this thing to which so terrible—or mayhap so imposing or so attractive—a name is given? Let us not stop at the name; let us get at the facts."
Now, one of the most appalling terms—to some—of modern philosophical discussion is "materialism." To others—a much smaller number—it stands for the only true scientific gospel. We think, therefore, that we shall be rendering a useful service if we try to show, and succeed in showing, as we think we can, that there are two kinds of materialism—one a healthy kind which has an unshakable foundation in Nature, and which no one need dread to accept; the other an unhealthy kind that fortunately has no foundation anywhere, but exists as a wholly illegitimate construction in the minds of those who cherish it,
What matter is we know not, and do not need to know. We know how our minds are impressed when we speak of matter; we know, in other words, what kind of consciousness we have when matter is an object of thought or feeling. In the same way, without knowing what mind is, we know what we are conscious of when we think of mind. Now, if there is anything in this world we are sure of, it is that mental manifestations are governed by physical conditions. It is needless to go over the familiar arguments, when any one who disputes the general position is found talking to a drunken man just as he would to a sober one, or to a delirious patient just as he would to a person in sound health—in other words, taking no account of the physical conditions which have confused the mental operations of either unfortunate—then we shall believe that ho means what he says; only, we may then have to conclude that he is either drunk or delirious himself. Further, we know that mental constitutions, like bodily ones, are inherited. We expect children to resemble their parents in character as well as in person. We expect to find, and do in general find, certain broad national characteristics in people of a certain race. We look for enterprise and tenacity in the Anglo-Saxon stock; we look for a predominant emotionalism in the Celtic; we look for ready submission to power in Eastern races; we look for alternate restlessness and indolence in our Indian tribes. All this simply means that mind manifests itself under quite as definite forms as any of the phenomena of the physical universe, and that we know where to look for each variety. Again, mental powers and aptitudes depend to a considerable extent on education and upon the opportunities that life brings with it. We do not expect, in matters intellectual any more than in matters agricultural, to reap where we have not sown, or to gather where we have not strewed. The experience of that ancient saint who woke one fine morning, and found himself in full possession of half a dozen languages of which the day before he knew not a word, is not repeated in modern times. Nowadays, we have to learn before we know.
The dependence, therefore, of mind, or at least of its manifestations—and of nothing else do we know anything—on physical or material conditions may be taken as an incontrovertible fact. If, therefore, the term "materialism" had been confined, as it might have been, to the expression of this fact, would there have been anything terrible in it? To use Comte's illustration, would any one think it a dangerous concession to make to admit that he could not work out intellectual problems to advantage standing on his head? Surely the materialism which teaches a man that, if he would exercise his mind to advantage he must eat moderately, and in general economize his physical powers, is not a very deadly doctrine. Yet that doctrine might very aptly and properly be called materialism; just as we call spiritualism the converse doctrine that, if a man wants a piano or
