George Stuart Fullerton - An Introduction to Philosophy

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What have we a right to regard as absolute proof of the existence of
another mind? Only this: the analogy upon which we depend in making
our inference must be a very close one. As we shall see in the next
section, the analogy is sometimes very remote, and we draw the
inference with much hesitation, or, perhaps, refuse to draw it at all.
It is not, however, the _kind of inference_ that makes the trouble; it
is the lack of detailed information that may serve as a basis for
inference. Our inference to other minds is unsatisfactory only in so
far as we are ignorant of our own minds and bodies and of other bodies.
Were our knowledge in these fields complete, we should know without
fail the signs of mind, and should know whether an inference were or
were not justified.

And _justified_ here means proved--proved in the only sense in which we
have a right to ask for proof. No single fact is known that can
discredit such a proof. Our doubt is, then, gratuitous and can be
dismissed. We may claim that we have _verification_ of the existence
of other minds. Such verification, however, must consist in showing
that, in any given instance, the signs of mind really are present. It
cannot consist in presenting minds for inspection as though they were
material things.

One more matter remains to be touched upon in this section. It has
doubtless been observed that Mill, in the extract given above, seems to
place "feelings," in other words, mental phenomena, between one set of
bodily motions and another. He makes them the middle link in a chain
whose first and third links are material. The parallelist cannot treat
mind in this way. He claims that to make mental phenomena effects or
causes of bodily motions is to make them material.

Must, then, the parallelist abandon the argument for other minds? Not
at all. The force of the argument lies in interpreting the phenomena
presented by other bodies as one knows by experience the phenomena of
one's own body must be interpreted. He who concludes that the relation
between his own mind and his own body can best be described as a
"parallelism," must judge that other men's minds are related to their
bodies in the same way. He must treat his neighbor as he treats
himself. The argument from analogy remains the same.

42. WHAT OTHER MINDS ARE THERE?--That other men have minds nobody
really doubts, as we have seen above. They resemble us so closely,
their actions are so analogous to our own, that, although we sometimes
give ourselves a good deal of trouble to ascertain what sort of minds
they have, we never think of asking ourselves whether they have minds.

Nor does it ever occur to the man who owns a dog, or who drives a
horse, to ask himself whether the creature has a mind. He may complain
that it has not much of a mind, or he may marvel at its
intelligence--his attitude will depend upon the expectations which he
has been led to form. But regard the animal as he would regard a
bicycle or an automobile, he will not. The brute is not precisely like
us, but its actions bear an unmistakable analogy to our own; pleasure
and pain, hope and fear, desire and aversion, are so plainly to be read
into them that we feel that a man must be "high gravel blind" not to
see their significance.

Nevertheless, it has been possible for man, under the prepossession of
a mistaken philosophical theory, to assume the whole brute creation to
be without consciousness. When Descartes had learned something of the
mechanism of the human body, and had placed the human soul--_hospes
comesque corporis_--in the little pineal gland in the midst of the
brain, the conception in his mind was not unlike that which we have
when we picture to ourselves a locomotive engine with an engineer in
its cab. The man gives intelligent direction; but, under some
circumstances, the machine can do a good deal in the absence of the
man; if it is started, it can run of itself, and to do this, it must go
through a series of complicated motions.

Descartes knew that many of the actions performed by the human body are
not the result of conscious choice, and that some of them are in direct
contravention of the will's commands. The eye protects itself by
dropping its lid, when the hand is brought suddenly before it; the foot
jerks away from the heated object which it has accidentally touched.
The body was seen to be a mechanism relatively independent of the mind,
and one rather complete in itself. Joined with a soul, the circle of
its functions was conceived to be widened; but even without the
assistance of the soul, it was thought that it could keep itself busy,
and could do many things that the unreflective might be inclined to
attribute to the efficiency of the mind.

The bodies of the brutes Descartes regarded as mechanisms of the same
general nature as the human body. He was unwilling to allow a soul to
any creature below man, so nothing seemed left to him save to maintain
that the brutes are machines without consciousness, and that their
apparently purposive actions are to be classed with such human
movements as the sudden closing of the eye when it is threatened with
the hand. The melancholy results of this doctrine made themselves
evident among his followers. Even the mild and pious Malebranche could
be brutal to a dog which fawned upon him, under the mistaken notion
that it did not really hurt a dog to kick it.

All this reasoning men have long ago set aside. For one thing, it has
come to be recognized that there may be consciousness, perhaps rather
dim, blind, and fugitive, but still consciousness, which does not get
itself recognized as do our clearly conscious purposes and volitions.
Many of the actions of man which Descartes was inclined to regard as
unaccompanied by consciousness may not, in fact, be really unconscious.
And, in the second place, it has come to be realized that we have no
right to class all the actions of the brutes with those reflex actions
in man which we are accustomed to regard as automatic.

The belief in animal automatism has passed away, it is to be hoped,
never to return. That lower animals have minds we must believe. But
what sort of minds have they?

It is hard enough to gain an accurate notion of what is going on in a
human mind. Men resemble each other more or less closely, but no two
are precisely alike, and no two have had exactly the same training. I
may misunderstand even the man who lives in the same house with me and
is nearly related to me. Does he really suffer and enjoy as acutely as
he seems to? or must his words and actions be accepted with a discount?
The greater the difference between us, the more danger that I shall
misjudge him. It is to be expected that men should misunderstand
women; that men and women should misunderstand children; that those who
differ in social station, in education, in traditions and habits of
life, should be in danger of reading each other as one reads a book in
a tongue imperfectly mastered. When these differences are very great,
the task is an extremely difficult one. What are the emotions, if he
has any, of the Chinaman in the laundry near by? His face seems as
difficult of interpretation as are the hieroglyphics that he has pasted
up on his window.

When we come to the brutes, the case is distinctly worse. We think
that we can attain to some notion of the minds to be attributed to such
animals as the ape, the dog, the cat, the horse, and it is not nonsense
to speak of an animal psychology. But who will undertake to tell us
anything definite of the mind of a fly, a grasshopper, a snail, or a
cuttlefish? That they have minds, or something like minds, we must
believe; what their minds are like, a prudent man scarcely even
attempts to say. In our distribution of minds may we stop short of
even the very lowest animal organisms? It seems arbitrary to do so.

More than that; some thoughtful men have been led by the analogy
between plant life and animal life to believe that something more or
less remotely like the consciousness which we attribute to animals must
be attributed also to plants. Upon this belief I shall not dwell, for
here we are evidently at the limit of our knowledge, and are making the
vaguest of guesses. No one pretends that we have even the beginnings
of a plant psychology. At the same time, we must admit that organisms
of all sorts do bear some analogy to each other, even if it be a remote
one; and we must admit also that we cannot _prove_ plants to be wholly
devoid of a rudimentary consciousness of some sort.

As we begin with man and descend the scale of beings, we seem, in the
upper part of the series, to be in no doubt that minds exist. Our only
question is as to the precise contents of those minds. Further down we
begin to ask ourselves whether anything like mind is revealed at all.
That this should be so is to be expected. Our argument for other minds
is the argument from analogy, and as we move down the scale our analogy
grows more and more remote until it seems to fade out altogether. He
who harbors doubts as to whether the plants enjoy some sort of psychic
life, may well find those doubts intensified when he turns to study the
crystal; and when he contemplates inorganic matter he should admit that
the thread of his argument has become so attenuated that he cannot find
it at all.

43. THE DOCTRINE OF MIND-STUFF.--Nevertheless, there have been those
who have attributed something like consciousness even to inorganic
matter. If the doctrine of evolution be true, argues Professor
Clifford,[4] "we shall have along the line of the human pedigree a
series of imperceptible steps connecting inorganic matter with
ourselves. To the later members of that series we must undoubtedly
ascribe consciousness, although it must, of course, have been simpler
than our own. But where are we to stop? In the case of organisms of a
certain complexity, consciousness is inferred. As we go back along the
line, the complexity of the organism and of its nerve-action insensibly
diminishes; and for the first part of our course we see reason to think
that the complexity of consciousness insensibly diminishes also. But
if we make a jump, say to the tunicate mollusks, we see no reason there
to infer the existence of consciousness at all. Yet not only is it
impossible to point out a place where any sudden break takes place, but
it is contrary to all the natural training of our minds to suppose a
breach of continuity so great."

We must not, says Clifford, admit any breach of continuity. We must
assume that consciousness is a complex of elementary feelings, "or
rather of those remoter elements which cannot even be felt, but of
which the simplest feeling is built up." We must assume that such
elementary facts go along with the action of every organism, however
simple; but we must assume also that it is only when the organism has
reached a certain complexity of nervous structure that the complex of
psychic facts reaches the degree of complication that we call
Consciousness.

So much for the assumption of something like mind in the mollusk, where
Clifford cannot find direct evidence of mind. But the argument does
not stop here: "As the line of ascent is unbroken, and must end at last
in inorganic matter, we have no choice but to admit that every motion
of matter is simultaneous with some . . . fact or event which might be
part of a consciousness."

Of the universal distribution of the elementary constituents of mind
Clifford writes as follows: "That element of which, as we have seen,
even the simplest feeling is a complex, I shall call _Mind-stuff_. A
moving molecule of inorganic matter does not possess mind or
consciousness; but it possesses a small piece of mind-stuff. When
molecules are so combined together as to form the film on the under
side of a jellyfish, the elements of mind-stuff which go along with
them are so combined as to form the faint beginnings of Sentience.
When the molecules are so combined as to form the brain and nervous
system of a vertebrate, the corresponding elements of mind-stuff are so
combined as to form some kind of consciousness; that is to say, changes
in the complex which take place at the same time get so linked together
that the repetition of one implies the repetition of the other. When
matter takes the complex form of a living human brain, the
corresponding mind-stuff takes the form of a human consciousness,
having intelligence and volition."

This is the famous mind-stuff doctrine. It is not a scientific
doctrine, for it rests on wholly unproved assumptions. It is a play of
the speculative fancy, and has its source in the author's strong desire
to fit mental phenomena into some general evolutionary scheme. As he
is a parallelist, and cannot make of physical phenomena and of mental
one single series of causes and effects, he must attain his end by
making the mental series complete and independent in itself. To do
this, he is forced to make several very startling assumptions:--

(1) We have seen that there is evidence that there is consciousness
somewhere--it is revealed by certain bodies. Clifford assumes
consciousness, or rather its raw material, _mind-stuff_, to be
everywhere. For this assumption we have not a whit of evidence.

(2) To make of the stuff thus attained a satisfactory evolutionary
series, he is compelled to assume that mental phenomena are related to
each other much as physical phenomena are related to each other. This
notion he had from Spinoza, who held that, just as all that takes place
in the physical world must be accounted for by a reference to physical
causes, so all happenings in the world of ideas must be accounted for
by a reference to mental causes, _i.e._ to ideas. For this assumption
there is no more evidence than for the former.

(3) Finally, to bring the mental phenomena we are familiar with,
sensations of color, sound, touch, taste, etc., into this evolutionary
scheme, he is forced to assume that all such mental phenomena are made
up of elements which do not belong to these classes at all, of
something that "cannot even be felt." For this assumption there is as
little evidence as there is for the other two.

The fact is that the _mind-stuff_ doctrine is a castle in the air. It
is too fanciful and arbitrary to take seriously. It is much better to
come back to a more sober view of things, and to hold that there is
evidence that other minds exist, but no evidence that every material
thing is animated. If we cannot fit this into our evolutionary scheme,
perhaps it is well to reexamine our evolutionary scheme, and to see
whether some misconception may not attach to that.

[1] "Collected Essays," Vol. I, p. 219, New York, 1902.

[2] "On the Nature of Things-in-Themselves," in "Lectures and Essays,"
Vol. II.

[3] "Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy," Chapter XII.

[4] "On the Nature of Things-in-Themselves."

CHAPTER XI

OTHER PROBLEMS OF WORLD AND MIND

44. IS THE MATERIAL WORLD A MECHANISM?--So far we have concerned
ourselves with certain leading problems touching the external world and
the mind,--problems which seem to present themselves unavoidably to those
who enter upon the path of reflection. And we have seen, I hope, that
there is much truth, as well as some misconception, contained in the
rather vague opinions of the plain man.

But the problems that we have taken up by no means exhaust the series of
those that present themselves to one who thinks with patience and
persistency. When we have decided that men are not mistaken in believing
that an external world is presented in their experience; when we have
corrected our first crude notions of what this world is, and have cleared
away some confusions from our conceptions of space and time; when we have
attained to a reasonably clear view of the nature of the mind, and of the
nature of its connection with the body; when we have escaped from a
tumble into the absurd doctrine that no mind exists save our own, and
have turned our backs upon the rash speculations of the adherents of
"mind-stuff"; there still remain many points upon which we should like to
have definite information.

In the present chapter I shall take up and turn over a few of these, but
it must not be supposed that one can get more than a glimpse of them
within such narrow limits. First of all we will raise the question
whether it is permissible to regard the material world, which we accept,
as through and through a mechanism.

There can be little doubt that there is a tendency on the part of men of
science at the present day so to regard it. It should, of course, be
frankly admitted that no one is in a position to prove that, from the
cosmic mist, in which we grope for the beginnings of our universe, to the
organized whole in which vegetable and animal bodies have their place,
there is an unbroken series of changes all of which are explicable by a
reference to mechanical laws. Chemistry, physics, and biology are still
separate and distinct realms, and it is at present impossible to find for
them a common basis in mechanics. The belief of the man of science must,
hence, be regarded as a faith; the doctrine of the mechanism of nature is
a working hypothesis, and it is unscientific to assume that it is
anything more.

There can be no objection to a frank admission that we are not here
walking in the light of established knowledge. But it does seem to savor
of dogmatism for a man to insist that no increase in our knowledge can
ever reveal that the physical world is an orderly system throughout, and
that all the changes in material things are explicable in terms of the
one unified science. Earnest objections have, however, been made to the
tendency to regard nature as a mechanism. To one of the most curious of
them we have been treated lately by Dr. Ward in his book on "Naturalism
and Agnosticism."

It is there ingeniously argued that, when we examine with care the
fundamental concepts of the science of mechanics, we find them to be
self-contradictory and absurd. It follows that we are not justified in
turning to them for an explanation of the order of nature.

The defense of the concepts of mechanics we may safely leave to the man
of science; remembering, of course, that, when a science is in the
making, it is to be expected that the concepts of which it makes use
should undergo revision from time to time. But there is one general
consideration that it is not well to leave out of view when we are
contemplating such an assault upon the notion of the world as mechanism
as is made by Dr. Ward. It is this.

Such attacks upon the conception of mechanism are not purely destructive
in their aim. The man who makes them wishes to destroy one view of the
system of things in order that he may set up another. If the changes in
the system of material things cannot be accounted for mechanically, it is
argued, we are compelled to turn for our explanation to the action and
interaction of minds. This seems to give mind a very important place in
the universe, and is believed to make for a view of things that
guarantees the satisfaction of the highest hopes and aspirations of man.

That a recognition of the mechanical order of nature is incompatible with
such a view of things as is just above indicated, I should be the last to
admit. The notion that it is so is, I believe, a dangerous error. It is
an error that tends to put a man out of sympathy with the efforts of
science to discover that the world is an orderly whole, and tempts him to
rejoice in the contemplation of human ignorance.

But the error is rather a common one; and see to what injustice it may
lead one. It is concluded that the conception of _matter_ is an obscure
one; that we do not know clearly what we mean when we speak of the _mass_
of a body; that there are disputes as to proper significance to be given
to the words _cause_ and _effect_; that the _laws of motion_, as they are
at present formulated, do not seem to account satisfactorily for the
behavior of all material particles. From this it is inferred that we
must give up the attempt to explain mechanically the order of physical
things.

Now, suppose that it were considered a dangerous and heterodox doctrine,
that the changes in the system of things are due to the activities of
minds. Would not those who now love to point out the shortcomings of the
science of mechanics discover a fine field for their destructive
criticism? Are there no disputes as to the ultimate nature of mind? Are
men agreed touching the relations of mind and matter? What science even
attempts to tell us how a mind, by an act of volition, sets material
particles in motion or changes the direction of their motion? How does
one mind act upon another, and what does it mean for one mind to act upon
another?

If the science of mechanics is not in all respects as complete a science
as it is desirable that it should be, surely we must admit that when we
turn to the field of mind we are not dealing with what is clear and free
from difficulties. Only a strong emotional bias can lead a man to dwell
with emphasis upon the difficulties to be met with in the one field, and
to pass lightly over those with which one meets in the other.

One may, however, refuse to admit that the order of nature is throughout
mechanical, without taking any such unreasonable position as this. One
may hold that many of the changes in material things do not _appear_ to
be mechanical, and that it is too much of an assumption to maintain that
they are such, even as an article of faith. Thus, when we pass from the
world of the inorganic to that of organic life, we seem to make an
immense step. No one has even begun to show us that the changes that
take place in vegetable and animal organisms are all mechanical changes.
How can we dare to assume that they are?

With one who reasons thus we may certainly feel a sympathy. The most
ardent advocate of mechanism must admit that his doctrine is a working
hypothesis, and not _proved_ to be true. Its acceptance would, however,
be a genuine convenience from the point of view of science, for it does
introduce, at least provisionally, a certain order into a vast number of
facts, and gives a direction to investigation. Perhaps the wisest thing
to do is, not to combat the doctrine, but to accept it tentatively and to
examine carefully what conclusions it may seem to carry with it--how it
may affect our outlook upon the world as a whole.

45. THE PLACE OF MIND IN NATURE.--One of the very first questions which
we think of asking when we contemplate the possibility that the physical
world is throughout a mechanical system is this: How can we conceive
minds to be related to such a system? That minds, and many minds, do
exist, it is not reasonable to doubt. What shall we do with them?

One must not misunderstand the mechanical view of things. When we use
the word "machine," we call before our minds certain gross and relatively
simple mechanisms constructed by man. Between such and a flower, a
butterfly, and a human body, the difference is enormous. He who elects
to bring the latter under the title of mechanism cannot mean that he
discerns no difference between them and a steam engine or a printing
press. He can only mean that he believes he might, could he attain to a
glimpse into their infinite complexity, find an explanation of the
physical changes which take place in them, by a reference to certain
general laws which describe the behavior of material particles everywhere.

And the man who, having extended his notion of mechanism, is inclined to
overlook the fact that animals and men have minds, that thought and
feeling, plan and purpose, have their place in the world, may justly be
accused of a headlong and heedless enthusiasm. Whatever may be our
opinion on the subject of the mechanism of nature, we have no right to
minimize the significance of thought and feeling and will. Between that
which has no mind and that which has a mind there is a difference which
cannot be obliterated by bringing both under the concept of mechanism.
It is a difference which furnishes the material for the sciences of
psychology and ethics, and gives rise to a whole world of distinctions
which find no place in the realm of the merely physical.

There are, then, minds as well as bodies; what place shall we assign to
these minds in the system of nature?

Several centuries ago it occurred to the man of science that the material
world should be regarded as a system in which there is constant
transformation, but in which nothing is created. This way of looking at
things expressed itself formerly in the statement that, through all the
changes that take place in the world, the quantity of matter and motion
remains the same. To-day the same idea is better expressed in the
doctrine of the eternity of mass and the conservation of energy. In
plain language, this doctrine teaches that every change in every part of
the physical world, every motion in matter, must be preceded by physical
conditions which may be regarded as the equivalent of the change in
question.

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