{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26163/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26163","id":"gutenberg_26163","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26163","summary":null,"tags":["Bestsellers, American, 1895-1923","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Evolution","Life","Metaphysics","Nobel Prizes in Literature"],"text":"Produced by Rick Niles, Graeme Mackreth and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCREATIVE EVOLUTION\n\n\nBY HENRI BERGSON\n\nMEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE PROFESSOR AT THE COLLEGE DE FRANCE\n\n\nAUTHORIZED TRANSLATION BY ARTHUR MITCHELL, PH.D.\n\n\nNEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1911\n\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1911,\nby\n\nHENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n\n\nCAMELOT PRESS, 18-20 OAK STREET, NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nTRANSLATOR'S NOTE\n\n\nIn the writing of this English translation of Professor Bergson's most\nimportant work, I was helped by the friendly interest of Professor\nWilliam James, to whom I owe the illumination of much that was dark to\nme as well as the happy rendering of certain words and phrases for which\nan English equivalent was difficult to find. His sympathetic\nappreciation of Professor Bergson's thought is well known, and he has\nexpressed his admiration for it in one of the chapters of _A Pluralistic\nUniverse_. It was his intention, had he lived to see the completion of\nthis translation, himself to introduce it to English readers in a\nprefatory note.\n\nI wish to thank my friend, Dr. George Clarke Cox, for many valuable\nsuggestions.\n\nI have endeavored to follow the text as closely as possible, and at the\nsame time to preserve the living union of diction and thought. Professor\nBergson has himself carefully revised the whole work. We both of us wish\nto acknowledge the great assistance of Miss Millicent Murby. She has\nkindly studied the translation phrase by phrase, weighing each word, and\nher revision has resulted in many improvements.\n\nBut above all we must express our acknowledgment to Mr. H. Wildon Carr,\nthe Honorary Secretary of the Aristotelian Society of London, and the\nwriter of several studies of \"Evolution Creatrice.\"[1] We asked him to\nbe kind enough to revise the proofs of our work. He has done much more\nthan revise them: they have come from his hands with his personal mark\nin many places. We cannot express all that the present work owes to him.\n\nARTHUR MITCHELL\n\nHARVARD UNIVERSITY\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                       PAGE\n\nINTRODUCTION                                                             ix\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE EVOLUTION OF LIFE--MECHANISM AND TELEOLOGY\n\nOf duration in general--Unorganized bodies and abstract\ntime--Organized bodies and real duration--Individuality and\nthe process of growing old                                                1\n\nOf transformism and the different ways of interpreting it--Radical\nmechanism and real duration: the relation of biology to\nphysics and chemistry--Radical finalism and real duration:\nthe relation of biology to philosophy                                    23\n\nThe quest of a criterion--Examination of the various theories\nwith regard to a particular example--Darwin and insensible\nvariation--De Vries and sudden variation--Eimer and\northogenesis--Neo-Lamarckism and the hereditability of\nacquired characters                                                      59\n\nResult of the inquiry--The _vital impetus_                               87\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE DIVERGENT DIRECTIONS OF THE EVOLUTION OF\nLIFE--TORPOR, INTELLIGENCE, INSTINCT\n\nGeneral idea of the evolutionary process--Growth--Divergent\nand complementary tendencies--The meaning of progress and of\nadaptation                                                               98\n\nThe relation of the animal to the plant--General tendency of\nanimal life--The development of animal life                             105\n\nThe main directions of the evolution of life: torpor, intelligence,\ninstinct                                                                135\n\nThe nature of the intellect                                             151\n\nThe nature of instinct                                                  165\n\nLife and consciousness--The apparent place of man in nature             176\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nON THE MEANING OF LIFE--THE ORDER OF NATURE\nAND THE FORM OF INTELLIGENCE\n\nRelation of the problem of life to the problem of knowledge--The\nmethod of philosophy--Apparent vicious circle of the method\nproposed--Real vicious circle of the opposite method                    186\n\nSimultaneous genesis of matter and intelligence--Geometry\ninherent in matter--Geometrical tendency of the intellect--Geometry\nand deduction--Geometry and induction--Physical laws                    199\n\nSketch of a theory of knowledge based on the analysis of the\nidea of Disorder--Two opposed forms of order: the problem\nof _genera_ and the problem of _laws_--The idea of\n\"disorder\" an oscillation of the intellect between the two\nkinds of order                                                          220\n\nCreation and evolution--Ideal genesis of matter--The origin\nand function of life--The essential and the accidental in the\nvital process and in the evolutionary movement--Mankind--The\nlife of the body and the life of the spirit                             236\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE CINEMATOGRAPHICAL MECHANISM OF THOUGHT AND THE\nMECHANISTIC ILLUSION--A GLANCE AT THE HISTORY OF\nSYSTEMS--REAL BECOMING AND FALSE EVOLUTIONISM\n\nSketch of a criticism of philosophical systems, based on the\nanalysis of the idea of Immutability and of the idea of\n\"Nothing\"--Relation of metaphysical problems to the idea\nof \"Nothing\"--Real meaning of this idea                                 272\n\nForm and Becoming                                                       298\n\nThe philosophy of Forms and its conception of Becoming--Plato\nand Aristotle--The natural trend of the intellect                       304\n\nBecoming in modern science: two views of Time                           329\n\nThe metaphysical interpretation of modern science: Descartes,\nSpinoza, Leibniz                                                        345\n\nThe Criticism of Kant                                                   356\n\nThe evolutionism of Spencer                                             363\n\nINDEX                                                                   371\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe history of the evolution of life, incomplete as it yet is, already\nreveals to us how the intellect has been formed, by an uninterrupted\nprogress, along a line which ascends through the vertebrate series up to\nman. It shows us in the faculty of understanding an appendage of the\nfaculty of acting, a more and more precise, more and more complex and\nsupple adaptation of the consciousness of living beings to the\nconditions of existence that are made for them. Hence should result this\nconsequence that our intellect, in the narrow sense of the word, is\nintended to secure the perfect fitting of our body to its environment,\nto represent the relations of external things among themselves--in\nshort, to think matter. Such will indeed be one of the conclusions of\nthe present essay. We shall see that the human intellect feels at home\namong inanimate objects, more especially among solids, where our action\nfinds its fulcrum and our industry its tools; that our concepts have\nbeen formed on the model of solids; that our logic is, pre-eminently,\nthe logic of solids; that, consequently, our intellect triumphs in\ngeometry, wherein is revealed the kinship of logical thought with\nunorganized matter, and where the intellect has only to follow its\nnatural movement, after the lightest possible contact with experience,\nin order to go from discovery to discovery, sure that experience is\nfollowing behind it and will justify it invariably.\n\nBut from this it must also follow that our thought, in its purely\nlogical form, is incapable of presenting the true nature of life, the\nfull meaning of the evolutionary movement. Created by life, in definite\ncircumstances, to act on definite things, how can it embrace life, of\nwhich it is only an emanation or an aspect? Deposited by the\nevolutionary movement in the course of its way, how can it be applied to\nthe evolutionary movement itself? As well contend that the part is equal\nto the whole, that the effect can reabsorb its cause, or that the pebble\nleft on the beach displays the form of the wave that brought it there.\nIn fact, we do indeed feel that not one of the categories of our\nthought--unity, multiplicity, mechanical causality, intelligent\nfinality, etc.--applies exactly to the things of life: who can say where\nindividuality begins and ends, whether the living being is one or many,\nwhether it is the cells which associate themselves into the organism or\nthe organism which dissociates itself into cells? In vain we force the\nliving into this or that one of our molds. All the molds crack. They are\ntoo narrow, above all too rigid, for what we try to put into them. Our\nreasoning, so sure of itself among things inert, feels ill at ease on\nthis new ground. It would be difficult to cite a biological discovery\ndue to pure reasoning. And most often, when experience has finally shown\nus how life goes to work to obtain a certain result, we find its way of\nworking is just that of which we should never have thought.\n\nYet evolutionist philosophy does not hesitate to extend to the things of\nlife the same methods of explanation which have succeeded in the case of\nunorganized matter. It begins by showing us in the intellect a local\neffect of evolution, a flame, perhaps accidental, which lights up the\ncoming and going of living beings in the narrow passage open to their\naction; and lo! forgetting what it has just told us, it makes of this\nlantern glimmering in a tunnel a Sun which can illuminate the world.\nBoldly it proceeds, with the powers of conceptual thought alone, to the\nideal reconstruction of all things, even of life. True, it hurtles in\nits course against such formidable difficulties, it sees its logic end\nin such strange contradictions, that it very speedily renounces its\nfirst ambition. \"It is no longer reality itself,\" it says, \"that it will\nreconstruct, but only an imitation of the real, or rather a symbolical\nimage; the essence of things escapes us, and will escape us always; we\nmove among relations; the absolute is not in our province; we are\nbrought to a stand before the Unknowable.\"--But for the human intellect,\nafter too much pride, this is really an excess of humility. If the\nintellectual form of the living being has been gradually modeled on the\nreciprocal actions and reactions of certain bodies and their material\nenvironment, how should it not reveal to us something of the very\nessence of which these bodies are made? Action cannot move in the\nunreal. A mind born to speculate or to dream, I admit, might remain\noutside reality, might deform or transform the real, perhaps even create\nit--as we create the figures of men and animals that our imagination\ncuts out of the passing cloud. But an intellect bent upon the act to be\nperformed and the reaction to follow, feeling its object so as to get\nits mobile impression at every instant, is an intellect that touches\nsomething of the absolute. Would the idea ever have occurred to us to\ndoubt this absolute value of our knowledge if philosophy had not shown\nus what contradictions our speculation meets, what dead-locks it ends\nin? But these difficulties and contradictions all arise from trying to\napply the usual forms of our thought to objects with which our industry\nhas nothing to do, and for which, therefore, our molds are not made.\nIntellectual knowledge, in so far as it relates to a certain aspect of\ninert matter, ought, on the contrary, to give us a faithful imprint of\nit, having been stereotyped on this particular object. It becomes\nrelative only if it claims, such as it is, to present to us life--that\nis to say, the maker of the stereotype-plate.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMust we then give up fathoming the depths of life? Must we keep to that\nmechanistic idea of it which the understanding will always give us--an\nidea necessarily artificial and symbolical, since it makes the total\nactivity of life shrink to the form of a certain human activity which is\nonly a partial and local manifestation of life, a result or by-product\nof the vital process? We should have to do so, indeed, if life had\nemployed all the psychical potentialities it possesses in producing pure\nunderstandings--that is to say, in making geometricians. But the line of\nevolution that ends in man is not the only one. On other paths,\ndivergent from it, other forms of consciousness have been developed,\nwhich have not been able to free themselves from external constraints or\nto regain control over themselves, as the human intellect has done, but\nwhich, none the less, also express something that is immanent and\nessential in the evolutionary movement. Suppose these other forms of\nconsciousness brought together and amalgamated with intellect: would not\nthe result be a consciousness as wide as life? And such a consciousness,\nturning around suddenly against the push of life which it feels behind,\nwould have a vision of life complete--would it not?--even though the\nvision were fleeting.\n\nIt will be said that, even so, we do not transcend our intellect, for it\nis still with our intellect, and through our intellect, that we see the\nother forms of consciousness. And this would be right if we were pure\nintellects, if there did not remain, around our conceptual and logical\nthought, a vague nebulosity, made of the very substance out of which has\nbeen formed the luminous nucleus that we call the intellect. Therein\nreside certain powers that are complementary to the understanding,\npowers of which we have only an indistinct feeling when we remain shut\nup in ourselves, but which will become clear and distinct when they\nperceive themselves at work, so to speak, in the evolution of nature.\nThey will thus learn what sort of effort they must make to be\nintensified and expanded in the very direction of life.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis amounts to saying that _theory of knowledge_ and _theory of life_\nseem to us inseparable. A theory of life that is not accompanied by a\ncriticism of knowledge is obliged to accept, as they stand, the concepts\nwhich the understanding puts at its disposal: it can but enclose the\nfacts, willing or not, in pre-existing frames which it regards as\nultimate. It thus obtains a symbolism which is convenient, perhaps even\nnecessary to positive science, but not a direct vision of its object. On\nthe other hand, a theory of knowledge which does not replace the\nintellect in the general evolution of life will teach us neither how the\nframes of knowledge have been constructed nor how we can enlarge or go\nbeyond them. It is necessary that these two inquiries, theory of\nknowledge and theory of life, should join each other, and, by a circular\nprocess, push each other on unceasingly.\n\nTogether, they may solve by a method more sure, brought nearer to\nexperience, the great problems that philosophy poses. For, if they\nshould succeed in their common enterprise, they would show us the\nformation of the intellect, and thereby the genesis of that matter of\nwhich our intellect traces the general configuration. They would dig to\nthe very root of nature and of mind. They would substitute for the false\nevolutionism of Spencer--which consists in cutting up present reality,\nalready evolved, into little bits no less evolved, and then recomposing\nit with these fragments, thus positing in advance everything that is to\nbe explained--a true evolutionism, in which reality would be followed in\nits generation and its growth.\n\nBut a philosophy of this kind will not be made in a day. Unlike the\nphilosophical systems properly so called, each of which was the\nindividual work of a man of genius and sprang up as a whole, to be taken\nor left, it will only be built up by the collective and progressive\neffort of many thinkers, of many observers also, completing, correcting\nand improving one another. So the present essay does not aim at\nresolving at once the greatest problems. It simply desires to define the\nmethod and to permit a glimpse, on some essential points, of the\npossibility of its application.\n\nIts plan is traced by the subject itself. In the first chapter, we try\non the evolutionary progress the two ready-made garments that our\nunderstanding puts at our disposal, mechanism and finality;[2] we show\nthat they do not fit, neither the one nor the other, but that one of\nthem might be recut and resewn, and in this new form fit less badly than\nthe other. In order to transcend the point of view of the understanding,\nwe try, in our second chapter, to reconstruct the main lines of\nevolution along which life has traveled by the side of that which has\nled to the human intellect. The intellect is thus brought back to its\ngenerating cause, which we then have to grasp in itself and follow in\nits movement. It is an effort of this kind that we attempt--incompletely\nindeed--in our third chapter. A fourth and last part is meant to show\nhow our understanding itself, by submitting to a certain discipline,\nmight prepare a philosophy which transcends it. For that, a glance over\nthe history of systems became necessary, together with an analysis of\nthe two great illusions to which, as soon as it speculates on reality in\ngeneral, the human understanding is exposed.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: _Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society_, vols. ix. and\nx., and _Hibbert Journal_ for July, 1910.]\n\n[Footnote 2: The idea of regarding life as transcending teleology as\nwell as mechanism is far from being a new idea. Notably in three\narticles by Ch. Dunan on \"Le probl\u00e8me de la vie\" (_Revue philosophique_,\n1892) it is profoundly treated. In the development of this idea, we\nagree with Ch. Dunan on more than one point. But the views we are\npresenting on this matter, as on the questions attaching to it, are\nthose that we expressed long ago in our _Essai sur les donn\u00e9es\nimm\u00e9diates de la conscience_ (Paris, 1889). One of the principal objects\nof that essay was, in fact, to show that the psychical life is neither\nunity nor multiplicity, that it transcends both the _mechanical_ and the\n_intellectual_, mechanism and finalism having meaning only where there\nis \"distinct multiplicity,\" \"spatiality,\" and consequently assemblage of\npre-existing parts: \"real duration\" signifies both undivided continuity\nand creation. In the present work we apply these same ideas to life in\ngeneral, regarded, moreover, itself from the psychological point of\nview.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE EVOLUTION OF LIFE--MECHANISM AND TELEOLOGY\n\n\nThe existence of which we are most assured and which we know best is\nunquestionably our own, for of every other object we have notions which\nmay be considered external and superficial, whereas, of ourselves, our\nperception is internal and profound. What, then, do we find? In this\nprivileged case, what is the precise meaning of the word \"exist\"? Let us\nrecall here briefly the conclusions of an earlier work.\n\nI find, first of all, that I pass from state to state. I am warm or\ncold, I am merry or sad, I work or I do nothing, I look at what is\naround me or I think of something else. Sensations, feelings, volitions,\nideas--such are the changes into which my existence is divided and which\ncolor it in turns. I change, then, without ceasing. But this is not\nsaying enough. Change is far more radical than we are at first inclined\nto suppose.\n\nFor I speak of each of my states as if it formed a block and were a\nseparate whole. I say indeed that I change, but the change seems to me\nto reside in the passage from one state to the next: of each state,\ntaken separately, I am apt to think that it remains the same during all\nthe time that it prevails. Nevertheless, a slight effort of attention\nwould reveal to me that there is no feeling, no idea, no volition which\nis not undergoing change every moment: if a mental state ceased to vary,\nits duration would cease to flow. Let us take the most stable of\ninternal states, the visual perception of a motionless external object.\nThe object may remain the same, I may look at it from the same side, at\nthe same angle, in the same light; nevertheless the vision I now have of\nit differs from that which I have just had, even if only because the one\nis an instant older than the other. My memory is there, which conveys\nsomething of the past into the present. My mental state, as it advances\non the road of time, is continually swelling with the duration which it\naccumulates: it goes on increasing--rolling upon itself, as a snowball\non the snow. Still more is this the case with states more deeply\ninternal, such as sensations, feelings, desires, etc., which do not\ncorrespond, like a simple visual perception, to an unvarying external\nobject. But it is expedient to disregard this uninterrupted change, and\nto notice it only when it becomes sufficient to impress a new attitude\non the body, a new direction on the attention. Then, and then only, we\nfind that our state has changed. The truth is that we change without\nceasing, and that the state itself is nothing but change.\n\nThis amounts to saying that there is no essential difference between\npassing from one state to another and persisting in the same state. If\nthe state which \"remains the same\" is more varied than we think, on the\nother hand the passing from one state to another resembles, more than we\nimagine, a single state being prolonged; the transition is continuous.\nBut, just because we close our eyes to the unceasing variation of every\npsychical state, we are obliged, when the change has become so\nconsiderable as to force itself on our attention, to speak as if a new\nstate were placed alongside the previous one. Of this new state we\nassume that it remains unvarying in its turn, and so on endlessly. The\napparent discontinuity of the psychical life is then due to our\nattention being fixed on it by a series of separate acts: actually there\nis only a gentle slope; but in following the broken line of our acts of\nattention, we think we perceive separate steps. True, our psychic life\nis full of the unforeseen. A thousand incidents arise, which seem to be\ncut off from those which precede them, and to be disconnected from those\nwhich follow. Discontinuous though they appear, however, in point of\nfact they stand out against the continuity of a background on which they\nare designed, and to which indeed they owe the intervals that separate\nthem; they are the beats of the drum which break forth here and there in\nthe symphony. Our attention fixes on them because they interest it more,\nbut each of them is borne by the fluid mass of our whole psychical\nexistence. Each is only the best illuminated point of a moving zone\nwhich comprises all that we feel or think or will--all, in short, that\nwe are at any given moment. It is this entire zone which in reality\nmakes up our state. Now, states thus defined cannot be regarded as\ndistinct elements. They continue each other in an endless flow.\n\nBut, as our attention has distinguished and separated them artificially,\nit is obliged next to reunite them by an artificial bond. It imagines,\ntherefore, a formless _ego_, indifferent and unchangeable, on which it\nthreads the psychic states which it has set up as independent entities.\nInstead of a flux of fleeting shades merging into each other, it\nperceives distinct and, so to speak, _solid_ colors, set side by side\nlike the beads of a necklace; it must perforce then suppose a thread,\nalso itself solid, to hold the beads together. But if this colorless\nsubstratum is perpetually colored by that which covers it, it is for us,\nin its indeterminateness, as if it did not exist, since we only perceive\nwhat is colored, or, in other words, psychic states. As a matter of\nfact, this substratum has no reality; it is merely a symbol intended to\nrecall unceasingly to our consciousness the artificial character of the\nprocess by which the attention places clean-cut states side by side,\nwhere actually there is a continuity which unfolds. If our existence\nwere composed of separate states with an impassive ego to unite them,\nfor us there would be no duration. For an ego which does not change does\nnot _endure_, and a psychic state which remains the same so long as it\nis not replaced by the following state does not _endure_ either. Vain,\ntherefore, is the attempt to range such states beside each other on the\nego supposed to sustain them: never can these solids strung upon a solid\nmake up that duration which flows. What we actually obtain in this way\nis an artificial imitation of the internal life, a static equivalent\nwhich will lend itself better to the requirements of logic and language,\njust because we have eliminated from it the element of real time. But,\nas regards the psychical life unfolding beneath the symbols which\nconceal it, we readily perceive that time is just the stuff it is made\nof.\n\nThere is, moreover, no stuff more resistant nor more substantial. For\nour duration is not merely one instant replacing another; if it were,\nthere would never be anything but the present--no prolonging of the past\ninto the actual, no evolution, no concrete duration. Duration is the\ncontinuous progress of the past which gnaws into the future and which\nswells as it advances. And as the past grows without ceasing, so also\nthere is no limit to its preservation. Memory, as we have tried to\nprove,[3] is not a faculty of putting away recollections in a drawer, or\nof inscribing them in a register. There is no register, no drawer; there\nis not even, properly speaking, a faculty, for a faculty works\nintermittently, when it will or when it can, whilst the piling up of the\npast upon the past goes on without relaxation. In reality, the past is\npreserved by itself, automatically. In its entirety, probably, it\nfollows us at every instant; all that we have felt, thought and willed\nfrom our earliest infancy is there, leaning over the present which is\nabout to join it, pressing against the portals of consciousness that\nwould fain leave it outside. The cerebral mechanism is arranged just so\nas to drive back into the unconscious almost the whole of this past, and\nto admit beyond the threshold only that which can cast light on the\npresent situation or further the action now being prepared--in short,\nonly that which can give _useful_ work. At the most, a few superfluous\nrecollections may succeed in smuggling themselves through the half-open\ndoor. These memories, messengers from the unconscious, remind us of what\nwe are dragging behind us unawares. But, even though we may have no\ndistinct idea of it, we feel vaguely that our past remains present to\nus. What are we, in fact, what is our _character_, if not the\ncondensation of the history that we have lived from our birth--nay, even\nbefore our birth, since we bring with us prenatal dispositions?\nDoubtless we think with only a small part of our past, but it is with\nour entire past, including the original bent of our soul, that we\ndesire, will and act. Our past, then, as a whole, is made manifest to us\nin its impulse; it is felt in the form of tendency, although a small\npart of it only is known in the form of idea.\n\nFrom this survival of the past it follows that consciousness cannot go\nthrough the same state twice. The circumstances may still be the same,\nbut they will act no longer on the same person, since they find him at a\nnew moment of his history. Our personality, which is being built up each\ninstant with its accumulated experience, changes without ceasing. By\nchanging, it prevents any state, although superficially identical with\nanother, from ever repeating it in its very depth. That is why our\nduration is irreversible. We could not live over again a single moment,\nfor we should have to begin by effacing the memory of all that had\nfollowed. Even could we erase this memory from our intellect, we could\nnot from our will.\n\nThus our personality shoots, grows and ripens without ceasing. Each of\nits moments is something new added to what was before. We may go\nfurther: it is not only something new, but something unforeseeable.\nDoubtless, my present state is explained by what was in me and by what\nwas acting on me a moment ago. In analyzing it I should find no other\nelements. But even a superhuman intelligence would not have been able to\nforesee the simple indivisible form which gives to these purely abstract\nelements their concrete organization. For to foresee consists of\nprojecting into the future what has been perceived in the past, or of\nimagining for a later time a new grouping, in a new order, of elements\nalready perceived. But that which has never been perceived, and which is\nat the same time simple, is necessarily unforeseeable. Now such is the\ncase with each of our states, regarded as a moment in a history that is\ngradually unfolding: it is simple, and it cannot have been already\nperceived, since it concentrates in its indivisibility all that has been\nperceived and what the present is adding to it besides. It is an\noriginal moment of a no less original history.\n\nThe finished portrait is explained by the features of the model, by the\nnature of the artist, by the colors spread out on the palette; but, even\nwith the knowledge of what explains it, no one, not even the artist,\ncould have foreseen exactly what the portrait would be, for to predict\nit would have been to produce it before it was produced--an absurd\nhypothesis which is its own refutation. Even so with regard to the\nmoments of our life, of which we are the artisans. Each of them is a\nkind of creation. And just as the talent of the painter is formed or\ndeformed--in any case, is modified--under the very influence of the\nworks he produces, so each of our states, at the moment of its issue,\nmodifies our personality, being indeed the new form that we are just\nassuming. It is then right to say that what we do depends on what we\nare; but it is necessary to add also that we are, to a certain extent,\nwhat we do, and that we are creating ourselves continually. This\ncreation of self by self is the more complete, the more one reasons on\nwhat one does. For reason does not proceed in such matters as in\ngeometry, where impersonal premisses are given once for all, and an\nimpersonal conclusion must perforce be drawn. Here, on the contrary, the\nsame reasons may dictate to different persons, or to the same person at\ndifferent moments, acts profoundly different, although equally\nreasonable. The truth is that they are not quite the same reasons, since\nthey are not those of the same person, nor of the same moment. That is\nwhy we cannot deal with them in the abstract, from outside, as in\ngeometry, nor solve for another the problems by which he is faced in\nlife. Each must solve them from within, on his own account. But we need\nnot go more deeply into this. We are seeking only the precise meaning\nthat our consciousness gives to this word \"exist,\" and we find that, for\na conscious being, to exist is to change, to change is to mature, to\nmature is to go on creating oneself endlessly. Should the same be said\nof existence in general?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA material object, of whatever kind, presents opposite characters to\nthose which we have just been describing. Either it remains as it is, or\nelse, if it changes under the influence of an external force, our idea\nof this change is that of a displacement of parts which themselves do\nnot change. If these parts took to changing, we should split them up in\ntheir turn. We should thus descend to the molecules of which the\nfragments are made, to the atoms that make up the molecules, to the\ncorpuscles that generate the atoms, to the \"imponderable\" within which\nthe corpuscle is perhaps a mere vortex. In short, we should push the\ndivision or analysis as far as necessary. But we should stop only before\nthe unchangeable.\n\nNow, we say that a composite object changes by the displacement of its\nparts. But when a part has left its position, there is nothing to\nprevent its return to it. A group of elements which has gone through a\nstate can therefore always find its way back to that state, if not by\nitself, at least by means of an external cause able to restore\neverything to its place. This amounts to saying that any state of the\ngroup may be repeated as often as desired, and consequently that the\ngroup does not grow old. It has no history.\n\nThus nothing is created therein, neither form nor matter. What the group\nwill be is already present in what it is, provided \"what it is\" includes\nall the points of the universe with which it is related. A superhuman\nintellect could calculate, for any moment of time, the position of any\npoint of the system in space. And as there is nothing more in the form\nof the whole than the arrangement of its parts, the future forms of the\nsystem are theoretically visible in its present configuration.\n\nAll our belief in objects, all our operations on the systems that\nscience isolates, rest in fact on the idea that time does not bite into\nthem. We have touched on this question in an earlier work, and shall\nreturn to it in the course of the present study. For the moment, we will\nconfine ourselves to pointing out that the abstract time _t_ attributed\nby science to a material object or to an isolated system consists only\nin a certain number of simultaneities or more generally of\ncorrespondences, and that this number remains the same, whatever be the\nnature of the intervals between the correspondences. With these\nintervals we are never concerned when dealing with inert matter; or, if\nthey are considered, it is in order to count therein fresh\ncorrespondences, between which again we shall not care what happens.\nCommon sense, which is occupied with detached objects, and also science,\nwhich considers isolated systems, are concerned only with the ends of\nthe intervals and not with the intervals themselves. Therefore the flow\nof time might assume an infinite rapidity, the entire past, present, and\nfuture of material objects or of isolated systems might be spread out\nall at once in space, without there being anything to change either in\nthe formulae of the scientist or even in the language of common sense.\nThe number _t_ would always stand for the same thing; it would still\ncount the same number of correspondences between the states of the\nobjects or systems and the points of the line, ready drawn, which would\nbe then the \"course of time.\"\n\nYet succession is an undeniable fact, even in the material world. Though\nour reasoning on isolated systems may imply that their history, past,\npresent, and future, might be instantaneously unfurled like a fan, this\nhistory, in point of fact, unfolds itself gradually, as if it occupied a\nduration like our own. If I want to mix a glass of sugar and water, I\nmust, willy nilly, wait until the sugar melts. This little fact is big\nwith meaning. For here the time I have to wait is not that mathematical\ntime which would apply equally well to the entire history of the\nmaterial world, even if that history were spread out instantaneously in\nspace. It coincides with my impatience, that is to say, with a certain\nportion of my own duration, which I cannot protract or contract as I\nlike. It is no longer something _thought_, it is something _lived_. It\nis no longer a relation, it is an absolute. What else can this mean than\nthat the glass of water, the sugar, and the process of the sugar's\nmelting in the water are abstractions, and that the Whole within which\nthey have been cut out by my senses and understanding progresses, it may\nbe in the manner of a consciousness?\n\nCertainly, the operation by which science isolates and closes a system\nis not altogether artificial. If it had no objective foundation, we\ncould not explain why it is clearly indicated in some cases and\nimpossible in others. We shall see that matter has a tendency to\nconstitute _isolable_ systems, that can be treated geometrically. In\nfact, we shall define matter by just this tendency. But it is only a\ntendency. Matter does not go to the end, and the isolation is never\ncomplete. If science does go to the end and isolate completely, it is\nfor convenience of study; it is understood that the so-called isolated\nsystem remains subject to certain external influences. Science merely\nleaves these alone, either because it finds them slight enough to be\nnegligible, or because it intends to take them into account later on. It\nis none the less true that these influences are so many threads which\nbind up the system to another more extensive, and to this a third which\nincludes both, and so on to the system most objectively isolated and\nmost independent of all, the solar system complete. But, even here, the\nisolation is not absolute. Our sun radiates heat and light beyond the\nfarthest planet. And, on the other hand, it moves in a certain fixed\ndirection, drawing with it the planets and their satellites. The thread\nattaching it to the rest of the universe is doubtless very tenuous.\nNevertheless it is along this thread that is transmitted down to the\nsmallest particle of the world in which we live the duration immanent to\nthe whole of the universe.\n\nThe universe _endures_. The more we study the nature of time, the more\nwe shall comprehend that duration means invention, the creation of\nforms, the continual elaboration of the absolutely new. The systems\nmarked off by science _endure_ only because they are bound up\ninseparably with the rest of the universe. It is true that in the\nuniverse itself two opposite movements are to be distinguished, as we\nshall see later on, \"descent\" and \"ascent.\" The first only unwinds a\nroll ready prepared. In principle, it might be accomplished almost\ninstantaneously, like releasing a spring. But the ascending movement,\nwhich corresponds to an inner work of ripening or creating, _endures_\nessentially, and imposes its rhythm on the first, which is inseparable\nfrom it.\n\nThere is no reason, therefore, why a duration, and so a form of\nexistence like our own, should not be attributed to the systems that\nscience isolates, provided such systems are reintegrated into the Whole.\nBut they must be so reintegrated. The same is even more obviously true\nof the objects cut out by our perception. The distinct outlines which we\nsee in an object, and which give it its individuality, are only the\ndesign of a certain kind of _influence_ that we might exert on a certain\npoint of space: it is the plan of our eventual actions that is sent back\nto our eyes, as though by a mirror, when we see the surfaces and edges\nof things. Suppress this action, and with it consequently those main\ndirections which by perception are traced out for it in the entanglement\nof the real, and the individuality of the body is reabsorbed in the\nuniversal interaction which, without doubt, is reality itself.\n\nNow, we have considered material objects generally. Are there not some\nobjects privileged? The bodies we perceive are, so to speak, cut out of\nthe stuff of nature by our _perception_, and the scissors follow, in\nsome way, the marking of lines along which _action_ might be taken. But\nthe body which is to perform this action, the body which marks out upon\nmatter the design of its eventual actions even before they are actual,\nthe body that has only to point its sensory organs on the flow of the\nreal in order to make that flow crystallize into definite forms and thus\nto create all the other bodies--in short, the _living_ body--is this a\nbody as others are?\n\nDoubtless it, also, consists in a portion of extension bound up with the\nrest of extension, an intimate part of the Whole, subject to the same\nphysical and chemical laws that govern any and every portion of matter.\nBut, while the subdivision of matter into separate bodies is relative to\nour perception, while the building up of closed-off systems of material\npoints is relative to our science, the living body has been separated\nand closed off by nature herself. It is composed of unlike parts that\ncomplete each other. It performs diverse functions that involve each\nother. It is an _individual_, and of no other object, not even of the\ncrystal, can this be said, for a crystal has neither difference of parts\nnor diversity of functions. No doubt, it is hard to decide, even in the\norganized world, what is individual and what is not. The difficulty is\ngreat, even in the animal kingdom; with plants it is almost\ninsurmountable. This difficulty is, moreover, due to profound causes, on\nwhich we shall dwell later. We shall see that individuality admits of\nany number of degrees, and that it is not fully realized anywhere, even\nin man. But that is no reason for thinking it is not a characteristic\nproperty of life. The biologist who proceeds as a geometrician is too\nready to take advantage here of our inability to give a precise and\ngeneral definition of individuality. A perfect definition applies only\nto a _completed_ reality; now, vital properties are never entirely\nrealized, though always on the way to become so; they are not so much\n_states_ as _tendencies_. And a tendency achieves all that it aims at\nonly if it is not thwarted by another tendency. How, then, could this\noccur in the domain of life, where, as we shall show, the interaction of\nantagonistic tendencies is always implied? In particular, it may be said\nof individuality that, while the tendency to individuate is everywhere\npresent in the organized world, it is everywhere opposed by the tendency\ntowards reproduction. For the individuality to be perfect, it would be\nnecessary that no detached part of the organism could live separately.\nBut then reproduction would be impossible. For what is reproduction, but\nthe building up of a new organism with a detached fragment of the old?\nIndividuality therefore harbors its enemy at home. Its very need of\nperpetuating itself in time condemns it never to be complete in space.\nThe biologist must take due account of both tendencies in every\ninstance, and it is therefore useless to ask him for a definition of\nindividuality that shall fit all cases and work automatically.\n\nBut too often one reasons about the things of life in the same way as\nabout the conditions of crude matter. Nowhere is the confusion so\nevident as in discussions about individuality. We are shown the stumps\nof a Lumbriculus, each regenerating its head and living thence-forward\nas an independent individual; a hydra whose pieces become so many fresh\nhydras; a sea-urchin's egg whose fragments develop complete embryos:\nwhere then, we are asked, was the individuality of the egg, the hydra,\nthe worm?--But, because there are several individuals now, it does not\nfollow that there was not a single individual just before. No doubt,\nwhen I have seen several drawers fall from a chest, I have no longer the\nright to say that the article was all of one piece. But the fact is that\nthere can be nothing more in the present of the chest of drawers than\nthere was in its past, and if it is made up of several different pieces\nnow, it was so from the date of its manufacture. Generally speaking,\nunorganized bodies, which are what we have need of in order that we may\nact, and on which we have modelled our fashion of thinking, are\nregulated by this simple law: _the present contains nothing more than\nthe past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause_. But\nsuppose that the distinctive feature of the organized body is that it\ngrows and changes without ceasing, as indeed the most superficial\nobservation testifies, there would be nothing astonishing in the fact\nthat it was _one_ in the first instance, and afterwards _many_. The\nreproduction of unicellular organisms consists in just this--the living\nbeing divides into two halves, of which each is a complete individual.\nTrue, in the more complex animals, nature localizes in the almost\nindependent sexual cells the power of producing the whole anew. But\nsomething of this power may remain diffused in the rest of the organism,\nas the facts of regeneration prove, and it is conceivable that in\ncertain privileged cases the faculty may persist integrally in a latent\ncondition and manifest itself on the first opportunity. In truth, that I\nmay have the right to speak of individuality, it is not necessary that\nthe organism should be without the power to divide into fragments that\nare able to live. It is sufficient that it should have presented a\ncertain systematization of parts before the division, and that the same\nsystematization tend to be reproduced in each separate portion\nafterwards. Now, that is precisely what we observe in the organic\nworld. We may conclude, then, that individuality is never perfect, and\nthat it is often difficult, sometimes impossible, to tell what is an\nindividual, and what is not, but that life nevertheless manifests a\nsearch for individuality, as if it strove to constitute systems\nnaturally isolated, naturally closed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy this is a living being distinguished from all that our perception or\nour science isolates or closes artificially. It would therefore be wrong\nto compare it to an _object_. Should we wish to find a term of\ncomparison in the inorganic world, it is not to a determinate material\nobject, but much rather to the totality of the material universe that we\nought to compare the living organism. It is true that the comparison\nwould not be worth much, for a living being is observable, whilst the\nwhole of the universe is constructed or reconstructed by thought. But at\nleast our attention would thus have been called to the essential\ncharacter of organization. Like the universe as a whole, like each\nconscious being taken separately, the organism which lives is a thing\nthat _endures_. Its past, in its entirety, is prolonged into its\npresent, and abides there, actual and acting. How otherwise could we\nunderstand that it passes through distinct and well-marked phases, that\nit changes its age--in short, that it has a history? If I consider my\nbody in particular, I find that, like my consciousness, it matures\nlittle by little from infancy to old age; like myself, it grows old.\nIndeed, maturity and old age are, properly speaking, attributes only of\nmy body; it is only metaphorically that I apply the same names to the\ncorresponding changes of my conscious self. Now, if I pass from the top\nto the bottom of the scale of living beings, from one of the most to one\nof the least differentiated, from the multicellular organism of man to\nthe unicellular organism of the Infusorian, I find, even in this simple\ncell, the same process of growing old. The Infusorian is exhausted at\nthe end of a certain number of divisions, and though it may be possible,\nby modifying the environment, to put off the moment when a rejuvenation\nby conjugation becomes necessary, this cannot be indefinitely\npostponed.[4] It is true that between these two extreme cases, in which\nthe organism is completely individualized, there might be found a\nmultitude of others in which the individuality is less well marked, and\nin which, although there is doubtless an ageing somewhere, one cannot\nsay exactly what it is that grows old. Once more, there is no universal\nbiological law which applies precisely and automatically to every living\nthing. There are only _directions_ in which life throws out species in\ngeneral. Each particular species, in the very act by which it is\nconstituted, affirms its independence, follows its caprice, deviates\nmore or less from the straight line, sometimes even remounts the slope\nand seems to turn its back on its original direction. It is easy enough\nto argue that a tree never grows old, since the tips of its branches are\nalways equally young, always equally capable of engendering new trees by\nbudding. But in such an organism--which is, after all, a society rather\nthan an individual--_something_ ages, if only the leaves and the\ninterior of the trunk. And each cell, considered separately, evolves in\na specific way. _Wherever anything lives, there is, open somewhere, a\nregister in which time is being inscribed._\n\nThis, it will be said, is only a metaphor.--It is of the very essence of\nmechanism, in fact, to consider as metaphorical every expression which\nattributes to time an effective action and a reality of its own. In vain\ndoes immediate experience show us that the very basis of our conscious\nexistence is memory, that is to say, the prolongation of the past into\nthe present, or, in a word, _duration_, acting and irreversible. In vain\ndoes reason prove to us that the more we get away from the objects cut\nout and the systems isolated by common sense and by science and the\ndeeper we dig beneath them, the more we have to do with a reality which\nchanges as a whole in its inmost states, as if an accumulative memory of\nthe past made it impossible to go back again. The mechanistic instinct\nof the mind is stronger than reason, stronger than immediate experience.\nThe metaphysician that we each carry unconsciously within us, and the\npresence of which is explained, as we shall see later on, by the very\nplace that man occupies amongst the living beings, has its fixed\nrequirements, its ready-made explanations, its irreducible propositions:\nall unite in denying concrete duration. Change _must_ be reducible to an\narrangement or rearrangement of parts; the irreversibility of time\n_must_ be an appearance relative to our ignorance; the impossibility of\nturning back _must_ be only the inability of man to put things in place\nagain. So growing old can be nothing more than the gradual gain or loss\nof certain substances, perhaps both together. Time is assumed to have\njust as much reality for a living being as for an hour-glass, in which\nthe top part empties while the lower fills, and all goes where it was\nbefore when you turn the glass upside down.\n\nTrue, biologists are not agreed on what is gained and what is lost\nbetween the day of birth and the day of death. There are those who hold\nto the continual growth in the volume of protoplasm from the birth of\nthe cell right on to its death.[5] More probable and more profound is\nthe theory according to which the diminution bears on the quantity of\nnutritive substance contained in that \"inner environment\" in which the\norganism is being renewed, and the increase on the quantity of unexcreted\nresidual substances which, accumulating in the body, finally \"crust it\nover.\"[6] Must we however--with an eminent bacteriologist--declare any\nexplanation of growing old insufficient that does not take account of\nphagocytosis?[7] We do not feel qualified to settle the question. But\nthe fact that the two theories agree in affirming the constant accumulation\nor loss of a certain kind of matter, even though they have little in common\nas to what is gained and lost, shows pretty well that the frame of the\nexplanation has been furnished _a priori_. We shall see this more and more\nas we proceed with our study: it is not easy, in thinking of time, to\nescape the image of the hour-glass.\n\nThe cause of growing old must lie deeper. We hold that there is unbroken\ncontinuity between the evolution of the embryo and that of the complete\norganism. The impetus which causes a living being to grow larger, to\ndevelop and to age, is the same that has caused it to pass through the\nphases of the embryonic life. The development of the embryo is a\nperpetual change of form. Any one who attempts to note all its\nsuccessive aspects becomes lost in an infinity, as is inevitable in\ndealing with a continuum. Life does but prolong this prenatal evolution.\nThe proof of this is that it is often impossible for us to say whether\nwe are dealing with an organism growing old or with an embryo continuing\nto evolve; such is the case, for example, with the larvae of insects\nand crustacea. On the other hand, in an organism such as our own, crises\nlike puberty or the menopause, in which the individual is completely\ntransformed, are quite comparable to changes in the course of larval or\nembryonic life--yet they are part and parcel of the process of our\nageing. Although they occur at a definite age and within a time that may\nbe quite short, no one would maintain that they appear then _ex\nabrupto_, from without, simply because a certain age is reached, just as\na legal right is granted to us on our one-and-twentieth birthday. It is\nevident that a change like that of puberty is in course of preparation\nat every instant from birth, and even before birth, and that the ageing\nup to that crisis consists, in part at least, of this gradual\npreparation. In short, what is properly vital in growing old is the\ninsensible, infinitely graduated, continuance of the change of form.\nNow, this change is undoubtedly accompanied by phenomena of organic\ndestruction: to these, and to these alone, will a mechanistic\nexplanation of ageing be confined. It will note the facts of sclerosis,\nthe gradual accumulation of residual substances, the growing hypertrophy\nof the protoplasm of the cell. But under these visible effects an inner\ncause lies hidden. The evolution of the living being, like that of the\nembryo, implies a continual recording of duration, a persistence of the\npast in the present, and so an appearance, at least, of organic memory.\n\nThe present state of an unorganized body depends exclusively on what\nhappened at the previous instant; and likewise the position of the\nmaterial points of a system defined and isolated by science is\ndetermined by the position of these same points at the moment\nimmediately before. In other words, the laws that govern unorganized\nmatter are expressible, in principle, by differential equations in\nwhich time (in the sense in which the mathematician takes this word)\nwould play the r\u00f4le of independent variable. Is it so with the laws of\nlife? Does the state of a living body find its complete explanation in\nthe state immediately before? Yes, if it is agreed _a priori_ to liken\nthe living body to other bodies, and to identify it, for the sake of the\nargument, with the artificial systems on which the chemist, physicist,\nand astronomer operate. But in astronomy, physics, and chemistry the\nproposition has a perfectly definite meaning: it signifies that certain\naspects of the present, important for science, are calculable as\nfunctions of the immediate past. Nothing of the sort in the domain of\nlife. Here calculation touches, at most, certain phenomena of organic\n_destruction_. Organic _creation_, on the contrary, the evolutionary\nphenomena which properly constitute life, we cannot in any way subject\nto a mathematical treatment. It will be said that this impotence is due\nonly to our ignorance. But it may equally well express the fact that the\npresent moment of a living body does not find its explanation in the\nmoment immediately before, that _all_ the past of the organism must be\nadded to that moment, its heredity--in fact, the whole of a very long\nhistory. In the second of these two hypotheses, not in the first, is\nreally expressed the present state of the biological sciences, as well\nas their direction. As for the idea that the living body might be\ntreated by some superhuman calculator in the same mathematical way as\nour solar system, this has gradually arisen from a metaphysic which has\ntaken a more precise form since the physical discoveries of Galileo, but\nwhich, as we shall show, was always the natural metaphysic of the human\nmind. Its apparent clearness, our impatient desire to find it true, the\nenthusiasm with which so many excellent minds accept it without\nproof--all the seductions, in short, that it exercises on our thought,\nshould put us on our guard against it. The attraction it has for us\nproves well enough that it gives satisfaction to an innate inclination.\nBut, as will be seen further on, the intellectual tendencies innate\nto-day, which life must have created in the course of its evolution, are\nnot at all meant to supply us with an explanation of life: they have\nsomething else to do.\n\nAny attempt to distinguish between an artificial and a natural system,\nbetween the dead and the living, runs counter to this tendency at once.\nThus it happens that we find it equally difficult to imagine that the\norganized has duration and that the unorganized has not. When we say\nthat the state of an artificial system depends exclusively on its state\nat the moment before, does it not seem as if we were bringing time in,\nas if the system had something to do with real duration? And, on the\nother hand, though the whole of the past goes into the making of the\nliving being's present moment, does not organic memory press it into the\nmoment immediately before the present, so that the moment immediately\nbefore becomes the sole cause of the present one?--To speak thus is to\nignore the cardinal difference between _concrete_ time, along which a\nreal system develops, and that _abstract_ time which enters into our\nspeculations on artificial systems. What does it mean, to say that the\nstate of an artificial system depends on what it was at the moment\nimmediately before? There is no instant immediately before another\ninstant; there could not be, any more than there could be one\nmathematical point touching another. The instant \"immediately before\"\nis, in reality, that which is connected with the present instant by the\ninterval _dt_. All that you mean to say, therefore, is that the present\nstate of the system is defined by equations into which differential\ncoefficients enter, such as _ds_|_dt_, _dv_|_dt_, that is to say, at\nbottom, _present_ velocities and _present_ accelerations. You are\ntherefore really speaking only of the present--a present, it is true,\nconsidered along with its _tendency_. The systems science works with\nare, in fact, in an instantaneous present that is always being renewed;\nsuch systems are never in that real, concrete duration in which the past\nremains bound up with the present. When the mathematician calculates the\nfuture state of a system at the end of a time _t_, there is nothing to\nprevent him from supposing that the universe vanishes from this moment\ntill that, and suddenly reappears. It is the _t_-th moment only that\ncounts--and that will be a mere instant. What will flow on in the\ninterval--that is to say, real time--does not count, and cannot enter\ninto the calculation. If the mathematician says that he puts himself\ninside this interval, he means that he is placing himself at a certain\npoint, at a particular moment, therefore at the extremity again of a\ncertain time _t'_; with the interval up to _T'_ he is not concerned. If\nhe divides the interval into infinitely small parts by considering the\ndifferential _dt_, he thereby expresses merely the fact that he will\nconsider accelerations and velocities--that is to say, numbers which\ndenote tendencies and enable him to calculate the state of the system at\na given moment. But he is always speaking of a given moment--a static\nmoment, that is--and not of flowing time. In short, _the world the\nmathematician deals with is a world that dies and is reborn at every\ninstant--the world which Descartes was thinking of when he spoke of\ncontinued creation_. But, in time thus conceived, how could evolution,\nwhich is the very essence of life, ever take place? Evolution implies a\nreal persistence of the past in the present, a duration which is, as it\nwere, a hyphen, a connecting link. In other words, to know a living\nbeing or _natural system_ is to get at the very interval of duration,\nwhile the knowledge of an _artificial_ or _mathematical system_ applies\nonly to the extremity.\n\nContinuity of change, preservation of the past in the present, real\nduration--the living being seems, then, to share these attributes with\nconsciousness. Can we go further and say that life, like conscious\nactivity, is invention, is unceasing creation?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt does not enter into our plan to set down here the proofs of\ntransformism. We wish only to explain in a word or two why we shall\naccept it, in the present work, as a sufficiently exact and precise\nexpression of the facts actually known. The idea of transformism is\nalready in germ in the natural classification of organized beings. The\nnaturalist, in fact, brings together the organisms that are like each\nother, then divides the group into sub-groups within which the likeness\nis still greater, and so on: all through the operation, the characters\nof the group appear as general themes on which each of the sub-groups\nperforms its particular variation. Now, such is just the relation we\nfind, in the animal and in the vegetable world between the generator and\nthe generated: on the canvas which the ancestor passes on, and which his\ndescendants possess in common, each puts his own original embroidery.\nTrue, the differences between the descendant and the ancestor are\nslight, and it may be asked whether the same living matter presents\nenough plasticity to take in turn such different forms as those of a\nfish, a reptile and a bird. But, to this question, observation gives a\nperemptory answer. It shows that up to a certain period in its\ndevelopment the embryo of the bird is hardly distinguishable from that\nof the reptile, and that the individual develops, throughout the\nembryonic life in general, a series of transformations comparable to\nthose through which, according to the theory of evolution, one species\npasses into another. A single cell, the result of the combination of two\ncells, male and female, accomplishes this work by dividing. Every day,\nbefore our eyes, the highest forms of life are springing from a very\nelementary form. Experience, then, shows that the most complex has been\nable to issue from the most simple by way of evolution. Now, has it\narisen so, as a matter of fact? Paleontology, in spite of the\ninsufficiency of its evidence, invites us to believe it has; for, where\nit makes out the order of succession of species with any precision, this\norder is just what considerations drawn from embryogeny and comparative\nanatomy would lead any one to suppose, and each new paleontological\ndiscovery brings transformism a new confirmation. Thus, the proof drawn\nfrom mere observation is ever being strengthened, while, on the other\nhand, experiment is removing the objections one by one. The recent\nexperiments of H. de Vries, for instance, by showing that important\nvariations can be produced suddenly and transmitted regularly, have\noverthrown some of the greatest difficulties raised by the theory. They\nhave enabled us greatly to shorten the time biological evolution seems\nto demand. They also render us less exacting toward paleontology. So\nthat, all things considered, the transformist hypothesis looks more and\nmore like a close approximation to the truth. It is not rigorously\ndemonstrable; but, failing the certainty of theoretical or experimental\ndemonstration, there is a probability which is continually growing, due\nto evidence which, while coming short of direct proof, seems to point\npersistently in its direction: such is the kind of probability that the\ntheory of transformism offers.\n\nLet us admit, however, that transformism may be wrong. Let us suppose\nthat species are proved, by inference or by experiment, to have arisen\nby a discontinuous process, of which to-day we have no idea. Would the\ndoctrine be affected in so far as it has a special interest or\nimportance for us? Classification would probably remain, in its broad\nlines. The actual data of embryology would also remain. The\ncorrespondence between comparative embryogeny and comparative anatomy\nwould remain too. Therefore biology could and would continue to\nestablish between living forms the same relations and the same kinship\nas transformism supposes to-day. It would be, it is true, an _ideal_\nkinship, and no longer a _material_ affiliation. But, as the actual data\nof paleontology would also remain, we should still have to admit that it\nis successively, not simultaneously, that the forms between which we\nfind an ideal kinship have appeared. Now, the evolutionist theory, so\nfar as it has any importance for philosophy, requires no more. It\nconsists above all in establishing relations of ideal kinship, and in\nmaintaining that wherever there is this relation of, so to speak,\n_logical_ affiliation between forms, there is also a relation of\n_chronological_ succession between the species in which these forms are\nmaterialized. Both arguments would hold in any case. And hence, an\nevolution _somewhere_ would still have to be supposed, whether in a\ncreative Thought in which the ideas of the different species are\ngenerated by each other exactly as transformism holds that species\nthemselves are generated on the earth; or in a plan of vital\norganization immanent in nature, which gradually works itself out, in\nwhich the relations of logical and chronological affiliation between\npure forms are just those which transformism presents as relations of\nreal affiliation between living individuals; or, finally, in some\nunknown cause of life, which develops its effects _as if_ they generated\none another. Evolution would then simply have been _transposed_, made\nto pass from the visible to the invisible. Almost all that transformism\ntells us to-day would be preserved, open to interpretation in another\nway. Will it not, therefore, be better to stick to the letter of\ntransformism as almost all scientists profess it? Apart from the\nquestion to what extent the theory of evolution describes the facts and\nto what extent it symbolizes them, there is nothing in it that is\nirreconcilable with the doctrines it has claimed to replace, even with\nthat of special creations, to which it is usually opposed. For this\nreason we think the language of transformism forces itself now upon all\nphilosophy, as the dogmatic affirmation of transformism forces itself\nupon science.\n\nBut then, we must no longer speak of _life in general_ as an\nabstraction, or as a mere heading under which all living beings are\ninscribed. At a certain moment, in certain points of space, a visible\ncurrent has taken rise; this current of life, traversing the bodies it\nhas organized one after another, passing from generation to generation,\nhas become divided amongst species and distributed amongst individuals\nwithout losing anything of its force, rather intensifying in proportion\nto its advance. It is well known that, on the theory of the \"continuity\nof the germ-plasm,\" maintained by Weismann, the sexual elements of the\ngenerating organism pass on their properties directly to the sexual\nelements of the organism engendered. In this extreme form, the theory\nhas seemed debatable, for it is only in exceptional cases that there are\nany signs of sexual glands at the time of segmentation of the fertilized\negg. But, though the cells that engender the sexual elements do not\ngenerally appear at the beginning of the embryonic life, it is none the\nless true that they are always formed out of those tissues of the embryo\nwhich have not undergone any particular functional differentiation, and\nwhose cells are made of unmodified protoplasm.[8] In other words, the\ngenetic power of the fertilized ovum weakens, the more it is spread over\nthe growing mass of the tissues of the embryo; but, while it is being\nthus diluted, it is concentrating anew something of itself on a certain\nspecial point, to wit, the cells, from which the ova or spermatozoa will\ndevelop. It might therefore be said that, though the germ-plasm is not\ncontinuous, there is at least continuity of genetic energy, this energy\nbeing expended only at certain instants, for just enough time to give\nthe requisite impulsion to the embryonic life, and being recouped as\nsoon as possible in new sexual elements, in which, again, it bides its\ntime. Regarded from this point of view, _life is like a current passing\nfrom germ to germ through the medium of a developed organism_. It is as\nif the organism itself were only an excrescence, a bud caused to sprout\nby the former germ endeavoring to continue itself in a new germ. The\nessential thing is the _continuous progress_ indefinitely pursued, an\ninvisible progress, on which each visible organism rides during the\nshort interval of time given it to live.\n\nNow, the more we fix our attention on this continuity of life, the more\nwe see that organic evolution resembles the evolution of a\nconsciousness, in which the past presses against the present and causes\nthe upspringing of a new form of consciousness, incommensurable with its\nantecedents. That the appearance of a vegetable or animal species is due\nto specific causes, nobody will gainsay. But this can only mean that if,\nafter the fact, we could know these causes in detail, we could explain\nby them the form that has been produced; foreseeing the form is out of\nthe question.[9] It may perhaps be said that the form could be foreseen\nif we could know, in all their details, the conditions under which it\nwill be produced. But these conditions are built up into it and are part\nand parcel of its being; they are peculiar to that phase of its history\nin which life finds itself at the moment of producing the form: how\ncould we know beforehand a situation that is unique of its kind, that\nhas never yet occurred and will never occur again? Of the future, only\nthat is foreseen which is like the past or can be made up again with\nelements like those of the past. Such is the case with astronomical,\nphysical and chemical facts, with all facts which form part of a system\nin which elements supposed to be unchanging are merely put together, in\nwhich the only changes are changes of position, in which there is no\ntheoretical absurdity in imagining that things are restored to their\nplace; in which, consequently, the same total phenomenon, or at least\nthe same elementary phenomena, can be repeated. But an original\nsituation, which imparts something of its own originality to its\nelements, that is to say, to the partial views that are taken of it, how\ncan such a situation be pictured as given before it is actually\nproduced?[10] All that can be said is that, once produced, it will be\nexplained by the elements that analysis will then carve out of it. Now,\nwhat is true of the production of a new species is also true of the\nproduction of a new individual, and, more generally, of any moment of\nany living form. For, though the variation must reach a certain\nimportance and a certain generality in order to give rise to a new\nspecies, it is being produced every moment, continuously and insensibly,\nin every living being. And it is evident that even the sudden\n\"mutations\" which we now hear of are possible only if a process of\nincubation, or rather of maturing, is going on throughout a series of\ngenerations that do not seem to change. In this sense it might be said\nof life, as of consciousness, that at every moment it is creating\nsomething.[11]\n\nBut against this idea of the absolute originality and unforeseeability\nof forms our whole intellect rises in revolt. The essential function of\nour intellect, as the evolution of life has fashioned it, is to be a\nlight for our conduct, to make ready for our action on things, to\nforesee, for a given situation, the events, favorable or unfavorable,\nwhich may follow thereupon. Intellect therefore instinctively selects in\na given situation whatever is like something already known; it seeks\nthis out, in order that it may apply its principle that \"like produces\nlike.\" In just this does the prevision of the future by common sense\nconsist. Science carries this faculty to the highest possible degree of\nexactitude and precision, but does not alter its essential character.\nLike ordinary knowledge, in dealing with things science is concerned\nonly with the aspect of _repetition_. Though the whole be original,\nscience will always manage to analyze it into elements or aspects which\nare approximately a reproduction of the past. Science can work only on\nwhat is supposed to repeat itself--that is to say, on what is withdrawn,\nby hypothesis, from the action of real time. Anything that is\nirreducible and irreversible in the successive moments of a history\neludes science. To get a notion of this irreducibility and\nirreversibility, we must break with scientific habits which are adapted\nto the fundamental requirements of thought, we must do violence to the\nmind, go counter to the natural bent of the intellect. But that is just\nthe function of philosophy.\n\nIn vain, therefore, does life evolve before our eyes as a continuous\ncreation of unforeseeable form: the idea always persists that form,\nunforeseeability and continuity are mere appearance--the outward\nreflection of our own ignorance. What is presented to the senses as a\ncontinuous history would break up, we are told, into a series of\nsuccessive states. \"What gives you the impression of an original state\nresolves, upon analysis, into elementary facts, each of which is the\nrepetition of a fact already known. What you call an unforeseeable form\nis only a new arrangement of old elements. The elementary causes, which\nin their totality have determined this arrangement, are themselves old\ncauses repeated in a new order. Knowledge of the elements and of the\nelementary causes would have made it possible to foretell the living\nform which is their sum and their resultant. When we have resolved the\nbiological aspect of phenomena into physico-chemical factors, we will\nleap, if necessary, over physics and chemistry themselves; we will go\nfrom masses to molecules, from molecules to atoms, from atoms to\ncorpuscles: we must indeed at last come to something that can be treated\nas a kind of solar system, astronomically. If you deny it, you oppose\nthe very principle of scientific mechanism, and you arbitrarily affirm\nthat living matter is not made of the same elements as other\nmatter.\"--We reply that we do not question the fundamental identity of\ninert matter and organized matter. The only question is whether the\nnatural systems which we call living beings must be assimilated to the\nartificial systems that science cuts out within inert matter, or whether\nthey must not rather be compared to that natural system which is the\nwhole of the universe. That life is a kind of mechanism I cordially\nagree. But is it the mechanism of parts artificially isolated within the\nwhole of the universe, or is it the mechanism of the real whole? The\nreal whole might well be, we conceive, an indivisible continuity. The\nsystems we cut out within it would, properly speaking, not then be\n_parts_ at all; they would be _partial views_ of the whole. And, with\nthese partial views put end to end, you will not make even a beginning\nof the reconstruction of the whole, any more than, by multiplying\nphotographs of an object in a thousand different aspects, you will\nreproduce the object itself. So of life and of the physico-chemical\nphenomena to which you endeavor to reduce it. Analysis will undoubtedly\nresolve the process of organic creation into an ever-growing number of\nphysico-chemical phenomena, and chemists and physicists will have to do,\nof course, with nothing but these. But it does not follow that chemistry\nand physics will ever give us the key to life.\n\nA very small element of a curve is very near being a straight line. And\nthe smaller it is, the nearer. In the limit, it may be termed a part of\nthe curve or a part of the straight line, as you please, for in each of\nits points a curve coincides with its tangent. So likewise \"vitality\" is\ntangent, at any and every point, to physical and chemical forces; but\nsuch points are, as a fact, only views taken by a mind which imagines\nstops at various moments of the movement that generates the curve. In\nreality, life is no more made of physico-chemical elements than a curve\nis composed of straight lines.\n\nIn a general way, the most radical progress a science can achieve is\nthe working of the completed results into a new scheme of the whole, by\nrelation to which they become instantaneous and motionless views taken\nat intervals along the continuity of a movement. Such, for example, is\nthe relation of modern to ancient geometry. The latter, purely static,\nworked with figures drawn once for all; the former studies the varying\nof a function--that is, the continuous movement by which the figure is\ndescribed. No doubt, for greater strictness, all considerations of\nmotion may be eliminated from mathematical processes; but the\nintroduction of motion into the genesis of figures is nevertheless the\norigin of modern mathematics. We believe that if biology could ever get\nas close to its object as mathematics does to its own, it would become,\nto the physics and chemistry of organized bodies, what the mathematics\nof the moderns has proved to be in relation to ancient geometry. The\nwholly superficial displacements of masses and molecules studied in\nphysics and chemistry would become, by relation to that inner vital\nmovement (which is transformation and not translation) what the position\nof a moving object is to the movement of that object in space. And, so\nfar as we can see, the procedure by which we should then pass from the\ndefinition of a certain vital action to the system of physico-chemical\nfacts which it implies would be like passing from the function to its\nderivative, from the equation of the curve (_i.e._ the law of the\ncontinuous movement by which the curve is generated) to the equation of\nthe tangent giving its instantaneous direction. Such a science would be\na _mechanics of transformation_, of which our _mechanics of translation_\nwould become a particular case, a simplification, a projection on the\nplane of pure quantity. And just as an infinity of functions have the\nsame differential, these functions differing from each other by a\nconstant, so perhaps the integration of the physico-chemical elements\nof properly vital action might determine that action only in part--a\npart would be left to indetermination. But such an integration can be no\nmore than dreamed of; we do not pretend that the dream will ever be\nrealized. We are only trying, by carrying a certain comparison as far as\npossible, to show up to what point our theory goes along with pure\nmechanism, and where they part company.\n\nImitation of the living by the unorganized may, however, go a good way.\nNot only does chemistry make organic syntheses, but we have succeeded in\nreproducing artificially the external appearance of certain facts of\norganization, such as indirect cell-division and protoplasmic\ncirculation. It is well known that the protoplasm of the cell effects\nvarious movements within its envelope; on the other hand, indirect\ncell-division is the outcome of very complex operations, some involving\nthe nucleus and others the cytoplasm. These latter commence by the\ndoubling of the centrosome, a small spherical body alongside the\nnucleus. The two centrosomes thus obtained draw apart, attract the\nbroken and doubled ends of the filament of which the original nucleus\nmainly consisted, and join them to form two fresh nuclei about which the\ntwo new cells are constructed which will succeed the first. Now, in\ntheir broad lines and in their external appearance, some at least of\nthese operations have been successfully imitated. If some sugar or table\nsalt is pulverized and some very old oil is added, and a drop of the\nmixture is observed under the microscope, a froth of alveolar structure\nis seen whose configuration is like that of protoplasm, according to\ncertain theories, and in which movements take place which are decidedly\nlike those of protoplasmic circulation.[12] If, in a froth of the same\nkind, the air is extracted from an alveolus, a cone of attraction is\nseen to form, like those about the centrosomes which result in the\ndivision of the nucleus.[13] Even the external motions of a unicellular\norganism--of an amoeba, at any rate--are sometimes explained\nmechanically. The displacements of an amoeba in a drop of water would be\ncomparable to the motion to and fro of a grain of dust in a draughty\nroom. Its mass is all the time absorbing certain soluble matters\ncontained in the surrounding water, and giving back to it certain\nothers; these continual exchanges, like those between two vessels\nseparated by a porous partition, would create an everchanging vortex\naround the little organism. As for the temporary prolongations or\npseudopodia which the amoeba seems to make, they would be not so much\ngiven out by it as attracted from it by a kind of inhalation or suction\nof the surrounding medium.[14] In the same way we may perhaps come to\nexplain the more complex movements which the Infusorian makes with its\nvibratory cilia, which, moreover, are probably only fixed pseudopodia.\n\nBut scientists are far from agreed on the value of explanations and\nschemas of this sort. Chemists have pointed out that even in the\norganic--not to go so far as the organized--science has reconstructed\nhitherto nothing but waste products of vital activity; the peculiarly\nactive plastic substances obstinately defy synthesis. One of the most\nnotable naturalists of our time has insisted on the opposition of two\norders of phenomena observed in living tissues, _anagenesis_ and\n_katagenesis_. The r\u00f4le of the anagenetic energies is to raise the\ninferior energies to their own level by assimilating inorganic\nsubstances. They _construct_ the tissues. On the other hand, the actual\nfunctioning of life (excepting, of course, assimilation, growth, and\nreproduction) is of the katagenetic order, exhibiting the fall, not the\nrise, of energy. It is only with these facts of katagenetic order that\nphysico-chemistry deals--that is, in short, with the dead and not with\nthe living.[15] The other kind of facts certainly seem to defy\nphysico-chemical analysis, even if they are not anagenetic in the proper\nsense of the word. As for the artificial imitation of the outward\nappearance of protoplasm, should a real theoretic importance be attached\nto this when the question of the physical framework of protoplasm is not\nyet settled? We are still further from compounding protoplasm\nchemically. Finally, a physico-chemical explanation of the motions of\nthe amoeba, and _a fortiori_ of the behavior of the Infusoria, seems\nimpossible to many of those who have closely observed these rudimentary\norganisms. Even in these humblest manifestations of life they discover\ntraces of an effective psychological activity.[16] But instructive above\nall is the fact that the tendency to explain everything by physics and\nchemistry is discouraged rather than strengthened by deep study of\nhistological phenomena. Such is the conclusion of the truly admirable\nbook which the histologist E.B. Wilson has devoted to the development\nof the cell: \"The study of the cell has, on the whole, seemed to widen\nrather than to narrow the enormous gap that separates even the lowest\nforms of life from the inorganic world.[17]\"\n\nTo sum up, those who are concerned only with the functional activity of\nthe living being are inclined to believe that physics and chemistry will\ngive us the key to biological processes.[18] They have chiefly to do, as\na fact, with phenomena that are _repeated_ continually in the living\nbeing, as in a chemical retort. This explains, in some measure, the\nmechanistic tendencies of physiology. On the contrary, those whose\nattention is concentrated on the minute structure of living tissues, on\ntheir genesis and evolution, histologists and embryogenists on the one\nhand, naturalists on the other, are interested in the retort itself, not\nmerely in its contents. They find that this retort creates its own form\nthrough a _unique_ series of acts that really constitute a _history_.\nThus, histologists, embryogenists, and naturalists believe far less\nreadily than physiologists in the physico-chemical character of vital\nactions.\n\nThe fact is, neither one nor the other of these two theories, neither\nthat which affirms nor that which denies the possibility of chemically\nproducing an elementary organism, can claim the authority of experiment.\nThey are both unverifiable, the former because science has not yet\nadvanced a step toward the chemical synthesis of a living substance, the\nsecond because there is no conceivable way of proving experimentally the\nimpossibility of a fact. But we have set forth the theoretical reasons\nwhich prevent us from likening the living being, a system closed off by\nnature, to the systems which our science isolates. These reasons have\nless force, we acknowledge, in the case of a rudimentary organism like\nthe amoeba, which hardly evolves at all. But they acquire more when we\nconsider a complex organism which goes through a regular cycle of\ntransformations. The more duration marks the living being with its\nimprint, the more obviously the organism differs from a mere mechanism,\nover which duration glides without penetrating. And the demonstration\nhas most force when it applies to the evolution of life as a whole, from\nits humblest origins to its highest forms, inasmuch as this evolution\nconstitutes, through the unity and continuity of the animated matter\nwhich supports it, a single indivisible history. Thus viewed, the\nevolutionist hypothesis does not seem so closely akin to the mechanistic\nconception of life as it is generally supposed to be. Of this\nmechanistic conception we do not claim, of course, to furnish a\nmathematical and final refutation. But the refutation which we draw from\nthe consideration of real time, and which is, in our opinion, the only\nrefutation possible, becomes the more rigorous and cogent the more\nfrankly the evolutionist hypothesis is assumed. We must dwell a good\ndeal more on this point. But let us first show more clearly the notion\nof life to which we are leading up.\n\nThe mechanistic explanations, we said, hold good for the systems that\nour thought artificially detaches from the whole. But of the whole\nitself and of the systems which, within this whole, seem to take after\nit, we cannot admit _a priori_ that they are mechanically explicable,\nfor then time would be useless, and even unreal. The essence of\nmechanical explanation, in fact, is to regard the future and the past as\ncalculable functions of the present, and thus to claim that _all is\ngiven_. On this hypothesis, past, present and future would be open at a\nglance to a superhuman intellect capable of making the calculation.\nIndeed, the scientists who have believed in the universality and\nperfect objectivity of mechanical explanations have, consciously or\nunconsciously, acted on a hypothesis of this kind. Laplace formulated it\nwith the greatest precision: \"An intellect which at a given instant knew\nall the forces with which nature is animated, and the respective\nsituations of the beings that compose nature--supposing the said\nintellect were vast enough to subject these data to analysis--would\nembrace in the same formula the motions of the greatest bodies in the\nuniverse and those of the slightest atom: nothing would be uncertain for\nit, and the future, like the past, would be present to its eyes.\"[19]\nAnd Du Bois-Reymond: \"We can imagine the knowledge of nature arrived at\na point where the universal process of the world might be represented by\na single mathematical formula, by one immense system of simultaneous\ndifferential equations, from which could be deduced, for each moment,\nthe position, direction, and velocity of every atom of the world.\"[20]\nHuxley has expressed the same idea in a more concrete form: \"If the\nfundamental proposition of evolution is true, that the entire world,\nliving and not living, is the result of the mutual interaction,\naccording to definite laws, of the forces possessed by the molecules of\nwhich the primitive nebulosity of the universe was composed, it is no\nless certain that the existing world lay, potentially, in the cosmic\nvapor, and that a sufficient intellect could, from a knowledge of the\nproperties of the molecules of that vapor, have predicted, say the state\nof the Fauna of Great Britain in 1869, with as much certainty as one can\nsay what will happen to the vapor of the breath in a cold winter's day.\"\nIn such a doctrine, time is still spoken of: one pronounces the word,\nbut one does not think of the thing. For time is here deprived of\nefficacy, and if it _does_ nothing, it _is_ nothing. Radical mechanism\nimplies a metaphysic in which the totality of the real is postulated\ncomplete in eternity, and in which the apparent duration of things\nexpresses merely the infirmity of a mind that cannot know everything at\nonce. But duration is something very different from this for our\nconsciousness, that is to say, for that which is most indisputable in\nour experience. We perceive duration as a stream against which we cannot\ngo. It is the foundation of our being, and, as we feel, the very\nsubstance of the world in which we live. It is of no use to hold up\nbefore our eyes the dazzling prospect of a universal mathematic; we\ncannot sacrifice experience to the requirements of a system. That is why\nwe reject radical mechanism.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut radical finalism is quite as unacceptable, and for the same reason.\nThe doctrine of teleology, in its extreme form, as we find it in Leibniz\nfor example, implies that things and beings merely realize a programme\npreviously arranged. But if there is nothing unforeseen, no invention or\ncreation in the universe, time is useless again. As in the mechanistic\nhypothesis, here again it is supposed that _all is given_. Finalism thus\nunderstood is only inverted mechanism. It springs from the same\npostulate, with this sole difference, that in the movement of our finite\nintellects along successive things, whose successiveness is reduced to a\nmere appearance, it holds in front of us the light with which it claims\nto guide us, instead of putting it behind. It substitutes the attraction\nof the future for the impulsion of the past. But succession remains none\nthe less a mere appearance, as indeed does movement itself. In the\ndoctrine of Leibniz, time is reduced to a confused perception, relative\nto the human standpoint, a perception which would vanish, like a rising\nmist, for a mind seated at the centre of things.\n\nYet finalism is not, like mechanism, a doctrine with fixed rigid\noutlines. It admits of as many inflections as we like. The mechanistic\nphilosophy is to be taken or left: it must be left if the least grain of\ndust, by straying from the path foreseen by mechanics, should show the\nslightest trace of spontaneity. The doctrine of final causes, on the\ncontrary, will never be definitively refuted. If one form of it be put\naside, it will take another. Its principle, which is essentially\npsychological, is very flexible. It is so extensible, and thereby so\ncomprehensive, that one accepts something of it as soon as one rejects\npure mechanism. The theory we shall put forward in this book will\ntherefore necessarily partake of finalism to a certain extent. For that\nreason it is important to intimate exactly what we are going to take of\nit, and what we mean to leave.\n\nLet us say at once that to thin out the Leibnizian finalism by breaking\nit into an infinite number of pieces seems to us a step in the wrong\ndirection. This is, however, the tendency of the doctrine of finality.\nIt fully realizes that if the universe as a whole is the carrying out of\na plan, this cannot be demonstrated empirically, and that even of the\norganized world alone it is hardly easier to prove all harmonious: facts\nwould equally well testify to the contrary. Nature sets living beings at\ndiscord with one another. She everywhere presents disorder alongside of\norder, retrogression alongside of progress. But, though finality cannot\nbe affirmed either of the whole of matter or of the whole of life, might\nit not yet be true, says the finalist, of each organism taken\nseparately? Is there not a wonderful division of labor, a marvellous\nsolidarity among the parts of an organism, perfect order in infinite\ncomplexity? Does not each living being thus realize a plan immanent in\nits substance?--This theory consists, at bottom, in breaking up the\noriginal notion of finality into bits. It does not accept, indeed it\nridicules, the idea of an _external_ finality, according to which living\nbeings are ordered with regard to each other: to suppose the grass made\nfor the cow, the lamb for the wolf--that is all acknowledged to be\nabsurd. But there is, we are told, an _internal_ finality: each being is\nmade for itself, all its parts conspire for the greatest good of the\nwhole and are intelligently organized in view of that end. Such is the\nnotion of finality which has long been classic. Finalism has shrunk to\nthe point of never embracing more than one living being at a time. By\nmaking itself smaller, it probably thought it would offer less surface\nfor blows.\n\nThe truth is, it lay open to them a great deal more. Radical as our own\ntheory may appear, finality is external or it is nothing at all.\n\nConsider the most complex and the most harmonious organism. All the\nelements, we are told, conspire for the greatest good of the whole. Very\nwell, but let us not forget that each of these elements may itself be an\norganism in certain cases, and that in subordinating the existence of\nthis small organism to the life of the great one we accept the principle\nof an _external_ finality. The idea of a finality that is _always_\ninternal is therefore a self-destructive notion. An organism is composed\nof tissues, each of which lives for itself. The cells of which the\ntissues are made have also a certain independence. Strictly speaking, if\nthe subordination of all the elements of the individual to the\nindividual itself were complete, we might contend that they are not\norganisms, reserve the name organism for the individual, and recognize\nonly internal finality. But every one knows that these elements may\npossess a true autonomy. To say nothing of phagocytes, which push\nindependence to the point of attacking the organism that nourishes them,\nor of germinal cells, which have their own life alongside the somatic\ncells--the facts of regeneration are enough: here an element or a group\nof elements suddenly reveals that, however limited its normal space and\nfunction, it can transcend them occasionally; it may even, in certain\ncases, be regarded as the equivalent of the whole.\n\nThere lies the stumbling-block of the vitalistic theories. We shall not\nreproach them, as is ordinarily done, with replying to the question by\nthe question itself: the \"vital principle\" may indeed not explain much,\nbut it is at least a sort of label affixed to our ignorance, so as to\nremind us of this occasionally,[21] while mechanism invites us to ignore\nthat ignorance. But the position of vitalism is rendered very difficult\nby the fact that, in nature, there is neither purely internal finality\nnor absolutely distinct individuality. The organized elements composing\nthe individual have themselves a certain individuality, and each will\nclaim its vital principle if the individual pretends to have its own.\nBut, on the other hand, the individual itself is not sufficiently\nindependent, not sufficiently cut off from other things, for us to allow\nit a \"vital principle\" of its own. An organism such as a higher\nvertebrate is the most individuated of all organisms; yet, if we take\ninto account that it is only the development of an ovum forming part of\nthe body of its mother and of a spermatozoon belonging to the body of\nits father, that the egg (_i.e._ the ovum fertilized) is a connecting\nlink between the two progenitors since it is common to their two\nsubstances, we shall realize that every individual organism, even that\nof a man, is merely a bud that has sprouted on the combined body of both\nits parents. Where, then, does the vital principle of the individual\nbegin or end? Gradually we shall be carried further and further back, up\nto the individual's remotest ancestors: we shall find him solidary with\neach of them, solidary with that little mass of protoplasmic jelly which\nis probably at the root of the genealogical tree of life. Being, to a\ncertain extent, one with this primitive ancestor, he is also solidary\nwith all that descends from the ancestor in divergent directions. In\nthis sense each individual may be said to remain united with the\ntotality of living beings by invisible bonds. So it is of no use to try\nto restrict finality to the individuality of the living being. If there\nis finality in the world of life, it includes the whole of life in a\nsingle indivisible embrace. This life common to all the living\nundoubtedly presents many gaps and incoherences, and again it is not so\nmathematically _one_ that it cannot allow each being to become\nindividualized to a certain degree. But it forms a single whole, none\nthe less; and we have to choose between the out-and-out negation of\nfinality and the hypothesis which co-ordinates not only the parts of an\norganism with the organism itself, but also each living being with the\ncollective whole of all others.\n\nFinality will not go down any easier for being taken as a powder. Either\nthe hypothesis of a finality immanent in life should be rejected as a\nwhole, or it must undergo a treatment very different from pulverization.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe error of radical finalism, as also that of radical mechanism, is to\nextend too far the application of certain concepts that are natural to\nour intellect. Originally, we think only in order to act. Our intellect\nhas been cast in the mold of action. Speculation is a luxury, while\naction is a necessity. Now, in order to act, we begin by proposing an\nend; we make a plan, then we go on to the detail of the mechanism which\nwill bring it to pass. This latter operation is possible only if we know\nwhat we can reckon on. We must therefore have managed to extract\nresemblances from nature, which enable us to anticipate the future. Thus\nwe must, consciously or unconsciously, have made use of the law of\ncausality. Moreover, the more sharply the idea of efficient causality is\ndefined in our mind, the more it takes the form of a _mechanical_\ncausality. And this scheme, in its turn, is the more mathematical\naccording as it expresses a more rigorous necessity. That is why we have\nonly to follow the bent of our mind to become mathematicians. But, on\nthe other hand, this natural mathematics is only the rigid unconscious\nskeleton beneath our conscious supple habit of linking the same causes\nto the same effects; and the usual object of this habit is to guide\nactions inspired by intentions, or, what comes to the same, to direct\nmovements combined with a view to reproducing a pattern. We are born\nartisans as we are born geometricians, and indeed we are geometricians\nonly because we are artisans. Thus the human intellect, inasmuch as it\nis fashioned for the needs of human action, is an intellect which\nproceeds at the same time by intention and by calculation, by adapting\nmeans to ends and by thinking out mechanisms of more and more\ngeometrical form. Whether nature be conceived as an immense machine\nregulated by mathematical laws, or as the realization of a plan, these\ntwo ways of regarding it are only the consummation of two tendencies of\nmind which are complementary to each other, and which have their origin\nin the same vital necessities.\n\nFor that reason, radical finalism is very near radical mechanism on many\npoints. Both doctrines are reluctant to see in the course of things\ngenerally, or even simply in the development of life, an unforeseeable\ncreation of form. In considering reality, mechanism regards only the\naspect of similarity or repetition. It is therefore dominated by this\nlaw, that in nature there is only _like_ reproducing _like_. The more\nthe geometry in mechanism is emphasized, the less can mechanism admit\nthat anything is ever created, even pure form. In so far as we are\ngeometricians, then, we reject the unforeseeable. We might accept it,\nassuredly, in so far as we are artists, for art lives on creation and\nimplies a latent belief in the spontaneity of nature. But disinterested\nart is a luxury, like pure speculation. Long before being artists, we\nare artisans; and all fabrication, however rudimentary, lives on\nlikeness and repetition, like the natural geometry which serves as its\nfulcrum. Fabrication works on models which it sets out to reproduce; and\neven when it invents, it proceeds, or imagines itself to proceed, by a\nnew arrangement of elements already known. Its principle is that \"we\nmust have like to produce like.\" In short, the strict application of the\nprinciple of finality, like that of the principle of mechanical\ncausality, leads to the conclusion that \"all is given.\" Both principles\nsay the same thing in their respective languages, because they respond\nto the same need.\n\nThat is why again they agree in doing away with time. Real duration is\nthat duration which gnaws on things, and leaves on them the mark of its\ntooth. If everything is in time, everything changes inwardly, and the\nsame concrete reality never recurs. Repetition is therefore possible\nonly in the abstract: what is repeated is some aspect that our senses,\nand especially our intellect, have singled out from reality, just\nbecause our action, upon which all the effort of our intellect is\ndirected, can move only among repetitions. Thus, concentrated on that\nwhich repeats, solely preoccupied in welding the same to the same,\nintellect turns away from the vision of time. It dislikes what is fluid,\nand solidifies everything it touches. We do not _think_ real time. But\nwe _live_ it, because life transcends intellect. The feeling we have of\nour evolution and of the evolution of all things in pure duration is\nthere, forming around the intellectual concept properly so-called an\nindistinct fringe that fades off into darkness. Mechanism and finalism\nagree in taking account only of the bright nucleus shining in the\ncentre. They forget that this nucleus has been formed out of the rest by\ncondensation, and that the whole must be used, the fluid as well as and\nmore than the condensed, in order to grasp the inner movement of life.\n\nIndeed, if the fringe exists, however delicate and indistinct, it should\nhave more importance for philosophy than the bright nucleus it\nsurrounds. For it is its presence that enables us to affirm that the\nnucleus is a nucleus, that pure intellect is a contraction, by\ncondensation, of a more extensive power. And, just because this vague\nintuition is of no help in directing our action on things, which action\ntakes place exclusively on the surface of reality, we may presume that\nit is to be exercised not merely on the surface, but below.\n\nAs soon as we go out of the encasings in which radical mechanism and\nradical finalism confine our thought, reality appears as a ceaseless\nupspringing of something new, which has no sooner arisen to make the\npresent than it has already fallen back into the past; at this exact\nmoment it falls under the glance of the intellect, whose eyes are ever\nturned to the rear. This is already the case with our inner life. For\neach of our acts we shall easily find antecedents of which it may in\nsome sort be said to be the mechanical resultant. And it may equally\nwell be said that each action is the realization of an intention. In\nthis sense mechanism is everywhere, and finality everywhere, in the\nevolution of our conduct. But if our action be one that involves the\nwhole of our person and is truly ours, it could not have been foreseen,\neven though its antecedents explain it when once it has been\naccomplished. And though it be the realizing of an intention, it\ndiffers, as a present and _new_ reality, from the intention, which can\nnever aim at anything but recommencing or rearranging the past.\nMechanism and finalism are therefore, here, only external views of our\nconduct. They extract its intellectuality. But our conduct slips between\nthem and extends much further. Once again, this does not mean that free\naction is capricious, unreasonable action. To behave according to\ncaprice is to oscillate mechanically between two or more ready-made\nalternatives and at length to settle on one of them; it is no real\nmaturing of an internal state, no real evolution; it is merely--however\nparadoxical the assertion may seem--bending the will to imitate the\nmechanism of the intellect. A conduct that is truly our own, on the\ncontrary, is that of a will which does not try to counterfeit intellect,\nand which, remaining itself--that is to say, evolving--ripens gradually\ninto acts which the intellect will be able to resolve indefinitely into\nintelligible elements without ever reaching its goal. The free act is\nincommensurable with the idea, and its \"rationality\" must be defined by\nthis very incommensurability, which admits the discovery of as much\nintelligibility within it as we will. Such is the character of our own\nevolution; and such also, without doubt, that of the evolution of life.\n\nOur reason, incorrigibly presumptuous, imagines itself possessed, by\nright of birth or by right of conquest, innate or acquired, of all the\nessential elements of the knowledge of truth. Even where it confesses\nthat it does not know the object presented to it, it believes that its\nignorance consists only in not knowing which one of its time-honored\ncategories suits the new object. In what drawer, ready to open, shall we\nput it? In what garment, already cut out, shall we clothe it? Is it\nthis, or that, or the other thing? And \"this,\" and \"that,\" and \"the\nother thing\" are always something already conceived, already known. The\nidea that for a new object we might have to create a new concept,\nperhaps a new method of thinking, is deeply repugnant to us. The history\nof philosophy is there, however, and shows us the eternal conflict of\nsystems, the impossibility of satisfactorily getting the real into the\nready-made garments of our ready-made concepts, the necessity of making\nto measure. But, rather than go to this extremity, our reason prefers to\nannounce once for all, with a proud modesty, that it has to do only with\nthe relative, and that the absolute is not in its province. This\npreliminary declaration enables it to apply its habitual method of\nthought without any scruple, and thus, under pretense that it does not\ntouch the absolute, to make absolute judgments upon everything. Plato\nwas the first to set up the theory that to know the real consists in\nfinding its Idea, that is to say, in forcing it into a pre-existing\nframe already at our disposal--as if we implicitly possessed universal\nknowledge. But this belief is natural to the human intellect, always\nengaged as it is in determining under what former heading it shall\ncatalogue any new object; and it may be said that, in a certain sense,\nwe are all born Platonists.\n\nNowhere is the inadequacy of this method so obvious as in theories of\nlife. If, in evolving in the direction of the vertebrates in general, of\nman and intellect in particular, life has had to abandon by the way many\nelements incompatible with this particular mode of organization and\nconsign them, as we shall show, to other lines of development, it is the\ntotality of these elements that we must find again and rejoin to the\nintellect proper, in order to grasp the true nature of vital activity.\nAnd we shall probably be aided in this by the fringe of vague intuition\nthat surrounds our distinct--that is, intellectual--representation. For\nwhat can this useless fringe be, if not that part of the evolving\nprinciple which has not shrunk to the peculiar form of our organization,\nbut has settled around it unasked for, unwanted? It is there,\naccordingly, that we must look for hints to expand the intellectual form\nof our thought; from there shall we derive the impetus necessary to lift\nus above ourselves. To form an idea of the whole of life cannot consist\nin combining simple ideas that have been left behind in us by life\nitself in the course of its evolution. How could the part be equivalent\nto the whole, the content to the container, a by-product of the vital\noperation to the operation itself? Such, however, is our illusion when\nwe define the evolution of life as a \"passage from the homogeneous to\nthe heterogeneous,\" or by any other concept obtained by putting\nfragments of intellect side by side. We place ourselves in one of the\npoints where evolution comes to a head--the principal one, no doubt, but\nnot the only one; and there we do not even take all we find, for of the\nintellect we keep only one or two of the concepts by which it expresses\nitself; and it is this part of a part that we declare representative of\nthe whole, of something indeed which goes beyond the concrete whole, I\nmean of the evolution movement of which this \"whole\" is only the present\nstage! The truth is, that to represent this the entire intellect would\nnot be too much--nay, it would not be enough. It would be necessary to\nadd to it what we find in every other terminal point of evolution. And\nthese diverse and divergent elements must be considered as so many\nextracts which are, or at least which were, in their humblest form,\nmutually complementary. Only then might we have an inkling of the real\nnature of the evolution movement; and even then we should fail to grasp\nit completely, for we should still be dealing only with the evolved,\nwhich is a result, and not with evolution itself, which is the act by\nwhich the result is obtained.\n\nSuch is the philosophy of life to which we are leading up. It claims to\ntranscend both mechanism and finalism; but, as we announced at the\nbeginning, it is nearer the second doctrine than the first. It will not\nbe amiss to dwell on this point, and show more precisely how far this\nphilosophy of life resembles finalism and wherein it is different.\n\nLike radical finalism, although in a vaguer form, our philosophy\nrepresents the organized world as a harmonious whole. But this harmony\nis far from being as perfect as it has been claimed to be. It admits of\nmuch discord, because each species, each individual even, retains only a\ncertain impetus from the universal vital impulsion and tends to use this\nenergy in its own interest. In this consists _adaptation_. The species\nand the individual thus think only of themselves--whence arises a\npossible conflict with other forms of life. Harmony, therefore, does\nnot exist in fact; it exists rather in principle; I mean that the\noriginal impetus is a _common_ impetus, and the higher we ascend the\nstream of life the more do diverse tendencies appear complementary to\neach other. Thus the wind at a street-corner divides into diverging\ncurrents which are all one and the same gust. Harmony, or rather\n\"complementarity,\" is revealed only in the mass, in tendencies rather\nthan in states. Especially (and this is the point on which finalism has\nbeen most seriously mistaken) harmony is rather behind us than before.\nIt is due to an identity of impulsion and not to a common aspiration. It\nwould be futile to try to assign to life an end, in the human sense of\nthe word. To speak of an end is to think of a pre-existing model which\nhas only to be realized. It is to suppose, therefore, that all is given,\nand that the future can be read in the present. It is to believe that\nlife, in its movement and in its entirety, goes to work like our\nintellect, which is only a motionless and fragmentary view of life, and\nwhich naturally takes its stand outside of time. Life, on the contrary,\nprogresses and _endures_ in time. Of course, when once the road has been\ntraveled, we can glance over it, mark its direction, note this in\npsychological terms and speak as if there had been pursuit of an end.\nThus shall we speak ourselves. But, of the road which was going to be\ntraveled, the human mind could have nothing to say, for the road has\nbeen created _pari passu_ with the act of traveling over it, being\nnothing but the direction of this act itself. At every instant, then,\nevolution must admit of a psychological interpretation which is, from\nour point of view, the best interpretation; but this explanation has\nneither value nor even significance except retrospectively. Never could\nthe finalistic interpretation, such as we shall propose it, be taken for\nan anticipation of the future. It is a particular mode of viewing the\npast in the light of the present. In short, the classic conception of\nfinality postulates at once too much and too little: it is both too wide\nand too narrow. In explaining life by intellect, it limits too much the\nmeaning of life: intellect, such at least as we find it in ourselves,\nhas been fashioned by evolution during the course of progress; it is cut\nout of something larger, or, rather, it is only the projection,\nnecessarily on a plane, of a reality that possesses both relief and\ndepth. It is this more comprehensive reality that true finalism ought to\nreconstruct, or, rather, if possible, embrace in one view. But, on the\nother hand, just because it goes beyond intellect--the faculty of\nconnecting the same with the same, of perceiving and also of producing\nrepetitions--this reality is undoubtedly creative, _i.e._ productive of\neffects in which it expands and transcends its own being. These effects\nwere therefore not given in it in advance, and so it could not take them\nfor ends, although, when once produced, they admit of a rational\ninterpretation, like that of the manufactured article that has\nreproduced a model. In short, the theory of final causes does not go far\nenough when it confines itself to ascribing some intelligence to nature,\nand it goes too far when it supposes a pre-existence of the future in\nthe present in the form of idea. And the second theory, which sins by\nexcess, is the outcome of the first, which sins by defect. In place of\nintellect proper must be substituted the more comprehensive reality of\nwhich intellect is only the contraction. The future then appears as\nexpanding the present: it was not, therefore, contained in the present\nin the form of a represented end. And yet, once realized, it will\nexplain the present as much as the present explains it, and even more;\nit must be viewed as an end as much as, and more than, a result. Our\nintellect has a right to consider the future abstractly from its\nhabitual point of view, being itself an abstract view of the cause of\nits own being.\n\nIt is true that the cause may then seem beyond our grasp. Already the\nfinalist theory of life eludes all precise verification. What if we go\nbeyond it in one of its directions? Here, in fact, after a necessary\ndigression, we are back at the question which we regard as essential:\ncan the insufficiency of mechanism be proved by facts? We said that if\nthis demonstration is possible, it is on condition of frankly accepting\nthe evolutionist hypothesis. We must now show that if mechanism is\ninsufficient to account for evolution, the way of proving this\ninsufficiency is not to stop at the classic conception of finality,\nstill less to contract or attenuate it, but, on the contrary, to go\nfurther.\n\nLet us indicate at once the principle of our demonstration. We said of\nlife that, from its origin, it is the continuation of one and the same\nimpetus, divided into divergent lines of evolution. Something has grown,\nsomething has developed by a series of additions which have been so many\ncreations. This very development has brought about a dissociation of\ntendencies which were unable to grow beyond a certain point without\nbecoming mutually incompatible. Strictly speaking, there is nothing to\nprevent our imagining that the evolution of life might have taken place\nin one single individual by means of a series of transformations spread\nover thousands of ages. Or, instead of a single individual, any number\nmight be supposed, succeeding each other in a unilinear series. In both\ncases evolution would have had, so to speak, one dimension only. But\nevolution has actually taken place through millions of individuals, on\ndivergent lines, each ending at a crossing from which new paths radiate,\nand so on indefinitely. If our hypothesis is justified, if the\nessential causes working along these diverse roads are of psychological\nnature, they must keep something in common in spite of the divergence of\ntheir effects, as school-fellows long separated keep the same memories\nof boyhood. Roads may fork or by-ways be opened along which dissociated\nelements may evolve in an independent manner, but nevertheless it is in\nvirtue of the primitive impetus of the whole that the movement of the\nparts continues. Something of the whole, therefore, must abide in the\nparts; and this common element will be evident to us in some way,\nperhaps by the presence of identical organs in very different organisms.\nSuppose, for an instant, that the mechanistic explanation is the true\none: evolution must then have occurred through a series of accidents\nadded to one another, each new accident being preserved by selection if\nit is advantageous to that sum of former advantageous accidents which\nthe present form of the living being represents. What likelihood is\nthere that, by two entirely different series of accidents being added\ntogether, two entirely different evolutions will arrive at similar\nresults? The more two lines of evolution diverge, the less probability\nis there that accidental outer influences or accidental inner variations\nbring about the construction of the same apparatus upon them, especially\nif there was no trace of this apparatus at the moment of divergence. But\nsuch similarity of the two products would be natural, on the contrary,\non a hypothesis like ours: even in the latest channel there would be\nsomething of the impulsion received at the source. _Pure mechanism,\nthen, would be refutable, and finality, in the special sense in which we\nunderstand it, would be demonstrable in a certain aspect, if it could be\nproved that life may manufacture the like apparatus, by unlike means, on\ndivergent lines of evolution; and the strength of the proof would be\nproportional both to the divergency between the lines of evolution thus\nchosen and to the complexity of the similar structures found in them._\n\nIt will be said that resemblance of structure is due to sameness of the\ngeneral conditions in which life has evolved, and that these permanent\nouter conditions may have imposed the same direction on the forces\nconstructing this or that apparatus, in spite of the diversity of\ntransient outer influences and accidental inner changes. We are not, of\ncourse, blind to the r\u00f4le which the concept of _adaptation_ plays in the\nscience of to-day. Biologists certainly do not all make the same use of\nit. Some think the outer conditions capable of causing change in\norganisms in a _direct_ manner, in a definite direction, through\nphysico-chemical alterations induced by them in the living substance;\nsuch is the hypothesis of Eimer, for example. Others, more faithful to\nthe spirit of Darwinism, believe the influence of conditions works\n_indirectly_ only, through favoring, in the struggle for life, those\nrepresentatives of a species which the chance of birth has best adapted\nto the environment. In other words, some attribute a _positive_\ninfluence to outer conditions, and say that they actually _give rise to_\nvariations, while the others say these conditions have only a _negative_\ninfluence and merely _eliminate_ variations. But, in both cases, the\nouter conditions are supposed to bring about a precise adjustment of the\norganism to its circumstances. Both parties, then, will attempt to\nexplain mechanically, by adaptation to similar conditions, the\nsimilarities of structure which we think are the strongest argument\nagainst mechanism. So we must at once indicate in a general way, before\npassing to the detail, why explanations from \"adaptation\" seem to us\ninsufficient.\n\nLet us first remark that, of the two hypotheses just described, the\nlatter is the only one which is not equivocal. The Darwinian idea of\nadaptation by automatic elimination of the unadapted is a simple and\nclear idea. But, just because it attributes to the outer cause which\ncontrols evolution a merely negative influence, it has great difficulty\nin accounting for the progressive and, so to say, rectilinear\ndevelopment of complex apparatus such as we are about to examine. How\nmuch greater will this difficulty be in the case of the similar\nstructure of two extremely complex organs on two entirely different\nlines of evolution! An accidental variation, however minute, implies the\nworking of a great number of small physical and chemical causes. An\naccumulation of accidental variations, such as would be necessary to\nproduce a complex structure, requires therefore the concurrence of an\nalmost infinite number of infinitesimal causes. Why should these causes,\nentirely accidental, recur the same, and in the same order, at different\npoints of space and time? No one will hold that this is the case, and\nthe Darwinian himself will probably merely maintain that identical\neffects may arise from different causes, that more than one road leads\nto the same spot. But let us not be fooled by a metaphor. The place\nreached does not give the form of the road that leads there; while an\norganic structure is just the accumulation of those small differences\nwhich evolution has had to go through in order to achieve it. The\nstruggle for life and natural selection can be of no use to us in\nsolving this part of the problem, for we are not concerned here with\nwhat has perished, we have to do only with what has survived. Now, we\nsee that identical structures have been formed on independent lines of\nevolution by a gradual accumulation of effects. How can accidental\ncauses, occurring in an accidental order, be supposed to have repeatedly\ncome to the same result, the causes being infinitely numerous and the\neffect infinitely complicated?\n\nThe principle of mechanism is that \"the same causes produce the same\neffects.\" This principle, of course, does not always imply that the same\neffects must have the same causes; but it does involve this consequence\nin the particular case in which the causes remain visible in the effect\nthat they produce and are indeed its constitutive elements. That two\nwalkers starting from different points and wandering at random should\nfinally meet, is no great wonder. But that, throughout their walk, they\nshould describe two identical curves exactly superposable on each other,\nis altogether unlikely. The improbability will be the greater, the more\ncomplicated the routes; and it will become impossibility, if the zigzags\nare infinitely complicated. Now, what is this complexity of zigzags as\ncompared with that of an organ in which thousands of different cells,\neach being itself a kind of organism, are arranged in a definite order?\n\nLet us turn, then, to the other hypothesis, and see how it would solve\nthe problem. Adaptation, it says, is not merely elimination of the\nunadapted; it is due to the positive influence of outer conditions that\nhave molded the organism on their own form. This time, similarity of\neffects will be explained by similarity of cause. We shall remain,\napparently, in pure mechanism. But if we look closely, we shall see that\nthe explanation is merely verbal, that we are again the dupes of words,\nand that the trick of the solution consists in taking the term\n\"adaptation\" in two entirely different senses at the same time.\n\nIf I pour into the same glass, by turns, water and wine, the two liquids\nwill take the same form, and the sameness in form will be due to the\nsameness in adaptation of content to container. Adaptation, here, really\nmeans mechanical adjustment. The reason is that the form to which the\nmatter has adapted itself was there, ready-made, and has forced its own\nshape on the matter. But, in the adaptation of an organism to the\ncircumstances it has to live in, where is the pre-existing form awaiting\nits matter? The circumstances are not a mold into which life is inserted\nand whose form life adopts: this is indeed to be fooled by a metaphor.\nThere is no form yet, and the life must create a form for itself, suited\nto the circumstances which are made for it. It will have to make the\nbest of these circumstances, neutralize their inconveniences and utilize\ntheir advantages--in short, respond to outer actions by building up a\nmachine which has no resemblance to them. Such adapting is not\n_repeating_, but _replying_,--an entirely different thing. If there is\nstill adaptation, it will be in the sense in which one may say of the\nsolution of a problem of geometry, for example, that it is adapted to\nthe conditions. I grant indeed that adaptation so understood explains\nwhy different evolutionary processes result in similar forms: the same\nproblem, of course, calls for the same solution. But it is necessary\nthen to introduce, as for the solution of a problem of geometry, an\nintelligent activity, or at least a cause which behaves in the same way.\nThis is to bring in finality again, and a finality this time more than\never charged with anthropomorphic elements. In a word, if the adaptation\nis passive, if it is mere repetition in the relief of what the\nconditions give in the mold, it will build up nothing that one tries to\nmake it build; and if it is active, capable of responding by a\ncalculated solution to the problem which is set out in the conditions,\nthat is going further than we do--too far, indeed, in our opinion--in\nthe direction we indicated in the beginning. But the truth is that there\nis a surreptitious passing from one of these two meanings to the other,\na flight for refuge to the first whenever one is about to be caught _in\nflagrante delicto_ of finalism by employing the second. It is really\nthe second which serves the usual practice of science, but it is the\nfirst that generally provides its philosophy. In any _particular_ case\none talks as if the process of adaptation were an effort of the organism\nto build up a machine capable of turning external circumstances to the\nbest possible account: then one speaks of adaptation _in general_ as if\nit were the very impress of circumstances, passively received by an\nindifferent matter.\n\nBut let us come to the examples. It would be interesting first to\ninstitute here a general comparison between plants and animals. One\ncannot fail to be struck with the parallel progress which has been\naccomplished, on both sides, in the direction of sexuality. Not only is\nfecundation itself the same in higher plants and in animals, since it\nconsists, in both, in the union of two nuclei that differ in their\nproperties and structure before their union and immediately after become\nequivalent to each other; but the preparation of sexual elements goes on\nin both under like conditions: it consists essentially in the reduction\nof the number of chromosomes and the rejection of a certain quantity of\nchromatic substance.[22] Yet vegetables and animals have evolved on\nindependent lines, favored by unlike circumstances, opposed by unlike\nobstacles. Here are two great series which have gone on diverging. On\neither line, thousands and thousands of causes have combined to\ndetermine the morphological and functional evolution. Yet these\ninfinitely complicated causes have been consummated, in each series, in\nthe same effect. And this effect, could hardly be called a phenomenon of\n\"adaptation\": where is the adaptation, where is the pressure of external\ncircumstances? There is no striking utility in sexual generation; it\nhas been interpreted in the most diverse ways; and some very acute\nenquirers even regard the sexuality of the plant, at least, as a luxury\nwhich nature might have dispensed with.[23] But we do not wish to dwell\non facts so disputed. The ambiguity of the term \"adaptation,\" and the\nnecessity of transcending both the point of view of mechanical causality\nand that of anthropomorphic finality, will stand out more clearly with\nsimpler examples. At all times the doctrine of finality has laid much\nstress on the marvellous structure of the sense-organs, in order to\nliken the work of nature to that of an intelligent workman. Now, since\nthese organs are found, in a rudimentary state, in the lower animals,\nand since nature offers us many intermediaries between the pigment-spot\nof the simplest organisms and the infinitely complex eye of the\nvertebrates, it may just as well be alleged that the result has been\nbrought about by natural selection perfecting the organ automatically.\nIn short, if there is a case in which it seems justifiable to invoke\nadaptation, it is this particular one. For there may be discussion about\nthe function and meaning of such a thing as sexual generation, in so far\nas it is related to the conditions in which it occurs; but the relation\nof the eye to light is obvious, and when we call this relation an\nadaptation, we must know what we mean. If, then, we can show, in this\nprivileged case, the insufficiency of the principles invoked on both\nsides, our demonstration will at once have reached a high degree of\ngenerality.\n\nLet us consider the example on which the advocates of finality have\nalways insisted: the structure of such an organ as the human eye. They\nhave had no difficulty in showing that in this extremely complicated\napparatus all the elements are marvelously co-ordinated. In order that\nvision shall operate, says the author of a well-known book on _Final\nCauses_, \"the sclerotic membrane must become transparent in one point of\nits surface, so as to enable luminous rays to pierce it;... the cornea\nmust correspond exactly with the opening of the socket;... behind this\ntransparent opening there must be refracting media;... there must be a\nretina[24] at the extremity of the dark chamber;... perpendicular to the\nretina there must be an innumerable quantity of transparent cones\npermitting only the light directed in the line of their axes to reach\nthe nervous membrane,\"[25] etc. etc. In reply, the advocate of final\ncauses has been invited to assume the evolutionist hypothesis.\nEverything is marvelous, indeed, if one consider an eye like ours, in\nwhich thousands of elements are co\u00f6rdinated in a single function. But\ntake the function at its origin, in the Infusorian, where it is reduced\nto the mere impressionability (almost purely chemical) of a pigment-spot\nto light: this function, possibly only an accidental fact in the\nbeginning, may have brought about a slight complication of the organ,\nwhich again induced an improvement of the function. It may have done\nthis either directly, through some unknown mechanism, or indirectly,\nmerely through the effect of the advantages it brought to the living\nbeing and the hold it thus offered to natural selection. Thus the\nprogressive formation of an eye as well contrived as ours would be\nexplained by an almost infinite number of actions and reactions between\nthe function and the organ, without the intervention of other than\nmechanical causes.\n\nThe question is hard to decide, indeed, when put directly between the\nfunction and the organ, as is done in the doctrine of finality, as also\nmechanism itself does. For organ and function are terms of different\nnature, and each conditions the other so closely that it is impossible\nto say _a priori_ whether in expressing their relation we should begin\nwith the first, as does mechanism, or with the second, as finalism\nrequires. But the discussion would take an entirely different turn, we\nthink, if we began by comparing together two terms of the same nature,\nan organ with an organ, instead of an organ with its function. In this\ncase, it would be possible to proceed little by little to a solution\nmore and more plausible, and there would be the more chance of a\nsuccessful issue the more resolutely we assumed the evolutionist\nhypothesis.\n\nLet us place side by side the eye of a vertebrate and that of a mollusc\nsuch as the common Pecten. We find the same essential parts in each,\ncomposed of analogous elements. The eye of the Pecten presents a retina,\na cornea, a lens of cellular structure like our own. There is even that\npeculiar inversion of retinal elements which is not met with, in\ngeneral, in the retina of the invertebrates. Now, the origin of molluscs\nmay be a debated question, but, whatever opinion we hold, all are agreed\nthat molluscs and vertebrates separated from their common parent-stem\nlong before the appearance of an eye so complex as that of the Pecten.\nWhence, then, the structural analogy?\n\nLet us question on this point the two opposed systems of evolutionist\nexplanation in turn--the hypothesis of purely accidental variations, and\nthat of a variation directed in a definite way under the influence of\nexternal conditions.\n\nThe first, as is well known, is presented to-day in two quite different\nforms. Darwin spoke of very slight variations being accumulated by\nnatural selection. He was not ignorant of the facts of sudden variation;\nbut he thought these \"sports,\" as he called them, were only\nmonstrosities incapable of perpetuating themselves; and he accounted for\nthe genesis of species by an accumulation of _insensible_\nvariations.[26] Such is still the opinion of many naturalists. It is\ntending, however, to give way to the opposite idea that a new species\ncomes into being all at once by the simultaneous appearance of several\nnew characters, all somewhat different from the previous ones. This\nlatter hypothesis, already proposed by various authors, notably by\nBateson in a remarkable book,[27] has become deeply significant and\nacquired great force since the striking experiments of Hugo de Vries.\nThis botanist, working on the _OEnothera Lamarckiana_, obtained at the\nend of a few generations a certain number of new species. The theory he\ndeduces from his experiments is of the highest interest. Species pass\nthrough alternate periods of stability and transformation. When the\nperiod of \"mutability\" occurs, unexpected forms spring forth in a great\nnumber of different directions.[28]--We will not attempt to take sides\nbetween this hypothesis and that of insensible variations. Indeed,\nperhaps both are partly true. We wish merely to point out that if the\nvariations invoked are accidental, they do not, whether small or great,\naccount for a similarity of structure such as we have cited.\n\nLet us assume, to begin with, the Darwinian theory of insensible\nvariations, and suppose the occurrence of small differences due to\nchance, and continually accumulating. It must not be forgotten that all\nthe parts of an organism are necessarily co\u00f6rdinated. Whether the\nfunction be the effect of the organ or its cause, it matters little; one\npoint is certain--the organ will be of no use and will not give\nselection a hold unless it functions. However the minute structure of\nthe retina may develop, and however complicated it may become, such\nprogress, instead of favoring vision, will probably hinder it if the\nvisual centres do not develop at the same time, as well as several parts\nof the visual organ itself. If the variations are accidental, how can\nthey ever agree to arise in every part of the organ at the same time, in\nsuch way that the organ will continue to perform its function? Darwin\nquite understood this; it is one of the reasons why he regarded\nvariation as insensible.[29] For a difference which arises accidentally\nat one point of the visual apparatus, if it be very slight, will not\nhinder the functioning of the organ; and hence this first accidental\nvariation can, in a sense, _wait for_ complementary variations to\naccumulate and raise vision to a higher degree of perfection. Granted;\nbut while the insensible variation does not hinder the functioning of\nthe eye, neither does it help it, so long as the variations that are\ncomplementary do not occur. How, in that case, can the variation be\nretained by natural selection? Unwittingly one will reason as if the\nslight variation were a toothing stone set up by the organism and\nreserved for a later construction. This hypothesis, so little\nconformable to the Darwinian principle, is difficult enough to avoid\neven in the case of an organ which has been developed along one single\nmain line of evolution, _e.g._ the vertebrate eye. But it is absolutely\nforced upon us when we observe the likeness of structure of the\nvertebrate eye and that of the molluscs. How could the same small\nvariations, incalculable in number, have ever occurred in the same\norder on two independent lines of evolution, if they were purely\naccidental? And how could they have been preserved by selection and\naccumulated in both cases, the same in the same order, when each of\nthem, taken separately, was of no use?\n\nLet us turn, then, to the hypothesis of sudden variations, and see\nwhether it will solve the problem. It certainly lessens the difficulty\non one point, but it makes it much worse on another. If the eye of the\nmollusc and that of the vertebrate have both been raised to their\npresent form by a relatively small number of sudden leaps, I have less\ndifficulty in understanding the resemblance of the two organs than if\nthis resemblance were due to an incalculable number of infinitesimal\nresemblances acquired successively: in both cases it is chance that\noperates, but in the second case chance is not required to work the\nmiracle it would have to perform in the first. Not only is the number of\nresemblances to be added somewhat reduced, but I can also understand\nbetter how each could be preserved and added to the others; for the\nelementary variation is now considerable enough to be an advantage to\nthe living being, and so to lend itself to the play of selection. But\nhere there arises another problem, no less formidable, viz., how do all\nthe parts of the visual apparatus, suddenly changed, remain so well\nco\u00f6rdinated that the eye continues to exercise its function? For the\nchange of one part alone will make vision impossible, unless this change\nis absolutely infinitesimal. The parts must then all change at once,\neach consulting the others. I agree that a great number of unco\u00f6rdinated\nvariations may indeed have arisen in less fortunate individuals, that\nnatural selection may have eliminated these, and that only the\ncombination fit to endure, capable of preserving and improving vision,\nhas survived. Still, this combination had to be produced. And, supposing\nchance to have granted this favor once, can we admit that it repeats the\nself-same favor in the course of the history of a species, so as to give\nrise, every time, all at once, to new complications marvelously\nregulated with reference to each other, and so related to former\ncomplications as to go further on in the same direction? How,\nespecially, can we suppose that by a series of mere \"accidents\" these\nsudden variations occur, the same, in the same order,--involving in each\ncase a perfect harmony of elements more and more numerous and\ncomplex--along two independent lines of evolution?\n\nThe law of correlation will be invoked, of course; Darwin himself\nappealed to it.[30] It will be alleged that a change is not localized in\na single point of the organism, but has its necessary recoil on other\npoints. The examples cited by Darwin remain classic: white cats with\nblue eyes are generally deaf; hairless dogs have imperfect dentition,\netc.--Granted; but let us not play now on the word \"correlation.\" A\ncollective whole of _solidary_ changes is one thing, a system of\n_complementary_ changes--changes so co\u00f6rdinated as to keep up and even\nimprove the functioning of an organ under more complicated\nconditions--is another. That an anomaly of the pilous system should be\naccompanied by an anomaly of dentition is quite conceivable without our\nhaving to call for a special principle of explanation; for hair and\nteeth are similar formations,[31] and the same chemical change of the\ngerm that hinders the formation of hair would probably obstruct that of\nteeth: it may be for the same sort of reason that white cats with blue\neyes are deaf. In these different examples the \"correlative\" changes are\nonly _solidary_ changes (not to mention the fact that they are really\n_lesions_, namely, diminutions or suppressions, and not additions, which\nmakes a great difference). But when we speak of \"correlative\" changes\noccurring suddenly in the different parts of the eye, we use the word in\nan entirely new sense: this time there is a whole set of changes not\nonly simultaneous, not only bound together by community of origin, but\nso co\u00f6rdinated that the organ keeps on performing the same simple\nfunction, and even performs it better. That a change in the germ, which\ninfluences the formation of the retina, may affect at the same time also\nthe formation of the cornea, the iris, the lens, the visual centres,\netc., I admit, if necessary, although they are formations that differ\nmuch more from one another in their original nature than do probably\nhair and teeth. But that all these simultaneous changes should occur in\nsuch a way as to improve or even merely maintain vision, this is what,\nin the hypothesis of sudden variation, I cannot admit, unless a\nmysterious principle is to come in, whose duty it is to watch over the\ninterest of the function. But this would be to give up the idea of\n\"accidental\" variation. In reality, these two senses of the word\n\"correlation\" are often interchanged in the mind of the biologist, just\nlike the two senses of the word \"adaptation.\" And the confusion is\nalmost legitimate in botany, that science in which the theory of the\nformation of species by sudden variation rests on the firmest\nexperimental basis. In vegetables, function is far less narrowly bound\nto form than in animals. Even profound morphological differences, such\nas a change in the form of leaves, have no appreciable influence on the\nexercise of function, and so do not require a whole system of\ncomplementary changes for the plant to remain fit to survive. But it is\nnot so in the animal, especially in the case of an organ like the eye, a\nvery complex structure and very delicate function. Here it is impossible\nto identify changes that are simply solidary with changes which are also\ncomplementary. The two senses of the word \"correlation\" must be\ncarefully distinguished; it would be a downright paralogism to adopt one\nof them in the premisses of the reasoning, and the other in the\nconclusion. And this is just what is done when the principle of\ncorrelation is invoked in explanations of _detail_ in order to account\nfor complementary variations, and then correlation _in general_ is\nspoken of as if it were any group of variations provoked by any\nvariation of the germ. Thus, the notion of correlation is first used in\ncurrent science as it might be used by an advocate of finality; it is\nunderstood that this is only a convenient way of expressing oneself,\nthat one will correct it and fall back on pure mechanism when explaining\nthe nature of the principles and turning from science to philosophy. And\none does then come back to pure mechanism, but only by giving a new\nmeaning to the word \"correlation\"--a meaning which would now make\ncorrelation inapplicable to the detail it is called upon to explain.\n\nTo sum up, if the accidental variations that bring about evolution are\ninsensible variations, some good genius must be appealed to--the genius\nof the future species--in order to preserve and accumulate these\nvariations, for selection will not look after this. If, on the other\nhand, the accidental variations are sudden, then, for the previous\nfunction to go on or for a new function to take its place, all the\nchanges that have happened together must be complementary. So we have to\nfall back on the good genius again, this time to obtain the\n_convergence_ of _simultaneous_ changes, as before to be assured of the\n_continuity of direction_ of _successive_ variations. But in neither\ncase can parallel development of the same complex structures on\nindependent lines of evolution be due to a mere accumulation of\naccidental variations. So we come to the second of the two great\nhypotheses we have to examine. Suppose the variations are due, not to\naccidental and inner causes, but to the direct influence of outer\ncircumstances. Let us see what line we should have to take, on this\nhypothesis, to account for the resemblance of eye-structure in two\nseries that are independent of each other from the phylogenetic point of\nview.\n\nThough molluscs and vertebrates have evolved separately, both have\nremained exposed to the influence of light. And light is a physical\ncause bringing forth certain definite effects. Acting in a continuous\nway, it has been able to produce a continuous variation in a constant\ndirection. Of course it is unlikely that the eye of the vertebrate and\nthat of the mollusc have been built up by a series of variations due to\nsimple chance. Admitting even that light enters into the case as an\ninstrument of selection, in order to allow only useful variations to\npersist, there is no possibility that the play of chance, even thus\nsupervised from without, should bring about in both cases the same\njuxtaposition of elements co\u00f6rdinated in the same way. But it would be\ndifferent supposing that light acted directly on the organized matter so\nas to change its structure and somehow adapt this structure to its own\nform. The resemblance of the two effects would then be explained by the\nidentity of the cause. The more and more complex eye would be something\nlike the deeper and deeper imprint of light on a matter which, being\norganized, possesses a special aptitude for receiving it.\n\nBut can an organic structure be likened to an imprint? We have already\ncalled attention to the ambiguity of the term \"adaptation.\" The gradual\ncomplication of a form which is being better and better adapted to the\nmold of outward circumstances is one thing, the increasingly complex\nstructure of an instrument which derives more and more advantage from\nthese circumstances is another. In the former case, the matter merely\nreceives an imprint; in the second, it reacts positively, it solves a\nproblem. Obviously it is this second sense of the word \"adapt\" that is\nused when one says that the eye has become better and better adapted to\nthe influence of light. But one passes more or less unconsciously from\nthis sense to the other, and a purely mechanistic biology will strive to\nmake the _passive_ adaptation of an inert matter, which submits to the\ninfluence of its environment, mean the same as the _active_ adaptation\nof an organism which derives from this influence an advantage it can\nappropriate. It must be owned, indeed, that Nature herself appears to\ninvite our mind to confuse these two kinds of adaptation, for she\nusually begins by a passive adaptation where, later on, she will build\nup a mechanism for active response. Thus, in the case before us, it is\nunquestionable that the first rudiment of the eye is found in the\npigment-spot of the lower organisms; this spot may indeed have been\nproduced physically, by the mere action of light, and there are a great\nnumber of intermediaries between the simple spot of pigment and a\ncomplicated eye like that of the vertebrates.--But, from the fact that\nwe pass from one thing to another by degrees, it does not follow that\nthe two things are of the same nature. From the fact that an orator\nfalls in, at first, with the passions of his audience in order to make\nhimself master of them, it will not be concluded that to _follow_ is the\nsame as to _lead_. Now, living matter seems to have no other means of\nturning circumstances to good account than by adapting itself to them\npassively at the outset. Where it has to direct a movement, it begins by\nadopting it. Life proceeds by insinuation. The intermediate degrees\nbetween a pigment-spot and an eye are nothing to the point: however\nnumerous the degrees, there will still be the same interval between the\npigment-spot and the eye as between a photograph and a photographic\napparatus. Certainly the photograph has been gradually turned into a\nphotographic apparatus; but could light alone, a physical force, ever\nhave provoked this change, and converted an impression left by it into a\nmachine capable of using it?\n\nIt may be claimed that considerations of utility are out of place here;\nthat the eye is not made to see, but that we see because we have eyes;\nthat the organ is what it is, and \"utility\" is a word by which we\ndesignate the functional effects of the structure. But when I say that\nthe eye \"makes use of\" light, I do not merely mean that the eye is\ncapable of seeing; I allude to the very precise relations that exist\nbetween this organ and the apparatus of locomotion. The retina of\nvertebrates is prolonged in an optic nerve, which, again, is continued\nby cerebral centres connected with motor mechanisms. Our eye makes use\nof light in that it enables us to utilize, by movements of reaction, the\nobjects that we see to be advantageous, and to avoid those which we see\nto be injurious. Now, of course, as light may have produced a\npigment-spot by physical means, so it can physically determine the\nmovements of certain organisms; ciliated Infusoria, for instance, react\nto light. But no one would hold that the influence of light has\nphysically caused the formation of a nervous system, of a muscular\nsystem, of an osseous system, all things which are continuous with the\napparatus of vision in vertebrate animals. The truth is, when one\nspeaks of the gradual formation of the eye, and, still more, when one\ntakes into account all that is inseparably connected with it, one brings\nin something entirely different from the direct action of light. One\nimplicitly attributes to organized matter a certain capacity _sui\ngeneris_, the mysterious power of building up very complicated machines\nto utilize the simple excitation that it undergoes.\n\nBut this is just what is claimed to be unnecessary. Physics and\nchemistry are said to give us the key to everything. Eimer's great work\nis instructive in this respect. It is well known what persevering effort\nthis biologist has devoted to demonstrating that transformation is\nbrought about by the influence of the external on the internal,\ncontinuously exerted in the same direction, and not, as Darwin held, by\naccidental variations. His theory rests on observations of the highest\ninterest, of which the starting-point was the study of the course\nfollowed by the color variation of the skin in certain lizards. Before\nthis, the already old experiments of Dorfmeister had shown that the same\nchrysalis, according as it was submitted to cold or heat, gave rise to\nvery different butterflies, which had long been regarded as independent\nspecies, _Vanessa levana_ and _Vanessa prorsa_: an intermediate\ntemperature produces an intermediate form. We might class with these\nfacts the important transformations observed in a little crustacean,\n_Artemia salina_, when the salt of the water it lives in is increased or\ndiminished.[32] In these various experiments the external agent seems to\nact as a cause of transformation. But what does the word \"cause\" mean\nhere? Without undertaking an exhaustive analysis of the idea of\ncausality, we will merely remark that three very different meanings of\nthis term are commonly confused. A cause may act by _impelling_,\n_releasing_, or _unwinding_. The billiard-ball, that strikes another,\ndetermines its movement by _impelling_. The spark that explodes the\npowder acts by _releasing_. The gradual relaxing of the spring, that\nmakes the phonograph turn, _unwinds_ the melody inscribed on the\ncylinder: if the melody which is played be the effect, and the relaxing\nof the spring the cause, we must say that the cause acts by _unwinding_.\nWhat distinguishes these three cases from each other is the greater or\nless solidarity between the cause and the effect. In the first, the\nquantity and quality of the effect vary with the quantity and quality of\nthe cause. In the second, neither quality nor quantity of the effect\nvaries with quality and quantity of the cause: the effect is invariable.\nIn the third, the quantity of the effect depends on the quantity of the\ncause, but the cause does not influence the quality of the effect: the\nlonger the cylinder turns by the action of the spring, the more of the\nmelody I shall hear, but the nature of the melody, or of the part heard,\ndoes not depend on the action of the spring. Only in the first case,\nreally, does cause _explain_ effect; in the others the effect is more or\nless given in advance, and the antecedent invoked is--in different\ndegrees, of course--its occasion rather than its cause. Now, in saying\nthat the saltness of the water is the cause of the transformations of\nArtemia, or that the degree of temperature determines the color and\nmarks of the wings which a certain chrysalis will assume on becoming a\nbutterfly, is the word \"cause\" used in the first sense? Obviously not:\ncausality has here an intermediary sense between those of unwinding and\nreleasing. Such, indeed, seems to be Eimer's own meaning when he speaks\nof the \"kaleidoscopic\" character of the variation,[33] or when he says\nthat the variation of organized matter works in a definite way, just as\ninorganic matter crystallizes in definite directions.[34] And it may be\ngranted, perhaps, that the process is a merely physical and chemical one\nin the case of the color-changes of the skin. But if this sort of\nexplanation is extended to the case of the gradual formation of the eye\nof the vertebrate, for instance, it must be supposed that the\nphysico-chemistry of living bodies is such that the influence of light\nhas caused the organism to construct a progressive series of visual\napparatus, all extremely complex, yet all capable of seeing, and of\nseeing better and better.[35] What more could the most confirmed\nfinalist say, in order to mark out so exceptional a physico-chemistry?\nAnd will not the position of a mechanistic philosophy become still more\ndifficult, when it is pointed out to it that the egg of a mollusc cannot\nhave the same chemical composition as that of a vertebrate, that the\norganic substance which evolved toward the first of these two forms\ncould not have been chemically identical with that of the substance\nwhich went in the other direction, and that, nevertheless, under the\ninfluence of light, the same organ has been constructed in the one case\nas in the other?\n\nThe more we reflect upon it, the more we shall see that this production\nof the same effect by two different accumulations of an enormous number\nof small causes is contrary to the principles of mechanistic philosophy.\nWe have concentrated the full force of our discussion upon an example\ndrawn from phylogenesis. But ontogenesis would have furnished us with\nfacts no less cogent. Every moment, right before our eyes, nature\narrives at identical results, in sometimes neighboring species, by\nentirely different embryogenic processes. Observations of\n\"heteroblastia\" have multiplied in late years,[36] and it has been\nnecessary to reject the almost classical theory of the specificity of\nembryonic gills. Still keeping to our comparison between the eye of\nvertebrates and that of molluscs, we may point out that the retina of\nthe vertebrate is produced by an expansion in the rudimentary brain of\nthe young embryo. It is a regular nervous centre which has moved toward\nthe periphery. In the mollusc, on the contrary, the retina is derived\nfrom the ectoderm directly, and not indirectly by means of the embryonic\nencephalon. Quite different, therefore, are the evolutionary processes\nwhich lead, in man and in the Pecten, to the development of a like\nretina. But, without going so far as to compare two organisms so distant\nfrom each other, we might reach the same conclusion simply by looking at\ncertain very curious facts of regeneration in one and the same organism.\nIf the crystalline lens of a Triton be removed, it is regenerated by the\niris.[37] Now, the original lens was built out of the ectoderm, while\nthe iris is of mesodermic origin. What is more, in the _Salamandra\nmaculata_, if the lens be removed and the iris left, the regeneration of\nthe lens takes place at the upper part of the iris; but if this upper\npart of the iris itself be taken away, the regeneration takes place in\nthe inner or retinal layer of the remaining region.[38] Thus, parts\ndifferently situated, differently constituted, meant normally for\ndifferent functions, are capable of performing the same duties and even\nof manufacturing, when necessary, the same pieces of the machine. Here\nwe have, indeed, the same effect obtained by different combinations of\ncauses.\n\nWhether we will or no, we must appeal to some inner directing principle\nin order to account for this convergence of effects. Such convergence\ndoes not appear possible in the Darwinian, and especially the\nneo-Darwinian, theory of insensible accidental variations, nor in the\nhypothesis of sudden accidental variations, nor even in the theory that\nassigns definite directions to the evolution of the various organs by a\nkind of mechanical composition of the external with the internal forces.\nSo we come to the only one of the present forms of evolution which\nremains for us to mention, viz., neo-Lamarckism.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is well known that Lamarck attributed to the living being the power\nof varying by use or disuse of its organs, and also of passing on the\nvariation so acquired to its descendants. A certain number of biologists\nhold a doctrine of this kind to-day. The variation that results in a new\nspecies is not, they believe, merely an accidental variation inherent in\nthe germ itself, nor is it governed by a determinism _sui generis_ which\ndevelops definite characters in a definite direction, apart from every\nconsideration of utility. It springs from the very effort of the living\nbeing to adapt itself to the circumstances of its existence. The effort\nmay indeed be only the mechanical exercise of certain organs,\nmechanically elicited by the pressure of external circumstances. But it\nmay also imply consciousness and will, and it is in this sense that it\nappears to be understood by one of the most eminent representatives of\nthe doctrine, the American naturalist Cope.[39] Neo-Lamarckism is\ntherefore, of all the later forms of evolutionism, the only one capable\nof admitting an internal and psychological principle of development,\nalthough it is not bound to do so. And it is also the only evolutionism\nthat seems to us to account for the building up of identical complex\norgans on independent lines of development. For it is quite conceivable\nthat the same effort to turn the same circumstances to good account\nmight have the same result, especially if the problem put by the\ncircumstances is such as to admit of only one solution. But the question\nremains, whether the term \"effort\" must not then be taken in a deeper\nsense, a sense even more psychological than any neo-Lamarckian supposes.\n\nFor a mere variation of size is one thing, and a change of form is\nanother. That an organ can be strengthened and grow by exercise, nobody\nwill deny. But it is a long way from that to the progressive development\nof an eye like that of the molluscs and of the vertebrates. If this\ndevelopment be ascribed to the influence of light, long continued but\npassively received, we fall back on the theory we have just criticized.\nIf, on the other hand, an internal activity is appealed to, then it must\nbe something quite different from what we usually call an effort, for\nnever has an effort been known to produce the slightest complication of\nan organ, and yet an enormous number of complications, all admirably\nco\u00f6rdinated, have been necessary to pass from the pigment-spot of the\nInfusorian to the eye of the vertebrate. But, even if we accept this\nnotion of the evolutionary process in the case of animals, how can we\napply it to plants? Here, variations of form do not seem to imply, nor\nalways to lead to, functional changes; and even if the cause of the\nvariation is of a psychological nature, we can hardly call it an effort,\nunless we give a very unusual extension to the meaning of the word. The\ntruth is, it is necessary to dig beneath the effort itself and look for\na deeper cause.\n\nThis is especially necessary, we believe, if we wish to get at a cause\nof regular hereditary variations. We are not going to enter here into\nthe controversies over the transmissibility of acquired characters;\nstill less do we wish to take too definite a side on this question,\nwhich is not within our province. But we cannot remain completely\nindifferent to it. Nowhere is it clearer that philosophers can not\nto-day content themselves with vague generalities, but must follow the\nscientists in experimental detail and discuss the results with them. If\nSpencer had begun by putting to himself the question of the\nhereditability of acquired characters, his evolutionism would no doubt\nhave taken an altogether different form. If (as seems probable to us) a\nhabit contracted by the individual were transmitted to its descendants\nonly in very exceptional cases, all the Spencerian psychology would need\nremaking, and a large part of Spencer's philosophy would fall to pieces.\nLet us say, then, how the problem seems to us to present itself, and in\nwhat direction an attempt might be made to solve it.\n\nAfter having been affirmed as a dogma, the transmissibility of acquired\ncharacters has been no less dogmatically denied, for reasons drawn _a\npriori_ from the supposed nature of germinal cells. It is well known how\nWeismann was led, by his hypothesis of the continuity of the germ-plasm,\nto regard the germinal cells--ova and spermatozoa--as almost independent\nof the somatic cells. Starting from this, it has been claimed, and is\nstill claimed by many, that the hereditary transmission of an acquired\ncharacter is inconceivable. But if, perchance, experiment should show\nthat acquired characters are transmissible, it would prove thereby that\nthe germ-plasm is not so independent of the somatic envelope as has been\ncontended, and the transmissibility of acquired characters would become\n_ipso facto_ conceivable; which amounts to saying that conceivability\nand inconceivability have nothing to do with the case, and that\nexperience alone must settle the matter. But it is just here that the\ndifficulty begins. The acquired characters we are speaking of are\ngenerally habits or the effects of habit, and at the root of most habits\nthere is a natural disposition. So that one can always ask whether it is\nreally the habit acquired by the soma of the individual that is\ntransmitted, or whether it is not rather a natural aptitude, which\nexisted prior to the habit. This aptitude would have remained inherent\nin the germ-plasm which the individual bears within him, as it was in\nthe individual himself and consequently in the germ whence he sprang.\nThus, for instance, there is no proof that the mole has become blind\nbecause it has formed the habit of living underground; it is perhaps\nbecause its eyes were becoming atrophied that it condemned itself to a\nlife underground.[40] If this is the case, the tendency to lose the\npower of vision has been transmitted from germ to germ without anything\nbeing acquired or lost by the soma of the mole itself. From the fact\nthat the son of a fencing-master has become a good fencer much more\nquickly than his father, we cannot infer that the habit of the parent\nhas been transmitted to the child; for certain natural dispositions in\ncourse of growth may have passed from the plasma engendering the father\nto the plasma engendering the son, may have grown on the way by the\neffect of the primitive impetus, and thus assured to the son a greater\nsuppleness than the father had, without troubling, so to speak, about\nwhat the father did. So of many examples drawn from the progressive\ndomestication of animals: it is hard to say whether it is the acquired\nhabit that is transmitted or only a certain natural tendency--that,\nindeed, which has caused such and such a particular species or certain\nof its representatives to be specially chosen for domestication. The\ntruth is, when every doubtful case, every fact open to more than one\ninterpretation, has been eliminated, there remains hardly a single\nunquestionable example of acquired and transmitted peculiarities, beyond\nthe famous experiments of Brown-S\u00e9quard, repeated and confirmed by other\nphysiologists.[41] By cutting the spinal cord or the sciatic nerve of\nguinea-pigs, Brown-S\u00e9quard brought about an epileptic state which was\ntransmitted to the descendants. Lesions of the same sciatic nerve, of\nthe restiform body, etc., provoked various troubles in the guinea-pig\nwhich its progeny inherited sometimes in a quite different form:\nexophthalmia, loss of toes, etc. But it is not demonstrated that in\nthese different cases of hereditary transmission there had been a real\ninfluence of the soma of the animal on its germ-plasm. Weismann at once\nobjected that the operations of Brown-S\u00e9quard might have introduced\ncertain special microbes into the body of the guinea-pig, which had\nfound their means of nutrition in the nervous tissues and transmitted\nthe malady by penetrating into the sexual elements.[42] This objection\nhas been answered by Brown-S\u00e9quard himself;[43] but a more plausible\none might be raised. Some experiments of Voisin and Peron have shown\nthat fits of epilepsy are followed by the elimination of a toxic body\nwhich, when injected into animals,[44] is capable of producing\nconvulsive symptoms. Perhaps the trophic disorders following the nerve\nlesions made by Brown-S\u00e9quard correspond to the formation of precisely\nthis convulsion-causing poison. If so, the toxin passed from the\nguinea-pig to its spermatozoon or ovum, and caused in the development of\nthe embryo a general disturbance, which, however, had no visible effects\nexcept at one point or another of the organism when developed. In that\ncase, what occurred would have been somewhat the same as in the\nexperiments of Charrin, Delamare, and Moussu, where guinea-pigs in\ngestation, whose liver or kidney was injured, transmitted the lesion to\ntheir progeny, simply because the injury to the mother's organ had given\nrise to specific \"cytotoxins\" which acted on the corresponding organ of\nthe foetus.[45] It is true that, in these experiments, as in a former\nobservation of the same physiologists,[46] it was the already formed\nfoetus that was influenced by the toxins. But other researches of\nCharrin have resulted in showing that the same effect may be produced,\nby an analogous process, on the spermatozoa and the ova.[47] To\nconclude, then: the inheritance of an acquired peculiarity in the\nexperiments of Brown-S\u00e9quard can be explained by the effect of a toxin\non the germ. The lesion, however well localized it seems, is transmitted\nby the same process as, for instance, the taint of alcoholism. But may\nit not be the same in the case of every acquired peculiarity that has\nbecome hereditary?\n\nThere is, indeed, one point on which both those who affirm and those who\ndeny the transmissibility of acquired characters are agreed, namely,\nthat certain influences, such as that of alcohol, can affect at the same\ntime both the living being and the germ-plasm it contains. In such case,\nthere is inheritance of a defect, and the result is _as if_ the soma of\nthe parent had acted on the germ-plasm, although in reality soma and\nplasma have simply both suffered the action of the same cause. Now,\nsuppose that the soma can influence the germ-plasm, as those believe who\nhold that acquired characters are transmissible. Is not the most natural\nhypothesis to suppose that things happen in this second case as in the\nfirst, and that the direct effect of the influence of the soma is a\n_general_ alteration of the germ-plasm? If this is the case, it is by\nexception, and in some sort by accident, that the modification of the\ndescendant is the same as that of the parent. It is like the\nhereditability of the alcoholic taint: it passes from father to\nchildren, but it may take a different form in each child, and in none of\nthem be like what it was in the father. Let the letter C represent the\nchange in the plasm, C being either positive or negative, that is to\nsay, showing either the gain or loss of certain substances. The effect\nwill not be an exact reproduction of the cause, nor will the change in\nthe germ-plasm, provoked by a certain modification of a certain part of\nthe soma, determine a similar modification of the corresponding part of\nthe new organism in process of formation, unless all the other nascent\nparts of this organism enjoy a kind of immunity as regards C: the same\npart will then undergo alteration in the new organism, because it\nhappens that the development of this part is alone subject to the new\ninfluence. And, even then, the part might be altered in an entirely\ndifferent way from that in which the corresponding part was altered in\nthe generating organism.\n\nWe should propose, then, to introduce a distinction between the\nhereditability of _deviation_ and that of _character_. An individual\nwhich acquires a new character thereby _deviates_ from the form it\npreviously had, which form the germs, or oftener the half-germs, it\ncontains would have reproduced in their development. If this\nmodification does not involve the production of substances capable of\nchanging the germ-plasm, or does not so affect nutrition as to deprive\nthe germ-plasm of certain of its elements, it will have no effect on the\noffspring of the individual. This is probably the case as a rule. If, on\nthe contrary, it has some effect, this is likely to be due to a chemical\nchange which it has induced in the germ-plasm. This chemical change\nmight, by exception, bring about the original modification again in the\norganism which the germ is about to develop, but there are as many and\nmore chances that it will do something else. In this latter case, the\ngenerated organism will perhaps deviate from the normal type _as much\nas_ the generating organism, but it will do so _differently_. It will\nhave inherited deviation and not character. In general, therefore, the\nhabits formed by an individual have probably no echo in its offspring;\nand when they have, the modification in the descendants may have no\nvisible likeness to the original one. Such, at least, is the hypothesis\nwhich seems to us most likely. In any case, in default of proof to the\ncontrary, and so long as the decisive experiments called for by an\neminent biologist[48] have not been made, we must keep to the actual\nresults of observation. Now, even if we take the most favorable view of\nthe theory of the transmissibility of acquired characters, and assume\nthat the ostensible acquired character is not, in most cases, the more\nor less tardy development of an innate character, facts show us that\nhereditary transmission is the exception and not the rule. How, then,\nshall we expect it to develop an organ such as the eye? When we think of\nthe enormous number of variations, all in the same direction, that we\nmust suppose to be accumulated before the passage from the pigment-spot\nof the Infusorian to the eye of the mollusc and of the vertebrate is\npossible, we do not see how heredity, as we observe it, could ever have\ndetermined this piling-up of differences, even supposing that individual\nefforts could have produced each of them singly. That is to say that\nneo-Lamarckism is no more able than any other form of evolutionism to\nsolve the problem.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn thus submitting the various present forms of evolutionism to a common\ntest, in showing that they all strike against the same insurmountable\ndifficulty, we have in no wise the intention of rejecting them\naltogether. On the contrary, each of them, being supported by a\nconsiderable number of facts, must be true in its way. Each of them must\ncorrespond to a certain aspect of the process of evolution. Perhaps even\nit is necessary that a theory should restrict itself exclusively to a\nparticular point of view, in order to remain scientific, _i.e._ to give\na precise direction to researches into detail. But the reality of which\neach of these theories takes a partial view must transcend them all. And\nthis reality is the special object of philosophy, which is not\nconstrained to scientific precision because it contemplates no\npractical application. Let us therefore indicate in a word or two the\npositive contribution that each of the three present forms of\nevolutionism seems to us to make toward the solution of the problem,\nwhat each of them leaves out, and on what point this threefold effort\nshould, in our opinion, converge in order to obtain a more\ncomprehensive, although thereby of necessity a less definite, idea of\nthe evolutionary process.\n\nThe neo-Darwinians are probably right, we believe, when they teach that\nthe essential causes of variation are the differences inherent in the\ngerm borne by the individual, and not the experiences or behavior of the\nindividual in the course of his career. Where we fail to follow these\nbiologists, is in regarding the differences inherent in the germ as\npurely accidental and individual. We cannot help believing that these\ndifferences are the development of an impulsion which passes from germ\nto germ across the individuals, that they are therefore not pure\naccidents, and that they might well appear at the same time, in the same\nform, in all the representatives of the same species, or at least in a\ncertain number of them. Already, in fact, the theory of _mutations_ is\nmodifying Darwinism profoundly on this point. It asserts that at a given\nmoment, after a long period, the entire species is beset with a tendency\nto change. The _tendency to change_, therefore, is not accidental. True,\nthe change itself would be accidental, since the mutation works,\naccording to De Vries, in different directions in the different\nrepresentatives of the species. But, first we must see if the theory is\nconfirmed by many other vegetable species (De Vries has verified it only\nby the _OEnothera Lamarckiana_),[49] and then there is the\npossibility, as we shall explain further on, that the part played by\nchance is much greater in the variation of plants than in that of\nanimals, because, in the vegetable world, function does not depend so\nstrictly on form. Be that as it may, the neo-Darwinians are inclined to\nadmit that the periods of mutation are determinate. The direction of the\nmutation may therefore be so as well, at least in animals, and to the\nextent we shall have to indicate.\n\nWe thus arrive at a hypothesis like Eimer's, according to which the\nvariations of different characters continue from generation to\ngeneration in definite directions. This hypothesis seems plausible to\nus, within the limits in which Eimer himself retains it. Of course, the\nevolution of the organic world cannot be predetermined as a whole. We\nclaim, on the contrary, that the spontaneity of life is manifested by a\ncontinual creation of new forms succeeding others. But this\nindetermination cannot be complete; it must leave a certain part to\ndetermination. An organ like the eye, for example, must have been formed\nby just a continual changing in a definite direction. Indeed, we do not\nsee how otherwise to explain the likeness of structure of the eye in\nspecies that have not the same history. Where we differ from Eimer is in\nhis claim that combinations of physical and chemical causes are enough\nto secure the result. We have tried to prove, on the contrary, by the\nexample of the eye, that if there is \"orthogenesis\" here, a\npsychological cause intervenes.\n\nCertain neo-Lamarckians do indeed resort to a cause of a psychological\nnature. There, to our thinking, is one of the most solid positions of\nneo-Lamarckism. But if this cause is nothing but the conscious effort of\nthe individual, it cannot operate in more than a restricted number of\ncases--at most in the animal world, and not at all in the vegetable\nkingdom. Even in animals, it will act only on points which are under the\ndirect or indirect control of the will. And even where it does act, it\nis not clear how it could compass a change so profound as an increase of\ncomplexity: at most this would be conceivable if the acquired characters\nwere regularly transmitted so as to be added together; but this\ntransmission seems to be the exception rather than the rule. A\nhereditary change in a definite direction, which continues to accumulate\nand add to itself so as to build up a more and more complex machine,\nmust certainly be related to some sort of effort, but to an effort of\nfar greater depth than the individual effort, far more independent of\ncircumstances, an effort common to most representatives of the same\nspecies, inherent in the germs they bear rather than in their substance\nalone, an effort thereby assured of being passed on to their\ndescendants.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo we come back, by a somewhat roundabout way, to the idea we started\nfrom, that of an _original impetus_ of life, passing from one generation\nof germs to the following generation of germs through the developed\norganisms which bridge the interval between the generations. This\nimpetus, sustained right along the lines of evolution among which it\ngets divided, is the fundamental cause of variations, at least of those\nthat are regularly passed on, that accumulate and create new species. In\ngeneral, when species have begun to diverge from a common stock, they\naccentuate their divergence as they progress in their evolution. Yet, in\ncertain definite points, they may evolve identically; in fact, they must\ndo so if the hypothesis of a common impetus be accepted. This is just\nwhat we shall have to show now in a more precise way, by the same\nexample we have chosen, the formation of the eye in molluscs and\nvertebrates. The idea of an \"original impetus,\" moreover, will thus be\nmade clearer.\n\nTwo points are equally striking in an organ like the eye: the complexity\nof its structure and the simplicity of its function. The eye is composed\nof distinct parts, such as the sclerotic, the cornea, the retina, the\ncrystalline lens, etc. In each of these parts the detail is infinite.\nThe retina alone comprises three layers of nervous elements--multipolar\ncells, bipolar cells, visual cells--each of which has its individuality\nand is undoubtedly a very complicated organism: so complicated, indeed,\nis the retinal membrane in its intimate structure, that no simple\ndescription can give an adequate idea of it. The mechanism of the eye\nis, in short, composed of an infinity of mechanisms, all of extreme\ncomplexity. Yet vision is one simple fact. As soon as the eye opens, the\nvisual act is effected. Just because the act is simple, the slightest\nnegligence on the part of nature in the building of the infinitely\ncomplex machine would have made vision impossible. This contrast between\nthe complexity of the organ and the unity of the function is what gives\nus pause.\n\nA mechanistic theory is one which means to show us the gradual\nbuilding-up of the machine under the influence of external circumstances\nintervening either directly by action on the tissues or indirectly by\nthe selection of better-adapted ones. But, whatever form this theory may\ntake, supposing it avails at all to explain the detail of the parts, it\nthrows no light on their correlation.\n\nThen comes the doctrine of finality, which says that the parts have been\nbrought together on a preconceived plan with a view to a certain end. In\nthis it likens the labor of nature to that of the workman, who also\nproceeds by the assemblage of parts with a view to the realization of an\nidea or the imitation of a model. Mechanism, here, reproaches finalism\nwith its anthropomorphic character, and rightly. But it fails to see\nthat itself proceeds according to this method--somewhat mutilated! True,\nit has got rid of the end pursued or the ideal model. But it also holds\nthat nature has worked like a human being by bringing parts together,\nwhile a mere glance at the development of an embryo shows that life goes\nto work in a very different way. _Life does not proceed by the\nassociation and addition of elements, but by dissociation and division._\n\nWe must get beyond both points of view, both mechanism and finalism\nbeing, at bottom, only standpoints to which the human mind has been led\nby considering the work of man. But in what direction can we go beyond\nthem? We have said that in analyzing the structure of an organ, we can\ngo on decomposing for ever, although the function of the whole is a\nsimple thing. This contrast between the infinite complexity of the organ\nand the extreme simplicity of the function is what should open our eyes.\n\nIn general, when the same object appears in one aspect and in another as\ninfinitely complex, the two aspects have by no means the same\nimportance, or rather the same degree of reality. In such cases, the\nsimplicity belongs to the object itself, and the infinite complexity to\nthe views we take in turning around it, to the symbols by which our\nsenses or intellect represent it to us, or, more generally, to elements\n_of a different order_, with which we try to imitate it artificially,\nbut with which it remains incommensurable, being of a different nature.\nAn artist of genius has painted a figure on his canvas. We can imitate\nhis picture with many-colored squares of mosaic. And we shall reproduce\nthe curves and shades of the model so much the better as our squares are\nsmaller, more numerous and more varied in tone. But an infinity of\nelements infinitely small, presenting an infinity of shades, would be\nnecessary to obtain the exact equivalent of the figure that the artist\nhas conceived as a simple thing, which he has wished to transport as a\nwhole to the canvas, and which is the more complete the more it strikes\nus as the projection of an indivisible intuition. Now, suppose our eyes\nso made that they cannot help seeing in the work of the master a mosaic\neffect. Or suppose our intellect so made that it cannot explain the\nappearance of the figure on the canvas except as a work of mosaic. We\nshould then be able to speak simply of a collection of little squares,\nand we should be under the mechanistic hypothesis. We might add that,\nbeside the materiality of the collection, there must be a plan on which\nthe artist worked; and then we should be expressing ourselves as\nfinalists. But in neither case should we have got at the real process,\nfor there are no squares brought together. It is the picture, _i.e._ the\nsimple act, projected on the canvas, which, by the mere fact of entering\ninto our perception, is _de_composed before our eyes into thousands and\nthousands of little squares which present, as _re_composed, a wonderful\narrangement. So the eye, with its marvelous complexity of structure, may\nbe only the simple act of vision, divided _for us_ into a mosaic of\ncells, whose order seems marvelous to us because we have conceived the\nwhole as an assemblage.\n\nIf I raise my hand from A to B, this movement appears to me under two\naspects at once. Felt from within, it is a simple, indivisible act.\nPerceived from without, it is the course of a certain curve, AB. In this\ncurve I can distinguish as many positions as I please, and the line\nitself might be defined as a certain mutual co\u00f6rdination of these\npositions. But the positions, infinite in number, and the order in which\nthey are connected, have sprung automatically from the indivisible act\nby which my hand has gone from A to B. Mechanism, here, would consist\nin seeing only the positions. Finalism would take their order into\naccount. But both mechanism and finalism would leave on one side the\nmovement, which is reality itself. In one sense, the movement is _more_\nthan the positions and than their order; for it is sufficient to make it\nin its indivisible simplicity to secure that the infinity of the\nsuccessive positions as also their order be given at once--with\nsomething else which is neither order nor position but which is\nessential, the mobility. But, in another sense, the movement is _less_\nthan the series of positions and their connecting order; for, to arrange\npoints in a certain order, it is necessary first to conceive the order\nand then to realize it with points, there must be the work of assemblage\nand there must be intelligence, whereas the simple movement of the hand\ncontains nothing of either. It is not intelligent, in the human sense of\nthe word, and it is not an assemblage, for it is not made up of\nelements. Just so with the relation of the eye to vision. There is in\nvision _more_ than the component cells of the eye and their mutual\nco\u00f6rdination: in this sense, neither mechanism nor finalism go far\nenough. But, in another sense, mechanism and finalism both go too far,\nfor they attribute to Nature the most formidable of the labors of\nHercules in holding that she has exalted to the simple act of vision an\ninfinity of infinitely complex elements, whereas Nature has had no more\ntrouble in making an eye than I have in lifting my hand. Nature's simple\nact has divided itself automatically into an infinity of elements which\nare then found to be co\u00f6rdinated to one idea, just as the movement of my\nhand has dropped an infinity of points which are then found to satisfy\none equation.\n\nWe find it very hard to see things in that light, because we cannot\nhelp conceiving organization as manufacturing. But it is one thing to\nmanufacture, and quite another to organize. Manufacturing is peculiar to\nman. It consists in assembling parts of matter which we have cut out in\nsuch manner that we can fit them together and obtain from them a common\naction. The parts are arranged, so to speak, around the action as an\nideal centre. To manufacture, therefore, is to work from the periphery\nto the centre, or, as the philosophers say, from the many to the one.\nOrganization, on the contrary, works from the centre to the periphery.\nIt begins in a point that is almost a mathematical point, and spreads\naround this point by concentric waves which go on enlarging. The work of\nmanufacturing is the more effective, the greater the quantity of matter\ndealt with. It proceeds by concentration and compression. The organizing\nact, on the contrary, has something explosive about it: it needs at the\nbeginning the smallest possible place, a minimum of matter, as if the\norganizing forces only entered space reluctantly. The spermatozoon,\nwhich sets in motion the evolutionary process of the embryonic life, is\none of the smallest cells of the organism; and it is only a small part\nof the spermatozoon which really takes part in the operation.\n\nBut these are only superficial differences. Digging beneath them, we\nthink, a deeper difference would be found.\n\nA manufactured thing delineates exactly the form of the work of\nmanufacturing it. I mean that the manufacturer finds in his product\nexactly what he has put into it. If he is going to make a machine, he\ncuts out its pieces one by one and then puts them together: the machine,\nwhen made, will show both the pieces and their assemblage. The whole of\nthe result represents the whole of the work; and to each part of the\nwork corresponds a part of the result.\n\nNow I recognize that positive science can and should proceed as if\norganization was like making a machine. Only so will it have any hold on\norganized bodies. For its object is not to show us the essence of\nthings, but to furnish us with the best means of acting on them. Physics\nand chemistry are well advanced sciences, and living matter lends itself\nto our action only so far as we can treat it by the processes of our\nphysics and chemistry. Organization can therefore only be studied\nscientifically if the organized body has first been likened to a\nmachine. The cells will be the pieces of the machine, the organism their\nassemblage, and the elementary labors which have organized the parts\nwill be regarded as the real elements of the labor which has organized\nthe whole. This is the standpoint of science. Quite different, in our\nopinion, is that of philosophy.\n\nFor us, the whole of an organized machine may, strictly speaking,\nrepresent the whole of the organizing work (this is, however, only\napproximately true), yet the parts of the machine do not correspond to\nparts of the work, because _the materiality of this machine does not\nrepresent a sum of means employed, but a sum of obstacles avoided_: it\nis a negation rather than a positive reality. So, as we have shown in a\nformer study, vision is a power which should attain _by right_ an\ninfinity of things inaccessible to our eyes. But such a vision would not\nbe continued into action; it might suit a phantom, but not a living\nbeing. The vision of a living being is an _effective_ vision, limited to\nobjects on which the being can act: it is a vision that is _canalized_,\nand the visual apparatus simply symbolizes the work of canalizing.\nTherefore the creation of the visual apparatus is no more explained by\nthe assembling of its anatomic elements than the digging of a canal\ncould be explained by the heaping up of the earth which might have\nformed its banks. A mechanistic theory would maintain that the earth\nhad been brought cart-load by cart-load; finalism would add that it had\nnot been dumped down at random, that the carters had followed a plan.\nBut both theories would be mistaken, for the canal has been made in\nanother way.\n\nWith greater precision, we may compare the process by which nature\nconstructs an eye to the simple act by which we raise the hand. But we\nsupposed at first that the hand met with no resistance. Let us now\nimagine that, instead of moving in air, the hand has to pass through\niron filings which are compressed and offer resistance to it in\nproportion as it goes forward. At a certain moment the hand will have\nexhausted its effort, and, at this very moment, the filings will be\nmassed and co\u00f6rdinated in a certain definite form, to wit, that of the\nhand that is stopped and of a part of the arm. Now, suppose that the\nhand and arm are invisible. Lookers-on will seek the reason of the\narrangement in the filings themselves and in forces within the mass.\nSome will account for the position of each filing by the action exerted\nupon it by the neighboring filings: these are the mechanists. Others\nwill prefer to think that a plan of the whole has presided over the\ndetail of these elementary actions: they are the finalists. But the\ntruth is that there has been merely one indivisible act, that of the\nhand passing through the filings: the inexhaustible detail of the\nmovement of the grains, as well as the order of their final arrangement,\nexpresses negatively, in a way, this undivided movement, being the\nunitary form of a resistance, and not a synthesis of positive elementary\nactions. For this reason, if the arrangement of the grains is termed an\n\"effect\" and the movement of the hand a \"cause,\" it may indeed be said\nthat the whole of the effect is explained by the whole of the cause, but\nto parts of the cause parts of the effect will in no wise correspond.\nIn other words, neither mechanism nor finalism will here be in place,\nand we must resort to an explanation of a different kind. Now, in the\nhypothesis we propose, the relation of vision to the visual apparatus\nwould be very nearly that of the hand to the iron filings that follow,\ncanalize and limit its motion.\n\nThe greater the effort of the hand, the farther it will go into the\nfilings. But at whatever point it stops, instantaneously and\nautomatically the filings co\u00f6rdinate and find their equilibrium. So with\nvision and its organ. According as the undivided act constituting vision\nadvances more or less, the materiality of the organ is made of a more or\nless considerable number of mutually co\u00f6rdinated elements, but the order\nis necessarily complete and perfect. It could not be partial, because,\nonce again, the real process which gives rise to it has no parts. That\nis what neither mechanism nor finalism takes into account, and it is\nwhat we also fail to consider when we wonder at the marvelous structure\nof an instrument such as the eye. At the bottom of our wondering is\nalways this idea, that it would have been possible for _a part only_ of\nthis co\u00f6rdination to have been realized, that the complete realization\nis a kind of special favor. This favor the finalists consider as\ndispensed to them all at once, by the final cause; the mechanists claim\nto obtain it little by little, by the effect of natural selection; but\nboth see something positive in this co\u00f6rdination, and consequently\nsomething fractionable in its cause,--something which admits of every\npossible degree of achievement. In reality, the cause, though more or\nless intense, cannot produce its effect except in one piece, and\ncompletely finished. According as it goes further and further in the\ndirection of vision, it gives the simple pigmentary masses of a lower\norganism, or the rudimentary eye of a Serpula, or the slightly\ndifferentiated eye of the Alciope, or the marvelously perfected eye of\nthe bird; but all these organs, unequal as is their complexity,\nnecessarily present an equal co\u00f6rdination. For this reason, no matter\nhow distant two animal species may be from each other, if the progress\ntoward vision has gone equally far in both, there is the same visual\norgan in each case, for the form of the organ only expresses the degree\nin which the exercise of the function has been obtained.\n\nBut, in speaking of a progress toward vision, are we not coming back to\nthe old notion of finality? It would be so, undoubtedly, if this\nprogress required the conscious or unconscious idea of an end to be\nattained. But it is really effected in virtue of the original impetus of\nlife; it is implied in this movement itself, and that is just why it is\nfound in independent lines of evolution. If now we are asked why and how\nit is implied therein, we reply that life is, more than anything else, a\ntendency to act on inert matter. The direction of this action is not\npredetermined; hence the unforeseeable variety of forms which life, in\nevolving, sows along its path. But this action always presents, to some\nextent, the character of contingency; it implies at least a rudiment of\nchoice. Now a choice involves the anticipatory idea of several possible\nactions. Possibilities of action must therefore be marked out for the\nliving being before the action itself. Visual perception is nothing\nelse:[50] the visible outlines of bodies are the design of our eventual\naction on them. Vision will be found, therefore, in different degrees in\nthe most diverse animals, and it will appear in the same complexity of\nstructure wherever it has reached the same degree of intensity.\n\nWe have dwelt on these resemblances of structure in general, and on the\nexample of the eye in particular, because we had to define our attitude\ntoward mechanism on the one hand and finalism on the other. It remains\nfor us to describe it more precisely in itself. This we shall now do by\nshowing the divergent results of evolution not as presenting analogies,\nbut as themselves mutually complementary.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 3: _Mati\u00e8re et m\u00e9moire_, Paris, 1896, chaps. ii. and iii.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Calkins, _Studies on the Life History of Protozoa (Archiv\nf. Entwicklungsmechanik_, vol. xv., 1903, pp. 139-186).]\n\n[Footnote 5: Sedgwick Minot, _On Certain Phenomena of Growing Old_\n(_Proc. Amer. Assoc. for the Advancement of Science_, 39th Meeting,\nSalem, 1891, pp. 271-288).]\n\n[Footnote 6: Le Dantec, _L'Individualit\u00e9 et l'erreur individualiste_,\nParis, 1905, pp. 84 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Metchnikoff, _La D\u00e9g\u00e9n\u00e9rescence s\u00e9nile_ (_Ann\u00e9e\nbiologique_, iii., 1897, pp. 249 ff.). Cf. by the same author, _La\nNature humaine_, Paris, 1903, pp. 312 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 8: Roule, _L'Embryologie g\u00e9n\u00e9rale_, Paris, 1893, p. 319.]\n\n[Footnote 9: The irreversibility of the series of living beings has been\nwell set forth by Baldwin (_Development and Evolution_, New York, 1902;\nin particular p. 327).]\n\n[Footnote 10: We have dwelt on this point and tried to make it clear in\nthe _Essai sur les donn\u00e9es imm\u00e9diates de la conscience_, pp. 140-151.]\n\n[Footnote 11: In his fine work on _Genius in Art_ (_Le G\u00e9nie dans\nl'art_), M. S\u00e9ailles develops this twofold thesis, that art is a\ncontinuation of nature and that life is creation. We should willingly\naccept the second formula; but by creation must we understand, as the\nauthor does, a _synthesis_ of elements? Where the elements pre-exist,\nthe synthesis that will be made is virtually given, being only one of\nthe possible arrangements. This arrangement a superhuman intellect could\nhave perceived in advance among all the possible ones that surround it.\nWe hold, on the contrary, that in the domain of life the elements have\nno real and separate existence. They are manifold mental views of an\nindivisible process. And for that reason there is radical contingency in\nprogress, incommensurability between what goes before and what\nfollows--in short, duration.]\n\n[Footnote 12: B\u00fctschli, _Untersuchungen \u00fcber mikroskopische Sch\u00e4ume und\ndas Protoplasma_, Leipzig, 1892, First Part.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Rhumbler, _Versuch einer mechanischen Erkl\u00e4rung der\nindirekten Zell-und Kernteilung_ (_Roux's Archiv_, 1896).]\n\n[Footnote 14: Berthold, _Studien \u00fcber Protoplasmamechanik_, Leipzig,\n1886, p. 102. Cf. the explanation proposed by Le Dantec, _Th\u00e9orie\nnouvelle de la vie_, Paris, 1896, p. 60.]\n\n[Footnote 15: Cope, _The Primary Factors of Organic Evolution_, Chicago,\n1896, pp. 475-484.]\n\n[Footnote 16: Maupas, \"Etude des infusoires cili\u00e9s\" (_Arch. de zoologie\nexp\u00e9rimentale_, 1883, pp. 47, 491, 518, 549, in particular). P. Vignon,\n_Recherches de cytologie g\u00e9n\u00e9rale sur les \u00e9pith\u00e9liums_, Paris, 1902, p.\n655. A profound study of the motions of the Infusoria and a very\npenetrating criticism of the idea of tropism have been made recently by\nJennings (_Contributions to the Study of the Behavior of Lower\nOrganisms_, Washington, 1904). The \"type of behavior\" of these lower\norganisms, as Jennings defines it (pp. 237-252), is unquestionably of\nthe psychological order.]\n\n[Footnote 17: E.B. Wilson, _The Cell in Development and Inheritance_,\nNew York, 1897, p. 330.]\n\n[Footnote 18: Dastre, _La Vie et la mort_, p. 43.]\n\n[Footnote 19: Laplace, _Introduction \u00e0 la th\u00e9orie analytique des\nprobabilit\u00e9s_ (_OEuvres compl\u00e8tes_, vol. vii., Paris, 1886, p. vi.).]\n\n[Footnote 20: Du Bois-Reymond, _\u00dcber die Grenzen des Naturerkennens_,\nLeipzig, 1892.]\n\n[Footnote 21: There are really two lines to follow in contemporary\nneo-vitalism: on the one hand, the assertion that pure mechanism is\ninsufficient, which assumes great authority when made by such scientists\nas Driesch or Reinke, for example; and, on the other hand, the\nhypotheses which this vitalism superposes on mechanism (the\n\"entelechies\" of Driesch, and the \"dominants\" of Reinke, etc.). Of these\ntwo parts, the former is perhaps the more interesting. See the admirable\nstudies of Driesch--_Die Lokalisation morphogenetischer Vorg\u00e4nge_,\nLeipzig, 1899; _Die organischen Regulationen_, Leipzig, 1901;\n_Naturbegriffe und Natururteile_, Leipzig, 1904; _Der Vitalismus als\nGeschichte und als Lehre_, Leipzig, 1905; and of Reinke--_Die Welt als\nTat_, Berlin, 1899; _Einleitung in die theoretische Biologie_, Berlin,\n1901; _Philosophie der Botanik_, Leipzig, 1905.]\n\n[Footnote 22: P. Gu\u00e9rin, _Les Connaissances actuelles sur la f\u00e9condation\nchez les phan\u00e9rogames_, Paris, 1904, pp. 144-148. Cf. Delage,\n_L'H\u00e9r\u00e9dit\u00e9_, 2nd edition, 1903, pp. 140 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 23: M\u00f6bius, _Beitr\u00e4ge zur Lehre von der Fortpflanzung der\nGew\u00e4chse_, Jena, 1897, pp. 203-206 in particular. Cf. Hartog, \"Sur les\nph\u00e9nom\u00e8nes de reproduction\" (_Ann\u00e9e biologique_, 1895, pp. 707-709).]\n\n[Footnote 24: Paul Janet, _Les Causes finales_, Paris, 1876, p. 83.]\n\n[Footnote 25: _Ibid._ p. 80.]\n\n[Footnote 26: Darwin, _Origin of Species_, chap. ii.]\n\n[Footnote 27: Bateson, _Materials for the Study of Variation_, London,\n1894, especially pp. 567 ff. Cf. Scott, \"Variations and Mutations\"\n(_American Journal of Science_, Nov. 1894).]\n\n[Footnote 28: De Vries, _Die Mutationstheorie_, Leipzig, 1901-1903. Cf.,\nby the same author, _Species and Varieties_, Chicago, 1905.]\n\n[Footnote 29: Darwin, _Origin of Species_, chap. vi.]\n\n[Footnote 30: Darwin, _Origin of Species_, chap. i.]\n\n[Footnote 31: On this homology of hair and teeth, see Brandt, \"\u00dcber ...\neine mutmassliche Homologie der Haare und Zahne\" (_Biol. Centralblatt_,\nvol. xviii., 1898, especially pp. 262 ff.).]\n\n[Footnote 32: It seems, from later observations, that the transformation\nof Artemia is a more complex phenomenon than was first supposed. See on\nthis subject Samter and Heymons, \"Die Variation bei Artemia Salina\"\n(_Anhang zu den Abhandlungen der k. preussischen Akad. der\nWissenschaften_, 1902).]\n\n[Footnote 33: Eimer, _Orthogenesis der Schmetterlinge_, Leipzig, 1897,\np. 24. Cf. _Die Entstehung der Arten_, p. 53.]\n\n[Footnote 34: Eimer, _Die Entstehung der Arten_, Jena, 1888, p. 25.]\n\n[Footnote 35: _Ibid._ pp. 165 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 36: Salensky, \"Heteroblastie\" (_Proc. of the Fourth\nInternational Congress of Zoology_, London, 1899, pp. 111-118). Salensky\nhas coined this word to designate the cases in which organs that are\nequivalent, but of different embryological origin, are formed at the\nsame points in animals related to each other.]\n\n[Footnote 37: Wolff, \"Die Regeneration der Urodelenlinse\" (_Arch. f.\nEntwicklungsmechanik_, i., 1895, pp. 380 ff.).]\n\n[Footnote 38: Fischel, \"\u00dcber die Regeneration der Linse\" (_Anat.\nAnzeiger_, xiv., 1898, pp. 373-380).]\n\n[Footnote 39: Cope, _The Origin of the Fittest_, 1887; _The Primary\nFactors of Organic Evolution_, 1896.]\n\n[Footnote 40: Cu\u00e9not, \"La Nouvelle Th\u00e9orie transformiste\" (_Revue\ng\u00e9n\u00e9rale des sciences_, 1894). Cf. Morgan, _Evolution and Adaptation_,\nLondon, 1903, p. 357.]\n\n[Footnote 41: Brown-S\u00e9quard, \"Nouvelles recherches sur l'\u00e9pilepsie due \u00e0\ncertaines l\u00e9sions de la moelle \u00e9pini\u00e9ere et des nerfs rachidiens\"\n(_Arch. de physiologie_, vol. ii., 1866, pp. 211, 422, and 497).]\n\n[Footnote 42: Weismann, _Aufs\u00e4tze \u00fcber Vererbung_, Jena, 1892, pp.\n376-378, and also _Vortr\u00e4ge \u00fcber Descendenztheorie_, Jena, 1902, vol.\nii., p. 76.]\n\n[Footnote 43: Brown-S\u00e9quard, \"H\u00e9r\u00e9dit\u00e9 d'une affection due \u00e0 une cause\naccidentelle\" (_Arch. de physiologie_, 1892, pp. 686 ff.).]\n\n[Footnote 44: Voisin and Peron, \"Recherches sur la toxicit\u00e9 urinaire\nchez les \u00e9pileptiques\" (_Arch. de neurologie_, vol. xxiv., 1892, and\nxxv., 1893. Cf. the work of Voisin, _L'\u00c9pilepsie_, Paris, 1897, pp.\n125-133).]\n\n[Footnote 45: Charrin, Delamare and Moussu, \"Transmission exp\u00e9rimentale\naux descendants de l\u00e9sions d\u00e9velopp\u00e9es chez les ascendants\" (_C.R. de\nl'Acad. des sciences_, vol. cxxxv., 1902, p. 191). Cf. Morgan,\n_Evolution and Adaptation_, p. 257, and Delage, _L'H\u00e9r\u00e9dit\u00e9_, 2nd\nedition, p. 388.]\n\n[Footnote 46: Charrin and Delamare, \"H\u00e9r\u00e9dit\u00e9 cellulaire\" (_C.R. de\nl'Acad. des sciences_, vol. cxxxiii., 1901, pp. 69-71).]\n\n[Footnote 47: Charrin, \"L'H\u00e9r\u00e9dit\u00e9 pathologique\" (_Revue g\u00e9n\u00e9rale des\nsciences_, 15 janvier 1896).]\n\n[Footnote 48: Giard, _Controverses transformistes_, Paris, 1904, p.\n147.]\n\n[Footnote 49: Some analogous facts, however, have been noted, all in the\nvegetable world. See Blaringhem, \"La Notion d'esp\u00e8ce et la th\u00e9orie de la\nmutation\" (_Ann\u00e9e psychologique_, vol. xii., 1906, pp. 95 ff.), and De\nVries, _Species and Varieties_, p. 655.]\n\n[Footnote 50: See, on this subject, _Mati\u00e8re et m\u00e9moire_, chap. i.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE DIVERGENT DIRECTIONS OF THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE. TORPOR, INTELLIGENCE,\nINSTINCT\n\n\nThe evolution movement would be a simple one, and we should soon have\nbeen able to determine its direction, if life had described a single\ncourse, like that of a solid ball shot from a cannon. But it proceeds\nrather like a shell, which suddenly bursts into fragments, which\nfragments, being themselves shells, burst in their turn into fragments\ndestined to burst again, and so on for a time incommensurably long. We\nperceive only what is nearest to us, namely, the scattered movements of\nthe pulverized explosions. From them we have to go back, stage by stage,\nto the original movement.\n\nWhen a shell bursts, the particular way it breaks is explained both by\nthe explosive force of the powder it contains and by the resistance of\nthe metal. So of the way life breaks into individuals and species. It\ndepends, we think, on two series of causes: the resistance life meets\nfrom inert matter, and the explosive force--due to an unstable balance\nof tendencies--which life bears within itself.\n\nThe resistance of inert matter was the obstacle that had first to be\novercome. Life seems to have succeeded in this by dint of humility, by\nmaking itself very small and very insinuating, bending to physical and\nchemical forces, consenting even to go a part of the way with them, like\nthe switch that adopts for a while the direction of the rail it is\nendeavoring to leave. Of phenomena in the simplest forms of life, it is\nhard to say whether they are still physical and chemical or whether they\nare already vital. Life had to enter thus into the habits of inert\nmatter, in order to draw it little by little, magnetized, as it were, to\nanother track. The animate forms that first appeared were therefore of\nextreme simplicity. They were probably tiny masses of scarcely\ndifferentiated protoplasm, outwardly resembling the amoeba observable\nto-day, but possessed of the tremendous internal push that was to raise\nthem even to the highest forms of life. That in virtue of this push the\nfirst organisms sought to grow as much as possible, seems likely. But\norganized matter has a limit of expansion that is very quickly reached;\nbeyond a certain point it divides instead of growing. Ages of effort and\nprodigies of subtlety were probably necessary for life to get past this\nnew obstacle. It succeeded in inducing an increasing number of elements,\nready to divide, to remain united. By the division of labor it knotted\nbetween them an indissoluble bond. The complex and quasi-discontinuous\norganism is thus made to function as would a continuous living mass\nwhich had simply grown bigger.\n\nBut the real and profound causes of division were those which life bore\nwithin its bosom. For life is tendency, and the essence of a tendency is\nto develop in the form of a sheaf, creating, by its very growth,\ndivergent directions among which its impetus is divided. This we observe\nin ourselves, in the evolution of that special tendency which we call\nour character. Each of us, glancing back over his history, will find\nthat his child-personality, though indivisible, united in itself divers\npersons, which could remain blended just because they were in their\nnascent state: this indecision, so charged with promise, is one of the\ngreatest charms of childhood. But these interwoven personalities become\nincompatible in course of growth, and, as each of us can live but one\nlife, a choice must perforce be made. We choose in reality without\nceasing; without ceasing, also, we abandon many things. The route we\npursue in time is strewn with the remains of all that we began to be, of\nall that we might have become. But nature, which has at command an\nincalculable number of lives, is in no wise bound to make such\nsacrifices. She preserves the different tendencies that have bifurcated\nwith their growth. She creates with them diverging series of species\nthat will evolve separately.\n\nThese series may, moreover, be of unequal importance. The author who\nbegins a novel puts into his hero many things which he is obliged to\ndiscard as he goes on. Perhaps he will take them up later in other\nbooks, and make new characters with them, who will seem like extracts\nfrom, or rather like complements of, the first; but they will almost\nalways appear somewhat poor and limited in comparison with the original\ncharacter. So with regard to the evolution of life. The bifurcations on\nthe way have been numerous, but there have been many blind alleys beside\nthe two or three highways; and of these highways themselves, only one,\nthat which leads through the vertebrates up to man, has been wide enough\nto allow free passage to the full breath of life. We get this impression\nwhen we compare the societies of bees and ants, for instance, with human\nsocieties. The former are admirably ordered and united, but stereotyped;\nthe latter are open to every sort of progress, but divided, and\nincessantly at strife with themselves. The ideal would be a society\nalways in progress and always in equilibrium, but this ideal is perhaps\nunrealizable: the two characteristics that would fain complete each\nother, which do complete each other in their embryonic state, can no\nlonger abide together when they grow stronger. If one could speak,\notherwise than metaphorically, of an impulse toward social life, it\nmight be said that the brunt of the impulse was borne along the line of\nevolution ending at man, and that the rest of it was collected on the\nroad leading to the hymenoptera: the societies of ants and bees would\nthus present the aspect complementary to ours. But this would be only a\nmanner of expression. There has been no particular impulse towards\nsocial life; there is simply the general movement of life, which on\ndivergent lines is creating forms ever new. If societies should appear\non two of these lines, they ought to show divergence of paths at the\nsame time as community of impetus. They will thus develop two classes of\ncharacteristics which we shall find vaguely complementary of each other.\n\nSo our study of the evolution movement will have to unravel a certain\nnumber of divergent directions, and to appreciate the importance of what\nhas happened along each of them--in a word, to determine the nature of\nthe dissociated tendencies and estimate their relative proportion.\nCombining these tendencies, then, we shall get an approximation, or\nrather an imitation, of the indivisible motor principle whence their\nimpetus proceeds. Evolution will thus prove to be something entirely\ndifferent from a series of adaptations to circumstances, as mechanism\nclaims; entirely different also from the realization of a plan of the\nwhole, as maintained by the doctrine of finality.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat adaptation to environment is the necessary condition of evolution\nwe do not question for a moment. It is quite evident that a species\nwould disappear, should it fail to bend to the conditions of existence\nwhich are imposed on it. But it is one thing to recognize that outer\ncircumstances are forces evolution must reckon with, another to claim\nthat they are the directing causes of evolution. This latter theory is\nthat of mechanism. It excludes absolutely the hypothesis of an original\nimpetus, I mean an internal push that has carried life, by more and more\ncomplex forms, to higher and higher destinies. Yet this impetus is\nevident, and a mere glance at fossil species shows us that life need not\nhave evolved at all, or might have evolved only in very restricted\nlimits, if it had chosen the alternative, much more convenient to\nitself, of becoming anchylosed in its primitive forms. Certain\nForaminifera have not varied since the Silurian epoch. Unmoved witnesses\nof the innumerable revolutions that have upheaved our planet, the\nLingulae are to-day what they were at the remotest times of the\npaleozoic era.\n\nThe truth is that adaptation explains the sinuosities of the movement of\nevolution, but not its general directions, still less the movement\nitself.[51] The road that leads to the town is obliged to follow the ups\nand downs of the hills; it _adapts itself_ to the accidents of the\nground; but the accidents of the ground are not the cause of the road,\nnor have they given it its direction. At every moment they furnish it\nwith what is indispensable, namely, the soil on which it lies; but if we\nconsider the whole of the road, instead of each of its parts, the\naccidents of the ground appear only as impediments or causes of delay,\nfor the road aims simply at the town and would fain be a straight line.\nJust so as regards the evolution of life and the circumstances through\nwhich it passes--with this difference, that evolution does not mark out\na solitary route, that it takes directions without aiming at ends, and\nthat it remains inventive even in its adaptations.\n\nBut, if the evolution of life is something other than a series of\nadaptations to accidental circumstances, so also it is not the\nrealization of a plan. A plan is given in advance. It is represented, or\nat least representable, before its realization. The complete execution\nof it may be put off to a distant future, or even indefinitely; but the\nidea is none the less formulable at the present time, in terms actually\ngiven. If, on the contrary, evolution is a creation unceasingly renewed,\nit creates, as it goes on, not only the forms of life, but the ideas\nthat will enable the intellect to understand it, the terms which will\nserve to express it. That is to say that its future overflows its\npresent, and can not be sketched out therein in an idea.\n\nThere is the first error of finalism. It involves another, yet more\nserious.\n\nIf life realizes a plan, it ought to manifest a greater harmony the\nfurther it advances, just as the house shows better and better the idea\nof the architect as stone is set upon stone. If, on the contrary, the\nunity of life is to be found solely in the impetus that pushes it along\nthe road of time, the harmony is not in front, but behind. The unity is\nderived from a _vis a tergo_: it is given at the start as an impulsion,\nnot placed at the end as an attraction. In communicating itself, the\nimpetus splits up more and more. Life, in proportion to its progress, is\nscattered in manifestations which undoubtedly owe to their common origin\nthe fact that they are complementary to each other in certain aspects,\nbut which are none the less mutually incompatible and antagonistic. So\nthe discord between species will go on increasing. Indeed, we have as\nyet only indicated the essential cause of it. We have supposed, for the\nsake of simplicity, that each species received the impulsion in order to\npass it on to others, and that, in every direction in which life\nevolves, the propagation is in a straight line. But, as a matter of\nfact, there are species which are arrested; there are some that\nretrogress. Evolution is not only a movement forward; in many cases we\nobserve a marking-time, and still more often a deviation or turning\nback. It must be so, as we shall show further on, and the same causes\nthat divide the evolution movement often cause life to be diverted from\nitself, hypnotized by the form it has just brought forth. Thence results\nan increasing disorder. No doubt there is progress, if progress mean a\ncontinual advance in the general direction determined by a first\nimpulsion; but this progress is accomplished only on the two or three\ngreat lines of evolution on which forms ever more and more complex, ever\nmore and more high, appear; between these lines run a crowd of minor\npaths in which, on the contrary, deviations, arrests, and set-backs, are\nmultiplied. The philosopher, who begins by laying down as a principle\nthat each detail is connected with some general plan of the whole, goes\nfrom one disappointment to another as soon as he comes to examine the\nfacts; and, as he had put everything in the same rank, he finds that, as\nthe result of not allowing for accident, he must regard everything as\naccidental. For accident, then, an allowance must first be made, and a\nvery liberal allowance. We must recognize that all is not coherent in\nnature. By so doing, we shall be led to ascertain the centres around\nwhich the incoherence crystallizes. This crystallization itself will\nclarify the rest; the main directions will appear, in which life is\nmoving whilst developing the original impulse. True, we shall not\nwitness the detailed accomplishment of a plan. Nature is more and better\nthan a plan in course of realization. A plan is a term assigned to a\nlabor: it closes the future whose form it indicates. Before the\nevolution of life, on the contrary, the portals of the future remain\nwide open. It is a creation that goes on for ever in virtue of an\ninitial movement. This movement constitutes the unity of the organized\nworld--a prolific unity, of an infinite richness, superior to any that\nthe intellect could dream of, for the intellect is only one of its\naspects or products.\n\nBut it is easier to define the method than to apply it. The complete\ninterpretation of the evolution movement in the past, as we conceive it,\nwould be possible only if the history of the development of the\norganized world were entirely known. Such is far from being the case.\nThe genealogies proposed for the different species are generally\nquestionable. They vary with their authors, with the theoretic views\ninspiring them, and raise discussions to which the present state of\nscience does not admit of a final settlement. But a comparison of the\ndifferent solutions shows that the controversy bears less on the main\nlines of the movement than on matters of detail; and so, by following\nthe main lines as closely as possible, we shall be sure of not going\nastray. Moreover, they alone are important to us; for we do not aim,\nlike the naturalist, at finding the order of succession of different\nspecies, but only at defining the principal directions of their\nevolution. And not all of these directions have the same interest for\nus: what concerns us particularly is the path that leads to man. We\nshall therefore not lose sight of the fact, in following one direction\nand another, that our main business is to determine the relation of man\nto the animal kingdom, and the place of the animal kingdom itself in the\norganized world as a whole.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo begin with the second point, let us say that no definite\ncharacteristic distinguishes the plant from the animal. Attempts to\ndefine the two kingdoms strictly have always come to naught. There is\nnot a single property of vegetable life that is not found, in some\ndegree, in certain animals; not a single characteristic feature of the\nanimal that has not been seen in certain species or at certain moments\nin the vegetable world. Naturally, therefore, biologists enamored of\nclean-cut concepts have regarded the distinction between the two\nkingdoms as artificial. They would be right, if definition in this case\nmust be made, as in the mathematical and physical sciences, according to\ncertain statical attributes which belong to the object defined and are\nnot found in any other. Very different, in our opinion, is the kind of\ndefinition which befits the sciences of life. There is no manifestation\nof life which does not contain, in a rudimentary state--either latent or\npotential,--the essential characters of most other manifestations. The\ndifference is in the proportions. But this very difference of proportion\nwill suffice to define the group, if we can establish that it is not\naccidental, and that the group as it evolves, tends more and more to\nemphasize these particular characters. In a word, _the group must not be\ndefined by the possession of certain characters, but by its tendency to\nemphasize them_. From this point of view, taking tendencies rather than\nstates into account, we find that vegetables and animals may be\nprecisely defined and distinguished, and that they correspond to two\ndivergent developments of life.\n\nThis divergence is shown, first, in the method of alimentation. We know\nthat the vegetable derives directly from the air and water and soil the\nelements necessary to maintain life, especially carbon and nitrogen,\nwhich it takes in mineral form. The animal, on the contrary, cannot\nassimilate these elements unless they have already been fixed for it in\norganic substances by plants, or by animals which directly or indirectly\nowe them to plants; so that ultimately the vegetable nourishes the\nanimal. True, this law allows of many exceptions among vegetables. We do\nnot hesitate to class amongst vegetables the Drosera, the Dionaea, the\nPinguicula, which are insectivorous plants. On the other hand, the\nfungi, which occupy so considerable a place in the vegetable world, feed\nlike animals: whether they are ferments, saprophytes or parasites, it is\nto already formed organic substances that they owe their nourishment. It\nis therefore impossible to draw from this difference any _static_\ndefinition such as would automatically settle in any particular case the\nquestion whether we are dealing with a plant or an animal. But the\ndifference may provide the beginning of a _dynamic_ definition of the\ntwo kingdoms, in that it marks the two divergent directions in which\nvegetables and animals have taken their course. It is a remarkable fact\nthat the fungi, which nature has spread all over the earth in such\nextraordinary profusion, have not been able to evolve. Organically they\ndo not rise above tissues which, in the higher vegetables, are formed in\nthe embryonic sac of the ovary, and precede the germinative development\nof the new individual.[52] They might be called the abortive children of\nthe vegetable world. Their different species are like so many blind\nalleys, as if, by renouncing the mode of alimentation customary amongst\nvegetables, they had been brought to a standstill on the highway of\nvegetable evolution. As to the Drosera, the Dionaea, and insectivorous\nplants in general, they are fed by their roots, like other plants; they\ntoo fix, by their green parts, the carbon of the carbonic acid in the\natmosphere. Their faculty of capturing, absorbing and digesting insects\nmust have arisen late, in quite exceptional cases where the soil was too\npoor to furnish sufficient nourishment. In a general way, then, if we\nattach less importance to the presence of special characters than to\ntheir tendency to develop, and if we regard as essential that tendency\nalong which evolution has been able to continue indefinitely, we may say\nthat vegetables are distinguished from animals by their power of\ncreating organic matter out of mineral elements which they draw directly\nfrom the air and earth and water. But now we come to another difference,\ndeeper than this, though not unconnected with it.\n\nThe animal, being unable to fix directly the carbon and nitrogen which\nare everywhere to be found, has to seek for its nourishment vegetables\nwhich have already fixed these elements, or animals which have taken\nthem from the vegetable kingdom. So the animal must be able to move.\nFrom the amoeba, which thrusts out its pseudopodia at random to seize\nthe organic matter scattered in a drop of water, up to the higher\nanimals which have sense-organs with which to recognize their prey,\nlocomotor organs to go and seize it, and a nervous system to co\u00f6rdinate\ntheir movements with their sensations, animal life is characterized, in\nits general direction, by mobility in space. In its most rudimentary\nform, the animal is a tiny mass of protoplasm enveloped at most in a\nthin albuminous pellicle which allows full freedom for change of shape\nand movement. The vegetable cell, on the contrary, is surrounded by a\nmembrane of cellulose, which condemns it to immobility. And, from the\nbottom to the top of the vegetable kingdom, there are the same habits\ngrowing more and more sedentary, the plant having no need to move, and\nfinding around it, in the air and water and soil in which it is placed,\nthe mineral elements it can appropriate directly. It is true that\nphenomena of movement are seen in plants. Darwin has written a\nwell-known work on the movements of climbing plants. He studied also the\ncontrivances of certain insectivorous plants, such as the Drosera and\nthe Dionaea, to seize their prey. The leaf-movements of the acacia, the\nsensitive plant, etc., are well known. Moreover, the circulation of the\nvegetable protoplasm within its sheath bears witness to its relationship\nto the protoplasm of animals, whilst in a large number of animal species\n(generally parasites) phenomena of fixation, analogous to those of\nvegetables, can be observed.[53] Here, again, it would be a mistake to\nclaim that fixity and mobility are the two characters which enable us to\ndecide, by simple inspection alone, whether we have before us a plant or\nan animal. But fixity, in the animal, generally seems like a torpor into\nwhich the species has fallen, a refusal to evolve further in a certain\ndirection; it is closely akin to parasitism and is accompanied by\nfeatures that recall those of vegetable life. On the other hand, the\nmovements of vegetables have neither the frequency nor the variety of\nthose of animals. Generally, they involve only part of the organism and\nscarcely ever extend to the whole. In the exceptional cases in which a\nvague spontaneity appears in vegetables, it is as if we beheld the\naccidental awakening of an activity normally asleep. In short, although\nboth mobility and fixity exist in the vegetable as in the animal world,\nthe balance is clearly in favor of fixity in the one case and of\nmobility in the other. These two opposite tendencies are so plainly\ndirective of the two evolutions that the two kingdoms might almost be\ndefined by them. But fixity and mobility, again, are only superficial\nsigns of tendencies that are still deeper.\n\nBetween mobility and consciousness there is an obvious relationship. No\ndoubt, the consciousness of the higher organisms seems bound up with\ncertain cerebral arrangements. The more the nervous system develops,\nthe more numerous and more precise become the movements among which it\ncan choose; the clearer, also, is the consciousness that accompanies\nthem. But neither this mobility nor this choice nor consequently this\nconsciousness involves as a necessary condition the presence of a\nnervous system; the latter has only canalized in definite directions,\nand brought up to a higher degree of intensity, a rudimentary and vague\nactivity, diffused throughout the mass of the organized substance. The\nlower we descend in the animal series, the more the nervous centres are\nsimplified, and the more, too, they separate from each other, till\nfinally the nervous elements disappear, merged in the mass of a less\ndifferentiated organism. But it is the same with all the other\napparatus, with all the other anatomical elements; and it would be as\nabsurd to refuse consciousness to an animal because it has no brain as\nto declare it incapable of nourishing itself because it has no stomach.\nThe truth is that the nervous system arises, like the other systems,\nfrom a division of labor. It does not create the function, it only\nbrings it to a higher degree of intensity and precision by giving it the\ndouble form of reflex and voluntary activity. To accomplish a true\nreflex movement, a whole mechanism is necessary, set up in the spinal\ncord or the medulla. To choose voluntarily between several definite\ncourses of action, cerebral centres are necessary, that is, crossways\nfrom which paths start, leading to motor mechanisms of diverse form but\nequal precision. But where nervous elements are not yet canalized, still\nless concentrated into a system, there is something from which, by a\nkind of splitting, both the reflex and the voluntary will arise,\nsomething which has neither the mechanical precision of the former nor\nthe intelligent hesitations of the latter, but which, partaking of both\nit may be infinitesimally, is a reaction simply undecided, and therefore\nvaguely conscious. This amounts to saying that the humblest organism is\nconscious in proportion to its power to move _freely_. Is consciousness\nhere, in relation to movement, the effect or the cause? In one sense it\nis the cause, since it has to direct locomotion. But in another sense it\nis the effect; for it is the motor activity that maintains it, and, once\nthis activity disappears, consciousness dies away or rather falls\nasleep. In crustaceans such as the rhizocephala, which must formerly\nhave shown a more differentiated structure, fixity and parasitism\naccompany the degeneration and almost complete disappearance of the\nnervous system. Since, in such a case, the progress of organization must\nhave localized all the conscious activity in nervous centres, we may\nconjecture that consciousness is even weaker in animals of this kind\nthan in organisms much less differentiated, which have never had nervous\ncentres but have remained mobile.\n\nHow then could the plant, which is fixed in the earth and finds its food\non the spot, have developed in the direction of conscious activity? The\nmembrane of cellulose, in which the protoplasm wraps itself up, not only\nprevents the simplest vegetable organism from moving, but screens it\nalso, in some measure, from those outer stimuli which act on the\nsensibility of the animal as irritants and prevent it from going to\nsleep.[54] The plant is therefore unconscious. Here again, however, we\nmust beware of radical distinctions. \"Unconscious\" and \"conscious\" are\nnot two labels which can be mechanically fastened, the one on every\nvegetable cell, the other on all animals. While consciousness sleeps in\nthe animal which has degenerated into a motionless parasite, it probably\nawakens in the vegetable that has regained liberty of movement, and\nawakens in just the degree to which the vegetable has reconquered this\nliberty. Nevertheless, consciousness and unconsciousness mark the\ndirections in which the two kingdoms have developed, in this sense, that\nto find the best specimens of consciousness in the animal we must\n_ascend_ to the highest representatives of the series, whereas, to find\nprobable cases of vegetable consciousness, we must _descend_ as low as\npossible in the scale of plants--down to the zoospores of the algae, for\ninstance, and, more generally, to those unicellular organisms which may\nbe said to hesitate between the vegetable form and animality. From this\nstandpoint, and in this measure, we should define the animal by\nsensibility and awakened consciousness, the vegetable by consciousness\nasleep and by insensibility.\n\nTo sum up, the vegetable manufactures organic substances directly with\nmineral substances; as a rule, this aptitude enables it to dispense with\nmovement and so with feeling. Animals, which are obliged to go in search\nof their food, have evolved in the direction of locomotor activity, and\nconsequently of a consciousness more and more distinct, more and more\nample.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow, it seems to us most probable that the animal cell and the vegetable\ncell are derived from a common stock, and that the first living\norganisms oscillated between the vegetable and animal form,\nparticipating in both at once. Indeed, we have just seen that the\ncharacteristic tendencies of the evolution of the two kingdoms, although\ndivergent, coexist even now, both in the plant and in the animal. The\nproportion alone differs. Ordinarily, one of the two tendencies covers\nor crushes down the other, but in exceptional circumstances the\nsuppressed one starts up and regains the place it had lost. The\nmobility and consciousness of the vegetable cell are not so sound asleep\nthat they cannot rouse themselves when circumstances permit or demand\nit; and, on the other hand, the evolution of the animal kingdom has\nalways been retarded, or stopped, or dragged back, by the tendency it\nhas kept toward the vegetative life. However full, however overflowing\nthe activity of an animal species may appear, torpor and unconsciousness\nare always lying in wait for it. It keeps up its r\u00f4le only by effort, at\nthe price of fatigue. Along the route on which the animal has evolved,\nthere have been numberless shortcomings and cases of decay, generally\nassociated with parasitic habits; they are so many shuntings on to the\nvegetative life. Thus, everything bears out the belief that vegetable\nand animal are descended from a common ancestor which united the\ntendencies of both in a rudimentary state.\n\nBut the two tendencies mutually implied in this rudimentary form became\ndissociated as they grew. Hence the world of plants with its fixity and\ninsensibility, hence the animals with their mobility and consciousness.\nThere is no need, in order to explain this dividing into two, to bring\nin any mysterious force. It is enough to point out that the living being\nleans naturally toward what is most convenient to it, and that\nvegetables and animals have chosen two different kinds of convenience in\nthe way of procuring the carbon and nitrogen they need. Vegetables\ncontinually and mechanically draw these elements from an environment\nthat continually provides it. Animals, by action that is discontinuous,\nconcentrated in certain moments, and conscious, go to find these bodies\nin organisms that have already fixed them. They are two different ways\nof being industrious, or perhaps we may prefer to say, of being idle.\nFor this very reason we doubt whether nervous elements, however\nrudimentary, will ever be found in the plant. What corresponds in it to\nthe directing will of the animal is, we believe, the direction in which\nit bends the energy of the solar radiation when it uses it to break the\nconnection of the carbon with the oxygen in carbonic acid. What\ncorresponds in it to the sensibility of the animal is the\nimpressionability, quite of its kind, of its chlorophyl light. Now, a\nnervous system being pre-eminently a mechanism which serves as\nintermediary between sensations and volitions, the true \"nervous system\"\nof the plant seems to be the mechanism or rather chemicism _sui generis_\nwhich serves as intermediary between the impressionability of its\nchlorophyl to light and the producing of starch: which amounts to saying\nthat the plant can have no nervous elements, and that _the same impetus\nthat has led the animal to give itself nerves and nerve centres must\nhave ended, in the plant, in the chlorophyllian function_.[55]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis first glance over the organized world will enable us to ascertain\nmore precisely what unites the two kingdoms, and also what separates\nthem.\n\nSuppose, as we suggested in the preceding chapter, that at the root of\nlife there is an effort to engraft on to the necessity of physical\nforces the largest possible amount of _indetermination_. This effort\ncannot result in the creation of energy, or, if it does, the quantity\ncreated does not belong to the order of magnitude apprehended by our\nsenses and instruments of measurement, our experience and science. All\nthat the effort can do, then, is to make the best of a pre-existing\nenergy which it finds at its disposal. Now, it finds only one way of\nsucceeding in this, namely, to secure such an accumulation of potential\nenergy from matter, that it can get, at any moment, the amount of work\nit needs for its action, simply by pulling a trigger. The effort itself\npossesses only that power of releasing. But the work of releasing,\nalthough always the same and always smaller than any given quantity,\nwill be the more effective the heavier the weight it makes fall and the\ngreater the height--or, in other words, the greater the sum of potential\nenergy accumulated and disposable. As a matter of fact, the principal\nsource of energy usable on the surface of our planet is the sun. So the\nproblem was this: to obtain from the sun that it should partially and\nprovisionally suspend, here and there, on the surface of the earth, its\ncontinual outpour of usable energy, and store a certain quantity of it,\nin the form of unused energy, in appropriate reservoirs, whence it could\nbe drawn at the desired moment, at the desired spot, in the desired\ndirection. The substances forming the food of animals are just such\nreservoirs. Made of very complex molecules holding a considerable amount\nof chemical energy in the potential state, they are like explosives\nwhich only need a spark to set free the energy stored within them. Now,\nit is probable that life tended at the beginning to compass at one and\nthe same time both the manufacture of the explosive and the explosion by\nwhich it is utilized. In this case, the same organism that had directly\nstored the energy of the solar radiation would have expended it in free\nmovements in space. And for that reason we must presume that the first\nliving beings sought on the one hand to accumulate, without ceasing,\nenergy borrowed from the sun, and on the other hand to expend it, in a\ndiscontinuous and explosive way, in movements of locomotion. Even\nto-day, perhaps, a chlorophyl-bearing Infusorian such as the Euglena may\nsymbolize this primordial tendency of life, though in a mean form,\nincapable of evolving. Is the divergent development of the two kingdoms\nrelated to what one may call the oblivion of each kingdom as regards one\nof the two halves of the programme? Or rather, which is more likely, was\nthe very nature of the matter, that life found confronting it on our\nplanet, opposed to the possibility of the two tendencies evolving very\nfar together in the same organism? What is certain is that the vegetable\nhas trended principally in the first direction and the animal in the\nsecond. But if, from the very first, in making the explosive, nature had\nfor object the explosion, then it is the evolution of the animal, rather\nthan that of the vegetable, that indicates, on the whole, the\nfundamental direction of life.\n\nThe \"harmony\" of the two kingdoms, the complementary characters they\ndisplay, might then be due to the fact that they develop two tendencies\nwhich at first were fused in one. The more the single original tendency\ngrows, the harder it finds it to keep united in the same living being\nthose two elements which in the rudimentary state implied each other.\nHence a parting in two, hence two divergent evolutions; hence also two\nseries of characters opposed in certain points, complementary in others,\nbut, whether opposed or complementary, always preserving an appearance\nof kinship. While the animal evolved, not without accidents along the\nway, toward a freer and freer expenditure of discontinuous energy, the\nplant perfected rather its system of accumulation without moving. We\nshall not dwell on this second point. Suffice it to say that the plant\nmust have been greatly benefited, in its turn, by a new division,\nanalogous to that between plants and animals. While the primitive\nvegetable cell had to fix by itself both its carbon and its nitrogen, it\nbecame able almost to give up the second of these two functions as soon\nas microscopic vegetables came forward which leaned in this direction\nexclusively, and even specialized diversely in this still complicated\nbusiness. The microbes that fix the nitrogen of the air and those which\nconvert the ammoniacal compounds into nitrous ones, and these again into\nnitrates, have, by the same splitting up of a tendency primitively one,\nrendered to the whole vegetable world the same kind of service as the\nvegetables in general have rendered to animals. If a special kingdom\nwere to be made for these microscopic vegetables, it might be said that\nin the microbes of the soil, the vegetables and the animals, we have\nbefore us the _analysis_, carried out by the matter that life found at\nits disposal on our planet, of all that life contained, at the outset,\nin a state of reciprocal implication. Is this, properly speaking, a\n\"division of labor\"? These words do not give the exact idea of\nevolution, such as we conceive it. Wherever there is division of labor,\nthere is _association_ and also _convergence_ of effort. Now, the\nevolution we are speaking of is never achieved by means of association,\nbut by _dissociation_; it never tends toward convergence, but toward\n_divergence_ of efforts. The harmony between terms that are mutually\ncomplementary in certain points is not, in our opinion, produced, in\ncourse of progress, by a reciprocal adaptation; on the contrary, it is\ncomplete only at the start. It arises from an original identity, from\nthe fact that the evolutionary process, splaying out like a sheaf,\nsunders, in proportion to their simultaneous growth, terms which at\nfirst completed each other so well that they coalesced.\n\nNow, the elements into which a tendency splits up are far from\npossessing the same importance, or, above all, the same power to evolve.\nWe have just distinguished three different kingdoms, if one may so\nexpress it, in the organized world. While the first comprises only\nmicroorganisms which have remained in the rudimentary state, animals and\nvegetables have taken their flight toward very lofty fortunes. Such,\nindeed, is generally the case when a tendency divides. Among the\ndivergent developments to which it gives rise, some go on indefinitely,\nothers come more or less quickly to the end of their tether. These\nlatter do not issue directly from the primitive tendency, but from one\nof the elements into which it has divided; they are residual\ndevelopments made and left behind on the way by some truly elementary\ntendency which continues to evolve. Now, these truly elementary\ntendencies, we think, bear a mark by which they may be recognized.\n\nThis mark is like a trace, still visible in each, of what was in the\noriginal tendency of which they represent the elementary directions. The\nelements of a tendency are not like objects set beside each other in\nspace and mutually exclusive, but rather like psychic states, each of\nwhich, although it be itself to begin with, yet partakes of others, and\nso virtually includes in itself the whole personality to which it\nbelongs. There is no real manifestation of life, we said, that does not\nshow us, in a rudimentary or latent state, the characters of other\nmanifestations. Conversely, when we meet, on one line of evolution, a\nrecollection, so to speak, of what is developed along other lines, we\nmust conclude that we have before us dissociated elements of one and the\nsame original tendency. In this sense, vegetables and animals represent\nthe two great divergent developments of life. Though the plant is\ndistinguished from the animal by fixity and insensibility, movement and\nconsciousness sleep in it as recollections which may waken. But, beside\nthese normally sleeping recollections, there are others awake and\nactive, just those, namely, whose activity does not obstruct the\ndevelopment of the elementary tendency itself. We may then formulate\nthis law: _When a tendency splits up in the course of its development,\neach of the special tendencies which thus arise tries to preserve and\ndevelop everything in the primitive tendency that is not incompatible\nwith the work for which it is specialized._ This explains precisely the\nfact we dwelt on in the preceding chapter, viz., the formation of\nidentical complex mechanisms on independent lines of evolution. Certain\ndeep-seated analogies between the animal and the vegetable have probably\nno other cause: sexual generation is perhaps only a luxury for the\nplant, but to the animal it was a necessity, and the plant must have\nbeen driven to it by the same impetus which impelled the animal thereto,\na primitive, original impetus, anterior to the separation of the two\nkingdoms. The same may be said of the tendency of the vegetable towards\na growing complexity. This tendency is essential to the animal kingdom,\never tormented by the need of more and more extended and effective\naction. But the vegetable, condemned to fixity and insensibility,\nexhibits the same tendency only because it received at the outset the\nsame impulsion. Recent experiments show that it varies at random when\nthe period of \"mutation\" arrives; whereas the animal must have evolved,\nwe believe, in much more definite directions. But we will not dwell\nfurther on this original doubling of the modes of life. Let us come to\nthe evolution of animals, in which we are more particularly interested.\n\nWhat constitutes animality, we said, is the faculty of utilizing a\nreleasing mechanism for the conversion of as much stored-up potential\nenergy as possible into \"explosive\" actions. In the beginning the\nexplosion is haphazard, and does not choose its direction. Thus the\namoeba thrusts out its pseudopodic prolongations in all directions at\nonce. But, as we rise in the animal scale, the form of the body itself\nis observed to indicate a certain number of very definite directions\nalong which the energy travels. These directions are marked by so many\nchains of nervous elements. Now, the nervous element has gradually\nemerged from the barely differentiated mass of organized tissue. It may,\ntherefore, be surmised that in the nervous element, as soon as it\nappears, and also in its appendages, the faculty of suddenly freeing the\ngradually stored-up energy is concentrated. No doubt, every living cell\nexpends energy without ceasing, in order to maintain its equilibrium.\nThe vegetable cell, torpid from the start, is entirely absorbed in this\nwork of maintenance alone, as if it took for end what must at first have\nbeen only a means. But, in the animal, all points to action, that is, to\nthe utilization of energy for movements from place to place. True, every\nanimal cell expends a good deal--often the whole--of the energy at its\ndisposal in keeping itself alive; but the organism as a whole tries to\nattract as much energy as possible to those points where the locomotive\nmovements are effected. So that where a nervous system exists, with its\ncomplementary sense-organs and motor apparatus, everything should happen\nas if the rest of the body had, as its essential function, to prepare\nfor these and pass on to them, at the moment required, that force which\nthey are to liberate by a sort of explosion.\n\nThe part played by food amongst the higher animals is, indeed,\nextremely complex. In the first place it serves to repair tissues, then\nit provides the animal with the heat necessary to render it as\nindependent as possible of changes in external temperature. Thus it\npreserves, supports, and maintains the organism in which the nervous\nsystem is set and on which the nervous elements have to live. But these\nnervous elements would have no reason for existence if the organism did\nnot pass to them, and especially to the muscles they control, a certain\nenergy to expend; and it may even be conjectured that there, in the\nmain, is the essential and ultimate destination of food. This does not\nmean that the greater part of the food is used in this work. A state may\nhave to make enormous expenditure to secure the return of taxes, and the\nsum which it will have to dispose of, after deducting the cost of\ncollection, will perhaps be very small: that sum is, none the less, the\nreason for the tax and for all that has been spent to obtain its return.\nSo it is with the energy which the animal demands of its food.\n\nMany facts seem to indicate that the nervous and muscular elements stand\nin this relation towards the rest of the organism. Glance first at the\ndistribution of alimentary substances among the different elements of\nthe living body. These substances fall into two classes, one the\nquaternary or albuminoid, the other the ternary, including the\ncarbohydrates and the fats. The albuminoids are properly plastic,\ndestined to repair the tissues--although, owing to the carbon they\ncontain, they are capable of providing energy on occasion. But the\nfunction of supplying energy has devolved more particularly on the\nsecond class of substances: these, being deposited in the cell rather\nthan forming part of its substance, convey to it, in the form of\nchemical potential, an expansive energy that may be directly converted\ninto either movement or heat. In short, the chief function of the\nalbuminoids is to repair the machine, while the function of the other\nclass of substances is to supply power. It is natural that the\nalbuminoids should have no specially allotted destination, since every\npart of the machine has to be maintained. But not so with the other\nsubstances. The carbohydrates are distributed very unequally, and this\ninequality of distribution seems to us in the highest degree\ninstructive.\n\nConveyed by the arterial blood in the form of glucose, these substances\nare deposited, in the form of glycogen, in the different cells forming\nthe tissues. We know that one of the principal functions of the liver is\nto maintain at a constant level the quantity of glucose held by the\nblood, by means of the reserves of glycogen secreted by the hepatic\ncells. Now, in this circulation of glucose and accumulation of glycogen,\nit is easy to see that the effect is as if the whole effort of the\norganism were directed towards providing with potential energy the\nelements of both the muscular and the nervous tissues. The organism\nproceeds differently in the two cases, but it arrives at the same\nresult. In the first case, it provides the muscle-cell with a large\nreserve deposited in advance: the quantity of glycogen contained in the\nmuscles is, indeed, enormous in comparison with what is found in the\nother tissues. In the nervous tissue, on the contrary, the reserve is\nsmall (the nervous elements, whose function is merely to liberate the\npotential energy stored in the muscle, never have to furnish much work\nat one time); but the remarkable thing is that this reserve is restored\nby the blood at the very moment that it is expended, so that the nerve\nis instantly recharged with potential energy. Muscular tissue and\nnervous tissue are, therefore, both privileged, the one in that it is\nstocked with a large reserve of energy, the other in that it is always\nserved at the instant it is in need and to the exact extent of its\nrequirements.\n\nMore particularly, it is from the sensori-motor system that the call for\nglycogen, the potential energy, comes, as if the rest of the organism\nwere simply there in order to transmit force to the nervous system and\nto the muscles which the nerves control. True, when we think of the part\nplayed by the nervous system (even the sensori-motor system) as\nregulator of the organic life, it may well be asked whether, in this\nexchange of good offices between it and the rest of the body, the\nnervous system is indeed a master that the body serves. But we shall\nalready incline to this hypothesis when we consider, even in the static\nstate only, the distribution of potential energy among the tissues; and\nwe shall be entirely convinced of it when we reflect upon the conditions\nin which the energy is expended and restored. For suppose the\nsensori-motor system is a system like the others, of the same rank as\nthe others. Borne by the whole of the organism, it will wait until an\nexcess of chemical potential is supplied to it before it performs any\nwork. In other words, it is the production of glycogen which will\nregulate the consumption by the nerves and muscles. On the contrary, if\nthe sensori-motor system is the actual master, the duration and extent\nof its action will be independent, to a certain extent at least, of the\nreserve of glycogen that it holds, and even of that contained in the\nwhole of the organism. It will perform work, and the other tissues will\nhave to arrange as they can to supply it with potential energy. Now,\nthis is precisely what does take place, as is shown in particular by the\nexperiments of Morat and Dufourt.[56] While the glycogenic function of\nthe liver depends on the action of the excitory nerves which control it,\nthe action of these nerves is subordinated to the action of those which\nstimulate the locomotor muscles--in this sense, that the muscles begin\nby expending without calculation, thus consuming glycogen, impoverishing\nthe blood of its glucose, and finally causing the liver, which has had\nto pour into the impoverished blood some of its reserve of glycogen, to\nmanufacture a fresh supply. From the sensori-motor system, then,\neverything starts; on that system everything converges; and we may say,\nwithout metaphor, that the rest of the organism is at its service.\n\nConsider again what happens in a prolonged fast. It is a remarkable fact\nthat in animals that have died of hunger the brain is found to be almost\nunimpaired, while the other organs have lost more or less of their\nweight and their cells have undergone profound changes.[57] It seems as\nthough the rest of the body had sustained the nervous system to the last\nextremity, treating itself simply as the means of which the nervous\nsystem is the end.\n\nTo sum up: if we agree, in short, to understand by \"the sensori-motor\nsystem\" the cerebro-spinal nervous system together with the sensorial\napparatus in which it is prolonged and the locomotor muscles it\ncontrols, we may say that a higher organism is essentially a\nsensori-motor system installed on systems of digestion, respiration,\ncirculation, secretion, etc., whose function it is to repair, cleanse\nand protect it, to create an unvarying internal environment for it, and\nabove all to pass it potential energy to convert into locomotive\nmovement.[58] It is true that the more the nervous function is\nperfected, the more must the functions required to maintain it develop,\nand the more exacting, consequently, they become for themselves. As the\nnervous activity has emerged from the protoplasmic mass in which it was\nalmost drowned, it has had to summon around itself activities of all\nkinds for its support. These could only be developed on other\nactivities, which again implied others, and so on indefinitely. Thus it\nis that the complexity of functioning of the higher organisms goes on to\ninfinity. The study of one of these organisms therefore takes us round\nin a circle, as if everything was a means to everything else. But the\ncircle has a centre, none the less, and that is the system of nervous\nelements stretching between the sensory organs and the motor apparatus.\n\nWe will not dwell here on a point we have treated at length in a former\nwork. Let us merely recall that the progress of the nervous system has\nbeen effected both in the direction of a more precise adaptation of\nmovements and in that of a greater latitude left to the living being to\nchoose between them. These two tendencies may appear antagonistic, and\nindeed they are so; but a nervous chain, even in its most rudimentary\nform, successfully reconciles them. On the one hand, it marks a\nwell-defined track between one point of the periphery and another, the\none sensory, the other motor. It has therefore canalized an activity\nwhich was originally diffused in the protoplasmic mass. But, on the\nother hand, the elements that compose it are probably discontinuous; at\nany rate, even supposing they anastomose, they exhibit a _functional_\ndiscontinuity, for each of them ends in a kind of cross-road where\nprobably the nervous current may choose its course. From the humblest\nMonera to the best endowed insects, and up to the most intelligent\nvertebrates, the progress realized has been above all a progress of the\nnervous system, coupled at every stage with all the new constructions\nand complications of mechanism that this progress required. As we\nforeshadowed in the beginning of this work, the r\u00f4le of life is to\ninsert some _indetermination_ into matter. Indeterminate, _i.e._\nunforeseeable, are the forms it creates in the course of its evolution.\nMore and more indeterminate also, more and more free, is the activity to\nwhich these forms serve as the vehicle. A nervous system, with neurones\nplaced end to end in such wise that, at the extremity of each, manifold\nways open in which manifold questions present themselves, is a veritable\n_reservoir of indetermination_. That the main energy of the vital\nimpulse has been spent in creating apparatus of this kind is, we\nbelieve, what a glance over the organized world as a whole easily shows.\nBut concerning the vital impulse itself a few explanations are\nnecessary.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt must not be forgotten that the force which is evolving throughout the\norganized world is a limited force, which is always seeking to transcend\nitself and always remains inadequate to the work it would fain produce.\nThe errors and puerilities of radical finalism are due to the\nmisapprehension of this point. It has represented the whole of the\nliving world as a construction, and a construction analogous to a human\nwork. All the pieces have been arranged with a view to the best possible\nfunctioning of the machine. Each species has its reason for existence,\nits part to play, its allotted place; and all join together, as it were,\nin a musical concert, wherein the seeming discords are really meant to\nbring out a fundamental harmony. In short, all goes on in nature as in\nthe works of human genius, where, though the result may be trifling,\nthere is at least perfect adequacy between the object made and the work\nof making it.\n\nNothing of the kind in the evolution of life. There, the disproportion\nis striking between the work and the result. From the bottom to the top\nof the organized world we do indeed find one great effort; but most\noften this effort turns short, sometimes paralyzed by contrary forces,\nsometimes diverted from what it should do by what it does, absorbed by\nthe form it is engaged in taking, hypnotized by it as by a mirror. Even\nin its most perfect works, though it seems to have triumphed over\nexternal resistances and also over its own, it is at the mercy of the\nmateriality which it has had to assume. It is what each of us may\nexperience in himself. Our freedom, in the very movements by which it is\naffirmed, creates the growing habits that will stifle it if it fails to\nrenew itself by a constant effort: it is dogged by automatism. The most\nliving thought becomes frigid in the formula that expresses it. The word\nturns against the idea.\n\nThe letter kills the spirit. And our most ardent enthusiasm, as soon as\nit is externalized into action, is so naturally congealed into the cold\ncalculation of interest or vanity, the one takes so easily the shape of\nthe other, that we might confuse them together, doubt our own\nsincerity, deny goodness and love, if we did not know that the dead\nretain for a time the features of the living.\n\nThe profound cause of this discordance lies in an irremediable\ndifference of rhythm. Life in general is mobility itself; particular\nmanifestations of life accept this mobility reluctantly, and constantly\nlag behind. It is always going ahead; they want to mark time. Evolution\nin general would fain go on in a straight line; each special evolution\nis a kind of circle. Like eddies of dust raised by the wind as it\npasses, the living turn upon themselves, borne up by the great blast of\nlife. They are therefore relatively stable, and counterfeit immobility\nso well that we treat each of them as a _thing_ rather than as a\n_progress_, forgetting that the very permanence of their form is only\nthe outline of a movement. At times, however, in a fleeting vision, the\ninvisible breath that bears them is materialized before our eyes. We\nhave this sudden illumination before certain forms of maternal love, so\nstriking, and in most animals so touching, observable even in the\nsolicitude of the plant for its seed. This love, in which some have seen\nthe great mystery of life, may possibly deliver us life's secret. It\nshows us each generation leaning over the generation that shall follow.\nIt allows us a glimpse of the fact that the living being is above all a\nthoroughfare, and that the essence of life is in the movement by which\nlife is transmitted.\n\nThis contrast between life in general, and the forms in which it is\nmanifested, has everywhere the same character. It might be said that\nlife tends toward the utmost possible action, but that each species\nprefers to contribute the slightest possible effort. Regarded in what\nconstitutes its true essence, namely, as a transition from species to\nspecies, life is a continually growing action. But each of the species,\nthrough which life passes, aims only at its own convenience. It goes\nfor that which demands the least labor. Absorbed in the form it is about\nto take, it falls into a partial sleep, in which it ignores almost all\nthe rest of life; it fashions itself so as to take the greatest possible\nadvantage of its immediate environment with the least possible trouble.\nAccordingly, the act by which life goes forward to the creation of a new\nform, and the act by which this form is shaped, are two different and\noften antagonistic movements. The first is continuous with the second,\nbut cannot continue in it without being drawn aside from its direction,\nas would happen to a man leaping, if, in order to clear the obstacle, he\nhad to turn his eyes from it and look at himself all the while.\n\nLiving forms are, by their very definition, forms that are able to live.\nIn whatever way the adaptation of the organism to its circumstances is\nexplained, it has necessarily been sufficient, since the species has\nsubsisted. In this sense, each of the successive species that\npaleontology and zoology describes was a _success_ carried off by life.\nBut we get a very different impression when we refer each species to the\nmovement that has left it behind on its way, instead of to the\nconditions into which it has been set. Often this movement has turned\naside; very often, too, it has stopped short; what was to have been a\nthoroughfare has become a terminus. From this new point of view, failure\nseems the rule, success exceptional and always imperfect. We shall see\nthat, of the four main directions along which animal life bent its\ncourse, two have led to blind alleys, and, in the other two, the effort\nhas generally been out of proportion to the result.\n\nDocuments are lacking to reconstruct this history in detail, but we can\nmake out its main lines. We have already said that animals and\nvegetables must have separated soon from their common stock, the\nvegetable falling asleep in immobility, the animal, on the contrary,\nbecoming more and more awake and marching on to the conquest of a\nnervous system. Probably the effort of the animal kingdom resulted in\ncreating organisms still very simple, but endowed with a certain freedom\nof action, and, above all, with a shape so undecided that it could lend\nitself to any future determination. These animals may have resembled\nsome of our worms, but with this difference, however, that the worms\nliving to-day, to which they could be compared, are but the empty and\nfixed examples of infinitely plastic forms, pregnant with an unlimited\nfuture, the common stock of the echinoderms, molluscs, arthropods, and\nvertebrates.\n\nOne danger lay in wait for them, one obstacle which might have stopped\nthe soaring course of animal life. There is one peculiarity with which\nwe cannot help being struck when glancing over the fauna of primitive\ntimes, namely, the imprisonment of the animal in a more or less solid\nsheath, which must have obstructed and often even paralyzed its\nmovements. The molluscs of that time had a shell more universally than\nthose of to-day. The arthropods in general were provided with a\ncarapace; most of them were crustaceans. The more ancient fishes had a\nbony sheath of extreme hardness.[59] The explanation of this general\nfact should be sought, we believe, in a tendency of soft organisms to\ndefend themselves against one another by making themselves, as far as\npossible, undevourable. Each species, in the act by which it comes into\nbeing, trends towards that which is most expedient. Just as among\nprimitive organisms there were some that turned towards animal life by\nrefusing to manufacture organic out of inorganic material and taking\norganic substances ready made from organisms that had turned toward the\nvegetative life, so, among the animal species themselves, many contrived\nto live at the expense of other animals. For an organism that is animal,\nthat is to say mobile, can avail itself of its mobility to go in search\nof defenseless animals, and feed on them quite as well as on vegetables.\nSo, the more species became mobile, the more they became voracious and\ndangerous to one another. Hence a sudden arrest of the entire animal\nworld in its progress towards higher and higher mobility; for the hard\nand calcareous skin of the echinoderm, the shell of the mollusc, the\ncarapace of the crustacean and the ganoid breast-plate of the ancient\nfishes probably all originated in a common effort of the animal species\nto protect themselves against hostile species. But this breast-plate,\nbehind which the animal took shelter, constrained it in its movements\nand sometimes fixed it in one place. If the vegetable renounced\nconsciousness in wrapping itself in a cellulose membrane, the animal\nthat shut itself up in a citadel or in armor condemned itself to a\npartial slumber. In this torpor the echinoderms and even the molluscs\nlive to-day. Probably arthropods and vertebrates were threatened with it\ntoo. They escaped, however, and to this fortunate circumstance is due\nthe expansion of the highest forms of life.\n\nIn two directions, in fact, we see the impulse of life to movement\ngetting the upper hand again. The fishes exchanged their ganoid\nbreast-plate for scales. Long before that, the insects had appeared,\nalso disencumbered of the breast-plate that had protected their\nancestors. Both supplemented the insufficiency of their protective\ncovering by an agility that enabled them to escape their enemies, and\nalso to assume the offensive, to choose the place and the moment of\nencounter. We see a progress of the same kind in the evolution of human\narmaments. The first impulse is to seek shelter; the second, which is\nthe better, is to become as supple as possible for flight and above all\nfor attack--attack being the most effective means of defense. So the\nheavy hoplite was supplanted by the legionary; the knight, clad in\narmor, had to give place to the light free-moving infantryman; and in a\ngeneral way, in the evolution of life, just as in the evolution of human\nsocieties and of individual destinies, the greatest successes have been\nfor those who have accepted the heaviest risks.\n\nEvidently, then, it was to the animal's interest to make itself more\nmobile. As we said when speaking of adaptation in general, any\ntransformation of a species can be explained by its own particular\ninterest. This will give the immediate cause of the variation, but often\nonly the most superficial cause. The profound cause is the impulse which\nthrust life into the world, which made it divide into vegetables and\nanimals, which shunted the animal on to suppleness of form, and which,\nat a certain moment, in the animal kingdom threatened with torpor,\nsecured that, on some points at least, it should rouse itself up and\nmove forward.\n\nOn the two paths along which the vertebrates and arthropods have\nseparately evolved, development (apart from retrogressions connected\nwith parasitism or any other cause) has consisted above all in the\nprogress of the sensori-motor nervous system. Mobility and suppleness\nwere sought for, and also--through many experimental attempts, and not\nwithout a tendency to excess of substance and brute force at the\nstart--variety of movements. But this quest itself took place in\ndivergent directions. A glance at the nervous system of the arthropods\nand that of the vertebrates shows us the difference. In the arthropods,\nthe body is formed of a series more or less long of rings set together;\nmotor activity is thus distributed amongst a varying--sometimes a\nconsiderable--number of appendages, each of which has its special\nfunction. In the vertebrates, activity is concentrated in two pairs of\nmembers only, and these organs perform functions which depend much less\nstrictly on their form.[60] The independence becomes complete in man,\nwhose hand is capable of any kind of work.\n\nThat, at least, is what we see. But behind what is seen there is what\nmay be surmised--two powers, immanent in life and originally\nintermingled, which were bound to part company in course of growth.\n\nTo define these powers, we must consider, in the evolution both of the\narthropods and the vertebrates, the species which mark the culminating\npoint of each. How is this point to be determined? Here again, to aim at\ngeometrical precision will lead us astray. There is no single simple\nsign by which we can recognize that one species is more advanced than\nanother on the same line of evolution. There are manifold characters,\nthat must be compared and weighed in each particular case, in order to\nascertain to what extent they are essential or accidental and how far\nthey must be taken into account.\n\nIt is unquestionable, for example, that _success_ is the most general\ncriterion of superiority, the two terms being, up to a certain point,\nsynonymous. By success must be understood, so far as the living being is\nconcerned, an aptitude to develop in the most diverse environments,\nthrough the greatest possible variety of obstacles, so as to cover the\nwidest possible extent of ground. A species which claims the entire\nearth for its domain is truly a dominating and consequently superior\nspecies. Such is the human species, which represents the culminating\npoint of the evolution of the vertebrates. But such also are, in the\nseries of the articulate, the insects and in particular certain\nhymenoptera. It has been said of the ants that, as man is lord of the\nsoil, they are lords of the sub-soil.\n\nOn the other hand, a group of species that has appeared late may be a\ngroup of degenerates; but, for that, some special cause of retrogression\nmust have intervened. By right, this group should be superior to the\ngroup from which it is derived, since it would correspond to a more\nadvanced stage of evolution. Now man is probably the latest comer of the\nvertebrates;[61] and in the insect series no species is later than the\nhymenoptera, unless it be the lepidoptera, which are probably\ndegenerates, living parasitically on flowering plants.\n\nSo, by different ways, we are led to the same conclusion. The evolution\nof the arthropods reaches its culminating point in the insect, and in\nparticular in the hymenoptera, as that of the vertebrates in man. Now,\nsince instinct is nowhere so developed as in the insect world, and in no\ngroup of insects so marvelously as in the hymenoptera, it may be said\nthat the whole evolution of the animal kingdom, apart from\nretrogressions towards vegetative life, has taken place on two divergent\npaths, one of which led to instinct and the other to intelligence.\n\nVegetative torpor, instinct, and intelligence--these, then, are the\nelements that coincided in the vital impulsion common to plants and\nanimals, and which, in the course of a development in which they were\nmade manifest in the most unforeseen forms, have been dissociated by the\nvery fact of their growth. _The cardinal error which, from Aristotle\nonwards, has vitiated most of the philosophies of nature, is to see in\nvegetative, instinctive and rational life, three successive degrees of\nthe development of one and the same tendency, whereas they are three\ndivergent directions of an activity that has split up as it grew._ The\ndifference between them is not a difference of intensity, nor, more\ngenerally, of degree, but of kind.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is important to investigate this point. We have seen in the case of\nvegetable and animal life how they are at once mutually complementary\nand mutually antagonistic. Now we must show that intelligence and\ninstinct also are opposite and complementary. But let us first explain\nwhy we are generally led to regard them as activities of which one is\nsuperior to the other and based upon it, whereas in reality they are not\nthings of the same order: they have not succeeded one another, nor can\nwe assign to them different grades.\n\nIt is because intelligence and instinct, having originally been\ninterpenetrating, retain something of their common origin. Neither is\never found in a pure state. We said that in the plant the consciousness\nand mobility of the animal, which lie dormant, can be awakened; and that\nthe animal lives under the constant menace of being drawn aside to the\nvegetative life. The two tendencies--that of the plant and that of the\nanimal--were so thoroughly interpenetrating, to begin with, that there\nhas never been a complete severance between them: they haunt each other\ncontinually; everywhere we find them mingled; it is the proportion that\ndiffers. So with intelligence and instinct. There is no intelligence in\nwhich some traces of instinct are not to be discovered, more especially\nno instinct that is not surrounded with a fringe of intelligence. It is\nthis fringe of intelligence that has been the cause of so many\nmisunderstandings. From the fact that instinct is always more or less\nintelligent, it has been concluded that instinct and intelligence are\nthings of the same kind, that there is only a difference of complexity\nor perfection between them, and, above all, that one of the two is\nexpressible in terms of the other. In reality, they accompany each other\nonly because they are complementary, and they are complementary only\nbecause they are different, what is instinctive in instinct being\nopposite to what is intelligent in intelligence.\n\nWe are bound to dwell on this point. It is one of the utmost importance.\n\nLet us say at the outset that the distinctions we are going to make will\nbe too sharply drawn, just because we wish to define in instinct what is\ninstinctive, and in intelligence what is intelligent, whereas all\nconcrete instinct is mingled with intelligence, as all real intelligence\nis penetrated by instinct. Moreover, neither intelligence nor instinct\nlends itself to rigid definition: they are tendencies, and not things.\nAlso, it must not be forgotten that in the present chapter we are\nconsidering intelligence and instinct as going out of life which\ndeposits them along its course. Now the life manifested by an organism\nis, in our view, a certain effort to obtain certain things from the\nmaterial world. No wonder, therefore, if it is the diversity of this\neffort that strikes us in instinct and intelligence, and if we see in\nthese two modes of psychical activity, above all else, two different\nmethods of action on inert matter. This rather narrow view of them has\nthe advantage of giving us an objective means of distinguishing them. In\nreturn, however, it gives us, of intelligence in general and of instinct\nin general, only the mean position above and below which both constantly\noscillate. For that reason the reader must expect to see in what follows\nonly a diagrammatic drawing, in which the respective outlines of\nintelligence and instinct are sharper than they should be, and in which\nthe shading-off which comes from the indecision of each and from their\nreciprocal encroachment on one another is neglected. In a matter so\nobscure, we cannot strive too hard for clearness. It will always be easy\nafterwards to soften the outlines and to correct what is too geometrical\nin the drawing--in short, to replace the rigidity of a diagram by the\nsuppleness of life.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo what date is it agreed to ascribe the appearance of man on the earth?\nTo the period when the first weapons, the first tools, were made. The\nmemorable quarrel over the discovery of Boucher de Perthes in the quarry\nof Moulin-Quignon is not forgotten. The question was whether real\nhatchets had been found or merely bits of flint accidentally broken. But\nthat, supposing they were hatchets, we were indeed in the presence of\nintelligence, and more particularly of _human_ intelligence, no one\ndoubted for an instant. Now let us open a collection of anecdotes on the\nintelligence of animals: we shall see that besides many acts explicable\nby imitation or by the automatic association of images, there are some\nthat we do not hesitate to call intelligent: foremost among them are\nthose that bear witness to some idea of manufacture, whether the animal\nlife succeeds in fashioning a crude instrument or uses for its profit an\nobject made by man. The animals that rank immediately after man in the\nmatter of intelligence, the apes and elephants, are those that can use\nan artificial instrument occasionally. Below, but not very far from\nthem, come those that _recognize_ a constructed object: for example, the\nfox, which knows quite well that a trap is a trap. No doubt, there is\nintelligence wherever there is inference; but inference, which consists\nin an inflection of past experience in the direction of present\nexperience, is already a beginning of invention. Invention becomes\ncomplete when it is materialized in a manufactured instrument. Towards\nthat achievement the intelligence of animals tends as towards an ideal.\nAnd though, ordinarily, it does not yet succeed in fashioning artificial\nobjects and in making use of them, it is preparing for this by the very\nvariations which it performs on the instincts furnished by nature. As\nregards human intelligence, it has not been sufficiently noted that\nmechanical invention has been from the first its essential feature, that\neven to-day our social life gravitates around the manufacture and use of\nartificial instruments, that the inventions which strew the road of\nprogress have also traced its direction. This we hardly realize, because\nit takes us longer to change ourselves than to change our tools. Our\nindividual and even social habits survive a good while the circumstances\nfor which they were made, so that the ultimate effects of an invention\nare not observed until its novelty is already out of sight. A century\nhas elapsed since the invention of the steam-engine, and we are only\njust beginning to feel the depths of the shock it gave us. But the\nrevolution it has effected in industry has nevertheless upset human\nrelations altogether. New ideas are arising, new feelings are on the way\nto flower. In thousands of years, when, seen from the distance, only the\nbroad lines of the present age will still be visible, our wars and our\nrevolutions will count for little, even supposing they are remembered\nat all; but the steam-engine, and the procession of inventions of every\nkind that accompanied it, will perhaps be spoken of as we speak of the\nbronze or of the chipped stone of prehistoric times: it will serve to\ndefine an age.[62] If we could rid ourselves of all pride, if, to define\nour species, we kept strictly to what the historic and the prehistoric\nperiods show us to be the constant characteristic of man and of\nintelligence, we should say not _Homo sapiens_, but _Homo faber_. In\nshort, _intelligence, considered in what seems to be its original\nfeature, is the faculty of manufacturing artificial objects, especially\ntools to make tools, and of indefinitely varying the manufacture_.\n\nNow, does an unintelligent animal also possess tools or machines? Yes,\ncertainly, but here the instrument forms a part of the body that uses\nit; and, corresponding to this instrument, there is an _instinct_ that\nknows how to use it. True, it cannot be maintained that _all_ instincts\nconsist in a natural ability to use an inborn mechanism. Such a\ndefinition would not apply to the instincts which Romanes called\n\"secondary\"; and more than one \"primary\" instinct would not come under\nit. But this definition, like that which we have provisionally given of\nintelligence, determines at least the ideal limit toward which the very\nnumerous forms of instinct are traveling. Indeed, it has often been\npointed out that most instincts are only the continuance, or rather the\nconsummation, of the work of organization itself. Where does the\nactivity of instinct begin? and where does that of nature end? We cannot\ntell. In the metamorphoses of the larva into the nymph and into the\nperfect insect, metamorphoses that often require appropriate action and\na kind of initiative on the part of the larva, there is no sharp line of\ndemarcation between the instinct of the animal and the organizing work\nof living matter. We may say, as we will, either that instinct organizes\nthe instruments it is about to use, or that the process of organization\nis continued in the instinct that has to use the organ. The most\nmarvelous instincts of the insect do nothing but develop its special\nstructure into movements: indeed, where social life divides the labor\namong different individuals, and thus allots them different instincts, a\ncorresponding difference of structure is observed: the polymorphism of\nants, bees, wasps and certain pseudoneuroptera is well known. Thus, if\nwe consider only those typical cases in which the complete triumph of\nintelligence and of instinct is seen, we find this essential difference\nbetween them: _instinct perfected is a faculty of using and even of\nconstructing organized instruments; intelligence perfected is the\nfaculty of making and using unorganized instruments_.\n\nThe advantages and drawbacks of these two modes of activity are obvious.\nInstinct finds the appropriate instrument at hand: this instrument,\nwhich makes and repairs itself, which presents, like all the works of\nnature, an infinite complexity of detail combined with a marvelous\nsimplicity of function, does at once, when required, what it is called\nupon to do, without difficulty and with a perfection that is often\nwonderful. In return, it retains an almost invariable structure, since a\nmodification of it involves a modification of the species. Instinct is\ntherefore necessarily specialized, being nothing but the utilization of\na specific instrument for a specific object. The instrument constructed\nintelligently, on the contrary, is an imperfect instrument. It costs an\neffort. It is generally troublesome to handle. But, as it is made of\nunorganized matter, it can take any form whatsoever, serve any purpose,\nfree the living being from every new difficulty that arises and bestow\non it an unlimited number of powers. Whilst it is inferior to the\nnatural instrument for the satisfaction of immediate wants, its\nadvantage over it is the greater, the less urgent the need. Above all,\nit reacts on the nature of the being that constructs it; for in calling\non him to exercise a new function, it confers on him, so to speak, a\nricher organization, being an artificial organ by which the natural\norganism is extended. For every need that it satisfies, it creates a new\nneed; and so, instead of closing, like instinct, the round of action\nwithin which the animal tends to move automatically, it lays open to\nactivity an unlimited field into which it is driven further and further,\nand made more and more free. But this advantage of intelligence over\ninstinct only appears at a late stage, when intelligence, having raised\nconstruction to a higher degree, proceeds to construct constructive\nmachinery. At the outset, the advantages and drawbacks of the artificial\ninstrument and of the natural instrument balance so well that it is hard\nto foretell which of the two will secure to the living being the greater\nempire over nature.\n\nWe may surmise that they began by being implied in each other, that the\noriginal psychical activity included both at once, and that, if we went\nfar enough back into the past, we should find instincts more nearly\napproaching intelligence than those of our insects, intelligence nearer\nto instinct than that of our vertebrates, intelligence and instinct\nbeing, in this elementary condition, prisoners of a matter which they\nare not yet able to control. If the force immanent in life were an\nunlimited force, it might perhaps have developed instinct and\nintelligence together, and to any extent, in the same organisms. But\neverything seems to indicate that this force is limited, and that it\nsoon exhausts itself in its very manifestation. It is hard for it to go\nfar in several directions at once: it must choose. Now, it has the\nchoice between two modes of acting on the material world: it can either\neffect this action _directly_ by creating an _organized_ instrument to\nwork with; or else it can effect it _indirectly_ through an organism\nwhich, instead of possessing the required instrument naturally, will\nitself construct it by fashioning inorganic matter. Hence intelligence\nand instinct, which diverge more and more as they develop, but which\nnever entirely separate from each other. On the one hand, the most\nperfect instinct of the insect is accompanied by gleams of intelligence,\nif only in the choice of place, time and materials of construction: the\nbees, for example, when by exception they build in the open air, invent\nnew and really intelligent arrangements to adapt themselves to such new\nconditions.[63] But, on the other hand, intelligence has even more need\nof instinct than instinct has of intelligence; for the power to give\nshape to crude matter involves already a superior degree of\norganization, a degree to which the animal could not have risen, save on\nthe wings of instinct. So, while nature has frankly evolved in the\ndirection of instinct in the arthropods, we observe in almost all the\nvertebrates the striving after rather than the expansion of\nintelligence. It is instinct still which forms the basis of their\npsychical activity; but intelligence is there, and would fain supersede\nit. Intelligence does not yet succeed in inventing instruments; but at\nleast it tries to, by performing as many variations as possible on the\ninstinct which it would like to dispense with. It gains complete\nself-possession only in man, and this triumph is attested by the very\ninsufficiency of the natural means at man's disposal for defense against\nhis enemies, against cold and hunger. This insufficiency, when we strive\nto fathom its significance, acquires the value of a prehistoric\ndocument; it is the final leave-taking between intelligence and\ninstinct. But it is no less true that nature must have hesitated between\ntwo modes of psychical activity--one assured of immediate success, but\nlimited in its effects; the other hazardous, but whose conquests, if it\nshould reach independence, might be extended indefinitely. Here again,\nthen, the greatest success was achieved on the side of the greatest\nrisk. _Instinct and intelligence therefore represent two divergent\nsolutions, equally fitting, of one and the same problem._\n\nThere ensue, it is true, profound differences of internal structure\nbetween instinct and intelligence. We shall dwell only on those that\nconcern our present study. Let us say, then, that instinct and\nintelligence imply two radically different kinds of knowledge. But some\nexplanations are first of all necessary on the subject of consciousness\nin general.\n\nIt has been asked how far instinct is conscious. Our reply is that there\nare a vast number of differences and degrees, that instinct is more or\nless conscious in certain cases, unconscious in others. The plant, as we\nshall see, has instincts; it is not likely that these are accompanied by\nfeeling. Even in the animal there is hardly any complex instinct that is\nnot unconscious in some part at least of its exercise. But here we must\npoint out a difference, not often noticed, between two kinds of\nunconsciousness, viz., that in which consciousness is _absent_, and that\nin which consciousness is _nullified_. Both are equal to zero, but in\none case the zero expresses the fact that there is nothing, in the other\nthat we have two equal quantities of opposite sign which compensate and\nneutralize each other. The unconsciousness of a falling stone is of the\nformer kind: the stone has no feeling of its fall. Is it the same with\nthe unconsciousness of instinct, in the extreme cases in which instinct\nis unconscious? When we mechanically perform an habitual action, when\nthe somnambulist automatically acts his dream, unconsciousness may be\nabsolute; but this is merely due to the fact that the representation of\nthe act is held in check by the performance of the act itself, which\nresembles the idea so perfectly, and fits it so exactly, that\nconsciousness is unable to find room between them. _Representation is\nstopped up by action._ The proof of this is, that if the accomplishment\nof the act is arrested or thwarted by an obstacle, consciousness may\nreappear. It was there, but neutralized by the action which fulfilled\nand thereby filled the representation. The obstacle creates nothing\npositive; it simply makes a void, removes a stopper. This inadequacy of\nact to representation is precisely what we here call consciousness.\n\nIf we examine this point more closely, we shall find that consciousness\nis the light that plays around the zone of possible actions or potential\nactivity which surrounds the action really performed by the living\nbeing. It signifies hesitation or choice. Where many equally possible\nactions are indicated without there being any real action (as in a\ndeliberation that has not come to an end), consciousness is intense.\nWhere the action performed is the only action possible (as in activity\nof the somnambulistic or more generally automatic kind), consciousness\nis reduced to nothing. Representation and knowledge exist none the less\nin the case if we find a whole series of systematized movements the last\nof which is already pre-figured in the first, and if, besides,\nconsciousness can flash out of them at the shock of an obstacle. From\nthis point of view, _the consciousness of a living being may be defined\nas an arithmetical difference between potential and real activity_. _It\nmeasures the interval between representation and action._\n\nIt may be inferred from this that intelligence is likely to point\ntowards consciousness, and instinct towards unconsciousness. For, where\nthe implement to be used is organized by nature, the material furnished\nby nature, and the result to be obtained willed by nature, there is\nlittle left to choice; the consciousness inherent in the representation\nis therefore counterbalanced, whenever it tends to disengage itself, by\nthe performance of the act, identical with the representation, which\nforms its counterweight. Where consciousness appears, it does not so\nmuch light up the instinct itself as the thwartings to which instinct is\nsubject; it is the _deficit_ of instinct, the distance, between the act\nand the idea, that becomes consciousness so that consciousness, here, is\nonly an accident. Essentially, consciousness only emphasizes the\nstarting-point of instinct, the point at which the whole series of\nautomatic movements is released. Deficit, on the contrary, is the normal\nstate of intelligence. Laboring under difficulties is its very essence.\nIts original function being to construct unorganized instruments, it\nmust, in spite of numberless difficulties, choose for this work the\nplace and the time, the form and the matter. And it can never satisfy\nitself entirely, because every new satisfaction creates new needs. In\nshort, while instinct and intelligence both involve knowledge, this\nknowledge is rather _acted_ and unconscious in the case of instinct,\n_thought_ and conscious in the case of intelligence. But it is a\ndifference rather of degree than of kind. So long as consciousness is\nall we are concerned with, we close our eyes to what is, from the\npsychological point of view, the cardinal difference between instinct\nand intelligence.\n\nIn order to get at this essential difference we must, without stopping\nat the more or less brilliant light which illumines these two modes of\ninternal activity, go straight to the two _objects_, profoundly\ndifferent from each other, upon which instinct and intelligence are\ndirected.\n\nWhen the horse-fly lays its eggs on the legs or shoulders of the horse,\nit acts as if it knew that its larva has to develop in the horse's\nstomach and that the horse, in licking itself, will convey the larva\ninto its digestive tract. When a paralyzing wasp stings its victim on\njust those points where the nervous centres lie, so as to render it\nmotionless without killing it, it acts like a learned entomologist and a\nskilful surgeon rolled into one. But what shall we say of the little\nbeetle, the Sitaris, whose story is so often quoted? This insect lays\nits eggs at the entrance of the underground passages dug by a kind of\nbee, the Anthophora. Its larva, after long waiting, springs upon the\nmale Anthophora as it goes out of the passage, clings to it, and remains\nattached until the \"nuptial flight,\" when it seizes the opportunity to\npass from the male to the female, and quietly waits until it lays its\neggs. It then leaps on the egg, which serves as a support for it in the\nhoney, devours the egg in a few days, and, resting on the shell,\nundergoes its first metamorphosis. Organized now to float on the honey,\nit consumes this provision of nourishment, and becomes a nymph, then a\nperfect insect. Everything happens _as if_ the larva of the Sitaris,\nfrom the moment it was hatched, knew that the male Anthophora would\nfirst emerge from the passage; that the nuptial flight would give it the\nmeans of conveying itself to the female, who would take it to a store of\nhoney sufficient to feed it after its transformation; that, until this\ntransformation, it could gradually eat the egg of the Anthophora, in\nsuch a way that it could at the same time feed itself, maintain itself\nat the surface of the honey, and also suppress the rival that otherwise\nwould have come out of the egg. And equally all this happens _as if_ the\nSitaris itself knew that its larva would know all these things. The\nknowledge, if knowledge there be, is only implicit. It is reflected\noutwardly in exact movements instead of being reflected inwardly in\nconsciousness. It is none the less true that the behavior of the insect\ninvolves, or rather evolves, the idea of definite things existing or\nbeing produced in definite points of space and time, which the insect\nknows without having learned them.\n\nNow, if we look at intelligence from the same point of view, we find\nthat it also knows certain things without having learned them. But the\nknowledge in the two cases is of a very different order. We must be\ncareful here not to revive again the old philosophical dispute on the\nsubject of innate ideas. So we will confine ourselves to the point on\nwhich every one is agreed, to wit, that the young child understands\nimmediately things that the animal will never understand, and that in\nthis sense intelligence, like instinct, is an inherited function,\ntherefore an innate one. But this innate intelligence, although it is a\nfaculty of knowing, knows no object in particular. When the new-born\nbabe seeks for the first time its mother's breast, so showing that it\nhas knowledge (unconscious, no doubt) of a thing it has never seen, we\nsay, just because the innate knowledge is in this case of a definite\nobject, that it belongs to _instinct_ and not to _intelligence_.\nIntelligence does not then imply the innate knowledge of any object. And\nyet, if intelligence knows nothing by nature, it has nothing innate.\nWhat, then, if it be ignorant of all things, can it know? Besides\n_things_, there are _relations_. The new-born child, so far as\nintelligent, knows neither definite objects nor a definite property of\nany object; but when, a little later on, he will hear an epithet being\napplied to a substantive, he will immediately understand what it means.\nThe relation of attribute to subject is therefore seized by him\nnaturally, and the same might be said of the general relation expressed\nby the verb, a relation so immediately conceived by the mind that\nlanguage can leave it to be understood, as is instanced in rudimentary\nlanguages which have no verb. Intelligence, therefore, naturally makes\nuse of relations of like with like, of content to container, of cause to\neffect, etc., which are implied in every phrase in which there is a\nsubject, an attribute and a verb, expressed or understood. May one say\nthat it has _innate_ knowledge of each of these relations in particular?\nIt is for logicians to discover whether they are so many irreducible\nrelations, or whether they can be resolved into relations still more\ngeneral. But, in whatever way we make the analysis of thought, we always\nend with one or several general categories, of which the mind possesses\ninnate knowledge since it makes a natural use of them. Let us say,\ntherefore, that _whatever, in instinct and intelligence, is innate\nknowledge, bears in the first case on_ things _and in the second on_\nrelations.\n\nPhilosophers distinguish between the matter of our knowledge and its\nform. The matter is what is given by the perceptive faculties taken in\nthe elementary state. The form is the totality of the relations set up\nbetween these materials in order to constitute a systematic knowledge.\nCan the form, without matter, be an object of knowledge? Yes, without\ndoubt, provided that this knowledge is not like a thing we possess so\nmuch as like a habit we have contracted,--a direction rather than a\nstate: it is, if we will, a certain natural bent of attention. The\nschoolboy, who knows that the master is going to dictate a fraction to\nhim, draws a line before he knows what numerator and what denominator\nare to come; he therefore has present to his mind the general relation\nbetween the two terms although he does not know either of them; he knows\nthe form without the matter. So is it, prior to experience, with the\ncategories into which our experience comes to be inserted. Let us adopt\nthen words sanctioned by usage, and give the distinction between\nintelligence and instinct this more precise formula: _Intelligence, in\nso far as it is innate, is the knowledge of a_ form; _instinct implies\nthe knowledge of a_ matter.\n\nFrom this second point of view, which is that of knowledge instead of\naction, the force immanent in life in general appears to us again as a\nlimited principle, in which originally two different and even divergent\nmodes of knowing coexisted and intermingled. The first gets at definite\nobjects immediately, in their materiality itself. It says, \"This is what\nis.\" The second gets at no object in particular; it is only a natural\npower of relating an object to an object, or a part to a part, or an\naspect to an aspect--in short, of drawing conclusions when in possession\nof the premisses, of proceeding from what has been learnt to what is\nstill unknown. It does not say, \"This _is_;\" it says only that \"_if_ the\nconditions are such, such will be the conditioned.\" In short, the first\nkind of knowledge, the instinctive, would be formulated in what\nphilosophers call _categorical_ propositions, while the second kind, the\nintellectual, would always be expressed _hypothetically_. Of these two\nfaculties, the former seems, at first, much preferable to the other. And\nit would be so, in truth, if it extended to an endless number of\nobjects. But, in fact, it applies only to one special object, and indeed\nonly to a restricted part of that object. Of this, at least, its\nknowledge is intimate and full; not explicit, but implied in the\naccomplished action. The intellectual faculty, on the contrary,\npossesses naturally only an external and empty knowledge; but it has\nthereby the advantage of supplying a frame in which an infinity of\nobjects may find room in turn. It is as if the force evolving in living\nforms, being a limited force, had had to choose between two kinds of\nlimitation in the field of natural or innate knowledge, one applying to\nthe _extension_ of knowledge, the other to its _intension_. In the first\ncase, the knowledge may be packed and full, but it will then be confined\nto one specific object; in the second, it is no longer limited by its\nobject, but that is because it contains nothing, being only a form\nwithout matter. The two tendencies, at first implied in each other, had\nto separate in order to grow. They both went to seek their fortune in\nthe world, and turned out to be instinct and intelligence.\n\nSuch, then, are the two divergent modes of knowledge by which\nintelligence and instinct must be defined, from the standpoint of\nknowledge rather than that of action. But knowledge and action are here\nonly two aspects of one and the same faculty. It is easy to see, indeed,\nthat the second definition is only a new form of the first.\n\nIf instinct is, above all, the faculty of using an organized natural\ninstrument, it must involve innate knowledge (potential or unconscious,\nit is true), both of this instrument and of the object to which it is\napplied. Instinct is therefore innate knowledge of a _thing_. But\nintelligence is the faculty of constructing unorganized--that is to say\nartificial--instruments. If, on its account, nature gives up endowing\nthe living being with the instruments that may serve him, it is in order\nthat the living being may be able to vary his construction according to\ncircumstances. The essential function of intelligence is therefore to\nsee the way out of a difficulty in any circumstances whatever, to find\nwhat is most suitable, what answers best the question asked. Hence it\nbears essentially on the relations between a given situation and the\nmeans of utilizing it. What is innate in intellect, therefore, is the\ntendency to establish relations, and this tendency implies the natural\nknowledge of certain very general relations, a kind of stuff that the\nactivity of each particular intellect will cut up into more special\nrelations. Where activity is directed toward manufacture, therefore,\nknowledge necessarily bears on relations. But this entirely _formal_\nknowledge of intelligence has an immense advantage over the _material_\nknowledge of instinct. A form, just because it is empty, may be filled\nat will with any number of things in turn, even with those that are of\nno use. So that a formal knowledge is not limited to what is practically\nuseful, although it is in view of practical utility that it has made its\nappearance in the world. An intelligent being bears within himself the\nmeans to transcend his own nature.\n\nHe transcends himself, however, less than he wishes, less also than he\nimagines himself to do. The purely formal character of intelligence\ndeprives it of the ballast necessary to enable it to settle itself on\nthe objects that are of the most powerful interest to speculation.\nInstinct, on the contrary, has the desired materiality, but it is\nincapable of going so far in quest of its object; it does not speculate.\nHere we reach the point that most concerns our present inquiry. The\ndifference that we shall now proceed to denote between instinct and\nintelligence is what the whole of this analysis was meant to bring out.\nWe formulate it thus: _There are things that intelligence alone is able\nto seek, but which, by itself, it will never find. These things instinct\nalone could find; but it will never seek them._\n\nIt is necessary here to consider some preliminary details that concern\nthe mechanism of intelligence. We have said that the function of\nintelligence is to establish relations. Let us determine more precisely\nthe nature of these relations. On this point we are bound to be either\nvague or arbitrary so long as we see in the intellect a faculty intended\nfor pure speculation. We are then reduced to taking the general frames\nof the understanding for something absolute, irreducible and\ninexplicable. The understanding must have fallen from heaven with its\nform, as each of us is born with his face. This form may be defined, of\ncourse, but that is all; there is no asking why it is what it is rather\nthan anything else. Thus, it will be said that the function of the\nintellect is essentially unification, that the common object of all its\noperations is to introduce a certain unity into the diversity of\nphenomena, and so forth. But, in the first place, \"unification\" is a\nvague term, less clear than \"relation\" or even \"thought,\" and says\nnothing more. And, moreover, it might be asked if the function of\nintelligence is not to divide even more than to unite. Finally, if the\nintellect proceeds as it does because it wishes to unite, and if it\nseeks unification simply because it has need of unifying, the whole of\nour knowledge becomes relative to certain requirements of the mind that\nprobably might have been entirely different from what they are: for an\nintellect differently shaped, knowledge would have been different.\nIntellect being no longer dependent on anything, everything becomes\ndependent on it; and so, having placed the understanding too high, we\nend by putting too low the knowledge it gives us. Knowledge becomes\nrelative, as soon as the intellect is made a kind of absolute.--We\nregard the human intellect, on the contrary, as relative to the needs of\naction. Postulate action, and the very form of the intellect can be\ndeduced from it. This form is therefore neither irreducible nor\ninexplicable. And, precisely because it is not independent, knowledge\ncannot be said to depend on it: knowledge ceases to be a product of the\nintellect and becomes, in a certain sense, part and parcel of reality.\n\nPhilosophers will reply that action takes place in an _ordered_ world,\nthat this order is itself thought, and that we beg the question when we\nexplain the intellect by action, which presupposes it. They would be\nright if our point of view in the present chapter was to be our final\none. We should then be dupes of an illusion like that of Spencer, who\nbelieved that the intellect is sufficiently explained as the impression\nleft on us by the general characters of matter: as if the order inherent\nin matter were not intelligence itself! But we reserve for the next\nchapter the question up to what point and with what method philosophy\ncan attempt a real genesis of the intellect at the same time as of\nmatter. For the moment, the problem that engages our attention is of a\npsychological order. We are asking what is the portion of the material\nworld to which our intellect is specially adapted. To reply to this\nquestion, there is no need to choose a system of philosophy: it is\nenough to take up the point of view of common sense.\n\nLet us start, then, from action, and lay down that the intellect aims,\nfirst of all, at constructing. This fabrication is exercised exclusively\non inert matter, in this sense, that even if it makes use of organized\nmaterial, it treats it as inert, without troubling about the life which\nanimated it. And of inert matter itself, fabrication deals only with the\nsolid; the rest escapes by its very fluidity. If, therefore, the\ntendency of the intellect is to fabricate, we may expect to find that\nwhatever is fluid in the real will escape it in part, and whatever is\nlife in the living will escape it altogether. _Our intelligence, as it\nleaves the hands of nature, has for its chief object the unorganized\nsolid._\n\nWhen we pass in review the intellectual functions, we see that the\nintellect is never quite at its ease, never entirely at home, except\nwhen it is working upon inert matter, more particularly upon solids.\nWhat is the most general property of the material world? It is extended:\nit presents to us objects external to other objects, and, in these\nobjects, parts external to parts. No doubt, it is useful to us, in view\nof our ulterior manipulation, to regard each object as divisible into\nparts arbitrarily cut up, each part being again divisible as we like,\nand so on _ad infinitum_. But it is above all necessary, for our present\nmanipulation, to regard the real object in hand, or the real elements\ninto which we have resolved it, as _provisionally final_, and to treat\nthem as so many _units_. To this possibility of decomposing matter as\nmuch as we please, and in any way we please, we allude when we speak of\nthe _continuity_ of material extension; but this continuity, as we see\nit, is nothing else but our ability, an ability that matter allows to us\nto choose the mode of discontinuity we shall find in it. It is always,\nin fact, the mode of discontinuity once chosen that appears to us as the\nactually real one and that which fixes our attention, just because it\nrules our action. Thus discontinuity is thought for itself; it is\nthinkable in itself; we form an idea of it by a positive act of our\nmind; while the intellectual representation of continuity is negative,\nbeing, at bottom, only the refusal of our mind, before any actually\ngiven system of decomposition, to regard it as the only possible one.\n_Of the discontinuous alone does the intellect form a clear idea._\n\nOn the other hand, the objects we act on are certainly mobile objects,\nbut the important thing for us to know is _whither_ the mobile object is\ngoing and _where_ it is at any moment of its passage. In other words,\nour interest is directed, before all, to its actual or future positions,\nand not to the _progress_ by which it passes from one position to\nanother, progress which is the movement itself. In our actions, which\nare systematized movements, what we fix our mind on is the end or\nmeaning of the movement, its design as a whole--in a word, the immobile\nplan of its execution. That which really moves in action interests us\nonly so far as the whole can be advanced, retarded, or stopped by any\nincident that may happen on the way. From mobility itself our intellect\nturns aside, because it has nothing to gain in dealing with it. If the\nintellect were meant for pure theorizing, it would take its place within\nmovement, for movement is reality itself, and immobility is always only\napparent or relative. But the intellect is meant for something\naltogether different. Unless it does violence to itself, it takes the\nopposite course; it always starts from immobility, as if this were the\nultimate reality: when it tries to form an idea of movement, it does so\nby constructing movement out of immobilities put together. This\noperation, whose illegitimacy and danger in the field of speculation we\nshall show later on (it leads to dead-locks, and creates artificially\ninsoluble philosophical problems), is easily justified when we refer it\nto its proper goal. Intelligence, in its natural state, aims at a\npractically useful end. When it substitutes for movement immobilities\nput together, it does not pretend to reconstitute the movement such as\nit actually is; it merely replaces it with a practical equivalent. It is\nthe philosophers who are mistaken when they import into the domain of\nspeculation a method of thinking which is made for action. But of this\nmore anon. Suffice it now to say that to the stable and unchangeable our\nintellect is attached by virtue of its natural disposition. _Of\nimmobility alone does the intellect form a clear idea._\n\nNow, fabricating consists in carving out the form of an object in\nmatter. What is the most important is the form to be obtained. As to\nthe matter, we choose that which is most convenient; but, in order to\nchoose it, that is to say, in order to go and seek it among many others,\nwe must have tried, in imagination at least, to endow every kind of\nmatter with the form of the object conceived. In other words, an\nintelligence which aims at fabricating is an intelligence which never\nstops at the actual form of things nor regards it as final, but, on the\ncontrary, looks upon all matter as if it were carvable at will. Plato\ncompares the good dialectician to the skilful cook who carves the animal\nwithout breaking its bones, by following the articulations marked out by\nnature.[64] An intelligence which always proceeded thus would really be\nan intelligence turned toward speculation. But action, and in particular\nfabrication, requires the opposite mental tendency: it makes us consider\nevery actual form of things, even the form of natural things, as\nartificial and provisional; it makes our thought efface from the object\nperceived, even though organized and living, the lines that outwardly\nmark its inward structure; in short, it makes us regard its matter as\nindifferent to its form. The whole of matter is made to appear to our\nthought as an immense piece of cloth in which we can cut out what we\nwill and sew it together again as we please. Let us note, in passing,\nthat it is this power that we affirm when we say that there is a\n_space_, that is to say, a homogeneous and empty medium, infinite and\ninfinitely divisible, lending itself indifferently to any mode of\ndecomposition whatsoever. A medium of this kind is never perceived; it\nis only conceived. What is perceived is extension colored, resistant,\ndivided according to the lines which mark out the boundaries of real\nbodies or of their real elements. But when we think of our power over\nthis matter, that is to say, of our faculty of decomposing and\nrecomposing it as we please, we project the whole of these possible\ndecompositions and recompositions behind real extension in the form of a\nhomogeneous space, empty and indifferent, which is supposed to underlie\nit. This space is therefore, pre-eminently, the plan of our possible\naction on things, although, indeed, things have a natural tendency, as\nwe shall explain further on, to enter into a frame of this kind. It is a\nview taken by mind. The animal has probably no idea of it, even when,\nlike us, it perceives extended things. It is an idea that symbolizes the\ntendency of the human intellect to fabrication. But this point must not\ndetain us now. Suffice it to say that _the intellect is characterized by\nthe unlimited power of decomposing according to any law and of\nrecomposing into any system_.\n\nWe have now enumerated a few of the essential features of human\nintelligence. But we have hitherto considered the individual in\nisolation, without taking account of social life. In reality, man is a\nbeing who lives in society. If it be true that the human intellect aims\nat fabrication, we must add that, for that as well as for other\npurposes, it is associated with other intellects. Now, it is difficult\nto imagine a society whose members do not communicate by signs. Insect\nsocieties probably have a language, and this language must be adapted,\nlike that of man, to the necessities of life in common. By language\ncommunity of action is made possible. But the requirements of joint\naction are not at all the same in a colony of ants and in a human\nsociety. In insect societies there is generally polymorphism, the\nsubdivision of labor is natural, and each individual is riveted by its\nstructure to the function it performs. In any case, these societies are\nbased on instinct, and consequently on certain actions or fabrications\nthat are more or less dependent on the form of the organs. So if the\nants, for instance, have a language, the signs which compose it must be\nvery limited in number, and each of them, once the species is formed,\nmust remain invariably attached to a certain object or a certain\noperation: the sign is adherent to the thing signified. In human\nsociety, on the contrary, fabrication and action are of variable form,\nand, moreover, each individual must learn his part, because he is not\npreordained to it by his structure. So a language is required which\nmakes it possible to be always passing from what is known to what is yet\nto be known. There must be a language whose signs--which cannot be\ninfinite in number--are extensible to an infinity of things. This\ntendency of the sign to transfer itself from one object to another is\ncharacteristic of human language. It is observable in the little child\nas soon as he begins to speak. Immediately and naturally he extends the\nmeaning of the words he learns, availing himself of the most accidental\nconnection or the most distant analogy to detach and transfer elsewhere\nthe sign that had been associated in his hearing with a particular\nobject. \"Anything can designate anything;\" such is the latent principle\nof infantine language. This tendency has been wrongly confused with the\nfaculty of generalizing. The animals themselves generalize; and,\nmoreover, a sign--even an instinctive sign--always to some degree\nrepresents a genus. But what characterizes the signs of human language\nis not so much their generality as their mobility. _The instinctive sign\nis_ adherent, _the intelligent sign is_ mobile.\n\nNow, this mobility of words, that makes them able to pass from one thing\nto another, has enabled them to be extended from things to ideas.\nCertainly, language would not have given the faculty of reflecting to an\nintelligence entirely externalized and incapable of turning homeward.\nAn intelligence which reflects is one that originally had a surplus of\nenergy to spend, over and above practically useful efforts. It is a\nconsciousness that has virtually reconquered itself. But still the\nvirtual has to become actual. Without language, intelligence would\nprobably have remained riveted to the material objects which it was\ninterested in considering. It would have lived in a state of\nsomnambulism, outside itself, hypnotized on its own work. Language has\ngreatly contributed to its liberation. The word, made to pass from one\nthing to another, is, in fact, by nature transferable and free. It can\ntherefore be extended, not only from one perceived thing to another, but\neven from a perceived thing to a recollection of that thing, from the\nprecise recollection to a more fleeting image, and finally from an image\nfleeting, though still pictured, to the picturing of the act by which\nthe image is pictured, that is to say, to the idea. Thus is revealed to\nthe intelligence, hitherto always turned outwards, a whole internal\nworld--the spectacle of its own workings. It required only this\nopportunity, at length offered by language. It profits by the fact that\nthe word is an external thing, which the intelligence can catch hold of\nand cling to, and at the same time an immaterial thing, by means of\nwhich the intelligence can penetrate even to the inwardness of its own\nwork. Its first business was indeed to make instruments, but this\nfabrication is possible only by the employment of certain means which\nare not cut to the exact measure of their object, but go beyond it and\nthus allow intelligence a supplementary--that is to say disinterested\nwork. From the moment that the intellect, reflecting upon its own\ndoings, perceives itself as a creator of ideas, as a faculty of\nrepresentation in general, there is no object of which it may not wish\nto have the idea, even though that object be without direct relation to\npractical action. That is why we said there are things that intellect\nalone can seek. Intellect alone, indeed, troubles itself about theory;\nand its theory would fain embrace everything--not only inanimate matter,\nover which it has a natural hold, but even life and thought.\n\nBy what means, what instruments, in short by what method it will\napproach these problems, we can easily guess. Originally, it was\nfashioned to the form of matter. Language itself, which has enabled it\nto extend its field of operations, is made to designate things, and\nnought but things: it is only because the word is mobile, because it\nflies from one thing to another, that the intellect was sure to take it,\nsooner or later, on the wing, while it was not settled on anything, and\napply it to an object which is not a thing and which, concealed till\nthen, awaited the coming of the word to pass from darkness to light. But\nthe word, by covering up this object, again converts it into a thing. So\nintelligence, even when it no longer operates upon its own object,\nfollows habits it has contracted in that operation: it applies forms\nthat are indeed those of unorganized matter. It is made for this kind of\nwork. With this kind of work alone is it fully satisfied. And that is\nwhat intelligence expresses by saying that thus only it arrives at\n_distinctness_ and _clearness_.\n\nIt must, therefore, in order to think itself clearly and distinctly,\nperceive itself under the form of discontinuity. Concepts, in fact, are\noutside each other, like objects in space; and they have the same\nstability as such objects, on which they have been modeled. Taken\ntogether, they constitute an \"intelligible world,\" that resembles the\nworld of solids in its essential characters, but whose elements are\nlighter, more diaphanous, easier for the intellect to deal with than the\nimage of concrete things: they are not, indeed, the perception itself\nof things, but the representation of the act by which the intellect is\nfixed on them. They are, therefore, not images, but symbols. Our logic\nis the complete set of rules that must be followed in using symbols. As\nthese symbols are derived from the consideration of solids, as the rules\nfor combining these symbols hardly do more than express the most general\nrelations among solids, our logic triumphs in that science which takes\nthe solidity of bodies for its object, that is, in geometry. Logic and\ngeometry engender each other, as we shall see a little further on. It is\nfrom the extension of a certain natural geometry, suggested by the most\ngeneral and immediately perceived properties of solids, that natural\nlogic has arisen; then from this natural logic, in its turn, has sprung\nscientific geometry, which extends further and further the knowledge of\nthe external properties of solids.[65] Geometry and logic are strictly\napplicable to matter; in it they are at home, and in it they can proceed\nquite alone. But, outside this domain, pure reasoning needs to be\nsupervised by common sense, which is an altogether different thing.\n\nThus, all the elementary forces of the intellect tend to transform\nmatter into an instrument of action, that is, in the etymological sense\nof the word, into an _organ_. Life, not content with producing\norganisms, would fain give them as an appendage inorganic matter itself,\nconverted into an immense organ by the industry of the living being.\nSuch is the initial task it assigns to intelligence. That is why the\nintellect always behaves as if it were fascinated by the contemplation\nof inert matter. It is life looking outward, putting itself outside\nitself, adopting the ways of unorganized nature in principle, in order\nto direct them in fact. Hence its bewilderment when it turns to the\nliving and is confronted with organization. It does what it can, it\nresolves the organized into the unorganized, for it cannot, without\nreversing its natural direction and twisting about on itself, think true\ncontinuity, real mobility, reciprocal penetration--in a word, that\ncreative evolution which is life.\n\nConsider continuity. The aspect of life that is accessible to our\nintellect--as indeed to our senses, of which our intellect is the\nextension--is that which offers a hold to our action. Now, to modify an\nobject, we have to perceive it as divisible and discontinuous. From the\npoint of view of positive science, an incomparable progress was realized\nwhen the organized tissues were resolved into cells. The study of the\ncell, in its turn, has shown it to be an organism whose complexity seems\nto grow, the more thoroughly it is examined. The more science advances,\nthe more it sees the number grow of heterogeneous elements which are\nplaced together, outside each other, to make up a living being. Does\nscience thus get any nearer to life? Does it not, on the contrary, find\nthat what is really life in the living seems to recede with every step\nby which it pushes further the detail of the parts combined? There is\nindeed already among scientists a tendency to regard the substance of\nthe organism as continuous, and the cell as an artificial entity.[66]\nBut, supposing this view were finally to prevail, it could only lead, on\ndeeper study, to some other mode of analyzing of the living being, and\nso to a new discontinuity--although less removed, perhaps, from the real\ncontinuity of life. The truth is that this continuity cannot be thought\nby the intellect while it follows its natural movement. It implies at\nonce the multiplicity of elements and the interpenetration of all by\nall, two conditions that can hardly be reconciled in the field in which\nour industry, and consequently our intellect, is engaged.\n\nJust as we separate in space, we fix in time. The intellect is not made\nto think _evolution_, in the proper sense of the word--that is to say,\nthe continuity of a change that is pure mobility. We shall not dwell\nhere on this point, which we propose to study in a special chapter.\nSuffice it to say that the intellect represents _becoming_ as a series\nof _states_, each of which is homogeneous with itself and consequently\ndoes not change. Is our attention called to the internal change of one\nof these states? At once we decompose it into another series of states\nwhich, reunited, will be supposed to make up this internal modification.\nEach of these new states must be invariable, or else their internal\nchange, if we are forced to notice it, must be resolved again into a\nfresh series of invariable states, and so on to infinity. Here again,\nthinking consists in reconstituting, and, naturally, it is with _given_\nelements, and consequently with _stable_ elements, that we reconstitute.\nSo that, though we may do our best to imitate the mobility of becoming\nby an addition that is ever going on, becoming itself slips through our\nfingers just when we think we are holding it tight.\n\nPrecisely because it is always trying to reconstitute, and to\nreconstitute with what is given, the intellect lets what is _new_ in\neach moment of a history escape. It does not admit the unforeseeable. It\nrejects all creation. That definite antecedents bring forth a definite\nconsequent, calculable as a function of them, is what satisfies our\nintellect. That a definite end calls forth definite means to attain it,\nis what we also understand. In both cases we have to do with the known\nwhich is combined with the known, in short, with the old which is\nrepeated. Our intellect is there at its ease; and, whatever be the\nobject, it will abstract, separate, eliminate, so as to substitute for\nthe object itself, if necessary, an approximate equivalent in which\nthings will happen in this way. But that each instant is a fresh\nendowment, that the new is ever upspringing, that the form just come\ninto existence (although, _when once produced_, it may be regarded as an\neffect determined by its causes) could never have been foreseen--because\nthe causes here, unique in their kind, are part of the effect, have come\ninto existence with it, and are determined by it as much as they\ndetermine it--all this we can feel within ourselves and also divine, by\nsympathy, outside ourselves, but we cannot think it, in the strict sense\nof the word, nor express it in terms of pure understanding. No wonder at\nthat: we must remember what our intellect is meant for. The causality it\nseeks and finds everywhere expresses the very mechanism of our industry,\nin which we go on recomposing the same whole with the same parts,\nrepeating the same movements to obtain the same result. The finality it\nunderstands best is the finality of our industry, in which we work on a\nmodel given in advance, that is to say, old or composed of elements\nalready known. As to invention properly so called, which is, however,\nthe point of departure of industry itself, our intellect does not\nsucceed in grasping it in its _upspringing_, that is to say, in its\nindivisibility, nor in its _fervor_, that is to say, in its\ncreativeness. Explaining it always consists in resolving it, it the\nunforeseeable and new, into elements old or known, arranged in a\ndifferent order. The intellect can no more admit complete novelty than\nreal becoming; that is to say, here again it lets an essential aspect of\nlife escape, as if it were not intended to think such an object.\n\nAll our analyses bring us to this conclusion. But it is hardly necessary\nto go into such long details concerning the mechanism of intellectual\nworking; it is enough to consider the results. We see that the\nintellect, so skilful in dealing with the inert, is awkward the moment\nit touches the living. Whether it wants to treat the life of the body or\nthe life of the mind, it proceeds with the rigor, the stiffness and the\nbrutality of an instrument not designed for such use. The history of\nhygiene or of pedagogy teaches us much in this matter. When we think of\nthe cardinal, urgent and constant need we have to preserve our bodies\nand to raise our souls, of the special facilities given to each of us,\nin this field, to experiment continually on ourselves and on others, of\nthe palpable injury by which the wrongness of a medical or pedagogical\npractise is both made manifest and punished at once, we are amazed at\nthe stupidity and especially at the persistence of errors. We may easily\nfind their origin in the natural obstinacy with which we treat the\nliving like the lifeless and think all reality, however fluid, under the\nform of the sharply defined solid. We are at ease only in the\ndiscontinuous, in the immobile, in the dead. _The intellect is\ncharacterized by a natural inability to comprehend life._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nInstinct, on the contrary, is molded on the very form of life. While\nintelligence treats everything mechanically, instinct proceeds, so to\nspeak, organically. If the consciousness that slumbers in it should\nawake, if it were wound up into knowledge instead of being wound off\ninto action, if we could ask and it could reply, it would give up to us\nthe most intimate secrets of life. For it only carries out further the\nwork by which life organizes matter--so that we cannot say, as has often\nbeen shown, where organization ends and where instinct begins. When the\nlittle chick is breaking its shell with a peck of its beak, it is acting\nby instinct, and yet it does but carry on the movement which has borne\nit through embryonic life. Inversely, in the course of embryonic life\nitself (especially when the embryo lives freely in the form of a larva),\nmany of the acts accomplished must be referred to instinct. The most\nessential of the primary instincts are really, therefore, vital\nprocesses. The potential consciousness that accompanies them is\ngenerally actualized only at the outset of the act, and leaves the rest\nof the process to go on by itself. It would only have to expand more\nwidely, and then dive into its own depth completely, to be one with the\ngenerative force of life.\n\nWhen we see in a living body thousands of cells working together to a\ncommon end, dividing the task between them, living each for itself at\nthe same time as for the others, preserving itself, feeding itself,\nreproducing itself, responding to the menace of danger by appropriate\ndefensive reactions, how can we help thinking of so many instincts? And\nyet these are the natural functions of the cell, the constitutive\nelements of its vitality. On the other hand, when we see the bees of a\nhive forming a system so strictly organized that no individual can live\napart from the others beyond a certain time, even though furnished with\nfood and shelter, how can we help recognizing that the hive is really,\nand not metaphorically, a single organism, of which each bee is a cell\nunited to the others by invisible bonds? The instinct that animates the\nbee is indistinguishable, then, from the force that animates the cell,\nor is only a prolongation of that force. In extreme cases like this,\ninstinct coincides with the work of organization.\n\nOf course there are degrees of perfection in the same instinct. Between\nthe humble-bee, and the honey-bee, for instance, the distance is great;\nand we pass from one to the other through a great number of\nintermediaries, which correspond to so many complications of the social\nlife. But the same diversity is found in the functioning of\nhistological elements belonging to different tissues more or less akin.\nIn both cases there are manifold variations on one and the same theme.\nThe constancy of the theme is manifest, however, and the variations only\nfit it to the diversity of the circumstances.\n\nNow, in both cases, in the instinct of the animal and in the vital\nproperties of the cell, the same knowledge and the same ignorance are\nshown. All goes on as if the cell knew, of the other cells, what\nconcerns itself; as if the animal knew, of the other animals, what it\ncan utilize--all else remaining in shade. It seems as if life, as soon\nas it has become bound up in a species, is cut off from the rest of its\nown work, save at one or two points that are of vital concern to the\nspecies just arisen. Is it not plain that life goes to work here exactly\nlike consciousness, exactly like memory? We trail behind us, unawares,\nthe whole of our past; but our memory pours into the present only the\nodd recollection or two that in some way complete our present situation.\nThus the instinctive knowledge which one species possesses of another on\na certain particular point has its root in the very unity of life, which\nis, to use the expression of an ancient philosopher, a \"whole\nsympathetic to itself.\" It is impossible to consider some of the special\ninstincts of the animal and of the plant, evidently arisen in\nextraordinary circumstances, without relating them to those\nrecollections, seemingly forgotten, which spring up suddenly under the\npressure of an urgent need.\n\nNo doubt many secondary instincts, and also many varieties of primary\ninstinct, admit of a scientific explanation. Yet it is doubtful whether\nscience, with its present methods of explanation, will ever succeed in\nanalyzing instinct completely. The reason is that instinct and\nintelligence are two divergent developments of one and the same\nprinciple, which in the one case remains within itself, in the other\nsteps out of itself and becomes absorbed in the utilization of inert\nmatter. This gradual divergence testifies to a radical incompatibility,\nand points to the fact that it is impossible for intelligence to\nreabsorb instinct. That which is instinctive in instinct cannot be\nexpressed in terms of intelligence, nor, consequently, can it be\nanalyzed.\n\nA man born blind, who had lived among others born blind, could not be\nmade to believe in the possibility of perceiving a distant object\nwithout first perceiving all the objects in between. Yet vision performs\nthis miracle. In a certain sense the blind man is right, since vision,\nhaving its origin in the stimulation of the retina, by the vibrations of\nthe light, is nothing else, in fact, but a retinal touch. Such is indeed\nthe _scientific_ explanation, for the function of science is just to\nexpress all perceptions in terms of touch. But we have shown elsewhere\nthat the philosophical explanation of perception (if it may still be\ncalled an explanation) must be of another kind.[67] Now instinct also is\na knowledge at a distance. It has the same relation to intelligence that\nvision has to touch. Science cannot do otherwise than express it in\nterms of intelligence; but in so doing it constructs an imitation of\ninstinct rather than penetrates within it.\n\nAny one can convince himself of this by studying the ingenious theories\nof evolutionist biology. They may be reduced to two types, which are\noften intermingled. One type, following the principles of neo-Darwinism,\nregards instinct as a sum of accidental differences preserved by\nselection: such and such a useful behavior, naturally adopted by the\nindividual in virtue of an accidental predisposition of the germ, has\nbeen transmitted from germ to germ, waiting for chance to add fresh\nimprovements to it by the same method. The other type regards instinct\nas lapsed intelligence: the action, found useful by the species or by\ncertain of its representatives, is supposed to have engendered a habit,\nwhich, by hereditary transmission, has become an instinct. Of these two\ntypes of theory, the first has the advantage of being able to bring in\nhereditary transmission without raising grave objection; for the\naccidental modification which it places at the origin of the instinct is\nnot supposed to have been acquired by the individual, but to have been\ninherent in the germ. But, on the other hand, it is absolutely incapable\nof explaining instincts as sagacious as those of most insects. These\ninstincts surely could not have attained, all at once, their present\ndegree of complexity; they have probably evolved; but, in a hypothesis\nlike that of the neo-Darwinians, the evolution of instinct could have\ncome to pass only by the progressive addition of new pieces which, in\nsome way, by happy accidents, came to fit into the old. Now it is\nevident that, in most cases, instinct could not have perfected itself by\nsimple accretion: each new piece really requires, if all is not to be\nspoiled, a complete recasting of the whole. How could mere chance work a\nrecasting of the kind? I agree that an accidental modification of the\ngerm may be passed on hereditarily, and may somehow wait for fresh\naccidental modifications to come and complicate it. I agree also that\nnatural selection may eliminate all those of the more complicated forms\nof instinct that are not fit to survive. Still, in order that the life\nof the instinct may evolve, complications fit to survive have to be\nproduced. Now they will be produced only if, in certain cases, the\naddition of a new element brings about the correlative change of all the\nold elements. No one will maintain that chance could perform such a\nmiracle: in one form or another we shall appeal to intelligence. We\nshall suppose that it is by an effort, more or less conscious, that the\nliving being develops a higher instinct. But then we shall have to admit\nthat an acquired habit can become hereditary, and that it does so\nregularly enough to ensure an evolution. The thing is doubtful, to put\nit mildly. Even if we could refer the instincts of animals to habits\nintelligently acquired and hereditarily transmitted, it is not clear how\nthis sort of explanation could be extended to the vegetable world, where\neffort is never intelligent, even supposing it is sometimes conscious.\nAnd yet, when we see with what sureness and precision climbing plants\nuse their tendrils, what marvelously combined manoeuvres the orchids\nperform to procure their fertilization by means of insects,[68] how can\nwe help thinking that these are so many instincts?\n\nThis is not saying that the theory of the neo-Darwinians must be\naltogether rejected, any more than that of the neo-Lamarckians. The\nfirst are probably right in holding that evolution takes place from germ\nto germ rather than from individual to individual; the second are right\nin saying that at the origin of instinct there is an effort (although it\nis something quite different, we believe, from an _intelligent_ effort).\nBut the former are probably wrong when they make the evolution of\ninstinct an _accidental_ evolution, and the latter when they regard the\neffort from which instinct proceeds as an _individual_ effort. The\neffort by which a species modifies its instinct, and modifies itself as\nwell, must be a much deeper thing, dependent solely neither on\ncircumstances nor on individuals. It is not purely accidental, although\naccident has a large place in it; and it does not depend solely on the\ninitiative of individuals, although individuals collaborate in it.\n\nCompare the different forms of the same instinct in different species of\nhymenoptera. The impression derived is not always that of an increasing\ncomplexity made of elements that have been added together one after the\nother. Nor does it suggest the idea of steps up a ladder. Rather do we\nthink, in many cases at least, of the circumference of a circle, from\ndifferent points of which these different varieties have started, all\nfacing the same centre, all making an effort in that direction, but each\napproaching it only to the extent of its means, and to the extent also\nto which this central point has been illumined for it. In other words,\ninstinct is everywhere complete, but it is more or less simplified, and,\nabove all, simplified _differently_. On the other hand, in cases where\nwe do get the impression of an ascending scale, as if one and the same\ninstinct had gone on complicating itself more and more in one direction\nand along a straight line, the species which are thus arranged by their\ninstincts into a linear series are by no means always akin. Thus, the\ncomparative study, in recent years, of the social instinct in the\ndifferent apidae proves that the instinct of the meliponines is\nintermediary in complexity between the still rudimentary tendency of the\nhumble bees and the consummate science of the true bees; yet there can\nbe no kinship between the bees and the meliponines.[69] Most likely, the\ndegree of complexity of these different societies has nothing to do with\nany greater or smaller number of added elements. We seem rather to be\nbefore a _musical theme_, which had first been transposed, the theme as\na whole, into a certain number of tones and on which, still the whole\ntheme, different variations had been played, some very simple, others\nvery skilful. As to the original theme, it is everywhere and nowhere.\nIt is in vain that we try to express it in terms of any idea: it must\nhave been, originally, _felt_ rather than _thought_. We get the same\nimpression before the paralyzing instinct of certain wasps. We know that\nthe different species of hymenoptera that have this paralyzing instinct\nlay their eggs in spiders, beetles or caterpillars, which, having first\nbeen subjected by the wasp to a skilful surgical operation, will go on\nliving motionless a certain number of days, and thus provide the larvae\nwith fresh meat. In the sting which they give to the nerve-centres of\ntheir victim, in order to destroy its power of moving without killing\nit, these different species of hymenoptera take into account, so to\nspeak, the different species of prey they respectively attack. The\nScolia, which attacks a larva of the rose-beetle, stings it in one point\nonly, but in this point the motor ganglia are concentrated, and those\nganglia alone: the stinging of other ganglia might cause death and\nputrefaction, which it must avoid.[70] The yellow-winged Sphex, which\nhas chosen the cricket for its victim, knows that the cricket has three\nnerve-centres which serve its three pairs of legs--or at least it acts\nas if it knew this. It stings the insect first under the neck, then\nbehind the prothorax, and then where the thorax joins the abdomen.[71]\nThe Ammophila Hirsuta gives nine successive strokes of its sting upon\nnine nerve-centres of its caterpillar, and then seizes the head and\nsqueezes it in its mandibles, enough to cause paralysis without\ndeath.[72] The general theme is \"the necessity of paralyzing without\nkilling\"; the variations are subordinated to the structure of the victim\non which they are played. No doubt the operation is not always perfect.\nIt has recently been shown that the Ammophila sometimes kills the\ncaterpillar instead of paralyzing it, that sometimes also it paralyzes\nit incompletely.[73] But, because instinct is, like intelligence,\nfallible, because it also shows individual deviations, it does not at\nall follow that the instinct of the Ammophila has been acquired, as has\nbeen claimed, by tentative intelligent experiments. Even supposing that\nthe Ammophila has come in course of time to recognize, one after\nanother, by tentative experiment, the points of its victim which must be\nstung to render it motionless, and also the special treatment that must\nbe inflicted on the head to bring about paralysis without death, how can\nwe imagine that elements so special of a knowledge so precise have been\nregularly transmitted, one by one, by heredity? If, in all our present\nexperience, there were a single indisputable example of a transmission\nof this kind, the inheritance of acquired characters would be questioned\nby no one. As a matter of fact, the hereditary transmission of a\ncontracted habit is effected in an irregular and far from precise\nmanner, supposing it is ever really effected at all.\n\nBut the whole difficulty comes from our desire to express the knowledge\nof the hymenoptera in terms of intelligence. It is this that compels us\nto compare the Ammophila with the entomologist, who knows the\ncaterpillar as he knows everything else--from the outside, and without\nhaving on his part a special or vital interest. The Ammophila, we\nimagine, must learn, one by one, like the entomologist, the positions of\nthe nerve-centres of the caterpillar--must acquire at least the\npractical knowledge of these positions by trying the effects of its\nsting. But there is no need for such a view if we suppose a _sympathy_\n(in the etymological sense of the word) between the Ammophila and its\nvictim, which teaches it from within, so to say, concerning the\nvulnerability of the caterpillar. This feeling of vulnerability might\nowe nothing to outward perception, but result from the mere presence\ntogether of the Ammophila and the caterpillar, considered no longer as\ntwo organisms, but as two activities. It would express, in a concrete\nform, the _relation_ of the one to the other. Certainly, a scientific\ntheory cannot appeal to considerations of this kind. It must not put\naction before organization, sympathy before perception and knowledge.\nBut, once more, either philosophy has nothing to see here, or its r\u00f4le\nbegins where that of science ends.\n\nWhether it makes instinct a \"compound reflex,\" or a habit formed\nintelligently that has become automatism, or a sum of small accidental\nadvantages accumulated and fixed by selection, in every case science\nclaims to resolve instinct completely either into _intelligent_ actions,\nor into mechanisms built up piece by piece like those combined by our\n_intelligence_. I agree indeed that science is here within its function.\nIt gives us, in default of a real analysis of the object, a translation\nof this object in terms of intelligence. But is it not plain that\nscience itself invites philosophy to consider things in another way? If\nour biology was still that of Aristotle, if it regarded the series of\nliving beings as unilinear, if it showed us the whole of life evolving\ntowards intelligence and passing, to that end, through sensibility and\ninstinct, we should be right, we, the intelligent beings, in turning\nback towards the earlier and consequently inferior manifestations of\nlife and in claiming to fit them, without deforming them, into the molds\nof our understanding. But one of the clearest results of biology has\nbeen to show that evolution has taken place along divergent lines. It is\nat the extremity of two of these lines--the two principal--that we find\nintelligence and instinct in forms almost pure. Why, then, should\ninstinct be resolvable into intelligent elements? Why, even, into terms\nentirely intelligible? Is it not obvious that to think here of the\nintelligent, or of the absolutely intelligible, is to go back to the\nAristotelian theory of nature? No doubt it is better to go back to that\nthan to stop short before instinct as before an unfathomable mystery.\nBut, though instinct is not within the domain of intelligence, it is not\nsituated beyond the limits of mind. In the phenomena of feeling, in\nunreflecting sympathy and antipathy, we experience in ourselves--though\nunder a much vaguer form, and one too much penetrated with\nintelligence--something of what must happen in the consciousness of an\ninsect acting by instinct. Evolution does but sunder, in order to\ndevelop them to the end, elements which, at their origin,\ninterpenetrated each other. More precisely, intelligence is, before\nanything else, the faculty of relating one point of space to another,\none material object to another; it applies to all things, but remains\noutside them; and of a deep cause it perceives only the effects spread\nout side by side. Whatever be the force that is at work in the genesis\nof the nervous system of the caterpillar, to our eyes and our\nintelligence it is only a juxtaposition of nerves and nervous centres.\nIt is true that we thus get the whole outer effect of it. The Ammophila,\nno doubt, discerns but a very little of that force, just what concerns\nitself; but at least it discerns it from within, quite otherwise than by\na process of knowledge--by an intuition (_lived_ rather than\n_represented_), which is probably like what we call divining sympathy.\n\nA very significant fact is the swing to and fro of scientific theories\nof instinct, from regarding it as intelligent to regarding it as simply\nintelligible, or, shall I say, between likening it to an intelligence\n\"lapsed\" and reducing it to a pure mechanism.[74] Each of these systems\nof explanation triumphs in its criticism of the other, the first when it\nshows us that instinct cannot be a mere reflex, the other when it\ndeclares that instinct is something different from intelligence, even\nfallen into unconsciousness. What can this mean but that they are two\nsymbolisms, equally acceptable in certain respects, and, in other\nrespects, equally inadequate to their object? The concrete explanation,\nno longer scientific, but metaphysical, must be sought along quite\nanother path, not in the direction of intelligence, but in that of\n\"sympathy.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nInstinct is sympathy. If this sympathy could extend its object and also\nreflect upon itself, it would give us the key to vital operations--just\nas intelligence, developed and disciplined, guides us into matter.\nFor--we cannot too often repeat it--intelligence and instinct are turned\nin opposite directions, the former towards inert matter, the latter\ntowards life. Intelligence, by means of science, which is its work, will\ndeliver up to us more and more completely the secret of physical\noperations; of life it brings us, and moreover only claims to bring us,\na translation in terms of inertia. It goes all round life, taking from\noutside the greatest possible number of views of it, drawing it into\nitself instead of entering into it. But it is to the very inwardness of\nlife that _intuition_ leads us--by intuition I mean instinct that has\nbecome disinterested, self-conscious, capable of reflecting upon its\nobject and of enlarging it indefinitely.\n\nThat an effort of this kind is not impossible, is proved by the\nexistence in man of an aesthetic faculty along with normal perception.\nOur eye perceives the features of the living being, merely as assembled,\nnot as mutually organized. The intention of life, the simple movement\nthat runs through the lines, that binds them together and gives them\nsignificance, escapes it. This intention is just what the artist tries\nto regain, in placing himself back within the object by a kind of\nsympathy, in breaking down, by an effort of intuition, the barrier that\nspace puts up between him and his model. It is true that this aesthetic\nintuition, like external perception, only attains the individual. But we\ncan conceive an inquiry turned in the same direction as art, which would\ntake life _in general_ for its object, just as physical science, in\nfollowing to the end the direction pointed out by external perception,\nprolongs the individual facts into general laws. No doubt this\nphilosophy will never obtain a knowledge of its object comparable to\nthat which science has of its own. Intelligence remains the luminous\nnucleus around which instinct, even enlarged and purified into\nintuition, forms only a vague nebulosity. But, in default of knowledge\nproperly so called, reserved to pure intelligence, intuition may enable\nus to grasp what it is that intelligence fails to give us, and indicate\nthe means of supplementing it. On the one hand, it will utilize the\nmechanism of intelligence itself to show how intellectual molds cease to\nbe strictly applicable; and on the other hand, by its own work, it will\nsuggest to us the vague feeling, if nothing more, of what must take the\nplace of intellectual molds. Thus, intuition may bring the intellect to\nrecognize that life does not quite go into the category of the many nor\nyet into that of the one; that neither mechanical causality nor finality\ncan give a sufficient interpretation of the vital process. Then, by the\nsympathetic communication which it establishes between us and the rest\nof the living, by the expansion of our consciousness which it brings\nabout, it introduces us into life's own domain, which is reciprocal\ninterpenetration, endlessly continued creation. But, though it thereby\ntranscends intelligence, it is from intelligence that has come the push\nthat has made it rise to the point it has reached. Without intelligence,\nit would have remained in the form of instinct, riveted to the special\nobject of its practical interest, and turned outward by it into\nmovements of locomotion.\n\nHow theory of knowledge must take account of these two faculties,\nintellect and intuition, and how also, for want of establishing a\nsufficiently clear distinction between them, it becomes involved in\ninextricable difficulties, creating phantoms of ideas to which there\ncling phantoms of problems, we shall endeavor to show a little further\non. We shall see that the problem of knowledge, from this point of view,\nis one with the metaphysical problem, and that both one and the other\ndepend upon experience. On the one hand, indeed, if intelligence is\ncharged with matter and instinct with life, we must squeeze them both in\norder to get the double essence from them; metaphysics is therefore\ndependent upon theory of knowledge. But, on the other hand, if\nconsciousness has thus split up into intuition and intelligence, it is\nbecause of the need it had to apply itself to matter at the same time as\nit had to follow the stream of life. The double form of consciousness is\nthen due to the double form of the real, and theory of knowledge must be\ndependent upon metaphysics. In fact, each of these two lines of thought\nleads to the other; they form a circle, and there can be no other centre\nto the circle but the empirical study of evolution. It is only in seeing\nconsciousness run through matter, lose itself there and find itself\nthere again, divide and reconstitute itself, that we shall form an idea\nof the mutual opposition of the two terms, as also, perhaps, of their\ncommon origin. But, on the other hand, by dwelling on this opposition of\nthe two elements and on this identity of origin, perhaps we shall bring\nout more clearly the meaning of evolution itself.\n\nSuch will be the aim of our next chapter. But the facts that we have\njust noticed must have already suggested to us the idea that life is\nconnected either with consciousness or with something that resembles it.\n\nThroughout the whole extent of the animal kingdom, we have said,\nconsciousness seems proportionate to the living being's power of choice.\nIt lights up the zone of potentialities that surrounds the act. It fills\nthe interval between what is done and what might be done. Looked at from\nwithout, we may regard it as a simple aid to action, a light that action\nkindles, a momentary spark flying up from the friction of real action\nagainst possible actions. But we must also point out that things would\ngo on in just the same way if consciousness, instead of being the\neffect, were the cause. We might suppose that consciousness, even in the\nmost rudimentary animal, covers by right an enormous field, but is\ncompressed in fact in a kind of vise: each advance of the nervous\ncentres, by giving the organism a choice between a larger number of\nactions, calls forth the potentialities that are capable of surrounding\nthe real, thus opening the vise wider and allowing consciousness to pass\nmore freely. In this second hypothesis, as in the first, consciousness\nis still the instrument of action; but it is even more true to say that\naction is the instrument of consciousness; for the complicating of\naction with action, and the opposing of action to action, are for the\nimprisoned consciousness the only possible means to set itself free.\nHow, then, shall we choose between the two hypotheses? If the first is\ntrue, consciousness must express exactly, at each instant, the state of\nthe brain; there is strict parallelism (so far as intelligible) between\nthe psychical and the cerebral state. On the second hypothesis, on the\ncontrary, there is indeed solidarity and interdependence between the\nbrain and consciousness, but not parallelism: the more complicated the\nbrain becomes, thus giving the organism greater choice of possible\nactions, the more does consciousness outrun its physical concomitant.\nThus, the recollection of the same spectacle probably modifies in the\nsame way a dog's brain and a man's brain, if the perception has been the\nsame; yet the recollection must be very different in the man's\nconsciousness from what it is in the dog's. In the dog, the recollection\nremains the captive of perception; it is brought back to consciousness\nonly when an analogous perception recalls it by reproducing the same\nspectacle, and then it is manifested by the recognition, _acted_ rather\nthan _thought_, of the present perception much more than by an actual\nreappearance of the recollection itself. Man, on the contrary, is\ncapable of calling up the recollection at will, at any moment,\nindependently of the present perception. He is not limited to _playing_\nhis past life again; he _represents_ and _dreams_ it. The local\nmodification of the brain to which the recollection is attached being\nthe same in each case, the psychological difference between the two\nrecollections cannot have its ground in a particular difference of\ndetail between the two cerebral mechanisms, but in the difference\nbetween the two brains taken each as a whole. The more complex of the\ntwo, in putting a greater number of mechanisms in opposition to one\nanother, has enabled consciousness to disengage itself from the\nrestraint of one and all and to reach independence. That things do\nhappen in this way, that the second of the two hypotheses is that which\nmust be chosen, is what we have tried to prove, in a former work, by\nthe study of facts that best bring into relief the relation of the\nconscious state to the cerebral state, the facts of normal and\npathological recognition, in particular the forms of aphasia.[75] But it\ncould have been proved by pure reasoning, before even it was evidenced\nby facts. We have shown on what self-contradictory postulate, on what\nconfusion of two mutually incompatible symbolisms, the hypothesis of\nequivalence between the cerebral state and the psychic state rests.[76]\n\nThe evolution of life, looked at from this point, receives a clearer\nmeaning, although it cannot be subsumed under any actual _idea_. It is\nas if a broad current of consciousness had penetrated matter, loaded, as\nall consciousness is, with an enormous multiplicity of interwoven\npotentialities. It has carried matter along to organization, but its\nmovement has been at once infinitely retarded and infinitely divided. On\nthe one hand, indeed, consciousness has had to fall asleep, like the\nchrysalis in the envelope in which it is preparing for itself wings;\nand, on the other hand, the manifold tendencies it contained have been\ndistributed among divergent series of organisms which, moreover, express\nthese tendencies outwardly in movements rather than internally in\nrepresentations. In the course of this evolution, while some beings have\nfallen more and more asleep, others have more and more completely\nawakened, and the torpor of some has served the activity of others. But\nthe waking could be effected in two different ways. Life, that is to say\nconsciousness launched into matter, fixed its attention either on its\nown movement or on the matter it was passing through; and it has thus\nbeen turned either in the direction of intuition or in that of\nintellect. Intuition, at first sight, seems far preferable to intellect,\nsince in it life and consciousness remain within themselves. But a\nglance at the evolution of living beings shows us that intuition could\nnot go very far. On the side of intuition, consciousness found itself so\nrestricted by its envelope that intuition had to shrink into instinct,\nthat is, to embrace only the very small portion of life that interested\nit; and this it embraces only in the dark, touching it while hardly\nseeing it. On this side, the horizon was soon shut out. On the contrary,\nconsciousness, in shaping itself into intelligence, that is to say in\nconcentrating itself at first on matter, seems to externalize itself in\nrelation to itself; but, just because it adapts itself thereby to\nobjects from without, it succeeds in moving among them and in evading\nthe barriers they oppose to it, thus opening to itself an unlimited\nfield. Once freed, moreover, it can turn inwards on itself, and awaken\nthe potentialities of intuition which still slumber within it.\n\nFrom this point of view, not only does consciousness appear as the\nmotive principle of evolution, but also, among conscious beings\nthemselves, man comes to occupy a privileged place. Between him and the\nanimals the difference is no longer one of degree, but of kind. We shall\nshow how this conclusion is arrived at in our next chapter. Let us now\nshow how the preceding analyses suggest it.\n\nA noteworthy fact is the extraordinary disproportion between the\nconsequences of an invention and the invention itself. We have said that\nintelligence is modeled on matter and that it aims in the first place at\nfabrication. But does it fabricate in order to fabricate or does it not\npursue involuntarily, and even unconsciously, something entirely\ndifferent? Fabricating consists in shaping matter, in making it supple\nand in bending it, in converting it into an instrument in order to\nbecome master of it. It is this _mastery_ that profits humanity, much\nmore even than the material result of the invention itself. Though we\nderive an immediate advantage from the thing made, as an intelligent\nanimal might do, and though this advantage be all the inventor sought,\nit is a slight matter compared with the new ideas and new feelings that\nthe invention may give rise to in every direction, as if the essential\npart of the effect were to raise us above ourselves and enlarge our\nhorizon. Between the effect and the cause the disproportion is so great\nthat it is difficult to regard the cause as _producer_ of its effect. It\nreleases it, whilst settling, indeed, its direction. Everything happens\nas though the grip of intelligence on matter were, in its main\nintention, to _let something pass_ that matter is holding back.\n\nThe same impression arises when we compare the brain of man with that of\nthe animals. The difference at first appears to be only a difference of\nsize and complexity. But, judging by function, there must be something\nelse besides. In the animal, the motor mechanisms that the brain\nsucceeds in setting up, or, in other words, the habits contracted\nvoluntarily, have no other object nor effect than the accomplishment of\nthe movements marked out in these habits, stored in these mechanisms.\nBut, in man, the motor habit may have a second result, out of proportion\nto the first: it can hold other motor habits in check, and thereby, in\novercoming automatism, set consciousness free. We know what vast regions\nin the human brain language occupies. The cerebral mechanisms that\ncorrespond to the words have this in particular, that they can be made\nto grapple with other mechanisms, those, for instance, that correspond\nto the things themselves, or even be made to grapple with one another.\nMeanwhile consciousness, which would have been dragged down and drowned\nin the accomplishment of the act, is restored and set free.[77]\n\nThe difference must therefore be more radical than a superficial\nexamination would lead us to suppose. It is the difference between a\nmechanism which engages the attention and a mechanism from which it can\nbe diverted. The primitive steam-engine, as Newcomen conceived it,\nrequired the presence of a person exclusively employed to turn on and\noff the taps, either to let the steam into the cylinder or to throw the\ncold spray into it in order to condense the steam. It is said that a boy\nemployed on this work, and very tired of having to do it, got the idea\nof tying the handles of the taps, with cords, to the beam of the engine.\nThen the machine opened and closed the taps itself; it worked all alone.\nNow, if an observer had compared the structure of this second machine\nwith that of the first without taking into account the two boys left to\nwatch over them, he would have found only a slight difference of\ncomplexity. That is, indeed, all we can perceive when we look only at\nthe machines. But if we cast a glance at the two boys, we shall see that\nwhilst one is wholly taken up by the watching, the other is free to go\nand play as he chooses, and that, from this point of view, the\ndifference between the two machines is radical, the first holding the\nattention captive, the second setting it at liberty. A difference of the\nsame kind, we think, would be found between the brain of an animal and\nthe human brain.\n\nIf, now, we should wish to express this in terms of finality, we should\nhave to say that consciousness, after having been obliged, in order to\nset itself free, to divide organization into two complementary parts,\nvegetables on one hand and animals on the other, has sought an issue in\nthe double direction of instinct and of intelligence. It has not found\nit with instinct, and it has not obtained it on the side of intelligence\nexcept by a sudden leap from the animal to man. So that, in the last\nanalysis, man might be considered the reason for the existence of the\nentire organization of life on our planet. But this would be only a\nmanner of speaking. There is, in reality, only a current of existence\nand the opposing current; thence proceeds the whole evolution of life.\nWe must now grasp more closely the opposition of these two currents.\nPerhaps we shall thus discover for them a common source. By this we\nshall also, no doubt, penetrate the most obscure regions of metaphysics.\nHowever, as the two directions we have to follow are clearly marked, in\nintelligence on the one hand, in instinct and intuition on the other, we\nare not afraid of straying. A survey of the evolution of life suggests\nto us a certain conception of knowledge, and also a certain metaphysics,\nwhich imply each other. Once made clear, this metaphysics and this\ncritique may throw some light, in their turn, on evolution as a whole.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 51: This view of adaptation has been noted by M.F. Marin in a\nremarkable article on the origin of species, \"L'Origine des esp\u00e8ces\"\n(_Revue scientifique_, Nov. 1901, p. 580).]\n\n[Footnote 52: De Saporta and Marion, _L'\u00c9volution des cryptogames_,\n1881, p. 37.]\n\n[Footnote 53: On fixation and parasitism in general, see the work of\nHoussay, _La Forme et la vie_, Paris, 1900, pp. 721-807.]\n\n[Footnote 54: Cope, _op. cit._ p. 76.]\n\n[Footnote 55: Just as the plant, in certain cases, recovers the faculty\nof moving actively which slumbers in it, so the animal, in exceptional\ncircumstances, can replace itself in the conditions of the vegetative\nlife and develop in itself an equivalent of the chlorophyllian function.\nIt appears, indeed, from recent experiments of Maria von Linden, that\nthe chrysalides and the caterpillars of certain lepidoptera, under the\ninfluence of light, fix the carbon of the carbonic acid contained in the\natmosphere (M. von Linden, \"L'Assimilation de l'acide carbonique par les\nchrysalides de L\u00e9pidopt\u00e8res,\" _C.R. de la Soc. de biologie_, 1905, pp.\n692 ff.).]\n\n[Footnote 56: _Archives de physiologie_, 1892.]\n\n[Footnote 57: De Manac\u00e9ine, \"Quelques observations exp\u00e9rimentales sur\nl'influence de l'insomnie absolue\" (_Arch. ital. de biologie_, t. xxi.,\n1894, pp. 322 ff.). Recently, analogous observations have been made on a\nman who died of inanition after a fast of thirty-five days. See, on this\nsubject, in the _Ann\u00e9e biologique_ of 1898, p. 338, the r\u00e9sum\u00e9 of an\narticle (in Russian) by Tarakevitch and Stchasny.]\n\n[Footnote 58: Cuvier said: \"The nervous system is, at bottom, the whole\nanimal; the other systems are there only to serve it.\" (\"Sur un nouveau\nrapprochement \u00e0 \u00e9tablir entre les classes qui composent le regne\nanimal,\" _Arch. du Mus\u00e9um d'histoire naturelle_, Paris, 1812, pp.\n73-84.) Of course, it would be necessary to apply a great many\nrestrictions to this formula--for example, to allow for the cases of\ndegradation and retrogression in which the nervous system passes into\nthe background. And, moreover, with the nervous system must be included\nthe sensorial apparatus on the one hand and the motor on the other,\nbetween which it acts as intermediary. Cf. Foster, art. \"Physiology,\" in\nthe _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, Edinburgh, 1885, p. 17.]\n\n[Footnote 59: See, on these different points, the work of Gaudry, _Essai\nde pal\u00e9ontologie philosophique_, Paris, 1896, pp. 14-16 and 78-79.]\n\n[Footnote 60: See, on this subject, Shaler, _The Individual_, New York,\n1900, pp. 118-125.]\n\n[Footnote 61: This point is disputed by M. Ren\u00e9 Quinton, who regards the\ncarnivorous and ruminant mammals, as well as certain birds, as\nsubsequent to man (R. Quinton, _L'Eau de mer milieu organique_, Paris,\n1904, p. 435). We may say here that our general conclusions, although\nvery different from M. Quinton's, are not irreconcilable with them; for\nif evolution has really been such as we represent it, the vertebrates\nmust have made an effort to maintain themselves in the most favorable\nconditions of activity--the very conditions, indeed, which life had\nchosen in the beginning.]\n\n[Footnote 62: M. Paul Lacombe has laid great stress on the important\ninfluence that great inventions have exercised on the evolution of\nhumanity (P. Lacombe, _De l'histoire consid\u00e9r\u00e9e comme science_, Paris,\n1894. See, in particular, pp. 168-247).]\n\n[Footnote 63: Bouvier, \"La Nidification des abeilles \u00e0 l'air libre\"\n(_C.R. de l'Ac. des sciences_, 7 mai 1906).]\n\n[Footnote 64: Plato, _Phaedrus_, 265 E.]\n\n[Footnote 65: We shall return to these points in the next chapter.]\n\n[Footnote 66: We shall return to this point in chapter iii., p. 259.]\n\n[Footnote 67: _Mati\u00e8re et m\u00e9moire_, chap. i.]\n\n[Footnote 68: See the two works of Darwin, _Climbing Plants_ and _The\nFertilization of Orchids by Insects_.]\n\n[Footnote 69: Buttel-Reepen, \"Die phylogenetische Entstehung des\nBienenstaates\" (_Biol. Centralblatt_, xxiii. 1903), p. 108 in\nparticular.]\n\n[Footnote 70: Fabre, _Souvenirs entomologiques_, 3^e s\u00e9rie, Paris, 1890,\npp. 1-69.]\n\n[Footnote 71: Fabre, _Souvenirs entomologiques_, 1^{re} s\u00e9rie, Paris,\n3^e \u00e9dition, Paris, 1894, pp. 93 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 72: Fabre, _Nouveaux souvenirs entomologiques_, Paris, 1882,\npp. 14 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 73: Peckham, _Wasps, Solitary and Social_, Westminster, 1905,\npp. 28 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 74: See, in particular, among recent works, Bethe, \"D\u00fcrfen wir\nden Ameisen und Bienen psychische Qualit\u00e4ten zuschreiben?\" (_Arch. f. d.\nges. Physiologie_, 1898), and Forel, \"Un Aper\u00e7u de psychologie compar\u00e9e\"\n(_Ann\u00e9e psychologique_, 1895).]\n\n[Footnote 75: _Mati\u00e8re et m\u00e9moire_, chaps. ii. and iii.]\n\n[Footnote 76: \"Le Paralogisme psycho-physiologique\" (_Revue de\nm\u00e9taphysique_, Nov. 1904).]\n\n[Footnote 77: A geologist whom we have already had occasion to cite,\nN.S. Shaler, well says that \"when we come to man, it seems as if we find\nthe ancient subjection of mind to body abolished, and the intellectual\nparts develop with an extraordinary rapidity, the structure of the body\nremaining identical in essentials\" (Shaler, _The Interpretation of\nNature_, Boston, 1899, p. 187).]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nON THE MEANING OF LIFE--THE ORDER OF NATURE AND THE FORM OF INTELLIGENCE\n\n\nIn the course of our first chapter we traced a line of demarcation\nbetween the inorganic and the organized, but we pointed out that the\ndivision of unorganized matter into separate bodies is relative to our\nsenses and to our intellect, and that matter, looked at as an undivided\nwhole, must be a flux rather than a thing. In this we were preparing the\nway for a reconciliation between the inert and the living.\n\nOn the other side, we have shown in our second chapter that the same\nopposition is found again between instinct and intelligence, the one\nturned to certain determinations of life, the other molded on the\nconfiguration of matter. But instinct and intelligence, we have also\nsaid, stand out from the same background, which, for want of a better\nname, we may call consciousness in general, and which must be\ncoextensive with universal life. In this way, we have disclosed the\npossibility of showing the genesis of intelligence in setting out from\ngeneral consciousness, which embraces it.\n\nWe are now, then, to attempt a genesis of intellect at the same time as\na genesis of material bodies--two enterprises that are evidently\ncorrelative, if it be true that the main lines of our intellect mark out\nthe general form of our action on matter, and that the detail of matter\nis ruled by the requirements of our action. Intellectuality and\nmateriality have been constituted, in detail, by reciprocal adaptation.\nBoth are derived from a wider and higher form of existence. It is there\nthat we must replace them, in order to see them issue forth.\n\nSuch an attempt may appear, at first, more daring than the boldest\nspeculations of metaphysicians. It claims to go further than psychology,\nfurther than cosmology, further than traditional metaphysics; for\npsychology, cosmology and metaphysics take intelligence, in all that is\nessential to it, as given, instead of, as we now propose, engendering it\nin its form and in its matter. The enterprise is in reality much more\nmodest, as we are going to show. But let us first say how it differs\nfrom others.\n\nTo begin with psychology, we are not to believe that it _engenders_\nintelligence when it follows the progressive development of it through\nthe animal series. Comparative psychology teaches us that the more an\nanimal is intelligent, the more it tends to reflect on the actions by\nwhich it makes use of things, and thus to approximate to man. But its\nactions have already by themselves adopted the principal lines of human\naction; they have made out the same general directions in the material\nworld as we have; they depend upon the same objects bound together by\nthe same relations; so that animal intelligence, although it does not\nform concepts properly so called, already moves in a conceptual\natmosphere. Absorbed at every instant by the actions it performs and the\nattitudes it must adopt, drawn outward by them and so externalized in\nrelation to itself, it no doubt plays rather than thinks its ideas; this\nplay none the less already corresponds, in the main, to the general plan\nof human intelligence.[78] To explain the intelligence of man by that of\nthe animal consists then simply in following the development of an\nembryo of humanity into complete humanity. We show how a certain\ndirection has been followed further and further by beings more and more\nintelligent. But the moment we admit the direction, intelligence is\ngiven.\n\nIn a cosmogony like that of Spencer, intelligence is taken for granted,\nas matter also at the same time. We are shown matter obeying laws,\nobjects connected with objects and facts with facts by constant\nrelations, consciousness receiving the imprint of these relations and\nlaws, and thus adopting the general configuration of nature and shaping\nitself into intellect. But how can we fail to see that intelligence is\nsupposed when we admit objects and facts? _A priori_ and apart from any\nhypothesis on the nature of the matter, it is evident that the\nmateriality of a body does not stop at the point at which we touch it: a\nbody is present wherever its influence is felt; its attractive force, to\nspeak only of that, is exerted on the sun, on the planets, perhaps on\nthe entire universe. The more physics advances, the more it effaces the\nindividuality of bodies and even of the particles into which the\nscientific imagination began by decomposing them: bodies and corpuscles\ntend to dissolve into a universal interaction. Our perceptions give us\nthe plan of our eventual action on things much more than that of things\nthemselves. The outlines we find in objects simply mark what we can\nattain and modify in them. The lines we see traced through matter are\njust the paths on which we are called to move. Outlines and paths have\ndeclared themselves in the measure and proportion that consciousness has\nprepared for action on unorganized matter--that is to say, in the\nmeasure and proportion that intelligence has been formed. It is doubtful\nwhether animals built on a different plan--a mollusc or an insect, for\ninstance--cut matter up along the same articulations. It is not indeed\nnecessary that they should separate it into bodies at all. In order to\nfollow the indications of instinct, there is no need to perceive\n_objects_, it is enough to distinguish _properties_. Intelligence, on\nthe contrary, even in its humblest form, already aims at getting matter\nto act on matter. If on one side matter lends itself to a division into\nactive and passive bodies, or more simply into coexistent and distinct\nfragments, it is from this side that intelligence will regard it; and\nthe more it busies itself with dividing, the more it will spread out in\nspace, in the form of extension adjoining extension, a matter that\nundoubtedly itself has a tendency to spatiality, but whose parts are yet\nin a state of reciprocal implication and interpenetration. Thus the same\nmovement by which the mind is brought to form itself into intellect,\nthat is to say, into distinct concepts, brings matter to break itself up\ninto objects excluding one another. _The more consciousness is\nintellectualized, the more is matter spatialized._ So that the\nevolutionist philosophy, when it imagines in space a matter cut up on\nthe very lines that our action will follow, has given itself in advance,\nready made, the intelligence of which it claims to show the genesis.\n\nMetaphysics applies itself to a work of the same kind, though subtler\nand more self-conscious, when it deduces _a priori_ the categories of\nthought. It compresses intellect, reduces it to its quintessence, holds\nit tight in a principle so simple that it can be thought empty: from\nthis principle we then draw out what we have virtually put into it. In\nthis way we may no doubt show the coherence of intelligence, define\nintellect, give its formula, but we do not trace its genesis. An\nenterprise like that of Fichte, although more philosophical than that of\nSpencer, in that it pays more respect to the true order of things,\nhardly leads us any further. Fichte takes thought in a concentrated\nstate, and expands it into reality; Spencer starts from external\nreality, and condenses it into intellect. But, in the one case as in the\nother, the intellect must be taken at the beginning as given--either\ncondensed or expanded, grasped in itself by a direct vision or perceived\nby reflection in nature, as in a mirror.\n\nThe agreement of most philosophers on this point comes from the fact\nthat they are at one in affirming the unity of nature, and in\nrepresenting this unity under an abstract and geometrical form. Between\nthe organized and the unorganized they do not see and they will not see\nthe cleft. Some start from the inorganic, and, by compounding it with\nitself, claim to form the living; others place life first, and proceed\ntowards matter by a skilfully managed _decrescendo_; but, for both,\nthere are only differences of _degree_ in nature--degrees of complexity\nin the first hypothesis, of intensity in the second. Once this principle\nis admitted, intelligence becomes as vast as reality; for it is\nunquestionable that whatever is geometrical in things is entirely\naccessible to human intelligence, and if the continuity between geometry\nand the rest is perfect, all the rest must indeed be equally\nintelligible, equally intelligent. Such is the postulate of most\nsystems. Any one can easily be convinced of this by comparing doctrines\nthat seem to have no common point, no common measure, those of Fichte\nand Spencer for instance, two names that we happen to have just brought\ntogether.\n\nAt the root of these speculations, then, there are the two convictions\ncorrelative and complementary, that nature is one and that the function\nof intellect is to embrace it in its entirety. The faculty of knowing\nbeing supposed coextensive with the whole of experience, there can no\nlonger be any question of engendering it. It is already given, and we\nmerely have to use it, as we use our sight to take in the horizon. It\nis true that opinions differ as to the value of the result. For some, it\nis reality itself that the intellect embraces; for others, it is only a\nphantom. But, phantom or reality, what intelligence grasps is thought to\nbe all that can be attained.\n\nHence the exaggerated confidence of philosophy in the powers of the\nindividual mind. Whether it is dogmatic or critical, whether it admits\nthe relativity of our knowledge or claims to be established within the\nabsolute, a philosophy is generally the work of a philosopher, a single\nand unitary vision of the whole. It is to be taken or left.\n\nMore modest, and also alone capable of being completed and perfected, is\nthe philosophy we advocate. Human intelligence, as we represent it, is\nnot at all what Plato taught in the allegory of the cave. Its function\nis not to look at passing shadows nor yet to turn itself round and\ncontemplate the glaring sun. It has something else to do. Harnessed,\nlike yoked oxen, to a heavy task, we feel the play of our muscles and\njoints, the weight of the plow and the resistance of the soil. To act\nand to know that we are acting, to come into touch with reality and even\nto live it, but only in the measure in which it concerns the work that\nis being accomplished and the furrow that is being plowed, such is the\nfunction of human intelligence. Yet a beneficent fluid bathes us, whence\nwe draw the very force to labor and to live. From this ocean of life, in\nwhich we are immersed, we are continually drawing something, and we feel\nthat our being, or at least the intellect that guides it, has been\nformed therein by a kind of local concentration. Philosophy can only be\nan effort to dissolve again into the Whole. Intelligence, reabsorbed\ninto its principle, may thus live back again its own genesis. But the\nenterprise cannot be achieved in one stroke; it is necessarily\ncollective and progressive. It consists in an interchange of impressions\nwhich, correcting and adding to each other, will end by expanding the\nhumanity in us and making us even transcend it.\n\nBut this method has against it the most inveterate habits of the mind.\nIt at once suggests the idea of a vicious circle. In vain, we shall be\ntold, you claim to go beyond intelligence: how can you do that except by\nintelligence? All that is clear in your consciousness is intelligence.\nYou are inside your own thought; you cannot get out of it. Say, if you\nlike, that the intellect is capable of progress, that it will see more\nand more clearly into a greater and greater number of things; but do not\nspeak of engendering it, for it is with your intellect itself that you\nwould have to do the work.\n\nThe objection presents itself naturally to the mind. But the same\nreasoning would prove also the impossibility of acquiring any new habit.\nIt is of the essence of reasoning to shut us up in the circle of the\ngiven. But action breaks the circle. If we had never seen a man swim, we\nmight say that swimming is an impossible thing, inasmuch as, to learn to\nswim, we must begin by holding ourselves up in the water and,\nconsequently, already know how to swim. Reasoning, in fact, always nails\nus down to the solid ground. But if, quite simply, I throw myself into\nthe water without fear, I may keep myself up well enough at first by\nmerely struggling, and gradually adapt myself to the new environment: I\nshall thus have learnt to swim. So, in theory, there is a kind of\nabsurdity in trying to know otherwise than by intelligence; but if the\nrisk be frankly accepted, action will perhaps cut the knot that\nreasoning has tied and will not unloose.\n\nBesides, the risk will appear to grow less, the more our point of view\nis adopted. We have shown that intellect has detached itself from a\nvastly wider reality, but that there has never been a clean cut between\nthe two; all around conceptual thought there remains an indistinct\nfringe which recalls its origin. And further we compared the intellect\nto a solid nucleus formed by means of condensation. This nucleus does\nnot differ radically from the fluid surrounding it. It can only be\nreabsorbed in it because it is made of the same substance. He who throws\nhimself into the water, having known only the resistance of the solid\nearth, will immediately be drowned if he does not struggle against the\nfluidity of the new environment: he must perforce still cling to that\nsolidity, so to speak, which even water presents. Only on this condition\ncan he get used to the fluid's fluidity. So of our thought, when it has\ndecided to make the leap.\n\nBut leap it must, that is, leave its own environment. Reason, reasoning\non its powers, will never succeed in extending them, though the\nextension would not appear at all unreasonable once it were\naccomplished. Thousands and thousands of variations on the theme of\nwalking will never yield a rule for swimming: come, enter the water, and\nwhen you know how to swim, you will understand how the mechanism of\nswimming is connected with that of walking. Swimming is an extension of\nwalking, but walking would never have pushed you on to swimming. So you\nmay speculate as intelligently as you will on the mechanism of\nintelligence; you will never, by this method, succeed in going beyond\nit. You may get something more complex, but not something higher nor\neven something different. You must take things by storm: you must thrust\nintelligence outside itself by an act of will.\n\nSo the vicious circle is only apparent. It is, on the contrary, real, we\nthink, in every other method of philosophy. This we must try to show in\na few words, if only to prove that philosophy cannot and must not\naccept the relation established by pure intellectualism between the\ntheory of knowledge and the theory of the known, between metaphysics and\nscience.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt first sight, it may seem prudent to leave the consideration of facts\nto positive science, to let physics and chemistry busy themselves with\nmatter, the biological and psychological sciences with life. The task of\nthe philosopher is then clearly defined. He takes facts and laws from\nthe scientists' hand; and whether he tries to go beyond them in order to\nreach their deeper causes, or whether he thinks it impossible to go\nfurther and even proves it by the analysis of scientific knowledge, in\nboth cases he has for the facts and relations, handed over by science,\nthe sort of respect that is due to a final verdict. To this knowledge he\nadds a critique of the faculty of knowing, and also, if he thinks\nproper, a metaphysic; but the _matter_ of knowledge he regards as the\naffair of science and not of philosophy.\n\nBut how does he fail to see that the real result of this so-called\ndivision of labor is to mix up everything and confuse everything? The\nmetaphysic or the critique that the philosopher has reserved for himself\nhe has to receive, ready-made, from positive science, it being already\ncontained in the descriptions and analyses, the whole care of which he\nleft to the scientists. For not having wished to intervene, at the\nbeginning, in questions of fact, he finds himself reduced, in questions\nof principle, to formulating purely and simply in more precise terms the\nunconscious and consequently inconsistent metaphysic and critique which\nthe very attitude of science to reality marks out. Let us not be\ndeceived by an apparent analogy between natural things and human things.\nHere we are not in the judiciary domain, where the description of fact\nand the judgment on the fact are two distinct things, distinct for the\nvery simple reason that above the fact, and independent of it, there is\na law promulgated by a legislator. Here the laws are internal to the\nfacts and relative to the lines that have been followed in cutting the\nreal into distinct facts. We cannot describe the outward appearance of\nthe object without prejudging its inner nature and its organization.\nForm is no longer entirely isolable from matter, and he who has begun by\nreserving to philosophy questions of principle, and who has thereby\ntried to put philosophy above the sciences, as a \"court of cassation\" is\nabove the courts of assizes and of appeal, will gradually come to make\nno more of philosophy than a registration court, charged at most with\nwording more precisely the sentences that are brought to it, pronounced\nand irrevocable.\n\nPositive science is, in fact, a work of pure intellect. Now, whether our\nconception of the intellect be accepted or rejected, there is one point\non which everybody will agree with us, and that is that the intellect is\nat home in the presence of unorganized matter. This matter it makes use\nof more and more by mechanical inventions, and mechanical inventions\nbecome the easier to it the more it thinks matter as mechanism. The\nintellect bears within itself, in the form of natural logic, a latent\ngeometrism that is set free in the measure and proportion that the\nintellect penetrates into the inner nature of inert matter. Intelligence\nis in tune with this matter, and that is why the physics and metaphysics\nof inert matter are so near each other. Now, when the intellect\nundertakes the study of life, it necessarily treats the living like the\ninert, applying the same forms to this new object, carrying over into\nthis new field the same habits that have succeeded so well in the old;\nand it is right to do so, for only on such terms does the living offer\nto our action the same hold as inert matter. But the truth we thus\narrive at becomes altogether relative to our faculty of action. It is no\nmore than a _symbolic_ verity. It cannot have the same value as the\nphysical verity, being only an extension of physics to an object which\nwe are _a priori_ agreed to look at only in its external aspect. The\nduty of philosophy should be to intervene here actively, to examine the\nliving without any reservation as to practical utility, by freeing\nitself from forms and habits that are strictly intellectual. Its own\nspecial object is to speculate, that is to say, to see; its attitude\ntoward the living should not be that of science, which aims only at\naction, and which, being able to act only by means of inert matter,\npresents to itself the rest of reality in this single respect. What must\nthe result be, if it leave biological and psychological facts to\npositive science alone, as it has left, and rightly left, physical\nfacts? It will accept _a priori_ a mechanistic conception of all nature,\na conception unreflected and even unconscious, the outcome of the\nmaterial need. It will _a priori_ accept the doctrine of the simple\nunity of knowledge and of the abstract unity of nature.\n\nThe moment it does so, its fate is sealed. The philosopher has no longer\nany choice save between a metaphysical dogmatism and a metaphysical\nskepticism, both of which rest, at bottom, on the same postulate, and\nneither of which adds anything to positive science. He may hypostasize\nthe unity of nature, or, what comes to the same thing, the unity of\nscience, in a being who is nothing since he does nothing, an ineffectual\nGod who simply sums up in himself all the given; or in an eternal Matter\nfrom whose womb have been poured out the properties of things and the\nlaws of nature; or, again, in a pure Form which endeavors to seize an\nunseizable multiplicity, and which is, as we will, the form of nature\nor the form of thought. All these philosophies tell us, in their\ndifferent languages, that science is right to treat the living as the\ninert, and that there is no difference of value, no distinction to be\nmade between the results which intellect arrives at in applying its\ncategories, whether it rests on inert matter or attacks life.\n\nIn many cases, however, we feel the frame cracking. But as we did not\nbegin by distinguishing between the inert and the living, the one\nadapted in advance to the frame in which we insert it, the other\nincapable of being held in the frame otherwise than by a convention\nwhich eliminates from it all that is essential, we find ourselves, in\nthe end, reduced to regarding everything the frame contains with equal\nsuspicion. To a metaphysical dogmatism, which has erected into an\nabsolute the factitious unity of science, there succeeds a skepticism or\na relativism that universalizes and extends to all the results of\nscience the artificial character of some among them. So philosophy\nswings to and fro between the doctrine that regards absolute reality as\nunknowable and that which, in the idea it gives us of this reality, says\nnothing more than science has said. For having wished to prevent all\nconflict between science and philosophy, we have sacrificed philosophy\nwithout any appreciable gain to science. And for having tried to avoid\nthe seeming vicious circle which consists in using the intellect to\ntranscend the intellect, we find ourselves turning in a real circle,\nthat which consists in laboriously rediscovering by metaphysics a unity\nthat we began by positing _a priori_, a unity that we admitted blindly\nand unconsciously by the very act of abandoning the whole of experience\nto science and the whole of reality to the pure understanding.\n\nLet us begin, on the contrary, by tracing a line of demarcation between\nthe inert and the living. We shall find that the inert enters naturally\ninto the frames of the intellect, but that the living is adapted to\nthese frames only artificially, so that we must adopt a special attitude\ntowards it and examine it with other eyes than those of positive\nscience. Philosophy, then, invades the domain of experience. She busies\nherself with many things which hitherto have not concerned her. Science,\ntheory of knowledge, and metaphysics find themselves on the same ground.\nAt first there may be a certain confusion. All three may think they have\nlost something. But all three will profit from the meeting.\n\nPositive science, indeed, may pride itself on the uniform value\nattributed to its affirmations in the whole field of experience. But, if\nthey are all placed on the same footing, they are all tainted with the\nsame relativity. It is not so, if we begin by making the distinction\nwhich, in our view, is forced upon us. The understanding is at home in\nthe domain of unorganized matter. On this matter human action is\nnaturally exercised; and action, as we said above, cannot be set in\nmotion in the unreal. Thus, of physics--so long as we are considering\nonly its general form and not the particular cutting out of matter in\nwhich it is manifested--we may say that it touches the absolute. On the\ncontrary, it is by accident--chance or convention, as you please--that\nscience obtains a hold on the living analogous to the hold it has on\nmatter. Here the use of conceptual frames is no longer natural. I do not\nwish to say that it is not legitimate, in the scientific meaning of the\nterm. If science is to extend our action on things, and if we can act\nonly with inert matter for instrument, science can and must continue to\ntreat the living as it has treated the inert. But, in doing so, it must\nbe understood that the further it penetrates the depths of _life_, the\nmore symbolic, the more relative to the contingencies of action, the\nknowledge it supplies to us becomes. On this new ground philosophy ought\nthen to follow science, in order to superpose on scientific truth a\nknowledge of another kind, which may be called metaphysical. Thus\ncombined, all our knowledge, both scientific and metaphysical, is\nheightened. In the absolute we live and move and have our being. The\nknowledge we possess of it is incomplete, no doubt, but not external or\nrelative. It is reality itself, in the profoundest meaning of the word,\nthat we reach by the combined and progressive development of science and\nof philosophy.\n\nThus, in renouncing the factitious unity which the understanding imposes\non nature from outside, we shall perhaps find its true, inward and\nliving unity. For the effort we make to transcend the pure understanding\nintroduces us into that more vast something out of which our\nunderstanding is cut, and from which it has detached itself. And, as\nmatter is determined by intelligence, as there is between them an\nevident agreement, we cannot make the genesis of the one without making\nthe genesis of the other. An identical process must have cut out matter\nand the intellect, at the same time, from a stuff that contained both.\nInto this reality we shall get back more and more completely, in\nproportion as we compel ourselves to transcend pure intelligence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLet us then concentrate attention on that which we have that is at the\nsame time the most removed from externality and the least penetrated\nwith intellectuality. Let us seek, in the depths of our experience, the\npoint where we feel ourselves most intimately within our own life. It is\ninto pure duration that we then plunge back, a duration in which the\npast, always moving on, is swelling unceasingly with a present that is\nabsolutely new. But, at the same time, we feel the spring of our will\nstrained to its utmost limit. We must, by a strong recoil of our\npersonality on itself, gather up our past which is slipping away, in\norder to thrust it, compact and undivided, into a present which it will\ncreate by entering. Rare indeed are the moments when we are\nself-possessed to this extent: it is then that our actions are truly\nfree. And even at these moments we do not completely possess ourselves.\nOur feeling of duration, I should say the actual coinciding of ourself\nwith itself, admits of degrees. But the more the feeling is deep and the\ncoincidence complete, the more the life in which it replaces us absorbs\nintellectuality by transcending it. For the natural function of the\nintellect is to bind like to like, and it is only facts that can be\nrepeated that are entirely adaptable to intellectual conceptions. Now,\nour intellect does undoubtedly grasp the real moments of real duration\nafter they are past; we do so by reconstituting the new state of\nconsciousness out of a series of views taken of it from the outside,\neach of which resembles as much as possible something already known; in\nthis sense we may say that the state of consciousness contains\nintellectuality implicitly. Yet the state of consciousness overflows the\nintellect; it is indeed incommensurable with the intellect, being itself\nindivisible and new.\n\nNow let us relax the strain, let us interrupt the effort to crowd as\nmuch as possible of the past into the present. If the relaxation were\ncomplete, there would no longer be either memory or will--which amounts\nto saying that, in fact, we never do fall into this absolute passivity,\nany more than we can make ourselves absolutely free. But, in the limit,\nwe get a glimpse of an existence made of a present which recommences\nunceasingly--devoid of real duration, nothing but the instantaneous\nwhich dies and is born again endlessly. Is the existence of matter of\nthis nature? Not altogether, for analysis resolves it into elementary\nvibrations, the shortest of which are of very slight duration, almost\nvanishing, but not nothing. It may be presumed, nevertheless, that\nphysical existence inclines in this second direction, as psychical\nexistence in the first.\n\nBehind \"spirituality\" on the one hand, and \"materiality\" with\nintellectuality on the other, there are then two processes opposite in\ntheir direction, and we pass from the first to the second by way of\ninversion, or perhaps even by simple interruption, if it is true that\ninversion and interruption are two terms which in this case must be held\nto be synonymous, as we shall show at more length later on. This\npresumption is confirmed when we consider things from the point of view\nof extension, and no longer from that of duration alone.\n\nThe more we succeed in making ourselves conscious of our progress in\npure duration, the more we feel the different parts of our being enter\ninto each other, and our whole personality concentrate itself in a\npoint, or rather a sharp edge, pressed against the future and cutting\ninto it unceasingly. It is in this that life and action are free. But\nsuppose we let ourselves go and, instead of acting, dream. At once the\nself is scattered; our past, which till then was gathered together into\nthe indivisible impulsion it communicated to us, is broken up into a\nthousand recollections made external to one another. They give up\ninterpenetrating in the degree that they become fixed. Our personality\nthus descends in the direction of space. It coasts around it continually\nin sensation. We will not dwell here on a point we have studied\nelsewhere. Let us merely recall that extension admits of degrees, that\nall sensation is extensive in a certain measure, and that the idea of\nunextended sensations, artificially localized in space, is a mere view\nof the mind, suggested by an unconscious metaphysic much more than by\npsychological observation.\n\nNo doubt we make only the first steps in the direction of the extended,\neven when we let ourselves go as much as we can. But suppose for a\nmoment that matter consists in this very movement pushed further, and\nthat physics is simply psychics inverted. We shall now understand why\nthe mind feels at its ease, moves about naturally in space, when matter\nsuggests the more distinct idea of it. This space it already possessed\nas an implicit idea in its own eventual _detension_, that is to say, of\nits own possible _extension_. The mind finds space in things, but could\nhave got it without them if it had had imagination strong enough to push\nthe inversion of its own natural movement to the end. On the other hand,\nwe are able to explain how matter accentuates still more its\nmateriality, when viewed by the mind. Matter, at first, aided mind to\nrun down its own incline; it gave the impulsion. But, the impulsion once\nreceived, mind continues its course. The idea that it forms of _pure_\nspace is only the _schema_ of the limit at which this movement would\nend. Once in possession of the form of space, mind uses it like a net\nwith meshes that can be made and unmade at will, which, thrown over\nmatter, divides it as the needs of our action demand. Thus, the space of\nour geometry and the spatiality of things are mutually engendered by the\nreciprocal action and reaction of two terms which are essentially the\nsame, but which move each in the direction inverse of the other. Neither\nis space so foreign to our nature as we imagine, nor is matter as\ncompletely extended in space as our senses and intellect represent it.\n\nWe have treated of the first point elsewhere. As to the second, we will\nlimit ourselves to pointing out that perfect spatiality would consist in\na perfect externality of parts in their relation to one another, that is\nto say, in a complete reciprocal independence. Now, there is no material\npoint that does not act on every other material point. When we observe\nthat a thing really is there where it _acts_, we shall be led to say (as\nFaraday[79] was) that all the atoms interpenetrate and that each of them\nfills the world. On such a hypothesis, the atom or, more generally, the\nmaterial point, becomes simply a view of the mind, a view which we come\nto take when we continue far enough the work (wholly relative to our\nfaculty of acting) by which we subdivide matter into bodies. Yet it is\nundeniable that matter lends itself to this subdivision, and that, in\nsupposing it breakable into parts external to one another, we are\nconstructing a science sufficiently representative of the real. It is\nundeniable that if there be no entirely isolated system, yet science\nfinds means of cutting up the universe into systems relatively\nindependent of each other, and commits no appreciable error in doing so.\nWhat else can this mean but that matter _extends_ itself in space\nwithout being absolutely _extended_ therein, and that in regarding\nmatter as decomposable into isolated systems, in attributing to it quite\ndistinct elements which change in relation to each other without\nchanging in themselves (which are \"displaced,\" shall we say, without\nbeing \"altered\"), in short, in conferring on matter the properties of\npure space, we are transporting ourselves to the terminal point of the\nmovement of which matter simply indicates the direction?\n\nWhat the _Transcendental Aesthetic_ of Kant appears to have established\nonce for all is that extension is not a material attribute of the same\nkind as others. We cannot reason indefinitely on the notions of heat,\ncolor, or weight: in order to know the modalities of weight or of heat,\nwe must have recourse to experience. Not so of the notion of space.\nSupposing even that it is given empirically by sight and touch (and Kant\nhas not questioned the fact) there is this about it that is remarkable\nthat our mind, speculating on it with its own powers alone, cuts out in\nit, _a priori_, figures whose properties we determine _a priori_:\nexperience, with which we have not kept in touch, yet follows us through\nthe infinite complications of our reasonings and invariably justifies\nthem. That is the fact. Kant has set it in clear light. But the\nexplanation of the fact, we believe, must be sought in a different\ndirection to that which Kant followed.\n\nIntelligence, as Kant represents it to us, is bathed in an atmosphere of\nspatiality to which it is as inseparably united as the living body to\nthe air it breathes. Our perceptions reach us only after having passed\nthrough this atmosphere. They have been impregnated in advance by our\ngeometry, so that our faculty of thinking only finds again in matter the\nmathematical properties which our faculty of perceiving has already\ndeposed there. We are assured, therefore, of seeing matter yield itself\nwith docility to our reasonings; but this matter, in all that it has\nthat is intelligible, is our own work; of the reality \"in itself\" we\nknow nothing and never shall know anything, since we only get its\nrefraction through the forms of our faculty of perceiving. So that if we\nclaim to affirm something of it, at once there rises the contrary\naffirmation, equally demonstrable, equally plausible. The ideality of\nspace is proved directly by the analysis of knowledge indirectly by the\nantinomies to which the opposite theory leads. Such is the governing\nidea of the Kantian criticism. It has inspired Kant with a peremptory\nrefutation of \"empiricist\" theories of knowledge. It is, in our opinion,\ndefinitive in what it denies. But, in what it affirms, does it give us\nthe solution of the problem?\n\nWith Kant, space is given as a ready-made form of our perceptive\nfaculty--a veritable _deus ex machina_, of which we see neither how it\narises, nor why it is what it is rather than anything else.\n\"Things-in-themselves\" are also given, of which he claims that we can\nknow nothing: by what right, then, can he affirm their existence, even\nas \"problematic\"? If the unknowable reality projects into our perceptive\nfaculty a \"sensuous manifold\" capable of fitting into it exactly, is it\nnot, by that very fact, in part known? And when we examine this exact\nfitting, shall we not be led, in one point at least, to suppose a\npre-established harmony between things and our mind--an idle hypothesis,\nwhich Kant was right in wishing to avoid? At bottom, it is for not\nhaving distinguished degrees in spatiality that he has had to take space\nready-made as given--whence the question how the \"sensuous manifold\" is\nadapted to it. It is for the same reason that he has supposed matter\nwholly developed into parts absolutely external to one another;--whence\nantinomies, of which we may plainly see that the thesis and antithesis\nsuppose the perfect coincidence of matter with geometrical space, but\nwhich vanish the moment we cease to extend to matter what is true only\nof pure space. Whence, finally, the conclusion that there are three\nalternatives, and three only, among which to choose a theory of\nknowledge: either the mind is determined by things, or things are\ndetermined by the mind, or between mind and things we must suppose a\nmysterious agreement.\n\nBut the truth is that there is a fourth, which does not seem to have\noccurred to Kant--in the first place because he did not think that the\nmind overflowed the intellect, and in the second place (and this is at\nbottom the same thing) because he did not attribute to duration an\nabsolute existence, having put time, _a priori_, on the same plane as\nspace. This alternative consists, first of all, in regarding the\nintellect as a special function of the mind, essentially turned toward\ninert matter; then in saying that neither does matter determine the form\nof the intellect, nor does the intellect impose its form on matter, nor\nhave matter and intellect been regulated in regard to one another by we\nknow not what pre-established harmony, but that intellect and matter\nhave progressively adapted themselves one to the other in order to\nattain at last a common form. _This adaptation has, moreover, been\nbrought about quite naturally, because it is the same inversion of the\nsame movement which creates at once the intellectuality of mind and the\nmateriality of things._\n\nFrom this point of view the knowledge of matter that our perception on\none hand and science on the other give to us appears, no doubt, as\napproximative, but not as relative. Our perception, whose r\u00f4le it is to\nhold up a light to our actions, works a dividing up of matter that is\nalways too sharply defined, always subordinated to practical needs,\nconsequently always requiring revision. Our science, which aspires to\nthe mathematical form, over-accentuates the spatiality of matter; its\nformulae are, in general, too precise, and ever need remaking. For a\nscientific theory to be final, the mind would have to embrace the\ntotality of things in block and place each thing in its exact relation\nto every other thing; but in reality we are obliged to consider problems\none by one, in terms which are, for that very reason, provisional, so\nthat the solution of each problem will have to be corrected\nindefinitely by the solution that will be given to the problems that\nwill follow: thus, science as a whole is relative to the particular\norder in which the problems happen to have been put. It is in this\nmeaning, and to this degree, that science must be regarded as\nconventional. But it is a conventionality of fact so to speak, and not\nof right. In principle, positive science bears on reality itself,\nprovided it does not overstep the limits of its own domain, which is\ninert matter.\n\nScientific knowledge, thus regarded, rises to a higher plane. In return,\nthe theory of knowledge becomes an infinitely difficult enterprise, and\nwhich passes the powers of the intellect alone. It is not enough to\ndetermine, by careful analysis, the categories of thought; we must\nengender them. As regards space, we must, by an effort of mind _sui\ngeneris_, follow the progression or rather the regression of the\nextra-spatial degrading itself into spatiality. When we make ourselves\nself-conscious in the highest possible degree and then let ourselves\nfall back little by little, we get the feeling of extension: we have an\nextension of the self into recollections that are fixed and external to\none another, in place of the tension it possessed as an indivisible\nactive will. But this is only a beginning. Our consciousness, sketching\nthe movement, shows us its direction and reveals to us the possibility\nof continuing it to the end; but consciousness itself does not go so\nfar. Now, on the other hand, if we consider matter, which seems to us at\nfirst coincident with space, we find that the more our attention is\nfixed on it, the more the parts which we said were laid side by side\nenter into each other, each of them undergoing the action of the whole,\nwhich is consequently somehow present in it. Thus, although matter\nstretches itself out in the direction of space, it does not completely\nattain it; whence we may conclude that it only carries very much\nfurther the movement that consciousness is able to sketch within us in\nits nascent state. We hold, therefore, the two ends of the chain, though\nwe do not succeed in seizing the intermediate links. Will they always\nescape us? We must remember that philosophy, as we define it, has not\nyet become completely conscious of itself. Physics understands its r\u00f4le\nwhen it pushes matter in the direction of spatiality; but has\nmetaphysics understood its r\u00f4le when it has simply trodden in the steps\nof physics, in the chimerical hope of going further in the same\ndirection? Should not its own task be, on the contrary, to remount the\nincline that physics descends, to bring back matter to its origins, and\nto build up progressively a cosmology which would be, so to speak, a\nreversed psychology? All that which seems _positive_ to the physicist\nand to the geometrician would become, from this new point of view, an\ninterruption or inversion of the true positivity, which would have to be\ndefined in psychological terms.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen we consider the admirable order of mathematics, the perfect\nagreement of the objects it deals with, the immanent logic in numbers\nand figures, our certainty of always getting the same conclusion,\nhowever diverse and complex our reasonings on the same subject, we\nhesitate to see in properties apparently so positive a system of\nnegations, the absence rather than the presence of a true reality. But\nwe must not forget that our intellect, which finds this order and\nwonders at it, is directed in the same line of movement that leads to\nthe materiality and spatiality of its object. The more complexity the\nintellect puts into its object by analyzing it, the more complex is the\norder it finds there. And this order and this complexity necessarily\nappear to the intellect as a positive reality, since reality and\nintellectuality are turned in the same direction.\n\nWhen a poet reads me his verses, I can interest myself enough in him to\nenter into his thought, put myself into his feelings, live over again\nthe simple state he has broken into phrases and words. I sympathize then\nwith his inspiration, I follow it with a continuous movement which is,\nlike the inspiration itself, an undivided act. Now, I need only relax my\nattention, let go the tension that there is in me, for the sounds,\nhitherto swallowed up in the sense, to appear to me distinctly, one by\none, in their materiality. For this I have not to do anything; it is\nenough to withdraw something. In proportion as I let myself go, the\nsuccessive sounds will become the more individualized; as the phrases\nwere broken into words, so the words will scan in syllables which I\nshall perceive one after another. Let me go farther still in the\ndirection of dream: the letters themselves will become loose and will be\nseen to dance along, hand in hand, on some fantastic sheet of paper. I\nshall then admire the precision of the interweavings, the marvelous\norder of the procession, the exact insertion of the letters into the\nsyllables, of the syllables into the words and of the words into the\nsentences. The farther I pursue this quite negative direction of\nrelaxation, the more extension and complexity I shall create; and the\nmore the complexity in its turn increases, the more admirable will seem\nto be the order which continues to reign, undisturbed, among the\nelements. Yet this complexity and extension represent nothing positive;\nthey express a deficiency of will. And, on the other hand, the order\nmust grow with the complexity, since it is only an aspect of it. The\nmore we perceive, symbolically, parts in an indivisible whole, the more\nthe number of the relations that the parts have between themselves\nnecessarily increases, since the same undividedness of the real whole\ncontinues to hover over the growing multiplicity of the symbolic\nelements into which the scattering of the attention has decomposed it. A\ncomparison of this kind will enable us to understand, in some measure,\nhow the same suppression of positive reality, the same inversion of a\ncertain original movement, can create at once extension in space and the\nadmirable order which mathematics finds there. There is, of course, this\ndifference between the two cases, that words and letters have been\ninvented by a positive effort of humanity, while space arises\nautomatically, as the remainder of a subtraction arises once the two\nnumbers are posited.[80] But, in the one case as in the other, the\ninfinite complexity of the parts and their perfect co\u00f6rdination among\nthemselves are created at one and the same time by an inversion which\nis, at bottom, an interruption, that is to say, a diminution of positive\nreality.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAll the operations of our intellect tend to geometry, as to the goal\nwhere they find their perfect fulfilment. But, as geometry is\nnecessarily prior to them (since these operations have not as their end\nto construct space and cannot do otherwise than take it as given) it is\nevident that it is a latent geometry, immanent in our idea of space,\nwhich is the main spring of our intellect and the cause of its working.\nWe shall be convinced of this if we consider the two essential functions\nof intellect, the faculty of deduction and that of induction.\n\nLet us begin with deduction. The same movement by which I trace a figure\nin space engenders its properties: they are visible and tangible in the\nmovement itself; I feel, I see in space the relation of the definition\nto its consequences, of the premisses to the conclusion. All the other\nconcepts of which experience suggests the idea to me are only in part\nconstructible _a priori_; the definition of them is therefore imperfect,\nand the deductions into which these concepts enter, however closely the\nconclusion is linked to the premisses, participate in this imperfection.\nBut when I trace roughly in the sand the base of a triangle, as I begin\nto form the two angles at the base, I know positively, and understand\nabsolutely, that if these two angles are equal the sides will be equal\nalso, the figure being then able to be turned over on itself without\nthere being any change whatever. I know it before I have learnt\ngeometry. Thus, prior to the science of geometry, there is a natural\ngeometry whose clearness and evidence surpass the clearness and evidence\nof other deductions. Now, these other deductions bear on qualities, and\nnot on magnitudes purely. They are, then, likely to have been formed on\nthe model of the first, and to borrow their force from the fact that,\nbehind quality, we see magnitude vaguely showing through. We may notice,\nas a fact, that questions of situation and of magnitude are the first\nthat present themselves to our activity, those which intelligence\nexternalized in action resolves even before reflective intelligence has\nappeared. The savage understands better than the civilized man how to\njudge distances, to determine a direction, to retrace by memory the\noften complicated plan of the road he has traveled, and so to return in\na straight line to his starting-point.[81] If the animal does not deduce\nexplicitly, if he does not form explicit concepts, neither does he form\nthe idea of a homogeneous space. You cannot present this space to\nyourself without introducing, in the same act, a virtual geometry which\nwill, of itself, degrade itself into logic. All the repugnance that\nphilosophers manifest towards this manner of regarding things comes from\nthis, that the logical work of the intellect represents to their eyes a\npositive spiritual effort. But, if we understand by spirituality a\nprogress to ever new creations, to conclusions incommensurable with the\npremisses and indeterminable by relation to them, we must say of an idea\nthat moves among relations of necessary determination, through premisses\nwhich contain their conclusion in advance, that it follows the inverse\ndirection, that of materiality. What appears, from the point of view of\nthe intellect, as an effort, is in itself a letting go. And while, from\nthe point of view of the intellect, there is a _petitio principii_ in\nmaking geometry arise automatically from space, and logic from\ngeometry--on the contrary, if space is the ultimate goal of the mind's\nmovement of _detension_, space cannot be given without positing also\nlogic and geometry, which are along the course of the movement of which\npure spatial intuition is the goal.\n\nIt has not been enough noticed how feeble is the reach of deduction in\nthe psychological and moral sciences. From a proposition verified by\nfacts, verifiable consequences can here be drawn only up to a certain\npoint, only in a certain measure. Very soon appeal has to be made to\ncommon sense, that is to say, to the continuous experience of the real,\nin order to inflect the consequences deduced and bend them along the\nsinuosities of life. Deduction succeeds in things moral only\nmetaphorically, so to speak, and just in the measure in which the moral\nis transposable into the physical, I should say translatable into\nspatial symbols. The metaphor never goes very far, any more than a curve\ncan long be confused with its tangent. Must we not be struck by this\nfeebleness of deduction as something very strange and even paradoxical?\nHere is a pure operation of the mind, accomplished solely by the power\nof the mind. It seems that, if anywhere it should feel at home and\nevolve at ease, it would be among the things of the mind, in the domain\nof the mind. Not at all; it is there that it is immediately at the end\nof its tether. On the contrary, in geometry, in astronomy, in physics,\nwhere we have to do with things external to us, deduction is\nall-powerful! Observation and experience are undoubtedly necessary in\nthese sciences to arrive at the principle, that is, to discover the\naspect under which things must be regarded; but, strictly speaking, we\nmight, by good luck, have hit upon it at once; and, as soon as we\npossess this principle, we may draw from it, at any length, consequences\nwhich experience will always verify. Must we not conclude, therefore,\nthat deduction is an operation governed by the properties of matter,\nmolded on the mobile articulations of matter, implicitly given, in fact,\nwith the space that underlies matter? As long as it turns upon space or\nspatialized time, it has only to let itself go. It is _duration_ that\nputs spokes in its wheels.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDeduction, then, does not work unless there be spatial intuition behind\nit. But we may say the same of induction. It is not necessary indeed to\nthink geometrically, nor even to think at all, in order to expect from\nthe same conditions a repetition of the same fact. The consciousness of\nthe animal already does this work, and indeed, independently of all\nconsciousness, the living body itself is so constructed that it can\nextract from the successive situations in which it finds itself the\nsimilarities which interest it, and so respond to the stimuli by\nappropriate reactions. But it is a far cry from a mechanical expectation\nand reaction of the body, to induction properly so called, which is an\nintellectual operation. Induction rests on the belief that there are\ncauses and effects, and that the same effects follow the same causes.\nNow, if we examine this double belief, this is what we find. It implies,\nin the first place, that reality is decomposable into groups, which can\nbe practically regarded as isolated and independent. If I boil water in\na kettle on a stove, the operation and the objects that support it are,\nin reality, bound up with a multitude of other objects and a multitude\nof other operations; in the end, I should find that our entire solar\nsystem is concerned in what is being done at this particular point of\nspace. But, in a certain measure, and for the special end I am pursuing,\nI may admit that things happen as if the group _water-kettle-stove_ were\nan independent microcosm. That is my first affirmation. Now, when I say\nthat this microcosm will always behave in the same way, that the heat\nwill necessarily, at the end of a certain time, cause the boiling of the\nwater, I admit that it is sufficient that a certain number of elements\nof the system be given in order that the system should be complete; it\ncompletes itself automatically, I am not free to complete it in thought\nas I please. The stove, the kettle and the water being given, with a\ncertain interval of duration, it seems to me that the boiling, which\nexperience showed me yesterday to be the only thing wanting to complete\nthe system, will complete it to-morrow, no matter when to-morrow may be.\nWhat is there at the base of this belief? Notice that the belief is more\nor less assured, according as the case may be, but that it is forced\nupon the mind as an absolute necessity when the microcosm considered\ncontains only magnitudes. If two numbers be given, I am not free to\nchoose their difference. If two sides of a triangle and the contained\nangle are given, the third side arises of itself and the triangle\ncompletes itself automatically. I can, it matters not where and it\nmatters not when, trace the same two sides containing the same angle: it\nis evident that the new triangles so formed can be superposed on the\nfirst, and that consequently the same third side will come to complete\nthe system. Now, if my certitude is perfect in the case in which I\nreason on pure space determinations, must I not suppose that, in the\nother cases, the certitude is greater the nearer it approaches this\nextreme case? Indeed, may it not be the limiting case which is seen\nthrough all the others and which colors them, accordingly as they are\nmore or less transparent, with a more or less pronounced tinge of\ngeometrical necessity?[82] In fact, when I say that the water on the\nfire will boil to-day as it did yesterday, and that this is an absolute\nnecessity, I feel vaguely that my imagination is placing the stove of\nyesterday on that of to-day, kettle on kettle, water on water, duration\non duration, and it seems then that the rest must coincide also, for the\nsame reason that, when two triangles are superposed and two of their\nsides coincide, their third sides coincide also. But my imagination acts\nthus only because it shuts its eyes to two essential points. For the\nsystem of to-day actually to be superimposed on that of yesterday, the\nlatter must have waited for the former, time must have halted, and\neverything become simultaneous: that happens in geometry, but in\ngeometry alone. Induction therefore implies first that, in the world of\nthe physicist as in that of the geometrician, time does not count. But\nit implies also that qualities can be superposed on each other like\nmagnitudes. If, in imagination, I place the stove and fire of to-day on\nthat of yesterday, I find indeed that the form has remained the same; it\nsuffices, for that, that the surfaces and edges coincide; but what is\nthe coincidence of two qualities, and how can they be superposed one on\nanother in order to ensure that they are identical? Yet I extend to the\nsecond order of reality all that applies to the first. The physicist\nlegitimates this operation later on by reducing, as far as possible,\ndifferences of quality to differences of magnitude; but, prior to all\nscience, I incline to liken qualities to quantities, as if I perceived\nbehind the qualities, as through a transparency, a geometrical\nmechanism.[83] The more complete this transparency, the more it seems to\nme that in the same conditions there must be a repetition of the same\nfact. Our inductions are certain, to our eyes, in the exact degree in\nwhich we make the qualitative differences melt into the homogeneity of\nthe space which subtends them, so that geometry is the ideal limit of\nour inductions as well as of our deductions. The movement at the end of\nwhich is spatiality lays down along its course the faculty of induction\nas well as that of deduction, in fact, intellectuality entire.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt creates them in the mind. But it creates also, in things, the \"order\"\nwhich our induction, aided by deduction, finds there. This order, on\nwhich our action leans and in which our intellect recognizes itself,\nseems to us marvelous. Not only do the same general causes always\nproduce the same general effects, but beneath the visible causes and\neffects our science discovers an infinity of infinitesimal changes which\nwork more and more exactly into one another, the further we push the\nanalysis: so much so that, at the end of this analysis, matter becomes,\nit seems to us, geometry itself. Certainly, the intellect is right in\nadmiring here the growing order in the growing complexity; both the one\nand the other must have a positive reality for it, since it looks upon\nitself as positive. But things change their aspect when we consider the\nwhole of reality as an undivided advance forward to successive\ncreations. It seems to us, then, that the complexity of the material\nelements and the mathematical order that binds them together must arise\nautomatically when within the whole a partial interruption or inversion\nis produced. Moreover, as the intellect itself is cut out of mind by a\nprocess of the same kind, it is attuned to this order and complexity,\nand admires them because it recognizes itself in them. But what is\nadmirable _in itself_, what really deserves to provoke wonder, is the\never-renewed creation which reality, whole and undivided, accomplishes\nin advancing; for no complication of the mathematical order with itself,\nhowever elaborate we may suppose it, can introduce an atom of novelty\ninto the world, whereas this power of creation once given (and it\nexists, for we are conscious of it in ourselves, at least when we act\nfreely) has only to be diverted from itself to relax its tension, only\nto relax its tension to extend, only to extend for the mathematical\norder of the elements so distinguished and the inflexible determinism\nconnecting them to manifest the interruption of the creative act: in\nfact, inflexible determinism and mathematical order are one with this\nvery interruption.\n\nIt is this merely negative tendency that the particular laws of the\nphysical world express. None of them, taken separately, has objective\nreality; each is the work of an investigator who has regarded things\nfrom a certain bias, isolated certain variables, applied certain\nconventional units of measurement. And yet there is an order\napproximately mathematical immanent in matter, an objective order, which\nour science approaches in proportion to its progress. For if matter is a\nrelaxation of the inextensive into the extensive and, thereby, of\nliberty into necessity, it does not indeed wholly coincide with pure\nhomogeneous space, yet is constituted by the movement which leads to\nspace, and is therefore on the way to geometry. It is true that laws of\nmathematical form will never apply to it completely. For that, it would\nhave to be pure space and step out of duration.\n\nWe cannot insist too strongly that there is something artificial in the\nmathematical form of a physical law, and consequently in our scientific\nknowledge of things.[84] Our standards of measurement are conventional,\nand, so to say, foreign to the intentions of nature: can we suppose that\nnature has related all the modalities of heat to the expansion of the\nsame mass of mercury, or to the change of pressure of the same mass of\nair kept at a constant volume? But we may go further. In a general way,\n_measuring_ is a wholly human operation, which implies that we really or\nideally superpose two objects one on another a certain number of times.\nNature did not dream of this superposition. It does not measure, nor\ndoes it count. Yet physics counts, measures, relates \"quantitative\"\nvariations to one another to obtain laws, and it succeeds. Its success\nwould be inexplicable, if the movement which constitutes materiality\nwere not the same movement which, prolonged by us to its end, that is to\nsay, to homogeneous space, results in making us count, measure, follow\nin their respective variations terms that are functions one of another.\nTo effect this prolongation of the movement, our intellect has only to\nlet itself go, for it runs naturally to space and mathematics,\nintellectuality and materiality being of the same nature and having been\nproduced in the same way.\n\nIf the mathematical order were a positive thing, if there were, immanent\nin matter, laws comparable to those of our codes, the success of our\nscience would have in it something of the miraculous. What chances\nshould we have indeed of finding the standard of nature and of isolating\nexactly, in order to determine their reciprocal relations, the very\nvariables which nature has chosen? But the success of a science of\nmathematical form would be no less incomprehensible, if matter did not\nalready possess everything necessary to adapt itself to our formulae.\nOne hypothesis only, therefore, remains plausible, namely, that the\nmathematical order is nothing positive, that it is the form toward which\na certain _interruption_ tends of itself, and that materiality consists\nprecisely in an interruption of this kind. We shall understand then why\nour science is contingent, relative to the variables it has chosen,\nrelative to the order in which it has successively put the problems, and\nwhy nevertheless it succeeds. It might have been, as a whole, altogether\ndifferent, and yet have succeeded. This is so, just because there is no\ndefinite system of mathematical laws, at the base of nature, and because\nmathematics in general represents simply the side to which matter\ninclines. Put one of those little cork dolls with leaden feet in any\nposture, lay it on its back, turn it up on its head, throw it into the\nair: it will always stand itself up again, automatically. So likewise\nwith matter: we can take it by any end and handle it in any way, it will\nalways fall back into some one of our mathematical formulae, because it\nis weighted with geometry.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut the philosopher will perhaps refuse to found a theory of knowledge\non such considerations. They will be repugnant to him, because the\nmathematical order, being order, will appear to him to contain something\npositive. It is in vain that we assert that this order produces itself\nautomatically by the interruption of the inverse order, that it is this\nvery interruption. The idea persists, none the less, that _there might\nbe no order at all_, and that the mathematical order of things, being a\nconquest over disorder, possesses a positive reality. In examining this\npoint, we shall see what a prominent part the idea of _disorder_ plays\nin problems relative to the theory of knowledge. It does not appear\nexplicitly, and that is why it escapes our attention. It is, however,\nwith the criticism of this idea that a theory of knowledge ought to\nbegin, for if the great problem is to know why and how reality submits\nitself to an order, it is because the absence of every kind of order\nappears possible or conceivable. It is this absence of order that\nrealists and idealists alike believe they are thinking of--the realist\nwhen he speaks of the regularity that \"objective\" laws actually impose\non a virtual disorder of nature, the idealist when he supposes a\n\"sensuous manifold\" which is co\u00f6rdinated (and consequently itself\nwithout order) under the organizing influence of our understanding. The\nidea of disorder, in the sense of _absence of order_, is then what must\nbe analyzed first. Philosophy borrows it from daily life. And it is\nunquestionable that, when ordinarily we speak of disorder, we are\nthinking of something. But of what?\n\nIt will be seen in the next chapter how hard it is to determine the\ncontent of a negative idea, and what illusions one is liable to, what\nhopeless difficulties philosophy falls into, for not having undertaken\nthis task. Difficulties and illusions are generally due to this, that we\naccept as final a manner of expression essentially provisional. They are\ndue to our bringing into the domain of speculation a procedure made for\npractice. If I choose a volume in my library at random, I may put it\nback on the shelf after glancing at it and say, \"This is not verse.\" Is\nthis what I have really seen in turning over the leaves of the book?\nObviously not. I have not seen, I never shall see, an absence of verse.\nI have seen prose. But as it is poetry I want, I express what I find as\na function of what I am looking for, and instead of saying, \"This is\nprose,\" I say, \"This is not verse.\" In the same way, if the fancy takes\nme to read prose, and I happen on a volume of verse, I shall say, \"This\nis not prose,\" thus expressing the data of my perception, which shows me\nverse, in the language of my expectation and attention, which are fixed\non the idea of prose and will hear of nothing else. Now, if Mons.\nJourdain heard me, he would infer, no doubt, from my two exclamations\nthat prose and poetry are two forms of language reserved for books, and\nthat these learned forms have come and overlaid a language which was\nneither prose nor verse. Speaking of this thing which is neither verse\nnor prose, he would suppose, moreover, that he was thinking of it: it\nwould be only a pseudo-idea, however. Let us go further still: the\npseudo-idea would create a pseudo-problem, if M. Jourdain were to ask\nhis professor of philosophy how the prose form and the poetry form have\nbeen superadded to that which possessed neither the one nor the other,\nand if he wished the professor to construct a theory of the imposition\nof these two forms upon this formless matter. His question would be\nabsurd, and the absurdity would lie in this, that he was hypostasizing\nas the substratum of prose and poetry the simultaneous negation of both,\nforgetting that the negation of the one consists in the affirmation of\nthe other.\n\nNow, suppose that there are two species of order, and that these two\norders are two contraries within one and the same genus. Suppose also\nthat the idea of disorder arises in our mind whenever, seeking one of\nthe two kinds of order, we find the other. The idea of disorder would\nthen have a clear meaning in the current practice of life: it would\nobjectify, for the convenience of language, the disappointment of a mind\nthat finds before it an order different from what it wants, an order\nwith which it is not concerned at the moment, and which, in this sense,\ndoes not exist for it. But the idea would not admit a theoretical use.\nSo if we claim, notwithstanding, to introduce it into philosophy, we\nshall inevitably lose sight of its true meaning. It denotes the absence\nof a certain order, but _to the profit of another_ (with which we are\nnot concerned); only, as it applies to each of the two in turn, and as\nit even goes and comes continually between the two, we take it on the\nway, or rather on the wing, like a shuttlecock between two battledores,\nand treat it as if it represented, not the absence of the one or other\norder as the case may be, but the absence of both together--a thing that\nis neither perceived nor conceived, a simple verbal entity. So there\narises the problem how order is imposed on disorder, form on matter. In\nanalyzing the idea of disorder thus subtilized, we shall see that it\nrepresents nothing at all, and at the same time the problems that have\nbeen raised around it will vanish.\n\nIt is true that we must begin by distinguishing, and even by opposing\none to the other, two kinds of order which we generally confuse. As\nthis confusion has created the principal difficulties of the problem of\nknowledge, it will not be useless to dwell once more on the marks by\nwhich the two orders are distinguished.\n\nIn a general way, reality is _ordered_ exactly to the degree in which it\nsatisfies our thought. Order is therefore a certain agreement between\nsubject and object. It is the mind finding itself again in things. But\nthe mind, we said, can go in two opposite ways. Sometimes it follows its\nnatural direction: there is then progress in the form of tension,\ncontinuous creation, free activity. Sometimes it inverts it, and this\ninversion, pushed to the end, leads to extension, to the necessary\nreciprocal determination of elements externalized each by relation to\nthe others, in short, to geometrical mechanism. Now, whether experience\nseems to us to adopt the first direction or whether it is drawn in the\ndirection of the second, in both cases we say there is order, for in the\ntwo processes the mind finds itself again. The confusion between them is\ntherefore natural. To escape it, different names would have to be given\nto the two kinds of order, and that is not easy, because of the variety\nand variability of the forms they take. The order of the second kind may\nbe defined as geometry, which is its extreme limit; more generally, it\nis that kind of order that is concerned whenever a relation of necessary\ndetermination is found between causes and effects. It evokes ideas of\ninertia, of passivity, of automatism. As to the first kind of order, it\noscillates no doubt around finality; and yet we cannot define it as\nfinality, for it is sometimes above, sometimes below. In its highest\nforms, it is more than finality, for of a free action or a work of art\nwe may say that they show a perfect order, and yet they can only be\nexpressed in terms of ideas approximately, and after the event. Life in\nits entirety, regarded as a creative evolution, is something analogous;\nit transcends finality, if we understand by finality the realization of\nan idea conceived or conceivable in advance. The category of finality is\ntherefore too narrow for life in its entirety. It is, on the other hand,\noften too wide for a particular manifestation of life taken separately.\nBe that as it may, it is with the _vital_ that we have here to do, and\nthe whole present study strives to prove that the vital is in the\ndirection of the voluntary. We may say then that this first kind of\norder is that of the _vital_ or of the _willed_, in opposition to the\nsecond, which is that of the _inert_ and the _automatic_. Common sense\ninstinctively distinguishes between the two kinds of order, at least in\nthe extreme cases; instinctively, also, it brings them together. We say\nof astronomical phenomena that they manifest an admirable order, meaning\nby this that they can be foreseen mathematically. And we find an order\nno less admirable in a symphony of Beethoven, which is genius,\noriginality, and therefore unforeseeability itself.\n\nBut it is exceptional for order of the first kind to take so distinct a\nform. Ordinarily, it presents features that we have every interest in\nconfusing with those of the opposite order. It is quite certain, for\ninstance, that if we could view the evolution of life in its entirety,\nthe spontaneity of its movement and the unforeseeability of its\nprocedures would thrust themselves on our attention. But what we meet in\nour daily experience is a certain determinate living being, certain\nspecial manifestations of life, which repeat, _almost_, forms and facts\nalready known; indeed, the similarity of structure that we find\neverywhere between what generates and what is generated--a similarity\nthat enables us to include any number of living individuals in the same\ngroup--is to our eyes the very type of the _generic_: the inorganic\ngenera seem to us to take living genera as models. Thus the vital order,\nsuch as it is offered to us piecemeal in experience, presents the same\ncharacter and performs the same function as the physical order: both\ncause experience to _repeat itself_, both enable our mind to\n_generalize_. In reality, this character has entirely different origins\nin the two cases, and even opposite meanings. In the second case, the\ntype of this character, its ideal limit, as also its foundation, is the\ngeometrical necessity in virtue of which the same components give the\nsame resultant. In the first case, this character involves, on the\ncontrary, the intervention of something which manages to obtain the same\ntotal effect although the infinitely complex elementary causes may be\nquite different. We insisted on this last point in our first chapter,\nwhen we showed how identical structures are to be met with on\nindependent lines of evolution. But, without looking so far, we may\npresume that the reproduction only of the type of the ancestor by his\ndescendants is an entirely different thing from the repetition of the\nsame composition of forces which yields an identical resultant. When we\nthink of the infinity of infinitesimal elements and of infinitesimal\ncauses that concur in the genesis of a living being, when we reflect\nthat the absence or the deviation of one of them would spoil everything,\nthe first impulse of the mind is to consider this army of little workers\nas watched over by a skilled foreman, the \"vital principle,\" which is\never repairing faults, correcting effects of neglect or\nabsentmindedness, putting things back in place: this is how we try to\nexpress the difference between the physical and the vital order, the\nformer making the same combination of causes give the same combined\neffect, the latter securing the constancy of the effect even when there\nis some wavering in the causes. But that is only a comparison; on\nreflection, we find that there can be no foreman, for the very simple\nreason that there are no workers. The causes and elements that\nphysico-chemical analysis discovers are real causes and elements, no\ndoubt, as far as the facts of organic destruction are concerned; they\nare then limited in number. But vital phenomena, properly so called, or\nfacts of organic creation open up to us, when we analyze them, the\nperspective of an analysis passing away to infinity: whence it may be\ninferred that the manifold causes and elements are here only views of\nthe mind, attempting an ever closer and closer imitation of the\noperation of nature, while the operation imitated is an indivisible act.\nThe likeness between individuals of the same species has thus an\nentirely different meaning, an entirely different origin, to that of the\nlikeness between complex effects obtained by the same composition of the\nsame causes. But in the one case as in the other, there is _likeness_,\nand consequently possible generalization. And as that is all that\ninterests us in practice, since our daily life is and must be an\nexpectation of the same things and the same situations, it is natural\nthat this common character, essential from the point of view of our\naction, should bring the two orders together, in spite of a merely\ninternal diversity between them which interests speculation only. Hence\nthe idea of a _general order of nature_, everywhere the same, hovering\nover life and over matter alike. Hence our habit of designating by the\nsame word and representing in the same way the existence of _laws_ in\nthe domain of inert matter and that of _genera_ in the domain of life.\n\nNow, it will be found that this confusion is the origin of most of the\ndifficulties raised by the problem of knowledge, among the ancients as\nwell as among the moderns. The generality of laws and that of genera\nhaving been designated by the same word and subsumed under the same\nidea, the geometrical order and the vital order are accordingly confused\ntogether. According to the point of view, the generality of laws is\nexplained by that of genera, or that of genera by that of laws. The\nfirst view is characteristic of ancient thought; the second belongs to\nmodern philosophy. But in both ancient and modern philosophy the idea of\n\"generality\" is an equivocal idea, uniting in its denotation and in its\nconnotation incompatible objects and elements. In both there are grouped\nunder the same concept two kinds of order which are alike only in the\nfacility they give to our action on things. We bring together the two\nterms in virtue of a quite external likeness, which justifies no doubt\ntheir designation by the same word for practice, but which does not\nauthorize us at all, in the speculative domain, to confuse them in the\nsame definition.\n\nThe ancients, indeed, did not ask why nature submits to laws, but why it\nis ordered according to genera. The idea of genus corresponds more\nespecially to an objective reality in the domain of life, where it\nexpresses an unquestionable fact, heredity. Indeed, there can only be\ngenera where there are individual objects; now, while the organized\nbeing is cut out from the general mass of matter by his very\norganization, that is to say naturally, it is our perception which cuts\ninert matter into distinct bodies. It is guided in this by the interests\nof action, by the nascent reactions that our body indicates--that is, as\nwe have shown elsewhere,[85] by the potential genera that are trying to\ngain existence. In this, then, genera and individuals determine one\nanother by a semi-artificial operation entirely relative to our future\naction on things. Nevertheless the ancients did not hesitate to put all\ngenera in the same rank, to attribute the same absolute existence to\nall of them. Reality thus being a system of genera, it is to the\ngenerality of the genera (that is, in effect, to the generality\nexpressive of the vital order) that the generality of laws itself had to\nbe brought. It is interesting, in this respect, to compare the\nAristotelian theory of the fall of bodies with the explanation furnished\nby Galileo. Aristotle is concerned solely with the concepts \"high\" and\n\"low,\" \"own proper place\" as distinguished from \"place occupied,\"\n\"natural movement\" and \"forced movement;\"[86] the physical law in virtue\nof which the stone falls expresses for him that the stone regains the\n\"natural place\" of all stones, to wit, the earth. The stone, in his\nview, is not quite stone so long as it is not in its normal place; in\nfalling back into this place it aims at completing itself, like a living\nbeing that grows, thus realizing fully the essence of the genus\nstone.[87] If this conception of the physical law were exact, the law\nwould no longer be a mere relation established by the mind; the\nsubdivision of matter into bodies would no longer be relative to our\nfaculty of perceiving; all bodies would have the same individuality as\nliving bodies, and the laws of the physical universe would express\nrelations of real kinship between real genera. We know what kind of\nphysics grew out of this, and how, for having believed in a science\nunique and final, embracing the totality of the real and at one with the\nabsolute, the ancients were confined, in fact, to a more or less clumsy\ninterpretation of the physical in terms of the vital.\n\nBut there is the same confusion in the moderns, with this difference,\nhowever, that the relation between the two terms is inverted: laws are\nno longer reduced to genera, but genera to laws; and science, still\nsupposed to be uniquely one, becomes altogether relative, instead of\nbeing, as the ancients wished, altogether at one with the absolute. A\nnoteworthy fact is the eclipse of the problem of genera in modern\nphilosophy. Our theory of knowledge turns almost entirely on the\nquestion of laws: genera are left to make shift with laws as best they\ncan. The reason is, that modern philosophy has its point of departure in\nthe great astronomical and physical discoveries of modern times. The\nlaws of Kepler and of Galileo have remained for it the ideal and unique\ntype of all knowledge. Now, a law is a relation between things or\nbetween facts. More precisely, a law of mathematical form expresses the\nfact that a certain magnitude is a function of one or several other\nvariables appropriately chosen. Now, the choice of the variable\nmagnitudes, the distribution of nature into objects and into facts, has\nalready something of the contingent and the conventional. But, admitting\nthat the choice is hinted at, if not prescribed, by experience, the law\nremains none the less a relation, and a relation is essentially a\ncomparison; it has objective reality only for an intelligence that\nrepresents to itself several terms at the same time. This intelligence\nmay be neither mine nor yours: a science which bears on laws may\ntherefore be an objective science, which experience contains in advance\nand which we simply make it disgorge; but it is none the less true that\na comparison of some kind must be effected here, impersonally if not by\nany one in particular, and that an experience made of laws, that is, of\nterms _related_ to other terms, is an experience made of comparisons,\nwhich, before we receive it, has already had to pass through an\natmosphere of intellectuality. The idea of a science and of an\nexperience entirely relative to the human understanding was therefore\nimplicitly contained in the conception of a science one and integral,\ncomposed of laws: Kant only brought it to light. But this conception is\nthe result of an arbitrary confusion between the generality of laws and\nthat of genera. Though an intelligence be necessary to condition terms\nby relation to each other, we may conceive that in certain cases the\nterms themselves may exist independently. And if, beside relations of\nterm to term, experience also presents to us independent terms, the\nliving genera being something quite different from systems of laws, one\nhalf, at least, of our knowledge bears on the \"thing-in-itself,\" the\nvery reality. This knowledge may be very difficult, just because it no\nlonger builds up its own object and is obliged, on the contrary, to\nsubmit to it; but, however little it cuts into its object, it is into\nthe absolute itself that it bites. We may go further: the other half of\nknowledge is no longer so radically, so definitely relative as certain\nphilosophers say, if we can establish that it bears on a reality of\ninverse order, a reality which we always express in mathematical laws,\nthat is to say in relations that imply comparisons, but which lends\nitself to this work only because it is weighted with spatiality and\nconsequently with geometry. Be that as it may, it is the confusion of\ntwo kinds of order that lies behind the relativism of the moderns, as it\nlay behind the dogmatism of the ancients.\n\nWe have said enough to mark the origin of this confusion. It is due to\nthe fact that the \"vital\" order, which is essentially creation, is\nmanifested to us less in its essence than in some of its accidents,\nthose which _imitate_ the physical and geometrical order; like it, they\npresent to us repetitions that make generalization possible, and in that\nwe have all that interests us. There is no doubt that life as a whole is\nan evolution, that is, an unceasing transformation. But life can\nprogress only by means of the living, which are its depositaries.\nInnumerable living beings, almost alike, have to repeat each other in\nspace and in time for the novelty they are working out to grow and\nmature. It is like a book that advances towards a new edition by going\nthrough thousands of reprints with thousands of copies. There is,\nhowever, this difference between the two cases, that the successive\nimpressions are identical, as well as the simultaneous copies of the\nsame impression, whereas representatives of one and the same species are\nnever entirely the same, either in different points of space or at\ndifferent moments of time. Heredity does not only transmit characters;\nit transmits also the impetus in virtue of which the characters are\nmodified, and this impetus is vitality itself. That is why we say that\nthe repetition which serves as the base of our generalizations is\nessential in the physical order, accidental in the vital order. The\nphysical order is \"automatic;\" the vital order is, I will not say\nvoluntary, but analogous to the order \"willed.\"\n\nNow, as soon as we have clearly distinguished between the order that is\n\"willed\" and the order that is \"automatic,\" the ambiguity that underlies\nthe idea of _disorder_ is dissipated, and, with it, one of the principal\ndifficulties of the problem of knowledge.\n\nThe main problem of the theory of knowledge is to know how science is\npossible, that is to say, in effect, why there is order and not disorder\nin things. That order exists is a _fact_. But, on the other hand,\ndisorder, _which appears to us to be less than order_, is, it seems, of\n_right_. The existence of order is then a mystery to be cleared up, at\nany rate a problem to be solved. More simply, when we undertake to found\norder, we regard it as contingent, if not in things, at least as viewed\nby the mind: of a thing that we do not judge to be contingent we do not\nrequire an explanation. If order did not appear to us as a conquest over\nsomething, or as an addition to something (which something is thought to\nbe the \"absence of order\"), ancient realism would not have spoken of a\n\"matter\" to which the Idea superadded itself, nor would modern idealism\nhave supposed a \"sensuous manifold\" that the understanding organizes\ninto nature. Now, it is unquestionable that all order is contingent, and\nconceived as such. But contingent in relation to what?\n\nThe reply, to our thinking, is not doubtful. An order is contingent, and\nseems so, in relation to the inverse order, as verse is contingent in\nrelation to prose and prose in relation to verse. But, just as all\nspeech which is not prose is verse and necessarily conceived as verse,\njust as all speech which is not verse is prose and necessarily conceived\nas prose, so any state of things that is not one of the two orders is\nthe other and is necessarily conceived as the other. But it may happen\nthat we do not realize what we are actually thinking of, and perceive\nthe idea really present to our mind only through a mist of affective\nstates. Any one can be convinced of this by considering the use we make\nof the idea of disorder in daily life. When I enter a room and pronounce\nit to be \"in disorder,\" what do I mean? The position of each object is\nexplained by the automatic movements of the person who has slept in the\nroom, or by the efficient causes, whatever they may be, that have caused\neach article of furniture, clothing, etc., to be where it is: the order,\nin the second sense of the word, is perfect. But it is order of the\nfirst kind that I am expecting, the order that a methodical person\nconsciously puts into his life, the willed order and not the automatic:\nso I call the absence of this order \"disorder.\" At bottom, all there is\nthat is real, perceived and even conceived, in this absence of one of\nthe two kinds of order, is the presence of the other. But the second is\nindifferent to me, _I am interested only in the first_, and I express\nthe presence of the second as a function of the first, instead of\nexpressing it, so to speak, as a function of itself, by saying it is\n_disorder_. Inversely, when we affirm that we are imagining a chaos,\nthat is to say a state of things in which the physical world no longer\nobeys laws, what are we thinking of? We imagine facts that appear and\ndisappear _capriciously_. First we think of the physical universe as we\nknow it, with effects and causes well proportioned to each other; then,\nby a series of arbitrary decrees, we augment, diminish, suppress, so as\nto obtain what we call disorder. In reality we have substituted _will_\nfor the mechanism of nature; we have replaced the \"automatic order\" by a\nmultitude of elementary wills, just to the extent that we imagine the\napparition or vanishing of phenomena. No doubt, for all these little\nwills to constitute a \"willed order,\" they must have accepted the\ndirection of a higher will. But, on looking closely at them, we see that\nthat is just what they do: our own will is there, which objectifies\nitself in each of these capricious wills in turn, and takes good care\nnot to connect the same with the same, nor to permit the effect to be\nproportional to the cause--in fact makes one simple intention hover over\nthe whole of the elementary volitions. Thus, here again, the absence of\none of the two orders consists in the presence of the other. In\nanalyzing the idea of chance, which is closely akin to the idea of\ndisorder, we find the same elements. When the wholly mechanical play of\nthe causes which stop the wheel on a number makes me win, and\nconsequently acts like a good genius, careful of my interests, or when\nthe wholly mechanical force of the wind tears a tile off the roof and\nthrows it on to my head, that is to say acts like a bad genius,\nconspiring against my person: in both cases I find a mechanism where I\nshould have looked for, where, indeed, it seems as if I ought to have\nfound, an intention. That is what I express in speaking of _chance_. And\nof an anarchical world, in which phenomena succeed each other\ncapriciously, I should say again that it is a realm of chance, meaning\nthat I find before me wills, or rather _decrees_, when what I am\nexpecting is mechanism. Thus is explained the singular vacillation of\nthe mind when it tries to define chance. Neither efficient cause nor\nfinal cause can furnish the definition sought. The mind swings to and\nfro, unable to rest, between the idea of an absence of final cause and\nthat of an absence of efficient cause, each of these definitions sending\nit back to the other. The problem remains insoluble, in fact, so long as\nthe idea of chance is regarded as a pure idea, without mixture of\nfeeling. But, in reality, chance merely objectifies the state of mind of\none who, expecting one of the two kinds of order, finds himself\nconfronted with the other. Chance and disorder are therefore necessarily\nconceived as relative. So if we wish to represent them to ourselves as\nabsolute, we perceive that we are going to and fro like a shuttle\nbetween the two kinds of order, passing into the one just at the moment\nat which we might catch ourself in the other, and that the supposed\nabsence of all order is really the presence of both, with, besides, the\nswaying of a mind that cannot rest finally in either. Neither in things\nnor in our idea of things can there be any question of presenting this\ndisorder as the substratum of order, since it implies the two kinds of\norder and is made of their combination.\n\nBut our intelligence is not stopped by this. By a simple _sic jubeo_ it\nposits a disorder which is an \"absence of order.\" In so doing it thinks\na word or a set of words, nothing more. If it seeks to attach an idea\nto the word, it finds that disorder may indeed be the negation of order,\nbut that this negation is then the implicit affirmation of the presence\nof the opposite order, which we shut our eyes to because it does not\ninterest us, or which we evade by denying the second order in its\nturn--that is, at bottom, by re-establishing the first. How can we\nspeak, then, of an incoherent diversity which an understanding\norganizes? It is no use for us to say that no one supposes this\nincoherence to be realized or realizable: when we speak of it, we\nbelieve we are thinking of it; now, in analyzing the idea actually\npresent, we find, as we said before, only the disappointment of the mind\nconfronted with an order that does not interest it, or a swaying of the\nmind between two kinds of order, or, finally, the idea pure and simple\nof the empty word that we have created by joining a negative prefix to a\nword which itself signifies something. But it is this analysis that we\nneglect to make. We omit it, precisely because it does not occur to us\nto distinguish two kinds of order that are irreducible to one another.\n\nWe said, indeed, that all order necessarily appears as contingent. If\nthere are two kinds of order, this contingency of order is explained:\none of the forms is contingent in relation to the other. Where I find\nthe geometrical order, the vital was possible; where the order is vital,\nit might have been geometrical. But suppose that the order is everywhere\nof the same kind, and simply admits of degrees which go from the\ngeometrical to the vital: if a determinate order still appears to me to\nbe contingent, and can no longer be so by relation to an order of\nanother kind, I shall necessarily believe that the order is contingent\nby relation to an _absence of itself_, that is to say by relation to a\nstate of things \"in which there is no order at all.\" And this state of\nthings I shall believe that I am thinking of, because it is implied, it\nseems, in the very contingency of order, which is an unquestionable\nfact. I shall therefore place at the summit of the hierarchy the vital\norder; then, as a diminution or lower complication of it, the\ngeometrical order; and finally, at the bottom of all, an absence of\norder, incoherence itself, on which order is superposed. This is why\nincoherence has the effect on me of a word behind which there must be\nsomething real, if not in things, at least in thought. But if I observe\nthat the state of things implied by the contingency of a determinate\norder is simply the presence of the contrary order, and if by this very\nfact I posit two kinds of order, each the inverse of the other, I\nperceive that no intermediate degrees can be imagined between the two\norders, and that there is no going down from the two orders to the\n\"incoherent.\" Either the incoherent is only a word, devoid of meaning,\nor, if I give it a meaning, it is on condition of putting incoherence\nmidway between the two orders, and not below both of them. There is not\nfirst the incoherent, then the geometrical, then the vital; there is\nonly the geometrical and the vital, and then, by a swaying of the mind\nbetween them, the idea of the incoherent. To speak of an unco\u00f6rdinated\ndiversity to which order is superadded is therefore to commit a\nveritable _petitio principii_; for in imagining the unco\u00f6rdinated we\nreally posit an order, or rather two.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis long analysis was necessary to show how the real can pass from\ntension to extension and from freedom to mechanical necessity by way of\ninversion. It was not enough to prove that this relation between the two\nterms is suggested to us, at once, by consciousness and by sensible\nexperience. It was necessary to prove that the geometrical order has no\nneed of explanation, being purely and simply the suppression of the\ninverse order. And, for that, it was indispensable to prove that\nsuppression is always a substitution and is even necessarily conceived\nas such: it is the requirements of practical life alone that suggest to\nus here a way of speaking that deceives us both as to what happens in\nthings and as to what is present to our thought. We must now examine\nmore closely the inversion whose consequences we have just described.\nWhat, then, is the principle that has only to let go its tension--may we\nsay to _detend_--in order to _extend_, the interruption of the cause\nhere being equivalent to a reversal of the effect?\n\nFor want of a better word we have called it consciousness. But we do not\nmean the narrowed consciousness that functions in each of us. Our own\nconsciousness is the consciousness of a certain living being, placed in\na certain point of space; and though it does indeed move in the same\ndirection as its principle, it is continually drawn the opposite way,\nobliged, though it goes forward, to look behind. This retrospective\nvision is, as we have shown, the natural function of the intellect, and\nconsequently of distinct consciousness. In order that our consciousness\nshall coincide with something of its principle, it must detach itself\nfrom the _already-made_ and attach itself to the _being-made_. It needs\nthat, turning back on itself and twisting on itself, the faculty of\n_seeing_ should be made to be one with the act of _willing_--a painful\neffort which we can make suddenly, doing violence to our nature, but\ncannot sustain more than a few moments. In free action, when we contract\nour whole being in order to thrust it forward, we have the more or less\nclear consciousness of motives and of impelling forces, and even, at\nrare moments, of the becoming by which they are organized into an act:\nbut the pure willing, the current that runs through this matter,\ncommunicating life to it, is a thing which we hardly feel, which at most\nwe brush lightly as it passes. Let us try, however, to instal ourselves\nwithin it, if only for a moment; even then it is an individual and\nfragmentary will that we grasp. To get to the principle of all life, as\nalso of all materiality, we must go further still. Is it impossible? No,\nby no means; the history of philosophy is there to bear witness. There\nis no durable system that is not, at least in some of its parts,\nvivified by intuition. Dialectic is necessary to put intuition to the\nproof, necessary also in order that intuition should break itself up\ninto concepts and so be propagated to other men; but all it does, often\nenough, is to develop the result of that intuition which transcends it.\nThe truth is, the two procedures are of opposite direction: the same\neffort, by which ideas are connected with ideas, causes the intuition\nwhich the ideas were storing up to vanish. The philosopher is obliged to\nabandon intuition, once he has received from it the impetus, and to rely\non himself to carry on the movement by pushing the concepts one after\nanother. But he soon feels he has lost foothold; he must come into touch\nwith intuition again; he must undo most of what he has done. In short,\ndialectic is what ensures the agreement of our thought with itself. But\nby dialectic--which is only a relaxation of intuition--many different\nagreements are possible, while there is only one truth. Intuition, if it\ncould be prolonged beyond a few instants, would not only make the\nphilosopher agree with his own thought, but also all philosophers with\neach other. Such as it is, fugitive and incomplete, it is, in each\nsystem, what is worth more than the system and survives it. The object\nof philosophy would be reached if this intuition could be sustained,\ngeneralized and, above all, assured of external points of reference in\norder not to go astray. To that end a continual coming and going is\nnecessary between nature and mind.\n\nWhen we put back our being into our will, and our will itself into the\nimpulsion it prolongs, we understand, we feel, that reality is a\nperpetual growth, a creation pursued without end. Our will already\nperforms this miracle. Every human work in which there is invention,\nevery voluntary act in which there is freedom, every movement of an\norganism that manifests spontaneity, brings something new into the\nworld. True, these are only creations of form. How could they be\nanything else? We are not the vital current itself; we are this current\nalready loaded with matter, that is, with congealed parts of its own\nsubstance which it carries along its course. In the composition of a\nwork of genius, as in a simple free decision, we do, indeed, stretch the\nspring of our activity to the utmost and thus create what no mere\nassemblage of materials could have given (what assemblage of curves\nalready known can ever be equivalent to the pencil-stroke of a great\nartist?) but there are, none the less, elements here that pre-exist and\nsurvive their organization. But if a simple arrest of the action that\ngenerates form could constitute matter (are not the original lines drawn\nby the artist themselves already the fixation and, as it were,\ncongealment of a movement?), a creation of matter would be neither\nincomprehensible nor inadmissible. For we seize from within, we live at\nevery instant, a creation of form, and it is just in those cases in\nwhich the form is pure, and in which the creative current is momentarily\ninterrupted, that there is a creation of matter. Consider the letters of\nthe alphabet that enter into the composition of everything that has ever\nbeen written: we do not conceive that new letters spring up and come to\njoin themselves to the others in order to make a new poem. But that the\npoet creates the poem and that human thought is thereby made richer, we\nunderstand very well: this creation is a simple act of the mind, and\naction has only to make a pause, instead of continuing into a new\ncreation, in order that, of itself, it may break up into words which\ndissociate themselves into letters which are added to all the letters\nthere are already in the world. Thus, that the number of atoms composing\nthe material universe at a given moment should increase runs counter to\nour habits of mind, contradicts the whole of our experience; but that a\nreality of quite another order, which contrasts with the atom as the\nthought of the poet with the letters of the alphabet, should increase by\nsudden additions, is not inadmissible; and the reverse of each addition\nmight indeed be a world, which we then represent to ourselves,\nsymbolically, as an assemblage of atoms.\n\nThe mystery that spreads over the existence of the universe comes in\ngreat part from this, that we want the genesis of it to have been\naccomplished at one stroke or the whole of matter to be eternal. Whether\nwe speak of creation or posit an uncreated matter, it is the totality of\nthe universe that we are considering at once. At the root of this habit\nof mind lies the prejudice which we will analyze in our next chapter,\nthe idea, common to materialists and to their opponents, that there is\nno really acting duration, and that the absolute--matter or mind--can\nhave no place in concrete time, in the time which we feel to be the very\nstuff of our life. From which it follows that everything is given once\nfor all, and that it is necessary to posit from all eternity either\nmaterial multiplicity itself, or the act creating this multiplicity,\ngiven in block in the divine essence. Once this prejudice is eradicated,\nthe idea of creation becomes more clear, for it is merged in that of\ngrowth. But it is no longer then of the universe in its totality that we\nmust speak.\n\nWhy should we speak of it? The universe is an assemblage of solar\nsystems which we have every reason to believe analogous to our own. No\ndoubt they are not absolutely independent of one another. Our sun\nradiates heat and light beyond the farthest planet, and, on the other\nhand, our entire solar system is moving in a definite direction as if it\nwere drawn. There is, then, a bond between the worlds. But this bond may\nbe regarded as infinitely loose in comparison with the mutual dependence\nwhich unites the parts of the same world among themselves; so that it is\nnot artificially, for reasons of mere convenience, that we isolate our\nsolar system: nature itself invites us to isolate it. As living beings,\nwe depend on the planet on which we are, and on the sun that provides\nfor it, but on nothing else. As thinking beings, we may apply the laws\nof our physics to our own world, and extend them to each of the worlds\ntaken separately; but nothing tells us that they apply to the entire\nuniverse, nor even that such an affirmation has any meaning; for the\nuniverse is not made, but is being made continually. It is growing,\nperhaps indefinitely, by the addition of new worlds.\n\nLet us extend, then, to the whole of our solar system the two most\ngeneral laws of our science, the principle of conservation of energy and\nthat of its degradation--limiting them, however, to this relatively\nclosed system and to other systems relatively closed. Let us see what\nwill follow. We must remark, first of all, that these two principles\nhave not the same metaphysical scope. The first is a quantitative law,\nand consequently relative, in part, to our methods of measurement. It\nsays that, in a system presumed to be closed, the total energy, that is\nto say the sum of its kinetic and potential energy, remains constant.\nNow, if there were only kinetic energy in the world, or even if there\nwere, besides kinetic energy, only one single kind of potential energy,\nbut no more, the artifice of measurement would not make the law\nartificial. The law of the conservation of energy would express indeed\nthat _something_ is preserved in constant quantity. But there are, in\nfact, energies of various kinds,[88] and the measurement of each of them\nhas evidently been so chosen as to justify the principle of conservation\nof energy. Convention, therefore, plays a large part in this principle,\nalthough there is undoubtedly, between the variations of the different\nenergies composing one and the same system, a mutual dependence which is\njust what has made the extension of the principle possible by\nmeasurements suitably chosen. If, therefore, the philosopher applies\nthis principle to the solar system complete, he must at least soften its\noutlines. The law of the conservation of energy cannot here express the\nobjective permanence of a certain quantity of a certain thing, but\nrather the necessity for every change that is brought about to be\ncounterbalanced in some way by a change in an opposite direction. That\nis to say, even if it governs the whole of our solar system, the law of\nthe conservation of energy is concerned with the relationship of a\nfragment of this world to another fragment rather than with the nature\nof the whole.\n\nIt is otherwise with the second principle of thermodynamics. The law of\nthe degradation of energy does not bear essentially on magnitudes. No\ndoubt the first idea of it arose, in the thought of Carnot, out of\ncertain quantitative considerations on the yield of thermic machines.\nUnquestionably, too, the terms in which Clausius generalized it were\nmathematical, and a calculable magnitude, \"entropy,\" was, in fact, the\nfinal conception to which he was led. Such precision is necessary for\npractical applications. But the law might have been vaguely conceived,\nand, if absolutely necessary, it might have been roughly formulated,\neven though no one had ever thought of measuring the different energies\nof the physical world, even though the concept of energy had not been\ncreated. Essentially, it expresses the fact that all physical changes\nhave a tendency to be degraded into heat, and that heat tends to be\ndistributed among bodies in a uniform manner. In this less precise form,\nit becomes independent of any convention; it is the most metaphysical of\nthe laws of physics since it points out without interposed symbols,\nwithout artificial devices of measurements, the direction in which the\nworld is going. It tells us that changes that are visible and\nheterogeneous will be more and more diluted into changes that are\ninvisible and homogeneous, and that the instability to which we owe the\nrichness and variety of the changes taking place in our solar system\nwill gradually give way to the relative stability of elementary\nvibrations continually and perpetually repeated. Just so with a man who\nkeeps up his strength as he grows old, but spends it less and less in\nactions, and comes, in the end, to employ it entirely in making his\nlungs breathe and his heart beat.\n\nFrom this point of view, a world like our solar system is seen to be\never exhausting something of the mutability it contains. In the\nbeginning, it had the maximum of possible utilization of energy: this\nmutability has gone on diminishing unceasingly. Whence does it come? We\nmight at first suppose that it has come from some other point of space,\nbut the difficulty is only set back, and for this external source of\nmutability the same question springs up. True, it might be added that\nthe number of worlds capable of passing mutability to each other is\nunlimited, that the sum of mutability contained in the universe is\ninfinite, that there is therefore no ground on which to seek its origin\nor to foresee its end. A hypothesis of this kind is as irrefutable as it\nis indemonstrable; but to speak of an infinite universe is to admit a\nperfect coincidence of matter with abstract space, and consequently an\nabsolute externality of all the parts of matter in relation to one\nanother. We have seen above what we must think of this theory, and how\ndifficult it is to reconcile with the idea of a reciprocal influence of\nall the parts of matter on one another, an influence to which indeed it\nitself makes appeal. Again it might be supposed that the general\ninstability has arisen from a general state of stability; that the\nperiod in which we now are, and in which the utilizable energy is\ndiminishing, has been preceded by a period in which the mutability was\nincreasing, and that the alternations of increase and diminution succeed\neach other for ever. This hypothesis is theoretically conceivable, as\nhas been demonstrated quite recently; but, according to the calculations\nof Boltzmann, the mathematical improbability of it passes all\nimagination and practically amounts to absolute impossibility.[89] In\nreality, the problem remains insoluble as long as we keep on the ground\nof physics, for the physicist is obliged to attach energy to extended\nparticles, and, even if he regards the particles only as reservoirs of\nenergy, he remains in space: he would belie his r\u00f4le if he sought the\norigin of these energies in an extra-spatial process. It is there,\nhowever, in our opinion, that it must be sought.\n\nIs it extension in general that we are considering _in abstracto_?\n_Extension_, we said, appears only as a _tension_ which is interrupted.\nOr, are we considering the concrete reality that fills this extension?\nThe order which reigns there, and which is manifested by the laws of\nnature, is an order which must be born of itself when the inverse order\nis suppressed; a detension of the will would produce precisely this\nsuppression. Lastly, we find that the direction, which this reality\ntakes, suggests to us the idea of a thing _unmaking itself_; such, no\ndoubt, is one of the essential characters of materiality. What\nconclusion are we to draw from all this, if not that the process by\nwhich this thing _makes itself_ is directed in a contrary way to that of\nphysical processes, and that it is therefore, by its very definition,\nimmaterial? The vision we have of the material world is that of a weight\nwhich falls: no image drawn from matter, properly so called, will ever\ngive us the idea of the weight rising. But this conclusion will come\nhome to us with still greater force if we press nearer to the concrete\nreality, and if we consider, no longer only matter in general, but,\nwithin this matter, living bodies.\n\nAll our analyses show us, in life, an effort to remount the incline that\nmatter descends. In that, they reveal to us the possibility, the\nnecessity even of a process the inverse of materiality, creative of\nmatter by its interruption alone. The life that evolves on the surface\nof our planet is indeed attached to matter. If it were pure\nconsciousness, _a fortiori_ if it were supra-consciousness, it would be\npure creative activity. In fact, it is riveted to an organism that\nsubjects it to the general laws of inert matter. But everything happens\nas if it were doing its utmost to set itself free from these laws. It\nhas not the power to reverse the direction of physical changes, such as\nthe principle of Carnot determines it. It does, however, behave\nabsolutely as a force would behave which, left to itself, would work in\nthe inverse direction. Incapable of _stopping_ the course of material\nchanges downwards, it succeeds in _retarding_ it. The evolution of life\nreally continues, as we have shown, an initial impulsion: this\nimpulsion, which has determined the development of the chlorophyllian\nfunction in the plant and of the sensori-motor system in the animal,\nbrings life to more and more efficient acts by the fabrication and use\nof more and more powerful explosives. Now, what do these explosives\nrepresent if not a storing-up of the solar energy, the degradation of\nwhich energy is thus provisionally suspended on some of the points where\nit was being poured forth? The usable energy which the explosive\nconceals will be expended, of course, at the moment of the explosion;\nbut it would have been expended sooner if an organism had not happened\nto be there to arrest its dissipation, in order to retain it and save it\nup. As we see it to-day, at the point to which it was brought by a\nscission of the mutually complementary tendencies which it contained\nwithin itself, life is entirely dependent on the chlorophyllian function\nof the plant. This means that, looked at in its initial impulsion,\nbefore any scission, life was a tendency to accumulate in a reservoir,\nas do especially the green parts of vegetables, with a view to an\ninstantaneous effective discharge, like that which an animal brings\nabout, something that would have otherwise flowed away. It is like an\neffort to raise the weight which falls. True, it succeeds only in\nretarding the fall. But at least it can give us an idea of what the\nraising of the weight was.[90]\n\nLet us imagine a vessel full of steam at a high pressure, and here and\nthere in its sides a crack through which the steam is escaping in a jet.\nThe steam thrown into the air is nearly all condensed into little drops\nwhich fall back, and this condensation and this fall represent simply\nthe loss of something, an interruption, a deficit. But a small part of\nthe jet of steam subsists, uncondensed, for some seconds; it is making\nan effort to raise the drops which are falling; it succeeds at most in\nretarding their fall. So, from an immense reservoir of life, jets must\nbe gushing out unceasingly, of which each, falling back, is a world. The\nevolution of living species within this world represents what subsists\nof the primitive direction of the original jet, and of an impulsion\nwhich continues itself in a direction the inverse of materiality. But\nlet us not carry too far this comparison. It gives us but a feeble and\neven deceptive image of reality, for the crack, the jet of steam, the\nforming of the drops, are determined necessarily, whereas the creation\nof a world is a free act, and the life within the material world\nparticipates in this liberty. Let us think rather of an action like that\nof raising the arm; then let us suppose that the arm, left to itself,\nfalls back, and yet that there subsists in it, striving to raise it up\nagain, something of the will that animates it. In this image of a\n_creative action which unmakes itself_ we have already a more exact\nrepresentation of matter. In vital activity we see, then, that which\nsubsists of the direct movement in the inverted movement, _a reality\nwhich is making itself in a reality which is unmaking itself_.\n\nEverything is obscure in the idea of creation if we think of _things_\nwhich are created and a _thing_ which creates, as we habitually do, as\nthe understanding cannot help doing. We shall show the origin of this\nillusion in our next chapter. It is natural to our intellect, whose\nfunction is essentially practical, made to present to us things and\nstates rather than changes and acts. But things and states are only\nviews, taken by our mind, of becoming. There are no things, there are\nonly actions. More particularly, if I consider the world in which we\nlive, I find that the automatic and strictly determined evolution of\nthis well-knit whole is action which is unmaking itself, and that the\nunforeseen forms which life cuts out in it, forms capable of being\nthemselves prolonged into unforeseen movements, represent the action\nthat is making itself. Now, I have every reason to believe that the\nother worlds are analogous to ours, that things happen there in the same\nway. And I know they were not all constructed at the same time, since\nobservation shows me, even to-day, nebulae in course of concentration.\nNow, if the same kind of action is going on everywhere, whether it is\nthat which is unmaking itself or whether it is that which is striving to\nremake itself, I simply express this probable similitude when I speak of\na centre from which worlds shoot out like rockets in a fireworks\ndisplay--provided, however, that I do not present this centre as a\n_thing_, but as a continuity of shooting out. God thus defined, has\nnothing of the already made; He is unceasing life, action, freedom.\nCreation, so conceived, is not a mystery; we experience it in ourselves\nwhen we act freely. That new things can join things already existing is\nabsurd, no doubt, since the _thing_ results from a solidification\nperformed by our understanding, and there are never any things other\nthan those that the understanding has thus constituted. To speak of\nthings creating themselves would therefore amount to saying that the\nunderstanding presents to itself more than it presents to itself--a\nself-contradictory affirmation, an empty and vain idea. But that action\nincreases as it goes on, that it creates in the measure of its advance,\nis what each of us finds when he watches himself act. Things are\nconstituted by the instantaneous cut which the understanding practices,\nat a given moment, on a flux of this kind, and what is mysterious when\nwe compare the cuts together becomes clear when we relate them to the\nflux. Indeed, the modalities of creative action, in so far as it is\nstill going on in the organization of living forms, are much simplified\nwhen they are taken in this way. Before the complexity of an organism\nand the practically infinite multitude of interwoven analyses and\nsyntheses it presupposes, our understanding recoils disconcerted. That\nthe simple play of physical and chemical forces, left to themselves,\nshould have worked this marvel, we find hard to believe. And if it is a\nprofound science which is at work, how are we to understand the\ninfluence exercised on this matter without form by this form without\nmatter? But the difficulty arises from this, that we represent\nstatically ready-made material particles juxtaposed to one another, and,\nalso statically, an external cause which plasters upon them a skilfully\ncontrived organization. In reality, life is a movement, materiality is\nthe inverse movement, and each of these two movements is simple, the\nmatter which forms a world being an undivided flux, and undivided also\nthe life that runs through it, cutting out in it living beings all along\nits track. Of these two currents the second runs counter to the first,\nbut the first obtains, all the same, something from the second. There\nresults between them a _modus vivendi_, which is organization. This\norganization takes, for our senses and for our intellect, the form of\nparts entirely external to other parts in space and in time. Not only do\nwe shut our eyes to the unity of the impulse which, passing through\ngenerations, links individuals with individuals, species with species,\nand makes of the whole series of the living one single immense wave\nflowing over matter, but each individual itself seems to us as an\naggregate, aggregate of molecules and aggregate of facts. The reason of\nthis lies in the structure of our intellect, which is formed to act on\nmatter from without, and which succeeds by making, in the flux of the\nreal, instantaneous cuts, each of which becomes, in its fixity,\nendlessly decomposable. Perceiving, in an organism, only parts external\nto parts, the understanding has the choice between two systems of\nexplanation only: either to regard the infinitely complex (and thereby\ninfinitely well-contrived) organization as a fortuitous concatenation of\natoms, or to relate it to the incomprehensible influence of an external\nforce that has grouped its elements together. But this complexity is the\nwork of the understanding; this incomprehensibility is also its work.\nLet us try to see, no longer with the eyes of the intellect alone, which\ngrasps only the already made and which looks from the outside, but with\nthe spirit, I mean with that faculty of seeing which is immanent in the\nfaculty of acting and which springs up, somehow, by the twisting of the\nwill on itself, when action is turned into knowledge, like heat, so to\nsay, into light. To movement, then, everything will be restored, and\ninto movement everything will be resolved. Where the understanding,\nworking on the image supposed to be fixed of the progressing action,\nshows us parts infinitely manifold and an order infinitely well\ncontrived, we catch a glimpse of a simple process, an action which is\nmaking itself across an action of the same kind which is unmaking\nitself, like the fiery path torn by the last rocket of a fireworks\ndisplay through the black cinders of the spent rockets that are falling\ndead.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom this point of view, the general considerations we have presented\nconcerning the evolution of life will be cleared up and completed. We\nwill distinguish more sharply what is accidental from what is essential\nin this evolution.\n\nThe impetus of life, of which we are speaking, consists in a need of\ncreation. It cannot create absolutely, because it is confronted with\nmatter, that is to say with the movement that is the inverse of its own.\nBut it seizes upon this matter, which is necessity itself, and strives\nto introduce into it the largest possible amount of indetermination and\nliberty. How does it go to work?\n\nAn animal high in the scale may be represented in a general way, we\nsaid, as a sensori-motor nervous system imposed on digestive,\nrespiratory, circulatory systems, etc. The function of these latter is\nto cleanse, repair and protect the nervous system, to make it as\nindependent as possible of external circumstances, but, above all, to\nfurnish it with energy to be expended in movements. The increasing\ncomplexity of the organism is therefore due theoretically (in spite of\ninnumerable exceptions due to accidents of evolution) to the necessity\nof complexity in the nervous system. No doubt, each complication of any\npart of the organism involves many others in addition, because this part\nitself must live, and every change in one point of the body\nreverberates, as it were, throughout. The complication may therefore go\non to infinity in all directions; but it is the complication of the\nnervous system which conditions the others in right, if not always in\nfact. Now, in what does the progress of the nervous system itself\nconsist? In a simultaneous development of automatic activity and of\nvoluntary activity, the first furnishing the second with an appropriate\ninstrument. Thus, in an organism such as ours, a considerable number of\nmotor mechanisms are set up in the medulla and in the spinal cord,\nawaiting only a signal to release the corresponding act: the will is\nemployed, in some cases, in setting up the mechanism itself, and in the\nothers in choosing the mechanisms to be released, the manner of\ncombining them and the moment of releasing them. The will of an animal\nis the more effective and the more intense, the greater the number of\nthe mechanisms it can choose from, the more complicated the switchboard\non which all the motor paths cross, or, in other words, the more\ndeveloped its brain. Thus, the progress of the nervous system assures to\nthe act increasing precision, increasing variety, increasing efficiency\nand independence. The organism behaves more and more like a machine for\naction, which reconstructs itself entirely for every new act, as if it\nwere made of india-rubber and could, at any moment, change the shape of\nall its parts. But, prior to the nervous system, prior even to the\norganism properly so called, already in the undifferentiated mass of the\namoeba, this essential property of animal life is found. The amoeba\ndeforms itself in varying directions; its entire mass does what the\ndifferentiation of parts will localize in a sensori-motor system in the\ndeveloped animal. Doing it only in a rudimentary manner, it is dispensed\nfrom the complexity of the higher organisms; there is no need here of\nthe auxiliary elements that pass on to motor elements the energy to\nexpend; the animal moves as a whole, and, as a whole also, procures\nenergy by means of the organic substances it assimilates. Thus, whether\nlow or high in the animal scale, we always find that animal life\nconsists (1) in procuring a provision of energy; (2) in expending it, by\nmeans of a matter as supple as possible, in directions variable and\nunforeseen.\n\nNow, whence comes the energy? From the ingested food, for food is a kind\nof explosive, which needs only the spark to discharge the energy it\nstores. Who has made this explosive? The food may be the flesh of an\nanimal nourished on animals and so on; but, in the end it is to the\nvegetable we always come back. Vegetables alone gather in the solar\nenergy, and the animals do but borrow it from them, either directly or\nby some passing it on to others. How then has the plant stored up this\nenergy? Chiefly by the chlorophyllian function, a chemicism _sui\ngeneris_ of which we do not possess the key, and which is probably\nunlike that of our laboratories. The process consists in using solar\nenergy to fix the carbon of carbonic acid, and thereby to store this\nenergy as we should store that of a water-carrier by employing him to\nfill an elevated reservoir: the water, once brought up, can set in\nmotion a mill or a turbine, as we will and when we will. Each atom of\ncarbon fixed represents something like the elevation of the weight of\nwater, or like the stretching of an elastic thread uniting the carbon to\nthe oxygen in the carbonic acid. The elastic is relaxed, the weight\nfalls back again, in short the energy held in reserve is restored, when,\nby a simple release, the carbon is permitted to rejoin its oxygen.\n\nSo that all life, animal and vegetable, seems in its essence like an\neffort to accumulate energy and then to let it flow into flexible\nchannels, changeable in shape, at the end of which it will accomplish\ninfinitely varied kinds of work. That is what the _vital impetus_,\npassing through matter, would fain do all at once. It would succeed, no\ndoubt, if its power were unlimited, or if some reinforcement could come\nto it from without. But the impetus is finite, and it has been given\nonce for all. It cannot overcome all obstacles. The movement it starts\nis sometimes turned aside, sometimes divided, always opposed; and the\nevolution of the organized world is the unrolling of this conflict. The\nfirst great scission that had to be effected was that of the two\nkingdoms, vegetable and animal, which thus happen to be mutually\ncomplementary, without, however, any agreement having been made between\nthem. It is not for the animal that the plant accumulates energy, it is\nfor its own consumption; but its expenditure on itself is less\ndiscontinuous, and less concentrated, and therefore less efficacious,\nthan was required by the initial impetus of life, essentially directed\ntoward free actions: the same organism could not with equal force\nsustain the two functions at once, of gradual storage and sudden use. Of\nthemselves, therefore, and without any external intervention, simply by\nthe effect of the duality of the tendency involved in the original\nimpetus and of the resistance opposed by matter to this impetus, the\norganisms leaned some in the first direction, others in the second. To\nthis scission there succeeded many others. Hence the diverging lines of\nevolution, at least what is essential in them. But we must take into\naccount retrogressions, arrests, accidents of every kind. And we must\nremember, above all, that each species behaves as if the general\nmovement of life stopped at it instead of passing through it. It thinks\nonly of itself, it lives only for itself. Hence the numberless\nstruggles that we behold in nature. Hence a discord, striking and\nterrible, but for which the original principle of life must not be held\nresponsible.\n\nThe part played by contingency in evolution is therefore great.\nContingent, generally, are the forms adopted, or rather invented.\nContingent, relative to the obstacles encountered in a given place and\nat a given moment, is the dissociation of the primordial tendency into\nsuch and such complementary tendencies which create divergent lines of\nevolution. Contingent the arrests and set-backs; contingent, in large\nmeasure, the adaptations. Two things only are necessary: (1) a gradual\naccumulation of energy; (2) an elastic canalization of this energy in\nvariable and indeterminable directions, at the end of which are free\nacts.\n\nThis twofold result has been obtained in a particular way on our planet.\nBut it might have been obtained by entirely different means. It was not\nnecessary that life should fix its choice mainly upon the carbon of\ncarbonic acid. What was essential for it was to store solar energy; but,\ninstead of asking the sun to separate, for instance, atoms of oxygen and\ncarbon, it might (theoretically at least, and, apart from practical\ndifficulties possibly insurmountable) have put forth other chemical\nelements, which would then have had to be associated or dissociated by\nentirely different physical means. And if the element characteristic of\nthe substances that supply energy to the organism had been other than\ncarbon, the element characteristic of the plastic substances would\nprobably have been other than nitrogen, and the chemistry of living\nbodies would then have been radically different from what it is. The\nresult would have been living forms without any analogy to those we\nknow, whose anatomy would have been different, whose physiology also\nwould have been different. Alone, the sensori-motor function would have\nbeen preserved, if not in its mechanism, at least in its effects. It is\ntherefore probable that life goes on in other planets, in other solar\nsystems also, under forms of which we have no idea, in physical\nconditions to which it seems to us, from the point of view of our\nphysiology, to be absolutely opposed. If its essential aim is to catch\nup usable energy in order to expend it in explosive actions, it probably\nchooses, in each solar system and on each planet, as it does on the\nearth, the fittest means to get this result in the circumstances with\nwhich it is confronted. That is at least what reasoning by analogy leads\nto, and we use analogy the wrong way when we declare life to be\nimpossible wherever the circumstances with which it is confronted are\nother than those on the earth. The truth is that life is possible\nwherever energy descends the incline indicated by Carnot's law and where\na cause of inverse direction can retard the descent--that is to say,\nprobably, in all the worlds suspended from all the stars. We go further:\nit is not even necessary that life should be concentrated and determined\nin organisms properly so called, that is, in definite bodies presenting\nto the flow of energy ready-made though elastic canals. It can be\nconceived (although it can hardly be imagined) that energy might be\nsaved up, and then expended on varying lines running across a matter not\nyet solidified. Every essential of life would still be there, since\nthere would still be slow accumulation of energy and sudden release.\nThere would hardly be more difference between this vitality, vague and\nformless, and the definite vitality we know, than there is, in our\npsychical life, between the state of dream and the state of waking. Such\nmay have been the condition of life in our nebula before the\ncondensation of matter was complete, if it be true that life springs\nforward at the very moment when, as the effect of an inverse movement,\nthe nebular matter appears.\n\nIt is therefore conceivable that life might have assumed a totally\ndifferent outward appearance and designed forms very different from\nthose we know. With another chemical substratum, in other physical\nconditions, the impulsion would have remained the same, but it would\nhave split up very differently in course of progress; and the whole\nwould have traveled another road--whether shorter or longer who can\ntell? In any case, in the entire series of living beings no term would\nhave been what it now is. Now, was it necessary that there should be a\nseries, or terms? Why should not the unique impetus have been impressed\non a unique body, which might have gone on evolving?\n\nThis question arises, no doubt, from the comparison of life to an\nimpetus. And it must be compared to an impetus, because no image\nborrowed from the physical world can give more nearly the idea of it.\nBut it is only an image. In reality, life is of the psychological order,\nand it is of the essence of the psychical to enfold a confused plurality\nof interpenetrating terms. In space, and in space only, is distinct\nmultiplicity possible: a point is absolutely external to another point.\nBut pure and empty unity, also, is met with only in space; it is that of\na mathematical point. Abstract unity and abstract multiplicity are\ndeterminations of space or categories of the understanding, whichever we\nwill, spatiality and intellectuality being molded on each other. But\nwhat is of psychical nature cannot entirely correspond with space, nor\nenter perfectly into the categories of the understanding. Is my own\nperson, at a given moment, one or manifold? If I declare it one, inner\nvoices arise and protest--those of the sensations, feelings, ideas,\namong which my individuality is distributed. But, if I make it\ndistinctly manifold, my consciousness rebels quite as strongly; it\naffirms that my sensations, my feelings, my thoughts are abstractions\nwhich I effect on myself, and that each of my states implies all the\nothers. I am then (we must adopt the language of the understanding,\nsince only the understanding has a language) a unity that is multiple\nand a multiplicity that is one;[91] but unity and multiplicity are only\nviews of my personality taken by an understanding that directs its\ncategories at me; I enter neither into one nor into the other nor into\nboth at once, although both, united, may give a fair imitation of the\nmutual interpenetration and continuity that I find at the base of my own\nself. Such is my inner life, and such also is life in general. While, in\nits contact with matter, life is comparable to an impulsion or an\nimpetus, regarded in itself it is an immensity of potentiality, a mutual\nencroachment of thousands and thousands of tendencies which nevertheless\nare \"thousands and thousands\" only when once regarded as outside of each\nother, that is, when spatialized. Contact with matter is what determines\nthis dissociation. Matter divides actually what was but potentially\nmanifold; and, in this sense, individuation is in part the work of\nmatter, in part the result of life's own inclination. Thus, a poetic\nsentiment, which bursts into distinct verses, lines and words, may be\nsaid to have already contained this multiplicity of individuated\nelements, and yet, in fact, it is the materiality of language that\ncreates it.\n\nBut through the words, lines and verses runs the simple inspiration\nwhich is the whole poem. So, among the dissociated individuals, one\nlife goes on moving: everywhere the tendency to individualize is opposed\nand at the same time completed by an antagonistic and complementary\ntendency to associate, as if the manifold unity of life, drawn in the\ndirection of multiplicity, made so much the more effort to withdraw\nitself on to itself. A part is no sooner detached than it tends to\nreunite itself, if not to all the rest, at least to what is nearest to\nit. Hence, throughout the whole realm of life, a balancing between\nindividuation and association. Individuals join together into a society;\nbut the society, as soon as formed, tends to melt the associated\nindividuals into a new organism, so as to become itself an individual,\nable in its turn to be part and parcel of a new association. At the\nlowest degree of the scale of organisms we already find veritable\nassociations, microbial colonies, and in these associations, according\nto a recent work, a tendency to individuate by the constitution of a\nnucleus.[92] The same tendency is met with again at a higher stage, in\nthe protophytes, which, once having quitted the parent cell by way of\ndivision, remain united to each other by the gelatinous substance that\nsurrounds them--also in those protozoa which begin by mingling their\npseudopodia and end by welding themselves together. The \"colonial\"\ntheory of the genesis of higher organisms is well known. The protozoa,\nconsisting of one single cell, are supposed to have formed, by\nassemblage, aggregates which, relating themselves together in their\nturn, have given rise to aggregates of aggregates; so organisms more and\nmore complicated, and also more and more differentiated, are born of the\nassociation of organisms barely differentiated and elementary.[93] In\nthis extreme form, the theory is open to grave objections: more and\nmore the idea seems to be gaining ground, that polyzoism is an\nexceptional and abnormal fact.[94] But it is none the less true that\nthings happen _as if_ every higher organism was born of an association\nof cells that have subdivided the work between them. Very probably it is\nnot the cells that have made the individual by means of association; it\nis rather the individual that has made the cells by means of\ndissociation.[95] But this itself reveals to us, in the genesis of the\nindividual, a haunting of the social form, as if the individual could\ndevelop only on the condition that its substance should be split up into\nelements having themselves an appearance of individuality and united\namong themselves by an appearance of sociality. There are numerous cases\nin which nature seems to hesitate between the two forms, and to ask\nherself if she shall make a society or an individual. The slightest push\nis enough, then, to make the balance weigh on one side or the other. If\nwe take an infusorian sufficiently large, such as the Stentor, and cut\nit into two halves each containing a part of the nucleus, each of the\ntwo halves will generate an independent Stentor; but if we divide it\nincompletely, so that a protoplasmic communication is left between the\ntwo halves, we shall see them execute, each from its side, corresponding\nmovements: so that in this case it is enough that a thread should be\nmaintained or cut in order that life should affect the social or the\nindividual form. Thus, in rudimentary organisms consisting of a single\ncell, we already find that the apparent individuality of the whole is\nthe composition of an _undefined_ number of potential individualities\npotentially associated. But, from top to bottom of the series of living\nbeings, the same law is manifested. And it is this that we express when\nwe say that unity and multiplicity are categories of inert matter, that\nthe vital impetus is neither pure unity nor pure multiplicity, and that\nif the matter to which it communicates itself compels it to choose one\nof the two, its choice will never be definitive: it will leap from one\nto the other indefinitely. The evolution of life in the double direction\nof individuality and association has therefore nothing accidental about\nit: it is due to the very nature of life.\n\nEssential also is the progress to reflexion. If our analysis is correct,\nit is consciousness, or rather supra-consciousness, that is at the\norigin of life. Consciousness, or supra-consciousness, is the name for\nthe rocket whose extinguished fragments fall back as matter;\nconsciousness, again, is the name for that which subsists of the rocket\nitself, passing through the fragments and lighting them up into\norganisms. But this consciousness, which is a _need of creation_, is\nmade manifest to itself only where creation is possible. It lies dormant\nwhen life is condemned to automatism; it wakens as soon as the\npossibility of a choice is restored. That is why, in organisms\nunprovided with a nervous system, it varies according to the power of\nlocomotion and of deformation of which the organism disposes. And in\nanimals with a nervous system, it is proportional to the complexity of\nthe switchboard on which the paths called sensory and the paths called\nmotor intersect--that is, of the brain. How must this solidarity between\nthe organism and consciousness be understood?\n\nWe will not dwell here on a point that we have dealt with in former\nworks. Let us merely recall that a theory such as that according to\nwhich consciousness is attached to certain neurons, and is thrown off\nfrom their work like a phosphorescence, may be accepted by the scientist\nfor the detail of analysis; it is a convenient mode of expression. But\nit is nothing else. In reality, a living being is a centre of action. It\nrepresents a certain sum of contingency entering into the world, that is\nto say, a certain quantity of possible action--a quantity variable with\nindividuals and especially with species. The nervous system of an animal\nmarks out the flexible lines on which its action will run (although the\npotential energy is accumulated in the muscles rather than in the\nnervous system itself); its nervous centres indicate, by their\ndevelopment and their configuration, the more or less extended choice it\nwill have among more or less numerous and complicated actions. Now,\nsince the awakening of consciousness in a living creature is the more\ncomplete, the greater the latitude of choice allowed to it and the\nlarger the amount of action bestowed upon it, it is clear that the\ndevelopment of consciousness will appear to be dependent on that of the\nnervous centres. On the other hand, every state of consciousness being,\nin one aspect of it, a question put to the motor activity and even the\nbeginning of a reply, there is no psychical event that does not imply\nthe entry into play of the cortical mechanisms. Everything seems,\ntherefore, to happen _as if_ consciousness sprang from the brain, and\n_as if_ the detail of conscious activity were modeled on that of the\ncerebral activity. In reality, consciousness does not spring from the\nbrain; but brain and consciousness correspond because equally they\nmeasure, the one by the complexity of its structure and the other by the\nintensity of its awareness, the quantity of _choice_ that the living\nbeing has at its disposal.\n\nIt is precisely because a cerebral state expresses simply what there is\nof nascent action in the corresponding psychical state, that the\npsychical state tells us more than the cerebral state. The consciousness\nof a living being, as we have tried to prove elsewhere, is inseparable\nfrom its brain in the sense in which a sharp knife is inseparable from\nits edge: the brain is the sharp edge by which consciousness cuts into\nthe compact tissue of events, but the brain is no more coextensive with\nconsciousness than the edge is with the knife. Thus, from the fact that\ntwo brains, like that of the ape and that of the man, are very much\nalike, we cannot conclude that the corresponding consciousnesses are\ncomparable or commensurable.\n\nBut the two brains may perhaps be less alike than we suppose. How can we\nhelp being struck by the fact that, while man is capable of learning any\nsort of exercise, of constructing any sort of object, in short of\nacquiring any kind of motor habit whatsoever, the faculty of combining\nnew movements is strictly limited in the best-endowed animal, even in\nthe ape? The cerebral characteristic of man is there. The human brain is\nmade, like every brain, to set up motor mechanisms and to enable us to\nchoose among them, at any instant, the one we shall put in motion by the\npull of a trigger. But it differs from other brains in this, that the\nnumber of mechanisms it can set up, and consequently the choice that it\ngives as to which among them shall be released, is unlimited. Now, from\nthe limited to the unlimited there is all the distance between the\nclosed and the open. It is not a difference of degree, but of kind.\n\nRadical therefore, also, is the difference between animal consciousness,\neven the most intelligent, and human consciousness. For consciousness\ncorresponds exactly to the living being's power of choice; it is\ncoextensive with the fringe of possible action that surrounds the real\naction: consciousness is synonymous with invention and with freedom.\nNow, in the animal, invention is never anything but a variation on the\ntheme of routine. Shut up in the habits of the species, it succeeds, no\ndoubt, in enlarging them by its individual initiative; but it escapes\nautomatism only for an instant, for just the time to create a new\nautomatism. The gates of its prison close as soon as they are opened; by\npulling at its chain it succeeds only in stretching it. With man,\nconsciousness breaks the chain. In man, and in man alone, it sets itself\nfree. The whole history of life until man has been that of the effort of\nconsciousness to raise matter, and of the more or less complete\noverwhelming of consciousness by the matter which has fallen back on it.\nThe enterprise was paradoxical, if, indeed, we may speak here otherwise\nthan by metaphor of enterprise and of effort. It was to create with\nmatter, which is necessity itself, an instrument of freedom, to make a\nmachine which should triumph over mechanism, and to use the determinism\nof nature to pass through the meshes of the net which this very\ndeterminism had spread. But, everywhere except in man, consciousness has\nlet itself be caught in the net whose meshes it tried to pass through:\nit has remained the captive of the mechanisms it has set up. Automatism,\nwhich it tries to draw in the direction of freedom, winds about it and\ndrags it down. It has not the power to escape, because the energy it has\nprovided for acts is almost all employed in maintaining the infinitely\nsubtle and essentially unstable equilibrium into which it has brought\nmatter. But man not only maintains his machine, he succeeds in using it\nas he pleases. Doubtless he owes this to the superiority of his brain,\nwhich enables him to build an unlimited number of motor mechanisms, to\noppose new habits to the old ones unceasingly, and, by dividing\nautomatism against itself, to rule it. He owes it to his language,\nwhich furnishes consciousness with an immaterial body in which to\nincarnate itself and thus exempts it from dwelling exclusively on\nmaterial bodies, whose flux would soon drag it along and finally swallow\nit up. He owes it to social life, which stores and preserves efforts as\nlanguage stores thought, fixes thereby a mean level to which individuals\nmust raise themselves at the outset, and by this initial stimulation\nprevents the average man from slumbering and drives the superior man to\nmount still higher. But our brain, our society, and our language are\nonly the external and various signs of one and the same internal\nsuperiority. They tell, each after its manner, the unique, exceptional\nsuccess which life has won at a given moment of its evolution. They\nexpress the difference of kind, and not only of degree, which separates\nman from the rest of the animal world. They let us guess that, while at\nthe end of the vast spring-board from which life has taken its leap, all\nthe others have stepped down, finding the cord stretched too high, man\nalone has cleared the obstacle.\n\nIt is in this quite special sense that man is the \"term\" and the \"end\"\nof evolution. Life, we have said, transcends finality as it transcends\nthe other categories. It is essentially a current sent through matter,\ndrawing from it what it can. There has not, therefore, properly\nspeaking, been any project or plan. On the other hand, it is abundantly\nevident that the rest of nature is not for the sake of man: we struggle\nlike the other species, we have struggled against other species.\nMoreover, if the evolution of life had encountered other accidents in\nits course, if, thereby, the current of life had been otherwise divided,\nwe should have been, physically and morally, far different from what we\nare. For these various reasons it would be wrong to regard humanity,\nsuch as we have it before our eyes, as pre-figured in the evolutionary\nmovement. It cannot even be said to be the outcome of the whole of\nevolution, for evolution has been accomplished on several divergent\nlines, and while the human species is at the end of one of them, other\nlines have been followed with other species at their end. It is in a\nquite different sense that we hold humanity to be the ground of\nevolution.\n\nFrom our point of view, life appears in its entirety as an immense wave\nwhich, starting from a centre, spreads outwards, and which on almost the\nwhole of its circumference is stopped and converted into oscillation: at\none single point the obstacle has been forced, the impulsion has passed\nfreely. It is this freedom that the human form registers. Everywhere but\nin man, consciousness has had to come to a stand; in man alone it has\nkept on its way. Man, then, continues the vital movement indefinitely,\nalthough he does not draw along with him all that life carries in\nitself. On other lines of evolution there have traveled other tendencies\nwhich life implied, and of which, since everything interpenetrates, man\nhas, doubtless, kept something, but of which he has kept only very\nlittle. _It is as if a vague and formless being, whom we may call, as we\nwill_, man _or_ superman, _had sought to realize himself, and had\nsucceeded only by abandoning a part of himself on the way_. The losses\nare represented by the rest of the animal world, and even by the\nvegetable world, at least in what these have that is positive and above\nthe accidents of evolution.\n\nFrom this point of view, the discordances of which nature offers us the\nspectacle are singularly weakened. The organized world as a whole\nbecomes as the soil on which was to grow either man himself or a being\nwho morally must resemble him. The animals, however distant they may be\nfrom our species, however hostile to it, have none the less been useful\ntraveling companions, on whom consciousness has unloaded whatever\nencumbrances it was dragging along, and who have enabled it to rise, in\nman, to heights from which it sees an unlimited horizon open again\nbefore it.\n\nIt is true that it has not only abandoned cumbersome baggage on the way;\nit has also had to give up valuable goods. Consciousness, in man, is\npre-eminently intellect. It might have been, it ought, so it seems, to\nhave been also intuition. Intuition and intellect represent two opposite\ndirections of the work of consciousness: intuition goes in the very\ndirection of life, intellect goes in the inverse direction, and thus\nfinds itself naturally in accordance with the movement of matter. A\ncomplete and perfect humanity would be that in which these two forms of\nconscious activity should attain their full development. And, between\nthis humanity and ours, we may conceive any number of possible stages,\ncorresponding to all the degrees imaginable of intelligence and of\nintuition. In this lies the part of contingency in the mental structure\nof our species. A different evolution might have led to a humanity\neither more intellectual still or more intuitive. In the humanity of\nwhich we are a part, intuition is, in fact, almost completely sacrificed\nto intellect. It seems that to conquer matter, and to reconquer its own\nself, consciousness has had to exhaust the best part of its power. This\nconquest, in the particular conditions in which it has been\naccomplished, has required that consciousness should adapt itself to the\nhabits of matter and concentrate all its attention on them, in fact\ndetermine itself more especially as intellect. Intuition is there,\nhowever, but vague and above all discontinuous. It is a lamp almost\nextinguished, which only glimmers now and then, for a few moments at\nmost. But it glimmers wherever a vital interest is at stake. On our\npersonality, on our liberty, on the place we occupy in the whole of\nnature, on our origin and perhaps also on our destiny, it throws a light\nfeeble and vacillating, but which none the less pierces the darkness of\nthe night in which the intellect leaves us.\n\nThese fleeting intuitions, which light up their object only at distant\nintervals, philosophy ought to seize, first to sustain them, then to\nexpand them and so unite them together. The more it advances in this\nwork, the more will it perceive that intuition is mind itself, and, in a\ncertain sense, life itself: the intellect has been cut out of it by a\nprocess resembling that which has generated matter. Thus is revealed the\nunity of the spiritual life. We recognize it only when we place\nourselves in intuition in order to go from intuition to the intellect,\nfor from the intellect we shall never pass to intuition.\n\nPhilosophy introduces us thus into the spiritual life. And it shows us\nat the same time the relation of the life of the spirit to that of the\nbody. The great error of the doctrines on the spirit has been the idea\nthat by isolating the spiritual life from all the rest, by suspending it\nin space as high as possible above the earth, they were placing it\nbeyond attack, as if they were not thereby simply exposing it to be\ntaken as an effect of mirage! Certainly they are right to listen to\nconscience when conscience affirms human freedom; but the intellect is\nthere, which says that the cause determines its effect, that like\nconditions like, that all is repeated and that all is given. They are\nright to believe in the absolute reality of the person and in his\nindependence toward matter; but science is there, which shows the\ninterdependence of conscious life and cerebral activity. They are right\nto attribute to man a privileged place in nature, to hold that the\ndistance is infinite between the animal and man; but the history of life\nis there, which makes us witness the genesis of species by gradual\ntransformation, and seems thus to reintegrate man in animality. When a\nstrong instinct assures the probability of personal survival, they are\nright not to close their ears to its voice; but if there exist \"souls\"\ncapable of an independent life, whence do they come? When, how and why\ndo they enter into this body which we see arise, quite naturally, from a\nmixed cell derived from the bodies of its two parents? All these\nquestions will remain unanswered, a philosophy of intuition will be a\nnegation of science, will be sooner or later swept away by science, if\nit does not resolve to see the life of the body just where it really is,\non the road that leads to the life of the spirit. But it will then no\nlonger have to do with definite living beings. Life as a whole, from the\ninitial impulsion that thrust it into the world, will appear as a wave\nwhich rises, and which is opposed by the descending movement of matter.\nOn the greater part of its surface, at different heights, the current is\nconverted by matter into a vortex. At one point alone it passes freely,\ndragging with it the obstacle which will weigh on its progress but will\nnot stop it. At this point is humanity; it is our privileged situation.\nOn the other hand, this rising wave is consciousness, and, like all\nconsciousness, it includes potentialities without number which\ninterpenetrate and to which consequently neither the category of unity\nnor that of multiplicity is appropriate, made as they both are for inert\nmatter. The matter that it bears along with it, and in the interstices\nof which it inserts itself, alone can divide it into distinct\nindividualities. On flows the current, running through human\ngenerations, subdividing itself into individuals. This subdivision was\nvaguely indicated in it, but could not have been made clear without\nmatter. Thus souls are continually being created, which, nevertheless,\nin a certain sense pre-existed. They are nothing else than the little\nrills into which the great river of life divides itself, flowing through\nthe body of humanity. The movement of the stream is distinct from the\nriver bed, although it must adopt its winding course. Consciousness is\ndistinct from the organism it animates, although it must undergo its\nvicissitudes. As the possible actions which a state of consciousness\nindicates are at every instant beginning to be carried out in the\nnervous centres, the brain underlines at every instant the motor\nindications of the state of consciousness; but the interdependency of\nconsciousness and brain is limited to this; the destiny of consciousness\nis not bound up on that account with the destiny of cerebral matter.\nFinally, consciousness is essentially free; it is freedom itself; but it\ncannot pass through matter without settling on it, without adapting\nitself to it: this adaptation is what we call intellectuality; and the\nintellect, turning itself back toward active, that is to say free,\nconsciousness, naturally makes it enter into the conceptual forms into\nwhich it is accustomed to see matter fit. It will therefore always\nperceive freedom in the form of necessity; it will always neglect the\npart of novelty or of creation inherent in the free act; it will always\nsubstitute for action itself an imitation artificial, approximative,\nobtained by compounding the old with the old and the same with the same.\nThus, to the eyes of a philosophy that attempts to reabsorb intellect in\nintuition, many difficulties vanish or become light. But such a doctrine\ndoes not only facilitate speculation; it gives us also more power to act\nand to live. For, with it, we feel ourselves no longer isolated in\nhumanity, humanity no longer seems isolated in the nature that it\ndominates. As the smallest grain of dust is bound up with our entire\nsolar system, drawn along with it in that undivided movement of descent\nwhich is materiality itself, so all organized beings, from the humblest\nto the highest, from the first origins of life to the time in which we\nare, and in all places as in all times, do but evidence a single\nimpulsion, the inverse of the movement of matter, and in itself\nindivisible. All the living hold together, and all yield to the same\ntremendous push. The animal takes its stand on the plant, man bestrides\nanimality, and the whole of humanity, in space and in time, is one\nimmense army galloping beside and before and behind each of us in an\noverwhelming charge able to beat down every resistance and clear the\nmost formidable obstacles, perhaps even death.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 78: We have developed this point in _Mati\u00e8re et m\u00e9moire_,\nchaps. ii. and iii., notably pp. 78-80 and 169-186.]\n\n[Footnote 79: Faraday, _A Speculation concerning Electric Conduction_\n(_Philosophical Magazine_, 3d. series, vol. xxiv.).]\n\n[Footnote 80: Our comparison does no more than develop the content of\nthe term [Greek: logos], as Plotinus understands it. For while the\n[Greek: logos] of this philosopher is a generating and informing power,\nan aspect or a fragment of the [Greek: psych\u00ea], on the other hand\nPlotinus sometimes speaks of it as of a _discourse_. More generally, the\nrelation that we establish in the present chapter between \"extension\"\nand \"detension\" resembles in some aspects that which Plotinus supposes\n(some developments of which must have inspired M. Ravaisson) when he\nmakes extension not indeed an inversion of original Being, but an\nenfeeblement of its essence, one of the last stages of the procession,\n(see in particular, _Enn._ IV. iii. 9-11, and III. vi. 17-18). Yet\nancient philosophy did not see what consequences would result from this\nfor mathematics, for Plotinus, like Plato, erected mathematical essences\ninto absolute realities. Above all, it suffered itself to be deceived by\nthe purely superficial analogy of duration with extension. It treated\nthe one as it treated the other, regarding change as a degradation of\nimmutability, the sensible as a fall from the intelligible. Whence, as\nwe shall show in the next chapter, a philosophy which fails to recognize\nthe real function and scope of the intellect.]\n\n[Footnote 81: Bastian, _The Brain as an Organ of the Mind_, pp. 214-16.]\n\n[Footnote 82: We have dwelt on this point in a former work. See the\n_Essai sur les donn\u00e9es imm\u00e9diates de la conscience_, Paris, 1889, pp.\n155-160.]\n\n[Footnote 83: _Op. cit._ chaps. i. and ii. _passim_.]\n\n[Footnote 84: Cf. especially the profound studies of M. Ed. Le Roy in\nthe _Revue de m\u00e9taph. et de morale_.]\n\n[Footnote 85: _Mati\u00e8re et m\u00e9moire_, chapters iii. and iv.]\n\n[Footnote 86: See in particular, _Phys._, iv. 215 a 2; v. 230 b 12;\nviii. 255 a 2; and _De Caelo_, iv. 1-5; ii. 296 b 27; iv. 308 a 34.]\n\n[Footnote 87: _De Caelo_, iv. 310 a 34 [Greek: to d' eis ton autou topon\npherethai hekaoton to eis to autou eidos esti pheresthai].]\n\n[Footnote 88: On these differences of quality see the work of Duhem,\n_L'\u00c9volution de la m\u00e9canique_, Paris, 1905, pp. 197 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 89: Boltzmann, _Vorlesungen \u00fcber Gastheorie_, Leipzig, 1898,\npp. 253 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 90: In a book rich in facts and in ideas (_La Dissolution\noppos\u00e9e a l'\u00e9volution_, Paris, 1899), M. Andr\u00e9 Lalande shows us\neverything going towards death, in spite of the momentary resistance\nwhich organisms seem to oppose.--But, even from the side of unorganized\nmatter, have we the right to extend to the entire universe\nconsiderations drawn from the present state of our solar system? Beside\nthe worlds which are dying, there are without doubt worlds that are\nbeing born. On the other hand, in the organized world, the death of\nindividuals does not seem at all like a diminution of \"life in general,\"\nor like a necessity which life submits to reluctantly. As has been more\nthan once remarked, life has never made an effort to prolong\nindefinitely the existence of the individual, although on so many other\npoints it has made so many successful efforts. Everything is _as if_\nthis death had been willed, or at least accepted, for the greater\nprogress of life in general.]\n\n[Footnote 91: We have dwelt on this point in an article entitled\n\"Introduction \u00e0 la m\u00e9taphysique\" (_Revue de m\u00e9taphysique et de morale_,\nJanuary, 1903, pp. 1-25).]\n\n[Footnote 92: Cf. a paper written (in Russian) by Serkovski, and\nreviewed in the _Ann\u00e9e biologique_, 1898, p. 317.]\n\n[Footnote 93: Ed. Perrier, _Les Colonies animales_, Paris, 1897 (2nd\nedition).]\n\n[Footnote 94: Delage, _L'H\u00e9r\u00e9dit\u00e9_, 2nd edition, Paris, 1903, p. 97. Cf.\nby the same author, \"La Conception polyzo\u00efque des \u00eatres\" (_Revue\nscientifique_, 1896, pp. 641-653).]\n\n[Footnote 95: This is the theory maintained by Kunstler, Delage,\nSedgwick, Labb\u00e9, etc. Its development, with bibliographical references,\nwill be found in the work of Busquet, _Les \u00eatres vivants_, Paris, 1899.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE CINEMATOGRAPHICAL MECHANISM OF THOUGHT AND THE MECHANISTIC\nILLUSION--A GLANCE AT THE HISTORY OF SYSTEMS[96]--REAL BECOMING AND\nFALSE EVOLUTIONISM.\n\n\nIt remains for us to examine in themselves two theoretical illusions\nwhich we have frequently met with before, but whose consequences rather\nthan principle have hitherto concerned us. Such is the object of the\npresent chapter. It will afford us the opportunity of removing certain\nobjections, of clearing up certain misunderstandings, and, above all, of\ndefining more precisely, by contrasting it with others, a philosophy\nwhich sees in duration the very stuff of reality.\n\nMatter or mind, reality has appeared to us as a perpetual becoming. It\nmakes itself or it unmakes itself, but it is never something made. Such\nis the intuition that we have of mind when we draw aside the veil which\nis interposed between our consciousness and ourselves. This, also, is\nwhat our intellect and senses themselves would show us of matter, if\nthey could obtain a direct and disinterested idea of it. But,\npreoccupied before everything with the necessities of action, the\nintellect, like the senses, is limited to taking, at intervals, views\nthat are instantaneous and by that very fact immobile of the becoming of\nmatter. Consciousness, being in its turn formed on the intellect, sees\nclearly of the inner life what is already made, and only feels\nconfusedly the making. Thus, we pluck out of duration those moments that\ninterest us, and that we have gathered along its course. These alone we\nretain. And we are right in so doing, while action only is in question.\nBut when, in _speculating_ on the _nature_ of the real, we go on\nregarding it as our practical interest requires us to regard it, we\nbecome unable to perceive the true evolution, the radical becoming. Of\nbecoming we perceive only states, of duration only instants, and even\nwhen we speak of duration and of becoming, it is of another thing that\nwe are thinking. Such is the most striking of the two illusions we wish\nto examine. It consists in supposing that we can think the unstable by\nmeans of the stable, the moving by means of the immobile.\n\nThe other illusion is near akin to the first. It has the same origin,\nbeing also due to the fact that we import into speculation a procedure\nmade for practice. All action aims at getting something that we feel the\nwant of, or at creating something that does not yet exist. In this very\nspecial sense, it fills a void, and goes from the empty to the full,\nfrom an absence to a presence, from the unreal to the real. Now the\nunreality which is here in question is purely relative to the direction\nin which our attention is engaged, for we are immersed in realities and\ncannot pass out of them; only, if the present reality is not the one we\nare seeking, we speak of the _absence_ of this sought-for reality\nwherever we find the _presence_ of another. We thus express what we have\nas a function of what we want. This is quite legitimate in the sphere of\naction. But, whether we will or no, we keep to this way of speaking,\nand also of thinking, when we speculate on the nature of things\nindependently of the interest they have for us. Thus arises the second\nof the two illusions. We propose to examine this first. It is due, like\nthe other, to the static habits that our intellect contracts when it\nprepares our action on things. Just as we pass through the immobile to\ngo to the moving, so we make use of the void in order to think the full.\n\nWe have met with this illusion already in dealing with the fundamental\nproblem of knowledge. The question, we then said, is to know why there\nis order, and not disorder, in things. But the question has meaning only\nif we suppose that disorder, understood as an absence of order, is\npossible, or imaginable, or conceivable. Now, it is only order that is\nreal; but, as order can take two forms, and as the presence of the one\nmay be said to consist in the absence of the other, we speak of disorder\nwhenever we have before us that one of the two orders for which we are\nnot looking. The idea of disorder is then entirely practical. It\ncorresponds to the disappointment of a certain expectation, and it does\nnot denote the absence of all order, but only the presence of that order\nwhich does not offer us actual interest. So that whenever we try to deny\norder completely, absolutely, we find that we are leaping from one kind\nof order to the other indefinitely, and that the supposed suppression of\nthe one and the other implies the presence of the two. Indeed, if we go\non, and persist in shutting our eyes to this movement of the mind and\nall it involves, we are no longer dealing with an idea; all that is left\nof disorder is a word. Thus the problem of knowledge is complicated, and\npossibly made insoluble, by the idea that order fills a void and that\nits actual presence is superposed on its virtual absence. We go from\nabsence to presence, from the void to the full, in virtue of the\nfundamental illusion of our understanding. That is the error of which we\nnoticed one consequence in our last chapter. As we then anticipated, we\nmust come to close quarters with this error, and finally grapple with\nit. We must face it in itself, in the radically false conception which\nit implies of negation, of the void and of the nought.[97]\n\nPhilosophers have paid little attention to the idea of the nought. And\nyet it is often the hidden spring, the invisible mover of philosophical\nthinking. From the first awakening of reflection, it is this that pushes\nto the fore, right under the eyes of consciousness, the torturing\nproblems, the questions that we cannot gaze at without feeling giddy and\nbewildered. I have no sooner commenced to philosophize than I ask myself\nwhy I exist; and when I take account of the intimate connection in which\nI stand to the rest of the universe, the difficulty is only pushed back,\nfor I want to know why the universe exists; and if I refer the universe\nto a Principle immanent or transcendent that supports it or creates it,\nmy thought rests on this principle only a few moments, for the same\nproblem recurs, this time in its full breadth and generality: Whence\ncomes it, and how can it be understood, that anything exists? Even here,\nin the present work, when matter has been defined as a kind of descent,\nthis descent as the interruption of a rise, this rise itself as a\ngrowth, when finally a Principle of creation has been put at the base of\nthings, the same question springs up: How--why does this principle exist\nrather than nothing?\n\nNow, if I push these questions aside and go straight to what hides\nbehind them, this is what I find:--Existence appears to me like a\nconquest over nought. I say to myself that there might be, that indeed\nthere ought to be, nothing, and I then wonder that there is something.\nOr I represent all reality extended on nothing as on a carpet: at first\nwas nothing, and being has come by superaddition to it. Or, yet again,\nif something has always existed, nothing must always have served as its\nsubstratum or receptacle, and is therefore eternally prior. A glass may\nhave always been full, but the liquid it contains nevertheless fills a\nvoid. In the same way, being may have always been there, but the nought\nwhich is filled, and, as it were, stopped up by it, pre-exists for it\nnone the less, if not in fact at least in right. In short, I cannot get\nrid of the idea that the full is an embroidery on the canvas of the\nvoid, that being is superimposed on nothing, and that in the idea of\n\"nothing\" there is _less_ than in that of \"something.\" Hence all the\nmystery.\n\nIt is necessary that this mystery should be cleared up. It is more\nespecially necessary, if we put duration and free choice at the base of\nthings. For the disdain of metaphysics for all reality that endures\ncomes precisely from this, that it reaches being only by passing through\n\"not-being,\" and that an existence which endures seems to it not strong\nenough to conquer non-existence and itself posit itself. It is for this\nreason especially that it is inclined to endow true being with a\n_logical_, and not a psychological nor a physical existence. For the\nnature of a purely logical existence is such that it seems to be\nself-sufficient and to posit itself by the effect alone of the force\nimmanent in truth. If I ask myself why bodies or minds exist rather than\nnothing, I find no answer; but that a logical principle, such as A=A,\nshould have the power of creating itself, triumphing over the nought\nthroughout eternity, seems to me natural. A circle drawn with chalk on\na blackboard is a thing which needs explanation: this entirely physical\nexistence has not by itself wherewith to vanquish non-existence. But the\n\"logical essence\" of the circle, that is to say, the possibility of\ndrawing it according to a certain law--in short, its definition--is a\nthing which appears to me eternal: it has neither place nor date; for\nnowhere, at no moment, has the drawing of a circle begun to be possible.\nSuppose, then, that the principle on which all things rest, and which\nall things manifest possesses an existence of the same nature as that of\nthe definition of the circle, or as that of the axiom A=A: the mystery\nof existence vanishes, for the being that is at the base of everything\nposits itself then in eternity, as logic itself does. True, it will cost\nus rather a heavy sacrifice: if the principle of all things exists after\nthe manner of a logical axiom or of a mathematical definition, the\nthings themselves must go forth from this principle like the\napplications of an axiom or the consequences of a definition, and there\nwill no longer be place, either in the things nor in their principle,\nfor efficient causality understood in the sense of a free choice. Such\nare precisely the conclusions of a doctrine like that of Spinoza, or\neven that of Leibniz, and such indeed has been their genesis.\n\nNow, if we could prove that the idea of the nought, in the sense in\nwhich we take it when we oppose it to that of existence, is a\npseudo-idea, the problems that are raised around it would become\npseudo-problems. The hypothesis of an absolute that acts freely, that in\nan eminent sense endures, would no longer raise up intellectual\nprejudices. The road would be cleared for a philosophy more nearly\napproaching intuition, and which would no longer ask the same sacrifices\nof common sense.\n\nLet us then see what we are thinking about when we speak of \"Nothing.\"\nTo represent \"Nothing,\" we must either imagine it or conceive it. Let us\nexamine what this image or this idea may be. First, the image.\n\nI am going to close my eyes, stop my ears, extinguish one by one the\nsensations that come to me from the outer world. Now it is done; all my\nperceptions vanish, the material universe sinks into silence and the\nnight.--I subsist, however, and cannot help myself subsisting. I am\nstill there, with the organic sensations which come to me from the\nsurface and from the interior of my body, with the recollections which\nmy past perceptions have left behind them--nay, with the impression,\nmost positive and full, of the void I have just made about me. How can I\nsuppress all this? How eliminate myself? I can even, it may be, blot out\nand forget my recollections up to my immediate past; but at least I keep\nthe consciousness of my present reduced to its extremest poverty, that\nis to say, of the actual state of my body. I will try, however, to do\naway even with this consciousness itself. I will reduce more and more\nthe sensations my body sends in to me: now they are almost gone; now\nthey are gone, they have disappeared in the night where all things else\nhave already died away. But no! At the very instant that my\nconsciousness is extinguished, another consciousness lights up--or\nrather, it was already alight: it had arisen the instant before, in\norder to witness the extinction of the first; for the first could\ndisappear only for another and in the presence of another. I see myself\nannihilated only if I have already resuscitated myself by an act which\nis positive, however involuntary and unconscious. So, do what I will, I\nam always perceiving something, either from without or from within. When\nI no longer know anything of external objects, it is because I have\ntaken refuge in the consciousness that I have of myself. If I abolish\nthis inner self, its very abolition becomes an object for an imaginary\nself which now perceives as an external object the self that is dying\naway. Be it external or internal, some object there always is that my\nimagination is representing. My imagination, it is true, can go from one\nto the other, I can by turns imagine a nought of external perception or\na nought of internal perception, but not both at once, for the absence\nof one consists, at bottom, in the exclusive presence of the other. But,\nfrom the fact that two relative noughts are imaginable in turn, we\nwrongly conclude that they are imaginable together: a conclusion the\nabsurdity of which must be obvious, for we cannot imagine a nought\nwithout perceiving, at least confusedly, that we are imagining it,\nconsequently that we are acting, that we are thinking, and therefore\nthat something still subsists.\n\nThe image, then, properly so called, of a suppression of everything is\nnever formed by thought. The effort by which we strive to create this\nimage simply ends in making us swing to and fro between the vision of an\nouter and that of an inner reality. In this coming and going of our mind\nbetween the without and the within, there is a point, at equal distance\nfrom both, in which it seems to us that we no longer perceive the one,\nand that we do not yet perceive the other: it is there that the image of\n\"Nothing\" is formed. In reality, we then perceive both, having reached\nthe point where the two terms come together, and the image of Nothing,\nso defined, is an image full of things, an image that includes at once\nthat of the subject and that of the object and, besides, a perpetual\nleaping from one to the other and the refusal ever to come to rest\nfinally on either. Evidently this is not the nothing that we can oppose\nto being, and put before or beneath being, for it already includes\nexistence in general.\n\nBut we shall be told that, if the representation of Nothing, visible or\nlatent, enters into the reasonings of philosophers, it is not as an\nimage, but as an idea. It may be agreed that we do not imagine the\nannihilation of everything, but it will be claimed that we can conceive\nit. We conceive a polygon with a thousand sides, said Descartes,\nalthough we do not see it in imagination: it is enough that we can\nclearly represent the possibility of constructing it. So with the idea\nof the annihilation of everything. Nothing simpler, it will be said,\nthan the procedure by which we construct the idea of it. There is, in\nfact, not a single object of our experience that we cannot suppose\nannihilated. Extend this annihilation of a first object to a second,\nthen to a third, and so on as long as you please: the nought is the\nlimit toward which the operation tends. And the nought so defined is the\nannihilation of everything. That is the theory. We need only consider it\nin this form to see the absurdity it involves.\n\nAn idea constructed by the mind is an idea only if its pieces are\ncapable of coexisting; it is reduced to a mere word if the elements that\nwe bring together to compose it are driven away as fast as we assemble\nthem. When I have defined the circle, I easily represent a black or a\nwhite circle, a circle in cardboard, iron, or brass, a transparent or an\nopaque circle--but not a square circle, because the law of the\ngeneration of the circle excludes the possibility of defining this\nfigure with straight lines. So my mind can represent any existing thing\nwhatever as annihilated;--but if the annihilation of anything by the\nmind is an operation whose mechanism implies that it works on a part of\nthe whole, and not on the whole itself, then the extension of such an\noperation to the totality of things becomes self-contradictory and\nabsurd, and the idea of an annihilation of everything presents the same\ncharacter as that of a square circle: it is not an idea, it is only a\nword. So let us examine more closely the mechanism of the operation.\n\nIn fact, the object suppressed is either external or internal: it is a\nthing or it is a state of consciousness. Let us consider the first case.\nI annihilate in thought an external object: in the place where it was,\nthere is no longer anything.--No longer anything of that object, of\ncourse, but another object has taken its place: there is no absolute\nvoid in nature. But admit that an absolute void is possible: it is not\nof that void that I am thinking when I say that the object, once\nannihilated, leaves its place unoccupied; for by the hypothesis it is a\n_place_, that is a void limited by precise outlines, or, in other words,\na kind of _thing_. The void of which I speak, therefore, is, at bottom,\nonly the absence of some definite object, which was here at first, is\nnow elsewhere and, in so far as it is no longer in its former place,\nleaves behind it, so to speak, the void of itself. A being unendowed\nwith memory or prevision would not use the words \"void\" or \"nought;\" he\nwould express only what is and what is perceived; now, what is, and what\nis perceived, is the _presence_ of one thing or of another, never the\n_absence_ of anything. There is absence only for a being capable of\nremembering and expecting. He remembered an object, and perhaps expected\nto encounter it again; he finds another, and he expresses the\ndisappointment of his expectation (an expectation sprung from\nrecollection) by saying that he no longer finds anything, that he\nencounters \"nothing.\" Even if he did not expect to encounter the object,\nit is a possible expectation of it, it is still the falsification of his\neventual expectation that he expresses by saying that the object is no\nlonger where it was. What he perceives in reality, what he will succeed\nin effectively thinking of, is the presence of the old object in a new\nplace or that of a new object in the old place; the rest, all that is\nexpressed negatively by such words as \"nought\" or the \"void,\" is not so\nmuch thought as feeling, or, to speak more exactly, it is the tinge that\nfeeling gives to thought. The idea of annihilation or of partial\nnothingness is therefore formed here in the course of the substitution\nof one thing for another, whenever this substitution is thought by a\nmind that would prefer to keep the old thing in the place of the new, or\nat least conceives this preference as possible. The idea implies on the\nsubjective side a preference, on the objective side a substitution, and\nis nothing else but a combination of, or rather an interference between,\nthis feeling of preference and this idea of substitution.\n\nSuch is the mechanism of the operation by which our mind annihilates an\nobject and succeeds in representing in the external world a partial\nnought. Let us now see how it represents it within itself. We find in\nourselves phenomena that are produced, and not phenomena that are not\nproduced. I experience a sensation or an emotion, I conceive an idea, I\nform a resolution: my consciousness perceives these facts, which are so\nmany _presences_, and there is no moment in which facts of this kind are\nnot present to me. I can, no doubt, interrupt by thought the course of\nmy inner life; I may suppose that I sleep without dreaming or that I\nhave ceased to exist; but at the very instant when I make this\nsupposition, I conceive myself, I imagine myself watching over my\nslumber or surviving my annihilation, and I give up perceiving myself\nfrom within only by taking refuge in the perception of myself from\nwithout. That is to say that here again the full always succeeds the\nfull, and that an intelligence that was only intelligence, that had\nneither regret nor desire, whose movement was governed by the movement\nof its object, could not even conceive an absence or a void. The\nconception of a void arises here when consciousness, lagging behind\nitself, remains attached to the recollection of an old state when\nanother state is already present. It is only a comparison between what\nis and what could or ought to be, between the full and the full. In a\nword, whether it be a void of matter or a void of consciousness, _the\nrepresentation of the void is always a representation which is full and\nwhich resolves itself on analysis into two positive elements: the idea,\ndistinct or confused, of a substitution, and the feeling, experienced or\nimagined, of a desire or a regret_.\n\nIt follows from this double analysis that the idea of the absolute\nnought, in the sense of the annihilation of everything, is a\nself-destructive idea, a pseudo-idea, a mere word. If suppressing a\nthing consists in replacing it by another, if thinking the absence of\none thing is only possible by the more or less explicit representation\nof the presence of some other thing, if, in short, annihilation\nsignifies before anything else substitution, the idea of an\n\"annihilation of everything\" is as absurd as that of a square circle.\nThe absurdity is not obvious, because there exists no particular object\nthat cannot be supposed annihilated; then, from the fact that there is\nnothing to prevent each thing in turn being suppressed in thought, we\nconclude that it is possible to suppose them suppressed altogether. We\ndo not see that suppressing each thing in turn consists precisely in\nreplacing it in proportion and degree by another, and therefore that the\nsuppression of absolutely everything implies a downright contradiction\nin terms, since the operation consists in destroying the very condition\nthat makes the operation possible.\n\nBut the illusion is tenacious. Though suppressing one thing consists _in\nfact_ in substituting another for it, we do not conclude, we are\nunwilling to conclude, that the annihilation of a thing _in thought_\nimplies the substitution in thought of a new thing for the old. We agree\nthat a thing is always replaced by another thing, and even that our mind\ncannot think the disappearance of an object, external or internal,\nwithout thinking--under an indeterminate and confused form, it is\ntrue--that another object is substituted for it. But we add that the\nrepresentation of a disappearance is that of a phenomenon that is\nproduced in space or at least in time, that consequently it still\nimplies the calling up of an image, and that it is precisely here that\nwe have to free ourselves from the imagination in order to appeal to the\npure understanding. \"Let us therefore no longer speak,\" it will be said,\n\"of disappearance or annihilation; these are physical operations. Let us\nno longer represent the object A as annihilated or absent. Let us say\nsimply that we think it \"non-existent.\" To annihilate it is to act on it\nin time and perhaps also in space; it is to accept, consequently, the\ncondition of spatial and temporal existence, to accept the universal\nconnection that binds an object to all others, and prevents it from\ndisappearing without being at the same time replaced. But we can free\nourselves from these conditions; all that is necessary is that by an\neffort of abstraction we should call up the idea of the object A by\nitself, that we should agree first to consider it as existing, and then,\nby a stroke of the intellectual pen, blot out the clause. The object\nwill then be, by our decree, non-existent.\"\n\nVery well, let us strike out the clause. We must not suppose that our\npen-stroke is self-sufficient--that it can be isolated from the rest of\nthings. We shall see that it carries with it, whether we will or no,\nall that we tried to abstract from. Let us compare together the two\nideas--the object A supposed to exist, and the same object supposed\n\"non-existent.\"\n\nThe idea of the object A, supposed existent, is the representation pure\nand simple of the object A, for we cannot represent an object without\nattributing to it, by the very fact of representing it, a certain\nreality. Between thinking an object and thinking it existent, there is\nabsolutely no difference. Kant has put this point in clear light in his\ncriticism of the ontological argument. Then, what is it to think the\nobject A non-existent? To represent it non-existent cannot consist in\nwithdrawing from the idea of the object A the idea of the attribute\n\"existence,\" since, I repeat, the representation of the existence of the\nobject is inseparable from the representation of the object, and indeed\nis one with it. To represent the object A non-existent can only consist,\ntherefore, in _adding_ something to the idea of this object: we add to\nit, in fact, the idea of an _exclusion_ of this particular object by\nactual reality in general. To think the object A as non-existent is\nfirst to think the object and consequently to think it existent; it is\nthen to think that another reality, with which it is incompatible,\nsupplants it. Only, it is useless to represent this latter reality\nexplicitly; we are not concerned with what it is; it is enough for us to\nknow that it drives out the object A, which alone is of interest to us.\nThat is why we think of the expulsion rather than of the cause which\nexpels. But this cause is none the less present to the mind; it is there\nin the implicit state, that which expels being inseparable from the\nexpulsion as the hand which drives the pen is inseparable from the\npen-stroke. The act by which we declare an object unreal therefore\nposits the existence of the real in general. In other words, to\nrepresent an object as unreal cannot consist in depriving it of every\nkind of existence, since the representation of an object is necessarily\nthat of the object existing. Such an act consists simply in declaring\nthat the existence attached by our mind to the object, and inseparable\nfrom its representation, is an existence wholly ideal--that of a mere\n_possible_. But the \"ideality\" of an object, and the \"simple\npossibility\" of an object, have meaning only in relation to a reality\nthat drives into the region of the ideal, or of the merely possible, the\nobject which is incompatible with it. Suppose the stronger and more\nsubstantial existence annihilated: it is the attenuated and weaker\nexistence of the merely possible that becomes the reality itself, and\nyou will no longer be representing the object, then, as non-existent. In\nother words, and however strange our assertion may seem, _there is_\nmore, _and not_ less, _in the idea of an object conceived as \"not\nexisting\" than in the idea of this same object conceived as \"existing\";\nfor the idea of the object \"not existing\" is necessarily the idea of the\nobject \"existing\" with, in addition, the representation of an exclusion\nof this object by the actual reality taken in block_.\n\nBut it will be claimed that our idea of the non-existent is not yet\nsufficiently cut loose from every imaginative element, that it is not\nnegative enough. \"No matter,\" we shall be told, \"though the unreality of\na thing consist in its exclusion by other things; we want to know\nnothing about that. Are we not free to direct our attention where we\nplease and how we please? Well then, after having called up the idea of\nan object, and thereby, if you will have it so, supposed it existent, we\nshall merely couple to our affirmation a 'not,' and that will be enough\nto make us think it non-existent. This is an operation entirely\nintellectual, independent of what happens outside the mind. So let us\nthink of anything or let us think of the totality of things, and then\nwrite in the margin of our thought the 'not,' which prescribes the\nrejection of what it contains: we annihilate everything mentally by the\nmere fact of decreeing its annihilation.\"--Here we have it! The very\nroot of all the difficulties and errors with which we are confronted is\nto be found in the power ascribed here to negation. We represent\nnegation as exactly symmetrical with affirmation. We imagine that\nnegation, like affirmation, is self-sufficient. So that negation, like\naffirmation, would have the power of creating ideas, with this sole\ndifference that they would be negative ideas. By affirming one thing,\nand then another, and so on _ad infinitum_, I form the idea of \"All;\"\nso, by denying one thing and then other things, finally by denying All,\nI arrive at the idea of Nothing.--But it is just this assimilation which\nis arbitrary. We fail to see that while affirmation is a complete act of\nthe mind, which can succeed in building up an idea, negation is but the\nhalf of an intellectual act, of which the other half is understood, or\nrather put off to an indefinite future. We fail to see that while\naffirmation is a purely intellectual act, there enters into negation an\nelement which is not intellectual, and that it is precisely to the\nintrusion of this foreign element that negation owes its specific\ncharacter.\n\nTo begin with the second point, let us note that to deny always consists\nin setting aside a possible affirmation.[98] Negation is only an\nattitude taken by the mind toward an eventual affirmation. When I say,\n\"This table is black,\" I am speaking of the table; I have seen it\nblack, and my judgment expresses what I have seen. But if I say, \"This\ntable is not white,\" I surely do not express something I have perceived,\nfor I have seen black, and not an absence of white. It is therefore, at\nbottom, not on the table itself that I bring this judgment to bear, but\nrather on the judgment that would declare the table white. I judge a\njudgment and not the table. The proposition, \"This table is not white,\"\nimplies that you might believe it white, that you did believe it such,\nor that I was going to believe it such. I warn you or myself that this\njudgment is to be replaced by another (which, it is true, I leave\nundetermined). Thus, while affirmation bears directly on the thing,\nnegation aims at the thing only indirectly, through an interposed\naffirmation. An affirmative proposition expresses a judgment on an\nobject; a negative proposition expresses a judgment on a judgment.\n_Negation, therefore, differs from affirmation properly so called in\nthat it is an affirmation of the second degree: it affirms something of\nan affirmation which itself affirms something of an object._\n\nBut it follows at once from this that negation is not the work of pure\nmind, I should say of a mind placed before objects and concerned with\nthem alone. When we deny, we give a lesson to others, or it may be to\nourselves. We take to task an interlocutor, real or possible, whom we\nfind mistaken and whom we put on his guard. He was affirming something:\nwe tell him he ought to affirm something else (though without specifying\nthe affirmation which must be substituted). There is no longer then,\nsimply, a person and an object; there is, in face of the object, a\nperson speaking to a person, opposing him and aiding him at the same\ntime; there is a beginning of society. Negation aims at some one, and\nnot only, like a purely intellectual operation, at some thing. It is of\na pedagogical and social nature. It sets straight or rather warns, the\nperson warned and set straight being possibly, by a kind of doubling,\nthe very person that speaks.\n\nSo much for the second point; now for the first. We said that negation\nis but the half of an intellectual act, of which the other half is left\nindeterminate. If I pronounce the negative proposition, \"This table is\nnot white,\" I mean that you ought to substitute for your judgment, \"The\ntable is white,\" another judgment. I give you an admonition, and the\nadmonition refers to the necessity of a substitution. As to what you\nought to substitute for your affirmation, I tell you nothing, it is\ntrue. This may be because I do not know the color of the table; but it\nis also, it is indeed even more, because the white color is that alone\nthat interests us for the moment, so that I only need to tell you that\nsome other color will have to be substituted for white, without having\nto say which. A negative judgment is therefore really one which\nindicates a need of substituting for an affirmative judgment another\naffirmative judgment, the nature of which, however, is not specified,\nsometimes because it is not known, more often because it fails to offer\nany actual interest, the attention bearing only on the substance of the\nfirst.\n\nThus, whenever I add a \"not\" to an affirmation, whenever I deny, I\nperform two very definite acts: (1) I interest myself in what one of my\nfellow-men affirms, or in what he was going to say, or in what might\nhave been said by another _Me_, whom I anticipate; (2) I announce that\nsome other affirmation, whose content I do not specify, will have to be\nsubstituted for the one I find before me. Now, in neither of these two\nacts is there anything but affirmation. The _sui generis_ character of\nnegation is due to superimposing the first of these acts upon the\nsecond. It is in vain, then, that we attribute to negation the power of\ncreating ideas _sui generis_, symmetrical with those that affirmation\ncreates, and directed in a contrary sense. No idea will come forth from\nnegation, for it has no other content than that of the affirmative\njudgment which it judges.\n\nTo be more precise, let us consider an existential, instead of an\nattributive, judgment. If I say, \"The object A does not exist,\" I mean\nby that, first, that we might believe that the object A exists: how,\nindeed, can we think of the object A without thinking it existing, and,\nonce again, what difference can there be between the idea of the object\nA existing and the idea pure and simple of the object A? Therefore,\nmerely by saying \"The object A,\" I attribute to it some kind of\nexistence, though it be that of a mere _possible_, that is to say, of a\npure idea. And consequently, in the judgment \"The object A is not,\"\nthere is at first an affirmation such as \"The object A has been,\" or\n\"The object A will be,\" or, more generally, \"The object A exists at\nleast as a mere _possible_.\" Now, when I add the two words \"is not,\" I\ncan only mean that if we go further, if we erect the possible object\ninto a real object, we shall be mistaken, and that the possible of which\nI am speaking is excluded from the actual reality as incompatible with\nit. Judgments that posit the non-existence of a thing are therefore\njudgments that formulate a contrast between the possible and the actual\n(that is, between two kinds of _existence_, one thought and the other\nfound), where a person, real or imaginary, wrongly believes that a\ncertain possible is realized. Instead of this possible, there is a\nreality that differs from it and rejects it: the negative judgment\nexpresses this contrast, but it expresses the contrast in an\nintentionally incomplete form, because it is addressed to a person who\nis supposed to be interested exclusively in the possible that is\nindicated, and is not concerned to know by what kind of reality the\npossible is replaced. The expression of the substitution is therefore\nbound to be cut short. Instead of affirming that a second term is\nsubstituted for the first, the attention which was originally directed\nto the first term will be kept fixed upon it, and upon it alone. And,\nwithout going beyond the first, we shall implicitly affirm that a second\nterm replaces it in saying that the first \"is not.\" We shall thus judge\na judgment instead of judging a thing. We shall warn others or warn\nourselves of a possible error instead of supplying positive information.\nSuppress every intention of this kind, give knowledge back its\nexclusively scientific or philosophical character, suppose in other\nwords that reality comes itself to inscribe itself on a mind that cares\nonly for things and is not interested in persons: we shall affirm that\nsuch or such a thing is, we shall never affirm that a thing is not.\n\nHow comes it, then, that affirmation and negation are so persistently\nput on the same level and endowed with an equal objectivity? How comes\nit that we have so much difficulty in recognizing that negation is\nsubjective, artificially cut short, relative to the human mind and still\nmore to the social life? The reason is, no doubt, that _both_ negation\nand affirmation are expressed in propositions, and that _any_\nproposition, being formed of _words_, which symbolize _concepts_, is\nsomething relative to social life and to the human intellect. Whether I\nsay \"The ground is damp\" or \"The ground is not damp,\" in both cases the\nterms \"ground\" and \"damp\" are concepts more or less artificially created\nby the mind of man--extracted, by his free initiative, from the\ncontinuity of experience. In both cases the concepts are represented by\nthe same conventional words. In both cases we can say indeed that the\nproposition aims at a social and pedagogical end, since the first would\npropagate a truth as the second would prevent an error. From this point\nof view, which is that of formal logic, to affirm and to deny are indeed\ntwo mutually symmetrical acts, of which the first establishes a relation\nof agreement and the second a relation of disagreement between a subject\nand an attribute. But how do we fail to see that the symmetry is\naltogether external and the likeness superficial? Suppose language\nfallen into disuse, society dissolved, every intellectual initiative,\nevery faculty of self-reflection and of self-judgment atrophied in man:\nthe dampness of the ground will subsist none the less, capable of\ninscribing itself automatically in sensation and of sending a vague idea\nto the deadened intellect. The intellect will still affirm, in implicit\nterms. And consequently, neither distinct concepts, nor words, nor the\ndesire of spreading the truth, nor that of bettering oneself, are of the\nvery essence of the affirmation. But this passive intelligence,\nmechanically keeping step with experience, neither anticipating nor\nfollowing the course of the real, would have no wish to deny. It could\nnot receive an imprint of negation; for, once again, that which exists\nmay come to be recorded, but the non-existence of the non-existing\ncannot. For such an intellect to reach the point of denying, it must\nawake from its torpor, formulate the disappointment of a real or\npossible expectation, correct an actual or possible error--in short,\npropose to teach others or to teach itself.\n\nIt is rather difficult to perceive this in the example we have chosen,\nbut the example is indeed the more instructive and the argument the more\ncogent on that account. If dampness is able automatically to come and\nrecord itself, it is the same, it will be said, with non-dampness; for\nthe dry as well as the damp can give impressions to sense, which will\ntransmit them, as more or less distinct ideas, to the intelligence. In\nthis sense the negation of dampness is as objective a thing, as purely\nintellectual, as remote from every pedagogical intention, as\naffirmation.--But let us look at it more closely: we shall see that the\nnegative proposition, \"The ground is not damp,\" and the affirmative\nproposition, \"The ground is dry,\" have entirely different contents. The\nsecond implies that we know the dry, that we have experienced the\nspecific sensations, tactile or visual for example, that are at the base\nof this idea. The first requires nothing of the sort; it could equally\nwell have been formulated by an intelligent fish, who had never\nperceived anything but the wet. It would be necessary, it is true, that\nthis fish should have risen to the distinction between the real and the\npossible, and that he should care to anticipate the error of his\nfellow-fishes, who doubtless consider as alone possible the condition of\nwetness in which they actually live. Keep strictly to the terms of the\nproposition, \"The ground is not damp,\" and you will find that it means\ntwo things: (1) that one might believe that the ground is damp, (2) that\nthe dampness is replaced in fact by a certain quality _x_. This quality\nis left indeterminate, either because we have no positive knowledge of\nit, or because it has no actual interest for the person to whom the\nnegation is addressed. To deny, therefore, always consists in presenting\nin an abridged form a system of two affirmations: the one determinate,\nwhich applies to a certain _possible_; the other indeterminate,\nreferring to the unknown or indifferent reality that supplants this\npossibility. The second affirmation is virtually contained in the\njudgment we apply to the first, a judgment which is negation itself. And\nwhat gives negation its subjective character is precisely this, that in\nthe discovery of a replacement it takes account only of the replaced,\nand is not concerned with what replaces. The replaced exists only as a\nconception of the mind. It is necessary, in order to continue to see it,\nand consequently in order to speak of it, to turn our back on the\nreality, which flows from the past to the present, advancing from\nbehind. It is this that we do when we deny. We discover the change, or\nmore generally the substitution, as a traveller would see the course of\nhis carriage if he looked out behind, and only knew at each moment the\npoint at which he had ceased to be; he could never determine his actual\nposition except by relation to that which he had just quitted, instead\nof grasping it in itself.\n\nTo sum up, for a mind which should follow purely and simply the thread\nof experience, there would be no void, no nought, even relative or\npartial, no possible negation. Such a mind would see facts succeed\nfacts, states succeed states, things succeed things. What it would note\nat each moment would be things existing, states appearing, events\nhappening. It would live in the actual, and, if it were capable of\njudging, it would never affirm anything except the existence of the\npresent.\n\nEndow this mind with memory, and especially with the desire to dwell on\nthe past; give it the faculty of dissociating and of distinguishing: it\nwill no longer only note the present state of the passing reality; it\nwill represent the passing as a change, and therefore as a contrast\nbetween what has been and what is. And as there is no essential\ndifference between a past that we remember and a past that we imagine,\nit will quickly rise to the idea of the \"possible\" in general.\n\nIt will thus be shunted on to the siding of negation. And especially it\nwill be at the point of representing a disappearance. But it will not\nyet have reached it. To represent that a thing has disappeared, it is\nnot enough to perceive a contrast between the past and the present; it\nis necessary besides to turn our back on the present, to dwell on the\npast, and to think the contrast of the past with the present in terms of\nthe past only, without letting the present appear in it.\n\nThe idea of annihilation is therefore not a pure idea; it implies that\nwe regret the past or that we conceive it as regrettable, that we have\nsome reason to linger over it. The idea arises when the phenomenon of\nsubstitution is cut in two by a mind which considers only the first\nhalf, because that alone interests it. Suppress all interest, all\nfeeling, and there is nothing left but the reality that flows, together\nwith the knowledge ever renewed that it impresses on us of its present\nstate.\n\nFrom annihilation to negation, which is a more general operation, there\nis now only a step. All that is necessary is to represent the contrast\nof what is, not only with what has been, but also with all that might\nhave been. And we must express this contrast as a function of what might\nhave been, and not of what is; we must affirm the existence of the\nactual while looking only at the possible. The formula we thus obtain no\nlonger expresses merely a disappointment of the individual; it is made\nto correct or guard against an error, which is rather supposed to be the\nerror of another. In this sense, negation has a pedagogical and social\ncharacter.\n\nNow, once negation is formulated, it presents an aspect symmetrical with\nthat of affirmation; if affirmation affirms an objective reality, it\nseems that negation must affirm a non-reality equally objective, and, so\nto say, equally real. In which we are both right and wrong: wrong,\nbecause negation cannot be objectified, in so far as it is negative;\nright, however, in that the negation of a thing implies the latent\naffirmation of its replacement by something else, which we\nsystematically leave on one side. But the negative form of negation\nbenefits by the affirmation at the bottom of it. Bestriding the positive\nsolid reality to which it is attached, this phantom objectifies itself.\nThus is formed the idea of the void or of a partial nought, a thing\nbeing supposed to be replaced, not by another thing, but by a void which\nit leaves, that is, by the negation of itself. Now, as this operation\nworks on anything whatever, we suppose it performed on each thing in\nturn, and finally on all things in block. We thus obtain the idea of\nabsolute Nothing. If now we analyze this idea of Nothing, we find that\nit is, at bottom, the idea of Everything, together with a movement of\nthe mind that keeps jumping from one thing to another, refuses to stand\nstill, and concentrates all its attention on this refusal by never\ndetermining its actual position except by relation to that which it has\njust left. It is therefore an idea eminently comprehensive and full, as\nfull and comprehensive as the idea of _All_, to which it is very closely\nakin.\n\nHow then can the idea of Nought be opposed to that of All? Is it not\nplain that this is to oppose the full to the full, and that the\nquestion, \"Why does something exist?\" is consequently without meaning, a\npseudo-problem raised about a pseudo-idea? Yet we must say once more why\nthis phantom of a problem haunts the mind with such obstinacy. In vain\ndo we show that in the idea of an \"annihilation of the real\" there is\nonly the image of all realities expelling one another endlessly, in a\ncircle; in vain do we add that the idea of non-existence is only that of\nthe expulsion of an imponderable existence, or a \"merely possible\"\nexistence, by a more substantial existence which would then be the true\nreality; in vain do we find in the _sui generis_ form of negation an\nelement which is not intellectual--negation being the judgment of a\njudgment, an admonition given to some one else or to oneself, so that it\nis absurd to attribute to negation the power of creating ideas of a new\nkind, viz. ideas without content;--in spite of all, the conviction\npersists that before things, or at least under things, there is\n\"Nothing.\" If we seek the reason of this fact, we shall find it\nprecisely in the feeling, in the social and, so to speak, practical\nelement, that gives its specific form to negation. The greatest\nphilosophic difficulties arise, as we have said, from the fact that the\nforms of human action venture outside of their proper sphere. We are\nmade in order to act as much as, and more than, in order to think--or\nrather, when we follow the bent of our nature, it is in order to act\nthat we think. It is therefore no wonder that the habits of action give\ntheir tone to those of thought, and that our mind always perceives\nthings in the same order in which we are accustomed to picture them when\nwe propose to act on them. Now, it is unquestionable, as we remarked\nabove, that every human action has its starting-point in a\ndissatisfaction, and thereby in a feeling of absence. We should not act\nif we did not set before ourselves an end, and we seek a thing only\nbecause we feel the lack of it. Our action proceeds thus from \"nothing\"\nto \"something,\" and its very essence is to embroider \"something\" on the\ncanvas of \"nothing.\" The truth is that the \"nothing\" concerned here is\nthe absence not so much of a thing as of a utility. If I bring a visitor\ninto a room that I have not yet furnished, I say to him that \"there is\nnothing in it.\" Yet I know the room is full of air; but, as we do not\nsit on air, the room truly contains nothing that at this moment, for the\nvisitor and for myself, counts for anything. In a general way, human\nwork consists in creating utility; and, as long as the work is not\ndone, there is \"nothing\"--nothing that we want. Our life is thus spent\nin filling voids, which our intellect conceives under the influence, by\nno means intellectual, of desire and of regret, under the pressure of\nvital necessities; and if we mean by void an absence of utility and not\nof things, we may say, in this quite relative sense, that we are\nconstantly going from the void to the full: such is the direction which\nour action takes. Our speculation cannot help doing the same; and,\nnaturally, it passes from the relative sense to the absolute sense,\nsince it is exercised on things themselves and not on the utility they\nhave for us. Thus is implanted in us the idea that reality fills a void,\nand that Nothing, conceived as an absence of everything, pre-exists\nbefore all things in right, if not in fact. It is this illusion that we\nhave tried to remove by showing that the idea of Nothing, if we try to\nsee in it that of an annihilation of all things, is self-destructive and\nreduced to a mere word; and that if, on the contrary, it is truly an\nidea, then we find in it as much matter as in the idea of All.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis long analysis has been necessary to show that _a self-sufficient\nreality is not necessarily a reality foreign to duration_. If we pass\n(consciously or unconsciously) through the idea of the nought in order\nto reach that of being, the being to which we come is a logical or\nmathematical essence, therefore non-temporal. And, consequently, a\nstatic conception of the real is forced on us: everything appears given\nonce for all, in eternity. But we must accustom ourselves to think being\ndirectly, without making a detour, without first appealing to the\nphantom of the nought which interposes itself between it and us. We must\nstrive to see in order to see, and no longer to see in order to act.\nThen the Absolute is revealed very near us and, in a certain measure,\nin us. It is of psychological and not of mathematical nor logical\nessence. It lives with us. Like us, but in certain aspects infinitely\nmore concentrated and more gathered up in itself, it _endures_.\n\nBut do we ever think true duration? Here again a direct taking\npossession is necessary. It is no use trying to approach duration: we\nmust install ourselves within it straight away. This is what the\nintellect generally refuses to do, accustomed as it is to think the\nmoving by means of the unmovable.\n\nThe function of the intellect is to preside over actions. Now, in\naction, it is the result that interests us; the means matter little\nprovided the end is attained. Thence it comes that we are altogether\nbent on the end to be realized, generally trusting ourselves to it in\norder that the idea may become an act; and thence it comes also that\nonly the goal where our activity will rest is pictured explicitly to our\nmind: the movements constituting the action itself either elude our\nconsciousness or reach it only confusedly. Let us consider a very simple\nact, like that of lifting the arm. Where should we be if we had to\nimagine beforehand all the elementary contractions and tensions this act\ninvolves, or even to perceive them, one by one, as they are\naccomplished? But the mind is carried immediately to the end, that is to\nsay, to the schematic and simplified vision of the act supposed\naccomplished. Then, if no antagonistic idea neutralizes the effect of\nthe first idea, the appropriate movements come of themselves to fill out\nthe plan, drawn in some way by the void of its gaps. The intellect,\nthen, only represents to the activity ends to attain, that is to say,\npoints of rest. And, from one end attained to another end attained, from\none rest to another rest, our activity is carried by a series of leaps,\nduring which our consciousness is turned away as much as possible from\nthe movement going on, to regard only the anticipated image of the\nmovement accomplished.\n\nNow, in order that it may represent as unmovable the result of the act\nwhich is being accomplished, the intellect must perceive, as also\nunmovable, the surroundings in which this result is being framed. Our\nactivity is fitted into the material world. If matter appeared to us as\na perpetual flowing, we should assign no termination to any of our\nactions. We should feel each of them dissolve as fast as it was\naccomplished, and we should not anticipate an ever-fleeting future. In\norder that our activity may leap from an _act_ to an _act_, it is\nnecessary that matter should pass from a _state_ to a _state_, for it is\nonly into a state of the material world that action can fit a result, so\nas to be accomplished. But is it thus that matter presents itself?\n\n_A priori_ we may presume that our perception manages to apprehend\nmatter with this bias. Sensory organs and motor organs are in fact\nco\u00f6rdinated with each other. Now, the first symbolize our faculty of\nperceiving, as the second our faculty of acting. The organism thus\nevidences, in a visible and tangible form, the perfect accord of\nperception and action. So if our activity always aims at a _result_ into\nwhich it is momentarily fitted, our perception must retain of the\nmaterial world, at every moment, only a _state_ in which it is\nprovisionally placed. This is the most natural hypothesis. And it is\neasy to see that experience confirms it.\n\nFrom our first glance at the world, before we even make our _bodies_ in\nit, we distinguish _qualities_. Color succeeds to color, sound to sound,\nresistance to resistance, etc. Each of these qualities, taken\nseparately, is a state that seems to persist as such, immovable until\nanother replaces it. Yet each of these qualities resolves itself, on\nanalysis, into an enormous number of elementary movements. Whether we\nsee in it vibrations or whether we represent it in any other way, one\nfact is certain, it is that every quality is change. In vain, moreover,\nshall we seek beneath the change the thing which changes: it is always\nprovisionally, and in order to satisfy our imagination, that we attach\nthe movement to a mobile. The mobile flies for ever before the pursuit\nof science, which is concerned with mobility alone. In the smallest\ndiscernible fraction of a second, in the almost instantaneous perception\nof a sensible quality, there may be trillions of oscillations which\nrepeat themselves. The permanence of a sensible quality consists in this\nrepetition of movements, as the persistence of life consists in a series\nof palpitations. The primal function of perception is precisely to grasp\na series of elementary changes under the form of a quality or of a\nsimple state, by a work of condensation. The greater the power of acting\nbestowed upon an animal species, the more numerous, probably, are the\nelementary changes that its faculty of perceiving concentrates into one\nof its instants. And the progress must be continuous, in nature, from\nthe beings that vibrate almost in unison with the oscillations of the\nether, up to those that embrace trillions of these oscillations in the\nshortest of their simple perceptions. The first feel hardly anything but\nmovements; the others perceive quality. The first are almost caught up\nin the running-gear of things; the others react, and the tension of\ntheir faculty of acting is probably proportional to the concentration of\ntheir faculty of perceiving. The progress goes on even in humanity\nitself. A man is so much the more a \"man of action\" as he can embrace in\na glance a greater number of events: he who perceives successive events\none by one will allow himself to be led by them; he who grasps them as\na whole will dominate them. In short, the qualities of matter are so\nmany stable views that we take of its instability.\n\nNow, in the continuity of sensible qualities we mark off the boundaries\nof bodies. Each of these bodies really changes at every moment. In the\nfirst place, it resolves itself into a group of qualities, and every\nquality, as we said, consists of a succession of elementary movements.\nBut, even if we regard the quality as a stable state, the body is still\nunstable in that it changes qualities without ceasing. The body\npre-eminently--that which we are most justified in isolating within the\ncontinuity of matter, because it constitutes a relatively closed\nsystem--is the living body; it is, moreover, for it that we cut out the\nothers within the whole. Now, life is an evolution. We concentrate a\nperiod of this evolution in a stable view which we call a form, and,\nwhen the change has become considerable enough to overcome the fortunate\ninertia of our perception, we say that the body has changed its form.\nBut in reality the body is changing form at every moment; or rather,\nthere is no form, since form is immobile and the reality is movement.\nWhat is real is the continual _change of_ form: _form is only a snapshot\nview of a transition_. Therefore, here again, our perception manages to\nsolidify into discontinuous images the fluid continuity of the real.\nWhen the successive images do not differ from each other too much, we\nconsider them all as the waxing and waning of a single _mean_ image, or\nas the deformation of this image in different directions. And to this\nmean we really allude when we speak of the _essence_ of a thing, or of\nthe thing itself.\n\nFinally things, once constituted, show on the surface, by their changes\nof situation, the profound changes that are being accomplished within\nthe Whole. We say then that they _act_ on one another. This action\nappears to us, no doubt, in the form of movement. But from the mobility\nof the movement we turn away as much as we can; what interests us is, as\nwe said above, the unmovable plan of the movement rather than the\nmovement itself. Is it a simple movement? We ask ourselves _where_ it is\ngoing. It is by its direction, that is to say, by the position of its\nprovisional end, that we represent it at every moment. Is it a complex\nmovement? We would know above all _what_ is going on, _what_ the\nmovement is doing--in other words, the _result_ obtained or the\npresiding _intention_. Examine closely what is in your mind when you\nspeak of an action in course of accomplishment. The idea of change is\nthere, I am willing to grant, but it is hidden in the penumbra. In the\nfull light is the motionless plan of the act supposed accomplished. It\nis by this, and by this only, that the complex act is distinguished and\ndefined. We should be very much embarrassed if we had to imagine the\nmovements inherent in the actions of eating, drinking, fighting, etc. It\nis enough for us to know, in a general and indefinite way, that all\nthese acts are movements. Once that side of the matter has been settled,\nwe simply seek to represent the _general plan_ of each of these complex\nmovements, that is to say the _motionless design_ that underlies them.\nHere again knowledge bears on a state rather than on a change. It is\ntherefore the same with this third case as with the others. Whether the\nmovement be qualitative or evolutionary or extensive, the mind manages\nto take stable views of the instability. And thence the mind derives, as\nwe have just shown, three kinds of representations: (1) qualities, (2)\nforms of essences, (3) acts.\n\nTo these three ways of seeing correspond three categories of words:\n_adjectives_, _substantives_, and _verbs_, which are the primordial\nelements of language. Adjectives and substantives therefore symbolize\n_states_. But the verb itself, if we keep to the clear part of the idea\nit calls up, hardly expresses anything else.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow, if we try to characterize more precisely our natural attitude\ntowards Becoming, this is what we find. Becoming is infinitely varied.\nThat which goes from yellow to green is not like that which goes from\ngreen to blue: they are different _qualitative_ movements. That which\ngoes from flower to fruit is not like that which goes from larva to\nnymph and from nymph to perfect insect: they are different\n_evolutionary_ movements. The action of eating or of drinking is not\nlike the action of fighting: they are different _extensive_ movements.\nAnd these three kinds of movement themselves--qualitative, evolutionary,\nextensive--differ profoundly. The trick of our perception, like that of\nour intelligence, like that of our language, consists in extracting from\nthese profoundly different becomings the single representation of\nbecoming _in general_, undefined becoming, a mere abstraction which by\nitself says nothing and of which, indeed, it is very rarely that we\nthink. To this idea, always the same, and always obscure or unconscious,\nwe then join, in each particular case, one or several clear images that\nrepresent _states_ and which serve to distinguish all becomings from\neach other. It is this composition of a specified and definite state\nwith change general and undefined that we substitute for the specific\nchange. An infinite multiplicity of becomings variously colored, so to\nspeak, passes before our eyes: we manage so that we see only differences\nof color, that is to say, differences of state, beneath which there is\nsupposed to flow, hidden from our view, a becoming always and everywhere\nthe same, invariably colorless.\n\nSuppose we wish to portray on a screen a living picture, such as the\nmarching past of a regiment. There is one way in which it might first\noccur to us to do it. That would be to cut out jointed figures\nrepresenting the soldiers, to give to each of them the movement of\nmarching, a movement varying from individual to individual although\ncommon to the human species, and to throw the whole on the screen. We\nshould need to spend on this little game an enormous amount of work, and\neven then we should obtain but a very poor result: how could it, at its\nbest, reproduce the suppleness and variety of life? Now, there is\nanother way of proceeding, more easy and at the same time more\neffective. It is to take a series of snapshots of the passing regiment\nand to throw these instantaneous views on the screen, so that they\nreplace each other very rapidly. This is what the cinematograph does.\nWith photographs, each of which represents the regiment in a fixed\nattitude, it reconstitutes the mobility of the regiment marching. It is\ntrue that if we had to do with photographs alone, however much we might\nlook at them, we should never see them animated: with immobility set\nbeside immobility, even endlessly, we could never make movement. In\norder that the pictures may be animated, there must be movement\nsomewhere. The movement does indeed exist here; it is in the apparatus.\nIt is because the film of the cinematograph unrolls, bringing in turn\nthe different photographs of the scene to continue each other, that each\nactor of the scene recovers his mobility; he strings all his successive\nattitudes on the invisible movement of the film. The process then\nconsists in extracting from all the movements peculiar to all the\nfigures an impersonal movement abstract and simple, _movement in\ngeneral_, so to speak: we put this into the apparatus, and we\nreconstitute the individuality of each particular movement by combining\nthis nameless movement with the personal attitudes. Such is the\ncontrivance of the cinematograph. And such is also that of our\nknowledge. Instead of attaching ourselves to the inner becoming of\nthings, we place ourselves outside them in order to recompose their\nbecoming artificially. We take snapshots, as it were, of the passing\nreality, and, as these are characteristic of the reality, we have only\nto string them on a becoming, abstract, uniform and invisible, situated\nat the back of the apparatus of knowledge, in order to imitate what\nthere is that is characteristic in this becoming itself. Perception,\nintellection, language so proceed in general. Whether we would think\nbecoming, or express it, or even perceive it, we hardly do anything else\nthan set going a kind of cinematograph inside us. We may therefore sum\nup what we have been saying in the conclusion that the _mechanism of our\nordinary knowledge is of a cinematographical kind_.\n\nOf the altogether practical character of this operation there is no\npossible doubt. Each of our acts aims at a certain insertion of our will\ninto the reality. There is, between our body and other bodies, an\narrangement like that of the pieces of glass that compose a\nkaleidoscopic picture. Our activity goes from an arrangement to a\nrearrangement, each time no doubt giving the kaleidoscope a new shake,\nbut not interesting itself in the shake, and seeing only the new\npicture. Our knowledge of the operation of nature must be exactly\nsymmetrical, therefore, with the interest we take in our own operation.\nIn this sense we may say, if we are not abusing this kind of\nillustration, that _the cinematographical character of our knowledge of\nthings is due to the kaleidoscopic character of our adaptation to them_.\n\nThe cinematographical method is therefore the only practical method,\nsince it consists in making the general character of knowledge form\nitself on that of action, while expecting that the detail of each act\nshould depend in its turn on that of knowledge. In order that action may\nalways be enlightened, intelligence must always be present in it; but\nintelligence, in order thus to accompany the progress of activity and\nensure its direction, must begin by adopting its rhythm. Action is\ndiscontinuous, like every pulsation of life; discontinuous, therefore,\nis knowledge. The mechanism of the faculty of knowing has been\nconstructed on this plan. Essentially practical, can it be of use, such\nas it is, for speculation? Let us try with it to follow reality in its\nwindings, and see what will happen.\n\nI take of the continuity of a particular becoming a series of views,\nwhich I connect together by \"becoming in general.\" But of course I\ncannot stop there. What is not determinable is not representable: of\n\"becoming in general\" I have only a verbal knowledge. As the letter _x_\ndesignates a certain unknown quantity, whatever it may be, so my\n\"becoming in general,\" always the same, symbolizes here a certain\ntransition of which I have taken some snapshots; of the transition\nitself it teaches me nothing. Let me then concentrate myself wholly on\nthe transition, and, between any two snapshots, endeavor to realize what\nis going on. As I apply the same method, I obtain the same result; a\nthird view merely slips in between the two others. I may begin again as\noften as I will, I may set views alongside of views for ever, I shall\nobtain nothing else. The application of the cinematographical method\ntherefore leads to a perpetual recommencement, during which the mind,\nnever able to satisfy itself and never finding where to rest, persuades\nitself, no doubt, that it imitates by its instability the very movement\nof the real. But though, by straining itself to the point of giddiness,\nit may end by giving itself the illusion of mobility, its operation has\nnot advanced it a step, since it remains as far as ever from its goal.\nIn order to advance with the moving reality, you must replace yourself\nwithin it. Install yourself within change, and you will grasp at once\nboth change itself and the successive states in which _it might_ at any\ninstant be immobilized. But with these successive states, perceived from\nwithout as real and no longer as potential immobilities, you will never\nreconstitute movement. Call them _qualities_, _forms_, _positions_, or\n_intentions_, as the case may be, multiply the number of them as you\nwill, let the interval between two consecutive states be infinitely\nsmall: before the intervening movement you will always experience the\ndisappointment of the child who tries by clapping his hands together to\ncrush the smoke. The movement slips through the interval, because every\nattempt to reconstitute change out of states implies the absurd\nproposition, that movement is made of immobilities.\n\nPhilosophy perceived this as soon as it opened its eyes. The arguments\nof Zeno of Elea, although formulated with a very different intention,\nhave no other meaning.\n\nTake the flying arrow. At every moment, says Zeno, it is motionless, for\nit cannot have time to move, that is, to occupy at least two successive\npositions, unless at least two moments are allowed it. At a given\nmoment, therefore, it is at rest at a given point. Motionless in each\npoint of its course, it is motionless during all the time that it is\nmoving.\n\nYes, if we suppose that the arrow can ever _be_ in a point of its\ncourse. Yes again, if the arrow, which is moving, ever coincides with a\nposition, which is motionless. But the arrow never _is_ in any point of\nits course. The most we can say is that it might be there, in this\nsense, that it passes there and might stop there. It is true that if it\ndid stop there, it would be at rest there, and at this point it is no\nlonger movement that we should have to do with. The truth is that if the\narrow leaves the point A to fall down at the point B, its movement AB is\nas simple, as indecomposable, in so far as it is movement, as the\ntension of the bow that shoots it. As the shrapnel, bursting before it\nfalls to the ground, covers the explosive zone with an indivisible\ndanger, so the arrow which goes from A to B displays with a single\nstroke, although over a certain extent of duration, its indivisible\nmobility. Suppose an elastic stretched from A to B, could you divide its\nextension? The course of the arrow is this very extension; it is equally\nsimple and equally undivided. It is a single and unique bound. You fix a\npoint C in the interval passed, and say that at a certain moment the\narrow was in C. If it had been there, it would have been stopped there,\nand you would no longer have had a flight from A to B, but _two_\nflights, one from A to C and the other from C to B, with an interval of\nrest. A single movement is entirely, by the hypothesis, a movement\nbetween two stops; if there are intermediate stops, it is no longer a\nsingle movement. At bottom, the illusion arises from this, that the\nmovement, _once effected_, has laid along its course a motionless\ntrajectory on which we can count as many immobilities as we will. From\nthis we conclude that the movement, _whilst being effected_, lays at\neach instant beneath it a position with which it coincides. We do not\nsee that the trajectory is created in one stroke, although a certain\ntime is required for it; and that though we can divide at will the\ntrajectory once created, we cannot divide its creation, which is an act\nin progress and not a thing. To suppose that the moving body _is_ at a\npoint of its course is to cut the course in two by a snip of the\nscissors at this point, and to substitute two trajectories for the\nsingle trajectory which we were first considering. It is to distinguish\ntwo successive acts where, by the hypothesis, there is only one. In\nshort, it is to attribute to the course itself of the arrow everything\nthat can be said of the interval that the arrow has traversed, that is\nto say, to admit _a priori_ the absurdity that movement coincides with\nimmobility.\n\nWe shall not dwell here on the three other arguments of Zeno. We have\nexamined them elsewhere. It is enough to point out that they all consist\nin applying the movement to the line traversed, and supposing that what\nis true of the line is true of the movement. The line, for example, may\nbe divided into as many parts as we wish, of any length that we wish,\nand it is always the same line. From this we conclude that we have the\nright to suppose the movement articulated as we wish, and that it is\nalways the same movement. We thus obtain a series of absurdities that\nall express the same fundamental absurdity. But the possibility of\napplying the movement _to_ the line traversed exists only for an\nobserver who keeping outside the movement and seeing at every instant\nthe possibility of a stop, tries to reconstruct the real movement with\nthese possible immobilities. The absurdity vanishes as soon as we adopt\nby thought the continuity of the real movement, a continuity of which\nevery one of us is conscious whenever he lifts an arm or advances a\nstep. We feel then indeed that the line passed over between two stops is\ndescribed with a single indivisible stroke, and that we seek in vain to\npractice on the movement, which traces the line, divisions\ncorresponding, each to each, with the divisions arbitrarily chosen of\nthe line once it has been traced. The line traversed by the moving body\nlends itself to any kind of division, because it has no internal\norganization. But all movement is articulated inwardly. It is either an\nindivisible bound (which may occupy, nevertheless, a very long duration)\nor a series of indivisible bounds. Take the articulations of this\nmovement into account, or give up speculating on its nature.\n\nWhen Achilles pursues the tortoise, each of his steps must be treated as\nindivisible, and so must each step of the tortoise. After a certain\nnumber of steps, Achilles will have overtaken the tortoise. There is\nnothing more simple. If you insist on dividing the two motions further,\ndistinguish both on the one side and on the other, in the course of\nAchilles and in that of the tortoise, the _sub-multiples_ of the steps\nof each of them; but respect the natural articulations of the two\ncourses. As long as you respect them, no difficulty will arise, because\nyou will follow the indications of experience. But Zeno's device is to\nreconstruct the movement of Achilles according to a law arbitrarily\nchosen. Achilles with a first step is supposed to arrive at the point\nwhere the tortoise was, with a second step at the point which it has\nmoved to while he was making the first, and so on. In this case,\nAchilles would always have a new step to take. But obviously, to\novertake the tortoise, he goes about it in quite another way. The\nmovement considered by Zeno would only be the equivalent of the movement\nof Achilles if we could treat the movement as we treat the interval\npassed through, decomposable and recomposable at will. Once you\nsubscribe to this first absurdity, all the others follow.[99]\n\nNothing would be easier, now, than to extend Zeno's argument to\nqualitative becoming and to evolutionary becoming. We should find the\nsame contradictions in these. That the child can become a youth, ripen\nto maturity and decline to old age, we understand when we consider that\nvital evolution is here the reality itself. Infancy, adolescence,\nmaturity, old age, are mere views of the mind, _possible stops_ imagined\nby us, from without, along the continuity of a progress. On the\ncontrary, let childhood, adolescence, maturity and old age be given as\nintegral parts of the evolution, they become _real stops_, and we can no\nlonger conceive how evolution is possible, for rests placed beside rests\nwill never be equivalent to a movement. How, with what is made, can we\nreconstitute what is being made? How, for instance, from childhood once\nposited as a _thing_, shall we pass to adolescence, when, by the\nhypothesis, childhood only is given? If we look at it closely, we shall\nsee that our habitual manner of speaking, which is fashioned after our\nhabitual manner of thinking, leads us to actual logical\ndead-locks--dead-locks to which we allow ourselves to be led without\nanxiety, because we feel confusedly that we can always get out of them\nif we like: all that we have to do, in fact, is to give up the\ncinematographical habits of our intellect. When we say \"The child\nbecomes a man,\" let us take care not to fathom too deeply the literal\nmeaning of the expression, or we shall find that, when we posit the\nsubject \"child,\" the attribute \"man\" does not yet apply to it, and\nthat, when we express the attribute \"man,\" it applies no more to the\nsubject \"child.\" The reality, which is the _transition_ from childhood\nto manhood, has slipped between our fingers. We have only the imaginary\nstops \"child\" and \"man,\" and we are very near to saying that one of\nthese stops _is_ the other, just as the arrow of Zeno _is_, according to\nthat philosopher, at all the points of the course. The truth is that if\nlanguage here were molded on reality, we should not say \"The child\nbecomes the man,\" but \"There is becoming from the child to the man.\" In\nthe first proposition, \"becomes\" is a verb of indeterminate meaning,\nintended to mask the absurdity into which we fall when we attribute the\nstate \"man\" to the subject \"child.\" It behaves in much the same way as\nthe movement, always the same, of the cinematographical film, a movement\nhidden in the apparatus and whose function it is to superpose the\nsuccessive pictures on one another in order to imitate the movement of\nthe real object. In the second proposition, \"becoming\" is a subject. It\ncomes to the front. It is the reality itself; childhood and manhood are\nthen only possible stops, mere views of the mind; we now have to do with\nthe objective movement itself, and no longer with its cinematographical\nimitation. But the first manner of expression is alone conformable to\nour habits of language. We must, in order to adopt the second, escape\nfrom the cinematographical mechanism of thought.\n\nWe must make complete abstraction of this mechanism, if we wish to get\nrid at one stroke of the theoretical absurdities that the question of\nmovement raises. All is obscure, all is contradictory when we try, with\nstates, to build up a transition. The obscurity is cleared up, the\ncontradiction vanishes, as soon as we place ourselves along the\ntransition, in order to distinguish states in it by making cross cuts\ntherein in thought. The reason is that there is _more_ in the transition\nthan the series of states, that is to say, the possible cuts--_more_ in\nthe movement than the series of positions, that is to say, the possible\nstops. Only, the first way of looking at things is conformable to the\nprocesses of the human mind; the second requires, on the contrary, that\nwe reverse the bent of our intellectual habits. No wonder, then, if\nphilosophy at first recoiled before such an effort. The Greeks trusted\nto nature, trusted the natural propensity of the mind, trusted language\nabove all, in so far as it naturally externalizes thought. Rather than\nlay blame on the attitude of thought and language toward the course of\nthings, they preferred to pronounce the course of things itself to be\nwrong.\n\nSuch, indeed, was the sentence passed by the philosophers of the Eleatic\nschool. And they passed it without any reservation whatever. As becoming\nshocks the habits of thought and fits ill into the molds of language,\nthey declared it unreal. In spatial movement and in change in general\nthey saw only pure illusion. This conclusion could be softened down\nwithout changing the premisses, by saying that the reality changes, but\nthat it _ought not_ to change. Experience confronts us with becoming:\nthat is _sensible_ reality. But the _intelligible_ reality, that which\n_ought_ to be, is more real still, and that reality does not change.\nBeneath the qualitative becoming, beneath the evolutionary becoming,\nbeneath the extensive becoming, the mind must seek that which defies\nchange, the definable quality, the form or essence, the end. Such was\nthe fundamental principle of the philosophy which developed throughout\nthe classic age, the philosophy of Forms, or, to use a term more akin to\nthe Greek, the philosophy of Ideas.\n\nThe word [Greek: eidos], which we translate here by \"Idea,\" has, in\nfact, this threefold meaning. It denotes (1) the quality, (2) the form\nor essence, (3) the end or _design_ (in the sense of _intention_) of the\nact being performed, that is to say, at bottom, the _design_ (in the\nsense of _drawing_) of the act supposed accomplished. _These three\naspects are those of the adjective, substantive and verb, and correspond\nto the three essential categories of language._ After the explanations\nwe have given above, we might, and perhaps we ought to, translate\n[Greek: eidos] by \"view\" or rather by \"moment.\" For [Greek: eidos] is\nthe stable view taken of the instability of things: the _quality_, which\nis a moment of becoming; the _form_, which is a moment of evolution; the\n_essence_, which is the mean form above and below which the other forms\nare arranged as alterations of the mean; finally, the intention or\n_mental design_ which presides over the action being accomplished, and\nwhich is nothing else, we said, than the _material design_, traced out\nand contemplated beforehand, of the action accomplished. To reduce\nthings to Ideas is therefore to resolve becoming into its principal\nmoments, each of these being, moreover, by the hypothesis, screened from\nthe laws of time and, as it were, plucked out of eternity. That is to\nsay that we end in the philosophy of Ideas when we apply the\ncinematographical mechanism of the intellect to the analysis of the\nreal.\n\nBut, when we put immutable Ideas at the base of the moving reality, a\nwhole physics, a whole cosmology, a whole theology follows necessarily.\nWe must insist on the point. Not that we mean to summarize in a few\npages a philosophy so complex and so comprehensive as that of the\nGreeks. But, since we have described the cinematographical mechanism of\nthe intellect, it is important that we should show to what idea of\nreality the play of this mechanism leads. It is the very idea, we\nbelieve, that we find in the ancient philosophy. The main lines of the\ndoctrine that was developed from Plato to Plotinus, passing through\nAristotle (and even, in a certain measure, through the Stoics), have\nnothing accidental, nothing contingent, nothing that must be regarded as\na philosopher's fancy. They indicate the vision that a systematic\nintellect obtains of the universal becoming when regarding it by means\nof snapshots, taken at intervals, of its flowing. So that, even to-day,\nwe shall philosophize in the manner of the Greeks, we shall rediscover,\nwithout needing to know them, such and such of their general\nconclusions, in the exact proportion that we trust in the\ncinematographical instinct of our thought.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe said there is _more_ in a movement than in the successive positions\nattributed to the moving object, _more_ in a becoming than in the forms\npassed through in turn, _more_ in the evolution of form than the forms\nassumed one after another. Philosophy can therefore derive terms of the\nsecond kind from those of the first, but not the first from the second:\nfrom the first terms speculation must take its start. But the intellect\nreverses the order of the two groups; and, on this point, ancient\nphilosophy proceeds as the intellect does. It installs itself in the\nimmutable, it posits only Ideas. Yet becoming exists: it is a fact. How,\nthen, having posited immutability alone, shall we make change come forth\nfrom it? Not by the addition of anything, for, by the hypothesis, there\nexists nothing positive outside Ideas. It must therefore be by a\ndiminution. So at the base of ancient philosophy lies necessarily this\npostulate: that there is more in the motionless than in the moving, and\nthat we pass from immutability to becoming by way of diminution or\nattenuation.\n\nIt is therefore something negative, or zero at most, that must be added\nto Ideas to obtain change. In that consists the Platonic \"non-being,\"\nthe Aristotelian \"matter\"--a metaphysical zero which, joined to the\nIdea, like the arithmetical zero to unity, multiplies it in space and\ntime. By it the motionless and simple Idea is refracted into a movement\nspread out indefinitely. In right, there ought to be nothing but\nimmutable Ideas, immutably fitted to each other. In fact, matter comes\nto add to them its void, and thereby lets loose the universal becoming.\nIt is an elusive nothing, that creeps between the Ideas and creates\nendless agitation, eternal disquiet, like a suspicion insinuated between\ntwo loving hearts. Degrade the immutable Ideas: you obtain, by that\nalone, the perpetual flux of things. The Ideas or Forms are the whole of\nintelligible reality, that is to say, of truth, in that they represent,\nall together, the theoretical equilibrium of Being. As to sensible\nreality, it is a perpetual oscillation from one side to the other of\nthis point of equilibrium.\n\nHence, throughout the whole philosophy of Ideas there is a certain\nconception of duration, as also of the relation of time to eternity. He\nwho installs himself in becoming sees in duration the very life of\nthings, the fundamental reality. The Forms, which the mind isolates and\nstores up in concepts, are then only snapshots of the changing reality.\nThey are moments gathered along the course of time; and, just because we\nhave cut the thread that binds them to time, they no longer endure. They\ntend to withdraw into their own definition, that is to say, into the\nartificial reconstruction and symbolical expression which is their\nintellectual equivalent. They enter into eternity, if you will; but what\nis eternal in them is just what is unreal. On the contrary, if we treat\nbecoming by the cinematographical method, the Forms are no longer\nsnapshots taken of the change, they are its constitutive elements, they\nrepresent all that is positive in Becoming. Eternity no longer hovers\nover time, as an abstraction; it underlies time, as a reality. Such is\nexactly, on this point, the attitude of the philosophy of Forms or\nIdeas. It establishes between eternity and time the same relation as\nbetween a piece of gold and the small change--change so small that\npayment goes on for ever without the debt being paid off. The debt could\nbe paid at once with the piece of gold. It is this that Plato expresses\nin his magnificent language when he says that God, unable to make the\nworld eternal, gave it Time, \"a moving image of eternity.\"[100]\n\nHence also arises a certain conception of extension, which is at the\nbase of the philosophy of Ideas, although it has not been so explicitly\nbrought out. Let us imagine a mind placed alongside becoming, and\nadopting its movement. Each successive state, each quality, each form,\nin short, will be seen by it as a mere cut made by thought in the\nuniversal becoming. It will be found that form is essentially extended,\ninseparable as it is from the extensity of the becoming which has\nmaterialized it in the course of its flow. Every form thus occupies\nspace, as it occupies time. But the philosophy of Ideas follows the\ninverse direction. It starts from the Form; it sees in the Form the very\nessence of reality. It does not take Form as a snapshot of becoming; it\nposits Forms in the eternal; of this motionless eternity, then, duration\nand becoming are supposed to be only the degradation. Form thus posited,\nindependent of time, is then no longer what is found in a perception; it\nis a _concept_. And, as a reality of the conceptual order occupies no\nmore of extension than it does of duration, the Forms must be stationed\noutside space as well as above time. Space and time have therefore\nnecessarily, in ancient philosophy, the same origin and the same value.\nThe same diminution of being is expressed both by extension in space and\ndetention in time. Both of these are but the distance between what is\nand what ought to be. From the standpoint of ancient philosophy, space\nand time can be nothing but the field that an incomplete reality, or\nrather a reality that has gone astray from itself, needs in order to run\nin quest of itself. Only it must be admitted that the field is created\nas the hunting progresses, and that the hunting in some way deposits the\nfield beneath it. Move an imaginary pendulum, a mere mathematical point,\nfrom its position of equilibrium: a perpetual oscillation is started,\nalong which points are placed next to points, and moments succeed\nmoments. The space and time which thus arise have no more \"positivity\"\nthan the movement itself. They represent the remoteness of the position\nartificially given to the pendulum from its normal position, _what it\nlacks_ in order to regain its natural stability. Bring it back to its\nnormal position: space, time and motion shrink to a mathematical point.\nJust so, human reasonings are drawn out into an endless chain, but are\nat once swallowed up in the truth seized by intuition, for their\nextension in space and time is only the distance, so to speak, between\nthought and truth.[101] So of extension and duration in relation to pure\nForms or Ideas. The sensible forms are before us, ever about to recover\ntheir ideality, ever prevented by the matter they bear in them, that is\nto say, by their inner void, by the interval between what they are and\nwhat they ought to be. They are for ever on the point of recovering\nthemselves, for ever occupied in losing themselves. An inflexible law\ncondemns them, like the rock of Sisyphus, to fall back when they are\nalmost touching the summit, and this law, which has projected them into\nspace and time, is nothing other than the very constancy of their\noriginal insufficiency. The alternations of generation and decay, the\nevolutions ever beginning over and over again, the infinite repetition\nof the cycles of celestial spheres--this all represents merely a certain\nfundamental deficit, in which materiality consists. Fill up this\ndeficit: at once you suppress space and time, that is to say, the\nendlessly renewed oscillations around a stable equilibrium always aimed\nat, never reached. Things re-enter into each other. What was extended in\nspace is contracted into pure Form. And past, present, and future shrink\ninto a single moment, which is eternity.\n\nThis amounts to saying that physics is but logic spoiled. In this\nproposition the whole philosophy of Ideas is summarized. And in it also\nis the hidden principle of the philosophy that is innate in our\nunderstanding. If immutability is more than becoming, form is more than\nchange, and it is by a veritable fall that the logical system of Ideas,\nrationally subordinated and co\u00f6rdinated among themselves, is scattered\ninto a physical series of objects and events accidentally placed one\nafter another. The generative idea of a poem is developed in thousands\nof imaginations which are materialized in phrases that spread themselves\nout in words. And the more we descend from the motionless idea, wound on\nitself, to the words that unwind it, the more room is left for\ncontingency and choice. Other metaphors, expressed by other words, might\nhave arisen; an image is called up by an image, a word by a word. All\nthese words run now one after another, seeking in vain, by themselves,\nto give back the simplicity of the generative idea. Our ear only hears\nthe words: it therefore perceives only accidents. But our mind, by\nsuccessive bounds, leaps from the words to the images, from the images\nto the original idea, and so gets back, from the perception of\nwords--accidents called up by accidents--to the conception of the Idea\nthat posits its own being. So the philosopher proceeds, confronted with\nthe universe. Experience makes to pass before his eyes phenomena which\nrun, they also, one behind another in an accidental order determined by\ncircumstances of time and place. This physical order--a degeneration of\nthe logical order--is nothing else but the fall of the logical into\nspace and time. But the philosopher, ascending again from the percept to\nthe concept, sees condensed into the logical all the positive reality\nthat the physical possesses. His intellect, doing away with the\nmateriality that lessens being, grasps being itself in the immutable\nsystem of Ideas. Thus Science is obtained, which appears to us, complete\nand ready-made, as soon as we put back our intellect into its true\nplace, correcting the deviation that separated it from the intelligible.\nScience is not, then, a human construction. It is prior to our\nintellect, independent of it, veritably the generator of Things.\n\nAnd indeed, if we hold the Forms to be simply snapshots taken by the\nmind of the continuity of becoming, they must be relative to the mind\nthat thinks them, they can have no independent existence. At most we\nmight say that each of these Ideas is an _ideal_. But it is in the\nopposite hypothesis that we are placing ourselves. Ideas must then exist\nby themselves. Ancient philosophy could not escape this conclusion.\nPlato formulated it, and in vain did Aristotle strive to avoid it. Since\nmovement arises from the degradation of the immutable, there could be no\nmovement, consequently no sensible world, if there were not, somewhere,\nimmutability realized. So, having begun by refusing to Ideas an\nindependent existence, and finding himself nevertheless unable to\ndeprive them of it, Aristotle pressed them into each other, rolled them\nup into a ball, and set above the physical world a Form that was thus\nfound to be the Form of Forms, the Idea of Ideas, or, to use his own\nwords, the Thought of Thought. Such is the God of Aristotle--necessarily\nimmutable and apart from what is happening in the world, since he is\nonly the synthesis of all concepts in a single concept. It is true that\nno one of the manifold concepts could exist apart, such as it is in the\ndivine unity: in vain should we look for the ideas of Plato within the\nGod of Aristotle. But if only we imagine the God of Aristotle in a sort\nof refraction of himself, or simply inclining toward the world, at once\nthe Platonic Ideas are seen to pour themselves out of him, as if they\nwere involved in the unity of his essence: so rays stream out from the\nsun, which nevertheless did not contain them. It is probably this\n_possibility of an outpouring_ of Platonic Ideas from the Aristotelian\nGod that is meant, in the philosophy of Aristotle, by the active\nintellect, the [Greek: nous] that has been called [Greek:\npoi\u00eatikos]--that is, by what is essential and yet unconscious in human\nintelligence. The [Greek: nous poi\u00eatikos] is Science entire, posited all\nat once, which the conscious, discursive intellect is condemned to\nreconstruct with difficulty, bit by bit. There is then within us, or\nrather behind us, a possible vision of God, as the Alexandrians said, a\nvision always virtual, never actually realized by the conscious\nintellect. In this intuition we should see God expand in Ideas. This it\nis that \"does everything,\"[102] playing in relation to the discursive\nintellect, which moves in time, the same r\u00f4le as the motionless Mover\nhimself plays in relation to the movement of the heavens and the course\nof things.\n\nThere is, then, immanent in the philosophy of Ideas, a particular\nconception of causality, which it is important to bring into full\nlight, because it is that which each of us will reach when, in order to\nascend to the origin of things, he follows to the end the natural\nmovement of the intellect. True, the ancient philosophers never\nformulated it explicitly. They confined themselves to drawing the\nconsequences of it, and, in general, they have marked but points of view\nof it rather than presented it itself. Sometimes, indeed, they speak of\nan _attraction_, sometimes of an _impulsion_ exercised by the prime\nmover on the whole of the world. Both views are found in Aristotle, who\nshows us in the movement of the universe an aspiration of things toward\nthe divine perfection, and consequently an ascent toward God, while he\ndescribes it elsewhere as the effect of a contact of God with the first\nsphere and as descending, consequently, from God to things. The\nAlexandrians, we think, do no more than follow this double indication\nwhen they speak of _procession_ and _conversion_. Everything is derived\nfrom the first principle, and everything aspires to return to it. But\nthese two conceptions of the divine causality can only be identified\ntogether if we bring them, both the one and the other, back to a third,\nwhich we hold to be fundamental, and which alone will enable us to\nunderstand, not only why, in what sense, things move in space and time,\nbut also why there is space and time, why there is movement, why there\nare things.\n\nThis conception, which more and more shows through the reasonings of the\nGreek philosophers as we go from Plato to Plotinus, we may formulate\nthus: _The affirmation of a reality implies the simultaneous affirmation\nof all the degrees of reality intermediate between it and nothing._ The\nprinciple is evident in the case of number: we cannot affirm the number\n10 without thereby affirming the existence of the numbers 9, 8, 7, ...,\netc.--in short, of the whole interval between 10 and zero. But here our\nmind passes naturally from the sphere of quantity to that of quality.\nIt seems to us that, a certain perfection being given, the whole\ncontinuity of degradations is given also between this perfection, on the\none hand, and the nought, on the other hand, that we think we conceive.\nLet us then posit the God of Aristotle, thought of thought--that is,\nthought _making a circle_, transforming itself from subject to object\nand from object to subject by an instantaneous, or rather an eternal,\ncircular process: as, on the other hand, the nought appears to posit\nitself, and as, the two extremities being given, the interval between\nthem is equally given, it follows that all the descending degrees of\nbeing, from the divine perfection down to the \"absolute nothing,\" are\nrealized automatically, so to speak, when we have posited God.\n\nLet us then run through this interval from top to bottom. First of all,\nthe slightest diminution of the first principle will be enough to\nprecipitate Being into space and time; but duration and extension, which\nrepresent this first diminution, will be as near as possible to the\ndivine inextension and eternity. We must therefore picture to ourselves\nthis first degradation of the divine principle as a sphere turning on\nitself, imitating, by the perpetuity of its circular movement, the\neternity of the circle of the divine thought; creating, moreover, its\nown place, and thereby place in general,[103] since it includes without\nbeing included and moves without stirring from the spot; creating also\nits own duration, and thereby duration in general, since its movement is\nthe measure of all motion.[104] Then, by degrees, we shall see the\nperfection decrease, more and more, down to our sublunary world, in\nwhich the cycle of birth, growth and decay imitates and mars the\noriginal circle for the last time. So understood, the causal relation\nbetween God and the world is seen as an attraction when regarded from\nbelow, as an impulsion or a contact when regarded from above, since the\nfirst heaven, with its circular movement, is an imitation of God and all\nimitation is the reception of a form. Therefore, we perceive God as\nefficient cause or as final cause, according to the point of view. And\nyet neither of these two relations is the ultimate causal relation. The\ntrue relation is that which is found between the two members of an\nequation, when the first member is a single term and the second a sum of\nan endless number of terms. It is, we may say, the relation of the\ngold-piece to the small change, if we suppose the change to offer itself\nautomatically as soon as the gold piece is presented. Only thus can we\nunderstand why Aristotle has demonstrated the necessity of a first\nmotionless mover, not by founding it on the assertion that the movement\nof things must have had a beginning, but, on the contrary, by affirming\nthat this movement could not have begun and can never come to an end. If\nmovement exists, or, in other words, if the small change is being\ncounted, the gold piece is to be found somewhere. And if the counting\ngoes on for ever, having never begun, the single term that is eminently\nequivalent to it must be eternal. A perpetuity of mobility is possible\nonly if it is backed by an eternity of immutability, which it unwinds in\na chain without beginning or end.\n\nSuch is the last word of the Greek philosophy. We have not attempted to\nreconstruct it _a priori_. It has manifold origins. It is connected by\nmany invisible threads to the soul of ancient Greece. Vain, therefore,\nthe effort to deduce it from a simple principle.[105] But if everything\nthat has come from poetry, religion, social life and a still rudimentary\nphysics and biology be removed from it, if we take away all the light\nmaterial that may have been used in the construction of the stately\nbuilding, a solid framework remains, and this framework marks out the\nmain lines of a metaphysic which is, we believe, the natural metaphysic\nof the human intellect. We come to a philosophy of this kind, indeed,\nwhenever we follow to the end, the cinematographical tendency of\nperception and thought. Our perception and thought begin by substituting\nfor the continuity of evolutionary change a series of unchangeable forms\nwhich are turn by turn, \"caught on the wing,\" like the rings at a\nmerry-go-round, which the children unhook with their little stick as\nthey are passing. Now, how can the forms be passing, and on what \"stick\"\nare they strung? As the stable forms have been obtained by extracting\nfrom change everything that is definite, there is nothing left, to\ncharacterize the instability on which the forms are laid, but a negative\nattribute, which must be indetermination itself. Such is the first\nproceeding of our thought: it dissociates each change into two\nelements--the one stable, definable for each particular case, to wit,\nthe Form; the other indefinable and always the same, Change in general.\nAnd such, also, is the essential operation of language. Forms are all\nthat it is capable of expressing. It is reduced to taking as understood\nor is limited to _suggesting_ a mobility which, just because it is\nalways unexpressed, is thought to remain in all cases the same.--Then\ncomes in a philosophy that holds the dissociation thus effected by\nthought and language to be legitimate. What can it do, except objectify\nthe distinction with more force, push it to its extreme consequences,\nreduce it into a system? It will therefore construct the real, on the\none hand, with definite Forms or immutable elements, and, on the other,\nwith a principle of mobility which, being the negation of the form,\nwill, by the hypothesis, escape all definition and be the purely\nindeterminate. The more it directs its attention to the forms delineated\nby thought and expressed by language, the more it will see them rise\nabove the sensible and become subtilized into pure concepts, capable of\nentering one within the other, and even of being at last massed together\ninto a single concept, the synthesis of all reality, the achievement of\nall perfection. The more, on the contrary, it descends toward the\ninvisible source of the universal mobility, the more it will feel this\nmobility sink beneath it and at the same time become void, vanish into\nwhat it will call the \"non-being.\" Finally, it will have on the one hand\nthe system of ideas, logically co\u00f6rdinated together or concentrated into\none only, on the other a quasi-nought, the Platonic \"non-being\" or the\nAristotelian \"matter.\"--But, having cut your cloth, you must sew it.\nWith supra-sensible Ideas and an infra-sensible non-being, you now have\nto reconstruct the sensible world. You can do so only if you postulate a\nkind of metaphysical necessity in virtue of which the confronting of\nthis All with this Zero _is equivalent_ to the affirmation of all the\ndegrees of reality that measure the interval between them--just as an\nundivided number, when regarded as a difference between itself and zero,\nis revealed as a certain sum of units, and with its own affirmation\naffirms all the lower numbers. That is the natural postulate. It is that\nalso that we perceive as the base of the Greek philosophy. In order then\nto explain the specific characters of each of these degrees of\nintermediate reality, nothing more is necessary than to measure the\ndistance that separates it from the integral reality. Each lower degree\nconsists in a diminution of the higher, and the _sensible_ newness that\nwe perceive in it is resolved, from the point of view of the\n_intelligible_, into a new quantity of negation which is superadded to\nit. The smallest possible quantity of negation, that which is found\nalready in the highest forms of sensible reality, and consequently _a\nfortiori_ in the lower forms, is that which is expressed by the most\ngeneral attributes of sensible reality, extension and duration. By\nincreasing degradations we will obtain attributes more and more special.\nHere the philosopher's fancy will have free scope, for it is by an\narbitrary decree, or at least a debatable one, that a particular aspect\nof the sensible world will be equated with a particular diminution of\nbeing. We shall not necessarily end, as Aristotle did, in a world\nconsisting of concentric spheres turning on themselves. But we shall be\nled to an analogous cosmology--I mean, to a construction whose pieces,\nthough all different, will have none the less the same relations between\nthem. And this cosmology will be ruled by the same principle. The\nphysical will be defined by the logical. Beneath the changing phenomena\nwill appear to us, by transparence, a closed system of concepts\nsubordinated to and co\u00f6rdinated with each other. Science, understood as\nthe system of concepts, will be more real than the sensible reality. It\nwill be prior to human knowledge, which is only able to spell it letter\nby letter; prior also to things, which awkwardly try to imitate it. It\nwould only have to be diverted an instant from itself in order to step\nout of its eternity and thereby coincide with all this knowledge and all\nthese things. Its immutability is therefore, indeed, the cause of the\nuniversal becoming.\n\nSuch was the point of view of ancient philosophy in regard to change\nand duration. That modern philosophy has repeatedly, but especially in\nits beginnings, had the wish to depart from it, seems to us\nunquestionable. But an irresistible attraction brings the intellect back\nto its natural movement, and the metaphysic of the moderns to the\ngeneral conclusions of the Greek metaphysic. We must try to make this\npoint clear, in order to show by what invisible threads our mechanistic\nphilosophy remains bound to the ancient philosophy of Ideas, and how\nalso it responds to the requirements, above all practical, of our\nunderstanding.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nModern, like ancient, science proceeds according to the\ncinematographical method. It cannot do otherwise; all science is subject\nto this law. For it is of the essence of science to handle _signs_,\nwhich it substitutes for the objects themselves. These signs undoubtedly\ndiffer from those of language by their greater precision and their\nhigher efficacy; they are none the less tied down to the general\ncondition of the sign, which is to denote a fixed aspect of the reality\nunder an arrested form. In order to think movement, a constantly renewed\neffort of the mind is necessary. Signs are made to dispense us with this\neffort by substituting, for the moving continuity of things, an\nartificial reconstruction which is its equivalent in practice and has\nthe advantage of being easily handled. But let us leave aside the means\nand consider only the end. What is the essential object of science? It\nis to enlarge our influence over things. Science may be speculative in\nits form, disinterested in its immediate ends; in other words we may\ngive it as long a credit as it wants. But, however long the day of\nreckoning may be put off, some time or other the payment must be made.\nIt is always then, in short, practical utility that science has in view.\nEven when it launches into theory, it is bound to adapt its behavior to\nthe general form of practice. However high it may rise, it must be ready\nto fall back into the field of action, and at once to get on its feet.\nThis would not be possible for it, if its rhythm differed absolutely\nfrom that of action itself. Now action, we have said, proceeds by leaps.\nTo act is to re-adapt oneself. To know, that is to say, to foresee in\norder to act, is then to go from situation to situation, from\narrangement to rearrangement. Science may consider rearrangements that\ncome closer and closer to each other; it may thus increase the number of\nmoments that it isolates, but it always isolates moments. As to what\nhappens in the interval between the moments, science is no more\nconcerned with that than are our common intelligence, our senses and our\nlanguage: it does not bear on the interval, but only on the extremities.\nSo the cinematographical method forces itself upon our science, as it\ndid already on that of the ancients.\n\nWherein, then, is the difference between the two sciences? We indicated\nit when we said that the ancients reduced the physical order to the\nvital order, that is to say, laws to genera, while the moderns try to\nresolve genera into laws. But we have to look at it in another aspect,\nwhich, moreover, is only a transposition, of the first. Wherein consists\nthe difference of attitude of the two sciences toward change? We may\nformulate it by saying that _ancient science thinks it knows its object\nsufficiently when it has noted of it some privileged moments, whereas\nmodern science considers the object at any moment whatever_.\n\nThe forms or ideas of Plato or of Aristotle correspond to privileged or\nsalient moments in the history of things--those, in general, that have\nbeen fixed by language. They are supposed, like the childhood or the old\nage of a living being, to characterize a period of which they express\nthe quintessence, all the rest of this period being filled by the\npassage, of no interest in itself, from one form to another form. Take,\nfor instance, a falling body. It was thought that we got near enough to\nthe fact when we characterized it as a whole: it was a movement\n_downward_; it was the tendency toward a _centre_; it was the _natural_\nmovement of a body which, separated from the earth to which it belonged,\nwas now going to find its place again. They noted, then, the final term\nor culminating point ([Greek: telos, akm\u00ea]) and set it up as the\nessential moment: this moment, that language has retained in order to\nexpress the whole of the fact, sufficed also for science to characterize\nit. In the physics of Aristotle, it is by the concepts \"high\" and \"low,\"\nspontaneous displacement and forced displacement, own place and strange\nplace, that the movement of a body shot into space or falling freely is\ndefined. But Galileo thought there was no essential moment, no\nprivileged instant. To study the falling body is to consider it at it\nmatters not what moment in its course. The true science of gravity is\nthat which will determine, for any moment of time whatever, the position\nof the body in space. For this, indeed, signs far more precise than\nthose of language are required.\n\nWe may say, then, that our physics differs from that of the ancients\nchiefly in the indefinite breaking up of time. For the ancients, time\ncomprises as many undivided periods as our natural perception and our\nlanguage cut out in it successive facts, each presenting a kind of\nindividuality. For that reason, each of these facts admits, in their\nview, of only a _total_ definition or description. If, in describing it,\nwe are led to distinguish phases in it, we have several facts instead of\na single one, several undivided periods instead of a single period; but\ntime is always supposed to be divided into determinate periods, and the\nmode of division to be forced on the mind by apparent crises of the\nreal, comparable to that of puberty, by the apparent release of a new\nform.--For a Kepler or a Galileo, on the contrary, time is not divided\nobjectively in one way or another by the matter that fills it. It has no\nnatural articulations. We can, we ought to, divide it as we please. All\nmoments count. None of them has the right to set itself up as a moment\nthat represents or dominates the others. And, consequently, we know a\nchange only when we are able to determine what it is about at any one of\nits moments.\n\nThe difference is profound. In fact, in a certain aspect it is radical.\nBut, from the point of view from which we are regarding it, it is a\ndifference of degree rather than of kind. The human mind has passed from\nthe first kind of knowledge to the second through gradual perfecting,\nsimply by seeking a higher precision. There is the same relation between\nthese two sciences as between the noting of the phases of a movement by\nthe eye and the much more complete recording of these phases by\ninstantaneous photography. It is the same cinematographical mechanism in\nboth cases, but it reaches a precision in the second that it cannot have\nin the first. Of the gallop of a horse our eye perceives chiefly a\ncharacteristic, essential or rather schematic attitude, a form that\nappears to radiate over a whole period and so fill up a time of gallop.\nIt is this attitude that sculpture has fixed on the frieze of the\nParthenon. But instantaneous photography isolates any moment; it puts\nthem all in the same rank, and thus the gallop of a horse spreads out\nfor it into as many successive attitudes as it wishes, instead of\nmassing itself into a single attitude, which is supposed to flash out in\na privileged moment and to illuminate a whole period.\n\nFrom this original difference flow all the others. A science that\nconsiders, one after the other, undivided periods of duration, sees\nnothing but phases succeeding phases, forms replacing forms; it is\ncontent with a _qualitative_ description of objects, which it likens to\norganized beings. But when we seek to know what happens within one of\nthese periods, at any moment of time, we are aiming at something\nentirely different. The changes which are produced from one moment to\nanother are no longer, by the hypothesis, changes of quality; they are\n_quantitative_ variations, it may be of the phenomenon itself, it may be\nof its elementary parts. We were right then to say that modern science\nis distinguishable from the ancient in that it applies to magnitudes and\nproposes first and foremost to measure them. The ancients did indeed try\nexperiments, and on the other hand Kepler tried no experiment, in the\nproper sense of the word, in order to discover a law which is the very\ntype of scientific knowledge as we understand it. What distinguishes\nmodern science is not that it is experimental, but that it experiments\nand, more generally, works only with a view to measure.\n\nFor that reason it is right, again, to say that ancient science applied\nto _concepts_, while modern science seeks _laws_--constant relations\nbetween variable magnitudes. The concept of circularity was sufficient\nto Aristotle to define the movement of the heavenly bodies. But, even\nwith the more accurate concept of elliptical form, Kepler did not think\nhe had accounted for the movement of planets. He had to get a law, that\nis to say, a constant relation between the quantitative variations of\ntwo or several elements of the planetary movement.\n\nYet these are only consequences--differences that follow from the\nfundamental difference. It did happen to the ancients accidentally to\nexperiment with a view to measuring, as also to discover a law\nexpressing a constant relation between magnitudes. The principle of\nArchimedes is a true experimental law. It takes into account three\nvariable magnitudes: the volume of a body, the density of the liquid in\nwhich the body is immersed, the vertical pressure that is being exerted.\nAnd it states indeed that one of these three terms is a function of the\nother two.\n\nThe essential, original difference must therefore be sought elsewhere.\nIt is the same that we noticed first. The science of the ancients is\nstatic. Either it considers in block the change that it studies, or, if\nit divides the change into periods, it makes of each of these periods a\nblock in its turn: which amounts to saying that it takes no account of\ntime. But modern science has been built up around the discoveries of\nGalileo and of Kepler, which immediately furnished it with a model. Now,\nwhat do the laws of Kepler say? They lay down a relation between the\nareas described by the heliocentric radius-vector of a planet and the\n_time_ employed in describing them, a relation between the longer axis\nof the orbit and the _time_ taken up by the course. And what was the\nprinciple discovered by Galileo? A law which connected the space\ntraversed by a falling body with the _time_ occupied by the fall.\nFurthermore, in what did the first of the great transformations of\ngeometry in modern times consist, if not in introducing--in a veiled\nform, it is true--time and movement even in the consideration of\nfigures? For the ancients, geometry was a purely static science. Figures\nwere given to it at once, completely finished, like the Platonic Ideas.\nBut the essence of the Cartesian geometry (although Descartes did not\ngive it this form) was to regard every plane curve as described by the\nmovement of a point on a movable straight line which is displaced,\nparallel to itself, along the axis of the abscissae--the displacement of\nthe movable straight line being supposed to be uniform and the abscissa\nthus becoming representative of the time. The curve is then defined if\nwe can state the relation connecting the space traversed on the movable\nstraight line to the time employed in traversing it, that is, if we are\nable to indicate the position of the movable point, on the straight line\nwhich it traverses, at any moment whatever of its course. This relation\nis just what we call the equation of the curve. To substitute an\nequation for a figure consists, therefore, in seeing the actual position\nof the moving points in the tracing of the curve at any moment whatever,\ninstead of regarding this tracing all at once, gathered up in the unique\nmoment when the curve has reached its finished state.\n\nSuch, then, was the directing idea of the reform by which both the\nscience of nature and mathematics, which serves as its instrument, were\nrenewed. Modern science is the daughter of astronomy; it has come down\nfrom heaven to earth along the inclined plane of Galileo, for it is\nthrough Galileo that Newton and his successors are connected with\nKepler. Now, how did the astronomical problem present itself to Kepler?\nThe question was, knowing the respective positions of the planets at a\ngiven moment, how to calculate their positions at any other moment. So\nthe same question presented itself, henceforth, for every material\nsystem. Each material point became a rudimentary planet, and the main\nquestion, the ideal problem whose solution would yield the key to all\nthe others was, the positions of these elements at a particular moment\nbeing given, how to determine their relative positions at any moment. No\ndoubt the problem cannot be put in these precise terms except in very\nsimple cases, for a schematized reality; for we never know the\nrespective positions of the real elements of matter, supposing there are\nreal elements; and, even if we knew them at a given moment, the\ncalculation of their positions at another moment would generally require\na mathematical effort surpassing human powers. But it is enough for us\nto know that these elements might be known, that their present\npositions might be noted, and that a superhuman intellect might, by\nsubmitting these data to mathematical operations, determine the\npositions of the elements at any other moment of time. This conviction\nis at the bottom of the questions we put to ourselves on the subject of\nnature, and of the methods we employ to solve them. That is why every\nlaw in static form seems to us as a provisional instalment or as a\nparticular view of a dynamic law which alone would give us whole and\ndefinitive knowledge.\n\nLet us conclude, then, that our science is not only distinguished from\nancient science in this, that it seeks laws, nor even in this, that its\nlaws set forth relations between magnitudes: we must add that the\nmagnitude to which we wish to be able to relate all others is time, and\nthat _modern science must be defined pre-eminently by its aspiration to\ntake time as an independent variable_. But with what time has it to do?\n\nWe have said before, and we cannot repeat too often, that the science of\nmatter proceeds like ordinary knowledge. It perfects this knowledge,\nincreases its precision and its scope, but it works in the same\ndirection and puts the same mechanism into play. If, therefore, ordinary\nknowledge, by reason of the cinematographical mechanism to which it is\nsubjected, forbears to follow becoming in so far as becoming is moving,\nthe science of matter renounces it equally. No doubt, it distinguishes\nas great a number of moments as we wish in the interval of time it\nconsiders. However small the intervals may be at which it stops, it\nauthorizes us to divide them again if necessary. In contrast with\nancient science, which stopped at certain so-called essential moments,\nit is occupied indifferently with any moment whatever. But it always\nconsiders moments, always virtual stopping-places, always, in short,\nimmobilities. Which amounts to saying that real time, regarded as a\nflux, or, in other words, as the very mobility of being, escapes the\nhold of scientific knowledge. We have already tried to establish this\npoint in a former work. We alluded to it again in the first chapter of\nthis book. But it is necessary to revert to it once more, in order to\nclear up misunderstandings.\n\nWhen positive science speaks of time, what it refers to is the movement\nof a certain mobile T on its trajectory. This movement has been chosen\nby it as representative of time, and it is, by definition, uniform. Let\nus call T_{1}, T_{2}, T_{3}, ... etc., points which divide the trajectory\nof the mobile into equal parts from its origin T_0. We shall say that 1, 2,\n3, ... units of time have flowed past, when the mobile is at the points\nT_{1}, T_{2}, T_{3}, ... of the line it traverses. Accordingly, to consider\nthe state of the universe at the end of a certain time _t_, is to\nexamine where it will be when T is at the point T_t of its course. But\nof the _flux_ itself of time, still less of its effect on consciousness,\nthere is here no question; for there enter into the calculation only the\npoints T_{1}, T_{2}, T_{3}, ... taken on the flux, never the flux itself.\nWe may narrow the time considered as much as we will, that is, break up at\nwill the interval between two consecutive divisions T_{n} and T_{n-|-1};\nbut it is always with points, and with points only, that we are dealing.\nWhat we retain of the movement of the mobile T are positions taken on\nits trajectory. What we retain of all the other points of the universe\nare their positions on their respective trajectories. To each _virtual\nstop_ of the moving body T at the points of division T_{1}, T_{2}, T_{3},\n ... we make correspond a _virtual stop_ of all the other mobiles at the\npoints where they are passing. And when we say that a movement or any\nother change has occupied a time _t_, we mean by it that we have noted a\nnumber _t_ of correspondences of this kind. We have therefore counted\nsimultaneities; we have not concerned ourselves with the flux that goes\nfrom one to another. The proof of this is that I can, at discretion,\nvary the rapidity of the flux of the universe in regard to a\nconsciousness that is independent of it and that would perceive the\nvariation by the quite qualitative _feeling_ that it would have of it:\nwhatever the variation had been, since the movement of T would\nparticipate in this variation, I should have nothing to change in my\nequations nor in the numbers that figure in them.\n\nLet us go further. Suppose that the rapidity of the flux becomes\ninfinite. Imagine, as we said in the first pages of this book, that the\ntrajectory of the mobile T is given at once, and that the whole history,\npast, present and future, of the material universe is spread out\ninstantaneously in space. The same mathematical correspondences will\nsubsist between the moments of the history of the world unfolded like a\nfan, so to speak, and the divisions T_{1}, T_{2}, T_{3}, ... of the line\nwhich will be called, by definition, \"the course of time.\" In the eyes of\nscience nothing will have changed. But if, time thus spreading itself\nout in space and succession becoming juxtaposition, science has nothing\nto change in what it tells us, we must conclude that, in what it tells\nus, it takes account neither of _succession_ in what of it is specific\nnor of _time_ in what there is in it that is fluent. It has no sign to\nexpress what strikes our consciousness in succession and duration. It no\nmore applies to becoming, so far as that is moving, than the bridges\nthrown here and there across the stream follow the water that flows\nunder their arches.\n\nYet succession exists; I am conscious of it; it is a fact. When a\nphysical process is going on before my eyes, my perception and my\ninclination have nothing to do with accelerating or retarding it. What\nis important to the physicist is the _number_ of units of duration the\nprocess fills; he does not concern himself about the units themselves\nand that is why the successive states of the world might be spread out\nall at once in space without his having to change anything in his\nscience or to cease talking about time. But for us, conscious beings, it\nis the units that matter, for we do not count extremities of intervals,\nwe feel and live the intervals themselves. Now, we are conscious of\nthese intervals as of _definite_ intervals. Let me come back again to\nthe sugar in my glass of water:[106] why must I wait for it to melt?\nWhile the duration of the phenomenon is _relative_ for the physicist,\nsince it is reduced to a certain number of units of time and the units\nthemselves are indifferent, this duration is an _absolute_ for my\nconsciousness, for it coincides with a certain degree of impatience\nwhich is rigorously determined. Whence comes this determination? What is\nit that obliges me to wait, and to wait for a certain length of\npsychical duration which is forced upon me, over which I have no power?\nIf succession, in so far as distinct from mere juxtaposition, has no\nreal efficacy, if time is not a kind of force, why does the universe\nunfold its successive states with a velocity which, in regard to my\nconsciousness, is a veritable absolute? Why with this particular\nvelocity rather than any other? Why not with an infinite velocity? Why,\nin other words, is not everything given at once, as on the film of the\ncinematograph? The more I consider this point, the more it seems to me\nthat, if the future is bound to _succeed_ the present instead of being\ngiven alongside of it, it is because the future is not altogether\ndetermined at the present moment, and that if the time taken up by this\nsuccession is something other than a number, if it has for the\nconsciousness that is installed in it absolute value and reality, it is\nbecause there is unceasingly being created in it, not indeed in any such\nartificially isolated system as a glass of sugared water, but in the\nconcrete whole of which every such system forms part, something\nunforeseeable and new. This duration may not be the fact of matter\nitself, but that of the life which reascends the course of matter; the\ntwo movements are none the less mutually dependent upon each other. _The\nduration of the universe must therefore be one with the latitude of\ncreation which can find place in it._\n\nWhen a child plays at reconstructing a picture by putting together the\nseparate pieces in a puzzle game, the more he practices, the more and\nmore quickly he succeeds. The reconstruction was, moreover,\ninstantaneous, the child found it ready-made, when he opened the box on\nleaving the shop. The operation, therefore, does not require a definite\ntime, and indeed, theoretically, it does not require any time. That is\nbecause the result is given. It is because the picture is already\ncreated, and because to obtain it requires only a work of recomposing\nand rearranging--a work that can be supposed going faster and faster,\nand even infinitely fast, up to the point of being instantaneous. But,\nto the artist who creates a picture by drawing it from the depths of his\nsoul, time is no longer an accessory; it is not an interval that may be\nlengthened or shortened without the content being altered. The duration\nof his work is part and parcel of his work. To contract or to dilate it\nwould be to modify both the psychical evolution that fills it and the\ninvention which is its goal. The time taken up by the invention, is one\nwith the invention itself. It is the progress of a thought which is\nchanging in the degree and measure that it is taking form. It is a vital\nprocess, something like the ripening of an idea.\n\nThe painter is before his canvas, the colors are on the palette, the\nmodel is sitting--all this we see, and also we know the painter's\nstyle: do we foresee what will appear on the canvas? We possess the\nelements of the problem; we know in an abstract way, how it will be\nsolved, for the portrait will surely resemble the model and will surely\nresemble also the artist; but the concrete solution brings with it that\nunforeseeable nothing which is everything in a work of art. And it is\nthis nothing that takes time. Nought as matter, it creates itself as\nform. The sprouting and flowering of this form are stretched out on an\nunshrinkable duration, which is one with their essence. So of the works\nof nature. Their novelty arises from an internal impetus which is\nprogress or succession, which confers on succession a peculiar virtue or\nwhich owes to succession the whole of its virtue--which, at any rate,\nmakes succession, or _continuity of interpenetration_ in time,\nirreducible to a mere instantaneous juxtaposition in space. This is why\nthe idea of reading in a present state of the material universe the\nfuture of living forms, and of unfolding now their history yet to come,\ninvolves a veritable absurdity. But this absurdity is difficult to bring\nout, because our memory is accustomed to place alongside of each other,\nin an ideal space, the terms it perceives in turn, because it always\nrepresents _past_ succession in the form of juxtaposition. It is able to\ndo so, indeed, just because the past belongs to that which is already\ninvented, to the dead, and no longer to creation and to life. Then, as\nthe succession to come will end by being a succession past, we persuade\nourselves that the duration to come admits of the same treatment as past\nduration, that it is, even now, unrollable, that the future is there,\nrolled up, already painted on the canvas. An illusion, no doubt, but an\nillusion that is natural, ineradicable, and that will last as long as\nthe human mind!\n\n_Time is invention or it is nothing at all._ But of time-invention\nphysics can take no account, restricted as it is to the\ncinematographical method. It is limited to counting simultaneities\nbetween the events that make up this time and the positions of the\nmobile T on its trajectory. It detaches these events from the whole,\nwhich at every moment puts on a new form and which communicates to them\nsomething of its novelty. It considers them in the abstract, such as\nthey would be outside of the living whole, that is to say, in a time\nunrolled in space. It retains only the events or systems of events that\ncan be thus isolated without being made to undergo too profound a\ndeformation, because only these lend themselves to the application of\nits method. Our physics dates from the day when it was known how to\nisolate such systems. To sum up, _while modern physics is distinguished\nfrom ancient physics by the fact that it considers any moment of time\nwhatever, it rests altogether on a substitution of time-length for\ntime-invention_.\n\nIt seems then that, parallel to this physics, a second kind of knowledge\nought to have grown up, which could have retained what physics allowed\nto escape. On the flux itself of duration science neither would nor\ncould lay hold, bound as it was to the cinematographical method. This\nsecond kind of knowledge would have set the cinematographical method\naside. It would have called upon the mind to renounce its most cherished\nhabits. It is within becoming that it would have transported us by an\neffort of sympathy. We should no longer be asking where a moving body\nwill be, what shape a system will take, through what state a change will\npass at a given moment: the moments of time, which are only arrests of\nour attention, would no longer exist; it is the flow of time, it is the\nvery flux of the real that we should be trying to follow. The first kind\nof knowledge has the advantage of enabling us to foresee the future and\nof making us in some measure masters of events; in return, it retains\nof the moving reality only eventual immobilities, that is to say, views\ntaken of it by our mind. It symbolizes the real and transposes it into\nthe human rather than expresses it. The other knowledge, if it is\npossible, is practically useless, it will not extend our empire over\nnature, it will even go against certain natural aspirations of the\nintellect; but, if it succeeds, it is reality itself that it will hold\nin a firm and final embrace. Not only may we thus complete the intellect\nand its knowledge of matter by accustoming it to install itself within\nthe moving, but by developing also another faculty, complementary to the\nintellect, we may open a perspective on the other half of the real. For,\nas soon as we are confronted with true duration, we see that it means\ncreation, and that if that which is being unmade endures, it can only be\nbecause it is inseparably bound to what is making itself. Thus will\nappear the necessity of a continual growth of the universe, I should say\nof a _life_ of the real. And thus will be seen in a new light the life\nwhich we find on the surface of our planet, a life directed the same way\nas that of the universe, and inverse of materiality. To intellect, in\nshort, there will be added intuition.\n\nThe more we reflect on it, the more we shall find that this conception\nof metaphysics is that which modern science suggests.\n\nFor the ancients, indeed, time is theoretically negligible, because the\nduration of a thing only manifests the degradation of its essence: it is\nwith this motionless essence that science has to deal. Change being only\nthe effort of a form toward its own realization, the realization is all\nthat it concerns us to know. No doubt the realization is never complete:\nit is this that ancient philosophy expresses by saying that we do not\nperceive form without matter. But if we consider the changing object at\na certain essential moment, at its apogee, we may say that there it\njust touches its intelligible form. This intelligible form, this ideal\nand, so to speak, limiting form, our science seizes upon. And possessing\nin this the gold-piece, it holds eminently the small money which we call\nbecoming or change. This change is less than being. The knowledge that\nwould take it for object, supposing such knowledge were possible, would\nbe less than science.\n\nBut, for a science that places all the moments of time in the same rank,\nthat admits no essential moment, no culminating point, no apogee, change\nis no longer a diminution of essence, duration is not a dilution of\neternity. The flux of time is the reality itself, and the things which\nwe study are the things which flow. It is true that of this flowing\nreality we are limited to taking instantaneous views. But, just because\nof this, scientific knowledge must appeal to another knowledge to\ncomplete it. While the ancient conception of scientific knowledge ended\nin making time a degradation, and change the diminution of a form given\nfrom all eternity--on the contrary, by following the new conception to\nthe end, we should come to see in time a progressive growth of the\nabsolute, and in the evolution of things a continual invention of forms\never new.\n\nIt is true that it would be to break with the metaphysics of the\nancients. They saw only one way of knowing definitely. Their science\nconsisted in a scattered and fragmentary metaphysics, their metaphysics\nin a concentrated and systematic science. Their science and metaphysics\nwere, at most, two species of one and the same genus. In our hypothesis,\non the contrary, science and metaphysics are two opposed although\ncomplementary ways of knowing, the first retaining only moments, that is\nto say, that which does not endure, the second bearing on duration\nitself. Now, it was natural to hesitate between so novel a conception\nof metaphysics and the traditional conception. The temptation must have\nbeen strong to repeat with the new science what had been tried on the\nold, to suppose our scientific knowledge of nature completed at once, to\nunify it entirely, and to give to this unification, as the Greeks had\nalready done, the name of metaphysics. So, beside the new way that\nphilosophy might have prepared, the old remained open, that indeed which\nphysics trod. And, as physics retained of time only what could as well\nbe spread out all at once in space, the metaphysics that chose the same\ndirection had necessarily to proceed as if time created and annihilated\nnothing, as if duration had no efficacy. Bound, like the physics of the\nmoderns and the metaphysics of the ancients, to the cinematographical\nmethod, it ended with the conclusion, implicitly admitted at the start\nand immanent in the method itself: _All is given._\n\nThat metaphysics hesitated at first between the two paths seems to us\nunquestionable. The indecision is visible in Cartesianism. On the one\nhand, Descartes affirms universal mechanism: from this point of view\nmovement would be relative,[107] and, as time has just as much reality\nas movement, it would follow that past, present and future are given\nfrom all eternity. But, on the other hand (and that is why the\nphilosopher has not gone to these extreme consequences), Descartes\nbelieves in the free will of man. He superposes on the determinism of\nphysical phenomena the indeterminism of human actions, and,\nconsequently, on time-length a time in which there is invention,\ncreation, true succession. This duration he supports on a God who is\nunceasingly renewing the creative act, and who, being thus tangent to\ntime and becoming, sustains them, communicates to them necessarily\nsomething of his absolute reality. When he places himself at this\nsecond point of view, Descartes speaks of movement, even spatial, as of\nan absolute.[108]\n\nHe therefore entered both roads one after the other, having resolved to\nfollow neither of them to the end. The first would have led him to the\ndenial of free will in man and of real will in God. It was the\nsuppression of all efficient duration, the likening of the universe to a\nthing given, which a superhuman intelligence would embrace at once in a\nmoment or in eternity. In following the second, on the contrary, he\nwould have been led to all the consequences which the intuition of true\nduration implies. Creation would have appeared not simply as\n_continued_, but also as _continuous_. The universe, regarded as a\nwhole, would really evolve. The future would no longer be determinable\nby the present; at most we might say that, once realized, it can be\nfound again in its antecedents, as the sounds of a new language can be\nexpressed with the letters of an old alphabet if we agree to enlarge the\nvalue of the letters and to attribute to them, retro-actively, sounds\nwhich no combination of the old sounds could have produced beforehand.\nFinally, the mechanistic explanation might have remained universal in\nthis, that it can indeed be extended to as many systems as we choose to\ncut out in the continuity of the universe; but mechanism would then have\nbecome a _method_ rather than a _doctrine_. It would have expressed the\nfact that science must proceed after the cinematographical manner, that\nthe function of science is to scan the rhythm of the flow of things and\nnot to fit itself into that flow.--Such were the two opposite\nconceptions of metaphysics which were offered to philosophy.\n\nIt chose the first. The reason of this choice is undoubtedly the mind's\ntendency to follow the cinematographical method, a method so natural to\nour intellect, and so well adjusted also to the requirements of our\nscience, that we must feel doubly sure of its speculative impotence to\nrenounce it in metaphysics. But ancient philosophy also influenced the\nchoice. Artists for ever admirable, the Greeks created a type of\nsupra-sensible truth, as of sensible beauty, whose attraction is hard to\nresist. As soon as we incline to make metaphysics a systematization of\nscience, we glide in the direction of Plato and of Aristotle. And, once\nin the zone of attraction in which the Greek philosophers moved, we are\ndrawn along in their orbit.\n\nSuch was the case with Leibniz, as also with Spinoza. We are not blind\nto the treasures of originality their doctrines contain. Spinoza and\nLeibniz have poured into them the whole content of their souls, rich\nwith the inventions of their genius and the acquisitions of modern\nthought. And there are in each of them, especially in Spinoza, flashes\nof intuition that break through the system. But if we leave out of the\ntwo doctrines what breathes life into them, if we retain the skeleton\nonly, we have before us the very picture of Platonism and\nAristotelianism seen through Cartesian mechanism. They present to us a\nsystematization of the new physics, constructed on the model of the\nancient metaphysics.\n\nWhat, indeed, could the unification of physics be? The inspiring idea of\nthat science was to isolate, within the universe, systems of material\npoints such that, the position of each of these points being known at a\ngiven moment, we could then calculate it for any moment whatever. As,\nmoreover, the systems thus defined were the only ones on which the new\nscience had hold, and as it could not be known beforehand whether a\nsystem satisfied or did not satisfy the desired condition, it was useful\nto proceed always and everywhere _as if_ the condition was realized.\nThere was in this a methodological rule, a very natural rule--so\nnatural, indeed, that it was not even necessary to formulate it. For\nsimple common sense tells us that when we are possessed of an effective\ninstrument of research, and are ignorant of the limits of its\napplicability, we should act as if its applicability were unlimited;\nthere will always be time to abate it. But the temptation must have been\ngreat for the philosopher to hypostatize this hope, or rather this\nimpetus, of the new science, and to convert a general rule of method\ninto a fundamental law of things. So he transported himself at once to\nthe limit; he supposed physics to have become complete and to embrace\nthe whole of the sensible world. The universe became a system of points,\nthe position of which was rigorously determined at each instant by\nrelation to the preceding instant and theoretically calculable for any\nmoment whatever. The result, in short, was universal mechanism. But it\nwas not enough to formulate this mechanism; what was required was to\nfound it, to give the reason for it and prove its necessity. And the\nessential affirmation of mechanism being that of a reciprocal\nmathematical dependence of all the points of the universe, as also of\nall the moments of the universe, the reason of mechanism had to be\ndiscovered in the unity of a principle into which could be contracted\nall that is juxtaposed in space and successive in time. Hence, the whole\nof the real was supposed to be given at once. The reciprocal\ndetermination of the juxtaposed appearances in space was explained by\nthe indivisibility of true being, and the inflexible determinism of\nsuccessive phenomena in time simply expressed that the whole of being is\ngiven in the eternal.\n\nThe new philosophy was going, then, to be a recommencement, or rather a\ntransposition, of the old. The ancient philosophy had taken each of the\n_concepts_ into which a becoming is concentrated or which mark its\napogee: it supposed them all known, and gathered them up into a single\nconcept, form of forms, idea of ideas, like the God of Aristotle. The\nnew philosophy was going to take each of the _laws_ which condition a\nbecoming in relation to others and which are as the permanent substratum\nof phenomena: it would suppose them all known, and would gather them up\ninto a unity which also would express them eminently, but which, like\nthe God of Aristotle and for the same reasons, must remain immutably\nshut up in itself.\n\nTrue, this return to the ancient philosophy was not without great\ndifficulties. When a Plato, an Aristotle, or a Plotinus melt all the\nconcepts of their science into a single one, in so doing they embrace\nthe whole of the real, for concepts are supposed to represent the things\nthemselves, and to possess at least as much positive content. But a law,\nin general, expresses only a relation, and physical laws in particular\nexpress only _quantitative_ relations between concrete things. So that\nif a modern philosopher works with the laws of the new science as the\nGreek philosopher did with the concepts of the ancient science, if he\nmakes all the conclusions of a physics supposed omniscient converge on a\nsingle point, he neglects what is concrete in the phenomena--the\nqualities perceived, the perceptions themselves. His synthesis\ncomprises, it seems, only a fraction of reality. In fact, the first\nresult of the new science was to cut the real into two halves, quantity\nand quality, the former being credited to the account of _bodies_ and\nthe latter to the account of _souls_. The ancients had raised no such\nbarriers either between quality and quantity or between soul and body.\nFor them, the mathematical concepts were concepts like the others,\nrelated to the others and fitting quite naturally into the hierarchy of\nthe Ideas. Neither was the body then defined by geometrical extension,\nnor the soul by consciousness. If the [Greek: psych\u00ea] of Aristotle, the\nentelechy of a living body, is less spiritual than our \"soul,\" it is\nbecause his [Greek: o\u00f4ma], already impregnated with the Idea, is less\ncorporeal than our \"body.\" The scission was not yet irremediable between\nthe two terms. It has become so, and thence a metaphysic that aims at an\nabstract unity must resign itself either to comprehend in its synthesis\nonly one half of the real, or to take advantage of the absolute\nheterogeneity of the two halves in order to consider one as a\ntranslation of the other. Different phrases will express different\nthings if they belong to the same language, that is to say, if there is\na certain relationship of sound between them. But if they belong to two\ndifferent languages, they might, just because of their radical diversity\nof sound, express the same thing. So of quality and quantity, of soul\nand body. It is for having cut all connection between the two terms that\nphilosophers have been led to establish between them a rigorous\nparallelism, of which the ancients had not dreamed, to regard them as\ntranslations and not as inversions of each other; in short, to posit a\nfundamental identity as a substratum to their duality. The synthesis to\nwhich they rose thus became capable of embracing everything. A divine\nmechanism made the phenomena of thought to correspond to those of\nextension, each to each, qualities to quantities, souls to bodies.\n\nIt is this parallelism that we find both in Leibniz and in Spinoza--in\ndifferent forms, it is true, because of the unequal importance which\nthey attach to extension. With Spinoza, the two terms Thought and\nExtension are placed, in principle at least, in the same rank. They are,\ntherefore, two translations of one and the same original, or, as Spinoza\nsays, two attributes of one and the same substance, which we must call\nGod. And these two translations, as also an infinity of others into\nlanguages which we know not, are called up and even forced into\nexistence by the original, just as the essence of the circle is\ntranslated automatically, so to speak, both by a figure and by an\nequation. For Leibniz, on the contrary, extension is indeed still a\ntranslation, but it is thought that is the original, and thought might\ndispense with translation, the translation being made only for us. In\npositing God, we necessarily posit also all the possible views of God,\nthat is to say, the monads. But we can always imagine that a view has\nbeen taken from a point of view, and it is natural for an imperfect mind\nlike ours to class views, qualitatively different, according to the\norder and position of points of view, qualitatively identical, from\nwhich the views might have been taken. In reality the points of view do\nnot exist, for there are only views, each given in an indivisible block\nand representing in its own way the whole of reality, which is God. But\nwe need to express the plurality of the views, that are _unlike_ each\nother, by the multiplicity of the points of view that are _exterior_ to\neach other; and we also need to symbolize the more or less close\nrelationship between the views by the relative situation of the points\nof view to one another, their nearness or their distance, that is to\nsay, by a magnitude. That is what Leibniz means when he says that space\nis the order of coexistents, that the perception of extension is a\nconfused perception (that is to say, a perception relative to an\nimperfect mind), and that nothing exists but monads, expressing thereby\nthat the real Whole has no parts, but is repeated to infinity, each time\nintegrally (though diversely) within itself, and that all these\nrepetitions are complementary to each other. In just the same way, the\nvisible relief of an object is equivalent to the whole set of\nstereoscopic views taken of it from all points, so that, instead of\nseeing in the relief a juxtaposition of solid parts, we might quite as\nwell look upon it as made of the _reciprocal complementarity_ of these\nwhole views, each given in block, each indivisible, each different from\nall the others and yet representative of the same thing. The Whole, that\nis to say, God, is this very relief for Leibniz, and the monads are\nthese complementary plane views; for that reason he defines God as \"the\nsubstance that has no point of view,\" or, again, as \"the universal\nharmony,\" that is to say, the reciprocal complementarity of monads. In\nshort, Leibniz differs from Spinoza in this, that he looks upon the\nuniversal mechanism as an aspect which reality takes for us, whereas,\nSpinoza makes of it an aspect which reality takes for itself.\n\nIt is true that, after having concentrated in God the whole of the real,\nit became difficult for them to pass from God to things, from eternity\nto time. The difficulty was even much greater for these philosophers\nthan an Aristotle or a Plotinus. The God of Aristotle, indeed, had been\nobtained by the compression and reciprocal compenetration of the Ideas\nthat represent, in their finished state or in their culminating point,\nthe changing things of the world. He was, therefore, transcendent to the\nworld, and the duration of things was juxtaposed to His eternity, of\nwhich it was only a weakening. But in the principle to which we are led\nby the consideration of universal mechanism, and which must serve as its\nsubstratum, it is not concepts or _things_, but laws or _relations_ that\nare condensed. Now, a relation does not exist separately. A law connects\nchanging terms and is immanent in what it governs. The principle in\nwhich all these relations are ultimately summed up, and which is the\nbasis of the unity of nature, cannot, therefore, be transcendent to\nsensible reality; it is immanent in it, and we must suppose that it is\nat once both in and out of time, gathered up in the unity of its\nsubstance and yet condemned to wind it off in an endless chain. Rather\nthan formulate so appalling a contradiction, the philosophers were\nnecessarily led to sacrifice the weaker of the two terms, and to regard\nthe temporal aspect of things as a mere illusion. Leibniz says so in\nexplicit terms, for he makes of time, as of space, a confused\nperception. While the multiplicity of his monads expresses only the\ndiversity of views taken of the whole, the history of an isolated monad\nseems to be hardly anything else than the manifold views that it can\ntake of its own substance: so that time would consist in all the points\nof view that each monad can assume towards itself, as space consists in\nall the points of view that all monads can assume towards God. But the\nthought of Spinoza is much less clear, and this philosopher seems to\nhave sought to establish, between eternity and that which has duration,\nthe same difference as Aristotle made between essence and accidents: a\nmost difficult undertaking, for the [Greek: yl\u00ea] of Aristotle was no\nlonger there to measure the distance and explain the passage from the\nessential to the accidental, Descartes having eliminated it for ever.\nHowever that may be, the deeper we go into the Spinozistic conception of\nthe \"inadequate,\" as related to the \"adequate,\" the more we feel\nourselves moving in the direction of Aristotelianism--just as the\nLeibnizian monads, in proportion as they mark themselves out the more\nclearly, tend to approximate to the Intelligibles of Plotinus.[109] The\nnatural trend of these two philosophies brings them back to the\nconclusions of the ancient philosophy.\n\nTo sum up, the resemblances of this new metaphysic to that of the\nancients arise from the fact that both suppose ready-made--the former\nabove the sensible, the latter within the sensible--a science one and\ncomplete, with which any reality that the sensible may contain is\nbelieved to coincide. _For both, reality as well as truth are integrally\ngiven in eternity._ Both are opposed to the idea of a reality that\ncreates itself gradually, that is, at bottom, to an absolute duration.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow, it might easily be shown that the conclusions of this metaphysic,\nspringing from science, have rebounded upon science itself, as it were,\nby ricochet. They penetrate the whole of our so-called empiricism.\nPhysics and chemistry study only inert matter; biology, when it treats\nthe living being physically and chemically, considers only the inert\nside of the living: hence the mechanistic explanations, in spite of\ntheir development, include only a small part of the real. To suppose _a\npriori_ that the whole of the real is resolvable into elements of this\nkind, or at least that mechanism can give a complete translation of what\nhappens in the world, is to pronounce for a certain metaphysic--the very\nmetaphysic of which Spinoza and Leibniz have laid down the principles\nand drawn the consequences. Certainly, the psycho-physiologist who\naffirms the exact equivalence of the cerebral and the psychical state,\nwho imagines the possibility, for some superhuman intellect, of reading\nin the brain what is going on in consciousness, believes himself very\nfar from the metaphysicians of the seventeenth century, and very near to\nexperience. Yet experience pure and simple tells us nothing of the kind.\nIt shows us the interdependence of the mental and the physical, the\nnecessity of a certain cerebral substratum for the psychical\nstate--nothing more. From the fact that two things are mutually\ndependent, it does not follow that they are equivalent. Because a\ncertain screw is necessary to a certain machine, because the machine\nworks when the screw is there and stops when the screw is taken away, we\ndo not say that the screw is the equivalent of the machine. For\ncorrespondence to be equivalence, it would be necessary that to any part\nof the machine a definite part of the screw should correspond--as in a\nliteral translation in which each chapter renders a chapter, each\nsentence a sentence, each word a word. Now, the relation of the brain to\nconsciousness seems to be entirely different. Not only does the\nhypothesis of an equivalence between the psychical state and the\ncerebral state imply a downright absurdity, as we have tried to prove in\na former essay,[110] but the facts, examined without prejudice,\ncertainly seem to indicate that the relation of the psychical to the\nphysical is just that of the machine to the screw. To speak of an\nequivalence between the two is simply to curtail, and make almost\nunintelligible, the Spinozistic or Leibnizian metaphysic. It is to\naccept this philosophy, such as it is, on the side of Extension, but to\nmutilate it on the side of Thought. With Spinoza, with Leibniz, we\nsuppose the unifying synthesis of the phenomena of matter achieved, and\neverything in matter explained mechanically. But, for the conscious\nfacts, we no longer push the synthesis to the end. We stop half-way. We\nsuppose consciousness to be coextensive with a certain part of nature\nand not with all of it. We are thus led, sometimes to an\n\"epiphenomenalism\" that associates consciousness with certain particular\nvibrations and puts it here and there in the world in a sporadic state,\nand sometimes to a \"monism\" that scatters consciousness into as many\ntiny grains as there are atoms; but, in either case, it is to an\nincomplete Spinozism or to an incomplete Leibnizianism that we come\nback. Between this conception of nature and Cartesianism we find,\nmoreover, intermediate historical stages. The medical philosophers of\nthe eighteenth century, with their cramped Cartesianism, have had a\ngreat part in the genesis of the \"epiphenomenalism\" and \"monism\" of the\npresent day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThese doctrines are thus found to fall short of the Kantian criticism.\nCertainly, the philosophy of Kant is also imbued with the belief in a\nscience single and complete, embracing the whole of the real. Indeed,\nlooked at from one aspect, it is only a continuation of the metaphysics\nof the moderns and a transposition of the ancient metaphysics. Spinoza\nand Leibniz had, following Aristotle, hypostatized in God the unity of\nknowledge. The Kantian criticism, on one side at least, consists in\nasking whether the whole of this hypothesis is necessary to modern\nscience as it was to ancient science, or if part of the hypothesis is\nnot sufficient. For the ancients, science applied to _concepts_, that is\nto say, to kinds of _things_. In compressing all concepts into one, they\ntherefore necessarily arrived at a _being_, which we may call Thought,\nbut which was rather thought-object than thought-subject. When Aristotle\ndefined God the [Greek: no\u00ease\u00f4s no\u00easis], it is probably on [Greek:\nno\u00ease\u00f4s], and not on [Greek: no\u00easis] that he put the emphasis. God was\nthe synthesis of all concepts, the idea of ideas. But modern science\nturns on laws, that is, on relations. Now, a relation is a bond\nestablished by a mind between two or more terms. A relation is nothing\noutside of the intellect that relates. The universe, therefore, can only\nbe a system of laws if phenomena have passed beforehand through the\nfilter of an intellect. Of course, this intellect might be that of a\nbeing infinitely superior to man, who would found the materiality of\nthings at the same time that he bound them together: such was the\nhypothesis of Leibniz and of Spinoza. But it is not necessary to go so\nfar, and, for the effect we have here to obtain, the human intellect is\nenough: such is precisely the Kantian solution. Between the dogmatism of\na Spinoza or a Leibniz and the criticism of Kant there is just the same\ndistance as between \"it may be maintained that--\" and \"it suffices\nthat--.\" Kant stops this dogmatism on the incline that was making it\nslip too far toward the Greek metaphysics; he reduces to the strict\nminimum the hypothesis which is necessary in order to suppose the\nphysics of Galileo indefinitely extensible. True, when he speaks of the\nhuman intellect, he means neither yours nor mine: the unity of nature\ncomes indeed from the human understanding that unifies, but the unifying\nfunction that operates here is impersonal. It imparts itself to our\nindividual consciousnesses, but it transcends them. It is much less than\na substantial God; it is, however, a little more than the isolated work\nof a man or even than the collective work of humanity. It does not\nexactly lie within man; rather, man lies within it, as in an atmosphere\nof intellectuality which his consciousness breathes. It is, if we will,\na _formal_ God, something that in Kant is not yet divine, but which\ntends to become so. It became so, indeed, with Fichte. With Kant,\nhowever, its principal r\u00f4le was to give to the whole of our science a\nrelative and _human_ character, although of a humanity already somewhat\ndeified. From this point of view, the criticism of Kant consisted\nchiefly in limiting the dogmatism of his predecessors, accepting their\nconception of science and reducing to a minimum the metaphysic it\nimplied.\n\nBut it is otherwise with the Kantian distinction between the matter of\nknowledge and its form. By regarding intelligence as pre-eminently a\nfaculty of establishing relations, Kant attributed an extra-intellectual\norigin to the terms between which the relations are established. He\naffirmed, against his immediate predecessors, that knowledge is not\nentirely resolvable into terms of intelligence. He brought back into\nphilosophy--while modifying it and carrying it on to another plane--that\nessential element of the philosophy of Descartes which had been abandoned\nby the Cartesians.\n\nThereby he prepared the way for a new philosophy, which might have\nestablished itself in the extra-intellectual matter of knowledge by a\nhigher effort of intuition. Coinciding with this matter, adopting the\nsame rhythm and the same movement, might not consciousness, by two\nefforts of opposite direction, raising itself and lowering itself by\nturns, become able to grasp from within, and no longer perceive only\nfrom without, the two forms of reality, body and mind? Would not this\ntwofold effort make us, as far as that is possible, re-live the\nabsolute? Moreover, as, in the course of this operation, we should see\nintellect spring up of itself, cut itself out in the whole of mind,\nintellectual knowledge would then appear as it is, limited, but not\nrelative.\n\nSuch was the direction that Kantianism might have pointed out to a\nrevivified Cartesianism. But in this direction Kant himself did not go.\n\nHe _would_ not, because, while assigning to knowledge an\nextra-intellectual matter, he believed this matter to be either\ncoextensive with intellect or less extensive than intellect. Therefore\nhe could not dream of cutting out intellect in it, nor, consequently, of\ntracing the genesis of the understanding and its categories. The molds\nof the understanding and the understanding itself had to be accepted as\nthey are, already made. Between the matter presented to our intellect\nand this intellect itself there was no relationship. The agreement\nbetween the two was due to the fact that intellect imposed its form on\nmatter. So that not only was it necessary to posit the intellectual form\nof knowledge as a kind of absolute and give up the quest of its genesis,\nbut the very matter of this knowledge seemed too ground down by the\nintellect for us to be able to hope to get it back in its original\npurity. It was not the \"thing-in-itself,\" it was only the refraction of\nit through our atmosphere.\n\nIf now we inquire why Kant did not believe that the matter of our\nknowledge extends beyond its form, this is what we find. The criticism\nof our knowledge of nature that was instituted by Kant consisted in\nascertaining what our mind must be and what Nature must be _if_ the\nclaims of our science are justified; but of these claims themselves Kant\nhas not made the criticism. I mean that he took for granted the idea of\na science that is one, capable of binding with the same force all the\nparts of what is given, and of co\u00f6rdinating them into a system\npresenting on all sides an equal solidity. He did not consider, in his\n_Critique of Pure Reason_, that science became less and less objective,\nmore and more symbolical, to the extent that it went from the physical\nto the vital, from the vital to the psychical. Experience does not move,\nto his view, in two different and perhaps opposite ways, the one\nconformable to the direction of the intellect, the other contrary to it.\nThere is, for him, only _one_ experience, and the intellect covers its\nwhole ground. This is what Kant expresses by saying that all our\nintuitions are sensuous, or, in other words, infra-intellectual. And\nthis would have to be admitted, indeed, if our science presented in all\nits parts an equal objectivity. But suppose, on the contrary, that\nscience is less and less objective, more and more symbolical, as it goes\nfrom the physical to the psychical, passing through the vital: then, as\nit is indeed necessary to perceive a thing somehow in order to symbolize\nit, there would be an intuition of the psychical, and more generally of\nthe vital, which the intellect would transpose and translate, no doubt,\nbut which would none the less transcend the intellect. There would be,\nin other words, a supra-intellectual intuition. If this intuition exist,\na taking possession of the spirit by itself is possible, and no longer\nonly a knowledge that is external and phenomenal. What is more, if we\nhave an intuition of this kind (I mean an ultra-intellectual intuition)\nthen sensuous intuition is likely to be in continuity with it through\ncertain intermediaries, as the infra-red is continuous with the\nultra-violet. Sensuous intuition itself, therefore, is promoted. It will\nno longer attain only the phantom of an unattainable thing-in-itself. It\nis (provided we bring to it certain indispensable corrections) into the\nabsolute itself that it will introduce us. So long as it was regarded as\nthe only material of our science, it reflected back on all science\nsomething of the relativity which strikes a scientific knowledge of\nspirit; and thus the perception of bodies, which is the beginning of the\nscience of bodies, seemed itself to be relative. Relative, therefore,\nseemed to be sensuous intuition. But this is not the case if\ndistinctions are made between the different sciences, and if the\nscientific knowledge of the spiritual (and also, consequently, of the\nvital) be regarded as the more or less artificial extension of a certain\nmanner of knowing which, applied to bodies, is not at all symbolical.\nLet us go further: if there are thus two intuitions of different order\n(the second being obtained by a reversal of the direction of the first),\nand if it is toward the second that the intellect naturally inclines,\nthere is no essential difference between the intellect and this\nintuition itself. The barriers between the matter of sensible knowledge\nand its form are lowered, as also between the \"pure forms\" of\nsensibility and the categories of the understanding. The matter and form\nof intellectual knowledge (restricted to its own object) are seen to be\nengendering each other by a reciprocal adaptation, intellect modeling\nitself on corporeity, and corporeity on intellect.\n\nBut this duality of intuition Kant neither would nor could admit. It\nwould have been necessary, in order to admit it, to regard duration as\nthe very stuff of reality, and consequently to distinguish between the\nsubstantial duration of things and time spread out in space. It would\nhave been necessary to regard space itself, and the geometry which is\nimmanent in space, as an ideal limit in the direction of which material\nthings develop, but which they do not actually attain. Nothing could be\nmore contrary to the letter, and perhaps also to the spirit, of the\n_Critique of Pure Reason_. No doubt, knowledge is presented to us in it\nas an ever-open roll, experience as a push of facts that is for ever\ngoing on. But, according to Kant, these facts are spread out on one\nplane as fast as they arise; they are external to each other and\nexternal to the mind. Of a knowledge from within, that could grasp them\nin their springing forth instead of taking them already sprung, that\nwould dig beneath space and spatialized time, there is never any\nquestion. Yet it is indeed beneath this plane that our consciousness\nplaces us; there flows true duration.\n\nIn this respect, also, Kant is very near his predecessors. Between the\nnon-temporal, and the time that is spread out in distinct moments, he\nadmits no mean. And as there is indeed no intuition that carries us into\nthe non-temporal, all intuition is thus found to be sensuous, by\ndefinition. But between physical existence, which is spread out in\nspace, and non-temporal existence, which can only be a conceptual and\nlogical existence like that of which metaphysical dogmatism speaks, is\nthere not room for consciousness and for life? There is, unquestionably.\nWe perceive it when we place ourselves in duration in order to go from\nthat duration to moments, instead of starting from moments in order to\nbind them again and to construct duration.\n\nYet it was to a non-temporal intuition that the immediate successors of\nKant turned, in order to escape from the Kantian relativism. Certainly,\nthe ideas of becoming, of progress, of evolution, seem to occupy a large\nplace in their philosophy. But does duration really play a part in it?\nReal duration is that in which each form flows out of previous forms,\nwhile adding to them something new, and is explained by them as much as\nit explains them; but to deduce this form directly from one complete\nBeing which it is supposed to manifest, is to return to Spinozism. It\nis, like Leibniz and Spinoza, to deny to duration all efficient action.\nThe post-Kantian philosophy, severe as it may have been on the\nmechanistic theories, accepts from mechanism the idea of a science that\nis one and the same for all kinds of reality. And it is nearer to\nmechanism than it imagines; for though, in the consideration of matter,\nof life and of thought, it replaces the successive degrees of\ncomplexity, that mechanism supposed by degrees of the realization of an\nIdea or by degrees of the objectification of a Will, it still speaks of\ndegrees, and these degrees are those of a scale which Being traverses in\na single direction. In short, it makes out the same articulations in\nnature that mechanism does. Of mechanism it retains the whole design; it\nmerely gives it a different coloring. But it is the design itself, or at\nleast one half of the design, that needs to be re-made.\n\nIf we are to do that, we must give up the method of _construction_,\nwhich was that of Kant's successors. We must appeal to experience--an\nexperience purified, or, in other words, released, where necessary, from\nthe molds that our intellect has formed in the degree and proportion of\nthe progress of our action on things. An experience of this kind is not\na non-temporal experience. It only seeks, beyond the spatialized time in\nwhich we believe we see continual rearrangements between the parts, that\nconcrete duration in which a radical recasting of the whole is always\ngoing on. It follows the real in all its sinuosities. It does not lead\nus, like the method of construction, to higher and higher\ngeneralities--piled-up stories of a magnificent building. But then it\nleaves no play between the explanations it suggests and the objects it\nhas to explain. It is the detail of the real, and no longer only the\nwhole in a lump, that it claims to illumine.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat the thought of the nineteenth century called for a philosophy of\nthis kind, rescued from the arbitrary, capable of coming down to the\ndetail of particular facts, is unquestionable. Unquestionably, also, it\nfelt that this philosophy ought to establish itself in what we call\nconcrete duration. The advent of the moral sciences, the progress of\npsychology, the growing importance of embryology among the biological\nsciences--all this was bound to suggest the idea of a reality which\n_endures_ inwardly, which is duration itself. So, when a philosopher\narose who announced a doctrine of evolution, in which the progress of\nmatter toward perceptibility would be traced together with the advance\nof the mind toward rationality, in which the complication of\ncorrespondences between the external and the internal would be followed\nstep by step, in which change would become the very substance of\nthings--to him all eyes were turned. The powerful attraction that\nSpencerian evolutionism has exercised on contemporary thought is due to\nthat very cause. However far Spencer may seem to be from Kant, however\nignorant, indeed, he may have been of Kantianism, he felt, nevertheless,\nat his first contact with the biological sciences, the direction in\nwhich philosophy could continue to advance without laying itself open to\nthe Kantian criticism.\n\nBut he had no sooner started to follow the path than he turned off\nshort. He had promised to retrace a genesis, and, lo! he was doing\nsomething entirely different. His doctrine bore indeed the name of\nevolutionism; it claimed to remount and redescend the course of the\nuniversal becoming; but, in fact, it dealt neither with becoming nor\nwith evolution.\n\nWe need not enter here into a profound examination of this philosophy.\nLet us say merely that _the usual device of the Spencerian method\nconsists in reconstructing evolution with fragments of the evolved_. If\nI paste a picture on a card and then cut up the card into bits, I can\nreproduce the picture by rightly grouping again the small pieces. And a\nchild who working thus with the pieces of a puzzle-picture, and putting\ntogether unformed fragments of the picture finally obtains a pretty\ncolored design, no doubt imagines that he has _produced_ design and\ncolor. Yet the act of drawing and painting has nothing to do with that\nof putting together the fragments of a picture already drawn and already\npainted. So, by combining together the most simple results of evolution,\nyou may imitate well or ill the most complex effects; but of neither the\nsimple nor the complex will you have retraced the genesis, and the\naddition of evolved to evolved will bear no resemblance whatever to the\nmovement of evolution.\n\nSuch, however, is Spencer's illusion. He takes reality in its present\nform; he breaks it to pieces, he scatters it in fragments which he\nthrows to the winds; then he \"integrates\" these fragments and\n\"dissipates their movement.\" Having _imitated_ the Whole by a work of\nmosaic, he imagines he has retraced the design of it, and made the\ngenesis.\n\nIs it matter that is in question? The diffused elements which he\nintegrates into visible and tangible bodies have all the air of being\nthe very particles of the simple bodies, which he first supposes\ndisseminated throughout space. They are, at any rate, \"material points,\"\nand consequently unvarying points, veritable little solids: as if\nsolidity, being what is nearest and handiest to us, could be found at\nthe very origin of materiality! The more physics progresses, the more it\nshows the impossibility of representing the properties of ether or of\nelectricity--the probable base of all bodies--on the model of the\nproperties of the matter which we perceive. But philosophy goes back\nfurther even than the ether, a mere schematic figure of the relations\nbetween phenomena apprehended by our senses. It knows indeed that what\nis visible and tangible in things represents our possible action on\nthem. It is not by dividing the evolved that we shall reach the\nprinciple of that which evolves. It is not by recomposing the evolved\nwith itself that we shall reproduce the evolution of which it is the\nterm.\n\nIs it the question of mind? By compounding the reflex with the reflex,\nSpencer thinks he generates instinct and rational volition one after the\nother. He fails to see that the specialized reflex, being a terminal\npoint of evolution just as much as perfect will, cannot be supposed at\nthe start. That the first of the two terms should have reached its final\nform before the other is probable enough; but both the one and the other\nare _deposits_ of the evolution movement, and the evolution movement\nitself can no more be expressed as a function solely of the first than\nsolely of the second. We must begin by mixing the reflex and the\nvoluntary. We must then go in quest of the fluid reality which has been\nprecipitated in this twofold form, and which probably shares in both\nwithout being either. At the lowest degree of the animal scale, in\nliving beings that are but an undifferentiated protoplasmic mass, the\nreaction to stimulus does not yet call into play one definite mechanism,\nas in the reflex; it has not yet choice among several definite\nmechanisms, as in the voluntary act; it is, then, neither voluntary nor\nreflex, though it heralds both. We experience in ourselves something of\nthis true original activity when we perform semi-voluntary and\nsemi-automatic movements to escape a pressing danger. And yet this is\nbut a very imperfect imitation of the primitive character, for we are\nconcerned here with a mixture of two activities already formed, already\nlocalized in a brain and in a spinal cord, whereas the original activity\nwas a simple thing, which became diversified through the very\nconstruction of mechanisms like those of the spinal cord and brain. But\nto all this Spencer shuts his eyes, because it is of the essence of his\nmethod to recompose the consolidated with the consolidated, instead of\ngoing back to the gradual process of consolidation, which is evolution\nitself.\n\nIs it, finally, the question of the correspondence between mind and\nmatter? Spencer is right in defining the intellect by this\ncorrespondence. He is right in regarding it as the end of an evolution.\nBut when he comes to retrace this evolution, again he integrates the\nevolved with the evolved--failing to see that he is thus taking useless\ntrouble, and that in positing the slightest fragment of the actually\nevolved he posits the whole--so that it is vain for him, then, to\npretend to make the genesis of it.\n\nFor, according to him, the phenomena that succeed each other in nature\nproject into the human mind images which represent them. To the\nrelations between phenomena, therefore, correspond symmetrically\nrelations between the ideas. And the most general laws of nature, in\nwhich the relations between phenomena are condensed, are thus found to\nhave engendered the directing principles of thought, into which the\nrelations between ideas have been integrated. Nature, therefore, is\nreflected in mind. The intimate structure of our thought corresponds,\npiece by piece, to the very skeleton of things--I admit it willingly;\nbut, in order that the human mind may be able to represent relations\nbetween phenomena, there must first be phenomena, that is to say,\ndistinct facts, cut out in the continuity of becoming. And once we posit\nthis particular mode of cutting up such as we perceive it to-day, we\nposit also the intellect such as it is to-day, for it is by relation to\nit, and to it alone, that reality is cut up in this manner. Is it\nprobable that mammals and insects notice the same aspects of nature,\ntrace in it the same divisions, articulate the whole in the same way?\nAnd yet the insect, so far as intelligent, has already something of our\nintellect. Each being cuts up the material world according to the lines\nthat its action must follow: it is these lines of _possible action_\nthat, by intercrossing, mark out the net of experience of which each\nmesh is a fact. No doubt, a town is composed exclusively of houses, and\nthe streets of the town are only the intervals between the houses: so,\nwe may say that nature contains only facts, and that, the facts once\nposited, the relations are simply the lines running between the facts.\nBut, in a town, it is the gradual portioning of the ground into lots\nthat has determined at once the place of the houses, their general\nshape, and the direction of the streets: to this portioning we must go\nback if we wish to understand the particular mode of subdivision that\ncauses each house to be where it is, each street to run as it does.\nNow, the cardinal error of Spencer is to take experience already\nallotted as given, whereas the true problem is to know how the allotment\nwas worked. I agree that the laws of thought are only the integration of\nrelations between facts. But, when I posit the facts with the shape they\nhave for me to-day, I suppose my faculties of perception and\nintellection such as they are in me to-day; for it is they that portion\nthe real into lots, they that cut the facts out in the whole of reality.\nTherefore, instead of saying that the relations between facts have\ngenerated the laws of thought, I can as well claim that it is the form\nof thought that has determined the shape of the facts perceived, and\nconsequently their relations among themselves: the two ways of\nexpressing oneself are equivalent; they say at bottom the same thing.\nWith the second, it is true, we give up speaking of evolution. But, with\nthe first, we only speak of it, we do not think of it any the more. For\na true evolutionism would propose to discover by what _modus vivendi_,\ngradually obtained, the intellect has adopted its plan of structure, and\nmatter its mode of subdivision. This structure and this subdivision work\ninto each other; they are mutually complementary; they must have\nprogressed one with the other. And, whether we posit the present\nstructure of mind or the present subdivision of matter, in either case\nwe remain in the evolved: we are told nothing of what evolves, nothing\nof evolution.\n\nAnd yet it is this evolution that we must discover. Already, in the\nfield of physics itself, the scientists who are pushing the study of\ntheir science furthest incline to believe that we cannot reason about\nthe parts as we reason about the whole; that the same principles are not\napplicable to the origin and to the end of a progress; that neither\ncreation nor annihilation, for instance, is inadmissible when we are\nconcerned with the constituent corpuscles of the atom. Thereby they tend\nto place themselves in the concrete duration, in which alone there is\ntrue generation and not only a composition of parts. It is true that the\ncreation and annihilation of which they speak concern the movement or\nthe energy, and not the imponderable medium through which the energy and\nthe movement are supposed to circulate. But what can remain of matter\nwhen you take away everything that determines it, that is to say, just\nenergy and movement themselves? The philosopher must go further than the\nscientist. Making a clean sweep of everything that is only an\nimaginative symbol, he will see the material world melt back into a\nsimple flux, a continuity of flowing, a becoming. And he will thus be\nprepared to discover real duration there where it is still more useful\nto find it, in the realm of life and of consciousness. For, so far as\ninert matter is concerned, we may neglect the flowing without committing\na serious error: matter, we have said, is weighted with geometry; and\nmatter, the reality which _descends_, endures only by its connection\nwith that which _ascends_. But life and consciousness are this very\nascension. When once we have grasped them in their essence by adopting\ntheir movement, we understand how the rest of reality is derived from\nthem. Evolution appears and, within this evolution, the progressive\ndetermination of materiality and intellectuality by the gradual\nconsolidation of the one and of the other. But, then, it is within the\nevolutionary movement that we place ourselves, in order to follow it to\nits present results, instead of recomposing these results artificially\nwith fragments of themselves. Such seems to us to be the true function\nof philosophy. So understood, philosophy is not only the turning of the\nmind homeward, the coincidence of human consciousness with the living\nprinciple whence it emanates, a contact with the creative effort: it is\nthe study of becoming in general, it is true evolutionism and\nconsequently the true continuation of science--provided that we\nunderstand by this word a set of truths either experienced or\ndemonstrated, and not a certain new scholasticism that has grown up\nduring the latter half of the nineteenth century around the physics of\nGalileo, as the old scholasticism grew up around Aristotle.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 96: The part of this chapter which treats of the history of\nsystems, particularly of the Greek philosophy, is only the very succinct\nr\u00e9sum\u00e9 of views that we developed at length, from 1900 to 1904, in our\nlectures at the Coll\u00e8ge de France, especially in a course on the\n_History of the Idea of Time_ (1902-1903). We then compared the\nmechanism of conceptual thought to that of the cinematograph. We believe\nthe comparison will be useful here.]\n\n[Footnote 97: The analysis of the idea of the nought which we give here\n(pp. 275-298) has appeared before in the _Revue philosophique_ (November\n1906).]\n\n[Footnote 98: Kant, _Critique of Pure Reason_, 2nd edition, p. 737:\n\"From the point of view of our knowledge in general ... the peculiar\nfunction of negative propositions is simply to prevent error.\" Cf.\nSigwart, _Logik_, 2nd edition, vol. i. pp. 150 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 99: That is, we do not consider the sophism of Zeno refuted by\nthe fact that the geometrical progression _a_(1 + 1/_n_ + 1/_n_2 +\n1/_n_3 +,... etc.)--in which _a_ designates the initial distance between\nAchilles and the tortoise, and _n_ the relation of their respective\nvelocities--has a finite sum if _n_ is greater than 1. On this point we\nmay refer to the arguments of F. Evellin, which we regard as conclusive\n(see Evellin, _Infini et quantit\u00e9_, Paris, 1880, pp. 63-97; cf. _Revue\nphilosophique_, vol. xi., 1881, pp. 564-568). The truth is that\nmathematics, as we have tried to show in a former work, deals and can\ndeal only with lengths. It has therefore had to seek devices, first, to\ntransfer to the movement, which is not a length, the divisibility of the\nline passed over, and then to reconcile with experience the idea\n(contrary to experience and full of absurdities) of a movement that is a\nlength, that is, of a movement _placed upon_ its trajectory and\narbitrarily decomposable like it.]\n\n[Footnote 100: Plato, _Timaeus_, 37 D.]\n\n[Footnote 101: We have tried to bring out what is true and what is false\nin this idea, so far as spatiality is concerned (see Chapter III.). It\nseems to us radically false as regards _duration_.]\n\n[Footnote 102: Aristotle, _De anima_, 430 a 14 [Greek: kai hestin ho men\ntoioutos nous t\u00f4 pynta ginesthai, ho de t\u00f4 panta poiein, \u00f4s hexis tis,\noion to ph\u00f4s. tropon gar tina ka to ph\u00f4s poiei ta dynamei onta chr\u00f4mata\nenergeia chr\u00f4mata].]\n\n[Footnote 103: _De caelo_, ii. 287 a 12 [Greek: t\u00eas eschat\u00eas periphoras\noute kenon estin ex\u00f4then oute topos.] _Phys._ iv. 212 a 34 [Greek: to de\npan esti men h\u00f4s kin\u00easetai hesti d' h\u00f4s ou. h\u00f4s men gar holon, hama ton\ntopon hou metaballei. kykl\u00f4 de kin\u00easetai, t\u00f4n mori\u00f4n gar outos ho\ntopos].]\n\n[Footnote 104: _De caelo_, i. 279 a 12 [Greek: oude chronos hestin hex\u00f4\ntou ouranou]. _Phys._ viii. 251 b 27 [Greek: ho chronos pathos ti\nkin\u00ease\u00f4s].]\n\n[Footnote 105: Especially have we left almost entirely on one side those\nadmirable but somewhat fugitive intuitions that Plotinus was later to\nseize, to study and to fix.]\n\n[Footnote 106: See page 10.]\n\n[Footnote 107: Descartes, _Principes_, ii. \u00a7 29.]\n\n[Footnote 108: Descartes, _Principes_, ii. \u00a7\u00a7 36 ff.]\n\n[Footnote 109: In a course of lectures on Plotinus, given at the Coll\u00e8ge\nde France in 1897-1898, we tried to bring out these resemblances. They\nare numerous and impressive. The analogy is continued even in the\nformulae employed on each side.]\n\n[Footnote 110: \"Le Paralogisme psycho-physiologique\" (_Revue de\nm\u00e9taphysique et de morale_, Nov. 1904, pp. 895-908). Cf. _Mati\u00e8re et\nm\u00e9moire_, Paris, 1896, chap. i.]\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n(Compiled by the Translator)\n\n\nAbolition of everything a self-contradiction, 280, 283, 296, 298\n  idea of, 279, 282, 283, 295, 296.\n    _See_ Nought\n\nAbsence of order, 231, 234, 274.\n    _See_ Disorder\n\nAbsolute and freedom, 277\n  reality, 99, 228-9, 269, 358, 361\n  reality of the person, 269\n  time and the, 239, 240, 298, 340, 344\n\nAbsoluteness of duration, 206\n  of understanding, xi, 47, 152, 190, 197, 199\n\nAbstract becoming, 304-7\n  multiplicity, 257-9\n  time, 9, 17, 20-2, 37, 39, 46, 51, 163, 318-9, 336, 352-3\n\nAccident and essence in Aristotle's philosophy, 353\n  in evolution, 86-7, 104, 114-5, 127, 169, 170, 252, 254-5, 266, 267,\n   326-7\n\nAccidental variations, 55, 63, 68, 69, 74, 85-6, 168\n\nAccumulation of energy, function of vegetable organisms, 253, 255\n\nAchilles and tortoise, in Zeno, 311, 312-3\n\nAcquired characters, inheritance of, 76-9, 83-4, 87, 169, 170, 173, 231\n\nAct, consciousness as inadequacy of, to representation, 144\n  form (or essence), quality, three classes of representation, 302-3\n\nAction, creativeness of free, 192, 247\n  and concepts, 160, 297\n  and consciousness, xiii, 5, 143-4, 145, 179-80, 207, 262\n  discontinuity of, 154, 307\n  freedom of, in animals, 130\n  as function of nervous system, 262-3\n  indivisibility of, 94, 95, 308-9\n  and inert matter, 96, 136, 141-2, 156, 187, 198, 226, 366\n  instinct and, 136, 141\n  instrument of, consciousness, 180\n  instrument of, life, 162\n  instrument of matter, 161, 198-9\n  as instrument of consciousness, 180\n  and intellect. _See_ Intellect and action\n  intensity of consciousness varies with ratio of possible, to real, 145\n  meaning of, 301-3\n  moves from want to fulness, 297, 298\n  organism a machine for, 252, 254, 300\n  and perception, 5, 11, 12, 93, 188, 189, 206, 227-30, 300, 307, 368\n  possible, 12, 13, 96, 144, 145, 146-7, 159, 165, 179-81, 188, 264\n  and science, 93, 195-6, 198-9, 329-30\n  and space, 203\n  sphere of the intellect, 155\n  tension in a free, 200, 207, 238, 240, 301-2\n\nActivity, dissatisfaction the starting-point of, 297\n  of instinct, continuous with vital process, 139, 140\n  life as, 128-9, 247\n  mutually inverse factors in vital, 248\n  and nervous system, 110, 130, 132-3, 134-5, 180, 252, 261-3\n  organism as, 174\n  potential. _See_ Action, possible\n  tension of free, 200, 202, 207-8, 223-4, 237, 239, 300-1\n  and torpor in evolution, 109, 111, 113, 114, 119-20, 129-30,\n  135-6, 181, 292\n  vital, has evolved divergently, 134\n    _See_ Divergent lines of evolution\n\nAdaptation, 50-1, 55, 57-8, 59, 70, 101, 129, 133, 192, 255, 270, 305-6\n  and causation, 102\n  mutual, between materiality and intellectuality, 187, 206-7\n  and progress, 101-2\n\nAdequate and inadequate in Spinoza, 353\n\nAdjectives, substantives and verbs, 303-4, 315\n\nAesthetics and philosophy, 177\n\nAffection, Role of, in the idea of chance, 234\n  in the idea of nought, 281-3, 289, 293, 295, 296\n  in negation, 286-7\n\nAffirmation and negation, 285-6, 293\n\nAge and individuality, 15-6\n\nAlbuminoid substances, 121-2\n\nAlciope, 96\n\nAlexandrian philosophy, 322, 323\n\nAlgae in illustration of probable consciousness in vegetable forms, 112\n\nAlimentation, 113-4, 117, 247\n\nAllegory of the Cave, 191\n\nAlternations of increase and decrease of mutability of the universe, 245-6\n\nAlveolar froth, 33-4\n\nAmbiguity of the idea of \"generality\" in philosophy, 230-1, 320-1\n  of primitive organisms, 99, 112, 113, 129-30\n\nAmmophila hirsuta, paralyzing instinct in, 173\n\nAmoeba, in illustration of imitation of the living by the unorganized, 33-6\n  in illustration of the ambiguity of primitive organisms, 99\n  in illustration of the mobility characteristic of animals, 108\n  in illustration of the \"explosive\" expenditure of energy characteristic\n   of animals, 120, 253\n\nAnagenesis, 34\n\nAnarchy, idea of, 233, 234.\n   _See_ Disorder\n\nAnatomy, comparative, and transformism, 25\n\nAncient philosophy, Achilles and tortoise, 311-2\n  Alexandrian philosophy, 322-3\n  Allegory of the Cave, 191\n  Anima (De), 322 _note_\n  Apogee of sensible object, 344, 345, 349\n  Archimedes, 343-4\n  Aristotle, 135, 174-5, 227-8, 314, 316, 321, 323, 324, 328-33, 347, 349,\n   353, 356, 370\n  Arrow of Zeno, 308-13\n  ascent toward God, in Aristotle, 323\n  Astronomy, ancient and modern, 334-6\n  attraction and impulsion in, 323-4\n  becoming in, 313-4, 317\n  bow and indivisibility of motion, 308-9\n  Caelo (De), of Aristotle, 322 _note_, 324 _note_\n  and Cartesian geometry, 334-5\n  causality in, 323, 325-6\n  change in, 313-4, 317, 328-9, 342-3\n  cinematographical nature of, 315\n  circularity of God's thought, 323-4\n  concentric spheres, 328\n  concepts, 326-7, 356\n  \"conversion\" and \"procession\" in, 323\n  degradation of ideas into sensible flux, 317-8, 321, 323-4, 327, 328,\n   343-5, 352-3\n  degrees of reality, 323-4, 327\n  diminution, derivation of becoming by. _See_ Degradation of Ideas, etc.\n  duration, 317-9 _note_, 323-4, 327-9\n  Eleatic philosophy, 308, 314\n  Enneads of Plotinus, 210 _note_\n  essence and accident, 354\n  essence or form, 314-5\n  eternal, 317-8, 324-6\n  Eternity, 317-8, 320, 324, 328-9\n  extension, 210 _note_, 318, 324, 327\n  form or idea, 314-20, 322, 327, 329-31, 352\n  geometry, Cartesian, and ancient philosophy, 334\n  God of Aristotle, 196-7, 322-4, 349, 352, 356\n  [Greek: hyl\u00ea], 353\n  Idea, 314-22, 352-3\n  and indivisibility of motion, 307-8, 311\n  intelligible reality in, 326\n  intelligibles of Plotinus, 353\n  [Greek: logos], of Plotinus, 210 _note_\n  matter in Aristotle's philosophy, 316, 327\n  and modern astronomy, 333-4, 335\n  and modern geometry, 333-4\n  and modern philosophy, 226-7, 228-9, 232, 281-2, 344-5, 346, 349-51, 364,\n   369\n  and modern science, 329-30, 336, 342-3, 344-5, 357\n  motion in, 307-8, 312-3\n  necessity in, 327\n  [Greek: no\u00ease\u00f4s no\u00easis], 356\n  non-being, 316, 327\n  [Greek: nous poi\u00eatikos], 322\n  oscillation about being, sensible reality as, 317-8\n  Physics of Aristotle, 227-8 _note_, 324 _note_, 330-1\n  Plato, 48, 156, 191, 210 _note_, 316-8, 321-4, 327, 330, 348, 349\n  Plotinus, 210, 316, 323, 326 _note_, 349, 352-4\n  procession in Alexandrian philosophy, 323\n  [Greek: psych\u00ea], 210 _note_, 350\n  realism in, 232\n  refraction of idea through matter or non-being, 317\n  sectioning of becoming, 318-9\n  sensible reality, 314, 316-8, 321, 327-9, 352-3\n  [Greek: s\u00f4ma], 350\n  space and time, 317-9, 320\n  Timaeus, 318 _note_\n  time in ancient and in modern science, 330-1, 336-7, 341-4\n  time and space, 317-9, 320\n  vision of God in Alexandrian philosophy, 322\n  Zeno, 308, 313\n\nAncient science and modern, 329-31, 336-7, 342-5, 357\n\nAnima (De), of Aristotle, 322 _note_\n\nAnimal kingdom, 12, 105-6, 119-21, 126, 129, 131-2, 134-6, 137-8, 139, 179,\n   184-5\n\nAnimals, 105-47, 167, 170, 181, 183, 187, 212, 214, 246, 252, 253, 254,\n   262-5, 267, 271, 293, 301\n  deduction in, 212\n  induction in, 214\n  and man, 139-43, 183, 187, 188, 212, 263, 264, 267\n  and man in respect to brain, 183, 184-5, 263-5\n  and man in respect to consciousness, 139-43, 180, 183, 187, 188, 192,\n   212, 263-8\n  and man in respect to instruments of action, 139-43, 150-1\n  and man in respect to intelligence, 137-8, 187, 188, 191-2, 212\n  and plants, 105-39, 124-6, 143, 145, 146-7, 168-70, 181-2, 253, 254, 293\n  and plants in respect to activity of consciousness, 109, 111, 113,\n   119-21, 128-9, 132, 134-6, 142-3, 144, 181-2, 293\n  and plants in respect to function, 117-8, 121-2, 127\n  and plants in respect to instinct, 167, 170\n  and plants in respect to mobility, 109, 110, 113, 129-30, 132-3, 135, 181\n  and plants in respect to nature of consciousness, 134-5\n\nAntagonistic currents of the vital impetus, 129, 135-6, 181, 184, 250,\n   258-9\n\nAnthophora, 146-7\n\nAntinomies of Kant, 204, 205\n\nAntipathy. _See_ Sympathy, Feeling, Divination\n\nAntithesis and thesis, 205\n\nAnts, 101, 134, 140, 157\n\nApe's brain and consciousness contrasted with man's, 263\n\nAphasia, 181\n\nApidae, social instinct in the, 171\n\nApogee of instinct in the hymenoptera and of intelligence in man, 174-5\n    _See_ Evolutionary superiority\n\nApogee of sensible object, in philosophy of Ideas, 343-4, 349\n\nApproximateness of the knowledge of matter, 206-7\n\nApproximation, in matter, to the mathematical order, 218.\n    _See_ Order\n\nArchimedes, 333-4\n\nAristotle. _See_ Ancient Philosophy, Aristotle\n\nArrow, Flying, of Zeno, 308-9, 310, 312-3\n\nArt, 6-7, 29 _note_, 45, 89, 177\n\nArtemia Salina, transformations of, 72, 73\n\nArthropods in evolution, 130-5, 142\n\nArticulate species, 133\n\nArticulations of matter relative to action, 156, 367\n  of motion, 310-1\n  of real time, 332-3\n\nArtificial, how far scientific knowledge is, 197, 218-9\n  instruments, 138, 139, 140-1\n\nArtist, in illustration of the creativeness of duration, 340-1\n\nAscending cosmic movement, 11, 208, 275, 369\n\nAscent toward God, in Aristotle, 323\n\nAssociation of organisms, 260.\n    _See_ Individuation\n  universal oscillation between association and individuation, 259, 260.\n    _See_ Societies\n\nAstronomy and deduction, 213\n  and the inert order, 224\n  modern, in reference to ancient science, 334-6\n\nAtmosphere of spatiality bathing intelligence, 204\n\nAtom, 240, 254, 255\n  as an intellectual view of matter, 203, 250\n  and interpenetration, 207\n\nAttack and defence in evolution, 131-2\n\nAttention, 2, 148-9, 154, 184, 209\n  discontinuity of, 2\n  in man and in lower animals, 184.\n    _See_ Tension and instinct, Tension as inverted extension,\n   Tension of personality, Sympathetic appreciation, etc.,\n   Relaxation and intellect\n\nAttraction and impulsion in Greek philosophy, 323, 324\n\nAttribute and subject, 148\n\nAutomatic activity, 145\n  as instrument of voluntary, 252\n  order, 224, 231-4.\n    _See_ Negative movement, etc., Geometrical order\n\nAutomatism, 127, 143-4, 174, 223-4, 261, 264\n\n\nBackground of instinct and intelligence, consciousness as, 186\n\nBackward-looking attitude of the intellect, 47, 48, 237\n\nBaldwin, J.M., 27 _note_\n\nBallast of intelligence, 152, 230, 239, 369-70\n\nBastian, 212 _note_\n\nBateson, 63\n\nBecoming, 164, 236, 248-9, 273, 299-304, 307-8, 313-4, 316, 337-8,\n    342-3, 345, 363\n  in ancient philosophy, 313-4, 317\n  in Descartes's philosophy, 346\n  in Eleatic philosophy, 313-4, 315\n  in general, or abstract becoming, 304, 306-7\n  instantaneous and static views of, 272, 304-5\n  states of, falsely so called, 164, 247-8, 273, 298-301, 307-8\n  in the successors of Kant, 363.\n    _See_ Change, New, Duration, Time, Views of reality\n\nBees, 101, 140, 142, 146, 166, 172\n\nBeethoven, 224\n\nBerthold, 34 _note_\n\nBethe, 176 _note_\n\nBifurcations of tendency, 54.\n    _See_ Divergent lines of evolution\n\nBiology, 12, 25, 26, 31-2, 43, 168-9, 174-5, 194-6\n  evolutionist, 168-9\n  and philosophy, 43, 194-6\n  and physico-chemistry, 26\n\nBlaringhem, 85\n\nBodies, 156, 188, 189, 300-1, 360.\n    _See_ Inert matter as a relaxation of the unextended into the\n  extended defined as bundles of qualities, 349\n\nBois-Reymond (Du), 38\n\nBoltzmann, 245\n\nBombines, social instincts in, 171\n\nBouvier, 142 _note_\n\nBow, strain of, illustrating indivisibility of motion, 308-10\n\nBrain and consciousness, 5, 109, 110, 179-80, 183-4, 212 _note_, 252,\n   261-4, 270, 354, 356, 366.\n    _See_ Nervous System in man and lower animals, 183, 184, 263-5\n\nBrandt, 66 _note_\n\nBreast-Plate, in reference to animal mobility, 130, 131.\n    _See_ Carapace, Cellulose envelope\n\nBrown-S\u00e9quard, 80-2\n\nBulb, medullary, in the development of the nervous system, 110, 252\n\nBusquet, 259 _note_\n\nB\u00fctschli, 33 _note_\n\nButtel-Reepen, 171 _note_\n\nButterflies, in illustration of variation from evolutionary type, 72\n\n\nCaelo (De), of Aristotle, 322 _note_, 324 _note_\n\nCalcareous sheath, in reference to animal mobility, 130-1\n\nCalkins, 16 _note_\n\nCanal, in illustration of the relation of function and structure, 93\n\nCanalization, in illustration of the function of animal organisms, 93,\n   95, 110, 126, 256, 270\n\nCanvas, embroidering \"something\" on the, of \"nothing,\" 297\n\nCaprice, an attribute not of freedom but of mechanism, 47\n\nCarapace, in reference to animal mobility, 130-1\n\nCarbohydrates, in reference to the function of the animal organism, 121-2\n\nCarbon, in reference to the function of organisms, 107, 113, 114, 117,\n   254, 255\n\nCarbonic acid, in reference to the function of organisms, 254, 255\n\nCarnot, 243, 246, 256\n\nCartesian geometry, compared with ancient, 334\n\nCartesianism, 345, 356, 358\n\nCartesians, 358. _See_ Spinoza, Leibniz\n\nCarving, the, of matter by intellect, 155\n\nCategorical propositions, characteristic of instinctive knowledge, 149-50\n\nCategories, conceptual, x, xiii, 48, 147, 148-9, 165, 189-90, 195-7, 207,\n   220-1, 257-60, 265, 358, 361.\n    _See_ Concept deduction of, and genesis of the intellect, 196, 207, 359.\n    _See_ Genesis of matter and of the intellect\n  innate, 147, 148-9\n  misfit for the vital, x, xiii, 48, 165, 195-9, 220-1, 257-9\n  in reference to the adaptation to each other of the matter and form of\n   knowledge, 361\n\nCats, in illustration of the law of correlation, 67\n\nCausal relation in Aristotle, 325\n  between consciousness and movement, 111\n  in Greek philosophy, 324-5\n\nCausality, mechanical, a category which does not apply to life, x, xiv, 177\n  in the philosophy of Ideas, 323-6\n\nCausation and adaptation, 101, 102\n  final, involves mechanical, 44\n\nCause and effect as mathematical functions of each other, 20, 21\n  efficient, 238, 277, 323\n  efficient, in Aristotle's philosophy, 324\n  efficient, in Leibniz's philosophy, 353\n  final, 40, 44, 238\n  final, in Aristotle's philosophy, 324\n  by impulsion, release and unwinding, 73\n  mechanical, as containing effect, 14, 233, 269\n  in the vital order, 95, 164\n\nCave, Plato's allegory of the, 191\n\nCell, 16, 24, 33, 162, 166, 167, 260, 269\n  as artificial construct, 162\n  in the \"colonial theory,\" 260\n  division, 16, 24, 33\n  instinct in the, 166, 167\n  in relation to the soul, 269\n\nCellulose envelope in reference to vegetable immobility and torpor, 108,\n   111, 130\n\nCerebral activity and consciousness, 5, 109-10, 180-1, 183-4, 212 _note_,\n    252, 253, 261, 264, 268, 270, 350, 351, 354, 355, 366\n  mechanism, 5, 252, 253, 262, 264, 366\n\nCerebro-spinal system, 124. _See_ Nervous system\n\nCertainty of induction, 215, 216\n\nChance analogous to disorder, 233, 234.\n    _See_ Affection\n  in evolution, 86-7, 104, 114-5, 126, 169-70, 171, 252, 254, 255, 266,\n   267, 326-7.\n    _See_ Indetermination\n\nChange, 1, 7-8, 18, 85-6, 248, 275, 294, 300-304, 308, 313-4, 317, 326,\n   328-9, 343-4, 344-5\n  in ancient philosophy, 313-4, 316-7, 325-6, 327-9, 343, 345\n  in Eleatic philosophy, 314\n  known only from within, 307-8\n\nChaos, 232.\n    _See_ Disorder\n\nCharacter, moral, 5, 99-100\n\nCharrin, 81 _note_\n\nChemistry, 27, 34-6, 55, 72, 74, 98, 194, 226, 256, 260\n\nChild, intelligence in, 147-8\n  adolescence of, in illustration of evolutionary becoming, 311-3\n\nChipped stone, in paleontology, 139\n\nChlorophyllian function, 107-9, 114, 117, 246, 253\n\nChoice, 110, 125, 143-5, 179, 180, 252, 260-4, 276, 366\n  and consciousness, 110, 179, 260-4\n\nChrysalis, 114 _note_\n\nCinematograph, 306-7, 339-40\n\nCinematographical character of ancient philosophy, 315-6\n  of intellectual knowledge, 306, 307, 312-8, 323-4, 331-3, 346\n  of language, 306-7, 312-5\n  of modern science, 329-31, 336-7, 341-3, 345, 346, 347\n\nCircle of the given, broken by action, 192, 247\n  logical and physical, 277\n  vicious, in intellectualist philosophy, 193, 197, 320\n  vicious, in the intuitional method is only apparent, 192, 193\n\nCircularity of God's thought in Aristotle's philosophy, 324\n  of each special evolution, 128\n\nCirculation, protoplasmic, imitated, 32-3\n  in plants and animals, 108\n\nCircumstances in the determination of evolution, 101-2, 128-9, 133, 138,\n    142, 150-1, 167, 168, 170-1, 193, 194, 252, 256\n  in relation to special instincts, 138, 168, 193\n\nClasses of words corresponding to the three kinds of representation, 303-4\n\nClausius, 243\n\nClearness characteristic of intellect, 160\n\nCleft between the organized and the unorganized, 190, 196-9\n\nClimbing plants, instincts of, 170 _note_\n\nCoincidence of matter with space as in Kant, 206, 207, 244\n  of mind with intellect as in Kant, 48, 206\n  of qualities, 216\n  of seeing and willing, 237\n  of self with self, definition of the feeling of duration, 199-200\n\nColeopter, instinct in, 146\n\nColonial theory, 259, 260\n\nColonies, microbial, 259\n\nColor variation in lizards, 72, 74\n\nComing and going of the mind between the without and the within gives rise\n    to the idea of \"Nothing,\" 279\n  between nature and mind, the true method of philosophy, 239\n\nCommon-sense, 29, 153, 161, 213, 224, 277\n  defined as continuous experience of the real, 213\n\nComparison of ancient philosophy with modern, 226, 228-9, 232, 328-9,\n   345-6, 349-51, 353-4, 356\n\nCompenetration, 352-3. _See_ Interpenetration\n\nComplementarity of forms evolved, xii, xiii, 51, 101, 103, 113, 116-7,\n   135, 136, 254, 255\n  of instinct and intelligence, 146, 173.\n    _See_ Opposition of Instinct and Intelligence\n  of intuition and intellect, 343, 345\n  in the powers of life, 49, 96-7, 140-3, 177, 178-9, 183-5, 239, 246,\n   254, 343\n  of science and metaphysics, 344\n\nComplexity of the order of mathematics, 208-10, 217, 251\n\nCompound reflex, instinct as a, 174\n\nConcentration, intellect as, 191, 301\n  of personality, 198-9, 201\n\nConcentric spheres in Aristotle's philosophy, 328\n\nConcept accessory to action, ix\n  analogy of, with the solid body, ix\n  in animals, 187\n  externality of, 160, 168, 175-8, 199-200, 251, 306, 311, 314\n  fringed about with intuition, 46\n  and image distinguished, 160, 279\n  impotent to grasp life, ix-xiii, 49\n  intellect the concept-making faculty, vi, 49\n  misfit for the vital, 48\n  representation of the act by which the intellect is fixed on things, 161\n  synthesis of, in ancient philosophy, 325-6, 356.\n    _See_ Categories, Externality, Frames, Image, Space, Symbol\n\nConditions, external, in evolution, 128-9, 133, 138, 141-2, 150-1, 166-7,\n   168, 170, 193, 194, 251, 256, 257\n  external, in determination of special instinct, 141-2, 150-1, 167,\n   168, 171\n\nConduct, mechanism and finality in the evolution of, 47.\n    _See_ Freedom, Determination, Indetermination\n\nConfused plurality of life, 257\n\nConjugation of Infusoria, 16\n\nConsciousness and action, ix, 5, 144, 145, 179-80, 207, 260-1\n  consciousness as appendage to action, ix\n  consciousness as arithmetical difference between possible and real\n   activity, 145\n  consciousness as auxiliary to action, 179-80\n  consciousness as inadequacy of act to representation, 144\n  consciousness as instrument of action, 180\n  consciousness as interval between possible and real action, 145, 179\n  consciousness as light from zone of possible actions surrounding the\n   real act, 179\n  consciousness and locomotion, 262\n  consciousness plugged up by action, 144, 145.\n    _See_ Torpor, Sleep\n  consciousness as sketch of action, 207\n  intensity of, varies with ratio of possible to real action, 145\n\nConsciousness in animals, as distinguished from the consciousness of\n   plants, 130, 135-6, 143\n  as distinguished from the consciousness of man, 139-43, 180, 183, 184,\n    187, 188, 212, 263-9.\n    _See_ Torpor, Sleep\n  characteristic of animals, torpor of plants, 109, 111, 113, 120, 128-9,\n   135-6, 181, 182, 292\n  as background of instinct and intelligence, 186\n  and brain, 180, 262, 263, 269, 270, 354\n  and choice, 110, 144-5, 179, 262-4\n  coextensive with universal life, 186, 270\n  and creation, consciousness as demand for creation, 261\n  current of, penetrating matter, 181, 270\n  as deficiency of instinct, 145\n  in dog and man, 180\n  double form of, 179\n  function of, 207\n  as hesitation or choice, 143, 144\n  imprisonment of, 180, 183-4, 264\n  as invention and freedom, 264, 270\n  in man as distinguished from, in lower forms of life, 180, 263, 264,\n   267, 268\n  and matter, 179, 181-2\n  as motive principle of evolution, 181-2\n  nullified, as distinguished from the absence of consciousness, 143\n  and the organism, 270\n  in plants, 131, 135-6, 143\n  as world principle, 237, 261\n\nConservation of energy, 243, 244\n\nConstruction, 139-42, 150-1, 156, 157-8, 180, 182.\n    _See_ Manufacture, Solid\n  the characteristic work of intellect, 163-4\n  as the method of Kant's successors, 364-5\n\nContingency, 96, 255, 268.\n    _See_ Accident, Chance\n  the, of order, 231, 235\n\nContinuation of vital process in instinct, 138, 139, 166, 167, 246.\n    _See_ Variations, Vital process\n\nContinuity, 1, 26, 29-30, 37, 138-40, 154, 162-4, 258, 302, 306-7, 311-2,\n    321, 325-6, 329-30, 347\n  of becoming, 306-7, 312\n  of change, 325-6\n  of evolution, 18, 19\n  of extension, 154\n  of germinative plasma, 26, 37\n  of instinct with vital process, 139, 140, 166-7, 246\n  of life, 1-11, 29, 163-4, 258\n  of living substance, 162\n  of psychic life, 1, 30\n  of the real, 302, 329-30\n  of sensible intuition with ultra-intellectual, 361\n  of sensible universe, 346\n\nConventionality of science, 207\n\n\"Conversion\" and \"procession\" in Alexandrian philosophy, 323\n\nCook, Plato's comparison of the, and the dialectician, 156\n\nCope, 35 _note_, 77, 111\n\nCorrelation, law of, 66, 67\n\nCorrespondence between mind and matter in Spencer, 368.\n    _See_ Simultaneity\n\nCortical mechanism, 252, 253, 262.\n    _See_ Cerebral mechanism\n\nCosmogony and genesis of matter, 188.\n    _See_ Genesis of matter and of intellect, Spencer\n\nCosmology the, that follows from the philosophy of Ideas, 315, 328\n  as reversed psychology, 208\n\nCounterweight representation as, to action, 145\n\nCounting simultaneities, the measurement of time is, 338, 341-2\n\nCreation, xi, 7, 11, 12, 22, 29, 30, 45, 93, 100, 101, 103, 105, 108, 114,\n    128-31, 161, 163-4, 178, 200, 217, 218, 223, 226, 230, 237-40, 261,\n    270, 275, 339-40\n  in Descartes's philosophy, 345\n  of intellect, 248-9\n  of matter, 237, 239, 247-8, 249.\n    _See_ Materiality the inversion of spirituality\n  of present by past, 5, 20-3, 27, 167, 199-202\n  the vital order as, 230\n\nCreative evolution, 7, 15, 21, 27, 29, 36, 37, 65, 100, 104-5, 161,\n   163, 223-4, 230-1, 237, 264, 269\n\nCreativeness of free action, 192, 243\n  of invention, 250\n\nCreeping plants in illustration of vegetable mobility, 108\n\nCricket victim of paralyzing instinct of sphex, 172\n\nCriterion, quest of a, 53 _ff._\n  of evolutionary rank, 133, 265\n\nCriticism, Kantian, 205, 287 _note_, 356, 360-2\n  of knowledge, 194-5\n\nCross-cuts through becoming by intellect, 314.\n    _See_ Views of reality\n  through matter by perception, 206\n\nCross-roads of vital tendency, 51, 52, 54, 110, 126\n\nCrustacea, 19, 111, 129-30\n\nCrystal illustrating (by contrast) individuation, 12\n\nCu\u00e9not, 79 _note_\n\nCulminating points of evolutionary progress, 50, 133-5.\n    _See_ Evolutionary superiority\n\nCurrent, 26, 27, 51, 185, 236, 237, 250, 266, 269\n\nCurrents, antagonistic, 250\n  of existence, 185\n  of life penetrating matter, 26, 27, 266, 270\n  vital, 26, 27, 51, 237, 266, 270\n  of will penetrating matter, 237\n\nCurves, as symbol of life, 32, 90, 213\n\nCuts through becoming by the intellect, 313-4.\n    _See_ Views of reality, Snapshots in illustration, etc.\n  through matter by perception, 206\n\nCuvier, 125 _note_\n\n\nDantec (Le), 18 _note_, 34 _note_\n\nDarwin, 62-5, 66, 72, 108, 170 _note_\n\nDarwinism, 56, 85, 86\n\nDastre, 36 _note_\n\nDead, the, is the object of intellect, 165\n\nDead-locks in speculation, 155, 312\n\nDeath, 246 _note_, 271\n\nDeclivity descended by matter, 208, 246, 256, 339-40.\n    _See_ Descending movement\n\nDecomposing and recomposing powers characteristic of intellect, 157, 251\n\nDeduction, analogy between, related to moral sphere and tangent to\n   curve, 213\n  and astronomy, 213\n  duration refractory to, 213\n  geometry the ideal limit of, 213-26, 361\n  in animals, 212\n  inverse to positive spiritual effort, 212\n  nature of, 211\n  physics and, 213\n  weakness of, in psychology and moral science, 213\n\nDefence and attack in evolution, 132\n\nDeficiency of will the negative condition of mathematical order and\n   complexity, 209\n\nDefinition in the realm of life, 13, 105, 106\n\nDegenerates, 133-5\n\n_D\u00e9g\u00e9n\u00e9rescence s\u00e9nile (La)_, by Metchnikoff, 18 _note_\n\nDegradation of energy, 241, 242, 246\n  of the extra-spatial into the spatial, 207\n  of the ideas into the sensible flux in ancient philosophy, 317-9,\n   324-5, 327-9, 331, 343, 345, 352-3\n\nDegrees of being in the successors of Kant, 362-3\n\nDegrees of reality in Greek philosophy, 324, 327\n\nDelage, 59 _note_, 81 _note_, 260 _note_\n\nDelamare, 81 _note_\n\nDeliberation, 144\n\nDe Manac\u00e9ine, 124 _note_\n\nDeposit, instinct and intelligence as deposits, emanations, issues, or\n   aspects of life, x, xii, xiii, 49, 103, 105, 136, 365\n\nDe Saporta, 107 _note_\n\nDescartes, 280, 334, 345, 346, 353, 358\n  becoming, 345-6\n  creation, 346\n  determinism, 345\n  duration, 346\n  freedom, 345, 346\n  geometry, 334\n  God, 346\n  image and idea or concept, 281\n  indeterminism, 345\n  mechanism, 345, 346\n  motion, 346\n  vacillation between abstract time and real duration, 345\n\nDescending movement of existence, 11, 202, 203, 208, 271, 275, 369\n\nDesign, motionless, of action the object of intellect, 154-5, 299,\n   301-2, 303\n\nDetention in the dream state, 202\n  of intuition in intellect, 238\n\nDetermination, 76-7, 129-30, 223, 246\n\nDeterminism, 217, 264, 345, 348. _See_ Inert matter, Geometry\n  in Descartes, 345\n\nDevelopment, 133, 134-5, 141.\n    _See_ Order, Progress, Evolution, Superiority\n\nDeviation from type, 82-4\n\nDialect and intuition in philosophy, 238\n\nDichotomy of the real in modern philosophy, 350\n\nDifferentiation of parts in an organism, 253, 260\n\nDilemma of any systematic metaphysics, 195, 197, 230\n\nDiminution, derivation of becoming from being by, in ancient philosophy,\n   316, 317, 322, 323-4, 327-8, 343-5, 352\n  geometrical order as, or lower complication of the vital order, 236\n\nDionaea illustrating certain animal characteristics in plants, 107,\n   108, 109\n\nDiscontinuity of action, 154, 306-7\n  of attention, 2\n  of extension relative to action, 154, 163\n  of knowledge, 306\n  of living substance, 163\n  a positive idea, 154\n\nDiscontinuous the object of intellect, 154\n\nDiscord in nature, 127, 128, 254-5, 267\n\nDisorder, 40, 104, 222-3, 225-6, 232-5, 274.\n    _See_ Expectation, Order, mathematical, Orders of reality, two\n\nDisproportion between an invention and its consequences, 182\n\nDissociation as a cosmic principle opposed to association, 260\n  of tendencies, 54, 89, 135, 254, 255, 257, 258.\n    _See_ Divergent lines of evolution\n\nDistance, extension as the, between what is and what ought to be, 318-9,\n   327-8, 331\n\nDistinct multiplicity in the dream state, 201, 210\n  of the inert, 257\n\nDistinctness characteristic of the intellect, 160, 237, 251\n  characteristic of perception, 227, 251\n  as spatiality, 203, 207-8, 244, 250\n\nDivergent lines of evolution, xii, 54, 55, 87, 97-101, 103-4, 106, 107,\n   109, 112, 113, 116, 119, 130, 132, 134-5, 142, 149, 150, 168, 173, 181,\n   254, 255, 266, 267.\n    _See_ Dissociation of tendencies, Complementarity, etc., Schisms\n    in the primitive impulsion of life\n\nDiversity, sensible, 205, 220-1, 231, 235, 236\n\nDivination, instinct as, 176.\n    _See_ Sympathy, etc.\n\nDivisibility of extension, 154, 162\n\nDivision as function of intellect, 152, 154, 162-3, 189\n  of labor, 99, 110, 118, 157, 166, 260\n  of labor in cells, 166\n\nDog and man, consciousness in, 180\n\nDogmatism of the ancient epistemology contrasted with the relativism of\n   the modern, 230\n  of Leibniz and Spinoza, 356-7\n  skepticism, and relativism, 196-7, 230\n\nDogs and the law of correlation, 66\n\nDomestication of animals and heredity, 80\n\nDominants of Reinke, 42 _note_\n\nDorfmeister, 72\n\nDream, 144, 180-1, 202, 209, 256.\n    _See_ Interpenetration, Relaxation, Detention, Recollection\n  as relaxation, 202\n\nDriesch, 42 _note_\n\nDrosera, 107, 108, 109\n\nDufourt, 124 _note_\n\nDuhem, 242 _note_\n\nDunan, Ch., xv _note_\n\nDuration, xiv _note_, 2, 4-6, 8-11, 15, 17, 21, 22, 37, 39, 46, 51,\n   199, 201, 206, 213, 216, 240, 272, 273, 276, 298-9, 308-9, 317-8, 319\n   _note_, 324, 328, 332, 339, 342, 343, 345, 354, 361, 363-4\n  absoluteness of, 206\n  and deduction, 213\n  in Descartes's philosophy, 346\n  gnawing of, 4, 8, 46\n  indivisibility of, 6, 308-9\n  and induction, 216\n  and the inert, 343-4\n  in the philosophy of the Ideas, 316-7, 319 _note_, 324, 327, 328-9\n  rhythm of, 11, 128, 346.\n    _See_ Creation, Evolution, Invention, Time, Unforeseeableness,\n    Uniqueness\n\n\nEchinoderms in reference to animal mobility, 130, 131\n\nEfficient cause in conception of chance, 234\n  Spinoza and, 269\n\nEffort in evolution, 170\n\n[Greek: Eidos], 314-5\n\nEimer, 55, 72, 73, 86\n\nElaborateness of the mathematical order, 208-10, 217, 251\n\nEleatic philosophy, 308, 314-5\n\nEmanation, logical thought an, issue, aspect or deposit of life, ix, xii,\n   xiii, 49\n\nEmbroidering \"something\" on the canvas of \"nothing,\" 297\n\nEmbroidery by descendants on the canvas handed down by ancestors, 23\n\nEmbryo, 18, 19, 26, 27, 75, 81, 89, 101, 166\n\nEmbryogeny, comparative, and transformism, 25\n\nEmbryonic life, 27, 166\n\nEmpirical study of evolution the centre of the theory of knowledge and of\n   the theory of life, 178\n  theories of knowledge, 205\n\nEmpty, thinking the full by means of the empty, 273-4\n\nEnd in Eleatic philosophy, 314-5\n  of science is practical utility, 329\n\nEnergy, 115-7, 120-3, 242, 243, 245, 246, 252-5, 256, 257, 262\n  conservation of, 242\n  degradation of, 242, 243, 246\n  solar, stored by plants, released by animals, 245, 254\n\nEnneadae of Plotinus, 210 _note_\n\nEntelechy of Driesch, 42 _note_\n\nEntropy, 243\n\nEnvironment in evolution, 129, 133, 138, 140, 142, 150, 167, 168, 170,\n   192, 193, 252, 256, 257\n  and special instincts, 138, 168, 192, 193\n\nEpiphenomenalism, 262\n\nEssence and accidents in Aristotle's philosophy, 353\n  or form in Eleatic philosophy, 314-5\n  the meaning of, 302-3\n\nEssences (or forms), qualities and acts, the three kinds of\n   representation, 303-4\n\nEternity, 39, 298, 314, 317, 320, 324, 328, 346, 352, 354\n  in the philosophy of Ideas, 316-7, 319, 324, 328\n  in Spinoza's philosophy, 353\n\nEuglena, 116\n\nEvellin, 311 _note_\n\nEventual actions, 11, 96.\n    _See_ Possible activity\n\nEvolution, ix-xv, 18, 20, 22, 24, 25, 26-7, 37, 46-55, 63, 68, 79\n    _note_, 84-8, 97-105, 107, 113, 116, 126, 127, 129-30, 131-2,\n    133, 134, 136, 138-40, 141-2, 143, 161, 166, 167, 168-72, 173, 174,\n    175, 179, 181, 182, 185, 186, 190, 193, 198-9, 207-8, 224, 231, 242\n    _note_, 246, 248, 249, 251, 252, 254, 264-6, 268, 273, 302, 311,\n    345, 359, 360, 366\n  accident in, 104, 169, 170, 173, 174, 251, 252\n  animal, a progress toward mobility, 131\n  antagonistic tendencies in, 103, 113, 185\n  automatic and determinate, is action being undone, 248\n  blind alleys of, 129\n  circularity of each special, 128\n  complementarity of the divergent lines of, 97-102, 103, 116\n  conceptually inexpressible, 49, 50, 52, 53, 127, 181, 273\n  continuity of, 18, 19, 26, 37, 46, 273, 302, 312, 345\n  creative, 7, 15, 21, 27, 30, 36, 37, 65, 100, 105, 161, 162, 163, 223,\n   230, 238, 264, 269\n  culminating points of, 50, 133, 174, 185, 265, 266, 268\n  development by, 133, 134, 141-2\n  divergent lines of, xii, 53, 54, 87, 97-101, 103-4, 107, 173-4, 246\n  and duration, 20, 22, 37, 45-6\n  empirical study of, the centre of the theory of knowledge and of life,\n   178\n  and environment, 101-3, 129, 133, 138, 142, 150, 167, 168, 169, 192,\n   193, 251, 256, 257\n  of instinct, 170, 171, 174-5.\n    _See_ Divergent lines, etc., Culminating points, etc., Evolution\n   and environment\n  of intellect, x-xii, 153, 186, 189-90, 193, 198-9, 207-8, 359, 360.\n    _See_ Divergent lines, etc., Culminating points, etc., Genesis\n   of matter and of intellect\n  as invention, 344\n  of man, 264, 266, 268. _See_ Culminating points, etc.\n  motive principle of, is consciousness, 181\n  of species product of the vital impetus opposed by matter, 247-8, 254\n  and transformism, 24\n  unforeseeable, 47, 48, 53, 86, 224\n  variation in, 23-4, 55, 63, 68, 72 _note_, 85, 131, 137-8, 167, 169,\n   171, 264\n\nEvolutionary, qualitative, and extensive motion 302-3, 311, 312\n  superiority, 133-5, 174-5.\n    _See_ Success, Criterion of evolutionary rank, Culminating points, etc.\n\nEvolutionism, x-xii, xiv, 77, 84, 364\n\nExhaustion of the mutability of the universe, 337-8\n\nExistence, logical, as contrasted with psychical and physical, 276, 362\n  of matter tends toward instantaneity, 201\n  of self means change, 1 _ff._\n  superaddition of, upon nothingness, 276\n\nExpectation, 214-6, 221, 222, 226, 233, 235, 274, 281, 292\n  in conception of disorder, 221, 222, 226, 233, 234, 235, 274\n  in conception of void or naught, 282, 292\n\nExperience, 138, 147, 177, 197, 204, 229, 321, 354, 359, 363, 368\n\nExplosion, illustrating cause by release, 73\n\nExplosive character of animal energy, 116, 119, 120, 246\n  of organization, 92\n\nExplosives, manufacture of, by plants and use by animals, 246, 254\n\nExtension, 149, 154, 161, 202, 203, 207, 211, 223, 236, 245, 318-20,\n   324, 327, 351, 352\n  continuity of, 154\n  discontinuity of, relative to action, 154, 162\n  as the distance between what is and what ought to be, 318\n  divisibility of, 154, 162\n  the most general property of matter, 154, 250, 251\n  the inverse movement to tension, 245\n  of knowledge, 150\n  in Leibniz's philosophy, 351, 352\n  of matter in space, 204, 211\n  in the philosophy of Ideas, 318-9, 323-4, 327\n  and relaxation, 202, 207, 209, 211, 212, 218, 223, 245\n  in Spinoza's philosophy, 350\n  in the Transcendental Aesthetic, 203\n  unity of, 158-9\n  as weakening of the essence of being, in Plotinus, 210 _note_\n\nExtensive, evolutionary and qualitative motion, 302-3, 311, 312\n\nExternal conditions in evolution, 128, 133, 137, 141-2, 150-1, 167,\n   168, 170, 192, 193, 252, 256, 257\n  finality, 41\n\nExternality of concepts, 160, 168, 174, 177, 199, 251, 305, 311-4\n  the most general property of matter, 154, 250, 251\n\nExternalized action in distinction from internalized, 147, 165.\n    _See_ Somnambulism, etc., Automatic activity, etc.\n\nEye of mollusc and vertebrate compared, 60, 75, 77, 84, 86, 87-8\n\n\nFabre, 172 _note_\n\nFabrication. _See_ Construction\n\nFallacies, two fundamental, 272, 273\n\nFallacy of thinking being by not-being, 276, 277, 284, 297-8\n  of thinking the full by the empty, 273-5\n  of thinking motion by the motionless, 272, 273, 297-8, 307-8, 309-14\n\nFallibility of instinct, 172-3\n\nFalling back of matter upon consciousness, 264\n  bodies, comparison of Aristotle and Galileo, 228, 331-2, 334\n  weight, figure of material world, 245, 246\n\nFamiliar, the, is the object of intellect, 163, 164, 199, 270\n\nFaraday, 203\n\nFasting, in reference to primacy of nervous system over the other\n   physiological systems, 124\n\nFauna, menace of torpor in primitive, 130\n\nFeeling in the conception of chance, 207\n  and instinct, 143, 174-5\n\nFencing-master, illustrating hereditary transmission, 79\n\nFerments, certain characteristics of, 106\n\nFertilization of orchids by insects, by Darwin, 170 _note_\n\nFichte's conception of the intellect, 189-90, 357\n\nFilings, iron, in illustration of the relation of structure to\n   function, 94, 95\n\nFilm, cinematographic, figure of abstract motion, 304-6\n\nFinal cause, 40, 45, 234, 325\n  conception of, involves conception of mechanical cause, 44\n  God as, in Aristotle, 322-3\n\nFinalism, 39-53, 58, 74, 88-97, 101-5, 126-8\n\nFinality, 41, 164, 177-8, 185, 223, 224, 266\n  external and internal, 41\n  misfit for the vital, 177, 223-4, 225, 266\n  and the unforeseeableness of life, 164, 185\n\nFischel, 75 _note_\n\nFish in illustration of animal tendency to mobility, 130, 131\n\nFixation of nutritive elements, 107-9, 113, 117, 246, 247, 253\n\nFixity, 108-13, 118, 119, 130, 155.\n    _See_ Torpor\n  apparent or relative, 155\n  cellulose envelope and the, of plants, 108, 111, 130\n  of extension, 155\n  of plants, 108-13, 118, 119, 130-1\n  of torpid animals, 130\n\nFlint hatchets and human intelligence, 137\n\nFluidity of life, 153, 165, 193\n   of matter as a whole, 186, 369\n\nFlux of material bodies, 265\n   of reality, 250, 251, 337, 342, 344\n\nFlying arrow of Zeno, 308, 309, 310\n\nFocalization of personality, 201\n\nFood, 106-9, 113-4, 117, 120, 121, 246, 247, 254\n\nForaminifera, failure of certain, to evolve, 197\n\nForce, 126-7, 141, 149, 150, 175, 246, 254, 339\n  life a, inverse to matter, 246\n  limitedness of vital force, 126, 127, 141, 149, 162\n  time as, 339-40\n\nForel, 176 _note_\n\nForeseeing, 8, 28, 29, 30, 37, 45, 47, 96.\n    _See_ Unforeseeableness\n\nForm, xi, 51, 101, 104, 113, 116-8, 129, 135-6, 148-53, 155, 156, 160,\n   164, 195-7, 222, 237, 250, 255, 302, 303, 314, 317, 318, 322, 341,\n   357, 359, 361, 362\n  complementarity of forms evolved, xi, 51, 101, 104, 113, 116-8, 135-6,\n   255\n  expansion of the forms of consciousness, xii, xiii\n  (or essences), qualities and acts the three kinds of representation,\n   302-3\n  God as pure form in Aristotle, 196, 322\n  or idea in ancient philosophy, 317, 318, 330\n  of intelligence, xiv, 48, 147, 148, 165, 190, 195, 196, 198, 207, 219,\n   257-9, 266, 358-9, 361. _See_ Concept\n  and matter in creation, 239, 250\n  and matter in knowledge, 195, 361\n  a snapshot view of transition, 302\n\nFormal knowledge, 152\n  logic, 292\n\nForms of sensibility, 361\n\nFossil species, 102\n\nFoster, 125 _note_\n\nFox in illustration of animal intelligence, 138\n\nFrames of the understanding, 46-7, 48, 150-2, 173, 177, 197-9, 219-20,\n   223-4, 258, 270, 313, 358, 364\n  fit the inert, 197, 218\n  inadequate to reality entire, 364\n  misfit for the vital, x, xiii, xiv, 46, 48, 173, 177, 197-9, 223,\n   258, 313\n  product of life, 358\n  transform freedom into necessity, 270\n  utility of, lies in their unlimited application, 149-50, 152\n\nFreedom, 11, 48, 126, 130, 163, 164, 200, 202, 207, 208, 217, 223, 231,\n   237, 239, 247, 249, 264-6, 269, 270, 277, 300, 339-41, 345, 346\n  the absolute as freely acting, 277\n  affirmed by conscience, 269\n  animal characteristic rather than vegetable, 129-30\n  caprice attribute not of, but of mechanism, 47\n  coextensiveness of consciousness with, 111, 112, 202, 264, 270\n  of creation and life, 247, 254, 255\n  creativeness of, 223, 239, 248\n  in Descartes's philosophy, 345, 346\n  as efficient causality, 277\n  inversion of necessity, 236\n  and liberation of consciousness, 265, 266.\n    _See_ Imprisonment of consciousness\n  and novelty, 12, 163, 164, 200, 218, 231, 239, 249, 270, 339-42\n  order in, 223\n  property of every organism, 129-31\n  relaxation of, into necessity, 217\n  tendency of, to self-negation in habit, 127\n  tension of, 200, 201, 202, 207, 223, 237, 301\n  transformed by the understanding into necessity, 270\n    _See_ Spontaneity\n\nFringe of intelligence around instinct, 136\n  of intuition around intellect, xii, xiii, 46\n  of possible action around real action, 179, 272\n\nFroth, alveolar, in imitation of organic phenomena, 33-4\n\nFull, fallacy of thinking the, by the empty, 273-6\n\nFunction, ix, 3, 5, 44, 46, 47, 88-90, 94, 95, 106-10, 113, 114, 117, 120,\n   121, 127, 132, 140, 141, 145, 152, 153, 157, 161, 163, 164, 168, 173-5,\n   186-92, 199, 206, 207, 233, 237, 246, 251, 254-6, 262, 263, 270, 273,\n   298, 306, 346, 358, 369\n  accumulation of energy the function of vegetable organisms, 254, 255\n  action the, of intellect, ix, 12, 44, 47, 93, 161, 162, 186-8, 206, 251,\n   273, 305\n  action the, of nervous system, 262, 263\n  alimentation, 106, 107, 120, 121, 246, 254\n  of animals is canalization of energy, 93, 110, 126, 255, 256\n  carbon and the, of organisms, 107, 113, 114, 117, 254, 255\n  chlorophyllian, 107-9, 114, 117, 246, 254\n  concept-making the, of intellect, x, 49\n  of consciousness: sketching movements, 207\n  construction the, of intellect, 108\n  illumination of action, of perception, 5, 206, 307-8\n  of intelligence: action, ix, 12, 44, 46, 93, 160, 162, 186-8, 206, 251,\n   273, 307-8\n  of intelligence: concept-making, x, 50\n  of intelligence: construction, 160, 163, 181-2\n  of intelligence: division, 154, 155, 162, 189\n  of intelligence: illumination of action by perception, 5, 206, 301\n  of intelligence: repetition, 164, 199, 214-6\n  of intelligence: retrospection, 47, 237\n  of intelligence: connecting same with same, 199, 233, 270\n  of intelligence: scanning the rhythm of the universe, 346\n  of intelligence: tactualizing all perception, 168\n  of intelligence: unification, 152, 154, 357\n  of the nervous system: action, 262, 263\n  and organ, 88-90, 94, 95, 132-3, 140, 141, 158.\n    _See_ Function and structure\n  and organ in arthropods, vertebrates and man, 132-3\n  of the organism, 94, 106-10, 112, 114, 117, 120, 126, 173-5, 246, 253-6\n  of the organism, alimentation, 106, 107, 120, 121, 246, 254\n  of the organism, animal: canalization of energy, 93, 110, 126, 255, 256\n  of the organism, carbon in, 107, 113, 114, 117, 254, 255\n  of the organism, chlorophyllian function, 107-9, 114, 117, 246, 247, 254\n  of the organism, primary functions of life: storage and expenditure of\n   energy, 254-6\n  of the organism, vegetable: accumulation of energy, 254, 255\n  of philosophy: adoption of the evolutionary movement of life and\n   consciousness, 370\n  of science, 168, 346\n  sketching movements the, of consciousness, 207\n  and structure, 55, 62, 66, 69, 74, 75, 76, 86, 88-91, 93, 94, 96, 118,\n   132, 140, 141, 158, 162, 250, 252, 256\n  tactualizing all perception the, of science, 168\n  of vegetable organism: accumulation of energy, 254, 255\n\nFunctions of life, the two: storage and expenditure of energy, 254-6\n\n\nGalileo, homogeneity of time in, 332\n  his influence on metaphysics, 20, 228\n  his influence on modern science, 334, 335\n  extension of Galileo's physics, 357, 370\n  his theory of the fall of bodies compared with Aristotle's, 228, 331,\n   332, 334\n\nGanoid breast-plate of ancient fishes, in reference to animal mobility,\n   130, 131\n\nGaudry, 130 _note_\n\nGenera, relation of, to individuals, 226\n  relation of, to laws, 225, 226, 330\n  potential, 226-7\n  and signs, 158\n\nGenerality, ambiguity of the idea of, in philosophy, 229-31, 236\n\nGeneralization dependent on repetition, 230, 231\n  distinguished from transference of sign, 158\n  in the vital and mathematical orders, 224, 225, 230\n\nGeneric, type of the: similarity of structure between generating and\n   generated, 223, 224\n\nGenesis, xiii, xiv, 153, 186-199, 207, 359, 360\n  of intellect, xiii, xiv, 153, 186, 187, 190, 193, 194, 196-7, 207,\n   264, 360\n  of knowledge, 191\n  of matter, xiii, xiv, 153, 186, 188, 190, 193, 199, 207, 360\n\nGenius and the willed order, 223, 237\n\nGenus. _See_ Genera\n\nGeometrical, the, is the object of the intellect, 190\n\nGeometrical order as a diminution or lower complication of the vital,\n   223, 225, 236, 330.\n    _See_ Genera, Relation of, to laws\n  mutual contingency of, and vital order, 235\n    _See_ Mathematical order\n  space, relation of, to the spatiality of things, 203\n\nGeometrism, the latent, of intellect, 194, 211-3\n\nGeometry, fitness of, to matter, 10\n  goal of intellectual operations, 211, 213, 218\n  ideal limit of induction and deduction, 214-8, 361.\n    _See_ Space, Descending movement of existence\n  modern, compared with ancient, 36, 161, 333-4\n  natural, 194, 211-2\n  perception impregnated with, 205, 230\n  reasoning in, contrasted with reasoning concerning life, 7, 8\n  scientific, 161, 211\n\nGerm, accidental predisposition of, in Neo-Darwinism, 168, 169, 170\n\nGerm-plasm, continuity of, 27, 37, 78-83\n\nGiard, 84\n\nGlucose in organic function, 122, 123\n\nGlycogen in organic function, 122-4\n\nGod, as activity, 249\n  of Aristotle, 196, 322, 325, 349, 353, 356-7\n  ascent toward, in Aristotle's philosophy, 322-3\n  circularity of God's thought, in Aristotle's philosophy, 324, 325\n  in Descartes's philosophy, 346, 347\n  as efficient cause in Aristotle's philosophy, 324\n  as hypostasis of the unity of nature, 196, 322, 357\n  in Leibniz's philosophy, 352, 353, 356-7\n  as eternal matter, 196-7\n  as pure form, 196-7, 322\n  in Spinoza's philosophy, 351, 357\n\nGreek philosophy. _See_ Ancient philosophy\n\nGreen parts of plants, 107-9, 114, 117, 246, 247, 254\n\nGrowing old, 15\n\nGrowth, creation is, 240-1, 275\n  and novelty, 231\n  of the powers of life, 132, 134-5\n  reality is, 237\n  of the universe, 343, 345\n\nGu\u00e9rin, P., 59 _note_\n\nGuinea-pig, in illustration of hereditary transmission, 80, 81\n\n\nHabit and consciousness annulled, 143\n  form of knowledge a habit or bent of attention, 148\n  and heredity, 78, 93, 169, 170, 173.\n    _See_ Acquired characters, inheritance of\n  instinct as an intelligent, 173-4\n  and invention in animals, 264\n  and invention in man, 265\n  tendency of freedom to self-negation in, 127-8\n\nHarmony between instinct and life, and between intelligence and the\n   inert, 187, 194-5, 198\n  of the organic world is complementarity due to a common original\n   impulse 50, 51, 103, 116, 118\n  pre-established, 205, 206\n  in radical finalism, 127-8.\n    _See_ Discord\n\nHartog, 60 _note_\n\nHatchets, ancient flint, and human intellect, 137\n\nHeliocentric radius-vector in Kepler's laws, 333-4\n\nHereditary transmission, 76-83, 87, 168-9, 170, 173, 225-6, 230\n  domestication of animals and, 80-1\n  habit and, 79, 83, 169, 170, 173\n\nHesitation or choice, consciousness as, 143, 144\n\nHeteroblastia and identical structures on divergent lines of evolution, 75\n\nHeymons, 72 _note_\n\nHistory as creative evolution, 6, 15, 21, 26, 29, 36, 37, 65-6, 103-4,\n   105, 163, 264, 269\n  of philosophy, 238\n\nHive as an organism, 166\n\n_Homo faber_, designation of human species, 139\n\nHomogeneity of space, 156, 212\n  the sphere of intellect, 163\n  of time in Galileo, 332\n\nHorse-fly illustrating the object of instinct, 146\n\nHoussay, 109 _note_\n\nHuman and animal attention, 184\n  and animal brain, 184, 263-5\n  and animal consciousness, 139-43, 180, 183, 184, 187, 188, 191,\n   212, 263-8\n  and animal instruments of action, 139-43, 150\n  and animal intelligence, 138, 187, 188, 191, 192, 212\n  and animal invention, relation of, to habit, 264, 265\n  intellect and language, 157-8\n  intellect and manufacture, 137, 138\n\nHumanity in evolution, 134, 137-9, 142, 147, 158, 181, 184, 185, 264-71.\n    _See_ Culminating points, etc.\n  goal of evolution, 266, 267\n\nHuxley, 38\n\nHydra and individuality, 13\n\n[Greek: Hyl\u00ea] of Aristotle, 353\n\nHymenoptera, the culmination of arthropod and instinctive evolution,\n   134, 173-4\n  as entomologists, 146, 172-3\n  organization and instinct in, 140\n  paralyzing instinct of, 146, 172, 173-4\n  social instincts of, 101, 171\n\nHypostasis of the unity of nature, God as, 196-7, 322, 356\n\nHypothetical propositions characteristic of intellectual knowledge, 149-50\n\n\nIdea or form in ancient philosophy, 49, 314, 316-7, 318, 329-30\n  in ancient philosophy, [Greek: eidos], 314-5\n  in ancient philosophy, Platonic, 48\n  and image in Descartes, 280\n\nIdealism, 232\n\nIdealists and realists alike assume the possibility of an absence of\n   order, 220, 232\n\nIdentical structures in divergent lines of evolution, 55, 60-1, 62, 69,\n   74-7, 86, 119\n\nIllumination of action the function of perception, 5, 206, 307\n\nImage and idea in Descartes, 280\n  distinguished from concept, 160-1, 280\n\nImitation of being in Greek philosophy, 324, 327\n  of instinct by science, 168-9, 173-4\n  of life in intellectual representation, 4, 33, 88-9, 101, 176, 208,\n   209, 213, 226, 259, 341, 365\n  of life by the unorganized, 33, 35, 36\n  of motion by intelligence, 305, 307-8, 312, 313, 329.\n    _See_ Imitation of the real, etc.\n  of the physical order by the vital, 230\n  of the real by intelligence, 258, 270, 307\n\nImmobility of extension, 155\n  and plants, 108-13, 118, 119, 130\n  of primitive and torpid animals, 130-1\n  relative and apparent; mobility real, 155\n\nImpatience, duration as, 10, 339-40\n\nImpelling cause, 73\n\nImpetus, vital, divergence of, 26-7, 51-5, 97-105, 110, 118-9, 126-7,\n   131, 134-6, 257, 258, 266, 270\n  vital, limitedness of, 126, 141, 148-9, 254\n  vital, loaded with matter, 239\n  vital, as necessity for creation, 252, 261\n  vital, transmission of, through organisms, 25, 27, 79, 85, 87, 88,\n   230, 231, 250, 251\n  vital, _See_ Impulse of life\n\nImplement, the animal, is natural: the human, artificial, 139-43\n  artificial, 137-40, 150-1\n  constructing, function of intelligence, 159, 182-3\n  life known to intelligence only as, 162\n  matter known to intelligence only as, 161, 198\n  natural, 141, 145, 150\n  organized, 141, 145, 150\n  unorganized, 137-9, 141, 150-1\n\nImplicit knowledge, 148\n\nImpotence of intellect and perception to grasp life, 176-8\n\nImprisonment of consciousness, 180-3, 264-6\n\nImpulse of life, divergence of, 26, 27, 51-5, 97-105, 110, 118-9,\n   126-7, 131, 134-6, 257, 258, 266, 270\n  limitedness of, 126, 141, 148-9, 254\n  loaded with matter, 239\n  tendency to mobility, 131, 132\n  as necessity for creation, 252, 261\n  negates itself, 247, 248\n  prolonged in evolution, 246\n  prolonged in our will, 239\n  transmitted through generations of organisms, 25, 26, 79, 85, 87,\n   230, 231\n  unity of, 202, 250, 270\n\nImpulsion and attraction in Greek philosophy, 323-4\n  release and unwinding, the three kinds of cause, 73\n  given to mind by matter, 202\n\nInadequacy of act to representation, consciousness as, 143\n\nInadequate and adequate in Spinoza, 353\n\nInanition, illustrating primacy of nervous system, 124 _note_\n\nIncoherence, 236.\n    _See_ Absence of order, Chance, Chaos\n  in nature, 104\n\nIncommensurability of free act with conceptual idea, 47, 201\n  of instinct and intelligence, 167-8, 175\n\nIncompatibility of developed tendencies, 104, 168\n\nIndependent variable, time as, 20, 335-6\n\nIndetermination, 86, 114, 126, 252, 253, 326.\n    _See_ Accident in evolution\n\nIndeterminism in Descartes, 345\n\nIndividual, viewed by intelligence as aggregate of molecules and of\n   facts, 250-1\n  and division of labor, 140\n  in evolutionist biology, 169, 171, 246 _note_\n  and genus, 226-9\n  mind in philosophy, 191\n  aesthetic intuition only attains the, 177\n  and society, 260, 265\n  transmits the vital impetus, 250, 259, 270\n\nIndividuality never absolute, x, 12, 13, 16, 19, 42, 260\n  and age, 15-23, 27, 43\n  corporeal, physics tends to deny, 188, 189, 208.\n    _See_ Interpenetration, Obliteration of outlines, Solidarity\n    of the parts of matter\n  and generality, 226-8\n  the many and the one in the idea of, x, 258\n  as plan of possible influence, 11\n\nIndividuation never absolute, x, 12-16, 43, 260\n  as a cosmic principle in contrast with association, 259-60\n  property of life, 12-5\n  partly the work of matter, 257-8, 259, 270\n\nIndivisibility of action, 94, 95\n  of duration, 6, 308\n  of invention, 164\n  of life, 225, 270-1.\n    _See_ Unity\n  of life of motion, 307-11\n\nInduction in animals, 214\n  certainty of, approached as factors approach pure magnitudes, 222, 223\n  and duration, 216\n  and expectation, 214-6\n  geometry the ideal limit of, 214-8, 361.\n    _See_ Space, Geometry, Reasoning, \"Descending\" movement of matter, etc.\n  and magnitude, 215, 216\n  repetition the characteristic function of intellect, 164, 199, 205-16\n  and space, 216.\n    _See_ Space as the ideal limit, Systems, etc.\n\nIndustry, ix, 161, 162, 164\n\nInert matter and action, 96, 136, 141, 155, 187, 198, 225, 367\n  in Aristotle, 316, 327, 353\n  bodies, 7, 8, 12, 14, 20, 21, 156, 159, 174, 186, 188, 189, 204, 213,\n   215, 228, 240, 241, 298, 300, 341, 342, 346-8, 360\n  Creation of. _See_ Inert matter the inversion of life\n  flux of, 186, 265, 273, 369\n  and form, 148, 149, 157, 239, 250\n  genesis of, 188\n  homogeneity of, 156\n  imitation of living matter by, 33, 35, 36\n  imitation of physical order by vital, 230\n  instantaneity of, 10, 201\n  and intellect, ix, 31, 141, 159-62, 164, 165, 167-8, 175, 179, 181, 186,\n    187, 195, 196, 197, 198, 205-12, 216-9, 224, 264, 270, 319, 369\n  the inversion or interruption of life, 93, 94, 98, 99, 128-9, 153, 177,\n   186, 189, 190, 196, 197, 201, 203, 208, 216-9, 231, 235, 236, 239, 240,\n   245-50, 252, 254, 256, 258, 259, 261, 264, 267, 272, 276, 319,\n   339-40, 343.\n    _See_ Inert matter, order inherent in\n  knowledge of, approximate but not relative, 206\n  the metaphysics and the physics of, 195-6\n  as necessity, 252, 264\n  the order inherent in, 40, 103, 153, 201, 207-12, 216, 226-7, 230-6,\n   245, 251, 263, 274, 319-20.\n    _See_ Inert matter, inversion of life\n  penetration of, by life, 25, 26, 51, 179, 181, 237, 239, 266, 270, 271\n  and perception, 12, 206, 226\n  and the psychical, 201, 202, 205, 269, 270, 350, 367\n  solidarity of the parts of, 188, 202, 207, 241, 257-9, 270, 271, 352\n  and space, 10, 153, 189, 204-11, 214, 244, 250, 251, 257\n  in Spencer's philosophy, 365\n\nInertia, 176, 224\n\nInfant, intelligence in, 147, 148\n\nInference a beginning of invention, 138\n\nInferiority in evolutionary rank, 174-5\n\nInfluence, possible, 11, 189\n\nInfusoria, conjugation of, 15\n  development of the eye from its stage in, 60-1, 72, 78, 84\n  and individuation, 260\n  and mechanical explanations, 34, 35\n  vegetable function in, 116\n\nInheritance of acquired characters. _See_ Hereditary transmission\n\nInnate knowledge, 146-7, 150-1\n\nInnateness of the categories, 148, 149-50\n\nInorganic matter. _See_ Inert matter\n\nInsectivorous plants, 107-9\n\nInsects, 19, 101, 107, 126, 131, 134, 135, 140-1, 146, 147, 157, 166,\n   169, 171-5, 188\n  apogee of instinct in hymenoptera, 134, 173-4\n  consciousness and instinct, 145, 167, 173\n  continuity of instinct with organization, 139, 145\n  fallibility of instinct in, 172-3\n  instinct in general in, 169, 173-4\n  language of ants, 157-8\n  object of instinct in, 146\n  paralyzing instinct in, 146, 171, 172-3\n  social instinct in, 101, 157-8, 171\n  special instincts as variations on a theme, 167.\n    _See_ Arthropods in evolution\n\nInsensible variation, 63, 66\n\nInspiration of a poem an undivided intuitive act, contrasted with its\n   intellectual imitation in words, 209, 210, 258.\n    _See_ Sympathy\n\nInstantaneity of the intellectual view, 31, 70, 84, 89, 199, 201-2, 207,\n   226, 249, 258, 273, 300-6, 311, 314, 331-3, 342, 351, 352\n\nInstinct and action on inert matter, 136, 141\n  in animals as distinguished from plants, 170\n  in cells, 166\n  and consciousness, 143-5, 166, 167, 173, 174, 175, 186\n  culmination of, in evolution, 133, 174-5.\n    _See_ Arthropods in evolution, Evolutionary superiority\n  fallibility of, 173-4\n  in insects in general, 169, 173-4\n  and intelligence, xii, 51, 100, 103, 113, 116-8, 132-7, 141-3, 145, 150,\n   152, 159, 168-70, 173-9, 184-5, 186, 197-8, 238, 246, 254, 255, 259,\n   267, 268, 343, 345, 366\n  and intuition, 177, 178-9, 181\n  object of, 146-52, 165, 168, 172-9, 186, 189, 195, 234, 254\n  and organization, 23-4, 138-40, 145, 166-8, 171-2, 173, 176, 193,\n   194, 264\n  paralyzing, in certain hymenoptera, 146, 171, 172-3\n  in plants, 170, 171\n  social, of insects, 101, 157-8, 171\n\nInstinctive knowledge, 148, 167, 168, 173-4\n  learning, 193\n  metaphysics, 192, 269, 270, 277\n\nInstrument, action as, of consciousness, 180\n  animal, is natural; human artificial, 139-43\n  automatic activity as instrument of voluntary, 252\n  consciousness as, of action, 180\n  intelligence: the function of intelligence is to construct\n   instruments, 159, 192-3\n  intelligence transforms life into an, 162\n  intelligence transforms matter into an, 161, 198\n  intelligence: the instruments of intelligence are artificial, ix, 137-9,\n   140-1, 150-1\n  natural or organized instruments of instinct, 140-1, 145, 150\n\nIntellect and action, ix, 11, 29, 44-8, 93, 136, 142, 152-7, 162, 179,\n   186, 187, 192, 195, 197-8, 219, 220, 226-9, 251, 270, 273, 297-9, 301,\n   302, 306, 329, 346-7\n  in animals, 187\n  Fichte's conception of the, 189, 190, 357\n  function of the, 5, 11, 12, 44-50, 92, 93, 126, 137-45, 149-60, 162-4,\n   168, 174, 176, 181, 187-99, 204-8, 214-9, 229, 233, 237, 241, 242,\n   246, 247, 251, 270, 290, 298, 299, 328, 336, 337, 341, 342, 347,\n   348, 356, 357\n  genesis of the, xi-xv, 49, 103, 104-5, 126-7, 152, 153, 186, 187, 189,\n   193, 194, 195, 198, 207, 247-9, 358, 359, 366\n  as inversion of intuition, 7, 8, 11, 12, 46, 49, 51, 86, 88-91, 93, 94,\n   103-4, 113, 116-8, 129, 132, 133, 135, 136, 139-43, 145, 157, 161,\n   168-80, 181, 183, 184, 185, 190-204, 207-12, 216-8, 221, 223, 225-6,\n   230-3, 235, 236, 238, 245-52, 254-9, 264, 267-71, 276, 277, 313, 330,\n   339, 342-5, 361, 369\n  and language, 4, 148, 158-60, 258, 265, 292, 303, 304, 312, 313, 326\n  and matter, ix-xv, 10, 11, 48-9, 92, 135, 136, 141, 142, 152-4, 155,\n   160, 161, 165, 168, 175, 179, 181, 182, 186-7, 190, 193, 194, 195,\n   198, 199, 201-4, 205-10, 213, 215, 218-20, 224, 225-30, 240-2, 245,\n   246, 248-52, 254, 256-9, 264, 270, 271, 272, 273, 275, 297-8, 306,\n   319, 321, 329, 340, 341-3, 347-9, 355, 358-61, 368, 369\n  mechanism of the, ix-xv, 4, 30, 32, 47-9, 70, 84-5, 88-9, 101, 137-8,\n    150-5, 156-7, 160, 161, 164, 165, 167, 168, 173, 174, 176, 177,\n   186, 187, 190-3, 194-218, 223-40, 244, 246-7, 249-51, 254, 255, 257,\n   258, 266, 270, 273, 276-7, 292, 300-21, 325, 329, 330, 332, 337, 338,\n   339, 341-8, 351, 358-9, 361-2, 363-4, 365, 367\n  object of the, ix-xv, 7, 8, 10, 17, 20, 21, 30, 31, 34, 35, 37, 46-9,\n   52, 71, 74, 84, 87-92, 93, 95, 102, 103, 139, 140, 149, 152-66, 168,\n   173, 175-9, 180, 181, 186, 190, 193-211, 213, 216-20, 223, 224, 226,\n   228-30, 233, 237, 238, 240, 245, 249-51, 254, 255, 257-9, 261, 264,\n   265, 270, 271, 273, 274, 298-314, 318-22, 326, 328, 329, 332-8, 342,\n   344-9, 351, 352-7, 359-61, 363, 365, 369-70\n  and perception, 4-5, 11, 12, 93-4, 161-2, 168, 176-7, 188, 189, 205,\n   207, 226-7, 228-9, 230, 238, 249-51, 273, 299-300, 301, 306, 359-60\n  and rhythm, 299, 300-1, 306-7, 329, 337, 346-7\n  and science, 8-12, 31, 92-3, 152, 153, 157-8, 159, 160-1, 162-3, 168,\n   173-6, 187, 193-8, 202, 204, 207-9, 214-6, 217, 225-6, 228-9, 241,\n   251, 270, 273, 297-8, 306, 321, 322, 329, 333-5, 345, 346-8, 354,\n   356, 357, 359-60, 362-3, 369-70\n  and space, 10-11, 154, 156-7, 160-3, 174-5, 176-7, 189, 202-4, 207-12,\n   215, 218, 222-3, 244, 245, 250, 251, 257-8, 361-2\n  and time, 4, 8-9, 17, 18, 20-2, 36, 39, 45-6, 47, 51, 163, 300, 301,\n   331-2, 335-7, 341\n  possibility of transcending the, xii, xiii, 48, 152, 177-8, 193-4,\n   198-200, 205-6, 207-8, 266, 360-1.\n    _See_ Philosophy, Intelligence\n\nIntellectualism, hesitation of Descartes between, and intuitionism, 345\n\nIntelligence and action, 137-41, 150, 154-5, 161, 162-3, 181, 189, 198, 306\n  animal, 138, 187, 188, 212\n  categories of, x, 48, 195-6\n  of the child, 147-8\n  and consciousness, 187\n  culmination of, 130, 139-40, 174-5.\n    _See_ Superiority\n  genesis of, 136, 177-8, 366\n  and the individual, 251\n  and instinct, 109, 135, 136, 141, 142, 168-70, 173-7, 179, 186, 197,\n    209, 238, 259, 267\n  in Kant's philosophy, 357-8\n  and laws, 229-30\n  limitations of, 152\n  and matter, 152, 159-60, 161-2, 175, 179, 181, 186, 189, 194-8, 230,\n   237, 250, 369, 370\n  mechanism of, 152, 153, 164, 165\n  and motion, 153, 159-60, 274, 303-7, 312, 313, 329\n  object of, 145-56, 161, 162, 175, 179, 250\n  practical nature of, ix-xv, 137-9, 141, 150-1, 247-8, 305, 306, 328-9\n  and reality, ix-xv, 161-2, 177, 237, 251, 258, 269, 271, 307\n  and science, 175, 176, 193, 194-5\n  and signs, 157, 158, 159, 160\n  and space, 205\n    _See_ Intellect, Understanding, Reason\n\nIntelligent, the, contrasted with the merely intelligible, 175\n\nIntelligible reality in ancient philosophy, 316-7\n  world, 160-1\n\nIntelligibles of Plotinus, 353\n\nIntension of knowledge, 149-50\n\nIntensity of consciousness varies with ratio of possible to real\n   action, 144-5\n\nIntention as contrasted with mechanism, 233.\n    _See_ Automatic order, Willed order\n  of life the object of instinct, 176, 233\n\nInteraction, universal, 188-9\n\nInterest as cause of variation, 131\n  in representation of \"nought,\" 296, 297.\n    _See_ Affection, r\u00f4le of, etc.\n\nInternal finality, 41\n\nInternality of instinct, 168, 174-5, 176-7\n  of subject in object the condition of knowledge of reality, 307,\n   317, 358-9\n\nInterpenetration, 161, 162, 174-5, 177, 184 _note_, 188, 189, 201-3,\n   207-8, 257, 258, 270, 319-20, 341, 352\n\nInterruption, materiality an, of positivity, 219, 246, 247-8, 319-20.\n    _See_ Inverse relation, etc.\n\nInterval of time, 8-9, 22, 23\n  between what is done and what might be done covered by consciousness, 179\n\nIntuition, continuity between sensible and ultra-intellectual, 360-1\n  dialectic and, in philosophy, 238.\n    _See_ Intellect as inversion of intuition\n  fringe of, around the nucleus of intellect, xiii, 12, 46, 49, 193\n  and instinct, 176-9, 182\n  and intellect in theoretical knowledge, 176-9, 270-1\n\nIntuitional cosmology as reversed psychology, 207-8\n  metaphysics contrasted with intellectual or systematic, 191-2,\n   268-70, 277-8\n  method of philosophy, apparent vicious circle of, 191-4, 195-8\n\nIntuitionism in Spinoza, 347-8\n  and intellectualism in Descartes, 345-6\n\nInvention, consciousness as, and freedom, 264, 270-1\n  creativeness of, 164, 237, 340, 341\n  disproportion between, and its consequences, 181, 182-3\n  duration as, 10-1\n  evolution as, 102-3, 255, 344-5\n  fervor of, 164\n  indivisibility of, 164\n  inference a beginning of, 138\n  mechanical, 142-3, 194-5\n  of steam engine as epoch-marking, 138-9\n  time as, 341\n  unforeseeableness of, 164\n  upspringing of, 164\n    _See_ New\n\nInverse relation of the physical and psychical, 126-7, 143-4, 145, 173-4,\n   177-8, 201, 202, 206-7, 208, 210-1, 212, 217, 218, 222, 223, 236, 240,\n   245, 246, 247-8, 249, 256, 257, 261, 264, 265, 270, 319-20\n\nIrreversibility of duration. _See_ Repetition\n\nIsolated systems of matter, 204, 213, 215, 241, 242, 341, 342, 346, 347-8.\n    _See_ Bodies\n\n\nJanet, Paul, 60-1 _note_\n\nJennings, 35 _note_\n\nJourdain and the two kinds of order, 221\n\nJuxtaposition, 207-8, 338, 339, 341.\n  Cf. Succession\n\n\nKaleidoscopic variation, 74\n\nKant, antinomies of, 204-5, 206\n  becoming in Kant's successors, 362\n  coincidence of matter with space in Kant's philosophy, 206, 207-8, 244\n  construction the method of Kant's successors, 364-5\n  his criticism of pure reason, 205, 287 _note_, 356-62, 364\n  degrees of being in Kant's successors, 362-3\n  duration in Kant's successors, 362-3\n  intelligence in Kant's philosophy, 230, 357\n  ontological argument in Kant's philosophy, 285\n  space and time in Kant's philosophy, 204-6\n  and Spencer, 364\n    _See_ Mind and matter, Sensuous manifold, Thing-in-itself\n\nKantianism, 358, 364\n\nKatagenesis, 34\n\nKepler, 228-9, 332-5\n\nKnowledge and action, 150, 193-4, 196, 197, 206-7, 208, 218\n  criticism of, 193-4\n  discontinuity of, 306\n  extension of, 149\n  form of, 148, 194-5, 358-362\n  formal, 152\n  genesis of, 190\n  innate or natural, 146-50\n  instinct in, 143, 144, 166-9, 173, 177, 192-3, 198, 268\n  intellect in, ix-xv, 48, 149, 162-4, 177, 179, 193-4, 196-9, 206-7, 208,\n   218, 237, 238, 251, 270, 305, 306, 312, 313, 315, 317, 325, 331-2,\n   342, 343, 347-8, 359-60, 361\n  intension of, 149-50\n  of reality viewed as the internality of subject in object, 307,\n   317, 358-9\n  intuition and intellect in theoretical knowledge, 174-7, 179, 238,\n   270, 342-4\n  matter of, 194-5, 357-8, 359-62\n  of matter, xi, 48, 206-7, 360-1\n  object of, ix-xv, 1, 48, 147, 148, 159-60, 163, 164, 197-9, 270,\n   342, 359-60\n  fundamental problem of, 273-5\n  as relative to certain requirements of the mind, 152, 190-1, 230\n  scientific, 193-4, 196-8, 206, 207, 218\n  theory of, xiii, 177, 179, 197, 204-5, 207-8, 229, 231\n  unconscious, 142-6, 146, 150, 165, 166\n  alleged unknowableness of the thing-in-itself, 205, 206\n\nKunstler, 260 _note_\n\n\nLabb\u00e9 260 _note_\n\nLabor, division of, 99, 110, 118, 140, 157, 166, 260\n\nLalande, Andr\u00e9, 246 _note_\n\nLamarck, 75-6\n\nLamarckism, 75-6, 77, 84-87\n\nLanguage, 4, 147, 157-60, 258, 265, 293, 302-3, 305, 312-4, 320\n\nLa Place, 38\n\nLapsed intelligence, instinct as, 169, 175\n\nLarvae, 19, 140, 145-66, 172-3\n\nLatent geometrism of intellect, 194, 211-2\n\nLaw of correlation, 66, 67\n  and genera, 226-9, 330\n  heliocentric radius-vector in Kepler's laws, 334\n  imprint of relations and laws upon consciousness in Spencer's\n   philosophy, 188\n  and intuitional philosophy, 176-7\n  physical, contrasted with the laws of our codes, 218-9\n  physical, expression of the negative movement, 218\n  physical, mathematical form of, 218, 219, 229-30, 241\n  relation as, 228, 229-30\n\nLearning, instinctive, 192, 193\n\nLe Dantec, 18 _note_\n\nLeibniz, cause in, 277\n  dogmatism of, 356, 357\n  extension in, 351, 352\n  God in, 351, 352, 356\n  mechanism in, 348, 351, 355, 356\n  his philosophy a systematization of physics, 347\n  space in, 351-2\n  teleology in, 39, 40\n  time in, 352, 362\n\nLepidoptera, 114 _note_, 134\n\nLe Roy, Ed., 218 _note_\n\nLiberation of consciousness, 183-4, 265, 266\n\nLiberty. _See_ Freedom\n\nLife as activity, 128-9, 246\n  cause in the realm of, 94, 164\n  complementarity of the powers of, ix-xv, 25-6, 27, 51-5, 97-105, 110,\n   113, 116-9, 126-7, 131-6, 140-3, 176, 177, 183, 184, 246, 254-7, 266,\n   270, 343, 344-5\n  consciousness coextensive with, 186, 257, 270, 362-3\n  mutual contingency of the orders of life and matter, 235\n  continuity of, 1-11, 29, 30, 162, 163, 258\n  as creation, 57-8, 161-2, 223, 230, 246, 247-8, 252, 254, 255\n  symbolized by a curve, 31, 89, 90\n  embryonic, 166\n  and finality, 44, 89, 164, 185, 222-3\n  fluidity of, 153, 165, 191-2, 193\n  as free, 129-30\n  function of, 93-4, 106-10, 113, 114, 117, 120, 121, 126-7, 173-5,\n   246, 254-6\n  harmony of the realm of, 50, 51, 103, 116, 117-8, 127\n  imitation of the inert by, 230\n  imitation of, by the inert, 33-6\n  impulse of, prolonged in our will, 239\n  and individuation, 12-4, 26, 27, 79-80, 85, 87, 88, 127-8, 149, 195-6,\n    230, 231, 250, 259, 261, 269, 300-1, 302-3.\n    _See_ Individuality\n  indivisibility of, 225-6, 270\n  and instinct. 136-40, 145, 165-8, 170, 172, 173, 175-9, 186, 192-7, 233,\n   264, 366\n  and intellect, ix-xv, 13, 32-5, 44-9, 89, 101, 102-3, 104-5, 127, 136,\n   152, 160-5, 168, 173-4, 176-9, 181, 191-201, 206, 207, 213, 220,\n   222-3, 224, 225-6, 257-61, 266, 270, 300-1, 342, 355, 359-61, 365, 366\n  and interpenetration, 271\n  as inversion of the inert, 6-7, 8, 176, 177, 186, 190, 191, 196,\n  197, 201, 202, 207, 208-9, 210-1, 212, 216, 217, 218, 222-3, 225-6,\n   232, 235, 236, 238, 239, 245-50, 264, 329-31\n  a limited force, 126, 127, 141, 148, 149, 254\n  and memory, 167\n  penetrating matter, 26, 27, 52, 179, 181, 182, 237, 239, 266, 269-70\n  as tendency to mobility, 128, 131, 132\n  and physics and chemistry, 31, 33, 35, 36, 225-6\n  in other planets, 256\n  as potentiality, 258\n  repetition in, and in the inert, 224, 225, 230, 231\n  sinuousness of, 71, 98, 99, 102, 112, 113, 116, 129-30, 212\n  social, 138, 140, 157-8, 265\n  in other solar systems, 256\n  and evolution of species, 247-8, 254, 269\n  theory of, and theory of knowledge, xii, 177, 179, 197\n  unforeseeableness of, 6, 8-9, 20, 26-7, 28, 29, 37, 45-6, 47, 48, 52,\n   86, 96, 163, 164, 184, 223-4, 249, 339, 341\n  unity of, 250, 268, 270\n  as a wave flowing over matter, 251, 266\n    _See_ Impulse of, Organic substance, Organism, Organization,\n    Vital impetus, Vital order, Vital principle, Vitalism, Willed order\n\nLimitations of instinct and of intelligence, 152\n\nLimitedness of the scope of Galileo's physics, 357, 370\n  of the vital impetus, 126, 127, 141, 148, 149, 255\n\nLinden, Maria von, 114 _note_\n\nLingulae illustrating failure to evolve, 102\n\nLizards, color variation in, 72, 74\n\nLocomotion and consciousness, 108, 111, 115, 261.\n  _See_ Mobility, Movement\n\nLogic and action, ix, 44, 46, 162, 179\n  formal, 292\n  genesis of, x-xi, xiii-xiv, 49, 103, 104-5, 136, 191-2, 193, 301,\n   359, 366\n  and geometry, ix, 161, 176, 212\n  impotent to grasp life, x, 13, 32, 35, 36, 46-9, 89, 101, 152, 162-5,\n   194-201, 205, 206, 213, 219, 220, 222, 223, 225-6, 256-61, 266, 270,\n   313, 355, 360-1, 365\n  natural, 161, 194-5\n  of number, 208\n  and physics, 319-20, 321\n  and time, 4, 277\n    _See_ Intellect, Intelligence, Understanding, Order, mathematical\n\nLogical existence contrasted with psychical and physical, 277, 298,\n   328, 361-2\n  categories, x, 48, 195, 196\n  and physical contrasted, 276-7\n\n_Logik_, by Sigwart, 287 _note_\n\n[Greek: logos], in Plotinus, 210 _note_\n\nLooking backward, the attitude of intellect, 46, 237\n\nLumbriculus, 13\n\n\nMachinery and intelligence, 141\n\nMachines, natural and artificial, 139.\n    _See_ Implement, Instrument\n  organisms, for action, 252, 254, 300-1\n\nMagnitude, certainty of induction approached as factors approach pure\n   magnitudes, 215-16\n  and modern science, 333, 335\n\nMan in evolution, attention, 184\n  brain, 183, 184, 263-5\n  consciousness, 139-43, 180, 181, 183, 185, 187, 188, 191-2, 212, 262-8\n  goal, 134, 174-5, 185, 266, 267, 269, 270\n  habit and invention, 265\n  intelligence, 133, 137-9, 143, 146, 174, 175, 187, 188, 212, 266, 267\n  language, 158\n\nManac\u00e9ine (de), 124 _note_\n\nManufacture, the aim of intellect, 137, 138, 145, 152-4, 159-65, 181, 191,\n   192, 199, 251, 298\n  and organization, 92, 93, 126-7, 139-43, 150\n  and repetition, 44, 45, 155-8\n    _See_ Construction, Solid, Utility\n\nMany and one, categories inapplicable to life, x, 162-3, 177-8, 257,\n  261, 268\n  in the idea of individuality, 258\n    _See_ Multiplicity\n\nMartin, J., 102 _note_\n\nMarion, 107 _note_\n\nMaterial knowledge, 152\n\nMaterialists, 240\n\nMateriality the inversion of spirituality, 212\n\nMathematical order. _See_ Inert matter, Order\n\nMatter. _See_ Inert matter\n\nMaturation as creative evolution, 47-8, 230\n\nMaupas, 35 _note_\n\nMeasurement a human convention, 218, 242\n  of real time an illusion, 336-40\n\nMechanical account of action after the fact, 47\n  cause, x, 34, 35, 40, 44, 177, 234, 235\n  procedure of intellect, 165\n  invention, 138, 140, 194-5\n  necessity, 47, 215, 216, 218, 236, 252, 265, 270, 327\n\nMechanics of transformation, 32\n\nMechanism, cerebral, 252, 253, 262, 263, 265, 366.\n    _See_ Cerebral activity and consciousness\n  of the eye, 88\n  instinct as, 176-7\n  of intellect. _See_ Intellect, mechanism of\n  and intention, 233.\n    _See_ Automatic order, Willed order\n  life more than, x, xiv _note_, 78-9\n\nMechanistic philosophy, xii, xiv, 17, 29, 30, 37, 74, 88-96, 101, 102,\n   194-5, 218, 223, 264, 345, 346, 347, 348, 351, 355, 356, 362\n\nMedical philosophers of the eighteenth century, 356\n  science, 165\n\nMedullary bulb in the development of the nervous system, 252\n  and consciousness, 110\n\nMemory, 5, 17, 20, 21, 167, 168, 180, 181, 201\n\nMenopause in illustration of crisis of evolution, 19\n\nMental life, unity of, 268\n\nMetamorphoses of larvae, 139-40, 146-7, 166\n\nMetaphysics and duration, 276\n  and epistemology, 177, 179, 185, 197, 208-9\n  Galileo's influence on, 20, 238\n  instinctive, 191-2, 269, 270, 277-8\n  and intellect, 189-90\n  and matter, 194\n  natural, 21, 325\n  and science, 176-7, 194-5, 198, 208-9, 344, 354, 369-70\n  systematic, 191, 192, 194, 195-6, 238, 269, 270, 347\n\nMetchnikoff, 18 _note_\n\nMethod of philosophy, 191-2\n\nMicrobes, illustrating divergence of tendency, 117\n\nMicrobial colonies, 259\n\nMind, individual, in philosophy, 191\n  and intellect, 48-9, 205-6\n  knowledge as relative to certain requirements of the mind, 152,\n   190-1, 230\n  and matter, 188-9, 201, 202, 203, 205-6, 264, 269, 270, 350, 365-9\n    _See_ Psychic, Psycho-physiological parallelism, Psychology and\n    Philosophy, [Greek: psych\u00ea]\n\nMinot, Sedgwick, 17 _note_\n\nMobility, tendency toward, characterizes animals, 109, 110, 113, 129-32,\n   135, 180\n  and consciousness, 108, 111, 115-6, 261\n  and intellect, 154-5, 161-2, 163, 300, 326, 327, 337\n  of intelligent signs, 158, 159\n  life as tendency toward, 127-8, 131, 132\n  in plants, 112, 135\n    _See_ Motion\n\nM\u00f6bius, 60 _note_\n\nModel necessary to the constructive work of intellect, 164, 166-7\n\nModern astronomy compared with ancient science, 334, 335\n  geometry compared with ancient science, 31, 161, 334\n  idealism, 231\n  philosophy compared with ancient, 225-9, 231, 327-8, 344, 345,\n   349-51, 354, 356-7\n  philosophy: parallelism of body and mind in, 180, 350, 355, 356\n  science: cinematographical character of, 329, 330, 336, 341, 342, 346-7\n  science compared with ancient, 329-36, 342-5, 356-7\n  science, Galileo's influence on, 334, 335\n  science, Kepler's influence on, 334\n  science, magnitudes the object of, 333, 335\n  science, time an independent variable in, 20, 335\n\nMolecules, 251\n\nMolluscs, illustrating animal tendency to mobility, 129-31\n  perception in, 189\n  vision in, 60, 75, 77, 83, 86, 87\n\nMonads of Leibniz, 351-4\n\nMonera, 126\n\nMonism, 355\n\nMoral sciences, weakness of deduction in, 212\n\nMorat, 123 _note_\n\nMorgan, L., 79 _note_, 80\n\nMotion, abstract, 304\n  articulations of, 310-1\n  an animal characteristic, 252\n  and the cinematograph, 304-5\n  continuity of, 310\n  in Descartes, 346-7\n  evolutionary, extensive and qualitative, 302, 303, 311, 312\n  in general (_i.e._ abstract), 304-5\n  indivisibility of, 306-7, 311, 336-7, 338\n  and instinct, 139-40, 331-2\n  and intellect, 71, 155, 156, 159-60, 273, 274, 298, 317-8, 321, 329,\n   331-2, 338, 344-5\n  organization of, 310-1\n  track laid by motion along its course, 308-11, 337, 338\n    _See_ Mobility, Movement\n\nMotive principle of evolution: consciousness, 181-2\n\nMotor mechanisms, cerebral, 252, 253, 263, 265\n\nMoulin-Quignon, quarry of, 137\n\nMoussu, 81\n\nMovement and animal life, 108, 131, 132\n  ascending, 12, 101, 103, 104, 185, 208-9, 210-1, 369-70.\n    _See_ Vital impetus\n  consciousness and, 111, 118, 144-5, 207-8\n  descending, 11-2, 202-4, 207-10, 212, 246, 252, 256, 270, 276, 339,\n   361, 369-70\n  goal of, the object of the intellect, 155, 299-300, 302, 303\n  intellect unable to grasp, 313\n  mutual inversion of cosmic movements, 126-7, 143, 144, 173-4, 176, 177,\n   209-10, 212, 217, 218, 222-3, 236, 245-51, 261, 264, 265, 272, 342-3\n  life as, 166, 176-7\n  and the nervous system, 110, 132, 134, 180, 262-3\n  of plants, 109, 135-6\n    _See_ Mobility, Motion, Locomotion, Current, Tendency, Impetus,\n   Impulse, Impulsion\n\nMovements, antagonistic cosmic, 128-9, 135, 181, 185, 250, 259.\n    _See_ Movement, Mutual inversion of cosmic\n\nMultiplicity, abstract, 257, 259\n  distinct, 202, 209-10, 257. _See_ Interpenetration\n  does not apply to life, x, 162, 177, 257, 261, 270\n\nMutability, exhaustion of, of the universe, 244, 245\n\nMutations, sudden, 28, 62-3, 64-8\n  theory of, 85-6\n\n\nNatural geometry, 195-6, 211-2\n  instrument, 141, 144-5, 150-1\n  or innate knowledge, 147, 150-1\n  logic, 161, 194-5\n  metaphysic, 21, 325-6\n  selection, 54, 56-7, 59-60, 61-5, 68, 95, 169-70\n\nNature, Aristotelian theory of, 135, 174\n  discord in, 127-8, 255, 267\n  facts and relations in, 368\n  incoherence in, 104\n  as inert matter, 161-2, 218, 219, 228-9, 239, 245, 264, 280-1, 303,\n   356, 359-60, 367\n  as life, 100, 138, 139-40, 141-2, 143, 144-5, 150, 154, 155-6, 227,\n   241, 260, 269, 270, 301-2\n  order of, 225-6\n  as ordered diversity, 231, 233\n  unity of, 105, 190, 191, 195, 196-9, 322, 352-7, 358\n\nNebula, cosmic, 249, 257\n\nNecessity for creation, vital impetus as, 252, 261\n  and death of individuals, 246 _note_\n  and freedom, 218, 236, 270\n  in Greek philosophy, 326-7\n  in induction, 215, 216\n  and matter, 252, 264\n\nNegation, 275, 285-97. _See_ Nought\n\nNegative cause of mathematical order, 217. _See_ Inverse relation, etc.\n  cosmic principle, 126-7, 143, 144, 173-4, 176-7, 209, 212, 218, 223-4,\n   236, 245-51, 261, 264-5, 272, 243.\n    _See_ Inert matter, Opposition of the two ultimate cosmic movements, etc.\n\nNeo-Darwinism, 55, 56, 85, 86, 169-70\n\nNeo-Lamarckism, 42 _note_\n\nNervous system a centre of action, 109, 130-1, 132, 134-5, 180, 253, 261-3\n  of the plant, 114\n  primacy of, 120-1, 126-7, 252\n\nNeurone and indetermination, 126\n\nNew, freedom and the, 11-2, 164, 165, 199-200, 218, 230, 239, 249,\n   270, 339-42\n\nNewcomen, 184\n\nNewton, 335\n\nNitrogen and the function of organisms, 108, 113-4, 117, 255\n\n[Greek: no\u00ease\u00f4s no\u00easis] of Aristotle, 356\n\nNon-existence. _See_ Nought\n\nNothing. _See_ Nought\n\nNought, conception of the, 273-80, 281-3, 289-90, 292-8, 316-7, 327.\n    _See_ Negation, Pseudo-ideas, etc.\n\n[Greek: nous poi\u00eatikos] of Aristotle, 322\n\nNovelty. _See_ new.\n\nNucleus intelligence as the luminous, enveloped by instinct, 166-7\n  in microbial colonies, 259\n  intelligence as the solid, bathed by a mist of instinct, 193, 194\n  of Stentor, 260\n\nNumber illustrating degrees of reality, 324-5, 327\n  logic of, 208\n\nNuptial flight, 146\n\nNutritive elements, fixation of, 107-9, 114, 117, 246, 247, 254\n\nNymph (Zool.), 139, 146\n\n\nObject of this book, ix-xv\n  of instinct, 146-52, 163, 175-9\n  of intellect, 146-52, 161-5, 175, 179, 190-1, 199-200, 237, 250,\n   252, 270, 273, 298-304, 307-8, 311-2, 354, 359\n  internality of subject in, the condition of knowledge of reality,\n   307-8, 317-8, 359\n  of knowledge, 147, 148-9, 159-60\n  idea of, contrasted with that\n  of universal interaction, 11, 188-9, 207-8\n  of philosophy as contrasted with object of science, 195-6, 220-1, 225-6,\n   227, 239, 251, 270, 273, 297-9, 305-6, 347\n  of science, 329, 332-3, 335-6\n\nObliteration of outlines in the real, 11, 188, 189, 207-8\n\nOenothera Lamarckiana, 63, 85-6\n\nOld, growing. _See_ Age\n  the, is the object of the intellect, 163, 164, 199, 270\n\nOne and many in the idea of individuality, x, 258. _See_ Unity\n\nOntological argument in Kant, 284\n\nOpposition of the two ultimate cosmic movements, 128-9, 175-6, 179,\n   186, 201, 203, 238, 248, 254, 259, 261, 267.\n    _See_ Inverse relation of the physical and psychical\n\nOrchids, instincts of, 170\n\nOrder and action, 226-7\n  complementarity of the two orders, 145-6, 173-4, 221-2.\n    _See_ Order, Mutual inversion of the two orders\n  mutual contingency of the two orders, 231, 235\n  and disorder, 40, 103-4, 220-2, 225-6, 231-6, 274\n  mutual inversion of the two orders, 186, 201, 202, 206-9, 211, 212,\n   216-8, 219-21, 222-3, 225-6, 230, 232, 235, 236, 238, 240, 245-8,\n   256, 257, 258, 264, 270, 274, 313, 330\n  mathematical, 153, 209-11, 217-9, 223-6, 230-3, 236, 245, 251, 270, 330-1\n  of nature, 225-6, 231, 233\n  as satisfaction, 222, 223, 274\n  vital, 94-5, 164, 222-7, 230, 235, 236, 237, 330-1\n  willed, 224, 239\n\nOrgan and function, 88-91, 93-4, 95, 132, 140, 141, 157, 161-2\n\nOrganic destruction and physico-chemistry, 226\n  substance, 131, 140, 141-2, 149, 162-3, 195-6, 240 _note_, 255, 267\n  world, cleft between, and the inorganic, 190, 191, 196, 197-8\n  world, harmony of, 50-1, 103, 104, 116, 118, 126-7\n  world, instinct the procedure of, 165\n\nOrganism and action, 123-4, 125, 174, 253, 254, 300-1\n  ambiguity of primitive, 99, 112, 113, 116, 129, 130\n  association of organisms, 260\n  change and the, 301, 302-3\n  complementarity of intelligence and instinct in the, 141-2, 150, 181,\n   184, 185\n  complexity of the, 162, 250, 252, 253, 260\n  consciousness and the, 111, 145, 179, 180, 262, 270\n  contingency of the actual chemical nature of the, 255, 257\n  differentiation of parts in, 252, 260.\n    _See_ Organism, complexity of\n  extension of, by artificial instruments, 141, 161\n  freedom the property of every, 130, 131\n  function of, 26, 27, 79, 80, 85, 87, 88, 93-4, 106-110, 113, 114, 117,\n   120, 121, 126-7, 128, 136, 173-5, 230, 231, 246, 247, 250, 251, 254,\n   255, 256, 258, 270\n  function and structure, 55, 61, 62, 69, 74, 75, 76-7, 86, 88-91, 93-4,\n    95, 96-7, 118-9, 132, 139, 140, 157-8, 161-3, 250, 252, 256\n  generality typified by similarity among organisms, 223, 224, 228-9, 230\n  hive as, 166\n  and individuation, x, 12, 13, 15, 23, 26-7, 42, 149, 195-6, 225-6,\n   228-9, 259, 260, 261, 270\n  mutual interpenetration of organisms, 177-8\n  mechanism of the, 31, 92-3, 94\n  philosophy and the, 195-6\n  unity of the, 176-8\n\nOrganization of action, 142, 145, 147-8, 150, 181, 184, 185\n  of duration, 5-6, 15, 25, 26\n  explosive character of, 92\n  and instinct, 24, 138-46, 150, 165-7, 171-2, 173, 176, 192-3, 194, 264\n  and intellect, 161-2\n  and manufacture, 92, 93, 94-5, 96, 126-8\n  is the _modus vivendi_ between the antagonistic cosmic\n   currents, 181, 250, 254\n  of motion, 310\n  and perception, 226-7\n\nOriginality of the willed order, 224\n\nOrthogenesis, 69, 86-7\n\nOscillation between association and individuation, 259, 261.\n    _See_ Societies\n  of ether, 301-2\n  of instinct and intelligence about a mean position, 136\n  of pendulum, illustrating space and time in ancient philosophy,\n   318-9, 320\n  between representation of inner and outer reality, 279-80\n  of sensible reality in ancient philosophy about being, 316-8\n\nOutlines of perception the plan of action, 5, 11, 12, 93, 188, 189, 204-5,\n   206-7, 226-7, 228-9, 230, 250, 299-300, 306\n\nOxygen, 114, 254, 255\n\n\nPaleontology, 24-5, 129, 139\n\nPaleozoic era, 102\n\nParallelism, psycho-physiological, 180, 350, 351, 355, 356\n\nParalyzing instinct in hymenoptera, 139-40, 146, 172, 174-5\n\nParasites, 106, 108, 109, 111-13, 134-5\n\nParasitism, 132\n\nPassivity, 222-4\n\nPast, subsistence of, in present, 4, 20-3, 26-7, 108, 199-202\n\nPeckham, 173-4 _note_\n\nPecten, illustrating identical structures in divergent lines of\n   evolution, 62, 63, 75\n\nPedagogical and social nature of negation, 287-97\n\nPedagogy and the function of the intellect, 165\n\nPenetration, reciprocal, 161-2.\n    _See_ Interpenetration\n\nPerception and action, 4-5, 11, 12, 93, 188, 189, 206, 226-7, 228-9,\n   300-1, 306-7\n  and becoming, 176-7, 303-6\n  cinematographical character of, 206-7, 249, 251, 331-2\n  distinctness of, 226-7, 250\n  and geometry, 205, 230\n  in molluscs, 188\n  and organization, 226-7\n  prolonged in intellect, 161-2, 273\n  reaction in, 264\n  and recollection, 180, 181\n  refracts reality, 204, 238, 359-60\n  rhythm of, 299-300, 301\n  and science, 168\n\nPermanence an illusion, 299-301\n\nPeron, 80\n\nPerrier, Ed., 260 _note_\n\nPersonality, absolute reality of, 269\n  concentration of, 201, 202\n  and matter, 269, 270\n  the object of intuition, 268\n  tension of, 199, 200, 201\n\nPerthes, Boucher de, 137\n\nPhaedrus, 156 _note_\n\nPhagocytes and external finality, 42\n\nPhagocytosis and growing old, 18\n\nPhantom ideas and problems, 177, 277, 283, 296\n\nPhilosophical explanation contrasted with scientific explanation, 168\n\nPhilosophy and art, 176-7\n  and biology, 43-4, 194-6\n  and experience, 197-8\n  function of 29-30, 84-5, 93-4, 168, 173-4, 194-7, 198, 268, 269, 369-70\n  history of, 238\n  incompletely conscious of itself, 207-8, 209\n  individual mind in, 191\n  and intellect, ix-xv\n  intellect and intuition in, 238\n  of intuition, 176-7, 191-4, 196, 197, 277\n  method of, 191-2, 194, 195, 239\n  object of, 239\n  and the organism, 195-6\n  and physics, 194, 208\n  and psychology, 194, 196\n  and science, 175, 196-7, 208, 345, 370\n    _See_ Ancient philosophy, Cosmology, Finalism, Mechanistic\n    philosophy, Metaphysics, Modern philosophy, Post-Kantian philosophy\n\nPhonograph illustrating \"unwinding\" cause, 73\n\nPhosphorescence, consciousness compared to, 262\n\nPhotograph, illustrating the nature of the intellectual view of\n   reality, 31, 304-5\n\nPhotography, instantaneous, illustrating the mechanism of the\n   intellect, 331-2, 333\n\nPhysical existence, as contrasted with logical, 276, 297-8, 328, 361\n  laws, their precise form artificial, 218, 219, 229, 240-1\n  laws and the negative cosmic movement, 218\n  operations the object of intelligence, 175, 250\n  order, imitation of, by the vital, 230\n  science, 176-7\n\nPhysicochemistry and organic destruction, 226\n  and biology, 25-6, 29-30, 34, 35, 36, 55, 57, 98, 194\n\nPhysics, ancient, \"logic spoiled,\" 320, 321-2\n  of ancient philosophy, 315, 320, 321-2, 355\n  of Aristotle, 228 _note_, 324 _note_, 331, 332\n  and deduction, 213\n  of Galileo, 357, 369-70\n  and individuality of bodies, 188, 208\n  as inverted psychics, 202\n  and logic, 319-20, 321\n  and metaphysics, 194, 208\n  and mutability, 245\n  success of, 218, 219\n\nPigment-spot and adaptation, 60, 61, 71-3, 76-7\n  and heredity, 83, 84\n\nPinguicula, certain animal characteristics of, 107\n\nPlan, motionless, of action the object of intellect, 155, 298-9, 301-2, 303\n\nPlanets, life in other, 256\n\nPlants and animals in evolution, 105-39, 142-3, 144, 145-6, 147, 168,\n   169-70, 181, 182, 183-4, 185, 254, 267\n  complementarity of, to animals, 183-4, 185, 267\n  consciousness of, 109, 111, 113, 120, 128-35, 142-3, 144, 181, 182, 292.\n    _See_ Torpor, Sleep\n  function of, 107-9, 113, 114, 117, 246, 247, 254, 256\n  function and structure in, 67, 77-8, 79\n  individuation in, 12\n  instinct in, 170, 171\n  and mobility, 108, 109, 111-13, 118-9, 129, 130, 135-6\n  parallelism of evolution with animals, 59-60, 106-8, 116\n  supporters of all life, 271\n  variation of, 85, 86\n\nPlasma, continuity of germinative, 25-6, 42, 78-83\n\nPlastic substances, 255\n\nPlato, 49, 156, 191, 210 _note_, 316, 318, 319, 320, 321, 327, 330, 347, 349\n\nPlatonic ideas, 49, 315-6, 321, 322, 327, 330, 352\n\nPlotinus, 210 _note_, 314-5, 323, 324 _note_, 349, 352, 353\n\nPlurality, confused, of life, 257.\n    _See_ Interpenetration\n\nPoem, sounds of, distinct to perception; the sense indivisible to\n   intuition, 209\n  illustrating creation of matter, 240, 319-20\n\n[Greek: poi\u00eatikos, nous], of Aristotle, 322\n\nPolymorphism of ants, bees, and wasps, 140\n  of insect societies, 157\n\nPolyzoism, 260\n\nPositive reality, 208, 212. _See_ Reality\n\nPositivity, materiality an inversion or interruption of, 219, 246,\n   247-8, 319-20\n\nPossible activity as a factor in consciousness, 11, 12, 96, 144, 145,\n   146-7, 158-9, 165, 179, 180, 181, 189, 264, 368\n  existence, 290, 295\n\nPost-Kantian philosophy, 362, 363\n\nPotential activity. _See_ Possible activity\n  genera, 226\n  knowledge, 142-7, 150, 166\n\nPotentiality, life as an immense, 258, 270\n  zone of, surrounding acts, 179, 180, 181, 264. _See_ Possible activity\n\nPowers of life, complementarity of, xii, xiii, 26, 27, 51-5, 97-105, 110,\n   113, 116-8, 119, 126-7, 131-6, 140-3, 176, 177, 183, 184, 246, 254, 255,\n   257, 266, 270, 343, 345\n\nPractical nature of perception and its prolongation in intellect and\n   science, 137-41, 150, 193-4, 196, 197, 206, 207-8, 218, 247-8, 273,\n   281, 305, 306-7, 328, 329\n\nPre\u00ebstablished harmony, 205-6, 207\n\nPresent, creation of, by past, 5, 20-3, 26-7, 167, 199-202\n\nPrevision. _See_ Foreseeing\n\nPrimacy of nervous system, 120-6, 252\n\nPrimary instinct, 138-9, 168\n\nPrimitive organisms, ambiguous forms of, 99, 112, 113, 116, 129, 130\n\n\"Procession\" in Alexandrian philosophy, 323\n\nProgress, adaptation and, 101 ff.\n  evolutionary, 50, 133, 134, 138, 141-2, 173-4, 175, 185, 264-5, 266\n\nProse and verse, illustrating the two kinds of orders, 221, 232\n\nProtophytes, colonizing of, 259\n\nProtoplasm, circulation of, 32-3, 108\n  and senescence, 18, 19\n  imitation of, 32-3, 35\n  primitive, and the nervous system, 124, 126-7\n  of primitive organisms, 99, 108, 109\n  and the vital principle, 42-3\n\nProtozoa, association of, 259-61\n  ageing of, 16\n  of ambiguous form, 112\n  and individuation, 14, 259-61\n  mechanical explanation of movements of, 33\n  and nervous system, 126\n  reproduction of, 14\n\nPseudo-ideas and problems, 177, 277, 283, 296\n\nPseudoneuroptera, division of labor among, 140\n\n[Greek: pschn\u00ea] of Aristotle, 350\n  of Plotinus, 210 _note_\n\nPsychic activity, twofold nature of, 136, 140-1, 142-3\n  life, continuity of, 1-11, 29-30\n\nPsychical existence contrasted with logical, 276, 297-8, 327-8, 361\n  nature of life, 257\n\nPsychics inverted physics, 201, 202.\n    _See_ Inverse relation of the physical and psychical\n\nPsychology and deduction, 212-3\n  and the genesis of intellect, 187, 194, 195-6, 197\n  intuitional cosmology as reversed, 208-9\n\nPsycho-physiological parallelism, 180, 350, 351, 355, 356\n\nPuberty, illustrating crises in evolution, 19, 320-1\n\n\nQualitative, evolutionary and extensive becoming, 313\n  motion, 302-3, 304, 311\n\nQualities, acts, forms, the classes of representation, 303, 314\n  bodies as bundles of, 300-1\n  coincidence of, 309\n  and movements, 299-300\n  and natural geometry, 211\n  superimposition of, in induction, 216\n\nQuality is change, 299-300\n  in Eleatic philosophy, 314-5\n  and quantity in ancient philosophy, 323-4\n  and quantity in modern philosophy, 350\n  and rhythm, 300-2\n\nQuaternary substances, 121\n\nQuinton, Ren\u00e9, 134 _note_\n\n\nRadius-vector, Heliocentric, in Kepler's laws, 334\n\nRank, evolutionary, 50, 133-5, 173-4, 265\n\nReaction, r\u00f4le of, in perception, 226-7\n\nReady-made categories, x, xiv, 48, 237, 250, 251, 273, 311, 321,\n   329, 354, 359\n\nReal activity as distinguished from possible, 145\n  common-sense is continuous experience of the, 213\n  continuity of the, 302, 329\n  dichotomy of the, in modern philosophy, 349\n  imitation of the, by intelligence, 90, 204, 258, 270, 307, 355\n  obliteration of outlines in the, 11-2, 188, 189, 207-8\n  representation of the, by science, 203-4\n\nRealism, ancient, 231-2\n\nRealists and idealists alike assume possibility of absence of order,\n   220, 231-2\n\nReality, absolute, 198, 228-9, 230, 269, 359-60, 361\n  as action, 47, 191-2, 194-5, 249\n  degrees of, 323, 327\n  in dogmatic metaphysics, 196\n  double form of, 179-80, 216, 230-1, 236\n  as duration, 11-2, 217, 272\n  as flux, 165, 250, 251, 294, 337, 338, 342\n  and the frames of the intellect, 363-4, 365.\n    _See_ Frames of the understanding\n  as freedom, 247\n  of genera in ancient philosophy, 226-7\n  is growth, 239\n  imitation of, by the intellect, 89-90, 365\n  and the intellect, 52, 89-90, 153, 191, 192, 314-5, 355-6\n  intelligible, in ancient philosophy, 317\n  knowledge of, 307-8, 317, 358-9\n  and mechanism, 351, 354-5\n  as movement, 90, 155, 301-2, 312\n  and not-being, 276, 280, 285\n  of the person, 269\n  refraction of, through the forms of perception, 204, 238, 359-60\n  and science, 194, 196, 198, 199, 203-4, 206-8, 354, 357\n  sensible, in ancient philosophy, 314, 317, 321, 327, 328, 352\n  symbol of, xi, 30-1, 71, 88-9, 93-4, 195-6, 197, 209, 240, 342,\n   360-1, 369\n  undefinable conceptually, 13, 49\n  unknowable in Kant, 205\n  unknowable in Spencer, xi\n  views of, 30-1, 71, 84, 88, 199, 201, 206-7, 225-6, 249, 258, 273,\n   300-7, 311, 314, 331-2, 342, 351, 352\n\nReason and life, 7, 8, 48, 161\n  cannot transcend itself, 193-4\n\nReasoning and acting, 192-3\n  and experience, 203-4\n  and matter, 204-5, 208-9\n  on matter and life, 7, 8\n\nRecollection, dependence of, on special circumstances, 167, 180\n  in the dream, 202, 207-8\n  and perception, 180, 181\n\nRecommencing, continual, of the present in the state of relaxation, 201\n\nRecomposing, decomposing and, the characteristic powers of intellect,\n   157, 251\n\nRecord, false comparison of memory with, 5\n\nReflection, 158-9\n\nReflex activity, 110\n  compound, 173-4, 175-6\n\nRefraction of the idea through matter or non-being, 316-7\n  of reality through forms of perception, 204, 238, 359-60\n\nRegeneration and individuality, 13, 14\n\nRegister of time, 16, 20, 37\n\nReinke, 42 _note_\n\nRelation, imprint of relations and laws upon consciousness, 188\n  as law, 229, 230-1\n  and thing, 147-52, 156-7, 160, 161, 187, 202, 352, 357\n\nRelativism, epistemological, 196, 197, 230\n\nRelativity of immobility, 155\n  of the intellect, xi, 48-9, 152, 153, 187, 195-6, 197-8, 199, 219,\n   273, 306-7, 360-1\n  of knowledge, 152, 191, 230\n  of perception, 226-7, 228, 300-1\n\nRelaxation in the dream state, 201, 209-10\n  and extension, 201, 207-8, 209, 210, 212, 218, 223, 245\n  and intellect, 200, 207-8, 209, 212, 218\n  logic a, of virtual geometry, 212\n  matter a, of unextended into extended, 218\n  memory vanishes in complete, 200\n  necessity as, of freedom, 218\n  present continually recommences in the state of relaxation, 200\n  will vanishes in complete, 200, 207-8\n    _See_ Tension\n\nReleasing cause, 73, 74, 115, 118-9, 120\n\nRepetition and generalization, 230-1, 232\n  and fabrication, 44-5, 46, 155-8\n  and intellect, 156-7, 199, 214-6\n  of states, 5-6, 7-8, 28-9, 30, 36, 45-6, 47\n  in the vital and in the mathematical order, 225, 226, 230, 231\n\nRepresentation and action, 143-4, 145, 180\n  classes of: qualities, forms, acts, 302-3, 314\n  and consciousness, 143-4\n  of motion, 159-60, 303-4, 305, 306-7, 308, 313, 315, 344-5\n  of the Nought, 273-80, 281-4, 289-317, 327\n\nRepresented or internalized action distinguished from externalized\n   action, 144-7, 158-9, 165\n\nReproduction and individuation, 13, 14\n\nResemblance. _See_ Similarity\n\nReservoir, organism a, of energy, 115, 116, 125-6, 245, 246, 254\n\nRest and motion in Zeno, 308-12\n\nRetrogression in evolution, 133, 134\n\nRetrospection the function of intellect, 47-8, 237\n\nReversed psychology: intuitional cosmology, 208\n\nRhizocephala and animal mobility, 111\n\nRhumbler, 34 _note_\n\nRhythm of duration, 11-2, 127-8, 300-1, 345-7\n  intelligence adopts the, of action, 305-6\n  of perception, 299-300, 301\n  and quality, 301\n  scanning the, of the universe the function of science, 346-7\n  of science must coincide with that of action, 320\n  of the universe untranslatable into scientific formulae, 337\n\nRings of arthropods, 132-3\n\nRipening, creative evolution as, 47-8, 340-1\n\nRomanes, 139\n\nRoule, 27 _note_\n\nRoy (Le), Ed., 218 _note_\n\n\n_Salamandra maculata_, vision in, 75\n\nSalensky, 75 _note_\n\nSame, function of intellect connecting same with same, 199-200, 233, 270\n\nSamter and Heymons, 72 _note_\n\nSaporta (De), 112 _note_\n\nSavage's sense of distance and direction, 212\n\nSkepticism or dogmatism the dilemma of any systematic metaphysics,\n   195-6, 197, 230-1\n\nSchisms in the primitive impulsion of life, 254-5, 257.\n    _See_ Divergent lines of evolution\n\nScholasticism, 370\n\nScience and action, 93, 195, 198, 328-9\n  ancient, and modern, 329-37, 342-5, 357\n  astronomy, ancient and modern, 334-5, 336\n  cartesian geometry and ancient geometry, 333-4\n  cinematographical character of modern, 329, 330, 336-7, 340-1, 342, 345-8\n  conventionality of a certain aspect of, 206-7\n  and deduction, 212-3\n  and discontinuity, 161-2\n  function of, 92, 167-8, 173-4, 176-7, 193-4, 195-6, 198-9, 328-9, 346-7\n  Galileo's influence on modern, 333-4, 335\n  and instinct, 169, 170, 173-4, 175, 193-5\n  and intelligence, 176, 177, 193-6\n  Kepler's influence on modern, 334\n  and matter, 194-5, 206-7, 208\n  modern. _See_ Modern science\n  object of, 195-6, 220, 221, 251, 270-1, 273, 296-8, 306-7, 328-9,\n   332-3, 335-6, 347-8\n  and perception, 168\n  and philosophy, 175-6, 196-7, 208-9, 344, 370\n  physical. _See_ Physics and reality. _See_ Reality and science\n  and time, 8-13, 20, 335-8\n  unity of, 195-6, 197, 228-9, 230, 321-2, 323, 344-5, 347-8, 349, 354,\n   355-6, 359-60, 362-3\n\nScientific concepts, 338-40\n  explanation and philosophical explanation, 168\n  formulae, 337\n  geometry, 161, 211\n  knowledge, 193-4, 196-7, 198, 199, 207, 208, 218\n\nSclerosis and ageing, 19\n\nScolia, paralyzing instinct in, 172\n\nScope of action indefinitely extended by intelligent instruments, 141\n  of Galileo's physics, 357, 370\n\nScott, 63 _note_\n\nSea-urchin and individuality, 13\n\nS\u00e9ailles, 29 _note_\n\nSecondary instincts, 139, 168\n\nSectioning of becoming in the philosophy of ideas, 317-8\n  of matter by perception, 206-7, 249, 251\n\nSedgwick, 260 _note_\n\nSeeing and willing, coincidence of, in intuition, 237\n\nSelection, natural, 54, 56-7, 59-60, 61-2, 63, 64, 68, 95-6, 169, 170\n\nSelf, coincidence of, with, 199\n  existence of, means change, 1 ff.\n  knowledge of, 1 ff.\n\nSenescence, 15-23, 26-7, 42-3\n\nSensation and space, 202\n\nSense-perception. _See_ Perception\n\nSensible flux, 316-7, 318, 321, 322, 327, 343, 345\n  intuition and ultra-intellectual, 360-1\n  object, apogee of, 342-3, 344-5, 349\n  reality, 314, 317, 319, 327, 328, 352\n\nSensibility, forms of, 361\n\nSensitive plant, in illustration of mobility in plants, 109\n\nSensori-motor system. _See_ Nervous system\n\nSensuous manifold, 205, 221, 232, 235, 236\n\nSentiment, poetic, in illustration of individuation, 258, 259\n\nSerkovski, 259 _note_\n\nSerpula, in illustration of identical evolution in divergent lines, 96\n\nSexual cells, 14, 26, 27, 79-81\n\nSexuality parallel in plants and animals, 58-60, 119-21\n\nShaler, N.S., 133 _note_, 184 _note_\n\nSheath, calcareous, in illustration of animal tendency to mobility, 130-1\n\nSigns, function of, 158, 159, 160\n  the instrument of science, 329-30\n\nSigwart, 287 _note_\n\nSilurian epoch, failure of certain species to evolve since, 102\n\nSimilarity among individuals of same species the type of generality,\n   224-6, 228-9, 230-1\n  and mechanical causality, 44, 45\n\nSimultaneity, to measure time is merely to count simultaneities, 9,\n   336, 337, 341\n\nSinuousness of evolution, 71, 98, 102, 212-3\n\nSitaris, unconscious knowledge of, 146, 147\n\nSituation and magnitude, problems of, 211\n\nSketching movements, function of consciousness, 207-8\n\nSleep, 129-31, 135, 181\n\nSnapshot, in illustration of intellectual representation of motion,\n   305, 306, 313, 315, 344\n    _See_ View of reality, Cinematographical character, etc.\n  form defined as a, of transition, 301-2, 317, 318, 321-2, 345\n\nSocial instinct, 101, 140, 158, 171-2\n  life, 138, 140, 158, 265\n  and pedagogical character of negation, 287-97\n\nSocieties, 101, 131-2, 158, 171-2, 259\n\nSociety and the individual, 260, 265\n\nSolar energy stored by plants, released by animals, 246, 254\n  systems, 241-4, 246 _note_, 256, 270\n  systems, life in other, 256\n\nSolid, concepts analogous to solids, ix\n  intellect as a solid nucleus, 193, 194\n  the material of construction and the object of the intellect, 153,\n   154, 161, 162, 251\n\nSolidarity between brain and consciousness, 180, 262\n  of the parts of matter, 203, 207-8, 241, 271\n\nSolidification operated by the understanding, 249\n\n[Greek: s\u00f4ma] in Aristotle, 350\n\nSomnambulism and consciousness, 144, 145, 159\n\nSoul and body, 350\n  and cell, 269\n  creation of, 270\n\nSpace and action, 203\n  in ancient philosophy, 318, 319\n  and concepts, 160-1, 163, 174-5, 176-7, 188-9, 257-9\n  geometrical, 203\n  homogeneity of, 156, 212\n  and induction, 216\n  in Kant's philosophy, 205, 206, 207, 244\n  in Leibniz's philosophy, 351\n  and matter, 189, 202-13, 244, 257, 264, 361-2, 368\n  and time in Kant's philosophy, 205-6\n  unity and multiplicity determinations of, 357-9\n    _See_ Extension\n\nSpatiality atmosphere of, bathing intelligence, 205\n  degradation of the extra-spatial, 207\n  and distinctness, 203, 207, 244, 250, 257-9\n  and geometrical space, 203, 211, 213, 218\n  and mathematical order, 208, 209\n\nSpecial instincts and environment, 138, 168, 192-3, 194\n  and recollections, 167, 168, 180\n  as variations on a theme, 167, 172, 264\n\nSpecies, articulate, 133\n  evolution of, 247, 255, 269\n  and external finality, 128-9, 130-1, 132, 266\n  fossil, 102\n  human, as goal of evolution, 266, 267\n  human, styled _homo faber_, 139\n  and instinct, 140, 167, 170-2, 264\n  and life, 167\n  similarity within, 223-6, 228-9, 230-1\n\nSpeculation, dead-locks in, xii, 155, 156, 312, 313-4\n  object of philosophy, 44, 152, 196, 198, 220, 225-6, 227, 251, 270-1,\n    273, 297-8, 306-7, 317, 347-8\n\nSpencer, Herbert, xi, xiv, 78-9, 153, 188, 189, 190, 364, 365\n\nSpencer's evolutionism, correspondence between mind and matter in, 368\n  cosmogony in, 188\n  imprint of relations and laws upon consciousness in, 188\n  matter in, 365, 367\n  mind in, 365, 367\n\nSpheres, concentric, in Aristotle's philosophy, 328\n\nSphex, paralyzing instinct in, 172-5\n\nSpiders and paralyzing hymenoptera, 172\n\nSpinal cord, 110\n\nSpinoza, the adequate and the inadequate, 353\n  cause, 277\n  dogmatism, 356, 357\n  eternity, 353\n  extension, 350\n  God, 351, 357\n  intuitionism, 347\n  mechanism, 348, 352, 355, 356\n  time, 362\n\nSpirit, 251, 269, 270\n\nSpirituality and materiality, 128-9, 201-3, 316-7, 208-9, 210-1, 212-3,\n   217, 218, 219, 222-3, 237, 238, 245, 247-8, 249, 251, 254, 256, 257,\n   259, 261, 267, 270-1, 272, 276, 343\n\nSpontaneity of life, 86, 237. _See_ Freedom\n  and mechanism, 40\n  in vegetables, 109\n  and the willed order, 224\n\nSport (biol.), 63\n\nStarch, in the function of vegetable kingdom, 114\n\nStates of becoming, 1, 13, 163, 247-8, 299, 300, 307\n\nStatic character of the intellect, 155-6, 163, 274, 298\n  views of becoming, 273\n\nStehasny, 124 _note_\n\nSteam-engine and bronze, parallel as epoch-marking, 138-9\n\nStentor and individuality, 260\n\nStoics, 316\n\nStoring of solar energy by plants, 246, 253-6\n\nStrain of bow and indivisibility of motion, 308\n\nStream, duration as a, 39, 338\n\nStructure and function. _See_ Function and structure\n  identical, in divergent lines of evolution, 55, 60, 61-2, 63, 69, 73-4,\n   75, 76-7, 83, 86, 87, 118-9\n\nSubject and attribute, 147-8\n\nSubstance, albuminoid, 120-1\n  continuity of living, 162\n  organic, 121, 131, 140, 142, 149, 162-3, 195-7 _note_, 255, 267\n  in Spinoza's philosophy, 350\n  ternary substances, 121\n\nSubstantives, adjectives, verbs, correspond to the three classes of\n   representation, 302-4\n\nSubstitution essential to representation of the Nought, 281, 283-4,\n   289-90, 291, 294, 296\n\nSuccess of physics, 218, 219-20\n  and superiority, 133, 264-5\n\nSuccession in time, 10, 339, 340, 341, 345. Cf. Juxtaposition\n\nSuccessors of Kant, 363, 364\n\nSudden mutations, 28, 62-3, 64-5, 68-9\n\nSun, 115, 241, 323\n\nSuperaddition of existence upon nothingness, 276\n  of order upon disorder, 236, 275\n\nSuperimposition. _See_ Measurement of qualities, in induction, 216\n\nSuperiority, evolutionary, 133-5, 173, 174-5\n\nSuperman, 267\n\nSupraconsciousness, 261\n\nSurvival of the fit, 169.\n    _See_ Natural selection\n\nSwim, learning to, as instinctive learning, 193, 194\n\nSymbol, the concept is a, 161, 209, 341-2\n  of reality, xi, 30-1, 71, 88-9, 93, 195-6, 210, 240, 342, 360-1, 369-70\n\nSymbolic knowledge of life, 199, 342, 360\n\nSymbolism, 176, 180, 360\n\nSympathetic or intuitive knowledge, 209, 210, 342\n\nSympathy, instinct is, 164, 168, 172-8, 342-3.\n    _See_ Divination, Feeling, Inspiration\n\nSystematic metaphysics, dilemma of, 195, 196, 230-1\n  contrasted with intuitional, 191-2, 193-4, 238, 269, 270, 277, 346-8\n  postulate of, 190, 195\n\nSystematization of physics, Liebniz's philosophy, 347\n\nSystems, isolated, 9-13, 203, 214, 215, 241, 242, 342, 347-9\n\n\nTangent and curve, analogy with deduction and the moral sphere, 214\n  analogy with physico-chemistry and life, 31\n\nTarakevitch, 124 _note_\n\nTeleology. _See_ Finalism\n\nTendency, antagonistic tendencies of life, 13, 98, 103, 113, 135, 150\n  antagonistic tendencies in development of nervous system, 124-5\n  complementary tendencies of life, 51, 103, 135, 150, 168, 246\n  to dissociation, 260\n  divergent tendencies of life, 54, 89, 99, 101, 107-8, 109-10, 112,\n   116-8, 134, 135, 150, 181, 246, 254-8\n  to individuation, 13\n  life a tendency to act on inert matter, 96\n  toward mobility in animals, 109, 110, 113, 127-8, 129-33, 135, 181, 182\n  the past exists in present tendency, 5\n  to reproduce, 13\n  of species to change, 85-86\n  mathematical symbols of tendencies, 22, 23\n  toward systems, in matter, 10\n  transmission of, 80-1\n  a vital property is a, 13\n\nTension and extension, 236, 245\n  and freedom, 200-2, 207-8, 223, 237, 239, 300-2\n  matter the inversion of vital, 239\n  of personality, 199-200, 201, 207-8, 237, 239, 300\n\nTernary substances, 121\n\nTheology consequent upon philosophy of ideas, 316\n\nTheoretic fallacies, 263, 264\n  knowledge and instinct, 177, 268\n  knowledge and intellect, 155, 177, 179, 238, 270, 342, 343\n\nTheorizing not the original function of the intellect, 154-5\n\nTheory of knowledge, xiii, 178, 180, 184-5, 197, 204, 207-8, 209,\n   228-9, 231\n  of life, xiii, 178, 180, 197\n\nThermodynamics, 241-2.\n    _See_ Conservation of energy, Degradation of energy\n\nThesis and antithesis, 205\n\nThing as distinguished from motion, 187, 202, 247-8, 249, 299-300\n  as distinguished from relation, 147, 148, 150, 152, 158-9, 159-60,\n   161, 187, 202, 352, 356-7\n  and mind, 206\n  as solidification operated by understanding, 249\n\nThing-in-itself, 205, 206, 230-1, 312\n\nTimaeus, 318 _note_\n\nTime and the absolute, 240, 241, 297-8, 339, 343-4\n  abstract, 21, 22, 37, 39\n  articulations of real, 331-3\n  as force, 16, 45-6, 47, 51, 103, 339\n  homogeneous, 17, 18, 163-4, 331-3\n  as independent variable, 20, 335-7\n  interval of, 9, 22, 23\n  as invention, 341-2\n  in Leibniz's philosophy, 351, 352, 362\n  and logic, 4, 277\n  and simultaneity, 9, 336, 337, 341\n  in modern science 321-37, 341-5\n  and space in Kant, 205\n  and space in ancient philosophy, 318, 319.\n    _See_ Duration\n\nTools and intellect, 137-41, 150-1.\n    _See_ Implement\n\nTorpor, in evolution, 109, 111, 113, 114 _note_, 120, 128-35, 181, 292\n\nTortoise, Achilles and the, in Zeno, 311\n\nTouch, science expresses all perception as touch, 168\n  is to vision as intelligence to instinct, 169\n\nTrack laid by motion along its course, 309-12, 337\n\nTranscendental Aesthetic, 203\n\nTransformation, 32, 72, 73, 131, 231, 263\n\nTransformism, 23-5\n\nTransition, form a snapshot view of, 301-2, 316-7, 318, 321, 344-5\n\nTransmissibility of acquired characters, 75-84, 87, 168, 169, 172-3,\n   225-6, 230-1\n\nTransmission of the vital impetus, 26, 27, 79, 85, 87, 88, 93-4, 110,\n   126-7, 128, 230, 231, 246, 255, 256, 257, 259, 270\n\nTrigger-action of motor mechanisms, 272\n\nTriton, Regeneration in, 75\n\nTropism and psychical activity, 35 _note_\n\nTruth seized in intuition, 318-20\n\n\nUnconscious effort, 170\n  instinct, 142-3, 144, 145-6, 147, 166\n  knowledge, 145-8, 150-1\n\nUnconsciousness, two kinds of, 144\n\nUndefinable, reality, 13, 48\n\nUnderstanding, absoluteness of, 153-4, 190-1, 197-8, 199, 200\n  and action, ix, xi, 179\n  genesis of the, ix-xv, 49, 189, 207-8, 257-9, 359, 361-2\n  and geometry, ix, xii\n  and innateness of categories, 147, 148-9\n  and intuition, 46-7\n  and life, ix-xv, 13, 32-3, 46-50, 88-9, 101, 147-8, 149, 152, 162-5,\n   173-4, 176-7, 178, 195-201, 213, 220, 222-3, 224, 226, 257-9, 261,\n   266, 270, 271, 313, 361-2, 365\n  and inert matter, 166, 168, 179, 194-5, 198, 205-6, 207, 219, 355\n  and the ready-made, xiii, 48, 237, 250, 251, 273, 311, 321, 328-9,\n   354, 358\n  and the solid, ix\n  unlimited scope of the, 149, 150, 152\n    _See_ Intellect, Intelligence, Concept, Categories, Frames\n    of the understanding, Logic\n\nUndone, automatic and determinate evolution is action being, 249\n\nUnfolding cause, 73, 74\n\nUnforeseeableness of action, 47\n  of duration, 6, 164, 340-2\n  of evolution, 47, 48, 52, 86, 224\n  of invention, 164\n  of life, 164, 184\n  and the willed order, 224, 342-3\n    _See_ Foreseeing\n\nUnification as the function of the intellect, 152, 154, 357-8\n\nUniqueness of phases of duration, 164\n\nUnity of extension, 154\n  of knowledge, 195-6\n  of life, 106-7, 250, 268, 271\n  of mental life, 268\n  and multiplicity as determinations of space, 351-3\n  of nature, 104-5, 189-90, 191, 195-6, 197, 199, 322, 352, 356-8\n  of the organism, 176-7\n  of science, 195-6, 197, 228-9, 230, 321, 322, 344-5, 347, 359-60, 362-3\n\nUniversal interaction, 188, 189\n  life, consciousness coextensive with, 186, 257, 270\n\nUniverse, continuity of, 346\n  Descartes's, 346\n  physical, and the idea of disorder, 233, 275\n  duration of, 10, 11, 241\n  evolution of, 241, 246 _note_\n  growth of, 342-3, 344\n  movement of, in Aristotle, 323\n  mutability of, 244, 245\n  as organism, 31, 241\n  as realization of plan, 40\n  rhythm of, 337, 339, 346-7\n  states of, considered by science, 336, 337\n  as unification of physics, 348-9, 357\n\nUnknowable, the, of evolutionism, xi\n  the, in Kant, 204, 205, 206\n\nUnmaking, the nature of the process of materiality, 245, 248, 249,\n   251, 272, 342-3\n\nUnorganized bodies, 7-8, 14, 20, 21, 186.\n    _See_ inert matter\n  instruments, 137-9, 140-1, 150-1\n  matter, cleft between, and the organized, 190, 191, 196, 197-9\n  matter, imitation of the organized by, 33-4, 35, 36\n  matter and science, 194-6\n  matter. _See_ inert matter\n\nUnwinding cause, 73\n  of immutability in Greek philosophy, 325, 352\n\nUpspringing of invention, 164\n\nUtility, 4-5, 150, 152, 154-5, 158-9, 160, 168, 187, 195-6, 247-8,\n   297-8, 328-9, 330\n\n\n_Vanessa levana_ and _Vanessa prorsa_, transformation of, 72\n\nVariable, time as an independent, 20, 336\n\nVariation, accidental, 55, 63-4, 68, 85, 168-9\n  of color, in lizards, 72, 74\n  by deviation, 82-3, 84\n  of evolutionary type, 23-4, 72 _note_, 131-2, 137-8, 167, 169, 171-2, 264\n  insensible, 63, 68\n  interest as cause of, 131-2\n  in plants, 85-86\n\nVegetable kingdom. _See_ Plants\n\nVerb, relation expressed by, 148\n\nVerbs, substantives and adjectives, 303\n\nVerse and prose, in illustration of the two kinds of order, 221, 232\n\nVertebrate, ix, 126, 130, 131-4, 141\n\nVibrations, matter analyzed into elementary, 201\n\nVicious circle, apparent, of intuitionism, 192-4, 196-7\n  of intellectualism, 194, 197, 318-9, 320\n\nView, intellectual, of becoming, 4, 90-1, 273, 298-9, 304, 305, 310, 326-7\n  intellectual, of matter, 203, 240, 250, 254, 255\n  of reality, 206\n\nVignon, P., 35 _note_\n\nVirtual actions, 12.\n    _See_ Possible action\n  geometry, 212\n\nVise, consciousness compressed in a, 179\n\nVision of God, in Alexandrian philosophy, 322\n  in molluscs. See Eye of molluscs, etc.\n  in _Salamandra maculata_, 75\n\nVital activity, 134-6, 139, 140, 166-9, 246, 247-8\n  current, 26, 27, 53-5, 80, 85, 87, 88, 96-105, 118-9, 120, 230-1,\n   232, 239, 257, 266, 270\n  impetus, 50-1, 53-5, 85, 87, 88, 98-105, 118-9, 126-7, 128, 131-2,\n   141-2, 148-9, 150, 218, 230-1, 232, 247-8, 250, 252, 254-5, 261\n  order, cause in, 34, 35, 94-5, 164\n  order, finality and, 223-5, 226\n  order, generalization in the, and in the mathematical order contrasted,\n   225, 226, 230-1\n  order, and the geometrical order, 222-3, 225, 226, 230, 231, 235,\n   236, 330-1\n  order, imitation of physical order by vital, 230\n  principle, 42, 43, 225, 226\n  order, repetition in the vital and the mathematical orders contrasted,\n   225, 226, 230, 231\n  process, 166-7\n\nVitalism, 42, 43\n\nVoid, representation of, 273, 274, 275, 277-8, 281, 283-4, 289-90,\n   291, 292, 294, 296, 298\n\nVoisin, 80\n\nVolition and cerebral mechanism, 253-4\n\nVoluntary activity, 110, 252\n\nVries (de), 24, 63 _note_, 85\n\n\nWasps, instinct in, 140, 172\n\nWeapons and intellect, 137\n\nWeismann, 26, 78, 80-1\n\nWill and caprice, 47\n  and cerebral mechanism, 252\n  current of, penetrating matter, 237\n  insertion of, into reality, 305-6, 307\n  and relaxation, 201, 207-8\n  and mechanism in disorder, 233\n  tension of, 199, 201, 207-8\n\nWilled order, mutual contingency of willed order and mathematical\n   order, 231-3\n  unforeseeability in the, 224, 342-3\n\nWilling, coincidence of seeing and, in intuition, 237\n\nWilson, E.B., 36\n\nWolff, 75 _note_\n\nWords and states, 4, 302-3\n  three classes of, corresponding to three classes of representation,\n   302-3, 313-4\n\nWorld, intelligible, 162-3\n  principle: conciousness, 237, 261\n\nWorms, in illustration of ambiguity of primitive organisms, 130\n\n\nYellow-winged sphex, paralyzing instinct in, 172\n\n\nZeno on motion, 308-13\n\nZone of potentialities surrounding acts, 179-80, 181, 264\n\nZoology, 128-9\n\nZoospores of algae, in illustration of mobility in plants, 112","title":"Creative Evolution","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":139868}