UNCONSCIOUS MEMORY

"As this paper contains nothing which deserves the name either ofexperiment or discovery, and as it is, in fact, destitute of everyspecies of merit, we should have allowed it to pass among themultitude of those articles which must always find their way into thecollections of a society which is pledged to publish two or threevolumes every year. . . . We wish to raise our feeble voice againstinnovations, that can have no other effect than to check the progressof science, and renew all those wild phantoms of the imaginationwhich Bacon and Newton put to flight from her temple. "--OpeningParagraph of a Review of Dr. Young's Bakerian Lecture. EdinburghReview, January 1803, p. 450. 

"Young's work was laid before the Royal society, and was made the1801 Bakerian Lecture. But he was before his time. The secondnumber of the Edinburgh Review contained an article levelled againsthim by Henry (afterwards Lord) Brougham, and this was so severe anattack that Young's ideas were absolutely quenched for fifteen years. Brougham was then only twenty-four years of age. Young's theory wasreproduced in France by Fresnel. In our days it is the acceptedtheory, and is found to explain all the phenomena of light. "--TimesReport of a Lecture by Professor Tyndall on Light, April 27, 1880. 

This BookIs inscribed toRICHARD GARNETT, ESQ. (Of the British Museum)In grateful acknowledgment of the unwearying kindness with which hehas so often placed at my disposal his varied store of information. 

Contents: Note by R. A. Streatfeild Introduction by Marcus Hartog Author's Preface Unconscious Memory

NOTE

For many years a link in the chain of Samuel Butler's biologicalworks has been missing. "Unconscious Memory" was originallypublished thirty years ago, but for fully half that period it hasbeen out of print, owing to the destruction of a large number of theunbound sheets in a fire at the premises of the printers some yearsago. The present reprint comes, I think, at a peculiarly fortunatemoment, since the attention of the general public has of late beendrawn to Butler's biological theories in a marked manner by severaldistinguished men of science, notably by Dr. Francis Darwin, who, inhis presidential address to the British Association in 1908, quotedfrom the translation of Hering's address on "Memory as a UniversalFunction of Original Matter, " which Butler incorporated into"Unconscious Memory, " and spoke in the highest terms of Butlerhimself. It is not necessary for me to do more than refer to thechanged attitude of scientific authorities with regard to Butler andhis theories, since Professor Marcus Hartog has most kindly consentedto contribute an introduction to the present edition of "UnconsciousMemory, " summarising Butler's views upon biology, and defining hisposition in the world of science. A word must be said as to thecontroversy between Butler and Darwin, with which Chapter IV isconcerned. I have been told that in reissuing the book at all I amcommitting a grievous error of taste, that the world is no longerinterested in these "old, unhappy far-off things and battles longago, " and that Butler himself, by refraining from republishing"Unconscious Memory, " tacitly admitted that he wished the controversyto be consigned to oblivion. This last suggestion, at any rate, hasno foundation in fact. Butler desired nothing less than that hisvindication of himself against what he considered unfair treatmentshould be forgotten. He would have republished "Unconscious Memory"himself, had not the latter years of his life been devoted to all-engrossing work in other fields. In issuing the present edition I amfulfilling a wish that he expressed to me shortly before his death. 

R. A. STREATFEILD. April, 1910. 

INTRODUCTION By Marcus Hartog, M. A. D. Sc. , F. L. S. , F. R. H. S. 

In reviewing Samuel Butler's works, "Unconscious Memory" gives us aninvaluable lead; for it tells us (Chaps. II, III) how the author cameto write the Book of the Machines in "Erewhon" (1872), with itsforeshadowing of the later theory, "Life and Habit, " (1878), "Evolution, Old and New" (1879), as well as "Unconscious Memory"(1880) itself. His fourth book on biological theory was "Luck? orCunning?" (1887). {0a}

Besides these books, his contributions to biology comprise severalessays: "Remarks on Romanes' Mental Evolution in Animals, containedin "Selections from Previous Works" (1884) incorporated into "Luck?or Cunning, " "The Deadlock in Darwinism" (Universal Review, April-June, 1890), republished in the posthumous volume of "Essays on Life, Art, and Science" (1904), and, finally, some of the "Extracts fromthe Notebooks of the late Samuel Butler, " edited by Mr. H. FestingJones, now in course of publication in the New Quarterly Review. 

Of all these, "LIFE AND HABIT" (1878) is the most important, the mainbuilding to which the other writings are buttresses or, at most, annexes. Its teaching has been summarised in "Unconscious Memory" infour main principles: "(1) the oneness of personality between parentand offspring; (2) memory on the part of the offspring of certainactions which it did when in the persons of its forefathers; (3) thelatency of that memory until it is rekindled by a recurrence of theassociated ideas; (4) the unconsciousness with which habitual actionscome to be performed. " To these we must add a fifth: thepurposiveness of the actions of living beings, as of the machineswhich they make or select. 

Butler tells ("Life and Habit, " p. 33) that he sometimes hoped "thatthis book would be regarded as a valuable adjunct to Darwinism. " Hewas bitterly disappointed in the event, for the book, as a whole, wasreceived by professional biologists as a gigantic joke--a joke, moreover, not in the best possible taste. True, its central ideas, largely those of Lamarck, had been presented by Hering in 1870 (asButler found shortly after his publication); they had been favourablyreceived, developed by Haeckel, expounded and praised by RayLankester. Coming from Butler, they met with contumely, even fromsuch men as Romanes, who, as Butler had no difficulty in proving, were unconsciously inspired by the same ideas--"Nur mit ein bischenander'n Worter. "

It is easy, looking back, to see why "Life and Habit" so missed itsmark. Charles Darwin's presentation of the evolution theory had, forthe first time, rendered it possible for a "sound naturalist" toaccept the doctrine of common descent with divergence; and so given areal meaning to the term "natural relationship, " which had forceditself upon the older naturalists, despite their belief in specialand independent creations. The immediate aim of the naturalists ofthe day was now to fill up the gaps in their knowledge, so as tostrengthen the fabric of a unified biology. For this purpose theyfound their actual scientific equipment so inadequate that they werefully occupied in inventing fresh technique, and working therewith atfacts--save a few critics, such as St. George Mivart, who wasregarded as negligible, since he evidently held a brief for a partystanding outside the scientific world. 

Butler introduced himself as what we now call "The Man in theStreet, " far too bare of scientific clothing to satisfy the Mrs. Grundy of the domain: lacking all recognised tools of science andall sense of the difficulties in his way, he proceeded to tackle theproblems of science with little save the deft pen of the literaryexpert in his hand. His very failure to appreciate the difficultiesgave greater power to his work--much as Tartarin of Tarascon ascendedthe Jungfrau and faced successfully all dangers of Alpine travel, solong as he believed them to be the mere "blagues de reclame" of thewily Swiss host. His brilliant qualities of style and ironythemselves told heavily against him. Was he not already known forhaving written the most trenchant satire that had appeared since"Gulliver's Travels"? Had he not sneered therein at the veryfoundations of society, and followed up its success by a pseudo-biography that had taken in the "Record" and the "Rock"? In "Lifeand Habit, " at the very start, he goes out of his way to heap scornat the respected names of Marcus Aurelius, Lord Bacon, Goethe, Arnoldof Rugby, and Dr. W. B. Carpenter. He expressed the lowest opinionof the Fellows of the Royal Society. To him the professional man ofscience, with self-conscious knowledge for his ideal and aim, was amedicine-man, priest, augur--useful, perhaps, in his way, but to becarefully watched by all who value freedom of thought and person, lest with opportunity he develop into a persecutor of the worst type. Not content with blackguarding the audience to whom his work shouldmost appeal, he went on to depreciate that work itself and its authorin his finest vein of irony. Having argued that our best and highestknowledge is that of whose possession we are most ignorant, heproceeds: "Above all, let no unwary reader do me the injustice ofbelieving in me. In that I write at all I am among the damned. "

His writing of "EVOLUTION, OLD AND NEW" (1879) was due to hisconviction that scant justice had been done by Charles Darwin andAlfred Wallace and their admirers to the pioneering work of Buffon, Erasmus Darwin, and Lamarck. To repair this he gives a brilliantexposition of what seemed to him the most valuable portion of theirteachings on evolution. His analysis of Buffon's true meaning, veiled by the reticences due to the conditions under which he wrote, is as masterly as the English in which he develops it. His sense ofwounded justice explains the vigorous polemic which here, as in allhis later writings, he carries to the extreme. 

As a matter of fact, he never realised Charles Darwin's utter lack ofsympathetic understanding of the work of his French precursors, letalone his own grandfather, Erasmus. Yet this practical ignorance, which to Butler was so strange as to transcend belief, was altogethergenuine, and easy to realise when we recall the position of NaturalScience in the early thirties in Darwin's student days at Cambridge, and for a decade or two later. Catastropharianism was the tenet ofthe day: to the last it commended itself to his Professors of Botanyand Geology, --for whom Darwin held the fervent allegiance of theIndian scholar, or chela, to his guru. As Geikie has recentlypointed out, it was only later, when Lyell had shown that the breaksin the succession of the rocks were only partial and local, withoutinvolving the universal catastrophes that destroyed all life andrendered fresh creations thereof necessary, that any generalacceptance of a descent theory could be expected. We may be verysure that Darwin must have received many solemn warnings against thedangerous speculations of the "French Revolutionary School. " Hehimself was far too busy at the time with the reception andassimilation of new facts to be awake to the deeper interest of far-reaching theories. 

It is the more unfortunate that Butler's lack of appreciation onthese points should have led to the enormous proportion of bitterpersonal controversy that we find in the remainder of his biologicalwritings. Possibly, as suggested by George Bernard Shaw, hisacquaintance and admirer, he was also swayed by philosophicalresentment at that banishment of mind from the organic universe, which was generally thought to have been achieved by Charles Darwin'stheory. Still, we must remember that this mindless view is notimplicit in Charles Darwin's presentment of his own theory, nor wasit accepted by him as it has been by so many of his professeddisciples. 

"UNCONSCIOUS MEMORY" (1880). --We have already alluded to ananticipation of Butler's main theses. In 1870 Dr. Ewald Hering, oneof the most eminent physiologists of the day, Professor at Vienna, gave an Inaugural Address to the Imperial Royal Academy of Sciences:"Das Gedachtniss als allgemeine Funktion der organisirter Substanz"("Memory as a Universal Function of Organised Matter"). When "Lifeand Habit" was well advanced, Francis Darwin, at the time a frequentvisitor, called Butler's attention to this essay, which he himselfonly knew from an article in "Nature. " Herein Professor E. RayLankester had referred to it with admiring sympathy in connectionwith its further development by Haeckel in a pamphlet entitled "DiePerigenese der Plastidule. " We may note, however, that in hiscollected Essays, "The Advancement of Science" (1890), Sir RayLankester, while including this Essay, inserts on the blank page{0b}--we had almost written "the white sheet"--at the back of it anapology for having ever advocated the possibility of the transmissionof acquired characters. 

"Unconscious Memory" was largely written to show the relation ofButler's views to Hering's, and contains an exquisitely writtentranslation of the Address. Hering does, indeed, anticipate Butler, and that in language far more suitable to the persuasion of thescientific public. It contains a subsidiary hypothesis that memoryhas for its mechanism special vibrations of the protoplasm, and theacquired capacity to respond to such vibrations once felt upon theirrepetition. I do not think that the theory gains anything by theintroduction of this even as a mere formal hypothesis; and there isno evidence for its being anything more. Butler, however, gives it awarm, nay, enthusiastic, reception in Chapter V (Introduction toProfessor Hering's lecture), and in his notes to the translation ofthe Address, which bulks so large in this book, but points out thathe was "not committed to this hypothesis, though inclined to acceptit on a prima facie view. " Later on, as we shall see, he attachedmore importance to it. 

The Hering Address is followed in "Unconscious Memory" bytranslations of selected passages from Von Hartmann's "Philosophy ofthe Unconscious, " and annotations to explain the difference from thispersonification of "The Unconscious" as a mighty all-ruling, all-creating personality, and his own scientific recognition of the greatpart played by UNCONSCIOUS PROCESSES in the region of mind andmemory. 

These are the essentials of the book as a contribution to biologicalphilosophy. The closing chapters contain a lucid statement ofobjections to his theory as they might be put by a rigidnecessitarian, and a refutation of that interpretation as applied tohuman action. 

But in the second chapter Butler states his recession from the stronglogical position he had hitherto developed in his writings from"Erewhon" onwards; so far he had not only distinguished the livingfrom the non-living, but distinguished among the latter MACHINES orTOOLS from THINGS AT LARGE. {0c} Machines or tools are the externalorgans of living beings, as organs are their internal machines: theyare fashioned, assembled, or selected by the beings for a purposes sothey have a FUTURE PURPOSE, as well as a PAST HISTORY. "Things atlarge" have a past history, but no purpose (so long as some beingdoes not convert them into tools and give them a purpose): Machineshave a Why? as well as a How?: "things at large" have a How? only. 

In "Unconscious Memory" the allurements of unitary or monistic viewshave gained the upper hand, and Butler writes (p. 23):-

"The only thing of which I am sure is, that the distinction betweenthe organic and inorganic is arbitrary; that it is more coherent withour other ideas, and therefore more acceptable, to start with everymolecule as a living thing, and then deduce death as the breaking upof an association or corporation, than to start with inanimatemolecules and smuggle life into them; and that, therefore, what wecall the inorganic world must be regarded as up to a certain pointliving, and instinct, within certain limits, with consciousness, volition, and power of concerted action. IT IS ONLY OF LATE, HOWEVER, THAT I HAVE COME TO THIS OPINION. "

I have italicised the last sentence, to show that Butler was more orless conscious of its irreconcilability with much of his mostcharacteristic doctrine. Again, in the closing chapter, Butlerwrites (p. 275):-

"We should endeavour to see the so-called inorganic as living inrespect of the qualities it has in common with the organic, ratherthan the organic as non-living in respect of the qualities it has incommon with the inorganic. "

We conclude our survey of this book by mentioning the literarycontroversial part chiefly to be found in Chapter IV, but cropping upelsewhere. It refers to interpolations made in the authorisedtranslation of Krause's "Life of Erasmus Darwin. " Only one side ispresented; and we are not called upon, here or elsewhere, to discussthe merits of the question. 

"LUCK, OR CUNNING, as the Main Means of Organic Modification? anAttempt to throw Additional Light upon the late Mr. Charles Darwin'sTheory of Natural Selection" (1887), completes the series ofbiological books. This is mainly a book of strenuous polemic. Itbrings out still more forcibly the Hering-Butler doctrine ofcontinued personality from generation to generation, and of theworking of unconscious memory throughout; and points out that, whilethis is implicit in much of the teaching of Herbert Spencer, Romanes, and others, it was nowhere--even after the appearance of "Life andHabit"--explicitly recognised by them, but, on the contrary, maskedby inconsistent statements and teaching. Not Luck but Cunning, notthe uninspired weeding out by Natural Selection but the intelligentstriving of the organism, is at the bottom of the useful variety oforganic life. And the parallel is drawn that not the happy accidentof time and place, but the Machiavellian cunning of Charles Darwin, succeeded in imposing, as entirely his own, on the civilised world anuninspired and inadequate theory of evolution wherein luck played theleading part; while the more inspired and inspiring views of theolder evolutionists had failed by the inferiority of their luck. Onthis controversy I am bound to say that I do not in the very leastshare Butler's opinions; and I must ascribe them to his lack ofpersonal familiarity with the biologists of the day and their modesof thought and of work. Butler everywhere undervalues the importantwork of elimination played by Natural Selection in its widest sense. 

The "Conclusion" of "Luck, or Cunning?" shows a strong advance inmonistic views, and a yet more marked development in the vibrationhypothesis of memory given by Hering and only adopted with thegreatest reserve in "Unconscious Memory. "

"Our conception, then, concerning the nature of any matter dependssolely upon its kind and degree of unrest, that is to say, on thecharacteristics of the vibrations that are going on within it. Theexterior object vibrating in a certain way imparts some of itsvibrations to our brain; but if the state of the thing itself dependsupon its vibrations, it [the thing] must be considered as to allintents and purposes the vibrations themselves--plus, of course, theunderlying substance that is vibrating. . . . The same vibrations, therefore, form the substance remembered, introduce an infinitesimaldose of it within the brain, modify the substance remembering, and, in the course of time, create and further modify the mechanism ofboth the sensory and the motor nerves. Thought and thing are one. 

"I commend these two last speculations to the reader's charitableconsideration, as feeling that I am here travelling beyond the groundon which I can safely venture. . . . I believe they are bothsubstantially true. "

In 1885 he had written an abstract of these ideas in his notebooks(see New Quarterly Review, 1910, p. 116), and as in "Luck, orCunning?" associated them vaguely with the unitary conceptionsintroduced into chemistry by Newlands and Mendelejeff. Judginghimself as an outsider, the author of "Life and Habit" wouldcertainly have considered the mild expression of faith, "I believethey are both substantially true, " equivalent to one of extremedoubt. Thus "the fact of the Archbishop's recognising this as amongthe number of his beliefs is conclusive evidence, with those who havedevoted attention to the laws of thought, that his mind is not yetclear" on the matter of the belief avowed (see "Life and Habit, " pp. 24, 25). 

To sum up: Butler's fundamental attitude to the vibration hypothesiswas all through that taken in "Unconscious Memory"; he played with itas a pretty pet, and fancied it more and more as time went on; butinstead of backing it for all he was worth, like the main theses of"Life and Habit, " he put a big stake on it--and then hedged. 

The last of Butler's biological writings is the Essay, "THE DEADLOCKIN DARWINISM, " containing much valuable criticism on Wallace andWeismann. It is in allusion to the misnomer of Wallace's book, "Darwinism, " that he introduces the term "Wallaceism" {0d} for atheory of descent that excludes the transmission of acquiredcharacters. This was, indeed, the chief factor that led CharlesDarwin to invent his hypothesis of pangenesis, which, unacceptable asit has proved, had far more to recommend it as a formal hypothesisthan the equally formal germ-plasm hypothesis of Weismann. 

The chief difficulty in accepting the main theses of Butler andHering is one familiar to every biologist, and not at all difficultto understand by the layman. Everyone knows that the complicatedbeings that we term "Animals" and "Plants, " consist of a number ofmore or less individualised units, the cells, each analogous to asimpler being, a Protist--save in so far as the character of the cellunit of the Higher being is modified in accordance with the part itplays in that complex being as a whole. Most people, too, arefamiliar with the fact that the complex being starts as a singlecell, separated from its parent; or, where bisexual reproductionoccurs, from a cell due to the fusion of two cells, each detachedfrom its parent. Such cells are called "Germ-cells. " The germ-cell, whether of single or of dual origin, starts by dividing repeatedly, so as to form the PRIMARY EMBRYONIC CELLS, a complex mass of cells, at first essentially similar, which, however, as they go onmultiplying, undergo differentiations and migrations, losing theirsimplicity as they do so. Those cells that are modified to take partin the proper work of the whole are called tissue-cells. In virtueof their activities, their growth and reproductive power are limited--much more in Animals than in Plants, in Higher than in Lower beings. It is these tissues, or some of them, that receive the impressionsfrom the outside which leave the imprint of memory. Other cells, which may be closely associated into a continuous organ, or more orless surrounded by tissue-cells, whose part it is to nourish them, are called "secondary embryonic cells, " or "germ-cells. " The germ-cells may be differentiated in the young organism at a very earlystage, but in Plants they are separated at a much later date from theless isolated embryonic regions that provide for the Plant'sbranching; in all cases we find embryonic and germ-cells screenedfrom the life processes of the complex organism, or taking no veryobvious part in it, save to form new tissues or new organs, notablyin Plants. 

Again, in ourselves, and to a greater or less extent in all Animals, we find a system of special tissues set apart for the reception andstorage of impressions from the outer world, and for guiding theother organs in their appropriate responses--the "Nervous System";and when this system is ill-developed or out of gear the remainingorgans work badly from lack of proper skilled guidance and co-ordination. How can we, then, speak of "memory" in a germ-cell whichhas been screened from the experiences of the organism, which is toosimple in structure to realise them if it were exposed to them? Myown answer is that we cannot form any theory on the subject, the onlyquestion is whether we have any right to INFER this "memory" from theBEHAVIOUR of living beings; and Butler, like Hering, Haeckel, andsome more modern authors, has shown that the inference is a verystrong presumption. Again, it is easy to over-value such complexinstruments as we possess. The possessor of an up-to-date camera, well instructed in the function and manipulation of every part, butignorant of all optics save a hand-to-mouth knowledge of theproperties of his own lens, might say that a priori no picture couldbe taken with a cigar-box perforated by a pin-hole; and our ignoranceof the mechanism of the Psychology of any organism is greater by manytimes than that of my supposed photographer. We know that Plants areable to do many things that can only be accounted for by ascribing tothem a "psyche, " and these co-ordinated enough to satisfy theirneeds; and yet they possess no central organ comparable to the brain, no highly specialised system for intercommunication like our nervetrunks and fibres. As Oscar Hertwig says, we are as ignorant of themechanism of the development of the individual as we are of that ofhereditary transmission of acquired characters, and the absence ofsuch mechanism in either case is no reason for rejecting the provenfact. 

However, the relations of germ and body just described led Jager, Nussbaum, Galton, Lankester, and, above all, Weismann, to the viewthat the germ-cells or "stirp" (Galton) were IN the body, but not OFit. Indeed, in the body and out of it, whether as reproductive cellsset free, or in the developing embryo, they are regarded as formingone continuous homogeneity, in contrast to the differentiation of thebody; and it is to these cells, regarded as a continuum, that theterms stirp, germ-plasm, are especially applied. Yet on this view, so eagerly advocated by its supporters, we have to substitute for thehypothesis of memory, which they declare to have no real meaninghere, the far more fantastic hypotheses of Weismann: by these theyexplain the process of differentiation in the young embryo into newgerm and body; and in the young body the differentiation of itscells, each in due time and place, into the varied tissue cells andorgans. Such views might perhaps be acceptable if it could be shownthat over each cell-division there presided a wise all-guiding genieof transcending intellect, to which Clerk-Maxwell's sorting demonswere mere infants. Yet these views have so enchanted manydistinguished biologists, that in dealing with the subject they haveactually ignored the existence of equally able workers who hesitateto share the extremest of their views. The phenomenon is one wellknown in hypnotic practice. So long as the non-Weismannians dealwith matters outside this discussion, their existence and their workis rated at its just value; but any work of theirs on this point soaffects the orthodox Weismannite (whether he accept this label orreject it does not matter), that for the time being their existenceand the good work they have done are alike non-existent. {0e}

Butler founded no school, and wished to found none. He desired thatwhat was true in his work should prevail, and he looked forwardcalmly to the time when the recognition of that truth and of hisshare in advancing it should give him in the lives of others thatimmortality for which alone he craved. 

Lamarckian views have never lacked defenders here and in America. Ofthe English, Herbert Spencer, who however, was averse to thevitalistic attitude, Vines and Henslow among botanists, Cunninghamamong zoologists, have always resisted Weismannism; but, I think, none of these was distinctly influenced by Hering and Butler. InAmerica the majority of the great school of palaeontologists havebeen strong Lamarckians, notably Cope, who has pointed out, moreover, that the transformations of energy in living beings are peculiar tothem. 

We have already adverted to Haeckel's acceptance and development ofHering's ideas in his "Perigenese der Plastidule. " Oscar Hertwig hasbeen a consistent Lamarckian, like Yves Delage of the Sorbonne, andthese occupy pre-eminent positions not only as observers, but asdiscriminating theorists and historians of the recent progress ofbiology. We may also cite as a Lamarckian--of a sort--Felix LeDantec, the leader of the chemico-physical school of the present day. 

But we must seek elsewhere for special attention to the points whichButler regarded as the essentials of "Life and Habit. " In 1893 HenryP. Orr, Professor of Biology in the University of Louisiana, published a little book entitled "A Theory of Heredity. " Herein heinsists on the nervous control of the whole body, and on thetransmission to the reproductive cells of such stimuli, received bythe body, as will guide them on their path until they shall haveacquired adequate experience of their own in the new body they haveformed. I have found the name of neither Butler nor Hering, but thetreatment is essentially on their lines, and is both clear andinteresting. 

In 1896 I wrote an essay on "The Fundamental Principles of Heredity, "primarily directed to the man in the street. This, after being heldover for more than a year by one leading review, was "declined withregret, " and again after some weeks met the same fate from anothereditor. It appeared in the pages of "Natural Science" for October, 1897, and in the "Biologisches Centralblatt" for the same year. Ireproduce its closing paragraph:-

"This theory [Hering-Butler's] has, indeed, a tentative character, and lacks symmetrical completeness, but is the more welcome as notaiming at the impossible. A whole series of phenomena in organicbeings are correlated under the term of MEMORY, CONSCIOUS ANDUNCONSCIOUS, PATENT AND LATENT. . . . Of the order of unconsciousmemory, latent till the arrival of the appropriate stimulus, is allthe co-operative growth and work of the organism, including itsdevelopment from the reproductive cells. Concerning the modusoperandi we know nothing: the phenomena may be due, as Heringsuggests, to molecular vibrations, which must be at least as distinctfrom ordinary physical disturbances as Rontgen's rays are fromordinary light; or it may be correlated, as we ourselves are inclinedto think, with complex chemical changes in an intricate but orderlysuccession. For the present, at least, the problem of heredity canonly be elucidated by the light of mental, and not materialprocesses. "

It will be seen that I express doubts as to the validity of Hering'sinvocation of molecular vibrations as the mechanism of memory, andsuggest as an alternative rhythmic chemical changes. This view hasrecently been put forth in detail by J. J. Cunningham in his essay onthe "Hormone {0f} Theory of Heredity, " in the Archiv furEntwicklungsmechanik (1909), but I have failed to note any directeffect of my essay on the trend of biological thought. 

Among post-Darwinian controversies the one that has latterly assumedthe greatest prominence is that of the relative importance of smallvariations in the way of more or less "fluctuations, " and of"discontinuous variations, " or "mutations, " as De Vries has calledthem. Darwin, in the first four editions of the "Origin of Species, "attached more importance to the latter than in subsequent editions;he was swayed in his attitude, as is well known, by an article of thephysicist, Fleeming Jenkin, which appeared in the North BritishReview. The mathematics of this article were unimpeachable, but theywere founded on the assumption that exceptional variations would onlyoccur in single individuals, which is, indeed, often the case amongthose domesticated races on which Darwin especially studied thephenomena of variation. Darwin was no mathematician or physicist, and we are told in his biography that he regarded every tool-shoprule or optician's thermometer as an instrument of precision: so heappears to have regarded Fleeming Jenkin's demonstration as amathematical deduction which he was bound to accept withoutcriticism. 

Mr. William Bateson, late Professor of Biology in the University ofCambridge, as early as 1894 laid great stress on the importance ofdiscontinuous variations, collecting and collating the known facts inhis "Materials for the Study of Variations"; but this important work, now become rare and valuable, at the time excited so little interestas to be 'remaindered' within a very few years after publication. 

In 1901 Hugo De Vries, Professor of Botany in the University ofAmsterdam, published "Die Mutationstheorie, " wherein he showed thatmutations or discontinuous variations in various directions mayappear simultaneously in many individuals, and in various directions. In the gardener's phrase, the species may take to sporting in variousdirections at the same time, and each sport may be represented bynumerous specimens. 

De Vries shows the probability that species go on for long periodsshowing only fluctuations, and then suddenly take to sporting in theway described, short periods of mutation alternating with longintervals of relative constancy. It is to mutations that De Vriesand his school, as well as Luther Burbank, the great former of newfruit- and flower-plants, look for those variations which form thematerial of Natural Selection. In "God the Known and God theUnknown, " which appeared in the Examiner (May, June, and July), 1879, but though then revised was only published posthumously in 1909, Butler anticipates this distinction:-

"Under these circumstances organism must act in one or other of thesetwo ways: it must either change slowly and continuously with thesurroundings, paying cash for everything, meeting the smallest changewith a corresponding modification, so far as is found convenient, orit must put off change as long as possible, and then make larger andmore sweeping changes. 

"Both these courses are the same in principle, the difference beingone of scale, and the one being a miniature of the other, as a rippleis an Atlantic wave in little; both have their advantages anddisadvantages, so that most organisms will take the one course forone set of things and the other for another. They will deal promptlywith things which they can get at easily, and which lie more upon thesurface; THOSE, HOWEVER, WHICH ARE MORE TROUBLESOME TO REACH, AND LIEDEEPER, WILL BE HANDLED UPON MORE CATACLYSMIC PRINCIPLES, BEINGALLOWED LONGER PERIODS OF REPOSE FOLLOWED BY SHORT PERIODS OF GREATERACTIVITY . . . It may be questioned whether what is called a sport isnot the organic expression of discontent which has been long felt, but which has not been attended to, nor been met step by step by asmuch small remedial modification as was found practicable: so thatwhen a change does come it comes by way of revolution. Or, again(only that it comes to much the same thing), it may be compared toone of those happy thoughts which sometimes come to us unbidden afterwe have been thinking for a long time what to do, or how to arrangeour ideas, and have yet been unable to come to any conclusion" (pp. 14, 15). {0g}

We come to another order of mind in Hans Driesch. At the time hebegan his work biologists were largely busy in a region indicated byDarwin, and roughly mapped out by Haeckel--that of phylogeny. Fromthe facts of development of the individual, from the comparison offossils in successive strata, they set to work at the construction ofpedigrees, and strove to bring into line the principles ofclassification with the more or less hypothetical "stemtrees. "Driesch considered this futile, since we never could reconstruct fromsuch evidence anything certain in the history of the past. Hetherefore asserted that a more complete knowledge of the physics andchemistry of the organic world might give a scientific explanation ofthe phenomena, and maintained that the proper work of the biologistwas to deepen our knowledge in these respects. He embodied hisviews, seeking the explanation on this track, filling up gaps andtracing projected roads along lines of probable truth in his"Analytische Theorie der organische Entwicklung. " But his own workconvinced him of the hopelessness of the task he had undertaken, andhe has become as strenuous a vitalist as Butler. The most completestatement of his present views is to be found in "The Philosophy ofLife" (1908-9), being the Giffold Lectures for 1907-8. Herein hepostulates a quality ("psychoid") in all living beings, directingenergy and matter for the purpose of the organism, and to this heapplies the Aristotelian designation "Entelechy. " The question ofthe transmission of acquired characters is regarded as doubtful, andhe does not emphasise--if he accepts--the doctrine of continuouspersonality. His early youthful impatience with descent theories andhypotheses has, however, disappeared. 

In the next work the influence of Hering and Butler is definitelypresent and recognised. In 1906 Signor Eugenio Rignano, an engineerkeenly interested in all branches of science, and a little later thefounder of the international review, Rivista di Scienza (now simplycalled Scientia), published in French a volume entitled "Sur latransmissibilite des Caracteres acquis--Hypothese d'un Centro-epigenese. " Into the details of the author's work we will not enterfully. Suffice it to know that he accepts the Hering-Butler theory, and makes a distinct advance on Hering's rather crude hypothesis ofpersistent vibrations by suggesting that the remembering centresstore slightly different forms of energy, to give out energy of thesame kind as they have received, like electrical accumulators. Thelast chapter, "Le Phenomene mnemonique et le Phenomene vital, " isfrankly based on Hering. 

In "The Lesson of Evolution" (1907, posthumous, and only publishedfor private circulation) Frederick Wollaston Hutton, F. R. S. , lateProfessor of Biology and Geology, first at Dunedin and after atChristchurch, New Zealand, puts forward a strongly vitalistic view, and adopts Hering's teaching. After stating this he adds, "The sameidea of heredity being due to unconscious memory was advocated by Mr. Samuel Butler in his "Life and Habit. "

Dr. James Mark Baldwin, Stuart Professor of Psychology in PrincetonUniversity, U. S. A. , called attention early in the 90's to a reactioncharacteristic of all living beings, which he terms the "CircularReaction. " We take his most recent account of this from his"Development and Evolution" (1902):- {0h}

"The general fact is that the organism reacts by concentration uponthe locality stimulated for the CONTINUANCE of the conditions, movements, stimulations, WHICH ARE VITALLY BENEFICIAL, and for thecessation of the conditions, movements, stimulations WHICH AREVITALLY DEPRESSING. "

This amounts to saying in the terminology of Jenning (see below) thatthe living organism alters its "physiological states" either for itsdirect benefit, or for its indirect benefit in the reduction ofharmful conditions. 

Again:-

"This form of concentration of energy on stimulated localities, withthe resulting renewal through movement of conditions that arepleasure-giving and beneficial, and the consequent repetition of themovements is called 'circular reaction. '"

Of course, the inhibition of such movements as would be painful onrepetition is merely the negative case of the circular reaction. Wemust not put too much of our own ideas into the author's mind; henowhere says explicitly that the animal or plant shows its sense anddoes this because it likes the one thing and wants it repeated, ordislikes the other and stops its repetition, as Butler would havesaid. Baldwin is very strong in insisting that no full explanationcan be given of living processes, any more than of history, on purelychemico-physical grounds. 

The same view is put differently and independently by H. S. Jennings, {0i} who started his investigations of living Protista, the simplestof living beings, with the idea that only accurate and ampleobservation was needed to enable us to explain all their activitieson a mechanical basis, and devised ingenious models of protoplasticmovements. He was led, like Driesch, to renounce such efforts asillusory, and has come to the conviction that in the behaviour ofthese lowly beings there is a purposive and a tentative character--amethod of "trial and error"--that can only be interpreted by theinvocation of psychology. He points out that after stimulation the"state" of the organism may be altered, so that the response to thesame stimulus on repetition is other. Or, as he puts it, the firststimulus has caused the organism to pass into a new "physiologicalstate. " As the change of state from what we may call the "primaryindifferent state" is advantageous to the organism, we may regardthis as equivalent to the doctrine of the "circular reaction, " andalso as containing the essence of Semon's doctrine of "engrams" orimprints which we are about to consider. We cite one passage whichfor audacity of thought (underlying, it is true, most guardedexpression) may well compare with many of the boldest flights in"Life and Habit":-

"It may be noted that regulation in the manner we have set forth iswhat, in the behaviour of higher organisms, at least, is calledintelligence [the examples have been taken from Protista, Corals, andthe Lowest Worms]. If the same method of regulation is found inother fields, there is no reason for refusing to compare the actionto intelligence. Comparison of the regulatory processes that areshown in internal physiological changes and in regeneration tointelligence seems to be looked upon sometimes as heretical andunscientific. Yet intelligence is a name applied to processes thatactually exist in the regulation of movements, and there is, apriori, no reason why similar processes should not occur inregulation in other fields. When we analyse regulation objectivelythere seems indeed reason to think that the processes are of the samecharacter in behaviour as elsewhere. If the term intelligence bereserved for the subjective accompaniments of such regulation, thenof course we have no direct knowledge of its existence in any of thefields of regulation outside of the self, and in the self perhapsonly in behaviour. But in a purely objective consideration thereseems no reason to suppose that regulation in behaviour(intelligence) is of a fundamentally different character fromregulation elsewhere. " ("Method of Regulation, " p. 492. )

Jennings makes no mention of questions of the theory of heredity. Hehas made some experiments on the transmission of an acquiredcharacter in Protozoa; but it was a mutilation-character, which is, as has been often shown, {0j} not to the point. 

One of the most obvious criticisms of Hering's exposition is basedupon the extended use he makes of the word "Memory": this he hadforeseen and deprecated. 

"We have a perfect right, " he says, "to extend our conception ofmemory so as to make it embrace involuntary [and also unconscious]reproductions of sensations, ideas, perceptions, and efforts; but wefind, on having done so, that we have so far enlarged her boundariesthat she proves to be an ultimate and original power, the source and, at the same time, the unifying bond, of our whole conscious life. "("Unconscious Memory, " p. 68. )

This sentence, coupled with Hering's omission to give to the conceptof memory so enlarged a new name, clear alike of the limitations andof the stains of habitual use, may well have been the inspiration ofthe next work on our list. Richard Semon is a professional zoologistand anthropologist of such high status for his original observationsand researches in the mere technical sense, that in these countrieshe would assuredly have been acclaimed as one of the Fellows of theRoyal Society who were Samuel Butler's special aversion. The fulltitle of his book is "DIE MNEME als erhaltende Prinzip im Wechsel desorganischen Geschehens" (Munich, Ed. 1, 1904; Ed. 2, 1908). We maytranslate it "MNEME, a Principle of Conservation in theTransformations of Organic Existence. "

From this I quote in free translation the opening passage of ChapterII:-

"We have shown that in very many cases, whether in Protist, Plant, orAnimal, when an organism has passed into an indifferent state afterthe reaction to a stimulus has ceased, its irritable substance hassuffered a lasting change: I call this after-action of the stimulusits 'imprint' or 'engraphic' action, since it penetrates and imprintsitself in the organic substance; and I term the change so effected an'imprint' or 'engram' of the stimulus; and the sum of all theimprints possessed by the organism may be called its 'store ofimprints, ' wherein we must distinguish between those which it hasinherited from its forbears and those which it has acquired itself. Any phenomenon displayed by an organism as the result either of asingle imprint or of a sum of them, I term a 'mnemic phenomenon'; andthe mnemic possibilities of an organism may be termed, collectively, its 'MNEME. '

"I have selected my own terms for the concepts that I have justdefined. On many grounds I refrain from making any use of the goodGerman terms 'Gedachtniss, Erinnerungsbild. ' The first and chiefestground is that for my purpose I should have to employ the Germanwords in a much wider sense than what they usually convey, and thusleave the door open to countless misunderstandings and idlecontroversies. It would, indeed, even amount to an error of fact togive to the wider concept the name already current in the narrowersense--nay, actually limited, like 'Erinnerungsbild, ' to phenomena ofconsciousness. . . . In Animals, during the course of history, oneset of organs has, so to speak, specialised itself for the receptionand transmission of stimuli--the Nervous System. But from thisspecialisation we are not justified in ascribing to the nervoussystem any monopoly of the function, even when it is as highlydeveloped as in Man. . . . Just as the direct excitability of thenervous system has progressed in the history of the race, so has itscapacity for receiving imprints; but neither susceptibility norretentiveness is its monopoly; and, indeed, retentiveness seemsinseparable from susceptibility in living matter. "

Semen here takes the instance of stimulus and imprint actionsaffecting the nervous system of a dog

"who has up till now never experienced aught but kindness from theLord of Creation, and then one day that he is out alone is peltedwith stones by a boy. . . . Here he is affected at once by two setsof stimuli: (1) the optic stimulus of seeing the boy stoop forstones and throw them, and (2) the skin stimulus of the pain feltwhen they hit him. Here both stimuli leave their imprints; and theorganism is permanently changed in relation to the recurrence of thestimuli. Hitherto the sight of a human figure quickly stooping hadproduced no constant special reaction. Now the reaction is constant, and may remain so till death. . . . The dog tucks in its tailbetween its legs and takes flight, often with a howl [as of] pain. "

"Here we gain on one side a deeper insight into the imprint action ofstimuli. It reposes on the lasting change in the conditions of theliving matter, so that the repetition of the immediate or synchronousreaction to its first stimulus (in this case the stooping of the boy, the flying stones, and the pain on the ribs), no longer demands, asin the original state of indifference, the full stimulus a, but maybe called forth by a partial or different stimulus, b (in this casethe mere stooping to the ground). I term the influences by whichsuch changed reaction are rendered possible, 'outcome-reactions, ' andwhen such influences assume the form of stimuli, 'outcome-stimuli. '

They are termed "outcome" ("ecphoria") stimuli, because the authorregards them and would have us regard them as the outcome, manifestation, or efference of an imprint of a previous stimulus. Wehave noted that the imprint is equivalent to the changed"physiological state" of Jennings. Again, the capacity for gainingimprints and revealing them by outcomes favourable to the individualis the "circular reaction" of Baldwin, but Semon gives no referenceto either author. {0k}

In the preface to his first edition (reprinted in the second) Semonwrites, after discussing the work of Hering and Haeckel:-

"The problem received a more detailed treatment in Samuel Butler'sbook, 'Life and Habit, ' published in 1878. Though he only madeacquaintance with Hering's essay after this publication, Butler gavewhat was in many respects a more detailed view of the coincidences ofthese different phenomena of organic reproduction than did Hering. With much that is untenable, Butler's writings present many abrilliant idea; yet, on the whole, they are rather a retrogressionthan an advance upon Hering. Evidently they failed to exercise anymarked influence upon the literature of the day. "

This judgment needs a little examination. Butler claimed, justly, that his "Life and Habit" was an advance on Hering in its dealingwith questions of hybridity, and of longevity puberty and sterility. Since Semon's extended treatment of the phenomena of crosses mightalmost be regarded as the rewriting of the corresponding section of"Life and Habit" in the "Mneme" terminology, we may infer that thisview of the question was one of Butler's "brilliant ideas. " ThatButler shrank from accepting such a formal explanation of memory asHering did with his hypothesis should certainly be counted as adistinct "advance upon Hering, " for Semon also avoids any attempt atan explanation of "Mneme. " I think, however, we may gather the realmeaning of Semon's strictures from the following passages:-

"I refrain here from a discussion of the development of this theoryof Lamarck's by those Neo-Lamarckians who would ascribe to theindividual elementary organism an equipment of complex psychicalpowers--so to say, anthropomorphic perception and volitions. Thistreatment is no longer directed by the scientific principle ofreferring complex phenomena to simpler laws, of deducing even humanintellect and will from simpler elements. On the contrary, theyfollow that most abhorrent method of taking the most complex andunresolved as a datum, and employing it as an explanation. Theadoption of such a method, as formerly by Samuel Butler, and recentlyby Pauly, I regard as a big and dangerous step backward" (ed. 2, pp. 380-1, note). 

Thus Butler's alleged retrogressions belong to the same order ofthinking that we have seen shared by Driesch, Baldwin, and Jennings, and most explicitly avowed, as we shall see, by Francis Darwin. Semon makes one rather candid admission, "The impossibility ofinterpreting the phenomena of physiological stimulation by those ofdirect reaction, and the undeception of those who had put faith inthis being possible, have led many on the BACKWARD PATH OF VITALISM. "Semon assuredly will never be able to complete his theory of "Mneme"until, guided by the experience of Jennings and Driesch, he forsakesthe blind alley of mechanisticism and retraces his steps toreasonable vitalism. 

But the most notable publications bearing on our matter areincidental to the Darwin Celebrations of 1908-9. Dr. Francis Darwin, son, collaborator, and biographer of Charles Darwin, was selected topreside over the Meeting of the British Association held in Dublin in1908, the jubilee of the first publications on Natural Selection byhis father and Alfred Russel Wallace. In this address we find thetheory of Hering, Butler, Rignano, and Semon taking its proper placeas a vera causa of that variation which Natural Selection must findbefore it can act, and recognised as the basis of a rational theoryof the development of the individual and of the race. The organismis essentially purposive: the impossibility of devising any adequateaccounts of organic form and function without taking account of thepsychical side is most strenuously asserted. And with our regretthat past misunderstandings should be so prominent in Butler's works, it was very pleasant to hear Francis Darwin's quotation from Butler'stranslation of Hering {0l} followed by a personal tribute to Butlerhimself. 

In commemoration of the centenary of the birth of Charles Darwin andof the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of the "Origin ofSpecies, " at the suggestion of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, the University Press published during the current year a volumeentitled "Darwin and Modern Science, " edited by Mr. A. C. Seward, Professor of Botany in the University. Of the twenty-nine essays bymen of science of the highest distinction, one is of peculiarinterest to the readers of Samuel Butler: "Heredity and Variation inModern Lights, " by Professor W. Bateson, F. R. S. , to whose work on"Discontinuous Variations" we have already referred. Here once moreButler receives from an official biologist of the first rank fullrecognition for his wonderful insight and keen critical power. Thisis the more noteworthy because Bateson has apparently no faith in thetransmission of acquired characters; but such a passage as this wouldhave commended itself to Butler's admiration:-

"All this indicates a definiteness and specific order in heredity, and therefore in variation. This order cannot by the nature of thecase be dependent on Natural Selection for its existence, but must bea consequence of the fundamental chemical and physical nature ofliving things. The study of Variation had from the first shown thatan orderliness of this kind was present. The bodies and propertiesof living things are cosmic, not chaotic. No matter how low in thescale we go, never do we find the slightest hint of a diminution inthat all-pervading orderliness, nor can we conceive an organismexisting for one moment in any other state. "

We have now before us the materials to determine the problem ofButler's relation to biology and to biologists. He was, we haveseen, anticipated by Hering; but his attitude was his own, fresh andoriginal. He did not hamper his exposition, like Hering, by asubsidiary hypothesis of vibrations which may or may not be true, which burdens the theory without giving it greater carrying power orpersuasiveness, which is based on no objective facts, and which, asSemon has practically demonstrated, is needless for the detailedworking out of the theory. Butler failed to impress the biologistsof his day, even those on whom, like Romanes, he might havereasonably counted for understanding and for support. But he keptalive Hering's work when it bade fair to sink into the limbo ofobsolete hypotheses. To use Oliver Wendell Holmes's phrase, he"depolarised" evolutionary thought. We quote the words of a youngbiologist, who, when an ardent and dogmatic Weismannist of the mostpronounced type, was induced to read "Life and Habit": "The book wasto me a transformation and an inspiration. " Such learned writings asSemon's or Hering's could never produce such an effect: they do notpenetrate to the heart of man; they cannot carry conviction to theintellect already filled full with rival theories, and with theunreasoned faith that to-morrow or next day a new discovery willobliterate all distinction between Man and his makings. The mindmust needs be open for the reception of truth, for the rejection ofprejudice; and the violence of a Samuel Butler may in the future asin the past be needed to shatter the coat of mail forged by tooexclusively professional a training. 

MARCUS HARTOGCork, April, 1910

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

Not finding the "well-known German scientific journal Kosmos" {0m}entered in the British Museum Catalogue, I have presented the Museumwith a copy of the number for February 1879, which contains thearticle by Dr. Krause of which Mr. Charles Darwin has given atranslation, the accuracy of which is guaranteed--so he informs us--by the translator's "scientific reputation together with hisknowledge of German. " {0n}

I have marked the copy, so that the reader can see at a glance whatpassages has been suppressed and where matter has been interpolated. 

I have also present a copy of "Erasmus Darwin. " I have marked thistoo, so that the genuine and spurious passages can be easilydistinguished. 

I understand that both the "Erasmus Darwin" and the number of Kosmoshave been sent to the Keeper of Printed Books, with instructions thatthey shall be at once catalogued and made accessible to readers, anddo not doubt that this will have been done before the present volumeis published. The reader, therefore, who may be sufficientlyinterested in the matter to care to see exactly what has been donewill now have an opportunity of doing so. 

October 25, 1880. 

CHAPTER I

Introduction--General ignorance on the subject of evolution at thetime the "Origin of Species" was published in 1859. 

There are few things which strike us with more surprise, when wereview the course taken by opinion in the last century, than thesuddenness with which belief in witchcraft and demoniacal possessioncame to an end. This has been often remarked upon, but I am notacquainted with any record of the fact as it appeared to those underwhose eyes the change was taking place, nor have I seen anycontemporary explanation of the reasons which led to the apparentlysudden overthrow of a belief which had seemed hitherto to be deeplyrooted in the minds of almost all men. As a parallel to this, thoughin respect of the rapid spread of an opinion, and not its decadence, it is probable that those of our descendants who take an interest inourselves will note the suddenness with which the theory ofevolution, from having been generally ridiculed during a period ofover a hundred years, came into popularity and almost universalacceptance among educated people. 

It is indisputable that this has been the case; nor is it lessindisputable that the works of Mr. Darwin and Mr. Wallace have beenthe main agents in the change that has been brought about in ouropinions. The names of Cobden and Bright do not stand moreprominently forward in connection with the repeal of the Corn Lawsthan do those of Mr. Darwin and Mr. Wallace in connection with thegeneral acceptance of the theory of evolution. There is no livingphilosopher who has anything like Mr. Darwin's popularity withEnglishmen generally; and not only this, but his power of fascinationextends all over Europe, and indeed in every country in whichcivilisation has obtained footing: not among the illiterate masses, though these are rapidly following the suit of the educated classes, but among experts and those who are most capable of judging. France, indeed--the country of Buffon and Lamarck--must be counted anexception to the general rule, but in England and Germany there arefew men of scientific reputation who do not accept Mr. Darwin as thefounder of what is commonly called "Darwinism, " and regard him asperhaps the most penetrative and profound philosopher of moderntimes. 

To quote an example from the last few weeks only, {2} I have observedthat Professor Huxley has celebrated the twenty-first year since the"Origin of Species" was published by a lecture at the RoyalInstitution, and am told that he described Mr. Darwin's candour assomething actually "terrible" (I give Professor Huxley's own word, asreported by one who heard it); and on opening a small book entitled"Degeneration, " by Professor Ray Lankester, published a few daysbefore these lines were written, I find the following passage amidmore that is to the same purport:-

"Suddenly one of those great guesses which occasionally appear in thehistory of science was given to the science of biology by theimaginative insight of that greatest of living naturalists--I wouldsay that greatest of living men--Charles Darwin. "--Degeneration, p. 10. 

This is very strong language, but it is hardly stronger than thathabitually employed by the leading men of science when they speak ofMr. Darwin. To go farther afield, in February 1879 the Germansdevoted an entire number of one of their scientific periodicals {3}to the celebration of Mr. Darwin's seventieth birthday. There is noother Englishman now living who has been able to win such acompliment as this from foreigners, who should be disinterestedjudges. 

Under these circumstances, it must seem the height of presumption todiffer from so great an authority, and to join the small band ofmalcontents who hold that Mr. Darwin's reputation as a philosopher, though it has grown up with the rapidity of Jonah's gourd, will yetnot be permanent. I believe, however, that though we must alwaysgladly and gratefully owe it to Mr. Darwin and Mr. Wallace that thepublic mind has been brought to accept evolution, the admiration nowgenerally felt for the "Origin of Species" will appear asunaccountable to our descendants some fifty or eighty years hence asthe enthusiasm of our grandfathers for the poetry of Dr. ErasmusDarwin does to ourselves; and as one who has yielded to none inrespect of the fascination Mr. Darwin has exercised over him, I wouldfain say a few words of explanation which may make the matter clearerto our future historians. I do this the more readily because I canat the same time explain thus better than in any other way the stepswhich led me to the theory which I afterwards advanced in "Life andHabit. "

This last, indeed, is perhaps the main purpose of the earlierchapters of this book. I shall presently give a translation of alecture by Professor Ewald Hering of Prague, which appeared ten yearsago, and which contains so exactly the theory I subsequentlyadvocated myself, that I am half uneasy lest it should be supposedthat I knew of Professor Hering's work and made no reference to it. A friend to whom I submitted my translation in MS. , asking him howclosely he thought it resembled "Life and Habit, " wrote back that itgave my own ideas almost in my own words. As far as the ideas areconcerned this is certainly the case, and considering that ProfessorHering wrote between seven and eight years before I did, I think itdue to him, and to my readers as well as to myself, to explain thesteps which led me to my conclusions, and, while putting ProfessorHering's lecture before them, to show cause for thinking that Iarrived at an almost identical conclusion, as it would appear, by analmost identical road, yet, nevertheless, quite independently, I mustask the reader, therefore, to regard these earlier chapters as insome measure a personal explanation, as well as a contribution to thehistory of an important feature in the developments of the lasttwenty years. I hope also, by showing the steps by which I was ledto my conclusions, to make the conclusions themselves more acceptableand easy of comprehension. 

Being on my way to New Zealand when the "Origin of Species" appeared, I did not get it till 1860 or 1861. When I read it, I found "thetheory of natural selection" repeatedly spoken of as though it were asynonym for "the theory of descent with modification"; this isespecially the case in the recapitulation chapter of the work. Ifailed to see how important it was that these two theories--if indeed"natural selection" can be called a theory--should not be confoundedtogether, and that a "theory of descent with modification" might betrue, while a "theory of descent with modification through naturalselection" {4} might not stand being looked into. 

If any one had asked me to state in brief what Mr. Darwin's theorywas, I am afraid I might have answered "natural selection, " or"descent with modification, " whichever came first, as though the onemeant much the same as the other. I observe that most of the leadingwriters on the subject are still unable to catch sight of thedistinction here alluded to, and console myself for my want of acumenby reflecting that, if I was misled, I was misled in good company. 

I--and I may add, the public generally--failed also to see what theunaided reader who was new to the subject would be almost certain tooverlook. I mean, that, according to Mr. Darwin, the variationswhose accumulation resulted in diversity of species and genus wereindefinite, fortuitous, attributable but in small degree to any knowncauses, and without a general principle underlying them which wouldcause them to appear steadily in a given direction for manysuccessive generations and in a considerable number of individuals atthe same time. We did not know that the theory of evolution was onethat had been quietly but steadily gaining ground during the lasthundred years. Buffon we knew by name, but he sounded too like"buffoon" for any good to come from him. We had heard also ofLamarck, and held him to be a kind of French Lord Monboddo; but weknew nothing of his doctrine save through the caricatures promulgatedby his opponents, or the misrepresentations of those who had anotherkind of interest in disparaging him. Dr. Erasmus Darwin we believedto be a forgotten minor poet, but ninety-nine out of every hundred ofus had never so much as heard of the "Zoonomia. " We were littlelikely, therefore, to know that Lamarck drew very largely fromBuffon, and probably also from Dr. Erasmus Darwin, and that thislast-named writer, though essentially original, was founded uponBuffon, who was greatly more in advance of any predecessor than anysuccessor has been in advance of him. 

We did not know, then, that according to the earlier writers thevariations whose accumulation results in species were not fortuitousand definite, but were due to a known principle of universalapplication--namely, "sense of need"--or apprehend the differencebetween a theory of evolution which has a backbone, as it were, inthe tolerably constant or slowly varying needs of large numbers ofindividuals for long periods together, and one which has no suchbackbone, but according to which the progress of one generation isalways liable to be cancelled and obliterated by that of the next. We did not know that the new theory in a quiet way professed to tellus less than the old had done, and declared that it could throwlittle if any light upon the matter which the earlier writers hadendeavoured to illuminate as the central point in their system. Wetook it for granted that more light must be being thrown instead ofless; and reading in perfect good faith, we rose from our perusalwith the impression that Mr. Darwin was advocating the descent of allexisting forms of life from a single, or from, at any rate, a veryfew primordial types; that no one else had done this hitherto, orthat, if they had, they had got the whole subject into a mess, whichmess, whatever it was--for we were never told this--was now beingremoved once for all by Mr. Darwin. 

The evolution part of the story, that is to say, the fact ofevolution, remained in our minds as by far the most prominent featurein Mr. Darwin's book; and being grateful for it, we were very readyto take Mr. Darwin's work at the estimate tacitly claimed for it byhimself, and vehemently insisted upon by reviewers in influentialjournals, who took much the same line towards the earlier writers onevolution as Mr. Darwin himself had taken. But perhaps nothing moreprepossessed us in Mr. Darwin's favour than the air of candour thatwas omnipresent throughout his work. The prominence given to thearguments of opponents completely carried us away; it was this whichthrew us off our guard. It never occurred to us that there might beother and more dangerous opponents who were not brought forward. Mr. Darwin did not tell us what his grandfather and Lamarck would havehad to say to this or that. Moreover, there was an unobtrusiveparade of hidden learning and of difficulties at last overcome whichwas particularly grateful to us. Whatever opinion might beultimately come to concerning the value of his theory, there could bebut one about the value of the example he had set to men of sciencegenerally by the perfect frankness and unselfishness of his work. Friends and foes alike combined to do homage to Mr. Darwin in thisrespect. 

For, brilliant as the reception of the "Origin of Species" was, itmet in the first instance with hardly less hostile than friendlycriticism. But the attacks were ill-directed; they came from asuspected quarter, and those who led them did not detect more thanthe general public had done what were the really weak places in Mr. Darwin's armour. They attacked him where he was strongest; and aboveall, they were, as a general rule, stamped with a disingenuousnesswhich at that time we believed to be peculiar to theological writersand alien to the spirit of science. Seeing, therefore, that the menof science ranged themselves more and more decidedly on Mr. Darwin'sside, while his opponents had manifestly--so far as I can remember, all the more prominent among them--a bias to which their hostilitywas attributable, we left off looking at the arguments against"Darwinism, " as we now began to call it, and pigeon-holed the matterto the effect that there was one evolution, and that Mr. Darwin wasits prophet. 

The blame of our errors and oversights rests primarily with Mr. Darwin himself. The first, and far the most important, edition ofthe "Origin of Species" came out as a kind of literary Melchisedec, without father and without mother in the works of other people. Hereis its opening paragraph:-

"When on board H. M. S. 'Beagle' as naturalist, I was much struck withcertain facts in the distribution of the inhabitants of SouthAmerica, and in the geological relations of the present to the pastinhabitants of that continent. These facts seemed to me to throwsome light on the origin of species--that mystery of mysteries, as ithas been called by one of our greatest philosophers. On my returnhome, it occurred to me, in 1837, that something might be made out onthis question by patiently accumulating and reflecting upon all sortsof facts which could possibly have any bearing on it. After fiveyears' work I allowed myself to speculate on the subject, and drew upsome short notes; these I enlarged in 1844 into a sketch of theconclusions which then seemed to me probable: from that period tothe present day I have steadily pursued the same object. I hope thatI may be excused for entering on these personal details, as I givethem to show that I have not been hasty in coming to a decision. "{8a}

In the latest edition this passage remains unaltered, except in oneunimportant respect. What could more completely throw us off thescent of the earlier writers? If they had written anything worthy ofour attention, or indeed if there had been any earlier writers atall, Mr. Darwin would have been the first to tell us about them, andto award them their due meed of recognition. But, no; the wholething was an original growth in Mr. Darwin's mind, and he had neverso much as heard of his grandfather, Dr. Erasmus Darwin. 

Dr. Krause, indeed, thought otherwise. In the number of Kosmos forFebruary 1879 he represented Mr. Darwin as in his youth approachingthe works of his grandfather with all the devotion which peopleusually feel for the writings of a renowned poet. {8b} This shouldperhaps be a delicately ironical way of hinting that Mr. Darwin didnot read his grandfather's books closely; but I hardly think that Dr. Krause looked at the matter in this light, for he goes on to say that"almost every single work of the younger Darwin may be paralleled byat least a chapter in the works of his ancestor: the mystery ofheredity, adaptation, the protective arrangements of animals andplants, sexual selection, insectivorous plants, and the analysis ofthe emotions and sociological impulses; nay, even the studies oninfants are to be found already discussed in the pages of the elderDarwin. " {8c}

Nevertheless, innocent as Mr. Darwin's opening sentence appeared, itcontained enough to have put us upon our guard. When he informed usthat, on his return from a long voyage, "it occurred to" him that theway to make anything out about his subject was to collect and reflectupon the facts that bore upon it, it should have occurred to us inour turn, that when people betray a return of consciousness upon suchmatters as this, they are on the confines of that state in whichother and not less elementary matters will not "occur to" them. Theintroduction of the word "patiently" should have been conclusive. Iwill not analyse more of the sentence, but will repeat the next twolines:- "After five years of work, I allowed myself to speculate uponthe subject, and drew up some short notes. " We read this, thousandsof us, and were blind. 

If Dr. Erasmus Darwin's name was not mentioned in the first editionof the "Origin of Species, " we should not be surprised at there beingno notice taken of Buffon, or at Lamarck's being referred to onlytwice--on the first occasion to be serenely waved aside, he and allhis works; {9a} on the second, {9b} to be commended on a point ofdetail. The author of the "Vestiges of Creation" was more widelyknown to English readers, having written more recently and nearerhome. He was dealt with summarily, on an early and prominent page, by a misrepresentation, which was silently expunged in later editionsof the "Origin of Species. " In his later editions (I believe firstin his third, when 6000 copies had been already sold), Mr. Darwin didindeed introduce a few pages in which he gave what he designated as a"brief but imperfect sketch" of the progress of opinion on the originof species prior to the appearance of his own work; but the generalimpression which a book conveys to, and leaves upon, the public isconveyed by the first edition--the one which is alone, with rareexceptions, reviewed; and in the first edition of the "Origin ofSpecies" Mr. Darwin's great precursors were all either ignored ormisrepresented. Moreover, the "brief but imperfect sketch, " when itdid come, was so very brief, but, in spite of this (for this is whatI suppose Mr. Darwin must mean), so very imperfect, that it might aswell have been left unwritten for all the help it gave the reader tosee the true question at issue between the original propounders ofthe theory of evolution and Mr. Charles Darwin himself. 

That question is this: Whether variation is in the main attributableto a known general principle, or whether it is not?--whether theminute variations whose accumulation results in specific and genericdifferences are referable to something which will ensure theirappearing in a certain definite direction, or in certain definitedirections, for long periods together, and in many individuals, orwhether they are not?--whether, in a word, these variations are inthe main definite or indefinite?

It is observable that the leading men of science seem rarely tounderstand this even now. I am told that Professor Huxley, in hisrecent lecture on the coming of age of the "Origin of Species, " neverso much as alluded to the existence of any such division of opinionas this. He did not even, I am assured, mention "natural selection, "but appeared to believe, with Professor Tyndall, {10a} that"evolution" is "Mr. Darwin's theory. " In his article on evolution inthe latest edition of the "Encyclopaedia Britannica, " I find only aveiled perception of the point wherein Mr. Darwin is at variance withhis precursors. Professor Huxley evidently knows little of thesewriters beyond their names; if he had known more, it is impossible heshould have written that "Buffon contributed nothing to the generaldoctrine of evolution, " {10b} and that Erasmus Darwin, "though azealous evolutionist, can hardly be said to have made any realadvance on his predecessors. " {11} The article is in a high degreeunsatisfactory, and betrays at once an amount of ignorance and ofperception which leaves an uncomfortable impression. 

If this is the state of things that prevails even now, it is notsurprising that in 1860 the general public should, with fewexceptions, have known of only one evolution, namely, that propoundedby Mr. Darwin. As a member of the general public, at that timeresiding eighteen miles from the nearest human habitation, and threedays' journey on horseback from a bookseller's shop, I became one ofMr. Darwin's many enthusiastic admirers, and wrote a philosophicaldialogue (the most offensive form, except poetry and books of travelinto supposed unknown countries, that even literature can assume)upon the "Origin of Species. " This production appeared in the Press, Canterbury, New Zealand, in 1861 or 1862, but I have long lost theonly copy I had. 

CHAPTER II

How I came to write "Life and Habit, " and the circumstances of itscompletion. 

It was impossible, however, for Mr. Darwin's readers to leave thematter as Mr. Darwin had left it. We wanted to know whence came thatgerm or those germs of life which, if Mr. Darwin was right, were oncethe world's only inhabitants. They could hardly have come hitherfrom some other world; they could not in their wet, cold, slimy statehave travelled through the dry ethereal medium which we call space, and yet remained alive. If they travelled slowly, they would die; iffast, they would catch fire, as meteors do on entering the earth'satmosphere. The idea, again, of their having been created by aquasi-anthropomorphic being out of the matter upon the earth was atvariance with the whole spirit of evolution, which indicated that nosuch being could exist except as himself the result, and not thecause, of evolution. Having got back from ourselves to the monad, wewere suddenly to begin again with something which was eitherunthinkable, or was only ourselves again upon a larger scale--toreturn to the same point as that from which we had started, only madeharder for us to stand upon. 

There was only one other conception possible, namely, that the germshad been developed in the course of time from some thing or thingsthat were not what we called living at all; that they had grown up, in fact, out of the material substances and forces of the world insome manner more or less analogous to that in which man had beendeveloped from themselves. 

I first asked myself whether life might not, after all, resolveitself into the complexity of arrangement of an inconceivablyintricate mechanism. Kittens think our shoe-strings are alive whenthey see us lacing them, because they see the tag at the end jumpabout without understanding all the ins and outs of how it comes todo so. "Of course, " they argue, "if we cannot understand how a thingcomes to move, it must move of itself, for there can be no motionbeyond our comprehension but what is spontaneous; if the motion isspontaneous, the thing moving must he alive, for nothing can move ofitself or without our understanding why unless it is alive. Everything that is alive and not too large can be tortured, andperhaps eaten; let us therefore spring upon the tag" and they springupon it. Cats are above this; yet give the cat something whichpresents a few more of those appearances which she is accustomed tosee whenever she sees life, and she will fall as easy a prey to thepower which association exercises over all that lives as the kittenitself. Show her a toy-mouse that can run a few yards after beingwound up; the form, colour, and action of a mouse being here, thereis no good cat which will not conclude that so many of theappearances of mousehood could not be present at the same timewithout the presence also of the remainder. She will, therefore, spring upon the toy as eagerly as the kitten upon the tag. 

Suppose the toy more complex still, so that it might run a few yards, stop, and run on again without an additional winding up; and supposeit so constructed that it could imitate eating and drinking, andcould make as though the mouse were cleaning its face with its paws. Should we not at first be taken in ourselves, and assume the presenceof the remaining facts of life, though in reality they were notthere? Query, therefore, whether a machine so complex as to beprepared with a corresponding manner of action for each one of thesuccessive emergencies of life as it arose, would not take us in forgood and all, and look so much as if it were alive that, whether weliked it or not, we should be compelled to think it and call it so;and whether the being alive was not simply the being an exceedinglycomplicated machine, whose parts were set in motion by the actionupon them of exterior circumstances; whether, in fact, man was not akind of toy-mouse in the shape of a man, only capable of going forseventy or eighty years, instead of half as many seconds, and as muchmore versatile as he is more durable? Of course I had an uneasyfeeling that if I thus made all plants and men into machines, thesemachines must have what all other machines have if they are machinesat all--a designer, and some one to wind them up and work them; but Ithought this might wait for the present, and was perfectly readythen, as now, to accept a designer from without, if the facts uponexamination rendered such a belief reasonable. 

If, then, men were not really alive after all, but were only machinesof so complicated a make that it was less trouble to us to cut thedifficulty and say that that kind of mechanism was "being alive, " whyshould not machines ultimately become as complicated as we are, or atany rate complicated enough to be called living, and to be indeed asliving as it was in the nature of anything at all to be? If it wasonly a case of their becoming more complicated, we were certainlydoing our best to make them so. 

I do not suppose I at that time saw that this view comes to much thesame as denying that there are such qualities as life andconsciousness at all, and that this, again, works round to theassertion of their omnipresence in every molecule of matter, inasmuchas it destroys the separation between the organic and inorganic, andmaintains that whatever the organic is the inorganic is also. Denyit in theory as much as we please, we shall still always feel that anorganic body, unless dead, is living and conscious to a greater orless degree. Therefore, if we once break down the wall of partitionbetween the organic and inorganic, the inorganic must be living andconscious also, up to a certain point. 

I have been at work on this subject now for nearly twenty years, whatI have published being only a small part of what I have written anddestroyed. I cannot, therefore, remember exactly how I stood in1863. Nor can I pretend to see far into the matter even now; forwhen I think of life, I find it so difficult, that I take refuge indeath or mechanism; and when I think of death or mechanism, I find itso inconceivable, that it is easier to call it life again. The onlything of which I am sure is, that the distinction between the organicand inorganic is arbitrary; that it is more coherent with our otherideas, and therefore more acceptable, to start with every molecule asa living thing, and then deduce death as the breaking up of anassociation or corporation, than to start with inanimate moleculesand smuggle life into them; and that, therefore, what we call theinorganic world must be regarded as up to a certain point living, andinstinct, within certain limits, with consciousness, volition, andpower of concerted action. It is only of late, however, that I havecome to this opinion. 

One must start with a hypothesis, no matter how much one distrustsit; so I started with man as a mechanism, this being the strand ofthe knot that I could then pick at most easily. Having worked uponit a certain time, I drew the inference about machines becominganimate, and in 1862 or 1863 wrote the sketch of the chapter onmachines which I afterwards rewrote in "Erewhon. " This sketchappeared in the Press, Canterbury, N. Z. , June 13, 1863; a copy of itis in the British Museum. 

I soon felt that though there was plenty of amusement to be got outof this line, it was one that I should have to leave sooner or later;I therefore left it at once for the view that machines were limbswhich we had made, and carried outside our bodies instead ofincorporating them with ourselves. A few days or weeks later thanJune 13, 1863, I published a second letter in the Press putting thisview forward. Of this letter I have lost the only copy I had; I havenot seen it for years. The first was certainly not good; the second, if I remember rightly, was a good deal worse, though I believed morein the views it put forward than in those of the first letter. I hadlost my copy before I wrote "Erewhon, " and therefore only gave acouple of pages to it in that book; besides, there was more amusementin the other view. I should perhaps say there was an intermediateextension of the first letter which appeared in the Reasoner, July 1, 1865. 

In 1870 and 1871, when I was writing "Erewhon, " I thought the bestway of looking at machines was to see them as limbs which we had madeand carried about with us or left at home at pleasure. I was not, however, satisfied, and should have gone on with the subject at onceif I had not been anxious to write "The Fair Haven, " a book which isa development of a pamphlet I wrote in New Zealand and published inLondon in 1865. 

As soon as I had finished this, I returned to the old subject, onwhich I had already been engaged for nearly a dozen years ascontinuously as other business would allow, and proposed to myself tosee not only machines as limbs, but also limbs as machines. I feltimmediately that I was upon firmer ground. The use of the word"organ" for a limb told its own story; the word could not have becomeso current under this meaning unless the idea of a limb as a tool ormachine had been agreeable to common sense. What would follow, then, if we regarded our limbs and organs as things that we had ourselvesmanufactured for our convenience?

The first question that suggested itself was, how did we come to makethem without knowing anything about it? And this raised another, namely, how comes anybody to do anything unconsciously? The answer"habit" was not far to seek. But can a person be said to do a thingby force of habit or routine when it is his ancestors, and not he, that has done it hitherto? Not unless he and his ancestors are oneand the same person. Perhaps, then, they ARE the same person afterall. What is sameness? I remembered Bishop Butler's sermon on"Personal Identity, " read it again, and saw very plainly that if aman of eighty may consider himself identical with the baby from whomhe has developed, so that he may say, "I am the person who at sixmonths old did this or that, " then the baby may just as fairly claimidentity with its father and mother, and say to its parents on beingborn, "I was you only a few months ago. " By parity of reasoning eachliving form now on the earth must be able to claim identity with eachgeneration of its ancestors up to the primordial cell inclusive. 

Again, if the octogenarian may claim personal identity with theinfant, the infant may certainly do so with the impregnate ovum fromwhich it has developed. If so, the octogenarian will prove to havebeen a fish once in this his present life. This is as certain asthat he was living yesterday, and stands on exactly the samefoundation. 

I am aware that Professor Huxley maintains otherwise. He writes:"It is not true, for example, . . . That a reptile was ever a fish, but it is true that the reptile embryo" (and what is said here of thereptile holds good also for the human embryo), "at one stage of itsdevelopment, is an organism, which, if it had an independentexistence, must be classified among fishes. " {17}

This is like saying, "It is not true that such and such a picture wasrejected for the Academy, but it is true that it was submitted to thePresident and Council of the Royal Academy, with a view to acceptanceat their next forthcoming annual exhibition, and that the Presidentand Council regretted they were unable through want of space, &c. , &c. " --and as much more as the reader chooses. I shall venture, therefore, to stick to it that the octogenarian was once a fish, orif Professor Huxley prefers it, "an organism which must be classifiedamong fishes. "

But if a man was a fish once, he may have been a fish a million timesover, for aught he knows; for he must admit that his consciousrecollection is at fault, and has nothing whatever to do with thematter, which must be decided, not, as it were, upon his own evidenceas to what deeds he may or may not recollect having executed, but bythe production of his signatures in court, with satisfactory proofthat he has delivered each document as his act and deed. 

This made things very much simpler. The processes of embryonicdevelopment, and instinctive actions, might be now seen asrepetitions of the same kind of action by the same individual insuccessive generations. It was natural, therefore, that they shouldcome in the course of time to be done unconsciously, and aconsideration of the most obvious facts of memory removed all furtherdoubt that habit--which is based on memory--was at the bottom of allthe phenomena of heredity. 

I had got to this point about the spring of 1874, and had begun towrite, when I was compelled to go to Canada, and for the next yearand a half did hardly any writing. The first passage in "Life andHabit" which I can date with certainty is the one on page 52, whichruns as follows:-

"It is one against legion when a man tries to differ from his ownpast selves. He must yield or die if he wants to differ widely, soas to lack natural instincts, such as hunger or thirst, and not togratify them. It is more righteous in a man that he should 'eatstrange food, ' and that his cheek should 'so much as lank not, ' thanthat he should starve if the strange food be at his command. Hispast selves are living in him at this moment with the accumulatedlife of centuries. 'Do this, this, this, which we too have done, andfound out profit in it, ' cry the souls of his forefathers within him. Faint are the far ones, coming and going as the sound of bells waftedon to a high mountain; loud and clear are the near ones, urgent as analarm of fire. "

This was written a few days after my arrival in Canada, June 1874. Iwas on Montreal mountain for the first time, and was struck with itsextreme beauty. It was a magnificent Summer's evening; the noble St. Lawrence flowed almost immediately beneath, and the vast expanse ofcountry beyond it was suffused with a colour which even Italy cannotsurpass. Sitting down for a while, I began making notes for "Lifeand Habit, " of which I was then continually thinking, and had writtenthe first few lines of the above, when the bells of Notre Dame inMontreal began to ring, and their sound was carried to and fro in aremarkably beautiful manner. I took advantage of the incident toinsert then and there the last lines of the piece just quoted. Ikept the whole passage with hardly any alteration, and am thus ableto date it accurately. 

Though so occupied in Canada that writing a book was impossible, Inevertheless got many notes together for future use. I left Canadaat the end of 1875, and early in 1876 began putting these notes intomore coherent form. I did this in thirty pages of closely writtenmatter, of which a pressed copy remains in my commonplace-book. Ifind two dates among them--the first, "Sunday, Feb. 6, 1876"; and thesecond, at the end of the notes, "Feb. 12, 1876. "

From these notes I find that by this time I had the theory containedin "Life and Habit" completely before me, with the four mainprinciples which it involves, namely, the oneness of personalitybetween parents and offspring; memory on the part of offspring ofcertain actions which it did when in the persons of its forefathers;the latency of that memory until it is rekindled by a recurrence ofthe associated ideas; and the unconsciousness with which habitualactions come to be performed. 

The first half-page of these notes may serve as a sample, and runsthus:-

"Those habits and functions which we have in common with the loweranimals come mainly within the womb, or are done involuntarily, asour [growth of] limbs, eyes, &c. , and our power of digesting food, &c. . . . 

"We say of the chicken that it knows how to run about as soon as itis hatched, . . . But had it no knowledge before it was hatched?

"It knew how to make a great many things before it was hatched. 

"It grew eyes and feathers and bones. 

"Yet we say it knew nothing about all this. 

"After it is born it grows more feathers, and makes its bones larger, and develops a reproductive system. 

"Again we say it knows nothing about all this. 

"What then does it know?

"Whatever it does not know so well as to be unconscious of knowingit. 

"Knowledge dwells upon the confines of uncertainty. 

"When we are very certain, we do not know that we know. When we willvery strongly, we do not know that we will. "

I then began my book, but considering myself still a painter byprofession, I gave comparatively little time to writing, and got onbut slowly. I left England for North Italy in the middle of May 1876and returned early in August. It was perhaps thus that I failed tohear of the account of Professor Hering's lecture given by ProfessorRay Lankester in Nature, July 13 1876; though, never at that timeseeing Nature, I should probably have missed it under anycircumstances. On my return I continued slowly writing. By August1877 I considered that I had to all intents and purposes completed mybook. My first proof bears date October 13, 1877. 

At this time I had not been able to find that anything like what Iwas advancing had been said already. I asked many friends, but notone of them knew of anything more than I did; to them, as to me, itseemed an idea so new as to be almost preposterous; but knowing howthings turn up after one has written, of the existence of which onehad not known before, I was particularly careful to guard againstbeing supposed to claim originality. I neither claimed it nor wishedfor it; for if a theory has any truth in it, it is almost sure tooccur to several people much about the same time, and a reasonableperson will look upon his work with great suspicion unless he canconfirm it with the support of others who have gone before him. Still I knew of nothing in the least resembling it, and was so afraidof what I was doing, that though I could see no flaw in the argument, nor any loophole for escape from the conclusion it led to, yet I didnot dare to put it forward with the seriousness and sobriety withwhich I should have treated the subject if I had not been incontinual fear of a mine being sprung upon me from some unexpectedquarter. I am exceedingly glad now that I knew nothing of ProfessorHering's lecture, for it is much better that two people should thinka thing out as far as they can independently before they become awareof each other's works but if I had seen it, I should either, as ismost likely, not have written at all, or I should have pitched mybook in another key. 

Among the additions I intended making while the book was in thepress, was a chapter on Mr. Darwin's provisional theory ofPangenesis, which I felt convinced must be right if it was Mr. Darwin's, and which I was sure, if I could once understand it, musthave an important bearing on "Life and Habit. " I had not as yet seenthat the principle I was contending for was Darwinian, not Neo-Darwinian. My pages still teemed with allusions to "naturalselection, " and I sometimes allowed myself to hope that "Life andHabit" was going to be an adjunct to Darwinism which no one wouldwelcome more gladly than Mr. Darwin himself. At this time I had avisit from a friend, who kindly called to answer a question of mine, relative, if I remember rightly, to "Pangenesis. " He came, September26, 1877. One of the first things he said was, that the theory whichhad pleased him more than anything he had heard of for some time wasone referring all life to memory. I said that was exactly what I wasdoing myself, and inquired where he had met with his theory. Hereplied that Professor Ray Lankester had written a letter about it inNature some time ago, but he could not remember exactly when, and hadgiven extracts from a lecture by Professor Ewald Hering, who hadoriginated the theory. I said I should not look at it, as I hadcompleted that part of my work, and was on the point of going topress. I could not recast my work if, as was most likely, I shouldfind something, when I saw what Professor Hering had said, whichwould make me wish to rewrite my own book; it was too late in the dayand I did not feel equal to making any radical alteration; and so thematter ended with very little said upon either side. I wrote, however, afterwards to my friend asking him to tell me the number ofNature which contained the lecture if he could find it, but he wasunable to do so, and I was well enough content. 

A few days before this I had met another friend, and had explained tohim what I was doing. He told me I ought to read Professor Mivart's"Genesis of Species, " and that if I did so I should find there weretwo sides to "natural selection. " Thinking, as so many people do--and no wonder--that "natural selection" and evolution were much thesame thing, and having found so many attacks upon evolution produceno effect upon me, I declined to read it. I had as yet no idea thata writer could attack Neo-Darwinism without attacking evolution. Butmy friend kindly sent me a copy; and when I read it, I found myselfin the presence of arguments different from those I had met withhitherto, and did not see my way to answering them. I had, however, read only a small part of Professor Mivart's work, and was not fullyawake to the position, when the friend referred to in the precedingparagraph called on me. 

When I had finished the "Genesis of Species, " I felt that somethingwas certainly wanted which should give a definite aim to thevariations whose accumulation was to amount ultimately to specificand generic differences, and that without this there could have beenno progress in organic development. I got the latest edition of the"Origin of Species" in order to see how Mr. Darwin met ProfessorMivart, and found his answers in many respects unsatisfactory. I hadlost my original copy of the "Origin of Species, " and had not readthe book for some years. I now set about reading it again, and cameto the chapter on instinct, where I was horrified to find thefollowing passage:-

"But it would be a serious error to suppose that the greater numberof instincts have been acquired by habit in one generation and thentransmitted by inheritance to the succeeding generations. It can beclearly shown that the most wonderful instincts with which we areacquainted, namely, those of the hive-bee and of many ants, could notpossibly have been acquired by habit. " {23a}

This showed that, according to Mr. Darwin, I had fallen into seriouserror, and my faith in him, though somewhat shaken, was far too greatto be destroyed by a few days' course of Professor Mivart, the fullimportance of whose work I had not yet apprehended. I continued toread, and when I had finished the chapter felt sure that I mustindeed have been blundering. The concluding words, "I am surprisedthat no one has hitherto advanced this demonstrative case of neuterinsects against the well-known doctrine of inherited habit asadvanced by Lamarck, " {23b} were positively awful. There was a quietconsciousness of strength about them which was more convincing thanany amount of more detailed explanation. This was the first I hadheard of any doctrine of inherited habit as having been propounded byLamarck (the passage stands in the first edition, "the well-knowndoctrine of Lamarck, " p. 242); and now to find that I had been onlybusying myself with a stale theory of this long-since explodedcharlatan--with my book three parts written and already in the press--it was a serious scare. 

On reflection, however, I was again met with the overwhelming weightof the evidence in favour of structure and habit being mainly due tomemory. I accordingly gathered as much as I could second-hand ofwhat Lamarck had said, reserving a study of his "PhilosophieZoologique" for another occasion, and read as much about ants andbees as I could find in readily accessible works. In a few days Isaw my way again; and now, reading the "Origin of Species" moreclosely, and I may say more sceptically, the antagonism between Mr. Darwin and Lamarck became fully apparent to me, and I saw howincoherent and unworkable in practice the later view was incomparison with the earlier. Then I read Mr. Darwin's answers tomiscellaneous objections, and was met, and this time brought up, bythe passage beginning "In the earlier editions of this work, " {24a}&c. , on which I wrote very severely in "Life and Habit"; {24b} for Ifelt by this time that the difference of opinion between us wasradical, and that the matter must be fought out according to therules of the game. After this I went through the earlier part of mybook, and cut out the expressions which I had used inadvertently, andwhich were inconsistent with a teleological view. This necessitatedonly verbal alterations; for, though I had not known it, the spiritof the book was throughout teleological. 

I now saw that I had got my hands full, and abandoned my intention oftouching upon "Pangenesis. " I took up the words of Mr. Darwin quotedabove, to the effect that it would be a serious error to ascribe thegreater number of instincts to transmitted habit. I wrote chapterxi. Of "Life and Habit, " which is headed "Instincts as InheritedMemory"; I also wrote the four subsequent chapters, "Instincts ofNeuter Insects, " "Lamarck and Mr. Darwin, " "Mr. Mivart and Mr. Darwin, " and the concluding chapter, all of them in the month ofOctober and the early part of November 1877, the complete bookleaving the binder's hands December 4, 1877, but, according to tradecustom, being dated 1878. It will be seen that these five concludingchapters were rapidly written, and this may account in part for thedirectness with which I said anything I had to say about Mr. Darwin;partly this, and partly I felt I was in for a penny and might as wellbe in for a pound. I therefore wrote about Mr. Darwin's work exactlyas I should about any one else's, bearing in mind the inestimableservices he had undoubtedly--and must always be counted to have--rendered to evolution. 

CHAPTER III

How I came to write "Evolution, Old and New"--Mr Darwin's "brief butimperfect" sketch of the opinions of the writers on evolution who hadpreceded him--The reception which "Evolution, Old and New, " met with. 

Though my book was out in 1877, it was not till January 1878 that Itook an opportunity of looking up Professor Ray Lankester's accountof Professor Hering's lecture. I can hardly say how relieved I wasto find that it sprung no mine upon me, but that, so far as I couldgather, Professor Hering and I had come to pretty much the sameconclusion. I had already found the passage in Dr. Erasmus Darwinwhich I quoted in "Evolution, Old and New, " but may perhaps as wellrepeat it here. It runs -

"Owing to the imperfection of language, the offspring is termed a newanimal; but is, in truth, a branch or elongation of the parent, sincea part of the embryon animal is or was a part of the parent, and, therefore, in strict language, cannot be said to be entirely new atthe time of its production, and, therefore, it may retain some of thehabits of the parent system. " {26}

When, then, the Athenaeum reviewed "Life and Habit" (January 26, 1878), I took the opportunity to write to that paper, callingattention to Professor Hering's lecture, and also to the passage justquoted from Dr. Erasmus Darwin. The editor kindly inserted my letterin his issue of February 9, 1878. I felt that I had now done all inthe way of acknowledgment to Professor Hering which it was, for thetime, in my power to do. 

I again took up Mr. Darwin's "Origin of Species, " this time, I admit, in a spirit of scepticism. I read his "brief but imperfect" sketchof the progress of opinion on the origin of species, and turned toeach one of the writers he had mentioned. First, I read all theparts of the "Zoonomia" that were not purely medical, and wasastonished to find that, as Dr. Krause has since said in his essay onErasmus Darwin, "HE WAS THE FIRST WHO PROPOSED AND PERSISTENTLYCARRIED OUT A WELL-ROUNDED THEORY WITH REGARD TO THE DEVELOPMENT OFTHE LIVING WORLD" {27} (italics in original). 

This is undoubtedly the case, and I was surprised at findingProfessor Huxley say concerning this very eminent man that he could"hardly be said to have made any real advance upon his predecessors. "Still more was I surprised at remembering that, in the first editionof the "Origin of Species, " Dr. Erasmus Darwin had never been so muchas named; while in the "brief but imperfect" sketch he was dismissedwith a line of half-contemptuous patronage, as though the mingledtribute of admiration and curiosity which attaches to scientificprophecies, as distinguished from discoveries, was the utmost he wasentitled to. "It is curious, " says Mr. Darwin innocently, in themiddle of a note in the smallest possible type, "how largely mygrandfather, Dr. Erasmus Darwin, anticipated the views and erroneousgrounds of opinion of Lamarck in his 'Zoonomia' (vol. I. Pp. 500-510), published in 1794"; this was all he had to say about thefounder of "Darwinism, " until I myself unearthed Dr. Erasmus Darwin, and put his work fairly before the present generation in "Evolution, Old and New. " Six months after I had done this, I had thesatisfaction of seeing that Mr. Darwin had woke up to the proprietyof doing much the same thing, and that he had published aninteresting and charmingly written memoir of his grandfather, ofwhich more anon. 

Not that Dr. Darwin was the first to catch sight of a complete theoryof evolution. Buffon was the first to point out that, in view of theknown modifications which had been effected among our domesticatedanimals and cultivated plants, the ass and the horse should beconsidered as, in all probability, descended from a common ancestor;yet, if this is so, he writes--if the point "were once gained thatamong animals and vegetables there had been, I do not say severalspecies, but even a single one, which had been produced in the courseof direct descent from another species; if, for example, it could beonce shown that the ass was but a degeneration from the horse, thenthere is no further limit to be set to the power of Nature, and weshould not be wrong in supposing that, with sufficient time, she hasevolved all other organised forms from one primordial type" {28a} (etl'on n'auroit pas tort de supposer, que d'un seul etre elle a sutirer avec le temps tous les autres etres organises). 

This, I imagine, in spite of Professor Huxley's dictum, iscontributing a good deal to the general doctrine of evolution; forthough Descartes and Leibnitz may have thrown out hints pointing moreor less broadly in the direction of evolution, some of whichProfessor Huxley has quoted, he has adduced nothing approaching tothe passage from Buffon given above, either in respect of theclearness with which the conclusion intended to be arrived at ispointed out, or the breadth of view with which the whole ground ofanimal and vegetable nature is covered. The passage referred to isonly one of many to the same effect, and must be connected with onequoted in "Evolution, Old and New, " {28b} from p. 13 of Buffon'sfirst volume, which appeared in 1749, and than which nothing can wellpoint more plainly in the direction of evolution. It is not easy, therefore, to understand why Professor Huxley should give 1753-78 asthe date of Buffon's work, nor yet why he should say that Buffon was"at first a partisan of the absolute immutability of species, " {29a}unless, indeed, we suppose he has been content to follow that veryunsatisfactory writer, Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire (who falls intothis error, and says that Buffon's first volume on animals appeared1753), without verifying him, and without making any reference tohim. 

Professor Huxley quotes a passage from the "PalingenesiePhilosophique" of Bonnet, of which he says that, making allowance forhis peculiar views on the subject of generation, they bear no smallresemblance to what is understood by "evolution" at the present day. The most important parts of the passage quoted are as follows:-

"Should I be going too far if I were to conjecture that the plantsand animals of the present day have arisen by a sort of naturalevolution from the organised beings which peopled the world in itsoriginal state as it left the hands of the Creator? . . . In theoutset organised beings were probably very different from what theyare now--as different as the original world is from our present one. We have no means of estimating the amount of these differences, butit is possible that even our ablest naturalist, if transplanted tothe original world, would entirely fail to recognise our plants andanimals therein. " {29b}

But this is feeble in comparison with Buffon, and did not appear till1769, when Buffon had been writing on evolution for fully twentyyears with the eyes of scientific Europe upon him. Whateverconcession to the opinion of Buffon Bonnet may have been inclined tomake in 1769, in 1764, when he published his "Contemplation de laNature, " and in 1762 when his "Considerations sur les Corps Organes"appeared, he cannot be considered to have been a supporter ofevolution. I went through these works in 1878 when I was writing"Evolution, Old and New, " to see whether I could claim him as on myside; but though frequently delighted with his work, I found itimpossible to press him into my service. 

The pre-eminent claim of Buffon to be considered as the father of themodern doctrine of evolution cannot be reasonably disputed, though hewas doubtless led to his conclusions by the works of Descartes andLeibnitz, of both of whom he was an avowed and very warm admirer. His claim does not rest upon a passage here or there, but upon thespirit of forty quartos written over a period of about as many years. Nevertheless he wrote, as I have shown in "Evolution, Old and New, "of set purpose enigmatically, whereas there was no beating about thebush with Dr. Darwin. He speaks straight out, and Dr. Krause isjustified in saying of him "THAT HE WAS THE FIRST WHO PROPOSED ANDPERSISTENTLY CARRIED OUT A WELL-ROUNDED THEORY" of evolution. 

I now turned to Lamarck. I read the first volume of the "PhilosophieZoologique, " analysed it and translated the most important parts. The second volume was beside my purpose, dealing as it does ratherwith the origin of life than of species, and travelling too fast andtoo far for me to be able to keep up with him. Again I wasastonished at the little mention Mr. Darwin had made of thisillustrious writer, at the manner in which he had motioned him away, as it were, with his hand in the first edition of the "Origin ofSpecies, " and at the brevity and imperfection of the remarks madeupon him in the subsequent historical sketch. 

I got Isidore Geoffroy's "Histoire Naturelle Generale, " which Mr. Darwin commends in the note on the second page of the historicalsketch, as giving "an excellent history of opinion" upon the subjectof evolution, and a full account of Buffon's conclusions upon thesame subject. This at least is what I supposed Mr. Darwin to mean. What he said was that Isidore Geoffroy gives an excellent history ofopinion on the subject of the date of the first publication ofLamarck, and that in his work there is a full account of Buffon'sfluctuating conclusions upon THE SAME SUBJECT. {31} But Mr. Darwinis a more than commonly puzzling writer. I read what M. Geoffroy hadto say upon Buffon, and was surprised to find that, after all, according to M. Geoffroy, Buffon, and not Lamarck, was the founder ofthe theory of evolution. His name, as I have already said, was nevermentioned in the first edition of the "Origin of Species. "

M. Geoffroy goes into the accusations of having fluctuated in hisopinions, which he tells us have been brought against Buffon, andcomes to the conclusion that they are unjust, as any one else will dowho turns to Buffon himself. Mr. Darwin, however, in the "brief butimperfect sketch, " catches at the accusation, and repeats it whilesaying nothing whatever about the defence. The following is stillall he says: "The first author who in modern times has treated"evolution "in a scientific spirit was Buffon. But as his opinionsfluctuated greatly at different periods, and as he does not enter onthe causes or means of the transformation of species, I need not hereenter on details. " On the next page, in the note last quoted, Mr. Darwin originally repeated the accusation of Buffon's having beenfluctuating in his opinions, and appeared to give it the imprimaturof Isidore Geoffroy's approval; the fact being that Isidore Geoffroyonly quoted the accusation in order to refute it; and though, Isuppose, meaning well, did not make half the case he might have done, and abounds with misstatements. My readers will find this matterparticularly dealt with in "Evolution, Old and New, " Chapter X. 

I gather that some one must have complained to Mr. Darwin of hissaying that Isidore Geoffroy gave an account of Buffon's "fluctuatingconclusions" concerning evolution, when he was doing all he knew tomaintain that Buffon's conclusions did not fluctuate; for I see thatin the edition of 1876 the word "fluctuating" has dropped out of thenote in question, and we now learn that Isidore Geoffroy gives "afull account of Buffon's conclusions, " without the "fluctuating. "But Buffon has not taken much by this, for his opinions are stillleft fluctuating greatly at different periods on the preceding page, and though he still was the first to treat evolution in a scientificspirit, he still does not enter upon the causes or means of thetransformation of species. No one can understand Mr. Darwin who doesnot collate the different editions of the "Origin of Species" withsome attention. When he has done this, he will know what Newtonmeant by saying he felt like a child playing with pebbles upon theseashore. 

One word more upon this note before I leave it. Mr. Darwin speaks ofIsidore Geoffroy's history of opinion as "excellent, " and his accountof Buffon's opinions as "full. " I wonder how well qualified he is tobe a judge of these matters? If he knows much about the earlierwriters, he is the more inexcusable for having said so little aboutthem. If little, what is his opinion worth?

To return to the "brief but imperfect sketch. " I do not think I canever again be surprised at anything Mr. Darwin may say or do, but ifI could, I should wonder how a writer who did not "enter upon thecauses or means of the transformation of species, " and whose opinions"fluctuated greatly at different periods, " can be held to havetreated evolution "in a scientific spirit. " Nevertheless, when Ireflect upon the scientific reputation Mr. Darwin has attained, andthe means by which he has won it, I suppose the scientific spiritmust be much what he here implies. I see Mr. Darwin says of his ownfather, Dr. Robert Darwin of Shrewsbury, that he does not considerhim to have had a scientific mind. Mr. Darwin cannot tell why hedoes not think his father's mind to have been fitted for advancingscience, "for he was fond of theorising, and was incomparably thebest observer" Mr. Darwin ever knew. {33a} From the hint given inthe "brief but imperfect sketch, " I fancy I can help Mr. Darwin tosee why he does not think his father's mind to have been a scientificone. It is possible that Dr. Robert Darwin's opinions did notfluctuate sufficiently at different periods, and that Mr. Darwinconsidered him as having in some way entered upon the causes or meansof the transformation of species. Certainly those who read Mr. Darwin's own works attentively will find no lack of fluctuation inhis case; and reflection will show them that a theory of evolutionwhich relies mainly on the accumulation of accidental variationscomes very close to not entering upon the causes or means of thetransformation of species. {33b}

I have shown, however, in "Evolution, Old and New, " that theassertion that Buffon does not enter on the causes or means of thetransformation of species is absolutely without foundation, and that, on the contrary, he is continually dealing with this very matter, anddevotes to it one of his longest and most important chapters, {33c}but I admit that he is less satisfactory on this head than either Dr. Erasmus Darwin or Lamarck. 

As a matter of fact, Buffon is much more of a Neo-Darwinian thaneither Dr. Erasmus Darwin or Lamarck, for with him the variations aresometimes fortuitous. In the case of the dog, he speaks of them asmaking their appearance "BY SOME CHANCE common enough with Nature, "{33d} and being perpetuated by man's selection. This is exactly the"if any slight favourable variation HAPPEN to arise" of Mr. CharlesDarwin. Buffon also speaks of the variations among pigeons arising"par hasard. " But these expressions are only ships; his main causeof variation is the direct action of changed conditions of existence, while with Dr. Erasmus Darwin and Lamarck the action of theconditions of existence is indirect, the direct action being that ofthe animals or plants themselves, in consequence of changed sense ofneed under changed conditions. 

I should say that the sketch so often referred to is at first sightnow no longer imperfect in Mr. Darwin's opinion. It was "brief butimperfect" in 1861 and in 1866, but in 1876 I see that it is briefonly. Of course, discovering that it was no longer imperfect, Iexpected to find it briefer. What, then, was my surprise at findingthat it had become rather longer? I have found no perfectlysatisfactory explanation of this inconsistency, but, on the whole, incline to think that the "greatest of living men" felt himselfunequal to prolonging his struggle with the word "but, " and resolvedto lay that conjunction at all hazards, even though the doing somight cost him the balance of his adjectives; for I think he mustknow that his sketch is still imperfect. 

From Isidore Geoffroy I turned to Buffon himself, and had not long towait before I felt that I was now brought into communication with themaster-mind of all those who have up to the present time busiedthemselves with evolution. For a brief and imperfect sketch of him, I must refer my readers to "Evolution, Old and New. "

I have no great respect for the author of the "Vestiges of Creation, "who behaved hardly better to the writers upon whom his own work wasfounded than Mr. Darwin himself has done. Nevertheless, I could notforget the gravity of the misrepresentation with which he wasassailed on page 3 of the first edition of the "Origin of Species, "nor impugn the justice of his rejoinder in the following year, {34}when he replied that it was to be regretted Mr. Darwin had read hiswork "almost as much amiss as if, like its declared opponents, he hadan interest in misrepresenting it. " {35a} I could not, again, forgetthat, though Mr. Darwin did not venture to stand by the passage inquestion, it was expunged without a word of apology or explanation ofhow it was that he had come to write it. A writer with any claim toour consideration will never fall into serious error about anotherwriter without hastening to make a public apology as soon as hebecomes aware of what he has done. 

Reflecting upon the substance of what I have written in the last fewpages, I thought it right that people should have a chance of knowingmore about the earlier writers on evolution than they were likely tohear from any of our leading scientists (no matter how many lecturesthey may give on the coming of age of the "Origin of Species") exceptProfessor Mivart. A book pointing the difference betweenteleological and non-teleological views of evolution seemed likely tobe useful, and would afford me the opportunity I wanted for giving aresume of the views of each one of the three chief founders of thetheory, and of contrasting them with those of Mr. Charles Darwin, aswell as for calling attention to Professor Hering's lecture. Iaccordingly wrote "Evolution, Old and New, " which was prominentlyannounced in the leading literary periodicals at the end of February, or on the very first days of March 1879, {35b} as "a comparison ofthe theories of Buffon, Dr. Erasmus Darwin, and Lamarck, with that ofMr. Charles Darwin, with copious extracts from the works of the threefirst-named writers. " In this book I was hardly able to conceal thefact that, in spite of the obligations under which we must alwaysremain to Mr. Darwin, I had lost my respect for him and for his work. 

I should point out that this announcement, coupled with what I hadwritten in "Life and Habit, " would enable Mr. Darwin and his friendsto form a pretty shrewd guess as to what I was likely to say, and toquote from Dr. Erasmus Darwin in my forthcoming book. Theannouncement, indeed, would tell almost as much as the book itself tothose who knew the works of Erasmus Darwin. 

As may be supposed, "Evolution, Old and New, " met with a veryunfavourable reception at the hands of many of its reviewers. TheSaturday Review was furious. "When a writer, " it exclaimed, "who hasnot given as many weeks to the subject as Mr. Darwin has given years, is not content to air his own crude though clever fallacies, butassumes to criticise Mr. Darwin with the superciliousness of a youngschoolmaster looking over a boy's theme, it is difficult not to takehim more seriously than he deserves or perhaps desires. One wouldthink that Mr. Butler was the travelled and laborious observer ofNature, and Mr. Darwin the pert speculator who takes all his facts atsecondhand. " {36}

The lady or gentleman who writes in such a strain as this should notbe too hard upon others whom she or he may consider to write likeschoolmasters. It is true I have travelled--not much, but still asmuch as many others, and have endeavoured to keep my eyes open to thefacts before me; but I cannot think that I made any reference to mytravels in "Evolution, Old and New. " I did not quite see what thathad to do with the matter. A man may get to know a good deal withoutever going beyond the four-mile radius from Charing Cross. Much lessdid I imply that Mr. Darwin was pert: pert is one of the last wordsthat can be applied to Mr. Darwin. Nor, again, had I blamed him fortaking his facts at secondhand; no one is to be blamed for this, provided he takes well-established facts and acknowledges hissources. Mr. Darwin has generally gone to good sources. The groundof complaint against him is that he muddied the water after he haddrawn it, and tacitly claimed to be the rightful owner of the spring, on the score of the damage he had effected. 

Notwithstanding, however, the generally hostile, or more or lesscontemptuous, reception which "Evolution, Old and New, " met with, there were some reviews--as, for example, those in the Field, {37a}the Daily Chronicle, {37b} the Athenaeum, {37c} the Journal ofScience, {37d} the British Journal of Homaeopathy, {37e} the DailyNews, {37f} the Popular Science Review {37g}--which were all I couldexpect or wish. 

CHAPTER IV

The manner in which Mr. Darwin met "Evolution, Old and New. "

By far the most important notice of "Evolution, Old and New, " wasthat taken by Mr. Darwin himself; for I can hardly be mistaken inbelieving that Dr. Krause's article would have been allowed to reposeunaltered in the pages of the well-known German scientific journal, Kosmos, unless something had happened to make Mr. Darwin feel thathis reticence concerning his grandfather must now be ended

Mr. Darwin, indeed, gives me the impression of wishing me tounderstand that this is not the case. At the beginning of this yearhe wrote to me, in a letter which I will presently give in full, thathe had obtained Dr. Krause's consent for a translation, and hadarranged with Mr. Dallas, before my book was "announced. " "Iremember this, " he continues, "because Mr. Dallas wrote to tell me ofthe advertisement. " But Mr. Darwin is not a clear writer, and it isimpossible to say whether he is referring to the announcement of"Evolution, Old and New"--in which case he means that thearrangements for the translation of Dr. Krause's article were madebefore the end of February 1879, and before any public intimationcould have reached him as to the substance of the book on which I wasthen engaged--or to the advertisements of its being now published, which appeared at the beginning of May; in which case, as I have saidabove, Mr. Darwin and his friends had for some time had fullopportunity of knowing what I was about. I believe, however, Mr. Darwin to intend that he remembered the arrangements having been madebefore the beginning of May--his use of the word "announced, " insteadof "advertised, " being an accident; but let this pass. 

Some time after Mr. Darwin's work appeared in November 1879, I gotit, and looking at the last page of the book, I read as follows:-

"They" (the elder Darwin and Lamarck) "explain the adaptation topurpose of organisms by an obscure impulse or sense of what ispurpose-like; yet even with regard to man we are in the habit ofsaying, that one can never know what so-and-so is good for. Thepurpose-like is that which approves itself, and not always that whichis struggled for by obscure impulses and desires. Just in the sameway the beautiful is what pleases. "

I had a sort of feeling as though the writer of the above might havehad "Evolution, Old and New, " in his mind, but went on to the nextsentence, which ran -

"Erasmus Darwin's system was in itself a most significant first stepin the path of knowledge which his grandson has opened up for us, butto wish to revive it at the present day, as has actually beenseriously attempted, shows a weakness of thought and a mentalanachronism which no one can envy. "

"That's me, " said I to myself promptly. I noticed also the positionin which the sentence stood, which made it both one of the first thatwould be likely to catch a reader's eye, and the last he would carryaway with him. I therefore expected to find an open reply to someparts of "Evolution, Old and New, " and turned to Mr. Darwin'spreface. 

To my surprise, I there found that what I had been reading could notby any possibility refer to me, for the preface ran as follows:-

"In the February number of a well-known German scientific journal, Kosmos, {39} Dr. Ernest Krause published a sketch of the 'Life ofErasmus Darwin, ' the author of the 'Zoonomia, ' 'Botanic Garden, ' andother works. This article bears the title of a 'Contribution to theHistory of the Descent Theory'; and Dr. Krause has kindly allowed mybrother Erasmus and myself to have a translation made of it forpublication in this country. "

Then came a note as follows:-

"Mr. Dallas has undertaken the translation, and his scientificreputation, together with his knowledge of German, is a guarantee forits accuracy. "

I ought to have suspected inaccuracy where I found so muchconsciousness of accuracy, but I did not. However this may be, Mr. Darwin pins himself down with every circumstance of preciseness togiving Dr. Krause's article as it appeared in Kosmos, --the wholearticle, and nothing but the article. No one could know this betterthan Mr. Darwin. 

On the second page of Mr. Darwin's preface there is a small-type notesaying that my work, "Evolution, Old and New, " had appeared since thepublication of Dr. Krause's article. Mr. Darwin thus distinctlyprecludes his readers from supposing that any passage they might meetwith could have been written in reference to, or by the light of, mybook. If anything appeared condemnatory of that book, it was anundesigned coincidence, and would show how little worthy ofconsideration I must be when my opinions were refuted in advance byone who could have no bias in regard to them. 

Knowing that if the article I was about to read appeared in February, it must have been published before my book, which was not out tillthree months later, I saw nothing in Mr. Darwin's preface to complainof, and felt that this was only another instance of my absurd vanityhaving led me to rush to conclusions without sufficient grounds, --asif it was likely, indeed, that Mr. Darwin should think what I hadsaid of sufficient importance to be affected by it. It was plainthat some one besides myself, of whom I as yet knew nothing, had beenwriting about the elder Darwin, and had taken much the same lineconcerning him that I had done. It was for the benefit of thisperson, then, that Dr. Krause's paragraph was intended. I returnedto a becoming sense of my own insignificance, and began to read whatI supposed to be an accurate translation of Dr. Krause's article asit originally appeared, before "Evolution, Old and New, " waspublished. 

On pp. 3 and 4 of Dr. Krause's part of Mr. Darwin's book (pp. 133 and134 of the book itself), I detected a sub-apologetic tone which alittle surprised me, and a notice of the fact that Coleridge whenwriting on Stillingfleet had used the word "Darwinising. " Mr. R. Garnett had called my attention to this, and I had mentioned it in"Evolution, Old and New, " but the paragraph only struck me as being alittle odd. 

When I got a few pages farther on (p. 147 of Mr. Darwin's book), Ifound a long quotation from Buffon about rudimentary organs, which Ihad quoted in "Evolution, Old and New. " I observed that Dr. Krauseused the same edition of Buffon that I did, and began his quotationtwo lines from the beginning of Buffon's paragraph, exactly as I haddone; also that he had taken his nominative from the omitted part ofthe sentence across a full stop, as I had myself taken it. A littlelower I found a line of Buffon's omitted which I had given, but Ifound that at that place I had inadvertently left two pair ofinverted commas which ought to have come out, {41} having intended toend my quotation, but changed my mind and continued it withouterasing the commas. It seemed to me that these commas had botheredDr. Krause, and made him think it safer to leave something out, forthe line he omits is a very good one. I noticed that he translated"Mais comme nous voulons toujours tout rapporter a un certain but, ""But we, always wishing to refer, " &c. , while I had it, "But we, everon the look-out to refer, " &c. ; and "Nous ne faisons pas attentionque nous alterons la philosophie, " "We fail to see that thus wedeprive philosophy of her true character, " whereas I had "We fail tosee that we thus rob philosophy of her true character. " This lastwas too much; and though it might turn out that Dr. Krause had quotedthis passage before I had done so, had used the same edition as Ihad, had begun two lines from the beginning of a paragraph as I haddone, and that the later resemblances were merely due to Mr. Dallashaving compared Dr. Krause's German translation of Buffon with myEnglish, and very properly made use of it when he thought fit, itlooked prima facie more as though my quotation had been copied inEnglish as it stood, and then altered, but not quite altered enough. This, in the face of the preface, was incredible; but so many pointshad such an unpleasant aspect, that I thought it better to send forKosmos and see what I could make out. 

At this time I knew not one word of German. On the same day, therefore, that I sent for Kosmos I began acquire that language, andin the fortnight before Kosmos came had got far enough forward forall practical purposes--that is to say, with the help of atranslation and a dictionary, I could see whether or no a Germanpassage was the same as what purported to be its translation. 

When Kosmos came I turned to the end of the article to see how thesentence about mental anachronism and weakness of thought looked inGerman. I found nothing of the kind, the original article ended withsome innocent rhyming doggerel about somebody going on and exploringsomething with eagle eye; but ten lines from the end I found asentence which corresponded with one six pages from the end of theEnglish translation. After this there could be little doubt that thewhole of these last six English pages were spurious matter. Whatlittle doubt remained was afterwards removed by my finding that theyhad no place in any part of the genuine article. I looked for thepassage about Coleridge's using the word "Darwinising"; it was not tobe found in the German. I looked for the piece I had quoted fromBuffon about rudimentary organs; but there was nothing of it, norindeed any reference to Buffon. It was plain, therefore, that thearticle which Mr. Darwin had given was not the one he professed to begiving. I read Mr. Darwin's preface over again to see whether heleft himself any loophole. There was not a chink or cranny throughwhich escape was possible. The only inference that could be drawnwas either that some one had imposed upon Mr. Darwin, or that Mr. Darwin, although it was not possible to suppose him ignorant of theinterpolations that had been made, nor of the obvious purpose of theconcluding sentence, had nevertheless palmed off an article which hadbeen added to and made to attack "Evolution, Old and New, " as thoughit were the original article which appeared before that book waswritten. I could not and would not believe that Mr. Darwin hadcondescended to this. Nevertheless, I saw it was necessary to siftthe whole matter, and began to compare the German and the Englisharticles paragraph by paragraph. 

On the first page I found a passage omitted from the English, whichwith great labour I managed to get through, and can now translate asfollows:-

"Alexander Von Humboldt used to take pleasure in recounting howpowerfully Forster's pictures of the South Sea Islands and St. Pierre's illustrations of Nature had provoked his ardour for traveland influenced his career as a scientific investigator. How muchmore impressively must the works of Dr. Erasmus Darwin, with theirreiterated foreshadowing of a more lofty interpretation of Nature, have affected his grandson, who in his youth assuredly approachedthem with the devotion due to the works of a renowned poet. " {43}

I then came upon a passage common to both German and English, whichin its turn was followed in the English by the sub-apologeticparagraph which I had been struck with on first reading, and whichwas not in the German, its place being taken by a much longer passagewhich had no place in the English. A little farther on I was amusedat coming upon the following, and at finding it wholly transformed inthe supposed accurate translation

"How must this early and penetrating explanation of rudimentaryorgans have affected the grandson when he read the poem of hisancestor! But indeed the biological remarks of this accurateobserver in regard to certain definite natural objects must haveproduced a still deeper impression upon him, pointing, as they do, toquestions which hay attained so great a prominence at the presentday; such as, Why is any creature anywhere such as we actually see itand nothing else? Why has such and such a plant poisonous juices?Why has such and such another thorns? Why have birds and fisheslight-coloured breasts and dark backs, and, Why does every creatureresemble the one from which it sprung?" {44a}

I will not weary the reader with further details as to the omissionsfrom and additions to the German text. Let it suffice that the so-called translation begins on p. 131 and ends on p. 216 of Mr. Darwin's book. There is new matter on each one of the pp. 132-139, while almost the whole of pp. 147-152 inclusive, and the whole of pp. 211-216 inclusive, are spurious--that is to say, not what the purportto be, not translations from an article that was published inFebruary 1879, and before "Evolution, Old and New, " butinterpolations not published till six months after that book. 

Bearing in mind the contents of two of the added passages and thetenor of the concluding sentence quoted above, {44b} I could nolonger doubt that the article had been altered by the light of andwith a view to "Evolution, Old and New. "

The steps are perfectly clear. First Dr. Krause published hisarticle in Kosmos and my book was announced (its purport being thusmade obvious), both in the month of February 1879. Soon afterwardsarrangements were made for a translation of Dr. Krause's essay, andwere completed by the end of April. Then my book came out, and insome way or other Dr. Krause happened to get hold of it. He helpedhimself--not to much, but to enough; made what other additions to andomissions from his article he thought would best meet "Evolution, Oldand New, " and then fell to condemning that book in a finale that wasmeant to be crushing. Nothing was said about the revision which Dr. Krause's work had undergone, but it was expressly and particularlydeclared in the preface that the English translation was an accurateversion of what appeared in the February number of Kosmos, and noless expressly and particularly stated that my book was publishedsubsequently to this. Both these statements are untrue; they are inMr. Darwin's favour and prejudicial to myself. 

All this was done with that well-known "happy simplicity" of whichthe Pall Mall Gazette, December 12, 1879, declared that Mr. Darwinwas "a master. " The final sentence, about the "weakness of thoughtand mental anachronism which no one can envy, " was especiallysuccessful. The reviewer in the Pall Mall Gazette just quoted fromgave it in full, and said that it was thoroughly justified. He thenmused forth a general gnome that the "confidence of writers who dealin semi-scientific paradoxes is commonly in inverse proportion totheir grasp of the subject. " Again my vanity suggested to me that Iwas the person for whose benefit this gnome was intended. My vanity, indeed, was well fed by the whole transaction; for I saw that notonly did Mr. Darwin, who should be the best judge, think my workworth notice, but that he did not venture to meet it openly. As forDr. Krause's concluding sentence, I thought that when a sentence hadbeen antedated the less it contained about anachronism the better. 

Only one of the reviews that I saw of Mr. Darwin's "Life of ErasmusDarwin" showed any knowledge of the facts. The Popular ScienceReview for January 1880, in flat contradiction to Mr. Darwin'spreface, said that only part of Dr. Krause's article was being givenby Mr. Darwin. This reviewer had plainly seen both Kosmos and Mr. Darwin's book. 

In the same number of the Popular Science Review, and immediatelyfollowing the review of Mr. Darwin's book, there is a review of"Evolution, Old and New. " The writer of this review quotes thepassage about mental anachronism as quoted by the reviewer in thePall Mall Gazette, and adds immediately: "This anachronism has beencommitted by Mr. Samuel Butler in a . . . Little volume now beforeus, and it is doubtless to this, WHICH APPEARED WHILE HIS OWN WORKWAS IN PROGRESS [italics mine] that Dr. Krause alludes in theforegoing passage. " Considering that the editor of the PopularScience Review and the translator of Dr. Krause's article for Mr. Darwin are one and the same person, it is likely the Popular ScienceReview is well informed in saying that my book appeared before Dr. Krause's article had been transformed into its present shape, andthat my book was intended by the passage in question. 

Unable to see any way of escaping from a conclusion which I could notwillingly adopt, I thought it best to write to Mr. Darwin, statingthe facts as they appeared to myself, and asking an explanation, which I would have gladly strained a good many points to haveaccepted. It is better, perhaps, that I should give my letter andDarwin's answer in full. My letter ran thus:-

January 2, 1880. 

CHARLES DARWIN, ESQ. , F. R. S. , &c. 

Dear Sir, --Will you kindly refer me to the edition of Kosmos whichcontains the text of Dr. Krause's article on Dr. Erasmus Darwin, astranslated by Mr. W. S. Dallas?

I have before me the last February number of Kosmos, which appears byyour preface to be the one from which Mr. Dallas has translated, buthis translation contains long and important passages which are not inthe February number of Kosmos, while many passages in the originalarticle are omitted in the translation. 

Among the passages introduced are the last six pages of the Englisharticle, which seem to condemn by anticipation the position I havetaken as regards Dr. Erasmus Darwin in my book, "Evolution, Old andNew, " and which I believe I was the first to take. The concluding, and therefore, perhaps, most prominent sentence of the translationyou have given to the public stands thus:-

"Erasmus Darwin's system was in itself a most significant first stepin the path of knowledge which his grandson has opened up for us, butto wish to revive it at the present day, as has actually beenseriously attempted, shows a weakness of thought and a mentalanachronism which no man can envy. "

The Kosmos which has been sent me from Germany contains no suchpassage. 

As you have stated in your preface that my book, "Evolution, Old andNew, " appeared subsequently to Dr. Krause's article, and as nointimation is given that the article has been altered and added tosince its original appearance, while the accuracy of the translationas though from the February number of Kosmos is, as you expresslysay, guaranteed by Mr. Dallas's "scientific reputation together withhis knowledge of German, " your readers will naturally suppose thatall they read in the translation appeared in February last, andtherefore before "Evolution, Old and New, " was written, and thereforeindependently of, and necessarily without reference to, that book. 

I do not doubt that this was actually the case, but have failed toobtain the edition which contains the passage above referred to, andseveral others which appear in the translation. 

I have a personal interest in this matter, and venture, therefore, toask for the explanation which I do not doubt you will readily giveme. --Yours faithfully, S. BUTLER. 

The following is Mr. Darwin's answer:-

January 3, 1880. 

My Dear Sir, Dr. Krause, soon after the appearance of his article inKosmos told me that he intended to publish it separately and to alterit considerably, and the altered MS. Was sent to Mr. Dallas fortranslation. This is so common a practice that it never occurred tome to state that the article had been modified; but now I much regretthat I did not do so. The original will soon appear in German, and Ibelieve will be a much larger book than the English one; for, withDr. Krause's consent, many long extracts from Miss Seward wereomitted (as well as much other matter), from being in my opinionsuperfluous for the English reader. I believe that the omitted partswill appear as notes in the German edition. Should there be areprint of the English Life I will state that the original as itappeared in Kosmos was modified by Dr. Krause before it wastranslated. I may add that I had obtained Dr. Krause's consent for atranslation, and had arranged with Mr. Dallas before your book wasannounced. I remember this because Mr. Dallas wrote to tell me ofthe advertisement. --I remain, yours faithfully, C. DARWIN. "

This was not a letter I could accept. If Mr. Darwin had said that bysome inadvertence, which he was unable to excuse or account for, ablunder had been made which he would at once correct so far as was inhis power by a letter to the Times or the Athenaeum, and that anotice of the erratum should be printed on a flyleaf and pasted intoall unsold copies of the "Life of Erasmus Darwin, " there would havebeen no more heard about the matter from me; but when Mr. Darwinmaintained that it was a common practice to take advantage of anopportunity of revising a work to interpolate a covert attack upon anopponent, and at the same time to misdate the interpolated matter byexpressly stating that it appeared months sooner than it actuallydid, and prior to the work which it attacked; when he maintained thatwhat was being done was "so common a practice that it neveroccurred, " to him--the writer of some twenty volumes--to do what allliterary men must know to be inexorably requisite, I thought this wasgoing far beyond what was permissible in honourable warfare, and thatit was time, in the interests of literary and scientific morality, even more than in my own, to appeal to public opinion. I wasparticularly struck with the use of the words "it never occurred tome, " and felt how completely of a piece it was with the openingparagraph of the "Origin of Species. " It was not merely that it didnot occur to Mr. Darwin to state that the article had been modifiedsince it was written--this would have been bad enough under thecircumstances but that it did occur to him to go out of his way tosay what was not true. There was no necessity for him to have saidanything about my book. It appeared, moreover, inadequate to tell methat if a reprint of the English Life was wanted (which might ormight not be the case, and if it was not the case, why, a shrug ofthe shoulders, and I must make the best of it), Mr. Darwin mightperhaps silently omit his note about my book, as he omitted hismisrepresentation of the author of the "Vestiges of Creation, " andput the words "revised and corrected by the author" on his title-page. 

No matter how high a writer may stand, nor what services he may haveunquestionably rendered, it cannot be for the general well-being thathe should be allowed to set aside the fundamental principles ofstraightforwardness and fair play. When I thought of Buffon, of Dr. Erasmus Darwin, of Lamarck and even of the author of the "Vestiges ofCreation, " to all of whom Mr. Darwin had dealt the same measure whichhe was now dealing to myself; when I thought of these great men, nowdumb, who had borne the burden and heat of the day, and whose laurelshad been filched from them; of the manner, too, in which Mr. Darwinhad been abetted by those who should have been the first to detectthe fallacy which had misled him; of the hotbed of intrigue whichscience has now become; of the disrepute into which we English mustfall as a nation if such practices as Mr. Darwin had attempted inthis case were to be tolerated;--when I thought of all this, I feltthat though prayers for the repose of dead men's souls might beunavailing, yet a defence of their work and memory, no matter againstwhat odds, might avail the living, and resolved that I would do myutmost to make my countrymen aware of the spirit now ruling amongthose whom they delight to honour. 

At first I thought I ought to continue the correspondence privatelywith Mr. Darwin, and explain to him that his letter was insufficient, but on reflection I felt that little good was likely to come of asecond letter, if what I had already written was not enough. Itherefore wrote to the Athenaeum and gave a condensed account of thefacts contained in the last ten or a dozen pages. My letter appearedJanuary 31, 1880. {50}

The accusation was a very grave one; it was made in a very publicplace. I gave my name; I adduced the strongest prima facie groundsfor the acceptance of my statements; but there was no rejoinder, andfor the best of all reasons--that no rejoinder was possible. Besides, what is the good of having a reputation for candour if onemay not stand upon it at a pinch? I never yet knew a person with anespecial reputation for candour without finding sooner or later thathe had developed it as animals develop their organs, through "senseof need. " Not only did Mr. Darwin remain perfectly quiet, but allreviewers and litterateurs remained perfectly quiet also. It seemed--though I do not for a moment believe that this is so--as if publicopinion rather approved of what Mr. Darwin had done, and of hissilence than otherwise. I saw the "Life of Erasmus Darwin" morefrequently and more prominently advertised now than I had seen ithitherto--perhaps in the hope of selling off the adulterated copies, and being able to reprint the work with a corrected title page. Presently I saw Professor Huxley hastening to the rescue with hislecture on the coming of age of the "Origin of Species, " and by Mayit was easy for Professor Ray Lankester to imply that Mr. Darwin wasthe greatest of living men. I have since noticed two or three othercontroversies raging in the Athenaeum and Times; in each of thesecases I saw it assumed that the defeated party, when proved to havepublicly misrepresented his adversary, should do his best to correctin public the injury which he had publicly inflicted, but I noticedthat in none of them had the beaten side any especial reputation forcandour. This probably made all the difference. But however thismay be, Mr. Darwin left me in possession of the field, in the hope, doubtless, that the matter would blow over--which it apparently soondid. Whether it has done so in reality or no, is a matter whichremains to be seen. My own belief is that people paid no attentionto what I said, as believing it simply incredible, and that when theycome to know that it is true, they will think as I do concerning it. 

From ladies and gentlemen of science I admit that I have noexpectations. There is no conduct so dishonourable that people willnot deny it or explain it away, if it has been committed by one whomthey recognise as of their own persuasion. It must be rememberedthat facts cannot be respected by the scientist in the same way as byother people. It is his business to familiarise himself with facts, and, as we all know, the path from familiarity to contempt is an easyone. 

Here, then, I take leave of this matter for the present. If itappears that I have used language such as is rarely seen incontroversy, let the reader remember that the occasion is, so far asI know, unparalleled for the cynicism and audacity with which thewrong complained of was committed and persisted in. I trust, however, that, though not indifferent to this, my indignation hasbeen mainly roused, as when I wrote "Evolution, Old and New, " beforeMr. Darwin had given me personal ground of complaint against him, bythe wrongs he has inflicted on dead men, on whose behalf I now fight, as I trust that some one--whom I thank by anticipation--may one dayfight on mine. 

CHAPTER V

Introduction to Professor Hering's lecture. 

After I had finished "Evolution, Old and New, " I wrote some articlesfor the Examiner, {52} in which I carried out the idea put forward in"Life and Habit, " that we are one person with our ancestors. Itfollows from this, that all living animals and vegetables, being--asappears likely if the theory of evolution is accepted--descended froma common ancestor, are in reality one person, and unite to form abody corporate, of whose existence, however, they are unconscious. There is an obvious analogy between this and the manner in which thecomponent cells of our bodies unite to form our single individuality, of which it is not likely they have a conception, and with which theyhave probably only the same partial and imperfect sympathy as we, thebody corporate, have with them. In the articles above alluded to Iseparated the organic from the inorganic, and when I came to rewritethem, I found that this could not be done, and that I mustreconstruct what I had written. I was at work on this--to which Ihope to return shortly--when Dr. Krause's' "Erasmus Darwin, " with itspreliminary notice by Mr. Charles Darwin, came out, and having beencompelled, as I have shown above, by Dr. Krause's work to look alittle into the German language, the opportunity seemed favourablefor going on with it and becoming acquainted with Professor Hering'slecture. I therefore began to translate his lecture at once, withthe kind assistance of friends whose patience seemed inexhaustible, and found myself well rewarded for my trouble. 

Professor Hering and I, to use a metaphor of his own, are as men whohave observed the action of living beings upon the stage of theworld, he from the point of view at once of a spectator and of onewho has free access to much of what goes on behind the scenes, I fromthat of a spectator only, with none but the vaguest notion of theactual manner in which the stage machinery is worked. If two men soplaced, after years of reflection, arrive independently of oneanother at an identical conclusion as regards the manner in whichthis machinery must have been invented and perfected, it is naturalthat each should take a deep interest in the arguments of the other, and be anxious to put them forward with the utmost possibleprominence. It seems to me that the theory which Professor Heringand I are supporting in common, is one the importance of which ishardly inferior to that of the theory of evolution itself--for itputs the backbone, as it were, into the theory of evolution. I shalltherefore make no apology for laying my translation of ProfessorHering's work before my reader. 

Concerning the identity of the main idea put forward in "Life andHabit" with that of Professor Hering's lecture, there can hardly, Ithink, be two opinions. We both of us maintain that we grow ourlimbs as we do, and possess the instincts we possess, because weremember having grown our limbs in this way, and having had theseinstincts in past generations when we were in the persons of ourforefathers--each individual life adding a small (but so small, inany one lifetime, as to be hardly appreciable) amount of newexperience to the general store of memory; that we have thus got intocertain habits which we can now rarely break; and that we do much ofwhat we do unconsciously on the same principle as that (whatever itis) on which we do all other habitual actions, with the greater easeand unconsciousness the more often we repeat them. Not only is themain idea the same, but I was surprised to find how often ProfessorHering and I had taken the same illustrations with which to point ourmeaning. 

Nevertheless, we have each of us left undealt with some points whichthe other has treated of. Professor Hering, for example, goes intothe question of what memory is, and this I did not venture to do. Iconfined myself to saying that whatever memory was, heredity wasalso. Professor Hering adds that memory is due to vibrations of themolecules of the nerve fibres, which under certain circumstancesrecur, and bring about a corresponding recurrence of visible action. 

This approaches closely to the theory concerning the physics ofmemory which has been most generally adopted since the time ofBonnet, who wrote as follows:-

"The soul never has a new sensation but by the inter position of thesenses. This sensation has been originally attached to the motion ofcertain fibres. Its reproduction or recollection by the senses willthen be likewise connected with these same fibres. " . . . {54a}

And again:-

"It appeared to me that since this memory is connected with the body, it must depend upon some change which must happen to the primitivestate of the sensible fibres by the action of objects. I have, therefore, admitted as probable that the state of the fibres on whichan object has acted is not precisely the same after this action as itwas before I have conjectured that the sensible fibres experiencemore or less durable modifications, which constitute the physics ofmemory and recollection. " {54b}

Professor Hering comes near to endorsing this view, and uses it forthe purpose of explaining personal identity. This, at least, is whathe does in fact, though perhaps hardly in words. I did not say moreupon the essence of personality than that it was inseparable from theidea that the various phases of our existence should have flowed oneout of the other, "in what we see as a continuous, though it may beat times a very troubled, stream" {55} but I maintained that theidentity between two successive generations was of essentially thesame kind as that existing between an infant and an octogenarian. Ithus left personal identity unexplained, though insisting that it wasthe key to two apparently distinct sets of phenomena, the one ofwhich had been hitherto considered incompatible with our ideasconcerning it. Professor Hering insists on this too, but he gives usfarther insight into what personal identity is, and explains how itis that the phenomena of heredity are phenomena also of personalidentity. 

He implies, though in the short space at his command he has hardlysaid so in express terms, that personal identity as we commonly thinkof it--that is to say, as confined to the single life of theindividual--consists in the uninterruptedness of a sufficient numberof vibrations, which have been communicated from molecule to moleculeof the nerve fibres, and which go on communicating each one of themits own peculiar characteristic elements to the new matter which weintroduce into the body by way of nutrition. These vibrations may beso gentle as to be imperceptible for years together; but they arethere, and may become perceived if they receive accession through therunning into them of a wave going the same way as themselves, whichwave has been set up in the ether by exterior objects and has beencommunicated to the organs of sense. 

As these pages are on the point of leaving my hands, I see thefollowing remarkable passage in Mind for the current month, andintroduce it parenthetically here:-

"I followed the sluggish current of hyaline material issuing fromglobules of most primitive living substance. Persistently itfollowed its way into space, conquering, at first, the manifoldresistances opposed to it by its watery medium. Gradually, however, its energies became exhausted, till at last, completely overwhelmed, it stopped, an immovable projection stagnated to death-like rigidity. Thus for hours, perhaps, it remained stationary, one of many suchrays of some of the many kinds of protoplasmic stars. By degrees, then, or perhaps quite suddenly, HELP WOULD COME TO IT FROM FOREIGNBUT CONGRUOUS SOURCES. IT WOULD SEEM TO COMBINE WITH OUTSIDECOMPLEMENTAL MATTER drifted to it at random. Slowly it would regainthereby its vital mobility. Shrinking at first, but graduallycompletely restored and reincorporated into the onward tide of life, it was ready to take part again in the progressive flow of a newray. " {56}

To return to the end of the last paragraph but one. If this is so--but I should warn the reader that Professor Hering is not responsiblefor this suggestion, though it seems to follow so naturally from whathe has said that I imagine he intended the inference to be drawn, --ifthis is so, assimilation is nothing else than the communication ofits own rhythms from the assimilating to the assimilated substance, to the effacement of the vibrations or rhythms heretofore existing inthis last; and suitability for food will depend upon whether therhythms of the substance eaten are such as to flow harmoniously intoand chime in with those of the body which has eaten it, or whetherthey will refuse to act in concert with the new rhythms with whichthey have become associated, and will persist obstinately in pursuingtheir own course. In this case they will either be turned out of thebody at once, or will disconcert its arrangements, with perhaps fatalconsequences. This comes round to the conclusion I arrived at in"Life and Habit, " that assimilation was nothing but the imbuing ofone thing with the memories of another. (See "Life and Habit, " pp. 136, 137, 140, &c. )

It will be noted that, as I resolved the phenomena of heredity intophenomena of personal identity, and left the matter there, soProfessor Hering resolves the phenomena of personal identity into thephenomena of a living mechanism whose equilibrium is disturbed byvibrations of a certain character--and leaves it there. We now wantto understand more about the vibrations. 

But if, according to Professor Hering, the personal identity of thesingle life consists in the uninterruptedness of vibrations, so alsodo the phenomena of heredity. For not only may vibrations of acertain violence or character be persistent unperceived for manyyears in a living body, and communicate themselves to the matter ithas assimilated, but they may, and will, under certain circumstances, extend to the particle which is about to leave the parent body as thegerm of its future offspring. In this minute piece of matter theremust, if Professor Hering is right, be an infinity of rhythmicundulations incessantly vibrating with more or less activity, andready to be set in more active agitation at a moment's warning, underdue accession of vibration from exterior objects. On the occurrenceof such stimulus, that is to say, when a vibration of a suitablerhythm from without concurs with one within the body so as to augmentit, the agitation may gather such strength that the touch, as itwere, is given to a house of cards, and the whole comes topplingover. This toppling over is what we call action; and when it is theresult of the disturbance of certain usual arrangements in certainusual ways, we call it the habitual development and instinctivecharacteristics of the race. In either case, then, whether weconsider the continued identity of the individual in what we call hissingle life, or those features in his offspring which we refer toheredity, the same explanation of the phenomena is applicable. Itfollows from this as a matter of course, that the continuation oflife or personal identity in the individual and the race arefundamentally of the same kind, or, in other words, that there is averitable prolongation of identity or oneness of personality betweenparents and offspring. Professor Hering reaches his conclusion byphysical methods, while I reached mine, as I am told, bymetaphysical. I never yet could understand what "metaphysics" and"metaphysical" mean; but I should have said I reached it by theexercise of a little common sense while regarding certain facts whichare open to every one. There is, however, so far as I can see, nodifference in the conclusion come to. 

The view which connects memory with vibrations may tend to throwlight upon that difficult question, the manner in which neuter beesacquire structures and instincts, not one of which was possessed byany of their direct ancestors. Those who have read "Life and Habit"may remember, I suggested that the food prepared in the stomachs ofthe nurse-bees, with which the neuter working bees are fed, mightthus acquire a quasi-seminal character, and be made a means ofcommunicating the instincts and structures in question. {58} Ifassimilation be regarded as the receiving by one substance of therhythms or undulations from another, the explanation just referred toreceives an accession of probability. 

If it is objected that Professor Hering's theory as to continuity ofvibrations being the key to memory and heredity involves the actionof more wheels within wheels than our imagination can come near tocomprehending, and also that it supposes this complexity of action asgoing on within a compass which no unaided eye can detect by reasonof its littleness, so that we are carried into a fairy land withwhich sober people should have nothing to do, it may be answered thatthe case of light affords us an example of our being truly aware of amultitude of minute actions, the hundred million millionth part ofwhich we should have declared to be beyond our ken, could we notincontestably prove that we notice and count them all with a verysufficient and creditable accuracy. 

"Who would not, " {59a} says Sir John Herschel, "ask for demonstrationwhen told that a gnat's wing, in its ordinary flight, beats manyhundred times in a second? or that there exist animated and regularlyorganised beings many thousands of whose bodies laid close togetherwould not extend to an inch? But what are these to the astonishingtruths which modern optical inquiries have disclosed, which teach usthat every point of a medium through which a ray of light passes isaffected with a succession of periodical movements, recurringregularly at equal intervals, no less than five hundred millions ofmillions of times in a second; that it is by such movementscommunicated to the nerves of our eyes that we see; nay, more, thatit is the DIFFERENCE in the frequency of their recurrence whichaffects us with the sense of the diversity of colour; that, forinstance, in acquiring the sensation of redness, our eyes areaffected four hundred and eighty-two millions of millions of times;of yellowness, five hundred and forty-two millions of millions oftimes; and of violet, seven hundred and seven millions of millions oftimes per second? {59b} Do not such things sound more like theravings of madmen than the sober conclusions of people in theirwaking senses? They are, nevertheless, conclusions to which any onemay most certainly arrive who will only be at the pains of examiningthe chain of reasoning by which they have been obtained. "

A man counting as hard as he can repeat numbers one after another, and never counting more than a hundred, so that he shall have no longwords to repeat, may perhaps count ten thousand, or a hundred ahundred times over, in an hour. At this rate, counting night andday, and allowing no time for rest or refreshment, he would count onemillion in four days and four hours, or say four days only. To counta million a million times over, he would require four million days, or roughly ten thousand years; for five hundred millions of millions, he must have the utterly unrealisable period of five million years. Yet he actually goes through this stupendous piece of reckoningunconsciously hour after hour, day after day, it may be for eightyyears, OFTEN IN EACH SECOND of daylight; and how much more byartificial or subdued light I do not know. He knows whether his eyeis being struck five hundred millions of millions of times, or onlyfour hundred and eighty-two millions of millions of times. He thusshows that he estimates or counts each set of vibrations, andregisters them according to his results. If a man writes upon theback of a British Museum blotting-pad of the common nonpareilpattern, on which there are some thousands of small spaces eachdiffering in colour from that which is immediately next to it, hiseye will, nevertheless, without an effort assign its true colour toeach one of these spaces. This implies that he is all the timecounting and taking tally of the difference in the numbers of thevibrations from each one of the small spaces in question. Yet themind that is capable of such stupendous computations as these so longas it knows nothing about them, makes no little fuss about theconscious adding together of such almost inconceivably minute numbersas, we will say, 2730169 and 5790135--or, if these be considered toolarge, as 27 and 19. Let the reader remember that he cannot by anyeffort bring before his mind the units, not in ones, BUT IN MILLIONSOF MILLIONS of the processes which his visual organs are undergoingsecond after second from dawn till dark, and then let him demur if hewill to the possibility of the existence in a germ, of currents andundercurrents, and rhythms and counter rhythms, also by the millionof millions--each one of which, on being overtaken by the rhythm fromwithout that chimes in with and stimulates it, may be the beginningof that unsettlement of equilibrium which results in the crash ofaction, unless it is timely counteracted. 

If another objector maintains that the vibrations within the germ asabove supposed must be continually crossing and interfering with oneanother in such a manner as to destroy the continuity of any oneseries, it may be replied that the vibrations of the light proceedingfrom the objects that surround us traverse one another by themillions of millions every second yet in no way interfere with oneanother. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that the difficulties ofthe theory towards which I suppose Professor Hering to incline arelike those of all other theories on the same subject--almostinconceivably great. 

In "Life and Habit" I did not touch upon these vibrations, knowingnothing about them. Here, then, is one important point ofdifference, not between the conclusions arrived at, but between theaim and scope of the work that Professor Hering and I severallyattempted. Another difference consists in the points at which wehave left off. Professor Hering, having established his main thesis, is content. I, on the other hand, went on to maintain that if vigourwas due to memory, want of vigour was due to want of memory. Thus Iwas led to connect memory with the phenomena of hybridism and of oldage; to show that the sterility of certain animals underdomestication is only a phase of, and of a piece with, the verycommon sterility of hybrids--phenomena which at first sight have noconnection either with each other or with memory, but the connectionbetween which will never be lost sight of by those who have once laidhold of it. I also pointed out how exactly the phenomena ofdevelopment agreed with those of the abeyance and recurrence ofmemory, and the rationale of the fact that puberty in so many animalsand plants comes about the end of development. The principleunderlying longevity follows as a matter of course. I have no ideahow far Professor Hering would agree with me in the position I havetaken in respect of these phenomena, but there is nothing in theabove at variance with his lecture. 

Another matter on which Professor Hering has not touched is thebearing of his theory on that view of evolution which is now commonlyaccepted. It is plain he accepts evolution, but it does not appearthat he sees how fatal his theory is to any view of evolution excepta teleological one--the purpose residing within the animal and notwithout it. There is, however, nothing in his lecture to indicatethat he does not see this. 

It should be remembered that the question whether memory is due tothe persistence within the body of certain vibrations, which havebeen already set up within the bodies of its ancestors, is true orno, will not affect the position I took up in "Life and Habit. " Inthat book I have maintained nothing more than that whatever memory isheredity is also. I am not committed to the vibration theory ofmemory, though inclined to accept it on a prima facie view. All I amcommitted to is, that if memory is due to persistence of vibrations, so is heredity; and if memory is not so due, then no more isheredity. 

Finally, I may say that Professor Hering's lecture, the passagequoted from Dr. Erasmus Darwin on p. 26 of this volume, and a fewhints in the extracts from Mr. Patrick Mathew which I have quoted in"Evolution, Old and New, " are all that I yet know of in other writersas pointing to the conclusion that the phenomena of heredity arephenomena also of memory. 

CHAPTER VI

Professor Ewald Hering "On Memory. "

I will now lay before the reader a translation of Professor Hering'sown words. I have had it carefully revised throughout by a gentlemanwhose native language is German, but who has resided in England formany years past. The original lecture is entitled "On Memory as aUniversal Function of Organised Matter, " and was delivered at theanniversary meeting of the Imperial Academy of Sciences at Vienna, May 30, 1870. {63} It is as follows:-

"When the student of Nature quits the narrow workshop of his ownparticular inquiry, and sets out upon an excursion into the vastkingdom of philosophical investigation, he does so, doubtless, in thehope of finding the answer to that great riddle, to the solution of asmall part of which he devotes his life. Those, however, whom heleaves behind him still working at their own special branch ofinquiry, regard his departure with secret misgivings on his behalf, while the born citizens of the kingdom of speculation among whom hewould naturalise himself, receive him with well-authorised distrust. He is likely, therefore, to lose ground with the first, while notgaining it with the second. 

The subject to the consideration of which I would now solicit yourattention does certainly appear likely to lure us on towards theflattering land of speculation, but bearing in mind what I have justsaid, I will beware of quitting the department of natural science towhich I have devoted myself hitherto. I shall, however, endeavour toattain its highest point, so as to take a freer view of thesurrounding territory. 

It will soon appear that I should fail in this purpose if my remarkswere to confine themselves solely to physiology. I hope to show howfar psychological investigations also afford not only permissible, but indispensable, aid to physiological inquiries. 

Consciousness is an accompaniment of that animal and humanorganisation and of that material mechanism which it is the provinceof physiology to explore; and as long as the atoms of the brainfollow their due course according to certain definite laws, therearises an inner life which springs from sensation and idea, fromfeeling and will. 

We feel this in our own cases; it strikes us in our converse withother people; we can see it plainly in the more highly organisedanimals; even the lowest forms of life bear traces of it; and who candraw a line in the kingdom of organic life, and say that it is herethe soul ceases?

With what eyes, then, is physiology to regard this two-fold life ofthe organised world? Shall she close them entirely to one whole sideof it, that she may fix them more intently on the other?

So long as the physiologist is content to be a physicist, and nothingmore--using the word "physicist" in its widest signification--hisposition in regard to the organic world is one of extreme butlegitimate one-sidedness. As the crystal to the mineralogist or thevibrating string to the acoustician, so from this point of view bothman and the lower animals are to the physiologist neither more norless than the matter of which they consist. That animals feel desireand repugnance, that the material mechanism of the human frame is inchose connection with emotions of pleasure or pain, and with theactive idea-life of consciousness--this cannot, in the eyes of thephysicist, make the animal or human body into anything more than whatit actually is. To him it is a combination of matter, subjected tothe same inflexible laws as stones and plants--a materialcombination, the outward and inward movements of which interact ascause and effect, and are in as close connection with each other andwith their surroundings as the working of a machine with therevolutions of the wheels that compose it. 

Neither sensation, nor idea, nor yet conscious will, can form a linkin this chain of material occurrences which make up the physical lifeof an organism. If I am asked a question and reply to it, thematerial process which the nerve fibre conveys from the organ ofhearing to the brain must travel through my brain as an actual andmaterial process before it can reach the nerves which will act uponmy organs of speech. It cannot, on reaching a given place in thebrain, change then and there into an immaterial something, and turnup again some time afterwards in another part of the brain as amaterial process. The traveller in the desert might as well hope, before he again goes forth into the wilderness of reality, to takerest and refreshment in the oasis with which the Fata Morgana illudeshim; or as well might a prisoner hope to escape from his prisonthrough a door reflected in a mirror. 

So much for the physiologist in his capacity of pure physicist. Aslong as he remains behind the scenes in painful exploration of thedetails of the machinery--as long as he only observes the action ofthe players from behind the stage--so long will he miss the spirit ofthe performance, which is, nevertheless, caught easily by one whosees it from the front. May he not, then, for once in a way, beallowed to change his standpoint? True, he came not to see therepresentation of an imaginary world; he is in search of the actual;but surely it must help him to a comprehension of the dramaticapparatus itself, and of the manner in which it is worked, if he wereto view its action from in front as well as from behind, or at leastallow himself to hear what sober-minded spectators can tell him uponthe subject. 

There can be no question as to the answer; and hence it comes thatpsychology is such an indispensable help to physiology, whose faultit only in small part is that she has hitherto made such little useof this assistance; for psychology has been late in beginning to tillher fertile field with the plough of the inductive method, and it isonly from ground so tilled that fruits can spring which can be ofservice to physiology. 

If, then, the student of nervous physiology takes his stand betweenthe physicist and the psychologist, and if the first of these rightlymakes the unbroken causative continuity of all material processes anaxiom of his system of investigation, the prudent psychologist, onthe other hand, will investigate the laws of conscious life accordingto the inductive method, and will hence, as much as the physicist, make the existence of fixed laws his initial assumption. If, again, the most superficial introspection teaches the physiologist that hisconscious life is dependent upon the mechanical adjustments of hisbody, and that inversely his body is subjected with certainlimitations to his will, then it only remains for him to make oneassumption more, namely, THAT THIS MUTUAL INTERDEPENDENCE BETWEEN THESPIRITUAL AND THE MATERIAL IS ITSELF ALSO DEPENDENT ON LAW, and hehas discovered the bond by which the science of matter and thescience of consciousness are united into a single whole. 

Thus regarded, the phenomena of consciousness become functions of thematerial changes of organised substance, and inversely--though thisis involved in the use of the word "function"--the material processesof brain substance become functions of the phenomena ofconsciousness. For when two variables are so dependent upon oneanother in the changes they undergo in accordance with fixed lawsthat a change in either involves simultaneous and correspondingchange in the other, the one is called a function of the other. 

This, then, by no means implies that the two variables above-named--matter and consciousness--stand in the relation of cause and effect, antecedent and consequence, to one another. For on this subject weknow nothing. 

The materialist regards consciousness as a product or result ofmatter, while the idealist holds matter to be a result ofconsciousness, and a third maintains that matter and spirit areidentical; with all this the physiologist, as such, has nothingwhatever to do; his sole concern is with the fact that matter andconsciousness are functions one of the other. 

By the help of this hypothesis of the functional interdependence ofmatter and spirit, modern physiology is enabled to bring thephenomena of consciousness within the domain of her investigationswithout leaving the terra firma of scientific methods. Thephysiologist, as physicist, can follow the ray of light and the waveof sound or heat till they reach the organ of sense. He can watchthem entering upon the ends of the nerves, and finding their way tothe cells of the brain by means of the series of undulations orvibrations which they establish in the nerve filaments. Here, however, he loses all trace of them. On the other hand, stilllooking with the eyes of a pure physicist, he sees sound waves ofspeech issue from the mouth of a speaker; he observes the motion ofhis own limbs, and finds how this is conditional upon muscularcontractions occasioned by the motor nerves, and how these nerves arein their turn excited by the cells of the central organ. But hereagain his knowledge comes to an end. True, he sees indications ofthe bridge which is to carry him from excitation of the sensory tothat of the motor nerves in the labyrinth of intricately interwovennerve cells, but he knows nothing of the inconceivably complexprocess which is introduced at this stage. Here the physiologistwill change his standpoint; what matter will not reveal to hisinquiry, he will find in the mirror, as it were, of consciousness; byway of a reflection, indeed, only, but a reflection, nevertheless, which stands in intimate relation to the object of his inquiry. Whenat this point he observes how one idea gives rise to another, howclosely idea is connected with sensation and sensation with will, andhow thought, again, and feeling are inseparable from one another, hewill be compelled to suppose corresponding successions of materialprocesses, which generate and are closely connected with one another, and which attend the whole machinery of conscious life, according tothe law of the functional interdependence of matter andconsciousness. 

After this explanation I shall venture to regard under a singleaspect a great series of phenomena which apparently have nothing todo with one another, and which belong partly to the conscious andpartly to the unconscious life of organised beings. I shall regardthem as the outcome of one and the same primary force of organisedmatter--namely, its memory or power of reproduction. 

The word "memory" is often understood as though it meant nothing morethan our faculty of intentionally reproducing ideas or series ofideas. But when the figures and events of bygone days rise up againunbidden in our minds, is not this also an act of recollection ormemory? We have a perfect right to extend our conception of memoryso as to make it embrace involuntary reproductions, of sensations, ideas, perceptions, and efforts; but we find, on having done so, thatwe have so far enlarged her boundaries that she proves to be anultimate and original power, the source, and at the same time theunifying bond, of our whole conscious life. 

We know that when an impression, or a series of impressions, has beenmade upon our senses for a long time, and always in the same way, itmay come to impress itself in such a manner upon the so-called sense-memory that hours afterwards, and though a hundred other things haveoccupied our attention meanwhile, it will yet return suddenly to ourconsciousness with all the force and freshness of the originalsensation. A whole group of sensations is sometimes reproduced inits due sequence as regards time and space, with so much reality thatit illudes us, as though things were actually present which have longceased to be so. We have here a striking proof of the fact thatafter both conscious sensation and perception have been extinguished, their material vestiges yet remain in our nervous system by way of achange in its molecular or atomic disposition, {69} that enables thenerve substance to reproduce all the physical processes of theoriginal sensation, and with these the corresponding psychicalprocesses of sensation and perception. 

Every hour the phenomena of sense-memory are present with each one ofus, but in a less degree than this. We are all at times aware of ahost of more or less faded recollections of earlier impressions, which we either summon intentionally or which come upon usinvoluntarily. Visions of absent people come and go before us asfaint and fleeting shadows, and the notes of long-forgotten melodiesfloat around us, not actually heard, but yet perceptible. 

Some things and occurrences, especially if they have happened to usonly once and hurriedly, will be reproducible by the memory inrespect only of a few conspicuous qualities; in other cases thosedetails alone will recur to us which we have met with elsewhere, andfor the reception of which the brain is, so to speak, attuned. Theselast recollections find themselves in fuller accord with ourconsciousness, and enter upon it more easily and energetically; hencealso their aptitude for reproduction is enhanced; so that what iscommon to many things, and is therefore felt and perceived withexceptional frequency, becomes reproduced so easily that eventuallythe actual presence of the corresponding external stimuli is nolonger necessary, and it will recur on the vibrations set up by faintstimuli from within. {70} Sensations arising in this way fromwithin, as, for example, an idea of whiteness, are not, indeed, perceived with the full freshness of those raised by the actualpresence of white light without us, but they are of the same kind;they are feeble repetitions of one and the same material brainprocess--of one and the same conscious sensation. Thus the idea ofwhiteness arises in our mind as a faint, almost extinct, sensation. 

In this way those qualities which are common to many things becomeseparated, as it were, in our memory from the objects with which theywere originally associated, and attain an independent existence inour consciousness as IDEAS and CONCEPTIONS, and thus the whole richsuperstructure of our ideas and conceptions is built up frommaterials supplied by memory. 

On examining more closely, we see plainly that memory is a facultynot only of our conscious states, but also, and much more so, of ourunconscious ones. I was conscious of this or that yesterday, and amagain conscious of it to-day. Where has it been meanwhile? It doesnot remain continuously within my consciousness, nevertheless itreturns after having quitted it. Our ideas tread but for a momentupon the stage of consciousness, and then go back again behind thescenes, to make way for others in their place. As the player is onlya king when he is on the stage, so they too exist as ideas so longonly as they are recognised. How do they live when they are off thestage? For we know that they are living somewhere; give them theircue and they reappear immediately. They do not exist continuously asideas; what is continuous is the special disposition of nervesubstance in virtue of which this substance gives out to-day the samesound which it gave yesterday if it is rightly struck. {71}Countless reproductions of organic processes of our brain connectthemselves orderly together, so that one acts as a stimulus to thenext, but a phenomenon of consciousness is not necessarily attachedto every link in the chain. From this it arises that a series ofideas may appear to disregard the order that would be observed inpurely material processes of brain substance unaccompanied byconsciousness; but on the other hand it becomes possible for a longchain of recollections to have its due development without each linkin the chain being necessarily perceived by ourselves. One mayemerge from the bosom of our unconscious thoughts without fullyentering upon the stage of conscious perception; another dies away inunconsciousness, leaving no successor to take its place. Between the"me" of to-day and the "me" of yesterday lie night and sleep, abyssesof unconsciousness; nor is there any bridge but memory with which tospan them. Who can hope after this to disentangle the infiniteintricacy of our inner life? For we can only follow its threads sofar as they have strayed over within the bounds of consciousness. Wemight as well hope to familiarise ourselves with the world of formsthat teem within the bosom of the sea by observing the few that nowand again come to the surface and soon return into the deep. 

The bond of union, therefore, which connects the individual phenomenaof our consciousness lies in our unconscious world; and as we knownothing of this but what investigation into the laws of matter teachus--as, in fact, for purely experimental purposes, "matter" and the"unconscious" must be one and the same thing--so the physiologist hasa full right to denote memory as, in the wider sense of the word, afunction of brain substance, whose results, it is true, fall, asregards one part of them, into the domain of consciousness, whileanother and not less essential part escapes unperceived as purelymaterial processes. 

The perception of a body in space is a very complicated process. Isee suddenly before me, for example, a white ball. This has theeffect of conveying to me more than a mere sensation of whiteness. Ideduce the spherical character of the ball from the gradations oflight and shade upon its surface. I form a correct appreciation ofits distance from my eye, and hence again I deduce an inference as tothe size of the ball. What an expenditure of sensations, ideas, andinferences is found to be necessary before all this can be broughtabout; yet the production of a correct perception of the ball was thework only of a few seconds, and I was unconscious of the individualprocesses by means of which it was effected, the result as a wholebeing alone present in my consciousness. 

The nerve substance preserves faithfully the memory of habitualactions. {72} Perceptions which were once long and difficult, requiring constant and conscious attention, come to reproducethemselves in transient and abridged guise, without such duration andintensity that each link has to pass over the threshold of ourconsciousness. 

We have chains of material nerve processes to which eventually a linkbecomes attached that is attended with conscious perception. This issufficiently established from the standpoint of the physiologist, andis also proved by our unconsciousness of many whole series of ideasand of the inferences we draw from them. If the soul is not to shipthrough the fingers of physiology, she must hold fast to theconsiderations suggested by our unconscious states. As far, however, as the investigations of the pure physicist are concerned, theunconscious and matter are one and the same thing, and the physiologyof the unconscious is no "philosophy of the unconscious. "

By far the greater number of our movements are the result of long andarduous practice. The harmonious cooperation of the separatemuscles, the finely adjusted measure of participation which eachcontributes to the working of the whole, must, as a rule, have beenlaboriously acquired, in respect of most of the movements that arenecessary in order to effect it. How long does it not take each noteto find its way from the eyes to the fingers of one who is beginningto learn the pianoforte; and, on the other hand, what an astonishingperformance is the playing of the professional pianist. The sight ofeach note occasions the corresponding movement of the fingers withthe speed of thought--a hurried glance at the page of music beforehim suffices to give rise to a whole series of harmonies; nay, when amelody has been long practised, it can be played even while theplayer's attention is being given to something of a perfectlydifferent character over and above his music. 

The will need now no longer wend its way to each individual fingerbefore the desired movements can be extorted from it; no longer nowdoes a sustained attention keep watch over the movements of eachlimb; the will need exercise a supervising control only. At the wordof command the muscles become active, with a due regard to time andproportion, and go on working, so long as they are bidden to keep intheir accustomed groove, while a slight hint on the part of the will, will indicate to them their further journey. How could all this beif every part of the central nerve system, by means of which movementis effected, were not able {74a} to reproduce whole series ofvibrations, which at an earlier date required the constant andcontinuous participation of consciousness, but which are now set inmotion automatically on a mere touch, as it were, from consciousness--if it were not able to reproduce them the more quickly and easily inproportion to the frequency of the repetitions--if, in fact, therewas no power of recollecting earlier performances? Our perceptivefaculties must have remained always at their lowest stage if we hadbeen compelled to build up consciously every process from the detailsof the sensation-causing materials tendered to us by our senses; norcould our voluntary movements have got beyond the helplessness of thechild, if the necessary impulses could only be imparted to everymovement through effort of the will and conscious reproduction of allthe corresponding ideas--if, in a word, the motor nerve system hadnot also its memory, {74b} though that memory is unperceived byourselves. The power of this memory is what is called "the force ofhabit. "

It seems, then, that we owe to memory almost all that we either haveor are; that our ideas and conceptions are its work, and that ourevery perception, thought, and movement is derived from this source. Memory collects the countless phenomena of our existence into asingle whole; and as our bodies would be scattered into the dust oftheir component atoms if they were not held together by theattraction of matter, so our consciousness would be broken up into asmany fragments as we had lived seconds but for the binding andunifying force of memory. 

We have already repeatedly seen that the reproductions of organicprocesses, brought about by means of the memory of the nervoussystem, enter but partly within the domain of consciousness, remaining unperceived in other and not less important respects. Thisis also confirmed by numerous facts in the life of that part of thenervous system which ministers almost exclusively to our unconsciouslife processes. For the memory of the so-called sympatheticganglionic system is no less rich than that of the brain and spinalmarrow, and a great part of the medical art consists in making wiseuse of the assistance thus afforded us. 

To bring, however, this part of my observations to a close, I willtake leave of the nervous system, and glance hurriedly at otherphases of organised matter, where we meet with the same powers ofreproduction, but in simpler guise. 

Daily experience teaches us that a muscle becomes the stronger themore we use it. The muscular fibre, which in the first instance mayhave answered but feebly to the stimulus conducted to it by the motornerve, does so with the greater energy the more often it isstimulated, provided, of course, that reasonable times are allowedfor repose. After each individual action it becomes more capable, more disposed towards the same kind of work, and has a greateraptitude for repetition of the same organic processes. It gains alsoin weight, for it assimilates more matter than when constantly atrest. We have here, in its simplest form, and in a phase which comeshome most closely to the comprehension of the physicist, the samepower of reproduction which we encountered when we were dealing withnerve substance, but under such far more complicated conditions. Andwhat is known thus certainly from muscle substance holds good withgreater or less plainness for all our organs. More especially may wenote the fact, that after increased use, alternated with times ofrepose, there accrues to the organ in all animal economy an increasedpower of execution with an increased power of assimilation and a gainin size. 

This gain in size consists not only in the enlargement of theindividual cells or fibres of which the organ is composed, but in themultiplication of their number; for when cells have grown to acertain size they give rise to others, which inherit more or lesscompletely the qualities of those from which they came, and thereforeappear to be repetitions of the same cell. This growth, andmultiplication of cells is only a special phase of those manifoldfunctions which characterise organised matter, and which consist notonly in what goes on within the cell substance as alterations orundulatory movement of the molecular disposition, but also in thatwhich becomes visible outside the cells as change of shape, enlargement, or subdivision. Reproduction of performance, therefore, manifests itself to us as reproduction of the cells themselves, asmay be seen most plainly in the case of plants, whose chief workconsists in growth, whereas with animal organism other facultiesgreatly preponderate. 

Let us now take a brief survey of a class of facts in the case ofwhich we may most abundantly observe the power of memory in organisedmatter. We have ample evidence of the fact that characteristics ofan organism may descend to offspring which the organism did notinherit, but which it acquired owing to the special circumstancesunder which it lived; and that, in consequence, every organismimparts to the germ that issues from it a small heritage ofacquisitions which it has added during its own lifetime to the grossinheritance of its race. 

When we reflect that we are dealing with the heredity of acquiredqualities which came to development in the most diverse parts of theparent organism, it must seem in a high degree mysterious how thoseparts can have any kind of influence upon a germ which developsitself in an entirely different place. Many mystical theories havebeen propounded for the elucidation of this question, but thefollowing reflections may serve to bring the cause nearer to thecomprehension of the physiologist. 

The nerve substance, in spite of its thousandfold subdivision ascells and fibres, forms, nevertheless, a united whole, which ispresent directly in all organs--nay, as more recent histologyconjectures, in each cell of the more important organs--or is atleast in ready communication with them by means of the living, irritable, and therefore highly conductive substance of other cells. Through the connection thus established all organs find themselves insuch a condition of more or less mutual interdependence upon oneanother, that events which happen to one are repeated in others, anda notification, however slight, of a vibration set up {77} in onequarter is at once conveyed even to the farthest parts of the body. With this easy and rapid intercourse between all parts is associatedthe more difficult communication that goes on by way of thecirculation of sap or blood. 

We see, further, that the process of the development of all germsthat are marked out for independent existence causes a powerfulreaction, even from the very beginning of that existence, on both theconscious and unconscious life of the whole organism. We may seethis from the fact that the organ of reproduction stands in closerand more important relation to the remaining parts, and especially tothe nervous system, than do the other organs; and, inversely, thatboth the perceived and unperceived events affecting the wholeorganism find a more marked response in the reproductive system thanelsewhere. 

We can now see with sufficient plainness in what the materialconnection is established between the acquired peculiarities of anorganism, and the proclivity on the part of the germ in virtue ofwhich it develops the special characteristics of its parent. 

The microscope teaches us that no difference can be perceived betweenone germ and another; it cannot, however, be objected on this accountthat the determining cause of its ulterior development must besomething immaterial, rather than the specific kind of its materialconstitution. 

The curves and surfaces which the mathematician conceives, or findsconceivable, are more varied and infinite than the forms of animallife. Let us suppose an infinitely small segment to be taken fromevery possible curve; each one of these will appear as like everyother as one germ is to another, yet the whole of every curve liesdormant, as it were, in each of them, and if the mathematicianchooses to develop it, it will take the path indicated by theelements of each segment. 

It is an error, therefore, to suppose that such fine distinctions asphysiology must assume lie beyond the limits of what is conceivableby the human mind. An infinitely small change of position on thepart of a point, or in the relations of the parts of a segment of acurve to one another, suffices to alter the law of its whole path, and so in like manner an infinitely small influence exercised by theparent organism on the molecular disposition of the germ {78} maysuffice to produce a determining effect upon its whole fartherdevelopment. 

What is the descent of special peculiarities but a reproduction onthe part of organised matter of processes in which it once took partas a germ in the germ-containing organs of its parent, and of whichit seems still to retain a recollection that reappears when time andthe occasion serve, inasmuch as it responds to the same or likestimuli in a like way to that in which the parent organism responded, of which it was once part, and in the events of whose history it wasitself also an accomplice? {79} When an action through long habit orcontinual practice has become so much a second nature to anyorganisation that its effects will penetrate, though ever so faintly, into the germ that lies within it, and when this last comes to finditself in a new sphere, to extend itself, and develop into a newcreature--(the individual parts of which are still always thecreature itself and flesh of its flesh, so that what is reproduced isthe same being as that in company with which the germ once lived, andof which it was once actually a part)--all this is as wonderful aswhen a grey-haired man remembers the events of his own childhood; butit is not more so. Whether we say that the same organised substanceis again reproducing its past experience, or whether we prefer tohold that an offshoot or part of the original substance has waxed anddeveloped itself since separation from the parent stock, it is plainthat this will constitute a difference of degree, not kind. 

When we reflect upon the fact that unimportant acquiredcharacteristics can be reproduced in offspring, we are apt to forgetthat offspring is only a full-sized reproduction of the parent--areproduction, moreover, that goes as far as possible into detail. Weare so accustomed to consider family resemblance a matter of course, that we are sometimes surprised when a child is in some respectunlike its parent; surely, however, the infinite number of points inrespect of which parents and children resemble one another is a morereasonable ground for our surprise. 

But if the substance of the germ can reproduce characteristicsacquired by the parent during its single life, how much more will itnot be able to reproduce those that were congenital to the parent, and which have happened through countless generations to theorganised matter of which the germ of to-day is a fragment? Wecannot wonder that action already taken on innumerable past occasionsby organised matter is more deeply impressed upon the recollection ofthe germ to which it gives rise than action taken once only during asingle lifetime. {80a}

We must bear in mind that every organised being now in existencerepresents the last link of an inconceivably long series oforganisms, which come down in a direct line of descent, and of whicheach has inherited a part of the acquired characteristics of itspredecessor. Everything, furthermore, points in the direction of ourbelieving that at the beginning of this chain there existed anorganism of the very simplest kind, something, in fact, like thosewhich we call organised germs. The chain of living beings thusappears to be the magnificent achievement of the reproductive powerof the original organic structure from which they have all descended. As this subdivided itself and transmitted its characteristics {80b}to its descendants, these acquired new ones, and in their turntransmitted them--all new germs transmitting the chief part of whathad happened to their predecessors, while the remaining part lapsedout of their memory, circumstances not stimulating it to reproduceitself. 

An organised being, therefore, stands before us a product of theunconscious memory of organised matter, which, ever increasing andever dividing itself, ever assimilating new matter and returning itin changed shape to the inorganic world, ever receiving some newthing into its memory, and transmitting its acquisitions by the wayof reproduction, grows continually richer and richer the longer itlives. 

Thus regarded, the development of one of the more highly organisedanimals represents a continuous series of organised recollectionsconcerning the past development of the great chain of living forms, the last link of which stands before us in the particular animal wemay be considering. As a complicated perception may arise by meansof a rapid and superficial reproduction of long and laboriouslypractised brain processes, so a germ in the course of its developmenthurries through a series of phases, hinting at them only. Often andlong foreshadowed in theories of varied characters, this conceptionhas only now found correct exposition from a naturalist of our owntime. {81} For Truth hides herself under many disguises from thosewho seek her, but in the end stands unveiled before the eyes of himwhom she has chosen. 

Not only is there a reproduction of form, outward and innerconformation of body, organs, and cells, but the habitual actions ofthe parent are also reproduced. The chicken on emerging from theeggshell runs off as its mother ran off before it; yet what anextraordinary complication of emotions and sensations is necessary inorder to preserve equilibrium in running. Surely the supposition ofan inborn capacity for the reproduction of these intricate actionscan alone explain the facts. As habitual practice becomes a secondnature to the individual during his single lifetime, so the often-repeated action of each generation becomes a second nature to therace. 

The chicken not only displays great dexterity in the performance ofmovements for the effecting of which it has an innate capacity, butit exhibits also a tolerably high perceptive power. It immediatelypicks up any grain that may be thrown to it. Yet, in order to dothis, more is wanted than a mere visual perception of the grains;there must be an accurate apprehension of the direction and distanceof the precise spot in which each grain is lying, and there must beno less accuracy in the adjustment of the movements of the head andof the whole body. The chicken cannot have gained experience inthese respects while it was still in the egg. It gained it ratherfrom the thousands of thousands of beings that have lived before it, and from which it is directly descended. 

The memory of organised substance displays itself here in the mostsurprising fashion. The gentle stimulus of the light proceeding fromthe grain that affects the retina of the chicken, {82} gives occasionfor the reproduction of a many-linked chain of sensations, perceptions, and emotions, which were never yet brought together inthe case of the individual before us. We are accustomed to regardthese surprising performances of animals as manifestations of what wecall instinct, and the mysticism of natural philosophy has ever showna predilection for this theme; but if we regard instinct as theoutcome of the memory or reproductive power of organised substance, and if we ascribe a memory to the race as we already ascribe it tothe individual, then instinct becomes at once intelligible, and thephysiologist at the same time finds a point of contact which willbring it into connection with the great series of facts indicatedabove as phenomena of the reproductive faculty. Here, then, we havea physical explanation which has not, indeed, been given yet, but thetime for which appears to be rapidly approaching. 

When, in accordance with its instinct, the caterpillar becomes achrysalis, or the bird builds its nest, or the bee its cell, thesecreatures act consciously and not as blind machines. They know howto vary their proceedings within certain limits in conformity withaltered circumstances, and they are thus liable to make mistakes. They feel pleasure when their work advances and pain if it ishindered; they learn by the experience thus acquired, and build on asecond occasion better than on the first; but that even in the outsetthey hit so readily upon the most judicious way of achieving theirpurpose, and that their movements adapt themselves so admirably andautomatically to the end they have in view--surely this is owing tothe inherited acquisitions of the memory of their nerve substance, which requires but a touch and it will fall at once to the mostappropriate kind of activity, thinking always, and directly, ofwhatever it is that may be wanted. 

Man can readily acquire surprising kinds of dexterity if he confineshis attention to their acquisition. Specialisation is the mother ofproficiency. He who marvels at the skill with which the spiderweaves her web should bear in mind that she did not learn her art allon a sudden, but that innumerable generations of spiders acquired ittoilsomely and step by step--this being about all that, as a generalrule, they did acquire. Man took to bows and arrows if his netsfailed him--the spider starved. Thus we see the body and--what mostconcerns us--the whole nervous system of the new-born animalconstructed beforehand, and, as it were, ready attuned forintercourse with the outside world in which it is about to play itspart, by means of its tendency to respond to external stimuli in thesame manner as it has often heretofore responded in the persons ofits ancestors. 

We naturally ask whether the brain and nervous system of the humaninfant are subjected to the principles we have laid down above? Mancertainly finds it difficult to acquire arts of which the loweranimals are born masters; but the brain of man at birth is muchfarther from its highest development than is the brain of an animal. It not only grows for a longer time, but it becomes stronger thanthat of other living beings. The brain of man may be said to beexceptionally young at birth. The lower animal is born precocious, and acts precociously; it resembles those infant prodigies whosebrain, as it were, is born old into the world, but who, in spite of, or rather in addition to, their rich endowment at birth, in afterlife develop as much mental power as others who were less splendidlyfurnished to start with, but born with greater freshness of youth. Man's brain, and indeed his whole body, affords greater scope forindividuality, inasmuch as a relatively greater part of it is ofpost-natal growth. It develops under the influence of impressionsmade by the environment upon its senses, and thus makes itsacquisitions in a more special and individual manner, whereas theanimal receives them ready made, and of a more final, stereotypedcharacter. 

Nevertheless, it is plain we must ascribe both to the brain and bodyof the new-born infant a far-reaching power of remembering orreproducing things which have already come to their developmentthousands of times over in the persons of its ancestors. It is invirtue of this that it acquires proficiency in the actions necessaryfor its existence--so far as it was not already at birth proficientin them--much more quickly and easily than would be otherwisepossible; but what we call instinct in the case of animals takes inman the looser form of aptitude, talent, and genius. {84} Grantedthat certain ideas are not innate, yet the fact of their taking formso easily and certainly from out of the chaos of his sensations, isdue not to his own labour, but to that of the brain substance of thethousands of thousands of generations from whom he is descended. Theories concerning the development of individual consciousness whichdeny heredity or the power of transmission, and insist upon anentirely fresh start for every human soul, as though the infinitenumber of generations that have gone before us might as well havenever lived for all the effect they have had upon ourselves, --suchtheories will contradict the facts of our daily experience at everytouch and turn. 

The brain processes and phenomena of consciousness which ennoble manin the eyes of his fellows have had a less ancient history than thoseconnected with his physical needs. Hunger and the reproductiveinstinct affected the oldest and simplest forms of the organic world. It is in respect of these instincts, therefore, and of the means togratify them, that the memory of organised substance is strongest--the impulses and instincts that arise hence having still paramountpower over the minds of men. The spiritual life has been superaddedslowly; its most splendid outcome belongs to the latest epoch in thehistory of organised matter, nor has any very great length of timeelapsed since the nervous system was first crowned with the glory ofa large and well-developed brain. 

Oral tradition and written history have been called the memory ofman, and this is not without its truth. But there is another and aliving memory in the innate reproductive power of brain substance, and without this both writings and oral tradition would be withoutsignificance to posterity. The most sublime ideas, though never soimmortalised in speech or letters, are yet nothing for heads that areout of harmony with them; they must be not only heard, butreproduced; and both speech and writing would be in vain were therenot an inheritance of inward and outward brain development, growingin correspondence with the inheritance of ideas that are handed downfrom age to age, and did not an enhanced capacity for theirreproduction on the part of each succeeding generation accompany thethoughts that have been preserved in writing. Man's conscious memorycomes to an end at death, but the unconscious memory of Nature istrue and ineradicable: whoever succeeds in stamping upon her theimpress of his work, she will remember him to the end of time. 

CHAPTER VII

Introduction to a translation of the chapter upon instinct in VonHartmann's "Philosophy of the Unconscious. "

I am afraid my readers will find the chapter on instinct from VonHartmann's "Philosophy of the Unconscious, " which will now follow, asdistasteful to read as I did to translate, and would gladly havespared it them if I could. At present, the works of Mr. Sully, whohas treated of the "Philosophy of the Unconscious" both in theWestminster Review (vol. Xlix. N. S. ) and in his work "Pessimism, " arethe best source to which English readers can have recourse forinformation concerning Von Hartmann. Giving him all credit for thepains he has taken with an ungrateful, if not impossible subject, Ithink that a sufficient sample of Von Hartmann's own words will be auseful adjunct to Mr. Sully's work, and may perhaps save some readerstrouble by resolving them to look no farther into the "Philosophy ofthe Unconscious. " Over and above this, I have been so often toldthat the views concerning unconscious action contained in theforegoing lecture and in "Life and Habit" are only the very fallacyof Von Hartmann over again, that I should like to give the public anopportunity of seeing whether this is so or no, by placing the twocontending theories of unconscious action side by side. I hope thatit will thus be seen that neither Professor Hering nor I have falleninto the fallacy of Von Hartmann, but that rather Von Hartmann hasfallen into his fallacy through failure to grasp the principle whichProfessor Hering has insisted upon, and to connect heredity withmemory. 

Professor Hering's philosophy of the unconscious is of extremesimplicity. He rests upon a fact of daily and hourly experience, namely, that practice makes things easy that were once difficult, andoften results in their being done without any consciousness ofeffort. But if the repetition of an act tends ultimately, undercertain circumstances, to its being done unconsciously, so also isthe fact of an intricate and difficult action being doneunconsciously an argument that it must have been done repeatedlyalready. As I said in "Life and Habit, " it is more easy to supposethat occasions on which such an action has been performed have notbeen wanting, even though we do not see when and where they were, than that the facility which we observe should have been attainedwithout practice and memory (p. 56). 

There can be nothing better established or more easy, whether tounderstand or verify, than the unconsciousness with which habitualactions come to be performed. If, however, it is once conceded thatit is the manner of habitual action generally, then all a prioriobjection to Professor Hering's philosophy of the unconscious is atan end. The question becomes one of fact in individual cases, and ofdegree. 

How far, then, does the principle of the convertibility, as it were, of practice and unconsciousness extend? Can any line be drawn beyondwhich it shall cease to operate? If not, may it not have operatedand be operating to a vast and hitherto unsuspected extent? This isall, and certainly it is sufficiently simple. I sometimes think ithas found its greatest stumbling-block in its total want of mystery, as though we must be like those conjurers whose stock in trade is asmall deal table and a kitchen-chair with bare legs, and who, withtheir parade of "no deception" and "examine everything foryourselves, " deceive worse than others who make use of all manner ofelaborate paraphernalia. It is true we require no paraphernalia, andwe produce unexpected results, but we are not conjuring. 

To turn now to Von Hartmann. When I read Mr. Sully's article in theWestminster Review, I did not know whether the sense of mystificationwhich it produced in me was wholly due to Von Hartmann or no; but onmaking acquaintance with Von Hartmann himself, I found that Mr. Sullyhas erred, if at all, in making him more intelligible than heactually is. Von Hartmann has not got a meaning. Give him ProfessorHering's key and he might get one, but it would be at the expense ofseeing what approach he had made to a system fallen to pieces. Granted that in his details and subordinate passages he often bothhas and conveys a meaning, there is, nevertheless, no coherencebetween these details, and the nearest approach to a broad conceptioncovering the work which the reader can carry away with him is at onceso incomprehensible and repulsive, that it is difficult to writeabout it without saying more perhaps than those who have not seen theoriginal will accept as likely to be true. The idea to which I referis that of an unconscious clairvoyance, which, from the languagecontinually used concerning it, must be of the nature of a person, and which is supposed to take possession of living beings so fully asto be the very essence of their nature, the promoter of theirembryonic development, and the instigator of their instinctiveactions. This approaches closely to the personal God of Mosaic andChristian theology, with the exception that the word "clairvoyance"{89} is substituted for God, and that the God is supposed to beunconscious. 

Mr. Sully says:-

"When we grasp it [the philosophy of Von Hartmann] as a whole, itamounts to nothing more than this, that all or nearly all thephenomena of the material and spiritual world rest upon and resultfrom a mysterious, unconscious being, though to call it being isreally to add on an idea not immediately contained within the all-sufficient principle. But what difference is there between this andsaying that the phenomena of the world at large come we know notwhence? . . . The unconscious, therefore, tends to be simple phraseand nothing more . . . No doubt there are a number of mentalprocesses . . . Of which we are unconscious . . . But to infer fromthis that they are due to an unconscious power, and to proceed todemonstrate them in the presence of the unconscious through allnature, is to make an unwarrantable saltus in reasoning. What, infact, is this 'unconscious' but a high-sounding name to veil ourignorance? Is the unconscious any better explanation of phenomena wedo not understand than the 'devil-devil' by which Australian tribesexplain the Leyden jar and its phenomena? Does it increase ourknowledge to know that we do not know the origin of language or thecause of instinct? . . . Alike in organic creation and the evolutionof history 'performances and actions'--the words are those ofStrauss--are ascribed to an unconscious, which can only belong to aconscious being. {90a}

. . . . . 

"The difficulties of the system advance as we proceed. {90b}Subtract this questionable factor--the unconscious from Hartmann's'Biology and Psychology, ' and the chapters remain pleasant andinstructive reading. But with the third part of his work--theMetaphysic of the Unconscious--our feet are clogged at every step. We are encircled by the merest play of words, the most unsatisfactorydemonstrations, and most inconsistent inferences. The theory offinal causes has been hitherto employed to show the wisdom of theworld; with our Pessimist philosopher it shows nothing but itsirrationality and misery. Consciousness has been generally supposedto be the condition of all happiness and interest in life; here itsimply awakens us to misery, and the lower an animal lies in thescale of conscious life, the better and the pleasanter its lot. 

. . . . . 

"Thus, then, the universe, as an emanation of the unconscious, hasbeen constructed. {90c} Throughout it has been marked by design, bypurpose, by finality; throughout a wonderful adaptation of means toends, a wonderful adjustment and relativity in different portions hasbeen noticed--and all this for what conclusion? Not, as in the handsof the natural theologians of the eighteenth century, to show thatthe world is the result of design, of an intelligent, beneficentCreator, but the manifestation of a Being whose only predicates arenegatives, whose very essence is to be unconscious. It is not onlylike ancient Athens, to an unknown, but to an unknowing God, thatmodern Pessimism rears its altar. Yet surely the fact that themotive principle of existence moves in a mysterious way outside ourconsciousness no way requires that the All-one Being should behimself unconscious. 

I believe the foregoing to convey as correct an idea of VonHartmann's system as it is possible to convey, and will leave it tothe reader to say how much in common there is between this and thelecture given in the preceding chapter, beyond the fact that bothtouch upon unconscious actions. The extract which will form my nextchapter is only about a thirtieth part of the entire "Philosophy ofthe Unconscious, " but it will, I believe, suffice to substantiate thejustice of what Mr. Sully has said in the passages above quoted. 

As regards the accuracy of the translation, I have submitted allpassages about which I was in the least doubtful to the samegentleman who revised my translation of Professor Hering's lecture; Ihave also given the German wherever I thought the reader might beglad to see it. 

CHAPTER VIII

Translation of the chapter on "The Unconscious in Instinct, " from VonHartmann's "Philosophy of the Unconscious. "

Von Hartmann's chapter on instinct is as follows:-

Instinct is action taken in pursuance of a purpose but withoutconscious perception of what the purpose is. {92a}

A purposive action, with consciousness of the purpose and where thecourse taken is the result of deliberation is not said to beinstinctive; nor yet, again, is blind aimless action, such asoutbreaks of fury on the part of offended or otherwise enragedanimals. I see no occasion for disturbing the commonly receiveddefinition of instinct as given above; for those who think they canrefer all the so-called ordinary instincts of animals to consciousdeliberation ipso facto deny that there is such a thing as instinctat all, and should strike the word out of their vocabulary. But ofthis more hereafter. 

Assuming, then, the existence of instinctive action as above defined, it can be explained as -

I. A mere necessary consequence of bodily organisation. {92b}

II. A mechanism of brain or mind contrived by nature. 

III. The outcome of an unconscious activity of mind. 

In neither of the two first cases is there any scope for the idea ofpurpose; in the third, purpose must be present immediately before theaction. In the two first cases, action is supposed to be broughtabout by means of an initial arrangement, either of bodily or mentalmechanism, purpose being conceived of as existing on a singleoccasion only--that is to say, in the determination of the initialarrangement. In the third, purpose is conceived as present in everyindividual instance. Let us proceed to the consideration of thesethree cases. 

Instinct is not a mere consequence of bodily organisation; for -

(a. ) Bodies may be alike, yet they may be endowed with differentinstincts. 

All spiders have the same spinning apparatus, but one kind weavesradiating webs, another irregular ones, while a third makes none atall, but lives in holes, whose walls it overspins, and whose entranceit closes with a door. Almost all birds have a like organisation forthe construction of their nests (a beak and feet), but how infinitelydo their nests vary in appearance, mode of construction, attachmentto surrounding objects (they stand, are glued on, hang, &c. ), selection of site (caves, holes, corners, forks of trees, shrubs, theground), and excellence of workmanship; how often, too, are they notvaried in the species of a single genus, as of parus. Many birds, moreover, build no nest at all. The difference in the songs of birdsare in like manner independent of the special construction of theirvoice apparatus, nor do the modes of nest construction that obtainamong ants and bees depend upon their bodily organisation. Organisation, as a general rule, only renders the bird capable ofsinging, as giving it an apparatus with which to sing at all, but ithas nothing to do with the specific character of the execution . . . The nursing, defence, and education of offspring cannot be consideredas in any way more dependent upon bodily organisation; nor yet thesites which insects choose for the laying of their eggs; nor, again, the selection of deposits of spawn, of their own species, by malefish for impregnation. The rabbit burrows, the hare does not, thoughboth have the same burrowing apparatus. The hare, however, has lessneed of a subterranean place of refuge by reason of its greaterswiftness. Some birds, with excellent powers of flight, arenevertheless stationary in their habits, as the secretary falcon andcertain other birds of prey; while even such moderate fliers asquails are sometimes known to make very distant migrations. 

(b. ) Like instincts may be found associated with unlike organs. 

Birds with and without feet adapted for climbing live in trees; soalso do monkeys with and without flexible tails, squirrels, sloths, pumas, &c. Mole-crickets dig with a well-pronounced spade upon theirfore-feet, while the burying-beetle does the same thing though it hasno special apparatus whatever. The mole conveys its winter provenderin pockets, an inch wide, long and half an inch wide within itscheeks; the field-mouse does so without the help of any suchcontrivance. The migratory instinct displays itself with equalstrength in animals of widely different form, by whatever means theymay pursue their journey, whether by water, land, or air. 

It is clear, therefore, that instinct is in great measure independentof bodily organisation. Granted, indeed, that a certain amount ofbodily apparatus is a sine qua non for any power of execution at all--as, for example, that there would be no ingenious nest withoutorgans more or less adapted for its construction, no spinning of aweb without spinning glands--nevertheless, it is impossible tomaintain that instinct is a consequence of organisation. The mereexistence of the organ does not constitute even the smallestincentive to any corresponding habitual activity. A sensation ofpleasure must at least accompany the use of the organ before itsexistence can incite to its employment. And even so when a sensationof pleasure has given the impulse which is to render it active, it isonly the fact of there being activity at all, and not the specialcharacteristics of the activity, that can be due to organisation. The reason for the special mode of the activity is the very problemthat we have to solve. No one will call the action of the spiderinstinctive in voiding the fluid from her spinning gland when it istoo full, and therefore painful to her; nor that of the male fishwhen it does what amounts to much the same thing as this. Theinstinct and the marvel lie in the fact that the spider spinsthreads, and proceeds to weave her web with them, and that the malefish will only impregnate ova of his own species. 

Another proof that the pleasure felt in the employment of an organ iswholly inadequate to account for this employment is to be found inthe fact that the moral greatness of instinct, the point in respectof which it most commands our admiration, consists in the obediencepaid to its behests, to the postponement of all personal well-being, and at the cost, it may be, of life itself. If the mere pleasure ofrelieving certain glands from overfulness were the reason whycaterpillars generally spin webs, they would go on spinning untilthey had relieved these glands, but they would not repair their workas often as any one destroyed it, and do this again and again untilthey die of exhaustion. The same holds good with the other instinctsthat at first sight appear to be inspired only by a sensation ofpleasure; for if we change the circumstances, so as to put self-sacrifice in the place of self-interest, it becomes at once apparentthat they have a higher source than this. We think, for example, that birds pair for the sake of mere sexual gratification; why, then, do they leave off pairing as soon as they have laid the requisitenumber of eggs? That there is a reproductive instinct over and abovethe desire for sexual gratification appears from the fact that if aman takes an egg out of the nest, the birds will come together againand the hen will lay another egg; or, if they belong to some of themore wary species, they will desert their nest, and make preparationfor an entirely new brood. A female wryneck, whose nest was dailyrobbed of the egg she laid in it, continued to lay a new one, whichgrew smaller and smaller, till, when she had laid her twenty-ninthegg, she was found dead upon her nest. If an instinct cannot standthe test of self-sacrifice--if it is the simple outcome of a desirefor bodily gratification--then it is no true instinct, and is only socalled erroneously. 

Instinct is not a mechanism of brain or mind implanted in livingbeings by nature; for, if it were, then instinctive action withoutany, even unconscious, activity of mind, and with no conceptionconcerning the purpose of the action, would be executed mechanically, the purpose having been once for all thought out by Nature orProvidence, which has so organised the individual that it actshenceforth as a purely mechanical medium. We are now dealing with apsychical organisation as the cause instinct, as we were abovedealing with a physical. Psychical organisation would be aconceivable explanation and we need look no farther if every instinctonce belonging to an animal discharged its functions in an unvaryingmanner. But this is never found to be the case, for instincts varywhen there arises a sufficient motive for varying them. This provesthat special exterior circumstances enter into the matter, and thatthese circumstances are the very things that render the attainment ofthe purpose possible through means selected by the instinct. Herefirst do we find instinct acting as though it were actually designwith action following at its heels, for until the arrival of themotive, the instinct remains late and discharges no functionwhatever. The motive enters by way of an idea received into the mindthrough the instrumentality of the senses, and there is a constantconnection between instinct in action and all sensual images whichgive information that an opportunity has arisen for attaining theends proposed to itself by the instinct. 

The psychical mechanism of this constant connection must also belooked for. It may help us here to turn to the piano for anillustration. The struck keys are the motives, the notes that soundin consequence are the instincts in action. This illustration mightperhaps be allowed to pass (if we also suppose that entirelydifferent keys can give out the same sound) if instincts could onlybe compared with DISTINCTLY TUNED notes, so that one and the sameinstinct acted always in the same manner on the rising of the motivewhich should set it in action. This, however, is not so; for it isthe blind unconscious purpose of the instinct that is alone constant, the instinct itself--that is to say, the will to make use of certainmeans--varying as the means that can be most suitably employed varyunder varying circumstances. 

In this we condemn the theory which refuses to recognise unconsciouspurpose as present in each individual case of instinctive action. For he who maintains instinct to be the result of a mechanism ofmind, must suppose a special and constant mechanism for eachvariation and modification of the instinct in accordance withexterior circumstances, {97} that is to say, a new string giving anote with a new tone must be inserted, and this would involve themechanism in endless complication. But the fact that the purpose isconstant notwithstanding all manner of variation in the means chosenby the instinct, proves that there is no necessity for thesupposition of such an elaborate mental mechanism--the presence of anunconscious purpose being sufficient to explain the facts. Thepurpose of the bird, for example, that has laid her eggs is constant, and consists in the desire to bring her young to maturity. When thetemperature of the air is insufficient to effect this, she sits uponher eggs, and only intermits her sittings in the warmest countries;the mammal, on the other hand, attains the fulfilment of itsinstinctive purpose without any co-operation on its own part. Inwarm climates many birds only sit by night, and small exotic birdsthat have built in aviaries kept at a high temperature sit littleupon their eggs or not at all. How inconceivable is the suppositionof a mechanism that impels the bird to sit as soon as the temperaturefalls below a certain height! How clear and simple, on the otherhand, is the view that there is an unconscious purpose constrainingthe volition of the bird to the use of the fitting means, of whichprocess, however, only the last link, that is to say, the willimmediately preceding the action falls within the consciousness ofthe bird!

In South Africa the sparrow surrounds her nest with thorns as adefence against apes and serpents. The eggs of the cuckoo, asregards size, colour, and marking, invariably resemble those of thebirds in whose nests she lays. Sylvia ruja, for example, lays awhite egg with violet spots; Sylvia hippolais, a red one with blackspots; Regulus ignicapellus, a cloudy red; but the cuckoo's egg is ineach case so deceptive an imitation of its model, that it can hardlybe distinguished except by the structure of its shell. 

Huber contrived that his bees should be unable to build in theirusual instinctive manner, beginning from above and working downwards;on this they began building from below, and again horizontally. Theoutermost cells that spring from the top of the hive or abut againstits sides are not hexagonal, but pentagonal, so as to gain instrength, being attached with one base instead of two sides. Inautumn bees lengthen their existing honey cells if these areinsufficient, but in the ensuing spring they again shorten them inorder to get greater roadway between the combs. When the full combshave become too heavy, they strengthen the walls of the uppermost orbearing cells by thickening them with wax and propolis. If larvae ofworking bees are introduced into the cells set apart for drones, theworking bees will cover these cells with the flat lids usual for thiskind of larvae, and not with the round ones that are proper fordrones. In autumn, as a general rule, bees kill their drones, butthey refrain from doing this when they have lost their queen, andkeep them to fertilise the young queen, who will be developed fromlarvae that would otherwise have become working bees. Huber observedthat they defend the entrance of their hive against the inroads ofthe sphinx moth by means of skilful constructions made of wax andpropolis. They only introduce propolis when they want it for theexecution of repairs, or for some other special purpose. Spiders andcaterpillars also display marvellous dexterity in the repair of theirwebs if they have been damaged, and this requires powers perfectlydistinct from those requisite for the construction of a new one. 

The above examples might be multiplied indefinitely, but they aresufficient to establish the fact that instincts are not capacitiesrolled, as it were, off a reel mechanically, according to aninvariable system, but that they adapt themselves most closely to thecircumstances of each case, and are capable of such greatmodification and variation that at times they almost appear to ceaseto be instinctive. 

Many will, indeed, ascribe these modifications to consciousdeliberation on the part of the animals themselves, and it isimpossible to deny that in the case of the more intellectually giftedanimals there may be such a thing as a combination of instinctivefaculty and conscious reflection. I think, however, the examplesalready cited are enough to show that often where the normal and theabnormal action springs from the same source, without anycomplication with conscious deliberation, they are either bothinstinctive or both deliberative. {99} Or is that which prompts thebee to build hexagonal prisms in the middle of her comb something ofan actually distinct character from that which impels her to buildpentagonal ones at the sides? Are there two separate kinds of thing, one of which induces birds under certain circumstances to sit upontheir eggs, while another leads them under certain othercircumstances to refrain from doing so? And does this hold good alsowith bees when they at one time kill their brethren without mercy andat another grant them their lives? Or with birds when they constructthe kind of nest peculiar to their race, and, again, any specialprovision which they may think fit under certain circumstances totake? If it is once granted that the normal and the abnormalmanifestations of instinct--and they are often incapable of beingdistinguished--spring from a single source, then the objection thatthe modification is due to conscious knowledge will be found to be asuicidal one later on, so far as it is directed against instinctgenerally. It may be sufficient here to point out, in anticipationof remarks that will be found in later chapters, that instinct andthe power of organic development involve the same essentialprinciple, though operating under different circumstances--the twomelting into one another without any definite boundary between them. Here, then, we have conclusive proof that instinct does not dependupon organisation of body or brain, but that, more truly, theorganisation is due to the nature and manner of the instinct. 

On the other hand, we must now return to a closer consideration ofthe conception of a psychical mechanism. {100} And here we find thatthis mechanism, in spite of its explaining so much, is itself soobscure that we can hardly form any idea concerning it. The motiveenters the mind by way of a conscious sensual impression; this is thefirst link of the process; the last link {101} appears as theconscious motive of an action. Both, however, are entirely unlike, and neither has anything to do with ordinary motivation, whichconsists exclusively in the desire that springs from a conceptioneither of pleasure or dislike--the former prompting to the attainmentof any object, the latter to its avoidance. In the case of instinct, pleasure is for the most part a concomitant phenomenon; but it is notso always, as we have already seen, inasmuch as the consummation andhighest moral development of instinct displays itself in self-sacrifice. 

The true problem, however, lies far deeper than this. For everyconception of a pleasure proves that we have experienced thispleasure already. But it follows from this, that when the pleasurewas first felt there must have been will present, in thegratification of which will the pleasure consisted; the question, therefore, arises, whence did the will come before the pleasure thatwould follow on its gratification was known, and before bodily pain, as, for example, of hunger, rendered relief imperative? Yet we maysee that even though an animal has grown up apart from any others ofits kind, it will yet none the less manifest the instinctive impulsesof its race, though experience can have taught it nothing whateverconcerning the pleasure that will ensue upon their gratification. Asregards instinct, therefore, there must be a causal connectionbetween the motivating sensual conception and the will to perform theinstinctive action, and the pleasure of the subsequent gratificationhas nothing to do with the matter. We know by the experience of ourown instincts that this causal connection does not lie within ourconsciousness; {102a} therefore, if it is to be a mechanism of anykind, it can only be either an unconscious mechanical induction andmetamorphosis of the vibrations of the conceived motive into thevibrations of the conscious action in the brain, or an unconsciousspiritual mechanism. 

In the first case, it is surely strange that this process should goon unconsciously, though it is so powerful in its effects that thewill resulting from it overpowers every other consideration, everyother kind of will, and that vibrations of this kind, when set up inthe brain, become always consciously perceived; nor is it easy toconceive in what way this metamorphosis can take place so that theconstant purpose can be attained under varying circumstances by theresulting will in modes that vary with variation of the specialfeatures of each individual case. 

But if we take the other alternative, and suppose an unconsciousmental mechanism, we cannot legitimately conceive of the processgoing on in this as other than what prevails in all mental mechanism, namely, than as by way of idea and will. We are, therefore, compelled to imagine a causal connection between the consciouslyrecognised motive and the will to do the instinctive action, throughunconscious idea and will; nor do I know how this connection can beconceived as being brought about more simply than through a conceivedand willed purpose. {102b} Arrived at this point, however, we haveattained the logical mechanism peculiar to and inseparable from allmind, and find unconscious purpose to be an indispensable link inevery instinctive action. With this, therefore, the conception of amental mechanism, dead and predestined from without, has disappeared, and has become transformed into the spiritual life inseparable fromlogic, so that we have reached the sole remaining requirement for theconception of an actual instinct, which proves to be a consciouswilling of the means towards an unconsciously willed purpose. Thisconception explains clearly and without violence all the problemswhich instinct presents to us; or more truly, all that wasproblematical about instinct disappears when its true nature has beenthus declared. If this work were confined to the consideration ofinstinct alone, the conception of an unconscious activity of mindmight excite opposition, inasmuch as it is one with which oureducated public is not yet familiar; but in a work like the present, every chapter of which adduces fresh facts in support of theexistence of such an activity and of its remarkable consequences, thenovelty of the theory should be taken no farther into consideration. 

Though I so confidently deny that instinct is the simple action of amechanism which has been contrived once for all, I by no meansexclude the supposition that in the constitution of the brain, theganglia, and the whole body, in respect of morphological as well asmolecular-physiological condition, certain predispositions can beestablished which direct the unconscious intermediaries more readilyinto one channel than into another. This predisposition is eitherthe result of a habit which keeps continually cutting for itself adeeper and deeper channel, until in the end it leaves indelibletraces whether in the individual or in the race, or it is expresslycalled into being by the unconscious formative principle ingeneration, so as to facilitate action in a given direction. Thislast will be the case more frequently in respect of exteriororganisation--as, for example, with the weapons or working organs ofanimals--while to the former must be referred the molecular conditionof brain and ganglia which bring about the perpetually recurringelements of an instinct such as the hexagonal shape of the cells ofbees. We shall presently see that by individual character we meanthe sum of the individual methods of reaction against all possiblemotives, and that this character depends essentially upon aconstitution of mind and body acquired in some measure through habitby the individual, but for the most part inherited. But an instinctis also a mode of reaction against certain motives; here, too, then, we are dealing with character, though perhaps not so much with thatof the individual as of the race; for by character in regard toinstinct we do not intend the differences that distinguishindividuals, but races from one another. If any one chooses tomaintain that such a predisposition for certain kinds of activity onthe part of brain and body constitutes a mechanism, this may in onesense be admitted; but as against this view it must be remarked -

1. That such deviations from the normal scheme of an instinct ascannot be referred to conscious deliberation are not provided for byany predisposition in this mechanism. 

2. That heredity is only possible under the circumstances of aconstant superintendence of the embryonic development by a purposiveunconscious activity of growth. It must be admitted, however, thatthis is influenced in return by the predisposition existing in thegerm. 

3. That the impressing of the predisposition upon the individualfrom whom it is inherited can only be effected by long practice, consequently the instinct without auxiliary mechanism {105a} is theoriginating cause of the auxiliary mechanism. 

4. That none of those instinctive actions that are performed rarely, or perhaps once only, in the lifetime of any individual--as, forexample, those connected with the propagation and metamorphoses ofthe lower forms of life, and none of those instinctive omissions ofaction, neglect of which necessarily entails death--can be conceivedas having become engrained into the character through habit; theganglionic constitution, therefore, that predisposes the animaltowards them must have been fashioned purposively. 

5. That even the presence of an auxiliary mechanism {105b} does notcompel the unconscious to a particular corresponding mode ofinstinctive action, but only predisposes it. This is shown by thepossibility of departure from the normal type of action, so that theunconscious purpose is always stronger than the ganglionicconstitution, and takes any opportunity of choosing from severalsimilar possible courses the one that is handiest and most convenientto the constitution of the individual. 

We now approach the question that I have reserved for our final one, --Is there, namely, actually such a thing as instinct, {105c} or areall so-called instinctive actions only the results of consciousdeliberation?

In support of the second of these two views, it may be alleged thatthe more limited is the range of the conscious mental activity of anyliving being, the more fully developed in proportion to its entiremental power is its performance commonly found to be in respect ofits own limited and special instinctive department. This holds asgood with the lower animals as with men, and is explained by the factthat perfection of proficiency is only partly dependent upon naturalcapacity, but is in great measure due to practice and cultivation ofthe original faculty. A philologist, for example, is unskilled inquestions of jurisprudence; a natural philosopher or mathematician, in philology; an abstract philosopher, in poetical criticism. Norhas this anything to do with the natural talents of the severalpersons, but follows as a consequence of their special training. Themore special, therefore, is the direction in which the mentalactivity of any living being is exercised, the more will the wholedeveloping and practising power of the mind be brought to bear uponthis one branch, so that it is not surprising if the special powercomes ultimately to bear an increased proportion to the total powerof the individual, through the contraction of the range within whichit is exercised. 

Those, however, who apply this to the elucidation of instinct shouldnot forget the words, "in proportion to the entire mental power ofthe animal in question, " and should bear in mind that the entiremental power becomes less and less continually as we descend thescale of animal life, whereas proficiency in the performance of aninstinctive action seems to be much of a muchness in all grades ofthe animal world. As, therefore, those performances whichindisputably proceed from conscious deliberation decreaseproportionately with decrease of mental power, while nothing of thekind is observable in the case of instinct--it follows that instinctmust involve some other principle than that of consciousintelligence. We see, moreover, that actions which have their sourcein conscious intelligence are of one and the same kind, whether amongthe lower animals or with mankind--that is to say, that they areacquired by apprenticeship or instruction and perfected by practice;so that the saying, "Age brings wisdom, " holds good with the brutesas much as with ourselves. Instinctive actions, on the contrary, have a special and distinct character, in that they are performedwith no less proficiency by animals that have been reared in solitudethan by those that have been instructed by their parents, the firstessays of a hitherto unpractised animal being as successful as itslater ones. There is a difference in principle here which cannot bemistaken. Again, we know by experience that the feebler and morelimited an intelligence is, the more slowly do ideas act upon it, that is to say, the slower and more laborious is its consciousthought. So long as instinct does not come into play, this holdsgood both in the case of men of different powers of comprehension andwith animals; but with instinct all is changed, for it is thespeciality of instinct never to hesitate or loiter, but to takeaction instantly upon perceiving that the stimulating motive has madeits appearance. This rapidity in arriving at a resolution is commonto the instinctive actions both of the highest and the lowestanimals, and indicates an essential difference between instinct andconscious deliberation. 

Finally, as regards perfection of the power of execution, a glancewill suffice to show the disproportion that exists between this andthe grade of intellectual activity on which an animal may bestanding. Take, for instance, the caterpillar of the emperor moth(Saturnia pavonia minor). It eats the leaves of the bush upon whichit was born; at the utmost has just enough sense to get on to thelower sides of the leaves if it begins to rain, and from time to timechanges its skin. This is its whole existence, which certainly doesnot lead us to expect a display of any, even the most limited, intellectual power. When, however, the time comes for the larva ofthis moth to become a chrysalis, it spins for itself a double cocoon, fortified with bristles that point outwards, so that it can be openedeasily from within, though it is sufficiently impenetrable fromwithout. If this contrivance were the result of consciousreflection, we should have to suppose some such reasoning process asthe following to take place in the mind of the caterpillar:- "I amabout to become a chrysalis, and, motionless as I must be, shall beexposed to many different kinds of attack. I must therefore weavemyself a web. But when I am a moth I shall not be able, as somemoths are, to find my way out of it by chemical or mechanical means;therefore I must leave a way open for myself. In order, however, that my enemies may not take advantage of this, I will close it withelastic bristles, which I can easily push asunder from within, butwhich, upon the principle of the arch, will resist all pressure fromwithout. " Surely this is asking rather too much from a poorcaterpillar; yet the whole of the foregoing must be thought out if acorrect result is to be arrived at. 

This theoretical separation of instinct from conscious intelligencecan be easily misrepresented by opponents of my theory, as though aseparation in practice also would be necessitated in consequence. This is by no means my intention. On the contrary, I have alreadyinsisted at some length that both the two kinds of mental activitymay co-exist in all manner of different proportions, so that theremay be every degree of combination, from pure instinct to puredeliberation. We shall see, however, in a later chapter, that evenin the highest and most abstract activity of human consciousnessthere are forces at work that are of the highest importance, and areessentially of the same kind as instinct. 

On the other hand, the most marvellous displays of instinct are to befound not only in plants, but also in those lowest organisms of thesimplest bodily form which are partly unicellular, and in respect ofconscious intelligence stand far below the higher plants--to which, indeed, any kind of deliberative faculty is commonly denied. Even inthe case of those minute microscopic organisms that baffle ourattempts to classify them either as animals or vegetables, we arestill compelled to admire an instinctive, purposive behaviour, whichgoes far beyond a mere reflex responsive to a stimulus from without;all doubt, therefore, concerning the actual existence of an instinctmust be at an end, and the attempt to deduce it as a consequence ofconscious deliberation be given up as hopeless. I will here adducean instance as extraordinary as any we yet know of, showing, as itdoes, that many different purposes, which in the case of the higheranimals require a complicated system of organs of motion, can beattained with incredibly simple means. 

Arcella vulgaris is a minute morsel of protoplasm, which lives in aconcave-convex, brown, finely reticulated shell, through a circularopening in the concave side of which it can project itself bythrowing out pseudopodia. If we look through the microscope at adrop of water containing living arcellae, we may happen to see one ofthem lying on its back at the bottom of the drop, and makingfruitless efforts for two or three minutes to lay hold of some fixedpoint by means of a pseudopodium. After this there will appearsuddenly from two to five, but sometimes more, dark points in theprotoplasm at a small distance from the circumference, and, as arule, at regular distances from one another. These rapidly developthemselves into well-defined spherical air vesicles, and comepresently to fill a considerable part of the hollow of the shell, thereby driving part of the protoplasm outside it. After from fiveto twenty minutes, the specific gravity of the arcella is so muchlessened that it is lifted by the water with its pseudopodia, andbrought up against the upper surface of the water-drop, on which itis able to travel. In from five to ten minutes the vesicles will nowdisappear, the last small point vanishing with a jerk. If, however, the creature has been accidentally turned over during its journey, and reaches the top of the water-drop with its back uppermost, thevesicles will continue growing only on one side, while they diminishon the other; by this means the shell is brought first into anoblique and then into a vertical position, until one of thepseudopodia obtains a footing and the whole turns over. From themoment the animal has obtained foothold, the bladders becomeimmediately smaller, and after they have disappeared the experimentmay be repeated at pleasure. 

The positions of the protoplasm which the vesicles fashion changecontinually; only the grainless protoplasm of the pseudopodiadevelops no air. After long and fruitless efforts a manifest fatiguesets in; the animal gives up the attempt for a time, and resumes itafter an interval of repose. 

Engelmann, the discoverer of these phenomena, says (Pfluger's Archivfur Physologie, Bd. II. ): "The changes in volume in all the vesiclesof the same animal are for the most part synchronous, effected in thesame manner, and of like size. There are, however, not a fewexceptions; it often happens that some of them increase or diminishin volume much faster than others; sometimes one may increase whileanother diminishes; all the changes, however, are throughoutunquestionably intentional. The object of the air-vesicles is tobring the animal into such a position that it can take fast hold ofsomething with its pseudopodia. When this has been obtained, the airdisappears without our being able to discover any other reason forits disappearance than the fact that it is no longer needed. . . . If we bear these circumstances in mind, we can almost always tellwhether an arcella will develop air-vesicles or no; and if it hasalready developed them, we can tell whether they will increase ordiminish . . . The arcellae, in fact, in this power of altering theirspecific gravity possess a mechanism for raising themselves to thetop of the water, or lowering themselves to the bottom at will. Theyuse this not only in the abnormal circumstances of their being undermicroscopical observation, but at all times, as may be known by ourbeing always able to find some specimens with air-bladders at the topof the water in which they live. "

If what has been already advanced has failed to convince the readerof the hopelessness of attempting to explain instinct as a mode ofconscious deliberation, he must admit that the followingconsiderations are conclusive. It is most certain that deliberationand conscious reflection can only take account of such data as areconsciously perceived; if, then, it can be shown that data absolutelyindispensable for the arrival at a just conclusion cannot by anypossibility have been known consciously, the result can no longer beheld as having had its source in conscious deliberation. It isadmitted that the only way in which consciousness can arrive at aknowledge of exterior facts is by way of an impression made upon thesenses. We must, therefore, prove that a knowledge of the factsindispensable for arrival at a just conclusion could not have beenthus acquired. This may be done as follows: {111} for, Firstly, thefacts in question lie in the future, and the present gives no groundfor conjecturing the time and manner of their subsequent development. 

Secondly, they are manifestly debarred from the category ofperceptions perceived through the senses, inasmuch as no informationcan be derived concerning them except through experience of similaroccurrences in time past, and such experience is plainly out of thequestion. 

It would not affect the argument if, as I think likely, it were toturn out, with the advance of our physiological knowledge, that allthe examples of the first case that I am about to adduce reducethemselves to examples of the second, as must be admitted to havealready happened in respect of many that I have adduced hitherto. For it is hardly more difficult to conceive of a priori knowledge, disconnected from any impression made upon the senses, than ofknowledge which, it is true, does at the present day manifest itselfupon the occasion of certain general perceptions, but which can onlybe supposed to be connected with these by means of such a chain ofinferences and judiciously applied knowledge as cannot be believed toexist when we have regard to the capacity and organisation of theanimal we may be considering. 

An example of the first case is supplied by the larva of the stag-beetle in its endeavour to make itself a convenient hole in which tobecome a chrysalis. The female larva digs a hole exactly her ownsize, but the male makes one as long again as himself, so as to allowfor the growth of his horns, which will be about the same length ashis body. A knowledge of this circumstance is indispensable if theresult achieved is to be considered as due to reflection, yet theactual present of the larva affords it no ground for conjecturingbeforehand the condition in which it will presently find itself. 

As regards the second case, ferrets and buzzards fall forthwith uponblind worms or other non-poisonous snakes, and devour them then andthere. But they exhibit the greatest caution in laying hold ofadders, even though they have never before seen one, and willendeavour first to bruise their heads, so as to avoid being bitten. As there is nothing in any other respect alarming in the adder, aconscious knowledge of the danger of its bite is indispensable, ifthe conduct above described is to be referred to consciousdeliberation. But this could only have been acquired throughexperience, and the possibility of such experience may be controlledin the case of animals that have been kept in captivity from theiryouth up, so that the knowledge displayed can be ascertained to beindependent of experience. On the other hand, both the aboveillustrations afford evidence of an unconscious perception of thefacts, and prove the existence of a direct knowledge underivable fromany sensual impression or from consciousness. 

This has always been recognised, {113} and has been described underthe words "presentiment" or "foreboding. " These words, however, refer, on the one hand, only to an unknowable in the future, separated from us by space, and not to one that is actually present;on the other hand, they denote only the faint, dull, indefinite echoreturned by consciousness to an invariably distinct state ofunconscious knowledge. Hence the word "presentiment, " which carrieswith it an idea of faintness and indistinctness, while, however, itmay be easily seen that sentiment destitute of all, even unconscious, ideas can have no influence upon the result, for knowledge can onlyfollow upon an idea. A presentiment that sounds in consonance withour consciousness can indeed, under certain circumstances, becometolerably definite, so that in the case of man it can be expressed inthought and language; but experience teaches us that even amongourselves this is not so when instincts special to the human racecome into play; we see rather that the echo of our unconsciousknowledge which finds its way into our consciousness is so weak thatit manifests itself only in the accompanying feelings or frame ofmind, and represents but an infinitely small fraction of the sum ofour sensations. It is obvious that such a faintly sympatheticconsciousness cannot form a sufficient foundation for asuperstructure of conscious deliberation; on the other hand, conscious deliberation would be unnecessary, inasmuch as the processof thinking must have been already gone through unconsciously, forevery faint presentiment that obtrudes itself upon our consciousnessis in fact only the consequence of a distinct unconscious knowledge, and the knowledge with which it is concerned is almost always an ideaof the purpose of some instinctive action, or of one most intimatelyconnected therewith. Thus, in the case of the stag-beetle, thepurpose consists in the leaving space for the growth of the horns;the means, in the digging the hole of a sufficient size; and theunconscious knowledge, in prescience concerning the futuredevelopment of the horns. 

Lastly, all instinctive actions give us an impression of absolutesecurity and infallibility. With instinct the will is neverhesitating or weak, as it is when inferences are being drawnconsciously. We never find instinct making mistakes; we cannot, therefore, ascribe a result which is so invariably precise to such anobscure condition of mind as is implied when the word presentiment isused; on the contrary, this absolute certainty is so characteristic afeature of instinctive actions, that it constitutes almost the onlywell-marked point of distinction between these and actions that aredone upon reflection. But from this it must again follow that someprinciple lies at the root of instinct other than that whichunderlies reflective action, and this can only be looked for in adetermination of the will through a process that lies in theunconscious, {115a} to which this character of unhesitatinginfallibility will attach itself in all our future investigations. 

Many will be surprised at my ascribing to instinct an unconsciousknowledge, arising out of no sensual impression, and yet invariablyaccurate. This, however, is not a consequence of my theoryconcerning instinct; it is the foundation on which that theory isbased, and is forced upon us by facts. I must therefore adduceexamples. And to give a name to the unconscious knowledge, which isnot acquired through impression made upon the senses, but which willbe found to be in our possession, though attained without theinstrumentality of means, {115b} I prefer the word "clairvoyance"{115c} to "presentiment, " which, for reasons already given, will notserve me. This word, therefore, will be here employed throughout, asabove defined. 

Let us now consider examples of the instincts of self-preservation, subsistence, migration, and the continuation of the species. Mostanimals know their natural enemies prior to experience of any hostiledesigns upon themselves. A flight of young pigeons, even though theyhave no old birds with them, will become shy, and will separate fromone another on the approach of a bird of prey. Horses and cattlethat come from countries where there are no lions become unquiet anddisplay alarm as soon as they are aware that a lion is approachingthem in the night. Horses going along a bridle-path that used toleave the town at the back of the old dens of the carnivora in theBerlin Zoological Gardens were often terrified by the propinquity ofenemies who were entirely unknown to them. Sticklebacks will swimcomposedly among a number of voracious pike, knowing, as they do, that the pike will not touch them. For if a pike once by mistakeswallows a stickleback, the stickleback will stick in its throat byreason of the spine it carries upon its back, and the pike muststarve to death without being able to transmit his painful experienceto his descendants. In some countries there are people who by choiceeat dog's flesh; dogs are invariably savage in the presence of thesepersons, as recognising in them enemies at whose hands they may oneday come to harm. This is the more wonderful inasmuch as dog's fatapplied externally (as when rubbed upon boots) attracts dogs by itssmell. Grant saw a young chimpanzee throw itself into convulsions ofterror at the sight of a large snake; and even among ourselves aGretchen can often detect a Mephistopheles. An insect of the geniusbombyx will seize another of the genus parnopaea, and kill itwherever it finds it, without making any subsequent use of the body;but we know that the last-named insect lies in wait for the eggs ofthe first, and is therefore the natural enemy of its race. Thephenomenon known to stockdrivers and shepherds as "das Biesen desViehes" affords another example. For when a "dassel" or "bies" flydraws near the herd, the cattle become unmanageable and run aboutamong one another as though they were mad, knowing, as they do, thatthe larvae from the eggs which the fly will lay upon them willpresently pierce their hides and occasion them painful sores. These"dassel" flies--which have no sting--closely resemble another kind ofgadfly which has a sting. Nevertheless, this last kind is littlefeared by cattle, while the first is so to an inordinate extent. Thelaying of the eggs upon the skin is at the time quite painless, andno ill consequences follow until long afterwards, so that we cannotsuppose the cattle to draw a conscious inference concerning theconnection that exists between the two. I have already spoken of theforesight shown by ferrets and buzzards in respect of adders; in likemanner a young honey-buzzard, on being shown a wasp for the firsttime, immediately devoured it after having squeezed the sting fromits body. No animal, whose instinct has not been vitiated byunnatural habits, will eat poisonous plants. Even when apes havecontracted bad habits through their having been brought into contactwith mankind, they can still be trusted to show us whether certainfruits found in their native forests are poisonous or no; for ifpoisonous fruits are offered them they will refuse them with loudcries. Every animal will choose for its sustenance exactly thoseanimal or vegetable substances which agree best with its digestiveorgans, without having received any instruction on the matter, andwithout testing them beforehand. Even, indeed, though we assume thatthe power of distinguishing the different kinds of food is due tosight and not to smell, it remains none the less mysterious how theanimal can know what it is that will agree with it. Thus the kidwhich Galen took prematurely from its mother smelt at all thedifferent kinds of food that were set before it, but drank only themilk without touching anything else. The cherry-finch opens acherry-stone by turning it so that her beak can hit the part wherethe two sides join, and does this as much with the first stone shecracks as with the last. Fitchets, martens, and weasels make smallholes on the opposite sides of an egg which they are about to suck, so that the air may come in while they are sucking. Not only doanimals know the food that will suit them best, but they find out themost suitable remedies when they are ill, and constantly form acorrect diagnosis of their malady with a therapeutical knowledgewhich they cannot possibly have acquired. Dogs will often eat agreat quantity of grass--particularly couch-grass--when they areunwell, especially after spring, if they have worms, which thus passfrom them entangled in the grass, or if they want to get fragments ofbone from out of their stomachs. As a purgative they make use ofplants that sting. Hens and pigeons pick lime from walls andpavements if their food does not afford them lime enough to maketheir eggshells with. Little children eat chalk when suffering fromacidity of the stomach, and pieces of charcoal if they are troubledwith flatulence. We may observe these same instincts for certainkinds of food or drugs even among grown-up people, undercircumstances in which their unconscious nature has unusual power;as, for example, among women when they are pregnant, whose capriciousappetites are probably due to some special condition of the foetus, which renders a certain state of the blood desirable. Field-micebite off the germs of the corn which they collect together, in orderto prevent its growing during the winter. Some days before thebeginning of cold weather the squirrel is most assiduous inaugmenting its store, and then closes its dwelling. Birds of passagebetake themselves to warmer countries at times when there is still noscarcity of food for them here, and when the temperature isconsiderably warmer than it will be when they return to us. The sameholds good of the time when animals begin to prepare their winterquarters, which beetles constantly do during the very hottest days ofautumn. When swallows and storks find their way back to their nativeplaces over distances of hundreds of miles, and though the aspect ofthe country is reversed, we say that this is due to the acuteness oftheir perception of locality; but the same cannot be said of dogs, which, though they have been carried in a bag from one place toanother that they do not know, and have been turned round and roundtwenty times over, have still been known to find their way home. Here we can say no more than that their instinct has conducted them--that the clairvoyance of the unconscious has allowed them toconjecture their way. {119a}

Before an early winter, birds of passage collect themselves inpreparation for their flight sooner than usual; but when the winteris going to be mild, they will either not migrate at all, or travelonly a small distance southward. When a hard winter is coming, tortoises will make their burrows deeper. If wild geese, cranes, etc. , soon return from the countries to which they had betakenthemselves at the beginning of spring, it is a sign that a hot anddry summer is about to ensue in those countries, and that the droughtwill prevent their being able to rear their young. In years offlood, beavers construct their dwellings at a higher level thanusual, and shortly before an inundation the field-mice in Kamtschatkacome out of their holes in large bands. If the summer is going to bedry, spiders may be seen in May and April, hanging from the ends ofthreads several feet in length. If in winter spiders are seenrunning about much, fighting with one another and preparing new webs, there will be cold weather within the next nine days, or from that totwelve: when they again hide themselves there will be a thaw. Ihave no doubt that much of this power of prophesying the weather isdue to a perception of certain atmospheric conditions which escapeourselves, but this perception can only have relation to a certainactual and now present condition of the weather; and what can theimpression made by this have to do with their idea of the weatherthat will ensue? No one will ascribe to animals a power ofprognosticating the weather months beforehand by means of inferencesdrawn logically from a series of observations, {119b} to the extentof being able to foretell floods. It is far more probable that thepower of perceiving subtle differences of actual atmosphericcondition is nothing more than the sensual perception which acts asmotive--for a motive must assuredly be always present--when aninstinct comes into operation. It continues to hold good, therefore, that the power of foreseeing the weather is a case of unconsciousclairvoyance, of which the stork which takes its departure for thesouth four weeks earlier than usual knows no more than does the stagwhen before a cold winter he grows himself a thicker pelt than is hiswont. On the one hand, animals have present in their consciousness aperception of the actual state of the weather; on the other, theirensuing action is precisely such as it would be if the idea presentwith them was that of the weather that is about to come. This theycannot consciously have; the only natural intermediate link, therefore, between their conscious knowledge and their action issupplied by unconscious idea, which, however, is always accuratelyprescient, inasmuch as it contains something which is neither givendirectly to the animal through sensual perception, nor can be deducedinferentially through the understanding. 

Most wonderful of all are the instincts connected with thecontinuation of the species. The males always find out the femalesof their own kind, but certainly not solely through their resemblanceto themselves. With many animals, as, for example, parasitic crabs, the sexes so little resemble one another that the male would be morelikely to seek a mate from the females of a thousand other speciesthan from his own. Certain butterflies are polymorphic, and not onlydo the males and females of the same species differ, but the femalespresent two distinct forms, one of which as a general rule mimics theoutward appearance of a distant but highly valued species; yet themales will pair only with the females of their own kind, and not withthe strangers, though these may be very likely much more like themales themselves. Among the insect species of the strepsiptera, thefemale is a shapeless worm which lives its whole life long in thehind body of a wasp; its head, which is of the shape of a lentil, protrudes between two of the belly rings of the wasp, the rest of thebody being inside. The male, which only lives for a few hours, andresembles a moth, nevertheless recognises his mate in spite of theseadverse circumstances, and fecundates her. 

Before any experience of parturition, the knowledge that it isapproaching drives all mammals into solitude, and bids them prepare anest for their young in a hole or in some other place of shelter. The bird builds her nest as soon as she feels the eggs coming tomaturity within her. Snails, land-crabs, tree-frogs, and toads, allof them ordinarily dwellers upon land, now betake themselves to thewater; sea-tortoises go on shore, and many saltwater fishes come upinto the rivers in order to lay their eggs where they can alone findthe requisites for their development. Insects lay their eggs in themost varied kinds of situations, --in sand, on leaves, under the hidesand horny substances of other animals; they often select the spotwhere the larva will be able most readily to find its futuresustenance, as in autumn upon the trees that will open first in thecoming spring, or in spring upon the blossoms that will first bearfruit in autumn, or in the insides of those caterpillars which willsoonest as chrysalides provide the parasitic larva at once with foodand with protection. Other insects select the sites from which theywill first get forwarded to the destination best adapted for theirdevelopment. Thus some horseflies lay their eggs upon the lips ofhorses or upon parts where they are accustomed to lick themselves. The eggs get conveyed hence into the entrails, the proper place fortheir development, --and are excreted upon their arrival at maturity. The flies that infest cattle know so well how to select the mostvigorous and healthiest beasts, that cattle-dealers and tanners placeentire dependence upon them, and prefer those beasts and hides thatare most scarred by maggots. This selection of the best cattle bythe help of these flies is no evidence in support of the conclusionthat the flies possess the power of making experiments consciouslyand of reflecting thereupon, even though the men whose trade it is todo this recognise them as their masters. The solitary wasp makes ahole several inches deep in the sand, lays her egg, and packs alongwith it a number of green maggots that have no legs, and which, beingon the point of becoming chrysalides, are well nourished and able togo a long time without food; she packs these maggots so closelytogether that they cannot move nor turn into chrysalides, and justenough of them to support the larva until it becomes a chrysalis. Akind of bug (cerceris bupresticida), which itself lives only uponpollen, lays her eggs in an underground cell, and with each one ofthem she deposits three beetles, which she has lain in wait for andcaptured when they were still weak through having only just left offbeing chrysalides. She kills these beetles, and appears to smearthem with a fluid whereby she preserves them fresh and suitable forfood. Many kinds of wasps open the cells in which their larvae areconfined when these must have consumed the provision that was leftwith them. They supply them with more food, and again close thecell. Ants, again, hit always upon exactly the right moment foropening the cocoons in which their larvae are confined and forsetting them free, the larva being unable to do this for itself. Yetthe life of only a few kinds of insects lasts longer than a singlebreeding season. What then can they know about the contents of theireggs and the fittest place for their development? What can they knowabout the kind of food the larva will want when it leaves the egg--afood so different from their own? What, again, can they know aboutthe quantity of food that will be necessary? How much of all this atleast can they know consciously? Yet their actions, the pains theytake, and the importance they evidently attach to these matters, prove that they have a foreknowledge of the future: this knowledgetherefore can only be an unconscious clairvoyance. For clairvoyanceit must certainly be that inspires the will of an animal to opencells and cocoons at the very moment that the larva is either readyfor more food or fit for leaving the cocoon. The eggs of the cuckoodo not take only from two to three days to mature in her ovaries, asthose of most birds do, but require from eleven to twelve; thecuckoo, therefore, cannot sit upon her own eggs, for her first eggwould be spoiled before the last was laid. She therefore lays inother birds' nests--of course laying each egg in a different nest. But in order that the birds may not perceive her egg to be a strangerand turn it out of the nest, not only does she lay an egg muchsmaller than might be expected from a bird of her size (for she onlyfinds her opportunity among small birds), but, as already said, sheimitates the other eggs in the nest she has selected with surprisingaccuracy in respect both of colour and marking. As the cuckoochooses the nest some days beforehand, it may be thought, if the nestis an open one, that the cuckoo looks upon the colour of the eggswithin it while her own is in process of maturing inside her, andthat it is thus her egg comes to assume the colour of the others; butthis explanation will not hold good for nests that are made in theholes of trees, as that of sylvia phaenicurus, or which are oven-shaped with a narrow entrance, as with sylvia rufa. In these casesthe cuckoo can neither slip in nor look in, and must therefore layher egg outside the nest and push it inside with her beak; she cantherefore have no means of perceiving through her senses what theeggs already in the nest are like. If, then, in spite of all this, her egg closely resembles the others, this can only have come aboutthrough an unconscious clairvoyance which directs the process thatgoes on within the ovary in respect of colour and marking. 

An important argument in support of the existence of a clairvoyancein the instincts of animals is to be found in the series of factswhich testify to the existence of a like clairvoyance, under certaincircumstances, even among human beings, while the self-curativeinstincts of children and of pregnant women have been alreadymentioned. Here, however, {124} in correspondence with the higherstage of development which human consciousness has attained, astronger echo of the unconscious clairvoyance commonly resoundswithin consciousness itself, and this is represented by a more orless definite presentiment of the consequences that will ensue. Itis also in accord with the greater independence of the humanintellect that this kind of presentiment is not felt exclusivelyimmediately before the carrying out of an action, but is occasionallydisconnected from the condition that an action has to be performedimmediately, and displays itself simply as an idea independently ofconscious will, provided only that the matter concerning which thepresentiment is felt is one which in a high degree concerns the willof the person who feels it. In the intervals of an intermittentfever or of other illness, it not unfrequently happens that sickpersons can accurately foretell the day of an approaching attack andhow long it will last. The same thing occurs almost invariably inthe case of spontaneous, and generally in that of artificial, somnambulism; certainly the Pythia, as is well known, used toannounce the date of her next ecstatic state. In like manner thecurative instinct displays itself in somnambulists, and they havebeen known to select remedies that have been no less remarkable forthe success attending their employment than for the completeness withwhich they have run counter to received professional opinion. Theindication of medicinal remedies is the only use which respectableelectro-biologists will make of the half-sleeping, half-wakingcondition of those whom they are influencing. "People in perfectlysound health have been known, before childbirth or at thecommencement of an illness, to predict accurately their ownapproaching death. The accomplishment of their predictions canhardly be explained as the result of mere chance, for if this wereall, the prophecy should fail at least as often as not, whereas thereverse is actually the case. Many of these persons neither desiredeath nor fear it, so that the result cannot be ascribed toimagination. " So writes the celebrated physiologist, Burdach, fromwhose chapter on presentiment in his work "Bhicke in's Leben" a greatpart of my most striking examples is taken. This presentiment ofdeaths, which is the exception among men, is quite common withanimals, even though they do not know nor understand what death is. When they become aware that their end is approaching, they steal awayto outlying and solitary places. This is why in cities we so rarelysee the dead body or skeleton of a cat. We can only suppose that theunconscious clairvoyance, which is of essentially the same kindwhether in man or beast, calls forth presentiments of differentdegrees of definiteness, so that the cat is driven to withdrawherself through a mere instinct without knowing why she does so, while in man a definite perception is awakened of the fact that he isabout to die. Not only do people have presentiments concerning theirown death, but there are many instances on record in which they havebecome aware of that of those near and dear to them, the dying personhaving appeared in a dream to friend or wife or husband. Stories tothis effect prevail among all nations, and unquestionably containmuch truth. Closely connected with this is the power of secondsight, which existed formerly in Scotland, and still does so in theDanish islands. This power enables certain people without anyecstasy, but simply through their keener perception, to foreseecoming events, or to tell what is going on in foreign countries onmatters in which they are deeply interested, such as deaths, battles, conflagrations (Swedenborg foretold the burning of Stockholm), thearrival or the doings of friends who are at a distance. With manypersons this clairvoyance is confined to a knowledge of the death oftheir acquaintances or fellow-townspeople. There have been a greatmany instances of such death-prophetesses, and, what is mostimportant, some cases have been verified in courts of law. I maysay, in passing, that this power of second sight is found in personswho are in ecstatic states, in the spontaneous or artificiallyinduced somnambulism of the higher kinds of waking dreams, as well asin lucid moments before death. These prophetic glimpses, by whichthe clairvoyance of the unconscious reveals itself to consciousness, {126} are commonly obscure because in the brain they must assume aform perceptible by the senses, whereas the unconscious idea can havenothing to do with any form of sensual impression: it is for thisreason that humours, dreams, and the hallucinations of sick personscan so easily have a false signification attached to them. Thechances of error and self-deception that arise from this source, theease with which people may be deceived intentionally, and themischief which, as a general rule, attends a knowledge of the future, these considerations place beyond all doubt the practical unwisdom ofattempts to arrive at certainty concerning the future. This, however, cannot affect the weight which in theory should be attachedto phenomena of this kind, and must not prevent us from recognisingthe positive existence of the clairvoyance whose existence I ammaintaining, though it is often hidden under a chaos of madness andimposture. 

The materialistic and rationalistic tendencies of the present daylead most people either to deny facts of this kind in toto, or toignore them, inasmuch as they are inexplicable from a materialisticstandpoint, and cannot be established by the inductive orexperimental method--as though this last were not equally impossiblein the case of morals, social science, and politics. A mind of anycandour will only be able to deny the truths of this entire class ofphenomena so long as it remains in ignorance of the facts that havebeen related concerning them; but, again, a continuance in thisignorance can only arise from unwillingness to be convinced. I amsatisfied that many of those who deny all human power of divinationwould come to another, and, to say the least, more cautiousconclusion if they would be at the pains of further investigation;and I hold that no one, even at the present day, need be ashamed ofjoining in with an opinion which was maintained by all the greatspirits of antiquity except Epicurus--an opinion whose possible truthhardly one of our best modern philosophers has ventured tocontravene, and which the champions of German enlightenment were solittle disposed to relegate to the domain of old wives' tales, thatGoethe furnishes us with an example of second sight that fell withinhis own experience, and confirms it down to its minutest details. 

Although I am far from believing that the kind of phenomena abovereferred to form in themselves a proper foundation for asuperstructure of scientific demonstration, I nevertheless find themvaluable as a completion and further confirmation of the series ofphenomena presented to us by the clairvoyance which we observe inhuman and animal instinct. Even though they only continue thisseries {128} through the echo that is awakened within ourconsciousness, they as powerfully support the account whichinstinctive actions give concerning their own nature, as they arethemselves supported by the analogy they present to the clairvoyanceobservable in instinct. This, then, as well as my desire not to losean opportunity of protesting against a modern prejudice, must standas my reason for having allowed myself to refer, in a scientificwork, to a class of phenomena which has fallen at present into somuch discredit. 

I will conclude with a few words upon a special kind of instinctwhich has a very instructive bearing upon the subject generally, andshows how impossible it is to evade the supposition of an unconsciousclairvoyance on the part of instinct. In the examples adducedhitherto, the action of each individual has been done on theindividual's own behalf, except in the case of instincts connectedwith the continuation of the species, where the action benefitsothers--that is to say, the offspring of the creature performing it. 

We must now examine the cases in which a solidarity of instinct isfound to exist between several individuals, so that, on the one hand, the action of each redounds to the common welfare, and, on the other, it becomes possible for a useful purpose to be achieved through theharmonious association of individual workers. This community ofinstinct exists also among the higher animals, but here it is harderto distinguish from associations originating through conscious will, inasmuch as speech supplies the means of a more perfectintercommunication of aim and plan. We shall, however, definitelyrecognise {129} this general effect of a universal instinct in theorigin of speech and in the great political and social movements inthe history of the world. Here we are concerned only with thesimplest and most definite examples that can be found anywhere, andtherefore we will deal in preference with the lower animals, amongwhich, in the absence of voice, the means of communicating thought, mimicry, and physiognomy, are so imperfect that the harmony andinterconnection of the individual actions cannot in its main pointsbe ascribed to an understanding arrived at through speech. Huberobserved that when a new comb was being constructed a number of thelargest working-bees, that were full of honey, took no part in theordinary business of the others, but remained perfectly aloof. Twenty-four hours afterwards small plates of wax had formed undertheir bellies. The bee drew these off with her hind-feet, masticatedthem, and made them into a band. The small plates of wax thusprepared were then glued to the roof of the hive one on the top ofthe other. When one of the bees of this kind had used up her platesof wax, another followed her and carried the same work forward in thesame way. A thin rough vertical wall, half a line in thickness andfastened to the sides of the hive, was thus constructed. On this, one of the smaller working-bees whose belly was empty came, and aftersurveying the wall, made a flat half-oval excavation in the middle ofone of its sides; she piled up the wax thus excavated round the edgeof the excavation. After a short time she was relieved by anotherlike herself, till more than twenty followed one another in this way. Meanwhile another bee began to make a similar hollow on the otherside of the wall, but corresponding only with the rim of theexcavation on this side. Presently another bee began a second hollowupon the same side, each bee being continually relieved by others. Other bees kept coming up and bringing under their bellies plates ofwax, with which they heightened the edge of the small wall of wax. In this, new bees were constantly excavating the ground for morecells, while others proceeded by degrees to bring those already beguninto a perfectly symmetrical shape, and at the same time continuedbuilding up the prismatic walls between them. Thus the bees workedon opposite sides of the wall of wax, always on the same plan and inthe closest correspondence with those upon the other side, untileventually the cells on both sides were completed in all theirwonderful regularity and harmony of arrangement, not merely asregards those standing side by side, but also as regards those whichwere upon the other side of their pyramidal base. 

Let the reader consider how animals that are accustomed to confertogether, by speech or otherwise, concerning designs which they maybe pursuing in common, will wrangle with thousandfold diversity ofopinion; let him reflect how often something has to be undone, destroyed, and done over again; how at one time too many hands comeforward, and at another too few; what running to and fro there isbefore each has found his right place; how often too many, and againtoo few, present themselves for a relief gang; and how we find allthis in the concerted works of men, who stand so far higher than beesin the scale of organisation. We see nothing of the kind among bees. A survey of their operations leaves rather the impression upon us asthough an invisible master-builder had prearranged a scheme of actionfor the entire community, and had impressed it upon each individualmember, as though each class of workers had learnt their appointedwork by heart, knew their places and the numbers in which they shouldrelieve each other, and were informed instantaneously by a secretsignal of the moment when their action was wanted. This, however, isexactly the manner in which an instinct works; and as the intentionof the entire community is instinctively present in the unconsciousclairvoyance {131a} of each individual bee, so the possession of thiscommon instinct impels each one of them to the discharge of herspecial duties when the right moment has arrived. It is only thusthat the wonderful tranquillity and order which we observe could beattained. What we are to think concerning this common instinct mustbe reserved for explanation later on, but the possibility of itsexistence is already evident, inasmuch {131b} as each individual hasan unconscious insight concerning the plan proposed to itself by thecommunity, and also concerning the means immediately to be adoptedthrough concerted action--of which, however, only the part requiringhis own co-operation is present in the consciousness of each. Thus, for example, the larva of the bee itself spins the silky chamber inwhich it is to become a chrysalis, but other bees must close it withits lid of wax. The purpose of there being a chamber in which thelarva can become a chrysalis must be present in the minds of each ofthese two parties to the transaction, but neither of them acts underthe influence of conscious will, except in regard to his ownparticular department. I have already mentioned the fact that thelarva, after its metamorphosis, must be freed from its cell by otherbees, and have told how the working-bees in autumn kill the drones, so that they may not have to feed a number of useless mouthsthroughout the winter, and how they only spare them when they arewanted in order to fecundate a new queen. Furthermore, the working-bees build cells in which the eggs laid by the queen may come tomaturity, and, as a general rule, make just as many chambers as thequeen lays eggs; they make these, moreover, in the same order as thatin which the queen lays her eggs, namely, first for the working-bees, then for the drones, and lastly for the queens. In the polity of thebees, the working and the sexual capacities, which were once united, are now personified in three distinct kinds of individual, and thesecombine with an inner, unconscious, spiritual union, so as to form asingle body politic, as the organs of a living body combine to formthe body itself. 

In this chapter, therefore, we have arrived at the followingconclusions:-

Instinct is not the result of conscious deliberation; {132} it is nota consequence of bodily organisation; it is not a mere result of amechanism which lies in the organisation of the brain; it is not theoperation of dead mechanism, glued on, as it were, to the soul, andforeign to its inmost essence; but it is the spontaneous action ofthe individual, springing from his most essential nature andcharacter. The purpose to which any particular kind of instinctiveaction is subservient is not the purpose of a soul standing outsidethe individual and near akin to Providence--a purpose once for allthought out, and now become a matter of necessity to the individual, so that he can act in no other way, though it is engrafted into hisnature from without, and not natural to it. The purpose of theinstinct is in each individual case thought out and willedunconsciously by the individual, and afterwards the choice of meansadapted to each particular case is arrived at unconsciously. Aknowledge of the purpose is often absolutely unattainable {133} byconscious knowledge through sensual perception. Then does thepeculiarity of the unconscious display itself in the clairvoyance ofwhich consciousness perceives partly only a faint and dull, andpartly, as in the case of man, a more or less definite echo by way ofsentiment, whereas the instinctive action itself--the carrying out ofthe means necessary for the achievement of the unconscious purpose--falls always more clearly within consciousness, inasmuch as dueperformance of what is necessary would be otherwise impossible. Finally, the clairvoyance makes itself perceived in the concertedaction of several individuals combining to carry out a common butunconscious purpose. 

Up to this point we have encountered clairvoyance as a fact which weobserve but cannot explain, and the reader may say that he prefers totake his stand here, and be content with regarding instinct simply asa matter of fact, the explanation of which is at present beyond ourreach. Against this it must be urged, firstly, that clairvoyance isnot confined to instinct, but is found also in man; secondly, thatclairvoyance is by no means present in all instincts, and thattherefore our experience shows us clairvoyance and instinct as twodistinct things--clairvoyance being of great use in explaininginstinct, but instinct serving nothing to explain clairvoyance;thirdly and lastly, that the clairvoyance of the individual will notcontinue to be so incomprehensible to us, but will be perfectly wellexplained in the further course of our investigation, while we mustgive up all hope of explaining instinct in any other way. 

The conception we have thus arrived at enables us to regard instinctas the innermost kernel, so to speak, of every living being. Thatthis is actually the case is shown by the instincts of self-preservation and of the continuation of the species which we observethroughout creation, and by the heroic self-abandonment with whichthe individual will sacrifice welfare, and even life, at the biddingof instinct. We see this when we think of the caterpillar, and howshe repairs her cocoon until she yields to exhaustion; of the bird, and how she will lay herself to death; of the disquiet and griefdisplayed by all migratory animals if they are prevented frommigrating. A captive cuckoo will always die at the approach ofwinter through despair at being unable to fly away; so will thevineyard snail if it is hindered of its winter sleep. The weakestmother will encounter an enemy far surpassing her in strength, andsuffer death cheerfully for her offspring's sake. Every year we seefresh cases of people who have been unfortunate going mad orcommitting suicide. Women who have survived the Caesarian operationallow themselves so little to be deterred from further childbearingthrough fear of this frightful and generally fatal operation, thatthey will undergo it no less than three times. Can we suppose thatwhat so closely resembles demoniacal possession can have come aboutthrough something engrafted on to the soul as a mechanism foreign toits inner nature, {135} or through conscious deliberation whichadheres always to a bare egoism, and is utterly incapable of suchself-sacrifice for the sake of offspring as is displayed by theprocreative and maternal instincts?

We have now, finally, to consider how it arises that the instincts ofany animal species are so similar within the limits of that species--a circumstance which has not a little contributed to the engrafted-mechanism theory. But it is plain that like causes will be followedby like effects; and this should afford sufficient explanation. Thebodily mechanism, for example, of all the individuals of a species isalike; so again are their capabilities and the outcomes of theirconscious intelligence--though this, indeed, is not the case withman, nor in some measure even with the highest animals; and it isthrough this want of uniformity that there is such a thing asindividuality. The external conditions of all the individuals of aspecies are also tolerably similar, and when they differ essentially, the instincts are likewise different--a fact in support of which noexamples are necessary. From like conditions of mind and body (andthis includes like predispositions of brain and ganglia) and likeexterior circumstances, like desires will follow as a necessarylogical consequence. Again, from like desires and like inward andoutward circumstances, a like choice of means--that is to say, likeinstincts--must ensue. These last two steps would not be concededwithout restriction if the question were one involving consciousdeliberation, but as these logical consequences are supposed tofollow from the unconscious, which takes the right step unfailinglywithout vacillation or delay so long as the premises are similar, theensuing desires and the instincts to adopt the means for theirgratification will be similar also. 

Thus the view which we have taken concerning instinct explains thevery last point which it may be thought worth while to bring forwardin support of the opinions of our opponents. 

I will conclude this chapter with the words of Schelling:"Thoughtful minds will hold the phenomena of animal instinct tobelong to the most important of all phenomena, and to be the truetouchstone of a durable philosophy. "

CHAPTER IX

Remarks upon Von Hartmann's position in regard to instinct. 

Uncertain how far the foregoing chapter is not better left withoutcomment of any kind, I nevertheless think that some of my readers maybe helped by the following extracts from the notes I took whiletranslating. I will give them as they come, without throwing theminto connected form. 

Von Hartmann defines instinct as action done with a purpose, butwithout consciousness of purpose. 

The building of her nest by a bird is an instinctive action; it isdone with a purpose, but it is arbitrary to say that the bird has noknowledge of that purpose. Some hold that birds when they arebuilding their nest know as well that they mean to bring up a familyin it as a young married couple do when they build themselves ahouse. This is the conclusion which would be come to by a plainperson on a prima facie view of the facts, and Von Hartmann shows noreason for modifying it. 

A better definition of instinct would be that it is inheritedknowledge in respect of certain facts, and of the most suitablemanner in which to deal with them. 

Von Hartmann speaks of "a mechanism of brain or mind" contrived bynature, and again of "a psychical organisation, " as though it weresomething distinct from a physical organisation. 

We can conceive of such a thing as mechanism of brain, for we haveseen brain and handled it; but until we have seen a mind and handledit, or at any rate been enabled to draw inferences which will warrantus in conceiving of it as a material substance apart from bodilysubstance, we cannot infer that it has an organisation apart frombodily organisation. Does Von Hartmann mean that we have two bodies--a body-body, and a soul-body?

He says that no one will call the action of the spider instinctive invoiding the fluids from its glands when they are too full. Why not?

He is continually personifying instinct; thus he speaks of the "endsproposed to itself by the instinct, " of "the blind unconsciouspurpose of the instinct, " of "an unconscious purpose constraining thevolition of the bird, " of "each variation and modification of theinstinct, " as though instinct, purpose, and, later on, clairvoyance, were persons, and not words characterising a certain class ofactions. The ends are proposed to itself by the animal, not by theinstinct. Nothing but mischief can come of a mode of expressionwhich does not keep this clearly in view. 

It must not be supposed that the same cuckoo is in the habit oflaying in the nests of several different species, and of changing thecolour of her eggs according to that of the eggs of the bird in whosenest she lays. I have inquired from Mr. R. Bowdler Sharpe of theornithological department at the British Museum, who kindly gives itme as his opinion that though cuckoos do imitate the eggs of thespecies on whom they foist their young ones, yet one cuckoo willprobably lay in the nests of one species also, and will stick to thatspecies for life. If so, the same race of cuckoos may impose uponthe same species for generations together. The instinct will eventhus remain a very wonderful one, but it is not at all inconsistentwith the theory put forward by Professor Hering and myself. 

Returning to the idea of psychical mechanism, he admits that "it isitself so obscure that we can hardly form any idea concerning it, "{139a} and then goes on to claim for it that it explains a great manyother things. This must have been the passage which Mr. Sully had inview when he very justly wrote that Von Hartmann "dogmatically closesthe field of physical inquiry, and takes refuge in a phantom whichexplains everything, simply because it is itself incapable ofexplanation. "

According to Von Hartmann {139b} the unpractised animal manifests itsinstinct as perfectly as the practised. This is not the case. Theyoung animal exhibits marvellous proficiency, but it gains byexperience. I have watched sparrows, which I can hardly doubt to beyoung ones, spend a whole month in trying to build their nest, andgive it up in the end as hopeless. I have watched three such casesthis spring in a tree not twenty feet from my own window and on alevel with my eye, so that I have been able to see what was going onat all hours of the day. In each case the nest was made well andrapidly up to a certain point, and then got top-heavy and tumbledover, so that little was left on the tree: it was reconstructed andreconstructed over and over again, always with the same result, tillat last in all three cases the birds gave up in despair. I believethe older and stronger birds secure the fixed and best sites, drivingthe younger birds to the trees, and that the art of building nests intrees is dying out among house-sparrows. 

He declares that instinct is not due to organisation so much asorganisation to instinct. {140} The fact is, that neither can claimprecedence of or pre-eminence over the other. Instinct andorganisation are only mind and body, or mind and matter; and theseare not two separable things, but one and inseparable, with, as itwere, two sides; the one of which is a function of the other. Therewas never yet either matter without mind, however low, nor mind, however high, without a material body of some sort; there can be nochange in one without a corresponding change in the other; neithercame before the other; neither can either cease to change or cease tobe; for "to be" is to continue changing, so that "to be" and "tochange" are one. 

Whence, he asks, comes the desire to gratify an instinct beforeexperience of the pleasure that will ensue on gratification? This isa pertinent question, but it is met by Professor Hering with theanswer that this is due to memory--to the continuation in the germ ofvibrations that were vibrating in the body of the parent, and which, when stimulated by vibrations of a suitable rhythm, become more andmore powerful till they suffice to set the body in visible action. For my own part I only venture to maintain that it is due to memory, that is to say, to an enduring sense on the part of the germ of theaction it took when in the persons of its ancestors, and of thegratification which ensued thereon. This meets Von Hartmann's wholedifficulty. 

The glacier is not snow. It is snow packed tight into a smallcompass, and has thus lost all trace of its original form. Howincomplete, however, would be any theory of glacial action which leftout of sight the origin of the glacier in snow! Von Hartmann losessight of the origin of instinctive in deliberative actions becausethe two classes of action are now in many respects different. Hisphilosophy of the unconscious fails to consider what is the normalprocess by means of which such common actions as we can watch, andwhose history we can follow, have come to be done unconsciously. 

He says, {141} "How inconceivable is the supposition of a mechanism, &c. , &c. ; how clear and simple, on the other hand, is the view thatthere is an unconscious purpose constraining the volition of the birdto the use of the fitting means. " Does he mean that there is anactual thing--an unconscious purpose--something outside the bird, asit were a man, which lays hold of the bird and makes it do this orthat, as a master makes a servant do his bidding? If so, he againpersonifies the purpose itself, and must therefore embody it, or betalking in a manner which plain people cannot understand. If, on theother hand, he means "how simple is the view that the bird actsunconsciously, " this is not more simple than supposing it to actconsciously; and what ground has he for supposing that the bird isunconscious? It is as simple, and as much in accordance with thefacts, to suppose that the bird feels the air to be colder, and knowsthat she must warm her eggs if she is to hatch them, as consciouslyas a mother knows that she must not expose her new-born infant to thecold. 

On page 99 of this book we find Von Hartmann saying that if it isonce granted that the normal and abnormal manifestations of instinctspring from a single source, then the objection that the modificationis due to conscious knowledge will be found to be a suicidal onelater on, in so far as it is directed against instinct generally. Iunderstand him to mean that if we admit instinctive action, and themodifications of that action which more nearly resemble results ofreason, to be actions of the same ultimate kind differing in degreeonly, and if we thus attempt to reduce instinctive action to theprophetic strain arising from old experience, we shall be obliged toadmit that the formation of the embryo is ultimately due toreflection--which he seems to think is a reductio ad absurdum of theargument. 

Therefore, he concludes, if there is to be only one source, thesource must be unconscious, and not conscious. We reply, that we donot see the absurdity of the position which we grant we have beendriven to. We hold that the formation of the embryo IS ultimatelydue to reflection and design. 

The writer of an article in the Times, April 1, 1880, says thatservants must be taught their calling before they can practise it;but, in fact, they can only be taught their calling by practising it. So Von Hartmann says animals must feel the pleasure consequent ongratification of an instinct before they can be stimulated to actupon the instinct by a knowledge of the pleasure that will ensue. This sounds logical, but in practice a little performance and alittle teaching--a little sense of pleasure and a little connectionof that pleasure with this or that practice, --come up simultaneouslyfrom something that we cannot see, the two being so small and so muchabreast, that we do not know which is first, performance or teaching;and, again, action, or pleasure supposed as coming from the action. 

"Geistes-mechanismus" comes as near to "disposition of mind, " or, more shortly, "disposition, " as so unsatisfactory a word can come toanything. Yet, if we translate it throughout by "disposition, " weshall see how little we are being told. 

We find on page 114 that "all instinctive actions give us animpression of absolute security and infallibility"; that "the will isnever weak or hesitating, as it is when inferences are being drawnconsciously. " "We never, " Von Hartmann continues, "find instinctmaking mistakes. " Passing over the fact that instinct is againpersonified, the statement is still incorrect. Instinctive actionsare certainly, as a general rule, performed with less uncertaintythan deliberative ones; this is explicable by the fact that they havebeen more often practised, and thus reduced more completely to amatter of routine; but nothing is more certain than that animalsacting under the guidance of inherited experience or instinctfrequently make mistakes which with further practice they correct. Von Hartmann has abundantly admitted that the manner of aninstinctive action is often varied in correspondence with variationin external circumstances. It is impossible to see how this does notinvolve both possibility of error and the connection of instinct withdeliberation at one and the same time. The fact is simply this--whenan animal finds itself in a like position with that in which it hasalready often done a certain thing in the persons of its forefathers, it will do this thing well and easily: when it finds the positionsomewhat, but not unrecognisably, altered through change either inits own person or in the circumstances exterior to it, it will varyits action with greater or less ease according to the nature of thechange in the position: when the position is gravely altered theanimal either bungles or is completely thwarted. 

Not only does Von Hartmann suppose that instinct may, and does, involve knowledge antecedent to, and independent of, experience--anidea as contrary to the tendency of modern thought as that ofspontaneous generation, with which indeed it is identical thoughpresented in another shape--but he implies by his frequent use of theword "unmittelbar" that a result can come about without any causewhatever. So he says, "Um fur die unbewusster Erkenntniss, welchenicht durch sinnliche Wahrnehmung erworben, sondern als unmittelbarBesitz, " &c. {144a} Because he does not see where the experience canhave been gained, he cuts the knot, and denies that there has beenexperience. We say, Look more attentively and you will discover thetime and manner in which the experience was gained. 

Again, he continually assumes that animals low down in the scale oflife cannot know their own business because they show no sign ofknowing ours. See his remarks on Saturnia pavonia minor (page 107), and elsewhere on cattle and gadflies. The question is not what canthey know, but what does their action prove to us that they do know. With each species of animal or plant there is one profession only, and it is hereditary. With us there are many professions, and theyare not hereditary; so that they cannot become instinctive, as theywould otherwise tend to do. 

He attempts {144b} to draw a distinction between the causes that haveproduced the weapons and working instruments of animals, on the onehand, and those that lead to the formation of hexagonal cells bybees, &c. , on the other. No such distinction can be justly drawn. 

The ghost-stories which Von Hartmann accepts will hardly be acceptedby people of sound judgment. There is one well-marked distinctivefeature between the knowledge manifested by animals when actinginstinctively and the supposed knowledge of seers and clairvoyants. In the first case, the animal never exhibits knowledge except uponmatters concerning which its race has been conversant forgenerations; in the second, the seer is supposed to do so. In thefirst case, a new feature is invariably attended with disturbance ofthe performance and the awakening of consciousness and deliberation, unless the new matter is too small in proportion to the remainingfeatures of the case to attract attention, or unless, though reallynew, it appears so similar to an old feature as to be at firstmistaken for it; with the second, it is not even professed that theseer's ancestors have had long experience upon the matter concerningwhich the seer is supposed to have special insight, and I can imagineno more powerful a priori argument against a belief in such stories. 

Close upon the end of his chapter Von Hartmann touches upon the onematter which requires consideration. He refers the similarity ofinstinct that is observable among all species to the fact that likecauses produce like effects; and I gather, though he does notexpressly say so, that he considers similarity of instinct insuccessive generations to be referable to the same cause assimilarity of instinct between all the contemporary members of aspecies. He thus raises the one objection against referring thephenomena of heredity to memory which I think need be gone into withany fulness. I will, however, reserve this matter for my concludingchapters. 

Von Hartmann concludes his chapter with a quotation from Schelling, to the effect that the phenomena of animal instinct are the truetouchstone of a durable philosophy; by which I suppose it is intendedto say that if a system or theory deals satisfactorily with animalinstinct, it will stand, but not otherwise. I can wish nothingbetter than that the philosophy of the unconscious advanced by VonHartmann be tested by this standard. 

CHAPTER X

Recapitulation and statement of an objection. 

The true theory of unconscious action, then, is that of ProfessorHering, from whose lecture it is no strained conclusion to gatherthat he holds the action of all living beings, from the moment oftheir conception to that of their fullest development, to be foundedin volition and design, though these have been so long lost sight ofthat the work is now carried on, as it were, departmentally and indue course according to an official routine which can hardly now bedeparted from. 

This involves the older "Darwinism" and the theory of Lamarck, according to which the modification of living forms has been effectedmainly through the needs of the living forms themselves, which varywith varying conditions, the survival of the fittest (which, as I seeMr. H. B. Baildon has just said, "sometimes comes to mean merely thesurvival of the survivors" {146}) being taken almost as a matter ofcourse. According to this view of evolution, there is a remarkableanalogy between the development of living organs or tools and that ofthose organs or tools external to the body which has been so rapidduring the last few thousand years. 

Animals and plants, according to Professor Hering, are guidedthroughout their development, and preserve the due order in each stepwhich they take, through memory of the course they took on pastoccasions when in the persons of their ancestors. I am afraid I havealready too often said that if this memory remains for long periodstogether latent and without effect, it is because the undulations ofthe molecular substance of the body which are its supposedexplanation are during these periods too feeble to generate action, until they are augmented in force through an accession of suitableundulations issuing from exterior objects; or, in other words, untilrecollection is stimulated by a return of the associated ideas. Onthis the eternal agitation becomes so much enhanced, that equilibriumis visibly disturbed, and the action ensues which is proper to thevibration of the particular substance under the particularconditions. This, at least, is what I suppose Professor Hering tointend. 

Leaving the explanation of memory on one side, and confiningourselves to the fact of memory only, a caterpillar on being justhatched is supposed, according to this theory, to lose its memory ofthe time it was in the egg, and to be stimulated by an intense butunconscious recollection of the action taken by its ancestors whenthey were first hatched. It is guided in the course it takes by theexperience it can thus command. Each step it takes recalls a newrecollection, and thus it goes through its development as a performerperforms a piece of music, each bar leading his recollection to thebar that should next follow. 

In "Life and Habit" will be found examples of the manner in whichthis view solves a number of difficulties for the explanation ofwhich the leading men of science express themselves at a loss. Thefollowing from Professor Huxley's recent work upon the crayfish mayserve for an example. Professor Huxley writes:-

"It is a widely received notion that the energies of living matterhave a tendency to decline and finally disappear, and that the deathof the body as a whole is a necessary correlate of its life. Thatall living beings sooner or later perish needs no demonstration, butit would be difficult to find satisfactory grounds for the beliefthat they needs must do so. The analogy of a machine, that sooner orlater must be brought to a standstill by the wear and tear of itsparts, does not hold, inasmuch as the animal mechanism is continuallyrenewed and repaired; and though it is true that individualcomponents of the body are constantly dying, yet their places aretaken by vigorous successors. A city remains notwithstanding theconstant death-rate of its inhabitants; and such an organism as acrayfish is only a corporate unity, made up of innumerable partiallyindependent individualities. "--The Crayfish, p. 127. 

Surely the theory which I have indicated above makes the reason plainwhy no organism can permanently outlive its experience of past lives. The death of such a body corporate as the crayfish is due to thesocial condition becoming more complex than there is memory of pastexperience to deal with. Hence social disruption, insubordination, and decay. The crayfish dies as a state dies, and all states that wehave heard of die sooner or later. There are some savages who havenot yet arrived at the conception that death is the necessary end ofall living beings, and who consider even the gentlest death from oldage as violent and abnormal; so Professor Huxley seems to find adifficulty in seeing that though a city commonly outlives manygenerations of its citizens, yet cities and states are in the end noless mortal than individuals. "The city, " he says, "remains. " Yes, but not for ever. When Professor Huxley can find a city that willlast for ever, he may wonder that a crayfish does not last for ever. 

I have already here and elsewhere said all that I can yet bringforward in support of Professor Hering's theory; it now remains forme to meet the most troublesome objection to it that I have been ableto think of--an objection which I had before me when I wrote "Lifeand Habit, " but which then as now I believe to be unsound. Seeing, however, as I have pointed out at the end of the preceding chapter, that Von Hartmann has touched upon it, and being aware that aplausible case can be made out for it, I will state it and refute ithere. When I say refute it, I do not mean that I shall have donewith it--for it is plain that it opens up a vaster question in therelations between the so-called organic and inorganic worlds--butthat I will refute the supposition that it any way militates againstProfessor Hering's theory. 

Why, it may be asked, should we go out of our way to inventunconscious memory--the existence of which must at the best remain aninference {149}--when the observed fact that like antecedents areinvariably followed by like consequents should be sufficient for ourpurpose? Why should the fact that a given kind of chrysalis in agiven condition will always become a butterfly within a certain timebe connected with memory, when it is not pretended that memory hasanything to do with the invariableness with which oxygen and hydrogenwhen mixed in certain proportions make water?

We assume confidently that if a drop of water were decomposed intoits component parts, and if these were brought together again, andagain decomposed and again brought together any number of times over, the results would be invariably the same, whether decomposition orcombination, yet no one will refer the invariableness of the actionduring each repetition, to recollection by the gaseous molecules ofthe course taken when the process was last repeated. On thecontrary, we are assured that molecules in some distant part of theworld, which had never entered into such and such a known combinationthemselves, nor held concert with other molecules that had been socombined, and which, therefore, could have had no experience and nomemory, would none the less act upon one another in that one way inwhich other like combinations of atoms have acted under likecircumstances, as readily as though they had been combined andseparated and recombined again a hundred or a hundred thousand times. It is this assumption, tacitly made by every man, beast, and plant inthe universe, throughout all time and in every action of their lives, that has made any action possible, lying, as it does, at the root ofall experience. 

As we admit of no doubt concerning the main result, so we do notsuppose an alternative to lie before any atom of any molecule at anymoment during the process of their combination. This process is, inall probability, an exceedingly complicated one, involving amultitude of actions and subordinate processes, which follow one uponthe other, and each one of which has a beginning, a middle, and anend, though they all come to pass in what appears to be an instant oftime. Yet at no point do we conceive of any atom as swerving eversuch a little to right or left of a determined course, but investeach one of them with so much of the divine attributes as that withit there shall be no variableness, neither shadow of turning. 

We attribute this regularity of action to what we call the necessityof things, as determined by the nature of the atoms and thecircumstances in which they are placed. We say that only oneproximate result can ever arise from any given combination. If, then, so great uniformity of action as nothing can exceed ismanifested by atoms to which no one will impute memory, why thisdesire for memory, as though it were the only way of accounting forregularity of action in living beings? Sameness of action may beseen abundantly where there is no room for anything that we canconsistently call memory. In these cases we say that it is due tosameness of substance in same circumstances. 

The most cursory reflection upon our actions will show us that it isno more possible for living action to have more than one set ofproximate consequents at any given time than for oxygen and hydrogenwhen mixed in the proportions proper for the formation of water. Why, then, not recognise this fact, and ascribe repeated similarityof living action to the reproduction of the necessary antecedents, with no more sense of connection between the steps in the action, ormemory of similar action taken before, than we suppose on the part ofoxygen and hydrogen molecules between the several occasions on whichthey may have been disunited and reunited?

A boy catches the measles not because he remembers having caught themin the persons of his father and mother, but because he is a fit soilfor a certain kind of seed to grow upon. In like manner he should besaid to grow his nose because he is a fit combination for a nose tospring from. Dr. X---'s father died of angina pectoris at the age offorty-nine; so did Dr. X---. Can it be pretended that Dr. X---remembered having died of angina pectoris at the age of forty-ninewhen in the person of his father, and accordingly, when he came to beforty-nine years old himself, died also? For this to hold, Dr. X---'s father must have begotten him after he was dead; for the son couldnot remember the father's death before it happened. 

As for the diseases of old age, so very commonly inherited, they aredeveloped for the most part not only long after the average age ofreproduction, but at a time when no appreciable amount of memory ofany previous existence can remain; for a man will not have many maleancestors who become parents at over sixty years old, nor femaleancestors who did so at over forty. By our own showing, therefore, recollection can have nothing to do with the matter. Yet who candoubt that gout is due to inheritance as much as eyes and noses? Inwhat respects do the two things differ so that we should refer theinheritance of eyes and noses to memory, while denying any connectionbetween memory and gout? We may have a ghost of a pretence forsaying that a man grew a nose by rote, or even that he catches themeasles or whooping-cough by rote during his boyhood; but do we meanto say that he develops the gout by rote in his old age if he comesof a gouty family? If, then, rote and red-tape have nothing to dowith the one, why should they with the other?

Remember also the cases in which aged females develop malecharacteristics. Here are growths, often of not inconsiderableextent, which make their appearance during the decay of the body, andgrow with greater and greater vigour in the extreme of old age, andeven for days after death itself. It can hardly be doubted that anespecial tendency to develop these characteristics runs as aninheritance in certain families; here then is perhaps the best casethat can be found of a development strictly inherited, but havingclearly nothing whatever to do with memory. Why should not alldevelopment stand upon the same footing?

A friend who had been arguing with me for some time as above, concluded with the following words:-

"If you cannot be content with the similar action of similarsubstances (living or non-living) under similar circumstances--if youcannot accept this as an ultimate fact, but consider it necessary toconnect repetition of similar action with memory before you can restin it and be thankful--be consistent, and introduce this memory whichyou find so necessary into the inorganic world also. Either say thata chrysalis becomes a butterfly because it is the thing that it is, and, being that kind of thing, must act in such and such a manner andin such a manner only, so that the act of one generation has no moreto do with the act of the next than the fact of cream being churnedinto butter in a dairy one day has to do with other cream beingchurnable into butter in the following week--either say this, or elsedevelop some mental condition--which I have no doubt you will be verywell able to do if you feel the want of it--in which you can make outa case for saying that oxygen and hydrogen on being brought together, and cream on being churned, are in some way acquainted with, andmindful of, action taken by other cream and other oxygen and hydrogenon past occasions. "

I felt inclined to reply that my friend need not twit me with beingable to develop a mental organism if I felt the need of it, for hisown ingenious attack on my position, and indeed every action of hislife was but an example of this omnipresent principle. 

When he was gone, however, I thought over what he had been saying. Iendeavoured to see how far I could get on without volition andmemory, and reasoned as follows:- A repetition of like antecedentswill be certainly followed by a repetition of like consequents, whether the agents be men and women or chemical substances. "Ifthere be two cowards perfectly similar in every respect, and if theybe subjected in a perfectly similar way to two terrifying agents, which are themselves perfectly similar, there are few who will notexpect a perfect similarity in the running away, even though tenthousand years intervene between the original combination and itsrepetition. " {153} Here certainly there is no coming into play ofmemory, more than in the pan of cream on two successive churningdays, yet the action is similar. 

A clerk in an office has an hour in the middle of the day for dinner. About half-past twelve he begins to feel hungry; at once he takesdown his hat and leaves the office. He does not yet know theneighbourhood, and on getting down into the street asks a policemanat the corner which is the best eating-house within easy distance. The policeman tells him of three houses, one of which is a littlefarther off than the other two, but is cheaper. Money being agreater object to him than time, the clerk decides on going to thecheaper house. He goes, is satisfied, and returns. 

Next day he wants his dinner at the same hour, and--it will be said--remembering his satisfaction of yesterday, will go to the same placeas before. But what has his memory to do with it? Suppose him tohave entirely forgotten all the circumstances of the preceding dayfrom the moment of his beginning to feel hungry onward, though inother respects sound in mind and body, and unchanged generally. Athalf-past twelve he would begin to be hungry; but his beginning to behungry cannot be connected with his remembering having begun to behungry yesterday. He would begin to be hungry just as much whetherhe remembered or no. At one o'clock he again takes down his hat andleaves the office, not because he remembers having done so yesterday, but because he wants his hat to go out with. Being again in thestreet, and again ignorant of the neighbourhood (for he remembersnothing of yesterday), he sees the same policeman at the corner ofthe street, and asks him the same question as before; the policemangives him the same answer, and money being still an object to him, the cheapest eating-house is again selected; he goes there, finds thesame menu, makes the same choice for the same reasons, eats, issatisfied, and returns. 

What similarity of action can be greater than this, and at the sametime more incontrovertible? But it has nothing to do with memory; onthe contrary, it is just because the clerk has no memory that hisaction of the second day so exactly resembles that of the first. Aslong as he has no power of recollecting, he will day after day repeatthe same actions in exactly the same way, until some externalcircumstances, such as his being sent away, modify the situation. Till this or some other modification occurs, he will day after day godown into the street without knowing where to go; day after day hewill see the same policeman at the corner of the same street, and(for we may as well suppose that the policeman has no memory too) hewill ask and be answered, and ask and be answered, till he and thepoliceman die of old age. This similarity of action is plainly dueto that--whatever it is--which ensures that like persons or thingswhen placed in like circumstances shall behave in like manner. 

Allow the clerk ever such a little memory, and the similarity ofaction will disappear; for the fact of remembering what happened tohim on the first day he went out in search of dinner will be amodification in him in regard to his then condition when he next goesout to get his dinner. He had no such memory on the first day, andhe has upon the second. Some modification of action must ensue uponthis modification of the actor, and this is immediately observable. He wants his dinner, indeed, goes down into the street, and sees thepoliceman as yesterday, but he does not ask the policeman; heremembers what the policeman told him and what he did, and thereforegoes straight to the eating-house without wasting time: nor does hedine off the same dish two days running, for he remembers what he hadyesterday and likes variety. If, then, similarity of action israther hindered than promoted by memory, why introduce it into suchcases as the repetition of the embryonic processes by successivegenerations? The embryos of a well-fixed breed, such as the goose, are almost as much alike as water is to water, and by consequence onegoose comes to be almost as like another as water to water. Whyshould it not be supposed to become so upon the same grounds--namely, that it is made of the same stuffs, and put together in likeproportions in the same manner?

CHAPTER XI

On Cycles. 

The one faith on which all normal living beings consciously orunconsciously act, is that like antecedents will be followed by likeconsequents. This is the one true and catholic faith, undemonstrable, but except a living being believe which, withoutdoubt it shall perish everlastingly. In the assurance of this allaction is taken. 

But if this fundamental article is admitted, and it cannot begainsaid, it follows that if ever a complete cycle were formed, sothat the whole universe of one instant were to repeat itselfabsolutely in a subsequent one, no matter after what interval oftime, then the course of the events between these two moments wouldgo on repeating itself for ever and ever afterwards in due order, down to the minutest detail, in an endless series of cycles like acirculating decimal. For the universe comprises everything; therecould therefore be no disturbance from without. Once a cycle, alwaysa cycle. 

Let us suppose the earth, of given weight, moving with given momentumin a given path, and under given conditions in every respect, to finditself at any one time conditioned in all these respects as it wasconditioned at some past moment; then it must move exactly in thesame path as the one it took when at the beginning of the cycle ithas just completed, and must therefore in the course of time fulfil asecond cycle, and therefore a third, and so on for ever and ever, with no more chance of escape than a circulating decimal has, if thecircumstances have been reproduced with perfect accuracy. 

We see something very like this actually happen in the yearlyrevolutions of the planets round the sun. But the relations between, we will say, the earth and the sun are not reproduced absolutely. These relations deal only with a small part of the universe, and evenin this small part the relation of the parts inter se has never yetbeen reproduced with the perfection of accuracy necessary for ourargument. They are liable, moreover, to disturbance from eventswhich may or may not actually occur (as, for example, our beingstruck by a comet, or the sun's coming within a certain distance ofanother sun), but of which, if they do occur, no one can foresee theeffects. Nevertheless the conditions have been so nearly repeatedthat there is no appreciable difference in the relations between theearth and sun on one New Year's Day and on another, nor is therereason for expecting such change within any reasonable time. 

If there is to be an eternal series of cycles involving the wholeuniverse, it is plain that not one single atom must be excluded. Exclude a single molecule of hydrogen from the ring, or vary therelative positions of two molecules only, and the charm is broken; anelement of disturbance has been introduced, of which the utmost thatcan be said is that it may not prevent the ensuing of a long seriesof very nearly perfect cycles before similarity in recurrence isdestroyed, but which must inevitably prevent absolute identity ofrepetition. The movement of the series becomes no longer a cycle, but spiral, and convergent or divergent at a greater or less rateaccording to circumstances. We cannot conceive of all the atoms inthe universe standing twice over in absolutely the same relation eachone of them to every other. There are too many of them and they aretoo much mixed; but, as has been just said, in the planets and theirsatellites we do see large groups of atoms whose movements recur withsome approach to precision. The same holds good also with certaincomets and with the sun himself. The result is that our days andnights and seasons follow one another with nearly perfect regularityfrom year to year, and have done so for as long time as we knowanything for certain. A vast preponderance of all the action thattakes place around us is cycular action. 

Within the great cycle of the planetary revolution of our own earth, and as a consequence thereof, we have the minor cycle of thephenomena of the seasons; these generate atmospheric cycles. Wateris evaporated from the ocean and conveyed to mountain ranges, whereit is cooled, and whence it returns again to the sea. This cycle ofevents is being repeated again and again with little appreciablevariation. The tides and winds in certain latitudes go round andround the world with what amounts to continuous regularity. --Thereare storms of wind and rain called cyclones. In the case of these, the cycle is not very complete, the movement, therefore, is spiral, and the tendency to recur is comparatively soon lost. It is a commonsaying that history repeats itself, so that anarchy will lead todespotism and despotism to anarchy; every nation can point toinstances of men's minds having gone round and round so nearly in aperfect cycle that many revolutions have occurred before thecessation of a tendency to recur. Lastly, in the generation ofplants and animals we have, perhaps, the most striking and commonexample of the inevitable tendency of all action to repeat itselfwhen it has once proximately done so. Let only one living being haveonce succeeded in producing a being like itself, and thus havereturned, so to speak, upon itself, and a series of generations mustfollow of necessity, unless some matter interfere which had no partin the original combination, and, as it may happen, kill the firstreproductive creature or all its descendants within a fewgenerations. If no such mishap occurs as this, and if the recurrenceof the conditions is sufficiently perfect, a series of generationsfollows with as much certainty as a series of seasons follows uponthe cycle of the relations between the earth and sun. Let the firstperiodically recurring substance--we will say A--be able to recur orreproduce itself, not once only, but many times over, as A1, A2, &c. ;let A also have consciousness and a sense of self-interest, whichqualities must, ex hypothesi, be reproduced in each one of itsoffspring; let these get placed in circumstances which differsufficiently to destroy the cycle in theory without doing sopractically--that is to say, to reduce the rotation to a spiral, butto a spiral with so little deviation from perfect cycularity as foreach revolution to appear practically a cycle, though after manyrevolutions the deviation becomes perceptible; then some suchdifferentiations of animal and vegetable life as we actually seefollow as matters of course. A1 and A2 have a sense of self-interestas A had, but they are not precisely in circumstances similar to A's, nor, it may be, to each other's; they will therefore act somewhatdifferently, and every living being is modified by a change ofaction. Having become modified, they follow the spirit of A's actionmore essentially in begetting a creature like themselves than inbegetting one like A; for the essence of A's act was not thereproduction of A, but the reproduction of a creature like the onefrom which it sprung--that is to say, a creature bearing traces inits body of the main influences that have worked upon its parent. 

Within the cycle of reproduction there are cycles upon cycles in thelife of each individual, whether animal or plant. Observe the actionof our lungs and heart, how regular it is, and how a cycle havingbeen once established, it is repeated many millions of times in anindividual of average health and longevity. Remember also that it isthis periodicity--this inevitable tendency of all atoms incombination to repeat any combination which they have once repeated, unless forcibly prevented from doing so--which alone renders nine-tenths of our mechanical inventions of practical use to us. There isno internal periodicity about a hammer or a saw, but there is in thesteam-engine or watermill when once set in motion. The actions ofthese machines recur in a regular series, at regular intervals, withthe unerringness of circulating decimals. 

When we bear in mind, then, the omnipresence of this tendency in theworld around us, the absolute freedom from exception which attendsits action, the manner in which it holds equally good upon thevastest and the smallest scale, and the completeness of its accordwith our ideas of what must inevitably happen when a like combinationis placed in circumstances like those in which it was placed before--when we bear in mind all this, is it possible not to connect thefacts together, and to refer cycles of living generations to the sameunalterableness in the action of like matter under like circumstanceswhich makes Jupiter and Saturn revolve round the sun, or the pistonof a steam-engine move up and down as long as the steam acts upon it?

But who will attribute memory to the hands of a clock, to a piston-rod, to air or water in a storm or in course of evaporation, to theearth and planets in their circuits round the sun, or to the atoms ofthe universe, if they too be moving in a cycle vaster than we cantake account of? {160} And if not, why introduce it into theembryonic development of living beings, when there is not a particleof evidence in support of its actual presence, when regularity ofaction can be ensured just as well without it as with it, and when atthe best it is considered as existing under circumstances which itbaffles us to conceive, inasmuch as it is supposed to be exercisedwithout any conscious recollection? Surely a memory which isexercised without any consciousness of recollecting is only aperiphrasis for the absence of any memory at all. 

CHAPTER XII

Refutation--Memory at once a promoter and a disturber of uniformityof action and structure. 

To meet the objections in the two foregoing chapters, I need dolittle more than show that the fact of certain often inheriteddiseases and developments, whether of youth or old age, beingobviously not due to a memory on the part of offspring of likediseases and developments in the parents, does not militate againstsupposing that embryonic and youthful development generally is due tomemory. 

This is the main part of the objection; the rest resolves itself intoan assertion that there is no evidence in support of instinct andembryonic development being due to memory, and a contention that thenecessity of each particular moment in each particular case issufficient to account for the facts without the introduction ofmemory. 

I will deal with these two last points briefly first. As regards theevidence in support of the theory that instinct and growth are due toa rapid unconscious memory of past experiences and developments inthe persons of the ancestors of the living form in which they appear, I must refer my readers to "Life and Habit, " and to the translationof Professor Hering's lecture given in this volume. I will onlyrepeat here that a chrysalis, we will say, is as much one and thesame person with the chrysalis of its preceding generation, as thislast is one and the same person with the egg or caterpillar fromwhich it sprang. You cannot deny personal identity between twosuccessive generations without sooner or later denying it during thesuccessive stages in the single life of what we call one individual;nor can you admit personal identity through the stages of a long andvaried life (embryonic and postnatal) without admitting it to endurethrough an endless series of generations. 

The personal identity of successive generations being admitted, thepossibility of the second of two generations remembering whathappened to it in the first is obvious. The a priori objection, therefore, is removed, and the question becomes one of fact--does theoffspring act as if it remembered?

The answer to this question is not only that it does so act, but thatit is not possible to account for either its development or its earlyinstinctive actions upon any other hypothesis than that of itsremembering, and remembering exceedingly well. 

The only alternative is to declare with Von Hartmann that a livingbeing may display a vast and varied information concerning all mannerof details, and be able to perform most intricate operations, independently of experience and practice. Once admit knowledgeindependent of experience, and farewell to sober sense and reasonfrom that moment. 

Firstly, then, we show that offspring has had every facility forremembering; secondly, that it shows every appearance of havingremembered; thirdly, that no other hypothesis except memory can bebrought forward, so as to account for the phenomena of instinct andheredity generally, which is not easily reducible to an absurdity. Beyond this we do not care to go, and must allow those to differ fromus who require further evidence. 

As regards the argument that the necessity of each moment willaccount for likeness of result, without there being any need forintroducing memory, I admit that likeness of consequents is due tolikeness of antecedents, and I grant this will hold as good withembryos as with oxygen and hydrogen gas; what will cover the one willcover the other, for time writs of the laws common to all matter runwithin the womb as freely as elsewhere; but admitting that there arecombinations into which living beings enter with a faculty calledmemory which has its effect upon their conduct, and admitting thatsuch combinations are from time to time repeated (as we observe inthe case of a practised performer playing a piece of music which hehas committed to memory), then I maintain that though, indeed, thelikeness of one performance to its immediate predecessor is due tolikeness of the combinations immediately preceding the twoperformances, yet memory plays so important a part in both thesecombinations as to make it a distinguishing feature in them, andtherefore proper to be insisted upon. We do not, for example, saythat Herr Joachim played such and such a sonata without the music, because he was such and such an arrangement of matter in such andsuch circumstances, resembling those under which he played withoutmusic on some past occasion. This goes without saying; we say onlythat he played the music by heart or by memory, as he had oftenplayed it before. 

To the objector that a caterpillar becomes a chrysalis not because itremembers and takes the action taken by its fathers and mothers indue course before it, but because when matter is in such a physicaland mental state as to be called caterpillar, it must perforce assumepresently such another physical and mental state as to be calledchrysalis, and that therefore there is no memory in the case--to thisobjector I rejoin that the offspring caterpillar would not havebecome so like the parent as to make the next or chrysalis stage amatter of necessity, unless both parent and offspring had beeninfluenced by something that we usually call memory. For it is thisvery possession of a common memory which has guided the offspringinto the path taken by, and hence to a virtually same condition with, the parent, and which guided the parent in its turn to a statevirtually identical with a corresponding state in the existence ofits own parent. To memory, therefore, the most prominent place inthe transaction is assigned rightly. 

To deny that will guided by memory has anything to do with thedevelopment of embryos seems like denying that a desire to obstructhas anything to do with the recent conduct of certain members in theHouse of Commons. What should we think of one who said that theaction of these gentlemen had nothing to do with a desire toembarrass the Government, but was simply the necessary outcome of thechemical and mechanical forces at work, which being such and such, the action which we see is inevitable, and has therefore nothing todo with wilful obstruction? We should answer that there wasdoubtless a great deal of chemical and mechanical action in thematter; perhaps, for aught we knew or cared, it was all chemical andmechanical; but if so, then a desire to obstruct parliamentarybusiness is involved in certain kinds of chemical and mechanicalaction, and that the kinds involving this had preceded the recentproceedings of the members in question. If asked to prove this, wecan get no further than that such action as has been taken has neveryet been seen except as following after and in consequence of adesire to obstruct; that this is our nomenclature, and that we can nomore be expected to change it than to change our mother tongue at thebidding of a foreigner. 

A little reflection will convince the reader that he will be unableto deny will and memory to the embryo without at the same timedenying their existence everywhere, and maintaining that they have noplace in the acquisition of a habit, nor indeed in any human action. He will feel that the actions, and the relation of one action toanother which he observes in embryos is such as is never seen exceptin association with and as a consequence of will and memory. He willtherefore say that it is due to will and memory. To say that theseare the necessary outcome of certain antecedents is not to destroythem: granted that they are--a man does not cease to be a man whenwe reflect that he has had a father and mother, nor do will andmemory cease to be will and memory on the ground that they cannotcome causeless. They are manifest minute by minute to the perceptionof all sane people, and this tribunal, though not infallible, isnevertheless our ultimate court of appeal--the final arbitrator inall disputed cases. 

We must remember that there is no action, however original orpeculiar, which is not in respect of far the greater number of itsdetails founded upon memory. If a desperate man blows his brainsout--an action which he can do once in a lifetime only, and whichnone of his ancestors can have done before leaving offspring--stillnine hundred and ninety-nine thousandths of the movements necessaryto achieve his end consist of habitual movements--movements, that isto say, which were once difficult, but which have been practised andpractised by the help of memory until they are now performedautomatically. We can no more have an action than a creative effortof the imagination cut off from memory. Ideas and actions seemalmost to resemble matter and force in respect of the impossibilityof originating or destroying them; nearly all that are, are memoriesof other ideas and actions, transmitted but not created, disappearingbut not perishing. 

It appears, then, that when in Chapter X. We supposed the clerk whowanted his dinner to forget on a second day the action he had takenthe day before, we still, without perhaps perceiving it, supposed himto be guided by memory in all the details of his action, such as histaking down his hat and going out into the street. We could not, indeed, deprive him of all memory without absolutely paralysing hisaction. 

Nevertheless new ideas, new faiths, and new actions do in the courseof time come about, the living expressions of which we may see in thenew forms of life which from time to time have arisen and are stillarising, and in the increase of our own knowledge and mechanicalinventions. But it is only a very little new that is added at atime, and that little is generally due to the desire to attain an endwhich cannot be attained by any of the means for which there exists aperceived precedent in the memory. When this is the case, either thememory is further ransacked for any forgotten shreds of details, acombination of which may serve the desired purpose; or action istaken in the dark, which sometimes succeeds and becomes a fertilesource of further combinations; or we are brought to a dead stop. All action is random in respect of any of the minute actions whichcompose it that are not done in consequence of memory, real orsupposed. So that random, or action taken in the dark, or illusion, lies at the very root of progress. 

I will now consider the objection that the phenomena of instinct andembryonic development ought not to be ascribed to memory, inasmuch ascertain other phenomena of heredity, such as gout, cannot be ascribedto it. 

Those who object in this way forget that our actions fall into twomain classes: those which we have often repeated before by means ofa regular series of subordinate actions beginning and ending at acertain tolerably well-defined point--as when Herr Joachim plays asonata in public, or when we dress or undress ourselves; and actionsthe details of which are indeed guided by memory, but which in theirgeneral scope and purpose are new--as when we are being married orpresented at court. 

At each point in any action of the first of the two kinds abovereferred to there is a memory (conscious or unconscious according tothe less or greater number of times the action has been repeated), not only of the steps in the present and previous performances whichhave led up to the particular point that may be selected, but also ofthe particular point itself; there is, therefore, at each point in ahabitual performance a memory at once of like antecedents and of alike present. 

If the memory, whether of the antecedent or the present, wereabsolutely perfect; if the vibration (according to Professor Hering)on each repetition existed in its full original strength and withouthaving been interfered with by any other vibration; and if, again, the new wave running into it from exterior objects on each repetitionof the action were absolutely identical in character with the wavethat ran in upon the last occasion, then there would be no change inthe action and no modification or improvement could take place. Forthough indeed the latest performance would always have one memorymore than the latest but one to guide it, yet the memories beingidentical, it would not matter how many or how few they were. 

On any repetition, however, the circumstances, external or internal, or both, never are absolutely identical: there is some slightvariation in each individual case, and some part of this variation isremembered, with approbation or disapprobation as the case may be. 

The fact, therefore, that on each repetition of the action there isone memory more than on the last but one, and that this memory isslightly different from its predecessor, is seen to be an inherentand, ex hypothesi, necessarily disturbing factor in all habitualaction--and the life of an organism should be regarded as thehabitual action of a single individual, namely, of the organismitself, and of its ancestors. This is the key to accumulation ofimprovement, whether in the arts which we assiduously practise duringour single life, or in the structures and instincts of successivegenerations. The memory does not complete a true circle, but is, asit were, a spiral slightly divergent therefrom. It is no longer aperfectly circulating decimal. Where, on the other hand, there is nomemory of a like present, where, in fact, the memory is not, so tospeak, spiral, there is no accumulation of improvement. The effectof any variation is not transmitted, and is not thus pregnant ofstill further change. 

As regards the second of the two classes of actions above referredto--those, namely, which are not recurrent or habitual, AND AT NOPOINT OF WHICH IS THERE A MEMORY OF A PAST PRESENT LIKE THE ONE WHICHIS PRESENT NOW--there will have been no accumulation of strong andwell-knit memory as regards the action as a whole, but action, iftaken at all, will be taken upon disjointed fragments of individualactions (our own and those of other people) pieced together with aresult more or less satisfactory according to circumstances. 

But it does not follow that the action of two people who have hadtolerably similar antecedents and are placed in tolerably similarcircumstances should be more unlike each other in this second casethan in the first. On the contrary, nothing is more common than toobserve the same kind of people making the same kind of mistake whenplaced for the first time in the same kind of new circumstances. Idid not say that there would be no sameness of action without memoryof a like present. There may be sameness of action proceeding from amemory, conscious or unconscious, of like antecedents, and A PRESENCEONLY OF LIKE PRESENTS WITHOUT RECOLLECTION OF THE SAME. 

The sameness of action of like persons placed under likecircumstances for the first time, resembles the sameness of action ofinorganic matter under the same combinations. Let us for the momentsuppose what we call non-living substances to be capable ofremembering their antecedents, and that the changes they undergo arethe expressions of their recollections. Then I admit, of course, that there is not memory in any cream, we will say, that is about tobe churned of the cream of the preceding week, but the common absenceof such memory from each week's cream is an element of samenessbetween the two. And though no cream can remember having beenchurned before, yet all cream in all time has had nearly identicalantecedents, and has therefore nearly the same memories, and nearlythe same proclivities. Thus, in fact, the cream of one week is astruly the same as the cream of another week from the same cow, pasture, &c. , as anything is ever the same with anything; for thehaving been subjected to like antecedents engenders the closestsimilarity that we can conceive of, if the substances were like tostart with. 

The manifest absence of any connecting memory (or memory of likepresents) from certain of the phenomena of heredity, such as, forexample, the diseases of old age, is now seen to be no valid reasonfor saying that such other and far more numerous and importantphenomena as those of embryonic development are not phenomena ofmemory. Growth and the diseases of old age do indeed, at firstsight, appear to stand on the same footing, but reflection shows usthat the question whether a certain result is due to memory or nomust be settled not by showing that combinations into which memorydoes not certainly enter may yet generate like results, and thereforeconsidering the memory theory disposed of, but by the evidence we maybe able to adduce in support of the fact that the second agent hasactually remembered the conduct of the first, inasmuch as he cannotbe supposed able to do what it is plain he can do, except under theguidance of memory or experience, and can also be shown to have hadevery opportunity of remembering. When either of these tests fails, similarity of action on the part of two agents need not be connectedwith memory of a like present as well as of like antecedents, butmust, or at any rate may, be referred to memory of like antecedentsonly. 

Returning to a parenthesis a few pages back, in which I said thatconsciousness of memory would be less or greater according to thegreater or fewer number of times that the act had been repeated, itmay be observed as a corollary to this, that the less consciousnessof memory the greater the uniformity of action, and vice versa. Forthe less consciousness involves the memory's being more perfect, through a larger number (generally) of repetitions of the act that isremembered; there is therefore a less proportionate difference inrespect of the number of recollections of this particular act betweenthe most recent actor and the most recent but one. This is why veryold civilisations, as those of many insects, and the greater numberof now living organisms, appear to the eye not to change at all. 

For example, if an action has been performed only ten times, we willsay by A, B, C, &c. , who are similar in all respects, except that Aacts without recollection, B with recollection of A's action, C withrecollection of both B's and A's, while J remembers the course takenby A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, and I--the possession of a memory by Bwill indeed so change his action, as compared with A's, that it maywell be hardly recognisable. We saw this in our example of the clerkwho asked the policeman the way to the eating-house on one day, butdid not ask him the next, because he remembered; but C's action willnot be so different from B's as B's from A's, for though C will actwith a memory of two occasions on which the action has beenperformed, while B recollects only the original performance by A, yetB and C both act with the guidance of a memory and experience of somekind, while A acted without any. Thus the clerk referred to inChapter X. Will act on the third day much as he acted on the second--that is to say, he will see the policeman at the corner of thestreet, but will not question him. 

When the action is repeated by J for the tenth time, the differencebetween J's repetition of it and I's will be due solely to thedifference between a recollection of nine past performances by Jagainst only eight by I, and this is so much proportionately lessthan the difference between a recollection of two performances and ofonly one, that a less modification of action should be expected. Atthe same time consciousness concerning an action repeated for thetenth time should be less acute than on the first repetition. Memory, therefore, though tending to disturb similarity of actionless and less continually, must always cause some disturbance. Atthe same time the possession of a memory on the successiverepetitions of an action after the first, and, perhaps, the first twoor three, during which the recollection may be supposed stillimperfect, will tend to ensure uniformity, for it will be one of theelements of sameness in the agents--they both acting by the light ofexperience and memory. 

During the embryonic stages and in childhood we are almost entirelyunder the guidance of a practised and powerful memory ofcircumstances which have been often repeated, not only in detail andpiecemeal, but as a whole, and under many slightly varyingconditions; thus the performance has become well averaged and maturedin its arrangements, so as to meet all ordinary emergencies. Wetherefore act with great unconsciousness and vary our performanceslittle. Babies are much more alike than persons of middle age. 

Up to the average age at which our ancestors have had children duringmany generations, we are still guided in great measure by memory; butthe variations in external circumstances begin to make themselvesperceptible in our characters. In middle life we live more and morecontinually upon the piecing together of details of memory drawn fromour personal experience, that is to say, upon the memory of our ownantecedents; and this resembles the kind of memory we hypotheticallyattached to cream a little time ago. It is not surprising, then, that a son who has inherited his father's tastes and constitution, and who lives much as his father had done, should make the samemistakes as his father did when he reaches his father's age--we willsay of seventy--though he cannot possibly remember his father'shaving made the mistakes. It were to be wished we could, for then wemight know better how to avoid gout, cancer, or what not. And it isto be noticed that the developments of old age are generally thingswe should be glad enough to avoid if we knew how to do so. 

CHAPTER XIII

Conclusion. 

If we observed the resemblance between successive generations to beas close as that between distilled water and distilled water throughall time, and if we observed that perfect unchangeableness in theaction of living beings which we see in what we call chemical andmechanical combinations, we might indeed suspect that memory had aslittle place among the causes of their action as it can have inanything, and that each repetition, whether of a habit or thepractice of art, or of an embryonic process in successivegenerations, was an original performance, for all that memory had todo with it. I submit, however, that in the case of the reproductiveforms of life we see just so much variety, in spite of uniformity, asis consistent with a repetition involving not only a nearly perfectsimilarity in the agents and their circumstances, but also the littledeparture therefrom that is inevitably involved in the suppositionthat a memory of like presents as well as of like antecedents (asdistinguished from a memory of like antecedents only) has played apart in their development--a cyclonic memory, if the expression maybe pardoned. 

There is life infinitely lower and more minute than any which ourmost powerful microscopes reveal to us, but let us leave this uponone side and begin with the amoeba. Let us suppose that thisstructureless morsel of protoplasm is, for all its structurelessness, composed of an infinite number of living molecules, each one of themwith hopes and fears of its own, and all dwelling together like TekkeTurcomans, of whom we read that they live for plunder only, and thateach man of them is entirely independent, acknowledging noconstituted authority, but that some among them exercise a tacit andundefined influence over the others. Let us suppose these moleculescapable of memory, both in their capacity as individuals, and associeties, and able to transmit their memories to their descendants, from the traditions of the dimmest past to the experiences of theirown lifetime. Some of these societies will remain simple, as havinghad no history, but to the greater number unfamiliar, and thereforestriking, incidents will from time to time occur, which, when they donot disturb memory so greatly as to kill, will leave their impressionupon it. The body or society will remember these incidents, and bemodified by them in its conduct, and therefore more or less in itsinternal arrangements, which will tend inevitably to specialisation. This memory of the most striking events of varied lifetimes Imaintain, with Professor Hering, to be the differentiating cause, which, accumulated in countless generations, has led up from theamoeba to man. If there had been no such memory, the amoeba of onegeneration would have exactly resembled time amoeba of the preceding, and a perfect cycle would have been established; the modifyingeffects of an additional memory in each generation have made thecycle into a spiral, and into a spiral whose eccentricity, in theoutset hardly perceptible, is becoming greater and greater withincreasing longevity and more complex social and mechanicalinventions. 

We say that the chicken grows the horny tip to its beak with which itultimately pecks its way out of its shell, because it remembershaving grown it before, and the use it made of it. We say that itmade it on the same principles as a man makes a spade or a hammer, that is to say, as the joint result both of desire and experience. When I say experience, I mean experience not only of what will bewanted, but also of the details of all the means that must be takenin order to effect this. Memory, therefore, is supposed to guide thechicken not only in respect of the main design, but in respect alsoof every atomic action, so to speak, which goes to make up theexecution of this design. It is not only the suggestion of a planwhich is due to memory, but, as Professor Hering has so well said, itis the binding power of memory which alone renders any consolidationor coherence of action possible, inasmuch as without this no actioncould have parts subordinate one to another, yet bearing upon acommon end; no part of an action, great or small, could havereference to any other part, much less to a combination of all theparts; nothing, in fact, but ultimate atoms of actions could everhappen--these bearing the same relation to such an action, we willsay, as a railway journey from London to Edinburgh as a singlemolecule of hydrogen to a gallon of water. If asked how it is thatthe chicken shows no sign of consciousness concerning this design, nor yet of the steps it is taking to carry it out, we reply that suchunconsciousness is usual in all cases where an action, and the designwhich prompts it, have been repeated exceedingly often. If, again, we are asked how we account for the regularity with which each stepis taken in its due order, we answer that this too is characteristicof actions that are done habitually--they being very rarely misplacedin respect of any part. 

When I wrote "Life and Habit, " I had arrived at the conclusion thatmemory was the most essential characteristic of life, and went so faras to say, "Life is that property of matter whereby it can remember--matter which can remember is living. " I should perhaps have written, "Life is the being possessed of a memory--the life of a thing at anymoment is the memories which at that moment it retains"; and I wouldmodify the words that immediately follow, namely, "Matter whichcannot remember is dead"; for they imply that there is such a thingas matter which cannot remember anything at all, and this on fullerconsideration I do not believe to be the case; I can conceive of nomatter which is not able to remember a little, and which is notliving in respect of what it can remember. I do not see how actionof any kind is conceivable without the supposition that every atomretains a memory of certain antecedents. I cannot, however, at thispoint, enter upon the reasons which have compelled me to thisconclusion. Whether these would be deemed sufficient or no, at anyrate we cannot believe that a system of self-reproducing associationsshould develop from the simplicity of the amoeba to the complexity ofthe human body without the presence of that memory which can aloneaccount at once for the resemblances and the differences betweensuccessive generations, for the arising and the accumulation ofdivergences--for the tendency to differ and the tendency not todiffer. 

At parting, therefore, I would recommend the reader to see every atomin the universe as living and able to feel and to remember, but in ahumble way. He must have life eternal, as well as matter eternal;and the life and the matter must be joined together inseparably asbody and soul to one another. Thus he will see God everywhere, notas those who repeat phrases conventionally, but as people who wouldhave their words taken according to their most natural and legitimatemeaning; and he will feel that the main difference between him andmany of those who oppose him lies in the fact that whereas both heand they use the same language, his opponents only half mean whatthey say, while he means it entirely. 

The attempt to get a higher form of a life from a lower one is inaccordance with our observation and experience. It is thereforeproper to be believed. The attempt to get it from that which hasabsolutely no life is like trying to get something out of nothing. The millionth part of a farthing put out to interest at ten per cent, will in five hundred years become over a million pounds, and so longas we have any millionth of a millionth of the farthing to startwith, our getting as many million pounds as we have a fancy for isonly a question of time, but without the initial millionth of amillionth of a millionth part, we shall get no increment whatever. Alittle leaven will leaven the whole lump, but there must be SOMEleaven. 

I will here quote two passages from an article already quoted from onpage 55 of this book. They run:-

"We are growing conscious that our earnest and most determinedefforts to make motion produce sensation and volition have proved afailure, and now we want to rest a little in the opposite, much lesslaborious conjecture, and allow any kind of motion to start intoexistence, or at least to receive its specific direction frompsychical sources; sensation and volition being for the purposequietly insinuated into the constitution of the ultimately movingparticles. " {177a}

And:-

"In this light it can remain no longer surprising that we actuallyfind motility and sensibility so intimately interblended in nature. "{177b}

We should endeavour to see the so-called inorganic as living, inrespect of the qualities it has in common with the organic, ratherthan the organic as non-living in respect of the qualities it has incommon with the inorganic. True, it would be hard to place one'sself on the same moral platform as a stone, but this is notnecessary; it is enough that we should feel the stone to have a moralplatform of its own, though that platform embraces little more than aprofound respect for the laws of gravitation, chemical affinity, &c. As for the difficulty of conceiving a body as living that has not gota reproductive system--we should remember that neuter insects areliving but are believed to have no reproductive system. Again, weshould bear in mind that mere assimilation involves all theessentials of reproduction, and that both air and water possess thispower in a very high degree. The essence of a reproductive system, then, is found low down in the scheme of nature. 

At present our leading men of science are in this difficulty; on theone hand their experiments and their theories alike teach them thatspontaneous generation ought not to be accepted; on the other, theymust have an origin for the life of the living forms, which, by theirown theory, have been evolved, and they can at present get thisorigin in no other way than by the Deus ex machina method, which theyreject as unproved, or a spontaneous generation of living from non-living matter, which is no less foreign to their experience. As ageneral rule, they prefer the latter alternative. So ProfessorTyndall, in his celebrated article (Nineteenth Century, November1878), wrote:-

"It is generally conceded (and seems to be a necessary inference fromthe lessons of science) that SPONTANEOUS GENERATION MUST AT ONE TIMEHAVE TAKEN PLACE" (italics mine). 

No inference can well be more unnecessary or unscientific. I supposespontaneous generation ceases to be objectionable if it was "only avery little one, " and came off a long time ago in a foreign country. The proper inference is, that there is a low kind of livingness inevery atom of matter. Life eternal is as inevitable a conclusion asmatter eternal. 

It should not be doubted that wherever there is vibration or motionthere is life and memory, and that there is vibration and motion atall times in all things. 

The reader who takes the above position will find that he can explainthe entry of what he calls death among what he calls the living, whereas he could by no means introduce life into his system if hestarted without it. Death is deducible; life is not deducible. Death is a change of memories; it is not the destruction of allmemory. It is as the liquidation of one company, each member ofwhich will presently join a new one, and retain a trifle even of theold cancelled memory, by way of greater aptitude for working inconcert with other molecules. This is why animals feed on grass andon each other, and cannot proselytise or convert the rude groundbefore it has been tutored in the first principles of the higherkinds of association. 

Again, I would recommend the reader to beware of believing anythingin this book unless he either likes it, or feels angry at being toldit. If required belief in this or that makes a man angry, I supposehe should, as a general rule, swallow it whole then and there uponthe spot, otherwise he may take it or leave it as he likes. I havenot gone far for my facts, nor yet far from them; all on which I restare as open to the reader as to me. If I have sometimes used hardterms, the probability is that I have not understood them, but havedone so by a slip, as one who has caught a bad habit from the companyhe has been lately keeping. They should be skipped. 

Do not let him be too much cast down by the bad language with whichprofessional scientists obscure the issue, nor by their seeming tomake it their business to fog us under the pretext of removing ourdifficulties. It is not the ratcatcher's interest to catch all therats; and, as Handel observed so sensibly, "Every professionalgentleman must do his best for to live. " The art of some of ourphilosophers, however, is sufficiently transparent, and consists toooften in saying "organism which must be classified among fishes, "instead of "fish, " {179a} and then proclaiming that they have "anineradicable tendency to try to make things clear. " {179b}

If another example is required, here is the following from an articlethan which I have seen few with which I more completely agree, orwhich have given me greater pleasure. If our men of science wouldtake to writing in this way, we should be glad enough to follow them. The passage I refer to runs thus:-

"Professor Huxley speaks of a 'verbal fog by which the question atissue may be hidden'; is there no verbal fog in the statement thatTHE AETIOLOGY OF CRAYFISHES RESOLVES ITSELF INTO A GRADUAL EVOLUTIONIN THE COURSE OF THE MESOSOIC AND SUBSEQUENT EPOCHS OF THE WORLD'SHISTORY OF THESE ANIMALS FROM A PRIMITIVE ASTACOMORPHOUS FORM? Wouldit be fog or light that would envelop the history of man if we saidthat the existence of man was explained by the hypothesis of hisgradual evolution from a primitive anthropomorphous form? I shouldcall this fog, not light. " {180}

Especially let him mistrust those who are holding forth aboutprotoplasm, and maintaining that this is the only living substance. Protoplasm may be, and perhaps is, the MOST living part of anorganism, as the most capable of retaining vibrations, but this isthe utmost that can be claimed for it. 

Having mentioned protoplasm, I may ask the reader to note thebreakdown of that school of philosophy which divided the ego from thenon ego. The protoplasmists, on the one hand, are whittling away atthe ego, till they have reduced it to a little jelly in certain partsof the body, and they will whittle away this too presently, if theygo on as they are doing now. 

Others, again, are so unifying the ego and the non ego, that withthem there will soon be as little of the non ego left as there is ofthe ego with their opponents. Both, however, are so far agreed asthat we know not where to draw the line between the two, and thisrenders nugatory any system which is founded upon a distinctionbetween them. 

The truth is, that all classification whatever, when we examine itsraison d'etre closely, is found to be arbitrary--to depend on oursense of our own convenience, and not on any inherent distinction inthe nature of the things themselves. Strictly speaking, there isonly one thing and one action. The universe, or God, and the actionof the universe as a whole. 

Lastly, I may predict with some certainty that before long we shallfind the original Darwinism of Dr. Erasmus Darwin (with an infusionof Professor Hering into the bargain) generally accepted instead ofthe neo-Darwinism of to-day, and that the variations whoseaccumulation results in species will be recognised as due to thewants and endeavours of the living forms in which they appear, instead of being ascribed to chance, or, in other words, to unknowncauses, as by Mr. Charles Darwin's system. We shall have someidyllic young naturalist bringing up Dr. Erasmus Darwin's note onTrapa natans, {181a} and Lamarck's kindred passage on the descent ofRanunculus hederaceus from Ranunculus aquatilis {181b} as freshdiscoveries, and be told, with much happy simplicity, that thoseanimals and plants which have felt the need of such or such astructure have developed it, while those which have not wanted ithave gone without it. Thus, it will be declared, every leaf we seearound us, every structure of the minutest insect, will bear witnessto the truth of the "great guess" of the greatest of naturalistsconcerning the memory of living matter. 

I dare say the public will not object to this, and am very sure thatnone of the admirers of Mr. Charles Darwin or Mr. Wallace willprotest against it; but it may be as well to point out that this wasnot the view of the matter taken by Mr. Wallace in 1858 when he andMr. Darwin first came forward as preachers of natural selection. Atthat time Mr. Wallace saw clearly enough the difference between thetheory of "natural selection" and that of Lamarck. He wrote:-

"The hypothesis of Lamarck--that progressive changes in species havebeen produced by the attempts of animals to increase the developmentof their own organs, and thus modify their structure and habits--hasbeen repeatedly and easily refuted by all writers on the subject ofvarieties and species, . . . But the view here developed tenders suchan hypothesis quite unnecessary. . . . The powerful retractiletalons of the falcon and the cat tribes have not been produced orincreased by the volition of those animals, neither did the giraffeacquire its long neck by desiring to reach the foliage of the morelofty shrubs, and constantly stretching its neck for this purpose, but because any varieties which occurred among its antitypes with alonger neck than usual AT ONCE SECURED A FRESH RANGE OF PASTURE OVERTHE SAME GROUND AS THEIR SHORTER-NECKED COMPANIONS, AND ON THE FIRSTSCARCITY OF FOOD WERE THEREBY ENABLED TO OUTLIVE THEM" (italics inoriginal). {182a}

This is absolutely the neo-Darwinian doctrine, and a denial of themainly fortuitous character of the variations in animal and vegetableforms cuts at its root. That Mr. Wallace, after years of reflection, still adhered to this view, is proved by his heading a reprint of theparagraph just quoted from {182b} with the words "Lamarck'shypothesis very different from that now advanced"; nor do any of hismore recent works show that he has modified his opinion. It shouldbe noted that Mr. Wallace does not call his work "Contributions tothe Theory of Evolution, " but to that of "Natural Selection. "

Mr. Darwin, with characteristic caution, only commits himself tosaying that Mr. Wallace has arrived at ALMOST (italics mine) the samegeneral conclusions as he, Mr. Darwin, has done; {182c} but he still, as in 1859, declares that it would be "a serious error to supposethat the greater number of instincts have been acquired by habit inone generation, and then transmitted by inheritance to succeedinggenerations, " {183a} and he still comprehensively condemns the "well-known doctrine of inherited habit, as advanced by Lamarck. " {183b}

As for the statement in the passage quoted from Mr. Wallace, to theeffect that Lamarck's hypothesis "has been repeatedly and easilyrefuted by all writers on the subject of varieties and species, " itis a very surprising one. I have searched Evolution literature invain for any refutation of the Erasmus Darwinian system (for this iswhat Lamarck's hypothesis really is) which need make the defenders ofthat system at all uneasy. The best attempt at an answer to ErasmusDarwin that has yet been made is "Paley's Natural Theology, " whichwas throughout obviously written to meet Buffon and the "Zoonomia. "It is the manner of theologians to say that such and such anobjection "has been refuted over and over again, " without at the sametime telling us when and where; it is to be regretted that Mr. Wallace has here taken a leaf out of the theologians' book. Hisstatement is one which will not pass muster with those whom publicopinion is sure in the end to follow. 

Did Mr. Herbert Spencer, for example, "repeatedly and easily refute"Lamarck's hypothesis in his brilliant article in the Leader, March20, 1852? On the contrary, that article is expressly directedagainst those "who cavalierly reject the hypothesis of Lamarck andhis followers. " This article was written six years before the wordslast quoted from Mr. Wallace; how absolutely, however, does the word"cavalierly" apply to them!

Does Isidore Geoffroy, again, bear Mr. Wallace's assertion outbetter? In 1859--that is to say, but a short time after Mr. Wallacehad written--he wrote as follows:-

"Such was the language which Lamarck heard during his protracted oldage, saddened alike by the weight of years and blindness; this waswhat people did not hesitate to utter over his grave yet barelyclosed, and what indeed they are still saying--commonly too withoutany knowledge of what Lamarck maintained, but merely repeating atsecondhand bad caricatures of his teaching. 

"When will the time come when we may see Lamarck's theory discussed--and, I may as well at once say, refuted in some important points{184a}--with at any rate the respect due to one of the mostillustrious masters of our science? And when will this theory, thehardihood of which has been greatly exaggerated, become freed fromthe interpretations and commentaries by the false light of which somany naturalists have formed their opinion concerning it? If itsauthor is to be condemned, let it be, at any rate, not before he hasbeen heard. " {184b}

In 1873 M. Martin published his edition of Lamarck's "PhilosophieZoologique. " He was still able to say, with, I believe, perfecttruth, that Lamarck's theory has "never yet had the honour of beingdiscussed seriously. " {184c}

Professor Huxley in his article on Evolution is no less cavalier thanMr. Wallace. He writes:- {184d}

"Lamarck introduced the conception of the action of an animal onitself as a factor in producing modification. "

[Lamarck did nothing of the kind. It was Buffon and Dr. Darwin whointroduced this, but more especially Dr. Darwin. ]

"But A LITTLE CONSIDERATION SHOWED" (italics mine) "that thoughLamarck had seized what, as far as it goes, is a true cause ofmodification, it is a cause the actual effects of which are whollyinadequate to account for any considerable modification in animals, and which can have no influence whatever in the vegetable world, &c. "

I should be very glad to come across some of the "littleconsideration" which will show this. I have searched for it far andwide, and have never been able to find it. 

I think Professor Huxley has been exercising some of his ineradicabletendency to try to make things clear in the article on Evolution, already so often quoted from. We find him (p. 750) pooh-poohingLamarck, yet on the next page he says, "How far 'natural selection'suffices for the production of species remains to be seen. " And thiswhen "natural selection" was already so nearly of age! Why, to thosewho know how to read between a philosopher's lines, the sentencecomes to very nearly the same as a declaration that the writer has nogreat opinion of "natural selection. " Professor Huxley continues, "Few can doubt that, if not the whole cause, it is a very importantfactor in that operation. " A philosopher's words should be weighedcarefully, and when Professor Huxley says "few can doubt, " we mustremember that he may be including himself among the few whom heconsiders to have the power of doubting on this matter. He does notsay "few will, " but "few can" doubt, as though it were only theenlightened who would have the power of doing so. Certainly"nature, "--for this is what "natural selection" comes to, --is ratheran important factor in the operation, but we do not gain much bybeing told so. If, however, Professor Huxley neither believes in theorigin of species, through sense of need on the part of animalsthemselves, nor yet in "natural selection, " we should be glad to knowwhat he does believe in. 

The battle is one of greater importance than appears at first sight. It is a battle between teleology and non-teleology, between thepurposiveness and the non-purposiveness of the organs in animal andvegetable bodies. According to Erasmus Darwin, Lamarck, and Paley, organs are purposive; according to Mr. Darwin and his followers, theyare not purposive. But the main arguments against the system of Dr. Erasmus Darwin are arguments which, so far as they have any weight, tell against evolution generally. Now that these have been disposedof, and the prejudice against evolution has been overcome, it will beseen that there is nothing to be said against the system of Dr. Darwin and Lamarck which does not tell with far greater force againstthat of Mr. Charles Darwin and Mr. Wallace. 

Footnotes:

{0a} This is the date on the title-page. The preface is datedOctober 15, 1886, and the first copy was issued in November of thesame year. All the dates are taken from the Bibliography by Mr. H. Festing Jones prefixed to the "Extracts" in the New Quarterly Review(1909). 

{0b} I. E. After p. 285: it bears no number of its own!

{0c} The distinction was merely implicit in his published writings, but has been printed since his death from his "Notebooks, " NewQuarterly Review, April, 1908. I had developed this thesis, withoutknowing of Butler's explicit anticipation in an article then in thepress: "Mechanism and Life, " Contemporary Review, May, 1908. 

{0d} The term has recently been revived by Prof. Hubrecht and bymyself (Contemporary Review, November 1908). 

{0e} See Fortnightly Review, February 1908, and Contemporary Review, September and November 1909. Since these publications the hypnosisseems to have somewhat weakened. 

{0f} A "hormone" is a chemical substance which, formed in one partof the body, alters the reactions of another part, normally for thegood of the organism. 

{0g} Mr. H. Festing Jones first directed my attention to thesepassages and their bearing on the Mutation Theory. 

{0i} He says in a note, "This general type of reaction was describedand illustrated in a different connection by Pfluger in 'Pfluger'sArchiv. F. D. Ges. Physiologie, ' Bd. XV. " The essay bears thesignificant title "Die teleologische Mechanik der lebendigen Natur, "and is a very remarkable one, as coming from an official physiologistin 1877, when the chemico-physical school was nearly at its zenith. 

{0j} "Contributions to the Study of the Lower Animals" (1904), "Modifiability in Behaviour" and "Method of Regulability in Behaviourand in other Fields, " in Journ. Experimental Zoology, vol. Ii. (1905). 

{0h} See "The Hereditary Transmission of Acquired Characters" inContemporary Review, September and November 1908, in which referencesare given to earlier statements. 

{0k} Semon's technical terms are exclusively taken from the Greek, but as experience tells that plain men in England have a specialdread of suchlike, I have substituted "imprint" for "engram, ""outcome" for "ecphoria"; for the latter term I had thought of"efference, " "manifestation, " etc. , but decided on what looked morehomely, and at the same time was quite distinctive enough to avoidthat confusion which Semon has dodged with his Graecisms. 

{0l} "Between the 'me' of to-day and the 'me' of yesterday lie nightand sleep, abysses of unconsciousness; nor is there any bridge butmemory with which to span them. "--Unconscious Memory, p. 71. 

{0m} Preface by Mr. Charles Darwin to "Erasmus Darwin. " The Museumhas copies of a Kosmos that was published 1857-60 and thendiscontinued; but this is clearly not the Kosmos referred to by Mr. Darwin, which began to appear in 1878. 

{0n} Preface to "Erasmus Darwin. "

{2} May 1880. 

{3} Kosmos, February 1879, Leipsic. 

{4} Origin of Species, ed. I. , p. 459. 

{8a} Origin of Species, ed. I. , p. 1. 

{8b} Kosmos, February 1879, p. 397. 

{8c} Erasmus Darwin, by Ernest Krause, pp. 132, 133. 

{9a} Origin of Species, ed. I. , p. 242. 

{9b} Ibid. , p. 427. 

{10a} Nineteenth Century, November 1878; Evolution, Old and New, pp. 360. 361. 

{10b} Encyclopaedia Britannica, ed. Ix. , art. "Evolution, " p. 748. 

{11} Ibid. 

{17} Encycl. Brit. , ed. Ix. , art. "Evolution, " p. 750. 

{23a} Origin of Species, 6th ed. , 1876, p. 206. 

{23b} Ibid. , p. 233. 

{24a} Origin of Species, 6th ed. , p. 171, 1876. 

{24b} Pp. 258-260. 

{26} Zoonomia, vol. I. P. 484; Evolution, Old and New, p. 214. 

{27} "Erasmus Darwin, " by Ernest Krause, p. 211, London, 1879. 

{28a} See "Evolution, Old and New, " p. 91, and Buffon, tom. Iv. P. 383, ed. 1753. 

{28b} Evolution, Old and New, p. 104. 

{29a} Encycl. Brit. , 9th ed. , art. "Evolution, " p. 748. 

{29b} Palingenesie Philosophique, part x. Chap. Ii. (quoted fromProfessor Huxley's article on "Evolution, " Encycl. Brit. , 9th ed. , p. 745). 

{31} The note began thus: "I have taken the date of the firstpublication of Lamarck from Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire's (Hist. Nat. Generale tom. Ii. P. 405, 1859) excellent history of opinionupon this subject. In this work a full account is given of Buffon'sfluctuating conclusions upon the same subject. "--Origin of Species, 3d ed. , 1861, p. Xiv. 

{33a} Life of Erasmus Darwin, pp. 84, 85. 

{33b} See Life and Habit, p. 264 and pp. 276, 277. 

{33c} See Evolution, Old and New, pp. 159-165. 

{33d} Ibid. , p. 122. 

{34} See Evolution, Old and New, pp. 247, 248. 

{35a} Vestiges of Creation, ed. 1860, "Proofs, Illustrations, &c. , "p. Lxiv. 

{35b} The first announcement was in the Examiner, February 22, 1879. 

{36} Saturday Review, May 31, 1879. 

{37a} May 26, 1879. 

{37b} May 31, 1879. 

{37c} July 26, 1879. 

{37d} July 1879. 

{37e} July 1879. 

{37f} July 29, 1879. 

{37g} January 1880. 

{39} How far Kosmos was "a well-known" journal, I cannot determine. It had just entered upon its second year. 

{41} Evolution, Old and New, p. 120, line 5. 

{43} Kosmos, February 1879, p. 397. 

{44a} Kosmos, February 1879, p. 404. 

{44b} Page 39 of this volume. 

{50} See Appendix A. 

{52} Since published as "God the Known and God the Unknown. "Fifield, 1s. 6d. Net. 1909. 

{54a} "Contemplation of Nature, " Engl. Trans. , Lond. 1776. Preface, p. Xxxvi. 

{54b} Ibid. , p. Xxxviii. 

{55} Life and Habit, p. 97. 

{56} "The Unity of the Organic Individual, " by Edward Montgomery, Mind, October 1880, p. 466. 

{58} Life and Habit, p. 237. 

{59a} Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy. Lardner's Cab. Cyclo. , vol. Xcix. P. 24. 

{59b} Young's Lectures on Natural Philosophy, ii. 627. See alsoPhil. Trans. , 1801-2. 

{63} The lecture is published by Karl Gerold's Sohn, Vienna. 

{69} See quotation from Bonnet, p. 54 of this volume. 

{70} Professor Hering is not clear here. Vibrations (if Iunderstand his theory rightly) should not be set up by faint stimulifrom within. Whence and what are these stimuli? The vibrationswithin are already existing, and it is they which are the stimuli toaction. On having been once set up, they either continue insufficient force to maintain action, or they die down, and become tooweak to cause further action, and perhaps even to be perceived withinthe mind, until they receive an accession of vibration from without. The only "stimulus from within" that should be able to generateaction is that which may follow when a vibration already establishedin the body runs into another similar vibration already soestablished. On this consciousness, and even action, might besupposed to follow without the presence of an external stimulus. 

{71} This expression seems hardly applicable to the overtaking of aninternal by an external vibration, but it is not inconsistent withit. Here, however, as frequently elsewhere, I doubt how farProfessor Hering has fully realised his conception, beyond being, like myself, convinced that the phenomena of memory and of heredityhave a common source. 

{72} See quotation from Bonnet, p. 54 of this volume. By"preserving the memory of habitual actions" Professor Hering probablymeans, retains for a long while and repeats motion of a certaincharacter when such motion has been once communicated to it. 

{74a} It should not be "if the central nerve system were not able toreproduce whole series of vibrations, " but "if whole series ofvibrations do not persist though unperceived, " if Professor Heringintends what I suppose him to intend. 

{74b} Memory was in full operation for so long a time beforeanything like what we call a nervous system can be detected, thatProfessor Hering must not be supposed to be intending to confinememory to a motor nerve system. His words do not even imply that hedoes, but it is as well to be on one's guard. 

{77} It is from such passages as this, and those that follow on thenext few pages, that I collect the impression of Professor Hering'smeaning which I have endeavoured to convey in the preceding chapter. 

{78} That is to say, "an infinitely small change in the kind ofvibration communicated from the parent to the germ. "

{79} It may be asked what is meant by responding. I may repeat thatI understand Professor Hering to mean that there exists in theoffspring certain vibrations, which are many of them too faint toupset equilibrium and thus generate action, until they receive anaccession of force from without by the running into them ofvibrations of similar characteristics to their own, which lastvibrations have been set up by exterior objects. On this they becomestrong enough to generate that corporeal earthquake which we callaction. 

This may be true or not, but it is at any rate intelligible; whereasmuch that is written about "fraying channels" raises no definiteideas in the mind. 

{80a} I interpret this, "We cannot wonder if often-repeatedvibrations gather strength, and become at once more lasting andrequiring less accession of vibration from without, in order tobecome strong enough to generate action. "

{80b} "Characteristics" must, I imagine, according to ProfessorHering, resolve themselves ultimately into "vibrations, " for thecharacteristics depend upon the character of the vibrations. 

{81} Professor Hartog tells me that this probably refers to FritzMuller's formulation of the "recapitulation process" in "Facts forDarwin, " English edition (1869), p. 114. --R. A. S. 

{82} This is the passage which makes me suppose Professor Hering tomean that vibrations from exterior objects run into vibrationsalready existing within the living body, and that the accession topower thus derived is his key to an explanation of the physical basisof action. 

{84} I interpret this: "There are fewer vibrations persistentwithin the bodies of the lower animals; those that there are, therefore, are stronger and more capable of generating action orupsetting the status in quo. Hence also they require less accessionof vibration from without. Man is agitated by more and more variedvibrations; these, interfering, as to some extent they must, with oneanother, are weaker, and therefore require more accession fromwithout before they can set the mechanical adjustments of the body inmotion. "

{89} I am obliged to Mr. Sully for this excellent translation of"Hellsehen. "

{90a} Westminster Review, New Series, vol. Xlix. P. 143. 

{90b} Ibid. , p. 145. 

{90c} Ibid. , p. 151. 

{92a} "Instinct ist zweckmassiges Handeln ohne Bewusstsein desZwecks. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , Berlin, 1871, p. 70. 

{92b} "1. Eine blosse Folge der korperlichen Organisation. 

"2. Ein von der Natur eingerichteter Gehirn-oder Geistesmechanismus. 

"3. Eine Folge unbewusster Geistesthiitigkeit. "--Philosophy of theUnconscious, 3d ed. , p. 70. 

{97} "Hiermit ist der Annahme das Urtheil gesprochen, welche dieunbewusste Vorstellung des Zwecks in jedem einzelnen Falle vorwiegt;denn wollte man nun noch die Vorstellung des Geistesmechanismusfesthalten so musste fur jede Variation und Modification desInstincts, nach den ausseren Umstanden, eine besondere constanteVorrichtung . . . Eingefugt sein. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious 3ded. , p. 74. 

{99} "Indessen glaube ich, dass die angefuhrten Beispiele zur Genugebeweisen, dass es auch viele Falle giebt, wo ohne jede Complicationmit der bewussten Ueberlegung die gewohnliche und aussergewohnlicheHandlung aus derselben Quelle stammen, dass sie entweder beidewirklicher Instinct, oder beide Resultate bewusster Ueberlegungsind. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 76. 

{100} "Dagegen haben wir nunmehr unseren Blick noch einmal scharferauf den Begriff eines psychischen Mechanismus zu richten, und dazeigt sich, dass derselbe, abgesehen davon, wie viel er erklart, sodunke list, dass man sich kaum etwas dabei denken kann. "--Philosophyof the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 76. 

{101} "Das Endglied tritt als bewusster Wille zu irgend einerHandlung auf; beide sind aber ganz ungleichartig und haben mit dergewohnlichen Motivation nichts zu thun, welche ausschliesslich darinbesteht, dass die Vorstellung einer Lust oder einer Unlust dasBegehren erzeugr, erstere zu erlangen, letztere sich fern zuhalten. "--Ibid. , p. 76. 

{102a} "Diese causale Verbindung fallt erfahrungsmassig, wie wir vonunsern menschlichen Instincten wissen, nicht in's Bewussisein;folglich kann dieselbe, wenn sie ein Mechanismus sein soll, nurentweder ein nicht in's Bewusstsein fallende mechanische Leitung undUmwandlung der Schwingungen des vorgestellten Motivs in dieSchwingungen der gewollten Handlung im Gehirn, oder ein unbewusstergeistiger Mechanismus sein. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious 3d ed. , p. 77. 

{102b} "Man hat sich also zwischen dem bewussten Motiv, und demWillen zur Insticthandlung eine causale Verbindung durch unbewusstesVorstellen und Wollen zu denken, und ich weiss nicht, wie dieseVerbindung einfacher gedacht werden konnte, als durch denvorgestellten und gewollten Zweck. Damit sind wir aber bei dem allenGeistern eigenthumlichen und immanenten Mechanismus der Logikangelangt, und haben die unbewusster Zweckvorstellung bei jedereinzelnen Instincthandlung als unentbehrliches Glied gefunden;hiermit hat also der Begrift des todten, ausserlich pradestinirtenGeistesmechanismus sich selbst aufgehoben und in das immanenteGeistesleben der Logik umgewandelt, und wir sind bei der letztenMoglichkeit angekommen, welche fur die Auffassung eines wirklichenInstincts ubrig bleibt: der Instinct ist bewusstes Wollen desMittels zu einem unbewusst gewollten Zweck. "--Philosophy of theUnconscious, 3d ed. , p. 78. 

{105a} "Also der Instinct ohne Hulfsmechanismus die Ursache derEntstehung des Hulfsmechanismus ist. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 79. 

{105b} "Dass auch der fertige Hulfsmechanismus das Unbewusste nichtetwa zu dieser bestimmten Instincthandlung necessirt, sondern blossepradisponirt. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 79. 

{105c} "Giebt es einen wirklichen Instinct, oder sind diesogenannten Instincthandlungen nur Resultate bewusster Ueberlegung?"--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 79. 

{111} "Dieser Beweis ist dadurch zu fuhren; erstens dass diebetreffenden Thatsachen in; der Zukunft liegen, und dem Verstande dieAnhaltepunkte fehlen, um ihr zukunftiges Eintreten aus dengegenwartigen Verhaltnissen zu erschliessen; zweitens, dass diebetreffenden Thatsachen augenscheinlich der sinnlichen Wahrnehmungverschlossen liegen, weil nur die Erfahrung fruherer Falle uber siebelehren kann, und diese laut der Beobachtung ausgeschlossen ist. Eswurde fur unsere Interessen keinen Unterschied machen, wenn, was ichwahrscheinlich halte, bei fortschreitender physiologischerErkenntniss alle jetzt fur den ersten Fall anzufuhrenden Beispielesich als solche des zweiten Falls ausweisen sollten, wie diesunleugbar bei vielen fruher gebrauchten Beispielen schon geschehenist; denn ein apriorisches Wissen ohne jeden sinnlichen Anstoss istwohl kaum wunderbarer zu nennen, als ein Wissen, welches zwar BEIGELEGENHEIT gewisser sinnlicher Wahrnehmung zu Tage tritt, aber mitdiesen nur durch eine solche Kette von Schlussen und angewandtenKenntnissen in Verbindung stehend gedacht werden konnte, dass derenMoglichkeit bei dem Zustande der Fahigkeiten und Bildung derbetreffenden Thiere entschieden geleugnet werden muss. "--Philosophyof the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 85. 

{113} "Man hat dieselbe jederzeit anerkannt und mit den WortenVorgefuhl oder Ahnung bezeichnet; indess beziehen sich diese Worteeinerseits nur auf zukunftiges, nicht auf gegenwartiges, raumlichgetrenntes Unwahmehrnbares, anderseits bezeichnen sie nur die leise, dumpfe, unbestimmte Resonanz des Bewusstseins mit dem unfehlbarbestimmten Zustande der unbewussten Erkenntniss. Daher das WortVorgefuhl in Rucksicht auf die Dumpfheit und Unbestimmtheit, wahrenddoch leicht zu sehen ist, dass das von allen, auch den unbewusstenVorstellungen entblosste Gefuhl fur das Resultat gar keinen Einflusshaben kann, sondern nur eine Vorstellung, weil diese alleinErkenntniss enthalt. Die in Bewusstsein mitklingende Ahnung kannallerdings unter Umstanden ziemlich deutlich sein, so dass sie sichbeim Menschen in Gedanken und Wort fixiren lasst; doch ist dies auchim Menschen erfahrungsmassig bei den eigenthumlichen Instincten nichtder Fall, vielmehr ist bei diesen die Resonanz der unbewusstenErkenntniss im Bewusstsein meistens so schwach, dass sie sichwirklich nur in begleitenden Gefuhlen oder der Stimmung aussert, dasssie einen unendlich kleinen Bruchtheil des Gemeingefuhls bildet. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 86. 

{115a} "In der Bestimmung des Willens durch einen im Unbewusstenliegenden Process . . . Fur welchen sich dieser Character derzweifellosen Selbstgewissheit in allen folgenden Untersuchungenbewahren wird. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, p. 87. 

{115b} "Sondern als unmittelbarer Besitz vorgefunden wird. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, p. 87. 

{115c} "Hellsehen. "

{119a} "Das Hellsehon des Unbewussten hat sie den rechten Weg ahnenlassen. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, p. 90, 3d ed. , 1871. 

{119b} "Man wird doch wahrlich nicht den Thieren zumuthen wollen, durch meteorologische Schlusse das Wetter auf Monate im Voraus zuberechnen, ja sogar Ueberschwemmungen vorauszusehen. Vielmehr isteine solche Gefuhlswahrnehmung gegenwartiger atmospharischerEinflusse nichts weiter als die sinnliche Wahrnehmung, welche alsMotiv wirkt, und ein Motiv muss ja doch immer vorhanden sein, wennein Instinct functioniren soll. Es bleibt also trotzdem bestehendass das Voraussehen der Witterung ein unbewusstes Hellsehen ist, vondem der Storch, der vier Wochen fruher nach Suden aufbricht, so wenigetwas weiss, als der Hirsch, der sich vor einem kalten Winter einendickeren Pelz als gewohnlich wachsen lasst. Die Thiere haben ebeneinerseits das gegenwartige Witterungsgefuhl im Bewusstsein, darausfolgt andererseits ihr Handeln gerade so, als ob sie die Vorstellungder zukunftigen Witterung hatten; im Bewusstsein haben sie dieselbeaber nicht, also bietet sich als einzig naturliches Mittelglied dieunbewusste Vorstellung, die nun aber immer ein Hellsehen ist, weilsie etwas enthalt, was dem Thier weder dutch sinnliche Wahrnehmungdirect gegeben ist, noch durch seine Verstandesmittel aus derWahrnehmung geschlossen werden kann. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, p. 91, 3d ed. , 1871. 

{124} "Meistentheils tritt aber hier der hoheren Bewusstseinstufeder Menschen entsprechend eine starkete Resonanz des Bewusstseins mitdem bewussten Hellsehen hervor, die sich also mehr odor minderdeutliche Ahnung darstellt. Ausserdem entspricht es der grosserenSelbststandigkeit des menschlichen Intellects, dass diese Ahnungnicht ausschliesslich Behufs der unmittelbaren Ausfuhrung einerHandlung eintritt, sondern bisweilen auch unabangig von der Bedingungeiner momentan zu leistenden That als blosse Vorstellung ohnebewussten Willen sich zeigte, wenn nur die Bedingung erfullt ist, dass der Gegenstand dieses Ahnens den Willen des Ahnenden imAllgemeinen in hohem Grade interessirt. "--Philosophy of theUnconscious, 3d ed. , p. 94. 

{126} "Haufig sind die Ahnungen, in denen das Hellsehen desUnbewussten sich dem Bewusstsein offenbart, dunkel, unverstandlichund symbolisch, weil sie im Gehirn sinnliche Form annehmen mussen, wahrend die unbewusste Vorstellung an der Form der Sinnlichkeit keinTheil haben kann. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 96. 

{128} "Ebenso weil es diese Reihe nur in gesteigerterBewusstseinresonanz fortsetzt, stutzt es jene Aussagen derInstincthandlungen uher ihr eigenes Wesen ebenso sehr, " &c. --Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 97. 

{129} "Wir werden trotzdem diese gomeinsame Wirkung einesMasseninstincts in der Entstehung der Sprache und den grossenpolitischen und socialen Bewegungen in der Woltgeschichte deutlichwieder erkennen; hier handelt es sich um moglichst einfache unddeutliche Beispiele, und darum greifen wir zu niederen Thieren, wodie Mittel der Gedankenmittheilung bei fehlender Stimme, Mimik undPhysiognomie so unvollkommen sind, dass die Uebereinstimmung und dasIneinandergreifen der einzelnen Leistungen in den Hauptsachenunmoglich der bewussten Verstandigung durch Sprache zugeschriebenwerden darf. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 98. 

{131a} "Und wie durch Instinct dot Plan des ganzen Stocks inunbewusstem Hellsehen jeder einzelnen Biene einwohnt. "--Philosophy ofthe Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 99. 

{131b} "Indem jedes Individuum den Plan des Ganzen und Sammtlichegegenwartig zu ergreifende Mittel im unbewussten Hellsehen hat, wovonaber nut das Eine, was ihm zu thun obliegt, in sein Bewusstseinfallt. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 99. 

{132} "Der Instinct ist nicht Resultat bewusster Ueberlegung, nichtFolge der korperlichen Organisation, nicht blosses Resultat eines inder Organisation des Gehirns gelegenen Mechanismus, nicht Wirkungeines dem Geiste von aussen angeklebten todten, seinem innerstenWesen fremden Mechanismus, sondern selbsteigene Leistung desIndividuum aus seinem innersten Wesen und Character entspringend. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 100. 

{133} "Haufig ist die Kenntniss des Zwecks der bewussten Erkenntnissdurch sinnliche Wahrnehmung gar nicht zuganglich; dann documentirtsich die Eigenthumlichkeit des Unbewussten im Hellsehen, von welchemdas Bewusstsein theils nar eine verschwindend dumpfe, theils auchnamentlich beim Menschen mehr oder minder deutliche Resonanz alsAhnung versputt. "--Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 100. 

{135} "Und eine so damonische Gewalt sollte durch etwas ausgeubtwerden konnon, was als ein dem inneren Wesen fremder Mechanismus demGeiste aufgepfropft ist, oder gar durch eine bewusste Ueberlegung, welche doch stets nur im kahlen Egoismus stecken bleibt, " &c. --Philosophy of the Unconscious, 3d ed. , p. 101. 

{139a} Page 100 of this vol. 

{139b} Pp. 106, 107 of this vol. 

{140} Page 100 of this vol. 

{141} Page 99 of this vol. 

{144a} See page 115 of this volume. 

{144b} Page 104 of this vol. 

{146} The Spirit of Nature. J. A. Churchill & Co. , 1880, p. 39. 

{149} I have put these words into the mouth of my supposed objector, and shall put others like them, because they are characteristic; butnothing can become so well known as to escape being an inference. 

{153} Erewhon, chap. Xxiii. 

{160} It must be remembered that this passage is put as if in themouth of an objector. 

{177a} "The Unity of the Organic Individual, " by Edward Montgomery. Mind, October 1880, p. 477. 

{177b} Ibid. , p. 483. 

{179a} Professor Huxley, Encycl. Brit. , 9th ed. , art. Evolution, p. 750. 

{179b} "Hume, " by Professor Huxley, p. 45. 

{180} "The Philosophy of Crayfishes, " by the Right Rev. The LordBishop of Carlisle. Nineteenth Century for October 1880, p. 636. 

{181a} Les Amours des Plantes, p. 360. Paris, 1800. 

{181b} Philosophie Zoologique, tom. I. P. 231. Ed. M. Martin. Paris, 1873. 

{182a} Journal of the Proceedings of the Linnean Society. Williams& Norgate, 1858, p. 61. 

{182b} Contributions to the Theory of Natural Selection, 2d ed. , 1871, p. 41. 

{182c} Origin of Species, p. 1, ed. 1872. 

{183a} Origin of Species, 6th ed. , p. 206. I ought in fairness toMr. Darwin to say that he does not hold the error to be quite asserious as he once did. It is now "a serious error" only; in 1859 itwas "the most serious error. "--Origin of Species, 1st ed. , p. 209. 

{183b} Origin of Species, 1st ed. , p. 242; 6th ed. , p. 233. 

{184a} I never could find what these particular points were. 

{184b} Isidore Geoffroy, Hist. Nat. Gen. , tom. Ii. P. 407, 1859. 

{184c} M. Martin's edition of the "Philosophie Zoologique" (Paris, 1873), Introduction, p. Vi. 

{184d} Encyclopaedia Britannica, 9th ed. , p. 750.