First Principles
First PrinciplesPART I. THE UNKNOWABLE.CHAPTER I.RELIGION AND SCIENCE.CHAPTER II.ULTIMATE RELIGIOUS IDEAS.CHAPTER III.ULTIMATE SCIENTIFIC IDEAS.CHAPTER IV.THE RELATIVITY OF ALL KNOWLEDGE.CHAPTER V.THE RECONCILIATION.PART II. LAWS OF THE KNOWABLE.CHAPTER I.LAWS IN GENERAL.CHAPTER II.THE LAW OF EVOLUTION.[8]CHAPTER III.THE LAW OF EVOLUTION, CONTINUED.CHAPTER IV.THE CAUSES OF EVOLUTION.CHAPTER V.SPACE, TIME, MATTER, MOTION, AND FORCE.CHAPTER VI.THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF MATTER.CHAPTER VII.THE CONTINUITY OF MOTION.CHAPTER VIII.THE PERSISTENCE OF FORCE.[12]CHAPTER IX.THE CORRELATION AND EQUIVALENCE OF FORCES.CHAPTER X.THE DIRECTION OF MOTION.CHAPTER XI.THE RHYTHM OF MOTION.CHAPTER XII.THE CONDITIONS ESSENTIAL TO EVOLUTION.CHAPTER XIII.THE INSTABILITY OF THE HOMOGENEOUS.[16]CHAPTER XIV.THE MULTIPLICATION OF EFFECTS.CHAPTER XV.DIFFERENTIATION AND INTEGRATION.CHAPTER XVI.EQUILIBRATION.CHAPTER XVII.SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION.Copyright
First Principles
Herbert Spencer
PART I. THE UNKNOWABLE.
CHAPTER I.RELIGION AND SCIENCE.
§ 1. We too often forget that not only is there “a soul of
goodness in things evil,” but very generally also, a soul of truth
in things erroneous. While many admit the abstract probability that
a falsity has usually a nucleus of reality, few bear this abstract
probability in mind, when passing judgment on the opinions of
others. A belief that is finally proved to be grossly at variance
with fact, is cast aside with indignation or contempt; and in the
heat of antagonism scarcely any one inquires what there was in this
belief which commended it to men’s minds. Yet there must have been
something. And there is reason to suspect that this something was
its correspondence with certain of their experiences: an extremely
limited or vague correspondence perhaps; but still, a
correspondence. Even the absurdest report may in nearly every
instance be traced to an actual occurrence; and had there been no
such actual occurrence, this preposterous misrepresentation of it
would never have existed. Though the distorted or magnified image
transmitted to us through the refracting medium of rumour, is
utterly unlike the reality; yet in the absence of the reality there
would have been no distorted or magnified image. And thus it is
with human beliefs in general. Entirely wrong as they may appear,
the implication is that they germinated out of actual
experiences—originally contained, and perhaps still contain, some
small amount of verity.More especially may we safely assume this, in the case of
beliefs that have long existed and are widely diffused; and most of
all so, in the case of beliefs that are perennial and nearly or
quite universal. The presumption that any current opinion is not
wholly false, gains in strength according to the number of its
adherents. Admitting, as we must, that life is impossible unless
through a certain agreement between internal convictions and
external circumstances; admitting therefore that the probabilities
are always in favour of the truth, or at least the partial truth,
of a conviction; we must admit that the convictions entertained by
many minds in common are the most likely to have some foundation.
The elimination of individual errors of thought, must give to the
resulting judgment a certain additional value. It may indeed be
urged that many widely-spread beliefs are received on authority;
that those entertaining them make no attempts at verification; and
hence it may be inferred that the multitude of adherents adds but
little to the probability of a belief. But this is not true. For a
belief which gains extensive reception without critical
examination, is thereby proved to have a general congruity with the
various other beliefs of those who receive it; and in so far as
these various other beliefs are based upon personal observation and
judgment, they give an indirect warrant to one with which they
harmonize. It may be that this warrant is of small value; but still
it is of some value.Could we reach definite views on this matter, they would be
extremely useful to us. It is important that we should, if
possible, form something like a general theory of current opinions;
so that we may neither over-estimate nor under-estimate their
worth. Arriving at correct judgments on disputed questions, much
depends on the attitude of mind we preserve while listening to, or
taking part in, the controversy; and for the preservation of a
right attitude, it is needful that we should learn how true, and
yet how untrue, are average human beliefs. On the one hand, we must
keep free from that bias in favour of received ideas which
expresses itself in such dogmas as “What every one says must be
true,” or “The voice of the people is the voice of God.” On the
other hand, the fact disclosed by a survey of the past, that
majorities have usually been wrong, must not blind us to the
complementary fact, that majorities have usually not beenentirelywrong. And the avoidance of
these extremes being a prerequisite to catholic thinking, we shall
do well to provide ourselves with a safe-guard against them, by
making a valuation of opinions in the abstract. To this end we must
contemplate the kind of relation that ordinarily subsists between
opinions and facts. Let us do so with one of those beliefs which
under various forms has prevailed among all nations in all
times.§ 2. The earliest traditions represent rulers as gods or
demigods. By their subjects, primitive kings were regarded as
superhuman in origin, and superhuman in power. They possessed
divine titles; received obeisances like those made before the
altars of deities; and were in some cases actually worshipped. If
there needs proof that the divine and half-divine characters
originally ascribed to monarchs were ascribed literally, we have it
in the fact that there are still existing savage races, among whom
it is held that the chiefs and their kindred are of celestial
origin, or, as elsewhere, that only the chiefs have souls. And of
course along with beliefs of this kind, there existed a belief in
the unlimited power of the ruler over his subjects—an absolute
possession of them, extending even to the taking of their lives at
will: as even still in Fiji, where a victim stands unbound to be
killed at the word of his chief; himself declaring, “whatever the
king says must be done.”In times and among races somewhat less barbarous, we find
these beliefs a little modified. The monarch, instead of being
literally thought god or demigod, is conceived to be a man having
divine authority, with perhaps more or less of divine nature. He
retains however, as in the East to the present day, titles
expressing his heavenly descent or relationships; and is still
saluted in forms and words as humble as those addressed to the
Deity. While the lives and properties of his people, if not
practically so completely at his mercy, are still in theory
supposed to be his.Later in the progress of civilization, as during the middle
ages in Europe, the current opinions respecting the relationship of
rulers and ruled are further changed. For the theory of divine
origin, there is substituted that of divine right. No longer god or
demigod, or even god-descended, the king is now regarded as simply
God’s vice-gerent. The obeisances made to him are not so extreme in
their humility; and his sacred titles lose much of their meaning.
Moreover his authority ceases to be unlimited. Subjects deny his
right to dispose at will of their lives and properties; and yield
allegiance only in the shape of obedience to his
commands.With advancing political opinion has come still greater
restriction of imperial power. Belief in the supernatural character
of the ruler, long ago repudiated by ourselves for example, has
left behind it nothing more than the popular tendency to ascribe
unusual goodness, wisdom, and beauty to the monarch. Loyalty, which
originally meant implicit submission to the king’s will, now means
a merely nominal profession of subordination, and the fulfilment of
certain forms of respect. Our political practice, and our political
theory, alike utterly reject those regal prerogatives which once
passed unquestioned. By deposing some, and putting others in their
places, we have not only denied the divine rights of certain men to
rule; but we have denied that they have any rights beyond those
originating in the assent of the nation. Though our forms of speech
and our state-documents still assert the subjection of the citizens
to the ruler, our actual beliefs and our daily proceedings
implicitly assert the contrary. We obey no laws save those of our
own making. We have entirely divested the monarch of legislative
power; and should immediately rebel against his or her exercise of
such power, even in matters of the smallest concern. In brief, the
aboriginal doctrine is all but extinct among us.Nor has the rejection of primitive political beliefs,
resulted only in transferring the authority of an autocrat to a
representative body. The views entertained respecting governments
in general, of whatever form, are now widely different from those
once entertained. Whether popular or despotic, governments were in
ancient times supposed to have unlimited authority over their
subjects. Individuals existed for the benefit of the State; not the
State for the benefit of individuals. In our days, however, not
only has the national will been in many cases substituted for the
will of the king; but the exercise of this national will has been
restricted to a much smaller sphere. In England, for instance,
though there has been established no definite theory setting bounds
to governmental authority; yet, in practice, sundry bounds have
been set to it which are tacitly recognized by all. There is no
organic law formally declaring that the legislature may not freely
dispose of the citizens’ lives, as early kings did when they
sacrificed hecatombs of victims; but were it possible for our
legislature to attempt such a thing, its own destruction would be
the consequence, rather than the destruction of citizens. How
entirely we have established the personal liberties of the subject
against the invasions of State-power, would be quickly
demonstrated, were it proposed by Act of Parliament forcibly to
take possession of the nation, or of any class, and turn its
services to public ends; as the services of the people were turned
by primitive rulers. And should any statesman suggest a
re-distribution of property such as was sometimes made in ancient
democratic communities, he would be met by a thousand-tongued
denial of imperial power over individual possessions. Not only in
our day have these fundamental claims of the citizen been thus made
good against the State, but sundry minor claims likewise. Ages ago,
laws regulating dress and mode of living fell into disuse; and any
attempt to revive them would prove the current opinion to be, that
such matters lie beyond the sphere of legal control. For some
centuries we have been asserting in practice, and have now
established in theory, the right of every man to choose his own
religious beliefs, instead of receiving such beliefs on
State-authority. Within the last few generations we have
inaugurated complete liberty of speech, in spite of all legislative
attempts to suppress or limit it. And still more recently we have
claimed and finally obtained under a few exceptional restrictions,
freedom to trade with whomsoever we please. Thus our political
beliefs are widely different from ancient ones, not only as to the
proper depositary of power to be exercised over a nation, but also
as to the extent of that power.Not even here has the change ended. Besides the average
opinions which we have just described as current among ourselves,
there exists a less widely-diffused opinion going still further in
the same direction. There are to be found men who contend that the
sphere of government should be narrowed even more than it is in
England. The modern doctrine that the State exists for the benefit
of citizens, which has now in a great measure supplanted the
ancient doctrine that the citizens exist for the benefit of the
State, they would push to its logical results. They hold that the
freedom of the individual, limited only by the like freedom of
other individuals, is sacred; and that the legislature cannot
equitably put further restrictions upon it, either by forbidding
any actions which the law of equal freedom permits, or taking away
any property save that required to pay the cost of enforcing this
law itself. They assert that the sole function of the State is the
protection of persons against each other, and against a foreign
foe. They urge that as, throughout civilization, the manifest
tendency has been continually to extend the liberties of the
subject, and restrict the functions of the State, there is reason
to believe that the ultimate political condition must be one in
which personal freedom is the greatest possible and governmental
power the least possible: that, namely, in which the freedom of
each has no limit but the like freedom of all; while the sole
governmental duty is the maintenance of this limit.Here then in different times and places we find concerning
the origin, authority, and functions of government, a great variety
of opinions—opinions of which the leading genera above indicated
subdivide into countless species. What now must be said about the
truth or falsity of these opinions? Save among a few barbarous
tribes the notion that a monarch is a god or demigod is regarded
throughout the world as an absurdity almost passing the bounds of
human credulity. In but few places does there survive a vague
notion that the ruler possesses any supernatural attributes. Most
civilized communities, which still admit the divine right of
governments, have long since repudiated the divine right of kings.
Elsewhere the belief that there is anything sacred in legislative
regulations is dying out: laws are coming to be considered as
conventional only. While the extreme school holds that governments
have neither intrinsic authority, nor can have authority given to
them by convention; but can possess authority only as the
administrators of those moral principles deducible from the
conditions essential to social life. Of these various beliefs, with
their innumerable modifications, must we then say that some one
alone is wholly right and all the rest wholly wrong; or must we say
that each of them contains truth more or less completely disguised
by errors? The latter alternative is the one which analysis will
force upon us. Ridiculous as they may severally appear to those not
educated under them, every one of these doctrines has for its vital
element the recognition of an unquestionable fact. Directly or by
implication, each of them insists on a certain subordination of
individual actions to social requirements. There are wide
differences as to the power to which this subordination is due;
there are wide differences as to the motive for this subordination;
there are wide differences as to its extent; but that there must
besomesubordination all are
agreed. From the oldest and rudest idea of allegiance, down to the
most advanced political theory of our own day, there is on this
point complete unanimity. Though, between the savage who conceives
his life and property to be at the absolute disposal of his chief,
and the anarchist who denies the right of any government,
autocratic or democratic, to trench upon his individual freedom,
there seems at first sight an entire and irreconcilable antagonism;
yet ultimate analysis discloses in them this fundamental community
of opinion; that there are limits which individual actions may not
transgress—limits which the one regards as originating in the
king’s will, and which the other regards as deducible from the
equal claims of fellow-citizens.It may perhaps at first sight seem that we here reach a very
unimportant conclusion; namely, that a certain tacit assumption is
equally implied in all these conflicting political creeds—an
assumption which is indeed of self-evident validity. The question,
however, is not the value or novelty of the particular truth in
this case arrived at. My aim has been to exhibit the more general
truth, which we are apt to overlook, that between the most opposite
beliefs there is usually something in common,—something taken for
granted by each; and that this something, if not to be set down as
an unquestionable verity, may yet be considered to have the highest
degree of probability. A postulate which, like the one above
instanced, is not consciously asserted but unconsciously involved;
and which is unconsciously involved not by one man or body of men,
but by numerous bodies of men who diverge in countless ways and
degrees in the rest of their beliefs; has a warrant far
transcending any that can be usually shown. And when, as in this
case, the postulate is abstract—is not based on some one concrete
experience common to all mankind, but implies an induction from a
great variety of experiences, we may say that it ranks next in
certainty to the postulates of exact science.Do we not thus arrive at a generalization which may
habitually guide us when seeking for the soul of truth in things
erroneous? While the foregoing illustration brings clearly home the
fact, that in opinions seeming to be absolutely and supremely wrong
something right is yet to be found; it also indicates the method we
should pursue in seeking the something right. This method is to
compare all opinions of the same genus; to set aside as more or
less discrediting one another those various special and concrete
elements in which such opinions disagree; to observe what remains
after the discordant constituents have been eliminated; and to find
for this remaining constituent that abstract expression which holds
true throughout its divergent modifications.§3. A candid acceptance of this general principle and an
adoption of the course it indicates, will greatly aid us in dealing
with those chronic antagonisms by which men are divided. Applying
it not only to current ideas with which we are personally
unconcerned, but also to our own ideas and those of our opponents,
we shall be led to form far more correct judgments. We shall be
ever ready to suspect that the convictions we entertain are not
wholly right, and that the adverse convictions are not wholly
wrong. On the one hand we shall not, in common with the great mass
of the unthinking, let our beliefs be determined by the mere
accident of birth in a particular age on a particular part of the
Earth’s surface; and, on the other hand, we shall be saved from
that error of entire and contemptuous negation, which is fallen
into by most who take up an attitude of independent
criticism.Of all antagonisms of belief, the oldest, the widest, the
most profound and the most important, is that between Religion and
Science. It commenced when the recognition of the simplest
uniformities in surrounding things, set a limit to the previously
universal fetishism. It shows itself everywhere throughout the
domain of human knowledge: affecting men’s interpretations alike of
the simplest mechanical accidents and of the most complicated
events in the histories of nations. It has its roots deep down in
the diverse habits of thought of different orders of minds. And the
conflicting conceptions of nature and life which these diverse
habits of thought severally generate, influence for good or ill the
tone of feeling and the daily conduct.An unceasing battle of opinion like this which has been
carried on throughout all ages under the banners of Religion and
Science, has of course generated an animosity fatal to a just
estimate of either party by the other. On a larger scale, and more
intensely than any other controversy, has it illustrated that
perennially significant fable concerning the knights who fought
about the colour of a shield of which neither looked at more than
one face. Each combatant seeing clearly his own aspect of the
question, has charged his opponent with stupidity or dishonesty in
not seeing the same aspect of it; while each has wanted the candour
to go over to his opponent’s side and find out how it was that he
saw everything so differently.Happily the times display an increasing catholicity of
feeling, which we shall do well in carrying as far as our natures
permit. In proportion as we love truth more and victory less, we
shall become anxious to know what it is which leads our opponents
to think as they do. We shall begin to suspect that the pertinacity
of belief exhibited by them must result from a perception of
something we have not perceived. And we shall aim to supplement the
portion of truth we have found with the portion found by them.
Making a more rational estimate of human authority, we shall avoid
alike the extremes of undue submission and undue rebellion—shall
not regard some men’s judgments as wholly good and others as wholly
bad; but shall rather lean to the more defensible position that
none are completely right and none are completely
wrong.Preserving, as far as may be, this impartial attitude, let us
then contemplate the two sides of this great controversy. Keeping
guard against the bias of education and shutting out the
whisperings of sectarian feeling, let us consider what are
theà prioriprobabilities in
favour of each party.§4. When duly realized, the general principle above
illustrated must lead us to anticipate that the diverse forms of
religious belief which have existed and which still exist, have all
a basis in some ultimate fact. Judging by analogy the implication
is, not that any one of them is altogether right; but that in each
there is something right more or less disguised by other things
wrong. It may be that the soul of truth contained in erroneous
creeds is very unlike most, if not all, of its several embodiments;
and indeed, if, as we have good reason to expect, it is much more
abstract than any of them, its unlikeness necessarily follows. But
however different from its concrete expressions, some essential
verity must be looked for. To suppose that these multiform
conceptions should be one and allabsolutelygroundless, discredits too
profoundly that average human intelligence from which all our
individual intelligences are inherited.This most general reason we shall find enforced by other more
special ones. To the presumption that a number of diverse beliefs
of the same class have some common foundation in fact, must in this
case be added a further presumption derived from the omnipresence
of the beliefs. Religious ideas of one kind or other are almost if
not quite universal. Even should it be true, as alleged, that there
exist tribes of men who have nothing approaching to a theory of
creation—even should it be true that only when a certain phase of
intelligence is reached do the most rudimentary of such theories
make their appearance; the implication is practically the same.
Grant that among all races who have passed a certain stage of
intellectual development there are found vague notions concerning
the origin and hidden nature of surrounding things; and there
arises the inference that such notions are necessary products of
progressing intelligence. Their endless variety serves but to
strengthen this conclusion: showing as it does a more or less
independent genesis—showing how, in different places and times,
like conditions have led to similar trains of thought, ending in
analogous results. That these countless different, and yet allied,
phenomena presented by all religions are accidental or factitious,
is an untenable supposition. A candid examination of the evidence
quite negatives the doctrine maintained by some, that creeds are
priestly inventions. Even as a mere question of probabilities it
cannot rationally be concluded that in every society, past and
present, savage and civilized, certain members of the community
have combined to delude the rest, in ways so analogous. To any who
may allege that some primitive fiction was devised by some
primitive priesthood, before yet mankind had diverged from a common
centre, a reply is furnished by philology; for philology proves the
dispersion of mankind to have commenced before there existed a
language sufficiently organized to express religious ideas.
Moreover, were it otherwise tenable, the hypothesis of artificial
origin fails to account for the facts. It does not explain why,
under all changes of form, certain elements of religious belief
remain constant. It does not show us how it happens that while
adverse criticism has from age to age gone on destroying particular
theological dogmas, it has not destroyed the fundamental conception
underlying these dogmas. It leaves us without any solution of the
striking circumstance that when, from the absurdities and
corruptions accumulated around them, national creeds have fallen
into general discredit, ending in indifferentism or positive
denial, there has always by and by arisen a re-assertion of them:
if not the same in form, still the same in essence. Thus the
universality of religious ideas, their independent evolution among
different primitive races, and their great vitality, unite in
showing that their source must be deep-seated instead of
superficial. In other words, we are obliged to admit that if not
supernaturally derived as the majority contend, they must be
derived out of human experiences, slowly accumulated and
organized.Should it be asserted that religious ideas are products of
the religious sentiment, which, to satisfy itself, prompts
imaginations that it afterwards projects into the external world,
and by and by mistakes for realities; the problem is not solved,
but only removed further back. Whether the wish is father to the
thought, or whether sentiment and idea have a common genesis, there
equally arises the question—Whence comes the sentiment? That it is
a constituent in man’s nature is implied by the hypothesis; and
cannot indeed be denied by those who prefer other hypotheses. And
if the religious sentiment, displayed habitually by the majority of
mankind, and occasionally aroused even in those seemingly devoid of
it, must be classed among human emotions, we cannot rationally
ignore it. We are bound to ask its origin and its function. Here is
an attribute which, to say the least, has had an enormous
influence—which has played a conspicuous part throughout the entire
past as far back as history records, and is at present the life of
numerous institutions, the stimulus to perpetual controversies, and
the prompter of countless daily actions. Any Theory of Things which
takes no account of this attribute, must, then, be extremely
defective. If with no other view, still as a question in
philosophy, we are called on to say what this attribute means; and
we cannot decline the task without confessing our philosophy to be
incompetent.Two suppositions only are open to us: the one that the
feeling which responds to religious ideas resulted, along with all
other human faculties, from an act of special creation; the other
that it, in common with the rest, arose by a process of evolution.
If we adopt the first of these alternatives, universally accepted
by our ancestors and by the immense majority of our contemporaries,
the matter is at once settled: man is directly endowed with the
religious feeling by a creator; and to that creator it designedly
responds. If we adopt the second alternative, then we are met by
the questions—What are the circumstances to which the genesis of
the religious feeling is due? and—What is its office? We are bound
to entertain these questions; and we are bound to find answers to
them. Considering all faculties, as we must on this supposition, to
result from accumulated modifications caused by the intercourse of
the organism with its environment, we are obliged to admit that
there exist in the environment certain phenomena or conditions
which have determined the growth of the feeling in question; and so
are obliged to admit that it is as normal as any other faculty. Add
to which that as, on the hypothesis of a development of lower forms
into higher, the end towards which the progressive changes directly
or indirectly tend, must be adaptation to the requirements of
existence; we are also forced to infer that this feeling is in some
way conducive to human welfare. Thus both alternatives contain the
same ultimate implication. We must conclude that the religious
sentiment is either directly created, or is created by the slow
action of natural causes; and whichever of these conclusions we
adopt, requires us to treat the religious sentiment with
respect.One other consideration should not be overlooked—a
consideration which students of Science more especially need to
have pointed out. Occupied as such are with established truths, and
accustomed to regard things not already known as things to be
hereafter discovered, they are liable to forget that information,
however extensive it may become, can never satisfy inquiry.
Positive knowledge does not, and never can, fill the whole region
of possible thought. At the uttermost reach of discovery there
arises, and must ever arise, the question—What lies beyond? As it
is impossible to think of a limit to space so as to exclude the
idea of space lying outside that limit; so we cannot conceive of
any explanation profound enough to exclude the question—What is the
explanation of that explanation? Regarding Science as a gradually
increasing sphere, we may say that every addition to its surface
does but bring it into wider contact with surrounding nescience.
There must ever remain therefore two antithetical modes of mental
action. Throughout all future time, as now, the human mind may
occupy itself, not only with ascertained phenomena and their
relations, but also with that unascertained something which
phenomena and their relations imply. Hence if knowledge cannot
monopolize consciousness—if it must always continue possible for
the mind to dwell upon that which transcends knowledge; then there
can never cease to be a place for something of the nature of
Religion; since Religion under all its forms is distinguished from
everything else in this, that its subject matter is that which
passes the sphere of experience.Thus, however untenable may be any or all the existing
religious creeds, however gross the absurdities associated with
them, however irrational the arguments set forth in their defence,
we must not ignore the verity which in all likelihood lies hidden
within them. The general probability that widely-spread beliefs are
not absolutely baseless, is in this case enforced by a further
probability due to the omnipresence of the beliefs. In the
existence of a religious sentiment, whatever be its origin, we have
a second evidence of great significance. And as in that nescience
which must ever remain the antithesis to science, there is a sphere
for the exercise of this sentiment, we find a third general fact of
like implication. We may be sure therefore that religions, though
even none of them be actually true, are yet all adumbrations of a
truth.§ 5. As, to the religious, it will seem absurd to set forth
any justification for Religion; so, to the scientific, will it seem
absurd to defend Science. Yet to do the last is certainly as
needful as to do the first. If there exists a class who, in
contempt of its follies and disgust at its corruptions, have
contracted towards Religion a repugnance which makes them overlook
the fundamental verity contained in it; so, too, is there a class
offended to such a degree by the destructive criticisms men of
science make on the religious tenets they regard as essential, that
they have acquired a strong prejudice against Science in general.
They are not prepared with any avowed reasons for their dislike.
They have simply a remembrance of the rude shakes which Science has
given to many of their cherished convictions, and a suspicion that
it may perhaps eventually uproot all they regard as sacred; and
hence it produces in them a certain inarticulate
dread.What is Science? To see the absurdity of the prejudice
against it, we need only remark that Science is simply a higher
development of common knowledge; and that if Science is repudiated,
all knowledge must be repudiated along with it. The extremest bigot
will not suspect any harm in the observation that the sun rises
earlier and sets later in the summer than in the winter; but will
rather consider such an observation as a useful aid in fulfilling
the duties of life. Well, Astronomy is an organized body of similar
observations, made with greater nicety, extended to a larger number
of objects, and so analyzed as to disclose the real arrangements of
the heavens, and to dispel our false conceptions of them. That iron
will rust in water, that wood will burn, that long kept viands
become putrid, the most timid sectarian will teach without alarm,
as things useful to be known. But these are chemical truths:
Chemistry is a systematized collection of such facts, ascertained
with precision, and so classified and generalized as to enable us
to say with certainty, concerning each simple or compound
substance, what change will occur in it under given conditions. And
thus is it with all the sciences. They severally germinate out of
the experiences of daily life; insensibly as they grow they draw in
remoter, more numerous, and more complex experiences; and among
these, they ascertain laws of dependence like those which make up
our knowledge of the most familiar objects. Nowhere is it possible
to draw a line and say—here Science begins. And as it is the
function of common observation to serve for the guidance of
conduct; so, too, is the guidance of conduct the office of the most
recondite and abstract inquiries of Science. Through the countless
industrial processes and the various modes of locomotion which it
has given to us, Physics regulates more completely our social life
than does his acquaintance with the properties of surrounding
bodies regulate the life of the savage. Anatomy and Physiology,
through their effects on the practice of medicine and hygiene,
modify our actions almost as much as does our acquaintance with the
evils and benefits which common environing agencies may produce on
our bodies. All Science is prevision; and all prevision ultimately
aids us in greater or less degree to achieve the good and avoid the
bad. As certainly as the perception of an object lying in our path
warns us against stumbling over it; so certainly do those more
complicated and subtle perceptions which constitute Science, warn
us against stumbling over intervening obstacles in the pursuit of
our distant ends. Thus being one in origin and function, the
simplest forms of cognition and the most complex must be dealt with
alike. We are bound in consistency to receive the widest knowledge
which our faculties can reach, or to reject along with it that
narrow knowledge possessed by all. There is no logical alternative
between accepting our intelligence in its entirety, or repudiating
even that lowest intelligence which we possess in common with
brutes.To ask the question which more immediately concerns our
argument—whether Science is substantially true?—is much like asking
whether the sun gives light. And it is because they are conscious
how undeniably valid are most of its propositions, that the
theological party regard Science with so much secret alarm. They
know that during the two thousand years of its growth, some of its
larger divisions—mathematics, physics, astronomy—have been subject
to the rigorous criticism of successive generations; and have
notwithstanding become ever more firmly established. They know
that, unlike many of their own doctrines, which were once
universally received but have age by age been more frequently
called in question, the doctrines of Science, at first confined to
a few scattered inquirers, have been slowly growing into general
acceptance, and are now in great part admitted as beyond dispute.
They know that men of science throughout the world subject each
other’s results to the most searching examination; and that error
is mercilessly exposed and rejected as soon as discovered. And,
finally, they know that still more conclusive testimony is to be
found in the daily verification of scientific predictions, and in
the never-ceasing triumphs of those arts which Science
guides.To regard with alienation that which has such high
credentials is a folly. Though in the tone which many of the
scientific adopt towards them, the defenders of Religion may find
some excuse for this alienation; yet the excuse is a very
insufficient one. On the side of Science, as on their own side,
they must admit that short-comings in the advocates do not tell
essentially against that which is advocated. Science must be judged
by itself: and so judged, only the most perverted intellect can
fail to see that it is worthy of all reverence. Be there or be
there not any other revelation, we have a veritable revelation in
Science—a continuous disclosure, through the intelligence with
which we are endowed, of the established order of the Universe.
This disclosure it is the duty of every one to verify as far as in
him lies; and having verified, to receive with all
humility.§6. On both sides of this great controversy, then, truth must
exist. An unbiassed consideration of its general aspects forces us
to conclude that Religion, everywhere present as a weft running
through the warp of human history, expresses some eternal fact;
while it is almost a truism to say of Science that it is an
organised mass of facts, ever growing, and ever being more
completely purified from errors. And if both have bases in the
reality of things, then between them there must be a fundamental
harmony. It is an incredible hypothesis that there are two orders
of truth, in absolute and everlasting opposition. Only on some
Manichean theory, which among ourselves no one dares openly avow
however much his beliefs may be tainted by it, is such a
supposition even conceivable. That Religion is divine and Science
diabolical, is a proposition which, though implied in many a
clerical declamation, not the most vehement fanatic can bring
himself distinctly to assert. And whoever does not assert this,
must admit that under their seeming antagonism lies hidden an
entire agreement.Each side, therefore, has to recognize the claims of the
other as standing for truths that are not to be ignored. He who
contemplates the Universe from the religious point of view, must
learn to see that this which we call Science is one constituent of
the great whole; and as such ought to be regarded with a sentiment
like that which the remainder excites. While he who contemplates
the universe from the scientific point of view, must learn to see
that this which we call Religion is similarly a constituent of the
great whole; and being such, must be treated as a subject of
science with no more prejudice than any other reality. It behoves
each party to strive to understand the other, with the conviction
that the other has something worthy to be understood; and with the
conviction that when mutually recognized this something will be the
basis of a complete reconciliation.How to find this something—how to reconcile them, thus
becomes the problem which we should perseveringly try to solve. Not
to reconcile them in any makeshift way—not to find one of those
compromises we hear from time to time proposed, which their
proposers must secretly feel are artificial and temporary; but to
arrive at the terms of a real and permanent peace between them. The
thing we have to seek out, is that ultimate truth which both will
avow with absolute sincerity—with not the remotest mental
reservation. There shall be no concession—no yielding on either
side of something that will by and by be reasserted; but the common
ground on which they meet shall be one which each will maintain for
itself. We have to discover some fundamental verity which Religion
will assert, with all possible emphasis, in the absence of Science;
and which Science, with all possible emphasis, will assert in the
absence of Religion—some fundamental verity in the defence of which
each will find the other its ally.Or, changing the point of view, our aim must be to
co-ordinate the seemingly opposed convictions which Religion and
Science embody. From the coalescence of antagonist ideas, each
containing its portion of truth, there always arises a higher
development. As in Geology when the igneous and aqueous hypotheses
were united, a rapid advance took place; as in Biology we are
beginning to progress through the fusion of the doctrine of types
with the doctrine of adaptations; as in Psychology the arrested
growth recommences now that the disciples of Kant and those of
Locke have both their views recognized in the theory that organized
experiences produce forms of thought; as in Sociology, now that it
is beginning to assume a positive character, we find a recognition
of both the party of progress and the party of order, as each
holding a truth which forms a needful complement to that held by
the other; so must it be on a grander scale with Religion and
Science. Here too we must look for a conception which combines the
conclusions of both; and here too we may expect important results
from their combination. To understand how Science and Religion
express opposite sides of the same fact—the one its near or visible
side, and the other its remote or invisible side—this it is which
we must attempt; and to achieve this must profoundly modify our
general Theory of Things.Already in the foregoing pages the method of seeking such a
reconciliation has been vaguely foreshadowed. Before proceeding
further, however, it will be well to treat the question of method
more definitely. To find that truth in which Religion and Science
coalesce, we must know in what direction to look for it, and what
kind of truth it is likely to be.§ 7. We have foundà priorireason for believing that in all religions, even the rudest,
there lies hidden a fundamental verity. We have inferred that this
fundamental verity is that element common to all religions, which
remains after their discordant peculiarities have been mutually
cancelled. And we have further inferred that this element is almost
certain to be more abstract than any current religious doctrine.
Now it is manifest that only in some highly abstract proposition,
can Religion and Science find a common ground. Neither such dogmas
as those of the trinitarian and unitarian, nor any such idea as
that of propitiation, common though it may be to all religions, can
serve as the desired basis of agreement; for Science cannot
recognize beliefs like these: they lie beyond its sphere. Hence we
see not only that, judging by analogy, the essential truth
contained in Religion is that most abstract element pervading all
its forms; but also that this most abstract element is the only one
in which Religion is likely to agree with Science.Similarly if we begin at the other end, and inquire what
scientific truth can unite Science and Religion. It is at once
manifest that Religion can take no cognizance of special scientific
doctrines; any more than Science can take cognizance of special
religious doctrines. The truth which Science asserts and Religion
indorses cannot be one furnished by mathematics; nor can it be a
physical truth; nor can it be a truth in chemistry: it cannot be a
truth belonging to any particular science. No generalization of the
phenomena of space, of time, of matter, or of force, can become a
Religious conception. Such a conception, if it anywhere exists in
Science, must be more general than any of these—must be one
underlying all of them. If there be a fact which Science recognizes
in common with Religion, it must be that fact from which the
several branches of Science diverge, as from their common
root.Assuming then, that since these two great realities are
constituents of the same mind, and respond to different aspects of
the same Universe, there must be a fundamental harmony between
them; we see good reason to conclude that the most abstract truth
contained in Religion and the most abstract truth contained in
Science must be the one in which the two coalesce. The largest fact
to be found within our mental range must be the one of which we are
in search. Uniting these positive and negative poles of human
thought, it must be the ultimate fact in our
intelligence.§ 8. Before proceeding in the search for this common datum
let me bespeak a little patience. The next three chapters, setting
out from different points and converging to the same conclusion,
will be comparatively unattractive. Students of philosophy will
find in them much that is more or less familiar; and to most of
those who are unacquainted with the literature of modern
metaphysics, they may prove somewhat difficult to
follow.Our argument however cannot dispense with these chapters; and
the greatness of the question at issue justifies even a heavier tax
on the reader’s attention. The matter is one which concerns each
and all of us more than any other matter whatever. Though it
affects us little in a direct way, the view we arrive at must
indirectly affect us in all our relations—must determine our
conception of the Universe, of Life, of Human Nature—must influence
our ideas of right and wrong, and so modify our conduct. To reach
that point of view from which the seeming discordance of Religion
and Science disappears, and the two merge into one, must cause a
revolution of thought fruitful in beneficial consequences, and must
surely be worth an effort.Here ending preliminaries, let us now address ourselves to
this all-important inquiry.
CHAPTER II.ULTIMATE RELIGIOUS IDEAS.
§ 9. When, on the sea-shore, we note how the hulls of distant
vessels are hidden below the horizon, and how, of still remoter
vessels, only the uppermost sails are visible, we realize with
tolerable clearness the slight curvature of that portion of the
sea’s surface which lies before us. But when we seek in imagination
to follow out this curved surface as it actually exists, slowly
bending round until all its meridians meet in a point eight
thousand miles below our feet, we find ourselves utterly baffled.
We cannot conceive in its real form and magnitude even that small
segment of our globe which extends a hundred miles on every side of
us; much less the globe as a whole. The piece of rock on which we
stand can be mentally represented with something like completeness:
we find ourselves able to think of its top, its sides, and its
under surface at the same time; or so nearly at the same time that
they seem all present in consciousness together; and so we can form
what we call a conception of the rock. But to do the like with the
Earth we find impossible. If even to imagine the antipodes as at
that distant place in space which it actually occupies, is beyond
our power; much more beyond our power must it be at the same time
to imagine all other remote points on the Earth’s surface as in
their actual places. Yet we habitually speak as though we had an
idea of the Earth—as though we could think of it in the same way
that we think of minor objects.
What conception, then, do we form of it? the reader may ask.
That its name calls up in us some state of consciousness is
unquestionable; and if this state of consciousness is not a
conception, properly so called, what is it? The answer seems to be
this:—We have learnt by indirect methods that the Earth is a
sphere; we have formed models approximately representing its shape
and the distribution of its parts; generally when the Earth is
referred to, we either think of an indefinitely extended mass
beneath our feet, or else, leaving out the actual Earth, we think
of a body like a terrestrial globe; but when we seek to imagine the
Earth as it really is, we join these two ideas as well as we
can—such perception as our eyes give us of the Earth’s surface we
couple with the conception of a sphere. And thus we form of the
Earth, not a conception properly so called, but only a symbolic
conception.[6]
A large proportion of our conceptions, including all those of
much generality, are of this order. Great magnitudes, great
durations, great numbers, are none of them actually conceived, but
are all of them conceived more or less symbolically; and so, too,
are all those classes of objects of which we predicate some common
fact. When mention is made of any individual man, a tolerably
complete idea of him is formed. If the family he belongs to be
spoken of, probably but a part of it will be represented in
thought: under the necessity of attending to that which is said
about the family, we realize in imagination only its most important
or familiar members, and pass over the rest with a nascent
consciousness which we know could, if requisite, be made complete.
Should something be remarked of the class, say farmers, to which
this family belongs, we neither enumerate in thought all the
individuals contained in the class, nor believe that we could do so
if required; but we are content with taking some few samples of it,
and remembering that these could be indefinitely multiplied.
Supposing the subject of which something is predicated be
Englishmen, the answering state of consciousness is a still more
inadequate representative of the reality. Yet more remote is the
likeness of the thought to the thing, if reference be made to
Europeans or to human beings. And when we come to propositions
concerning the mammalia, or concerning the whole of the vertebrata,
or concerning animals in general, or concerning all organic beings,
the unlikeness of our conceptions to the objects named reaches its
extreme. Throughout which series of instances we see, that as the
number of objects grouped together in thought increases, the
concept, formed of a few typical samples joined with the notion of
multiplicity, becomes more and more a mere symbol; not only because
it gradually ceases to represent the size of the group, but also
because as the group grows more heterogeneous, the typical samples
thought of are less like the average objects which the group
contains.
This formation of symbolic conceptions, which inevitably
arises as we pass from small and concrete objects to large and to
discrete ones, is mostly a very useful, and indeed necessary,
process. When, instead of things whose attributes can be tolerably
well united in a single state of consciousness, we have to deal
with things whose attributes are too vast or numerous to be so
united, we must either drop in thought part of their attributes, or
else not think of them at all—either form a more or less symbolic
conception, or no conception. We must predicate nothing of objects
too great or too multitudinous to be mentally represented; or we
must make our predications by the help of extremely inadequate
representations of such objects—mere symbols of them.
But while by this process alone we are enabled to form
general propositions, and so to reach general conclusions, we are
by this process perpetually led into danger, and very often into
error. We habitually mistake our symbolic conceptions for real
ones; and so are betrayed into countless false inferences. Not only
is it that in proportion as the concept we form of any thing or
class of things, misrepresents the reality, we are apt to be wrong
in any assertion we make respecting the reality; but it is that we
are led to suppose we have truly conceived a great variety of
things which we have conceived only in this fictitious way; and
further to confound with these certain things which cannot be
conceived in any way. How almost unavoidably we fall into this
error it will be needful here to observe.
From objects readily representable in their totality, to
those of which we cannot form even an approximate representation,
there is an insensible transition. Between a pebble and the entire
Earth a series of magnitudes might be introduced, each of which
differed from the adjacent ones so slightly that it would be
impossible to say at what point in the series our conceptions of
them became inadequate. Similarly, there is a gradual progression
from those groups of a few individuals which we can think of as
groups with tolerable completeness, to those larger and larger
groups of which we can form nothing like true ideas. Whence it is
manifest that we pass from actual conceptions to symbolic ones by
infinitesimal steps. Note next that we are led to deal with our
symbolic conceptions as though they were actual ones, not only
because we cannot clearly separate the two, but also because, in
the great majority of cases, the first serve our purposes nearly or
quite as well as the last—are simply the abbreviated signs we
substitute for those more elaborate signs which are our equivalents
for real objects. Those very imperfect representations of ordinary
things which we habitually make in thinking, we know can be
developed into adequate ones if needful. Those concepts of larger
magnitudes and more extensive classes which we cannot make
adequate, we still find can be verified by some indirect process of
measurement or enumeration. And even in the case of such an utterly
inconceivable object as the Solar System, we yet, through the
fulfilment of predictions founded on our symbolic conception of it,
gain the conviction that this symbolic conception stands for an
actual existence, and, in a sense, truly expresses certain of its
constituent relations. Thus our symbolic conceptions being in the
majority of cases capable of development into complete ones, and in
most other cases serving as steps to conclusions which are proved
valid by their correspondence with observation, we acquire a
confirmed habit of dealing with them as true conceptions—as real
representations of actualities. Learning by long experience that
they can, if needful, be verified, we are led habitually to accept
them without verification. And thus we open the door to some which
profess to stand for known things, but which really stand for
things that cannot be known in any way.
To sum up, we must say of conceptions in general, that they
are complete only when the attributes of the object conceived are
of such number and kind that they can be represented in
consciousness so nearly at the same time as to seem all present
together; that as the objects conceived become larger and more
complex, some of the attributes first thought of fade from
consciousness before the rest have been represented, and the
conception thus becomes imperfect; that when the size, complexity,
or discreteness of the object conceived becomes very great, only a
small portion of its attributes can be thought of at once, and the
conception formed of it thus becomes so inadequate as to be a mere
symbol; that nevertheless such symbolic conceptions, which are
indispensable in general thinking, are legitimate, provided that by
some cumulative or indirect process of thought, or by the
fulfilment of predictions based on them, we can assure ourselves
that they stand for actualities; but that when our symbolic
conceptions are such that no cumulative or indirect processes of
thought can enable us to ascertain that there are corresponding
actualities, nor any predictions be made whose fulfilment can prove
this, then they are altogether vicious and illusive, and in no way
distinguishable from pure fictions.
§ 10. And now to consider the bearings of this general truth
on our immediate topic—Ultimate Religious Ideas.
To the aboriginal man and to every civilized child the
problem of the Universe suggests itself. What is it? and whence
comes it? are questions that press for solution, when, from time to
time, the imagination rises above daily trivialities. To fill the
vacuum of thought, any theory that is proposed seems better than
none. And in the absence of others, any theory that is proposed
easily gains a footing and afterwards maintains its ground: partly
from the readiness of mankind to accept proximate explanations;
partly from the authority which soon accumulates round such
explanations when given.
A critical examination, however, will prove not only that no
current hypothesis is tenable, but also that no tenable hypothesis
can be framed.
§ 11. Respecting the origin of the Universe three verbally
intelligible suppositions may be made. We may assert that it is
self-existent; or that it is self-created; or that it is created by
an external agency. Which of these suppositions is most credible it
is not needful here to inquire. The deeper question, into which
this finally merges, is, whether any one of them is even
conceivable in the true sense of the word. Let us successively test
them.
When we speak of a man as self-supporting, of an apparatus as
self-acting, or of a tree as self-developed, our expressions,
however inexact, stand for things that can be realized in thought
with tolerable completeness. Our conception of the self-development
of a tree is doubtless symbolic. But though we cannot really
represent in consciousness the entire series of complex changes
through which the tree passes, yet we can thus represent the
leading features of the series; and general experience teaches us
that by long continued observation we could gain the power to
realize in thought a series of changes more fully representing the
actual series: that is, we know that our symbolic conception of
self-development can be expanded into something like a real
conception; and that it expresses, however inaccurately, an actual
process in nature. But when we speak of self-existence, and, helped
by the above analogies, form some vague symbolic conception of it,
we delude ourselves in supposing that this symbolic conception is
of the same order as the others. On joining the wordselfto the wordexistence, the force of association makes us believe we have a thought
like that suggested by the compound word self-acting. An endeavour
to expand this symbolic conception, however, will undeceive us.
In the first place, it is clear that by self-existence we
especially mean, an existence independent of any other—not produced
by any other: the assertion of self-existence is simply an indirect
denial of creation. In thus excluding the idea of any antecedent
cause, we necessarily exclude the idea of a beginning; for to admit
the idea of a beginning—to admit that there was a time when the
existence had not commenced—is to admit that its commencement was
determined by something, or was caused; which is a contradiction.
Self-existence, therefore, necessarily means existence without a
beginning; and to form a conception of self-existence is to form a
conception of existence without a beginning. Now by no mental
effort can we do this. To conceive existence through infinite
past-time, implies the conception of infinite past-time, which is
an impossibility. To this let us add, that even were
self-existence conceivable, it would not in any sense be an
explanation of the Universe. No one will say that the existence of
an object at the present moment is made easier to understand by the
discovery that it existed an hour ago, or a day ago, or a year ago;
and if its existence now is not made in the least degree more
comprehensible by its existence during some previous finite period
of time, then no accumulation of such finite periods, even could we
extend them to an infinite period, would make it more
comprehensible. Thus the Atheistic theory is not only absolutely
unthinkable, but, even if it were thinkable, would not be a
solution. The assertion that the Universe is self-existent does not
really carry us a step beyond the cognition of its present
existence; and so leaves us with a mere re-statement of the
mystery.
The hypothesis of self-creation, which practically amounts to
what is called Pantheism, is similarly incapable of being
represented in thought. Certain phenomena, such as the
precipitation of invisible vapour into cloud, aid us in forming a
symbolic conception of a self-evolved Universe; and there are not
wanting indications in the heavens, and on the earth, which help us
to render this conception tolerably definite. But while the
succession of phases through which the Universe has passed in
reaching its present form, may perhaps be comprehended as in a
sense self-determined; yet the impossibility of expanding our
symbolic conception of self-creation into a real conception,
remains as complete as ever. Really to conceive self-creation, is
to conceive potential existence passing into actual existence by
some inherent necessity; which we cannot do. We cannot form
any idea of a potential existence of the universe, as distinguished
from its actual existence. If represented in thought at all,
potential existence must be represented assomething, that is as an actual existence; to
suppose that it can be represented as nothing, involves two
absurdities—that nothing is more than a negation, and can be
positively represented in thought; and that one nothing is
distinguished from all other nothings by its power to develope into
something. Nor is this all. We have no state of consciousness
answering to the words—an inherent necessity by which potential
existence became actual existence. To render them into thought,
existence, having for an indefinite period remained in one form,
must be conceived as passing without any external or additional
impulse, into another form; and this involves the idea of a change
without a cause—a thing of which no idea is possible. Thus the
terms of this hypothesis do not stand for real thoughts; but merely
suggest the vaguest symbols incapable of any interpretation.
Moreover, even were it true that potential existence is
conceivable as a different thing from actual existence; and that
the transition from the one to the other can be mentally realized
as a self-determined change; we should still be no forwarder: the
problem would simply be removed a step back. For whence the
potential existence? This would just as much require accounting for
as actual existence; and just the same difficulties would meet us.
Respecting the origin of such a latent power, no other suppositions
could be made than those above named—self-existence, self-creation,
creation by external agency. The self-existence of a potential
universe is no more conceivable than we have found the
self-existence of the actual universe to be. The self-creation of
such a potential universe would involve over again the difficulties
here stated—would imply behind this potential universe a more
remote potentiality; and so on in an infinite series, leaving us at
last no forwarder than at first. While to assign as the source of
this potential universe an external agency, would be to introduce
the notion of a potential universe for no purpose whatever.
