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►

c- ^'i. c'-^.l

^_>

HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY

WRITINGS

OP THE

CLASS OF 1894

GIFT OF THE AUTHOR

Racial Contrasts

Distinguishing Traits of the
Graeco-Latins and Teutons

By
Albert Gehring

G. P. Putnam's Sons

New York and London

Sbe ftnicftetbocfter pre00

1908

3

Cift of the AutbOr
1^94 Collection

COPYSIGHT, Z908
BY

ALBERT GEHRING

trbe imfcfterbocfter pttm, '§kew Sork

TO

MY WIFE

CONTENTS

RACIAL CONTRASTS :

PAGB

I. — ^Fundamental Principles . . . i

II. — ^Music ...... lo

III. — ^Literature ..... 26

IV. — Painting 44

V. — ^Architecture and Sculpture . 58

VI. — General Considerations . . 70

VII. — Intellectual and Emotional

Characteristics ... 81

VIII.-MDusTOMs and Institutions . . 95

V

vi Contents

THE FLUCTUATIONS OP BEAUTY AND

MORALITY IIS

ON HOMOLOGY OP THOUGHT AND ACTION . 143

ON TEMPORAL EXPANSION AND CONTRAC-
TION 181

ORGANIC EVOLUTION IN THE LIGHT OP

COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY .213

RACIAL CONTRASTS

RACIAL CONTRASTS

I

FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES

MOST prominent among the Aryan races
are the Graeco-Latins and Teutons :
besides the ancient Greeks and Romans,
the former comprise the Italians, Spaniards,
Portuguese, French, and Wallachians; the
latter include the Germans, English, Dutch,
and Scandinavians. Though resembling one
another in many respects when compared with
non-Aryan peoples, these races exhibit striking
differences of character and institutions when
contrasted inter se. The Greeks and Latins
are talkative, vivacious, and quick in their
actions, the English and Germans taciturn and
deliberative. The latter are passionate lovers
of nature, the former evince but little en-
thusiasm for the glories of Pan. Southern

2 Racial Contrasts

nations have excelled in sculpture and paint-
ing, northern ones in music. Gothic cathe-
drals bewilder with their complexity, Greek
temples are simple and of exquisite pro-
portions.

Some of the distinctions have been merged
into broader ones. GraecQ-Latin art may be
characterised as classic, Teutonic art as ro-
mantic, a generalisation which comprises a
multitude of smaller differences. On the one
hand the form is said to receive more attention,
on the other the significance. Teutonic modes
of thought are inclined to be religious, south-
em nations manifest a tendency toward world-
liness and sensuality.

These distinctions are good so fat* as they
go; but they do not go far enough. Many
are confined to a single field, and none
endeavours to include the whole mental and
artistic domain in a comprehensive definition.
What has Italian impulsiveness to do with
the peculiarities of Italian opera; how is
German taciturnity connected with German
love of cotmterpoint; what is the bond of
union between the prevalence of assassination
in southern countries and the classicism of
art; what is the common element in Teutonic

Fundamental Principles 3

persistency, religiousness, and love of nature;
wherein lies the relation between French
lucidity of style and French worldliness?

Again, the distinctions are vague and gen-
eral in nature, lacking the preciseness desirable
in this age of scientific inquiry. Romanti-
cism, classicism, religiousness, gaiety, depth of
thought, are complex qualities, which, like the
concrete phenomena of material nature, must
be reduced to simpler factors. 1& it not pos-
sible to discover a few elementary distinctions,
on which many or most of the picturesque
differences between Graeco-Latin and Ger-
manic life may be found to rest? The
botanic classes of endogens and exogens are
distinguished in striking ways. In the former
the wood is intermingled with the pith
throughout the stem, the leaves are parallel-
veined, and the flowers usually have their
parts in threes; in the latter the wood is sit-
uated between a central pith and an outer
bark, the leaves are retictilated, and the flow-
ers have their parts in fives or fours. Yet
all these peculiarities are the concomitants
respectively of one or two seed-leaves in
the embryo. May not the interesting con-
trasts of Graeco-Latin and Germanic civil-

4 Racial Contrasts

isation similarly reduce themselves to a
few simple differences in the mental consti-
tution of the races? If we perforate a piece
of folded paper, we shall find surprising
variations of appearance upon opening it
again, in accordance with the nature of the
impressions. So it is conceivable that the
vast differences in national activities and
institutions are the result of insignificant
divergences of mental structure.

Our aim will now be twofold. In the first
place we shall endeavour to trace fundamental
distinctions between the arts of the races,
distinctions which in a general way are valid
for all times and nationalities. Then, having
deduced from these the statement of an
essential difference in mental nature between
the peoples in question, we shall endeavour
to trace this again in their intellectual and
emotional characteristics, their customs and
institutions.

Let us plunge into the subject and state
the distinctions at once. There are two:
(i) Graeco- Latin art -works tend toward
clearness and simplicity, Germanic ones to-
ward complexity; this complexity is based, in
some cases, on a greater ntmiber and hetero-

Fundamental Principles 5

geneity of factors, in others on a certain
irregialarity in their disposition, or on both
features. (The factors are mental as well as
material in nature, the thought suggested by
a poem being a factor just as well as the
portal of a building, the recognition of the
similarity between two musical themes as
well as the themes themselves.) (2) The
effectiveness of Graeco-Latin works depends,
more than that of Germanic ones^ on the
material and objects directly presented; while
that of Germanic productions rests more
largely on the affiliations and irradiations of
the same, — on the connections or relations
between that which is immediately given and
that which is not. These connections are
based on association, suggestion, and com-
parison, and may involve different parts of
the same work, recollected experiences of the
percipient, or extraneous matter.

The principles do not apply only to Ger-
manic and Graeco-Latin art, but also to
modem art in general, when contrasted with
the productions of the ancients. Romance
works resemble those of the Teutons in the
respects under consideration, a perfectly in-
telligible situation; for the modem Latins,

6 Racial Contrasts

besides being mixed racially with the Teutons,
have undergone the influence of their thought,
whence their arts will naturally exhibit some
Teutonic characteristics.

Will it be possible to deduce from these
principles a conclusion respecting the mental
nature of the races? What would be the
natural inference regarding the Teutonic
mind, which delights in the perception of a
profusion and variety of elements ? Obviously
one would say that the state of mind exem-
plified in the enjoyment of art was typical of
the normal state. Just as the Teuton has
a greater wealth of material presented to him
in his dramas, cathedrals, and musical com-
positions, so his mind is normally, in everyday
life, filled with a larger and more involved
number of objects.^ Since, however, it is
possible for only one, or at most very few
things, to stand forth with precision in the
f oregrotmd of attention, it follows that we must

> " As well as I can judge, an educated Englishman possesses
a stock of facts three or four times in excess of that possessed
by a Frenchman of corresponding position — at least in all
that relates to language, geography, political and economical
truths, and the personal impressions gained in foreign parts
by contact with men and living objects." — Taine: Notes
on England, New York, 1872, p. 314.

Fundamental Principles 7

be conscious of all others in a vague, indefinite
way. These others form a "penumbra" or
** fringe " around the foremost objects of atten-
tion.* The statement, therefore, that the Ger-
manic mind grasps more objects than the
Graeco-Latin, might better be put, that it
has a richer " fringe/* We can arrive at this

»" Every definite image in the mind is steeped and dyed in
the free water that flows round it. With it goes the sense
of its relations, near and remote, the dying echo of whence
it came to us, the dawning sense of whither it is to lead.
The significance, the value, of the image is all in this halo
or penumbra that surrounds and escorts it, — or rather that
is fused into one with it and has become bone of its bone
and flesh of its flesh. ... It is just like the 'overtones' in
music. Different instruments give the *same note,' but
each in a different voice, because each gives more than that
note, namely, various upper harmonics of it which differ from
one instrument to another. They are not separately heard
by the ear; they blend with the fundamental note, and suffuse
it, and alter it; and even so do the waxing and waning brain-
processes at every moment blend with and suffuse and alter
the psychic effect of the processes which are at their culmi-
nating point. . . . Let us use the words psychic overtone,
suffusion^ or fringe, to designate the influence of a faint brain-
process upon our thought, as it makes it aware of relations
and objects but dimly perceived." — William James, The
Principles of Psychology, New York, 1890, vol. i., pp. 255-258.

Our own conception of the "fringe" may not agree in all
particulars with that of Prof. James, but the agreement is
close enough to warrant the use of the same term; at any
rate, the term is so well adapted for our purpose that, with
this acknowledgment of our indebtedness, we ieel free to
employ it.

8 Racial Contrasts

conclusion by means of the second principle
as well. The material of Germanic works,
as we saw, has more external relations than
that of Graeco-Latin productions. But these
are the very relations that constitute the
" fringe." Art-works, accordingly, which
evoke the perception of numerous such rela-
tions, presuppose a mental nature which
habitually carries a great number of them
along with it.

The Germanic mind, then, is characterised
by a more prominent "fringe" than the
Graeco-Latin. It delights in the unresolved,
mysterious residues of experience, in the
buzzing backgrounds, the contrapuntal play
of side-theme and pedal point. The Graeco-
Latin mind, on the contrary, loves clearness
and precision. The world which it reflects
is plotted off in neat conceptual charts. It
progresses along a straight line, in a single
dimension; the Teuton's advance, on the other
hand, is broad and bi-dimensional, — harmonic
and contrapuntal rather than melodic. The
Graeco-Latin attends to but a single object
at a time, which he perceives clearly and
distinctly; the Teuton perceives a multitude
of surrounding objects and relations in ad-

Fundamental Principles 9

dition, which tend to blur the main topic
of thought; he trails along with him a shower
of mind-dust, clinging to and sturounding
the nucleus of attention.

The task now is to trace the application of
these principles throughout the activities of
the races, beginning with the arts, and then
considering mental and emotional character-
istics, both by themselves and as they mani-
fest themselves in customs and institutions.
In considering the arts, we shall need to
confine ourselves largely to the first two
principles, sometimes invoking one, some-
times another, but not deeming it necessary
to apply both at the same time; in treating
of the personal characteristics as well as the
customs and institutions, on the other hand,
we shall more frequently make reference to
the third, which is, indeed, the most funda-
mental of the three. The divided state of
mind, rich with promise and recollection, and
teeming with suggestion, is the essence of
the Germanic spirit; and the abundance and
complication of objects, with their external
relations, are only the outer correlates of this
state, which serve to arouse and nourish it.

II

MUSIC

THE discussion of the musical art must
be confined to modem races, as our
knowledge of ancient music is so very
meagre. A distinguishing trait of Teutonic
compositions is their liberal use of counter-
point. Counterpoint was developed among
the Netherlanders, a nation partly Germanic
and partly Celtic in derivation. Two of the
great names which mark the evolution of
this method of composition, Okeghem and
Willaert, are Germanic. Transplanted to
Italy, counterpoint bloomed forth in full
splendour in the works of Palestrina; but its
** barbaric" complexity soon led to a reaction
among that people of classic tastes, which
resulted in the invention of the simpler

10

Music II

monodic or harmonic style. Ever since that
time, counterpoint has found a more con-
genial home among the masters of Ger-
manic extraction. Bach was the greatest
of all contraptmtists; Handel, Mozart, Bee-
thoven, Wagner, and Brahms were all mas-
ters of polyphony; the Romanic races, on
the contrary, have devoted themselves pre-
ferentially to forms of composition which
did not admit of florid contrapuntal treat-
ment.

The essence of counterpoint is complex-
ity. A single melody is clear and simple in
nature; so is a melody with harmonic accom-
paniment. Although the harmonic basis com-
prises several tones, these are as a rule not
perceived separately, but are incorporated
with the melody, clinging to it indissolubly,
like a colour to a material object. In
counterpoint, however, we have two or more
independent voices running along side by
side, with or without harmonic accompani-
ment. The mind is in a divided state and
fluctuates from part to part in the endeavour
to hold all the elements together. No clearer
illustration of the first principle could be
found.

12 Racial Contrasts

Counterpoint lends itself more readily to
instrumental than to vocal music. For this
reason alone we might expect a fuller develop-
ment of instrumental forms of composition
among the northern races, while the southern
ones would lean toward the homophonic
forms of vocal music. In fact, the marvellous
developments of the sonata, symphony, and
chamber music are due almost entirely to
Germanic efforts. But there are other reasons
for this. Apart from counterpoint, instru-
mental music is well adapted for elaboration:
it is the chosen meditim of thematic work, it
is favourable to the development of intricate
forms, and it offers a splendid field for
instrumental variety. Owing to the inter-
play of these four factors, an instrumental
composition often exhibits a veritable maze
of objects and relations. The mind is besieged
on every side. Now a theme will be played
which was heard in a previous part of the
composition, now it will occur an octave
higher, appear in different instnmiental
clothing, or enter in notes of shorter time-
value. The next moment it will be ac-
companied by another melody, and a
moment later both melodies will yield to

Music 13

a third. At one instant a single instrument
will stand forth, at another a whole group
may prevail, and anon the entire orches-
tra surges forth in a gigantic burst of
sound.

It is evident that all this forms an illus-
tration of the second principle as well, and
involves a reference away from the notes
immediately heard, a comparison with parts
that have gone before or are still to come.
Thematic work, instrumentation, and musical
form demand such comparisons. The repe-
tition and variation of themes arouse the
perception of resulting similarities and con-
trasts; musical form can only be grasped by
a remembrance of the various sections; and
instrumental effects please us through the
kaleidoscopic succession of tone-colours. The
result is a constant mental scintillation, a
perpetual looking backward and forward, a
ceaseless weighing and comparing and con-
trasting. Nowhere in art, perhaps, is this
observance of relations, this reference be-
yond the immediate facts of perception, so
prominent.

Here is a section from a Beethoven sym-
phony, which illustrates the points under

14

Racial Contrasts

discussion. The reader who is not acquainted
with musical technicalities may skip the
analysis.

Jlntog YioUiis

OboM

Strings

iJ^^Mse*

Oboea ClArinets

rintog

Violins

l^^BsBses

J— — "N^ Clarinets

Orchestra

Orchestra

16 .-"^

(

t^

18

\ n'\niiKii \ W.

^^-^ i I -jj-;

tf

Xtl^lW^I

¥^,'^^\\\ I

19

20

/ . 21

^m

i

r # i: i> 1 f ^ '

=^g^

This passage embodies a forest of rela-
tions. Let us note some of the factors which
contribute to the effect:

I — the eighth-note accompaniment of the first
ten measures;

1 6 Racial Contrasts

2 — ^the melody of the first twelve measures, con-
sisting of eleven little figures in this rhjrthm ( J . ^ J),
each repetition involving a recognition of the common
rhythmical similarity, and all together yielding
eleven perceptions;

3 — the structural similarity between measures
5-8 and 1-4 ; also the more partictdar relation between
measures 5 and i, 6 and 2, 7 and 3, 8 and 4; total:
five elements;

4 — ^the change of instruments in every measure ex-
cept the twelfth, again yielding eleven perceptions;

5 — ^the instrumental correspondence between meas-
ures s and I, 6 and 2, 7 and 3, 8 and 4, 9, 5 and i,
10, 6 and 2, — ^altogether six factors;

6 — the expectation, after the first measures, of
the later instrumental changes and correspondences ;
strictly speaking, these are distinct factors, but we
shall avoid over-elaboration of analysis by incorporat-
ing them with the perception of these changes and
correspondences themselves;

7 — the ascending figure in the bass, measures 3-4,
embodying two factors:

a — the figure itself;

b — the instrument playing it;

8 — ^the repeated horn-notes of measures 3-4 ; as in
the previous case, this involves two factors;

9 — the bass-figure of measures 7-8; again there
are two factors, which are doubled by the structural
and instrumental correspondence with the figure
of measures 3-4; total — four elements;

10 — the horn-notes of measures 7-8; the same re-

Music 17

marks apply as under 9; accordingly, four elements;

II — the doubling of the melody in measure 10;

12 — the fourfold duplication of the melody in
measure 1 1 (not indicated completely) ;

13 — the addition of the bassoon to the clarinet
in measure 10;

14 — ^the instrumental change in measures 11-12,
the whole orchestra replacing the single instruments ;

IS — ^the contrast in loudness, fortissimo following
piano.

These twelve measures, accordingly, involve
some fifty factors, in addition to the individual
notes. To be sure, some of the relations will
be fused together, and others may escape
detection in the unhesitating progress of the
notes ; but the more adequate the appreciation,
the more fully will they be represented. Not
analysing the remaining measures so minutely,
we merely indicate some of the elements
entering into them:

I — the melodic contrast with measures 1-12;

2 — the contrary motion of measures 13-14 (counter-
point) ;

3 — the different instruments involved in it ;

4 — ^the sustained notes (B flat) accompanying it;

5 — the repetition, in measures 17-20, uf measures
13-16, together with

6 — their variation;

1 8 Racial Contrasts

7 — the staccato of measures 17-20, as opposed to
the legato of 13-16;

8 — ^the contrasts of measure 21, etc.

No attempt has been made to form a com-
plete tabtilation of the elements, an exceed-
ingly difl&ctilt as well as unnecessary task.
It is evident from what has been shown, that
instrumental music offers a complicated tissue
of perceptions and relations. Contrapuntal,
thematic, formal, and instnmiental elements
are thrown together in bewildering confusion.
Furthermore, there is a ceaseless reference
to and fro. The recognition of the instru-
mental changes in measures i-ii involves a
repeated comparison with preceding bars and
an anticipation of succeeding ones. The as-
cending figure of measures 7 and 8 recalls
the corresponding progression of measures
3 and 4. The staccato of measures 17-20
depends for its effect on the contrast with the
legato of measures 13-16, the thematic elabo-
ration of the same bars on a similar contrast
with preceding parts. The mind is the
scene of a constant ferment ; gleams of thought
shoot forth in every direction; the notes are
connected by an elaborate network of re-
lations, and perception, like a busy shuttle.

Music 19

keeps darting away from those that are
being played, and connecting them by means
of the delicate threads of resemblance and
contrast with those that have gone before or
are yet to come.

In contrast to the complexities of instru-
mental music, the French and Italians exhibit
a predilection for the simpler forms of vocal
composition, — ^more especially for the opera,
with its uninvolved aria and recitative. The
aria and recitative represent the opposite pole
of instrumental music as just described: the
latter may be compared to a Gothic cathedral,
the former find their analogue in the Greek
statue. Contrapimtal elaboration is rare;
thematic treatment is almost out of question;
instrumental effects are subordinated to the
demands for vocal beauty; and form, while
present, is quite elementary in nature. There
is harmonic accompaniment in the orchestra,
to be sure, but it is kept subdued. The
melody is ever5^hing, — ^the melody, with
the exquisite charm of the prima doima's
voice. Simple, direct beauty forms the sub-
stance of Italian opera. Even the corre-
spondence between the character of the tones
and the sentiments expressed in the text,

■

20 Racial Contrasts

so important nowadays, is often woftilly
lacking, and the music might as appropriately
be sung to meaningless syllables as to the
words which are actually present.

But this is not a necessary feature of opera.
The German developments of this species of
art have all drifted toward elaboration, and
the music-dramas of Richard Wagner rival
in complexity the fugues and symphonies
of the great instrumental masters. Two
traits especially distinguish German from
Italian opera: the closer agreement between
the words and the music, and the greater
importance of the orchestra. The two great
reforms in the direction of dramatic truth,
i.e.y of congruity between tones and libretto,
were inaugurated by Germans, — Gluck and
Wagner; but all the great German operatic
writers of the last htmdred and fifty years
have laid stress on this point. Now this
congruity adds an additional factor to the
perception of operatic numbers, and demands
a reference to and fro, — ^from the words heard
a moment ago to the tones just being played,
and from the sotmds that have just died
away to the words that are being uttered;
thus illustrating both principles.

Music 21

The co-ordination of the musical and poetic
elements leads to greater independence of the
orchestra, to which is allotted the task of
reinforcing the text, and thus to the charac-
teristic developments of instrumental music.
For this reason, and because of their inborn
tendencies, German composers have paid more
attention to the orchestral accompaniment
than their French and Italian neighbours.
Even the conservative Mozart was blamed
for placing the pedestal on the stage and
relegating the statue into the orchestra.
What would they have said of Wagner,
who makes a mere instrument of the voice,
co-ordinate with those beneath the footlights?
In the music-drama of this master we have
a form of art which is ultra-Teutonic in its
richness and complexity, — ^in the number and
variety of factors it presents to the auditor
and the relations he is supposed to perceive.
Not only is every aspect of the musical art
employed, but all the arts are united in the
production of a total impression. Architec-
ture constitutes the framework, painting
achieves beautiful scenic effects, histrionic
art holds the attention of the eye, poetry
speaks to the imagination, and all is fittingly

22 Racial Contrasts

supported by music, employing every resource
at its command, — ^intricate counterpoint and
thematic work, wonderful harmony, and en-
trancing instrumentation. The hearer is sup-
posed to follow the action as it logically
develops, perceive the symbolic meanings
which it embodies, hear the words, note in
detail their correspondence with the music,
recognise the Leit-motifs and grasp their
significance as they form a commentary on
the action, listen to the contrapuntal interplay
of two or three of them, follow the instru-
mental variations, and — ^in the Ring of the
Nibelung — even to connect the occurrences
and their musical counterparts of four succes-
sive evenings! There is nothing like it in the
entire literature of French ^nd Italian opera.
In a later chapter we shall refer to the
expressive, suggestive nature of the art of
tones, comparing it with its sister-arts in
this respect. Music stimulates the imagina-
tion, awakens fancies, opens vistas of thought.
The voluminous literature dealing with the
interpretation of symphonic works is a com-
mentary on this statement. One of the
most glowing appreciations is that in which
Heine describes the playing of Paganini. Its

Music 23

length precludes our giving more than a small
part of it.

Paganini quietly placed the violin against his chin,
and, with the first stroke of his bow, the trans-
figuration of tones begun again. They arose in peace-
ful, majestic waves, swelling like the notes of an organ
choral in a cathedral, and around me everything had
extended in width and increased in height, until the
space was so colossal that the eye of the soul alone
could grasp it. A sphere of light floated in the centre
of the space; on it there stood a man of giant stature
and proud mien, who was playing on a violin ; in the
man's features I recognised those of Paganini, beauti-
fully idealised, serenely clear, and wearing a smile of
forgiveness. He was the human planet around whom
the cosmos revolved with measured solemnity, and to
the sotmd of blessed rhythms. Were the great lights
that shone so peacefully while they floated around
him the stars of heaven? And were the tuneful
harmonies produced by their movements the music
of the spheres, concerning which poets and seers
have told so many charming tales? When I, at
times, looked out into the dim distance, I thought I
beheld nothing but giant pilgrims clothed in undulat-
ing white robes. They approached nearer, bearing
white rods in their hands, and, strangest of all, the
golden heads of their rods were the lights which I
had mistaken for stars. Forming an immense circle,
these pilgrims marched around the performer, the
tones of his violin adding greater lustre to their
rods, while the chorals that issued from their HpSj^

24 Racial Contrasts

and which I had supposed to be the music of the
spheres, were, in truth, the reverberating echoes of
his instrument. The fervor of unutterable hoUness
dwelt in those sounds. They were, at times, tremulous
and almost inaudible, like mysterious whisperings
on the water; at others, swelling and breaking on the
air like the tones of a horn by moonlight; and then
bursting forth with boisterous joy, as if a thousand
bards had struck the chords of their harps, and had
lifted up their voices in a song of triumph.^

Nothing cotild express better the power of
music to awaken images. It is to be noted,
however, that this power belongs more es-
pecially to instrtimental music. In vocal com-
positions the mind is tied down to the words
that are being sung, and kept in bondage by
the presence of the singer; the tones which
he utters are a direct communication of his
personality, and form a commentary on a
predetermined text. Thus there is not that
opportunity for a free roaming of the spirit
which is offered by absolute music, where
the tones seem to have a more spontaneous
origin (especially in orchestral compositions,
in which many of the players are hidden),
and where there is no specific subject of

^ ScifUillations front the Prose Works of Heinrich Heine,
New York, 1873, PP* 34~36« Condensed from the original.

Music 2 5

portrayal. It is in agreement with these
facts that instrumental music may be styled
the " most romantic of all arts." And herein
we may recognise a supplementary reason for
its special cultivation by the Germans: like
no other art it allows the hearer to dream
and divine, and to revel in the creations of
fancy.

Although we know but little about ancient
music, there is no doubt that it was extremely
simple. Being confined to the progression of
a single voice, it offered no opportimity for
the intricate combination of factors to be
found in modem compositions. It was less
complicated even than Italian music, involved
fewer cross relations between the parts, and
thus yields a confirmation of the principles
so far as ancient and modem music are
concerned.

1

'4

•1

r

1
I

Ill

LITERATURE

THE illustrations which the principles*
receive in literature are varied. Allit-
eration and rhyme, present only in
modem poetry and absent in the writings of
the ancients, depend on the perception of
relations between words immediately heard
and words heard a moment ago or about to
be seized a moment hence, and these are
additional objects for the mind. Metaphors
and allegories are more numerous in modem
than in ancient literature. Their apprecia-
tion necessitates a reference from the mean-
ings directly expressed to those symbolised;
and this again involves the perception of ad-
ditional objects. Is figurative language more
common in Germanic than in Romance
works? It would require exhaustive study
to decide; but a consideration of some of the
foremost writers on both sides would seem

s6

Literature 27

to indicate that it is. Think of Shakespeare's ^ ;

wealth of imagery, of Carlyle's turgid style,

of Emerson, Lowell, Heine, and Shelley.

In the latter's Cloud, comprising six stanzas

and eighty-four lines, one may cotmt some 1

seventy metaphors and similes, — one for

almost every line. Here is a passage from

Emerson: '*

Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived
to be understood. All is riddle, and the key to a S

riddle is another riddle. There are as many pillows
of illusion as flakes in a snow-storm. We wake from ^

one dream into another dream. The toys to be sure ♦

are various, and are graduated in refinement to the J

quality of the dupe. The intellectual man requires ^

a fine bait; the sots are easily amused. But every-
body is drugged with his own frenzy, and the pageant
marches at all hours, with music and banner and
badge. ^

Are similar accumulations of figurative lan-
guage common in Romance works?

Another feature characteristic of Germanic
writings is their condensation of thought.
Taine somewhere speaks of Shakespeare's
gathering "a pageful of ideas and pictures
in half a sentence." Ibsen loves to open

^6imduct of Life, Boston, 1895, p. 297.

f

^

i

28 Racial Contrasts

immense vistas in the suggestive remarks of
his characters. Jean Paul is remarkable for
wealth and compression of thought.

Thoughts and sentiments which would grow into
colossal trees, if permitted to strike root properly and
develop all their branches, blossoms, and leaves —
these he uproots while they are still insignificant
shrubs, mere sprouts even; and whole intellectual
forests are thus served up to us as an ordinary dish.
Now, although curious, this is decidedly unpalatable
fare, for not every stomach can digest such a mess of
young oaks, cedars, palms, and banana trees. ^

Emerson, too, is fond of pithy, epigram-
matic statements of extensive truths. He
packs into Single sentences what another
would only cover with lengthy ratiocinations.
His passages resemble concatenations of prov-
erbs. A year of experience is focussed into a
phrase, a lifetime of insight crowded into
a paragraph. On account of this compression
of thought, his sentences, like Biblical verses,
would serve admirably as sermon-texts. In-
deed, much of the popular writing on spiritual
subjects that has flourished on this side of
the Atlantic since Emerson's day is nothing
but an exegesis of the master, a detailed

I Heine's Prose Writings, London, 1887, p. 163.

Literature 29

explanation of his oraciilar sayings. But the
most condensed of all is Walt Whitman.
Shakespeare, Ibsen, Jean Paul, and Emerson
still give us sentences; Whitman extends the
reduction to phrases and words. Many of
his passages are nothing but collections of
descriptive parts of speech, nouns without
verbs, subjects without predicates. With
single, well-chosen expressions he suggests
innumerable experiences, with a pageful of
such expressions he delineates a world of
scenes and happenings. As a sample of his
method we may take the following excerpt
from the Song of the Broad-Axe:

The log at the wood-pile, the axe supported by it,
The sylvan hut, the vine over the doorway, the space

cleared for a garden,
The irregular tapping of rain down on the leaves after

the storm is lulled.
The wailing and moaning at intervals, the thought

of the sea,
The thought of ships struck in the storm and put on

their beam ends, and the cutting away of masts.
The sentiment of the huge timbers of old-fashion'd

houses and bams,
The remexnber*d print or narrativej the voyage at a

venture of men, families, goods,
The disembarkation, the founding of a new city.

30 Racial Contrasts

The voyage of those who sought a New England and

found it, the outset anywhere,
The settlements of the Arkansas, Colorado, Ottawa,

Willamette.
The slow progress, the scant fare, the axe, rifle,

saddle-bags;
The beauty of all adventurous and daring persons,
The beauty of wood-boys and wood-men with their

clear untrimm'd faces,
The beauty of independence, departure, actions that

rely on themselves.
The American contempt for statutes and ceremonies,

the boundless impatience of restraint.
The loose drift of character, the inkling through ran-
dom types, the solidification;
The butcher in the slaughter-house, the hands aboard

schooners and sloops, the raftsman, the pioneer.
Lumbermen in their winter camp, daybreak in the

woods, stripes of snow on the limbs of trees, the

occasional snapping,
The glad clear sound of one's own voice, the merry

song, the natural life of the woods, the strong

day's work.
The blazing fire at night, the sweet taste of supper,

the talk, the bed of hemlock-boughs and the

bear-skin. ^

Thus he continues for three pages. The
effect manifestly depends on the arousal, in
the reader's mind, of ntimerous incipient

1 Leaves of Grass, Philadelphia, pp. 149-150.

Literature 31

reminiscences. Without this cooperation, we
should have mere dry and meaningless in-
ventories. How redolent with memory are
such expressions as "The blazing fire at
night, the sweet taste of supper, the talk,
the bed of hemlock-boughs and the bear-
skin." The reference to the non-given is well
illustrated by this resuscitation of personal
experiences, the multiplication of factors by
the great number of memories which may, as
a result of the condensation, be awakened
by a single page. It would be impossible to
imagine any further augmentation of par-
ticulars. The page consists of a score of lines,
the line contains several descriptive expres-
sions, and every one of these is a rocket,
opening into a shower of suggested experiences.
Suppose, now, that we have read sym-
pathetically one of these poems swarming
with details, — ^what will be our state of mind?
The single expressions no longer stand forth
clearly, but swim together in a seething back-
ground of emotion. This must be the con-
dition of the poet as well, before he has
begun with the task of composition: a rich
matrix of inspiration, with the members
which are to emerge still embedded in its

32 Racial Contrasts

depths. Thus it typifies the mental nature
of the Teuton, with its fringe of relations and
halo of sentiment.

The characteristics of Germanic writing are
all united in Jean Paul. Whoever has not
glanced through his fantastic pages has no
conception of their bewildering heterogeneity
and grotesqueness. The larger outlines al-
ready impress us with their strangeness.
Quintus Fixlein opens with a note to the
author's friends, in place of the preface;
this is followed, not by the preface itself,
but by the history of the preface, which leads
into a story entitled The Lunar Eclipse.
Then come two sketches, without direct
connection with the body of the book. At
last the narrative proper begins. It is
followed by several 'Jus de tablette,'' again
without connection with the story, which
end with a postscript, or farewell, to the
reader. But the bewilderment really begins
when we examine the details. The author is
scarcely able to give us a sentence without
some simile, metaphor, alltision, or quotation.
The course of his exposition is a continual
zigzag. Hardly are we launched on our way
before we are interrupted with a side-thought.

Literature 33

He seems to have read and to be acquainted
with ever5^hing; his comparisons are drawn
from every department of nature and Hfe;
botany, zoology, music, history, geography,
and mythology, — ^all are employed in the
elaboration of his thought. He is constantly
quoting authors, — obscure as well as promi-
nent ones. English, Latin, and French
expressions are interspersed. Foot-notes
abound, even sentimental passages receiving
their scientific commentaries. In the pathetic
sketch from Quintus Fixlein entitled The
Moon, a poetic description of a lunar land-
scape, in which the blue of the sky is referred
to, is supplemented by this explanation:
'*The blue colour of the air must be darker
on the moon, because the air is thinner, both
phenomena occurring also on mountains."
Schmelzle's Reise nach Fldtz is systemati-
cally accompanied by a series of foot-notes,
several for every page, without connection
with the narrative. It is like a passage of lite-
rary cotmterpoint. Indeed, we cannot help
feeling that language was scarcely adequate as
a vehicle for Jean Paul's rich, glowing mind,
and that his Teutonic spirit required the com-
plexity of tones for adequate expression.

34 Racial Contrasts

The sage of Concord illustrates the same
characteristics. He too loves figurative lan-
guage. With significant words he opens deep
vistas of insight. His point of view is per-
petually changing. Now he speaks in the
singular, now in the plural, now he jumps from
one person to another. The older form of the
third person capriciously alternates with the
newer, even in the same sentence.^ And
with the change in form goes the change in
the subject of thought. He is thoroughly
unsystematic. He does not develop an idea
logically, from premise to conclusion, but
strings together a multitude of ready-made
conclusions. In the quotation above he draws
illustrations from every source; at every step
a fresh view opens before the reader; the space
which a lucid French writer would employ
for the neat presentation of a single thought,
is broken up into half a dozen sections, each
brimful of content.

It is unnecessary to give examples of the

I "For the sense of being which in calm hours rises, we
know not how, ia the soul, is not diverse from things, from
space, from light, from time, from man, but one with them
and proceedeth obviously from the same source whence their
life and being also proceedeth." — Emerson's ** Self-Reliance,"
in Essays, First Series.

Literature 35

opposite tendency, exemplified in Romance
writers. Here, as elsewhere, we must devote
ourselves in the main to Germanic masters.
When we have characterised an aria as
simple in structure and traced its effectiveness
to melodic and tonal beauty, or stated that a
dissertation is stylistically pure and proceeds
systematically, presenting a few thoughts
in a clear and orderly manner, there is little
more to be added. Germanic works, on the
contrary, with their pictiu'esque heterogeneity,
lend themselves well to illustration. On ac-
cotmt of their condensation and richness of
content, furthermore, the illustrations need
not be long. If we were to exhibit the paucity
of metaphors in a French work, or demonstrate
its logical development of thought, excerpts
of considerable length would be necessary.
Examples, however, can easily be found; the
reader has but to turn the pages of the great
masters of prose, who have made the liter-
ature of France so famous throughout the
world.

We come to the drama. Graeco-Latin
drama culminates in the masterpieces of Greek
tragedy and the equally wonderful creations
of the period of Louis XIV., Germanic drama

36 Racial Contrasts

in the works of Shakespeare. The contrast
cotdd not be greater. Macbeth contains
twenty -eight characters, Racine's PhcBdra
contains eight; Julius CcBsar has thirty-four
personages, Philoctetes (Sophocles) has five.
In general, complexity and picturesqueness
characterise the works of the English bard,
simplicity and plasticity those of the Greeks
and their modem imitators. The latter ob-
serve the unities, the former disregard them.
In classic plays the action all occurs at one
place, in British dramas we are transported
from scene to scene. In Macbeth, for example,
the locality changes twenty-four times. And
with the shifting of scenes go the variations
in time. In the classic drama the action is
supposed to happen within a period not
greatly exceeding the actual representation;
in the other, days and weeks elapse between
the acts. This, too, introduces variety, adds
to the number of factors, and multiplies the
references from one portion of the play to
another.

Then there is the unity of action. Graeco-
Latin works contain a single plot, about which
everything revolves; with Shakespeare there
are two or three, dovetailed into each other

Literature 37

and alternating before the spectator. Mid-
summer Night's Dream has three distinct
centres of action: the story of the lovers, that
of Bottom and his band of players, and that
of Oberon and Titania. The Merchant of
Venice depicts the fortunes of Shylock and
Antonio, Portia and Bassanio — ^including the
episodes of the caskets and the rings — ^and of
Jessica and her lover. Add to the great num-
ber of personages, variety of scenes, and differ-
entiation of action, the constant change from
prose to poetry, blank verse to rh3mie, and the
intermixture of comic with tragic elements,
and we obtain a thoroughly Gothic effect.

This effect is not confined to Shakespeare.
The German dramatists have also shown
themselves partial to it. Probably no drama
is so typically Germanic in this respect as
Goethe's Faust. It is like a museum in the
number and variety of objects it presents
to the reader; it encompasses the entire
world, combining Christian tradition, mediae-
val superstition, Greek m5rthology, modem
criticism, philosophy, religion, science, and
politics into one immense picture, and strew-
ing thoughts of wonderful depth throughout,
with endless profusion. The whole work con-

38 Racial Contrasts

tains some fifty scenes, and there are over
two hundred individual speakers, besides
about seventy groups. We pass from heaven
to earth, from the wine-cellar at Leipzig to the
wilds of the Harz Mountains; we dream with
the lovers, enter the cathedral, and listen to the
Dies im; we deliberate with emperors, pass
back to antiquity, converse with Helen the
beautiful, deal with witches, angels, spirits,
sirens, and furies ; Anaxagoras and Thales speak
to us, the modem idealist tmf olds his views,
Philemon and Baucis regale us with their
hospitality, and mystic strains lead us back
to Heaven. Byron's Manfred resembles Faust
in the picturesque intermixture of scenes
and the profusion of supernatural forms; and
Shelley's Prometheus Unbound forms an ex-
cellent companion-piece. The contrast be-
tween Greek and Teutonic methods is aptly
illustrated by a comparison between this
drama and the Prometheus Bound of ^schylus.
The latter is simple and bare, when contrasted
with the romantic panoramas, the variety
of characters, the mystic suggestiveness, the
colour and glow and intensity of Shelley's
masterpiece.

Graeco-Latin literature may broadly be

Literature 39

characterised as classic, Germanic literature
as romantic. What are the distinguishing
traits of the classic and romantic; how
may both be defined? Heine says:

The tteatment is classic when the fonn of that
which is portrayed is quite identical with the idea
of the portrayer, as is the case with the art-works of
the Greeks. . . . The tteatment is romantic
when the form does not reveal the idea through this
identity, but lets this idea be surmised parabolically.*

Hedge says:

We speak of romantic characters, romantic situa-
tions, romantic scenery. What do we mean by
this expression? Something very subtle, undefinable,
but felt by all. If we analyse the feeling we shall find,
I think, that it has its origin in wonder and mystery.
It is the sense of something hidden, of imperfect reve-
lation.2

Another definition is given by Walter Pater:

It is the addition of strangeness to beauty that
constitutes the romantic character in art; and the
desire of beauty being a fixed element in every artis-
tic organisation, it is the addition of curiosity to
this desire of beauty that constitutes the romantic
temper.^

» Heine* s Prose Writings , London, 1887, p. 163.

a " Classic and Romajotic" Atlantic Monthly, vol. Ivii., p. 309.

» "Romanticism," MacmiUan'Sf vol. xxxv.,p. 65.

40 Racial Contrasts

The definitions do not coincide; yet they
harbour a common element. According to
them all, the romantic involves a reference
from the given to the non-given. A story
can only be symbolic of something not
directly indicated. What is hidden is not
immediately presented. Strangeness presup-
poses imperfect revelation, and curiosity has
the hidden or unknown for its object. Thus,
by mixing together the definitions, we obtain
an old friend as a precipitate, — i. e., the second
principle. A wild mountain scene, a pictur-
esque castle, the paintings of Rembrandt,
Goethe's Faust, the compositions of Schumann,
— all are romantic; the circtmistances may be
different, but there is always a reference be-
yond the immediate facts of sense, — a meaning,
an expression, which is not enclosed in the
objective data. The castle suggests bygone
ages, valiant knights, brilliant tournaments,
crusades, and the historical events of the
intervening centuries. The compositions of
Schumann point beyond the tones, to the
emotions and visions of which they are an
embodiment. Rembrandt's dark backgrounds
arouse the imagination. Goethe's Faust calls
up many thoughts which are not indicated

Literature 41

in the words. The mountain scene frees a
horde of suggestions, so subtle for the greater
part that it would be difficult to specify them.
The impression is always that of a "beyond/*
of a content not entirely encompassed by the
objects before us; the scene or work of art is
open on one side and leads into a back-
ground transcending perception.

Classic works, on the other hand, are
completely enclosed; we can see around them,
and circumscribe them with sharp, distinct
lines. They are but meagrely suggestive.
They lay the emphasis on direct beauty, on
clearness, proportion, and elegance. Perfec-
tion of form rather than wealth of content is
their distinguishing trait. They embody a
perfect finite, while the others strive for the
infinite. For these reasons, Graeco-Latin
writers have always been noted for their
beauty of style: witness the poets of Greece,
the orators of Rome, and the writers of
modem France. There is an attention to
euphony, a care in the selection of words, and
an exquisite taste in their arrangement, that
is not so frequent among the Teutons. Hence,
also, those periods of decadence in the history
of Graeco-Latin literature, when the content

42 Racial Contrasts

of works was neglected and attention was
focussed on the beautiftil expression.

Scientific and philosophic writings again
corroborate the principles. Here, too, the
external is beautiftil in the south, while the
philosophers of the north — ^notably the Ger-
man idealists — have engendered some of the
worst monsters of style ever launched on
the literary ocean. In the north great atten-
tion is paid to details. The English are the
champions of empiricism, of the acctimulation
and classification of facts. And never in the
history of the world have such voluminous
researches been undertaken as those enclosed
in the bulky voltimes of German scientific and
philosophical investigation. They bewilder us
with the multitude of facts; they overwhelm
and crush us beneath their weight, if we are not
equipped with the armour of grim determina-
tion. The Latins love clear and simple views.
They reason deductively, passing from premise
to conclusion in a regular, orderly manner.
Logical inference, not intuition, is their method
of thought; they are rationalists, while their
Teutonic neighbours have produced the major-
ity of great mystics. Owing to their cage mess
to arrive at simple, general views, and their

Literature 43

dislike of patient investigation, they some-
times fall into superficiality. The French
materialistic philosophy of the eighteenth
century, for example, with its excessive
simplification of the tmiverse, shows the
defects of this type of mind.

IV
PAINTING

IN the case of painting, again, our fragmen-
tary knowledge of ancient art makes it
more profitable to confine our examina-
tion to modem races. It would be difficult to
determine whether there are less figures in
southern than in northern pictures. On the
one hand portrait-painting, which merely
offers a single object to the eye, has received
greater attention in the north. Northern
artists, however, may have been driven
toward this branch of the art partly through
accidental circumstances. The churches of
the south offered larger wall-spaces for decora-
tion than the cathedrals of the north. South-
em painters thus had a field of activity and a
source of income which were not open to their
transalpine brothers, who were obliged to exer-
cise their talents in different directions. The
realistic trend of Germanic artists and their

44

Painting 45

love of expression undoubtedly helped to
impel them toward the study of countenances.
But so far as a picture is expressive, it acts
through the affiliations of that which is
directly given, even apart from the pro-
nounced reference to the original reproduced.
Thus portraits may exemplify Germanic tastes
with reference to the second principle. And,
since an expressive countenance may sug-
gestively stir up many thoughts in the mind
of the observer, they may even embody a
certain subconscious complexity.

Passing by this branch of the art, however,
there seems to be no doubt that the tendency
of Germanic works is toward greater wealth
of material. A characteristic trait of early
Flemish and German paintings is their ex-
traordinary elaboration of detail. The minu-
tiae of clothing, articles of furniture, and
scenic backgrounds receive as much attention
as the more important features. In early
German art, too, there was the peculiar
crowding of compositions; and the multiplied
and angular folds of the drapery, while not
elegant, tended to increase the points of
attention. Italian artists stripped their pic-
tures of accessories. Many of the most famous

46 Racial Contrasts

among them as a rule introduced but a limited
number of figures. Giotto, Bellini, Raphael,
and Titian are examples. Alberti believed
that a certain moderation in this respect lent
dignity to a composition. Michael Angelo
criticised the northern custom of painting
"landscapes," with "many figures scattered
here and there.'* Rubens, on the other
hand, delighted in a bewildering profusion ^
of elements. T,hink of his Battle of the
Amazons, his Kermesse, his Resurrection of
the Just, and Fall of the Damned. Even
Michael Angelo 's composition on the same
subject pales before the Munich masterpieces
in point of wealth and complexity. Dtirer,
too, loved an exuberance of factors, as is
evidenced by his wood-cuts to the Apocalypse.
The pictures of Bosch and of the Breughels are
cases in point; nor must we forget to mention
the complex scenes of Hogarth. Not only do
the works enumerated illustrate the tendency
to include an abtmdance of elements, but
many of them also bear witness to the lack
of harmony mentioned in the first chapter.
By some critics this is regarded as a short-
coming,— as if the artist were willing enough
to attain perfection of form, but lacked the

Painting 47

ability to do so. Is it not more probable
that perfect smoothness and balance were in
many cases not desired? There is no doubt
that a certain amount of confusion imparts a
suggestiveness which is absent where every-
thing is well-rounded and perfect. As a final
comment on the situation we must recur to the
large wall-spaces in the south. These are
certainly accountable for many of the richer
compositions of Italian painters, and without
them the difference in national trends would
be still more apparent. We can gain an
idea of what northern artists would have done
under similar circumstances if we study
the immense, involved, and symbolic repre-
sentations of Kaulbach, in the Museum of
Berlin.

The figures in northern works, as a rule,
embody more individuality; they are more
heterogeneous, while those in the south tend
toward homogeneity. It may not always be
easy to determine whether there are more
distinct figures in the paintings of Germanic
artists, but it is clear that they are more
distinct There is much sameness in the faces
and poses of southern paintings. As a result,
the mind is not engaged in so many directions;

48 Racial Contrasts

a group of people can often be perceived as a
single object — a mere group; the battalions
of Meissonier, for example, **sing" in unison;
in the north, on the contrary, the constituent
figures demand more attention. This indi-
viduality and heterogeneity, this tendency
of the figures to break away from the central
point of attention, is apparent in the works
of Rubens. With Rubens, to be sure, as
with the Italian, French, and Spanish artists,
there is unity of composition: the figures
belong together; they are constituents of a
ruling topic, a single chosen subject of repre-
sentation. In the case of many Germanic
artists, however, the heterogeneity is extended
even to the subjects portrayed, creating
various nuclei of interest. There is no central
point of action or position, unifying all the
elements into a single scheme; the figures are
dispersed, or combined into various groups
without connection with one another.

This is evident in the pictures of certain
Dutch and Flemish artists, — of Van Steen,
Ostade, Wouwerman, Teniers, and the Breugh-
els; it characterises numerous works of Lucas
Cranach ; it is a distinguishing trait of Hogarth ;
and it appears among modem German artists.

Painting 49

Van Steen*s Flemish Festival, in the Louvre,
will serve as an example. In the foreground
we see a group of musicians. To the right
there is a table, with people drinking, chatting,
and joking arotmd it, — one hilarious individual
even standing on it and shouting across the
chamber. To the left a man is trying to pull
a woman out of the embrace of an amorous
burgher. Inmiediately behind, another is
taking his leave and paying the hostess, while
an anxious wife is endeavouring to persuade
her tipsy husband to moderate his antics; he,
however, insists on entering the lively dance
progressing in the rear of the room. Card-
players, spectators in the balcony, a sleeping
dog, jugs, plants, and various other acces-
sories complete the scene. The total effect
is that of a "delightful confusion," perfectly
analogous to the miscellaneous hubbub of
soimds which we can almost hear while gazing
on the scene. The relation to the secondary
plots of Shakespeare is apparent.

Hogarth's Rake in the Madhouse is similar
in composition. All possible types of mad-
ness are crowded in utter confusion into a
room of moderate dimensions. In one comer
sits the brooding hypochondriac, undisturbed

50 Racial Contrasts

even by the dog that is barking loudly at him;
behind him the imaginary pope is chanting a
song, and at his side a crazy fellow is energeti-
cally playing a violin, his note-book on his
head. The raving rake, who is being chained
by an attendant and soothed by a friend,
occupies the middle of the scene; near him
a tailor, with tape-measure in hand, is still
plying his trade, and in the background several
ladies are regarding the scene with amuse-
ment. To the left of the rake an astronomer
is busy observing the heavens through a
paper roll, while a mathematician is tracing
longitudinal lines on the wall. The imaginary
king, sitting straight in his majesty, with
sceptre in hand and crown on head, together
with the religious fanatic, who Ues crouching
before the cross, occupy separate little com-
partments to the extreme left. The mind
bristles with side-thoughts and gleams of
suggestion, as it follows the confusing compo-
sition. Examples could easily be multiplied.
Woxxwermaxi's Arrival at the Inn contains about
eight different groups, or centres of action.
Kaulbach's Period of the Reformation focalises
the events of several centuries. Richter's
Praise of Woman delineates the beneficent

Painting 51

activities of the wife and mother. The
mental process, in grasping such a picture,
is similar to that involved in the appreciation
of complex passages of music; here, also,
we have counterpoint, thematic work, and
variety of tone. Perception, instead of re-
volving about a common centre, flashes off
to either side, contrasts and similarities
crowd upon one another, and the mind
teems with a multitude of thoughts.

Southern paintings, like classic dramas,
observe the unities. There is a single centre,
to which ever57thing refers. Nothing diverts
the attention from this, — ^no secondary plots,
no by-plays of action. In many cases the
figures are symmetrically grouped about it,
half of them to the right and half to the left,
with their glances directed toward the centre.
Where variety demands that one or more
turn the eyes in a different direction, the
device is often adopted of making them point
with the hand toward the central figures.
Examples are to be found in Perugino's
Assumption, Correggio's Madonnas with St.
Francis, St Sebastian, and St George, and
in the Assumption of Titian.

In the north the dispersion ctolminates in

52 Racial Contrasts

the Breughels. It wotdd be difficult to im-
agine anything more chaotic than the Alle-
gorical Representation of the Triumphs of
Death, or the Flemish Proverb. Hogarth and
Van Steen are simplicity itself, when com-
pared with these seething caldrons of vivid
imagination. There is a very maze of activ-
ities; everything under the sun passes before
our eyes; the mind is dazed when it endeav-
ours to grasp the heterogeneous elements in
their totality and interconnection. The>works
in question resemble the poems of Walt Whit-
man, in the multitude of objects embodied.
Nowin these cases the ** delightful confusion
of mind " is aroused by definite objects, which,
being too numerous to be held distinctly
before consciousness, swim together in a
vague background of thought. At other times
the objects may be less definite, but their
suggestiveness and multiplicity render them
equally effective. Natural scenes, landscapes,
contain so many elements that we no longer
try to attend to them separately, but allow
them to simmer along semi-consciously, near
the threshold of thought and feeling. The
writhing, swarming multitude subsides into
a widespread, gentle vibration, the chaos of

Painting 53

voices is transformed into a subdued hum.
There is still a multipUcation of objects, how-
ever, and a reference beyond what is directly
perceived.

In agreement herewith we find landscape-
painting cultivated preferentially by northern
artists. Claude Lorraine and Corot were
Frenchmen, to be sure, but they were ex-
ceptions: Romance painting occupies itself
in the main with the representation of
figures, while Germanic painting naturally
gravitates toward the landscape. Further-
more, Germanic scenes are often highly
mysterious and suggestive, thus incipiently
arousing multitudinous thoughts. Witness
the weird creations of Bocklin, the sombre,
melancholy views of Ruysdael, and above
all the imaginative vistas of Turner. What
stimulating, Gothic complexity in his Death
of Nelson, what turmoil and wildness and
clamour in his Shipwreck! The effect is
analogous to that of Breughel's creations, only
the confusion of thoughts is subconscious in
nature; to compensate for their indistinctness,
however, the mental elements may even be
more numerous. Mystery, accompanied by
a large activity of the fringe, is a characteristic

54 .Racial Contrasts

also of the works of Rembrandt, with their
magical interplay of light and shade; indeed,
even his portraits operate in the same manner.

They unite utter realism with a look as if the soul
of the sitter had risen for a moment to the surface,
and was just about to tell its history from the
speaking eyes and lips — ^yet after all had suddenly
retreated, and left you in doubt as to what it had meant
to say. This curious suggestiveness is a feature in
all Rembrandt's best efforts. ^

A noticeable trait of Germanic painting
is its realism, apparent already in the early
German masters, characteristic of the Dutch
and Flemish schools, and continued by Eng-.
lish artists. While it is not our purpose to
reduce this trait entirely to the principles
under consideration, we can show that it is
in harmony with them and serves as the
occasion for their application. By reason
of their realistic nature, Germanic pictures
suggest many things which are not brought
to mind by the idealised, conventional, and
abstractly beautiful canvases of the south.
Definite situations are presented, events are
narrated, thoughts aroused, and morals en-

» Radcliflfe, Schools and Masters of Painting, New York,
1895. P- 318-

Painting 55

forced. This is notoriously true of the works
of Hogarth, and it has remained a distinguish-
ing feature of British painting since his time.
The state of mind, in studying such a pictiu-e,
resembles that of the serial story reader, when
at the end of the chapter he bumps against
the words: "To be continued." The picture,
also, is continued in the mind; it reverberates
beyond the frame, and suggests further
images, actions, truths, and problems. The
composition in its totality relates a story:
it is a chapter in a novel of absorbing interest.
The single figures and objects, likewise, are
significant: the time on the clock, the gouty
foot of the titled father, the bills in the
servant's hand, the escaping lover, the half-
starved dog, — ^all point to facts and occur-
rences not directly apparent. Finally, a moral
is supposed to be enforced, a lesson taught.
The works of Hogarth are extreme in these
respects, but their characteristics are traceable
throughout Germanic art. In the picture by
Van Steen, for example, the anxious wife
remonstrating with her husband, the amorous
couple, and the leavetaker who is paying his
bill, suggest further ideas to the observer.
The ntimerous utensils and appliances of

S6 Racial Contrasts

everyday life in this and similar Dutch
pictures are significant of the activities con-
nected with them. Holbein's Dance of Death
and Dtirer's famous engravings are didactic
creations, sermons dripping with S5mibolism
and meaning.

In contrast, the idealistic productions of
Italian art are completely enveloped by the
frame: the whole content is there on the canvas
and no reference need be made beyond its
confines. The subjects of representation are
so familiar through endless repetition that
but little attention is paid to their narrative
communications: we perceive beautiful figures
and groupings without bestowing a thought
on their significance. This result follows also
from the abstract, conventionalised nature
of the figures and the actions represented.
We hardly take the persons seriously, at
times, when they attempt to do things;
they pose and make a pretence of acting,
but the tingle and definiteness and zest of real
action is missing.

The subjects in these paintings are pre-
dominantly taken from ancient and sacred
history, i. e., from a region which is foreign to
the interests of the beholder. Those of the

Painting S7

realistic Dutch and British genre pictures,
on the contrary, are drawn from everyday
life. Accordingly, they make a strong, per-
sonal appeal, recalling many intimate experi-
ences of the observer's own past, and drawing
on the distant and invisible for their effect.

Many of the characteristics dwelt upon
may be summed up in the statement that
southern painting pleases through form, north-
em painting through expression. As in music,
the Italian mind demands direct beauty, —
of contour, composition, and colour. The
figures must be graceful, the faces pure and
sweet. The northern artist, on the contrary,
troubles himself but little about immediate
beauty. Many Teutonic works, notably those
of the earlier German schools, are positively
repugnant at first sight, by reason of their
general roughness, and the homeliness of the
faces. It is only when we penetrate beyond
the surface and study the inner life which
pulsates beneath, that we perceive their
real worth. Truth, significance, depth of
thought, wealth of emotion, — ^these are the
animating influences of the Teutonic artist,
in painting as well as in literature.

ARCHITECTURE AND SCULPTURE

EUROPEAN architecture ciilminates in
two great types of structure: the Greek
temple and the Gothic cathedral. The
former belongs to the ancient world, the
latter to the modem; the former is an index
of the Graeco-Latin spirit, — does the latter
express the Teutonic? It has been contended
by some that it does; indeed, the name ** Ger-
manic " has even been proposed as a substitute
for "Gothic.'* It seems, however, as if this
claim were somewhat unwarranted. The fol-
lowing are the facts which bear on the case.
Gothic architecture was developed in north-
eastern France, among a population that
was largely, perhaps predominantly, Ger-
manic in extraction. The more purely Celtic
and Romanic districts of France shared but
little in the development or further cultivation
of the style. From its cradle the style

5^

Architecture and Sculpture 59

spread in every direction, — ^toward England,
Germany, the Netherlands, into classic Italy
and distant Spain. In Spain it remained a
foreign, exotic product, architects from the
north being constantly employed. In Italy
its reception was even less cordial; the style
was modified to suit southern demands and
soon was abandoned for the more congenial
revival of antique methods. Germanic co\m-
tries, on the contrary, proved very hospitable
to the new method. England, Germany, and
the Netherlands took hold of it with a will,
and produced masterpieces of Gothic con-
struction. Indeed, the reign of Gothic was
more lasting here than in its own native land.
In France the style flourished luxuriantly
for a century, after which there was a marked
abatement in its cultivation. In Germanic
lands, on the contrary, its rule was protracted;
indeed, so far as England is concerned, it
seems hardly to have died out, being taken
up again in modem times after a brief period
of quiescence. To simi up, the style origi-
nated in a region thoroughly sprinkled with
Germanic elements; it was assiduously culti-
vated in all important Teutonic lands, but more
conservatively received in Latin domains; its

6o Racial Contrasts

most lasting cultivation, furthermore, is to be
found in Anglo-Saxon England. Although,
then, we cannot pronounce it a purely Teu-
tonic style, it is more Teutonic than an5^hing
else; above all, it is not to be classed as a
Graeco-Latin manifestation.

So much being premised, we may pass to a
comparison of the two types of building under
consideration. The contrast is striking. Sim-
plicity could go no further than in the Greek
temple. The building was moderate in size,
uninvolved, and decoration was reduced to
a minimum. Everything could be seized
at a glance. The effectiveness depended on
the beauty of the material, and the elegance
and proportion of the lines, — all immediate
qualities. How different in Gothic cathedrals !
Look at these mazes of elements, these forests
of pillars and buttresses, these armies of
statues, these pinnacles and spires, these
painted windows, these profuse decorations;
join the worshippers and listen to the inton-
ing of the priest, follow the ornate service,
breathe the incense, and bow in reverence
before the solemn chords of the organ. How
romantic, how mystic it is, — how expressive
of the imaginative nature of the Teuton, how

/M

Architecture and Sculpture 6i

opposed to the clear and precise mind of the
Greek and Latin! The first principle receives
no better confirmation throughout the entire
domain of art, but the second, too, isilltistrated.
Not only are the forms intricate, they are
also symbolic; they point beyond themselves,
and overflow with meaning. The grotmd-plan
represents the cross of the Saviour, the walls
stand for the nations, the circular window
symbolises the rose of eternity.

The principle is also illustrated by the
profusion of elements. In considering the
temporal arts, music and literature, we saw
how previous parts of a work would linger
on in memory, forming a cluster of simulta-
neous elements and multiplying the objects
before the mind. Conversely, a profusion of
simultaneous elements will necessitate a se-
quential perception and involve references
from one part of the work to another. A
Greek temple, as we saw, could be seized
at a glance. Not so a Gothic cathedral. Its
gigantic size and multiplicity of members
render it necessary to pass from part to part.
Expectation will be aroused, comparisons
made, what is directly perceived will be
enjoyed in the light of what follows or pre-

62 Racial Contrasts

cedes. Finally the immense heights, the
vagueness of the distant recesses, the mys-
terious, subdued light, the general air of
strangeness and solemnity, will stimulate the
imagination; and, like the romantic poems
of Shelley and the paintings of Rembrandt,
fill us with a hovering sense of wonder and
significance.

The Renaissance styles of architecture were
developed mainly by Latin races. The build-
ings which they produced were more elaborate
than those of ancient Greece, but less so than
the cathedrals of the Middle Ages. They
stand midway between the two extremes and
thus exemplify the principles with reference to
ancient and Romance as well as Romance and
Teutonic races. In Germany the Renaissance
produced more picturesque buildings than in
France and Italy, giving play to expectation
and fancy. The elaborate Moorish and By-
zantine styles were cultivated in Latin do-
mains, to be sure, but they were not purely
Graeco-Latin in nature, their very complexity
being the result of Oriental influence.

Last among the arts is sculpture. Modem
sculpttire is distinguished from the ancient art
by its greater expressiveness. Regard the

Architecture and Sculpture 63

placid countenances of Greek statues, and
observe the contrast in Donatello's creations.
Above all, study the intense, expressive,
romantic figures of Michael Angelo; watch
the inner life as it seeks to find an outlet in
the significant features, tense muscles, and
rebellious attitudes of these petrified Titans I
The most remarkable feature about sculp-
ture, however, is its meagre cultivation as an
independent art among the nations of the
north. With the Greeks it was the national
art. Statues abounded on every hand; thou-
sands have been discovered, and untold num-
bers must have been destroyed by the ravages
of war and time. The Italians also found it
congenial to their nature: Luca della Robbia,
Ghiberti, and Canova did admirable work;
and the figures of Michael Angelo rank with
the Madonnas of Raphael as the masterpieces
of Italian art. What do we find among the
races of Germanic composition ? A few good
attempts in early Nuremberg; some noble
creations by Thorwaldsen; a fragment here
and there, but no great art-movement, no
connected, persistent endeavour, nothing that
could be pronoimced a powerful school, and
compared with the brilliant periods of ancient

64 Racial Contrasts

Greece or the Renaissance. In England, so
rich in poets, hardly a sculptor; in the Low
Cotintries, so fertile in painters, scarcely a
statue. What is the explanation of this
dearth of creative activity?

We are brought to the subject of the rela-
tive cultivation of the various arts, or their
racial and geographical distribution. Is it
possible to throw some light on this by means
of our principles? Sculpture is the art which
by its nature lends itself least well to the
presentation of involved subjects, with many
external relations. The intractable nature
of the marble limits the complication of the
groups and renders the reproduction of scenic
and atmospheric effects difficult. The typical
embodiment of this art is the single figure,
without background and colour. There may
be some expression, as in the marbles of
Michael Angelo, but beyond this the reference
away from the direct objects of perception
is not likely to go. The effectiveness lies
in the statue itself, its exquisite proportions,
the gracefulness of its lines, and the beauty
and purity of its material. Is it surprising,
then, that the art should have been cultivated
so extensively by the Graeco-Latins, while

Architecture and Sculpture 6$

the Teutons have treated it almost as if
non-existent?

Painting and architecture are able to
present an abundance and variety of objects
to the eye, but unless the objects are highly
suggestive or so numerous as to require succes-
sive perceptions for their appreciation, they
wiU not demand much reference beyond
that which is directly given. The converse is
true in literature. Language being temporal
in nature, works of art which employ it as
a vehicle will constantly invoke a reference
from the words which are being read to those
which have preceded or are yet to come;
expectation, for example, is nowhere so
strongly aroused as in the novel or drama.
The second principle, then, which deals with
relations like these, is exemplified; but the
first, which concerns the number and variety
of factors, is not so easy of application. Since
the words are confined to a single dimension,
no two ever uniting at the same time, the
direct and simultaneous presentation of vari-
ous objects, as in painting and architecture,
is not possible. This end is therefore attained
indirectly, through metaphors and allegories,
through the persistence in memory of past

66 Racial Contrasts

elements or the anticipation of future ones,
and through general suggestiveness and ex-
pression. Painting and architecture, in short,
lend themselves naturally to an application
of the first principle, but not necessarily to
that of the second; literature, on the con-
trary, naturally agrees with the second, but
not with the first. Accordingly, we find the
honours about evenly divided between the
races with reference to these three arts.
Grecian architecture is matched by the Gothic
structures of the Middle Ages; Germany, Hol-
land, and England have their great painters
as well as the Latin countries; and it would
be difficult to determine which of the races
should be ranked higher in literature, — ^the
Graeco-Latins, with their Homer, Dante,
and Racine, or the Teutons, with their
Shakespeare, Milton, and Goethe.

If sculpture, however, stands at. one end
of the scale with reference to our principles,
and the three arts just considered occupy
a rather neutral medium, absolute music
represents the other extreme. In sculpture
there is no succession; hence there is no
necessary reference beyond that which is
immediately presented, while a multiplication

Architecture and Sculpture 67

of objects is difficult. Music, however, like
poetry, demands a constant reference from
the tones immediately heard to those which
have preceded or are about to resound; but,
unlike literature, it requires in addition a
union of several voices, a simultaneous pre-
sentation of various factors. The very nature
of the art renders it easy and natural to
offer many elements to the hearer, — elements,
furthermore, which do not depend on their
own qualities for their effectiveness, but re-
fer away from themselves to related parts.
And no art is so well adapted to arouse
vague fancies and nourish a rich activity of
the fringe. The forms of architecture are too
dead and mechanical to be highly suggestive.
Those of poetry, painting, and sculpture are so
closely wedded to the things denoted that they
are not considered apart from them; we di-
rectly perceive the import of the words or fig-
ures, the sign being identical with the thing
itself. Music, however, occupies an intermedi-
ate position. The tones are suggestive, but
they are not tied down to definite symbolisa-
tion. Hence the thoughts which they arouse
are adventitious in nature; like sparks from
a revolving piece of fireworks, they do not

68 Racial Contrasts

belong to the generating body. It is in per-^
feet agreement with the facts, then, that ab-
solute music should be the favourite art of the
Germans, the art which most adequately
expresses the Teutonic spirit. Switzerland has
its Raff, Austria boasts of Haydn and Mozart,
the north claims Gade and Grieg, and Germany
exhibits a whole galaxy of geniuses, so well
known that an enumeration is superfluous.
The Netherlands, it is true, have produced
no instrumental composer of first rank; but
Beethoven was of Dutch descent, and the
whole trend of Flemish contrapuntal music
makes it certain that the Flemings would
have cultivated absolute music assiduously,
had it been existent at the time.

An obstacle in the way of our interpretation
arises from the lack of musical genius among
the English. It may be, however, that the
capacity is only latent; talents have fre-
quently slumbered for centuries, and at the
time of Purcell musical England stood on
a par with other nations, giving excellent
promise for the future. Or it may be that
there are special circumstances in the life
of the English inimical to musical develop-
ment. The principles we are tracing are not

Architecture and Sculpture 69

the only ones; they are modified by other
characteristics, and more still by the accidents
of historical evolution. At all events, the
paucity of musical productions among the
English points to a lack of aptitude for
the tonal art in general, not for the complex
developments of absolute music. If the
British nation were to become musical, the
general affinity with other Germanic races
makes it not improbable that it would like-
wise devote itself to contrapuntal, thematic,
and instrumental elaboration.

VI

GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS

WE are now ready to compare our
principles with some others which
have been proposed for an explana-
tion of the differences involved. Everywhere
they will be found to supplement and explain;
they are the foundation, while the others are
but particular appearances or applications.
There is the distinction between the classi-
cism and romanticism of the races. Though
comprehensive, this fails to cover many cases
explained by these principles. The com-
plexities of German instrumental music have
nothing to do with romanticism; indeed, there
are few manifestations of art so unromantic
as the fugues of Bach. And there is nothing
romantic in the realistic pictures of the
Dutch artists, nor in the minute attention
to details of the old German and Flemish
schools. In fine, while romantic impressions

70

General Considerations 71

may be explained as illustrations of the
principles, there are many illustrations which
do not fall under the heading of romanticism.
Another distinction, valid to a considera-
ble extent, is that between the formal
perfection of Graeco-Latin works and the
lack of outward beauty often characterising
those of the Teutons. The structure of
the southern drama is superior to that of the
north; the unities are preserved, and in
general there is a fastidious attention to
externals which is rarer in Germanic poets.
Likewise the Latin races embody more beauty
of colour, composition, and contour in their
pictures; think, in this connection, of Diirer's
inelegant figures! In sculpture, finally, the
southern talent for exquisite proportions
receives its finest exhibition. But is the
principle valid in architecture? Formal per-
fection is of course easier to achieve in simple
structures like the Greek temple; but making
allowance for this fact, do we not find an
exquisite arrangement of masses, a charm of
detail, in northern cathedrals, that rivals the
works of the south? And how is it in music?
Are the compositions of Bach, Mozart, and
Beethoven less perfect than the marbles of

72 Racial Contrasts

Phidias or the tragedies of Racine? Would
it seem possible to carry formal beauty any
ftirther?

In poetry, painting, and sculpture perfec-
tion of form is likely to be attained only at
a sacrifice of wealth and complexity. Unity
and clearness of composition in a painting
is apt to set bounds to the suggest! veness;
unity of time, place, and action in a drama
frequently entails a certain baldness of effect.
On the other hand, irregularities of colour
and contour stimulate the imagination; and
the zigzag style of Jean Paul, with its meta-
phors, allusions, and side-thoughts, tends to
arouse that broad, two-dimensional flow of
thought which is so perfectly mirrored in
musical counterpoint. In architecture and
music, perfection of form is attainable without
these curtailments. There is no limit to the
size of a building and the richness of its
ornamentation, except the coffers of the
builder and the mechanical ingenuity of the
mason. And music, as we have seen, natu-
rally includes many elements in its onward
sweep, and connects the various parts, as
they succeed one another, with a network of
relations. Instrumental, thematic, and con-

General Considerations 73

trapuntal intricacies fill the mind, and make
it xmnecessary to resort to vagueness and
irregularity. The Teuton, indeed, is not
averse to x)erfection of form, but he will not
buy it at a sacrifice of wealth and complexity;
where he can retain these, as in music and
architecture, he proves himself as adept in
managing proportions as his southern brother.

The works of the Teutons are said to be
more expressive than those of the Graeco-
Latins. This is true, but the statement is
only a special instance of the second principle.
If a thing is expressive, it refers to something
beyond itself, not contained in its direct
impression. But there are many such refer-
ences and relations which are not cases of
expression ; witness the perception of similarity
in two rhyming words, and the successive in-
strumental and thematic contrasts in a musical
composition. Our own principle, accordingly,
seems more adequate, as it covers all the
cases of expression and likewise includes
those which cannot be explained by the other.

Again, there is the distinction between the
realistic nature of northern works, and the
more abstract, idealised character of those in
the south. In painting this is fundamental,

74 Racial Contrasts

and it applies in literature. But the presen-
tative rather than representative nature of
architecture and music makes it meaningless
to speak of fidelity of reproduction or of
idealisation in their case. The distinction,
therefore, is not so broad as the ones proposed
in these pages. And it is doubtful whether it
is so fundamental. Alongside of the realistic
tendency of Germanic art, there is a mystical,
romantic current, which is thoroughly ideal-
istic. Must there not be some deeper state-
ment of the facts, accordingly, which unites
the two opposing tendencies? Romanticism,
we have seen, may be brought within the scope
of the second principle. But realism, we know,
also agrees in certain respects with Teutonic
traits of mind as exhibited in the foregoing
chapters. In addition to the points of agree-
ment already indicated, we may mention the
following: What is real and particular implies
a richer connotation, a more comprehensive
'* fringe,'' than what is generalised. To the
qualities of the "genus'' are added those of
the " species. ' ' Hence the vivid genre pictures
of the Dutch, as we have seen, awaken more
associations than the neutral canvases of the
south. Again, realism implies a constant

General Considerations 75

reference, by way of comparison, to the
original of imitation, and a love of truth,
in preference to the specious shows of illusion.
Southern selection and abstraction, on the
contrary, evince a greater love of symmetry
and proportion. In general we have another
case of the classic leaning toward form, as
opposed to the northern demand for sub-
stance and meaning.

So much for a comparison of the different
explanations. The varied application of the
second principle bears witness to its funda-
mental nature. In alliteration, rhyme, the-
matic work, and musical form, the reference
is from one part of the work to another. In
metaphors and allegories it is from the direct
to the sjmibolic meaning of the words. Some-
times a moral is indicated, as in the pictures
of Hogarth. Romantic poems refer to dis-
tant climes and epochs, to the f)ersonality
of the author, or the personal experiences
of the reader; also to the infinite powers sup-
posed to encompass nature and life. At
times, again, there is a mere general reference,
an outward-pointing without definite object;
the impression is that of a * * beyond " or " more, ' '
of a content not exhausted by the things before

76 Racial Contrasts

us. In all these respects we find the Teutons
on one side of the fence, the Graeco-Latins
on the other.

It may be alleged that we have merely
collected a score of cases corroborating the
principles, while ignoring those that point
the other way; but the great number, variety,
and importance of the illustrations preclude
this supposition. Our examples were drawn
from every art, covered every historical period,
applied to the greatest masters, and explained
the most important distinctions between the
racial methods and tastes. It would be diffi-
cult to name a more fundamental difference
between Romance and Germanic music than
that exhibited in the instrumental complex-
ities of the latter as contrasted with the vocal
simplicity of the former. Again, the dis-
tinction between the romanticism and class-
icism of literature is essential in nature. The
same is true of the contrast between the
formal perfection characterising southern
works, and the awkwardness, even ugliness,
often exhibited by those in the north; the
views propounded not only explain these
features when they are present, but like-
wise account for the cases in which they are

y mJ\

General Considerations 77

absent. The contrasts between classic and
Shakespearean drama are typical; Greek and
Gothic architecture represent two opposite
poles; and there are few more significant
features than the dearth of great sculptural
works among Teutonic nations. Clearly, prin-
ciples which cover such important manifesta-
tions must be regarded as essential in nature.

To be sure, exceptions occur. There are
classic writers among the Teutons, romantic
ones among the Graeco-Latins. Indeed, whole
periods are sometimes coloured by a tendency
running counter to the normal one. France
had its romantic drama, England underwent
the influence of the French classicists; but
such cases afford no criterion. Nobody would
pick out the Moses of Michael Angelo as a
representative product of the Latin mind;
and nobody would proclaim Goethe's Iphi-
genie as the normal embodiment of the
Teutonic spirit. We must take a broad view,
survey the artistic manifestations in their
totality, and lay particular stress only on the
more typical, salient masters and productions.

One explanation of the peculiarities of
Graeco-Latin and Germanic works might
rival that which we have proposed. Classic

78 Racial Contrasts

works antedated modem ones. Now, sim-
plicity naturally comes before elaboration.
The Doric and Ionic orders preceded the
ornate Corinthian capital. Gothic architec-
ture sprang from the simpler methods pre-
vailing before its time and grew more involved
in the course of its development. Music be-
gan with a single voice. Part after part was
added, until finally we meet with composi-
tions for eight, sixteen, thirty-two, and even
more voices. The same tendency manifested
itself after the introduction of the monodic
method. The harmonies of the older mas-
ters were extremely simple. The classic
Mozart was regarded as an innovator, and
Beethoven surpassed everything that had
been witnessed before his time. The tendency
has continued, Wagner having accustomed
us to such a wealth of harmonic colour that
the simple diet of the older masters seems
insipid. Instrumentation, too, has been grow-
ing more complex, And the elaborate scores
of Richard Strauss indicate that the culmina-
tion has not yet been reached. Naturally,
then, we should expect more richness and
complexity from modem productions, without
invoking racial or national differences.

General Considerations 79

Although this view may account for some
of the phenomena, it is inadequate as a
complete explanation. To begin with, it only
shifts the question. It may seem to explain
why modem productions are more involved
than ancient ones, but it fails to account for
the excessive simplification of the latter. Why
did not the Greeks develop their productions
to greater elaboration; why should their art
have remained so very plain? Again, it fails
to account for the differences between Ro-
mance and Teutonic art. Since there was
more artistic continuity between the modem
Latin and ancient races than between the
Teutons and the ancients, French, Italian,
and Spanish works ought to be more com-
plex than English and German ones; but the
contrary is true. In the third place there
are two arts which in modem times have
undergone an independent, qimsi original
development; modem painting is not based
primarily on ancient models, and music, as an
art, hardly existed before the Middle Ages.
Yet here again the southern and northern
races exhibit the familiar contrasts. Finally
the Latin races, instead of continuing the
existing elaboration, have been the great

8o Racial Contrasts

simplifiers of art; they have introduced
changes from time to time which have checked
the tendency toward complexity. After the
Gothic period, Italy reverted to the plainer
Renaissance style of architecture. French
classicism was a return to ancient severity
of composition. And the introduction in
Italy of the modem harmonic method of
musical composition was a reaction against
the contrapuntal complexities which had been
developed in the north. All in all, historical
elaboration can not account for the features
under consideration.

VII

INTELLECTUAL AND EMOTIONAL
CHARACTERISTICS

NATURE forms an apt transition from
the arts to intellectual and emotional
characteristics. What is a landscape
but a huge natural painting, a forest but a
primeval cathedral; what is the medley of
delicious sounds from bird and cricket and
brook and tree but a magnificent S5anphony,
chanting the freshness and beauty of the
worid? The Teutons have ever been great
lovers of nature, the Graeco-Latins are rather
indifferent toward her charms. Evidences
abound in the arts. In classic literature
there is but little reference to natural phe-
nomena, no nature-poetry like that of the
Teutons. Landscape-painting is a northern
product. The imitation of natural objects
in southern buildings is conventionalised,
that in the north adheres more closely to

6 8l

82 Racial Contrasts

the original forms. Germanic works, indeed,
seem instinctively to gravitate toward nature,
Graeco-Latin ones to retreat from it. The
Teuton makes natural objects of his works
of art, the other makes works of art of his
natural objects. The dramas of Shakespeare,
with their disregard of the unities, their
interweaving of plots and scenes, multipli-
cation of characters, commixture of comedy
and tragedy, prose and poetry, rh57me and
blank verse, — correspond both to the complex-
ity of real life and the beautiful confusion of
the outer world. The gardens of Versailles,
on the other hand, may be likened to a Greek
temple, — regular, orderly, and symmetrical.
The imities are preserved, the classic spirit
prevails, there is no incongruity or suggestive-
ness, no wild and rude, aboriginal force.
It was among the Romans, indeed, that the
artificial method of landscape-gardening was
invented, a style which was revived in Italy
during the Renaissance and later transmitted
to France. The opposite and more natural,
or English style, is so named because of its
cultivation on the British Isles.

What better illustration of our principles
could we find? Where do more objects

Characteristics 83

invite the attention than in the contemplation
of nature? Where is there more reference
away from the things of perception to that
which is not presented? Where is there more
opportunity for the exercise of a large mental
fringe, — for suggestion, imagination, divina-
tion? Place yourself in a beautiful country-
scene and examine your state of mind: a
hundred objects assail you — sky, brook, flow-
ers, trees, and mountains; the rustling leaves,
the song of birds, the whispering and sighing
of the wind. Furthermore, every object has
its story to tell, every one refers beyond itself.
The golden clouds on the horizon suggest happy
islands, bathed in celestial light. The exuber-
ant strains of the lark excite curiosity as to
the whereabouts and habits of the merry
warbler. The little hut among the hills
evokes an image of the idyllic existence of its
happy inmates. The mind overflows with end-
less suggestions and by-thoughts, clustering
about the objects directly perceived. Nature,
indeed, is the true Germanic painting, cathe-
dral, and symphony. No picture can reveal a
more delicate execution of details, no edifice
unfold a more astotmding complexity, no
symphony boast of a richer interweaving of

84 Racial Contrasts

themes or fuller harmonic background. Is it
surprising, then, that the Teutons should be
passionate lovers of nature, while the Graeco-
Latins, though embosomed in delightful sur-
roundings, should seem to avoid her, shutting
themselves up in cities, and congregating in
the g5annasium, market-place, and salon?

There is a deliberation and hesitation
about the actions of Germanic people which
contrasts sharply with the vivaciousness of
their southern cousins. The peasant from
the north may stare at you vacantly before
he answers your question. Thought trans-
lates itself into motor results but slowly;
often, indeed, there are no results at all. Ham-
let, with his indecision and vacillation, is a
type of this species of mind. The fiery Tybalt
from Romeo and Juliet, on the other hand,
represents a class that is common among
Latin races — ^lively, quick-tempered, ebullient
individuals. They act on the impulse of
the moment; they are easily swayed; they
will bum with enthusiasm for the hero of
the hour; the next day, when the tide of
success has turned, they will lead him to the
scaffold.

The explanation of these characteristics is

Characteristics 85

simple on the basis of our principles. Psycho-
logy teaches that the realisation of a thought
in action depends upon its preponderance
in consciousness. Every impulse naturally
tends to translate itself into motor results.
The nervous organisation is an electrical cir-
cuit, of which the afferent and efferent nerves
are the wires. Reflex, instinctive action fol-
lows immediately upon stimulation; the same
is true where mental supervision is involved,
but where there is no opposition to the
results. We consciously regulate the move-
ments of eating, but they proceed without
break because the question as to their
propriety never arises. A break only occurs
when two or more thoughts tend in op-
posite directions, when one pushes toward
the accomplishment of an act and another
warns us to desist. Then there is a deadlock,
which is only resolved when one of the con-
testants gains the victory. This condition,
however, is common. Education has stored
our minds with such a host of opposing
tendencies that the state of abeyance has
become firmly established. We may be
tempted to slap our enemy in the face, but
the rules of good breeding hover over the

86 Racial Contrasts

impulse and dampen its blaze of energy; we
may desire to run away from our duties and
spend the day in idleness, but thoughts of the
consequences intervene, and habit reasserts
its sway. Let the idea of our injury gain
control, however, and the hand will fly; let
the visions of pleasure crowd out the re-
monstrances, and the tasks of the day will
be abandoned. Now this will happen more
easily in the case of people with a lightly
fringed mind. Where the mind is habitually
filled with a multitude of thoughts, opposing
ideas will assert themselves and the deadlock
will prevail; whatever impulse may arise,
it must first undergo a trial of strength with
its adversaries; it must submit to a hearing
before the tribunal of consciousness, and
action will only be the result of deliberation.
In the classic mind, however, the mind with
few objects, an idea will easily gain control;
the halo of inhibitory influences will form
but imperfectly, and before we know it the
trigger of the nerves has been pulled. The
results work in two directions, of course:
for the good as well as the bad. Northern
people are less liable to be carried to deeds
of violence than their southern kinsmen,

Characteristics 87

but for the same reason they will often desist
from acts of courtesy. There is an amount
of friction and clogging which is not found
across the Alps, and which often detracts from
the enjoyabiUty of life.

Between the outflow of thoughts into
action and into words the analogy is close.
In one case the efferent currents result in
movements of the body, in the other they
issue in movements of the lips and tongue.
Action is speech of the body, speech is action
of the vocal organs. Accordingly we may
expect to find a similar relation between the
races with reference to conversation. The
Teutons are meagre talkers, the Graeco-Latins
converse fluently. Vischer gives an exquisite
description of the Teutonic silent man:

Uhland belonged to a class of human beings which
is probably met with among no people so frequently
as among the Geraians, and, if I have observed
correctly, among no branch so frequently as among
the Suabians: deep, precious, richly - constituted
natures, whose lips are closed as by a demon; the
thought is about to issue forth, but the sluice is closed,
— ^it cannot; they are in company, one waits and
waits to hear them contribute their mite to the enter-
tainment, they would like to do it too, they think
of a thousand things with which they might very

88 Racial Contrasts

appropriately begin, but which one shall they choose
among the thousand? Desperation! One might
properly begin with any one! Or they have finally
chosen; but how make a start? One could begin
so, or differently, and differently again — ^what is to
be done? how surmount this terrible mass of super-
posed possibilities? At last they take courage! —
the lips open, they move, a sound — but the powder
flashes in the pan, the gun does not go off.^

This description contains the key to the
explanation. Germanic taciturnity is due to
wealth and complexity of thought. The
ideas of the Graeco-Latin, simple and un-
encumbered by a multitude of side-thoughts,
easily flow over into words, and suggest the
sequence of expression with the same ease
and precision with which the experiences
which are being related followed one another.
The thoughts of the Teuton, on the contrary,
are obliged to disentangle themselves from
a crowd of connected ideas. Before they
can assert themselves, opposing thoughts will
arise, jostling them so as to make emergence
impossible without a preliminary struggle.

Accompanying the slowness of the Teu-
tons, we meet with a certain tenacity
and persistency of effort. The people of

« Kritische Gdnge^ Stuttgart, 1863, vol. iv., p. 104.

*' J Alh

Characteristics 89

this race are patient, plodding, persevering.
Hence the great material results they have
achieved. The more effervescent Frenchman
grows enthusiastic over an enterprise, but
the ardour of his feelings cools as readily as
it flames forth, and the purpose of his en-
thusiasm may be forgotten. These qualities
are related to the ones we have just been
considering, and rest on the same mental
foundation. Persistency of effort requires
consciousness of the end to be attained, but
this consciousness will merely exist as a com-
ponent of the psychic fringe; and where the
fringe is ample it is more likely to be
present. It may be compared to the pedal
point in music, the single sustained or re-
peated note in the bass, which accompanies
the harmonic changes above. As the con-
trapuntal intricacies of German music may
be said to mirror the complexity of the Teu-
tonic mind, so the pedal point matches that
undertone of constancy, that abiding sense
of the purpose of conduct, which tmderlies
Germanic persistency.

The qualities tmder consideration find ex-
pression in many ways. De Quincey observes
that Socratic chains of reasoning consist of

90 Racial Contrasts

a lot of individual little arguments, any one
of which can be separately sanctioned or re-
jected; modem arguments, on the contrary,
are composed of organically connected parts,
incapable of isolation and requiring a suspen-
sion of judgment until the end.^ Madame de
Stael says:

Nothing deranges the imperturbable seriousness of
the Germans: it is always by its general effect that
they judge of a theatrical piece, and they wait till it
is finished before they either condemn or applaud it.
The impressions of the French are more ready; and
they would in vain be forewarned that a comic scene
is designed to set off a tragic situation, — they would
turn the first into ridicule without waiting f6r the
other; every detail must for them be of equal interest
with the whole: they will not allow credit for an instant
to the pleasure which they demand from the fine arts. ^

The structure of Italian opera and Wagner-
ian music-drama exhibits the same diver-
gences: in Italian opera we have a series of
separate numbers, strung together like the
pearls of a necklace; the art-work of the future
is a connected tissue, in which the music
never ceases until the drop of the curtain.
Even the great dramas reveal the difference.

« Essay on Style, part ii.

« Germany^ Boston, vol. i., p. 255.

A^A

Characteristics 91

Those of ancient Greece contained hardly any
intrigue worthy of the name; the subject of
the action, drawn from the history and myth-
ology of the race, was familiar, and a spectator
might enter at any time without foregoing the
thread of continuity. Finally, the same
traits will again be revealed in the next
chapter, when we consider language. In
all these cases the mental foundation is the
same as that underlying the steadfastness
of the Teutons and volatility of the Graeco-
Latins.

The Germanic races manifest a tendency
toward brooding and melancholy. The Eng-
lish are known as hypochondriacs; no nation
bemoans so many suicides as the Germans.
Brooding is persistency exaggerated; it is the
pedal point diseased and hypertrophied. The
sustained note in the bass, instead of merely
supplementing the harmony, steps into the
foregrotmd and monopolises the attention;
and the S5anphony of thought is transformed
into a melancholy drone, ever repeated with-
out variation. The transition from the third
to the last movement of Beethoven's fifth
symphony may serve as a picture of Germanic
persistency and faith, the single repeated note

92 Racial Contrasts

in the drums abiding through all the fantastic
evolutions of harmony like a voice of assur-
ance, and leading into the glorious finale of
success. The middle section of Chopin's
prelude in D flat major, on the contrary,
answers to brooding. A single thought, like
the inextinguishable memory of a guilty deed,
pounds away on the G sharp with uncanny
regularity, filling the mind with terror.^

We have already remarked that the Graeco-
Latins are inclined to be worldly, while the
Teutons exhibit a religious bias. The Greeks
were children of the moment. They believed
in an after-life, to be sure, but the belief made
little impression on their conduct. The occur-
rences of the day, their mundane fortunes, ex-
hausted their thoughts and left but little room
for hopes or fears regarding an unseen exist-
ence. The Latin races resemble the Greeks
when contrasted with the nations from the
north. It was among the latter that the great
religious struggles of the Reformation origi-
nated. Wycliffe, Luther, and Zwingli were
Teutons. Mysticism also finds its home in the
north, the Latins inclining toward rationalism.

> No reference to the composer's nationality is here in-
tended; the illustrations are given merely for their own sake.

Jh

Characteristics 93

A pronounced ethical and religious tone char-
acterises Germanic literature: Milton, Schiller,
and Wordsworth bear witness, and in Puritan
New England it forms the keynote, stamping
the writings of Emerson, Whittier, Lowell,
Hawthorne, and most of their numerous
followers.

Religion deals with the things which lie
beyond the world, with the infinite and
ineffable, of which material objects are merely
the symbols. Naturally, then, the Teutons,
who always refer away from the objects
directly presented, will be religious, while
the others will direct their attention to mun-
dane occurrences. Romantic productions,
we have seen, are full of vague suggestions;
they refer to the beyond, they hint at things
of which we have no definite image. Now
God and the unseen realms of existence are
the objective correlate of this divining attitude
of mind, when it deals with the world and the
dilemmas of conduct. They represent the
background of experience, the terminus of
the vague intimations we receive from
nature, with her mysterious significance,
the answer to all our doubts, the solution
of all our problems. Religion, in a certain

94 Racial Contrasts

sense, is the romanticism of life; here, too,
there is symbolisation, strangeness, hidden-
ness, and a reaching - out after the in-
finite. Protestantism, especially, of which
most Germanic nations are adherents, de-
pends on this mystic conception of the Divine;
Catholicism appeals more directly, through its
images, ceremonies, and relics: hence, per-
haps, a reason for the adherence to the
Church of Rome of the Latin races, who love
to deal with that which is directly offered,
and who are loath to penetrate beyond, to
the invisible.

y r ifk

M'

VIII
CUSTOMS AND INSTITUTIONS

ENTAL and emotional characteristics
will vent themselves in customs and
institutions. A trivial illustration is
the following: Actors in the French drama
who are about to receive disastrous news
will often cover the mouth of the speaker
with their hands, so as to prevent the utter-
ance of the unwelcome words. Undoubtedly
this custom prevails among the French people
as well, thus forming an illustration of the
second principle; the words, the direct, ob-
jective expression of the unwelcome, absorb
the attention of the Frenchman, whereas the
Teuton, penetrating beyond the appearance,
seizes the substance and realises the futility
of covering up its expression.

The principles we have invoked may explain
some of the simplicity of ancient life and the
complexity enmeshing the modems. To be

95

96 Racial Contrasts

sure, it may not be the only explanation.
As we have seen, simplicity naturally precedes
elaboration. It would be contrary to the
laws of social evolution for civilisation to begin
with complex conditions and to gravitate
toward elementary ones. Nevertheless, it is
not unlikely that inborn or traditional tenden-
cies had something to do with the results.
Germanic taciturnity and love of nature may
account in part for the isolated dwellings in
the north, for the coimtry-life of the English
nobility, and the lonely habits of German
scholars; the opposite tendencies among the
Graeco-Latins would serve to explain their
abhorrence of solitude, their early building
of cities, the social habits of their philosophers,
and, as mentioned, their congregation in
gymnasiums and salons. The celerity of
action in the south throws light on the fre-
quency of assassination in Latin countries;
it enables us to understand the enthusiastic
support received by victorious generals and
the speedy disgrace awaiting defeated ones;
it explains many episodes in the revolution
of 1789, and furnishes the reason for the
general instability of governments among the
Romance races. Likewise it is the cause of

Customs and Institutions 97

many enactments which are not necessary
among calmer peoples. In the French con-
stitution, for example, there are special
provisions designed to make sudden changes
in the government impossible; and the in-
flammability of the Gallic nature necessitates
the rule that when the president of the Cham-
ber of Deputies puts on his hat all argument
must cease.

The inertia of the Teutons is accountable for
the calm deliberation prevailing in Germanic
legislative bodies; and it had much to do with
the disruption of the old German Empire and
its long inability to revive, as expressed in
Freiligrath's Hamlet^ where the German people,
with their fluctuations and hesitations, are
compared to the Danish prince. The per-
sistency of the Teutons is shown in the patience
and diligence of the German labourer, the
tedious researches of the university professor,
the dogged resistance of the English soldier,
and the indomitable energy of the Yankee
speculator. It may account for their marvel-
lous success in colonisation and their mastery
over the material world; for the commercial
prosperity of the Dutch during the 17th cen-
tury, the English supremacy of the last

qS Racial Contrasts

htmdied years, and the German and American
emergence of to-day. The situations are com-
plex, to be sure, and it is easy to be led astray
in one's reasoning. No nation was so powerful
as the Romans in their day, and theSjianiards,
too, were great colonisers. It must be remem-
bered, however, that the Romans had no
Germanic rivals.

The historical and political consequences
flowing from the religiousness of the Teutonic
mind are so familiar that they can i>ass with-
out comment. SuflSce it to mention the
Protestant Reformation, and the deep re-
ligious movements which have since then
agitated Germanic countries, — ^Pietism in Ger-
many, Puritanism and Methodism in England.
Scandinavian mythology is more romantic
than Greek, — ^it partakes more of the hidden,
the vast, the infinite. But even the. romantic
elements harboured by the ancient beliefs
cannot be attributed entirely to the classic
spirit; for the Greek inherited his mythology
from the Aryan forefathers, whence many
of its features are to be explained as a
legacy of preceding generations. If we would
look for imprints of the Grecian spirit, we
must examine the changes which it wrought

Customs and Institutions 99

in the bequest thus received. Here, indeed,
we find the expected results. The Greek
simplified and clarified the traditions and
dropped symbolical meanings. The gods
were reduced from their high position of
invisible, mysterious agents to the level of
mankind, more powerful than ordinary mor-
tals, to be sure, and endowed with eternal life,
but otherwise not differing greatly from
them.

One of the latest manifestations of the
** classic spirit" was revealed in the literature,
science, philosophy, and general attitude
toward life prevailing in France during the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and
in the social, political, and religious effects
arising therefrom and culminating in the
Revolution. Everything during that period
was regulated and simplified. Language was
pruned, vigorous and dialectic words being
extirpated and general terms only retained.
The deepest subjects were handled in a grace-
ful, flowing style, comprehension being ren-
dered easy and not involving serious study.
Man was conceived as a simple automaton
endowed with sensation, whose only end was
the attainment of pleasure. All mankind being

loo Racial Contrasts

regarded as equal, and human nature being
so perfectly intelligible, the construction, in
theory, of the true religion and political state
became matters of little difficulty. Hence
the neglect of traditional views, the ** social-
contract '* theories of the politicians, the cries
of " Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!" and, to a
great degree, the application of it all in the
Revolution.* The division of France into its
eighty-seven departments, and the metric
system of weights and measures, are among
the lasting results of those systematic altera-
tions that were wrought under the influence
of the classic spirit.

We arrive at the important subject of
language. Philological development depends
in great measure on external influences:
thus the English tongue was modified
as a result of the Norman invasion, the
native idiom of the Irish supplanted entirely
by a Teutonic dialect. Nevertheless, national
peculiarities will evince themselves. As a
verification of the second principle we may
regard the euphony characteristic of south-

> This whole subject receives an admirable exposition in
the first volume of Taine's Les Origines de la France con-
temporaine.

gi

Customs and Institutions loi

em languages. Greek and Latin, Italian
Spanish, Portuguese, and French, — ^all are
pleasing in their effect on the ear. Indeed,
there are special devices, like the liaison
in French and the elision in classic tongues,
through which harshness of sound is
avoided. English and German have no
such devices. As in poetry and painting,
the Teuton does not busy himself much with
direct impressions, but penetrates beyond, to
the meaning. The quantitative versification
of ancient poetry and the alliteration and
rhyme of modem writings may be adduced
as further examples. The former gives us
immediate beauty, comparable to rhythm
in music, the latter depends on relations,
as explained on a previous page.

In general, it appears as if thought were
more directly embodied in ancient languages.
Witness the ablative and dative cases, in
Latin and Greek respectively, the ablative
and genitive absolute constructions, and the
lack of auxiliary verbs. "Occisus gladio*'
is in English rendered by " slain by the sword" ;
"amavero" requires the four German words,
" ich werde geliebt haben." Latin and Greek
give us an exact correspondence between

I02 Racial Contrasts

the sign and the thing signified; English and
German weave a network of relations about
the thought. When I read '* I shall," I antici-
pate the words that are to follow; when I
read "have loved," I refer back to those
which have preceded. There is a varying
expectation and recollection, a reference to
and irOy a carrying of accessories in the shape
of words which, taken alone, do not signify
much, but which gain their meaning through
their combination. These may aptly be
styled the luggage of the thought which is
being presented; and that it is a sensible
Inggage is forcibly impressed upon us when,
in German, we wish to give expression to some
trivial idea requiring several cumbersome
future-perfect or passive- voice combinations:
we are likely to lose heart long before the
sentence is completed; we begin to think
that the idea had better remain unexpressed
than to gain utterance by pressing into its
service all this bulky apparatus. ,

In the highly inflected ancient languages it
was possible to begin and develop sentences in
a greater variety of ways than in the modem.
Almost any word could be chosen for the
opening; with us, on the contrary, the sub-

Customs and Institutions 103

ject usually comes first; this is followed by
the predicate, and this again by the various
objects. The freedom of the ancients allowed
of a closer adherence to the thoughts than is
possible to-day. With them a sentence more
commonly began with the words most directly
related to the end of the preceding sentence;
with us the beginning often has no apparent
connection with what has gone before, the
connecting thought not being expressed until
the middle or end of the second proposition.
'* Greek and Latin sentences form a chain of
which the parts interlink. French sentences
may be compared to a necklace of pearls;
they are joined only by the thread of the
thought."* In the ancient languages the
** syntactic march" agrees with the "march
of ideas," in the modem it deviates therefrom ;
in the former the sense is revealed to us grad-
ually, in the latter we obtain it by pulses and
leaps; there we look at the words themselves
for their meaning, here we look behind them;
there they are pictures of the thoughts, here
they are "thought-luggage."

The analogy with the racial methods of
reasoning is apparent. As ancient sentences

» Weil, Order of Words, Boston, 1887, p. 39.

I04 Racial Contrasts

progress step by step, until the completion of
the thought, so ancient (Socratic) argumenta-
tion proceeds smoothly and logically, the con-
clusion of one proposition serving for the
premise of the next. And as Germanic sen-
tences move irregularly, the thoughts of one
statement attaching themselves to the entire
meaning and not merely to the words of the fol-
lowing, so Teutonic reasoning progresses by
sudden intuitions, by the accumulation of
many details, and the rushing together of ideas.
The easy transitions from word to word also
find their parallel in the tragedies of Sophocles,
where all is harmony and regularity; while the
jumping from idea to idea, the crossing and
recrossing, are matched by the unexpected
developments of the Shakespearean drama.
In agreement with the southern lack of
persistency, the "bit-by-bit" enjoyment of
opera and drama, and thus in accordance with
our principles, is the Greek practice of re-
peating negatives without producing a positive
meaning: the vivacious spirit forgets the
first negative and, being imbued with the
general feeling of negation, pushes in a second
and third. The employment, in Latin and
French, of expletive negatives in dependent

Customs and Institutions 105

clauses after verbs expressing fear, is a similar
case in point. Put yourself into the state
of mind of a person who would spontaneously
talk thus, and you can understand the move-
ment of the hand, referred to above, that
tries to cover up the tmwelcome words of the
speaker. The Teuton, with his pedal point
mind, holds fast to the words first spoken,
and avoids giving utterance to others which
would logically contradict their meaning.

German sentences, with their extreme
length, employment of auxiliary words, sus-
pension of sense, and crowding of intermediate
parts with modifying adjectives, participles,
and dependent clauses, illustrate both prin-
ciples. The ' * thought-luggage ' ' implies a mul-
tiplication of factors; the suspension of sense
involves a reference from part to part. The
feelings we have in working through such a
sentence are similar to those experienced in
conveying a number of heterogeneous objects
from one room to another. The objects
are too numerous to be carried together con-
veniently, yet too few to warrant several
trips for their transportation. So we gather
them up, placing one here, one there, — ^under
the elbow, over the shoulder, in the mouth.

io6 Racial Contrasts

on each of the fingers, — and then, dutching
them tightly, we start for our destination.
On the way we feel them slipping from us and
every moment we expect them to tumble to the
ground; we succeed in holding them together,
however, and when finally we reach the goal
we drop them in a heap and utter a sigh of
relief. French sentences are short, clear, and
crisp. English ones are intermediate in na-
ture ; but they would probably be characterised
by more heaviness if it had not been for French
influence. Contact with the Normans resulted
in changes tending toward simplicity. The
German custom of placing the verb at the
end of the sentence — ^the so-called transposed
order, — which is accountable for the long
suspensions of sense in that language, was
relinquished and replaced by the syntactical
characteristics of modem English.^ In ap-
parent disagreement with the view set forth
is the prevalence of the periodic structure,
with its suspension of sense, in Latin. It
is possible, however, that the high inflection of
the ancient language permitted of the periodic
structure without entailing so much burden

> Fiedler and Sachs, WissenschaftlichsEnglischeGrammatik,
p. 66.

Customs and Institutions 107

on the mind. The question is one which I
would not attempt to decide.

In making these observations on language,
I have merely endeavoured to give facts
without offering explanations; I have de-
scribed conditions, without necessarily ac-
counting for them. Natural tendencies may
be involved, or extraneous, historical con-
ditions may suffice for an explanation. French
liaison may be a conscious device for the at-
tainment of euphony, or it may have had
a more accidental origin. The loss of in-
flection in modem tongues may be the result
of a normal evolution, or the outcome of a
mental push. Modem sentence-connection
might or might not be as smooth as ancient,
if modem languages were more highly in-
flected. Our ground is uncertain, and ex-
tensive investigation alone can yield a
decision.

Further light might be shed on the general
subject of discussion by a consideration of
popular games. Is it not significant that
a nation like the Greeks, who devoted so
much of their time to athletic training, should
have confined themselves to such simple and
uninspiring exercises as running, jumping,

io8 Racial Contrasts

and throwing the discus? Is it merely due
to chance that the modem Teutons should
prefer the complicated cricket, baseball,
and football? Then there are the legal sys-
tems. That of the English, depending on
innumerable precedents, is in agreement with
Germanic tendencies in general; but, off-
setting this fact, there is that of the Germans,
which is systematic and codified. Of course
accidental factors may be involved, modifying
the deeper tendencies. In general the arts
of a nation form a truer reflection of mental
and emotional characteristics than the insti-
tutions: they are the efflorescence of the
people, the spontaneous expression of its
feelings and aspirations; whereas the insti-
tutions, necessary factors, will often be the
result of foreign imposition.

It would be interesting, but beyond the
scope of this inquiry, to extend the principles
to other races. Of Celtic genius we have few
pure and unmixed artistic evidences. But the
vivacity and light-heartedness, the quickness
of action and conversational ability, of the
people of Celtic derivation, would seem to
indicate an affinity with the Graeco-Latins.
Indian civilisation, on the other hand, ex-

Customs and Institutions 109

hibits ntimerous points of agreement with the
expressions of Teutonic genius. The litera-
ture of India is replete with metaphors and
allegories, and includes works that are akin
to the romantic. Hindoo architecture is com-
plex. The Hindoo character is distinguished
by its melancholy tendency, its deep religious-
ness, and its love of nature; the Hindoo mind
by the depth of its insights and the intuitive
rather than logical progression of thoughts.
It is probable, too, that some of the most
complex games in existence, notably the
game of chess, had their origin in India. This
agreement is rather significant. If accident
alone were the ruling factor, we should not
expect so tmiform a parallelism; the poetry
of the Hindoos might well be romantic while
their temples were plain, the religious sense
be keen while their philosophy was rational-
istic. Considering the differences in climate,
environment, and antiquity of civilisation, the
correspondence is remarkable, and seems to
indicate a deeper, mental basis.

Casting a glance, now, over the course of
our inquiry, do we not find a systematic
agreement, a solidarity of parts, an organic
interweaving of elements, which we may well

no Racial Contrasts

consider convincing? The love of nature is
evident throughout Germanic art, — in poetry,
painting, architecture, and music. The same
arts reveal the Graeco-Latin indifference to
natural phenomena, evidences which are
supplemented by the southern methods of
landscape-gardening, which seek to conven-
tionalise the charms of trees and flowers.
Germanic works tend toward romantic and
mystic effects: witness the Gothic cathedrals,
the paintings of Rembrandt and Turner,
and the typical productions of northern
poetic genius. In the south we have classic
sculpture, architecture, and tragedy. The
unity of action in French dramas corresponds
to the single subjects of Italian painting, the
multiplicity of plots in Shakespeare to the dis-
persion of Dutch pictures. The traits last
mentioned, together with figurative speech and
allegorical delineation, involving parallel trains
of thought, correspond to the musical counter-
point of northern masters, while the unitary
developments of the south answer to the
melodic beauties of Italian opera. The pe-
culiarities of art are matched by personal
characteristics and analogies of custom and
institution. The fi-agmentary enjoyment of

Customs and Institutions iii

French drama and Italian opera corresponds
to southern vivacity and impulsiveness, the
withholding of applause among the Germans
to northern persistency and brooding. Latin
changeableness agrees with the multiplication
of negatives in southern languages. Classic
smoothness of sentence-connection, simplicity
of style, and clearness of reasoning are all
interconnected, as well as northern intuition,
roughness of composition, and jumping of
thought. The various applications of the
principles are connected by an intricate net-
work of relations. Analogous cases abound,
knitting the parts together and strengthening
the structure of the whole. The multiplicity
of evidences is reinforced by their concur-
rence. Everything points in one direction,
indicating that we have indeed discovered
fundamental distinctions, which reduce the
activities of the races a step or two nearer to
their lowest mental terms.

THE FLUCTUATIONS OF BEAUTY
AND MORALITY

"3

THE FLUCTUATIONS OP BEAUTY
AND MORALITY

TO the youth tte words " duty," '* truth/'
and ** beauty " stand for qualities fixed
and unchanging. No personal caprice
is supposed to affect them, no difference of age
or climate may disturb their serene immuta-
bility. What is the duty of one must be
binding on every other, what is beautiful for
me ought to be recognised imiversally, what
is true to-day must have been true since
the beginning of time and must remain
inviolable throughout eternity.

As we gain in experience, however, we
realise the fallacy of this view. The thing
which is admired in one age or country may
be ridiculed in another; fashions which receive
approbation this year will be cast aside in a
twelvemonth; the symphonies which lift us
toward heaven affect the Hindoo as mere
jumbles of sound. Nor is the divergence less
in the field of morals. Here, too, what is

"5

i

ii6 Fluctuations of

deemed right at one time and place is con-
demned at another. The exposure of infants,
permissible among the old Spartans, by us is
punishable with death. The uncovered faces
of women, proper elsewhere, are in Turkey
considered indecent. Hardly a usage or act,
indeed, has not in some age or land appeared
virtuous and in others criminal: murder,
robbery, lying, adultery, patriotism, self-
sacrifice, honour, — ^all have received the most
diverse interpretations.

In our uncertainty we turn to the realm
of truth, with the hope that here, at least,
we shall reach firm bottom; but again we are
doomed to disappointment. As we turn the
pages of science and philosophy, we find no
two thinkers agreeing. The historical path
of knowledge is strewn with battered and
worn-out hypotheses, which were fervently
defended in their day, but were abandoned in
favour of others. Can we expect a better fate
for our own theories? Are we to suppose
that Ptolemy and Kepler may have erred,
but that we little modems are secure in our
grasp on truth? Even as we look about us
we see doctrines rising and evaporating like
the mists of the ocean. Fierce warfare is

Beauty and Morality 117

ever5rwhere raging between the adherents
of rival schools, grave doubts are uttered
on all accepted truths. The firmest beliefs
are assailed by the missiles of scepticism
and totter in their foundations; what was
once considered white is now declared to be
black, and what was regarded as solid is said
not to exist at all!

In this clatter of theories, ethical ideals,
and standards of beauty, a confusion some-
times overwhelms us like an intellectual
swoon, and we feel like rushing out of doors
and beating the air for relief. Is it true that
that which ought to be the most stable is
really the most unreliable? Do tables and
glasses possess reality, while we look in vain
for a duty, truth, or object of aesthetic
rapture ? Do sweet and sour remain constant ,
while virtue, sublimity, and rationality are
mere hollow illusions?

Let us pause for a moment. Is it quite
true that sweet and sour never change?
Drinking a glass of Rhine wine after a combi-
nation of unusual dishes one day, I discovered
a sweetish flavour in it; yet it did not occur
to me to deny the existence of sour wines.
The differences in the eatables of various

ii8 Fluctuations of

nations may be as pronounced as the varia-
tions in the higher realms, one nation loathing
what another relishes, yet we never conclude
that there are no savory articles of diet in the
world. Human beings might be so divergent
in size that the piece of furniture which
answered for a table in one place would be
used as a footstool in another and as a pavilion
in a third, while a glass would alternately
serve as a thimble and a jar, yet no one would
entertain any doubts as to the meaning
and reality of tables and glasses. Need we
be sceptical, then, regarding the existence
of that sacred trinity: virtue, truth, and
beauty?

We stop to reflect, but our doubts are not
relieved. We have not established unity of
standard, but have simply proved that the
fluctuations are equally great in the material
realm. We have not banished instability, but
have merely indicated its presence elsewhere.
The fact remains that there is flux and variety,
while we cannot help demanding permanence.
Even in the matter of food, we reason, the
divergence may be merely apparent: where an
object produces both a sweet and a sour taste,
there must be a variation in the nerves whic^

Beauty and Morality 119

are involved; excite the same neural activ-
ities and the same effects must ensue, and
a definition of these activities, together with
the objective arousing conditions, will exhibit
the constant elements in taste. Is it not
possible to formulate such definitions in the
ideal realms? Though the single manifesta-
tions of beauty, truth, and morality exhibit
such baffling variations, may they not be
reducible to certain types or formulae, apply-
ing in all the divergent cases? Though the
savage kills his aged father and the European
nurses his own parent with tenderness, may
there not be a point of view from which their
conduct appears essentially alike?

An analogy will be of assistance. Two
violins are playing middle C, while a kettle-
drum accompanies them an octave lower.
Which of these three tones show the greatest
resemblance to each other? Obviously those
of the violins: not only are they of the same
pitch, while the other is deeper, but there
is an agreement in timbre which differentiates
them sharply from the dull beat of the drum.
But now, begging indulgence for the lack
of musical value in our illustration, let us
regard the tones in their context :

I20

Fluctuations of

iBt YlOLOl

^^i ' ih ' i l ^

I

Sd YlOLDI
PXMZ.

^i

w

5-

Krtli-Dbum

^^

J n

It is clear that our judgment must be re-
versed. Tom out of their connections and re-
garded in isolation, the two upper C's of course
resemble each other; but viewed in their sur-
roundings, the tones of the second violin and
kettle-drum belong together. Music abounds
with parallel cases. We never think of pro-
nouncing two tones alike because they happen
to have the same pitch, or of classing together
various instruments by reason of their simi-
larity of timbre; the melodic relation alone
decides.

In life the situation is exactly similar.
Outer objects and circumstances are the
instruments, the conscious effects which they
produce are the successive melodic tones, and

Beauty and Morality 121

the present impression rests on the series of
preceding experiences. A fine brownstone
mansion and a modest suburban cottage, for
example, are radically different; but the
sensations they arouse in the minds of their
respective occupants are nfot dependent solely
on their objective aspect. For thirty years
the proprietor of the mansion has inhabited
its spacious chambers; he has spun boyhood
dreams, arrived at maturity, entered upon the
tasks of manhood, and experienced the joys
and sorrows of changing forttme beneath
its hovering presence. But the owner of the
cottage has had similar experiences under
his humble roof. The vicissitudes of many
years, too, are interwoven with the familiar
aspect of the vine over his doorway and the
easy chair in the comer of his sitting-room.
And in so far as the series of past experiences
are similar, the effect produced will also be
alike. *' Sweet'' and " doux" may be spelled
differently, but their meaning is the same.

A slight difference of operation in this
case must be explained. In listening to a
melody we are directly aware of the connection
between the successive tones; in life, on tlie
contrary, the preceding members drop out of

L

122 Fluctuations of

sight. Our experience comes in lumps; we
perceive the stream of time as it appears wher-
ever we stem our mind against it, but the
stream itself, the series of successive events, is
only realised by the imagination, not by the
senses. This, however, is not fatal to the paral-
lelism. Though we may not remember all
the Christmas occurrences of a lifetime when
we perceive a lighted tree, though we may
not combine them into a significant melodic
totality, they linger on subconsciously, impart-
ing atmosphere to the impressions of the eye.
They are projected into the present experi-
ence, clustering about it in accordance with
the laws of psychological association. Like
the overtones in music, they produce subtle
differences of quality.

Much light is thrown by these considerations
on the peculiarities of human tastes. They
account for that ''blindness" which is the
subject of one of Professor James's delightful
essays, — for that inability to share in each
other's joys and sorrows, to appreciate one
another's ideals. The blindness simply de-
pends upon the fact that the object which
is ennobled by a rich series of past experiences
in one case, is in another perceived in its bald

Beauty and Morality 123

objectivity, without background. The dreary
landscape referred to by the author, which
awakens melancholy thoughts in the mind
of the stranger, to the native is the nucleus of
thousands of zestful associations. Hence the
truth of that paradoxical statement of Steven-
son's, that we can spend a lifetime happily
in any locality, but that it requires exceptional
surroundings to yield a few hours of delight.

It is amusing to hear people discuss the
pleasures flowing from their own pursuits, con-
trasting them with the drjmess of other occu-
pations. Even those who devote themselves
to a common field of endeavour will often
choose one little bypath of effort, and become
blind to the enchantments of neighbouring
walks. The metaphysician may find logic
extremely tedious, the logician deride the
barrenness of metaphysics. In truth, the
essential charm of our pursuits does not reside
in the material with which they deal, but
depends upon their history, so far as they
have played a part in our lives. The interest
of all occupations is much alike, if our training
and proficiency are the same. It affords a
similar quality of pleasure to play a musical
composition without mistakes, do a difficult

124 Fluctuations of

feat of gymnastics, present a character on the
stage, or deliver an effective sermon. In all
cases there has been an analogous approach
to present conditions: there were the same
endeavours, endlessly renewed, the identical
obstacles met and overcome, the repeated
encouragements, the moments of despair, and
the final mastery. And mastery feels alike,
whether it is evinced in a surgical operation
or the matching of rhymes.

The same reasoning applies to the "fads"
and fancies with which people fill their spare
moments. The collector of coins is not inter-
ested by a rare stamp, nor is he who gathers
stamps thrilled by the sight of a Roman coin;
but exchange the objects and the eyes will
glow. Despite the mutual indifference to the
things which excite interest, it is clear that
the pleasure of both is the same; it is based
on a similar row of experiences, beginning
with an incipient curiosity, continuing with
numerous eager desires for specimens — satis-
fied in some instances and thwarted in others —
and swelling to an absorbing " Passion." All
these previous experiences are crowded into
the present object of perception, without
which it would lack every vestige of interest.

Beauty and Morality 125

The "crescendo" of attention alone is ac-
countable for the "forte" of delight, and
would lead to the same result, no matter
what the objects with which the series were
developed.

After this explanatory digression we may
revert to our subject. The same principles
which determine the fluctuating values of the
persons and objects with which we deal, are
operative in the realms of beauty and morality.
To a considerable degree, indeed, they even
help to determine what we consider true and
false; but as the situation in this case is
somewhat more complex, we shall confine
our examination in the main to the other
fields. Several of the illustrations already
used border on the aesthetic. The musing
state of mind with which we regard a familiar
old building or caress the utensils we employ
in our daily occupations, is similar to that
with which we enjoy a work of art, and there
is a charm about the collector's coins or the
hero's medals which can almost be regarded
as a species of beauty. Objects are beautiful,
to a considerable degree, as they incipiently
awaken numerous vague memories and fomi
a reJBection of our own experience. Hence

126 Fluctuations of

the sturdy boy, playing outdoor games and
dreaming of adventures, will revel in tales of
border life, the budding maiden find delight
in tearful stories of love. UAmi Fritz will
call forth a keen response if we relish good
things to eat and have often been seated
at the hospitable board; and the cynical
aphorisms of La Rochefoucauld will appeal to
us when we have been deceived by men in
whose honour we trusted.

Was the Flemish ideal of beauty different
from the Italian? Objectively, yes, but es-
sentially , no ; for if the Fleming painted his
women fat and buxom, while the Venetian
preferred slenderer forms, this was due to a
different background of experience. The ideal
of the Northerner probably forms a risumi
of the thousands of women he has seen since
boyhood, in the same way in which that of the
Florentine concentrates the charms on which
his own eyes have rested. The operation of
the principle is clearly evident in the realm
of fashion. When bustles were in vogue a
woman without this article seemed poorly
proportioned; donning one to-day she would
appear deformed. In fairness to our judg-
ments, we must say that the bustle was

Beauty and Morality 127

pleasing at the time when it was worn, just
as the crinoline and wig doubtless were the
source of aesthetic delight. But the whole
realm of art is a gigantic application of the
laws which regulate dress. There are fashions
in music and architecture as well as in hats,
only their scope is wider and they do not
change so erratically. What other than a mode
was the classic period of English literature,
or the romantic epoch in France? Indeed,
even such universally accepted Judgments
as the statement that two eyes are prettier
than one, and that the absence of nose and
ears would have a marring effect, may be
regarded as the outcome of an immutable
fashion; assuredly, a race of human beings
accustomed to one-eyed, noseless, and earless
faces would find them pleasing and pronounce
our own hideous. Think, in this connection,
of the distortion of feet among the Chinese.
A lively subject of dispute in my college-days,
was the question whether a greasy face might
ever be considered attractive, I upholding the
affirmative and my opponents defending the
negative. Later I learned that there were
races among whom the face was purposely
greased for beaut ificat ion. A red nosej to

128 Fluctuations of

borrow an illustration from Fechner, is un-
desirable, red cheeks are admired. The former
is an index of tippling, the latter denote
health. But inasmuch as health is often
associated with ordinary surroundings, while
the envied existence of the noble and wealthy
leads to pallor, the more natural inclination
is sometimes eclipsed, and pale cheeks are
preferred to blooming ones. Habit and asso-
ciation alone nurture the opinion that the
human foot is pretty; nothing could be more
ridiculous than this flat appendage, with its
stupid, diminutive toes; if we disregard the
smooth skin, in which man has the advantage,
there is hardly a foot among the higher
animals which is more devoid of charm.

In England the sea is the natural abode of
poetry, in Germany it is the forest. The two
correspond, forming an omnipresent back-
ground, and bearing the same relation to the
life of the individual and the race. A North-
erner is likely to find the large stone surfaces
and small windows of Oriental buildings cold
in effect; to a native of the East, accustomed
to a blazing sun, they must suggest delightful
coolness. Even our preferences for people
of opposite appearance and character, instead

Beauty and Morality 129

of being innate, may in many cases be the
result of development. A tall man feels
awkward and out of place on countless oc-
casions; a desire arises, at such times, to be
shorter in stature; being repeated, this finally
becomes permanent, and ever after is sym-
pathetically satisfied when a short person
appears.

The illustrations adduced represent two
modes of associational operation. In the
case of sympathetic works of literature the
aesthetic timbre seems to be the result of a
resuscitation and blending of previous im-
pressions; the product, like a chemical com-
pound, may undergo a certain transformation
in accordance with the laws of psychical syn-
thesis, but it is the outcome of a mere com-
bination. In the case of the ideals of stature,
the accompanying halo of feeling represents
the satisfaction of previous desires; it corre-
sponds to the sense of triumph with which, af-
ter long practice, we' finally master a piece of
music on the piano, a feeling which is sympa-
thetically aroused when we observe a virtuoso
playfully overcoming the difficulties which
have cost us so much trouble.

The reabii of morals presents a similar

130 FTuctuations of

spectacle. As the field of aesthetics is affil-
iated with the larger domain of values in
general, so the phenomena of conduct reveal
many points of resemblance to those of beauty.
The affiliation is especially apparent in the
minor divisions of etiquette and tact. Good
manners simply represent fashions of be-
haviour, and are subject to the same laws
of fluctuation. Tact applies the rules of
behaviour to novel situations. If etiquette
corresponds to the faultless execution of
dancing steps which have previously been
learned, tact resembles the skilful adaptation
to the shifting demands of a game of tennis.
In the realm of sexual morality the concep-
tions are notoriously divergent. Polygamy,
monogamy, and polyandry are all practised
with perfect sincerity in different parts of the
world. Divorce is easy to obtain in some
localities, difficult in others. Among certain
races absolute nudity is proper, among others
small parts of the body are covered, while
in Turkey even the faces of women are sup-
posed to be hidden. Special occasions, too,
demand special attire. Normally, among
European nations, the whole figure of the
female is draped; but in the ballroom the

Beauty and Morality 131

arms and shoulders may be bare, while the
bathing resort allows an exposure up to the
knees. How shocking it would be for a lady
to enter the ballroom in a swimming costume,
how reprehensible to expose her bosom on the
beach! And how arbitrary it all is, how
dependent our judgments on the background
of previous experience. It is unnecessary to
multiply examples. For, although morality
is more than custom, custom is an integral
factor of morality, and helps to create the
diversity of usage prevailing in different parts
of the globe. And what is true in the fields
already touched upon may be followed into
the highest regions of sanctity.

We could continue the subject into the
realm of truth. Our prejudices and beliefs
often result from the co-operation of factors
which have nothing to do with their truth
or falsity. How many of our convictions
could be traced back to the trivial fact that
somebody else held the opposite opinion!
And tradition, perpetual reiteration, psycho-
logical atmosphere form the basis of proposi-
tions for whose truth we would vouch with our
lives. But there is an important difference
between these cases and the others. If a work

132 Fluctuations of

of art causes aesthetic pleasure to a whole
nation, it is beautiful; and if a mode of con-
duct meets with universal approval, we are
justified in calling it good. But the Ptole-
maic hypothesis was defended for centuries
by the wisest men, and yet it was not true.
All that we can assert is, that the opinions
of men rest on the same foundations as their
sentiments of beauty and morality, but that
the truth or falsity of these opinions must
be established on other grounds.

The associations of an object, then, the cir-
cumstances and feelings in connection with
which it has been experienced, are an impor-
tant factor in its nature and meaning. They
are packed into it as the overtones of a
fundamental are merged into its timbre. And
perfect knowledge on our part would enable us
to deduce them from the mere impression of
the object, as from the timbre of a tone we
are able to enumerate its various overtones.
The object bears some resemblance to an ani-
mal which embryonically reproduces the forms
through which its ancestors have passed and
thus presents in epitome the entire history
of its race. In the enveloping feelings it
offers a clew to the experiences which have

Beauty and Morality 133

preceded, and recites in miniature the history
of its own forerunners.

Now, as there are various groupings of
overtones, corresponding to the timbre of the
fundamental, so there must be specific moulds,
types, or series of associations answering to
the different moral and aesthetic judgments.
In these we should have the expression of an
absolutely good and beautiful. They would
embody the constant elements in beauty and
morality; they would apply in the greatest
variety of cases, just as a series of partials
may be constructed on tones of different pitch ;
and the most heterogeneous objects and situa-
tions, if they were the outcome of a common
series, would partake of an absolutely beautiful
and good. Any object, then, which awakens
a sense of aesthetic charm or moral obligation
ought, with adequate insight, to be recognised
as the focus of the associational series or
formula corresponding to that sentiment; the
formula could be constructed out of the object,
just as the past history of a species of animals
might be fashioned out of the embryological
development of one of its members. On the
other hand, the realisation in experience of
the series ought to enable us scientifically to

134 Fluctuations of

construct the appropriate focussing object, just
as the knowledge of a group of overtones makes
it possible for the scientist to predict the
pitch and timbre of the fundamental. Prac-
tically and instinctively we are often able to
do this, as when an artist works out a beautiful
conception without direct reference to reality.
Hence Schopenhauer was not wrong in de-
claring that the artist has the forms of beauty
within him and gives shape to them spon-
taneously: like the rest of mankind, he has
their overtones within him, only he differs from
them inasmuch as they combine more easily,
break the shells of unconsciousness, and burst
forth into the glorious fundamentals.

What are these moulds or formulae? How
does a series look when strung out into its
members? A difficult question, which can
only be answered by means of a few sug-
gestions. The sense of familiarity and com-
panionship experienced upon meeting an
old friend, or passing a monument which we
have admired since youth, would not seem
to demand anything more organised than a
frequent perception in the past of this person
or object — ^the more vivid the occasions, the
livelier the impression. The feeling of agree-

Beauty and Morality 13 S

able surprise and emotional freshness which
follows upon meeting with the object after a
long interval of time, is reducible to the same
formula, the diflEerence being that there is
a considerable lapse of time between the
present and the foregoing perception. Other
sentiments require more definite and constant
affiliations. The pleasure caused by the
sight of a pair of ruddy cheeks depends on a
rather stable association of glowing colour with
health and good spirits. The aesthetic im-
pression produced in poetry and the fine arts
by typical or ideal figures may be attributed
to the condensation of the interesting, essen-
tial, or admirable qualities of previous ex-
periences; the figures are to be conceived as
points of union in which what was best in the
experiences is harmoniously combined. We
have all seen innumerable samples of the
htiman form, but they have fallen short of
perfection in many particulars. The shapely
organs perceived here and there stretch
forth their hands and demand their fitting
mates. But they ask in vain: here an arm
is good, but receives no co-operation in the
chest; there a head is fine, but the body
fails to lend it adequate support. Suddenly

136 Fluctuations of

the perfect Apollo appears, and all are ap-
peased; all may grasp hands, and their em-
brace is the aesthetic thrill. The satisfying
figure is the embodiment of a unity which
potentially existed in the ntimerous preceding
experiences, but of which any single one
expressed only a fraction or hint. It is as if
a dozen unsymmetrical pieces of gauze were
placed behind one another, every piece being
diJBEerent in shape, but the common area which
they collectively cover forming a starlike
figure; our past impressions of an object
correspond to the heterogeneous fragments,
and a work of art embodying a typical or
idealised example of that object answers to
the star which they potentially contain.

In general the nature of a series will depend
on the number, arrangement, and quality of
its constituent members. The boyhood friend
has touched our life at more points than has
our acquaintance of last stimmer, and the
timbre of emotion which his presence arouses
is diflEerent. The Christmas tree greets our
eyes at widely separated intervals, and there
is a freshness of feeling accompanpng its
perception which is not present in the case of
the elm before the door that we see every day.

Beauty and Morality 137

The holiday bells, the funeral wreath, the
wedding ceremony, the quiet of Sunday,
differ in the nature of the concomitant feelings,
and this divergence ever after imparts a
characteristic tinge. It is the task of theory
to trace in detail the nature of the series on
which the various aesthetic and ethical judg-
ments are based, noting the peculiarities
which differentiate them from one another,
and thus establishing absolute formulae of
beauty and moral worth.

This is the place to say a few words on the
development or progression of formulae. It
might seem, from the trend of our reasoning,
as if a different succession of experiences would
be required for every shade of feeling; which,
however, is not the case. The same formula
will answer for a variety of sentiments, the
feeling undergoing alterations with the growth
of the series. Delight in an object not un-
commonly passes into indifference, if not
tedium; yet the same formula is present, en-
larged through the addition of a few extra
members. Love may develop into hate,
yet here also the original formula is necessary
as a basis for the attachment of additional
members, and so for novel effects. The

138 Fluctuations of

freshness of feeling referred to above, ex-
perienced upon meeting an old friend after a
lapse of time, differs from the ordinary sense of
familiarity only in a single gap in the associ-
ational series. It is instructive, in this con-
nection, to compare the opinions which people
of various ages express on the same subjects,
— to note the enthusiasm of youth, the so-
briety of advancing years, the calmness and
indifference of old age. The disagreement, in
many cases, simply depends on the various
stages of experience represented by the
parties concerned. Is it worth while to travel
a thousand miles and suffer incidental dis-
comforts, for the pleasure of viewing an ex-
position? It may be if you are yotmg, have
travelled little, have seen nothing of the
world, and are buoyant enough to leap over
petty annoyances; but it is not if you have
a lifetime behind you, have wandered from
pole to equator, and have repeatedly viewed
the glories of an exposition. The identical
objects will make the most divergent im-
pressions in the two cases, depending upon
the ntimber and kind of past experiences
which are packed arotmd them. It makes a
big difference in the value of a tone whether

Beauty and Morality 139

it occtirs in the course of a crescendo or a
diminuendo.

To sum up, then, many if not all of oiu:
experiences, so far as they depend on overtone
formulas, may be manifestations of a few
fundamental types. And the transformation
of objects, their cycle of mutations through
the gamut of stages, is steadily progressing:
the flower of to-day already portends the
faded petals of to-morrow, while the bud is
preparing to take its place. It required a
long accumulation of associational elements
to make me delight in the poem before me,
but the same process which built up my
pleasure will disintegrate it again, and the
poem will leave me cold, while the picture
which now cannot extract a minute's attention
will then cause me to glow.

While the foregoing may not offer a com-
plete explanation of divergences of taste and
conduct, while other factors undoubtedly are
involved and other methods of expressing the
same facts may be possible, most of the
differences of judgment are probably to be
explained by the principles laid down. We
are misled by our habit of viewing life in
cross-sections; to obtain correct estimates we

I40 Fluctuations of Beauty and Morality

must take account of the stream along which
we are floating. The present is built on
the past, and its full significance is only
revealed when we examine the nature of
the fotmdation.

ON HOMOLOGY OF THOUGHT
. AND ACTION

Mt

ON HOMOLOGY OP THOUGHT AND ACTION

GEOMETRICAL homology refers to
** quantities and magnitudes" which
"correspond, or are like to one an-
other." ^ In the triangles a b c and ABC

3^:-..

the sides be, ac, ab, are homologous, respect-
ively, to BC, AC, AB, the angles a, b, c to
A, B, C.

The determining feature of homology is
similarity in relation to the totality of members.
We cannot pronounce on the correspondence
of two lines merely by comparing their length
and form; in addition, we must examine

» Chambers's Ettcyclopediaf article " Homologous."
143

144 Homology of

the figures from which they are taken, and
ascertain whether they are similar with
reference to them. An inspection of ab, ac,
AB, and so forth, without any clew to their
arrangement in the triangles, woul4 result in
grouping together ac and BC — ^with approxi-
mately the same length — ^but not be and BC.
An examination of the triangles, on the con-
trary, obliges us to pair off the two latter.

The same determination of similarity, on
the basis of relation, is practised in biology.
The wings of birds, the fore legs of quad-
rupeds, and the flippers of whales, for instance,
though highly dissimilar in appearance and
function, are adjudged homologous, by reason
of their similar situation in their respective
organisms. Considered by themselves, a hu-
man arm and an equine limb would perhaps
never be classed together ; viewed in their
totality and connections, however, they re-
veal the correspondence.

II

It might be profitable to apply the idea of
homology to the conscious life of man, —
to his mental and emotional experiences, his
social activities and institutions. Here, too.

Thought and Action 145

there are resemblances which are not apparent
from a superficial examination, but which
depend on the relations between the things
compared and the totals of which they are
parts. The failure to recognise this is one of
the most frequent sources of error. To begin
with the subject of money, nothing is more
common than to hear people making com-
parisons between the wages in different places,
and sttimbling into misjudgments concern-
ing their relative values. The differences in
dollars and cents are accepted as faithful
reflections of the actual disparities, and the
conditions are pronounced good or bad in ac-
cordance. But we need hardly be reminded
that the essential value of a man's salary
does not depend on the number of dollars
in which it may be expressed, but on its
buying-power. If the single dollar of one
person commands as much as the double
amount of another, the wages are equivalent.
In regard to the prices of commodities, the
two stims may be considered homologous;
they resemble lines from similar triangles,
unlike enough by themselves, but equal in
relation to the remaining sides.

But not only equality of bu5ring-power is to

146 Homology of

be considered. The orphan's rag doll is the
homologue of the wealthier child's expensive
toy, if the pleasure it causes is the same. The
toys and games of youth correspond to the
important institutions and undertakings of
adults, the tmnoticed doings of obscure people
to the conspicuous actions of men of fame.
When Schopenhauer declares that "it is all
the same, as far as inward significance is
concerned, whether ministers discuss the
fate of countries and nations over a map, or
boors wrangle in a beer-house over cards
and dice,"* he is simply indicating the homo-
logy of the two cases. A transformation of
the boors into ministers would result in their
acting like ministers, and vice versa. Simi-
larly, when he maintains that a man's charac-
ter is unalterable, and that his actions, no
matter how much they may seem to vary,
always remain essentially alike, he wishes to
convey the meaning that they remain homo-
logons: they bear a certain constant, invariable
relation to the totality of his circumstances,
thoughts, and feelings, — ^and transformations
like those suggested would again lead to
identity of conduct. So, also, when he

» The World as Will and Idea, London, 1891, vol. i., p. 298.

Thought and Action 147

asserts that history offers nothing essentially
new, — ^that the course of events keeps on
repeating itself, — ^he means that homologous
events are perpetually occurring. History
might thus be conceived as a magnified htiman
experience, and its constancy as a gigantic
fixity of character; the phases of historical
evolution would correspond to the successive
actions of a single man, and their sameness to
the essential similarity of his actions.

Whether we quite agree with Schopenhauer
or not, it will readily be admitted that the
direct impression, the immediate appearance,
of objects and events, is often misleading, and
that things which superficially resemble one
another are often in a deeper sense highly
different, while those that apparently differ
may in reality be closely allied. This is true
of individual as well as of collective and his-
torical experiences; it is true in the ethical,
aesthetical, and logical field, — ^true of modes
of conduct, works of art, and scientific or
religious beliefs. Even in the most ordinary
discussions, an observance of homology would
reconcile many apparent disagreements. A
and B are arguing about the necessity of a
recognition of our doings on the part of our

148 Homology of

fellow-men. A maintains that recognition is
necessary as an incentive to action, B spurns
the applause of men as worthless. Apparently
an utter, hopeless clashing of opinion; yet
the contradiction may be merely superficial,
both parties essentially upholding the same
truth. A is an atheist, who considers the
human mind as the highest embodiment of
consciousness in the universe; B is a Christian,
who believes in overarching spiritual powers.
He also demands recognition of his actions, but
he is content if it comes from the higher beings,
and in the possession of their approval is ready
to forego the applause of men. Both believe
in the desirability of appreciation, but the ex-
tent of consciousness is conceived differently.
A's conception of humanity is not homologous
to B's, the former representing the bulk of
conscious illtimination, the latter a mere
fragment of the totality. The **htimanity"
of the one really corresponds to the ** higher
spiritual world" of the other, i:e., both fill
the same relative position in the totality of
conscious life, as postulated by the disputants.
Hence A's "recognition of humanity" corre-
sponds to B's " approval of the higher beings."
Fully as ntunerous are the illustrations from

Thought and Action 149

the field of conduct. The wrangles of the
boors and ministers are a case in point. The
refined vices of the rich and cultured are
homologous to the brutalities of the lowly
and uneducated. The widow's mite is equiv-
alent to the millionaire's dazzling bequest.
The amusing faults of children are miniature
copies of the graver shortcomings of adults.
In this field especially the observance of ho-
mology would be beneficial. A considerable
number of the daily little frictions, misun-
derstandings, and condemnations arise from
its non-observance. We see only the single
lines, metaphorically speaking, the remaining
members being written in sympathetic ink;
we are presented with isolated hands, flippers,
hoofs, and wings, but the supporting organ-
isms remain hidden from view. Small won-
der, then, that we should couple the wings of
the bat and butterfly, while failing to recog-
nise the affinity between the former and the
arms of man.

The force of these observations is especially
apparent in our treatment of children. How
often we chide and punish, when we indulge
ourselves so freely in homologous deeds.
Superficially there may be no resemblance

ISO Homology of

between their modes of conduct and oiir own,
but closer examination will often reveal the
deeper agreement. Two practical results fol-
low. In the first place, we should be more
lenient with our children: recognising that
their doings are the homologues of actions in
which we justifiably indulge ourselves, and
which we should be loath to renounce, we
ought not to meet their innocent desires with
such habitual vetoes. If, however, we regard
an indulgence of their wishes as harmful,
and are fully convinced that it should not be
tolerated, then we must exercise a little more
restraint on ourselves; we must consider
whether the homologue of that which is so
reprehensible in our children may not like-
wise be unwholesome in our own persons.

With reference to Biblical facts and cere-
monies, the principle of homology is of the
utmost importance. There is danger of inter-
preting the facts in a strictly literal manner
and in this sense pronouncing them valid for
all times and conditions, without regard for
surrounding circumstances. It would be ri-
diculous, for example, to take seriously the
passage in which Paul admonishes the women
not to wear ** braided hair" and ** costly

Thought and Action 151

raiment." Evidently this admonition was
prompted by special conditions of time and
place, and ceased to have any force when these
changed. Viewed merely as an objective fact,
designated by a certain name, braiding the
hair may of course be the same everywhere;
but viewed in relation to its sturounding
circtunstances, it may undergo extensive al-
terations of significance. And what holds
true of that applies likewise to many other
Biblical offices, ceremonies, and rules. Deeper
insight has always recognised this truth, not
only in theology, but also beyond its domains:
it is according to the spirit rather than the
letter, we are told, that we must interpret,
both the teachings of Christianity and the
phenomena of life and conduct in general.
The doctrine of homology simply endeav-
ours to analyse this spirit, and show that it
also is amenable to scientific treatment.

Passing to a more historical point of view,
we find an excellent illustration of the inade-
quacy of direct appearances, as an index of
deeper significance, in the case of ancient
and modem music. In certain essential re-
spects the art of tones, as cultivated by the
Greeks, was altogether different from that

152 Homology of

of to-day. In the first place, it comprehended
more, including poetry and dancing, and
thtis comprised a considerable fraction of the
arts. In the second place, education com-
prehended less, the teaching numbering but
a few subjects in addition to music and
gymnastics. The essential position of music,
accordingly — ^its relation to the totality of
life and civilisation — ^was entirely different.
Greek music was almost coincident with our
** culture ' ' and * * knowledge. ' ' Its homologue
is more nearly expressed by the word "edu-
cation " than by the term ** art of tones." ^

The bearing of this on the ancient concep-
tion of the moral effect of music is obvious.
Plato, the spokesman of antiquity, seems to
have had an exalted opinion of the art, in this
respect, believing that it possessed the power
of directly moulding the nature of man. To
a modem such opinions sound strange, almost
incomprehensible. Certainly, music does not

« The matter might be still further complicated through
a consideration of the place which education held in Greek
life. Just as music occupied a different position in the
totality of education, so education may have held a different
position in the totality of life. Perfect homology would
depend on a similarity of relation with reference to the
complete organism, after a consideration of all the factors.

Thought and Action 153

exhibit such remarkable effects among us;
there are superior men with no susceptibility
to its charms, and musicians whose conduct
leaves much to be desired. Substitute the
words "education" and "culture" for the
term "music," however, and the effect as-
cribed becomes more comprehensible.

This one example will suffice to illustrate
the difficulty of forming adequate judgments
of historical conditions, institutions, persons,
and events. Were we unacquainted with the
position of music in the life of the Greeks,
how strange the words of Plato would appear.
There must be numerous similar cases, in
which the significant vistas which gave the
historic happenings their meaning have been
lost beyond recall, and where it is no longer
possible to understand and appreciate the
situations and events. It is said that we can-
not form a correct estimate of a historic per-
sonage or institution while we are in close
proximity to it, i.e., we cannot see it with the
proper perspective. But the converse is
equally true, that we cannot realise the im-
mediate, near-by aspect from the perspec-
tive, — that we cannot, from a distance,
form an adequate conception of a situation

I

154 Homology of

as it appeared to the people living in or along-
side of it. We read about an institution, prin-
ciple, dogma, or event; but we are merely
dealing with the empty doorways of historical
fact: the long arcades of accompanpng sce-
nery, the rich backgrotmds of experience, the
vistas of flowers and trees and clouds which,
figuratively speaking, once peered through
these frameworks, have vanished; and we are
left with a dry fossil instead of a pulsating
organism.

We all know that in order to obtain a par-
ticular reflection or prismatic effect, it is some-
times necessary to view an object from a
definite angle, any deviation to the right or left
destropng the effect at once. Now suppose
a multitude of objects so disposed about us
that their glories of tints and shadings will
only burst upon us when we stand in their
exact centre, and we have a picture of the
adequate comprehension of historic situations.
Here, too, the effect depends on the constella-
tion of ntmierous factors, and a perfect view
can only be gained by placing one's self in
their centre and allowing their influences to
operate.

Names, and material, objective aspects

Thought and Action 155

are the marks by which we generally classify
things, and determine their meaning and
value. If only the name or the external im-
pression remains constant, the thing is also
supposed to be the same. But manifestly,
the designation or appearance may rest tm-
changed, while there is a profound altera-
tion in essential being. A familiar example
is that of pieces of real estate. A man may
preserve his property intact for years, retain-
ing every tree and flower-bed, every chair
and picture, in its original position, yet there
may be a radical variation in the nature of the
place. Instead of the splendid surrotmding
residences of yore, there may be dilapidated
houses; instead of the fine old trees that
hemmed the street, prosaic telegraph poles;
around the comer there are gambling dens,
and the air above, once clear and refreshing,
has become thick with smoke. The place
itself — ^its street and house-ntimber, its extent
of frontage, and the like — ^may still be the
same; but its surroundings have changed,
and their variations have reacted on it,
producing an alteration which is materially
expressed in its depreciated value, and
aesthetically in the forlorn impression it pro-

156 Homology of

duces in the midst of the surrounding dirt
and decay.

The same may be true of religious or scien-
tific beliefs, works of art, and political or
ecclesiastical institutions. Here, too, we may
have objective fixity, hiding the most exten-
sive fluctuations of inner value. A symphony
of Mozart seems to have undergone no change
since it left the hand of the composer a century
and a quarter ago ; not a note has been altered,
not a sign been added or lost. Yet the com-
position is not what it was; there have been
developments in the art of tones, which react
on the notes and produce a marked difference
in their effect. Music, in general, has grown
richer in harmony and orchestral volume.
Accordingly, the compositions which formerly
sounded rich and fuU are now more likely to
appear thin and obvious; there has been a
change in the standard of instrumental volimie
and harmonic colouring, so to speak, which is
equivalent to an alteration in the music itself.

Musical compositions, governments, consti-
tutions, religious sects, social and political
organisations, — all are perpetually undergoing
transformation, as the result of changes in the
related institutions about them. The con-

Thought and Action 157

servatives, seemingly the advocates of stabil-
ity, may be the champions of innovation, as
it is evinced in the slow, imperceptible progress
of decomposition and decay. The radicals,
on the contrary, may be the true conservatives,
correcting the degeneration of institutions by
jerks and pulls which restore them to their
original proportions. The former cling to the
line, while the others propose a suitable ad-
justment which wiU restore the original har-
mony between all the members of the triangle
and thus guarantee a deeper permanence.
Life, accordingly, resembles a gigantic mov-
ing ratio, in which, for the maintenance of
the proper balance, the one term must keep
pace with the alterations of the other. The
change is a necessary condition of the perma-
nence, and the proper permanence is one of
relation or proportion, instead of external,
objective appearance.

Ill

In the realm of art the principle of homo-
logy accounts for much of the notorious varia-
tion in the effect of individual works, and for
the divergence of taste between different
peoples and times.

1 58 Homology of

Works which externally seem to undergo
no change, lose in interest and fade into indif-
ference; they depreciate, like pieces of real
estate, they vary through variations in the
spiritual environs. The electric currents of
associative feeling which once vivified them
have been turned off, and the cold carbons
no longer contain any glow to illumine the
mind of the onlooker. Certain musical com-
positions, as mentioned, have grown pale as
the result of variations in the standard of
orchestral volume and harmonic richness.
The Shakespearean fool, likewise, has under-
gone extensive alterations. The laugh which
he now provokes is an artificial duty-affair.
All the natural currents of association which
once were centred in him have been shut off,
and he fails to scintillate with any humour,
unless our storage-battery of historical criti-
cism and ideal transplantation vivifies him
with a feeble glamour of sympathetic appre-
ciation. The modem representative of the
fool, at least in America, is to be found in the
caricatures of foreign nationalities, as they
abound in our comic papers or greet us from
the vaudeville stage. The very sight of such
a caricattire already puts us into an expect-

Thought and Action 159

ant, sympathetic attitude, which furnishes a
prepared surface for the matches of wit that
follow. The Elizabethans undoubtedly pos-
sessed a similar surface ^or the fool, but it has
been worn off by the friction of time.

What is true here will also apply to the
royal personages, court scenes, and pageants
abounding in the older dramas, or in general
to the local flavour — ^unaccustomed to it as
we usually are — ^which we find throughout
literature. The historic plays of the great
English bard, for instance, must have made
an entirely different impression on the people
of the Elizabethan era from what they make
on us; they were the foci of innumerable rays
of vivid interest, and thousands of associa-
tional beams shone through them which are
absent to-day.

So likewise with the dramas and epics of the
old Greeks, often extolled as models. The
works of the Greeks, as they are read at col-
lege, are not the works that thrilled the Hel-
lenes. The Iliad is not the exalted song of
the age of Pericles. It lacks certain qualities
which it once possessed, but which have en-
tirely evaporated with the change of external
circtimstances. In the Iliad of the Greeks

i6o Homology of

there was an important relation to the warm,
interesting life of the day, — ^to the gods that
were daily worshipped, the heroes whose
statues were posted up at every comer and
who were the constant goals of emulation, and
to the scenes and places which were so familiar.
Like the hand of the driver, guiding half a
dozen horses, its verses held the reins which
led back to multitudes of interesting experi-
ences. To-day, however, all this is changed;
the reins have dropped away, and the verses
have lost considerable value. In the respects
under consideration, the Iliad is more nearly
homologous to certain later works of a very
different character. It corresponds to the
Edda of the Pagan Teutons, the Inferno of
the contemporaries of Dante, the Bible of the
early Protestants, and the Faust of the modem
world. To expect us to enter fully into the
spirit of the old classic models and give them
the preference over modem works, which are
more 'akin to our sympathies, is to demand
the substitution of a limb for the entire organ-
ism. In order to revel in the works of the
ancients, as the ancients themselves did, it
would be necessary to re-establish aU those
thousands of associations with which they

Thought and Action i6i

were interlaced, — ^in short, to live the lives of
the ancients, share their ideals, believe in their
gods, and forget all that has happened in the
two thousand intervening years.

Some of the enthusiasm which is felt for
the classics is probably due to a renewed,
hothouse cultivation, — ^to the establishment
of an artificial milieu. In place of the ancient
associations with the life and religion of the
day, we now have the recollections of our own
school-days. Having studied the classics for
years, we have made them the nuclei of
inntimerable associated experiences, thus im-
parting a charm somewhat similar to that
which originally adhered to them. We have
given them some of the rich timbre and " at-
homeness" characterising old friends, which
differentiates the latter so sharply from
strangers. In fine, we may say that a classic
work wiU produce three different effects, in
accordance with the nature of the person to
whom it is addressed; the ancient Greek, the
modem soaked in classics, and the modem
without classical training wiU all be affected in
a specific, individual manner. There will be
a freshness in the appreciation of the Greek,
which is still present in subdued form in that

1 62 Homology of

of the scholar, but which is absent in the case
of the layman.

Accompanying this loss in vitality, there
will, however, be an addition of interest,
through the charm of historical perspective.
All objects, when seen at a temporal distance,
acquire a romantic glamour. The works of
the Greeks will also invest themselves with
this halo, thus gaining an interest which they
did not possess at the time they were written.
In view of this fact, it might be contended
that much of the modem delight in the
cl^sics is in reality traceable to romantic
sources; it is an enjoyment of classicism at a
distance, which is by no means the same thing
as the effect at close range. Seen near by,
classic works partake of the realistic, while at
a distance they are more romantic and mys-
tical in nature.

Still another factor which tends to modify
our enjoyment of classic works is their con-
trast with later productions. We may not
enjoy simplicity at first, but may return to it
with pleasure after wandering through the
mazes of mystery and complexity. Much of
Goethe's enjoyment of the classic, during the
middle period of his life, was perhaps not

Thought and Action 163

entirely spontaneous in nature, but due to
such a contrast; while apparently revelling in
the simplicity of the ancients, he was enjoy-
ing something far more involved, namely, this
simplicity seen on the background of his
earlier complexity and romanticism.

We realise, accordingly, that the modem
enjoyment of ancient works is by no means
the same thing as their original, first-hand
appreciation. On the one hand the works
lose a realistic vividness, imparted by their
associations with familiar things; on the other
they gain a romantic glamour, due to their
remoteness and strangeness. Besides, they
secure a secondary interest through their con-
nection with the youthful hours of study, and
a charm of contrast due to their divergence
from modem productions. Works of art,
indeed, are not stable and unchanging, but like
pieces of real estate assume essentially differ-
ent aspects, in accordance with the changes
about them.

IV

Now for some conclusions of a more com-
prehensive nature. The similarity or dissim-
ilarity of social and artistic phenomena, we

1 64 Homology of

have learned, depends less on their immediate,
objective aspect than on their hidden affilia-
tions. The phenomena are not to be judged
as isolated spots, but as organic members.

It is clear, in the first place, that there must
be organisms. If the phenomena we are con-
sidering are to be compared to the sides of
triangles or the members of animal structures,
the totals of which they are parts must exist.
That is, there must be moulds, types, or for-
mulae of which the phenomena are constituent
factors. In these, accordingly, we shall find
their true being and significance. What are
these moulds, types, or formulae? In regard
to our initial cases, the answer will not be
difficult. Similarity of wages, for example,
will be determined by identity of relation be-
tween the earnings and the cost of living.
The formula for the absolute low-water level
of wages, i.e., for earnings upon which it is
barely possible to Hve, will be : equality be-
tween pay and the necessaries of life. In the
shape of a ratio, this formula would be ex-
pressed as I : I, the antecedent standing for the
earnings and the consequent for the cost of
the necessaries. As the wages increase, the
antecedent will of course advance over the

Thought and Action 165

consequent. The same formula will also
answer for donations, the genuine amounts
being expressed by the ratios between the
sums presented and the fortunes of the donors.

In the case of the toys, and so forth, the
matter becomes more involved, as the second
or compared terms of the ratios are not so
palpable in nature. It is easy enough to .ex-
press the relation between a man's wages and
the market prices of food and clothing, but
not so simple to reproduce that between a
rocking-horse and the desires of the boy re-
ceiving it. Without doubt, however, there
is a proportion in this case as well, quite as
exact as that embodied in the gifts or wages;
if a rocking-horse produces as much satisfac-
tion in the case of one boy as a pony in that
of another, if both occupy the same relative
position in the respective lives, the same for-
mtala may be said to apply.

Passing to scientific and religious beliefs,
moral situations, and works of art, we find
the matter increasing considerably in com-
plexity; yet, on the basis of the foregoing
considerations, and of the identity of the
accompanying feelings, we are warranted in
postulating definite formulae even here. To

1 66 Homology of

confine ourselves for the present to the realm
of art, the existence of such formulae would
afford an escape from all that confusion and
hopeless lack of standard which is the result
of the great diversity of tastes. We natu-
rally postulate absoluteness in the realm of
beauty. The facts, however, reveal a bewil-
dering disagreement of judgments: the work
that sends the one into raptures leaves the
other cold, or even awakens his repugnance.
If there is an absolute beauty, why do not all
people see it in the same objects? The ques-
tion is justified, and in the absence of an im-
mediate answer we are tempted to reply that
there is no such absoluteness, but that all
is irredeemable, chaotic disorder.

However, may we not be duplicating the
error mentioned above in connection with
geometric figures and animal organisms? As
in the triangles, may there not be a similarity
in spite of the divergence of immediate ap-
pearance, and may not this similarity embody
the constant factor we are seeking? Consider
artistic productions objectively and mate-
rially, without regard for their elusive affilia-
tions, and you will never be able to mark off
universal types. The attempt to do so is

Thought and Action 167

as hopeless as the endeavour to show similar-
ity in a multitude of unequal lines. But as
the lines may be homologous in relation to
their respective triangles, so the works of art
may be equivalent with respect to certain
types or formulae to which they belong. We
thus obtain an absoluteness alongside of, or
rather in, the relativity. Art-works may be
relative in nature, but their very relations
may embody a certain constancy, correspond-
ing to the equality of ratios or the similarity
of geometrical figures.

To render the matter clearer, let us imagine
a score of persons endowed with varying de-
grees of auditory sensibility — ranging from
extreme acuteness of hearing to almost total
deafness. A musical tone will make the
most divergent impressions on these people; to
some it will sound loud, to others soft, and to
others still it will be just barely audible, rang-
ing through all degrees of intensity, from forte
to the softest pianissimo.^ Considered ob-

» The situation is complicated, to be sure, by the operation
of habit, according to which one and the same tone may-
sound relatively as loud to a person with poor hearing as to
another with normal faculties. Since our hypothetical
case is adduced merely for the sake of illustration, however,
we may neglect this aspect and confine ourselves to the
absolute sensational effect.

1 68 Homology of

jectively, the tone is the same for all persons,
but taken in connection with the effects pro-
duced, it is different in every case. To bring
about the same effect, it will be necessary
to vary the intensity, in accordance with the
varying states of auditory sensibility. On
the observer these mutations will make the
impression of twenty different tones, on the
twenty listeners that of one and the same tone.
Objective similarity and permanence mean
subjective difference, while subjective sim-
ilarity requires objective difference.

The same will be true of diversities of pitch.
It is a fact that a tone will in abnormal cases
soimd somewhat different in the two ears.
Hypothetically extending this and applying
it to the ears of various individuals, we may
postulate twenty persons with auditory or-
gans so unlike that a single tone will give
rise to twenty different sotmds, — ^separated
in their extremes by several octaves. Here,
also, we must play various tones in order to
produce similarity of effect, suiting them to
the receptivities of the respective ears. If it
be desired, for instance, to produce an effect
equivalent to middle C, it will be necessary,
in the case of a person who hears two octaves

Thought and Action i6g

lower than we do, to play a tone two octaves
higher; in the case of one who hears higher,
on the contrary, to play correspondingly low.
Again there will be much variety of effect,
ranging all over the key-board, yet every
tone will produce the same impression on its
respective ear.

If, now, we were to combine these two
sets of cases, uniting the differences of loud-
ness with those of pitch, we should already
obtain considerable complication of phenom-
ena. Let it be desired, for example, to couple
a middle C with a mezzo forte effect. We shall
be obliged, for this purpose, to combine the
variations in pitch which satisfy the twenty
different ears with similar adjustments in
loudness. The person who hears an octave
too low and whose hearing is feeble, will re-
quire a correspondingly high, fortissimo tone.
He, on the contrary, who hears too high and
whose ears are hyperaesthetic, will demand
a soft, low sound. Both conditions, namely
those of pitch and intensity, must be satisfied
before the proper effect is produced. The
result will be a practically unlimited number
of possible combinations, all varieties of pitch
uniting with every gradation of intensity.

lyo Homology of

So numerous will be the possibilities, that a
note struck at random will but rarely satisfy
both conditions, and produce the requisite
mezzo forte, middle C effect. Even if we in-
crease the number of imaginary subjects to
two himdred, it is conceivable that every indi-
vidual will require a different combination of
pitch and intensity. The identical subjective
effect will accordingly be the result of two
hundred different tonal phenomena.

Objectively it will not be easy to express
the identity of all these cases; if we write down
the tones, accompanied by their shadings of
loudness, we simply get two hundred different
results, with no similarity whatever. If we
take into consideration the corresponding
auditory natures, however, the identity will
readily appear, — in the fixity of relation be-
tween the tones and the respective thresh-
olds of pitch and intensity. Starting from
the barely audible, we invariably find an eqtial
gap between this first degree of hearing and
the loudness of the tone in question; again,
there is a similar interval between the thresh-
old of pitch — ^with us represented by sixteen
vibrations a second — ^and the same tone. In
all cases there is the same relation to the

Thought and Action 171

capax^ities of pitch and intensity. These latter
form a parallelogram of forces, as it were, of
which the respective tones are the resultants,
and in the relation to which lie their con-
stancy and absoluteness.

The realm of art offers many analogous
features. The individual works, so highly
divergent and producing such manifold im-
pressions, may be compared to the tones, —
different to the observer, yet similar in regard
to the mental capacities, trainings, and asso-
ciations of the people to whom they are
addressed. Works of art, too, may be inter-
preted as the resultants of parallelograms
of forces, — or say, rather, parallelograms of
mental and emotional tendencies, categories,
and demands; like our mezzo forte middle C,
which appears tmder disguises so great as
apparently to preclude the existence of any
identity, they bear the same relations to the
enveloping mental matrix, and embody the
identical proportions.

We cannot hope to tmravel all the complex-
ities besetting this subject, but we can indicate
some of the elements entering into it. Music,
for instance, presents several aspects closely
resembling those of our hypothetic example.

172 Homology of

As indicated, orchestral works have been
growing richer in volume and instrumenta-
tion, so that compositions which originally
sounded exuberant now have a flavour of
insipidity. The change in effect is due to an
alteration in our aesthetic sensibility; it cor-
responds to a gradual dulling of the auditory
acuteness, in accordance with which a tone
which at first sounded forte would dwindle to
piano. And as with instrumental volume,
so with harmonic complexity. Harmony,
likewise, has been growing more luxuriant,
and many of the chords which in the days of
Mozart sounded strikingly weird now appear
obvious, while combinations whose strange-
ness would have shocked our forefathers fiU
us with delight. Here, again, the effect has
been determined by a shifting of the whole
apperceptive field, and, with it, of the aes-
thetic point of novelty.

The tendency toward increasing richness
of ornamentation, characteristic of developing
periods of architecture, is another case in
point. As with stimulants, the wealth of
decoration which at first produces aesthetic
excitement soon becomes a matter of course
and ceases to have any effect; as a result, the

Thought and Action 173

richness must constantly be increased in order
to produce the same impression. The va-
rious degrees of ornamentation may appear
widely different when viewed side by side,
but they all bear the same relation to the
previous, accustomed degrees, embodying a
similar increase over the same; they all occupy
corresponding positions with reference to the
aesthetic threshold of richness.

Now, as there are thresholds and scales
of pitch, intensity, harmonic colour, and deco-
rative wealth, so there are analogous series
of largeness, smallness, novelty, originality,
grotesqueness, elegance, and numerous other
aesthetic qualities. The feature of novelty,
for example, — ^very important in all branches
of art, — ^is no inmiutable quality, objectively
speaking, but depends entirely on the nature
of the preceding art-works, to which we are
accustomed. The familiar may be considered
as the plane from which ever5^hing new and
original must spring. But as the familiar may
change, so the embodiment of novelty must
also vary. Objectively, the novel will assume
the greatest raultitude of forms, but there
must always be the same relation between it
and the customary, the same ratio of advance.

174 Homology of

as it were, always a certain homology in re-
gard to the works to which we are habituated.

Accompanying the threshold of novelty
will be that of extravagance and grotesque-
ness. The original rises degree by degree,
tmtil finally it reaches a certain maximum,
at which it passes into exaggeration. Here,
also, there must be laws: the grotesque and
extravagant must have a perfectly definite
relation to the novel, as also to the usual.
But again, the objective embodiment will
depend on what in fact is new, which depends
once more on what is familiar; hence the diffi-
culty of formulating adequate definitions.

The same principles apply to the histori-
cally interesting, quaint, and romantic. The
familiar of a former period, having fallen into
desuetude, lies fallow for a considerable time,
when suddenly it begins to acquire a fresh
qtiality, namely, a certain quaintness and
romantic flavour imparted by temporal dis-
tance and unfamiliarity. This, too, is no
objectively eternal quality, but depends on
the nature of the preceding phenomena and
the intervening length of time.

One of the best applications of the principle
under discussion is yielded by the attributes

Thought and Action 175

of size. The gigantic, together with the tiny
and petitey play an important part in works
of art, especially in those addressed to the
eye. Now here the customary may be re-
garded as the threshold of both the inunense
and the little, any rise above the same mani-
festing itself as large, grand, and colossal, and
any fall below as small and diminutive. The
usual may be likened to a neutral, tnezzo forte
progression, while the deviations toward either
side represent the fortissimos and pianissimoSy
as they stir us with their power or delight us
with their delicacy.

In this case we have a comparatively simple
formula for aesthetic effects. Generally, how-
ever, the impression of a work of art is not
confined to a single factor, but results from
a combination of qualities. Works of art are
veritable tissues of relations like those dwelt
upon, in which mental and emotional cate-
gories and demands are interwoven with mar-
vellous intricacy. They are the resultants of
parallelograms of forces; but, though the ele-
ments entering into them are not as easily
distinguishable as physical energies, their op-
eration must be equally exact and uniform.
Like our mezzo forte C's, so different for the

176 Homology of

ears of the listener, they must embody the
same relations to the apperceiving motilds.

What holds in the realm of beauty is valid
likewise in the field of morality, and to a con-
siderable extent even in that of scientific and
philosophic truth. The marked divergence
in the actions and beliefs of men must in great
measure be illusory, being the mask of deeper
agreement. The philosophical and religious
systems are different, to a considerable de-
gree, in mere externals. In the facts of ho-
mology, indeed, lies the justification of that
generosity of spirit toward which the centuries
are tending. There is an absolute standard
of beauty, truth, and morality, to be sure, any
deviation from which means error, ugliness,
and wrong; but that standard is wide enough
to include the greatest divergences of belief,
artistic conception, and conduct; it refuses to
be confined within any mechanical formula,
but, like Proteus, assimies an endless variety
of forms. The atheist and the believer, the
realist and the idealist, the saint and the revo-
lutionary, may all, in the deeper sense, be con-
forming to the eternal laws of truth, beauty,
and morality. In the insistence on a nar-
row, inflexible form — ^in the worship of the

Thought and Action 177

Hne — ^lies the error of the artificial classifica-
tion of conduct which has been the prevailing
method of all times. And it is the recognition
of the triangle, the observance of homology,
which underlies the Emersonian exaltation of
a personal standard of conduct, — ^the insist-
ence on self-reliance, heroism, and liberation
from traditional fetters. The true conduct
consists in the adjustment of the line to the
proportions of the triangle; but since the
greater part of the triangle is written in sym-
•pathetic ink, and is visible only to the individ-
ual himself, none but he can decide on the
proper course of behaviour.

Having considered the important question
as to the reality of the organisms underlying
beauty, truth, and morality, we are confronted
with the further problem as to their nature.
The organisms exist — ^but what is the char-
acter of their being, the stuff of which they
are composed? Are they merely ideal fabri-
cations, similar to the ratio between two
numbers or the laws of gravity, is there mate-
riality and tangibility only in the direct man-
ifestations of beauty and virtue, or do they
answer to perceptible realities? The question
is urgent, but its consideration would lead us

178 Homology of Thought and Action

too far for the ptirposes of this essay. Suffice
it to have pointed out the facts of homology
as they exist: their meaning furnishes suffi-
cient material for an essay by itself.

ON TEMPORAL EXPANSION AND
CONTRACTION

179

ON TEMPORAL EXPANSION AND
CONTRACTION

SWIFT'S GulUver is a classic, in the deline-
ation of tmusual aspects of dimension.
More startling still, if not so detailed, are
the revelations of Professor Crookes.^ He
extends the enlargements and diminutions of
Swift, and shows how adequate alterations
in the size of the observer would transform
the very nature and essence of things. A being
of microscopic dimensions, for example, would
not come to the conclusion that water seeks
its level, but would endow it with spherical
or curvilinear forms. Suppose, we are told,
"that he holds in his hand a vessel bearing
the same proportion to his minimised frame
that a pint measure does to that of a man as
he is, and that by adroit manipulation he

» Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, Ap-
pendix to Part xxxi., vol. xii., p. 344 et seq.

181

1 82 On Temporal

contrives to fill it with water. If he inverts
the vessel he finds that the liquid will not
flow, and can only be dislodged by violent
shocks/' Similarly, he will discover that
solids as a rule do not sink in water, no matter
how great their specific gravity. A being
of enormous magnitude would experience
equally interesting results- He would be

able to move finger and thumb in a second's space
through some miles of soil. . . . The mass of sand,
earth, stones, and the like, hurled together in such
quantities and at such speed, would become intensely
hot. Just as the homunculus would fail to bring
about ignition when he desired, so the colossus could
scarcely move without causing the liberation of a
highly inconvenient degree of heat, literally making
everything too hot to hold. He would naturally
ascribe to granite rocks and the other constituents
of the earth's surface such properties as we attribute
to phosphorus — of combustion on being a little
roughly handled.^

Although variations in spatial dimension

> One involuntarily asks, however: what is the texture of
the hands that can, without mutilation, pass through miles
of earth and rocks in the short period of a second? Un-
doubtedly, they would be composed of such resisting material
that a high degree of heat would leave them unaffected.
Things would consequently not be too hot to hold; in other
respects, however, the comparison with phosphorus may be
valid.

Expansion and Contraction 183

have accordingly been discussed with con-
siderable ingenuity, alterations in time have
received but little attention. We divide time
into seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years.
To most of us these periods undoubtedly
appear absolute, one creature's unit of sensa-
tion being the unit of all other beings likewise.
Yet why should this be so? Why should a
second occupy just that length of time which
is approximately covered by a beat of the
heart? Why might not one creature's second
be another's minute and still another's hour
or day; why might not its minute, hour, or day
correspond to another's second? Does it not
seem likely, for instance, that insects, physi-
cally so much smaller than we, should divide
time more minutely, perceiving dozens of
movements or happenings where we only
perceive a few? Extending the supposition,
may we not conceive of beings with a present
moment, or temporal perception-door, many
thousand or million times smaller than our
own, thus enabling them to go through a
whole lifetime in the short space of a day or
an hour? If a creature had a second as long
as a vibration of violet light (violet light mak-
ing 750,000,000,000,000 vibrations per sec-

i84 On Temporal

ond), one of our own minutes would seem to
it to cover a period of one and a half billion
years. On the other hand, a being might
have a temporal sweep so august that an aeon
were but as a moment of time. He would
perceive at a stroke things separated by cen-
turies; he would be viewing the battle of
Thermopylae, when lo! before the moment
was ended he would witness the Declaration
of Independence!

Such differences in "time-span** would not
only change the tempo of movements and
events, but, like the radical alterations of
Crookes, would also exercise an entire trans-
formation over nature. Even in our limited
experience we may realise this, A firebrand,
slowly revolved, is simply an incandescent
body, successively appearing in conjtmction
with various objects; whirled about rapidly,
and thus producing the effect of an alteration
of span, it comes to view as a fiery circle. Two
electric sparks, succeeding each other at appre-
ciable intervals, make the impression of dis-
continuous, luminous points; following each
other more closely, and within a limited dis-
tance, they are transformed into a streak o£
light shooting from one terminus to the other.

Expansion and Contraction 185

Puffs of air at the rate of but a few a second
are mere isolated shocks ; increased to the
rate of sixteen they undergo an entire meta-
morphosis, and sovind is bom.

n

The embryologist v. Baer has written an
admirable essay on this subject.^ A creature
with a second one thousand times as short as
our own, he says, would be able to perceive
with ease the passage of a bullet. His life
would probably not cover a month of time;
and if he were bom at new moon, the waning
of our satellite, whose slow variations in size
he would have followed with interest through-
out his lifetime, would impress him as a
process which must end with its final disap-
pearance and extinction. Tradition or history
would be the only source from which he could
derive information regarding the change of
seasons. Were he living in sttmmer, he would
read about winter with the same astonishment
with which we now learn about the glacial
epoch.

If the time-scale of this creature were again

* Reden^ Braunschweig, 1886, vol. i., p. 237 ^ seq.

1 86 On Temporal

reduced a thousandfold, that is, if one of our
own seconds were equivalent to a million, in-
stead of a thousand, of his, the modifications
of external nature would be even more start-
ling. The being with this minute temporal
span would live only about forty minutes.
He would be unable to perceive the slow
growth of grass and flowers, nor would he
have any idea of the alternation of day and
night. Animals would come to view as fixed
and tmchangeable objects and would fail to
impress him as living beings. Their move-
ments, too slow for direct perception, could
at most be inferred, as the movements of the
celestial bodies are now deduced by us. Our
tones would be inaudible. Nevertheless, other
oscillations might be at hand fulfilling the
office of sound- vibrations; indeed, if the
span were stiU further reduced, so that our
own light-vibrations rained in upon him with
the relative frequency of sound-waves, he
might even hear the light!

Totally opposed to this would be the world-
view produced by a lengthening of the span.
The life of a being with temporal glasses a
thousand times as large as ours would have
to cover eighty thousand years in order to

Expansion and Contraction 187

correspond to the eighty svinimers of our own
existence. A year would pass by in eight and
three-quarters hours. Such a being could
directly see the growth of plants. Day and
night would succeed each other approximately
as bright and dark minutes. The sun would
not be stationary, but would sweep through
the sky in a minute of time, followed by a
fiery trail, like a shooting star.

If, now, this slackened life were still further
retarded a thousandfold, i.e., if the span were
a million times as large as our own, the e&ect
would again be momentous. By reason of
the after-images in the eye, we should not have
any experience of night: before darkness could
prevail daylight would again overtake it. For
the same reason we should not be able to
recognise the stm as a globular body, but,
on the analogy of the revolving firebrand,
should perceive instead a brilliant, fiery arch
in the heavens. The seasons would fly past
with astonishing rapidity. A year would be
over in half a minute. As we before directly
perceived the growth of vegetables, so we
should now become aware of the change of
seasons. The decay of vegetation, the freez-
ing of waters, their thawing in the spring, and

r

1 88 On Temporal

the succeeding growth of plants and trees, —
all would pass before our eyes as directly
observable motions and fluctuations.

Ill

Remarkable though these statements are,
even v. Baer has not done full justice to the
subject. A consideration of vibrations, to
which he but incidentally refers, is capable
of yielding further revelations of a startling
character. Since the qualities of light, heat,
and sound depend on vibrations in the ether
and air, alterations of time-span, by changing
the relative frequency of these vibrations,
will affect the qualities of sensation. A short-
ening of the span, for instance, being synony-
mous with a lessening of the frequency, will
cause high tones to sound low. A lengthen-
ing, which allows more oscillations to be
crowded into a given length of time, will
make low ones sound high. Some of the con-
sequences might be rather himiorous. An
extension of span, for example, would show us
the proposing lover on his knees, uttering
supplications in a mellow soprano, while the
maiden of his choice would answer in thin,
piping, birdlike chirps. The converse would

Expansion and Contraction 189

exhibit him opening his mouth and gesticu-
lating, as if for speech, but without giving
vent to a sound; for the vibration-rapidity
of his tones would have dropped below the
sixteen-per-second limit of sound, and his
words would fail to reach our ears. The
maiden, on the other hand, would declare
her willingness in rich basso profundo accents.

Similar changes, though perhaps without
the humorous element, would occur within
the realm of light and colour. If the time-
span were modified so that the vibrations
of violet or blue light streamed in upon the
mind with the same relative frequency as
those of red or orange, white and bluish
objects would appear yeUow or red, while
yellow and red ones would turn into black.
What a wonderful transformation this would
effect in the aspect of the world! The blue
sky and the white snow might assume a.
bright vermilion hue, while the evening hori-
zon woyld evince its sorrow for the departing
day by a band of black.

Greater alterations would probably re-
sult in more remarkable manifestations. A
change of span which brought the Roentgen
rays within the spectrum would enable us to

190 On Temporal

see with X-ray eyes: a considerable number
of the objects and materials with which we
are surrotmded wotild become transparent,
and human beings would appear as skeletons,
imbedded in a translucent, jellylike mass!
And if the supposition which Professor
Crookes has hjTpothetically ventured is true,
i,e., if rays of a still greater rate of vibration
exist, and if these are the medium of thought-
transference, — a proper change might enable
us to perceive one another's thoughts, from
their physical side, just as we now perceive
material objects.

Returning to the realm of sound, we should
find a prolongation of the span bringing vibra-
tions separated by seconds, or even minutes
and hours, within the realm of audibility,
while those between 16 and 40,000 would
cease to affect our ears. The song of birds
would become inaudible, — a serious loss, for
which, however, we might reap certain com-
pensations. The oscillation of the tree-tops
would produce sounds of a musical nature.
What a magnificent hymn the forest, gently
moved by a breeze or fiercely lashed by a
storm, would in that case send up to the stars
on high! The waves of the ocean, likewise.

Expansion and Contraction 191

might breathe out their spirit toward the
skies in a mighty, inspiring ground-bass. The
pendulimi of the clock — to choose a himibler
example — ^would give forth a pretty drone,
the children's swing in the yard accompanying
it an octave lower. In general, there would
be an extensive shifting of qualities as related
to the objects perceived: some objects would
lose certain qualities, only to gain others;
some would pass out of existence, new ones
spring into being. What was audible might
become dimib, what was inaudible vent itself
in sotmd; coloured materials would alter
their hues, invisible ones flash into existence.

IV

Reverting to the illustrations of v. Baer,
we note that the sun — which impresses us
as a stationary body, with only an inferential
but no directly visible motion — would under
certain conditions appear as a moving body
sweeping across the sky in a minute's time,
and under others as an incandescent arch,
bridging over the entire firmament like a rain-
bow. We thus have a threefold aspect: a
stationary globe, a moving globe (with a fiery

192 On Temporal

trail), and a stationary arch. Now this alter-
ation of appearance would, of course, not be
confined to the sun. Similar changes would
ensue throughout the realm of nature, as the
result of the same laws operative in the case
of the sun. Old connections between objects
woiild be obliterated, new ones established.
Motion would arise where formerly there had
been rest, fixity replace former motion. The
result would be an entire transformation of
nature. Animals, as mentioned, might fail
to be perceived as living beings: in the one
case they would move about so rapidly and
irregularly as not to be noticed, in the other
their motions would be too slow for detection.
The stars, again, might form constellations
and figures which, on account of their rapid-
ity of motion and the residting after-images,
would not be boimded by points, but rather
by lines; the firmament would present the
aspect of a shifting series of fiery rills and
streams; instead of an expansive bosom, stud-
ded with scintillating gems, it would exhibit
a brilliant shower of incandescent jets and
sprays.

Further changes in the appearance of the
world would arise from the fact that simul-

Expansion and Contraction 193

taneous things might impress a smaller time-
span as successive, while successive ones would
appear simultaneous to a larger view. If we
slowly rotate a card-board upon which two
series of lines, forming broken circles, are so
arranged that a member of the inner circle
regularly alternates with one of the outer,
what we perceive is first one little line and
then another; upon rotating it more rapidly,
however, this aspect changes, and we perceive,
instead, two continuous, parallel bands. It
is evident, therefore, that what is successive
at one rate of perception may be simultaneous
at another. Accordingly, natural phenomena
separated by hours, days, and years might,
under the proper conditions, arrange them-
selves into harmonious union, coming to view
as complementary elements of single, unified
totals. Simultaneous aspects of the world,
on the contrary, might be strung out into
series of temporal sequence. The musical
tone would resolve itself into a succession of
vibrations. The flash of lightning and the
peal of thunder, the jet of steam from the loco-
motive and the shrill whistle, would make the
impression of disparate, quasi independent
events, the one occurring hours or days after

<3

194 On Temporal

the other; close observation alone would reveal
the connection between them, in a sequence
of remote cause and effect.

If, now, we combined the wonderful trans-
formations due to alterations in the time-scale
with similar ones resting on changes in space,
— ^that is, if we coupled the fantastic meta-
morphoses of nature sketched in the preceding
pages with metamorphoses like those indi-
cated by Professor Crookes, — ^we should obtain
a still more baffling result. Yet all these
changes would be the outcome of simple varia-
tions in temporal and spatial dimension, —
variations in the size of the perceiving indi-
vidual and in the amoimt of time he can
encompass at a stroke. If, in addition, we
were to invoke the assistance of faculties
which he does not possess, if we were to lend
him powers far higher and finer than our own,
the metamorphoses might be so radical that
every vestige of resemblance to our present
imiverse would vanish, and we should verita-
bly pass into a different realm of being.

It is evident, then, that the aspect of the
world depends in great measure on the mental
constitution of the observer, and we realise
what the philosophers mean when they say

Expansion and Contraction 19s

that matter is a product of mind. One qual-
ity after another of material nature is shelled
off as ideal in character, until finally the con-
clusion begins to dawn on us that ihe universe,
like an onion, has no material core at all, but
consists entirely of shells.

For, what we call this life of men on earth,
This sequence of the soul's achievements here,
Being, as I find much reason to conceive.
Intended to be viewed eventually
As a great whole, not analysed to parts.
But each part having reference to all.

Browning, Cleon.

Thus far we have confined ourselves to the
physical universe. But the mental world —
of thought, desire, and emotion — ^must also
pass through the temporal lenses with which
we are endowed before it can be experienced.
The question then arises: what would be the
aspect of this world if taken up by minds of
different span? This inquiry is valuable, not
merely for its own direct results, but also by
reason of its bearing on related questions.
It is not a novel theory that one and the same
body of experiences may serve as the basis of

196 On Temporal

various Hves. Fechner makes a good deal
of this view. The opinion, especially, that
our life is included in that of God, has found
wide acceptance. Now, as Professor Royce
has indicated, the time-span of other forms
of consciousness may differ widely from our
own; whence the corollary that, if our experi-
ence were shared by other beings, it might
undergo extensive modifications in accord-
ance with the perceiving span. If, then, we
should find our life frequently falling into •
rational and well-ordered experiences, under
different temporal conditions, there would
be a presumption in favour of the reality of
those conditions.

Let us emphasise, once more, that the
sequences or collocations of one span may,
in fact, have perfectly definite collocations
answering to them tmder others. The slowly
revolving firebrand corresponds to the lumi-
nous circle of a faster revolution, the succes-
sion of vibrations to the continuous tone. In
some instances, like the latter, the phenomena
resulting under the various conditions, though
heterogeneous, may still be definite and reg-
ular; in others, the significance and order
of one rate of succession would very likely

Expansion and Contraction 197

be the result of irregularity and seeming ir-
rationality elsewhere. Accordingly, many
meaningless, perverse, and problematical as-
pects of our own life may likewise fall into
rational configurations when seen with differ-
ent spans; so that, while engrossed in the ob-
scure duties of everyday existence, we may
veritably be tracing the vibrations that im-
press higher ears as entrancing tones.

Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not.

The experience of the individual, by himself,
may be the basis of the temporally modified
views, or it may require supplementation in
that of other persons; in this case the individ-
ual's life would answer to a single tone, fig-
uratively speaking, the other individuals
furnishing the companion-tones that produce
melodies and harmonies.

VI

The question now arises: what would be
the actual aspect of our experiences, when
seen through the perception-windows of dif-
ferent spans? More especially, since the
analysis of otir thoughts and feelings into the

igS On Temporal

elements of smaller spans appears well-nigh
hopeless, how would they impress a larger
view? In the first place, many details woiild
drop out of the picttire. The position as-
simied in a chair yesterday morning, the
revery into which we fell after dinner, the
casual words spoken to a friend on the street,
— all would be lost in the larger outlines of the
scene. Instead, there would be streams of
tendency, movements to and fro, waxings and
wanings, upwellings and subsidences. As
the electric sparks, when seen in rapid succes-
sion, give way to a streak of light shooting
from end to end, so our isolated actions and
emotions might coalesce into directly per-
ceptible connecting-links. ^ The single beads
of experience would appear as members of
regularly arranged chains or figures. The suc-
cessive steps by which a man climbs to a posi-
tion of social eminence, for example, might
flow into a continuous movement. The evil
deed and its remote punishment — ^without
connection for our myopic eyes — ^would be
revealed as elements of a single process.

iThis would not necessarily exclude the existence of
stable, immutable aspects of experience. But many of the
aspects which now are stable would no longer remain so.

Expansion and Contraction 199

As in the physical examples, much that
now is successive in nature would appear
simtdtaneous. Some of the results, perhaps,
would resemble those obtained by rapidly
revolving a disk which is covered with various
colours, the separate experiences tmiting in
single conscious facts of magnified depth and
richness. Or they might resemble the paral-
lel bands obtained from the little lines, form-
ing disparate and side-by-side elements of a
larger totality. Among the coalescing experi-
ences there would probably be those regular,
almost rhythmical successions of emotions
and situations which characterise our life.
Cursorily, experience seems to embody a con-
stant change, with new circumstances and
feelings at every turn. Closer observation,
however, reveals a perpetual recurrence of
similar types of action and emotion. Start-
ing from the station of a poor newsboy, for
example, a man climbs to the position of a
millionaire and king of finance. In one respect
every successive step is different from those
which have gone before, in another all are alike.
There is always the same relative advance over
preceding conditions, always the same eager
desire and strife, always the same satisfaction

200 On Temporal

of attainment. The initial steps, marked by
slight increases in salary or advancements of
position, are relatively as important as the
great dividends or financial conquests of later
years. They are as eagerly anticipated and as
joyously felt. The various advancing steps,
in short, are ' * homologous. ' ' The man's career
might be compared to a pyramid, spreading
out, from the apex, in wider and wider sweeps,
the degrees of betterment corresponding to
the successive sections, and the homology
finding its cotmterpart in their geometrical
similarity. This homology is realised in a
conceptual manner; through the agency of a
larger span, however, it might appear directly.
The broader view might behold the phases of
our life as they are unified into single figures or
plans. Like a magician who, with one thrust,
runs his sword through a multitude of cards,
it would gather groups of successive experi-
ences on a single thrust of perception. To
turn the matter about, we might imagine a
microscopic being, with contracted outlook,
spending its whole life crawling down a pyra-
mid, — ^beginning at the apex and circling
about the sections in a gently descending path ;
looking over its experience, then, it would

Expansion and Contraction 201

realise a certain regularly recurrent aspect,
which would finally lead to the recognition —
vague and conceptual — of a single process or
plan. We, too, may be microscopic beings
with reference to a higher span, our ** homolo-
gous" situations corresponding to the pyra-
midal sections, and the hypothetical collective
view to the perception of the pyramid as a
whole.

VII

A larger temporal view may throw some
light on the goal or meaning of existence. It
is a paradoxical feature of our life that we are
compelled, by an inner propulsion, to push
forward and strive for the realisation of new
ends, although, so far as we can see, we shall
be no better off for their attainment. Ath-
letic distinction, love, wealth, influence, hon-
our, fame, — all court our endeavours, without,
however, granting us that great end, that
highest good, toward which we were suppos-
edly moving. Our efforts at attainment are
as fruitless as the endeavour to catch up with
the horizon. The supreme good always re-
mains off in the distance, — indeed, we were

^o^ On Temporal

as near it in our youth as we are in old age.
There is no temporal end to our efforts, no
final, definitive satisfaction of the will. The
good lies all along the way, and seems to en-
compass us from above rather than to draw
us along from ahead. Yet we cannot cease
striving and desiring. The plausible conclu-
sion that since the later stages are no better
than the former it is folly to strive at all, and
wisdom to remain as we are, is not tolerated
by our deeper nature. We may have been
as happy playing marbles as in our present
engagements, but would hardly care to go
back to the boyish time again. One may
not have gained in essential well-being
through marriage, but, if single, would
doubtless be driven again toward matri-
mony. Our youthful illusions about the
satisfaction flowing from achievement, great-
ness, and fame may have been dispelled,
yet we cannot rest idle, and, though we
know not what the positive gain of our
work will be, or whether there will be a
gain at all, we are urged forward by an
inner force which insists on aspiration, move-
ment, and progress.

We are thus in the position of striving after

Expansion and Contraction 203

an end of which we fail to know the value, of
persisting in an apparently meaningless game,
and, as rational beings, we endeavour to
unravel the significance of our paradoxical
situation. Now, in melody we have a beauti-
ful example of a value which is the result of
just such ever-recurring strife and endeav-
our, without approach to a final goal of satis-
faction. Melody, like life, consists of an
alternating series of satisfactions and dissat-
isfactions, tonic yielding to non-tonic har-
monies, and these again preparing for the
first. Likewise, there is no final goal, afford-
ing permanent, definitive rest.^ It is often
difficult, almost impossible, to determine
which parts of a melody are the most beau-
tiful: the fourth measure is just as pleasing as
the sixth, the tenth no more so than the
fourth. Nevertheless, though no part is
markedly superior to any other, it would be
folly to rest satisfied with the present notes,
without moving on to the next; the value of
each measure, and of the whole, lies in the
motion, in the passage from part to part, and
would be transformed into monotony if the

> The concluding cadence does not fulfil this condition,
for with it the music ceases altogether.

204 On Temporal

movement were suddenly suspended. No
measure is effective solely by itself, but only
through its connection with the surrotmding
bars, — as the result of the preceding notes
and the anticipation of those which are to
come; remove this milieu, and the tones be-
come meaningless.

The analogy is striking: life is a magnified
melody, and melody is a miniature life. Only
in one respect is it incomplete: in the case of
the melody there is a listener who appreciates
its beauty, whereas in life we apparently have
only the individual notes. But does not this
unfilled gap suggest the reality of some grand,
superhuman, listening ear, which likewise
appreciates the meaning and value of our
existence? Without its presence, indeed, the
whole explanation collapses; to strive for
the accomplishment of some purpose which
shall be realised by nobody, is just as
irrational as to strive blindly, with no
purpose at all. Here, then, we have a
case where the realisation of a rational
and harmonious result, through our hypo-
thetical alterations, indicates the existence
of a perceiving mind for which the restdt
has been achieved.

Expansion and Contraction 205

VIII

We have frequently invoked the assistance
of mtisical analogies. They are valuable
aids in considerations of a broad ethical and
metaphysical nature. Most of the deeper
arguments which seek to account for the evil
in the world are reducible to the simile of the
discord: as dissonance increases total con-
sonance, so pain and evil enhance pleasure
and good. But the comparisons may be ex-
tended much further. Let us devote a few
words to the subject of musical overtones
and the vibrations on which they rest. A
single tone on the piano contains some half a
dozen higher tones or partials; a chord of eight
notes, then, is accompanied by about fifty
secondary tones, some coinciding with each
other, some disagreeing. Besides, there are
the combinational tones produced by each pair
of principal ones, which wotdd add between
fifty and sixty further members. But the
partials also unite to produce combinational
tones; as a restdt, we have a total of several
thousand elements, without counting the
infinite combinations which wotild again
spring from a tmion between the various dif-

2o6 On Temporal

ferential and summational tones. All this
wotdd be the product of a simple chord of
eight members. Now imagine an orchestra of
eighty pieces performing a symphony by
Tschaikowsky, with its myriad notes, its con-
trapuntal and thematic intricacies, harmonic
beauties, and instrumental contrasts: the mind
is baffled when it attempts to picture the
realm of secondary tones called into being by
such a work. What a chaos of interrelations,
what fragmentary agreements, what para-
doxical disagreements, what struggle and
friction and strife! When we leave the
realm of sound and pass into that of vibration,
the picture grows still more perplexing. The
atmosphere of the concert-hall, agitated by
all these crossing and recrossing impulsions,
is a veritable macrocosm, rivalling in complex-
ity the more tangible system of material
nature. What philosopher, examining the at-
mospheric waves, could explain the apparent
anomalies, giving the reason and governing
principles of the chaotic interplay of elements?
Yet deep down in the region of the fundamen-
tal tones are the laws of thorough bass and
melodic beauty which firmly guide the course
of it all, the explanation of all the seeming

Expansion and Contraction 207

irrationality and disorder. The conclusion is
forcibly impressed on the mind that we also
may be living in a region of overtones, and
that we are subserving deep laws of ptirpose
and beauty by our faltering endeavours.

Modem music is based on the tempered
scale. Accordingly, the chromatic series of
notes includes twelve tones within the space
of an octave, represented by the seven white
and five black keys of the piano. In strict
accuracy there ought to be several dozen of
them with separate keys for all the sharps,
flats, and double-accidentals. F* is not ex-
actly the same in pitch as G^ C** not the
same as D. The differences are so minute,
however, that they have been disregarded:
some intervals have been slightly raised,
others lowered, the result being that we can
pass upwards or downwards and make unre-
stricted use of accidentals, without anywhere
receiving a noticeable shock of faulty into-
nation. Only a trained ear will be offended
by the deviations from absolute perfection
of the intervals of the tempered scale. The
advantages are obvious. If it is difficult
enough to master the technique of the piano
and organ as they are, how immeasurably

2o8 On Temporal

more difficult would it be if theFe^were such
a number of keys to the octave. Slight im-
perfections, then, have been introduced for
the sake of larger advantages. But the im-
perfections are only slight from the point of
view of the himian listener, who appreciates
the music in its entirety. The physicist with
his delicate instruments, listening for differ-
ences of pitch or examining the aspects of vi-
bration, might find them considerable; still
more so a being which was unable to hear
the music at all, but lived entirely in the realm
of partials or atmospheric vibrations. To
such a being the irregularities might be serious
matters; indeed, they might constitute the
opaque, irrational, and hopelessly evil aspects
of life. And yet they would be the means
by which larger good was realised. May
we too regard the universe as a gigantic
tempered system of experiences; may the
discords, defeats, and sufferings — great from
our point of view, but slight from that of the
totality — ^be the means by which higher
values are attained; and may we hope event-
ually to pass into the domain of reality, and
share in the beauty we have helped to create?
The considerations of this section have

On Expansion and Contraction 209

formed a digression. We have purposely
passed from the reahn of temporal change into
a region of more general observations. The
fundamental object of the essay has been to
enforce just this broader conclusion, that the
aspects of human life may form the fragmen-
tary elements of higher unities, imperceptible
from our restricted point of view. We do
not insist that these unities depend on a mag-
nified temporal sweep ; they may and they may
not. But one conclusion may be upheld in all
seriousness: and that is the general proposition
that there are different, interconnected levels
of experience, that our conduct may have
unseen results of which we have no conception,
but that we may some day come to share
these results through a radical transformation
of being.

Note, p. 185 ^ seq.

The problems involved in changes of temporal span are so
complex, to be sure, that scientific accuracy can hardly be
expected in dealing with them. Von Baer's results as to
changes of visual appearance depend on two conditions: (i)
that vibrations exist whose rate of frequency will, under
the postulated changes of span, correspond to that of our
own light rays; (2) that these vibrations are actually emitted
by the bodies which are not visible.

If the span were reduced a millionfold it would reqmrc3
vibration? a million times as rapid as tKose of light to affect

2IO Racial Contrasts

the optic nerve. Do such vibrations exist? If not, the
very conditions necessary for vision will be lacking. The
same will be true if the vibrations in question, though ex-
isting, are not connected with the bodies which are now
visible. Some bodies are attuned to all the rays in the
spectrum, some agree with a limited number of them, and
some reflect none at all. So it is conceivable that but few
or none of our visible objects would, under the altered cir-
cumstances, send back the rays subserving light.

However, we may neglect these possibilities, and jjroceed
on the assumption that the conditions will be fulfilled.
We are not preparing an accurate survey of a known region,
but are indulging in semi-poetical speculations regarding
the unknown. Our object is to suggest the peculiar nature
of the results which might ensue from alterations in temporal
span. There is no doubt that these results would be more
remarkable still if the conditions stated were not fulfilled.
It is impossible to picture the universe in that case, but we
can be assured that it would exhibit wide departures from
what we are accustomed to seeing.

ORGANIC EVOLUTION IN THE LIGHT
OF COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY

att

n

ORGANIC EVOLUTION IN THE LIGHT
OF COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY

LANGUAGES are the outcome of develop-
ment. The French tongue of to-day
grew out of the Old French of the
Middle Ages, and the Old French developed
out of still remoter forms, originating ulti-
mately in the Low Latin of the Romans.
Latin, again, was derived from a more ancient
predecessor, forming the root both of the
classic idiom and various other primitive
Italic dialects. The Germanic dialects had
their origin in a common tongue, likewise the
Slavonic. All the so-called Indo-European
languages, indeed, could be traced back, were
our knowledge complete, to one original
source. Apart from historic evidences, there
are certain indications in the languages
themselves which indubitably point to this

interrelation. These are matched by corre-

213

214 Organic Evolution and

spending phenomena in the animal and vege-
table kingdoms, thus suggesting a similar
evolution.

A word from an ancient tongue gradually
alters its fomi as we follow it through the
succeeding dialects, tmtil at last it presents
a totally different aspect, — so pronounced in
some cases that a superficial examination fails
to reveal any similarity to the original form.
The Latin scribere becomes escrivre in Old
French, a change which is further extended in
the modem ^crire. Alter passes into altre^ and
this again into autre. In the tenth century
anima had been transformed into the French
anime; by the eleventh it had become aneme,
by the thirteenth amne, while to-day it greets
us under the form of dLtne.

In view of such phenomena, recurring in
thousands of words and dozens of languages,
we should be led to the hypothesis of a gradual
transformation even without the actual his-
toric evidence. The pectdiarly convincing
feature is the fact that the alterations all
point in one direction; they form an even,
continuous series, the members of which lead
from end to end by gradual and more or less
regular steps, jus^ aq a tone succeeds its

Comparative Philology 215

neighbour in the musical scale. If this were
not so, — ^if anima were succeeded by ame, this
by amne and this again by anime, if scribere
were followed by 6crire and Retire by escrivre,
—the difficulties besetting the proposed ex-
planation w6uld be great. As it is, the de-
duction is well founded that the later forms of
a series are outgrowths of the former. To
regard all the various forms as independent
creations, fashioned through the ingenuity of
man or by the fiat of some deity, and without
reference to the previous ones, would be a
monstrous assumption.

Exactly similar is the case in the animal
and vegetable kingdoms. Geology presents
a host of organic remains which, in a broad
and general way, and often alsp in detail, ex-
hibit a serial change. In the early geologic
ages we only meet with the very lowest forms
of invertebrate life. Higher ones follow, but
vertebrates are not to be found until a sub-
sequent age. They are originally represented
by a kind of reptilian fish. Later this passes
into true fishes on the one hand, resembling
the modem ones, and, through amphibians,
into genuine reptiles 6n the other. Birds and
low mammals next appear, the latter grad-

21 6 Organic Evolution and

ually passing into higher and more specialised
forms, and culminating with the appearance
of man. The same general advance, from the
lowest to the highest forms, is apparent in the
vegetable kingdom. ^ In many details, like-
wise, we meet with the identical principle.
Birds, so radically distinct from other ver-
tebrates, and especially from reptiles, are
connected with the latter by certain inter-
vening members, partly reptile and partly
bird. True mammals are preceded by mar-
supials, whose manner of producing the
young is intermediate between that of the
higher and the lower orders. Horses are at
first represented by small animals with four
toes^ the size gradually increases and the
number of toes is diminished, until at present
we retain but a single one — ^the hoof — while the
remnants of two others — ^the splint-bones —
are hidden beneath the skin.

Here, also, the convincing feature lies in
the constancy of direction. To be sure, there
are gaps in the record, and many links
necessary to exhibit the process in its com-

> In general our illustrations will be drawn from the animal
kingdom; but they could easily be duplicated in the sister-
realm.

Comparative Philology 217

pleteness are lacking; but the theory of evo-
lution does not stand alone in this respect. A
series of words, too, may lack certain members,
yet we assume the connection between the
newer and the older forms. The geological
record, indeed, bears great resemblance to the
remains of the Indo-European languages. In
some cases the transformation can be followed
rather closely ; in others extensive lacunce
exist in our knowledge. However, there are
so many traces of progressive change, and the
whole presents such a general appearance of
growth,, that we can hardly resist the force
of the accumulated evidence.

II

The preceding remarks deal with single
lines of transformation; but as a branch does
not confine its growth to a solitary course, —
forking out instead into smaller twigs, — ^so
words diverge and follow separate paths.
The Latin mundus has not only developed
into the French monde, but a simultaneous
process has led to the Italian mondo, the
Spanish and Portuguese mundoy and the
Provengal mon, Tempus likewise has pro-

2i8 Organic Evolution and

duced the French temps, the Italian tempos
the Spanish tiempo and the WaUachian
timp. If it were possible to trace the his-
tory of a native Indo-European word from
its original form in the mother tongue, we
should very likely meet with an initial dis-
junction corresponding to the ancestral lan-
guages of the Eastern and Western branches
of the Aryan race. The Western form, to con-
fine ourselves to this, would again divide into
various secondary differentiations, answer-
ing to the mother tongues of the European
subdivisions of this race. Each of these would
once more diverge as the racial ramification
was continued. The Teutonic word would
branch out into several co-ordinate members,
corresponding to the ancestors of the Low
German, High German, and Scandinavian
tribes. The Italic one would produce, besides
various sister-forms, the distinctively Roman
or Latin type, which would engender the forms
characteristic of the Romanic nations. The
same process would be exemplified in other
words as well, and would consequently apply
to the languages in their totality, — ^these
being nothing but collections and arrange-
ments of words. The result, as we actually

Comparative Philology ^^9

find it, is that treelike classification of the
Indo-European languages, in which one great
class is divided into numerous constituent
members, which are again subdivided into
smaller and smaller divisions.

In the grouping of organic life, the first
dichotomy gives rise to the animal and
vegetable kingdoms. Both of these are again
divided into sub-kingdoms, the sub-kingdoms
into classes, the classes into orders, the orders
into families, the families into genera, and
the genera into species. The inference from
this resemblance would not unnaturally be
that the mode of origin of the two systems
was identical, — an inference which is strength-
ened by many geological facts. "In the
earliest Eocene," remarks Le Conte, "the
great branches of the mammalian class were
very near together, though their point of
union has not yet been found. As time
went on, these separated more and more
widely, and gave off sub-branches, which
again divided, and so on. In general
terms, it may be said that some of the
existing orders may be traced back to the
Eocene. Many of the existing families
commenced in the Miocene; existing genera

220 Organic Evolution and

in the Pliocene; but existing species only
in the Quaternary^ *

It is significant when one line of evidence
thus exactly matches and confirms another.
We shall repeatedly meet with the same
mutual furtherance of aiguments.

Ill

Having followed the verbal mutations along
various simultaneously progressing lines, let
us compare the members produced. The
following table presents words which have
sprouted from a single stem, exhibiting the
forms which they have assumed in various
interrelated languages: —

English
Germanic
Dutch
Iccl'ic
High-
Germ 'n
Moeso-
Gothic
Lith-

uanic
Slavonic
Celtic
Latin
Greek
Persian
Sanskrit

two

twee

tuo

twa

du

dwa

dau

duo

dfio

dwa

dwa

three

drie
thriu

drei

thri

tri

tri

tri

tres

treis

thri

tri

seven thou

zeven
sid

sieben

sibun

septyni

sedmi

secht

septem

hepta

hapta

sapta

thu

du

thu

tu

tax

tu

tu

sa

turn

twam

mij
mik

micb

mik

man

me

me

me

me

me

mother

moeder
modhir

mutter

moter

mater

mathair

mater

meter

ma tar

matar

brother

broeder
biodhir

bruder

brothar

brolis

brat

brathair

frater

phrater

bhratar

daughter

dochter
dottir

tochter

dauhtar

dukter
dochy
dear (??)

thugater

duhitar

(Taken from Whitney's Language and the Study of
Language^ p. 196. New York, Charles Scribner& Co., 1868.)

» Le Conte, Compend of Geology, New York [c. 1898], p. 381.

Comparative Philology 221

The first thing to impress us, in scanning this
table, is the remarkable similarity of the
words of like meaning. There are differences
of detail, but they are always superimposed
upon a deeper and more essential resemblance.
The immediate inference is that there must
be some relation between the various forms,
and that they could not have been produced
separately, without connection with one
another. Historical information, of course,
reveals the nature of the relation: the
words resemble each other because of their
common origin; in the course of time they
underwent alterations at the hands of
different subdivisions of the parent stem,
but always retained a resemblance to the
original form, and consequently to one
another.

In the organic realms also there are funda-
mental resemblances or types, corresponding
to the generic similarities of the words. The
skeletons of vertebrate animals form a cor-
roboration. If the class of vertebrates is
analogous to the system of Indo-European
languages, its subdivisions may be compared
with the members of this system; but since
the relations between languages are typified

222 Organic Evolution and

perfectly in single representative words, like
those above, they may also be compared
with the words. As in these, there is an
essential resemblance throughout, coexisting
with the greatest variety of accidental differ-
ences. The structural nucleus is the vertebral
column, ending at one extremity with the
head, at the other with the tail. To this are
(indirectly) attached the limbs, which consist
of a single bone joined to the framework,
a double one for the fore limbs, and ntimerous
smaller members which culminate at the
extremities in fingers, toes, and so forth.
The parts may be twisted about most ex-
travagantly, and may subserve the great-
est variety of functions, yet there is always
the same fundamental resemblance. In the
human being and bird, only the two hind
limbs are used for walking; in the horse and
lion, all four; the limbs of the bird and bat
are instrumental in flying, those of the seal
have been modified for swimming. In some
cases they are covered by hair, in other in-
stances by feathers, and at times again by
a smooth skin. The fingers of the bat are
elongated to such an extent as nearly to
equal the body in length; the pterodactyl, an

Comparative Philology 223

extinct species, had a single finger thus
fantastically enlarged. Reptiles and whales
have long bodies and short limbs; htiman
beings, monkeys, and cows, long limbs and
proportionally short bodies. In some families
the tail is prominent, in others it is only
moderate in size, and in still others, like the
human being, it is represented by a mere
remnant. Yet, in spite of all these startling
variations, there is no more doubt regarding
the identity of form throughout than there
is concerning the resemblance of the words
in the table.

Here also there must be a relation; the
animals could not all have been produced
separately and independently of one another.
And the same explanation presents itself
again: they are interrelated through genetic
ties, their similarity being the result of deriva-
tion from a common source. This conclusion
is rendered doubly plausible through the
solidarity or organisation of the resem-
blances. If the Latin mundus and tempus
were in Italian transposed into domon and
potem, while Portuguese exchanged the
syllables so as to produce mtmpo and
temdo , the relations between the various

224 Organic Evolution and

forms wotild be dubious in nature. ^ Every-
thing in the parent words would be retained
in the derivatives, to be sure, but the "ho-
mology" of the parts, their collocation and
grouping, would be inexplicable. Now, just
as the various elements of a word always hang
together in their proper places in all the related
forms, so the organic aspects of a species of
animals correspond, homologically, to those
of the other species in the same class. There
is no chaotic shifting of members, as in the
Italian words, and the members never take
it into their heads to jtimp from one division
of the animal kingdom into another, as in
those from the Portuguese tongue. The
sequence of bones in the Umbs is never re-
versed: we never find five bones next to the
framework and one at the extremity. The
internal, jointed skeleton of the vertebrates
goes with their brain, red blood, and five
senses; the external skeleton of the insects
with their white blood and nervous ganglia.
No creature with an external skeleton has a
central brain, none with an internal frame-
work has white blood. If evolution were

» The Italian forms, it will be remembered, are numdo and
tempo, the Portuguese ones are mundo and tempo.

Comparative Philology 225

not the true hypothesis, if every type of life
were independently created, without reference
to the others, there is no reason why the
members of the body might not arbitrarily
be shaken up and rearranged, or why a spe-
cies might not possess some of the essential
features of one class, and some of another; —
why, for example, a sea urchin might not,
along with a general organisation resembling
its own, possess limbs like those of vertebrates,
or why an alligator might not have six or
more legs, similar to many articulates. An
animal's organism is conjugated entirely in
the language of its class. A vertebrate is
a vertebrate throughout, an insect is an
insect. This is so even where there is ap-
parent similarity, among members of different
classes, and where the functions and modes of
life are similar. A butterfly resembles a bird
in the possession of wings and the ability to
fly, but with respect to fundamental structure
there is no agreement whatsoever. A snake
has the same appearance as a worm or
caterpillar, yet its essential formation is highly
different. Essentially it is more closely allied
to gorillas, while the caterpillar takes rank
with the butterfly.

X5

2 26 Organic Evolution and

The reference to these cases of apparent
resemblance, accompanying essential differ-
ence, leads to another feature characteristic
of verbal developments, which further am-
plifies the analogy between the two realms.
Words, likewise, have superficial resemblances
attending fundamental disparity. I refer to
those parts of speech which sotmd alike but
are spelled differently, mean different things,
and have different origins, such as onCy won;
been, bin; I and eye. The resemblance in
these cases corresponds to that between the
wings of the butterfly and bird, superficial
in nature and without fotmdation in deeper
identity.

One more structural feature must be men-
tioned. Many words contain letters which
are never pronounced; examples are the w
in two and the gh in thoughty might, and right.
The explanation of the silent letters is that
they were originally sounded, but were later
omitted, although retained in the spelling.
The w in two is matched in the Latin duo, the
Slavonic dwa, and the German zwei, the gh
referred to, in the German dacht, Macht, and
Recht. Similar in principle are the cases
where a letter represents a contraction of an

Comparative Philology 227

older syllable or word. Instances abound in
English proper names, such as Stevens, Rich-
ards, Williams, — ^the s being an abbreviation
of son. Indeed, in most of these cases a fuller
form, approximating the original more closely,
still remains coexisting with the other, as
in Stevenson^ Richardson^ and Williamson.
Finally, there are words in which every trace
of members which were formerly present has
been lost. Witness the French un, in which
the last syllable of the Latin unus has com-
pletely disappeared, and the English bring and
weighty which have dropped the an and ge of
the Anglo-Saxon bringan and gewiht.

This presence of useless or abortive mem-
bers, bearing the aspect of remnants, finds its
precise analogue in the realm of life. Indeed,
it is one of the most significant arguments
for evolution. Many cave-fish possess useless,
rudimentary eyes, destined never to see.
Certain insects have undeveloped wings, to-
tally tmserviceable for fl5^ng. Human beings
carry about the rudiments of a tail in the
lower bones of the vertebral column. Whales
are furnished with dwarfed bones correspond-
ing to the hind legs of their fellow- vertebrates;
and the same is true of certain snakes. The

228 Organic Evolution and

case of snakes is especially interesting, as only
a single variety retains these remnants, while
the majority show no trace of them; these
correspond, accordingly, to the words in
which every vestige of certain syllables has
been lost. Finally, we may mention the
splint-bones of horses, referred to above
as the remains of former members, and the
stunted toes of dogs and cows. The only
plausible explanation of the presence of such
useless appendages is afforded by the hypo-
thesis of evolution. All these rudiments are
relics of former organs. Like the philological
parallels, they have dwindled away, for
reasons beyond the scope of this inquiry,
to abortive vestiges. In some instances
the reduction has been carried so far that
every trace of the organs has disappeared.
The evidence for evolution is especially strong
where, as in the case of the splint-bones, we
possess the actual fossil remains of forms in
which the dwindling had not yet begun.

IV

The resemblance between related languages
is greater in some instances than in others.

Comparative Philology 229

This is especially apparent in the number of
native words bearing a genetic similarity to
each other. The parts of speech resembling
one another in Sanscrit and the Western
tongues are comparatively few; those in
Greek and Latin are more numerous; while
closely related dialects, like Swedish, Nor-
wegian, and Danish, employ almost the iden-
tical stock of words. The degree of affinity
between the words in question also varies from
tongue to tongue. The Provengal poire and
man are similar to the French phre and main,
but differ considerably from the Italian padre
and mano. Italian words, again, show more
resemblance to Latin than to French ones,
Portuguese to Spanish than to Wallachian.
In general, the resemblance between lan-
guages is greatest where the languages are
most closely related, and least where the affin-
ity is remote. But those tongues are most
closely related in case of which the separation
of the nations which speak them, or the deri-
vation from the common mother tongue, was
recent, while those are more distantly affili-
ated which are the result of a longer isolation,
In other words p the amount of divergence
tends to vary directly as the period during

230 Organic Evolution and

which the process of differentiation was con-
tinued.

Here, again, organic life affords a parallel.
The flora and fauna of geographical regions
which have long been severed — ^through inter-
vening seas, mountain-chains, and the like —
show wider divergences than is the case where
the isolation has been less ancient. Conti-
nents separated by oceans are stocked with
totally different forms of life, although the
climatic conditions may offer no obstacle
to the existence of similar species. The
mammals of islands separated from the main-
land by shallow straits of water differ less
from those of the mainland than the mam-
mals of islands which are sundered by deeper
channels, the reason being that the insulation
is probably more recent in the former than in
the latter case. A curious confirmation of
the same principle is afforded by the Malay
Archipelago, where the quadrupeds on each
side of an imaginary line through the water
show greater differences than those of the va-
rious constituent islands. Soundings reveal
that the water along this line is deeper than
elsewhere, thus again indicating a difference
in the period of separation.

Comparative Philology 231

Another remarkable fact is that existing
animals resemble in type the fossil species
of their respective continents. If a modem
French word had been preceded, in the Middle
Ages, by the Anglo-Saxon form of the same
word, while the English equivalent had
similarly been antedated by the Old French,
there would be reason for surprise, and the
transformation of one form into the other
would not be evident. Similar would be the
condition if the living species of one continent
resembled the dead ones of another, and vice
versa, a state of affairs which would be per-
fectly natural if all species had been separately
created. If the violation of the principle
of continuity, however, speaks against the
theory of evolution, its observance ought to be
an argument for it.

V

The preceding lines of proof have all been
based on the analogy with language. There
is one highly significant feature of the organic
realm, however, involved in embryological
development, which fails to find its analogue
in the realm of words. The growth of a

232 Organic Evolution and

person's character has often been regarded I

as a miniature representation of the develop-
ment of the whole race, the individual passing
through the same stages which the nations
have traversed before him in the course of
time. However true or tmtrue this may be,
it is a fact that many animals embryonicaUy
exhibit the stages which their forerunners
must have traversed according to the theory
of evolution; and this, reason the evolution-
ists, is just what might be expected on
the basis of their doctrine. Man, for ex-
ample,

begins from a speck of living matter similar to that
from which the development of a plant begins. And,
when his animality becomes established, he exhibits
the fundamental anatomical qualities which char-
acterise such lowly animals as the jelly-fish. Next
he is marked off as a vertebrate, but it cannot be
said whether he is to be a fish, a snake, a bird or a
beast. Later on it is evident that he is to be a mam-
mal; but not till still later can it be said to which
order of mammals he belongs. * "

At one time he reveals pistal traits, at
others he manifests surprising resemblances

» Romanes, The Scientific Evidences of Organic Evolution,
London, 1882, p. 64.

Comparative Philology 233

to his fellow mammals: his great toes pro-
ject at an angle from the foot, he has a
tail, longer than the legs, and during the
sixth month of embryonic life he is covered
from head to foot with hair, except only the
palms of his hands and soles of his feet.
What is especially remarkable is that the
sequence of conditions agrees so closely with
the general development of life on the planet,
as revealed by geology, and indicated in a
previous section. There is a parallelism be-
tween the two, the one forming a miniature
copy or epitome of the other.

Passing from individual species to whole
classes of animals, we again meet with a
remarkable parallelism. Beginning with a
common progenitor and simultaneously pro-
gressing along their special lines, the members
of a class have, according to the doctrine of
evolution, given rise to a tree of life in which
single primitive forms split into ever-increas-
ing ramifications. This process is strikingly
pictured in the embryological development
of many related species. The first stages are
alike in such cases, no matter how highly
differentiated the adiUt animals may be*
Then the greater subdivisions of the class

J

234 Organic Evolution and

begin to appear, and later the more minute
ones, until finally the species stand forth
clearly • separated from one another. The
facts of geology, classification, and embryology
accordingly all agree with each other, one
line of argument reinforcing the other, and all
together raising an almost irresistible presump-
tion in favour of the doctrine of evolution.

In this solidarity or organisation of the
lines of proof lies one of the most convincing
features of the evidence. Everything tends in
one direction, everything supports the evolu-
tionary hypothesis, nothing runs counter to
it; at most, there are gaps in the evidence,
which, however, are easily explained by the
imperfection of the records. The facts of em-
bryology cover those of geology, as well as of
classification. The argument from rudimen-
tary structures is confirmed by geology in
cases like that of the horse; and where ^ rudi-
ment, like the human tail, is embryonically
preceded by a larger organ, embryology and
morphology reinforce each other; the simi-
larity of the living and fossil organisms of a
continent, finally, affords an agreement be-
tween the facts of geology and geographical
distribution.

Comparative Philology 235

Not only, therefore, do the lines of phe-
nomena individually show a remarkable re-
semblance to those of comparative philology,
but they exhibit a solidarity which is highly
convincing; and in the facts of embryology,
both in their isolation and their connection
with the other phenomena, there is an ad-
ditional body of evidence, which seems to
render the case for organic evolution even
stronger than that for the transformation of
languages. The only advantage on the phi-
lological side springs from the actual historic
evidence of a transformation. This of course
we shall never possess in the case of the organic
realm; the process of evolution had no
eye-witnesses who might have transmitted
their knowledge to us. But if ever an in-
ference regarding facts not directly expe-
rienced was justified, it would seem to be
the present one. So coercive is the evidence
that it virtually amotxnts to demonstration.

236 Organic Evolution and

Note, p. 220

As a counterpart of the table of words, we
subjoin a figure representing the anterior limbs
of certain vertebrates (taken from Steele's
Fourteen Weeks in Zodlo£y)^ which illustrates
the typical similarities of the species in
question.

Comparative Philology 237

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