of intelligent young mulattoes, much superior in average intelligence +to the negroes. We might expect the throne for some generations +to be occupied by a more or less yellow king; but can any one believe +that the whole island will gradually acquire a white, or even a yellow +population? . . . Darwin says, that in the struggle for life a grain +may turn the balance in favour of a given structure, which will then +be preserved. But one of the weights in the scale of nature is +due to the number of a given tribe. Let there be 7000 A’s +and 7000 B’s representing two varieties of a given animal, and +let all the B’s, in virtue of a slight difference of structure, +have the better chance by one-thousandth part. We must allow that +there is a slight probability that the descendants of B will supplant +the descendants of A; but let there be 7001 A’s against 7000 B’s +at first, and the chances are once more equal, while if there be 7002 +A’s to start, the odds would be laid on the A’s. Thus +they stand a greater chance of being killed; but, then, they can better +afford to be killed. The grain will only turn the scales when +these are very nicely balanced, and an advantage in numbers counts for +weight, even as an advantage in structure. As the numbers of the +favoured variety diminish, so must its relative advantages increase, +if the chance of its existence is to surpass the chance of its extinction, +until hardly any conceivable advantage would enable the descendants +of a single pair to exterminate the descendants of many thousands, if +they and their descendants are supposed to breed freely with the inferior +variety, and so gradually lose their ascendancy,’” (“North +British Review,” June 1867, p. 286 “Genesis of Species,” +p. 64, and onwards).</p> +<p>Against this it should be remembered that there is always an antecedent +probability that several specimens of a given variation would appear +at one time and place. This would probably be the case even on +Mr. Darwin’s hypothesis, that the variations are fortuitous; if +they are mainly guided by sense of need and intelligence, it would almost +certainly be so, for all would have much the same idea as to their well-being, +and the same cause which would lead one to vary in this direction would +lead not a few others to do so at the same time, or to follow suit. +Thus we see that many human ideas and inventions have been conceived +independently but simultaneously. The chances, moreover, of specimens +that have varied successfully, intermarrying, are, I think, greater +than the reviewer above quoted from would admit. I believe that +on the hypothesis that the variations are fortuitous, and certainly +on the supposition that they are intelligent, they might be looked for +in members of the same family, who would hence have a better chance +of finding each other out. Serious as is the difficulty advanced +by the reviewer as against Mr. Darwin’s theory, it may be in great +measure parried without departing from Mr. Darwin’s own position, +but the “little dose of judgement and reason” removes it, +absolutely and entirely. As for the reviewer’s shipwrecked +hero, surely the reviewer must know that Mr. Darwin would no more expect +an island of black men to be turned white, or even perceptibly whitened +after a few generations, than the reviewer himself would do so. +But if we turn from what “might” or what “would” +happen to what “does” happen, we find that a few white families +have nearly driven the Indian from the United States, the Australian +natives from Australia, and the Maories from New Zealand. True, +these few families have been helped by immigration; but it will be admitted +that this has only accelerated a result which would otherwise, none +the less surely, have been effected.</p> +<p>There is all the difference between a sudden sport, or even a variety +introduced from a foreign source, and the gradual, intelligent, and, +in the main, steady, growth of a race towards ends always a little, +but not much, in advance of what it can at present compass, until it +has reached equilibrium with its surroundings. So far as Mr. Darwin’s +variations are of the nature of “sport,” <i>i.e</i>., rare, +and owing to nothing that we can in the least assign to any known cause, +the reviewer’s objections carry much weight. Against the +view here advocated, they are powerless.</p> +<p>I cannot here go into the difficulties of the geologic record, but +they too will, I believe, be felt to be almost infinitely simplified +by supposing the development of structure and instinct to be guided +by intelligence and memory, which, even under unstable conditions, would +be able to meet in some measure the demands made upon them.</p> +<p>When Mr. Mivart deals with evolution and ethics, I am afraid that +I differ from him even more widely than I have done from Mr. Darwin. +He writes (“Genesis of Species,” p. 234): “That ‘natural +selection’ could not have produced from the sensations of pleasure +and pain experienced by brutes a higher degree of morality than was +useful; therefore it could have produced any amount of ‘beneficial +habits,’ but not abhorrence of certain acts as impure and sinful.”</p> +<p>Possibly “natural selection” may not be able to do much +in the way of accumulating variations that do not arise; but that, according +to the views supported in this volume, all that is highest and most +beautiful in the soul, as well as in the body, could be, and has been, +developed from beings lower than man, I do not greatly doubt. +Mr. Mivart and myself should probably differ as to what is and what +is not beautiful. Thus he writes of “the noble virtue of +a Marcus Aurelius” (p. 235), than whom, for my own part, I know +few respectable figures in history to whom I am less attracted. +I cannot but think that Mr. Mivart has taken his estimate of this emperor +at second-hand, and without reference to the writings which happily +enable us to form a fair estimate of his real character.</p> +<p>Take the opening paragraphs of the “Thoughts” of Marcus +Aurelius, as translated by Mr. Long:-</p> +<p>“From the reputation and remembrance of my father [I learned] +modesty and a manly character; from my mother, piety and beneficence, +abstinence not only from evil deeds, but even from evil thoughts. . +. . From my great-grandfather, not to have frequented public schools, +and to have had good teachers at home, and to know that on such things +a man should spend liberally . . . From Diognetus . . . [I learned] +to have become intimate with philosophy, . . . and to have written dialogues +in my youth, and to have desired a plank bed and skin, and whatever +else of the kind belongs to the Greek discipline. . . . From Rusticus +I received the impression that my character required improvement and +discipline;” and so on to the end of the chapter, near which, +however, it is right to say that there appears a redeeming touch, in +so far as that he thanks the gods that he could not write poetry, and +that he had never occupied himself about the appearance of things in +the heavens.</p> +<p>Or, again, opening Mr. Long’s translation at random I find +(p. 37):-</p> +<p>“As physicians have always their instruments and knives ready +for cases which suddenly require their skill, so do thou have principles +ready for the understanding of things divine and human, and for doing +everything, even the smallest, with a recollection of the bond that +unites the divine and human to one another. For neither wilt thou +do anything well which pertains to man without at the same time having +a reference to things divine; nor the contrary.”</p> +<p>Unhappy one! No wonder the Roman empire went to pieces soon +after him. If I remember rightly, he established and subsidised +professorships in all parts of his dominions. Whereon the same +befell the arts and literature of Rome as befell Italian painting after +the Academic system had taken root at Bologna under the Caracci. +Mr. Martin Tupper, again, is an amiable and well-meaning man, but we +should hardly like to see him in Lord Beaconsfield’s place. +The Athenians poisoned Socrates; and Aristophanes - than whom few more +profoundly religious men have ever been born - did not, so far as we +can gather, think the worse of his countrymen on that account. +It is not improbable that if they had poisoned Plato too, Aristophanes +would have been well enough pleased; but I think he would have preferred +either of these two men to Marcus Aurelius.</p> +<p>I know nothing about the loving but manly devotion of a St. Lewis, +but I strongly suspect that Mr. Mivart has taken him, too, upon hearsay.</p> +<p>On the other hand, among dogs we find examples of every heroic quality, +and of all that is most perfectly charming to us in man.</p> +<p>As for the possible development of the more brutal human natures +from the more brutal instincts of the lower animals, those who read +a horrible story told in a note, pp. 233, 234 of Mr. Mivart’s +“Genesis of Species,” will feel no difficulty on that score. +I must admit, however, that the telling of that story seems to me to +be a mistake in a philosophical work, which should not, I think, unless +under compulsion, deal either with the horrors of the French Revolution +- or of the Spanish or Italian Inquisition.</p> +<p>For the rest of Mr. Mivart’s objections, I must refer the reader +to his own work. I have been unable to find a single one, which +I do not believe to be easily met by the Lamarckian view, with the additions +(if indeed they are additions, for I must own to no very profound knowledge +of what Lamarck did or did not say), which I have in this volume proposed +to make to it. At the same time I admit, that as against the Darwinian +view, many of them seem quite unanswerable.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XV - CONCLUDING REMARKS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Here, then, I leave my case, though well aware that I have crossed +the threshold only of my subject. My work is of a tentative character, +put before the public as a sketch or design for a, possibly, further +endeavour, in which I hope to derive assistance from the criticisms +which this present volume may elicit. Such as it is, however, +for the present I must leave it.</p> +<p>We have seen that we cannot do anything thoroughly till we can do +it unconsciously, and that we cannot do anything unconsciously till +we can do it thoroughly; this at first seems illogical; but logic and +consistency are luxuries for the gods, and the lower animals, only. +Thus a boy cannot really know how to swim till he can swim, but he cannot +swim till he knows how to swim. Conscious effort is but the process +of rubbing off the rough corners from these two contradictory statements, +till they eventually fit into one another so closely that it is impossible +to disjoin them.</p> +<p>Whenever, therefore, we see any creature able to go through any complicated +and difficult process with little or no effort - whether it be a bird +building her nest, or a hen’s egg making itself into a chicken, +or an ovum turning itself into a baby - we may conclude that the creature +has done the same thing on a very great number of past occasions.</p> +<p>We found the phenomena exhibited by heredity to be so like those +of memory, and to be so utterly inexplicable on any other supposition, +that it was easier to suppose them due to memory in spite of the fact +that we cannot remember having recollected, than to believe that because +we cannot so remember, therefore the phenomena cannot be due to memory.</p> +<p>We were thus led to consider “personal identity,” in +order to see whether there was sufficient reason for denying that the +experience, which we must have clearly gained somewhere, was gained +by us when we were in the persons of our forefathers; we found, not +without surprise, that unless we admitted that it might be so gained, +in so far as that we once <i>actually were</i> our remotest ancestor, +we must change our ideas concerning personality altogether.</p> +<p>We therefore assumed that the phenomena of heredity, whether as regards +instinct or structure were mainly due to memory of past experiences, +accumulated and fused till they had become automatic, or quasi automatic, +much in the same way as after a long life -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>. . “Old experience do attain<br />To something like +prophetic strain.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>After dealing with certain phenomena of memory, but more especially +with its abeyance and revival, we inquired what the principal corresponding +phenomena of life and species should be, on the hypothesis that they +were mainly due to memory.</p> +<p>I think I may say that we found the hypothesis fit in with actual +facts in a sufficiently satisfactory manner. We found not a few +matters, as, for example, the sterility of hybrids, the phenomena of +old age, and puberty as generally near the end of development, explain +themselves with more completeness than I have yet heard of their being +explained on any other hypothesis.</p> +<p>We considered the most important difficulty in the way of instinct +as hereditary habit, namely, the structure and instincts of neuter insects; +these are very unlike those of their parents, and cannot apparently +be transmitted to offspring by individuals of the previous generation, +in whom such structure and instincts appeared, inasmuch as these creatures +are sterile. I do not say that the difficulty is wholly removed, +inasmuch as some obscurity must be admitted to remain as to the manner +in which the structure of the larva is aborted; this obscurity is likely +to remain till we know more of the early history of civilisation among +bees than I can find that we know at present; but I believe the difficulty +was reduced to such proportions as to make it little likely to be felt +in comparison with that of attributing instinct to any other cause than +inherited habit, or inherited habit modified by changed conditions.</p> +<p>We then inquired what was the great principle underlying variation, +and answered, with Lamarck, that it must be “sense of need;” +and though not without being haunted by suspicion of a vicious circle, +and also well aware that we were not much nearer the origin of life +than when we started, we still concluded that here was the truest origin +of species, and hence of genera; and that the accumulation of variations, +which in time amounted to specific and generic differences, was due +to intelligence and memory on the part of the creature varying, rather +than to the operation of what Mr. Darwin has called “natural selection.” +At the same time we admitted that the course of nature is very much +as Mr. Darwin has represented it, in this respect, in so far as that +there is a struggle for existence, and that the weaker must go to the +wall. But we denied that this part of the course of nature would +lead to much, if any, accumulation of variation, unless the variation +was directed mainly by intelligent sense of need, with continued personality +and memory.</p> +<p>We conclude, therefore, that the small, structureless, impregnate +ovum from which we have each one of us sprung, has a potential recollection +of all that has happened to each one of its ancestors prior to the period +at which any such ancestor has issued from the bodies of its progenitors +- provided, that is to say, a sufficiently deep, or sufficiently often-repeated, +impression has been made to admit of its being remembered at all.</p> +<p>Each step of normal development will lead the impregnate ovum up +to, and remind it of, its next ordinary course of action, in the same +way as we, when we recite a well-known passage, are led up to each successive +sentence by the sentence which has immediately preceded it.</p> +<p>And for this reason, namely, that as it takes two people “to +tell” a thing - a speaker and a comprehending listener, without +which last, though much may have been said, there has been nothing told +- so also it takes two people, as it were, to “remember” +a thing - the creature remembering, and the surroundings of the creature +at the time it last remembered. Hence, though the ovum immediately +after impregnation is instinct with all the memories of both parents, +not one of these memories can normally become active till both the ovum +itself, and its surroundings, are sufficiently like what they respectively +were, when the occurrence now to be remembered last took place. +The memory will then immediately return, and the creature will do as +it did on the last occasion that it was in like case as now. This +ensures that similarity of order shall be preserved in all the stages +of development, in successive generations.</p> +<p>Life, then, is faith founded upon experience, which experience is +in its turn founded upon faith - or more simply, it is memory. +Plants and animals only differ from one another because they remember +different things; plants and animals only grow up in the shapes they +assume because this shape is their memory, their idea concerning their +own past history.</p> +<p>Hence the term “Natural History,” as applied to the different +plants and animals around us. For surely the study of natural +history means only the study of plants and animals themselves, which, +at the moment of using the words “Natural History,” we assume +to be the most important part of nature.</p> +<p>A living creature well supported by a mass of healthy ancestral memory +is a young and growing creature, free from ache or pain, and thoroughly +acquainted with its business so far, but with much yet to be reminded +of. A creature which finds itself and its surroundings not so +unlike those of its parents about the time of their begetting it, as +to be compelled to recognise that it never yet was in any such position, +is a creature in the heyday of life. A creature which begins to +be aware of itself is one which is beginning to recognise that the situation +is a new one.</p> +<p>It is the young and fair, then, who are the truly old and the truly +experienced; it is they who alone have a trustworthy memory to guide +them; they alone know things as they are, and it is from them that, +as we grow older, we must study if we would still cling to truth. +The whole charm of youth lies in its advantage over age in respect of +experience, and where this has for some reason failed, or been misapplied, +the charm is broken. When we say that we are getting old, we should +say rather that we are getting new or young, and are suffering from +inexperience, which drives us into doing things which we do not understand, +and lands us, eventually, in the utter impotence of death. The +kingdom of heaven is the kingdom of little children.</p> +<p>A living creature bereft of all memory dies. If bereft of a +great part of memory, it swoons or sleeps; and when its memory returns, +we say it has returned to life.</p> +<p>Life and death, then, should be memory and forgetfulness, for we +are dead to all that we have forgotten.</p> +<p>Life is that property of matter whereby it can remember. Matter +which can remember is living; matter which cannot remember is dead.</p> +<p><i>Life, then, is memory</i>. The life of a creature is the +memory of a creature. We are all the same stuff to start with, +but we remember different things, and if we did not remember different +things we should be absolutely like each other. As for the stuff +itself of which we are made, we know nothing <br />save only that it +is “such as dreams are made of.”</p> +<p>I am aware that there are many expressions throughout this book, +which are not scientifically accurate. Thus I imply that we tend +towards the centre of the earth, when, I believe, I should say we tend +towards to the centre of gravity of the earth. I speak of “the +primordial cell,” when I mean only the earliest form of life, +and I thus not only assume a single origin of life when there is no +necessity for doing so, and perhaps no evidence to this effect, but +I do so in spite of the fact that the amœba, which seems to be +“the simplest form of life,” does not appear to be a cell +at all. I have used the word “beget,” of what, I am +told, is asexual generation, whereas the word should be confined to +sexual generation only. Many more such errors have been pointed +out to me, and I doubt not that a larger number remain of which I know +nothing now, but of which I may perhaps be told presently.</p> +<p>I did not, however, think that in a work of this description the +additional words which would have been required for scientific accuracy +were worth the paper and ink and loss of breadth which their introduction +would entail. Besides, I know nothing about science, and it is +as well that there should be no mistake on this head; I neither know, +nor want to know, more detail than is necessary to enable me to give +a fairly broad and comprehensive view of my subject. When for +the purpose of giving this, a matter importunately insisted on being +made out, I endeavoured to make it out as well as I could; otherwise +- that is to say, if it did not insist on being looked into, in spite +of a good deal of snubbing, I held that, as it was blurred and indistinct +in nature, I had better so render it in my work.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, if one has gone for some time through a wood full of +burrs, some of them are bound to stick. I am afraid that I have +left more such burrs in one part and another of my book, than the kind +of reader whom I alone wish to please will perhaps put up with. +Fortunately, this kind of reader is the best-natured critic in the world, +and is long suffering of a good deal that the more consciously scientific +will not tolerate; I wish, however, that I had not used such expressions +as “centres of thought and action” quite so often.</p> +<p>As for the kind of inaccuracy already alluded to, my reader will +not, I take it, as a general rule, know, or wish to know, much more +about science than I do, sometimes perhaps even less; so that he and +I shall commonly be wrong in the same places, and our two wrongs will +make a sufficiently satisfactory right for practical purposes.</p> +<p>Of course, if I were a specialist writing a treatise or primer on +such and such a point of detail, I admit that scientific accuracy would +be <i>de rigueur</i>; but I have been trying to paint a picture rather +than to make a diagram, and I claim the painter’s license “<i>quidlibet +audendi</i>.” I have done my utmost to give the spirit of +my subject, but if the letter interfered with the spirit, I have sacrificed +it without remorse.</p> +<p>May not what is commonly called a scientific subject have artistic +value which it is a pity to neglect? But if a subject is to be +treated artistically - that is to say, with a desire to consider not +only the facts, but the way in which the reader will feel concerning +those facts, and the way in which he will wish to see them rendered, +thus making his mind a factor of the intention, over and above the subject +itself - then the writer must not be denied a painter’s license. +If one is painting a hillside at a sufficient distance, and cannot see +whether it is covered with chestnut-trees or walnuts, one is not bound +to go across the valley to see. If one is painting a city, it +is not necessary that one should know the names of the streets. +If a house or tree stands inconveniently for one’s purpose, it +must go without more ado; if two important features, neither of which +can be left out, want a little bringing together or separating before +the spirit of the place can be well given, they must be brought together, +or separated. Which is a more truthful view, of Shrewsbury, for +example, from a spot where St. Alkmund’s spire is in parallax +with St. Mary’s - a view which should give only the one spire +which can be seen, or one which should give them both, although the +one is hidden? There would be, I take it, more representation +in the misrepresentation than in the representation - “the half +would be greater than the whole,” unless, that is to say, one +expressly told the spectator that St. Alkmund’s spire was hidden +behind St. Mary’s - a sort of explanation which seldom adds to +the poetical value of any work of art. Do what one may, and no +matter how scientific one may be, one cannot attain absolute truth. +The question is rather, how do people like to have their error? than, +will they go without any error at all? All truth and no error +cannot be given by the scientist more than by the artist; each has to +sacrifice truth in one way or another; and even if perfect truth could +be given, it is doubtful whether it would not resolve itself into unconsciousness +pure and simple, consciousness being, as it were, the clash of small +conflicting perceptions, without which there is neither intelligence +nor recollection possible. It is not, then, what a man has said, +nor what he has put down with actual paint upon his canvass, which speaks +to us with living language - <i>it is what he has thought to us</i> +(as is so well put in the letter quoted on page 83), by which our opinion +should be guided; - what has he made us feel that he had it in him, +and wished to do? If he has said or painted enough to make us +feel that he meant and felt as we should wish him to have done, he has +done the utmost that man can hope to do.</p> +<p>I feel sure that no additional amount of technical accuracy would +make me more likely to succeed, in this respect, if I have otherwise +failed; and as this is the only success about which I greatly care, +I have left my scientific inaccuracies uncorrected, even when aware +of them. At the same time, I should say that I have taken all +possible pains as regards anything which I thought could materially +affect the argument one way or another.</p> +<p>It may be said that I have fallen between two stools, and that the +subject is one which, in my hands, has shown neither artistic nor scientific +value. This would be serious. To fall between two stools, +and to be hanged for a lamb, are the two crimes which -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Nor gods, nor men, nor any schools allow.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Of the latter, I go in but little danger; about the former, I shall +know better when the public have enlightened me.</p> +<p>The practical value of the views here advanced (if they be admitted +as true at all) would appear to be not inconsiderable, alike as regards +politics or the well-being of the community, and medicine which deals +with that of the individual. In the first case we see the rationale +of compromise, and the equal folly of making experiments upon too large +a scale, and of not making them at all. We see that new ideas +cannot be fused with old, save gradually and by patiently leading up +to them in such a way as to admit of a sense of continued identity between +the old and the new. This should teach us moderation. For +even though nature wishes to travel in a certain direction, she insists +on being allowed to take her own time; she will not be hurried, and +will cull a creature out even more surely for forestalling her wishes +too readily, than for lagging a little behind them. So the greatest +musicians, painters, and poets owe their greatness rather to their fusion +and assimilation of all the good that has been done up to, and especially +near about, their own time, than to any very startling steps they have +taken in advance. Such men will be sure to take some, and important, +steps forward; for unless they have this power, they will not be able +to assimilate well what has been done already, and if they have it, +their study of older work will almost indefinitely assist it; but, on +the whole, they owe their greatness to their completer fusion and assimilation +of older ideas; for nature is distinctly a fairly liberal conservative +rather than a conservative liberal. All which is well said in +the old couplet -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Be not the first by whom the new is tried,<br />Nor yet the +last to throw the old aside.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>Mutatis mutandis</i>, the above would seem to hold as truly about +medicine as about politics. We cannot reason with our cells, for +they know so much more than we do that they cannot understand us; - +but though we cannot reason with them, we can find out what they have +been most accustomed to, and what, therefore, they are most likely to +expect; we can see that they get this, as far as it is in our power +to give it them, and may then generally leave the rest to them, only +bearing in mind that they will rebel equally against too sudden a change +of treatment, and no change at all.</p> +<p>Friends have complained to me that they can never tell whether I +am in jest or earnest. I think, however, it should be sufficiently +apparent that I am in very serious earnest, perhaps too much so, from +the first page of my book to the last. I am not aware of a single +argument put forward which is not a <i>bonâ fide</i> argument, +although, perhaps, sometimes admitting of a humorous side. If +a grain of corn looks like a piece of chaff, I confess I prefer it occasionally +to something which looks like a grain, but which turns out to be a piece +of chaff only. There is no lack of matter of this description +going about in some very decorous volumes; I have, therefore, endeavoured, +for a third time, to furnish the public with a book whose fault should +lie rather in the direction of seeming less serious than it is, than +of being less so than it seems.</p> +<p>At the same time, I admit that when I began to write upon my subject +I did not seriously believe in it. I saw, as it were, a pebble +upon the ground, with a sheen that pleased me; taking it up, I turned +it over and over for my amusement, and found it always grow brighter +and brighter the more I examined it. At length I became fascinated, +and gave loose rein to self-illusion. The aspect of the world +seemed changed; the trifle which I had picked up idly had proved to +be a talisman of inestimable value, and had opened a door through which +I caught glimpses of a strange and interesting transformation. +Then came one who told me that the stone was not mine, but that it had +been dropped by Lamarck, to whom it belonged rightfully, but who had +lost it; whereon I said I cared not who was the owner, if only I might +use it and enjoy it. Now, therefore, having polished it with what +art and care one who is no jeweller could bestow upon it, I return it, +as best I may, to its possessor.</p> +<p>What am I to think or say? That I tried to deceive others till +I have fallen a victim to my own falsehood? Surely this is the +most reasonable conclusion to arrive at. Or that I have really +found Lamarck’s talisman, which had been for some time lost sight +of?</p> +<p>Will the reader bid me wake with him to a world of chance and blindness? +Or can I persuade him to dream with me of a more living faith than either +he or I had as yet conceived as possible? As I have said, reason +points remorselessly to an awakening, but faith and hope still beckon +to the dream.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>APPENDIX - AUTHOR’S ADDENDA</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> But I +may say in passing that though articulate speech and the power to maintain +the upright position come much about the same time, yet the power of +making gestures of more or less significance is prior to that of walking +uprightly, and therefore to that of speech. Not only is gesticulation +the earlier faculty in the individual, but it was so also in the history +of our race. Our semi-simious ancestors could gesticulate long +before they could talk articulately. It is significant of this +that gesture is still found easier than speech even by adults, as may +be observed on our river steamers, where the captain moves his hand +but does not speak, a boy interpreting his gesture into language. +To develop this here would complicate the argument; let us be content +to note it and pass on.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> Nevertheless, +the smallness of the effort touches upon the deepest mystery of organic +life - the power to originate, to err, to sport, the power which differentiates +the living organism from the machine, however complicated. The +action and working of this power is found to be like the action of any +other mental and, therefore, physical power (for all physical action +of living beings is but the expression of a mental action), but I can +throw no light upon its origin any more than upon the origin of life. +This, too, must be noted and passed over.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> How different +from the above uncertain sound is the full clear note of one who truly +believes:-</p> +<p>“The Church of England is commonly called a Lutheran church, +but whoever compares it with the Lutheran churches on the Continent +will have reason to congratulate himself on its superiority. It +is in fact a church <i>sui generis</i>, yielding in point of dignity, +purity and decency of its doctrines, establishment and ceremonies, to +no congregation of christians in the world; modelled to a certain and +considerable extent, but not entirely, by our great and wise pious reformers +on the doctrines of Luther, so far as they are in conformity with the +sure and solid foundation on which it rests, and we trust for ever will +rest - the authority of the Holy Scriptures, Jesus Christ himself being +the chief corner stone.” (“Sketch of Modern and Ancient +Geography,” by Dr. Samuel Butler, of Shrewsbury. Ed. 1813.)</p> +<p>This is the language of faith, compelled by the exigencies of the +occasion to be for a short time conscious of its own existence, but +surely very little likely to become so to the extent of feeling the +need of any assistance from reason. It is the language of one +whose convictions are securely founded upon the current opinion of those +among whom he has been born and bred; and of all merely post-natal faiths +a faith so founded is the strongest. It is pleasing to see that +the only alterations in the edition of 1838 consist in spelling Christians +with a capital C and the omission of the epithet “wise” +as applied to the reformers, an omission more probably suggested by +a desire for euphony than by any nascent doubts concerning the applicability +of the epithet itself.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> Or take, +again, the constitution of the Church of England. The bishops +are the spiritual queens, the clergy are the neuter workers. They +differ widely in structure (for dress must be considered as a part of +structure), in the delicacy of the food they eat and the kind of house +they inhabit, and also in many of their instincts, from the bishops, +who are their spiritual parents. Not only this, but there are +two distinct kinds of neuter workers - priests and deacons; and of the +former there are deans, archdeacons, prebends, canons, rural deans, +vicars, rectors, curates, yet all spiritually sterile. In spite +of this sterility, however, is there anyone who will maintain that the +widely differing structures and instincts of these castes are not due +to inherited spiritual habit? Still less will he be inclined to +do so when he reflects that by such slight modification of treatment +as consecration and endowment any one of them can be rendered spiritually +fertile.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> Although +the original edition of “Life and Habit” is dated 1878, +the book was actually published in December, 1877.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines4"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, LIFE AND HABIT ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named lfhb10h.htm or lfhb10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, lfhb11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, lfhb10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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