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to use Mr. Lewes's phrase — than that of man. But we certainly have every reason to believe that they are conscious, and intensely conscious within a certain range. Why, then, if the intelligence that guides the bee in building its cell is the same as that which guides man, should we say that in the case of the bee it is unconscious ? Mr. Murphy says: “These insects, in building their hexagonal cells, are manifestly guided by intelligence of some kind; but it is not conscious intelligence, for we cannot think that they have any conscious knowledge of those properties of the hexagon which make that form most suitable to their purposes.” Again, we ask, why not? If they have knowledge, why not conscious knowledge ?
The only reason for denying consciousness seems to me to be that thereby the imagination is helped over a great difficulty. But what is the nature of the relief thus obtained ? It is simply that which results from skillfully combining in a phrase the affirmation and denial of a given proposition. All the intelligence that is in this case predicated of the bee is denied in the qualifying word unconscious. By using two words for the idea under consideration, the true nature of the combination is obscured. But all that the judgment really assents to is that the creatures in question are possessed of an unintelligent kind of intelligence.
But, it may be responded, if this is the true diagnosis of the case, — if there is nothing more in the phrase unconscious intelligence than a contradiction of terms, — might we not reasonably expect that to some other philosopher it would seem better to use the words of our phrase in the reverse order, — to ascribe, that is, the origin of instincts and organs to unintelligent consciousness ? This is certainly a reasonable suggestion. Such a philosopher we might expect to find, and such an one we actually do find.
The necessity of resorting to some non-mechanical principle to account for the adaptations that appear in nature is thus expressed by Dr. E. D. Cope: “It is evident that growth force is not concentric nor polar in its activity as are the physical forces, and that its determinations are antagonistic to these. Its existence in the earth has been a succession of conquests over polar force.” 1 And, again : “ The variations from which natural selection has derived the persistent types of life have not been general or very extensive. They have been in a limited number of directions, and the most of these have been toward the increase in perfection
i Origin of the Fittest, p. 398. VOL. XV. – No. 90. 40
of some machine. They bear the impress of the presence of an adequate originating cause directed to a special end.”] This cause can be no other than mind. “We are,” he says, “ led to the conclusion that evolution is an outgrowth of mind, and that mind is the parent of the forms of living nature." ? But feeling it necessary to reconcile this belief with “the evolutionary hypothesis that mind is the product and highest development of the universe of matter and force," he hastens to explain that, “ by mind, as the author of the organic world, I mean only the two elements, consciousness and memory."
Of these two elements, consciousness is always the responsible partner. Memory only registers the experiences that are supplied to it. Consciousness does all the rest. It feels the pressure of environment, it recognizes the want that bars the way to organic progress, and it invents the new adjustments that will meet this want. Consciousness is, in short, at all points, the great originator and organizer. It has operated from the very beginning of organic life. It is not simply a property of protoplasm ; it is not, in the last analysis, a property of anything. It is not even a product. “The nature of consciousness is such as to distinguish it from all other thinkable things, and it must be ranged with matter and force as the third element of the universe.” 3
As thus described, consciousness is clearly synonymous with mind. Why, then, should we not call it mind and done with it? Simply because we cannot conjure with the word “mind” as we can with the word “consciousness.” Like the ogre of Puss in Boots, consciousness can change itself into the smallest of small entities, and quite disappear from our view. Thus Dr. Cope tells us that when he speaks of consciousness as modifying movement and movement as modifying structure, he uses the word “in its simplest sense, as synonymous with physical sensibility. Its lowest and most usual exhibition is the sense of touch ; the special senses, taste, sight, etc., are higher forms, while thoughts and desires are the organized products of the same raw material.” 4
But we cannot pass over the fact that some of the most important — we had almost said intelligent — adjustments of consciousness have to be made when it is at its lowest stage. Dr. Cope has fully illustrated, and, as we believe, very justly emphasized, the principle that the origin of all new organs and forms is to be looked for in unspecialized material. That is, where coni Origin of the Fittest, p. 408.
2 Ibid., p. 230. 8 Ibid., p. 230.
4 Ibid., p. 229.
sciousness is at its simplest, where it is just physical sensibility and nothing more, there it is found to be most actively and skillfully at work, taking its first and most difficult steps. In other words, we find unintelligent consciousness performing for Dr. Cope just the same wonders that unconscious intelligence performed for Mr. Murphy.
This same method — the method of separating mind into its conceptual elements, and using one or two of these as if they were the whole — has been adopted by some eminent writers of whom we should never have expected it.
Thus Haeckel, at the conclusion of an argument which he regards as a complete demonstration of the truth of the mechanical hypothesis, tells us that memory and the power of perception are the chief factors in the development of organisms. “ Heredity," he says, " is the memory of plastidules (organic molecules), variability their power of perception. The one brings about the constancy, and the other the diversity of organic forms. In the very simple and persistent forms of life the plastidules have, so to speak, learned nothing and forgotten nothing. In highly perfected and variable organisms the plastidules have both learned and forgotten much.”] It is clear that perception, in this scheme, accomplishes just as much as intelligence does in any other part of the universe. But it is somehow much easier to believe that organic molecules are endowed with unconscious perception and unconscious memory than to believe them possessed of conscious mind.
It may seem to the reader that we have dwelt quite long enough on this aspect of the subject. But we must entreat his patience. The idea of unconscious creation has been exploited in many ways; and we have not yet considered that development of it that has made the greatest mark and secured the largest number of adherents.
Edward von Hartmann's philosophy differs radically from the above schemes, in that it postulates an unconscious intelligence that is all-pervasive. It is essentially pantheistic. He himself has said that it is “ the elevation of Hegel's unconscious philosophy of the unconscious into a conscious one.” In it all the phenomena that we have been considering are referred, not to the unconscious intelligence of animals or molecules, but to the unlimited clairvoyance of an all-comprehensive existence, — “ The All-One.” The unerring wisdom and skill of the All-One have
1 Quoted by W. K. Brooks, Heredity, p. 37.
elaborated the adapted forms of the natural world in absolute unconsciousness, with the exception of that limited and very imperfect consciousness that appears in men and animals. It is to this system of philosophy that I referred when, at the beginning of this article, I ventured the opinion that the idea of unconscious creation had contributed in no small degree to the building up of a philosophical theism. And I will say further, that it seems to me impossible for any reader of Hartmann's persuasive pages to doubt that he has grasped a unifying principle, which he has elucidated with much force and ingenuity. But it is not at all so certain that this principle is the one which he emphasizes. He has called his scheme The Philosophy of the Unconscious. But, in what follows, I shall try to show that its whole strength is owing to the fact that it is the Philosophy of the Intelligent.
From beginning to end, it rests upon the following thesis : An intelligence which is not the intelligence of the creature is everywhere at work in the world.
The evidence adduced to establish this main proposition is drawn from almost every department of our experience. He finds it in human history, he finds it in the development of the individual, he finds it in all the phenomena of growth, and in the routine life of our unconsciously performed bodily functions. The reparative power of nature is clearly intelligent. When the mutilated polyp reproduces its tentacles ; when the decapitated worm forms a new head ; when the hydra, cut into many pieces, develops a new whole from each fragment; and when the human organism makes all those complicated modifications of its functions which result in the healing of a wound, - it is the manifestation of an adaptive wisdom that is ready and active at innumerable points. It is a wisdom that reveals itself, first, as a " clairvoyance,” a prevision of wants to be met; and, second, as an amazing ingenuity in the means selected to meet them.
To show how impossible it is to avoid the conclusion that instincts are the expression of intuitive knowledge, Hartmann refers to that class in which the working out of a most elaborate plan, through instinctive action, is shared by a number of individuals, each one of whom contributes a different kind of work. Thus, when bees build a new comb, one kind of operation succeeds another with a regularity and fidelity to plan that would do credit to the most disciplined and foreseeing man. Workers, having different duties to discharge, succeed each other, or work on opposite sides of the cells performing parts which are complemental to each other. Each individual knows when to participate and just what to do; and the value of the work is conditioned upon the consentaneous coöperation of all engaged in it. As Hartmann remarks: “It is as if an invisible supreme architect had laid before the assembly the plan of the whole, and impressed it upon each individual, — as if every kind of laborer had learnt his destined work, place, and order of affording relief, and was informed by some signal of the moment when his turn came.”
As equally convincing of clairvoyance and skill, he instances the purposive transformations that succeed each other when the embryo passes from its unicellular form by innumerable stages into the complex organism of a higher animal. Each stage is in this case the preparation for and necessary condition of all the stages that are to come after it; and each organ is developed earlier in the fætal life than it enters into use.
All these phenomena, he argues, point not to different intelligences, but to one and the same intelligence working under different conditions. The marvels of creative activity in the fætus, the adaptive energy that appears in the recuperative power of nature, and the mysterious intelligence that guides the creature in its relations to its external environment, are all related to each other. There may, indeed, be a diversity of consciousness. That is, there may be in each creature, in each ganglion, and in each cell, a specific consciousness corresponding to its specific functions. Instinct, as the willing of means, may be the conscious act of the organism as a whole, or the act of a lower nerve centre, or even of a cell. But these all point more or less directly to a supreme wisdom that has an absolute knowledge of means and ends, — a wisdom that “never errs” and “never hesitates,” that “never falls ill," and is “never weary."
Up to this point, it will certainly not be difficult for any theist to agree with Hartmann. But now we have to inquire why he finds it necessary to affirm that the author of all these wonderful adaptations is unconscious.
His reason is twofold. In the first place, from a physical point of view, there is no evidence — no analogical probability - of consciousness in the All-One; and, in the second place, from a metaphysical point of view, it is inconceivable. Consciousness is dependent upon organization. The self-conscious mind of man is a product that has been slowly reached through a gradual development from the simplest forms of protoplasm. What vague beginnings of consciousness may exist in the polyp, or the amoeba, or