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whole process of nature, upon the evolutionist doctrine, implies a
correlation between the painful and the pernicious, and thus the
elaboration of types in which this problem is solved by an ever-
increasing efficiency and complexity of organization. Hence we may
infer that the typical or ideal character, at any given stage of
development, the organization which, as we may say, represents the
true line of advance, corresponds to a maximum of vitality. It seems,
again, that this typical form, as the healthiest, must represent not
only the strongest type—that is, the type most capable of resisting
unfavorable influences—but also the happiest type; for every
deviation from it affords a strong presumption, not merely of liability
to the destructive processes which are distinctly morbid, but also to
a diminished efficiency under normal conditions. However, the typical
man, though he is, on this theory, the virtuous man, is also much
more than is generally understood by that name. Happiness is the
reward offered, not for virtue alone, but for conformity to the law of
nature, "Be strong." Beauty, strength, intellectual vigor, æsthetic
sensibility, prudence, industry, and so forth, are all implied in the
best type, and are, so far, conducive to happiness. If virtue be taken
in the narrower sense as implying chiefly the negative quality of
habitual abstinence from forbidden actions, there is no reason to
suppose that it coincides with happiness. You can raise a
presumption that moral excellence coincides closely with a happy
nature only when you extend "moral" to include all admirable
qualities. It is chiefly practical reasons which cause an attempted
evasion of this conclusion; the practical moralist holds that the non-
social qualities may be left to take care of themselves, but that
stress must be laid upon the social qualities as the more important,
in order to obtain them in society.
Sympathetic motives may lead to self-sacrifice; but this is also true
of selfish motives; gin is a more potent source of imprudence, even
in a moderate sense, than family affection; and the sympathetic
motives have on their side the far greater intrinsic advantage, that
they promote ends more permanent, far richer in interest, and giving
a proper employment to all the faculties of our nature, besides the
intrinsic advantages that spring from friendly relations with the
society of which we form a part. It is, however, true that higher
activity of any sort may cause pain in an uncongenial medium, and
that, hence, the man who is morally in advance of his age may
suffer through his morality; every reformer who breaks with the
world, though for the world's good, must expect much pain. "Be
good if you would be happy," seems to be the verdict even of
worldly prudence; but it adds in an emphatic aside, "Be not too
good." We must acknowledge that excessive virtue cannot be
recommended to the selfish person upon grounds intelligible to him.
There is, however, a general advantage in possessing more varied
possibilities of enjoyment, and in being on the side of the strongest
forces, those of progress.
Extreme self-sacrifice is sometimes demanded of a man by his moral
principles. Is the sacrifice worth making? Would Regulus have
suffered, from remorse, pain worse than death, had he chosen life at
the cost of honor, or would he have found, as many do, that remorse
is amongst the passions most easily lived down? To these questions
can only be answered that morality must often involve pain, but that
the virtuous man nevertheless chooses it.
We must thus conclude, leaving one great difficulty unsolved; and
this is because this difficulty is intrinsically insoluble; there is no
absolute coincidence between virtue and happiness. The scientific
moralist has to do with facts; beyond these he cannot go. From the
scientific point of view, we may hold that evolution implies progress,
and that progress implies a solution of many discords and an
extirpation of many evils; but there is no reason for supposing that
all evil will be extirpated and perfect harmony attained. New
sensibilities bring with them new dangers; even sympathy, when not
guided by knowledge, may lead to rash changes productive of evil as
well as good. To improve, whether for the race or the individual,
whether in knowledge or in sympathy, is to be put in a position
where a new set of experiments has to be tried, and experience to
be bought at the price of pain.
It is true that beyond the science lies the art; we must incite the
intrinsic motives to good through the pressure of the social factor. A
certain disadvantage to the individual cannot form a reason for our
not endeavoring to make him moral as far as possible; the good of
society as a whole is involved; and even the man who is himself
immoral sees the advantage of living in a moral medium, and would
prefer that the world at large should not be guided by his own
principles.
 B. CARNERI
Carneri begins his book on "Morality and Darwinism" ("Sittlichkeit
und Darwinismus," 1871), with the rejection of the older Spiritualism
in favor of Idealism, on the ground that modern investigation has
made it impossible for philosophy to assume any foundation but one
sanctioned by science; and with a rejection of dualism in favor of
monism, on the ground that the investigations of Wundt and others
have shown the psychical and the physical to be identical.
Instinct is defined by Carneri as thought upon the standpoint of
mere sensation, but following the laws of the same logic as governs
conscious thought. There is, thus, according to his view, no
exception to be taken to the conception which represents instinct as
the action of mental force, the difference between it and human
reason as one of degree only. It is nevertheless a confusion which
ascribes reason to the animals. Even their intelligence is one-sided,
since it does not reach self-consciousness, and it is not to be
regarded as an unqualified improvement upon instinct, since the
latter loses both in intensity and in certainty of action when it no
longer governs undisturbed by other influences: only such animals
as are endowed with intelligence ever eat of injurious food. In
human beings instinct has almost disappeared;—almost, we say,
since savages do many things in an instinctive manner, and even
civilized men at times perform acts which, on account of the
exceeding rapidity of their execution, cannot be regarded as the
results of reflection. Instinct may be compared to polarity in
magnetism, according to which opposites are attracted. Instinct was
evolved by natural selection. But intelligence and judgment are
doubtless also to be found even far down in the scale of species.
The brute consciousness is, nevertheless, only a transition-stage, in
which the individual is still lost in the species; and, as such, it is not
to be confused with human reason. Consciousness in the brutes is
purely subjective, a consciousness "für sich"; while in human beings
it is consciousness "an und für sich," consciousness that becomes
subject-object through the concepts developed by language.
Man is as unconditionally subject to the law of causality, psychically
and physically, as the merest atom. There is no such thing as
chance; but in this very fact lies a consolation. In the concept of
individualization in its broadest sense, is included the conception of
freedom, and in the very nature of man there is an indestructible
impulse to freedom; his being, as self-conscious, is identical with the
latter impulse. This increases with increasing civilization, and has
finally become the problem by the solution of which alone man can
attain to self-satisfaction. It is true that the power of choice is
inconsistent with the law of causality; but in the manner in which the
man, as a thinking being, takes his stand over against the species,
he becomes a person, an individuality. As one of the species, he
shares the characteristics of the species, is an expression of the
species-idea, and his action is determined outwardly by things; but it
is so determined only mediately by means of thought, of concepts;
these are the immediate determinants. Hence, man's relation to
things is a different one according to the grade of his knowledge. In
so far as this is adequate, that is, corresponds to the truth of
actuality, his relation is an active one; in so far as it is, on the
contrary, inadequate, the relation is a passive one.
Character is inborn and can never be effaced but only clarified,
though this least through the bitter experience of the results of
action. As the horse loses his sure-footedness after one fall, and falls
again more easily, so we lose, through many a deed, the motive
furnished by the consciousness of never having committed it, and
have a greater tendency to repeat it. If an act has bad results, it is
more likely that an attempt to avoid these results by cunning will be
made at later opportunities for the act, than that the act itself will be
avoided. And even if it were to be avoided, such avoidance would
not constitute an improvement of the character; the latter would but
hide itself under a mask to reappear at the first prospect of
exemption from punishment. That which alone can modify character
is a considerable extension of knowledge. For, since all things
influence us only in proportion to the worth we attribute to them,
their power over us must differ according to the correctness or
incorrectness of our judgment. Therefore, the more we regard things
in the light of their actual worth and hence also in their relations to
each other, the more our character, beholding in these relations the
general as the true, will incline to avoid extremes in action. A
preponderantly sensual character remains such through life; but
there is no doubt that a careful education, which makes it
acquainted with nobler principles and develops a sensibility to true
beauty, may ennoble it; while, if the education is, on the contrary,
neglected, it must sink deeper and deeper into the mire of
coarseness and vulgarity.
Character is the sum of its "affections," that is, of all states and
motions of the disposition. These are divisible into "passions,"—
included under selfishness, which is the general, all-embracing
passion,—and the active conditions of existence. These two divisions
are also identical with pain and pleasure, passion with pain, and
activity with pleasure. All desires have their root in the primary
instinct of self-preservation and self-propagation, the instinct of self-
propagation being only the racial form of the instinct of self-
preservation. The instinct of self-propagation is the highest of all the
passions, yet, as Spinoza says, every form of love which recognizes
another cause than mental freedom is easily turned to hate,—if it is
not already a sort of madness, nourished rather by discord than
concord. The various forms of family love, the love of country, and
friendship, noble sisters of love in the narrower sense, result in
desirable activity only as they exist in the form of concepts.
Civilization is nothing but the struggle of inadequate and adequate
concepts, in which, as in the struggle for existence in nature, only
that is triumphant which, instead of assuming a position of
separation, makes the general and the conditions of existence its
own; so that charity in the widest sense of the term is, of all
humane feelings, that to which the palm has been given. In this
feeling, the dialectic movement of the concept "man" is completed
and perfected, the single man, instead of perishing in the struggle of
all against all, first working his way upward out of his species and
then taking up, in his own being, the whole of mankind through the
medium of benevolence. By this evolution he raises himself to the
level of the general. Far higher than that confused sympathy which,
in lending temporary aid to one, brings lasting harm to many, is this
adequate concept; true benevolence is founded upon the clearest
reasoning, and is the activity of the mind's fullest power. The discord
which self-consciousness has caused in man can be done away with
only by the greatest possible clarification of self-consciousness: man
returns mentally to the bosom of the universal, when every living
thing causes him to exclaim in the words of the Indian philosopher:
"Behold thyself."
Ethics ranks higher than morals, the latter merely comprising a
collection of particular rules of conduct which, as particular, bear the
stamp of the individual, the non-universal. The details of morality
change according to epochs and peoples. This change has been
regarded as an argument that there is no absolute but only relative
good. But the concept of the Good is, like the concept of the
Beautiful, the fruit of education; that is, it is the product of mind,
which, through its own evolution, arrives at Knowledge. When we do
away with all concessions to one-sided, extravagant desires, abstain
from placing mind above the universal law of causality, and are
content with the facts made known to us by science, we perceive
that the absolute True, Beautiful, and Good, bears the character of
the Universal. In this universal character it has always finally found
expression in human life, and in this character it will always find
expression. The idea which reaches perfect expression in the
dialectic movement of these three concepts, the True, the Beautiful,
and the Good, has come into existence by the mediation of the self-
individualizing self-consciousness, just as the evolution on the earth,
which reaches its completion in man, is the outcome of the first
chemical process. Not only have the two one law,—(mind is only in
so far realized[65] as nature is expressed through it, and the actuality
of nature is its expression in mind) but both are, in fact, one, the
succession in their development on the earth being a succession only
in relation to the earth, and for us in this respect. Although to our
notion of time, thousands of millions of years lie between the two,
their separation does not represent a second for the universe and its
eternity, for the comprehension of which it must be disregarded.
The good man is he who does good for its own sake, without effort,
not out of momentary caprice, but out of perfect knowledge and
conviction. He is free, since he acts out of his own character, the law
of nature appearing as the law of his own mind; freedom lies in the
absence of discord and strife in the mind. The good man has
strength of soul, just as the man who lifts a weight without effort,
not he who lifts it only with the greatest effort, possesses strength
of body.
There is no absolute Evil in contrast to the absolute Good. Evil is
negative. The perfection of man is identical with the attainment of
absolute Good through evolution.
Morality knows nothing of either reward or punishment; for it there
are only causes and effects. This truth, on which morality is based,
lends to the freedom out of which its activity proceeds a deeper
worth. The eternal laws of mind point the way by which mankind
has to proceed; it is the same way by which man has become man
and by which he must proceed, even if he did not will to advance
thus. In the struggle for existence, which knows only victory or
destruction, progress is a necessity of nature, but it is less painful
and more rapid the more clearly these laws come to be perceived by
consciousness. Yet, however clear they may be, it is only by a
tireless endeavor which shrinks from no sacrifice, that progress takes
place. The end which morality has in view is distant, for it is high;
but only with its attainment will mankind fully deserve its name
when "struggle has been transformed to labor, when no insignia are
recognized but those of right, no weapon used but intelligence, no
banner raised but that of civilization."
In the volume, "Man the 'End' of Man" ("Der Mensch als
Selbstzweck," 1877), "a positive criticism of Hartmann's Philosophy
of the Unconscious," Carneri defines instinct as no form of real
thought, nothing dependent upon perception, but merely an
inherited, mechanical dexterity dependent upon sensation. For the
assumption that thought is the source of instinct must lead us
naturally, on account of the existence of the latter where the
centralizing organ of thought is absent, to the theory that thought is
universal in nature; that is, we shall arrive at a theory of atom-souls.
It is evident here that not Carneri's definition of instinct so much as
his conception of thought is changed from the one adopted in
"Sittlichkeit und Darwinismus," thought being now limited, as it was
not in the former book, to self-conscious mental activity, assumed to
be dependent upon nervous centralization in the brain. In this book
also, the author defines the idea as something having mental
existence, though not, he says, in any metaphysical sense. His
idealism is not of such sort that he recognizes any other way to the
attainment of ideas than that of science; and to him "the service of
the materialist who gives us information concerning the function of
the smallest nerve-fibres is of more worth than that of the idealist
who originates a whole philosophical system." The work of
philosophy lies in the rejection of all that is contrary to science, and
the clarification of ideals.
The will may be defined, not as a definite, separate power, but as
the self-conscious impulse to action resulting from excitation. Any
other definition is inconsistent with the theory of evolution,
according to which that individuation which is the first condition of
the struggle for existence, is nevertheless but the expression of all
previously existing oppositions. To make of the will or of the impulse
to self-preservation anything separate and individual, is as childish as
to personify death. The individual is totality as unity. Darwinism
teaches us, not that the world together with man has been created
according to any teleological principle, but that it has developed by
virtue of motion. The human being moves by virtue of reciprocal
action and reaction with the world. Yet only by virtue of his unity as
feeling does he think and will. Individuality is that which stamps all
our activity with the mark of the ego, which causes us to recognize
every impulse that moves in us as our impulse, to call all our willing
ours. The psychical, the summation of functions to which we give
this name, reaches consummation in the clarification of feeling to
consciousness, in which the desire of an action or of abstinence from
an action appears to us as our will. As thought is based on
perception, so will is based on impulse; and since thought and will
appear as the two highest opposites of feeling, and this, according
to our definition, springs from sensation by way of perception, the
will, including action and abstinence from action, arises out of the
general sensitivity. The progress of science authorizes the
expectation that the close relation of sensitivity to simple reaction
will one day be discovered.
The conceptions of teleology are groundless. The so-called "ends" of
nature have the peculiarity that they are according to the means. It
does not rain in order that there may be vegetation, but vegetation
exists because it is conditioned by the rain. Only with thinking man,
in his struggle for existence, arises the concept of ends; man has not
attained to civilization by help of a friend; rather has he wrung
civilization from nature as an enemy; compelled by it to the exertion
of his whole strength, and growing in cunning by exercise, he has
learned to use the weaknesses of his foe to his own advantage. To
want he owes the greatest things that he has accomplished. By way
of labor alone can victory over nature be achieved and salvation
won.
The standpoint of faith is childlike. Faith does not reason, and may
not do so if it wishes to remain faith. The child can comprehend
nature and man's relation to it only by the language of faith, and
there are large classes of people who, for a long time, will be
accessible to no other language but this. But faith must decrease in
the same ratio as mankind outgrows intellectual childhood. In the
same measure, the worth of the philosophical solution of certain
problems must increase; and among the most important of these
problems must be reckoned that of bridging the chasm between the
individual and the world, which has grown wider with the awakening
of consciousness. It lies in the nature of self-conscious thought to
reach out beyond itself, just as it lies in the nature of sense-
perception to regard this "beyond" as the world to come. Hence the
endless longing which seeks the ruler of the world to come, and
despairs without him; until the supposed right to a future life is
perceived to be the right to the Only Whole, and an end is set in the
attainment of this whole. For the thinking man an aimless life has no
meaning; there is only one means of bridging the chasm; namely,
that mankind shall set itself an end.
A final destruction of life upon the earth must surely come, whether
it be in the shape of a sudden catastrophe or as the result of a slow
process. But such an end can no more be regarded as the "end" in
the philosophical sense than death can be regarded, in the same
sense, as the "end" of the individual life. By the development of
ideas, which are concepts of reason in distinction from concepts of
the understanding, we arrive at a notion of the ideal as end.
In the ethical ideal, there is contained more than the empiricist can
offer. The enthusiasm with which the true artist starves for his art, or
the martyr perishes for his conviction, can never be fully explained
from the empirical standpoint. One does not even need to be an
idealist in order to act thus; but the materialist or the realist who
possesses true love of beauty and a heart framed for great deeds,
merely deceives himself when he refuses to acknowledge the All-
embracing which therein overwhelms him. Sociology and the History
of Civilization can only point out how man has attained to the ideas
of the Beautiful and the Good; what these are and wherefore their
influence is so powerful,—the real worth of the Beautiful and the
Good,—thought by concepts alone can show.
The Idea of Man, as he has already developed and may yet develop,
is, as far as our knowledge reaches, the highest of human thoughts.
We are therefore formulating no metaphysical theory in personifying
mankind, and pointing out that the perfecting of which it is capable
is the great end which it has set itself. We know, by our knowledge
of human nature, that mankind will always endeavor to be happy,
and that it will approach nearer perfection the more real and general
its happiness becomes.
The particular rules of morality may and must change; but the
highest principle of all morality is changeless. From the purest moral
feeling came Schiller's words: "Live with thy generation, but be not
its creature; serve thy contemporaries, but in that which they need,
not that which they prize. Without having shared their guilt, share
with noble resignation their punishments, and yield thyself freely to
the yoke which they both illy could do without and illy bear. By the
steadfast courage with which thou refusest their pleasure, thou shalt
prove to them that it is not cowardice which causes thy submission."
In these three sentences there lies a whole system of ethics.
In the will to good, indivisible from a feeling of freedom, of which no
power on earth can rob us, lies true happiness.
For mind, as for matter, the law of the indestructibility of force, of
work, is true. That which appears as force or energy is motion;
every impulse to motion is motion, and only in so far as it appears,
can the quantity of motion, force, energy, increase or diminish; as a
matter of fact, it always remains the same. But just as the activity
and force of matter increase with its differentiation, so the activity
and energy of the mind increase with intelligence. It is through
intelligence that we come to a comprehension of the distinction
between good and evil, and through intelligence that we are able to
increase social prosperity, and so morality.
There are no innate, primary human rights; there are only acquired
rights which man has gained for himself in the process of
development.
If we were to express negatively the end which mankind sets itself,
we should define it as the greatest possible reduction of pain.
Conscious existence is accompanied by a feeling of pleasure; but the
general progress heedlessly overrides the individual being, and we
therefore have to erect barriers against the stream which thus turns
pleasure into pain.
Pain and pleasure are relative to the individual. Every sensation is
pleasurable as long as it does not exceed in strength a certain limit
corresponding, in each case, to the nature of the individual. Since,
however, every sensation becomes, by perception, feeling, thought
appears as a modifying factor in all pain which does not arise from
too extreme physical injury. The manner in which our perceptions,
thought-images, are formed, the store of thought-images and
concepts which we possess, and hence our thought-capacity,
combined with the extent and clearness of our knowledge, are
decisive not only with respect to the avoidance of pain and
attainment of pleasure, but also with respect to our attitude towards
pain and pleasure in general; every pain and every pleasure has, in
the last analysis, such worth alone as we attribute to it. The
universalization of true education, the increase of intelligence, is,
therefore, the means by which man's lot may be bettered.
Through the conditions of the earth's atmosphere, man has grown
to be the glorious creature that he is. If we gradually give him, by
education, an advantageous love of life and pleasure therein, and at
the same time do not neglect the cultivation of ethical principles,
virtue will become, with the increase of happiness, a necessity.
If intelligence is to bear the fruit which we thus demand of it, its
nature must be such as not only to be nourished by actual life, but
also to uplift by its increase the whole man. And this is, in fact, the
case; where it is not so, we have to do with a one-sided
development such as existing circumstances often condition, but
which cannot be regarded as normal. This point of view is the
necessary consequence of the unity which we postulate of man. If
thought and will have their origin in feeling, and if will clarifies itself
through the clarification of thought, then all advance in thought
leads, in general, to an advance in feeling, and true intelligence is
inseparable from true love. We use the word "love" here, as
designating intelligence in its highest sense, and declare, moreover,
that we would desire to see this meaning alone attached to love.
Over against the conception of love which we find in Hartmann and
Schopenhauer, we place the conception of Spinoza, who designates
it as a free, reasonable activity, and says of it as distinguished from
passion that "the love of both man and wife has for its cause, not a
pleasing exterior merely, but especially freedom of soul."
If we regard intelligence and love in their highest antithesis, the one
appears as the appropriative, the other as the self-devoting
conception of things. But since we form a conception of things and
make them our own only in proportion to our intelligence, our
attitude towards them must be according to this measure; and since
there is no action without reaction, intelligence must be broadened
by love as well as love clarified by intelligence. The highest of all is
intelligence; but it is love that first lends it creative power; without
love it cannot create, but only destroy. Everything great and noble
that man can point out as his work is due to love—love of mankind,
love of country, love of knowledge, love of art, love of labor in
general. If the devotion is deficient in purity, determined by
extraneous motives, the work will bear marks of the deficiency. The
reason why the power of love is so much greater than every other
power is that its all-embracing, boundless character reacts upon it as
a feeling of eternity, enabling it to undertake all things, as if it might
conquer even death. Life, considered in its parts, is cheerless; but
love, regarding it in its totality, points out to it the way of salvation
through itself. Love is the concrete element which exalts the
abstraction of Intelligence to incarnate Idea; therefore is love the
idealizing principle from which intelligence draws belief in its own
aims. And if one questions whence comes the conception of
immortality, impossible to be won from experience, love must
confess itself guilty of originating it, being unable, to exist without
this self-delusion.
Carneri thus places himself in direct opposition to Schopenhauer's
and Hartmann's notion of love, which, he says, "falls like a deep
shadow over their whole conception of the world"; and he pleads in
favor of a standpoint which shall make self-perfection the aim of
existence for woman as for man. He propounds a theory of
education for woman which, according to his own statement, places
him at one in spirit with Mill; but he avers that he cannot follow the
latter in his more extreme views, which, he says, were evidently
assumed by Mill only in view of the strength of the enemy with
which he had to contend. The book ends with the following
paragraph:—
"We do not run after ideals; hence no plan floats before us,
according to which the world should be shaped anew. He who
understands how to read the book of History knows that, in no one
place does the identity of form and content come more clearly into
view than in others, and that, with every new content, there is
always a new form also. The modern state has by no means outlived
itself yet, and those who endeavor to do away with it know not what
they are about. Instead of thinking upon a new form, let us devote
our care to the clarification of the content. No one deceives himself
as to the suffering in the world; but he deceives himself who thinks
that he alone can bring about a better condition. Only the action of
all can better things. Therefore, that which remains for us to do can
be summed up in these few words: Let us make every effort possible
to place every one in a position to help himself. This is the only
ethical conception of universal reform. Let us prize knowledge above
all things, and let us show that we so prize it by increasing it and
diffusing it as much as lies in our power; let us prize it above all
things, and prove that we do so by using it for the good of mankind.
By knowledge we have become human beings, because knowledge
has brought us to a comprehension of the Beautiful and the Good. It
is knowledge that sets life an end in the attainment of the Good, and
knowledge that glorifies our path to that end. Let us educate for
ourselves wives that shall not merely dimly feel what we think, but
such as will bring to the execution of our will a clear understanding.
Let us educate for ourselves wives who, fired by the same feelings
as our own, will unite their efforts with ours in the education of a
generation that shall take morally the stand upon which the science
of the century finds itself. Let us seek true happiness if we would
find virtue. It is to no wisdom, but it is likewise to no foolishness that
we owe the existence of the world. Man can be foolish; but he can
also be wise; and if he is wise, then the world too is wisely
arranged."
Carneri begins his "First Principles of Ethics" ("Grundlegung der
Ethik," 1881) with an investigation of the origin of primary concepts
and our knowledge through these. In order to bring light into our
conception, we must first of all learn the way to the concept; for
then only can we see how the concept completes itself in the
judgment, and becomes, in reasoning, the criterion of its own worth.
The problem which first presents itself to us is that of Life in general.
The problem is inseparable from that of corporeality. If we follow
phenomena to their last conceivable reduction, we finally pass from
the perception of mass to the concept of matter; but further than
this we cannot go. At least, we can perceive only material things,
and that which we call the spiritual in distinction from the corporeal
has always something corporeal as its basis; and if we do not wish
to dispense with the reliable guidance of experience, we shall not
overleap this barrier. Science cannot reckon with supernatural
factors.
What matter is we cannot know; that it exists, however, that the
phenomena of nature are no empty seeming, sensation, as the felt
result of the mutual relation between us and the outer world,
testifies. Sensation is the basis of our self-consciousness, of the only
full and irrefutable certainty that we possess. As to what true Being
or Existence is, there is disagreement; but there can be none
regarding the fact that we are conscious of our sensations; and upon
this consciousness rests the postulate of the materiality[66] of all
existence. In order to assert the materiality of all phenomena, we
are forced to distinguish between a corporeal and a non-corporeal
action of matter; matter operates mentally when its division or
differentiation proceeds so far that the resulting phenomena can no
longer be perceived by the senses, but only conceived by thought.
The indivisibility of mind from corporeality follows directly from this
definition of the mental side of nature. We distinguish between the
two only for convenience' sake. The newer Psychology knows
nothing of Sensuality in the old sense of the word, since the basis of
all psychical effects is physical.
For matter operating mentally, as for matter operating corporeally,
there are no specific energies; it is, as Wundt expresses it,
functionally indifferent. The differing results of a high differentiation
of centralized organisms arise in accordance with the changing
combinations of elementary parts and nerve activities. These results
are not, however, to be regarded as the mere effects of matter, but
as phenomena of the same, in fact, as the consummation and crown
of the whole evolution of nature. Even in the sense-organs we see
the differentiation of matter advance beyond the sphere of sense-
perception. Therefore, in distinguishing between mind and matter,
we are still in the realm of the natural, and follow the path of
experience, if by experience is understood not alone immediate
experience, but also the conclusions which directly or by strict
analogy may be drawn from it.
The theory of an atom-soul and the theory of an organizing principle
must be abandoned as teleological, and so inconsistent with the
facts of evolution. The theory which holds force to be a
transcendental existence, a something outside of matter, must also
be rejected. With the endless divisibility is given an endless motion,
inward or outward; the endlessly divisible matter exists in endless
motion, or what is the same, the endless motion is the endlessly
divided matter. Hence motion, like matter, can never diminish; only
the form of its appearance changes.
The order in nature cannot be used as the basis of a teleological
argument; what we call order of nature is necessity as distinguished
from chance. For example, the statement that the life of the earth
requires the alternation of day and night means merely that, since
day and night alternate upon the earth, only such beings could arise
and continue in existence thereon as flourish under this alternation.
The first appearance of protoplasm introduces no strictly new thing,
but only a new form of matter with life-motion; and the formation of
germs is only a further step of the process. The most important
characteristic of all life is sensation. This is the form in which, in all
living things, that which in the rest of nature we call reaction,
appears. That it is so easy for us to say in the same breath, the
animal possesses sensation; and, by this particular excitation we
produce in him this particular sensation, has its reason in the fact
that the animal is not only capable of sensation, but is, moreover,
continually in a state of sensation. By the fact of its continual
reaction upon sensation, it keeps itself alive. Hence the two concepts
coincide, so to speak; sensation is to life what divisibility is to matter.
We express with these words more than a similitude, since all
sensation is based upon motion, is, indeed, motion, and every
motion may be reduced to a division or differentiation in the
broadest sense of the word. All further distinctions, as, for instance,
with respect to the mode of sensation (which belongs, without
doubt, to plants as well as to animals), we leave unnoticed; all
differences in the forms of life are but those of degree, though they
may be wide differences of degree; they are to be ascribed to the
influence of outer circumstances.
Sensation develops in the direction of least resistance. In the animal
world, we have to distinguish between outer and inner factors, with
the latter of which a new element seems to be introduced. The
difference between the two is not, however, one of essence, since
the will, too, is determined by outward circumstance. The inner
factors of evolution are comprised in the germ, from which the
individual is produced; while the environment constitutes the outer
factors. The individual enters the world with a certain reserve
quantity of force, which represents his power of resistance to outside
forces, and he passes the more rapidly from youth to age the more
rapidly this force is consumed. This accumulation of force is,
therefore, identical with the impulse to self-preservation, which, as
modified by various inner and outer excitations, manifests itself in
various forms. But he who, as unimpassioned thinker, desires
progress, desires also retrogression; he who desires youth desires
age, since the two concepts are correlative and the one includes the
other; old age, and finally death, must come to our planet as a
whole, as well as to the human individual. The original tendencies of
the total character determine, for the most part, the manner in
which the individual sustains the struggle for existence; yet the
environment is in no less degree active in this determination. Not
less important than the manner of reaction is the differing
susceptibility to particular kinds of excitation; the character resulting
from the mutual action and reaction of individual and world depends
upon the manner in which the individual adapts himself to
circumstances, ennobles and disciplines himself.
In idealism, as long as it remains within proper bounds, there is
certainly truth; he who derides it, derides himself. But realism has
also its truth, as long as it does not misjudge the worth of concepts,
by which alone we clearly recognize what things are to us, what
their relations to us are, and so how we have to deal with them.
Concrete concepts inform us as to what is true and what is not true
in phenomena. There is no greater mistake than to suppose that
what things are in themselves, not what they are for us, is of
importance to us; as if we could have an interest in that which
things are not for us. The decisive point is the fact that, not things
as they appear to us, but their rightly conceived appearance, their
appearance as understood by adequate concepts, is the beginning
and end of knowledge. Hence the true student of nature can no
more do without the concept than the true philosopher can leave
material perception out of account. Stiff-necked Materialism is as
one-sided as old-time Metaphysics; the one has no meaning for its
form, the other no form for its content; the one is a corpse, the
other a ghost, and each strives in vain to attain the warmth of life.
Natural Science and Philosophy must tread different paths, in so far
as division of labor requires them to do so; but they labor at the two
sides of one whole. Nature is not a machine, but life in its fullest
form, and the task set us is to understand her as she is, not to patch
together a nature out of disconnected scraps.
Carneri adopts the definition given by Claude Bernard, to whom life
is neither a principle nor a result, but a conflict. To the chemical
synthesis, from which protoplasm results, is added, through
mechanical integration, morphological synthesis, to whose special
form inherited characteristics are related as elements. Through the
conflict within living forms, and between these and the rest of the
world, motion, attaining to the character of function, appears as
continuous consumption. Destruction and renewal are inseparable
correlative concepts. This fact is contained in the concept of the
conservation of force, work, and motion. We may distinguish
between (1) latent life, such as that accumulated in the germ, (2)
the merely oscillating plant-life, and (3) free animal life. With this
distinction, we place ourselves upon the standpoint of the individual,
for whom there is both beginning and end, and to whom renewal is
subordinated to destruction; for consumption, death is the
characteristic of living in distinction from non-living matter. If,
therefore, we regard life as identical with death, we merely assert
that we consider death identical with life, and that, in the broader
sense of the word, for the universe as a whole, there is no death.
That which Claude Bernard designates as Construction is the
differentiation and division of labor arising in the process of
integration. The cell constitutes the first integration of protoplasm.
In it, motion takes place in a particular form, organizes according to
this form, causes division and synthesis, and impresses features of
character that, by their action and reaction with the environment,
either effect their own destruction, or else maintain their existence,
propagate themselves, become fixed, and undergo further evolution.
In this manner species arise and vary: and the more primitive the
form, the more variable it is; the more advanced, the more fixed.
Hence the invariable character of the germ-cells. In bone-formation,
it is clearly shown that special structure begins very early,—in the
cell, namely; but it is preserved only where it is aided by the
necessary action and reaction. Autonomic in itself, life submits itself
to the general laws of evolution.[67] As the direction of motion is
determined for whole groups of cells by the direction of the motion
of the protoplasm in the single cells, so organic function is
determined by the grouping of the irritable, contractile, sensible
cells. From the first origin of life up to its most perfect development,
everything is formed at the cost of other forms. If life is, therefore,
to be conceived as a conflict, it is a conflict as wide as the universe