OF THE

Cambridge Edition

There have been printed seven hundred and fifty sets of which this is copy

No. 337

INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS
OF ARTS AND SCIENCE

ALMA MATER

Photogravure of the Statue by Daniel C. French

The colossal figure of French's Alma Mater adorns the fine suite of stone steps leading up to the picturesque library building of Columbia University. It is a bronze statue, gilded with pure gold. The female figure typifying "Alma Mater" is represented as sitting in a chair of classic shape, her elbows resting on the arms of the chair. Both hands are raised. The right hand holds and is supported by a sceptre. On her head is a classic wreath, and on her lap lies an open book, from which her eyes seem to have just been raised in meditation. Drapery falls in semi-classic folds from her neck to her sandalled feet, only the arms and neck being left bare.

Every University man cherishes a kindly feeling for his Alma Mater, and the famous American sculptor, Daniel C. French, has been most successful in his artistic creation of the "Fostering Mother" spiritualized—the familiar ideal of the mother of minds trained to thought and consecrated to intellectual service.

INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS

OF

ARTS AND SCIENCE

EDITED BY

HOWARD J. ROGERS, A.M., LL.D.

director of congresses

VOLUME I

PHILOSOPHY AND METAPHYSICS

comprising

Lectures on Philosophy in the Nineteenth Century,
Philosophy of Religion, Sciences of the
Ideal, Problems of Metaphysics,
The Theory of Science,
and Logic

UNIVERSITY ALLIANCE

LONDONNEW YORK

Copyright 1906 by Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
all rights reserved
Copyright 1908 by University Alliance

ILLUSTRATIONS

VOLUME I

TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOLUME I

HOWARD J. ROGERS, A.M., LL.D.

Howard Jason Rogers, born Stephentown, Rensselaer Co., N. Y., November 16, 1861; graduated from Williams College, 1884; admitted to bar, 1877; Superintendent New York State Exhibit World's Columbian Exposition, 1893; Deputy State Superintendent Public Institution, 1895-1899; Republican Director Department of Education and Social Economy of U. S. Commission to Paris Exposition 1900; Chief Department of Education, St. Louis Exposition, 1904; First. Asst. Commissioner State Department of Education, N. Y., since 1904, when he received degree of A.M. from Columbia and degree of LL.D. from Northwestern University. He is an officer of the Legion of Honor of France; Chevalier of San Maurice and Lazare, Italy; Chevalier de l'Etoile Polaire, Sweden; Chevalier Nat. order of Leopold, Belgium; and officer of the Red Eagle, Germany.

THE HISTORY OF THE CONGRESS

BY HOWARD J. ROGERS A.M., LL.D.

The forces which bring to a common point the thousandfold energies of a universal exposition can best promote an international congress of ideas. Under national patronage and under the spur of international competition the best products and the latest inventions of man in science, in literature, and in art are grouped together in orderly classification. Whether the motive underlying the exhibits be the promotion of commerce and trade, or whether it be individual ambition, or whether it be national pride and loyalty, the resultant is the same. The space within the boundaries of the exposition is a forum of the nations where equal rights are guaranteed to every representative from any quarter of the globe, and where the sovereignty of each nation is recognized whenever its flag floats over a national pavilion or an exhibit area. The productive genius of every governed people contends in peaceful rivalry for world recognition, and the exposition becomes an international clearing-house for practical ideas.

For the demonstration of the value of these products men thoroughly skilled in their development and use are sent by the various exhibitors. The exposition by the logic of its creation thus gathers to itself the expert representatives of every art and industry. For at least two months in the exposition period there are present the members of the international jury of awards, selected specially by the different governments for their thorough knowledge, theoretical and practical, of the departments to which they are assigned, and selected further for their ability to impress upon others the correctness of their views. The renown of a universal exposition brings, as visitors, students and investigators bent upon the solution of problems and anxious to know the latest contributions to the facts and the theories which underlie every phase of the world's development.

The material therefore is ready at hand with which to construct the framework of a conference of parts, or a congress of the whole of any subject. It was a natural and logical step to accompany the study of the exhibits with a debate on their excellence, an analysis of their growth, and an argument for their future. Hence the congress. The exposition and the congress are correlative terms. The former concentres the visible products of the brain and hand of man; the congress is the literary embodiment of its activities.

Yet it was not till the Paris Exposition of 1889 that the idea of a series of congresses, international in membership and universal in scope, was fully developed. The three preceding expositions, Paris, 1878, Philadelphia, 1876, and Vienna, 1873, had held under their auspices many conferences and congresses, and indeed the germ of the congress idea may be said to have been the establishment of the International Scientific Commission in connection with the Paris Exposition of 1867; but all of these meetings were unrelated and sometimes almost accidental in their organization, although many were of great scientific interest and value.

The success of the series of seventy congresses in Paris in 1889 led the authorities of the World's Columbian Exposition in 1893 to establish the World's Congress Auxiliary designed "to supplement the exhibit of material progress by the Exposition, by a portrayal of the wonderful achievements of the new age in science, literature, education, government, jurisprudence, morals, charity, religion, and other departments of human activity, as the most effective means of increasing the fraternity, progress, prosperity, and peace of mankind." The widespread interest in this series of meetings is a matter easily within recollection, but they were in no wise interrelated to each other, nor more than ordinarily comprehensive in their scope.

It remained for the Paris Exposition of 1900 to bring to a perfect organization this type of congress development. By ministerial decree issued two years prior to the exposition the conduct of the department was set forth to the minutest detail. One hundred twenty-five congresses, each with its separate secretary and organizing committee, were authorized and grouped under twelve sections corresponding closely to the exhibit classification. The principal delegate, M. Gariel, reported to a special commission, which was directly responsible to the government. The department was admirably conducted and reached as high a degree of success as a highly diversified, ably administered, but unrelated system of international conferences could. And yet the attendance on a majority of these congresses was disappointing, and in many there was scarcely any one present outside the immediate circle of those concerned in its development. If this condition could prevail in Paris, the home of arts and letters, in the immediate centre of the great constituency of the University and of many scientific circles and learned societies, and within easy traveling distance of other European university and literary centres, it was fair to presume that the usefulness of this class of congress was decreasing. It certainly was safe to assume, on the part of the authorities of the St. Louis Exposition of 1904, that such a series could not be a success in that city, owing to its geographical position and the limited number of university and scientific circles within a reasonable traveling distance. Something more than a repetition of the stereotyped form of conference was admitted to be necessary in order to arouse interest among scholars and to bring credit to the Exposition.

This was the serious problem which confronted the Exposition of St. Louis. No exposition was ever better fitted to serve as the groundwork of a congress of ideas than that of St. Louis. The ideal of the Exposition, which was created in time and fixed in place to commemorate a great historic event, was its educational influence. Its appeal to the citizens of the United States for support, to the Federal Congress for appropriations, and to foreign governments for coöperation, was made purely on this basis. For the first time in the history of expositions the educational influence was made the dominant factor and the classification and installation of exhibits made contributory to that principle. The main purpose of the Exposition was to place within reach of the investigator the objective thought of the world, so classified as to show its relations to all similar phases of human endeavor, and so arranged as to be practically available for reference and study. As a part of the organic scheme a congress plan was contemplated which should be correlative with the exhibit features of the Exposition, and whose published proceedings should stand as a monument to the breadth and enterprise of the Exposition long after its buildings had disappeared and its commercial achievements grown dim in the minds of men.

DEVELOPMENT OF THE CONGRESS

The Department of Congresses, to which was to be intrusted this difficult task, was not formed until the latter part of 1902, although the question was for a year previous the subject of many discussions and conferences between the President of the Exposition, Mr. Francis; the Director of Exhibits, Mr. Skiff; the Chief of the Department of Education, Mr. Rogers; President Nicholas Murray Butler of Columbia University, and President William R. Harper of Chicago University. To the disinterested and valuable advice of the two last-named gentlemen during the entire history of the Congress the Exposition is under heavy obligations. During this period proposals had been made to two men of international reputation to give all their time for two years to the organization of a plan of congresses which should accomplish the ultimate purpose of the Exposition authorities. Neither one, however, could arrange to be relieved of the pressure of his regular duties, and the entire scheme of supervision was consequently changed. The plan adopted was based upon the idea of an advisory board composed of men of high literary and scientific standing who should consider and recommend the kind of congress most worthy of promotion, and the details of its development.

In November, 1902, Howard J. Rogers, LL.D., was appointed Director of Congresses, and the members of the Advisory (afterwards termed Administrative) Board selected as follows:—

Chairman: Nicholas Murray Butler, Ph.D., LL.D., President Columbia University.

William R. Harper, Ph.D., LL.D., President University of Chicago.

Honorable Frederick W. Holls, A.M., LL.B., New York.

R. H. Jesse, Ph.D., LL.D., President University of Missouri.

Henry S. Pritchett, Ph.D., LL.D., President Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

Herbert Putnam, Litt.D., LL.D., Librarian of Congress.

Frederick J. V. Skiff, A.M., Director of Field Columbian Museum.

* * * * *

The action of the Executive Committee of the Exposition, approved by the President, was as follows:—

There shall be appointed by the President of the Exposition Company a Director of Congresses who shall report to the President of the Exposition Company.

There shall be appointed by the President of the Exposition Company an Advisory Board of seven persons, the chairman to be named by the President, who shall meet at the call of the Director of Congresses, or the Chairman of the Advisory Board.

The expenses of the members of the Advisory Board while on business of the Exposition shall be a charge against the funds of the Exposition Company.

The duties of the said Advisory Board shall be: to consider and make recommendations to the Director of Congresses on all matters submitted to them; to determine the number and the extent of the congresses; the emphasis to be placed upon special features; the prominent men to be invited to participate; the character of the programmes; and the methods for successfully carrying out the enterprise.

There shall be set aside from the Exposition funds for the maintenance of the congresses the sum of two hundred thousand dollars ($200,000).

The standing Committee on Congresses from the Exposition board of directors was shortly afterwards appointed and was composed of five of the most prominent men in St. Louis:—

Chairman: Hon. Frederick W. Lehmann, Attorney at Law.

Breckenridge Jones, Banker.

Charles W. Knapp, Editor of The St. Louis Republic.

John Schroers, Manager of the Westliche Post.

A. F. Shapleigh, Merchant.

To this committee were referred for consideration by the President all matters of policy submitted by the Director of Congresses. This committee had jurisdiction over all congress matters, including not only the Congress of Arts and Science, but also the many miscellaneous congresses and conventions, and a great part of the success of the congresses is due to their broad-minded and liberal determination of the questions laid before them.

IDEA OF THE CONGRESS OF ARTS AND SCIENCE

It is impossible to ascribe the original idea of the Congress of Arts and Science to any one person. It was a matter of slow growth from the many conferences which had been held for a year by men of many occupations, and as finally worked out bore little resemblance to the original plans under discussion. The germ of the idea may fairly be said to have been contained in Director Skiff's insistence to the Executive Committee of the Exposition that the congress work stand for something more than an unrelated series of independent gatherings, and that some project be authorized which would at once be distinctive and of real scientific worth. To support this view Director Skiff brought the Executive Committee to the view of expending $200,000, if need be, to insure the project. Starting from this suggestion many plans were brought forward, but one which seems to belong of right to the late Honorable Frederick W. Holls, of New York City, contained perhaps the next recognizable step in advance. This thought was, briefly, that a series of lectures on scientific and literary topics by men prominent in their respective fields be delivered at the Exposition and that the Exposition pay the speakers for their services. This point was thoroughly discussed by Mr. Holls and President Butler, and the next step in the evolution of the Congress was the idea of bringing these lecturers together at the Exposition at about the same time or all during one month. At this stage Professor Hugo Münsterberg, who was the guest of Mr. Holls and an invited participant in the conference, made the important suggestion that such a series of unrelated lectures, even though given by most eminent men, would have little or no scientific value, but that if some relation, or underlying thought, could be introduced into the addresses, then the best work could be done, which would be of real value to the scientific world. He further stated that only in this case would scientific leaders be likely to favor the plan of a St. Louis congress, as they would feel attracted not so much through the honorariums to be given for their services as through the valuable opportunity of developing such a contribution to scientific thought. Subsequently Professor Münsterberg was asked by Mr. Holls to formulate his ideas in a manner to be submitted to the Exposition authorities. This was done in a communication under date of October 20, 1902, which contained logically presented the foundation of the plan afterwards worked out in detail. At this juncture the Department of Congresses was organized, as has been stated, the Director named, and the Administrative Board appointed, and on December 27, 1902, the first meeting of the Director with the Administrative Board took place in New York City.

A thorough canvass of the subject was made at this meeting and as a result the following recommendations were made to the Exposition authorities:—

(1) That the sessions of this Congress be held within a period of four weeks, beginning September 15, 1904.

(2) That the various groups of learned men who may come together be asked to discuss their several sciences or professions with reference to some theme of universal human interest, in order that thereby a certain unity of interest and of action may be had. Under such a plan the groups of men who come together would thus form sections of a single Congress rather than separate congresses.

(3) As a subject which has universal significance, and one likely to serve as a connecting thread for all of the discussions of the Congress, the theme "The Progress of Man since the Louisiana Purchase" was considered by the Administrative Board fit and suggestive. It is believed that discussions by leaders of thought in the various branches of pure and applied science, in philosophy, in politics, and in religion, from the standpoint of man's progress in the century which has elapsed, would be fruitful, not only in clearing the thoughts of men not trained in science and in government, but also in preparing the way for new advances.

(4) The Administrative Board further recommends that the Congress be made up from men of thought and of action, whose work would probably fall under the following general heads:—

a. The Natural Sciences (such as Astronomy, Biology, Mathematics, etc.).

b. The Historical, Sociological, and Economic group of studies (History, Political Economy, etc.).

c. Philosophy and Religion.

d. Medicine and Surgery.

e. Law, Politics, and Government (including development and history of the colonies, their government, revenue and prosperity, arbitration, etc.).

f. Applied Science (including the various branches of engineering).

(5) The Administrative Board recommends further referring to a special committee of seven the problem of indicating in detail the method in which this plan can best be carried out. To this committee is assigned the duty of choosing the general divisions of the Congress, the various branches of science and of study in these divisions, and of recommending to the Administrative Board a detailed plan of the sections in which, in their judgment, those who come to the Congress may be most effectively grouped, with a view not only to bring out the central theme, but also to represent in a helpful way and in a suggestive manner the present boundary of knowledge in the various lines of study and investigation which the committee may think wise to accept.

These recommendations were transmitted by the Director of Congresses to the Committee on Congresses, approved by them, and afterwards approved by the Executive Committee and the President. The first four recommendations were of a preliminary character, but the fifth contained a distinct advance in the formation of a Committee on Plan and Scope which should be composed of eminent scientists capable of developing the fundamental idea into a plan which should harmonize with the scientific work in every field. The committee selected were as follows:—

Dr. Simon Newcomb, Ph.D., LL.D., Retired Professor of Mathematics, U. S. Navy.

Prof. Hugo Münsterberg, Ph.D., LL.D., Professor of Psychology, Harvard University.

Prof. John Bassett Moore, LL.D., ex-assistant Secretary of State, and Professor of International Law and Diplomacy, Columbia University.

Prof. Albion W. Small, Ph.D., Professor of Sociology, University of Chicago.

Dr. William H. Welch, M.D., LL.D., Professor of Pathology, Johns Hopkins University.

Hon. Elihu Thomson, Consulting Engineer General Electric Company.

Prof. George F. Moore, D.D., LL.D., Professor of Comparative Religion, Harvard University.

* * * * *

In response to a letter from President Butler, Chairman of the Administrative Board, giving a complete résumé of the growth of the idea of the Congress to that time, all of the members of the committee, with the exception of Mr. Thomson, met at the Hotel Manhattan on January 10, 1903, for a preliminary discussion. The entire field was canvassed, using the recommendations of the Administrative Board and the aforementioned letter of Professor Münsterberg's to Mr. Holls as a basis, and an adjournment taken until January 17 for the preparation of detailed recommendations.

The Committee on Plan and Scope again met, all members being present, at the Hotel Manhattan on January 17, and arrived at definite conclusions, which were embodied in the report to the Administrative Board, a meeting of which had been called at the Hotel Manhattan for January 19, 1903. The report of the Committee on Plan and Scope is of such historic importance in the development of the Congress that it is given as follows, although many points were afterwards materially modified:—

New York, January 19, 1903.

President Nicholas Murray Butler,

Chairman Administrative Board of World's Congress at

The Louisiana Purchase Exposition:

Dear Sir,—The undersigned, appointed by your Board a committee on the scope and plan of the proposed World's Congress, at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, have the honor to submit the following report:—

The authority under which the Committee acted is found in a communication addressed to its members by the Chairman of the Administrative Board. A subsequent communication to the Chairman of the Committee indicated that the widest scope was allowed to it in preparing its plan. Under this authority the Committee met on January 10, 1903, and again on January 17. The Committee was, from the beginning, unanimous in accepting the general plan of the Administrative Board, that there should be but a single congress, which, however, might be divided and subdivided, in accord with the general plan, into divisions, departments, and sections, as its deliberations proceed.

PLANS OF THE CONGRESS

As a basis of discussion two plans were drawn up by members of the Committee and submitted to it. The one, by Professor Münsterberg, started from a comprehensive classification and review of human achievement in advancing knowledge, the other, by Professor Small, from an equally comprehensive review of the great public questions involved in human progress.

Professor Münsterberg proposed a congress having the definite task of bringing out the unity of knowledge with a view of correlating the scattered theoretical and practical scientific work of our day. This plan proposed that the congress should continue through one week. The first day was to be devoted to the discussion of the most general problem of knowledge in one comprehensive discussion and four general divisions. On the second day the congress was to divide into several groups and on the remaining days into yet more specialized groups, as set forth in detail in the plan.

The plan by Professor Small proposed a congress which would exhibit not merely the scholar's interpretation of progress in scholarship, but rather the scholar's interpretation of progress in civilization in general. The proposal was based on a division of human interests into six great groups:—
I. The Promotion of Health.
II. The Production of Wealth.
III. The Harmonizing of Human Relations.
IV. Discovery and Spread of Knowledge.
V. Progress in the Fine Arts.
VI. Progress in Religion.

The plan agreed with the other in beginning with a general discussion and then subdividing the congress into divisions and groups.

As a third plan the Chairman of the Committee suggested the idea of a congress of publicists and representative men of all nations and of all civilized peoples, which should discuss relations of each to all the others and throw light on the question of promoting the unity and progress of the race.

After due consideration of these plans the Committee reached the conclusion that the ends aimed at in the second and third plans could be attained by taking the first plan as a basis, and including in its subdivisions, so far as was deemed advisable, the subjects proposed in the second and third plans. They accordingly adopted a resolution that "Mr. Münsterberg's plan be adopted as setting forth the general object of the Congress and defining the scope of its work, and that Mr. Small's plan be communicated to the General Committee as containing suggestions as to details, but without recommending its adoption as a whole."

DATE OF THE CONGRESS

Your Committee is of opinion that, in view of the climatic conditions at St. Louis during the summer and early autumn, it is desirable that the meeting of this general Congress be held during the six days beginning on Monday, September 19, 1904, and continuing until the Saturday following. Special associations choosing St. Louis as their meeting-place may then convene at such other dates as may be deemed fit; but it is suggested that learned societies whose field is connected with that of the Congress should meet during the week beginning September 26.

The sectional discussions of the Congress will then be continued by these societies, the whole forming a continuous discussion of human progress during the last century.

PLAN OF ADDRESSES

The Committee believe that in order to carry out the proposed plan in the most effective way it is necessary that the addresses be prepared by the highest living authorities in each and every branch. In the last subdivisions, each section embraces two papers; one on the history of the subject during the last one hundred years and the other on the problems of to-day.

The programme of papers suggested by the Committee as embraced in Professor Münsterberg's plan may be summarized as follows:—

On the first day four papers will be read on the general subject, and four on each of the four large divisions, twenty in all. On the second day those four divisions will be divided into twenty groups, or departments, each of which will have four papers referring to the divisions and relations of the sciences, eighty in all. On the last four days, two papers in each of the 120 sections, 240 in all, thus making a total of 340 papers.

In view of the fact that the men who will make the addresses should not be expected to bear all the expense of their attendance at the Congress, it seems advisable that the authorities of the Fair should provide for the expenses necessarily incurred in the journey, as well as pay a small honorarium for the addresses. The Committee suggest, therefore, that each American invited be offered $100 for his traveling expenses and each European $400. In addition to this that each receive $150 as an honorarium. Assuming that one half of those invited to deliver addresses will be Americans and one half Europeans, this arrangement will involve the expenditure of $136,000. This estimate will be reduced if the same person prepares more than one address. It will also be reduced if more than half of the speakers are Americans, and increased in the opposite case.

As the Committee is not advised of the amount which the management of the Exposition may appropriate for the purpose of the Congress, it cannot, at present, enter further into details of adjustment, but it records its opinion that the sum suggested is the least by which the ends sought to be attained by the Congress can be accomplished. To this must be added the expenses of administration and publication.

All addresses paid for by the Congress should be regarded as its property, and be printed and published together, thus constituting a comprehensive work exhibiting the unity, progress, and present state of knowledge.

This plan does not preclude the delivery of more than one address by a single scholar. The directors of the Exposition may sometimes find it advisable to ask the same scholar to deliver two addresses, possibly even three.

The Committee recommends that full liberty be allowed to each section of the Congress in arranging the general character and programme of its discussions within the field proposed.

As an example of how the plan will work in the case of any one section, the Committee take the case of a neurologist desiring to profit by those discussions which relate to his branch of medicine. This falls under C of the four main divisions as related to the physical sciences. His interest on the first day will therefore be centred in Division C, where he may hear the general discussion of the physical sciences and the relations to the other sciences. On the second day he will hear four papers in Group 18 on the Subjects embraced in the general science of anthropology; one on its fundamental conceptions; one on its methods and two on the relation of anthropology to the sciences most closely connected with it. During the remaining four days he will meet with the representatives of medicine and its related subjects, who will divide into sections, and listen to four papers in each section. One paper will consider the progress of that section in the last one hundred years, one paper will be devoted to the problems of to-day, leaving room for such contributions and discussions as may seem appropriate during the remainder of the day.

COÖPERATION OF LEARNED SOCIETIES INVOKED

In presenting this general plan, your Committee wishes to point out the difficulty of deciding in advance what subjects should be included in every section. Therefore, the Committee deems it of the utmost importance to secure the advice and assistance of learned societies in this country in perfecting the details of the proposed plan, especially the selection of speakers and the programme of work in each section. It will facilitate the latter purpose if such societies be invited and encouraged to hold meetings at St. Louis during the week immediately preceding, or, preferably, the week following the General Congress. The selection of speakers should be made as soon as possible, and, in any case, before the end of the present academic year, in order that formal invitations may be issued and final arrangements made with the speakers a year in advance of the Congress.

CONCLUDING SUGGESTIONS

With the view of securing the coöperation of the governments and leading scholars of the principal countries of Western and Central Europe in the proposed Congress, it seems advisable to send two commissioners to these countries for this purpose. It seems unnecessary to extend the operations of this commission outside the European continent or to other than the leading countries. In other cases arrangements can be made by correspondence.

It is the opinion of the Committee that an American of world-wide reputation as a scholar should be selected to preside over the Congress.

All which is respectfully submitted.

(Signed)

Simon Newcomb,

Chairman;

George F. Moore,

John B. Moore,

Hugo Münsterberg,

Albion W. Small,

William H. Welch,

Elihu Thomson,

Committee.

The Administrative Board met on January 19 to receive the report of the Committee on Plan and Scope which was presented by Dr. Newcomb. Professor Münsterberg and Professor John Bassett Moore were also present by invitation to discuss the details of the scheme. In the afternoon the Board went into executive session, and the following recommendations were adopted and transmitted by the Director of Congresses to the Committee on Congresses of the Exposition and to the President and Executive Committee, who duly approved them.

To the Director of Congresses:—

The Administrative Board have the honor to make the following recommendations in reference to the Department of Congresses:—

(1) That there be held in connection with the Universal Exposition of St. Louis in 1904, an International Congress of Arts and Science.

(2) That the plan recommended by the Committee on Plan and Scope for a general congress of Arts and Science, to be held during the six days beginning on Monday, September 19, 1904, be approved and adopted, subject to such revision in point of detail as may be advisable, preserving its fundamental principles.

(3) That Simon Newcomb, LL.D., of Washington, D. C., be named for President of the International Congress of Arts and Science, provided for in the foregoing resolution.

(4) That Professor Münsterberg, of Harvard University, and Professor Albion W. Small, of the University of Chicago, be invited to act as Vice-Presidents of the Congress.

(5) That the Directors of the World's Fair be requested to change the name of this Board from the "Advisory Board" to the "Administrative Board of the International Congress of Arts and Science."

(6) That the detailed arrangements for the Congress be intrusted to a committee consisting of the President and two Vice-Presidents already named, subject to the general oversight and control of the Administrative Board, and that the Directors of the Exposition be requested to make appropriate provision for their compensation and necessary expenses.

(7) That it be recommended to the Directors of the World's Fair that appropriate provision should be made in the office of the Department of Congresses for an executive secretary and such clerical assistance as may be needed.

(8) That the following payment be recommended to those scholars who accept invitations to participate and do a specified piece of work, or submit a specified contribution in the International Congress of Arts and Science: For traveling expenses for a European scholar, $500. For traveling expenses for an American scholar, $150.

(9) That provision be made for the publication of the proceedings of the Congress in suitable form to constitute a permanent memorial of the work of the World's Fair for the promotion of science and art, under competent editorial supervision.

(10) That an appropriation of $200,000 be made to cover expenses of the Department of Congresses, of which sum $130,000 be specifically appropriated for an International Congress of Arts and Science, and the remainder to cover all expenses connected with the publication of the proceedings of said International Congress of Arts and Science, and the expenses for promotion of all other congresses.

In addition to the foregoing recommendations, Professor Münsterberg was requested at his earliest convenience to furnish each member with a revised plan of his classification, which would reduce as far as possible the number of sections into which the Congress was finally to be divided.

With the adjournment of the Board on January 19 the Congress may be fairly said to have been launched upon its definite course, and such changes as were thereafter made in the programme did not in any wise affect the principle upon which the Congress was based, but were due to the demands of time, of expediency, and in some cases to the accidents attending the participation. The organization of the Congress and the personnel of its officers from this time on remained unchanged, and the history of the meeting is one of steady and progressive development. The Committee on Plan and Scope were discharged of their duties, with a vote of thanks for the laborious and painstaking work which they had accomplished and the thoroughly scientific and novel plan for an international congress which they had recommended.

It was determined by the Administrative Board to keep the services of three of the members of the Committee on Plan and Scope, who should act as a scientific organizing committee and who should also be the presiding officers of the Congress. The choice for President of the Congress fell without debate to the dean of American scientific circles, whose eminent services to the Government of the United States and whose recognized position in foreign and domestic scientific circles made him particularly fitted to preside over such an international gathering of the leading scientists of the world, Dr. Simon Newcomb, retired Professor of Mathematics, United States Navy. Professor Hugo Münsterberg, of Harvard University, and Professor Albion W. Small, of the University of Chicago, were designated as the first and second Vice-Presidents respectively.

The work of the succeeding spring, with both the Organizing Committee and the Administrative Board, was devoted to the perfecting of the programme and the selection of foreign scientists to be invited to participate in the Congress. The theory of the development of the programme and its logical bases are fully and forcibly treated by Professor Münsterberg in the succeeding chapter, and therefore will not be touched upon in this record of facts. As an illustration of the growth of the programme, however, it is interesting to compare its form, which was adopted at the next meeting of the Organizing Committee on February 23, 1903, in New York City, with its final form as given in the completed programme presented at St. Louis in September, 1904 (pp. 47-49). No better illustration can be given of the immense amount of labor and painstaking adjustment, both to scientific and to physical conditions, and of the admirable adaptability of the original plan to the exigencies of actual practice. At the meeting of February 23, 1903, which was attended by all of the members of the Organizing Committee and by President Butler of the Administrative Board, it was determined that the number of Departments should be sixteen, with the following designations:—

It was also resolved, that the discussion of subjects falling under the first four divisions should be held in the forenoon of each of the four days, from Wednesday until Saturday, and those relating to the three divisions of Practical Science in the afternoon of the same days. The programme was thus rearranged by the addition of the following:—

The programme was again thoroughly revised at the meeting of the Organizing Committee on April 9, 1903, at Hotel Manhattan, and as thus amended was submitted to the Administrative Board at a meeting held in New York on April 11. A careful consideration of the programme at this meeting, and a final revision made at the meeting of the Administrative Board at the St. Louis Club April 30, 1903, brought it practically into its final shape, with such minor changes as were found necessary in the latter days of the Congress due to the unexpected declinations of foreign speakers at the last moment. The continuous and exacting work done in perfecting the programme by each member of the Organizing Committee and by the Chairman of the Administrative Board deserves special mention, and was productive of the best results by its logical appeal to the scientific world. The programme as finally worked out in orderly detail, shortened in many departments by various exigencies, may be found on pages 47 to 49 of this volume.

PARTICIPATION AND SUPPORT

The general plan of the Congress having been determined and the programme practically perfected by May 1, 1903, two most important questions demanded the attention of the Administrative Board: first, the participation in the Congress, both foreign and domestic; second, the support of the scientific public. At a meeting of the Board held in New York City April 11, 1903, these points were given full consideration. It was determined that the list of speakers both foreign and domestic should be made up on the advice of men of letters and of scientific thought in this country, and accordingly there was sent to the officers of the various scientific societies in the United States, to heads of university departments and to every prominent exponent of science and art in this country, a printed announcement and tentative programme of the Congress, and a letter asking advice as to the scientists best fitted in view of the object of the Congress to prepare an address. From the hundreds of replies received in response to this appeal were made up the original lists of invited speakers, and only those were placed thereon who were the choice of a fair majority of the representatives of the particular science under selection. The Administrative Board reserved to itself the full right to reject any of these names or to change them so as to promote the best interests of the Congress, but in nearly every instance it would be safe to say that the person selected was highly satisfactory to the great majority of his fellow scientists in this country. Many changes were unavoidably made at the last moment to meet the situation caused by withdrawals and declinations, but the list of second choices was so complete, and in many cases there was such a delicate balance between the first and second choice, that there was no difficulty in keeping the standard of the programme to its original high plane.

It was early determined that the seven Division speakers and the forty-eight Department speakers, which occupied the first two days of the programme, should be Americans, and that these Division and Department addresses should be a contribution of American scholarship to the general scientific thought of the world. This decision commended itself to the scientific public both at home and abroad, and it was so carried out. It was further determined that the Division and Department speakers and the foreign speakers should be selected during the summer of 1903, and that the American participation in the Section addresses should be determined after it was definitely known what the foreign participation would be. In view of the importance of the Congress, it was deemed inadvisable to attempt to interest foreign scientific circles by correspondence, and it was further decided to pay a special compliment to each invited speaker by sending an invitation at the hands of special delegates. Arrangements were therefore made for Dr. Newcomb and Professors Münsterberg and Small to proceed to Europe during the summer of 1903, and to present in person to the scientific circles of Europe and to the scientists specially desired to deliver addresses the complete plan and scope of the Congress and an invitation to participate.

INVITATIONS TO FOREIGN SPEAKERS

The members of the Organizing Committee, armed with very strong credentials from the State Department to the diplomatic service abroad, sailed in the early summer of 1903 to present the invitation of the Exposition to the selected scientists. Dr. Newcomb sailed May 6, Professor Münsterberg May 30, and Professor Small June 6. A general interest in the project had at this time become aroused, and there was assured a respectful hearing. Both the President of the United States and the Emperor of Germany expressed their warm interest in the plan, and the State Department at Washington gave to the Congress both on this occasion and on succeeding occasions its effective aid. The Director of Congresses wishes to express his obligations both to the late Secretary Hay and to Assistant-Secretary Loomis for their valuable suggestions and courteous coöperation in all matters relating to the foreign participation. Strong support was also given the Committee and the plan of the Congress by Commissioner-General Lewald of Germany, and Commissioner-General Lagrave of France. Throughout the entire Congress period, both of these energetic Commissioners-General placed themselves actively at the disposition of the Department in promoting the attendance of scientists from their respective countries.

Geographically the division between the three members of the Organizing Committee gave to Dr. Newcomb, France; to Professor Münsterberg, Germany, Austria, and Switzerland; and to Professor Small, England, Russia, Italy, and a part of Austria. It was also agreed that Dr. Newcomb should have special oversight of the departments of Mathematics, Physics, Astronomy, Biology, and Technology; Professor Münsterberg, special charge of Philosophy, Philology, Art, Education, Psychology, and Medicine; and that Professor Small should look after Politics, Law, Economics, Theology, Sociology, and Religion. The Committee worked independently of each other, but met once during the summer at Munich to compare results and to determine their closing movements.

The public and even the Exposition authorities have probably never realized the delicacy and the extremely careful adjustment exercised by the Organizing Committee in their summer's campaign. Scientists are as a class sensitive, jealous of their reputations, and loath to undertake long journeys to a distant country for congress purposes. The amount of labor devolving upon the Committee to find the scientists scattered over all Europe; the careful and painstaking presentation to each of the plan of the Congress; the appeal to their scientific pride; the hearing of a thousand objections, and the answering of each; the disappointments incurred; the substitutions made necessary at the last moment;—all sum up a task of the greatest difficulty and of enormous labor. The remarkable success with which the mission was crowned stands out the more prominently in view of these conditions. When the Committee returned in the latter part of September, they had visited every important country of Europe, delivered more than one hundred fifty personal invitations, and for the one hundred twenty-eight sections had secured one hundred seventeen acceptances.

At a meeting of the Administrative Board, which met with the Organizing Committee on October 13, 1903, a full report of the European trip was received and ways and means considered for insuring the attendance from abroad. A list of the foreign acceptances was ordered printed at once for general distribution, and the Chairman of the Administrative Board was requested to address a letter to each of the foreign scientists confirming the action of the special delegates and giving additional information as to the length of addresses, and rules and details governing the administration of the Congress.

DEATH OF FREDERICK W. HOLLS

The number of the Administrative Board was decreased during the summer by the sudden death of the Hon. Frederick W. Holls, on July 23, 1903. Mr. Holls had been intensely interested in the development of the Congress from its earliest days, and was very instrumental in determining the form in which it was finally promoted. His great influence abroad as a member of the Hague Conference, and his high standing in legal and literary circles in this country, rendered him one of the most prominent members of the Board. A resolution of regret at his untimely death was spread upon the minutes of the Administrative Board at the meeting in October, and it was decided that his place upon the Board should remain unfilled.

DOMESTIC PARTICIPATION

At this same meeting of October 13, active measures were taken to forward the American participation in the Congress. The necessity was now very evident that our strongest men of science must be induced to take part, in order to compare favorably with the leading minds which Europe was sending. The Organizing Committee were instructed to consult the American scientific societies and associations regarding the selection of American speakers, and also in reference to presiding officials for each section. Six weeks was considered sufficient for this task, and the Committee were asked to submit to the Administrative Board at a meeting in New York, on December 3 and 4, their recommendations for American speakers.

An immense amount of detailed labor, in the way of correspondence, now devolved upon the Organizing Committee as well as upon the Director of Congresses, and a branch office was established in Washington equipped with clerks and stenographers under the charge of Dr. Newcomb, who devoted the greater portion of his time for the next six months to the many details connected with the selection of foreign and American speakers and chairmen. The meeting of the Administrative Board in New York in December, and a similar meeting with the Organizing Committee held at the St. Louis Club on December 28, were given over entirely to perfecting the personnel of the programme. Great care was exerted in selecting the chairmen of the departments and sections, inasmuch as they must be men of international reputation and conceded strength. For the secretaryships younger men of promise and ability were selected, chiefly from university circles. Both the chairmen and secretaries served without compensation.

The work of the late winter was a continuance of the perfecting of details, and at a meeting of the Administrative Board held in New York in February, 1904, a final approval was given to the programme and the speakers. The imminent approach of the Exposition and the work of the college commencement season made it impossible for further general meetings, and on June 1 the Organizing Committee was constituted a committee with power to fill vacancies in the programme or to amend the programme as circumstances might demand. All suggestions with reference to details were to be made directly to the Director of Congresses, upon whom devolved from this time forward the entire executive control of the Congress.

ASSEMBLY HALLS

The highly diversified nature of the Congress and the holding of one hundred twenty-eight section meetings in four days' time rendered necessary a large number of meeting-places centrally located. The Exposition was fortunate in having the use of the new plant of the Washington University, nine large buildings of which had been erected. Many of these buildings contained lecture halls and assembly rooms, seating from one hundred fifty to fifteen hundred people. Sixteen halls were necessary to accommodate the full number of sections running at any one time, and of this number twelve were available in the group of University Buildings; the other four were found in the lecture halls of the Education Building, Mines and Metallurgy Building, Agriculture Building, and the Transportation Building. The opening exercises, at which the entire Congress was assembled, was held in Festival Hall, capable of seating three thousand people. In the assignment of halls care was taken so far as possible to assign the larger halls to the more popular subjects, but it often happened that a great speaker was of necessity assigned to a smaller hall. Two of the halls also proved bad for speaking owing to the traffic of the Intramural Railway, and there was lacking in nearly all of the halls that academic peace and quiet which usually surrounds gatherings of a scientific nature. This, however, was to be expected in an exposition atmosphere, and was readily acquiesced in by the speakers themselves, and very little objection was heard to the halls as assigned. Every one seemed to recognize the fact that the immediate value of the meeting lay in the commingling and fellowship, and that the addresses, of which one could hear at most only one in sixteen, could not be judged in the proper light until their publication.

SUPPORT OF THE SCIENTIFIC PUBLIC

A strong effort was made by the Organizing Committee to secure the attendance of an audience which should not only in its proportions be complimentary to the eminence of the speakers, but also be thoroughly appreciative of the addresses and conversant with the topic under discussion. Letters were therefore sent to all of the prominent scientific societies in the United States, asking that wherever possible the meetings of the society be set for the Congress week in St. Louis, and wherever this was not possible that the societies send special delegates to attend the Congress, and urge their membership to make an effort to be present. Personal letters were also sent to the leading members of the different professions and sciences, to the faculties of universities and colleges, urging them to attend, and pointing out the necessity of the support of the American scientific public.

Special invitations were also sent in the name of the Organizing Committee to the leading authorities of the various subjects under discussion in the Congress, asking them to contribute a ten-minute paper to any section in which they were particularly interested. The result of this careful campaign, in addition to the general exploitation which the Congress received, was such a flattering attendance of American scientists, as to be both a compliment to the European speakers and a benefit to scientific thought. Many societies, such as the American Neurological Association, American Philological Association, American Mathematical Society, Physical and Chemical Societies of America, American Astronomical Society, Germanic Congress, American Electro-Therapeutic Association, held their annual meetings during the week of the Congress, although the date rendered it impossible for the majority of the associations to meet at that time. The eighth International Geographic Congress adjourned from Washington to St. Louis to meet with the Congress of Arts and Science. In response to the special invitations, two hundred forty-seven ten-minute addresses were promised and one hundred two actually read.

RECEPTION OF FOREIGN GUESTS

Every effort was made by the Department of Congresses to assist the foreign speakers in their traveling arrangements and to make matters as easy and comfortable as possible. A letter of advice was mailed to each speaker prior to his departure, carefully setting forth the conditions of American travel, routes to be followed, reception committees to be met, and other essential details. The official badge of the Congress was also mailed, so that those wearing them might be easily identified by the reception committees both in New York and St. Louis. Nine tenths of the speakers came by the way of New York, and in order to facilitate the clearance of their baggage and to provide for their fitting entertainment in New York, a special reception committee was formed composed of the following members:—

F. P. Keppel, Columbia University, New York City, Chairman.

Prof. Herbert V. Abbott, New York.

R. Arrowsmith, New York.

C. William Beebe, New York.

George Bendelari, New York.

Edward W. Berry, Passaic.

J. Fuller Berry, Old Forge.

Rev. H. C. Birckhead, New York.

Dr. James H. Canfield, New York.

Rev. G. A. Carstenson, New York.

Prof. H. S. Crampton, New York.

Sanford L. Cutler, New York.

Dr. Israel Davidson, New York.

William H. Davis, New York.

Prof. James C. Egbert, New York.

Dr. Haven Emerson, New York.

Prof. T. S. Fiske, New York.

J. D. Fitz-Gerald, II, Newark.

W. D. Forbes, Hoboken.

Clyde Furst, Yonkers.

William K. Gregory, New York.

George C. O. Haas, New York.

Prof. W. A. Hervey, New York.

Carl Herzog, New York.

Robert Hoguet, New York.

Dr. Percy Hughes, Brooklyn.

Prof. A. V. W. Jackson, New York.

Albert J. W. Kern, New York.

Prof. Charles F. Kroh, Orange.

Dr. George F. Kunz, New York.

Prof. L. A. Lousseaux, New York.

Frederic L. Luqueer, Brooklyn.

R. A. V. Minckwitz, New York.

Charles A. Nelson, New York.

Dr. Harry B. Penhollow, New York.

Prof. E. D. Perry, New York.

John Pohlman, New York.

Dr. Ernest Richard, New York.

Dr. K. E. Richter, New York.

Edward Russ, Hoboken.

Prof. C. L. Speranza, Oak Ridge.

Prof. Francis H. Stoddard, New York.

Dr. Anthony Spitzka, Goodground.

Harvey W. Thayer, Brooklyn.

Prof. H. A. Todd, New York.

Dr. E. M. Wahl, New York.

Prof. F. H. Wilkens, New York.

To each foreign speaker was extended the courtesies of the Century and the University clubs while remaining in New York City. Mention should also be made of the assistance of the Treasury Department and of the courtesy of Collector of the Port, Hon. N. N. Stranahan, through whom special privileges of the Port were extended to the members of the Congress. The work of the reception committee was most satisfactorily and efficiently performed, and was highly appreciated by the foreign guests. Special acknowledgment is due Mr. F. P. Keppel, of Columbia University, for his painstaking and efficient management of the affairs of the committee in New York. Many of the speakers proceeded singly to St. Louis, stopping at various places, but the great majority went directly to the University of Chicago, where they were entertained during the week preceding the Congress by President Harper and Professor Small, of the University of Chicago. The arrivals at St. Louis were made on Saturday the 17th and Sunday the 18th of September. Many of the participants had arrived at earlier dates, and fully twenty of the speakers were members of the International Jury of Awards for their respective countries, and had been in St. Louis since September 1, the beginning of the Jury work.

A reception committee similar to that in New York was also formed at St. Louis from the members of the University Club, and their duties were to meet all incoming trains and conduct the members of the Congress personally to their stopping-places, and assist them in all matters of detail. This committee was comprised of the following members, nearly all of the University Club, who performed their work efficiently and enthusiastically to the great satisfaction of the Exposition and to the thorough appreciation of the foreign guests:—

V. M. Porter, Chairman,

St. Louis.

E. H. Angert,

St. Louis.

Gouverneur Calhoun,

St. Louis.

W. M. Chauvenet,

St. Louis.

H. G. Cleveland,

St. Louis.

Mr. M. B. Clopton,

St. Louis.

Walter Fischel,

St. Louis.

W. L. R. Gifford,

St. Louis.

E. M. Grossman,

St. Louis.

L. W. Hagerman,

St. Louis.

Louis La Beaume,

St. Louis.

Carl H. Lagenburg,

St. Louis.

Sears Lehmann,

St. Louis.

G. F. Paddock,

St. Louis.

T. G. Rutledge,

St. Louis.

Luther Ely Smith,

St. Louis.

J. Clarence Taussig,

St. Louis.

C. E. L. Thomas,

St. Louis.

W. M. Tompkins,

St. Louis.

G. T. Weitzel,

St. Louis.

Tyrrell Williams,

St. Louis.

The itinerary of the foreign speakers after leaving St. Louis at the end of the Congress took them on appointed trains to Washington, where they were given an official reception by President Roosevelt and a reception by Dr. Simon Newcomb, President of the Congress. From here they proceeded to Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., where they were given a reception by Prof. Hugo Münsterberg, and were entertained as guests of Harvard University. Thence the great majority of the speakers returned to New York, where they were the guests of Columbia University, and were given a farewell dinner by the Association of Old German Students. Many of the speakers, however, visited other portions of the country before returning to Europe.

The foreign speakers while in St. Louis were considered the guests of the Exposition Company, and were relieved from all care and expense for rooms and entertainment. Those who were accompanied by their wives and daughters were entertained by prominent St. Louis families, and those who came singly were quartered in the dormitory of the Washington University, which was set aside for this purpose during the week of the Congress. The dormitory arrangement proved a very happy circumstance, as nearly one hundred foreign and American scientists of the highest rank were thrown in contact, much after the fashion of their student days, and thoroughly enjoyed the novelty and fellowship of the plan. The dormitory contained ninety-six rooms newly fitted up with much care and with all modern conveniences. Light breakfasts were served in the rooms, and special service provided at the call of the occupants. The situation of the dormitory also in the Exposition grounds in close proximity to the assembly halls was highly appreciated, and although at times there were minor matters which did not run so smoothly, the almost unanimous expression of the guests of the Exposition was one of delight and appreciation of the arrangements. Special mention ought in justice to be made to those residents of St. Louis who sustained the time-honored name of the city for hospitality and courtesy by entertaining those foreign members of the Congress who were accompanied by the immediate members of their family. They were as follows:—

Dr. C. Barek

Dr. William Bartlett

Judge W. F. Boyle

Mr. Robert Brookings

Mrs. J. T. Davis

Dr. Samuel Dodd

Mr. L. D. Dozier

Dr. W. E. Fischel

Mr. Louis Fusz

Mr. August Gehner

Dr. M. A. Goldstein

Mr. Charles H. Huttig

Dr. Ernest Jonas

Mr. R. McKittrick Jones

Mr. F. W. Lehmann

Dr. Robert Luedeking

Mr. Edward Mallinckrodt

Mr. George D. Markham

Mr. Thomas McKittrick

Mr. Theodore Meier

Dr. S. J. Niccolls

Dr. W. F. Nolker

Dr. S. J. Schwab

Dr. Henry Schwartz

Mr. Corwin H. Spencer

Dr. William Taussig

Mr. G. H. Tenbroek

Dr. Herman Tuholske

Hon. Rolla Wells

Mr. Edwards Whitaker

Mr. Charles Wuelfing

Mr. Max Wuelfing.

DETAIL OF THE CONGRESS

The immense amount of detail work which devolved upon the Department in the matter of preparing halls for the meetings, receiving guests, providing for their comfort, issuing the programmes, managing the detail of the receptions, banquets, invitations, etc., providing for registration, payment of honorariums, and furnishing information on every conceivable topic, rendered necessary the formation of a special bureau which was placed in charge of Dr. L. O. Howard of Washington, D. C., as Executive Secretary. Dr. Howard's long experience as Secretary of the American Association for the Advancement of Science rendered him particularly well qualified to assume this laborious and thankless task. By mutual arrangement the Director of Congresses and the Executive Secretary divided the field of labor. The Director had, in addition to the general oversight of the Congress, special supervision of the local reception committee, the entertainment of the guests, official banquets and entertainments, and all financial details. The Executive Secretary took entire charge of the programme, assignment of rooms in the dormitory, care and supervision of the dormitory, assignment of halls for speakers, registration books and bureau of information. Dr. Howard arrived on September 1 to begin his duties, and remained until September 30.

WEEK OF THE CONGRESS

The opening session of the Congress was set for Monday afternoon. September 19, at 2.30 o'clock in Festival Hall. The main programme of the Congress began Tuesday morning. The sessions were held in the mornings and afternoons, the evenings being left free for social affairs. The list of functions authorized in honor of the Congress of Arts and Science were as follows:—

Monday evening, September 19, grand fête night in honor of the guests of the Congress, with special musical programme about the Grand Basin and lagoons, boat rides and lagoon fête; this function was unfortunately somewhat marred by inclement weather. It was the only evening free in the entire week, however, for members of the Congress to witness the illuminations and decorative evening effects.

Banquet given by the St. Louis Chemical Society at the Southern Hotel to members of the chemical sections of the Congress.

Tuesday evening, September 20, general reception by the Board of Lady Managers to the officers and speakers of the Congress and Officials of the Exposition.

Wednesday afternoon, September 21, garden fête given to the members of the Congress at the French National Pavilion by the Commissioner-General from France. The gardens of the miniature Grand Trianon were never more beautiful than on this brilliant afternoon, and the presence of the Garde Républicaine band and the entire official representation of the Exposition, lent a color and spirit to the affair unsurpassed during the Exposition period.

Wednesday evening, reception by the Imperial German Commissioner-General to the officers and speakers of the Congress and the officials of the Exposition, at the German State House. The magnificent hospitality which characterized this building during the entire Exposition period was fairly outdone on this occasion, and the function stands prominent as one of the brilliant successes of the Exposition period.

Thursday evening, September 22, Shaw banquet at the Buckingham Club to the foreign delegates and officers of the Congress. Through the courtesy of the trustees of Shaw's Garden and of the officers of Washington University, the annual banquet provided for men of science, letters, and affairs, by the will of Henry B. Shaw, founder of the Missouri Botanical Gardens, was given during this week as a compliment to the noted foreign scientists who were the guests of the city of St. Louis.

Friday evening, September 23, official banquet given by the Exposition to the speakers and officials of the Congress and the officials of the Exposition, in the banquet hall of the Tyrolean Alps.

Saturday evening, September 24, banquet at the St. Louis Club given by the Round Table of St. Louis, to the foreign members of the Congress. The Round Table is a literary club which meets at banquet six times annually for discussion of topics of interest to the literary and scientific world.

Banquet given by the Imperial Commissioner-General from Japan to the Japanese delegation to the Congress and to the Exposition officials and Chiefs of Departments.

Dinner given by Commissioner-General from Great Britain to the English members of the Congress.

OPENING OF THE CONGRESS

The assembling of the Congress on the afternoon of September 19, in the magnificent auditorium of Festival Hall which crowned Cascade Hill and the Terrace of States, was marked with simple ceremonies and impressive dignity. The great organ pealed the national hymns of the countries participating and closed with the national anthem of the United States. In the audience were the members of the Congress representing the selected talent of the world in their field of scientific endeavor, and about them were grouped an audience drawn from every part of the United States to promote by their presence the success of the Congress and to do honor to the noted personages who were the guests of the Exposition and of the Nation. On the stage were seated the officials of the Congress, the honorary vice-presidents from foreign nations, and the officials of the Exposition.

At the appointed hour the Director of Congresses, Dr. Howard J. Rogers, called the meeting to order, and outlined in a few words the object of the Congress, welcomed the foreign delegates, and presented the members, both foreign and American, to the President of the Exposition, Hon. David R. Francis.

The President spoke as follows:—

What an ambitious undertaking is a universal exposition! But how worthy it is of the highest effort! And, if successful, how far-reaching are its results, how lasting its benefits! Who shall pass judgment on that success? On what evidence, by what standards shall their verdicts be formed? The development of society, the advancement of civilization, involve many problems, encounter many and serious difficulties, and have met with deplorable reactions which decades and centuries were required to repair. The proper study of mankind is man, and any progress in science that ignores or loses sight of his welfare and happiness, however admirable and wonderful such progress may be, disturbs the equilibrium of society.

The tendency of the times toward centralization or unification is, from an economic standpoint, a drifting in the right direction, but the piloting must be done by skillful hands, under the supervision and control of far-seeing minds, who will remember that the masses are human beings whose education and expanding intelligence are constantly broadening and emphasizing their individuality. A universal exposition affords to its visitors, and these who systematically study its exhibits and its phases, an unequaled opportunity to view the general progress and development of all countries and all races. Every line of human endeavor is here represented.

The conventions heretofore held on these grounds and many planned to be held—aggregating over three hundred—have been confined in their deliberations to special lines of thought or activity. This international congress of arts and sciences is the most comprehensive in its plan and scope of any ever held, and is the first of its kind. The lines of its organization, I shall leave the Director of Exhibits, who is also a member of the administrative board of this congress, to explain. You who are members are already advised as to its scope, and your almost universal and prompt acceptance of the invitations extended to you to participate, implies an approval which we appreciate, and indicates a willingness and a desire to coöperate in an effort to bring into intelligent and beneficial correlation all branches of science, all lines of thought. You need no argument to convince you of the eminent fitness of making such a congress a prominent feature of a universal exposition in which education is the dominant feature.

The administrative board and the organizing committee have discharged their onerous and responsible tasks with signal fidelity and ability, and the success that has rewarded their efforts is a lasting monument to their wisdom. The management of the Exposition tenders to them, collectively and individually, its grateful acknowledgments. The membership in this congress represents the world's elect in research and in thought. The participants were selected after a careful survey of the entire field; no limitations of national boundaries or racial affiliations have been observed. The Universal Exposition of 1904, the city of St. Louis, the Louisiana territory whose acquisition we are celebrating, the entire country, and all participating in or visiting this Exposition are grateful for your coming, and feel honored by your presence.

We are proud to welcome you to a scene where are presented the best and highest material products of all countries and of every civilization, participated in by all peoples, from the most primitive to the most highly cultured—a marker in the progress of the world, and of which the International Congress of Arts and Science is the crowning feature.

May the atmosphere of this universal exposition, charged as it is with the restless energies of every phase of human activity and permeated by that ineffable sentiment of universal brotherhood engendered by the intelligent sons of God, congregating for the friendly rivalries of peace, inspire you with even higher thoughts—imbue you with still broader sympathies, to the end that by your future labors you may be still more helpful to the human race and place your fellow men under yet deeper obligations.

Director Frederick J. V. Skiff was then introduced by the President as representing the Division of Exhibits, whose untiring labors had filled the magnificent Exposition palaces surrounding the Festival Hall with the visible products of those sciences and arts, the theory, progress, and problems of which the Congress was assembled to consider.

Mr. Skiff spoke as follows:—

The division of exhibits of the Universal Exposition of 1904 has looked forward to this time, when the work it has performed is to be reviewed and discussed by this distinguished body. I do not, of course, intend to convey the idea that the international congress is to inspect or criticise the exhibitions, but I do mean to say that the deliberations of this organization are contemporaneous with and share the responsibility for the accomplishments of which the exhibitions made are the visible evidences.

The great educational yield of a universal exposition comes from the intellectual more than from the mechanical processes. It is the material condition of the times. It is as well the duty of the responsible authorities to go yet further and record the thoughts and theories, the investigations, experiments, and observations of which these material things are the tangible results.

A congress of arts and science, whose membership is drawn from all educational as well as geographical zones, not only accounts for and analyzes the philosophy of conditions, but points the way for further advance along the lines consistent with demonstration. Its contribution to the hour is at once a history and a prophecy.

The extent to which the deliberations and utterances of this congress may regulate the development of society or give impulse to succeeding generations, it is impossible to estimate, but not unreasonable to anticipate. The plans of the congress matured in the minds of the best scholars; the classification of its purpose, the scope, the selection of its distinguished participants, gave to the hopes and ambitions of the management of the Exposition inspiration of a most exalted degree. At first these ambitions were—not without reason—regarded as too high. The plane upon which the congress had been inaugurated, the aim, the broad intent, seemed beyond the merits, if not beyond the capacity, of this hitherto not widely recognized intellectual centre. But the courage of the inception, the loftiness of the purpose, appealed so profoundly to the toilers for truth and the apostles of fact, that we find gathered here to-day in the heart of the new Western continent the great minds whose impress on society has rendered possible the intellectual heights to which this age has ascended and now beckon forward the students of the world to limitless possibilities.

While international congresses of literature, science, art, and industry have been accomplished by previous expositions, yet to classify and select the topics in sympathy with the classification and installation of the exhibits material is a step considerably in advance of the custom. The men who build an exposition must by temperament, if not by characteristic, be educators. They must be in sympathy with the welfare of humanity and its higher destiny. The exhibitions at this Exposition are not the haphazard gatherings of convenient material, but the outline of a plan to illustrate the productiveness of mankind at this particular time, carefully digested, thoroughly thought out, and conscientiously executed. The exhibit, therefore, in each of the departments of the classification, as well as in the groups of the different departments, are of such character, and so arranged as to reflect the best that the world can do along departmental lines, and the best that different peoples can do along group lines. The congresses accord with the exhibits, and the exhibits give expression to the congresses.

Education has been the keynote of this Exposition. Were it not for the educational idea, the acts of government providing vast sums of money for the up-building of this Exposition would have been impossible. This congress reflects one idea vastly outstripping others, and that is, in the unity of thought in the universal concert of purpose. It is the first time, I believe, that there has been an international gathering of the authorities of all the sciences, and in that respect the congress initiates and establishes the universal brotherhood of scholars.

A thought uncommunicated is of little value. An unrecorded achievement is not an asset of society. The real lasting value of this congress will consist of the printed record of its proceedings. The delivery of the addresses, reaching and appealing to, as must necessarily be the case, a very limited number of people, can be considered as only a method of reaching the lasting and perpetual good of civilization.

In just the degree that this Exposition in its various divisions shall make a record of accomplishments, and lead the way to further advance, this enterprise has reached the expectations of its contributors and the hopes of its promoters. This congress is the peak of the mountain that this Exposition has builded on the highway of progress. From its heights we contemplate the past, record the present, and gaze into the future.

This universal exposition is a world's university. The International Congress of Arts and Science constitutes the faculty; the material on exhibition are the laboratories and the museums; the students are mankind.

That in response to invitation of the splendid committee of patriotic men, to whom all praise is due for their efforts in this crowning glory of the Exposition, so eminent a gathering of the scholars and savants of the world has resulted, speaks unmistakably for the fraternity of the world, for the sympathy of its citizenship, and for the patriotism of its people.

In reply to these addresses of the officials of the Exposition, the honorary Vice-Presidents for Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia, Austria, Italy, and Japan made brief responses in behalf of their respective countries.

Sir William Ramsay of London spoke in the place of Hon. James Bryce, extending England's thanks for the courtesy which had been shown her representatives and declaring that England, particularly in the scientific field, looked upon America as a relative and not as a foreign country.

France was represented by Professor Jean Gaston Darboux, Perpetual Secretary of the Academy of Sciences of Paris, who spoke as follows:—

Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen,—My first word will be to thank you for the honor which you have been so courteous as to pay my country in reserving for her one of the vice-presidencies of the Congress. Since the time of Franklin, who received at the hands of France the welcome which justice and his own personal genius and worth demanded, most affectionate relations have not ceased to unite the scientists of France and the scientists of America. The distinction which you have here accorded to us will contribute still further to render these relations more intimate and more fraternal. In choosing me among so many of the better fitted delegates sent by my country, you have without doubt wished to pay special honor to the Académie des Sciences and to the Institut de France, which I have the honor of representing in the position of Perpetual Secretary. Permit me therefore to thank you in the name of these great societies, which are happy to count in the number of their foreign associates and of their correspondents so many of the scholars of America. In like manner as the Institut de France, so the Congress which opens to-day seeks to unite at the same time letters, science, and arts. We shall be happy and proud to take part in this work and contribute to its success.

Germany was represented by Professor Wilhelm Waldeyer, of the University of Berlin, who replied as follows:—

Mr. President, Honored Assemblage,—The esteemed invitation which has been offered to me in this significant hour of the opening of the Congress of Arts and Science to greet the members of this congress, and particularly my esteemed compatriots, I have had no desire to decline. I have been for a fortnight under the free sky of this mighty city—so I must express myself, since enclosing walls are unknown in the United States—and this fact, together with the hospitality offered me in such delightful manner by the Chairman of the Committee on Congresses, Mr. Frederick W. Lehmann, has almost made me a St. Louis man. Therefore I may perhaps take it upon myself to greet you here.

I confess that I arrived here with some misgiving—some doubts as to whether the great task which was here undertaken under most difficult circumstances could be accomplished with even creditable success. These doubts entirely disappeared the first time I entered the grounds of the World's Fair and obtained a general view of the method, beautiful as well as practical, by which the treasures gathered from the whole world were arranged and displayed. I trust you, too, will have a like experience; and will soon recognize that a most earnest and good work is here accomplished.

And I must remark at this time that we Germans may indeed be well satisfied here; the unanimous and complete recognition which our coöperation in this great work has received is almost disconcerting.

What can be said of the whole Exposition with reference to its extent and the order in which everything is arranged, I may well say concerning the departments of science, especially interesting to us. In this hour in which the Congress of Arts and Science is being opened, we shall not express any thanks to those who took this part of the work upon their shoulders—a more difficult task indeed than all the others, for here the problem is not to manage materials, but heads and minds. And as I see here assembled a large number of German professors—I, too, belong to the profession—of whom it is said, I know not with how much justice, that they are hard to lead, the labors of the Directors and Presidents of the Congress could not have been, and are not now, small. Neither shall we to-day prophesy into what the Congress may develop. The greater number of speakers cannot expect to have large audiences, but even to-day we can safely say this: the imposing row of volumes in which shall be given to posterity the reviews here to be presented concerning the present condition, and future problems of the sciences and arts as they appear to the scientific world at the beginning of the twentieth century, will provide a monumental work of lasting value. This we may confidently expect. The thanks which we to-day do not wish to anticipate in words, let us show by our actions to our kind American hosts, and especially to the directors of the World's Fair and of this Congress. With exalted mind, forgetting all little annoyances which may and will come, let us go forward courageously to the work, and let us do our best. Let us grasp heartily the open hand honestly extended to us.

May this Congress of Arts and Science worthily take part in the great and undisputed success which even to-day we must acknowledge the World's Fair at St. Louis.

For Austria Dr. Theodore Escherich, of the University of Vienna, responded as follows:—

In the name of the many Austrians present at the Congress I express the thanks of my compatriots to the Committee which summoned us, for their invitation and the hospitality so cordially extended....

I congratulate the authorities upon the idea of opening this Congress. How many world-expositions have already been held without an attempt having been made to exhibit the spirit that has created this world of beautiful and useful things? It was reserved for these to find the form in which the highest results of human thought—Science—presented in the persons of her representatives, could be incorporated in the compass of the World's Fair. The conception of this International Congress of all Sciences in its originality and audacity, in its universality and comprehensive organization, is truly a child of the "young-American spirit."...

After this Congress has come to a close and the collection of the lectures delivered, an unparalleled encyclopedia of human knowledge, both in extent and content, will have appeared. We may say that this Fair has become of epochal importance, not alone for trade and manufactures, but also for science. These proud palaces will long have disappeared and been forgotten when this work, a monumentum aere perennius, shall still testify to future generations the standard of scientific attainment at the beginning of the twentieth century.

Short acknowledgments were then made for Russia by Dr. Oscar Backlund, of the Astronomical Observatory at Pulkowa, Russia, and for Japan by Prof. Nobushige Hozumi, of the Imperial University at Tokio, Japan.

The last of the Vice-Presidents to respond to the addresses of welcome was Signor Attilio Brunialti, Councilor of State for Italy, who after a few formal words in English broke into impassioned eloquence in his native tongue, and in brilliant diction and graceful periods expressed the deep feeling and profound joy which Italy, the mother of arts, felt in participating in an occasion so historic and so magnificent. Signor Brunialti said in part:

I thank you, gentlemen, for the honor you have paid both to my country and myself by electing me a Vice-President of this great scientific assembly. Would that I could thank you in words in which vibrate the heart of Rome, the scientific spirit of my land, and all that it has given to the world for the progress of science, literature, and art. You know Italy, gentlemen, you admire her, and therefore it is for this also that my thanks are due to you. What ancient Rome has contributed to the common patrimony of civilization is also reflected here in a thousand ways, and a classical education, held in such honor, by a young and practical people such as yours, excites our admiration and also our astonishment. By giant strides you are reviving the activity of Italy at the epoch of the Communes, when all were animated by unwearying activity and our manufactures and arts held the first place in Europe. I have already praised here the courageous spirit which has suggested the meeting of this Congress—a Congress that will remain famous in the annals of science. Many things in your country have aroused in me growing surprise, but nothing has struck me more, I assure you, than this homage to science which is pushing all the wealthy classes to a noble rivalry for the increase of education and mental cultivation.

You have already large libraries and richly endowed universities, and every kind of school, where the works of Greece and Rome are perhaps even more appreciated and adapted to modern improvements than with us old classical nations. Full of energy, activity, and wealth, you have before you perpetual progress, and what, up to this, your youth has not allowed you to give to the world, you will surely be able to give in the future. Use freely all the treasures of civilization, art, and science that centuries have accumulated in the old world, and especially in my beloved Italy; fructify them with your youthful initiation and with your powerful energy. By so doing you will contribute to peace, and then we may say with truth that we have prepared your route by the work of centuries; and like unto those who from old age are prevented from following the bold young man of Longfellow in his course, we will accompany you with our greetings and our alterable affection.

By my voice, the native country of Columbus, of Galileo, of Michelangelo and Raphael, of Macchiavelli and Volta, salutes and with open arms hails as her hopeful daughter young America,—thanking and blessing her for the road she has opened to the sons of Italy, workmen and artists, to civilization, to science, and to modern research and thought.

The Chairman of the Administrative Board, President Nicholas Murray Butler, of Columbia University, was prevented by illness in his family from being present at the Congress, and in place of the address to have been delivered by him on the idea and development of the Congress and the work of the Administrative Board, President William R. Harper, of the University of Chicago, spoke on the same subject as follows:

I have been asked within a few hours by those in authority to present to you on behalf of the Administrative Board of this International Congress a statement concerning the origin and purpose of the congress. It is surely a source of great disappointment to all concerned that the chairman of the board, President Butler, is prevented from being present.

Many of us recall the fact that at the Paris Exposition of 1889 the first attempt was made to do something systematic in the way of congresses. This attempt was the natural outcome of the opinion which had come to exist that so splendid an opportunity as was afforded by the coming together of leaders in every department of activity should not be suffered to pass by unimproved. What could be more natural in the stimulating and thought-provoking atmosphere of an exposition than the proposal to make provision for a consideration and discussion of some of the problems so closely related to the interests represented by the exposition?

The results achieved at the Paris Exposition of 1889 were so striking as to lead those in charge of the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago, 1893, to organize what was called the World's Congress Auxiliary, including a series of congresses, in which, to use the language of the original decree, "the best workers in general science, philosophy, literature, art, agriculture, trade, and labor were to meet to present their experiences and results obtained in all those various lines of thought up to the present time." Seven years later, in connection with the Paris Exposition of 1900, there was held another similar series of international congresses. The general idea had in this way slowly but surely gained recognition.

The authorities of the Universal Exposition at St. Louis, from the first, recognized the desirability of providing for a congress which should exceed in its scope those that had before been attempted. In the earliest days of the preparation for this Exposition Mr. Frederick J. V. Skiff, the Director of the Field Columbian Museum, my nearest neighbor in the city of Chicago, took occasion to present this idea, and particularly to emphasize the specific point that something should be undertaken which not only might add dignity and glory to the great name of the Exposition, but also constitute a permanent and valuable contribution to the sum of human knowledge. After a consideration of the whole question, which extended over many months, the committee on international congresses resolved to establish an administrative board of seven members, to which should be committed the responsibility of suggesting a plan in detail for the attainment of the ends desired. This Board was appointed in November, 1902, and consisted of President Nicholas Murray Butler, of Columbia University, New York; President R. H. Jesse, of the University of Missouri; President Henry S. Pritchett, of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology; Dr. Herbert Putnam, Librarian of Congress; Mr. Frederick J. V. Skiff, of the Field Columbian Museum, Chicago; Frederick G. Holls, of New York City, and the present speaker.

This Board held several meetings for the study of the questions and problems involved in the great undertaking. Much valuable counsel was received and considered. The Board was especially indebted, however, to Prof. Hugo Münsterberg of Harvard University for specific material which he placed at their disposal—material which, with modification, served as the basis of the plans adopted by the Board, and recommended to the members of the Exposition.

At the same time the Administrative Board recommended the appointment of Dr. Howard J. Rogers as the Director of Congresses, and nominated Prof. Simon Newcomb of the United States Navy to be President of the Congress, and Professors Hugo Münsterberg of Harvard University and Albion W. Small of the University of Chicago to be Vice-Presidents of the Congress; the three to constitute the Organizing Committee of the Congress. This Organizing Committee was later empowered to visit foreign countries and to extend personal invitations to men distinguished in the arts and sciences to participate in the Congress. The reception accorded to these, our representatives, was most cordial. Of the 150 invitations thus extended, 117 were accepted; and of the 117 learned savants who accepted the invitation, 96 are here in person this afternoon to testify by their presence the interest they have felt in this great concourse of the world's leaders. I am compelled by necessity this afternoon to omit many points of interest in relation to the origin and history of the undertaking, all of which will be published in due time.

After many months of expectancy we have at last come together from all the nations of the world. But for what purpose? I do not know that to the statement already published in the programme of the Congress anything can be added which will really improve that statement. The purpose, as it has seemed to some of us, is threefold:

In the first place, to secure such a general survey of the various fields of learning, with all their "subdivisions and multiplication of specialties," as will at the same time set forth their mutual relations and connections, and likewise constitute an effort toward the unification of knowledge. This idea of unity has perhaps been uppermost in the minds of all concerned with the work of organizing the Congress.

In the second place, to provide a platform from which might be presented the various problems, a solution of which will be expected of the scholarship of the future. This includes a recognition of the fundamental principles and conception that underlie these mutual relations, and therefore serve necessarily as the basis of all such future work. Here again the controlling idea is that of unity and law, in other words, universal law.

In the third place, to bring together in person and spirit distinguished investigators and scholars from all the countries of the world, in order that by contact of one with another a mutual sympathy may be promoted, and a practical coöperation may be effected among those whose lifework leads them far apart. Here, still again, unity of result is sought for.

As we now take up the work of this convention, which already gives sure promise of being notable among the conventions that have called together men of different nations, let us confidently assure ourselves that the great purpose which has throughout controlled in the different stages of its organization will be realized; that because the Congress has been held, the nations of the earth will find themselves drawn more closely together; that human thought will possess a more unified organization and human life a more unified expression.

Following these addresses of welcome and of response came the first paper of the specific programme, designed to be introductory to the division, department, and section addresses of the week. This address, which will be found in full in its proper place, on pages 135 to 147 of this volume, was given by Dr. Simon Newcomb, President of the Congress and Chairman of the Organizing Committee, whose labors for fifteen months were thus brought to a brilliant conclusion.

At the close of Dr. Newcomb's address the assembly was dismissed by a few words of President Francis, in which he placed at the disposition of the members of the Congress the courtesies and privileges of the Exposition, and expressed the hope and belief that their presence and the purpose for which they were assembled, would be the crowning glory of the Universal Exposition of 1904.

On Tuesday, September 20, the seven division addresses and the twenty-four department addresses were given, all the speakers being Americans: Royce, in Normative Science; Wilson, in Historical Science; Woodward, in Physical Science; Hall, in Mental Science; Jordan, in Utilitarian Science; Lowell, in Social Regulation; and Harris, in Social Culture, treating the main divisions of science and their applications, each dwelling particularly on the scope of the great field included in his address and the unification of the work therein. The forty-eight department speakers divided the field of knowledge, one address in each department giving the fundamental conceptions and methods, the other the history and development of the work of the department during the last century.

With Wednesday the international participation began, and in the one hundred twenty-eight sections into which the departments were divided one half of the speakers were drawn, so far as circumstances permitted, from foreign scientific circles. With the exception of the last two sections, Religious Influence Personal, and Religious Influence Social, the work of the Congress closed on Saturday afternoon. These two sections having four speakers each were placed, one on Sunday morning and one on Sunday afternoon, in Festival Hall, and passes to the grounds given upon application to any one desiring to attend. Large numbers availed themselves of the privilege, and the closing hours of the Congress were eminently suitable and worthy of its high success. At the end of the afternoon session in Festival Hall, Vice-President of the Congress, Dr. Albion W. Small, reviewed in a few words the work of the week, its meaning to science, its possible effect upon American thought, and then formally announced the Congress closed.

OFFICIAL BANQUET

The official banquet given by the Exposition to all participants, members, and officials of the Congress, on Friday evening, at the Tyrolean Alps banquet hall, proved a charming conclusion to the labors of the week. No better place could be imagined for holding it, within the grounds of an exposition, than the magnificently proportioned music and dining hall of the "Alps." A room 160 feet by 105 feet, capable of seating fifteen hundred banqueters; the spacious, oval, orchestral stage at the south end; the galleries and boxes along the sides of the hall done in solid German oak; the beautiful and impressive mural decorations, the work of the best painters of Germany; the excellence of the cuisine, and the thoroughly drilled corps of waiters, rendered the physical accessories of a banquet as nearly perfect as possible in a function so extensive.

The banquet was the largest held during the Exposition period, eight hundred invitations being issued and nearly seven hundred persons present. The music was furnished by the famous Garde Républicaine Band of France, as the Exposition orchestra was obliged to fill its regular weekly assignment at Festival Hall. The decorations of the hall, the lights and flowers, the musical programme, the galleries and boxes filled with ladies representing the official and social life of the Exposition, and the distinguished body of the Congress, formed a picture which appealed to the admiration and enthusiasm of every one alike. No attempt was made to assign seats to the banqueters outside the speakers' table, and little coteries and clusters of scientists, many of whom were making acquaintances and intellectual alliances during this week which would endure for a lifetime, were scattered about the hall, giving an interest and an animation to the scene quite beyond the powers of description. In one corner were Harnack, Budde, Jean Réville, and Cuthbert Hall, chatting as animatedly as though their religious theories were not as far apart as the poles; in another, Waldeyer, Escherich, Jacobi, Allbutt, and Kitasato formed a medical group, the counterpart of which would be hard to find unless in another part of this same hall; still again were Erdmann, Sorley, Ladd, Royce, and Creighton as the centre of a group of philosophers of world renown. So in every part of the picture which met the eye were focused the leaders of thought and action in their respective fields. The tout ensemble of the Congress was here brought out in its strongest effect, as, with the exception of the opening exercises at Festival Hall at which time many had not arrived, it was the only time when the entire membership was together. The banquet coming at the close of the week was also fortunate, as by this time the acquaintances made, and the common incidents and anecdotes experienced, heightened the enjoyment of all.

The toastmaster of the banquet and presiding officer, Hon. David R. Francis, was never in a happier vein than when he assumed the gavel and proposed the health of the President of the United States and the rulers of all nations represented at the board.

President Francis said:—

Members of the International Congress of Arts and Science:

On the façade at the base of the Louisiana Monument, which is the central feature of this Exposition picture, is a group of Livingston, Monroe, and Marbois. It represents the signing of the treaty, which by peaceful negotiation transferred an empire from France to the United States. Upon the inscription are the words of Livingston, "We have lived long and accomplished much, but this is the crowning act of our lives."

It is that transfer of an empire which this Exposition is held to commemorate. And paraphrasing the words of Livingston, permit me to say that I have presided over many dinners, but this is the crowning act of my career.

In opening the deliberations of the International Congress of Arts and Science, I made the statement that a Universal Exposition is an ambitious undertaking. I stated also that the International Congress of Arts and Science is the crowning feature of this Exposition. I did not venture the assertion then which I have the presumption to make now, that the most difficult task in connection with this Universal Exposition was the assembling of an International Congress of Arts and Science. I venture to make the statement now, because I feel that I am justified in doing so by the success which up to the present has attended your deliberations. Any congregation of the leaders of thought in the world is a memorable occasion. This is the first systematic one that has ever been attempted. Whether it proves successful or not, it will be long remembered in the history of the civilized countries that have participated in it. If it be but the precursor of other like assemblages it will still be long remembered, and in that event it will be entitled to unspeakable credit if it accomplishes anything toward the realization of the very laudable objects which prompted its assembling.

The effort to unify all human knowledge and to establish the inter-relations thereof is a bold conception, and requires the courage that characterizes the people who live in the western section of the United States. If it be the last effort of the kind it will still be remembered, and this Universal Exposition, if it had done nothing else to endear it to cultured people of this and other countries, will not be forgotten. The savants assembled by the call of this Exposition have pursued their respective lines of thought and research, prompted by no desire other than one to find a solution of the problem which confronts humanity. By bringing you together and making an effort to determine and establish the relations between all lines of human knowledge, we have certainly made an advance in the right direction. If your researches, if the results of your studies, can be utilized by the human race, then we who have been the instruments of that great blessing will be entitled to credit secondary only to the men who are the discoverers of the scientific knowledge whose relations we are endeavoring to establish. The Management of the Universal Exposition of 1904 salutes the International Congress of Arts and Science. We drink to the perpetuation of that organization, and I shall call upon its distinguished President, Professor Newcomb, to respond to the Sentiment.

Dr. Newcomb in a few words thanked the members of the Congress for their participation, which had made possible the brilliant success of the enterprise, portrayed its effect and the influence of its perpetuation, and then extended to all the invitation from the President of the United States to attend the reception at the White House on the following Tuesday.

In responding to these toasts the senior Honorary Vice-President, Hon. James Bryce, of Great Britain, spoke in matchless form and held the attention of the vast hall closely while he portrayed in a few words the chief glories of England in the field of science, and the pride the English nation felt in the glorious record made by her eldest daughter, the United States. Mr. Bryce spoke extemporaneously, and his remarks cannot be given in full.

For Germany, Commissioner-General Lewald responded in an eloquent address, in which, after thanking the Exposition and the American Government for the high honor done the German nation in selecting so large a percentage of the speakers from German scientific circles, he enlarged upon the close relations which had existed between German university thought and methods and American thought and practice, due to the vast number of American students who had pursued their post-graduate courses in the universities of Germany. He dwelt upon the pride that Germany felt in this sincerest form of tribute to German supremacy in scientific thought, and of the satisfaction which the influence in this country of German-trained students afforded. He described at length the great exhibit made by German universities in the education department of the Exposition, and pointed to it as demonstrating the supremacy of German scientific thought and accurate methods. Dr. Lewald closed with a brilliant peroration, in which he referred to the immense service done for the cause of science in the last fifty years of German history and to the patronage and support of the Emperor, not only to science in general, but to this great international gathering of scientific experts, and drank to the continued cordial relations of Germany and America through its university circles and scientific endeavors.

For the response from France, Prof. Gaston Darboux was delegated by Commissioner-General Gerald, who was unable to be present on account of sickness. In one of the most beautiful and polished addresses of the evening, Professor Darboux spoke in French, of which the following is a translation:—

Gentlemen,—Graciously invited to respond in the name of the delegates of France who have accept the invitation of the American Government, I consider it my duty in the first place to thank this great nation for the honor which it has paid to us, and for the welcome, which it has extended to us. Those of you who are doing me the honor to listen, know of that disagreeable feeling of isolation which at times the traveler in the midst of a strange people experiences;—that feeling I know only from hearsay. We have not had a moment of time to experience it. They are accustomed in Europe to portray the Americans as exclusively occupied with business affairs. They throw in our faces the famous proverb, 'Business is Business,' and give it to us as the rule of conduct for Americans. We are able to testify entirely to the contrary, since the inhabitants of this beautiful country are always seeking to extend to strangers a thousand courtesies. Above all, we have encountered no one who has not been anxious to go out of his way to give to us, even before we had asked it, such information as it was necessary for us to have. And what shall I say of the welcome which we have received here at the hands of our American confrères,—Monsieur the President of the Exposition, Monsieur the Director of Congresses and other worthy co-laborers? The authorities of the Exposition and the inhabitants of St. Louis have rivaled each other in making our stay agreeable and our ways pleasant in the heart of this magnificent Exposition, of which we shall ever preserve the most enchanting memory.

We should have wished to see in a more leisurely manner, and to make acquaintance with the attractions without number with which the Exposition literally swarms (men of letters and men of science love at times to disport themselves) and to study the exhibits classified in a method so exact in the palaces of an architecture so original and so impressive. But Monsieur Newcomb has not permitted this. The Congress of which he is the illustrious President offers so much in the way of attractions,—of a kind a little rigorous it is true,—and so much of work to be accomplished, that to our very great regret we have had to refuse many invitations which it would have been most agreeable to accept. The Americans will pardon us for this, I am sure; they know better than any one else the value of time, but they know also that human strength has some limits, especially among us poor Europeans, for I doubt whether an American ever knows the meaning of fatigue.

Messieurs, the Congress which is about to terminate to-morrow has been truly a very great event. It is the first time, I believe, that there has been seen assembled in one grand international reunion that which our great minister, Colbert, had in mind, and that which we have realized for the first time in our Institut de France,—the union of letters, science, and arts. That this union shall maintain itself in the future is the dearest wish of my heart.

Science is a unit, even as the Universe. The aspects which it presents know neither boundaries of states nor the political divisions established between peoples. In all civilized countries they calculate with the same figures, they measure with the same instruments, they employ the same classifications, they study the same historic facts, economics, and morals. If there exists among the different nations some differences in methods, these difference are slight. They are a benefit at the same time as well as a necessity. For the doing of the immense amount of work of research imposed on that part of humanity which thinks, it is necessary that the subjects of study should not be identically the same, or better, if they are identical, that the difference between the points of view from which they are considered in the different countries contribute to our better knowledge of their nature, their results, and their applications. It is necessary then that each people preserve their distinctive genius, their particular methods which they use to develop the qualities they have inherited. In exactly the same way that it is important in an orchestra that each instrument play in the most perfect manner, and with the timbre which accords with its nature, the part which is given to it, so in science as in music, the harmony between the players is a necessary condition, which each one ought to exert himself to realize. Let us endeavor then in scientific research to execute in the most perfect manner that part of the task which fate has devolved upon us, but let us endeavor also to maintain that accord which is a necessary condition to the harmony which will alone be able in the future to assure the progress of humanity.

Gentlemen, in this international reunion it would not be fitting that I dwell upon the services which my country has been able to render to science; and on the other hand it would be difficult for me to say to you exactly what part America is called upon to take in this concert of civilized nations; but I am certain that the part will be worthy of the great nation which has given to itself a constitution so liberal and which in so short a space of time has known how to conquer, and measure in value, a territory so immense that it extends from ocean to ocean. I lift my glass to the honor of American science; I drink to the future of that great nation, for which we, as well as all other Frenchmen, hold so much of common remembrance, so much of close and living sympathy, and so much of profound admiration. I am the more happy to do this in this most beautiful territory of Louisiana, which France in a former age ceded freely to America.

Perhaps the treat of the evening was the response made in behalf of the Empire of Japan by Professor Hozumi, of the Faculty of Law of the University of Tokio.

Unfortunately this response was not preserved in full, but Professor Hozumi dwelt with much feeling on the world-wide significance of the Congress and the common plane upon which all nations might meet in the pursuit of science and the manifold applications of scientific principles. He paid a beautiful tribute to the educational system of the United States and to the great debt which Japan owed to American scholars and to American teachers for their aid in establishing modern educational principles and methods in the Empire of Japan. The impetus given to scientific study in Japan by the Japanese students trained in American universities was also earnestly dwelt upon, and the close relations which had always existed between Japanese and American students and instructors feelingly described. In the field of science Japan was yet young, but she had shown herself a close and apt pupil, and her period of initiative and original research was at hand. In bacteriology, in medicine, in seismology, oceanography, and other fields, Japan has made valuable contributions to science and established the right to recognition in an international gathering of this nature. It was with peculiar and grateful pride and pleasure that the Japanese Government had sent its delegation to this Congress of selected experts in response to the invitation of the American Government. Near the close of his address Professor Hozumi made a gracious and happy allusion, based upon the conflict with Russia, in which he said that of all places where men meet, and of all places sunned by the light of heaven, this great Congress, built on the high plane of the brotherhood of science and the fellowship of scholars, was the only place where a Japanese and a Russian could meet in mutual accord, with a common purpose, and clasp hands in unity of thought. This chivalrous and beautiful idea, given here so imperfectly from memory, brought the great assembly to its feet in rounds of cheers. In closing, Professor Hozumi expressed the earnest belief that the benefits of science from a gathering of this nature would quickly be felt, by a closer coöperation in the application of theory and practical principles and a simultaneous advance in all parts of the world.

The closing response of the evening for the foreign members was made for Italy by Signor Attilio Brunialti, whose brilliant eloquence at many times during the week had won the admiration of the members of the Congress. Under the inspiration of this assemblage he fairly surpassed himself, and the following translation of his remarks but poorly indicates the grace and brilliant diction of the original:—

I have had the good fortune to be present in this wonderful country at three international Congresses, that of science, the peace parliament, and the geographic. I wish to record the impression they have excited in my mind, already so favorably inclined by your never-to-be-forgotten and gracious reception. You must, please, allow me to address you in my own language, because the Latin tongue inspires me, because I wish to affirm more solemnly my nationality, and also, because I cannot express my feelings well in a language not familiar to me. My country, the land of Columbus, of Galileo, the nation that more than all others in Europe is an element of peace, is already in itself the synthesis of the three Congresses. And I can call to mind that this land is indebted to geography for the fact of its being made known to the world, because the immortal Genoese pointed it out to people fighting in the old world for a small territory, and opened to mortals new and extensive countries destined to receive the valiant and the audacious of the entire world and to rise like yours to immortal glory.

Thus the poet can sing,—

L'avanza, l'avanza
Divino straniero,
Conosci la stanza
Che i fati ti diero;
Se lutti, se lagrime
Ancora rinterra
L'giovin la terra.

Thus Columbus of old could point out to men—who run down each other, disputing even love for fear that man may become a wolf for man—the vast and endless wastes awaiting laborers, and give to man the treasures of the fruitful land. 'Tis in the name of peace that I greet modern science in all its forms, and I say to you chemists: "Invent new means of destruction;" and to you mechanics and shipbuilders: "Give us invulnerable men-of-war and such perfect cannons, that your own progress may contribute to make war rarer in the world." Then will men, amazed at their own destructive progress, be drawn together by brotherly love, by the development of common knowledge and sympathy, and by the study of geography be led to know that there is plenty of room for every one in the world to contribute to progress and civilization.

Americans! these sentiments are graven in your country; in point of fact, it is a proof of the harmony that reigns in this Congress between guests come from all parts of the world, that I, an Italian, am allowed to address you in my own language on American ground, near the Tyrolean Alps, greeted by the music of the Républicaine French Garde, united in eternal bonds of friendship by the two great goddesses of the modern world,—Science and Peace.

The last speaker of the evening was Hon. Frederick W. Lehmann, Chairman of the Exposition Committee on Congresses, who in eloquent periods set forth the ambition of the city of St. Louis and the Exposition of 1904 in creating a Congress of intellect on the same high plane that had characterized the educational ideals of the Exposition, and the intense satisfaction which the officials of the Congress felt in its brilliant outcome, and the possibilities which it promised for an unequaled contribution to scientific literature.

At the close of these addresses the members of the Congress and the spectators in the gallery sang, in full chorus and under the lead of the Garde Républicaine Band, the various national anthems, closing with "The Star Spangled Banner."

PUBLICATION OF THE REPORT

In accordance with the recommendation of the Administrative Board to the Committee on Congresses, the Executive Committee appointed Dr. Howard J. Rogers, Director of Congresses, editor of the proceedings of the Congress of Arts and Science. The Congress records were removed from St. Louis to Albany, New York, the home of the Director, from which place the publication has been prepared. Upon collecting the papers it was found that they could be divided logically, and with a fair degree of similarity in size, into eight volumes, each of which should cover a definite and distinct portion of the programme. These are as follows:—

The details and specifications of the volumes were prepared for competitive bids and submitted to twelve of the prominent publishers of the country. The most advantageous bid was received from Houghton, Mifflin & Company of Boston, Mass., and was accepted by the Exposition Company. The Administrative Board and the authorities Of the Exposition feel deeply pleased at the result, inasmuch as the imprint of this firm guarantees a work in full accord with the high plane upon which the Congress has been conducted.

It was determined to print the entire proceedings in the English language, inasmuch as the Congress was held in an English-speaking country and the vast majority of the papers were read in that language. The consent of every foreign speaker was obtained for this procedure. It was found, after collecting, that the number of addresses to be translated was forty-four. The translators were selected by the editor upon the advice of the members of the Administrative Board and Organizing Committee, and great care was taken to find persons not only thoroughly trained in the two languages and possessing a good English style, but also persons who were thoroughly conversant with the subject on which the paper treated. Many of the translators were suggested by the foreign speakers themselves. As a result of this careful selection, the editor feels confident that the original value of the papers has been in no wise detracted from, and that both in form and content the translations are thoroughly satisfactory.

It will be found that some addresses are not closely related to the scheme of the Congress. Either through some misunderstanding of the exact purpose of the Congress, or through too close devotion to their own particular phase of investigation, some half-dozen speakers submitted papers dealing with special lines of work. These, while valuable and scholarly from their standpoint, do not accord with a series of papers prepared with a view to general relations and historical perspective. The exceptions are so few, however, as not seriously to interfere with the unity of the plan.

In the arrangement of the papers the order of the official programme is followed exactly, with the exception that, under Historical Science, Departments 3, 4, and 8, covering History of Politics, Law, and Religion, are combined in one volume; and Departments 5, 6, and 7, covering History of Language, Literature, and Art, are combined in the succeeding volume. In volume one, the first chapter is devoted to the history of the Congress, written by the editor, in which is set forth the plain narrative of the growth and development of the Congress, as much for the benefit of similar undertakings in the future as for the interest of those participating in this Congress. The second chapter contains the scientific introduction, written by Prof. Hugo Münsterberg of Harvard University, First Vice-President of the Congress and Member of the Organizing Committee. This is written for the purpose of giving in detail the principles upon which the classification was based, and the relations which the different sections and departments held to each other.

Each paper is prefaced by a very short biographical note in categorical form, for the purpose of insuring the identity of the speaker as long in the future as the volumes may exist. Appended to the addresses of each department is a short bibliography, which is essential for a general study of the subject in question. These are in no wise exhaustive or complete, but are rather designed to be a small, valuable, working reference library for students. The bibliographies have been prepared by eminent experts in the departments of the Congress, but are necessarily somewhat uneven, as some of the writers have gone into the subject more thoroughly than others. The general arrangement of the bibliographies is: 1. Historical books and standard works dealing with the subject. 2. General books for the whole department. 3. Books for sections of departments.

Appended also to the addresses of each department and sections are résumés of the ten-minute addresses delivered by invitation at the meeting of the department or section. Many of these papers are of high value; but inasmuch as very few of them were written in accord with the plan of the Congress, and with the main thought to be developed by the Congress, but deal rather with some interesting and detached phase of the subject, it has been deemed best not to print them in full, but to indicate in brief the subject and the treatment given it by the writer. Those which do accord with the plan of the Congress are given more extensive treatment.

CONCLUSION

What the results of the Congress will be; what influence it may have; was it worth the work and cost, are questions often fairly asked.

The lasting results and influences are of course problematical. They depend upon the character and soundness of the addresses, and whether the uniform strength of the publication will make the work as a whole, what it undoubtedly is in parts, a source-book for the future on the bases of scientific theory at the beginning of the twentieth century, and a reliable sketch of the growth of science during the nineteenth century. Critical study of the addresses will alone determine this, but from the favorable reception of those already published in reviews, and from editorial acquaintance with the others, it seems assured. That portion of the section addresses which deals with the inter-relations of science and demonstrates both its unity and variety of processes is new and authoritative thought, and will be the basis of much discussion and remodeling of theories in the future. The immediate results of the Congress are highly satisfactory, and fully repay the work and the cost both from a scientific and an exposition standpoint. As an acknowledgment of the prominence of scientific methods, as a public recognition of the work of scientists, as the means of bringing to one place the most noted assemblage of thinkers the world has ever seen, as an opportunity for scholars to meet and know each other better, the Congress was an unqualified success and of enduring reputation. From the Exposition point of view, it was equally a success; not financially, nor was there ever a thought that it would be. Probably not more than seven thousand persons outside of St. Louis came primarily to attend the Congress, and their admission fees were a bagatelle; the revenue derived from the sale of the Proceedings will not meet the cost of printing. There has been no money value sought for in the Congress,—none received. Its value to the Exposition lies solely in the fact that it is the final argument to the world of the initial claims of the officials of the Exposition that its purpose was purely educational. Coördinate with the material exhibits, sought, classified, and installed on a rigidly scientific classification, the Congress, which relates, illumines, and defends the principles upon which the material portion was founded, has triumphantly vindicated the good faith, the wisdom, and the foresight of the Universal Exposition of 1904. This printed record of its proceedings will be a monument not only to the spirit of Science, but to the spirit of the Exposition, which will endure as long as the records of man are preserved.

* * * * *

In conclusion, the editor wishes to express his obligations to the many speakers and officers of the Congress, who have evinced great interest in the publication and assisted by valuable suggestions and advice. In particular, he acknowledges the help of President Butler of Columbia University, Professor Münsterberg of Harvard University, and Professor Small of the University of Chicago. Acknowledgments are with justice and pleasure made to the Committee on Congresses of the Exposition, and the able chairman, Hon. Frederick W. Lehmann, for their unwavering and prompt support on all matters of policy and detail, without which the full measure of success could not have been achieved. To the efficient secretary of the Department of Congresses, Mr. James Green Cotchett, an expression of obligation is due for his indefatigable labors during the Congress period, and for his able and painstaking work in compiling the detailed records of this publication.

At a meeting of the Executive Committee of the Exposition on January 3, 1905, there was unanimously voted the following resolution, recommended by the Administrative Board and approved by the Committee on Congresses:—

Moved: that a vote of thanks and an expression of deepest obligation be tendered to Dr. Simon Newcomb, President of the Congress, Prof. Hugo Münsterberg, vice-president of the Congress, and Prof. Albion W. Small, vice-president of the Congress, for their efficient, thorough, and comprehensive work in connection with the programme of the Congress, the selection and invitation of speakers, and the attention to detail in its execution. That, in view of the enormous amount of labor devolving upon these three gentlemen for the past eighteen months, to the exclusion of all opportunities for literary and other work outside their college departments, an honorarium of twenty-five hundred dollars be tendered to each of them.

At a subsequent meeting the following resolution was also passed:—

Moved: that the Directors of the Louisiana Purchase Exposition Company place upon the record an expression of their appreciation of the invaluable aid so freely given by the Administrative Board of the Congress of Arts and Science. In organization, guidance, and results the Congress was the most notable of its kind in history. For the important part performed wisely and zealously by the Administrative Board the Exposition Management extends this acknowledgment.

SUMMARY OF EXPENSES OF THE CONGRESS

INTERNATIONAL

CONGRESS OF ARTS AND SCIENCE

UNIVERSAL EXPOSITION ST. LOUIS

SEPTEMBER 19-25 1904

PROGRAMME AND LIST OF SPEAKERS

PROGRAMME

Purpose and Plan of the Congress

Organization of the Congress

Speakers and Chairmen

Chronological Order of Proceedings

Programme of Social Events

List of Ten-minute Speakers

List of Chairmen and Principal Speakers

INDEX SUBJECTS

PURPOSE AND PLAN OF THE CONGRESS

The idea of the Congress grows out of the thought that the subdivision and multiplication of specialties in science has reached a stage at which investigators and scholars may derive both inspiration and profit from a general survey of the various fields of learning, planned with a view of bringing the scattered sciences into closer mutual relations. The central purpose is the unification of knowledge, an effort toward which seems appropriate on an occasion when the nations bring together an exhibit of their arts and industries. An assemblage is therefore to be convened at which leading representatives of theoretical and applied sciences shall set forth those general principles and fundamental conceptions which connect groups of sciences, review the historical development of special sciences, show their mutual relations and discuss their present problems.

The speakers to treat the various themes are selected in advance from the European and American continents. The discussions will be arranged on the following general plan:—

After the opening of the Congress on Monday afternoon, September 19, will follow, on Tuesday forenoon, addresses on main divisions of science and its applications, the general theme being the unification of each of the fields treated. These will be followed by two addresses on each of the twenty-four great departments of knowledge. The theme of one address in each case will be the Fundamental Conceptions and Methods, while the other will set forth the progress during the last century. The preceding addresses will be delivered by Americans, making the work of the first two days the contribution of American scholars.

On the third day, with the opening of the sections, the international work will begin. One hundred twenty-eight sectional meetings will be held on the four remaining days of the Congress, at each of which two papers will be read, the theme of one being suggested by the relations of the special branch treated to other branches; the other by its present problems. Three hours will be devoted to each sectional meeting, thus enabling each hearer to attend eight such meetings, if he so desires. The programme is so arranged that related subjects will be treated, as far as possible, at different times. The length of the principal addresses being limited to forty-five minutes each, there will remain at least one hour for five or six brief communications in each section. The addresses in each department will be collected and published in a special volume.

It is hoped that the living influence of this meeting will be yet more important than the formal addresses, and that the scholars whose names are announced in the following programme of speakers and chairmen will form only a nucleus for the gathering of thousands who feel in sympathy with the efforts to bring unity into the world of knowledge.

ORGANIZATION OF THE CONGRESS

PRESIDENT OF THE EXPOSITION:
HON. DAVID R. FRANCIS, A.M., LL.D.

DIRECTOR OF CONGRESSES,
HOWARD J. ROGERS, A.M., LL.D.
Universal Exposition, 1904.

ADMINISTRATIVE BOARD

NICHOLAS MURRAY BUTLER, PH.D., LL.D.
President of Columbia University, Chairman.

WILLIAM R. HARPER, PH.D., LL.D.
President of the University of Chicago.

R. H. JESSE, PH.D., LL.D.
President of the University of Missouri.

HENRY S. PRITCHETT, PH.D., LL.D.
President of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

HERBERT PUTNAM, LITT.D., LL.D.
Librarian of Congress.

FREDERICK J. V. SKIFF, A.M.
Director of the Field Columbian Museum.

OFFICERS OF THE CONGRESS

PRESIDENT:
SIMON NEWCOMB, PH.D., LL.D.
Retired Professor U. S. N.

VICE-PRESIDENTS:
HUGO MÜNSTERBERG, PH.D., LL.D.
Professor of Psychology in Harvard University.

ALBION W. SMALL, PH.D., LL.D.
Professor of Sociology in The University of Chicago.

HONORARY VICE-PRESIDENTS:
RIGHT HONORABLE JAMES BRYCE, M.P.
Great Britain.

M. GASTON DARBOUX,
France.

PROFESSOR WILHELM WALDEYER,
Germany.

DR. OSKAR BACKLUND,
Russia.

PROFESSOR THEODORE ESCHERICH,
Austria.

SIGNOR ATTILIO BRUNIALTI,
Italy.

PROFESSOR N. HOZUMI,
Japan.

EXECUTIVE SECRETARY:
DR. L. O. HOWARD,
Permanent Secretary American Association
for the Advancement of Science.

SPEAKERS AND CHAIRMEN

CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER OF PROCEEDINGS

monday, september 19.

3 P. M. Opening exercises of the Congress. Festival Hall (Hall 17).

The Congress will be called to order by the Director of Congresses, who will introduce the President of the Exposition.

Welcoming addresses will be delivered by the President of the Exposition and other officials.

A reply to these addresses of welcome will be made on behalf of the Congress by the Honorary Vice-President for Great Britain.

The Chairman of the Administrative Board will give an account of the origin and purpose of the Congress.

The President of the Congress will then be introduced and will deliver an introductory address, after which adjournment will follow.

tuesday, september 20.

10.00 A. M. Meetings of the seven Divisions. The Divisional addresses will be given as follows:—

Hall 1, Utilitarian Sciences.

Hall 2, Social Regulation.

Hall 3, Historical Science.

Hall 4, Physical Science.

Hall 5, Social Culture.

Hall 6, Normative Science.

Hall 7, Mental Science.

11.15 to 6.00 p. m. Meetings of the Departments, with addresses:—

Meeting at 11.15 a. m.

departments.

Hall 1, Economics.

Hall 2, Biology.

Hall 3, Sciences of the Earth.

Hall 4, Political History.

Hall 5, History of Law.

Hall 6, Philosophy.

Hall 7, Mathematics.

Hall 8, History of Art.

Adjournment at 1 p. m.

Meeting at 2 p. m.

departments.

Hall 1, Social Science.

Hall 2, Politics.

Hall 3, Technology.

Hall 4, History of Language.

Hall 5, History of Religion.

Hall 6, Physics.

Hall 7, Psychology.

Hall 8, Anthropology.

Adjournment at 3.45 p. m.

Meeting at 4.15 p. m.

departments.

Hall 1, Medicine.

Hall 2, Education.

Hall 3, Jurisprudence.

Hall 4, Religion.

Hall 5, Chemistry.

Hall 6, History of Literature.

Hall 7, Sociology.

Hall 8, Astronomy.

Adjournment at 6. p. m.

On the four days following, the Sectional meetings will be held. The duration of each session will be three hours. The morning sessions will extend from 10 a. m. until 1 p. m.; the afternoon sessions from 3 p. m. to 6 p. m.

The meetings of some of the religious sections will be held on Sunday, September 25, in Festival Hall. Further announcements concerning these Sunday Meetings will be made in Registration Hall, in the daily press of St. Louis, and in the World's Fair Official Programme.

wednesday, september 21.

Meeting at 10 a. m.

Hall 1, Public Finance.

Hall 2, Animal Morphology.

Hall 3, History of Greece, Rome, and Asia.

Hall 4, Comparative Language.

Hall 5, The Family.

Hall 6, Metaphysics.

Hall 7, Otology and Laryngology.

Hall 8, Slavic Literature.

Hall 9, Astrometry.

Hall 10, Civil Engineering.

Hall 11, History of Common Law.

Hall 12, Physiography.

Hall 13, Public Health.

Hall 14, Geophysics.

Hall 15, Social Structure.

Hall 16, Inorganic Chemistry.

Adjournment at 1 p. m.

Meeting at 3 p. m.

Hall 1, Philosophy of Religion.

Hall 2, Phylogeny.

Hall 3, Classical Literature.

Hall 4, Semitic Languages.

Hall 5, The Rural Community.

Hall 6, Medieval History.

Hall 7, Pediatrics.

Hall 8, Oceanography.

Hall 9, Astrophysics.

Hall 10, Insurance.

Hall 11, History of Roman Law.

Hall 13, Preventive Medicine.

Hall 14, Geology.

Hall 16, Organic Chemistry.

Adjournment at 6 p. m.

Immediately following the Section of Geophysics in the morning, and the Section of Geology in the afternoon, in Room 14, the Eighth International Geographic Congress will hold sessions in the same room, Hall 14, Mines and Metallurgy Building.

thursday, september 22.

Meeting at 10 a. m.

Hall 1, English Literature.

Hall 2, Plant Morphology.

Hall 3, Modern History of Europe.

Hall 4, Old Testament.

Hall 5, The Urban Community.

Hall 6, Logic.

Hall 7, Psychiatry.

Hall 8, Indo-Iranian Languages.

Hall 9, Algebra and Analysis.

Hall 10, Cosmical Physics.

Hall 11, Palæontology.

Hall 12, Classical Art.

Hall 13, Pathology.

Hall 14, International Law.

Hall 15, Economic Theory.

Hall 16, Physical Chemistry.

Adjournment at 1 p. m.

Meeting at 3 p. m.

Hall 1, Professional Religious Education.

Hall 2, Human Anatomy.

Hall 3, Greek Language.

Hall 4, Plant Physiology.

Hall 5, Physics of the Electron.

Hall 6, Methodology of Science.

Hall 7, Modern Architecture.

Hall 8, Romance Literature.

Hall 9, Petrology and Mineralogy.

Hall 10, Electrical Engineering.

Hall 11, Geography.

Hall 12, The Library.

Hall 13, Neurology.

Hall 14, The Industrial Group.

Hall 15, Political Theory and National Administration.

Hall 16, Physiological Chemistry.

Adjournment at 6 p. m.

friday, september 23.

Meeting at 10 a. m.

Hall 1, New Testament.

Hall 2, Experimental Psychology.

Hall 3, Germanic Literature.

Hall 4, Physiology.

Hall 5, The Dependent Group.

Hall 6, Ethics.

Hall 7, Plant Pathology.

Hall 8, Brahmanism and Buddhism.

Hall 9, Latin Language.

Hall 10, Transportation.

Hall 11, Physics of Matter.

Hall 12, The School.

Hall 13, Surgery.

Hall 15, Social Psychology.

Hall 16, Technical Chemistry.

Adjournment at 1 p. m.

Meeting at 3 p. m.

Hall 1, Diplomacy.

Hall 2, History of Economic Institutions.

Hall 3, English Language.

Hall 4, Æsthetics.

Hall 5, The Criminal Group.

Hall 6, General Psychology.

Hall 7, Ecology.

Hall 8, Mohammedism.

Hall 9, Embryology.

Hall 10, Mechanical Engineering.

Hall 11, Physics of Ether.

Hall 12, The College.

Hall 13, Internal Medicine.

Hall 14, Private Law.

Hall 15, Religious Agencies.

Hall 16, Somatology.

Adjournment at 6 p. p.

saturday. september 24.

Meeting at 10 a. m.

Hall 1, History of America.

Hall 2, History of the Christian Church.

Hall 3, Belles-Lettres.

Hall 4, Colonial Administration.

Hall 5, Romance Languages.

Hall 6, Comparative and Genetic Psychology.

Hall 7, Ophthalmology.

Hall 8, History of Asia.

Hall 9, Geometry.

Hall 10, Commerce and Exchange.

Hall 11, Mining Engineering.

Hall 12, The University.

Hall 13, Gynecology.

Hall 14, Constitutional Law.

Hall 15, Bacteriology.

Hall 16, Archæology.

Adjournment at 1 p. m.

Meeting at 3 p. m.

Hall 1, Religious Work.

Hall 2, Comparative Anatomy.

Hall 3, Germanic Languages.

Hall 4, Modern Painting.

Hall 5, Money and Credit.

Hall 6, Abnormal Psychology.

Hall 7, Applied Mathematics.

Hall 8, Indo-Iranian Literature.

Hall 10, Agriculture.

Hall 11, . . . . . . . . .

Hall 12, Educational Theory.

Hall 13, Therapeutics and Pharmacology.

Hall 14, Comparative Law.

Hall 15, Municipal Administration.

Hall 16, Ethnology.

Adjournment at 6 p. m.

sunday, september 25.

Festival Hall.

Meeting at 10 a. m.

Religious Influence: Personal.

Meeting at 3 p. m.

Religious Influence: Social.

PROGRAMME OF SOCIAL EVENTS

* * * * *

Monday Evening, September 19.—Grand Fête night in honor of the Congress of Arts and Science. Special illuminations about the Grand Basin. Lagoon fête.

Banquet by the St. Louis Chemical Society, at the Southern Hotel, to the members of the Chemical Sections.

Tuesday Evening, September 20.—General Reception by Board of Lady Managers to the officers and speakers of the Congress and officials of the Exposition.

Wednesday Afternoon, September 21.—Garden fête to be given to the members of the Congress of Arts and Science, at the French Pavilion, by the Commissioner-General from France.

Wednesday Evening, September 21.—General reception by the German Imperial Commissioner-General to the members of the Congress of Arts and Science, at the German State House.

Thursday Evening.—Shaw banquet at the Buckingham Club to the foreign delegates.

Friday Evening, September 23.—General banquet to the speakers and officials of the Congress of Arts and Science in the banquethall of the Tyrolean Alps. 8 P. M.

Saturday Evening, September 24.—Banquet at St. Louis Club by Round Table of St. Louis, to the foreign members of the Congress.

Banquet given by Imperial Commissioner-General from Japan to the Japanese delegation to the Congress and Exposition officials.

Dinner given by Commissioner-General from Great Britain to the English members of the Congress.

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF MEMBERS
WHO MADE 10-MINUTE ADDRESSES

The following list differs from the original programme, in that it contains the names only of those who actually read addresses. It was planned that each Section should meet for three hours. When authors of ten-minute papers were not present, and where not enough of these shorter papers were offered to fill out the time, the Chairmen invited discussions from the floor until the time was filled.

THE SCIENTIFIC PLAN OF THE CONGRESS

BY PROF. HUGO MÜNSTERBERG

I

THE PURPOSE OF THE CONGRESS

1. The Centralization of the Congress

The history of the Congress has been told. It remains to set forth the principles which controlled the work of the Congress week, and thus scientifically to introduce the scholarly undertaking, the results of which are to speak for themselves in the eight volumes of this publication. Yet in a certain way this scientific introduction has once more to use the language of history. It does not deal with the external development of the Congress, and the story which it has to tell is thus not one of dates and names and events. But the principles which shaped the whole undertaking have themselves a claim to historical treatment; they do not lie before us simply as the subject for a logical disputation or as a plea for a future work. That was the situation of three years ago. At that time various ideas and opposing principles entered into the arena of discussion; but now, since the work is completed, the question can be only of what principles, right or wrong, have really determined the programme. We have thus to interpret that state of mind out of which the purposes and the scientific arrangement of the Congress resulted; and no after-thought of to-day would be a desirable addition. Whatever possible improvements of the plan may suggest themselves in the retrospect can be given only a closing word. It was certainly easy to learn from experience, but first the experience had to be passed through. We have here to interpret the view from that standpoint from which the experience of the Congress was still a matter of the future, and of an uncertain future indeed, full of doubts and fears, and yet full of hopes and possibilities.

The St. Louis World's Fair promised, through the vast extent of its grounds, through the beautiful plans of the buildings, through the eagerness of the United States, through the participation of all countries on earth, and through the gigantic outlines of the internal plans, to become the most monumental expression of the energies with which the twentieth century entered on its course. Commerce and industry, art and social work, politics and education, war and peace, country and city. Orient and Occident, were all to be focussed for a few summer months in the ivory city of the Mississippi Valley. It seemed most natural that science and productive scholarship should also find its characteristic place among the factors of our modern civilization. Of course the scientist had his word to say on almost every square foot of the Exposition. Whether the building was devoted to electricity or to chemistry, to anthropology or to metallurgy, to civic administration or to medicine, to transportation or to industrial arts, it was everywhere the work of the scientist which was to win the triumph; and the Palace of Education, the first in any universal exposition, was to combine under its roof not only the school work of all countries, but the visible record of the world's universities and technical schools as well. And yet it seemed not enough to gather the products and records of science and to make science serve with its tools and inventions. Modern art, too, was to reign over every hall and to beautify every palace, and yet demanded its own unfolding in the gallery of paintings and sculptures. In the same way it was not enough for science to penetrate a hundred exhibitions and turn the wheels in every hall, but it must also seek to concentrate all its energies in one spot and show the cross-section of human knowledge in our time, and, above all, its own methods.

An exhibition of scholarship cannot be arranged for the eyes. The great work which grows day by day in quiet libraries and laboratories, and on a thousand university platforms, can express itself only through words. Yet heaped up printed volumes would be dead to a World's Fair spectator; how to make such words living was the problem. Above all, scholarship does not really exhibit its methods, if it does not show itself in production. It is no longer scholarship which speaks of a truth-seeking that has been performed instead of going on with the search for further truth. If the world's science was to be exhibited, a form had to be sought in which the scholarly work on the spot would serve the ideals of knowledge, would add to the storehouse of truth, and would thus work in the service of human progress at the same moment in which it contributed to the completeness of the exhibition.

The effort was not without precedent. Scholarly production had been connected with earlier expositions, and the large gatherings of scholars at the Paris Exposition were still in vivid memory. A large number of scientific congresses of specialists had been held there, and many hundred scholarly papers had been read. Yet the results hardly suggested the repetition of such an experiment. Every one felt too strongly that the outcome of such disconnected congresses of specialists is hardly comparable with the glorious showing which the arts and industries have made and were to make again. In every other department of the World's Fair the most careful preparation secured an harmonious effect. The scholarly meetings alone failed even to aim at harmony and unity. Not only did the congresses themselves stand apart without any inner relation, grouped together by calendar dates or by their alphabetical order from Anthropology to Zoölogy; but in every congress, again, the papers read and the manuscripts presented were disconnected pieces without any programme or correlation. Worse than that, they could not even be expected in their isolatedness to add anything which would not have been worked out and communicated to the world just as well without any congress. The speaker at such a meeting is asked to contribute anything he has at hand, and he accepts the invitation because he has by chance a completed paper or a research ready for publication. In the best case it would have appeared in the next number of the specialistic magazine, in not infrequent cases it has appeared already in the last number. Such a congress is then only an accident and does not itself serve the progress of knowledge.

Even that would be acceptable if at least the best scholars would come out with their latest investigations, or, still more delightful, if they would enter into an important discussion. But experience has too often shown that the conditions are most favorable for the opposite outcome. The leading scholars stay away partly to give beginners the chance to be heard, partly not to be grouped with those who habitually have the floor at such gatherings. These are either the men whose day has gone by or those whose day has not yet come; and both groups tyrannize alike an unwilling audience. Yet it may be said that in scientific meetings of specialists the reading of papers is non-essential and no harm is done even if they do not contribute anything to the status of scholarship; their great value lies in the personal contact of fellow workers and in the discussions and informal exchange of opinions. All that is true, and completely justifies the yearly meetings of scholarly associations. But these advantages are much diminished whenever such gatherings take on an international character, and thus introduce the confusion of tongues. And hardly any one can doubt that the turmoil of a world's fair is about the worst possible background for such exchange of thought, which demands repose and quietude. Yet even with the certainty of all these disadvantages the city of Paris, with its large body of scholars, with its venerable scholarly traditions, and with its incomparable attractions, could overcome every resistance, and its convenient location made it natural that in vacation time, in an exposition summer, the scholars should gather there, not on account of, but in spite of, the hundred congresses. With this the city of St. Louis could make no claim to rivalry. Its recent growth, its minimum of scholarly tradition, its great distance from the old centres of knowledge even in the New World, the apathy of the East and the climatic fears of Europe, all together made it clear that a mere repetition of unrelated congresses would be not only useless, but a disastrous failure. These very fears, however, themselves suggested the remedy.

If the scholarly work of our time was to be represented at St. Louis, something had to be attempted which should be not simply an imitation of the branch-congresses which every scientific specialty in every country is calling every year. Scholarship was to be asked to show itself really in process, and to produce for the World's Fair meeting something which without it would remain undone. To invite the scholars of the world for their leisurely enjoyment and reposeful discussion of work done elsewhere is one thing; to call them together for work which they would not do otherwise, and which ought to be done, is a very different thing. The first had in St. Louis all odds against it; it seemed worth while to try the second. And it seemed not only worth while in the interest of scholarship, it seemed, above all, the only way to give to the scholarship of our time a chance for the complete demonstration of its productive energies.

The plan of unrelated congresses, with chance combinations of papers prepared at random, was therefore definitively replaced by the plan of only one representative gathering, bound together by one underlying thought, given thus the unity of one scholarly aim, whose fulfillment is demanded by the scientific needs of our time, and is hardly to be reached by other methods. Every arbitrary and individual choice was then to be eliminated and every effort was to be controlled by the one central purpose; the work thus to be organized and prepared with the same carefulness of adjustment and elaboration which was doubtless to be applied in the admirable exhibitions of the United States Government or in the art exhibition. The open question was, of course, what topic could fulfill these various demands most completely; wherein lay the greatest scholarly need of our time; what task could be least realized by the casual efforts of scholarship at random; where was the unity of a world organization most needed?

One thought was very naturally suggested by the external circumstances. St. Louis had asked the nations of the world to a celebration of the Louisiana Purchase. Historical thoughts thus gave meaning and importance to the whole undertaking. The pride of one century's development had stimulated the gigantic work from its inception. An immense territory had been transformed from a half wilderness into a land with a rich civilization, and with a central city in which eight thousand factories are at work. No thought lay nearer than to ask how far this century was of similar importance for the changes in the world of thought. How have the sciences developed themselves since the days of the Louisiana Purchase? That is a topic which with complete uniformity might be asked from every special science, and which might thus offer a certain unity of aim to scholars of all scientific denominations. There was indeed no doubt that such an historical question would have to be raised if we were to live up to the commemorative idea of the whole Fair. And yet it seemed still more certain that the retrospective problem did not justify itself as a central topic for a World's Congress. There were sciences for which the story of the last hundred years was merely the last chapter of a history of three thousand years and other sciences whose life history did not begin until one or two decades ago. It would thus be a very external uniformity; the question would have a very different meaning for the various branches of knowledge, and the treatment would be of very unequal interest and importance. More than that, it would not abolish the unrelated character of the endeavors; while the same topic might be given everywhere, yet every science would remain isolated; there would be no internal unity, and thus no inner reason for bringing together the best workers of all spheres. And finally the mere retrospective attitude brings with it the depressing mood of perfunctory activity. Certainly to look back on the advance of a century can be most suggestive for a better understanding of the way which lies before us; and we felt indeed that the occasion for such a backward glance ought not to be missed. Yet there would be something lifeless if the whole meeting were devoted to the consideration of work that had been completed; a kind of necrological sentiment would pervade the whole ceremony, while our chief aim was to serve the progress of knowledge and thus to stimulate living interests.

This language of life spoke indeed in the programme of another plan which seemed also to be suggested by the character of the Exposition. The St. Louis Fair desired not merely to look backward and to revive the historical interest in the Louisiana purchase, but its first aim seemed to be to bring into sharp relief the factors which serve to-day the practical welfare and the achievements of human society. If all the scholars of all sciences were to convene under one flag, would it not thus seem most harmonious with the occasion, if, as the one controlling topic, the question were proposed, "What does your science contribute to the practical progress of mankind?" No one can deny that such a formulation would fit in well with the lingering thoughts of every World's Fair visitor. Whoever wanders through the aisles of exhibition palaces and sees amassed the marvelous achievements of industry and commerce, and the thousand practical arts of modern society, may indeed turn most naturally to a gathering of scholars with the question, "What have you to offer of similar import?" All your thinking and speaking and writing, are they merely words on words, or do you also turn the wheels of this gigantic civilization?

Such a question would give a noble opening indeed to almost every science. Who would say that the opportunity is confined to the man of technical science? Does not the biologist also prepare the achievements of modern medicine, does not the mathematician play his most important rôle in our mastery over stubborn nature, do we not need language for our social intercourse, and law and religion for our practical social improvement? Yes, is there any science which has not directly or indirectly something to contribute to the practical development of the modern man and his civilization? All this is true, and yet the perspective of this truth, too, appears at once utterly distorted if we take the standpoint of science itself. The one end of knowledge is to reach the truth. The belief in the absolute value of truth gives to it meaning and significance. This value remains the controlling influence even where the problem to be solved is itself a practical one, and the spirit of science remains thus essentially theoretical even in the so-called applied sciences. But incomparably more intense in that respect is the spirit of all theoretical disciplines. Philosophy and mathematics, history and philology, chemistry and biology, astronomy and geology, may be and ought to be helpful to practical civilization everywhere; and every step forward which they take will be an advance for man's practical life too. And yet their real meaning never lies in their technical by-product. It is not the scholar who peers in the direction of practical use who is most loyal to the deepest demand of scholarship, and every relation to practical achievement is more or less accidental or even artificial for the real life interests of productive scholarship.

But if the contrast between his real intention and his social technical successes may not appear striking to the physicist or chemist, it would appear at least embarrassing to the scholars in many other departments and directly bewildering to not a few. Perhaps two thirds of the sciences to which the best thinkers of our time are faithfully devoted would then be grouped together and relegated to a distant corner, their only practical technical function would be to contribute material to the education of the cultured man. For what else do we study Sanscrit or medieval history or epistemology? And finally even the uniform topic of practical use would not have brought the different sciences nearer to each other; the Congress would still have remained a budget of disconnected records of scholarship. If the practical side of the Exposition was to suggest anything, it should then not be more than an appeal not to overlook the importance of the applied sciences which too often play the rôle of a mere appendix to the system of knowledge. The logical one-sidedness which considers practical needs as below the dignity of pure science was indeed to be excluded, but to choose practical service as the one controlling topic would be far more anti-scientific.

2. The Unity of Knowledge

There was another side of the Exposition plan which suggested a stronger topic. The World's Fair was not only an historical memorial work, and was not only a show of the practical tools of technical civilization; its deepest aim was after all the effort to bring the energies of our time into inner relation. The peoples of the whole globe, separated by oceans and mountains, by language and custom, by politics and prejudice, were here to come in contact and to be brought into correlation by better mutual understanding of the best features of their respective cultures. The various industries and arts, the most antagonistic efforts of commerce and production, separated by the rivalry of the market and by the diversity of economic interests were here to be brought together in harmony, were to be correlated for the eye of the spectator. It was a near-lying thought to choose correlation as the controlling thought of a scientific World's Congress too. That was the topic which was finally agreed upon: the inner relation of the sciences of our day.

The fitness and the external advantages of such a scheme are evident. First of all, the danger of disconnectedness now disappears completely. If the sciences are to examine what binds them together, their usual isolation must be given up for the time being and a concerted effort must control the day. The bringing together of scholars of all scientific specialties is then no longer a doubtful accidental feature, but becomes a condition of the whole undertaking. More than that, such a topic, with all that it involves, makes it a matter of course that the call goes out to the really leading scholars of the time. To aim at a correlation of sciences means to seek for the fundamental principles in each territory of knowledge and to look with far-seeing eye beyond the limits of its field; but just this excludes from the outset those who like to be the self-appointed speakers in routine gatherings. It excludes from the first the narrow specialist who does not care for anything but for his latest research, and ought to exclude not less the vague spirits who generalize about facts of which they have no concrete substantial knowledge, as their suggestions towards correlation would lack inner productiveness and outer authority. Such a plan has room only for those men who stand high enough to see the whole field and who have yet the full authority of the specialistic investigator; they must combine the concentration on specialized productive work with the inspiration that comes from looking over vast regions. With such a topic the usual question does not come up whether one or another strong man would feel attracted to take part in the gathering, but it would be justified and necessary to confine the active participation from the outset to those who are leaders, and thus to guarantee from the beginning a representation of science equal in dignity to the best efforts of the exhibiting countries in all other departments. In this way such a plan had the advantage of justifying through its topic the administrative desire to bring all sciences to the same spot, and at the same time of excluding all participants but the best scholars: with isolated gatherings or with second-rate men, this subject would have been simply impossible.

Yet all these halfway external advantages count little compared with the significance and importance of the topic for the inner life of scientific thought of our time. We all felt it was the one topic which the beginning of the twentieth century demanded and which could not be dealt with otherwise than by the combined labors of all nations and of all sciences. The World's Fair was the one great opportunity to make a first effort in this direction; we had no right to miss this opportunity. Thus it was decided to have a congress with the definite purpose of working towards the unity of human knowledge, and with the one mission, in this time of scattered specializing work, of bringing to the consciousness of the world the toomuch neglected idea of the unity of truth. To quote from our first tentative programme: "Let the rush of the world's work stop for one moment for us to consider what are the underlying principles, what are their relations to one another and to the whole, what are their values and purposes; in short, let us for once give to the world's sciences a holiday. The workaday functions are much better fulfilled in separation, when each scholar works in his own laboratory or in his library; but this holiday task of bringing out the underlying unity, this synthetic work, this demands really the coöperation of all, this demands that once at least all sciences come together in one place at one time."

Yet if our work stands for the unity of knowledge, aims to consider the fundamental conceptions which bind together all the specialistic results, and seeks to inquire into the methods which are common to various fields, all this is after all merely a symptom of the whole spirit of our times. A reaction against the narrowness of mere fact-diggers has set in. A mere heaping up of disconnected, unshaped facts begins to disappoint the world; it is felt too vividly that a mere dictionary of phenomena, of events and laws, makes our knowledge larger but not deeper, makes our life more complex but not more valuable, makes our science more difficult but not more harmonious. Our time longs for a new synthesis and looks towards science no longer merely with a desire for technical prescriptions and new inventions in the interest of comfort and exchange. It waits for knowledge to fulfill its higher mission, it waits for science to satisfy our higher needs for a view of the world which shall give unity to our scattered experience. The indications of this change are visible to every one who observes the gradual turning to philosophical discussion in the most different fields of scientific life.

When after the first third of the nineteenth century the great philosophic movement which found its climax in Hegelianism came to disaster in consequence of its absurd neglect of hard solid facts, the era of naturalism began its triumph with contempt for all philosophy and for all deeper unity. Idealism and philosophy were stigmatized as the enemies of true science and natural science had its great day. The rapid progress of physics and chemistry fascinated the world and produced modern technique; the sciences of life, physiology, biology, medicine, followed; and the scientific method was carried over from body to mind, and gave us at the end of the nineteenth century modern psychology and sociology. The lifeless and the living, the physical and the mental, the individual and the social, all had been conquered by analytical methods. But just when the climax was reached and all had been analyzed and explained, the time was ripe for disillusion, and the lack of deeper unity began to be felt with alarm in every quarter. For seventy years there had been nowhere so much philosophizing going on as suddenly sprung up among the scientists of the last decade. The physicists and the mathematicians, the chemists and the biologists, the geologists and the astronomers, and, on the other side, the historians and the economists, the psychologists and the sociologists, the jurists and the theologians—all suddenly found themselves again in the midst of discussions on fundamental principles and methods, on general categories and conditions of knowledge, in short, in the midst of the despised philosophy. And with those discussions has come the demand for correlation. Everywhere have arisen leaders who have brought unconnected sciences together and emphasized the unity of large divisions. The time seems to have come again when the wave of naturalism and realism is ebbing, and a new idealistic philosophical tide is swelling, just as they have always alternated in the civilization of two thousand years.

No one dreams, of course, that the great synthetic apperception, for which our modern time seems ripe, will come through the delivery of some hundred addresses, or the discussions of some hundred audiences. An ultimate unity demands the gigantic thought of a single genius, and the work of the many can, after all, be merely the preparation for the final work of the one. And yet history shows that the one will never come if the many have not done their share. What is needed is to fill the sciences of our time with the growing consciousness of belonging together, with the longing for fundamental principles, with the conviction that the desire for correlation is not the fancy of dreamers, but the immediate need of the leaders of thought. And in this preparatory work the St. Louis Congress of Arts and Science seemed indeed called for an important part when it was committed to this topic of correlation.

To call the scholars of the world together for concerted action towards the correlation of knowledge meant, of course, first of all, to work out a detailed programme, and to select the best authorities for every special part of the whole scheme. Nothing could be left to chance methods and to casual contributions. The preparation needed the same administrative strictness which would be demanded for an encyclopedia, and the same scholarly thoroughness which would be demanded for the most scientific research. A plan was to be devised in which every possible striving for truth would find its place, and in which every section would have its definite position in the system. And such a ground-plan given, topics were to be assigned to every department and sub-department, the treatment of which would bring out the fundamental principles and the inner relations in such a way that the papers would finally form a close-woven intellectual fabric. There would be plenty of room for a retrospective glance at the historical development of the sciences and plenty of room for emphasis on their practical achievements; but the central place would always belong to the effort towards unity and internal harmonization.

We thus divided human knowledge into large parts, and the parts into divisions, and the divisions into departments, and the departments into sections. As the topic of the general divisions—we proposed seven of them—it was decided to discuss the Unity of the whole field. As topic for the departments—we had twenty-four of them—the addresses were to discuss the fundamental Conceptions and Methods and the Progress during the last century; and in the sections, finally—our plan provided for one hundred and twenty-eight of them—the topics were in every one the Relation of the special branch to other branches, and those most important Present Problems which are essential for the deeper principles of the special field. In this way the ground-plan itself suggested the unity of the practically separated sciences; and, moreover, our plan provided from the first that this logical relation should express itself externally in the time order of the work. We were to begin with the meetings of the large divisions, the meetings of the departments were to follow, and the meetings of the sections and their ramifications would follow the departmental gatherings.

3. The Objections to the Plan

It was evident that even the most modest success of that gigantic undertaking depended upon the right choice of speakers, upon the value of the ground-plan, and upon many external conditions; thus no one was in doubt as to the difficulty in realizing such a scheme. Yet there were from the scholarly side itself objections to the principles involved, objections which might hold even if those other conditions were successfully met. The most immediate reason for reluctance lies in the specializing tendencies of our time. Those who devote all their working energy as loyal sons of our analyzing period of science to the minute detail of research come easily into the habit of a nervous fear with regard to any wider general outlook. The man of research sees too often how ignorance hides itself behind generalities. He knows too well how much easier it is to formulate vague generalities than to contribute a new fact to human knowledge, and how often untrained youngsters succeed with popular text-books which are rightly forgotten the next day. Methodical science must thus almost encourage this aversion to any deviation from the path of painstaking specialistic labor. Then, of course, it seems almost a scientific duty to declare war against an undertaking which explicitly asks everywhere for the wide perspectives and the last principles, and does not aim at adding at this moment to the mere treasury of information.

But such a view is utterly one-sided, and to fight against such one-sidedness and to overcome the specializing narrowness of the scattered sciences was the one central idea of the plan. If there existed no scholars who despise the philosophizing connection, there would have hardly been any need for this whole undertaking; but to yield to such philosophy-phobia means to declare the analytic movement of science permanent, and to postpone a synthetic movement indefinitely. Our time has just to emphasize, and the leaders of thought daily emphasize it more, that a mere heaping up of information can be merely a preparation for knowledge, and that the final aim is a Weltanschauung, a unified view of the whole of reality. All that our Congress had to secure was thus merely that the generalizing discussion of principles should not be left to men who generalized because they lacked the substantial knowledge which is necessary to specialize. The thinkers we needed were those who through specialistic work were themselves led to a point where the discussion of general principles becomes unavoidable. Our plan was by no means antagonistic to the patient labors of analysis; the aim was merely to overcome its one-sidedness and to stimulate the synthesis as a necessary supplement.

But the objections against a generalizing plan were not confined to the mistaken fear that we sought to antagonize the productive work of the specialist. They not seldom took the form of a general aversion to the logical side of the ground-plan. It was often said that such a scheme has after all interest only for the logician, for whom science as such is an object of study, and who must thus indeed classify the sciences and determine their logical relation. The real scientist, it was said, does not care for such methodological operations, and should be suspicious from the first of such philosophical high-handedness. The scientist cannot forget how often in the history of civilization science was the loser when it trusted its problems to the metaphysical thinker who substituted his lofty speculations for the hard work of the investigator. The true scholar will thus not only object to generalizing "commonplaces" as against solid information, but he will object as well to logical demarcation lines and systematization as against the practical scientific work which does not want to be hampered by such philosophical subtleties. Yet all these fears and suspicions were still more mistaken.

Nothing was further from our intentions than a substitution of metaphysics for concrete science. It was not by chance that we took such pains to find the best specialists for every section. No one was invited to enter into logical discussions and to consider the relations of science merely from a dialectic point of view. The topic was everywhere the whole living manifoldness of actual relations, and the logician had nothing else to do than to prepare the programme. The outlines of the programme demanded, of course, a certain logical scheme. If hundreds of sciences are to take part, they have to be grouped somehow, if a merely alphabetical order is not adopted; and even if we were to proceed alphabetically, we should have to decide beforehand what part of knowledge is to be recognized as a special science. But the logical order of the ground-plan refers, of course, merely to the simple relation of coördination, subordination, and superordination, and the logician is satisfied with such a classification. But the endless variety of internal relations is no longer to be dealt with from the point of view of mere logic. We may work out the ground-plan in such a way that we understand that logically zoölogy is coördinated to botany and subordinated to mechanics and superordinated to ichthyology; but this minimum of determination gives, of course, not even a hint of that world of relations which exists from the standpoint of the biologist between the science of zoölogy and the science of botany, or between the biological and the mechanical studies. To discuss these relations of real scientific life is the work of the biologist and not at all of the logician.

The foregoing answers also at once an objection which might seem more justified at the first glance. It has been said that we were undertaking the work of bringing about a synthesis of scientific endeavors, and that we yet had that synthesis already completed in the programme on which the work was to be based. The scholars to be invited would be bound by the programme, and would therefore have no other possibility than to say with more words what the programme had settled beforehand. The whole effort would then seem determined from the start by the arbitrariness of the proposed ground-plan. Now it cannot be denied indeed that a certain factor of arbitrariness has to enter into a programme. We have already referred to the fact that some one must decide beforehand what fraction of science is to be acknowledged as a self-dependent discipline. If a biologist were to work out the scheme, he might decide that the whole of philosophy was just one science; while the philosopher might claim a large number of sections for logic and ethics and philosophy of religion, and so on. And the philosopher, on the other hand, might treat the whole of medicine as one part in itself, while the physician might hold that even otology has to be separated from rhinology. A certain subjectivity of standpoint is unavoidable, and we know very well that instead of the one hundred and twenty-eight sections of our programme we might have been satisfied with half that number or might have indulged in double that number. And yet there was no possible plan which would have allowed us to invite the speakers without defining beforehand the sectional field which each was to represent. A certain courage of opinion was then necessary, and sometimes also a certain adjustment to external conditions.

Quite similar was the question of classification. Just as we had to take the responsibility for the staking-out of every section, we had also to decide in favor of a certain grouping, if we desired to organize the Congress and not simply to bring out haphazard results. The principles which are sufficient for a mere directory would never allow the shaping of a programme which can be the basis for synthetic work. Even a university catalogue begins with a certain classification, and yet no one fancies that such catalogue grouping inhibits the freedom of the university lecturer. It is easy to say, as has been said, that the essential trait of the scientific life of to-day is its live-and-let-live character. Certainly it is. In the regular work in our libraries and laboratories the year round, everything depends upon this democratic freedom in which every one goes his own way, hardly asking what his neighbor is doing. It is that which has made the specialistic sciences of our day as strong as they are. But it has brought about at the same time this extreme tendency to unrelated specialization with its discouraging lack of unity; this heaping up of information without an outer harmonious view of the world; and if we were really at least once to satisfy the desire for unity, then we had not the right to yield fully to this live-and-let-live tendency. Therefore some principle of grouping had to be accepted, and whatever principle had been chosen, it would certainly have been open to the criticism that it was a product of arbitrary decision, inasmuch as other principles might have been possible.

A classification which in itself expresses all the practical relations in which sciences stand to each other is, of course, absolutely impossible. A programme which should try to arrange the place of a special discipline in such a way that it would become the neighbor of all those other sciences with which it has internal relation is unthinkable. On the other hand, only if we had tried to construct a scheme of such exaggerated ambitions should we have been really guilty of anticipating a part of that which the specialistic scholars were to tell us. The Congress had to leave it to the invited participants to discuss the totality of relations which practically exist between their fields and others, and the organizers confined themselves to that minimum of classification which just indicates the pure logical relations, a minimum which every editor of encyclopedic work would be asked to initiate without awakening suspicions of interference with the ideas of his contributors.

The only justified demand which could be met was that a system of division and classification should be proposed which should give fair play to every existing scientific tendency. The minimum of classification was to be combined with the maximum of freedom, and to secure that a careful consideration of principles was indeed necessary. To bring logical order into the sciences which stand out clearly with traditional rights is not difficult; but the chances are too great that certain tendencies of thought might fail to find recognition or might be suppressed by scientific prejudice. Any serious omission would indeed have necessarily inhibited the freedom of expression. To secure thus the greatest inner fullness of the programme, seemed indeed the most important task in the elaboration of the ground-plan. The fears that we might offer empty generalization instead of scholarly facts, or that we might simply heap up encyclopedic information instead of gaining wide perspectives, or that we might interfere with the living connections of sciences by the logical demarcation lines, or that we might disturb the scholar in his freedom by determining beforehand his place in the classification,—all these fears and objections, which were repeatedly raised when the plan was first proposed, seemed indeed unimportant compared with the fear that the programme might be unable to include all scientific tendencies of the time.

That would have been, indeed, the one fundamental mistake, as the whole Congress work was planned in the service of the great synthetic movement which pervades the intellectual life of to-day. The undertaking would be useless and even hindering if it were not just the newer and deeper tendencies that came to most complete expression in it. Everything depended, therefore, upon the fullest possible representation of scientific endeavors in the plan. But no one can become aware of this manifoldness and of the logical relations who does not go back to the ultimate principles of the human search for truth. We have, therefore, to enter now into a full discussion of the principles which have controlled the classification and subdivision of the whole work. The discussion is necessarily in its essence a philosophical one, as it was earlier made plain that philosophy must lay out the plan, while in the realization of the plan through concrete work the scientist alone, and not the logician, has to speak. Yet here again it may be said that while our discussion of principles in its essence is logical, in another respect it is a merely historical account. The question is not what principles of classification are to be acknowledged as valuable now that the work of the Congress lies behind us, but what principles were accepted and really led to the organization of the work in that form in which it presents itself in the records of the following volumes.

II

THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES

1. The Development of Classification

The problem of dividing and subdividing the whole of human knowledge and of thus bringing order into the manifoldness of scientific efforts has fascinated the leading thinkers of all ages. It may often be difficult to say how far the new principles of classification themselves open the way for new scientific progress and how far the great forward movements of thought in the special sciences have in turn influenced the principles of classification. In any case every productive age has demanded the expression of its deepest energy in a new ordering of human science. The history of these efforts leads from Plato and Aristotle to Bacon and Locke, to Bentham and Ampère, to Kant and Hegel, to Comte and Spencer, to Wundt and Windelband. And yet we can hardly speak of a real historical continuity. In a certain way every period took up the problem anew, and the new aspects resulted not only from the development of the sciences themselves which were to be classified, but still more from the differences of logical interest. Sometimes the classification referred to the material, sometimes to the method of treatment, sometimes to the mental energies involved, and sometimes to the ends to be reached. The reference to the mental faculties was certainly the earliest method of bringing order into human knowledge, for the distinction of the Platonic philosophy between dialectics, physics, and ethics pointed to the threefold character of the mind, to reason, perception, and desire; and it was on the threshold of the modern time, again, when Bacon divided the intellectual globe into three large parts according to three fundamental psychical faculties: memory, imagination, and reason. The memory gives us history; the imagination, poetry; the reason, philosophy, or the sciences. History was further divided into natural and civil history; natural history into normal, abnormal, and artificial phenomena; civil history into political, literary, and ecclesiastical history. The field of reason was subdivided into man, nature, and God; the domain of man gives, first, civil philosophy, parted off into intercourse, business, and government, and secondly, the philosophy of humanity, divided into that of body and of soul, wherein medicine and athletics belong to the body, logic and ethics to the soul. Nature, on the other hand, was divided into speculative and applied science,—the speculative containing both physics and metaphysics; the applied, mechanics and magic. All this was full of artificial constructions, and yet still more marked by deep insight into the needs of Bacon's time, and not every modification of later classifiers was logically a step forward.

Yet modern efforts had to seek quite different methods, and the energies which have been most effective for the ordering of knowledge in the last decades spring unquestionably from the system of Comte and his successors. He did not aim at a system of ramifications; his problem was to show how the fundamental sciences depend on each other. A series was to be constructed in which each member should presuppose the foregoing. The result was a simplicity which is certainly tempting, but this simplicity was reached only by an artificial emphasis which corresponded completely to the one-sidedness of naturalistic thought. It was a philosophy of positivism, the background for the gigantic work of natural science and technique in the last two thirds of the nineteenth century. Comte's fundamental thought is that the science of Morals, in which we study human nature for the government of human life, is dependent on sociology. Sociology, however, depends on biology; this on chemistry; this on physics; this on astronomy; and this finally on mathematics. In this way, all mental and moral sciences, history and philology, jurisprudence and theology, economics and politics, are considered as sociological phenomena, as dealing with functions of the human being. But as man is a living organism, and thus certainly falls under biology, all the branches of knowledge from history to ethics, from jurisprudence to æsthetics, can be nothing but subdivisions of biology. The living organism, on the other hand, is merely one type of the physical bodies on earth, and biology is thus itself merely a department of physics. But as the earthly bodies are merely a part of the cosmic totality, physics is thus a part of astronomy; and as the whole universe is controlled by mathematical laws, mathematics must be superordinated to all sciences.

But there followed a time which overcame this thinly disguised example of materialism. It was a time when the categories of the physiologist lost slightly in credit and the categories of the psychologist won repute. This newer movement held that it is artificial to consider ethical and logical life, historic and legal action, literary and religious emotions, merely as physiological functions of the living organism. The mental life, however necessarily connected with brain processes, has a positive reality of its own. The psychical facts represent a world of phenomena which in its nature is absolutely different from that of material phenomena, and, while it is true that every ethical action and every logical thought can, from the standpoint of the biologist, be considered as a property of matter, it is not less true that the sciences of mental phenomena, considered impartially, form a sphere of knowledge closed in itself, and must thus be coördinated, not subordinated, to the knowledge of the physical world. We should say thus: all knowledge falls into two classes, the physical sciences and the mental sciences. In the circle of physical sciences we have the general sciences, like physics and chemistry, the particular sciences of special objects, like astronomy, geology, mineralogy, biology, and the formal sciences, like mathematics. In the circle of mental sciences we have correspondingly, as a general science, psychology, and as the particular sciences all those special mental and moral sciences which deal with man's inner life, like history or jurisprudence, logic or ethics, and all the rest. Such a classification, which had its philosophical defenders about twenty years ago, penetrated the popular thought as fully as the positivism of the foregoing generation, and was certainly superior to its materialistic forerunner.

Of course it was not the first time in the history of civilization that materialism was replaced by dualism, that biologism was replaced by psychologism; and it was also not the first time that the development of civilization led again beyond this point: that is, led beyond the psychologizing period. There is no doubt that our time presses on, with all its powerful internal energies, away from this Weltanschauung of yesterday. The materialism was anti-philosophic, the psychological dualism was unphilosophic. To-day the philosophical movement has set in. The one-sidedness of the nineteenth century creed is felt in the deeper thought all over the world: popular movements and scholarly efforts alike show the signs of a coming idealism, which has something better and deeper to say than merely that our life is a series of causal phenomena. Our time longs for a new interpretation of reality; from the depths of every science wherein for decades philosophizing was despised, the best scholars turn again to a discussion of fundamental conceptions and general principles. Historical thinking begins again to take the leadership which for half a century belonged to naturalistic thinking; specialistic research demands increasingly from day to day the readjustment toward higher unities, and the technical progress which charmed the world becomes more and more simply a factor in an ideal progress. The appearance of this unifying congress itself is merely one of a thousand symptoms of this change appearing in our public life, and if the scientific philosophy is producing to-day book upon book to prove that the world of phenomena must be supplemented by the world of values, that description must yield to interpretation, and that explanation must be harmonized with appreciation: it is but echoing in technical terms the one great emotion of our time.

This certainly does not mean that any step of the gigantic materialistic, technical, and psychological development will be reversed, or that progress in any one of these directions ought to cease. On the contrary, no time was ever more ready to put its immense energies into the service of naturalistic work; but it does mean that our time recognizes the one-sidedness of these movements, recognizes that they belong only to one aspect of reality, and that another aspect is possible; yes, that the other aspect is that of our immediate life, with its purposes and its ideals, its historical relations and its logical aims. The claim of materialism, that all psychical facts are merely functions of the organism, was no argument against psychology, because, though the biological view was possible, yet the other aspect is certainly a necessary supplement. In the same way it is no argument against the newer view that all purposes and ideals, all historical actions and logical thoughts, can be considered as psychological phenomena. Of course we can consider them as such, and we must go on doing so in the service of the psychological and sociological sciences; but we ought not to imagine that we have expressed and understood the real character of our historical or moral, our logical or religious life when we have described and explained it as a series of phenomena. Its immediate reality expresses itself above all in the fact that it has a meaning, that it is a purpose which we want to understand, not by considering its causes and effects, but by interpreting its aims and appreciating its ideals.

We should say, therefore, to-day that it is most interesting and important for the scientist to consider human life with all its strivings and creations from a biological, psychological, sociological point of view; that is, to consider it as a system of causal phenomena; and many problems worthy of the highest energies have still to be solved in these sciences. But that which the jurist or the theologian, the student of art or of history, of literature or of politics, of education or of morality, is dealing with, refers to the other aspect in which inner life is not a phenomenon but a system of purposes, not to be explained but to be interpreted, to be approached not by causal but by teleological methods. In this case the historical sciences are no longer sub-sections of psychological or of sociological sciences; the conception of science is no longer identical with the conception of the science of phenomena. There exist sciences which do not deal with the description or explanation of phenomena at all, but with the internal relation and connection, the interpretation and appreciation of purpose. In this way modern thought demands that sciences of purpose be coördinated with sciences of phenomena. Only if all these tendencies of our time are fully acknowledged can the outer framework of our classification offer a fair field to every scientific thought, while a positivistic system would cripple the most promising tendencies of the twentieth century.

2. The Four Theoretical Divisions

We have first to determine the underlying structure of the classification, that is, we have to seek the chief Divisions, of which our plan shows seven; four theoretical and three practical ones. It will be a secondary task to subdivide them later into the 24 Departments and 128 Sections. We desire to divide the whole of knowledge in a fundamental way, and we must therefore start with the question of principle:—what is knowledge? This question belongs to epistemology, and thus falls, indeed, into the domain of philosophy. The positivist is easily inclined to substitute for the philosophical problem the empirical question: how did that which we call knowledge grow and develop itself in our individual mind, or in the mind of the nations? The question becomes, then, of course, one which must be answered by psychology, by sociology, and perhaps by biology. Such genetic inquiries are certainly very important, and the problem of how the processes of judging and conceiving and thinking are produced in the individual or social consciousness, and how they are to be explained through physical and psychical causes, deserves fullest attention. But its solution cannot even help us as regards the fundamental problem, what we mean by knowledge, and what the ultimate value of knowledge may be, and why we seek it. This deeper logical inquiry must be answered somehow before those genetic studies of the psychological and the sociological positivists can claim any truth at all, and thus any value, for their outcome. To explain our present knowledge genetically from its foregoing causes means merely to connect the present experience, which we know, with a past experience, which we remember, or with earlier phenomena which we construct on the basis of theories and hypotheses; but in any case with facts which we value as parts of our knowledge and which thus presuppose the acknowledgment of the value of knowledge. We cannot determine by linking one part of knowledge with another part of knowledge whether we have a right to speak of knowledge at all and to rely on it.

We can thus not start from the childhood of man, or from the beginning of humanity, or from any other object of knowledge, but we must begin with the state which logically precedes all knowledge; that is, with our immediate experience of real life. Here, in the naïve experience in which we do not know ourselves as objects which we perceive, but where we feel ourselves in our subjective attitudes as agents of will, as personalities, here we find the original reality not yet shaped and remoulded by scientific conceptions and by the demands of knowledge. And from this basis of primary, naïve reality we must ask ourselves what we mean by seeking knowledge, and how this demand of ours is different from the other activities in which we work out the meaning and the ideals of our life.

One thing is certain, we cannot go back to the old dogmatic standpoint, whether rationalistic or sensualistic. In both cases dogmatism took for granted that there is a real world of things which exist in themselves independent of our subjective attitudes, and that our knowledge has to give us a mirror picture of that self-dependent world. Sensualism averred that we get this knowledge through our perceptions; rationalism, that we get it by reasoning. The one asserted that experience gives us the data which mere abstract reasoning can never supply; the other asserted that our knowledge speaks of necessity which no mere perception can find out. Our modern time has gone through the school of philosophical criticism, and the dogmatic ideas have lost for us their meaning. We know that the world which we think as independent cannot be independent of the forms of our thinking, and that no science has reference to any other world than the world which is determined by the categories of our apperception. There cannot be anything more real than the immediate pure experience, and if we seek the truth of knowledge, we do not set out to discover something which is hidden behind our experience, but we set out simply to make something out of our experience which satisfies certain demands. Our immediate experience does not contain an objective thing and a subjective picture of it, but they are completely one and the same piece of experience. We have the object of our immediate knowledge not in the double form of an outer object independent of ourselves and an idea in us, but we have it as our object there in the practical world before science for its special purposes has broken up that bit of reality into the physical material thing and the psychical content of consciousness. And if this doubleness does not hold for the immediate reality of pure experience, it cannot enter through that reshaping and reconstructing and connecting and interpreting of pure experience which we call our knowledge. All that science gives to us is just such an endlessly enlarged experience, of which every particle remains objective and independent, inasmuch as it is not in us as psychical individuals, while yet completely dependent upon the forms of our subjective experience. The ideal of truth is thus not to gain by reason or by observation ideas in ourselves which correspond as well as possible to absolute things, but to reconstruct the given experience in the service of certain purposes. Everything which completely fulfills the purposes of this intentional reconstruction is true.

What are these purposes? One thing is clear from the first: There cannot be a purpose where there is not a will. If we come from pure experience to knowledge by a purposive transformation, we must acknowledge the reality of will in ourselves, or rather, we must find ourselves as will in the midst of pure experience before we reach any knowledge. And so it is indeed. We can abstract from all those reconstructions which the sciences suggest to us and go back to the most immediate naïve experience; but we can never reach an experience which does not contain the doubleness of subject and object, of will and world. That doubleness has nothing whatever to do with the difference of physical and psychical; both the physical thing and the psychical idea are objects. The antithesis is not that between two kinds of objects, since we have seen that in the immediate experience the objects are not at all split up into the two groups of material and mental things; it is rather the antithesis between the object in its undifferentiated state on the one side and the subject in its will-attitude on the other side. Yes, even if we speak of the subject which stands as a unity behind the will-attitudes, we are already reconstructing the real experience in the interest of the purposes of knowledge. In the immediate experience, we have the will-attitudes themselves, and not a subject which wills them.

If we ask ourselves finally what is then the ultimate difference between those two elements of our pure experience, between the object and the will-attitude, we stand before the ultimate data: we call that element which exists merely through a reference to its opposite, the object, and we call that element of our experience which is complete in itself, the attitude of the will. If we experienced liking or disliking, affirming or denying, approving or disapproving in the same way in which we experience the red and the green, the sweet and the sour, the rock and the tree and the moon, we should know objects only. But we do experience them in quite a different way. The rock and the tree do not point to anything else, but the approval has no reality if it does not point to its opposition in disapproval, and the denial has no meaning if it is not meant in relation to the affirmative. This doubleness of our primary experience, this having of objects and of antagonistic attitudes must be acknowledged wherever we speak of experience at all. We know no object without attitude, and no attitude without object. The two are one state; object and attitude form a unity which we resolve by the different way in which we experience these two features of the one state: we find the object and we live through the attitude. It is a different kind of awareness, the having of the object and the taking of the attitude. In real life our will is never an object which we simply perceive. The psychologist may treat the will as such, but in the immediate experience of real life, we are certain of our action by doing it and not by perceiving our doing; and this our performing and rejecting is really our self which we posit as absolute reality, not by knowing it, but by willing it. This corner-stone of the Fichtean philosophy was forgotten throughout the uncritical and unphilosophical decades of a mere naturalistic age. But our time has finally come to give attention to it again.

Our pure experience thus contains will-attitudes and objects of will, and the different attitudes of the will give the fundamental classes of human activity. We can easily recognize four different types of will-relation towards the world. Our will submits itself to the world; our will approves the world as it is; our will approves the changes in the world; our will transcends the world. Yet we must make at once one more most important discrimination. We have up to this point simplified our pure experience too much. It is not true that we experience only objects and our own will-attitudes. Our will reaches out not only to objects, but also to other subjects. In our most immediate experience, not reshaped at all by theoretical science, our will is in agreement or disagreement with other wills; tries to influence them, and receives influences and suggestions from them. The pseudo-philosophy of naturalism must say of course that the will does not stand in any direct relation to another will, but that the other persons are for us simply material objects which we perceive, like other objects, and into which we project mental phenomena like those which we find in ourselves by the mere conclusion of analogy. But the complex reconstructions of physiological psychology are therein substituted for the primary experience. If we have to express the agreement or disagreement of wills in the terms of causal science, we may indeed be obliged to transform the real experience into such artificial constructions; but in our immediate consciousness, and thus at the starting-point of our theory of knowledge, we have certainly to acknowledge that we understand the other person, accept or do not accept his suggestion, agree or disagree with him, before we know anything of a difference between physical and mental objects.

We cannot agree with an object. We agree directly with a will, which does not come to us as a foreign phenomenon, but as a proposition which we accept or decline. In our immediate experience will thus reaches will, and we are aware of the difference between our will-attitude as merely individual and our will-attitude as act of agreement with the will-attitude of other individuals. We can go still further. The circle of other individuals whose will we express in our own will-act may be narrow or wide, may be our friends or the nation, and this relation clearly constitutes the historical significance of our attitude. In the one case our act is a merely personal choice for personal purposes without any general meaning; in the other case it is the expression of general tendencies and historical movements. Yet our will-decisions can have connections still wider than those with our social community or our nation, or even with all living men of to-day. It can seek a relation to the totality of those whom we aim to acknowledge as real subjects. It thus becomes independent of the chance experience of this or that man, or this or that movement, which appeals to us, but involves in an independent way the reference to every one who is to be acknowledged as a subject at all. Such reference, which is no longer bound to any special group of historical individuals, thus becomes strictly over-individual. We can then discriminate three stages: our merely individual will; secondly, our will as bound by other historical individuals; and thirdly, our over-individual will, which is not influenced by any special individual, but by the general demands for the idea of a personality.

Each of those four great types of will-attitude which we insisted on—that is, of submitting, of approving the given, of approving change, and of transcending—can be carried out on these three stages, that is, as individual act, as historical act, and as over-individual act. And we may say at once that only if we submit and approve and change and transcend in an over-individual act, do we have Truth and Beauty and Morality and Conviction. If we approve, for instance, a given experience in an individual will-act, we have simply personal enjoyment and its object is simply agreeable; if we approve it in harmony with other individuals, we reach a higher attitude, yet one which cannot claim absolute value, as it is dependent on historical considerations and on the tastes and desires of a special group or a school or a nation or an age. But if we approve the given object just as it is in an over-individual will-act, then we have before us a thing of beauty, whose value is not dependent upon our personal enjoyment as individuals, but is demanded as a joy forever, by every one whom we acknowledge at all as a complete subject. In exactly the same way, we may approve a change in the world from any individual point of view: we have then to do with technical, practical achievements; or we may approve it in agreement with others: we then enter into the historical interests of our time. Or we may approve it, finally, in an over-individual way, without any reference to any special personality: then only is it valuable for all time, then only is it morally good. And if our will is transcending experience in an individual way, it can again claim no more than a subjective satisfaction furnished by any superstition or hope. But if the transcending will is over-individual, it reaches the absolute values of religion and metaphysics.

Exactly the same differences, finally, must occur when our will submits itself to experience. This submission may be, again, an individual decision for individual purposes; no absolute value belongs to it. Or it may be again a yielding to the suggestions of other individuals; or it may, finally, again be an over-individual submission, which seeks no longer a personal interest. This submission is not to the authority of others, and is without reference to any individual; we assume that every one who is to share with us our world of experience has to share this submission too. That alone is a submission to truth, and experience, considered in so far as we submit ourselves to it over-individually, constitutes our knowledge.

The system of knowledge is thus the system of experience with all that is involved in it in so far as it demands submission from our over-individual will, and the classification which we are seeking must be thus a division and subdivision of our over-individual submissions. But the submission itself can be of very different characters and these various types must give the deepest logical principles of scientific classification. To point at once to the fundamental differences: our will acknowledges the demands of other wills and of objects. We cannot live our life—and this is not meant in a biological sense, but, first of all, in a teleological sense—our life becomes meaningless, if our will does not respect the reality of will-demands and of objects of will. Now we have seen that the will which demands our decision may be either the individual will of other subjects or the over-individual will, which belongs to every subject as such and is independent of any individuality. We can say at once that in the same way we are led to acknowledge that the object has partly an over-individual character, that is, necessarily belongs to the world of objects of every possible subject, and partly an individual character, as our personal object. We have thus four large groups of experiences to which we submit ourselves: over-individual will-acts, individual will-acts, over-individual objects, individual objects. They constitute the first four large divisions of our system.

The over-individual will-acts, which are as such teleologically binding for every subject and therefore norms for his will, give us the Normative Sciences. The individual will-acts in the world of historical manifoldness give us the Historical Sciences. The objects, in so far as they belong to every individual, make up the physical world, and thus give us the Physical Sciences; and finally the objects, in so far as they belong to the individual, are the contents of consciousness, and thus give us the Mental Sciences. We have then the demarcation lines of our first four large divisions: the Normative, the Historical, the Physical, and the Mental Sciences. Yet their meaning and method and difference must be characterized more fully. We must understand why we have here to deal with four absolutely different types of scientific systems, why the over-individual objects lead us to general laws and to the determination of the future, while the study of the individual will-acts, for instance, gives us the system of history, which turns merely to the past and does not seek natural laws; and why the study of the norms gives us another kind of system in which neither a causal nor an historical, but a purely logical connection prevails. Yet all these methodological differences result necessarily from the material with which these four different groups of sciences are working.

Let us start again from the consideration of our original logical purpose. We feel ourselves bound and limited in our will by physical things, by psychical contents, by the demands of other subjects, and by norms. The purpose of all our knowledge is to develop completely all that is involved in this bondage. We want to develop in an over-individual way all the obligations for our submission which are necessarily included in the given objects and the given demands of subjects. We start of course everywhere and in every direction from the actual experience, but we expand the experience by seeking those objects and those demands to which, as necessarily following from the immediately given experience, we must also submit. And in thus developing the whole system of submissions, the interpretation of the experience itself becomes transformed: the physicist may perhaps substitute imperceptible atoms for the physical object and the psychologist may substitute sensations for the real idea, and the historian may substitute combinations of influences for the real personality, and the student of norms may substitute combinations of conflicting demands for the one complete duty; yet in every case the substitution is logically necessary and furnishes us what we call truth inasmuch as it is needed to develop the concrete system of our submissions and thus to express our confidence in the order-lines of reality. And each of these substitutions and supplementations becomes, as material of knowledge, itself a part of the world of experience.

3. The Physical and the Mental Sciences

The physicist, we said, speaks of the world of objects in so far as they belong to every possible subject, and are material for a merely passive spectator. Of course the pure experience does not offer us anything of that kind. We insisted that the objects of our real life are objects of our will and of our attitudes, and are at the same time undifferentiated into the physical things outside of us and the psychical ideas in us. To reach the abstraction of the physicist, we have thus to cut loose the objects from our will and to separate the over-individual elements from the individual elements. Both transformations are clearly demanded by our logical aims. As to the cutting loose from our will, it means considering the object as if it existed for itself, as if it were a mere passively given material and not a material of our personal interests. But just that is needed. We want to find out how far we have to submit ourselves to the object. If we want to live our life, we must adjust our attitudes to things, and, as we know our will, we must seek to understand the other factor in the complex experience, the object of our will, and we must find out what it involves in itself. But we do not understand the object and the submission which it demands if we do not completely understand its relation to our desires. Our total submission to the thing thus involves our acknowledgment of all that we have to expect from it. And although the real experience is a unity of will and thing, we have thus the most immediate interest in considering what we have to expect from the thing in itself, without reference to our will. That means finding out the effects of the given object with a subject as the passive spectator. We eliminate artificially, therefore, the activity of the subject and construct as presupposition for this circle of knowledge a nowhere existing subject without activity, for which the thing exists merely as a cause of the effects which it produces.

The first step towards natural science is, therefore, to dissolve the real experience into thing and personality; that is, into object and active subject, and to eliminate in an artificial abstraction the activity of the subject, making the object material of merely passive awareness, and related no longer to the will but merely to other objects. It may be more difficult to understand the second step which naturalism has to take before a natural science is possible. It must dissolve the object of will into an over-individual and an individual part and must eliminate the individual. That part of my objects which belongs to me alone is their psychical side; that which belongs to all of us and is the object of ever new experience is the physical object. As a physicist, in the widest sense of the word, I have to ignore the objects in so far as they are my ideas and have to consider the stones and the stars, the inorganic and the organic objects, as they are outside of me, material for every one. The logical purpose of this second abstraction may be perhaps formulated in the following way.

We have seen that the purpose of the study of the objects is to find out what we have to expect from them; that is, to what effects of the given thing we have to submit ourselves in anticipation. The ideal aim is thus to understand completely how present objects and future objects—that is, how causes and effects—are connected. The first stage in such knowledge of causal connections is, of course, the observation of empirical consequences. Our feeling of expectation grows with the regularity of observed succession; yet the ideal aim can never be fulfilled in that way. The mere observation of regularities can help us to reduce a particular case to a frequently observed type, but what we seek to understand is the necessity of the process. Of course we have to formulate laws, and as soon as we acknowledge a special law to be expressive of a necessity, the subsumption of the particular case under the law will satisfy us even if the necessity of the connection is not recognized in the particular case. We are satisfied because the acknowledgment of the law involved all possible cases. But we do not at all feel that we have furnished a real explanation if the law means to us merely a generalization of routine experiences, and if thus no absolute validity is attached to the law. This necessity between cause and effect must thus have its ultimate reason in our own understanding. We must be logically obliged to connect the objects in such a way, and wherever observation seems to contradict that which is logically necessary, we must reshape our idea of the object till the demands of reason are fulfilled. That is, we must substitute for the given object an abstraction which serves the purpose of a logically necessary connection. That demand is clearly not satisfied if we simply group the totality of such causal judgments under the single name, Causality, and designate thus all these judgments as results of a special disposition of the understanding. We never understand why just this cause demands just this effect so long as we rely on such vague and mystical power of our reason to link the world by causality.

But the situation changes at once if we go still further back in the categories of our understanding. While a mere demand for causality never explains what cause is to be linked with what effect, the vagueness disappears when we understand this demand for causality itself as the product of a more fundamental demand for identity. That an object remains identical with itself does not need for us any further interpretation. That is the ultimate presupposition of our thought, and where a complete identity is found nothing demands further explanation. All scientific effort aims at so rethinking different experiences that they can be regarded as partially identical, and every discovery of necessary connection is ultimately a demonstration of identity. If we seek connections with the final aim to understand them as necessary, we must conceive the world of our objects in such a way that it is possible to consider the successive experiences as parts of a self-identical world; that is, as parts of a world in which no substance and no energy can disappear or appear anew. To reach this end it is obviously needed that we eliminate from the world of objects all that cannot be conceived as identically returning in a new experience; that is, all that belongs to the present experience only. We do eliminate this by taking it up conceptually into the subject and calling it psychical, and thus leaving to the object merely that which is conceived as belonging to the world of everybody's experience, that is, of over-individual experience. The whole history of natural science is first of all the gigantic development of this transformation, resolution, and reconstruction. The objects of experience are re-thought till everything is eliminated which cannot be conceived as identical with itself in the experiences of all individuals and thus as belonging to the over-individual world. All the substitutions of atoms for the real thing, and of energies for the real changes, are merely conceptional schemes to satisfy this demand.

The logically primary step is thus not the separation of the physical and the psychical things plus the secondary demand to connect the physical things causally; the order is exactly opposite. The primary desire is to connect the real objects and to understand them as causes and effects. This understanding demands not only empirical observation, but insight into the necessary connection. Necessary connection, on the other hand, exists merely for identical objects and identical qualities. But in the various experiences only that is identical which is independent of the momentary individual experiences, and therefore we need as the ultimate aim a reconstruction of the object into the two parts, the one perceptional, which refers to our individual experience; and the other conceptional, which expresses that which can be conceived as identical in every new experience. The ideal of this constructed world is the mechanical universe in which every atom moves by causal necessity because there is nothing in that universe, no element of substance and no element of energy, which will not remain identical in all changes of the universe which are possibly to be expected. It becomes completely determinable by anticipation and the system of our submissions to the object can be completely constructed. The totality of intellectual efforts to reconstruct such a causally connected over-individual world of objects clearly represents a unity of its own. It is the system of physical sciences.

The physical universe is thus not the totality of our objects. It is a substitution for our real objects, constructed by eliminating the individual parts of our objects of experience. These individual parts are the psychical aspects of our objective experience, and they clearly awake our scientific interest too. The physical sciences need thus as counterpart a division of mental sciences. Their aim must be the same. We want to foresee the psychical results and to understand causally the psychical experience. Yet it is clear that the plan of the mental sciences must be quite different in principle from that of the sciences of nature. The causal connection of the physical universe was ultimately anchored in the identity of the object through various experiences; while the object of experience was psychical for us just in so far as it could never be conceived as identical in different phases of reality. The psychical object is an ever new creation; my idea can never be your idea. Their meaning may be identical, but the psychical stuff, the content of my consciousness, can never be object for any one else, and even in myself the idea of to-day is never the idea of yesterday or to-morrow. But if there cannot be identity in different psychical experiences, it is logically impossible to connect them directly by necessity. If we yet want to master their successive appearance, we must substitute an indirect connection for the direct one, and must describe and explain the psychical phenomena through reference to the physical world. It is in this way that modern psychology has substituted elementary sensations for the real contents of consciousness and has constructed relations between these elementary mental states on the basis of processes in the organism, especially brain processes. Here, again, reality is left behind and a mere conceptional construction is put in its place. But this construction fulfills its purpose and thus gives us truth; and if the basis is once given, the psychological sciences can build up a causal system of the conscious processes in the individual man and in society.

4. The Historical and the Normative Sciences

The two divisions of the physical and mental sciences represent our systematized submission to objects. But we saw from the first that it is an artificial abstraction to consider in our real experience the object alone. We saw clearly that we, as acting personalities, in our will and in our attitudes, do not feel ourselves in relation to objects, merely, but to will-acts; and that these will-acts were the individual ones of other subjects or the over-individual ones which come to us in our consciousness of norms. The sciences which deal with our submissions to the individual will-acts of others are the Historical Sciences. Their starting-point is the same as that of the object sciences, the immediate experience. But the other subjects reach our individuality from the start in a different way from the objects. The wills of other subjects come to us as propositions with which we have to agree or disagree; as suggestions, which we are to imitate or to resist; and they carry in themselves that reference to an opposite which, as we saw, characterizes all will-activity. The rock or the tree in our surroundings may stimulate our reactions, but does not claim to be in itself a decision with an alternative. But the political or legal or artistic or social or religious will of my neighbors not only demands my agreement or disagreement, but presents itself to me in its own meaning as a free decision which rejects the opposite, and its whole meaning is destroyed if I consider it like the tree or the rock as a mere phenomenon, as an object in the world of objects. Whoever has clearly understood that politics and religion and knowledge and art and law come to me from the first quite differently from objects, can never doubt that their systematic connection must be most sharply separated from all the sciences which connect impressions of objects, and is falsified if the historical disciplines are treated simply as parts of the sciences of phenomena—for instance, as parts of sociology, the science of society as a psycho-physical object.

Just as natural science transcends the immediately experienced object and works out the whole system of our necessary submissions to the world of objects, so the historical sciences transcend the social will-acts which approach us in our immediate experience, and again seek to find what we are really submitting to if we accept the suggestions of our social surroundings. And yet this similar demand has most dissimilar consequences. We submit to an object and want to find out what we are really submitting to. That cannot mean anything else, as we have seen, than to seek the effects of the object and thus to look forward to what we have to expect from the object. On the other hand, if we want to find out what we are really submitting to if we agree with the decision of our neighbor, the only meaning of the question can be to ask what our neighbor really is deciding on, what is contained in his decision; and as his decision must mean an agreement or disagreement with the will-act of another subject, we cannot understand the suggestion which comes to us without understanding in respect to what propositions of others it takes a stand. Our interest is in this case thus led from those subjects of will which enter into our immediate experience to other subjects whose purposes stand in the relation of suggestion and demand to the present ones. And if we try to develop the system of these relations, we come to an endless chain of will-relations, in which one individual will always points back in its decisions to another individual will with which it agrees or disagrees, which it imitates or overcomes by a new attitude of will; and the whole network of these will-relations is the political or religious or artistic or social history of mankind. This system of history as a system of teleologically connected will-attitudes is elaborated from the will-propositions which reach us in immediate experience, with the same necessity with which the mechanical universe of natural science is worked out from the objects of our immediate experience.

The historical system of will-connections is similar to the system of object-connections, not only in its starting in the immediate experience, but further in its also seeking identities. Without this feature history would not offer to our understanding real connections. We must link the will-attitudes of men by showing the identity of the alternatives. Just as the physical thing is substituted by a large number of atoms which remain identical in the causal changes, in the same way the personality is substituted by an endless manifoldness of decisions and becomes linked with the historical community by the thought that each of these partial decisions refers to an alternative which is identical with that of other persons. And yet there remains a most essential difference between the historical and the causal connection. In a world of things the mere identical continuity is sufficient to determine the phenomena of any given moment. In a world of will the identity of alternatives cannot determine beforehand the actual decision; that belongs to the free activity of the subject. If this factor of freedom were left out, man would be made an object and history a mere appendix of natural science. The connection of the historian can therefore never be a necessary one, however much we may observe empirical regularities. If there were no identities, our reason could not find connection in history; but if the historical connections were necessary, like the causal ones, it would not be history. The historian is, therefore, unable and without the ambition to look into the future like the naturalist; his domain is the past.

Yet will-attitudes and will-acts can also be brought into necessary connection; that is, we can conceive will-acts as teleologically identical with each other and exempt from the freedom of the individual. That is clearly possible only if they are conceived as beyond the freedom of individual decision and related to the over-individual subject. The question is then no longer how this special man wills and decides, but how far a certain will-decision binds every possible individual who performs this act if he is to share our common world of will and meaning. Such an over-individual connection of will-acts is what we call the logical connection. It shares with all other connections the dependence upon the category of identity. The logical connection shows how far one act or combination of acts involves, and thus is partially identical with, a new combination. This logical connection has, in common with the causal connection, necessity; and in common with the historical connection, teleological character. Any individual will-act of historical life may be treated for certain purposes as such a starting-point of over-individual relations; it would then lead to that scientific treatment which gives us an interpretation, for instance, of law. Such interpretative sciences belong to the system of history in the widest sense of the word.

The chief interest, however, must belong to the logical connections of those will-acts which themselves have over-individual character. A merely individual proposition can lead to necessary logical connection, but cannot claim that scientific importance which belongs to the logical connection of those propositions which are necessary for the constitution of every real experience: the science of chess cannot stand on the same level with the science of geometry, the science of local legal statutes not on the same level with the system of ethics. The logical connections of the over-individual attitudes thus constitute the fourth large division besides the physical, the mental, and the historical sciences. It must thus comprise the systems of all those propositions which are presuppositions of our common reality, independent of the free individual decision. Here belong the acts of approval—the ethical approval of changes and achievements, as well as the æsthetic approval of the given world; the acts of conviction—the religious convictions of a superstructure of the world as well as the metaphysical convictions of a substructure; and above all, the acts of affirmation and submission, the logical as well as the mathematical. But to be consistent we must really demand that merely the over-individual logical connections are treated in this division. If we deal, for instance, with the æsthetical or ethical acts as psychological experiences, or as historical propositions, they belong to the psychical or historical division. Only the philosophical system of ethics or æsthetics finds its place in this division. It is difficult to find a suitable name for this whole system of logical connections of over-individual attitudes. Perhaps it would be most correct to call it the Sciences of Values, inasmuch as every one of these over-individual decisions constitutes a value in our world which our individual will finds as an absolute datum like the objects of experience. Seen from another point of view, these values appear as norms which bind our practical will inasmuch as these absolute values demand of our will to realize them, and it may thus be permitted to designate this whole group of sciences as a Division of Normative Sciences.

Our logical explanation of the meaning of these four divisions naturally began with the interpretation of that science which usually takes precedence in popular thought—with the science of nature, that is, and passed then to those groups whose methodological situation is seen rather vaguely by our positivistic age. But as soon as we have once defined and worked out the boundary lines of each of these four divisions, it would appear more logical to change their order and to begin with that division whose material is those over-individual will-acts on which all possible knowledge must depend, and then to turn to those individual will-acts which determine the formulation of our present-day knowledge, and then only to go to the objects of knowledge, the over-individual and the individual ones. In short, we must begin with the normative sciences, consider in the second place the historical sciences, in the third place the physical sciences, and in the fourth place the psychical sciences. There cannot be a scientific judgment which must not find its place somewhere in one of these four groups. And yet can we really say that these four great divisions complete the totality of scientific efforts? The plan of our Congress contains three important divisions besides these.

5. The Three Divisions of Practical Sciences

The three divisions which still lie before us represent Practical Knowledge. Have we a logical right to put them on an equal level with the four large divisions which we have considered so far? Might it not rather be said that all that is knowledge in those practical sciences must find its place somewhere in the theoretical field, and that everything outside of it is not knowledge, but art? It cannot be denied indeed that the logical position of the practical sciences presents serious problems. That the function of the engineer or of the physician, of the lawyer or of the minister, of the diplomat or of the teacher, contains elements of an art cannot be doubted. They all need not only knowledge, but a certain instinct and power and skill, and their schooling thus demands a training and discipline through imitation which cannot be substituted by mere learning. Yet when it comes to the classification of sciences, it seems very doubtful whether practical sciences have to be acknowledged as special divisions, inasmuch as the factor of art must have been eliminated at the moment they are presented as sciences. The auscultation of the physician certainly demands skill and training, yet this practical activity itself does not enter into the science of medicine as presented in medical writings. As soon as the physician begins to deal with it scientifically, he needs, as does any scholar, not the stethoscope, but the pen. He must formulate judgments; and as soon as he simply describes and analyzes and explains and interprets his stethoscopic experiences, his statements become a system of theoretical ideas.

We can say in general that the science of medicine or of engineering, of jurisprudence or of education, contains, as science, no element of art, but merely theoretical judgments which, as such, can find their place somewhere in the complete systems of the theoretical sciences. If the physician describes a disease, its symptoms, the means of examining them, the remedies, their therapeutical effects, and the prophylaxis, in short, everything which the physician needs for his art, he does not record anything which would not belong to an ideally complete description and explanation of the processes in the human body. In the same way it can be said that if the engineer characterizes the conditions under which an iron bridge will be safe, it is evident that he cannot introduce any facts which would not find their logical place in an ideally complete description of the properties of inorganic nature; and finally, the same is true for the statements of the politician, the jurist, the pedagogue, or the minister. Whatever is said about their art is a theoretical judgment which connects facts of the ideally complete system of theoretical science; in their case the facts of course belong in first line to the realm of the psychological, historical, and normative sciences. There never has been or can be practical advice in the form of words, which is not in principle a statement of facts which belong to the absolute totality of theoretical knowledge. Seen from this point of view, it is evident that all our knowledge is fundamentally theoretical, and that the conception of practical knowledge is logically unprecise.

But the opposite point of view might also be taken. It might be said that after all every kind of knowledge is practical, and our own deduction of the meaning of science might be said to suggest such interpretation. We acknowledged at the outset that the so-called theoretical knowledge is by no means a passive mirrorpicture of an independent outside world; but that in every judgment real experience is remoulded and reshaped in the service of certain purposes of will. Here lies the true core of that growing popular philosophy of to-day which, under the name of pragmatism, or under other titles, mingles the purposive character of our knowledge and the evolutionary theories of modern biology in the vague notion that men created knowledge because the biological struggle for existence led to such views of the world; and that we call true that correlation of our experiences which has approved itself through its harmony with the phylogenetic development. Certainly we must reject such circle philosophies. We must see clearly that the whole conception of a biological development and of a struggle of organisms is itself only a part of our construction of causal knowledge. We must have knowledge to conceive ourselves as products of a phylogenetic history, and thus cannot deduce from it the fact, and, still less, the justification of knowledge. Yet one element of this theory remains valuable: knowledge is indeed a purposive activity, a reconstruction of the world in the service of ideals of the will. We have thus from one side the suggestion that all knowledge is merely theoretical, from the other side the claim that all knowledge is practical activity. It seems as if both sides might agree that it is superfluous and unjustified to make a demarcation line through the field of knowledge and to separate two sorts of knowledge, theoretical and practical. For both theories demand that all knowledge be of one kind, and they disagree only as to whether we ought to call it all theoretical or all practical.

Yet the true situation is not characterized by such an antithesis. If we say that all knowledge is ultimately practical, we are speaking from an epistemological point of view, inasmuch as we take it then as a reconstruction of the world through the purposive activity of the over-individual subject. On the other hand it is an empirical point of view from which ultimately all knowledge, that of the physician and engineer and lawyer, as well as that of the astronomer, appears theoretical. But this antithesis can, therefore, not decide the further empirical question, whether or not in the midst of theoretical knowledge two kinds of sciences may be discriminated, of which the one refers to empirical practical purposes and the other not. Such an inquiry would have nothing to do with the epistemological problem of pragmatism; it would be strictly non-philosophical, just as the separation of chemistry into organic and inorganic chemistry. This empirical question is indeed to be answered in the affirmative. If we ask what causes bring about a certain effect, for the sake of a practical purpose of ours,—for instance, the curing a patient of disease,—no one can state facts which are not in principle to be included in the complete system of physical causes and effects and thus in the system of physical sciences. And yet it may well be that the physical sciences, as such, have not the slightest reason to mention the effect of that special drug on that special pathological alteration of the tissues of the organism. The descriptions and explanations of science are not a mere heaping up of material, but a steady selection in the interest of the special aim of the science. No physical science describes every special pebble on the beach; no historical science deals with the chance happenings in the daily life of any member of the crowd. And we already well know the point of view from which the selection is to be performed. We want to know in the physical and psychical sciences whatever is involved in the object of our experience, and in the historical and normative sciences whatever is involved in the demands which reach our will. But whether we have to do with the objects or with the demands, in both cases we have systems before us which are determined only by the objects or demands themselves, without any relation to our individual will and our own practical activity. Theoretically, of course, our will, our activity, our organism, our personality is included in the complete system; and if we knew absolutely everything of the empirical effects of the object or of the consequences of these demands, we should find among them their relation to our individual interests; but that relation would be but one chance case among innumerable others, and the sciences would not have the slightest interest in giving any attention to that particular case. Thus if our knowledge of chemical substances were complete, we should certainly have to know theoretically that a few grains of antipyrine introduced into the organism have an influence on those brain centres which regulate the temperature of the human body. Yet if the chemist does not share the interest of the physician who wants to fight a fever, he would have hardly any reason for examining this particular relation, as it hardly throws light on the chemical constitution as such. In this way we might say in general that the relation of the world to us as acting individuals is in principle contained in the total system of the relations of our world of experience, but has a strictly accidental place there and can never be in itself a centre around which the scientific data are clustered, and science will hardly have an interest in giving any attention to its details.

This relation of the world, the physical, the psychical, the historical, and the normative world, to our individual, practical purposes can, however, indeed become the centre of scientific interest, and it is evident that the whole inquiry receives thereupon a perfectly new direction which demands not only a completely new grouping of facts and relations, but also a very different shading in elaboration. As long as the purpose was to understand the world without relation to our individual aims, science had to gather endless details which are for us now quite indifferent, as they do not touch our aims; and in other respects science was satisfied with broad generalizations and abstractions where we have now to examine the most minute details. In short, the shifting of the centre of gravity creates perfectly new sciences which must be distinguished; and if we call them again theoretical and practical sciences, it is clear that this difference has then no longer anything to do with the philosophical problems from which we started.

The term practical may be preferable to the other term which is sometimes used: Applied Science. If we construct the antithesis of theoretical and applied science, the underlying idea is clearly that we have to do on the practical side with a discipline which teaches how to apply a science which logically exists as such beforehand. Engineering, for instance, is an applied science because it applies the science of physics; but this is not really our deepest meaning here. Our practical sciences are not meant as mere applications of theoretical sciences. They are logically somewhat degraded if they are treated in such a way. Their real logical meaning comes out only if they are acknowledged as self-dependent sciences whose material is differentiated from that of the theoretical sciences by the different point of view and purpose. They are methodologically perfectly independent, and the fact that a large part or theoretically even everything of their teaching overlaps the teaching of certain theoretical sciences ought not to have any influence on their logical standing. The practical sciences could be conceived as completely self-dependent, without the existence of any so-called theoretical sciences; that is, the relations of the world of experience to our individual aims might be brought into complete systems without working out in principle the system of independent experience. We might have a science of engineering without acknowledging an independent science of theoretical physics besides it. To be sure, such a science of engineering would finally develop itself into a system which would contain very much that might just as well be called theoretical physics; yet all would be held together by the point of view of the engineer, and that part of theoretical physics which the engineer applies might just as well be considered as depracticalized engineering. If this logical self-dependence of the practical science holds true even for such technological disciplines, it is still more evident that it would cripple the meaning and independent character of jurisprudence and social science, or of pedagogy and theology, to treat them simply as applied sciences, that is, as applications of theoretical science.

This point of view determines, also, of course, the classification of the Practical Sciences. If they were really merely applied sciences it would be most natural to group them according to the classification of the theoretical sciences which are to be applied. We should then have applied physical sciences, applied psychological sciences, applied historical sciences, and applied normative sciences. Yet even from the standpoint of practice, we should come at once into difficulties, and indeed much of the superficiality of practical sciences to-day results from the hasty tendency to consider them as applied sciences only, and thus to be determined by the points of view of the theoretical discipline which is to be applied. Then, for instance, pedagogy becomes simply applied psychology, and the psychological point of view is substituted for the educational one. Pedagogy then becomes simply a selection of those chapters in psychology which deal with the mental functions of the child. Yet as soon as we really take the teachers' point of view, we understand at once that it is utterly artificial to substitute the categories of the psychologist for those of immediate practical will-relations and to consider the child in the class-room as a causal system of psycho-physical elements instead of a personality which is teleologically to be interpreted, and whose aims are not to be connected with causal effects but with over-individual attitudes. In this way the historical relation and the normative relation have to play at least as important a rôle in the pedagogical system as the psycho-physical relation, and we might quite as well call education applied history and applied ethics.

Almost every practical science can be shown in this way to apply a number of theoretical sciences; it synthesizes them to a new unity. But better, we ought to say, that it is a unity in itself from the start, and that it only overlaps with a number of theoretical sciences. If we want to classify the practical sciences, we have thus only the one logical principle at our disposal: we must classify them in accordance with the group of human individual aims which control those different disciplines. If all practical sciences deal with the relation of the world of experience to our individual practical ends, the classes of those ends are the classes of our practical sciences, whatever combinations of applied theoretical sciences may enter into the group. Of course a special classification of these aims must remain somewhat arbitrary; yet it may seem most natural to separate three large divisions. We called them the Utilitarian Sciences, the Sciences of Social Regulation, and the Sciences of Social Culture. Utilitarian we may call those sciences in which our practical aim refers to the world of things; it may be the technical mastery of nature or the treatment of the body, or the production, distribution, and consumption of the means of support. The second division contains everything in which our aim does not refer to the thing, but to the other subjects; here naturally belong the sciences which deal with the political, legal, and social purposes. And finally the sciences of culture refer to those aims in which not the individual relations to things or to other subjects are in the foreground, but the purposes of the teleological development of the subject himself; education, art, and religion here find their place. It is, of course, evident that the material of these sciences frequently allows the emphasis of different aspects. For instance, education, which aims primarily at self-development, might quite well be considered also from the point of view of social regulation; and still more naturally could the utilitarian sciences of the economic distribution of the means of support be considered from this point of view. Yet a classification of sciences nowhere suggests by its boundary lines that there are no relations and connections between the different parts; on the contrary, it is just the manifoldness of these given connections which makes it so desirable to become conscious of the principles involved, and thus to emphasize logical demarcation lines, which of course must be obliterated as soon as any material is to be treated from every possible point of view. It may thus well be that, for instance, a certain industrial problem could be treated in the Normative Sciences from the point of view of ethics; in the Historical Sciences, from the point of view of the history of economic institutions; in the Physical Sciences, from the point of view of physics or chemistry; in the Mental Sciences, from the point of view of sociology; in the Utilitarian Sciences, from the point of view of medicine or of engineering, or of commerce and transportation; and finally in the Regulative Sciences, from the point of view of political administration, or in the Social Sciences, from the standpoint of the urban community, and so on. The more complex the relations are, the more necessary is it to make clean distinctions between the different logical purposes with which the scientific inquiries start. Practical life may demand a combination of historical, sociological, psychological, economical, social, and ethical considerations; but not one of these sciences can contribute its best if the consciousness of these differences is lost and the deliberate combination is replaced by a vague mixture of the problems.

6. The Subdivisions

We have now before us the ground-plan of the scheme, the four theoretical divisions, and the three practical divisions; every additional comment on the classification must be of secondary importance, as it has to refer to the smaller subdivisions, which cannot change the principles of the plan, and which have not seldom, indeed, been a result of practical considerations. If, for instance, our Division of Cultural Sciences shows in the final plan merely the departments of Education and of Religion, while the originally planned Department of Art is left out, there was no logical reason for it, but merely the practical ground that it seemed difficult to bring such a practical art section to a desirable scientific level; we confine art, therefore, to the normative æsthetic and historical points of view. Or, to choose another illustration, if it happened that the normative sciences were finally organized without a section for the philosophy of law, this resulted from the fact that the American jurists, in contrast with their Continental European colleagues, showed a general lack of appreciation for such a section. A few sections had to be left out even for the chance reason that the leading speakers were obliged to withdraw at a time when it was too late to ask substitutes to work up addresses. And almost everywhere there had to be something arbitrary in the limitation of the special sections. Though Otology and Laryngology were brought together into one section, they might just as well have been placed in two; and Rhinology, which was left out, might have been added as a third in that company. As to this subtler ramification, the plan has been changed several times during the period of the practical preparation of the plan, and much is the result of adjustment to questions of personalities. No one claims, thus, any special logical value for the final formulation of the sectional details, for which our chief aim was not to go beyond eight times sixteen, that is 128, sections, inasmuch as it was planned to have the meetings at eight different time-periods in sixteen different halls. If we had fulfilled all the wishes which were expressed by specialists, the number would have been quickly doubled.

Yet a few remarks may be devoted to the branching off within the seven divisions, as a short discussion of some of these details may throw additional light on the general principles of the whole plan. If we thus begin with the Normative Sciences, we stand at once before one feature of the plan which has been in an especially high degree a matter of both approval and criticism: the fact that Mathematics is grouped with Philosophy. The Division was to contain, as we have seen, the systems of logically connected will-acts of the over-individual subject. That Ethics or Logic or Æsthetics or Philosophy of Religion deals with such over-individual attitudes cannot be doubted; but have we a right to coördinate the mathematical sciences with these philosophical sciences? Has Mathematics not a more natural place among the physical sciences coördinated with and introductory to Mechanics, Physics, and Astronomy? The mathematicians themselves would often be inclined to accept without hesitation this neighborhood of the physical sciences. They would say that the mathematical objects are independent realities whose properties we study like those of nature, whose relations we "observe," whose existence we "discover," and in which we are interested because they belong to the real world. All this is true, and yet the objects of the mathematician are objects made by the logical will only, and thus different from all phenomena into which sensation enters. The mathematician, of course, does not reflect on the purely logical origin of the objects which he studies, but the system of knowledge must give to the study of the mathematical objects its place in the group where the functions and products of the over-individual attitudes are classified. The mathematical object is a free creation, and a creation not only as to the combination of elements—that would be the case with many laboratory substances of the chemist too—but a creation as to the elements themselves, and the value of that creation, its "mathematical interest," is to be judged by ideals of thought; that is, by logical purposes. No doubt this logical purpose is its application in the world of objects and the mathematical concepts must thus fit the objective world so absolutely that mathematics can be conceived as a description of the world after abstracting not only from the will-relations, as physics does, but also from the content. Mathematics would, then, be the phenomenalistic science of the form and order of the world. In this way, mathematics has indeed a claim to places in both divisions: among the physical sciences if we emphasize its applicability to the world, and among the teleological sciences if we emphasize the free creation of the objects by the logical will. But if we really go back to epistemological principles, our system has to prefer the latter emphasis; that is, we must coördinate mathematics with logic and not with physics.

As to the subdivision of philosophy, it is most essential for us to point to the negative fact that of course psychology cannot have a place in the philosophical department, as part of the Normative Division. There is perhaps no science whose position in the system of knowledge offers so many methodological difficulties as psychology. Historical tradition of course links it with philosophy; throughout a great part of its present endeavors it is, on the other hand, linked with physiology. Thus we find it sometimes coördinated with logic and ethics, and sometimes, especially in the classical positivistic systems, coördinated with the sciences of the organic functions. We have seen why a really logical treatment has to disregard those historical and practical relations and has to separate the psychological sciences from the philosophical and the biological sciences. Yet even this does not complete the list of problems which must be settled, inasmuch as modern thinkers have frequently insisted that psychology itself allows a twofold aspect. We can have a psychology which describes and explains the mental life by analyzing it into its elements and by connecting these elements through causality. But there may be another psychology which treats inner life in that immediate unity in which we experience it and seeks to interpret it as the free function of personality. This latter kind of psychology has been called voluntaristic psychology as against the phenomenalistic psychology which seeks description and explanation. Such voluntaristic psychology would clearly belong again to a different division. It would be a theory of individual life as a function of will, and would thus be introductory to the historical sciences and to the normative sciences too. Yet we left out this teleological psychology from our programme, as such a science is as yet a programme only. Wherever an effort is made to realize it, it becomes an odd mixture of an inconsistent phenomenalistic psychology on the one side, and philosophy of history, logic, ethics, and æsthetics on the other side. The only science which really has a right to call itself psychology is the one which seeks to describe and to explain inner life and treats it therefore as a system of psychical objects, that is, as contents of consciousness, that is, as phenomena. Psychology belongs, then, in the general division of psychical sciences as over against physical sciences, and both deal with objects as over against philosophy and history, which deal with subjects of will.

The subdivision of the Historical Sciences offers no methodological difficulty as soon as those epistemological arguments are acknowledged by which we sharply distinguish history from the Physical and Mental Sciences. If history is a system of will-relations which is in teleological connection with the will-demands that surround us, then political history loses its predominant rôle, and the history of law and of literature, of language and of economy, of art and religion, become coördinated with political development, while the mere anthropological aspect of man is relegated to the physical sciences. The more complete original scheme was here again finally condensed for practical reasons; for instance, the planned departments on the History of Education, on the History of Science, and on the History of Philosophy were sacrificed, and the department of Economic History was joined to that of Political History. In the same way we felt obliged to omit in the end many important sections in the departments; we had, for instance, in the History of Language at first a section on Slavic Languages; yet the number of scholars interested was too small to justify its existence beside a section on Slavic Literature. Also the History of Music was omitted from the History of Art; and the History of Law was planned at first with a fuller ramification.

The division of Physical Sciences naturally suggested that kind of subdivision which the positivistic classification presents as a complete system of sciences. Considering physics and chemistry as the two fundamental sciences of general laws, we turn first to astronomy, then from the science of the whole universe to the one planet, to the sciences of the earth; thence to the living organisms on the earth; and from biology to the still narrower circle of anthropology. The special classification of physics offers a certain difficulty. To divide it in text-book fashion into sound, light, electricity, etc., seems hardly in harmony with the effort to seek logical principles in the other parts of the classification. The three groups which we finally formed, Physics of Matter, Physics of Ether, and Physics of Electron, may appear somewhat too much influenced by the latest theories of to-day, yet it seemed preferable to other principles. In the biological department, criticism seems justified in view of the fact that we constructed a special section, Human Anatomy. A strictly logical scheme might have acknowledged that human anatomy is to-day not a separate science, and that it has resolved itself into comparative anatomy. Sections of Invertebrate and Vertebrate Anatomy might have been more satisfactory. The final arrangement was a concession to the practical interests of the physicians, who have naturally to emphasize the anatomy of the human organism.

In the division of Mental Sciences, we have the Department of Sociology. We were, of course, aware that the sociological interest includes not only the psychological, but also the physiological life of society, and that it thus has relations to the physical sciences too. Yet these relations are logically not more fundamental than those of the individual mental life to the functions of the individual organism. Much of the physiological side was further to be handed over to the Department of Anthropology, and thus we felt justified in grouping sociology with psychology under the Mental Sciences, as the psychology of the social organism. Here, too, a larger number of sections was intended and only the two most essential ones, Social Structure and Social Psychology, were finally admitted.

The ramifications of the practical sciences had to follow the general principle that their character is determined by purpose and not by material. The difficulty was here merely in the extreme specialization of the practical disciplines, which suggests on the whole the forming of very small units, while our plan was to provide for fifty practical sections only. It seemed, therefore, incongruous to have the whole of Internal Medicine or the whole of Private Law condensed into one section. Yet as the purpose of the scheme was a theoretical and not a practical one, even where the theory of practical sciences was in question, we felt justified in constructing coördinated sections, even where the practical importance was very unequal. On the other hand, some glaring defects just here are due merely to chance circumstances. That there were, for instance, no sections on Criminal Law or Ecclesiastical Law in the Department of Jurisprudence, nor on Legal Procedure, resulted from the unfortunate accident that in these cases the speakers who were to come from Europe were withheld by illness or public duties. The absence of the Department of Art in the Division of Social Culture, and thus of the Sections on the theory and practice of the different arts, has been explained before. It is evident that also in the Economical Department the practical development has interfered with the original symmetrical arrangement of the sections. This is not true of the Religious Department, whose six sections express the tendencies of the original plan. The frequently expressed criticism that the different religions and their denominations ought to have found place there shows a misconception of our purpose; a Parliament of Religion did not belong to this plan.

III

THE RESULTS OF THE CONGRESS

The programme of the Congress, as outlined in the previous pages, was in this case somewhat more than a mere programme. It not only invited to do a piece of work, but it sought to contribute to the work itself. Yet the chief work had to be done by others, and their part needed careful preparation. Yet very little of the preparation showed itself to the eyes of the larger public, and few were fully aware what a complex organization was growing up and how many persons of mark were coöperating.

It was essential to find for every address the best man. Specialists only could suggest to the committees where to find him. It has been told before how our invitations were brought to the foreigners first till the desired number of foreign participants was secured, and how the Americans followed. As could not be otherwise expected, interferences of all kinds disturbed the ideal configuration of the first list of acceptances; substitutes had sometimes to be relied on; and yet, when on the nineteenth of September President Francis welcomed the Congress of Arts and Science in the gigantic Festival Hall of the St. Louis Exposition, the Committee knew that almost four hundred speakers had completed their manuscripts, and that it was a galaxy which far surpassed in importance that of any previous international congress. And the list of those who stood for the success of the work was not confined to the official speakers. Each Department and each Section had its own honorary President, who was also chosen by the consent of leading specialists and whose introductory remarks were to give additional importance to the gathering. At their side stood the hundred and thirty Secretaries, carefully chosen from among the productive scholars of the younger generation. And a large number of informal, yet officially invited contributors, had announced valuable discussions and addresses for almost every Section. Invitations to membership finally had been sent to the universities and scholarly societies of all countries.

That the turmoil of a world's fair is out of harmony with the scholar's longing for repose and quietude is a natural presupposition, which has not been disproved by the experience of St. Louis. When Professor Newcomb, our President, spoke to the opening assembly on the dignity of scholarship, the scholar's peaceful address was accentuated by the thunder of the cannons with which Boer and British forces were playing at war near by. The roaring of the Pike overpowered many a quiet session, and the patient speaker had not seldom to fight heroically with a brass band on the next lawn. The trains were delayed, trunks were mixed up, and the sultry St. Louis weather stirred much secret longing for the seashore and the mountains, which most had to leave too early for that pilgrimage to the Mississippi Valley. Yet all this could have been easily foreseen, and every one knew that all this would soon be forgotten. These slight discomforts were many times made up for by the overwhelming beauty of that ivory city in which the civilization of the world was focused by the united energy of the nations, and it seemed well worth while to cross the ocean for the delight of that enchantment which came with every evening's myriad illumination. And every day brought interesting festivities. No one will forget the receptions of the foreign commissioners, or the charming hospitality of the leading citizens of St. Louis, or the enthusiastic banquet which brought one thousand speakers and presidents and official members of the Congress together as guests of the master mind of the Exposition, President Francis.

While the discomfort of external shortcomings was thus easily balanced, it is more doubtful whether the internal shortcomings of the work can be considered as fully compensated for. It would be impossible to overlook these defects in the realization of our plans, even if it may be acknowledged that they were unavoidable under the given conditions. The principal difficulty has been that many speakers have not really treated the topic for the discussion of which they were invited. This deviation from the plan took various forms. There was in some cases a fundamental attitude taken which did not harmonize with those logical principles which had led to the classification; for instance, we had sharply separated, for reasons fully stated above, the Division of History from the Division of Mental Sciences, including sociology; yet some papers for the Division of History clearly indicated sympathy with the traditional positivistic view, according to which history becomes simply a part of sociology. And similar variations of the general plan occur in almost every division. But there cannot be any objection to this secondary variety as long as the whole framework gives the primary uniformity. Certainly no one of the contributors is to be blamed for it; no one was pledged to the philosophy of the general plan, and probably few would have agreed if any one had had the idea of demanding from every contributor an identical background of general convictions. Such monotony would have been even harmful, as the work would have become inexpressive of the richness of tendencies in the scholarly life of our time. This was not an occasion where educated clerks were to work up in a secondhand way a report whose general trend was determined beforehand; the work demanded original thinkers, with whom every word grows out of a rich individual view of the totality. If every paper had been meant merely as a detailed amplification of the logical principles on which the whole plan was based, it would have been wiser to set young Doctor candidates to work, who might have elaborated the hint of the general scheme. To invite the leaders of knowledge meant to give them complete freedom and to confine the demands of the plan to a most general direction.

The same freedom, which every one was to have as to the general standpoint, was intended also for all with regard to the arrangement and limitation of the topic. All the sectional addresses were supposed to deal either with relations or with fundamental problems of to-day. It would have been absurd to demand that in every case the totality of relations or of problems should be covered or even touched. The result would have become perfunctory and insignificant. No one intended to produce a cyclopedia. It was essential everywhere to select that which was most characteristic of the tendencies of the age and most promising for the science of the twentieth century. Those problems were to be emphasized whose solution is most demanded for the immediate progress of knowledge, and those relations had to be selected through which new connections, new synthetic thoughts prepare themselves to-day. That this selection had to be left to the speaker was a matter of course.

Yet it may be said that in all these directions, with reference to the general standpoint and with reference to problems and relations, the Organizing Committee had somewhat prepared the choice through the selection of the speakers themselves. As the standpoints of the leading speakers were well known, it was not difficult to invite as far as possible for every place a scholar whose general views would be least out of harmony with the principles of the plan. For instance, when we had the task before us of selecting the divisional speakers for the Normative and for the Mental Sciences, it was only natural to invite for the first a philosopher of idealistic type and for the latter a philosopher of positivistic stamp, inasmuch as the whole scheme gave to the mental sciences the same place which they would have had in a positivistic scheme, while the normative sciences would have lost the meaning which they had in our plan if a positivist had simply psychologized them. In the same way we gave preference as far as possible, for the addresses on relations, to those scholars whose previous work was concerned with new synthetic movements, and as speakers on problems those were invited who were in any case engaged in the solution of those problems which seemed central in the present state of science. Thus it was that on the whole the expectation was justified that the most characteristic relations and the most characteristic problems would be selected if every invited speaker spoke essentially on those relations and on those problems with which his own special work was engaged.

Yet there is no doubt that this expectation was sometimes fulfilled beyond our anticipation, in an amount of specialization which was no longer entirely in harmony with the general character of the undertaking. The general problem has become sometimes only the starting-point or almost the pretext for speaking on some relation or problem so detailed that it can hardly stand as a representative symbol of the whole movement in that sectional field. Especially in the practical sciences more room was sometimes taken for particular hobbies and chance aspects than in the eyes of the originators the occasion may have called for. Yet on the whole this was the exception. The overwhelming majority of the addresses fulfilled nobly the high hopes of the Boards, and even in those exceptional cases where the speaker went his own way, it was usually such an original and stimulating expression of a strong personality that no one would care to miss this tone in the symphony of science.

Even now of course, though the Congress days have passed, and only typewritten manuscripts are left from all those September meetings, it would be easy to provide, by editorial efforts, for a greater uniformity and a smoother harmonization. Most of the authors would have been quite willing to retouch their addresses in the interest of greater objective uniformity and to accept the hint of an editorial committee in elaborating more fully some points and in condensing or eliminating others. Much was written in the desire to bring a certain thought for discussion before such an eminent audience, while the speaker would be ready to substitute other features of the subject for the permanent form of the printed volume. Yet such editorial supervision and transformation would be not only immodest but dangerous. We might risk gaining some external uniformity, but only to lose much of the freshness and immediacy and brilliancy of the first presentation. And who would dare to play the critical judge when the international contributors are the leaders of thought? There was therefore not the slightest effort made to suggest revision of the manuscripts, for which the whole responsibility must thus fall to the particular author. The reduction to a uniform language seemed, on the other hand, most natural, and those who had delivered their addresses in French, German, or Italian themselves welcomed the idea that their papers should be translated into English by competent specialists. The short bibliographies, selected mostly through the chairman of the departments, and the very full index with references may add to the general usefulness of the eight volumes in which the work is to be presented.

But the significance of the Congress of Arts and Science ought not to be measured and valued only by reference to this printed result. Its less visible side-effects seem in no way less important for scholarship, and they are fourfold. There was, first, the personal contact between the scholarly public and the leaders of thought; there was, secondly, the first academic alliance between the United States and Europe; there was, thirdly, the first demonstration of a world congress crystallized about one problem; there was, fourthly, the unique accentuation of the thought of unity in all human science; and each of these four movements will be continued and reinforced by the publication of these proceedings.

The first of these four features, the contact of the scholarly public with the best thinkers of our time, had, to be sure, its limitations. It was not sought to create a really popular congress. Neither the level of the addresses, nor the size of the halls, nor the number of invitations sent out, nor the general conditions of a world's fair at which the expense of living is high and the distractions thousandfold, favored the attendance of crowds. It was planned from the first that on the whole scholars and specialists should attend and that the army should be made up essentially of officers. If in an astronomical section perhaps thirty men were present, among whom practically every one was among the best known directors of observatories or professors of mathematics, astronomy, or physics, from all countries of the globe, much more was gained than if three thousand had been in the audience, brought together by an interest of curiosity in moon and stars. For the most part there must have been between a hundred and two hundred in each of the 128 sectional meetings, and that was more than the organizers expected. This direct influence on the interested public is now to be expanded a thousandfold by the mission work of these volumes. The concentration of these hundreds of addresses into a few days made it in any case impossible to listen to more than to a small fraction; these volumes will bring at last all speakers to coördinated effectiveness; and while one hall suffered from bad acoustics, another from bad ventilation, and a third from the passing of the intermural trains, here at least is an audience in which nothing will disturb the sensitive nerves of the willing follower.

But much more emphasis is due to the second feature. The Congress was an epoch-making event for the international world of scholarship from the fact that it was the first great undertaking in which the Old and the New Worlds stood on equal levels and in which Europe really became acquainted with the scientific life of these United States. The contact of scholarship between America and Europe has, indeed, grown in importance through many decades. Many American students had studied in European and especially in German universities and had come back to fill the professorial chairs of the leading academic institutions. The spirit of the Graduate School and the work towards the Doctor's degree, yes, the whole productive scholarship of recent decades had been influenced by European ideals, and the results were no longer ignored at the seats of learning throughout the whole world. European scholars had here and there come as visiting lecturers or as assimilated instructors, and a few American scholars belonged to the leading European Academies. Yet, whoever knew the real development of American post-graduate university life, the rapid advance of genuine American scholarship, the incomparable progress of the scientific institutions of the New World, of their libraries and laboratories, museums and associations, was well aware that Europe had hardly noticed and certainly not fully understood the gigantic strides of the country which seemed a rival only on commercial and industrial ground. Europe was satisfied with the traditional ideas of America's scientific standing which reflected the situation of thirty years ago, and did not understand that the changes of a few lustres mean in the New World more than under the firmer traditions of Europe. American scientific literature was still neglected; American universities treated in a condescending and patronizing spirit and with hardly any awareness of the fundamental differences in the institutions of the two sides. Those European scholars who crossed the ocean did it with missionary, or perhaps with less unselfish, intentions, and the Americans who attended European congresses were mostly treated with the friendliness which the self-satisfied teacher shows to a promising pupil. The time had really come when the contrast between the real situation and the traditional construction became a danger for the scientific life of the time. Both sides had to suffer from it. The Americans felt that their serious and important achievements did not come to their fullest effectiveness through the insistent neglect of those who by the tradition of centuries had become the habitual guardians of scientific thought. A kind of feeling of dependency as it usually develops in weak colonies too often depressed the conscientious scholarship on American soil as the result of this undue condescension. Yet the greater harm was to the other side. Once before Europe had had the experience of surprise when American successes presented themselves where nothing of that kind was anticipated in the Old World. It was in the field of economic life that Europe looked down patronizingly on America's industrial efforts, and yet before she was fully aware how the change resulted, suddenly the warning signal of the "American danger" was heard everywhere. The surprise in the intellectual field will not be less. The unpreparedness was certainly the same. Of course, there cannot be any danger of rivalry in the scientific field, inasmuch as science knows no competition but only coöperation. And yet it cannot be without danger for European science if it willfully neglects and recklessly ignores this eager working of the modern America. For both sides a change in the situation was thus not only desirable, but necessary; and to prepare this change, to substitute knowledge for ignorance, nothing could have been more effective than this Congress of Arts and Science.

Even if we abstract from the not inconsiderable number of those European scholars who followed naturally in the path of the invited guests, and if we consider merely the function of these invited participants, the importance of the procedure is evident. More than a hundred leading scholars from all European countries came under conditions where academic fellowship on an equal footing was a necessary part of the work. There was not the slightest premium held out which might have attracted them had not real inter-academic interest brought them over the ocean, and no missionary spirit was appealed to, as everything was equally divided between American and foreign contributors. It was a real feast of international scholarship, in which the importance and the number of foreigners stamped it as the first significant alliance of the spirit of learning in the New and the Old Worlds. And it was essentially for this purpose that the week of personal intermingling in St. Louis itself was preceded and followed by happy weeks of visits to leading universities. Almost every one of those one hundred European scholars visited Harvard and Yale, Chicago and Johns Hopkins, Columbia and Pennsylvania, saw the treasures of Washington and examined the exhibitions of American scholarship in the World's Fair itself. The change of opinion, the disappearance of prejudice, the growth of confidence, the personal intercollegiate ties which resulted from all that, have been evident since those days all over Europe. And it is not surprising that it is just the most famous and most important of the visitors, famous and important through their width and depth of view, whose expression of appreciation and admiration for the new achievements has been loudest.

We insisted that the effectiveness of the Congress showed itself in two other directions still: on the one side, there was at last a congress with a unified programme, a congress which stood for a definite thought, and which brought all its efforts to bear on the solution of one problem. There seemed a far-reaching agreement of opinion that this new principle of congress administration had successfully withstood the test of practical realization. Mere conglomerations of unconnected meetings with casual programmes and unrelated papers cannot claim any longer to represent the only possible form of international gatherings of scholars. More than that, their superfluous and disheartening character will be felt in future more strongly than before. No congress will appear fully justified whose printed proceedings do not show a real plan in its programme. And the consciousness of this mission of the Congress will certainly be again reinforced by the publication of these volumes, inasmuch as it is evident that they represent a substantial contribution to the knowledge of our time which would not have been made without the special stimulating occasion of the Congress.

And, finally, whether such a congress is held again or not, the impulse of this one cannot be lost on account of the special end to which all its efforts have been directed: the unity of scientific knowledge. We had emphasized from the first that here was the centre of our purposes in a time whose scientific specialization necessarily involves a scattering of scholarly work and which yet in its deepest meaning strives for a new synthesis, for a new unity, which is to give to all this scattered labor a real dignity and significance; truly nothing was more needed than an intense accentuation of the internal harmony of all human knowledge. But for that it is not enough that the masses feel instinctively the deep need of such unifying movements, nor is it enough that the philosophers point with logical arguments towards the new synthesis. The philosopher can only stand by and point the way; the specialists themselves must go the way. And here at last they have done so. Leaders of thought have interrupted their specialistic work and have left their detailed inquiries to seek the fundamental conceptions and methods and principles which bind all knowledge together, and thus to work towards that unity from which all special work derives its meaning. Whether or not their coöperation has produced anything which is final is a question almost insignificant compared with the fundamental fact that they coöperated at all for this ideal synthetic purpose. This fact can never lose its influence on the scholarly effort of our age, and will certainly find its strongest reinforcement in this unified publication. It has fulfilled its noblest purpose if it adds strength to the deepest movement of our time, the movement towards unity of meaning in the scattered manifoldness of scientific endeavor with which the twentieth century has opened.

Simon Newcomb, Ph.D., LL.D.

Dr. Newcomb, the famous Astronomer, is conceded to be the Dean of American scientists. His eminent services to the Government of the United States, and his recognized position in foreign and domestic scientific circles, made him peculiarly fitted to deliver the introductory address, and to officiate as President of an International Congress of the leading scientists of the world.

He has been the recipient of honorary degrees from six American and ten European Universities, and he is a member of almost every important Academy of Science in Europe and America. He is an officer of the Legion of Honour, and is the only native American besides Benjamin Franklin who has been elected an Associate of the Institute de France. From 1861 to 1897 he was Professor of Mathematics in the United States Navy. He also lectured on Mathematics and Astronomy at Johns Hopkins, and is now a Professor Emeritus in the Faculty of Arts of that university. Dr. Newcomb is the author of numerous works on Astronomy and other scientific subjects.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE CONGRESS

INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS

delivered at the opening exercises at festival hall by professor simon newcomb, president of the congress

THE EVOLUTION OF THE SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATOR

As we look at the assemblage gathered in this hall, comprising so many names of widest renown in every branch of learning,—we might almost say in every field of human endeavor,—the first inquiry suggested must be after the object of our meeting. The answer is, that our purpose corresponds to the eminence of the assemblage. We aim at nothing less than a survey of the realm of knowledge, as comprehensive as is permitted by the limitations of time and space. The organizers of our Congress have honored me with the charge of presenting such preliminary view of its field as may make clear the spirit of our undertaking.

Certain tendencies characteristic of the science of our day clearly suggest the direction of our thoughts most appropriate to the occasion. Among the strongest of these is one toward laying greater stress on questions of the beginning of things, and regarding a knowledge of the laws of development of any object of study as necessary to the understanding of its present form. It may be conceded that the principle here involved is as applicable in the broad field before us as in a special research into the properties of the minutest organism. It therefore seems meet that we should begin by inquiring what agency has brought about the remarkable development of science to which the world of to-day bears witness. This view is recognized in the plan of our proceedings, by providing for each great department of knowledge a review of its progress during the century that has elapsed since the great event commemorated by the scenes outside this hall. But such reviews do not make up that general survey of science at large which is necessary to the development of our theme, and which must include the action of causes that had their origin long before our time. The movement which culminated in making the nineteenth century ever memorable in history is the outcome of a long series of causes, acting through many centuries, which are worthy of especial attention on such an occasion as this. In setting them forth we should avoid laying stress on those visible manifestations which, striking the eye of every beholder, are in no danger of being overlooked, and search rather for those agencies whose activities underlie the whole visible scene, but which are liable to be blotted out of sight by the very brilliancy of the results to which they have given rise. It is easy to draw attention to the wonderful qualities of the oak; but from that very fact, it may be needful to point out that the real wonder lies concealed in the acorn from which it grew.

Our inquiry into the logical order of the causes which have made our civilization what it is to-day will be facilitated by bringing to mind certain elementary considerations—ideas so familiar that setting them forth may seem like citing a body of truisms—and yet so frequently overlooked, not only individually, but in their relation to each other, that the conclusion to which they lead may be lost to sight. One of these propositions is that psychical rather than material causes are those which we should regard as fundamental in directing the development of the social organism. The human intellect is the really active agent in every branch of endeavor,—the primum mobile of civilization,—and all those material manifestations to which our attention is so often directed are to be regarded as secondary to this first agency. If it be true that "in the world is nothing great but man; in man is nothing great but mind," then should the keynote of our discourse be the recognition of this first and greatest of powers.

Another well-known fact is that those applications of the forces of nature to the promotion of human welfare which have made our age what it is, are of such comparatively recent origin that we need go back only a single century to antedate their most important features, and scarcely more than four centuries to find their beginning. It follows that the subject of our inquiry should be the commencement, not many centuries ago, of a certain new form of intellectual activity.

Having gained this point of view, our next inquiry will be into the nature of that activity, and its relation to the stages of progress which preceded and followed its beginning. The superficial observer, who sees the oak but forgets the acorn, might tell us that the special qualities which have brought out such great results are expert scientific knowledge and rare ingenuity, directed to the application of the powers of steam and electricity. From this point of view the great inventors and the great captains of industry were the first agents in bringing about the modern era. But the more careful inquirer will see that the work of these men was possible only through a knowledge of the laws of nature, which had been gained by men whose work took precedence of theirs in logical order, and that success in invention has been measured by completeness in such knowledge. While giving all due honor to the great inventors, let us remember that the first place is that of the great investigators, whose forceful intellects opened the way to secrets previously hidden from men. Let it be an honor and not a reproach to these men, that they were not actuated by the love of gain, and did not keep utilitarian ends in view in the pursuit of their researches. If it seems that in neglecting such ends they were leaving undone the most important part of their work, let us remember that nature turns a forbidding face to those who pay her court with the hope of gain, and is responsive only to those suitors whose love for her is pure and undefiled. Not only is the special genius required in the investigator not that generally best adapted to applying the discoveries which he makes, but the result of his having sordid ends in view would be to narrow the field of his efforts, and exercise a depressing effect upon his activities. The true man of science has no such expression in his vocabulary as "useful knowledge." His domain is as wide as nature itself, and he best fulfills his mission when he leaves to others the task of applying the knowledge he gives to the world.

We have here the explanation of the well-known fact that the functions of the investigator of the laws of nature, and of the inventor who applies these laws to utilitarian purposes, are rarely united in the same person. If the one conspicuous exception which the past century presents to this rule is not unique, we should probably have to go back to Watt to find another.

From this viewpoint it is clear that the primary agent in the movement which has elevated man to the masterful position he now occupies, is the scientific investigator. He it is whose work has deprived plague and pestilence of their terrors, alleviated human suffering, girdled the earth with the electric wire, bound the continent with the iron way, and made neighbors of the most distant nations. As the first agent which has made possible this meeting of his representatives, let his evolution be this day our worthy theme. As we follow the evolution of an organism by studying the stages of its growth, so we have to show how the work of the scientific investigator is related to the ineffectual efforts of his predecessors.

In our time we think of the process of development in nature as one going continuously forward through the combination of the opposite processes of evolution and dissolution. The tendency of our thought has been in the direction of banishing cataclysms to the theological limbo, and viewing nature as a sleepless plodder, endowed with infinite patience, waiting through long ages for results. I do not contest the truth of the principle of continuity on which this view is based. But it fails to make known to us the whole truth. The building of a ship from the time that her keel is laid until she is making her way across the ocean is a slow and gradual process; yet there is a cataclysmic epoch opening up a new era in her history. It is the moment when, after lying for months or years a dead, inert, immovable mass, she is suddenly endowed with the power of motion, and, as if imbued with life, glides into the stream, eager to begin the career for which she was designed.

I think it is thus in the development of humanity. Long ages may pass during which a race, to all external observation, appears to be making no real progress. Additions may be made to learning, and the records of history may constantly grow, but there is nothing in its sphere of thought, or in the features of its life, that can be called essentially new. Yet, nature may have been all along slowly working in a way which evades our scrutiny until the result of her operations suddenly appears in a new and revolutionary movement, carrying the race to a higher plane of civilization.

It is not difficult to point out such epochs in human progress. The greatest of all, because it was the first, is one of which we find no record either in written or geological history. It was the epoch when our progenitors first took conscious thought of the morrow, first used the crude weapons which nature had placed within their reach to kill their prey, first built a fire to warm their bodies and cook their food. I love to fancy that there was some one first man, the Adam of evolution, who did all this, and who used the power thus acquired to show his fellows how they might profit by his example. When the members of the tribe or community which he gathered around him began to conceive of life as a whole,—to include yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow in the same mental grasp—to think how they might apply the gifts of nature to their own uses,—a movement was begun which should ultimately lead to civilization.

Long indeed must have been the ages required for the development of this rudest primitive community into the civilization revealed to us by the most ancient tablets of Egypt and Assyria. After spoken language was developed, and after the rude representation of ideas by visible marks drawn to resemble them had long been practiced, some Cadmus must have invented an alphabet. When the use of written language was thus introduced, the word of command ceased to be confined to the range of the human voice, and it became possible for master minds to extend their influence as far as a written message could be carried. Then were communities gathered into provinces; provinces into kingdoms; kingdoms into the great empires of antiquity. Then arose a stage of civilization which we find pictured in the most ancient records,—a stage in which men were governed by laws that were perhaps as wisely adapted to their conditions as our laws are to ours,—in which the phenomena of nature were rudely observed, and striking occurrences in the earth or in the heavens recorded in the annals of the nation.

Vast was the progress of knowledge during the interval between these empires and the century in which modern science began. Yet, if I am right in making a distinction between the slow and regular steps of progress, each growing naturally out of that which preceded it, and the entrance of the mind at some fairly definite epoch into an entirely new sphere of activity, it would appear that there was only one such epoch during the entire interval. This was when abstract geometrical reasoning commenced, and astronomical observations aiming at precision were recorded, compared, and discussed. Closely associated with it must have been the construction of the forms of logic. The radical difference between the demonstration of a theorem of geometry and the reasoning of every-day life which the masses of men must have practiced from the beginning, and which few even to-day ever get beyond, is so evident at a glance that I need not dwell upon it. The principal feature of this advance is that, by one of those antinomies of the human intellect of which examples are not wanting even in our own time, the development of abstract ideas preceded the concrete knowledge of natural phenomena. When we reflect that in the geometry of Euclid the science of space was brought to such logical perfection that even to-day its teachers are not agreed as to the practicability of any great improvement upon it, we cannot avoid the feeling that a very slight change in the direction of the intellectual activity of the Greeks would have led to the beginning of natural science. But it would seem that the very purity and perfection which was aimed at in their system of geometry stood in the way of any extension or application of its methods and spirit to the field of nature. One example of this is worthy of attention. In modern teaching the idea of magnitude as generated by motion is freely introduced. A line is described by a moving point; a plane by a moving line; a solid by a moving plane. It may, at first sight, seem singular that this conception finds no place in the Euclidian system. But we may regard the omission as a mark of logical purity and rigor. Had the real or supposed advantages of introducing motion into geometrical conceptions been suggested to Euclid, we may suppose him to have replied that the theorems of space are independent of time; that the idea of motion necessarily implies time, and that, in consequence, to avail ourselves of it would be to introduce an extraneous element into geometry.

It is quite possible that the contempt of the ancient philosophers for the practical application of their science, which has continued in some form to our own time, and which is not altogether unwholesome, was a powerful factor in the same direction. The result was that, in keeping geometry pure from ideas which did not belong to it, it failed to form what might otherwise have been the basis of physical science. Its founders missed the discovery that methods similar to those of geometric demonstration could be extended into other and wider fields than that of space. Thus not only the development of applied geometry, but the reduction of other conceptions to a rigorous mathematical form was indefinitely postponed.

Astronomy is necessarily a science of observation pure and simple, in which experiment can have no place except as an auxiliary. The vague accounts of striking celestial phenomena handed down by the priests and astrologers of antiquity were followed in the time of the Greeks by observations having, in form at least, a rude approach to precision, though nothing like the degree of precision that the astronomer of to-day would reach with the naked eye, aided by such instruments as he could fashion from the tools at the command of the ancients.

The rude observations commenced by the Babylonians were continued with gradually improving instruments,—first by the Greeks and afterward by the Arabs,—but the results failed to afford any insight into the true relation of the earth to the heavens. What was most remarkable in this failure is that, to take a first step forward which would have led on to success, no more was necessary than a course of abstract thinking vastly easier than that required for working out the problems of geometry. That space is infinite is an unexpressed axiom, tacitly assumed by Euclid and his successors. Combining this with the most elementary consideration of the properties of the triangle, it would be seen that a body of any given size could be placed at such a distance in space as to appear to us like a point. Hence a body as large as our earth, which was known to be a globe from the time that the ancient Phœnicians navigated the Mediterranean, if placed in the heavens at a sufficient distance, would look like a star. The obvious conclusion that the stars might be bodies like our globe, shining either by their own light or by that of the sun, would have been a first step to the understanding of the true system of the world.

There is historic evidence that this deduction did not wholly escape the Greek thinkers. It is true that the critical student will assign little weight to the current belief that the vague theory of Pythagoras—that fire was at the centre of all things—implies a conception of the heliocentric theory of the solar system. But the testimony of Archimedes, confused though it is in form, leaves no serious doubt that Aristarchus of Samos not only propounded the view that the earth revolves both on its own axis and around the sun, but that he correctly removed the great stumbling-block in the way of this theory by adding that the distance of the fixed stars was infinitely greater than the dimensions of the earth's orbit. Even the world of philosophy was not yet ready for this conception, and, so far from seeing the reasonableness of the explanation, we find Ptolemy arguing against the rotation of the earth on grounds which careful observations of the phenomena around him would have shown to be ill-founded.

Physical science, if we can apply that term to an uncoördinated body of facts, was successfully cultivated from the earliest times. Something must have been known of the properties of metals, and the art of extracting them from their ores must have been practiced, from the time that coins and medals were first stamped. The properties of the most common compounds were discovered by alchemists in their vain search for the philosopher's stone, but no actual progress worthy of the name rewarded the practitioners of the black art.

Perhaps the first approach to a correct method was that of Archimedes, who by much thinking worked out the law of the lever, reached the conception of the centre of gravity, and demonstrated the first principles of hydrostatics. It is remarkable that he did not extend his researches into the phenomena of motion, whether spontaneous or produced by force. The stationary condition of the human intellect is most strikingly illustrated by the fact that not until the time of Leonardo was any substantial advance made on his discovery. To sum up in one sentence the most characteristic feature of ancient and medieval science, we see a notable contrast between the precision of thought implied in the construction and demonstration of geometrical theorems and the vague indefinite character of the ideas of natural phenomena generally, a contrast which did not disappear until the foundations of modern science began to be laid.

We should miss the most essential point of the difference between medieval and modern learning if we looked upon it as mainly a difference either in the precision or the amount of knowledge. The development of both of these qualities would, under any circumstances, have been slow and gradual, but sure. We can hardly suppose that any one generation, or even any one century, would have seen the complete substitution of exact for inexact ideas. Slowness of growth is as inevitable in the case of knowledge as in that of a growing organism. The most essential point of difference is one of those seemingly slight ones, the importance of which we are too apt to overlook. It was like the drop of blood in the wrong place, which some one has told us makes all the difference between a philosopher and a maniac. It was all the difference between a living tree and a dead one, between an inert mass and a growing organism. The transition of knowledge from the dead to the living form must, in any complete review of the subject, be looked upon as the really great event of modern times. Before this event the intellect was bound down by a scholasticism which regarded knowledge as a rounded whole, the parts of which were written in books and carried in the minds of learned men. The student was taught from the beginning of his work to look upon authority as the foundation of his beliefs. The older the authority the greater the weight it carried. So effective was this teaching that it seems never to have occurred to individual men that they had all the opportunities ever enjoyed by Aristotle of discovering truth, with the added advantage of all his knowledge to begin with. Advanced as was the development of formal logic, that practical logic was wanting which could see that the last of a series of authorities, every one of which rested on those which preceded it, could never form a surer foundation for any doctrine than that supplied by its original propounder.

The result of this view of knowledge was that, although during the fifteen centuries following the death of the geometer of Syracuse great universities were founded at which generations of professors expounded all the learning of their time, neither professor nor student ever suspected what latent possibilities of good were concealed in the most familiar operations of nature. Every one felt the wind blow, saw water boil, and heard the thunder crash, but never thought of investigating the forces here at play. Up to the middle of the fifteenth century the most acute observer could scarcely have seen the dawn of a new era.

In view of this state of things, it must be regarded as one of the most remarkable facts in evolutionary history that four or five men, whose mental constitution was either typical of the new order of things or who were powerful agents in bringing it about, were all born during the fifteenth century, four of them at least at so nearly the same time as to be contemporaries.

Leonardo da Vinci, whose artistic genius has charmed succeeding generations, was also the first practical engineer of his time, and the first man after Archimedes to make a substantial advance in developing the laws of motion. That the world was not prepared to make use of his scientific discoveries does not detract from the significance which must attach to the period of his birth.

Shortly after him was born the great navigator whose bold spirit was to make known a new world, thus giving to commercial enterprise that impetus which was so powerful an agent in bringing about a revolution in the thoughts of men.

The birth of Columbus was soon followed by that of Copernicus, the first after Aristarchus to demonstrate the true system of the world. In him more than in any of his contemporaries do we see the struggle between the old forms of thought and the new. It seems almost pathetic and is certainly most suggestive of the general view of knowledge taken at that time that, instead of claiming credit for bringing to light great truths before unknown, he made a labored attempt to show that, after all, there was nothing really new in his system, which he claimed to date from Pythagoras and Philolaus. In this connection it is curious that he makes no mention of Aristarchus, who I think will be regarded by conservative historians as his only demonstrated predecessor. To the hold of the older ideas upon his mind we must attribute the fact that in constructing his system he took great pains to make as little change as possible in ancient conceptions.

Luther, the greatest thought-stirrer of them all, practically of the same generation with Copernicus, Leonardo, and Columbus, does not come in as a scientific investigator, but as the great loosener of chains which had so fettered the intellect of men that they dared not think otherwise than as the authorities thought.

Almost coeval with the advent of these intellects was the invention of printing with movable type. Gutenberg was born during the first decade of the century, and his associates and others credited with the invention not many years afterward. If we accept the principle on which I am basing my argument, that we should assign the first place to the birth of those psychic agencies which started men on new lines of thought, then surely was the fifteenth the wonderful century.

Let us not forget that, in assigning the actors then born to their places, we are not narrating history, but studying a special phase of evolution. It matters not for us that no university invited Leonardo to its halls, and that his science was valued by his contemporaries only as an adjunct to the art of engineering. The great fact still is that he was the first of mankind to propound laws of motion. It is not for anything in Luther's doctrines that he finds a place in our scheme. No matter for us whether they were sound or not. What he did toward the evolution of the scientific investigator was to show by his example that a man might question the best-established and most venerable authority and still live—still preserve his intellectual integrity—still command a hearing from nations and their rulers. It matters not for us whether Columbus ever knew that he had discovered a new continent. His work was to teach that neither hydra, chimera, nor abyss—neither divine injunction nor infernal machination—was in the way of men visiting every part of the globe, and that the problem of conquering the world reduced itself to one of sails and rigging, hull and compass. The better part of Copernicus was to direct man to a viewpoint whence he should see that the heavens were of like matter with the earth. All this done, the acorn was planted from which the oak of our civilization should spring. The mad quest for gold which followed the discovery of Columbus, the questionings which absorbed the attention of the learned, the indignation excited by the seeming vagaries of a Paracelsus, the fear and trembling lest the strange doctrine of Copernicus should undermine the faith of centuries, were all helps to the germination of the seed—stimuli to thought which urged it on to explore the new fields opened up to its occupation. This given, all that has since followed came out in regular order of development, and need be here considered only in those phases having a special relation to the purpose of our present meeting.

So slow was the growth at first that the sixteenth century may scarcely have recognized the inauguration of a new era. Torricelli and Benedetti were of the third generation after Leonardo, and Galileo, the first to make a substantial advance upon his theory, was born more than a century after him. Only two or three men appeared in a generation who, working alone, could make real progress in discovery, and even these could do little in leavening the minds of their fellow men with the new ideas.

Up to the middle of the seventeenth century an agent which all experience since that time shows to be necessary to the most productive intellectual activity was wanting. This was the attraction of like minds, making suggestions to each other, criticising, comparing, and reasoning. This element was introduced by the organization of the Royal Society of London and the Academy of Sciences of Paris.

The members of these two bodies seem like ingenious youth suddenly thrown into a new world of interesting objects, the purposes and relations of which they had to discover. The novelty of the situation is strikingly shown in the questions which occupied the minds of the incipient investigators. One natural result of British maritime enterprise was that the aspirations of the Fellows of the Royal Society were not confined to any continent or hemisphere. Inquiries were sent all the way to Batavia to know "whether there be a hill in Sumatra which burneth continually, and a fountain which runneth pure balsam." The astronomical precision with which it seemed possible that physiological operations might go on was evinced by the inquiry whether the Indians can so prepare that stupefying herb Datura that "they make it lie several days, months, years, according as they will, in a man's body without doing him any harm, and at the end kill him without missing an hour's time." Of this continent one of the inquiries was whether there be a tree in Mexico that yields water, wine, vinegar, milk, honey, wax, thread, and needles.

Among the problems before the Paris Academy of Sciences those of physiology and biology took a prominent place. The distillation of compounds had long been practiced, and the fact that the more spirituous elements of certain substances were thus separated naturally led to the question whether the essential essences of life might not be discoverable in the same way. In order that all might participate in the experiments, they were conducted in open session of the Academy, thus guarding against the danger of any one member obtaining for his exclusive personal use a possible elixir of life. A wide range of the animal and vegetable kingdom, including cats, dogs, and birds of various species, were thus analyzed. The practice of dissection was introduced on a large scale. That of the cadaver of an elephant occupied several sessions, and was of such interest that the monarch himself was a spectator.

To the same epoch with the formation and first work of these two bodies belongs the invention of a mathematical method which in its importance to the advance of exact science may be classed with the invention of the alphabet in its relation to the progress of society at large. The use of algebraic symbols to represent quantities had its origin before the commencement of the new era, and gradually grew into a highly developed form during the first two centuries of that era. But this method could represent quantities only as fixed. It is true that the elasticity inherent in the use of such symbols permitted of their being applied to any and every quantity; yet, in any one application, the quantity was considered as fixed and definite. But most of the magnitudes of nature are in a state of continual variation; indeed, since all motion is variation, the latter is a universal characteristic of all phenomena. No serious advance could be made in the application of algebraic language to the expression of physical phenomena until it could be so extended as to express variation in quantities, as well as the quantities themselves. This extension, worked out independently by Newton and Leibnitz, may be classed as the most fruitful of conceptions in exact science. With it the way was opened for the unimpeded and continually accelerated progress of the last two centuries.

The feature of this period which has the closest relation to the purpose of our coming together is the seemingly unending subdivision of knowledge into specialties, many of which are becoming so minute and so isolated that they seem to have no interest for any but their few pursuers. Happily science itself has afforded a corrective for its own tendency in this direction. The careful thinker will see that in these seemingly diverging branches common elements and common principles are coming more and more to light. There is an increasing recognition of methods of research, and of deduction, which are common to large branches, or to the whole of science. We are more and more recognizing the principle that progress in knowledge implies its reduction to more exact forms, and the expression of its ideas in language more or less mathematical. The problem before the organizers of this Congress was, therefore, to bring the sciences together, and seek for the unity which we believe underlies their infinite diversity.

The assembling of such a body as now fills this hall was scarcely possible in any preceding generation, and is made possible now only through the agency of science itself. It differs from all preceding international meetings by the universality of its scope, which aims to include the whole of knowledge. It is also unique in that none but leaders have been sought out as members. It is unique in that so many lands have delegated their choicest intellects to carry on its work. They come from the country to which our republic is indebted for a third of its territory, including the ground on which we stand; from the land which has taught us that the most scholarly devotion to the languages and learning of the cloistered past is compatible with leadership in the practical application of modern science to the arts of life; from the island whose language and literature have found a new field and a vigorous growth in this region; from the last seat of the holy Roman Empire; from the country which, remembering a monarch who made an astronomical observation at the Greenwich Observatory, has enthroned science in one of the highest places in its government; from the peninsula so learned that we have invited one of its scholars to come and tell us of our own language; from the land which gave birth to Leonardo, Galileo, Torricelli, Columbus, Volta—what an array of immortal names!—from the little republic of glorious history which, breeding men rugged as its eternal snow-peaks, has yet been the seat of scientific investigation since the day of the Bernoullis; from the land whose heroic dwellers did not hesitate to use the ocean itself to protect it against invaders, and which now makes us marvel at the amount of erudition compressed within its little area; from the nation across the Pacific, which, by half a century of unequaled progress in the arts of life, has made an important contribution to evolutionary science through demonstrating the falsity of the theory that the most ancient races are doomed to be left in the rear of the advancing age—in a word, from every great centre of intellectual activity on the globe I see before me eminent representatives of that world-advance in knowledge which we have met to celebrate. May we not confidently hope that the discussions of such an assemblage will prove pregnant of a future for science which shall outshine even its brilliant past?

Gentlemen and scholars all! You do not visit our shores to find great collections in which centuries of humanity have given expression on canvas and in marble to their hopes, fears, and aspirations. Nor do you expect institutions and buildings hoary with age. But as you feel the vigor latent in the fresh air of these expansive prairies, which has collected the products of human genius by which we are here surrounded, and, I may add, brought us together; as you study the institutions which we have founded for the benefit, not only of our own people, but of humanity at large; as you meet the men who, in the short space of one century, have transformed this valley from a savage wilderness into what it is to-day—then may you find compensation for the want of a past like yours by seeing with prophetic eye a future world-power of which this region shall be the seat. If such is to be the outcome of the institutions which we are now building up, then may your present visit be a blessing both to your posterity and ours by making that power one for good to all mankind. Your deliberations will help to demonstrate to us and to the world at large that the reign of law must supplant that of brute force in the relations of the nations, just as it has supplanted it in the relations of individuals. You will help to show that the war which science is now waging against the sources of diseases, pain, and misery offers an even nobler field for the exercise of heroic qualities than can that of battle. We hope that when, after your all too fleeting sojourn in our midst, you return to your own shores, you will long feel the influence of the new air you have breathed in an infusion of increased vigor in pursuing your varied labors. And if a new impetus is thus given to the great intellectual movement of the past century, resulting not only in promoting the unification of knowledge, but in widening its field through new combinations of effort on the part of its votaries, the projectors, organizers, and supporters of this Congress of Arts and Science will be justified of their labors.

DIVISION A—NORMATIVE SCIENCE

DIVISION A—NORMATIVE SCIENCE

Speaker: Professor Josiah Royce, Harvard University

(Hall 6, September 20, 10 a. m.)

THE SCIENCES OF THE IDEAL

BY JOSIAH ROYCE

[Josiah Royce, Professor of History of Philosophy, Harvard University, since 1892. b. Grass Valley, Nevada County, California, November 20, 1855. A.B. University of California, 1875; Ph.D. Johns Hopkins 1878; LL.D. University of Aberdeen, Scotland; LL.D. Johns Hopkins. Instructor in English Literature and Logic, University of California, 1878-82. Instructor and Assistant Professor, Harvard University, 1882-92. Author of Religious Aspect of Philosophy; History of California; The Feud of Oakfield Creek; The Spirit of Modern Philosophy; Studies of Good and Evil; The World and the Individual; Gifford Lectures; and numerous other works and memoirs.]

I shall not attempt, in this address, either to justify or to criticise the name, normative science, under which the doctrines which constitute this division are grouped. It is enough for my purpose to recognize at the outset that I am required, by the plans of this Congress, to explain what scientific interests seem to me to be common to the work of the philosophers and of the mathematicians. The task is one which makes severe demands upon the indulgence of the listener, and upon the expository powers of the speaker, but it is a task for which the present age has well prepared the way. The spirit which Descartes and Leibnitz illustrated seems likely soon to become, in a new and higher sense, prominent in science. The mathematicians are becoming more and more philosophical. The philosophers, in the near future, will become, I believe, more and more mathematical. It is my office to indicate, as well as the brief time and my poor powers may permit, why this ought to be so.

To this end I shall first point out what is that most general community of interest which unites all the sciences that belong to our division. Then I shall indicate what type of recent and special scientific work most obviously bears upon the tasks of all of us alike. Thirdly, I shall state some results and problems to which this type of scientific work has given rise, and shall try to show what promise we have of an early increase of insight regarding our common interests.

I

The most general community of interest which unites the various scientific activities that belong to our division is this: We are all concerned with what may be called ideal truth, as distinct from physical truth. Some of us also have a strong interest in physical truth; but none of us lack a notable and scientific concern for the realm of ideas, viewed as ideas.

Let me explain what I mean by these terms. Whoever studies physical truth (taking that term in its most general sense) seeks to observe, to collate, and, in the end, to control, facts which he regards as external to his own thought. But instead of thus looking mainly without, it is possible for a man chiefly to take account, let us say, of the consequences of his own hypothetical assumptions—assumptions which may possess but a very remote relation to the physical world. Or again, it is possible for such a student to be mainly devoted to reflecting upon the formal validity of his own inferences, or upon the meaning of his own presuppositions, or upon the value and the interrelation of human ideals. Any such scientific work, reflective, considerate principally of the thinker's own constructions and purposes, or of the constructions and purposes of humanity in general, is a pursuit of ideal truth. The searcher who is mainly devoted to the inquiry into what he regards as external facts, is indeed active; but his activity is moulded by an order of existence which he conceives as complete apart from his activity. He is thoughtful; but a power not himself assigns to him the problems about which he thinks. He is guided by ideals; but his principal ideal takes the form of an acceptance of the world as it is, independently of his ideals. His dealings are with nature. His aim is the conquest of a foreign realm. But the student of what may be called, in general terms, ideal truth, while he is devoted as his fellow, the observer of outer nature, to the general purpose of being faithful to the verity as he finds it, is still aware that his own way of finding, or his own creative activity as an inventor of hypotheses, or his own powers of inference, or his conscious ideals, constitute in the main the object into which he is inquiring, and so form an essential aspect of the sort of verity which he is endeavoring to discover. The guide, then, of such a student is, in a peculiar sense, his own reason. His goal is the comprehension of his own meaning, the conscious and thoughtful conquest of himself. His great enemy is not the mystery of outer nature, but the imperfection of his reflective powers. He is, indeed, as unwilling as is any scientific worker to trust private caprices. He feels as little as does the observer of outer facts, that he is merely noting down, as they pass, the chance products of his arbitrary fantasy. For him, as for any scientific student, truth is indeed objective; and the standards to which he conforms are eternal. But his method is that of an inner considerateness rather than of a curiosity about external phenomena. His objective world is at the same time an essentially ideal world, and the eternal verity in whose light he seeks to live has, throughout his undertakings, a peculiarly intimate relation to the purposes of his own constructive will.

One may then sum up the difference of attitude which is here in question by saying that, while the student of outer nature is explicitly conforming his plans of action, his ideas, his ideals, to an order of truth which he takes to be foreign to himself—the student of the other sort of truth, here especially in question, is attempting to understand his own plans of action, that is, to develop his ideas, or to define his ideals, or else to do both these things.

Now it is not hard to see that this search for some sort of ideal truth is indeed characteristic of every one of the investigations which have been grouped together in our division of the normative sciences. Pure mathematics shares in common with philosophy this type of scientific interest in ideal, as distinct from physical or phenomenal truth. There is, to be sure, a marked contrast between the ways in which the mathematician and the philosopher approach, select, and elaborate their respective sorts of problems. But there is also a close relation between the two types of investigation in question. Let us next consider both the contrast and the analogy in some of their other most general features.

Pure mathematics is concerned with the investigation of the logical consequences of certain exactly stateable postulates or hypotheses—such, for instance, as the postulates upon which arithmetic and analysis are founded, or such as the postulates that lie at the basis of any type of geometry. For the pure mathematician, the truth of these hypotheses or postulates depends, not upon the fact that physical nature contains phenomena answering to the postulates, but solely upon the fact that the mathematician is able, with rational consistency, to state these assumed first principles, and to develop their consequences. Dedekind, in his famous essay, "Was Sind und Was Sollen die Zahlen," called the whole numbers "freie Schöpfungen des Menschlichen Geistes;" and, in fact, we need not enter into any discussion of the psychology of our number concept in order to be able to assert that, however we men first came by our conception of the whole numbers, for the mathematician the theory of numerical truth must appear simply as the logical development of the consequences of a few fundamental first principles, such as those which Dedekind himself, or Peano, or other recent writers upon this topic, have, in various forms, stated. A similar formal freedom marks the development of any other theory in the realm of pure mathematics. Pure geometry, from the modern point of view, is neither a doctrine forced upon the human mind by the constitution of any primal form of intuition, nor yet a branch of physical science, limited to describing the spatial arrangement of phenomena in the external world. Pure geometry is the theory of the consequences of certain postulates which the geometer is at liberty consistently to make; so that there are as many types of geometry as there are consistent systems of postulates of that generic type of which the geometer takes account. As is also now well known, it has long been impossible to define pure mathematics as the science of quantity, or to limit the range of the exactly stateable hypotheses or postulates with which the mathematician deals to the world of those objects which, ideally speaking, can be viewed as measurable. For the ideally defined measurable objects are by no means the only ones whose properties can be stated in the form of exact postulates or hypotheses; and the possible range of pure mathematics, if taken in the abstract, and viewed apart from any question as to the value of given lines of research, appears to be identical with the whole realm of the consequences of exactly stateable ideal hypotheses of every type.

One limitation must, however, be mentioned, to which the assertion just made is, in practice, obviously subject. And this is, indeed, a momentous limitation. The exactly stated ideal hypotheses whose consequences the mathematician develops must possess, as is sometimes said, sufficient intrinsic importance to be worthy of scientific treatment. They must not be trivial hypotheses. The mathematician is not, like the solver of chess problems, merely displaying his skill in dealing with the arbitrary fictions of an ideal game. His truth is, indeed, ideal; his world is, indeed, treated by his science as if this world were the creation of his postulates a "freie Schöpfung." But he does not thus create for mere sport. On the contrary, he reports a significant order of truth. As a fact, the ideal systems of the pure mathematician are customarily defined with an obvious, even though often highly abstract and remote, relation to the structure of our ordinary empirical world. Thus the various algebras which have been actually developed have, in the main, definite relations to the structure of the space world of our physical experience. The different systems of ideal geometry, even in all their ideality, still cluster, so to speak, about the suggestions which our daily experience of space and of matter give us. Yet I suppose that no mathematician would be disposed, at the present time, to accept any brief definition of the degree of closeness or remoteness of relation to ordinary experience which shall serve to distinguish a trivial from a genuinely significant branch of mathematical theory. In general, a mathematician who is devoted to the theory of functions, or to group theory, appears to spend little time in attempting to show why the development of the consequences of his postulates is a significant enterprise. The concrete mathematical interest of his inquiry sustains him in his labors, and wins for him the sympathy of his fellows. To the questions, "Why consider the ideal structure of just this system of object at all?" "Why study various sorts of numbers, or the properties of functions, or of groups, or the system of points in projective geometry?"—the pure mathematician in general, cares to reply only, that the topic of his special investigation appears to him to possess sufficient mathematical interest. The freedom of his science thus justifies his enterprise. Yet, as I just pointed out, this freedom is never mere caprice. This ideal interest is not without a general relation to the concerns even of common sense. In brief, as it seems at once fair to say, the pure mathematician is working under the influence of more or less clearly conscious philosophical motives. He does not usually attempt to define what distinguishes a significant from a trivial system of postulates, or what constitutes a problem worth attacking from the point of view of pure mathematics. But he practically recognizes such a distinction between the trivial and the significant regions of the world of ideal truth, and since philosophy is concerned with the significance of ideas, this recognition brings the mathematician near in spirit to the philosopher.

Such, then, is the position of the pure mathematician. What, by way of contrast, is that of the philosopher? We may reply that to state the formal consequences of exact assumptions is one thing; to reflect upon the mutual relations, and the whole significance of such assumptions, does indeed involve other interests; and these other interests are the ones which directly carry us over to the realm of philosophy. If the theory of numbers belongs to pure mathematics, the study of the place of the number concept in the system of human ideas belongs to philosophy. Like the mathematician, the philosopher deals directly with a realm of ideal truth. But to unify our knowledge, to comprehend its sources, its meaning, and its relations to the whole of human life, these aims constitute the proper goal of the philosopher. In order, however, to accomplish his aims, the philosopher must, indeed, take account of the results of the special physical science; but he must also turn from the world of outer phenomena to an ideal world. For the unity of things is never, for us mortals, anything that we find given in our experience. You cannot see the unity of knowledge; you cannot describe it as a phenomenon. It is for us now, an ideal. And precisely so, the meaning of things, the relation of knowledge to life, the significance of our ideals, their bearing upon one another—these are never, for us men, phenomenally present data. Hence the philosopher, however much he ought, as indeed he ought, to take account of phenomena, and of the results of the special physical sciences, is quite as deeply interested in his own way, as the mathematician is interested in his way, in the consideration of an ideal realm. Only, unlike the mathematician, the philosopher does not first abstract from the empirical suggestions upon which his exact ideas are actually based, and then content himself merely with developing the logical consequences of these ideas. On the contrary, his main interest is not in any idea or fact in so far as it is viewed by itself, but rather in the interrelations, in the common significance, in the unity, of all fundamental ideas, and in their relations both to the phenomenal facts and to life! On the whole, he, therefore, neither consents, like the student of a special science of experience, to seek his freedom solely through conformity to the phenomena which are to be described; nor is he content, like the pure mathematician, to win his truth solely through the exact definition of the formal consequences of his freely defined hypotheses. He is making an effort to discover the sense and the unity of the business of his own life.

It is no part of my purpose to attempt to show here how this general philosophical interest differentiates into the various interests of metaphysics, of the philosophy of religion, of ethics, of æsthetics, of logic. Enough—I have tried to illustrate how, while both the philosopher and the mathematician have an interest in the meaning of ideas rather than in the description of external facts, still there is a contrast which does, indeed, keep their work in large measure asunder, namely, the contrast due to the fact that the mathematician is directly concerned with developing the consequences of certain freely assumed systems of postulates or hypotheses; while the philosopher is interested in the significance, in the unity, and in the relation to life, of all the fundamental ideals and postulates of the human mind.

Yet not even thus do we sufficiently state how closely related the two tasks are. For this very contrast, as we have also suggested, is, even within its own limits, no final or perfectly sharp contrast. There is a deep analogy between the two tasks. For the mathematician, as we have just seen, is not evenly interested in developing the consequences of any and every system of freely assumed postulates. He is no mere solver of arbitrary ideal puzzles in general. His systems of postulates are so chosen as to be not trivial, but significant. They are, therefore, in fact, but abstractly defined aspects of the very system of eternal truth whose expression is the universe. In this sense the mathematician is as genuinely interested as is the philosopher in the significant use of his scientific freedom. On the other hand, the philosopher, in reflecting upon the significance and the unity of fundamental ideas, can only do so with success in case he makes due inquiry into the logical consequences of given ideas. And this he can accomplish only if, upon occasion, he employs the exact methods of the mathematician, and develops his systems of ideal truth with the precision of which only mathematical research is capable. As a fact, then, the mathematician and the philosopher deal with ideal truth in ways which are not only contrasted, but profoundly interconnected. The mathematician, in so far as he consciously distinguishes significant from trivial problems, and ideal systems, is a philosopher. The philosopher, in so far as he seeks exactness of logical method, in his reflection, must meanwhile aim to be, within his own limits, a mathematician. He, indeed, will not in future, like Spinoza, seek to reduce philosophy to the mere development, in mathematical form, of the consequences of certain arbitrary hypotheses. He will distinguish between a reflection upon the unity of the system of truth and an abstract development of this or that selected aspect of the system. But he will see more and more that, in so far as he undertakes to be exact, he must aim to become, in his own way, and with due regard to his own purposes, mathematical; and thus the union of mathematical and philosophical inquiries, in the future, will tend to become closer and closer.

II

So far, then, I have dwelt upon extremely general considerations relating to the unity and the contrast of mathematical and philosophical inquiries. I can well conceive, however, that the individual worker in any one of the numerous branches of investigation which are represented by the body of students whom I am privileged to address, may at this point mentally interpose the objection that all these considerations are, indeed, far too general to be of practical interest to any of us. Of course, all we who study these so-called normative sciences are, indeed, interested in ideas, for their own sakes—in ideas so distinct from, although of course also somehow related to, phenomena. Of course, some of us are rather devoted to the development of the consequences of exactly stated ideal hypotheses, and others to reflecting as we can upon what certain ideas and ideals are good for, and upon what the unity is of all ideas and ideals. Of course, if we are wise enough to do so, we have much to learn from one another. But, you will say, the assertion of all these things is a commonplace. The expression of the desire for further mutual coöperation is a pious wish. You will insist upon asking further: "Is there just now any concrete instance in a modern type of research which furnishes results such as are of interest to all of us? Are we actually doing any productive work in common? Are the philosophers contributing anything to human knowledge which has a genuine bearing upon the interests of mathematical science? Are the mathematicians contributing anything to philosophy?"

These questions are perfectly fair. Moreover, as it happens, they can be distinctly answered in the affirmative. The present age is one of a rapid advance in the actual unification of the fields of investigation which are included within the scope of this present division. What little time remains to me must be devoted to indicating, as well as I can, in what sense this is true. I shall have still to deal in very broad generalities. I shall try to make these generalities definite enough to be not wholly unfruitful.

We have already emphasized one question which may be said to interest, in a very direct way, both the mathematician and the philosopher. The ideal postulates, whose consequences mathematical science undertakes to develop, must be, we have said, significant postulates, involving ideas whose exact definition and exposition repay the labor of scientific scrutiny. Number, space, continuity, functional correspondence or dependence, group-structure—these are examples of such significant ideas; the postulates or ideal assumptions upon which the theory of such ideas depends are significant postulates, and are not the mere conventions of an arbitrary game. But now what constitutes the significance of an idea, or of an abstract mathematical theory? What gives an idea a worthy place in the whole scheme of human ideas? Is it the possibility of finding a physical application for a mathematical theory which for us decides what is the value of the theory? No, the theory of functions, the theory of numbers, group theory, have a significance which no mathematician would consent to measure in terms of the present applicability or non-applicability of these theories in physical science? In vain, then, does one attempt to use the test of applied mathematics as the main criticism of the value of a theory of pure mathematics. The value of an idea, for the sciences which constitute our division, is dependent upon the place which this idea occupies in the whole organized scheme or system of human ideas. The idea of number, for instance, familiar as its applications are, does not derive its main value from the fact that eggs and dollars and star-clusters can be counted, but rather from the fact that the idea of numbers has those relations to other fundamental ideas which recent logical theory has made prominent—relations, for instance, to the concept of order, to the theory of classes or collections of objects viewed in general, and to the metaphysical concept of the self. Relations of this sort, which the discussions of the number concept by Dedekind, Cantor, Peano, and Russell have recently brought to light—such relations, I say, constitute what truly justified Gauss in calling the theory of numbers a "divine science." As against such deeper relations, the countless applications of the number concept in ordinary life, and in science, are, from the truly philosophical point of view, of comparatively small moment. What we want, in the work of our division of the sciences, is to bring to light the unity of truth, either, as in mathematics, by developing systems of truth which are significant by virtue of their actual relations to this unity, or, as in philosophy, by explicitly seeking the central idea about which all the many ideas cluster.

Now, an ancient and fundamental problem for the philosophers is that which has been called the problem of the categories. This problem of the categories is simply the more formal aspect of the whole philosophical problem just defined. The philosopher aims to comprehend the unity of the system of human ideas and ideals. Well, then, what are the primal ideas? Upon what group of concepts do the other concepts of human science logically depend? About what central interests is the system of human ideals clustered? In ancient thought Aristotle already approached this problem in one way. Kant, in the eighteenth century, dealt with it in another. We students of philosophy are accustomed to regret what we call the excessive formalism of Kant, to lament that Kant was so much the slave of his own relatively superficial and accidental table of categories, and that he made the treatment of every sort of philosophical problem turn upon his own schematism. Yet we cannot doubt that Kant was right in maintaining that philosophy needs, for the successful development of every one of its departments, a well-devised and substantially complete system of categories. Our objection to Kant's over-confidence in the virtues of his own schematism is due to the fact that we do not now accept his table of categories as an adequate view of the fundamental concepts. The efforts of philosophers since Kant have been repeatedly devoted to the task of replacing his scheme of categories by a more adequate one. I am far from regarding these purely philosophical efforts made since Kant as fruitless, but they have remained, so far, very incomplete, and they have been held back from their due fullness of success by the lack of a sufficiently careful survey and analysis of the processes of thought as these have come to be embodied in the living sciences. Such concepts as number, quantity, space, time, cause, continuity, have been dealt with by the pure philosophers far too summarily and superficially. A more thoroughgoing analysis has been needed. But now, in comparatively recent times, there has developed a region of inquiry which one may call by the general name of modern logic. To the constitution of this new region of inquiry men have principally contributed who began as mathematicians, but who, in the course of their work, have been led to become more and more philosophers. Of late, however, various philosophers, who were originally in no sense mathematicians, becoming aware of the importance of the new type of research, are in their turn attempting both to assimilate and to supplement the undertakings which were begun from the mathematical side. As a result, the logical problem of the categories has to-day become almost equally a problem for the logicians of mathematics and for those students of philosophy who take any serious interest in exactness of method in their own branch of work. The result of this actual coöperation of men from both sides is that, as I think, we are to-day, for the first time, in sight of what is still, as I freely admit, a somewhat distant goal, namely, the relatively complete rational analysis and tabulation of the fundamental categories of human thought. That the student of ethics is as much interested in such an investigation as is the metaphysician, that the philosopher of religion needs a well-completed table of categories quite as much as does the pure logician, every competent student of such topics ought to admit. And that the enterprise in question keenly interests the mathematicians is shown by the prominent part which some of them have taken in the researches in question. Here, then, is the type of recent scientific work whose results most obviously bear upon the tasks of all of us alike.

A catalogue of the names of the workers in this wide field of modern logic would be out of place here. Yet one must, indeed, indicate what lines of research are especially in question. From the purely mathematical side, the investigations of the type to which I now refer may be viewed (somewhat arbitrarily) as beginning with that famous examination into one of the postulates of Euclid's geometry which gave rise to the so-called non-Euclidean geometry. The question here originally at issue was one of a comparatively limited scope, namely, the question whether Euclid's parallel-line postulate was a logical consequence of the other geometrical principles. But the investigation rapidly develops into a general study of the foundations of geometry—a study to which contributions are still almost constantly appearing. Somewhat independently of this line of inquiry there grew up, during the latter half of the nineteenth century, that reëxamination of the bases of arithmetic and analysis which is associated with the names of Dedekind, Weierstrass, and George Cantor. At the present time, the labors of a number of other inquirers (amongst whom we may mention the school of Peano and Pieri in Italy, and men such as Poincaré and Couturat in France, Hilbert in Germany, Bertrand Russell and Whitehead in England, and an energetic group of our American mathematicians—men such as Professor Moore, Professor Halsted, Dr. Huntington, Dr. Veblen, and a considerable number of others) have been added to the earlier researches. The result is that we have recently come for the first time to be able to see, with some completeness, what the assumed first principles of pure mathematics actually are. As was to be expected, these principles are capable of more than one formulation, according as they are approached from one side or from another. As was also to be expected, the entire edifice of pure mathematics, so far as it has yet been erected, actually rests upon a very few fundamental concepts and postulates, however you may formulate them. What was not observed, however, by the earlier, and especially by the philosophical, students of the categories, is the form which these postulates tend to assume when they are rigidly analyzed.

This form depends upon the precise definition and classification of certain types of relations. The whole of geometry, for instance, including metrical geometry, can be developed from a set of postulates which demand the existence of points that stand in certain ordinal relationships. The ordinal relationships can be reduced, according as the series of points considered is open or closed, either to the well-known relationship in which three points stand when one is between the other two upon a right line, or else to the ordinal relationship in which four points stand when they are separated by pairs; and these two ordinal relationships, by means of various logical devices, can be regarded as variations of a single fundamental form. Cayley and Klein founded the logical theory of geometry here in question. Russell, and in another way Dr. Veblen, have given it its most recent expressions. In the same way, the theory of whole numbers can be reduced to sets of principles which demand the existence of certain ideal objects in certain simple ordinal relations. Dedekind and Peano have worked out such ordinal theories of the number concept. In another development of the theory of the cardinal whole numbers, which Russell and Whitehead have worked out, ordinal concepts are introduced only secondarily, and the theory depends upon the fundamental relation of the equivalence or nonequivalence of collections of objects. But here also a certain simple type of relation determines the definitions and the development of the whole theory.

Two results follow from such a fashion of logically analyzing the first principles of mathematical science. In the first place, as just pointed out, we learn how few and simple are the conceptions and postulates upon which the actual edifice of exact science rests. Pure mathematics, we have said, is free to assume what it chooses. Yet the assumptions whose presence as the foundation principles of the actually existent pure mathematics an exhaustive examination thus reveals, show by their fewness that the ideal freedom of the mathematician to assume and to construct what he pleases, is indeed, in practice, a very decidedly limited freedom. The limitation is, as we have already seen, a limitation which has to do with the essential significance of the fundamental concepts in question. And so the result of this analysis of the bases of the actually developed and significant branches of mathematics, constitutes a sort of empirical revelation of what categories the exact sciences have practically found to be of such significance as to be worthy of exhaustive treatment. Thus the instinctive sense for significant truth, which has all along been guiding the development of mathematics, comes at least to a clear and philosophical consciousness. And meanwhile the essential categories of thought are seen in a new light.

The second result still more directly concerns a philosophical logic. It is this: Since the few types of relations which this sort of analysis reveals as the fundamental ones in exact science are of such importance, the logic of the present day is especially required to face the questions: What is the nature of our concept of relations? What are the various possible types of relations? Upon what does the variety of these types depend? What unity lies beneath the variety?

As a fact, logic, in its modern forms, namely, first that symbolic logic which Boole first formulated, which Mr. Charles S. Peirce and his pupils have in this country already so highly developed, and which Schroeder in Germany, Peano's school in Italy, and a number of recent English writers have so effectively furthered—and secondly, the logic of scientific method, which is now so actively pursued, in France, in Germany, and in the English-speaking countries—this whole movement in modern logic, as I hold, is rapidly approaching new solutions of the problem of the fundamental nature and the logic of relations. The problem is one in which we are all equally interested. To De Morgan in England, in an earlier generation, and, in our time, to Charles Peirce in this country, very important stages in the growth of these problems are due. Russell, in his work on the Principles of Mathematics has very lately undertaken to sum up the results of the logic of relations, as thus far developed, and to add his own interpretations. Yet I think that Russell has failed to get as near to the foundations of the theory of relations as the present state of the discussion permits. For Russell has failed to take account of what I hold to be the most fundamentally important generalization yet reached in the general theory of relations. This is the generalization set forth as early as 1890, by Mr. A. B. Kempe, of London, in a pair of wonderful but too much neglected, papers, entitled, respectively, The Theory of Mathematical Form, and The Analogy between the Logical Theory of Classes and the Geometrical Theory of Points. A mere hint first as to the more precise formulation of the problem at issue, and then later as to Kempe's special contribution to that problem, may be in order here, despite the impossibility of any adequate statement.

III

The two most obviously and universally important kinds of relations known to the exact sciences, as these sciences at present exist, are: (1) The relations of the type of equality or equivalence; and (2) the relations of the type of before and after, or greater and less. The first of these two classes of relations, namely, the class represented, although by no means exhausted, by the various relations actually called, in different branches of science by the one name equality, this class I say, might well be named, as I myself have proposed, the leveling relations. A collection of objects between any two of which some one relation of this type holds, may be said to be a collection whose members, in some defined sense or other, are on the same level. The second of these two classes of relations, namely, those of the type of before and after, or greater and less—this class of relations, I say, consists of what are nowadays often called the serial relations. And a collection of objects such that, if any pair of these objects be chosen, a determinate one of this pair stands to the other one of the same pair in some determinate relation of this second type, and in a relation which remains constant for all the pairs that can be thus formed out of the members of this collection—any such collection, I say, constitutes a one-dimensional open series. Thus, in case of a file of men, if you choose any pair of men belonging to the file, a determinate one of them is, in the file, before the other. In the number series, of any two numbers, a determinate one is greater than the other. Wherever such a state of affairs exists, one has a series.

Now these two classes of relations, the leveling relations and the serial relations, agree with one another, and differ from one another in very momentous ways. They agree with one another in that both the leveling and the serial relations are what is technically called transitive; that is, both classes conform to what Professor James has called the law of "skipped intermediaries." Thus, if A is equal to B, and B is equal to C, it follows that A is equal to C. If A is before B, and B is before C, then A is before C. And this property, which enables you in your reasonings about these relations to skip middle terms, and so to perform some operation of elimination, is the property which is meant when one calls relations of this type transitive. But, on the other hand, these two classes of relations differ from each other in that the leveling relations are, while the serial relations are not, symmetrical or reciprocal. Thus, if A is equal to B, B is equal to A. But if X is greater than Y, then Y is not greater than X, but less than X. So the leveling relations are symmetrical transitive relations. But the serial relations are transitive relations which are not symmetrical.

All this is now well known. It is notable, however, that nearly all the processes of our exact sciences, as at present developed, can be said to be essentially such as lead either to the placing of sets or classes of objects on the same level, by means of the use of symmetrical transitive relations, or else to the arranging of objects in orderly rows or series, by means of the use of transitive relations which are not symmetrical. This holds also of all the applications of the exact sciences. Whatever else you do in science (or, for that matter, in art), you always lead, in the end, either to the arranging of objects, or of ideas, or of acts, or of movements, in rows or series, or else to the placing of objects or ideas of some sort on the same level, by virtue of some equivalence, or of some invariant character. Thus numbers, functions, lines in geometry, give you examples of serial relations. Equations in mathematics are classic instances of leveling relations. So, of course, are invariants. Thus, again, the whole modern theory of energy consists of two parts, one of which has to do with levels of energy, in so far as the quantity of energy of a closed system remains invariant through all the transformations of the system, while the other part has to do with the irreversible serial order of the transformations of energy themselves, which follow a set of unsymmetrical relations, in so far as energy tends to fall from higher to lower levels of intensity within the same system.

The entire conceivable universe then, and all of our present exact science, can be viewed, if you choose, as a collection of objects or of ideas that, whatever other types of relations may exist, are at least largely characterized either by the leveling relations, or by the serial relations, or by complexes of both sorts of relations. Here, then, we are plainly dealing with very fundamental categories. The "between" relations of geometry can of course be defined, if you choose, in terms of transitive relations that are not symmetrical. There are, to be sure, some other relations present in exact science, but the two types, the serial and leveling relations, are especially notable.

So far the modern logicians have for some time been in substantial agreement. Russell's brilliant book is a development of the logic of mathematics very largely in terms of the two types of relations which, in my own way, I have just characterized; although Russell gives due regard, of course, to certain other types of relations.

But hereupon the question arises, "Are these two types of relations what Russell holds them to be, namely, ultimate and irreducible logical facts, unanalyzable categories—mere data for the thinker?" Or can we reduce them still further, and thus simplify yet again our view of the categories?

Here is where Kempe's generalization begins to come into sight. These two categories, in at least one very fundamental realm of exact thought, can be reduced to one. There is, namely, a world of ideal objects which especially interest the logician. It is the world of a totality of possible logical classes, or again, it is the ideal world, equivalent in formal structure to the foregoing, but composed of a totality of possible statements, or thirdly, it is the world, equivalent once more, in formal structure, to the foregoing, but consisting of a totality of possible acts of will, of possible decisions. When we proceed to consider the relational structure of such a world, taken merely in the abstract as such a structure, a relation comes into sight which at once appears to be peculiarly general in its nature. It is the so-called illative relation, the relation which obtains between two classes when one is subsumed under the other, or between two statements, or two decisions, when one implies or entails the other. This relation is transitive, but may be either symmetrical or not symmetrical; so that, according as it is symmetrical or not, it may be used either to establish levels or to generate series. In the order system of the logician's world, the relational structure is thus, in any case, a highly general and fundamental one.

But this is not all. In this the logician's world of classes, or of statements, or of decisions, there is also another relation observable. This is the relation of exclusion or mutual opposition. This is a purely symmetrical or reciprocal relation. It has two forms—obverse or contradictory opposition, that is, negation proper, and contrary opposition. But both these forms are purely symmetrical. And by proper devices each of them can be stated in terms of the other, or reduced to the other. And further, as Kempe incidentally shows, and as Mrs. Ladd Franklin has also substantially shown in her important theory of the syllogism, it is possible to state every proposition, or complex of propositions involving the illative relation, in terms of this purely symmetrical relation of opposition. Hence, so far as mere relational form is concerned, the illative relation itself may be wholly reduced to the symmetrical relation of opposition. This is our first result as to the relational structure of the realm of pure logic, that is, the realm of classes, of statements, or of decisions.

It follows that, in describing the logician's world of possible classes or of possible decisions, all unsymmetrical, and so all serial, relations can be stated solely in terms of symmetrical relations, and can be entirely reduced to such relations. Moreover, as Kempe has also very prettily shown, the relation of opposition, in its two forms, just mentioned, need not be interpreted as obtaining merely between pairs of objects. It may and does obtain between triads, tetrads, n-ads of logical entities; and so all that is true of the relations of logical classes may consequently be stated merely by ascribing certain perfectly symmetrical and homogeneous predicates to pairs, triads, tetrads, n-ads of logical objects. The essential contrast between symmetrical and unsymmetrical relations thus, in this ideal realm of the logician, simply vanishes. The categories of the logician's world of classes, of statements, or of decisions, are marvelously simple. All the relations present may be viewed as variations of the mere conception of opposition as distinct from non-opposition.

All this holds, of course, so far, merely for the logician's world of classes or of decisions. There, at least, all serial order can actually be derived from wholly symmetrical relations. But Kempe now very beautifully shows (and here lies his great and original contribution to our topic)—he shows, I say, that the ordinal relations of geometry, as well as of the number system, can all be regarded as indistinguishable from mere variations of those relations which, in pure logic, one finds to be the symmetrical relations obtaining within pairs or triads of classes or of statements. The formal identity of the geometrical relation called "between" with a purely logical relation which one can define as existing or as not existing amongst the members of a given triad of logical classes, or of logical statements, is shown by Kempe in a fashion that I cannot here attempt to expound. But Kempe's result thus enables one, as I believe, to simplify the theory of relations far beyond the point which Russell in his brilliant book has reached. For Kempe's triadic relation in question can be stated, in what he calls its obverse form, in perfectly symmetrical terms. And he proves very exactly that the resulting logical relation is precisely identical, in all its properties, with the fundamental ordinal relation of geometry.

Thus the order-systems of geometry and analysis appear simply as special cases of the more general order-system of pure logic. The whole, both of analysis and of geometry, can be regarded as a description of certain selected groups of entities, which are chosen, according to special rules, from a single ideal world. This general and inclusive ideal world consists simply of all the objects which can stand to one another in those symmetrical relations wherein the pure logician finds various statements, or various decisions inevitably standing. "Let me," says in substance Kempe, "choose from the logician's ideal world of classes or decisions, what entities I will; and I will show you a collection of objects that are in their relational structure, precisely identical with the points of a geometer's space of n dimensions." In other words, all of the geometer's figures and relations can be precisely pictured by the relational structure of a selected system of classes or of statements, whose relations are wholly and explicitly logical relations, such as opposition, and whose relations may all be regarded, accordingly, as reducible to a single type of purely symmetrical relation.

Thus, for all exact science, and not merely for the logician's special realm, the contrast between symmetrical and unsymmetrical relations proves to be, after all, superficial and derived. The purely logical categories, such as opposition, and such as hold within the calculus of statements, are, apparently, the basal categories of all the exact science that has yet been developed. Series and levels are relational structures that, sharply as they are contrasted, can be derived from a single root.

I have restated Kempe's generalization in my own way. I think it the most promising step towards new light as to the categories that we have made for some generations.

In the field of modern logic, I say, then, work is doing which is rapidly tending towards the unification of the tasks of our entire division. For this problem of the categories, in all its abstractness, is still a common problem for all of us. Do you ask, however, what such researches can do to furnish more special aid to the workers in metaphysics, in the philosophy of religion, in ethics, or in æsthetics, beyond merely helping towards the formulation of a table of categories—then I reply that we are already not without evidence that such general researches, abstract though they may seem, are bearing fruits which have much more than a merely special interest. Apart from its most general problems, that analysis of mathematical concepts to which I have referred has in any case revealed numerous unexpected connections between departments of thought which had seemed to be very widely sundered. One instance of such a connection I myself have elsewhere discussed at length, in its general metaphysical bearings. I refer to the logical identity which Dedekind first pointed out between the mathematical concept of the ordinal number of series and the philosophical concept of the formal structure of an ideally completed self. I have maintained that this formal identity throws light upon problems which have as genuine an interest for the student of the philosophy of religion as for the logician of arithmetic. In the same connection it may be remarked that, as Couturat and Russell, amongst other writers, have very clearly and beautifully shown, the argument of the Kantian mathematical antinomies needs to be explicitly and totally revised in the light of Cantor's modern theory of infinite collections. To pass at once to another, and a very different instance: The modern mathematical conceptions of what is called group theory have already received very wide and significant applications, and promise to bring into unity regions of research which, until recently, appeared to have little or nothing to do with one another. Quite lately, however, there are signs that group theory will soon prove to be of importance for the definition of some of the fundamental concepts of that most refractory branch of philosophical inquiry, æsthetics. Dr. Emch, in an important paper in the Monist, called attention, some time since, to the symmetry groups to which certain æsthetically pleasing forms belong, and endeavored to point out the empirical relations between these groups and the æsthetic effects in question. The grounds for such a connection between the groups in question and the observed æsthetic effects, seemed, in the paper of Dr. Emch to be left largely in the dark. But certain papers recently published in the country by Miss Ethel Puffer, bearing upon the psychology of the beautiful (although the author has approached the subject without being in the least consciously influenced, as I understand, by the conceptions of the mathematical group theory), still actually lead, if I correctly grasp the writer's meaning, to the doctrine that the æsthetic object, viewed as a psychological whole, must possess a structure closely, if not precisely, equivalent to the ideal structure of what the mathematician calls a group. I myself have no authority regarding æsthetic concepts, and speak subject to correction. But the unexpected, and in case of Miss Puffer's research, quite unintended, appearance of group theory in recent æsthetic analysis is to me an impressive instance of the use of relatively new mathematical conceptions in philosophical regions which seem, at first sight, very remote from mathematics.

That both the group concept and the concept of the self just suggested are sure to have also a wide application in the ethics of the future, I am myself well convinced. In fact, no branch of philosophy is without close relations to all such studies of fundamental categories.

These are but hints and examples. They suffice, I hope, to show that the workers in this division have deep common interests, and will do well, in future, to study the arts of coöperation, and to regard one another's progress with a watchful and cordial sympathy. In a word: Our common problem is the theory of the categories. That problem can be solved only by the coöperation of the mathematicians and of the philosophers.

THE UNIVERSITY OF PARIS IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY

Hand-painted Photogravure from a Painting by Otto Knille. Reproduced
from a Photograph of the Painting by permission of the
Berlin Photograph Co.

This famous painting is now in the University of Berlin. Thomas Aquinas, one of the greatest of the scholastic philosophers, surnamed the "Angelic Doctor," is delivering a learned discourse before King Louis IX. To the right of the King stands Joinville, the French chronicler. The Dominican monk with his hand to his face is Guillaume de Saint Amour, and Vincent de Beauvais, and another Dominican are seated with their backs to the platform desk from which Thomas Aquinas is making his animated address. The picture is thoroughly characteristic of a University disputation at the close of the Middle Ages.

DEPARTMENT I—PHILOSOPHY

DEPARTMENT I—PHILOSOPHY

(Hall 6, September 20, 11.15 a. m.)

In opening the Department of Philosophy, the Chairman, Professor Borden P. Bowne, LL.D., of Boston University, made an interesting address on the Philosophical Outlook. Professor Bowne said in part:—

I congratulate the members of the Philosophical Section on the improved outlook in philosophy. In the generation just passed, philosophy was somewhat at a discount. The great and rapid development of physical science and invention, together with the profound changes in biological thought, produced for a time a kind of chaos. New facts were showered upon us in great abundance, and we had no adequate philosophical preparation for dealing with them. Such a condition is always disturbing. The old mental equilibrium is overthrown and readjustment is a slow process. Besides, the shallow sense philosophy of that time readily lent itself to mechanical and materialistic interpretations, and for a while it seemed as if all the higher faiths of humanity were permanently discredited. All this has passed away. Philosophical criticism began its work and the naïve dogmatism of materialistic naturalism was soon disposed of. It quickly appeared that our trouble was not due to the new facts, but to the superficial philosophy by which they had been interpreted. Now that we have a better philosophy, we have come to live in perfect peace with the facts once thought disturbing, and even to welcome them as valuable additions to knowledge....

The brief naturalistic episode was not without instruction for us. It showed conclusively the great practical importance of philosophy. Had we had thirty years ago the current philosophical insight, the great development of the physical and biological sciences would have made no disturbance whatever. But being interpreted by a crude scheme of thought, it produced somewhat of a storm. Philosophy may not contribute much of positive value, but it certainly has an important negative function in the way of suppressing pretentious dogmatism and fictitious knowledge, which often lead men astray. It is these things which produce conflicts of science and religion or which find in evolution the solvent of all mysteries and the source of all knowledge.

Concerning the partition of territory between science and philosophy, there are two distinct questions respecting the facts of experience. First, we need to know the facts in their temporal and spatial order, and the way they hang together in a system of law. To get this knowledge is the function of science, and in this work science has inalienable rights and a most important practical function. This work cannot be done by speculation nor interfered with by authority of any kind. It is not surprising, then, that scientists in their sense of contact with reality should be indignant with, or feel contempt for, any who seek to limit or proscribe their research. But supposing this work all done, there remains another question respecting the causality and interpretation of the facts. This question belongs to philosophy. Science describes and registers the facts with their temporal and spatial laws; philosophy studies their causality and significance. And while the scientist justly ignores the philosopher who interferes with his inquiries, so the philosopher may justly reproach the scientist who fails to see that the scientific question does not touch the philosophic one....

In the field of metaphysics proper I note a strong tendency toward personal idealism, or as it might be called, Personalism; that is, the doctrine that substantial reality can be conceived only under the personal form and that all else is phenomenal. This is quite distinct from the traditional idealisms of mere conceptionism. It holds the essential fact to be a community of persons with a Supreme Person at their head while the phenomenal world is only expression and means of communication. And to this view we are led by the failure of philosophizing on the impersonal plane, which is sure to lose itself in contradiction and impossibility. Under the form of mechanical naturalism, with its tendencies to materialism and atheism, impersonalism has once more been judged and found wanting. We are not likely to have a recurrence of this view unless there be a return to philosophical barbarism. But impersonalism at the opposite pole in the form of abstract categories of being, causality, unity, identity, continuity, sufficient reason, etc., is equally untenable. Criticism shows that these categories when abstractly and impersonally taken cancel themselves. On the impersonal plane we can never reach unity from plurality, or plurality from unity; and we can never find change in identity, or identity in change. Continuity in time becomes mere succession without the notion of potentiality, and this in turn is empty. Existence itself is dispersed into nothingness through the infinite divisibility of space and time, while the law of the sufficient reason loses itself in barren tautology and the infinite regress. The necessary logical equivalence of cause and effect in any impersonal scheme makes all real explanation and progress impossible, and shuts us up to an unintelligible oscillation between potentiality and actuality, to which there is no corresponding thought....

Philosophy is still militant and has much work before it, but the omens are auspicious, the problems are better understood, and we are coming to a synthesis of the results of past generations of thinking which will be a very distinct progress. Philosophy has already done good service, and never better than in recent times, by destroying pretended knowledge and making room for the higher faiths of humanity. It has also done good service in helping these faiths to better rational form, and thus securing them against the defilements of superstition and the cavilings of hostile critics. With all its aberrations and shortcomings, philosophy deserves well of humanity.

PHILOSOPHY: ITS FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND ITS METHODS

BY GEORGE HOLMES HOWISON

[George Holmes Howison, Mills Professor of Intellectual and Moral Philosophy and Civil Polity, University of California. b. Montgomery County, Maryland, 1834. A.B. Marietta College, 1852; M.A. 1855; LL.D. ibid. 1883. Post-graduate, Lane Theological Seminary, University of Berlin, and Oxford. Headmaster High School, Salem, Mass., 1862-64; Assistant Professor of Mathematics, Washington University, St. Louis, 1864-66; Tileston Professor of Political Economy, ibid. 1866-69; Professor of Logic and the Philosophy of Science, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1871-79; Lecturer on Ethics, Harvard University, 1879-80; Lecturer on Logic and Speculative Philosophy, University of Michigan, 1883-84. Member and vice-president St. Louis Philosophical Society; member California Historical Society; American Historical Association; American Association for the Advancement of Science; National Geographic Society, etc. Author of Treatise on Analytic Geometry, 1869; The Limits of Evolution, 1901, 2d edition, 1904; joint author and editor of The Conception of God, 1897, etc. Editor Philosophical Publications of University of California; American Editorial Representative Hibbert Journal, London.]

The duty has been assigned me, honored colleagues, of addressing you on the Fundamental Conceptions and the Methods of our common pursuit—philosophy. In endeavoring to deal with the subject in a way not unworthy of its depth and its extent, I have found it impossible to bring the essential material within less compass than would occupy, in reading, at least four times the period granted by our programme. I have therefore complied with the rule of the Congress which directs that, if a more extended writing be left with the authorities for publication, the reading must be restricted to such a portion of it as will not exceed the allotted time. I will accordingly read to you, first, a brief summary of my entire discussion, by way of introduction, and then an excerpt from the larger document, which may serve for a specimen, as our scholastic predecessors used to say, of the whole inquiry I have carried out. The impression will, of course, be fragmentary, and I must ask beforehand for your most benevolent allowances, to prevent a judgment too unfavorable.

The discussion naturally falls into two main parts: the first dealing with the Fundamental Conceptions; and the second, with the Methods.

In the former, after presenting the conception of philosophy itself, as the consideration of things in the light of the whole, I take up the involved Fundamental Concepts in the following order:—

These are successively dealt with as they rise one out of the other in the process of interpreting them and applying them in the actual creation of philosophy, as this goes on in the historic schools. The theoretic progress of philosophy is in this way explained by them, in its movement from natural dualism, or realism, through the successive forms of monism, materialistic, agnostic, and idealistic, until it reaches the issue, now coming so strongly forward within the school of idealism, between the adherents of monism and those of pluralism.

The importance of the Fundamental Concepts is shown to increase as we pass along the list, till on reaching Cause and Effect, and entering upon its full interpretation into the complete System of Causes, we arrive at the very significant conception of the Reciprocity of First Causes, and through it come to the Primacy of Final Cause, and the derivative position of the other forms of cause, Material, Formal, Efficient. The philosophic strength of idealism, but especially of idealistic pluralism, comes into clear light as the result of this stage of the inquiry. But it appears yet more decidedly when One and Many, Time and Space, and their interrelations, are subjected to analysis. So the discussion next passes to the higher conceptions, Soul, World, God, by the pathway of the correlation Unconditioned and Conditioned, and its kindred contrasts Absolute and Relative, Necessary and Contingent, Infinite and Finite, corroborating and reinforcing the import of idealism, and, still more decidedly, that of its plural form. Finally, the strong and favorable bearing of this last on the dissolution of agnosticism and the habilitation of the ideals, the True, the Beautiful, and the Good, in a heightened meaning, is brought out.

This carries the inquiry to the second part of it, that of the Philosophical Methods. Here I recount these in a series of six: the Dogmatic, the Skeptical, the Critical, the Pragmatic, the Genetic, the Dialectic. These, I show, in spite of the tendency of the earlier members in the series to over-emphasis, all have their place and function in the development of a complete philosophy, and in fact form an ascending series in methodic effectiveness, all that precede the last being taken up into the comprehensive Critical Rationalism of the last. Methodology thus passes upward, over the ascending and widening roadways of (1) Intuition and Deduction; (2) Experience and Induction; (3) Intuition and Experience adjusted by Critical Limits; (4) Skepticism reinforced and made quasi-affirmative by Desire and Will; (5) Empiricism enlarged by substitution of cosmic and psychic history for subjective consciousness; (6) Enlightened return to a Rationalism critically established by the inclusion of the preceding elements, and by the sifting and the grading of the Fundamental Concepts through their behavior when tested by the effort to make them universal. In this way, the methods fall into a System, the organic principle of which is this principle of Dialectic, which proves itself alone able to establish necessary truths; that is, truths indeed,—judgments that are seen to exclude their opposites, because, in the attempt to substitute the opposite, the place of it is still filled by the judgment which it aims to dislodge.

And now, with your favoring leave, I will read the excerpt from my larger text.

The task to which, in an especial sense, the cultivators of philosophy are summoned by the plans of the present Congress of Arts and Science, is certainly such as to stir an ambition to achieve it. At the same time, it tempers eagerness by its vast difficulty, and the apprehension lest this may prove insuperable. The task, the officers of the Congress tell us, is no less than to promote the unification of all human knowledge. It requires, then, the reduction of the enormous detail in our present miscellany of sciences and arts, which to a general glance, or even to a more intimate view, presents a confusion of differences that seems overwhelming, to a system nevertheless clearly harmonious,—founded, that is to say, upon universal principles which control all differences by explaining them, and which therefore, in the last resort, themselves flow lucidly from a single supreme principle. Simply to state this meaning of the task set us, is enough to awaken the doubt of its practicability.

This doubt, we are bound to confess, has more and more impressed itself upon the general mind, the farther this has advanced in the experience of scientific discovery. The very increase in the multiplicity and complexity of facts and their causal groupings increases the feeling that at the root of things there is "a final inexplicability"—total reality seems, more and more, too vast, too profound, for us to grasp or to fathom. And yet, strangely enough, this increasing sense of mysterious vastness has not in the least prevented the modern mind from more and more asserting, with a steadily increasing insistence, the essential and unchangeable unity of that whole of things which to our ordinary experience, and even to all our sciences, appears such an endless and impenetrable complex of differences,—yes, of contradictions. In fact, this assertion of the unity of all things, under the favorite name of the Unity of Nature, is the pet dogma of modern science; or, rather, to speak with right accuracy, it is the stock-in-trade of a philosophy of science, current among many of the leaders of modern science; for every such assertion, covering, as it tacitly and unavoidably does, a view about the absolute whole, is an assertion belonging to the province of philosophy, before whose tribunal it must come for the assessment of its value. The presuppositions of all the special sciences, and, above all, this presupposition of the Unity and Uniformity of Nature, common to all of them, must thus come back for justification and requisite definition to philosophy—that uppermost and all-inclusive form of cognition which addresses itself to the whole as whole. In their common assertion of the Unity of Nature, the exponents of modern science come unawares out of their own province into quite another and a higher; and in doing so they show how unawares they come, by presenting in most instances the curious spectacle of proclaiming at once their increasing belief in the unity of things, and their increasing disbelief in its penetrability by our intelligence:—

In's Innere der Natur,
Dringt kein erschaffner Geist,

is their chosen poet's expression of their philosophic mood. Curious we have the right to call this state of the scientific mind, because it is to critical reflection so certainly self-contradictory. How can there be a real unity belonging to what is inscrutable?—what evidence of unity can there be, except in intelligible and explanatory continuity?

But, at all events, this very mood of agnostic self-contradiction, into which the development of the sciences casts such a multitude of minds, brings them,—brings all of us,—as already indicated, into that court of philosophy where alone such issues lawfully belong, and where alone they can be adjudicated. If the unification of the sciences can be made out to be real by making out its sole sufficient condition, namely, that there is a genuine, and not a merely nominal, unity in the whole of reality itself,—a unity that explains because it is itself, not simply intelligible, but the only completely intelligible of things,—this desirable result must be the work of philosophy. However difficult the task may be, it is rightly put upon us who belong to the Department listed first among the twenty-four in the programme of this representative Congress.

I cannot but express my own satisfaction, as a member of this Department, nor fail to extend my congratulations to you who are my colleagues in it, that the Congress, in its programme, takes openly the affirmative on this question of the possible unification of knowledge. The Congress has thus declared beforehand for the practicability of the task it sets. It has even declared for its not distant accomplishment; indeed, not impossibly, its accomplishment through the transactions of the Congress itself; and it indicates, by no uncertain signs, the leading, the determining part that philosophy must have in the achievement. In fact, the authorities of the Congress themselves suggest a solution of their own for their problem. In their programme we see a renewed Hierarchy of the Sciences, and at the summit of this appears now again, after so long a period of humiliating obscuration, the figure of Philosophy, raised anew to that supremacy, as Queen of the Sciences, which had been hers from the days of Plato to those of Copernicus, but which she began to lose when modern physical and historical research entered upon its course of sudden development, and which, until recently, she has continued more and more to lose as the sciences have advanced in their career of discoveries,—ever more unexpected, more astonishing, yet more convincing and more helpful to the welfare of mankind. May this sign of her recovered empire not fail! If we rejoice at the token, the Congress has made it our part to see that the title is vindicated. It is ours to show this normative function of philosophy, this power to reign as the unifying discipline in the entire realm of our possible knowledge; to show it by showing that the very nature of philosophy—its elemental concepts and its directing ideals, its methods taken in their systematic succession—is such as must result in a view of universal reality that will supply the principle at once giving rise to all the sciences and connecting them all into one harmonious whole.

Such, and so grave, my honored colleagues, is the duty assigned to this hour. Sincerely can I say, Would it had fallen to stronger hands than mine! But since to mine it has been committed, I will undertake it in no disheartened spirit; rather, in that temper of animated hope in which the whole Congress has been conceived and planned. And I draw encouragement from the place, and its associations, where we are assembled—from its historic connections not only with the external expansion of our country, but with its growth in culture, and especially with its growth in the cultivation of philosophy. For your speaker, at least, can never forget that here in St. Louis, the metropolis of the region by which our national domain was in the Louisiana Purchase so enlarged,—here was the centre of a movement in philosophic study that has proved to be of national import. It is fitting that we all, here to-day, near to the scene itself, commemorate the public service done by our present National Commissioner of Education and his group of enthusiastic associates, in beginning here, in the middle years of the preceding century, those studies of Kant and his great idealistic successors that unexpectedly became the nucleus of a wider and more penetrating study of philosophy in all parts of our country. It is with quickened memories belonging to the spot where, more than five-and-thirty years ago, it was my happy fortune to take some part with Dr. Harris and his companions, that I begin the task assigned me. The undertaking seems less hopeless when I can here recall the names and the congenial labors of Harris, of Davidson, of Brockmeyer, of Snider, of Watters, of Jones,—half of them now gone from life. They "builded better than they knew;" and, humbly as they may themselves have estimated their ingenuous efforts to gain acquaintance with the greatest thoughts, history will not fail to take note of what they did, as marking one of the turning-points in the culture of our nation. The publication of the Journal of Speculative Philosophy, granting all the subtractions claimed by its critics on the score of defects (of which its conductors were perhaps only too sensible), was an influence that told in all our circles of philosophical study, and thence in the whole of our social as well as our academic life.

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[Here I enter upon the discussion of the subject proper, beginning, as above indicated, with the Fundamental Conceptions. Having followed these through the contrasts Whole and Part, Subject and Object, Reality and Appearance (or Noumenon and Phenomenon), and developed the bearing of these on the procedure of thought from the dualism of natural realism to materialism and thence to idealism, with the issue now coming on, in this last, between monism and pluralism, I strike into the contrast Cause and Effect, and, noting its unfolding into the more comprehensive form of Ground and Consequence, go on thence as follows:]

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It is plain that the contrast Ground and Consequence will enable us to state the new issue with closer precision and pertinence than Reality and Appearance, Noumenon and Phenomenon, can supply; while, at the same time, Ground and Consequence exhibits Cause and Effect as presenting a contrast that only fulfills what Noumenon and Phenomenon foretold and strove towards; in fact, what was more remotely, but not less surely, also indicated by Whole and Part, Knowing and Being, Subject and Object. For in penetrating to the coherent meaning of these conceptions, the philosophic movement, as we saw, advanced steadily to the fuller and fuller translating of each of them into the reality that unifies by explanation, instead of pretending to explain by merely unifying; and this, of course, will now be put forward explicitly, in the clarified category of Cause and Effect, transfigured from a physical into a purely logical relation. What idealism now says, in terms of this, is that the Cause (or, as we now read it, the Ground) of all that exists is the Subject; is Mind, the intelligently Self-conscious; and that all things else, the mere objects, material things, are its Consequence, its Outcome,—in that sense its Effect. And what the new pluralistic idealism says, is that the assemblage of individual minds—intelligence being essentially personal and individual, and never merely universal and collective—is the true total Cause of all, and that every mind thus belongs to the order of First Causes; nevertheless, that part, and the most significant part, of the nature of every mind, essential to its personality and its reason, is its recognition of other minds in the very act of its own self-definition. That is to say, a mind by its spontaneous nature as intelligence, by its intrinsic rational or logical genius, puts itself as member of a system of minds; all minds are put by each other as Ends—completely standard and sacred Objects, as much parts of the system of true Causes as each is, in its capacity of Subject; and we have a noumenal Reality that is properly to be described as the eternal Federal Republic of Spirits.

Consequently, the relation of Cause and Effect now expands and heightens into a system of the Reciprocity of First Causes; causes, that is, which, while all coefficients in the existence and explanation of that natural world of experience which forms their passive effect, their objects of mere perception, are themselves related only in the higher way of Final Causes—that is, Defining-Bases and Ends—of each other, making them the logical Complements, and the Objects of conduct, all for each, and each for all. Hence, the system of causation undergoes a signal transformation, and proves to be organized by Final Cause as its basis and root, instead of by Efficient Cause, or Originating Ground, as the earlier stages of thinking had always assumed.

The causal relation between the absolute or primary realities being purely Final, or Defining and Purposive; that is to say, the uncoercive influence of recognition and ideality; all the other forms of cause, as grouped by Aristotle,—Material, Formal, and Efficient,—are seen to be the derivatives of Final Cause, as being supplied by the action of the minds that, as absolute or underived realities, exist only in the relation of mutual Complements and Ends. Accordingly, Efficient Cause operates only from minds, as noumena, to matter, as their phenomenon, their presented contents of experience; or, in a secondary and derivative sense, from one phenomenon to another, or from one group of phenomena to another group, these playing the part of transmitters, or (as some logicians would say) Instrumental Causes, or Means. Cause, as Material, is hence defined as the elementary phenomenon, and the combinations of this; and therefore, strictly taken, is merely Effect (or Outcome) of the self-active consciousness, whose spontaneous forms of conception and perception become the Formal Cause that organizes the sum of phenomena into cosmic harmony or unity.

Here, accordingly, comes into view the further and in some respects deeper conceptual pair, Many and One. The history of philosophic thought proves that this antithesis is darkly obscure and deeply ambiguous; for about it have centred a large part of the conflicts of doctrine. This pair has already been used, implicitly, in exhibiting the development of the preceding group, Cause and Effect; and in so using it we have supplied ourselves with a partial clarification of it, and with one possible solution of its ambiguity. We have seen, namely, how our strong natural persuasion that philosophy guided by the fundamental concept Cause must become the search for the One amid the wilderness of the Many, and that this search cannot be satisfied and ended except in an all-inclusive Unit, in which the Many is embraced as the integral and originated parts, completely determined, subjected, and controlled, may give way to another and less oppressive conception of unity; a conception of it as the harmony among many free and independent primary realities, a harmony founded on their intelligent and reasonable mutual recognition. This conception casts at least some clearing light upon the long and dreary disputes over the Many and the One; for it exposes, plainly, the main source of them. They have arisen out of two chief ambiguities,—the ambiguity of the concept One, and the ambiguity of the concept Cause in its supreme meaning. The normal contrast between the One and the Many is a clear and simple contrast: the One is the single unit, and the Many is the repetition of the unit, or is the collection of the several units. But if we go on to suppose that there is a collection or sum of all possible units, and call this the Whole, then, since there can be no second such, we call it also "one" (or the One, by way of preëminence), overlooking the fact that it differs from the simple one, or unit, in genere; that it is in fact not a unit at all, not an elementary member of a series, but the annulment of all series; that our name "one" has profoundly changed its meaning, and now stands for the Sole, the Only. Thus, by our forgetfulness of differences, we fall into deep water, and, with the confused illusions of the drowning, dream of the One and All as the single punctum originationis of all things, the Source and Begetter of the very units of which it is in reality only the resultant and the derivative. Or, from another point of view, and in another mood, we rightly enough take the One to mean the coherent, the intelligible, the consistent, the harmonious; and putting the Many, on the misleading hint of its contrast to the unit, in antithesis to this One of harmony, we fall into the belief that the Many cannot be harmonious, is intrinsically a cluster of repulsions or of collisions, incapable of giving rise to accord; indeed, essentially hostile to it. So, as accord is the aim and the essence of our reason, we are caught in the snare of monism, pluralism having apparently become the equivalent of chaos, and thus the bête noir of rational metaphysics. Nay, in the opposed camp itself, some of the most ardent adherents of pluralism, the liveliest of wit, the most exuberant in literary resources, are the abjectest believers in the hopeless disjunction and capriciousness of the plural, and hold there is a rift in the texture of reality that no intelligence, "even though you dub it 'the Absolute,'" can mend or reach across. Yet surely there is nothing in the Many, as a sum of units, the least at war with the One as a system of harmony. On the contrary, even in the pure form of the Number Series, the Many is impossible except on the principle of harmony,—the units can be collected and summed (that is, constitute the Many), only if they cohere in a community of intrinsic kindred. Consequently the whole question of the chaotic or the harmonic nature of a plural world turns on the nature of the genus which we find characteristic of the absolutely (i. e., the unreservedly) real, and which is to be taken as the common denomination enabling us to count them and to sum them. When minds are seen to be necessarily the primary realities, but also necessarily federal as well as individual, the illusion about the essential disjunction and non-coherence of the plurally real dissolves away, and a primordial world of manifold persons is seen to involve no fundamental or hopeless anarchy of individualism, irreducible in caprice, but an indwelling principle of harmony, rather, that from the springs of individual being intends the control and composure of all the disorders that mark the world of experiential appearance, and so must tend perpetually to effect this.

The other main source of our confusions over the Many and the One is the variety of meaning hidden in the concept Cause, and our propensity to take its most obvious but least significant sense for its supreme intent. Closest at hand, in experience, is our productive causation of changes in our sense-world, and hence most obvious is that reading of Cause which takes it as the producer of changes and, with a deeper comprehension of it, of the inalterable linkage between changes, whereby one follows regularly and surely upon another. Thus what we have in philosophy agreed to call Efficient Cause comes to be mistaken for the profoundest and the supreme form of cause, and all the other modes of cause, the Material (or Stuff), the Form (or Conception), and the End (or Purpose), its consequent and derivative auxiliaries. Under the influence of this strong impression, we either assume total reality to be One Whole, all-embracing and all-producing of its manifold modes, or else view it as a duality, consisting of One Creator and his manifold creatures. So it has come about that metaphysics has hitherto been chiefly a contention between pantheism and monotheism, or, as the latter should for greater accuracy be called, monarchotheism; and, it must be acknowledged, this struggle has been attended by a continued (though not continual) decline of this later dualistic theory before the steadfast front and unyielding advance of the older monism. Thus persistent has been the assumption that harmony can only be assured by the unity given in some single productive causation: the only serious uncertainty has been about the most rational way of conceiving the operation of this Sole Cause; and this doubt has thus far, on the whole, declined in favor of the Elder Oriental or monistic conception, as against the Hebraic conception of extraneous creation by fiat. The frankly confessed mystery of the latter, its open appeal to miracle, places it at a fatal disadvantage with the Elder Orientalism, when the appeal is to reason and intelligibility. It is therefore no occasion for wonder that, especially since the rise of the scientific doctrine of Evolution, with its postulate of a universal unity, self-varying yet self-fulfilling, even the leaders of theology are more and more falling into the monistic line and swelling the ever-growing ranks of pantheism. If it be asked here, And why not?—where is the harm of it?—is not the whole question simply of what is true? the answer is, The mortal harm of the destruction of personality, which lives or dies with the preservation or destruction of individual responsibility; while the completer truth is, that there are other and profounder (or, if you please, higher) truths than this of explanation by Efficient Cause. In fact, there is a higher conception of Cause itself than this of production, or efficiency; for, of course, as we well might say, that alone can be the supreme conception of Cause which can subsist between absolute or unreserved realities, and such must exclude their production or their necessitating control by others. So that we ought long since to have realized that Final Cause, the recognized presence to each other as unconditioned realities, or Defining Auxiliaries and Ends, is the sole causal relation that can hold among primary realities; though among such it can hold, and in fact must.

For the absolute reality of personal intelligences, at once individual and universally recognizant of others, is called for by other conceptions fundamental to philosophy. These other fundamental concepts can no more be counted out or ignored than those we have hitherto considered; and when we take them up, we shall see how vastly more significant they are. They alone will prove supreme, truly organizing, normative; they alone can introduce gradation in truths, for they alone introduce the judgment of worth, of valuation; they alone can give us counsels of perfection, for they alone rise from those elements in our being which deal with ideals and with veritable Ideas. So let us proceed to them.

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Our path into their presence, however, is through another pair, not so plainly antithetic as those we have thus far considered. This pair that I now mean is Time and Space, which, though not obviously antinomic, yet owes its existence, as can now be shown, to that profoundest of concept-contrasts which we earlier considered under the head of Subject and Object, when the Object takes on its only adequate form of Other Subject. But in passing from the contrast One and Many towards its rational transformation into the moral society of Mind and Companion Minds, we break into this pair of Time and Space, and must make our way through it by taking in its full meaning.

Time and Space play an enormous part in all our empirical thinking, our actual use of thought in our sense-perceptive life. And no wonder; for, in coöperation, they form the postulate and condition of all our possible sensuous consciousness. Only on them as backgrounds can thought take on the peculiar clearness of an image or a picture; only on the screens which they supply can we literally depict an object. And this clarity of outline and boundary is so dear to our ordinary consciousness, that we are prone to say there is no sufficient, no real clearness, unless we can clarify by the bounds either of place or of date, or of both. In this mood, we are led to deny the reality and validity of thought altogether, when it cannot be defined in the metes and bounds afforded by Time or by Space: that which has no date nor place, we say,—no extent and no duration,—cannot be real; it is but a pseudo-thought, a pretense and a delusion. Here is the extremely plausible foundation of the philosophy known as sensationism, the refined or second-thought form of materialism, in which it begins its euthanasia into idealism.

Without delaying here to criticise this, let us notice the part that Time and Space play in reference to the conceptual pair we last considered, the One and the Many; for not otherwise shall we find our way beyond them to the still more fundamental conceptions which we are now aiming to reach. Indeed, it is through our surface-apprehension of the pair One and Many, as this illumines experience, that we most naturally come at the pair Time and Space; so that these are at first taken for mere generalizations and abstractions, the purely nominal representatives of the actual distinctions between the members of the Many by our sense perception of this from that, of here from there, of now from then. It is not till our reflective attention is fixed on the fact that there and here, now and then, are peculiar distinctions, wholly different from other contrasts of this with that,—which may be made in all sorts of ways, by difference of quality, or of quantity, or of relations quite other than place and date,—it is not till we realize this peculiar character of the Time-contrast and the Space-contrast, that we see these singular differential qualia cannot be derived from others, not even from the contrast One and Many, but are independent, are themselves underived and spontaneous utterances of our intelligent, our percipient nature. But when Kant first helped mankind to the realization of this spontaneous (or a priori) character of this pair of perceptive conditions, or Sense-Forms, he fell into the persuasion, and led the philosophic world into it, that though Time and Space are not derivatives of the One and the Many read as the numerical aspect of our perceptive experiences, yet there is between the two pairs a connection of dependence as intimate as that first supposed, but in exactly the opposite sense; namely, that the One and the Many are conditioned by Time and Space, or, when it comes to the last resort, are at any rate completely dependent upon Time. By a series of units, this view means, we really understand a set of items discriminated and related either as points or as instants: in the last analysis, as instants: that is, it is impossible to apprehend a unit, or to count and sum units, unless the unit is taken as an instant, and the units as so many instants. Numbers, Kant holds, are no doubt pure (or quite unsensuous) percepts,—discerned particulars,—therefore spontaneous products of the mind a priori, but made possible only by the primary pure percept Time, or, again, through the mediation of this, by the conjoined pure percept Space; so that the numbers, in their own pure character, are simply the instants in their series. As the instants, and therefore the numbers, are pure percepts,—particulars discerned without the help of sense,—so pure percepts, in a primal and comprehensive sense, argues Kant, must their conditioning postulates Time and Space be, to supply the "element," or "medium," that will render such pure percepts possible.

This doctrine of Kant's is certainly plausible; indeed, it is impressively so; and it has taken a vast hold in the world of science, and has reinforced the popular belief in the unreality of thought apart from Time and Space; an unreality which it is an essential part of Kant's system to establish critically. But as a graver result, it has certainly tended to discredit the belief in personal identity as an abiding and immutable reality, enthroned over the mutations of things in Time and Space; since all that is in these is numbered and is mutable, and is rather many than one, yet nothing is believed real except as it falls under them, at any rate under Time. And with this decline of the belief in a changeless self, has declined, almost as rapidly and extensively, the belief in immortality. Or, rather, the permanence and the identity of the person has faded into a question regarded as unanswerable; though none the less does this agnostic state of belief tend to take personality, in any responsible sense of the word, out of the region of practical concern. With what is unknowable, even if existing, we can have no active traffic; 't is for our conduct as if it were not.

So it behooves us to search if this prevalent view about the relation of One and Many to Time and Space is trustworthy and exact. What place and function in philosophy must Space and Time be given?—for they certainly have a place and function; they certainly are among the inexpugnable conceptions with which thought has to concern itself when it undertakes to gain a view of the whole. But it may be easy to give them a larger place and function than belong to them by right. Is it true, then, that the One and the Many—that the system of Numbers, in short—are unthinkable except as in Space and Time, or, at any rate, in Time? Or, to put the question more exactly, as well as more gravely and more pertinently, Are Space and Time the true principia individui, and is Time preëminently the ultimate principium individuationis? Is there accordingly no individuality, and no society, no associative assemblage, except in the fleeting world of phenomena, dated and placed? Simply to ask the question, and thus bring out the full drift of this Kantian doctrine, is almost to expose the absurdity of it. Such a doctrine, though it may be wisely refusing to confound personality, true individuality, with the mere logical singular; nay, worse, with a limited and special illustration of the singular, the one here or the one there, the one now or the one then; nevertheless, by confining numerability to things material and sensible, makes personal identity something unmeaning or impossible, and destroys part of the foundation for the relations of moral responsibility. Though the vital trait of the person, his genuine individuality, doubtless lies, not in his being exactly numerable, but in his being aboriginal and originative; in a word, in his self-activity, in his being a centre of autonomous social recognition; yet exactly numerable he indeed is, and must be, not confusable with any other, else his professed autonomy, his claim of rights and his sense of duty, can have no significance, must vanish in the universal confusion belonging to the indefinite. Nor, on the other hand, is it at all true that a number has to be a point or an instant, nor that things when numbered and counted are implicitly pinned upon points or, at all events, upon instants. It may well enough be the fact that in our empirical use of number we have to employ Time, or even Space, but it is a gaping non sequitur to conclude that we therefore can count nothing but the placed and the dated. Certainly we count whenever we distinguish,—by whatever means, on whatever ground. To think is, in general, at least to "distinguish the things that differ;" but this will not avail except we keep account of the differences; hence the One and the Many lie in the very bosom of intelligence, and this fundamental and spontaneous contrast can not only rive Time and Space into expressions of it, in instants and in points, but travels with thought from its start to its goal, and as organic factor in mathematical science does indeed, as Plato in the Republic said, deal with absolute being, if yet dreamwise; so that One and Many, and Many as the sum of the ones, makes part of the measure of that primally real world which the world of minds alone can be. If the contrast One and Many can pass the bounds of the merely phenomenal, by passing the temporal and the spatial; if it applies to universal being, to the noumenal as well as to the phenomenal; then the absolutely real world, so far as concerns this essential condition, can be a world of genuine individuals, identifiable, free, abiding, responsible, and there can be a real moral order; if not, then there can be no such moral world, and the deeper thought-conceptions to which we now approach must be regarded, at the best, as fair illusions, bare ideals, which the serious devotee of truth must shun, except in such moments of vacancy and leisure as he may venture to surrender, at intervals, to purely hedonic uses. But if the One and the Many are not dependent on Time and Space, their universal validity is possible; and it has already been shown that they are not so dependent, are not thus restricted.

And now it remains to show their actual universality, by exhibiting their place in the structure of the absolutely real; since nobody calls in question their pertinence to the world of phenomena. But their noumenal applicability follows from their essential implication with all and every difference: no difference, no distinction, that does not carry counting; and this is quite as true as that there can be no counting without difference. The One and the Many thus root in Identity and Difference, pass up into fuller expression in Universal and Particular, hold forward into Cause and Effect, attain their commanding presentation in the Reciprocity of First Causes, and so keep record of the contrast between Necessity and Contingency. In short, they are founded in, and in their turn help (indispensably) to express, all the categories,—Quality, Quantity, Relation, Modality. Nor do they suffer arrest there; they hold in the ideals, the True, the Beautiful, the Good, and in the primary Ideas, the Self, the World, and God. For all of these differ, however close their logical linkage may be; and in so far as they differ, each of them is a counted unit, and so they are many. And, most profoundly of all, One and Many take footing in absolute reality so soon as we realize that nothing short of intelligent being can be primordially real, underived, and truly causal, and that intelligence is, by its idea, at once an I-thinking and a universal recognizant outlook upon others that think I.

Hence Number, so far from being the derivative of Time and Space, founds, at the bottom, in the self-definition and social recognition of intelligent beings, and so finds a priori a valid expression in Time and in Space, as well as in every other primitive and spontaneous form in which intelligence utters itself. The Pythagorean doctrine of the rank of Number in the scale of realities is only one remove from the truth: though the numbers are indeed not the Prime Beings, they do enter into the essential nature of the Prime Beings; are, so to speak, the organ of their definite reality and identity, and for that reason go forward into the entire defining procedure by which these intelligences organize their world of experiences. And the popular impression that Time and Space are derivatives from Number, is in one aspect the truth, rather than the doctrine of Kant is; for though they are not mere generalizations and abstractions from numbered dates and durations, places and extents, they do exist as relating-principles which minds simply put, as the conditions of perceptive experiences; which by the nature of intelligence they must number in order to have and to master; while Number itself, the contrast of One and Many, enters into the very being of minds, and therefore still holds in Time and in Space, which are the organs, or media, not of the whole being of the mind, but only of that region of it constituted by sensation,—the material, the disjunct, the empirical. Besides, the logical priority of Number is implied in the fact that minds in putting Time and Space a priori must count them as two, since they discriminate them with complete clearness, so that it is impossible to work up Space out of Time (as Berkeley and Stuart Mill so adroitly, but so vainly, attempted to do), or Time out of Space (as Hegel, with so little adroitness and such patent failure, attempted to do). No; there Time and Space stand, fixed and inconfusable, incapable of mutual transmutation, and thus the ground of an abiding difference between the inner or psychic sense-world and the outer or physical, between the subjective and the (sensibly) objective. By means of them, the world of minds discerns and bounds securely between the privacy of each and the publicity, the life "out of doors," which is common to all; between the cohering isolation of the individual and the communicating action of the society. Indeed, as from this attained point of view we can now clearly see, the real ground of the difference between Time and Space, and hence between subjective perception and the objective existence of physical things, is in the fact that a mind, in being such,—in its very act of self-definition,—correlates itself with a society of minds, and so, to fulfill its nature, in so far as this includes a world of experiences, must form its experience socially as well as privately, and hence will put forth a condition of sensuous communication, as well as a condition of inner sensation. Thus the dualization of the sense-world into inner and outer, psychic and physical, subjective and objective, rests at last on the intrinsically social nature of conscious being; rests on the twofold structure, logically dichotomous, of the self-defining act; and we get the explanation, from the nature of intelligence as such, why the Sense-Forms are necessarily two, and only two. It is no accident that we experience all things sensible in Time or in Space, or in both together; it is the natural expression of our primally intelligent being, concerned as that is, directly and only, with our self and its logically necessary complement, the other selves; and so the natural order, in its two discriminated but complemental portions, the inner and the outer, is founded in that moral order which is given in the fundamental act of our intelligence. It is this resting of Space upon our veritable Objects, the Other Subjects, that imparts to it its externalizing quality, so that things in it are referred to the testing of all minds, not to ours only, and are reckoned external because measured by that which is alone indeed other than we.

In this way we may burst the restricting limit which so much of philosophy, and so much more of ordinary opinion, has drawn about our mental powers in view of this contrast Time and Space, especially with reference to the One and the Many, and to the persuasion that plural distinctions, at any rate, cannot belong in the region of absolute reality. Ordinary opinion either inclines to support a philosophy that is skeptical of either Unity or Plurality being pertinent beyond Time and Space, and thus to hold by agnosticism, or, if it affects affirmative metaphysics, tends to prefer monism to pluralism, when the number-category is carried up into immutable regions: to represent the absolutely real as One, somehow seems less contradictory of the "fitness of things" than to represent it as Many; moreover, carrying the Many into that supreme region, by implying the belonging there of mortals such as we, seems shocking to customary piety, and full of extravagant presumption. Still, nothing short of this can really satisfy our deep demand for a moral order, a personal responsibility, nay, an adequate logical fulfillment of our conception of a self as an intelligence; while the clarification which a rational pluralism supplies for such ingrained puzzles in the theory of knowledge as that of the source and finality of the contrast Time and Space, to mention no others, should afford a strong corroborative evidence in its behalf. And, as already said, this view enables us to pass the limit which Time and Space are so often supposed to put, hopelessly, upon our concepts of the ideal grade, the springs of all our aspiration. To these, then, we may now pass.

* * * * *

We reach them through the doorways of the Necessary vs. the Contingent, the Unconditioned vs. the Conditioned, the Infinite vs. the Finite, the Absolute vs. the Relative; and we recognize them as our profoundest foundation-concepts, alone deserving, as Kant so pertinently said, the name of Ideas,—the Soul, the World, and God. Associated with them are what we may call our three Forms of the Ideal,—the True, the Beautiful, the Good. These Ideas and their affiliated ideals have the highest directive and settling function in the organization of philosophy; they determine its schools and its history, by forming the centre of all its controlling problems; they prescribe its great subdivisions, breaking it up into Metaphysics, Æsthetics, and Ethics, and Metaphysics, again, into Psychology Cosmology, and Ontology,—or Theology in the classic sense, which, in the modern sense, becomes the Philosophy of Religion; they call into existence, as essential preparatory and auxiliary disciplines, Logic and the Theory of Knowledge, or Epistemology. They thus provide the true distinctions between philosophy and the sciences of experience, and present these sciences as the carrying out, upon experiential details, of the methodological principles which philosophy alone can supply; hence they lead us to view all the sciences as in fact the applied branches, the completing organs of philosophy, instead of its hostile competitors.

As for the controlling questions which they start, these are such as follow: Are the ideals but bare ideals, serving only to cast "a light that never was, on land or sea?"—are the Ideas only bare ideas, without any objective being of their own, without any footing in the real, serving only to enhance the dull facts of experience with auroral illusions? The philosophic thinker answers affirmatively, or with complete skeptical dubiety, or with a convinced and uplifting negative, according to his less or greater penetration into the real meaning of these deepest concepts, and depending on his view into the nature and thought-effect of the Necessary and the Contingent, the Unconditioned and the Conditioned, the Infinite and the Finite, the Absolute and the Relative.

And what, now, are the accurate, the adequate meanings of the three Ideas?—what does our profoundest thought intend by the Soul, by the World, by God? We know how Kant construed them, in consequence of the course by which he came critically (as he supposed) upon them,—as respectively the paramount Subject of experiences; the paramount Object of experiences, or the Causal Unity of the possible series of sensible objects; and the complete Totality of Conditions for experience and its objects, itself therefore the Unconditioned. It is worth our notice, that especially by his construing the idea of God in this way, thus rehabilitating the classical and scholastic conception of God as the Sum of all Realities, he laid the foundation for that very transfiguration of mysticism, that idealistic monism, which he himself repudiated, but which his three noted successors in their several ways so ardently accepted, and which has since so pervaded the philosophic world. But suppose Kant's alleged critical analysis of the three Ideas and their logical basis is in fact far from critical, far from "exactly discriminative,"—and I believe there is the clearest warrant for declaring that it is,—then the assumed "undeniable critical basis" for idealistic monism will be dislodged, and it will be open to us to interpret the Ideas with accuracy and consistency—an interpretation which may prove to establish, not at all any monism, but a rational pluralism. And this will also reveal to us, I think, that our prevalent construing of the Unconditioned and the Conditioned, the Necessary and the Contingent, the Infinite and the Finite, the Absolute and the Relative, suffers from an equal inaccuracy of analysis, and precisely for this reason gives a plausible but in fact untrustworthy support to the monistic interpretation of God, and Soul, and World; or, as Hegel and his chief adherents prefer to name them, God, Mind, and Nature. If the Kantian analysis stands, then it seems to follow, clearly enough, that God is the Inclusive Unit which at once embraces Mind and Nature, Soul and World, expresses itself in them, and imparts to them their meaning; and the plain dictate then is, that Kant's personal prejudice, and the personal prejudices of others like him, in favor of a transcendent God, must give way to that conception of the Divine, as immanent and inclusive, which is alone consistent with its being indeed the Totality of Conditions,—the Necessary Postulate, and the Sufficient Reason, for both Subject and Object.

But will Kant's analysis stand? Have we not here another of his few but fatal slips,—like his doctrine of the dependence of Number upon Time and Space, and its consequent subjection to them? It surely seems so. If the veritable postulate of categorical syllogizing be, as Kant thinks it is, merely the Subject, the self as experiencer of presented phenomena, in contrast to the Object, the causally united sum of possible phenomena; and if the true postulate of conditional syllogizing is this cosmic Object, as contrasted with the correlate Subject, then it would seem we cannot avoid certain pertinent questions. Is such a postulate Subject any fit and adequate account of the whole Self, of the Soul?—is there not a vital difference between this subject-self and the Self as Person?—does not Kant himself imply so, in his doctrine of the primacy of the Practical Reason? Again: Is not the World, as explained in Kant's analysis, and as afterwards made by him the solution of the Cosmological Antinomies, simply the supplemental factor necessarily correlate to the subjective aspect of the conscious life, and reduced from its uncritical rôle of thing-in-itself to the intelligible subordination required by Kant's theory of Transcendental Idealism?—and can this be any adequate account of the Idea that is to stand in sufficing contrast to the whole Self, the Person?—what less than the Society of Persons can meet the World-Idea for that? Further: If with Kant we take the World to mean no more than this object-factor in self-consciousness, must not the Soul, the total Self, from which, according to Kant's Transcendental Idealism, both Space and Time issue, supplying the basis for the immutable contrast between the experiencing subject and the really experienced objects,—must not this whole Self be the real meaning of the "Totality of Conditions, itself unconditioned," which comes into view as simply the postulate of disjunctive syllogizing? How in the world can disjunctive syllogizing, the confessed act of the I-thinking intelligence, really postulate anything as Totality of Conditions, in any other sense than the total of conditions for such syllogizing?—namely, the conditioning I that organizes and does the reasoning? There is surely no warrant for calling this total, which simply transcends and conditions the subject and the object of sensible experiences, by any loftier name than that which Kant had already given it in the Deduction of the Categories, when he designated it the "originally synthetic unity of apperception (self-consciousness)," or "the I-thinking (das ich-denke) that must accompany all my mental presentations,"—that is to say, the whole Self, or thinking Person, idealistically interpreted. The use of the name God in this connection, where Kant is in fact only seeking the roots of the three orders of the syllogism when reasoning has by supposition been restricted to the subject-matter of experience, is assuredly without warrant; yes, without excuse. In fact, it is because Kant sees that the third Idea, as reached through his analysis, is intrinsically immanent,—resident in the self that syllogizes disjunctively, and, because so resident, incapable of passing the bounds of possible experience,—while he also sees that the idea of God should mean a Being transcendent of every other thinker, himself a distinct individual consciousness, though not an empirically limited one,—it is, I say, precisely because he sees all this, that he pronounces the Idea, though named with the name of God, utterly without pertinence to indicate God's existence, and so enters upon that part of his Transcendental Dialectic which is, in chief, directed to exposing the transcendental illusion involved in the celebrated Ontological Proof. Consistently, Kant in this famous analytic of the syllogism should be talking, not of the Soul, the World, and God, but of the Subject (as uniting-principle of its sense-perceptions), the Object (as uniting-principle of all possible sense-percepts), and the Self (the whole I presiding over experience in both its aspects, as these are discriminated in Time and Space). By what rational title—even granting for the sake of argument that they are the genuine postulates of categorical and of conditional syllogizing—can this Subject and this Object, these correlate factors in the Self, rank as Ideas with the Idea of their conditioning Whole—the Self, that in its still unaltered identity fulfills, in Practical Reason, the high rôle of Person? If this no more than meets the standard of Idea, how can they meet it? How can two somethings, neither of which is the Totality of Conditions, and both of which are therefore in fact conditioned, deserve the same title with that which is intrinsically the Totality of Conditions, and, as such, unconditioned? To call the conditioned and the unconditioned alike Ideas is a confounding of dignities that Pure Reason should not tolerate, whether the procedure be read as a leveling down or a leveling up. Distributing the titles conferred by Pure Reason in this democratic fashion reminds us too much, unhappily for Kant, of the Cartesian performances with Substance; whereby God, mind, and matter became alike "substances," though only God could in truth be said to "require nothing for his existence save himself," while mind and matter, though absolutely dependent on God, and derivative from him, were still to be called substances in the "modified" and Pickwickian sense of being underived from each other.

But if Kant's naming his third syllogistic postulate the Idea of God is inconsequent upon his analysis; or if, when the analysis is made consequent by taking the third Idea to mean the whole Self, the first and second postulates sink in conceptual rank, so that they cannot with any pertinence be called Ideas, unless we are willing to keep the same name when its meaning must be changed in genere,—a procedure that can only encumber philosophy instead of clearing its way,—these difficulties do not close the account; we shall find other curious things in this noted passage, upon which part of the characteristic outcome of Kant's philosophizing so much depends. Besides the misnaming of the third Idea, we have already had to question, in view of the path by which he reaches it, the fitness of his calling the first by the title of the Soul; and likewise, though for other and higher reasons, of his calling the second by the name of the World. In fact, it comes home to us that all of the Ideas are, in one way or another, misnomers; Kant's whole procedure with them, in fine, has already appeared inexact, inconsistent, and therefore uncritical. But now we shall become aware of certain other inconsistencies. In coming to the Subject, as the postulate of categorical syllogizing, Kant, you remember, does so by the path of the relation Subject and Predicate, arguing that the chain of categorical prosyllogisms has for its limiting concept and logical motor the notion of an absolute subject that cannot be a predicate; and as no subject of a judgment can of itself give assurance of fulfilling this condition, he concludes this motor-limit of judgment-subjects to be identical with the Subject as thinker, upon whom, at the last, all judgments depend, and who, therefore, and who alone, can never be a predicate merely. In similar fashion, he finds as the motor-limit of the series of conditional prosyllogisms, which is governed by the relation Cause and Effect, the notion of an absolute cause—a cause, that is, incapable of being an effect; and this, as undiscoverable in the chain of phenomenal causes, which are all in turn effects, he concludes is a pure Idea, the reason's native conception of a necessary linkage among all changes in Space, or of a Cosmic Unity among physical phenomena. In both conceptions, then, whether of the unity of the Subject or of the World, we seem to have a case of the unconditioned, as each, surely, is a totality of conditions: the one, for all possible syllogisms by Subject and Predicate; the other, for all possible syllogisms from Cause and Effect. Until it can be shown that the syllogisms of the first sort and the syllogisms of the second are both conditioned by the system of disjunctive syllogisms, so that the Idea alleged to be the totality of conditions for this system becomes the conditioning principle for both the others, there appears to be no ground for contrasting the totality of conditions presented in it with those presented in the others, as if it were the absolute Totality of all Conditions, while the two others are only "relative totalities,"—which would be as much as to say they were only pseudo-totalities, both being conditioned instead of being unconditioned. But there seems to be no evidence, not even an indication, that disjunctive reasoning conditions categorical or conditional—that it constitutes the whole kingdom, in which the other two orders of reasoning form dependent provinces, or that for final validation these must appeal to the disjunctive series and the Idea that controls it. On the contrary, any such relation seems disproved by the fact that the three types of syllogism apply alike in all subject-matter, psychic or physical, subjective or objective, concerning the Self or concerning the World,—yes, concerning other Selves or even concerning God; whereas, if the relation were a fact, it would require that only disjunctive reasoning can deal with the Unconditioned, and that conditional must confine itself to cosmic material, while categorical pertains only to the things of inner sense.

Such considerations cannot but shake our confidence in the inquisition to which Kant has submitted the Ideas of Reason, both as regards what they really mean and how they are to be correlated. At all events, the analysis of logical procedure and connection on which his account of them is based is full of the confusions and oversights that have now been pointed out, and justifies us in saying that his case is not established. Hence we are not bound to follow when his three successors, or their later adherents, proceed in acceptance of his results, and advance into various forms of idealism, all of the monistic type, as if the general relation between the three Ideas had been demonstrably settled by Kant in the monist sense, despite his not knowing this, and that all we have to do is to disregard his recorded protests, and render his results consistent, and our idealism "absolute," by casting out from his doctrine the distinction between the Theoretical and the Practical Reason, with the "primacy" of the latter, through making an end of his assumed world of Dinge an sich, or "things in themselves." This movement, I repeat, we are not bound to follow: a rectification of view as to the meaning of the three Ideas becomes possible as soon as we are freed from Kant's entangled method of discovering and defining them; and when this rectification is effected, we shall find that the question between monism and rational or harmonic pluralism is at least open, to say no more. Nay, we are not to forget that by the results of our analysis of the concepts One and Many, Time and Space, and the real relation between them, plural metaphysics has already won a precedence in this contest.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF PHILOSOPHY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

BY GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD

[George Trumbull Ladd, Professor of Philosophy, Yale University. b. January 19, 1842, Painesville, Ohio. B.A. Western Reserve College, 1864; B.D. Andover Theological Seminary, 1869; D.D. Western Reserve, 1879; M.A. Yale, 1881; LL.D. Western Reserve, 1895; LL.D. Princeton, 1896. Decorated with the 3d Degree of the Order of the Rising Sun of Japan, 1899; Pastor, Edinburg, Ohio, 1869-71; ibid., Milwaukee, Wis., 1871-79; Professor of Philosophy, Bowdoin College, 1879-81; ibid., Yale University, 1881—; Lecturer, Harvard, Tokio, Bombay, etc., 1885—, Member American Psychological Association, American Society of Naturalists, American Philosophical Association, American Oriental Society, Imperial Educational Society of Japan, Connecticut Academy. Author of Elements of Physiological Psychology; Philosophy of Knowledge; Philosophy of Mind; A Theory of Reality; and many other noted scientific works and papers.]

The history of man's critical and reflective thought upon the more ultimate problems of nature and of his own life has, indeed, its period of quickened progress, relative stagnation, and apparent decline. Great thinkers are born and die, "schools of philosophy," so-called, arise, flourish, and become discredited; and tendencies of various characteristics mark the national or more general Zeitgeist of the particular centuries. And always, a certain deep undercurrent, or powerful stream of the rational evolution of humanity, flows silently onward. But these periods of philosophical development do not correspond to those which have been marked off for man by the rhythmic motion of the heavenly bodies, or by himself for purposes of greater convenience in practical affairs. The proposal, therefore, to treat any century of philosophical development as though it could be taken out of, and considered apart from, this constant unfolding of man's rational life is, of necessity, doomed to failure. And, indeed, the nineteenth century is no exception to the general truth.

There is, however, one important and historical fact which makes more definite, and more feasible, the attempt to present in outline the history of the philosophical development of the nineteenth century. This fact is the death of Immanuel Kant, February 12, 1804. In a very unusual way this event marks the close of the development of philosophy in the eighteenth century. In a yet more unusual way the same event defines the beginning of the philosophical development of the nineteenth century. The proposal is, therefore, not artificial, but in accordance with the truth of history, if we consider the problems, movements, results, and present condition of this development, so far as the fulfillment of our general purpose is concerned, in the light of the critical philosophy of Kant. This purpose may then be further defined in the following way: to trace the history of the evolution of critical and reflective thought over the more ultimate problems of Nature and of human life, in the Western World during the last hundred years, and from the standpoint of the conclusions, both negative and positive, which are best embodied in the works of the philosopher of Königsberg. This purpose we shall try to fulfill in these four divisions of our theme: (1) A statement of the problems of philosophy as they were given over to the nineteenth century by the Kantian Critique; (2) a brief description of the lines of movement along which the attempts at the improved solution of these problems have proceeded, and of the principal influences contributing to these attempts; (3) a summary of the principal results of these movements—the items, so to say, of progress in philosophy which may be credited to the last century; and finally, (4) a survey of the present state of these problems as they are now to be handed down by the nineteenth to the twentieth century. Truly an immensely difficult, if not an impossible task, is involved in this purpose!

I. The problems which the critical philosophy undertook definitively to solve may be divided into three classes. The first is the epistemological problem, or the problem offered by human knowledge—its essential nature, its fixed limitations, if such there be, and its ontological validity. It was this problem which Kant brought to the front in such a manner that certain subsequent writers on philosophy have claimed it to be, not only the primary and most important branch of philosophical discipline, but to comprise the sum-total of what human reflection and critical thought can successfully compass. "We call philosophy self-knowledge," says one of these writers. "The theory of knowledge is the true prima philosophia," says another. Kant himself regarded it as the most imperative demand of reason to establish a science that shall "determine a priori the possibility, the principles, and the extent of all cognitions." The burden of the epistemological problem has pressed heavily upon the thought of the nineteenth century; the different attitudes toward this problem, and its different alleged solutions, have been most influential factors in determining the philosophical discussions, divisions, schools, and permanent or transitory achievements of the century.

In the epistemological problem as offered by the Kantian philosophy of cognition there is involved the subordinate but highly important question as to the proper method of philosophy. Is the method of criticism, as that method was employed in the three Critiques of Kant, the exclusive, the sole appropriate and productive way of advancing human philosophical thought? I do not think that the experience of the nineteenth century warrants an affirmative answer to this question of method. This experience has certainly, however, resulted in demonstrating the need of a more thorough, consistent, and fundamental use of the critical method than that in which it was employed by Kant. And this improved use of the critical method has induced a more profound study of the psychology of cognition, and of the historical development of philosophy in the branch of epistemology. More especially, however, it has led to the reinstatement of the value-judgments, as means of cognition, in their right relations of harmony with the judgments of fact and of law.

The second of the greater problems which the critical philosophy of the eighteenth handed on to the nineteenth century is the ontological problem. This problem, even far more than the epistemological, has excited the intensest interest, and called for the profoundest thought, of reflective minds during the last hundred years. This problem engages in the inquiry as to what Reality is; for to define philosophy from the ontological point of view renders it "the rational science of reality;" or, at least, "the science of the supreme and most important realities." In spite of the fact that the period immediately following the conclusion of the Kantian criticism was the age when the people were singing

"Da die Metaphysik vor Kurzem unbeerbt abging,
Werden die Dinge an sich jetzo sub hasta verkauft,"

the cultivation of the ontological problem, and the growth of systematic metaphysics in the nineteenth century, had never previously been surpassed. In spite of, or rather because of, the fact that Kant left the ancient body of metaphysics so dismembered and discredited, and his own ontological structure, in such hopeless confusion, all the several buildings both of Idealism and of Realism either rose quickly or were erected upon the foundations made bare by the critical philosophy.

But especially unsatisfactory to the thought of the first quarter of the nineteenth century was the Kantian position with reference to the problem in which, after all, both the few who cultivate philosophy and the multitude who share in its fruits are always most truly interested; and this is the ethico-religious problem. In the judgment of the generation which followed him, Kant had achieved for those who accepted his points of view, his method of philosophizing, and his results, much greater success in "removing knowledge" than in "finding room for faith." For he seemed to have left the positive truths of Ethics so involved in the negative positions of his critique of knowledge as greatly to endanger them; and to have entangled the conceptions of religion with those of morality in a manner to throw doubt upon them both.

The breach between the human cognitive faculties and the ontological doctrines and conceptions on which morality and religion had been supposed to rest firmly, the elaborately argued distrust and skepticism which had been aimed against the ability of human reason to reach reality, and the consequent danger which threatened the most precious judgments of worth and the ontological value of ethical and æsthetical sentiments, could not remain unnoticed, or fail to promote ceaseless and earnest efforts to heal it. The hitherto accepted solutions of the problems of cognition, of being, and of man's ethico-religious experience, could not survive the critical philosophy. But the solutions which the critical philosophy itself offered could not fail to excite opposition and to stimulate further criticism. Moreover, certain factors in human nature, certain interests in human social life, and certain needs of humanity, not fully recognized and indeed scarcely noticed by criticism, could not fail to revive and to enforce their ancient, perennial, and valid claims.

In a word, Kant left the main problems of philosophy involved in numerous contradictions. The result of his penetrating but excessive analysis was unwarrantably to contrast sense with understanding; to divide reason as constitutive from reason as regulative; to divorce the moral law from our concrete experience of the results of good and bad conduct, true morality from many of the noblest desires and sentiments, and to set in opposition phenomena and noumena, order and freedom, knowledge and faith, science and religion. Now the highest aim of philosophy is reconciliation. What wonder, then, that the beginning of the last century felt the stimulus of the unreconciled condition of the problems of philosophy at the end of the preceding century! The greatest, most stimulating inheritance of the philosophy of the nineteenth century from the philosophy of the eighteenth century was the "post-Kantian problems."

II. The lines of the movement of philosophical thought and the principal contributory influences which belong to the nineteenth century may be roughly divided into two classes; namely, (1) those which tended in the direction of carrying to the utmost extreme the negative and destructive criticism of Kant, and (2) those which, either mainly favoring or mainly antagonizing the conclusions of the Kantian criticism, endeavored to place the positive answer to all three of these great problems of philosophy upon more comprehensive, scientifically defensible, and permanently sure foundations. The one class so far completed the attempt to remove the knowledge at which philosophy aims as, by the end of the first half of the century, to have left no rational ground for any kind of faith. The other class had not, even by the end of the second half of the century, as yet agreed upon any one scheme for harmonizing the various theories of knowledge, of reality, and of the ground of morality and religion. There appeared, however,—especially during the last two decades of the century,—certain signs of convergence upon positions, to occupy which is favorable for agreement upon such a scheme, and which now promise a new constructive era for philosophy. The terminus of the destructive movement has been reached in our present-day positivism and philosophical skepticism. For this movement there would appear to be no more beyond in the same direction. The terminus of the other movement can only be somewhat dimly descried. It may perhaps be predicted with a reasonable degree of confidence as some form of ontological Idealism (if we may use such a phrase) that shall be at once more thoroughly grounded in man's total experience, as interpreted by modern science, and also more satisfactory to human ethical, æsthetical, and religious ideals, than any form of systematic philosophy has hitherto been. But to say even this much is perhaps unduly to anticipate.

If we attempt to fathom and estimate the force of the various streams of influence which have shaped the history of the philosophical development of the nineteenth century, I think there can be no doubt that the profoundest and the most powerful is the one influence which must be recognized and reckoned with in all the centuries. This influence is humanity's undying interest in its moral, civil, and religious ideals, and in the civil and religious institutions which give a faithful but temporary expression to these ideals. In the long run, every fragmentary or systematic attempt at the solution of the problem of philosophy must sustain the test of an ability to contribute something of value to the realization of these ideals. The test which the past century has proposed for its own thinkers, and for its various schools of philosophy, is by far the severest which has ever been proposed. For the most part unostentatiously and in large measure silently, the thoughtful few and the comparatively thoughtless multitude have been contributing, either destructively or constructively, to the effort at satisfaction for the rising spiritual life of man. And if in some vague but impressive manner we speak of this thirst for spiritual satisfaction as characteristic of any period of human history, we may say, I believe, that it has been peculiarly characteristic and especially powerful as an influence during the last hundred years. The opinions, sentiments, and ideals which shape the development of the institutions of the church and state, and the freer activities of the same opinions, sentiments, and ideals, have been in this century, as they have been in every century, the principal factors in determining the character of its philosophical development.

But a more definite and visible kind of influence has constantly proceeded from the centres of the higher education. The universities—especially of Germany, next, perhaps of Scotland, but also of England and the United States, and even in less degree of France and Italy—have both fostered and shaped the evolution of critical and reflective thought, and of its product as philosophy. In Germany during the eighteenth century the greater universities had been emancipating themselves from the stricter forms of political and court favoritism and of ecclesiastical protection and control. This emancipation had already operated at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and it continued more and more to operate throughout this century, for participation in that free thought whose spirit is absolutely essential to the flourishing of true philosophy. All the other colleges and universities can scarcely repay the debt which modern philosophy owes to the universities of Germany. The institutions of the higher education which are moulded after this spirit, and which have a generous share of this spirit, have everywhere been schools of thought as well as schools of learning and research. Without the increasing numbers and growing encouragement of such centres for the cultivation of the discipline of critical and reflective thinking, it is difficult to conjecture how much the philosophical development of the nineteenth century would have lost. Libertas docendi and Academische Freiheit—without these philosophy has one of its wings fatally wounded or severely clipped.

Not all the philosophy of the last century, however, was born and developed in academical centres and under academical influences. In Germany, Great Britain, and France, the various so-called "Academies" or other unacademical associations of men of scientific interests and attainments—notably, the Berlin Academy, which has been called "the seat of an anti-scholastic popular philosophy"—were during the first half of the nineteenth century contributing by their conspicuous failures as well as by their less conspicuous successes, important factors to the constructive new thought of the latter half of the nineteenth century. In general, although these men decried system and were themselves inadequately prepared to treat the problems of philosophy, whether from the historical or the speculative and critical point of view, they cannot be wholly neglected in estimating its development. Clever reasoning, and witty and epigrammatic writing on scientific or other allied subjects, cannot indeed be called philosophy in the stricter meaning of the word. But this so-called "popular philosophy" has greatly helped in a way to free thought from its too close bondage to scholastic tradition. And even the despite of philosophy, and sneering references to its "barrenness," which formerly characterized the meetings and the writings of this class of its critics, but which now are happily much less frequent, have been on the whole both a valuable check and a stimulus to her devotees. He would be too narrow and sour a disciple of scholastic metaphysics and systematic philosophy, who, because of the levity or scorning of "outsiders," should refuse them all credit. Indeed, the lesson of the close of the nineteenth century may well enough be the motto for the beginning of the twentieth century: In philosophy—since to philosophize is natural and inevitable for all rational beings—there really are no outsiders.

In this connection it is most interesting to notice how men of the type just referred to, were at the end of the eighteenth century found grouped around such thinkers as Mendelssohn, Lessing, F. Nicolai,—representing a somewhat decided reaction from the French realism to the German idealism. The work of the Academicians in the criticism of Kant was carried forward by Jacobi, who, at the time of his death, was the pensioned president of the Academy at Munich. Some of these same critics of the Kantian philosophy showed a rather decided preference for the "commonsense" philosophy of the Scottish School.

But both inside and outside of the Universities and Academies the scientific spirit and acquisitions of the nineteenth century have most profoundly, and on the whole favorably, affected the development of its philosophy. In the wider meaning of the word, "science,"—the meaning, namely, in which science = Wissenschaft,—philosophy aims to be scientific; and science can never be indifferent to philosophy. In their common aim at a rational and unitary system of principles, which shall explain and give its due significance to the totality of human experience, science and philosophy can never remain long in antagonism; they ought never even temporarily to be divided in interests, or in the spirit which leads each generously to recognize the importance of the other. The early part of the last century was, indeed, too much under the influence of that almost exclusively speculative Natur-philosophie, of which Schelling and Hegel were the most prominent exponents. On the other hand, the conception of nature as a vast interconnected and unitary system of a rational order, unfolding itself in accordance with teleological principles,—however manifold and obscure,—is a noble conception and not destined to pass away.

On the continent—at least in France, where it had attained its highest development—the scientific spirit was, at the close of the eighteenth century, on the whole opposed to systematization. The impulse to both science and philosophy during both the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries, over the entire continent of Europe, was chiefly due to the epoch-making work of that greatest of all titles in the modern scientific development of the Western World, the Principia of Newton. In mathematics and the physical sciences, during the early third or half of the last century, Great Britain also has a roll of distinguished names which compares most favorably with that of either France or Germany. But in England, France, and the United States, during the whole century, science has lacked the breadth and philosophic spirit which it had in Germany during the first three quarters of this period. During all that time the German man of science was, as a rule, a scholar, an investigator, a teacher, and a philosopher. Science and philosophy thrived better, however, in Scotland than elsewhere outside of Germany, so far as their relations in interdependence were concerned. Into the Scottish universities Playfair introduced some of the continental suggestions toward the end of the eighteenth century, so that there was less of exclusiveness and unfriendly rivalry between science and philosophy; and both profited thereby. In the United States, during the first half or more of the century, so dominant were the theological and practical interests and influences that there was little free development of either science or philosophy,—if we interpret the one as the equivalent of Wissenschaft and understand the other in the stricter meaning of the word.

The history of the development of the scientific spirit and of the achievements of the particular sciences is not the theme of this paper. To trace in detail, or even in its large outlines, the reciprocal influence of science and philosophy during the past hundred years, would itself require far more than the space allotted to me. It must suffice to say that the various advances in the efforts of the particular sciences to enlarge and to define the conceptions and principles employed to portray the Being of the World in its totality, have somewhat steadily grown more and more completely metaphysical, and more and more of positive importance for the reconstruction of systematic philosophy. The latter has not simply been disciplined by science, compelled to improve its method, and to examine all its previous claims. But philosophy has also been greatly enriched by science with respect to its material awaiting synthesis, and it has been not a little profited by the unsuccessful attempts of the current scientific theories to give themselves a truly satisfactory account of that Ultimate Reality which, to understand the better, is no unworthy aim of their combined efforts.

During the nineteenth century science has seen many important additions to that Ideal of Nature and her processes, to form which in a unitary and harmonizing but comprehensive way is the philosophical goal of science. The gross mechanical conception of nature which prevailed in the earlier part of the eighteenth century has long since been abandoned, as quite inadequate to our experience with her facts, forces, and laws. The kinetic view, which began with Huygens, Euler, and Ampère, and which was so amplified by Lord Kelvin and Clerk-Maxwell in England, and by Helmholtz and others in Germany, on account of its success in explaining the phenomena of light, of gases, etc., very naturally led to the attempt to develop a kinetic theory, a doctrine of energetics, which should explain all phenomena. But the conception of "that which moves," the experience of important and persistent qualitative differentiae, and the need of assuming ends and purposes served by the movement, are troublesome obstacles in the way of giving such a completeness to this theory of the Being of the World. Yet again the amazing success which the theory of evolution has shown in explaining the phenomena with which the various biological sciences concern themselves, has lent favor during the latter half of the century to the vitalistic and genetic view of nature. For all our most elaborate and advanced kinetic theories seem utterly to fail us as explanatory when we, through the higher powers of the microscope, stand wondering and face to face with the evolution of a single living cell. But from such a view of the essential Being of the World as evolution suggests to the psycho-physical theory of nature is not an impassable gulf. And thus, under its growing wealth of knowledge, science may be leading up to an Ideal of the Ultimate Reality, in which philosophy will gratefully and gladly coincide. At any rate, the modern conception of nature and the modern conception of God are not so far apart from each other, as either of these conceptions is now removed from the conceptions covered by the same terms, some centuries gone by.

There is one of the positive sciences, however, with which the development of philosophy during the last century has been particularly allied. This science is psychology. To speak of its history is not the theme of this paper. But it should be noted in passing how the development of psychology has brought into connection with the physical and biological sciences the development of philosophy. This union, whether it be for better or for worse,—and, on the whole, I believe it to be for better rather than for worse,—has been in a very special way the result of the last century. In tracing its details we should have to speak of the dependence of certain branches of psychology on physiology, and upon Sir Charles Bell's discovery of the difference between the sensory and the motor nerves. This discovery was the contribution of the beginning of the century to an entire line of discoveries, which have ended at the close of the century with putting the localization of cerebral function upon a firm experimental basis. Of scarcely less importance has been the cellular theory as applied (1838) by Matthias Schleiden, a pupil of Fries in philosophy, to plants, and by Theodor Schwann about the same time to animal organisms. To these must be added the researches of Johannes Müller (1801-1858), the great biologist, a listener to Hegel's lectures, whose law of specific energies brings him into connection with psychology and, through psychology, to philosophy. Even more true is this of Helmholtz, whose Lehre von den Tonempfindungen (1862) and Physiologische Optik (1867) placed him in even closer, though still mediate, relations to philosophy. But perhaps especially Gustav Theodor Fechner (1801-1887), whose researches in psycho-physics laid the foundations of whatever, either as psychology or as philosophy, goes under this name; and whether the doctrine have reference to the relation of man's mind and body, or to the wider relations of spirit and matter.

In my judgment it cannot be affirmed that the attempts of the latter half of the nineteenth century to develop an experimental science of psychology in independence of philosophical criticism and metaphysical assumption, or the claims of this science to have thrown any wholly new light upon the statement, or upon the solution of philosophical problems, have been largely successful. But certain more definitely psychological questions have been to a commendable degree better analyzed and elucidated; the new experimental methods, where confined within their legitimate sphere, have been amply justified; and certain quasi-metaphysical views respecting the nature of the human mind, and even, if you will, the nature of the Spirit in general—have been placed in a more favorable and scientifically engaging attitude toward speculative philosophy. This seems to me to be especially true with respect to two problems in which both empirical psychology and philosophy have a common and profound interest. These are (1) the complex synthesis of mental functions involved in every act of true cognition, together with the bearing which the psychology of cognition has upon epistemological problems; and (2) the yet more complex and profound analysis, from the psychological point of view, of what it is to be a self-conscious and self-determining Will, a true Self, together with the bearing which the psychology of selfhood has upon all the problems of ethics, æsthetics, and religion.

The more obvious and easily traceable influences which have operated to incite and direct the philosophical development of the nineteenth century are, of course, dependent upon the teachings and writings of philosophers, and the schools of philosophy which they have founded. To speak of these influences even in outline would be to write a manual of the history of philosophy during that hundred of years, which has been of all others by far the most fruitful in material results, whatever estimate may be put upon the separate or combined values of the individual thinkers and their so-called schools. No fewer than seven or eight relatively independent or partially antagonistic movements, which may be traced back either directly or more indirectly to the critical philosophy, and to the form in which the problems of philosophy were left by Kant, sprung up during the century. In Germany chiefly, there arose the Faith-philosophy, the Romantic School, and Rational Idealism; in France, Eclecticism and Positivism (if, indeed, the latter can be called a philosophy); in Scotland, a naïve and crude form of Realism, which served well for the time as an antagonist of a skeptical idealism, but which itself contributed to an improved form of Idealism; and in the United States, or rather in New England, a peculiar kind of Transcendentalism of the sentimental type. But all these movements of thought, and others lying somewhere midway between, in a pair composed of any two, together with a steadfast remainder of almost every sort of Dogmatism, and all degrees and kinds of Skepticism, have been intermixed and contending with one another, in all these countries. Such has been the varied, undefinable, and yet intensely stimulating and interesting character of the development of systematic and scholastic philosophy, during the nineteenth century.

The early opposition to Kant in Germany was, in the main, twofold:—both to his peculiar extreme analysis with its philosophical conclusions, and also to all systematic as distinguished from a more popular and literary form of philosophizing. Toward the close of the eighteenth century a group of men had been writing upon philosophical questions in a spirit and method quite foreign to that held in respect by the critical philosophy. It is not wholly without significance that Lessing, whose aim had been to use common sense and literary skill in clearing up obscure ideas and improving and illumining the life of man, died in the very year of the appearance of Kant's Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Of this class of men an historian dealing with this period has said, "There is hardly one who does not quote somewhere or other Pope's saying, 'The proper study of mankind is man.'" To this class belong Hamann (1730-1788), the inspirer of Herder and Jacobi. The former, who was essentially a poet and a friend of Goethe, controverted Kant with regard to his doctrine of reason, his antithesis between the individual and the race, and his schism between things as empirically known and the known unity in the Ground of their being and becoming. Herder's path to truth was highly colored with flowers of rhetoric; but the promise was that he would lead men back to the heavenly city. Jacobi, too, with due allowance made for the injury wrought by his divorce of the two philosophies,—that of faith and that of science,—and his excessive estimate of the value-judgments which repose in the mist of a feeling-faith, added something of worth by way of exposing the barrenness of the Kantian doctrine of an unknowable "Thing-in-itself."

From men like Fr. Schlegel (1772-1829), whose valid protest against the sharp separation of speculative philosophy from the æsthetical, social, and ethical life, assumed the "standpoint of irony," little real result in the discovery of truth could be expected. But Schleiermacher (1768-1834), in spite of that mixture of unfused elements which has made his philosophy "a rendezvous for the most diverse systems," contributed valuable factors to the century's philosophical development, both of a negative and of a positive character. This thinker was peculiarly fortunate in the enrichment of the conception of experience as warranting a justifiable confidence in the ontological value of ethical, æsthetical, and religious sentiment and ideas; but he was most unfortunate in reviving and perpetuating the unjustifiable Kantian distinction between cognition and faith in the field of experience. On the whole, therefore, the Faith-philosophy and the Romantic School can easily be said to have contributed more than a negative and modifying influence to the development of the philosophy of the nineteenth century. Its more modern revival toward the close of the same century, and its continued hold upon certain minds of the present day, are evidences of the positive but partial truth which its tenets, however vaguely and unsystematically, continue to maintain in an æsthetically and practically attractive way.

The admirers of Kant strove earnestly and with varied success to remedy the defects of his system. Among the earlier, less celebrated and yet important members of this group, were K. G. Reinhold (1758-1823), and Maimon (died, 1800). The former, like Descartes, in that he was educated by the Jesuits, began the attempt, after rejecting some of the arbitrary distinctions of Kant and his barren and self-contradictory "Thing-in-itself," to unify the critical philosophy by reducing it to some one principle. The latter really transcended Kant in his philosophical skepticism, and anticipated the Hamiltonian form of the so-called principle of relativity. Fries (1773-1843), and Hermes (1775-1831)—the latter of whom saw in empirical psychology the only true propædeutic to philosophy—should be mentioned in this connection. In the same group was another, both mathematician and philosopher, who strove more successfully than others of this group to accept the critical standpoint of Kant and yet to transcend his negative conclusions with regard to a theory of knowledge. I refer to Bolzano (Prague, 1781-1848), who stands in the same line of succession with Fries and Hermes, and whose works on the Science of Religion (4 vols. 1834) and his Science of Knowledge (4 vols. 1837) are noteworthy contributions to epistemological doctrine. In the latter we have developed at great length the important thought that the illative character of propositional judgments implies an objective relation; and that in all truths the subject-idea must be objective. In the work on religion there is found as thoroughly dispassionate and rational a defense of Catholic doctrine as exists anywhere in philosophical literature. The limited influence of these works, due in part to their bulk and their technical character, is on the whole, I think, sincerely to be regretted.

It was, however, chiefly that remarkable series of philosophers which may be grouped under the rubric of a "rational Idealism," who filled so full and made so rich the philosophical life of Germany during the first half of the last century; whose philosophical thoughts and systems have spread over the entire Western World, and who are most potent influences in shaping the development of philosophy down to the present hour. Of these we need do little more than that we can do—mention their names. At their head, in time, stands Fichte, who—although Kant is reported to have complained of this disciple because he lied about him so much—really divined a truth which seems to be hovering in the clouds above the master's head, but which, if the critical philosophy truly meant to teach it, needed helpful deliverance in order to appear in perfectly clear light. Fichte, although he divined this truth, did not, however, free it from internal confusion and self-contradiction. It is his truth, nevertheless, that in the Self, as a self-positing and self-determining activity, must somehow be found the Ground of all experience and of all Reality.

The important note which Schelling sounded was the demand that philosophy should recognize "Nature" as belonging to the sphere of Reality, and as requiring a measure of reflective thought which should in some sort put it on equal terms with the Ego, for the construction of our conception of the Being of the World. To Schelling it seemed impossible to deduce, as Fichte had done, all the rich concrete development of the world of things from the subjective needs and constitutional forms of functioning which belong to the finite Self. And, indeed, the doctrine which limits the origin, existence, and value of all that is known about this sphere of experience to these needs, and which finds the sufficient account of all experience with nature in these forms of functioning, must always seem inadequate and even grotesque in the sight of the natural sciences. Both Nature and Spirit, thought Schelling, must be allowed to claim actual existence and equally real value; while at the same time philosophy must reconcile the seeming opposition of their claims and unite them in an harmonious and self-explanatory way. In some common substratum, in which, to adopt Hegel's sarcastic criticism, as in the darkness of the night "all cows are black,"—that is in the Absolute, as an Identical Basis of Differences,—the reconciliation was to be accomplished.

But the constructive idealistic movement, in which Fichte and Schelling bore so important a part, could not be satisfied with the positions reached by either of these two philosophers. Neither the physical and psychological sciences, nor the speculative interests of religion, ethics, art, and social life, permitted this movement to stop at this point. In all the subsequent developments of philosophy during the first half or three quarters of the nineteenth century, undoubtedly the influence of Hegel was greatest of all individual thinkers. His motif and plan are revealed in his letter of November 2, 1800, to Schelling, namely, to transform what had hitherto been an ideal into a thoroughly elaborate system. And in spite of his obvious obscurities of thought and style, there is real ground for his claim to be the champion of the common consciousness. It is undoubtedly in Hegel's Phänomenologie des Geistes (1807), that the distinctive features of the philosophy of the first half of the last century most clearly define themselves. The forces of reflection now abandon the abstract analytic method and positions of the Kantian Critique, and concentrate themselves upon the study of man's spiritual life as an historical evolution, in a more concrete, face-to-face manner. Two important and, in the main, valid assumptions underlie and guide this reflective study: (1) The Ultimate Reality, or principle of all realities, is Mind or Spirit, which is to be recognized and known in its essence, not by analysis into its formal elements (the categories), but as a living development; (2) those formal elements, or categories to which Kant gave validity merely as constitutional forms of the functioning of the human understanding, represent, the rather, the essential structure of Reality.

In spite of these true thoughts, fault was justly found by the particular sciences with both the speculative method of Hegel, which consists in the smooth, harmonious, and systematic arrangement of conceptions in logical or ideal relations to one another; and also with the result, which reduces the Being of the World to terms of thought and dialectical processes merely, and neglects or overlooks the other aspects of racial experience. Therefore, the idealistic movement could not remain satisfied with the Hegelian dialectic. Especially did both the religious and the philosophical party revolt against the important thought underlying Hegel's philosophy of religion; namely, that "the more philosophy approximates to a complete development, the more it exhibits the same need, the same interest, and the same content, as religion itself." This, as they interpreted it, meant the absorption of religion in philosophy.

Next after Hegel, among the great names of this period, stand the names of Herbart and Schopenhauer. The former contributes in an important way to the proper conception of the task and the method of philosophy, and influences greatly the development of psychology, both as a science that is pedagogic to philosophy, and as laying the basis for pedagogical principles and practice. But Herbart commits again the ancient fallacy, under the spell of which so much of the Kantian criticism was bound; and which identifies contradictions that belong to the imperfect or illusory conceptions of individual thinkers with insoluble antinomies inherent in reason itself. In spite of the little worth and misleading character of his view of perception, and the quite complete inadequacy of the method by which, at a single leap, he reaches the one all-explanatory principle of his philosophy, Schopenhauer made a most important contribution to the reflective thought of the century. It is true, as Kuno Fischer has said, that it seems to have occurred to Schopenhauer only twenty-five years after he had propounded his theory, that will, as it appears in consciousness, is as truly phenomenal as is intellect. It is also true that his theory of knowledge and his conception of Reality, as measured by their power to satisfy and explain our total experience, are inflicted with irreconcilable contradictions. Neither can we accord firm confidence or high praise to the "Way of Salvation" which somehow Will can attain to follow by æsthetic contemplation and ascetic self-denial. Yet the philosophy of Schopenhauer rightly insists upon our Idealistic construction of Reality having regard to aspects of experience which his predecessors had quite too much neglected; and even its spiteful and exaggerated reminders of the facts which contradict the tendency of all Idealism to construct a smooth, regular, and altogether pleasing conception of the Being of the World, have been of great benefit to the development of the latter half of the nineteenth century.

In estimating the thoughts and the products of modern Idealism we ought not to forget the larger multitude of thoughtful men, both in Germany and elsewhere, who have contributed toward shaping the course of reflection in the attempt to answer the problems which the critical philosophy left to the nineteenth century. It is a singular comment upon the caprices of fame that, in philosophy as in science, politics, and art, some of those who have really reasoned most soundly and acutely, if not also effectively upon these problems, are little known even by name in the history of the philosophical development of the century. Among the earlier members of this group, did space permit, we should wish to mention Berger, Solger, Steffens, and others, who strove to reconcile the positions of a subjective idealism with a realistic but pantheistic conception of the Being of the World. There are others, who like Weisse, I. H. Fichte, C. P. Fischer, and Braniss, more or less bitterly or moderately and reasonably, opposed the method and the conclusions of the Hegelian dialectic. Still another group earned for themselves the supposedly opprobrious but decidedly vague title of "Dualists," by rejecting what they conceived to be the pantheism of Hegel. Still others, like Fries and Beneke and their successors, strove to parallel philosophy with the particular sciences by grounding it in an empirical but scientific psychology; and thus they instituted a line of closely connected development, to which reference has already been made.

Hegel himself believed that he had permanently effected that reconciliation of the orthodox creed with the cognition of Ultimate Reality at which his dialectic aimed. In all such attempts at reconciliation three great questions are chiefly concerned: (1) the Being of God; (2) the nature of man; (3) the actual and the ideally satisfactory relations between the two. But, as might have been expected, a period of wild, irregular, and confused contention met the attempt to establish this claim. In this conflict of more or less noisy and popular as well as of thoughtful and scholastic philosophy, Hegelians of various degrees of fidelity, anti-Hegelians of various degrees of hostility, and ultra-Hegelians of various degrees of eccentricity, all took a valiant and conspicuous part. We cannot follow its history; but we can learn its lesson. Polemical philosophy, as distinguished from quiet, reflective, and critical but constructive philosophy involves a most uneconomical use of mental force. Yet out of this period of conflict, and in a measure as its result, there came a period of improved relations between science and philosophy and between philosophy and theology, which was the dawn, toward the close of the nineteenth century, of that better illumined day into the middle of which we hope that we are proceeding.

Before leaving this idealistic movement in Germany, and elsewhere as influenced largely by German philosophy, one other name deserves mention. This name is that of Lotze, who combined elements from many previous thinkers with those derived from his own studies and thoughts,—the conceptions of mechanism as applied to physical existences and to psychical life, with the search for some monistic Principle that shall satisfy the æsthetical and ethical, as well as the scientific demands of the human mind. This variety of interests and of culture led to the result of his making important contributions to psychology, logic, metaphysics, and æsthetics. If we find his system of thinking—as I think we must—lacking in certain important elements of consistency and obscured in places by doubts as to his real meaning, this does not prevent us from assigning to Lotze a position which, for versatility of interests, genial quality of reflection and criticism, suggestiveness of thought and charm of style, is second to no other in the history of nineteenth century philosophical development.