solidated structure on the part of matter? Do I evolve when I primarily shrink, but secondarily swell? If so, what is my evolution,-the shrinking or the swelling?

Spencer has ready his answer, partly, no doubt, in the just-mentioned examples of consolidation occurring (as one part of the life-process) in many organisms. He may add, also, that unless the sun were shrinking, the living organisms would not get any new energy to absorb. Hence, he may still insist, the shrinking is the "primary," the expanding aspect of the anabolic processes of living things is the "secondary" aspect.

But one answers: "Am I aided in understanding evolution as a single process, by thus merely coming to see that it is rather a complex of mutually opposed processes?" I should indeed be aided by just such an insight if Spencer told me wherein lay the unity of these opposed processes when they together constitute evolution. But he does not tell me this, except in so far as he shows me that both kinds of processes, the shrinking of the sun and the swelling of the living matter, are consequences of the all-pervasive energy-process. But that energy-process includes dissolution as well as evolution. Wherein am I then yet wiser as to just what constitutes evolution?

Again, to say that the solar system as a whole is steadily losing energy by radiation, and is in so far "integrating," while the heating of the earth's surface by the sun's rays is only local,-this is not to show me that the first of these processes is a primary aspect of evolution, while the other is only the secondary aspect of evolution. For Spencer's formula seems to say that all evolution is first (and unconditionally) integration, while, sometimes (conditionally), evolution is also the secondary evolution of the plastic bodies. But what I seem to find is that not all evolution is integration, since secondary evolution often means the very reverse of integration. In vain does one add: "But the secondary evolution is a local incident; the primary evolution is more widespread." I was not asking to learn what was local and what not. What I was promised was a single consistent formula for the general description, and then for the special types of the process of evolution. I can therefore indeed see that, if all evolution is a, while, in addition, some of it is not only a but also b,-then the unity of the formula is kept, in that "primary" evolution, which is a, is a genus, whereof the a that is b, viz., secondary evolution, is then a species. But what I find instead of this is that primary evolution is indeed a, while secondary evolution is in large part not a, but the very reverse of a. Where, now, is the unity of the formula?

One fears, then, that this is so far the main result:-Evolution is a consolidation, except in those highly important cases where it is an expansion. Often it is both.

Is this result contradictory? Not at all. Many a process keeps its unity by precisely such an union of opposing tendencies. But the formula is so far simply unenlightening, because it does not tell me wherein this unity lies.

Let us pass to the secondary evolution considered in itself. It involves two great features: Differentiation, and the increase of definiteness through segregation. The differentiation is a cumulative process, due to the fact that a plastic body keeps the traces of what has happened to it, and so constantly prepares a basis for new varieties of effects to be produced upon its various parts. The segregation is due to the sorting types of forces, such as were before exemplified in our summary.

Now we have here again two types of processes which are often opposed to each other. The differentiating forces of erosion break off great rocks, and also smaller particles, which so far confusedly differ from one another as a glacier carries them down the mountain valley. Later on the mountain torrents and later still the rivers of the plain, sort out the various kinds of sediment. The subsequent mud-deposits, stratified and set in order, present less appearance of heterogeneity than would the mass of unaltered glacial débris. Nature thus smooths over rough outlines, arranges "like" things. together, wears away varieties, so that sharp contours appear; in brief, reduces as well as increases varieties. It is so in society. Circumstances differentiate men, and the "touch of Nature" makes them one again. My mind differentiates as I learn, and simplifies as I come to understand. My conduct is more heterogeneous when I am learning to dance than it is when I find out how to dance smoothly.

Now one, of course, need not tell Spencer all this. He knows and repeatedly illustrates it all. Nor need one talk of contradictions. A true process of evolution no doubt unites opposed tendencies. But what one wants to know is, What principle, in any given case, gives the opposing tendencies that unity? This is what Spencer's account does not tell us. Segregation tends, in certain respects, towards a reduction of the degree of differentiation. What constitutes the true evolutionary union of these two processes?

In sum, what one learns seems to be that, in general, the evolution of the plastic bodies involves increasing differentiation, except where differentiation is diminished, and increased segregation, except where the incident forces mix things. Now, all this is unquestionably true; but does it tell us how to distinguish the true evolutionary combination of these opposed tendencies from that combination which leads towards dissolution?

The vagueness of the Spencerian description of evolution renders it possible, of course, to conceive the formula so interpreted as to fit any special

case that may arise. But what one misses is any guide, in the formula, for the precise definition of types of cases in advance of such special adjustments. Any permanently and positively useful generalization, in a field like this, must be such as to define for us, not merely something abstract enough to be true whatever happens, but a more or less complete and exact series of ideal cases to which the formula can be deductively applied, in such wise as to show how the predicates used in stating the generalization are to be specified to suit each of these ideal cases. The law of gravitation, the theory of energy-these are not formulas such as: "All bodies tend to approach one another," or "Everything changes." But they are formulas that can be applied, deductively, to predict in detail the characters of any one of an infinite series of ideal cases (such as planets moving about suns, masses of gas cooling, etc.). Now, nobody expects, as yet, any mathematical formula for evolution. But just because every case of evolution is obviously a case where mutually opposing tendencies somehow balance one another, and combine into higher unities, the requirement of the situation is, not that the philosopher should tell us (truly enough) that evolution involves both shrinkings and swellings, both mixings and sortings, both variety and order, but that he should show us how these various tendencies are, in the various types of evolutionary process, kept in that peculiar balance and unity which, each time, constitutes an evolution. This is what Spencer seems not to have done. He was quite right in thinking that a mechanical theory of the types of evolutionary processes is a needed scientific theory. For evolution, in the phenomenal world, must be reduced to physical laws. it to have attempted such a theory at all. He aimed at great things in a serious and frank and straightforward way. He stated one notable problem for the coming age. And to have done even this is a great merit.

His great merit

In sum, Spencer appears as a philosopher of a beautiful logical naïveté. Generalization was an absolutely simple affair for him. If you found a bag big enough to hold all the facts, that was an unification of science. If, meanwhile, you were ready to present a beautifully ordered series of illus trations of your theory, this showed that your facts themselves were conceived with a due respect to their own orderly theoretical unification. But orderly exposition, which Spencer always had at perfect control, is not necessarily the same as the perfection of one's theory. The business of a theory of phenomena is the arrangement of systems of facts in ideal serial orders, according to concepts which themselves determine both the ordering of each series and the precise relations of its members to one another. Spencer's theory of evolution does not determine the relations of the essential processes of evolution to one another, does not define their inner unity, and

does not enable us to conceive a series of types of evolutionary processes in orderly relations to one another.

Yet, as one may reply, he was a pioneer. This is true. His value as such a pioneer has still to be seen in the future of thought. His beautiful straightforwardness of personal character, his noble independence of spirit, his loyalty to what he conceived to be his task,—his humanity, his advocacy of rational social and international peace and liberty,—these things compensate for much imperfection in the result of his philosophy. His demand that the evolutionary concepts shall be unified, remains a permanently inspiring logical ideal which will bear much fruit in future. His service as a teacher

of his age will never be forgotten. His limitations have their own classic finish of outline. His place in the history of English thinking is significant, and secure.

O'

HENRY NEWBOLT.

LONDON

F the future of English verse we know nothing, and we can know nothing: the wind bloweth whither it listeth. But I have set

these words at the head of my paper as an answer to a challenge, a counter-blast to an opinion which I have heard of late echoing in various directions. It was during a visit at Cambridge that I first encountered it and I have ever since thought of that university as the home of lost minds and impossible heresies. I was talking with a memorable scholar and poet, the late Mr. Frederick Myers, when the trump sounded. "There is no future,” he said, "for English verse: English poetry has come to an end.” I suppose I expressed astonishment or dissent. "Yes," he said, “blank verse is worked out, and the rhymes have all been used up. The only one left was heaven and Devon, and now that has been taken: there are no more new ones."

The effect of this alarming opinion upon my mind was reinforced shortly afterwards by a discussion in the press upon the merits or demerits of Mr. Stephen Phillips' blank verse. I became aware that the majority of those critics who review poetry in the English press are firmly of opinion that it is an offence against literature to use any rhythm which has not been used before. This is an under-statement of their position, for they seem to be themselves so little observant of the work of the old masters they venerate as frequently to condemn for novelty an effect merely reproduced from the greatest models.

We are thus in a doubly hopeless position; those who follow Mr. Frederick Myers forbid any repetition of the past; while those who follow Mr. William Archer still more strenuously forbid anything except a repetition of the past.

I have named Mr. William Archer for two reasons; first because he has for some years past taken a leading part in the criticism of English poetry, and especially in the controversy to which I have referred; secondly, because I know from a happy experience that he is one of those rare critics to whom reason is dearer than their own reputation for omniscience; one whose judgment may have limitations, but his good humor never.

We may, then, fearlessly go forward on our campaign against these unprogressive opinions, secure that whoever gains an advantage, there will be no methods of barbarism and no regrettable incidents on either side.

I am myself no critic; I have little learning in this matter; and if I venture to put forth my own opinion, I do so rather to test than to propagate it. It is briefly this; that English verse will at any rate not come

Copyright, 1904, Frederick A. Richardson, all rights reserved.