Chapter VI: Part VI: They Sang (2)

_Büchner._ “We might answer these believers, that the germs of all living beings had from eternity existed in universal space, or in the chaotic vapors from which the earth was formed; and these germs, deposited upon the earth, have there and then become developed, according to external necessary conditions. The facts of these successive organic generations would thus be sufficiently explained; and such an explanation is at least less odd and far‐fetched than the assumption of a creative power, which amused itself in producing, in every particular period, genera of plants and animals, as preliminary studies for the creation of man—a thought quite unworthy of the conception of a perfect Creator” (_ibid._)

_Reader._ I am afraid, doctor, that all this nonsense proceeds from cold‐ hearted maliciousness more than from ignorance. For how can you be ignorant that, if there be anything odd and far‐fetched in any theory of cosmogony, it is not the recognition of a creative power, but the assumption of eternal germs wandering about from eternity amid chaotic vapors? Your preference for this last assumption is an insult to reason, which has no parallel but the act of passionate folly by which the Jews preferred Barabbas to Christ. The Creator, as you well know, had no need of “preliminary studies”: yet he might have “amused himself,” if he so wished,(22) in making different genera of plants and animals, just as noblemen and princes amuse themselves, without disgracing their rank, in planting gardens, and petting dogs, horses, and birds. But this is not the question. You pretend that the germs of all living beings had from eternity existed in universal space. This you cannot prove either philosophically or scientifically; and we have already established in a preceding discussion that nothing changeable can have existed from eternity.

_Büchner._ “But we stand in need of no such arguments” (p. 72).

_Reader._ Why, then, do you bring them forward?

_Büchner._ “The facts of science prove with considerable certainty that the organic beings which people the earth owe their origin and propagation solely to the conjoined action of natural forces and materials, and that the gradual change and development of the surface of the earth is the sole, or at least the chief, cause of the gradual increase of the living world” (p. 72).

_Reader._ This is another of your vain assertions. For you confess that “it is impossible at present to demonstrate with scientific exactness” the gradual development of organic beings from mere material forces; and you had previously affirmed that “there _must_ have existed individuals of the same species, to produce others of the same kind” (p. 68). Where are, then, to be found the facts of science which “prove with considerable certainty” the contrary of what you acknowledge to be the fact? Is your method of reasoning a mere oscillation between contradictories?

_Büchner._ “We may hope that future investigations will throw more light on the subject” (_ibid._)

_Reader._ Very well. But, if this is the case, surely no “fact of science” proves, as yet, the spontaneous evolution of life from inorganic matter. And you may be certain that the future investigations of science will not give the lie to the investigations of the past.

_Büchner._ “Our present knowledge is, however, sufficient to render it highly probable, nay, perhaps morally certain, that a spontaneous generation exists, and that higher forms have gradually and slowly become developed from previously existing lower forms, always determined by the state of the earth, but without the immediate influence of a higher power” (_ibid._)

_Reader._ All this I have already answered; and I am rather tired, doctor, of repeating the same remarks over and over again. Why should you make these empty assertions, if you had real arguments to produce? And, if you have no arguments, what is the use of saying and gainsaying at random, as you do, the same things? Why do you assert that “the immediate influence of a higher power” has nothing to do with the origin of life, when you know that your assertion must remain unproved and can easily be refuted? If “our present knowledge renders it highly probable, nay, perhaps, morally certain, that a spontaneous generation exists,” why did you say the contrary just a few lines before? It is inconceivable that a thinking man should be satisfied with such a suicidal process of arguing.

_Büchner._ “The law of a gradual development of primeval times is impressed upon the present living organic world” (p. 75). “All animal forms are originally so much alike, that it is often impossible to distinguish the embryo of a sheep from that of a man, whose future genius may perhaps revolutionize the world” (p. 76).

_Reader._ What does it matter if it is impossible for us to distinguish the embryo of a sheep from that of a man? Is it necessary to see with our eyes what distinguishes the one from the other in order to know that they are different? If we are reasonable, we must be satisfied that their different development proves very conclusively their different constitution.

But let this pass. Your line of argument requires you to show that the first eggs and the first seeds are spontaneous products of blind inorganic forces, without any immediate interference or influence of a higher power. While this is not proved, nothing that you may say can help you out of your false position. You may well allege with Vogt “the general law prevalent through the whole animal world, that the resemblance of a common plan of structure which connects various animals is more striking the nearer they are to their origin, and that these resemblances become fainter in proportion to the progress of their development and their subjection to the elements from which they draw their nourishment” (p. 76). We know this; but what of it? The question is not about the development of life from a germ, but about the development of a germ from inorganic forces; and this is what you try constantly to forget. You say: “The younger the earth was, the more definite and powerful must the influence of external conditions have been; and it is by no means impossible to imagine that the _same_ germs might, by very different external circumstances, have conduced to very heterogeneous developments” (p. 77). Were this as true as it is false, it would not advance your cause by one step; for you here assume the germs as already existing.

_Büchner._ “The comparatively greater force of nature in former periods is manifested in the singular forms of antediluvian animals as well as in their enormous size” (p. 78).

_Reader._ Were those animals the product of merely inorganic forces?

_Büchner._ So it is believed.

_Reader._ On what ground?

_Büchner._ “If the contemplation of surrounding nature strikes us so much by its grandeur that we cannot divest ourselves of the idea of a direct creative cause, the origin of this feeling is owing to the fact that we contemplate as a whole the united effects of natural forces through a period of millions of years; and, thinking only of the present, and not of the past, cannot imagine that nature has produced all this out of itself. The law of analogies; the formation of prototypes; the necessary dependence upon external circumstances which organic bodies exhibit in their origin and form; the gradual development of higher organic forms from lower organisms; the circumstance that the origin of organic beings was not a momentary process, but continued through all geological periods; that each period is characterized by creatures peculiar to it, of which some individuals only are continued in the next period—all these relations rest upon incontrovertible facts, and are perfectly irreconcilable with the idea of a personal almighty creative power, which could not have adopted such a slow and gradual labor, and have rendered itself dependent upon the natural phases of the development of the earth” (pp. 84, 85).

_Reader._ If this is your ground for asserting the origin of organic beings from the mere forces of matter, all I can say is that you should learn a little philosophy before you venture again to write a book for the public. Were you a philosopher, you would know that, independently of “the united effects of natural forces through a period of millions of years,” every grain of dust that floats in the air affords us a sufficient proof of the existence of “a personal almighty creative power”; your “law of analogies” would suggest to you the thought of a primitive source of life; “the formation of prototypes” would compel you to ask, Who formed them? and how could they be formed without an archetypal idea, which matter could not possess? You would see that nothing can be gained by asserting, as you do, that “the gradual development of the higher organic forms from lower organisms rests upon incontrovertible facts,” while you cannot cite a single one in support of your assertion. You would take care not to attribute to the Creator an imaginary waste of time in “the slow and gradual labor” of peopling the earth with organic beings, nor entertain the absurd notion that he would have rendered himself “dependent upon the natural phases of the development of the earth,” merely because his action harmonized with the order of things he had created. Lastly, you would have kept in view that the fact of which you were bound to give an explanation was not the development of new organisms from existing organisms, but the origin of the first organisms themselves from inorganic matter. Why did you leave aside this last point, than which no other had a greater need of demonstration?

_Büchner._ I may not be a philosopher; but certain it is that “science has never obtained a greater victory over those who assume an extramundane or supernatural principle to explain the problem of existence, than by means of geology and petrifaction. Never has the human mind more decisively saved the rights of nature. Nature knows neither a supernatural beginning nor a supernatural continuance” (p. 88).

_Reader._ How stupid indeed! Your Masonic science cannot stand on its legs, and you boast of victories! Do you not see, doctor, the absurdity of your pretension? When did science attack religion, and was not defeated? I speak of your infidel science, mind you; for true science has no need of attacking religion. Your science tries “to explain the problem of existence by means of geology and petrifaction” without a supernatural principle. But is the origin of existence a problem? and can it be solved by geology and petrifaction? Historical facts are no problems. You may blot out history, it is true, as you might also put out the light, and remain in the dark to your full satisfaction. Thus everything might become a problem. But can you call this a scientific process? Why do you not appeal to geology and petrifaction to explain, say, the origin of Rome, and thus obtain “a great victory” over history? Yet it would be less absurd to believe that Rome is a work of nature than to believe that life originated in dead inorganic matter. The origin of life and of all other things is a primitive fact, which lies outside the province of geology altogether. Philosophy alone can account for it; and philosophy proclaims that your infidel theory of primeval generation is a shameless imposture.

_Büchner._ This is a severe remark, sir.

_Reader._ I will take it back when you shall have proved that the first organic germs originated in inorganic matter without supernatural intervention.

XII. Design In Nature.

_Reader._ Everything in nature speaks of God; but you, doctor, seem quite insensible to the eloquence of creation.

_Büchner._ I deny the eloquence of creation. Indeed, “design in nature has ever been, and is still, one of the chief arguments in favor of the theory which ascribes the origin and preservation of the world to a ruling and organizing creative power. Every flower which unfolds its blossoms, every gust of wind which agitates the air, every star which shines by night, every wound which heals, every sound, everything in nature, affords to the believing teleologist an opportunity for admiring the unfathomable wisdom of that higher power. Modern science has pretty much emancipated itself from such empty notions, and abandons these innocent studies to such as delight in contemplating nature rather with the eyes of the feeling than with those of the intellect” (p. 89).

_Reader._ This is no reason why you should blind yourself to the evidence of the facts. Every one knows that Masonic science hates teleology. No wonder at that. This science emancipates itself, not from empty notions, as you say, but from the very laws of reasoning. Free thought would cease to be free, if it did not emancipate itself from logic. Yet, since free‐ thinkers “abandon to us the innocent study” of teleology, would it not be prudent in them to avoid talking on what they are unwilling to study? How can they know that we contemplate nature “rather with the eyes of the feeling than with those of the intellect”? Do they suppose that order and design are objects of the feeling rather than of the intellect?

_Büchner._ I will tell you what our conviction is. “The combination of natural materials and forces must, in giving rise to the variety of existing forms, have at the same time become mutually limited and determined, and must have produced corresponding contrivances, which, superficially considered, appear to have been caused by an external power.” Our reflecting reason is the sole cause of this apparent design, which is nothing but the necessary consequence of the combination of natural materials and forces. Thus, as Kant says, “our intellect admires a wonder which it has created itself” (p. 90).

_Reader._ Beware of blunders, doctor! You have just said that our notion of design in nature was caused by our feeling, not by our intellect; but you now say that the sole cause of that notion is our reflecting reason, and maintain, on Kant’s authority, that the same notion is a creation of our intellect. Can contradiction be more evident?

Again, if our reflecting reason is the sole cause of our perception of design in nature, surely we are right in admitting that there is design in nature, and you are wrong in denying it. For, if the design were only _apparent_, as you pretend, imagination might be fascinated by it, but “reflecting reason” would never cause us to perceive it. On the other hand, if you distrust “reflecting reason,” what else will you trust in its stead?

Moreover, how did you not observe that Kant’s proposition, “Our intellect admires a wonder which it has created itself,” contains a false supposition? The intellect cannot create to itself any notion of design; it can only perceive it in the things themselves: and it would never affirm the existence of design in nature, unless it perceived its objective reality. Hence our intellect admires a wonder which it perceives, not a wonder which it creates.

Furthermore, you wish us to believe that what we term design “is nothing but a necessary consequence of some combinations.” But why did you omit that all such combinations presuppose definite conditions, and that these conditions originally depend on the will of the Creator? Your book on _Force and Matter_ is nothing but a necessary consequence of a combination of types, ink, and paper. Does it follow that the book is not the work of a designing doctor? You see how defective your reasoning is. You have nearly succeeded in proving the contrary of what you intended.

_Büchner._ But “how can we speak of design, knowing the objects only in one form and shape, and having no idea how they would appear to us in any other? What natural contrivance is there which might not be imagined to be rendered more perfect in design? We admire natural objects without considering what an infinite variety of other contrivances and forms has slumbered, and is still dormant, in the lap of nature. It depends on an accident whether or not they will enter into existence” (p. 90).

_Reader._ I apprehend, doctor, that your notion of design is neither clear nor correct. The “form and shape” of the objects is not what _we_ call design. Design, in nature, is _the ordination of all things to an end_. It is therefore the natural aptitude of things to a definite end, and not their form or shape, that reveals the existence of design in nature. It is not even the absolute perfection of a thing that reveals design: it is only its relative perfection, that is, its proportion to the end for which it is created. Hence we have the right to admire natural objects for their adaptation to certain ends, without considering the infinite variety of other contrivances slumbering in the lap of nature. For, if the existing contrivances are proportionate to their ends, there is design, whatever we may say of the possibility of other contrivances, and even of other words.

_Büchner._ “Numbers of arrangements in nature, apparently full of design, are nothing but the result of the influence of external natural conditions” (p. 90).

_Reader._ Yes; but these natural conditions are themselves the result of design, since they are all controlled by a superior mind.

_Büchner._ “Animals inhabiting the north have a thicker fur than those of the south; and likewise the hair and feathers of animals become thicker in winter and fall out in summer. Is it not more natural to consider these phenomena as the effect of changes in the temperature, than to imagine a heavenly tailor who takes care of the summer and winter wardrobes of the various animals? The stag was not endowed with long legs to enable him to run fast, but he runs fast because his legs are long” (p. 91).

_Reader._ These remarks are puerile, doctor, and I might dispense with answering them; yet I observe that, as cold does not foster vegetation, it is not in the north, but in the south, that the fur of animals should grow thicker. At any rate, the “heavenly tailor,” who clothes the lilies of the field, does not forget the wardrobe of animals, whether in the north or in the south, in summer or in winter; for his is the world, and from his hand the needs of every creature are supplied. As to the stag, you are likewise mistaken. “He runs fast because his legs are long”; but how does it follow from this that he was not endowed with long legs to enable him to run fast? Does the one exclude the other? Would you say that your works are known because they have been published, and therefore they have not been published to make them known? Your blunder is evident.

_Büchner._ “Things are just as they are, and we should not have found them less full of design had they been different” (p. 91).

_Reader._ This, if true, would prove that our “reflecting reason” cannot exclude design from creation. If things had been different, the design would have been different. Even conflicting arrangements may be full of design; even the destruction of the best works of nature may be full of design: for the Author of nature is at liberty to do with it as he pleases. If, for instance, all the new‐born babies were hereafter to be males, we could not escape the consequence that the Author of nature designed to put an end to human generation. Whatever may be the order of things, we cannot deny design without insulting the wisdom of our Maker and Lord.

This consideration suffices to answer all your queries and objections. “Nature,” you say, “has produced a number of beings and contrivances in which no design can be detected” (p. 94). What of that? Can you deny that men act with some design, only because you cannot detect it? There are beings, you add, “which are frequently more apt to disturb than to promote the natural order of things” (_ibid._) This merely shows that the natural order of things is changeable—a truth which you had the courage to deny when speaking of miracles.

“The existence of dangerous animals has ever been a thorn in the side of theologians, and the most comical arguments have been used to justify their existence” (_ibid._) This is not true. No theologian has ever denied that dangerous animals fulfil some design in nature. And as to “comical arguments,” I think, doctor, that it is in your pages that we can best find them. “We know, on the other hand, that very innocent, or even useful, animals have become extinct, without nature taking any means to preserve their existence” (p. 95). This proves nothing at all. If God’s design could be fulfilled with their extinction, why should they have been preserved? “For what purpose are the hosts of diseases and of physical evils in general? Why that mass of cruelties and horrors which nature daily and hourly practises on her creatures? Could a being acting from goodness and benevolence endow the cat, the spider, and man with a nature capable of these horrors and cruelties?” (p. 96). This is the dark side of the picture; and yet there is design in all this. If I wished to make a “comical argument,” I might say that “the hosts of diseases” are, after all, very profitable to the M.D., who cannot live without them. But the true answer is, that the present order of things, as even the pagan philosophers recognized, is designed as a period of probation preparatory to a better life. We now live on a field of battle, amid trials calculated to stir up our energies and to mend or improve our character. We sow in tears, that we may reap in joy. Such is the design of a Being “acting from goodness and benevolence.” You do not understand this; but such is the truth. As to cats and spiders, you must bear in mind that they are not worse than the wolf, the tiger, or other animals providing for their own subsistence by the destruction of other living beings. If this be “cruelty,” how can you countenance it yourself by allowing the appearance at your table of killed animals?

Your other remarks are scarcely worthy of being quoted, as they prove nothing but your impertinence and presumption. You seem to put to God the dilemma: “Either let Büchner know all the secrets of your providence, or he will rebel against you, and even deny your existence.” You ask, Why this and why that? And because your weak brain fails to suggest the answer, you immediately conclude that things happen to be what they are, without a superior mind controlling their course. This is nice logic indeed! “Why should the vertebral column of man terminate in an appendage perfectly useless to him?” “Why should certain animals possess the organs of both sexes?” “Why are certain other animals so prolific that in a few years they might fill the seas and cover the earth, and find no more space or materials for their offspring?” “Why does nature produce monsters?” These questions may or may not be answered; but our ignorance is not the measure of things, and the existence of design in nature remains an unquestionable fact. Is not the very structure of our own bodies a masterpiece of design? A physician, like you, cannot plead ignorance on the subject.

_Büchner._ Yet nature cannot have a design in producing monstrosities. “I saw in a veterinary cabinet a goat fully developed in every part, but born without a head. Can we imagine anything more absurd than the development of an animal the existence of which is impossible from the beginning? Prof. Lotze of Göttingen surpasses himself in the following remarks on monstrosities: ‘If the fœtus is without a brain, it would be but judicious, in a force having a free choice, to suspend its action, as this deficiency cannot be compensated. But, inasmuch as the formative forces continue their action, that such a miserable and purposeless creature may exist for a time, appears to us strikingly to prove that the final result always depends upon the disposition of purely mechanical definite forces, which, once set in motion, proceed straight on, according to the law of inertia, until they meet with an obstruction.’ This is plain language” (p. 99). Again, monstrosities “may be produced artificially by injuries done to the fœtus or to the ovum. Nature has no means of remedying such an injury. The impulse once given is, on the contrary, followed in a false direction, and in due time a monstrosity is produced. The purely mechanical process, in such cases, can be easily recognized. Can the idea of a conscious power acting with design be reconciled with such a result? And is it possible that the hand of the Creator should thus be bound by the arbitrary act of man?” (pp. 101, 102).

_Reader._ That nature “cannot have a design in producing monstrosities” is a groundless assertion, as nature tends always to produce perfect beings, though sometimes its work is marred by obstacles which it has no power to remove. You saw “a goat fully developed in every part, but born without a head.” Here the design is evident. Nature wished to produce a perfect goat as usual, but failed. “If the fœtus is without a brain, it would be judicious, in a force having a free choice, to suspend its action.” This is another groundless assertion; for, if by _force_ you mean the forces of matter, they have no free choice, and cannot suspend their action; and if by _force_ you mean God, you presume too much, as you do not know his design. A fœtus without a brain, like a goat without a head, proclaims the imperfection of natural causes; and this very imperfection proclaims their contingency and the existence of a Creator. Thus, a fœtus without a brain may be the work of design; for God’s design is not to raise nature above all deficiencies, but to show his infinite perfection in the works of an imperfect nature. That “the hand of the Creator should be bound by the arbitrary act of men” is a third groundless assertion. Man may injure the fœtus, and God can restore it to a healthy condition; but nothing obliges him to do so. If he did it, it would be a miracle; and miracles are not in the order of nature. It follows that, when monstrosities are produced, they are not merely the result of mechanical forces, but also of God’s action, without which no causation is possible.

But you ask, “Can the idea of a conscious power acting with design be reconciled with such a result?” I answer that it can be reconciled very well. In fact, those effects which proceed directly from God alone, must indeed be perfect according to their own kind, inasmuch as God’s working is never exposed to failure; but those effects which do not proceed directly from God alone, but are produced by creatures with God’s assistance, may be imperfect, ugly, and monstrous. You may have a beautiful hand; but, if you write with a bad pen, your writing will not be beautiful. You may be a great pianist; but, if your instrument is out of tune, your music will be detestable. Whenever two causes, of which the one is instrumental to the other, concur to the production of the same effect, the imperfection of the instrumental cause naturally entails the imperfection of the effect. God’s action is perfect; but the action of his instruments may be imperfect; and it is owing to such an imperfection that the result may be a monstrosity.

But, to complete this explanation, it is necessary to add that, in the production of their natural effects, creatures are more than instrumental. The primary cause, God, and the secondary causes, creatures, are both _principal_ causes of natural effects; though the latter are subordinate to the influence of the former. Both God and the creature are total causes; that is, the effect entirely depends on the secondary, as it entirely depends on the primary cause, though in a different manner; for the influx of the primary cause is general, while that of the secondary cause is particular. Hence these two causes bear to the effect produced by them the same relation as two premises bear to their conclusion. God’s influence is to the effect produced what a general principle or a major proposition is to the conclusion; whilst the creature’s influence is to the same effect what a minor proposition or the application of the general principle is to the conclusion. Take, for instance, the general truth, “Virtue is a rational good,” as a major proposition. This general truth may be applied in different manners, and lead to different conclusions, good or bad, according as the application is right or wrong. If you subsume, “Temperance is a virtue,” you will immediately obtain the good conclusion that “Temperance is a rational good.” But, if you subsume, “Pride is a virtue,” you will reach the monstrous conclusion that “Pride is a rational good.” Now, this conclusion, however monstrous, could not be drawn without the general principle; and yet its monstrosity does not arise from the general principle, but only from its wrong application. Thus the general principle remains good and true in spite of the bad and false conclusion. And in the same manner the influence of the first cause on natural effects remains good and perfect, though the effects themselves, owing to the influence of the secondary causes, are imperfect and monstrous.

You now understand, I hope, how the exceptional production of monstrosities can be reconciled with the idea of a conscious power acting with design.

XIII. Brain And Soul.

_Reader._ And now, doctor, please tell me what is your doctrine on the human soul.

_Büchner._ The human soul is “a product of matter” (p. 132)—“a product of the development of the brain” (p. 197).

_Reader._ Indeed?

_Büchner._ “The brain is the seat and organ of thought; its size, shape, and structure are in exact proportion to the magnitude and power of its intellectual functions” (p. 107).

_Reader._ What do you mean by _thought_?

_Büchner._ Need I explain a term so universally known?

_Reader._ The term is known, but it is used more or less properly by different persons. Our minds may deal with either sensible or intellectual objects. When we have seen a mountain, we may think of it, because we have received from it an impression in our senses which leaves a vestige of itself in our organism, and enables us to represent to ourselves the object we have perceived. In this case our _thought_ is an exercise of our imagination. When, on the contrary, we think of some abstract notion or relation which does not strike our senses, and of which no image has been pictured in our organic potencies, then our _thought_ is an exercise of intellectual power. In both cases our brain has something to do with the thought. For in the first case our thought is an act of the sensitive faculty, which reaches its object as it is pictured, or otherwise impressed, in our organic potencies, of which the headquarters are in the brain. In the second case our thought is an act of the intellectual faculty, which detects the intelligible relations existing between the objects already perceived, or between notions deduced from previous perceptions; and this act, inasmuch as it implies the consideration of objects furnished to the mind by sensible apprehension, cannot but be accompanied by some act of the imaginative power making use of the images pictured in the organic potencies. Now, doctor, when you say that “the brain is the seat and organ of thought,” do you mean that both the intellectual and the imaginative thought reside in the brain and are worked out by the brain?

_Büchner._ Of course. For “comparative anatomy shows that through all classes of animals, up to man, the intellectual energy is in proportion to the size and material quality of the brain” (p. 107).

_Reader._ You are quite mistaken. The brain is an organ of the imagination, not of the intellect. And even as an organ of imagination it is incompetent to think or imagine, as it is only the instrument of a higher power—that is, of a soul. To say that the brain is the organ of intellectual thought is to assume that intellectual relations are pictured on the brain; which is evidently absurd, since intellectual relations cannot be pictured on material organs. Every impression made on our brain is a definite impression, corresponding to the definite objects from which it proceeds. If our intellectual thought were a function of the brain, we could not think, except of those same definite objects from which we have received our definite impressions. How do you, then, reconcile this evident inference with the fact that we conceive intellectually innumerable things from which we have never received a physical impression? We think of justice, of humanity, of truth, of causality, etc., though none of these abstractions has the power to picture itself on our brain. It is therefore impossible to admit that the intellectual thought is a function of the brain. With regard to the working of the imagination, I concede that the brain plays the part of an instrument; but how can you explain such a working without a higher principle? If our soul is nothing but “a product of matter,” since matter is inert, our soul must be inert, and since matter has only mechanical powers, our soul must be limited to mechanical action, that is, to the production of local movement. Now, can you conceive imagination as a merely mechanical power, or thought as the production of local movement?

_Büchner._ Yes. “Thought,” says Moleschott, “is a motion of matter” (p. 135).

_Reader._ It is perfectly useless, doctor, to make assertions which cannot be proved. Moleschott is no authority; he is a juggler like yourself, and works for the furtherance of the same Masonic aims. Let him say what he likes. We cannot but laugh at a thinker who can mistake his thought for local motion.

_Büchner._ You, however, cannot deny that, while we are thinking, our brain is doing work. But how can it do work without motion?

_Reader._ I do not deny that, while we are thinking, our brain is doing work. I merely deny that the movements of the brain are thoughts. As long as we live, soul and body work together, and we cannot think without some organic movements accompanying the operation. This every one admits. But you suppress the thinking principle, and retain only the organic movements. How is this possible? If thought consists merely of organic movements of the brain, how does the motion begin? The brain cannot give to itself a new mode of being. To account for its movements you must point out a distinct moving power, either intrinsic or extrinsic, either a sensible object or the thinking principle itself. When the motion is received from a sensible object, the movements of the brain determine the immediate perception of the object; and when the motion results from the operation of the thinking principle, the movements of the brain determine the phantasm corresponding to the object of the actual thought. Thus immediate perception, and thought, or recollection, are both rationally explained; whilst, if the thinking subject were the brain itself, how could we recollect our past ideas? When the movement caused by an object has been superseded by the movement caused by a different object, how can it spontaneously revive? Matter is inert; and nothing but a power distinct from it can account for the spontaneous awakening of long‐forgotten thoughts.

_Büchner._ Matter is inert, but is endowed with forces, and wherever there are many particles of matter they can communicate movement to one another. Hence, “in the same manner as the steam‐engine produces motion, so does the organic complication of force‐endowed materials produce in the animal body a sum of effects so interwoven as to become a unit; and is then by us called spirit, soul, thought” (p. 136).

_Reader._ Pshaw! Are _spirit_, _soul_, and _thought_ synonymous? Do thoughts think? When you perceive that two and two make four, is this thought the thinking principle? And if the soul is “a sum of _mechanical_ effects so interwoven as to become a unit,” how can you avoid the consequence that the soul consists of nothing but local movement? But if the soul is local movement, it has no causality, and cannot be the principle of life; for local movement is only a change of place, and has nothing to do with perception, judgment, reasoning, or any other operation of the thinking principle. Can local movement say, _I am_? _I will?_ _I doubt?_ Can local movement recollect the past, take in the present, foresee the possible and the future? Can local movement deliberate, love, hate, say _yes_ or _no_? To these and such like questions science, reason, and experience give an unequivocal answer, which the president of a medical association should have carefully meditated before venturing to write on the subject.

_Büchner._ Yet “the mental capacity of man is enlarged in proportion to the material growth of his brain, and is diminished according to the diminution of its substance in old age” (p. 110). “It is a fact known to everybody, that the intelligence diminishes with increasing age, and that old people become childish.... The soul of the child becomes developed in the same degree as the material organization of its brain becomes more perfect” (p. 111). “Pathology furnishes us with an abundance of striking facts, and teaches us that no part of the brain exercising the function of thought can be materially injured without producing a corresponding mental disturbance” (p. 119). “The law that brain and soul are necessarily connected, and that the material expansion, shape, and quality of the former stands in exact proportion to the intensity of the mental functions, is strict and irrefutable, and the mind, again, exercises an essential influence on the growth and development of its organ, so that it increases in size and power just in the same manner as any muscle is strengthened by exercise” (p. 122). “The whole science of man is a continuous proof in favor of the connection of brain and mind; and all the verbiage of philosophical psychologists in regard to the separate existence of the soul, and its independence of its material organ, is without the least value in opposition to the power of facts. We can find no exaggeration in what Friedreich, a well‐known writer on psychology, says on this point: ‘The exhibition of power cannot be imagined without a material substratum. The vital power of man can only manifest its activity by means of its material organs. In proportion as the organs are manifold, so will be the phenomena of vital power, and they will vary according to the varied construction of the material substratum. Hence, mental function is a peculiar manifestation of vital power, determined by the peculiar construction of cerebral matter. The same power which digests by means of the stomach, thinks by means of the brain’ ” (pp. 124, 125).

_Reader._ Your manner of reasoning, doctor, is not calculated to bring conviction, as every one of your arguments contains a fallacy. Your first argument is: The brain is the measure of the thinking power; and therefore the thinking power, or the soul, is a result of organic development. The second is: Brain and mind are necessarily connected; and therefore the soul cannot have a separate existence. The third is: The vital power of man can only manifest its activity by means of its material organs; and therefore the soul needs to be supported by a material substratum. Such substantially is the drift of your argumentation. Now, I maintain that the three arguments are merely three sophisms.

First, the brain is not the measure of the thinking power. The mental capacity of man, and the thinking power of the soul, are not exactly the same thing. The first implies both soul and body, the second regards the soul alone; the first presents to us the musician with his instrument, the second exhibits only the musician himself. The brain is the organ, the soul is the organist. You cannot reasonably pretend that the musical talent, genius, and skill of an organist increase and decrease with the number and quality of the pipes which happen to be in the organ. All you can say is that the musical talent of the organist will have a better chance of a favorable show with a rich rather than with a poor instrument. The organ, therefore, is not the measure of the ability of the organist, and the brain is not the measure of the thinking power. Hence from the fact that the mental capacity of man is enlarged, as you say, in proportion to the material growth of his brain, we have no right to conclude that the thinking principle, the soul, grows with the brain; the right conclusion is that the soul, being in possession of a better instrument, finds itself in better conditions for the exercise of its intrinsic power. The organ is improved and the music is better; but the organist is the same.

Secondly, brain and mind are at present necessarily connected. Does it follow that therefore the soul cannot have a separate existence? By no means. If this conclusion were logical, you might on the same ground affirm also that the body cannot have a separate existence; for the body is as necessarily connected with the soul as the soul is with the body. The reason why your conclusion cannot hold is that the connection of body and soul is necessary only inasmuch as both are indispensable for the constitution of the human nature. But the human nature is not immortal; the soul must quit the body when the organism becomes unfit for the operations of animal life; and therefore the connection of the soul with the body is not absolutely, but only hypothetically, necessary. The soul has its own existence distinct from the existence of the body, for the soul is a substance no less than the body; and therefore it is no less competent to have a separate existence. You deny, I know, that the soul is a substance distinct from the body; but what is the weight of such a denial? What you speculatively deny in your book, you practically admit in the secret of your conscience whenever you say _I am_. It is not the body that says _I_; it is the soul: and it is not an accident that perceives self; it is a substance.

Thirdly, the vital power of man, as you say, can manifest its activity only by means of its material organs. This is true; for, so long as the soul is in the body, it must work together with it, according to the axiom, “Every agent acts according as it is in act.” But does the work of the vital power in the material organs warrant your conclusion that the soul needs to be supported by a material substratum? Quite the contrary. For, what needs a material substratum is an accident, and no accident is active; and therefore the vital power, whose activity is manifested in the material organs, is no accident, and therefore needs no material substratum, and, while existing in the material organs, exists no less in itself. Had you considered that the soul, which manifests its activity by means of its material organs, exercises the same activity within itself also, you would have easily discovered that the soul has a being independent of its material organs, and that these organs are the organs of sensibility, not of intelligence.

But I am not going to make a dissertation on the soul, as my object is only to show the inconclusiveness of your reasoning. Your chapter on “Brain and Soul,” with its twenty‐eight pages of medical and physiological erudition, offers no proof of your assumption beyond the three sophisms I have refuted. All the rest consists of facts which have not the least bearing on the question. “The whole science of man,” as you say, “is a continuous proof in favor of the connection of brain and mind.” This is what your facts demonstrate; but your object was to show that “the soul is a product of the development of the brain”; and this your facts do not demonstrate, as is evident from your need of resorting to fallacies to make them lie to truth. It is on the strength of such fallacies that you make bold to despise your opponents, forgetting all your shortcomings, and committing a new blunder in the very act of assailing the spiritualistic philosophers. According to you, “the whole science of man is a continuous proof in favor of the connection of brain and mind; and all the verbiage of philosophical psychologists in regard to the separate existence of the soul and its independence of its material organ is without the least value in opposition to the power of facts.” You should be ashamed, doctor, of this style of reasoning.

_Büchner._ Why, if you please?

_Reader._ Because, first, the connection of brain and mind, as proved by “the whole science of man,” does not authorize you to deny the separate existence of the soul and its substantial independence of the material organs. Secondly, because to call “verbiage” those reasonings which all the great men of all times have, after careful scrutiny, considered as unanswerable, to which they gave their fullest assent, and against which you are incapable of advancing a single argument which has not already been answered by philosophers, is on your part an implicit confession of philosophical ignorance. Thirdly, because it is extremely mean to proclaim your own victory, while you have carefully avoided the combat. You have, in fact, prudently dissembled all the reasons by which the substantiality and spirituality of the human soul are usually proved in psychology; and, to give yourself the appearance of a champion, you have set up a few ridiculous sophisms—as, “the material simplicity of the organs of thought” (p. 125)—to figure as philosophical objections, which they have never been, and never will be; thus reminding us of the great Don Quixote fighting against the wind‐mill. Fourthly, because, while boasting of the support which some physiological facts seem to lend to your materialistic theory, you have entirely ignored all those other facts of the intellectual life which were calculated to expose your sophistry and overthrow your conclusions. This is dishonest, doctor; for you cannot plead ignorance in excuse.

_Büchner._ We proceed from opposite principles, sir; hence we must disagree in our conclusions. It is a law “that mind and brain necessarily determine each other, and that they stand to each other in inseparable causal relations” (p. 139).

_Reader._ This goes against you; for, if the mind determines the brain, the mind must be a special substance.

_Büchner._ “As there is no bile without liver, no urine without kidneys, so is there no thought with out a brain. Mental activity is a function of the cerebral substance. This truth is simple, clear, easily supported by facts, and indisputable” (_ibid._)

_Reader._ Oh! oh! have you forgotten my previous answer? So long as matter remains inert, it is vain to pretend that matter is the thinking principle.

_Büchner._ “Matter is not dead, unquickened, and lifeless, but, on the contrary, full of the most stirring life” (p. xcix.)

_Reader._ A great discovery!—if true.

_Büchner._ “Not an atom of it is without motion, but in constant uninterrupted movement and activity. Nor is matter _gross_, as simple philosophers often call it, but, on the contrary, so infinitely fine and complicated in its composition as to surpass all our conceptions. Nor is it _worthless_ or vile, but rather the most precious thing we know of; it is not _without feeling_, but is full of the most acute sensibility in the creatures it brings forth; nor, lastly, is it _devoid of spirit_ or _thought_, but, on the contrary, develops in the organs destined thereto by the peculiar kind and delicacy of their composition the highest mental potencies known to us. What we call life, sensibility, organization, and thought, are only the peculiar and higher tendencies and activities of matter, acquired in the course of many millions of years by well‐known natural processes, and which in certain organisms or combinations result in the self‐consciousness of matter. Wherefore matter is not unconscious, as is often proclaimed” (pp. xcix., c.)

_Reader._ Enough! enough of such nonsense. Do not ruin what little reputation you still enjoy as a scientific man. What will the world say when it discovers that you know nothing about the inertia of matter, which is the basis of physics and mechanics? or when it hears that you confound movement with activity, and activity with life? Every one knows that life implies movement, because the more perfect implies the less perfect; but who ever heard that mechanical movement implies life? Is a stone living because it falls to the ground? Again, how would any one who is not an idiot consider the matter on which we tread “the most precious thing we know of”? Would you sell your honor for a cup of coffee and a pound of sugar? That matter is _not without feeling_, _not without spirit_, and _not without thought_, is a demonstrated blunder, of which I need not repeat the refutation. But who can hear without merriment that sensibility, organization, and thought are “tendencies” of matter? and that they have been acquired by matter “in the course of many millions of years”? and that this acquisition was brought about “by _well‐known_ natural processes”? I repeat, doctor, that such trash will ruin your reputation. Buffoons and charlatans may be allowed to indulge in any amount of absurdities; but a doctor has not the same privilege. Hence it is not safe for you to speak of _well‐known_ processes, by which matter becomes “conscious” of itself, when the whole scientific world knows nothing of such processes, and may challenge you to substantiate your foolish assertion.

I will tell you what is really _well known_. It is what a celebrated writer teaches about the immateriality of the soul. “There is nothing,” he says, “in this lower world that can account for the origin of our souls; for there is nothing in our souls which admits of mixture or composition, nothing which arises from the earth or is made of it, nothing which partakes of the nature of air, or water, or fire. For nothing is to be found in these natural things which has the power of remembering, of understanding, or of thinking—nothing which can hold the past, forecast the future, or embrace the present. The power of doing this is divine, and its possession by man can never be accounted for, unless we admit that it is derived from God himself. Accordingly, the soul is a distinct nature, and has nothing common with the material things with which we are acquainted.”(23) What do you think of this passage?

_Büchner._ It smacks of ultramontanism.

_Reader._ Just so! Bravo! Marcus Tullius Cicero an ultramontane!!

To Be Continued.

A Legend Of Alsace.

From The French Of M. Le Vicomte De Bussierre.

“I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history.”

—_Webster’s Duchess of Malfy._

I.

Six leagues from Strasbourg a high mountain, pyramidal in form, rises abruptly over the chain of the Vosges. On its summit are some antique churches and chapels and an old convent. The fertile country at its foot is peopled by a great number of smiling villages and several small towns. Its sides are covered with fine forests, in the midst of which may be seen the ruined walls of old monasteries, the crenellated and picturesque towers of several mediæval castles, and the _débris_ of an ancient wall of pagan times. This mountain, called in ancient times Altitona or Hohenbourg, was once the principal bulwark of Alsace. In the VIIth century it received the name of Mount St. Odile, and became a celebrated resort for pilgrims.

A shady pathway, and not of difficult ascent, leads to the top of Mount St. Odile, which commands a view as remarkable for extent as for interest and variety. The whole of Alsace, and a large part of the Grand Duchy of Baden, are spread out at the feet of the spectator; bounded on one side by the jagged chain of the Black Forest, whose blue outlines are seen on the horizon, and on the other by the Vosges, which are rounder and more pleasing to the eye. A dense forest of pines covers the Vosges, and on all sides, even on the highest crests, may be seen the ruins of old feudal castles which hundreds of years ago played their _rôle_ in the history of the province. The Rhine passes through the middle of this magnificent valley. On each shore are forests, vineyards, meadows, and admirably cultivated fields. A line of dazzling brightness marks the sinuous course of the river, which, sometimes dividing, forms a great number of verdant isles.