Chapter XXIX: Part IX: , p. 475, 1890), Dr. Johnstone Stoney, F. R. S., published an (19)

Dr. Carus (¶ 67) defines _explanation_ as a description of a special process of nature in such a way that the process is recognised as a transformation. This I cannot quite grant. First, I cannot admit that “special processes of nature” are the only things to be explained. For instance, if I were to meet a gentleman who seemed to conform scrupulously to all the usages of good society, except that he wore to an evening party an emerald satin vest, that would be a fact calling for explanation, although it would not be a “special process of nature.” Second, I cannot admit that an explanation is a description of the fact explained. It is true that in the setting forth of some explanations, it is convenient to restate the fact explained, so as to set it under another aspect; but even in these cases, the statement of _other_ facts is essential. In all cases, it is _other facts_, usually hypothetical, which constitute the explanation; and the process of explaining is a process by which from those other facts the fact to be explained is shown to follow as a consequence, by virtue of a general principle, or otherwise. Thus, a “special process of nature” calling for explanation is the circumstance that the planet Mars, while moving in a general way from west to east among the fixed stars, yet retrogrades a part of the time, so as to describe loops in the heavens. The explanation is that Mars revolves in one approximate circle and we in another. Again, it has been stated that a warm spring in Europe is usually followed by a cool autumn, and the explanation has been offered that so many more icebergs than usual are liberated during a warm spring, that they subsequently lower sensibly the temperature of Europe. I care little whether the fact and the explanation are correct or no. The case illustrates, at any rate, my point that an explanation is a special fact, supposed or known, from which the fact to be explained follows as a consequence. Third, I cannot admit that every description which recognises the fact described as a transformation is an explanation; far less that “it is complete and exhaustive” (¶ 67). A magician transforms a watch into a dove. Recognise it as a transformation and the trick is explained, is it? This is delightfully facile. Describe the change from a caterpillar to a butterfly as a transformation, and does that explain it? Fourth, I cannot admit that every explanation recognises the fact explained as a transformation. The explanation of the loops in the motion of Mars is not of that nature. But I willingly recognise in Dr. Carus’s definition an attempt,—more or less successful,—to formulate one of the great offices of scientific inquiry, that of bridging over the gap between the familiar and the unfamiliar.

_Explanation_, however, properly speaking, is the replacement of a complex predicate, or one which seems improbable or extraordinary, by a simple predicate from which the complex predicate follows on known principles. In like manner, a _reason_, in one sense, is the replacement of a multiple subject of an observational proposition by a general subject, which by the very conditions of the special experience is predicable of the multiple subject.[122] Such a reason may be called an explanation in a loose sense.

Accordingly, that which alone requires an explanation is a coincidence.

Hence, I say that a uniformity, or law, is _par excellence_, the thing that requires explanation. And Dr. Carus (¶ 51) admits that this “is perfectly true.”

But I cannot imagine anything further from the truth than his statement (¶ 66) that “the only thing in the world of which we cannot and need not give account is the existence of facts itself.” I should say, on the contrary, that the existence of facts is the only thing of which we need give account. Forms may indulge in whatever eccentricities they please in the world of dreams, without responsibility; but when they attempt that kind of thing in the world of real existence, they must expect to have their conduct inquired into. But should Dr. Carus reply that I mistake his meaning, that it is only “being in general” (¶ 66) that he holds unaccountable, I reply that this is simply expressing scepticism as to the possibility and need of philosophy. In a certain sense, my theory of reality, namely that reality is the dynamical reaction of certain forms upon the mind of the community, is a proposed explanation of being in general; and be it remarked that the mind of the community, itself, is the thing the nature of whose being this explanation first of all puts upon an idealistic footing.

Chance, according to me, or irregularity,—that is, the absence of any coincidence,—calls for no explanation. If _law_ calls for a particular explanation, as Dr. Carus admits it does, surely the mere absence of law calls for no further explanation than is afforded by the mere absence of any particular circumstance necessitating the result. An explanation is the conception of a fact as a necessary result, thereby accounting for the coincidence it presents. It would be highly absurd to say that the absence of any definite character, must be accounted for, as if it were a peculiar phenomenon, simply because the imperfection of language leads us so to talk of it. Quite unfounded, therefore, is Dr. Carus’s opinion that “chance needs exactly as much explanation as anything else” (¶ 53);—an opinion which, so far as I can see, rests on no defensible principle.

Equally hasty is his oft repeated objection (¶ 55, 58, 61) that my absolute chance is something ultimate and inexplicable. I go back to a chaos so irregular that in strictness the word existence is not applicable to its merely germinal state of being; and here I reach a region in which the objection to ultimate causes loses its force. But I do not stop there. Even this nothingness, though it antecedes the infinitely distant absolute beginning of time, is traced back to a nothingness more rudimentary still, in which there is no variety, but only an indefinite specificability, which is nothing but a tendency to the diversification of the nothing, while leaving it as nothing as it was before. What objectionable ultimacy is here? The objection to an ultimate consists in its raising a barrier across the path of inquiry, in its specifying a phenomenon at which questions must stop, contrary to the postulate, or hope, of logic. But what question to which any meaning can be attached am I forbidding by my absolute chance? If what is demanded is a theological backing, or rational antecedent, to the chaos, that my theory fully supplies. The chaos is a state of intensest feeling, although, memory and habit being totally absent, it is sheer nothing still. Feeling has existence only so far as it is welded into feeling. Now the welding of this feeling to the great whole of feeling is accomplished only by the reflection of a later date. In itself, therefore, it is nothing; but in its relation to the end, it is everything.

More unreasonable yet is Dr. Carus’s pretension, that the manifold specificalness, which is what I mean by chance, is capable of explanation (¶¶ 142, 143) by his own philosophic method. He may explain one particularity by another, of course; but to explain specificalness itself, would be to show that a specific predicate is a necessary consequence of a generic one, or that a whole is without ambiguity a part of its part. Remark, reader, at this point, that chance, whether it be absolute or not, is not the mere creature of our ignorance. It is that diversity and variety of things and events which law does not prevent. Such is that real chance upon which the kinetical theory of gases, and the doctrines of political economy, depend. To say that it is not absolute is to say that it,—this diversity, this specificalness,—can be explained as a consequence of law. But this, as we have seen, is logically absurd.

Dr. Carus admits that absolute chance is “not unimaginable” (¶ 150). Chance itself pours in at every avenue of sense: it is of all, things the most obtrusive. That it is absolute, is the most manifest of all intellectual perceptions. That it is a being, living and conscious, is what all the dullness that belongs to ratiocination’s self can scarce muster hardihood to deny.

Almost as unthinking is the objection (¶ 61) that absolute chance could never beget order. I have noticed elsewhere the historic oblivescence of this objection. Must I once again repeat that the tendency to take habits, being itself a habit, has _eo ipso_ a tendency to grow; so that only a slightest germ is needed? A realist, such as I am, can find no difficulty in the production of that first infinitesimal germ of habit-taking by chance, provided he thinks chance could act at all. This seems, at first blush, to be explaining something as a chance-result. But exact analysis will show it is not so.

In like manner, when the eminent thinker who does me the honor to notice my speculation, objects that I do not, after all, escape making law absolute, since the tendency to take habits which I propose to make universal is itself a law, I confess I can find only words without ideas in the objection. Law is a word found convenient, I grant, in describing that tendency; but is there no difference between a law the essence of which is to be inviolable (which is the nominalistic conception of mechanical law, whose being, they say, lies in its action) and that mental law the violation of which is so included in its essence that unless it were violated it would cease to exist? In my essay, “The Law of Mind,” I have so described that law. In so describing it, I make it a law, but not an absolute law; and thus I clearly escape the contradiction attributed to me.

§ 26. In my attack on “The Doctrine of Necessity,” I offered four positive arguments for believing in real chance. They were as follows:

1. The general prevalence of growth, which seems to be opposed to the conservation of energy.

2. The variety of the universe, which is chance, and is manifestly inexplicable.

3. Law, which requires to be explained, and like everything which is to be explained must be explained by something else, that is, by non-law or real chance.

4. Feeling, for which room cannot be found if the conservation of energy is maintained.

In a brief conversation I had with him, my friend remarked (and it was an inconsiderate concession, I certainly do not wish to hold him to it) that while the theory of tychism had some attractive features, its weakness consisted in the absence of any positive reasons in its favor. I infer from this that I did not properly state the above four arguments. I therefore desire once more to call attention to them, especially in their relations to one another.

Mathematicians are familiar with the theorem that if a system of particles is subject only to positional forces, it is such that if at any instant the velocities were all suddenly reversed, without being altered in quantity, the whole previous history of the system would be repeated in inverse succession. Hence, when physicists find themselves confronted with a phenomenon which takes place only in one order of succession and never in the reverse order,—of which no better illustration could be found than the phenomena of growth, for nobody ever heard of an animal growing back into an egg,—they always take refuge in the laws of probability as preventive of the velocities ever getting so reversed. To understand my argument number 1, it is necessary to make this method of escape from apparent violations of the law of energy quite familiar to oneself. For example, according to the law of energy, it seems to follow (and by the aid of the accepted theory of light it does follow) that if a prism, or a grating, disperses white light into a spectrum, then the colors of the spectrum falling upon the prism or grating at the same angles, and in the same proportions, will be recombined into white light; and, everybody knows that this does in fact happen. Nevertheless, the usual and prevalent effect of prisms and gratings is to produce colored spectra. Why? Evidently, because, by the principles of probability, it will rarely happen that colored lights converging from different directions will fall at just the right angles and in just the right proportions to be recombined into white light. So, when physicists meet with the phenomena of frictional and viscous resistance to a body in motion, although, according to their doctrine, if the molecules were to move with the same velocities in opposite directions the moving body would be accelerated, yet they say that the laws of probability, applied to the trillions of molecules concerned, render this practically certain not to occur. I do no more, then, than follow the usual method of the physicists, in calling in chance to explain the apparent violation of the law of energy which is presented by the phenomena of growth: only instead of chance as they understand it, I call in absolute chance. For many months, I endeavored to satisfy the data of the case with ordinary _quasi_ chance; but it would not do. I believe that in a broad view of the universe, a simulation of a given elementary mode of action can hardly be explained except by supposing the genuine mode of action somewhere has place. If it is improbable that colored lights should fall together in just such a way as to give a white ray, is it not an equally extraordinary thing that they should all be generated in such a way as to produce a white ray? If it is incredible that trillions of molecules in a fluid should strike a solid body moving through it so as to accelerate it, is it not marvellous that trillions of trillions of molecules all alike should ever have got so segregated as to create a state of things in which they should be practically certain to retard the body? It is far from easy to understand how mere positional forces could ever have brought about those vast congregations of similar atoms which we suppose to exist in every mass of gas, and by which we account for the apparent violations of the law of energy in the phenomena of the viscosity of the gas. There is no difficulty in seeing how sulphuric acid acting on marble may produce an aggregation of molecules of carbonic anhydride, because there are similar aggregations in the acid and in the marble, but how were such aggregations brought about in the first place? I will not go so far as to say that such a result is manifestly impossible with positional forces alone; but I do say that we cannot help suspecting that the simulated violation of the law of energy has a real violation of the same law as its ultimate explanation. Now, growth _appears_ to violate the law of energy. To explain it, we must, at least, suppose a simulated, or _quasi_, chance, such as Darwin calls in to produce his fortuitous variations from strict heredity. It may be there is no real violation of the law, and no real chance; but even if there be nothing of the sort in the immediate phenomenon, can the conditions upon which the phenomenon depends have been brought about except by real chance? It is conceivable, again, that the law of the conservation of forces is not strictly accurate, and that, nevertheless, there is no absolute chance. But I think so much has been done to put the law of the conservation of forces upon the level of the other mechanical laws, that when one is led to entertain a serious doubt of the exactitude of that, one will be inclined to question the others.

Besides, few psychologists will deny the very intimate connection which seems to subsist between the law, or _quasi_-law, of growth and the law of habit, which is the principal, if not (as I hold it to be) the sole, law of mental action. Now, this law of habit seems to be quite radically different in its general form from mechanical law, inasmuch as it would at once cease to operate if it were rigidly obeyed; since in that case all habits would at once become so fixed as to give room for no further formation of habits. In this point of view, then, growth seems to indicate a positive violation of law.

Let us now consider argument number 3: and remark how it fortifies number 1. Physical laws that appear to be radically different yet present some striking analogies. Electrical force appears to be polar. Its polarity is explained away by Franklin’s one-fluid theory, but in that view the force is a repulsion. Now, gravitation is an attraction, and is, therefore, essentially different from electricity. Yet both vary inversely as the square of this distance. Radiation, likewise follows the same formula. In this last case, the formula, in one aspect of it, follows from the conservation of energy. In another aspect of it, it results from the principle of probability, and does not hold good, in a certain sense, when the light is concentrated by a lens free from spherical aberration. But neither the conservation of energy nor the principle of probability seems to afford any possible explanation of the application of this theory to gravitation nor to electricity. How, then, are such analogies to be explained? The law of the conservation of energy and that of the perduration of matter present so striking an analogy that it has blinded some powerful intellects to their radically different nature. The law of action and reaction, again, has often been stated as the law of the conservation of momentum. Yet it is not only an independent law, but is even of a contrary nature, inasmuch as it is only the algebraical sum of opposite momenta that is “conserved.”[123] How is this striking analogy between three fundamental laws to be explained? Consider the still more obvious analogy between space and time. Newton argues that the laws of mechanics prove space and time to be absolute entities. Leibniz, on the other hand, takes them as laws of nature. Either view calls for an explanation of the analogy between them, which no such reflection as the impossibility of motion without that analogy can supply. Kant’s theory seems to hint at the possibility of an explanation from both being derived from the nature of the same mind. Any three orthogonal directions[124] in space are exactly alike, yet are dynamically independent.

These things call for explanation; yet no explanation of them can be given, if the laws are fundamentally original and absolute.

Moreover, law itself calls for explanation. But how is it to be explained if it is as fundamentally original and absolute as it is commonly supposed to be? Yet if it is not so absolute, there is such a phenomenon as absolute chance.

Thus, the chance which growth calls for is now seen to be absolute, not _quasi_ chance.

Now consider argument number 2. The variety of the universe so far as it consists of unlikenesses between things calls for no explanation. But so far as it is a general character, it ought to be explained. The manifold diversity or specificalness, in general, which we see whenever and wherever we open our eyes, constitutes its liveliness, or vivacity. The perception of it is a direct, though darkling, perception of God. Further explanation in that direction is uncalled for. But the question is, whether this manifold specificalness was put into the universe at the outset, whether God created the universe in the infinitely distant past and has left it to its own machinery ever since, or whether there is an incessant influx of specificalness. Some of us are evolutionists; that is, we are so impressed with the pervasiveness of growth, whose course seems only here and there to be interrupted, that it seems to us that the universe as a whole, so far as anything can possibly be conceived or logically opined of the whole, should be conceived as growing. But others say, though parts of the universe simulate growth at intervals, yet there really is no growth on the whole,—no passage from a simpler to a more complex state of things, no increasing diversity.

Now, my argument is that, according to the principles of logic, we never have a right to conclude that anything is absolutely inexplicable or unaccountable. For such a conclusion goes beyond what can be directly observed, and we have no right to conclude what goes beyond what we observe, except so far as it explains or accounts for what we observe. But it is no explanation or account of a fact to pronounce it inexplicable or unaccountable, or to pronounce any other fact so. Now, to say no process of diversification takes place in nature leaves the infinite diversity of nature unaccounted for; while to say the diversity is the result of a general tendency to diversification is a perfectly logical probable inference. Suppose there be a general tendency to diversification; what would be the consequence? Evidently, a high degree of diversity. But this is just what we find in nature. It does not answer the purpose to say there is diversity because God made it so, for we cannot tell what God would do, nor penetrate his counsels. We see what He _does_ do, and nothing more. For the same reason one cannot logically infer the existence of God; one can only know Him by direct perception.

It is to be noted that a general tendency to diversification does not explain diversity in its specific characters; nor is this called for. Neither can such a tendency explain any specific fact. Any attempt to make use of the principle in that manner would be utterly illogical. But it can be used to explain universal facts, just as quasi-chance is used to explain statistical facts. Now, the diversity of nature is a universal fact.

To explain diversity is to go behind the chaos, to the original undiversified nothing. Diversificacity was the first germ.

Argument No. 4 was, upon its negative side, sufficiently well presented in my “Doctrine of Necessity Examined.” Mechanical causation, if absolute, leaves nothing for consciousness to do in the world of matter; and if the world of mind is merely a transcript of that of matter, there is nothing for consciousness to do even in the mental realm. The account of matters would be better, if it could be left out of account. But the positive part of the argument, showing what can be done to reinstate consciousness as a factor of the universe when once tychism is admitted, is reinforced in the later papers. This ought to commend itself to Dr. Carus, who shows himself fully alive to the importance of that part of the task of science which consists in bridging gaps. But consciousness, for the reason just stated, is not to be so reinstated without tychism; nor can the work be accomplished by assigning to the mind an occult power, as in two theories to be considered in the section following this. As might be anticipated, (and a presumption of this kind is rarely falsified in metaphysics,) to bridge the gap synechism is required. Supposing matter to be but mind under the slavery of inveterate habit, the law of mind still applies to it. According to that law, consciousness subsides as habit becomes established, and is excited again at the breaking up of habit. But the highest quality of mind involves a great readiness to take habits, and a great readiness to lose them; and this implies a degree of feeling neither very intense nor very feeble.

I have noticed above (§ 7) Dr. Carus’s dubious attitude toward the first argument. I considered in the last section his attempted reply to the second. To the third argument, he replies (¶ 65) that law ought to be accounted for by the principle of sufficient reason. But, of course, that principle cannot recommend itself to me, a realist; for it is nothing but the lame attempt of a nominalist to wriggle out of his difficulties. Reasons explain nothing, except upon some theistic hypothesis which may be pardoned to the yearning heart of man, but which must appear doubtful in the eyes of philosophy, since it comes to this, that Tom, Dick, and Harry are competent to pry into the counsels of the Most High, and can invite in their cousins and sweethearts and sweethearts’ cousins to look over the original designs of the Ancient of Days.

§ 27. My fourth argument it is which seems to have made most impression upon Dr. Carus’s mind (¶ 85), and his reply is rather elaborate.

While embracing unequivocally the necessitarian dogma, equally for mind and for matter (¶ 193), Dr. Carus wishes utterly to repudiate materialism and the mechanical philosophy (¶ 133). To facilitate his, thus, walking the slack-rope, he makes (¶ 168) a division of events into “(1) mechanical, (2) physical, (3) chemical, (4) physiological, and (5) psychical events.” The first three (¶¶ 169-171) are merely distinguished by the magnitude of the moving masses, so that, for philosophical purposes, they do not differ at all. As for physiological events, though he devotes a paragraph (¶ 172) to their definition, he utterly fails to distinguish them from the mechanical (including the physical and chemical) on the one hand, or from the psychical on the other. Dr. Carus seems to think (¶ 176) that by this division he has separated himself entirely from the materialists; but this is an illusion, for nobody denies the existence of feelings.

The truth is, he distinctly enrolls himself in the mechanical army when he asserts that mental laws are of the same necessitarian character as mechanical laws (¶ 193). The only question that remains as to his position is whether he is a materialist or not. He instances (¶ 185) the case of a general receiving a written dispatch and being stimulated into great activity by its perusal, and causing great motions to be made and missiles to be sped in consequence. Now, the dilemma is this. Will Dr. Carus, on the one hand, say that the motion of those missiles was determined by mechanical laws alone, in which case, it would only be necessary to state all the positions and velocities of particles concerned, a hundred years before, to determine just how those bullets would move and, consequently, whether the guns were to be fired or not, and this would constitute him a materialist, or will he say that the laws of motion do not suffice to determine motions of matter, in which case, since they formally certainly do so suffice, they must be _violated_, and he will be giving to mind a direct dynamical power which is open to every objection that can be urged against tychism?

Now admire the decision with which he cuts the Gordian knot!

“THERE ARE NO PURELY MECHANICAL PHENOMENA.” (¶ 175.)

That is,

“_The laws of motion ARE applicable to and will explain all
motions_.” (¶ 177.)

But hold!

“The mechanical philosopher ... feels warranted in the hope
that ... the actions of man ... can be explained by the laws of
motion .... We may anticipate that this conclusion will prove
ERRONEOUS. _And so it is._” (¶ 176.)

At the same time,

“NO OBJECTION CAN BE MADE _to the possibility of explaining the
delicate motions in the nervous substance of the brain by the
laws of molar or molecular mechanics_.” (¶ 178.)

Yet,

“_The simplest_ psychical reflexes, including those
_physiological reflexes_ which we must suppose to have
originated by conscious adaptation ... CANNOT _be explained
from mechanical_ or physical _laws_ alone.” (¶ 186.)

However,

“_We do NOT say that there are motions_ ... in the brain ...
_which form exceptions to the laws of mechanics_.” (¶ 187.)

Nevertheless,

“The brain-atoms are possessed of the same spontaneity as
the atoms of a gravitating stone. Yet there is present an
additional feature; there are present states of awareness....
Neither states of awareness nor their meanings can be weighed
on any scales, be they ever so delicate, nor are they
determinable in foot-pounds.” (¶ 192.)

Clearness is the first merit of a philosopher; and what ¶ 192 comes to is crystal-clear. Dr. Carus wants to have the three laws of motion always obeyed; but he wishes the forces between the molecules to be varied according to the momentary states of awareness. All right: he is entitled to suppose whatever he likes, so long as the supposition is self-consistent, as this supposition is. It conflicts with the law of energy, it is true; for that law is that the forces depend on the situations of the particles alone, and not on the time. It is liable to give rise to perpetual motion. It was intended, no doubt, to be an improvement on my molecular theory of protoplasm, earlier in the same number. It escapes materialism. It supposes a direct dynamical action between mind and matter, such as has not been supposed by any eminent philosopher that I know of for centuries. I am sorry to say that it shows a dangerous leaning toward originality. The argument for thus rejecting the law of the conservation of energy, I leave to others to be weighed. It seems to suppose a much larger falsification of that law than my doctrine; but it is a pretty clever attempt to escape my conclusions. It rejects what has to be rejected, the law of the conservation of energy; and is far more intelligent than the theory of those (like Oliver and Lodge) who wish to give to mind a power of deflecting atoms, which would satisfy the conservation of energy while violating the law of action and reaction. If it can have due consideration, I doubt not it will accelerate the acceptance of my views. Meantime, I do not see where that “inextricable confusion” into which I was to be led is to come in. (¶ 4.)

§ 28. Little more requires to be noticed in Dr. Carus’s articles. He admits (¶ 2) that indeterminism is the more natural belief, which is no slight argument in its favor.

§ 29. The remarks upon the theological bearings of the theories, if they are found somewhat wide of the mark, are explained by the haste of the editor to show just what all the affiliations of my views were, before I had had time to explain what those views are. The remarks to which I refer will be found in ¶¶ 3, 36, 81, 82, 83, 128, 203, 204. They are worth putting together.

§ 30. The doctrine of symbolism, to which Dr. Carus has recourse, seems to be similar to that of my essay “Some Consequences of Four Incapacities” (_Journal of Speculative Philosophy_, II.) (¶¶ 180, 183, 199.) On this head, I can only approve of his ideas.

§ 31. It is true that I wrote many definitions for one of the “encyclopedic lexicons.” But they were necessarily rather vaguely expressed, in order to include the popular use of terms, and in some cases were modified by proof-readers or editors; and for reasons not needful here to explain, they are hardly such as I should give in a Philosophical Dictionary proper.

C. S. PEIRCE.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] J. S. Mill had in the first edition of his _Logic_ decisively taken an objective conception of chance and probability; but in his second edition he had become puzzled and had retracted, leaving that chapter, and with it his whole logic, a melancholy wreck, over which the qualified reader sighs, “And this once seemed intelligible!” Venn in the first edition of his book set forth the same objective conception with great clearness, and for that he was entitled to high praise, notwithstanding his manifest inadequacy to the problems treated. But in his second edition, he too has fallen away from his first and correct view, and has adopted a theory which I shall some day show to be untenable. Venn’s whole method in logic, as well as his system, is in my opinion of the weakest.

[102] Mill often did good service in substituting precise terms for ambiguous ones; as when in speaking of mathematical conclusions he prefers to say they are legitimate deductions rather than that they are necessary.

[103] In his _Ursache, Grund and Zweck_, Dr. Carus alludes to this passage. But he prefers the treatment of the question by Reid, whom he calls Mill’s opponent (_Gegner_).

[104] It is of comparatively little consequence what Hume really meant. The main interest is in what Kant thought he meant.

[105] Along with the distinction, I would of course do away with this use of the words _abstract_ and _concrete_ to which no clear idea can be attached, as far as I can see.

[106] I cannot but disapprove of this use of the word “construction” to mean a studied theory, because the word is imperatively required in the theory of cognition to denote a mathematical diagram framed according to a general precept.

[107] I apply this term because it is essentially like the passage from the concrete “virtuous” to the abstract “virtue,” or from the concrete “white” (adjective) to the abstract “whiteness,” or “white” (substantive).

[108] I can never use this word without thinking of the explanation of it given by Petrus Peregrinus in his _Epistole de Magnete_. He says that physical properties are occult in the sense that they are only brought out by experimentation, and are not to be deduced from admixtures of _hot_ and _cold_, _moist_ and _dry_.

[109] It follows as a corollary from this that if the positions of the particles at any one instant, together with the velocities at that instant, and the law of force, are given, the positions at all instants can be calculated. Of course, to give the positions and velocities at one instant, is a special case of the giving of the positions at two instants. The two instants may be such that there will be more than one solution of the problem; but this is an insignificant detail.

[110] It would seem to follow from his notion that in uniform motion each minute’s motion is the cause of that of the next. Yet he says (¶ 19) “there is no cause that is equal to its effect.”

[111] But, as I have elsewhere said, I should like to persuade mathematicians to speak of “positional energy” as _Kinetic potency_, the _vis viva_ as _Kinetic energy_, and the total “energy” as the _Kinetic entelechy_.

[112] The differential equation being an ordinary, not a partial one, this is an absolute constant, determined by initial (or final, or any instantaneous) conditions.

[113] Dr. Carus calls attention to the connection between my doctrine of the fixation of opinion and his anti-originalism.

[114] Dr. Carus passes a sweeping judgment on Post-Kantian philosophy, as being original.

[115] This was a remark of my father’s.

[116] A person in the last _Monist_, breaks in upon my series of articles to foretell what the “issues of synechism” will be. Were he able to do so, it would certainly be the height of ill-manners thus to take the words out of my mouth.

[117] As I am writing, I am shown a letter, in which the writer says: “Peirce with all his materialistic ideas, yet,” etc I never promulgated a materialistic idea in my life. The writer simply assumes that science is materialistic. As I am correcting the proofs, I notice that Mr. B. C. Burt, in his new _History of Modern Philosophy_, sets me down as sceptical, though doubtfully. There are a good many inaccuracies in the work. This was inevitable in a first edition. But the ingenious plan of the book admirably adapts it to the wants of just that class of students who cannot understand that no repertory of facts ever can be trusted implicitly.

[118] Its being hypothetical will not prevent its being established with a very high degree of certainty. Thus, all history is of the nature of hypothesis; since its facts cannot be directly observed, but are only supposed to be true to account for the characters of the monuments and other documents.

[119] Somebody may notice that I here admit a proposition as absolutely true. Undoubtedly; because it relates to the Absolute.

[120] Indeed, to admit that reply is all but to admit the non-absolute grade of necessity.

[121] I rightly go somewhat further in my _Theory of Probable Inference_; but that has no bearing on the present discussion.

[122] Dr. Carus, in his _Ursache, Grund und Zweck_, well says that _reasons_ are discovered by induction, in the strict sense. It is often admitted that _causes_ can only be inferred by hypothetic reasoning.

[123] The conservation of a vortex, which consists of the preservation of a certain character of motion by the same particles, though derived from the coöperation of other laws, is, in form, quite different.

[124] In speaking of directions, we assume the Euclidean hypothesis that the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles.

THE FOUNDER OF TYCHISM, HIS METHODS, PHILOSOPHY, AND CRITICISMS.

IN REPLY TO MR. CHARLES S. PEIRCE.

INTRODUCTORY AND PERSONAL.

Soon after I had received Mr. Peirce’s manuscript he wrote me in a private letter as follows:

“You have not found, I trust, that in my rejoinder I have
anywhere overstepped the limit of amiable disputation. If
anything of that kind did, unconsciously to me, in the heat
of composition, slip from my pen, I am most anxious to have
it pointed out to me, so that there may be no feeling in the
matter of a disagreeable kind. For if you should not mention
it, I should at some future time discover it, and it would be a
source of real unhappiness to me.”

This is a very amiable disposition of mind. Mr. Peirce presses me very hard in the struggle for truth: he does not hesitate to take advantage of even the smallest weak point which he espies or rather which he believes he espies. He does not shrink from using plain terms, such as “absurd,” “unthinking,” “weak,” “hasty,” “irrational.” Yet he preserves in the heat of the controversy a friendly spirit towards his antagonist, which I cannot but appreciate and wish publicly to acknowledge. But I would not have him change a word or soften the language of his article in the least, _for my sake_. If Mr. Peirce is wrong, I will take care of myself; if he is right, let the truth come out.

We are both, as it were, by profession champions of truth; so we need not mind an occasional fling if in the end the cause of truth be promoted. Especially, in the present case, I need not mind the hard blows which Mr. Peirce deals with such assurance, for all the points at which he strikes are well protected. The fiercer the onslaught, the better the test. I feel satisfied that his severe scrutiny only serves to prove the strength of the position which I defend.

I shall speak my mind as freely and unreservedly as does Mr. Peirce, and hope he in his turn will resent plain words as little as I do. As offense is not intended, so offense should not be taken.

Let me add here in these introductory remarks that I am always open to conviction. The views which I uphold have been well considered and thought out in their most important consequences. They are consistent and well guarded in spite of Mr. Peirce’s thinking the contrary, so that I feel no need of changing them. But should some unforeseen difficulty arise which would oblige me to revise the whole system of my ideas, I shall not hesitate publicly to confess it and allow myself to be lead by truth whithersoever it be.

* * * * *

The issue of our controversy is the problem of chance—not of chance as it occurs, for instance, in the throw of dice, but of “absolute chance,” or perfect lawlessness. Mr. Peirce makes absolute chance the corner-stone of his philosophy; he propounds a radical and sweeping indeterminism, while I reject the idea, not of chance, but of absolute chance as incompatible with the philosophy of science.

I. DIFFERENCES OF METHOD.

Mr. Peirce calls himself a Scotist and professes to represent mediæval Realism, speaking at the same time of me as a Nominalist. We find, however, that the inverse statement would be nearer the truth.

Before discussing Mr. Peirce’s philosophy itself, we must examine his methods. Difference of method will produce important divergencies of opinion.

1. ATTENTION TO DETAIL.

Mr. Peirce takes up in his rejoinder many incidental points, which have little or no bearing upon the main issues between us. On the one hand, things of no consequence, such as my granting that “absolute chance” like the impossibilities of fairy tales, is not unimaginable, and my saying that tychism is attractive but weak for lack of arguments, are adduced as “momentous admissions,” and “inconsiderate concessions.” On the other hand, Mr. Peirce catches at straws to prove a lack of information on my part. He cannot forbear calling attention to the little breach of etiquette committed in not giving an English baronet his proper title.

Mr. Peirce shows on all these and other occasions a love of the incidental, and if I were to allow myself to follow his example the battle would soon be broken up into innumerable skirmishes.

It is noteworthy that Mr. Peirce’s procedure appears to be a nominalistic tradition. Nominalists, regarding universals as mere names of many particular things, have always showed a great preference for the single, the incidental, the scattered; while realists viewing universals as real things were in the habit of laying perhaps too much stress upon universalities and generalities to the neglect of the particular and individual.

Indeed, Mr. Peirce’s favorite idea, which is a belief in absolute chance, is in my opinion the most nominalistic and anti-realistic proposition I have ever met with. Regularity, or natural law, is to him the product of evolution. Thus he demolishes the eternity of the universal, and eternity is only universality in time. Now suppose that eternity (i. e. universality in time) could be proved an error; then, the universality of the universal in space also will become illusory. If those abiding features of nature which we call natural laws have indeed originated from a general sporting, from chance, from a chaotic lawlessness, by a gradual habit taking, who can assure us that nature has not taken different habits in other parts of the universe?

I look upon Mr. Peirce as an extreme nominalist, or, if he prefers it, as a nominal realist soaked with nominalistic opinions. He professes to be a realist, but he rescinds the foundation of realism.

Like the bear of the hermit Mr. Peirce throws the stone at the fly of necessary connection, and in doing so kills the philosophy of realism itself.

2. ORIGINALITY.

Originality, wherever we find it, is pleasing; but a hankering after originality is dangerous. Experience teaches us to regard a thinker’s love of originality as one of the main causes of his going astray. Let the poet be original, but not the scientist, not the philosopher, not the searcher for truth. The conceit of being original flatters our vanity, and original ideas in philosophy are tantamount to original errors.

I do not deny the value of originality, but I do deny that it is a criterion of truth.

Originality consists in the free exercise of our imagination, and a vivid imagination is very valuable to the thinker. But it so happens that every dreamer cherishes with a mother’s love the children of his fancy. And it is, therefore, necessary to be especially critical with the offspring of one’s own brain.

Kepler (“who,” Mr. Peirce says, “comes very close to realising my ideal of the scientific method”) was endowed with an extraordinarily vivid imagination. He invented an extremely original scheme of explanation for the solar system, and expounded it with great poetical fervor in his “Mysterium Cosmographicum.”[125]

Kepler at once became famous by his “Mysterium Cosmographicum” and was generally admired for his originality. But his bent for hatching original ideas did not alone make Kepler what he is to us now in the history of science. A greater quality than his poetical fervor and original imagination was his rigorous self-criticism. He took notice of every little fact that did not agree with his theories, and for the sake of truth, of objectively provable truth, that is, the agreement of his views with positive facts, he sternly slew all those creatures of his fancy which he foresaw could not survive.

Having myself a good deal of imagination, and having tried myself many original ideas, I can appreciate the self-denial and discipline of Kepler. I have come to the conclusion that originality is only an important means of attaining truth. Our ways of reaching the truth, our methods of finding it, may deserve the praise of originality, but truth itself is never original; for truth is the faithfulness of a copy which in our representations we make of reality, and to praise ideas as original is certainly no argument that they are true.

There is no need of showing that Mr. Peirce is not just in his statement of my view of originality, by maintaining that I have advised people “think not for yourself.” Confessedly he exaggerates, but in truth he misrepresents.

Mr. Peirce does not relish what I have to say on the subject, and, to pacify his mind, he does not tire of praising originality as the high-water mark of genius.

Mr. Peirce’s love of originality is a nominalistic feature of his mind. A nominalist who denies the existence of universals cannot understand that everything in science must be sacrificed to truthfulness. The question, Does this idea correctly represent its respective reality? has no sense to a nominalist. The nominalist is only interested in what a thinker makes of things. The subjective conception, in his opinion, exhausts the subject. I can understand that a nominalist should be greatly pleased with originality, but a realist should not allow himself to be seduced by its charms.

Mr. Peirce’s penchant for, and my distrust of, originality, have a direct influence upon our respective methods of thought. It naturally makes him bolder and me more cautious.[126]

3. A MODERN PROCRUSTES.

There was a man in ancient Greece named Procrustes, who had two beds; one long, the other short. He used to lay his tall guests upon the short bed, and his short guests upon the long bed, cutting off the limbs of the former and stretching out the bodies of the latter, until they fitted the size of their unpleasant resting places. In the same way Mr. Peirce treats philosophical views.

There is the bed of the materialist and, as all processes to the materialist are purely mechanical, necessitarianism is stretched in the materialist’s bed to mechanicalism. I plead, since ideas and feelings are not motions, that mental processes cannot be explained by the laws of motion, but can, for that reason, be none the less determined; but I plead in vain. That view of necessitarianism does not suit the bed upon which my Procrustes places me. Other views, however, are cut down without further ado because they are said to be nominalistic. Anything that does not appeal to Mr. Peirce’s realistic mind is dismissed with a shrug.

I am neither a realist nor a nominalist, or rather, I am both realist and nominalist. I am convinced that to some extent both sides were right and both sides were wrong, and regard it as our duty to sift their propositions and accept the truth whether it be nominalistic or realistic.

We must follow the principle of hearing both sides, and not consider at all whether a statement agrees or disagrees with certain party principles.[127]

4. OCCAM’S RAZOR.

The most brilliant disciple of Duns Scotus was William of Occam, whose fame almost rivalled that of his master. Occam became an adversary of realism; he became a nominalist, and after him was named a method known as Occam’s razor, especially useful to nominalists in their warfare against realists.

Occam’s razor is expressed in the sentence: “_Entia non sunt multiplicanda præter necessitatem_,” which means: Only in cases of extremest necessity are we allowed to assume the existence of hypothetical facts. If assumed facts are not absolutely indispensable, cut them off!

Occam’s razor was invented for a special purpose, that of cutting off the realistic hypostatisation of abstract ideas.

I do not know which is more startling, that a realist in name, such as Mr. Peirce, should use a weapon forged by nominalists against realism, or that he whom in other respects we found in such a close contact with nominalistic methods, should not understand how to handle a nominalistic weapon.

Mr. Peirce censures me for making the statement that the formal is subjective as well as objective. This, he says, is cut off by Occam’s razor.

The formal is subjective, for our sensation is possessed of form and our mind is in possession of formal thought. It is objective, for reality is not void of form and the things are such as they are by virtue of their peculiar shape.

The proposition that the formal is objective and subjective at the same time is as little cut off by Occam’s razor as, for instance, the proposition that there is air inside and outside of us, viz. in our lungs and in the surrounding atmosphere.

Mr. Peirce’s usage of the beds of Procrustes is cruel, but his usage of Occam’s razor is inconsiderate. He should be careful in handling such a sharp knife, lest he do himself harm.

Mr. Peirce uses Occam’s razor to cut off statements and facts which make his pet theories dispensable; but he forgets that Occam’s razor cuts off ideas only, and when it comes in contact with facts its edge is turned.

Occam’s razor is an excellent instrument to dispose of such hypotheses as absolute chance, for it declares that if their assumption is not quite indispensable, we must cut them off.

Now it either is or is not a fact that the formal is objective and subjective at once. It cannot be untrue in my philosophy while it is true in Mr. Peirce’s system. My proposition of the formal being at once objective and subjective is, according to Mr. Peirce, “cut off by Occam’s razor.” “But,” adds he, “when synechism has united the two worlds this view gains new life.” So long as I say so, it is wrong; but should I adopt Mr. Peirce’s system, it will pass as right.

5. THE APPLICATION OF LEARNING.

Philosophers should make it a rule not to encumber their thoughts unnecessarily with learning. The great problems of philosophy are, in my opinion, much simpler than they are generally supposed to be. The art mainly consists in stating them in the simplest possible manner.

It is indispensable for a philosopher to be familiar, at least in a general way, with all the most important sciences, especially with psychology, physiology, logic, physics, mathematics, and mechanics. But he should not for that reason introduce any more than he can help their complicated details into his expositions.

Every specialist is inclined to look at things through the spectacles of his own speciality. But the philosopher who takes a higher standpoint should be on his guard. He should always endeavor to simplify matters and avoid introducing into philosophy issues which belong to a special field, and derive their peculiarities from special conditions. To confound the methods of the various sciences, or to generalise without sufficient discrimination, will throw everything into confusion.

Mr. Peirce, as we well know, has greatly distinguished himself in logic by valuable discoveries and independent investigations. We have repeatedly taken occasion to pronounce unreservedly our admiration of his achievements in this field. But we cannot approve of his application of certain methods of his speciality to philosophy in general. Mr. Peirce is inclined to look at the world through the spectacles of that new and extremely specialised branch of logic which he is at present about to invent.

One hindrance to properly appreciating his doctrines, says Mr. Peirce, lies in my “laboring under the great disadvantage of not understanding the logic of relatives,” which, he adds (p. 533):

“Is a subject I have been studying for a great many years, and
I feel and know that I have an important report that I ought
to make upon it. This branch of logic is, however, so abstruse
that I have never been able to find the leisure to translate my
conclusions into a form in which their significance would be
manifest even to powerful thinkers, whose thoughts had not long
been turned in that direction.”

I shall be glad to sit at Mr. Peirce’s feet as an attentive student, as soon as he has worked out his logic of relatives, or any other subject. But I cannot now accept any of his theories on the credit of some half-developed science, be it ever so profound or intricate, until I see plainly its connection with the present issues.