The Essential Wisdom of George Santayana 9780231881746

Table of contents :
Preface
Contents
I. Introduction
II. What Is Philosophy?
III. The Formulation of a Philosophy
IV. The Origin of a Philosophy
V. The Problem of Religion
VI. A Résumé
VII. Evaluation
Appendix: Correspondence and Interviews with Santayana
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

THE ESSENTIAL

OF G E O R G E

WISDOM

SANTAYANA

T H E E S S E N T I A L WISDOM OF G E O R G E

SANTAYANA

BY T H O M A S N . M U N S O N , S . J .

NEW

Y O U

AND

COLUMBIA

LONDON'

I 9 6 2

UNIVERSITY

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PRESS

COPYRIGHT ©

1 9 6 2 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOC CARD N U M B E R :

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To M. and W.

PREFACE

The word essence is capital in the philosophy of George Santayana. It is central to his theory of knowledge, for essences are a man's counters in his business of knowing the real world. It is indispensable to his theory of values, for essences are a man's themes of contemplation, which transport him beyond the hurly-burly of everyday life. It is vital to his theory of origins, for essences are the immaterial flowers which blossom in the garden of materialism. Thus, the apparently colorless and trite adjective essential in the title of this book must be understood in the light of the privileged position enjoyed by essences in Santayana's thought. For Santayana an essence is not a metaphysical principle, an abstract determination which responds to our question: "What is it?" Rather, the word denotes the eminently personal production of an individual organism when it is stimulated by its milieu. A particular essence of this kind—Santayana's of philosophy—in all the richness of its particularity is the object we wish to understand in this study. This approach to Santayana has been facilitated by the efforts of many. I owe singular gratitude to my colleague, Rev. Murel R. Vogel, S.J., of West Baden College for unflagging encouragement and advice, to Miss Rose O'Neill of Boston for gratuitous secretarial work, and to Richard J. Vorwerk, S.J., for painstaking checking of references. Acknowledgment is also due Dr. Paul A. Schilpp for permission to quote liberally from The Philosophy of George Santayana; to Constable and

viii

PREFACE

Co., Ltd., for use of materials in Character and Opinion in the United States, in Scepticism and Animal Faith, and in Realms of Being; to J . M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., for permission to quote from Winds of Doctrine; and to The Macmillan Company for permission to make use of "Brief History of My Opinions," in Contemporary American Philosophy: Personal Statements, Volume II, edited by G. P. Adams and W . P. Montague (Copyright 1930). Excerpts from the following works of George Santayana are used with the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons: The Letters of George Santayana, edited by Daniel M. Cory (Copyright 1955 Daniel M. Cory); My Host the World (Copyright 1953 Charles Scribner's Sons); Persons and Places (Copyright 1944 Charles Scribner's Sons); The Poet's Testament (Copyright 1953 Charles Scribner's Sons); Prefaces to Volumes I and VII, The Works of George Santayana, Triton Edition (Copyright 1936, 1937 Charles Scribner's Sons); A Hermit of Carmel; Poems; Sonnets and Other Verses. THOMAS N. MUNSON, S . J .

Loyola University,

Chicago

CONTENTS

Preface

vii

I.

i

II.

Introduction What is Philosophy?

20

III.

The Formulation of a Philosophy

40

IV.

The Origin of a Philosophy

63

The Problem of Religion

90

VI.

A Résumé

117

VII.

Evaluation

124

V.

Appendix: Correspondence and Interviews with Santayana 138 Background

138

Reply to Father Munson's Questions

139

Letters of Santayana to the Author

142

An Interviewer Reports on Santayana

146

Some Notes of an Interview with Santayana

147

Notes

151

Bibliography

188

Index

2i5

THE ESSENTIAL

OF G E O R G E

WISDOM

SANTAYANA

I.

INTRODUCTION

Nor is it exactly philosophy, since I offer no hypotheses about the nature of the universe nor about the nature of knowledge. Yet to be quite sincere, I think that in this examination of conscience there is a sort of secret or private philosophy perhaps more philosophical than the other. 1 Philosophical works which delve into the nature of the universe and into the process of cognition are seldom easy to understand. T h e preferences of the professionals seem to lie in those uncharted waters of argumentation and theory too deep for the ordinary man. Perched comfortably in his lighthouse, Mr. Ordinary (who in all probability is being discussed and called to witness) is apt to view the excursion, and the inevitable battle that ensues over an issue and with a foe utterly unknown to him, as a nautical version of Don Quixote assailing the windmills. And were he to suspect that somewhere beneath the surface lurks "a sort of secret or private philosophy perhaps more philosophical than the other," what would be his reaction? At least he would align himself with those acquaintances of the recent critic of Santayana " w h o have read Santayana, and extensively, but not one of them evinced a clear understanding of his philosophical doctrine." 2 W h o is this remarkable man, many will ask, that can philosophize simultaneously on various levels? A few biographical details can provide the uninitiated reader with the proper

Sitz im Leben.

Josefina Borras was left a widow with three children on the

2

INTRODUCTION

death of her American husband, George Sturgis. Before she had fulfilled her promise to him that their children would be educated in America, she married Don Agustin Reus de Santayana. A child was born of this union on December 16, 1863, and in the Church of San Marcos in Madrid was christened on January 1, 1864. The family moved to Avila in 1866, but remained together for only a few years. Josefina then kept her promise, took her Sturgis children to America, and left the five-year-old George with his father. In 1872, George came to Boston and passed through the Brimmer School (1873-74), the Boston Latin School (1874— 82), and finally Harvard College, from which he graduated in 1886. For two years he shared the Walker Fellowship with Charles Augustus Strong, and pursued graduate studies in philosophy in Germany. He returned to Harvard, where he was granted the doctor's degree in 1889, and became part of that well-known department of James, Royce, and Palmer. During his years on the Harvard faculty Santayana passed through the various grades of the "cursus honorum," and was a full professor when he wrote to President Lowell on June 6, 1912: In any case, under the changed circumstances, I could not bring myself to return to Cambridge. I therefore enclose a formal resignation of m y professorship, and I hope you will not ask me to reconsider it. T h i s is a step I have meditated on all m y life, and always meant to take when it became possible; but I am sorry the time coincides so nearly with the beginning of your Presidency, when things at Harvard are taking a direction with which I am so heartily in sympathy, and when personally I had begun to receive marks of greater appreciation both from above and from below. But although fond of books and of young men, I was never altogether fit to be a professor, and in the department of philosophy y o u will have a better chance to make a fresh start and see if Harvard can secure the leadership of the next generation, as it had that of the last.

[Letters, 119.] As a Harvard philosopher and a cultivated man of letters, Santayana found open to him the portals of many colleges

INTRODUCTION

3

and universities across the American continent. He mounted the podium at Radcliffe, Bryn Mawr, Wellesley, Columbia, Wisconsin, Bowdoin, Williams, and the University of California at Berkeley. Not many philosophers have been granted similar opportunities for disseminating their ideas. Santayana also enjoyed other professional advantages. He profited from a sabbatical year spent at King's College, Cambridge (1896-97), by studying Plato and Aristotle under Henry Jackson. Another such year (1904-5) was devoted to travels in Italy, Greece, and Palestine. As the Hyde Lecturer in 1905-6, he was privileged to introduce his thought to English-speaking audiences in various French universities. Freed in 1912 from his "academic chains," Santayana spent the rest of his days in Europe. Nominally his residence from 1 9 1 1 - 1 4 was with Strong in Paris, but his winters were in Spain or elsewhere in southern Europe—and after 1920, in Rome. During the years of the First World War he was interned in England, returning to the Continent only in 1919. His friend, poet laureate Robert Bridges, tried to persuade him to accept a post at Oxford in Corpus Christi or in New College. In vain, however, and only twice thereafter did Santayana return to England, and then just for a few days. Cortina d'Ampezzo and Rome were his haunts during the pre-Second World War days. In October, 1941, he settled in the hospital of the Little Company of Mary on Rome's Caelian Hill, where he died on September 26, 1952. Santayana philosophized in almost every conceivable form. In addition to major philosophical works and the customary articles and reviews, he successfully tried his hand at poetry, a novel, dialogues, soliloquies, essays, and letters. The following list, comprising his better-known works, is not only a testimony to a life of ceaseless activity, but also explains why this philosopher has attracted a large audience among Englishspeaking peoples: 1894 1896

Sonnets and Other Verses The Sense of Beauty

4

INTRODUCTION

1899 1900 1902 1905 1913 1916 1920

1922 192} 1926 1927 1930 1933 1935 1936 1938 1940 1942 1944 1946 1947 1951 1953 1955 We

Lucifer Interpretations of Poetry and Religion A Hermit of Carmel and Other Poems The Life of Reason (five volumes) Winds of Doctrine Egotism in German Philosophy Character and Opinion in the United States " T h r e e Proofs of Realism," in Essays in Critical Realism: Study of the Problem of Knowledge A Co-operative Soliloquies in England and Later Soliloquies Poems, Selected and Revised Scepticism and Animal Faith Dialogues in Limbo The Realm of Essence Platonis?n and the Spiritual Life The Realm of Matter Some Turns of Thought in Modern Philosophy The Last Puritan (novel) Obiter Scripta The Realm of Truth The Realm of Spirit Realms of Being (a one-volume edition containing the four volumes of Realms) Persons and Places (autobiography) The Idea of Christ in the Gospels The Middle Span (autobiography) Dominations and Powers My Host the World (posthumous autobiography) The Poet's Testament (posthumous) Letters (posthumous) should note that Santayana has been translated into

German, Italian, French, Spanish, Danish, Swedish, and Japanese. Indeed, his philosophical éclat was such that he was invited to England in 1923 to give the Herbert Spencer lecture. Later, in 1932, he had the honor of lecturing to a distinguished group of scholars in the Domus Spinozana at T h e Hague on the occasion of the Spinoza Tercentenary. These public recognitions of Santayana as a philosopher, when coupled with the testimony of the books, theses, and

INTRODUCTION

5

articles which have treated his "philosophy," are sufficient to prove to any agnostic or skeptic that Santayana is commonly accepted as a philosopher. The point is by no means trivial. In fact, it is the central issue of this work. Some personal history can serve to focus the problem which the name "philosopher," as universally applied to Santayana, poses. A number of years ago I wrote a critique of Santayana's philosophy as a master's thesis. Santayana personally encouraged my efforts by his letters, graciously read the completed opus, and corrected the text with several marginal notes. His general reaction and some specific criticisms were voiced in a letter dated March 12, 1948.3 I could not, of course, expect him to nod unqualified approval. But his objections appeared to run much deeper. Were we, I asked myself, clinging to opposite poles so that discussion was bound to be ineffectual? Notwithstanding his demurrers, I am still of the opinion that my basic criticism of Santayana was sound, even though many of my ideas of him have changed radically over the years. In that early encounter I accosted Santayana as one technical philosopher does another. Like his other critics, I did not take at face value his protestations to the contrary. I looked for explanations, analyzed what appeared to be proofs, and fretted when his technical philosophy failed to be the kind of unified view of the cosmos presented by run-of-themill scientific philosophies. As the reward for my efforts Santayana assured me that I had misrepresented his thought! That rebuff made me eager to discover how I had gone astray. I became anxious to unearth what Santayana meant by philosophy, to try to understand why he thought the way he did, and thus to satisfy myself as to the reasons why the high hopes of all of his critics were dashed against the same stone wall. I am aware of the rigidity and untimeliness of my views. . . . It is honor enough to be read and studied, even if only to be combatted; and I send my critics back to their respective camps with my blessing, hoping that the world may prove staunch and beautiful to them, pictured in their own terms. [Schilpp, 604-j.]

6

INTRODUCTION

This book is a presentation of the answers that I have found. As answers, they can hardly be thought to offer the last word, for the reader will be challenged to ask himself what he means by philosophy. Is poetry, generally speaking, "philosophy"? Is the poetry we call "metaphysical" on a par with metaphysics? Is the man who has "philosophical views" a philosopher? Or must we reserve the distinction for the man with a systematic explanation of the cosmos? These questions, important as they may be, will remain in the background. But certainly they will come to the fore of the reader's attention as he grows in familiarity with the ideas and methods of Santayana. Also, we are confronted with the fact that Santayana bears the title of "philosopher." H e is listed in the Bibliographia Philosophica;4 Bertrand Russell played the antagonist in what he entitled " T h e Philosophy of Santayana"; and Santayana's former teacher and colleague, William James, noted of this "genuine philosophic intelligence" that Santayana is a very honest and unworldly character, a spectator rather than an actor by temperament, but apart from that element of weakness, a man (as I see him) of thoroughly wholesome mental atmosphere. . . . Whatever shortcomings may go with the type of mind of which he is a representative, I think it must be admitted to be a rare and precious type, of which Harvard University may well keep a specimen to enrich her concert withal. W e shall always have "hustlers" enough—but we shall not often have a chance at a Santayana, with his style, his subtlety of perception, and his cool-blooded truthfulness. 5

This book will provide the reader with the necessary data for a reasonable decision. Does he wish to swell or to lessen the chorus of voices which always link Santayana and philosopher? In either case he will need evidence. Santayana's "sort of secret or private philosophy perhaps more philosophical than the other" has not yet received its meed of attention from scholars. Their preoccupation with complex cosmological, epistemological, and ethical questions

INTRODUCTION

7

is in itself not surprising. But it is misguided in a study of Santayana if in reality there is something more philosophical to discover. Can it be that these scholars have interpreted away, as a vapid obiter scriptum, the forthright statement: "Nor is it exactly philosophy, since I offer no hypotheses about the nature of the universe . . ."? If they have done so, contrary to Santayana's apparent wish, then we can understand why this "genuine philosophic intelligence" is the focal point of so much controversy. Like any philosopher, Santayana has his share of praise tempered by blame. But the innocent reader who chooses to better his acquaintance by familiarizing himself with the critical literature is likely to be staggered by the range and tone of the rejection. "His works have that musical persuasiveness which makes nonsense seem plausible and self-contradiction a mere modulation, as from a major to a minor key." 6 " H e makes observations beyond evidence. . . . His scepticism concerning knowledge of any particular reality is offset by assurance about the hidden springs of everything." 7 "Not consistency of opinions through the years but consistency of philosophical mood, not content and belief, eternal fixations, but the color and poetry of thought always created anew." 8 "Indeed, it is patent to all but Mr. Santayana, that he has not escaped, but is now deeply mired in that bog of paradox, confusion, and ultimate inexplicability through which trickles the thin stream of British Empiricism. . . . " 9 Certainly no one will blame the naive reader if he doubts whether he should call Santayana a philosopher. This study has been inspired primarily by a desire to understand that "secret philosophy," that is, to ascertain whether the assorted hints and assertions scattered through Santayana's works actually form a definite philosophical pattern. Simultaneously I hope to dissipate the critical confusion by providing a Rosetta Stone for interpreting Santayana's hieroglyphs. T h e unacquainted reader can gather some notion of the al-

8

INTRODUCTION

most indecipherable characters with which we are dealing from the following major problems. First, the fundamental question to which we have already adverted: Does Santayana consider himself to be a philosopher? The answer is simple: At times, yes; at times, no. Hence the necessity of understanding what he means by philosophy. Second, is it true that Santayana did not doctrinally evolve over the years? Are his critics wrong in discussing "One Santayana or T w o " because they note a change of atmosphere in his works after 1920? 1 0 Third, in the twenties Santayana joined hands with the critical realists. T o their discussion he contributed the term "essence" as a name for the datum of intuition. The term was to become the kernel of his "mature" ontology. The Realm of Essence (1927) was not exhausted until three other volumes appeared to complete Realms of Being (1942). The problem these works pose is not just the question of incidental evolution, but whether Santayana underwent a complete mutation. Did his epistemological involvements change him from a realist into an idealist? 1 1 Fourth, Santayana distinguished "perspectives" or "values" from "facts." That is, he believed in a general way in what he called a dualism between facts and the ideas of those facts in human heads. Yet he assured us that the unification of Nature is eventual, and elaborated a doctrine of a "psyche" to support his contention. The difficulty, as several scholars have argued, is that Santayana's principles are a guarantee that "Never the twain (ideal and real) shall meet." Fifth, Santayana was a materialist. He hails Democritus as supreme in cosmology, for matter is the only substance or power in the world. Yet he dissociates himself from the geometrical or pictorial essence which Democritus would assign to matter, since we do not actually know what matter is. W e know only that there are spiritual phenomena but no spiritual substances. The problem, then, is to understand a naturalism which includes immaterial realities, to picture a Platonism grafted into an atomism.

INTRODUCTION

9

Sixth, Santayana was a moral philosopher wedded to the Spinozan principle of the relativity of good and evil. Something is good because we desire it; we do not desire it because it is good. Yet, paradoxically, he registered supreme contempt for what other people estimate to be good—mysticism, for example, or certain forms of religion and philosophy. The problem is one of understanding, for this moralist also discoursed on freedom and meant necessity, and reveled in an immortality which was purely ideal. All of these problems are indicative of the intricacy of the warp and woof of Santayana's philosophy. But however complex and elusive his doctrine may be, there are other factors which contribute to its inaccessibility. His chosen medium of expression was a polished literary style which he modestly termed "a cumbrous vehicle, though an inevitable one, for what I have to say." (Letters, 255.) Most readers are inclined to agree with Will Durant's encomium: "Hardly since Plato has philosophy phrased itself so beautifully." 1 2 But excellence of style may have the undesirable effect of soothing the critical faculties into a comatose state. 13 Besides, literary figures often prove inept tools for drawing the sharp lines requisite for philosophical masterpieces. Clarity is essential—a fact which Santayana recognized: Y o u say I am hard to read: I have heard that before, yet it surprises me because 1 take the greatest pains to be clear, not only in language but in thought, and am a very simple commonplace person in my opinions. [Letters, 256.]

A rather intricate clarity, perhaps, because literary features axe woven into the very texture of his thought: [ C A . Strong] explained that the difficulty in reading my books came from the ornaments, which interfered with the attention and made the reader lose the outline of the thought. Is that it? If so I can only say that the ornaments, for me, are a spontaneous concomitant of the sense, like gestures in animated discourse: they are necessary if you want to reach the true ground and flavour of the

ideas.

[Letters, 256.]

IO

INTRODUCTION

His distinctive vocabulary also generates confusion. The attentive reader of Santayana should realize that his writings, extending over sixty-odd years, vary in terminology; that his letters, as characteristic of the genre, may express an occasional whim; that his poetic works must sometimes be granted a measure of license or "dramatic latitude"; 14 and finally, that his use of traditional philosophic terms may be equivocal. 15 Thus forewarned, the wary reader will not lose heart, nor his head, when confronted by the imbroglio over the "hapless word essence—bastard in its birth, overburdened during its life, and dishonoured in its grave." 1 6 Clearly "essence" in its traditional philosophical sense was condemned by Santayana in his youth. As a mature man—"happy enough in the realm of essence" (Persons and Places, 238)—he would scarcely wish to impugn those essences which he gradually unearthed, like the rest of his personal grammar of thought. But the forewarned Santayana reader may prove insufficiently forearmed against the vocabulary onslaught: " I am writing a brand new system of philosophy to be called 'Three Realms of Being."' (Letters, 104.) This was in 1911. But in 1942, when the system was introduced in a one-volume edition, a new note appeared: "so that my system, if system it can be called. . . ." (Realms, xxviii.) Still later, in 1944: "Systems of philosophy are taught only by sects or by individuals setting out to be prophets and to found a sect. I now have a system of philosophy. . . ." (Middle Span, 164.) " M y question is which imaginative system you will trust. My matured conclusion [in 1936] has been that no system is to be trusted, not even that of science in any literal or pictorial sense." (Brief History, 244.) Contradiction? Absurdity? Apparently. And many scholars who find a similar legerdemain with important terms like "history" and "religion," to mention only two, retire from the field where, to all appearances, chaos reigns supreme. It is regrettable that Santayana has left so much to the

INTRODUCTION

II

understanding of his readers, many of whom have absolutely no grounds for suspecting any change in the signification of commonplace expressions. When they see a word like "reason," they accept it—never dreaming that Santayana tended to think of something other than mere intelligence. Most philosophers spare themselves distasteful controversy by beginning with clear definitions. But Santayana, with astonishing naïveté, frequently fostered misunderstanding. He bandied words about and relegated necessary clarifications to his private correspondence.17 However disagreeable this state of affairs, the scholars and occasional readers who cry "Confusion!" and throw up their hands in despair will miss that secret philosophy which is the cause of their impatience. How easy it is to cling to words and never reach the heart! A thousand silent isolated wits, if I could have got at them, would not only have understood m y philosophy but would have fortified my love of England and of mankind. But my lot was cast among the heretics and the radicals, and I seemed insignificant to the professional idealogues w h o had never had the courage to face the cruel truth about anything, much less utter it. [Host, 1 1 5 . ]

Although Santayana's lot among the heretics and radicals may account in part for his noticeable lack of disciples, he himself confessed that his writings share the responsibility. His letter of March 16, 1919, to Logan Pearsall Smith is a frank admission. But it is also an important indication that a dichotomous philosophy of perspective and fact is at work generating misunderstanding. In addition, it suggests that the search behind this twofold view for a "secret philosophy" is not a mere pipe dream. I have written too much and repeated myself in a w a y which only the bad habit of daily lecturing can explain, if not excuse; and that there is a real vacillation or incoherence in m y expressions, because I take alternately and without warning now the transcendental and now the naturalistic point of view: i.e., I sometimes describe the perspectives of the senses and imagination, and sometimes the

12

INTRODUCTION

natural sequence or relations of facts. Of course both things are worth describing, and there is no inconsistency in the differences which exist between the two views; but it is a grave defect not to have made it clear how this difference arises, and why it is inevitable and indeed makes the chief interest in the drama of thought. [Letters, 175.] This drama of Santayana's thought appears somewhat tragic. The effort of passing through the linguistic portals to appreciate the production is well-nigh heroic. And once inside the theater, how are we to react to the play? Can we really understand the dialogue and the action? Or do we only interpret, as it were through colored glasses, the dramatist's artistic presentation? Santayana broached these questions when he explained the psyche, the biological force in human bodies which reaches maturity when it generates sensations, emotions, or thoughts: The psyche is predetermined at birth to certain generic conceptions and transitions; and these are rendered precise and irrevocable by habits formed under the pressure of circumstances. . . . This partial predetermination of life—which in man is especially imperfect. . . . [Realms, 99, 97.] What precise meaning are we to assign to partial, imperfect, predetermination, and generic conceptions? Did Santayana think of the psyche as somehow vaguely conditioned in the process of achieving full development, so that its thoughts have a certain personal characteristic or tonality? Or rather did he envisage the psyche as genuinely determined, and consequently prejudiced in its conceptions and the victim of inescapable bias? Such a determination would seem to preclude the possibility of a "pure spirit which is without prejudices or claims." (Platonism, 91.) And for all practical purposes, what room is there for speaking of conscientious criticism or objective evaluation? Now, whatever this psyche may be in theory, Santayana's practice belies a rigid determinism. He prided himself on his critical habit—"perhaps more spontaneous in me than a con-

INTRODUCTION

13

structive one. I like to lean on the works and opinions of others." (Schilpp, 549.) The distasteful feature of Santayana's works is, regrettably, that this habit, though indicative of a practical belief in the possibility of being sincerely objective, so frequently operated on a plane unworthy of its promise. Passing jibes, emotionally charged epithets, and personal invective belie an honest scholarly effort to represent adversaries fairly. "Since the days of Socrates, and especially after the establishment of Christianity, the dice of thought have been loaded." (Character, 10.) In the heart of Royce there was no clearness. (Character, 101.) Catholic historians in Germany were "pledged in advance to conclusions already defined." 1 8 Protestant churches have become marginal and secondary even for their most zealous members; for they supply only a nook for quietness and a Sabbath refuge, feeble in thought, null in organization, animated by little more than traditional or censorious sentiment to be applied to current opinion and to the conduct of lay life. [Dominations, 450.]

A summary packaging and labeling process whereby men and movements are nonchalantly dispatched with a gesture of disdain will receive payment in kind, especially if no proofs are offered for assertions. Professor Miller, in a somewhat resentful article, charges Santayana with giving rein to his talent for contempt and delicious art of calling names; in the end we have, instead of the justice and sanity based on selfmastery that we should expect from him, the arbitrary pronouncement of a strongly-marked temperament—a thing at enmity with the soul of philosophy.19

Santayana cannot be justified on the score that controversy is governed by its own rules. Debating etiquette ought not disappear under trenchant criticism. And even if his pride was hurt because John Dewey, to cite but one example, scuttled his initial enthusiasm in an article, whose very title ("Halfhearted Naturalism") smacks of name-calling, little credit is reflected on the philosophic caste by Santayana's unfair gen-

14

INTRODUCTION

eralization: "philosophers being naturally rapt in the excitement

of

assertion

and

not

having

time

to

be

quite

honest. . . . " 2 0 It is just such unqualified and unverifiable condemnations as these w h i c h "equally"

which

compel

us to p o n d e r

Santayana

seriously

unobtrusively

slipped

the

word

into

the

truism: " E a c h thought, in its existence, is due equally to the predisposition of the p s y c h e and to the course of nature outside." ( R e a l m s , 98.) Is this predisposition such that w e are incapable of bona fide objectivity? Is it absurd to suggest that w e can o v e r c o m e o u r prejudices about k n o w l e d g e , evidence, and method in order to criticize Santayana f a i r l y ? I think not, even t h o u g h the Santayana reader m a y be subtly enticed to surrender his expectation of an actual meeting of minds. Life imposes selfish interests and subjective views on every inhabitant of earth: and in hugging these interests and these views the man hugs what he initially assumes to be the truth and the right. So that aversion from the real truth, a sort of antecedent hatred of it as contrary to presumption, is interwoven into the very fabric of thought. [Realms, 508.] Statements of this kind must be understood in context. One can charitably interpret this passage as an innocent w a r n i n g against "inevitable bias," or as serving an ironic o r polemic intent. S l o w l y , h o w e v e r , the cumulative w e i g h t of a n u m b e r of passages, all of a negative tenor, begins to stir the reader's suspicions. " A shrewd observation of the e c o n o m y of nature is t h e r e f o r e normally neutral, unless the observer is already morally biased." ( I d e a of Christ,

94.) Santayana's adversaries

construct w o r k s " o f edification or of malice," o r are adherents of " p a r t y spirit."

21

T h e insinuation gradually c o m e s home to

the reader: " w e are concerned w i t h the poetic interpretation of experience, contradiction means onlv variety, and v a r i e t y means spontaneity, wealth of resource, and a nearer approach to total a d e q u a c y . " 2 2 If contradiction means v a r i e t y , is the necessary precision f o r true understanding possible? A meet-

INTRODUCTION

15

ing of minds does not seem to imply the fatal dilemma: either spontaneous agreement or blind misrepresentation. A n d if the Santayana reader finds that the weapons of criticism—words of challenge and of argumentation—are blunted, w h y should he take them up, as a scholar would, in order to force the door to truth? Argument has never been, in my opinion, a good method in philosophy, because I feel that real misunderstanding or difference in sentiment usually rests on hidden presuppositions or limitations that are irreconcilable, so that the superficial war of words irritates without leading to any agreement. [Letters, 438.] Notwithstanding

this manifest deterrent to their

labors,

scholars, in the wake of Santayana's own practice of criticism, have endeavored to understand and to evaluate his work as philosophy. T h e y

have done so in good faith, relying on

Santayana's hearty

encouragement.

For good or ill, I am an ignorant man, almost a poet, and I can only spread a feast of what everybody knows. Fortunately exact science and the books of the learned are not necessary to establish my essential doctrine, nor can any of them claim a higher warrant than it has in itself: f o r it rests on public experience. It needs, to prove it, only the stars, the seasons, the swarm of animals, the spectacle of birth and death, of cities and wars. M y philosophy is justified, and has been justified in all ages and countries, by the facts before men's eyes; and 110 great wit is requisite to discover it, only (what is rarer than wit) candour and courage. Learning does not liberate men from superstition when their souls are cowed or perplexed; and, without learning, clear eyes and honest reflection can discern the hang of the world, and distinguish the edge of truth from the might of imagination. In the past or in the future, my language and my borrowed knowledge would have been different, but under whatever sky I had been born, since it is the same sky, I should have had the same philosophy. [Scepticism, ix-x.] Studies of specific subjects encountered in this philosophy —essence, aesthetics, materialism, naturalism—are legion. Valuable as these may be, they risk the danger of distortion. " T o divorce in a schematic fashion one phase of rational activity

l6

INTRODUCTION

from the rest is to render each part and the whole again irrational." (Obiter Scripta, 38.) And the more comprehensive accounts which have been published have definite limitations. George W. Howgate's George Santayana is a good general study of Santayana prior to 1938. The purport of this work, however, is literary, even though a chapter is devoted to metaphysics. Realms of Being, as well as later books, has introduced complications which Mr. Howgate's dissertation could not have anticipated.23 La pensée de George Santayana: Santayana en Amérique by Jacques Duron was intended to familiarize a French audience with Santayana.24 Unfortunately, its wealth of insights and abundant references to philosophers who have held similar doctrines suffer from the author's intentional curtailment to The Life of Reason. Sister M. Cyril Edwin Kinney's critique of essence is made in the light of Thomistic principles.25 Father Butler's recent study, The Mind of Santayana, is an enlightening intrinsic criticism of essence as the key to the "mature" thought of Santayana. But there is no unified picture. Father Butler is justified in his decision to concentrate on later volumes, since Santayana wrote in 1917: "But the L. of R. \Life of Reason] is really scandalous in its confusion, both in language and in thought. I feel strongly that, Deo volente, I must rewrite this whole book. It could easily be purified, shortened, strengthened, and filled out logically." 24 Yet The Life of Reason is no small part of an accurate portrait of Santayana's mind. And in all probability Father Butler would have thought twice about forsaking it had he been aware of the expression of Santayana's sentiments in 1952: "By the way, Cory [a disciple and literary executor] and I have both been surprised to find 'The Life of Reason' so much like my latest views." (Letters, 429.) Moreover none of these works could make use of the wealth of material contained in The Letters. This presentation of Santayana's secret or private philosophy has its peculiar difficulties. Its comprehensiveness exposes it

INTRODUCTION

17

to charges which run the gamut from superficiality to dull repetition of what Santayana has said more clearly. Besides, the attempt not merely to reveal what is by definition "secret," but also to trace the genesis of this "more philosophical" philosophy, can impress a critic as utter folly. Can he not argue in the case of an author as prolific as Santayana that texts have been selected to prove a preconceived idea, since in all probability an equally convincing series of texts can be constructed to prove the exact opposite? In spite of these pitfalls, several weighty reasons might justify a calculated risk. T h e critic's charge of superficiality bccomes debatable if one recognizes that the real issue is a subjective or personal hierarchy of values. This charge, however, is particularly unwarranted if it stems from the supposition that Santayana must be treated as a technical philosopher. For only on such a supposition will the critic demand a systematic presentation and argumentation of Santayana's doctrines. The procedure adopted in this book draws its support from Santayana himself. As to arrangement, I am glad you don't intend it should be chronological. I don't evolve: we all have to grow up and to grow old, but what bears evident marks of immaturity or decay in our faculties ought charitably to be disregarded: the rest will have no other essential variety than that which is due to varying subjects and moods . . . it shouldn't on any account follow the dates at which the fragments happen to have been penned or rather published— because many things written now may have been first conceived thirty years ago. . . . I sometimes think we all die at twenty-five and after that are nothing but walking corpses, with gramophones inside. [Letters, 159.] There seems to be a genuine need for supplementing the enlightening studies of others. Because scholars are aware that justice applied rigorously to a fine point can make a holocaust of a system, and that involvement in technicalities can make us insensitive to the élan vital of the creative mind, most of them introduce us to a system of thought by pertinent his-

l8

INTRODUCTION

torical and biographical data. Of Santayana we are told that his environment has shaped a philosophy of personal problems. T h a t much can be learned from his autobiography. What requires development is a more precise •where and hoiv. W e are also told that he is a poet, not a philosopher. Since this judgment runs contrary to the apparently universal acceptance of Santayana as a philosopher, w e would like to know the reasons ivhy. T h e apposite criticism which Santayana scholars have offered us ought to be placed in proper perspective. W e shall profit from the insights of others, even though the space limitations of this book prohibit tracing their reasonings in detail. T h e result, I think would have been to Santayana's taste. Refutations and proofs depend on pregnant meanings assigned to terms, meanings first rendered explicit and unambiguous by those very proofs or refutations. On any different acceptation of those terms, these proofs and refutations fall to the ground; and it remains a question for good sense, not for logic at all, how far the terms in either case describe anything existent.

[iSome Turns, 65-66.] What method shall be followed in studying this philosophy? Three questions can cut through a jungle of underbrush, bring to light his "secret philosophy," and gradually assemble the elements of our sought-for comprehensive view. What is Santayana's idea of philosophy? (Chapter II.) What consequences of this concept are manifest in his system? (Chapters II and III.) What are the origins of this notion? (Chapters I V and V . ) A résumé (Chapter V I ) and an evaluation (Chapter V I I ) are necessary complements. An appendix, "Letters of Santayana to the Author," and a select bibliography have been added as items of scholarly interest. Since the point of this book is to make explicit what is implicit in Santayana's thought, I quote liberally from his works. Only a careful perusal of the texts I have chosen will satisfy the reader as to whether I have manipulated these to prove my preconceptions.

INTRODUCTION

19

What are the specific values which are intended to result from this book? First, an unveiling of that mysterious "secret philosophy." Perhaps we shall then possess the key to understanding the problems which Santayana's philosophy poses, even if we are unable to open the door to satisfactory solutions. Second, a clarification of many of those distinctive Santayana terms, notably the most important one, philosophy. Third, an appreciation of Santayana's methods. Fourth, an enlightened judgment regarding his contribution to philosophical knowledge. And fifth, perhaps some of the insight of which Coleridge speaks: In every state, not wholly barbarous, a philosophy, good or bad, there must be. However slightingly it may be the fashion to talk of speculation and theory, as opposed (sillily and nonsensically opposed) to practice, it would not be difficult to prove, that such as is the existing spirit of speculation, during any given period, such will be the spirit and tone of the religion, legislation, and morals; nay, even of the fine arts, the manners, and the fashions. Nor is this the less true, because the great majority of men live like bats, but in twilight, and know and feel the philosophy of their age only by its reflections and refractions.27

II.

W H A T

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

I loved speculation for itself, as I loved poetry, not out of worldly respect or anxiety lest I should be mistaken, but for the splendor of it, like the splendor of the sea and the stars. A n d I knew 1 should love living obscurely and freely in old towns, in strange countries, hearing all sorts of outlandish

marvelous opinions.

[Persons and Places, 250.]

W h a t does Santayana mean b y philosophy? A sentence or two, devoid of human warmth and personal

flavor,

would

suffice f o r the essential idea. But to arm the average reader with a formula is to provide him with an inadequate weapon against apparent contradictions. He is unequipped to stave off the objection that his understanding of terms is not Santayana's. Far more desirable, then, is a view f r o m different vantage points, even though tedious repetition mav be the price exacted. W a l k i n g the tight rope between

inadequacy

and monotony, I shall discuss three aspects: what Santayana's philosophy is not, what it is, and some technical expressions which embody his concept of philosophy. In conclusion, I shall o f f e r a f e w observations on Santayana's definition. A negative approach—what Santayana's philosophy is not —has t w o main advantages. It permits locating him geographically on the philosophers' map. This will not be an easy task, f o r Santayana was eclectic, either f o n d l y embracing or f o r c e fully rejecting what suited his f a n c y , and always remained at heart a stranger to his times. 1 A negative approach can also

WHAT

IS P H I L O S O P H Y ?

21

prevent the drawing of wrong, though seemingly logical, conclusions. Santayana's remarks on philosophy and philosophers, if taken at face value, bring to mind the philosophical stream rather than the philosophers' map. He is not an existentialist: "the whole controversy rather dampens my interest in Existentialism. . . . If a man wishes to take the universe for a feature in his autobiography, and as nothing else, Jaspers' analysis and his solution seem to be well justified. But why build philosophy on childish vanity?" 2 He is not a "modern," for modern philosophers are characterized by a want of soberness and a want of cogency. (Reason, V , 97 [Sup.].) When he contemplated the scene in 1913, he found "besides the survival of all the official and endowed systems . . . a very interesting fresh movement . . . which in its various hues may be called irrationalism, vitalism, pragmatism, or pure empiricism." It is "simply an extreme expression of romantic anarchy . . . in essence but a franker confession of the principle upon which modern philosophy has been building—or unbuilding —for these three hundred years, I mean the principle of subjectivity." (Winds, 1 1 - 1 2 . ) Idealism was anathema to Santavana. He saw its baleful influence in the whole confused heritage of modern philosophy, which was "theology attenuated rather than science filled out." 3 It made "the whole of British and German philosophy . . . only literature." (Scepticism, 254.) True philosophy he found buried in the past: "the later we come down in the history of philosophy the less important philosophy becomes, and the less true in fundamental matters." (Soliloquies, 209.) The about-face march was a long one, for the shadow of the bar sinister hovered over the centuries of scholasticism. "The classic and Christian synthesis from which we have broken loose was certainly premature, even if the only issue of our liberal experiments should be to lead us back to some such equilibrium." (Soliloquies, 169.) Such a synthesis

22

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

is on a par with that of the Indians who were carried away by their untutored imaginations (Soliloquies, 212-13), a r , d with that of Plato and Aristotle who "launched into the world a new mythology" when they, "following the momentous precept of Socrates, decreed that observation of nature should stop and a moral interpretation of nature should begin." 4 These three movements—Christian, Indian, Platonic— were accidental traditional faiths, borrowing from logic such helps or extensions as they could welcome; they had not that honest personal seat nor that fearless outlook which amid so many weaknesses made the strength of modern philosophy. [Realms, 168.]

The backward journey ultimately halted at the Greek naturalists and their spokesman to Santayana, Lucretius, the master of sympathy with nature. This Roman's contribution will receive attention in Chapter IV. At first sight a retrospective glance appears devastating. The traditional philosophical landmarks, save Lucretius perhaps, are leveled. Are there left any categories for classifying Santayana? The question must stand unanswered until his positive statements have been mulled over. Negatively, the process of elimination has unmistakable value: it inculcates a prudent caution in applying labels. Santayana's philosophy is not: ( 1 ) an existential subjectivity; (2) an idealistic subjectivism; or (3) a system—like Platonic, Indian, or Christian philosophy—inspired by a traditional faith. Would it be justifiable to take a step further and say that his philosophy is not a system? Not from what has been seen. His opposition is directed against existing syntheses which for him Plato's Phaedo foreshadows and accurately defines: theological syntheses which substitute supernaturalism for naturalism.® Actually, did Santayana not allude to the possibility of a kind of synthesis in the phrase "some such equilibrium"? (Soliloquies, 169.) But his vagueness and our doubts are soon to be shattered. Hereafter, if we choose to speak of his "system," we know why he adds "if system it can be called." (Realms, xxviii.)

WHAT

IS P H I L O S O P H Y ?

23

Those who deal with the abstract and general, who think impersonally and along the lines of a universal system, are almost sure to ignore their ignorance. They acquire what has been called the architectonic instinct; their conceptions of things are bound to be symmetrical and balanced, and to fit into one another with perfect precision. . . . Their cold breath congeals the surface of truth into some system; and on that thin ice they glide merrily over all the chasms in their knowledge.6 Santayana is not dropping a casual remark. Philosophers are baffled, not to say overwhelmed, by a rejection that is absolute, universal, and constantly reiterated. T h e i r sanctuaries are turned into flimsy constructions of words: Viewed from a sufficient distance, all systems of philosophy are seen to be personal, temperamental, accidental, and premature. They treat partial knowledge as if it were total knowledge: they take peripheral facts for central and typical facts: they confuse the grammar of human expression, in language, logic, or moral estimation, with the substantial structure of things. In a word, they are human heresies. [Obiter Scripta, 94.] Heresiarch and mythologist—for Santayana systems of philosophy were commonly unrealized mythical objects—the philosopher is like any animal: " E a c h animal and each philosopher picks out those perspectives which fall in with the rhythm and oppositions of his own habits and thoughts." (Realms, 296.) H e should not pretend that in his discussion the experience described is more than typical. " I t is given out not f o r a literal fact . . . but f o r an imaginative expression . . . his interpretation." (Reason, V , 134 [Sup.J.) Consequently, if a certain brand of thought becomes popular, the reason is that people welcome a logical defense f o r current prejudice. 7 T h e i r philosophical abodes reduced to shambles, the scholars w h o disagree with Santayana find abundant material at hand. T h e y grasp, first of all, a sizable boulder f r o m The Realm of Truth: Language then becomes an accomplice and a sanction of the will: and from honest opposition to our enemies in battle, we pass to envenomed refutation of their feelings as false. Each party hugs its

24

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

maxims not as its own and worth being true to, but as the only true maxims. W e might dismiss this as excusable heat and vapour, or as a technical solecism; yet when passion usurps the name of truth, the very idea of truth is tarnished and defiled. [Realms, 474-75.] and hurl it against the most obvious weak spot, namely, what Santayana has just told us about the history of philosophy from Plato to existentialism. On what grounds, they demand, is the prerogative of speaking f o r "common sense" exclusively his? 8 Theirs is a righteous indignation. A swift stroke of his pen and the brilliant minds of the past are reduced to morons. And the crowning insult is the implication of his monopoly of Truth: "and I seemed insignificant to the professional idealogues who had never had the courage to face the cruel truth about anything, much less to utter it." {Host, 1 1 5 . ) But before w e cry " F o r shame!" w e should study the situation more carefully. Our gaze, at present, is still toward the negative—what Santayana's philosophy is not. It certainly is not a "system," as philosophers ordinarily understand the term. And without gainsaying the justifiable grounds of his adversaries, can w e suppose that ultimately he is being consistent? Is not his criticism the application of his norm: "they confuse the grammar of human expression, in language, logic, or moral estimation, with the substantial structure of things"? Santayana's positive statements may succeed in clearing the air. T h e "intellectual philosophy" which he professes is materialism or naturalism—a philosophy of "observation." 9 What does he observe? Nature, long secret, hath unveiled to me And proved her vile. Her wanton bosoms be My pillow now. I know her. I am free. 10 This obvious answer is a confession of a philosophy. W e come closer to the question: " W h a t is philosophy?" when he tells us that he is interested in the aspects of things, the picturesque or moral suggestions in them. T h e words "naturalism" or

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

25

"materialism" are apt to suggest cosmological problems and technical questions w h i c h Santayana relegates to the academic lumber pile of the nineteenth c e n t u r y . H e w o u l d have no part with technicalities. " M y pleasure was rather in expression, in reflection, in i r o n y . " (Brief History,

248.) " M y effusions w e r e

not meant as contributions to science, but as confessions of faith. . . ." (Schilpp, 590.) " I t aspires to be only a contribution to the humanities, the expression of a reflective, selective, and free m i n d . " ( M i d d l e Span,

164.)

In one w o r d Santayana sums u p these descriptions:

criticism,

w h i c h seems t o be the best term f o r classifying his t y p e of philosophy. " A critical habit is perhaps more spontaneous in me than a constructive one. I like to lean on the w o r k s and opinions o f others." (Schilpp, 549.) O f necessity the critic is negative:

his f u n c t i o n is to feel and to c o n f r o n t all values.

But at the same time he is positive, bringing these values into relation, and if possible into harmony. Santavana swings in a negative direction w h e n he accuses system-minded philosophers of heresy and m y t h o l o g y . T h e i r heresy was to make a science out of w h a t could be a life or a means of artistic expression.

(Letters,

148.)

Their

mythology

explains

their

heresy: the denial of the d o g m a that "Essences and values alone are k n o w a b l e and fixed and amenable to science. If w e insist on history and c o s m o g o n y , w e must be satisfied w i t h having them presented to us in allegorical f o r m . " (Interpretations,

69.) C l e a r l y this d o g m a — i n d e e d all criticism needs a

dogmatic b a c k g r o u n d (Reason, V , 245 [ 4 5 9 ] ) — i s something positive, f o r it is the o n l y n o r m Santayana uses in declaring past systems unorthodox. Simultaneously this norm establishes philosophy as "personal experience": It lies in confessing that a system of philosophy is a personal work of art which gives a specious unity to some chance vista in the cosmic labyrinth. T o confess this is to confess a notorious truth; yet it would be something novel if a philosopher should confess it, and should substitute the pursuit of sincerity for the pursuit of omniscience.

26

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

T h e first requisite of such a philosophy would be to renounce all claim to be a system of the universe. It would leave the theory of the universe to science, to human orthodoxy, or to religious revelation. It w o u l d concentrate all its attention on personal experience, personal perspectives, personal ideals. [ O b i t e r Scripta, 100-101.]

If the history of philosophy has presented no one of this stature except, perhaps, the ancients, it is to Santayana's credit that he admitted the possibility at least of having altered the commonly accepted definition of philosophy. "I am perhaps no philosopher myself." 1 1 "I am not a great philosopher. , . . This is my solid standing-ground outside and around special systems." (Letters, 133.) But let no one else, misinterpreting his intention, foolishly say the same thing. "He also represented me as merely renovating Tom Paine, instead of Thomas Aquinas!" 1 2 " M y book [Dominations and Powers] does not pretend to be a mere description, in physics or history; it is philosophical: that is, it selects and compares features in both directions, as they appear from a cosmic point of view." 1 3 Not only the norm of the critic is positive, but also his added philosophical function of comparing values and bringing them into harmony. Santayana constructed, as Thomas Aquinas constructed. He is a moral philosopher who, if we may borrow from Alcibiades his characterization of the Stranger in Dialogues in Limbo, was at heart "a sort of poet or idealist . . . and all he asks of the world, be it here or in the realm of mortals, is that it should suffer him to compose a picture of what, to his mind, it ought to have been." (Dialogues, 14.) Taking as his starting point that "aversions and fears imply principles of preference, goods acknowledged . . . and it is the philosopher's business to make these goods explicit," 14 Santayana rationalized to disinter general principles and final aims. His goal was theoretic wholeness, which requires "not this or that system" but some system. Its value is not the value of truth but that of "victorious imagination." (Interpretations, 164, 191, 208.)

WHAT

IS P H I L O S O P H Y ?

27

T e c h n i c a l questions inevitably arise. W h a t are those principles of p r e f e r e n c e ? W h a t happens in Santayana o r in a n y b o d y else w h e n the imagination c o n j u r e s up its ideals?

Our

present interest is not the f a c t that Santayana dipped into the muddied waters of explanation and discovered that morality is the ultimate expression point is that as a philosopher:

of

one's nature. T h e

important

" I . . . have no passionate at-

tachment to existence, and value this w o r l d f o r the intuitions it can suggest rather than f o r the wilderness of facts that compose i t . " ( S c e p t i c i s m , 1 7 1 . ) H a s moral philosophy slipped into idealism? When I describe a stage-setting, you say that I have abandoned my materialism. That is not true: I have turned my thoughts to something else; but this stage-setting, far f r o m contradicting its sources in reai life, gives real life its human f o r m and reflective interpretation. [Letters, 372.] M a n y scholars think that on his o w n principles Santayana should have said: " I had to turn m y thoughts to something else." T h e y point out that if he insists on his dualism between facts and the ideas of those f a c t s in h u m a n heads ( L e t t e r s , 2 7 3 ) , he m a y say all he wants about the things he names—but to himself. His plight can be put into his o w n w o r d s : " C r i t i cism is something purely incidental—talk about talk—and to m y mind has no serious value e x c e p t as an expression of phil o s o p h y in the critic. W h e n I have been led to w r i t e criticism, it has n e v e r been f o r anv other reason. . . . " The

15

difficulty crystallized in this definition is crucial. It

casts d o u b t on the validity of Santayana's chosen norm of o r t h o d o x y , the core of his idea of p h i l o s o p h y . H o w

could

Santayana claim that "science and experience ["ideas or sensations"]

are o n l y languages

in w h i c h , f o r human

purposes,

nature m a y at times be d e s c r i b e d " ( L e t t e r s , 3 3 0 ) , and then be a n n o y e d because they criticize my concepts and the absence of defijiitions for them, as if I were talking about essences, when I am talking about history,

28

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

psychology, and morals, that is, about things; and a man who thinks concepts can be substituted for things, and that by defining concepts he sees things truly is, to be frank, a fool. [Letters, 346.] His realism may not be so frank; but neither would he jeopardize his consistency, nor sound as if he were exempt from language and concepts, if he held on to the notion: " W h y should different estimations annoy anyone who is not a snob, when, if they are sincere, they express different enjoyments?" 1 6 T h e negative and positive phases which are the "expression of philosophy" in this critic are not without their problems. Nor is the superstructure that will rest on that foundation. It is primarily this edifice that scholars have in mind when they talk about Santayana's "mature philosophy," or contrast the "early" with the "late." Y e t it is significant that no question of chronology will determine the choice of texts used to uncover the fundamental idea of his philosophy. " I don't evolve: . . . I sometimes think w e all die at twenty-five and after that are nothing but walking corpses, with gramophones inside." (Letters, 159.) Just a f e w bars can identify the record that Santayana is playing. A grace-note here or there, in the form of distinctive terms, cannot disguise the theme: an interest in the ideal and the verbalism of systems. T h e theme reappears under diverse names in his many volumes. N o w one term, now another comes into the limelight. But through all—Santayana insists on the point—runs a vein of radical clearness and ultimate courage. He hoped that w e would shrewdly detect his fundamental philosophy: the inevitable lights and insights of common sense. (Preface, Triton Ed., I, viii.) Probably the most controversial term is the " L i f e of Reason"—a summary history of the human imagination. Students of Santayana are wont to trace a development from the "comprehension of causes and pursuit of aims," or "practice guided by science and directed towards spiritual goods," 1 7 to a rejection of science, a deflowering of reason, and at length, its

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

29

unprecedented isolation in the blissful and safe abode of ideal constructions. 18 Santayana, on the other hand, deplored The Life of Reason, rewrote it, became distraught because people talked about it as if it represented his whole philosophy, and confessed its similarity to his latest views.19 T o argue the problem on Santayana's principles is fruitless, since refutations and proofs depend on pregnant meanings assigned to terms. In a gesture of peace, however, Santayana offers a dualistic solution: "the rationality of his [man's] life and its spirituality might be called two concomitant versions of it, the one lateral and the other vertical." 20 Santayana's personal preference, of course, was for the "liberating side" or spirituality, where "what was a predicament becomes a vista, what was a puzzle becomes a truth. You have begun to live in a new way just as natural ( if you are a thinking man) and much less disturbed." But his critics are disturbed. In practice the liberating side appears to be the whole life of reason. For the "militant side" or rationality "overload[s] the weight of scientific and historical knowledge with arbitrary explanations which multiply unnecessary doubts and quarrels." 21 It is not necessary to take sides in this quarrel. What is important is that we recognize the two phases of "criticism" in these two facets of the "Life of Reason." W e should note the significant variation in Santayana's theme, namely, that his interest in values results from the inadequacy of language. In addition to the "Life of Reason," Santayana employed some other equally enigmatic terms to embody his idea of philosophy. Opponents who derisively, or otherwise, dub him a poet have declarations like the following in mind: Therefore poetry is, in one sense, truer than science, and more satisfactory to a seasoned and exacting mind. P o e t r y reveals one sort of truth completely, because reality in that quarter is no more defined or tangible than poetry itself; and it clarifies human experience of other things also, earthly and divine, without falsifying these

30

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

things more than experience falsifies them already. Science, on the contrary, the deeper it goes, gets thinner and thinner and cheats us altogether, unless we discount its symbols. [Realms, 233.] A remarkable statement in two respects. First, poetry reveals the complete truth of personal emotion, which is the poet's own attenuation or rehandling or echo of crude experience. Second, how is experience of other things clarified? In that the rehandling is known to be personal, descriptive not constitutive of crude experience, philosophic not scientific. Our eyes are opened to a more intense sort of experience, a new sort of harmony. T h e old illusion of philosophers who thought to trap the world in words is laid to rest. The doctrines of philosophers disagree where they are literal and arbitrary,—mere guesses about the unknown; but they agree or complete one another where they are expressive or symbolic, thoughts wrung by experience from the hearts of poets. Then all philosophies alike are ways of meeting and recording the same flux of images, the same vicissitudes of good and evil, which will visit all generations, while man is man. [Poets, 70, 124.] What insight into Santayana is ours once w e recognize the refrain! And what a pity that only the trained ear should catch its echo in countless phrases: "after all, it is an old maxim with me that many ideas may be convergent as poetry which would be divergent as dogmas." (Brief History, 254.) " T h e refraction of truth in human philosophies, for instance, is no mere scandal: it composes a work of human art, and partakes of the force both of truth and of imagination." 2 2 Another interesting repetition reveals cadences w e might never have suspected. " T h e o r y , " "logic," "science," "laws of nature," are Santayana terms which swell the refrain with enlightening, if not unnerving, consequences. " T h e atomic theory is, nevertheless, in one sense inherent in physics, and alone possible." (Realms, 231.) " T h e o r y " seems to mean explanation, as understood in that department of "reasoned knowledge" which, proceeding b y observation, yields natural science. T h e same meaning appears when Santayana enunciates

WHAT

IS P H I L O S O P H Y ?

31

the materialistic theory that mind is not the cause of action b u t an effect. 2 3 But in reality he cared little f o r explanations, finding

o f t e n that they did not explain things or even make

them clearer. (Letters, 372.) W h e n he said "reasoned," he did not mean the " p u f f i n g engine" or "mere romance" of logic. (Scepticism,

121, 101.) A n d "science," expressing in human

terms our d y n a m i c relation to surrounding reality, is one of those systems w h i c h mav be used and, u p to a certain point, "trusted as symbols."

(Brief History,

244.) W h a t is more,

since materialism itself is an interpretation (Persons and 18), w e m a y conclude that " t h e o r y , dewpia—a

Places,

steady

con-

templation of all things in their order and w o r t h " — i s "imaginative." (Poets,

11.) It w i l l add nothing except the success

involved in framing it. (Reason, V , 89 [Sup.].) A s a result, w h a t w e call "the laws of nature" are hasty generalizations, the products of a science w h i c h is "conscientious

fiction."

T h e s e laws, f o r a natural philosopher, are simply

names. 24

N e e d w e add: philosopher in Santayana's understanding

of

the term? Such was G o e t h e , the "wisest of mankind . . . too wise, perhaps, t o be a philosopher in the technical sense, or to t r y to harness this w i l d w o r l d in a brain-spun terminolo g y . " (Poets,

139.)

Santayana might have preferred not to be classified as a technical philosopher. But misunderstood as he was, he w o u l d have been wise not to make an issue of "brain-spun terminolo g y . " W e understand this reference to his norm of philosophic o r t h o d o x y . 2 5 But if a reader is too impatient to juxtapose texts, or is unaware of the absolute necessity of doing so in a philosophy o f personal perspectives, w h e r e will his verbal prejudices regarding theory, science, and the rest lead him? Far f r o m Santayana, to be sure! A n d , strangely enough, precisely because of Santayana's philosophy of "philosophy." W h o is to blame if fundamental ideas are missed? W e m a y w o n d e r sometimes w h a t made him mask the forthright confession of his youth:

32

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

In fact since I have been in Germany I have become optimistic about the prospects in philosophy. If philosophy were the attempt to solve a given problem, I should see reason to be discouraged about its success; but it strikes me that it is rather an attempt to express a half-undiscovered reality, just as art is, and that two different renderings, if they are expressive, far from cancelling each other add to each other's value. The great bane of philosophy is the theological animus which hurries a man toward final and intolerant truths as towards his salvation. Such truths may be necessary to men but philosophy can hardly furnish them. It can only interpret nature, in parts with accuracy, in parts only with a vague symbolism. I confess I do not see w h y we should be so vehemently curious about the absolute truth, which is not to be made or altered by our discovery of it. But philosophy seems to me to be its own reward, and its justification lies in the delight and dignity of the art itself. [Letters, 28.]

As a very early expression of Santayana's "criticism," this letter, written in 1887 when he was a graduate student in Berlin, merits special attention. It can scarcely be dismissed as a product of youthful optimism or impetuosity since its doctrines are characteristic. Philosophy interprets nature; it is realistic. The enemy of philosophy is theology. The art of philosophy is its own reward; Santayana has "loved speculation for itself." Philosophy is personal—an interpretation, not a problem-solving. The usual "explanation," the nature of language, is suggested in the words "vague symbolism." And one consequence is noted: different renderings do not cancel each other. The other, conspicuously absent, is the query: "If no one has a monopoly of truth, how can you say that our interpretation is in part accurate and in part symbolic?" The question is honest and does not imply misunderstanding of Santayana. On the contrary, one can sympathize with his distaste for picayune distinctions. Terms are multiplied, "and we think ideas clever and persuasive for finding fault with reality rather than for expressing it." (Realms, 595.) Santayana would be a celebrated Phidias who enshrines an ideal in a work of art, not an unknown Phidias who would discourse

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

33

on his material and on his tools. Tears for the ideal, which is despised and denaturalized, are written into The Life of Reason: Sunt lachrimae rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt. (Letters, 83.) Ideals, essentially poetic and beautiful, are better than any known or probable truth. (Schilpp, 497.) For one of Santayana's temper, perhaps. Yet cantankerously he studied these ideals in a philosophical appreciation: "I saw, or thought I saw, why those ideas had been formed and cherished, and what function they exercised in moral life." (Schilpp, 497.) Once he ventured into explanation and set his sights on the symbolism of our language, he had to be prepared to meet objections. But frustration was the fate of his pursuers. The closer they approached, the farther he retreated, crying "Words, words!" Hard feelings were bound to result when consistency became a one-way street. Santayana could claim to follow common sense, or to be the only philosopher living. He could even treat his opponents as if he were utterly devoid of those feelings especially notable in a poet. But professional philosophers are usually only apologists: that is, they are absorbed in defending some vested illusions or some eloquent idea. Like lawyers or detectives they study the case for which they are retained, to see how much evidence or semblance of evidence they can gather for the defence, and how much prejudice they can raise against the witnesses for the prosecution; for they know they are defending prisoners suspected by the world, and perhaps by their own good sense, of falsification. T h e y do not covet truth, but victory and the dispelling of their own doubts. W h a t they defend is some system, that is, some view about the totality of things, of which men are actually ignorant. N o system would have ever been framed if people had been simply interested in knowing what is true, whatever it may be.

{Winds, 198.] It seems unjust that the professionals must meet Goliath with no weapon save the slingshot of their own views and language, or retire from the field cursing him with his own damnation

34

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

of Aristotle: "alienated from nature and any penetrating study of it by the fact that he was a disciple of Socrates and therefore essentially a moralist and a logician." 26 The alienation of Santayana from the professionals is the work of both parties. Santayana's principles commit him to interpretation and personal expression. And however consistent he may be, he was imprudent, at the very least, in his choice of words with definite, traditional connotations to express totally dissimilar concepts. N o one will begrudge him his personal grammar of thought. But surely one as worldly-wise as he would recognize that sooner or later some opponent is likely to suspect that his naïveté has ulterior designs. The distinction between ambiguity and double-talk is a fine one. The professionals, on the other hand, probably misled by formulas which appear to be explanations, insist on meeting Santayana on their own level. The values which are the concern of the positive phase of "criticism" change their character, as is indicated by the controversy over the Life of Reason. But because a formulation is altered, must we believe that his philosophy—"criticism"—is any different? Is not that "secret or private philosophy perhaps more philosophical than the other?" The variations are peripheral, not central. Scholars who believe otherwise are sure to be sidetracked and to miss the real unity and significance of those terms which at different times are predominant in Santayana's thought. An historical panorama can put this problem in correct perspective. The Life of Reason is the early description of Santayana's thought (1905). Its "secret philosophy" is what we have called "criticism." This is not, therefore, a work of metaphysics, or of history, nor even of psychology. It is a work of criticism. Its object is not to trace the connection or define the nature of all things, but merely to estimate the value of some of them. Yet, in order to criticize, it is necessary to understand and to be sympathetic; and for this reason I have often been led to reconstruct and to analyze the historical or psychological episodes of which I wish to esti-

WHAT

IS P H I L O S O P H Y ?

35

mate the value. The work of criticism has consequently become, in method, a work of imagination. It is as such only that, in its turn, it ought to be judged. [Journal of Philosophy, Vol. X V , No. 3 (1918), p. 83.] On the other hand, then, my subject being the imagination, I was never called on to step beyond the subjective sphere. . . . I was accordingly concerned to discover what wisdom is possible to an animal whose mind, from beginning to end, is poetical: and I found that this could not lie in discarding poetry in favour of the science supposed to be clairvoyant and literally true. [Brief History, 249-50.] W i t h this definite mental-set, Santayana presents a formulation in which values were described in Grecian terms. A man is spiritual when he lives in the presence of the ideal, and whether he eat or drink does so for the sake of a true and ultimate good. . . . There is no need that this ideal should be pompously and mystically described. A simple life is its own reward, and continually realises its function. [Reason, III, 193-94 (24)-] T h e man w h o lives in the presence of the ideal applies the principle of "Ideal Immortality," f o r he observes the "eternal quality of ideas and validities, and the affinity to them native to reason or the cognitive energy of mind." (Reason, III, 229 [277].) T h r o u g h o u t this exposition of the spiritual life, Santayana appears in his guise of Phidias, anxious to embody his ideal in solid marble. In the second scene ( 1 9 1 0 - 2 7 ) Phidias has the air of a displaced Diogenes. T o grasp the "eternal quality of ideas" w e must stand "as on a mountain-top, and the spectacle, so out of scale with all our petty troubles, silences and overpowers the heart, expanding it f o r a moment into boundless sympathy with the universe." ( O b i t e r Scripta, 289.) A "detachment" of a physical kind will henceforth be linked to a moral detachment of values. "Spirituality . . . lies in regarding existence merely as a vehicle f o r contemplation, and contemplation merely as a vehicle f o r j o y . " (Soliloquies, 228.) "Ideal Immortality" fades into the less resonant Spinozan term: "Seeing

36

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

things under the form of eternity." " A thing is seen under the form of eternity when all its parts or stages are conceived in their true relations, and thereby conceived together." {Poets, 190.) With this insight the saints and true philosophers "have felt a reasonable contempt for mere living and dying; and in that precisely lies moral greatness." 27 Phidias, indeed, has become a Diogenes whose spiritual life is a "disintoxication" from values. (Platonism, 30.) In the third scene (1927 et seq.) Diogenes, the liberated spirit, attaches his affections to the essences of things which are eternal. He begins to enjoy a sweet and marvelous solitude, and to drink of the peace which comes to the spirit only in pure intuition. . . . and it was happiness or deliverance, the supervening supreme expression of human will and imagination, that alone really concerned me. This alone was genuine philosophy; this alone was the life of reason. 28

This panorama presents the Santayana vignette of the professionals.29 Not without its blemishes, the picture enables the reader to see how discussion over the different formulations of values can blur the more delicate lines of "criticism." That particular descriptions are not Santayana's "philosophy" must be insisted upon. Another, but perfectly normal difficulty that m y critics have is that they don't know m y philosophy, which is not an arbitrary "creation" of m y fancy but simply the result or sediment left in my mind b y living. F o r that reason I am compelled to imply and to illustrate it in all I say about anything; so that if they have a different philosophy or no philosophy laid up in their minds, of course they cannot see how what I say hangs together.

[Letters, 424.]

How consoling to know that their difficulty is a perfectly normal one! W e must note the reasons why. A "different philosophy" can blind critics to Santayana's Weltanschauung, especially if they are convinced that philosophy means expla-

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

37

nation. T h e y can entertain the false idea that Santayana's philosophy is an arbitrary "creation" of his fancy—a notion engendered, in all probability, b y his portrayal of genuine philosophy as the expression of human will and imagination. Most critics are normally disconcerted to discover that "mind," which "comes to enrich the essence of the world, not to reproduce it," is concerned with ideals which are fictions inspired by the moral imagination, or that reason is itself a method of imaginative thought. 30 T h e opinion that this creation is arbitrary might have two explanations, depending on how we understand "arbitrary." Critics are either tricked into believing that a formulation—arbitrarily changed—is his philosophy by his own avowal of moral philosophy; or are determined in their opinion by the marked personal nature of his thought. Santayana was compelled to imply and to illustrate his philosophy in all he said. If he is arbitrary, so is ever)' critic: "All survey needs an arbitrary starting point; all valuation rests on an irrational bias," namely, the determinate character of the critic. 31 Consequently, when Santayana moved in the realm of familiar discourse—for "moral philosophy is not a science"—he expressed his "reasoned preferences amongst all the forms of experience which his imagination can propose." (Edman, 48.) There is no attempt to conceal his position: " F o r on one point I am satisfied with m y conclusions, and that is that it is our sympathies that must guide our opinions." 3 2 His preferences, reasoned or not, are not so much a criticism as a personal expression. Necessarily, then, the student of Santayana's philosophy is plunging into biography. And the deeper he dives into "criticism," the more is he bewildered. Everywhere he uncovers Santayana's description, definition, protestation of his idea of philosophy. H o w can w e possibly confuse the fruit with the seed?

38

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

M y later philosophy . . . merely develops certain ultimate themes of inner life which had run in my head f r o m the beginning: they had dominated my verse, and had reappeared in my early accounts of poetry and religion. . . . T h e y are confessions of the sentiment with which the spectacle of things and the discipline of experience can fill a reflective mind. [Preface, Triton Ed., V I I . ] M y philosophy has never changed. It is b y no means an artificial hypothesis; it doesn't appeal at all to the professors; it is a system of presuppositions and categories discovered already alive and at w o r k within me willy-nilly, like existence itself, and virtually present not only in the boy but in the embryo. [Persons and Places, 172.] M y criticism is not essentially a learned pursuit, though habit may sometimes make my language scholastic; it is not a choice between artificial theories; it is the discipline of my daily thoughts and the account I actually give to myself f r o m moment to moment of m y own being and of the world around me. fScepticism, 305.] W h y , the student asks himself, should scholars attack Santayana, especially when the result is foreseen? A s to contrary principles or preferences that dictate our different views, it would be chimerical and ill-natured to argue. Y o u cannot refute a principle or rebut a preference, you can only indicate its consequences or present alluringly the charms of a rival doctrine. I am aware of the rigidity and untimeliness of my views. [Schilpp, 604.] Eventually w e shall indicate the consequences of Santayana's views. T h e critics w h o choose to refute him have in their favor three solid reasons, which conveniently sum up the principal points of this chapter. First, Santayana bears the name and responsibility of a philosopher. If he desires that glory, he must share its cross: the probing inquiries of fellow philosophers. Second, his philosophy is criticism. In its negative phase he appraises other philosophies. Merely learned views are not philosophy; and therefore no modern writer is altogther a philosopher in my eyes, except Spinoza; and the critics of knowledge in particular seem to me as feeble morally as they are technically. [Scepticism, 305.]

WHAT

IS

PHILOSOPHY?

39

T h e practice is not only an invitation to go and do likewise. It also rests on positive principles which, however personal, must be rational. " ' N o discourse whatsoever can end in absolute knowledge of fact'; and I have made the authority of things, as against the presumption of words or ideas, a principle of my philosophy." 3 3 Anyone has the right, not to say duty, to weigh the reasons for and consequences of Santayana's dualism of facts and the ideas of those facts in human heads. In its positive phase, criticism is a harmonizing of values. Inevitably, Santayana's different formulations of values will attract an unwanted interest if he himself borrowed the phrase: " m y later philosophy." (Preface, Triton Ed., VII.) Third, since he was compelled to use the tools of his trade and could not altogether escape the controversial tradition in which he had been trained, he ventured into the realm of explanation. " T h a t the unification of nature is eventual and theoretical is a point useful to remember; else the relation of the natural world to poetry, metaphysics, and religion will never become intelligible." (Reason, I, 121 [26].) There is no better w a y to stimulate the question: " H o w does nature unify the realm of values and the natural world, the lateral and vertical versions of spirituality and rationality?" In turning to the study of Santayana's answer we may expect that, according to his promise, it will be a development of certain ultimate themes of his inner life.

III. T H E F O R M U L A T I O N A PHILOSOPHY

OF

I had not t h o u g h t of c o n s t r u c t i n g any sincere

reaction

to

one

system

rival

system; y e t

after another

gradually

my re-

vealed to m e the u n f o r m u l a t e d principles that guided m y j u d g ment; so that m y system, if system it can be called, w a s not so m u c h f o r m e d b y me as discovered within me.

[Realms, xxvii-viii.] It was inevitable that Santayana should step into the ranks of system-makers. But his place was apart—in an area marked " F o r Non-idolators. Down with the 'Tyranny of Words.' " T h e step was a natural one, and it is interesting to recall why. In Santavana's mind The Life of Reason was incomplete. All the unformulated principles were there but unequally developed. "Assumed" he calls some of them, or "unnoticed" because he dwelt on other perspectives. What was in the background—nature—came forward; the life of reason, "a decidedly episodical thing, polyglot, interrupted, insecure," receded. (Edman, 42.) Quite naturally, then, without any change in deliberate doctrine, these preferences of the critic must receive their due. It is natural f o r a philosopher to succor those doctrines most bitterly assailed by the opposition. Santayana's interest in the positive phase of criticism diverted him from the roots of values in nature and in everyday life. He appeared not as a realist but as a Diogenes. And, by his own admission, he was guilty of vacillation and incoherence bccause, without warn-

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41

ing, he passed f r o m the perspectives of the senses and imagination to the natural sequence or relations o f facts. (Letters, 175.) His honor required him to don the armor of his profession and to meet his foe on open g r o u n d b y c l a r i f y i n g his "unification of nature." It is natural f o r a philosopher to desire recognition of his work. T h e prolific writing of Santayana proves that he is no exception. T h e epistemological difficulties o f neo-realism gave h i n the golden opportunity to c l a r i f y the g r o u n d w o r k

of

values in the f r a m e w o r k of a traditional philosophical p r o b lem. 1 H i s formulation gained t h e r e b y in professional status as well as in completeness. This formulation shall have a threefold examination in this chapter: ( 1 ) W h a t is this formulation w h i c h is also a development?

(2) Is this a genuine formulation, truly another ex-

pression of criticism? (3) In the reasoning of the formulation does the critic give any indication of the sympathies w h i c h gu:de him? A final section shall be devoted to reflections. Santayana approaches the epistemological arena via the purgative w a y — t h e methodical doubt. H e wished to p u r g e his mind of illusion, "even at the price of intellectual suicide." (Scepticism, discerned

ro.) O d d l y , at the start of the journev he already the goal:

the brute necessity

of

believing

some

d o j m a w h i c h could not be relegated to hypothesis, presumption, or animal faith. (Scepticism,

8-9.) T h e self-evident f a c t

which his skepticism could not shatter is the character of some essence given in intuition. T h i s datum, w h i c h he calls an "idea" or a "description" (Scepticism,

35, n o ) , is the o n l y thing that

is g i v e n — " l a m b , " " b l a c k , " " c e n t a u r . " T o assert that this idea exiits is to g o bevond the given. T h e essence affords no evidence of existence. A s a result, all existence is a belief, "something radically incapable of p r o o f . " O u r alleged k n o w l e d g e of things is an act of faith. 2 Clearly the purgative w a y is not f o r the uninitiated, w h o are likely to be completely befuddled o v e r the meaning of

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evidence. "Certainly, as a matter of fact, when I deny existence I exist; but doubtless many of the other facts I have been denying, because I found no evidence for them, were true also." 3 Can it be that existence is believed because it cannot be an essence? Here, clad in technical terms, is Santayana's dualism of facts and the ideas of those facts in human heads. It concludes "a demonstration that demonstration in matters of belief is impossible, that the terms of experience are unsubstantial, and that life would be a vain dream, if faith did not interpret it." (Schilpp, 517.) For Santayana the purgative way opened out into a region where the ether is too rare for flourishing distinctions of true and false, far and near, past and present. He was left alone with an essence, which is neither the act of intuition, nor an existence comporting external and variable relations. Perfectly unambiguous, it is intrinsically and inalienably eternal and universal. It is not a known idea in the English empirical tradition but rather a term of pure thought. In no way is it the object known or any part of it, and therefore is not an abstraction or reproduction which defines the intrinsic nature of the object. Picture it as we will, it is a homespun exclusive datum of intuition, part of that conventional symbolism of sensation with which we are compelled to clothe things.4 The purge completed and the mind illuminated by essence, Santayana put to himself the logical question: how is this essence produced? By the psyche, the material organizing power in man; or more simply, by the organs of sense in the observer.5 "The presumption of common sense, that these essences belong in the first place to objects and pass from them into the organs of sense, and somehow become evident to spirit in the dark caverns of the brain, is unfortunately untenable." (Realms, 351.) Common sense would destroy the dualism of facts and ideas of those facts in human heads. And Santayana, who sometimes seems to be ensnared by common sense,6 would have no part with the "absurdity of wishing to

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43

have intuition of things." (Scepticism, 88.) With the intuition of essence, the problem of knowledge is still unsolved. T h e images of sense, which are parts of discourse not parts of nature, must be transcended in a leap of faith. Knowledge is attained in the instinctive assertion that the essence intuited is the essence of the existence encountered. Appearance becomes an inevitable sign or symbol. A n d in its capacity as an appropriate name f o r substance, it yields perfect knowledge or true belief—perfect or true pictorially not evidentially. " K n o w l e d g e accordingly is belief . . . " 7 T h e epistemologists have not been pleased by that solution. And they are troubled by instinctive assertions and inevitable signs which are at cross-purposes with what w e are accustomed to think: O u r ideas are a c c o r d i n g l y

o n l y subjective signs, while w e

them objective qualities; and the w h o l e w a r p and w o o f

think of

our

k n o w l e d g e is rhetorical while w e think it physically existent and constitutive of the w o r l d .

[ R e a l m s , 458.]

I shall not retail their arguments and refutations here. What is of importance at the moment is that this theory of knowledge is a bona fide formulation of "criticism." T h e following summary, taken from The Realm of Essence, shows Santavana's critical norm for declaring philosophical systems unorthodox and for establishing philosophy as a personal expression—if not also for directing it into the sphere of values. T h i n g s are thereby " k n o w n "

in the sense that they are

named,

and distinguished b y their rough aspect and occasions; t h e y not k n o w n

at all in the sense of being disclosed in their

are

inner

nature, either totally or partially. T h e specious essence intuited is the name

g i v e n b y the p s y c h e to the material f o r c e encountered

o r exerted; it is a spontaneous s y m b o l , not abstract even in its origin; as the w o r d cat is n o t d r a w n out of the domestic animal, y e t serves to designate it in its entirety, and is m u c h simpler. 8

Essence is the focal point of Santayana's formulation. Looking in one direction toward its source, w e are facing the Realm of Matter. T h e human psyche—Santayana here makes a "spec-

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ulative presumption" on the basis of a "thousand indications" drawn from introspection and from history (Reason, V , 74-75 [ 4 1 1 ] ) — i s governed by the same principles as those which rule the whole of nature. And the first principle, that of materialism, is that matter is the only substance, power, or agency in the universe. (Schilpp, 509.) Our attention still riveted on the source of essence, w e behold the Realm of Spirit. T h e human psyche must assume the presence of an alien universe and must humbly explore its ways. In the act of making this assumption animal sensibility becomes intelligence. L i f e becomes conscious. T h e psyche has developed new organs—the senses, organic memory, language, the arts—and in so doing has created "spirit," which is the actuality of feeling, of observation, of meaning. Spirit, in its turn, transposes essence into appearance and things into objects of belief. Spirit is light and evanescence, and therefore at the other end of the scale from substance, since "modern philosophy has enabled us to dismiss this notion of an underlying substantial spirit." 9 Airily it walks upon the stage because it fulfills a need and potency of the psyche. It responds to some predisposition or readiness peculiar to that earthy substance. In talking about spirit, Santayana extends the term to include the state of consciousness or intelligence. Thereby he diverts attention from the source and primary epistemological duty of essence to its ulterior functions. Spirit, evoked in a moment of contact with the world, is not content to remain a sterile consciousness of things. It becomes a watchtower or possible locus f o r surveying the universe. It ignores its material origin and the prosy reality w e call " c o w " or "chair" to contemplate its own poetical and visionary terms—those eternal essences out of which the stress and the doubt of existence have passed. Detached in its affections from a world which contradicts and stultifies, the spirit discovers that the immediate revelation of things is their ultimate value. It experiences

FORMULATION

OF A P H I L O S O P H Y

45

feelings of union and bliss in the mystic union of intuition, a union of spirit within itself. A n d so, in its virtual omniscience, the eye of spirit sees the visible in its true setting of the invisible; it is fixed instinctively on the countless moments that are not this moment, on the joys that are not this sorrow and the sorrows that are not this joy, on the thousand opinions that are not this beauty; understanding too much to be ever imprisoned. 10

T h e purgative w a y has flowered into the mystical state. If w e strip a w a y all the verdure or verbosity of the ecstatic, we find that a datum of intuition—"yellow," " c o r n , " "garbage"—has become the object of contemplation. A name has become a value. A n d simultaneously the Realm of Essence has merged with the Realm of T r u t h , f o r it contains all those ideal terms which can describe any existent. (Reahns, 403, 420.) Does the path of spiritual discipline veer away f r o m the real world? 1 1 D o the logical categories (essence, matter, truth, and spirit) appear to be separate cosmological regions? T h e y are meant to describe a single natural dynamic process: the jostling of the material psyche by a material world which terminates in what we call knowledge. T o know is indeed a great privilege, perhaps w o r t h y of an exotic description. But in the interest of clarity, let us not hesitate to prune growths like this: T h u s a mind enlightened b y scepticism and cured of noisy dogma, a mind discounting all reports, and free from all tormenting anxiety about its o w n fortunes or existence, finds in the wilderness of essence a very sweet and marvelous solitude. T h e ultimate reaches of doubt and renunciation open out for it, by an easy transition, into fields of endless variety and peace, as if through the gorges of death it has passed into a paradise where all things are crystallized into the image of themselves, and have lost their urgency and their venom. [ S c e p t i c i s m , 76.]

If Santayana's florid style necessitates constant professions of realism, our impetuous dogmatic instinct stands in need of f o r c e f u l correctives. N o t only do w e think our subjective

46

FORMULATION

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PHILOSOPHY

signs to be objective qualities, but the penchant for doing so is normal, even constitutional. So Santayana never tires of warning us to beware of our illusions. T o succumb to them, he tells us, would be ignominious for a philosopher, "when the artificiality and relativity of all human views, especially of learned and beautiful systems, is so patent to reflection." 1 2 Is this the peaceful paradise of which essence opens the gates? Scholars unaccustomed to this wilderness of artificiality and solitude of relativity wonder if Santayana is at home there. What does he say about his own human views? T h e reply is honest and consistent. All that he has written about essence is not true or meant to be true. "It is a grammatical or possibly a poetical construction having, like mathematics or theology, a certain internal vitality and interest." (Realms, 418.) Different versions are equally possible and no less arbitrary. N o claim is made for the absolute Tightness of his preferences. T h e y are true only insofar as existent facts warrant them. 13 Without a doubt this formulation around essence is "the later prose version of my philosophy." 1 4 T h e "criticism" here arrayed in more technical jargon and centered around a traditional philosophical problem is identical with that found "in the making," nearer to its fountainhead, in his poems. These present us in non-argumentative form with the most authentic personal note, the actual spiritual experience of Santayana's philosophy. T h e y are a witness to his love of the ideal: But also that we might, half-knowing, worship The deathless beauty of her guiding vision, And learn to love, in all things mortal, only What is eternal. [Poems, 74.] and simultaneously a testament to his naturalism: There was a time when in the teeth of fate I flung the challenge of the spirit's right;

FORMULATION

OF A P H I L O S O P H Y

47

The child, the dreamer of that visioned night, Woke, and was humbled unto man's estate. A slave I am; on sun and moon I wait. W h o heed not that I live upon their light. [Poems, 19.] Santayana's naturalism, that cosmic grounding f o r ideals which should have been treated first,18 is what strikes us as a development in his formulation. Before, w e were assured of the eventual unification of the material and the ideal in nature. N o w , w e behold the spirit, the creation of a material psyche, as it contemplates its ideal essences. This is still personal description, not explanation. F o r if we ask why or how, w e are told that w e must content ourselves with a groundwork of irrational postulates and presuppositions, and be satisfied with solutions which seem a little disappointing and satirical. 14 Another development, namely, our greater understanding of Santayana, should be tendered by this formulation. B y making essence and the problem of knowledge the core of his thought, Santayana confirms our suspicion of what lay closest to his heart. His negative norm f o r testing the orthodoxy of all systems of philosophy is in reality a positive stand on the nature of language. T h e logical consequence is a philosophy of personal expression. And here, focussed clearly in essence, we see exactly what is the cardinal preference of the critic. His conccrn f o r the realm of values is a consistent development of his idea of words. That pure philosophy to which I was wedded by nature from the beginning, the orthodox human philosophy spoken of in one of these papers, has never had time to break through and show all its native force, pathos, and simplicity. I ought to have begun where I have ended. [Obiter Scripta, ix.] Chronology is in our favor, f o r his earliest writings prove that Santayana was already wedded to this pure philosophy of language. T h e letter of 1887 to James, cited in the last chapter, is antedated b y t w o witnesses: a remark in a letter of August 16, 1887, and a fuller statement of M a y 29, 1887.

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A

PHILOSOPHY

I incline to the opinion that our intelligence has essentially a relative and partial function in the world and that its acquaintance with things is therefore partial and relative. N o thought w e are even potentially capable of would exhaust the reality and take it all up within itself. Our conceptions are of course part of the reality, but there is an infinite plus. 17

Our reaction, if any, might be to take exception to the phrase: " N o thought we are even potentially capable of . . ." as somewhat exaggerated. But Santayana's real bête noire, as we slowly discover, is in the words: "exhaust the reality." Apparently he was convinced that some philosophers, when they speak of knowing the essences of things, intend that they have grasped the inner constitution of nature.1* This misinterpretation becomes bedfellow to the ideas garnered from his courses with Professor Palmer. From observing Palmer's method, he understood that the cogency of dialectic and its application to facts is verbal or distorting. From Hobbes, read under Palmer's guidance, he learned that " N o discourse whatsoever can end in absolute knowledge of fact." 1 9 It is not surprising that in 1888 Santayana was already expressing the conviction that most of our scheme of doctrine is built on false or arbitrary axioms.20 In the course of time— perhaps because his orthodox philosophy was breaking through —"most" seems to become "all." Granted that The Life of Reason has bright sparks of consistency. "Both religion and science live in imaginative discourse." "The Life of Reason is . . . the expression of man alone." (Reason, II, 199 [174].) But the overall impression, achieved by the way Santayana spoke of reason and science and external truths, is that the more and more frankly confessed mythical character of exact science is far from maturity. (Letters, 219.) Attribute the phenomenon to what we will: slack education, conflicting traditions, deadening social pressure, academic lumber, a partisan heat about false problems (Obiter Scripta, ix), we must wait patiently until Santayana finds either the confidence to be

FORMULATION

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49

frank or the wisdom to be logical. Then will he boldly admit that our theories are "only languages" (Letters, 330); and that religious and scientific ideas, as pure symbols, clear the w a y for faith "in deciding which set of symbols one will trust."

(Letters, 337.) In the early twenties a new term, "essence," came to express this pure philosophy. Its antecedents are heterogeneous. A smile on the face of old Parmenides, which the moralistic young Socrates provokes when he recoils from ideas of filth and rubbish as not beautiful, made Santayana think. 21 But the thinking is compatible with Henry Jackson's analysis of the

Parmenides: Without attributing any historical insight to this view, I found it a useful thread through the labyrinth; and it also had an important influence on m y philosophy, because it helped me to see that Being, the One, the Many, et cetera, were names of categories, not of existent things, so that all cosmological theories reiving on dialectic (such as that of Leibnitz) were sophistical. T h e y played with essences, and thought they were disclosing facts. 2 2

N o t only is Being a name, a logical category, but essence is also. Indeed, the deeper w e penetrate into the qualities of "essence"—a term which is non-existent, chosen by each organ to symbolize a stimulus to consciousness, indifferently universal or particular, concrete or abstract—the more profound is our understanding of w h y Santayana designated ideas as names and knowledge as naming. 23 And in the pure light of this nominalism, the perfect homogeneity of "criticism" and the formulation around essence, in a word, the whole substance of Santayana's thought, is manifest. Discovery is essentially romantic; there is less clearness in the objects that appear than there is vehemence in the assertion and choice of them. T h e life of reason is accordingly a subject to be treated imaginatively, and interpreted afresh by every historian with legitimate variations; and if no theme lies nearer to the heart of man, since it is the history of his heart, none is more

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hopelessly the sport of apperception and of dramatic bias in the telling.24 W e turn to Santavana's argumentation, of a piece throughout all his works, in search of further insight into the history of his heart. In general, two arguments are offered in favor of essence. One, the skeptical process, need not detain us. T h e only insight into Santayana afforded by this Cartesian trait is his penchant for borrowing. The second is based on the declaration that the Realm of Matter, including ourselves and the world, can never be disclosed in its "dynamic texture" or "presumable inmost structure and ultimate extent." Hence w e drape it in the alien folds of appearance, 25 which is the poetic w a y of stating that we are reduced to naming superficial features or rhythms. Since Santayana does not argue but describe, he begins from a point where w e should not wish to know "things in themselves" even if we were able. T h e thought of doing so is incredible; we should be dupes of an illusion which "excites inextinguishable laughter in the immortal gods." 26 Philosophers who espouse this ridiculous physics are metaphysicians, whom Molière has parodied in Le Malacie imaginaire: Argan (bachelier): Mihi a docto doctore Domandatur causam et rationem quare Opium facit dormire. A quoi respondeo, Quia est in eo Virtus dormitiva, Cujus est natura Sensus assoupire. Choeur: Bene, bene, bene, bene respondere! Dignus, dignus est intrare In nostro docto corpore Bene, bene respondere! 2 7 Santayana's quarrel with the "unhappy dreamers," the "blasphemers of delight" (Poems, 57-58), was no minor skirmish. Repeatedly, he branded them pseudoscientists who

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construct e d i f y i n g m y t h s because they mistake grammar f o r physics. Since they are blind to the light of Santayana's views, t h e y "attempt to establish truths about nature and existence otherwise ment."

28

than

by

observation,

measurement,

and

experi-

T h e i r moral or rhetorical constructions give birth

t o a h y b r i d w h i c h is neither physical speculation nor pure logic nor honest literature. It is regrettable that Santayana did not divert some of his e n e r g y wasted in irony to deepening his comprehension of his adversaries. 29 H e was so busy affirming that his system is metaphysical o n l y in a m o c k i n g literary sense; or that lacking a metaphysics, he is no philosopher but a poor

ignoramus

trusting w h a t he heard f r o m the men of science, 30 that he lacked the time to ponder seriously the question w h e t h e r his o w n materialism m i g h t not be a metaphysics. A n d if w e cannot understand

his philosophy

Nemo

non habet,31

dat quod

b y e m p l o y i n g the

principle

then he himself has no right of

recourse to the dictum. 3 - W i t h o u t discussion Santayana rejects the principle of sufficient reason, f o r the p e r f e c t l y sufficient

reason that it does not square w i t h his stand on lan-

guage. "If any idea or axiom w e r e really a priori or spontaneous in the human mind, it w o u l d be infinitely improbable that it should apply to the facts of nature." (Scepticism, 289.) T h e intensity and extent of this battle w i t h the metaphysicians can be better appreciated if w e sec h o w it w a g e s around specific metaphysical

points.

Santayana's bugbear

in

tradi-

tional philosophy was d y n a m i c idealism. T h i s is the disgrace of Aristotle's physics and the bane of all subsequent philosop h y . 3 3 A4agical final causes make essences into d y n a m i c agents, as if unsubstantial ideas could g o v e r n action. 3 1 T h e real threat w h i c h finality constitutes is that it w o u l d destroy the dualism b e t w e e n facts and the ideas o f those facts. So Santayana attacks that "natural t e n d e n c y " of the human mind to attribute moral causes t o things (Dominations, 8), and warns us against those philosophers w h o so pleasantly o c c u p y our minds " w i t h

52

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pictures and stories, that we may stop asking for reasons." (Realms, 3 1 1 . ) Since he brought up the subject, we must, in this case, hearken to his reasons. . . . so that if we reach any depth or honesty in our reflection we cannot attribute the movement of nature to the antecedent influence of the future good which she might realise. Instead, we must attribute the pursuit of this good, and its eventual realisation, to her previous blind disposition, fortified by the fact that circumstances were favorable to that development. . . . In a word, the teleology present in the world must be distinguished from final causes. T h e latter are mythical and created by a sort of literary illusion. T h e germination, definition, and prevalence of any good must be grounded in nature itself, not in human eloquence.

[Realms, 323.] Human eloquence is prone to another conceit: a metaphysical or cosmological humanism or moralism which maintains that the world is governed by human interests and an alleged universal moral sense. In Santayana's mind the maxim of Protagoras—man is the measure of all things—epitomized this cosmic egotism and ignorance. T h e Greeks, he charged, were victims of that rooted belief with which all animals seem to be born: that the world exists for their benefit. A universe circling about man is possible only to the imagination which conceives of essences as agents and of ideas as governing action. 35 Since any metaphysical position stands in direct conflict with Santayana's concept of an essence as a name, w e find that almost every assertion he utters runs parallel with a denial. But heretofore the other note which accompanies every battle c r y has not been mentioned: " H e r e is a rude blow dealt at dogma of every sort: God, matter, Platonic ideas, active spirits, and creative logics all seem to totter on their thrones." (Obiter Scripta, 216.) ". . . those principles which certain moody metaphysicians have dreamt of, as solving the riddle of the universe, and have called Sin, Will, Duty, the Good, or the Idea." (,Scepticism, 208-9.) Can it be that because Aristotle called

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53

his first philosophy "theology," Santayana rejected metaphysics as idolatrous and theological? 3a Those philosophies which are "traditional faiths" have adopted the metaphysical notion of final causes. As a consequence, when Santayana considers "teleology," a name for a patent and prevalent fact in nature (Realms, 310), he establishes a connection with the God of Platonism and Christianity. God is a hypostasis of this tendency in nature toward the good. In a poetical way of speaking we may darkly assign the deeper flow of natural forces to fate or matter or chance or the unfathomable will of God. But we may not speak of God as a spiritual agent, for teleology must not retreat into theology. 37 Again, when Santayana turns to the anthropocentric view of the universe, he smiles at the pettiness and stupidity of Christianity and the other Hebraic religions for making God the God of man, who disposes all things for man's benefit. The Christian imagination is guilty of a fatuous perversion of nature and of history by attempting to make the spiritual experience of man a scientific explanation of the universe.38 It follows from the idea of essence as name that religious notions will be no different from those of science—mere symbols. But whv did Santayana always single out the theologian as the poetizing moralist, or conjoin as imaginative heirlooms myth, legend, metaphysics, and theology? 39 Perhaps the argumentation touching other features of "criticism" can help us diagnose what religious sympathies were guiding his opinions. When scholars claim that "essence" estranges us from the real world, Santayana emphasizes his primary or dogmatic philosophy (Reason, V , 88 [Sup.]), his materialism. All essences are descriptions, mere symbolic terms for whatever in nature, by its motions and tensions, causes all events to take place and all appearances to appear. T o immense forces beyond ourselves our whole animal life pays the homage of

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spontaneous and inevitable beliefs. In practice, w e can never abandon matter, f o r it is the source of our faculties and f o r tunes, the foundation of all our serious speculation. W e labor u n d e r a misapprehension if w e think that matter cannot explain life o r consciousness, or that it necessarilv excludes immaterial

and

spiritual

things.

Nature

is material,

but

not

materialistic. W h a t w e are naming is not someone's idea of matter, a limp model devised b y some human

imagination,

but a primeval plastic substance of u n k n o w n potentiality. T h i s substance, w h a t e v e r it m a y be, is the sole p o w e r o r a g e n c y in the universe. 4 0 N o mere academic opinion, Santayana's naturalism or materialism w a s an e v e r y d a v of

conviction w h i c h w a s the fruit

experience and observation

of

the w o r l d at large, and

especially of his o w n feelings and passions. It was a p r e f e r e n c e surcharged w i t h emotion, quite alien in spirit to his m a g nanimous allowance of d i f f e r e n t cosmic interpretations, even those w h i c h are not idealistic. M a t t e r may be " c o m m o n l y a name f o r things not u n d e r s t o o d "

(Reason, V ,

80

[Sup.]),

but nonetheless w e are dealing w i t h "scientific materialism." (Idea

of Christ,

187.) T h o s e outside of the clan of s h r e w d and

speculative c y n i c s cannot be g o o d observers of

their

own

irrationality and that of the w o r l d . 4 1 Santayana did not k n o w w h a t matter is in itself ( S c e p t i c i s m , 284), but he f e l t f r e e to aver, " a l t h o u g h it m a y sound d o g m a t i c a l , " that all origins lie in the realm of matter. Y e s , even immaterial being generates there because "this creation or intrusion of the immaterial f o l l o w s on material occasions and at the promptings of c i r c u m stance." ( S c e p t i c i s m , 109.) S a n t a y a n a tells us that The

Reabn

of Matter

is only

a

c o r o l l a r y to the great axiom of materialism: the dominance of matter in e v e r y existing being, e v e n w h e n that being is spiritual. {Realms,

292.) In that case w e cannot expect his observa-

tions to be u n f a i t h f u l to this root of all belief. B u t strangely, a f t e r having defined matter as all-inclusive and confessed his

FORMULATION

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55

ignorance of its structure, he belligerently avows "a deliberate refusal to admit the possibility of any mental machinery (Realms, 332.) This acknowledgment of ignorance is consistent with his idea that essences do not exhaust reality. T h e refusal, therefore, appears absolutely gratuitous. In fact, its utterance in this context is the very thing that leads scholars to accuse Santayana of double-talk when he naively changes the signification of words with definite connotations and denotations to suit his preferences. T h e tactic gives all the advantage to one side when the wind of controversy blows over "materialism," "philosophy," and "knowledge." Naturalism will break d o w n as soon as words, ideas, or spirits are taken to be substantial on their own account. Since such "disembodied powers and immaterial functions prior to matter" are what Santayana called metaphysical, the quarrel with the metaphysicians breaks out here, too. Material engines are always mustered in opposition to impassioned or ideal spirits. 41 ' A n d materialism itself is not a system of metaphysics. Materialism is not a system of metaphysics; it is a speculation in chemistry and physiology, to the effect that, if analysis could go deep enough, it would find that all substance was homogeneous, and that all motion was regular. 43

In conducting his campaign of materialism against the myth of metaphysics, Santayana once more directs his fire at religion. Apparently he believed that an insoluble link had been forged between metaphysics and religion. "Supernaturalism," "supernatural sanction," "the horror of the theologians," "incarnation,"

44

all these terms keep resounding in our ears.

If w e turn to his philosophy in the making, his poems, w e discover that the embracing of nature is primarily a religious act. M y sad youth worshipped at the piteous height W h e r e G o d vouchsafed the death of man to share; His love made mortal sorrow light to bear, But his deep wounds put joy to shamed flight.

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FORMULATION

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And though His arms, outstretched upon the tree, Were beautiful, and pleaded my embrace, My sins were loth to look upon his face. So came I down from Golgotha to thee, Eternal Mother; let the sun and sea Heal me, and keep me in thy dwelling-place. [Poems, 3.] Henceforth it will be inane to "shatter Nature to discover G o d . " (Hermit, 202.) For the true existent object of religion is "nature, or some part of nature, or some movement of nature occurring within us or affecting us." (Soliloquies, 249.) Indeed, if Santayana's claim that the aura of literary and religious association which envelops his poems is absolutely sincere (Poems, ix), we can, in the light of this surrender to the religion of materialism, understand the negative or antireligious tenor of his arguments. But w h y the furtive glance over his shoulder to what he had left behind? Did Santavana / not realize that he might give the impression of whistling in the dark? T h e argumentation of the positive phase of criticism—moral philosophy—is cut of the same cloth. Regardless of any metamorphosis of values from a Greek harmony to an intuition of essence, Santayana had first to engage in the metaphysical activity of describing a value to us. T h e task did not prove easy. The term "value" in particular is subjective, image-less, and in a manner evasive. . . . Value is something relative, a dignity which anything may acquire in view of the benefit or satisfaction which it brings to some living being. . . . This harmony itself is a good only because the spirit which it creates so regards it. [Platonisvi, j.] T h e principle that satisfaction is the touchstone of value is enunciated to clarify the "confusion" which resulted from the adroit juggling of metaphysicians. (Reason, I, 22 [Sup.].) Some of them were coerced by religion to assert a categorical imperative; others made use of finality to proclaim the actual

FORMULATION

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57

dominance of reason or goodness over the universe at large. (Schilpp, 502.) Santayana thought all of them wrong because they established an extrinsic norm of right and wrong. He adopted the maxim of Spinoza: we desire nothing because it is good, but it is good only because we desire it.45 It is the psyche which introduces the element of preference, the distinction between good and evil, success and failure. Our ethical intuitions, then, are not debatable. Ultimate Good is not an opinion hazarded, but something we choose, find, or aim at because of the preferences we feel, which are neither correct nor incorrect in the feeling. These preferences may be sublimated, but radically they are only cries of our animal nature and morally groundless.46 We can be swept away by noble emotions evoked by Santayana's highsounding phrases. "Socratic self-knowledge," which "signifies only complete, enlightened, ultimate sincerity" (Realms, 480, 484), should actually be translated as the feminine eloquence of the psyche, blind to everything but her home interests. (Realms, 788.) We ought seriously to reflect on Santayana's morality in its consequences, which are far from reassuring. If that which creates morality is "not facts, nor the consequences of facts, but human terror or desire feeling its way amid those facts and those consequences" (Realms, 478), what will happen to all of us if some psyche no longer feels the creeping or shrinking of the flesh which has made murder criminal? 47 What a chaos is in store for us, since we do not know the scope of our own nature, or its possible harmonies, unless we yield to each of our passions in turn and count the scars of those experiments! (Dominations, »59) T o the question: "Will moral anarchy result if we discount as fabulous every projection of human morality into the supernatural?" Santayana replies: "I think that it is only when he can see the natural origin and limits of the moral

58

FORMULATION

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sphere that a moralist can be morally sane and just." ( G e n t e e l , 51.) A n d as he develops the idea, w e begin to see also w h y he regards metaphysics and religion as a c o m m o n foe. His w h o l e message is that morality and religion are expressions of human nature. (Schilpp, 23.) Since metaphysics becomes handmaid to religion b y establishing some absolute outside of human nature, it must receive the first b l o w . Santayana planned his attack under the guidance of Spinoza. T h e scandal consisted in the fact that Spinoza denied final causes, or purposes at w o r k in nature, and that, in their ordinary sense, he denies the immortality of the soul, free-will, and moral responsibility. W h a t came to turn these doctrines ( w h i c h might have passed for simple materialism) into positive blasphemy was that he identified nature with G o d , and taught that all things, whether in the eyes of men they were g o o d or evil, mean or noble, were integral parts of the divine being. 4 8

T h e G o d or Absolute, L o r d of N a t u r e , w h i c h metaphysics enthrones inevitably leads to religions w h i c h are special gospels, each of w h i c h is the source and " o n l y sanction" of a morality These

colored and heightened b y

biased

moralities

are patently

its special inimical

enthusiasm. to

"rational

moral it)'," w h i c h coordinates all interests and all types of value. Santayana's task, then, was to undermine religion in order to undermine a prejudice of morals. T h i s is the purport of his remark to W i l l i a m L y o n Phelps that an ethical life could be lived much better w i t h o u t religion than w i t h it. 49 W i t h o u t qualification, this statement can open the door to misinterpretation. A subsequent chapter will deal in greater detail w i t h Santayana's religious ideas. H e r e it is sufficient to note that he intended "supernatural religion," w h i c h indulges in prayer, sacraments, salvation, and other such

"chimerical

ideas," without recognizing that these are m y t h i c a l covers f o r ultimate natural morality. 5 0 In brief, Santayana's argumentation reveals the

following

peculiar pattern. W e begin f r o m a point w h e r e his positions

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59

—a theory of language, materialism, "rational morality,"— already hold undisputed sway. Metaphysics, therefore, is discarded as false, since every inch of the way it stands in opposition to these positions. Ultimately, supernatural religion is false since it inspires and sustains metaphysics. This formulation of "criticism" around essence, Santayana's later philosophy, has been for many scholars an object of meditation and of despair. T h e y begin with high hopes, built up by a promise that intelligence is by nature veridical, and that its ambition to reach the truth is sane and capable of satisfaction. Lured by the splendor of the goal, they suffer a tragedy all the more poignant when they taste the bitter dregs of disappointment. Unfortunately, they have not grasped the full import of Santayana's proviso: "even if each of its efforts actually fails." 6 1 In all probability they have been impelled by that dangerous instinct of the mind to consider that brood of fables in histories and theories as "veridical," as they understand that term. W e must particularize some of the causes of their distress. Santayana states that it is evident that "a single system of science" will serve to describe what is constant in the universe and in human nature. (Persons and Places, 147.) Yet images and language, the only means at hand to depict such a system, "will constantly differ." (Persons and Places, 147.) W e recognize the dichotomy of facts and human ideas of those facts, which reappears as essences versus things, or dialectical science versus natural science. T h e problem is simply that Santayana's distinction rests on his knowledge of both spheres. But Pictures are to knowledge as sound is to language. Some true indication is contained in any sensation, since something must have happened materially to produce it; but knowledge, synthesis, choice of centre, and range in apprehension are all adventitious to the existing object; they transfer it from physical to pictorial space, and transpose the parts of it perceived at all into terms of essence.62

6o

FORMULATION

OF

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As a realist, Santayana maintained that the truth of anv description or essence—in other words, its value as knowledge of a thing—was contingent upon the thing's independent exemplification of that description. (Realms, 392.) But his grounds f o r doing so vanish into thin air if "natural facts are objects of intent only; and then the propriety- of the names, images, categories, or other essences which we use in conceiving them becomes problematical." (Realms, 166.) T h e problem is augmented, not minimized, bv Santayana's posing as a free spirit, without prejudices or claims. If nothing more, his "presupposition of conventional sanity" (Brief History, 253), his materialism, is a claim, and a militant one at that. He begins modestly with a universe which is a groundless and perpetual miracle. In fact, all the original articles of the animal creed—that there is a world, that there is a future, that things sought can be found, and things seen can be eaten— are without any possible guarantee. (Scepticis?>i, 180.) Then gradually that mind which cannot pursue the roots of things into the darkness or discover w h y they exist, but must be satisfied with noting their passing aspect in an essence, reveals the heart of naturalism. Human beings have sprung from the earth, since we must assume—for it is true by definition—that all causes are physical. (Dominations, 3.) W e seem to pass from description to explanation. And would that it did not appear so! Santayana's argumentation generates more heat than light. Let us, in this important matter, go back to first principles. From the beginning it was in the very nature of existence to be involved in indirect commitments. Being transitive, anything existing is always in the act of becoming something which it was not, and yet which it was the sufficient cause for producing, according to those irresponsible impulses which animate its matter and predetermine its fate. The sequel is always spontaneous and. if we are not dulled by habit, seems miraculous; yet it is always natural, since no other development would have been more so, and some development was inevitable. [Reahns, 347.]

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61

Santayana, w h o does not possess "such an intrinsic k n o w l edge of matter as to be sure that it cannot do that which it does" (Realms, 346), knows the " v e r y nature of existence" and the inevitability

of some development. H e continues his

"argument" b y reducing necessity to arbitrariness. Necessity, in nature, is only an irrational propulsion which, as a matter of fact, is prevalent; existence could not have begun to be, it could not have taken the first step from one form of being to another, if it had not been radically mad. But this madness not only has method in it—a method in itself arbitrary and doubtless variable—it has also a certain glorious profusion, a rising, cumulative intensity and volume, coming to a climax and then dying down. . . . Here, then, is a whole infinite world, visible only to the intellect, but actually created and made precise by the blind flux of matter, whatsoever that flux may be. [Realms, 347-48.] This, of course, is the existence w h i c h is never given in an essence, and which w e k n o w b y naming with an essence. Santayana, however, was blessed with a special insight into the flux. Otherwise he could never have exposed the metaphysicians for their pretension to exhaust reality. Can w e wonder w h y Santayana is not understood? It is important for us not to lose the thread w h i c h can guide us through this labyrinth, namely, that apparent explanations are in reality the expressions of the preferences of the critic. A s soon as w e begin to wander, the true significance of this formulation centered about essence is destroyed, and the whole of Santayana becomes very confused, if not meaningless. But with the thread in hand, w e arrive at a knowledge of Santayaria's heart. His formulation with essence and the problem of knowledge at its core shows us that his theory of language takes precedence over, and is responsible for, his interest in values. It underlies the arguments against metaphysics to support his brand of materialism and morality. Is it also accountable f o r his rejection of supernatural religion? If Santayana was not misstating the case w h e n he said that morality and religion as expressions of human nature con-

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stitute his entire message, it would seem that religion was even closer to his heart than language. L e t us t r y to find a definite answer in a consideration o f the sources o f Santayana's thought.

IV.

T H E

O R I G I N

OF

A

P H I L O S O P H Y

M y philosophy in particular may be regarded as a synthesis of these various traditions, or as an attempt to view them from a level from which their several deliverances may be justly understood. 1 do not assert that such was actually the origin of m y system: in any case its truth would be another question. I propose simply to describe as best I can the influences under which I have lived, and leave it f o r the reader, if he cares, to consider how far m y philosophy may be an expression of

them.

[Brief History,

239.]

Philosophers are not wont to think of themselves as exotic plants which sprout and thrive only in the artificial atmosphere of greenhouses. Like all men, they are children of their times. T h e y feel the influence of the mores of country and of family. T h e y arc educated in a tradition. And their milieu will always press upon them, either like a gentle breeze which fills their sails, or like an angry headwind which elicits their counterblast. Consequently, Santayana is introduced to us by most scholars as a person. T h e myriad interesting details of Persons and Places are telescoped to give us "the background" of his thought. Or sometimes, with dangerous results, his milieu is exploited f o r a convenient epithet, like "Latin-Catholic" mind. 1 In either case, the intention is not to trace his philosophy of personal expression to its sources in his life. Indeed v e r y little effort has been expended to make explicit the relationship of his poems, the actual spiritual experience of his philosophy-in-

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ORIGIN

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the-making, to the historical events w h i c h occasioned them. Santayana invites his readers to speculate on the extent to w h i c h his philosophy expresses the circumstances of his life. T h e gesture is generous, but opens the w a y to abuse. It grants a measure of f r e e d o m in establishing interesting comparisons, but neither marks a limit nor imposes a sanction on the vagaries of e v e r y

individual reader. It is k n o w n , f o r example,

Santayana w a s born in M a d r i d on D e c e m b e r

that

16, 1863, and

lived in Spain until 1872. In addition, he assures us that Spain w a s a l w a y s a fundamental f a c t in his l i f e — t h a t it w a s not just the place w h e r e he o f t e n spent the w i n t e r s of later y e a r s o r visited w i t h his sister Susana and her f a m i l y . H e retained his legal Spanish citizenship designedly, not t h r o u g h a f f e c t a tion:

" i t has been a s y m b o l of the t r u t h . "

(Letters,

292.)

A r m e d with this k n o w l e d g e , w e can hunt a b o u t f o r a thumbnail sketch of the Spanish temperament. T h e Spaniards, acc o r d i n g to Salvador de Madariaga, are a nation of spectators. T h e i r dancing symbolizes their interest in the music of events or the p o e t r y of happenings. T h e y tend to j u d g e things and happenings b y aesthetic standards and to m a k e life itself the o n l y criterion of life. F r e e and independent, e v e r y Spaniard is prone to pit his personal v i e w s against the traditions

he

finds prevailing in his surroundings. In a w o r d , Cervantes set alive in Don Quixote a prototype of the Spaniard— ultra-subjective and, while shrewd, practical, aware of reality, indeed as realistic as any man, nevertheless ready to ignore reality, to transcend it, even to fight against it in the name of something higher, better, or simply dearer to his own unruly self. 2 Santayana, w e might be tempted to conclude, w a s in reality a typical Spaniard. A n d the conviction, based on

Aladariaga's

generalizations, leaves no r o o m f o r a question mark or a n y suspicion of possible oversimplification. A safer procedure w i l l be to single out those attachments noted b y Santayana himself. Spain, he recounts, is a great c o u n t r y f o r the imagination. (Schilpp, 602.) S o , w h e n as a

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lad he was uprooted from his father's home to join his mother in America, he found that the hopelessly foreign quality of the English sort of imagination was completely alien to him. English-speaking peoples have the northern respect for the inner man, instead of the southern respect for the great world, for fate, f o r history, for matter. (Schilpp, 598.) Undoubtedly the southern type of imagination is what Santayana had in mind when he refers to the "materialized imagination," which, more than an enlightened mind, is supposed to account for an offhand profession of nominal Catholicism in Spain. "Most of us," he declares, "have lost our f a i t h . " 3 Nonetheless his writings sound that same note of "estrangement not unmixed with self-accusation and discouragement" which he believed was commonly uttered by "men of intelligence and feeling" in Catholic countries. ("Present Position," 659.) He is, to be sure, an anomalous sort of witness to every Spaniard's respect for only one thing, the power of God or Allah. " T h e Spaniard," he [ A r t h u r Strong] said, "respects only one thing, and that is . . ." and he raised his fore-finger, pointing to heaven. T h e r e is no p o w e r but Allah: he is omnificient, and all appearances and all wills are nought. . . . This is the insight that I express b y saying to myself that the only authority in existence is the authority of things: that since only things have any authority there is, morally, no authority at all, and the spirit is free in its affections. 4

Briefly, then, Santayana aligns himself with Spain in two significant ways: in imagination and in religion. Santayana's descriptions of family personalities and events might readily be anticipated. His father was a convinced materialist. (Brief History, 248.) And it was the memory of Don Agustín Reus de Santayana, whose character and destiny were strikingly repeated in his own, which called up a lurid image of what life in the world might very well be: solitary, obscure, trivial, and wasted. (Host, 9.) That picture impressed upon George the absolute necessity of detachment. In fact, did not everything about his mother efficaciously teach the

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same lesson? She remained a stranger wherever she was. From her father she had learned to revere pure reason and republican virtue, and to abhor the vices of a corrupt world. 5 She had undergone what her son was later to experience: a veritable conversion, a sweeping surrender of all earthly demands or attachments. Thereafter she had retained her judgments and her standards, but without hope. (Persons and Places, 5 1 . ) Although both of his parents regarded religion as a work of human imagination (Brief History, 243), Susana, his sister, had fallen into the snares of the Jesuits and of religious enthusiasm. Conflict was inevitable. Was Susana not to blame f o r George's "dangerous and morbid" love of images and church functions and the mysteries of theology? T h e battle was carried on with full-blown Spanish passion. A conflict against Susana and against Catholicism thereupon filled our household, divided it, and ended by a separation of all parties, morally and even materially, and the separate entrenchment of each combatant in his own camp. [ P e r s o n and Places, 84-85.]

What was George's boyhood reaction to this squabble? He disagreed with his parents. Works of the human imagination were not bad but good. Actually, "they alone are good; and the rest—the whole real world—is ashes in the mouth." (Brief History, 243.) But at the same time he was fundamentally at loggerheads with Susana, who considered Catholicism as more than a flight of the imagination. Only in later years, however, would Susana become aware of the difference in their viewpoints and register increasing concern because George was moving away from God. (Host, 3.) In summary, materialism, detachment, imagination, and religion colored the family atmosphere of the budding philosopher. A t the age of nine George moved to America. T h e move involved a terrible moral disinheritance. A n emotional and intellectual chill came over him when he encountered a petti-

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ness and practicality of outlook and ambition, and he w a s p l u n g e d into a w o r l d w h i c h , especially in regard to religion, w a s utterly undigestible.® In time, of course, he w o u l d break f r o m his childhood external

solitude, w h i c h consisted in spending his afternoons

and evenings at home d r a w i n g o r devouring books on religion, architecture, o r g e o g r a p h y . ( B r i e f History,

2 4 1 - 4 2 . ) B u t that

emotional solitariness and opposition to his surroundings to be r e i n f o r c e d b y

financial

7

was

conditions w h i c h made it neces-

s a r y f o r him to attend a public instead of a private school. It was my mother's straitened means that caused her to send me there [ T h e Boston Latin School] instead of to some private school; and I should perhaps have seemed an entirely different person, and had an entirely different life, if this genteel poverty and this education in a public day school, among children of humble parents, had not fortified me in the spirit of detachment and isolation. [Persons and Places, 179-80.] Isolation will have its recompense, and the y o u n g

George

turned to the w o r l d of imagination. H e began to think of scenes and customs m o r e pleasant than those about him. T h e f a c t is remarkable, if o n l y because he scored it so often. " T o me, f r o m childhood up, the intuition that life is a dream has been familiar and c o n g e n i a l . " ( D o m i n a t i o n s , 7.) " A l l m y life I h a v e dreamt of travels, possible and impossible." (Host,

33.)

H e admits that he w a s " a c c u s t o m e d to slip into the subjective. . . . F r o m childhood

up I had lived in imagination,

being

f o n d of religion and p o e t r y , and driven b y circumstances to lead m y inner life alone."

8

T h i s b o y h o o d experience l e f t an

indelible impression on Santayana's character. A n d yet I know that my feelings in those years [from the time he was eight to sixteen years old] were intense, that I was solitary and unhappy, out of humor with everything that surrounded me, and attached only to a persistent dream-life, fed on books of fiction, on architecture and on religion. I was not precocious; I may have had more ability than the average boy, but it was lavished

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on boyish thoughts; and a certain backwardness, or unwilling acceptance of reality, characterizes my whole life and philosophy, not indeed as a maxim but as a sentiment.

[Persons and Places, 148.] In retrospect Santayana embellishes with arpeggios the precise notes with which he was out of harmony: religion, which, in a moment of irritation he labels "unintelligible, sanctimonious, and often disingenuous Protestantism" (Letters, 62), and material-mindedness. M y heart rebels against my generation, That talks of freedom and is slave to riches.

[Poems, 73.] This "worldliness" forms a part of a many-sided insurrection of the unregenerate natural man against the regimen of Christendom. (Genteel, 1 7 - 1 8 . ) H e refused to be drowned in that reckless torrent which dashes itself against what he calls the "Genteel Tradition." It fosters the inane belief that the ultimate good is life itself in its pervasive immediacy, made as intense and vigorous as possible b y continual novelty and emulation. N o prize or result is envisioned; w e run just f o r the running's sake.9 He was repelled by the apparent moral loneliness, isolation, and forced self-reliance of the Harvard philosophers who were like clergymen without churches. (Character, 43.) True, they encouraged Santayana in his subjective habit, but they represented their wares as a philosophy that was deeper and more philosophical than any dogmatism. (Edman, 43.) In a word, America contributed to Santayana's emotional withdrawal from the external world to the safe harbor of imagination. It hastened his retreat into the paradise of detachment. T h e scholar who decides to investigate Santayana's "slack education" must first determine to what extent he is going to believe Santayana. N o t that Santayana did nothing but bite the hands that fed him. But in general he wrote from the vantage point of many years' distance. And his judgment on the

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"Babel of false principles and blind cravings"—his name for the intellectual world of his times—is harsh. It is a zoological garden of the mind, and he preferred to be a visitor, not one of the beasts. 10 There are t w o main roads for the scholar's journey. T h e first leads along the way of familiar landmarks: Mill here, Comte there, Matthew Arnold over there. Duron and H o w gate have chosen this road. 1 1 But the road is not all neatly paved; and the scholar, although not lost himself perhaps, can mislead the rest of us. Santayana, to cite an instance, refers to Renan and acknowledges his debt to Loisy. 1 2 Nevertheless he would have no part with Modernism: it is suicide. {Winds, 56-57.) A whole series of these ambivalences leaves the reader in a quandary. Are we to accept Howgate's description of Santayana's method as that of Hume, Locke, Berkeley—certainly an anti-metaphysical procedure? 1 3 Or should we side with Cory, who would have us see the real Santayana as choosing between Spinoza and Aquinas? 14 The second road—and much safer in the case of an eclectic —is that trod by Father Butler. W e merely follow Santayana. If we are dissatisfied because we do not seem to go very far, we have to console ourselves that we have exhausted the possibilities of this method of procedure. Santayana can be very exact. But as a rule his precision is reserved f o r his expressions of disagreement. His vague generalities leave much to be divined: "I pride myself on remaining a disciple of his [James'sl earlier unsophisticated self, when he was an agnostic about the universe, but in his diagnosis of the heart an impulsive poet." (Brief History, 252.) Neither of these approaches to Santayana's educational influences can rid us of the major obstacle: Santavana's eclecticism. In the wake of Santayana's own generalizations, some scholars will highlight his indebtedness to Aristotle, whom he esteemed as the incarnation of ancient wisdom. 1 5 Then the reader, much chagrined, discovers that Aristotle was a moralist

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and logician w h o was alienated f r o m nature. (Winds,

73.)

O t h e r s capitalize on Santayana's assurance that he was a scholastic at heart and in his principles. (Schilpp, 604, 499.)

Yet

they a c k n o w l e d g e that his enthusiasm w a s erratic. A t times he registers only supreme c o n t e m p t f o r the scholastic technique: In those universities where philosophical controversy is rife, its traditional and scholastic character is no less obvious; it lives less on meditation than on debate, and turns on proofs, objections, paradoxes, or expedients for seeming to re-establish everything that had come to seem clearly false, by some ingenious change of front or some twist of dialectic. Its subject-matter is not so much what is known of the world, as what often very ignorant philosophers have said in answer to one another. [Character, 38-39.] Eclecticism is the right of any man, and no one can b e g r u d g e Santayana his desire to profit f r o m the ideas of others. B u t t w o valid objections are to be raised against him. First, his practice of eclecticism—a b o r r o w i n g that implied simultaneous r e j e c t i o n — w a s contradictory

to one of his basic principles.

N o t h i n g is to be gained b y s h o w i n g a n n o y a n c e over different interpretations or evaluations, especially if these sincerely express different enjoyments. 1 6 O r w a s it his critic's privilege t o exhibit absolutely unilateral preferences? Second, and important, Santayana's eclecticism

is a source

of

more

constant

mystification. Sometimes he b o r r o w s just a term, Aristotle's w o r d " p s y c h e , " f o r example. H e snatches it out of the metaphysics of hylomorphism w h i c h is w h a t gives the term its proper Aristotelian tonality. A c t u a l l y , then, he w o u l d

mis-

lead us less if Aristotle w e r e prudently f o r g o t t e n . A n d w o u l d it not have been wiser to forsake the dubious prestige of authority if the w o r l d could accept his special vocabulary w i t h f e w e r prejudices to overcome? If Santayana detected his o w n ideas in other authors, he almost unwittingly jumped to the conclusion that they w e r e in p e r f e c t accord. Saint T h o m a s , t o note o n l y one case, has an idea of "faith" strikingly akin t o Santayana's "animal faith*':

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But it seems to me that you aren't just to St. Thomas. Words had a precise meaning in his mind; "faith" excludes "reason" because it is a name for the supplement, beyond proof, in which our sensations are bathed: Praestet Sensuum

fides

supplementum

defectui.17

Once the scholars reach that point on their journey of discovering Santayana's sources where they recognize that many seeming "influences" are really only imported verbal confirmations, they abandon the road posthaste. " L i k e everybody else, I like to assimilate the sense of the Gospel to m y own insights." (Letters, 246.) " T h e devil notoriously quotes scripture f o r his own purposes, and y o u must f o r g i v e me if I used y o u r words to point a moral which (as I n o w see) was not the one y o u intended." (Letters, 283.) " I had, and have, such a vital philosophy; and the movement of m y mind among various systems of belief has tended merely to discover how far m y vital philosophy could be expressed in each of them." {Host, 4.) Under these circumstances, the only prudent course f o r anyone is to limit himself to a bowing acquaintance with Santayana's "influences." Otherwise his pursuit leads to further entanglement instead of to clarification. T h e authors that Santayana read affected him, contributing sometimes verbal, sometimes ideological support to his vital, congenital detachment. Significantly, this attitude of the spectator was not only philosophical but also Christian. Persons who feel themselves to be exiles in this world—and what noble mind, from Empedocles down, has not had that feeling?—are mightily inclined to believe themselves citizens of another. There will always be spontaneous, instinctive Christians.18 Is it true that Santayana was a stranger in all his dwelling places? Did he really feel a premature indifference to mortal things and an earlv immunity f r o m care? W e are likely to be perplexed. It would seem that the lessons of his childhood taught him once and f o r all that the world was an enemy of

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spirit; and that in overturning Christianity for moral freedom and security, it succeeded merely in entrenching confusion in the hearts and minds of individuals.19 But contrariwise his preachments can give the impression that his philosophic isolation was treasured precariously in an earthen vessel. It would seem he had to assure himself lest he, too, should turn his back on the past and on the desire to live reasonably.20 The fact is that complete detachment comes only as the laurel of victory. Santayana did not win it until he had decamped from the desert of America, where, in that dark period of life between thirty-five and fifty, he languished spiritually under a cloud. (Letters, 307-8.) But thereafter, having been twice tested, he enjoyed the beatitude of "philosophic salvation." Cultivate imagination, love it, give it endless forms, but do not let it deceive you. Enjoy the world, travel over it, and learn its ways, but do not let it hold you. Do not suffer it to oppress you with craving or with regret for the images that you form of it. You will do the least harm and find the greatest satisfactions if, being furnished as lightly as possible with possessions, you live freely among ideas. T o possess things and persons in idea is the only pure food to be got out of them; to possess them physically or legally is a burden and a snare. [Host, 13.]

The crises wherein Santayana's mettle was put to the proof are of vital import in the history of his heart. The first, during his adolescence, is reflected in his early poems, the most "anxiously meditated" of all his verse. W e glimpse here a "sad youth" descending from Golgotha to Mother Earth. (Poems, 3.) Disillusion became his intimate friend (Dialogues, 32); hope was abandoned. Sweet are the days we wander with no hope Along life's labyrinthine trodden way, With no impatience at the steep's delay, N o r sorry at the swift-descended slope. W h y this inane curiosity to grope In the dim dust for gem's unmeaning ray?

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W h y this proud piety, that dares to pray For a world wider than the heaven's cope? Farewell, my burden! N o more will I bear The foolish load of my fond faith's despair, But trip the idle race with careless feet. The crown of olive let another wear; It is my crown to mock the runner's heat With gentle wonder and with laughter sweet. [Poems,

15.]

Santayana surrendered the w i d e r w o r l d and the hope p r o f f e r e d b y Catholicism. S w e e t laughter returned to his lips only w h e n he at last resolved his doubts and girt his loins f o r the path of disillusion: For my own part, I was quite sure that life was not worth living; for if religion was false everything was worthless, and almost everything, if religion was true. . . . I saw the same alternative between Catholicism and complete disillusion: but I was never afraid of disillusion, and I have chosen it. [ B r i e f History, 243.] L e t us t r y to reconstruct the conflict. A l t h o u g h Santayana was a baptized Catholic, he never practiced his religion. H e professed to be well versed in its literature, so he could not have been ignorant of its claims: the truths of heaven and hell, of G o d , of absolute right and w r o n g . T h e s e truths are presented as real, objective facts, not as so m a n y c o m f o r t a b l e easy chairs f o r a f a n c i f u l imagination. A s a result, they demand an assent w h i c h terminates in action. A hard saying, and Santayana had already, in the household battle between Susana and his mother, decided f o r the easier course. H e

would

regard religion as a p r o d u c t of imagination, but not on that a c c o u n t as something bad. This view

seems to have gone unchallenged f o r

several

years. T h e n suddenly he f o u n d himself on the brink of a moral catastrophe. H e had matriculated at H a r v a r d , the " y o u n g

where

professors," J a m e s and R o y c e , represented

the

dangers and scandals of f r e e thought, all the more disquieting in that their f r e e thought enveloped religion. Santayana's c o m -

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placency was shattered. Although his "scholastic logic" tempted him to reduce Royce to a solipsist, his easy dogmatism began to quake under heavy dialectical blows. The sweeping panoramas of Palmer fired his imagination and opened his mind to sympathy with the great philosophers of the past. But his "scholastic dogmatism" disturbed him, and forced him to ask himself what was true. Clearly on the defensive, he was faced with the dilemma: religion is either fact or humbug. "Scholastic dogmatism," his homespun hybrid of theology and philosophy, proved to be a useless weapon in the fray. His Catholic sympathies were just that and no more, without a rational and human backing. He was forced into a worried silence.21 The situation was most uncomfortable. What did life mean if religion was false? For Santayana it spelled emptiness, for he had come to rely on this dream-life of the imagination. Like his Oliver Alden, the "Last Puritan," he would be stripped of all absolute and special sanctions for his natural preferences. Life would become a groundless circling about some arbitrary perfection, some arbitrary dream of happiness, which there was no antecedent reason for pursuing and no great likelihood of attaining.22 He would die the death of disillusion. The event, however, proved to be a death like that of the grain of wheat in the Gospel parable (John 12:24), for it gave birth to the Santayana Weltanschauung. So in 1900 I published the result of the gradual transformation of my religious sentiments. Religion was poetry intervening in life. That insight had come to me twenty years before, though not expressed in those words; it had really been native to me and con-

genital.

[Host, 4.]

In the early 1880s, Santayana resolved the religious dilemma with his basic theory of language. The "myths" which every religion proposes to fortify the human soul to enable it to make peace with its destiny have a symbolic or pragmatic truth.23 What is false as fact may be true as value. The theory of language is in an undeveloped state, to be sure. But its

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prime purpose explains w h y it is often accompanied by religious allusions. It settled this crisis, but with permanent effects. In 1886 Santayana went to Germany f o r advanced studies. His first favorable impression of novelty and freedom soon shifted to a disgust for the scholasticism and absurd scientific pretensions of the German brand of philosophy. T h e problems seemed to him to be essentially vain. But when he was at the point of giving up, he remembered that this very feeling of revulsion "would make as good a ground f o r a philosophy as any other." In that ground the seed had already been planted. If religions—"all religions"—were symbolic, were not idealistic philosophies—"all idealistic philosophies"—soliloquies and ghosts? 24 From this time the theory of language began to sprout up everywhere as a justification f o r that double view, material nature with its animation on the one hand, and logical or mathematical forms on the other. Fichte and Schopenhauer were hailed as authorities f o r oscillating between a radical transcendentalism, frankly reduced to a solipsism of the living moment, and a materialism posited as a presupposition of conventional sanity. (Brief History, 253.) It is an interesting fact that Santayana himself thus relates his native insight into religion to his vital philosophy of detachment. And it is safe to add that in all likelihood this conjunction of congenital preferences would have reached fruition under anv circumstances. In the actual turn of events, it was the intellectual climate of Germany which gave the great impetus to this inborn philosophy. When Santayana first arrived there, even before philosophy definitively had been relegated to the realm of values and divorced from facts, he discovered Goethe, in a drinking song significantly entitled: "Vanitas! Vanitatum Vanitas!" T h e whole world belongs to me implicitly when I have given it all up, and am wedded to nothing particular in it; but for the same reason no part of it properly belongs to me as a possession, but

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all only in idea. Materially I might be the most insignificant of worms; spiritually I should be the spectator of all time and all existence. T h e implication touched the depth of m y vital or congenital philosophy, and for that reason doubtless the refrain of this song became a sort of motto for me at this time. Y e t more than ten years had to pass before that implication, on the emotional side, came to expression in m v Platonising sonnets; while theoretically, I came to clearness about it only in m y old age, when I freed "essences" from the psychological net in which w e catch them, and distinguished intuition from knowledge. 2 5

Theoretical clearness, as we have seen, means that his theory of language had finally broken through and shows in all its native force, pathos, and simplicity. T h e second important crisis in Santayana's life came after Winds of Doctrine in 1913. A f t e r the death of his mother, his income secured, Santayana had retired from Harvard to live independently in Europe. Thereupon a succession of events—the marriage of Susana, the deaths of his father and of Warwick Potter 2 6 —occasioned a change in the meaning and status of his philosophy. His technical philosophy was unaffected; spiritually he underwent a metanoia. These events conjured up the vision of all that was escaping from him, all those modes of the G o o d which he had glimpsed and had lost. Y o u t h , f r i e n d s h i p , the f u t u r e , religious a n d social Utopias:

these were either past or unrespectable. He was driven from the temporal to the eternal. B y chance the old motto from Goethe revived, with its significant repetition: Nun hab' ich mein Sach auf Nichts gestellt . . . Und mein gehort die ganze Welt. But this time a new spirit animated it, because now Santayana understood the illusion in disillusion, the vanity of religious substitutes for earthly happiness. {Host, 8-9, 1 1 . ) W e must take cognizance of some of the implications of the phrase, "all is vanity." Santayana declared that, as he was a philosopher wedded to the truth, whatever solution of this

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crisis he might propose had to be built on remembering this universal futility, not on forgetting it. (Host, 6.) This was the insight which freed his congenital philosophy from its bonds. For from this time the truth of science would unhesitatingly be called problematical, since nature was merely being festooned in idle human talk. The public world retreated to a greater distance, where it took on a new and more delicate coloring. And with that regression came the realization "that it was not my world, but only the world of other people: of all those at least, and they were the vast majority, who had never understood." (Middle Span, 117.) W e have marked the consequence for the spiritual life, which under the fire of critics was said to be only a vertical concomitant of the life of reason. At this period it was characterized as a disintoxication from values, in lieu of its earlier guise as leading the "good life." The truth is that this native detachment had become more radical. Even the former world of values must be purified, for " A perfect love is founded on despair." 27 As a result of this metanoia, Santayana found himself separated from the public world but closer to rural nature and the animal roots of society. This proximity explains the trend in his later works, which only develop—he took great pains to stress the point—the formulation of his technical philosophy. Contrary to the opinions of his adversaries, his essences do not make him a detached idealist; they justify his materialism. T h e humanism characteristic of the Sense of Beauty and the Life of Reason remained standing; but foundations were now supplied for that humanism by a more explicit and vigorous natural philosophy; a natural philosophy which, without being otherw ise changed than as the growth of natural science might suggest, was itself destined to be enveloped later by the ontology contained in Realms of Being. These additions are buttresses and supports; the ontology justifies materialism, and the materialism justifies rational ethics and an aesthetic view of the mind. [Preface, Triton Ed., V I I . ]

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These crises enhance our understanding of Santayana in several respects. Principally, they bring home to us the intensely personal nature of his writings. They open the door to his heart, where we see that his fundamental preference is hand in glove with the question of religion. Let us return to the first crisis. When Santayana's troubled mind paced the universe in search of something which would quiet his conscience and save religion from degradation, what would stir in his depths more naturally than what he had imbibed in childhood by rote in the language of antiquity? (Persons and Places, 128.) Undoubtedly moments of reflection brought back the words of the great master of sympathy with nature, whom, years before, Santayana had recited with as much enthusiasm as his Saint Augustine, "until the former sunk deeper and became more satisfying." (Preface, Triton Ed., VII.) The naturalism of Lucretius would put an end to his religious scruples. It would furnish him with a respectable natural support and point of attachment for his philosophy, even though at the time (1886) he did not grasp the full import of leaving Golgotha for Mother Earth. Simultaneously, he would find in Lucretius another voice to swell the chorus chanting "Religion is a myth," 28 and his eyes would be opened to a novel kind of piety. It is not piety at all to be seen frequently with head veiled turned towards a stone, and to approach every altar, nor to lie prostrate on the ground with outstretched arms before the shrines of the gods, nor to drench altars in a blood bath of animal gore, nor to bind vow upon vow, but rather to be able to contemplate all things with a tranquil mind. [De Rerum, V, 1198-1203.] Santayana is lavish in his praise. Lucretius adopted the most radical and most correct of those cosmological systems which the genius of early Greece had devised. He is the unrivaled poet of naturalism, combining humanism with materialism. He has finally proved to mankind that things, in their movement and life, have their poetry. (Poets, 4, 5, 34.) It is ridicu-

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lous, then, to think that Lucretius abandoned his atomism whenever he was poetical. He remained ever faithful to his chief inspiration—perhaps the greatest thought that mankind has ever hit upon—that all we observe about us, and ourselves too, are so many passing forms of a permanent substance.29 Santayana's enthusiasm is apt to astonish us. If "the Greeks" —Thales, and Democritus, with Lucretius in their wake— have described the birth and composition of all things, if they have revealed the real background, the true and safe foundation for human courage, human reason, and human imagination (Middle Span, 12-13), ' s it n o t true that a thought, kindled in a human brain, burns with a light so infinitely powerful and pure as to reveal the whole universe in its uttermost reaches and exact constitution? (Dialogues, 85.) The objection is founded on a misunderstanding of Santayana's materialism. If we insist on a univocal concept which embraces all materialisms, we must put to him the meaningless question: "What is your idea of matter?" But Santayana did not borrow the metaphysical intention of Democritus, who "inconsistently ascribed a pictorial and geometrical essence to matter." (Dialogues, Preface.) For Santayana, the brilliance of Democritus' insight was his faith in a material world, the basic presuppositon of human sanity and orthodoxy. T h e y belong to human sanity, to human orthodoxy; I wish to cling to that, no matter from what source its expression may come, or encumbered with what myths. T h e myths dissolve; the presuppositions of intelligence remain and are necessarily confirmed by experience, since intelligence awoke precisely when sensibility began to grow relevant to external things. 30

In the hour of crisis, snatches of Lucretius were enough to bolster Santayana. But the farthest thought from his mind was to pirate the congenital mythology and rhetoric of the "Greek mind." If the theory suggested were false, another no less naturalistic would be true: and this presumption recommended itself to me and has

8o

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become one of my first principles: not that a particular philosophy called naturalism must be true a priori, but that nature sets the

standard of naturalness.

[Persons and Places, 239.]

And so, when Santayana is more collected and mature after his metanoia, and after his newly experienced proximity to nature has revitalized his old familiarity with the ancient naturalists, he wisely puts a bit of "scientific psychology" into the mouth of Democritus. Subjectivity, a normal madness in living animals, should be discounted, not idolized. 31 Spelled out in detail, his idea was this: Thus as in my younger days in respect to religions, so now in respect to all experience and all science, critical reflection has emancipated me from the horrid claim of ideas to literal truth. And just as religion, when seen to be poetry, ceases to be deceptive and therefore odious, and becomes humanly more significant than it seemed before; so experience and science, when seen to be woven out of essences and wholly symbolic, gain in moral colour and spirituality what they lose in dead weight. T h e dead weight falls back from sensuous images and intellectual myths to the material fatality that breeds and sustains them. [Preface, Triton Ed., V I I . ]

W e cannot suppose that in the interval between his two crises Santayana deserted the Lucretius who had served him so well. However much Santayana modestly protested that he was no specialist in the study of Lucretius, the resemblance, identity even, of their doctrines stands as an eloquent testimony against him. Let us recall some specific points. First, Santayana himself cites two maxims in Lucretius which suffice to distinguish the naturalist. One is the discarding of final causes "on which all progress in science depends." 32 The other, that nature is her own standard; and if she seems to us to be unnatural, there is no hope for our minds.33 Second, the doctrine of Hell, as a religious truth, is a fantastic projection of the hardships of this life. (De Rerum, III, 978-1023.) Third, nature, not a divine will, creates all things. Hence the gods are not to be praised for the existence of the world. It is only ignorance of true causes which constrains men to assign things

ORIGIN

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8l

34

to divine ordinance. Fourth, reason alone matters. (De Rerum, II, 47-53.) Fifth, those fixed seeds of things are what Santayana calls, in a more philosophical mood, potentiality. 35 Sixth, the anthropocentric view of the universe is false. 38 Seventh, the mind is a function of the body, or, as Santayana would say, the psyche produces thought. 37 Eighth, faith in our existence is absolutely necessary. (De Rerum, I, 421-25.) And, finally, Lucretius also is a lover of detachment. It is pleasant, when the winds are lashing the great sea, to look out from the land on the toils of another. The warmth of the joy does not consist in another's distress, but in the delightful contemplation of the evils from which you are free. . . . O wretched minds of men! Blind hearts! In what deep shadows of life, in what overwhelming dangers you spend your allotted time! Do you not see that Nature howls for nought else but that pain be kept far away from her body, and that her mind, freed from care and fear, may delight in a sense of pleasure? [De Rerum, II, 1-19.] As illustrative of a close dependence as these points are, it is in their religious tendentiousness that Lucretius and Santayana are most intimately related. In the De Rerum Natura two principles share the limelight. One is that the gods enjoy a life of perfect tranquillity and thus are indifferent to favor or anger. 38 The other is that death is nothing fearful, a treacherous passage to some mysterious world, because the soul is mortal. 39 By means of these principles, Lucretius hoped to achieve the purpose of his poem: the removal of the two paralyzing fears with which religion terrorizes mankind. Their banishment is essential to ¿raparía, that state of perfect mental tranquillity which alone is divine life for men.40 Traditional religion, then, insofar as it pretends to be true, is actually impious.41 Its rites and ceremonies, for which Lucretius had a personal affection, must be interpreted allegorically as symbols of our Great Mother, Nature, the parent of all things.42 Lucretius, as we know, was the Roman Epicurus. His goal was to bring to the Roman world the Epicurean philosophy

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of common sense for the "plain man"—a philosophy devoid of those metaphysical subtleties which are spun into a gossamer of dialectic. How many reasons, indeed, Santayana had for admiring him! But strangely, almost inconsistently, he had nothing but contempt for Epicurus, the "Herbert Spencer of antiquity . . . in his natural philosophy an encyclopaedia of second-hand knowledge." Santayana found him prolix and minute, vague and inconsistent, because his scientific miscellany was not gathered by personal observation of nature. His eye was fixed on the exigencies of an inward faith,—a faith accepted on moral grounds, deemed necessary to salvation, and defended at all costs, with any available weapon. It is instructive that naturalism should have been adopted at that juncture on the same irrelevant moral grounds on which it has usually been rejected. [Poets, 29.]

An unsympathetic judgment by one whose own materialism was a faith. In later years Santayana would probably deplore the sharp angles in his portrait of Epicurus, who is pictured returning to his garden with a hush of bereavement about him. The stalwart Greek is strengthened in wisdom, happier in his isolation, more friendly and more indifferent to the world. Yet his was a "philosophy of the decadence, a philosophy of negation, and of flight from the world." 4 3 Nevertheless, through his faithful Roman disciple, he taught Santayana that pleasure goes hand in hand with knowledge.44 And foremost by his unfailing aid in Santayana's crisis and during the aftermath, he fostered a vocation. But m y vocation was clear; m y earliest speculation was at once intimate and universal, and philosophically religious, as it has always remained; yet not exclusively on the lines of that complete Christian system which first offered itself to m y imagination. 45

Santayana's descent from Golgotha to Mother Earth, under the Epicurean aegis, left him untrammeled by the fear of the gods. But still his "philosophy" was not wholly clarified and complete. He had to overcome "moral and ideal provinciality"

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(Persons and Places, 176), the thundering anathemas of absolute right and wrong. His orthodox physics needed to be complemented by an orthodox ethics. W h a t a godsend that he should find his fondest dreams realized in the ipsissima verba of Spinoza! (Persons and Places, 243-44.) Almost lyrically, Santayana recounts Spinoza's magnificent clearness in the art of rationalizing the various sides of life, the observational as well as the moral, without hopelessly confusing them: an art seldom given to the haste and pugnacity of philosophers. Admittedly the poetic ecstasy of Lucretius carried Santayana in this direction. But f o r a full expression of Santayana's naturalist convictions Lucretius alone proved inadequate. Both the Greeks and Spinoza, by a spontaneous agreement, combined the two insights that for me were essential: naturalism as to the origin and history of mankind, and fidelity, in moral sentiment, to the inspiration of reason, by which the human mind conceives truth and eternity, and participates in them ideally. [Middle Span, 13.] T h e news that Lucretius and Spinoza are in spontaneous agreement may startle us at first. W h a t might be the common denominator of a presumptive anti-metaphysical Epicureanism and the Spinozistic metaphysics? Does Greek atomism really reach its climax in a materialistic pantheism? F o r Santayana such questions would be irrelevant. His interest in various systems, philosophical as well as religious, was merely to discover h o w far his vital philosophy could be expressed in each of them. His memory was stored with a number of convenient catchwords: matter, nature, reason, God—thanks, no doubt, to his boyhood ebullient recitation of Lucretius. H e was happy to greet them in any context, provided, of course, that conventional piety was eschewed f o r the animal birthright to live as nature prompts, with liberty to think straight and to speak frankly. A f t e r having saluted his old friend, Lucretius, during his adolescent crisis with the happy result that his mind was sat-

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isfied and his conscience calmed, Santayana found further assurance in the revelation that in Spinozan terminology immortality means mortality, freedom is necessity, and God is matter.46 In fact, a perusal of Spinoza's Ethics seems to be only a repetition of De Rerum Natura. Several similarities are noteworthy. First, mind is not a disembodied spirit but one unit with the body. What formerly we pondered under the attribute of extension (body) is now conceived under the attribute of thought. (Ethics, 58, 34.) Second, the anthropocentric view of the universe is false. Man's misconception that natural things are made for his use is part of the superstitious cult of finality. (Ethics, 30-31.) Third, the pursuit of final causes leads inevitably to that asylum of ignorance, the will of God. For it was easier for them to place this among other unknown things whose use they knew not, and thus retain their present and innate condition of ignorance, than to destroy the whole fabric of their philosophy and reconstruct it. So it came to pass that they stated with the greatest certainty that the judgments of God far surpassed human comprehension.47 Religious tendentiousness is as prominent in Spinoza as in Lucretius. Excommunicated from the Jewish community in 1656, this "greatest and most honest of philosophers" cast off all "sham" by identifying nature with God. He speaks of the knowledge and love of God, but means, as Santayana explains, the apprehension of the order of nature and acceptance of it. (Ethics, vii, xv.) His religious zeal is what provokes his opposition to final causes, and he joins hands with Lucretius to bequeath to Santayana the idea that teleology, in the sense of finality, retreats into theology. Hostility to the orthodoxy which had rejected him envelops his thought, even if he lacks the forthrightness of Lucretius. Wherefore, Santayana shrewdly alludes to his "blasphemy," as a "scandal." Nonetheless, Santayana finds in Spinoza "the truest vision ever

O R I G I N OF A P H I L O S O P H Y had of G o d . "

48

85

T h e truth of the vision lies in its inspirational

value. I can always say to myself that my atheism, like that of Spinoza, is true piety towards the universe and denies only gods fashioned by men in their own image, to be servants of their human interests. . . . [Soliloquies, 236.] Santayana is indebted to Spinoza f o r much more than a pantheistic religiosity, which comes to the surface when, f o r example, he translates " W i l l of N a t u r e " as the " W i l l of G o d . " Santayana's definition of a free fact or movement—"since nothing else compelled it to be as it is" (Realms, 626)—is in perfect accord with orthodox Spinozan determinism. Admittedly we experience a p o w e r of origination and decision within ourselves. But in our ignorance of the causes which are at work—in reality the perpetual readjustment of passionate habits of matter within the psyche 4 9 — w e think w e are free. Santayana likewise followed Spinoza in calling "reason" a "sort of imagination." T h e following passages can help one understand h o w Santayana drew encouragement from Spinoza f o r his dichotomy of facts and the ideas of facts in human heads. Imagination is the idea with which the mind regards anything as present . . . which nevertheless indicates rather the present disposition of the human body than the nature of the external body. [Ethics,

218.]

The idea which constitutes the formal being of the human mind is the idea of the body. . . . It follows in the second place that the ideas which we have of external bodies indicate rather the disposition of our body than the nature of external bodies. [Ethics, 53.] Santayana also found in Spinoza a phrase which struck his f a n c y : "seeing things under the f o r m of e t e r n i t y . " 5 0 T h e words passed f r o m his vocabulary, but the idea became enshrined in those eternal essences so dear to his heart. Santayana never tired of proclaiming the Spinozan relative morality. A s

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e n u n c i a t e d b y S p i n o z a in a letter o f N o v e m b e r 20, 1665, the d o c t r i n e is in p e r f e c t h a r m o n y w i t h S a n t a v a n a ' s e p i s t e m o l o g i cal d i c h o t o m y : " t h a t I d o n o t a t t r i b u t e t o nature e i t h e r b e a u t y or deformity, order or confusion. O n l y imagination

can

things

ordered or confused."

51

be

called

in relation

beautiful

or

to

ugly,

our well-

S a n t a y a n a f o u n d a c h a s t e n i n g influ-

e n c e in S p i n o z a ' s p h i l o s o p h y . It t a m e d that d o g m a t i c

instinct

w h i c h is intolerant o f d i f f e r e n t v i e w s expressive o f d i f f e r e n t enjoyments. W h e n people tell us that they have the k e y to reality in their pockcts, or in their hearts, that they k n o w w h o made the world, and w h y , or k n o w that everything is matter, or that everything is mind—then Spinoza's notion of the absolutely infinite, which includes all possibilities, may profitably arise before us. It will counsel us to say to those little agnostics, to those circumnavigators of being: I do not believe y o u ; G o d is great. 5 2 A s a d e v e l o p m e n t o f his e m o t i o n a l e x p e r i e n c e s , S a n t a v a n a ' s d e t a c h m e n t w a s f u n d a m e n t a l l y a r e l i g i o u s issue. W i t n e s s his c h i l d h o o d passion f o r r e l i g i o u s b o o k s , the c o n f l i c t at h o m e b e t w e e n his m o t h e r and sister w h i c h c o m p e l l e d him t o take s o m e position, t h e

crisis at H a r v a r d

that terminated

in his

"en-

l i g h t e n e d " C a t h o l i c i s m : a r e d i s c o v e r y of G o d in the C h u r c h " o n l y as an expression o f h u m a n f a n c y , and in h u m a n life itself o n l y as in o n e o u t o f the m y r i a d f o r m s of natural existe n c e . " (Soliloquies,

90.) E n c o u r a g e m e n t w a s first d r a w n f r o m

L u c r e t i u s , w h o s e e x o r c i s m s are r e p e a t e d in S a n t a v a n a ' s a t t e m p t t o banish the " e l e m e n t o f d e l i g h t a n d t e r r o r " f r o m pitiless religion. ( D o m i n a t i o n s , 190.) A n d t h e n f r o m S p i n o z a , on a p a r w i t h A r i s t o t l e as the m o s t p r o f o u n d and sanest of

philoso-

phers, 5 3 w h o saved S a n t a y a n a f r o m that p r i e s t c r a f t of m e t a p h y s i c s familiar t o C h r i s t i a n apologists. 5 4 T o these t w o p h i l o s o phers, akin in their materialism and in their e f f o r t s t o d e t h r o n e a r u l i n g o r t h o d o x y , S a n t a y a n a o w e s his o r t h o d o x p h y s i c s a n d o r t h o d o x morals. T h e w o r d " o r t h o d o x " is significant. Its r e ligious c o n n o t a t i o n p r o c l a i m s the f a c t of S a n t a v a n a ' s a l i g n m e n t

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with tendentious religious philosophers. He, too, has a formidable adversary in an orthodoxy which has "loaded the dice of thought," and created problems by its "gratuitous assumptions." Whispering mysteries and brandishing anathemas, it has dominated minds and hearts for centuries. (Character, 1 0 - 1 1 . ) And so, supported by the authority and example of Lucretius and Spinoza, he adopted that very procedure of "modern or Protestant philosophy" which he deplored: " T h e assertion of a new belief, contradicting the old, is only a feint in the battle against all dogma." 56 In waging this battle Santayana made use of every available weapon. He ransacked his philosophical peers in search of ammunition for the cause. What troubles even a sympathetic reader is the legitimacy of his spoliations. N o objection can be voiced against a critic who honestly states that he leans on the works and opinions of others. But Santayana's criticism is conscientiously dogmatic, a personal expression of his own preferences. 56 Consequently, his sources are made to play into his hand, sometimes at the price of gross injustice. A s to my injustice to the Neo-Platonists—of whom Plotinus is of course the best and the most Hellenic—I am more inclined to plead guilt)', because I know little at first hand about them. [ L e t t e r s , 85.]

And at other times, as in the case of immortality, his apodictic declarations are open to serious doubt. . . . a scholar like you ought to know that the platonizing things I say about it, taken in an ideal sense, are the original motif of this doctrine in the European tradition: the notion of ghosts or of resurrection has been merely confused with it, and it is no compromise or hedging on my part to separate the two views once more. [Letters, 187.]

This type of criticism has its own merit: it informs us about Santayana. H e cannot efface his own countenance in his sketches. Was it not Santayana rather than Emerson for whom philosophy was a moral energy flowering into sprightliness of thought and not a body of serious and defensible doc-

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trines? " W e are dealing only with imagination, with the art of conception, and with the various forms in which reflection, like a poet, may compose and recompose human experience." 57 Santayana's criticism of Lotze seems equally valid of himself. Can it not be said of Santayana that the unity of his system is psychological, for the logical sequence of his arguments is a purely formal pretense to philosophical construction? Like Lotze's, Santayana's primary intuition was poetic; his manner of regarding things was personal.58 And can it not also be argued that Santayana appears in his sketch of Goethe's Faust? This Faust, unlike Marlowe's, has no faith and no fear. From the point of view of the church he is damned already as an unbeliever; but as an unbeliever, he is looking for salvation in another quarter. Like the bolder spirits of the Renaissance, he is hoping to find in universal nature, infinite, placid, non-censorious, an escape from the prison-house of Christian dogma and Christian law. His magic arts are the sacrament that will initiate him into his new religion, the religion of nature. He turns to nature also in another sense, more characteristic of the age of Goethe than of that of Faust. He longs for grandiose solitudes. [Poets, 154.]

At a moment many years' distant from his crisis in adolescence, Santayana characterized his oscillation as frivolous and dramatic. (Preface, Triton Ed., VII.) Neither solipsism nor Catholicism was ever anything more than a theoretic pose, a vista for the imagination. (Soliloquies, 256.) Does this mean that the analysis is faulty? Was religion not really the preference closest to his heart? On the contrary, Santayana was a long way from denying the "authentic" religious note of his verses, which betrays the undercurrents of his mind in the formative period. When he was sixteen or twenty, although already a naturalist in belief, "faith" meant "Catholic faith," for which he had a fondness.59 This affection precipitated a crisis because it had to be rationalized. Santayana, who was predisposed never to surrender his "freedom" to a religious faith, had to emancipate himself completely from the horrid claim of religious ideas—later all ideas—to literal truth.60

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His position is anomalous. In fact, it is hard to understand how he could claim f o r himself Catholic sentiments which are "entirely divorced from faith." W a s he capable of suffering further disillusionment about Catholicism? If it is true that "Religion in particular was found out more than 100 years ago, and it seems to me intolerable that w e should still be condemned to ignore the f a c t " (Letters, 82), it would appear that his constant recourse to the topic indicates either an incomplete conversion or an executed threat [not] . . . to give the parsons and idealists a monopoly of indignation and of contemptuous dogmatism. It is they, not we, that are the pest; and while I wish to be just and to understand people's feelings, wherever they are at all significant, I am deliberately minded to be contemptuous toward what seems to me contemptible, and not to have any share in the conspiracy of mock respect by which intellectual ignominy and moral stagnation are kept up in our society. . . . I care too much about moral happiness to be interested in the charming vegetation of cancer-microbes in the system—except with the idea of suppressing it. [Letters, 82.]

In his desire to find respectable ancestors f o r this attitude of mind, Santayana, without a doubt, succeeded admirably. H e could not have alighted on happier choices than Lucretius and Spinoza f o r encouraging him to dethrone a religious orthodoxy.

V.

T H E

P R O B L E M

OF

R E L I G I O N

I am far f r o m wishing to suggest that an orthodox Christian cannot be scrupulously honest in admitting the probable facts, or cannot have a fresh spiritual experience, or frame an original philosophy. But what w e think probably hangs on our standard of probability and of evidence; the spiritual experiences that come to us are according to our disposition and affections; and any new philosophy we frame will be an answer to the particular problems that beset us, and an expression of the solutions we hope for. N o w this standard of probability, this disposition, and these problems and hopes may be those of a Christian or they may not. T h e true Christian, f o r instance, will begin by regarding miracles as probable. . . . W h e n he finds the record of one he will not inquire, like the rationalist, how that false record could have been concocted; but rather he will ask how the rationalist, in spite of so many witnesses to the contrary, has acquired his fixed assurance of the universality of the commonplace. [Winds, 4 1 - 4 1 . ] Santayana's disposition and affections have placed him "in the train of Democritus and Epicurus who, although they did not deny the existence of gods, assigned to them no dominion over nature, and in that sense may be called atheists." ( R e a l m s , 845.) T h e atheism of Santayana has a twofold claim on our attention. First, the judgment that the instincts exhibited by Santayana's criticism are born of religion needs confirmation if it is to stand as the absolute rock bottom of his philosophical endeavors. And, second, the reasons which justify his position must be unearthed. His title to the name of philosopher

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rests ultimately on the wisdom which dictates his espousal of atheism. Santayana's philosophical debut was quite normal. Bleating like any young Iamb, agitated by religion, (Preface, Triton Ed., V I I ) , he began his lifelong speculation in that field of "waking religion" called philosophy. 1 Since a philosophy that is not a religion is only a vague science or a loose eloquence (Last Puritan, 573), his interests formed part of that general movement which the first stimulus had set in motion. Religion proved to be his strongpoint in history. The Standard, the Anglican clerical paper, satisfied his curiosity regarding the more fascinating side of English life. Friends were selected because of religious tastes.2 He considered the business world repressive in comparison with the invigorating atmosphere of religion, precisely because religion, like poetry, was "more ideal, more freely imaginary, and in a material sense falser." (Persons and Places, 174.) He spoke of "the modern hatred" of religion as repulsive to him because it is hatred of the truth, hatred of all sublimity, hatred of the laughter of the gods. It is puerile human vanity trying to justify itself by a lie. (Host, 40.) " A n y new philosophy w e frame will be an answer to the particular problems that beset us . . ." In the light of this phrase from the passage quoted at the beginning of the chapter, it is revealing to count the number of times that Santavana referred to his "personal religion or philosophy." 3 T h e conjunction of the two words was a foregone conclusion: " F o r it is religion that knows how to interpret the casual rationalities in the world and isolate their principle, setting this principle up in the face of nature as nature's standard and model." (Reason, III, 212 [Sup.].) This new philosophy will also be "an expression of the solutions we hope f o r . " Lucretius and Spinoza were competent masters of a docile pupil. Santayana learned well the lesson that the battle against a ruling orthodoxy was not to be won

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unless he could offer a substitute for the idol he wished to destroy. Spirituality has never flourished apart from religion except momentarily, perhaps, in some mastermind. (Reason, III, 212 [Sup.].) Hence in the role of an iconoclast, having declared supernatural machinery to be worthless unless it was symbolic of natural conditions and moral aims, Santayana inaugurated a piety which consisted of loyalty to necessary conditions and a spirituality which was a devotion to ideal ends. (Reason, III, 276-77 [Sup.].) At the time of his second crisis, Santayana awakened to the illusion in disillusion, and to the vanity of religious substitutes for earthly happiness. Does this mean that his philosophy ceased to be religious? Not at all. In fact, he became more deeply entrenched in the conviction that his philosophy must be like that of the ancients, "a discipline of the mind and the heart, a lay religion." (Realms, 827, 645.) His disillusionment was over Susana's Catholicism, which proved incapable of being lived as he lived his philosophy. Was Catholicism, he asked himself, any better in principle than Judaism? Was it not still a worldliness, transferred to a future world, and thereby doubly falsified? His Catholic sentiments thus underwent a purgation, and what remained was only an attachment to an incidental esoteric discipline. It terminates in the same inward liberation and peace that ancient sages attained under all religions or under none. The question is whether the paraphernalia of salvation are not in all cases accidental, sometimes pleasing and poetical, sometimes dangerously superstitious; and whether they do not encumber the spirit with other-worldliness. [Host, 11.]

Accordingly, he borrowed the Catholic paraphernalia of salvation and bent them to express the solutions he hoped for, namely, a reduction of Christian theology and spiritual discipline to their secret interior source. (Realms, 845.) When we embark on the naturalist's vessel of pure reason, Santayana assures us from the helm that we may attain, without subterfuge, all the spiritual insights which supernaturalism

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goes so far out of the w a y to inspire. ( G e n t e e l , 63.) Our passage with him is a consecration to an unearthly revelation. T o our surprise, he assumes the guise of Charon conducting us across the Styx, because henceforth w e shall be like dead among the living, w h o neither know nor love what w e treasure. W e are being transported into an invisible paradise, where our spirits, having renounced all things in an act of intellectual worship, arrive at pure vision and pure love. W e shall gaze upon the true eternal things, the essences of all things here. Contemplating them as they lie ideally reconciled in the bosom of the Good, w e shall love them f o r what they are in themselves, and not f o r what, in the world of fortune, they may bring or take away f r o m us personally. Here at last piety and prayer, having ceased to be magic operations or efforts of a celestial diplomacy, will become purely spiritual. 4 This Epicurean religion of Nature which Santayana descended f r o m Golgotha to embrace may be less poetically defined as "the recognition of the Powers on which our destiny depends, and the art of propitiating those Powers and of living, as f a r as the power in us avails, in devout harmony with them." (Dominations, 19.) In very blunt terms, it is the positive religion—"and by no means a new one"—of the recognition of universal substance. (Obiter Scripta, 176.) Actually what Santayana tried to communicate to us in his poems is the feeling of elevation which exhilarated him when He only climbs the skies and proudly sings, Whose heart, attentive, feels the pulse of things; Masters the fact, and hails the changeless goal That beckons, purges, and fulfills the soul. [Hermit, 202.] T h e posthumously published The

Poet's

Testament

is even

more rhapsodical in its attestation. T o trembling harmonies of field and cloud, Of flesh and spirit, was my worship vowed. Let form, let music, let the all-quickening air Fulfill in beauty my imperfect prayer. [Poet's Testament, 14.]

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And in the same work Venus gives utterance to Santayana's thought: T o love what I love well— T h a t is the soul of my divinity A n d all my glory. In nature's heart I dwell, Nature in mine, which is the all of me. [Poet's Testament,

84.]

T h e importance of this poetic testimony is not only that it brings to the surface the authentic religious undercurrent of Santayana's mind.6 It also forms a part of a concentrated effort to convince us that the Spinozistic atheism is not something sterile but a soul-satisfying piety toward the universe. Those prejudices which prevent us from conceiving of a religious materialism must be overcome at any cost. W e must be guided with great care toward a genuine appreciation of the materialist's attitudes. Intelligent materialists, as were the ancients, are not foolishly hostile to popular religion or without religion in their hearts.6 Of course they abhor the magic, the false miracles, and the sundry appeals to animal thrift and fear. But they understand images contrived by animal passions and aspirations, even delight in them, without ever mistaking them for substance, the real Power that brings these images before the spirit. Since for materialists all appearances—sensuous, conceptual, and moral —are symbolic of natural facts, the imagination which breeds religious ideas, or any theology which interprets them philosophically, is not doomed to extermination. In fact, wise materialists are actually intrigued by these images as ideal essences without existence, for every one of us "must recognize form in matter, order in chaos, ideal being in illusion, truth in the history of errors, and eternity in every fleeting drama of time." {Dominations, 21.) Unfortunately, however, only a few materialists have savored the spiritual side of religion. The majority have been preoccupied with witch-hunts of one kind or another. In their zeal to expose religious facts as unscientific,

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they have been sadly unaware of the great value of an ideal affection which transcends reality. T h e conversion of his reader to the naturalist religion must be thoroughgoing. So Santayana painstakingly tries to disinf e c t him from as many of his former Catholic associations as possible by pointing out the "secret interior source" of these beliefs. Does G o d exist? T h e question, which drives the w e d g e between theists and atheists, is really verbal. Posed accurately, it is this: should the reality signified by the notion of G o d continue to bear the name of G o d when w e have understood that reality better, or ought it to be designated b y another name? Santayana affirms that reality to be matter. Hence, in the company of those w h o proclaim that G o d is spirit, the creator and dispenser of fortune—although this belief has never been popular, nor taken seriously by the theologians— he must be pronounced an atheist. But let us not label him a pantheist, since he does not regard the whole realm of matter as an organ of spirit. (Realms, 837-38.) If G o d is matter, how are w e to conceive of the Trinity? In an analysis reminiscent of Hegel's, Santayana transposes the doctrine of the T r i n i t y into terms of pure ontology and moral dialectic. T h e Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth, is a name f o r the realm of matter. T h e seemingly "unintelligible" dogma that all things were created through the Son "becomes clear if we consider that power could not possibly produce anything unless it borrowed some f o r m f r o m the realm of essence and imposed that form on itself and on its works." 7 And since it is absurd to imagine that the shape taken b y things was an aim pursued in their taking it, the Nicene Creed tells us that the Son was begotten, as through an inner impulse without plan or foresight, not made. This Logos, the complex of forms exemplified in the universe which composes the truth about it, is as much G o d as is the Father, f o r p o w e r or substance cannot exist without form. T h e H o l y

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Ghost is that gift of nature called consciousness. H e proceeds from Father and Son because, being the final fruition of existence, he needs the other realms—matter and essence—to evoke him. 8 Santayana cautions us not to press this analogy between Christian theology and his ontology. In doing so, he presents us with a breath-taking view of his language, religion, and logic. The one is a dogma, the other a language: a language based not on inspiration but on analysis, and meant only to render articulate the dumb experience of the soul. I am not concerned in these Realms of Being with alleged separate substances or independent regions. I am endeavouring only to distinguish the types of reality that I encounter; and the lines of cleavage that I discern are moral and logical, not physical, chasms. Yet I find this language applicable, and in that sense true. Theology could not possibly be true unless revealed miraculously; and I presume that most of my readers would agree that miraculous revelations are creatures of the heart. Religion itself sometimes calls its dogmas mysteries and its creeds symbols, as if admitting the difference in kind between imagination and truth. So discounted and disinfected, the speculations of intense and consecrated minds have a great authority, especially when they have proved acceptable to mankind, and have become the companions and vehicle of a spiritual discipline. They do not thereby become miraculously true; nevertheless they reveal inner and outer harmonies established with long labour and sacrifice in the human soul. There they remain fountains of wisdom and selfknowledge, at which we may still drink in solitude. Perhaps the day may return when mankind will drink them again in society. [Realms, 853-54.] Having reduced the dogma of a Triune G o d to its "secret interior source," Santayana continues his pursuit of spiritual security as he meanders through the labyrinth of religions and philosophies. In 1888 he composed his Good Friday Hymn, which was published after many years in the posthumous The Poet's Testament. A footnote to the poem reminds us

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that, for the poet, Mary stands for all nature and Christ for all spirit. (Poet's Testament, 9.) It is the idea more modestly suggested in The Realm of Spirit, that the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ are a symbol for the "inevitable innocence of the spirit" in all that it suffers. (Realms, 761.) What the spirit suffers is called in religious parlance "sin"—an entanglement or strangling at the hands of the psyche which is primarily directed upon all sorts of ambitions irrelevant to spirit. Utterly undeserving of this fate, the spirit ought to be, as it actually is, forgiven. In addition to this "personal sin," the world itself is tainted with original sin because it is spontaneous, that is, self-contradictory and ignorant of its destiny. (Realms, 568, 760, 784.) Hence the sin of Adam lies on all of us, since Adam is to be understood as our whole material heritage. It is a sinfulness as original and omnipresent as the fiat of God, "for besides the universal Will expressed in all that happens there is independent conation in the parts, making for what might have happened if the total balance of forces had not prevented." (Realms, 630.) One by one, Christian beliefs are impressed into the service of the "only possible salvation." (So?ne Turns, 108.) The dogma of a final judgment renders admirably the finality of our activity in this world, together with the eternity of its ideal meanings. (Interpretations, 98.) Prophecy is a political expression: the swan song of lost causes. Honest counterparts to death replace the adventitious hopes or hypotheses which ordinarily are associated with resurrection and immortality. The other world, "spirit," is incarnated in this world, "psyche." A struggle ensues which makes "union with God" (a sense of harmony with the universe) and the "life of prayer" (the only perfectly rational form of life for a spirit that has attained self-knowledge) difficult to achieve. But our dignity is constituted by the detachment with which we suffer the fate that overtakes us. "All belongs to the necessary passion

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and death of the spirit, that t o d a y rides u p o n an ass into its k i n g d o m , to be crucified t o m o r r o w b e t w e e n t w o thieves, and on the third d a y to rise again f r o m the d e a d . "

9

Santayana is at his best w h e n he luxuriates in this b o r r o w e d description. H e creates the p r o p e r atmosphere f o r a revelation w h i c h is intended to d i v o r c e us f r o m the old and familiar f a c t s o n l y to r e m a r r y us to them b y a n e w charity that understands their hidden virtues and f o r g i v e s their vices. ( R e a l m s , 806.) W h e n he formulated his doctrines, he did not intend to b e f o g the basic issue. His interest is the life of the spirit, a religious question, " n o t a question of w o r d s . "

10

H i s o n l y pur-

pose is to transmute this life into ultimate spiritual

terms,

since fresh risks, ambitions, and love affairs in a life to c o m e w e r e not to his taste. But his zeal in proselytizing seems to have blinded him to his o w n vulnerability to the charge he levels against H a r n a c k , w h o m a d e " t h e original essence of Christianity

coincide—what

a miracle!—with

theran and Kantian sentiments." (Winds,

his o w n

Lu-

29.) Santayana, in-

deed, s h o w s no sign of hesitation in adapting the " l e g e n d a r y figure

of Jesus on e a r t h " to his o w n insights, and unscrupu-

lously recasts the w e e p i n g and gnashing of teeth, and all other items of " m y t h i c a l " eschatology, in his o w n m o l d . 1 1 Y e t it is all, in reality, a contrast in ourselves b e t w e e n passion and reason, will and free imagination, egotism and love of the truth. T h e covetous, political, J e w i s h idea of salvation must be reduced, f r o m this point of

v i e w , to a local

and t e m p o r a r y

symbol,

or

superstitious substitute, f o r a spiritual transformation. T h i s s y m b o l subsists in the minds of the Evangelists and passes a m o n g them f o r a literal truth. W i t h o u t questioning that t h e y so c o n c e i v e d it, a philosophic critic is not forbidden to trace b a c k this s y m b o l to the national ambition of the J e w s , as t o its origin, and to trace it f o r w a r d s , as to its religious truth, to the idea of C h r i s t implicit in the G o s p e l s ; that is to say, to the idea of G o d in m a n . 1 2

The

religious

tendentiousness

of

the

"new

philosophy"

Santayana frames seems ubiquitous w h e n the evidence of the topics he treats is added to the stimulus and doctrinal f o r m u -

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lation of his thought. I take "topics" here in a very general sense, to include also his imagery and allusions, both of which are lucid indices of his methodology. Our minds can be shaped as much by epithets as by lengthy arguments, especially when the former are so numerous that his preoccupation with ecclestiastical symbols appears to be instinctive or "unconscious." 1 3 With a flair for the concrete, Santayana abounds in comparisons. He likens himself to an acolyte who sings only the first verse of the psalm Introibo ad altare Dei. (Schilpp, 589.) Plato's Laws are "a sort of prolonged catechism, dry, unadorned, and uncritical." 1 4 Examples might be multiplied: ". . . somewhat as a Jesuit might study Protestant theology" (Winds, 64); "like the seventy Alexandrian sages"; "as if a devil suddenly died in hell or in heaven a new angel were created." (Reason, I, 1, 3 [Sup.].) The majority of his similes and illustrations are colored by his hostility to the orthodoxy to be dethroned. Science "has sprung up mysteriously and mightily, like mysticism in a cloister or theology in a council." (Some Turns, 86.) . . worse than the laws of the Medes and Persians or an infallible Pope." (Dialogues, 102.) ". . . less inclined to medicine and more to dilettantism and to theology." 1 5 ". . . cleverer but meaner than himself . . . the priests . . ." (Soliloquies, 5.) There was always something slippery in the orthodoxy of the scholastics, even in the Middle Ages; they are so eager to define, to correct, and to trace back everything, that they tend to cut the cloth on their own bias, and to make some crotchet of theirs the fulcrum of the universe. T h e thoughts of these men are like the Sibylline leaves, profound but lost. [Soliloquies, 43.]

W e have witnessed Santayana's treatment of Christian dogma, but have not adverted to the prejudicial descriptions which condition our reception of his discussion. The Last Judgment and Resurrection are melodramatic. The Bible and the Decalogue are instances of the art of innocent make-

IOO

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believe. (Soliloquies, 92, 98, 138.) T h e devils of popular medieval religion were blackened by sectarian zeal and degraded by a coarse and timid imagination. (Poets, 162.) Faith in the supernatural is a desperate wager made by man at the lowest ebb of his fortunes. Revelations are necessarily mythical and subrational. (Reason, V , 297 [479], 306 [484].) It was natural that the metaphors of the Last Supper should be turned by the Greek Christians into metamorphosis; thus the origin of transubstantiation. (Reason, III, 87 [220].) All this, w e must recall, is Santayana's way of stating that "Religions will thus be better or worse, never true or false. W e shall be able to lend ourselves to each in turn, and seek to draw from it the secret of its inspiration." (Reason, III, 14 [ 1 8 5 ] . ) Among the topics treated by Santayana are those traditionally philosophical problems which are simultaneously religious. First, there is the question of the existence of G o d — a purely verbal controversy, as we have seen. God, therefore, is nonchalantly presented to us as a symbol for the powers of the universe, for matter, for fate, for law. Or He may be a symbol for our natural ideals, or the sum of all possible goods. Or we ourselves, emotionally enraptured in a moment of intuition, have become God: a truly solitary deity in full possession of all truth, incapable of creating anything. In brief, G o d is not a scheming, commanding, responsible creator or governor of the universe. 16 Do we demand proof of these assertions? " T h a t fear first created the gods is perhaps as true as anything so brief could be on so great a subject." (Reason, III, 28 [192].) Santayana's analysis takes this Epicurean principle, turned into a neat phrase by Statius, as his starting-point. His justification: Obvious considerations like these furnish the proof of God's existence, not as philosophers have tried to express it after the fact and in relation to mythical conceptions of G o d already current, but as mankind originally perceived it, and (where religion is spontaneous) perceives it still. [Reason, III, 30 ( 1 9 3 ) . ]

THE PROBLEM OF RELIGION

IOI

Second, the "fabled problem" of creation receives a like short shrift. T h e very notion was not meant to be analyzed, presupposing as it does an existing creator and a material with definite possibilities and resistances to be turned into a new shape. As a consequence, Santayana felt that it would be unfair to press terms like Creator or Creator's mind, which a philosopher could only have meant figuratively. The Creator myth may symbolize the genesis of all things from nature. Or, as in the case of the Leibnizian creator surveying all possible worlds, the dramatic metaphor may represent that immutable background which the realm of essence supplies for all the shifts of existence.17 Third, the theologians, influenced by Greek and Oriental philosophies, have rationalized themselves into the problem of evil, a tragedy which belongs to apologetics and to artificial theodicy. For the naturalist who has read Spinoza and understood that nothing is evil in itself, the problem is nonexistent. Yet, ironically, this unreality attracted Santayana, and after investigation he was convinced that the true solution is that no solution can ever be found. 18 Fourth, " O f course there are no eternal tenets; neither the opinions of men, nor mankind, nor anything existent can be eternal; eternity is a property of essences only." 19 Philosophers who discuss an eternal God, eternal Ideas, or an eternal world are indulging in hyperbole, expressing the fact that the realities signified by these terms are timeless relative to our methods of calculation. This problematic eternity, with the "tedium in excelsis" of constant self-repetition which it suggests, is at the other end of the scale from the eternity of our themes of contemplation—those names which are eternal in the realm of truth. Fifth, " T h e subject of immortality has long ceased to be a living issue with me. . . . I am confirmed in my old impression that this is a verbal or mythical obsession of the human mind rather than a literal belief." 20 Santayana's im-

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pression bears the traces of several stamps. Emotionally, he is left cold—rather, frozen to the marrow—at the prospect of another life where he will encounter the same acquaintances as in this, and the same obstacles. Intellectually, he is unstirred by arguments from sanction and from aspirations to immortality. These moral questions, answered conventionally, may satisfy us that personal immortality is a postulate of ethics. Still, when we infer that it must therefore exist, we import into the argument an optimistic postulate. W e are gratuitous and foolish, for how can we say that an ideal, simply as such, will inevitably be fulfilled? Consequently, Santayana is unimpressed by the chimera of an infused soul. 21 The Thomists, in adherence to the faith they have inherited, have artificially constructed a metaphysical hybrid. "The theory is compound because it rests on monarchical theism at once naturalistic, political, and miraculous; on which now a self-transcending spiritual discipline had to be grafted." (Idea of Christ, 227.) The theological twist that Santayana gives to these five topics is characteristic; his speculation has always been philosophically religious. And when we recall that his imagery and allusions are "necessary" ornaments—"if you want to reach the true ground and flavour of the ideas"—the cumulative effect of religious agitation is overwhelming. A man's personal life is bound to be affected by a lifelong immersion in religious speculation. Santayana, moreover, has called his philosophy a form of salvation (Letters, 240), a life which he has lived. {Host, 10.) He appears to promise us a model of tranquillity in philosophical detachment, especially since his interest in the internal religious force of diverse faiths, rather than the external reasons urged to prove or disprove them, immures him from the contentiousness of zealots. W e expect him, therefore, to reflect rationally on religion, as "only pagan antiquity, India, and China" have done. This means that inspiration must be allowed to take the form it

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likes and then be naturalized into a calm philosophy.

103

{Host,

47-48-)

Regrettably, Santayana's religious reflections seem less the product of calm meditation than of the contempt he threatened: "I am deliberately minded to be contemptuous toward what seems to me contemptible." (Letters, 82.) One moment he is informing us of the "overwhelming fact" that science and philosophy have made the Catholic Church an impossibility (Present Position, 669), or exposing its hypocrisy in blessing many a form of deceit and oppression. (Egotism, 82.) And the next, he justifies his "affection" for the Catholic system by calling it a true symbol for the real relations of spirit within nature. (Schilpp, 583.) W e understand that he is opposed to the historical or factual claims of Catholicism. But the vehemence of his protestation and his militant policy at Harvard 22 render suspect the solidity of his decision for naturalism.23 "All roads still lead to Rome and unless you place yourself there you will never be in the heart of the world or see it in the right perspective. T o be a Protestant is to be cross-eyed." (Letters, 130.) Was it doubt, not affection, that led him to write this? His conduct toward people who broached religious subjects to him was indicative of uncertainty. He is said to have severed his relations with the Maritains because they opened a discussion on a reasonable approach to religion.24 Anne Ford recounts his irritation when she admired a statue of the Virgin Mary placed in his rooms. Yet he assured her that he needed her prayers! 25 "It is pleasant," he wrote in 1941 to Cyril Clemens, "to be remembered and—I hope—prayed f o r . " 2 9 The hope echoes the melancholy tone sounded in The Realm of Spirit: "And among us now there are good people who pray that there may be a God to pray to." (Realms, 800.) Santavana died as he had lived, with the word "desperation" uttered in a coma.27 Perhaps it was the pure distillation

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of his philosophy of personal experience. When he began he was agitated by religion; and all that he wrote persuades us that his adolescent crisis over speculative Catholicism was never satisfactorily solved. " W h y envy illusions?" he asks himself. "Insight is not only calmer, but more sympathetic and charitable. . . ." (Persons and Places, 114.) That charitable insight seems to have escaped him: T o be unflinchingly an atheist W e r e to be bravely blind. [Poet's Testament, 199.]

Like a moth drawn to the light, Santayana could not stay away from "the whole allegorical, pseudo-historical pageant." (Persons and Places, 173.) Paradoxically, he did not believe in the dogmas of any religion, yet he would not for the world have had a wife or children dead to religion. (Middle Span, 130-31.) As a consequence, did he not suffer the fate of Icarus? In ignoring divine prerogatives w e are like the barren fig tree. Is it our fault that this is not a season for faith? Are we not doing our best, putting forth an abundance of green leaves? Do we pretend to more? Do we intentionally entice anybody to come and look for ripe fruit on our branches? Do we not wish everybody well? H o w then can we be cursed for not embracing unnecessary opinions that contradict all our habits of thought and judgment? Certainly we are not to blame, and nature will not condemn us for any such priggish reason. It will be, if it so happens, because our further existence would not be for the glory of God. W e are as innocent as the fig tree. Nevertheless it is quite possible that on the morrow we may be found withered. [Idea of Christ, 89-90.]

M y intention is not to accuse Santayana of insincerity but to register the fact that he never attained that pervasive peace which was vaunted as the fruit of his crises. Unnecessary opinions may have contradicted his habits of thought and judgment, but ultimately "it is our sympathies that must guide our opinions." His heart was the fountain of conception {Realms, 137), and we find its revelation in his poems.

THE PROBLEM OF RELIGION

IO5

T o me the faiths of old are daily bread; I bless their hope, I bless their will to save, And my deep heart still meaneth -what they said. [Poems, 33.] King's College Chapel seems to be more than just an echo of Shakespeare's famous line: "Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang." It mirrors Santayana's own soul. One alone remembers; Only the stranger knows their mother tongue. Only the altar—like the soul—is dark. And from this altar, now an empty tomb . . . But, ah! how little of these storied walls Beneath whose shadow all their nurture was! No, not one passing memory recalls The Blessed Mary and Saint Nicholas. [Poems, 105-6, 108-9.] In Gabriel his habits of thought and judgment impinge upon the sentiments of his heart. I know thou art a man, thou hast his mould; The wings are fancy and a poet's lie, The halo but the dimness of his eye And thy chivalry a legend old. Yet I mistrust the truth, and partly hold Thou art a herald of the upper sky, Where all the truth yet lives that seemed to die And love is never faint nor virtue cold. I still would see thee spotless, fervent, calm, With heaven in thy eyes, and with the mild White lily in one hand, in one the palm, Bringing the world that rapture undefiled Which Mary knew, when, answering with a psalm Thine Ave, she conceived her holy Child.28

IC>6

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In view of the stimulus and trend of Santayana's thought, it seems justifiable to link his philosophical acumen with his religious procedure. Ultimately his wisdom may be estimated by the breadth and penetration of his insight, and the sweet reasonableness of his arguments. Historically, Santayana's books date from a period in his life when a crystallized concept of religion is sole contestant. The adolescent crisis had been resolved by transferring the "stuff of poetry and religion" into ideals, in contrast to material or historical facts. As a result, a search for a definition acceptable by all ends in failure. Our hopes, it is true, are sometimes encouraged: "Suppose now we define religion to be the recognition of the Powers on which our destiny truly depends. . . ." But all discussion ends a sentence later: " A religion worth having must recognize true Powers, however poetical the form may be which that religion lends them." {Dominations, 19-20.) It is not that Santayana is unaware of the "scholastic sense" of religion, or any other, for that matter. But he thinks that whatever truth religion has is poetic! This idea, "native to him and congenital" {Host, 4), expresses—it would seem for everyone—the essence and function of religion. Hence, in any Santayana volume the word "religion" is rarely unaccompanied. It is usually associated with poetry, symbolism, fancy, imagination, myth, legend, or fable. 29 This practice, the only one consistent with a personal expression of inevitable bias, eliminates refutations and proofs as ill-contrived. Why, indeed, concern ourselves with arguments if religion is a perfect stranger to them? Proofs are the last thing looked for by a truly religious mind which feels the imaginative fitness of its faith and knows instinctively that, in such a matter, imaginative fitness is all that can be required. T h e reason men reject the doctrine of eternal punishment is that they find it distasteful or unmeaning. T h e y show, by the nature of their objections, that they acknowledge poetic propriety or moral truth to be the sole criterion of religious credibility.

[Interpretations, 95.]

THE

PROBLEM

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IO7

Since Santayana's intention is to convert supernatural into natural religion, his technique in handling the supernaturalist is of special interest. It confirms our worst expectations of the outcome—"when faith and imagination have prejudged the issue." 30 Without the least attempt at conciliation, Santayana begins his attack in Interpretations of Poetry and Religion with the declaration that the supernatural is an allegory of the natural. (Interpretations, 98.) Reason in Religion manifests an uncompromising belligerence: "the obscene supernatural has nothing to do with rational religion." (Reason, III, 233 [278].) Reason in Science implies that the evidence for the supernatural has been weighed and found wanting. The most plausible ground which a doctrine can give of its truth is the beauty and rationality of its moral corollaries. "It is instructive to observe that a gospel's congruitv with natural reason and common humanity is regarded as the decisive mark of its supernatural origin." (Reason, V , 290 [Sup.].) How Santayana would substantiate this observation remains matter for conjecture. He chooses to pursue an idea only so far, and then leaves us dangling in the air. As Nature—our universal mother, the great cause or system of causes that brings phenomena to light—came into prominence in Santayana's thought, a certain mellowness was reflected in his attitude toward the supernatural. Its existence was no longer impossible; in fact, it was decidedly probable. The concept of nature expanded and enfolded within itself an almost tangible supernatural world, which is nature in her true depths and in her true infinity. "The question is only what evidences we may have of the existence of this hidden reality, and of its character." (Genteel, 32.) Once the question has been asked, the supernaturalist has the right to expect a candid presentation and evaluation of evidence. However, Santayana is temperamentally disinclined to risk controversy, and prefers the far more polemical method

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of voicing his opinions, which are such as to indicate that in his mind there was never any question in the first place. T h e supernatural, he surmises, must almost certainly exist, f o r the idea of it is perfectly harmless, and not at all arbitrary. It is the sphere of the ultramundane with fixed principles formulated into a definite science by those w h o believe in it in some definite f o r m . 3 1 T h e horror and irritation of the supernaturalist mount as Santayana penetrates the vagueness of " N a t u r e " to show that his all-inclusive cause of all things really changes supemature to w/franature. W h y , the supernaturalist asks himself, does Santayana insist on using super- when he means the "truly and fundamentally natural, of which our conventional or scientific nature is only a local, temporary, and superficial mode"? 3 2 Moreover, what g i f t of perspicacity does Santayana possess which enables him to be confident that the supernatural is never conceived as anything but the rest of the natural, the background of f a c t and law behind our human experience and conventions? A special insight, too, into the character of the evidence seems to have been granted him: Of course, the revelation of what this ultramundane sphere contains is "fishy" and itself inspired from below . . . but that doesn't prevent the general notion of an existing sphere beyond our sphere, but touching it and sometimes penetrating into it, from being legitimate, if only the evidence for it were not drawn from the wrong quarter. [Letters, 247.] T h e supernaturalist might indignantly demand f r o m what quarter Santayana draws his evidence. Is it that he has been favored with a revelation, to the effect that the positing of the supernatural is a mistake, although not entirely gratuitous? W h e n c e his assurance that it arises from an effort to do justice at once to nature and to the ideal, and to vindicate the superiority, or rather the exclusive ultimate value, of the latter? (Idea of Christ, 2 3 2 - 3 3 . ) H o w does he v e r i f y his pretension that the supernatural as a part of the natural expresses and completes the "insight of this age"? (Poets, 134.)

THE

PROBLEM

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IO9

Personally, whether w e agree or disagree with Santayana over the problem of the supernatural, his cavalier attitude toward his adversaries must be condemned. T o say the least, his penchant f o r interpreting their minds to his o w n w a y of thinking is unscholarly. In addition, three other strictures should be placed on his procedure. First, at the expense of his principle that he studies the factual relations of common-sense facts, without pretending to explain or to understand them, he dabbles in explanation: A n d the only answer might seem to be the one given in m y first Spanish catechism to any hard question: " T h e Church has doctors that will know h o w to explain it." W e may smile; but in this case the explanation is really at hand if, whether doctors or not, w e can distinguish the spirit from the psyche, or in Christian language, the other world f r o m this world. [Realms, 797.]

Second, the validity of these explanations rests on his assumption of materialism, which ultimately is the point at issue. A glimpse of this strategy in operation can be caught in his rejection of a supernatural spirit. Need I give reasons, after all that has preceded, f o r discarding this last conception? In the first place it would be a materialistic and superstitious view of spirit to regard it as a wind, an effort, or any kind of physical force. O n the other hand, in conceiving matter to be inert, merely heavy, and intrinsically blank, w e should be forgetting our original reason for positing matter at all. . . .

[Realms, 328-29.] Third, although pledged to a philosophy of personal expression, Santayana is unwise to appeal to hazardous universals and to cloak his ipsedixitism in the tatters of bogus authorities: ". . . incredible to an unprejudiced science" (Schilpp, 509); "Most unprejudiced people . . ." ( E g o t i s m , 144); "Facts and thoughts are e v e r y w h e r e reported without evidence. . . . For a sympathetic humanist and unprejudiced man of letters . . ." (Idea of Christ, 4 - 5 ) ; "In an original thinker, in one w h o really thinks and does not merely argue . . ." ( R e a son, I, 194 [ 5 8 ] ) ; " . . . and I presume that most of m v read-

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ers would agree . . ." (Realms, 853); . . our science and our philosophy have made the Catholic Church an impossibility . . ." (Present Position, 669); . . and science had amply disproved these dogmas before they arose . . ." (Platonism, 62). Significantly, Santayana displays his maladroit technique in describing a facet of the "philosophy of the common man": Of

this h o m e l y philosophy the tender cuticle is religious belief;

really the least vital and most arbitrary part of human

opinion,

the outer ring, as it w e r e , of the fortifications of prejudice, but f o r that v e r y reason the most jealously defended. . . . Y e t in f a c t religious belief is terribly precarious, partly because it is arbitrary, so that in the next tribe o r in the next c e n t u r y it will w e a r quite a different f o r m ; and partly because, w h e n genuine, it is spontaneous and continually remodelled, like p o e t r y , in the heart that gives it birth. . . . W i t h o u t philosophical criticism, therefore, mere e x p e r i e n c e and g o o d sense suggest that all positive religions are false, or at least ( w h i c h is enough f o r m y present purpose) that they are all fantastic and insecure. 3 3

Our search f o r the ultimate reasons w h y religions are fantastic and insecure brings us back to an instinctive awareness which is clarified by history and psychology: "but gradually it became impossible f o r me to steadily hold the Catholic position: the history and psychology of it. . . ." 34 Neither of these subjects, however, is systematically presented to us. As a consequence, psychology becomes a matter of inference, with all the evidence pointing to the fact that the instincts and preferences of one psyche are being pursued. History, on the other hand, is apt to generate more heat and smoke than light. W e may find ourselves at loggerheads with Santayana over his interpretation of events. Or w e may be confused over the precise role played by history in religion. Finally, w e may be puzzled b y what Santayana has to say about history itself. Let us consider briefly these three headings. Santayana attacks the Gospels as the irresponsible propaganda of zealots whose only criterion of truth was not evi-

THE

PROBLEM

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III

dence or probability but congruitv with faith, fittingness, significance, or edification. Their zeal to propagate their religious passion was entirely foreign to the self-control and objectivity of the profane historian. Their guiding principle was: If a thing must be, and if that may be, then that thing is. Under its inspiration, they brought together certain oracles of private faith to form a definite idea of Christ. 35 My purpose is not to recount all the other complex technical questions which Santayana, who was trained neither in theology nor in Semitics, tosses off with a wave of his facile pen. T h e reach of his interpretation is vast, ranging from early Hebrew religion and the Semitic character through the prophets, the whole New Testament, and all subsequent history of Christianity. 38 T h e point is that his historical sense—and it was historical considerations which solidified his childhood inclination—is apparently an extract, and such as to make conscientious scholars skeptical about the fundamental rationality of his stand. In keeping with his preference for leaning on the opinions of others, particularly when these are in accord with his own, Santayana has bolstered his "inevitable bias" by "authorities" whose scholarship is highly suspect. T h e "historical view" of Jesus presented by Renan is not a creation of a professional historian. Nor is the biblical criticism of Loisy uncompromised by apriorism. But Santayana, unfortunately, is wedded to personal expression, so that prudence and scholarly caution do not always dictate the choice of his words and sources. After he has given us the impression that his feet are firmly planted in solid historical ground, Santayana startles us with the observation that the scraps of historical truth which mav be in the Bible—or of metaphysical truth in theology—are of little importance. 37 The poetizing moralist, otherwise known as the original theologian, is very much wiser than the positivist who rails at his fables as invented physics, without appreciating the moral secret of those inventions. T h e theologian's is a

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lasting human possession, a light kindled within his heart, which far surpasses clear historical or scientific ideas. We should not be astonished to discover that the spiritual life is divorced from factual truth. Santayana's whole philosophy is directed toward detaching eternal essences from their concrete realizations and fostering contemplation of these ideal terms. If we recall his fundamental dichotomy of fact and the ideas of those facts in human heads, we can experience a succession of apparent reversals without any loss of composure. As a modern critic of dogma, Santayana means historical and psychological truth when he says truth. (Platonism, 20.) The single word truth is ambiguous, since two kinds of truth, absolutely irreducible, are involved. Psychological truth is the truth of the heart, to which spirit is directed. It includes poetic propriety, spiritual value, poetic beauty, and justice. From this stems Santayana's speculative interest in religion and preoccupation with moral truth. Historical truth, however, comprises those facts and proofs of which the truly religious mind is wont to make light. This factual order, says Santayana, poses a "momentous question" for science and history, because whether the Christian faith is true or not affects the conditions under which men must live and their destiny. As we know, this momentous question had already been answered when Santayana's writing career began, so the pros and cons are never debated. But Santayana's answer—that imaginative or moral truth can coexist with factual falsehood— is certainly disconcerting. We may find small consolation in the "poetic splendor or symbolic wisdom" of psychological truth if psychologically we are uprooted from our attachment to facts. Besides, the observation that in religion these two types of truth can never coincide, with the result that we are likely to be eternal prey to our fancies, seems calculated to undermine our confidence. Sometimes the most complete historical enlightenment will not suffice to dispel the shadow which their moral externality casts over

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the mind. In vain do we discard their fable and the thin proofs of their existence when, in spite of ourselves, w e still live in their presence. 38 F o r Santayana this passage f r o m f a c t to f a n c y is a c c o m plished w i t h ease, and he suffers no p s y c h o l o g i c a l trauma in his allegiance to t w o standards of truth. A clear understanding of this f a c t dissipates the c o n f u s i o n generated in m a n y readers w h o are bewildered b y his c o n t r a d i c t o r y sentiments regarding religion. A l t h o u g h he fails t o q u a l i f y the term, w e must ask ourselves w h e t h e r he intends natural or supernatural religion, historical or psychological truth. T h e n the pieces of the puzzle fit together. His preferences are expressed in a philosophy w h i c h is "independent of religion altogether, and looks at religion m e r e l y as at a historic and human f a c t — m o r e or less appealing or beneficent, as the case m a y b e . " (Letters, 86.) A n d simultaneously these preferences are manifest in "all the pages of sympathetic treatment" of r e l i g i o n — f o r instance, in The of Christ in the Gospels.

(Letters,

Idea

399.)

D u r i n g e v e r y moment of our inspection of the historical g r o u n d s f o r Santayana's c o n c e p t of religion, a troublesome question m a y haunt us. W h a t does Santayana mean b y In one sense history

history?

stands f o r historical t h e o r y , w h i c h is

generally understood as p l u c k i n g intelligibility out of events b y linking them in a cause-effect sequence. This, says Santayana, results in a falsification of causes, "since no causes are other than mechanical." (Reason, V , 66 [406].) A n d history o f this kind is an i m p e r f e c t field of activity f o r the exercise of reason; it is a provisional discipline. It furnishes us w i t h a v i e w w h i c h is necessarily personal: one man's politics, w h i c h , if genuine, "exhibits his heart." ( " S p e n g l e r , " 213.) T h u s w h a t Santayana has said of t h e o r y in g e n e r a l — t h a t it is imaginative; that it adds nothing except the success involved in f r a m i n g it—applies w i t h equal rigor to historical t h e o r y . w e can expect that history

Therefore

in the sense of science

will

fit

the general description of science: a language in w h i c h , f o r

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human purposes, nature may at times be described. (Letters, 330.) Historical ideas, like all those in human heads, are symbolical. The real problem of what Santayana means by history is agitated, not resolved, by a clarification of terminology which only exemplifies his general theory of language. In fact it is this very theory which involves us in our present straits. Santayana finds that when Whitehead speaks of history or the past, he does not signify the " 'concrete' events but the feeling, memory, or imaginative view of them that people have taken or now take." (Letters, 385.) Santayana can scarcely be said to have just grounds for criticizing Whitehead on this point. For it would seem that Whitehead illustrates Santayana's own epistemological dualism, in which an essence is a name, and in which all language is rhetorical. Unless Santayana forgot what an essence is, it is difficult to understand how he can insist that when he is "talking" about history, psychology, and morals, he is talking about things, not essences. But in a more recent letter, which in all probability he would not have liked us to take literally, he writes more consistently: "I think perhaps I ought to have been a historian rather than a philosopher talking about essences, for verbal logic doesn't hold my attention or respect, and I must turn to something imaginable." (Letters, 483.) Was it a final happy inspiration or weary disappointment which suggested to Santayana just nine months before his death this desertion of the philosophy he had lived? And what does history offer him in exchange? Something imaginable or factual? Scrupulosity about historical or psychological truth? Santayana did not live long enough to settle these queries, or to tell us how anyone "with his inevitable bias" can be free from moral or political preconceptions. I have now given up all literary work and devote myself to reading, especially history, which I ought to have done before writing philosophy, or at least moralizing about human life. And history is

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what the learned men of today are best able to write. T h e y are free (some of them) from moral or political preconceptions, and scrupulous about the truth, which they can find in history, but hardly in anything else. [ L e t t e r s , 434.]

W e have seen how Santayana has made use of the philosophical inheritance bequeathed him by Lucretius and Spinoza. Happily for us, he has soliloquized on his task, and on the spirit in which he has devoted himself to it. I am not able nor willing to write a system of magic cosmology, nor to propose a new religion. I merely endeavor to interpret, as sympathetically and imaginatively as I can, the religion and poetry already familiar to us; and I interpret them, of course, on their better side, not as childish science, but as subtle creatures of hope, tenderness, and ignorance. [ S o l i l o q u i e s , 254.]

His interpretation is " o f course" on the "better side" for those historical reasons which can be amassed to confirm the preferences of his psyche. Ultimately, then, Santayana's sweet reasonableness rests on psychological reasons or, better, exigencies. Subtle creatures of hope were tendered him in his adolescent crisis when, agitated by religion, he began philosophizing. " G o d , " "Christ," "Heaven" became ideals—mere words which conveniently sum up our natural, human aspirations. Religion, therefore, was false because it imagined ideals to be facts; it hypostatized words into beings. This insight into religion, expressive of his congenital philosophy, gave birth to what I have called his theory of language. In the fullness of its implications this theory is progressively realized in Santayana's works, a fact which explains the revision of The Life of Reason. A sustained effort was made to dispel those early mists of idealism from the realistic body of his philosophy, and to make clear to the reader that our idea of a natural world can never be that world itself. Science might reveal the mathematical skeleton of things, but the bulk of human experience is incorrigibly poetical, and only remotely representative of its actual conditions.38

Il6

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Reflecting on this central religious issue in Santayana's thought, we hear echoing in our ears the words with which this chapter began: "But what we think probably hangs on our standard of probability and of evidence; the spiritual experiences that come to us are according to our disposition and affections. . . ." And slowly there dawns on us that profound understanding of what philosophy as personal expression really implies. All those disturbing questions are answered: W h y does Santayana begin from a point where the fundamental religious issue is already decided? W h y does he refuse to discuss a problem—for example, that of spirit—with Leibniz, stating that theological and conceptual commitments need not detain him? (Realms, 582.) He states categorically that our habitual ignorance cannot abolish what happens to be unknown to us, or forbid it to exist; "Conjecture is therefore free to imagine as much spirit in the world as it pleases. . . ." (Realms, 574.) With what right, then, does he declare infallibly that supernatural spirits do not exist? Every annoying doubt is resolved but one. Santayana has given us a philosophy of personal expression, but is this personal expression philosophy? Is Santayana a wise man if, when we ask for the bread of evidence, he gives us a stone? Is he wise to bestow only a blessing upon the challengers of his congenital philosophy, while he hopes that the world pictured in their own terms may prove staunch and beautiful to them? When we appraise his wisdom in the light of his method of procedure, what is to prevent us from believing that he has run aground in the same shallows where he locates most professional philosophers—"only apologists . . . absorbed in defending some vested illusions or some eloquent idea"? {Winds, 198.)

vi. A

R£SUM£

. . . and the technical side of a great philosophy, interesting as it may be in itself, hardly ever determines its essential views. These essential views are derived rather from instincts or tradition which the technique of the system is designed to defend; or, at least, they decide how that technique shall be applied and interpreted. [Egotism, 21.] This study of Santayana began on a note of anticipation and enthusiasm, akin, perhaps, to what children experience when about to set out on a treasure hunt. F o r Santayana had provided a clue by alluding to a sort of secret or private philosophy perhaps more philosophical than "the other." T h e adventure was launched in the Elvsian fields of philosophy, where a search was instigated f o r Santayana's personal concept of that discipline. Thereafter, the mountains of his technical philosophy were scaled. T h e goal was not a glimpse of those lush valleys which scholars find absorbing but the breathtaking view to be contemplated at the top. Thence a quick descent was followed b y an investigation of his sources. T h e journey ended in true Vergilian fashion: Facilis descensus Averno. Santayana's nether world—that religious realm which has stimulated and shaped his thought—was explored. T h e reward of these efforts was the treasure of understanding: an insight which penetrates to Santayana's heart and to his essential views. Since Santayana's effusions were meant as a confession of faith (Schilpp, 590), it may prove helpful to recall to mind

I 18

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the principal articles of his creed and some of their implications. First, his lay religion is a spiritual allegiance that requires only animal faith, not a religious faith. (Letters, 305.) Second, matter is the object of this faith. (Realms, 235.) It provides the g r o u n d w o r k f o r those spontaneous and inevitable beliefs which the various philosophical systems either extend, b y adding a supernatural complement, or interpret, as did Aristotle and Spinoza, or deny, as do all idealists. 1 A t w o f o l d analysis of faith is possible. B y taking the believer as the point of departure, one can arrive at some understanding of faith f r o m the effects it produces in him. Or, one can proceed internally, exploring the nature and properties of the act of faith. L e t us begin externally with the believer. Santayana was convinced that naturalism inspires the same spiritual insights as supernaturalism.

( G e n t e e l , 64.)

Conse-

quently, natural faith must be said to transform the spirit, at least inchoately. T h e naturalist has begun to live in a new and undisturbed w a y . His attachment to nature— . . . In nature's heart I dwell, Nature in mine, which is the all of me . . . [Poet's Testament, 84.] —must yield the fruit of a spiritual and universal detachment. " Y o u cannot be detached without being previously attached; y o u cannot renounce or sacrifice anything significantly unless y o u love it."

2

T h e phenomenon has its explanation in this:

that man's

"capacity to worship," when turned to nature, reveals nature as fundamentally contingent and irrational. T h i s knowledge in due course liberates the enlightened naturalist f r o m the w o r l d and f r o m himself. It fosters in him the redeeming "capacity to laugh" ( M i d d l e Span,

1 1 8 ) , f o r he perceives the irony of fate.

Previously inspired b y l o f t y ideals, and b y the platitude that life is good, the naturalist experiences disillusion when he discovers himself to be a bobbing cork on a storm-tossed sea.

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L i f e is really a hideous centipede, something confused and useless. 3 It eats a w a y the desire to achieve great things b y p r o v i n g that man's freedom is m o c k e r y . T o exist means to be distinctly organized, localized, contrasted with other things and c o n ditioned b y them—in such a w a y , in f a c t , that w e are mere playthings of nature, with her coiled springs and predestined rhythms. A sobering, even discouraging, prospect. T h e naturalistic w i s d o m is sharper than death, and only the brave can bear it. T h e pursuit of this w i s d o m demands complete renovation and consecration of spirit, so that one no longer asks philosophy to feed him on sweets and to lull him in error. (.Dialogues,

57.)

T h e mature believer w h o s e faith has generated that precious capacity to laugh is an instinctive critic. T h e perception of incongruity implies principles, as Santayana himself

has ac-

knowledged. A n d if a man goes about laughing at himself and at all the w o r l d , that does not exclude, but rather implies, that in other directions he discerns standards or points of r e f e r e n c e w h i c h make this w o r l d seem ridiculous.

[Ames, 6j.]

His standards are the articles of his creed, w h i c h b e c o m e so much a part of him that his criticism, like Santayana's, appears to be a spontaneous personal expression. H e illustrates these animal beliefs in all that he says about anything. In f a c t , he is compelled to do so, since his beliefs are not artificial theories but the pure distillation of moment-to-moment

ex-

perience. ( S c e p t i c i s m , 305.) T h e frustration of e v e r y d a y living has e f f e c t i v e l y purified his native creed of the dross of illusion and convention. W h a t remains is the pure g o l d of systematic materialism: . . . one of the philosophies of old age. It is a conviction that m a y overtake a f e w shrewd and speculative cvnics, w h o have long o b served their o w n

irrationality

and that of the w o r l d ,

and

have

divined its cause; b y such men materialism m a v be e m b r a c e d w i t h out reserve, in all its rigour and p u n g e n c y .

[Character, 162.]

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In its internal aspect, the naturalistic act of faith is a vague, wordless confidence or expectancy of external realities which, in turn, are revealed to an animal in the action that life imposes.4 In the shock of experience the animal psyche is stimulated and an essence is presented to the spirit. A sentiment accompanies this discharge: an expectation or anticipation of a real object which has invoked the essence that serves as the animal's symbol for the object. This sentiment is faith—the anticipation of things not seen, the first and truest of all presuppositions, the necessary vehicle of that "revelation or knowledge" which is possible to a mind.5 Because reason rests on this preestablished reaction of the organism, it is incompetent to defend animal faith. (Schilpp, 581-82.) This idea is especially important for the light its two corollaries shed on recurrent Santayana themes. First, it is the non-theoretical stream in us which keeps us alive.8 This statement and others like it have played into the hands of Santayana's opponents. Critics are nonplused to discover that the scope of the life of reason is riddled by irrationality. Santayana, they note, even calls into question "self-evident" truths. In regard to the original articles of the animal creed—that there is a world, that there is a future, that things sought can be found, and things seen can be eaten—no guarantee can possibly be offered. I am sure these dogmas are often false; and perhaps the event will some day falsify them all, and they will lapse altogether. But while life lasts, in one form or another this faith must endure. It is the initial expression of animal vitality in the sphere of mind, the first announcement that anything is going on. 7

And second, the defense of any faith may be rationalized in everything except in its foundation. (Dominations, 309.) This generalization is another indication of Santayana's religious preoccupation. His choice of the word faith as an epistemological term was not arbitrary. In Santayana's personal grammar of thought, animal faith

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is construed as "dogmatic." (Schilpp, 532.) A firm grasp of his meaning is desirable since "dogma" or "dogmatism" appears in a number of different contexts. Santayana's name for himself is "dogmatic naturalist." (Obiter Scripta, 238.) Materialism is a dogmatic philosophy. Honest criticism consists in being consciously, even conscientiously, dogmatic. (Reason, V , 88 [Sup.], 246 [460].) N o t only would the abolition of dogmatism be the abolition of intelligence (Schilpp, 5 1 5 ) , but How . . . should there be any great heroes, saints, artists, philosophers, or legislators in an age when nobody trusts himself, or feels any confidence in reason, in an age when the word dogmatic is a term of reproach? [Winds, 21.] Actually, "dogmatic" is only another way of stating that animal intelligence is irrational or, less ambiguously, prerational in its foundation. 8 W e build upon "inexplicable but actual data b y a process of inference underived but inevitable." 9 Instinctively and unerringly, we presuppose that apprehension is informative, that antecedent or hidden facts exist to be discovered, and that knowledge is possible. These presuppositions, however, are fonts of living water for t w o totally different kinds of dogmatist. T h e one kind— the rash dogmatist—assumes that things are just as they seem or as he thinks they ought to be. In other words, he hotly denies the relativity of his knowledge and of his conscience. Thus Aristotle, or the Scholastics—who were "too intent on building up and buttressing their system on the broad human or religious foundations which they had chosen for it." 1 0 The rash dogmatist falls into the error of hypostatizing human symbols into preexistent facts, and therefore identifies G o d or matter with his flimsy definitions. Of course, he never suspects that the word "absolute" ought to be discarded as the most false and the most odious of words. 1 1 T h e other kind of dogmatist, the Santayana type, stoutly asserts a double relativity. Santayana's materialism implies, he maintains, both relative knowledge and relative morality. 12

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Which kind of dogmatist each of us will be is clearly a question of prerational preference. Our sympathies must guide our opinions. W e should remind ourselves how often Santayana brings us back to his trust in instinct and destiny, to his personal faith, as the court of last appeal. Personal experience, personal perspectives, personal ideals are the material of any legitimate system of philosophy. Criticism, an expression of preference, rests "at some point" on vulgar faith. 1 3 Pronouncements of good and evil, which only discourteous philosophers attempt to justify, are the reverberations of the individual human heart. 14 As a result, if w e search Santayana's books f o r refutations and proofs, persuaded that reason's task is the spinning of such a skein, we shall be sorely disappointed. His reason is preoccupied with what ought to be. His pleasure is to assemble the ideals of his heart into a goal for human effort and to set up this goal as a standard for the relative estimation of things. 15 Do we wish to discuss the goal or standard he has selected? A gentle reminder silences us: for the spirit, facts matter little except for what they mean to the heart. " W h y shouldn't the intellect be vague while the heart is comfortable?" 1 6 Our solace is in Santayana's lay religion, where an animal faith supplies the insights afforded by supernatural faith. Compensatory dogmas substitute f o r Christian truths. Unfortunately, Santayana does not suggest the spiritual exhilaration derived from the contemplation of many of these dogmas: that he is a substantial being; that he is in dynamic interplay with a whole environing system of substances; that there has been a past which was such as it is now thought to be; and that there will be a future which, implausible as it may seem, must resemble the past and obey the same laws. (Scepticism, 14, 49, 243.) But we can be sure that our thirstv souls will find refreshment. T h e "tremendous dogma" that all moralities are equally expressions of animal life at once blesses and purges all mortal passions. Moreover, the conviction that there can

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be no knowledge save through animal faith positing external facts, and that this natural science is but a human symbol for those facts, has an "immense finality." The renunciation and the assurance in it are both radical and invincible. {Realms, xviii-xix.) This brief analysis of Santayana's faith focuses our attention on the irrational belief which supports the superstructure of lay religion. 17 "These essential views are derived rather from instincts or tradition which the technique of the system is designed to defend; or, at least, they decide how that technique shall be applied and interpreted." (Egotism, 21.) The fact that these views form a creed is noteworthy not merely because it places Santayana in the Lucretius-Spinoza tradition; it likewise associates him with Nietzsche and many contemporary philosophers who, as E. Levinas has remarked, attest that existence is, if not a theological fact, at least a religious one. 18 Santayana's personal testimony is eloquent indeed. . . . that at once, b y a mere act of self-examination and frankness, the spirit has c o m e upon one of the most important and radical of religious perceptions. It has perceived that though it is living, it is powerless to live; that though it m a y die, it is powerless to die; and that altogether, at every instant and in every particular, it is in the hands of some alien and inscrutable p o w e r . 1 9

VII.

E V A L U A T I O N

My philosophy neither is nor wishes to be scientific; not even in the sense in which, in temper and method, the Sumrna of Saint Thomas might be called scientific. My philosophy is like that of the ancicnts a discipline of the mind and the heart, a lay religion. In saying that 1 did not intend it to be personal, I meant that I was to rely on the common and notorious state of mankind, and to discount as much as possible the special circumstances and influences to which I might have been subject. I did not mean that my philosophy was not to spring from the inner man and not to embrace all my faculties and interests working together, but was to be a dry compilation of other men's theories and arguments with judicial comments. 1 like theories and arguments when they are spontaneous and not used to refute one another; but they come to me as refinements or excursions. The large facts, the great interests by which theories and arguments are to be judged, are known to me, as to everybody else, in the daily process of living. My philosophy endeavours to enlighten this process morally, and to define its ultimate issues. [Realms, 827.] Santayana introduced us to Scepticism and Animal Faith with the words: "Here is one more system of philosophy." (Scepticism, v.) Yet it was to be a system which would differ widely in spirit and pretensions from what usually goes by that name. T h e run-of-the-mill adjectives—personal, novel, metaphysical, cosmological—would prove singularly inappropriate, as this system would represent no phase of any current philosophical movement. It would hark back to the ancients,

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where shrewd common sense, our enduring fund of human orthodoxy, lay unobscured by centuries of sophistry. 1 Sixteen years passed before the work was completed. When Santayana looked back to consider how far his performance had fulfilled his promise, he felt that his unconverted readers must be gratified by a measure of recognition. T h e y objected to an exercise of fancy which interfered with an accurate and orderly exposition of facts and arguments. Was not his system personal and newfangled, without being original? In execution it was "extravagantly metaphysical," especially regarding the realm of essence. Besides, it was sheer folly to pretend that it was not a system of the universe. (Realms, 826.) T h e nucleus of Santayana's reply is the brief passage cited in the beginning of this chapter. Since it defines Santayana's purpose in unmistakable terms, it provides the essential points for a fair evaluation. His accomplishment ought to be measured according to his own norm. First, " M y philosophy neither is nor wishes to be scientific." This, of course, means that theory, proof, discussion, and explanation—all of which employ words and therefore appertain to nature only in a frankly confessed mythical character 2 —have no place in Santayana's work. The phrase likewise excludes a metaphysics of the Thomistic variety as well as the traditional type of philosophic system. It is obvious that our human ideals, to remain true to their calling, must fall short of achievement. Hence we ought not to be surprised when Santayana ventures into explanation or propounds "precarious and needlessly metaphysical" arguments and tenets. (Letters, 75.) The objection to be raised against him is that his "systematization of common sense" (Letters, 1 3 3 ) , even though it may be outside and around special systems, implies just as much scientific philosophy as any technical system. It is true that Santayana lacked the metaphysical scent for causes. And to that extent he stands outside the ranks of the Greek philosophers who were inspired

I2Ó

EVALUATION

by the Ionian dream of a world-stuff. Temperamentally he may have felt more akin to the Epicurean Lucretius. But, like Lucretius, he nevertheless takes a position on all those fundamental issues which divide philosophers into opposing camps.3 Specifically, Santayana proposes a definite idea of man. He describes him as a material psyche accompanied by an epiphenomenal spirit.4 Since this immaterial counterpart is not an infused, supernatural soul, man's immortality and free will, as commonly understood, are meaningless. The problem of man's cognition certainly plays a conspicuous role in Santayana's thought. With one of his last correspondents he was still insisting: " T o say that I separate mind from matter is therefore exquisitely contrary to the f a c t . " 5 The Spinozan criterion for judging man's conduct was adopted by Santayana as his own. And since he was enamored of moral philosophy in all of its ramifications, he provides us with abundant reflections on man in his familial and national societies.6 Finally, the problem of man in relation to God has been definitively solved in the best Epicurean tradition. Is it true that Santayana stands outside of cosmological systems? His original insight amalgamated the "complementary systems" of Heraclitus and Democritus. The irávTa pel is translated as a "universal dance," a flux that is groundless in the beginning, so that it remains groundless at every stage and in every factor. 7 T o Democritus belongs the glory of discovering atomism, perhaps not "a final or metaphysical truth," but a description of the practical and efficacious structure of the world. (Reason, I, 17 [Sup.].) In combination, these two philosophers "gave long ago a picture of nature such as all later observation, down to our own day, has done nothing but fill out and confirm." 8 In giving us the flux and the theory of mechanism to explain it, they have established a complete rationalization of existence. W e have already seen that as the theory of language widened on Santayana's horizon, his enthusiasm for Democ-

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ritus waned. Although the Greek materialist remained "supreme in cosmology"—is there a better way for Santayana to insinuate definite ideas on this subject?—he was inconsistent because he misunderstood the function of words. This disenchantment has quite tangible results. W e now find ourselves at the opposite pole from a "final or metaphysical truth," for "Physics, not metaphysics . . . reveals to us, as far as it goes, the foundations of things. . . ." (Realms, 828.) Notwithstanding the significant reservation (we are dealing with words!), the statement exhibits a determinate cosmological point of view. And if we continue our investigation, we may be surprised to discover how much additional data can be disinterred. Matter, elusive as it may be, has already revealed some of its qualities to us. In the guise of substance an even greater number of properties are distinguishable. Substance is external to the thought which posits it.9 Since it is posited in action, it involves a substantial agent external to the part acted upon. Substance, therefore, has parts—all of which are external to one another—and constitutes a physical space. Because changes perpetually recur in this interaction of parts, substance is said to be in flux and constitutes a physical time. It is unequally distributed, for the agents in action and reaction vary in position and character. And since it is posited by an agent in the field of action, substance composes a cosmos in which the agent is the relative center. Santayana discloses certain "presumable" properties in addition to these "indispensable" ones. 10 Substance sometimes takes the form of animals which register immaterial mental facts, such as feelings, images, and thoughts. In turn, these mental facts manifest and name the flux of substance which creates and controls them. Phenomena are intermittent, but the flow of substance beneath them is continuous. A certain regularity governs the phases or modes of substance. Each phase, though not contained in its antecedents, is predeter-

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mined by them in its place and quality, and proportionate to them in extent and intensity. Finally, as far as action and calculation can extend, the quantity of substance remains constant. Only a certain number of loaves can be baked from a barrel of flour. This is a rather comprehensive cosmological view for one who professes to have no system. Moreover, Santayana treats at length of space and time as integral parts of the realm of matter. T h e y are to be distinguished from an animal's own perspectives, quaintly styled "pictorial space" and "sentimental time." 1 1 He has no interest—for mankind has no competence —in those ulterior questions often discussed by cosmologists. T o ask whether substance must be discrete or continuous, finite or infinite, many or one, is like asking whether the Almighty must think in French or in English. Having no competence in that sphere, why should we have any preferences? Let physical time and space be infinite or finite, discrete or continuous, unreturning or circular, multiplex or single: these would be curious and impressive truths, if they were discoverable, and too great for ignorant opinion. [Realms, 239.] W e are well acquainted with the explanation of our ignorance. Human intuition does not decipher the heart of nature; and our terms, which may be admirably selected, are only symbolical, not exhaustive. 12 This, as w e know, is w h y Santayana's philosophy is not scientific, and w h y he can hold metaphysical views of man and matter, and compose disquisitions on existence and causality, without bearing the burden of being a metaphysician. " T h e study of nature is the most picturesque of studies, and full of joy for the innocent mind; but in natural science all is familiarity and nothing comprehension, save as there is a humorous or devout comprehension in foresight and trust." {Realms, 233.) This study of the nature of Santayana's philosophy has not been directed toward a familiarity divorced from comprehension. But perhaps through human frailty no more than the

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second best has been achieved: a humorous or devout comprehension of his unscientific confession of faith. At least w e know what this standing-ground outside and around special systems is, even if words are too feeble to tell us why. Also, w e comprehend an unscientific method. N o t only does Santayana sift and shift evidence in support of his opinions 1 3 but both his terminology and his whole procedure work at crosspurposes to his good intentions: "and I feel I owe it to my Fachgenossen to put my conclusions into their language, and not retain the unfair advantage of seeming reasonable but not admitting clearly the implications of my suave opinions." {Letters, 133.) Let us now turn to the second point which Santayana singles out as his purpose. " M y philosophy is like that of the ancients a discipline of the mind and heart, a lay religion." It is undeniable that Santayana has preached his message— that morality and religion are expressions of human nature— with a fervor equal to that of anv religious reformer. And it is regrettable that his religious passion led him to excoriate his foes in a manner totally unbecoming a detached sage. Indeed, one wonders sometimes how much discipline of mind and heart is evidenced by his "historical" interpretations, his naive generalizations, and his thundering denunciations. 14 It is my belief that Santayana does not succeed in converting his readers. W e agree or disagree with him before he speaks his piece. Four reasons might be offered to justify this belief. First, uncertainty seems to be the root of Santayana's passionate interest. N o man could be so obsessed by hyperbolic fictions were he not anxious to prove the truth of his new faith as well as its moral sufficiency. 1 5 Second, the "accidental moralistic name" for his system, pessimism, appears quite essential, for his faith deprives us of hope. H o w many people will want to feel the cold steel of disillusion? Or to experience the melancholy of a hideous and useless life? Or to pin their hopes on a nebulous ideal immortality of the

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eternal quality of ideas and validities? (Reason, III, 229 [277].) Third, the intellectual worship wherein spirit becomes pure vision and pure love in its contemplation of essences is too unreal for the grasp of common human hands. In a less ethereal form, Santayana presents Calderon's dictum—"Life is a dream"—as the true philosophy for the human passions, and for a man enduring, without supernaturally interpreting, the spectacle of the universe. 16 What concretely does this vision offer us? Fourth, the failure to present an unbiased historical and psychological account makes conversion an impossibility. Ironically, Santayana feels justified in refusing to argue with "Unreason": T h e idea that religion contains a literal, not a symbolic, representation of truth and life is simply an impossible idea. Whoever entertains it has not come within the region of profitable philosophising on that subject. His science is not wide enough to cover all existence. He has not discovered that there can be no moral allegiance except to the ideal. His certitude and his arguments are no more pertinent to the religious question than would be insults, blows, and murders, to which, if he could, he would appeal in the next instance. Philosophy may describe unreason, as it may describe force; it cannot hope to refute them. [ R e a s o n , III, 98 (226-27).]

Santayana's philosophy—we now pass to the third point of the passage cited at the beginning of this chapter—is a personal expression of common-sense notions. His intention is to crystallize his own inevitable beliefs, which "after absolutely disinterested criticism" should prove to be the inevitable beliefs of most human beings. The task demands a conscientious effort "to discount as much as possible the special circumstances and influences to which I might have been subject." (Realms, xxix.) The claim to speak for humanity is not egregious egoism. Santayana merely adopts a recognized philosophical slogan. T o his credit, he has specified that he means enlightened, not naive, common sense. The point is sometimes overlooked by his critics, who think that Santayana was eventually brought

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to a confession of failure: "In regard to my intended allegiance to common sense, I confess that in several important matters, I have not been able to maintain it." 17 Actually, he was brought to the point of despair on account of the "traditional equivocations and inconsistencies in human language." His allegiance to "common intellect" was showing signs of wear; "common opinion," with its vestiges of myth and superstition, was proving too formidable an adversary.18 This clarification of the ambiguity in the term common sense is not altogether a blessing. A swift stroke and his critic is deprived of the natural criterion for judging Santayana's views. If the critic's common sense should take a different turn from Santayana's, he belongs among the "lovers of opinion." There, quite often, he can feel that he is the source of his actions and words, and weave his sophisticated moral personage of excuses, fictions, and verbal motives. But perhaps one day he shall venture into the light and discover his superficial cloak for the unknown currents of material life. But perhaps not; foolishly he may cling to the darkness. T h e trouble is that for them [other human beings] many other beliefs and superstitions prove inevitable also; and they take their first principles to be no more fundamental than their accidental prejudices. Moreover, if they are professional philosophers or inspired prophets they may even embrace some decidedly secondary and accidental notion as alone requisite or true, and in its name they will then contradict their own inevitable first principles. So, in the interests of idealism, they may verbally deny the existence of matter, or in the vortex of romanticism they may flout the reality of truth. Yet they are plainly heretics, since they retract the primary presuppositions of intelligence implied in their own arguments.

[Realms, xxix.] From all appearances it is clear to everyone but Santayana that his personal expression involves much more than a naked reliance on common sense. Any realist nods approval to the presupposition of a material world, just as any religious person agrees that the "church is a normal habitation for the

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mind." ( L e t t e r s , 2 1 9 . ) B u t that Santayana's rendition of these orthodox beliefs should be presented as not just " m o r e " but as uniquely "accurate and c i r c u m s p e c t " indicates an attitude smacking of "intolerable intolerance."

19

" M r . Santayana! W e

do not think it 'common sense' to foster in imagination and in affection a religion w h i c h is factually false." T h e

very

source of this objection has been dictatorially liquidated. A r gument is impossible, f o r Santayana plays the "saint" w h o pulls his ladder up with him into his private heaven. T h e r e is a decisive reason f o r silence: the revelation has been essentially a revelation of the illusion inherent in all language, in all experience, in all existence. It cannot be communicated save b y being repeated. [Platonism, 76.]

Has Santayana discounted as much as possible the special circumstances and influences to w h i c h he might have been subject? L e t us not begrudge him a sincere effort. T h i s whole study, however, provides ample data f o r an estimation of his success. A modest Epicurean humanism (Schilpp, 503) which b y definition is a congenital philosophy offers meager prospects of ever freeing itself f r o m subjective bias. T h e fourth point in the statement of his purpose is as follows: " T h e large facts, the great interests b y which theories and arguments are to be judged, are k n o w n to me, as to everyb o d y else, in the daily process of living." M o r e clearly, the elements of this criterion are designated as the t w o requisites of a critical philosophy. . . . trace back all power to the continuous transformation of physical forces, in other words, to matter; and at the same time, by the same insight, to recognize all appearances to be mere appearances, and all accidents mere accidents, sensible signs of power manifest to the spirit, but having no substance or power in them-

selves.

[Realms, 834.]

T h e message of natural religion and morality which Santayana booms out to the w o r l d draws its f o r c e f r o m this materialistic standard of judgment. A rather shaky rallying point,

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f o r we have no assurance whatsoever that "absolutely disinterested criticism" can ever emanate from Santayana's recondite matter. T o most of us is not granted the privilege of predicting what this name for things not understood might conceal. (Reason, V , 80 [ 4 1 3 1 . ) Our ignorance cannot justify a negative prophecy. (Platonism, 35.) W e dare not suggest mental machinery or spiritual substance. But w e have oracles to guide us. Nature graciously lets out her secret to some prophets and associates them with her impartiality. " W e cannot abdicate that privilege. It is final, ultimate, proper for the funeral oration over the earth. . . ." (Middle Span, 47.) Thus spake Santayana. T h e reverse side, as it were, of this standard, which is simultaneously intuited with materialism, is an insight into the nature of appearance. W e recognize Santayana's theory of language, which he fancifully expresses in his inimitable w a y : "the most explicit of creeds is called a symbol of the faith." 20 W e have studied the significance of that religious nuance, and witnessed "the whole moral conflict and tragedy between reason and fact, desire and event, the ideal and the actual . . ." (Realms, 98) in Santayana's own life. A t every stage of this adventure w e have encountered the carnage of Santayana's ruthless wielding of this criterion. First religion fell, then philosophy—particularly metaphysics—then science. By the time Santayana reached old age, the circle was complete. "But I think there is less dense idolatry in religion than in language and in the literary vesture of common opinion in morals and politics." (Idea of Christ, 246.) He could afford to be less militant, more benign, for he had fashioned an impregnable ivory tower for himself: "and I send my critics back to their respective camps with my blessing, hoping that the world may prove staunch and beautiful to them, pictured in their own terms." (Schilpp, 605.) This theory of language is the basic insight of Santayana's philosophy. Hcnce his stock as a philosopher rises or falls

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with its significance and penetration. Since an estimation of his theory arrests all fluctuation and colors all subsequent thinking of Santayana, a word of caution will not be out of place. There is a danger in conceiving of this theory of language as purely a reactionary phenomenon. The "slv and treacherous" dialectics of Palmer 21 and "scholastic verbiage" 2 2 are important historical or genetic factors. They are indispensable aids for riveting our attention on Santayana's cardinal problem and its solution. But they can shift our interests from a positive to a negative channel, so that our primary concern is not the vision that inspired him but his blindness to the insights of his adversaries. Santayana's great contribution to philosophy, in my opinion, is a reaffirmation of the presence of subjective elements in a realist view of the world. 23 In a historical context of idealism and "naive" realism, Santayana emphasized that thought is due equally to the predisposition of the psyche and to the course of nature outside. Knowledge always remains a part of the imagination in its terms and in its seat. (Brief History, 255.) Subjectivism and objectivism are both capable of being exaggerated. The one is unadulterated egoism; the other, an impossible pretension to exhaust reality. But there is a via media, his native philosophy: "All is a tale told, if not by an idiot, at least by a dreamer; but it is far from signifying nothing." (Brief History, 2

55-)

Admiration for Santayana's wisdom in posing the problem does not mean that we must agree with his solution. In fact, we can wish that Santayana had really come to grips with the problem. But, like Jacob's, his wrestling with "objectivity" was only in a dream. Awake, he is temperamentally disinclined to an orderly discussion of pros and cons. He begins with his solution in complete possession of the field, so that he entertains no doubts about his own correctness or about the absurdity of contrary views.24 We need only read him

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to meet unabashed complacency. Nevertheless, we can hope that he had a twinkle in his eye when, in fealty to the verity of his position, he denied "truth" to his descriptions of essence. " A n d all that you yourself have written, here and elsewhere, about essence, is it not true?" N o , I reply, it is not true, nor meant to be true. It is a grammatical or possibly a poetical construction, having, like mathematics or theology, a certain internal vitality and interest; but in the direction of truth-finding, such constructions are merely instrumental like any language or any telescope. 25

Three points of Santayana's solution are particularly weak. First, he never explains w h y a man is psychologically driven to illusion, to the hypostasis of symbols. Since he himself is afflicted by this "great impediment," this "congenital vice," this "initial temptation of the primitive poet to believe his fables" (Host, 3), w e have every right to expect a philosophical account of the fact. Second, Santayana accuses others of "aversion from arctic and torrid truth" when they attempt to bring language nearer to the precise relations of things. 26 These philosophers ignore the purely symbolic nature of language in their impetuosity to exhaust the inner constitution of nature. Santayana's own theory of knowledge—naming nature with homespun essences—makes us wonder how his accusation can ring true. His epistemology permits only one method for establishing contact with the "eternal being of truth"—private revelation. But this is a scandal: how should the thoughts of the wisest human head coincide with the intrinsic essence of any object or event, not to speak of the universe in its totality? . . . T h e relation which any such symbol may bear to the truth is evidently a historical accident; and the more clearly we perceive the inevitable, allcomprehensive, eternal being of truth, the more improbable or even impossible must seem the notion that any human conception should ever do it justice. [Realms, 536.]

Third, instead of clarifying the problem which he poses by providing us with a lucid study of the relationship of our sym-

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bols to reality, Santayana comes close to undermining the very idea of "problem." He insists on his realism, yet he insists also on the purely symbolic nature of our words. Unless we discount his careless hyperbole, we must picture him as pledged to solitude on principle and marvel at the miracle of his books.28 The final point of our initial citation is that Santayana's philosophy endeavors to enlighten morally the process of daily living and to define its ultimate issues. The issues are determined by his materialistic criterion of judgment, and we are enlightened by the values of natural religion. The major question, of course, is whether Santayana's interpretation really illuminates daily life. Strange to say, he is the one to encourage our doubts. "Reason by no means requires a man to set about making rational those things which are irrational by nature, as life itself is." {Dominations, 295.) "This is irrationalism raising its head in an unexpected quarter," remarks one of his critics.29 Indeed, Santayana seems to have resorted to that vicious mysticism which seeks to abolish human nature, not perfect it; which would undermine the foundations of our world instead of building better ones; which would return us to the blessed consciousness of an unutterable reality or the sheltered bliss of ideal constructions instead of developing our minds to greater scope and precision.30 The apparent contradiction invites one to reconsider his own concept of reason. Could it be that the critic of Santayana has slipped into the camp of the metaphysical rationalists who attempt to enclose the universe within logic and human fancy? Does he believe that life is enlightened by ill-naturedly exerting himself to refute Santayana's principles and to rebut his preferences? Once again the fact—with all of its implications —must be accepted at face value: Santayana's is a philosophy of personal preferences. The expression of these, he is sure, will be a light to honest, unprejudiced human beings.

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The fact which Santayana emphasizes is that intelligence rests on inalienable ideas 3 1 or first principles. He likewise mentions certain presuppositions of a moral nature: that life is to continue and that it is worth living. (Some Turns, 4.) But we have noted that the light begins to glimmer when he undertakes to interpret these presuppositions. And it may well be extinguished when he raises his materialist standard as the sole emblem of the inevitable lights and insights of common sense.32 It is unfortunate that the vein of radical clearness which shone forth so brilliantly in his original philosophic vision lies buried beneath a literary avalanche. Perhaps, in spite of circumstances, a vein of this radical clearness [the inevitable lights and insights of c o m m o n sense] and ultimate courage actually runs t h r o u g h m y writings, loose, rash, and o v e r loaded as they have been; but that vein f o r the most part still lies underground. A long life has hardly sufficed to u n c o v e r it. A n d a second life w o u l d be necessary to clear a w a y the w o r k s of the first and c o m p o s e instead a single book, p e r f e c t in style, sure and rich in familiar learning, and of m a n . 3 3

flowing

in one jet f r o m the suffering spirit

APPENDIX: CORRESPONDENCE AND INTERVIEWS WITH SANTAYANA

BACKGROUND For this correspondence with Santayana I owe a debt of gratitude to my father, the late Frank W . Munson, and to the Most Reverend Alphonse M. Benetti, O.S.M., former Prior General of the Order of Servants of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Father Benetti's residence in Rome gave him relatively easy access to Santayana; and his friendship with my father prompted him to offer his services as the middleman for presenting my questions to Santayana in person. A t first two rather comprehensive questions were posed to Santayana: ( i ) Does he have any fundamental position from which his doctrines lead? (2) What is the importance of materialism in his philosophy? Santayana answered these questions in a holograph entitled "Reply to Father Munson's Questions." Judging from the date on which I received this reply, I surmise that he composed it in late March or early April of 1947. After the receipt of the " R e p l y , " I wrote to thank Santayana for his kindness and to profit from the opportunity of receiving some further clarifications. This response is dated June 1 j , 1947. The final letter, that of March 12, 1948, has been published in Daniel Cory's volume, The Letters of George Santayana, pages 371-74. Mr. Cory has transcribed a part of my letter to him to supply some of the background for Santayana's "most interesting" letter. It is Santayana's reaction to my master's thesis. " T h e thesis was written as a critical work. In my youth, I attempted, from a scholastic point of view, to trace the two basic trends which I found in Santayana's philosophy, his materialism and, as I termed it, his transcendentalism. What, I asked, were the ramifications in epistemology, psychology, theodicy, ethics, etc.? Was the dichotomy a justifiable, consistent philosophy? I could not

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expect Mr. Santavana to be pleased; no doubt he was amused to see me happy in picturing the world in my own terms." [Letters, 371.] T w o remarks concerning this letter are perhaps in order. First, a word on the "mendacity of interviewers." Owing to his many tasks as the head of a large religious order, Father Benetti was unable to carry out his design of contacting Santayana. However, he delegated an American Servite, Reverend Terence O'Connor, 0.5.1Yi., who was then in Rome pursuing doctoral studies in theology. Father O'Connor's explanatory letter is an interesting sidelight on Santayana in his last years, and for that reason sections of it have been reproduced in this appendix. Under the circumstances, I find it easier to believe Father O'Connor's remark, in 1947, regarding Santayana as an aesthete. A t the age of eighty-four, a man can easily find life and things less clear. 1 Second, I refer the reader to what I have written in the introduction concerning this letter. There I have indicated that my own views of Santayana have changed, principally in that I would never be tempted to accost him again in the argumentative fashion of a technical philosopher. He protests that his philosophy stands apart from "systems." I had to learn that Santayana was perfectly sincere in this declaration. Other reflections have been incorporated into footnotes, which the reader may find more useful as an aid to his memory than an elaborate list of "what-to-look-for" presented in advance. I owe Santayana a debt of gratitude for all his gracious encouragement of my efforts. Certainly the task of reading my thesis was a painful one, although he charitably referred only to an "interested day." In addition to his personal letters, Santayana corrected the notes which Father O'Connor had taken during their second interview. REPLY

TO FATHER

MUNSON'S

QUESTIONS

1. Positions, foundations, or principles may be prejudices—ruling over thought spontaneously and undiscovered—or they may be ultimate discoveries of inevitable pre-suppositions, on which an explicit system may be constructed. Assuming that you mean the latter, I should say that the logical basis of my mature philosophy was the principle of identity (qualitative logical possibility or definiteness) in terms which I

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call essences. (An essence is only by accident the essence of a thing, when there happens to be something that exemplifies that character. The essence or character itself is a mere possibility, a defining term, ideal and non-existent. The realm of essence is not limited to the Logos or morphology of the existing cosmos, as in the Platonists, but extends over all the "possible worlds" from which Leibniz says that God must have chosen this one because it was the best.) The realm of essence is absolutely infinite and no possible essence can be expunged from it. T o expunge it would require us first to identify it. But to identify it would be to assign to it the only reality it claims, i.e., its inevitable place among possibles, like the place of any number among the series of numbers. When this inevitable infinity of the possible is understood and the inevitableness of the ideal relations between essences, involved in the eternal identity of each of them, something very important becomes evident about any existing world. Such a world is inevitably contingent, and need not have existed. In other words, everything might just as easily have been different from what it is. The so-called "laws of nature" do not prevail (if and when they do) by any necessity: they are merely descriptions of observed facts. As my old friend Emile Boutroux put it, they are all contingent. Regularity in nature is neither necessary nor impossible. How far it extends and what character it has are questions for science to investigate, not for metaphysics to decide. 2. So many points are touched here that I cannot reply without separating them. (a) The place of the psyche in the material world.—Nature advances on a broad front but piecemeal; so that the movement at each point, though repeating itself if left free, is often modified by interference from the neighboring movements, or even disappears in the melting pot. Of these attempted repetitions the most interesting at the level of human life is heredity. This involves an extraordinary degree or amount of involution in the seed, so that when suitably planted this seed may expand into all the organs of the parent body. The Aristotelian name for such involution is poutentiality [sic] or existence in potentia. This is not mere logical possibility, but physical potency or dynamism; and I call it the psyche. This is an observable biological cycle or "trope" (as I call it) and the "psychic," in this sense, must not be confused with the "psychological" or subjective conscious element. The place of the

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psyche in the material world is therefore a perfectly discoverable one open to scientific investigation and capable, I think, of great development both in extension (telepathy, prophecy, communication, etc.) and in depth (psycho-analysis, etc.) (b) Place of Spirit in the psyche.—The reaction of animals on any stimulus from a distance, like that of plants turning to the light, is transcendent, i.e., it regards something which is not the movement of the organ itself, but is a movement of the organ towards an object external to it. But where locomotion is possible, the organism affected may move as a whole towards the source of the stimulus, and even seize or absorb it. T h e transcendence here acquires a subjective spiritual accompaniment; it comports perception. In his subjective or organic sensibility an animal has onlv feeling or intuition of something vague and inarticulate; but in his indicative alertness and expectation his perception is transcendent cognitively and is sensation and faith or anticipation. W e then have what is, or aspires to be, knowledge. T h e realm of spirit thus emanates from and overarches the life of matter, when this becomes self-transcendent. And it is interesting to observe that the field open to spirit from the very first in [sic] indefinite in extent. T h e essences intuited are seen or felt against a continuous background, virtually all time and all existence. This is the spiritual counterpart of the cosmic range of all physical tensions, and perfectly natural. (c) M y "transcendentalism" is not at all transcendent faith in matter, much less in essence, which latter demands no faith, but onlv intuition or definition of ideal or aesthetic terms. What is "transcendental" in my system is only spirit itself in its station 011 this side of the footlights. Spirit for me is no substance but only a function of the psyche, when life is concentrated and synthesized at one point, poetically the "heart" or "soul," from which all things are surveyed or surveyable. For itself, consciously, spirit is thus disembodied; but it has a temporal and spatial station and point of view, and endures all the accidents and passions of the body: so that it feels only too much its dependence and captivity there. But that is a one-sided sentiment: more normally, the spirit is the voice or prayer of the natural man in his physical and social plights; so that it represents the body morally as well as biologically in the fourth dimension of memory, foresight, and judgment. (d) As to scientific and literary psychology, the distinction is not meant to separate the compound life which is the object, but only to remove confusion in the method of treating it theoretically.

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English psychology and philosophy rely on subjective data, which they turn into substances (without using this honest w o r d ) ; that is literary psychology or autobiography turned into metaphysics or (as I should call it with the ancients) into physics. But to attribute to such ideal data causal effects, potential existence, or capacity to breed like rabbits, is superstition. Subjective data may be signs of powers at work; but they are the "insubstantial fabric of a vision" in their own plane of appearance. Scientific psychology must be studied in the object, like medicine, though of course without neglecting the indications that the "subject" may give of his sensation: since these are symptoms and signs. I accept behaviorism in the positive sense of positing a continuous material process underlying all life: all appearances and phenomena have organs and substance at work beneath. But my study has always been humanistic, not scientific, and I leave the detail of medicine as of all physics to the specialists. Literary psychology has dramatic and inspirational advantages over scientific psychology. It evokes feelings and thoughts which though actuall [sic] bred in the psychologist or poet, may be literally true of other people's experience. Physics, on the contrary, never gives literal knowledge, but only conventional human renderings of non-human events. LETTERS

OF S A N T A Y A N A

TO THE

AUTHOR

Via Santo Stefano Rotundo, 6 Rome, June 15, 1947 Dear Father Munson, Your difficulties in understanding my philosophy do not surprise me, and I think they are insurmountable so long as you reason on Scholastic axioms such as nihil dat quod non habet. Since the "quod" or "quid" is defined as an essence—nothing existent is definable— the system of the world becomes entirely a system of essences, and their connections logical: that makes the system meta-physical. But I have no metaphysics: essence, truth and spirit are indeed nonphysical; but for that very reason they are not to be invoked at all in physics or cosmology, which deals with common sense facts— assumed to exist by themselves—and studies their factual relations without pretending to explain or understand them. The perfect innocence of genuine men of science in this respect is admirable and touching.

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N o w , I leave all matters of fact to be catalogued in this unexplained way by the natural sciences: and my epistemology and psychology are radically and wholly biological, not conceptualistic or metaphysical at all. Naturally they do not meet the requirements of a metaphysical system. But does any fact do so? Are smell, sound, and light impossible data of sense unless they exist first as such in camphor, bells, and etherial [sic] vibrations? Yours sincerely, G . Santayana Via Santo Stefano Rotundo, 6 Rome, March 12, 1948 Dear Father Munson, I have spent an interested day reading your thesis and being sorry to have been the cause of so much irritation in your study of my books. The latter parts of your paper are much nearer to the facts about my philosophy than the earlier, although even here you are a good deal misled or misinformed about me. I don't know who the interviewer was that said I preferred to be called an aesthete: it is an instance of the mendacity of interviewers. More important is the use you make of a sonnet written when I was twenty as the "final" expression of my philosophy. 2 And where do you suppose, even then, I drew the inspiration that prompted me to write it? From the Bacchae of Euripides who says TO aoov ov aoia, which I translated, watering it a good deal in the second line of the sonnet,3 building the rest round that sentiment. But it is true that I prefer the play of imagination round natural sentiments and natural scenes to any "explanation" of them. They all have natural causes, no doubt, but the interesting thing is what those scenes and sentiments are, and how they develop. As to the technique of my philosophy, I find most of your exposition out of focus, and most of your criticism irrelevant. You don't understand my interests or my methods. If you had trace [sic] my works either chronologically or logically, you would have seen better how I came to disinter my system: because I did have to disinter it under the alien vocabulary and alien problems that were imposed upon me by my alien education. You are right in saying that from William James I got my strong sense of the "contingency" of all facts and of their primacy in the order of discovery; but he thought momentary feelings were the ontological basis of the universe, in the order of genesis and causation: and this I wholly rejected

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having always been a naturalist in belief (even when I was thinking speculatively on Catholic or on solipsistic lines): f o r it is possible to be interested in a play at the theatre, without forgetting that we are sitting in the stalls. W h e n I describe a stage-setting, far from contradicting its sources in real life, you say that I have abandoned my materialism. T h a t is not true: I have turned m y thoughts to something else; but this stage-setting, f a r f r o m contradicting its sources in real life, gives real life its human form and reflective interpretation. Y o u are absolutely just in saying that I care little f o r "explanations" (not often finding that they explain anything or make things clearer) but I like interpretations, because those express the tastes of the mind and its affections. There are some odd assignments of influence, and odd omissions of it, in your account of my sources. F o r instance, Hodgson I saw once at a meeting of the Aristotelian Society in London in 1887 (long before "essence" had come within m y horizon) never spoke with him, or read anything of his.4 Essences I gradually unearthed, like the rest of m y personal grammer of thought, helped by various suggestions. One was the idea clara et distincta Cartesii: others the "infinite attribute" of thought, with its infinitude of modes (or instances) of Spinoza, and all the "possible worlds" of Leibniz; then Berkeley's "inert ideas"; except that he confused these with existing acts of apprehension, which are not ideas at all, but moments of spirit, or "intuitions" (not in the Bergsonian or feminine sense of this word, but in the Kantian). Capital of course were Platonic Ideas: especially an undeveloped suggestion in the first part of Plato's Parmenides about "ideas" of filth, rubbish, etc., which the moralistic young Socrates recoils f r o m as not beautiful, making old Parmenides smile. T h a t smile of Parmenides made me think. But the most exact anticipation of m y "realm of essence" I found in a quotation f r o m an Arabic philosopher whose name I have forgotten, in the Life of Avicenna by the Baron Carra des Veaux [sic], a French Catholic of perhaps a hundred years ago. M y ideas were also much sharpened in 1897 at the English Cambridge in talks with Bertrand Russell and G . E. Moore. T h e r e are t w o points that I should like to clear up if possible in your criticism. T h e first is about the meaning of "knowledge." A r e pure vision or hearing (in a dream) knowledge? O r must this datum be assigned as a predicate to a substantial object, and will this be "knowledge" (as in Berkeley) even if no such object exists? O r would this belief be then an illusion, and true only if there is an

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object on which the datum is projected? Or will this projection be still an illusion if the object has not, in itself, that character, although such an appearance may serve, conventionally, like a name, to mark the presence of that object and to induce in the observer the appropriate action in its presence? I may not, in my earlier writings, always have avoided the use of the word "knowledge" for what I call "intuition of essence"; this is cognitive in intent, since the essence is an object which intuition may repeat, and memory may identify: but that object is ideal.5 Mathematics, or acquaintance with definitions and relations between them, is a teachable science and must certainly be called a sort of knowledge. Yet it is not knowledge of natural facts or their interaction in the world except when the mathematical calculations are found applicable to material facts in the heavens or in machinery: and it is in such cases that knowledge is transcendent, i.e., reveals an object other than the datum or definition or calculation concerned. Locke and others reasonably distinguished these as knowledge of fact and knowledge of ideas; but occasioned great confusion, since properly ideas themselves are the knowledge, or the terms of knowledge, in designating and recording facts. I can't help thinking that the distinction of essences from existentent [sic] things greatly clarifies this imbroglio. The other point that I wish to make regards the psyche. You say that 1 can't define it, but that Aristotle explained it by saying it is the form of the bodv. He has a fuller and clearer description of it than that where he says that the psyche is the first entelechy (or functional perfection) of a natural organic bodv; and further he distinguishes the first entelechy for instance of the general's psyche when on the eve of battle he is asleep in his tent, from the second entelechv when in the morning he is mounted on his horse and giving orders in the midst of the battle. The functional perfection, ready to act or acting, of a natural organic body is precisely what I take the psyche to be; so that if Aristotle is right your cavils about what vou attribute to me on this subject fall to the ground. You say that the manifestations of the psyche are not "knowledge" of it. [sic] it is unknowable (or something of that kind). But the organic constitution and organic action of the body are the psyche. You know that I do not make it any more than Aristotle, an independent angelic soul that can quit the body or migrate from one species of animal to another, as Plato tells us in his myths.

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I will send you back your thesis, on which I have marked two or three passages, as far as possible packed as it came. Yours sincerely G. Santayana P.S. I have forgotten to mention that what I quote from Leibniz about God choosing the best of possible worlds is not my opinion. I meant it as a reduction ad absurdum. You have not read Voltaire's Candide? Or Moliere about Cur opium facit dormire? It is a pity. A N I N T E R V I E W E R REPORTS ON S A N T A Y A N A Terence O'Connor, O.S.M., to Thomas Munson, S.J. April 16, 1947 Dear Father Munson, I saw Mr. (Dr., Signor, Professor—he responds to all stimuli, he told me) Santayana on several occasions. When I first received this commission I resolved to do a little reading of his works before encountering him in a hand-to-hand struggle. Unfortunately, though, the resolution was easier of accomplishment than its realization. . . . He turned out to be an old, doddering sort of fellow, with undipped moustache, but very kind and gentlemanly just the same. He stays in his room twenty-four hours a day, and confines his exercise to jumping at conclusions. His responses to just about all of your problems seemed to verge upon his family history, the philosophers he studied under, his health, his ideas on the U.S., Italy, Spain, wine, modern teaching methods, the architectural teaching methods of Europe ("If I hadn't become a philosopher, I should undoubtedly have been an architect"), flowers, and diverse other similar topics. He accepted all your objections cheerfully enough, and apparently felt that he was answering them very adequately. Occasionally I'd try to prod him back unto the problem in hand, and he'd gear himself to a good, clear, philosophical answer. This proved to be of little help to me. He'd lose the thread of thought on an average of twice every fifteen minutes, becoming ensnarled along some labyrinth he'd wandered into quite unconsciously; when he'd turn to me for help, enquiring just what it was my last question had been concerned with, or how in blazes did he get onto the subject

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of his categories again, it was evident that neither of us knew just exactly what was coming off. He assured me that this was a common phenomenon for him even during his teaching days at Harvard, and I felt happier at the thought of having been denied the pleasure of studying there at the time. For the first hour or so of each bout I'd conscientiously try to take notes, but invariably found myself moodily studying the pattern of the rug he affects across his lap. Needless to say, he prevailed at all of our meetings. In the course of time 1 became disenchanted with this state of affairs, and we adopted a brisk correspondence over your problems; this turned out to be more satisfactory to at least one of us. There is no doubt that (in my mind) his doctrine is intimately bound up with a lot of double talk —at least in its conversational phases. He is also prone to inject into his babblings the fact that he is primarily an "aesthete," and this seems to be the answer to many problems I proposed to him; he is obviously very proud of this distinction, though he takes violent exception to Fr. Martindale's characterization of him as an "atheistic aesthete." 6 His writings on the answers you wanted, which he finally brought to what he considers a satisfactory state, are not exactly sparkling in the lucidity a lay-man in philosophy, such as I, would desire. But he assures me that everything he finally gave me (including his own final copy manu propria, as well as the sheets he snipped out of my second letter to him) answer your problems to the very best of his ability; this is all straight doctrine, and he instructed me to ship the lot to you, . . . Another P.S.: He'd appreciate seeing your thesis on his philosophy if you ever publish it.

S O M E N O T E S OF A N I N T E R V I E W SANTAYANA7 Taken by Terence O'Connor, O.S.M.

WITH

Perhaps, Mr. Santayana, the difficulty lies largely in the different concepts behind your Philosophy and ours. I hope you won't feel insulted if I give you two definitions that are used in Scholastic Philosophy—definitions I'm sure Fr. Munson had in mind when he wrote the second paragraph of question 2: For us an essence is that which makes a thing what it is, or

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"that through which a being is that which it is." (This is my translation of "Id per quod res est id quod est.") For us, the essence of a thing is the proper object of the intellect; we express the essence of the object in our definition of it. Substance is that which exists in itself, and not in another being. (Substantia est "id quod exsistit in se et non in alio.") We distinguish it from accident, which has no existence of its own, but manages to survive only by reason of the existence of the substance in which it is (e.g., the color, size, shape, etc., of the substance.) So perhaps Fr. Munson's statement that you seem to admit "of knowledge of essence alone, and not of real substance" can be answered by the definition or explanation of your concepts of these terms. And these are the notes I jotted down during our visit with you, Mr. Santayana. I'm afraid that after your perusal of them you'll wish I'd been a Harvard student of '05, so that you might have had the pleasure of flunking me. The best way to understand the fundamental position from which Mr. Santayana's doctrines are derived would be to read his "Persons and Places." This will give you the history of the development of his philosophic system. He began from a Catholic viewpoint because of the influence his sister, who was very religious, had upon him. He believes now that he was never really interested in religion itself, but only insofar as it offered him an introduction to philosophy and poetry. Mr. Santayana has read exhaustively the writings of the ancient and modern philosophers; of these latter he feels a greater affinity with the Europeans than with the Americans. Among the modern philosophers Spinoza holds the greatest interest for him, although he doesn't accept all of Spinoza's system. The system of Materialism, as it is expounded by Lucretius, is also of great interest to him. One of the fundamental principles of Mr. Santayana's system might be formulated as: "The relativity of knowledge and the relativity of morals." For Mr. Santayana good doesn't exist objectively. As an example he mentioned certain types of food: for one person they might be good, but for another not only not good, but even harmful—and so not really food at all. Truth in the thing is its essence. Truth in the person would be relative to the person.8

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For his idea of the Psyche Mr. Santavana is largely indebted to Aristotle's De Anima, but he rejects Aristotle's idea of the intellect. Mr. Santayana's realm of essence and Aristotle's realm of concepts are one and the same. In regard to Materialism: Mr. Santayana doesn't consider it from the point of view of a physicist, but rather as an aesthete, or a lover of essences, treating of its essential or intellectual part alone. He believes in its existence, for he is a naturalist. W e derive our knowledge of the material through our contact with it. On the subject of "knowledge of an essence," Mr. Santayana considers this to be only verbal. It is not true knowledge, but acquaintance with an art. As an example he uses the acquaintance a person might have with the art of playing chess. It could be considered knowledge only indirectly, insofar as it might further your knowledge of a person who is skilled in this art. In Mr. Santayana's philosophic system Spirit is the function of the Psyche, or its act. Spirit would thus be actus secundus (expressed in Aristotelian terminology) of the Psyche (which is actus primus, or the potentia activa). In attempting to understand thoroughly the philosophic system of Mr. Santayana one must be aware of some changes in terminology which he adopted in the course of his writing. In his earlier works he employs a terminology which was unnatural to him, and this he gradually discarded in favor of the terminology which he adopted in his later works. The basic ideas of these earlier works are not, however, rejected by his earlier writings. Mr. Santayana says that Edith Heinrich, in her book of poems entitled "The Quiet Center," has understood and expressed very well much of what he holds. Reading this work might help a student understand Mr. Santayana's doctrine, providing him, as it would, with a poetical presentation and expression of the same philosophy. If you will permit me the extravagant privilege of reading Fr. Munson's mind for him, Mr. Santayana, I believe his problem in question two can be expressed in this way: how do you account for the existence and nature of Psyche, and its expression as Spirit, in a purely material world? I imagine that Father is thinking of matter as it exists in a stone, or a piece of clay. What, then, would be the principle by which a man, composed of matter, is elevated to the state of Psyche? Is it something in the man distinct from the matter itself? Is it immaterial, or something bio-chemical, or merely a manifestation of the material? I know that in your talk with us

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you said that the operation of the Psyche depends upon matter—so much so that if a person were to die in the middle of an act of formulating his thought by speech he would be incapable of finishing the thought. D o you hold that the human intellect ( o r Psyche) is derived from the matter in which it exists, and is destroyed right in the matter (as Aristotle would say of an animal or vegetable soul)? If not, what is the precise relationship of these two? And after the divorce of the Psyche from the body, or its destruction in it, would some other lower form take its place, or would the matter continue to exist (or decay) according to its own intrinsic principles? I feel that if you will give me the answers to these problems, or at least cite the places in your works that will answer them, Fr. Munson should be more than satisfied. I confess that I'm no philosopher, so I won't hesitate here to double back in my tracks to ask you one more question: If you hold that the Psyche is something bio-chemical, or merely a manifestation of the material, or something else analogous to these opinions, how would you account for its spiritual activity? O r its complete dependence upon the material? O r the ability of the material to make an impression upon it?

NOTES

I.

INTRODUCTION

1. Obiter Scripta, pp. 295-96. T h e citation is from "Ultimate Religion," an address given in the Domus Spinozana at T h e Hague in September, 1932. 2. Butler, The Mind of Santayana, p. xi. 3. See Appendix. 4. Edidit G . A . de Brie, two volumes covering the years 1934-45, Brussels, Spectrum, 1950. Santayana can be found in many such bibliographies, dictionaries, etc. 5. James, Letter to President Eliot, 1898, cited in The Thought and Character of William James—As Revealed in Unpublished Correspondence and Notes, edited by Perry, vol. II, p. 270. 6. Wickham, The Unrealists, pp. 94-95. 7. Ames, " T h e Zenith as Ideal," Journal of Philosophy, X L I X (March 27, 1952), 204-5. 8. Brownell in Schilpp, ed., The Philosophy of George Santayana, p. 34. In this same volume Bertand Russell has stated (p. 456): "'If the world is to be conceived in terms of substance and attribute, then everything, or almost everything, that Santayana says about essence commands mv assent. Whether the world should be so conceived has been often questioned, but in The Realm of Essence there is no controversial defence of this fundamental assumption. . . . It is, however, a fixed practice with Santayana to avoid everything that cannot be discussed in literary form. This imposes certain limitations upon his writing, and also, I think, upon his thought." Santayana—who can deny it?—is a very controversial figure. " F o r the reasons I have indicated I find this separation of essence and existence by Santayana unintelligible in its own terms, that is, contradictory to the very nature of the distinction as made by him following medieval usage, but this is not to say

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that this separation has no reason, that is, no cause. The cause, however, is to be found, I believe, not in the cogency of Santayana's thought on this matter but in the contradictor)' demands of his temperament, at once materialistic and religious, Heraclitean and Platonic." T h u s Celestine J. Sullivan, Jr., '"Essence and Existence in G e o r g e Santayana," Journal of Philosophy, X L I X (March 27, 1952), 22J. 9. Randall, " T h e Latent Idealism of a Materialist," Journal of Philosophy, X X V I I I (November 19, 1931), 657. 10. Buchler, " O n e Santayana or T w o ? " Journal of Philosophy, L I (January 21, 1954), 52-56. 1 1 . " T h e realistic assumption of external realities must be judged wholly gratuitous and this aspect of his thought denominated an epistemological affectation." T e n Hoor, " G e o r g e Santayana's T h e o r y of Knowledge," Journal of Philosophy, X X (April 12, 1923), 210. 12. Durant, The Story of Philosophy, p. 366. William L y o n Phelps sardonically referred to Santayana's philosophy as "a corpse arrayed in shining garments." Autobiography with Letters, p. 336. Chapter X X X I V of this work is entitled " G e o r g e Santayana," pp. 332-49. 13. " T h e extraordinary excellence of the style has a soothing effect, which makes it easy to read on without fully apprehending the purpose of what is said." Russell, in Schilpp, ed., The Philosophy of George Santayana, p. 470. 14. " S o in the Dialogues in Limbo, you must allow me a little dramatic latitude." Letters, to Sterling P. Lamprecht, November 15, 1933, p. 285. Santayana's request should prompt a reader to caution in accepting at face value his estimates of his works. A n y author experiences contradictory feelings about his productions, and Santayana frankly expresses his discouragment, his modesty, his irony. From his letters (Letters, pp. 136, 158, 185) we learn that he regarded his American writings as overloaded with deadwood, since they were written under the pressure of justifying his existence by achieving recognition. T h e Letters also indicate that Dominations and Powers ( 1 9 5 1 ) was projected as early as 1918, and that Realms of Being (completed by 1940) was very modest in its conception in 1 9 1 1 : "It will not be a long book. . . ." (Letters, to Susana Sturgis de Sastre, May 16, 1911, p. 104.) T h e scholar w h o is thoroughly acquainted with Santayana will probably agree that Santayana wrote his books backwards; that the last ones should have been written first because they emphasize nature, the

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groundwork of those ideals which he treated in the early volumes. See Ames, Proust and Santayana: The Aesthetic Way of Life, p. 7'15. Talk about final causes is a case in point. Santayana denied the reality of final causes in the Aristotelian sense. Yet: "Final causes certainly exist in the conduct of human beings, yet they are always inadequate to describe the events in which they are manifested, since such events always presuppose a natural occasion and a mechanical impulse; and these cannot flow from the purpose or choice which they make possible and pertinent." Realms, p. j 19. Butler has pointed to "confusions and apparent contradictions" in The Mind of Santayana, pp. 58, 169. 16. Letters, p. 15. This early date (January 16, 1887) was "long before 'essence' had come within my horizon." An expression Santayana uses in Letters, p. 372. 17. In Soliloquies in England and Later Soliloquies Santayana referred to his friends "who call me an atheist" (p. 236) and to " m y atheism" (p. 246). But mark the qualification: ". . . what people would call an atheist. . . ." Letters, p. 333. 18. Santayana, " T h e Present Position of the Roman Catholic Church," The New World: A Quarterly Review of Religion, Ethics, and Theology, I (December, 1892), 661. 19. Miller, "Mr. Santayana and William James," The Harvard Graduates' Magazine, X X I X (March, 1 9 2 1 ) , 355. Professor Miller was incensed by Character and Opinion in the United States. 20. Realms, 429. Dewey had written of Reason in Common Sense and Reason in Society: "[theyJ afford more than the promise, they afford the potency of the most significant contribution, made in this generation, to philosophic revision. . . . It is a work nobly conceived and adequately executed." A review in Science, N e w Series, X X I I I (February 9, 1906), 223, 225. Dewey's provocative article in Journal of Philosophy, X X I V (February 3, 1927), 57-64, is an answer to Santayana's review of his Experience and Nature entitled "Dewey's Naturalistic Metaphysics," Journal of Philosophy, X X I I (December 3, 1926), 673-88. 21. "Is not their criticism [Hume and Kant] at bottom a work of edification or of malice, not of philosophic sincerity. . . ? " Scepticism and Animal Faith, pp. 295-96. T h e expression "partyspirit" is borrowed from Professor Murray's " A Modern Materialist: A Study of the Philosophy of George Santayana," Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, N e w Series, X I I ( 1 9 1 1 - 1 2 ) , 316. Professor Murray probably had in mind Reason in Science: " T h e

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artificial prejudice against mechanism is a fruit of party spirit," p. 86. (Sup. For this parenthesis, see # 2 6 infra.) In the text the volumes of The Life of Reason will be referred to as follows: Reason, I—Reason in Common Sense; Reason, II—Reason in Society; Reason, III—Reason in Religion; Reason, IV—Reason in Art; Reason, V—Reason in Science. 22. Reason in Religion, p. 13. (Sup. Confer # 2 6 infra.) 23. A dissertation presented to the English department of the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School. 24. Paris, 1950. Duron's work presents all of Santayana's publications in chronological order to 1946, with the various editions and reviews. The works on Santayana are selected and terminate with the year 1940. 2 j. A Critique of the Philosophy of George Santayana in the Light of Thomistic Principles. A dissertation published by the Catholic University of America, Washington, D.C., 1942. 26. Letters, to Logan Pearsall Smith, December 4, 1917, p. 162. Father Butler (p. x) echoes the phrase of the 1922 edition of The Life of Reason: "There is hardly a page that would not need to be rewritten, if it was perfectly to express my present feelings." This new preface for the 1922 edition is reprinted in Edman, ed., The Philosophy of Santayana, p. 42. (Modern Library Ed.; p. 40 of Scribner's 1953 edition. This work is referred to in the text as Edman.) In this study we will cite the revised edition of The Life of Reason in parentheses, since all of our existent critiques of Santayana use the original five volumes. If a passage has been suppressed in this new edition, the notation (Sup.) shall be used. 27. Coleridge, Essays on his Own Times, cited at the beginning of Russell Kirk's The Conservative Mind from Burke to Santayana. In this work Santayana will be found on pp. 217-18, 386-94. I I . W H A T IS P H I L O S O P H Y ? 1. "Both you and Socrates, it seems to me, though apparently very much in the fashion of your day, were at heart strangers in it, as I have been in mine. . . ." "The Stranger" in Dialogues, p. 186. In several letters (Letters, pp. 222-23, 240, 285), Santayana clearly identifies his position with that of the Stranger. He recounts the philosophers to whom he is indebted in Persons and Places, in Brief History of My Opinions, and in Letters, pp. 371-74. 2. Letters, pp. 367-68. "The French 'Existentialists' also are

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155

hardly worth reading. W e seem to be crossing f o g g y swamps of intellectual and political importance." ( A letter to Cyril Clemens in Commonweal, L V I I [October 24, 1952], 61.) In view of this attitude toward the phenomenological movement, I have decided to omit references to contemporary philosophical problems. T h e reader who is abreast of current developments in Europe will be led to compare and to contrast Santayana's animal faith and Husserl's idea of intentionality, or Husserl's Abschattung and Santayana's essence. See Realms, pp. 172-74, where Santayana has translated a section of ldeen zu einer reinen Phaenomenologie und phaenomenologischen Philosophie, Halle, 1922, as a corroboration of "essence" in current opinion. Santayana may even appear at times to try to shake off the traditional subject-object dualism when, f o r example, he elaborates his concept of the psyche and of substance. But he was too deeply immersed in traditional thought-patterns to make the break, and one runs the risk of distorting him by trying to make him into a contemporary. 3. Santayana's review of Watson's Psychology from the Standpoint of a Behaviourist, "Living without Thinking," The Forum, L X V I I I (September, 1922), 732-33. 4. Three Philosophical Poets, p. 103. Referred to in the text as Poets. 5. Ibid., p. 73. Specifically, Santayana referred to the transition f r o m Lucretius to Dante. which 6. Part of a review of James's Principles of Psychology, appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, L X X X V I I I ( 1 8 9 1 ) , 314-16. T h e authorship is not indicated, but scholars agree that all the evidence points to Santayana. T h e citation is taken f r o m Perry, The Thought and Character of William James, Vol. II, p. n o . 7. George Santayana, " T h e Search f o r the T r u e Plato," The International Monthly: A Magazine of Contemporary Thought, V (February, 1902), 195. 8. Realms, p. 832; Scepticism, p. v. 9. Three Philosophical Poets, pp. 33, 35. These positive statements are gathered from various works. Putting them together would be unfair if, in context, they did not present a consistent view. In reality, they stand in witness to the unity of his thought. 10. George Santayana, "Sybaris," in Poems, 1925, p. 99. Referred to in the text as Poems. 1 1 . "Spengler," in The New Adelphi, II ( M a y , 1929), 212. 12. Letters, p. 399. T h e reference here is to Ira Cardiff, w h o

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singularly piqued Santayana in his choice of bons ?nots f r o m Santayana's works. In time Santayana became somewhat reconciled to Atoms of Thought. 13. Ibid., p. 416. Although projected at an early date. Dominations and Powers came to represent for Santayana the wisdom of his old age. (See Letters, p. 354.) T h e letter to Professor Yolton is the first of f o u r addressed to him on the subject of Dominations, of which that of April 27, 1952 (Letters, pp. 436-37), took up the articles on Dominations which appeared in the Journal of Philosophy, X L I X ( M a r c h 27, 1952). As the fruit of controversy, these letters are interesting commentaries on the volume. 14. G e o r g e Santayana, " T w o American Philosophers: William James and Josiah R o y c e , " in The America of Today, edited b y G . T . Lapeley, pp. 2 1 3 - 1 6 . 15. Letters, p. 195. D r . Lawton, explains Daniel C o r y , had written to Santayana and urged him to give up metaphysics to devote all of his time to literary criticism. W h a t is noteworthy is that criticism expresses philosophy in the critic. 16. Genteel Tradition, p. 56. Referred to in the text as Genteel. 17. Reason in Common Sense, pp. 176 ( 5 1 - 5 2 ) , 256 (70—changed to "behaviour guided . . . " ) . 18. Realms, p. 104. " . . . f o r the controlling force in reasoning is not reason, but instinct and circumstance, opening up some path f o r the mind, and pledging it to some limited issue." See Dominations, p. 463. 19. Letters, pp. 346, 429. See also the letter to Logan Pearsall Smith (Letters, pp. 1 6 1 - 6 2 ) . W h a t Santayana had to say about his impressions of Little Essays pertains especially to The Life of Reason. See, too, the letter to Sterling P. Lamprecht (Letters, p. 285)—an answer to Professor Lamprecht's article: "Naturalism and Agnosticism in Santayana," Journal of Philosophy, X X X (April 12, 1933). F o r a proper evaluation of The Life of Reason, the reader must consult the notes which Santayana scribbled in a copy of Reason in Common Sense, dated April 18, 1907. Published in the Journal of Philosophy, X V (January 31, 1 9 1 8 ) , 82-84, they indicate that Hegel's Phaenomenologie des Geistes was the inspiration of the w o r k . F o r a passage of particular significance, see ibid., p. 83. Remarks in a similar vein are to be found in Brief History, pp. 249-50. T h e preface which Santayana wrote f o r the second edition of The Life of Reason ( 1 9 2 2 ) is indispensable f o r understanding the author's view of this early w o r k at arm's length.

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157

H e explained that gradually he came to dwell on other perspectives: ". . . what lay before in the background—nature—has come forward, and the life of reason . . . has receded. . . . T h e life of reason has become in my eyes a decidedly episodical thing, polyglot, interrupted, insecure." (Edman, The Philosophy of Santayana, p. 42, Modern Library Ed.) 20. A letter to Justus Buchler, J u l y 1, 1936, cited in "One Santayana or T w o ? " Justus Buchler, Journal of Philosophy, LI (January 21, 1954), JJ. 21. Dominations, p. 291. T h e "life of reason" was so defined as to give spirituality a primacy over rationality. Reason in its function as a harmony of the passions ( M i d d l e Span, p. 93) is preliminary and subordinate to "that part of experience which perceives and pursues ideals." (Reason in Common Sense, p. 3 [Sup.].) 22. Letters, p. 291. In a letter to Robert Bridges, August 29, 1920 (Letters, p. 183), Santayana indicated his basis for identifying philosophy and poetry: "a totality of view and a sense f o r the ultimate." H o w e v e r , just as his discourse on "things" (history, etc.), presents some difficulties, so does his distinction of "true philosophy." " M u c h the same misunderstandings arise in the matter of poetry and its relation with philosophy. B y philosophy I don't mean true philosophy—far from it. A n d it would not occur to me that if totality of view and a sense f o r the ultimate raised Dante to the highest level of poetry, he would descend from it because we afterwards decided that his conception of the world and of man's place in it was not correct: correctness has nothing to do with it. Homer and Virgil are just as comprehensive. . . . M v contention is only that their dignity as poets would fall immeasurably if they had had no geography, astronomy, theology, or agriculture: in other words, if they had not attuned their minds to the world as they conceived it, but had conceived no world and —to be frank—had had no mind." 23. Obiter Scripta, p. 33; Winds, p. 7. 24. Persons and Places, p. 2. See Reason in Society, p. 70 ( 1 1 9 - 2 0 ) ; Realms, pp. 274, 364. 2j. N a m e l y , the criterion which distinguishes natural scicnce, which proceeds by observation, f r o m ideal science, which proceeds by dialectic. " Y e t even these two regions, the most disparate possible in speculation . . . are themselves far from separable, since before external facts can be studied they have to be arrested by attention and translated into terms having a fixed intent, so that

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relations and propositions may be asserted about them." (Obiter Scripta, p. 33.) 26. Winds, p. 73. Santayana's cause is not enhanced in the eyes of his adversaries by his own devotion to moral philosophy. Who, they ask, is alienated from nature in a philosophy of personal experience, personal perspectives, personal ideals? Since he has renounced all claim to a system of the universe, what justification does Santayana have for stating: "Of course one theory of the world must be true and the rest false, at least if the categories of any theory are applicable to reality. . . ."? (Three Philosophical Poets, pp. 68-69.) 27. Egotism, p. 139. See Soliloquies, p. 246. 28. Brief History, pp. 248-49. Cf. Dialogues, p. 206 ("The Stranger"). In Realms, p. 382, Santayana described an acceptable idealism as "thought and love fixed upon essence." See Scepticism, p. 76; Realms, pp. 647, 748. 29. The Moral Philosophy of Santayana by Milton K. Munitz is concerned with the stages which are here outlined. 30. Realms, p. 132; Schilpp, p. 497; Dominations, p. 463. 31. Reason in Common Sense, p. 43 (5). See the preface to the second edition of The Life of Reason in Edman, The Philosophy of Santayana, p. 46, Modern Library Ed. 32. Letters, p. 28. ". . . ultimate good is attained whenever the senses and the heart are suddenly flooded by the intuition of those essences to which they were secretly addressed." (Realms, p. 61.) 33. Persons and Places, pp. 17-18. The same idea is expressed in Reason in Society: "As Hobbes said, in a phrase which ought to be inscribed in golden letters over the head of every talking philosopher: No discourse whatsoever can end in absolute knowledge of fact." p. 197 (173). III. T H E F O R M U L A T I O N OF A

PHILOSOPHY

1. Father Butler has a good summary of Santayana and Critical Realism, pp. 41-52. 2. Scepticism, p. 35; Schilpp, p. 516. From this flows Santayana's critical principle: "Nothing given exists." Because existence is not a datum of intuition, it can be only roughly described. "Existence comports external relations, variable, contingent, and not discoverable in a given being when taken alone: for there is nothing that may not lose its existence." (Scepticism, p. 37.) . . the proper

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nature of existence is distraction itself, transition at least virtual; so that it cannot be synthesised in intuition without being sublimated into a picture of itself, and washed clean of its contradiction and urgency." (Realms, p. 48.) As a consequence, existence is "the most inexplicable of surds" and necessarily "irrational." (Scepticism, pp. 134, 208.) 3. Ibid., p. 3 j . Father Butler has examined thoroughly Santayana's skeptical procedure, pp. 6 1 - 7 3 . 4. See Scepticism, pp. 37, 93, n o , 133; Schilpp, p. 540; Realms, pp. 16, 120, 13J-36. y. Persons and Places, p. 93; Scepticism, p. 148; cf. Letters, p. 374; Realms, p. 458. In Santayana's thought the psyche plays an important role. It is the "self-maintaining and reproducing pattern or structure of an organism, conceived as a power." (See Realms, pp. 331, 569.) It is also described as a system of tropes, inherited or acquired, displayed b y living bodies in their growth and behavior. T o understand what Santayana meant by a trope, the reader must consider three terms: event, trope, and perspective. A n event is a portion of the flux of existence. It is a particular which can occur only once, for it is a conventional moment, "like the birth of Christ or the battle of Waterloo." (Realms, p. 293.) T h e form of a whole sequence of moments which constitutes an event is a trope. ". . . it is the essence of that sequence seen under the form of eternity." (Realms, p. 294.) T h u s a trope is an essence; an event is a sequence which is enacted. A trope differs from a perspective in that the former is formal, independent of an observer, an historical truth. A perspective is a point of view relative to a particular psyche; it is specious, an historical impression, not a fact. (Realms, pp. 294-95). 6. ". . . so that the thing indicated may have at least some of the qualities that the mind attributes to it." " T h r e e Proofs of Realism," in Essays in Critical Realism, p. 168. Schilpp, p. 542: ". . . although it often is given because, in some object, it exists." 7. Scepticism, pp. 107, 179; Soliloquies, p. 213; Obiter Scripta, p. 183. 8. Realms, p. 35. In the letters found in the Appendix, Santayana attempted to clarify some of the vagaries of terminology between "criticism" and his later formulation around essence. T h e reader who is curious about the evolution of Santayana's vocabulary might consult the notes for the Appendix, where I have indicated some other terminological variations. 9. Realms, pp. 389, 398, 549, 567, 618, 740; Some Turns, p. 120;

i6o

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Dominations, p. 55; Platonism, p. 49; Scepticism, p. 274. "Other names f o r spirit are consciousness, attention, feeling, thought, or any w o r d that marks the total inner difference between being awake or asleep, alive or dead." (Realms, p. 572.) 10. Platonism, pp. 49, 53, 61, 67, 86; Realms, pp. 697, 809-10; Dominations, p. 12; Obiter Scripta, p. 256. 11. Realms, p. 458. " T o substitute the society of ideas f o r that of things is simply to live in the mind; it is to survey the world of existences in its truth and beauty rather than in its personal perspectives, or with practical urgency. It is the sole path to happiness f o r the intellectual man, because the intellectual man cannot be satisfied with a world of perpetual change, defeat, and imperfection. It is the path trodden by ancient philosophers and modern saints or poets; not, of course, by modern writers on philosophy (except Spinoza), because these have not been philosophers in the vital sense; they have practised no spiritual discipline, suffered no change of heart, but lived on exactly like other professors, and exerted themselves to prove the existence of a G o d favourable to their own desires, instead of searching f o r the G o d that happens to exist." (Soliloquies, pp. 120-21.) Y e t Santayana would not have us take this preference f o r "the ideal" as constituting an alienation f r o m the everyday world. " Y o u regret the later developments of m y philosophy, and I notice that you quote only f r o m my earlier 'American' books. Let me assure you that Essence and Spirit in my sincere view are perfectly naturalistic categories. Material things and sensuous ideas have to have some form, which might be qualitatively identical in many instances, and therefore capable of logical and dialectical treatment in logic, grammar, mathematics, and aesthetics." (Letters, p. 389.) 12. Realms, pp. 43-44, 199, 458; Obiter Scripta, p. 142. 13. Ibid., p. 424; Host, p. 33. 14. Poems, preface to the revised edition of 1925, p. xii. This preface, dated November, 1922, contains a wealth of material for the reader w h o is interested in knowing some of the background of Santayana's verse. H e remarks, f o r example, that English is not his mother-tongue. " I never drank in childhood the homely cadences and ditties which in pure spontaneous poetry set the essential k e y . " (P. viii.) Landscape, f o r Santayana, "is only a background f o r fable or a symbol f o r fate, as it was to the ancients; and the human scene itself is but a theme f o r reflection." (P. viii.) Of special import to this study are the following ideas:

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a. " T h e i r sincerity is absolute, not only in respect to the thought which might be abstracted f r o m them and expressed in prose, but also in respect to the aura of literary and religious associations which envelops them." (P. ix.) b. " I think the discerning reader will probably prefer the later prose versions of my philosophy; I prefer them myself, as being more broadly based, saner, more humorous. Y e t if he is curious in the matter, he may find the same thing here nearer to its fountainhead, in its accidental early setting, and with its most authentic personal note." (P. xii.) c. " F o r as to the subject of these poems, it is simply m y philosophy in the making. . . . Philosophy is not an optional theme that may occupy him [the philosopher] on occasion. It is his only possible life, his daily response to everything. H e lives b y thinking, and his one perpetual emotion is that this world, with himself in it, should be the strange world which it is. E v e r y t h i n g he thinks or utters will accordingly be an integral part of his philosophy, whether it be called poetry or science or criticism." (Pp. xii-xiii.) d. ". . . seeing it conveys a philosophy, f o r not conveying it b y argument, but frankly making confession of an actual spiritual experience, addressed only to those whose ear it may strike sympathetically." (P. xiv.) i j . See the letter to V a n Meter Ames in Proust and Santayana, p. 7 1 . Pages 49-80 of this w o r k are based on reading and conversations with Santayana in R o m e in 1932. 16. Scepticism, p. 166; Persons and Places, p. 241. 17. Letters, to H e n r y W a r d A b b o t , M a y 29, 1887, pp. 26-27. another letter of August 16, 1886 ( L e t t e r s , p. 2), Santayana wrote: ". . . while conceptions, whether artistic or philosophical, have no reality except in the world of imagination." 18. A theme to which Santayana constantly returned: Realms, pp. 35, 536; Winds, p. 122. 19. Reason in Society, p. 197 ( 1 7 3 ) ; Persons and Places, pp. 18, 247. 20. Letters, p. 33: " M y notions about the possibilities of human thought and knowledge have gradually changed, and I have become convinced. . . ." 21. Ibid., p. 373. In this letter Santayana enumerates a number of the sources of "essence." 22. Host, p. 25. Mr. Jackson was Santayana's tutor in Plato and Aristotle during his sabbatical year spent at Cambridge, 1896-97.

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23. See Brief History, p. 255; Scepticism, pp. 81-82, 177; Realms, pp. 35, 66, 135. 24. Scepticism, p. n o . This conclusion that "language" lies closer to Santavana's heart than the realm of values is provisional. It is based on the central position of essence in his formulation, since his writings began after his ideas were already well formed. A more thorough study of his sources may require some qualifications. 25. Schilpp, p. 585. Dominations, p. 144, uses the phrase "dynamic texture." See Realms, p. xii. 26. Reason in Art, p. n o (342-43); Winds, p. 122; Realms, p. 135. 27. T h e citation, from Intermède III, might be translated: " A r g a n (bachelor):

Chorus:

A learned doctor asks of me: ' W h y is it that opium makes a man sleep? ' T o whom I reply: Because it has in it a soporific power, T h e nature of which is to deaden the senses. Fine, fine, fine—excellent reply! You are indeed worthy to enter the ranks of our learned company. V e r y well answered."

Santayana referred to this piece in a letter to the author (Letters, p. 374.) It is commonly used by writers opposed to traditional metaphysical systems. See R . G . Collingwood's The Idea of Nature: A Study of Cosmology Through the Ages, p. 93. 28. Realms, p. 175; Reason in Science, pp. 103 (Sup.), 203 (Sup.), 318 (489); Three Philosophical Poets, p. 76; Soliloquies, pp. 196, 214; Scepticism, p. vii. 29. Bertrand Russell has borrowed Santavana's word "malicious" to describe metaphysicians in their relation to science. See V o l . II of R . G . Collingwood's Philosophical Essays ( " A n Essay on Metaphysics"), p. 168. Professor Collingwood remarks in a footnote: "It is desirable when A . falsely accuses B. of a certain frame of mind, intention, or emotion, to ask f r o m what impression his idea of it is derived. Inquiry will often show that it is derived f r o m his own 'bad conscience' or guilty self-knowledge. It is an interesting question whether these accusations of 'malice' toward science may not spring from a consciousness of precisely that

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malice in the accusers themselves plus a fantasy by which the guilt which one cannot face is transferred to another." See "Naturalism and Agnosticism in Santayana," by Sterling P. Lamprecht, Journal of Philosophy, XXX (October 12, 1933), 573. 30. Scepticism, p. vii; Realms, p. 828; Soliloquies, p. 251. 31. A letter to the author, June 15, 1947, in the Appendix. 32. George Santayana, "The Coming Philosophy," Journal of Philosophy, XI (August 13, 1914), 460. 33. Search for the True Plato, p. 194. Schilpp, p. 544. 34. Interpretations, p. 72; Three Philosophical Poets, p. 100; Schilpp, p. J44; Reason in Art, p. 6 (Sup.). 35. Letters, p. 408; Dominations, p. 268; Soliloquies, p. 76. 36. Realms, pp. 360, 411, 490; Schilpp, p. 519. 37. Letters, p. 284; Realms, pp. 312, 315-16, 319. 38. Reason in Religion, p. 91 (222); Egotism, pp. 106-7; Interpretations, p. 91; Genteel Tradition, p. 42. 39. Letters, p. 337; Realms, pp. 462, 665, 776; Middle Span, p. 172. 40. Brief History, p. 248; Obiter Scripta, p. 214; Egotism, p. 169; Dominations, p. 18; "Lotze's System of Philosophy," p. 145; Character, p. 184; Realms, pp. 140, 146, 292, 332, 750. Santayana's description of matter has its interesting parallels. "Hence Marx recommended a broad and dynamic conception of matter which is indistinguishable from the totality of nature itself. By definition, then, anything that is discoverable in nature has an origin in matter. Man is wholly the product of matter, in the sense that he is a complete natural being and owes his makeup to natural forces. By equating matter and nature Marx gave to the former a capacious but vague meaning. His successors have been obliged to alternate between trying to include within its scope all the objects of human experience." "Marxist and Secular Humanism," James Collins in Social Order, III (May-June, 1953), 215. 41. Character, p. 162; Brief History, p. 248. 42. Obiter Scripta, p. 215; Reason in Science, p. 85 (Sup.). 43. Three Philosophical Poets, p. 27. What method of analysis Santayana used to gain his insights is the problem of all his readers. In the light of the controversies over Santayana's "naturalism," it is significant that Santayana himself established the connection between his materialism and his naturalism. " A materialist is therefore fundamentally a naturalist, and begins, not with any theory of the essence of matter, but with the natural assumption made by children and poets that he is living in an existing and persisting

164

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w o r l d in which there are rocks and trees, men and animals, feelings and dreams. . . ." (Dominations, pp. 1 8 - 1 9 . ) H o w e v e r , the naturalist "has become a materialist" when on examination and in the practice of the arts he thinks the theory that appearances are not parts of the material world is verified. (Ibid., p. 19.) 44. Genteel Tradition, p. 63; Character, p. 24; Realms, p. 276. 45. Sense of Beauty, p. 18; Brief History, p. 246. 46. Realms, pp. 479, 796; Winds, p. 144. 47. Realms, p. 320; Scepticism, p. 280. 48. Introduction to Spinoza's Ethics, p. vii. 49. Phelps, p. 343. Cf. Dominations, pp. 155-56. 50. Reason in Science, pp. 218 (445), 289 (479); Platonism, p. 10. 51. " T h e sequel will show, 1 trust, that this is not the case; that intelligence is b y nature veridical, and that its ambition to reach the truth is sane and capable of satisfaction, even if each of its e f forts actually fails." (Scepticis?n, p. 9.) See The Last Puritan, p. 1 1 4 . T h e words referred to are Oliver's, w h o "was meant to be most unlike me, but only in his physical and moral character: in the quality of his mind, he is what I am or should have been in his place." (Letters, p. 308.) In the light of this remark, the following characterizations of Oliver take on autobiographical significance: a. "But he is very much too fine in texture and feeling to be happy in this world, or to succeed in the things (including lovemaking) which it expects him to attempt; and so he peters out. . . ." (Letters, p. 207.) b. " T h e r e is no loud or obvious tragedy coming, only a general secret failure in the midst of success." (Letters, p. 271.) c. "But he wasn't tied up intellectually: he was absolutely without deliberate prejudices. T h e real reason—and 1 am afraid I have failed to make this plain in the novel—was that he was a mystic, touched with a divine consecration, and could?i't give w a y to the world, the flesh, or the devil. H e ought to have been a saint. But here comes the deepest tragedy in his lot: that he lived in a spiritual vacuum. American breeding can be perfect in f o r m , but it is woef u l l y thin in substance: so that if a man is born a poet or a mystic in America he simply starves, because what social life offers and presses upon him is offensive to him, and there is nothing else. H e evaporates, he peters out.—That is m y intention, or rather perception, in Oliver. T h e trouble wasn't that he wouldn't be commonplace: there are plenty of people to be commonplace: the trouble was that he couldn't be exceptional, and yet be positive. T h e r e was

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no tradition worthy of him f o r him to join on to." (Letters, p. 302.) T h e Letters contain other material which will aid the student of The Last Puritan. F o r this studv of Santayana's Wettansckauung, t w o other items connected with The Last Puritan are important. First, the novel gives the emotions of Santayana's experiences, and not his thoughts or experiences themselves (see Letters, p. 282); and, second, Santayana conceived of the novel as a philosophical work, as the following epilogue indicates. T h e dialogue is between Santayana (narrator) and Mario. Mario: " A s a fable y o u may publish it. It's all your invention: but perhaps there's a better philosophy in it than in your other books. . . . Because now you're not arguing or proving or criticising anything, but painting a picture. T h e trouble with you philosophers is that you misunderstand your vocation. You ought to be poets, but you insist on laying down the law f o r the universe, physical and moral, and are vexed with one another because your inspirations are not identical." " A r e you accusing me of dogmatism? D o I demand that everybody should agree with m e ? " "Less loudly, I admit, than most philosophers. Yet when you profess to be describing a fact, you can't help antagonising those who take a different view of it, or are blind altogether to that sort of object. In this novel, on the contrary, the argument is dramatised, the views become human persuasions, and the presentation is all the truer for not professing to be true. Y o u have said it somewhere yourself, though I may misquote the words: A f t e r life is over and the world has gone up in smoke, what realities might the spirit in us still call its own without illusion save the form of those very illusions which have made up our story?" ( T h e l.ast Puritan, p. 602.) 52. Realms, p. 251. " T h e intrinsic or distinctive texture of essences is not due, for Santayana, to any cognitive peculiarities of the perceiver. T h e ideal items which are given in perception are positive and self-subsistent entities; they acquire a moral value when they are bathed in the innocent but saving light of intuition. There are no Kantian prerogatives implicit in Santayana's conception of cognition: Intuition discloses, but never modifies an essence" Daniel MacGhie C o r y , " A Study of Santayana with Some Remarks on Critical Realism," Journal of Philosophical Studies, II ( J u l y , 1927), 354. C o r y , indeed, echoes the "party line" since

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Santayana is no ex professo idealist. T h e point, however, is whether Santavana has actually left this intuitional bath unsullied when he describes what is adventitious in knowledge. T o all appearances his development of the idea of the psyche and the theory of language are excursions into the forbidden kingdom: ". . . but I cannot b y any possibility make experience or mental discourse at large the o b j e c t of investigation: it is invisible, it is past, it is nowhere. I can only surmise what it might have been, and rehearse it imaginatively in m y o w n fancy. . . . But not one term, not one conclusion in it has the least scientific value." (Scepticism, p. 254.) Pictorial space, mentioned in the citation in the text, is Santayana's term f o r the human conception of physical space. Its correlative notion is sentimental time: the animal's synthesis of the flux of existence into a center w h i c h allows the possibility of a n o w and then, a before and after. ". . . the sentimental perspectives of time are the only available forms in which a physical flux could be reported to the spirit." (Realms, p. 257.)

IV. T H E

ORIGIN

OF

A

PHILOSOPHY

1. H . S. C a n b y , " T h e Education of a Puritan," in The Saturday Review of Literature, XIII (February 1, 1935), 3-4, 12. 2. Salvador de Madariaga, Essays with a Purpose, pp. 100-102, 104-5, iq 8> '3i- Quite naturally this description of the Spanish temperament invites a comparison of Santayana with the celebrated litterateur-philosophers of his generation, U n a m u n o and Ortega y Gasset. In this book I have hesitated to do so because, strangely enough, Santayana never mentions them. T h e reader w h o understands Spanish will find a significant chapter, "Santayana y Ortega, Frente a Frente," in La Ruta Mental de Ortega: Critic a de su Filosofia," Joaquin Iriarte, S.J., pp. 128-46. Father Iriarte discusses the fundamental lines of Ortega's philosophy and singles out a number of similarities to Santayana: for example, the colonial tradition in their families, birth in Madrid, studies in G e r m a n y , love for Spain, reaction to Protestantism, materialism and naturalism, and the Anglo-Saxon dimension of their minds. 3. Middle Span, p. Catholic Church," pp. 4. Ibid., pp. 43-44; and profess no other the census-taker I am

148. " T h e Present Position of the R o m a n 671-72. Host, p. 4. "I was christened in the C h u r c h religion, so that f r o m the point of v i e w of unmistakably a Catholic. M y Protestant and

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Jewish critics also discover a good deal of Catholicism in m y writings; but I have never been a practising Catholic, and my views in philosophy and history are incompatible with belief in any revelation." (Letters, p. 337.) This letter is essential f o r dissipating the confusion of Santayana's own statements and those of his critics w h o feel constrained to use religious epithets. N o doubt some critics are irritated by an "unconscious preoccupation with ecclesiastical symbols." (D. L. Murray, " A Modern Materialist," p. 299.) And if they are Protestant, they resent Santayana's references to the weak, Protestant philosophy of science (Some Turns, pp. 83-84), and the "self-contradiction and self-dissolution in Protestant theology." (Realms, p. 431.) But certainly no Catholic is content to have Santayana classified as if he were a member in good standing. (See "Santayana at Cambridge," Margaret Munsterberg, The American Mercury, I (January, 1924), 69-74.) A n d what Catholic will not be piqued if Santayana's attitude is presented as illustrative of "the superior sophistication and detachment of the disillusioned Catholic"? (Q. D. Leavis, " T h e Critical Writings of George Santayana," Scrutiny, I V (December, 1935), 282. Santayana has stated: ". . . the machinery of the sacraments was not needed. 1 had no wish to go to confession and communion, else I should have done so. M v faith was indeed so like despair that it wasn't faith at all; it was fondness, liking, what in Spanish is called afición; I indulged in it, but only north-northwest, and keeping my freedom." (Persons and Places, p. 174.) H e justified this affection naturalistically on the grounds that he regarded the Catholic system as "a true symbol for the real relations of spirit within nature." (Schilpp, p. 583.) As a consequence, even though it was "an immense advantage in belonging to the Catholic tradition. . . . W e were born clear . . ." (The Last Puritan, p. 9), and Catholic dogma may be the one and only thorough, consistent, realistic, encyclopedic expression of faith in the human heart (ibid., "Caleb Weatherbee," p. 190), Professor Williams's expression "Catholic atheist" (see " T h e W o r l d of George Santayana," Irving Singer, The Hudson Review, VII [Autumn, 1954], 361) is a contradiction in terms, acceptable only if we clearly understand Catholic as referring to Santayana's sentiments. 5. Schilpp, p. 602; Brief History, p. 240. 6. Persons and Places, p. 9; Host, p. 135. 7. Letters, p. 426. Santayana was anxious to correct the idea that he had been a misfit in childhood. See Letters, pp. 292, 3 1 0 - 1 1 .

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8. Edman, The Philosophy of Santayana, p. 43. See Persons and Places, p. 84. 9. See Winds, pp. 180-215; Dialogues, p. 94; The Genteel Tradition at Bay, passim; and the theme of The Last Puritan. T h e problem of the "Genteel Tradition" was the conflict between the American intellect, with its relics of the "beliefs and standards of the fathers" (in Calvinism and Transcendentalism), and the ingenuity and progress of the American will—the "expression of the instincts, practice, and discoveries of the younger generations." (Winds, pp. 187-88.) 10. Preface, Triton Ed., I; Middle Span, p. 42. A s a consequence, the safe policy is that adopted by Celestine J . Sullivan, Jr., in "Santayana's Philosophical Inheritance," in Schilpp, pp. 63-92. He indicates the dominant themes: " G r e e k idealism, materialism and scepticism . . . Indian, neo-Platonic and medieval mysticism . . . medieval scholastic distinctions and modern psychology," ibid., p. 65. A t times, however, Santayana pointed out something specific. " I got the idea from Matthew Arnold who had a great influence on me when I was young. Of course that's an old book now [Interpretations of Poetry and Religion], but I don't take it back. I think that whatever truth religion has is poetic. A n d now they say the same of science!" (Ames, p. 76.) 1 1 . Duron (p. 410) sees The Life of Reason, f o r example, as Schopenhauer's The World as Will and Idea transposed into the key of pure naturalism. A n d with reason. Santayana's "passing enthusiasm f o r Schopenhauer" (Persons and Places, p. 248) was echoed in his correspondence. In 1886 he quaffed Schopenhauerian "metaphysics" (Letters, p. 1 1 ) , and in 1951 he was still acknowledging his debt f o r ideas which are expressed in Dominations and Powers. (Ibid., p. 420.) In 1920 he wrote to William L y o n Phelps (ibid., p. 187): "In respect to higher things, most of what you say pleases and satisfies me greatly, especially your mention of Schopenhauer; that is to hit the nail on the head." 12. Introduction to Spinoza's Ethics, p. xxiii; Middle Span, p. 17. 13. Howgate, p. 247. More than anyone Howgate has related Santayana's poems to events in his life. 14. Daniel C o r y , " T h e Later Philosophy of Mr. Santayana," The Criterion: A Quarterly Review, X V (April, 1936), 392. Cory had just mentioned (p. 388) "an orthodoxy f o r which I know he [Santayana] has the greatest affection: I mean Scholasticism." Cory's definitive judgment may startle some readers. " W e come to

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realize that there are really only two alternatives in the world of thought: the philosophy of Materialism and the philosophy of Saint Thomas. T h e ultimate choice is between the Ethics of Spinoza and the Suvrma. At any rate, this is my interpretation of the real Santavana, when the impartial dilettante has ceased to stroll through the gallery of the History of Philosophy, and point out the interesting features of this or that 'charming system.'" 15. From the class notes of W . C. Gerrish (A.B., 1899) taken in Santay ana's Plato course, 1898-99, Phil. 12. 16. Genteel Tradition, p. 56. " M y eclecticism is not helplessness before sundry influences; it is detachment and firmness in taking each thing simply f o r what it is." (Realms, p. xviii.) 17. Letters, p. 228. This naive interpretation of Saint Thomas is proof that Santayana really lacked "the patience and the traditional training" that might have enabled him to "discuss every point minutely, without escapades or ornament or exaggeration or irony." (Schilpp, p. 604.) H e blew hot or cold on scholasticism because it always remained something in his heart, not in his head. T r u e , he conducted seminars on scholastic philosophy at Harvard from 1891-95. (See Rand, "Philosophical Instruction in Harvard University from 1636-1936," The Harvard Graduates' Magazine, 1928-29.) But, as it has been remarked so often, people are generally incapable of acquiring a point of view by reading books. They must be schooled to it. See " A Review of The Realm of Essence," The New Adelphi, I (June, 1928), 357. Cf. Butler's discussion of this topic, pp. 38-39. [8. Winds, pp. 39-40. Cf. Host, p. 5: Soliloquies, p. 246. Courageous readers who are anxious to trace Santayana's sources ought to begin with "Brief History of M y Opinions." T h e three volumes of Persons and Places are next in order. Character and Opinion treats in greater detail his former professors, James and Royce. 19. See Host, p. 137; Winds, p. 3. 20. Interpretations, p. 170; Host, p. 139. 21. Persons and Places, pp. 244-45; Brief History, pp. 244-45; Letters, p. 62. 22. Last Puritan, p. 320. See Irving Singer's analysis of Mario, the Catholic (the life of reason), and of Oliver, the Protestant (the life of spirit), in " T h e W o r l d of George Santayana," pp. 367-68. 23. Letters, p. 76. James's impressions of The Life of Reason were registered in letters to Palmer and Dickinson S. Miller. ( T h e Letters of William James, edited by Henry James, Vol. II, pp.

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122-23, 234-35.) Also, the Houghton Library at Harvard has four volumes of The Life of Reason (exclusive of Reason in Society) with James's marginal comments. 24. Ibid., pp. 28, 31, 76; Persons and Places, p. 175. 25. Host, p. 5. Santayana's vital philosophy "recognised itself" at once in the lines: Ich hab' mein Sach auf Nichts gestellt. . . . Drum ist's so wohl mir in der Welt. [Host, p. 4.] Santayana wrote to Henry Ward Abbot (Letters, p. 208), regarding his sonnets: "Besides, in my old age, I have become far more sentimental and even benevolent. I couldn't write now those sublimated love sonnets, nor Lucifer (. . .): they were a perfectly sincere conviction, but they were not an actual experience; they were an evasion of experience, on the presumption (quite just when you are young and on a high horse) that experience would be a ghastly failure. . . . But the enthusiasm is speculative, not erotic: I had been convinced by Plato and the Italian Platonists: I had not been obliged to make the Pilgrim's progress in person." The Platonising sonnets date from 1895. For the others, V and VII were written in 1885; III in 1884; IV and V I in 1886; X I V , X V I , XVII, XVIII, XIX in 1892. 26. A Harvard friend of Santayana, the W.P. to whom he wrote two sonnets. 27. Host, p. 14. Santayana says that the line is the key to his second sonnet sequence, which is important autobiographically as a vital expression of his metanoia. The line, in Poems, XXXIII, p. 37, is in reality: " A perfect love is nourished by despair." 28. He Rerum Natura, III, lines 978-1023. For this study I have used Titi Lucreti Cari De Rerum Natura Libri Sex, edited by Cyril Bailey. The translations, however, are mine. In the text this work is cited as De Rerum. 29. Three Philosophical Poets, p. 23; cf. Persons and Places, p. 239. 30. Persons and Places, p. 129; cf. Dialogues, pp. 86-88. 31. Dialogues, preface to the new edition. The Dialogues in Limbo are a general criticism of things modern from an ancient (or normal) point of view. (Letters, p. 208.) The reader will find the short preface to the new and enlarged edition (1948) and the following letter (Letters, pp. 222-23) considerable help in interpreting them. "And there are two things which I should be much pleased if people found in this book, although I am afraid they

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won't; one is a connected doctrine and theme, the other an assimilation in spirit, though not in language, between Greek and Indian philosophy. I have long thought that the earlier Greeks had virtually the same wisdom as the Indians, and that it was only an accident of race and rhetoric that they seemed phvsiologers rather than religious mystics. My Democritus is intended to establish between his 'atoms and void' on the one hand and his 'normal madness' on the other precisely the same opposition and connection that the Indians established between Brahma and Illusion. I think myself that this is the only right physics and metaphysics: but it is only half of human philosophy. Socrates (who is nothing in physics, or a mere child) is brought into [sic] supply the other half, the self-justification of Illusion, because it is the moral essence and fruit of life: and the 'Secret of Aristotle' (. . .) is the means of harmonising the two points of view, and proving them to be not only consistent but indispensable to one another if the nature of things is to be understood at all. Socrates defends human morality against religion no less than against naturalism (which are not fundamentally enemies) and he is right politically; but both science and religion, in their profound unison, make this political humanism and ant-morality seem rather small and accidental. Both science and religion, not being on the human scale, do violence to the human point of view, which at the same time they show to be excusable and inevitable in a spirit expressing an animal life and generated by it." In "The Secret of Aristotle" the reader will discover that Aristotle teaches that matter is the one principle of existence—and thus Santayana's theory of language is verified. 32. Preface, Triton Ed., VII; De Rerum, IV, lines 834-35. Santayana's own arguments are detailed in lines 832-57. 33. Ibid., De Rerum, I, lines 1 1 1 5 - 1 1 8 . 34. De Rerum, I, lines 54-61, 149-50; V , lines 156-69; V I , lines 53-5735. Ibid., I, lines 169-83; Realms, p. 286. Potentiality "signifies only the existence of the conditions which, according to the process of nature, will bring those things about." (Dominations, p. 10.) 36. Ibid., II, lines 174-81; V , lines 195-99. 37. Ibid., Ill, lines 168-76; II, lines 926-30. 38. Ibid., I, lines 44-49; II, lines 646-51. 39. Ibid. The argument concludes at III, line 830. 40. Epist. ad Memmius, # 1 3 5 , citcd by Bailey, p. 66. 41. Ibid., p. 69.

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42. De Rerum, V , lines 1 1 9 8 - 1 2 0 2 ; II, lines 600-43. 43. Three Philosophical Poets, p. 31. T h i s was written in 1910. 44. De Rerum, I, lines 50—51; III, line 419. ¿.rapa^ia is perfect mental tranquillity. 45. Preface, Triton Ed., V I I . Bailey's critique of Lucretius is strikingly reminiscent of those made of Santayana. "Lucretius is a poet, and his philosophy is the poet's philosophy rather than that of the thinker. . . . H e has the poet's observation, which leads him to choose examples f r o m what he saw around him. . . . His mind is visual, not logical: he sees a picture and the picture f o r him takes the place of syllogistic argument . . . the melancholy, which sees the tragedy of human affairs, the vein of satire, conspicuous most often when he is thinking of the vice and luxury of contemporary life." (Pp. 1 7 - 1 8 . ) 46. Forum for September, 1922, p. 731. 47. Ethics, pp. 32-33. Spinoza's example of the tile falling from the roof is borrowed by Santayana, Reahns, p. 503. 48. Ibid., p. xxii. T h e words are Renan's, which Santayana makes his own. See p. vii. 49. Realms, p. 356. See Ethics, p. 64. Also, an enlightening letter to two B r y n M a w r students in Letters, pp. 288-89, distinguishes spiritual from moral freedom. jo. Ethics, pp. 72, 214; De Emendatione lntellectus, p. 262. 51. Letter X V , cited by Santayana in Ethics, p. vii. 52. Ethics, p. xxii. A n interesting phrase to recall to mind when Santayana plunges into a description of matter. 53. G e o r g e Santayana, a review of Edith Johnson's The Argument of Aristotle's Metaphysics in Journal of Philosophy, IV ( M a r c h 28, 1907), 187. 54. Edman, The Philosophy of Santayana, p. 47. T h e innuendo is characteristic. Religion and metaphysics are inseparable. 55. Realms, p. 393. "Philosophy seems still safe, even if Santayana did say nearly twenty years ago that the great issue in philosophy was between naturalism and supernaturalism." W . T . Bush, "Memories and Faith," Journal of Philosophy, X X V I (September 12, 1929), 508. 56. Reason in Science, p. 246 (459); Three Philosophical Poets, p. 203. 57. Interpretations, p. 223. "Emerson had no system; and his coveting truth had another exceptional consequence: he was detached, unworldly, contemplative. . . . N o doubt the spirit or

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energy of the world is what is acting in us, as the sea is what rises in everv little wave; but it passes through us, and cry out as w e mav, it will move on. Our privilege is to have perceived it as it moves. Our dignity is not in what we do, but in what w e understand. The whole world is doing things. W e are turning in that vortex; vet within us is silent observation, the speculative eye before which all passes, which bridges the distances and compares the combatants. On this side of his genius Emerson broke away f r o m all conditions of age or country and represented nothing except intelligence itself." (Winds, p. 199.) 58. Santayana's dissertation, pp. 119-20. 59. Persons and Places, pp. 1 7 4 , 2 4 1 ; Host, p. 4. 60. Ibid., pp. 138, 174. T h e word "freedom" falls rather strangely f r o m his lips, and ought to be understood according to his "theory." In Dominations, p. 54, Santayana ridiculed the notion of "liberty of indifference." His conclusion was symptomatic. " T h i s is not the place f o r examining the mythological and conceptual habits of thought that led to this singular conclusion [that, namely, of liberty of indifference]; they are a part of the verbal and imaginative jungle which the exuberant fertility of nature breeds in the innocent mind." V. T H E

PROBLEM

OF

RELIGION

1. Character, p. 5: ". . . and if religion is a dreaming philosophy, and philosophy a waking religion . . ." 2. Middle Spa?i, pp. 25-26, 28, ¡66. 3. Host, p. 47. See Dominations, p. 291; Last Puritan, p. 486; Interpretations, p. 208; Persons and Places, pp. 8j, 147; Soliloquies, p. 257. 4. See Dialogues, p. 57. In a letter to Richard C. L y o n (Letters, p. 399), Santayana refers to this passage in the Dialogues as dear to his heart. Cf. Soliloquies, p. 225; Realms, p. 825. 5. See Letters, p. 329. 6. The ideas which are outlined here are taken from Dominations, pp. 20-21. 7. Realms, p. 846. See the analysis found in Realms, pp. 845-47. 8. Ibid., p. 852. See Letters, p. 408: " M y early Lucifer, which you mention, has the same doctrine." Santayana stated that his philosophy is not to be found in any one character of Lucifer (written in 1899), but in the tragic juxtaposition of all of them.

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See the preface to the work. A review of Lucifer can be found in The Harvard Monthly, X V I I I ( J u l y , 1899), 2 1 0 - 1 2 . Written bv H. M., who is none other than Santayana himself, it notes that the temperament of the author is expressed more by Lucifer, although his judgment does not incline to either side. ( T h e temperament of Lucifer has two conspicuous characteristics: a marked affection for dwelling in impassable places, and a revolt of reason against G o d . ) With this in mind, the reader can understand the following excerpt from a letter to Sir Desmond MacCarthy (Letters, p. 237): "But I don't like his [Bertrand Russell's] saying that I dislike the Founder of Christianity: has he read my 'Lucifer' or the dialogue about 'The Philanthropist'? [In Dialogues in Limbo] It may be a biassed interpretation, but I take even the eschatologv, and the coming of the Kingdom, in Christ's mouth, to be gently ironical and meant secretly in a spiritual sense. So understood, I accept his doctrine and spirit in toto." 9. Reahns, p. 824. See pp. 650, 744, 762, 771, 797, 801. 10. Schilpp, p. 606. "But the concept of spirit doesn't interest me, except as a technicality: it is the life of the spirit that I am talking about, the question what good, if any, there is in living, and where our treasure, if any, is to be laid up. It is a religious question. It is not a question of words." ( A letter to Paul Arthur Schilpp, dated October 21, 1940. It is Santayana's response to Schilpp's review of The Realm of Spirit.) 1 1 . Letters, p. 246. This letter contains the interesting phrase: "But these reconstructions [of Jesus] have no historical truth: documents are lacking. . . ." 12. Idea of Christ, p. 105. T h e reader should note the words: "Without questioning that they so conceived it . . T h e expression is typical and throws light on Santayana's methodology. 13. Murray, " A Modern Materialist," p. 299. 14. Search for the True Plato, p. 190. 1 j . George Santayana, "Memories of King's College," The Harvard Monthly (March, 1899), p. 2. 16. See Dominations, pp. 64, 325; Idea of Christ, pp. 102, 122; Realms, pp. 25, 302, 363, 396-97, 575; Dialogues, p. 135; Reason in Religion, p. 190 (262-63); Reason in Science, p. 171 (428); Soliloquies, p. 102; Three Philosophical Poets, pp. 123-24. 17. Realms, p. 163; Idea of Christ, p. 30; Reason in Science, p. 14 (Sup.); Some Turns, pp. 106-7. 18. Character, p. 105. Cf. Idea of Christ, pp. 98, 116, 191-92;

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Obiter Scripta, pp. 68-87; Reason in Religion, pp. 148-77 (249-57); Three Philosophical Poets, p. 107; Winds, p. 173; Reason in Art, p. 65 (323). 19. Scepticism, p. 269; repeated in Realms, p. 405. In connection with "eternal" Santavana defines "dateless," "timeless," and "everlasting." See Scepticism, pp. 270-71. A given essence, since it has no external temporal relations and no locus in physical time, is dateless. Essences like color and number, which contain no specious temporal progression or perspective between their parts, are timeless. So, too, are laws, equations, and definitions. Everlasting refers to things which exist through a time infinite in both directions, such as matter, time, G o d , Platonic souls, and the laws of nature. "In the nature of the case this can be only a presumption." ( S c e p ticism,, p. 271.) 20. Letters, p. 294. Santayana's reply to Corliss Lamont, w h o had sent Santayana his book, The Illusion of Immortality. See Scepticism, p. 271. 21. Reason in Religion, pp. 245-49 (281-83). See Santayana's review of G . Lowes Dickinson's Is Immortality Desirable? in the Journal of Philosophy, V I (July 22, 1909), 4 1 1 - 1 5 . 22. See America, L X X X V I I I (October 1 1 , 1952), 42-43. A "Feature X " article by the R e v . John LaFarge, S.J. Father LaFarge, w h o entered Harvard in 1897, has written of Santayana in his autobiography, The Manner Is Ordinary, pp. 62-63. T h e class notes of Santayana's students also offer interesting sidelights of information. "Rome is mind, life and religion in a strait jacket. . . . Religion, however, is not information." (Notes of S. E. Morison, Phil. 10.) 23. Letters, p. 292. Santayana informed F. Champion W a r d in this letter that his conversion to naturalism was not a "conversion, but a decision." 24. Butler, "Memories of Santayana," Commonweal, L V 1 I ( O c tober 31, 1952), 95-100. 25. Anne Ford, "Santayana: Bostonian," The Catholic World, C L X X V I I 1 (November, 1953), 1 1 6 - 1 9 . 26. A letter of M a y , 1941, to Cyril Clemens, president of the International Mark T w a i n Society, cited in Commonweal, LVII (October 24, 1952), 60. 27. Butler, The Mind of Santayana, p. 189. 28. Sonnets and Other Verses (1906) "Gabriel." In pondering the significance of these poems as "an actual spiritual experience" or as Santayana's philosophy in the making, the reader might

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profitably consider the following declaration of the function of poetry, found in Interpretations (1900), p. 270: ". . . to repair to the material of experience, seizing hold of the reality of sensation and fancy beneath the surface of conventional ideas, and then out of that living but indefinite material to build new structures, richer, finer, fitter to the primary tendencies of nature, truer to the ultimate possibilities of the soul. Our descent into the elements of our being is then justified b y our subsequent freer ascent toward its goal; w e revert to sense only to find food f o r reason; we destroy conventions only to construct ideals. Such analysis for the sake of creation is the essence of all great poetry." 29. Ames, p. 76; Dominations, p. 312; Interpretations, p. 147 and passim; Idea of Christ, p. 189; Realms, p. 345; Reason in Religion, p. 168 (254); The American Mercury, X X X V I I (March, 1936), 378. 30. Winds, p. 210. "Saint Augustine's w a y of conceiving G o d is an excellent illustration of the power, inherent in his religious genius and sincerity, of giving life and validity to ideas which he was obliged to borrow in part from a fabulous tradition and in part from a petrified metaphysics." (Reason in Religion, p. 155 [ 2 5 1 ] . ) Unfortunately, Santayana's reader never has the opportunity of seeing Saint Augustine except through colored glasses. 31. Letters, p. 247. This qualification: " f o r those who believe in it in some definite form, there is a science of it, as there was of oracles and omens, or of Karma and the methods of lightening it, or of sacraments, grace, indulgences, etc.," is added in a letter to J . Middleton Murry of December 21, 1929. (Letters, p. 249.) 32. Ibid. See Three Philosophical Poets, p. 134. In reality, is Santayana closer to Spinozan pantheism than he wishes to admit? 33. Scepticism, pp. 1 1 - 1 2 . It should be recalled that Santayana's philosophy is "religious." 34. Letters, p. 292. See Persons and Places, p. 85. 35. Idea of Christ, pp. 4, 14-15. " H e r e faith was justified inwardly on the exact principle that the philosopher Bradley recommended in the nineteenth century to English metaphysicians. . . ." Inevitably Santayana connects metaphysics with religion. See Letters, p. 246. " T h e N e w Testament is a miscellaneous collection of Church tales. . . . T h e figure of Christ is just like that of the Virgin M a r y , a mythological figure. . . . All this, however, does not militate in my mind against the existence of a historical Jesus, about whom w e know next to nothing." {Letters, pp. 272-73.)

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36. See Reason in Religion, pp. 70, 72, 87 (210, 2 1 1 - 1 2 , 220); Three Philosophical Poets, p. 82; Idea of Christ, p. 52. 37. Winds, pp. 50, 56; Interpretations, p. 95; Idea of Christ, p. 173; Realms, p. 776. 38. Reason m Religion, p. 60 (205). See Interpretations, p. 95; Idea of Christ, p. 174; Realms, p. 539; The American Mercury, X X X V I I (March, 1936), 378. 39. The Life of Reason, one-volume edition, p. vi. This preface, dated 1952-53, was written by Daniel C o r y . VI. A

RÉSUMÉ

1. Obiter Scripta, p. 214. " D e n y " is Santayana's word, and really in need of qualification. 2. Schilpp, p. 571. " . . . and if you had no preference f o r life, no heart, you would not come within range of the good in any form: not even of the spiritual life as a form of salvation." (Letters, p. 240. ) 3. Obiter Scripta, p. 272; Persons and Places, p. 119. 4. This definition is compounded from Letters, p. 235; Schilpp, p. 532; Dominations, p. 187. 5. Scepticisvi, p. 29, where Santavana echoes the letter to the Hebrews, 1 1 : 1 . Also, Scepticism, p. 8 1 ; Schilpp, p. 518. T h e only explanation, if such be desired, which can be offered f o r this expectation or anticipation is the fact that animals are wound up to do certain things, and therefore they "vaguely but confidently" posit a world in which their readiness may become action. (Realms, p. 303.) In the letter to Professor Ducasse mentioned in the previous note (Letters, p. 235), Santavana specified his notion of animal faith. "It is not a proposition to be verified, because it has no terms. That is w h y I call it faith, not belief. It is not in the least necessary to conceive the future, or to assert that it exists, in order to jump out of the way of a vehicle. T h e mechanism of the body reacts, and the mind is merely carried along in a forward and open sympathy. So in perception: animal faith does not prophesy future sensation; it recognizes present opportunities." 6. The American Mercury, X X X V I I (March, 1936), 378. 7. Scepticism, pp. 180-81. " T h o u g h Santavana dwells on reason, its harmonizing activity, its beauty, its creativeness of value, he actually operates within this rational and formal field relatively little. T h e hidden flame of insight is the light that really captures

178

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his eyes, the mystical identities and fusions of things, the combustion of this bit of experience or that in a pure flame. H e associates things in imagination not b y similarity, not b y contiguity, but b y a kind of contextual identity or transubstantiation. This is mysticism. A n d this is like Emerson." Baker Brownell in Schilpp, p. 57. " F o r chance is appealed to in his story, not provisionally and humanly, but finally and cosmically. There is thus a presumption of the accidental in his representation, and a postulate at the basis of his psychological aesthetics." Katherine Gilbert, "Santayana's Doctrine of Aesthetic Expression," The Philosophical Review, X X X V ( M a y , 1926), 228. Cf. Murray, " A Modern Materialist," pp. 3 1 7 - 1 8 . Professor Lamprecht in his "Santayana, T h e n and N o w " (Journal of Philosophy, X X X V [September 27, 1928] 540) cites The Realm of Essence, p. 104: " T h e controlling force in reasoning is not reason. . . ." 8. The Life of Reason distinguishes prerational from postrational morality. T h e former is the expression of instinct and of nature's vital tendencies prior to the advent of maxims enforced by tradition or religion. Thus the latter is an essentially religious type of criticism which results f r o m subordinating all moral precepts to one which points to some single eventual good. "It is to judge what is worth doing, not by the innate ambition of the soul [that is, b y animal instincts and the natural standard of excellence] but by experience of incidental feelings, which to a mind without constructive ideas may seem the only objects worthy of pursuit." (Reason in Science, p. 269 [468].) 9. Reason in Common Sense, pp. 89 (Sup.); 106 (Sup.): " W h e n the mind has made its great discovery; when it has recognized independent objects, and thus taken a first step in its rational life, we need to know unequivocally whether this step is a false or a true one." 10. Ibid., p. 89 (Sup.); Schilpp, p. j i i . 11. Egotism, p. 168. Santayana repeated practically the same words in "German Philosophy and Politics," Journal of Philosophy, X I I (November 25, 1 9 1 5 ) , 649. 12. Schilpp, p. JII. B y describing knowledge and morals as relative, Santayana insisted that he was emphasizing the partiality of human views. " N o w when I say that morals and knowledge (not the truth, but opinions regarding the truth) and all judgments about right and wrong (not all goods) are relative I mean . . . that opinions and judgments arise in psyches and express the

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capacity and inevitableness of such opinions and judgments arising at each moment in each psyche; but the degree of their truth depends on the relation that their several deliverances have to the facts that provoke them and that they mean to refer to. That they refer to something which, existentiallv, they do not contain is due to the fact that thev are not purely logical or psychological phenomena, but spiritual transcripts of biological processes and tensions which are all self-transcendent, as are all the phases of existence." (Dominations, p. 302.) The reader will recognize in this passage Santayana's description of knowledge. An animal organism reacts to an external world, which causes some kind of symbol to be conceived by the animal. Simultaneously, the animal is impelled to attribute the symbol to what is encountered. It is noteworthy, however, that "this relativity does not imply that there is no absolute truth." (Realms, p. xv.) 13. Scepticism, p. 187; Three Philosophical Poets, p. 203. 14. Winds, p. 114; Reason in Science, p. 216 (444); Interpretations, p. 101 ; Preface, Triton Ed., VII. 15. Obiter Scripta, pp. 37, 71; Dialogues, p. 185. 16. Soliloquies, p. 18; Idea of Christ, p. 173. 17. Irving Singer has studied the problem of belief at the heart of Santayana's thought in "The World of George Santayana," pp. 357-60. 18. Bulletin de la société française de philosophie (OctoberDecember, 1937), p. 194. 19. Obiter Scripta, p. 284. It is statements like this, no doubt, which prompted Helen Wills Moodv to write of Santayana (in a paper entitled "On the Meaning of Life," written for Will Durant in 1931 ): " H e is seeking something, something which will explain beauty and perfection. He derives his jov from the ceaseless activity that goes with the quest." She cited this in a letter dated March 9, 1936, to William Lyon Phelps, written after she had read The Last Puritan. See Phelp's Autiobiography, p. 901. VII.

EVALUATION

1. Scepticism, pp. v-viii. See Realms, pp. 826-28. 2. Letters, p. 219. Cf. So?ne Turns, p. 65. 3. "It is not, then, surprising if aesthetic preoccupations have largely guided his intuitions as a philosopher and cost him, regrettably, the loss of any complete or true vision of the goddess

i8o

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EVALUATION

[ T r u t h ] . T h e pity is the greater as he really is a philosopher. H e owns in an unusual degree the gifts which go to the effective thinking-out and the effective expression of metaphysics and its sister sciences." Professor George O'Neill, S.J., "Poetry, Religion and Professor Santayana," Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review of Letters, Philosophy and Science, X (1921), 451. Katherine Gilbert's study of Santayana's aesthetics in The Philosophical Review, 1926, presents an interesting contrast to Father O'Neill's estimate of Santayana as a philosopher. 4. " M y psychology of aesthetics and morals, even at first was not wholly verbal, being supported by the theory of psychophysical parallelism, and by attachment to Spinoza; but I had not yet studied Aristotle or formed my present notion of the psyche." Schilpp, p. 5 j j . 5. Letters, p. 410. Santayana corresponded with Professor Y o l ton until May 2, 1952, just four months before his death. 6. Reason in Society; Domination and Powers. A f t e r Santayana had read Aristotle, his concept of human nature was complete. "In Aristotle the conception of human nature is perfectly sound; everything ideal has a natural basis and everything natural an ideal development. His ethics, when thoroughly digested and weighed, especially when the meagre outlines are filled in with Plato's more discursive expositions, will seem therefore entirely final. T h e Life of Reason finds there its classic explication." {Reason in Common Sense, p. 21 [Sup.].) 7. Realms, p. 80. See p. 305. 8. Reason in Common Sense, p. 29 (Sup.). T h e reader can understand w h y Santayana would wish to change these sections of The Life of Reason. T h e y are incompatible with the later developments of the theory of language. 9. Realms, p. 203. ". . . all recognisable substance must lie in the same field in which the organism of the observer occupies a relative centre." Nevertheless, Santayana was opposed to an anthropocentric concept of the universe. 10. Realms, pp. 202-35. Chapters II and III bear these titles. 11. Ibid., pp. 236-66. Titles of Chapters I V and V . 12. Ibid., p. 232. In this passage Santayana remarks that D e m o c ritus, Descartes, and N e w t o n shared a poetic or mythological gnosticism. 13. " T h e Nicene Creed ends by asserting belief in 'resurrectionem mortuorum et vitam venturi saeculi.' Translate saeculum by

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the word 'age' rather than 'world,' insist on the temporality of life, and keep in mind that the resurrection of the dead means that of their bodies. . . ." (Letters, p. 390.) " W h a t you say about Resurrection is to the point: if Christians had reflected that this is the Christian doctrine—vitam vcnturt saeculi—and not immortality of soul, except in theology to reconcile the Platonists. . . . " (Letters, p. 394.) 14. T o cite one example: "Modern theology is adrift between Plato's idea of the good or G o d and the old Hebrew idea of G o d which tends to be pantheistic." (Ames, p. 77.) " F o r one thing, I am reading the Bible from cover to cover—something I had never done before." (Letters, p. 164.) W h a t an interesting comment this is on the criticism of Reason in Religion! 15. " H i s [Strong's] whole interest and single ambition henceforth centered on proving the truth of his new faith and especially of its moral sufficiency. This last point was a great bond between us, differently as we might picture the face of the moral w o r l d ; f o r he had not the least dread of moral discouragement, supposed to attach to naturalism." (Schilpp, p. 596.) 16. Letters, p. 280. " Y e s , that is his philosophy [life is a dream]: and when T . S. Eliot says that his philosophy (borrowed he thinks from Seneca) is an inferior one, compared with Dante's, I agree if you mean inferior morally and imaginatively: but it happens to be the true philosophy for the human passions, and f o r a man enduring, without supernaturally interpreting, the spectacle of the universe. It is a commonplace philosophy, the old old heathen philosophy of mankind. Shakespeare didn't create it. H e felt it was true, and never thought of transcending it." 17. Realms, p. 832. Father Butler introduces this passage f r o m Realms as follows: " A t the end of sixteen years of labor in constructing his realms of being, Santayana had to admit . . ." ( T h e Mind of Santayana, p. 193.) 18. Ibid., pp. 832-33. See Reaso?i in Science, p. 80 ( 4 1 3 ) . 19. Letters, p. 219. T h e passage is as follows: " I too have been recognising of late that the church is a normal habitation f o r the mind, as impertinent free thought never is. But there remains the old misunderstanding, the forcing of literature into dogma, and the intolerable intolerance of other symbols, where symbols are all." Cf. Reason in Religion, p. 98 (226-27). Moreover, the sequel shows that Santayana's remark that "those w h o are not materialists cannot tie good observers of themselves"' (Brief History, p.

i8z

NOTES:

EVALUATION

248) is to be understood as meaning materialists of his vintage. 20. Realms, p. 536. In an early w o r k (Reason in Common Sense, p. 82 [24-25]), Santayana distinguished reality f r o m appearance. T h e f o r m e r was a name, the latter a sensation. " A reality is a term of discourse based on a psychic complex of memories, associations, and expectations, but constituted in its ideal independence b y the assertive energy of thought. A n appearance is a passing sensation, recognised as belonging to that group of w h i c h the object itself is the conceived representative, and accordingly regarded as a manifestation of that object." A closer examination of this idea of "reality" discloses that it fits Santayana's later definition of "essence." " T h i s object, then, to y o u r apprehension, is not identical w i t h any of the sensations that reveal it, nor is it exhausted b y all these sensations w h e n they are added together; y e t it contains nothing assignable but w h a t they might conceivably reveal. A s it lies in y o u r f a n c y , then, this object, the reality, is a complex and elusive entity, the sum at once and the residuum of all particular impressions. W i t h this hybrid object, sensuous in its materials and ideal in its locus, each particular glimpse is compared, and is recognised to be but a glimpse, an aspect w h i c h the o b j e c t presents to a particular observer." {Ibid., pp. 81-82 [24].) Later (in Scepticism), reality took on a more capacious—and thus ambiguous—meaning. T h e term was used to signify substance, appearance, or existence. " A s I should like to use the term, reality is being of any sort. If it means character or essence, illusions have it as m u c h as substance, and more r i c h l y . " (P. 33.) T h e meaning given t o "reality" depends upon the person w h o uses the term. " W h e n the w o r d reality is used invidiously or eulogistically, it is merely in v i e w of the special sort of reality w h i c h the speaker expects or desires to find in a particular instance." (Ibid., p. 210.) In Scepticism (pp. 39, 43), "appearance" means either the obvious or self-evident ("its nature is w h o l l y manifest"), or something luminous but unsubstantial w h i c h implies a substance w h i c h it manifests. T h u s there is nothing strange about Santayana's calling appearances "essences" (Scepticism, p. 39), f o r the early idea of appearance as sensation f o r m s part of the more comprehensive term, "essence." 21. Persons and Places, p. 247. R o y c e was the one w h o disturbed Santayana's easy dogmatism with his skillful use of the same weapon. See Persons and Places, p. 244. 22. Some Turns, p. 14. Cf. Soliloquies, p. 43; Winds, p. 91.

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183

23. Re-affirmation seems to be the right word (whether it would be a Wiederhohmg in the Heideggerian sense is debatable), f o r the problem is summed up in the expression of Thomas Aquinas: "Quidquid recipitur per modum recipientis recipitur." T h e stylistic features which are usually highlighted are not germane. Dr. Duron's view ( L a pensée, p. 477)—a re-affirmation of the harmonizing power of reason—is outmoded. It is based on The Life of Reason almost exclusively. 24. In a review of The Realm of Essence, John Dewey wrote that no contemporary thinker was "so assured, so free from intellectual doubt as he is." "Philosophy as a Fine A r t , " The New Republic, LIII (February IJ, 1928), 353. 2j. Realms, p. 418. Many critics refer to this passage without any reference to Santayana's theory of language. 26. Ibid., p. j 10. Scholastics commonly use the term "essence" or "quiddity," which Santayana interpreted as a secret, intimate knowledge of something's constitution. 27. Henry David Aiken has seen in Santayana a natural historian rather than a philosopher of forms. " G e o r g e Santayana, Natural Historian of Symbolic Forms," The Kenyon Review, X V (Summer, 1953), 337-56. 28. ". . . but it is a grave defect not to have made it clear how this difference arises, and w h y it is inevitable and indeed makes the chief interest in the drama of thought." (Letters, p. 175.) In this letter Santayana referred to his perspectives of the senses and imagination and the relations of facts. H e might well have carried his " h o w " a step further to incorporate the difficulties which his epistctnology provokes. 29. Sterling P. Lamprecht, "Santayana, Then and N o w , " pp. 542-43. Santayana responded to this article in Letters, pp. 240-41. He begins: " Y o u r beautiful article on .\le N o w and Then . . ." 30. Interpretations, p. 15; Dominations, p. 463. 31. Letters, p. 18. " N o w a man's stock of experience, his inalienable ideas, are given facts. His reason f o r holding on to them is that he can't get rid of them. W h y do we think at all, w h y do we talk about world, and ideas, and self, and memory, and will, except because we must?" 32. Preface, Triton Ed., I, pp. vii-viii. Santavana's insight— or what I have called his theory of language or recognition of the problem of objectivity—must be distinguished from its religious stimulus and its applications.

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33. Ibid., p. viii. 1 have already called attention to Santayana's second-thoughts about his earlv synthesis. The Life of Reason. T h e following excerpt from the introduction to the one-volume edition of his later synthesis, Realms of Being, presents an illuminating retrospective view which catches the spirit of that secret philosophy which is "more philosophical" than "the other." " T h e work had been originally issued in four separate volumes at intervals of years, but an introduction to the whole was not lacking. A n elaborate one had previously appeared under the title Scepticism and Animal Faith; yet although expressly written to introduce Realms of Being, this earlier book was essentially more sophisticated than the later volumes and less friendly to the fundamental convictions of mankind. As my purpose in discriminating these realms of being had been to reassert those fundamental convictions, there was a tactical circumlocution, and perhaps a misleading one, in beginning by a reductio ad absurdum of modern paradoxes. T h e reconstruction of common sense on that radical sceptical foundation found the reader confused, and not inclined to recognise and recover his natural reason under the name of animal faith. I am therefore not sorry to sec Realms of Being reappear without that retrospective prologue. This is not an exercise in controversy but in meditation. It addresses itself less to the professional philosophers of the day than to the reflective moments and speculative honesty of any man in any age or country." (p. xxv.) APPENDIX 1. "Philosopher, N o w 88, Finds Life Less Clear," was the caption of a news story which appeared in the Louisville CourierJournal for December 17, 1951, p. 10. 2. T h e sonnet to which I had referred was the well-known Sonnet III: " O world, thou choosest not the better part!" (Poems, 1925 ed., p. 5.) Santayana had a point in my use of the word "final," which he interpreted to mean "last." M y understanding of the term was "conclusive" or "decisive." However, I am grateful to Santayana f o r indicating my lack of precision. 3. T h e line reads: "It is not wisdom to be only wise." T h e sonnet was published in The Harvard Mo?ithly for April, 1886, but Santayana has noted on the copy of my thesis that it was written in 1884. "I was twenty years old and given to pious language;

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185

but the real inspiration of that sonnet was something that Unitarian respectability would not approve of. It was Dionysiac revels. T h e second line, of which the rest is merely a conventional development (with reference to Columbus, as inspired by 'faith,' really of the enterprising earthly kind) that caused it to be adopted f o r religious calendars and other innocent means of edification. . . . But the sonnet never expressed my own conclusions, and in the sequence of m y early poems, published in 1894, I introduced it by two others as a starting point from which I had very willingly departed." (Letters, p. 436.) See also Letters, pp. 326-27. 4. William James wrote to Shadworth H . Hodgson on March 1 j , 1887 (cited in Professor Perry's The Thought and Character of William James, V o l . I, pp. 640-41), asking him to look after Santayana in England. A n d we know from Santayana's letter to James (Letters, p. 25) that " M r . Hodgson has been very kind in asking me to all the meetings of the Aristotelian Society. I have been to three." T h e text in my thesis to which Santayana took exception merely suggested, following the lead of Professor Perry, a similarity between Hodgson's "essences" and Santayana's subsequently developed "essences." Since Hodgson regarded the immediate deliverance of consciousness as consisting of essences, but not of existences, there is a definite basis f o r comparison, even though it would be a long time before Santayana coined his w o r d "essence." A s w e have seen in Chapter III, the term "essence" was merely a late arrival f o r an idea which f o r a long time previously had been an essential feature of Santayana's philosophy. In fact, James himself wrote to Santayana on April 22, 1888 (Perry, Vol. I, p. 405): "Some things remind me a good deal of Hodgson's method, and make me wonder how much you may have been impressed by him." Had James lived to see Santayana's development of The Realm of Matter, he might have been tempted to apply the favorite maxim of Hodgson which he cited in his Principles of Psychology, V o l . I, p. 347: "Whatever you are totally ignorant of, assert to be the explanation of everything else." James's judgments of The Life of Reason were not mild. "Santayana's book is a great one, if the inclusion of opposites is a measure of greatness. I think it will probably be reckoned great by posterity. It has no rational foundation, being merely one man's way of viewing things: so much of experience admitted and no more, so much criticism and questioning and no more. He is a paragon of Emersonianism —declare your intuitions, though no other man share them. . . .

186

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But it is a great feather in our cap to harbor such an absolutely free expresser of individual convictions." ( T o Dickinson S. Miller, November 10, 1905, cited in The Letters of William ja?ncs, Henry James, ed., Vol. II, p. 234.) 5. A clear example of this distinction between "knowledge" and "intuition" can be found in Soliloquies (1922). ". . . for I am a follower of Plato in his doctrine that only knowledge of ideas (if we call it knowledge) can be literal and exact, whilst practical knowledge is necessarily mythical in form, precisely because its object exists and is external to us. . . . Platonism is the intuition of essences in the presence of things, in order to describe them; it is mind itself." (P. 251.) I have maintained in this work that the early Santayana had the same dichotomy between facts and the ideas of facts. It was embodied in the terminology, for example, of Reason in Science, where "terms employed in thought and language" are called concretions in discourse, whereas things —"complexes of qualities subsisting in space and time, having definable dynamic relations there and a traceable history"—are denominated concretions in existence. (P. 28 [388].) In the same work (p. 69 [408]), the idea of mechanism is built around this dichotomy. " T o observe a recurrence is to divine a mechanism. It is to analyse a phenomenon, distinguishing its form, which alone recurs, from its existence, which is irrevocable; and that the flux of phenomena should turn out, on closer inspection, to be composed of a multitude of recurring forms, regularly interwoven, is the ideal of mechanism." 6. Perhaps Father Martindale is the man Santavana had in mind when he wrote: " 'Ah, yes,' cried a distinguished Jesuit reccntlv when I was casually mentioned, 'he is the poetical atheist.' " (Host, p. 138-) 7. "These are the notes I made during our second interview with George Santayana, then was strictly charged to let him read before sending them over to the United States. If thev seem to be disjointed it's simply because that's the way thev were given to me. Mr. Santayana is over 80, and, in his own words, is living at present in a 'post-script of his life.' You mustn't get the idea that he doesn't grasp the point of a question. On the contrary he grasps too many of them, and goes about answering them all simultaneously." 8. T h e reader interested in pursuing further the topic of truth should consult The Realm of Truth. Perhaps the following

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187

sketch can be of help in situating the problem chronologically. a. In Santayana's early works (e.g.. Reason in Common Sense, p. 1 1 2 [Sup.] and p. 201 [ 6 0 - 6 1 ] ) , truth is defined in general pragmatic terms. " A n d what shall we think of the critical acumen or practical wisdom of a philosopher who dreamed of some other criterion of truth than necessary implication in thought and action?" " F o r truth, at the intelligible level where it arises, means not sensible fact, but valid ideation, verified hypothesis, and inevitable, stable inference." b. In his introduction to Spinoza's Ethics (pp. xviii-xix, repeated in Realms, p. 406), Santavana stated that to see things under the form of eternity is to see them in their historic and moral truth. Thus truth is here defined in more contemplative terms. c. Santayana's mature view can be found in the representative statements incorporated into the preface of The Realm of Truth (Realms, pp. 401-6.) " T h a t standard comprehensive description of any fact which neither I nor any man can ever wholly repeat, is the truth about it." (P. 403.) For the reader who is acquainted with Reason in Science, this notion of truth as a complete ideal description of existence sounds familiar. " T h e hvpostasiscd total of rational and just discourse is the truth." (P. 182 [Sup.].) Thus Santayana's mature view does not obliterate his early one. Moreover, the superhuman status of truth as portrayed in Realms, p. 529, is subject to pragmatic test. "This participation of true judgment in the truth is neither an ontological reproduction by the judgment (. . .) of the object (. . .); nor is it a vital compatibility of this judgment with all other judgments on all other subjects. N o t the assertion as a psychological fact is true, but onlv that which it asserts: and the difference in quality and value between true ideas and false ideas, taken as states of mind, is a moral difference: the true ideas being safer and probably clearer and more humorous than the false, and marking a success on the mind's part in understanding the world, whereas false ideas would mark a failure." (Realms, p. 447.)

BIBLIOGRAPHY

This bibliography makes no pretense at being exhaustive. It contains only the principal works consulted in the preparation of this book. The most complete bibliography of Santayana's works up to 1951 can be found in the new ( 1951 ) edition of Paul A. Schilpp's The Philosophy of George Santay ana. Prepared by Shohig Terzian, this bibliography follows a chronological order, and includes reprints and translations of Santayana's works. In La pensée de George Santayana, Jacques Duron has listed Santayana's own works until 1940, with reprints and reviews. An incomplete list of works on Santayana extends to 1946. Less extensive bibliographies may be found in the published dissertations by G. W . Howgate, Richard Butler, and Sister M. Cyril Edwin Kinney, O. P. W O R K S OF BOOKS

AND

SANTAYANA A R T I C L E S

"The Alleged Catholic Danger," an article on J. J. Chapman's Notes on Religion, The New Republic, Vol. V , No. 63 (January IJ, 1916), pp. 269-71. "Alternatives to Liberalism," Saturday Review, Vol. X, No. 49 (June 2

3> J 934). PP- 761-62. "Americanism," Virginia Quarterly Review, X X X I (Winter, 1955), 1-26. Reprinted in The Idler and His Works and Other Essays. Edited and with a preface by Daniel Cory. New York, George Braziller, Inc., 1957, pp. 21-53. "America's Young Radicals," The Forum, Vol. LXVII, No. 5 (May, 1922), pp. 371-75. "Apologia Pro Mente Sua," in Paul A. Schilpp, ed. The Philosophy of George Santayana, Vol. II of The Library of Living Philoso-

BIBLIOGRAPHY phers. Evanston, Northwestern University, 1940, pp. 495-605. " A r t : G i v e r of Life and Peace," Saturday Review, X X X I X (February 18, 1956), 22. " A r t s Liberate the Spirit," Atlantic Monthly, C L X X X V I I (March, 1951 ), 65-66. Excerpts from Dominations and Powers. "Bishop Berkeley ( 1 6 8 5 - 1 7 5 3 ) , " in Bonamy Dobrée, ed. From Anne to Victoria: Essays by Various Hands. London, Cassel & Co., Ltd., 1937, pp. 75-88. " T h e Boston Latin School, 1635:1935," in the program The Boston Latin School. 300th Anniversary 1635:1935. Symphony Hall: 23 April, 1935. Reprinted in The Boston Herald, Vol. C L X X V I I , N o . 1 1 4 (April 24, 1935), p. 1 1 . "Brief History of M y Opinions," in George F. Adams and William American Philosophy: Personal P. Montague, eds. Contemporary Statements. V o l . II. N e w Y o r k , T h e Macmillan Company, 1930, pp. 239-257. Translation: Filosofici Americani Contemporanei. Milan, Bompiani, 1939. Also in: Irwin Edman, ed. The Philosophy of Santayana. N e w Y o r k , Modern Library, 1942 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1953). Clifton Fadiman, ed. / Believe; The Personal Philosophies of Certain Eminent Men and Women of Our Time. With an introduction and biographical notes by Clifton Fadiman. N e w Y o r k , Simon and Schuster, 1939, pp. 231-52. Translation: in Min Tro, translated by Alf Ahlberg. Stockholm, Natur och Kultur, 1941, pp. 143-60. As a part of " A General Confession," in Paul A . Schilpp, ed. The Philosophy of George Santayana. Evanston, Northwestern University, 1940. "Change of Heart," Atlantic Monthly, C L X X X I I (December, 1948), 52-56. Character and Opinion in the United States, with reminiscences of William James and Josiah Royce and academic life in America. London, Constable & Co., Ltd., 1920 (1924, 1934); N e w Y o r k , George Braziller, Inc., 1955; Garden City, Anchor Books, Doubleday, 1956. "Classic Liberty," The New Republic, Vol. I V , N o . 42 (August 21, 1 9 1 5 ) , pp. 65-66. Published as F.ssav 40 of Soliloquies in Etigland. " T h e Critique of Pragmatism," Journal of Philosophy, Vol. V I I I , N o . 5 (March 2, 1 9 1 1 ) , pp. 1 1 3 - 2 4 . Part of a series on Russell's

190

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Philosophical Essays, which became " T h e Philosophy of Mr. Bertrand Russell," in Winds of Doctrine, pp. 110-54. Dialogues in Limbo. N e w Y o r k , Charles Scribner's Sons, 1926. A new edition with three new dialogues was published in 1948. Dominations and Powers. Reflections on Liberty, Society and Government. N e w Y o r k , Charles Scribner's Sons, 1951. Translation: Dominaciones y Potestades. Reflexiones acerca de la libertad, la sociedad y el gobierno. Traducción del inglés por José Antonio Fontanilla. Madrid, Aguilar, 195}. Egotism hi German Philosophy. N e w Y o r k , Charles Scribner's Sons, 1916 (1940); London, J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd. Edited with a new preface and postcript in 1940. "Emerson's Poems Proclaim the Divinity of Nature, with Freedom as His Profoundest Ideal," The Boston Daily Advertiser, Emerson Centenary Supplement, Saturday morning, May 23, 1903, p. 16. "Epilogue on M y Host the W o r l d , " Atlantic Monthly, C L X X X I I I (January, 1949), 26-30. Also printed in Horizon X I X (January, 1949), 8-18. Essays in Literary Criticism of George Santayana. Irving Singer, ed. N e w Y o r k , Charles Scribner's Sons, 1956. Selections from Three Philosophical Poets, Egotism in German Philosophy, The Last Puritan, The Sense of Beauty, Reason in Art, Scepticism and Animal Faith, and Reason in Religion. " T h e Ethical Doctrine of Spinoza," The Harvard Monthly, Vol. II, N o . 4 (June, 1886), pp. 144-52. " A General Confession," in Paul A . Schilpp, ed. The Philosophy of George Santayana. Evanston, Northwestern University, 1940, pp. 3-30. This article is a combination of "Brief Historv of M y Opinions," of an excerpt from Santavana's preface to Vol. I of the Triton Edition of his works, and of his preface to Vol. V I I of that edition. T h e minor changes in the text and the title were supplied bv Santayana f o r Professor Schilpp's volume. The Genteel Tradition at Bay. N e w Y o r k , Charles Scribner's Sons, 1931. " A Glimpse of Yale," The Harvard Monthly, Vol. X V , N o . 3 (December, 1892), pp. 89-97. "Glimpses of Old Boston," The Boston Latin School Register, Vol. LI, N o . 5 (March, 1932), pp. 8-10. "Hermes the Interpreter," The London Mercury, Vol. V , N o . 28 (February, 1922), pp. 374-77. Essay 55 in Soliloqtdes in England.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

191

A Hermit of Carme I and Other Poems. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1901. "Hidden Soul," Atlantic Monthly, C L X X X I (April, 1948), 54-57. "Hypostatic Ethics," Journal of Philosophy, Vol. VIII, No. 16 (August 3, 1911 ), pp. 4 2 1 - 3 2 . One of the three articles which bccanie " T h e Philosophy of Mr. Bertrand Russell," in Winds of Doctrine, pp. 1 1 0 - 5 4 . The Idea of Christ in the Gospels or God in Man: A Critical Essay. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1946. Translation: L'idea di Cristo nei Vangeli. Traduzione di A. and C. Guzzo. Milan, Edizioni di Comunità, 1949. " T h e Idler and His W o r k s , " Saturday Review, X X X V I I (May 15, ' 9 5 4 ) . 7 - 9 ssThe Idler and His Works and Other Essays. D. Cory, ed. New York, George Braziller, Inc., 1957. "I Like to be a Stranger," Atlantic Monthly, C L X X X I X (May, 1952), 48-53.

"Il materialismo storico" (Some Corollaries to Materialism), Atti del Congresso Internazionale di filosofia, promosso dell' istituto di saidi filosofici, Rome, November 15-20, 1946. Milan, Castellani e C„ L I X (1947). 453Interpretations of Poetry and Religion. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1900 ( 1 9 1 8 ) . " T h e Irony of Liberalism," The New Republic, C X X X V (September 24, 1 9 5 6 ) , 1 2 - 1 5 .

" T h e Judgment of Paris or How the First-term Man Chooses a Club, - ' October 28, 1892. Poem. T h e original, seven pages in length, is located in Harvard's Houghton Library. The Last Puritan: A Memoir in the Form of a Novel. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1936. Translation (not included in the Terzian bibliography): Unit imo Puritano, una memoria biografica, in forma di romanzo. Traduzione dall' inglese di Camilo Pellizzi. Milan, Bompiani, 1952. "Letters of George Santayana," D. Cory, ed. Atlantic Monthly, C X C V I (August, 1956), 48-53. The Letters of George Santayana. Edited with Commentary and Introduction by Daniel Cory. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1955. The Life of Reason or the Phases of Human Progress. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1905. Comprises five volumes: Introduction ar.d Reason in Common Sense; Reason in Society (published

192

BIBLIOGRAPHY

also in 1932); Reason in Religion (1948); Reason in Art (1921, 1948); Reason in Science (1948). A new one-volume edition of this work, revised bv the author in collaboration with Daniel Cory, was published by Charles Scribner's Sons in 1954. "Literal and Symbolic Knowledge," Journal of Philosophy, Vol. X V , No. 16 (August i, 1918), pp. 421-44. Published in Obiter Scripta, pp. 108-50. "Lotze's Moral Idealism," Mind, Vol. X V , No. 48 (April, 1890), pp. 191-212. "Lotze's System of Philosophy." Santayana's doctoral dissertation, of which the preceding article in Mind is an abstract. T h e holograph is located in the Harvard Archives. Lucifer. A Theological Tragedy. Chicago and New York, Herbert S. Stone & Co., 1899. " T h e May Night," The Harvard Monthly, Vol. I, No. 3 (December. 1885), pp. 96-101. A verse translation of the French poem of Alfred de Musset. "Memories of King's College, Cambridge," The Harvard Monthly, Vol. X V I I I , No. i. (March, 1899), pp. 1-14. The Middle Span. Vol. II of Persons and Places. London, Constable and Co., Ltd., 1947. "Morality and Religion," Atlantic Monthly, C L X X X V I (November, 1950), 61-63. My Host the World. Vol. Ill of Persons and Places. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1953. "Natural Leadership," The New Adelphi, Vol. Ill, No. 39 (July 31, 1915), pp. 333-34. Obiter Scripta; Lectures, Essays and Reviews. Edited bv Justus Buchler and Benjamin Schwartz. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1936. " O n Existentialism: An Unpublished Letter," Partisan Review, X X V (Fall, 1958), 632 ss. " O n Immortality," Virginia

Quarterly

Review,

Vol. X X X , No. 1

( ' 9 5 4 ) . PP- ' - J " O n the Inhumanity of Fanaticism," The New Republic, CXXX1 (November 21, 1954), 82. A reprint of " T h e Logic of Fanaticism," Vol. I, No. 4 (November 28, 1914), pp. 18-19. " O n Leaving the Bedford Street Schoolhouse," a poem read to the students of the Boston Latin School in the spring of 1881, on the occasion of the moving of the school from Bedford Street

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193

to Warren Avenue. A copy is located in Harvard's Houghton Library. T h e latter part of the poem was not read. " T h e Optimism of Ralph W a l d o Emerson" by Victor Cousin ( G e o r g e Santavana), Senior Class, 1886. Santayana's unsuccessful Bowdoin essay, preserved in the Harvard Archives. "Persons and Places: Autobiography," Atlantic Monthly, CLXXI (March, 1943), 45-54; (April, 1943), 49~5 6 ; (May, >943), 80-86. Persons and Places: The Background of My Life. N e w York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1944. "Philosophers at Court," The Harvard Monthly, Vol. X X X V I I I , N o . 4 (June, 1904), pp. 129-34. A section of A c t I V as found in The Poet's Testament. "Philosophical Opinion in America," in Proceedings of the British Academy, V I I I ( 1 9 1 7 - 1 8 ) , 299-309. A lecture delivered on January 30, 1918, sponsored by the Henrietta Hertz Trust. It is published with alterations as Chapter V in Character and Opinion in the United States. "Philosophic Sanction of Ambition," Journal of Philosophy, Vol. X I I , N o . 5 (March 4, i 9 i 5 ) , p p . 1 1 3 - 1 6 . "Philosophy on the Bleachers," The Harvard Monthly, Vol. X V I I I , N o . 5 (July, 1894), PP- >81-90. Platonism and the Spiritual Life. N e w York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1927. "Platonism in the Italian Poets," Buffalo, Paul's Press [1896]. This piece, published privately, was written for the Contemporary Club and read at their meeting on February 5, 1896. A paper-bound copy can be found in Harvard's Houghton Librarv. T h e notes, says Shohig Terzian, are by Santavana, not bv William James. T h e paper became Chapter V of Interpretations of Poetry and Religion. Poems: Selected by the Author and Revised. N e w Y o r k , Charles Scribner's Sons, 1923 ( 1 9 2 5 ) . "Poet's Testament" (poem). Journal of Philosophy, L X I V (January 21, 1954), 64. The Poet's Testament: Poems and Two Plays. N e w Y o r k , Charles Scribner's Sons, 1953. " A Preface to a System of Philosophy," The Yale Review, Vol. XIII, N o . 3 (April, 1924), pp. 417-30. T h e same as the preface to Realms of Being. " T h e Present Position of the Roman Catholic Church," The New

194

BIBLIOGRAPHY

World: A Quarterly Relien- of Religion, Ethics, and Theology, Vol. I, No. 4 (December, 189:), pp. 658-73. " T h e Problem of the Function of the Will in its Relation to Ethics. A Junior Forensic," a supplement of The Daily Crimson, Vol. VII, No. i j (February 25, 1885), pp. 2-4. Realms of Being, one-volume edition, with a new introduction by the author. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1942. This volume contains the four previously published works: The Realm of Essence (1927); The Realm of Matter (1930); The Reabyi of Truth (1938); The Realm of Spirit (1940). Santayana wrote a new introduction, for the original was the volume Scepticism and Animal Faith (1923). "Reflections on Materialism—Karl Marx" (Reflections kring materialismen), Samtid och Framtid, VIII (1949), 414-22. "Revolutions in science," The Neiv Adelphi, New Series, Vol. I, No. 3 (March, 1928), pp. 206-11. Published in Some Turns of Thought in Modern Philosophy, pp. 71-86. "Santayana's Testament" (poem), Time, L X (October 27, 1952), 104. Scepticism and Annual Faith: Introduction to a System of Philosophy. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1923; N e w York, Dover Publications, Inc., 1955. Translation. Escepticismo y fé animal. Traducción de Raul A. Piérola y Marcos A. Rosenberg. Buenos Aires, Editorial Losada, 1952. The Sense of Beauty, Being the Outlines of Aesthetic Theory. NewYork, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1896 (1948); New York, Dover Publications, Inc., 1955; N e w York, Modern Library, with a foreword by Philip Blair Rice, 1955. "Signet" (poem). Written March 22, 1902. The unbound manuscript is found in Harvard's Houghton Library. Soliloquies in England and Later Soliloquies. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1922. Translation: Enetalier i England. Selected and translated by K. Grue-Sörenson. Copenhagen, Hasselbachs Kultur-Bibliothek, 1931. "Some Developments of Materialism," The American Scholar, Vol. 18, No. 3 (July, 1949), pp. 271-81. "Some Meanings of the W o r d Is," journal of Philosophy, Vol. X X I , No. 14 (July 3, 1924), pp. 365-77. Published in Obiter Scripta, pp. 189-212. The article is a revision of an earlier oni-

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Journal of Philosophy, Vol. XII, N o . 24 (November 25, 1 9 1 5 ) , pp. 645-49. Dickinson, G . Lowes. Is Immortality Desirable? Reviewed in the Journal of Philosophy, Vol. V I , N o . 1 j ( J u l y 22, 1909), pp. 4 1 1 - 1 5. Erskine, John. The Moral Obligation to be Intelligent. E. B. Holt, The Freudian Wish. Reviewed in the Journal of Philosophy, " T w o Rational Moralists," V o l . XIII, N o . 1 1 ( M a y 25, 1916), pp. 290-96. Knowledge. Fiske, John. The Idea of God as Affected by Modern Reviewed in The Harvard Monthly, V o l . I, N o . 3 (December, 1885), p. 134. Haughton, James. The Value of Religious Facts: A Study of Some Aspects of the Science of Religion. Reviewed in The New World: A Quarterly Review of Religion, Ethics, and Theology, Vol. IX, N o . 34 (June, 1900), pp. 357-59Holt, E. B. The Concept of Consciousness. Reviewed in the Journal of Philosophy, " T h e Coming Philosophy," Vol. X I , N o . 17 (August 13, 1 9 1 4 ) , pp- 449-63James, William. The Principles of Psychology. Reviewed in the Atlantic Monthly, Vol. L X I I , N o . 4 ( 1 8 9 1 ) , pp. 552-56. N o name is attached to this review, but scholars are agreed that it is Santayana's work. Johnson, Edith. The Argument of Aristotle's Metaphysics. Reviewed in the Journal of Philosophy, Vol. I V , N o . 7 (March 28, 1907), pp. 186-87. "Lettera sull' Umanesimo," in Enrico Castelli, ed. Umanesimo e scienza politica. Atti del Congresso Internazionale di Studi Umanistici. Rome, Florence, 1949. Milan, Carlo Marzorati, 1951. Santayana's letter is found on pp. 365-67. "Letters from R o m e , " in Commonweal, V o l . L V I I , N o . 3 (October 24, 1952), pp. 60-62. Addressed to Cyril Clemens, president of the International Mark T w a i n Society. Levy-Bruhl, Lucien. History of Modern Philosophy in France. Reviewed in The New World: A Quarterly Review of Religion, Ethics, and Theology, Vol. IX, N o . 34 (June, 1900), pp. 356-57. The Life of Reason. Some prefatory notes written in these volumes dated Cambridge, April 18, 1907. Published in the Journal of Philosophy, V o l . XIII, N o . 3 (January 31, 1918), pp. 82-84. Lucifer: A Theological Tragedy. A review written bv H . M . (Santayana himself) in The Harvard Monthly, Vol. X V I I I , N o . 5 ( J u l y , 1899), pp. 2 1 0 - 1 2 .

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Lutoslawski, Wincenty. The Origins and Growth of Plato's Logic. Reviewed in the International Monthly: A Magazine of Contemporary Thought. "The Search for the True Plato," V (February, 1902), 185-99. Reprinted in The Idler and His Works and Other Essays, pp. 54-73. Moore, A. W . Review of The Life of Reason in the Journal of Philosophy, Vol. Ill, No. 8 (April 12, 1906), pp. 211-21. Santayana replied with "The Efficacy of Thought," ibid., No. 15 (July 19, 1906), pp. 410-12. de Musset, Alfred. The Complete Writings of Alfred de Musset Done into English. Vol. II translated by George Santayana, Emily Shaw Forman, Marie Agathe Clarke. Revised Edition. New York, Edwin C. Hill, 1907. Origo, Marchesa Iris. Leopardi—a Biography, with a foreword by George Santayana. London, Oxford University Press, 1935. "Professor Santayana's Philosophy," a letter of November 8, 1910, addressed to the editor of The Nation, published in Vol. XCI, No. 2368 (November 17, 1910), p. 471. Santayana objects to the review of Three Philosophical Poets which appeared in The Nation, Vol. XCI, No. 2366 (November 3, 1910), pp. 418-19. Russell, Bertrand. The Principles of Mathematics, Vol. I. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1903. The copy in Harvard's Houghton Library is inscribed " A gift of Prof. G. Santayana." It is valuable for Santayana's marginal notes. Religion and Science. Reviewed in The American Mercury, Vol. X X X V I I , No. 147 (March, 1936), pp. 377-79. Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Introduction to "Hamlet." New York, Harper & Bros., 1908. Published in Obiter Scripta, pp. 41-67. Sneath, E. Hersey. Philosophy in Poetry: A Study of Sir John Davies's Poem llNosce Teipsum." The Mind of Tennyson: His Thoughts of God, Freedom and Immortality. Reviewed in the Journal of Philosophy, Vol. I, No. 8 (April 14, 1904), pp. 216-17. Spengler, Oswald. The Decline of the West. Reviewed in The New Adelphi, New Series, Vol. II, No. 3 (March, 1929), pp. 210-14. Reprinted in The Idler and His Works and Other Essays, pp. 8796. Watson, John B. Psychology from the Standpoint of a Behaviorist. Reviewed in The Forum, L X V I I I (September, 1922), 731-35. Willmann, Otto. Geschichte des Idealismus. Zweiter Band. Der Idealismus der Kirchenväter und der Realismus der Scholastiker.

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INDEX

Abbott, H e n r y W a r d , correspondence, 1617117, 1707125 Adam, symbolism of, 97 Aesthetics, 139, 147, 1797:3, 1807:4 Aiken, H e n r y David, 1837127 America: Santayana in, 65-68, 72; Santayana on, 1647251; "Genteel Tradition" in, 168719 America (periodical), 1757122 American Mercury (periodical), 1767129, 177777738, 6 America of Today, The (Lapeley, ed.), 1567114 Ames, Van Meter, cited, 1767129; quoted, 7; correspondence, 119, 1617:15, 1817:14 Annua, De (Aristotle), 149 Animal Faith, 41, 71, 118, 141, 155:12, 1777:5 Antliropocentrism, 52-53, 81, 84, 180719 Argument of Aristotle's Metaphysics, The (Johnson), 1737:53 Aristotelian Society, London, 144, 185:14 Aristotle, 3, 118, 140, 149, 1537:15; Santayan.i on, 22, 34. 51, 52, 69-70, 121 145, 170:131, 18071:14, 6 Arnold, Matthew, 69, 168:110 Atheism, 90-91, 92, 94, 95 Atomism, 8, 79, 83, 126 Atoms of Thought (Cardiff, ed.), 1557112 Augustine, Saint, 78, 1767130 Autobiography With Letters (Phelps), 1527112, 1647249, 1797219 Avila, Spain, 2

Bacchae (Euripides), 143 Bailey, Cyril, 1707128, 1727:45 Belief, see Faith; Knowledge Bergson, Henri, 144 Berkeley, George, 69, 144 Berlin, Germany, 32 Borras, Josefina (mother of Santayana), 1-2, 65-66, 73, 76, 86 Boston Latin School, 2, 67 Boutroux, Emile, 140 Bradley, Francis Herbert, 1767735 Bridges, Robert, 3, 1577:22 "Brief History of M y Opinions" (Santayana): cited, 1547:1, 1567719, 1587228, 1627223, 163727240, 4 1 ; 1677:5, 1697:21, 1817119; quoted, 10, 30, 35, 60, 134; on Santayana's experience, 25, 63, 65, 66, 67, 69, 73, 75, 1697:18 Brimmer School, 2 Brownell, Baker, 7, 151728, 177727 Bryn M a w r College, 3, 1727:49 Buchler, Justus, 8, 1527210, 1577220 Bulletin de la société française de philosophie (periodical), 17972:8 Bush, Wendell T . , quoted, 17272^5 Butler, Richard, O.P., cited. 1*6, 151722, 1547226, 1587:1, 1597:3, 1697217, 175777724, 27; quoted, 1, 1537:15, 1817:17; study method o f , 69' Cambridge University, 3, 1617222 Canby, Henrv Seidel, cited, 166721 Candide (Voltaire), 146 Cardiff, Ira D., 1557212

216 Catholicism, 13,95, 144; Santayana's, 65, 66, 73-74, 88-89, 92t I03> 1 io> 148, 166724; see also Scholasticism Causes, final: essences and, 51, 52, 53; God and, 80-81, 84; Aristotelian, 1537215 Character and Opinion in the United States, with reminiscences of William fames and Josiah Royce and academic life in America (Santayana): cited, 68, 87, 1537219, 163727240, 41; 1647244, 1697218; quoted, 13, 70, 119, 173721, 1747218 Christianity: philosophy and, 21-22, 52-53, 71-72, 90; Faust and, 88; dogma of, 95-99, 100-102, 116, 132, 1817219; Greek, 100; see also Catholicism; Protestantism Clemens, Cyril, 103, 154722, 1757226 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, quoted, '9 Collingwood, R. G., 162727227, 29 Collins, James, 1637240 "Coming Philosophy, The" (Santayana), 1637232 Common Sense, 24, 42, 130-31 Comte, Auguste, 69 Concretions, 186725 Conservative Mind from Burke to Santayana, The (Kirk), 1547227 Cortina d'Ampezzo, Italy, 3 Cory, Daniel McGhie, 16, 138; cited, 69, 1567215, 1777239; quoted, 1657252, 1687214 Creation, 101 Critical Realism, 8, 158721 "Critical Writings of George Santayana, The" (Leavis), 167724 Criticism: of Santayana, 7-9, 37; Santayana's approach to, 12-15, 25, 32, 50-51, 87, 129, 1567215; language and, 27-28, 29; values and, 34-35, 36-38, 40-41; theory of knowledge in, 43; in Santayana's poetry, 46-47; imagination and, 87-88; Biblical, 98, 99-100, i i o - u , 1767235, 1807213; faith and, 119, 122; dogma of, 121 Critique of the Philosophy of George Santayana in the

INDEX Light ples,

of A

Thomistic (Kinney),

Princi1547225

Dante Alighieri, 155725, 1577222, 1817216 Datum, 8, 41; see also Essence, Fact Democritus, Santayana on, 8, 79, 80, 90, 126-27, 1707231, 1807212 Descartes, René, 50, 144, 1807212 Detachment: philosophical, 27, 3536, 77, 102, 118; Santayana's, 6566, 67-68, 71-72, 1697216; of Lucretius, 81; spirituality and, 97-98 Determinism, as predisposition, 12, 14; Spinozan, 85; see also Dogma, Necessity Dewey, John, 13, 1537220, 1837224 "Dewey's Naturalistic Metaphysics" (Santayana), 1537220 Dialogues in Limbo (Santayana): cited, 72, 79, 119, 1587228, 168729, 1747216, 1797215; quoted, 26, 99; Santayana on, 1527214, 154721, 1567213, 1707231, 17372724, 8 Dickinson, G. Lowes, 1757221 Diogenes, 35-36, 41 Dogma: of criticism, 25; as synonym for belief, 30, 41; definition of dogmatic, dogmatism, 121-22; see also Christianity Dominations and Powers (Santayana): cited, 57, 60, 120, 156727213, 18; 1577221, 159729, 1607210, 163727235, 40; 1647249, 17372723, 6; 1747216, 1767229, 177724, 180726, 1837230; quoted, 13, 67, 1627225, 1717235, 1737260, 1787212; Santayana on, 26, 1527214, 1687211; on reason, 51, 136; on naturalism, 93, 94, 106, 1637243 Domus Spinozana, 4, 151721 Ducasse, Curt J., 177725 Durant, Will, 9, 1797219 Duron, Jacques, 16, 69, 1547224; cited, 1687211, 1837223 Eclecticism, 20, 70-71, 1697216, 1767230 Edman, Irwin, cited, 68, 1587231, 168728, 1727254 "Education of a Puritan, The" (Canby), 166721

217

INDEX Egotism in German Philosophy (Santayana): cited, 103, 109, 163777738, 40; 178m 1; quoted, 36, 1 1 7 , 123, 1587727

Eliot, Charles William, 1 5 1 1 5 Eliot, Thomas Stearns, 18in 16 Emendatione lntellectus, De (Spinoza), 1727750

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 87, 1727757, 177777, 185774

Empedocles, 71 Epicurus, 81-82, 90, 126, 132 Epistemology: faith and, 43, 120; knowledge and, 43, 45; doctrine o f essence a n d , 46, 48-50, 5 9 - 6 1 ,

114, 135, 143; language and, 13536, 1837728; see also Values Epistola ad Memmius (Lucretius),

a n d , 56, 1 1 8 - 2 0 , 1 2 2 - 2 3 ; t e r m i n o l -

o g y and, 70-71, 88; Lucretius on,

81; supernaturalism and, 100, 107, 116; Christ and, n o - i i ; see also Preferences; Animal Faith Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 75 Final causes, see Causes, final Ford, Anne, 103, 1757725 Forum (periodical), 1727146 Freedom, 9, 88, 1737760

Genteel Tradition at Bay, (Santayana): cited, 93, 1637738,

64, 166772

Essence: defined, 8, 10, 25, 42, 45, 1 1 2 , 140, 142, 147-48; spirit and, 36, 44-45, 47, 130; intuition o f ,

4 1 , 42-43, 45, 56, 1 2 0 , 1 4 1 , 144-45, 149, 158777732, 2; 1657752, 177777;

materialism and, 43-44, 77, 94-95. 148, 149; epistemology and, 46, 48-50, 59-61, 1 1 4 - 1 5 , 1 3 5 , 1 4 3 ; final

causcs and, 51, 52, 53; eternity and, 101, 1757719; origins of the doctrine of, 144; Russell on, 151778

"Essence and Existence in George Santayana" (Sullivan, Jr.), 151778 Eternity, 101, 1757719 Ethics (Spinoza), 84, 85, 1687714; Introduction to (Santayana), 1647748, 1687712, 172777747-52, 186778

1647744,

168779,

The 118,

1697716;

quoted, 18, 107, 1567716 "George Santayana, Natural Historian of Symbolic Forms" (Aiken),

1717740

Essays on his Own Times (Coleridge), 1547727 Essays with a Purpose (Madariaga),

Euripides, 143 Evil, 101 Existence: described,

177775; science and, 49; nature

1837727

"George Santayana's Theory of Knowledge" (Ten Hoor), 1527:11 "German Philosophy and Politics" (Santayana), 1787711 Germany, Santayana in, 2, 32, 75, 166772

Gerrish, William Churchill, cited, 1697715

Gilbert, Katherine, 177727, 179723

God: anthropocentrism and, 5253; morality and, 58; final causes and, 80-81, 84; material nature of, 95, 100; as symbol, 95-96, 100

Goethe, Johann

Wolfgang

von,

Santayana on, 31, 75-76, 88

Greek philosophy, 3, 21, 52, 78-83; Santayana and, 125-26; Indian philosophy and, 1707731; see also individual philosophers, e.g., Aristotle Hague, T h e , 4, 151711

123,

Harnack, Adolph von, 98 Harvard University, 68, 73-74; professorship of Santayana, 2-3, 76,

Facts, see Materialism; Truth; Values, facts and Faith: essence and, 41-42, 44, 120, 141; knowledge and, 43, 1:3,

Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 95. 1567719 Hcinrich, Edith, 149 Hell. 80 Heraclitus, 1:6 Herbert Spencer Lecture, 4

119,

158772; contingency o f , 140, 143; appearances and, 1827720 Existentialism, 2 1 , 24, 154772

103, 147, 16977:7; H o u g h t o n brary, 1697723

Li-

2 I8 Hermit of Carmel and Other Poems, A (Santayana), quoted, 56. 93 History: of philosophy, 21-22, 24; religion and, 110-12, 130; defined, 113-14 Hobbes, Thomas, quoted, 48, '58"33 Hodgson, Shadworth H., 144, 185724 Homer, 1577122 H o w g a t e , G e o r g e W . , 16, 69, 1547723; cited, 1687713 Hume, David, 69, 1537121 Husserl, Edmund, 154712 H y d e Lectures, 3 Idea of Christ in the Gospels or God in Man: A Critical Essay, The (Santayana.): cited, 108, 174777)12, 16-18, 176777729, 35; 177777736, 37; 1797716; quoted, 14, 54, 102, 104, 109, 113, 133 Idea of Nature (The): A Study of Cosmology Through the Ages ( C o l l i n g w o o d ) , 1627727 Idealism: Santayana's, 8, 22, 26, 27, 46, 165775:; Santayana on, 21, 33, 51, 89, 115; morality and, 27, 33, 35, 180776; materialism and, 118; defined, 1587728 Ideals, see Idealism Ideas, as signs, 43; see also Values Illusion of brrmortality, The (Lamont), 1757720 Imagination: Santayana on, 26, 28, 30, 35, 72, 85, 86, 88, 143; role of, 37, 48, 134; Santavana's, 41, 65, 66, 67, 68 Immortality, 87, 101-102, 126; symbolism of, 97 Indian philosophy, 22, 102, 1707731 Interpretations of Poetry and Religion (Santayana): cited, 97, 107, 163777734, 38, 1697720, 1727757, 17 • >767729, 177777737, 38, 1797714, 1837130; quoted, 25, 26, 106, 1757728; Santayana on, 168/710 Intuition, see Essence, intuition of Iriarte, Joaquin, S.J., cited, 166772 is Immortality Desirable? (Dickinson), 1757221

INDEX Jackson, Henry, 3, 49, 1617122 James, Henry, 1697723 James, William, 2, 47, 155776, 1697)18; quoted, 6, 185774; influence of, 69, 73, 143-44 Jesus Christ: as symbol, 96, 97, 98, 173/78; as an historical figure, 111, 1767735 Johnson, Edith, 1727753 Judaism, 9:, 98, 111 Judgment, symbolism of, 97 Kant, Immanuel, 98, 144, 1537721, 1657752 King's College, Cambridge, 3 Kinney, Sister M . C y r i l E d w i n , O.P., Critique, 16, 1547725 Kirk, Russell, 1547727 Knowledge: faith and, 43, 123, 177775; truth and, 45, 59, 121, 1787712; language as, 49, 59-60; es ~ as illusion, 50, 134, 144-45; scnce, 149 LaFarge, John, S.J., 1757722 Lamont, Corliss, 1757720 Lamprecht, Sterling P., cited, 1627729, 177777; correspondence, 1527714, 1567719, 1837729 Language: Santayana on, 23-24, 2728, 32, 33, 51, 74, 76, 1627724, 1657752; philosophy and, 47, 13334, 135; knowledge and, 49, 5960, 1787712; history as, 113-14; religion and, 115; illusion and, 132, 135; epistemologv and, 155-36, 1837728; see also T e r m i n o l o g y Last Puritan: A Memoir in the Form of a Novel, The (Santayana), 1647751, 1797719; cited, 74, 91, 168779, 173773; quoted, 166774, 1697722 "Latent Idealism of a Materialist, T h e " (Randall), 152779 "Later Philosophy of M r . Santayana, T h e " ( C o r y ) , 1687714 Laws (Plato), 99 Lawton, George, 1567715 Leavis, Q . D., quoted, 166774 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Baron von, 49, 116, 140, 144, 146

INDEX Letters of George Santayana, The: cited, 15, 31, 41, 48. 72, 102, 138, 1547726, 1557712, 156777713, 15, 19, 163727231, 35, 37, 39; 167777, 1687211, 169777717, 23, 170777724, 31, 173775, 175727720, 23, 26, 176777731, 32, 34, 179722, 180775; q u o t e d , 9, 16, 7 1 , 1527714, 153727216, 17; 177772, 1837731, 185774; H a r v a r d r e s i g n a tion, 2; o n his style, 9, u - i z , 1837128; o n p h i l o s o p h i c a l systems, 10, 15, 26, 36, 125, 129, 154722; o n The Life of Reason, 16, 1547226; o n materialism, 27; o n t r u t h , 32, 48, 49, 108, 1 1 3 , 114, 161727217, 2021, 1817716; o n Spain, 64; o n C a t h o l i c i s m , 68, 103, 132, 166724, 1817719; on immortality, 87, 1807713; o n idealism, 89; o n s u p e r n a t u r a l i s m , 108; o n h i s t o r y , 1 1 4 15; o n animal faith, 118, 177725; o n essence, 1587232, 1607711; o n Last Puritan, 1647751; o n The Jesus Christ, 173728, 1747211, 1767735; o n his p o e m s , 184723 Letters of William James (Henry J a m e s , e d . ) , 1697223 Lévinas, E., 123 Life of Reason or the Phases of Human Progress, The (Santay a n a ) : cited, 16, 1537721, 1777739; S a n t a y a n a on, 28-29, 33. 34-35, 40, 77, 1 1 5 , 1567719, 16972:3, 180778, 1847733; D u r o n o n , 1687711, 1837723; J a m e s o n , 185774; Reason (1) in Common Sense, 56, 99, 109, 126, 1537720, 1567217, 1577121, 1587231, 17872779, 10; 18077776, 8; 18277:0, 186728; Reason (11) ir. Society, 1537720, 1577724, 1587733, 1617219, 180776; Reason (111) in Religion, 35, 91, 92, 100, 107, 130, 174777216, 18; 1757221, 176777729, 30; 177777736, 38; 181777714, 19; Reason (IV) in Art, 1627726, 1747718; Reason (K) in Science, 23. 25, 31, 53, 54, 107, 113, 121, 133, 16277:8, 1637742, 1647750, 1727756, 174727716, 17; 178778, 1797714, 1817718, 18677775, 8 Little C o m p a n y of M a r y , 3

219 "Living W i t h o u t T h i n k i n g " (Sant a y a n a ) , 155773 L o c k e , J o h n , 69, 145 Loisy, A l f r e d , 69, 111 L o t z e , R u d o l p h H e r m a n n , 88 " L o t z e ' s S v s t e m of P h i l o s o p h y " ( S a n t a y a n a ) , 1637740 Louisville Courier-Journal (newsp a p e r ) , 184721 Lowell, A b b o t t Lawrence, 2 Lucifer. A Theological Tragedy ( S a n t a y a n a ) , 1707225, 173778 L u c r e t i u s , 22, 78-83, 123, 126, 155725, 1727745; S p i n o z a a n d , 83-84, 8687, 89, 91, 1 1 5 , 148 L u t h e r , M a r t i n , 98 L y o n , R i c h a r d C., 173774 M a c C a r t h y , D e s m o n d , 173778 M a d a r i a g a , Salvador de, cited, 64, 166722 M a d r i d , Spain, 2, 64, 166722 Malade iviaginaire, Le ( M o l i è r e ) , 49, 1627727 Manner is Ordinary, The (LaF a r g e ) , 1757222 M a r i t a i n , J a c q u e s , 103 M a r l o w e , C h r i s t o p h e r , 88 M a r t i n d a l e , C . C., S.J., 147, 186776 M a r x , K a r l , 1637740 " M a r x i s t a n d Secular H u m a n i s m " ( C o l l i n s ) , 1637740 M a r y , V i r g i n , as s y m b o l , 97, 105, 1767235 M a t e r i a l i s m : of S a n t a y a n a , 8, 24, 25. 27. 44- J ' . 7J. 79. 82, 132-33, 148; n a t u r a l i s m a n d , 53-54, 55-56, 78, 1637743, 166772; essences a n d , 77. 94-95. '49; religion and, 94; G o d and, 95, 100; t h e s u p e r n a t ural a n d . 109, 1 1 8 ; f a i t h and, 1 1 8 20; d o g m a o f , 121, 122; m e t a p h y s ics a n d , 127; a p p e a r a n c e s a n d , 133, 1827720; see also M a t t e r M a t t e r : spirit a n d , 8, 94, 141 ; as essence, 43-44, 45, 54, 6 1 ; p s y c h e a n d , 47, 140-41, 145, 149-50; r e a son a n d , 126, 127; p r o p e r t i e s o f , 127-28, 148, 180779, M a r x o n , 1637740; see also M a t e r i a l i s m M e c h a n i s m , 126, 186725

220 "Memories and Faith" (Bush), 1727255 "Memories of King's College, Cambridge" (Santayana), cited, 174^15 "Memories of Santayana" (Butler), 1757224 Metanoia, 76-77, 80, 1707227 Metaphysics, 50-59, 125, 127, 140, 142, 1727254 Middle Span, The (Santayana): cited, 104, 1637239, 16672723, 4; 168727210, 12; 173722; on philosophic systems, 10, 25; on detachment, 77, 118; on reason, 79, 1577221; on natural religion, 133 Mill, John Stuart, 69 Miller, Dickinson S., cited, 1697223, 185724; quoted, 13, 1537219 Mind of Santayana, The (Butler), 151722, 1537215, 158721, 1757227, 1817217 "Mr. Santayana and William James" (Miller), 1537219 "Modern Materialist ( A ) : A Study of the Philosophy of George Santayana" (Murray), 15 37221, 166724, 1747213, 177727 Moliere, 50, 146, 1627227 Moody, Helen Wills, 1797219 Moore, G . E., 144 Moral Philosophy of Santayana, The (Munitz), 1587229 Morality: Spinozan, 9, 38, 57, 58, 85-86, 101, 126; ideals and, 27, 33, 35, 180726; orthodoxy and, 8283; materialism and, 121 Morison, S. E., cited, 1757222 Munitz, Milton K., cited, 1587229 Munsterberg, Margaret, cited, 166724 Murray, D. L., cited, 1537221, 166724, 1747213, 177727 Murry, J. Middleton, 1767231 My Host The World (Santayana): cited, 65, 66, 76-77, 91, 102, 103, 1607213, 1617222, 16672724, 6; 169727218, 19, 20; 170727225, 27; 173727259, 60; 173723; on truth, 11, 24, 135; on imagination, 67, 72; on philosophic systems, 71; on religion, 74, 91, 92, 106

INDEX Mysticism, 9, 136, 177727 Myth: Greek, 21, 52, 79; philosophic method and, 23, 25, 74; science and, 48; final causes as, 51-52 Naturalism: of Santayana, 8, 24-25, 32, 46-47, 149, 1757223; supernaturalism and, 22, 55, 92, 107-108, 118, 1727255; Greek, 22, 126; materialism and, 53-54, 55-56, 78, 1637243, 166722; of Lucretius, 7883; Catholicism and, 95, 144; the spirit and, 118-20; dogma of, 121, 122-23; pessimism of, 129, 181727215, 16; subjectivity in, 134; see also Nature "Naturalism and Agnosticism in Santayana" (Lamprecht), 1567219, 1627229 Nature: unification of, 8, 39, 47; morality and, 27; philosophy and, 32, 40, 92-93; Santayana's treatment of, 79-80, 107, 1527214, 1567219; the Virgin Mary as, 97; see also Naturalism Necessity, 9, 61; see also Determinism Neo-Platonism, 87 Neo-realism, 41 Newton, Isaac, 1807212 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 123 Nominalism, 49, 55; see also Language; Platonism; Terminology

Obiter Scripta: Lectures, Essays and Reviews (Santayana): cited, 48, 93, 1577223, 159727, 160727210, 12; 163727240, 42; 1747218, 17772721, 3; 179727215, 19; on the secret philosophy, 1, 47; on philosophic systems, 16, 23, 25-26, 52, 121, 1577225; on detachment, 35 O'Connor, Terence, O.S.M., 139, 146-50 O'Neill, George, S.J., 179723 "One Santayana or T w o ? " (Buchler), 1527210, 1577220 "On the Unity of M y Earlier and Later Philosophy" (Santayana's

22 1

INDEX P r e f a c e to V o l u m e V I I o f

Works

of

George

The

Santayana,

Triton Edition), 77, 88, 91, 1727245, 1797114 O r t e g a y G a s s e t , J o s é , 166712 O r t h o d o x y , 27, 79, 9 1 - 9 2 , 99, 125; o f Santayana, 31, 47, 48, 83, 8 6 87,89

Paganism, 1 0 2 ; see also G r e e k philosophy; Lucrctius Paine, T h o m a s , 26 P a l m e r , G e o r g e H e r b e r t , 2, 48, 74, 134, 1697123 Parmenides ( P l a t o ) , 49, 144 P e r r y , R a l p h B a r t o n , 185724

Persons

and

Places:

The

Back-

ground of My Life (Santay a n a ) : c i t e d , 3 1 , 6 6 , 154721, 1577224, 1587233, 761727216, 19; 1697221, 170727224, 29, 30; 1737259, 173723; 1767234, 177723, 1827221; o n S a n t a yana's e x p e r i e n c e , 10, 63, 6 7 - 6 8 , 78, 82-83, >48, 16772724, 6; 16872728, 1 1 ; 169/218; o n p h i l o s o p h i c syst e m , 38, 39, 59; o n nature, 7 9 - 8 0 ; on religion, 9 1 , 104 Perspectives, 2 3 ; defined, 159715; see also V a l u e s Phaedo ( P l a t o ) , 22

Phaenomenologie

des

Geistes

( H e g e l ) , 1567219 Phelps, W i l l i a m L y o n : q u o t e d , 58, 1527112; c o r r e s p o n d e n c e , 1687111, 1797219 Phidias, 3 2 - 3 3 , 3 5 - 3 6 Philosophical Essays (Collingw o o d , e d . ) , 16271:9 " P h i l o s o p h i c a l I n s t r u c t i o n in H a r vard U n i v e r s i t y " ( R a n d ) , 1697217 Philosophy, Santayana's approach to, 20-39; see also specific aspects, e.g., N a t u r a l i s m "Philosophy as a Fine Art" (Dewey),

Philosophy

1837224

of George

Santayana,

The ( S c h i l p p , ed.) : c i t e d , 44, 57, 58, 117, 121, 151728, 1527213, 15972724, 5; 1627225, 163727233, 34, 36; 167725, 1697117, 1747210, 177712, 178/27210, 12; S a n t a y a n a ' s self-

estimates in, 5, 13, 25, 33, 38, 42, 1 3 3 ; b i o g r a p h i c a l r e f e r e n c e s in, 64, 65, 70

Philosophy

of Santayana, The (Ed-

m a n , e d . ) , 1547226, 1567219, 1587131, 168718

P l a t o , 3, 9, 49; Santayana o n , 22, 24, 99, 144, 145, 1697115, 1707125, 180726, 1817114, >86715 P l a t o n i s m , 8, 52, 53, 140, 144, 1707125, 186715; see also Neoplatonism; P l a t o

Platonism

and

the Spiritual

Life

by the Author

and

( S a n t a y a n a ) : c i t e d , 133, 159729, 1607210, 1647250; q u o t e d , 12, 36, 56, n o , 132 Plotinus, 87

Poems: Selected

Revised (Santayana): cited, 1557210, 1707227, 184722; o n nature, 24, 46-47, 5 5 - 5 6 ; on materialism, 68; o n religion, 7 2 - 7 3 , 1 0 5 ; p r e f ace, 1607114 P o e t r y : philosophical f u n c t i o n o f , 2 9 - 3 0 , 35, 1547122, 160/714; o f S a n t a y a n a , 46-47, 63, 7 2 - 7 3 , 93, 104, 1607114, 1707125, 1757128; religion and, 74, 75, 80, 88, 106, 1 1 5 , 148, 1687210 " P o e t r y , R e l i g i o n and P r o f e s s o r S a n t a v a n a " ( O ' N e i l l ) , 179/13 Poet's Testament, The (Santay a n a ) : cited, 9 6 - 9 7 ; q u o t e d , 93-94, 104, 1 1 8 P o t t e r , W a r w i c k , 76, 1707126 P r e f e r e n c e s : values and, 26, 37, 38, 40, 47, 104, 122, 177/12; i n t e r p r e tation and, 32, 34, 144; t r u t h and, 46, 1 1 2 - 1 3 ; m o r a l i t y and. 5 6 - 5 7 ; c r i t i c i s m and, 70, 87; religion and, 78, 88, 90, 106, 166/14; philos o p h i c goals and, 131, 136 '"Present Position o f the R o m a n Catholic Church, T h e " (Santay a n a ) : cited, 103; q u o t e d , 13, 65, 1 1 0 , 1537118, 166/13 Principles of Psychology (William J a m e s ) , 155716, 185714 P r o p h e c y , 97 P r o t a g o r a s , 52 Protestantism, 13, 68, 16672712, 4

87,

103,

222 Proust and Santayana: The Aesthetic Way of Life (Ames), 1527214, 1617215, 1687210 Psyche: doctrine of, 8, 12, 159M5, 1657252, 1787212; essence and, 45; matter and, 47, 81, 140-41, 145, 149-50; spirit and, 97, 109, 126, 14'. >49 Psychology, n o , 112, 115, 130, 141-42, 180724 Psychology from the Standpoint of a Behaviourist (Watson), 155723 Rand, Benjamin, 1697217 Reality, defined, 1827220; see also Existence; Truth Realms of Being (Santayana): cited, 92, 133, 17372724, 7, 8; 17472729, 16, 17; 1767229, 177727237, 4, 7; 179721, 18072727, 10-12; 181727217, 18; 1827220; doctrine of essence in, 8, 42, 43, 45, 46, 92, 151728, 158727228, 30, 32; 15972725, 8, 9; 160727210-13, 1617218, 162727223, 25, 26, 28; 1657252, 1757219, 18372722426; as a system of philosophy, 10, 22, 40, 53, 77, 92, 98, 104, 125, 163727230, 37, 40; on the psyche, 12, 14, 57, 164727246, 47; on truth, 2324, 135, 1577224, 186728; on poetry, 29-30; on terminology, 32, 60, 1657252; on reason, 51-52, 1567218; on matter, 54-55, 61, 95, 109, 118, 180729, 185724; on existence, 60, 158722; on atheism, 90, 103; on dogma, 96, 97, 116; on knowledge, 123; on philosophic goals, 124, 127, 128, 131, 132; Santayana on, 1527214, 1847233; on Protestantism, 166724; o n eclecticism, 1697216 Reason: philosophical goals and, 28, 79, 81, 17872728, 9; spirit and, 29, 35, 1577221; imagination and, 37, 48, 85; nature and, 40, 92-93, 1567219; irrationality and, 120, 121-22, 136, 177727; matter and, 126, 127 Relativity, of knowledge and morals, 9, 46, 48, 57, 121, 1787212

INDEX Religion, 90-116; metaphysics and, 52-59, 1727254; of Santayana, 6566, 67, 78, 88-89, 94, " 8 ; poetry and, 74, 75, 80, 88, 106, 115, 148, 1687210; Lucretius on, 78, 81; Spinoza and, 84-85, 86-87; truth and, 130; science and, 1707231; see also Catholicism; Christianity; Protestantism; and see specific aspects of religious philosophy, e.g., Faith Renan, Ernest, 69, i n , 1727248 "Reply to Father Munson's Questions" (Santayana), 138 Rerum Natura, De (Lucretius): cited, 80, 81, 84, 1707228, 17172723 239, 41; 172727242, 44; quoted, 78, 81 Reus de Santayana, Agustín (father of Santayana), 2, 65, 76 Revelation, 96, 100, 108, 135 Roman philosophy, see Lucretius Rome, 3, 139, 1757222 Royce, Josiah, 2, 1827221; Santayana on, 13, 73-74, 1697218 Russell, Bertrand, 6, 144, 1627229, 173728; quoted, 151728, 1527213 Santayana, George: biographical sketch, 1-3; lectures of, 1, 3, 4, 151721; status of, as a philosopher, 1, 4-7, 15, 19, 26, 38, 59, 61, 90-91, 109, 116, 125, 130-31, 133-34, 137179723; education of, 2, 67-68, 69, 73-74, 75, 166722; most popular works listed, 3-4; childhood of, 63-68; death of, 103; O'Connor on the old age of, 139, 146, 186727; see also titles of specific works "Santayana at Cambridge" (Munsterberg), 166724 "Santayana: Bostonian" (Ford), 1757225 "Santayana, Then and Now" (Lamprecht), 177727, 1837229 "Santayana y Ortega, Frente a Frente" (Iriarte), 166722 "Santayana's Doctrine of Aesthetic Expression" (Gilbert), 177727, 179723 "Santayana's Philosophical Inheritance" (Sullivan, Jr.), 1687210

INDEX

223

Scepticism and Animal Faith: Introduction to a System (Santayana): cited, 1 1 9 , 1 5 9 7 7 7 2 4 , 5 , 7 , 9 ; 1 6 1 7 1 1 6 ,

1617723,

1767233,

177*25,

1537221; 158722; 1627124, 43,

1647247,

179727213,

1;

quoted, 1 5 , 2 1 , 3 8 , 1 2 4 , on existence, 2 7 , 6 0 , on reason, 3 1 , 4 9 - 5 0 , 1 6 4 7 2 5 1 , 1 7 7 7 2 7 ; on essence,

1847233;

4 1 ,

1637230,

45,

1757219,

1827220;

o n

l a n -

guage, j 1, 5 2 , 1 6 5 7 2 5 2 ; on matter, 54. i " Schilpp, Paul Arthur, 1 7 4 7 2 1 0 ; see also Philosophy of George Santayana, The (Schilpp, ed.) Scholasticism: Santayana on, 21, 99, 121; of Santayana, 70, 1687214, 1697217; immortality and, 1 0 2 ; essence in, 1 4 2 , 1 4 7 - 4 8 , 183777123,

2 6

Schopenhauer, Arthur, 7 5 , 1 6 8 7 2 1 1 Science: philosophical goals and, 2 8 - 2 9 , 53> 80, 1 1 5 ; philosophical function of, 3 0 - 3 1 , 3 5 , 4 8 - 4 9 , 1 2 7 , 140; natural and ideal, 1 5 7 7 2 2 5 ; Protestantism and, 1 6 6 7 2 4 ; religion and, 1 7 0 7 2 3 1 "Search for the True Plato, The" (Santayana), cited, ¡5Sn7< J637733,

1747214

"Secret of Aristotle, The" (Santayana), 1707231 Seneca, 1 8 1 7 2 1 6 Sensation: essence and, 4 2 , 1 8 2 7 2 2 0 ; knowledge and, 1 4 4 - 4 5 Sense of Beauty, Being the Outlines of Aesthetic Theory, The (Santayana), 7 7 , 1 6 4 7 2 4 5 Shakespeare, YViliiam, 1 8 1 7 2 1 6 Sin, 52, 9 7 Singer, Irving, 1 6 6 7 2 4 , 1 7 9 7 2 1 7 Smith, Logan Pearsall, 11, 1 5 4 7 2 2 6 , 1567219

Socrates, 1 3 , 2 2 , 3 4 , 4 9 , 1 4 4 , 1 5 4 7 2 1 , 1707231 Soliloquies in England and Later Soliloquies (Santayana): cited, 88, 99-100, 158772-, '59777, 163777730, 35; 1697218, 17377723, 4; 1747716, 1797216, 18272:2; quoted, 99, 115, 1537717, 186775; on philosophic truth, 21, 22, 1607211,

on spirituality, 3 5 ; on natural religion, 56, 85, 86 Solipsism, 74, 75, 88, 144 Some Turns of Thought in Modern Philosophy (Santayana): cited, 9 7 , 1 3 7 , 1 5 9 7 7 9 , 166724, 1747217, 179722, 1827722; quoted, 186725;

18,

9 9

Sonnets and Other Verses (Santayana), cited, 1 7 5 7 2 2 8 Spain, 3 , 6 4 - 6 6 , 1 6 6 7 2 2 Spencer, Herbert, 82 "Spengler" (Santayana), cited, 113, 1557711 Spinoza, Baruch, 69, 118, 123, 144, 1 8 0 7 1 4 ; moral philosophy of, 9 , 3 8 , 57, 58, 8 5 - 8 6 , 1 0 1 , 126; Lucretius a n d ,

8 3 - 8 4 ,

8 6 - 8 7 ,

89,

91,

1 1 5 ,

148

Spinoza Tercentenary, 4 Spirit: substance and, 8 , 4 4 - 4 5 , 5 4 , 94, 141; reason and, 29, 35, 1 5 7 7 2 2 1 ; essence and, 3 6 , 4 4 - 4 5 , 47, 130: religion and, 92, 97, 116, 123, 1747210; Christ as symbol of, 9 7 , 98, 173728; psyche and, 9 7 , 1 0 9 , 126, 141, 149; naturalism and, 11820

Spirituality, see Spirit Statius, Publius Papinius, 100 Story of Philosophy, The (Durant), 1 5 2 7 2 1 2 Strong, Charles Augustus, 2, 1 8 1 7 2 1 5 ; cited, 9 "Study of Santavana with Some Remarks on Critical Realism" (Cory), 1 6 5 7 7 5 2 Sturgis, George, 2 Sturgis de Sastre, Susana (sister of Santayana), 1 5 2 7 2 1 4 ; influence 0 1 1 Santayana, 64, 66, 73, 76, 86, 92, 1 4 8

Subjectivity, 21, 22, 80, 134 Substance, 1 2 7 - 2 8 ; see also Matter Sullivan, Celestine J., Jr., quoted, 151728,

1687210

22,

92,

Summa Theologica (Thomas Aquinas), 1 2 4 , 1 6 8 7 2 1 4 Supernaturalism: naturalism and, 55,

1 0 7 - 1 0 8 ,

1 1 8 ,

1727255;

morality and, 5 7 - 5 8 ; faith and, 100, 107, 116; materialism and, 109,

1 1 8

INDEX

224 Symbolism, in Christian dogma, 95¡0:, 132, 181/119; s e e a ^ s o Language System, philosophic: Santayana on, 10, 22-23, 2 5- 33' 4°> ®3< 139, 1587226; philosophic goals and, 26, 124; of Santayana, 40-62, 88, 92, 122-23, 124-37

1617217; knowledge and, 43, 45, 59, 121, 1787212; preferences and, 46, 112-13; Christian dogma and, 96; religion and, 130; definitions of, 148, 186228 " T w o American Philosophers: W i l liam James and Josiah Royce" (Santayana), 1567214

Teleology, 52, 53; see also Causes, final Ten Hoor, Marten, quoted, 1527111 Terminology: of Santayana, 10-11, 28, 29, 30-31, 34, 45-46, 55, 88, 99, 120-21, 129, 149, 177711, 186775; in doctrine of essence, 45, 60, 1597:725, 8; pictorial space and sentimental time, 128, 1657152; eclectic, 70-71; Spinoz.an, 84; of naturalism, 108; of eternity, 1757219; common sense, 131 Thales, 79 Theology, 32, 53, 99, 1817714; Christian dogma, 95-100 Thomas Aquinas, Saint: Santayana and, 26, 69, 70-71, 124, 1687214, '69/217, 1837223 Thought and Character of Willia?n James—As Revealed in Unpublished Correspondence and Notes (Perry, ed.), 151*25, 155726, 185724 Three Philosophical Poets: Lucretius, Dante, Goethe: cited, 78, 100, 108, 155724, 9; 163727234, 43; 1707229, 172727243, 56; 174717216, 18; 1767232, 1777236, 1792213; on naturalism, 22, 82; on philosophic goals, 30, 31, 36; on Faust, 88; on truth, 1582226 "Three Proofs of Realism" (Santayana), quoted, 159725 Translations, of Santayana's works,

"Ultimate Religion" (Santayana), 1, 151721 Unamuno, Miguel de, 166722 Unrealists, The (Wickham), 151726

4

Trinity, The, 95-96 Triton Edition, see Works of George Santayana, Triton Edition Trope, defined, 140, i59n5 Truth: philosophy's relation to, 14, 24, 30, 32, 48, 49, 108, 135,

Values: facts and, 8, 11-12, 27-28, 39, 42, 51-52, 57, 75, 85, 86, 94, 112, 121, 186725; preference and, 26, 37, 38, 40, 47, 122, 177722; criticism and, 34-35, 36-38, 41; spirit and, 44-45; defined, 56 Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro), 117, 1577222 Voltaire, 146 Walker Fellowship, 2 Ward, F. Champion, 1757223 Watson, John B., 155723 Whitehead, Alfred North, 114 Wickham, Harvey, cited, 151716; quoted, 7 Winds of Doctrine: Studies in Contemporary Opinion (Santayana): cited, 70, 76, 1577223, 1587226, 1617218, 1627226, 1647246, 168729, 1697219, 1747218, 1762230, 1777237, 1797214, 1822222; quoted, 99, 121, 172/257; on philosophic system, 33, 90, 98, 116 Works of George Santayana, Triton Edition: Preface to Volume I, 28, 1832232, 1847233; Preface to Volume VII, 39, 77, 78, 80, 88, 91. 1727245, 1792214 World as Will and Idea, The (Schopenhauer), 1687211 " W o r l d of George Santayana, The'' (Singer), 166724 1697222 Yolton, John W . , 1567213, 180725 "Zenith as Ideal, T h e " 151227

(Ames),