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diff --git a/40957-0.txt b/40957-0.txt index da9ac70..2bf2756 100644 --- a/40957-0.txt +++ b/40957-0.txt @@ -1,27 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Leibniz's New Essays Concerning the Human -Understanding, by John Dewey - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Leibniz's New Essays Concerning the Human Understanding - A Critical Exposition - -Author: John Dewey - -Release Date: October 6, 2012 [EBook #40957] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Jana Srna, Adrian Mastronardi and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - [ Transcriber's Notes: - - Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully - as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation. - Some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. They - are listed at the end of the text. - - Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. - Greek text has been transliterated and marked with ~tildes~. - ] - - - - - GERMAN PHILOSOPHICAL CLASSICS - FOR - ENGLISH READERS AND STUDENTS. - - EDITED BY - GEORGE S. MORRIS. - - LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS CONCERNING - THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. - - - - - LEIBNIZ'S - NEW ESSAYS CONCERNING THE - HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. - - A CRITICAL EXPOSITION. - - By JOHN DEWEY, Ph.D., - - ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF - MICHIGAN, AND PROFESSOR (ELECT) OF MENTAL AND - MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY - OF MINNESOTA - - CHICAGO: - SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY - 1902 - - - Copyright, 1888, - By S. C. Griggs and Company. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The purpose of the series of which the present volume is one, is not, -as will be seen by reference to the statement in the initial volume, -to sum up _in toto_ the system of any philosopher, but to give a -"critical exposition" of some one masterpiece. In treating the -"Nouveaux Essais" of Leibniz, I have found myself obliged, at times, -to violate the letter of this expressed intention, in order to fulfil -its spirit. The "Nouveaux Essais," in spite of its being one of the -two most extended philosophical writings of Leibniz, is a compendium -of comments, rather than a connected argument or exposition. It has -all the suggestiveness and richness of a note-book, but with much also -of its fragmentariness. I have therefore been obliged to supplement my -account of it by constant references to the other writings of Leibniz, -and occasionally to take considerable liberty with the order of the -treatment of topics. Upon the whole, this book will be found, I hope, -to be a faithful reflex not only of Leibniz's thought, but also of his -discussions in the "Nouveaux Essais." - -In the main, the course of philosophic thought since the time of -Leibniz has been such as to render almost self-evident his limitations, -and to suggest needed corrections and amplifications. Indeed, it is -much easier for those whose thoughts follow the turn that Kant has -given modern thinking to appreciate the defects of Leibniz than to -realize his greatness. I have endeavored, therefore, in the body -of the work, to identify my thought with that of Leibniz as much -as possible, to assume his standpoint and method, and, for the most -part, to confine express criticism upon his limitations to the final -chapter. In particular, I have attempted to bring out the relations -of philosophy to the growing science of his times, to state the -doctrine of pre-established harmony as he himself meant it, and to give -something like consistency and coherency to his doctrine of material -existence and of nature. This last task seemed especially to require -doing. I have also endeavored to keep in mind, throughout, Leibniz's -relations to Locke, and to show the "Nouveaux Essais" as typical of the -distinction between characteristic British and German thought. - - JOHN DEWEY. - -_May_, 1888. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER I. - - The Man. - - PAGE - - His Parents 1 - - His Early Education 2 - - His University Training at Leipsic 4 - - At Jena 8 - - At the University of Altdorf 10 - - His Removal to Frankfurt 10 - - His Mission to Paris 11 - - Discovery of the Calculus 12 - - Librarian at Hanover 13 - - His Activities 14 - - His Philosophic Writings 15 - - His Ecclesiastic and Academic Projects 17 - - His Later Years and Death 18 - - - CHAPTER II. - - Sources of his Philosophy. - - Character of the Epoch into which Leibniz was born 20 - - The Thought of the Unity of the World 23 - - The two Agencies which formed Leibniz's Philosophy 24 - - The Cartesian Influences 26 - - Rationalistic Method 28 - - Mechanical Explanation of Nature 30 - - Application of Mathematics 32 - - Idea of Evolution 33 - - Interpretation of these Ideas 35 - - Idea of Activity or Entelechy 39 - - Idea of Rationality 40 - - Idea of Organism 42 - - - CHAPTER III. - - The Problem and its Solution. - - Unity of Leibniz's Thought 43 - - Relation of Universal and Individual 44 - - Descartes' Treatment of this Question 46 - - Spinoza's Treatment of it 48 - - Leibniz's Solution 50 - - All Unity is Spiritual 53 - - And Active 54 - - Is a Representative Individual 56 - - Contrast of Monad and Atom 58 - - Pre-established Harmony reconciles Universal and Individual 59 - - Meaning of this Doctrine 62 - - - CHAPTER IV. - - Locke and Leibniz.--Innate Ideas. - - Necessity of Preliminary Account of Leibniz's Philosophy 66 - - Locke's Empiricism 67 - - Leibniz's Comments upon Locke 69 - - The Controversies of Leibniz 72 - - The Essay on the Human Understanding 73 - - Locke's Denial of Innate Ideas 75 - - Depending upon - - (1) His Mechanical Conception of Innate Ideas 77 - - Leibniz undermines this by substituting an Organic Conception 80 - - And upon - - (2) His Mechanical Conception of Consciousness 84 - - Leibniz refutes this by his Theory of Unconscious Intelligence 85 - - - CHAPTER V. - - Sensation and Experience. - - Importance of Doctrine regarding Sensation 87 - - The Two Elements of Locke's Notion of Sensation 89 - - Its Relation to the Object producing it: Primary and Secondary - Qualities 91 - - Locke criticized as to his Account - - (1) Of the Production of Sensation 92 - - (2) Of its Function in Knowledge 95 - - The Meaning of Physical Causation 97 - - Bearing of this Doctrine upon Relation of Soul and Body 98 - - Criticism of Locke's Dualism 98 - - Leibniz's Monism 101 - - Summary of Discussion 103 - - Leibniz on the Relation of Sensations to Objects - occasioning them 105 - - Nature of Experience 106 - - Distinction of Empirical from Rational Knowledge 107 - - - CHAPTER VI. - - The Impulses and the Will. - - The Doctrine of Will depends upon that of Intelligence 109 - - The Character of Impulse 111 - - Of Desire 112 - - Half-Pains and Pleasures 113 - - The Outcome of Desire 115 - - Nature of Moral Action 117 - - Of Freedom 118 - - (1) Freedom as Contingency 119 - - Limitation of this Principle 121 - - (2) Freedom as Spontaneity 123 - - This Principle is too Broad to be a Moral Principle 125 - - (3) True Freedom is Rational Action 125 - - Our Lack of Freedom is due to our Sensuous Nature 128 - - Innate Practical Principles 129 - - Moral Science is Demonstrative 130 - - - CHAPTER VII. - - Matter and its Relation to Spirit. - - Locke's Account of Matter and Allied Ideas the Foundation of the - Philosophy of Nature Characteristic of British Empiricism 132 - - Space and Matter wholly Distinct Ideas 134 - - Leibniz gives Matter a Metaphysical Basis 137 - - Ordinary Misunderstanding of Leibniz's Ideas of Matter 138 - - Matter is not composed of Monads 139 - - Matter is the Passive or Conditioned Side of Monads 140 - - Passivity equals "Confused Representations," _i. e._ Incomplete - Development of Reason 144 - - Matter is logically Necessary from Leibniz's Principles 145 - - Bearing of Discussion upon Doctrine of Pre-established Harmony 146 - - Summary 147 - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - Material Phenomena and their Reality. - - What is the Connection between Matter as Metaphysical and as - Physical? 151 - - The Latter is the "Image" of the Former 151 - - Leibniz's Reaction from Cartesian Theory 152 - - His Objections are (1) Physical and (2) Logical 153 - - (1) Motion is Source of Physical Qualities of Bodies 155 - - Hence there are no Atoms 158 - - Secondary Qualities as well as Primary depend upon Motion 160 - - (2) What is the Subject to which the Quality of Extension - belongs? 161 - - It is the Monad _as Passive_ 162 - - Space and Time connect the Spiritual and the Sensible 164 - - Distinction between Space and Time, and Extension and Duration 166 - - Space and Time are Relations 167 - - Leibniz's Controversy with Clarke 168 - - Leibniz denies that Space and Time are Absolute 170 - - What is the Reality of Sensible Phenomena? 173 - - It consists - - (1) In their Regularity 174 - - (2) In their Dependence upon Intelligence and Will 175 - - Leibniz and Berkeley 177 - - - CHAPTER IX. - - Some Fundamental Conceptions. - - Locke's Account of Substance as Static 179 - - The Distinction between Reality and Phenomena 180 - - Leibniz's Conception of Substance as Dynamic 181 - - His Specific Criticisms upon Locke 182 - - The Categories of Identity and Difference Locke also explains in - a Mechanical Way 183 - - Leibniz regards them as Internal and as Organic to each other 184 - - Locke gives a Quantitative Notion of Infinity 188 - - And hence makes our Idea of it purely Negative 189 - - Leibniz denies that the True Notion of Infinity is Quantitative 189 - - He also denies Locke's Account of the Origin of the Indefinite 192 - - In General, Locke has a Mechanical Idea, Leibniz a Spiritual, of - these Categories 193 - - - CHAPTER X. - - The Nature and Extent of Knowledge. - - Locke's Definition and Classification of Knowledge 196 - - Leibniz's Criticism 197 - - Leibniz, Berkeley, and Kant regarding Knowledge of Objects 198 - - The Degrees of Knowledge,--Intuitive, Demonstrative, and - Sensitive 199 - - Locke's Contradictory Theories regarding the Origin of Knowledge 202 - - Locke starts both with the Individual as given to Consciousness - and with the Unrelated Sensation 204 - - Either Theory makes Relations or "Universals" Unreal 205 - - As to the Extent of Knowledge, that of Identity is Wide, but - Trifling 205 - - That of Real Being includes God, Soul, and Matter, but only as to - their Existence 206 - - And even this at the Expense of contradicting his Definition of - Knowledge 206 - - Knowledge of Co-existence is either Trifling or Impossible 207 - - Leibniz rests upon Distinction of Contingent and Rational Truth 209 - - The Former may become the Latter, and is then Demonstrative 210 - - The Means of this Transformation are Mathematics and - Classification 215 - - There are Two Principles,--One of Contradiction 217 - - The Other of Sufficient Reason 218 - - The Latter leads us to God as the Supreme Intelligence and the - Final Condition of Contingent Fact 219 - - The Four Stages of Knowledge 222 - - - CHAPTER XI. - - The Theology of Leibniz. - - Leibniz's Three Arguments for the Existence of God 224 - - The Value of the Ontological 225 - - The Cosmological 226 - - The Teleological 226 - - The Attributes of God 227 - - The Relation of God to the World, his Creating Activity 228 - - Creation involves Wisdom and Goodness as well as Power 229 - - The Relation of God to Intelligent Spirits: they form a Moral - Community 230 - - Leibniz as the Founder of Modern German Ethical Systems 231 - - The End of Morality is Happiness as Self-realization 232 - - The Three Stages of Natural Right 234 - - The Basis of Both Leibniz's Ethics and Political Philosophy is - Man's Relation to God 236 - - His Æsthetics have the Same Basis 237 - - Man's Spirit as Architectonic 238 - - - CHAPTER XII. - - Criticism and Conclusion. - - Leibniz's Fundamental Contradiction is between his Method and his - Subject Matter 240 - - The Use which Leibniz makes of the Principle of Sufficient Reason - reveals this Contradiction 242 - - The Contradiction is between the Ideas of Formal and of Concrete - Unity 243 - - From this Contradiction flow - - (1) The Contradiction in the Notion of Individuality 246 - - Which becomes purely Negative 247 - - The Negative he interprets as merely Privative 249 - - (2) The Contradiction in his Conception of God has the Same - Source 250 - - He really has Three Definitions of God 250 - - One results in Atomism, another in Pantheism 251 - - The Third in a Conception of the Organic Harmony of the - Infinite and Finite 252 - - (3) The Contradiction between the Real and the Ideal in the - Monads has the Same Source 253 - - (4) As have also the Contradictions in the Treatment of the - Relations of Matter and Spirit 254 - - (5) And finally, his Original Contradiction leads to a - Contradictory Treatment of Knowledge 257 - - Summary as to the Positive Value of Leibniz 259 - - The Influence of Leibniz's Philosophy 261 - - Especially upon Kant 262 - - Kant claims to be the True Apologist for Leibniz 263 - - (1) As to the Doctrine of Sufficient Reason and Contradiction 263 - - Which finds its Kantian Analogue in the Distinction between - Analytic and Synthetic Judgment 266 - - (2) As to the Relation of Monads and Matter 268 - - Which finds its Kantian Analogue in the Relation of the - Sensuous and Supersensuous 268 - - (3) And finally, as to the Doctrine of Pre-established Harmony 269 - - Which Kant transforms into Harmony between Understanding - and Sense 269 - - And between the Categories of the Understanding and the - Ideas of Reason 270 - - Conclusion 272 - - - - -LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS CONCERNING THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE MAN. - - -"He who knows me only by my writings does not know me," said -Leibniz. These words--true, indeed, of every writer, but true of -Leibniz in a way which gives a peculiar interest and charm to his -life--must be our excuse for prefacing what is to be said of his "New -Essays concerning the Human Understanding" with a brief biographical -sketch. - -Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz was born in Leipzig June 21, 1646. His -father, who died when Leibniz was only six years old, was a professor -in the university and a notary of considerable practice. From him the -future philosopher seems to have derived his extraordinary industry -and love of detail. Such accounts as we have of him show no traces of -the wonderful intellectual genius of his son, but only a diligent, -plodding, faithful, and religious man, a thoroughly conscientious -husband, jurist, and professor. Nor in the lines of physical heredity -can we account for the unique career of Leibniz by his mother's -endowments. The fact, however, that she was patient in all trial, -living in peace with her neighbors, anxious for unity and concord with -all people, even with those not well disposed to her, throws great -light upon the fundamental trait of Leibniz's ethical nature. As in so -many cases, it is the inherited moral characteristics which form the -basis of the intellectual nature. The love of unity which was a moral -trait in Leibniz's mother became in him the hunger for a harmonious and -unified mental world; the father's devotion to detail showed itself -as the desire for knowledge as minute and comprehensive as it was -inter-related. - -Left without his father, he was by the advice of a discerning friend -allowed free access to the library. Leibniz never ceased to count this -one of the greatest fortunes of his life. Writing in after years to a -friend, he says:-- - -"When I lost my father, and was left without any direction in my -studies, I had the luck to get at books in all languages, of all -religions, upon all sciences, and to read them without any regular -order, just as my own impulse led me. From this I obtained the great -advantage that I was freed from ordinary prejudices, and introduced to -many things of which I should otherwise never have thought." - -In a philosophical essay, in which he describes himself under the name -of Gulielmus Pacidius, he says:-- - -"Wilhelm Friedlieb, a German by birth, who lost his father in his early -years, was led to study through the innate tendency of his spirit; and -the freedom with which he moved about in the sciences was equal to this -innate impulse. He buried himself, a boy eight years old, in a library, -staying there sometimes whole days, and, hardly stammering Latin, he -took up every book which pleased his eyes. Opening and shutting them -without any choice, he sipped now here, now there, lost himself in one, -skipped over another, as the clearness of expression or of content -attracted him. He seemed to be directed by the _Tolle et lege_ of a -higher voice. As good fortune would have it, he gave himself up to the -ancients, in whom he at first understood nothing, by degrees a little, -finally all that was really necessary, until he assumed not only a -certain coloring of their expression, but also of their thought,--just -as those who go about in the sun, even while they are occupied with -other things, get sun-browned." - -And he goes on to tell us that their influence always remained -with him. Their human, their important, their comprehensive ideas, -grasping the whole of life in one image, together with their clear, -natural, and transparent mode of expression, adapted precisely to -their thoughts, seemed to him to be in the greatest contrast with the -writings of moderns, without definiteness or order in expression, and -without vitality or purpose in thought,--"written as if for another -world." Thus Leibniz learned two of the great lessons of his life,--to -seek always for clearness of diction and for pertinence and purpose -of ideas. - -Historians and poets first occupied him; but when in his school-life, -a lad of twelve or thirteen years, he came to the study of logic, -he was greatly struck, he says, by the "ordering and analysis -of thoughts which he found there." He gave himself up to making -tables of categories and predicaments, analyzing each book that he -read into suitable topics, and arranging these into classes and -sub-classes. We can imagine the astonishment of his playmates as -he burst upon them with a demand to classify this or that idea, to -find its appropriate predicament. Thus he was led naturally to the -philosophic books in his father's library,--to Plato and to Aristotle, -to the Scholastics. Suarez, in particular, among the latter, he read; -and traces of his influences are to be found in the formulation of his -own philosophic system. At about this same time he took great delight -in the theological works with which his father's library abounded, -reading with equal ease and pleasure the writings of the Lutherans -and of the Reformed Church, of the Jesuits and the Jansenists, of the -Thomists and the Arminians. The result was, he tells us, that he was -strengthened in the Lutheran faith of his family, but, as we may easily -imagine from his after life, made tolerant of all forms of faith. - -In 1661 the boy Leibniz, fifteen years old, entered the University of -Leipzig. If we glance back upon his attainments, we find him thoroughly -at home in Latin, having made good progress in Greek, acquainted with -the historians and poets of antiquity, acquainted with the contemporary -range of science, except in mathematics and physics, deeply read and -interested in ancient and scholastic philosophy and in the current -theological discussions. Of himself he says:-- - -"Two things were of extraordinary aid to me: in the first place, I was -self-taught; and in the second, as soon as I entered upon any science -I sought for something new, even though I did not as yet thoroughly -understand the old. I thus gained two things: I did not fill my mind -with things empty and to be unlearned afterwards,--things resting -upon the assertion of the teacher, and not upon reason; and secondly, -I never rested till I got down to the very roots of the science and -reached its principles." - -While there is always a temptation to force the facts which we know -of a man's early life, so as to make them seem to account for what -appears in mature years, and to find symbolisms and analogies which do -not exist, we are not going astray, I think, if we see foreshadowed in -this early education of Leibniz the two leading traits of his later -thought,--universality and individuality. The range of Leibniz's -investigations already marks him as one who will be content with -no fundamental principle which does not mirror the universe. The -freedom with which he carried them on is testimony to the fact -that even at this age the idea of self-development, of individual -growth from within, was working upon him. In the fact, also, that he -was self-taught we find doubtless the reason that he alone of the -thinkers of this period did not have to retrace his steps, to take -a hostile attitude towards the ideas into which he was educated, and -to start anew upon a foundation then first built. The development of -the thought of Leibniz is so gradual, continuous, and constant that it -may serve as a model of the law by which the "monad" acts. Is not his -early acquaintance with ancient literature and mediæval philosophy -the reason that he could afterwards write that his philosophical -system "connects Plato with Democritus, Aristotle with Descartes, the -Scholastics with the moderns, theology and morals with reason"? And -who can fail to see in the impartiality, the comprehensiveness, of -his self-education the prophecy of the time when he can write of his -ideas that "there are united in them, as in a centre of perspective, -the ideas of the Sceptics in attributing to sensible things only -a slight degree of reality; of the Pythagoreans and Platonists, -who reduce all to harmonies, numbers, and ideas; of Parmenides and -Plotinus, with their One and All; of the Stoics, with their notion of -necessity, compatible with the spontaneity of other schools; of the -vital philosophy of the Cabalists, who find feeling everywhere; of the -forms and entelechies of Aristotle and the Schoolmen, united with the -mechanical explanation of phenomena according to Democritus and the -moderns"? - -But we must hurry along over the succeeding years of his life. In -the university the study of law was his principal occupation, as he -had decided to follow in the footsteps of his father. It cannot be -said that the character of the instruction or of the instructors at -Leipzig was such as to give much nutriment or stimulus to a mind like -that of Leibniz. He became acquainted there, however, with the Italian -philosophy of the sixteenth century,--a philosophy which, as formulated -by Cardanus and Campanella, formed the transition from Scholastic -philosophy to the "mechanical" mode of viewing the universe. He had -here also his first introduction to Descartes. The consequences of the -new vision opened to Leibniz must be told in his own words: "I was but -a child when I came to know Aristotle; even the Scholastics did not -frighten me; and I in no way regret this now. Plato and Plotinus gave -me much delight, not to speak of other philosophers of antiquity. Then -I fell in with the writings of modern philosophy, and I recall the -time when, a boy of fifteen years, I went walking in a little wood -near Leipzig, the Rosenthal, in order to consider whether I should -hold to the doctrine of substantial forms. Finally the mechanical -theory conquered, and thus I was led to the study of the mathematical -sciences." - -To the study of the mathematical sciences! Surely words of no mean -import for either the future of Leibniz or of mathematics. But his -Leipzig studies did not take him very far in this new direction. Only -the elements of Euclid were taught there, and these by a lecturer -of such confused style that Leibniz seems alone to have understood -them. In Jena, however, where he went for a semester, things were -somewhat better. Weigel, a mathematician of some fame, an astronomer, -a jurist, and a philosopher, taught there, and introduced Leibniz -into the lower forms of analysis. But the Thirty Years' War had not -left Germany in a state of high culture, and in after years Leibniz -lamented the limitations of his early mathematical training, remarking -that if he had spent his youth in Paris, he would have enriched science -earlier. By 1666 Leibniz had finished his university career, having -in previous years attained the degrees of bachelor of philosophy and -master of philosophy. It is significant that for the first he wrote -a thesis upon the principle of individuation,--the principle which -in later years became the basis of his philosophy. This early essay, -however, is rather an exhibition of learning and of dexterity in -handling logical methods than a real anticipation of his afterthought. - -For his second degree, he wrote a thesis upon the application -of philosophic ideas to juridic procedure,--considerations which -never ceased to occupy him. At about the same time appeared his -earliest independent work, "De Arte Combinatoria." From his study of -mathematics, and especially of algebraic methods, Leibniz had become -convinced that the source of all science is,--first, analysis; second, -symbolic representation of the fundamental concepts, the symbolism -avoiding the ambiguities and vagueness of language; and thirdly, -the synthesis and interpretation of the symbols. It seemed to Leibniz -that it ought to be possible to find the simplest notions in all the -sciences, to discover general rules for calculating all their varieties -of combination, and thus to attain the same certainty and generality -of result that characterize mathematics. Leibniz never gave up this -thought. Indeed, in spirit his philosophy is but its application, -with the omission of symbols, on the side of the general notions -fundamental to all science. It was also the idea of his age,--the -idea that inspired Spinoza and the _Aufklärung_, the idea that -inspired philosophical thinking until Kant gave it its death-blow by -demonstrating the distinction between the methods of philosophy and of -mathematical and physical science. - -In 1666 Leibniz should have received his double doctorate of philosophy -and of law; but petty jealousies and personal fears prevented his -presenting himself for the examination. Disgusted with his treatment, -feeling that the ties that bound him to Leipzig were severed by the -recent death of his mother, anxious to study mathematics further, -and, as he confesses, desiring, with the natural eagerness of youth, -to see more of the world, he left Leipzig forever, and entered upon -his _Wanderjahre_. He was prepared to be no mean citizen of the -world. In his education he had gone from the historians to the poets, -from the poets to the philosophers and the Scholastics, from them -to the theologians and Church Fathers; then to the jurists, to the -mathematicians, and then again to philosophy and to law. - -He first directed his steps to the University of Altdorf; here he -obtained his doctorate in law, and was offered a professorship, -which he declined,--apparently because he felt that his time was -not yet come, and that when it should come, it would not be in -the narrow limits of a country village. From Altdorf he went to -Nürnberg; here all that need concern us is the fact that he joined a -society of alchemists (_fraternitas roseæcrucis_), and was made their -secretary. Hereby he gained three things,--a knowledge of chemistry; an -acquaintance with a number of scientific men of different countries, -with whom, as secretary, he carried on correspondence; and the -friendship of Boineburg, a diplomat of the court of the Elector and -Archbishop of Mainz. This friendship was the means of his removing -to Frankfurt. Here, under the direction of the Elector, he engaged -in remodelling Roman law so as to adapt it for German use, in writing -diplomatic tracts, letters, and essays upon theological matters, and -in editing an edition of Nizolius,--a now forgotten philosophical -writer. One of the most noteworthy facts in connection with this -edition is that Leibniz pointed out the fitness of the German language -for philosophical uses, and urged its employment,--a memorable fact -in connection with the later development of German thought. Another -important tract which he wrote was one urging the alliance of -all German States for the purpose of advancing their internal -and common interests. Here, as so often, Leibniz was almost two -centuries in advance of his times. But the chief thing in connection -with the stay of Leibniz at Mainz was the cause for which he left -it. Louis XIV. had broken up the Triple Alliance, and showed signs of -attacking Holland and the German Empire. It was then proposed to him -that it would be of greater glory to himself and of greater advantage -to France that he should move against Turkey and Egypt. The mission of -presenting these ideas to the great king was intrusted to Leibniz, and -in 1672 he went to Paris. - -The plan failed completely,--so completely that we need say no -more about it. But the journey to Paris was none the less the -turning-point in the career of Leibniz. It brought him to the -centre of intellectual civilization,--to a centre compared with -which the highest attainments of disrupted and disheartened Germany -were comparative barbarism. Molière was still alive, and Racine was -at the summit of his glory. Leibniz became acquainted with Arnaud, -a disciple of Descartes, who initiated him into the motive and spirit -of his master. Cartesianism as a system, with its scientific basis and -its speculative consequences, thus first became to him an intellectual -reality. And, perhaps most important of all, he met Huygens, who became -his teacher and inspirer both in the higher forms of mathematics -and in their application to the interpretation and expression of -physical phenomena. His diplomatic mission took him also to London, -where the growing world of mathematical science was opened yet wider to -him. The name of Sir Isaac Newton need only be given to show what this -meant. From this time one of the greatest glories of Leibniz's life -dates,--a glory, however, which during his lifetime was embittered by -envy and unappreciation, and obscured by detraction and malice,--the -invention of the infinitesimal calculus. It would be interesting, were -this the place, to trace the history of its discovery,--the gradual -steps which led to it, the physical facts as well as mathematical -theories which made it a necessity; but it must suffice to mention that -these were such that the discovery of some general mode of expressing -and interpreting the newly discovered facts of Nature was absolutely -required for the further advance of science, and that steps towards -the introduction of the fundamental ideas of the calculus had already -been taken,--notably by Keppler, by Cavalieri, and by Wallis. It -would be interesting to follow also the course of the controversy -with Newton,--a controversy which in its method of conduct reflects no -credit upon the names of either. But this can be summed up by saying -that it is now generally admitted that absolute priority belongs to -Newton, but that entire independence and originality characterize -none the less the work of Leibniz, and that the method of approach and -statement of the latter are the more philosophical and general, and, -to use the words of the judicious summary of Merz, "Newton cared more -for the results than the principle, while Leibniz was in search of -fundamental principles, and anxious to arrive at simplifications and -generalizations." - -The death of Boineburg removed the especial reasons for the return of -Leibniz to Frankfurt, and in 1676 he accepted the position of librarian -and private councillor at the court of Hanover. It arouses our interest -and our questionings to know that on his journey back he stopped at the -Hague, and there met face to face the other future great philosopher -of the time, Spinoza. But our questionings meet no answer. At Hanover, -the industries of Leibniz were varied. An extract from one of his own -letters, though written at a somewhat later date, will give the best -outline of his activities. - -"It is incredible how scattered and divided are my occupations. I -burrow through archives, investigate old writings, and collect -unprinted manuscripts, with a view to throwing light on the -history of Brunswick. I also receive and write a countless number of -letters. I have so much that is new in mathematics, so many thoughts -in philosophy, so many literary observations which I cannot get into -shape, that in the midst of my tasks I do not know where to begin, -and with Ovid am inclined to cry out: 'My riches make me poor.' I -should like to give a description of my calculating-machine; but time -fails. Above all else I desire to complete my Dynamics, as I think -that I have finally discovered the true laws of material Nature, by -whose means problems about bodies which are out of reach of rules now -known may be solved. Friends are urging me to publish my Science of -the Infinite, containing the basis of my new analysis. I have also on -hand a new Characteristic, and many general considerations about the -art of discovery. But all these works, the historical excepted, have -to be done at odd moments. Then at the court all sorts of things are -expected. I have to answer questions on points in international law; -on points concerning the rights of the various princes in the Empire: -so far I have managed to keep out of questions of private law. With all -this I have had to carry on negotiations with the bishops of Neustadt -and of Meaux [Bossuet], and with Pelisson and others upon religious -matters." - -It is interesting to note how the philosophic spirit, the instinct -for unity and generality, showed itself even in the least of Leibniz's -tasks. The Duke of Brunswick imposed upon Leibniz the task of drawing -up a genealogical table of his House. Under Leibniz's hands this -expanded into a history of the House, and this in turn was the centre -of an important study of the German Empire. It was impossible that -the philosopher, according to whom every real being reflected the -whole of the universe from its point of view, should have been able to -treat even a slight phase of local history without regarding it in its -relations to the history of the world. Similarly some mining operations -in the Harz Mountains called the attention of Leibniz to geological -matters. The result was a treatise called "Protogäa," in which Leibniz -gave a history of the development of the earth. Not content with seeing -in a Brunswick mountain an epitome of the world's physical formation, -it was his intention to make this an introduction to his political -history as a sort of geographical background and foundation. It is -interesting to note that the historical studies of Leibniz took him on -a three years' journey, from 1687 to 1690, through the various courts -of Europe,--a fact which not only had considerable influence upon -Leibniz himself, but which enabled him to give stimulus to scientific -development in more ways and places than one. - -His philosophical career as an author begins for the most part with -his return to Hanover in 1690. This lies outside of the scope of the -present chapter, but here is a convenient place to call attention to -the fact that for Leibniz the multitude of his other duties was so -great that his philosophical work was the work "of odd moments." There -is no systematic exposition; there are a vast number of letters, of -essays, of abstracts and memoranda published in various scientific -journals. His philosophy bears not only in form, but in substance, -traces of its haphazard and desultory origin. Another point of -interest in this connection is the degree to which, in form, at least, -his philosophical writings bear the impress of his cosmopolitan -life. Leibniz had seen too much of the world, too much of courts, -for his thoughts to take the rigid and unbending form of geometrical -exposition suited to the lonely student of the Hague. Nor was the -regular progression and elucidation of ideas adapted to the later -Germans, almost without exception university professors, suited to -the man of affairs. There is everywhere in Leibniz the attempt to -adapt his modes of statement, not only to the terminology, but even -to the ideas, of the one to whom they are addressed. There is the -desire to magnify points of agreement, to minimize disagreements, -characteristic of the courtier and the diplomat. His comprehensiveness -is not only a comprehensiveness of thought, but of ways of exposition, -due very largely, we must think, to his cosmopolitan education. The -result has been to the great detriment of Leibniz's influence as a -systematic thinker, although it may be argued that it has aided his -indirect and suggestive influence, the absorption of his ideas by men -of literature, by Goethe, above all by Lessing, and his stimulating -effect upon science and philosophy. It is certain that the attempt to -systematize his thoughts, as was done by Wolff, had for its result the -disappearance of all that was profound and thought-exciting. - -If his philosophy thus reflects the manner of his daily life, -the occupations of the latter were informed by the spirit of -his philosophy. Two of the dearest interests of Leibniz remain -to be mentioned,--one, the founding of academies; the other, the -reconciling of religious organizations. The former testifies to his -desire for comprehensiveness, unity, and organization of knowledge; -the latter to his desire for practical unity, his dislike of all -that is opposed and isolated. His efforts in the religions direction -were twofold. The first was to end the theological and political -controversies of the time by the reunion of the Protestant and Roman -Catholic Churches. It was a plan which did the greatest honor to the -pacific spirit of Leibniz, but it was predestined to failure. Both -sides made concessions,--more concessions than we of to-day should -believe possible. But the one thing the Roman Catholic Church would not -concede was the one thing which the Protestant Church demanded,--the -notion of authority and hierarchy. Indeed, it may be questioned whether -the terms on which Leibniz conceived of their reunion do not point to -the greatest weakness in his philosophy,--the tendency to overlook -oppositions and to resolve all contradiction into differences of -degree. Hardly had this plan fallen through when Leibniz turned to -the project of a union of the Lutheran and Reformed branches of the -Protestant Church. This scheme was more hopeful, and while unrealized -during the life of our philosopher, was afterwards accomplished. - -It is noteworthy that even before Leibniz went to Paris and to -London he had conceived the idea of a society of learned men for the -investigation, the systematization, and the publication of scientific -truth in all its varied forms,--a society which should in breadth -include the whole sphere of sciences, but should not treat them as so -many isolated disciplines, but as members of one system. This idea -was quickened when Leibniz saw the degree in which it had already -been realized in the two great world-capitals. He never ceased to -try to introduce similar academies wherever he had influence. In -1700 his labors bore their fruit in one instance. The Academy at -Berlin was founded, and Leibniz was its first, and indeed life-long, -president. But disappointment met him at Vienna, Dresden, and -St. Petersburg, where he proposed similar societies. - -Any sketch of Leibniz's life, however brief, would be imperfect which -did not mention the names at least of two remarkable women,--remarkable -in themselves, and remarkable in their friendship with Leibniz. These -were Sophia, grand-daughter of James I. of England (and thus -the link by which the House of Brunswick finally came to rule over -Great Britain) and wife of the Duke of Brunswick, and her daughter -Sophia Charlotte, wife of the first king of Prussia. The latter, -in particular, gave Leibniz every encouragement. She was personally -deeply interested in all theological and philosophical questions. Upon -her death-bed, in 1705, she is said to have told those about her that -they were not to mourn for her, as she should now be able to satisfy -her desire to learn about things which Leibniz had never sufficiently -explained. - -Her death marks the beginning of a period in Leibniz's life which it is -not pleasant to dwell upon. New rulers arose that knew not Leibniz. It -cannot be said that from this time till his death in Hanover in 1716 -Leibniz had much joy or satisfaction. His best friends were dead; his -political ambitions were disappointed; he was suspected of coldness -and unfriendliness by the courts both of Berlin and Hanover; Paris and -Vienna were closed to him, so far as any wide influence was concerned, -by his religious faith; the controversy with the friends of Newton -still followed him. He was a man of the most remarkable intellectual -gifts, of an energy which could be satisfied only with wide fields -of action; and he found himself shut in by narrow intrigue to a petty -round of courtly officialism. It is little wonder that the following -words fell from his lips: "Germany is the only country in the world -that does not know how to recognize the fame of its children and to -make that fame immortal. It forgets itself; it forgets its own, unless -foreigners make it mindful of its own treasures." A Scotch friend of -Leibniz, who happened to be in Hanover when he died, wrote that Leibniz -"was buried more like a robber than what he really was,--the ornament -of his country." Such was the mortal end of the greatest intellectual -genius since Aristotle. But genius is not a matter to be bounded in -life or in death by provincial courts. Leibniz remains a foremost -citizen in that "Kingdom of Spirits" in whose formation he found the -meaning of the world. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE SOURCES OF HIS PHILOSOPHY. - - -What is true of all men is true of philosophers, and of Leibniz -among them. Speaking generally, what they are unconsciously and -fundamentally, they are through absorption of their antecedents -and surroundings. What they are consciously and reflectively, -they are through their reaction upon the influence of heredity -and environment. But there is a spiritual line of descent and a -spiritual atmosphere; and in speaking of a philosopher, it is with this -intellectual heredity and environment, rather than with the physical, -that we are concerned. Leibniz was born into a period of intellectual -activity the most teeming with ideas, the most fruitful in results, -of any, perhaps, since the age of Pericles. We pride ourselves justly -upon the activity of our own century, and in diffusion of intellectual -action and wide-spread application of ideas the age of Leibniz -could not compare with it. But ours _is_ the age of diffusion and -application, while his was one of fermentation and birth. - -Such a period in its earlier days is apt to be turbid and -unsettled. There is more heat of friction than calm light. And such had -been the case in the hundred years before Leibniz. But when he arrived -at intellectual maturity much of the crudity had disappeared. The -troubling of the waters of thought had ceased; they were becoming -clarified. Bacon, Hobbes, Descartes, each had crystallized something -out of that seething and chaotic mass of new ideas which had forced -itself into European consciousness. Men had been introduced into a -new world, and the natural result had been feelings of strangeness, -and the vagaries of intellectual wanderings. But by the day of Leibniz -the intellectual bearings had been made out anew, the new mental -orientation had been secured. - -The marks of this "new spiritual picture of the universe" are -everywhere to be seen in Leibniz. His philosophy is the dawning -consciousness of the modern world. In it we see the very conception and -birth of the modern interpretation of the world. The history of thought -is one continuous testimony to the ease with which we become hardened -to ideas through custom. Ideas are constantly precipitating themselves -out of the realm of ideas into that of ways of thinking and of viewing -the universe. The problem of one century is the axiom of another. What -one generation stakes its activity upon investigating is quietly taken -for granted by the next. And so the highest reach of intellectual -inspiration in the sixteenth century is to-day the ordinary food of -thought, accepted without an inquiry as to its source, and almost -without a suspicion that it has a recent historic origin. We have to -go to Bacon or to Leibniz to see the genesis and growth of those ideas -which to-day have become materialized into axiomatic points of view -and into hard-and-fast categories of thought. In reading Leibniz the -idea comes over us in all its freshness that there was a time when -it was a discovery that the world is a universe, made after one plan -and of one stuff. The ideas of inter-relation, of the harmony of law, -of mutual dependence and correspondence, were not always the assumed -starting-points of thought; they were once the crowning discoveries -of a philosophy aglow and almost intoxicated with the splendor of its -far-reaching generalizations. I take these examples of the unity of -the world, the continuity and interdependence of all within it, because -these are the ideas which come to their conscious and delighted birth -in the philosophy of Leibniz. We do not put ourselves into the right -attitude for understanding his thought until we remember that these -ideas--the commonest tools of our thinking--were once new and fresh, -and in their novelty and transforming strangeness were the products -of a philosophic interpretation of experience. Except in that later -contemporary of Leibniz, the young and enthusiastic Irish idealist, -Berkeley, I know of no historic thinker in whom the birth-throes -(joyous, however) of a new conception of the world are so evident as -in Leibniz. But while in Berkeley what we see is the young man carried -away and astounded by the grandeur and simplicity of a "new way of -ideas" which he has discovered, what we see in Leibniz is the mature -man penetrated throughout his being with an idea which in its unity -answers to the unity of the world, and which in its complexity answers, -tone to tone, to the complex harmony of the world. - -The familiarity of the ideas which we use hides their grandeur from -us. The unity of the world is a matter of course with us; the dependent -order of all within it a mere starting-point upon which to base -our investigations. But if we will put ourselves in the position of -Leibniz, and behold, not the new planet, but the new universe, so one, -so linked together, swimming into our ken, we shall feel something of -the same exultant thrill that Leibniz felt,--an exultation not indeed -personal in its nature, but which arises from the expansion of the -human mind face to face with an expanding world. The spirit which is at -the heart of the philosophy of Leibniz is the spirit which speaks in the -following words: "Quin imo qui unam partem materiæ comprehenderet, idem -comprehenderet totum universum ob eandem ~perichôrêsin~ quam dixi. Mea -principia talia sunt, ut vix a se invicem develli possint. Qui unum bene -novit, omnia novit." It is a spirit which feels that the secret of the -universe has been rendered up to it, and which breathes a buoyant -optimism. And if we of the nineteenth century have chosen to bewail -the complexity of the problem of life, and to run hither and thither -multiplying "insights" and points of view till this enthusiastic -confidence in reason seems to us the rashness of an ignorance which does -not comprehend the problem, and the unity in which Leibniz rested -appears cold and abstract beside the manifold richness of the world, we -should not forget that after all we have incorporated into our very -mental structure the fundamental thoughts of Leibniz,--the thoughts of -the rationality of the universe and of the "reign of law." - -What was the origin of these ideas in the mind of Leibniz? What -influences in the philosophic succession of thinkers led him in this -direction? What agencies acting in the intellectual world about him -shaped his ideal reproduction of reality? Two causes above all others -stand out with prominence,--one, the discoveries and principles of -modern physical science; the other, that interpretation of experience -which centuries before had been formulated by Aristotle. Leibniz has a -double interest for those of to-day who reverence science and who hold -to the historical method. His philosophy was an attempt to set in order -the methods and principles of that growing science of nature which -even then was transforming the emotional and mental life of Europe; -and the attempt was guided everywhere by a profound and wide-reaching -knowledge of the history of philosophy. On the first point Leibniz -was certainly not alone. Bacon, Hobbes, Descartes, Spinoza, each felt -in his own way the fructifying touch of the new-springing science, -and had attempted under its guidance to interpret the facts of nature -and of man. But Leibniz stood alone in his interest in the history of -thought. He stands alone indeed till he is greeted by his compeers -of the nineteenth century. To Bacon previous philosophy--the Greek, -the scholastic--was an "eidol of the theatre." The human mind must be -freed from its benumbing influence. To Descartes it was useless rubbish -to be cleared away, that we might get a _tabula rasa_ upon which to -make a fresh start. And shall Locke and the empirical English school, -or Reid and the Scotch school, or even Kant, be the first to throw a -stone at Bacon and Descartes? It was reserved to Leibniz, with a genius -almost two centuries in advance of his times, to penetrate the meaning -of the previous development of reflective thought. It would be going -beyond our brief to claim that Leibniz was interested in this _as_ a -historical movement, or that he specially concerned himself with the -genetic lines which connected the various schools of thought. But we -should come short of our duty to Leibniz if we did not recognize his -conscious and largely successful attempt to apprehend the core of truth -in all systems, however alien to his own, and to incorporate it into -his own thinking. - -Nothing could be more characteristic of Leibniz than his saying, -"I find that most systems are right in a good share of that which -they advance, but not so much in what they deny;" or than this other -statement of his, "We must not hastily believe that which the mass -of men, or even of authorities, advance, but each must demand for -himself the proofs of the thesis sustained. Yet long research generally -convinces that the old and received opinions are good, provided they -be interpreted justly." It is in the profound union in Leibniz of -the principles which these quotations image that his abiding worth -lies. Leibniz was interested in affirmations, not in denials. He was -interested in securing the union of the modern _method_, the spirit -of original research and independent judgment, with the conserved -_results_ of previous thought. Leibniz was a man of his times; that is -to say, he was a scientific man,--the contemporary, for example, of men -as different as Bernouilli, Swammerdam, Huygens, and Newton, and was -himself actively engaged in the prosecution of mathematics, mechanics, -geology, comparative philology, and jurisprudence. But he was also a -man of Aristotle's times,--that is to say, a philosopher, not satisfied -until the facts, principles, and methods of science had received an -interpretation which should explain and unify them. - -Leibniz's acquaintance with the higher forms of mathematics was -due, as we have seen, to his acquaintance with Huygens. As he made -the acquaintance of the latter at the same time that he made the -acquaintance of the followers of Descartes, it is likely that he -received his introduction to the higher developments of the scientific -interpretation of nature and of the philosophic interpretation of -science at about the same time. For a while, then, Leibniz was a -Cartesian; and he never ceased to call the doctrine of Descartes -the antechamber of truth. What were the ideas which he received from -Descartes? Fundamentally they were two,--one about the method of truth, -the other about the substance of truth. He received the idea that the -method of philosophy consists in the analysis of any complex group of -ideas down to simple ideas which shall be perfectly clear and distinct; -that all such clear and distinct ideas are true, and may then be used -for the synthetic reconstruction of any body of truth. Concerning -the substance of philosophic truth, he learned that nature is to be -interpreted mechanically, and that the instrument of this mechanical -interpretation is mathematics. I have used the term "received" in -speaking of the relation of Leibniz to these ideas. Yet long before -this time we might see him giving himself up to dreams about a vast -art of combination which should reduce all the ideas concerned in -any science to their simplest elements, and then combine them to any -degree of complexity. We have already seen him giving us a picture -of a boy of fifteen gravely disputing with himself whether he shall -accept the doctrine of forms and final causes, or of physical causes, -and as gravely deciding that he shall side with the "moderns;" and -that boy was himself. In these facts we have renewed confirmation of -the truth that one mind never receives from another anything excepting -the stimulus, the reflex, the development of ideas which have already -possessed it. But when Leibniz, with his isolated and somewhat -ill-digested thoughts, came in contact with that systematized and -connected body of doctrines which the Cartesians presented to him in -Paris, his ideas were quickened, and he felt the necessity--that final -mark of the philosophic mind--of putting them in order. - -About the method of Descartes, which Leibniz adopted from him, or -rather formulated for himself under the influence of Descartes, -not much need be said. It was the method of Continental thought -till the time of Kant. It was the mother of the philosophic systems -of Descartes, Leibniz, and Spinoza. It was equally the mother of -the German _Aufklärung_ and the French _éclaircissement_. Its -fundamental idea is the thought upon which Rationalism everywhere bases -itself. It says: Reduce everything to simple notions. Get clearness; -get distinctness. Analyze the complex. Shun the obscure. Discover -axioms; employ these axioms in connection with the simple notions, -and build up from them. Whatever can be treated in this way is capable -of proof, and only this. Leibniz, I repeat, possessed this method in -common with Descartes and Spinoza. The certainty and demonstrativeness -of mathematics stood out in the clearest contrast to the uncertainty, -the obscurity, of all other knowledge. And to them, as to all before -the days of Kant, it seemed beyond doubt that the method of mathematics -consists in the analysis of notions, and in their synthesis through the -medium of axioms, which are true because identical statements; while -the notions are true because clear and distinct. - -And yet the method led Leibniz in a very different direction. One of -the fundamental doctrines, for example, of Leibniz is the existence -everywhere of minute and obscure perceptions,--which are of the -greatest importance, but of which we, at least, can never have -distinct consciousness. How is this factor of his thought, which -almost approaches mysticism, to be reconciled with the statements just -made? It is found in the different application which is made of the -method. The object of Descartes is the _erection of a new structure -of truth_ upon a _tabula rasa_ of all former doctrines. The object of -Leibniz is the _interpretation of an old body of truth_ by a method -which shall reveal it in its clearest light. Descartes and Spinoza -are "rationalists" both in their method and results. Leibniz is a -"rationalist" in his method; but his application of the method is -everywhere controlled by historic considerations. It is, I think, -impossible to over-emphasize this fact. Descartes was profoundly -convinced that past thought had gone wrong, and that its results were -worthless. Leibniz was as profoundly convinced that its instincts had -been right, and that the general idea of the world which it gave was -correct. Leibniz would have given the heartiest assent to Goethe's -saying, "Das Wahre war schon längst gefunden." It was out of the -question, then, that he should use the new method in any other than an -interpreting way to bring out in a connected system and unity the true -meaning of the subject-matter. - -So much of generality for the method of Leibniz. The positive substance -of doctrine which he developed under scientific influence affords -matter for more discussion. Of the three influences which meet us here, -two are still Cartesian; the third is from the new science of biology, -although not yet answering to that name. These three influences are, in -order: the idea that nature is to be explained mechanically; that this -is to be brought about through the application of mathematics; and, -from biology, the idea that all change is of the nature of continuous -growth or unfolding. Let us consider each in this order. - -What is meant by the mechanical explanation of nature? To answer a -question thus baldly put, we must recall the kind of explanations which -had satisfied the scholastic men of science. They had been explanations -which, however true, Leibniz says, as general principles, do not touch -the details of the matter. The explanations of natural facts had been -found in general principles, in substantial forces, in occult essences, -in native faculties. Now, the first contention of the founders of the -modern scientific movement was that such general considerations are -not verifiable, and that if they are, they are entirely aside from the -point,--they fail to explain any given fact. Explanation must always -consist in discovering an immediate connection between some fact and -some co-existing or preceding fact. Explanation does not consist in -referring a fact to a general power, it consists in referring it to an -antecedent whose existence is its necessary condition. It was not left -till the times of Mr. Huxley to poke fun at those who would explain -some concrete phenomenon by reference to an abstract principle ending -in --ity. Leibniz has his word to say about those who would account for -the movements of a watch by reference to a principle of horologity, and -of mill-stones by a fractive principle. - -Mechanical explanation consists, accordingly, in making out an actual -connection between two existing facts. But this does not say very -much. A connection of what kind? In the first place, a connection of -the same order as the facts observed. If we are explaining corporeal -phenomena, we must find a corporeal link; if we are explaining -phenomena of motion, we must find a connection of motion. In one of his -first philosophical works Leibniz, in taking the mechanical position, -states what he means by it. In the "Confession of Nature against the -Atheists" he says that it must be confessed to those who have revived -the corpuscular theory of Democritus and Epicurus, to Galileo, Bacon, -Gassendi, Hobbes, and Descartes, that in explaining material phenomena -recourse is to be had neither to God nor to any other incorporeal -thing, form, or quality, but that all things are to be explained -from the nature of matter and its qualities, especially from their -magnitude, figure, and motion. The physics of Descartes, to which was -especially due the spread of mechanical notions, virtually postulated -the problem: given a homogeneous quantity of matter, endowed only with -extension and mobility, to account for all material phenomena. Leibniz -accepts this mechanical view without reserve. - -What has been said suggests the bearing of mathematics in this -connection. Extension and mobility may be treated by mathematics. It is -indeed the business of the geometer to give us an analysis of figured -space, to set before us all possible combinations which can arise, -assuming extension only. The higher analysis sets before us the results -which inevitably follow if we suppose a moving point or any system of -movements. Mathematics is thus the essential tool for treating physical -phenomena as just defined. But it is more. The mechanical explanation -of Nature not only requires such a development of mathematics as will -make it applicable to the interpretation of physical facts, but the -employment of mathematics is necessary for the very discovery of these -facts. Exact observation was the necessity of the growing physical -science; and exact observation means such as will answer the question, -_How much?_ Knowledge of nature depends upon our ability to _measure_ -her processes,--that is, to reduce distinctions of quality to those of -quantity. The only assurance that we can finally have that two facts -are connected in such a way as to fulfil the requirements of scientific -research, is that there is a complete quantitative connection between -them, so that one can be regarded as the other transformed. The advance -of physical science from the days of Copernicus to the present has -consisted, therefore, on one hand, in a development of mathematics -which has made it possible to apply it in greater and greater measure -to the discussion and formulation of the results of experiment, and to -deduce laws which, when interpreted physically, will give new knowledge -of fact; and, on the other, to multiply, sharpen, and make precise all -sorts of devices by which the processes of nature may be measured. The -explanation of nature by natural processes; the complete application -of mathematics to nature,--these are the two thoughts which, so far, -we have seen to be fundamental to the development of the philosophy -of Leibniz. - -The third factor, and that which brings Leibniz nearer, perhaps, our -own day than either of the others, is the growth of physiological -science. Swammerdam, Malpighi, Leewenhoek,--these are names which -occur and recur in the pages of Leibniz. Indeed, he appears to be the -first of that now long line of modern philosophers to be profoundly -influenced by the conception of life and the categories of organic -growth. Descartes concerned himself indeed with physiological problems, -but it was only with a view to applying mechanical principles. The -idea of the vital unity of all organs of the body might seem to -be attractive to one filled with the notion of the unity of all in -God, and yet Spinoza shows no traces of the influence of the organic -conception. Not until Kant's famous definition of organism do we see -another philosopher moved by an attempt to comprehend the categories of -living structure. - -But it is the idea of organism, of life, which is radical to the -thought of Leibniz. I do not think, however, that it can truly be said -that he was led to the idea simply from the state of physiological -investigation at that time. Rather, he had already learned to think of -the world as organic through and through, and found in the results of -biology confirmations, apt illustrations of a truth of which he was -already thoroughly convinced. His writings show that there were two -aspects of biological science which especially interested him. One -was the simple fact of organism itself,--the fact of the various -activities of different organs occurring in complete harmony for one -end. This presented three notions very dear to the mind of Leibniz, -or rather three moments of the same idea,--the factors of activity, -of unity brought about by co-ordinated action, and of an end which -reveals the meaning of the activity and is the ideal expression of -the unity. The physiologists of that day were also occupied with the -problem of growth. The generalization that all is developed _ab ovo_ -was just receiving universal attention. The question which thrust -itself upon science for solution was the mode by which ova, apparently -homogeneous in structure, developed into the various forms of the -organic kingdom. The answer given was "evolution." But evolution had -not the meaning which the term has to-day. By evolution was meant -that the whole complex structure of man, for example, was virtually -contained in the germ, and that the apparent phenomenon of growth was -not the addition of anything from without, but simply the unfolding -and magnifying of that already existing. It was the doctrine which -afterwards gave way to the epigenesis theory of Wolff, according to -which growth is not mere unfolding or unwrapping, but progressive -differentiation. The "evolution" theory was the scientific theory of -the times, however, and was warmly espoused by Leibniz. To him, as we -shall see hereafter, it seemed to give a key which would unlock one of -the problems of the universe. - -Such, then, were the three chief generalizations which Leibniz found -current, and which most deeply affected him. But what use did he make -of them? He did not become a philosopher by letting them lie dormant in -his mind, nor by surrendering himself passively to them till he could -mechanically apply them everywhere. He was a philosopher only in virtue -of the active attitude which his mind took towards them. He could not -simply accept them at their face-value; he must ask after the source of -their value, the royal stamp of meaning which made them a circulatory -medium. That is to say, he had to interpret these ideas, to see what -they mean, and what is the basis of their validity. - -Not many men have been so conscious of just the bearings of their -own ideas and of their source as was he. He often allows us a direct -glimpse into the method of his thinking, and nowhere more than when -he says: "Those who give themselves up to the details of science -usually despise abstract and general researches. Those who go into -universal principles rarely care for particular facts. But I equally -esteem both." Leibniz, in other words, was equally interested in the -application of scientific principles to the explanation of the details -of natural phenomena, and in the bearing and meaning of the principles -themselves,--a rare combination, indeed, but one, which existing, -stamps the genuine philosopher. Leibniz substantially repeats this -idea when he says: "Particular effects must be explained mechanically; -but the general principles of physics and mathematics depend upon -metaphysics." And again: "All occurs mechanically; but the mechanical -principle is not to be explained from material and mathematical -considerations, but it flows from a higher and a metaphysical source." - -As a man of science, Leibniz might have stopped short with the -ideas of mechanical law, of the application of mathematics, and of -the continuity of development. As a philosopher he could not. There -are some scientific men to whom it always seems a perversion of their -principles to attempt to carry them any beyond their application to the -details of the subject. They look on in a bewildered and protesting -attitude when there is suggested the necessity of any further -inquiry. Or perhaps they dogmatically deny the possibility of any such -investigation, and as dogmatically assume the sufficiency of their -principles for the decision of all possible problems. But bewildered -fear and dogmatic assertion are equally impotent to fix arbitrary -limits to human thought. Wherever there is a subject that has meaning, -there is a field which appeals to mind, and the mind will not cease -its endeavors till it has made out what that meaning is, and has made -it out in its entirety. So the three principles already spoken of were -but the starting-points, the stepping-stones of Leibniz's philosophic -thought. While to physical science they are solutions, to philosophy -they are problems; and as such Leibniz recognized them. What solution -did he give? - -So far as the principle of mechanical explanation is concerned, -the clew is given by considering the factor upon which he laid -most emphasis, namely, motion. Descartes had said that the essence -of the physical world is extension. "Not so," replied Leibniz; -"It is motion." These answers mark two typical ways of regarding -nature. According to one, nature is something essentially rigid -and static; whatever change in it occurs, is a change of form, -of arrangement, an external modification. According to the other, -nature is something essentially dynamic and active. Change according -to law is its very essence. Form, arrangement are only the results -of this internal principle. And so to Leibniz, extension and the -spatial aspects of physical existence were only secondary, they were -phenomenal. The primary, the real fact was motion. - -The considerations which led him to this conclusion are simple -enough. It is the fact already mentioned, that explanation always -consists in reducing phenomena to a law of motion which connects -them. Descartes himself had not succeeded in writing his physics -without everywhere using the conception of motion. But motion cannot -be got out of the idea of extension. Geometry will not give us -activity. What is this, except virtually to admit the insufficiency -of purely statical conceptions? Leibniz found himself confirmed in -this position by the fact that the more logical of the followers -of Descartes had recognized that motion is a superfluous intruder, -if extension be indeed the essence of matter, and therefore had been -obliged to have recourse to the immediate activity of God as the cause -of all changes. But this, as Leibniz said, was simply to give up the -very idea of mechanical explanation, and to fall back into the purely -general explanations of scholasticism. - -This is not the place for a detailed exposition of the ideas of Leibniz -regarding matter, motion, and extension. We need here only recognize -that he saw in motion the final reality of the physical universe. But -what about motion? To many, perhaps the majority, of minds to-day it -seems useless or absurd, or both, to ask any question about motion. It -is simply an ultimate _fact_, to which all other facts are to be -reduced. We are so familiar with it as a solution of all physical -problems that we are confused, and fail to recognize it when it appears -in the guise of a problem. But, I repeat, philosophy cannot stop with -facts, however ultimate. It must also know something about the meaning, -the significance, in short the ideal bearing, of facts. From the point -of view of philosophy, motion has a certain function in the economy of -the universe; it is, as Aristotle saw, something ideal. - -The name of Aristotle suggests the principles which guided Leibniz -in his interpretation of the fact of motion. The thought of Aristotle -moves about the two poles of potentiality and actuality. Potentiality -is not _mere_ capacity; it is being in an undeveloped, imperfect -stage. Actuality is, as the word suggests, activity. Anything is -potential in so far as it does not manifest itself in action; it is -actual so far as it does thus show forth its being. Now, movement, or -change in its most general sense, is that by which the potential comes -to the realization of its nature, and functions as an activity. Motion, -then, is not an ultimate fact, but is subordinate. It exists for an -end. It is that by which existence realizes its idea; that is, its -proper type of action. - -Now Leibniz does not formally build upon these distinctions; and -yet he is not very far removed from Aristotle. Motion, he is never -weary of repeating, means force, means energy, means activity. To -say that the essence of nature is motion, is to say that the natural -world finally introduces us to the supremacy of action. Reality is -activity. _Substance c'est l'action._ That is the key-note and the -battle-cry of the Leibnizian philosophy. Motion is that by which being -expresses its nature, fulfils its purpose, reveals its idea. In short, -the specific scientific conception of motion is by Leibniz transformed -into the philosophic conception of force, of activity. In motion he -sees evidence of the fact that the universe is radically dynamic. - -In the applicability of mathematics to the interpretation of nature -Leibniz finds witness to the continuity and order of the world. We -have become so accustomed to the fact that mathematics may be directly -employed for the discussion and formulation of physical investigations -that we forget what is implied in it. It involves the huge assumption -that the world answers to reason; so that whatever the mind finds to be -ideally true may be taken for granted to be physically true also. But -in those days, when the correlation of the laws of the world and the -laws of mathematical reasoning was a fresh discovery, this aspect of -the case could not be easily lost sight of. - -In fact it was this correlation which filled the _Zeitgeist_ of -the sixteenth century with the idea that it had a new organ for the -penetration of nature, a new sense for learning its meaning. Descartes -gives the following as the origin of his philosophy: "The long chains -of simple and easy reasons which geometers employ, even in their -most complex demonstrations, made me fancy that all things which are -the objects of human knowledge are _similarly interdependent_." To -Leibniz also mathematics seemed to give a clew to the order, the -interdependence, the harmonious relations, of the world. - -In this respect the feeling of Plato that God geometrizes found -an echoing response in Leibniz. But the latter would hardly have -expressed it in the same way. He would have preferred to say that God -everywhere uses the infinitesimal calculus. In the applicability of the -calculus to the discussion of physical facts, Leibniz saw two truths -reflected,--that everything that occurs has its reason, its dependent -connection upon something else, and that all is continuous and without -breaks. While the formal principles of his logic are those of identity -and contradiction, his real principles are those of sufficient reason -and of continuity. Nature never makes leaps; everything in nature has -a sufficient reason why it is as it is: these are the philosophic -generalizations which Leibniz finds hidden in the applicability -of mathematics to physical science. Reason finds itself everywhere -expressed in nature; and the law of reason is unity in diversity, -continuity. - -Let us say, in a word, that the correlation between the laws of -mathematics and of physics is the evidence of the rational character -of nature. Nature may be reduced to motions; and motions can be -understood only as force, activity. But the laws which connect motions -are fundamentally mathematical laws,--laws of reason. Hence force, -activity, can be understood only as rational, as spiritual. Nature -is thus seen to mean Activity, and Activity is seen to mean -Intelligence. Furthermore, as the fundamental law of intelligence is -the production of difference in unity, the primary law of physical -change must be the manifestation of this unity in difference,--or, -as Leibniz interpreted it, continuity. In nature there are no breaks, -neither of quantity nor of quality nor of relationship. The full force -of this law we shall see later. - -Such an idea can hardly be distinguished from the idea of growth or -development; one passes naturally into the other. Thus it is equally -proper to say that the third scientific influence, the conception of -organism and growth, is dominant in the Leibnizian thought, or that -this is swallowed up and absorbed in the grand idea of continuity. The -law of animal and vegetable life and the law of the universe are -identified. The substance of the universe is activity; the law of -the universe is interdependence. What is this but to say that the -universe is an organic whole? Its activity is the manifestation of -life,--nay, it is life. The laws of its activity reveal that continuity -of development, that harmony of inter-relation, which are everywhere -the marks of life. The final and fundamental notion, therefore, by -which Leibniz interprets the laws of physics and mathematics is that of -Life. This is his regnant category. It is "that higher and metaphysical -source" from which the very existence and principles of mechanism -flow. The perpetual and ubiquitous presence of motion reveals the -pulsations of Life; the correlation, the rationality, of these motions -indicate the guiding presence of Life. This idea is the alpha and omega -of his philosophy. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE PROBLEM, AND ITS SOLUTION. - - -Leibniz, like every great man, absorbed into himself the various -thoughts of his time, and in absorbing transformed them. He brought -into a focus of brilliancy the diffused lights of truth shining here -and there. He summed up in a pregnant and comprehensive category -the scattered principles of his age. Yet we are not to suppose that -Leibniz considered these various ideas one by one, and then patched -them into an artificial unity of thought. Philosophies are not -manufactured piecemeal out of isolated and fragmentary thoughts; they -grow from a single root, absorbing from their environment whatever -of sustenance offers itself, and maturing in one splendid fruit of -spiritual truth. It is convenient, indeed, to isolate various phases -of truth, and consider them as distinct forces working to shape one -final product, and as a convenient artifice it is legitimate. But it -answers to no process actually occurring. Leibniz never surrendered -his personal unity, and out of some one root-conception grew all his -ideas. The principles of his times were not separate forces acting upon -him, they were the foods of which he selected and assimilated such as -were fitted to nourish his one great conception. - -But it is more than a personal unity which holds together the thinking -of a philosopher. There is the unity of the problem, which the -philosopher has always before him, and in which all particular ideas -find their unity. All else issues from this and merges into it. The -various influences which we have seen affecting Leibniz, therefore, -got their effectiveness from the relation which he saw them bear to the -final problem of all thought. This is the inquiry after the unity of -experience, if we look at it from the side of the subject; the unity -of reality, if we put it from the objective side. Yet each age states -this problem in its own way, because it sees it in the light of some -difficulty which has recently arisen in consciousness. At one time, -the question is as to the relation of the one to the many; at another, -of the relation of the sensible to the intelligible world; at another, -of the relation of the individual to the universal. And this last -seems to have been the way in which it specifically presented itself -to Leibniz. This way of stating it was developed, though apparently -without adequate realization of its meaning, by the philosophy -of scholasticism. It stated the problem as primarily a logical -question,--the relation of genera, of species, of individuals to each -other. And the school-boy, made after the stamp of literary tradition, -knows that there were two parties among the Schoolmen,--the Realists, -and the Nominalists; one asserting, the other denying, the objective -reality of universals. To regard this discussion as useless, is to -utter the condemnation of philosophy, and to relegate the foundation -of science to the realm of things not to be inquired into. To say that -it is an easy matter to decide, is to assume the decision with equal -ease of all the problems that have vexed the thought of humanity. To -us it seems easy because we have bodily incorporated into our thinking -the results of both the realistic and the nominalistic doctrines, -without attempting to reconcile them, or even being conscious of -the necessity of reconciliation. We assert in one breath that the -individual is alone real, and in the next assert that only those forms -of consciousness which represent something in the universe are to be -termed knowledge. At one moment we say that universals are creations of -the individual mind, and at the next pass on to talk of laws of nature, -or even of a reign of law. In other words, we have learned to regard -both the individual and the universal as real, and thus ignoring the -problem, think we have solved it. - -But to Leibniz the problem presented itself neither as a logical -question, nor yet as one whose solution might be taken for granted. On -the contrary, it was just this question: How shall we conceive the -individual to be related to the universe? which seemed to him to be the -nerve of the philosophic problem, the question whose right answer would -solve the problems of religion, of morals, of the basis of science, -as well as of the nature of reality. The importance of just this way -of putting the question had been rendered evident by the predecessors -and contemporaries of Leibniz, especially by Descartes, Spinoza, and -Locke. His more specific relations to the last-named will occupy us -hereafter; at present we must notice how the question stood at the -hands of Descartes and Spinoza. - -Descartes had separated the individual from the universal. His -philosophy began and ended with a dualism. I have just said that the -problem of philosophy is the unity of experience. Yet we find that -there have been thinkers, and those of the first rank, who have left -the matter without discovering any ultimate unity, or rather who have -made it the burden of their contention that we cannot explain the world -without at least two disparate principles. But if we continue to look -at the matter in this historical way, we shall see that this dualism -has always been treated by the successors of such a philosopher, not -as a solution, but as a deeper statement of the problem. It is the -function of dualistic philosophies to re-state the question in a new -and more significant way. There are times when the accepted unity of -thought is seen to be inadequate and superficial. Men are thrashing old -straw, and paying themselves with ideas which have lost their freshness -and their timeliness. There then arises a philosopher who goes deep, -beyond the superficial unity, and who discovers the untouched -problem. His it is to assert the true meaning of the question, -which has been unseen or evaded. The attitude of dualism is thus -always necessary, but never final. Its value is not in any solution, -but in the generality and depth of the problem which it proposes, and -which incites thought to the discovery of a unity of equal depth and -comprehensiveness. - -Except for Descartes, then, we should not be conscious of the gulf -that yawns between the individual mind and the universe in front of -it. He presented the opposition as between mind and matter. The essence -of the former is thought; of the latter, extension. The conceptions -are disparate and opposed. No interaction is possible. His disciples, -more consistent than their master, called in a _deus ex machina_,--the -miraculous intervention of God,--in order to account for the appearance -of reciprocal action between the universe of matter and the thinking -individual. Thus they in substance admitted the relation between -them to be scientifically inexplicable, and had recourse to the -supernatural. The individual does not act upon the universe to produce, -destroy, or alter the arrangement of anything. But upon the _occasion_ -of his volition God produces a corresponding material change. The world -does not act upon the soul of the individual to produce thoughts or -sensations. God, upon _occasion_ of the external affection, brings -them into being. With such thoroughness Descartes performed his task -of separation. Yet the introduction of the _deus ex machina_ only -complicated the problem; it introduced a third factor where two were -already too many. What is the relation of God to Mind and to Matter? Is -it simply a third somewhat, equally distinct from both, or does it -contain both within itself? - -Spinoza attempted to solve the problem in the latter sense. He -conceived God to be the one substance of the universe, possessing the -two known attributes of thought and matter. These attributes are one -in God; indeed, he is their unity. This is the sole legitimate outcome -of the Cartesian problem stated as Descartes would have it stated. It -overcomes the absoluteness of the dualism by discovering a common and -fundamental unity, and at the same time takes the subject out of the -realm of the miraculous. For the solution works both ways. It affects -the nature of God, as well as of extension and thought. It presents -him to us, not as a supernatural being, but as the unity of thought and -extension. In knowing these as they are, we know God as he is. Spinoza, -in other words, uses the conception of God in a different way from -the Cartesians. The latter had treated him as the God of theology,--a -being supernatural; Spinoza uses the conception as a scientific one, -and speaks of _Deus sive Natura_. - -Leibniz recognized the unphilosophic character of the recourse to a -_deus ex machina_ as clearly as Spinoza, and yet did not accept his -solution. To find out why he did not is the problem of the historian -of thought. The one cause which stands out above all others is that in -the unity of Spinoza all difference, all distinction, is lost. All -particular existences, whether things or persons, are _modes_ -of extension and thought. Their _apparent_ existence is due to the -imagination, which is the source of belief in particular things. When -considered as they really are,--that is, by the understanding,--they -vanish. The one substance, with its two unchanging attributes of -thought and extension, alone remains. If it is a philosophic error -to give a solution which permits of no unity, is it not equally a -philosophic error to give one which denies difference? So it seemed -to Leibniz. The problem is to reconcile difference in unity, not to -swallow up difference in a blank oneness,--to reconcile the individual -with the universe, not to absorb him. - -The unsatisfactoriness of the solution appears if we look at it from -another side. Difference implies change, while a unity in which all -variety is lost implies quiescence. Change is as much an illusion of -imagination to Spinoza as is variety. The One Reality is permanent. How -repugnant the conception of a static universe was to Leibniz we have -already learned. Spinoza fails to satisfy Leibniz, therefore, because -he does not allow the conceptions of individuality and of activity. He -presents a unity in which all distinction of individuals is lost, -and in which there is no room for change. But Spinoza certainly -presented the problem more clearly to Leibniz, and revealed more -definitely the conditions of its solution. The search is henceforth -for a unity which shall avoid the irresolvable dualism of Descartes, -and yet shall allow free play to the principles of individuality and of -activity. There must be, in short, a universe to which the individual -bears a real yet independent relation. What is this unity? The answer, -in the phraseology of Leibniz, is the _monad_. Spinoza would be right, -said Leibniz, were it not for the existence of monads. I know there are -some who have done Leibniz the honor of supposing that this is his way -of saying, "Spinoza is wrong because I am right;" but I cannot help -thinking that the saying has a somewhat deeper meaning. What, then, -is the nature of the monad? The answer to this question takes us back -to the point where the discussion of the question was left at the end -of chapter second. The nature of the monad is life. The monad is the -spiritual activity which lives in absolute harmony with an infinite -number of other monads. - -Let us first consider the reasons of Leibniz for conceiving the -principle of unity as spiritual. Primarily it is because it is -impossible to conceive of a unity which is material. In the sensible -world there is no unity. There are, indeed, aggregations, collections, -which seem like unities; but the very fact that these are aggregations -shows that the unity is factitious. It is the very nature of matter to -be infinitely divisible: to say this is to deny the existence of any -true principle of unity. The world of nature is the world of space -and time; and where in space or time shall we find a unity where we -may rest? Every point in space, every moment in time, points beyond -itself. It refers to a totality of which it is but a part, or, rather, -a limitation. If we add resistance, we are not better situated. We -have to think of something which resists; and to this something we must -attribute extension,--that is to say, difference, plurality. Nor can we -find any resistance which is absolute and final. There may be a body -which is undivided, and which resists all energy now acting upon it; -but we cannot frame an intelligible idea of a body which is absolutely -indivisible. To do so is to think of a body out of all relation to -existing forces, something absolutely isolated; while the forces of -nature are always relative to one another. That which resists does so -in comparison with some opposing energy. The absolutely indivisible, -on the other hand, would be that which could not be brought into -comparison with other forces; it would not have any of the attributes -of force as we know it. In a word, whatever exists in nature is -relative in space, in time, and in qualities to all else. It is made -what it is by virtue of the totality of its relations to the universe; -it has no ultimate principle of self-subsistent unity in it. - -Nor do we fare better if we attempt to find unity in the world of -nature as a whole. Nature has its existence as a whole in space and -time. Indeed, it is only a way of expressing the totality of phenomena -of space and time. It is a mere aggregate, a collection. Its very -essence is plurality, difference. It is divisible without limit, -and each of its divisions has as good a right to be called one as -the whole from which it is broken off. We shall consider hereafter -Leibniz's idea of infinity; but it is easy to see that he must deny -any true infinity to nature. An ultimate whole made up of parts is a -contradictory conception; and the idea of a quantitative infinite is -equally so. Quantity means number, measure, limitation. We may not -be able to assign number to the totality of occurrences in nature, -nor to measure her every event. This shows that nature is indefinitely -greater than any _assignable_ quantity; but it does not remove her from -the category of quantity. As long as the world is conceived as that -existing in space and time, it is conceived as that which has to be -measured. As we saw in the last chapter, the heart of the mechanical -theory of the world is in the application of mathematics to it. Since -quantity and mathematics are correlative terms, the natural world -cannot be conceived as infinite or as an ultimate unity. - -In short, Leibniz urges and suggests in one form and another those -objections to the mechanical theory of reality which later German -philosophers have made us so familiar with. The objections are indeed -varied in statement, but they all come to the impossibility of finding -any unity, any wholeness, anything except plurality and partiality in -that which is externally conditioned,--as everything is in nature. - -But the reasons as thus stated are rather negative than positive. They -show why the ultimate unity cannot be conceived as material, rather -than why it must be conceived as spiritual. The immediate evidence -of its spiritual nature Leibniz finds in the perception of the one -unity directly known to us,--the "me," the conscious principle within, -which reveals itself as an active force, and as truly one, since not a -spatial or temporal existence. And this evidence he finds confirmed by -the fact that whatever unity material phenomena appear to have comes to -them through their perception by the soul. Whatever the mind grasps in -one act, is manifested as one. - -But it is not in any immediate certainty of fact that Leibniz finds -the best or completest demonstration of the spiritual nature of the -ultimate unity. This is found in the use which can be made of the -hypothesis. The truest witness to the spiritual character of reality -is found in the capacity of this principle to comprehend and explain -the facts of experience. With this conception the reason of things -can be ascertained, and light introduced into what were otherwise a -confused obscurity. And, indeed, this is the only sufficient proof of -any doctrine. It is not what comes before the formulation of a theory -which proves it; it is not the facts which suggest it, or the processes -which lead up to it: it is what comes after the formation of the -theory,--the uses that it can be put to; the facts which it will render -significant. The whole philosophy of Leibniz in its simplicity, width, -and depth, is the real evidence of the truth of his philosophical -principle. - -The monad, then, is a spiritual unity; it is individualized -life. Unity, activity, individuality are synonymous terms in the -vocabulary of Leibniz. Every unity is a true substance, containing -within itself the source and law of its own activity. It is that -which is internally determined to action. It is to be conceived -after the analogy of the soul. It is an indivisible unity, like -"that particular something in us which thinks, apperceives and -wills, and distinguishes us in a way of its own from whatever else -thinks and wills." Against Descartes, therefore, Leibniz stands for -the principle of unity; against Spinoza, he upholds the doctrine -of individuality, of diversity, of multiplicity. And the latter -principle is as important in his thought as the former. Indeed, they -are inseparable. The individual is the true unity. There is an infinite -number of these individuals, each distinct from every other. The law -of specification, of distinction, runs through the universe. Two beings -cannot be alike. They are not individualized merely by their different -positions in space or time; duration and extension, on the contrary, -are, as we have seen, principles of relativity, of connection. Monads -are specified by an internal principle. Their distinct individuality is -constituted by their distinct law of activity. Leibniz will not have -a philosophy of abstract unity, representing the universe as simple -only, he will have a philosophy equal to the diversity, the manifold -wealth of variety, in the universe. This is only to say that he will be -faithful to his fundamental notion,--that of Life. Life does not mean -a simple unity like a mathematical one, it means a unity which is the -harmony of the interplay of diverse organs, each following its own law -and having its own function. When Leibniz says, God willed to have more -monads rather than fewer, the expression is indeed one of _naïveté_, -but the thought is one of unexplored depth. It is the thought that -Leibniz repeats when he says, "Those who would reduce all things to -modifications of one universal substance do not have sufficient regard -to the _order_, the _harmony_ of reality." Leibniz applies here, as -everywhere, the principle of continuity, which is unity in and through -diversity, not the principle of bare oneness. There is a kingdom of -monads, a realm truly infinite, composed of individual unities or -activities in an absolute continuity. Leibniz was one of the first, -if not the first, to use just the expression "uniformity of nature;" -but even here he explains that it means "uniform in variety, one in -principle, but varied in manifestation." The world is to be as rich as -possible. This is simply to say that distinct individuality as well as -ultimate unity is a law of reality. - -But has not Leibniz fallen into a perilous position? In avoiding the -monotone of unity which characterizes the thought of Spinoza, has -he not fallen into a lawless variety of multiplicity, infinitely -less philosophic than even the dualism of Descartes, since it has -an infinity of ultimate principles instead of only two? If Spinoza -sacrificed the individual to the universe, has not Leibniz, -in his desire to emphasize the individual, gone to the other -extreme? Apparently we are introduced to a universe that is a mere -aggregate of an infinite multiplicity of realities, each independent -of every other. Such a universe would not be a universe. It would -be a chaos of disorder and conflict. We come, therefore, to a -consideration of the relation between these individual monads and -the universe. We have to discover what lifts the monads out of their -isolation and bestows upon them that stamp of universality which makes -it possible for them to enter into the coherent structure of reality: -in a word, what is the universal content which the monad in its formal -individuality bears and manifests? - -The way in which the question has just been stated suggests the -Leibnizian answer. The monad, indeed, in its form is thoroughly -individual, having its own unique mode of activity; but its content, -that which this activity manifests, is not peculiar to it as an -individual, but is the substance or law of the universe. It is the -very nature of the monad to be representative. Its activity consists -in picturing or reproducing those relations which make up the world of -reality. In a conscious soul, the ability thus to represent the world -is called "perception," and thus Leibniz attributes perception to all -the monads. This is not to be understood as a conscious representation -of reality to itself (for this the term "apperception" is reserved), -but it signifies that the very essence of the monad is to produce -states which are not its own peculiar possessions, but which reflect -the facts and relations of the universe. Leibniz never wearies in -finding new ways to express this purely representative character of the -monad. The monads are little souls; they are mirrors of the world; they -are concentrations of the universe, each expressing it in its own way; -borrowing a term from scholasticism, they are "substantial forms." They -are substantial, for they are independent unities; they are forms, -because the term "form" expresses, in Aristotelian phraseology, the -type or law of some class of phenomena. The monad is an individual, -but its whole content, its objectivity or reality, is the summation of -the universe which it represents. It is individual, but whatever marks -it as actual is some reproduction of the world. His reconciliation -of the principles of individuality and universality is contained -in the following words: "Each monad contains within itself an order -corresponding to that of the universe,--indeed, the monads represent -the universe in an infinity of ways, all different, and all true, thus -multiplying the universe as many times as is possible, approaching -the divine as near as may be, and giving the world all the perfection -of which it is capable." The monad is individual, for it represents -reality in its own way, from its own point of view. It is universal, -for its whole content is the order of the universe. - -New light is thus thrown upon the former statement that reality -is activity, that the measure of a being is the action which it -puts forth. That statement is purely formal. It leaves the kind -of activity and its law wholly undetermined. But this relation of -"representativeness" which we have discovered gives definiteness. It -is the law of the monad's action to mirror, to reflect, the universe; -its changes follow each other so as to bring about this reflection in -the completest degree possible. The monad is literally the many in the -one; it is the answer to the inquiry of Greek philosophy. The many -are not present by way of participation in some underlying essence, -not yet as statically possessed by the one, as attributes are sometimes -supposed to inhere in a substratum. The "many" is the manifestation of -the activity of the "one." The one and the many are related as form -and content in an organic unity, which is activity. The essence of a -substance, says Leibniz, consists in that regular tendency of action -by which its phenomena follow one another in a certain order; and that -order, as he repeatedly states, is the order in which the universe -itself is arranged. - -The activity of a monad may be advantageously compared to that of a -supposed atom, granting, for the sake of the illustration, that there -is such a thing. Each is in a state of change: the atom changes its -place, the monad its representation, and each in the simplest and -most uniform way that its conditions permit. How, then, is there such -a similarity, such a monotony, in the change of an atom, and such -variety and complexity in the change of a monad? It is because the -atom has merely parts, or external variety, while the monad has an -internal variety. Multiplicity is organically wrought into its very -being. It has an _essential_ relation to all things in the universe; -and to say that this relation is essential, is to say that it is one -which constitutes its very content, its being. Hence the cause of the -changes of the monad, of their variety and complexity, is one with the -cause of the richness, the profusion, the regulated variety of change -in the universe itself. While we have employed a comparison with atoms, -this very comparison may serve to show us the impossibility of atoms as -they are generally defined by the physicist turned philosopher. Atoms -have no internal and essential relation to the world; they have no -internal connection with any one thing in the world: and what is this -but to say that they do not enter anywhere into the structure of the -world? By their very conception they are forever aliens, banished from -any share or lot in the realm of reality. The idea which Leibniz never -lets go, the idea which he always accentuates, is, then, the idea of an -individual activity which in its continual change manifests as its own -internal content and reality that reality and those laws of connection -which make up the world itself. - -We are thus introduced naturally to the conception which plays so -large a part in the Leibnizian philosophy, that of pre-established -harmony. This term simply names the fact, which we see to be -fundamental with Leibniz,--the fact that, while the form of every -monad is individuality, a unique principle of action, its content -is universal, the very being and laws of the world. For we must -now notice more explicitly what has been wrapped up in the idea all -along. There is no direct influence of monads upon each other. One -cannot affect another causally. There is no actual interaction of one -upon another. Expressed in that figurative language which was ever -natural to Leibniz, the monads have no windows by which anything can -get in or out. This follows, of course, from the mutual independence -and individuality of the monads. They are a true democracy, in -which each citizen has sovereignty. To admit external influences -acting upon them is to surrender their independence, to deny their -sovereignty. But we must remember the other half. This democracy is not -after the Platonic conception of democracy, in which each does as it -pleases, and in which there is neither order nor law, but the extremest -assertion of individuality. What each sovereign citizen of the realm -of reality expresses is precisely law. Each is an embodiment in its own -way of the harmony, the order, of the whole kingdom. Each is sovereign -because it is dynamic law,--law which is no longer abstract, but has -realized itself in life. Thus another way of stating the doctrine of -pre-established harmony is the unity of freedom and necessity. Each -monad is free because it is individual, because it follows the -law of its own activity unhindered, unretarded, by others; it is -self-determined. But it is self-determined to show forth the order, the -harmony, of the universe. There is nothing of caprice, of peculiarity, -in the content of the monad. It shows forth order; it is organized -by law; it reveals the necessary connections which constitute the -universe. The pre-established harmony is the unity of the individual -and the universe; it is the organic oneness of freedom and necessity. - -We see still further what it means when we learn that it is by this -conception that Leibniz reconciles the conceptions of physical and -final causation. There is no principle closer to the thought of Leibniz -than that of the equal presence and efficiency everywhere of both -physical and final causes. Every fact which occurs is susceptible -of a mechanical and of a rational explanation. It is necessarily -connected with preceding states, and it has a necessary end which -it is fulfilling. The complete meaning of this principle will meet -us hereafter; at present we must notice that it is one form of the -doctrine of pre-established harmony. All things have an end because -they form parts of one system; everything that occurs looks forward -to something else and prepares the way for it, and yet it is itself -mechanically conditioned by its antecedents. This is only another way -of saying that there is complete harmony between all beings in the -universe; so that each monad in fulfilling the law of its own existence -contributes to the immanent significance of the universe. The monads -are co-ordinated in such a way that they express a common idea. There -is a plan common to all, in which each has its own place. All are -making towards one goal, expressing one purpose. The universe is -an organism; and Leibniz would have applied to it the words which -Milne-Edwards applied to the human organism, as I find them quoted -by Lewes: "In the organism everything seems to be calculated with one -determined result in view; and the harmony of the parts does not result -from the influence which they exert upon one another, but from their -co-ordination under the rule of a common force, a preconceived plan, -a pre-existent force." That is to say, the universe is teleological, -both as a whole and in its parts; for there is a common idea animating -it and expressed by it; it is mechanical, for this idea is realized and -manifested by the outworking of forces. - -It ought to be evident even from this imperfect sketch that the -Leibnizian theory of pre-established harmony is not that utterly -artificial and grotesque doctrine which it is sometimes represented -to be. The phrase "pre-established harmony" is, strictly speaking, -tautologous. The term "pre-established" is superfluous. It means -"existent." There is no real harmony which is not existent or -pre-established. An accidental harmony is a contradiction in terms. It -means a chaotic cosmos, an unordered order, a lawless law, or whatever -else is nonsensical. - -Harmony, in short, means relation, means connection, means -subordination and co-ordination, means adjustment, means a variety, -which yet is one. The Leibnizian doctrine is not a factitious product -of his imagination, nor is it a mechanical scheme for reconciling a -problem which has no existence outside of the bewildered brains of -philosophers. It is an expression of the fact that the universe is -one of order, of continuity, of unity; it is the accentuating of this -doctrine so that the very essence of reality is found in this ordered -combination; it is the special application of this principle to the -solution of many of the problems which "the mind of man is apt to -run into,"--the questions of the relation of the individual and the -universal, of freedom and necessity, of the physical and material, -of the teleological and mechanical. We may not be contented with the -doctrine as he presents it, we may think it to be rather a summary -and highly concentrated statement of the problem than its solution, -or we may object to details in the carrying out of the doctrine. But -we cannot deny that it is a genuine attempt to meet a genuine problem, -and that it contains some, if not all, of the factors required for -its adequate solution. To Leibniz must remain the glory of being the -thinker to seize upon the perfect unity and order of the universe as -its essential characteristic, and of arranging his thoughts with a view -to discovering and expressing it. - -We have but to notice one point more, and our task is done so far as -it serves to make plain the standpoint from which Leibniz criticised -Locke. There is, we have seen, the greatest possible continuity and -complexity in the realm of monads. There is no break, quantitative nor -qualitative. It follows that the human soul has no gulf set between it -and what we call nature. It is only the highest, that is to say the -most active and the most representative, of all monads. It stands, -indeed, at the head of the scale, but not outside it. From the monad -which reveals its presence in that stone which with blinded eyes we -call dead, through that which acts in the plant, in the animal, up -to that of man, there is no chasm, no interruption. Nay, man himself -is but one link in the chain of spiritual beings which ends only in -God. All monads are souls; the soul of man is a monad which represents -the universe more distinctly and adequately. The law which is enfolded -in the lower monads is developed in it and forms a part of its -conscious activity. The universe, which is confusedly mirrored by the -perception of the lower monad, is clearly brought out in the conscious -apperception of man. The stone is representative of the whole world. An -all-knowing intelligence might read in it relations to every other -fact the world, might see exemplified the past history of the world, -and prefigured the events to come. For the stone is not an isolated -existence, it is an inter-organic member of a system. Change the -slightest fact in the world, and in some way it is affected. The law -of the universe is one of completed reciprocity, and this law must be -mirrored in every existence of the universe. Increase the activity, the -representative power, until it becomes turned back, as it were, upon -itself, until the monad not only is a mirror, but knows itself as one, -and you have man. The soul of man is the world come to consciousness -of itself. The realm of monads in what we call the inorganic world -and the lower organic realm shows us the monad let and hindered in -its development. These realms attempt to speak forth the law of their -being, and reveal the immanent presence of the universe; but they do -not hear their own voice, their utterance is only for others. In man -the universe is manifested, and is manifested to man himself. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -LOCKE AND LEIBNIZ.--INNATE IDEAS. - - -The reader, impatient of what may have seemed an over-long -introduction, has perhaps been asking when he was to be brought to the -subject under consideration,--the relations of Leibniz to Locke. But -it has been impossible to come to this question until we had formed for -ourselves an outline of the philosophical position of Leibniz. Nowhere -in the "Nouveaux Essais" does Leibniz give a connected and detailed -exposition of his philosophy, either as to his standpoint, his -fundamental principles, or his method. - -Some preliminary view of his position is therefore a necessity. The -demand for this preliminary exposition becomes more urgent as we -recognize that Leibniz's remarks upon Locke are not a critique of Locke -from the standpoint of the latter, but are the application of his own -philosophical conclusions. Criticism from within, an examination of -a system of thought with relation to the consistency and coherency -of its results, the connection between these results and the method -professedly employed, investigation which depends not at all upon the -position of the critic, but occupies itself with the internal relations -of the system under discussion,--such criticism is a product of the -present century. What we find in the "Nouveaux Essais" is a comparison -of the ideas of Locke with those of Leibniz himself, a testing of the -former by the latter as a standard, their acceptance when they conform, -their rejection when they are opposed, their completion when they are -in partial harmony. - -The value of this sort of criticism is likely to be small and -evanescent. If the system used as a standard is meagre and narrow, -if it is without comprehensiveness and flexibility, it does not repay -after-examination. The fact that the "Nouveaux Essais" of Leibniz -have escaped the oblivion of the philosophical criticism of his day is -proof, if proof still be needed, of the reasoned basis, the width of -grasp, the fertility of suggestion which characterize the thought of -Leibniz. But the fact that the criticism is, after all, external and -not internal has made necessary the foregoing extended account of his -method and general results. - -On the other hand, what of Locke? How about him who is the recipient -of the criticism? I assume that no extended account of his ideas -is here necessary, and conceive myself to be justified in this -assumption by the fact that we are already better acquainted with -Locke. This acquaintance, indeed, is not confined to those who have -expressly studied Locke. His thought is an inheritance into which -every English-speaking person at least is born. Only he who does not -think escapes this inheritance. Locke did the work which he had to do -so thoroughly that every Englishman who will philosophize must either -build upon Locke's foundations, or, with conscious purpose, clear the -ground before building for himself. And it would be difficult to say -that the acceptance of Locke's views would influence one's thought -more than their rejection. This must not, of course, be taken too -literally. It may be that one who is a lineal descendant of Locke in -the spiritual generations of thought would not state a single important -truth as Locke stated it, or that those who seek their method and -results elsewhere have not repudiated the thought of Locke as expressly -belonging to him. - -But the fundamental principles of empiricism: its conception of -intelligence as an individual possession; its idea of reality as -something over against and distinct from mind; its explanation of -knowledge as a process of action and reaction between these separate -things; its account of our inability to know things as they really -are,--these principles are congenital with our thinking. They are so -natural that we either accept them as axiomatic, and accuse those who -reject them of metaphysical subtlety, or, staggered perchance by some -of their results, give them up with an effort. But it is an effort, and -a severe one; and there is none of us who can tell when some remnant -of the conception of intelligence as purely particular and finite -will catch him tripping. On the other hand, we realize much better -than those who have behind them a Leibniz and a Kant, rather than a -Locke and a Hume, the meaning and the thorough-going necessity of the -universality of intelligence. Idealism must be in some ways arbitrary -and superficial to him who has not had a pretty complete course of -empiricism. - -Leibniz seems to have been impressed with the Essay on the Human -Understanding at its first appearance. As early as 1696 we find -him writing a few pages of comment upon the book. Compared with his -later critique, these early "reflections" seem colorless, and give the -impression that Leibniz desired to minimize his differences from Locke -rather than to set them forth in relief. Comparatively slight as were -his expressions of dissent, they appear to have stung Locke when they -reached him. Meantime Locke's book was translated into French, and made -its way to a wider circle of readers. This seems to have suggested to -Leibniz the advisability of pursuing his comments somewhat further; -and in the summer of 1703 he produced the work which now occupies us. A -letter which Leibniz wrote at about this time is worth quoting at large -for the light which it throws upon the man, as well as for suggesting -the chief points in which he differed from Locke. Leibniz writes:-- - -"I have forgotten to tell you that my comments upon the work of Locke -are nearly done. As he has spoken in a chapter of his second book about -freedom, he has given me an opportunity to discuss that; and I hope -that I may have done it in such a way as will please you. Above all, -I have laid it upon myself to save the immateriality of the soul, which -Locke leaves doubtful. I justify also the existence of innate ideas, -and show that the soul produces their perception out of itself. Axioms, -too, I approve, while Locke has a low opinion of them. In contradiction -to him, I show that the individuality of man, through which he -preserves his identity, consists in the duration of the simple or -immaterial substance which animates him; that the soul is never without -representations; that there is neither a vacuum nor atoms; that matter, -or the passive principle, cannot be conscious, excepting as God unites -with it a conscious substance. We disagree, indeed, in numerous other -points, for I find that he rates too low the noble philosophy of the -Platonic school (as Descartes did in part), and substitutes opinions -which degrade us, and which may become hurtful to morals, though I am -persuaded that Locke's intention was thoroughly good. I have made these -comments in leisure hours, when I have been journeying or visiting, and -could not occupy myself with investigations requiring great pains. The -work has continued to grow under my hands, for in almost every chapter, -and to a greater extent than I had thought possible, I have found -matter for remark. You will be astonished when I tell you that I have -worked upon this as upon something which requires no great pains. But -the fact is, that I long ago established the general principles of -philosophic subjects in my mind in a demonstrative way, or pretty -nearly so, and that they do not require much new consideration from -me." - -Leibniz goes on to add that he has put these reflections in the form of -a dialogue that they may be more attractive; has written them in the -popular language, rather than in Latin, that they may reach as wide a -circle as the work of Locke; and that he hopes to publish them soon, -as Locke is already an old man, and he wishes to get them before the -public while Locke may still reply. - -But unfortunately this last hope was destined to remain -unrealized. Before the work of revision was accomplished, Locke -died. Leibniz, in a letter written in 1714, alludes to his controversy -with Locke as follows: "I do not like the thought of publishing -refutations of authors who are dead. These should appear during their -life, and be communicated to them." Then, referring to his earlier -comments, he says: "A few remarks escaped me, I hardly know how, and -were taken to England. Mr. Locke, having seen them, spoke of them -slightingly in a letter to Molineux. I am not astonished at it. We -were somewhat too far apart in principle, and that which I suggested -seemed paradoxical to him." Leibniz, according to his conviction here -expressed, never published his "Nouveaux Essais sur l'Entendement -Humain." Schaarschmidt remarks that another reason may have restrained -him, in that he did not wish to carry on too many controversies at once -with the English people. He had two on his hands then,--one with the -Newtonians regarding the infinitesimal calculus; the other with Bishop -Clarke regarding the nature of God, of time and space, of freedom, and -cognate subjects. However, in 1765, almost fifty years after the death -of Leibniz, his critique upon Locke finally appeared. - -It is somewhat significant that one whose tendency was conciliatory, -who was eminently what the Germans delight to call him, a "mediator," -attempting to unite the varied truths which he found scattered in -opposed systems, should have had so much of his work called forth -by controversy. Aside from the cases just mentioned, his other -chief work, the Theodicy, is, in form, a reply to Bayle. Many of -his minor pieces are replies to criticism or are developments of -his own thought with critical reference to Descartes, Malebranche, -and others. But Leibniz has a somewhat different attitude towards -his British and towards his Continental opponents. With the latter -he was always in sympathy, while they in turn gave whatever he -uttered a respectful hearing. Their mutual critiques begin and end -in compliments. But the Englishmen found the thought of Leibniz -"paradoxical" and forced. It seemed to them wildly speculative, -and indeed arbitrary guess-work, without any special reason for its -production, and wholly unverifiable in its results. Such has been the -fate of much of the best German thought since that time in the land of -the descendants of Newton and Locke. But Leibniz, on the other hand, -felt as if he were dealing, in philosophical matters at least, with -foemen hardly worthy of his steel. Locke, he says, had subtlety and -address, and a sort of _superficial_ metaphysics; but he was ignorant -of the method of mathematics,--that is to say, from the standpoint of -Leibniz, of the method of all science. We have already seen that he -thought the examination of a work which had been the result of the -continued labor of Locke was a matter for the leisure hours of his -courtly visits. Indeed, he would undoubtedly have felt about it what -he actually expressed regarding his controversy with Clarke,--that he -engaged in it - - "Ludus et jocus, quia in philosophia - Omnia percepi atque animo mecum ante peregi." - -He regarded the English as superficial and without grasp of principles, -as they thought him over-deep and over-theoretical. - -From this knowledge of the external circumstances of the work of -Leibniz and its relation to Locke, it is necessary that we turn to -its internal content, to the thought of Leibniz as related to the -ideas of Locke. The Essay on the Human Understanding is, as the name -implies, an account of the nature of knowledge. Locke tells us that -it originated in the fact that often, when he had been engaged in -discussions with his friends, they found themselves landed in insoluble -difficulties. This occurred so frequently that it seemed probable that -they had been going at matters from the wrong side, and that before -they attempted to come to conclusions about questions they ought to -examine the capacity of intelligence, and see whether it is fitted to -deal with such questions. Locke, in a word, is another evidence of that -truth which lies at the basis of all forms of philosophical thought, -however opposed they may be to one another,--the truth that knowledge -and reality are so organic to each other that to come to any conclusion -about one, we must know something about the other. Reality equals -objects known or knowable, and knowledge equals reality dissolved in -ideas,--reality which has become translucent through its meaning. - -Locke's Essay is, then, an account of the origin, nature, extent, and -limitations of human knowledge. Such is its subject-matter. What is -its method? Locke himself tells us that he uses the "plain historical -method." We do not have to resort to the forcing of language to learn -that this word "historical" contains the key to his work. Every page -of the Essay is testimony to the fact that Locke always proceeds -by inquiring into the way and circumstances by which knowledge of -the subject under consideration came into existence and into the -conditions by which it was developed. Origin means with Locke, not -logical dependence, but temporal production; development means temporal -succession. In the language of our day, Locke's Essay is an attempt to -settle ontological questions by a psychological method. And as we have -before noticed, Leibniz meets him, not by inquiry into the pertinence -of the method or into the validity of results so reached, but by the -more direct way of impugning his psychology, by substituting another -theory of the nature of mind and of the way in which it works. - -The questions with which the discussion begins are as to the existence -of innate ideas, and as to whether the soul always thinks,--questions -which upon their face will lead the experienced reader of to-day to -heave a sigh in memory of hours wasted in barren dispute, and which -will create a desire to turn elsewhere for matter more solid and -more nutritive. But in this case, under the form which the discussion -takes at the hands of Leibniz, the question which awaits answer under -the meagre and worn-out formula of "innate ideas" is the function of -intelligence in experience. - -Locke denies, and denies with great vigor, the existence of innate -ideas. His motives in so doing are practical and theoretical. He -sees almost every old idea, every hereditary prejudice, every vested -interest of thought, defended on the ground that it is an innate -idea. Innate ideas were sacred, and everything which could find no -defence before reason was an innate idea. Under such circumstances -he takes as much interest in demolishing them as Bacon took in -the destruction of the "eidols." But this is but a small portion -of the object of Locke. He is a thorough-going empiricist; and the -doctrine of innate ideas appears to offer the greatest obstacle to the -acceptance of the truth that all the furnishing of the intellect comes -from experience. Locke's metaphors for the mind are that it is a blank -tablet, an empty closet, an unwritten book. The "innate idea" is only a -sentence written by experience, but which, deified by a certain school -of philosophers, has come to be regarded as eternally imprinted upon -the soul. - -Such, indeed, is Locke's understanding of the nature of innate -ideas. He conceives of them as "characters _stamped_, as it were, -upon the mind of man, which the soul has received in its first being -and brings into the world with it;" or they are "constant _impressions_ -which the souls of men receive in their first beings." They are "truths -_imprinted_ upon the soul." Having this conception of what is meant by -"innate ideas," Locke sets himself with great vigor, and, it must be -confessed, with equal success, to their annihilation. - -His argument is somewhat diffuse and scattered, but in substance it -is as follows: Whatever is in the mind, the mind must be conscious -of. "To be in the mind and not to be perceived, is all one as to say -that anything is and is not in the mind." If there be anything in the -mind which is innate, it must be present to the consciousness of all, -and, it would seem, of all at all times, savages, infants, and idiots -included. And as it requires little philosophical penetration to -see that savages do not ponder upon the principle that whatever is, -is; that infants do not dwell in their cradle upon the thought of -contradiction, or idiots ruminate upon that of excluded middle,--it -ought to be evident that such truths cannot be innate. Indeed, we must -admit, with Locke, that probably few men ever come to the explicit -consciousness of such ideas, and that these few are such as direct -their minds to the matter with some pains. Locke's argument may be -summed up in his words: If these are not notions naturally imprinted, -how can they be innate? And if they are notions naturally imprinted, -how can they be unknown? - -But since it may be said that these truths are in the mind, but in such -a way that it is only when they are proposed that men assent to them, -Locke goes on to clinch his argument. If this be true, it shows that -the ideas are not innate; for the same thing is true of a large number -of scientific truths, those of mathematics and morals, as well as of -purely sensible facts, as that red is not blue, sweet is not sour, -etc.,--truths and facts which no one calls innate. Or if it be said -that they are in the mind implicitly or potentially, Locke points -out that this means either nothing at all, or else that the mind is -_capable_ of knowing them. If this is what is meant by innate ideas, -then all ideas are innate; for certainly it cannot be denied that the -mind is capable of knowing all that it ever does know, or, as Locke -ingenuously remarks, "nobody ever denied that the mind was capable of -knowing several truths." - -It is evident that the force of Locke's contention against innate -ideas rests upon a certain theory regarding the nature of innate ideas -and of the relations of consciousness to intelligence. Besides this, -there runs through his whole polemic the assertion that, after all, -innate ideas are useless, as experience, in the sense of impressions -received from without, and the formal action of intelligence upon -them, is adequate to doing all they are supposed to do. It is hardly -too much to say that the nerve of Locke's argument is rather in this -positive assertion than in the negations which he brings against -this existence. Leibniz takes issue with him on each of these three -points. He has another conception of the very nature of innate ideas; -he denies Locke's opinions about consciousness; he brings forward -an opposed theory upon the relation of experience to reason. This -last point we shall take up in a chapter by itself, as its importance -extends far beyond the mere question as to the existence of ideas which -may properly be called innate. The other two questions, as to the real -character of innate ideas and the relation of an idea to consciousness, -afford material to occupy us for the present. - -The metaphor which Locke constantly uses is the clew to his conception -of innate ideas. They are characters stamped or imprinted upon the -mind, they exist _in_ the mind. The mind would be just what it is, -even if they had no existence. It would not have quite so much "in" -it, but its own nature would not be changed. Innate ideas he conceives -as bearing a purely external relation to mind. They are not organic -to it, nor necessary instruments through which it expresses itself; -they are mechanically impressed upon it. But what the "intellectual" -school had meant by innate ideas was precisely that the relation of -ideas to intelligence is _not_ that of passive holding or containing -on the side of mind, and of impressions or stamps on the side of the -ideas. Locke reads the fundamental category of empiricism--mechanical -relation, or external action--into the nature of innate ideas, and -hence easily infers their absurdity. But the object of the upholders -of innate ideas had been precisely to deny that this category was -applicable to the whole of intelligence. By an innate idea they meant -an assertion of the dynamic relation of intelligence and some of its -ideas. They meant to assert that intelligence has a structure, which -necessarily functions in certain ways. While Locke's highest conception -of an innate idea was that it must be something ready made, dwelling -in the mind prior to experience, Leibniz everywhere asserts that it -is a connection and relation which forms the logical prius and the -psychological basis of experience. He finds no difficulty in admitting -all there is of positive truth in Locke's doctrine; namely, that we are -not conscious of these innate ideas until a period later than that in -which we are conscious of sensible facts, or, in many cases, are not -conscious of them at all. This priority in time of sensible experience -to rational knowledge, however, can become a reason for denying the -"innate" character of the latter only when we suppose that they are two -entirely different orders of fact, one knowledge due to experience, -the other knowledge already formed and existing in the mind prior to -"experience." - -Leibniz's conception of the matter is brought out when he says that it -is indeed true that we begin with particular experiences rather than -with general principles, but that the order of nature is the reverse, -for the ground, the basis of the particular truths is in the general; -the former being in reality only instances of the latter. General -principles, he says, enter into _all_ our thoughts, and form their -soul and interconnection. They are as necessary for thought as muscles -and tendons are for walking, although we may not be conscious of their -existence. This side of the teaching of Leibniz consists, accordingly, -in the assertion that "innate" knowledge and knowledge derived from -experience are not two kinds of knowledge, but rather two ways of -considering it. If we consider it as it comes to us, piecemeal and -fragmentary, a succession of particular instances, to be gathered up at -a future time into general principles, and stated in a rational form, -it is seen as empirical. But, after all, this is only a superficial -and external way of looking at it. If we examine into it we shall see -that there are contained in these transitory and particular experiences -certain truths more general and fundamental, which condition them, and -at the same time constitute their meaning. - -If we inquire into the propriety of calling these truths "innate," -we find it is because they are native to intelligence, and are not -acquisitions which it makes. Indeed, it may be said that they _are_ -intelligence, so close and organic is their relation, just as the -muscles, the tendons, the skeleton, are the body. Thus it is that -Leibniz accepts the statement, _Nihil est in intellectu quod non -fuerit in sensu_, with the addition of the statement _nisi ipse -intellectus_. The doctrine of the existence of innate ideas is thus -shown to mean that intelligence exists with a real content which counts -for something in the realm of experience. If we take intelligence -and examine into its structure and ascertain its modes of expression, -we find organically inherent in its activity certain conceptions like -unity, power, substance, identity, etc., and these we call "innate." An -idea, in short, is no longer conceived as something existing in the -mind or in consciousness; it is an activity of intelligence. An innate -idea is a necessary activity of intelligence; that is, such an activity -as enters into the framework of all experience. - -Leibniz thus succeeds in avoiding two errors into which philosophers -whose general aims are much like his have fallen. One is dividing _a -priori_ and _a posteriori_ truths from each other by a hard and fixed -line, so that we are conceived to have some knowledge which comes -wholly from experience, while there is another which comes wholly -from reason. According to Leibniz, there is no thought so abstract -that it does not have its connection with a sensible experience, -or rather its embodiment in it. And, on the other hand, there is no -experience so thoroughly sensuous that it does not bear in itself -traces of its origin in reason. "_All_ our thoughts come from the -depths of the soul," says Leibniz; there are none that "come" to us -from without. The other error is the interpretation of the existence -of innate ideas or "intuitions" (as this school generally calls them) -in a purely formal sense. They are thus considered as truths contained -in and somehow expressed by intelligence, but yet not so connected with -it that in knowing them we necessarily know intelligence itself. They -are considered rather as arbitrary determinations of truths by a power -whose own nature is conceivably foreign to truth, than as so many -special developments of an activity which may indifferently be called -"intelligence" or "truth." Leibniz, however, never fails to state that -an innate truth is, after all, but one form or aspect of the activity -of the mind in knowing. - -In this way, by bringing to light a deeper and richer conception of -what in reality constitutes an innate idea, Leibniz answers Locke. His -reply is indirect; it consists rather in throwing a flood of new -light upon the matter discussed, than in a ponderous response and -counter-attack. But when Leibniz touches upon the conception of a -_tabula rasa_, of a mind which in itself is a mere blank, but has -the capacity for knowing, he assumes the offensive. The idea of a -bare capacity, a formal faculty, of power which does not already -involve some actual content within itself, he repudiates as a relic -of scholasticism. What is the soul, which has nothing until it gets -it from without? The doctrine of a vacuum, an emptiness which is real, -is always absurd; and it is doubly so when to this vacuum is ascribed -powers of feeling and thinking, as Locke does. Accepting for the -moment the metaphor of a _tabula rasa_, Leibniz asks where we shall -find a tablet which yet does not have some quality, and which is not -a co-operating cause, at least, in whatever effects are produced upon -it? The notion of a soul without thought, an empty tablet of the soul, -he says, is one of a thousand fictions of philosophers. He compares -it with the idea of "space empty of matter, absolute uniformity -or homogeneity, perfect spheres of the second element produced by -primordial perfect cubes, abstractions pure and simple, to which our -ignorance and inattention give birth, but of which reality does not -admit." If Locke admits then (as he does) certain capacities inherent -in the soul, he cannot mean the scholastic fiction of bare capacity -or mere possibility; he must mean "real possibilities,"--that is, -capacities accompanied with some actual tendency, an inclination, a -disposition, an aptitude, a preformation which determines our soul in a -certain direction, and which makes it necessary that the possibility -becomes actual. And this tendency, this actual inclination of -intelligence in one way rather than another, so that it is not a matter -of indifference to intelligence what it produces, is precisely what -constitutes an innate idea. So Leibniz feels certain that at bottom -Locke must agree with him in this matter if the latter is really in -earnest in rejecting the "faculties" of the scholastics and in wishing -for a real explanation of knowledge. - -But the argument of Locke rests upon yet another basis. He founds -his denial of innate ideas not only upon a static conception of their -ready made existence "in" the soul, but also upon an equally mechanical -conception of consciousness. "Nothing can be in the mind which is not -in consciousness." This statement appears axiomatic to Locke, and by -it he would settle the whole discussion. Regarding it, Leibniz remarks -that if Locke has such a prejudice as this, it is not surprising that -he rejects innate ideas. But consciousness and mental activity are not -thus identical. To go no farther, the mere empirical fact of memory is -sufficient to show the falsity of such an idea. Memory reveals that -we have an indefinite amount of knowledge of which we are not always -conscious. Rather than that knowledge and consciousness are one, it -is true that actual consciousness only lays hold of an infinitesimal -fraction of knowledge. But Leibniz does not rely upon the fact of -memory alone. We must constantly keep in mind that to Leibniz the -soul is not a form of being wholly separate from nature, but is the -culmination of the system of reality. The reality is everywhere -the monad, and the soul is the monad with the power of feeling, -remembering, and connecting its ideas. The activities of the monad, -those representative changes which sum up and symbolize the universe, -do not cease when we reach the soul. They are continued. If the soul -has the power of attention, they are potentially conscious. Such as -the soul actually attends to, thus giving them relief and making them -distinct, are actually conscious. But all of them exist. - -Thus it is that Leibniz not only denies the equivalence of soul and -consciousness, but asserts that the fundamental error of the psychology -of the Cartesians (and here, at least, Locke is a Cartesian) is in -identifying them. He asserts that "unconscious ideas" are of as great -importance in psychology as molecules are in physics. They are the link -between unconscious nature and the conscious soul. Nothing happens all -at once; nature never makes jumps; these facts stated in the law of -continuity necessitate the existence of activities, which may be called -ideas, since they belong to the soul and yet are not in consciousness. - -When, therefore, Locke asks how an innate idea can exist and the soul -not be conscious of it, the answer is at hand. The "innate idea" -exists as an activity of the soul by which it represents--that is, -expresses--some relation of the universe, although we have not yet -become conscious of what is contained or enveloped in this activity. To -become conscious of the innate idea is to lift it from the sphere of -nature to the conscious life of spirit. And thus it is, again, that -Leibniz can assert that all ideas whatever proceed from the depths of -the soul. It is because it is the very being of the soul as a monad -to reflect "from its point of view" the world. In this way Leibniz -brings the discussion regarding innate ideas out of the plane of -examination into a matter of psychological fact into a consideration -of the essential nature of spirit. An innate idea is now seen to be -one of the relations by which the soul reproduces some relation which -constitutes the universe of reality, and at the same time realizes its -own individual nature. It is one reflection from that spiritual mirror, -the soul. With this enlarged and transformed conception of an idea apt -to be so meagre we may well leave the discussion. There has been one -mind at least to which the phrase "innate ideas" meant something worth -contending for, because it meant something real. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -SENSATION AND EXPERIENCE. - - -A careful study of the various theories which have been held -concerning sensation would be of as much interest and importance as -an investigation of any one point in the range of philosophy. In the -theory of a philosopher about sensation we have the reflex of his -fundamental category and the clew to his further doctrine. Sensation -stands on the border-line between the world of nature and the realm of -soul; and every advance in science, every development of philosophy, -leaves its impress in a change in the theory of sensation. Apparently -one of the simplest and most superficial of questions, in reality -it is one of the most difficult and far-reaching. At first sight it -seems as if it were a sufficient account of sensation to say that -an object affects the organ of sense, and thus impresses upon the -mind the quality which it possesses. But this simple statement -arouses a throng of further questions: How is it possible that -one substance,--matter,--should affect another,--mind? How can a -causal relation exist between them? Is the mind passive or active -in this impression? How can an object convey unchanged to the mind -a quality which it possesses? Or is the sensational _quale_ itself -a product of the mind's activity? If so, what is the nature of the -object which excites the sensation? As known, it is only a collection -of sensuous qualities; if these are purely mental, what becomes of -the object? And if there is no object really there, what is it that -excites the sensation? Such questionings might be continued almost -indefinitely; but those given are enough to show that an examination -of the nature and origin of sensation introduces us to the problems -of the relation of intelligence and the world; to the problem of -the ultimate constitution of an object which is set over against a -subject and which affects it; and to the problem of the nature of mind, -which as thus affected from without must be limited in its nature, -but which as bearer of the whole known universe must be in some sense -infinite. If we consider, not the mode of production of sensation, -but its relation to knowledge, we find philosophical schools divided -into two,--Sensationalists, and Rationalists. If we inquire into its -functions, we find that the empiricist sees in it convincing evidence -of the fact that all knowledge originates from a source _extra mentem_; -that the intellectual idealist finds in it evidence of the gradual -transition of nature into spirit; that the ethical idealist, like Kant -and Fichte, sees in it the material of the phenomenal world, which is -necessary in its opposition to the rational sphere in order that there -may occur that conflict of pure law and sensuous impulse which alone -makes morality possible. We thus realize that as we look at the various -aspects of sensation, we are taken into the discussion of ontology, of -the theory of knowledge and of ethics. - -Locke virtually recognizes the extreme importance of the doctrine of -sensation, and his second book might almost be entitled "Concerning the -Nature and Products of Sensation." On the other hand, one of the most -characteristic and valuable portions of the reply of Leibniz is in his -development of a theory of sensation which is thoroughly new, except as -we seek for its germs in its thoughts of Plato and Aristotle. According -to Locke, knowledge originates from two sources,--sensation and -reflection. Sensations are "the impressions made on our senses by -outward objects that are extrinsic to the mind." When the mind "comes -to reflect on its own operations about the ideas got by sensation, -and thereby stores itself with a new set of ideas," it gets ideas of -reflection. - -If we leave out of account for the present the ideas of reflection, -we find that the ideas which come through sensation have two main -characteristics. First, in having sensations, the mind is passive; -its part is purely receptive. The objects impress themselves upon -the mind, they obtrude into consciousness, whether the mind will or -not. There is a purely external relation existing between sensation -and the understanding. The ideas are offered to the mind, and the -understanding cannot refuse to have them, cannot change them, blot -them out, nor create them, any more than a mirror can refuse, alter, -or obliterate the images which objects produce in it. Sensation, -in short, is a purely passive having of ideas. Secondly, every -sensation is simple. Locke would say of sensations what Hume said of -all ideas,--every distinct sensation is a separate existence. Every -sensation is "uncompounded, containing nothing but one uniform -appearance, not being distinguishable into different ideas." Knowledge -is henceforth a process of compounding, of repeating, comparing, and -uniting sensation. Man's understanding "reaches no further than to -compound and divide the materials that are made to his hand." - -It hardly need be said that Locke has great difficulty in keeping up -this thoroughly atomic theory of mind. It is a theory which makes all -relations external; they are, as Locke afterwards says, "superinduced" -upon the facts. It makes it impossible to account for any appearance -of unity and connection among ideas, and Locke quietly, and without -any consciousness of the contradiction involved, introduces certain -inherent relations into the structure of the ideas when he comes to his -constructive work. "Existence and unity are two ideas," he says, "that -are suggested to the understanding by every object without, and every -idea within." - -At other places he introduces the idea of quality of a substance, -effect of a cause, continued permanence or identity into a sensation, -as necessary constituents of it; thus making a sensation a unity of -complex elements instead of an isolated bare notion. How far he could -have got on in his account of knowledge without this surreptitious -qualifying of a professedly simple existence, may be seen by asking -what would be the nature of a sensation which did not possess existence -and unity, and which was not conceived as the quality of a thing or as -the effect of an external reality. - -This digression has been introduced at this point because the next -character of a sensation which Locke discusses is its objective -character,--its relation to the object which produces it. To -discourse of our ideas intelligibly, he says, it will be convenient -to distinguish them as they are ideas in our minds and as they are -modifications of matter in the bodies that cause them. In other -words, he gives up all thought of considering ideas as simply mental -modifications, and finds it necessary to take them in their relations -to objects. - -Taking them in this way, he finds that they are to be divided into -two classes, of which one contains those ideas that are copies and -resemblances of qualities in the objects, ideas "which are really in -the object, whether we take notice of them or no,"--in which case we -have an idea of the thing as it is in itself; while the other class -contains those which are in no way resemblances of the objects which -produce them, "having no more similitude than the idea of pain and of a -sword." The former are primary qualities, and are solidity, extension, -figure, motion or rest, and number; while the secondary qualities -are colors, smells, and tastes. The former ideas are produced by -impulse of the bodies themselves, which simply effect a transference -of their qualities over into the mind; while the secondary qualities -are arbitrarily annexed by the power of God to the objects which excite -them. - -It will be noticed that there are two elements which make the sensation -of Locke what it is. With reference to its _production_, it is the -effect which one substance, matter, has upon another substance, -mind, which is unlike it in nature, and between which whatever -relations exist, are thoroughly incomprehensible, so that, indeed, -their connections with each other can be understood only by recourse -to a _tertium quid_, an omnipotent power which can arbitrarily produce -such collocations as please it. With reference to its _function_, it -is the isolated and "simple" (that is, non-relational) element out -of which all actual forms of knowledge are made by composition and -re-arrangement. - -Leibniz, without entering into explicit criticism of just these two -points, develops his own theory with reference to them. To Leibniz, -reality constitutes a system; that is, it is of such a nature that -its various portions have an essential and not merely external -relation to one another. Sensation is of course no exception. It is -not a mere accident, nor yet a supernatural yoking of things naturally -opposed. It has a meaning in that connection of things which constitute -the universe. It contributes to the significance of the world. It -is one way in which those activities which make the real express -themselves. It has its place or reason in the totality of things, and -this whether we consider its origin or its position with regard to -knowledge. In a word, while the characteristic of Locke's theory is -that he conceives sensation as in external relation both to reality, -as mechanically produced by it, and to knowledge, as being merely -one of the atomic elements which may enter into a compound, Leibniz -regards reality as organic to sensation, and this in turn as organic -to knowledge. We have here simply an illustration of the statement -with which we set out; namely, that the treatment of sensation always -reflects the fundamental philosophical category of the philosopher. - -All reality exists in the form of monads; monads are simple substances -whose nature is action; this action consists in representing, according -to a certain law of succession, the universe. Various monads have -various degrees of activity; that is, of the power of reflecting -the world. So much of Leibniz's general philosophical attitude it is -necessary to recall, to understand what he means by "sensation." The -generic name which is applied to this mirroring activity of the monads -is "perception," which, as Leibniz often says, is to be carefully -distinguished from apperception, which is the representation become -conscious. Perception may be defined, therefore, as the inclusion of -the many or multiform (the world of objects) in a unity (the simple -substance). It was the great defect of previous philosophy that it -"considered only spirits or self-conscious beings as souls," and -had consequently recognized only conscious perceptions. It had been -obliged, therefore, to make an impassable gulf between mind and matter, -and sensations were thus rendered inexplicable. But Leibniz finds his -function as a philosopher in showing that these problems, which seem -insoluble, arise when we insist upon erecting into actual separations -or differences of kind what really are only stages of development -or differences of degree. A sensation is not an effect which one -substance impresses upon another because God pleased that it should, or -because of an incomprehensible incident in the original constitution of -things. It is a higher development of that representative power which -belongs to every real being. - -Certain monads reach a state of development, or manifestation of -activity, which is characterized by the possession of distinct -organs. Such monads may be called, in a pre-eminent sense, "souls," -and include all the higher animals as well as man. This possession of -differentiated organs finds its analogue in the internal condition of -the monad. What appears externally as an organ of sense appears ideally -as a conscious representative state which we call "sensation." "When," -Leibniz says, "the monad has its organs so developed that there -is relief and differentiation in the impressions received, and -consequently in the perceptions which represent them, we have feeling -or sensation; that is, a perception accompanied by memory," to which -at other times he adds "attention." Life, he says, "is a perceptive -principle; the soul is sensitive life; mind is rational soul." And -again he says in substance that when the soul begins to have interests, -and to regard one representation as of more value than others, it -introduces relief into its perceptions, and those which stand out are -called "sensations." - -This origin of sensations as higher developments of the representative -activities of a monad conditions their relation to further processes -of knowledge. The sensations are confused knowledge; they are ideas -in their primitive and most undifferentiated form. They constitute, -as Leibniz somewhere says, the vertigo of the conscious life. In every -sentient organism multitudes of sensations are constantly thronging in -and overpowering its distinct consciousness. The soul is so flooded -with ideas of everything in the world which has any relation to -its body that it has distinct ideas of nothing. Higher knowledge, -then, does not consist in compounding these sensations; that would -literally make confusion worse confounded. It consists in introducing -distinctness into the previously confused sensations,--in finding out -what they mean; that is, in finding out their bearings, what they point -to, and how they are related. Knowledge is not an external process -performed upon the sensations, it is the development of their internal -content. - -It follows, therefore, that sensation is organic to all forms of -knowledge whatever. The monad, which is pure activity, that which -culminates the scale of reality, has no confused ideas, and to it -all knowledge is eternally rational, having no sensible traces about -it. But every other monad, having its activity limited, has ideas -which come to it at first in a confused way, and which its activity -afterwards differentiates. Thus it is that Leibniz can agree so -heartily with the motto of the Sensationalist school,--that there is -nothing in the intellect which was not first in the sensory. But -Leibniz uses this phrase as Aristotle would have done, having -in mind the distinction between potentiality and actuality. _In -posse_, sensation is all knowledge; but only _in posse_. And he, like -Aristotle, interprets the relation between potentiality and actuality -as one of a difference of activity. The potential is that which -becomes real through a dynamic process. The actual is capacity plus -action. Sensation, in short, is spiritual activity in an undeveloped -and hence partial and limited condition. It is not, as Locke would have -it, the real factor in all knowledge. - -The marks of sensation which Locke lays down,--their passivity, their -simplicity, their position as the real element in knowledge,--Leibniz -either denies, therefore, or accepts in a sense different from that of -Locke. Strictly speaking, sensation is an activity of the mind. There -are no windows through which the soul receives impressions. Pure -passivity of any kind is a myth, a scholastic fiction. Sensation is -developed from the soul within; it is the activity of reality made -manifest to itself. It is a higher kind of action than anything we find -in minerals or in plants. If we look at sensation ideally, however, -that is, according to the position which it holds in the system -of knowledge, it is properly regarded as passive. It represents the -limitation, the unrealized (that is, the non-active) side of spiritual -life. - -"Efficient causality" is a term which has its rightful and legitimate -use in physical science. Simply from the scientific point of view -we are correct in speaking of objects as affecting the body, and the -body, through its nervous system, as affecting the soul and producing -sensations. But philosophy does not merely use categories, it explains -them. And Leibniz contends that to explain the category of causality -in a mechanical sense, to understand by it physical influence actually -transferred from one thing to another, is to make the idea inexplicable -and irrational. The true meaning of causality is ideal. It signifies -the relative positions which the objects concerned have in the -harmonious system of reality. The body that is higher in the scale -impresses the other; that is to say, it dominates it or gives its -law. There is no energy or quality which passes physically from one -to the other. But one monad, as higher in the stage of development -than another, makes an ideal demand upon that one. It places before -the other its own more real condition. The less-developed monad, since -its whole activity consists in representing the universe of reality, -answers to this demand by developing the corresponding quality in -itself. The category of harmonious or co-operative action is thus -substituted for that of external and mechanical influence. Physical -causality when given a philosophic interpretation means organic -development. The reality of a higher stage is the more active: the -more active has a greater content in that it mirrors the universe more -fully; it manifests accordingly more of the law of the universe, and -hence has an ideal domination over that which is lower in the scale. It -is actually (that is, in activity) what the other is potentially. But -as the entire existence of the latter is in representing or setting -forth the relations which make the world, its activity is aroused to a -corresponding production. Hence the former is called "cause," and the -latter "effect." - -This introduces us to the relation of soul and body, or, more generally -stated, to the relation of mind and matter. It is the theory of -co-operation, of harmonious activity, which Leibniz substitutes for -the theory which Descartes had formulated, according to which there -are two opposed substances which can affect each other only through -the medium of a _deus ex machina_. Locke, on the other hand, took the -Cartesian principle for granted, and thus enveloped himself in all the -difficulties which surround the question of "mind and matter." Locke -wavers between two positions, one of which is that there are two -unknown substances,--the soul and the object in itself,--which, coming -in contact, produce sensations; while the other takes the hypothetical -attitude that there may be but one substance,--matter,--and that -God, out of the plenitude of his omnipotence, has given matter a -capacity which does not naturally belong to it,--that of producing -sensations. In either case, however, the final recourse is to the -arbitrary power of God. There is no natural--that is, intrinsic and -explicable--connection between the sensation and that which produces -it. Sensation occupied the hard position which the mechanical school -of to-day still allots it. It is that "inexplicable," "mysterious," -"unaccountable" link between the domains of matter and mind of which no -rational account can be given, but which is yet the source of all that -we know about matter, and the basis of all that is real in the mind! - -Leibniz, recognizing that reality is an organic whole,--not two parts -with a chasm between them,--says that "God does not arbitrarily give -substances whatever qualities may happen, or that he may arbitrarily -determine, but only such as are natural; that is, such as are -related to one another in an _explicable_ way as modifications of -the substance." Leibniz feels sure that to introduce the idea of the -inexplicable, the purely supernatural, into the natural is to give up -all the advantages which the modern mechanical theory had introduced, -and to relapse into the meaningless features of scholasticism. If the -"supernatural"--that is, the essentially inexplicable--is introduced -in this one case, why should it not be in others; why should we not -return outright to the "fanatic philosophy which explains all facts by -simply attributing them to God immediately or by way of miracle, or to -the barbarian philosophy, which explains phenomena by manufacturing, -_ad hoc_, occult qualities or faculties, seemingly like little -demons or spirits capable of performing, without ceremony, whatever -is required,--as if watches marked time by their horodeictic power, -without wheels, and mills ground grain, without grindstones, by their -fractive power"? In fact, says Leibniz, by introducing the inexplicable -into our _explanations_ "we fall into something worse than occult -qualities,--we give up philosophy and reason; we open asylums for -ignorance and laziness, holding not only that there are qualities which -we do not understand (there are, indeed, too many such), but qualities -which the greatest intelligence, if God gave it all the insight -possible, could not understand,--that is, such as are _in themselves_ -without rhyme or reason. And indeed it would be a thing without -rhyme or reason that God should perform miracles in the ordinary -course of nature." And regarding the whole matter of introducing the -inconceivable and the inexplicable into science, he says that "while -the conception of men is not the measure of God's power, their capacity -of conception is the measure of _nature's_ power, since everything -occurring in the natural order is capable of being understood by the -created intelligence." Such being the thought of Leibniz regarding the -virtual attempt to introduce in his day the unknowable into philosophy, -it is evident that he must reject, from the root up, all theories of -sensation which, like Locke's, make it the product of the inexplicable -intercourse of two substances. - -For this doctrine, then, Leibniz substitutes that of an infinite number -of substances, all of the same kind, all active, all developing from -within, all conspiring to the same end, but of various stages of -activity, or bearing various relations of completeness to the one end. - -Indeed, one and the same monad has various degrees of activity in -itself; that is, it represents more or less distinctly the universe -according to its point of view. Its point of view requires of it, of -course, primarily, a representation of that which is about it. Thus -an infinity of states arises, each corresponding to some one of the -multitude of objects surrounding the monad. The soul has no control, -no mastery, over these states. It has to take them as they come; with -regard to them, the soul appears passive. It appears so because it does -not as yet clearly distinguish them. It does not react upon them and -become conscious of their meaning or thoroughly rational character. We -shall afterwards see that "matter" is, with Leibniz, simply this -passive or confused side of monads. It is the monad so far as it has -not brought to light the rational activity which is immanent in it. At -present we need only notice that the body is simply the part of matter -or of passivity which limits the complete activity of any monad. So -Leibniz says, "in so far as the soul has perfection, it has distinct -thoughts, and God has accommodated the body to the soul. So far as it -is imperfect and its perceptions are confused, God has accommodated the -soul to the body in such a way that the soul lets itself be inclined by -the passions, which are born from corporeal representations. It is by -its confused thoughts (sensations) that the soul represents the bodies -about it," just as, we may add, its distinct thoughts represent the -monads or souls about it, and, in the degree of their distinctness, -God, the monad which is _purus actus_. - -Following the matter into more detail, we may say that since God alone -is pure energy, knowing no limitation, God alone is pure spirit. Every -finite soul is joined to an organic body. "I do not admit," says -Leibniz, "that there are souls entirely separate from matter, nor -created spirits detached from body. . . . It is this body which -the monad represents most distinctly; but since this body expresses the -entire universe by the connection of all matter throughout it, the soul -represents the entire universe in representing the body which belongs -to it most particularly." But according to the principle of continuity -there must be in the least apparent portion of matter still "a universe -of creatures, of souls, of entelechies. There is nothing sterile, -nothing dead in the universe. It is evident from these considerations -that every living body has a dominant entelechy, which is the soul in -that body, but that the members of this living body are again full of -other living beings and souls," which, however, since not of so high -a grade, that is, not representing the universe so fully, appear to be -wholly material and subject to the "dominant" entelechy; namely, to the -one which gives the law to the others by expressing more adequately -the idea at which they only confusedly aim. Owing to the constant -change of activity, however, these particles do not remain in constant -subordination to the same entelechy (that is, do not form parts of the -same body), but pass on to higher or lower degrees of "evolution," -and have their places taken by others undergoing similar processes -of change. Thus "all bodies are in a perpetual flux, like rivers, -with parts continually leaving and entering in." Or, interpreting -this figurative language, each monad is continually, in its process -of development, giving law to new and less developed monads, which -therefore appear as its body. The nature of matter in itself, and of -its phenomenal manifestation in the body, are, however, subjects which -find no explanation here, and which will demand explanation in another -chapter. - -We may sum up Leibniz's theory of sensation by saying that it is a -representative state developed by the self-activity of the soul; that -in itself it is a confused or "involved" grade of activity, and in -its relation to the world represents the confused or passive aspects -of existence; that this limitation of the monad constitutes matter, -and in its necessary connection with the monad constitutes the body -which is always joined to the finite soul; that to this body are joined -in all cases an immense number of monads, whose action is subordinate -to that of this dominant monad, and that it is the collection of these -which constitute the visible animal body. Thus if we look at sensation -with regard to the monad which possesses it, it is a product of the -body of the monad; if we look at it with reference to other monads, -it represents or reflects their passive or material side. This is -evidently one aspect again of the pre-established harmony,--an aspect -in which some of the narrower of Leibniz's critics have seen the whole -meaning of the doctrine exhausted. It is, however, simply one of the -many forms in which the harmony, the union of spiritual and mechanical, -ideal and material, meets us. In truth, while in other systems the fact -of sensation is a fact demanding some artificial mode of reconciling -"mind" and "matter," or is else to be accepted as an inexplicable fact, -in the system of Leibniz it is itself evidence that the spiritual -and the mechanical are not two opposed kinds of existence, but are -organically united. It is itself the manifestation of the harmony -of the ideal and the material, not something which requires that -a factitious theory be invented for explaining their appearance of -harmony. Sensation has within itself the ideal element, for it is the -manifestation, in its most undeveloped form, of the spiritual meaning -of the universe. It has a mechanical element, for it expresses the -limitation, the passivity, of the monad. - -It is from this standpoint that Leibniz criticises what Locke says -about the relation of sensations to the objects which produce -them. Leibniz holds that all our sensations have a definite and -natural connection with the qualities of objects,--the "secondary" -as well as the "primary." They all represent certain properties of the -object. Even the pain which the thrust of a needle gives us, while it -does not resemble anything in the needle, does in some way represent -or resemble motions going on in our body. This resemblance is not -necessarily one of exact form, but just as the ellipse, hyperbola, -and parabola are projections of the circle in the sense that there -is a natural and fixed law of connection between them, so that every -point of one corresponds by a certain relation with every point of the -other, so the resemblance between the sensation and the quality of the -object is always in the form of a fixed law of order, which, however -unknown to us it may now be, is capable of being found out. If we are -to make any distinction between "secondary" and "primary" sensations, -it should be not that one presents qualities that are in the objects, -and the other affections which exist only in us, but that the primary -sensations (of number, form, size, etc.) represent the qualities in -a distinct way, appealing to the rational activity of intelligence, -while the secondary represent the qualities in a confused way, a way -not going beyond the effect upon the mind into relations, that is, into -distinct knowledge. - -This brings regularly before us the question of the relation of -sensations to knowledge. We have seen enough already to know that -Leibniz does not believe that knowledge begins with the simple (that -is, unrelated), and then proceeds by a process of compounding. The -sensation is not simple to Leibniz, but thoroughly complex, involving -confusedly within itself all possible relations. As relations are -brought forth into distinct light out of this confusion, knowledge -ends rather than begins with the simple. And again it is evident that -Leibniz cannot believe that knowledge begins and ends in experience, -in the sense in which both himself and Locke use the word; namely, as -meaning the combination and succession of impressions. - -"Experience," as they use the term, consists in sensations and their -association,--"consecution" as Leibniz calls it. Experience is the -stage of knowledge reached by animals, and in which the majority -of men remain,--and indeed all men in the greater part of their -knowledge. Leibniz takes just the same position regarding the larger -part of our knowledge which Hume takes regarding it all. It consists -simply in associations of such a nature that when one part recurs -there is a tendency to expect the recurrence of the other member. It -resembles reason, but it is based on the accidental experience of -events in a consecutive order, and not on knowledge of their causal -connection. We all expect the sun to rise to-morrow; but with all of -us, excepting the astronomer, such expectation is purely "empirical," -being based on the images of past experiences which recur. The -astronomer, however, sees into the grounds, that is, the reasons, of -the expectation, and hence his knowledge is rational. - -Thus we have two grades of knowledge,--one empirical, consisting -of knowledge of facts; the other rational, being of the truths -of reason. The former is contingent and particular, the latter is -necessary and universal. Leibniz insists, with a pertinacity which -reminds us of Kant, that "experience" can give instances or examples -only, and that the fact that anything has happened in a given way -any number of times in the past, can give no assurance that it will -continue to do so in the future. There is nothing in the nature -of the case which renders its exact opposite impossible. But a -rational truth is necessary, for its opposite is impossible, being -irrational or meaningless. This may not always be evident in the -case of a complex rational truth; but if it be analyzed into simpler -elements, as a geometrical proposition into definitions, axioms, and -postulates, the absurdity of its opposite becomes evident. Sensation, -in conclusion, is the having of confused ideas,--ideas corresponding -to matter. Experience is the association of these confused ideas, and -their association according to their accidental juxtaposition in the -life of the soul. It therefore is not only thoroughly sensible, but is -also phenomenal. Its content is sensations; its form is contingent and -particular consecution. Both form and content, accordingly, need to be -reconstructed if they are to be worthy of the name of science or of -knowledge. This is the position which Leibniz assumes as against the -empiricist, Locke. The details of this reconstruction, its method and -result, we must leave till we come in the course of the argument again -to the subject of knowledge. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE IMPULSES AND THE WILL. - - -Locke, after discussing the subject of innate ideas in their relation -to knowledge, goes on to discuss their practical side, or connection -with will. We shall follow him in this as Leibniz does; but we shall -consider in connection with this, Leibniz's general theory of will, -which is developed partially in this chapter, but more completely -in his critical remarks upon what Locke has to say of the notion of -"power." Since the theory of morals is as closely connected with will -as the theory of knowledge is with the intellect, we shall supplement -this discussion with what Leibniz says upon the ethical question, -drawing our material somewhat freely from his other writings. - -The doctrine of will which Leibniz propounds is in closest harmony -with his conception of intelligence, and this not merely in the way -of empirical juxtaposition, but as the result of his fundamental -principles. If we recall what has been said concerning the monad, -we shall remember that it is an activity, but an activity with a -content. It is a force, but a force which mirrors the universe. The -content, that portion of reality which is reflected in the action, -is knowledge, or the idea; the activity which brings this about is -will, or the volition. They are related to each other as form and -content. There is, strictly speaking, no "state" of mind; there is -only a tension, a pushing forward of mind. There is no idea which -is not a volition. Will is thus used, in a very broad sense, as -equivalent to action. Since, however, the activity of the monad is -in no case aimless, but has an end in view, the will is not _mere_ -activity in general, it is action towards some definite end. And since -the end at which the monad aims is always the development of an idea, -the reflection of some constituent of the universe, the will is always -directed towards and determined by some idea of the intellect. - -We have seen, however, that there are various stages in the reflecting -power of the soul, or in the realization of intellect. Taking -only the broadest division, there are perception and apperception; -that is, there are the conscious and the unconscious mirroring of -reality. We shall expect, then, to find two corresponding stages of -volition. Leibniz calls these stages "appetition" and "volition" -in the narrower sense. The constant tendency in every monad to go -from one perception to another,--that is, the following of the law -of development,--constitutes appetition. If joined to feeling, -it constitutes instinct. Since, again, there are two degrees of -apperception, one of empirical, the other of rational, consciousness, -we shall expect to find two grades of volition proper,--one -corresponding to action for conscious particular ends; the other -for ends which are proposed by reason, and are hence universal. In -this chapter we shall simply expand and illustrate these various -propositions. - -Sensations, looked at not as to what they represent, but in -themselves, are impulses. As such they constitute the lowest stage -of will. Impulsive action then includes all such as occurs for an -end which is unknown, or at best but dimly felt. Such action may be -called blind, not in the sense that it is without reason, but in the -sense that reason is not consciously present. We are not to think of -this instinctive action, however, as if it were found simply in the -animals. Much of human action is also impulsive; probably, indeed, -an impulsive factor is contained in our most rational willing. We are -never able to take complete account of the agencies which are acting -upon us. Along with the reasons of which we are conscious in choosing, -there are mingled faint memories of past experience, subconscious -solicitations of the present, dim expectations for the future. Such -elements are decisive factors far more than we realize. - -Indeed, it is because of the extent to which such unconscious -influences bear upon us and move us that there arises the idea -of indifferent or unmotivated choice. Were both motive and choice -unconscious, the question as to whether choice were antecedently -determined would not arise; and were our motives and their results -wholly in consciousness, the solution of the question would be -evident. But when we are conscious of our choice, but are not conscious -of our impulses and motives, we get the impression that our choice is -unmotived, and hence come to believe in "indifferent freedom,"--the -ability to choose as we will. - -We shall shortly take up in more detail the theory of Leibniz regarding -the freedom of will; and it is needful here to remark only that the -conception which makes it consist in ability to choose without reason -is in direct contradiction to his fundamental thought,--namely, that -there can be no activity which does not aim at some reflection of the -universe, by which, therefore, it is determined. From the psychological -point of view, it is interesting also to notice how Leibniz's theory -of unconscious ideas enables him to dispose of the strongest argument -for indifferent choice,--that drawn from the immediate "testimony" -of consciousness. - -Upon the origin and nature of desires Leibniz has much more to say -than about the impulses. His account of the transition from impulse -to desire is based upon the conception of unconscious ideas. Slight -and imperceptible impulses are working upon us all the time. Indeed, -they are a necessity; for the actual state of a soul or monad at any -time is, of course, one of incompleteness. Our nature must always work -to free itself from its hindrances and obtain its goal of complete -development. But it will not do this unless there is some stimulus, -some solicitation to induce it to overcome its limitation. There is -found accordingly in our every condition a feeling of dissatisfaction, -or, using Locke's word, of "uneasiness;" and it is this which -calls forth that activity which brings about a nearer approach to -the soul's real good. But Leibniz differs from Locke in saying that -this feeling of uneasiness is not a distinct, or even in most cases a -conscious, one. It is not pain, although it differs from pain only in -degree. Uneasiness and pain are related to each other as appetite for -food is to hunger,--the first suffices to stimulate us to satisfaction, -but if the want is not met, results in actual pain; if met, these "half -pains" become tributary to pleasure itself. These unconscious stimuli -to action result in actions which meet the want, and the aggregation of -these satisfactions results in pleasure. In Leibniz's own words:-- - -"If these elements of pain were themselves true pains, we should -always be in a state of misery, even in pursuing the good. But since -there is always going on a summation of minute successes in overcoming -these states of uneasiness, and these put us more and more at ease, -there comes about a decided pleasure, which often has greater value -even than the enjoyment of the good. Far, then, from regarding this -uneasiness as a thing incompatible with happiness, I find that it is -an essential condition of our happiness. For this does not consist -in perfect possession, which would make us insensible and stupid, but -in a constant progress towards greater results, which must always be -accompanied, accordingly, by this element of desire or uneasiness." - -And again he says that "we enjoy all the advantages of pain without any -of its inconveniences. If the uneasiness should become too distinct, -we should be miserable in our awaiting the good which relieves it; but -as it is, there is a constant victory over these half-pains, which we -always find in desire, and this gives us a quantity of half-pleasures, -whose continuance and summation (for they acquire force like a moving -body as it falls) result in a whole and true pleasure." In short, -there is indeed an element of pain in all desire which stimulates -us to action, and therefore to higher development. But ordinarily -this element of pain is not present as such in consciousness, but -is absorbed in the pleasure which accompanies the realization of the -higher good. Thus Leibniz, accepting and emphasizing the very same fact -that served Schopenhauer as a psychological base of pessimism, uses it -as a foundation-stone of optimism. - -But desire, or the conscious tendency towards something required as a -good, accompanied by the dim feeling of uneasiness at its absence, does -not yet constitute the complete act of volition. "Several impulses and -inclinations meet in forming the complete volition which is the result -of their conflict." In the concrete act of will there are contained -impulses which push us towards some end whose nature is not known; -there is desire both in its inchoate stage, where pleasure and pain -are not in consciousness, and in its formed state, where the pain -and pleasure are definitely presented. Mixed with these desires and -impulses are images of past experiences which call up the feelings -which were formerly attached to them, and thus there are aroused -indirectly additional impulses and desires. Out of this complicated -mass of impulses, desires, and feelings, both original and reproduced, -comes the "dominant effort" which constitutes complete will. But what -governs the production of this prevailing or dominant effort, which we -may interpret as the act of choice? The answer is simple: the result -of the conflict of these various factors, the striking of the balance, -_is_ the choice. Some desire emerges from the confused complex, and -that desire is the final determination of the will. This desire may -not in all cases be the strongest in itself,--that is, the one whose -satisfaction will allay the greatest "uneasiness," for the others, -taken together, may outweigh it; it may, so to speak, have a plurality, -but not a majority, of volitional forces on its side,--and in this case -a fusion of opposing factors may defeat it. But in any event the result -will be the _algebraic_ sum of the various desires and impulses. - -It is not at all necessary, however, that the net outcome shall make -itself apparent as a mechanical equivalent of the forces at work. The -soul, Leibniz says, may use its skill in the formation of parties, -so as to make this or that side the victor. How is this to be done, -and still disallow the possibility of arbitrary choice? This problem -is solved through action becoming deliberate. Deliberate action is -impossible unless the soul has formed the habit of looking ahead and -of arranging for modes of action which do not present themselves as -immediate necessities. Only in this way can one look at the matter -impartially and coolly; "at the moment of combat there is no time for -discussion. Everything which then occurs throws its full force on the -balance, and contributes to an outcome made up in the same way as in -mechanics." The formation of certain habits beforehand, therefore, is -the secret of translating impulsive action into the deliberate sphere. - -Of these habits the simplest consists in thinking only occasionally and -incidentally of certain things. Imagination is the mother of desire. If -we do not allow the imagination to dwell upon certain lines of thought, -the probability of such thoughts acquiring sufficient force to become -motives of weight is small. A still more effective method of regulating -action is "to accustom ourselves to forming a train of thoughts of -which reason, and not chance (that is, association), is the basis. We -must get out of the tumult of present impressions, beyond our immediate -surroundings, and ask: _Dic cur hic? respice finem!_" In other words, -we must cross-question our impulses and desires, we must ask whence -they come, that we may see how valid are the credentials which they -offer. We must ask whither they tend, that we may measure them, not by -their immediate interest, but by their relation to an end. The desires -are not to be taken at their face-value, but are to be weighed and -compared. - -Such a process will evidently result in arresting instantaneous -action. There will be a pause between the presentation of the -desires and the overt act. During this pause it may well occur that -the examination to which the desires have been subject has awakened -contrary desires. The thought of the ignoble origin of a desire or of -its repulsive, though remote, result will bring into action desires of -an opposed kind. Thus the soul regulates action, not as if, however, it -had any direct influence over desires, but by its ability of bringing -other desires into the field. The will, in short, is not opposed to -desire, though rational desire may be opposed to sensuous desire. "By -various artifices, then," Leibniz concludes, "we become masters of -ourselves, and can make ourselves think and do that which we ought -to will, and which reason ordains." Such is the summary of Leibniz's -analysis of the elements and mechanism of volition. There was not much -psychology existing at the time which could aid him in such an acute -and subtle account; only in Aristotle could he have found much help. On -the other hand, it has been so generally incorporated into current -psychology that we may seem to have wasted space in repeating truisms. - -Of moral action, however, we have as yet heard nothing. We have an -account of a psychological mechanism; but for what ethical end does -this work, and by what method? This question may best be answered -by turning in more detail to the question of the "freedom of the -will." Freedom in the sense of arbitrary choice Leibniz wholly -rejects, as we have seen. It is inconsistent with at least two of -his fundamental principles; those, namely, of sufficient reason, -and of continuity. "Everything that occurs must have a sufficient -reason for its occurrence." This oft-repeated dictum of Leibniz, the -logical way of stating the complete rationality of experience, would -be shattered into fragments by collision with groundless choice. It -conflicts equally (indeed for the same reason) with the principle of -continuity. "The present is pregnant with the future." "Nature never -makes leaps." "An absolute equilibrium is a chimera." "The soul is -never wholly at rest." These are only various ways of saying that the -notion of arbitrary or unmotivated choice rests upon the assumption -that there is a complete break in the life of the soul, so that it -is possible for something to happen which bears no organic relation -to anything that precedes. The notion of a state of the soul without -motives, followed by the irruption of a certain line of conduct, the -notion of an equilibrium broken by arbitrary choice, is simply the -counterpart of the idea of a vacuum. All that makes Leibniz reject the -latter conception makes it impossible for him to accept the former. - -This should not be interpreted to mean that Leibniz denied the "freedom -of the will." What he denied is a notion of freedom which seemed to him -at once unverifiable, useless, and irrational. There is a conception -of freedom which Leibniz not only accepts, but insists upon. Such a -notion of freedom is indeed his ethical ideal. Its three traits are -contingency, spontaneity, and rationality of action. How action can -be at the same time contingent and determined is perhaps difficult -to understand; but Leibniz takes the position that it is. His first -step is to distinguish between physical, mathematical, metaphysical, -and moral necessity. There are truths which are eternal, truths -which are absolutely necessary, because their opposites involve -contradiction. They cannot be violated without involving us in -absurdity. There are other truths which are "positive," that is, -ordained for good reason. These truths may be _a priori_, or rational, -and not merely empirical; for they have been chosen for reasons of -advantage. God always chooses and ordains the best of a number of -possibilities; but he does it, not because the opposite is impossible, -but because it is inferior. Truths whose opposites are impossible -have metaphysical and mathematical necessity. Positive truths have -moral necessity. The principle of causation _must_ be true; the three -interior angles of a triangle _must_ be equal to two right angles. But -that God shall choose the better of two courses is a moral necessity -only. It invokes no absolute logical contradiction to conceive him -choosing some other way. Upon moral necessity depends the physical. The -particular laws of nature are necessary, not because their opposites -are logically absurd, but because these laws are most in accordance -with the general principles of good and order, in agreement with which -God chooses. Physical and moral action is therefore in all cases -contingent. (Contingency does not of itself, of course, constitute -freedom, but conjoined with the characteristics of rationality and -spontaneity, does so.) - -Necessity, in short, is based upon the principle of logical -contradiction; contingency upon that of sufficient reason. Since our -actions are in no case necessitated in such a way that their opposite -is self-contradictory, or, put positively, since our actions are always -determined by the choice of that which seems best, our actions are -contingent. Occasionally Leibniz puts the matter in a much simpler way, -and one which brings out the essential element more clearly than the -foregoing distinction. Some facts are determined by the principle of -physical causation; others by that of final causation. Some, in other -words, are necessary as the mechanical outcome of their antecedents; -others are necessary as involved in the reaching of a given end. It is -simply the Aristotelian distinction between efficient and teleological -causation. Human action is determined, since it always has a motive or -reason; it is contingent, because it springs from this reason and not -from its temporal antecedents. It is, in short, determined, but it is -also free. - -It does not require much analysis, however, to see that this -distinction, in whatever way it be put, really has no significance, -except as it points to the other marks of freedom,--spontaneity -and rationality. As we shall see, Leibniz makes and can make -no absolute distinction between truths of reason and truths of -fact. The contingent and the necessary are one at bottom. To us -with our limited intelligence it does indeed often appear as if no -contradiction were involved in the former,--as if, for example, a man -could turn either to right or left without there being any logical -contradiction in either case; but this is because of our defective -insight. An intelligence cognizant of the whole matter could see that -one action would contradict some truth involved in the constitution -of the universe. The source of the contingent and changing is in the -necessary and eternal. Thus it is that although Leibniz at one time -says that "neither one's self nor any other spirit more enlightened -could demonstrate that the opposite of a given action (like going out -in preference to staying in) involves contradiction," at another time -he says that "a perfect knowledge of all the circumstances, internal -and external, would enable any one to foresee" the decision in a given -case. If that be so, any other action must be impossible; that is, -according to Leibniz's invariable logic, imply contradiction. - -We get the same result if we consider the relation of final and -efficient causes. It is only when speaking in a very general way that -Leibniz opposes action as determined by precedent activities to that -directed towards the attainment of an end. He does not really mean -that _some_ action is physical, while _other_ is teleological. He -cannot suppose that some action has an antecedent cause, while other -has a purpose. The very essence of his thought is that action is -both mechanical and teleological; that all action follows in a law of -order from precedent action, and that all fulfils a certain spiritual -function. The distinction is not, with Leibniz, one between two kinds -of action, but between two ways of looking at every action. The desire -to go rather than to stay, has its efficient cause; the movements by -which the desire is executed, have their final cause. The truth of -the matter seems to be that Leibniz in his desire to guard against -being thought a fatalist, or one denying all freedom, uses terms -which are compatible only with a freedom of indifference. So in his -statement that man's action is free because "contingent," he seems -actuated rather by a wish to avoid the hateful term "necessity" than by -considerations strictly in harmony with his own principles. - -Had he confined his use of the term "contingent," however, simply to -re-stating the fact that human action is spontaneous, no such apparent -contradiction would have presented itself. Human actions may be called -contingent, as physical actions are not, because the latter always -seem to be externally determined, while the former are internally -directed. Motions act from without; motives from within. The cause of -the falling of a stone lies outside it; the source of a desire which -moves to action is from the mind itself. We are thus introduced to -contingency as a synonym of "spontaneity." - -Kuno Fischer calls attention to the fact that Spinoza and Leibniz both -use the same sort of illustration to show the non-arbitrary character -of human action, but the same illustration with a difference; -and in the difference he finds the distinction between the two -philosophies. Spinoza says that a stone falling to the ground, if -endowed with consciousness, might imagine itself following its own will -in falling. Leibniz says that a magnetic needle similarly endowed might -imagine that it turned towards the north simply because it wished. Both -examples are used to illustrate the folly of relying upon the immediate -"testimony" of consciousness. But the example of Spinoza is that of an -object, all whose movements are absolutely necessitated from without; -the example of Leibniz is that of an object whose activity, though -following law, and not caprice, is apparently initiated from within. Of -course in reality the movements of the magnetic needle are just as much -externally conditioned as those of the stone; but the appearance of -self-action in the latter case may serve at least to exemplify what is -meant by spontaneity as attributed to human action. - -It must be noticed at the outset that spontaneity belongs to every -simple substance. We have only to recall the doctrine of monads. These -suffer nothing from without, all their activity is the expression, -is the unfolding, of their own law. "By nature," Leibniz says, "every -simple substance has perceptions, and its individuality consists in -the permanent law which forms the succession of its perceptions, that -are born naturally one of another. Hence it is not necessary for it to -receive any physical influence from without; and therefore the soul has -in itself a perfect spontaneity in such a way that its actions depend -only upon God and itself." Or if we put the matter in its connection -with his psychology rather than with his metaphysics, it is true that -our actions are determined by our motives; but motives are not forces -without the soul, they are forces _of_ the soul. In acting according to -motives the soul is simply acting according to its own laws. A desire -is not an impulsion from an external cause; it is the expression of an -inward tendency. To say that the soul acts from the strongest desire -is simply to say, from this standpoint, that it manifests the most -real part of itself, not that it obeys a foreign force. Impulses, -desires, motives, are all psychical; they admit of no description or -explanation except in their relation to the soul itself. Thus when -Leibniz compares, as he often does, motives to weights acting upon a -balance, we are to remember that the balance is not to be conceived -as the soul, and the weights as energies outside it, but that this is -only a way of picturing what is going on _within_ the soul itself. The -soul may be a mechanism, but it is a self-directing and self-executing -mechanism. To say that human action is free because it is spontaneous, -is to say that it follows an immanent principle, that it is independent -of foreign influences,--in a word, that it is self-determined. - -But here again it seems as if Leibniz had stated a principle -altogether too wide to throw any light upon the nature of moral -freedom. Spontaneity is no more an attribute of human activity than it -is of all real activity. Every monad, even the unconscious, as truly -follows its own law without interference from without as does man -himself. If the spontaneity of action constitutes its morality, we are -not in a condition to ascribe morality to man any more than to any real -thing. We are thus thrown back again upon the conception of rationality -as the final and decisive trait of freedom and of ethical conduct. Just -as "contingency" gets a moral import only in connection with conscious -ends of action, so "spontaneity" comes within the moral realm only when -conjoined to reason. - -Why is there this close connection between reason and freedom? The -reader has only to recall what was said of Leibniz's theory of -causality to get a glimpse into their unity. Causality is not a matter -of physical influence, but of affording the reason in virtue of which -some fact is what it is. This applies of course to the relation of the -soul and the body. "So far as the soul is perfect and has distinct -ideas, God has accommodated the body to it; so far as the soul is -imperfect and its ideas are confused, God has accommodated the soul to -the body. In the former case the body always responds to the demands -of the soul; in the latter the soul is moved by the passions which -are born of the sensuous ideas. Each is thought to act upon the other -in the measure of its perfection [that is, degree of activity], since -God has adjusted one thing to another according to its perfection or -imperfection. Activity and passivity are always reciprocal in created -things, because a portion of the reasons which serve to explain what -goes on is in one substance, and another portion in the other. This is -what makes us call one active, the other passive." - -If we translate these ideas out of their somewhat scholastic -phraseology, the meaning is that the self-activity of any substance -is accurately measured by the extent to which it contains the reasons -for its own actions; and conversely, that it is dependent or enslaved -just so far as it has its reasons beyond itself. Sensations, sensuous -impulses, represent, as we have seen before, the universe only in a -confused and inarticulate way. They are knowledge which cannot give -an account of itself. They represent, in short, that side of mind -which may be regarded as affected, or the limitation of mind,--its -want of activity. So far as the mind acts from these sensations and -the feelings which accompany them, it is ideally determined from -without; it is a captive to its own states; it is in a condition of -passivity. In all action, therefore, which occurs from a sensuous -basis, the soul is rightly regarded as unfree. - -On the other hand, just in the degree in which distinctness is -introduced into the sensations, so that they are not simply experienced -as they come, but are related to one another so that their reason -for existence, their spiritual meaning, is ascertained, just in -that degree is the soul master of itself. In Leibniz's own words: -"Distinct knowledge or intelligence has its place in the true use of -reason, while the senses furnish confused ideas. Hence we can say that -we are free from slavery just in the degree that we act with distinct -knowledge, but are subject to our passions in just the degree that our -ideas are confused;" that is, not really representative of things as -they are. "Intelligence is the soul of liberty." - -This psychological explanation rests, of course, upon the foundation -principle of the Leibnizian philosophy. Spirit is the sole reality, -and spirit is activity. But there are various degrees of activity, and -each grade lower than the _purus actus_ may be rightfully regarded as -in so far passive. This relative passivity or unreality constitutes -the material and hence the sensuous world. One who has not insight -into truth, lives and acts in this world of comparative unreality; -he is in bondage to it. From this condition of slavery only reason, -the understanding of things as they are, can lift one. The rational -man is free because he acts, in the noble words of Spinoza, _sub specie -æternitatis_. He acts in view of the eternal truth of things,--as God -himself would act. - -God alone, it further follows, is wholly free. In him alone are -understanding and will wholly one. In him the true and the good are -one; while every created intelligence is subject in some degree to -sensuous affection, to passion. "In us, besides the judgment of the -understanding, there is always mixed some unreal idea of the sensation -which gives birth to passions and impulses, and these traverse the -judgment of the practical understanding." Freedom, in fine, is not -a ready made garment with which all men are clothed to do with as -they will. It is the ethical ideal; it is something to be attained; -it is action in conformity with reason, or insight into the spiritual -nature of reality and into its laws; it is not the starting-point, it -is the goal. Only with a great price do men purchase such freedom. It -will be noticed at once that Leibniz comes very close to Plato in his -fundamental ethical ideas. The unity of virtue and reason, of virtue -and freedom,--these are thoroughly Platonic conceptions. To both Plato -and Leibniz reason is the ethical ideal because it is the expression -of, nay, rather, _is_ the reality of the universe; while all else is, -as Leibniz says, imperfect or unreal, since it is not an activity, or, -as Plato says, a mixture of Being and Non-Being. Again, to both man -bears a similar relation to this spiritual reality. In Plato's words, -he participates in the Ideas; in those of Leibniz he reflects, as a -mirror, the universe. To both, in a word, the reality, the true-self -of the individual, is the spiritual universe of which it is an organic -member. To both, therefore, man obtains freedom or self-realization -only as he realizes his larger and more comprehensive identity with the -Reason of the universe. With both, knowledge is the good, ignorance is -the evil. No man is voluntarily bad, but only through lack of knowledge -of the true Good. Leibniz, however, with a more developed psychology, -supplements Plato in the point where the latter had the most -difficulty,--the possibility of the feelings or of a love of pleasure -overcoming knowledge of the good. This possibility Plato was compelled -to deny, while Leibniz, by his subtle identifying of the passions with -lack of knowledge, or with confused knowledge, can admit it. "It is an -imperfection of our freedom," says Leibniz, "which causes us to choose -evil rather than good,--a greater evil rather than the less, the less -good rather than the greater. This comes from the _appearances_ of good -and evil which deceive us; but God, who is perfect knowledge, is always -led to the true and to the best good, that is, to the true and absolute -good." - -It only remains briefly to apply these conceptions to some specific -questions of moral actions. Locke asks whether there are practical -innate ideas, and denies them, as he denies theoretical. Leibniz, -in replying, recognizes two kinds of "innate" practical principles, -one of which is to be referred to the class of instincts, the other -to that of maxims. Primarily, and probably wholly in almost all -men, moral truths take the rank of instincts alone. All men aim -at the Good; it is impossible to think of man wilfully seeking -his own evil. The methods, the means of reaching this Good, are -implanted in men as instincts. These instincts, when brought to the -light of reason and examined, become _maxims_ of action; they lose -their particular and impulsive character, and become universal and -deliberate principles. Thus Leibniz is enabled to answer the various -objections which are always brought against any "intuitive" theory -of moral actions,--the variability of men's moral beliefs and conduct -in different countries and at different times. Common instincts, but -at first instincts only, are present in all men whenever and wherever -they live. These instincts may readily be "resisted by men's passions, -obscured by prejudice, and changed by custom." The moral instincts are -always the basis of moral action, but "custom, tradition, education" -become mixed with them. Even when so confounded, however, the instinct -will generally prevail, and custom is, upon the whole, on the side of -right rather than wrong, so that Leibniz thinks there is a sense in -which all men have one common morality. - -But these moral instincts, even when pure, are not ethical -science. This is innate, Leibniz says, only in the sense in which -arithmetic is innate,--it depends upon demonstrations which reason -furnishes. Leibniz does not, then, oppose intuitive and demonstrative, -as sometimes happens. Morality is _practically_ intuitive in the sense -that all men tend to aim at the Good, and have an instinctive feeling -of what makes towards the Good. It is _theoretically_ demonstrative, -since it does not become a science until Reason has an insight into the -nature of the Good, and ascertains the fixed laws which are tributary -to it. Moral principles are _not_ intuitive in the sense that they are -immediately discovered as separate principles by some one power of the -soul called "conscience." Moral laws are intuitive, he says, "as the -_consequences_ of our own development and our true well-being." Here we -may well leave the matter. What is to be said in detail of Leibniz's -ethics will find its congenial home in what we have to say of his -theology. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -MATTER AND ITS RELATION TO SPIRIT. - - -Locke's account of innate ideas and of sensation is only preparatory -to a discussion of the ideas got by sensation. His explanation of the -mode of knowledge leads up to an explanation of the things known. He -remains true to his fundamental idea that before we come to conclusions -about any matters we must "examine our own ability." He deals first -with ideas got by the senses, whether by some one or by their conjoint -action. Of these the ideas of solidity, of extension, and of duration -are of most concern to us. They form as near an approach to a general -philosophy of nature as may be found anywhere in Locke. They are, too, -the germ from which grew the ideas of matter, of space, and of time, -which, however more comprehensive in scope and more amply worked out -in detail, characterize succeeding British thought, and which are -reproduced to-day by Mr. Spencer. - -"The idea of solidity we receive by our touch." "The ideas we get -by more than one sense are of space or extension, figure, rest, -and motion." These sentences contain the brief statement of the chief -contention of the sensational school. Locke certainly was not conscious -when he wrote them that they were the expression of ideas which should -resolve the world of matter and of space into a dissolving series of -accidentally associated sensations; but such was none the less the -case. When he writes, "If any one asks me what solidity is, I send him -to his senses to inform him," he is preparing the way for Berkeley, -and for a denial of all reality beyond the feelings of the individual -mind. When he says that "we get the idea of space both by sight and -touch," this statement, although appearing truistic, is none the less -the source of the contention of Hume that even geometry contains -no necessary or universal elements, but is an account of sensible -appearances, relative, as are all matters of sensation. - -Locke's ideas may be synopsized as follows: It is a sufficient account -of solidity to say that it is got by touch and that it arises from -the resistance found in bodies to the entrance of any other body. "It -is that which hinders the approach of two bodies when they are moved -towards one another." If not identical with matter, it is at all events -its most essential property. "This of all others seems the idea most -intimately connected with and essential to body, so as nowhere else -to be found or imagined, but only in matter." It is, moreover, the -source of the other properties of matter. "Upon the solidity of bodies -depend their mutual impulse, resistance, and protrusion." Solidity, -again, "is so inseparable an idea from body that upon that depends its -filling of space, its contact, impulse, and communication of motion -upon impulse." It is to be distinguished, therefore, from hardness, for -hardness is relative and derived, various bodies having various degrees -of it; while solidity consists in utter exclusion of other bodies from -the space possessed by any one, so that the hardest body has no more -solidity than the softest. - -The close connection between solidity and matter makes it not only -possible, but necessary, to distinguish between matter and extension as -against the Cartesians, who had identified them. In particular Locke -notes three differences between these notions. Extension includes -neither solidity nor resistance; its parts are inseparable from one -another both really and mentally, and are immovable; while matter has -solidity, its parts are mutually separable, and may be moved _in_ -space. From this distinction between space and matter it follows, -according to Locke, that there is such a thing as a vacuum, or that -space is not necessarily a plenum of matter. Matter is that which fills -space; but it is entirely indifferent to space whether or not it is -filled. Space is occupied by matter, but there is no essential relation -between them. Solidity is the essence of matter; emptiness is the -characteristic of space. "The idea of space is as distinct from that -of solidity as it is from that of scarlet color. It is true, solidity -cannot exist without extension, neither can scarlet color exist without -extension; but this hinders not that they are _distinct ideas_." - -Thus there is fixed for us the idea of space as well as of matter. It -is a distinct idea; that is, absolute or independent in itself, -having no intrinsic connection with phenomena _in_ space. Yet it is -got through the senses. How that can be a matter of sensation which is -not only not material, but has no connection in itself with matter, -Locke does not explain. He thinks it sufficient to say that we see -distance between bodies of different color just as plainly as we see -the colors. Space is, therefore, a purely immediate idea, containing -no more organic relation to intelligence than it has to objects. We -get the notion of time as we do that of space, excepting that it is -the observation of internal states and not of external objects which -furnishes the material of the idea. Time has two elements,--succession -and duration. "Observing what passes in the mind, how of our ideas -there in train some constantly vanish, and others begin to appear, -we come by the idea of succession, and by observing a distance in -the parts of this succession we get the idea of duration." Whether, -however, time is something essentially empty, having no relation to the -events which fill it, as space is essentially empty, without necessary -connection with the objects which fill it, is a question Locke does not -consider. In fact, the gist of his ideas upon this point is as follows: -there is actually an objective space or pure emptiness; employing our -senses, we get the idea of this space. There is actually an objective -time; employing reflection, we perceive it. There is not the slightest -attempt to form a philosophy of them, or to show their function in the -construction of an intelligible world, except in the one point of the -absolute independence of matter and space. - -It cannot be said that Leibniz criticises the minor points of Locke -in such a way as to throw much light upon them, or that he very -fully expresses his own ideas about them. He contents himself with -declaring that while the senses may give instances of space, time, -and matter, and may suggest to intelligence the stimuli upon which -intelligence realizes these notions from itself, they cannot be the -source of these notions themselves; finding the evidence of this in the -sciences of geometry, arithmetic, and pure physics. For these sciences -deal with the notions of space, time, and matter, giving necessary -and demonstrative ideas concerning them, which the senses can never -legitimate. He further denies the supposed absoluteness or independence -of space, matter, and motion. Admitting, indeed, the distinction -between extension and matter, he denies that this distinction suffices -to prove the existence, or even the possibility, of a vacuum, and ends -with a general reference to his doctrine of pre-established harmony, -as serving to explain these matters more fully and more accurately. - -Leibniz has, however, a complete philosophy of nature. In his other -writing, he explains the ideas of matter and force in their dependence -upon his metaphysic, or doctrine of spiritual entelechies. The task -does not at first sight appear an easy one. The reality, according to -Leibniz, is purely spiritual, does not exist in space nor time, and -is a principle of activity following its own law,--that of reflecting -the universe of spiritual relations. How from this world of ideal, -unextended, and non-temporal dynamic realities we are to pass over to -a material world of extension, with its static existence in space, -and transitory passage in time, is a question challenging the whole -Leibnizian system. It is a question, however, for which Leibniz himself -has provided an answer. We may not regard it as adequate; we may think -that he has not truly derived the material world from his spiritual -principles: but at all events he asked himself the question, and gave -an answer. We shall investigate this answer by arranging what Leibniz -has said under the heads of: matter as a metaphysical principle; matter -as a physical phenomenon; and the relation of phenomena to absolute -reality, or of the physical to the metaphysical. In connection with the -second head, particularly, we shall find it necessary to discuss what -Leibniz has said about space, time, and motion. - -Wolff, who put the ideas of Leibniz into systematic shape, did it at -the expense of almost all their significance. He took away the air -of paradox, of remoteness, that characterized Leibniz's thought, and -gave it a popular form. But its depth and suggestiveness vanished in -the process. Unfortunately, Wolff's presentations of the philosophy -of Leibniz have been followed by others, to whom it seemed a dull -task to follow out the intricacies of a thought nowhere systematically -expressed. This has been especially the case as concerns the Leibnizian -doctrine of matter. A superficial interpretation of certain passages -in Leibniz has led to an almost universal misunderstanding about -it. Leibniz frequently says that since matter is composite or complex, -it follows that there must be something simple as its basis, and this -simple something is the monad. The misinterpretation just spoken of -consists in supposing that Leibniz meant that matter as composite -is made up of monads as simple; that the monad and matter are facts -of the same order, the latter being only an aggregate, or continued -collection of the former. It interpreted the conception of Leibniz in -strict analogy with the atomic theory of Lucretius, excepting that it -granted that the former taught that the ultimate atom, the component -of all complex forms of matter, has position only, not extension, -its essence consisting in its exercise of force, not in its mere space -occupancy. The monad was thus considered to be _in_ space, or at least -conditioned by space relations, as is a mathematical point, although -not itself spatial in the sense of being extended. Monad and matter -were thus represented as facts of the same kind or genus, having their -difference only in their relative isolation or aggregation. - -But Leibniz repudiated this idea, and that not only by the spirit -of his teaching, but in express words. Monads "are not ingredients -or constituents of matter," he says, "but only _conditions_ -of it." "Monads can no more be said to be parts of bodies, or to -come in contact with them, or to compose them, than can souls or -mathematical points." "Monads _per se_ have _no_ situation relative -to one another." An increase in the number of created monads, he says -again, if such a thing could be supposed, would no more increase the -amount of matter in existence, than mathematical points added to a -line would increase its length. And again: "There is no nearness or -remoteness among monads; to say that they are gathered in a point or -are scattered in space, is to employ mental fictions, _in trying to -imagine what can only be thought_." The italicized words give the clew -to the whole discussion. To make monads of the same order as corporeal -phenomena, is to make them sensible, or capable of being imaged, -or conditioned by space and time,--three phrases which are strictly -correlative. But the monads can only be thought,--that is, their -qualities are ideal, not sensible; they can be realized only by reason, -not projected in forms having spatial outline and temporal habitation, -that is, in images. Monads and material things, in other words, are -facts of two distinct orders; they are related as the rational or -spiritual and the physical or sensible. Matter is no more composed of -monads than it is of thoughts or of logical principles. As Leibniz says -over and over again: Matter, space, time, motion are only phenomena, -although phenomena _bene fundata_,--phenomena, that is, having their -rational basis and condition. The monads, on the other hand, are not -appearances, they are realities. - -Having freed our minds from the supposition that it is in any way -possible to form an image or picture of the monad; having realized that -it is wholly false to suppose that monads occupy position in space, -and then by their continuity fill it, and make extended matter,--we -must attempt to frame a correct theory of the nature of matter and -its relation to the monad. We shall do this only as we realize that -"matter," so far as it has any reality, or so far as it has any real -_fundamentum_, must be something ideal, or, in Leibniz's language, -"metaphysical." As he says over and over again, the only realities -are the substances or spiritual units of activity, to which the name -"monad" is given. In the inquiry, then, after such reality as matter -may have, we must betake ourselves to this unit of living energy. - -Although every monad is active, it is not entirely active. There is, -as we have already seen, an infinite scale of substances; and since -substance is equivalent to activity, this is saying that there is an -infinite scale of activities. God alone is _purus actus_, absolute -energy, untouched by passivity or receptivity. Every other being has -the element of incompleteness, of inadequacy; it does not completely -represent the universe. In this passivity consists its finitude, so -that Leibniz says that not even God himself could deprive monads of it, -for this would be to make them equal to himself. In this passivity, -incompleteness, or finitude, consists what we call matter. Leibniz says -that he can understand what Plato meant when he called matter something -essentially imperfect and transitory. Every finite monad is a union of -two principles,--those of activity and of passivity. "I do not admit," -says Leibniz, "that there are souls existing simply by themselves, -or that there are created spirits detached from all body. God alone is -above all matter, since he is its author; creatures freed from matter -would be at the same time detached from the universal connection -of things, and, as it were, deserters from the general order." And -again, "Beings have a nature which is both active and passive; -_that is_, material and immaterial." And again, he says that every -created monad requires both an entelechy, or principle of activity, -and matter. "Matter is essential to any entelechy, and can never be -separated from it, since matter _completes_ it." In short, the term -"monad" is equivalent to the term "entelechy" only when applied -to God. In every other monad, the entelechy, or energy, is but one -factor. "Matter, or primitive passive power, completes the entelechy, -or primitive active power, so that it becomes a perfect substance, or -monad." On the other hand, of course, matter, as the passive principle, -is a mere potentiality or abstraction, considered in itself. It is -real only in its union with the active principle. Matter, he says, -"cannot exist without immaterial substances." "To every particular -portion of matter belongs a particular _form_; that is, a soul, -a spirit." To this element of matter, considered as an abstraction, -in its distinction from soul, Leibniz, following the scholastics, and -ultimately Aristotle, gives the name, "first" or "bare" matter. The -same influence is seen in the fact that he opposes this element of -matter to "form," or the active principle. - -Our starting-point, therefore, for the consideration of matter -is the statement that it is receptivity, the capacity for being -affected, which always constitutes matter. But what is meant by -"receptivity"? To answer this question we must return to what was said -about the two activities of the monad,--representation, or perception, -and appetition,--and to the difference between confused and distinct -ideas. The monad has appetition so far as it determines itself -from within to change, so far as it follows an internal principle -of energy. It is representative so far as it is determined from -without, so far as it receives impressions from the universe. Yet -we have learned to know that in one sense everything occurs from -the spontaneity of the monad itself; it receives no influence or -influxus from without; everything comes from its own depths, or is -appetition. But, on the other hand, all that which so comes forth is -only a mirroring or copying of the universe. The whole content of the -appetition is representation. Although the monad works spontaneously, -it is none the less determined in its activities to produce only -reflections or images of the world. In this way appetition and -representation appear to be identical. The monad is determined from -within, indeed, but it is determined to exactly the same results as if -wholly determined from without. What light, then, can be thrown from -this distinction upon the nature of matter? - -None, unless we follow Leibniz somewhat farther. If we do, we shall -see that the soul is regarded as appetitive, or self-active, so far -as it has clear and distinct ideas. If the monad reaches distinct -consciousness, it has knowledge of self,--that is, of the nature of -pure spirit,--or, what again is equivalent to this, of the nature -of reality as it universally is. Such knowledge is knowledge of God, -of substance, of unity, of pure activity, and of all the innate ideas -which elevate the confused perceptions of sense into science. Distinct -consciousness is therefore equivalent to self-activity, and this to -recognition of God and the universal. But if knowledge is confused, -it is not possible to see it in its relations to self; it cannot -be analyzed; the rational or ideal element in it is concealed from -view. In confused ideas, therefore, the soul appears to be passive; -being passive, to be determined from without. This determination from -without is equivalent to that which is opposed to spirit or reason, and -hence appears as matter. Such is in outline the Leibnizian philosophy. - -It thus is clear that merely stating that matter is passivity -in the monad is not the ultimate way of stating its nature. For -passivity means in reality nothing but confused representations,--representations, -that is, whose significance is not perceived. The true significance -of every representation is found in its relation to the -ego, or pure self-activity, which, through its dependent -relation upon God, the absolute self-activity and ego, produces -the representation from its own ideal being. So far as the -soul does not have distinct recognition of relation of all -representations to self, it feels them as coming from without; as -foreign to spirit; in short, as matter. Leibniz thus employs exactly -the same language about confused ideas that he does about passivity, -or matter. It is not possible that the monad should have distinct -consciousness of itself as a mirror of the whole universe, he says, -"for in that case every entelechy would be God." Again, "the soul would -be God if it could enter at once and with distinctness into everything -occurring within it." But it is necessary "that we should have -passions which consist in confused ideas, in which there is something -involuntary and unknown, and which represent the body and constitute -our imperfection." Again, he speaks of matter as "the _mixture_ -(_mélange_) of the effects of the infinite environing us." In that -expression is summed up his whole theory of matter. It is a mixture; -it is, that is to say, confused, aggregated, irresolvable into simple -ideas. But it is a mixture of "effects of the infinite about us;" -that is, it takes its rise in the true, the real, the spiritual. It -only fails to represent this as it actually is. Matter, in short, is a -phenomenon dependent upon inability to realize the entire spiritual -character of reality. It is spirit apprehended in a confused, -hesitating, and passive manner. - -It is none the less a necessary phenomenon, for it is involved in the -idea of a continuous gradation of monads, in the distinction between -the infinite and the finite, or, as Leibniz often prefers to put it, -between the "creator" and the "created." There is involved everywhere -in the idea of Leibniz the conception of subordination; of a hierarchy -of forms, each of which receives the law of its action from the -next higher, and gives the law to the next lower. We have previously -considered the element of passivity or receptivity as relating only -to the monad which manifests it. It is evident, however, that what -is passive in one, implies something active in another. What one -receives, is what another gives. The reciprocal influence of monads -upon one another, therefore, as harmonious members of one system, -requires matter. More strictly speaking, this reciprocal influence -_is_ matter. To take away all receptivity, all passivity, from monads -would be to isolate them from all relations with others; it would -be to deprive them of all power of affecting or being affected by -others. That is what Leibniz meant by the expression already quoted, -that if monads had not matter as an element in them, "they would be, -as it were, deserters from the general order." The note of unity, of -organic connection, which we found to be the essence of the Leibnizian -philosophy, absolutely requires, therefore, matter, or passivity. - -It must be remembered that this reciprocal influence is ideal. As -Leibniz remarks, "When it is said that one monad is affected by -another, this is to be understood concerning its _representation_ of -the other. For the Author of things has so accommodated them to one -another that one is said to suffer (or receive from the other) when -its relative value gives way to that of the other." Or again, "the -modifications of one monad are the ideal causes of the modifications -of another monad, so far as there appear in one the reasons on account -of which God brought about in the beginning certain modifications in -another." And most definitely of all: "A creature is called active so -far as it has perfection; passive in so far as it is imperfect. One -creature is more perfect than another so far as there is found in -it that which serves to _render the reason_, _a priori_, for that -occurring in the other; and it is in this way that it acts upon the -other." - -We are thus introduced, from a new point of view and in a more concrete -way, to the conception of pre-established harmony. The activity of one, -the energy which gives the law to the other and makes it subordinate in -the hierarchy of monads, is conceived necessarily as spirit, as soul; -that which receives, which is rendered subordinate by the activity -of the other, is body. The pre-established harmony is the fact that -they are so related that one can receive the law of its activity from -the other. Leibniz is without doubt partially responsible for the -ordinary misconception of his views upon this point by reason of the -illustration which he was accustomed to use; namely, of two clocks so -constructed that without any subsequent regulation each always kept -perfect time with the other,--as much so as if there were some actual -physical connection between them. This seems to put soul and body, -spirit and matter, as two co-ordinate substances, on the same level, -with such natural opposition between them that some external harmony -must arrange some unity of action. In causing this common idea of -his theory of pre-established harmony, Leibniz has paid the penalty -for attempting to do what he often reproves in others,--imagining or -presenting in sensible form what can only be thought. But his other -explanations show clearly enough that the pre-established harmony -expresses, not a relation between two parallel substances, but a -condition of dependence of lower forms of activity upon the higher for -the law of their existence and activity,--in modern terms, it expresses -the fact that phenomena are conditioned upon noumena; that material -facts get their significance and share of reality through their -relation to spirit. - -We may sum up what has been said about matter as an element in the -monad, or as a metaphysical principle, as follows: The existence of -matter is not only not opposed to the fundamental ideas of Leibniz, but -is a necessary deduction from them. It is a necessity of the principle -of continuity; for this requires an infinity of monads, alike indeed -in the universal law of their being, but unlike, each to each, in -the specific coloring or manifestation of this law. The principle of -organic unity requires that there be as many real beings as possible -participating in and contributing to it. It is necessary, again, in -order that there may be reciprocal influence or connection among the -monads. Were it not for the material element in the monad, each would -be a God; if each were thus infinite and absolute, there would be -so many principles wholly independent and isolated. The principle of -harmony would be violated. So much for the necessity of the material -factor. As to its nature, it is a principle of passivity; that is, of -ideal receptivity, of conformity to a law apparently not self-imposed, -but externally laid down. This makes matter equivalent to a phenomenon; -that is to say, to the having of confused, imperfect, inadequate -ideas. To say that matter is correlative to confused ideas is to say -that there is no recognition of its relation to self or to spirit. As -Leibniz sometimes puts it, since there is an infinity of beings in -the universe, each one of which exercises an ideal influence upon -every other one of the series, it is impossible that this other one -should realize their full meaning; they appear only as confused ideas, -or as matter. To use language which Leibniz indeed does not employ, -but which seems to convey his thought, the spirit, not seeing them as -they really are, does not _find_ itself in them. But matter is thus not -only the confused manifestation or phenomenon of spirit, it is also its -potentiality. Passivity is always relative. It does not mean complete -lack of activity; that, as Leibniz says, is nothingness, and matter -is not a form of nothingness. Leibniz even speaks of it as passive -_power_. That is to say, there is an undeveloped or incomplete activity -in what appears as matter, and this may be,--if we admit an infinity -of time,--must be developed. When developed it manifests itself as it -really is, as spirit. Confused ideas, as Leibniz takes pains to state, -are not a genus of ideas antithetical to distinct; they differ only in -degree or grade. They are on their way to become distinct, or else they -are distinct ideas which have fallen back into an "involved" state of -being. Matter, therefore, is not absolutely opposed to spirit,--on the -one hand because it is the manifestation, the phenomenon, of spirit; -on the other, because it is the potentiality of spirit, capable of -sometime realizing the whole activity implied in it, but now latent. - -Thus it is that Leibniz says that everything is "full" of souls or -monads. What appears to be lifeless is in reality like a pond full of -fishes, like a drop of water full of infusoria. Everything is organic -down to the last element. More truly, there is no last element. There -is a true infinity of organic beings wrapped up in the slightest speck -of apparently lifeless matter. These illustrations, like many others -which Leibniz uses, are apt to suggest that erroneous conception of the -relation of monads to spirit which we were obliged, in Leibniz's name, -to correct at the outset,--the idea, namely, that matter is composed, -in a spatial or mechanical way, of monads. But after the foregoing -explanations we can see that what Leibniz means when he says that -every portion of matter is full of entelechies or souls, like a garden -full of plants, is that there is an absolute continuity of spiritual -principles, each having its ideal relation with every other. There -is no point of matter which does not represent in a confused way the -entire universe. It is therefore as infinite in its activities as -the universe. In idea also it is capable of representing in distinct -consciousness, or as a development of its own self-activity, each of -these infinite activities. - -In a word, every created or finite being may be regarded as matter or -as spirit, according as it is accounted for by its external relations, -as the reasons for what happen in it are to be found elsewhere than in -its own explicit activity, or according as it shows clearly in itself -the reasons for its own modifications, and also accounts for changes -occurring in other beings. The externally conditioned is matter; -the internally conditioned, the self-explanatory, is self-active, or -spirit. Since all external relations are finally dependent on organic; -since the ultimate source of all explanation must be that which is -its own reason; since the ultimate source of all activity must be that -which is self-active,--the final reason or source of matter is spirit. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -MATERIAL PHENOMENA AND THEIR REALITY. - - -We have seen the necessity and nature of matter as deductions from -the fundamental principles of Leibniz. We have seen that matter is -a phenomenon or manifestation of spirit in an imperfect and confused -way. But why should it appear as moving, as extended, as resisting, -as having cohesion, with all the concrete qualities which always mark -it? Is there any connection between these particular properties of -matter as physical, and its "metaphysical" or ideal character? These -are the questions which now occupy us. Stated more definitely, they -take the following form: Is there any essential connection between the -properties of matter as a metaphysical element, and its properties as a -sensible fact of experience? Leibniz holds that there is. He does not, -indeed, explicitly take the ground that we can deduce _a priori_ all -the characteristics of matter as a fact of actual experience from its -rational notion, but he thinks we can find a certain analogy between -the two, that the sensible qualities are images or reflexes of the -spiritual qualities, witnessing, so far as possible, to their origin in -pure energy. - -His position is as follows: that which in the monad is activity or -substantial, is, in sensible matter, motion. That which in the monad -is lack of a given activity, that which constitutes its subordinate -position in the hierarchy of monads, is, in the sphere of material -things, inertia. That which in the spiritual world is the individuality -of monads, making each forever ideally distinct from every other, is, -in the phenomenal realm, resistance or impenetrability. The perfect -continuity of monads in the _mundus intelligibilis_ has also its -counterpart in the _mundus sensibilis_ in the diffusion or extension of -physical things. - -Instead of following out this analogy directly, it will rather be -found convenient to take up Leibniz's thought in its historical -connection. We have already alluded to the fact that he began as -a Cartesian, and that one of the first ideas which repelled him -from that system of thought was the notion that the essence of -matter is extension. His earliest philosophical writings, as he was -gradually coming to the thoughts which thereafter dominated him, -are upon this point. In general, his conclusions are as follows: -If matter were extension, it would be incapable of passion or of -action. Solidity, too, is a notion entirely opposed to the conception -of mere extension. The idea of matter as extension contradicts some -of the known laws of motion. It requires that the quantity of motion -remain unchanged whenever two bodies come in contact, while as matter -of fact it is the quantity of energy, that which the motion is capable -of effecting, that remains unchanged; or, as he more often puts the -objection, the Cartesian notion of matter requires that matter be -wholly indifferent to motion, that there be nothing in it which resists -motion when imparted. But, says Leibniz, there is something resisting, -that to which Keppler gave the name "inertia." It is not found to be -true if one body impacts upon another that the second moves without -diminishing the velocity or changing the direction of the first. On -the other hand, just in proportion to the size of the second body, -it resists and changes the motion of the first, up to the point of -causing the first to rebound if small in comparison. And when it was -replied that the retardation was due to the fact that the force moving -the first body had now to be divided between two, Leibniz answered -that this was simply to give up the contention, and besides the notion -of extension to use that of force. If extension were the essence of -matter, it should be possible to deduce all the properties of matter, -or at least to account for them all, from it. But since, as just seen, -this does not enable us to account for any of them, since for any of -its concrete qualities we have to fall back on force, it is evident -where the true essence of matter is to be found. - -Leibniz has another argument of a logical nature, as those already -referred to are of a physical: "Those who claim that extension is a -substance, reverse the order of words as well as of thoughts. Besides -extension there must be a subject which is extended; that is to -say, something to which it belongs to be repeated or continued. For -extension is nothing but a repetition or continued multiplication -of that which is spread out,--it is a plurality, a continuity, a -co-existence of parts. Consequently, extension does not suffice to -explain the nature of the repeated or manifold substance, of which the -notion is anterior to that of its repetition." Extension, in other -words, is nothing substantial, it is not something which can exist -by itself; it is only a quality, a property, a mode of being. It is -always relative to something which has extension. As Leibniz says -elsewhere: "I insist that extension is only an _abstraction_, and -requires something which is extended. It presupposes some quality, -some attribute, some nature in a subject which is extended, diffused, -or continued. Extension is a diffusion of this quality. For example, -in milk there is an extension or diffusion of whiteness; in the diamond -an extension or diffusion of hardness; in body in general a diffusion -of antitypia or materiality. There is accordingly in body something -anterior to extension." - -From the physical side, therefore, we find it impossible to account -for the concrete properties of material phenomena from extension; on -the logical we find that the idea of extension is always relative to -that which is extended. What is that which is to be considered as the -bearer of extension and the source of physical qualities? We are led -back to the point at which we left the matter in the last chapter. It -is force, and force both passive and active. Leibniz uses the term -"matter" in at least three senses: it is the metaphysical element of -passive force _in_ the monad; it is the monad itself considered as, -upon the whole, externally conditioned or unconscious; and it is the -phenomenon resulting from the aggregation of the monads in the second -sense. The first is naked matter, and is a pure abstraction; the second -is the monad as material, as opposed to the monad, as soul; the third -is clothed, or second matter, or, concretely, body, _corpus_. The first -is unreal by itself; the second is one phase of substance; the third -is not substantial, but is a reality, though a phenomenal one. It -is from the substantial monad that we are to explain the two things -now demanding explanation,--that element in _bodies_ (matter in third -sense) which is the source of their physical properties, and that which -is the subject, the carrier, so to speak, of extension. - -That of which we are in search as the source of the physical qualities -of bodies is motion. This is not force, but its "image." It is force, -says Leibniz, that "is the real element in motion; that is to say, -it is that element which out of the present state induces a change in -the future state." As force, in other words, is the causal activity -which effects the development of one "representation" of a monad out -of another, so motion, in the realm of phenomena, is not only change, -but change which is continuous and progressive, each new position -being dependent upon the foregoing, and following out of it absolutely -without break. - -Motion, therefore, is the manifestation of the ideal unity of -substance,--a unity not of mere static inherence, but of a continuous -process of activity. It is from this standpoint that Leibniz accounts -for the so-called transference of motion from one body to another upon -contact. The ordinary view of this, which looks at it as if one body -loses the motion which another body gains, Leibniz ridicules, saying -that those who hold this view seem to think that motion is a kind of -thing, resembling, perchance, salt dissolved in water. The right view, -on the other hand, does away with all appearance of mystery in the -carrying over of motion from one body to another, for it recognizes -that continuity is the very essence of motion, and that we do not have -two things and a third process, but that the two bodies are phases or -elements in one and the same system of movement. - -Starting from this idea of motion, then, Leibniz is to account for -the actual qualities of matter as found in experience. These are -the form, magnitude, cohesion, resistance, and the purely sensible -qualities of objects. "First" matter, that is, abstract matter, -may be conceived, according to Leibniz, as perfectly homogeneous, a -"subtle fluid," in his words, without any distinction of parts or of -solidity. But this _is_ an abstract notion. It is what matter would -be without motion. Motion necessarily differentiates this plenum -of homogeneity, and thus causes distinctions of figure (that is, -boundaries of parts) and varieties of cohesion, or the varying solidity -and fluidity of bodies. The latter difference is indeed the ultimate -one. The principle of continuity or gradation, as applied to motion, -makes it necessary that motions should not be in any two places of -exactly the same energy. The result is that the original fluid matter -is everywhere differently divided. Motion, entering into the uniform -plenum, introduces distinction; it causes so much of the matter as is -affected by a given movement to collect together and form in appearance -a coherent body, as opposed to surrounding bodies which are affected -by different degrees of energy. But even this is only approximate; -the same principle of continuity must be applied within any apparently -coherent body; its parts, while, in relation to other bodies, they have -the same amount of motion, are in relation to one another differently -affected. There are no two having exactly the same motion; if they had, -there would be no distinction between them; and thus, according to the -principle of Leibniz, they would be the same. - -It follows at once from this that there is in the universe no body of -absolute hardness or solidity, nor of entire softness or fluidity. A -perfectly solid body would be one whose system of motions could not be -affected by any other system,--a body which by motion had separated -itself from motion, or become absolute. This is evidently an idea -which contradicts itself, for the very essence of motion is continuity -or relation. A body perfectly fluid, on the other hand, would be one -in which there was no resistance offered to other motions,--a body, -in other words, in which there are no movements that, entering into -connection with one another, form a relative opposition to other -movements. It would be a body isolated or out of relation with the -general system of motions, and hence an impossibility. There is no last -term either of solidity or of fluidity. - -It equally follows as matter of course that there is no indivisible -particle of matter,--no atom. The infinity of degrees of motion -implies a corresponding division of matter. As already said, it is -only in contrast with other relatively constant systems of motion -that any body is of uniform motion; in reality there is everywhere -throughout it variety of movement, and hence complete divisibility, or -rather, complete division. If Leibniz were to employ the term "atom" -at all, it could be only in the sense of the modern dynamical theory -(of which, indeed, he is one of the originators), according to which -the atom is not defined by its spatial position and outlines, but, -by the range of its effects, as the centre of energies of infinite -circumference. Correlative to the non-existence of the atom is the -non-existence of the vacuum. The two imply each other. The hard, -limited, isolated body, having no intrinsic relations with other -bodies, must have room to come into external relations with them. This -empty space, which is the theatre of such accidental contacts as may -happen, is the vacuum. But if bodies are originally in connection -with one another, if they are in reality but differentiations of -varying degrees of motion within one system of motion, then there -is no necessity for the vacuum,--nay, there is no place for it. The -vacuum in this case could mean only a break, a chasm, in the order -of nature. According to the theory of Leibniz, "bodies" are but the -dynamic divisions of the one energy that fills the universe; their -separateness is not an independent possession of any one of them -or of all together, but is the result of relations to the entire -system. Their apparent isolation is only by reason of their actual -connections. To admit a vacuum anywhere, would thus be to deny the -relatedness of the parts separated by it. The theory of the atom and -the vacuum are the two phases of the metaphysical assumption of an -indefinite plurality of independent separate realities. The theory -of Leibniz, resting as it does on the idea of a perfect unity of -interrelated members, must deny both of these aspects. Were we making -an extended analysis of the opposed view, it would be necessary to -point out that it denies itself. For it is only _through_ the vacuum -that the atoms are isolated or independent, and the sole function of -the vacuum is to serve as the background of the atoms. The atoms are -separated only in virtue of their connection, and the vacuum is what it -is--pure emptiness--only on account of that which is in it. In short, -the theory is only an abstract and incomplete way of grasping the -thought of relation or mediated unity. - -We have thus discovered that all motions conspire together, or -form a system. But in their unity they do not cease to be motions, -or variously differentiated members. Through this differentiation, -or mutual reaction of motions, there comes about the appearance of -boundaries, of separation. From these boundaries or terminations -arise the form and size of bodies. From motion also proceeds the -cohesion of bodies, in the sense that each relative system resists -dissolution, or hangs together. Says Leibniz, "The motions, since they -are conspiring, would be troubled by separation; and accordingly this -can be accomplished only by violence and with resistance." Not only -form, size, and stability depend upon motion, but also the sensible, -the "secondary" qualities. "It must not be supposed that color, pain, -sound, etc., are arbitrary and without relation to their causes. It is -not God's way to act with so little reason and order. There is a kind -of resemblance, not entire, but of relation, of order. We say, for -example, 'Light is in the fire,' since there are motions in the fire -which are imperceptible in their separation, but which are sensible -in their conjunction or confusion; and this is what is made known in -the idea of light." In other words, color, sound, etc., even pain, -are still the perception of motion, but in a confused way. We thus see -how thoroughly Leibniz carries back all the properties of bodies to -motion. To sum up, motion is the origin of the relative solidity, the -divisibleness, the form, the size, the cohesion, or active resistance -of bodies, and of their properties as made known to us in immediate -sensation. - -In all that has been said it has been implied that extension is already -in existence; "first matter" is supposed to fill all space, and motion -to determine it to take upon itself its actual concrete properties. But -this "first matter," when thus spoken of, has a somewhat mythological -sound, even if it be admitted that it is an abstraction. For how can -an abstraction be extended in space, and how can it form, as it were, -a background upon which motion displays itself? The idea of "first -matter" in its relation to extension evidently demands explanation. In -seeking this explanation we shall also learn about that "subject" which -Leibniz said was necessarily presupposed in extension, as a concrete -thing is required for a quality. - -The clew to the view of Leibniz upon this point may be derived, I -think, from the following quotations:-- - -"If it were possible to see what makes extension, that kind of -extension which falls under our eyes at present would vanish, and -our minds would perceive nothing else than simple realities existing -in mutual externality to one another. It would be as if we could -distinguish the minute particles of matter variously disposed from -which a painted image is formed: if we could do it, the image, which is -nothing but a phenomenon, would vanish. . . . If we think of two -simple realities as both existing at the same time, but distinct from -one another, we look at them as if they were outside of one another, -and hence conceive them as extended." - -The monads are outside of one another, not spatially, but ideally; -but this reciprocal distinction from one another, if it is to appear -in phenomenal mode, must take the form of an image, and the image is -spatial. But if the monads were pure activity, they would _not_ take -phenomenal form or appear in an image. They would always be thought -just as they are,--unextended activities realizing the spiritual -essence of the universe. But they are not pure activity; they are -passive as well. It is in virtue of this passive element that the ideal -externality takes upon itself phenomenal or sensible form, and thus -appears as spatial externality. - -Leibniz, in a passage already quoted, refers to the diffusion -of materiality or _antitypia_. This word, which is of frequent -occurrence in the discussions of Leibniz, he translates generally as -"impenetrability," sometimes as "passive resistance." It corresponds to -the solidity or resistance of which Locke spoke as forming the essence -of matter. Antitypia is the representation by a monad of the passive -element in other monads. Leibniz sometimes speaks as if all created -monads had in themselves antitypia, and hence extension; but he more -accurately expresses it by saying that they need (_exigent_) it. This -is a technical term which he elsewhere uses to express the relation of -the possible to the actual. The possible "needs" the actual, not in -the sense that it _necessarily_ requires existence, but in the sense -that when the actual gives it existence, it is the logical basis of the -actual,--the actual, on the other hand, being its real complement. The -passivity of the monad is therefore at once the logical basis and -the possibility of the impenetrability of matter. It is owing to the -passivity of the monad that it does not adequately reflect (that it is -not transparent to, so to speak) the activities of other monads. In -its irresponsiveness, it fails to mirror them in itself. It may be -said, therefore, to be impenetrable to them. They in turn, so far as -they are passive, are impenetrable to it. Now the impenetrable is, -_ex vi terminis_, that which excludes, and that which excludes, not in -virtue of its active elasticity, but in virtue of its mere inertia, -its dead weight, as it were, of resistance. But mutual exclusion of -this passive sort constitutes that which is extended. Extension is -the abstract quality of this concrete subject. Such, in effect, is the -deduction which Leibniz gives of body, or physical matter, from matter -as metaphysical; of matter as sensible or phenomenal, from matter as -ideal or as intelligible. - -If we put together what has been said, it is clear that material -phenomena (bodies, _corpora_, in Leibniz's phrase) simply repeat -in another sphere the properties of the spiritual monad. There -is a complete parallelism between every property, each to each, -and this necessarily; for every property of "body" is in logical -dependence upon, and a phenomenalization of, some spiritual or ideal -quality. Motion is the source of all the dynamic qualities of body, and -motion is the reflection of Force, that force which is Life. But this -force in all finite forms is conditioned by a passive, unreceptive, -unresponsive factor; and this must also have its correlate in -"body." This correlate is primarily impenetrability, and secondarily -extension. Thus it is that concrete body always manifests motion, -indeed, but upon a background of extension, and against inertia. It -never has free play; had it an unrestrained field of activity, -extension would disappear, and spatial motion would vanish into -ideal energy. On the other hand, were the essence of matter found in -resistance or impenetrability, it would be wholly inert; it would be a -monotone of extension, without variety of form or cohesion. As Leibniz -puts it with reference to Locke, "body" implies motion, or impetuosity, -resistance, and cohesion. Motion is the active principle, resistance -the passive; while cohesion, with its various grades of completeness, -which produce form, size, and solidity, is the result of their union. - -Leibniz, like Plato, has an intermediary between the rational and -the sensible; and as Plato found that it was mathematical relations -that mediate between the permanent and unified Ideas and the changing -manifold objects, so Leibniz found that the relations of space and time -form the natural transition from the sphere of monads to the world -of bodies. As Plato found that it was the possibility of applying -mathematical considerations to the world of images that showed the -participation of Ideas in them, and constituted such reality as they -had, so Leibniz found that space and time formed the element of -order and regularity among sense phenomena, and thus brought them -into kinship with the monads and made them subjects of science. It -is implied in what is here said that Leibniz distinguished between -space and time on the one hand, and duration and extension on the -other. This distinction, which Leibniz draws repeatedly and with great -care, has been generally overlooked by his commentators. But it is -evident that this leaves Leibniz in a bad plight. Mathematics, in its -various forms, is the science of spatial and temporal relations. But if -these are identical with the forms of duration and extension, they are -purely phenomenal and sensible. The science of them, according to the -Leibnizian distinction between the absolutely real and the phenomenally -real, would be then a science of the confused, the imperfect, -and the transitory; in fact, no science at all. But mathematics, -on the contrary, is to Leibniz the type of demonstrative, conclusive -science. Space and time are, in his own words, "innate ideas," and -the entire science of them is the drawing out of the content of these -innate--that is, rational, distinct, and eternal--ideas. But extension -and duration are sensible experiences; not rational, but phenomenal; -not distinct, but confused; not eternal, but evanescent. We may be sure -that this contradiction would not escape Leibniz, although it has many -of his critics and historians. - -It is true, however, that he occasionally uses the terms as synonymous; -but this where the distinction between them has no bearing on the -argument in hand, and where the context determines in what sense -the term is used. The distinction which he actually makes, and to -which he keeps when space and time are the subject of discussion, -is that extension and duration are qualities or predicates of -objects and events, while space and time are relations, or orders of -existence. Extension and duration are, as he says, the _immensity_, the -mass, the continuation, the repetition, of some underlying subject. But -space and time are the _measure_ of the mass, the rule or law of the -continuation, the order or mode of the repetition. Thus immediately -after the passage already quoted, in which he says that extension -in body is the diffusion of materiality, just as whiteness is the -diffusion of a property of milk, he goes on to say "that extension is -to space as duration to time. Duration and extension are attributes of -things; but space and time are to be considered, as it were, outside -of things, and as serving to measure them." Still more definitely -he says: "Many confound the immensity or extent of things with the -space by means of which this extent is defined. Space is not the -extension of body, any more than duration is its time. Things keep -their extension, not always their space. Everything has its own extent -and duration; but it does not have a time of its own, nor keep for its -own a space." Or, as he expresses the latter idea elsewhere, space is -like number, in the sense that it is indifferent to spatial things, -just as number is indifferent to _res numerata_. Just as the number -five is not a quality or possession of any object, or group of objects, -but expresses an order or relation among them, so a given space is not -the property of a thing, but expresses the order of its parts to one -another. But extension, on the other hand, is a property of the given -objects. While extension, therefore, must always belong to some actual -thing, space, as a relation, is as applicable to possible things as to -actual existences; so that Leibniz sometimes says that time and space -"express possibilities." They are that which makes it possible for a -definite and coherent order of experiences to exist. They determine -existence in some of its relations, and as such are logically -prior to any given forms of existence; while extent and duration are -always qualities of some given form of existence, and hence logically -derivative. Since time and space "characterize possibilities" as well -as actualities, it follows as a matter of course "that they are of the -nature of eternal truths, which relate equally to the possible and to -the existing." Being an eternal truth, space must have its place in -that which is simply the active unity of all eternal truths,--the mind -of God. "Its truth and reality are based upon God. It is an order whose -source is God." Since God is _purus actus_, he is the immediate, the -efficient source only of that which partakes in some degree of his own -nature, or is rational; and here is another clear point of distinction -between space and extension, between time and duration. - -But we must ask more in detail regarding their nature. Admitting -that they are relations, ideal and prior to particular experiences, -the question must be asked, What sort of relations are they; how are -they connected with the purely spiritual on one hand, and with the -phenomenal on the other? Leibniz's most extended answers to these -questions are given in his controversy with Clarke. The latter took -much the same position regarding the nature of space (though not, -indeed, concerning the origin of its idea) as Locke, and the arguments -which Leibniz uses against him he might also have used, for the most -part, against Locke. Locke and Clarke both conceived of space and -time as wholly without intrinsic relation to objects and events. It -is especially against this position that Leibniz argues, holding that -space and time are simply orders or relations of objects and events, -that space exists only where objects are existing, and that it is -the order of their co-existence, or of their possible co-existence; -while time exists only as events are occurring, and is the relation of -their succession. Clarke, on the other hand, speaks of the universe of -objects as bounded by and moving about in an empty space, and says that -time existed before God created the finite world, so that the world -came into a time already there to receive its on-goings, just as it -fell into a space already there to receive its co-existences. - -To get at the ideas of Leibniz, therefore, we cannot do better than -follow the course of this discussion. He begins by saying that -both space and time are purely relative, one being the order of -co-existences, the other of successions. Space characterizes in terms -of possibility an order of things existing at the same time, so far as -they exist in mutual relations (_ensemble_), without regard to their -special modes of existence. As to the alternate doctrine that space -is a substance, or something absolute, it contradicts the principle -of sufficient reason. Were space something absolutely uniform, without -things placed in it, there would be no difference between one part and -another, and it would be a matter of utter indifference to God why he -gave bodies certain positions in space rather than others; similarly -it would be a matter of indifference why he created the world when -he did, if time were something independent of events. In other words, -the supposed absoluteness of space and time would render the action of -God wholly without reason, capricious, and at haphazard. Similarly, it -contradicts the principle of "indiscernibles," by which Leibniz means -the principle of specification, or distinction. According to him, -to suppose two things exactly alike, is simply to imagine the same -thing twice. Absolute uniformity, wholly undifferentiated, is a fiction -impossible to realize in thought. "Space considered without objects has -nothing in it to determine it; it is accordingly nothing actual. The -parts of space must be determined and distinguished by the objects -which are in them." Finally, were space and time absolutely real things -in themselves, they would be independent of God, and even limitations -upon him. "They would be more substantial than substances. God would -not be able to change or destroy them. They would be immutable and -eternal in every part. Thus there would be an infinity of eternal -things (these parts) independent of God." They would limit God because -he would be obliged to exist _in_ them. Only by existing through this -independent time would he be eternal; only by extending through this -independent space would he be omnipresent. Space and time thus become -gods themselves. - -When Clarke declares that by the absoluteness of space and time he does -not mean that they are themselves substances, but only properties, -attributes of substance, Leibniz advances the same arguments in -different form. If space were the property of the things that are -in space, it would belong now to one substance, now to another, and -when empty of all material substance, even to an immaterial substance, -perhaps to God. "Truly a strange attribute which is handed about from -one thing to another. Substances thus leave their accidents as if they -were old clothes, and other substances put them on." Since these finite -spaces are in infinite space, and the latter is an attribute of God, -it must be that an attribute of God is composed of parts, some of them -empty, some full, some round, some square. So, too, whatever is in time -would help make one of the attributes of God. "Truly a strange God," -says Leibniz, "this Deity of parts" (_ce Dieu à parties_). Clarke's -reply to this was that space and time are attributes of God and of -God alone, not of things in space and time,--that, indeed, strictly -speaking, there are no parts in space or in time; they are absolutely -one. This was virtually to give up the whole matter. It was to deny -the existence of finite spaces and times, and to resolve them into -an indefinite attribute of God. Such a view, as Leibniz points out, -not only is contrary to experience, but affords no aid in determining -the actual concrete forms and situations of bodies, and durations -and successions of events. The absolute space and time, having no -parts, are wholly out of relations to these concrete existences. The -latter require, therefore, a space and a time that are relations or -orders. Clarke's hypothesis is, as Leibniz says, wholly without use -or function, and requires a theory like that of Leibniz to account -for the actually determinate forms of experience. In his last reply -Clarke shifts his ground again, and says that space and time are -_effects_ of God's existence; "they are the necessary results of his -existence." "His existence is the cause of space and time." The death -of Leibniz prevented any further reply. It is not hard to imagine, -however, that in a general way his reply would have been to ask how -space and time are at once attributes essential and necessary to God, -as constituting his immensity and eternity, and effects dependent upon -his existence. To take this latter position, indeed, seems to abandon -the position that they are absolute, and to admit that, like the rest -of God's creation, they are relative and finite. - -So much for Leibniz's polemic. Its meaning is that space and time have -significance only with reference to things and events, that they are -the intellectual, the ideal side of these objects and occurrences, -being the relations which give them order and unity. A space which -is not the space of objects, which is not space in and through -objects, is an inanity; it is not spirit, it is not matter; it is -not a relation of either. It is nothingness magnified to infinity, -and then erected into existence. And all for nothing; for it does not -enable us to account for a single concrete fact of experience. For -this we must have recourse to relations and orders of existence. Space -is therefore to be defined as the order which makes it possible for -objects to have situation; time as that which makes it possible for -events to have dating,--not as if they were actually prior to them, -and although nothings in themselves, yet capable of giving concrete -determination to things, but as _actually_ the relations themselves, -and as _ideally_ necessary for the coherent experience of co-existent -objects and of connected events. As Leibniz puts it epigrammatically: -"Space is the order of possible constants; time the order of inconstant -possibilities." - -We have finished the exposition of the views of Leibniz about matter -and material facts. One question, however, remains to be discussed,--a -question which Leibniz's contemporary critics would not allow him to -pass over in silence, even had he been so disposed. What is the reality -of matter, of motion, of space, and of time? Since they are, as Leibniz -says, only phenomena, not absolute realities, what distinguishes them -from dreams, from illusions? What distinguishes sensible phenomena from -capricious fantasies, and gives them reality? - -Leibniz begins his answer by pointing out that the mere fact that -bodies are phenomena does not make them unreal. To say that anything -is phenomenal is to say that it is sensible; but "the senses make -no declaration regarding metaphysical matters" such as truth and -reality. The senses, in a word, only inform us that the experiences -are there for the senses, that they are sensible. What is the ultimate -nature of the sensible or the phenomenal, what is their reality, -is a question wholly outside the province of sense. The questions of -ultimate nature, of reality, are questions of metaphysics, and hence -are to be decided by the reason, not by the senses. And Leibniz goes -on to say that the truthfulness of the senses, since it concerns only -the sensible, consists in the reciprocal agreement of sensible facts, -and in that we are not deceived in reasoning from one to another. An -isolated sense-experience could not be said to be either true or -false, real or illusory. It would be true that it was experienced, -and that is all that could be said about it. But since our experiences -are not thus separated, but have a certain order, there arises what -we may call sensible reality and illusion. When the order between -two facts remains the same "in different times and places and in the -experience of different men," we call these facts real. If, however, -our experience cannot be repeated by ourselves or by other men when -the same conditions (that is, connections) are present, it is unreal, -or false. It is thus "the _relation_ of phenomena which guarantees -truth of fact regarding sensible objects." Constancy, regularity, -justify us in ascribing reality; chaotic change and lack of orderly -connection are a sign of unreality. Even our dreams have a reality; for -they have their connections and place in experience. If we understood -their connections we should even be able to explain their apparent -lack of connection with the rest of experience. Leibniz thinks that -both the Academicians and Sceptics and their opponents erred in -attempting to find greater reality in sensible things than that of -regular phenomena. Since our observations and judgments upon sensible -phenomena are of such a nature that we can predict future phenomena and -prepare for them, we have all the reality in them that can be had or -asked for. Even if it be granted possible (as it must be on this basis) -that, metaphysically speaking, sense-experience is only a connected -dream, it yet has a sufficient reality; for we are not deceived in -the measures taken with reference to phenomena, provided that we act -on the ground of their observed harmonies and relations. Thus while -we are obliged to admit that our senses inform us that there are hard, -passive, extended, indivisible things, not perfectly continuous and not -intellectual in their nature, and we know on metaphysical grounds that -this information is not correct, we cannot say that our senses deceive -us, for sense makes no statements regarding such matters. It is our -reason that errs if it takes the information that the senses give as if -it were a declaration of reason itself. Sensible things have all the -reality necessary for this range of experience,--_practical_,--such -regularity of co-existence and sequence as allows us to act without -being led astray. - -But if we regard sense-phenomena not merely in their connection with -one another, but in their dependence upon the absolute realities, we -have still better justification for their comparative reality. These -phenomena are consequences of necessary and eternal truths. One endowed -with a perfect knowledge of such truths would be able to deduce, _a -priori_, the phenomena from them. The reality of sensible phenomena -thus consists not merely in their connection with one another, but in -the fact that they are connected as the laws of the intelligible world -require. They follow not only rules of co-existence and sequence; -but these rules may be brought under general laws of motion, which -in turn may be deduced from geometrical principles. These latter, -however, are _a priori_; they are truths which are grounded in the very -intelligence of God. The sensible has its basis in the ideal. To state -the same fact in another way, all sensible phenomena occur in time -and space; or rather, time and space are the orders, the relations, -of phenomena occurring and existing. But, as we have just seen, time -and space are ideal. A relation, as Leibniz points out, being neither -attribute nor accident, cannot be _in_ the things which it relates, -as their possession. In his own words, it cannot be conceived as if -it had one leg in one object, the other leg in the other. A relation -is not a material bond, running through or cementing objects; it -is ideal, existing in the mind. And while it is true that space and -time are the relations of objects and events, it is also true that -if all objects and events were annihilated, space and time would -continue to have their ideal existence in the intelligence of God as -the eternal conditions of phenomena. They thus form the links between -absolute reality and the reality of sensible existence. The principle -of sufficient reason forms another link. It may be recalled that in -discussing Leibniz's theory of volition we found that the will of God -in relation to the sensible world is always determined by the choice of -the better; that in this consists the controlling reason and regulative -principle of all that occurs and exists. Thus for every fact in the -sensible world there is connection with "metaphysical," or absolute, -reality, not only through the medium of the intellectual relations -of time and space, but through the dynamic intermediary of the divine -will acting in accordance with the divine reason. Sensible facts have, -then, a reality, but a dependent one. There would be no _contradiction_ -involved if they were not what they actually are. - -We may sum up the matter by saying that the reality of sensible -phenomena consists in the constancy of the mutual order in which they -exist, and in the dependence of this order upon the divine Intelligence -and Will. In this respect, at least, Leibniz resembles the young Irish -idealist, Berkeley, who only seven years after Leibniz wrote the "New -Essays" composed his "Principles of Human Knowledge," urging that the -immediate reality of sense-phenomena consists in their "steadiness, -order, and coherence," "in a constant uniform working," and that this -"gives us a foresight which enables us to regulate our actions for the -benefit of life." It was Berkeley also who wrote that their ultimate -reality consists in their being ideas of a Divine Spirit. This was six -years before the death of Leibniz. Yet it does not appear that Berkeley -knew of Leibniz, and the only allusion to Berkeley which I have -found in the writings of Leibniz shows that Leibniz knew only of that -caricature of his views which has always been current,--that Berkeley -was one who denied the existence of any external world. What he writes -is as follows: "As for him in Ireland who questions the reality of -'bodies,' he seems neither to offer what is rational, nor sufficiently -to explain his own ideas. I suspect that he is one of those men who are -desirous of making themselves known through paradoxes." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -SOME FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS. - - -The fundamental category of Locke, as of all who take simply a -mechanical view of experience, is that of substance. He had good reason -to be surprised when the Bishop of Worcester objected that Locke wished -"to discard substance out of the world." How can that be so, Locke -asks, when I say that "our idea of body is an extended solid substance, -and our idea of soul is of a substance that thinks." And he adds, "Nay, -as long as there is any simple idea or sensible quality left, according -to my way of arguing, substance cannot be discarded." Everything -that really exists, is, according to Locke, substance. But substance -to Locke, as again to all who interpret the universe after sensible -categories, is unknowable. For such categories allow only of external -relations; they admit only of static existence. Substance, in this -way of looking at it, must be distinct from its qualities, and must be -simply the existing substratum in which they inhere. - -Locke's account of the way in which we get the idea, and of its nature, -is as follows: "All the ideas of all the sensible qualities of a -cherry come into my mind by sensation. The ideas of these qualities -and actions, or powers, are perceived by the mind to be by themselves -inconsistent with existence. They cannot subsist of themselves. Hence -the mind perceives their necessary connection with inherence, or with -being supported." Correlative to the idea of being supported is, of -course, the idea of the support. But this idea "is not represented -to the mind by any clear and distinct idea; the obscure and vague, -indistinct idea of thing or something, is all that is left." Or yet -more simply, "Taking notice that a certain number of simple ideas -go together, and not imagining how these simple ideas can subsist by -themselves, we accustom ourselves to suppose some substratum wherein -they do subsist, and from which they do result." Hence the only idea we -have of it is of something which underlies known qualities. It is their -"supposed, but unknown, support." - -If we translate these expressions into the ideas of to-day, -we see that they are equivalent to the view of the world which -is given us by scientific categories when these categories are -regarded not merely as scientific, but also as philosophic; that -is, capable of interpreting and expressing the ultimate nature of -experience. This modern view uses the words "things-in-themselves" -(or absolute realities) and "phenomena." It says that we know nothing -of existence as it is in itself, but only of its phenomena. Mind, -matter, objects, are all substances, all equally substances, and all -have their unknown essence and their phenomenal appearance. Such a -distinction between the known and the unknown can rest, it is evident, -only upon a separation between reality and phenomena similar to that -which Locke makes between substance and qualities. In knowing the -latter, we know nothing of the former. Although the latter are called -"phenomena," they do not really manifest the substantial reality; they -conceal it. This absolute distinction between substance and quality, -between reality and phenomenon, rests, in turn, upon the hypothesis -that reality is _mere_ existence; that is, it is something which is, -and that is all. It is a substratum; it lies under, in a passive way, -qualities; it is (literally) substance; it simply stands, inactively, -under phenomena. It may, by possibility, _have_ actions; but it _has_ -them. Activities are qualities which, like all qualities, are in -external relation to the substance. Being, in other words, is the -primary notion, and "being" means something essentially passive and -merely enduring, accidentally and secondarily something acting. Here, -as elsewhere, Locke is the father of the mechanical philosophy of -to-day. - -We have already learned how completely Leibniz reverses this way of -regarding reality. According to Locke, reality essentially is; and in -its being there is no ground of revelation of itself. It then acts; but -these actions, "powers, or qualities," since not flowing from the very -being of substance, give no glimpse into its true nature. According to -Leibniz, reality acts, and _therefore_ is. Its being is conditioned -upon its activity. It is not first there, and secondly acts; but its -"being there" is its activity. Since its very substance is activity, -it is impossible that it should not manifest its true nature. Its every -activity is a revelation of itself. It cannot hide itself as a passive -subsistence behind qualities or phenomena. It must break forth into -them. On the other hand, since the qualities are not something which -merely inhere in an underlying support, but are the various forms -or modes of the activity which constitutes reality, they necessarily -reveal it. They _are_ its revelations. There is here no need to dwell -further on the original dynamic nature of substance; what was said in -the way of general exposition suffices. It is only in its relations to -Locke's view as just laid down that it now concerns us. - -In the first place, Leibniz points out that qualities are "abstract," -while substance is "concrete." The qualities, from the very fact -that they have no self-subsistence, are only relations, while the -substance, as that of which they are qualities, or from which they -are abstractions, is concrete. It is, Leibniz says, to invert the -true order to take qualities or abstract terms as the best known -and most easily comprehended, and "concretes" as unknown, and as -having the most difficulty about them. "It is abstractions which -give birth to almost all our difficulties," and Locke's error here -is that he begins with abstractions, and takes them to be most open -to intelligence. Locke's second error is separating so completely -substance and attribute. "After having distinguished," says Leibniz, -"two things in substance, the attributes or predicates, and the common -subject of these predicates, it is not to be wondered at that we -cannot conceive anything in particular in the subject. This result is -necessary, since we have separated all the attributes in which there is -anything definite to be conceived. Hence to demand anything more than a -mere unknown somewhat in the subject, is to contradict the supposition -which was made in making the abstraction and in conceiving separately -the subject and its qualities or accidents." We are indeed ignorant -of a subject from which abstraction has been made of all defining -and characteristic qualities; "but this ignorance results from our -demanding a sort of knowledge of which the object does not permit." In -short, it is a credit to our knowledge, not an aspersion upon it, that -we cannot know that which is thoroughly unreal,--a substance deprived -of all attributes. This is, indeed, a remark which is applicable to -the supposed unknowableness of pure Being, or Absolute Being, when it -is defined as the absence of all relations (as is done, for example, -by Mr. Spencer to-day). - -Closely connected with the notion of substance are the categories -of identity and diversity. These relations are of course to Locke -thoroughly external. It is "relation of time and place which always -determines identity." "That that had one beginning is the same thing; -and that which had a different beginning in time and place from that, -is not the same, but diverse." It is therefore easy to discover the -principle of individuation. It "is existence itself, which determines -a being of any sort to a particular time and place, incommunicable to -two beings of the same kind." He applies this notion to organic being, -including man, and to the personal identity of man. The identity of an -organism, vegetable, brute, or human, is its continuous organization; -"it is the participation of the same continued life, by constantly -fleeting particles of matter in succession vitally united to the same -organized body." _Personal_ identity is constituted by a similar -continuity of consciousness. "It being the same consciousness that -makes a man be himself to himself, personal identity depends on that -only." It "consists not in the identity of substance, but in the -identity of consciousness." It will be noticed that Locke uses the -notion of identity which he has already established to explain organic -and personal unity. It is the "_same_ continued life," "_identity_ of -consciousness," that constitute them. We are, hence, introduced to no -new principle. Identity is even in personality a matter of temporal and -spatial relations. - -In the general account of the system of Leibniz it was pointed out that -it is characteristic of his thought to regard identity and distinction -as internal principles, and as necessarily implied in each other. We -need not go over that ground again, but simply see how he states -his position with reference to what is quoted from Locke. These are -his words: "Besides the difference of place and time there is always -necessary an _internal principle_ [or law] of distinction, so that -while there may be several things of the same species, there are no two -things exactly alike. Thus, although time and place (that is, relations -to the external) aid us in distinguishing things, things do not -cease to be distinguished in themselves. The essence of identity and -diversity does not consist in time and place, although it is true that -diversity of things is accompanied with that of time and place, since -they carry along with them different impressions upon the thing;" that -is, they expose the thing to different surroundings. But in reality -"it is things which diversify times and places from one another, for -in themselves these are perfectly similar, not being substances or -complete realities." - -The principle of individuation follows, of course, from this. "If -two individuals were perfectly similar and equal, that is, -indistinguishable in themselves, there would be no principle of -individuation; there would not be two individuals." Thus Leibniz -states his important principle of the "identity of indiscernibles," -the principle that where there is not some internal differentiating -principle which specifies the existence in this or that definite -way, there is no individual. Leibniz here states, in effect, the -principle of organic unity, the notion that concrete unity is a -unity _of_ differences, not _from_ them. It is the principle which -allows him at once to accept and transform the thought of Spinoza -that all qualification or determination is negation. Spinoza, in -spite of his intellectual greatness, conceived of distinction or -determination as external, and hence as external negation. But since -ultimate reality admits of no external negation, it must be without -distinction, an all-inclusive one. But to Leibniz the negation is -internal; it is determination of its own being into the greatest -possible riches. "Things that are conceived as absolutely uniform and -containing no variety are pure abstractions." "Things indistinguishable -in themselves, and capable of being distinguished only by external -characteristics without internal foundation, are contrary to the -most important principles of reason. The truth is that every being is -capable of change [or differentiation], and is itself actually changed -in such a way that in itself it differs from every other." - -As to organic bodies, so far as they _are_ bodies, or corporeal, they -are one and identical only in appearance. "They are not the same an -instant. . . . Bodies are in constant flux." "They are like a -river which is always changing its water, or like the ship of Theseus -which the Athenians are constantly repairing." Such unity as they -really possess is like all unity,--ideal or spiritual. "They remain the -same individual by virtue of that same soul or spirit which constitutes -the 'Ego' in those individuals who think." "Except for the soul, -there is neither the same life nor any vital union." As to personal -identity, Leibniz distinguishes between "physical or real" identity -and "moral." In neither case, however, is it a unity which excludes -plurality, an identity which does not comprehend diversity. "Every -spirit has," he says, "traces of all the impressions which it has ever -experienced, and even presentiments of all that ever will happen. But -these feelings are generally too minute to be distinguished and brought -into consciousness, though they may be sometime developed. This -_continuity_ and _connection_ of _perceptions_ makes up the real -identity of the individual, while _apperceptions_ (that which is -consciously apprehended of past experiences) constitute the moral -identity and make manifest the real identity." We have had occasion -before to allude to the part played in the Leibnizian philosophy by -"minute perceptions" or "unconscious ideas." Of them he says, relative -to the present point, that "insensible perceptions mark and even -constitute the sameness of the individual, which is characterized -by the residua preserved from its preceding states, as they form -its connection with its present state." If these connections are -"apperceived" or brought into distinct consciousness, there is moral -identity as well. As he expresses it in one place: "The self (_soi_) -is real and physical identity; the appearance of self, accompanied with -truth, is personal identity." But the essential point in either case is -that the identity is not that of a substance underlying modifications, -nor of a consciousness which merely accompanies all mental states, -but is the connection, the active continuity, or--in Kant's word--the -synthesis, of all particular forms of the mental life. The self is not -the most abstract unity of experience, it is the most organic. What -Leibniz says of his monads generally is especially true of the higher -monads,--human souls. "They vary, up to infinity itself, with the -greatest abundance, order, and beauty imaginable." Not a mathematical -point, but life, is the type of Leibniz's conception of identity. - -In the order in which Locke takes up his topics (and in which Leibniz -follows him) we have omitted one subject, which, however, may find its -natural place in the present connection,--the subject of infinity. In -Locke's conception, the infinite is only a ceaseless extension or -multiplication of the finite. He considers the topic immediately after -the discussions of space, time, and number, and with good logic from -his standpoint; for "finite and infinite," he says, are "looked upon by -the mind as the modes of _quantity_, and are attributed, in their first -designation, only to those things which have parts and are capable -of increase and diminution." This is true even of the application -of the term "infinite" to God, so far as concerns the attributes of -duration and ubiquity; and as applied to his other attributes the -term is figurative, signifying that they are incomprehensible and -inexhaustible. Such being the idea of the infinite, it is attained as -follows: There is no difficulty, says Locke, as to the way in which -we come by the idea of the finite. Every obvious portion of extension -and period of succession which affects us is bounded. If we take one of -these periods or portions, we find that we can double it, or "otherwise -multiply it," as often as we wish, and that there is no reason to stop, -nor are we one jot nearer the end at any point of the multiplication -than when we set out. "By repeating as often as we will any idea of -space, we get the idea of infinity; by being able to repeat the idea -of any length of duration, we come by the idea of eternity." There -is a difference, then, between the ideas of the infinity of space, -time, and number, and of an infinite space, time, and number. The -former idea we have; it is the idea that we can continue without end -the process of multiplication or progression. The latter we have not; -it would be the idea of having completed the infinite multiplication, -it would be the result of the never-ending progression. And this is -evidently a contradiction in terms. To sum the matter up, the term -"infinite" always relates to the notion of quantity. Quantity is that -which is essentially capable of increase or decrease. There is then an -infinity of quantity; there is no quantity which is the absolute limit -to quantity. Such a quantity would be incapable of increase, and hence -contradictory to quantity. But an actual infinite quantity (whether -of space, time, or number) would be one than which there could be no -greater; and hence the impossibility of our having a positive idea of -an actual or completed infinite. - -Leibniz's reply consists simply in carrying out this same thought -somewhat further. It is granted that the idea of an infinite quantity -of any kind is absurd and self-contradictory. But what does this prove, -except that the notions of quantity and infinity are incompatible with -each other, that they contradict each other? Hence, instead of the -infinite being a mode of quantity, it must be conceived as essentially -distinct from and even opposed to quantity. Locke's argument is -virtually a _reductio ad absurdum_ of the notion that the infinite -is capable of parts. In the few pages of comment which Leibniz in -1696 wrote upon Locke, this topic of the infinite is one of the few -touched upon. His words upon that occasion were as follows: "I agree -with Mr. Locke that, properly speaking, there is no space, time, nor -number which is infinite; and that it is only true that however great -be a space, a time, or a number, there is always another which is still -greater, and this without end; and that, _therefore_, the infinite -is not to be found in a whole made up of parts. But it does not cease -to exist: it is found in the absolute, which is without parts, and of -which compound things [phenomena in space and time, or facts which may -be numbered] are only limitations. The positive infinite being nothing -else than the absolute, it may be said that there is, in this sense, -a positive idea of the infinite, and that it is anterior to the idea -of the finite." In other words, while the infinite is to Locke an -indefinite extension of the finite, which alone is positively "given," -to Leibniz the infinite is the positive and real, and the finite is -only in and by it. The finite is the negative. - -Leibniz amplifies this thought upon other occasions, as in his present -more extended examination. "There is no infinite number, line, or -quantity, if they are taken as true wholes." "We deceive ourselves in -trying to imagine an absolute space which should be an infinite whole, -composed of parts. There is none such. It is an idea which implies -contradiction; and all these 'infinites' and 'infinitesimals' are of -use only in geometry, as imaginary roots are in algebra." That which -is ordinarily called the infinite, that is, the quantitative infinite, -is in reality only the indefinite. "We involve ourselves in difficulty -when we talk about a series of numbers extending _to_ infinity; we -imagine a last term, an infinite number, or one infinitely little. But -these are only fictions. All number is finite and assignable, [that is, -of a certain definite quantity]; every line is the same. 'Infinites' -and 'infinitesimals' signify only quantities which can be taken as -large or as small as one wishes, simply for the purpose of showing that -there is no error which can be assigned. Or we are to understand by the -infinitely little, the state of vanishing or commencing of a quantum -after the analogy of a quantum already formed." On the other hand, -the true infinite "is not an aggregate, nor a whole of parts; it is not -clothed with magnitude, nor does it consist in number. . . . The -Absolute alone, the indivisible infinite, has true unity,--I mean -God." And as he sums up the matter: "The infinite, consisting of parts, -is neither one nor a whole; it cannot be brought under any notion of -the mind except that of quantity. Only the infinite without parts is -one, and this is not a whole [of parts]: this infinite is God." - -It cannot be admitted, however, that Locke has given a correct account -of the origin of the notion of the quantitative infinite, or--to -speak philosophically, and not after the use of terms convenient in -mathematics--the indefinite. According to him, its origin is the mere -empirical repeating of a sensuous datum of time and space. According -to Leibniz, this repetition, however long continued, can give no -idea beyond itself; it can never generate the idea that the process -of repetition may be continued without a limit. Here, as elsewhere, -he objects that experience cannot guarantee notions beyond the limits -of experience. Locke's process of repetition could tell us that a -number _had_ been extended up to a given point; not that it could be -extended without limit. The source of this latter idea must be found, -therefore, where we find the origin of all extra-empirical notions,--in -reason. "Its origin is the same as that of universal and necessary -truths." It is not the empirical process of multiplying, but the fact -that the _same reason_ for multiplying always exists, that originates -and guarantees the idea. "Take a straight line and prolong it in such -a way that it is double the first. It is evident that the second, -being perfectly _similar_ to the first, can be itself doubled; and we -have a third, which in turn is _similar_ to the preceding. The _same -reason_ always being present, it is not possible that the process -should ever be brought to a stop. Thus the line can be prolonged -'to infinity.' Therefore the idea of 'infinity' comes from the -consideration of the identity of relation or of reason." - -The considerations which we have grouped together in this chapter -serve to show the fundamental philosophical difference between Locke -and Leibniz. Although, taken in detail, they are self-explanatory, a -few words may be permitted upon their unity and ultimate bearing. It is -characteristic of Locke that he uses the same principle of explanation -with reference to the conceptions of substance, identity and diversity, -and infinity, and that this principle is that of spatial and temporal -relation. Infinity is conceived as quantitative, as the successive -addition of times and spaces; identity and diversity are oneness and -difference of existence as determined by space and time; substance -is the underlying static substratum of qualities, and, as such, is -considered after the analogy of things existing in space and through -time. It must not be forgotten that Locke believed as thoroughly as -Leibniz in the substantial existence of the world, of the human soul, -and of God; in the objective continuity of the world, and the personal -identity of man, and in the true infinity of God. Whatever negative -or sceptical inferences may have afterwards been drawn from Locke's -premises were neither drawn nor dreamed of by him. His purpose was in -essence one with that of Leibniz. - -But the contention of Leibniz is that when substance, identity, and -infinity are conceived of by mechanical categories, or measured by the -sensible standard of space and time, they lose their meaning and their -validity. According to him such notions are spiritual in their nature, -and to be spiritually conceived of. "Spiritual," however, does not mean -opposed to the sensible; it does not mean something to be known by a -peculiar kind of intuition unlike our knowledge of anything else. It -means the active and organic basis of the sensible, its significance -and ideal purpose. It is known by knowing the sensible or mechanical -as it really is; that is, as it is completely, as a _concretum_, -in Leibniz's phrase. Leibniz saw clearly that to make the infinite -something at one end of the finite, as its mere external limit, or -something miraculously intercalated into the finite, was to deprive -it of meaning, and, by making it unknowable, to open the way for its -denial. To make identity consist in the removal of all diversity -(as must be done if it be thought after the manner of external -relations), is to reduce it to nothing,--as Hume, indeed, afterwards -showed. Substance, which is merely a support behind qualities, is -unknowable, and hence unverifiable. While, then, the aim of both Locke -and Leibniz as regards these categories was the same, Leibniz saw what -Locke did not,--that to interpret them after the manner of existence -in space and time, to regard them (in Leibniz's terminology) as -mathematical, and not as metaphysical, is to defeat that aim. The sole -way to justify them, and in justifying them to give relative validity -to the sensible and phenomenal, is to demonstrate their spiritual and -dynamic nature, to show them as conditioning space and time, and not as -conditioned by them. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE NATURE AND EXTENT OF KNOWLEDGE. - - -The third book of Locke's Essay is upon words and language; and in the -order of treatment this would be the next topic for discussion. But -much of what is said in this connection both by Locke and by Leibniz is -philological, rhetorical, and grammatical in character, and although -not without interest in itself, is yet without any especial bearing -upon the philosophical points in controversy. The only topics in -this book demanding our attention are general and particular terms; -but these fall most naturally into the discussion of general and -particular knowledge. In fact, it is not the terms which Locke -actually discusses, but the ideas for which the terms stand. We -pass on accordingly, without further ceremony, to the fourth book, -which is concerning knowledge in general. Locke defines knowledge -as "nothing but the perception of the connection and agreement, or -disagreement and repugnancy, of any of our ideas." These agreements or -disagreements may be reduced to four sorts,--Identity, or diversity; -Relation; Co-existence, or necessary connection; Real existence. The -statement of identity and diversity is implied in all knowledge -whatsoever. By them "the mind clearly and infallibly perceives each -idea to agree with itself and be what it is, and all distinct ideas to -disagree; _i. e._, the one not to be the other." The agreement of -relation is such knowledge as the mind derives from the _comparison_ -of its ideas. It includes mathematical knowledge. The connection of -co-existence "belongs particularly to substances." Locke's example -is that "gold is fixed,"--by which we understand that the idea of -fixedness goes along with that group of ideas which we call gold. All -statements of fact coming under the natural sciences would fall into -this class. The fourth sort is "that of actual and real existence -agreeing to any idea." - -Leibniz's criticism upon these statements of Locke is brief and to -the point. He admits Locke's definition of knowledge, qualifying it, -however, by the statement that in much of our knowledge, perhaps in all -that is merely empirical, we do not know the reason and connection -of things and hence cannot be said to _perceive_ the agreement -or disagreement of ideas, but only to feel it confusedly. His -most important remark, however, is to the effect that relation is -not a special kind of knowledge, but that all Locke's four kinds -are varieties of relation. Locke's "connection" of ideas which -makes knowledge is nothing but relation. And there are two kinds of -relation,--those of "comparison" and of "concourse." That of comparison -states the identity or distinction of ideas, either in whole or in -part. That of concourse contains Locke's two classes of co-existence -and existence. "When we say that a thing really exists, this existence -is the predicate,--that is to say, a notion connected with the idea -which is the subject; and there is connection between these two -notions. The existence of an object of an idea may be considered as -the concourse of this object with me. Hence comparison, which marks -identity or diversity, and concourse of an object with me (or with the -_ego_) are the only forms of knowledge." - -Leibniz leaves the matter here; but he only needed to develop what is -contained in this statement to anticipate Berkeley and Kant in some of -the most important of their discoveries. The contradiction which lies -concealed in Locke's account is between his definition of knowledge -in general, and knowledge of real existence in particular. One is the -agreement or disagreement of _ideas_; the other is the agreement of -an idea _with an object_. Berkeley's work, in its simplest form, was -to remove this inconsistency. He saw clearly that the "object" was an -intruder here. If knowledge lies in the connection of _ideas_, it is -impossible to get outside the ideas to find an object with which they -agree. Either that object is entirely unknown, or it is an idea. It -is impossible, therefore, to find the knowledge of reality in the -comparison of an idea with an object. It must be in some property of -the ideas themselves. - -Kant developed more fully the nature of this property, which -constitutes the "objectivity" of our ideas. It is their connection -with one another according to certain _necessary_ forms of perception -and rules of conception. In other words, the reality of ideas lies in -their being connected by the necessary and hence universal relations -of synthetic intelligence, or, as Kant often states it, in their -agreement with the conditions of self-consciousness. It is not, I -believe, unduly stretching either the letter or the spirit of Leibniz -to find in that "concourse of the object with the ego" which makes -its reality, the analogue of this doctrine of Kant; it is at all -events the recognition of the fact that reality is not to be found -in the relating of ideas to unknown things, but in their relation to -self-conscious intelligence. The points of similarity between Kant -and Leibniz do not end here. Leibniz's two relations of "comparison" -and "concourse" are certainly the congeners of Kant's "analytic" -and "synthetic" judgments. But Leibniz, as we shall see hereafter, -trusts too thoroughly to the merely formal relations of identity and -contradiction to permit him such a development of these two kinds of -relation as renders Kant's treatment of them epoch-making. - -The discussion then advances to the subject of degrees of knowledge, -of which Locke recognizes three,--intuitive, demonstrative, and -sensitive. Intuitive knowledge is immediate knowledge,--recognition -of likeness or difference without the intervention of a third idea; -it is the most certain and clear of all knowledge. In demonstrative -knowledge the agreement or disagreement cannot be perceived directly, -because the ideas cannot be put together so as to show it. Hence -the mind has recourse to intermediaries. "And this is what we call -reasoning." Demonstrative rests on intuitive knowledge, because each -intermediate idea used must be immediately perceived to be like or -unlike its neighboring idea, or it would itself need intermediates for -its proof. Besides these two degrees of knowledge there is "another -perception of the mind employed about the particular existence of -finite things without us, which, going beyond bare probability, and yet -not reaching perfectly to either of the foregoing degrees of certainty, -passes under the name of knowledge." - -Leibniz's comments are again brief. The primitive truths which are -known by intuition are to be divided into two classes,--truths of -reason and of fact. The primitive truths of reason are necessary, and -may be called identical, because they seem only to repeat the same -thing, without teaching us anything. A is A. A is not non-A. Such -propositions are not frivolous or useless, because the conclusions -of logic are demonstrated by means of identical propositions, and -many of those of geometry by the principle of contradiction. All the -intuitive truths of reason may be said to be made known through the -"immediation" of ideas. The intuitive truths of fact, on the other -hand, are contingent and are made known through the "immediation" -of feeling. In this latter class come such truths as the Cartesian, -"I think, therefore I am." Neither class can be proved by anything more -certain. - -Demonstration is defined by Leibniz as by Locke. The former recognizes, -however, two sorts,--analytic and synthetic. Synthesis goes from the -simple to the complex. There are many cases, however, where this is -not applicable; where it would be a task "equal to drinking up the sea -to attempt to make all the necessary combinations. Here the method -of exclusions should be employed, cutting off many of the useless -combinations." If this cannot be done, then it is analysis which gives -the clew into the labyrinth. He is also of the opinion that besides -demonstration, giving certainty, there should be admitted an art of -calculating probabilities,--the lack of which is, he says, a great -defect in our present logic, and which would be more useful than a -large part of our demonstrative sciences. As to sensitive knowledge, -he agrees with Locke that there is such a thing as real knowledge -of objects without us, and that this variety does not have the same -metaphysical certainty as the other two; but he disagrees regarding -its criterion. According to Locke, the criterion is simply the greater -degree of vividness and force that sensations have as compared with -imaginations, and the actual pleasures or pains which accompany -them. Leibniz points out that this criterion, which in reality is -purely emotional, is of no great value, and states the principle of the -reality of sensible phenomena which we have already given, repeating -that it is found in the _connection_ of phenomena, and that "this -connection is verified by means of the truths of reason, just as the -phenomena of optics are explained by geometry." - -The discussion regarding "primitive truths," axioms, and maxims, -as well as the distinction between truths of fact and of reason, has -its most important bearing in Locke's next chapter. This chapter has -for its title the "Extent of Human Knowledge," and in connection with -the sixth chapter, upon universal propositions, and with the seventh, -upon axioms, really contains the gist of the treatment of knowledge. It -is here also that are to be considered chapters three and six of book -third, having respectively as their titles, "Of General Terms," and "Of -the Names of Substances." - -To understand Locke's views upon the extent and limitations of our -knowledge, it is necessary to recur to his theory of its origin. If -we compare what he says about the origin of ideas from sensations -with what he says about the development of general knowledge from -particular, we shall find that Locke unconsciously puts side by side -two different, and even contradictory, theories upon this point. In the -view already given when treating of sensation, knowledge originates -from the combination, the addition, of the simple ideas furnished -us by our senses. It begins with the simple, the unrelated, and -advances to the complex. But according to the doctrine which he -propounds in treating of general terms, knowledge begins with the -individual, which is already qualified by definite relations, and -hence complex, and proceeds, by abstracting some of these qualities, -towards the simple. Or, in Locke's own language, "ideas become general -by separating from them the circumstances of time and place and any -other ideas that may _determine_ them to this and that particular -existence." And, still more definitely, he says that general ideas -are framed by "leaving out of the _complex_ idea of individuals that -which is peculiar to each, and retaining only what is common to them -all." From this it follows that "general and universal belong not to -the real existence of things, but are the inventions and creatures of -the understanding." "When we quit particulars, the generals that rest -are only creatures of our own making. . . . The signification -they have is nothing but a relation that by the mind of man is added -to them." And in language which reminds us of Kant, but with very -different bearing, he says that relations are the workmanship of the -understanding. The abstract idea of what is common to all the members -of the class constitutes "nominal essence." This nominal essence, not -being a particular existence in nature, but the "workmanship of the -understanding," is to be carefully distinguished from the real essence, -"which is the being of anything whereby it is what it is." This real -essence is evidently equivalent to the unknown "substance" of which we -have heard before. "It is the real, internal, and unknown constitution -of things." In simple or unrelated ideas and in modes the real and -the nominal essence is the same; and hence whatever is demonstrated of -one is demonstrated of the other. But as to substance it is different, -the one being natural, the other artificial. The nominal essence always -relates to sorts, or classes, and is a pattern or standard by which we -classify objects. In the individual there is nothing essential, in this -sense. "Particular beings, considered barely in themselves, will be -found to have all their qualities equally essential to them, or, which -is more, nothing at all." As for the "real essence" which things have, -"we only suppose its being without precisely knowing what it is." - -Locke here presents us with the confusion which, in one form or -another, is always found in empiricism, and which indeed is essential -to it. Locke, like the ordinary empiricist, has no doubt of the -existence of real things. His starting-point is the existence of two -substances, mind and matter; while, further, there is a great number of -substances of each kind. Each mind and every separate portion of matter -is a distinct substance. This supposed deliverance of common sense -Locke never called into question. Working on this line, all knowledge -will consist in abstraction from the ready-made things presented to us -in perception, "in leaving out from the complex idea of individuals" -something belonging to them. But on the other hand, Locke never doubts -that knowledge begins with sensation, and that, therefore, the process -of knowledge is one of adding simple, unrelated elements. The two -theories are absolutely opposed to each other, and yet one and the -same philosophical inference may be drawn from each; namely, that only -the particular is real, and that the universal (or relations) is an -artificial product, manufactured in one case by abstraction from the -real individual, in the other by compounding the real sensation. - -The result is, that when he comes to a discussion of the extent of -knowledge, he admits knowledge of self, of God, and of "things," -only by a denial of his very definition of knowledge, while knowledge -of other conceptions, like those of mathematics, is not knowledge of -reality, but only of ideas which we ourselves frame. All knowledge, -that is to say, is obtained only either by contradicting his own -fundamental notion, or by placing it in relations which are confessedly -artificial and superinduced. It is to this point that we come. - -The proposition which is fundamental to the discussion is that we -have knowledge only where we perceive the agreement or disagreement -of ideas. Locke then takes up each of his four classes of connection, -in order to ascertain the extent of knowledge in it. Our knowledge -of "identity and diversity extends as far as our ideas," because we -intuitively perceive every idea to be "what it is, and different from -any other." Locke afterwards states, however, that all purely identical -propositions are "trifling," that is, they contain no instruction; -they teach us nothing. Thus the first class of relations cannot be -said to be of much avail. If we consider the fourth kind of knowledge, -that of real existence, we have an intuitive knowledge of self, a -demonstrative knowledge of God, and a sensitive knowledge of other -things. But sensitive knowledge, it must be noted, "does not extend -beyond the objects _actually present_ to our senses." It can hardly -be said, therefore, to assure us of the existence of _objects_ -at all. It only tells us what experiences are being at the time -undergone. Furthermore, knowledge of all three (God, self, and matter), -since of real being, and not of relations between ideas, contradicts -his definition of knowledge. But perhaps we shall find knowledge more -extended in the other classes. And indeed Locke tells us that knowledge -of relations is the "largest field of our knowledge." It includes -morals and mathematics; but it is to be noticed that, according to -Locke, in both of these branches our demonstrations are not regarding -facts, but regarding either "modes" framed by ourselves, or relations -that are the creatures of our minds,--"extraneous and superinduced" -upon the facts, as he says. He thus anticipates in substance, though -not in phraseology, Hume's distinction between "matters of fact" and -"connections of ideas," in the latter of which we may have knowledge, -but not going beyond the combinations that we ourselves make. - -This leaves one class, that of co-existence, to be examined. Here, -if anywhere, must knowledge, worthy of being termed scientific, be -found. This class, it will be remembered, comprehends our knowledge -concerning substances. But this extends, according to Locke, "a -very little way." The idea of a substance is a complex of various -"simple ideas united in one subject and co-existing together." When we -would know anything further concerning a substance, we only inquire -what other simple ideas, besides those already united, co-exist with -them. Since there is no _necessary_ connection, however, among these -simple ideas, since each is, by its very simplicity, essentially -distinct from every other, or, as we have already learned, since -nothing is essential to an individual, we can never be sure that any -idea really co-exists with others. Or, as Locke says, in physical -matters we "can go no further than particular experience informs us -of. . . . We can have no certain knowledge of universal truths -concerning natural bodies." And again, "universal propositions of whose -truth and falsehood we have certain knowledge concern not existence;" -while, on the other hand, "particular affirmations are only concerning -existence, declaring only the _accidental_ union or separation of ideas -in things existing." This particular knowledge, it must be recalled, -is, in turn, only sensitive, and thus extends not beyond the time when -the sensation is had. - -We are not surprised then at learning from Locke that regarding bodies -"we are not capable of scientific knowledge." "Natural philosophy is -not capable of being made a science;" or, as Locke elsewhere states it, -knowledge regarding the nominal essence is "trifling" (Kant's analytic -judgment); regarding the real essence is impossible. For example, -when we say that all gold is fusible, this means either simply that -fusibility is one of the ideas which we combine to get the general -idea of gold, so that in making the given judgment we only expand -our own notion; or it means that the "real" substance gold is always -fusible. But this is a statement we have no right to make, and for two -reasons: we do not know what the real substance gold is; and even if we -did, we should not know that fusibility _always_ co-exists with it. The -summary of the whole matter is that "general certainty is to be found -only in our ideas. Whenever we go to seek it elsewhere, in experiment -or observations without us, our knowledge goes not beyond particulars." - -It has been necessary to give an account of Locke's views at this -length because it is in his discussion of the limitations and extent -of knowledge that his theory culminates. While not working out his -sensationalism as consistently as did Hume, he yet reduces knowledge -to that of the existence of God and ourselves (whose natures, however, -are unknown), and to a knowledge of mathematical and moral relations, -which, however, concerns only "the habitudes and relations of abstract -ideas." We have now to see by what means Leibniz finds a wider sphere -for certain and general knowledge by his theory of intellectualism than -Locke can by his sensationalism. - -Leibniz's theory of knowledge rests upon a distinction between truths -of fact, which are _a posteriori_ and contingent, and truths of -reason, which are _a priori_ and necessary. In discussing his views -regarding experience, we learned that, according to him, all judgments -which are empirical are also particular, not allowing any inference -beyond the given cases experienced. Experience gives only instances, -not principles. If we postpone for the present the discussions of -truths of reason, by admitting that they may properly be said to be -at once certain and universal, the question arises how in matters -of fact there can be any knowledge beyond that which Locke admits; -and the answer is, that so far as the mere existence and occurrence -of these facts is concerned, there is neither demonstrative nor -general knowledge. But the intelligence of man does not stop with the -isolated fact; it proceeds to inquire into its cause, to ascertain -its conditions, and thus to see into, not merely its actual existence, -but its _possibility_. In Leibniz's language: "The real existence of -things that are not necessary is a point of fact or history; but the -knowledge of possibilities or necessities (the necessary being that -whose opposite is not possible) constitutes demonstrative science." In -other words, it is the principle of causality, which makes us see a -fact not as a mere fact, but as a dependent consequence; which elevates -knowledge, otherwise contingent and particular, into the realm of the -universal and apodictic. Underlying all "accidental union" is the real -synthesis of causation. - -If we follow the discussion as it centres about the terms "nominal" -and "real," it stands as follows: Leibniz objects to the use of the -term "essence" in this connection, but is willing to accept that of -"definition;" for, as he says, a substance can have but one essence, -while there may be several definitions, which, however, all express -the same essence. The essence is the _possibility_ of that which is -under consideration; the definition is the statement of that which is -supposed to be possible. The "nominal" definition, however, while it -implies this possibility, does not expressly affirm it,--that is to -say, it may always be doubted whether the nominal definition has any -possibility (or reality) corresponding to it until experience comes -to our aid and makes us know it _a posteriori_. A "real" definition, -on the other hand, makes us know _a priori_ the reality of the thing -defined by showing us the mode of its production, "by exhibiting its -cause or generation." Even our knowledge of facts of experience cannot -be said, therefore, to be arbitrary, for we do not combine ideas just -as we please, but "our combinations may be justified by reason which -shows them to be possible, or by experience which shows them to be -actual, and consequently also possible." To take Locke's example about -gold, "the essence of gold is that which constitutes it and gives it -its sensible qualities, and these qualities, so far as they enable -us to recognize it, constitute its nominal essence, while a real -and causal definition would enable us to explain the contexture or -internal disposition. The nominal definition, however, is also real in -one sense,--not in itself, indeed, since it does not enable us to know -_a priori_ the possibility or production of the body, but empirically -real." - -It is evident from these quotations that what Leibniz understands -by "possibility" is the condition or cause of a given fact; and -that, while Locke distinguishes between particular, accidental and -demonstrative, general knowledge as two opposed kinds, concerned with -two distinct and mutually exclusive spheres, with Leibniz they are -distinctions in the aspect of the same sphere of fact. In reality there -is no combination of qualities accidental, as Locke thought that by -far the greater part were; in every empirical fact there is a cause or -condition involved that is invariable, and that constitutes the reason -of the fact. The "accidental" is only in the relation of our ideas -to objects, not in the objects themselves. There may be accidental -mental associations; there are no accidental relations. In empirical, -or _a posteriori_, knowledge, so-called, the reason is there, but -is not known. _A priori_ knowledge, the real definition, discovers -and explicitly states this reason. Contingent knowledge is therefore -potentially rational; demonstrative knowledge is the actual development -of the reasons implicitly contained in experience. - -We may with advantage connect this discussion with the fundamental -doctrine of Locke and Leibniz regarding intelligence and reality. To -Locke, as we have seen, knowledge is essentially a matter of relations -or connections; but relations are "superinduced" and "extraneous" as -regards the facts. Every act of knowledge constitutes, therefore, in -some way a departure from the reality to be known. Knowledge and fact -are, by their very definition, opposed to one another. But in Leibniz's -view intelligence, or reason, enters into the constitution of reality; -indeed, it is reality. The relations which are the "creatures of the -understanding" are, therefore, not foreign to the material to be known, -but are organic to it, forming its content. The process, then, in which -the mind perceives the connections or relations of ideas or objects, -is simply the process by which the mind comes to the consciousness -of the real nature of these objects, not a process of "superinducing" -unreal ideas upon them. The difficulty of Locke is the difficulty of -every theory of knowledge that does not admit an organic unity of the -knowing mind and the known universe. The theory is obliged to admit -that all knowledge is in the form of relations which have their source -in intelligence. But being tied to the view that reality is distinct -from intelligence, it is obliged to draw the conclusion that these -relations are not to be found in actual existence, and hence that all -knowledge, whatever else it may be, is unreal in the sense that it does -not and cannot conform to actual fact. But, in the theory of Leibniz, -the process of relating which is the essence of knowledge is only the -realization on the part of the individual mind of the relations or -reasons that eternally constitute reality. Since reality is, and is -what it is, through intelligence, whatever relations intelligence -rightly perceives are not "extraneous" to reality, but are its -"essence." As Leibniz says, "Truth consists in the relations between -the objects of our ideas. This does not depend upon language, but is -common to us with God, so that when God manifests a truth to us, _we -acquire what is already in his understanding_. For although there is an -infinite difference between his ideas and ours as to their perfection -and extent, yet it is always true that as to the same relation they are -identical. And it is in this relation that truth exists." To this may -be added another statement, which throws still further light on this -point: "Ideas are eternally in God, and are in us before we perceive -them." - -We have now to consider somewhat more in detail the means by -which the transformation of empirical into rational knowledge -is carried on. Leibniz points out that the difficulty concerning -scientific knowledge of sensible facts is not lack of data, but, -in a certain sense, superfluity of data. It is not that we perceive -no connections among objects, but that we perceive many which we -cannot reduce to one another. "Our experiences," says Leibniz, -"are simple only in appearance, for they are always accompanied by -circumstances connected with them, although these relations are not -understood by us. These circumstances furnish material capable of -explanation and analysis. There is thus a sort of _pleonasm_ in our -perceptions of sensible objects and qualities, since we have more -than one idea of the same object. Gold can be nominally defined in -many ways. Such definitions are only _provisional_." This is to say, -empirical knowledge will become rational when it is possible to view -any subject-matter as a unity, instead of a multiplicity of varied -aspects. And on this same subject he says, in another connection: "A -great number of experiences can furnish us data more than sufficient -for scientific knowledge, provided only we have the art of using these -data." The aim of science is therefore, to discover the dynamic unity -which makes a whole of what appears to be a mere mass of accidentally -connected circumstances. This unity of relations is the individual. - -It is thus evident that to Leibniz the individual is not the -beginning of knowledge, but its goal. The individual is the organic, -the dynamic unity of the variety of phases or notions presented -us in sense-experience. Individuality is not "simplicity" in -the sense of Locke; that is, separation from all relations. It -is complete connection of all relations. "It is impossible for -us to have [complete] knowledge of individuals, and to find the -means of determining exactly the individuality of anything; for -in individuality all circumstances are combined. Individuality -envelops the infinite. Only so far as we know the infinite do we -know the individual, on account of the influence (if this word be -correctly understood) that all things in the universe exercise upon -one another." Leibniz, in short, remains true to his conception of the -monad as the ultimate reality; for the monad, though an individual, -yet has the universe as its content. We shall be able, therefore, to -render our sensible experiences rational just in the degree in which we -can discover the underlying relations and dependencies which make them -members of one individual. - -For the process of transformation Leibniz relies especially upon two -methods,--those of mathematics and of classification. Of the former -he here says but little; but the entire progress of physical science -since the time of Leibniz has been the justification of that little. In -the passage already quoted regarding the need of method for using our -sensible data, he goes on to say that the "infinitesimal analysis has -given us the means of allying physics and geometry, and that dynamics -has furnished us with the key to the general laws of nature." It is -certainly competent testimony to the truth of Leibniz's fundamental -principles that he foresaw also the course which the development -of biological science would take. No classification based upon -resemblances, says Leibniz in effect, can be regarded as wholly -arbitrary, since resemblances are found in nature also. The only -question is whether our classification is based upon superficial or -fundamental identities; the superficial resemblances being such as are -external, or the effects of some common cause, while the fundamental -resemblances are such as are the cause of whatever other similarities -are found. "It can be said that whatever we compare or distinguish with -truth, nature differentiates, or makes agree, also; but that nature has -differences and identities which are better than ours, which we do not -know. . . . _The more we discover the generation of species_, -and the more we follow in our classifications the conditions that -are required for their production, the nearer we approach the natural -order." Our classifications, then, so far as they depend upon what is -conditioned, are imperfect and provisional, although they cannot be -said to be false (since "while nature may give us those more complete -and convenient, it will not give the lie to those we have already"); -while so far as they rest upon what is causal and conditioning, they -are true, general, and necessary. In thus insisting that classification -should be genetic, Leibniz anticipated the great service which the -theory of evolution has done for biological science in enabling science -to form classes which are "natural;" that is, based on identity of -origin. - -Leibniz culminates his discussion of classification as a method of -translating the empirical into the rational, by pointing out that -it rests upon the law of continuity; and that this law contains two -factors,--one equivalent to the axiom of the Realists, that nature -is nowhere empty; the other, to that of the Nominalists, that nature -does nothing uselessly. "One of these principles seems to make nature -a prodigal, the other a miser; and yet both are true if properly -understood," says Leibniz. "Nature is like a good manager, sparing -where it is necessary, in order to be magnificent. It is magnificent -in its effects, and economical in the causes used to produce them." In -other words, classification becomes science when it presents us with -both unity and difference. The principle of unity is that of nature -as a miser and economical; that of differentiation is the principle of -nature as prodigal and magnificent. The thoroughly differentiated unity -is nature as self-specifying, or as an organic, not an abstract, unity. - -The gist of the whole matter is, then, that experience presents us -with an infinity of ideas, which may appear at first sight arbitrary -and accidental in their connections. This appearance, however, is -not the fact. These ideas are the effects of certain causes; and in -ascertaining these conditions, we reduce the apparently unrelated -variety of experiences to underlying unities, and these unities, -like all real unities or simple beings, are spiritual and rational in -nature. Leibniz's ordinary way of stating this is that the principle -of truths of fact is that of _sufficient reason_. This principle -Leibniz always treats as distinguished from that of identity (and -contradiction) as the ruling category of truths of reason. And we shall -follow him in discussing the two together. - -"Our reasonings are based on two leading principles,--that of -contradiction, in virtue of which we judge false all which contains -contradiction, and true that which is opposed or contradictory to that -which is false; and that of sufficient reason, in virtue of which we -judge that no fact is true or actual, no proposition veritable, unless -there is a sufficient reason why it is as it is, and not otherwise, -although these reasons are generally unknown to us. Thus there are -two sorts of truths,--those of reason, and those of fact. The truths -of reason are necessary, and their opposites impossible; while those -of fact are contingent, and their opposites possible. When a truth -is necessary, its reason can be discovered by analysis, resolving -it into ideas and truths that are simpler, until the primitive -truths are arrived at. It is thus that the mathematicians proceed in -reducing by analysis the theorems of speculation and the canons of -practice into definitions, axioms, and postulates. Thus they come to -simple ideas whose definition cannot be given; primitive truths that -cannot be proved, and which do not need it, since they are identical -propositions, whose opposite contains a manifest contradiction." - -"But in contingent truths--those of fact--the sufficient reason must -be found; namely, in the succession of things which fill the created -universe,--for otherwise the analysis into particular reasons would -go into detail without limit, by reason of the immense variety of -natural things, and of the infinite divisibility of bodies. There -are an infinity of figures and of past and present movements which -enter into the efficient cause of my present writing, and there are -an infinity of minute inclinations and dispositions of my soul which -enter into its final cause. And since all this detail contains only -other contingent and particular antecedents, each of which has need -of a similar analysis to account for it, we really make no progress by -this analysis; and it is necessary that the final or sufficient reason -be outside the endless succession or series of contingent particulars, -that it consist in a necessary being, in which this series of changes -is contained only _eminenter_, as in its source. This necessary being -and source is what we call God." - -In other words, the tracing of empirical facts to their causes and -conditions does not, after all, render them wholly rational. The series -of causes is endless. Every condition is in turn conditioned. We -are not so much solving the problem of the reason of a given fact, -as we are stating the problem in other terms as we go on in this -series. Every solution offers itself again as a problem, and this -endlessly. If these truths of fact, then, are to be rendered wholly -rational, it must be in something which lies outside of the series -considered as a series; that is, something which is not an antecedent -of any one of the series, but is equally related to each and to -all as their ground and source. This, considered as an argument -for the existence of God, we shall deal with hereafter; now we are -concerned only with its bearing upon the relation of experience to -the universality and necessity of knowledge. According to this, the -ultimate meaning of facts is found in their relation to the divine -intelligence; for Leibniz is emphatic in insisting that the relation -of God to experience is not one of bare will to creatures produced by -this will (as Descartes had supposed), but of a will governed wholly -by Intelligence. As Leibniz states it in another connection, not only -matters of fact, but mathematical truths, have the same final basis in -the divine understanding. - -"Such truths, strictly speaking, are only conditional, and say that -in case their subject existed they would be found such and such. But -if it is again asked in what consists this conditional connection -in which there is necessary reality, the reply is that it is in -the relation of ideas. And by the further question, Where would -be the ideas if no spirit existed; and what would then become of -the foundation of the certainty of such truths?--we are brought to -the final foundation of truths; namely, that supreme and universal -spirit, which must exist, and whose understanding is, in reality, the -region of the eternal truths. And in order that it may not be thought -that it is not necessary to have recourse to this region, we must -consider that these necessary truths contain the determining reason and -regulative principle of existence, and, in a word, of the laws of the -universe. Thus these necessary truths, being anterior to the existences -of contingent beings, must in turn be based upon the existence of a -necessary substance." - -It is because facts are not _mere_ facts, in short, but are the -manifestation of a "determining reason and regulative principle" which -finds its home in universal intelligence, that knowledge of them can -become necessary and general. - -The general nature of truths of reason and of their ruling principle, -identity and contradiction, has already been given in the quotation -regarding the principle of sufficient reason. It is Leibniz's -contention that only in truths whose opposite is seen to involve -self-contradiction can we have absolute certainty, and that it is -through connection with such eternal truths that the certainty of -our other knowledge rests. It is thus evident why Leibniz insists, as -against Locke, upon the great importance of axioms and maxims. They are -important, not merely in themselves, but as the sole and indispensable -bases of scientific truth regarding all matters. Leibniz at times, -it is true, speaks as if demonstrative and contingent truths were -of themselves, in principle, distinct, and even opposed. But he also -corrects himself by showing that contingency is rather a subjective -limitation than an objective quality. We, indeed, do not see that the -truth "I exist," for example, is necessary, because we cannot see how -its opposite involves contradiction. But "God sees how the two terms -'I' and 'exist' are connected; that is, _why_ I exist." So far as we -can see facts, then, from the standpoint of the divine intelligence, -so far, it would appear, our knowledge is necessary. - -Since these axioms, maxims, or first truths are "innate," we are -in a condition to complete (for the first time) the discussion -of innate ideas. These ideas constitute, as we have learned, the -essential content of the divine intelligence, and of ours so far -as we have realized our identity with God's understanding. The -highest form of knowledge, therefore, is self-consciousness. This -bears the same relation to necessary truths that the latter bear to -experience. "Knowledge of necessary and eternal truths," says Leibniz, -"distinguishes us from simple animals, and makes us have reason and -science, _elevating us to the knowledge of ourselves_. We are thus -developed to self-consciousness; and in being conscious of ourselves we -are conscious of being, of substance, of the simple, of the spiritual, -of God." And again he says that "those that know necessary truths are -rational spirits, capable of self-consciousness, of recognizing what is -termed Ego, substance, and monad. _Thus_ they are rendered capable of -demonstrative knowledge." "We are innate to ourselves; and since we are -beings, being is innate to us, for knowledge of it is implicit in that -which we have of ourselves." - -Knowledge, in fine, may be regarded as an ascending series of four -terms. The first is constituted by sensations associated together -in such a way that a relation of antecedence and consequence exists -between them. This is "experience." The second stage comes into -existence when we connect these experiences, not by mere relations of -"consecution," but by their conditions, by the principle of causality, -and especially by that of sufficient reason, which connects them with -the supreme intelligence, God. This stage is science. The third is -knowledge of the axioms and necessary truths in and of themselves, -not merely as involved in science. The fourth is self-consciousness, -the knowledge of intelligence, in its intimate and universal nature, -by which we know God, the mind, and all real substance. In the order of -time the stage of experience is first, and that of self-consciousness -last. But in the lowest stage there are involved the others. The -progress of knowledge consists in the development or unfolding of -this implicit content, till intelligence, spirit, activity, is clearly -revealed as the source and condition of all. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE THEOLOGY OF LEIBNIZ. - - -One of the chapters concerning knowledge is entitled, "The Knowledge -that we have of God." This introduces us to the theology of Leibniz -and indirectly to the completion of those ethical doctrines already -outlined in the chapter on will. Leibniz employs three arguments to -prove the existence of God: that of God as the sufficient reason of the -world (substantially the cosmological proof); of God as the source of -the pre-established harmony (an extension of the teleological proof); -and the ontological. The latter he accepts as it came from the hands -of Descartes, but insists that it requires an added argument before it -ranks as anything more than presumptive proof. The Anselmic-Cartesian -argument, as stated by Leibniz, is as follows: "God is defined as -the greatest, or most perfect, of beings, or as a being of supreme -grandeur and perfection. But in the notion of a perfect being, -existence must be included, since it is something more to exist than -not to exist. Or existence is a perfection, and hence must belong to -the most perfect being; otherwise some perfection would be lacking, -which is contrary to the definition." Or as Descartes sometimes puts -it, in the notion of anything like a tree, a mountain, a triangle, -contingency is contained. We may conceive such an object to exist or -not, as we like. There is no necessity involved in our thought. But we -cannot think of a perfect being except as existing. It does not rest -with the decision of our thinking whether or not to include existence -in this notion. We must necessarily think existence as soon as we think -such a being. - -Leibniz takes a middle position, he says, between those who -consider this a demonstrative argument, and those who regard it -as a mere paralogism. It is pre-supposed by this argument that the -notion of a Supreme Being is possible, or that it does not involve -contradiction. This pre-supposition is to be proved. First, it is -well to simplify the argument itself. The Cartesian definition may -be reduced to this: "God is a being in whom existence and essence are -one. From this definition it follows as a corollary that such a being, -if possible, exists. For the essence of a thing being just that which -constitutes its possibility, it is evident that to exist by its essence -is the same as to exist by its possibility. Being in itself, then, -or God, may be most simply defined as the Being who must exist if he -is possible." - -There are two ways of proving this last clause (namely, that he -is possible) the direct and the indirect. The indirect is employed -against those who assert that from mere notions, ideas, definitions or -possible essences, it is not possible to infer actual existence. Such -persons simply deny the possibility of being in itself. But if -being-in-itself, or absolute being, is impossible, being-by-another, -or relative, is also impossible; for there is no "other" upon which -it may depend. Nothing, in this case, could exist. Or if necessary -being is not possible, there is no being possible. Put in another way, -God is as necessary for possibility as for actual existence. If there -is possibility of anything, there is God. This leads up to the direct -proof; for it follows that, if there be a possibility of God,--the -Being in whom existence and essence are one,--he exists. "God alone -has such a position that existence is necessary, if possible. But -since there can be nothing opposed to the possibility of a being -without limit,--a being therefore without negations and without -contradiction,--this is sufficient to prove _a priori_ the existence -of God." In short, God being pure affirmation, pure self-identity, -the idea of his Being cannot include contradiction, and hence is -possible,--and since possible, necessary. Of this conception of God as -the purely self-identical, without negation, we shall have something to -say in the next chapter. - -The cosmological proof is, as we have already seen, that every cause in -the world being at the same time an effect, it cannot be the sufficient -reason of anything. The whole series is contingent, and requires a -ground not prior to, but beyond, the series. The only _sufficient_ -reason of anything is that which is also the sufficient reason of -itself,--absolute being. The teleological argument Leibniz invariably, -I believe, presents in connection with the idea of pre-established -harmony. "If the substances of experience," runs the argument, -"had not received their being, both active and passive, from one -universal supreme cause, they would be independent of one another, -and hence would not exhibit that order, harmony, and beauty which -we notice in nature. This argument possesses only moral certainty -which becomes demonstrative by the new kind of harmony which I have -introduced,--pre-established harmony. Since each substance expresses in -its own way that which occurs beyond it, and can have no influence on -other particular beings, it is necessary that each substance, before -developing these phenomena from the depth of its own being, must have -received this nature (this internal ground of external phenomena) from -a universal cause from whom all beings depend, and which effects that -one be perfectly in accord with and corresponding to every other. This -cannot occur except through a being of infinite knowledge and power." - -Having determined the existence of God, Leibniz states his -attributes. These may be reduced to three. He is perfect in power, in -wisdom, and in goodness. "Perfection is nothing other than the whole of -positive reality separated from the limits and bounds of things. Where -there are no limits, as in God, perfection is absolutely infinite." "In -God exists _power_, which is the source of all _knowledge_,--which -comprehends the realm of ideas, down to its minutest detail,--and -_will_, which directs all creations and changes according to the -principle of the best." Or as he expands it at another time: "The -supreme cause must be intelligent, for the existing world being -contingent, and an infinity of other worlds being equally possible, -it is necessary that the cause of the world take into consideration -all these possible worlds in order to decide upon one. Now this -relation of a substance to simple ideas must be the relation of -understanding to its ideas, while deciding upon one is the act of will -in choosing. Finally it is the power of this substance which executes -the volition. Power has its end in being; wisdom, or understanding, -in truth; and will in good. Thus the cause must be absolutely perfect -in power, wisdom, and goodness. His understanding is the source of -essences, and his will the origin of existences." - -This brings us to the relation of God to the world, or to an -account of the creating activity of God. This may be considered to -be metaphysically, logically, or morally necessary. To say that it is -metaphysically necessary is to say that it is the result of the divine -essence, that it would imply a contradiction of the very being of God -for the world not to be and not to be as it is. In short, the world -becomes a mere emanation of power, since, as we have just learned, -power and being are correlative. But this leaves out of account the -divine understanding. Not all possible worlds emanate from God's -being, but there is recognition of them and of their relations to one -another. Were the world to proceed from the divine understanding alone, -however, it would be logically necessary,--that is, it would bear -the same relation to his understanding that necessary truths do. Its -opposite would imply contradiction, not indeed of the being of God, -but of his understanding. But the will of God plays the all-important -part of choosing among the alternative worlds presented by reason, -each of which is _logically_ possible. One of these worlds, although -standing on the same intellectual plane as the others, is _morally_ -better,--that is, it involves greater happiness and perfection to the -creatures constituting it. God is guided then by the idea of the better -(and this is the best possible) world. His will is not arbitrary in -creating: it does not work by a _fiat_ of brute power. But neither -is it fatalistic: it does not work by compulsory necessity. It is -both free and necessary; free, for it is guided by naught excepting -God's own recognition of an end; necessary, for God, being God, cannot -_morally_ act otherwise than by the principle of the better,--and this -in contingent matters is the best. Hence the optimism of Leibniz, to -which here no further allusion can be made. - -Since the best is precisely God himself, it is evident that the created -world will have, _as far as possible_, his perfections. It would thus -be possible to deduce from this conception of God and his relation to -the world all those characteristics of the Leibnizian monadology which -we formerly arrived at analytically. God is individual, but with an -infinite comprehensiveness. Each substance repeats these properties -of the supreme substance. There is an infinity of such substances, in -order that the world may as perfectly as possible mirror the infinity -of God. Each, so far as in it lies, reflects the activity of God; -for activity is the very essence of perfection. And thus we might go -through with the entire list of the properties of the monad. - -To complete the present discussion, however, it is enough to notice -that intelligence and will must be found in every creature, and -that thus we account for the "appetition" and the "perception" that -characterize even the lowest monad. The scale of monads, however, -would not be as complete as possible unless there were beings in -whom appetition became volition, and perception, self-conscious -intelligence. Such monads will stand in quite other relation to God -than the blind impulse-governed substances. "Spirits," says Leibniz, -"are capable of entering into community with God, and God is related -to them not only as an inventor to his machine (as he is to other -creatures) but as a prince to his subjects, or, better, as a father -to his children. This society of spirits constitutes the city of -God,--the most perfect state under the most perfect monarch. This city -of God, this truly cosmopolitan monarchy, is a moral world within -the natural. Among all the works of God it is the most sublime and -divine. In it consists the true glory of God, for there would be no -glory of God unless his greatness and goodness were known and admired -by spirits; and in his relation to this society, God for the first -time reveals his goodness, while he manifests everywhere his power and -wisdom. And as previously we demonstrated a perfect harmony between -the two realms of nature,--those of efficient and final causes,--so -must we here declare harmony between the physical realm of nature and -the moral realm of grace,--that is, between God as the architect of -the mechanical world-structure, and God as the monarch of the world -of spirits." God fulfils his creation, in other words, in a realm -of spirits, and fulfils it because here there are beings who do not -merely reflect him but who enter into relations of companionship with -him, forming a community. This community of spirits with one another -and with God is the moral world, and we are thus brought again to the -ethics of Leibniz. - -It has been frequently pointed out that Leibniz was the first to give -ethics the form which it has since kept in German philosophy,--the -division into _Natur-recht_ and _Natur-moral_. These terms are -difficult to give in English, but the latter corresponds to what is -ordinarily called "moral philosophy," while the former is political -philosophy so far as that has an ethical bearing. Or the latter may be -said to treat of the moral ideal and of the moral motive and of duty in -themselves, while the former deals with the social, the public, and in -a certain sense the external, aspects of morality. - -Puffendorf undoubtedly suggested this division to Leibniz by -his classification of duties as external and internal,--the first -comprehending natural and civil law, the second moral theology. But -Puffendorf confined the former to purely external acts, excluding -motives and intentions, and the latter to divine revelation. Both are -"positive," and in some sort arbitrary,--one resting merely on the fact -that certain institutions obtain, the other on the fact that God has -made certain declarations. To Leibniz, on the other hand, the will of -God is in no sense the source of moral truths. The will of God does -not create truth, but carries into effect the eternal truths of the -divine understanding. Moral truths are like those of mathematics. And -again, there is no such thing as purely external morality: it always -contains an inner content, of which the external act is only the -manifestation. Leibniz may thus be said to have made two discoveries, -or rather re-discoveries: one, that there is a science of morals, -independent of law, custom, and positive right; the other, that the -basis of both "natural" and "positive" morals is not the mere will of -God, but is reason with its content of eternal truths. - -In morals the end is happiness, the means wisdom. Happiness is defined, -not as an occurrence, but as a condition, or state of being. "It is -the condition of permanent joy. This does not mean that the joy is -actually felt every moment, but that one is in the condition to enjoy -whenever he thinks of it, and that, in the interval, joyfulness arises -from his activity and being." Pleasure, however, is not a state, but -a feeling. It is the feeling of perfection, whether in ourselves or -in anything else. It does not follow that we perceive intellectually -either in what the perfection of the pleasant thing consists or in -what way it develops perfection within us. It is enough that it be -realized in feeling, so as to give us pleasure. Perfection is defined -"as increase of being. As sickness is, as it were, a lowering and a -falling off from health, so perfection is something which mounts above -health. It manifests itself in power to act; for all substance consists -in a certain power, and the greater the power the higher and freer the -substance. But power increases in the degree that the many manifests -itself from one and in one, while the one rules many from itself and -transforms them into self. But unity in plurality is nothing else than -harmony; and from this comes order or proportion, from which proceeds -beauty, and beauty awakens love. Thus it becomes evident how happiness, -pleasure, love, perfection, substance, power, freedom, harmony, -proportion, and beauty are bound up in one another." - -From this condensed sketch, taken from Leibniz himself, the main -features of his ethical doctrine clearly appear. When we were studying -freedom we saw that it was not so much a starting-point of the will -as its goal and ideal. We saw also that true freedom is dependent upon -knowledge, upon recognition of the eternal and universal. What we have -here is a statement of that doctrine in terms of feeling and of will -instead of knowledge. The end of man is stated to be happiness, but -the notion of happiness is developed in such a way that it is seen to -be equivalent to the Aristotelian notion of self-realization; "it is -development of substance, and substance is activity." It is the union -of one and the many; and the one, according to the invariable doctrine -of Leibniz, is the spiritual element, and the many is the real content -which gives meaning to this rational unity. Happiness thus means -perfection, and perfection a completely universalized individual. The -motive toward the moral life is elsewhere stated to be love; and love -is defined as interest in perfection, and hence culminates in love -of God, the only absolute perfection. It also has its source in God, -as the origin of perfection; so that Leibniz says, Whoso loves God, -loves all. - -Natural right, as distinguished from morals, is based upon the -notion of justice, this being the outward manifestation of wisdom, or -knowledge,--appreciation of the relation of actions to happiness. The -definitions given by Leibniz are as follows: Just and unjust are what -are useful or harmful to the public,--that is, to the community of -spirits. This community includes first God, then humanity, then the -state. These are so subordinated that, in cases of collision of duty, -God, the universe of relations, comes before the profit of humanity, -and this before the state. At another time Leibniz defines justice -as social virtue, and says that there are as many kinds of "right" -as there are kinds of natural communities in which happiness is an -end of action. A natural community is defined as one which rests -upon desire and the power of satisfying it, and includes three -varieties,--domestic, civil, and ecclesiastic. "Right" is defined -as that which sustains and develops any natural community. It is, in -other words, the will for happiness united with insight into what makes -happiness. - -Corresponding to the three forms of the social organism (as we should -now call the "natural community"), are the three kinds of _jus_,--_jus -strictum_, equity, and piety. Each of these has its corresponding -prescript. That of _jus strictum_ is to injure no one; of equity, -to render to each his own; and of piety, to make the ethical law the -law of conduct. _Jus strictum_ includes the right of war and peace. The -right of peace exists between individuals till one breaks it. The right -of war exists between men and things. The victory of person over thing -is _property_. Things thus come to possess the right of the person to -whom they belong as against every other person; that is, in the right -of the person to himself as against the attacks of another (the right -to peace) is included a right to his property. _Jus strictum_ is, -of course, in all cases, enforceable by civil law and the compulsory -force which accompanies it. Equity, however, reaches beyond this to -obligation in cases where there is no right of compulsion. Its law -is, Be of aid to all, but to each according to his merits and his -claims. Finally comes piety. The other two stages are limited. The -lowest is negative, it wards off harm; the second aims after happiness, -but only within the limits of earthly existence. That we should -ourselves bear misery, even the greatest, for the sake of others, -and should subject the whole of this existence to something higher, -cannot be proved excepting as we regard the society, or community, -of our spirits with God. Justice with relation to God comprehends all -virtues. Everything that is, is from God; and hence the law of all -conduct is to use everything according to its place in the idea of God, -according to its function in the universal harmony. It thus not only -complements the other two kinds of justice but is the source of their -inner ethical worth. "Strict justice" may conflict with equity. But God -effects that what is of use to the public well-being--that is, to the -universe and to humanity--shall be of use also to the individual. Thus -from the standpoint of God the moral is advantageous, and the immoral -hurtful. Kant's indebtedness to Leibniz will at once appear to one -initiated into the philosophy of the former. - -Leibniz never worked out either his ethics or his political philosophy -in detail; but it is evident that they both take their origin and -find their scope in the fact of man's relationship to God, that they -are both, in fact, accounts of the methods of realizing a universal -but not a merely formal harmony. For harmony is not, with Leibniz, -an external arrangement, but is the very soul of being. Perfect -harmony, or adaptation to the universe of relations, is the end of the -individual, and man is informed of his progress toward this end by an -inner sentiment of pleasure. - -It may be added that Leibniz's æsthetic theory, so far as developed, -rests upon the same basis as his ethical,--namely, upon membership -in the "city of God," or community of spiritual beings. This is -implied, indeed, in a passage already quoted, where he states the -close connection of beauty with harmony and perfection. The feeling -of beauty is the recognition in feeling of an order, proportion, and -harmony which are not yet intellectually descried. Leibniz illustrates -by music, the dance, and architecture. This feeling of the harmonious -also becomes an impulse to produce. As perception of beauty may be -regarded as unexplained, or confused, perception of truth, so creation -of beauty may be considered as undeveloped will. It is action on its -way to perfect freedom, for freedom is simply activity with explicit -recognition of harmony. - -We cannot do better than quote the conclusion of the matter from -Leibniz's "Principles of Nature and of Grace," although, in part, -it repeats what we have already learned. "There is something more -in the rational soul, or spirit, than there is in the monad or even -in the simple soul. Spirit is not only a mirror of the universe of -creatures, but is also an image of the divine being. Spirit not only -has a perception of the works of God, but is also capable of producing -something which resembles them, though on a small scale. To say nothing -of dreams, in which we invent without trouble and without volition -things upon which we must reflect a long time in order to discover in -our waking state,--to say nothing of this, our soul is architectonic in -voluntary actions; and, in discovering the sciences in accordance with -which God has regulated all things (_pondere_, _mensura_, _numero_), it -imitates in its department and in its own world of activity that which -God does in the macrocosm. This is the reason why spirits, entering -through reason and eternal truths into a kind of society with God, -are members of the city of God,--that is, of the most perfect state, -formed and governed by the best of monarchs, in which there is no crime -without punishment, and no good action without reward, and where there -is as much of virtue and of happiness as may possibly exist. And this -occurs not through a disturbance of nature, as if God's dealing with -souls were in violation of mechanical laws, but by the very order of -natural things, on account of the eternal, pre-established harmony -between the kingdoms of nature and grace, between God as monarch and -God as architect, since nature leads up to grace, and grace makes -nature perfect in making use of it." - -No better sentences could be found with which to conclude this analysis -of Leibniz. They resound not only with the grandeur and wide scope -characteristic of his thought, but they contain his essential idea, -his pre-eminent "note,"--that of the harmony of the natural and the -supernatural, the mechanical and the organic. The mechanical is to -Leibniz what the word signifies; it is the _instrumental_, and this -in the full meaning of the term. Nature is instrumental in that it -performs a function, realizes a purpose, and instrumental in the sense -that without it spirit, the organic, is an empty dream. The spiritual, -on the other hand, is the meaning, the _idea_ of nature. It perfects -it, in that it makes it instrumental to itself, and thus renders it not -the passive panorama of _mere_ material force, but the manifestation of -living spirit. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -CRITICISM AND CONCLUSION. - - -In the exposition now completed we have in general taken for granted -the truth and coherency of Leibniz's fundamental ideas, and have -contented ourselves with an account of the principles and notions that -flow from these ideas. The time has come for retracing our steps, and -for inquiring whether the assumed premises can be thus unquestioningly -adopted. This final chapter, therefore, we shall devote to criticism -of the basis of Leibniz's philosophy, not attempting to test it by -a comparison with other systems, but by inquiring into its internal -coherency, and by a brief account of the ways in which his successors, -or at least one of them, endeavored to make right the points in which -he appeared to fail. - -The fundamental contradiction in Leibniz is to be found, I believe, -between the method which he adopted--without inquiry into its validity -and scope--and the subject-matter, or perhaps better the attitude, -to which he attempted to apply this method; between, that is to -say, the scholastic formal logic on the one hand and the idea of -inter-relation derived from the development of scientific thought, -on the other. Leibniz never thought of investigating the formal logic -bequeathed by scholasticism, with a view to determining its adequacy -as philosophic method. He adopted, as we have seen, the principles -of identity and contradiction as sole principles of the only perfect -knowledge. The type of knowledge is that which can be reduced to -a series of identical propositions, whose opposite is seen to be -impossible, because self-contradictory. Only knowledge in this form -can be said to be demonstrative and necessary. As against Locke he -justified the syllogistic method of the schoolmen as the typical method -of all rational truth. - -On the other hand, Leibniz, as we saw in the earlier chapters, -had learned positively from the growth of science, negatively from -the failures of Descartes and Spinoza, to look upon the universe as -a unity of inter-related members,--as an organic unity, not a mere -self-identical oneness. Failing to see the cause of the failures of -Descartes and Spinoza in precisely their adoption of the logic of -identity and contradiction as ultimate, he attempted to reconcile this -method with the conception of organic activity. The result is constant -conflict between the method and content of his philosophy, between -its letter and its spirit. The contradiction is a twofold one. The -unity of the content of his philosophy, the conception of organism or -harmony, is a unity which essentially involves difference. The unity -of his method is a formal identity which excludes it. The unity, -whose discovery constitutes Leibniz's great glory as a philosopher, -is a unity of activity, a dynamic process. The unity of formal logic -is exclusive of any mediation or process, and is essentially rigid -and lifeless. The result is that Leibniz is constantly wavering -(in logical result, not of course in spirit) between two opposed -errors, one of which is, in reality, not different from Spinozism, -in that it regards all distinction as only phenomenal and unreal, -while the other is akin to atomism, in that attempting to avoid the -doctrine of the all-inclusive one, it does so only by supposing a -multitude of unrelated units, termed monads. And thus the harmony, -which in Leibniz's intention is the very content of reality, comes -to be, in effect, an external arrangement between the one and -the many, the unity and the distinction, in themselves incapable -of real relations. Such were the results of Leibniz's failure, in -Kantian language, to criticise his categories, in Hegelian language, -to develop a logic,--the results of his assuming, without examination, -the validity of formal logic as a method of truth. - -So thoroughly is Leibniz imbued with the belief in its validity, that -the very conception, that of sufficient reason, which should have been -the means of saving him from his contradictions, is used in such a way -as to plunge him deeper into them. The principle of sufficient reason -may indeed be used as purely formal and external,--as equivalent to the -notion that everything, no matter what, has _some_ explanation. Thus -employed, it simply declares that everything has _a_ reason, without in -the least determining the _what_ of that reason,--its content. This is -what we mean by calling it formal. But this is not the way in which -Leibniz conceives of it. According to him, it is not a principle -of the external connection of one finite, or phenomenal, fact with -another. It is a principle in the light of which the whole phenomenal -world is to be viewed, declaring that its ground and meaning are to be -found in reason, in self-conscious intelligence. As we have seen, it is -equivalent, in Leibniz's case, to the notion that we have no complete -nor necessary knowledge of the world of scientific fact until we have -referred it to a conditioning "Supreme Spirit." - -Looked at in this way, we see that the unity which Leibniz is -positively employing is an organic unity, a unity of intelligence -involving organic reference to the known world. But such a conception -of sufficient reason leaves no place for the final validity of -identity and non-contradiction; and therefore Leibniz, when dealing -with his method, and not, as in the passages referred to, with -his subject-matter, cannot leave the matter thus. To do so indeed -would have involved a complete reconstruction of his philosophy, -necessitating a derivation of all the categories employed from -intelligence itself (that is, from the sufficient or conditioning -reason). But the bondage to scholastic method is so great that Leibniz -can see no way but to measure intelligence by the ready-made principle -of identity, and thus virtually (though not in purpose) to explain -away the very principle of sufficient reason. In Leibniz's words: -"Contingent truths require an infinite analysis which only God -can carry out. Whence by him alone are they known _a priori_ and -demonstratively. For although the reason can always be found for some -occurring state in a prior state, this reason again requires a reason, -and we never arrive in the series to the ultimate reason. But this -_progressus ad infinitum_ takes (in us) the place of a sufficient -reason, which can be found only outside the series in God, on whom -all its members, prior and posterior depend, rather than upon one -another. _Whatever truth, therefore, is incapable of analysis, and -cannot be demonstrated from its own reasons, but has its ultimate -reason and certainty only from the divine mind, is not necessary._ -Everything that we call truths of fact come under this head, and this -is the root of their contingency." - -The sentences before the one italicized repeat what we have learned -before, and seem to convey the idea that the phenomenal world -is that which does not account for itself, because not itself a -self-determining reason, and which gets its ultimate explanation and -ground in a self-sufficient reason,--God. But notice the turn given to -the thought with the word "therefore." Therefore all truth incapable -of analysis,--that is, of reduction to identical propositions, -whose opposite is impossible because self-contradictory,--all truth -whose meaning depends upon not its bare identity, but upon its -relation to the very content of all intelligence, is not necessary, -but contingent. Leibniz here distinctly opposes identical truths as -necessary, to truth connected with reason as contingent. Synthetic -reference to the very structure of intelligence is thus made, -not the ground of truth, but a blot upon its completeness -and necessity. Perfect truth, it is implied in the argument, -is self-identical, known by mere analysis of itself, and needs -no reference to an organism of reason. The reference, therefore, -to a principle of sufficient reason is simply a concession to the -fragmentary and imperfect condition of all knowledge. Truth in itself -is self-identical; but appearing to us only confusedly, we employ -the idea of sufficient reason as a makeshift, by which we refer, in a -mass, all that we cannot thus reduce to identical propositions, to an -intelligence, or to a _Deus ex machina_ which can so reduce it. This is -the lame and impotent conclusion. - -Leibniz's fundamental meaning is, no doubt, a correct one. He means -that contingency of fact is not real, but apparent; that it exists -only because of our inability to penetrate the reason which would -enable us completely to account for the facts under consideration. He -_means_ that if we could understand, _sub specie aeternitatis_, -from the standpoint of universal intelligence, we should see every -fact as necessary, as resulting from an intrinsic reason. But so -thoroughly is he fettered by the scholastic method--that is, the -method of formal logic--that he can conceive of this immanent and -intrinsic reason which makes every fact a truth--that is, self-evident -in its necessity--only as an analytic, self-contained identity. And -herein lies his contradiction: his method obliges him to conceive of -ultimate intelligence as purely formal, simply as that which does not -contradict itself, while the attitude of his thought and its concrete -subject-matter compel him to think of intelligence as possessing a -content, as the organic unity of a system of relations. - -From this contradiction flow the other contradictions of Leibniz, which -we are now prepared to examine in more detail. For his ideas are so -much greater than his method that in almost every point there seems to -be contradiction. His ideas _per se_ mean one thing, and his ideas as -interpreted by his method another. Take his doctrine of individuality, -for instance. To some it has appeared that the great defect of the -Leibnizian philosophy is its individualism. Such conceive him simply -to have carried out in his monadism the doctrine of the individual -isolated from the universe to its logical conclusions, and thereby to -have rendered it absurd. In a certain sense, the charge is true. The -monad, according to the oft-repeated statement, has no intercourse -with the rest of the universe. It really excludes all else. It acts -as if nothing but itself and God were in existence. That is to say, -the monad, being the self-identical, must shut out all intrinsic or -real relations with other substances. Such relations would involve a -differentiating principle for which Leibniz's logic has no place. Each -monad is, therefore, an isolated universe. But such a result has no -value for Leibniz. He endeavors to correct it by the thought that each -monad _ideally_ includes the whole universe by mirroring it. And then -to reconcile the real exclusion and the ideal inclusion, he falls back -on a _Deus ex machina_ who arranges a harmony between them, foreign to -the intrinsic nature of each. Leibniz's individualism, it is claimed, -thus makes of his philosophy a synthesis, or rather a juxtaposition, -of mutually contradictory positions, each of which appears true only as -long as we do not attempt to think it together with the other. - -There is, no doubt, truth in this representation. But a more -significant way of stating the matter is, I think, that Leibniz's -defect is not in his individualism, but in the defect of his conception -of the individual. His individualism is more apparent than real. It is -a negative principle, and negative in the sense of _privative_. The -individuality of the monad is due to its incompleteness, to its -imperfections. It is really matter which makes monads mutually -impenetrable or exclusive; it is matter which distinguishes them -from God, and thus from one another. Without the material element -they would be lost in an undistinguished identity with God, the -supreme substance. But matter, it must be remembered, is passivity; -and since activity is reality, or substance, matter is unsubstantial -and unreal. The same results from a consideration of knowledge. Matter -is always correlative to confused ideas. With the clearing up of -knowledge, with making it rational, matter must disappear, so that -to God, who is wholly reason, it must entirely vanish. But this -view varies only in words from that of Spinoza, to whom it is the -imagination, as distinguished from the intellect, that is the source of -particular and finite objects. - -It is perhaps in his _Theodicée_, in the treatment of the problem of -evil, that his implicit Spinozism, or denial of individuality, comes -out most clearly. That evil is negative, or privative, and consists in -the finitude of the creature, is the result of the discussion. What is -this except to assert the unreality, the merely privative character, -of the finite, and to resolve all into God? To take one instance out -of many: he compares inertia to the original limitation of creatures, -and says that as inertia is the obstacle to the complete mobility -of bodies, so privation, or lack, constitutes the essence of the -imperfection, or evil, of creatures. His metaphor is of boats in -the current of a river, where the heavier one goes more slowly, -owing to inertia. The force of the current, which is the same to all, -and which is positive, suffering no diminution, is comparable to the -activity of God, which also is perfect and positive. As the current -is the positive source of all the movements of the bodies, and is in -no way responsible for the retardation of some boats, so God is the -source only of activities,--the perfections of his creatures. "As the -inertia of the boat is the cause of its slowness, so the limitations -of its receptivity are the cause of the defects found in the action -of creatures." Individuality is thus reduced to mere limitation; and -the unlimited, the real which includes all reality, is God. We are -thus placed in a double difficulty. This notion of an all-inclusive -one contradicts the reality of mutually exclusive monads; and we have -besides the characteristic difficulty of Spinoza,--how, on the basis -of this unlimited, self-identical substance, to account for even the -appearance of finitude, plurality and individuality. - -Leibniz's fundamental defect may thus be said to be that, while -he realized, as no one before him had done, the importance of -the conception of the _negative_, he was yet unable to grasp the -significance of the negative, was led to interpret it as merely -privative or defective, and thus, finally, to surrender the very -idea. Had not his method, his presupposition regarding analytic -identity, bound him so completely in its toils, his clear perception -that it was the negative element that differentiated God from the -universe, intelligence from matter, might have brought him to a -general anticipation not only of Kant, but of Hegel. But instead of -transforming his method by this conception of negation, he allowed -his assumed (_i. e._, dogmatic) method to evacuate his conception -of its significance. It was Hegel who was really sufficiently in -earnest with the idea to read it into the very notion of intelligence -as a constituent organic element, not as a mere outward and formal -limitation. - -We have already referred to the saying of Leibniz that the monad acts -as if nothing existed but God and itself. The same idea is sometimes -expressed by saying that God alone is the immediate or direct object -of the monad. Both expressions mean that, while the monad excludes -all other monads, such is not the case in its relation to God, but -that it has an organic relation with him. We cannot keep from asking -whether there is not another aspect of the contradiction here. How is -it possible for the monad so to escape from its isolation that it can -have communication with God more than with other substances? Or if -it can have communication with God, why cannot it equally bear real -relations of community with other monads? And the answer is found in -Leibniz's contradictory conceptions of God. Of these conceptions there -are at least three. When Leibniz is emphasizing his monadic theory, -with its aspects of individuality and exclusion, God is conceived as -the highest monad, as one in the series of monads, differing from the -others only in the degree of its activity. He is the "monad of monads"; -the most complete, active, and individualized of all. But it is evident -that in this sense there can be no more intercourse between God and a -monad than there is between one monad and another. Indeed, since God -is _purus actus_ without any passivity, it may be said that there is, -if possible, less communication in this case than in the others. He is, -as Leibniz says, what a monad without matter would be, "a deserter from -the general order." He is the acme of isolation. This, of course, is -the extreme development of the "individual" side of Leibniz's doctrine, -resulting in a most pronounced atomism. Leibniz seems dimly conscious -of this difficulty, and thus by the side of this notion of God he -puts another. According to it, God is the source of all monads. The -monads are not created by a choice of the best of all possible worlds, -as his official theology teaches, but are the radiations of his -divinity. Writing to Bayle, Leibniz expresses himself as follows: "The -nature of substance consists in an active force of definite character, -from which phenomena proceed in orderly succession. This force was -originally received by, and is indeed preserved to, every substance by -the creator of all things, from whom all _actual forces or perfections -emanate by a sort of continual creation_." And in his Monadology -he says: All "the created or derived monads are the productions of -God, and are born, as it were, _by the continual fulgurations of the -divinity from instant to instant_, bounded by the receptivity of the -creature to which it is essential to be limited." What has become of -the doctrine of monads (although the word is retained) it would be -difficult to say. There is certainly no individual distinction now -between the created monads and God, and it is impossible to see why -there should be individual distinctions between the various created -monads. They appear to be all alike, as modes of the one comprehensive -substance. Here we have the universal, or "identity," side of Leibniz's -philosophy pushed to its logical outcome,--the doctrine of pantheism. - -His third doctrine of God is really a unity of the two previous. It is -the doctrine that God is the harmony of the monads,--neither one among -them nor one made up of them, but their organic unity. This doctrine -is nowhere expressly stated in words (unless it be when he says that -"God alone constitutes the relation and community of substances"), -but it runs through his whole system. According to this, God _is_ -the pre-established harmony. This conception, like that of harmony, -may have either a mechanical interpretation (according to which God is -the artificial, external point of contact of intelligence and reality, -in themselves opposed) or an organic meaning, according to which God -_is_ the unity of intelligence and reality. On this interpretation -alone does the saying that God is the only immediate object of the -monads have sense. It simply states that the apparent dualism between -intelligence and its object which is found in the world is overcome -in God; that the distinction between them is not the ultimate fact, -but exists in and for the sake of a unity which transcends the -difference. According to this view, the opposition between ideal -inclusion and real exclusion vanishes. God _is_ the harmony of the real -and ideal, not a mere arrangement for bringing them to an understanding -with one another. Individuality and universality are no longer opposed -conceptions, needing a _tertium quid_ to relate them, but are organic -factors of reality, and this, at the same time, is intelligence. - -But admitting this conception as stating the implicit intention of -Leibniz, the relation of monads to one another is wholly different from -that which Leibniz gives. And to this point we now come. If in God, -the absolute, the real and the ideal are one, it is impossible that in -substances, which have their being and significance only in relation -to God, or this unity, the real and the ideal should be so wholly -separated as Leibniz conceives. - -Leibniz's conception relative to this is, as we have seen, that -there is no physical _influxus_, or _commercium_, of monads, but -ideal consensus. _Really_ each shuts out every other; _ideally_, -or representatively, it includes every other. His positive thought -in the matter is that a complete knowledge of any portion of the -universe would involve a perfect knowledge of the whole, so organic -is the structure of the universe. Each monad sums up the past history -of the world, and is big with its future. This is the conception of -inter-relation; the conception of all in one, and one as a member, -not a part of a whole. It is the conception which Leibniz brought -to birth, the conception of the thorough unity of the world. In this -notion there is no denial of community of relation; it is rather the -culmination of relation. There is no isolation. But according to his -presupposed logic, individuality can mean only identity excluding -distinction,--identity without intrinsic relation, and, as Leibniz -is bound at all hazards to save the notion of individuality, he is -obliged to think of this inter-relation as only ideal, as the result of -a predetermined tendency given at its creation to the self-identical -monad by God. But of course Leibniz does not escape the contradiction -between identity and distinction, between individuality and -universality, by this means. He only transfers it to another realm. In -the relation of the monad to God the diversity of its content, the real -or universal element, is harmonized with the identity of its law, its -ideal or individual factor. But if these elements do not conflict here, -why should they in the relation of the monads to one another? Either -there is already an immanent harmony between the individual and -universal, and no external arrangement is needed to bring it about, or -there is no such harmony, and therefore no relation possible between -God and the individual monad. One side of the Leibnizian philosophy -renders the other side impossible. - -Another consequence of Leibniz's treatment of the negative as -merely limitative is that he can find no distinction, excepting of -degree, between nature and spirit. Such a conception is undoubtedly -in advance of the Cartesian dualism, which regards them as opposed -realms _without_ any relation; but it may be questioned whether it is -as adequate a view as that which regards them as distinct realms _on -account_ of relation. At all events, it leads to confusion in Leibniz's -treatment of both material objects and self-conscious personalities. In -the former case his method of escape is a metaphor,--that objects -apparently material are full of souls, or spirits. This may mean that -the material is _merely_ material only when considered in implicit -abstraction from the intelligence which conditions it, that the -material, in truth, is constituted by some of the relations which -in their completeness make up intelligence. This at least bears a -consistent meaning. But it is not monadism; it is not the doctrine -that matter differs from spirit only in degree: it is the doctrine -that they differ in kind, as the conditioned from the conditioning. At -times, however, Leibniz attempts to carry out his monadism literally, -and the result is that he conceives matter as being itself endowed, -in some unexplained way, with souls, or since this implies a dualism -between matter and soul, of being made up, composed, of souls. But -as he is obliged to explain that this composition is not spatial, or -physical, but only ideal, this doctrine tends to resolve itself into -the former. And thus we end where we began,--with a metaphor. - -On the other hand there is a wavering treatment of the nature -of spirit. At times it is treated as precisely on a level in kind -with the monads that "compose" matter, differing only in the greater -degree of its activity. But at other times it is certainly represented -as standing on another plane. "The difference between those monads -which express the world with consciousness and those which express it -unintelligently is as great as the difference between a mirror and one -who sees." If Leibniz means what he seems to imply by these words, -it is plainly asserted that only the spiritual being is worthy of -being called a monad, or individual, at all, and that material being -is simply a dependent manifestation of spirit. Again he says: "Not all -entelechies are, like our soul, _images of God_,--being made as members -of a society or state of which he is chief,--but all are _images of -the universe_." In this distinction between self-conscious beings as -images of God and unconscious monads as images of the universe there -is again implied a difference of kind. That something is the image -of the universe need mean only that it cannot be explained without -its relations to the universe. To say that something is the image of -God, must mean that it is itself spiritual and self-conscious. God -alone is reason and activity. He alone has his reality in -himself. Self-conscious beings, since members of a community with him, -must participate in this reality in a way different in kind from those -things which, at most, are only substances or objects, not subjects. - -Nor do the difficulties cease here. If matter be conceived, not as -implied in the relations by which reason is realized in constituting -the universe, but as itself differing from reason only in degree, -it is impossible to account for its existence. Why should a less -degree of perfection exist than is necessary? Why should not the -perfect activity, God, complete the universe in himself? Leibniz's -answer that an infinity of monads multiplies his existence so far as -possible, may hold indeed of other spirits, who mirror him and live -in one divine society, but is utterly inapplicable to those which fail -to image him. Their existence, as material, is merely privative; it is -merely the absence of the activity found in conscious spirit. How can -this deprivation, this limitation, increase in any way the harmony and -perfection of the universe? Leibniz's theory of the negative, in fine, -compels him to put nature and spirit on the same level, as differing -only in degree. This, so far from giving nature a reality, results in -its being swallowed up in spirit, not as necessarily distinct from -it and yet one with it, but as absorbed in it, since the apparent -difference is only privative. Nor does the theory insure the reality -of spirit. This, since one in kind with matter, is swallowed up along -with it in the one substance, which is positive and self-identical,--in -effect, the _Deus sive Natura_ of Spinoza. - -We have to see that this contradiction on the side of existence has -its correlate on the side of knowledge, and our examination of this -fundamental deficiency in Leibniz is ended. Sensation is on the side -of intelligence what matter is on the side of reality. It is confused -knowledge, as matter is imperfect activity or reality. Knowledge is -perfect only when it is seen to be necessary, and by "necessary" is -meant that whose opposite is impossible, or involves contradiction. In -spite, therefore, of Leibniz's thorough conviction that "matters of -fact"--the subject-matter of physical science--are not arbitrary, he -is yet obliged finally to agree with Locke that there is no certainty -to be found in such knowledge, either as a whole or in any of its -details. The element of sensation, of confused knowledge, cannot be -eliminated. Hence it must always be open to any one to object that -it is only on account of this imperfect factor of our knowledge that -there appears to be a physical world at all, that the external world -is an illusion produced by our sensations. And Leibniz himself, -while claiming that the world of fact, as opposed to the realm of -relations, possesses _practical_ reality, is obliged to admit that -_metaphysically_ it may be only an orderly dream. The fact is that -Leibniz unconsciously moves in the same circle, with relation to -sensation and the material world, that confines Spinoza with regard -to imagination and particular multiple existences. Spinoza explains -the latter from that imperfection of our intelligence which leads us -to imagine rather than to think. But he accounts for the existence -of imagination, when he comes to treat that, as due to the plurality -of particular things. So Leibniz, when an account of the existence of -matter is demanded of him, refers to confused knowledge as its source, -while in turn he explains the latter, or sensation, from the material -element which sets bounds to the activity of spirit. Leibniz seems -indeed, to advance upon Spinoza in admitting the reality of the -negative factor in differentiating the purely self-identical, but -he gives up what he has thus gained by interpreting the negation as -passivity, or mere deprivation. - -To sum up, it may be doubted whether we have more to learn from -Leibniz's successes or from his failures. Leibniz's positive -significance for us is in his clear recognition of the problems of -modern philosophy, and in his perception of the isolated elements -of their solution. His negative significance is in his clinging to -a method which allowed him only to juxtapose these elements without -forming of them a true synthesis. There are a number of sides from -which we may state Leibniz's realization of the problem. Perhaps that -which distinguishes Leibniz most clearly from Locke is their respective -treatments of the relation of the physical to the spiritual, or, as -the question presented itself mainly to them, of the "natural" to the -"supernatural." To Locke the supernatural was strictly miraculous; -it was, from our standpoint, mere power, or will. It might indeed -be rational, but this reason was incapable of being apprehended by -us. Its distinction from the finite was so great that it could be -conceived only as something preceding and succeeding the finite in -time, and meanwhile as intercalating itself arbitrarily here and -there into the finite; as, for example, in the relation of soul and -body, in the production of sensation, etc. In a word, Locke thought -that the ends of philosophy, and with it of religion and morals, -could be attained only by a complete separation of the "natural" -and the "supernatural." Leibniz, on the other hand, conceived the -aim of philosophy to be the demonstration of their harmony. This is -evidenced by his treatment of the relations of the infinite and finite, -of matter and spirit, of mechanical and final causation. And he found -the sought-for harmony in the fact that the spiritual is the reason, -purpose, and function of the natural. The oft-quoted words of Lotze -express the thought of Leibniz: "The mechanical is unbounded in range, -but is subordinate in value." We cannot find some things that occur -physically, and others that occur supernaturally; everything that -occurs has its sufficient mechanical antecedents, but all that occurs -has its significance, its purpose, in something that does not occur, -but that eternally is--Reason. The mechanical and the spiritual are not -realms which here and there come into outward contact. They are related -as the conditioned and the conditioning. That, and not the idea of an -artificial _modus vivendi_, is the true meaning of the pre-established -harmony. - -In other words, Leibniz's great significance for us is the fact that, -although he accepted in good faith, and indeed as himself a master -in its methods, the results and principles of physical science, he -remained a teleological idealist of the type of Aristotle. But I have -not used the right words. It was not in spite of his acceptance of the -scientific view of the world that he retained his faith in the primacy -of purpose and reason. On the contrary, he was an idealist because of -his science, because only by the idea of an all-conditioning spiritual -activity could he account for and make valid scientific conceptions; -he was a teleologist, because natural processes, with their summing up -in the notion of causality, were meaningless except as manifesting an -immanent purpose. - -There are other more technical ways of stating the bearing of Leibniz's -work. We may say that he realized that the problem of philosophy -consisted in giving due value to the notions of individuality and -universality, of identity and difference, or of the real and the -ideal. In developing these ideas, however, we should only be repeating -what has already been said, and so we may leave the matter here. On -the negative side we need only recall what was said a few pages back -regarding the incompatibility of Leibniz's method--the scholastic -formal logic--with the content of his philosophy. The attempt to -find a formal criterion of truth was hopeless; it was worse than -fruitless, for it led to such an interpretation of concrete truths -as to deprive them of their significance and as to land Leibniz in -involved contradictions. - -To write a complete account of the influence of Leibniz's philosophy -would be too large a task for these pages. If we were to include under -this head all the ramifications of thought to which Leibniz stimulated, -directly and indirectly, either by stating truths which some one worked -out or by stating errors which incited some one to new points of view, -we should have to sketch German philosophy since his time,--and not -only the professional philosophy, but those wide aspects of thought -which were reflected in Herder, Lessing, and Goethe. It is enough to -consider him as the forerunner of Kant. It has become so customary to -represent Kant as working wholly on the problem which Hume presented, -that his great indebtedness to Leibniz is overlooked. Because Hume -aroused Kant from his dogmatic slumbers, it is supposed that Kant -threw off the entire influence of the Leibnizian thought as vain -dreams of his sleep. Such a representation is one-sided. It is truer -to state that Hume challenged Kant to discover the method by which he -could justify the results of Leibniz. In this process, the results, -no doubt, took on a new form: results are always relative to method; -but Kant never lost sight of the results. In the main, he accepted the -larger features of the Leibnizian conclusions, and, taught by Hume of -the insufficiency of the method that Leibniz followed, searched for a -method which should guarantee them. - -This aspect of Kant appears more fully in his lesser and somewhat -controversial writings than in his classic works: and this, no doubt, -is one reason that his indebtedness is so often overlooked. His close -relation to Leibniz appears most definitely in his _brochure_ entitled -"Concerning a Discovery which renders Unnecessary all Critique of Pure -Reason." A Wolffian, Eberhard by name, had "made the discovery" (to use -Kant's words) "that the Leibnizian philosophy contained a critique of -reason just as well as the modern, and accordingly contained everything -that is true in the latter, and much else in addition." In his reply -to this writing, Kant takes the position that those who claimed to be -Leibnizians simply repeated the words of Leibniz without penetrating -into his spirit, and that consequently they misrepresented him on -every important point. He, Kant, on the other hand, making no claim to -use the terminology of Leibniz, was his true continuator, since he had -only changed the doctrine of the latter so as to make it conform to the -true intent of Leibniz, by removing its self-contradictions. He closes: -"'The Critique of Pure Reason' may be regarded as the real apology for -Leibniz, even against his own professed followers." - -Kant, in particular, names three points in which he is the true -follower of Leibniz. The professed disciples of the latter insisted -that the law of sufficient reason was an objective law, a law of -nature. But, says Kant, it is so notorious, so self-evident, that -no one can make a new discovery through this principle, that Leibniz -can have meant it only as subjective. "For what does it mean to say -that over and above the principle of contradiction another principle -must be employed? It means this: that, according to the principle -of contradiction, only that can be known which is already contained -in the notion of the object; if anything more is to be known, it -must be sought through the use of a special principle, distinct from -that of contradiction. Since this last kind of knowledge is that of -synthetic principles, Leibniz means just this: besides the principle of -contradiction, or that of analytic judgments, there must be another, -that of sufficient reason, for synthetic judgments. He thus pointed -out, in a new and remarkable manner, that certain investigations -in metaphysics were still to be made." In other words, Kant, by his -distinction of analytic and synthetic judgments, with their respective -principles and spheres, carried out the idea of Leibniz regarding the -principles of contradiction and sufficient reason. - -The second point concerns the relation of monads to material -bodies. Eberhard, like the other professed Leibnizians, interpreted -Leibniz as saying that corporeal bodies, as composite, are -actually made up out of monads, as simple. Kant, on the other -hand, saw clearly that Leibniz was not thinking of a relation of -composition, but of condition. "He did not mean the material world, -but the substrate, the intellectual world which lies in the idea -of reason, and in which everything must be thought as consisting -of simple substances." Eberhard's process, he says, is to begin -with sense-phenomena, to find a simple element as a part of the -sense-perceptions, and then to present this simple element as if it -were spiritual and equivalent to the monad of Leibniz. Kant claims to -follow the thought of Leibniz in regarding the simple not as an element -_in_ the sensuous, but as something super-sensuous, the _ground_ of -the sensuous. Leibniz's mistake was that, not having worked out clearly -the respective limits of the principles of identity and of sufficient -reason, he supposed that we had a direct intellectual intuition of this -super-sensuous, when in reality it is unknowable. - -The third group of statements concerns the principle of pre-established -harmony. "Is it possible," asks Kant, "that Leibniz meant by this -doctrine to assert the mere coincidence of two substances wholly -independent of each other by nature, and incapable through their own -force of being brought into community?" And his answer is that what -Leibniz really implied was not a harmony between independent things, -but a harmony between modes of knowing, between sense on the one -hand and understanding on the other. The "Critique of Pure Reason" -carried the discussion farther by pointing out its grounds; namely, -that, without the unity of sense and understanding, no experience -would be possible. _Why_ there should be this harmony, _why_ we -should have experience, this question it is impossible to answer, -says Kant,--adding that Leibniz confessed as much when he called it a -"pre-established" harmony, thus not explaining it, but only referring -it to a highest cause. That Leibniz really means a harmony within -intelligence, not a harmony of things by themselves, is made more -clear, according to Kant, from the fact that it is applied also to -the relation between the kingdom of nature and of grace, of final -and of efficient causes. Here the harmony is clearly not between -two independently existing _external things_, but between what -flows from our notions of nature (_Naturbegriffe_) and of freedom -(_Freiheitsbegriffe_); that is, between two distinct powers and -principles _within us_,--an agreement which can be explained only -through the idea of an intelligent cause of the world. - -If we review these points in succession, the influence of Leibniz upon -Kant becomes more marked. As to the first one, it is well known that -Kant's philosophy is based upon, and revolves within, the distinction -of analytic and synthetic judgments; and this distinction Kant -clearly refers to the Leibnizian distinction between the principles -of contradiction and of sufficient reason, or of identity and -differentiation. It is not meant that Kant came to this thought through -the definitions of Leibniz; on the contrary, Kant himself refers it to -Hume's distinction between matters of fact and relations of ideas. But -when Kant had once generalized the thought of Hume, it fell at once, -as into ready prepared moulds, into the categories of Leibniz. He -never escapes from the Leibnizian distinction. In his working of it -out consists his greatness as the founder of modern thought; from his -acceptance of it as ultimate result his contradictions. That is to say, -Kant did not merely receive the vague idea of sufficient reason: he -so connected it with what he learned from Hume that he transformed it -into the idea of synthesis, and proceeded to work out the conception of -synthesis in the various notions of the understanding, or categories, -as applicable to the material of sense. What Leibniz bequeathed him was -the undefined idea that knowledge of matters of fact rests upon the -principle of sufficient reason. What Kant did with this inheritance -was to identify the wholly vague idea of sufficient reason with the -notion that every fact of experience rests upon necessary synthetic -connection,--that is, connection according to notions of understanding -with other facts,--and to determine, so far as he could, the various -forms of synthesis, or of sufficient reason. With Leibniz the principle -remained essentially infertile, because it was the mere notion of the -ultimate reference of experience to understanding. In the hands of -Kant, it became the instrument of revolutionizing philosophy, because -Kant showed the articulate members of understanding by which experience -is constituted, and described them in the act of constituting. - -So much for his working out of the thought. But on the other hand, -Kant never transcended the absoluteness of the distinction between -the principles of synthesis and analysis, of sufficient reason and -contradiction. The result was that he regarded the synthetic principle -as the principle only of our knowledge, while perfect knowledge he -still considered to follow the law of identity, of mere analysis. He -worked out the factor of negation, of differentiation, contained in -the notion of synthesis, but limited it to synthesis upon material -of sense, presupposing that there is another kind of knowledge, -not limited to sense, not depending upon the synthetic principle, but -resting upon the principle of contradiction, or analysis, and that this -kind is the type, the norm, of the only perfect knowledge. In other -words, while admitting the synthetic principle of differentiation -as a necessary element within _our_ knowledge, he held that on -account of this element our knowledge is limited to the phenomenal -realm. Leibniz's error was in supposing that the pure principles of -the logical understanding, resting on contradiction, could give _us_ -knowledge of the noumenal world; his truth was in supposing that -only by such principles _could_ they be known. Thus, in substance, -Kant. Like Leibniz, in short, he failed to transcend the absoluteness -of the value of the scholastic method; but he so worked out another -and synthetic method,--the _development_ of the idea of sufficient -reason,--that he made it necessary for his successors to transcend it. - -The second point concerns the relations of the sensuous and -the super-sensuous. Here, besides setting right the ordinary -misconception of Leibniz, Kant did nothing but render him consistent -with himself. Leibniz attempted to prove the existence of God, -as we have seen, by the principles both of sufficient reason and -contradiction. Kant denies the validity of the proof by either -method. God is the sufficient cause, or reason, of the contingent -sense world. But since Leibniz admits that this contingent world may, -after all, be but a dream, how shall we rise from it to the notion -of God? It is not our dreams that demonstrate to us the existence of -reality. Or, again, sense-knowledge is confused knowledge. How shall -this knowledge, by hypothesis imperfect, guarantee to us the existence -of a perfect being? On the other hand, since the synthetic principle, -or that of sufficient reason, _is_ necessary to give us knowledge of -matters of fact, the principle of contradiction, while it may give -us a consistent and even necessary notion of a supreme being, cannot -give this notion reality. Leibniz, while admitting, with regard to all -other matters of fact, that the principles of formal logic can give -no unconditional knowledge, yet supposes that, with regard to the one -unconditional reality, they are amply sufficient. Kant but renders him -self-consistent on this point. - -It is, however, with regard to the doctrine of pre-established harmony -that Kant's large measure of indebtedness to Leibniz is most apt to -be overlooked. Kant's claim that Leibniz himself meant the doctrine -in a subjective sense (that is, of a harmony between powers in our -own intelligence) rather than objective (or between things out of -relation to intelligence) seems, at first sight, to go far beyond the -mark. However, when we recall that to Leibniz the sense world is only -the confused side of rational thought, there is more truth in Kant's -saying than appears at this first sight. The harmony is between sense -and reason. But it may at least be said without qualification that -Kant only translated into subjective terms, terms of intelligence, -what appears in Leibniz as objective. This is not the place to go into -the details of Kant's conception of the relation of the material to -the psychical, of the body and the soul. We may state, however, in his -own words, that "the question is no longer as to the possibility of the -association of the soul with other known and foreign substances outside -it, but as to the connection of the presentations of inner sense with -the modifications of our external sensibility." It is a question, in -short, of the harmony of two modes of our own presentation, not of the -harmony of two independent things. And Kant not only thus deals with -the fact of harmony, but he admits, as its _possible_ source, just what -Leibniz claims to be its _actual_ source; namely, some one underlying -reality, which Leibniz calls the monad, but to which Kant gives no -name. "I can well suppose," says Kant, "that the substance to which -through external sense extension is attributed, is also the subject -of the presentations given to us by its inner sense: _thus that which -in one respect is called material being would be in another respect -thinking being_." - -Kant treats similarly the problem of the relations of physical and -final causes, of necessity and freedom. Here, as in the case just -mentioned, his main problem is to discover their _harmony_. His -solution, again, is in the union, in our intelligence, of the -understanding--as the source of the notions which "make nature"--with -the ideas of that reason which gives a "categorical imperative." The -cause of the possibility of this harmony between nature and freedom, -between the sense world and the rational, he finds in a being, God, -whose sole function in the Kantian philosophy may be said to be to -"pre-establish" it. I cannot believe that Kant, in postulating the -problems of philosophy as the harmony of sense and understanding, -of nature and freedom, and in finding this harmony where he did, -was not profoundly influenced, consciously as well as unconsciously, -by Leibniz. In fact, I do not think that we can understand the -nature either of Kant's immense contributions to modern thought or -of his inconsistencies, until we have traced them to their source -in the Leibnizian philosophy,--admitting, on the other hand, that we -cannot understand why Kant should have found necessary a new way of -approach to the results of Leibniz, until we recognize to the full -his indebtedness to Hume. It was, indeed, Hume that awoke him to his -endeavors, but it was Leibniz who set before him the goal of these -endeavors. That the goal should appear somewhat transformed, when -approached from a new point of view, was to be expected. But alas! the -challenge from Hume did not wholly awaken Kant. He still accepted -without question the validity of the scholastic method,--the analytic -principle of identity as the type of perfect knowledge,--although -denying its sufficiency for human intelligence. Leibniz suggested, and -suggested richly, the synthetic, the negative aspect of thought; Kant -worked it out as a necessary law of _our_ knowledge; it was left to his -successors to work it out as a factor in the law of _all_ knowledge. - -It would be a grievous blunder to suppose that this final chapter -annihilates the earlier ones; that the failure of Leibniz as to -method, though a failure in a fundamental point, cancelled his -splendid achievements. Such thoughts as that substance is activity; -that its process is measured by its end, its idea; that the universe -is an inter-related unit; the thoughts of organism, of continuity, -of uniformity of law,--introduced and treated as Leibniz treated -them,--are imperishable. They are members of the growing consciousness, -on the part of intelligence, of its own nature. There are but three or -four names in the history of thought which can be placed by the side of -Leibniz's in respect to the open largeness, the unexhausted fertility, -of such thoughts. But it is not enough for intelligence to have great -thoughts nor even true thoughts. It is testimony to the sincerity and -earnestness of intelligence that it cannot take even such thoughts as -those of Leibniz on trust. It must _know_ them; it must have a method -adequate to their demonstration. And in a broad sense, the work of -Kant and of his successors was the discovery of a method which should -justify the objective idealism of Leibniz, and which in its history has -more than fulfilled this task. - - - - - [ Transcriber's Note: - - The following is a list of corrections made to the original. - The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. - - By S. C Griggs and Company. - By S. C. Griggs and Company. - - passivity of any kind is a myth, as scholastic fiction. Sensation is - passivity of any kind is a myth, a scholastic fiction. Sensation is - - the vacuum is to serve as the background of the atoms. The atoms, are - the vacuum is to serve as the background of the atoms. The atoms are - - ] - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Leibniz's New Essays Concerning the -Human Understanding, by John Dewey - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 40957-8.txt or 40957-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/5/40957/ - -Produced by Jana Srna, Adrian Mastronardi and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Leibniz's New Essays Concerning the Human Understanding - A Critical Exposition - -Author: John Dewey - -Release Date: October 6, 2012 [EBook #40957] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS *** - - - - -Produced by Jana Srna, Adrian Mastronardi and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> @@ -10084,381 +10047,7 @@ atoms. The <span class="correction">atoms</span> are separated only in virtue of -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Leibniz's New Essays Concerning the -Human Understanding, by John Dewey - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 40957-h.htm or 40957-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/5/40957/ - -Produced by Jana Srna, Adrian Mastronardi and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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