fix our attention upon mental phenomena alone and still speak of an evolution of mind? We can do this only if we will follow Spinoza in the assumption of a complete system of mental phenomena analogous to the system of physical phenomena which we call the external world. The existence of such a system is, however, as I have said above, flatly contradicted by what we know

of minds.

Must we, then, abandon the convenient expression "mental evolution"? Not at all. We must understand it and avoid being misled by it. There is no reason why we should not use the phrase to mark the fact that minds increasingly complex have been revealed by the organisms which have successively made their appearance in the course of the physical evolution of things; and there is no reason why we should not, upon a knowledge of what has been, base a reasonable expectation of what will be in the time that is to come.

CHAPTER XXXII

MECHANISM AND TELEOLOGY

To the doctrine set forth in the preceding chapter many persons will be prompt to urge objections. "What!" I hear them exclaim, “are we to deny to mental phenomena a place in the one causal nexus with material phenomena? Then let us admit at once that no mind can act upon matter and bring about changes in it, and let us also accept the unpalatable corollary that no mind can act upon another mind. Let us write the mind down an epiphenomenon, a shadow, an otiose thing, seeing all its own mischance, but unable to lift a finger to determine is own fate. Let us call man a physical automaton with parallel psychical states, and let us be penetrated with the conviction that he walks in a vain show. Perish all respect for that passive halo, that thing of functions merely decorative, the human mind, of which men have spoken in the past with such misplaced respect.'

I must begin my answer to all such objections with the remark that, if the doctrine set forth in the preceding chapter really did imply the repudiation of all those experiences commonly described as instances of the action of mind upon matter and of mind upon mind, that doctrine would undoubtedly have to be abandoned. It is matter of common experience that we desire, will, and attain ends. The architect conceives a plan, and puts it on paper; the mason and the carpenter set matter in motion, and build a house; we see the house, we are pleased with it, and we buy it. The architect certainly framed his plan with an end in view; the artisans did not labor without a purpose; we take the house that we may live in it.

In answer to the question: Why did builder build, and buyer buy? we reply unhesitatingly: The one worked to get his wage, and the other paid over his money to have a home of his Our answer takes no account of the efficient causes of the actions in question; it concerns itself with the indication of ends,

own.

and it contents the questioner, who regards human actions as satisfactorily explained when he is able to look upon them as means to the attainment of given ends.

He is little interested in the chain of physical causes and effects as such. Those links which lie in the human brain are unknown to him, and even were he much better informed than he is, it is inconceivable that this chain should in itself absorb his attention. His world is not merely a world of matter; it is also a world of mind, and he is intensely interested in thoughts, feelings, the satisfaction of impulses. External things gain for him a peculiar value and significance when they are found to be related in certain ways to things mental. He shows his good sense in thinking of and speaking of his world in such a way as to emphasize those relations among his experiences which seem to him to be of the highest importance. He does so unconsciously and instinctively, and is apt to forget that it is possible to regard things from another point of view as well.

I have said that it is a matter of common experience that men form plans and attain ends. He who utterly repudiates this common experience, and denies that men form plans and attain ends, will justly be regarded by his neighbors as little better than a fool. But it must not be forgotten that it is one thing to repudiate common experience, and quite another to seek to arrive at a clearer comprehension of what it signifies, by the aid of a careful analysis.

For example, we are told that our neighbor arose at five o'clock in the morning, because the train was to leave at six; that he took his luncheon with him, because he would be unable to procure anything to eat on the journey; that he left directions with the servants, because the plumber would put in an appearance before his return. We understand quite well what we are meant to understand by such statements, and we know that they serve to express truth. If an officious bystander insists that they cannot be true, on the ground that an occurrence not yet existent cannot be the cause of a present occurrence, or on the ground that the mental cannot interact with the physical, we decide that his reading has been too much for his good sense.

The statements express truth; it is silly to deny them, and it is silly to block the wheels of human intercourse by trying to express the same truth in some strange and unaccustomed way.

One will only be misunderstood for one's pains, and in all probability one will deceive oneself as well as others. Let the common expressions stand. They have long served their purpose, and our emotional as well as our intellectual adjustments to them are what they ought to be.

But this does not mean that the thinker ought not to strive to make very clear to himself the exact significance of such words as "purpose" and "end." If there is danger of falling into misapprehensions, if words appear to be used in more than one sense, if the truth that is conveyed by such expressions as those commented upon above is found to be a vaguely apprehended truth, it is surely desirable to subject the whole matter to careful criticism. The plain man undoubtedly has experiences in which the external world is presented to him; he knows more or less vaguely what he means by material things. When the metaphysician endeavors to give a more exact account of what is meant by the external world, he does not repudiate these experiences, and declare the plain man's notions of the external world to be wholly untrustworthy. He recognizes the fact that it is just these experiences which must furnish the starting-point for his own investigations, and he sees that it is his duty not to deny, but to comprehend. is within his province to point out definitely what we mean by space and time; it is not within his province to call in question the assertion of a competent astronomer that a given star crossed the meridian at a given moment. In the same way, he must accept the world of purposes and ends revealed in common experience, but he must realize that such an acceptance does not absolve him from the duty of striving to comprehend the significance of what he thus accepts, and of assigning to purposes and ends their reasonable place in the world-order as a whole.

It

That it is not enough to dismiss the subject with an appeal to common experience must be evident to any one who has the least acquaintance with the history of speculative thought. How one is to conceive of the final cause or end of action, and of its relation to the efficient cause, has been a problem to the reflective mind for many centuries.

Is the end a cause at all? Undoubtedly we sometimes speak as though it were. Do we not say that our neighbor rose at five o'clock because he was going to leave on the six-o'clock train? This sounds Aristotelian. On the other hand, we sometimes

describe the same occurrence by saying that our neighbor rose early, because he had the intention of leaving on an early train— a turn of phrase which Spinoza would have regarded as preferable to the former. "What is called the final cause," he writes, "is nothing but human impulse itself, in so far as it is considered as the efficient or determining cause of something. For example, when we say that the living in it was the final cause of this or that house, we mean only that a man, because he formed a conception of the pleasures of domestic life, had an impulse to build a house. Hence, the living in it, in so far as it is considered as final cause, is nothing but this particular impulse, which, in truth, is the efficient cause; and it is regarded as the first, because men are commonly ignorant of the causes of their impulses." "I will add," he complains in another place,2 "that this doctrine of final causes simply turns nature upside down. It regards as effect what is really cause, and vice versa."

"1

This is a protest against regarding that which is not yet as a cause of that which is. Can the non-existent be a cause? Can it produce anything? The living in a house comes after the construction of the house; how can it be a cause of the construction? The real cause, says Spinoza, is not the living in the house; that is effect, not cause. The cause is the idea, the human impulse, which works itself out in the production of the end.

In criticism of this criticism I must dwell upon two points. First, it should be remarked that the objection-one which has been made often enough since is really an objection to the use of a word. If we decide that the word "cause " cannot properly be used except in speaking of efficient causes, then it goes without saying that final causes are not causes at all. Thus Spinoza insists that the final cause or end is not cause, but effect — which clearly indicates that he thinks the word "cause" should be used in only the one sense. He is certainly right in holding that that which is spoken of as end or final cause may also be regarded as an effect in the chain of efficient causes and effects. The living in a house is not a fact which has burst into being from nowhere; it has its antecedents.

But it seems somewhat dogmatic to insist that a word shall have but one meaning when long usage has granted it two meanings. From Aristotle down, men had distinguished between the effi1"Ethics," IV, Preface. 2 Ibid., I, Appendix.