{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_40957/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_40957","id":"gutenberg_40957","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40957","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Freiherr von, 1646-1716"],"text":"Produced by Jana Srna, Adrian Mastronardi and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  [ Transcriber's Notes:\n\n    Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully\n    as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation.\n    Some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. They\n    are listed at the end of the text.\n\n    Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.\n    Greek text has been transliterated and marked with ~tildes~.\n  ]\n\n\n\n\n  GERMAN PHILOSOPHICAL CLASSICS\n  FOR\n  ENGLISH READERS AND STUDENTS.\n\n  EDITED BY\n  GEORGE S. MORRIS.\n\n  LEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS CONCERNING\n  THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.\n\n\n\n\n  LEIBNIZ'S\n  NEW ESSAYS CONCERNING THE\n  HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.\n\n  A CRITICAL EXPOSITION.\n\n  By JOHN DEWEY, Ph.D.,\n\n  ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF\n  MICHIGAN, AND PROFESSOR (ELECT) OF MENTAL AND\n  MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY\n  OF MINNESOTA\n\n  CHICAGO:\n  SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY\n  1902\n\n\n  Copyright, 1888,\n  By S.\u00a0C. Griggs and Company.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe purpose of the series of which the present volume is one, is not,\nas will be seen by reference to the statement in the initial volume,\nto sum up _in toto_ the system of any philosopher, but to give a\n\"critical exposition\" of some one masterpiece. In treating the\n\"Nouveaux Essais\" of Leibniz, I have found myself obliged, at times,\nto violate the letter of this expressed intention, in order to fulfil\nits spirit. The \"Nouveaux Essais,\" in spite of its being one of the\ntwo most extended philosophical writings of Leibniz, is a compendium\nof comments, rather than a connected argument or exposition. It has\nall the suggestiveness and richness of a note-book, but with much also\nof its fragmentariness. I have therefore been obliged to supplement my\naccount of it by constant references to the other writings of Leibniz,\nand occasionally to take considerable liberty with the order of the\ntreatment of topics. Upon the whole, this book will be found, I hope,\nto be a faithful reflex not only of Leibniz's thought, but also of his\ndiscussions in the \"Nouveaux Essais.\"\n\nIn the main, the course of philosophic thought since the time of\nLeibniz has been such as to render almost self-evident his limitations,\nand to suggest needed corrections and amplifications. Indeed, it is\nmuch easier for those whose thoughts follow the turn that Kant has\ngiven modern thinking to appreciate the defects of Leibniz than to\nrealize his greatness. I have endeavored, therefore, in the body\nof the work, to identify my thought with that of Leibniz as much\nas possible, to assume his standpoint and method, and, for the most\npart, to confine express criticism upon his limitations to the final\nchapter. In particular, I have attempted to bring out the relations\nof philosophy to the growing science of his times, to state the\ndoctrine of pre-established harmony as he himself meant it, and to give\nsomething like consistency and coherency to his doctrine of material\nexistence and of nature. This last task seemed especially to require\ndoing. I have also endeavored to keep in mind, throughout, Leibniz's\nrelations to Locke, and to show the \"Nouveaux Essais\" as typical of the\ndistinction between characteristic British and German thought.\n\n    JOHN DEWEY.\n\n_May_, 1888.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  The Man.\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\n  His Parents                                                          1\n\n  His Early Education                                                  2\n\n  His University Training at Leipsic                                   4\n\n  At Jena                                                              8\n\n  At the University of Altdorf                                        10\n\n  His Removal to Frankfurt                                            10\n\n  His Mission to Paris                                                11\n\n  Discovery of the Calculus                                           12\n\n  Librarian at Hanover                                                13\n\n  His Activities                                                      14\n\n  His Philosophic Writings                                            15\n\n  His Ecclesiastic and Academic Projects                              17\n\n  His Later Years and Death                                           18\n\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  Sources of his Philosophy.\n\n  Character of the Epoch into which Leibniz was born                  20\n\n  The Thought of the Unity of the World                               23\n\n  The two Agencies which formed Leibniz's Philosophy                  24\n\n  The Cartesian Influences                                            26\n\n  Rationalistic Method                                                28\n\n  Mechanical Explanation of Nature                                    30\n\n  Application of Mathematics                                          32\n\n  Idea of Evolution                                                   33\n\n  Interpretation of these Ideas                                       35\n\n  Idea of Activity or Entelechy                                       39\n\n  Idea of Rationality                                                 40\n\n  Idea of Organism                                                    42\n\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  The Problem and its Solution.\n\n  Unity of Leibniz's Thought                                          43\n\n  Relation of Universal and Individual                                44\n\n  Descartes' Treatment of this Question                               46\n\n  Spinoza's Treatment of it                                           48\n\n  Leibniz's Solution                                                  50\n\n  All Unity is Spiritual                                              53\n\n  And Active                                                          54\n\n  Is a Representative Individual                                      56\n\n  Contrast of Monad and Atom                                          58\n\n  Pre-established Harmony reconciles Universal and Individual         59\n\n  Meaning of this Doctrine                                            62\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n\n  Locke and Leibniz.--Innate Ideas.\n\n  Necessity of Preliminary Account of Leibniz's Philosophy            66\n\n  Locke's Empiricism                                                  67\n\n  Leibniz's Comments upon Locke                                       69\n\n  The Controversies of Leibniz                                        72\n\n  The Essay on the Human Understanding                                73\n\n  Locke's Denial of Innate Ideas                                      75\n\n  Depending upon\n\n    (1) His Mechanical Conception of Innate Ideas                     77\n\n  Leibniz undermines this by substituting an Organic Conception       80\n\n  And upon\n\n    (2) His Mechanical Conception of Consciousness                    84\n\n  Leibniz refutes this by his Theory of Unconscious Intelligence      85\n\n\n  CHAPTER V.\n\n  Sensation and Experience.\n\n  Importance of Doctrine regarding Sensation                          87\n\n  The Two Elements of Locke's Notion of Sensation                     89\n\n  Its Relation to the Object producing it: Primary and Secondary\n  Qualities                                                           91\n\n  Locke criticized as to his Account\n\n    (1) Of the Production of Sensation                                92\n\n    (2) Of its Function in Knowledge                                  95\n\n  The Meaning of Physical Causation                                   97\n\n  Bearing of this Doctrine upon Relation of Soul and Body             98\n\n  Criticism of Locke's Dualism                                        98\n\n  Leibniz's Monism                                                   101\n\n  Summary of Discussion                                              103\n\n  Leibniz on the Relation of Sensations to Objects\n  occasioning them                                                   105\n\n  Nature of Experience                                               106\n\n  Distinction of Empirical from Rational Knowledge                   107\n\n\n  CHAPTER VI.\n\n  The Impulses and the Will.\n\n  The Doctrine of Will depends upon that of Intelligence             109\n\n  The Character of Impulse                                           111\n\n  Of Desire                                                          112\n\n  Half-Pains and Pleasures                                           113\n\n  The Outcome of Desire                                              115\n\n  Nature of Moral Action                                             117\n\n  Of Freedom                                                         118\n\n    (1) Freedom as Contingency                                       119\n\n        Limitation of this Principle                                 121\n\n    (2) Freedom as Spontaneity                                       123\n\n        This Principle is too Broad to be a Moral Principle          125\n\n    (3) True Freedom is Rational Action                              125\n\n  Our Lack of Freedom is due to our Sensuous Nature                  128\n\n  Innate Practical Principles                                        129\n\n  Moral Science is Demonstrative                                     130\n\n\n  CHAPTER VII.\n\n  Matter and its Relation to Spirit.\n\n  Locke's Account of Matter and Allied Ideas the Foundation of the\n  Philosophy of Nature Characteristic of British Empiricism          132\n\n  Space and Matter wholly Distinct Ideas                             134\n\n  Leibniz gives Matter a Metaphysical Basis                          137\n\n  Ordinary Misunderstanding of Leibniz's Ideas of Matter             138\n\n  Matter is not composed of Monads                                   139\n\n  Matter is the Passive or Conditioned Side of Monads                140\n\n  Passivity equals \"Confused Representations,\" _i.\u00a0e._ Incomplete\n  Development of Reason                                              144\n\n  Matter is logically Necessary from Leibniz's Principles            145\n\n  Bearing of Discussion upon Doctrine of Pre-established Harmony     146\n\n  Summary                                                            147\n\n\n  CHAPTER VIII.\n\n  Material Phenomena and their Reality.\n\n  What is the Connection between Matter as Metaphysical and as\n  Physical?                                                          151\n\n  The Latter is the \"Image\" of the Former                            151\n\n  Leibniz's Reaction from Cartesian Theory                           152\n\n  His Objections are (1) Physical and (2) Logical                    153\n\n  (1) Motion is Source of Physical Qualities of Bodies               155\n\n  Hence there are no Atoms                                           158\n\n  Secondary Qualities as well as Primary depend upon Motion          160\n\n  (2) What is the Subject to which the Quality of Extension\n  belongs?                                                           161\n\n  It is the Monad _as Passive_                                       162\n\n  Space and Time connect the Spiritual and the Sensible              164\n\n  Distinction between Space and Time, and Extension and Duration     166\n\n  Space and Time are Relations                                       167\n\n  Leibniz's Controversy with Clarke                                  168\n\n  Leibniz denies that Space and Time are Absolute                    170\n\n  What is the Reality of Sensible Phenomena?                         173\n\n  It consists\n\n    (1) In their Regularity                                          174\n\n    (2) In their Dependence upon Intelligence and Will               175\n\n  Leibniz and Berkeley                                               177\n\n\n  CHAPTER IX.\n\n  Some Fundamental Conceptions.\n\n  Locke's Account of Substance as Static                             179\n\n  The Distinction between Reality and Phenomena                      180\n\n  Leibniz's Conception of Substance as Dynamic                       181\n\n  His Specific Criticisms upon Locke                                 182\n\n  The Categories of Identity and Difference Locke also explains in\n  a Mechanical Way                                                   183\n\n  Leibniz regards them as Internal and as Organic to each other      184\n\n  Locke gives a Quantitative Notion of Infinity                      188\n\n  And hence makes our Idea of it purely Negative                     189\n\n  Leibniz denies that the True Notion of Infinity is Quantitative    189\n\n  He also denies Locke's Account of the Origin of the Indefinite     192\n\n  In General, Locke has a Mechanical Idea, Leibniz a Spiritual, of\n  these Categories                                                   193\n\n\n  CHAPTER X.\n\n  The Nature and Extent of Knowledge.\n\n  Locke's Definition and Classification of Knowledge                 196\n\n  Leibniz's Criticism                                                197\n\n  Leibniz, Berkeley, and Kant regarding Knowledge of Objects         198\n\n  The Degrees of Knowledge,--Intuitive, Demonstrative, and\n  Sensitive                                                          199\n\n  Locke's Contradictory Theories regarding the Origin of Knowledge   202\n\n  Locke starts both with the Individual as given to Consciousness\n  and with the Unrelated Sensation                                   204\n\n  Either Theory makes Relations or \"Universals\" Unreal               205\n\n  As to the Extent of Knowledge, that of Identity is Wide, but\n  Trifling                                                           205\n\n  That of Real Being includes God, Soul, and Matter, but only as to\n  their Existence                                                    206\n\n  And even this at the Expense of contradicting his Definition of\n  Knowledge                                                          206\n\n  Knowledge of Co-existence is either Trifling or Impossible         207\n\n  Leibniz rests upon Distinction of Contingent and Rational Truth    209\n\n  The Former may become the Latter, and is then Demonstrative        210\n\n  The Means of this Transformation are Mathematics and\n  Classification                                                     215\n\n  There are Two Principles,--One of Contradiction                    217\n\n  The Other of Sufficient Reason                                     218\n\n  The Latter leads us to God as the Supreme Intelligence and the\n  Final Condition of Contingent Fact                                 219\n\n  The Four Stages of Knowledge                                       222\n\n\n  CHAPTER XI.\n\n  The Theology of Leibniz.\n\n  Leibniz's Three Arguments for the Existence of God                 224\n\n  The Value of the Ontological                                       225\n\n  The Cosmological                                                   226\n\n  The Teleological                                                   226\n\n  The Attributes of God                                              227\n\n  The Relation of God to the World, his Creating Activity            228\n\n  Creation involves Wisdom and Goodness as well as Power             229\n\n  The Relation of God to Intelligent Spirits: they form a Moral\n  Community                                                          230\n\n  Leibniz as the Founder of Modern German Ethical Systems            231\n\n  The End of Morality is Happiness as Self-realization               232\n\n  The Three Stages of Natural Right                                  234\n\n  The Basis of Both Leibniz's Ethics and Political Philosophy is\n  Man's Relation to God                                              236\n\n  His \u00c6sthetics have the Same Basis                                  237\n\n  Man's Spirit as Architectonic                                      238\n\n\n  CHAPTER XII.\n\n  Criticism and Conclusion.\n\n  Leibniz's Fundamental Contradiction is between his Method and his\n  Subject Matter                                                     240\n\n  The Use which Leibniz makes of the Principle of Sufficient Reason\n  reveals this Contradiction                                         242\n\n  The Contradiction is between the Ideas of Formal and of Concrete\n  Unity                                                              243\n\n  From this Contradiction flow\n\n    (1) The Contradiction in the Notion of Individuality             246\n\n        Which becomes purely Negative                                247\n\n        The Negative he interprets as merely Privative               249\n\n    (2) The Contradiction in his Conception of God has the Same\n    Source                                                           250\n\n        He really has Three Definitions of God                       250\n\n        One results in Atomism, another in Pantheism                 251\n\n        The Third in a Conception of the Organic Harmony of the\n        Infinite and Finite                                          252\n\n    (3) The Contradiction between the Real and the Ideal in the\n    Monads has the Same Source                                       253\n\n    (4) As have also the Contradictions in the Treatment of the\n    Relations of Matter and Spirit                                   254\n\n    (5) And finally, his Original Contradiction leads to a\n    Contradictory Treatment of Knowledge                             257\n\n  Summary as to the Positive Value of Leibniz                        259\n\n  The Influence of Leibniz's Philosophy                              261\n\n  Especially upon Kant                                               262\n\n  Kant claims to be the True Apologist for Leibniz                   263\n\n    (1) As to the Doctrine of Sufficient Reason and Contradiction    263\n\n        Which finds its Kantian Analogue in the Distinction between\n        Analytic and Synthetic Judgment                              266\n\n    (2) As to the Relation of Monads and Matter                      268\n\n        Which finds its Kantian Analogue in the Relation of the\n        Sensuous and Supersensuous                                   268\n\n    (3) And finally, as to the Doctrine of Pre-established Harmony   269\n\n        Which Kant transforms into Harmony between Understanding\n        and Sense                                                    269\n\n        And between the Categories of the Understanding and the\n        Ideas of Reason                                              270\n\n  Conclusion                                                         272\n\n\n\n\nLEIBNIZ'S NEW ESSAYS CONCERNING THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE MAN.\n\n\n\"He who knows me only by my writings does not know me,\" said\nLeibniz. These words--true, indeed, of every writer, but true of\nLeibniz in a way which gives a peculiar interest and charm to his\nlife--must be our excuse for prefacing what is to be said of his \"New\nEssays concerning the Human Understanding\" with a brief biographical\nsketch.\n\nGottfried Wilhelm Leibniz was born in Leipzig June 21, 1646. His\nfather, who died when Leibniz was only six years old, was a professor\nin the university and a notary of considerable practice. From him the\nfuture philosopher seems to have derived his extraordinary industry\nand love of detail. Such accounts as we have of him show no traces of\nthe wonderful intellectual genius of his son, but only a diligent,\nplodding, faithful, and religious man, a thoroughly conscientious\nhusband, jurist, and professor. Nor in the lines of physical heredity\ncan we account for the unique career of Leibniz by his mother's\nendowments. The fact, however, that she was patient in all trial,\nliving in peace with her neighbors, anxious for unity and concord with\nall people, even with those not well disposed to her, throws great\nlight upon the fundamental trait of Leibniz's ethical nature. As in so\nmany cases, it is the inherited moral characteristics which form the\nbasis of the intellectual nature. The love of unity which was a moral\ntrait in Leibniz's mother became in him the hunger for a harmonious and\nunified mental world; the father's devotion to detail showed itself\nas the desire for knowledge as minute and comprehensive as it was\ninter-related.\n\nLeft without his father, he was by the advice of a discerning friend\nallowed free access to the library. Leibniz never ceased to count this\none of the greatest fortunes of his life. Writing in after years to a\nfriend, he says:--\n\n\"When I lost my father, and was left without any direction in my\nstudies, I had the luck to get at books in all languages, of all\nreligions, upon all sciences, and to read them without any regular\norder, just as my own impulse led me. From this I obtained the great\nadvantage that I was freed from ordinary prejudices, and introduced to\nmany things of which I should otherwise never have thought.\"\n\nIn a philosophical essay, in which he describes himself under the name\nof Gulielmus Pacidius, he says:--\n\n\"Wilhelm Friedlieb, a German by birth, who lost his father in his early\nyears, was led to study through the innate tendency of his spirit; and\nthe freedom with which he moved about in the sciences was equal to this\ninnate impulse. He buried himself, a boy eight years old, in a library,\nstaying there sometimes whole days, and, hardly stammering Latin, he\ntook up every book which pleased his eyes. Opening and shutting them\nwithout any choice, he sipped now here, now there, lost himself in one,\nskipped over another, as the clearness of expression or of content\nattracted him. He seemed to be directed by the _Tolle et lege_ of a\nhigher voice. As good fortune would have it, he gave himself up to the\nancients, in whom he at first understood nothing, by degrees a little,\nfinally all that was really necessary, until he assumed not only a\ncertain coloring of their expression, but also of their thought,--just\nas those who go about in the sun, even while they are occupied with\nother things, get sun-browned.\"\n\nAnd he goes on to tell us that their influence always remained\nwith him. Their human, their important, their comprehensive ideas,\ngrasping the whole of life in one image, together with their clear,\nnatural, and transparent mode of expression, adapted precisely to\ntheir thoughts, seemed to him to be in the greatest contrast with the\nwritings of moderns, without definiteness or order in expression, and\nwithout vitality or purpose in thought,--\"written as if for another\nworld.\" Thus Leibniz learned two of the great lessons of his life,--to\nseek always for clearness of diction and for pertinence and purpose\nof ideas.\n\nHistorians and poets first occupied him; but when in his school-life,\na lad of twelve or thirteen years, he came to the study of logic,\nhe was greatly struck, he says, by the \"ordering and analysis\nof thoughts which he found there.\" He gave himself up to making\ntables of categories and predicaments, analyzing each book that he\nread into suitable topics, and arranging these into classes and\nsub-classes. We can imagine the astonishment of his playmates as\nhe burst upon them with a demand to classify this or that idea, to\nfind its appropriate predicament. Thus he was led naturally to the\nphilosophic books in his father's library,--to Plato and to Aristotle,\nto the Scholastics. Suarez, in particular, among the latter, he read;\nand traces of his influences are to be found in the formulation of his\nown philosophic system. At about this same time he took great delight\nin the theological works with which his father's library abounded,\nreading with equal ease and pleasure the writings of the Lutherans\nand of the Reformed Church, of the Jesuits and the Jansenists, of the\nThomists and the Arminians. The result was, he tells us, that he was\nstrengthened in the Lutheran faith of his family, but, as we may easily\nimagine from his after life, made tolerant of all forms of faith.\n\nIn 1661 the boy Leibniz, fifteen years old, entered the University of\nLeipzig. If we glance back upon his attainments, we find him thoroughly\nat home in Latin, having made good progress in Greek, acquainted with\nthe historians and poets of antiquity, acquainted with the contemporary\nrange of science, except in mathematics and physics, deeply read and\ninterested in ancient and scholastic philosophy and in the current\ntheological discussions. Of himself he says:--\n\n\"Two things were of extraordinary aid to me: in the first place, I was\nself-taught; and in the second, as soon as I entered upon any science\nI sought for something new, even though I did not as yet thoroughly\nunderstand the old. I thus gained two things: I did not fill my mind\nwith things empty and to be unlearned afterwards,--things resting\nupon the assertion of the teacher, and not upon reason; and secondly,\nI never rested till I got down to the very roots of the science and\nreached its principles.\"\n\nWhile there is always a temptation to force the facts which we know\nof a man's early life, so as to make them seem to account for what\nappears in mature years, and to find symbolisms and analogies which do\nnot exist, we are not going astray, I think, if we see foreshadowed in\nthis early education of Leibniz the two leading traits of his later\nthought,--universality and individuality. The range of Leibniz's\ninvestigations already marks him as one who will be content with\nno fundamental principle which does not mirror the universe. The\nfreedom with which he carried them on is testimony to the fact\nthat even at this age the idea of self-development, of individual\ngrowth from within, was working upon him. In the fact, also, that he\nwas self-taught we find doubtless the reason that he alone of the\nthinkers of this period did not have to retrace his steps, to take\na hostile attitude towards the ideas into which he was educated, and\nto start anew upon a foundation then first built. The development of\nthe thought of Leibniz is so gradual, continuous, and constant that it\nmay serve as a model of the law by which the \"monad\" acts. Is not his\nearly acquaintance with ancient literature and medi\u00e6val philosophy\nthe reason that he could afterwards write that his philosophical\nsystem \"connects Plato with Democritus, Aristotle with Descartes, the\nScholastics with the moderns, theology and morals with reason\"? And\nwho can fail to see in the impartiality, the comprehensiveness, of\nhis self-education the prophecy of the time when he can write of his\nideas that \"there are united in them, as in a centre of perspective,\nthe ideas of the Sceptics in attributing to sensible things only\na slight degree of reality; of the Pythagoreans and Platonists,\nwho reduce all to harmonies, numbers, and ideas; of Parmenides and\nPlotinus, with their One and All; of the Stoics, with their notion of\nnecessity, compatible with the spontaneity of other schools; of the\nvital philosophy of the Cabalists, who find feeling everywhere; of the\nforms and entelechies of Aristotle and the Schoolmen, united with the\nmechanical explanation of phenomena according to Democritus and the\nmoderns\"?\n\nBut we must hurry along over the succeeding years of his life. In\nthe university the study of law was his principal occupation, as he\nhad decided to follow in the footsteps of his father. It cannot be\nsaid that the character of the instruction or of the instructors at\nLeipzig was such as to give much nutriment or stimulus to a mind like\nthat of Leibniz. He became acquainted there, however, with the Italian\nphilosophy of the sixteenth century,--a philosophy which, as formulated\nby Cardanus and Campanella, formed the transition from Scholastic\nphilosophy to the \"mechanical\" mode of viewing the universe. He had\nhere also his first introduction to Descartes. The consequences of the\nnew vision opened to Leibniz must be told in his own words: \"I was but\na child when I came to know Aristotle; even the Scholastics did not\nfrighten me; and I in no way regret this now. Plato and Plotinus gave\nme much delight, not to speak of other philosophers of antiquity. Then\nI fell in with the writings of modern philosophy, and I recall the\ntime when, a boy of fifteen years, I went walking in a little wood\nnear Leipzig, the Rosenthal, in order to consider whether I should\nhold to the doctrine of substantial forms. Finally the mechanical\ntheory conquered, and thus I was led to the study of the mathematical\nsciences.\"\n\nTo the study of the mathematical sciences! Surely words of no mean\nimport for either the future of Leibniz or of mathematics. But his\nLeipzig studies did not take him very far in this new direction. Only\nthe elements of Euclid were taught there, and these by a lecturer\nof such confused style that Leibniz seems alone to have understood\nthem. In Jena, however, where he went for a semester, things were\nsomewhat better. Weigel, a mathematician of some fame, an astronomer,\na jurist, and a philosopher, taught there, and introduced Leibniz\ninto the lower forms of analysis. But the Thirty Years' War had not\nleft Germany in a state of high culture, and in after years Leibniz\nlamented the limitations of his early mathematical training, remarking\nthat if he had spent his youth in Paris, he would have enriched science\nearlier. By 1666 Leibniz had finished his university career, having\nin previous years attained the degrees of bachelor of philosophy and\nmaster of philosophy. It is significant that for the first he wrote\na thesis upon the principle of individuation,--the principle which\nin later years became the basis of his philosophy. This early essay,\nhowever, is rather an exhibition of learning and of dexterity in\nhandling logical methods than a real anticipation of his afterthought.\n\nFor his second degree, he wrote a thesis upon the application\nof philosophic ideas to juridic procedure,--considerations which\nnever ceased to occupy him. At about the same time appeared his\nearliest independent work, \"De Arte Combinatoria.\" From his study of\nmathematics, and especially of algebraic methods, Leibniz had become\nconvinced that the source of all science is,--first, analysis; second,\nsymbolic representation of the fundamental concepts, the symbolism\navoiding the ambiguities and vagueness of language; and thirdly,\nthe synthesis and interpretation of the symbols. It seemed to Leibniz\nthat it ought to be possible to find the simplest notions in all the\nsciences, to discover general rules for calculating all their varieties\nof combination, and thus to attain the same certainty and generality\nof result that characterize mathematics. Leibniz never gave up this\nthought. Indeed, in spirit his philosophy is but its application,\nwith the omission of symbols, on the side of the general notions\nfundamental to all science. It was also the idea of his age,--the\nidea that inspired Spinoza and the _Aufkl\u00e4rung_, the idea that\ninspired philosophical thinking until Kant gave it its death-blow by\ndemonstrating the distinction between the methods of philosophy and of\nmathematical and physical science.\n\nIn 1666 Leibniz should have received his double doctorate of philosophy\nand of law; but petty jealousies and personal fears prevented his\npresenting himself for the examination. Disgusted with his treatment,\nfeeling that the ties that bound him to Leipzig were severed by the\nrecent death of his mother, anxious to study mathematics further,\nand, as he confesses, desiring, with the natural eagerness of youth,\nto see more of the world, he left Leipzig forever, and entered upon\nhis _Wanderjahre_. He was prepared to be no mean citizen of the\nworld. In his education he had gone from the historians to the poets,\nfrom the poets to the philosophers and the Scholastics, from them\nto the theologians and Church Fathers; then to the jurists, to the\nmathematicians, and then again to philosophy and to law.\n\nHe first directed his steps to the University of Altdorf; here he\nobtained his doctorate in law, and was offered a professorship,\nwhich he declined,--apparently because he felt that his time was\nnot yet come, and that when it should come, it would not be in\nthe narrow limits of a country village. From Altdorf he went to\nN\u00fcrnberg; here all that need concern us is the fact that he joined a\nsociety of alchemists (_fraternitas rose\u00e6crucis_), and was made their\nsecretary. Hereby he gained three things,--a knowledge of chemistry; an\nacquaintance with a number of scientific men of different countries,\nwith whom, as secretary, he carried on correspondence; and the\nfriendship of Boineburg, a diplomat of the court of the Elector and\nArchbishop of Mainz. This friendship was the means of his removing\nto Frankfurt. Here, under the direction of the Elector, he engaged\nin remodelling Roman law so as to adapt it for German use, in writing\ndiplomatic tracts, letters, and essays upon theological matters, and\nin editing an edition of Nizolius,--a now forgotten philosophical\nwriter. One of the most noteworthy facts in connection with this\nedition is that Leibniz pointed out the fitness of the German language\nfor philosophical uses, and urged its employment,--a memorable fact\nin connection with the later development of German thought. Another\nimportant tract which he wrote was one urging the alliance of\nall German States for the purpose of advancing their internal\nand common interests. Here, as so often, Leibniz was almost two\ncenturies in advance of his times. But the chief thing in connection\nwith the stay of Leibniz at Mainz was the cause for which he left\nit. Louis\u00a0XIV. had broken up the Triple Alliance, and showed signs of\nattacking Holland and the German Empire. It was then proposed to him\nthat it would be of greater glory to himself and of greater advantage\nto France that he should move against Turkey and Egypt. The mission of\npresenting these ideas to the great king was intrusted to Leibniz, and\nin 1672 he went to Paris.\n\nThe plan failed completely,--so completely that we need say no\nmore about it. But the journey to Paris was none the less the\nturning-point in the career of Leibniz. It brought him to the\ncentre of intellectual civilization,--to a centre compared with\nwhich the highest attainments of disrupted and disheartened Germany\nwere comparative barbarism. Moli\u00e8re was still alive, and Racine was\nat the summit of his glory. Leibniz became acquainted with Arnaud,\na disciple of Descartes, who initiated him into the motive and spirit\nof his master. Cartesianism as a system, with its scientific basis and\nits speculative consequences, thus first became to him an intellectual\nreality. And, perhaps most important of all, he met Huygens, who became\nhis teacher and inspirer both in the higher forms of mathematics\nand in their application to the interpretation and expression of\nphysical phenomena. His diplomatic mission took him also to London,\nwhere the growing world of mathematical science was opened yet wider to\nhim. The name of Sir Isaac Newton need only be given to show what this\nmeant. From this time one of the greatest glories of Leibniz's life\ndates,--a glory, however, which during his lifetime was embittered by\nenvy and unappreciation, and obscured by detraction and malice,--the\ninvention of the infinitesimal calculus. It would be interesting, were\nthis the place, to trace the history of its discovery,--the gradual\nsteps which led to it, the physical facts as well as mathematical\ntheories which made it a necessity; but it must suffice to mention that\nthese were such that the discovery of some general mode of expressing\nand interpreting the newly discovered facts of Nature was absolutely\nrequired for the further advance of science, and that steps towards\nthe introduction of the fundamental ideas of the calculus had already\nbeen taken,--notably by Keppler, by Cavalieri, and by Wallis. It\nwould be interesting to follow also the course of the controversy\nwith Newton,--a controversy which in its method of conduct reflects no\ncredit upon the names of either. But this can be summed up by saying\nthat it is now generally admitted that absolute priority belongs to\nNewton, but that entire independence and originality characterize\nnone the less the work of Leibniz, and that the method of approach and\nstatement of the latter are the more philosophical and general, and,\nto use the words of the judicious summary of Merz, \"Newton cared more\nfor the results than the principle, while Leibniz was in search of\nfundamental principles, and anxious to arrive at simplifications and\ngeneralizations.\"\n\nThe death of Boineburg removed the especial reasons for the return of\nLeibniz to Frankfurt, and in 1676 he accepted the position of librarian\nand private councillor at the court of Hanover. It arouses our interest\nand our questionings to know that on his journey back he stopped at the\nHague, and there met face to face the other future great philosopher\nof the time, Spinoza. But our questionings meet no answer. At Hanover,\nthe industries of Leibniz were varied. An extract from one of his own\nletters, though written at a somewhat later date, will give the best\noutline of his activities.\n\n\"It is incredible how scattered and divided are my occupations. I\nburrow through archives, investigate old writings, and collect\nunprinted manuscripts, with a view to throwing light on the\nhistory of Brunswick. I also receive and write a countless number of\nletters. I have so much that is new in mathematics, so many thoughts\nin philosophy, so many literary observations which I cannot get into\nshape, that in the midst of my tasks I do not know where to begin,\nand with Ovid am inclined to cry out: 'My riches make me poor.' I\nshould like to give a description of my calculating-machine; but time\nfails. Above all else I desire to complete my Dynamics, as I think\nthat I have finally discovered the true laws of material Nature, by\nwhose means problems about bodies which are out of reach of rules now\nknown may be solved. Friends are urging me to publish my Science of\nthe Infinite, containing the basis of my new analysis. I have also on\nhand a new Characteristic, and many general considerations about the\nart of discovery. But all these works, the historical excepted, have\nto be done at odd moments. Then at the court all sorts of things are\nexpected. I have to answer questions on points in international law;\non points concerning the rights of the various princes in the Empire:\nso far I have managed to keep out of questions of private law. With all\nthis I have had to carry on negotiations with the bishops of Neustadt\nand of Meaux [Bossuet], and with Pelisson and others upon religious\nmatters.\"\n\nIt is interesting to note how the philosophic spirit, the instinct\nfor unity and generality, showed itself even in the least of Leibniz's\ntasks. The Duke of Brunswick imposed upon Leibniz the task of drawing\nup a genealogical table of his House. Under Leibniz's hands this\nexpanded into a history of the House, and this in turn was the centre\nof an important study of the German Empire. It was impossible that\nthe philosopher, according to whom every real being reflected the\nwhole of the universe from its point of view, should have been able to\ntreat even a slight phase of local history without regarding it in its\nrelations to the history of the world. Similarly some mining operations\nin the Harz Mountains called the attention of Leibniz to geological\nmatters. The result was a treatise called \"Protog\u00e4a,\" in which Leibniz\ngave a history of the development of the earth. Not content with seeing\nin a Brunswick mountain an epitome of the world's physical formation,\nit was his intention to make this an introduction to his political\nhistory as a sort of geographical background and foundation. It is\ninteresting to note that the historical studies of Leibniz took him on\na three years' journey, from 1687 to 1690, through the various courts\nof Europe,--a fact which not only had considerable influence upon\nLeibniz himself, but which enabled him to give stimulus to scientific\ndevelopment in more ways and places than one.\n\nHis philosophical career as an author begins for the most part with\nhis return to Hanover in 1690. This lies outside of the scope of the\npresent chapter, but here is a convenient place to call attention to\nthe fact that for Leibniz the multitude of his other duties was so\ngreat that his philosophical work was the work \"of odd moments.\" There\nis no systematic exposition; there are a vast number of letters, of\nessays, of abstracts and memoranda published in various scientific\njournals. His philosophy bears not only in form, but in substance,\ntraces of its haphazard and desultory origin. Another point of\ninterest in this connection is the degree to which, in form, at least,\nhis philosophical writings bear the impress of his cosmopolitan\nlife. Leibniz had seen too much of the world, too much of courts,\nfor his thoughts to take the rigid and unbending form of geometrical\nexposition suited to the lonely student of the Hague. Nor was the\nregular progression and elucidation of ideas adapted to the later\nGermans, almost without exception university professors, suited to\nthe man of affairs. There is everywhere in Leibniz the attempt to\nadapt his modes of statement, not only to the terminology, but even\nto the ideas, of the one to whom they are addressed. There is the\ndesire to magnify points of agreement, to minimize disagreements,\ncharacteristic of the courtier and the diplomat. His comprehensiveness\nis not only a comprehensiveness of thought, but of ways of exposition,\ndue very largely, we must think, to his cosmopolitan education. The\nresult has been to the great detriment of Leibniz's influence as a\nsystematic thinker, although it may be argued that it has aided his\nindirect and suggestive influence, the absorption of his ideas by men\nof literature, by Goethe, above all by Lessing, and his stimulating\neffect upon science and philosophy. It is certain that the attempt to\nsystematize his thoughts, as was done by Wolff, had for its result the\ndisappearance of all that was profound and thought-exciting.\n\nIf his philosophy thus reflects the manner of his daily life,\nthe occupations of the latter were informed by the spirit of\nhis philosophy. Two of the dearest interests of Leibniz remain\nto be mentioned,--one, the founding of academies; the other, the\nreconciling of religious organizations. The former testifies to his\ndesire for comprehensiveness, unity, and organization of knowledge;\nthe latter to his desire for practical unity, his dislike of all\nthat is opposed and isolated. His efforts in the religions direction\nwere twofold. The first was to end the theological and political\ncontroversies of the time by the reunion of the Protestant and Roman\nCatholic Churches. It was a plan which did the greatest honor to the\npacific spirit of Leibniz, but it was predestined to failure. Both\nsides made concessions,--more concessions than we of to-day should\nbelieve possible. But the one thing the Roman Catholic Church would not\nconcede was the one thing which the Protestant Church demanded,--the\nnotion of authority and hierarchy. Indeed, it may be questioned whether\nthe terms on which Leibniz conceived of their reunion do not point to\nthe greatest weakness in his philosophy,--the tendency to overlook\noppositions and to resolve all contradiction into differences of\ndegree. Hardly had this plan fallen through when Leibniz turned to\nthe project of a union of the Lutheran and Reformed branches of the\nProtestant Church. This scheme was more hopeful, and while unrealized\nduring the life of our philosopher, was afterwards accomplished.\n\nIt is noteworthy that even before Leibniz went to Paris and to\nLondon he had conceived the idea of a society of learned men for the\ninvestigation, the systematization, and the publication of scientific\ntruth in all its varied forms,--a society which should in breadth\ninclude the whole sphere of sciences, but should not treat them as so\nmany isolated disciplines, but as members of one system. This idea\nwas quickened when Leibniz saw the degree in which it had already\nbeen realized in the two great world-capitals. He never ceased to\ntry to introduce similar academies wherever he had influence. In\n1700 his labors bore their fruit in one instance. The Academy at\nBerlin was founded, and Leibniz was its first, and indeed life-long,\npresident. But disappointment met him at Vienna, Dresden, and\nSt. Petersburg, where he proposed similar societies.\n\nAny sketch of Leibniz's life, however brief, would be imperfect which\ndid not mention the names at least of two remarkable women,--remarkable\nin themselves, and remarkable in their friendship with Leibniz. These\nwere Sophia, grand-daughter of James\u00a0I. of England (and thus\nthe link by which the House of Brunswick finally came to rule over\nGreat Britain) and wife of the Duke of Brunswick, and her daughter\nSophia Charlotte, wife of the first king of Prussia. The latter,\nin particular, gave Leibniz every encouragement. She was personally\ndeeply interested in all theological and philosophical questions. Upon\nher death-bed, in 1705, she is said to have told those about her that\nthey were not to mourn for her, as she should now be able to satisfy\nher desire to learn about things which Leibniz had never sufficiently\nexplained.\n\nHer death marks the beginning of a period in Leibniz's life which it is\nnot pleasant to dwell upon. New rulers arose that knew not Leibniz. It\ncannot be said that from this time till his death in Hanover in 1716\nLeibniz had much joy or satisfaction. His best friends were dead; his\npolitical ambitions were disappointed; he was suspected of coldness\nand unfriendliness by the courts both of Berlin and Hanover; Paris and\nVienna were closed to him, so far as any wide influence was concerned,\nby his religious faith; the controversy with the friends of Newton\nstill followed him. He was a man of the most remarkable intellectual\ngifts, of an energy which could be satisfied only with wide fields\nof action; and he found himself shut in by narrow intrigue to a petty\nround of courtly officialism. It is little wonder that the following\nwords fell from his lips: \"Germany is the only country in the world\nthat does not know how to recognize the fame of its children and to\nmake that fame immortal. It forgets itself; it forgets its own, unless\nforeigners make it mindful of its own treasures.\" A Scotch friend of\nLeibniz, who happened to be in Hanover when he died, wrote that Leibniz\n\"was buried more like a robber than what he really was,--the ornament\nof his country.\" Such was the mortal end of the greatest intellectual\ngenius since Aristotle. But genius is not a matter to be bounded in\nlife or in death by provincial courts. Leibniz remains a foremost\ncitizen in that \"Kingdom of Spirits\" in whose formation he found the\nmeaning of the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE SOURCES OF HIS PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\nWhat is true of all men is true of philosophers, and of Leibniz\namong them. Speaking generally, what they are unconsciously and\nfundamentally, they are through absorption of their antecedents\nand surroundings. What they are consciously and reflectively,\nthey are through their reaction upon the influence of heredity\nand environment. But there is a spiritual line of descent and a\nspiritual atmosphere; and in speaking of a philosopher, it is with this\nintellectual heredity and environment, rather than with the physical,\nthat we are concerned. Leibniz was born into a period of intellectual\nactivity the most teeming with ideas, the most fruitful in results,\nof any, perhaps, since the age of Pericles. We pride ourselves justly\nupon the activity of our own century, and in diffusion of intellectual\naction and wide-spread application of ideas the age of Leibniz\ncould not compare with it. But ours _is_ the age of diffusion and\napplication, while his was one of fermentation and birth.\n\nSuch a period in its earlier days is apt to be turbid and\nunsettled. There is more heat of friction than calm light. And such had\nbeen the case in the hundred years before Leibniz. But when he arrived\nat intellectual maturity much of the crudity had disappeared. The\ntroubling of the waters of thought had ceased; they were becoming\nclarified. Bacon, Hobbes, Descartes, each had crystallized something\nout of that seething and chaotic mass of new ideas which had forced\nitself into European consciousness. Men had been introduced into a\nnew world, and the natural result had been feelings of strangeness,\nand the vagaries of intellectual wanderings. But by the day of Leibniz\nthe intellectual bearings had been made out anew, the new mental\norientation had been secured.\n\nThe marks of this \"new spiritual picture of the universe\" are\neverywhere to be seen in Leibniz. His philosophy is the dawning\nconsciousness of the modern world. In it we see the very conception and\nbirth of the modern interpretation of the world. The history of thought\nis one continuous testimony to the ease with which we become hardened\nto ideas through custom. Ideas are constantly precipitating themselves\nout of the realm of ideas into that of ways of thinking and of viewing\nthe universe. The problem of one century is the axiom of another. What\none generation stakes its activity upon investigating is quietly taken\nfor granted by the next. And so the highest reach of intellectual\ninspiration in the sixteenth century is to-day the ordinary food of\nthought, accepted without an inquiry as to its source, and almost\nwithout a suspicion that it has a recent historic origin. We have to\ngo to Bacon or to Leibniz to see the genesis and growth of those ideas\nwhich to-day have become materialized into axiomatic points of view\nand into hard-and-fast categories of thought. In reading Leibniz the\nidea comes over us in all its freshness that there was a time when\nit was a discovery that the world is a universe, made after one plan\nand of one stuff. The ideas of inter-relation, of the harmony of law,\nof mutual dependence and correspondence, were not always the assumed\nstarting-points of thought; they were once the crowning discoveries\nof a philosophy aglow and almost intoxicated with the splendor of its\nfar-reaching generalizations. I take these examples of the unity of\nthe world, the continuity and interdependence of all within it, because\nthese are the ideas which come to their conscious and delighted birth\nin the philosophy of Leibniz. We do not put ourselves into the right\nattitude for understanding his thought until we remember that these\nideas--the commonest tools of our thinking--were once new and fresh,\nand in their novelty and transforming strangeness were the products\nof a philosophic interpretation of experience. Except in that later\ncontemporary of Leibniz, the young and enthusiastic Irish idealist,\nBerkeley, I know of no historic thinker in whom the birth-throes\n(joyous, however) of a new conception of the world are so evident as\nin Leibniz. But while in Berkeley what we see is the young man carried\naway and astounded by the grandeur and simplicity of a \"new way of\nideas\" which he has discovered, what we see in Leibniz is the mature\nman penetrated throughout his being with an idea which in its unity\nanswers to the unity of the world, and which in its complexity answers,\ntone to tone, to the complex harmony of the world.\n\nThe familiarity of the ideas which we use hides their grandeur from\nus. The unity of the world is a matter of course with us; the dependent\norder of all within it a mere starting-point upon which to base\nour investigations. But if we will put ourselves in the position of\nLeibniz, and behold, not the new planet, but the new universe, so one,\nso linked together, swimming into our ken, we shall feel something of\nthe same exultant thrill that Leibniz felt,--an exultation not indeed\npersonal in its nature, but which arises from the expansion of the\nhuman mind face to face with an expanding world. The spirit which is at\nthe heart of the philosophy of Leibniz is the spirit which speaks in the\nfollowing words: \"Quin imo qui unam partem materi\u00e6 comprehenderet, idem\ncomprehenderet totum universum ob eandem ~perich\u00f4r\u00easin~ quam dixi. Mea\nprincipia talia sunt, ut vix a se invicem develli possint. Qui unum bene\nnovit, omnia novit.\" It is a spirit which feels that the secret of the\nuniverse has been rendered up to it, and which breathes a buoyant\noptimism. And if we of the nineteenth century have chosen to bewail\nthe complexity of the problem of life, and to run hither and thither\nmultiplying \"insights\" and points of view till this enthusiastic\nconfidence in reason seems to us the rashness of an ignorance which does\nnot comprehend the problem, and the unity in which Leibniz rested\nappears cold and abstract beside the manifold richness of the world, we\nshould not forget that after all we have incorporated into our very\nmental structure the fundamental thoughts of Leibniz,--the thoughts of\nthe rationality of the universe and of the \"reign of law.\"\n\nWhat was the origin of these ideas in the mind of Leibniz? What\ninfluences in the philosophic succession of thinkers led him in this\ndirection? What agencies acting in the intellectual world about him\nshaped his ideal reproduction of reality? Two causes above all others\nstand out with prominence,--one, the discoveries and principles of\nmodern physical science; the other, that interpretation of experience\nwhich centuries before had been formulated by Aristotle. Leibniz has a\ndouble interest for those of to-day who reverence science and who hold\nto the historical method. His philosophy was an attempt to set in order\nthe methods and principles of that growing science of nature which\neven then was transforming the emotional and mental life of Europe;\nand the attempt was guided everywhere by a profound and wide-reaching\nknowledge of the history of philosophy. On the first point Leibniz\nwas certainly not alone. Bacon, Hobbes, Descartes, Spinoza, each felt\nin his own way the fructifying touch of the new-springing science,\nand had attempted under its guidance to interpret the facts of nature\nand of man. But Leibniz stood alone in his interest in the history of\nthought. He stands alone indeed till he is greeted by his compeers\nof the nineteenth century. To Bacon previous philosophy--the Greek,\nthe scholastic--was an \"eidol of the theatre.\" The human mind must be\nfreed from its benumbing influence. To Descartes it was useless rubbish\nto be cleared away, that we might get a _tabula rasa_ upon which to\nmake a fresh start. And shall Locke and the empirical English school,\nor Reid and the Scotch school, or even Kant, be the first to throw a\nstone at Bacon and Descartes? It was reserved to Leibniz, with a genius\nalmost two centuries in advance of his times, to penetrate the meaning\nof the previous development of reflective thought. It would be going\nbeyond our brief to claim that Leibniz was interested in this _as_ a\nhistorical movement, or that he specially concerned himself with the\ngenetic lines which connected the various schools of thought. But we\nshould come short of our duty to Leibniz if we did not recognize his\nconscious and largely successful attempt to apprehend the core of truth\nin all systems, however alien to his own, and to incorporate it into\nhis own thinking.\n\nNothing could be more characteristic of Leibniz than his saying,\n\"I find that most systems are right in a good share of that which\nthey advance, but not so much in what they deny;\" or than this other\nstatement of his, \"We must not hastily believe that which the mass\nof men, or even of authorities, advance, but each must demand for\nhimself the proofs of the thesis sustained. Yet long research generally\nconvinces that the old and received opinions are good, provided they\nbe interpreted justly.\" It is in the profound union in Leibniz of\nthe principles which these quotations image that his abiding worth\nlies. Leibniz was interested in affirmations, not in denials. He was\ninterested in securing the union of the modern _method_, the spirit\nof original research and independent judgment, with the conserved\n_results_ of previous thought. Leibniz was a man of his times; that is\nto say, he was a scientific man,--the contemporary, for example, of men\nas different as Bernouilli, Swammerdam, Huygens, and Newton, and was\nhimself actively engaged in the prosecution of mathematics, mechanics,\ngeology, comparative philology, and jurisprudence. But he was also a\nman of Aristotle's times,--that is to say, a philosopher, not satisfied\nuntil the facts, principles, and methods of science had received an\ninterpretation which should explain and unify them.\n\nLeibniz's acquaintance with the higher forms of mathematics was\ndue, as we have seen, to his acquaintance with Huygens. As he made\nthe acquaintance of the latter at the same time that he made the\nacquaintance of the followers of Descartes, it is likely that he\nreceived his introduction to the higher developments of the scientific\ninterpretation of nature and of the philosophic interpretation of\nscience at about the same time. For a while, then, Leibniz was a\nCartesian; and he never ceased to call the doctrine of Descartes\nthe antechamber of truth. What were the ideas which he received from\nDescartes? Fundamentally they were two,--one about the method of truth,\nthe other about the substance of truth. He received the idea that the\nmethod of philosophy consists in the analysis of any complex group of\nideas down to simple ideas which shall be perfectly clear and distinct;\nthat all such clear and distinct ideas are true, and may then be used\nfor the synthetic reconstruction of any body of truth. Concerning\nthe substance of philosophic truth, he learned that nature is to be\ninterpreted mechanically, and that the instrument of this mechanical\ninterpretation is mathematics. I have used the term \"received\" in\nspeaking of the relation of Leibniz to these ideas. Yet long before\nthis time we might see him giving himself up to dreams about a vast\nart of combination which should reduce all the ideas concerned in\nany science to their simplest elements, and then combine them to any\ndegree of complexity. We have already seen him giving us a picture\nof a boy of fifteen gravely disputing with himself whether he shall\naccept the doctrine of forms and final causes, or of physical causes,\nand as gravely deciding that he shall side with the \"moderns;\" and\nthat boy was himself. In these facts we have renewed confirmation of\nthe truth that one mind never receives from another anything excepting\nthe stimulus, the reflex, the development of ideas which have already\npossessed it. But when Leibniz, with his isolated and somewhat\nill-digested thoughts, came in contact with that systematized and\nconnected body of doctrines which the Cartesians presented to him in\nParis, his ideas were quickened, and he felt the necessity--that final\nmark of the philosophic mind--of putting them in order.\n\nAbout the method of Descartes, which Leibniz adopted from him, or\nrather formulated for himself under the influence of Descartes,\nnot much need be said. It was the method of Continental thought\ntill the time of Kant. It was the mother of the philosophic systems\nof Descartes, Leibniz, and Spinoza. It was equally the mother of\nthe German _Aufkl\u00e4rung_ and the French _\u00e9claircissement_. Its\nfundamental idea is the thought upon which Rationalism everywhere bases\nitself. It says: Reduce everything to simple notions. Get clearness;\nget distinctness. Analyze the complex. Shun the obscure. Discover\naxioms; employ these axioms in connection with the simple notions,\nand build up from them. Whatever can be treated in this way is capable\nof proof, and only this. Leibniz, I repeat, possessed this method in\ncommon with Descartes and Spinoza. The certainty and demonstrativeness\nof mathematics stood out in the clearest contrast to the uncertainty,\nthe obscurity, of all other knowledge. And to them, as to all before\nthe days of Kant, it seemed beyond doubt that the method of mathematics\nconsists in the analysis of notions, and in their synthesis through the\nmedium of axioms, which are true because identical statements; while\nthe notions are true because clear and distinct.\n\nAnd yet the method led Leibniz in a very different direction. One of\nthe fundamental doctrines, for example, of Leibniz is the existence\neverywhere of minute and obscure perceptions,--which are of the\ngreatest importance, but of which we, at least, can never have\ndistinct consciousness. How is this factor of his thought, which\nalmost approaches mysticism, to be reconciled with the statements just\nmade? It is found in the different application which is made of the\nmethod. The object of Descartes is the _erection of a new structure\nof truth_ upon a _tabula rasa_ of all former doctrines. The object of\nLeibniz is the _interpretation of an old body of truth_ by a method\nwhich shall reveal it in its clearest light. Descartes and Spinoza\nare \"rationalists\" both in their method and results. Leibniz is a\n\"rationalist\" in his method; but his application of the method is\neverywhere controlled by historic considerations. It is, I think,\nimpossible to over-emphasize this fact. Descartes was profoundly\nconvinced that past thought had gone wrong, and that its results were\nworthless. Leibniz was as profoundly convinced that its instincts had\nbeen right, and that the general idea of the world which it gave was\ncorrect. Leibniz would have given the heartiest assent to Goethe's\nsaying, \"Das Wahre war schon l\u00e4ngst gefunden.\" It was out of the\nquestion, then, that he should use the new method in any other than an\ninterpreting way to bring out in a connected system and unity the true\nmeaning of the subject-matter.\n\nSo much of generality for the method of Leibniz. The positive substance\nof doctrine which he developed under scientific influence affords\nmatter for more discussion. Of the three influences which meet us here,\ntwo are still Cartesian; the third is from the new science of biology,\nalthough not yet answering to that name. These three influences are, in\norder: the idea that nature is to be explained mechanically; that this\nis to be brought about through the application of mathematics; and,\nfrom biology, the idea that all change is of the nature of continuous\ngrowth or unfolding. Let us consider each in this order.\n\nWhat is meant by the mechanical explanation of nature? To answer a\nquestion thus baldly put, we must recall the kind of explanations which\nhad satisfied the scholastic men of science. They had been explanations\nwhich, however true, Leibniz says, as general principles, do not touch\nthe details of the matter. The explanations of natural facts had been\nfound in general principles, in substantial forces, in occult essences,\nin native faculties. Now, the first contention of the founders of the\nmodern scientific movement was that such general considerations are\nnot verifiable, and that if they are, they are entirely aside from the\npoint,--they fail to explain any given fact. Explanation must always\nconsist in discovering an immediate connection between some fact and\nsome co-existing or preceding fact. Explanation does not consist in\nreferring a fact to a general power, it consists in referring it to an\nantecedent whose existence is its necessary condition. It was not left\ntill the times of Mr. Huxley to poke fun at those who would explain\nsome concrete phenomenon by reference to an abstract principle ending\nin --ity. Leibniz has his word to say about those who would account for\nthe movements of a watch by reference to a principle of horologity, and\nof mill-stones by a fractive principle.\n\nMechanical explanation consists, accordingly, in making out an actual\nconnection between two existing facts. But this does not say very\nmuch. A connection of what kind? In the first place, a connection of\nthe same order as the facts observed. If we are explaining corporeal\nphenomena, we must find a corporeal link; if we are explaining\nphenomena of motion, we must find a connection of motion. In one of his\nfirst philosophical works Leibniz, in taking the mechanical position,\nstates what he means by it. In the \"Confession of Nature against the\nAtheists\" he says that it must be confessed to those who have revived\nthe corpuscular theory of Democritus and Epicurus, to Galileo, Bacon,\nGassendi, Hobbes, and Descartes, that in explaining material phenomena\nrecourse is to be had neither to God nor to any other incorporeal\nthing, form, or quality, but that all things are to be explained\nfrom the nature of matter and its qualities, especially from their\nmagnitude, figure, and motion. The physics of Descartes, to which was\nespecially due the spread of mechanical notions, virtually postulated\nthe problem: given a homogeneous quantity of matter, endowed only with\nextension and mobility, to account for all material phenomena. Leibniz\naccepts this mechanical view without reserve.\n\nWhat has been said suggests the bearing of mathematics in this\nconnection. Extension and mobility may be treated by mathematics. It is\nindeed the business of the geometer to give us an analysis of figured\nspace, to set before us all possible combinations which can arise,\nassuming extension only. The higher analysis sets before us the results\nwhich inevitably follow if we suppose a moving point or any system of\nmovements. Mathematics is thus the essential tool for treating physical\nphenomena as just defined. But it is more. The mechanical explanation\nof Nature not only requires such a development of mathematics as will\nmake it applicable to the interpretation of physical facts, but the\nemployment of mathematics is necessary for the very discovery of these\nfacts. Exact observation was the necessity of the growing physical\nscience; and exact observation means such as will answer the question,\n_How much?_ Knowledge of nature depends upon our ability to _measure_\nher processes,--that is, to reduce distinctions of quality to those of\nquantity. The only assurance that we can finally have that two facts\nare connected in such a way as to fulfil the requirements of scientific\nresearch, is that there is a complete quantitative connection between\nthem, so that one can be regarded as the other transformed. The advance\nof physical science from the days of Copernicus to the present has\nconsisted, therefore, on one hand, in a development of mathematics\nwhich has made it possible to apply it in greater and greater measure\nto the discussion and formulation of the results of experiment, and to\ndeduce laws which, when interpreted physically, will give new knowledge\nof fact; and, on the other, to multiply, sharpen, and make precise all\nsorts of devices by which the processes of nature may be measured. The\nexplanation of nature by natural processes; the complete application\nof mathematics to nature,--these are the two thoughts which, so far,\nwe have seen to be fundamental to the development of the philosophy\nof Leibniz.\n\nThe third factor, and that which brings Leibniz nearer, perhaps, our\nown day than either of the others, is the growth of physiological\nscience. Swammerdam, Malpighi, Leewenhoek,--these are names which\noccur and recur in the pages of Leibniz. Indeed, he appears to be the\nfirst of that now long line of modern philosophers to be profoundly\ninfluenced by the conception of life and the categories of organic\ngrowth. Descartes concerned himself indeed with physiological problems,\nbut it was only with a view to applying mechanical principles. The\nidea of the vital unity of all organs of the body might seem to\nbe attractive to one filled with the notion of the unity of all in\nGod, and yet Spinoza shows no traces of the influence of the organic\nconception. Not until Kant's famous definition of organism do we see\nanother philosopher moved by an attempt to comprehend the categories of\nliving structure.\n\nBut it is the idea of organism, of life, which is radical to the\nthought of Leibniz. I do not think, however, that it can truly be said\nthat he was led to the idea simply from the state of physiological\ninvestigation at that time. Rather, he had already learned to think of\nthe world as organic through and through, and found in the results of\nbiology confirmations, apt illustrations of a truth of which he was\nalready thoroughly convinced. His writings show that there were two\naspects of biological science which especially interested him. One\nwas the simple fact of organism itself,--the fact of the various\nactivities of different organs occurring in complete harmony for one\nend. This presented three notions very dear to the mind of Leibniz,\nor rather three moments of the same idea,--the factors of activity,\nof unity brought about by co-ordinated action, and of an end which\nreveals the meaning of the activity and is the ideal expression of\nthe unity. The physiologists of that day were also occupied with the\nproblem of growth. The generalization that all is developed _ab ovo_\nwas just receiving universal attention. The question which thrust\nitself upon science for solution was the mode by which ova, apparently\nhomogeneous in structure, developed into the various forms of the\norganic kingdom. The answer given was \"evolution.\" But evolution had\nnot the meaning which the term has to-day. By evolution was meant\nthat the whole complex structure of man, for example, was virtually\ncontained in the germ, and that the apparent phenomenon of growth was\nnot the addition of anything from without, but simply the unfolding\nand magnifying of that already existing. It was the doctrine which\nafterwards gave way to the epigenesis theory of Wolff, according to\nwhich growth is not mere unfolding or unwrapping, but progressive\ndifferentiation. The \"evolution\" theory was the scientific theory of\nthe times, however, and was warmly espoused by Leibniz. To him, as we\nshall see hereafter, it seemed to give a key which would unlock one of\nthe problems of the universe.\n\nSuch, then, were the three chief generalizations which Leibniz found\ncurrent, and which most deeply affected him. But what use did he make\nof them? He did not become a philosopher by letting them lie dormant in\nhis mind, nor by surrendering himself passively to them till he could\nmechanically apply them everywhere. He was a philosopher only in virtue\nof the active attitude which his mind took towards them. He could not\nsimply accept them at their face-value; he must ask after the source of\ntheir value, the royal stamp of meaning which made them a circulatory\nmedium. That is to say, he had to interpret these ideas, to see what\nthey mean, and what is the basis of their validity.\n\nNot many men have been so conscious of just the bearings of their\nown ideas and of their source as was he. He often allows us a direct\nglimpse into the method of his thinking, and nowhere more than when\nhe says: \"Those who give themselves up to the details of science\nusually despise abstract and general researches. Those who go into\nuniversal principles rarely care for particular facts. But I equally\nesteem both.\" Leibniz, in other words, was equally interested in the\napplication of scientific principles to the explanation of the details\nof natural phenomena, and in the bearing and meaning of the principles\nthemselves,--a rare combination, indeed, but one, which existing,\nstamps the genuine philosopher. Leibniz substantially repeats this\nidea when he says: \"Particular effects must be explained mechanically;\nbut the general principles of physics and mathematics depend upon\nmetaphysics.\" And again: \"All occurs mechanically; but the mechanical\nprinciple is not to be explained from material and mathematical\nconsiderations, but it flows from a higher and a metaphysical source.\"\n\nAs a man of science, Leibniz might have stopped short with the\nideas of mechanical law, of the application of mathematics, and of\nthe continuity of development. As a philosopher he could not. There\nare some scientific men to whom it always seems a perversion of their\nprinciples to attempt to carry them any beyond their application to the\ndetails of the subject. They look on in a bewildered and protesting\nattitude when there is suggested the necessity of any further\ninquiry. Or perhaps they dogmatically deny the possibility of any such\ninvestigation, and as dogmatically assume the sufficiency of their\nprinciples for the decision of all possible problems. But bewildered\nfear and dogmatic assertion are equally impotent to fix arbitrary\nlimits to human thought. Wherever there is a subject that has meaning,\nthere is a field which appeals to mind, and the mind will not cease\nits endeavors till it has made out what that meaning is, and has made\nit out in its entirety. So the three principles already spoken of were\nbut the starting-points, the stepping-stones of Leibniz's philosophic\nthought. While to physical science they are solutions, to philosophy\nthey are problems; and as such Leibniz recognized them. What solution\ndid he give?\n\nSo far as the principle of mechanical explanation is concerned,\nthe clew is given by considering the factor upon which he laid\nmost emphasis, namely, motion. Descartes had said that the essence\nof the physical world is extension. \"Not so,\" replied Leibniz;\n\"It is motion.\" These answers mark two typical ways of regarding\nnature. According to one, nature is something essentially rigid\nand static; whatever change in it occurs, is a change of form,\nof arrangement, an external modification. According to the other,\nnature is something essentially dynamic and active. Change according\nto law is its very essence. Form, arrangement are only the results\nof this internal principle. And so to Leibniz, extension and the\nspatial aspects of physical existence were only secondary, they were\nphenomenal. The primary, the real fact was motion.\n\nThe considerations which led him to this conclusion are simple\nenough. It is the fact already mentioned, that explanation always\nconsists in reducing phenomena to a law of motion which connects\nthem. Descartes himself had not succeeded in writing his physics\nwithout everywhere using the conception of motion. But motion cannot\nbe got out of the idea of extension. Geometry will not give us\nactivity. What is this, except virtually to admit the insufficiency\nof purely statical conceptions? Leibniz found himself confirmed in\nthis position by the fact that the more logical of the followers\nof Descartes had recognized that motion is a superfluous intruder,\nif extension be indeed the essence of matter, and therefore had been\nobliged to have recourse to the immediate activity of God as the cause\nof all changes. But this, as Leibniz said, was simply to give up the\nvery idea of mechanical explanation, and to fall back into the purely\ngeneral explanations of scholasticism.\n\nThis is not the place for a detailed exposition of the ideas of Leibniz\nregarding matter, motion, and extension. We need here only recognize\nthat he saw in motion the final reality of the physical universe. But\nwhat about motion? To many, perhaps the majority, of minds to-day it\nseems useless or absurd, or both, to ask any question about motion. It\nis simply an ultimate _fact_, to which all other facts are to be\nreduced. We are so familiar with it as a solution of all physical\nproblems that we are confused, and fail to recognize it when it appears\nin the guise of a problem. But, I repeat, philosophy cannot stop with\nfacts, however ultimate. It must also know something about the meaning,\nthe significance, in short the ideal bearing, of facts. From the point\nof view of philosophy, motion has a certain function in the economy of\nthe universe; it is, as Aristotle saw, something ideal.\n\nThe name of Aristotle suggests the principles which guided Leibniz\nin his interpretation of the fact of motion. The thought of Aristotle\nmoves about the two poles of potentiality and actuality. Potentiality\nis not _mere_ capacity; it is being in an undeveloped, imperfect\nstage. Actuality is, as the word suggests, activity. Anything is\npotential in so far as it does not manifest itself in action; it is\nactual so far as it does thus show forth its being. Now, movement, or\nchange in its most general sense, is that by which the potential comes\nto the realization of its nature, and functions as an activity. Motion,\nthen, is not an ultimate fact, but is subordinate. It exists for an\nend. It is that by which existence realizes its idea; that is, its\nproper type of action.\n\nNow Leibniz does not formally build upon these distinctions; and\nyet he is not very far removed from Aristotle. Motion, he is never\nweary of repeating, means force, means energy, means activity. To\nsay that the essence of nature is motion, is to say that the natural\nworld finally introduces us to the supremacy of action. Reality is\nactivity. _Substance c'est l'action._ That is the key-note and the\nbattle-cry of the Leibnizian philosophy. Motion is that by which being\nexpresses its nature, fulfils its purpose, reveals its idea. In short,\nthe specific scientific conception of motion is by Leibniz transformed\ninto the philosophic conception of force, of activity. In motion he\nsees evidence of the fact that the universe is radically dynamic.\n\nIn the applicability of mathematics to the interpretation of nature\nLeibniz finds witness to the continuity and order of the world. We\nhave become so accustomed to the fact that mathematics may be directly\nemployed for the discussion and formulation of physical investigations\nthat we forget what is implied in it. It involves the huge assumption\nthat the world answers to reason; so that whatever the mind finds to be\nideally true may be taken for granted to be physically true also. But\nin those days, when the correlation of the laws of the world and the\nlaws of mathematical reasoning was a fresh discovery, this aspect of\nthe case could not be easily lost sight of.\n\nIn fact it was this correlation which filled the _Zeitgeist_ of\nthe sixteenth century with the idea that it had a new organ for the\npenetration of nature, a new sense for learning its meaning. Descartes\ngives the following as the origin of his philosophy: \"The long chains\nof simple and easy reasons which geometers employ, even in their\nmost complex demonstrations, made me fancy that all things which are\nthe objects of human knowledge are _similarly interdependent_.\" To\nLeibniz also mathematics seemed to give a clew to the order, the\ninterdependence, the harmonious relations, of the world.\n\nIn this respect the feeling of Plato that God geometrizes found\nan echoing response in Leibniz. But the latter would hardly have\nexpressed it in the same way. He would have preferred to say that God\neverywhere uses the infinitesimal calculus. In the applicability of the\ncalculus to the discussion of physical facts, Leibniz saw two truths\nreflected,--that everything that occurs has its reason, its dependent\nconnection upon something else, and that all is continuous and without\nbreaks. While the formal principles of his logic are those of identity\nand contradiction, his real principles are those of sufficient reason\nand of continuity. Nature never makes leaps; everything in nature has\na sufficient reason why it is as it is: these are the philosophic\ngeneralizations which Leibniz finds hidden in the applicability\nof mathematics to physical science. Reason finds itself everywhere\nexpressed in nature; and the law of reason is unity in diversity,\ncontinuity.\n\nLet us say, in a word, that the correlation between the laws of\nmathematics and of physics is the evidence of the rational character\nof nature. Nature may be reduced to motions; and motions can be\nunderstood only as force, activity. But the laws which connect motions\nare fundamentally mathematical laws,--laws of reason. Hence force,\nactivity, can be understood only as rational, as spiritual. Nature\nis thus seen to mean Activity, and Activity is seen to mean\nIntelligence. Furthermore, as the fundamental law of intelligence is\nthe production of difference in unity, the primary law of physical\nchange must be the manifestation of this unity in difference,--or,\nas Leibniz interpreted it, continuity. In nature there are no breaks,\nneither of quantity nor of quality nor of relationship. The full force\nof this law we shall see later.\n\nSuch an idea can hardly be distinguished from the idea of growth or\ndevelopment; one passes naturally into the other. Thus it is equally\nproper to say that the third scientific influence, the conception of\norganism and growth, is dominant in the Leibnizian thought, or that\nthis is swallowed up and absorbed in the grand idea of continuity. The\nlaw of animal and vegetable life and the law of the universe are\nidentified. The substance of the universe is activity; the law of\nthe universe is interdependence. What is this but to say that the\nuniverse is an organic whole? Its activity is the manifestation of\nlife,--nay, it is life. The laws of its activity reveal that continuity\nof development, that harmony of inter-relation, which are everywhere\nthe marks of life. The final and fundamental notion, therefore, by\nwhich Leibniz interprets the laws of physics and mathematics is that of\nLife. This is his regnant category. It is \"that higher and metaphysical\nsource\" from which the very existence and principles of mechanism\nflow. The perpetual and ubiquitous presence of motion reveals the\npulsations of Life; the correlation, the rationality, of these motions\nindicate the guiding presence of Life. This idea is the alpha and omega\nof his philosophy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE PROBLEM, AND ITS SOLUTION.\n\n\nLeibniz, like every great man, absorbed into himself the various\nthoughts of his time, and in absorbing transformed them. He brought\ninto a focus of brilliancy the diffused lights of truth shining here\nand there. He summed up in a pregnant and comprehensive category\nthe scattered principles of his age. Yet we are not to suppose that\nLeibniz considered these various ideas one by one, and then patched\nthem into an artificial unity of thought. Philosophies are not\nmanufactured piecemeal out of isolated and fragmentary thoughts; they\ngrow from a single root, absorbing from their environment whatever\nof sustenance offers itself, and maturing in one splendid fruit of\nspiritual truth. It is convenient, indeed, to isolate various phases\nof truth, and consider them as distinct forces working to shape one\nfinal product, and as a convenient artifice it is legitimate. But it\nanswers to no process actually occurring. Leibniz never surrendered\nhis personal unity, and out of some one root-conception grew all his\nideas. The principles of his times were not separate forces acting upon\nhim, they were the foods of which he selected and assimilated such as\nwere fitted to nourish his one great conception.\n\nBut it is more than a personal unity which holds together the thinking\nof a philosopher. There is the unity of the problem, which the\nphilosopher has always before him, and in which all particular ideas\nfind their unity. All else issues from this and merges into it. The\nvarious influences which we have seen affecting Leibniz, therefore,\ngot their effectiveness from the relation which he saw them bear to the\nfinal problem of all thought. This is the inquiry after the unity of\nexperience, if we look at it from the side of the subject; the unity\nof reality, if we put it from the objective side. Yet each age states\nthis problem in its own way, because it sees it in the light of some\ndifficulty which has recently arisen in consciousness. At one time,\nthe question is as to the relation of the one to the many; at another,\nof the relation of the sensible to the intelligible world; at another,\nof the relation of the individual to the universal. And this last\nseems to have been the way in which it specifically presented itself\nto Leibniz. This way of stating it was developed, though apparently\nwithout adequate realization of its meaning, by the philosophy\nof scholasticism. It stated the problem as primarily a logical\nquestion,--the relation of genera, of species, of individuals to each\nother. And the school-boy, made after the stamp of literary tradition,\nknows that there were two parties among the Schoolmen,--the Realists,\nand the Nominalists; one asserting, the other denying, the objective\nreality of universals. To regard this discussion as useless, is to\nutter the condemnation of philosophy, and to relegate the foundation\nof science to the realm of things not to be inquired into. To say that\nit is an easy matter to decide, is to assume the decision with equal\nease of all the problems that have vexed the thought of humanity. To\nus it seems easy because we have bodily incorporated into our thinking\nthe results of both the realistic and the nominalistic doctrines,\nwithout attempting to reconcile them, or even being conscious of\nthe necessity of reconciliation. We assert in one breath that the\nindividual is alone real, and in the next assert that only those forms\nof consciousness which represent something in the universe are to be\ntermed knowledge. At one moment we say that universals are creations of\nthe individual mind, and at the next pass on to talk of laws of nature,\nor even of a reign of law. In other words, we have learned to regard\nboth the individual and the universal as real, and thus ignoring the\nproblem, think we have solved it.\n\nBut to Leibniz the problem presented itself neither as a logical\nquestion, nor yet as one whose solution might be taken for granted. On\nthe contrary, it was just this question: How shall we conceive the\nindividual to be related to the universe? which seemed to him to be the\nnerve of the philosophic problem, the question whose right answer would\nsolve the problems of religion, of morals, of the basis of science,\nas well as of the nature of reality. The importance of just this way\nof putting the question had been rendered evident by the predecessors\nand contemporaries of Leibniz, especially by Descartes, Spinoza, and\nLocke. His more specific relations to the last-named will occupy us\nhereafter; at present we must notice how the question stood at the\nhands of Descartes and Spinoza.\n\nDescartes had separated the individual from the universal. His\nphilosophy began and ended with a dualism. I have just said that the\nproblem of philosophy is the unity of experience. Yet we find that\nthere have been thinkers, and those of the first rank, who have left\nthe matter without discovering any ultimate unity, or rather who have\nmade it the burden of their contention that we cannot explain the world\nwithout at least two disparate principles. But if we continue to look\nat the matter in this historical way, we shall see that this dualism\nhas always been treated by the successors of such a philosopher, not\nas a solution, but as a deeper statement of the problem. It is the\nfunction of dualistic philosophies to re-state the question in a new\nand more significant way. There are times when the accepted unity of\nthought is seen to be inadequate and superficial. Men are thrashing old\nstraw, and paying themselves with ideas which have lost their freshness\nand their timeliness. There then arises a philosopher who goes deep,\nbeyond the superficial unity, and who discovers the untouched\nproblem. His it is to assert the true meaning of the question,\nwhich has been unseen or evaded. The attitude of dualism is thus\nalways necessary, but never final. Its value is not in any solution,\nbut in the generality and depth of the problem which it proposes, and\nwhich incites thought to the discovery of a unity of equal depth and\ncomprehensiveness.\n\nExcept for Descartes, then, we should not be conscious of the gulf\nthat yawns between the individual mind and the universe in front of\nit. He presented the opposition as between mind and matter. The essence\nof the former is thought; of the latter, extension. The conceptions\nare disparate and opposed. No interaction is possible. His disciples,\nmore consistent than their master, called in a _deus ex machina_,--the\nmiraculous intervention of God,--in order to account for the appearance\nof reciprocal action between the universe of matter and the thinking\nindividual. Thus they in substance admitted the relation between\nthem to be scientifically inexplicable, and had recourse to the\nsupernatural. The individual does not act upon the universe to produce,\ndestroy, or alter the arrangement of anything. But upon the _occasion_\nof his volition God produces a corresponding material change. The world\ndoes not act upon the soul of the individual to produce thoughts or\nsensations. God, upon _occasion_ of the external affection, brings\nthem into being. With such thoroughness Descartes performed his task\nof separation. Yet the introduction of the _deus ex machina_ only\ncomplicated the problem; it introduced a third factor where two were\nalready too many. What is the relation of God to Mind and to Matter? Is\nit simply a third somewhat, equally distinct from both, or does it\ncontain both within itself?\n\nSpinoza attempted to solve the problem in the latter sense. He\nconceived God to be the one substance of the universe, possessing the\ntwo known attributes of thought and matter. These attributes are one\nin God; indeed, he is their unity. This is the sole legitimate outcome\nof the Cartesian problem stated as Descartes would have it stated. It\novercomes the absoluteness of the dualism by discovering a common and\nfundamental unity, and at the same time takes the subject out of the\nrealm of the miraculous. For the solution works both ways. It affects\nthe nature of God, as well as of extension and thought. It presents\nhim to us, not as a supernatural being, but as the unity of thought and\nextension. In knowing these as they are, we know God as he is. Spinoza,\nin other words, uses the conception of God in a different way from\nthe Cartesians. The latter had treated him as the God of theology,--a\nbeing supernatural; Spinoza uses the conception as a scientific one,\nand speaks of _Deus sive Natura_.\n\nLeibniz recognized the unphilosophic character of the recourse to a\n_deus ex machina_ as clearly as Spinoza, and yet did not accept his\nsolution. To find out why he did not is the problem of the historian\nof thought. The one cause which stands out above all others is that in\nthe unity of Spinoza all difference, all distinction, is lost. All\nparticular existences, whether things or persons, are _modes_\nof extension and thought. Their _apparent_ existence is due to the\nimagination, which is the source of belief in particular things. When\nconsidered as they really are,--that is, by the understanding,--they\nvanish. The one substance, with its two unchanging attributes of\nthought and extension, alone remains. If it is a philosophic error\nto give a solution which permits of no unity, is it not equally a\nphilosophic error to give one which denies difference? So it seemed\nto Leibniz. The problem is to reconcile difference in unity, not to\nswallow up difference in a blank oneness,--to reconcile the individual\nwith the universe, not to absorb him.\n\nThe unsatisfactoriness of the solution appears if we look at it from\nanother side. Difference implies change, while a unity in which all\nvariety is lost implies quiescence. Change is as much an illusion of\nimagination to Spinoza as is variety. The One Reality is permanent. How\nrepugnant the conception of a static universe was to Leibniz we have\nalready learned. Spinoza fails to satisfy Leibniz, therefore, because\nhe does not allow the conceptions of individuality and of activity. He\npresents a unity in which all distinction of individuals is lost,\nand in which there is no room for change. But Spinoza certainly\npresented the problem more clearly to Leibniz, and revealed more\ndefinitely the conditions of its solution. The search is henceforth\nfor a unity which shall avoid the irresolvable dualism of Descartes,\nand yet shall allow free play to the principles of individuality and of\nactivity. There must be, in short, a universe to which the individual\nbears a real yet independent relation. What is this unity? The answer,\nin the phraseology of Leibniz, is the _monad_. Spinoza would be right,\nsaid Leibniz, were it not for the existence of monads. I know there are\nsome who have done Leibniz the honor of supposing that this is his way\nof saying, \"Spinoza is wrong because I am right;\" but I cannot help\nthinking that the saying has a somewhat deeper meaning. What, then,\nis the nature of the monad? The answer to this question takes us back\nto the point where the discussion of the question was left at the end\nof chapter second. The nature of the monad is life. The monad is the\nspiritual activity which lives in absolute harmony with an infinite\nnumber of other monads.\n\nLet us first consider the reasons of Leibniz for conceiving the\nprinciple of unity as spiritual. Primarily it is because it is\nimpossible to conceive of a unity which is material. In the sensible\nworld there is no unity. There are, indeed, aggregations, collections,\nwhich seem like unities; but the very fact that these are aggregations\nshows that the unity is factitious. It is the very nature of matter to\nbe infinitely divisible: to say this is to deny the existence of any\ntrue principle of unity. The world of nature is the world of space\nand time; and where in space or time shall we find a unity where we\nmay rest? Every point in space, every moment in time, points beyond\nitself. It refers to a totality of which it is but a part, or, rather,\na limitation. If we add resistance, we are not better situated. We\nhave to think of something which resists; and to this something we must\nattribute extension,--that is to say, difference, plurality. Nor can we\nfind any resistance which is absolute and final. There may be a body\nwhich is undivided, and which resists all energy now acting upon it;\nbut we cannot frame an intelligible idea of a body which is absolutely\nindivisible. To do so is to think of a body out of all relation to\nexisting forces, something absolutely isolated; while the forces of\nnature are always relative to one another. That which resists does so\nin comparison with some opposing energy. The absolutely indivisible,\non the other hand, would be that which could not be brought into\ncomparison with other forces; it would not have any of the attributes\nof force as we know it. In a word, whatever exists in nature is\nrelative in space, in time, and in qualities to all else. It is made\nwhat it is by virtue of the totality of its relations to the universe;\nit has no ultimate principle of self-subsistent unity in it.\n\nNor do we fare better if we attempt to find unity in the world of\nnature as a whole. Nature has its existence as a whole in space and\ntime. Indeed, it is only a way of expressing the totality of phenomena\nof space and time. It is a mere aggregate, a collection. Its very\nessence is plurality, difference. It is divisible without limit,\nand each of its divisions has as good a right to be called one as\nthe whole from which it is broken off. We shall consider hereafter\nLeibniz's idea of infinity; but it is easy to see that he must deny\nany true infinity to nature. An ultimate whole made up of parts is a\ncontradictory conception; and the idea of a quantitative infinite is\nequally so. Quantity means number, measure, limitation. We may not\nbe able to assign number to the totality of occurrences in nature,\nnor to measure her every event. This shows that nature is indefinitely\ngreater than any _assignable_ quantity; but it does not remove her from\nthe category of quantity. As long as the world is conceived as that\nexisting in space and time, it is conceived as that which has to be\nmeasured. As we saw in the last chapter, the heart of the mechanical\ntheory of the world is in the application of mathematics to it. Since\nquantity and mathematics are correlative terms, the natural world\ncannot be conceived as infinite or as an ultimate unity.\n\nIn short, Leibniz urges and suggests in one form and another those\nobjections to the mechanical theory of reality which later German\nphilosophers have made us so familiar with. The objections are indeed\nvaried in statement, but they all come to the impossibility of finding\nany unity, any wholeness, anything except plurality and partiality in\nthat which is externally conditioned,--as everything is in nature.\n\nBut the reasons as thus stated are rather negative than positive. They\nshow why the ultimate unity cannot be conceived as material, rather\nthan why it must be conceived as spiritual. The immediate evidence\nof its spiritual nature Leibniz finds in the perception of the one\nunity directly known to us,--the \"me,\" the conscious principle within,\nwhich reveals itself as an active force, and as truly one, since not a\nspatial or temporal existence. And this evidence he finds confirmed by\nthe fact that whatever unity material phenomena appear to have comes to\nthem through their perception by the soul. Whatever the mind grasps in\none act, is manifested as one.\n\nBut it is not in any immediate certainty of fact that Leibniz finds\nthe best or completest demonstration of the spiritual nature of the\nultimate unity. This is found in the use which can be made of the\nhypothesis. The truest witness to the spiritual character of reality\nis found in the capacity of this principle to comprehend and explain\nthe facts of experience. With this conception the reason of things\ncan be ascertained, and light introduced into what were otherwise a\nconfused obscurity. And, indeed, this is the only sufficient proof of\nany doctrine. It is not what comes before the formulation of a theory\nwhich proves it; it is not the facts which suggest it, or the processes\nwhich lead up to it: it is what comes after the formation of the\ntheory,--the uses that it can be put to; the facts which it will render\nsignificant. The whole philosophy of Leibniz in its simplicity, width,\nand depth, is the real evidence of the truth of his philosophical\nprinciple.\n\nThe monad, then, is a spiritual unity; it is individualized\nlife. Unity, activity, individuality are synonymous terms in the\nvocabulary of Leibniz. Every unity is a true substance, containing\nwithin itself the source and law of its own activity. It is that\nwhich is internally determined to action. It is to be conceived\nafter the analogy of the soul. It is an indivisible unity, like\n\"that particular something in us which thinks, apperceives and\nwills, and distinguishes us in a way of its own from whatever else\nthinks and wills.\" Against Descartes, therefore, Leibniz stands for\nthe principle of unity; against Spinoza, he upholds the doctrine\nof individuality, of diversity, of multiplicity. And the latter\nprinciple is as important in his thought as the former. Indeed, they\nare inseparable. The individual is the true unity. There is an infinite\nnumber of these individuals, each distinct from every other. The law\nof specification, of distinction, runs through the universe. Two beings\ncannot be alike. They are not individualized merely by their different\npositions in space or time; duration and extension, on the contrary,\nare, as we have seen, principles of relativity, of connection. Monads\nare specified by an internal principle. Their distinct individuality is\nconstituted by their distinct law of activity. Leibniz will not have\na philosophy of abstract unity, representing the universe as simple\nonly, he will have a philosophy equal to the diversity, the manifold\nwealth of variety, in the universe. This is only to say that he will be\nfaithful to his fundamental notion,--that of Life. Life does not mean\na simple unity like a mathematical one, it means a unity which is the\nharmony of the interplay of diverse organs, each following its own law\nand having its own function. When Leibniz says, God willed to have more\nmonads rather than fewer, the expression is indeed one of _na\u00efvet\u00e9_,\nbut the thought is one of unexplored depth. It is the thought that\nLeibniz repeats when he says, \"Those who would reduce all things to\nmodifications of one universal substance do not have sufficient regard\nto the _order_, the _harmony_ of reality.\" Leibniz applies here, as\neverywhere, the principle of continuity, which is unity in and through\ndiversity, not the principle of bare oneness. There is a kingdom of\nmonads, a realm truly infinite, composed of individual unities or\nactivities in an absolute continuity. Leibniz was one of the first,\nif not the first, to use just the expression \"uniformity of nature;\"\nbut even here he explains that it means \"uniform in variety, one in\nprinciple, but varied in manifestation.\" The world is to be as rich as\npossible. This is simply to say that distinct individuality as well as\nultimate unity is a law of reality.\n\nBut has not Leibniz fallen into a perilous position? In avoiding the\nmonotone of unity which characterizes the thought of Spinoza, has\nhe not fallen into a lawless variety of multiplicity, infinitely\nless philosophic than even the dualism of Descartes, since it has\nan infinity of ultimate principles instead of only two? If Spinoza\nsacrificed the individual to the universe, has not Leibniz,\nin his desire to emphasize the individual, gone to the other\nextreme? Apparently we are introduced to a universe that is a mere\naggregate of an infinite multiplicity of realities, each independent\nof every other. Such a universe would not be a universe. It would\nbe a chaos of disorder and conflict. We come, therefore, to a\nconsideration of the relation between these individual monads and\nthe universe. We have to discover what lifts the monads out of their\nisolation and bestows upon them that stamp of universality which makes\nit possible for them to enter into the coherent structure of reality:\nin a word, what is the universal content which the monad in its formal\nindividuality bears and manifests?\n\nThe way in which the question has just been stated suggests the\nLeibnizian answer. The monad, indeed, in its form is thoroughly\nindividual, having its own unique mode of activity; but its content,\nthat which this activity manifests, is not peculiar to it as an\nindividual, but is the substance or law of the universe. It is the\nvery nature of the monad to be representative. Its activity consists\nin picturing or reproducing those relations which make up the world of\nreality. In a conscious soul, the ability thus to represent the world\nis called \"perception,\" and thus Leibniz attributes perception to all\nthe monads. This is not to be understood as a conscious representation\nof reality to itself (for this the term \"apperception\" is reserved),\nbut it signifies that the very essence of the monad is to produce\nstates which are not its own peculiar possessions, but which reflect\nthe facts and relations of the universe. Leibniz never wearies in\nfinding new ways to express this purely representative character of the\nmonad. The monads are little souls; they are mirrors of the world; they\nare concentrations of the universe, each expressing it in its own way;\nborrowing a term from scholasticism, they are \"substantial forms.\" They\nare substantial, for they are independent unities; they are forms,\nbecause the term \"form\" expresses, in Aristotelian phraseology, the\ntype or law of some class of phenomena. The monad is an individual,\nbut its whole content, its objectivity or reality, is the summation of\nthe universe which it represents. It is individual, but whatever marks\nit as actual is some reproduction of the world. His reconciliation\nof the principles of individuality and universality is contained\nin the following words: \"Each monad contains within itself an order\ncorresponding to that of the universe,--indeed, the monads represent\nthe universe in an infinity of ways, all different, and all true, thus\nmultiplying the universe as many times as is possible, approaching\nthe divine as near as may be, and giving the world all the perfection\nof which it is capable.\" The monad is individual, for it represents\nreality in its own way, from its own point of view. It is universal,\nfor its whole content is the order of the universe.\n\nNew light is thus thrown upon the former statement that reality\nis activity, that the measure of a being is the action which it\nputs forth. That statement is purely formal. It leaves the kind\nof activity and its law wholly undetermined. But this relation of\n\"representativeness\" which we have discovered gives definiteness. It\nis the law of the monad's action to mirror, to reflect, the universe;\nits changes follow each other so as to bring about this reflection in\nthe completest degree possible. The monad is literally the many in the\none; it is the answer to the inquiry of Greek philosophy. The many\nare not present by way of participation in some underlying essence,\nnot yet as statically possessed by the one, as attributes are sometimes\nsupposed to inhere in a substratum. The \"many\" is the manifestation of\nthe activity of the \"one.\" The one and the many are related as form\nand content in an organic unity, which is activity. The essence of a\nsubstance, says Leibniz, consists in that regular tendency of action\nby which its phenomena follow one another in a certain order; and that\norder, as he repeatedly states, is the order in which the universe\nitself is arranged.\n\nThe activity of a monad may be advantageously compared to that of a\nsupposed atom, granting, for the sake of the illustration, that there\nis such a thing. Each is in a state of change: the atom changes its\nplace, the monad its representation, and each in the simplest and\nmost uniform way that its conditions permit. How, then, is there such\na similarity, such a monotony, in the change of an atom, and such\nvariety and complexity in the change of a monad? It is because the\natom has merely parts, or external variety, while the monad has an\ninternal variety. Multiplicity is organically wrought into its very\nbeing. It has an _essential_ relation to all things in the universe;\nand to say that this relation is essential, is to say that it is one\nwhich constitutes its very content, its being. Hence the cause of the\nchanges of the monad, of their variety and complexity, is one with the\ncause of the richness, the profusion, the regulated variety of change\nin the universe itself. While we have employed a comparison with atoms,\nthis very comparison may serve to show us the impossibility of atoms as\nthey are generally defined by the physicist turned philosopher. Atoms\nhave no internal and essential relation to the world; they have no\ninternal connection with any one thing in the world: and what is this\nbut to say that they do not enter anywhere into the structure of the\nworld? By their very conception they are forever aliens, banished from\nany share or lot in the realm of reality. The idea which Leibniz never\nlets go, the idea which he always accentuates, is, then, the idea of an\nindividual activity which in its continual change manifests as its own\ninternal content and reality that reality and those laws of connection\nwhich make up the world itself.\n\nWe are thus introduced naturally to the conception which plays so\nlarge a part in the Leibnizian philosophy, that of pre-established\nharmony. This term simply names the fact, which we see to be\nfundamental with Leibniz,--the fact that, while the form of every\nmonad is individuality, a unique principle of action, its content\nis universal, the very being and laws of the world. For we must\nnow notice more explicitly what has been wrapped up in the idea all\nalong. There is no direct influence of monads upon each other. One\ncannot affect another causally. There is no actual interaction of one\nupon another. Expressed in that figurative language which was ever\nnatural to Leibniz, the monads have no windows by which anything can\nget in or out. This follows, of course, from the mutual independence\nand individuality of the monads. They are a true democracy, in\nwhich each citizen has sovereignty. To admit external influences\nacting upon them is to surrender their independence, to deny their\nsovereignty. But we must remember the other half. This democracy is not\nafter the Platonic conception of democracy, in which each does as it\npleases, and in which there is neither order nor law, but the extremest\nassertion of individuality. What each sovereign citizen of the realm\nof reality expresses is precisely law. Each is an embodiment in its own\nway of the harmony, the order, of the whole kingdom. Each is sovereign\nbecause it is dynamic law,--law which is no longer abstract, but has\nrealized itself in life. Thus another way of stating the doctrine of\npre-established harmony is the unity of freedom and necessity. Each\nmonad is free because it is individual, because it follows the\nlaw of its own activity unhindered, unretarded, by others; it is\nself-determined. But it is self-determined to show forth the order, the\nharmony, of the universe. There is nothing of caprice, of peculiarity,\nin the content of the monad. It shows forth order; it is organized\nby law; it reveals the necessary connections which constitute the\nuniverse. The pre-established harmony is the unity of the individual\nand the universe; it is the organic oneness of freedom and necessity.\n\nWe see still further what it means when we learn that it is by this\nconception that Leibniz reconciles the conceptions of physical and\nfinal causation. There is no principle closer to the thought of Leibniz\nthan that of the equal presence and efficiency everywhere of both\nphysical and final causes. Every fact which occurs is susceptible\nof a mechanical and of a rational explanation. It is necessarily\nconnected with preceding states, and it has a necessary end which\nit is fulfilling. The complete meaning of this principle will meet\nus hereafter; at present we must notice that it is one form of the\ndoctrine of pre-established harmony. All things have an end because\nthey form parts of one system; everything that occurs looks forward\nto something else and prepares the way for it, and yet it is itself\nmechanically conditioned by its antecedents. This is only another way\nof saying that there is complete harmony between all beings in the\nuniverse; so that each monad in fulfilling the law of its own existence\ncontributes to the immanent significance of the universe. The monads\nare co-ordinated in such a way that they express a common idea. There\nis a plan common to all, in which each has its own place. All are\nmaking towards one goal, expressing one purpose. The universe is\nan organism; and Leibniz would have applied to it the words which\nMilne-Edwards applied to the human organism, as I find them quoted\nby Lewes: \"In the organism everything seems to be calculated with one\ndetermined result in view; and the harmony of the parts does not result\nfrom the influence which they exert upon one another, but from their\nco-ordination under the rule of a common force, a preconceived plan,\na pre-existent force.\" That is to say, the universe is teleological,\nboth as a whole and in its parts; for there is a common idea animating\nit and expressed by it; it is mechanical, for this idea is realized and\nmanifested by the outworking of forces.\n\nIt ought to be evident even from this imperfect sketch that the\nLeibnizian theory of pre-established harmony is not that utterly\nartificial and grotesque doctrine which it is sometimes represented\nto be. The phrase \"pre-established harmony\" is, strictly speaking,\ntautologous. The term \"pre-established\" is superfluous. It means\n\"existent.\" There is no real harmony which is not existent or\npre-established. An accidental harmony is a contradiction in terms. It\nmeans a chaotic cosmos, an unordered order, a lawless law, or whatever\nelse is nonsensical.\n\nHarmony, in short, means relation, means connection, means\nsubordination and co-ordination, means adjustment, means a variety,\nwhich yet is one. The Leibnizian doctrine is not a factitious product\nof his imagination, nor is it a mechanical scheme for reconciling a\nproblem which has no existence outside of the bewildered brains of\nphilosophers. It is an expression of the fact that the universe is\none of order, of continuity, of unity; it is the accentuating of this\ndoctrine so that the very essence of reality is found in this ordered\ncombination; it is the special application of this principle to the\nsolution of many of the problems which \"the mind of man is apt to\nrun into,\"--the questions of the relation of the individual and the\nuniversal, of freedom and necessity, of the physical and material,\nof the teleological and mechanical. We may not be contented with the\ndoctrine as he presents it, we may think it to be rather a summary\nand highly concentrated statement of the problem than its solution,\nor we may object to details in the carrying out of the doctrine. But\nwe cannot deny that it is a genuine attempt to meet a genuine problem,\nand that it contains some, if not all, of the factors required for\nits adequate solution. To Leibniz must remain the glory of being the\nthinker to seize upon the perfect unity and order of the universe as\nits essential characteristic, and of arranging his thoughts with a view\nto discovering and expressing it.\n\nWe have but to notice one point more, and our task is done so far as\nit serves to make plain the standpoint from which Leibniz criticised\nLocke. There is, we have seen, the greatest possible continuity and\ncomplexity in the realm of monads. There is no break, quantitative nor\nqualitative. It follows that the human soul has no gulf set between it\nand what we call nature. It is only the highest, that is to say the\nmost active and the most representative, of all monads. It stands,\nindeed, at the head of the scale, but not outside it. From the monad\nwhich reveals its presence in that stone which with blinded eyes we\ncall dead, through that which acts in the plant, in the animal, up\nto that of man, there is no chasm, no interruption. Nay, man himself\nis but one link in the chain of spiritual beings which ends only in\nGod. All monads are souls; the soul of man is a monad which represents\nthe universe more distinctly and adequately. The law which is enfolded\nin the lower monads is developed in it and forms a part of its\nconscious activity. The universe, which is confusedly mirrored by the\nperception of the lower monad, is clearly brought out in the conscious\napperception of man. The stone is representative of the whole world. An\nall-knowing intelligence might read in it relations to every other\nfact the world, might see exemplified the past history of the world,\nand prefigured the events to come. For the stone is not an isolated\nexistence, it is an inter-organic member of a system. Change the\nslightest fact in the world, and in some way it is affected. The law\nof the universe is one of completed reciprocity, and this law must be\nmirrored in every existence of the universe. Increase the activity, the\nrepresentative power, until it becomes turned back, as it were, upon\nitself, until the monad not only is a mirror, but knows itself as one,\nand you have man. The soul of man is the world come to consciousness\nof itself. The realm of monads in what we call the inorganic world\nand the lower organic realm shows us the monad let and hindered in\nits development. These realms attempt to speak forth the law of their\nbeing, and reveal the immanent presence of the universe; but they do\nnot hear their own voice, their utterance is only for others. In man\nthe universe is manifested, and is manifested to man himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nLOCKE AND LEIBNIZ.--INNATE IDEAS.\n\n\nThe reader, impatient of what may have seemed an over-long\nintroduction, has perhaps been asking when he was to be brought to the\nsubject under consideration,--the relations of Leibniz to Locke. But\nit has been impossible to come to this question until we had formed for\nourselves an outline of the philosophical position of Leibniz. Nowhere\nin the \"Nouveaux Essais\" does Leibniz give a connected and detailed\nexposition of his philosophy, either as to his standpoint, his\nfundamental principles, or his method.\n\nSome preliminary view of his position is therefore a necessity. The\ndemand for this preliminary exposition becomes more urgent as we\nrecognize that Leibniz's remarks upon Locke are not a critique of Locke\nfrom the standpoint of the latter, but are the application of his own\nphilosophical conclusions. Criticism from within, an examination of\na system of thought with relation to the consistency and coherency\nof its results, the connection between these results and the method\nprofessedly employed, investigation which depends not at all upon the\nposition of the critic, but occupies itself with the internal relations\nof the system under discussion,--such criticism is a product of the\npresent century. What we find in the \"Nouveaux Essais\" is a comparison\nof the ideas of Locke with those of Leibniz himself, a testing of the\nformer by the latter as a standard, their acceptance when they conform,\ntheir rejection when they are opposed, their completion when they are\nin partial harmony.\n\nThe value of this sort of criticism is likely to be small and\nevanescent. If the system used as a standard is meagre and narrow,\nif it is without comprehensiveness and flexibility, it does not repay\nafter-examination. The fact that the \"Nouveaux Essais\" of Leibniz\nhave escaped the oblivion of the philosophical criticism of his day is\nproof, if proof still be needed, of the reasoned basis, the width of\ngrasp, the fertility of suggestion which characterize the thought of\nLeibniz. But the fact that the criticism is, after all, external and\nnot internal has made necessary the foregoing extended account of his\nmethod and general results.\n\nOn the other hand, what of Locke? How about him who is the recipient\nof the criticism? I assume that no extended account of his ideas\nis here necessary, and conceive myself to be justified in this\nassumption by the fact that we are already better acquainted with\nLocke. This acquaintance, indeed, is not confined to those who have\nexpressly studied Locke. His thought is an inheritance into which\nevery English-speaking person at least is born. Only he who does not\nthink escapes this inheritance. Locke did the work which he had to do\nso thoroughly that every Englishman who will philosophize must either\nbuild upon Locke's foundations, or, with conscious purpose, clear the\nground before building for himself. And it would be difficult to say\nthat the acceptance of Locke's views would influence one's thought\nmore than their rejection. This must not, of course, be taken too\nliterally. It may be that one who is a lineal descendant of Locke in\nthe spiritual generations of thought would not state a single important\ntruth as Locke stated it, or that those who seek their method and\nresults elsewhere have not repudiated the thought of Locke as expressly\nbelonging to him.\n\nBut the fundamental principles of empiricism: its conception of\nintelligence as an individual possession; its idea of reality as\nsomething over against and distinct from mind; its explanation of\nknowledge as a process of action and reaction between these separate\nthings; its account of our inability to know things as they really\nare,--these principles are congenital with our thinking. They are so\nnatural that we either accept them as axiomatic, and accuse those who\nreject them of metaphysical subtlety, or, staggered perchance by some\nof their results, give them up with an effort. But it is an effort, and\na severe one; and there is none of us who can tell when some remnant\nof the conception of intelligence as purely particular and finite\nwill catch him tripping. On the other hand, we realize much better\nthan those who have behind them a Leibniz and a Kant, rather than a\nLocke and a Hume, the meaning and the thorough-going necessity of the\nuniversality of intelligence. Idealism must be in some ways arbitrary\nand superficial to him who has not had a pretty complete course of\nempiricism.\n\nLeibniz seems to have been impressed with the Essay on the Human\nUnderstanding at its first appearance. As early as 1696 we find\nhim writing a few pages of comment upon the book. Compared with his\nlater critique, these early \"reflections\" seem colorless, and give the\nimpression that Leibniz desired to minimize his differences from Locke\nrather than to set them forth in relief. Comparatively slight as were\nhis expressions of dissent, they appear to have stung Locke when they\nreached him. Meantime Locke's book was translated into French, and made\nits way to a wider circle of readers. This seems to have suggested to\nLeibniz the advisability of pursuing his comments somewhat further;\nand in the summer of 1703 he produced the work which now occupies us. A\nletter which Leibniz wrote at about this time is worth quoting at large\nfor the light which it throws upon the man, as well as for suggesting\nthe chief points in which he differed from Locke. Leibniz writes:--\n\n\"I have forgotten to tell you that my comments upon the work of Locke\nare nearly done. As he has spoken in a chapter of his second book about\nfreedom, he has given me an opportunity to discuss that; and I hope\nthat I may have done it in such a way as will please you. Above all,\nI have laid it upon myself to save the immateriality of the soul, which\nLocke leaves doubtful. I justify also the existence of innate ideas,\nand show that the soul produces their perception out of itself. Axioms,\ntoo, I approve, while Locke has a low opinion of them. In contradiction\nto him, I show that the individuality of man, through which he\npreserves his identity, consists in the duration of the simple or\nimmaterial substance which animates him; that the soul is never without\nrepresentations; that there is neither a vacuum nor atoms; that matter,\nor the passive principle, cannot be conscious, excepting as God unites\nwith it a conscious substance. We disagree, indeed, in numerous other\npoints, for I find that he rates too low the noble philosophy of the\nPlatonic school (as Descartes did in part), and substitutes opinions\nwhich degrade us, and which may become hurtful to morals, though I am\npersuaded that Locke's intention was thoroughly good. I have made these\ncomments in leisure hours, when I have been journeying or visiting, and\ncould not occupy myself with investigations requiring great pains. The\nwork has continued to grow under my hands, for in almost every chapter,\nand to a greater extent than I had thought possible, I have found\nmatter for remark. You will be astonished when I tell you that I have\nworked upon this as upon something which requires no great pains. But\nthe fact is, that I long ago established the general principles of\nphilosophic subjects in my mind in a demonstrative way, or pretty\nnearly so, and that they do not require much new consideration from\nme.\"\n\nLeibniz goes on to add that he has put these reflections in the form of\na dialogue that they may be more attractive; has written them in the\npopular language, rather than in Latin, that they may reach as wide a\ncircle as the work of Locke; and that he hopes to publish them soon,\nas Locke is already an old man, and he wishes to get them before the\npublic while Locke may still reply.\n\nBut unfortunately this last hope was destined to remain\nunrealized. Before the work of revision was accomplished, Locke\ndied. Leibniz, in a letter written in 1714, alludes to his controversy\nwith Locke as follows: \"I do not like the thought of publishing\nrefutations of authors who are dead. These should appear during their\nlife, and be communicated to them.\" Then, referring to his earlier\ncomments, he says: \"A few remarks escaped me, I hardly know how, and\nwere taken to England. Mr. Locke, having seen them, spoke of them\nslightingly in a letter to Molineux. I am not astonished at it. We\nwere somewhat too far apart in principle, and that which I suggested\nseemed paradoxical to him.\" Leibniz, according to his conviction here\nexpressed, never published his \"Nouveaux Essais sur l'Entendement\nHumain.\" Schaarschmidt remarks that another reason may have restrained\nhim, in that he did not wish to carry on too many controversies at once\nwith the English people. He had two on his hands then,--one with the\nNewtonians regarding the infinitesimal calculus; the other with Bishop\nClarke regarding the nature of God, of time and space, of freedom, and\ncognate subjects. However, in 1765, almost fifty years after the death\nof Leibniz, his critique upon Locke finally appeared.\n\nIt is somewhat significant that one whose tendency was conciliatory,\nwho was eminently what the Germans delight to call him, a \"mediator,\"\nattempting to unite the varied truths which he found scattered in\nopposed systems, should have had so much of his work called forth\nby controversy. Aside from the cases just mentioned, his other\nchief work, the Theodicy, is, in form, a reply to Bayle. Many of\nhis minor pieces are replies to criticism or are developments of\nhis own thought with critical reference to Descartes, Malebranche,\nand others. But Leibniz has a somewhat different attitude towards\nhis British and towards his Continental opponents. With the latter\nhe was always in sympathy, while they in turn gave whatever he\nuttered a respectful hearing. Their mutual critiques begin and end\nin compliments. But the Englishmen found the thought of Leibniz\n\"paradoxical\" and forced. It seemed to them wildly speculative,\nand indeed arbitrary guess-work, without any special reason for its\nproduction, and wholly unverifiable in its results. Such has been the\nfate of much of the best German thought since that time in the land of\nthe descendants of Newton and Locke. But Leibniz, on the other hand,\nfelt as if he were dealing, in philosophical matters at least, with\nfoemen hardly worthy of his steel. Locke, he says, had subtlety and\naddress, and a sort of _superficial_ metaphysics; but he was ignorant\nof the method of mathematics,--that is to say, from the standpoint of\nLeibniz, of the method of all science. We have already seen that he\nthought the examination of a work which had been the result of the\ncontinued labor of Locke was a matter for the leisure hours of his\ncourtly visits. Indeed, he would undoubtedly have felt about it what\nhe actually expressed regarding his controversy with Clarke,--that he\nengaged in it\n\n    \"Ludus et jocus, quia in philosophia\n    Omnia percepi atque animo mecum ante peregi.\"\n\nHe regarded the English as superficial and without grasp of principles,\nas they thought him over-deep and over-theoretical.\n\nFrom this knowledge of the external circumstances of the work of\nLeibniz and its relation to Locke, it is necessary that we turn to\nits internal content, to the thought of Leibniz as related to the\nideas of Locke. The Essay on the Human Understanding is, as the name\nimplies, an account of the nature of knowledge. Locke tells us that\nit originated in the fact that often, when he had been engaged in\ndiscussions with his friends, they found themselves landed in insoluble\ndifficulties. This occurred so frequently that it seemed probable that\nthey had been going at matters from the wrong side, and that before\nthey attempted to come to conclusions about questions they ought to\nexamine the capacity of intelligence, and see whether it is fitted to\ndeal with such questions. Locke, in a word, is another evidence of that\ntruth which lies at the basis of all forms of philosophical thought,\nhowever opposed they may be to one another,--the truth that knowledge\nand reality are so organic to each other that to come to any conclusion\nabout one, we must know something about the other. Reality equals\nobjects known or knowable, and knowledge equals reality dissolved in\nideas,--reality which has become translucent through its meaning.\n\nLocke's Essay is, then, an account of the origin, nature, extent, and\nlimitations of human knowledge. Such is its subject-matter. What is\nits method? Locke himself tells us that he uses the \"plain historical\nmethod.\" We do not have to resort to the forcing of language to learn\nthat this word \"historical\" contains the key to his work. Every page\nof the Essay is testimony to the fact that Locke always proceeds\nby inquiring into the way and circumstances by which knowledge of\nthe subject under consideration came into existence and into the\nconditions by which it was developed. Origin means with Locke, not\nlogical dependence, but temporal production; development means temporal\nsuccession. In the language of our day, Locke's Essay is an attempt to\nsettle ontological questions by a psychological method. And as we have\nbefore noticed, Leibniz meets him, not by inquiry into the pertinence\nof the method or into the validity of results so reached, but by the\nmore direct way of impugning his psychology, by substituting another\ntheory of the nature of mind and of the way in which it works.\n\nThe questions with which the discussion begins are as to the existence\nof innate ideas, and as to whether the soul always thinks,--questions\nwhich upon their face will lead the experienced reader of to-day to\nheave a sigh in memory of hours wasted in barren dispute, and which\nwill create a desire to turn elsewhere for matter more solid and\nmore nutritive. But in this case, under the form which the discussion\ntakes at the hands of Leibniz, the question which awaits answer under\nthe meagre and worn-out formula of \"innate ideas\" is the function of\nintelligence in experience.\n\nLocke denies, and denies with great vigor, the existence of innate\nideas. His motives in so doing are practical and theoretical. He\nsees almost every old idea, every hereditary prejudice, every vested\ninterest of thought, defended on the ground that it is an innate\nidea. Innate ideas were sacred, and everything which could find no\ndefence before reason was an innate idea. Under such circumstances\nhe takes as much interest in demolishing them as Bacon took in\nthe destruction of the \"eidols.\" But this is but a small portion\nof the object of Locke. He is a thorough-going empiricist; and the\ndoctrine of innate ideas appears to offer the greatest obstacle to the\nacceptance of the truth that all the furnishing of the intellect comes\nfrom experience. Locke's metaphors for the mind are that it is a blank\ntablet, an empty closet, an unwritten book. The \"innate idea\" is only a\nsentence written by experience, but which, deified by a certain school\nof philosophers, has come to be regarded as eternally imprinted upon\nthe soul.\n\nSuch, indeed, is Locke's understanding of the nature of innate\nideas. He conceives of them as \"characters _stamped_, as it were,\nupon the mind of man, which the soul has received in its first being\nand brings into the world with it;\" or they are \"constant _impressions_\nwhich the souls of men receive in their first beings.\" They are \"truths\n_imprinted_ upon the soul.\" Having this conception of what is meant by\n\"innate ideas,\" Locke sets himself with great vigor, and, it must be\nconfessed, with equal success, to their annihilation.\n\nHis argument is somewhat diffuse and scattered, but in substance it\nis as follows: Whatever is in the mind, the mind must be conscious\nof. \"To be in the mind and not to be perceived, is all one as to say\nthat anything is and is not in the mind.\" If there be anything in the\nmind which is innate, it must be present to the consciousness of all,\nand, it would seem, of all at all times, savages, infants, and idiots\nincluded. And as it requires little philosophical penetration to\nsee that savages do not ponder upon the principle that whatever is,\nis; that infants do not dwell in their cradle upon the thought of\ncontradiction, or idiots ruminate upon that of excluded middle,--it\nought to be evident that such truths cannot be innate. Indeed, we must\nadmit, with Locke, that probably few men ever come to the explicit\nconsciousness of such ideas, and that these few are such as direct\ntheir minds to the matter with some pains. Locke's argument may be\nsummed up in his words: If these are not notions naturally imprinted,\nhow can they be innate? And if they are notions naturally imprinted,\nhow can they be unknown?\n\nBut since it may be said that these truths are in the mind, but in such\na way that it is only when they are proposed that men assent to them,\nLocke goes on to clinch his argument. If this be true, it shows that\nthe ideas are not innate; for the same thing is true of a large number\nof scientific truths, those of mathematics and morals, as well as of\npurely sensible facts, as that red is not blue, sweet is not sour,\netc.,--truths and facts which no one calls innate. Or if it be said\nthat they are in the mind implicitly or potentially, Locke points\nout that this means either nothing at all, or else that the mind is\n_capable_ of knowing them. If this is what is meant by innate ideas,\nthen all ideas are innate; for certainly it cannot be denied that the\nmind is capable of knowing all that it ever does know, or, as Locke\ningenuously remarks, \"nobody ever denied that the mind was capable of\nknowing several truths.\"\n\nIt is evident that the force of Locke's contention against innate\nideas rests upon a certain theory regarding the nature of innate ideas\nand of the relations of consciousness to intelligence. Besides this,\nthere runs through his whole polemic the assertion that, after all,\ninnate ideas are useless, as experience, in the sense of impressions\nreceived from without, and the formal action of intelligence upon\nthem, is adequate to doing all they are supposed to do. It is hardly\ntoo much to say that the nerve of Locke's argument is rather in this\npositive assertion than in the negations which he brings against\nthis existence. Leibniz takes issue with him on each of these three\npoints. He has another conception of the very nature of innate ideas;\nhe denies Locke's opinions about consciousness; he brings forward\nan opposed theory upon the relation of experience to reason. This\nlast point we shall take up in a chapter by itself, as its importance\nextends far beyond the mere question as to the existence of ideas which\nmay properly be called innate. The other two questions, as to the real\ncharacter of innate ideas and the relation of an idea to consciousness,\nafford material to occupy us for the present.\n\nThe metaphor which Locke constantly uses is the clew to his conception\nof innate ideas. They are characters stamped or imprinted upon the\nmind, they exist _in_ the mind. The mind would be just what it is,\neven if they had no existence. It would not have quite so much \"in\"\nit, but its own nature would not be changed. Innate ideas he conceives\nas bearing a purely external relation to mind. They are not organic\nto it, nor necessary instruments through which it expresses itself;\nthey are mechanically impressed upon it. But what the \"intellectual\"\nschool had meant by innate ideas was precisely that the relation of\nideas to intelligence is _not_ that of passive holding or containing\non the side of mind, and of impressions or stamps on the side of the\nideas. Locke reads the fundamental category of empiricism--mechanical\nrelation, or external action--into the nature of innate ideas, and\nhence easily infers their absurdity. But the object of the upholders\nof innate ideas had been precisely to deny that this category was\napplicable to the whole of intelligence. By an innate idea they meant\nan assertion of the dynamic relation of intelligence and some of its\nideas. They meant to assert that intelligence has a structure, which\nnecessarily functions in certain ways. While Locke's highest conception\nof an innate idea was that it must be something ready made, dwelling\nin the mind prior to experience, Leibniz everywhere asserts that it\nis a connection and relation which forms the logical prius and the\npsychological basis of experience. He finds no difficulty in admitting\nall there is of positive truth in Locke's doctrine; namely, that we are\nnot conscious of these innate ideas until a period later than that in\nwhich we are conscious of sensible facts, or, in many cases, are not\nconscious of them at all. This priority in time of sensible experience\nto rational knowledge, however, can become a reason for denying the\n\"innate\" character of the latter only when we suppose that they are two\nentirely different orders of fact, one knowledge due to experience,\nthe other knowledge already formed and existing in the mind prior to\n\"experience.\"\n\nLeibniz's conception of the matter is brought out when he says that it\nis indeed true that we begin with particular experiences rather than\nwith general principles, but that the order of nature is the reverse,\nfor the ground, the basis of the particular truths is in the general;\nthe former being in reality only instances of the latter. General\nprinciples, he says, enter into _all_ our thoughts, and form their\nsoul and interconnection. They are as necessary for thought as muscles\nand tendons are for walking, although we may not be conscious of their\nexistence. This side of the teaching of Leibniz consists, accordingly,\nin the assertion that \"innate\" knowledge and knowledge derived from\nexperience are not two kinds of knowledge, but rather two ways of\nconsidering it. If we consider it as it comes to us, piecemeal and\nfragmentary, a succession of particular instances, to be gathered up at\na future time into general principles, and stated in a rational form,\nit is seen as empirical. But, after all, this is only a superficial\nand external way of looking at it. If we examine into it we shall see\nthat there are contained in these transitory and particular experiences\ncertain truths more general and fundamental, which condition them, and\nat the same time constitute their meaning.\n\nIf we inquire into the propriety of calling these truths \"innate,\"\nwe find it is because they are native to intelligence, and are not\nacquisitions which it makes. Indeed, it may be said that they _are_\nintelligence, so close and organic is their relation, just as the\nmuscles, the tendons, the skeleton, are the body. Thus it is that\nLeibniz accepts the statement, _Nihil est in intellectu quod non\nfuerit in sensu_, with the addition of the statement _nisi ipse\nintellectus_. The doctrine of the existence of innate ideas is thus\nshown to mean that intelligence exists with a real content which counts\nfor something in the realm of experience. If we take intelligence\nand examine into its structure and ascertain its modes of expression,\nwe find organically inherent in its activity certain conceptions like\nunity, power, substance, identity, etc., and these we call \"innate.\" An\nidea, in short, is no longer conceived as something existing in the\nmind or in consciousness; it is an activity of intelligence. An innate\nidea is a necessary activity of intelligence; that is, such an activity\nas enters into the framework of all experience.\n\nLeibniz thus succeeds in avoiding two errors into which philosophers\nwhose general aims are much like his have fallen. One is dividing _a\npriori_ and _a posteriori_ truths from each other by a hard and fixed\nline, so that we are conceived to have some knowledge which comes\nwholly from experience, while there is another which comes wholly\nfrom reason. According to Leibniz, there is no thought so abstract\nthat it does not have its connection with a sensible experience,\nor rather its embodiment in it. And, on the other hand, there is no\nexperience so thoroughly sensuous that it does not bear in itself\ntraces of its origin in reason. \"_All_ our thoughts come from the\ndepths of the soul,\" says Leibniz; there are none that \"come\" to us\nfrom without. The other error is the interpretation of the existence\nof innate ideas or \"intuitions\" (as this school generally calls them)\nin a purely formal sense. They are thus considered as truths contained\nin and somehow expressed by intelligence, but yet not so connected with\nit that in knowing them we necessarily know intelligence itself. They\nare considered rather as arbitrary determinations of truths by a power\nwhose own nature is conceivably foreign to truth, than as so many\nspecial developments of an activity which may indifferently be called\n\"intelligence\" or \"truth.\" Leibniz, however, never fails to state that\nan innate truth is, after all, but one form or aspect of the activity\nof the mind in knowing.\n\nIn this way, by bringing to light a deeper and richer conception of\nwhat in reality constitutes an innate idea, Leibniz answers Locke. His\nreply is indirect; it consists rather in throwing a flood of new\nlight upon the matter discussed, than in a ponderous response and\ncounter-attack. But when Leibniz touches upon the conception of a\n_tabula rasa_, of a mind which in itself is a mere blank, but has\nthe capacity for knowing, he assumes the offensive. The idea of a\nbare capacity, a formal faculty, of power which does not already\ninvolve some actual content within itself, he repudiates as a relic\nof scholasticism. What is the soul, which has nothing until it gets\nit from without? The doctrine of a vacuum, an emptiness which is real,\nis always absurd; and it is doubly so when to this vacuum is ascribed\npowers of feeling and thinking, as Locke does. Accepting for the\nmoment the metaphor of a _tabula rasa_, Leibniz asks where we shall\nfind a tablet which yet does not have some quality, and which is not\na co-operating cause, at least, in whatever effects are produced upon\nit? The notion of a soul without thought, an empty tablet of the soul,\nhe says, is one of a thousand fictions of philosophers. He compares\nit with the idea of \"space empty of matter, absolute uniformity\nor homogeneity, perfect spheres of the second element produced by\nprimordial perfect cubes, abstractions pure and simple, to which our\nignorance and inattention give birth, but of which reality does not\nadmit.\" If Locke admits then (as he does) certain capacities inherent\nin the soul, he cannot mean the scholastic fiction of bare capacity\nor mere possibility; he must mean \"real possibilities,\"--that is,\ncapacities accompanied with some actual tendency, an inclination, a\ndisposition, an aptitude, a preformation which determines our soul in a\ncertain direction, and which makes it necessary that the possibility\nbecomes actual. And this tendency, this actual inclination of\nintelligence in one way rather than another, so that it is not a matter\nof indifference to intelligence what it produces, is precisely what\nconstitutes an innate idea. So Leibniz feels certain that at bottom\nLocke must agree with him in this matter if the latter is really in\nearnest in rejecting the \"faculties\" of the scholastics and in wishing\nfor a real explanation of knowledge.\n\nBut the argument of Locke rests upon yet another basis. He founds\nhis denial of innate ideas not only upon a static conception of their\nready made existence \"in\" the soul, but also upon an equally mechanical\nconception of consciousness. \"Nothing can be in the mind which is not\nin consciousness.\" This statement appears axiomatic to Locke, and by\nit he would settle the whole discussion. Regarding it, Leibniz remarks\nthat if Locke has such a prejudice as this, it is not surprising that\nhe rejects innate ideas. But consciousness and mental activity are not\nthus identical. To go no farther, the mere empirical fact of memory is\nsufficient to show the falsity of such an idea. Memory reveals that\nwe have an indefinite amount of knowledge of which we are not always\nconscious. Rather than that knowledge and consciousness are one, it\nis true that actual consciousness only lays hold of an infinitesimal\nfraction of knowledge. But Leibniz does not rely upon the fact of\nmemory alone. We must constantly keep in mind that to Leibniz the\nsoul is not a form of being wholly separate from nature, but is the\nculmination of the system of reality. The reality is everywhere\nthe monad, and the soul is the monad with the power of feeling,\nremembering, and connecting its ideas. The activities of the monad,\nthose representative changes which sum up and symbolize the universe,\ndo not cease when we reach the soul. They are continued. If the soul\nhas the power of attention, they are potentially conscious. Such as\nthe soul actually attends to, thus giving them relief and making them\ndistinct, are actually conscious. But all of them exist.\n\nThus it is that Leibniz not only denies the equivalence of soul and\nconsciousness, but asserts that the fundamental error of the psychology\nof the Cartesians (and here, at least, Locke is a Cartesian) is in\nidentifying them. He asserts that \"unconscious ideas\" are of as great\nimportance in psychology as molecules are in physics. They are the link\nbetween unconscious nature and the conscious soul. Nothing happens all\nat once; nature never makes jumps; these facts stated in the law of\ncontinuity necessitate the existence of activities, which may be called\nideas, since they belong to the soul and yet are not in consciousness.\n\nWhen, therefore, Locke asks how an innate idea can exist and the soul\nnot be conscious of it, the answer is at hand. The \"innate idea\"\nexists as an activity of the soul by which it represents--that is,\nexpresses--some relation of the universe, although we have not yet\nbecome conscious of what is contained or enveloped in this activity. To\nbecome conscious of the innate idea is to lift it from the sphere of\nnature to the conscious life of spirit. And thus it is, again, that\nLeibniz can assert that all ideas whatever proceed from the depths of\nthe soul. It is because it is the very being of the soul as a monad\nto reflect \"from its point of view\" the world. In this way Leibniz\nbrings the discussion regarding innate ideas out of the plane of\nexamination into a matter of psychological fact into a consideration\nof the essential nature of spirit. An innate idea is now seen to be\none of the relations by which the soul reproduces some relation which\nconstitutes the universe of reality, and at the same time realizes its\nown individual nature. It is one reflection from that spiritual mirror,\nthe soul. With this enlarged and transformed conception of an idea apt\nto be so meagre we may well leave the discussion. There has been one\nmind at least to which the phrase \"innate ideas\" meant something worth\ncontending for, because it meant something real.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nSENSATION AND EXPERIENCE.\n\n\nA careful study of the various theories which have been held\nconcerning sensation would be of as much interest and importance as\nan investigation of any one point in the range of philosophy. In the\ntheory of a philosopher about sensation we have the reflex of his\nfundamental category and the clew to his further doctrine. Sensation\nstands on the border-line between the world of nature and the realm of\nsoul; and every advance in science, every development of philosophy,\nleaves its impress in a change in the theory of sensation. Apparently\none of the simplest and most superficial of questions, in reality\nit is one of the most difficult and far-reaching. At first sight it\nseems as if it were a sufficient account of sensation to say that\nan object affects the organ of sense, and thus impresses upon the\nmind the quality which it possesses. But this simple statement\narouses a throng of further questions: How is it possible that\none substance,--matter,--should affect another,--mind? How can a\ncausal relation exist between them? Is the mind passive or active\nin this impression? How can an object convey unchanged to the mind\na quality which it possesses? Or is the sensational _quale_ itself\na product of the mind's activity? If so, what is the nature of the\nobject which excites the sensation? As known, it is only a collection\nof sensuous qualities; if these are purely mental, what becomes of\nthe object? And if there is no object really there, what is it that\nexcites the sensation? Such questionings might be continued almost\nindefinitely; but those given are enough to show that an examination\nof the nature and origin of sensation introduces us to the problems\nof the relation of intelligence and the world; to the problem of\nthe ultimate constitution of an object which is set over against a\nsubject and which affects it; and to the problem of the nature of mind,\nwhich as thus affected from without must be limited in its nature,\nbut which as bearer of the whole known universe must be in some sense\ninfinite. If we consider, not the mode of production of sensation,\nbut its relation to knowledge, we find philosophical schools divided\ninto two,--Sensationalists, and Rationalists. If we inquire into its\nfunctions, we find that the empiricist sees in it convincing evidence\nof the fact that all knowledge originates from a source _extra mentem_;\nthat the intellectual idealist finds in it evidence of the gradual\ntransition of nature into spirit; that the ethical idealist, like Kant\nand Fichte, sees in it the material of the phenomenal world, which is\nnecessary in its opposition to the rational sphere in order that there\nmay occur that conflict of pure law and sensuous impulse which alone\nmakes morality possible. We thus realize that as we look at the various\naspects of sensation, we are taken into the discussion of ontology, of\nthe theory of knowledge and of ethics.\n\nLocke virtually recognizes the extreme importance of the doctrine of\nsensation, and his second book might almost be entitled \"Concerning the\nNature and Products of Sensation.\" On the other hand, one of the most\ncharacteristic and valuable portions of the reply of Leibniz is in his\ndevelopment of a theory of sensation which is thoroughly new, except as\nwe seek for its germs in its thoughts of Plato and Aristotle. According\nto Locke, knowledge originates from two sources,--sensation and\nreflection. Sensations are \"the impressions made on our senses by\noutward objects that are extrinsic to the mind.\" When the mind \"comes\nto reflect on its own operations about the ideas got by sensation,\nand thereby stores itself with a new set of ideas,\" it gets ideas of\nreflection.\n\nIf we leave out of account for the present the ideas of reflection,\nwe find that the ideas which come through sensation have two main\ncharacteristics. First, in having sensations, the mind is passive;\nits part is purely receptive. The objects impress themselves upon\nthe mind, they obtrude into consciousness, whether the mind will or\nnot. There is a purely external relation existing between sensation\nand the understanding. The ideas are offered to the mind, and the\nunderstanding cannot refuse to have them, cannot change them, blot\nthem out, nor create them, any more than a mirror can refuse, alter,\nor obliterate the images which objects produce in it. Sensation,\nin short, is a purely passive having of ideas. Secondly, every\nsensation is simple. Locke would say of sensations what Hume said of\nall ideas,--every distinct sensation is a separate existence. Every\nsensation is \"uncompounded, containing nothing but one uniform\nappearance, not being distinguishable into different ideas.\" Knowledge\nis henceforth a process of compounding, of repeating, comparing, and\nuniting sensation. Man's understanding \"reaches no further than to\ncompound and divide the materials that are made to his hand.\"\n\nIt hardly need be said that Locke has great difficulty in keeping up\nthis thoroughly atomic theory of mind. It is a theory which makes all\nrelations external; they are, as Locke afterwards says, \"superinduced\"\nupon the facts. It makes it impossible to account for any appearance\nof unity and connection among ideas, and Locke quietly, and without\nany consciousness of the contradiction involved, introduces certain\ninherent relations into the structure of the ideas when he comes to his\nconstructive work. \"Existence and unity are two ideas,\" he says, \"that\nare suggested to the understanding by every object without, and every\nidea within.\"\n\nAt other places he introduces the idea of quality of a substance,\neffect of a cause, continued permanence or identity into a sensation,\nas necessary constituents of it; thus making a sensation a unity of\ncomplex elements instead of an isolated bare notion. How far he could\nhave got on in his account of knowledge without this surreptitious\nqualifying of a professedly simple existence, may be seen by asking\nwhat would be the nature of a sensation which did not possess existence\nand unity, and which was not conceived as the quality of a thing or as\nthe effect of an external reality.\n\nThis digression has been introduced at this point because the next\ncharacter of a sensation which Locke discusses is its objective\ncharacter,--its relation to the object which produces it. To\ndiscourse of our ideas intelligibly, he says, it will be convenient\nto distinguish them as they are ideas in our minds and as they are\nmodifications of matter in the bodies that cause them. In other\nwords, he gives up all thought of considering ideas as simply mental\nmodifications, and finds it necessary to take them in their relations\nto objects.\n\nTaking them in this way, he finds that they are to be divided into\ntwo classes, of which one contains those ideas that are copies and\nresemblances of qualities in the objects, ideas \"which are really in\nthe object, whether we take notice of them or no,\"--in which case we\nhave an idea of the thing as it is in itself; while the other class\ncontains those which are in no way resemblances of the objects which\nproduce them, \"having no more similitude than the idea of pain and of a\nsword.\" The former are primary qualities, and are solidity, extension,\nfigure, motion or rest, and number; while the secondary qualities\nare colors, smells, and tastes. The former ideas are produced by\nimpulse of the bodies themselves, which simply effect a transference\nof their qualities over into the mind; while the secondary qualities\nare arbitrarily annexed by the power of God to the objects which excite\nthem.\n\nIt will be noticed that there are two elements which make the sensation\nof Locke what it is. With reference to its _production_, it is the\neffect which one substance, matter, has upon another substance,\nmind, which is unlike it in nature, and between which whatever\nrelations exist, are thoroughly incomprehensible, so that, indeed,\ntheir connections with each other can be understood only by recourse\nto a _tertium quid_, an omnipotent power which can arbitrarily produce\nsuch collocations as please it. With reference to its _function_, it\nis the isolated and \"simple\" (that is, non-relational) element out\nof which all actual forms of knowledge are made by composition and\nre-arrangement.\n\nLeibniz, without entering into explicit criticism of just these two\npoints, develops his own theory with reference to them. To Leibniz,\nreality constitutes a system; that is, it is of such a nature that\nits various portions have an essential and not merely external\nrelation to one another. Sensation is of course no exception. It is\nnot a mere accident, nor yet a supernatural yoking of things naturally\nopposed. It has a meaning in that connection of things which constitute\nthe universe. It contributes to the significance of the world. It\nis one way in which those activities which make the real express\nthemselves. It has its place or reason in the totality of things, and\nthis whether we consider its origin or its position with regard to\nknowledge. In a word, while the characteristic of Locke's theory is\nthat he conceives sensation as in external relation both to reality,\nas mechanically produced by it, and to knowledge, as being merely\none of the atomic elements which may enter into a compound, Leibniz\nregards reality as organic to sensation, and this in turn as organic\nto knowledge. We have here simply an illustration of the statement\nwith which we set out; namely, that the treatment of sensation always\nreflects the fundamental philosophical category of the philosopher.\n\nAll reality exists in the form of monads; monads are simple substances\nwhose nature is action; this action consists in representing, according\nto a certain law of succession, the universe. Various monads have\nvarious degrees of activity; that is, of the power of reflecting\nthe world. So much of Leibniz's general philosophical attitude it is\nnecessary to recall, to understand what he means by \"sensation.\" The\ngeneric name which is applied to this mirroring activity of the monads\nis \"perception,\" which, as Leibniz often says, is to be carefully\ndistinguished from apperception, which is the representation become\nconscious. Perception may be defined, therefore, as the inclusion of\nthe many or multiform (the world of objects) in a unity (the simple\nsubstance). It was the great defect of previous philosophy that it\n\"considered only spirits or self-conscious beings as souls,\" and\nhad consequently recognized only conscious perceptions. It had been\nobliged, therefore, to make an impassable gulf between mind and matter,\nand sensations were thus rendered inexplicable. But Leibniz finds his\nfunction as a philosopher in showing that these problems, which seem\ninsoluble, arise when we insist upon erecting into actual separations\nor differences of kind what really are only stages of development\nor differences of degree. A sensation is not an effect which one\nsubstance impresses upon another because God pleased that it should, or\nbecause of an incomprehensible incident in the original constitution of\nthings. It is a higher development of that representative power which\nbelongs to every real being.\n\nCertain monads reach a state of development, or manifestation of\nactivity, which is characterized by the possession of distinct\norgans. Such monads may be called, in a pre-eminent sense, \"souls,\"\nand include all the higher animals as well as man. This possession of\ndifferentiated organs finds its analogue in the internal condition of\nthe monad. What appears externally as an organ of sense appears ideally\nas a conscious representative state which we call \"sensation.\" \"When,\"\nLeibniz says, \"the monad has its organs so developed that there\nis relief and differentiation in the impressions received, and\nconsequently in the perceptions which represent them, we have feeling\nor sensation; that is, a perception accompanied by memory,\" to which\nat other times he adds \"attention.\" Life, he says, \"is a perceptive\nprinciple; the soul is sensitive life; mind is rational soul.\" And\nagain he says in substance that when the soul begins to have interests,\nand to regard one representation as of more value than others, it\nintroduces relief into its perceptions, and those which stand out are\ncalled \"sensations.\"\n\nThis origin of sensations as higher developments of the representative\nactivities of a monad conditions their relation to further processes\nof knowledge. The sensations are confused knowledge; they are ideas\nin their primitive and most undifferentiated form. They constitute,\nas Leibniz somewhere says, the vertigo of the conscious life. In every\nsentient organism multitudes of sensations are constantly thronging in\nand overpowering its distinct consciousness. The soul is so flooded\nwith ideas of everything in the world which has any relation to\nits body that it has distinct ideas of nothing. Higher knowledge,\nthen, does not consist in compounding these sensations; that would\nliterally make confusion worse confounded. It consists in introducing\ndistinctness into the previously confused sensations,--in finding out\nwhat they mean; that is, in finding out their bearings, what they point\nto, and how they are related. Knowledge is not an external process\nperformed upon the sensations, it is the development of their internal\ncontent.\n\nIt follows, therefore, that sensation is organic to all forms of\nknowledge whatever. The monad, which is pure activity, that which\nculminates the scale of reality, has no confused ideas, and to it\nall knowledge is eternally rational, having no sensible traces about\nit. But every other monad, having its activity limited, has ideas\nwhich come to it at first in a confused way, and which its activity\nafterwards differentiates. Thus it is that Leibniz can agree so\nheartily with the motto of the Sensationalist school,--that there is\nnothing in the intellect which was not first in the sensory. But\nLeibniz uses this phrase as Aristotle would have done, having\nin mind the distinction between potentiality and actuality. _In\nposse_, sensation is all knowledge; but only _in posse_. And he, like\nAristotle, interprets the relation between potentiality and actuality\nas one of a difference of activity. The potential is that which\nbecomes real through a dynamic process. The actual is capacity plus\naction. Sensation, in short, is spiritual activity in an undeveloped\nand hence partial and limited condition. It is not, as Locke would have\nit, the real factor in all knowledge.\n\nThe marks of sensation which Locke lays down,--their passivity, their\nsimplicity, their position as the real element in knowledge,--Leibniz\neither denies, therefore, or accepts in a sense different from that of\nLocke. Strictly speaking, sensation is an activity of the mind. There\nare no windows through which the soul receives impressions. Pure\npassivity of any kind is a myth, a scholastic fiction. Sensation is\ndeveloped from the soul within; it is the activity of reality made\nmanifest to itself. It is a higher kind of action than anything we find\nin minerals or in plants. If we look at sensation ideally, however,\nthat is, according to the position which it holds in the system\nof knowledge, it is properly regarded as passive. It represents the\nlimitation, the unrealized (that is, the non-active) side of spiritual\nlife.\n\n\"Efficient causality\" is a term which has its rightful and legitimate\nuse in physical science. Simply from the scientific point of view\nwe are correct in speaking of objects as affecting the body, and the\nbody, through its nervous system, as affecting the soul and producing\nsensations. But philosophy does not merely use categories, it explains\nthem. And Leibniz contends that to explain the category of causality\nin a mechanical sense, to understand by it physical influence actually\ntransferred from one thing to another, is to make the idea inexplicable\nand irrational. The true meaning of causality is ideal. It signifies\nthe relative positions which the objects concerned have in the\nharmonious system of reality. The body that is higher in the scale\nimpresses the other; that is to say, it dominates it or gives its\nlaw. There is no energy or quality which passes physically from one\nto the other. But one monad, as higher in the stage of development\nthan another, makes an ideal demand upon that one. It places before\nthe other its own more real condition. The less-developed monad, since\nits whole activity consists in representing the universe of reality,\nanswers to this demand by developing the corresponding quality in\nitself. The category of harmonious or co-operative action is thus\nsubstituted for that of external and mechanical influence. Physical\ncausality when given a philosophic interpretation means organic\ndevelopment. The reality of a higher stage is the more active: the\nmore active has a greater content in that it mirrors the universe more\nfully; it manifests accordingly more of the law of the universe, and\nhence has an ideal domination over that which is lower in the scale. It\nis actually (that is, in activity) what the other is potentially. But\nas the entire existence of the latter is in representing or setting\nforth the relations which make the world, its activity is aroused to a\ncorresponding production. Hence the former is called \"cause,\" and the\nlatter \"effect.\"\n\nThis introduces us to the relation of soul and body, or, more generally\nstated, to the relation of mind and matter. It is the theory of\nco-operation, of harmonious activity, which Leibniz substitutes for\nthe theory which Descartes had formulated, according to which there\nare two opposed substances which can affect each other only through\nthe medium of a _deus ex machina_. Locke, on the other hand, took the\nCartesian principle for granted, and thus enveloped himself in all the\ndifficulties which surround the question of \"mind and matter.\" Locke\nwavers between two positions, one of which is that there are two\nunknown substances,--the soul and the object in itself,--which, coming\nin contact, produce sensations; while the other takes the hypothetical\nattitude that there may be but one substance,--matter,--and that\nGod, out of the plenitude of his omnipotence, has given matter a\ncapacity which does not naturally belong to it,--that of producing\nsensations. In either case, however, the final recourse is to the\narbitrary power of God. There is no natural--that is, intrinsic and\nexplicable--connection between the sensation and that which produces\nit. Sensation occupied the hard position which the mechanical school\nof to-day still allots it. It is that \"inexplicable,\" \"mysterious,\"\n\"unaccountable\" link between the domains of matter and mind of which no\nrational account can be given, but which is yet the source of all that\nwe know about matter, and the basis of all that is real in the mind!\n\nLeibniz, recognizing that reality is an organic whole,--not two parts\nwith a chasm between them,--says that \"God does not arbitrarily give\nsubstances whatever qualities may happen, or that he may arbitrarily\ndetermine, but only such as are natural; that is, such as are\nrelated to one another in an _explicable_ way as modifications of\nthe substance.\" Leibniz feels sure that to introduce the idea of the\ninexplicable, the purely supernatural, into the natural is to give up\nall the advantages which the modern mechanical theory had introduced,\nand to relapse into the meaningless features of scholasticism. If the\n\"supernatural\"--that is, the essentially inexplicable--is introduced\nin this one case, why should it not be in others; why should we not\nreturn outright to the \"fanatic philosophy which explains all facts by\nsimply attributing them to God immediately or by way of miracle, or to\nthe barbarian philosophy, which explains phenomena by manufacturing,\n_ad hoc_, occult qualities or faculties, seemingly like little\ndemons or spirits capable of performing, without ceremony, whatever\nis required,--as if watches marked time by their horodeictic power,\nwithout wheels, and mills ground grain, without grindstones, by their\nfractive power\"? In fact, says Leibniz, by introducing the inexplicable\ninto our _explanations_ \"we fall into something worse than occult\nqualities,--we give up philosophy and reason; we open asylums for\nignorance and laziness, holding not only that there are qualities which\nwe do not understand (there are, indeed, too many such), but qualities\nwhich the greatest intelligence, if God gave it all the insight\npossible, could not understand,--that is, such as are _in themselves_\nwithout rhyme or reason. And indeed it would be a thing without\nrhyme or reason that God should perform miracles in the ordinary\ncourse of nature.\" And regarding the whole matter of introducing the\ninconceivable and the inexplicable into science, he says that \"while\nthe conception of men is not the measure of God's power, their capacity\nof conception is the measure of _nature's_ power, since everything\noccurring in the natural order is capable of being understood by the\ncreated intelligence.\" Such being the thought of Leibniz regarding the\nvirtual attempt to introduce in his day the unknowable into philosophy,\nit is evident that he must reject, from the root up, all theories of\nsensation which, like Locke's, make it the product of the inexplicable\nintercourse of two substances.\n\nFor this doctrine, then, Leibniz substitutes that of an infinite number\nof substances, all of the same kind, all active, all developing from\nwithin, all conspiring to the same end, but of various stages of\nactivity, or bearing various relations of completeness to the one end.\n\nIndeed, one and the same monad has various degrees of activity in\nitself; that is, it represents more or less distinctly the universe\naccording to its point of view. Its point of view requires of it, of\ncourse, primarily, a representation of that which is about it. Thus\nan infinity of states arises, each corresponding to some one of the\nmultitude of objects surrounding the monad. The soul has no control,\nno mastery, over these states. It has to take them as they come; with\nregard to them, the soul appears passive. It appears so because it does\nnot as yet clearly distinguish them. It does not react upon them and\nbecome conscious of their meaning or thoroughly rational character. We\nshall afterwards see that \"matter\" is, with Leibniz, simply this\npassive or confused side of monads. It is the monad so far as it has\nnot brought to light the rational activity which is immanent in it. At\npresent we need only notice that the body is simply the part of matter\nor of passivity which limits the complete activity of any monad. So\nLeibniz says, \"in so far as the soul has perfection, it has distinct\nthoughts, and God has accommodated the body to the soul. So far as it\nis imperfect and its perceptions are confused, God has accommodated the\nsoul to the body in such a way that the soul lets itself be inclined by\nthe passions, which are born from corporeal representations. It is by\nits confused thoughts (sensations) that the soul represents the bodies\nabout it,\" just as, we may add, its distinct thoughts represent the\nmonads or souls about it, and, in the degree of their distinctness,\nGod, the monad which is _purus actus_.\n\nFollowing the matter into more detail, we may say that since God alone\nis pure energy, knowing no limitation, God alone is pure spirit. Every\nfinite soul is joined to an organic body. \"I do not admit,\" says\nLeibniz, \"that there are souls entirely separate from matter, nor\ncreated spirits detached from body.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. It is this body which\nthe monad represents most distinctly; but since this body expresses the\nentire universe by the connection of all matter throughout it, the soul\nrepresents the entire universe in representing the body which belongs\nto it most particularly.\" But according to the principle of continuity\nthere must be in the least apparent portion of matter still \"a universe\nof creatures, of souls, of entelechies. There is nothing sterile,\nnothing dead in the universe. It is evident from these considerations\nthat every living body has a dominant entelechy, which is the soul in\nthat body, but that the members of this living body are again full of\nother living beings and souls,\" which, however, since not of so high\na grade, that is, not representing the universe so fully, appear to be\nwholly material and subject to the \"dominant\" entelechy; namely, to the\none which gives the law to the others by expressing more adequately\nthe idea at which they only confusedly aim. Owing to the constant\nchange of activity, however, these particles do not remain in constant\nsubordination to the same entelechy (that is, do not form parts of the\nsame body), but pass on to higher or lower degrees of \"evolution,\"\nand have their places taken by others undergoing similar processes\nof change. Thus \"all bodies are in a perpetual flux, like rivers,\nwith parts continually leaving and entering in.\" Or, interpreting\nthis figurative language, each monad is continually, in its process\nof development, giving law to new and less developed monads, which\ntherefore appear as its body. The nature of matter in itself, and of\nits phenomenal manifestation in the body, are, however, subjects which\nfind no explanation here, and which will demand explanation in another\nchapter.\n\nWe may sum up Leibniz's theory of sensation by saying that it is a\nrepresentative state developed by the self-activity of the soul; that\nin itself it is a confused or \"involved\" grade of activity, and in\nits relation to the world represents the confused or passive aspects\nof existence; that this limitation of the monad constitutes matter,\nand in its necessary connection with the monad constitutes the body\nwhich is always joined to the finite soul; that to this body are joined\nin all cases an immense number of monads, whose action is subordinate\nto that of this dominant monad, and that it is the collection of these\nwhich constitute the visible animal body. Thus if we look at sensation\nwith regard to the monad which possesses it, it is a product of the\nbody of the monad; if we look at it with reference to other monads,\nit represents or reflects their passive or material side. This is\nevidently one aspect again of the pre-established harmony,--an aspect\nin which some of the narrower of Leibniz's critics have seen the whole\nmeaning of the doctrine exhausted. It is, however, simply one of the\nmany forms in which the harmony, the union of spiritual and mechanical,\nideal and material, meets us. In truth, while in other systems the fact\nof sensation is a fact demanding some artificial mode of reconciling\n\"mind\" and \"matter,\" or is else to be accepted as an inexplicable fact,\nin the system of Leibniz it is itself evidence that the spiritual\nand the mechanical are not two opposed kinds of existence, but are\norganically united. It is itself the manifestation of the harmony\nof the ideal and the material, not something which requires that\na factitious theory be invented for explaining their appearance of\nharmony. Sensation has within itself the ideal element, for it is the\nmanifestation, in its most undeveloped form, of the spiritual meaning\nof the universe. It has a mechanical element, for it expresses the\nlimitation, the passivity, of the monad.\n\nIt is from this standpoint that Leibniz criticises what Locke says\nabout the relation of sensations to the objects which produce\nthem. Leibniz holds that all our sensations have a definite and\nnatural connection with the qualities of objects,--the \"secondary\"\nas well as the \"primary.\" They all represent certain properties of the\nobject. Even the pain which the thrust of a needle gives us, while it\ndoes not resemble anything in the needle, does in some way represent\nor resemble motions going on in our body. This resemblance is not\nnecessarily one of exact form, but just as the ellipse, hyperbola,\nand parabola are projections of the circle in the sense that there\nis a natural and fixed law of connection between them, so that every\npoint of one corresponds by a certain relation with every point of the\nother, so the resemblance between the sensation and the quality of the\nobject is always in the form of a fixed law of order, which, however\nunknown to us it may now be, is capable of being found out. If we are\nto make any distinction between \"secondary\" and \"primary\" sensations,\nit should be not that one presents qualities that are in the objects,\nand the other affections which exist only in us, but that the primary\nsensations (of number, form, size, etc.) represent the qualities in\na distinct way, appealing to the rational activity of intelligence,\nwhile the secondary represent the qualities in a confused way, a way\nnot going beyond the effect upon the mind into relations, that is, into\ndistinct knowledge.\n\nThis brings regularly before us the question of the relation of\nsensations to knowledge. We have seen enough already to know that\nLeibniz does not believe that knowledge begins with the simple (that\nis, unrelated), and then proceeds by a process of compounding. The\nsensation is not simple to Leibniz, but thoroughly complex, involving\nconfusedly within itself all possible relations. As relations are\nbrought forth into distinct light out of this confusion, knowledge\nends rather than begins with the simple. And again it is evident that\nLeibniz cannot believe that knowledge begins and ends in experience,\nin the sense in which both himself and Locke use the word; namely, as\nmeaning the combination and succession of impressions.\n\n\"Experience,\" as they use the term, consists in sensations and their\nassociation,--\"consecution\" as Leibniz calls it. Experience is the\nstage of knowledge reached by animals, and in which the majority\nof men remain,--and indeed all men in the greater part of their\nknowledge. Leibniz takes just the same position regarding the larger\npart of our knowledge which Hume takes regarding it all. It consists\nsimply in associations of such a nature that when one part recurs\nthere is a tendency to expect the recurrence of the other member. It\nresembles reason, but it is based on the accidental experience of\nevents in a consecutive order, and not on knowledge of their causal\nconnection. We all expect the sun to rise to-morrow; but with all of\nus, excepting the astronomer, such expectation is purely \"empirical,\"\nbeing based on the images of past experiences which recur. The\nastronomer, however, sees into the grounds, that is, the reasons, of\nthe expectation, and hence his knowledge is rational.\n\nThus we have two grades of knowledge,--one empirical, consisting\nof knowledge of facts; the other rational, being of the truths\nof reason. The former is contingent and particular, the latter is\nnecessary and universal. Leibniz insists, with a pertinacity which\nreminds us of Kant, that \"experience\" can give instances or examples\nonly, and that the fact that anything has happened in a given way\nany number of times in the past, can give no assurance that it will\ncontinue to do so in the future. There is nothing in the nature\nof the case which renders its exact opposite impossible. But a\nrational truth is necessary, for its opposite is impossible, being\nirrational or meaningless. This may not always be evident in the\ncase of a complex rational truth; but if it be analyzed into simpler\nelements, as a geometrical proposition into definitions, axioms, and\npostulates, the absurdity of its opposite becomes evident. Sensation,\nin conclusion, is the having of confused ideas,--ideas corresponding\nto matter. Experience is the association of these confused ideas, and\ntheir association according to their accidental juxtaposition in the\nlife of the soul. It therefore is not only thoroughly sensible, but is\nalso phenomenal. Its content is sensations; its form is contingent and\nparticular consecution. Both form and content, accordingly, need to be\nreconstructed if they are to be worthy of the name of science or of\nknowledge. This is the position which Leibniz assumes as against the\nempiricist, Locke. The details of this reconstruction, its method and\nresult, we must leave till we come in the course of the argument again\nto the subject of knowledge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE IMPULSES AND THE WILL.\n\n\nLocke, after discussing the subject of innate ideas in their relation\nto knowledge, goes on to discuss their practical side, or connection\nwith will. We shall follow him in this as Leibniz does; but we shall\nconsider in connection with this, Leibniz's general theory of will,\nwhich is developed partially in this chapter, but more completely\nin his critical remarks upon what Locke has to say of the notion of\n\"power.\" Since the theory of morals is as closely connected with will\nas the theory of knowledge is with the intellect, we shall supplement\nthis discussion with what Leibniz says upon the ethical question,\ndrawing our material somewhat freely from his other writings.\n\nThe doctrine of will which Leibniz propounds is in closest harmony\nwith his conception of intelligence, and this not merely in the way\nof empirical juxtaposition, but as the result of his fundamental\nprinciples. If we recall what has been said concerning the monad,\nwe shall remember that it is an activity, but an activity with a\ncontent. It is a force, but a force which mirrors the universe. The\ncontent, that portion of reality which is reflected in the action,\nis knowledge, or the idea; the activity which brings this about is\nwill, or the volition. They are related to each other as form and\ncontent. There is, strictly speaking, no \"state\" of mind; there is\nonly a tension, a pushing forward of mind. There is no idea which\nis not a volition. Will is thus used, in a very broad sense, as\nequivalent to action. Since, however, the activity of the monad is\nin no case aimless, but has an end in view, the will is not _mere_\nactivity in general, it is action towards some definite end. And since\nthe end at which the monad aims is always the development of an idea,\nthe reflection of some constituent of the universe, the will is always\ndirected towards and determined by some idea of the intellect.\n\nWe have seen, however, that there are various stages in the reflecting\npower of the soul, or in the realization of intellect. Taking\nonly the broadest division, there are perception and apperception;\nthat is, there are the conscious and the unconscious mirroring of\nreality. We shall expect, then, to find two corresponding stages of\nvolition. Leibniz calls these stages \"appetition\" and \"volition\"\nin the narrower sense. The constant tendency in every monad to go\nfrom one perception to another,--that is, the following of the law\nof development,--constitutes appetition. If joined to feeling,\nit constitutes instinct. Since, again, there are two degrees of\napperception, one of empirical, the other of rational, consciousness,\nwe shall expect to find two grades of volition proper,--one\ncorresponding to action for conscious particular ends; the other\nfor ends which are proposed by reason, and are hence universal. In\nthis chapter we shall simply expand and illustrate these various\npropositions.\n\nSensations, looked at not as to what they represent, but in\nthemselves, are impulses. As such they constitute the lowest stage\nof will. Impulsive action then includes all such as occurs for an\nend which is unknown, or at best but dimly felt. Such action may be\ncalled blind, not in the sense that it is without reason, but in the\nsense that reason is not consciously present. We are not to think of\nthis instinctive action, however, as if it were found simply in the\nanimals. Much of human action is also impulsive; probably, indeed,\nan impulsive factor is contained in our most rational willing. We are\nnever able to take complete account of the agencies which are acting\nupon us. Along with the reasons of which we are conscious in choosing,\nthere are mingled faint memories of past experience, subconscious\nsolicitations of the present, dim expectations for the future. Such\nelements are decisive factors far more than we realize.\n\nIndeed, it is because of the extent to which such unconscious\ninfluences bear upon us and move us that there arises the idea\nof indifferent or unmotivated choice. Were both motive and choice\nunconscious, the question as to whether choice were antecedently\ndetermined would not arise; and were our motives and their results\nwholly in consciousness, the solution of the question would be\nevident. But when we are conscious of our choice, but are not conscious\nof our impulses and motives, we get the impression that our choice is\nunmotived, and hence come to believe in \"indifferent freedom,\"--the\nability to choose as we will.\n\nWe shall shortly take up in more detail the theory of Leibniz regarding\nthe freedom of will; and it is needful here to remark only that the\nconception which makes it consist in ability to choose without reason\nis in direct contradiction to his fundamental thought,--namely, that\nthere can be no activity which does not aim at some reflection of the\nuniverse, by which, therefore, it is determined. From the psychological\npoint of view, it is interesting also to notice how Leibniz's theory\nof unconscious ideas enables him to dispose of the strongest argument\nfor indifferent choice,--that drawn from the immediate \"testimony\"\nof consciousness.\n\nUpon the origin and nature of desires Leibniz has much more to say\nthan about the impulses. His account of the transition from impulse\nto desire is based upon the conception of unconscious ideas. Slight\nand imperceptible impulses are working upon us all the time. Indeed,\nthey are a necessity; for the actual state of a soul or monad at any\ntime is, of course, one of incompleteness. Our nature must always work\nto free itself from its hindrances and obtain its goal of complete\ndevelopment. But it will not do this unless there is some stimulus,\nsome solicitation to induce it to overcome its limitation. There is\nfound accordingly in our every condition a feeling of dissatisfaction,\nor, using Locke's word, of \"uneasiness;\" and it is this which\ncalls forth that activity which brings about a nearer approach to\nthe soul's real good. But Leibniz differs from Locke in saying that\nthis feeling of uneasiness is not a distinct, or even in most cases a\nconscious, one. It is not pain, although it differs from pain only in\ndegree. Uneasiness and pain are related to each other as appetite for\nfood is to hunger,--the first suffices to stimulate us to satisfaction,\nbut if the want is not met, results in actual pain; if met, these \"half\npains\" become tributary to pleasure itself. These unconscious stimuli\nto action result in actions which meet the want, and the aggregation of\nthese satisfactions results in pleasure. In Leibniz's own words:--\n\n\"If these elements of pain were themselves true pains, we should\nalways be in a state of misery, even in pursuing the good. But since\nthere is always going on a summation of minute successes in overcoming\nthese states of uneasiness, and these put us more and more at ease,\nthere comes about a decided pleasure, which often has greater value\neven than the enjoyment of the good. Far, then, from regarding this\nuneasiness as a thing incompatible with happiness, I find that it is\nan essential condition of our happiness. For this does not consist\nin perfect possession, which would make us insensible and stupid, but\nin a constant progress towards greater results, which must always be\naccompanied, accordingly, by this element of desire or uneasiness.\"\n\nAnd again he says that \"we enjoy all the advantages of pain without any\nof its inconveniences. If the uneasiness should become too distinct,\nwe should be miserable in our awaiting the good which relieves it; but\nas it is, there is a constant victory over these half-pains, which we\nalways find in desire, and this gives us a quantity of half-pleasures,\nwhose continuance and summation (for they acquire force like a moving\nbody as it falls) result in a whole and true pleasure.\" In short,\nthere is indeed an element of pain in all desire which stimulates\nus to action, and therefore to higher development. But ordinarily\nthis element of pain is not present as such in consciousness, but\nis absorbed in the pleasure which accompanies the realization of the\nhigher good. Thus Leibniz, accepting and emphasizing the very same fact\nthat served Schopenhauer as a psychological base of pessimism, uses it\nas a foundation-stone of optimism.\n\nBut desire, or the conscious tendency towards something required as a\ngood, accompanied by the dim feeling of uneasiness at its absence, does\nnot yet constitute the complete act of volition. \"Several impulses and\ninclinations meet in forming the complete volition which is the result\nof their conflict.\" In the concrete act of will there are contained\nimpulses which push us towards some end whose nature is not known;\nthere is desire both in its inchoate stage, where pleasure and pain\nare not in consciousness, and in its formed state, where the pain\nand pleasure are definitely presented. Mixed with these desires and\nimpulses are images of past experiences which call up the feelings\nwhich were formerly attached to them, and thus there are aroused\nindirectly additional impulses and desires. Out of this complicated\nmass of impulses, desires, and feelings, both original and reproduced,\ncomes the \"dominant effort\" which constitutes complete will. But what\ngoverns the production of this prevailing or dominant effort, which we\nmay interpret as the act of choice? The answer is simple: the result\nof the conflict of these various factors, the striking of the balance,\n_is_ the choice. Some desire emerges from the confused complex, and\nthat desire is the final determination of the will. This desire may\nnot in all cases be the strongest in itself,--that is, the one whose\nsatisfaction will allay the greatest \"uneasiness,\" for the others,\ntaken together, may outweigh it; it may, so to speak, have a plurality,\nbut not a majority, of volitional forces on its side,--and in this case\na fusion of opposing factors may defeat it. But in any event the result\nwill be the _algebraic_ sum of the various desires and impulses.\n\nIt is not at all necessary, however, that the net outcome shall make\nitself apparent as a mechanical equivalent of the forces at work. The\nsoul, Leibniz says, may use its skill in the formation of parties,\nso as to make this or that side the victor. How is this to be done,\nand still disallow the possibility of arbitrary choice? This problem\nis solved through action becoming deliberate. Deliberate action is\nimpossible unless the soul has formed the habit of looking ahead and\nof arranging for modes of action which do not present themselves as\nimmediate necessities. Only in this way can one look at the matter\nimpartially and coolly; \"at the moment of combat there is no time for\ndiscussion. Everything which then occurs throws its full force on the\nbalance, and contributes to an outcome made up in the same way as in\nmechanics.\" The formation of certain habits beforehand, therefore, is\nthe secret of translating impulsive action into the deliberate sphere.\n\nOf these habits the simplest consists in thinking only occasionally and\nincidentally of certain things. Imagination is the mother of desire. If\nwe do not allow the imagination to dwell upon certain lines of thought,\nthe probability of such thoughts acquiring sufficient force to become\nmotives of weight is small. A still more effective method of regulating\naction is \"to accustom ourselves to forming a train of thoughts of\nwhich reason, and not chance (that is, association), is the basis. We\nmust get out of the tumult of present impressions, beyond our immediate\nsurroundings, and ask: _Dic cur hic? respice finem!_\" In other words,\nwe must cross-question our impulses and desires, we must ask whence\nthey come, that we may see how valid are the credentials which they\noffer. We must ask whither they tend, that we may measure them, not by\ntheir immediate interest, but by their relation to an end. The desires\nare not to be taken at their face-value, but are to be weighed and\ncompared.\n\nSuch a process will evidently result in arresting instantaneous\naction. There will be a pause between the presentation of the\ndesires and the overt act. During this pause it may well occur that\nthe examination to which the desires have been subject has awakened\ncontrary desires. The thought of the ignoble origin of a desire or of\nits repulsive, though remote, result will bring into action desires of\nan opposed kind. Thus the soul regulates action, not as if, however, it\nhad any direct influence over desires, but by its ability of bringing\nother desires into the field. The will, in short, is not opposed to\ndesire, though rational desire may be opposed to sensuous desire. \"By\nvarious artifices, then,\" Leibniz concludes, \"we become masters of\nourselves, and can make ourselves think and do that which we ought\nto will, and which reason ordains.\" Such is the summary of Leibniz's\nanalysis of the elements and mechanism of volition. There was not much\npsychology existing at the time which could aid him in such an acute\nand subtle account; only in Aristotle could he have found much help. On\nthe other hand, it has been so generally incorporated into current\npsychology that we may seem to have wasted space in repeating truisms.\n\nOf moral action, however, we have as yet heard nothing. We have an\naccount of a psychological mechanism; but for what ethical end does\nthis work, and by what method? This question may best be answered\nby turning in more detail to the question of the \"freedom of the\nwill.\" Freedom in the sense of arbitrary choice Leibniz wholly\nrejects, as we have seen. It is inconsistent with at least two of\nhis fundamental principles; those, namely, of sufficient reason,\nand of continuity. \"Everything that occurs must have a sufficient\nreason for its occurrence.\" This oft-repeated dictum of Leibniz, the\nlogical way of stating the complete rationality of experience, would\nbe shattered into fragments by collision with groundless choice. It\nconflicts equally (indeed for the same reason) with the principle of\ncontinuity. \"The present is pregnant with the future.\" \"Nature never\nmakes leaps.\" \"An absolute equilibrium is a chimera.\" \"The soul is\nnever wholly at rest.\" These are only various ways of saying that the\nnotion of arbitrary or unmotivated choice rests upon the assumption\nthat there is a complete break in the life of the soul, so that it\nis possible for something to happen which bears no organic relation\nto anything that precedes. The notion of a state of the soul without\nmotives, followed by the irruption of a certain line of conduct, the\nnotion of an equilibrium broken by arbitrary choice, is simply the\ncounterpart of the idea of a vacuum. All that makes Leibniz reject the\nlatter conception makes it impossible for him to accept the former.\n\nThis should not be interpreted to mean that Leibniz denied the \"freedom\nof the will.\" What he denied is a notion of freedom which seemed to him\nat once unverifiable, useless, and irrational. There is a conception\nof freedom which Leibniz not only accepts, but insists upon. Such a\nnotion of freedom is indeed his ethical ideal. Its three traits are\ncontingency, spontaneity, and rationality of action. How action can\nbe at the same time contingent and determined is perhaps difficult\nto understand; but Leibniz takes the position that it is. His first\nstep is to distinguish between physical, mathematical, metaphysical,\nand moral necessity. There are truths which are eternal, truths\nwhich are absolutely necessary, because their opposites involve\ncontradiction. They cannot be violated without involving us in\nabsurdity. There are other truths which are \"positive,\" that is,\nordained for good reason. These truths may be _a priori_, or rational,\nand not merely empirical; for they have been chosen for reasons of\nadvantage. God always chooses and ordains the best of a number of\npossibilities; but he does it, not because the opposite is impossible,\nbut because it is inferior. Truths whose opposites are impossible\nhave metaphysical and mathematical necessity. Positive truths have\nmoral necessity. The principle of causation _must_ be true; the three\ninterior angles of a triangle _must_ be equal to two right angles. But\nthat God shall choose the better of two courses is a moral necessity\nonly. It invokes no absolute logical contradiction to conceive him\nchoosing some other way. Upon moral necessity depends the physical. The\nparticular laws of nature are necessary, not because their opposites\nare logically absurd, but because these laws are most in accordance\nwith the general principles of good and order, in agreement with which\nGod chooses. Physical and moral action is therefore in all cases\ncontingent. (Contingency does not of itself, of course, constitute\nfreedom, but conjoined with the characteristics of rationality and\nspontaneity, does so.)\n\nNecessity, in short, is based upon the principle of logical\ncontradiction; contingency upon that of sufficient reason. Since our\nactions are in no case necessitated in such a way that their opposite\nis self-contradictory, or, put positively, since our actions are always\ndetermined by the choice of that which seems best, our actions are\ncontingent. Occasionally Leibniz puts the matter in a much simpler way,\nand one which brings out the essential element more clearly than the\nforegoing distinction. Some facts are determined by the principle of\nphysical causation; others by that of final causation. Some, in other\nwords, are necessary as the mechanical outcome of their antecedents;\nothers are necessary as involved in the reaching of a given end. It is\nsimply the Aristotelian distinction between efficient and teleological\ncausation. Human action is determined, since it always has a motive or\nreason; it is contingent, because it springs from this reason and not\nfrom its temporal antecedents. It is, in short, determined, but it is\nalso free.\n\nIt does not require much analysis, however, to see that this\ndistinction, in whatever way it be put, really has no significance,\nexcept as it points to the other marks of freedom,--spontaneity\nand rationality. As we shall see, Leibniz makes and can make\nno absolute distinction between truths of reason and truths of\nfact. The contingent and the necessary are one at bottom. To us\nwith our limited intelligence it does indeed often appear as if no\ncontradiction were involved in the former,--as if, for example, a man\ncould turn either to right or left without there being any logical\ncontradiction in either case; but this is because of our defective\ninsight. An intelligence cognizant of the whole matter could see that\none action would contradict some truth involved in the constitution\nof the universe. The source of the contingent and changing is in the\nnecessary and eternal. Thus it is that although Leibniz at one time\nsays that \"neither one's self nor any other spirit more enlightened\ncould demonstrate that the opposite of a given action (like going out\nin preference to staying in) involves contradiction,\" at another time\nhe says that \"a perfect knowledge of all the circumstances, internal\nand external, would enable any one to foresee\" the decision in a given\ncase. If that be so, any other action must be impossible; that is,\naccording to Leibniz's invariable logic, imply contradiction.\n\nWe get the same result if we consider the relation of final and\nefficient causes. It is only when speaking in a very general way that\nLeibniz opposes action as determined by precedent activities to that\ndirected towards the attainment of an end. He does not really mean\nthat _some_ action is physical, while _other_ is teleological. He\ncannot suppose that some action has an antecedent cause, while other\nhas a purpose. The very essence of his thought is that action is\nboth mechanical and teleological; that all action follows in a law of\norder from precedent action, and that all fulfils a certain spiritual\nfunction. The distinction is not, with Leibniz, one between two kinds\nof action, but between two ways of looking at every action. The desire\nto go rather than to stay, has its efficient cause; the movements by\nwhich the desire is executed, have their final cause. The truth of\nthe matter seems to be that Leibniz in his desire to guard against\nbeing thought a fatalist, or one denying all freedom, uses terms\nwhich are compatible only with a freedom of indifference. So in his\nstatement that man's action is free because \"contingent,\" he seems\nactuated rather by a wish to avoid the hateful term \"necessity\" than by\nconsiderations strictly in harmony with his own principles.\n\nHad he confined his use of the term \"contingent,\" however, simply to\nre-stating the fact that human action is spontaneous, no such apparent\ncontradiction would have presented itself. Human actions may be called\ncontingent, as physical actions are not, because the latter always\nseem to be externally determined, while the former are internally\ndirected. Motions act from without; motives from within. The cause of\nthe falling of a stone lies outside it; the source of a desire which\nmoves to action is from the mind itself. We are thus introduced to\ncontingency as a synonym of \"spontaneity.\"\n\nKuno Fischer calls attention to the fact that Spinoza and Leibniz both\nuse the same sort of illustration to show the non-arbitrary character\nof human action, but the same illustration with a difference;\nand in the difference he finds the distinction between the two\nphilosophies. Spinoza says that a stone falling to the ground, if\nendowed with consciousness, might imagine itself following its own will\nin falling. Leibniz says that a magnetic needle similarly endowed might\nimagine that it turned towards the north simply because it wished. Both\nexamples are used to illustrate the folly of relying upon the immediate\n\"testimony\" of consciousness. But the example of Spinoza is that of an\nobject, all whose movements are absolutely necessitated from without;\nthe example of Leibniz is that of an object whose activity, though\nfollowing law, and not caprice, is apparently initiated from within. Of\ncourse in reality the movements of the magnetic needle are just as much\nexternally conditioned as those of the stone; but the appearance of\nself-action in the latter case may serve at least to exemplify what is\nmeant by spontaneity as attributed to human action.\n\nIt must be noticed at the outset that spontaneity belongs to every\nsimple substance. We have only to recall the doctrine of monads. These\nsuffer nothing from without, all their activity is the expression,\nis the unfolding, of their own law. \"By nature,\" Leibniz says, \"every\nsimple substance has perceptions, and its individuality consists in\nthe permanent law which forms the succession of its perceptions, that\nare born naturally one of another. Hence it is not necessary for it to\nreceive any physical influence from without; and therefore the soul has\nin itself a perfect spontaneity in such a way that its actions depend\nonly upon God and itself.\" Or if we put the matter in its connection\nwith his psychology rather than with his metaphysics, it is true that\nour actions are determined by our motives; but motives are not forces\nwithout the soul, they are forces _of_ the soul. In acting according to\nmotives the soul is simply acting according to its own laws. A desire\nis not an impulsion from an external cause; it is the expression of an\ninward tendency. To say that the soul acts from the strongest desire\nis simply to say, from this standpoint, that it manifests the most\nreal part of itself, not that it obeys a foreign force. Impulses,\ndesires, motives, are all psychical; they admit of no description or\nexplanation except in their relation to the soul itself. Thus when\nLeibniz compares, as he often does, motives to weights acting upon a\nbalance, we are to remember that the balance is not to be conceived\nas the soul, and the weights as energies outside it, but that this is\nonly a way of picturing what is going on _within_ the soul itself. The\nsoul may be a mechanism, but it is a self-directing and self-executing\nmechanism. To say that human action is free because it is spontaneous,\nis to say that it follows an immanent principle, that it is independent\nof foreign influences,--in a word, that it is self-determined.\n\nBut here again it seems as if Leibniz had stated a principle\naltogether too wide to throw any light upon the nature of moral\nfreedom. Spontaneity is no more an attribute of human activity than it\nis of all real activity. Every monad, even the unconscious, as truly\nfollows its own law without interference from without as does man\nhimself. If the spontaneity of action constitutes its morality, we are\nnot in a condition to ascribe morality to man any more than to any real\nthing. We are thus thrown back again upon the conception of rationality\nas the final and decisive trait of freedom and of ethical conduct. Just\nas \"contingency\" gets a moral import only in connection with conscious\nends of action, so \"spontaneity\" comes within the moral realm only when\nconjoined to reason.\n\nWhy is there this close connection between reason and freedom? The\nreader has only to recall what was said of Leibniz's theory of\ncausality to get a glimpse into their unity. Causality is not a matter\nof physical influence, but of affording the reason in virtue of which\nsome fact is what it is. This applies of course to the relation of the\nsoul and the body. \"So far as the soul is perfect and has distinct\nideas, God has accommodated the body to it; so far as the soul is\nimperfect and its ideas are confused, God has accommodated the soul to\nthe body. In the former case the body always responds to the demands\nof the soul; in the latter the soul is moved by the passions which\nare born of the sensuous ideas. Each is thought to act upon the other\nin the measure of its perfection [that is, degree of activity], since\nGod has adjusted one thing to another according to its perfection or\nimperfection. Activity and passivity are always reciprocal in created\nthings, because a portion of the reasons which serve to explain what\ngoes on is in one substance, and another portion in the other. This is\nwhat makes us call one active, the other passive.\"\n\nIf we translate these ideas out of their somewhat scholastic\nphraseology, the meaning is that the self-activity of any substance\nis accurately measured by the extent to which it contains the reasons\nfor its own actions; and conversely, that it is dependent or enslaved\njust so far as it has its reasons beyond itself. Sensations, sensuous\nimpulses, represent, as we have seen before, the universe only in a\nconfused and inarticulate way. They are knowledge which cannot give\nan account of itself. They represent, in short, that side of mind\nwhich may be regarded as affected, or the limitation of mind,--its\nwant of activity. So far as the mind acts from these sensations and\nthe feelings which accompany them, it is ideally determined from\nwithout; it is a captive to its own states; it is in a condition of\npassivity. In all action, therefore, which occurs from a sensuous\nbasis, the soul is rightly regarded as unfree.\n\nOn the other hand, just in the degree in which distinctness is\nintroduced into the sensations, so that they are not simply experienced\nas they come, but are related to one another so that their reason\nfor existence, their spiritual meaning, is ascertained, just in\nthat degree is the soul master of itself. In Leibniz's own words:\n\"Distinct knowledge or intelligence has its place in the true use of\nreason, while the senses furnish confused ideas. Hence we can say that\nwe are free from slavery just in the degree that we act with distinct\nknowledge, but are subject to our passions in just the degree that our\nideas are confused;\" that is, not really representative of things as\nthey are. \"Intelligence is the soul of liberty.\"\n\nThis psychological explanation rests, of course, upon the foundation\nprinciple of the Leibnizian philosophy. Spirit is the sole reality,\nand spirit is activity. But there are various degrees of activity, and\neach grade lower than the _purus actus_ may be rightfully regarded as\nin so far passive. This relative passivity or unreality constitutes\nthe material and hence the sensuous world. One who has not insight\ninto truth, lives and acts in this world of comparative unreality;\nhe is in bondage to it. From this condition of slavery only reason,\nthe understanding of things as they are, can lift one. The rational\nman is free because he acts, in the noble words of Spinoza, _sub specie\n\u00e6ternitatis_. He acts in view of the eternal truth of things,--as God\nhimself would act.\n\nGod alone, it further follows, is wholly free. In him alone are\nunderstanding and will wholly one. In him the true and the good are\none; while every created intelligence is subject in some degree to\nsensuous affection, to passion. \"In us, besides the judgment of the\nunderstanding, there is always mixed some unreal idea of the sensation\nwhich gives birth to passions and impulses, and these traverse the\njudgment of the practical understanding.\" Freedom, in fine, is not\na ready made garment with which all men are clothed to do with as\nthey will. It is the ethical ideal; it is something to be attained;\nit is action in conformity with reason, or insight into the spiritual\nnature of reality and into its laws; it is not the starting-point, it\nis the goal. Only with a great price do men purchase such freedom. It\nwill be noticed at once that Leibniz comes very close to Plato in his\nfundamental ethical ideas. The unity of virtue and reason, of virtue\nand freedom,--these are thoroughly Platonic conceptions. To both Plato\nand Leibniz reason is the ethical ideal because it is the expression\nof, nay, rather, _is_ the reality of the universe; while all else is,\nas Leibniz says, imperfect or unreal, since it is not an activity, or,\nas Plato says, a mixture of Being and Non-Being. Again, to both man\nbears a similar relation to this spiritual reality. In Plato's words,\nhe participates in the Ideas; in those of Leibniz he reflects, as a\nmirror, the universe. To both, in a word, the reality, the true-self\nof the individual, is the spiritual universe of which it is an organic\nmember. To both, therefore, man obtains freedom or self-realization\nonly as he realizes his larger and more comprehensive identity with the\nReason of the universe. With both, knowledge is the good, ignorance is\nthe evil. No man is voluntarily bad, but only through lack of knowledge\nof the true Good. Leibniz, however, with a more developed psychology,\nsupplements Plato in the point where the latter had the most\ndifficulty,--the possibility of the feelings or of a love of pleasure\novercoming knowledge of the good. This possibility Plato was compelled\nto deny, while Leibniz, by his subtle identifying of the passions with\nlack of knowledge, or with confused knowledge, can admit it. \"It is an\nimperfection of our freedom,\" says Leibniz, \"which causes us to choose\nevil rather than good,--a greater evil rather than the less, the less\ngood rather than the greater. This comes from the _appearances_ of good\nand evil which deceive us; but God, who is perfect knowledge, is always\nled to the true and to the best good, that is, to the true and absolute\ngood.\"\n\nIt only remains briefly to apply these conceptions to some specific\nquestions of moral actions. Locke asks whether there are practical\ninnate ideas, and denies them, as he denies theoretical. Leibniz,\nin replying, recognizes two kinds of \"innate\" practical principles,\none of which is to be referred to the class of instincts, the other\nto that of maxims. Primarily, and probably wholly in almost all\nmen, moral truths take the rank of instincts alone. All men aim\nat the Good; it is impossible to think of man wilfully seeking\nhis own evil. The methods, the means of reaching this Good, are\nimplanted in men as instincts. These instincts, when brought to the\nlight of reason and examined, become _maxims_ of action; they lose\ntheir particular and impulsive character, and become universal and\ndeliberate principles. Thus Leibniz is enabled to answer the various\nobjections which are always brought against any \"intuitive\" theory\nof moral actions,--the variability of men's moral beliefs and conduct\nin different countries and at different times. Common instincts, but\nat first instincts only, are present in all men whenever and wherever\nthey live. These instincts may readily be \"resisted by men's passions,\nobscured by prejudice, and changed by custom.\" The moral instincts are\nalways the basis of moral action, but \"custom, tradition, education\"\nbecome mixed with them. Even when so confounded, however, the instinct\nwill generally prevail, and custom is, upon the whole, on the side of\nright rather than wrong, so that Leibniz thinks there is a sense in\nwhich all men have one common morality.\n\nBut these moral instincts, even when pure, are not ethical\nscience. This is innate, Leibniz says, only in the sense in which\narithmetic is innate,--it depends upon demonstrations which reason\nfurnishes. Leibniz does not, then, oppose intuitive and demonstrative,\nas sometimes happens. Morality is _practically_ intuitive in the sense\nthat all men tend to aim at the Good, and have an instinctive feeling\nof what makes towards the Good. It is _theoretically_ demonstrative,\nsince it does not become a science until Reason has an insight into the\nnature of the Good, and ascertains the fixed laws which are tributary\nto it. Moral principles are _not_ intuitive in the sense that they are\nimmediately discovered as separate principles by some one power of the\nsoul called \"conscience.\" Moral laws are intuitive, he says, \"as the\n_consequences_ of our own development and our true well-being.\" Here we\nmay well leave the matter. What is to be said in detail of Leibniz's\nethics will find its congenial home in what we have to say of his\ntheology.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nMATTER AND ITS RELATION TO SPIRIT.\n\n\nLocke's account of innate ideas and of sensation is only preparatory\nto a discussion of the ideas got by sensation. His explanation of the\nmode of knowledge leads up to an explanation of the things known. He\nremains true to his fundamental idea that before we come to conclusions\nabout any matters we must \"examine our own ability.\" He deals first\nwith ideas got by the senses, whether by some one or by their conjoint\naction. Of these the ideas of solidity, of extension, and of duration\nare of most concern to us. They form as near an approach to a general\nphilosophy of nature as may be found anywhere in Locke. They are, too,\nthe germ from which grew the ideas of matter, of space, and of time,\nwhich, however more comprehensive in scope and more amply worked out\nin detail, characterize succeeding British thought, and which are\nreproduced to-day by Mr. Spencer.\n\n\"The idea of solidity we receive by our touch.\" \"The ideas we get\nby more than one sense are of space or extension, figure, rest,\nand motion.\" These sentences contain the brief statement of the chief\ncontention of the sensational school. Locke certainly was not conscious\nwhen he wrote them that they were the expression of ideas which should\nresolve the world of matter and of space into a dissolving series of\naccidentally associated sensations; but such was none the less the\ncase. When he writes, \"If any one asks me what solidity is, I send him\nto his senses to inform him,\" he is preparing the way for Berkeley,\nand for a denial of all reality beyond the feelings of the individual\nmind. When he says that \"we get the idea of space both by sight and\ntouch,\" this statement, although appearing truistic, is none the less\nthe source of the contention of Hume that even geometry contains\nno necessary or universal elements, but is an account of sensible\nappearances, relative, as are all matters of sensation.\n\nLocke's ideas may be synopsized as follows: It is a sufficient account\nof solidity to say that it is got by touch and that it arises from\nthe resistance found in bodies to the entrance of any other body. \"It\nis that which hinders the approach of two bodies when they are moved\ntowards one another.\" If not identical with matter, it is at all events\nits most essential property. \"This of all others seems the idea most\nintimately connected with and essential to body, so as nowhere else\nto be found or imagined, but only in matter.\" It is, moreover, the\nsource of the other properties of matter. \"Upon the solidity of bodies\ndepend their mutual impulse, resistance, and protrusion.\" Solidity,\nagain, \"is so inseparable an idea from body that upon that depends its\nfilling of space, its contact, impulse, and communication of motion\nupon impulse.\" It is to be distinguished, therefore, from hardness, for\nhardness is relative and derived, various bodies having various degrees\nof it; while solidity consists in utter exclusion of other bodies from\nthe space possessed by any one, so that the hardest body has no more\nsolidity than the softest.\n\nThe close connection between solidity and matter makes it not only\npossible, but necessary, to distinguish between matter and extension as\nagainst the Cartesians, who had identified them. In particular Locke\nnotes three differences between these notions. Extension includes\nneither solidity nor resistance; its parts are inseparable from one\nanother both really and mentally, and are immovable; while matter has\nsolidity, its parts are mutually separable, and may be moved _in_\nspace. From this distinction between space and matter it follows,\naccording to Locke, that there is such a thing as a vacuum, or that\nspace is not necessarily a plenum of matter. Matter is that which fills\nspace; but it is entirely indifferent to space whether or not it is\nfilled. Space is occupied by matter, but there is no essential relation\nbetween them. Solidity is the essence of matter; emptiness is the\ncharacteristic of space. \"The idea of space is as distinct from that\nof solidity as it is from that of scarlet color. It is true, solidity\ncannot exist without extension, neither can scarlet color exist without\nextension; but this hinders not that they are _distinct ideas_.\"\n\nThus there is fixed for us the idea of space as well as of matter. It\nis a distinct idea; that is, absolute or independent in itself,\nhaving no intrinsic connection with phenomena _in_ space. Yet it is\ngot through the senses. How that can be a matter of sensation which is\nnot only not material, but has no connection in itself with matter,\nLocke does not explain. He thinks it sufficient to say that we see\ndistance between bodies of different color just as plainly as we see\nthe colors. Space is, therefore, a purely immediate idea, containing\nno more organic relation to intelligence than it has to objects. We\nget the notion of time as we do that of space, excepting that it is\nthe observation of internal states and not of external objects which\nfurnishes the material of the idea. Time has two elements,--succession\nand duration. \"Observing what passes in the mind, how of our ideas\nthere in train some constantly vanish, and others begin to appear,\nwe come by the idea of succession, and by observing a distance in\nthe parts of this succession we get the idea of duration.\" Whether,\nhowever, time is something essentially empty, having no relation to the\nevents which fill it, as space is essentially empty, without necessary\nconnection with the objects which fill it, is a question Locke does not\nconsider. In fact, the gist of his ideas upon this point is as follows:\nthere is actually an objective space or pure emptiness; employing our\nsenses, we get the idea of this space. There is actually an objective\ntime; employing reflection, we perceive it. There is not the slightest\nattempt to form a philosophy of them, or to show their function in the\nconstruction of an intelligible world, except in the one point of the\nabsolute independence of matter and space.\n\nIt cannot be said that Leibniz criticises the minor points of Locke\nin such a way as to throw much light upon them, or that he very\nfully expresses his own ideas about them. He contents himself with\ndeclaring that while the senses may give instances of space, time,\nand matter, and may suggest to intelligence the stimuli upon which\nintelligence realizes these notions from itself, they cannot be the\nsource of these notions themselves; finding the evidence of this in the\nsciences of geometry, arithmetic, and pure physics. For these sciences\ndeal with the notions of space, time, and matter, giving necessary\nand demonstrative ideas concerning them, which the senses can never\nlegitimate. He further denies the supposed absoluteness or independence\nof space, matter, and motion. Admitting, indeed, the distinction\nbetween extension and matter, he denies that this distinction suffices\nto prove the existence, or even the possibility, of a vacuum, and ends\nwith a general reference to his doctrine of pre-established harmony,\nas serving to explain these matters more fully and more accurately.\n\nLeibniz has, however, a complete philosophy of nature. In his other\nwriting, he explains the ideas of matter and force in their dependence\nupon his metaphysic, or doctrine of spiritual entelechies. The task\ndoes not at first sight appear an easy one. The reality, according to\nLeibniz, is purely spiritual, does not exist in space nor time, and\nis a principle of activity following its own law,--that of reflecting\nthe universe of spiritual relations. How from this world of ideal,\nunextended, and non-temporal dynamic realities we are to pass over to\na material world of extension, with its static existence in space,\nand transitory passage in time, is a question challenging the whole\nLeibnizian system. It is a question, however, for which Leibniz himself\nhas provided an answer. We may not regard it as adequate; we may think\nthat he has not truly derived the material world from his spiritual\nprinciples: but at all events he asked himself the question, and gave\nan answer. We shall investigate this answer by arranging what Leibniz\nhas said under the heads of: matter as a metaphysical principle; matter\nas a physical phenomenon; and the relation of phenomena to absolute\nreality, or of the physical to the metaphysical. In connection with the\nsecond head, particularly, we shall find it necessary to discuss what\nLeibniz has said about space, time, and motion.\n\nWolff, who put the ideas of Leibniz into systematic shape, did it at\nthe expense of almost all their significance. He took away the air\nof paradox, of remoteness, that characterized Leibniz's thought, and\ngave it a popular form. But its depth and suggestiveness vanished in\nthe process. Unfortunately, Wolff's presentations of the philosophy\nof Leibniz have been followed by others, to whom it seemed a dull\ntask to follow out the intricacies of a thought nowhere systematically\nexpressed. This has been especially the case as concerns the Leibnizian\ndoctrine of matter. A superficial interpretation of certain passages\nin Leibniz has led to an almost universal misunderstanding about\nit. Leibniz frequently says that since matter is composite or complex,\nit follows that there must be something simple as its basis, and this\nsimple something is the monad. The misinterpretation just spoken of\nconsists in supposing that Leibniz meant that matter as composite\nis made up of monads as simple; that the monad and matter are facts\nof the same order, the latter being only an aggregate, or continued\ncollection of the former. It interpreted the conception of Leibniz in\nstrict analogy with the atomic theory of Lucretius, excepting that it\ngranted that the former taught that the ultimate atom, the component\nof all complex forms of matter, has position only, not extension,\nits essence consisting in its exercise of force, not in its mere space\noccupancy. The monad was thus considered to be _in_ space, or at least\nconditioned by space relations, as is a mathematical point, although\nnot itself spatial in the sense of being extended. Monad and matter\nwere thus represented as facts of the same kind or genus, having their\ndifference only in their relative isolation or aggregation.\n\nBut Leibniz repudiated this idea, and that not only by the spirit\nof his teaching, but in express words. Monads \"are not ingredients\nor constituents of matter,\" he says, \"but only _conditions_\nof it.\" \"Monads can no more be said to be parts of bodies, or to\ncome in contact with them, or to compose them, than can souls or\nmathematical points.\" \"Monads _per se_ have _no_ situation relative\nto one another.\" An increase in the number of created monads, he says\nagain, if such a thing could be supposed, would no more increase the\namount of matter in existence, than mathematical points added to a\nline would increase its length. And again: \"There is no nearness or\nremoteness among monads; to say that they are gathered in a point or\nare scattered in space, is to employ mental fictions, _in trying to\nimagine what can only be thought_.\" The italicized words give the clew\nto the whole discussion. To make monads of the same order as corporeal\nphenomena, is to make them sensible, or capable of being imaged,\nor conditioned by space and time,--three phrases which are strictly\ncorrelative. But the monads can only be thought,--that is, their\nqualities are ideal, not sensible; they can be realized only by reason,\nnot projected in forms having spatial outline and temporal habitation,\nthat is, in images. Monads and material things, in other words, are\nfacts of two distinct orders; they are related as the rational or\nspiritual and the physical or sensible. Matter is no more composed of\nmonads than it is of thoughts or of logical principles. As Leibniz says\nover and over again: Matter, space, time, motion are only phenomena,\nalthough phenomena _bene fundata_,--phenomena, that is, having their\nrational basis and condition. The monads, on the other hand, are not\nappearances, they are realities.\n\nHaving freed our minds from the supposition that it is in any way\npossible to form an image or picture of the monad; having realized that\nit is wholly false to suppose that monads occupy position in space,\nand then by their continuity fill it, and make extended matter,--we\nmust attempt to frame a correct theory of the nature of matter and\nits relation to the monad. We shall do this only as we realize that\n\"matter,\" so far as it has any reality, or so far as it has any real\n_fundamentum_, must be something ideal, or, in Leibniz's language,\n\"metaphysical.\" As he says over and over again, the only realities\nare the substances or spiritual units of activity, to which the name\n\"monad\" is given. In the inquiry, then, after such reality as matter\nmay have, we must betake ourselves to this unit of living energy.\n\nAlthough every monad is active, it is not entirely active. There is,\nas we have already seen, an infinite scale of substances; and since\nsubstance is equivalent to activity, this is saying that there is an\ninfinite scale of activities. God alone is _purus actus_, absolute\nenergy, untouched by passivity or receptivity. Every other being has\nthe element of incompleteness, of inadequacy; it does not completely\nrepresent the universe. In this passivity consists its finitude, so\nthat Leibniz says that not even God himself could deprive monads of it,\nfor this would be to make them equal to himself. In this passivity,\nincompleteness, or finitude, consists what we call matter. Leibniz says\nthat he can understand what Plato meant when he called matter something\nessentially imperfect and transitory. Every finite monad is a union of\ntwo principles,--those of activity and of passivity. \"I do not admit,\"\nsays Leibniz, \"that there are souls existing simply by themselves,\nor that there are created spirits detached from all body. God alone is\nabove all matter, since he is its author; creatures freed from matter\nwould be at the same time detached from the universal connection\nof things, and, as it were, deserters from the general order.\" And\nagain, \"Beings have a nature which is both active and passive;\n_that is_, material and immaterial.\" And again, he says that every\ncreated monad requires both an entelechy, or principle of activity,\nand matter. \"Matter is essential to any entelechy, and can never be\nseparated from it, since matter _completes_ it.\" In short, the term\n\"monad\" is equivalent to the term \"entelechy\" only when applied\nto God. In every other monad, the entelechy, or energy, is but one\nfactor. \"Matter, or primitive passive power, completes the entelechy,\nor primitive active power, so that it becomes a perfect substance, or\nmonad.\" On the other hand, of course, matter, as the passive principle,\nis a mere potentiality or abstraction, considered in itself. It is\nreal only in its union with the active principle. Matter, he says,\n\"cannot exist without immaterial substances.\" \"To every particular\nportion of matter belongs a particular _form_; that is, a soul,\na spirit.\" To this element of matter, considered as an abstraction,\nin its distinction from soul, Leibniz, following the scholastics, and\nultimately Aristotle, gives the name, \"first\" or \"bare\" matter. The\nsame influence is seen in the fact that he opposes this element of\nmatter to \"form,\" or the active principle.\n\nOur starting-point, therefore, for the consideration of matter\nis the statement that it is receptivity, the capacity for being\naffected, which always constitutes matter. But what is meant by\n\"receptivity\"? To answer this question we must return to what was said\nabout the two activities of the monad,--representation, or perception,\nand appetition,--and to the difference between confused and distinct\nideas. The monad has appetition so far as it determines itself\nfrom within to change, so far as it follows an internal principle\nof energy. It is representative so far as it is determined from\nwithout, so far as it receives impressions from the universe. Yet\nwe have learned to know that in one sense everything occurs from\nthe spontaneity of the monad itself; it receives no influence or\ninfluxus from without; everything comes from its own depths, or is\nappetition. But, on the other hand, all that which so comes forth is\nonly a mirroring or copying of the universe. The whole content of the\nappetition is representation. Although the monad works spontaneously,\nit is none the less determined in its activities to produce only\nreflections or images of the world. In this way appetition and\nrepresentation appear to be identical. The monad is determined from\nwithin, indeed, but it is determined to exactly the same results as if\nwholly determined from without. What light, then, can be thrown from\nthis distinction upon the nature of matter?\n\nNone, unless we follow Leibniz somewhat farther. If we do, we shall\nsee that the soul is regarded as appetitive, or self-active, so far\nas it has clear and distinct ideas. If the monad reaches distinct\nconsciousness, it has knowledge of self,--that is, of the nature of\npure spirit,--or, what again is equivalent to this, of the nature\nof reality as it universally is. Such knowledge is knowledge of God,\nof substance, of unity, of pure activity, and of all the innate ideas\nwhich elevate the confused perceptions of sense into science. Distinct\nconsciousness is therefore equivalent to self-activity, and this to\nrecognition of God and the universal. But if knowledge is confused,\nit is not possible to see it in its relations to self; it cannot\nbe analyzed; the rational or ideal element in it is concealed from\nview. In confused ideas, therefore, the soul appears to be passive;\nbeing passive, to be determined from without. This determination from\nwithout is equivalent to that which is opposed to spirit or reason, and\nhence appears as matter. Such is in outline the Leibnizian philosophy.\n\nIt thus is clear that merely stating that matter is passivity\nin the monad is not the ultimate way of stating its nature. For\npassivity means in reality nothing but confused representations,--representations,\nthat is, whose significance is not perceived. The true significance\nof every representation is found in its relation to the\nego, or pure self-activity, which, through its dependent\nrelation upon God, the absolute self-activity and ego, produces\nthe representation from its own ideal being. So far as the\nsoul does not have distinct recognition of relation of all\nrepresentations to self, it feels them as coming from without; as\nforeign to spirit; in short, as matter. Leibniz thus employs exactly\nthe same language about confused ideas that he does about passivity,\nor matter. It is not possible that the monad should have distinct\nconsciousness of itself as a mirror of the whole universe, he says,\n\"for in that case every entelechy would be God.\" Again, \"the soul would\nbe God if it could enter at once and with distinctness into everything\noccurring within it.\" But it is necessary \"that we should have\npassions which consist in confused ideas, in which there is something\ninvoluntary and unknown, and which represent the body and constitute\nour imperfection.\" Again, he speaks of matter as \"the _mixture_\n(_m\u00e9lange_) of the effects of the infinite environing us.\" In that\nexpression is summed up his whole theory of matter. It is a mixture;\nit is, that is to say, confused, aggregated, irresolvable into simple\nideas. But it is a mixture of \"effects of the infinite about us;\"\nthat is, it takes its rise in the true, the real, the spiritual. It\nonly fails to represent this as it actually is. Matter, in short, is a\nphenomenon dependent upon inability to realize the entire spiritual\ncharacter of reality. It is spirit apprehended in a confused,\nhesitating, and passive manner.\n\nIt is none the less a necessary phenomenon, for it is involved in the\nidea of a continuous gradation of monads, in the distinction between\nthe infinite and the finite, or, as Leibniz often prefers to put it,\nbetween the \"creator\" and the \"created.\" There is involved everywhere\nin the idea of Leibniz the conception of subordination; of a hierarchy\nof forms, each of which receives the law of its action from the\nnext higher, and gives the law to the next lower. We have previously\nconsidered the element of passivity or receptivity as relating only\nto the monad which manifests it. It is evident, however, that what\nis passive in one, implies something active in another. What one\nreceives, is what another gives. The reciprocal influence of monads\nupon one another, therefore, as harmonious members of one system,\nrequires matter. More strictly speaking, this reciprocal influence\n_is_ matter. To take away all receptivity, all passivity, from monads\nwould be to isolate them from all relations with others; it would\nbe to deprive them of all power of affecting or being affected by\nothers. That is what Leibniz meant by the expression already quoted,\nthat if monads had not matter as an element in them, \"they would be,\nas it were, deserters from the general order.\" The note of unity, of\norganic connection, which we found to be the essence of the Leibnizian\nphilosophy, absolutely requires, therefore, matter, or passivity.\n\nIt must be remembered that this reciprocal influence is ideal. As\nLeibniz remarks, \"When it is said that one monad is affected by\nanother, this is to be understood concerning its _representation_ of\nthe other. For the Author of things has so accommodated them to one\nanother that one is said to suffer (or receive from the other) when\nits relative value gives way to that of the other.\" Or again, \"the\nmodifications of one monad are the ideal causes of the modifications\nof another monad, so far as there appear in one the reasons on account\nof which God brought about in the beginning certain modifications in\nanother.\" And most definitely of all: \"A creature is called active so\nfar as it has perfection; passive in so far as it is imperfect. One\ncreature is more perfect than another so far as there is found in\nit that which serves to _render the reason_, _a priori_, for that\noccurring in the other; and it is in this way that it acts upon the\nother.\"\n\nWe are thus introduced, from a new point of view and in a more concrete\nway, to the conception of pre-established harmony. The activity of one,\nthe energy which gives the law to the other and makes it subordinate in\nthe hierarchy of monads, is conceived necessarily as spirit, as soul;\nthat which receives, which is rendered subordinate by the activity\nof the other, is body. The pre-established harmony is the fact that\nthey are so related that one can receive the law of its activity from\nthe other. Leibniz is without doubt partially responsible for the\nordinary misconception of his views upon this point by reason of the\nillustration which he was accustomed to use; namely, of two clocks so\nconstructed that without any subsequent regulation each always kept\nperfect time with the other,--as much so as if there were some actual\nphysical connection between them. This seems to put soul and body,\nspirit and matter, as two co-ordinate substances, on the same level,\nwith such natural opposition between them that some external harmony\nmust arrange some unity of action. In causing this common idea of\nhis theory of pre-established harmony, Leibniz has paid the penalty\nfor attempting to do what he often reproves in others,--imagining or\npresenting in sensible form what can only be thought. But his other\nexplanations show clearly enough that the pre-established harmony\nexpresses, not a relation between two parallel substances, but a\ncondition of dependence of lower forms of activity upon the higher for\nthe law of their existence and activity,--in modern terms, it expresses\nthe fact that phenomena are conditioned upon noumena; that material\nfacts get their significance and share of reality through their\nrelation to spirit.\n\nWe may sum up what has been said about matter as an element in the\nmonad, or as a metaphysical principle, as follows: The existence of\nmatter is not only not opposed to the fundamental ideas of Leibniz, but\nis a necessary deduction from them. It is a necessity of the principle\nof continuity; for this requires an infinity of monads, alike indeed\nin the universal law of their being, but unlike, each to each, in\nthe specific coloring or manifestation of this law. The principle of\norganic unity requires that there be as many real beings as possible\nparticipating in and contributing to it. It is necessary, again, in\norder that there may be reciprocal influence or connection among the\nmonads. Were it not for the material element in the monad, each would\nbe a God; if each were thus infinite and absolute, there would be\nso many principles wholly independent and isolated. The principle of\nharmony would be violated. So much for the necessity of the material\nfactor. As to its nature, it is a principle of passivity; that is, of\nideal receptivity, of conformity to a law apparently not self-imposed,\nbut externally laid down. This makes matter equivalent to a phenomenon;\nthat is to say, to the having of confused, imperfect, inadequate\nideas. To say that matter is correlative to confused ideas is to say\nthat there is no recognition of its relation to self or to spirit. As\nLeibniz sometimes puts it, since there is an infinity of beings in\nthe universe, each one of which exercises an ideal influence upon\nevery other one of the series, it is impossible that this other one\nshould realize their full meaning; they appear only as confused ideas,\nor as matter. To use language which Leibniz indeed does not employ,\nbut which seems to convey his thought, the spirit, not seeing them as\nthey really are, does not _find_ itself in them. But matter is thus not\nonly the confused manifestation or phenomenon of spirit, it is also its\npotentiality. Passivity is always relative. It does not mean complete\nlack of activity; that, as Leibniz says, is nothingness, and matter\nis not a form of nothingness. Leibniz even speaks of it as passive\n_power_. That is to say, there is an undeveloped or incomplete activity\nin what appears as matter, and this may be,--if we admit an infinity\nof time,--must be developed. When developed it manifests itself as it\nreally is, as spirit. Confused ideas, as Leibniz takes pains to state,\nare not a genus of ideas antithetical to distinct; they differ only in\ndegree or grade. They are on their way to become distinct, or else they\nare distinct ideas which have fallen back into an \"involved\" state of\nbeing. Matter, therefore, is not absolutely opposed to spirit,--on the\none hand because it is the manifestation, the phenomenon, of spirit;\non the other, because it is the potentiality of spirit, capable of\nsometime realizing the whole activity implied in it, but now latent.\n\nThus it is that Leibniz says that everything is \"full\" of souls or\nmonads. What appears to be lifeless is in reality like a pond full of\nfishes, like a drop of water full of infusoria. Everything is organic\ndown to the last element. More truly, there is no last element. There\nis a true infinity of organic beings wrapped up in the slightest speck\nof apparently lifeless matter. These illustrations, like many others\nwhich Leibniz uses, are apt to suggest that erroneous conception of the\nrelation of monads to spirit which we were obliged, in Leibniz's name,\nto correct at the outset,--the idea, namely, that matter is composed,\nin a spatial or mechanical way, of monads. But after the foregoing\nexplanations we can see that what Leibniz means when he says that\nevery portion of matter is full of entelechies or souls, like a garden\nfull of plants, is that there is an absolute continuity of spiritual\nprinciples, each having its ideal relation with every other. There\nis no point of matter which does not represent in a confused way the\nentire universe. It is therefore as infinite in its activities as\nthe universe. In idea also it is capable of representing in distinct\nconsciousness, or as a development of its own self-activity, each of\nthese infinite activities.\n\nIn a word, every created or finite being may be regarded as matter or\nas spirit, according as it is accounted for by its external relations,\nas the reasons for what happen in it are to be found elsewhere than in\nits own explicit activity, or according as it shows clearly in itself\nthe reasons for its own modifications, and also accounts for changes\noccurring in other beings. The externally conditioned is matter;\nthe internally conditioned, the self-explanatory, is self-active, or\nspirit. Since all external relations are finally dependent on organic;\nsince the ultimate source of all explanation must be that which is\nits own reason; since the ultimate source of all activity must be that\nwhich is self-active,--the final reason or source of matter is spirit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nMATERIAL PHENOMENA AND THEIR REALITY.\n\n\nWe have seen the necessity and nature of matter as deductions from\nthe fundamental principles of Leibniz. We have seen that matter is\na phenomenon or manifestation of spirit in an imperfect and confused\nway. But why should it appear as moving, as extended, as resisting,\nas having cohesion, with all the concrete qualities which always mark\nit? Is there any connection between these particular properties of\nmatter as physical, and its \"metaphysical\" or ideal character? These\nare the questions which now occupy us. Stated more definitely, they\ntake the following form: Is there any essential connection between the\nproperties of matter as a metaphysical element, and its properties as a\nsensible fact of experience? Leibniz holds that there is. He does not,\nindeed, explicitly take the ground that we can deduce _a priori_ all\nthe characteristics of matter as a fact of actual experience from its\nrational notion, but he thinks we can find a certain analogy between\nthe two, that the sensible qualities are images or reflexes of the\nspiritual qualities, witnessing, so far as possible, to their origin in\npure energy.\n\nHis position is as follows: that which in the monad is activity or\nsubstantial, is, in sensible matter, motion. That which in the monad\nis lack of a given activity, that which constitutes its subordinate\nposition in the hierarchy of monads, is, in the sphere of material\nthings, inertia. That which in the spiritual world is the individuality\nof monads, making each forever ideally distinct from every other, is,\nin the phenomenal realm, resistance or impenetrability. The perfect\ncontinuity of monads in the _mundus intelligibilis_ has also its\ncounterpart in the _mundus sensibilis_ in the diffusion or extension of\nphysical things.\n\nInstead of following out this analogy directly, it will rather be\nfound convenient to take up Leibniz's thought in its historical\nconnection. We have already alluded to the fact that he began as\na Cartesian, and that one of the first ideas which repelled him\nfrom that system of thought was the notion that the essence of\nmatter is extension. His earliest philosophical writings, as he was\ngradually coming to the thoughts which thereafter dominated him,\nare upon this point. In general, his conclusions are as follows:\nIf matter were extension, it would be incapable of passion or of\naction. Solidity, too, is a notion entirely opposed to the conception\nof mere extension. The idea of matter as extension contradicts some\nof the known laws of motion. It requires that the quantity of motion\nremain unchanged whenever two bodies come in contact, while as matter\nof fact it is the quantity of energy, that which the motion is capable\nof effecting, that remains unchanged; or, as he more often puts the\nobjection, the Cartesian notion of matter requires that matter be\nwholly indifferent to motion, that there be nothing in it which resists\nmotion when imparted. But, says Leibniz, there is something resisting,\nthat to which Keppler gave the name \"inertia.\" It is not found to be\ntrue if one body impacts upon another that the second moves without\ndiminishing the velocity or changing the direction of the first. On\nthe other hand, just in proportion to the size of the second body,\nit resists and changes the motion of the first, up to the point of\ncausing the first to rebound if small in comparison. And when it was\nreplied that the retardation was due to the fact that the force moving\nthe first body had now to be divided between two, Leibniz answered\nthat this was simply to give up the contention, and besides the notion\nof extension to use that of force. If extension were the essence of\nmatter, it should be possible to deduce all the properties of matter,\nor at least to account for them all, from it. But since, as just seen,\nthis does not enable us to account for any of them, since for any of\nits concrete qualities we have to fall back on force, it is evident\nwhere the true essence of matter is to be found.\n\nLeibniz has another argument of a logical nature, as those already\nreferred to are of a physical: \"Those who claim that extension is a\nsubstance, reverse the order of words as well as of thoughts. Besides\nextension there must be a subject which is extended; that is to\nsay, something to which it belongs to be repeated or continued. For\nextension is nothing but a repetition or continued multiplication\nof that which is spread out,--it is a plurality, a continuity, a\nco-existence of parts. Consequently, extension does not suffice to\nexplain the nature of the repeated or manifold substance, of which the\nnotion is anterior to that of its repetition.\" Extension, in other\nwords, is nothing substantial, it is not something which can exist\nby itself; it is only a quality, a property, a mode of being. It is\nalways relative to something which has extension. As Leibniz says\nelsewhere: \"I insist that extension is only an _abstraction_, and\nrequires something which is extended. It presupposes some quality,\nsome attribute, some nature in a subject which is extended, diffused,\nor continued. Extension is a diffusion of this quality. For example,\nin milk there is an extension or diffusion of whiteness; in the diamond\nan extension or diffusion of hardness; in body in general a diffusion\nof antitypia or materiality. There is accordingly in body something\nanterior to extension.\"\n\nFrom the physical side, therefore, we find it impossible to account\nfor the concrete properties of material phenomena from extension; on\nthe logical we find that the idea of extension is always relative to\nthat which is extended. What is that which is to be considered as the\nbearer of extension and the source of physical qualities? We are led\nback to the point at which we left the matter in the last chapter. It\nis force, and force both passive and active. Leibniz uses the term\n\"matter\" in at least three senses: it is the metaphysical element of\npassive force _in_ the monad; it is the monad itself considered as,\nupon the whole, externally conditioned or unconscious; and it is the\nphenomenon resulting from the aggregation of the monads in the second\nsense. The first is naked matter, and is a pure abstraction; the second\nis the monad as material, as opposed to the monad, as soul; the third\nis clothed, or second matter, or, concretely, body, _corpus_. The first\nis unreal by itself; the second is one phase of substance; the third\nis not substantial, but is a reality, though a phenomenal one. It\nis from the substantial monad that we are to explain the two things\nnow demanding explanation,--that element in _bodies_ (matter in third\nsense) which is the source of their physical properties, and that which\nis the subject, the carrier, so to speak, of extension.\n\nThat of which we are in search as the source of the physical qualities\nof bodies is motion. This is not force, but its \"image.\" It is force,\nsays Leibniz, that \"is the real element in motion; that is to say,\nit is that element which out of the present state induces a change in\nthe future state.\" As force, in other words, is the causal activity\nwhich effects the development of one \"representation\" of a monad out\nof another, so motion, in the realm of phenomena, is not only change,\nbut change which is continuous and progressive, each new position\nbeing dependent upon the foregoing, and following out of it absolutely\nwithout break.\n\nMotion, therefore, is the manifestation of the ideal unity of\nsubstance,--a unity not of mere static inherence, but of a continuous\nprocess of activity. It is from this standpoint that Leibniz accounts\nfor the so-called transference of motion from one body to another upon\ncontact. The ordinary view of this, which looks at it as if one body\nloses the motion which another body gains, Leibniz ridicules, saying\nthat those who hold this view seem to think that motion is a kind of\nthing, resembling, perchance, salt dissolved in water. The right view,\non the other hand, does away with all appearance of mystery in the\ncarrying over of motion from one body to another, for it recognizes\nthat continuity is the very essence of motion, and that we do not have\ntwo things and a third process, but that the two bodies are phases or\nelements in one and the same system of movement.\n\nStarting from this idea of motion, then, Leibniz is to account for\nthe actual qualities of matter as found in experience. These are\nthe form, magnitude, cohesion, resistance, and the purely sensible\nqualities of objects. \"First\" matter, that is, abstract matter,\nmay be conceived, according to Leibniz, as perfectly homogeneous, a\n\"subtle fluid,\" in his words, without any distinction of parts or of\nsolidity. But this _is_ an abstract notion. It is what matter would\nbe without motion. Motion necessarily differentiates this plenum\nof homogeneity, and thus causes distinctions of figure (that is,\nboundaries of parts) and varieties of cohesion, or the varying solidity\nand fluidity of bodies. The latter difference is indeed the ultimate\none. The principle of continuity or gradation, as applied to motion,\nmakes it necessary that motions should not be in any two places of\nexactly the same energy. The result is that the original fluid matter\nis everywhere differently divided. Motion, entering into the uniform\nplenum, introduces distinction; it causes so much of the matter as is\naffected by a given movement to collect together and form in appearance\na coherent body, as opposed to surrounding bodies which are affected\nby different degrees of energy. But even this is only approximate;\nthe same principle of continuity must be applied within any apparently\ncoherent body; its parts, while, in relation to other bodies, they have\nthe same amount of motion, are in relation to one another differently\naffected. There are no two having exactly the same motion; if they had,\nthere would be no distinction between them; and thus, according to the\nprinciple of Leibniz, they would be the same.\n\nIt follows at once from this that there is in the universe no body of\nabsolute hardness or solidity, nor of entire softness or fluidity. A\nperfectly solid body would be one whose system of motions could not be\naffected by any other system,--a body which by motion had separated\nitself from motion, or become absolute. This is evidently an idea\nwhich contradicts itself, for the very essence of motion is continuity\nor relation. A body perfectly fluid, on the other hand, would be one\nin which there was no resistance offered to other motions,--a body,\nin other words, in which there are no movements that, entering into\nconnection with one another, form a relative opposition to other\nmovements. It would be a body isolated or out of relation with the\ngeneral system of motions, and hence an impossibility. There is no last\nterm either of solidity or of fluidity.\n\nIt equally follows as matter of course that there is no indivisible\nparticle of matter,--no atom. The infinity of degrees of motion\nimplies a corresponding division of matter. As already said, it is\nonly in contrast with other relatively constant systems of motion\nthat any body is of uniform motion; in reality there is everywhere\nthroughout it variety of movement, and hence complete divisibility, or\nrather, complete division. If Leibniz were to employ the term \"atom\"\nat all, it could be only in the sense of the modern dynamical theory\n(of which, indeed, he is one of the originators), according to which\nthe atom is not defined by its spatial position and outlines, but,\nby the range of its effects, as the centre of energies of infinite\ncircumference. Correlative to the non-existence of the atom is the\nnon-existence of the vacuum. The two imply each other. The hard,\nlimited, isolated body, having no intrinsic relations with other\nbodies, must have room to come into external relations with them. This\nempty space, which is the theatre of such accidental contacts as may\nhappen, is the vacuum. But if bodies are originally in connection\nwith one another, if they are in reality but differentiations of\nvarying degrees of motion within one system of motion, then there\nis no necessity for the vacuum,--nay, there is no place for it. The\nvacuum in this case could mean only a break, a chasm, in the order\nof nature. According to the theory of Leibniz, \"bodies\" are but the\ndynamic divisions of the one energy that fills the universe; their\nseparateness is not an independent possession of any one of them\nor of all together, but is the result of relations to the entire\nsystem. Their apparent isolation is only by reason of their actual\nconnections. To admit a vacuum anywhere, would thus be to deny the\nrelatedness of the parts separated by it. The theory of the atom and\nthe vacuum are the two phases of the metaphysical assumption of an\nindefinite plurality of independent separate realities. The theory\nof Leibniz, resting as it does on the idea of a perfect unity of\ninterrelated members, must deny both of these aspects. Were we making\nan extended analysis of the opposed view, it would be necessary to\npoint out that it denies itself. For it is only _through_ the vacuum\nthat the atoms are isolated or independent, and the sole function of\nthe vacuum is to serve as the background of the atoms. The atoms are\nseparated only in virtue of their connection, and the vacuum is what it\nis--pure emptiness--only on account of that which is in it. In short,\nthe theory is only an abstract and incomplete way of grasping the\nthought of relation or mediated unity.\n\nWe have thus discovered that all motions conspire together, or\nform a system. But in their unity they do not cease to be motions,\nor variously differentiated members. Through this differentiation,\nor mutual reaction of motions, there comes about the appearance of\nboundaries, of separation. From these boundaries or terminations\narise the form and size of bodies. From motion also proceeds the\ncohesion of bodies, in the sense that each relative system resists\ndissolution, or hangs together. Says Leibniz, \"The motions, since they\nare conspiring, would be troubled by separation; and accordingly this\ncan be accomplished only by violence and with resistance.\" Not only\nform, size, and stability depend upon motion, but also the sensible,\nthe \"secondary\" qualities. \"It must not be supposed that color, pain,\nsound, etc., are arbitrary and without relation to their causes. It is\nnot God's way to act with so little reason and order. There is a kind\nof resemblance, not entire, but of relation, of order. We say, for\nexample, 'Light is in the fire,' since there are motions in the fire\nwhich are imperceptible in their separation, but which are sensible\nin their conjunction or confusion; and this is what is made known in\nthe idea of light.\" In other words, color, sound, etc., even pain,\nare still the perception of motion, but in a confused way. We thus see\nhow thoroughly Leibniz carries back all the properties of bodies to\nmotion. To sum up, motion is the origin of the relative solidity, the\ndivisibleness, the form, the size, the cohesion, or active resistance\nof bodies, and of their properties as made known to us in immediate\nsensation.\n\nIn all that has been said it has been implied that extension is already\nin existence; \"first matter\" is supposed to fill all space, and motion\nto determine it to take upon itself its actual concrete properties. But\nthis \"first matter,\" when thus spoken of, has a somewhat mythological\nsound, even if it be admitted that it is an abstraction. For how can\nan abstraction be extended in space, and how can it form, as it were,\na background upon which motion displays itself? The idea of \"first\nmatter\" in its relation to extension evidently demands explanation. In\nseeking this explanation we shall also learn about that \"subject\" which\nLeibniz said was necessarily presupposed in extension, as a concrete\nthing is required for a quality.\n\nThe clew to the view of Leibniz upon this point may be derived, I\nthink, from the following quotations:--\n\n\"If it were possible to see what makes extension, that kind of\nextension which falls under our eyes at present would vanish, and\nour minds would perceive nothing else than simple realities existing\nin mutual externality to one another. It would be as if we could\ndistinguish the minute particles of matter variously disposed from\nwhich a painted image is formed: if we could do it, the image, which is\nnothing but a phenomenon, would vanish.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. If we think of two\nsimple realities as both existing at the same time, but distinct from\none another, we look at them as if they were outside of one another,\nand hence conceive them as extended.\"\n\nThe monads are outside of one another, not spatially, but ideally;\nbut this reciprocal distinction from one another, if it is to appear\nin phenomenal mode, must take the form of an image, and the image is\nspatial. But if the monads were pure activity, they would _not_ take\nphenomenal form or appear in an image. They would always be thought\njust as they are,--unextended activities realizing the spiritual\nessence of the universe. But they are not pure activity; they are\npassive as well. It is in virtue of this passive element that the ideal\nexternality takes upon itself phenomenal or sensible form, and thus\nappears as spatial externality.\n\nLeibniz, in a passage already quoted, refers to the diffusion\nof materiality or _antitypia_. This word, which is of frequent\noccurrence in the discussions of Leibniz, he translates generally as\n\"impenetrability,\" sometimes as \"passive resistance.\" It corresponds to\nthe solidity or resistance of which Locke spoke as forming the essence\nof matter. Antitypia is the representation by a monad of the passive\nelement in other monads. Leibniz sometimes speaks as if all created\nmonads had in themselves antitypia, and hence extension; but he more\naccurately expresses it by saying that they need (_exigent_) it. This\nis a technical term which he elsewhere uses to express the relation of\nthe possible to the actual. The possible \"needs\" the actual, not in\nthe sense that it _necessarily_ requires existence, but in the sense\nthat when the actual gives it existence, it is the logical basis of the\nactual,--the actual, on the other hand, being its real complement. The\npassivity of the monad is therefore at once the logical basis and\nthe possibility of the impenetrability of matter. It is owing to the\npassivity of the monad that it does not adequately reflect (that it is\nnot transparent to, so to speak) the activities of other monads. In\nits irresponsiveness, it fails to mirror them in itself. It may be\nsaid, therefore, to be impenetrable to them. They in turn, so far as\nthey are passive, are impenetrable to it. Now the impenetrable is,\n_ex vi terminis_, that which excludes, and that which excludes, not in\nvirtue of its active elasticity, but in virtue of its mere inertia,\nits dead weight, as it were, of resistance. But mutual exclusion of\nthis passive sort constitutes that which is extended. Extension is\nthe abstract quality of this concrete subject. Such, in effect, is the\ndeduction which Leibniz gives of body, or physical matter, from matter\nas metaphysical; of matter as sensible or phenomenal, from matter as\nideal or as intelligible.\n\nIf we put together what has been said, it is clear that material\nphenomena (bodies, _corpora_, in Leibniz's phrase) simply repeat\nin another sphere the properties of the spiritual monad. There\nis a complete parallelism between every property, each to each,\nand this necessarily; for every property of \"body\" is in logical\ndependence upon, and a phenomenalization of, some spiritual or ideal\nquality. Motion is the source of all the dynamic qualities of body, and\nmotion is the reflection of Force, that force which is Life. But this\nforce in all finite forms is conditioned by a passive, unreceptive,\nunresponsive factor; and this must also have its correlate in\n\"body.\" This correlate is primarily impenetrability, and secondarily\nextension. Thus it is that concrete body always manifests motion,\nindeed, but upon a background of extension, and against inertia. It\nnever has free play; had it an unrestrained field of activity,\nextension would disappear, and spatial motion would vanish into\nideal energy. On the other hand, were the essence of matter found in\nresistance or impenetrability, it would be wholly inert; it would be a\nmonotone of extension, without variety of form or cohesion. As Leibniz\nputs it with reference to Locke, \"body\" implies motion, or impetuosity,\nresistance, and cohesion. Motion is the active principle, resistance\nthe passive; while cohesion, with its various grades of completeness,\nwhich produce form, size, and solidity, is the result of their union.\n\nLeibniz, like Plato, has an intermediary between the rational and\nthe sensible; and as Plato found that it was mathematical relations\nthat mediate between the permanent and unified Ideas and the changing\nmanifold objects, so Leibniz found that the relations of space and time\nform the natural transition from the sphere of monads to the world\nof bodies. As Plato found that it was the possibility of applying\nmathematical considerations to the world of images that showed the\nparticipation of Ideas in them, and constituted such reality as they\nhad, so Leibniz found that space and time formed the element of\norder and regularity among sense phenomena, and thus brought them\ninto kinship with the monads and made them subjects of science. It\nis implied in what is here said that Leibniz distinguished between\nspace and time on the one hand, and duration and extension on the\nother. This distinction, which Leibniz draws repeatedly and with great\ncare, has been generally overlooked by his commentators. But it is\nevident that this leaves Leibniz in a bad plight. Mathematics, in its\nvarious forms, is the science of spatial and temporal relations. But if\nthese are identical with the forms of duration and extension, they are\npurely phenomenal and sensible. The science of them, according to the\nLeibnizian distinction between the absolutely real and the phenomenally\nreal, would be then a science of the confused, the imperfect,\nand the transitory; in fact, no science at all. But mathematics,\non the contrary, is to Leibniz the type of demonstrative, conclusive\nscience. Space and time are, in his own words, \"innate ideas,\" and\nthe entire science of them is the drawing out of the content of these\ninnate--that is, rational, distinct, and eternal--ideas. But extension\nand duration are sensible experiences; not rational, but phenomenal;\nnot distinct, but confused; not eternal, but evanescent. We may be sure\nthat this contradiction would not escape Leibniz, although it has many\nof his critics and historians.\n\nIt is true, however, that he occasionally uses the terms as synonymous;\nbut this where the distinction between them has no bearing on the\nargument in hand, and where the context determines in what sense\nthe term is used. The distinction which he actually makes, and to\nwhich he keeps when space and time are the subject of discussion,\nis that extension and duration are qualities or predicates of\nobjects and events, while space and time are relations, or orders of\nexistence. Extension and duration are, as he says, the _immensity_, the\nmass, the continuation, the repetition, of some underlying subject. But\nspace and time are the _measure_ of the mass, the rule or law of the\ncontinuation, the order or mode of the repetition. Thus immediately\nafter the passage already quoted, in which he says that extension\nin body is the diffusion of materiality, just as whiteness is the\ndiffusion of a property of milk, he goes on to say \"that extension is\nto space as duration to time. Duration and extension are attributes of\nthings; but space and time are to be considered, as it were, outside\nof things, and as serving to measure them.\" Still more definitely\nhe says: \"Many confound the immensity or extent of things with the\nspace by means of which this extent is defined. Space is not the\nextension of body, any more than duration is its time. Things keep\ntheir extension, not always their space. Everything has its own extent\nand duration; but it does not have a time of its own, nor keep for its\nown a space.\" Or, as he expresses the latter idea elsewhere, space is\nlike number, in the sense that it is indifferent to spatial things,\njust as number is indifferent to _res numerata_. Just as the number\nfive is not a quality or possession of any object, or group of objects,\nbut expresses an order or relation among them, so a given space is not\nthe property of a thing, but expresses the order of its parts to one\nanother. But extension, on the other hand, is a property of the given\nobjects. While extension, therefore, must always belong to some actual\nthing, space, as a relation, is as applicable to possible things as to\nactual existences; so that Leibniz sometimes says that time and space\n\"express possibilities.\" They are that which makes it possible for a\ndefinite and coherent order of experiences to exist. They determine\nexistence in some of its relations, and as such are logically\nprior to any given forms of existence; while extent and duration are\nalways qualities of some given form of existence, and hence logically\nderivative. Since time and space \"characterize possibilities\" as well\nas actualities, it follows as a matter of course \"that they are of the\nnature of eternal truths, which relate equally to the possible and to\nthe existing.\" Being an eternal truth, space must have its place in\nthat which is simply the active unity of all eternal truths,--the mind\nof God. \"Its truth and reality are based upon God. It is an order whose\nsource is God.\" Since God is _purus actus_, he is the immediate, the\nefficient source only of that which partakes in some degree of his own\nnature, or is rational; and here is another clear point of distinction\nbetween space and extension, between time and duration.\n\nBut we must ask more in detail regarding their nature. Admitting\nthat they are relations, ideal and prior to particular experiences,\nthe question must be asked, What sort of relations are they; how are\nthey connected with the purely spiritual on one hand, and with the\nphenomenal on the other? Leibniz's most extended answers to these\nquestions are given in his controversy with Clarke. The latter took\nmuch the same position regarding the nature of space (though not,\nindeed, concerning the origin of its idea) as Locke, and the arguments\nwhich Leibniz uses against him he might also have used, for the most\npart, against Locke. Locke and Clarke both conceived of space and\ntime as wholly without intrinsic relation to objects and events. It\nis especially against this position that Leibniz argues, holding that\nspace and time are simply orders or relations of objects and events,\nthat space exists only where objects are existing, and that it is\nthe order of their co-existence, or of their possible co-existence;\nwhile time exists only as events are occurring, and is the relation of\ntheir succession. Clarke, on the other hand, speaks of the universe of\nobjects as bounded by and moving about in an empty space, and says that\ntime existed before God created the finite world, so that the world\ncame into a time already there to receive its on-goings, just as it\nfell into a space already there to receive its co-existences.\n\nTo get at the ideas of Leibniz, therefore, we cannot do better than\nfollow the course of this discussion. He begins by saying that\nboth space and time are purely relative, one being the order of\nco-existences, the other of successions. Space characterizes in terms\nof possibility an order of things existing at the same time, so far as\nthey exist in mutual relations (_ensemble_), without regard to their\nspecial modes of existence. As to the alternate doctrine that space\nis a substance, or something absolute, it contradicts the principle\nof sufficient reason. Were space something absolutely uniform, without\nthings placed in it, there would be no difference between one part and\nanother, and it would be a matter of utter indifference to God why he\ngave bodies certain positions in space rather than others; similarly\nit would be a matter of indifference why he created the world when\nhe did, if time were something independent of events. In other words,\nthe supposed absoluteness of space and time would render the action of\nGod wholly without reason, capricious, and at haphazard. Similarly, it\ncontradicts the principle of \"indiscernibles,\" by which Leibniz means\nthe principle of specification, or distinction. According to him,\nto suppose two things exactly alike, is simply to imagine the same\nthing twice. Absolute uniformity, wholly undifferentiated, is a fiction\nimpossible to realize in thought. \"Space considered without objects has\nnothing in it to determine it; it is accordingly nothing actual. The\nparts of space must be determined and distinguished by the objects\nwhich are in them.\" Finally, were space and time absolutely real things\nin themselves, they would be independent of God, and even limitations\nupon him. \"They would be more substantial than substances. God would\nnot be able to change or destroy them. They would be immutable and\neternal in every part. Thus there would be an infinity of eternal\nthings (these parts) independent of God.\" They would limit God because\nhe would be obliged to exist _in_ them. Only by existing through this\nindependent time would he be eternal; only by extending through this\nindependent space would he be omnipresent. Space and time thus become\ngods themselves.\n\nWhen Clarke declares that by the absoluteness of space and time he does\nnot mean that they are themselves substances, but only properties,\nattributes of substance, Leibniz advances the same arguments in\ndifferent form. If space were the property of the things that are\nin space, it would belong now to one substance, now to another, and\nwhen empty of all material substance, even to an immaterial substance,\nperhaps to God. \"Truly a strange attribute which is handed about from\none thing to another. Substances thus leave their accidents as if they\nwere old clothes, and other substances put them on.\" Since these finite\nspaces are in infinite space, and the latter is an attribute of God,\nit must be that an attribute of God is composed of parts, some of them\nempty, some full, some round, some square. So, too, whatever is in time\nwould help make one of the attributes of God. \"Truly a strange God,\"\nsays Leibniz, \"this Deity of parts\" (_ce Dieu \u00e0 parties_). Clarke's\nreply to this was that space and time are attributes of God and of\nGod alone, not of things in space and time,--that, indeed, strictly\nspeaking, there are no parts in space or in time; they are absolutely\none. This was virtually to give up the whole matter. It was to deny\nthe existence of finite spaces and times, and to resolve them into\nan indefinite attribute of God. Such a view, as Leibniz points out,\nnot only is contrary to experience, but affords no aid in determining\nthe actual concrete forms and situations of bodies, and durations\nand successions of events. The absolute space and time, having no\nparts, are wholly out of relations to these concrete existences. The\nlatter require, therefore, a space and a time that are relations or\norders. Clarke's hypothesis is, as Leibniz says, wholly without use\nor function, and requires a theory like that of Leibniz to account\nfor the actually determinate forms of experience. In his last reply\nClarke shifts his ground again, and says that space and time are\n_effects_ of God's existence; \"they are the necessary results of his\nexistence.\" \"His existence is the cause of space and time.\" The death\nof Leibniz prevented any further reply. It is not hard to imagine,\nhowever, that in a general way his reply would have been to ask how\nspace and time are at once attributes essential and necessary to God,\nas constituting his immensity and eternity, and effects dependent upon\nhis existence. To take this latter position, indeed, seems to abandon\nthe position that they are absolute, and to admit that, like the rest\nof God's creation, they are relative and finite.\n\nSo much for Leibniz's polemic. Its meaning is that space and time have\nsignificance only with reference to things and events, that they are\nthe intellectual, the ideal side of these objects and occurrences,\nbeing the relations which give them order and unity. A space which\nis not the space of objects, which is not space in and through\nobjects, is an inanity; it is not spirit, it is not matter; it is\nnot a relation of either. It is nothingness magnified to infinity,\nand then erected into existence. And all for nothing; for it does not\nenable us to account for a single concrete fact of experience. For\nthis we must have recourse to relations and orders of existence. Space\nis therefore to be defined as the order which makes it possible for\nobjects to have situation; time as that which makes it possible for\nevents to have dating,--not as if they were actually prior to them,\nand although nothings in themselves, yet capable of giving concrete\ndetermination to things, but as _actually_ the relations themselves,\nand as _ideally_ necessary for the coherent experience of co-existent\nobjects and of connected events. As Leibniz puts it epigrammatically:\n\"Space is the order of possible constants; time the order of inconstant\npossibilities.\"\n\nWe have finished the exposition of the views of Leibniz about matter\nand material facts. One question, however, remains to be discussed,--a\nquestion which Leibniz's contemporary critics would not allow him to\npass over in silence, even had he been so disposed. What is the reality\nof matter, of motion, of space, and of time? Since they are, as Leibniz\nsays, only phenomena, not absolute realities, what distinguishes them\nfrom dreams, from illusions? What distinguishes sensible phenomena from\ncapricious fantasies, and gives them reality?\n\nLeibniz begins his answer by pointing out that the mere fact that\nbodies are phenomena does not make them unreal. To say that anything\nis phenomenal is to say that it is sensible; but \"the senses make\nno declaration regarding metaphysical matters\" such as truth and\nreality. The senses, in a word, only inform us that the experiences\nare there for the senses, that they are sensible. What is the ultimate\nnature of the sensible or the phenomenal, what is their reality,\nis a question wholly outside the province of sense. The questions of\nultimate nature, of reality, are questions of metaphysics, and hence\nare to be decided by the reason, not by the senses. And Leibniz goes\non to say that the truthfulness of the senses, since it concerns only\nthe sensible, consists in the reciprocal agreement of sensible facts,\nand in that we are not deceived in reasoning from one to another. An\nisolated sense-experience could not be said to be either true or\nfalse, real or illusory. It would be true that it was experienced,\nand that is all that could be said about it. But since our experiences\nare not thus separated, but have a certain order, there arises what\nwe may call sensible reality and illusion. When the order between\ntwo facts remains the same \"in different times and places and in the\nexperience of different men,\" we call these facts real. If, however,\nour experience cannot be repeated by ourselves or by other men when\nthe same conditions (that is, connections) are present, it is unreal,\nor false. It is thus \"the _relation_ of phenomena which guarantees\ntruth of fact regarding sensible objects.\" Constancy, regularity,\njustify us in ascribing reality; chaotic change and lack of orderly\nconnection are a sign of unreality. Even our dreams have a reality; for\nthey have their connections and place in experience. If we understood\ntheir connections we should even be able to explain their apparent\nlack of connection with the rest of experience. Leibniz thinks that\nboth the Academicians and Sceptics and their opponents erred in\nattempting to find greater reality in sensible things than that of\nregular phenomena. Since our observations and judgments upon sensible\nphenomena are of such a nature that we can predict future phenomena and\nprepare for them, we have all the reality in them that can be had or\nasked for. Even if it be granted possible (as it must be on this basis)\nthat, metaphysically speaking, sense-experience is only a connected\ndream, it yet has a sufficient reality; for we are not deceived in\nthe measures taken with reference to phenomena, provided that we act\non the ground of their observed harmonies and relations. Thus while\nwe are obliged to admit that our senses inform us that there are hard,\npassive, extended, indivisible things, not perfectly continuous and not\nintellectual in their nature, and we know on metaphysical grounds that\nthis information is not correct, we cannot say that our senses deceive\nus, for sense makes no statements regarding such matters. It is our\nreason that errs if it takes the information that the senses give as if\nit were a declaration of reason itself. Sensible things have all the\nreality necessary for this range of experience,--_practical_,--such\nregularity of co-existence and sequence as allows us to act without\nbeing led astray.\n\nBut if we regard sense-phenomena not merely in their connection with\none another, but in their dependence upon the absolute realities, we\nhave still better justification for their comparative reality. These\nphenomena are consequences of necessary and eternal truths. One endowed\nwith a perfect knowledge of such truths would be able to deduce, _a\npriori_, the phenomena from them. The reality of sensible phenomena\nthus consists not merely in their connection with one another, but in\nthe fact that they are connected as the laws of the intelligible world\nrequire. They follow not only rules of co-existence and sequence;\nbut these rules may be brought under general laws of motion, which\nin turn may be deduced from geometrical principles. These latter,\nhowever, are _a priori_; they are truths which are grounded in the very\nintelligence of God. The sensible has its basis in the ideal. To state\nthe same fact in another way, all sensible phenomena occur in time\nand space; or rather, time and space are the orders, the relations,\nof phenomena occurring and existing. But, as we have just seen, time\nand space are ideal. A relation, as Leibniz points out, being neither\nattribute nor accident, cannot be _in_ the things which it relates,\nas their possession. In his own words, it cannot be conceived as if\nit had one leg in one object, the other leg in the other. A relation\nis not a material bond, running through or cementing objects; it\nis ideal, existing in the mind. And while it is true that space and\ntime are the relations of objects and events, it is also true that\nif all objects and events were annihilated, space and time would\ncontinue to have their ideal existence in the intelligence of God as\nthe eternal conditions of phenomena. They thus form the links between\nabsolute reality and the reality of sensible existence. The principle\nof sufficient reason forms another link. It may be recalled that in\ndiscussing Leibniz's theory of volition we found that the will of God\nin relation to the sensible world is always determined by the choice of\nthe better; that in this consists the controlling reason and regulative\nprinciple of all that occurs and exists. Thus for every fact in the\nsensible world there is connection with \"metaphysical,\" or absolute,\nreality, not only through the medium of the intellectual relations\nof time and space, but through the dynamic intermediary of the divine\nwill acting in accordance with the divine reason. Sensible facts have,\nthen, a reality, but a dependent one. There would be no _contradiction_\ninvolved if they were not what they actually are.\n\nWe may sum up the matter by saying that the reality of sensible\nphenomena consists in the constancy of the mutual order in which they\nexist, and in the dependence of this order upon the divine Intelligence\nand Will. In this respect, at least, Leibniz resembles the young Irish\nidealist, Berkeley, who only seven years after Leibniz wrote the \"New\nEssays\" composed his \"Principles of Human Knowledge,\" urging that the\nimmediate reality of sense-phenomena consists in their \"steadiness,\norder, and coherence,\" \"in a constant uniform working,\" and that this\n\"gives us a foresight which enables us to regulate our actions for the\nbenefit of life.\" It was Berkeley also who wrote that their ultimate\nreality consists in their being ideas of a Divine Spirit. This was six\nyears before the death of Leibniz. Yet it does not appear that Berkeley\nknew of Leibniz, and the only allusion to Berkeley which I have\nfound in the writings of Leibniz shows that Leibniz knew only of that\ncaricature of his views which has always been current,--that Berkeley\nwas one who denied the existence of any external world. What he writes\nis as follows: \"As for him in Ireland who questions the reality of\n'bodies,' he seems neither to offer what is rational, nor sufficiently\nto explain his own ideas. I suspect that he is one of those men who are\ndesirous of making themselves known through paradoxes.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nSOME FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS.\n\n\nThe fundamental category of Locke, as of all who take simply a\nmechanical view of experience, is that of substance. He had good reason\nto be surprised when the Bishop of Worcester objected that Locke wished\n\"to discard substance out of the world.\" How can that be so, Locke\nasks, when I say that \"our idea of body is an extended solid substance,\nand our idea of soul is of a substance that thinks.\" And he adds, \"Nay,\nas long as there is any simple idea or sensible quality left, according\nto my way of arguing, substance cannot be discarded.\" Everything\nthat really exists, is, according to Locke, substance. But substance\nto Locke, as again to all who interpret the universe after sensible\ncategories, is unknowable. For such categories allow only of external\nrelations; they admit only of static existence. Substance, in this\nway of looking at it, must be distinct from its qualities, and must be\nsimply the existing substratum in which they inhere.\n\nLocke's account of the way in which we get the idea, and of its nature,\nis as follows: \"All the ideas of all the sensible qualities of a\ncherry come into my mind by sensation. The ideas of these qualities\nand actions, or powers, are perceived by the mind to be by themselves\ninconsistent with existence. They cannot subsist of themselves. Hence\nthe mind perceives their necessary connection with inherence, or with\nbeing supported.\" Correlative to the idea of being supported is, of\ncourse, the idea of the support. But this idea \"is not represented\nto the mind by any clear and distinct idea; the obscure and vague,\nindistinct idea of thing or something, is all that is left.\" Or yet\nmore simply, \"Taking notice that a certain number of simple ideas\ngo together, and not imagining how these simple ideas can subsist by\nthemselves, we accustom ourselves to suppose some substratum wherein\nthey do subsist, and from which they do result.\" Hence the only idea we\nhave of it is of something which underlies known qualities. It is their\n\"supposed, but unknown, support.\"\n\nIf we translate these expressions into the ideas of to-day,\nwe see that they are equivalent to the view of the world which\nis given us by scientific categories when these categories are\nregarded not merely as scientific, but also as philosophic; that\nis, capable of interpreting and expressing the ultimate nature of\nexperience. This modern view uses the words \"things-in-themselves\"\n(or absolute realities) and \"phenomena.\" It says that we know nothing\nof existence as it is in itself, but only of its phenomena. Mind,\nmatter, objects, are all substances, all equally substances, and all\nhave their unknown essence and their phenomenal appearance. Such a\ndistinction between the known and the unknown can rest, it is evident,\nonly upon a separation between reality and phenomena similar to that\nwhich Locke makes between substance and qualities. In knowing the\nlatter, we know nothing of the former. Although the latter are called\n\"phenomena,\" they do not really manifest the substantial reality; they\nconceal it. This absolute distinction between substance and quality,\nbetween reality and phenomenon, rests, in turn, upon the hypothesis\nthat reality is _mere_ existence; that is, it is something which is,\nand that is all. It is a substratum; it lies under, in a passive way,\nqualities; it is (literally) substance; it simply stands, inactively,\nunder phenomena. It may, by possibility, _have_ actions; but it _has_\nthem. Activities are qualities which, like all qualities, are in\nexternal relation to the substance. Being, in other words, is the\nprimary notion, and \"being\" means something essentially passive and\nmerely enduring, accidentally and secondarily something acting. Here,\nas elsewhere, Locke is the father of the mechanical philosophy of\nto-day.\n\nWe have already learned how completely Leibniz reverses this way of\nregarding reality. According to Locke, reality essentially is; and in\nits being there is no ground of revelation of itself. It then acts; but\nthese actions, \"powers, or qualities,\" since not flowing from the very\nbeing of substance, give no glimpse into its true nature. According to\nLeibniz, reality acts, and _therefore_ is. Its being is conditioned\nupon its activity. It is not first there, and secondly acts; but its\n\"being there\" is its activity. Since its very substance is activity,\nit is impossible that it should not manifest its true nature. Its every\nactivity is a revelation of itself. It cannot hide itself as a passive\nsubsistence behind qualities or phenomena. It must break forth into\nthem. On the other hand, since the qualities are not something which\nmerely inhere in an underlying support, but are the various forms\nor modes of the activity which constitutes reality, they necessarily\nreveal it. They _are_ its revelations. There is here no need to dwell\nfurther on the original dynamic nature of substance; what was said in\nthe way of general exposition suffices. It is only in its relations to\nLocke's view as just laid down that it now concerns us.\n\nIn the first place, Leibniz points out that qualities are \"abstract,\"\nwhile substance is \"concrete.\" The qualities, from the very fact\nthat they have no self-subsistence, are only relations, while the\nsubstance, as that of which they are qualities, or from which they\nare abstractions, is concrete. It is, Leibniz says, to invert the\ntrue order to take qualities or abstract terms as the best known\nand most easily comprehended, and \"concretes\" as unknown, and as\nhaving the most difficulty about them. \"It is abstractions which\ngive birth to almost all our difficulties,\" and Locke's error here\nis that he begins with abstractions, and takes them to be most open\nto intelligence. Locke's second error is separating so completely\nsubstance and attribute. \"After having distinguished,\" says Leibniz,\n\"two things in substance, the attributes or predicates, and the common\nsubject of these predicates, it is not to be wondered at that we\ncannot conceive anything in particular in the subject. This result is\nnecessary, since we have separated all the attributes in which there is\nanything definite to be conceived. Hence to demand anything more than a\nmere unknown somewhat in the subject, is to contradict the supposition\nwhich was made in making the abstraction and in conceiving separately\nthe subject and its qualities or accidents.\" We are indeed ignorant\nof a subject from which abstraction has been made of all defining\nand characteristic qualities; \"but this ignorance results from our\ndemanding a sort of knowledge of which the object does not permit.\" In\nshort, it is a credit to our knowledge, not an aspersion upon it, that\nwe cannot know that which is thoroughly unreal,--a substance deprived\nof all attributes. This is, indeed, a remark which is applicable to\nthe supposed unknowableness of pure Being, or Absolute Being, when it\nis defined as the absence of all relations (as is done, for example,\nby Mr. Spencer to-day).\n\nClosely connected with the notion of substance are the categories\nof identity and diversity. These relations are of course to Locke\nthoroughly external. It is \"relation of time and place which always\ndetermines identity.\" \"That that had one beginning is the same thing;\nand that which had a different beginning in time and place from that,\nis not the same, but diverse.\" It is therefore easy to discover the\nprinciple of individuation. It \"is existence itself, which determines\na being of any sort to a particular time and place, incommunicable to\ntwo beings of the same kind.\" He applies this notion to organic being,\nincluding man, and to the personal identity of man. The identity of an\norganism, vegetable, brute, or human, is its continuous organization;\n\"it is the participation of the same continued life, by constantly\nfleeting particles of matter in succession vitally united to the same\norganized body.\" _Personal_ identity is constituted by a similar\ncontinuity of consciousness. \"It being the same consciousness that\nmakes a man be himself to himself, personal identity depends on that\nonly.\" It \"consists not in the identity of substance, but in the\nidentity of consciousness.\" It will be noticed that Locke uses the\nnotion of identity which he has already established to explain organic\nand personal unity. It is the \"_same_ continued life,\" \"_identity_ of\nconsciousness,\" that constitute them. We are, hence, introduced to no\nnew principle. Identity is even in personality a matter of temporal and\nspatial relations.\n\nIn the general account of the system of Leibniz it was pointed out that\nit is characteristic of his thought to regard identity and distinction\nas internal principles, and as necessarily implied in each other. We\nneed not go over that ground again, but simply see how he states\nhis position with reference to what is quoted from Locke. These are\nhis words: \"Besides the difference of place and time there is always\nnecessary an _internal principle_ [or law] of distinction, so that\nwhile there may be several things of the same species, there are no two\nthings exactly alike. Thus, although time and place (that is, relations\nto the external) aid us in distinguishing things, things do not\ncease to be distinguished in themselves. The essence of identity and\ndiversity does not consist in time and place, although it is true that\ndiversity of things is accompanied with that of time and place, since\nthey carry along with them different impressions upon the thing;\" that\nis, they expose the thing to different surroundings. But in reality\n\"it is things which diversify times and places from one another, for\nin themselves these are perfectly similar, not being substances or\ncomplete realities.\"\n\nThe principle of individuation follows, of course, from this. \"If\ntwo individuals were perfectly similar and equal, that is,\nindistinguishable in themselves, there would be no principle of\nindividuation; there would not be two individuals.\" Thus Leibniz\nstates his important principle of the \"identity of indiscernibles,\"\nthe principle that where there is not some internal differentiating\nprinciple which specifies the existence in this or that definite\nway, there is no individual. Leibniz here states, in effect, the\nprinciple of organic unity, the notion that concrete unity is a\nunity _of_ differences, not _from_ them. It is the principle which\nallows him at once to accept and transform the thought of Spinoza\nthat all qualification or determination is negation. Spinoza, in\nspite of his intellectual greatness, conceived of distinction or\ndetermination as external, and hence as external negation. But since\nultimate reality admits of no external negation, it must be without\ndistinction, an all-inclusive one. But to Leibniz the negation is\ninternal; it is determination of its own being into the greatest\npossible riches. \"Things that are conceived as absolutely uniform and\ncontaining no variety are pure abstractions.\" \"Things indistinguishable\nin themselves, and capable of being distinguished only by external\ncharacteristics without internal foundation, are contrary to the\nmost important principles of reason. The truth is that every being is\ncapable of change [or differentiation], and is itself actually changed\nin such a way that in itself it differs from every other.\"\n\nAs to organic bodies, so far as they _are_ bodies, or corporeal, they\nare one and identical only in appearance. \"They are not the same an\ninstant.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Bodies are in constant flux.\" \"They are like a\nriver which is always changing its water, or like the ship of Theseus\nwhich the Athenians are constantly repairing.\" Such unity as they\nreally possess is like all unity,--ideal or spiritual. \"They remain the\nsame individual by virtue of that same soul or spirit which constitutes\nthe 'Ego' in those individuals who think.\" \"Except for the soul,\nthere is neither the same life nor any vital union.\" As to personal\nidentity, Leibniz distinguishes between \"physical or real\" identity\nand \"moral.\" In neither case, however, is it a unity which excludes\nplurality, an identity which does not comprehend diversity. \"Every\nspirit has,\" he says, \"traces of all the impressions which it has ever\nexperienced, and even presentiments of all that ever will happen. But\nthese feelings are generally too minute to be distinguished and brought\ninto consciousness, though they may be sometime developed. This\n_continuity_ and _connection_ of _perceptions_ makes up the real\nidentity of the individual, while _apperceptions_ (that which is\nconsciously apprehended of past experiences) constitute the moral\nidentity and make manifest the real identity.\" We have had occasion\nbefore to allude to the part played in the Leibnizian philosophy by\n\"minute perceptions\" or \"unconscious ideas.\" Of them he says, relative\nto the present point, that \"insensible perceptions mark and even\nconstitute the sameness of the individual, which is characterized\nby the residua preserved from its preceding states, as they form\nits connection with its present state.\" If these connections are\n\"apperceived\" or brought into distinct consciousness, there is moral\nidentity as well. As he expresses it in one place: \"The self (_soi_)\nis real and physical identity; the appearance of self, accompanied with\ntruth, is personal identity.\" But the essential point in either case is\nthat the identity is not that of a substance underlying modifications,\nnor of a consciousness which merely accompanies all mental states,\nbut is the connection, the active continuity, or--in Kant's word--the\nsynthesis, of all particular forms of the mental life. The self is not\nthe most abstract unity of experience, it is the most organic. What\nLeibniz says of his monads generally is especially true of the higher\nmonads,--human souls. \"They vary, up to infinity itself, with the\ngreatest abundance, order, and beauty imaginable.\" Not a mathematical\npoint, but life, is the type of Leibniz's conception of identity.\n\nIn the order in which Locke takes up his topics (and in which Leibniz\nfollows him) we have omitted one subject, which, however, may find its\nnatural place in the present connection,--the subject of infinity. In\nLocke's conception, the infinite is only a ceaseless extension or\nmultiplication of the finite. He considers the topic immediately after\nthe discussions of space, time, and number, and with good logic from\nhis standpoint; for \"finite and infinite,\" he says, are \"looked upon by\nthe mind as the modes of _quantity_, and are attributed, in their first\ndesignation, only to those things which have parts and are capable\nof increase and diminution.\" This is true even of the application\nof the term \"infinite\" to God, so far as concerns the attributes of\nduration and ubiquity; and as applied to his other attributes the\nterm is figurative, signifying that they are incomprehensible and\ninexhaustible. Such being the idea of the infinite, it is attained as\nfollows: There is no difficulty, says Locke, as to the way in which\nwe come by the idea of the finite. Every obvious portion of extension\nand period of succession which affects us is bounded. If we take one of\nthese periods or portions, we find that we can double it, or \"otherwise\nmultiply it,\" as often as we wish, and that there is no reason to stop,\nnor are we one jot nearer the end at any point of the multiplication\nthan when we set out. \"By repeating as often as we will any idea of\nspace, we get the idea of infinity; by being able to repeat the idea\nof any length of duration, we come by the idea of eternity.\" There\nis a difference, then, between the ideas of the infinity of space,\ntime, and number, and of an infinite space, time, and number. The\nformer idea we have; it is the idea that we can continue without end\nthe process of multiplication or progression. The latter we have not;\nit would be the idea of having completed the infinite multiplication,\nit would be the result of the never-ending progression. And this is\nevidently a contradiction in terms. To sum the matter up, the term\n\"infinite\" always relates to the notion of quantity. Quantity is that\nwhich is essentially capable of increase or decrease. There is then an\ninfinity of quantity; there is no quantity which is the absolute limit\nto quantity. Such a quantity would be incapable of increase, and hence\ncontradictory to quantity. But an actual infinite quantity (whether\nof space, time, or number) would be one than which there could be no\ngreater; and hence the impossibility of our having a positive idea of\nan actual or completed infinite.\n\nLeibniz's reply consists simply in carrying out this same thought\nsomewhat further. It is granted that the idea of an infinite quantity\nof any kind is absurd and self-contradictory. But what does this prove,\nexcept that the notions of quantity and infinity are incompatible with\neach other, that they contradict each other? Hence, instead of the\ninfinite being a mode of quantity, it must be conceived as essentially\ndistinct from and even opposed to quantity. Locke's argument is\nvirtually a _reductio ad absurdum_ of the notion that the infinite\nis capable of parts. In the few pages of comment which Leibniz in\n1696 wrote upon Locke, this topic of the infinite is one of the few\ntouched upon. His words upon that occasion were as follows: \"I agree\nwith Mr. Locke that, properly speaking, there is no space, time, nor\nnumber which is infinite; and that it is only true that however great\nbe a space, a time, or a number, there is always another which is still\ngreater, and this without end; and that, _therefore_, the infinite\nis not to be found in a whole made up of parts. But it does not cease\nto exist: it is found in the absolute, which is without parts, and of\nwhich compound things [phenomena in space and time, or facts which may\nbe numbered] are only limitations. The positive infinite being nothing\nelse than the absolute, it may be said that there is, in this sense,\na positive idea of the infinite, and that it is anterior to the idea\nof the finite.\" In other words, while the infinite is to Locke an\nindefinite extension of the finite, which alone is positively \"given,\"\nto Leibniz the infinite is the positive and real, and the finite is\nonly in and by it. The finite is the negative.\n\nLeibniz amplifies this thought upon other occasions, as in his present\nmore extended examination. \"There is no infinite number, line, or\nquantity, if they are taken as true wholes.\" \"We deceive ourselves in\ntrying to imagine an absolute space which should be an infinite whole,\ncomposed of parts. There is none such. It is an idea which implies\ncontradiction; and all these 'infinites' and 'infinitesimals' are of\nuse only in geometry, as imaginary roots are in algebra.\" That which\nis ordinarily called the infinite, that is, the quantitative infinite,\nis in reality only the indefinite. \"We involve ourselves in difficulty\nwhen we talk about a series of numbers extending _to_ infinity; we\nimagine a last term, an infinite number, or one infinitely little. But\nthese are only fictions. All number is finite and assignable, [that is,\nof a certain definite quantity]; every line is the same. 'Infinites'\nand 'infinitesimals' signify only quantities which can be taken as\nlarge or as small as one wishes, simply for the purpose of showing that\nthere is no error which can be assigned. Or we are to understand by the\ninfinitely little, the state of vanishing or commencing of a quantum\nafter the analogy of a quantum already formed.\" On the other hand,\nthe true infinite \"is not an aggregate, nor a whole of parts; it is not\nclothed with magnitude, nor does it consist in number.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. The\nAbsolute alone, the indivisible infinite, has true unity,--I mean\nGod.\" And as he sums up the matter: \"The infinite, consisting of parts,\nis neither one nor a whole; it cannot be brought under any notion of\nthe mind except that of quantity. Only the infinite without parts is\none, and this is not a whole [of parts]: this infinite is God.\"\n\nIt cannot be admitted, however, that Locke has given a correct account\nof the origin of the notion of the quantitative infinite, or--to\nspeak philosophically, and not after the use of terms convenient in\nmathematics--the indefinite. According to him, its origin is the mere\nempirical repeating of a sensuous datum of time and space. According\nto Leibniz, this repetition, however long continued, can give no\nidea beyond itself; it can never generate the idea that the process\nof repetition may be continued without a limit. Here, as elsewhere,\nhe objects that experience cannot guarantee notions beyond the limits\nof experience. Locke's process of repetition could tell us that a\nnumber _had_ been extended up to a given point; not that it could be\nextended without limit. The source of this latter idea must be found,\ntherefore, where we find the origin of all extra-empirical notions,--in\nreason. \"Its origin is the same as that of universal and necessary\ntruths.\" It is not the empirical process of multiplying, but the fact\nthat the _same reason_ for multiplying always exists, that originates\nand guarantees the idea. \"Take a straight line and prolong it in such\na way that it is double the first. It is evident that the second,\nbeing perfectly _similar_ to the first, can be itself doubled; and we\nhave a third, which in turn is _similar_ to the preceding. The _same\nreason_ always being present, it is not possible that the process\nshould ever be brought to a stop. Thus the line can be prolonged\n'to infinity.' Therefore the idea of 'infinity' comes from the\nconsideration of the identity of relation or of reason.\"\n\nThe considerations which we have grouped together in this chapter\nserve to show the fundamental philosophical difference between Locke\nand Leibniz. Although, taken in detail, they are self-explanatory, a\nfew words may be permitted upon their unity and ultimate bearing. It is\ncharacteristic of Locke that he uses the same principle of explanation\nwith reference to the conceptions of substance, identity and diversity,\nand infinity, and that this principle is that of spatial and temporal\nrelation. Infinity is conceived as quantitative, as the successive\naddition of times and spaces; identity and diversity are oneness and\ndifference of existence as determined by space and time; substance\nis the underlying static substratum of qualities, and, as such, is\nconsidered after the analogy of things existing in space and through\ntime. It must not be forgotten that Locke believed as thoroughly as\nLeibniz in the substantial existence of the world, of the human soul,\nand of God; in the objective continuity of the world, and the personal\nidentity of man, and in the true infinity of God. Whatever negative\nor sceptical inferences may have afterwards been drawn from Locke's\npremises were neither drawn nor dreamed of by him. His purpose was in\nessence one with that of Leibniz.\n\nBut the contention of Leibniz is that when substance, identity, and\ninfinity are conceived of by mechanical categories, or measured by the\nsensible standard of space and time, they lose their meaning and their\nvalidity. According to him such notions are spiritual in their nature,\nand to be spiritually conceived of. \"Spiritual,\" however, does not mean\nopposed to the sensible; it does not mean something to be known by a\npeculiar kind of intuition unlike our knowledge of anything else. It\nmeans the active and organic basis of the sensible, its significance\nand ideal purpose. It is known by knowing the sensible or mechanical\nas it really is; that is, as it is completely, as a _concretum_,\nin Leibniz's phrase. Leibniz saw clearly that to make the infinite\nsomething at one end of the finite, as its mere external limit, or\nsomething miraculously intercalated into the finite, was to deprive\nit of meaning, and, by making it unknowable, to open the way for its\ndenial. To make identity consist in the removal of all diversity\n(as must be done if it be thought after the manner of external\nrelations), is to reduce it to nothing,--as Hume, indeed, afterwards\nshowed. Substance, which is merely a support behind qualities, is\nunknowable, and hence unverifiable. While, then, the aim of both Locke\nand Leibniz as regards these categories was the same, Leibniz saw what\nLocke did not,--that to interpret them after the manner of existence\nin space and time, to regard them (in Leibniz's terminology) as\nmathematical, and not as metaphysical, is to defeat that aim. The sole\nway to justify them, and in justifying them to give relative validity\nto the sensible and phenomenal, is to demonstrate their spiritual and\ndynamic nature, to show them as conditioning space and time, and not as\nconditioned by them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE NATURE AND EXTENT OF KNOWLEDGE.\n\n\nThe third book of Locke's Essay is upon words and language; and in the\norder of treatment this would be the next topic for discussion. But\nmuch of what is said in this connection both by Locke and by Leibniz is\nphilological, rhetorical, and grammatical in character, and although\nnot without interest in itself, is yet without any especial bearing\nupon the philosophical points in controversy. The only topics in\nthis book demanding our attention are general and particular terms;\nbut these fall most naturally into the discussion of general and\nparticular knowledge. In fact, it is not the terms which Locke\nactually discusses, but the ideas for which the terms stand. We\npass on accordingly, without further ceremony, to the fourth book,\nwhich is concerning knowledge in general. Locke defines knowledge\nas \"nothing but the perception of the connection and agreement, or\ndisagreement and repugnancy, of any of our ideas.\" These agreements or\ndisagreements may be reduced to four sorts,--Identity, or diversity;\nRelation; Co-existence, or necessary connection; Real existence. The\nstatement of identity and diversity is implied in all knowledge\nwhatsoever. By them \"the mind clearly and infallibly perceives each\nidea to agree with itself and be what it is, and all distinct ideas to\ndisagree; _i.\u00a0e._, the one not to be the other.\" The agreement of\nrelation is such knowledge as the mind derives from the _comparison_\nof its ideas. It includes mathematical knowledge. The connection of\nco-existence \"belongs particularly to substances.\" Locke's example\nis that \"gold is fixed,\"--by which we understand that the idea of\nfixedness goes along with that group of ideas which we call gold. All\nstatements of fact coming under the natural sciences would fall into\nthis class. The fourth sort is \"that of actual and real existence\nagreeing to any idea.\"\n\nLeibniz's criticism upon these statements of Locke is brief and to\nthe point. He admits Locke's definition of knowledge, qualifying it,\nhowever, by the statement that in much of our knowledge, perhaps in all\nthat is merely empirical, we do not know the reason and connection\nof things and hence cannot be said to _perceive_ the agreement\nor disagreement of ideas, but only to feel it confusedly. His\nmost important remark, however, is to the effect that relation is\nnot a special kind of knowledge, but that all Locke's four kinds\nare varieties of relation. Locke's \"connection\" of ideas which\nmakes knowledge is nothing but relation. And there are two kinds of\nrelation,--those of \"comparison\" and of \"concourse.\" That of comparison\nstates the identity or distinction of ideas, either in whole or in\npart. That of concourse contains Locke's two classes of co-existence\nand existence. \"When we say that a thing really exists, this existence\nis the predicate,--that is to say, a notion connected with the idea\nwhich is the subject; and there is connection between these two\nnotions. The existence of an object of an idea may be considered as\nthe concourse of this object with me. Hence comparison, which marks\nidentity or diversity, and concourse of an object with me (or with the\n_ego_) are the only forms of knowledge.\"\n\nLeibniz leaves the matter here; but he only needed to develop what is\ncontained in this statement to anticipate Berkeley and Kant in some of\nthe most important of their discoveries. The contradiction which lies\nconcealed in Locke's account is between his definition of knowledge\nin general, and knowledge of real existence in particular. One is the\nagreement or disagreement of _ideas_; the other is the agreement of\nan idea _with an object_. Berkeley's work, in its simplest form, was\nto remove this inconsistency. He saw clearly that the \"object\" was an\nintruder here. If knowledge lies in the connection of _ideas_, it is\nimpossible to get outside the ideas to find an object with which they\nagree. Either that object is entirely unknown, or it is an idea. It\nis impossible, therefore, to find the knowledge of reality in the\ncomparison of an idea with an object. It must be in some property of\nthe ideas themselves.\n\nKant developed more fully the nature of this property, which\nconstitutes the \"objectivity\" of our ideas. It is their connection\nwith one another according to certain _necessary_ forms of perception\nand rules of conception. In other words, the reality of ideas lies in\ntheir being connected by the necessary and hence universal relations\nof synthetic intelligence, or, as Kant often states it, in their\nagreement with the conditions of self-consciousness. It is not, I\nbelieve, unduly stretching either the letter or the spirit of Leibniz\nto find in that \"concourse of the object with the ego\" which makes\nits reality, the analogue of this doctrine of Kant; it is at all\nevents the recognition of the fact that reality is not to be found\nin the relating of ideas to unknown things, but in their relation to\nself-conscious intelligence. The points of similarity between Kant\nand Leibniz do not end here. Leibniz's two relations of \"comparison\"\nand \"concourse\" are certainly the congeners of Kant's \"analytic\"\nand \"synthetic\" judgments. But Leibniz, as we shall see hereafter,\ntrusts too thoroughly to the merely formal relations of identity and\ncontradiction to permit him such a development of these two kinds of\nrelation as renders Kant's treatment of them epoch-making.\n\nThe discussion then advances to the subject of degrees of knowledge,\nof which Locke recognizes three,--intuitive, demonstrative, and\nsensitive. Intuitive knowledge is immediate knowledge,--recognition\nof likeness or difference without the intervention of a third idea;\nit is the most certain and clear of all knowledge. In demonstrative\nknowledge the agreement or disagreement cannot be perceived directly,\nbecause the ideas cannot be put together so as to show it. Hence\nthe mind has recourse to intermediaries. \"And this is what we call\nreasoning.\" Demonstrative rests on intuitive knowledge, because each\nintermediate idea used must be immediately perceived to be like or\nunlike its neighboring idea, or it would itself need intermediates for\nits proof. Besides these two degrees of knowledge there is \"another\nperception of the mind employed about the particular existence of\nfinite things without us, which, going beyond bare probability, and yet\nnot reaching perfectly to either of the foregoing degrees of certainty,\npasses under the name of knowledge.\"\n\nLeibniz's comments are again brief. The primitive truths which are\nknown by intuition are to be divided into two classes,--truths of\nreason and of fact. The primitive truths of reason are necessary, and\nmay be called identical, because they seem only to repeat the same\nthing, without teaching us anything. A is A. A is not non-A. Such\npropositions are not frivolous or useless, because the conclusions\nof logic are demonstrated by means of identical propositions, and\nmany of those of geometry by the principle of contradiction. All the\nintuitive truths of reason may be said to be made known through the\n\"immediation\" of ideas. The intuitive truths of fact, on the other\nhand, are contingent and are made known through the \"immediation\"\nof feeling. In this latter class come such truths as the Cartesian,\n\"I think, therefore I am.\" Neither class can be proved by anything more\ncertain.\n\nDemonstration is defined by Leibniz as by Locke. The former recognizes,\nhowever, two sorts,--analytic and synthetic. Synthesis goes from the\nsimple to the complex. There are many cases, however, where this is\nnot applicable; where it would be a task \"equal to drinking up the sea\nto attempt to make all the necessary combinations. Here the method\nof exclusions should be employed, cutting off many of the useless\ncombinations.\" If this cannot be done, then it is analysis which gives\nthe clew into the labyrinth. He is also of the opinion that besides\ndemonstration, giving certainty, there should be admitted an art of\ncalculating probabilities,--the lack of which is, he says, a great\ndefect in our present logic, and which would be more useful than a\nlarge part of our demonstrative sciences. As to sensitive knowledge,\nhe agrees with Locke that there is such a thing as real knowledge\nof objects without us, and that this variety does not have the same\nmetaphysical certainty as the other two; but he disagrees regarding\nits criterion. According to Locke, the criterion is simply the greater\ndegree of vividness and force that sensations have as compared with\nimaginations, and the actual pleasures or pains which accompany\nthem. Leibniz points out that this criterion, which in reality is\npurely emotional, is of no great value, and states the principle of the\nreality of sensible phenomena which we have already given, repeating\nthat it is found in the _connection_ of phenomena, and that \"this\nconnection is verified by means of the truths of reason, just as the\nphenomena of optics are explained by geometry.\"\n\nThe discussion regarding \"primitive truths,\" axioms, and maxims,\nas well as the distinction between truths of fact and of reason, has\nits most important bearing in Locke's next chapter. This chapter has\nfor its title the \"Extent of Human Knowledge,\" and in connection with\nthe sixth chapter, upon universal propositions, and with the seventh,\nupon axioms, really contains the gist of the treatment of knowledge. It\nis here also that are to be considered chapters three and six of book\nthird, having respectively as their titles, \"Of General Terms,\" and \"Of\nthe Names of Substances.\"\n\nTo understand Locke's views upon the extent and limitations of our\nknowledge, it is necessary to recur to his theory of its origin. If\nwe compare what he says about the origin of ideas from sensations\nwith what he says about the development of general knowledge from\nparticular, we shall find that Locke unconsciously puts side by side\ntwo different, and even contradictory, theories upon this point. In the\nview already given when treating of sensation, knowledge originates\nfrom the combination, the addition, of the simple ideas furnished\nus by our senses. It begins with the simple, the unrelated, and\nadvances to the complex. But according to the doctrine which he\npropounds in treating of general terms, knowledge begins with the\nindividual, which is already qualified by definite relations, and\nhence complex, and proceeds, by abstracting some of these qualities,\ntowards the simple. Or, in Locke's own language, \"ideas become general\nby separating from them the circumstances of time and place and any\nother ideas that may _determine_ them to this and that particular\nexistence.\" And, still more definitely, he says that general ideas\nare framed by \"leaving out of the _complex_ idea of individuals that\nwhich is peculiar to each, and retaining only what is common to them\nall.\" From this it follows that \"general and universal belong not to\nthe real existence of things, but are the inventions and creatures of\nthe understanding.\" \"When we quit particulars, the generals that rest\nare only creatures of our own making.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. The signification\nthey have is nothing but a relation that by the mind of man is added\nto them.\" And in language which reminds us of Kant, but with very\ndifferent bearing, he says that relations are the workmanship of the\nunderstanding. The abstract idea of what is common to all the members\nof the class constitutes \"nominal essence.\" This nominal essence, not\nbeing a particular existence in nature, but the \"workmanship of the\nunderstanding,\" is to be carefully distinguished from the real essence,\n\"which is the being of anything whereby it is what it is.\" This real\nessence is evidently equivalent to the unknown \"substance\" of which we\nhave heard before. \"It is the real, internal, and unknown constitution\nof things.\" In simple or unrelated ideas and in modes the real and\nthe nominal essence is the same; and hence whatever is demonstrated of\none is demonstrated of the other. But as to substance it is different,\nthe one being natural, the other artificial. The nominal essence always\nrelates to sorts, or classes, and is a pattern or standard by which we\nclassify objects. In the individual there is nothing essential, in this\nsense. \"Particular beings, considered barely in themselves, will be\nfound to have all their qualities equally essential to them, or, which\nis more, nothing at all.\" As for the \"real essence\" which things have,\n\"we only suppose its being without precisely knowing what it is.\"\n\nLocke here presents us with the confusion which, in one form or\nanother, is always found in empiricism, and which indeed is essential\nto it. Locke, like the ordinary empiricist, has no doubt of the\nexistence of real things. His starting-point is the existence of two\nsubstances, mind and matter; while, further, there is a great number of\nsubstances of each kind. Each mind and every separate portion of matter\nis a distinct substance. This supposed deliverance of common sense\nLocke never called into question. Working on this line, all knowledge\nwill consist in abstraction from the ready-made things presented to us\nin perception, \"in leaving out from the complex idea of individuals\"\nsomething belonging to them. But on the other hand, Locke never doubts\nthat knowledge begins with sensation, and that, therefore, the process\nof knowledge is one of adding simple, unrelated elements. The two\ntheories are absolutely opposed to each other, and yet one and the\nsame philosophical inference may be drawn from each; namely, that only\nthe particular is real, and that the universal (or relations) is an\nartificial product, manufactured in one case by abstraction from the\nreal individual, in the other by compounding the real sensation.\n\nThe result is, that when he comes to a discussion of the extent of\nknowledge, he admits knowledge of self, of God, and of \"things,\"\nonly by a denial of his very definition of knowledge, while knowledge\nof other conceptions, like those of mathematics, is not knowledge of\nreality, but only of ideas which we ourselves frame. All knowledge,\nthat is to say, is obtained only either by contradicting his own\nfundamental notion, or by placing it in relations which are confessedly\nartificial and superinduced. It is to this point that we come.\n\nThe proposition which is fundamental to the discussion is that we\nhave knowledge only where we perceive the agreement or disagreement\nof ideas. Locke then takes up each of his four classes of connection,\nin order to ascertain the extent of knowledge in it. Our knowledge\nof \"identity and diversity extends as far as our ideas,\" because we\nintuitively perceive every idea to be \"what it is, and different from\nany other.\" Locke afterwards states, however, that all purely identical\npropositions are \"trifling,\" that is, they contain no instruction;\nthey teach us nothing. Thus the first class of relations cannot be\nsaid to be of much avail. If we consider the fourth kind of knowledge,\nthat of real existence, we have an intuitive knowledge of self, a\ndemonstrative knowledge of God, and a sensitive knowledge of other\nthings. But sensitive knowledge, it must be noted, \"does not extend\nbeyond the objects _actually present_ to our senses.\" It can hardly\nbe said, therefore, to assure us of the existence of _objects_\nat all. It only tells us what experiences are being at the time\nundergone. Furthermore, knowledge of all three (God, self, and matter),\nsince of real being, and not of relations between ideas, contradicts\nhis definition of knowledge. But perhaps we shall find knowledge more\nextended in the other classes. And indeed Locke tells us that knowledge\nof relations is the \"largest field of our knowledge.\" It includes\nmorals and mathematics; but it is to be noticed that, according to\nLocke, in both of these branches our demonstrations are not regarding\nfacts, but regarding either \"modes\" framed by ourselves, or relations\nthat are the creatures of our minds,--\"extraneous and superinduced\"\nupon the facts, as he says. He thus anticipates in substance, though\nnot in phraseology, Hume's distinction between \"matters of fact\" and\n\"connections of ideas,\" in the latter of which we may have knowledge,\nbut not going beyond the combinations that we ourselves make.\n\nThis leaves one class, that of co-existence, to be examined. Here,\nif anywhere, must knowledge, worthy of being termed scientific, be\nfound. This class, it will be remembered, comprehends our knowledge\nconcerning substances. But this extends, according to Locke, \"a\nvery little way.\" The idea of a substance is a complex of various\n\"simple ideas united in one subject and co-existing together.\" When we\nwould know anything further concerning a substance, we only inquire\nwhat other simple ideas, besides those already united, co-exist with\nthem. Since there is no _necessary_ connection, however, among these\nsimple ideas, since each is, by its very simplicity, essentially\ndistinct from every other, or, as we have already learned, since\nnothing is essential to an individual, we can never be sure that any\nidea really co-exists with others. Or, as Locke says, in physical\nmatters we \"can go no further than particular experience informs us\nof.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. We can have no certain knowledge of universal truths\nconcerning natural bodies.\" And again, \"universal propositions of whose\ntruth and falsehood we have certain knowledge concern not existence;\"\nwhile, on the other hand, \"particular affirmations are only concerning\nexistence, declaring only the _accidental_ union or separation of ideas\nin things existing.\" This particular knowledge, it must be recalled,\nis, in turn, only sensitive, and thus extends not beyond the time when\nthe sensation is had.\n\nWe are not surprised then at learning from Locke that regarding bodies\n\"we are not capable of scientific knowledge.\" \"Natural philosophy is\nnot capable of being made a science;\" or, as Locke elsewhere states it,\nknowledge regarding the nominal essence is \"trifling\" (Kant's analytic\njudgment); regarding the real essence is impossible. For example,\nwhen we say that all gold is fusible, this means either simply that\nfusibility is one of the ideas which we combine to get the general\nidea of gold, so that in making the given judgment we only expand\nour own notion; or it means that the \"real\" substance gold is always\nfusible. But this is a statement we have no right to make, and for two\nreasons: we do not know what the real substance gold is; and even if we\ndid, we should not know that fusibility _always_ co-exists with it. The\nsummary of the whole matter is that \"general certainty is to be found\nonly in our ideas. Whenever we go to seek it elsewhere, in experiment\nor observations without us, our knowledge goes not beyond particulars.\"\n\nIt has been necessary to give an account of Locke's views at this\nlength because it is in his discussion of the limitations and extent\nof knowledge that his theory culminates. While not working out his\nsensationalism as consistently as did Hume, he yet reduces knowledge\nto that of the existence of God and ourselves (whose natures, however,\nare unknown), and to a knowledge of mathematical and moral relations,\nwhich, however, concerns only \"the habitudes and relations of abstract\nideas.\" We have now to see by what means Leibniz finds a wider sphere\nfor certain and general knowledge by his theory of intellectualism than\nLocke can by his sensationalism.\n\nLeibniz's theory of knowledge rests upon a distinction between truths\nof fact, which are _a posteriori_ and contingent, and truths of\nreason, which are _a priori_ and necessary. In discussing his views\nregarding experience, we learned that, according to him, all judgments\nwhich are empirical are also particular, not allowing any inference\nbeyond the given cases experienced. Experience gives only instances,\nnot principles. If we postpone for the present the discussions of\ntruths of reason, by admitting that they may properly be said to be\nat once certain and universal, the question arises how in matters\nof fact there can be any knowledge beyond that which Locke admits;\nand the answer is, that so far as the mere existence and occurrence\nof these facts is concerned, there is neither demonstrative nor\ngeneral knowledge. But the intelligence of man does not stop with the\nisolated fact; it proceeds to inquire into its cause, to ascertain\nits conditions, and thus to see into, not merely its actual existence,\nbut its _possibility_. In Leibniz's language: \"The real existence of\nthings that are not necessary is a point of fact or history; but the\nknowledge of possibilities or necessities (the necessary being that\nwhose opposite is not possible) constitutes demonstrative science.\" In\nother words, it is the principle of causality, which makes us see a\nfact not as a mere fact, but as a dependent consequence; which elevates\nknowledge, otherwise contingent and particular, into the realm of the\nuniversal and apodictic. Underlying all \"accidental union\" is the real\nsynthesis of causation.\n\nIf we follow the discussion as it centres about the terms \"nominal\"\nand \"real,\" it stands as follows: Leibniz objects to the use of the\nterm \"essence\" in this connection, but is willing to accept that of\n\"definition;\" for, as he says, a substance can have but one essence,\nwhile there may be several definitions, which, however, all express\nthe same essence. The essence is the _possibility_ of that which is\nunder consideration; the definition is the statement of that which is\nsupposed to be possible. The \"nominal\" definition, however, while it\nimplies this possibility, does not expressly affirm it,--that is to\nsay, it may always be doubted whether the nominal definition has any\npossibility (or reality) corresponding to it until experience comes\nto our aid and makes us know it _a posteriori_. A \"real\" definition,\non the other hand, makes us know _a priori_ the reality of the thing\ndefined by showing us the mode of its production, \"by exhibiting its\ncause or generation.\" Even our knowledge of facts of experience cannot\nbe said, therefore, to be arbitrary, for we do not combine ideas just\nas we please, but \"our combinations may be justified by reason which\nshows them to be possible, or by experience which shows them to be\nactual, and consequently also possible.\" To take Locke's example about\ngold, \"the essence of gold is that which constitutes it and gives it\nits sensible qualities, and these qualities, so far as they enable\nus to recognize it, constitute its nominal essence, while a real\nand causal definition would enable us to explain the contexture or\ninternal disposition. The nominal definition, however, is also real in\none sense,--not in itself, indeed, since it does not enable us to know\n_a priori_ the possibility or production of the body, but empirically\nreal.\"\n\nIt is evident from these quotations that what Leibniz understands\nby \"possibility\" is the condition or cause of a given fact; and\nthat, while Locke distinguishes between particular, accidental and\ndemonstrative, general knowledge as two opposed kinds, concerned with\ntwo distinct and mutually exclusive spheres, with Leibniz they are\ndistinctions in the aspect of the same sphere of fact. In reality there\nis no combination of qualities accidental, as Locke thought that by\nfar the greater part were; in every empirical fact there is a cause or\ncondition involved that is invariable, and that constitutes the reason\nof the fact. The \"accidental\" is only in the relation of our ideas\nto objects, not in the objects themselves. There may be accidental\nmental associations; there are no accidental relations. In empirical,\nor _a posteriori_, knowledge, so-called, the reason is there, but\nis not known. _A priori_ knowledge, the real definition, discovers\nand explicitly states this reason. Contingent knowledge is therefore\npotentially rational; demonstrative knowledge is the actual development\nof the reasons implicitly contained in experience.\n\nWe may with advantage connect this discussion with the fundamental\ndoctrine of Locke and Leibniz regarding intelligence and reality. To\nLocke, as we have seen, knowledge is essentially a matter of relations\nor connections; but relations are \"superinduced\" and \"extraneous\" as\nregards the facts. Every act of knowledge constitutes, therefore, in\nsome way a departure from the reality to be known. Knowledge and fact\nare, by their very definition, opposed to one another. But in Leibniz's\nview intelligence, or reason, enters into the constitution of reality;\nindeed, it is reality. The relations which are the \"creatures of the\nunderstanding\" are, therefore, not foreign to the material to be known,\nbut are organic to it, forming its content. The process, then, in which\nthe mind perceives the connections or relations of ideas or objects,\nis simply the process by which the mind comes to the consciousness\nof the real nature of these objects, not a process of \"superinducing\"\nunreal ideas upon them. The difficulty of Locke is the difficulty of\nevery theory of knowledge that does not admit an organic unity of the\nknowing mind and the known universe. The theory is obliged to admit\nthat all knowledge is in the form of relations which have their source\nin intelligence. But being tied to the view that reality is distinct\nfrom intelligence, it is obliged to draw the conclusion that these\nrelations are not to be found in actual existence, and hence that all\nknowledge, whatever else it may be, is unreal in the sense that it does\nnot and cannot conform to actual fact. But, in the theory of Leibniz,\nthe process of relating which is the essence of knowledge is only the\nrealization on the part of the individual mind of the relations or\nreasons that eternally constitute reality. Since reality is, and is\nwhat it is, through intelligence, whatever relations intelligence\nrightly perceives are not \"extraneous\" to reality, but are its\n\"essence.\" As Leibniz says, \"Truth consists in the relations between\nthe objects of our ideas. This does not depend upon language, but is\ncommon to us with God, so that when God manifests a truth to us, _we\nacquire what is already in his understanding_. For although there is an\ninfinite difference between his ideas and ours as to their perfection\nand extent, yet it is always true that as to the same relation they are\nidentical. And it is in this relation that truth exists.\" To this may\nbe added another statement, which throws still further light on this\npoint: \"Ideas are eternally in God, and are in us before we perceive\nthem.\"\n\nWe have now to consider somewhat more in detail the means by\nwhich the transformation of empirical into rational knowledge\nis carried on. Leibniz points out that the difficulty concerning\nscientific knowledge of sensible facts is not lack of data, but,\nin a certain sense, superfluity of data. It is not that we perceive\nno connections among objects, but that we perceive many which we\ncannot reduce to one another. \"Our experiences,\" says Leibniz,\n\"are simple only in appearance, for they are always accompanied by\ncircumstances connected with them, although these relations are not\nunderstood by us. These circumstances furnish material capable of\nexplanation and analysis. There is thus a sort of _pleonasm_ in our\nperceptions of sensible objects and qualities, since we have more\nthan one idea of the same object. Gold can be nominally defined in\nmany ways. Such definitions are only _provisional_.\" This is to say,\nempirical knowledge will become rational when it is possible to view\nany subject-matter as a unity, instead of a multiplicity of varied\naspects. And on this same subject he says, in another connection: \"A\ngreat number of experiences can furnish us data more than sufficient\nfor scientific knowledge, provided only we have the art of using these\ndata.\" The aim of science is therefore, to discover the dynamic unity\nwhich makes a whole of what appears to be a mere mass of accidentally\nconnected circumstances. This unity of relations is the individual.\n\nIt is thus evident that to Leibniz the individual is not the\nbeginning of knowledge, but its goal. The individual is the organic,\nthe dynamic unity of the variety of phases or notions presented\nus in sense-experience. Individuality is not \"simplicity\" in\nthe sense of Locke; that is, separation from all relations. It\nis complete connection of all relations. \"It is impossible for\nus to have [complete] knowledge of individuals, and to find the\nmeans of determining exactly the individuality of anything; for\nin individuality all circumstances are combined. Individuality\nenvelops the infinite. Only so far as we know the infinite do we\nknow the individual, on account of the influence (if this word be\ncorrectly understood) that all things in the universe exercise upon\none another.\" Leibniz, in short, remains true to his conception of the\nmonad as the ultimate reality; for the monad, though an individual,\nyet has the universe as its content. We shall be able, therefore, to\nrender our sensible experiences rational just in the degree in which we\ncan discover the underlying relations and dependencies which make them\nmembers of one individual.\n\nFor the process of transformation Leibniz relies especially upon two\nmethods,--those of mathematics and of classification. Of the former\nhe here says but little; but the entire progress of physical science\nsince the time of Leibniz has been the justification of that little. In\nthe passage already quoted regarding the need of method for using our\nsensible data, he goes on to say that the \"infinitesimal analysis has\ngiven us the means of allying physics and geometry, and that dynamics\nhas furnished us with the key to the general laws of nature.\" It is\ncertainly competent testimony to the truth of Leibniz's fundamental\nprinciples that he foresaw also the course which the development\nof biological science would take. No classification based upon\nresemblances, says Leibniz in effect, can be regarded as wholly\narbitrary, since resemblances are found in nature also. The only\nquestion is whether our classification is based upon superficial or\nfundamental identities; the superficial resemblances being such as are\nexternal, or the effects of some common cause, while the fundamental\nresemblances are such as are the cause of whatever other similarities\nare found. \"It can be said that whatever we compare or distinguish with\ntruth, nature differentiates, or makes agree, also; but that nature has\ndifferences and identities which are better than ours, which we do not\nknow.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. _The more we discover the generation of species_,\nand the more we follow in our classifications the conditions that\nare required for their production, the nearer we approach the natural\norder.\" Our classifications, then, so far as they depend upon what is\nconditioned, are imperfect and provisional, although they cannot be\nsaid to be false (since \"while nature may give us those more complete\nand convenient, it will not give the lie to those we have already\");\nwhile so far as they rest upon what is causal and conditioning, they\nare true, general, and necessary. In thus insisting that classification\nshould be genetic, Leibniz anticipated the great service which the\ntheory of evolution has done for biological science in enabling science\nto form classes which are \"natural;\" that is, based on identity of\norigin.\n\nLeibniz culminates his discussion of classification as a method of\ntranslating the empirical into the rational, by pointing out that\nit rests upon the law of continuity; and that this law contains two\nfactors,--one equivalent to the axiom of the Realists, that nature\nis nowhere empty; the other, to that of the Nominalists, that nature\ndoes nothing uselessly. \"One of these principles seems to make nature\na prodigal, the other a miser; and yet both are true if properly\nunderstood,\" says Leibniz. \"Nature is like a good manager, sparing\nwhere it is necessary, in order to be magnificent. It is magnificent\nin its effects, and economical in the causes used to produce them.\" In\nother words, classification becomes science when it presents us with\nboth unity and difference. The principle of unity is that of nature\nas a miser and economical; that of differentiation is the principle of\nnature as prodigal and magnificent. The thoroughly differentiated unity\nis nature as self-specifying, or as an organic, not an abstract, unity.\n\nThe gist of the whole matter is, then, that experience presents us\nwith an infinity of ideas, which may appear at first sight arbitrary\nand accidental in their connections. This appearance, however, is\nnot the fact. These ideas are the effects of certain causes; and in\nascertaining these conditions, we reduce the apparently unrelated\nvariety of experiences to underlying unities, and these unities,\nlike all real unities or simple beings, are spiritual and rational in\nnature. Leibniz's ordinary way of stating this is that the principle\nof truths of fact is that of _sufficient reason_. This principle\nLeibniz always treats as distinguished from that of identity (and\ncontradiction) as the ruling category of truths of reason. And we shall\nfollow him in discussing the two together.\n\n\"Our reasonings are based on two leading principles,--that of\ncontradiction, in virtue of which we judge false all which contains\ncontradiction, and true that which is opposed or contradictory to that\nwhich is false; and that of sufficient reason, in virtue of which we\njudge that no fact is true or actual, no proposition veritable, unless\nthere is a sufficient reason why it is as it is, and not otherwise,\nalthough these reasons are generally unknown to us. Thus there are\ntwo sorts of truths,--those of reason, and those of fact. The truths\nof reason are necessary, and their opposites impossible; while those\nof fact are contingent, and their opposites possible. When a truth\nis necessary, its reason can be discovered by analysis, resolving\nit into ideas and truths that are simpler, until the primitive\ntruths are arrived at. It is thus that the mathematicians proceed in\nreducing by analysis the theorems of speculation and the canons of\npractice into definitions, axioms, and postulates. Thus they come to\nsimple ideas whose definition cannot be given; primitive truths that\ncannot be proved, and which do not need it, since they are identical\npropositions, whose opposite contains a manifest contradiction.\"\n\n\"But in contingent truths--those of fact--the sufficient reason must\nbe found; namely, in the succession of things which fill the created\nuniverse,--for otherwise the analysis into particular reasons would\ngo into detail without limit, by reason of the immense variety of\nnatural things, and of the infinite divisibility of bodies. There\nare an infinity of figures and of past and present movements which\nenter into the efficient cause of my present writing, and there are\nan infinity of minute inclinations and dispositions of my soul which\nenter into its final cause. And since all this detail contains only\nother contingent and particular antecedents, each of which has need\nof a similar analysis to account for it, we really make no progress by\nthis analysis; and it is necessary that the final or sufficient reason\nbe outside the endless succession or series of contingent particulars,\nthat it consist in a necessary being, in which this series of changes\nis contained only _eminenter_, as in its source. This necessary being\nand source is what we call God.\"\n\nIn other words, the tracing of empirical facts to their causes and\nconditions does not, after all, render them wholly rational. The series\nof causes is endless. Every condition is in turn conditioned. We\nare not so much solving the problem of the reason of a given fact,\nas we are stating the problem in other terms as we go on in this\nseries. Every solution offers itself again as a problem, and this\nendlessly. If these truths of fact, then, are to be rendered wholly\nrational, it must be in something which lies outside of the series\nconsidered as a series; that is, something which is not an antecedent\nof any one of the series, but is equally related to each and to\nall as their ground and source. This, considered as an argument\nfor the existence of God, we shall deal with hereafter; now we are\nconcerned only with its bearing upon the relation of experience to\nthe universality and necessity of knowledge. According to this, the\nultimate meaning of facts is found in their relation to the divine\nintelligence; for Leibniz is emphatic in insisting that the relation\nof God to experience is not one of bare will to creatures produced by\nthis will (as Descartes had supposed), but of a will governed wholly\nby Intelligence. As Leibniz states it in another connection, not only\nmatters of fact, but mathematical truths, have the same final basis in\nthe divine understanding.\n\n\"Such truths, strictly speaking, are only conditional, and say that\nin case their subject existed they would be found such and such. But\nif it is again asked in what consists this conditional connection\nin which there is necessary reality, the reply is that it is in\nthe relation of ideas. And by the further question, Where would\nbe the ideas if no spirit existed; and what would then become of\nthe foundation of the certainty of such truths?--we are brought to\nthe final foundation of truths; namely, that supreme and universal\nspirit, which must exist, and whose understanding is, in reality, the\nregion of the eternal truths. And in order that it may not be thought\nthat it is not necessary to have recourse to this region, we must\nconsider that these necessary truths contain the determining reason and\nregulative principle of existence, and, in a word, of the laws of the\nuniverse. Thus these necessary truths, being anterior to the existences\nof contingent beings, must in turn be based upon the existence of a\nnecessary substance.\"\n\nIt is because facts are not _mere_ facts, in short, but are the\nmanifestation of a \"determining reason and regulative principle\" which\nfinds its home in universal intelligence, that knowledge of them can\nbecome necessary and general.\n\nThe general nature of truths of reason and of their ruling principle,\nidentity and contradiction, has already been given in the quotation\nregarding the principle of sufficient reason. It is Leibniz's\ncontention that only in truths whose opposite is seen to involve\nself-contradiction can we have absolute certainty, and that it is\nthrough connection with such eternal truths that the certainty of\nour other knowledge rests. It is thus evident why Leibniz insists, as\nagainst Locke, upon the great importance of axioms and maxims. They are\nimportant, not merely in themselves, but as the sole and indispensable\nbases of scientific truth regarding all matters. Leibniz at times,\nit is true, speaks as if demonstrative and contingent truths were\nof themselves, in principle, distinct, and even opposed. But he also\ncorrects himself by showing that contingency is rather a subjective\nlimitation than an objective quality. We, indeed, do not see that the\ntruth \"I exist,\" for example, is necessary, because we cannot see how\nits opposite involves contradiction. But \"God sees how the two terms\n'I' and 'exist' are connected; that is, _why_ I exist.\" So far as we\ncan see facts, then, from the standpoint of the divine intelligence,\nso far, it would appear, our knowledge is necessary.\n\nSince these axioms, maxims, or first truths are \"innate,\" we are\nin a condition to complete (for the first time) the discussion\nof innate ideas. These ideas constitute, as we have learned, the\nessential content of the divine intelligence, and of ours so far\nas we have realized our identity with God's understanding. The\nhighest form of knowledge, therefore, is self-consciousness. This\nbears the same relation to necessary truths that the latter bear to\nexperience. \"Knowledge of necessary and eternal truths,\" says Leibniz,\n\"distinguishes us from simple animals, and makes us have reason and\nscience, _elevating us to the knowledge of ourselves_. We are thus\ndeveloped to self-consciousness; and in being conscious of ourselves we\nare conscious of being, of substance, of the simple, of the spiritual,\nof God.\" And again he says that \"those that know necessary truths are\nrational spirits, capable of self-consciousness, of recognizing what is\ntermed Ego, substance, and monad. _Thus_ they are rendered capable of\ndemonstrative knowledge.\" \"We are innate to ourselves; and since we are\nbeings, being is innate to us, for knowledge of it is implicit in that\nwhich we have of ourselves.\"\n\nKnowledge, in fine, may be regarded as an ascending series of four\nterms. The first is constituted by sensations associated together\nin such a way that a relation of antecedence and consequence exists\nbetween them. This is \"experience.\" The second stage comes into\nexistence when we connect these experiences, not by mere relations of\n\"consecution,\" but by their conditions, by the principle of causality,\nand especially by that of sufficient reason, which connects them with\nthe supreme intelligence, God. This stage is science. The third is\nknowledge of the axioms and necessary truths in and of themselves,\nnot merely as involved in science. The fourth is self-consciousness,\nthe knowledge of intelligence, in its intimate and universal nature,\nby which we know God, the mind, and all real substance. In the order of\ntime the stage of experience is first, and that of self-consciousness\nlast. But in the lowest stage there are involved the others. The\nprogress of knowledge consists in the development or unfolding of\nthis implicit content, till intelligence, spirit, activity, is clearly\nrevealed as the source and condition of all.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE THEOLOGY OF LEIBNIZ.\n\n\nOne of the chapters concerning knowledge is entitled, \"The Knowledge\nthat we have of God.\" This introduces us to the theology of Leibniz\nand indirectly to the completion of those ethical doctrines already\noutlined in the chapter on will. Leibniz employs three arguments to\nprove the existence of God: that of God as the sufficient reason of the\nworld (substantially the cosmological proof); of God as the source of\nthe pre-established harmony (an extension of the teleological proof);\nand the ontological. The latter he accepts as it came from the hands\nof Descartes, but insists that it requires an added argument before it\nranks as anything more than presumptive proof. The Anselmic-Cartesian\nargument, as stated by Leibniz, is as follows: \"God is defined as\nthe greatest, or most perfect, of beings, or as a being of supreme\ngrandeur and perfection. But in the notion of a perfect being,\nexistence must be included, since it is something more to exist than\nnot to exist. Or existence is a perfection, and hence must belong to\nthe most perfect being; otherwise some perfection would be lacking,\nwhich is contrary to the definition.\" Or as Descartes sometimes puts\nit, in the notion of anything like a tree, a mountain, a triangle,\ncontingency is contained. We may conceive such an object to exist or\nnot, as we like. There is no necessity involved in our thought. But we\ncannot think of a perfect being except as existing. It does not rest\nwith the decision of our thinking whether or not to include existence\nin this notion. We must necessarily think existence as soon as we think\nsuch a being.\n\nLeibniz takes a middle position, he says, between those who\nconsider this a demonstrative argument, and those who regard it\nas a mere paralogism. It is pre-supposed by this argument that the\nnotion of a Supreme Being is possible, or that it does not involve\ncontradiction. This pre-supposition is to be proved. First, it is\nwell to simplify the argument itself. The Cartesian definition may\nbe reduced to this: \"God is a being in whom existence and essence are\none. From this definition it follows as a corollary that such a being,\nif possible, exists. For the essence of a thing being just that which\nconstitutes its possibility, it is evident that to exist by its essence\nis the same as to exist by its possibility. Being in itself, then,\nor God, may be most simply defined as the Being who must exist if he\nis possible.\"\n\nThere are two ways of proving this last clause (namely, that he\nis possible) the direct and the indirect. The indirect is employed\nagainst those who assert that from mere notions, ideas, definitions or\npossible essences, it is not possible to infer actual existence. Such\npersons simply deny the possibility of being in itself. But if\nbeing-in-itself, or absolute being, is impossible, being-by-another,\nor relative, is also impossible; for there is no \"other\" upon which\nit may depend. Nothing, in this case, could exist. Or if necessary\nbeing is not possible, there is no being possible. Put in another way,\nGod is as necessary for possibility as for actual existence. If there\nis possibility of anything, there is God. This leads up to the direct\nproof; for it follows that, if there be a possibility of God,--the\nBeing in whom existence and essence are one,--he exists. \"God alone\nhas such a position that existence is necessary, if possible. But\nsince there can be nothing opposed to the possibility of a being\nwithout limit,--a being therefore without negations and without\ncontradiction,--this is sufficient to prove _a priori_ the existence\nof God.\" In short, God being pure affirmation, pure self-identity,\nthe idea of his Being cannot include contradiction, and hence is\npossible,--and since possible, necessary. Of this conception of God as\nthe purely self-identical, without negation, we shall have something to\nsay in the next chapter.\n\nThe cosmological proof is, as we have already seen, that every cause in\nthe world being at the same time an effect, it cannot be the sufficient\nreason of anything. The whole series is contingent, and requires a\nground not prior to, but beyond, the series. The only _sufficient_\nreason of anything is that which is also the sufficient reason of\nitself,--absolute being. The teleological argument Leibniz invariably,\nI believe, presents in connection with the idea of pre-established\nharmony. \"If the substances of experience,\" runs the argument,\n\"had not received their being, both active and passive, from one\nuniversal supreme cause, they would be independent of one another,\nand hence would not exhibit that order, harmony, and beauty which\nwe notice in nature. This argument possesses only moral certainty\nwhich becomes demonstrative by the new kind of harmony which I have\nintroduced,--pre-established harmony. Since each substance expresses in\nits own way that which occurs beyond it, and can have no influence on\nother particular beings, it is necessary that each substance, before\ndeveloping these phenomena from the depth of its own being, must have\nreceived this nature (this internal ground of external phenomena) from\na universal cause from whom all beings depend, and which effects that\none be perfectly in accord with and corresponding to every other. This\ncannot occur except through a being of infinite knowledge and power.\"\n\nHaving determined the existence of God, Leibniz states his\nattributes. These may be reduced to three. He is perfect in power, in\nwisdom, and in goodness. \"Perfection is nothing other than the whole of\npositive reality separated from the limits and bounds of things. Where\nthere are no limits, as in God, perfection is absolutely infinite.\" \"In\nGod exists _power_, which is the source of all _knowledge_,--which\ncomprehends the realm of ideas, down to its minutest detail,--and\n_will_, which directs all creations and changes according to the\nprinciple of the best.\" Or as he expands it at another time: \"The\nsupreme cause must be intelligent, for the existing world being\ncontingent, and an infinity of other worlds being equally possible,\nit is necessary that the cause of the world take into consideration\nall these possible worlds in order to decide upon one. Now this\nrelation of a substance to simple ideas must be the relation of\nunderstanding to its ideas, while deciding upon one is the act of will\nin choosing. Finally it is the power of this substance which executes\nthe volition. Power has its end in being; wisdom, or understanding,\nin truth; and will in good. Thus the cause must be absolutely perfect\nin power, wisdom, and goodness. His understanding is the source of\nessences, and his will the origin of existences.\"\n\nThis brings us to the relation of God to the world, or to an\naccount of the creating activity of God. This may be considered to\nbe metaphysically, logically, or morally necessary. To say that it is\nmetaphysically necessary is to say that it is the result of the divine\nessence, that it would imply a contradiction of the very being of God\nfor the world not to be and not to be as it is. In short, the world\nbecomes a mere emanation of power, since, as we have just learned,\npower and being are correlative. But this leaves out of account the\ndivine understanding. Not all possible worlds emanate from God's\nbeing, but there is recognition of them and of their relations to one\nanother. Were the world to proceed from the divine understanding alone,\nhowever, it would be logically necessary,--that is, it would bear\nthe same relation to his understanding that necessary truths do. Its\nopposite would imply contradiction, not indeed of the being of God,\nbut of his understanding. But the will of God plays the all-important\npart of choosing among the alternative worlds presented by reason,\neach of which is _logically_ possible. One of these worlds, although\nstanding on the same intellectual plane as the others, is _morally_\nbetter,--that is, it involves greater happiness and perfection to the\ncreatures constituting it. God is guided then by the idea of the better\n(and this is the best possible) world. His will is not arbitrary in\ncreating: it does not work by a _fiat_ of brute power. But neither\nis it fatalistic: it does not work by compulsory necessity. It is\nboth free and necessary; free, for it is guided by naught excepting\nGod's own recognition of an end; necessary, for God, being God, cannot\n_morally_ act otherwise than by the principle of the better,--and this\nin contingent matters is the best. Hence the optimism of Leibniz, to\nwhich here no further allusion can be made.\n\nSince the best is precisely God himself, it is evident that the created\nworld will have, _as far as possible_, his perfections. It would thus\nbe possible to deduce from this conception of God and his relation to\nthe world all those characteristics of the Leibnizian monadology which\nwe formerly arrived at analytically. God is individual, but with an\ninfinite comprehensiveness. Each substance repeats these properties\nof the supreme substance. There is an infinity of such substances, in\norder that the world may as perfectly as possible mirror the infinity\nof God. Each, so far as in it lies, reflects the activity of God;\nfor activity is the very essence of perfection. And thus we might go\nthrough with the entire list of the properties of the monad.\n\nTo complete the present discussion, however, it is enough to notice\nthat intelligence and will must be found in every creature, and\nthat thus we account for the \"appetition\" and the \"perception\" that\ncharacterize even the lowest monad. The scale of monads, however,\nwould not be as complete as possible unless there were beings in\nwhom appetition became volition, and perception, self-conscious\nintelligence. Such monads will stand in quite other relation to God\nthan the blind impulse-governed substances. \"Spirits,\" says Leibniz,\n\"are capable of entering into community with God, and God is related\nto them not only as an inventor to his machine (as he is to other\ncreatures) but as a prince to his subjects, or, better, as a father\nto his children. This society of spirits constitutes the city of\nGod,--the most perfect state under the most perfect monarch. This city\nof God, this truly cosmopolitan monarchy, is a moral world within\nthe natural. Among all the works of God it is the most sublime and\ndivine. In it consists the true glory of God, for there would be no\nglory of God unless his greatness and goodness were known and admired\nby spirits; and in his relation to this society, God for the first\ntime reveals his goodness, while he manifests everywhere his power and\nwisdom. And as previously we demonstrated a perfect harmony between\nthe two realms of nature,--those of efficient and final causes,--so\nmust we here declare harmony between the physical realm of nature and\nthe moral realm of grace,--that is, between God as the architect of\nthe mechanical world-structure, and God as the monarch of the world\nof spirits.\" God fulfils his creation, in other words, in a realm\nof spirits, and fulfils it because here there are beings who do not\nmerely reflect him but who enter into relations of companionship with\nhim, forming a community. This community of spirits with one another\nand with God is the moral world, and we are thus brought again to the\nethics of Leibniz.\n\nIt has been frequently pointed out that Leibniz was the first to give\nethics the form which it has since kept in German philosophy,--the\ndivision into _Natur-recht_ and _Natur-moral_. These terms are\ndifficult to give in English, but the latter corresponds to what is\nordinarily called \"moral philosophy,\" while the former is political\nphilosophy so far as that has an ethical bearing. Or the latter may be\nsaid to treat of the moral ideal and of the moral motive and of duty in\nthemselves, while the former deals with the social, the public, and in\na certain sense the external, aspects of morality.\n\nPuffendorf undoubtedly suggested this division to Leibniz by\nhis classification of duties as external and internal,--the first\ncomprehending natural and civil law, the second moral theology. But\nPuffendorf confined the former to purely external acts, excluding\nmotives and intentions, and the latter to divine revelation. Both are\n\"positive,\" and in some sort arbitrary,--one resting merely on the fact\nthat certain institutions obtain, the other on the fact that God has\nmade certain declarations. To Leibniz, on the other hand, the will of\nGod is in no sense the source of moral truths. The will of God does\nnot create truth, but carries into effect the eternal truths of the\ndivine understanding. Moral truths are like those of mathematics. And\nagain, there is no such thing as purely external morality: it always\ncontains an inner content, of which the external act is only the\nmanifestation. Leibniz may thus be said to have made two discoveries,\nor rather re-discoveries: one, that there is a science of morals,\nindependent of law, custom, and positive right; the other, that the\nbasis of both \"natural\" and \"positive\" morals is not the mere will of\nGod, but is reason with its content of eternal truths.\n\nIn morals the end is happiness, the means wisdom. Happiness is defined,\nnot as an occurrence, but as a condition, or state of being. \"It is\nthe condition of permanent joy. This does not mean that the joy is\nactually felt every moment, but that one is in the condition to enjoy\nwhenever he thinks of it, and that, in the interval, joyfulness arises\nfrom his activity and being.\" Pleasure, however, is not a state, but\na feeling. It is the feeling of perfection, whether in ourselves or\nin anything else. It does not follow that we perceive intellectually\neither in what the perfection of the pleasant thing consists or in\nwhat way it develops perfection within us. It is enough that it be\nrealized in feeling, so as to give us pleasure. Perfection is defined\n\"as increase of being. As sickness is, as it were, a lowering and a\nfalling off from health, so perfection is something which mounts above\nhealth. It manifests itself in power to act; for all substance consists\nin a certain power, and the greater the power the higher and freer the\nsubstance. But power increases in the degree that the many manifests\nitself from one and in one, while the one rules many from itself and\ntransforms them into self. But unity in plurality is nothing else than\nharmony; and from this comes order or proportion, from which proceeds\nbeauty, and beauty awakens love. Thus it becomes evident how happiness,\npleasure, love, perfection, substance, power, freedom, harmony,\nproportion, and beauty are bound up in one another.\"\n\nFrom this condensed sketch, taken from Leibniz himself, the main\nfeatures of his ethical doctrine clearly appear. When we were studying\nfreedom we saw that it was not so much a starting-point of the will\nas its goal and ideal. We saw also that true freedom is dependent upon\nknowledge, upon recognition of the eternal and universal. What we have\nhere is a statement of that doctrine in terms of feeling and of will\ninstead of knowledge. The end of man is stated to be happiness, but\nthe notion of happiness is developed in such a way that it is seen to\nbe equivalent to the Aristotelian notion of self-realization; \"it is\ndevelopment of substance, and substance is activity.\" It is the union\nof one and the many; and the one, according to the invariable doctrine\nof Leibniz, is the spiritual element, and the many is the real content\nwhich gives meaning to this rational unity. Happiness thus means\nperfection, and perfection a completely universalized individual. The\nmotive toward the moral life is elsewhere stated to be love; and love\nis defined as interest in perfection, and hence culminates in love\nof God, the only absolute perfection. It also has its source in God,\nas the origin of perfection; so that Leibniz says, Whoso loves God,\nloves all.\n\nNatural right, as distinguished from morals, is based upon the\nnotion of justice, this being the outward manifestation of wisdom, or\nknowledge,--appreciation of the relation of actions to happiness. The\ndefinitions given by Leibniz are as follows: Just and unjust are what\nare useful or harmful to the public,--that is, to the community of\nspirits. This community includes first God, then humanity, then the\nstate. These are so subordinated that, in cases of collision of duty,\nGod, the universe of relations, comes before the profit of humanity,\nand this before the state. At another time Leibniz defines justice\nas social virtue, and says that there are as many kinds of \"right\"\nas there are kinds of natural communities in which happiness is an\nend of action. A natural community is defined as one which rests\nupon desire and the power of satisfying it, and includes three\nvarieties,--domestic, civil, and ecclesiastic. \"Right\" is defined\nas that which sustains and develops any natural community. It is, in\nother words, the will for happiness united with insight into what makes\nhappiness.\n\nCorresponding to the three forms of the social organism (as we should\nnow call the \"natural community\"), are the three kinds of _jus_,--_jus\nstrictum_, equity, and piety. Each of these has its corresponding\nprescript. That of _jus strictum_ is to injure no one; of equity,\nto render to each his own; and of piety, to make the ethical law the\nlaw of conduct. _Jus strictum_ includes the right of war and peace. The\nright of peace exists between individuals till one breaks it. The right\nof war exists between men and things. The victory of person over thing\nis _property_. Things thus come to possess the right of the person to\nwhom they belong as against every other person; that is, in the right\nof the person to himself as against the attacks of another (the right\nto peace) is included a right to his property. _Jus strictum_ is,\nof course, in all cases, enforceable by civil law and the compulsory\nforce which accompanies it. Equity, however, reaches beyond this to\nobligation in cases where there is no right of compulsion. Its law\nis, Be of aid to all, but to each according to his merits and his\nclaims. Finally comes piety. The other two stages are limited. The\nlowest is negative, it wards off harm; the second aims after happiness,\nbut only within the limits of earthly existence. That we should\nourselves bear misery, even the greatest, for the sake of others,\nand should subject the whole of this existence to something higher,\ncannot be proved excepting as we regard the society, or community,\nof our spirits with God. Justice with relation to God comprehends all\nvirtues. Everything that is, is from God; and hence the law of all\nconduct is to use everything according to its place in the idea of God,\naccording to its function in the universal harmony. It thus not only\ncomplements the other two kinds of justice but is the source of their\ninner ethical worth. \"Strict justice\" may conflict with equity. But God\neffects that what is of use to the public well-being--that is, to the\nuniverse and to humanity--shall be of use also to the individual. Thus\nfrom the standpoint of God the moral is advantageous, and the immoral\nhurtful. Kant's indebtedness to Leibniz will at once appear to one\ninitiated into the philosophy of the former.\n\nLeibniz never worked out either his ethics or his political philosophy\nin detail; but it is evident that they both take their origin and\nfind their scope in the fact of man's relationship to God, that they\nare both, in fact, accounts of the methods of realizing a universal\nbut not a merely formal harmony. For harmony is not, with Leibniz,\nan external arrangement, but is the very soul of being. Perfect\nharmony, or adaptation to the universe of relations, is the end of the\nindividual, and man is informed of his progress toward this end by an\ninner sentiment of pleasure.\n\nIt may be added that Leibniz's \u00e6sthetic theory, so far as developed,\nrests upon the same basis as his ethical,--namely, upon membership\nin the \"city of God,\" or community of spiritual beings. This is\nimplied, indeed, in a passage already quoted, where he states the\nclose connection of beauty with harmony and perfection. The feeling\nof beauty is the recognition in feeling of an order, proportion, and\nharmony which are not yet intellectually descried. Leibniz illustrates\nby music, the dance, and architecture. This feeling of the harmonious\nalso becomes an impulse to produce. As perception of beauty may be\nregarded as unexplained, or confused, perception of truth, so creation\nof beauty may be considered as undeveloped will. It is action on its\nway to perfect freedom, for freedom is simply activity with explicit\nrecognition of harmony.\n\nWe cannot do better than quote the conclusion of the matter from\nLeibniz's \"Principles of Nature and of Grace,\" although, in part,\nit repeats what we have already learned. \"There is something more\nin the rational soul, or spirit, than there is in the monad or even\nin the simple soul. Spirit is not only a mirror of the universe of\ncreatures, but is also an image of the divine being. Spirit not only\nhas a perception of the works of God, but is also capable of producing\nsomething which resembles them, though on a small scale. To say nothing\nof dreams, in which we invent without trouble and without volition\nthings upon which we must reflect a long time in order to discover in\nour waking state,--to say nothing of this, our soul is architectonic in\nvoluntary actions; and, in discovering the sciences in accordance with\nwhich God has regulated all things (_pondere_, _mensura_, _numero_), it\nimitates in its department and in its own world of activity that which\nGod does in the macrocosm. This is the reason why spirits, entering\nthrough reason and eternal truths into a kind of society with God,\nare members of the city of God,--that is, of the most perfect state,\nformed and governed by the best of monarchs, in which there is no crime\nwithout punishment, and no good action without reward, and where there\nis as much of virtue and of happiness as may possibly exist. And this\noccurs not through a disturbance of nature, as if God's dealing with\nsouls were in violation of mechanical laws, but by the very order of\nnatural things, on account of the eternal, pre-established harmony\nbetween the kingdoms of nature and grace, between God as monarch and\nGod as architect, since nature leads up to grace, and grace makes\nnature perfect in making use of it.\"\n\nNo better sentences could be found with which to conclude this analysis\nof Leibniz. They resound not only with the grandeur and wide scope\ncharacteristic of his thought, but they contain his essential idea,\nhis pre-eminent \"note,\"--that of the harmony of the natural and the\nsupernatural, the mechanical and the organic. The mechanical is to\nLeibniz what the word signifies; it is the _instrumental_, and this\nin the full meaning of the term. Nature is instrumental in that it\nperforms a function, realizes a purpose, and instrumental in the sense\nthat without it spirit, the organic, is an empty dream. The spiritual,\non the other hand, is the meaning, the _idea_ of nature. It perfects\nit, in that it makes it instrumental to itself, and thus renders it not\nthe passive panorama of _mere_ material force, but the manifestation of\nliving spirit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nCRITICISM AND CONCLUSION.\n\n\nIn the exposition now completed we have in general taken for granted\nthe truth and coherency of Leibniz's fundamental ideas, and have\ncontented ourselves with an account of the principles and notions that\nflow from these ideas. The time has come for retracing our steps, and\nfor inquiring whether the assumed premises can be thus unquestioningly\nadopted. This final chapter, therefore, we shall devote to criticism\nof the basis of Leibniz's philosophy, not attempting to test it by\na comparison with other systems, but by inquiring into its internal\ncoherency, and by a brief account of the ways in which his successors,\nor at least one of them, endeavored to make right the points in which\nhe appeared to fail.\n\nThe fundamental contradiction in Leibniz is to be found, I believe,\nbetween the method which he adopted--without inquiry into its validity\nand scope--and the subject-matter, or perhaps better the attitude,\nto which he attempted to apply this method; between, that is to\nsay, the scholastic formal logic on the one hand and the idea of\ninter-relation derived from the development of scientific thought,\non the other. Leibniz never thought of investigating the formal logic\nbequeathed by scholasticism, with a view to determining its adequacy\nas philosophic method. He adopted, as we have seen, the principles\nof identity and contradiction as sole principles of the only perfect\nknowledge. The type of knowledge is that which can be reduced to\na series of identical propositions, whose opposite is seen to be\nimpossible, because self-contradictory. Only knowledge in this form\ncan be said to be demonstrative and necessary. As against Locke he\njustified the syllogistic method of the schoolmen as the typical method\nof all rational truth.\n\nOn the other hand, Leibniz, as we saw in the earlier chapters,\nhad learned positively from the growth of science, negatively from\nthe failures of Descartes and Spinoza, to look upon the universe as\na unity of inter-related members,--as an organic unity, not a mere\nself-identical oneness. Failing to see the cause of the failures of\nDescartes and Spinoza in precisely their adoption of the logic of\nidentity and contradiction as ultimate, he attempted to reconcile this\nmethod with the conception of organic activity. The result is constant\nconflict between the method and content of his philosophy, between\nits letter and its spirit. The contradiction is a twofold one. The\nunity of the content of his philosophy, the conception of organism or\nharmony, is a unity which essentially involves difference. The unity\nof his method is a formal identity which excludes it. The unity,\nwhose discovery constitutes Leibniz's great glory as a philosopher,\nis a unity of activity, a dynamic process. The unity of formal logic\nis exclusive of any mediation or process, and is essentially rigid\nand lifeless. The result is that Leibniz is constantly wavering\n(in logical result, not of course in spirit) between two opposed\nerrors, one of which is, in reality, not different from Spinozism,\nin that it regards all distinction as only phenomenal and unreal,\nwhile the other is akin to atomism, in that attempting to avoid the\ndoctrine of the all-inclusive one, it does so only by supposing a\nmultitude of unrelated units, termed monads. And thus the harmony,\nwhich in Leibniz's intention is the very content of reality, comes\nto be, in effect, an external arrangement between the one and\nthe many, the unity and the distinction, in themselves incapable\nof real relations. Such were the results of Leibniz's failure, in\nKantian language, to criticise his categories, in Hegelian language,\nto develop a logic,--the results of his assuming, without examination,\nthe validity of formal logic as a method of truth.\n\nSo thoroughly is Leibniz imbued with the belief in its validity, that\nthe very conception, that of sufficient reason, which should have been\nthe means of saving him from his contradictions, is used in such a way\nas to plunge him deeper into them. The principle of sufficient reason\nmay indeed be used as purely formal and external,--as equivalent to the\nnotion that everything, no matter what, has _some_ explanation. Thus\nemployed, it simply declares that everything has _a_ reason, without in\nthe least determining the _what_ of that reason,--its content. This is\nwhat we mean by calling it formal. But this is not the way in which\nLeibniz conceives of it. According to him, it is not a principle\nof the external connection of one finite, or phenomenal, fact with\nanother. It is a principle in the light of which the whole phenomenal\nworld is to be viewed, declaring that its ground and meaning are to be\nfound in reason, in self-conscious intelligence. As we have seen, it is\nequivalent, in Leibniz's case, to the notion that we have no complete\nnor necessary knowledge of the world of scientific fact until we have\nreferred it to a conditioning \"Supreme Spirit.\"\n\nLooked at in this way, we see that the unity which Leibniz is\npositively employing is an organic unity, a unity of intelligence\ninvolving organic reference to the known world. But such a conception\nof sufficient reason leaves no place for the final validity of\nidentity and non-contradiction; and therefore Leibniz, when dealing\nwith his method, and not, as in the passages referred to, with\nhis subject-matter, cannot leave the matter thus. To do so indeed\nwould have involved a complete reconstruction of his philosophy,\nnecessitating a derivation of all the categories employed from\nintelligence itself (that is, from the sufficient or conditioning\nreason). But the bondage to scholastic method is so great that Leibniz\ncan see no way but to measure intelligence by the ready-made principle\nof identity, and thus virtually (though not in purpose) to explain\naway the very principle of sufficient reason. In Leibniz's words:\n\"Contingent truths require an infinite analysis which only God\ncan carry out. Whence by him alone are they known _a priori_ and\ndemonstratively. For although the reason can always be found for some\noccurring state in a prior state, this reason again requires a reason,\nand we never arrive in the series to the ultimate reason. But this\n_progressus ad infinitum_ takes (in us) the place of a sufficient\nreason, which can be found only outside the series in God, on whom\nall its members, prior and posterior depend, rather than upon one\nanother. _Whatever truth, therefore, is incapable of analysis, and\ncannot be demonstrated from its own reasons, but has its ultimate\nreason and certainty only from the divine mind, is not necessary._\nEverything that we call truths of fact come under this head, and this\nis the root of their contingency.\"\n\nThe sentences before the one italicized repeat what we have learned\nbefore, and seem to convey the idea that the phenomenal world\nis that which does not account for itself, because not itself a\nself-determining reason, and which gets its ultimate explanation and\nground in a self-sufficient reason,--God. But notice the turn given to\nthe thought with the word \"therefore.\" Therefore all truth incapable\nof analysis,--that is, of reduction to identical propositions,\nwhose opposite is impossible because self-contradictory,--all truth\nwhose meaning depends upon not its bare identity, but upon its\nrelation to the very content of all intelligence, is not necessary,\nbut contingent. Leibniz here distinctly opposes identical truths as\nnecessary, to truth connected with reason as contingent. Synthetic\nreference to the very structure of intelligence is thus made,\nnot the ground of truth, but a blot upon its completeness\nand necessity. Perfect truth, it is implied in the argument,\nis self-identical, known by mere analysis of itself, and needs\nno reference to an organism of reason. The reference, therefore,\nto a principle of sufficient reason is simply a concession to the\nfragmentary and imperfect condition of all knowledge. Truth in itself\nis self-identical; but appearing to us only confusedly, we employ\nthe idea of sufficient reason as a makeshift, by which we refer, in a\nmass, all that we cannot thus reduce to identical propositions, to an\nintelligence, or to a _Deus ex machina_ which can so reduce it. This is\nthe lame and impotent conclusion.\n\nLeibniz's fundamental meaning is, no doubt, a correct one. He means\nthat contingency of fact is not real, but apparent; that it exists\nonly because of our inability to penetrate the reason which would\nenable us completely to account for the facts under consideration. He\n_means_ that if we could understand, _sub specie aeternitatis_,\nfrom the standpoint of universal intelligence, we should see every\nfact as necessary, as resulting from an intrinsic reason. But so\nthoroughly is he fettered by the scholastic method--that is, the\nmethod of formal logic--that he can conceive of this immanent and\nintrinsic reason which makes every fact a truth--that is, self-evident\nin its necessity--only as an analytic, self-contained identity. And\nherein lies his contradiction: his method obliges him to conceive of\nultimate intelligence as purely formal, simply as that which does not\ncontradict itself, while the attitude of his thought and its concrete\nsubject-matter compel him to think of intelligence as possessing a\ncontent, as the organic unity of a system of relations.\n\nFrom this contradiction flow the other contradictions of Leibniz, which\nwe are now prepared to examine in more detail. For his ideas are so\nmuch greater than his method that in almost every point there seems to\nbe contradiction. His ideas _per se_ mean one thing, and his ideas as\ninterpreted by his method another. Take his doctrine of individuality,\nfor instance. To some it has appeared that the great defect of the\nLeibnizian philosophy is its individualism. Such conceive him simply\nto have carried out in his monadism the doctrine of the individual\nisolated from the universe to its logical conclusions, and thereby to\nhave rendered it absurd. In a certain sense, the charge is true. The\nmonad, according to the oft-repeated statement, has no intercourse\nwith the rest of the universe. It really excludes all else. It acts\nas if nothing but itself and God were in existence. That is to say,\nthe monad, being the self-identical, must shut out all intrinsic or\nreal relations with other substances. Such relations would involve a\ndifferentiating principle for which Leibniz's logic has no place. Each\nmonad is, therefore, an isolated universe. But such a result has no\nvalue for Leibniz. He endeavors to correct it by the thought that each\nmonad _ideally_ includes the whole universe by mirroring it. And then\nto reconcile the real exclusion and the ideal inclusion, he falls back\non a _Deus ex machina_ who arranges a harmony between them, foreign to\nthe intrinsic nature of each. Leibniz's individualism, it is claimed,\nthus makes of his philosophy a synthesis, or rather a juxtaposition,\nof mutually contradictory positions, each of which appears true only as\nlong as we do not attempt to think it together with the other.\n\nThere is, no doubt, truth in this representation. But a more\nsignificant way of stating the matter is, I think, that Leibniz's\ndefect is not in his individualism, but in the defect of his conception\nof the individual. His individualism is more apparent than real. It is\na negative principle, and negative in the sense of _privative_. The\nindividuality of the monad is due to its incompleteness, to its\nimperfections. It is really matter which makes monads mutually\nimpenetrable or exclusive; it is matter which distinguishes them\nfrom God, and thus from one another. Without the material element\nthey would be lost in an undistinguished identity with God, the\nsupreme substance. But matter, it must be remembered, is passivity;\nand since activity is reality, or substance, matter is unsubstantial\nand unreal. The same results from a consideration of knowledge. Matter\nis always correlative to confused ideas. With the clearing up of\nknowledge, with making it rational, matter must disappear, so that\nto God, who is wholly reason, it must entirely vanish. But this\nview varies only in words from that of Spinoza, to whom it is the\nimagination, as distinguished from the intellect, that is the source of\nparticular and finite objects.\n\nIt is perhaps in his _Theodic\u00e9e_, in the treatment of the problem of\nevil, that his implicit Spinozism, or denial of individuality, comes\nout most clearly. That evil is negative, or privative, and consists in\nthe finitude of the creature, is the result of the discussion. What is\nthis except to assert the unreality, the merely privative character,\nof the finite, and to resolve all into God? To take one instance out\nof many: he compares inertia to the original limitation of creatures,\nand says that as inertia is the obstacle to the complete mobility\nof bodies, so privation, or lack, constitutes the essence of the\nimperfection, or evil, of creatures. His metaphor is of boats in\nthe current of a river, where the heavier one goes more slowly,\nowing to inertia. The force of the current, which is the same to all,\nand which is positive, suffering no diminution, is comparable to the\nactivity of God, which also is perfect and positive. As the current\nis the positive source of all the movements of the bodies, and is in\nno way responsible for the retardation of some boats, so God is the\nsource only of activities,--the perfections of his creatures. \"As the\ninertia of the boat is the cause of its slowness, so the limitations\nof its receptivity are the cause of the defects found in the action\nof creatures.\" Individuality is thus reduced to mere limitation; and\nthe unlimited, the real which includes all reality, is God. We are\nthus placed in a double difficulty. This notion of an all-inclusive\none contradicts the reality of mutually exclusive monads; and we have\nbesides the characteristic difficulty of Spinoza,--how, on the basis\nof this unlimited, self-identical substance, to account for even the\nappearance of finitude, plurality and individuality.\n\nLeibniz's fundamental defect may thus be said to be that, while\nhe realized, as no one before him had done, the importance of\nthe conception of the _negative_, he was yet unable to grasp the\nsignificance of the negative, was led to interpret it as merely\nprivative or defective, and thus, finally, to surrender the very\nidea. Had not his method, his presupposition regarding analytic\nidentity, bound him so completely in its toils, his clear perception\nthat it was the negative element that differentiated God from the\nuniverse, intelligence from matter, might have brought him to a\ngeneral anticipation not only of Kant, but of Hegel. But instead of\ntransforming his method by this conception of negation, he allowed\nhis assumed (_i.\u00a0e._, dogmatic) method to evacuate his conception\nof its significance. It was Hegel who was really sufficiently in\nearnest with the idea to read it into the very notion of intelligence\nas a constituent organic element, not as a mere outward and formal\nlimitation.\n\nWe have already referred to the saying of Leibniz that the monad acts\nas if nothing existed but God and itself. The same idea is sometimes\nexpressed by saying that God alone is the immediate or direct object\nof the monad. Both expressions mean that, while the monad excludes\nall other monads, such is not the case in its relation to God, but\nthat it has an organic relation with him. We cannot keep from asking\nwhether there is not another aspect of the contradiction here. How is\nit possible for the monad so to escape from its isolation that it can\nhave communication with God more than with other substances? Or if\nit can have communication with God, why cannot it equally bear real\nrelations of community with other monads? And the answer is found in\nLeibniz's contradictory conceptions of God. Of these conceptions there\nare at least three. When Leibniz is emphasizing his monadic theory,\nwith its aspects of individuality and exclusion, God is conceived as\nthe highest monad, as one in the series of monads, differing from the\nothers only in the degree of its activity. He is the \"monad of monads\";\nthe most complete, active, and individualized of all. But it is evident\nthat in this sense there can be no more intercourse between God and a\nmonad than there is between one monad and another. Indeed, since God\nis _purus actus_ without any passivity, it may be said that there is,\nif possible, less communication in this case than in the others. He is,\nas Leibniz says, what a monad without matter would be, \"a deserter from\nthe general order.\" He is the acme of isolation. This, of course, is\nthe extreme development of the \"individual\" side of Leibniz's doctrine,\nresulting in a most pronounced atomism. Leibniz seems dimly conscious\nof this difficulty, and thus by the side of this notion of God he\nputs another. According to it, God is the source of all monads. The\nmonads are not created by a choice of the best of all possible worlds,\nas his official theology teaches, but are the radiations of his\ndivinity. Writing to Bayle, Leibniz expresses himself as follows: \"The\nnature of substance consists in an active force of definite character,\nfrom which phenomena proceed in orderly succession. This force was\noriginally received by, and is indeed preserved to, every substance by\nthe creator of all things, from whom all _actual forces or perfections\nemanate by a sort of continual creation_.\" And in his Monadology\nhe says: All \"the created or derived monads are the productions of\nGod, and are born, as it were, _by the continual fulgurations of the\ndivinity from instant to instant_, bounded by the receptivity of the\ncreature to which it is essential to be limited.\" What has become of\nthe doctrine of monads (although the word is retained) it would be\ndifficult to say. There is certainly no individual distinction now\nbetween the created monads and God, and it is impossible to see why\nthere should be individual distinctions between the various created\nmonads. They appear to be all alike, as modes of the one comprehensive\nsubstance. Here we have the universal, or \"identity,\" side of Leibniz's\nphilosophy pushed to its logical outcome,--the doctrine of pantheism.\n\nHis third doctrine of God is really a unity of the two previous. It is\nthe doctrine that God is the harmony of the monads,--neither one among\nthem nor one made up of them, but their organic unity. This doctrine\nis nowhere expressly stated in words (unless it be when he says that\n\"God alone constitutes the relation and community of substances\"),\nbut it runs through his whole system. According to this, God _is_\nthe pre-established harmony. This conception, like that of harmony,\nmay have either a mechanical interpretation (according to which God is\nthe artificial, external point of contact of intelligence and reality,\nin themselves opposed) or an organic meaning, according to which God\n_is_ the unity of intelligence and reality. On this interpretation\nalone does the saying that God is the only immediate object of the\nmonads have sense. It simply states that the apparent dualism between\nintelligence and its object which is found in the world is overcome\nin God; that the distinction between them is not the ultimate fact,\nbut exists in and for the sake of a unity which transcends the\ndifference. According to this view, the opposition between ideal\ninclusion and real exclusion vanishes. God _is_ the harmony of the real\nand ideal, not a mere arrangement for bringing them to an understanding\nwith one another. Individuality and universality are no longer opposed\nconceptions, needing a _tertium quid_ to relate them, but are organic\nfactors of reality, and this, at the same time, is intelligence.\n\nBut admitting this conception as stating the implicit intention of\nLeibniz, the relation of monads to one another is wholly different from\nthat which Leibniz gives. And to this point we now come. If in God,\nthe absolute, the real and the ideal are one, it is impossible that in\nsubstances, which have their being and significance only in relation\nto God, or this unity, the real and the ideal should be so wholly\nseparated as Leibniz conceives.\n\nLeibniz's conception relative to this is, as we have seen, that\nthere is no physical _influxus_, or _commercium_, of monads, but\nideal consensus. _Really_ each shuts out every other; _ideally_,\nor representatively, it includes every other. His positive thought\nin the matter is that a complete knowledge of any portion of the\nuniverse would involve a perfect knowledge of the whole, so organic\nis the structure of the universe. Each monad sums up the past history\nof the world, and is big with its future. This is the conception of\ninter-relation; the conception of all in one, and one as a member,\nnot a part of a whole. It is the conception which Leibniz brought\nto birth, the conception of the thorough unity of the world. In this\nnotion there is no denial of community of relation; it is rather the\nculmination of relation. There is no isolation. But according to his\npresupposed logic, individuality can mean only identity excluding\ndistinction,--identity without intrinsic relation, and, as Leibniz\nis bound at all hazards to save the notion of individuality, he is\nobliged to think of this inter-relation as only ideal, as the result of\na predetermined tendency given at its creation to the self-identical\nmonad by God. But of course Leibniz does not escape the contradiction\nbetween identity and distinction, between individuality and\nuniversality, by this means. He only transfers it to another realm. In\nthe relation of the monad to God the diversity of its content, the real\nor universal element, is harmonized with the identity of its law, its\nideal or individual factor. But if these elements do not conflict here,\nwhy should they in the relation of the monads to one another? Either\nthere is already an immanent harmony between the individual and\nuniversal, and no external arrangement is needed to bring it about, or\nthere is no such harmony, and therefore no relation possible between\nGod and the individual monad. One side of the Leibnizian philosophy\nrenders the other side impossible.\n\nAnother consequence of Leibniz's treatment of the negative as\nmerely limitative is that he can find no distinction, excepting of\ndegree, between nature and spirit. Such a conception is undoubtedly\nin advance of the Cartesian dualism, which regards them as opposed\nrealms _without_ any relation; but it may be questioned whether it is\nas adequate a view as that which regards them as distinct realms _on\naccount_ of relation. At all events, it leads to confusion in Leibniz's\ntreatment of both material objects and self-conscious personalities. In\nthe former case his method of escape is a metaphor,--that objects\napparently material are full of souls, or spirits. This may mean that\nthe material is _merely_ material only when considered in implicit\nabstraction from the intelligence which conditions it, that the\nmaterial, in truth, is constituted by some of the relations which\nin their completeness make up intelligence. This at least bears a\nconsistent meaning. But it is not monadism; it is not the doctrine\nthat matter differs from spirit only in degree: it is the doctrine\nthat they differ in kind, as the conditioned from the conditioning. At\ntimes, however, Leibniz attempts to carry out his monadism literally,\nand the result is that he conceives matter as being itself endowed,\nin some unexplained way, with souls, or since this implies a dualism\nbetween matter and soul, of being made up, composed, of souls. But\nas he is obliged to explain that this composition is not spatial, or\nphysical, but only ideal, this doctrine tends to resolve itself into\nthe former. And thus we end where we began,--with a metaphor.\n\nOn the other hand there is a wavering treatment of the nature\nof spirit. At times it is treated as precisely on a level in kind\nwith the monads that \"compose\" matter, differing only in the greater\ndegree of its activity. But at other times it is certainly represented\nas standing on another plane. \"The difference between those monads\nwhich express the world with consciousness and those which express it\nunintelligently is as great as the difference between a mirror and one\nwho sees.\" If Leibniz means what he seems to imply by these words,\nit is plainly asserted that only the spiritual being is worthy of\nbeing called a monad, or individual, at all, and that material being\nis simply a dependent manifestation of spirit. Again he says: \"Not all\nentelechies are, like our soul, _images of God_,--being made as members\nof a society or state of which he is chief,--but all are _images of\nthe universe_.\" In this distinction between self-conscious beings as\nimages of God and unconscious monads as images of the universe there\nis again implied a difference of kind. That something is the image\nof the universe need mean only that it cannot be explained without\nits relations to the universe. To say that something is the image of\nGod, must mean that it is itself spiritual and self-conscious. God\nalone is reason and activity. He alone has his reality in\nhimself. Self-conscious beings, since members of a community with him,\nmust participate in this reality in a way different in kind from those\nthings which, at most, are only substances or objects, not subjects.\n\nNor do the difficulties cease here. If matter be conceived, not as\nimplied in the relations by which reason is realized in constituting\nthe universe, but as itself differing from reason only in degree,\nit is impossible to account for its existence. Why should a less\ndegree of perfection exist than is necessary? Why should not the\nperfect activity, God, complete the universe in himself? Leibniz's\nanswer that an infinity of monads multiplies his existence so far as\npossible, may hold indeed of other spirits, who mirror him and live\nin one divine society, but is utterly inapplicable to those which fail\nto image him. Their existence, as material, is merely privative; it is\nmerely the absence of the activity found in conscious spirit. How can\nthis deprivation, this limitation, increase in any way the harmony and\nperfection of the universe? Leibniz's theory of the negative, in fine,\ncompels him to put nature and spirit on the same level, as differing\nonly in degree. This, so far from giving nature a reality, results in\nits being swallowed up in spirit, not as necessarily distinct from\nit and yet one with it, but as absorbed in it, since the apparent\ndifference is only privative. Nor does the theory insure the reality\nof spirit. This, since one in kind with matter, is swallowed up along\nwith it in the one substance, which is positive and self-identical,--in\neffect, the _Deus sive Natura_ of Spinoza.\n\nWe have to see that this contradiction on the side of existence has\nits correlate on the side of knowledge, and our examination of this\nfundamental deficiency in Leibniz is ended. Sensation is on the side\nof intelligence what matter is on the side of reality. It is confused\nknowledge, as matter is imperfect activity or reality. Knowledge is\nperfect only when it is seen to be necessary, and by \"necessary\" is\nmeant that whose opposite is impossible, or involves contradiction. In\nspite, therefore, of Leibniz's thorough conviction that \"matters of\nfact\"--the subject-matter of physical science--are not arbitrary, he\nis yet obliged finally to agree with Locke that there is no certainty\nto be found in such knowledge, either as a whole or in any of its\ndetails. The element of sensation, of confused knowledge, cannot be\neliminated. Hence it must always be open to any one to object that\nit is only on account of this imperfect factor of our knowledge that\nthere appears to be a physical world at all, that the external world\nis an illusion produced by our sensations. And Leibniz himself,\nwhile claiming that the world of fact, as opposed to the realm of\nrelations, possesses _practical_ reality, is obliged to admit that\n_metaphysically_ it may be only an orderly dream. The fact is that\nLeibniz unconsciously moves in the same circle, with relation to\nsensation and the material world, that confines Spinoza with regard\nto imagination and particular multiple existences. Spinoza explains\nthe latter from that imperfection of our intelligence which leads us\nto imagine rather than to think. But he accounts for the existence\nof imagination, when he comes to treat that, as due to the plurality\nof particular things. So Leibniz, when an account of the existence of\nmatter is demanded of him, refers to confused knowledge as its source,\nwhile in turn he explains the latter, or sensation, from the material\nelement which sets bounds to the activity of spirit. Leibniz seems\nindeed, to advance upon Spinoza in admitting the reality of the\nnegative factor in differentiating the purely self-identical, but\nhe gives up what he has thus gained by interpreting the negation as\npassivity, or mere deprivation.\n\nTo sum up, it may be doubted whether we have more to learn from\nLeibniz's successes or from his failures. Leibniz's positive\nsignificance for us is in his clear recognition of the problems of\nmodern philosophy, and in his perception of the isolated elements\nof their solution. His negative significance is in his clinging to\na method which allowed him only to juxtapose these elements without\nforming of them a true synthesis. There are a number of sides from\nwhich we may state Leibniz's realization of the problem. Perhaps that\nwhich distinguishes Leibniz most clearly from Locke is their respective\ntreatments of the relation of the physical to the spiritual, or, as\nthe question presented itself mainly to them, of the \"natural\" to the\n\"supernatural.\" To Locke the supernatural was strictly miraculous;\nit was, from our standpoint, mere power, or will. It might indeed\nbe rational, but this reason was incapable of being apprehended by\nus. Its distinction from the finite was so great that it could be\nconceived only as something preceding and succeeding the finite in\ntime, and meanwhile as intercalating itself arbitrarily here and\nthere into the finite; as, for example, in the relation of soul and\nbody, in the production of sensation, etc. In a word, Locke thought\nthat the ends of philosophy, and with it of religion and morals,\ncould be attained only by a complete separation of the \"natural\"\nand the \"supernatural.\" Leibniz, on the other hand, conceived the\naim of philosophy to be the demonstration of their harmony. This is\nevidenced by his treatment of the relations of the infinite and finite,\nof matter and spirit, of mechanical and final causation. And he found\nthe sought-for harmony in the fact that the spiritual is the reason,\npurpose, and function of the natural. The oft-quoted words of Lotze\nexpress the thought of Leibniz: \"The mechanical is unbounded in range,\nbut is subordinate in value.\" We cannot find some things that occur\nphysically, and others that occur supernaturally; everything that\noccurs has its sufficient mechanical antecedents, but all that occurs\nhas its significance, its purpose, in something that does not occur,\nbut that eternally is--Reason. The mechanical and the spiritual are not\nrealms which here and there come into outward contact. They are related\nas the conditioned and the conditioning. That, and not the idea of an\nartificial _modus vivendi_, is the true meaning of the pre-established\nharmony.\n\nIn other words, Leibniz's great significance for us is the fact that,\nalthough he accepted in good faith, and indeed as himself a master\nin its methods, the results and principles of physical science, he\nremained a teleological idealist of the type of Aristotle. But I have\nnot used the right words. It was not in spite of his acceptance of the\nscientific view of the world that he retained his faith in the primacy\nof purpose and reason. On the contrary, he was an idealist because of\nhis science, because only by the idea of an all-conditioning spiritual\nactivity could he account for and make valid scientific conceptions;\nhe was a teleologist, because natural processes, with their summing up\nin the notion of causality, were meaningless except as manifesting an\nimmanent purpose.\n\nThere are other more technical ways of stating the bearing of Leibniz's\nwork. We may say that he realized that the problem of philosophy\nconsisted in giving due value to the notions of individuality and\nuniversality, of identity and difference, or of the real and the\nideal. In developing these ideas, however, we should only be repeating\nwhat has already been said, and so we may leave the matter here. On\nthe negative side we need only recall what was said a few pages back\nregarding the incompatibility of Leibniz's method--the scholastic\nformal logic--with the content of his philosophy. The attempt to\nfind a formal criterion of truth was hopeless; it was worse than\nfruitless, for it led to such an interpretation of concrete truths\nas to deprive them of their significance and as to land Leibniz in\ninvolved contradictions.\n\nTo write a complete account of the influence of Leibniz's philosophy\nwould be too large a task for these pages. If we were to include under\nthis head all the ramifications of thought to which Leibniz stimulated,\ndirectly and indirectly, either by stating truths which some one worked\nout or by stating errors which incited some one to new points of view,\nwe should have to sketch German philosophy since his time,--and not\nonly the professional philosophy, but those wide aspects of thought\nwhich were reflected in Herder, Lessing, and Goethe. It is enough to\nconsider him as the forerunner of Kant. It has become so customary to\nrepresent Kant as working wholly on the problem which Hume presented,\nthat his great indebtedness to Leibniz is overlooked. Because Hume\naroused Kant from his dogmatic slumbers, it is supposed that Kant\nthrew off the entire influence of the Leibnizian thought as vain\ndreams of his sleep. Such a representation is one-sided. It is truer\nto state that Hume challenged Kant to discover the method by which he\ncould justify the results of Leibniz. In this process, the results,\nno doubt, took on a new form: results are always relative to method;\nbut Kant never lost sight of the results. In the main, he accepted the\nlarger features of the Leibnizian conclusions, and, taught by Hume of\nthe insufficiency of the method that Leibniz followed, searched for a\nmethod which should guarantee them.\n\nThis aspect of Kant appears more fully in his lesser and somewhat\ncontroversial writings than in his classic works: and this, no doubt,\nis one reason that his indebtedness is so often overlooked. His close\nrelation to Leibniz appears most definitely in his _brochure_ entitled\n\"Concerning a Discovery which renders Unnecessary all Critique of Pure\nReason.\" A Wolffian, Eberhard by name, had \"made the discovery\" (to use\nKant's words) \"that the Leibnizian philosophy contained a critique of\nreason just as well as the modern, and accordingly contained everything\nthat is true in the latter, and much else in addition.\" In his reply\nto this writing, Kant takes the position that those who claimed to be\nLeibnizians simply repeated the words of Leibniz without penetrating\ninto his spirit, and that consequently they misrepresented him on\nevery important point. He, Kant, on the other hand, making no claim to\nuse the terminology of Leibniz, was his true continuator, since he had\nonly changed the doctrine of the latter so as to make it conform to the\ntrue intent of Leibniz, by removing its self-contradictions. He closes:\n\"'The Critique of Pure Reason' may be regarded as the real apology for\nLeibniz, even against his own professed followers.\"\n\nKant, in particular, names three points in which he is the true\nfollower of Leibniz. The professed disciples of the latter insisted\nthat the law of sufficient reason was an objective law, a law of\nnature. But, says Kant, it is so notorious, so self-evident, that\nno one can make a new discovery through this principle, that Leibniz\ncan have meant it only as subjective. \"For what does it mean to say\nthat over and above the principle of contradiction another principle\nmust be employed? It means this: that, according to the principle\nof contradiction, only that can be known which is already contained\nin the notion of the object; if anything more is to be known, it\nmust be sought through the use of a special principle, distinct from\nthat of contradiction. Since this last kind of knowledge is that of\nsynthetic principles, Leibniz means just this: besides the principle of\ncontradiction, or that of analytic judgments, there must be another,\nthat of sufficient reason, for synthetic judgments. He thus pointed\nout, in a new and remarkable manner, that certain investigations\nin metaphysics were still to be made.\" In other words, Kant, by his\ndistinction of analytic and synthetic judgments, with their respective\nprinciples and spheres, carried out the idea of Leibniz regarding the\nprinciples of contradiction and sufficient reason.\n\nThe second point concerns the relation of monads to material\nbodies. Eberhard, like the other professed Leibnizians, interpreted\nLeibniz as saying that corporeal bodies, as composite, are\nactually made up out of monads, as simple. Kant, on the other\nhand, saw clearly that Leibniz was not thinking of a relation of\ncomposition, but of condition. \"He did not mean the material world,\nbut the substrate, the intellectual world which lies in the idea\nof reason, and in which everything must be thought as consisting\nof simple substances.\" Eberhard's process, he says, is to begin\nwith sense-phenomena, to find a simple element as a part of the\nsense-perceptions, and then to present this simple element as if it\nwere spiritual and equivalent to the monad of Leibniz. Kant claims to\nfollow the thought of Leibniz in regarding the simple not as an element\n_in_ the sensuous, but as something super-sensuous, the _ground_ of\nthe sensuous. Leibniz's mistake was that, not having worked out clearly\nthe respective limits of the principles of identity and of sufficient\nreason, he supposed that we had a direct intellectual intuition of this\nsuper-sensuous, when in reality it is unknowable.\n\nThe third group of statements concerns the principle of pre-established\nharmony. \"Is it possible,\" asks Kant, \"that Leibniz meant by this\ndoctrine to assert the mere coincidence of two substances wholly\nindependent of each other by nature, and incapable through their own\nforce of being brought into community?\" And his answer is that what\nLeibniz really implied was not a harmony between independent things,\nbut a harmony between modes of knowing, between sense on the one\nhand and understanding on the other. The \"Critique of Pure Reason\"\ncarried the discussion farther by pointing out its grounds; namely,\nthat, without the unity of sense and understanding, no experience\nwould be possible. _Why_ there should be this harmony, _why_ we\nshould have experience, this question it is impossible to answer,\nsays Kant,--adding that Leibniz confessed as much when he called it a\n\"pre-established\" harmony, thus not explaining it, but only referring\nit to a highest cause. That Leibniz really means a harmony within\nintelligence, not a harmony of things by themselves, is made more\nclear, according to Kant, from the fact that it is applied also to\nthe relation between the kingdom of nature and of grace, of final\nand of efficient causes. Here the harmony is clearly not between\ntwo independently existing _external things_, but between what\nflows from our notions of nature (_Naturbegriffe_) and of freedom\n(_Freiheitsbegriffe_); that is, between two distinct powers and\nprinciples _within us_,--an agreement which can be explained only\nthrough the idea of an intelligent cause of the world.\n\nIf we review these points in succession, the influence of Leibniz upon\nKant becomes more marked. As to the first one, it is well known that\nKant's philosophy is based upon, and revolves within, the distinction\nof analytic and synthetic judgments; and this distinction Kant\nclearly refers to the Leibnizian distinction between the principles\nof contradiction and of sufficient reason, or of identity and\ndifferentiation. It is not meant that Kant came to this thought through\nthe definitions of Leibniz; on the contrary, Kant himself refers it to\nHume's distinction between matters of fact and relations of ideas. But\nwhen Kant had once generalized the thought of Hume, it fell at once,\nas into ready prepared moulds, into the categories of Leibniz. He\nnever escapes from the Leibnizian distinction. In his working of it\nout consists his greatness as the founder of modern thought; from his\nacceptance of it as ultimate result his contradictions. That is to say,\nKant did not merely receive the vague idea of sufficient reason: he\nso connected it with what he learned from Hume that he transformed it\ninto the idea of synthesis, and proceeded to work out the conception of\nsynthesis in the various notions of the understanding, or categories,\nas applicable to the material of sense. What Leibniz bequeathed him was\nthe undefined idea that knowledge of matters of fact rests upon the\nprinciple of sufficient reason. What Kant did with this inheritance\nwas to identify the wholly vague idea of sufficient reason with the\nnotion that every fact of experience rests upon necessary synthetic\nconnection,--that is, connection according to notions of understanding\nwith other facts,--and to determine, so far as he could, the various\nforms of synthesis, or of sufficient reason. With Leibniz the principle\nremained essentially infertile, because it was the mere notion of the\nultimate reference of experience to understanding. In the hands of\nKant, it became the instrument of revolutionizing philosophy, because\nKant showed the articulate members of understanding by which experience\nis constituted, and described them in the act of constituting.\n\nSo much for his working out of the thought. But on the other hand,\nKant never transcended the absoluteness of the distinction between\nthe principles of synthesis and analysis, of sufficient reason and\ncontradiction. The result was that he regarded the synthetic principle\nas the principle only of our knowledge, while perfect knowledge he\nstill considered to follow the law of identity, of mere analysis. He\nworked out the factor of negation, of differentiation, contained in\nthe notion of synthesis, but limited it to synthesis upon material\nof sense, presupposing that there is another kind of knowledge,\nnot limited to sense, not depending upon the synthetic principle, but\nresting upon the principle of contradiction, or analysis, and that this\nkind is the type, the norm, of the only perfect knowledge. In other\nwords, while admitting the synthetic principle of differentiation\nas a necessary element within _our_ knowledge, he held that on\naccount of this element our knowledge is limited to the phenomenal\nrealm. Leibniz's error was in supposing that the pure principles of\nthe logical understanding, resting on contradiction, could give _us_\nknowledge of the noumenal world; his truth was in supposing that\nonly by such principles _could_ they be known. Thus, in substance,\nKant. Like Leibniz, in short, he failed to transcend the absoluteness\nof the value of the scholastic method; but he so worked out another\nand synthetic method,--the _development_ of the idea of sufficient\nreason,--that he made it necessary for his successors to transcend it.\n\nThe second point concerns the relations of the sensuous and\nthe super-sensuous. Here, besides setting right the ordinary\nmisconception of Leibniz, Kant did nothing but render him consistent\nwith himself. Leibniz attempted to prove the existence of God,\nas we have seen, by the principles both of sufficient reason and\ncontradiction. Kant denies the validity of the proof by either\nmethod. God is the sufficient cause, or reason, of the contingent\nsense world. But since Leibniz admits that this contingent world may,\nafter all, be but a dream, how shall we rise from it to the notion\nof God? It is not our dreams that demonstrate to us the existence of\nreality. Or, again, sense-knowledge is confused knowledge. How shall\nthis knowledge, by hypothesis imperfect, guarantee to us the existence\nof a perfect being? On the other hand, since the synthetic principle,\nor that of sufficient reason, _is_ necessary to give us knowledge of\nmatters of fact, the principle of contradiction, while it may give\nus a consistent and even necessary notion of a supreme being, cannot\ngive this notion reality. Leibniz, while admitting, with regard to all\nother matters of fact, that the principles of formal logic can give\nno unconditional knowledge, yet supposes that, with regard to the one\nunconditional reality, they are amply sufficient. Kant but renders him\nself-consistent on this point.\n\nIt is, however, with regard to the doctrine of pre-established harmony\nthat Kant's large measure of indebtedness to Leibniz is most apt to\nbe overlooked. Kant's claim that Leibniz himself meant the doctrine\nin a subjective sense (that is, of a harmony between powers in our\nown intelligence) rather than objective (or between things out of\nrelation to intelligence) seems, at first sight, to go far beyond the\nmark. However, when we recall that to Leibniz the sense world is only\nthe confused side of rational thought, there is more truth in Kant's\nsaying than appears at this first sight. The harmony is between sense\nand reason. But it may at least be said without qualification that\nKant only translated into subjective terms, terms of intelligence,\nwhat appears in Leibniz as objective. This is not the place to go into\nthe details of Kant's conception of the relation of the material to\nthe psychical, of the body and the soul. We may state, however, in his\nown words, that \"the question is no longer as to the possibility of the\nassociation of the soul with other known and foreign substances outside\nit, but as to the connection of the presentations of inner sense with\nthe modifications of our external sensibility.\" It is a question, in\nshort, of the harmony of two modes of our own presentation, not of the\nharmony of two independent things. And Kant not only thus deals with\nthe fact of harmony, but he admits, as its _possible_ source, just what\nLeibniz claims to be its _actual_ source; namely, some one underlying\nreality, which Leibniz calls the monad, but to which Kant gives no\nname. \"I can well suppose,\" says Kant, \"that the substance to which\nthrough external sense extension is attributed, is also the subject\nof the presentations given to us by its inner sense: _thus that which\nin one respect is called material being would be in another respect\nthinking being_.\"\n\nKant treats similarly the problem of the relations of physical and\nfinal causes, of necessity and freedom. Here, as in the case just\nmentioned, his main problem is to discover their _harmony_. His\nsolution, again, is in the union, in our intelligence, of the\nunderstanding--as the source of the notions which \"make nature\"--with\nthe ideas of that reason which gives a \"categorical imperative.\" The\ncause of the possibility of this harmony between nature and freedom,\nbetween the sense world and the rational, he finds in a being, God,\nwhose sole function in the Kantian philosophy may be said to be to\n\"pre-establish\" it. I cannot believe that Kant, in postulating the\nproblems of philosophy as the harmony of sense and understanding,\nof nature and freedom, and in finding this harmony where he did,\nwas not profoundly influenced, consciously as well as unconsciously,\nby Leibniz. In fact, I do not think that we can understand the\nnature either of Kant's immense contributions to modern thought or\nof his inconsistencies, until we have traced them to their source\nin the Leibnizian philosophy,--admitting, on the other hand, that we\ncannot understand why Kant should have found necessary a new way of\napproach to the results of Leibniz, until we recognize to the full\nhis indebtedness to Hume. It was, indeed, Hume that awoke him to his\nendeavors, but it was Leibniz who set before him the goal of these\nendeavors. That the goal should appear somewhat transformed, when\napproached from a new point of view, was to be expected. But alas! the\nchallenge from Hume did not wholly awaken Kant. He still accepted\nwithout question the validity of the scholastic method,--the analytic\nprinciple of identity as the type of perfect knowledge,--although\ndenying its sufficiency for human intelligence. Leibniz suggested, and\nsuggested richly, the synthetic, the negative aspect of thought; Kant\nworked it out as a necessary law of _our_ knowledge; it was left to his\nsuccessors to work it out as a factor in the law of _all_ knowledge.\n\nIt would be a grievous blunder to suppose that this final chapter\nannihilates the earlier ones; that the failure of Leibniz as to\nmethod, though a failure in a fundamental point, cancelled his\nsplendid achievements. Such thoughts as that substance is activity;\nthat its process is measured by its end, its idea; that the universe\nis an inter-related unit; the thoughts of organism, of continuity,\nof uniformity of law,--introduced and treated as Leibniz treated\nthem,--are imperishable. They are members of the growing consciousness,\non the part of intelligence, of its own nature. There are but three or\nfour names in the history of thought which can be placed by the side of\nLeibniz's in respect to the open largeness, the unexhausted fertility,\nof such thoughts. But it is not enough for intelligence to have great\nthoughts nor even true thoughts. It is testimony to the sincerity and\nearnestness of intelligence that it cannot take even such thoughts as\nthose of Leibniz on trust. It must _know_ them; it must have a method\nadequate to their demonstration. And in a broad sense, the work of\nKant and of his successors was the discovery of a method which should\njustify the objective idealism of Leibniz, and which in its history has\nmore than fulfilled this task.\n\n\n\n\n  [ Transcriber's Note:\n\n    The following is a list of corrections made to the original.\n    The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one.\n\n    By S.\u00a0C Griggs and Company.\n    By S.\u00a0C. Griggs and Company.\n\n  passivity of any kind is a myth, as scholastic fiction. Sensation is\n  passivity of any kind is a myth, a scholastic fiction. Sensation is\n\n  the vacuum is to serve as the background of the atoms. The atoms, are\n  the vacuum is to serve as the background of the atoms. The atoms are\n\n  ]","title":"Leibniz's New Essays Concerning the Human Understanding: A Critical Exposition","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":69785}