APPENDIX A

I HAVE said very little about Anarchism—merely mentioned it by name; yet the inquiries I have made into this subject reveal an organisation and a literature astonishing to the everyday mind. To use the words of that ardent bibliophile, H. Bourdin:

“To most people the word Anarchy is evil-sounding, but it is not the same to learned men and to collectors and lovers who acquire the desire of accumulating documents for history’s sake.

“The Anarchist literature has not a determined origin, being not the expression of a system invented and progressively elaborated, but the negation of all systems, produced by the desire to batter down the despotic in all its forms, the rules and duty imposed by prejudice or by force, and to give impulse to the free development of humanity. All acts which have been accomplished and all words which have been pronounced in hatred of this constraint and in favour of this freedom are consciously or unconsciously the production of Anarchy.

“It is astonishing when one glances at the huge quantity of literature of all kinds which has been printed in the space of the last half-century for the exposition of their ideal thought; no other party or sect, for whatever cause they had to defend, can be compared to this, except Christianity, which has taken about 2,000 years over it. Consider the difficulty which they have met in publishing clandestinely their periodicals, broadsides, etc., hunted by society as wild beasts; domiciliary perquisitions destroyed their works, which were merely their thoughts.”

M. Bourdin has courteously allowed me to inspect the huge library of Anarchistical literature which he has collected, consisting of journals, broadsides, pamphlets, volumes, songs, theatrical plays, etc.

To give you an idea of the extent and nature of the Anarchistical press, I enumerate a few of the journals:

L’Anarchie, Journal de l’Ordre, May, 1850.

(In 1850, Anarchy had already a press.)

Le Libertaire, 1858–1861.

L’EgalitÉ, 1869–1872.

L’Internationale, 1870–1873.

La RÉvolution Sociale, 1871–1872.

L’Ami du Peuple (LiÈge), 1873–1875.

Ni Dieu ni MaÎtre, 1880. (You see we are getting on in titles.)

La RÉvolution Sociale, 1880.

Le Drapeau Noir, 1883.

L’Emeute, 1883–1884.

La Lutte, 1883.

Le DÉfi, 1884.

La Guerre Sociale, 1885. (Brussels).

La RÉvolte, 1894.

L’Antipatriote, 1899. (Cat out of the bag.)

Le Tocsin, 1892–1894.

La DÉbÂcle, 1893.

L’InsurgÉ (Lyons), 1893.

Le Cyclone (Buenos Aires), 1895–1896.

La Cravache, 1898.

Le Cravacheur, idem.

Le Cri de RÉvolte, 1898–9.

Les Crimes de Dieu, 1898.

La Bastille, 1902–3.

Germinal, 1904–1910.

L’Anarchie, 1905.

L’Anarchiste, 1907.

L’Action Directe, 1907–1908.

La MÈre Peinard, 1908.

La RÉvolution, 1909.

Les RÉvoltÉs, 1909.

La Bataille Syndicaliste, 1911.

The Anarchist (Glasgow), 1912.

And these are only a few of the journals in the great Bourdin collection.* I have only mentioned some of the French journals devoted to the cause; there are English and German as well, and there are sure to be Russian and Spanish and Italian journals to match.

It is a big movement. Give me the literature of a movement, and I will feel its pulse and tell you about its constitution. The literature of Anarchism tells that it is very much alive.

What is Anarchism? It is really unconstructive Socialism and Syndicalism.

The Anarchists want to destroy society as it is, and let Human Nature ramp on the remains.

The Socialist wants to destroy society, and build it again on an anti-Human-natural plan.

The Syndicalist wants to destroy the Business World and to erect a new business world on an unbusinesslike basis.

Of the three, I prefer Anarchy.

It is the only one of the three dreams based on common-sense, for it frankly aims at Anarchy, and Anarchy is exactly what it would get were it to succeed.

****

I have said “The three dreams,” and though I have permitted myself to sneer at some points in the philosophy of some of these dreamers, I have no sneers at all to expend on their energy, and on their wholeheartedness. They are all trying to express something, and that something is the Poverty and the Misery of the world.

Socialism, Syndicalism, and Anarchism are all one voice speaking in different tones.

And that voice is growing and must be answered, not by Repression, but by Philosophy.

The world is not all wrong, but it is not all right. Man is speaking in no uncertain tones, and he wants some reply more apposite to his argument than the glib chirrup of Pippa.

APPENDIX B
A PASSAGE FROM HAECKEL*

UNDER the title of Design in the Living Organism, the famous embryologist, Carl Ernst Baer, published a work in 1876 which, together with the article on Darwinism which accompanied it, proved very acceptable to our opponents, and is still much quoted in opposition to evolution. It was a revival of the old teleological system under a new name, and we must devote a line of criticism to it. We must premise that, though Baer was a scientist of the highest order, his original monistic views were gradually marred by a tinge of mysticism with the advance of age, and he eventually became a thorough dualist. In his profound work on The Evolution of Animals (1828), which he himself entitled Observation and Experiment, these two methods of investigation are equally applied. By careful observation of the various phenomena of the development of the animal ovum, Baer succeeded in giving the first consistent presentation of the remarkable changes which take place in the growth of the vertebrate from a simple egg-cell. At the same time, he endeavoured, by far-seeing comparison and keen reflection, to learn the causes of the transformation, and to reduce them to general constructive laws. He expressed the general result of his research in the following thesis: “The evolution of the individual is the story of the growth of individuality in every respect.” He meant that “the one great thought that controls all the different aspects of animal evolution is the same that gathered the scattered fragments of space into spheres, and linked them into solar systems. This thought is no other than life itself, and the words and syllables in which it finds utterance are the varied forms of living things.”

Baer, however, did not attain to a deeper knowledge of this great genetic truth and a clearer insight into the real efficient causes of organic evolution, because his attention was exclusively given to one-half of evolutionary science, the science of the evolution of the individual, embryology, or, in a wider sense, ontogeny. The other half, the science of the evolution of species, phylogeny, was not yet in existence, although Lamarck had already pointed out the way to it in 1809. When it was established by Darwin in 1859, the aged Baer was no longer in a position to appreciate it; the fruitless struggle which he led against the theory of selection clearly proved that he understood neither its real meaning nor its philosophic importance. Teleological and, subsequently, theological speculations had incapacitated the aging scientist from appreciating this greatest reform of biology. The teleological observations which he published against it in his Species and Studies, in his eighty-fourth year, are mere repetitions of errors which the teleology of the dualists has opposed to the mechanical or monistic system for more than 2,000 years. The “telic” idea, which, according to Baer, controls the entire evolution of the animal from the ovum is only another expression for the eternal “idea” of Plato, and the entelecheia of his pupil, Aristotle.

Our modern biogeny gives a purely physiological explanation of the facts of embryology, in assigning the functions of heredity and adaptation as their causes. The great biogenetic law, which Baer failed to appreciate, reveals the intimate causal connection between the ontogenesis of the individual and the phylogenesis of its ancestors; the former seems to be a recapitulation of the latter. Nowhere, however, in the evolution of animals and plants do we find any trace of design, but merely the inevitable outcome of the struggle for existence, the blind controller, instead of the provident God, that affects the changes of organic forms by a mutual action of the laws of heredity and adaptation. And there is no more trace of “design” in the embryology of the individual plant, animal, or man. This ontogeny is but a brief epitome of phylogeny, an abbreviated and condensed recapitulation of it, determined by the physiological laws of heredity.

Baer ended the preface to his classical Evolution of Animals (1828) with these words: “The palm will be awarded to the fortunate scientist who succeeds in reducing the constructive forces of the animal body to the general forces or life-processes of the entire world. The tree has not yet been planted which is to make his cradle.” The great embryologist erred once more. That very year, 1828, witnessed the arrival of Charles Darwin at Cambridge University (for the purpose of studying theology!)—the “fortunate scientist,” who richly earned the palm thirty years afterward by his theory of selection.

In the philosophy of history—that is, in the general reflections which historians make in the destinies of nations and the complicated course of political evolution—there still prevails the notion of a “moral order of the universe.” Historians seek in the vivid drama of history a leading design, an ideal purpose, which has ordained one or other race or State to a special triumph, and to dominion over the others. This teleological view of history has recently become more strongly contrasted with our monistic view in proportion as monism has proved to be the only possible interpretation of inorganic nature. Throughout the whole of astronomy, geology, physics, and chemistry there is no question to-day of a “moral order,” or a personal God, whose “hand hath disposed all things in wisdom and understanding.” And the same must be said of the entire field of biology, the whole constitution and history of organic nature, if we set aside the question of man for the moment. Darwin has not only proved by his theory of selection that the orderly processes in the life and structure of animals and plants have arisen by mechanical laws without any preconceived design, but he has shown us in the “struggle for life” the powerful natural force which has exerted supreme control over the entire course of organic evolution for millions of years. It may be said that the struggle for life is the “survival of the fittest,” or the “victory of the best”; that is only correct when we regard the strongest as the best (in a moral sense). Moreover, the whole history of the organic world goes to prove that, besides the predominant advance toward perfection, there are at all times cases of retrogression to lower stages. Even Baer’s notion of “design” has no moral feature whatever.

Do we find a different state of things in the history of peoples, which man, in his anthropocentric presumption, loves to call “the history of the world”? Do we find in every phase of it a lofty moral principle or a wise ruler guiding the destinies of nations? There can be but one answer in the present advanced stage of natural and human history: No. The fate of those branches of the human family, those nations and races which have struggled for existence and progress for thousands of years, is determined by the same “eternal laws of iron” as the history of the whole organic world which has peopled the earth for millions of years.

Geologists distinguish three great epochs in the organic history of the earth, as far as we can read it in the monuments of the science of fossils—the primary, secondary, and tertiary epochs. According to a recent calculation, the first occupied at least 34,000,000, the second 11,000,000, and the third 3,000,000 years. The history of the family of vertebrates, from which our own race has sprung, unfolds clearly before our eyes during this long period. Three different stages in the evolution of the vertebrate correspond to the three epochs: the fishes characterised the primary (palÆozoic) age, the reptiles the secondary (mesozoic), and the mammals the tertiary (cÆnozoic). Of the three groups the fishes rank lowest in organisation, the reptiles come next, and the mammals take the highest place. We find, on nearer examination of the history of the three classes, that their various orders and families also advanced progressively during the three epochs toward a higher stage of perfection. May we consider this progressive development as the outcome of a conscious design or a moral order of the universe? Certainly not. (Certainly yes. Progression toward the benign is the core of all morality.—H. de V. S.) The theory of selection teaches us that this organic progress, like the earlier organic differentiation, is an inevitable consequence of the struggle for existence. (Struggle for improved conditions.—H. de V. S.) Thousands of beautiful and remarkable species of animals and plants have perished during those 48,000,000 years, to give place to stronger competitors, and the victors in this struggle for life were not always the noblest or most perfect forms in a moral sense. (No, but they were the best condition-builders.—H. de V. S.)

It has been just the same with the history of humanity. The splendid civilisation of classical antiquity perished because Christianity, with its faith in a loving God and its hope of a better life beyond the grave, gave a fresh, strong impetus to the soaring human mind. The Papal Church quickly degenerated into a pitiful caricature of real Christianity, and ruthlessly scattered the treasures of knowledge which the Hellenic philosophy had gathered; it gained the dominion of the world through the ignorance of the credulous masses. In time the Reformation broke the chains of this mental slavery, and assisted reason to secure its right once more. But in the new, as in the older period, the great struggle for existence went on in its eternal fluctuation, with no trace of a moral order.

And it is just as impossible for the impartial and critical observer to detect a “wise providence” in the fate of individual human beings as a moral order in the history of peoples. Both are determined with iron necessity by a mechanical causality which connects every single phenomenon with one or more antecedent causes. Even the ancient Greeks recognised ananke, the blind heimarmene, the fate “that rules gods and men,” as the supreme principle of the universe. Christianity replaced it by a conscious Providence, which is not blind, but sees, and which governs the world in patriarchal fashion. The anthropomorphic character of this notion, generally closely connected with belief in a personal God, is quite obvious. Belief in a “loving Father,” who unceasingly guides the destinies of 1,500,000,000 men on our planet, and is attentive at all times to their millions of contradictory prayers and pious wishes, is absolutely impossible; that is at once perceived on laying aside the coloured spectacles of “faith” and reflecting rationally on the subject.

As a rule, this belief in Providence and the tutelage of a “loving Father” is more intense in the modern civilised man—just as in the uncultured savage—when some good fortune has befallen him: an escape from peril of life, recovery from a severe illness, the winning of the first prize in a lottery, the birth of a long-delayed child, and so forth. When, on the other hand, a misfortune is met with, or an ardent wish is not fulfilled, “Providence” is forgotten. The wise ruler of the world slumbered—or refused his blessing.

In the extraordinary development of commerce in the nineteenth century the number of catastrophes and accidents has necessarily increased beyond all imagination; of that the journal is a daily witness. Thousands are killed every year by shipwreck, railway accidents, mine accidents, etc. Thousands slay one another every year in war, and the preparation for this wholesale massacre absorbs much the greater part of the revenue in the highest civilised nations, the chief professors of “Christian charity.” And among these hundreds of thousands of annual victims of modern civilisation strong, industrious, courageous workers predominate. Yet the talk of a “moral order” goes on.

Since impartial study of the evolution of the world teaches us that there are no definite aim and no special purpose to be traced in it, there seems to be no alternative but to leave everything to “blind chance.” This reproach has been made to the transformism of Lamarck and Darwin, as it has been to the previous systems of Kant and Laplace; there are a number of dualist philosophers who lay great stress on it. It is, therefore, worth while to make a brief remark upon it.

One group of philosophers affirms, in accordance with its teleological conception, that the whole cosmos is an orderly system, in which every phenomenon has its aim and purpose; there is no such thing as chance. The other group, holding a mechanical theory, expresses itself thus: The development of the universe is a monistic mechanical process, in which we discover no aim or purpose whatever (except that it is ever growing toward the good.—H. de V. S.): what we call design in the organic world is a special result of biological agencies; neither in the evolution of the heavenly bodies nor in that of the crust of our earth do we find any trace of a controlling purpose (O blindness! before the wonder of development.—H. de V. S.)—all is the result of chance. Each party is right—according to its definition of chance. The general law of causality, taken in conjunction with the law of substance, teaches us that every phenomenon has a mechanical cause; in this sense there is no such thing as chance. Yet it is not only lawful, but necessary, to retain the term for the purpose of expressing the simultaneous occurrence of two phenomena, which are not causally related to each other, but of which each has its own mechanical cause, independent of that of the other. Everybody knows that chance, in this monistic sense, plays an important part in the life of man and in the universe at large. That, however, does not prevent us from recognising in each “chance” event, as we do in the evolution of the entire cosmos, the universal sovereignty of nature’s supreme law, the law of substance.

A NOTE ON THE PASSAGE FROM HAECKEL

I do not suggest, I affirm, with the support of all science at my elbow and all reason at my side, that the world in its development has exhibited only one constant direction, and that direction is toward what we call the good or, in other words, progression toward the complex.

That the development of forms by natural selection is only a part of the real business of the universe, whose mighty labours have, from the very beginning of earthly things, been directed toward one distant ideal.

What is the Ideal? Who knows? We only know that on the covering directions of the sealed orders, which man may not open till he is fit to read them, are the words: Advancement, Love, Mercy, Kindliness, Protection, and every other word which the mind of man has marshalled under that mysterious and general term, The Good.

Blind matter carried those sealed orders in its body and the first fishes carried them under their fins, the first claw was made to catch them and to carry them through ferocious times, till the hand of the first monkey seized them. “Advancement” was the only word on the cover then; but, age after age, hitherto invisible directions began to appear letter by letter, till “Love” stood out, and “Mercy,” and all those other words that form the basis of Progress.

Accident and the stress of growth have sometimes obliterated those words for years and centuries. Civilisations have misinterpreted some of those words and barbarisms have rubbed them out, schools of Religions and schools of thought have meddled with them and altered them, yet they have always returned, and not only returned, but brought other words with them.

The aim and object of life, Haeckel, are the carriage of those sealed orders, and the implicit obedience of the directions that appear age by age on their envelope, till, who knows, some day the word “Open” may be found there, and some glimpse of the great Ideal be permitted to the eyes of man.

APPENDIX C
THE MYSTERY OF ANALOGY AND SIMILE

MY companion likened the present-day world to a big head with the brains on the outside. The idea is absolutely just; we have even the two hemispheres of the brain in the eastern and western world. In future years, when telegraphy and telephony are more highly developed—and, who knows, telepathy also—the idea will even be more true than it is to-day.

In this connection: have you ever considered the deep mystery that lies in Analogy?

In the universe of mind and matter, why do we see the same idea repeated in widely different forms. The whole world of structure is a world of plagiarism. The skull and a nut are the structural outcome of the same idea, so are the cockle and the almond—but imitations of structure are nothing to the fact that root ideas, like that governing the structure of the vertebrates, strike upward into the worlds of thought and action. We have vertebrates in businesses, business with brains, spinal cords, sympathetic nervous systems all complete. In states, armies, and more vaguely in philosophies, policies, and all structures of thought, whether they be theories, or poems, or plays, or novels, the vertebrate idea is found.

Why is the life history of a man so extraordinarily like the life history of a nation, and the story of a man’s day a little poetical simile of a man’s life?

Why does the poetical simile satisfy the mind when, for instance, we talk of a sea that smiles, or compare a sunset to the fading of a fortune?

Is it because we have struck, half-unconsciously, on the key to the riddle of the universe; that the conditions upon which the universe of mind and matter clings, as snow clings to branches and twigs, are exceedingly few—are derived from the same trunk and strike upward, through the material and spiritual world, just as tree branches and twigs strike upward through denser and lighter layers of air.

The main trellis or branch conditions that run through everything are the conditions of Life, Death, Growth, and Decay. These are the four master branches. All others are the twigs subsidiary and derived from these. Think, if you can find a conception of the mind, exclusive of mathematical concepts, that does not embody these four in its essence, and is not, in fact, the child of these. And yet, these four are only one. For death is complementary to life; it is the absolutely faithful shadow of life. Nay, it is life itself, for life is perpetual change, and the essence of death is not death, but change.

And growth, what is it?—change; and decay, what is it?—change.

Change, then, is the one master idea, the trunk from which all ideas spring—and what is the soul of change?—motion.

And what is motion?—it is the soul of the Universe.