Part 16

The further question as to the nature of the connection is interesting, but it relates to matters of far less consequence to the naturalist than the central fact of the invariable relation which does exist. Throughout the centuries many philosophers and naturalists of numerous peoples have endeavored to explain the connection in question in ways that have been largely determined by the changing states of knowledge of various periods, as well as by differences in individual temperament. Three general conceptions have been developed: first, that the material and mental phenomena interact; second, that they are parallel; and third, that they are one.

According to the first view, the individual thoughts and feelings forming elements in the chain of consecutive consciousness are affected by the events in the material physiology of the brain as a physical structure; the latter in turn react upon the psychical or mental elements. Thus there would be two complete series of phenomena, which are interdependent and interacting at all times, although each would be in itself a complete chain of elements.

The second interpretation is that the two series of events--namely, the physical processes of the brain and the elements of consciousness--are completely independent but entirely parallel. As one writer has put the case, it is as though we had two clocks whose machinery worked at the same rate and whose relationships were such that "one clock would give the proper number of strokes when the hands of the other pointed to the hour." But in my opinion this attempted explanation of the relation of mind to matter evades the whole question, as it does not account for the dependence of the former upon the latter, but merely assumes the existence of a more ultimate and unknown group of causes for a parallelism in the rates of operation of two series of things regarded as disconnected.

The third conception recommends itself to many on account of its greater simplicity. Formulated as the doctrine of monism, it states that the mind and its material basis are merely different aspects of one and the same thing, and that there is only one series of connected elements which are known to us directly as the current of our thoughts and indirectly as the physiological processes going on mainly in the cerebrum. Thus mind is purely subjective, the brain is only mediately objective. It is because the mental and the material are so intimately related that the monist believes them to be connected as are the lungs and respiration, the hand and grasping, or the eye and the reception of visual impressions from without.

But whichever one of these explanations we choose to adopt as our own, the basic fact of primary importance is that there is an invariable dependence of human thought upon a brain comprising a highly developed cerebrum, whatever may be the ultimate nature of the way mental processes are determined by physical processes, or vice versa. This fact stands unquestioned and unassailable; human faculty and the brain cannot be considered apart, even if they may not actually be different aspects of the same basic "mind-stuff," as Clifford calls the ultimate dual thing.

Like all of the other organs of lesser importance belonging to the nervous system, the brain is a complex of tissues which in the last analysis are groups of cell-bodies with their fibrous prolongations. When these cellular elements are in operation, mental processes go on; the unit of the mental process therefore is the functioning of a brain-cell. But we know that the substance of a brain-cell is the wonderful physical basis of life called protoplasm, that demanded our attention at the outset. The chemicals that go to make up protoplasm are everywhere carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and other substances that are exactly the same outside the body as inside. It is the combination of these substances in a peculiar way which makes protoplasm, and it is the combination of their individual properties which in a real even though unknown manner gives the powers to protoplasm, even to that of a living brain-cell. Does science teach us, then, that the ultimate elements of human faculty are carbon-ness and hydrogen-ness, and oxygen-ness, which in themselves are not mind, but which when they are combined, and when such chemical atoms exist in protoplasm, constitute mental powers? Plain common-sense answers in the affirmative. We need not, indeed, we must not, attribute mind as such to rock salt or to the water of a stream, but we do know that salts and water and other dead substances may enter into the composition of the material brain which is the physical basis of mind.

In my opinion the individual argument renders the monistic conception of mind and matter unassailable. The food that we may eat and the water we may drink are dead, and as such they display absolutely no evidence of nervous or mental processes. When they enter our bodies, they with other foods replenish the various tissues, and among these the parts of the brain. In a material sense they become actual living protoplasm, replacing the worn-out substances destroyed during our previous thinking; and their properties are combined to make brain and thought, to play for a time their part in life, and to pass back into the world of dead, unthinking things. Every one of us knows that hunger reduces our ability to think clearly and fully, and every one knows also that mental vigor is renewed when fresh supplies of nourishment reach the brain. What can be the source of mentality, if it is not something brought in from the outer world along with the chemical substances which taken singly are devoid of mind? Scientific monism frankly replies that it is unable to find another origin.

We are thus brought to recognize, not only the continuity taught by organic evolution, but also the uniformity of the materials constituting the entire sensible world, inasmuch as the ultimate unit of all nervous phenomena is the reflex act of a protoplasmic mass, which itself is a synthesis of properties inhering in the chemical elements making up living matter. Among inorganic things the mind-stuff units are combined in relatively simple ways, and the "stuff" does not give any outward evidences of "mind" as such. Living things are almost infinitely complex as regards their chemical organization, and even in the very lowest of them we can discern a cell-reflex element which, combined with others like it, forms the unit of the compounds we call instinct, intelligence, and reason. Hence through an analysis of mental evolution we are enabled to form the larger conception of a continuous universe whose ultimate elements are the same everywhere.

VII

SOCIAL EVOLUTION AS A BIOLOGICAL PROCESS

We now reach a critical juncture in our study of the foundations of evolutionary doctrine, for we must pass at this point to an inquiry into the nature and origin of human social relations. In undertaking this task we may seem to leave the field which is properly that of organic evolution, and many perhaps will be unwilling to view such aspects of human life as materials for purely biological analysis, arrangement, and explanation. But even before the reasons for doing so may be made apparent, every one must admit that the subject of mental evolution, which comprises so large a bulk of details expressly social in their character and value, virtually compels us to scrutinize the history of the economic and other interrelationships maintained by the human constituents of civilized, barbarous, and savage communities. Language has been treated as an individual mental product, and so have the arts of life and of pleasure; but all of these things find their greatest utility in their social usage,--in their value as bonds which hold together the few or many human beings composing groups of lower or higher grade. Without discovering any other reasons we would be impelled to take up social evolution, for this process is inextricably bound up with the origin and development of all departments of human thought and action.

If now this new field is actually to be included within the scope of the laws controlling the rest of nature's evolution, two general conclusions must be established. Although no formal order need be followed, it must at some time be shown that human social relations are biological relations, to be best explained only through their comparison with the far simpler modes of association found by the biologist among lower orders of beings; and in the second place it must be demonstrated that identical biological laws, uniform in their operation everywhere in the organic world, have controlled the origin and establishment of even the most complex societies of men. So far no reason has been discovered by science for believing that evolution has been discontinuous, holding true only for the merely physical characteristics of humanity as a whole; and furthermore, the impersonal student of nature finds ample positive evidences showing that the basic laws of associations of whatever grade are exactly the same. For these laws we are to seek.

Heretofore the doctrine of organic evolution has been discussed with reference to the single individual organism viewed as a natural object whose history and vital relations require elucidation. Both in the general arguments of the first few chapters and in the fifth and sixth chapters dealing with the single case of the human species, the proof has been given that all of the structural and physiological characters of any and every organic type fall within the scope of the principles of evolution, by which alone they can be reasonably interpreted. It has been unjust in a sense to ignore completely the importance of the organic relations of a social nature to which we are now to turn, because no individual can exist without having its life directly influenced, not only by other kinds of organisms, but even more intimately by other members of its own species. In a single day's activity we who are citizens of a great metropolis are forced into contact with almost countless other lives, glancing off from one and another after influencing them to some degree, and gaining ourselves some impetus and stimulus from our longer or shorter intercourse with each of them. Our varied social relations are so many and obvious that it is quite superfluous to specify them as essential things in human life. For the very reason that they are so obvious and constitute so large a part of our daily life, we are in danger of conceiving them to be exclusively human; we unconsciously regard them as different from anything to be found elsewhere and quite independent of the biological laws controlling the human unit.

On the contrary, as we trace the development of social organization from its earliest rudiments it becomes ever clearer that evolution has been continuous, and that during later ages there has been no suspension of the natural laws which earlier produced the human type of organism. The lessons we have learned are by no means to be ignored from this point forward; all of our conceptions of human biological history must be kept in mind, for anything new that we may learn is superadded to the rest,--it cannot disturb or alter the foundations already laid. It is even more important to realize that the same scientific method is to be employed which has been so fruitful heretofore. It has given us interesting facts; it has indicated the most profitable lines of attack upon one and another scientific problem; and it has demonstrated the practical value of accurate knowledge, even of information about the evolutionary process. As familiarity with the laws of human physiology enables one to lead a more hygienic and efficient life, and as the results of analyzing the evolution of mentality make it possible to advance intellectually with greater sureness, conserving our mental energies for effort along lines established by hereditary endowment, so now we are justified in expecting that a clear insight into the origin of our social situation and social obligations will have a higher usefulness beyond the value of the mere interest inhering in our new knowledge. Every one is necessarily concerned with social questions; never before has there been so much world-wide discussion of topics in this field. And while it is true that much good may be accomplished in utter ignorance of the past history of human institutions and of the underlying principles which control the varied types of organic associations, surely enlightened efforts will be more effective for good. Therefore every member of a community who is capable of thinking straight rests under an obligation imposed by nature to learn how he is related to his fellow-men; he must act in concert with them or else he forfeits his rights as a social unit. And it is his clear duty to search among the results of science for aid in ascertaining what he ought to do, and what reasons are given by evolution for the nature of his vital duties.

Despite the growing appreciation of the fundamental relation between biology and sociology, it is still far from universal. That the latter science is in a sense a division of the former is more often recognized by the biologist than by the average well-informed student of human social phenomena. The layman in sociology too often concerns himself solely with the complexities of the human problems, and he remains unaware of the manifold products in the way of communal organisms far lower in the scale of life firmly established as primitive biological associations ages before the first human beings so advanced in mental stature that tribal unions were found good. Among insects especially the biologist finds many types of organized living things, ranging widely from the solitary individual--a counterpart of something even more primitive than the most unsocial savage now existing--up to communities that rival human civilization, as regards the concerted effect of the diversified lives of the component units. The student of the whole of living nature is favored still more in that he learns how the make-up of such a simple organism as a jellyfish displays principles underlying the structure of the whole and the interplay of the parts that are identical with principles of organization everywhere else. And all of these things can be dealt with in a purely impersonal way which is impossible when attention is restricted to the human case alone. Thus it becomes the biologist's privilege and his duty as well to place his findings before those who wish to understand the constitution of human society in order that evils may be lessened and benefits may be extended. He does this so far as he may be able in full confidence that the elements and basic principles are discoverable in lower nature, just as they are in the case of the material make-up and mental constitution of the single human individual.

A more explicit preliminary statement must now be given of the grounds for the belief that social evolution is but a part of organic evolution in general. Some of these reasons are not far to seek, but their cogency can scarcely be appreciated until we have examined the concrete facts of the whole biological series. Any human society selected for examination--be it a tribe, a village community, or a nation--is in last analysis an aggregate of human units and nothing besides. Its life consists of the combined activities of such components--and nothing else. Could we subtract the members one by one, there would be no intangible residuum after all the people and their lives had been taken away. When these simple facts are recognized, it is clear at once that the concerted activities performed by biological units cannot be anything but organic in their ultimate basis and nature; the evolution of such activities thus takes its place as a part of organic evolution.

The task of tracing out the history of social organizations of whatever grade can now be defined in precise terms: in simple words, it is to learn how the activities of the component biological units making up any association really differ from the vital performances of biological units existing by themselves. What is it that distinguishes a savage of antiquity from an American of to-day? The modern example is just as much an animal as the earlier type, and his physiology is essentially the same. It is something added to the common biological qualities of all men, some relation which does not appear as such in the life of rude tribes, that makes the distinction. And it is just this superadded relation that requires explanation, as regards its exact biological value and its historic development as well.

In undertaking this difficult task, it seems best to begin with the very simplest organisms that biology knows, working upwards through the scale to man. By this course the most basic elements of organization can be discovered without having to look for them among the intricate details of our own vital situation, where secondary and adventitious elements stand out in undue prominence, and where the impersonal view is well-nigh impossible. Step by step we will then work up the scale of social morphology, approaching in the natural evolutionary order that part of the subject which interests us most deeply.

Just as the construction of an edifice must begin with the fashioning of the individual brick and bolt and girder, so the evolution of a biological association begins with the unitary organisms consisting of single cells, like Amoeba. We have had occasion to discuss this animal many times in our previous studies of one or another aspect of evolution, and once again we must return to it in order to reestablish certain points that are of fundamental importance for our present purposes. Within the limits of its simple body, Amoeba performs the several tasks which nature demands a living thing shall do; it feeds and respires and moves, continually utilizing matter and energy obtained from the environment for the reconstruction of its substance and replenishment of its vital powers; it cooerdinates the activities of its simple body, and by its reflex responses to environmental influences it maintains its adjustment to the external conditions of life. The animal does all of these things with a purely individual benefit, namely, the prolongation of its own life. While it is performing these individual tasks, it does not concern itself with anything else but its own welfare; the interests of other living things are not involved in any way, excepting in the case of other organisms that may serve the animal as food. Amoeba, like every other living thing, if it is to exist, must unconsciously obey the first great commandment of nature,--"Preserve thyself."

But its life is incomplete if it stops with the furtherance of aims that we may call purely selfish. Nature also demands that an Amoeba, again like every other living thing, shall perpetuate its kind. The mode by which it reproduces is ordinarily quite simple; the animal grows to a certain bulk and then it divides into two masses of protoplasm, each of which receives a portion of the mother nucleus. Sometimes by a peculiar process it breaks up into numerous small fragments called spores, which also receive portions of the parent nucleus. The most striking feature in both kinds of reproduction in Amoeba is the complete destruction of the individual parent that exists before the act and does not afterwards. It is quite true that every part of the mother animal passes over into one or another of its products, but it is equally true that no one of these products is by itself the original individual. So even the simplest animal we know performs a task that is not only useless to itself, but is completely destructive of itself, for nature's greater purpose of preserving the race. We can readily see why this must be so; there is no place in the world for a species whose members put individual well-being above the welfare of the race, for which the production of new generations is essential, even though the satisfaction of this demand should necessitate the sacrifice of the parent organism. We might hesitate to use the word "altruistic" in describing the self-destructive reproductive act of an Amoeba, because this word connotes some degree of consciousness of the existence of other than personal interests, and of the welfare of different individuals. There is no reason to believe that such conscious recognition of any natural duties is possible in the case of so low an organism. But the fact remains that the result worked out by nature is the same as though there were a definite understanding of real duties. Even this unitary organism, then, acts mechanically so as to fulfil two primal obligations, first to itself, through activities with individual benefit as the result, and to the race by the act of reproduction which closes its individual existence and inaugurates a new generation.

The life of this example, representing the whole series of one-celled organisms, is almost infinitely simpler than that of a member of a human community, yet it reveals the beginnings of certain characteristics of the latter. Here, it is true, the natural obligations in question are not like those which are ordinarily denoted social, but it is equally true that even in this most elementary instance a living thing does not live unto itself alone. It is easy to see the value to the species as a whole of obedience to the second great law--"Preserve thy kind." But a little further thought makes it plain that even the performance of acts in compliance with the first mandate--"preserve thyself"--are not purely selfish, although their immediate value is realized as individual benefit. Surely an organism that failed to live an efficient individual life would be ineffective in reproduction, so that from one point of view everything an animal does is tributary to the culminating act performed for the larger good of the life of the whole species. It is a nice balance that nature has worked out in Amoeba, as well as in all other cases, between the personal life of the individual, complete only when the final process of multiplication supervenes, and this process itself, which demands an efficient performance, even though this is destructive of the performer.

Before passing to the next members of the series, which reveal additional principles more truly social in the human sense, let us pause to note that already we have found certain natural criteria that belong in the department of ethics. Even in the case of the biological unit like Amoeba, which is entirely solitary and unrelated to other individuals of its kind excepting in so far as it is a link in the chain of successive generations, any vital activity can be called good or bad, right or wrong. Nature judges an act good and right if it tends to preserve the animal and the species; an act is wrong and evil if it is biologically destructive of the animal or if it interferes with the perpetuation of its kind. Again it must be pointed out that these terms are human words, employed for the complex conceptions that belong alone to retrospective and contemplative human consciousness to most of us they seem to imply the existence of some absolute standard or ideal by which a given act may be tested to see if it is right or the opposite.

If human ethics is truly unrelated to beginnings found in lower nature, something that has arisen by itself from supernature, then we must not use the terms in question except by way of analogy. If, however, nature has been continuous in the working out of every department of human life and human thought through evolution, then the criteria of the righteousness of the acts performed even by an Amoeba may be found to be basic and fundamental for ethical systems of whatever human race or time. This subject remains to be discussed in the final chapter, but it must be clear that we cannot survey the evolutionary process by which social systems have come into being without dealing at the same time with the origin and growth of ethical conduct as such.

* * * * *

Without leaving the group of one-celled animals typified by Amoeba, we find colonies of the most elementary biological nature, where other natural obligations are added to the two of greatest importance. Some species of the bell-animalcule, Vorticella, provide characteristic examples of these primitive compound protozoa. Here the assemblage is made up of one-celled individuals essentially similar to one another in structure and in physiological activities; in the latter respect each one of them is like Amoeba as well. They may remain together for a longer or shorter period, or during their whole existence until the time of reproduction. Like the solitary protozooen, each member leads a complete life in and by itself, equivalent to that of every biological unit. It obeys the two great laws already laid down, but in addition it seems to be required to remain with the others for some mutual good. The biological value of the association which imposes this additional obligation may be found perhaps in the fact that a large group is not so readily eaten by an enemy as an individual cell; but it is clearer that the process of reproduction, which consists of the fusion of small "gametes," or nucleated fragments produced by diverse or similar parents, must be greatly facilitated by the occurrence of gamete-forming individuals in one and the same colony. "To remain together" is the new duty imposed by nature for the good of all and for the welfare of each member of the group. Some biological advantage accrues to the several components, just as the banding of wolves enables the pack to accomplish something which the single wolf is unable to do, although in the latter case it is not so much a reproductive alliance that is formed as an offensive and defensive union.

One step higher in the scale stands the plant-form called Volvox, near the border-line between the one-celled and the many-celled organisms. This aquatic type, about the size of the head of an ordinary pin, is a hollow spherical colony, with a wall composed of closely set cellular components. These elements are not all alike, as in the case of colonial protozoa like Vorticella, for they fall into two classes which are distinguished by certain structural and functional characteristics. Most of them are simple feeding individuals which absorb nourishment for themselves primarily, but they pass on their surplus supplies to less favored neighbors if occasion demands. The other members begin life like the first-named, but later they become specialized to serve as reproductive individuals solely. Every member of the colony must obey the first precept of nature, otherwise it would be unable to play its part in the life of the whole community. But the discharge of the second natural obligation, namely to preserve the race, is here assigned to some, and to some only, of the whole group of cell individuals. It follows therefore that the division of the tasks necessary for the maintenance of a complete biological individual, and the differentiation of the members of the group into two kinds, leads to the establishment of an individuality of a higher order than the cell. Neither the purely nutritive nor the reproducing member is complete in itself; the two kinds must be combined to make a perfect organism. The life of any member can be selfish no longer, for if it is to exist itself, it must help others for the mutual advantage of all. A clear social relation is thus established; and the reflex conduct of the units of a Volvox colony can be justly denoted altruistic, even though in this case, as before, there can be no conscious recognition of the reasons why mutual interests are best served by what is actually done.

One of the most interesting and significant aspects of the life-history of Volvox is the appearance for the first time of biological death. More elementary organisms are immortal potentially even if not actually, for every portion of the body is capable of passing over into an animal of a succeeding generation. But in Volvox a division of labor has been effected of such a nature that most of the components discharge the tasks of individual value, and with the performance of these they die. Only the reproductive members are immortal in the sense that Amoeba is, for they only have a place in the chain of consecutive generations of Volvox colonies. From the standpoint of the nutritive individual it is better to be relieved of the reproductive task in order that there may be no interruption of its specialized activities for the good of all, but the entailed mortality is certainly disadvantageous to it. It is the higher interest of the colony as a whole that supersedes the welfare of the parts taken singly, and this larger welfare is safeguarded by a differentiation worked out by natural evolution which results in the assignment of personal and racial duties to different individuals, at the cost ultimately of the lives of the former.

We now reach the realm of the true many-celled animals, or Metazoa, where the biological units are combined to form an organic association displaying many more resemblances to a human society. The freshwater polyp Hydra, like the foregoing illustrations, is one whose structure has already been discussed in the earlier chapters, but now we may use it for an analysis of another series of biological phenomena. Its sac-like body consists of two cell-layers; the outer one is concerned primarily with offense and defense, while the inner layer is made up of digesting or nutritive elements. The essential cells concerned solely with reproduction lie below the outer sheet. Comparing this animal with an association like Volvox, we discover the same differentiation into immortal germ-elements and mortal cells, concerned respectively with the Hydra's racial existence and with its individual life; but far-reaching changes have come about in the biological relationships of the second class of cells. In describing the new phenomena it is absolutely necessary to employ the terms of human social organization, because the Hydra's body is a true colony of diverse cells in exactly the same sense that a nation is a body of human beings with more or less dissimilar social functions.