There is no philosophy without a philosopher; no reason without a rational being; the existence of the subject is then a necessary supposition. No reason is possible if the contradiction of being and not-being be possible; all reason, then, supposes the principle of contradiction to be true. When we examine reason it is reason that examines; it needs rules, light; all examination, then, supposes this light, the evidence and the legitimacy of its criterion. Man does not make himself, he finds himself already made; it is not he who imposes the conditions of his being; he finds them already imposed. These conditions are the laws of his being, and why contend against them? "Besides factitious prejudices," says Schelling, "man has others primordial, placed in him not by education, but by nature herself, which in all men hold the place of principles of cognition, and are a shoal to the free-thinker." For my own part I do not seek to be more than all men; if I cannot be a philosopher without ceasing to be a man, I renounce philosophy and adhere to humanity.
BOOK SECOND.
ON SENSATION
CHAPTER I.
SENSATION IN ITSELF
1. Sensation considered in itself is simply an internal affection; but it is almost always accompanied by a judgment. This judgment may be more or less explicit and more or less noticed by the subject of the sensation.
Suppose I see two architectural ornaments at a proper distance, and I discover no difference between them. In this sensation there are two things to be considered.
I. The internal affection which we call seeing. On this point all doubt is impossible. Whether I am asleep or awake, raving or in my sober senses, whether the ornaments are alike or unlike, whether, in fine, they exist or not, there still exists in my soul the representation which I call seeing the ornaments.
II. I also at the same time form a judgment that, besides the internal affection which I experience, the ornaments exist, that they are in relief, and that they are before my eyes. In this judgment I may be deceived; for I may be asleep or in a delirium; it may be that the ornaments are behind me, and that I only see their reflection in a mirror; it may be that what I see is only a paper placed in such a manner behind a glass, as to make upon the retina of my eyes the same impression as the ornaments would if they were really present; or, finally, it may all be the work of a skilful painter who has given this illusory appearance to his canvas.
From this we see that, admitting the existence of the internal fact of sensation, it is possible:
I. That there is no external object.
II. That the objects exists, but not in the position supposed.
III. That the object is not the architectural ornaments.
IV. That both are plane surfaces; or, that one is in relief, and the other a plane.
This brings us to the evident conclusion that mere sensation has no necessary relation to an external object; for it not only can, but it not unfrequently does, exist without any such object.
This correspondence of the internal to the external belongs to the judgment which accompanies sensation, not to sensation itself.
If brutes refer their sensations to objects, as they probably do, instinct must supply in them the want of judgment, as in the child who has not acquired the use of the intellectual faculties.
Sensation, therefore, in itself considered, affirms nothing. It is a mere affection of our being, an effect produced in our soul, and does not determine whether there is any action of an external object upon our senses, nor whether the object is what it seems to be.
2. Let us imagine an animal reduced to the one sense of touch, and that not developed as in us, but confined to a few rude impressions like those of heat and cold, warmth and dryness; and let us compare it with human sensibility. What an immense distance between the two! Sensibility in such an animal borders on insensibility, whilst in man it approaches intelligence, the representations of his senses are so varied and so extended as to produce within him a whole world, and they might produce infinite others. Man is at the highest round of the ladder, so far as our observation goes, but who can tell how much higher it may be possible to go?
3. However developed and perfected we suppose sensibility, it falls far short of intelligence, from which it must ever remain separated, as from a faculty of a different order. Though we suppose the sensitive faculties capable of indefinite perfectibility, they can never reach the sphere of intelligence, properly so called. This perfectibility would lie in a different order, eternally distinct from that of intellectual beings. If we suppose a color infinitely perfected, it will never become a sound, a sound a taste, a taste a sound, nor a sound a color; because perfectibility is confined to its own order. Therefore, however it may be perfected, sensibility can never become intelligence.
This observation will serve to guard against one of the most fatal errors of our age, which consists in regarding the universe as the result of a mysterious force, which, developing itself by a continual movement, at once spontaneous and necessary, goes on giving birth to beings and elevating species by a perpetual transformation. Thus the greater perfection of the vegetable organization would produce the animal faculties; these being perfected would become sensitive, and in measure as they progressed in the order of sensation they would approach the realm of intelligence, and would finally attain it. There is not a little analogy between this system and that which makes thought a transformed sensation; it effaces the dividing line between intelligent and non-intelligent beings; the sensations of an oyster may, according to it, be so perfected as to be converted into an intelligence superior to that of Bossuet or of Leibnitz; and the development of the faculties of the man-statue would be an emblem of the development of the universe.
4. It may have been already remarked that we are now speaking of the sensitive faculty in itself considered, abstracting from its relations to external objects; and that we therefore comprehend in the word sensation, all affections of the senses, whether actually produced, recollected, or imagined; that is, all affections in all degrees from the first direct consciousness of them, or when they are presented to the being which experiences them, until they reach the limit where intelligence, strictly so called, commences.
It is impossible here to draw the dividing line between the sensible and the intelligible; this requires profound and extensive studies upon sensations compared with ideas, which does not belong to this place: but it will be well to have pointed out the existence of this line, in order to avoid confusion in a most subtle matter, in which every error is attended with the most serious consequences.
5. In what does sensation consist? What is its internal nature? We only know that it is a modification of our being, and that we cannot explain it. No words suffice to convey an idea of a sensation to one who has never experienced it. The man born blind may listen to all that philosophers have said and written on light and colors, but can never imagine what light and colors are.
Experience is the only teacher here; and thus, if we suppose a man's senses to be changed so that green appears to him purple, and purple green, notwithstanding his constant communication with other men, he will never be freed from his error, and he will never suspect that during his whole life he has made use of the words green and purple in a different sense from other men.
6. Analogy and nature incline us to believe that brutes are not mere machines, but that they also have sensations. The vast scale over which irrational beings are distributed, shows that the faculty of feeling is spread over the universe in different degrees, and with a wonderful profusion.
Our experience is confined to the globe in which we live; but are the limits of sensitive life the same as those of our experience? Even on this globe our observation is confined to what the imperfection of our senses, and the instruments which we use, permit; but how far is the chain of life prolonged? Where is its term? Is there not some participation of this mysterious faculty in those beings which we hold to be inanimate? Is the universe, as Leibnitz pretends, composed of a collection of monads endowed with a certain perception? This is indeed an unfounded hypothesis; but since our means of observation are so limited, we should be cautious how we assign boundaries to the realm of life.
7. We ordinarily speak of the faculty of sensation as of something belonging to a very inferior order; so it is, in fact, if compared with intellectual faculties; but this does not prevent it, in itself considered, from being a wonderful phenomenon, of a nature to astonish and confound all who meditate upon it.
Sensation! With this word alone we pass an immense gap in the scale of beings. What is the non-sensible compared with the sensible? The insensible is, but experiences not that it is; there is nothing in it but itself: the sensible experiences that it is; and there is in it something besides itself, all that it feels, all that is represented in it. The insensible, although surrounded with beings, is in complete isolation, – in solitude; the sensible, although alone, may be in a world of infinitely varied representations.
8. The idea of the me is in some sense applicable to every sensitive being; for sensation is inconceivable without a permanent being, which experiences what is transitory; that is, without a being which is one in the midst of multiplicity. Every sensible being, were it capable of reflection, might, in its own way, say I; for it is true of all of them that it is one same being that experiences the variety of sensations. Without this bond, this unity, there is no one sensible being, but a succession of sensations as unconnected phenomena of the whole.
9. There is no sensation without direct consciousness; for, as this is nothing but the very presence of the phenomenon to the being experiencing it, it would be contradictory to say that it feels without consciousness. A sensation experienced, is a sensation present; a sensation not present, that is, not experienced, is inconceivable, is an absurdity.35
10. Every sensation involves presence, or direct consciousness, but not representation. I think this distinction important. The sensations of smell, taste, and hearing, are not representative; they remain in themselves, and in their object. The being experiencing them might believe himself enclosed in himself, in an absolute solitude, with no relation to other beings; but touch, and, above all, sight, are by their nature representative; they involve relation to objects; and they imply relation to other beings, not as to mere causes of the internal affection, but as the originals represented in the sensation.
The class of sensible beings endowed with the faculty of representation seems to be of an order very superior to the others; these beings not only have consciousness, but also a mysterious power whereby they see within themselves an entire world.
11. What is the most perfect degree of sensitive life? What the most imperfect? These questions we cannot answer, for we cannot judge of these things otherwise than by experience and analogy. But viewing the immensity of the scale, experience shows us we may infer that nature is far richer than we imagine. Let us not disturb its profound secrets, but be content to suspect that they exist.
CHAPTER II.
MATTER IS INCAPABLE OF SENSATION
12. The phenomenon of sensibility reveals to us the existence of an order of beings distinct from matter. However perfect we may suppose material organization, it cannot rise to sensation; matter is wholly incapable of sensation; and the absurd system of materialism can neither explain the phenomena of intelligence, nor even of sensation.
It is of little consequence to us that we do not know the intrinsical nature of sensitive being, or of matter; it is enough to know their essential properties, in order to infer with certainty that they belong to distinct orders. It is not true that the principal idea of the essence of things is necessary, in order to demonstrate their absolute contradiction; thousands of times we consider two geometrical figures whose essential property we do not know; yet not, therefore, do we fail to see that they are different, and that one cannot possibly be the other.
Matter, whatever opinion may be entertained of its essential property, is necessarily a composite being; matter without parts, is not matter. A composite being, although called one, inasmuch as its parts are united together, and conspire to the same end, is always a collection of many beings; for the parts though united are still distinct If sensation could be predicated of a composite being, the sensitive would not be a single being, but a collection of beings; but sensation essentially belongs to a being which is one, and if divided is destroyed; therefore, no composite being, however well organized, is capable of sensation.
If we observe what takes place in us, and reason from analogy, to other sensitive beings, we shall discover amid the variety of sensations a single being which perceives them; it is one and the same being that hears, sees, touches, smells, and tastes; that remembers sensations after they have disappeared; that seeks them when agreeable, and avoids them when unpleasant, enjoys the former and suffers in the latter. All this enters into the idea of sensitive being; if brutes had not this common subject of all sensations; were they not one in the midst of multiplicity, identical in diversity, and permanent under succession, they would not be sensitive beings, such as we conceive them to be; they would have no sensation, properly so called; for there is no sensation, in the sense in which we here understand it, without a being affected by it, a being which perceives it.
If we imagine a flow and ebb of sensations without any connection, without a constant being to experience them, the result will not be a sensitive being, but a collection of phenomena, each one of which by itself alone offers the same difficulty as all united, the necessity of a being to experience it.
13. Let us take a being composed of two parts, A and B, and see if it can acquire, for instance, the sensation of sound. If both parts perceive, either both perceive the whole sound, or each a portion of it. If both perceive it entire, one of them is superfluous, for we are only seeking to explain the realization of the phenomenon, which would thus be verified in one alone. If each part hear the sound, not entire, but only a portion of it, we shall have a divided sound; and what is the division of a sound?
But even such an imaginary division does not serve to explain the phenomenon; for the part of the sound perceived by A will not be perceived by B; never, therefore, will there result a complete sensation.
Shall we suppose A and B to be in relation, and to mutually communicate their corresponding parts? But then A perceives all its own part and also what B communicates to it: of what use, then, is B, if A perceives the whole? Why not place the whole primitive sensation in A? We here see that such a communication is an absurd hypothesis, since it would make a successive and mutual communication of the parts, and a perception by each of its own part, and also of that transmitted to it by the others, indispensable to the formation of an entire sensation. Thus we should have not one sensation only, but as many as there are parts; not one sensitive being only, but as many such beings as there are parts.
This hypothesis of communication of the parts paves the way for our system, since it recognizes the necessity of unity to constitute sensation. Why do the parts mutually communicate what they have respectively perceived? Because an entire sensation could not otherwise be formed, and so each part must receive what it has not of itself. The object of this is, that each one may perceive the whole; the sensation, therefore, must be wholly in only one subject; therefore, at the very time that unity is denied, it is acknowledged to be necessary.
14. These parts, A and B, either are simple or they are not; if they are simple, why persist in advocating materialism, when we must finally return to simple beings? It is a manifest contradiction to say that sensation is an effect of organization, and yet place it in a simple being, for the simple cannot be organized; there is no organization where there are no parts organized. If we admit the simple being, and place the sensation in it, the organization will then be, if you choose, a medium, a conduit, an indispensable condition to the realization of the phenomenon; then not it, but the simple being will be the subject. If these parts are not simple, they are composed of others; and of these we may argue the same as of the former; for we must come to simple beings, or else proceed to infinity. If we admit such a process, the sensible being will not be one, but infinite; the difficulties encountered with only two parts, A and B, will be multiplied even to infinity, and so the sensible being will be not one but infinite, and every sensation infinite.
15. Here we find a very serious difficulty. If matter be incapable of perceiving, the soul of brutes is not material; if immaterial, it is a spirit, which cannot be admitted.
Let us determine well the meaning of the words, and this difficulty will vanish. An immaterial being is not the same as a spirit; every spirit is immaterial, but not every thing immaterial is a spirit. Immaterial denotes negation of matter; spirit implies more than this; for we understand by it a simple being endowed with understanding and free-will. The soul of brutes is then immaterial, but not a spirit.
Some one may say, that what is not body is spirit, that between these two classes of beings there is no medium. But why? Whence such certainty? If it be said that there is no medium between the material and the immaterial, this is true; for there is, in truth, no medium between yes and no; every thing either is or is not; but there enters into the idea of spirit much more than the simple negation of matter; there is the idea of an active, intelligent, and free principle.
16. It may then be asked: wherein consists the nature of the soul of brutes? And we ask, wherein consists the nature of the greater part of the things which we perceive? Do we know this nature in itself or in its acts? Do we see our own soul intuitively? Or do we, perchance, know it by the acts of which we are conscious? If so, we know in like manner the sensitive soul by its acts, that is, by perception of the senses; we know that it is not matter, for matter is incapable of sensation; and the reasons which show us that our soul is a simple being, an active principle endowed with understanding and free-will enable us to say that the soul of brutes is a simple being endowed with the faculty of feeling, and with instincts and appetites of the sensible order.
We know not what this active principle in itself considered is, but its acts show it to be a force superior to bodies, one of the many activities which are the life of nature. We encounter this living force in a portion of matter admirably organized; the end of this organization is the harmonious exercise of the faculties of that living being which we call animal. Not to know what this force in itself is, does not prevent us from affirming its existence, for phenomena reveal it to us in an indisputable manner.
17. What, then, will be the fate of these souls, or living forces, if the organization which gives them life be destroyed? Will they be reduced to non-existence, since, not being composed of parts, they cannot be decomposed? Will they continue to exist until their turn shall come to preside over a new organization? It will be well to separate these various questions, and examine them apart.
If the soul of brutes be not composed of parts, it cannot perish by disorganization; what has no organizable parts is not organized, and what is not organized cannot be disorganized. Hence we infer that the soul of brutes cannot perish by corruption, properly so called; for no being not composed of matter can. We see not what difficulty can arise from this view; but the question is only resolved in its negative part, for thus far we know only that the soul of brutes cannot die, or be corrupted by decomposition; we must know what is done with it. Is it annihilated? Does it continue to exist? And if so, in what way? These are different questions.
First of all we must observe, that we have here only conjectures, and these rather as to the possibility than as to the reality. Philosophy may indeed enable us to see what may be, but not what is, for we can know the reality only by experience, which in the present case we cannot have. When sound philosophy, examining this point, is asked what is, its best reply is, that it knows not; if it is asked what may be, it enters into an argumentation founded on general principles, and more especially upon analogy.
18. It is usually said that nothing is annihilated; but this needs some explanation. What is the meaning of annihilation? To cease to be, so that nothing, which before was, remains. If a body be disorganized, it ceases to be as an organized body; but the matter remains, and there is no annihilation. Is it true that nothing is annihilated? Some say we must distinguish between substances and accidents; for, as these latter are a kind of incomplete beings, there is no reason why they should not cease to exist, and nothing of them remain; but in this disappearance there is no annihilation, strictly so called; thus we see things continually transformed, and undergoing a succession of accidents which cease to exist whenever the thing ceases to be modified by them. As to substances, there would indeed be true annihilation should they cease to exist, but this they do not, because no substance is annihilated. Thus some think; we know not how true this system may be, for we know not upon what solid foundation it rests. If a substance be destined to an end, why may it not be annihilated when this end no longer exists? A created being incessantly needs the conservatory action of the Creator, for which reason conservation is said to be a continued creation; when, then, the end to which the created substance was destined ceases, why may it not be annihilated? We see nothing in its being annihilated repugnant to the wisdom or goodness of God. The artificer abandons a tool no longer serviceable; this, in God, would be equivalent to the withdrawal of his conservatory act, and in the creature, to the reduction to non-existence. If it be not repugnant to the wisdom and goodness of God for an organized being to be disorganized, or cease to exist as an organized being, why may he not allow a substance which has accomplished the object for which it was created to cease to exist? From this we infer that it would not be against sound philosophy to maintain that the souls of brutes are reduced to non-existence.
19. But supposing there is no question of annihilation, is there any reason against their continuing to exist? If there be, we know not what it is.
We know not of what use they would be; but we may conjecture that absorbed anew into the bosom of nature they would not be useless. Neither do we know the use of many other beings, and yet we cannot therefore deny their existence, or doubt their utility. Who says that the vital principle residing in brutes can have no object if the organization which it animates be destroyed? Does the destruction of a plant involve, perchance, the extinction of all the vital principles residing in it? Do these principles, by not operating upon the organized being just destroyed, therefore cease to be of any use in the wonderful laboratory of nature? Who will say that a vital principle cannot be useful if it does not act upon an object within our observation? Who will assert that vital principles do not in the recesses of nature act in many and different ways, and that the effects of their activity are not presented very differently according to circumstances, yet always in conformity to laws established by infinite wisdom? Do not the magnificent profusion of radical materials, the gems without number which we everywhere discover, the immense amount of matter susceptible of transformation and assimilation by the living being, the mysteries of generation in the animal and vegetable kingdoms, all indicate to us that there are scattered over the universe an infinite number of vital principles, which exercise their activity in very different ways, and over a scale of astonishing extent? Who shall assure us that the same vital principle may not present very diverse phenomena, according to the conditions which determine its action? Does not the same principle reside in the acorn, as in the gnarled old oak that for ages has defied the fury of the tempest? Did experience not show it to be so, who would ever have suspected the vital principle of a shapeless and filthy caterpillar to be the same as that of a beautiful butterfly? It is not then contrary either to reason or to experience to suppose the soul of brutes, the vital principle residing in them, to continue after the organization of the body is destroyed, and, absorbed anew in the treasures of nature, to be there preserved, not as a useless thing, but in the exercise of its faculties in different ways, according to the conditions to which it is subjected.(29)