The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1923/Intuition in the Philosophy of Bergson
Intuition in the Philosophy of Bergson
By A. T. Madison
The idea of intuition, while not the most novel of M. Henri Bergson’s singular contributions to contemporary philosophy, appears to be fundamental to his entire system; and is indeed the key to understanding the methods by which this strange personality arrives at his notions. We find scattered throughout his writings several attempts to analyze it more frequent references to its value as a new philosophical method, and a continual practice, quite consistent with his preaching, from which he derives many essentials of his philosophy.
This insistence upon mystical method is perhaps Bergson’s most vital connexion with contemporary thought, and therefore one of the chief causes of his now fading popularity. This is palpably an age in which mysticism, if not dominant, is at least an element to be reckoned with. Moreover, it makes acceptance of Bergson’s system easier to the normal person, because it seems to lend an extra-intellectual plausibility to many of his vagaries.
While reference to it is so frequent in his works, particularly in his magnum opus, I have been unable to find a reasonable analysis of the method anywhere. In chapter two of “Creative Evolution,” after stating that instinctive and intelligent life are two complementary directions of the central life stream, he says, “There are things that intelligence alone is able to seek, but which, by itself, it will never find. These things instinct alone could find; but it will never seek them.” There seems to be a difficulty here, which Bergson recognises even more explicitly a trifle later: “But a glance at the evolution of living beings shows us that intuition could not go very far. On the side of intuition, consciousness found itself so restricted by its envelope that intuition had to check intellect.”
The difficulty here is heightened by the difficulty of finding any experiential background for this analysis—it is another offspring of Bergson’s “intuition.” I have shown that his analysis of the functions of instinct and intellect, overlooking its other faults, seems unable to give us any clearer comprehension of intuition; but some of his other statements are superficially more satisfactory. In one place he says that intuition is “instinct that has become disinterested, self-conscious, capable of reflecting upon its object and of enlarging it indefinitely.” The word “reflection” would seem to posit a certain co-operation of intellect in the process, and elsewhere Bergson recognises this. His view seems to be perfectly honest, and fairly consistent. He is in possession of a certain rather undefinable method of thinking, closely connected with the traditional sense of the word “intuition.” He makes laudable efforts to explain this process, and manages to convey to us, in an indirect way, much of its essence.
Assuming, therefore, that Bergson is unable to give a scientific justification of his method, still is it not superior to that of the intellect? Bergson apparently thinks so. His whole analysis of the function of the intellect is a marvellously clever demonstration of his claim that intellect can not handle life, but is only at home in restricted spaces, with inert matter. But does his own method negate intellect? He is unable to define it, however nebulously, without including its expressed enemy. He admits outright more than once, that his “instinct” is by itself as helpless as intellect—indeed more so, for how can instinctive knowledge become conscious knowledge except through intellect? He does not say; therefore we may asssume that instinct plays the initiatory role, but that it can only become knowledge when it reaches the higher thought centres.
There is, however, a vital contradiction to intellectualism, in that the intellect is not accepted as the ultimate source of knowledge, or judge between contradictory sources, and is discredited as far as possible from any participation in the knowing process. This is Bergson’s mysticism; what does it mean?
The basic assumption in his plea for a new method, is that this “letting oneself go,” this mystical introspertion, can produce uniform results if philosophers apply themselves to it with proper zeal. There is something ludicrous about the vision that comes to my mind when Bergson pleads for a “new method” in philosophy. What a waste of perfectly good mathematical ability! Why not import spirit mediums into the profession, and be assured of fuller, if perhaps less accurate data? But that is beside the point, which is to find out what Bergson’s intuition is and whether it will do all he thinks it will.
In the case of Bergson himself there is apparently a large element of imagination, particularly of a visual sort, in his mentality. His figures of speech are distinctly pictorial; he has a habit of mistaking a particularly clear figure for a logical explanation. His picture of the vital impetus, of the evolution of life, is especially strong in imaginative quality. One is lead to suspect, then, that his own “intuition,” from which he apparently derives the general notion of the process in others, has a great del of the poetic imagination in it.
Now, the difficulty about imagination, however well it be grounded in reliable “instinctive knowledge,” is that it differs so markedly in the individual. It is an attribute of genius, perhaps the most inseparable of them all, but geniuses are notorious for following their own bent, and for being different from all who have come before. In Plato it gave the supra-sensible world, in Spinoza the “all”, in Leibnitz the monad. And worst of all, it is impossible to argue with the authoritative visions of genius. The whole panorama is a vast postulate, no part of which will its parent allow to be argued from the rest. While intellect is a common meeting ground, in which all ideas must subscribe to the laws of logic and common experience; on the other hand, intuition is so indefinite that no two individuals can possibly have the same understanding of it, and it authorises the individual experience in sharp distinction from the common.
Reality, reached in this clandestine and subjective manner, becomes determined by the emotional association of the individual. And at this point Bergson seems to stop. He is effective from some points of view, in attacking intellect; but his own vision is not of the sort which spreads, like that of Swedenborg or Bruno, or Plotinus. Intuition, as far as I can see it, becomes contradictory to real philosophy when it is emphasised in preference to reason. It necessarily gives the individual his data for speculation, and is a necessary attribute of great philosophy. But to seek the intuition rather than the why and wherefore, is an emotional process, which modern psychology is gradually showing to be merely one form of self-delusion. In persons of strongly imaginative temperament it means much; in art, literature, and the more refined contacts of life, this vague fellow-feeling is much more necessary than conscious syllogism. But it is not philosophy, and to ask philosophers to adopt it as a method is ridiculous.
The real effect of Bergson’s plea is to make disciples of a certain cosmic temperament akin to his own, and to give them the groundwork of an inner mystical life. But it does not stmulate research into reality. If you care to agree with Bergson you will probably have little independent contribution to make. If you don’t, more than likely you will reach a reality entirely distinct from the reality of Creative Evolution; or your introspection may lack the credibility of Bergson’s, and you may be forced to abandon the method entirely.
The whole appeal, then, as I see it, is for people to sympathise with the opinions of this queer, this unique thinker. His philosophy is almost entirely without social connections, in essence or in presentation. Other philosophers feel themselves one of many, or at least recognise themselves as philosophers. Bergson seems to think of himself as an eye apart. He speaks disapprovingly of “metaphysics,” “philosophers,” “scientists,” “the intellect,” and even of his old occupation, mathematics. His intuition is personal, it places originality higher than consistency, and it seeks personal participation. For this reason it always seems to me that Bergson is persuading rather than convincing. He wants to wheedle one to his side, and he will use the most plausible argument at hand.
On the other hand, adopting a broader and sympathetic attitude, one may see much of value in the emphasis, at least, in Bergson’s method. Like James, Nietzsche, and other typical modernists, he wants to inject life into philosophy. But Nietzsche puts life above truth; James makes life the criterion of truth, while Bergson has fundamentally nothing more to contribute than the mystics of the past. He wants, it might be put, to make philosophy interesting—he is in a certain sense a romanticist, even an impressionist. But I rather fear he is working in the wrong material. Philosophy is an ancient and sedate institution; break through it, like one of Bergson’s rockets, and when the sparks have died down the eternal Logical Mind must analyse the light and bring it into focus with proved or accepted facts of past philosophers. His own most important additions to the stream of thought have been those in which he was most consistent, either within himself, or with experience. Apart from these isolated arguments; his temporalism, his coneptions of life and intellect, and so on, he is important only because of his spirit—his intuition. He had a gorgeous cosmic vision and he used every resource of argument, language, and feeling to make that vision common to mankind.
