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VICTORIES OF SCIENCE
IN ITS
WARFARE WITH SUPERSTITION.
•
’ *
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE
SOCIETY,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 20th FEBRUARY, 1881,
2U■
BY
A. ELLEY
FINCH.
j'lwdu* 1
i-niiHfirhi
-sawi)
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1881..
PRICE THREEPENCE.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and to
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in their bearing upon the improvement and social well-being of
mankind.
PRESIDENT.
W. B. Carpenter, Esq., C.B., LL.D., M.D., F.R.S., &c.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
Professor Alexander
Bain.
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• .
’9 f
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�SYLLABUS.
Vast number, variety, and vacillation of Religious Beliefs, pre
sented to us by the history of the Human Race.
Distribution amongst mankind of the eight great Theologies
(book-religions) of the present day, viz., Zoroastrianism—
Brahmanism—Buddhism—Confucianism —Tao-ism—Mosaism—
Christianism—Mahommedanism.
No generally acknowledged standard of Theological truth,
and why.
Theology explained as a human (logical) system, based upon
the blending of Religion with Superstition.
Religion as defined by Herbert Spencer, the late Lord Amberley,
and Dr. James Martineau.
Superstition defined as credulity concerning manifestations
of the Supernatural inconsistent with the experienced order and
veracity of Reason and Nature.
Science explained as generalized human knowledge of Natural
Phenomena.
The criticism of Science purifies Theology by purging it of
Superstitions, thereby compelling it to undergo transmutations
corresponding to the progress of human intelligence.
Illustrations from the conflict of Science with the following
Superstitions:—
1. The relative magnitude, flat form, and immobility of the
Earth. (Conflict with Astronomical Science.)
2. The six days creation of the world 6,000 years ago.
(Conflict with Geological Science.)
3. The government of human life by Special Providence.
(Conflict with Physical Science.)
4. The Theological theory of disease, involving miracle-cure,
relic-cure, prayer-cure, &c. (Cwflict with Sanitary
Science.)
5. Anthropomorphic conceptions of the Nature, Attributes,
and Will of Deity. (Conflict with Mental and Mol'd
Science.)
Probability that popular Theologies are still saturated with
Superstitions (e.g., belief in the objective efficacy of sacerdotal
supplications, humiliations, and asceticisms, supernatural revela
tions, and exclusive salvations) which the expansion of Science
must eventually explode.
Summary of evils of life inflicted by Superstition, and ameli
orations of human well-being achieved by Science, showing that
the increase of Health, Happiness, and the Moral Virtues is
coincident with the decline of Superstition and the advancement
of Science.
The debt Religion owes to Science.
�THE VICTORIES OF SCIENCE
IN ITS
WARFARE WITH SUPERSTITION.
HE modern student 'of Universal History, seeking
T to enlarge and generalize his conception of human
nature by the contemplation of the life of man in almost
every discovered clime, and throughout the ages of
recorded time, finds himself at the confluence of the
greatest number of streams of knowledge that have ever
been found flowing and converging together; greatly
embarrassed therefore, not to say overwhelmed, by the
multiplicity and diversity of his materials. .
Even limiting his research to that emotional and
imaginative yet transcendently interesting aspect of the
human mind presented by religious phenomena, he
quickly discovers that he is surrounded by a vast number,
variety, and almost incessant fluctuation of Beliefs con
cerning the supernatural, that have everywhere been
found more or less prevailing from the earliest dawn of
authentic history.
On the one hand, it is remarkable that no people, or
trace of a people, has hitherto been discovered absolutely
destitute of some of the ultimate elements or sentiments
of Beligion, Travellers and thinkers entertaining diverse
views on historical, political, and social questions, who
have made the early history of man, or his most savage
condition subjects of careful study, are really agreed on
this fundamental point.
On the other hand, the most civilized and polished
nations on the fa,ce of the globe have exhibited, and still
�6
The Victories of Science in its
exhibit almost endless differences, divisions, and distinc
tions in their theological creeds, rites, and ceremonies.
The time now at our disposal would not suffice for
the slightest allusion to the numerous Religions or
Mythologies of even the chief Nations of the ancient
world. Babylonians, Assyrians, Phoenicians, Egyptians,
Arabians (before conversion), Greeks, Romans, various
Teuton, Celtic, and Sclavonic Nations, the Astecs of
Mexico, the Incas of Peru—all having their indigenous
and various ways of regarding and. worshipping the
supernatural—must now be passed by, in order that I
may concentrate some general observations, suggested by
so endless a variety of supernatural beliefs, upon those
great Theologies or book-religions which constitute the
religious faiths of the present inhabitants of our globe—
viz.—(taking them in the order of their antiquity)—
Zoroastrianism, with its sacred Zend-Avesta, the religion
of the Parsees, descendants of the ancient Persians—
Brahmanism and Buddhism, with their sacred Vedas and
Tripitaka, the chief religions of the inhabitants of the
great Indian Peninsula.— Confucianism and Tao-ism
with their sacred books of Kings and Tad-te-King, the
religions of the Chinese — Mosaism with the Hebrew
Scriptures, the religion of the Jews—Christianity with
the New Testament, the religion of modem Europeans
and Americans—and Mahommedanism, with its sacred
volume the Koran, the religion of the Turks and
Arabians, and other considerable peoples in Asia.
The numbers of the respective members of these
several faiths, as given in Johnston’s Physical Atlas,
may be summed up thus—assuming the entire population
of the earth at 1,000 millions, the Christians constitute
340 millions, the Buddhists 300 millions, the Brahmins
130 millions, the Mahommedans 124 millions, the Jews
6 millions, and all other religions 100 millions. A some
�Warfare' with Superstition.
7
what different proportion is cited by Professor Max
Muller from the geography of Berghaus; where the
Buddhists are stated to constitute 31 per cent, of the
entire population of the globe, the Christians 30 per
cent., the Mahommedans 15 per cent., the Brahmins
13 per cent, the Jews a fraction of 3, and all other
religions 8 per cent. These different estimates call of
course be only roughly approximate, but either is
sufficiently near for illustrating our present purpose.
If we looked somewhat closer we should find that
these several religious faiths are mostly subdivided in
ternally into numerous conflicting sects. Christianity,
the religion of the most intellectual and cultured peoples
in existence, is almost infinitely so divided. In Pro
fessor Schaff’s comprehensive and learned work upon
‘ The Creeds of Christendom ’ we are furnished with the
literal texts of nearly 100 distinct creeds, confessions,
articles and formularies of faith of the almost endless
denominations among which dogmatic Christianity has
now become dispersed.
i“
When the mind is thus brought into the simultaneous
presence of the irreconcilable dogmas of the numerous
and conflicting theological faiths, all devoutly believed
in by their respective worshippers, it is difficult to
conceive how any one of them can be considered as
constituting a supernatural universal scheme necessary
for the Salvation of Mankind, seeing th^it it has not,
after upwards of 1,800 years, been believed in, or even
sb much as heard of by more than about a third part
of the great human race.
In view of such manifold differences of theological
belief as a simple comparison of creeds discloses, it is
almost obvious to observe that there can be no generally
acknowledged standard or infallible test of theological
truth. To use the words of a late accomplished historian—-
�8
The Victories of Science in its
Henry Thomas Buckle—“ Theological systems are sub
jects upon which different persons and different nations,
equally honest, equally enlightened, and equally com
petent, have entertained and still entertain the most
different opinions, which they advocate with the greatest
confidence, and support by arguments perfectly satis
factory to themselves, but contemptuously rejected by
their opponents.”
It is so very difficult to place oneself at the point of
view of any religion save our own that we invariably
hear with amazement the arguments or evidence adduced
by the advocates of other religions. Dr. Sprenger, in
the course of a theological discussion, was seriously
asked by a Mussulman how he could possibly disbelieve
the religion of Islam, seeing that Mahomet’s name was
written on the gates of Paradise I and Dr. Morell, in his
thoughtful work on “ The Philosophy of Religion,” relates
the following authentic incident. A distinguished friend
of his in the East had been arguing for some time with
a Mahommedan upon the evidences of Christianity, and
apparently with some success. At length the Mahom
medan, who had been listening attentively, exclaimed—
“ I tell you what it is, Rajah. You Franks are very clever
people; God has given you the power to make ships and
houses and penknives, and to do a great many wonderful
things, but he has granted to us what he has denied to
you—the knowledge of the true Religion.”
The philosopher, though he is confident that all theo
logical systems cannot be wholly true, yet feels that in
the search after truth it must be possible, however
difficult, to arrive at some explanation that may seem
to reconcile the existence of so many divergent faiths;
and if we look a little carefully into the constituents
of theology we may I think discover a clue to the desired
solution. Now we find on examination of any theology
�Warfare with Superstition.
9
or book-religion that it essentially consists of a body of
connected propositions, logically deduced by the human
mind from certain assumed to be inspired writings.
So long then as to err is human, and man remains
short of being infallible, it is clear that such a system of
knowledge must contain some amount of error, and we
may therefore assert with tolerable accuracy, that every
theology the world has seen will be found on analysis to
be compounded of two elements—viz., a germ or sub
stratum of probable truth, and a superstructure or ad
mixture of positive error. The substratum of truth must
ultimately be the same in all theologies, but their several
superstructures of error will be found to vary; partly in
accordance with difference of climate and other geogra
phical circumstances ; partly on account of the differing
race or genius of the peoples, and their stage of civilization,
amongst whom the various theologies have respectively
arisen, or by whom they have since been adopted; and
partly from the dissimilar mental idiosyncracies of their
respective founders or principal expositors.
For the purpose of our argument this afternoon, we
may conveniently designate the substratum of truth as
Religion, and the superstructure of error as Superstition.
Now, keeping this simple distinction clearly in view, we
shall find that notwithstanding the abuse and vituperation
which the Religious World (as it is phrased), have so
incessantly heaped upon Science and its professors, men
of science, whose noble purpose ever is simply to arrive
at truth, and who, for that end, would impress on us the
duty of enquiry, and the folly of credulity, have in reality
never attacked Religion at all, but that in their discoveries
and contentions for the purpose of enabling truth to pre
vail, they have only been attacking or unmasking the
falsehood and error that are ever found lurking in the
guise of Superstition. Superstition—that incubus upon
�IO
The Victories of Science in its
the human mind, whose malediction was so eloquently
pronounced by Buckle, who declared that against the
vitality of that dark and ill-omened principle there was
only one weapon, and that weapon was Science.
I will now define more exactly what we should under
stand by the terms Religion and Superstition, in connection
with the present discourse.
Religion, whatever other quality we claim for it, must
certainly be regarded as true. Its intellectual meaning
then must be strictly limited to assertions that cannot be
contradicted by the discoveries of Science now or hereafter,
or by the truly religious assumption of any theology
whatever; for religious and scientific truth must ever be
one. In reference to this its fundamental requisite, we
find that Religion has been defined by many thoughtful
minds. Thus, our profound philosopher Herbert Spencer
has described it as “ our consciousness of an Inscrutable
Power or Cause manifested to us through all phenomena,
but whose nature transcends intuition, and is beyond
imagination.” The late lamented Lord Amberley, in his
exhaustive “ Analysis of Religious Belief,” describes Re
ligion as ‘ an abstract indefinable pervading sentiment
corresponding to the relation subsisting between the
hyperphysical (or supernatural) power in the Universe,
and the hyperphysical entity in Man.” Dr. James
Martineau, one of the most highly cultured and liberalminded of our theologians, has defined or distinguished
Religion and Science thus—“Science discloses the method
of the World, Religion its cause, and there is no conflict
between them, except when either forgets its ignorance of
what the other alone can know.”
Dr. Martineau however does not leave his definition
there. He boldly ventures into the region of assumptions,
and affirms “that the universe which includes us and folds
us round is the life-dwelling of an Eternal Mind ; that the
�Warfare with Superstition.
•
11
world of our abode is the scene of a moral government
incipient but not yet complete; and that the upper zones
of human affection above the clouds of self and passion
raise us into the sphere of a Divine Communion.” These
three assumptions he considers to be independent of any
possible result of the natural sciences.
Now let us turn to the consideration of what we are
to understand by the term Superstition. Here we have
to deal with something that should be regarded as the
opposite of Religion, for it is something, which taking its
rise from the faculty of fear or dread of the unknown,
imaginatively figures to itself the features of some super
natural or super-human power which is manifested in
ways that are inconsistent with our knowledge of the
established order of nature and the veracity of human
reason; based as such knowledge is on the verified dis
coveries of science and on the uniformity and analogy of
invariable human experience. Superstition then is that
which assumes thus to know and to describe the super
natural. But what, we may ask, is the supernatural ?
It was well argued by the sublime philosopher Spinoza
(whose noble moral life, and subtle thoughts have lately
been so powerfully portrayed by the pen of our good
friend and lecturer Frederick Pollock) that “ we cannot
pretend to determine the boundary between the natural
and the supernatural until the whole of nature shall be
open to our knowledge,” and the late Oxford professor,
Baden Powell, in his striking Essay on the Order of
Nature has remarked, and in approval of this acute
observation of Spinoza, that the supernatural can really
never be a matter of science or knowledge at all, for
the moment it is brought within the cognizance of
reason it ceases to be supernatural; and he affirms that
all assumed knowledge of the supernatural is the off-
�12
.
The Victones of Science in its
spring of ignorance, and the parent of superstition and
idolatry.
Now let us briefly consider what, in connection with
our subject, we should understand by the term Science.
Science you know does not pretend to deal with the
supernatural. Its views and its researches are limited
entirely to Nature. The natural phenomena, matter,
force, and energy are its sources of knowledge, whilst
its organon of induction, or methods of investigation
subordinate the suggestions of the imagination and the
emotions to the dictates of Beason and the evidence
of Nature — Science then simply signifies methodized
or reasoned knowledge of the experienced course of
Nature, i.e. those invariable co-existences and successions
of phenomena — which the human mind discovers by
accurate observation and reflection, and then generalizes
as laws of Nature or unalterable rules constituting the
actual or ultimate government of the course of our
lives. In an abstract sense these laws, being inferences
drawn by the human mind from the observed uniformity
of Nature, may be said to possess in themselves no
governing power ; and that the force we seem to observe
in natural law may in reality be a force behind Nature.
This criticism many of you may remember was most
ably and lucidly submitted to us by our respected Presi
dent Dr. Carpenter in the opening lecture of this year.
But the practical danger of pressing this metaphysical
assumption of some recondite force, of which Science
knows and can know nothing, appears to be this, that it
has a manifest tendency to cause us to retrogade from
Science back to Superstition, for the mystery it involves
inevitably allures the mind to disregard the clearly
observed Law, and to make its appeal to the force or
power assumed to exist behind the law.
�Warfare with Superstition.
13
Now, so far as scientific knowledge extends, the exis
tence of any such force has nowhere been proved.
Natural law is apparently universal and ultimate. “ The
growing belief” observes Herbert Spencer “in the uni
versality of law is so conspicuous to cultivated minds as
scarcely to need illustration, but,” (he shrewdly adds,)
“ Though the fact is sufficiently familiar, the philosophy
of the fact is not so.” “ A natural philosopher,” (says
Professor Jowett) “ capable of seeing creation with a real
scientific insight, would behold the reign of law every
where ; one and continuous in all the different spheres
of knowledge, in all the different realms of Nature,
throughout all time, and over all space.” “ And,” (says
Dr. Carpenter, referring for instance to the law of gravi
tation) “ we feel an assurance of its truth which nothing
save a complete revolution in the world of matter or in
the world of mind can ever shake.”
Although then the inference which the mind draws
from observing the uniformity of Nature is, at the out
set, simply a scientific assumption, similar to the meta
physical assumption of a force existing behind Nature,
yet the substantial difference between the two is really
this—that whilst the metaphysical assumption ever
remains an assumption, the scientific assumption becomes
verified as true through the evidence of universal
experience.
Such undoubtedly are the conclusions of science, and
if they cannot be disproved I submit to you, not specu
latively, but as an important practical matter, that we
should be counselled to regulate our lives in obedience to,
or conformity with the discovered and verified Law of
Nature, and not in reference to some unknown force
assumed to exist behind Nature.
If now we turn and limit our attention to the more
recent history of European Communities we find that
�14
The Victories of Science in its
their advance in civilization, that is in material and
social comfort, and in the conveniences and even neces
saries of civilized life, has progressed in a remarkable
manner parallel with the development of Science. There
is scarcely an improvement in real life that is not strictly
traceable to scientific discovery or invention, and all
such discovery and invention being the result of the
exercise of natural human sagacity is, by its very nature,
antagonistic to Superstition; and the process of continu
ally ascertaining and applying the natural law, by which
the events of life on earth are found to be really regu
lated, has the necessary gradual effect of purifying
theology, so far. as it superstitiously attributes such
events to the immediate action of supernatural causes,
and thereby of compelling theology to undergo interpre
tations and modifications corresponding more or less
closely, to the continual progress of human intelligence.
We shall I think meet with ample evidence of this
progressive change in theological beliefs if we examine,
by way of illustration, some few of the more con
spicuous examples of that ceaseless conflict which Science,
since the establishment of Christianity in Europe, has
ever had to wage with superstition, and where it has
come into collision with the prevailing theological dogmas
of the day.
The first of these memorable contests which I will
mention relates to the supposed magnitude, immobility,
and flat form of the Earth. At the time when this con
flict seriously arose (about the beginning of the 16th
century), the Bible was universally believed to be an
inspired supernatural authority for every matter asserted
or treated of within its various pages, and its true
interpretation in any ambiguous matter to have been
authoritatively declared in the dogmas decreed by suc
cessive Councils of the Church, or in the commentaries
�Warfare with Superstition.
15
of a succession of personages of extraordinary learning
and sanctity termed the Fathers, and it was not only
thought to be utterly fallacious but to be awfully wicked
for anyone to set up an opinion adverse to so revered a
weight of authority as the Bible, Councils, and Fathers
combined was held to be.
Amongst other matters of fact, believed to have been
thereby decided as infallibly true, were the size and
shape of the Earth. It was declared to be the largest
Or chief body in the Universe, and in form or shape to
be a flat plane—and relatively immoveable—and that the
sun, moon, and stars all moved round it; and every
attempt to show, from observation of Nature or calcula
tions of the reason based on such observation, that these
views were physically untrue was met for a long time
with simple scorn and derision : which only became con
verted into the actual persecution of Science and its
professors when so large an amount of evidence to the
contrary had been collected, and marshalled in such a
way as to produce a profound impression upon the lay
intelligence of the age, and when therefore the scientific
views could no longer be safely ignored by ecclesiastical
power.
This evidence I can only glance at, and indeed we are
all now of course more or less familiar with it. For
instance, the voyages of those adventurous navigators
Columbus and Vasco de Gama in the years 1492—97,
and of Magellan in the year 1519, who had amongst them
actually sailed round the earth, proving to demonstration
by this astonishing achievment that it was of definite and
comparatively small size, and not in form a flat plane, but
a circular or globular body. Then the startling astro
nomical researches of Copernicus, Tycho Brahe, and
Kepler, had resulted in demonstrating the Earth’s motion
round the Sun. That it was the Sun that was stationary
�16
The Victories of Science in its
and not the Earth: and then Galileo who, supplementing
previous discoveries by his own, and by the aid of the
telescope, then recently invented, verified, visually as well
as mathematically, the great outline of our Solar System
in a manner that utterly contradicted and indeed outraged
all that men had been taught to believe, and did then
verily believe, on the faith of scriptural and patristic
authority.
The discoveries resulting from the invention of the
telescope were indeed simply astounding, and they exer
cised such a withering influence upon the prevailing
orthodox theories that many of the theologians refused
even to look through the telescope, being afraid to behold
the heavenly phenomena then revealed for the first time
to mortal eyes. A most amusing letter on the subject
from Galileo to Kepler, written in the year 1609 has
been preserved: “Oh, my dear Kepler,” he writes, “how
I wish we could have one hearty laugh together. Here,
at Padua, is the professor of Philosophy, whom I have
repeatedly requested to look at the moon and planets
through my glass, pertinaciously refusing to do so.
Why are you not here ? What laughter we should have
at this glorious folly, and to hear the professor labouring
before the Grand Duke with logical arguments, as with
magical incantations, to charm the new planets out of the
sky! ”
Now Galileo, you remember, was accused of having
attacked Religion; he was prosecuted accordingly, and,
though the consummate audacity of the infallible Roman
Church has since been equal to the denial of its com
plicity in his condemnation—he was summoned before
the tribunal of the Holy Inquisition, the grand ecclesi
astical Court of the time, and he was made, as you know,
to recant all his scientific convictions. We have the
exact words of his recantation, and they sre still worthy
�Warfare with Superstition.
17
of being repeated. Galileo was compelled to declare—
first, bis proposition, “that the Sun is the Centre of the
World and immovable from its place,” is absurd, philo
sophically false, and formally heretical, because it is
expressly contrary to Holy Scripture. Secondly, his
proposition, “ that the Earth is not the Centre of the
World nor immovable, but that it moves, and also with a
diurnal motion,” is absurd, philosophically false, and
theologically considered, erroneous in faith.
Now it should be observed that the Cardinal Inquisi
tors who sentenced Galileo were amongst the most
enlightened ecclesiastics of their age; they were not bad
men, they acted conscientiously according to their light,
and their views were in harmony with the generally
accepted religious knowledge and sentiments of the
time.
The case therefore was one in which it was solemnly
adjudged by theologians that Science had attacked and
was in conflict with Religion. We, living now, know
perfectly well that it was nothing of the sort—that it
was Science in possession of the truth, sapping the
superstitions that formed the superstructure of the theo
logical system of the day; and now every Schoolboy is
taught that Galileo’s recanted propositions are matters of
verified astronomical science, and therefore cannot be
contradictory to, but must be in harmony with, real re
ligious truth. Thus the discoveries and reasoning of these
astronomers and their illustrious successors Newton,
Laplace, Herschel, and divers others, constitute the
first complete victory achieved by Science over Super
stition.
I need not stop to dilate upon the deep importance to
our thoughts and lives of the transcendent truths dis
covered by Astronomers, having given a summary of the
subject in a lecture delivered here four years ago, and
�18
The Victories of Science in its
still in print, “ On the Influence of Astronomical discovery
“ in the development of the human Mind.”
We will now turn to a second illustration of the main
argument of the present lecture. Until quite recently,
almost within the memory of living men, we were sup
posed to possess in the Bible a supernatural revelation of
the Creation of the World, and the time when and the
manner in which it took place. There are ecclesiastical
commentaries on the book of Genesis which undertake to
inform the reader by means of biblical interpretation the
exact month and day of the week when this stupendous
event occurred. Generally however, what is known as
Archbishop Ussher’s chronology was believed as a part of
religious faith, and that system of dates placed the Crea
tion as occurring precisely 4004 years before the birth of
Christ; and the authority of other books of the Penta
teuch is explicit and confirmatory of the Creation having
been accomplished in six days, and according to the
method described in the opening chapters of Genesis.
We read therein, amongst other amazing assertions,
that God rested on the seventh day, and we, or those to
whom these writings are assumed to have been addressed,
are commanded to keep the seventh day holy on that
account, and there can be no doubt of belief in these
narrative and injunction being considered as an essen
tial part of religious faith. Indeed the wearying gloom
and austerity in which the religious world still struggle
to retain our Sunday are strictly traceable to credulity
in the superstition in question.
Now, the science of Geology, which, as most of you
know, consists primarily of an actual examination of the
Earth’s crust or surface and strata beneath for the pur
pose of ascertaining what they may teach concerning the
Earth’s age and history, establishes the existence of a
multiplicity of facts which are utterly contradictory to
�Warfare with Superstition.
19
and subversive of^-first, the alleged creation of the Earth
only some 6,000 years ago, and secondly, of its present
order of inhabitants, vegetable, animal, and human,
having then been brought into existence in the course
of the six days mentioned in the Book of Genesis, and
in the order of succession therein particularised. How
thoroughly irreconcileable with the Biblical account of
the Creation are the scientific conclusions of Geology
will sufficiently appear from the consideration of, amongst
others, the two following well-established geological con
clusions :—Evidence has been obtained in Egypt of the
existence of inhabitants to some extent civilized in that
country 13,000 years ago, and geologists of eminence,
however differing on the details of their science are
agreed that the present condition of the rocks over and
near to which flow the Falls of Niagara evidencing the
recession of the falls from Queenstown to their present
site, has been occasioned by the continuous action of
water throughout a period of 30,000 years—and the
most trustworthy and recent geological authorities, such as
Lyell, Croll, Darwin, Haeckel, Boyd-Dawkins, and Geikie
concur in considering that the antiquity of man is to be
reckoned not by tens of thousands, but by hundreds of
thousands of years !
But I need not occupy your time by considerations
showing how utterly fallacious were the religious notions
on the subject derived simply from the study of the
Scriptures—their fallacy is now on all hands conceded.
I may quote as recent theological authority for our
present scientific views the statement of the Bev. Bobert
Main, Badcliffe observer in the University of Oxford:—
“ Some school books,” he remarks, “ still teach to the
ignorant that the Earth is only 6,000 years old, and that
all things were created in six days—No well educated
person of the present day shares in the delusion. What-
�20
The Victories of Science in its
ever the meaning of the six days, ending with the seventh
day’s mystical and symbolical rest, indisputably we
cannot accept them in their literal meaning, they as
plainly do not denote the order of succession of all the
individual creations.” And Dr. James Martineau has
declared emphatically “ that the whole history of the'
genesis of things Religion must now unconditionally
surrender to Science.”
Well, but there is hardly any class of scientific men
who have been more vehemently denounced for attacking
religion than the geologists. The great argument used
to discredit their researches was the old cry that their
conclusions contradicted Scripture, and accordingly
volumes upon volumes have been published all composed
on the same argumentative basis, viz., That what contra
dicts Scripture cannot be true—an argument as some
of you may have heard, as old at least as the time of
Galileo. “If nature contradicts Scripture” (said the
schoolmen to Galileo), “ Nature must be mistaken, for
we know that the Scriptures are true! ”
And now how does the case stand as regards our
illustration. Geological science being true could not
have been attacking religion, but only those parts of the
theological system which had been constructed from the
superstitions of the day, and thus it has come to pass
that, through the discoveries of the geologists, a second
great victory has been achieved by Science in its warfare
with Superstition.
A third illustration I will refer to relates to the super
stition which I have mentioned in the syllabus of the
Lecture as belief in the government of human life by
special Providence;—the question being whether the
affairs of life are carried on subject to incessant super
natural intervention, or Whether they take place through
the operation of constant invariable natural law.
�Warfare with Superstition.
21
Previously to the rise of the physical Sciences, especially
Astronomy and Geology, the almost universal belief of
Christian Europe was that every significant act #nd
occurrence of life was the direct result of the exercise of
the providence of God, or the power of the Devil. Not
only was this conclusion directly deducible from the
literal interpretation of the language of the Bible, but,
it being the manifest interest of a priesthood, (whose
aim is ever to stand between the prayer of the Votary
and the providential act,) to encourage this belief, books
of devotion are composed by them based upon this idea,
in which instructions are given to enable the worshipper
to beseech the Almighty in a becoming manner for
almost every conceivable thing the circumstances of his
life may for the time being seem to require.
The church of England book of Common Prayer com
piled more than three centuries ago, that is long before
the Physical Sciences had been popularly heard of in this
Country, need only to be opened at random to confirm
what I am now submitting to you. But the progress
of Science has proved beyond rational doubt, that those
circumstances of our lives which were theologically re
ferred to as direct Providential or Satanic interventions,
the inflictions, chastisement, temptations, judgments, or
whatever other sacerdotal phrases are employed to define
supposed manifestations of supernatural Will, are the
result of the operation of natural Law, that is, they are
the direct consequences of the disregard of SQme natural
law which might have been observed and obeyed by the
sagacious use of man’s natural and moral intelligence.
So now, in reference, for example, to the cause and cure
of sickness, our attention is being most usefully drawn
away by Science from miserably moping over manuals
of devotion to the exhilirating study of handy books on
the laws of health—and thus it is, in the words of
�22
The Victories of Science in its
Professor Huxley, that “ Science is teaching the World
that the ultimate Court of Appeal is observation and
experiment, and not theological authority, she is teaching
us to estimate the value of evidence, she is creating a
firm and living faith in the existence of immutable moral
and physical laws, perfect obedience to which is the
highest possible aim of an intelligent being.”
No one then who has impartially watched the course
and improvement of human life, since we have come
to study and to treat its healthy physical and moral exis
tence as immediately dependent upon the observance
of natural law, can doubt that the illustration we are
considering constitutes another most important triumph
of Science over Superstition.
Connected with the last illustration, or rather a con
tinuation of it, is what we may not inaptly term the
theological theory of disease—viz. the notion that diseases,
and epidemics especially, were punishments or judgments
inflicted by the hand of the Almighty for some individual
or national sins, and that they are to be cured sometimes
by a miracle, sometimes by devotion to the shrine or relics
of a Saint, and sometimes by simple prayer addressed to
the Supreme. All these various ways and practices of
appealing for relief to supernatural power were until
quite recent times devoutly believed in throughout almost
the whole of Europe, and were supposed to form essential
parts of religious faith.
Even now in visiting Boman Catholic Churches, espe
cially on the Continent, you cannot fail to observe the
number of Votive offerings that are fixed or suspended
round the shrine and image of a favorite Saint by those
who believe that they have recovered from diseases or
misfortunes through the intervention of the Saint in
answer to the invocations of the patient. This practice,
(like the Ritualistic lighting of candles on the Altars of
�Warfare with Superstition,
23
Churches in the day time,) has been copied from the ser
vice of the Temples of the Pagan religions which prevailed
in Ancient Rome at the time of the establishment of
Christianity in the reign of the Emperor Constantine.
Well therefore asks the astute Middleton, in his instruc
tive “Letter from Rome,”—“ what is all this but a revival
of the old impostures, with no other difference, than what
the Pagan priests ascribed to the imaginary help of their
Deities, the Romish priests as foolishly impute to the
favor of their Saints.” Of course it has been the policy
of the Church to discourage the physician and his science.
He interfered too much with the gifts to and profits of
the shrines.
At one time it was a constant practice on the breaking
out of an epidemic to carry the relics of the Patron Saint
of the locality round the infected districts to drive the
disease away. The superstitious belief we are considering
had become so extravagant, and the practice in connection
with it had obtained a height so ludicrous, that no longer
ago than the end of the last century, the clergy in Spain
induced the people to believe that a pestilence then raging
was caused by their allowing the performance of so un
godly an entertainment as the opera, and it is a fact
that the opera had actually on that account to be put a
stop to 1
Although sanitary science has now in this country com
pletely triumphed over the Superstition in question, yet
owing to our still continued narrow theological teaching
very lamentable occurrences are occasionally seen to
happen. For instance, it is still taught at those strong
holds of sacredotalism, our two great Universities, that
the Bible is in every part of it supernaturally inspired
truth. Mr. Burgon, recently one of the select preachers
at Oxford, in a work addressed to the junior members of
the University, thus expressed himself:—“ The Bible is
�24
The Victories of Science in its
none other than the Voice of Him that sitteth upon the
Throne. Every book of it, every chapter of it, every
verse of it, every word of it, every syllable of it, every
letter of it, is the direct utterance of the Most High.
The Bible is none other than the Word of God—not
some part of it more some part of it less, but all alike the
utterance of Him who sitteth upon the Throne—absolute,
faultlegs, unerring, supreme ! ” We cannot wonder then
that there should be persons who repose faith in its verbal
teaching as applicable at the present time, and who seek
to derive benefit from strictly and literally following its
plainly expressed precepts. One of the apparently plainest
of its injunctions is contained in the general Epistle of
St. James the 5th chap, and the 14th and 15th verses.
“ Is any sick among you ?, Let him call for the elders of
the Church, and let them pray over him anointing him
with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith
shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up.”
A religious sect known as the Peculiar People rigidly
follow this injunction in cases of sickness, and it is not so
long since we were scandalized by the spectacle of a cri
minal prosecution, on account of the death of a child
whose parents had treated it biblically and not medically,
and the Magistrate, (Bible and University theological
teaching non obstante,) found the Parents to have been
guilty of culpable neglect for relying on the Bible, with
out calling in medical assistance, and punished them
accordingly.
This case strikingly illustrates the spirit of our age,
showing as it does that secular teaching is in point of
intelligence very far in advance of theological teaching ;
yet it is impossible not to feel commiseration for the
unfortunate people who are so drugged with dognfa that
their religious beliefs actually become conducive to the
deaths of their own offspring, and who are only roused
�Warfare with Superstition.
25
out of their superstitions by finding them thus rudely
shocked by the judgment and penal sentence of the law.
With this exception we in England may be said to
have entirely freed ourselves from the folly of this
branch of superstition, unless it may be thought still to
linger at Guy’s Hospital, where, as we have lately seen,
praying nurses are placed in authority over scientific
physicians !
The only further illustration I will now give you has
reference to those anthropomorphic conceptions of Deity
which have more or less disfigured all the theological
systems of the world,.and until recently characterised
our own conception of the God of Christianity, who is
of course the historical continuation of the Jehovah of
the Hebrew Scriptures ; for, though the Deity of the
New Testament has attributes somewhat different from
those of Jehovah (to which I shall presently refer), He is
evidently the same God throughout.
It might not be easy, it would indeed be impracticable
within the time now at our disposal, to exhibit the
successive steps which have resulted in generally endow
ing the foremost minds of our generation with that
correct and exalted standard of morality or moral sense
by which our social actions, opinions, and beliefs are
righteously judged in the last resort, and whereby the
practice of life has become so mild and humane and
unselfish compared with that of our ancestors, or other
semi-barbarous peoples.
One great effort to improve the morality of Princes
and Rulers stands out conspicuous—I mean the great
work of Hugo Grotius published at Paris in the year
1625 and entitled, “ Three books concerning the Rights
of War and Peacea work whose main objects were,
First—To induce nations to abstain as far as possible
from resorting to the dreadful ordeal of war. and to
�26
The Victories of Science in its
cultivate that noble ideal of the lovers of mankind—a
perpetual peace. To recognise the sovereignty of the
moral or social law, and to submit their quarrels and
conflicting claims to be judged at the bar of conscience.
To this end to establish Courts of Conciliation, and
agree to settle international disputes by arbitration.
Secondly—when that could not be done, or war avoided,
to conduct their warfare with as generous a humanity as
possible. And thirdly—To treat prisoners of war with the
clemency due to them as human beings and brothers, and
not with the relentless cruelties that were then habitu
ally practised towards those unfortunate persons.
The chief contents of Grotius’ grand work consist of
discussions historical and moral enlivened and embel
lished with abundant and interesting citations from the
most celebrated authors of classical and sacred antiquity
—poets, orators, historians, philosophers, and sages of
all times and nations are, with the very splendour of
learning, laid under contributions for the purpose of
supporting, by their conspiring sentiments and reason
ings, the benevolent objects of the good and great
Grotius ; showing in short the unanimity of the higher
order of minds of the whole human race on the great
rules of duty, and the fundamental principles of morals.
If we, studying the lofty argument of Grotius at the
present day,’ can hardly fail to find our views of virtue
and humanity expanded and inspired by so impressive a
display of the principles it expounds, we can easily be
lieve what is related of it when first published—viz. that
it at once fascinated all the sovereigns and ministers and
great men of the time ; that the king of Sweden,
Gustavus Adolphus carried it about with him and kept
it under his pillow ; that a professorship was founded to
teach and diffuse its doctrines ; and that it was translated
(from its original latin) into most modern languages.
�Warfare with Superstition.
27
There has been of course, since the time of the illustri
ous Grrotius, a succession of similar though lesser lights,
whom I will not now stop to name, all exhibiting and
enforcing his humane and philanthropic views.
Another cause operating in the same direction has
been the gradual improvement in the nature and number
of criminal punishments. The penal codes of all Euro
pean nations during the times of theological ascendency
were painfully disfigured by the practice of judicial torture
and arbitrary imprisonments, and the cruel and vindictive
punishments inflicted upon criminals. Bearing in mind
too how large an extent the moral sense or conscience of
a community is a reflection of its legal system, the pre
sent mitigated severity and graduated scale of punish
ments, more or less proportioned to the nature and
gravity of the offence, and to the frailty of and tempta
tion besetting the offender, must have materially assisted
in maturing and refining the public moral sentiment.
A similar effect is also observable as proceeding from
the more civilized character of our popular amusements
—bear baiting, bull baiting, badger baiting, dog fighting,
cock fighting and shying, and other cruel and depraving
sports have now almost ceased amongst us, and if we
desire an example to show the connection between such
barbarous cruelties and the influence of Superstition, we
need only turn our gaze towards Spain, where we see the
most brutalizing of sports—bull-fighting—is still the
principle pastime of the most superstitious people on the
face of Europe.
Now that the cause of our advance in intelligence and
morality, and of our more earnest love of toleration and
truth, has' been scientific or secular, and not theological,
seems plain from the fact that it has resulted in causing
us to view with a sentiment akin to horror, some of the
anthropomorphic attributes and commands of Deity that
�28
The Victories of Science in its
we find recorded in the books of the Bible, and which
previously to the scientific culture and elevation of our
moral sense were generally acquiesced in quite as a matter
of course; were to be believed (suggested an eminent
theologian, the late Dean Mansel,) as God’s temporary
suspensions of the laws of moral obligation, or moral
miracles ! Thus, in the old Testament the Almighty is
represented as walking on the Earth, eating with Abra
ham, wrestling with Jacob, appearing in a visible form to
Moses, .tempting men, and speaking with human speech.
Then the shocking stories related, such as the Divine
sanction of the frightful massacres of the Canaanites and
Levites, with the ruthless slaughter of women and childred, the divine patronage of the odious Jacob—and
numerous instances of extraordinary cruelties ascribed
to Jehovah in the books of the Pentateuch, making him
out to be a man of war, cruel, capricious, revengeful,
and not to be trusted.
In the New Testament indeed we find an improved
character of the Deity, and one in many important aspects
widely different. There is however attributed to the God
of the New Testament what, if rigorously balanced against
the failings ascribed to Jehovah, must be considered to
outweigh them all; viz., the eternity of punishment which
he will inflict in a future life. No efforts of the disci
plined human reason, which is guided by the conscious
ness of right, can discover any justification for the creation
of beings whose lives are to terminate in endless torment.
The enlightened intellectual and moral capacity of civil
ized man rejects the idea of eternal punishment as utterly
revolting to its sense of justice, mercy, and charity,, and
any attempt to realise ‘ in the unpolluted temple of the
mind ’ an enormity so awful causes it to recoil from its
imputed author, who (as is alleged) could create the human
race with the infallible foreknowledge, and therefore
�Warfare with Superstition.
29
with the intention, that the majority, or even some were
eventually to be consigned to the horrible and everlasting
torture of Hell-fire I
From the slight review we have now taken of the influ
ence of Science upon Superstition, and the modifications
that religious creeds have thereby undergone, we may feel
assured that the process is not yet ended, and that popu
lar theologies are still disfigured by superstitions which
expanding science will explode. Such for instance prob
ably, as belief in the objective efficacy of the supplications,
humiliations, fastings, and other asceticisms prescribed by
preistcraft, and not improbably, I venture to think, our
beliefs in supernatural revelations and exclusive salva
tions.
We now know through the Science of Geology, whose
connected sequence of events was so admirably summar
ised by Professor Ramsay, in his Presidential address last
year to the British Association for the advancement of
Science, that in the physical government of the world,
throughout the long ages whose history is embraced by
this marvellous science, all progress has been continuous
and orderly, not varying in kind and intensity from that
of which we now have experience, is indeed the effect of
causes still in full operation, that is, without cataclysms
or catastrophes of any kind. Reasoning by analogy we
should say that if such has been the course of the mate
rial world the course of the spiritual world (the sphere
of religious development) has most probably been similar,
and that if there has been no physical cataclysm in the
one world, neither has there been a spiritual cataclysm
in the other, such as a sudden supernatural revelation
accompanied by miracles would undoubtedly be, but that
throughout the ages all spiritual enlightenment has pro
gressed by the same means and in the same manner as at
the present moment.
�30
The Victories of Science in its
Probably therefore it may come to be generally believed
that the only real revelation is in Science, which, as Herbert
Spencer observes, is a continuous disclosure, through the
intelligence with which we are endowed, of the established
order of the Universe.
If time permitted me now to enter upon a catalogue
of the evil effects wrought by Superstition, that is false
demoralising beliefs relating to the supernatural, we
should find that there is scarcely a single one of the great
miseries of life that is not distinctly traceable to this,
cause. I will only now recall to your mind the horrors
of the Crusades, the numerous religious wars, the Spanish
Inquisition, the persecutions, burnings, martyrdoms,
massacres, and other hideous atrocities that for ages
formed part of the very staple of European history, and
which directly arose out of the superstitious beliefs en
gendered by their dogmatic Theology, which, in its merci
less endeavours to crush freedom of thought and speech,
has impelled man to inflict upon his fellow-man every
species of cruelty and calamity that bigotted and intoler
ant fanaticism could devise.
Now one of the habits engendered by superstitious
belief is of course a tendency to assume that everything
happens through the interposition of providence, and.
must accordingly be right however unscrutable; and,,
however disastrous, yet sent for some good purpose and
to chasten or to benefit us somehow and eventually.
Of course such a tendency operates mischievously by its
withdrawing our minds and energies and precious time
from the search in this world for those natural causes of
misery which when discovered show that it is remediable
by scientific effort, in other words, that it is to be alleviated
by the application of our natural intelligence, and not by
our taking refuge in that sanctuary of Superstition (pro
fanely called) the Will of God.
�Warfare with Superstition*
31
To enumerate the ameliorations of human well-being
that have been achieved through the exercise of man’s
natural intelligence would be a theme almost exhaustless.
In reference to these I will now confine myself to
merely quoting to you the striking summing-up by
Macaulay in his brilliant Essay on Lord Bacon, of the
utilitarian result of the development of scientific method,
so luminously expounded to his contemporaries, and
impressed upon his posterity by the genius of the great
English Philosopher, who enunciated the fruitful axiom
that true philosophy, whatever its theory, is practically
the application of the discoveries and methods of the
sciences to the regulation of the affairs and conduct of
our lives
“ Ask a follower of Bacon what Science has effected for man->
kind and his answer is ready. It has lengthened life; it has
mitigated pain; it has extinguished diseases; it has increased
the fertility of the soil; it has given new securities to the
mariner; it has furnished new arms to the warrior; it has
spanned great rivers with bridges of form unknown to our
fathers; it has guided the thunderbolt innocuously from heaven
•to earth ; it has lighted up the night with the splendour of the
day; it has extended the range of the human vision; it has
multiplied the power of the human muscles; it has accelerated
motion; it has annihilated distance; it has facilitated inter
course, correspondence, all friendly offices, all dispatch of
business; it has enabled man to descend to the depths of the
sea, to soar into the air, to penetrate securely into the noxious
recesses of the earth; to traverse the land in carriages which
whirl along without horses, and the ocean in ships which run
ten knots an hour against the wind. These are but a part of its
fruits, and of its first fruits—for Science never rests, its law is
progress.”
But in truth every page of the history of civilization
shows us that improvement in the health, the happiness,
and the virtue of mankind has taken place entirely
through the intellectual and moral progress resulting
from the teaching of Science. You will find the un
answerable details of this history very clearly exhibited
in Dr. Draper’s remarkable work on “ The intellectual
development of Europe,” and also in its condensed and
�32 Victories of Science in its Warfare with Superstition.
lucid summary, published under the title of ‘ The Con
flict between Religion and Science.’ An unhappy
misnomer this title, however, if the argument of my
lecture be a sound one, viz., That it is not Religion that
Science has attacked or come into conflict with—but
only the superstitions of the hour, that were ignorantly
and erroneously supposed to form parts of Religion, and
that were 1 intent on offering to the Author of Truth
the unclean sacrifice of a lie.’ Now, in exposing and
stamping out Superstition and that old theological spirit
which has brought so much misery upon the world,
Science has actually rendered the most vital service to
Religion; for the true beliefs which Science has thus
compelled Theology to adopt are far more really reli
gious than the superstitious beliefs which Science has
from time to time forced Theology to surrender.
Let us rejoice, in the cause of Humanity, that such
has been the case, and moreover that this purifying
process is yet proceeding, and that Science, whose coura
geous career has hitherto been unstained by cruelty,
oppression, or crime, will, in her warfare with Supersti
tion, still continue marching on to Victories alike
beneficent and bloodless; for
Science is a child as yet,
And her power and scope shall grow,
And her triumphs in the future
Shall diminish toil and woe.
Kenny & Co., Printers, 25, Camden Road, N.W.
�
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The victories of science in its warfare with superstitions: a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, on Sunday afternoon, 20th February 1881
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Finch, A. Elley
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Place of Publication: London
Collation: 32 p. ; 18 cm
Notes: Part of Morris Miscellaneous Tracts 5. The Society's lectures by the same author on p. [3].
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Sunday Lecture Society
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1881
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G3428
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Science
Superstition
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<img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br />This work (The victories of science in its warfare with superstitions: a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, on Sunday afternoon, 20th February 1881), identified by Humanist Library and Archives, is free of known copyright restrictions.
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English
Morris Tracts
Science and Religion
Superstition
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
The Stage
and the Drama
IN THEIR RELATION TO SOCIETY.
i’ccturi'
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 11th, 1880,
BY
J. PANTON HAM.
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Ut '
Ätea'Im IL
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PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1880.
PRICE THREEPENCE.
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AM
SYLLABUS.
The Drama, as a specific difference of literature, dignified by
the place of Shakespeare in literary history.
The correlation of the Drama and the Stage.
The taste for Dramatic literature essentially a Theatrical taste,
and an evidence of Theatrical recognition and sympathy.
The Stage, the platform of culture and product of civilization.
The unique facilities of the Stage for its appropriate purposes.
A social illustration of the Stage-ministry.
The dictum of Shakespeare on the uses of the Theatre and the
true functions of Dramatic and Histrionic Art.
The Theatric Idea and its demands on the Theatrical Profes
sion.
The Stage, as a Camera, the reflector of the actual and ideal.
Art, as a term applied to the Drama and the-Stage.
Acting, its claim to High-art kindred.
Dramatic and Theatric Art inspired and sustained by the
Genius of Humanity,
Vulgar notions of the Drama and the Stage, and their influence
on the reputation of the Theatre and the Theatrical Profession.
�THE STAGE AND THE DRAMA.
T is saying all that is necessary to be said in the
expression of our admiration of the Drama, to say
that, rich as is our English literature in all departments
of human interest and inquiry, its finest genius was a
dramatist, and its grandest product a collection of works
specifically dramatic. By common consent Shakespeare
stands at the head of British literature. He has achieved
for himself, without any literary ambition, or even inten
tion, the proud position he occupies ; and he has done so
because his instinct was strongly dramatic, his imagina
tion finely dramatic, the form of his thought plastically
dramatic. The Drama was his inspiration and expres
sion, and on its wings he ascended into the empyrean of
his lofty elevation, where he reigns a Jove without any
compeer,—a sun around whom all the literary lights of
his country revolve as subordinate and dependent planets.
The Drama gave birth to Shakespeare, and in giving him
birth brought forth the most splendid literary genius of
the modern world. When literature is questioned about
its crowning achievement, its unhesitating answer is—
The dramatic works of William Shakespeare, who has
earned for himself the first place in the republic of letters,
and received the imperishable bays of its one immortal
laureate.
The place of Shakespeare in the literary history of
England has for ever decided the literary dignity of the
Drama as a specific form of literature. The chrism of his
genius has consecrated the Drama, and claimed for it the
reverence of all civilised people. An inquiry into the
birth and development of the dramatic genius, with the
object of vindicating its legitimacy and illustrating its
historical splendour, need not, therefore, detain us at the
present time. Let it suffice to say that the genius of the
Drama is the genius of humanity. In the still divided
sentiments of British society on the subject of the
I
�4
The Stage and the Drama
Theatre and the Theatrical Profession, it is more to the
purpose to show’, as it may be very plainly shown, that
the Drama implies the Stage,—that the Stage is the
proper correlative of the Drama,—and that, until the
Drama finds its way to the boards of the theatre, it not
only does not have its necessary conditions and natural
development, but hardly has any reason for its existence.
The Drama and the Stage are inseparable. You cannot
compliment the one as serious literature and sneer at the
other as trivial amusement. If the Stage is not a legiti
mate fact, the Drama must be branded with literary bas
tardy. Shakespeare owes his literary super-eminence
wholly to his histrionic genius. The unrivalled splendour
of his position is due to the fact that the Stage inspired
him, and the theatre claimed and received the fruit of his
labours. The glory of Shakespeare is not mere literary
glory, it is pre-eminently theatrical glory. If the theatre
had not existed, Shakespeare had not written. The
splendour of Shakespeare is thus the splendour of the
Stage fact,—the halo of surpassing brilliancy around the
theatric idea. To claim the written Drama for literature,
and to dissever it from the acted Drama, is to perpetrate
a larceny on the Stage. The written Drama is not the
whole of the Drama—the Stage and the Actors are inte
grant and vital parts of it. Dramatic literature is strictly
a theatrical legacy, as literally theatrical property as the
dresses and scenery of the theatre. If dramatic literature
is admirable and held in high repute, then logically and
essentially the Stage, ideally considered, is both admirable
and reputable.
I wish to emphasize the fact that the Drama and the
Stage are inseparably united. They are correlates : each
implies the other. The genuine admirer of dramatic
literature is by implication and inevitably an admirer of
the Stage. He may not, perhaps, frequent the theatre,
but he is essentially theatrical in his sympathy and taste.
He cannot detach the Stage from the Drama. He, of
necessity, enters the theatre in imagination, and takes
his seat before the Stage, whenever he opens his favourite
dramatic author. Why does he not visit the theatre?
He excuses his habitual absence from it, not on the
. grounds of objection to the theatre itself, but because the
�in their Relation to Society.
5
state of histrionic art does not satisfy his ideal. Like
Charles Lamb, he is too ideally histrionic for the condi
tion of the actual theatre. He is, in fact, more intensely
theatrical than the extant Stage and the professors of the
theatric art. I am entitled to claim all readers and lovers
of the literary Drama as virtually admirers and friends
of the theatre. I may say, without fear of challenge,
that the highest literary culture virtually accepts and
honours the theatre. Intelligence, poetic feeling, refined
taste, delicacy of intellectual and moral perception, fine
spiritual and moral sensibilities, exquisite sense of humour,
quick apprehension and appreciation of sterling wit,
sensitively responsive sympathy,—all the highest elements
of culture and refinement, of genius and sensibility, vir
tually offer their profoundest homage to the theatre. As
the focus of the best culture, the cynosure of taste and
refinement, the theatre must have its social ascension
with every step forward in the progress of civilization.
I do not,—indeed it is not easy to exaggerate the
native dignity of the theatre. As the natural home of
culture, it is a grand element of civilization, and takes its
place among the foremost agencies in elevating and re
fining human character. The thoughts of the poetical
Drama are the loftiest inspirations of the human mind
set in forms of speech as ravishingly ethereal as the
thoughts themselves,—precious gems of imagination con
tained in caskets of the costliest materials and workman
ship. The high class poetical Drama is a very mine of
intellectual treasure. And all this galaxy of intellectual
brilliancy,—these rich veins of precious metal,—these
gems of dazzling lustre, are the creations, the ornaments,
and possessions of the theatre. If intellect in its noblest
stature is truly imperial, what a halo of majesty surrounds
the theatre as the palatial home of its chosen residence !
It is there where intellect lives, and speaks, and lavishes
its wealth. It is there where intellect is incarnated, be
comes substantive, quickening, communicative, and com
panionable. It is there where intellect sits on the throne
of its empire, and proclaims the universality of its
sovereign sway. It is there where the true-bred cour
tiers of intellect come together in state solemnity, in
spired by sentiments of admiration and reverence. The
�6
The Stage and the Drama
ideal theatre is this, and commands this but it is more
than this.
If, as the poet says, “the proper study of mankind is
man,” then the theatre affords unique facilities for this
study on a scale largely in excess of the educational expe
dients and the ordinary individual experiences of life, and
with a thoroughness of analysis which the profoundest
complexities of human character and action are incapable
of defying. It is not merely scholastically, but specifi
cally and substantively, the school of the humanities,
The philosophy and logic of human life are here
set forth in practical metaphysics and arguments. Its
belles-lettres are not abstract, but concrete studies.
The rhetoric of the Stage is not a prosaic lesson on its
principles and methods, but a practical illustration in its
spirit and power. Philology here does not amuse the
archasologically curious and the critical, but amazes by
the electric shock and force of words. History is not a
reminiscence and retrospect, but a resurrection and living
reality. The mimetic art of the Stage, to speak a para
dox, is nature in its vividest and most substantive realiz
ations. The Stage teaches par excellence, because it
teaches by the living instance and the actual example.
The intrusive thought that you are present at a mimic
show fails to disenchant you of the illusion: the scene
is so thrilling, the acting is so real, you feel, and you
delight to feel, that it is all fact and truth. The show
has engaged all your intellectual and emotional powers;
it has thrilled your moral being through every nerve;
it has touched your conscience to the very quick of its
keenest sensitiveness ; it has stormed your heart with a
very hurricane of passion, or melted it into a yielding
fluid of tender and responsive feeling. All human life
is mapped out for you, on the Stage, in its broad conti
nents and open seas, in its islands and peninsulas, in its
rocks and shoals ; and you journey or sail all its world
over, seeing its terrible grandeurs and quiet beauties,
marking its perilous heights and treacherous shallows,
and, like a great traveller of vast and varied experiences,
you are conscious of being wiser and better. The theatre
has been the Alma Mater in the humanities for multitudes
who have had no other opportunity of a liberal education,
�in their Relation to Society.
7-
and -but for which they had never been students- of the
most interesting and eventful phenomena of their nature,
and had never known, except by the agony of personal
experiment, how critical are the contingencies, and capri
cious, and often disastrous, the most coveted fortunes of
life. The charm of the instruction within the walls of
the theatre has drawn out the faculty of observation,
constrained the metaphysical habit of mental analysis, and
inspired an enthusiastic inquisitiveness into' some of the
profoundest problems of psychology and moral philo
sophy. The theatre, I maintain, is forming the studious
habits of a large section of society in reference to the
highest subjects of human thought and interest,—a sec
tion who would otherwise learn in no other school than
in the straitened, aud often degraded environments of
their own daily life. The enforced associations of a con
siderable proportion of the lower and lowest strata of the
community would be a state of mental and moral perdi
tion, but for the opportunities of escape afforded by the
fascinations of the Stage, and the lessons of refinement
in mind and heart inculcated in, what I take leave to
call, the Stage-ministry. The elevation of their seats has
obtained for the occupants of the gallery the humorous
epithet of “ the gods.” There is probably as much truth
as facetiousness in the designation. Not a few of them,
perhaps, are never so conscious of the divinity within
them, as when occupying their allotted seats in the
theatre. Thence they look down on other aspects of
human life than those they are unhappily familiar with,
and hear another speech than their own too often revolt
ing and defiling tongue. To such as these, beyond all
dispute, the theatre is, in no mean degree, a ministry of
redemption. Culture, morality, piety—all should have a
kind, sympathetic, admiring word for the gallery of a
theatre ; and, if ever innovation threatens to abolish the
theatrical institution of “the gods,” should be the first
aiid the loudest to utter their protest against the wrong.
The higher the quality of the theatrical entertainment
the greater should be the public interest in the place and
the presence of “ the gods.”
It is strange that the famous dictum of Shakespeare on
the primary uses of the theatre and the true functions of
�8
Th e Stage and the Drama
dramatic and histrionic art should be so familiar, and yet
so often practically forgotten in the expression of theatri
cal judgments and the allowance of theatre-going habits.
The highest dramatic authority tells us that the purpose
of playing is “to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to
nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own
image, and the very age and body of the time his form
and pressure.”
We take a long stride in the measure of the Stage idea
when we pass from the conception of it as simply diver
sion to this elevated Shakespearean notion of the primary
and artistic purpose of Stage representations. Our great
dramatist magnifies the Stage and its special art to their
most imposing proportions when he lifts the idea of true
histrionics into the moral sphere, and claims for them the
highest moral purpose as the champion of virtue and the
scourge of vice. That the high-class Drama, in its two
divisions of tragedy and comedy, involves moral elements,
is composed with moral sentiments and aims, awakens
moral sympathies and antipathies, and produces moral
impressions, neither is, nor can be, with reflecting per
sons, a question of dispute. No genuine tragedy or
comedy can be possibly constructed apart from moral
ideas in the writer and moral tendencies in his work.
Humanity being its dramatic theme and its histrionic in
strument, a genuine dramatic work must of necessity take
a 'moral form and be presented under moral conditions.
All this is so obvious that it is passing strange any public
writers on the Stage and theatrical affairs should have
the audacity to say that moral considerations, in a dra
matic performance, are the mawkish conceits of sickly
sentimentalists, and that the Drama, qua Drama, ignores
them altogether. The argument with such writers is
better maintained, on our own side, by shifting the de
fence to the dignity and authority of Shakespeare. Let
them make good, if they can, the position they have taken
in the view of the famous dictum on the purpose of
playing.
That genial writer, Charles Lamb, has, indeed, said of
the characters in such plays as those of Congreve and
Wycherley, “ When we are among them we are amongst
a chaotic people. We are not to judge them by our
�in their Relation to Society.
9
usages.” In replv to this, Macaulay says, “ In the
name of art, as well as in the name of virtue, we protest
against the principle that the world of pure comedy is
one into which no moral enters. If comedy be an nni ation, under whatever conventions, of real life, how is it
possible that it can have no reference to the great rule
which directs life, and to feelings which are called forth
by every incident of life? If what Mr. Charles Lamb
says were correct, the inference would be that these
matists did not in the least understand the very first
principles of their craft. Pure landscape-painting into 1
which no light or shade enters, pure portrait-painting
into which no expression enters, are phrases less at va;riance with sound criticism than pure comedy into which
no moral enters.”
Of how much worth this theatric function as a moral
reflector is, let the poet Wordsworth remind us when he
exclaims,
“ How much is overlooked
In human nature and her subtle ways,
As studied first in our own hearts, and then
In life among the passions of mankind!”
As a student of human nature he says of himself, and
the actor may adopt his language as descriptive of the
aims and spirit of his own art,—that he is
“ Compelled
In hardy independence, to stand up
Amid conflicting interests, and the shock
Of various tempers; to endure and note
What was not understood, though known to be;
Among the mysteries of love and hate,
Honour and shame, looking to right and left,
Unchecked by innocence too delicate,
And moral notions too intolerant,
Sympathies too contracted.”
The theatric idea is, that the Stage is a reflector of men
and manners, a photographic camera to catch and fix, for
more careful observation, the actual facts and particular
features of human life. This reflecting function demands
for the Stage a breadth as wide, and a depth as pro
found, as humanity itself; and claims for it a liberty of
the amplest range consistent with the canons of correct
taste and the sentiments of social decorum. The objects
�10
The Stage and the Drama
of its reflecting function being human, the Stage, neces
sarily, does more than simply reflect concrete facts and
forms ; it reflects also abstractions and accidents,, prin
ciples and essences, motives and feelings, qualities and
textures. It possesses, in its dramatic art, the faculties of
abstraction and analysis, and uses them with the utmost
freedom, delicacy of discrimination and manipulation, in
order that individuals and societies may understand their
real composition, and be made acquainted with all the
inward contents of their personalities. It has thus a
metaphysical and moral, a microscopic and magnifying
power, and throws on its broad disc the results of its
minutest and subtlest observations. Without this meta
physical subtlety and analytical delicacy, the reflecting
function of the Stage would be incapable of the human
demands on it. “ Virtue ” reveals her own feature only
to the art that can raise with delicate hand the veil which
hides it; and the naked image of “ Scorn ” is only to be
discovered by the closely scanning art which penetrates
all its disguises, and is only exposed to view by the
morally courageous art which tears away all the thick
folds of its concealment. Humour, refined and robust,
pathetic and quaint, tragic and comic, grave and gay, has
to be delved for out of the profound human depths and
brought to the surface, that its diversified moods may be
incarnated in faithful impersonations, and reproduced in
the verisimilitude of fact and truth. When we contem
plate the reflecting function of the Stage as involving the
finding of its own objects, and that these objects are only
to be sought and found by the delicate feeling, and con
summate art, of the genius of humanity, what an aureola
of intellectual and moral lustre encircles the theatre as
the temple of an unique art, and how broadly apart
from, and immeasurably high it stands in character and
position, in occupation and aim above all the vulgar
resorts of mere amusement! Its proper elevation is on
the Olympian height among the academies and porticoes
of philosophy and fine art. Its rank is that of Royal
Societies and Royal Academies, universities and high
schools of liberal culture; and the professors of its’
particular art are graduates of honourable distinction,
deserving of high social repute, and worthy of the
�in their Relation to Society.
11
conventional compliments and rewards of a discriminat
ing and reverential public favour.
What museums of antiquities do for the past, the
Stage, by its reflecting function, does for the present,—
it collects and exhibits contemporaneous facts. To “ catch
the manners living as they rise,” is one of its mirror
functions. It is thus the chronicle of the hour and the
collector of the materials of what hereafter will be
history. History cannot be satisfactorily written with
out resort to dramatic literature which the Stage creates in
the fulfilment of its reflective function. This function
of reflecting living feelings and manners has a present
as well as a future value,—a living as well as a posthumous
interest. Portraits are not wholly for posterities, they
are valued by their originals as showing them what
manner of men and women they are. The Stage has its
uses to place before people their “ counterfeit present
ment,” to let them see themselves objectively, to invite
them to meet and spend an hour in company with their
own duplicates. A man, we are told by a sacred writer,
will look sometimes at himself in a glass and straightway
forget what manner of man he is : but it is hardly pos
sible to meet his flesh and blood counterpart on the Stage
without being instinctively sensible of the resemblance,
and retentively mindful of him after the parting. The
incident has been so unexpected and startling, the
likeness so unmistakable and minutely correspondent, the
effrontery so familiarly bold, that, whether the present
ment has been serious or ludicrous, it has been felt to be
irresistible and will ever be memorable. There is no other
way than by the camera of the Stage that we can obtain
a fac-simile likeness of our own inner personalities. The
photographs of the Stage show us the inside, as well as
the outside of ourselves. The Stage keeps no secrets,
and it is a marvellous searcher out of secret things.
Whatever we are in the privacy of our life, out we come
with all our lights and shades duly distributed according
to fact and truth. The Stage knows us well, knows all
our stops, can pluck out the heart of our mystery, sound
us from our lowest note to the top of our compass. Many
a man has left the theatre amazed at himself, struck dumb
with wonder at the discovery of the kind of person he
�12
The Stage and the Drama
really is, astounded that all through his long life he never
saw himself in the same light, a good deal concerned now
what people must think of him if they shall happen to
know him as well as he now knows himself.
As dramatic art is concerned not only with what is
actual, but also with what is ideal, so the reflecting
function of the Stage embraces the whole scope of possible
and conceivable, as well as actual human existence.
When histrionic art crosses the boundary of the actual
and visible into the region of the ideal, it ceases to be
mimetic and becomes creative,—it ascends from the servility
of imitation to the sovereignty of pure art. At this point
the Stage joins the fraternity of the highest artistic and
moral estates, not excluding that of the ministry of
religion. It has its ethereal ideas, its prophetic inspira
tion, its pulpit sanctity. The Stage is, here, a revealer
of invisible things, a quickener of spiritual sensibilities, a
preacher of high and divine truths, a path-finder through
the dark ways into the dawn of the true light. It holds
the mirror up to Nature in her ideality, reflects the
spirituality and essential beauty of nature,-—nature in her
purest truth and holiest forms, and demonstrates the
unity, or rather the identity, of ideal moral nature with
divine religion. Here the Stage is as reverential as the
Church, for it glorifies and worships the true holiness,
the holiness of nature’s God, the holiness of pure nature.
Its work is here coincident with that of the Church, for
it takes of the things of God in the holy temple of nature
and lifts them up for the admiration and desire of all
people. I may say, without fear of contradiction, that
the Stage, in the discharge of its highest, its idealistic
reflecting function, is often the teacher of as pure and
undefiled religion as the Church ; often a purer religion,
because it is the teacher of a religiousness which never
conflicts with the voices of nature, a religiousness which
is essentially spirit and life. Here the Drama is, verily,
a holy scripture, and the theatre a temple of divine
worship.
Some persons may be quite disposed to concede this
high spiritual idealism to the Drama as literature, but
not to the theatre as the place of the acted Drama.
Charles Lamb, for instance, says, “ What we see upon a
�in their Relation to Society.
13
Stage is body and bodily action; what we are conscious
of in reading is almost exclusively the mind and its
movements ; and this, I think, may sufficiently account
for the very different sort of delight with which the same
play so often affects us in the reading and the seeing.”
Surely this criticism is but a partial and a very imperfect
statement of the fact of what we see in the impersonations
of the actor. The criticism would be questionable even
of the rudest pantomimic exhibitions on the Stage; but
to say of all acting that, what we see is merely “ body
a,nd bodily action,” is a very inadequate account of the
art and achievements of the actor. I need not repeat
what I have said on the impossibility of divorcing the
Drama from the Stage. I may add, to what has been
already said, that the idealism of the Drama is largely
dependent on the histrionic art of the Stage for its adequate
realistic expressions. All art, and, therefore, histrionic
art, graduates in its upward ascent in the degree of its
power to realize the ideal. The action, often much more
than the words, is suggestive and representative of the
ideal. Permit me a few observations on the term art as
applied to the Drama and the Stage.
We are accustomed to speak of dramatic art, of his
trionic or theatric art. Now, let us keep distinctly in
view that the Drama and the Stage are indivisible ; and
therefore it is not competent for any one to say, that the
Drama, as a specific difference of high class literature, is a
noble art, but the Stage, as the platform of the player, and
a place of mere public amusement, exemplifies a vulgar and
inferior art. The Drama and the Stage are one indivisible
unity—they stand and fall together. The dignity of
the Drama is the dignity of the Stage; the degradation
of the Stage is the degradation of the Drama. The
honour of the Drama cannot be saved at the expense of
the Stage. So inveterate has been the prejudice against
the Stage for several centuries in England, so unwilling
has been the social disposition to think of its art as of
any more noble quality than that of the rank of a public
amusement, and of its professors as anything more than
players, that its low estimation has been, in no small
degree, reflected on the dramatist; and a writer for the
Stage,—unless some accidents of his social position and
�14
The Stage and the Drama
literary fame interfere to • save him,—has been con
temptuously dubbed a “ play-wright,” and considered a
wandering and fallen star from the heaven of literary
repute. Surely, the time is come for the adjustment of
the question, whether Stage association is artistic or
essentially and irredeemably vulgar. If what I have said
be true about the theatric idea and function, then it
follows, that the theatre is the place of a distinct art, as
much so as the Royal Academy is the place of a distinct
art or arts ; and that its art is as far removed from
meanness and vulgarity as that of the Royal Academicians
in painting and sculpture. Let us look at their honour
able and honoured arts, and see wherein they so essentially
dilfer from the art of acting as to entitle them to this
precedence and exclusive reputation.
Both painting and sculpture are distinctly and essen
tially imitative arts,—they imitate the actual and the
ideal. Painters and sculptors are professional mimics
and poetical creators. Wherein do they dilfer from the
actor ? Does he not do precisely the same things ; is he
not both these characters ? One paints his imitations on
canvas with a brush, the other carves his imitations in
stone with a chisel, the actor personates his imitations
by means of the mental, moral, and emotional resources
of his humanity. What should make two of these arts,
and the third, no art,—two of these imitative arts,
honourable, and the third, contemptible ? Is the secret
of the difference in the comparative merits of the instru
mentalities—the painting brush, the chisel, the living
man; and we are to conclude that the living man, as a
medium, or instrumentality of art, is inferior to a
painting brush or a chisel ? Is the secret in the cunning
of the skill, and the completeness of the imitation ? Let
the poet Campbell reply ;
“ For ill can Poetry express
Full many a tone of thought sublime;
And Painting, mute and motionless,
Steals but a glance of time:
But by the mighty Actor brought,
Illusion’s perfect triumphs come ;
Verse ceases to be airy thought,
And Sculpture, to be dumb.”
We have only to bring the theatric art side by side
�in their Relation to Society.
15
with its sister arts to discover, at once, how thoroughly
it is of the art kindred; and that, so far from occupying
a lowly place in the art family, it is one of its most dis
tinguished members. Lowly, forsooth! is there not
something really imperial in the art of acting? Does it
not ask for the highest mental culture, the greatest
delicacy of mental and moral perception, the keenest
insight into the mysteries of mind and heart, and a most
versatile faculty of expressing all the subtle workings of
thought and feeling, of pourtraying all the lights and
shadows of character and conduct ? Does it not, like a
skilled musician, command all the notes of our being,
from the deepest base to the highest treble ;—know how
to combine them in all their concords and discords, and
to bring out, in full sonorous swell, the grand diapason
of our humanity ? Does it not command the services of
all the other arts,—even as the Church does,—poetry,
painting, sculpture, music, whose choicest productions
and finest masterpieces are loyally laid at its feet ? When
the art is in perfection, is not the Stage universally
acknowledged as the professorial chair of the vernacular
tongue, the place to be instructed in its purity and pro
prieties, and to be charmed with the graces of its elocu
tion? Whenever the Stage stands forth in its native
grandeur, in the regal consciousness of its own majesty,
is it not the place towards which instantly and reverently
turn all the culture and refinement, all the intellect and
art-feeling, all the moral nobility of the land? May it
not, then, in the sublimity of its elevation, justly smile
at, and pity the littleness of a carping prejudice,—con
temptuously put aside with its foot the snarling and
snapping of the little curs at its heels, and claim with
confidence the homage of all enlightened and free souls
who seek after the true, the beautiful, and the good?
Yes, verily, the theatre is a temple of art, in its highest,
widest, and grandest significance, for there all the arts
gather together to do honour to the art of which it is the
consecrated home.
And what, let me ask, is the distinctive character of
this special art of the theatre that it should deserve the
courtesy of all other arts, and receive from them their
willing, yea, their loving and best service ? It is the art
�16
The Stage and the Drama
which, above all the arts, makes Humanity both its theme
and its instrument. It is the most human of all arts f
humanity is its end and its means. It thus comes as
close as possible to the objects and methods of pure
religion. If art may ever be pronounced sacred because
of its subject, then with how much greater reason may
histrionic art claim this hallowed quality ? It is the art
of depicting by living portraiture the intellectual and
moral, the spiritual and emotional contents of humanity;
it is the art of reflecting human nature in its loftiest con
ceptions and noblest possibilities. It thus answers the
true definition of art, and exhausts its whole meaning as
an imitative and creative faculty. High art is this, and
no more than this ; and since theatric art has the widest
range for the exercise of this twofold faculty, and pos
sesses capabilities greatly in excess of every other art, for
the fulfilment of its imitative and creative functions, it
virtually claims, and ought to be considered, to be in the
van of all the arts—the art of arts—and deservedly
entitled to the highest seat of honour in the truly grand
assembly of art nobility.
It is, surely, important for all who are interested in
the reputation and fortunes of the theatre to bear in
mind the fact that it is the Humanity on the Stage that
gives the theatre its true dignity and its honourable hold
on the public mind. This fact cannot be practically lost
sight of in any individual instance of theatrical perversion,
but at the penalty of destroying the theatrical idea and
service. Only let the mere amusement idea come too
prominently to the front, and the theatrical idea vanishes
out of sight. The theatre is the place, not primarily and
objectively for amusement, but for humanity, both behind
and before the footlights. Humanity is its distinctive
property and function ; humanity is its supreme concern
and sole appeal. The Stage is nothing if not human.
The perfection of the correlated dramatical and theatrical
idea is the perception and enthusiasm of humanity.
I am confident that I cannot urge too pointedly and per
suasively this conception of the essential idea and purpose
of the theatre. I am personally constrained to advocate
and commend the Stage for this paramount reason. The
most serious fact of theatrical declension, and that which
�17
in their Relation to Society.
is the most prolific parent of whatever declension there
may be in the extant Stage itself, seems to me to be this .
the declension of thought in the public mind about the
theatre and. its uses. “ A change seems coming over the
state of the Stage,” writes Mr. George Henry Lewes,
“ and there are signs of a revival of the once-splendid art
of the actor. To effect this revival there must be not
only accomplished artists and an eager public; there
must be a more enlightened public. The critical pit, filled
with playgoers who were familiar with fine acting and
had trained judgments, has disappeared; in its place
there is a mass of amusement-seekers, not without a Ducleus
of intelligent spectators, but of this nucleus only a small
minority has very accurate ideas of what constitutes good
art.” The too prevalent idea of the theatre, as a place
of mere amusement, is derogatory to the theatre itself,
and a disgrace to the intelligence of the age ; it is as false
as it is mischievous, and needs to be exposed and rebuked.
Sought only as a sensuous entertainment and for the
consumption of vacant hours at the fag-end of each day s
life, the theatre is not only gravely misunderstood, but
is insulted and abused. It does not stand to the serious
occupations of life as a playground to the counting-house
and the workshop, or as light literature to more important
studies ; it is in itself a serious occupation and a severe
study to both artists and audiences, whether its subject
be grave or gav. Its proper dignity and place is among
the noblest institutions, and the rarest opportunities of
our culture. We may say of it, in the words of »Words* worth, what we say of all the means of our best educa
tion :
“ So build we up the Being that we are ;
Thus, deeply drinking-in the soul of tilings,
We shall be wise perforce.
#
-Top;
>i
*
*
*
*
*
Whate’er we see
Or feel, shall tend to quicken and refine ;
Shall fix in calmer seats of moral strength
Earthly desires ; and raise, to loftier heights
Of divine love, our intellectual soul.”
And now to conclude. The theatre is an institution
of very high antiquity, and is found in almost all
nationalities, and under the most diversified forms of
�18
The Stage and the Drama
civilization. It has always been especially honoured,
and has always more especially flourished, in the midst
of intellectual, moral, and æst.hetical conditions. Culture
has always inaugurated the theatre, passionately cherished
it, lavishly enriched it, and encircled it with sentiments of
respect and affection. Its fascination has been universal,
and its influence has always been acknowledged by the
philosopher and the moralist, the priest and the philan
thropist, the politician and the statesman. It has been
a too general fact, too spontaneous, too tenacious of root
and germinant, too vital and enduring, that its rise
should be attributed to a capricious whim or humour, or
the chance of mere accident, or local tastes and peculiari
ties. It must be credited with owing its existence to
nature and reason, to instinct and feeling, to social exi
gence and human necessity. I say, it must be so credited,
and the dogmatism is justified by the fact of its universal
presence in civilized society, and its inextinguishable
vitality even in its most degraded and corrupt condition
of existence. It has had its seasons of sickness—of even
loathsome and mortal disease—but has found healing and
health ; it has been crushed under the weight of hostile
public opinion and State despotism, and has risen up
elastically against both and conquered both ; it has been
trodden under the feet of social repudiation and odium,
been defiled in the mire of indignant moral censure,
been cursed by the anathemas of a scornful and irre
concilable Church, and, notwithstanding, at this hour it
is. standing self-reliantly erect, claiming the social recog- è
nition, challenging the severest moral sentiments, and
commanding the testimony and defence of the ministers
of religion. Plainly, there is vitality in the theatre ; and
there must be reason, intrinsic worth, and virtue, too, or
its corruption would have been its dissolution, and it
could have found no place for repentance, and no oppor
tunity of self-assertion and restoration.
The claim of the theatre to the general social recogni
tion will have to be conceded, and when it is conceded,
it will be under far more reasonable and favourable con
ditions of theatrical development and repute than the
theatre has hitherto enjoyed, even in the best period of
its history in this country. Natural instinct, culture,
�in their Relation to Society.
19
taste, pure moral feeling, religious sentiment, are all
enlisted on its side, and will sooner or later assert
themselves in the brave vindication of an institution
so richly endowed with high educational forces as the
Stage—the place of the acted Drama. Wherever the
purely artificial pressure of what I do not call religious,
but ecclesiastical prejudice is intelligently and religiously
resisted these influences immediately assert themselves
in behalf of the theatre and its legitimate perform
ances. Nothing but an ecclesiastical artificiality of
sentiment stops the way, and the intelligence and
earnestness of modern society will eventually sweep
this last lingering obstruction altogether out of the way.
English society, I am confident, as it grows in intelligence,
will never submit to be the docile sheep of a tradition
bound and narrow-minded ecclesiasticism of any church,
whether Established or nan-established. All weak social
prejudices of every kind will be driven to the wall in the
steady onward march of enlightenment and manly inde
pendence. The Stage is still one of the victims of such
prejudice, and it will conquer this prejudice as it has con
quered the deadlier assaults of its own historical corrup
tion. Assert the Stage both in your sentiments and
allowances. Be very exacting in your demands on the
Stage, and thus you will best declare your jealousy of it,
and your profound respect for it and its profession, and
at the same time make it the obligation and interest of
all theatrical managers to purge the Stage of incompe
tence and vulgarity, and raise it higher and higher to
wards its own native ideal. Possessing, as we do, the
greatest dramatist of any country, we, surely, ought to
possess a purely British Stage for the encouragement of
British dramatic art and British histrionic genius. The
time must come when the theatrical profession will form
a guild of artistic culture, and occupy its honourable
place among the art faculties. Your theatrical patriotism
and severity of theatrical exaction will inevitably bring
this about. Complain not of the Stage,—do not whine
over the decline of the Drama,—indulge in no invidious
comparisons of theatres and their respective management; .
think rather of yourselves, for the Stage is always what
the people who frequent or neglect it make it. Let us
�20
.The Stage and the Drama.
ask ourselves how far we ourselves have graduated towards
the dramatic and theatrical ideal,—how far we have en
couraged or discouraged the elevation of the Stage. The
theatre is a bequest—the Stage is a social inheritance;
and we are all, in one way or other, responsible for what
it is now, and we cannot, and ought not if we could,
evade our responsibility for what it is in our own genera
tion, and what it shall be when we bequeath it to the
generation which is to follow.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
ARE DELIVERED AT
ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLAGE,
On S UNDA Y Afternoons, at FO Ult o'clock precisely.
(Annually—from November to May).
Twenty-pour Lectures (in three series), ending 25th April,
1880, will be given.
Members’ AT subscription entitles them to an annual ticket,
transferable (and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight
single reserved-seat tickets, available for any lecture.
Tickets for each series (one for each lecture) as below,—
To the Shilling! Reserved Seats—-5s. 6d.
To the Sixpenny Seats—2s., being at the rate of Three
each lecture.
pence
For tickets, and for list of the Lectures published by the
Society, apply (by letter) to the Hon. Treasurer, Wm, Henry
Domville, Esq., 15, Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W.
Payment at the door:—One Shilling (Reserved Seats);—
Sixpence and One Penny.
KENNY & CO., PRINTERS, 25, CAJIDEN ROAD, LONDON, N.W.
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The stage and the drama in their relation to society : a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, on Sunday Afternoon, April 11th, 1880
Creator
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Ham, J. Panton
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 20 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Printed by Kenny & Co., London, N.W. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Sunday Lecture Society
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1880
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N298
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Theatre
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Drama
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Text
THE SCIENCE OF LIFE
WORTH LIVING.
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 22nd, FEBRUARY, 1880,
By A. ELLEY FINCH.
London:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1880.
PRICE THEEPENCE.
�The Society’s Leetures by the same Author,
now printed, are—on
Erasmus; his Life, Works, and Influence upon the Spirit of
the Reformation.” (Price 3d., or post free 3jd.)
“ Civilization : a Sketch of its Rise and Progress, its Modem
Safe-guards, and Future Prospects.” (Price 3d., or post
free 3^d.)
“ The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
Development of the Human Mink.” (Price 3d., or post
free 3jd.)
“The Principles of Political Economy; their Scientific
Basis, and Practical application to Social Well-being.”
(Price 3d., or post free 3 jd.)
“ The English Free-thinkers of the Eighteenth Cen
tury.” (Price 3d., or post free 3^d.)
“ The Inductive Philosophy : including a Parallel between
Lord Bacon and A. Comte as Philosophers.” With Notes
and Authorities, (pp. 100, cloth 8vo., price 5s., or post
free 5s. 3d.)
“ The Pursuit of Truth : as Exemplified in the Principles of
Evidence—Theological, Scientific and Judicial.” With Notes
and Authorities, (pp. 106, cloth 8vo., price 5s., or post
free 5s. 3d.)
Can be obtained (on remittance by letter of postage stamps or
order) of the Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry Domville, Esq., 15,
Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W., or at the Hall on the days
of Lecture: or of Mr. John Bumpus, 158, Oxford Street, W.
�SYLLABUS.
The two theories of the Universe and of Human Life, derived
respectively from Superstition and Science.
1. The theory derived from Superstition stated, with indica
tions of its source.
Biassed belief in this (theological) theory arising from early
training in creeds, catechisms, and sermons, and from the in
fluence of proselyting societies. Illustrations from the Reports
of the Sunday School Union Society; the British and Foreign
Bible Society; the Religious Tract Society.
Our actual condition (or practice) of life shown to be based
upon the theological theory. Illustrations of its overcrowding,
poverty, intemperance, disease, crime, premature death, &c.,
from the Census Population Returns. The Registrar General’s
Returns. Fry’s Royal Guide to the London Charities. Statistics
of Prisons and Lunatic Asylums.
The present attitude of Science in relation to these features of
human existence.
2. The theory of the Universe and of Human Life (physio
logical) derived from Science stated, with indications of its source.
Illustrations from Newton’s Principia. Darwin’s Descent of
Man.
Remarkable absence of Societies for spreading knowledge of
and inducing belief in the theory derived from Science.
Summary of the Natural Law by virtue of which organised
bodies are multiplied in excess of their means of subsistence.
Illustrations of the inexorable operation of this law from
Haeckel’s History of the Creation. Darwin’s Origin of Species.
Walford’s Famines of the World.
The first canon of scientific culture of life involves limitation
of numbers, and the controlling of physical conditions of repro
duction through the application of human intelligence.
How the continuity or similarity of structure and function
between human, animal, and vegetal organisms, enables Science
(through comparative research) to acquire knowledge of the
nature of the constitution of man, and to originate rules for its
right treatment and progressive improvement. Illustrations
from Huxley’s Man’s place in Nature—Galton’s Hereditary
Genius.
Responsibility (taught by Science) in becoming a factor of
posterity.
To what extent, by applying (analogically) to the rearing of
the Human Being the scientific methods that have produced the
exquisite growth, maturity, and beauty of cultivated Flowers
and Fruit, and the joyousness, hilarity, and perfection of form,
temper, and disposition of the thorough-bred Animal, the evils
of our present existence might be eliminated, its morality puri
fied and elevated, its course converted into a career of virtuous
enjoyment, and Life practically made worth Living.
��THE
SCIENCE OF LIFE WORTH LIVING.
----- !-----
Iw the arena of European thought there are at the pre
sent time conspicuous two conflicting conceptions or
theories concerning the nature of the Universe, and the
origin and nature of Human Life.
One of these theories is based upon supposed Super
natural Knowledge, and, inasmuch as, from the point of
view of Science, all alleged knowledge of what transcends
Nature relates to the region of the emotional imagination,
I will, for the sake of distinction, designate the concep
tion I am now alluding to as—;the theofy derived from
Superstition.
The other conception is one which has slowly emerged
from the long series of human discoveries that have
gradually brought to light those facts and laws of Nature
upon the truth and experience of which it will be found
to be exclusively based. I will designate it therefore as
—the theory derived from Science.
You all know, more or less, what are the salient points
of these respective theories, having probably learnt them
by rote. I am going to restate them now, because the
argument of the Lecture is founded upon an endeavour
to realise them by our reason, and to reflect upon them
by way of comparison; notwithstanding that it has be
come the intellectual fashion with a certain school to en
courage subtle and plausible attempts to reconcile these
theories—or hopelessly to confuse the separate provinces
of reason and faith.
�6
The Science of Life Worth Living.
Now the prior-mentioned theory may I think be shortly
stated thus—First, with regard to the Universe; that it
came into existence by the fiat of the Will of an Almighty
Power, which, somewhere about six thousand years ago,
created it out of nothing in six days. That the principle
part of this Universe consists of the World our Earth,
which is a fixed plain or vast floor, arched over by a con
cave vault. The Sun and Moon, and the Stars which
stud this vault or firmament, and which move round the
fixed earth, are simply greater and lesser lights created
subordinate to, and called into existence for the purpose
of the earth, and to give light thereon.
Secondly, with respect to the origin and nature of
Man, the theory under consideration is more complex, as
well as of more serious interest, and can only be com
prehended (so far as human reason can comprehend any
thing so mysterious,) by entering into somewhat more
detail.
It is related then that the Almighty Power created
man by forming him out of the dust of the ground, and
breathing into his nostrils the breath of life, whereby
man became a living soul; and the other sex we are told
was created by the causing of a deep sleep to fall upon
the man, and the taking out of one of his ribs, and the
closing up of the flesh instead thereof; and the rib which
was so taken from the man was made into a woman; and
this first-created pair were commanded to be fruitful and
multiply.
The theory then goes on to relate that the man and
woman, thus created pure and sinless, were immediately
tempted into sin by Satan in the form of a serpent. That
this sin of our first parents brought a curse upon the
Earth, and incurred the penalty of death for themselves
�The Science of Life Worth Living.
7
and for all their posterity. That the human race thence
forth became more wicked, so that the Almighty repented
that he had made man, and destroyed by a deluge all the
inhabitants of the Earth, with the exception of eight per
sons who had feared him, chiefly Noah and his sons; who
also were commanded to be fruitful and multiply. This
sweeping purification however was as futile as the origi
nal design, and men became more wicked than ever, and
the final remedy devised by the Almighty for the salva
tion of his human creatures was the incarnation of him
self in the person of his only Son (the second person of a
mysterious trinity). That the death of such only Son
upon the Cross, the innocent for the guilty, was a vi
carious expiation or atonement of the sins of the World;
provided however that all this should be believed; faith
or belief in it being made the condition upon which
alone such salvation is possible.
The theory does not however stop there. It declares
that everything which happens upon the Earth is the
direct effect of the exercise of the Will of this Almighty
Power, so that even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground
without his sanction or knowledge, and moreover that the
ills of life are to be remedied by means of prayer or en
treaty directed to him. Man therefore is emphatically
counselled to be constant in prayer; to pray without
ceasing. He is assured that the prayer of a righteous
man availeth much. That the prayer of faith shall save
the sick. That when two or three are gathered in the
name of the Almighty he will grant their requests, and
that whatsoever any man shall ask Him in the name of
Christ (his only son before mentioned) it shall be granted
to him.
Then, as to our state of life; the theory inculcates that
�8
The Science of Life Worth Living.
poverty on Earth is a condition pleasing to the Almighty,
and will be rewarded by riches in Heaven, and that the
aim of our life here should be to qualify ourselves for ob
taining this heavenly reward. That wealth and happiness
on Earth are not therefore the ends in view at all, but are
rather obstacles than otherwise to attaining Life everlast
ing in the Kingdom of Heaven.
That our brief existence in this World is a transitory
state of probation, merely accessory or a passage to an
other, where life will be endless ; eternal bliss in Heaven
to those who have believed in this theory, eternal torment
in Hell to those who have disbelieved in it.
Such, in short compass, is an outline of the one theory
of the Universe, and of the origin and nature of the life
of Man.
Now it is by no means easy to point out the source of
the theory I have been slightly sketching. It is commonly
supposed to be contained in the Bible. Partly no doubt
it is so, partly it is even more ancient, for India and
Egypt share in its origin with Palestine and Syria. As
a whole it is the theory of theology; that is to say, it has
been, in its ultimate shape, elaborated from the metaphy
sical and scholastic subtleties of that remarkable class of
men the Patres et Doctores—the Fathers and Schoolmen
who flourished throughout the early centuries of the
Christian era, and during that period of scientific dark
ness termed the middle ages; and, so potent has been the
indirect influence of their speculative interpretations of
the oriental metaphors of scripture, that it is quite doubt
ful whether any of us now living are capable of reading
the Bible free from the prejudices and preconceptions
that, partly by inheritance, and partly by education, we
have imbibed from such speculations, and which, in the
�The Science of Life Worth Living.
&
mystifying form of creeds, catechisms, confessions of
faith, and other ecclesiastical devices, are now found to
stand between man’s unsophisticated reason and the,
unique language of Holy Writ.
We are educated then to believe in this theological
theory, and our belief is not only thus biassed from birth
to manhood, but throughout our whole lives the most
extraordinary pains are taken to retain our understand
ings in its thraldom.
It may surprise some of you to hear that there are in
this metropolis alone upwards of 150 Missionary, Bible,
Beligious Tract, Christian evidence, and other proselyting
Societies applying large funds and exercising wide ranging
influence in spreading the knowledge of, and persuading
to the belief in this theological theory. Some idea may
be gained of the extent of the operations of these societies
if I give you a very few of the published statistics of some
two or three of them.
First I will instance the Sunday School Union Society,
who, in their Annual lieport for last year of what they
term their threefold work of pioneering, extension, and
consolidation, and the overcoming of prejudices, sophisms,
and personal antipathies, state that they have now in
London upwards of 830 schools, 20,000 teachers, and.
231,000 scholars.
I may here very appositely remark in reference gene
rally to the academical system of this country, that there
is not even yet a single one of our great Public Schools
that is presided over by a head master who is not a theo
logian. When therefore we read of a Conference of Head
Masters, such as was held on 22nd of December last, we.
must not be shocked to find that an adequate or more
thorough teaching of Science formed no part of their pro
�10
The Science of Life Worth Living.
gramme, and that they should be largely occupied in
discussing such subjects as “de flagellatione corporis” and
“ de cerevisia potendo ”—that is—concerning the flogging
of the little boys, and stopping the beer of the big ones.
Next I will take a very few facts and figures from the
last Report of the British and Foreign Bible Society. It
is therein stated that in the year 1878 the Society had
issued and circulated upwards of 3,340,000 copies of the
scriptures in whole or in part. That from the commence
ment of the Society’s operations in the year 1804, upwards
of eighty-five millions of such copies had been circulated,
and they calculate that they have thereby rendered the
Bible available to seven hundred millions of the human
family!
I will lastly turn to the Report of the Religious Tract
Society for the year 1878. There I find it stated that the
total circulation from London alone of the various mis
cellaneous issues of this energetic body had reached the
astounding total of upwards of sixty millions, of which
28,500,000 were religious tracts; so that I think we may
conclude that the community is tolerably saturated with
this species of literature, even if we did not know, what
is probably within the experience of nearly every one
present, viz.: That you cannot walk the streets without
having these publications thrust upon you, and that you
can hardly enter a Railway Station or a room in a Hotel
throughout the Kingdom which is not supplied with the
scriptures gratis, and partly adorned by a display of theo
logical tracts and texts.
We cannot wonder then if we find, as the fact is, that
the actual condition or practice of our lives is based upon
the theological theory, and that whatever may be the
prevalent form of ailment with society or any of its
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members, the sovereign cure suggested by our accredited
teachers is resort to the theological agency of Prayer,
Intercession, or Thanksgiving to the Supernatural Pro
vidence assumed by the theory to be specially regulating
the affairs of life. Things serious and trivial are alike
affected by it.
If bells are to be hung in a Church, they must first be
blessed by the ministers of supernatural grace. If a
vessel of war is to be named, a christening or theological
ceremony must be performed over it. If new colours are
presented to a regiment of soldiers, the approval of the
supernatural must be invoked. If an epidemic prevails,
prayer is to be resorted to to drive it away. If the
weather is such that the crops will not ripen, the super
natural is appealed to to change it. If, notwithstanding
such appeal, the weather continues disastrous, the crops
are destroyed, and the farmer is ruined, so inveterate are
our theological habits that a harvest Thanksgiving to the
supernatural must nevertheless be held 1
Even the sick room is overshadowed by this superstition,
and sometimes becomes converted into the chamber of
death, by reason of the physician’s skill being baffled, not
by the symptoms of the disease but by the patient’s
nervous depression and anxiety resulting from terrified
belief in the theological theory.
And now, if we turn to the characteristics of our life
carried on under the influence of this theory, what do we
find them to be ? I think I do not err if I describe them
as being for the most part divers forms and shapes of
misery, and variety of wretchedness—I am not of course
alluding to the lives of the upper ten thousand, who are
by their special circumstances exceptionally placed in
relation to any theory, but I am referring more particu
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larly to the lives of the masses of those who compose the
middle and lower ranks of society.
In verification of this assertion I will again appeal to
the irrefutable logic of statistics. If we turn to the
Population Census returns we find that whilst, in the
judgment of the Registrar-General (whose conclusion I
may add is confirmed by the reasonings and research of
our friend Dr. Richardson), the fair natural limit of the
life of the human being is stated to be 100 years, yet the
average length of life in this country, taking all of us
together, is only between forty and fifty years, whilst, if
we confine our calculation to those who constitute our
toiling millions, their actual average length of life is only
between twenty and thirty years. It may be literally said
that the natural length of life is ground out of them by
over-work, by overcrowding, by intemperance, by disease,
and by destitution. So short a span of existence can in
deed be to many of them little more than the prolonged
agony of a slow death. “We don’t live,”—said many of
the street folk to Horace Mayhew, when he was enquiring
into the habits of the London poor,—“ We don’t live—
we starve.”
Again, in the Registrar-General’s summary of births,
deaths, and marriages for the year 1878 we find it recorded
that out of the 83,000 deaths that occurred in London in
that year, upwards of 42,000 took place at ages under
twenty years, and it appears as a general inference from
his figures that of the children that are brought into
existence upwards of 40 per cent, of them perish under
five years of age ! "
Now these are very fearful facts, in whatever light we
may view them, and the amount of human misery they
involve can hardly be realised by means of languages
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though if it were necessary to paint with sadder colours
the sorrows of our existence I would refer to Fry’s Royal
Guide to the London Charities, amongst which are enume
rated no less than some seventy Hospitals, having an
annual aggregate of nearly 1,000,000 in-and-out-door
patients 1
All honour indeed to those whose munificence supports
these beneficent Institutions, but, what we are now con
cerned to notice is the appalling mass of disease and
destitution that renders them necessary, and fills to over
flowing their tens of thousands of beds and appliances.
I might7 even still further darken the picture of life if
I summed up, however briefly, the statistics of our habits
of intemperance and the numbers of committals to jails
and of the inmates of lunatic asylums; but I think that
what I have stated may at any rate be regarded as suffi
ciently justifying the Apostle of Superstition, who has
lately been heard to enquire so despairingly—Is Life
worth Living ?
Now, remembering that in obedience to the theological
theory millions of prayers, in every conceivable variety
that the will of man can devise, have been, and are being
continually uttered imploring supernatural relief from
the evils of this world of woe, I think we might well
reply to the above enquiry by asking—Is it not time
seriously to try something else ?
There is no doubt that in one sense enlightened minds
have been for a long time engaged in endeavouring to
lessen the ills of life by the application of the teachings
of Science. Philanthropists have especially sought to
show that in matters relating to health, diseases for
instance, chiefly result from the disregard of certain
natural laws; but, between Superstition and Science there
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is really no ratio, and, whilst the one appeals to super
natural Providence for the cure of evil, and the other
would rouse up the human reason to discover the law of
nature which the presence of evil shows us has been dis
regarded, it is in fact impracticable effectually to graft
the resources of science upon the theological theory, and,
in attempting it, we are only engaged in the delusive
practice of pouring new wine into old bottles. The old
bottles of theology are indeed from time to time burst,
while the new wine of science is mostly spilt and lost.
Not but what a summary of the achievements of science
during even the present century would show us very
remarkable changes bearing upon the progress of our
every day life,—commerce freed from restrictions; trade
monopolies broken down; the necessaries of life cheapened;
important political, economic, and legal reforms effected;
locomotion and the means of communication marvellously
expedited ; vast improvements in the medical art; pain
mitigated, diseases diminished, life itself lengthened.
Yet the conclusion I desire to put to you is, that the
expected beneficial results of these scientific achievements
have been more or less neutralized or impeded through
the influence of the theological theory, by the stimulus
they have thereby been encouraged to impart to the irra
tional and reckless over production of human beings, so
that their most striking effect has been the excessive, that
is, the too rapid increase of our population, especially of
the indigent or wage receiving class, whose miserable
lives and untimely deaths are but too surely vouched for
by those remorseless returns of the Registrar General.
It appears by the published digest of the last census
that the population of England and Wales, which, in the
year 1801 was nine millions, had doubled its numbers by
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the year 1851, and, by the year 1871, had increased to
twenty-three millions I
Then in relation to our education on the theological
basis, the attitude of science is thus humourously de
scribed by Professor Huxley. “The educational tree,” he
remarks, “ seems to have its roots in the air, its leaves
and flowers in the ground, and I confess I should like to
turn it upside down, so that its roots might be solidly
embedded among the facts of nature, and draw thence a
sound nutriment for its foliage and fruit of literature and
of art. I think I do not err in saying that if Science
were made the foundation of education instead of being
at most stuck on as a cornice to the edifice, the present
state of things could not exist.”
Let us now turn to the consideration of the theory of
the Universe, and of the origin an-d nature of Human Life
which we have derived from the discoveries of Science.
When you look up at the sky on a bright cLear night
of course you see the vast apparent dome over your heads
profusely studded with constellations and multitudes of
stars. You observe that the great majority of these
appear to be fixed in their relative positions, always
appearing in their accustomed places, no matter where .
the observer may be, but that with regard to some few of
the-stars, which appear to be larger than the rest, and to
shine with a more brilliant and attractive light, these
you observe to be perpetually shifting their positions,
only some of them appearing together on any particular
night.
,
Now the marvellous discoveries of astronomical science
respecting the stars are shortly this. Those that are
never seen to move out of their relative positions, and
therefore called the fixed stars, are at an enormous,
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practically an incalculable distance from the Earth, and
are of vast size compared with it, many of them being
indeed suns, the centres of systems similar to what is
termed our solar system. They are altogether so removed
from us as to exert no appreciable influence upon the
earth, and they may be dismissed from present considera
tion with the single observation, that they powerfully
impress us with the vastness of the universe according to
the scientific conception of it, far beyond realisation by
the human imagination, and convince us that our earth can
not be the world that the theological theory asserts, but that
it is really only a very minute portion of the vast creation.
To attain anything like a realisable idea of our World
according to Science we must limit our reflections to those
few moving stars whose larger size and softer brilliancy
seem so to fascinate our sight and thoughts, and which are,
relatively to the fixed stars, very near to us. These mov
ing stars then are the planets that circle round our Sun.
The Earth is known by science to be one of such planets,
and to an observer placed upon the surface of any of the
others the earth would appear very much like what they
appear to us, though indeed, as to some of them, the
planet Jupiter for instance with its four satellites or
moons and whose bulk is some 1300 times larger than
that of the Earth, our planet with its one moon would
appear to an inhabitant of Jupiter, if visible at all, as a
very insignificant star indeed.
‘ To comprehend this more clearly we must mentally
separate this planetary system from the rest of the starry
universe, and contemplate it distinctly by itself.
Here you have an ordinary representation of a few of
the chief bodies of the system,* showing the Sun in the
* See diagram on opposite page.
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URANUS'^..
17
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centre and the several principle planets in their respec
tive orbits round the Sun. It tolerably represents what
the eye would see, supposing we were not upon the Earth,
but looking down on the system from a great elevation
on its north side.
Now, of this majestic system Science explains the pro
bable formation. That is to say—It is known, from tele
scopic observations and mathematical calculations, that
the moving bodies in this system are all similar in form,
being globes not quite spherical or round but oblate, that
is, flattened at their poles. ( That they all severally ro
tate upon their axes in the same direction. That they
all move through space in the same common direction
from West to East. That the curve of their respective
orbits is not mathematically circular but elliptical. That
the eccentricity of their orbits is very slight, and the incli
nation of their planes very small in comparison with that
of the Solar Equator, and that all these planetary bodies
revolve round the central Sun in particular periodic
times.
Now these discovered facts, considered in connection
with the known natural laws of gravitation, of motion,
and of heat, and the known laws that rule the human in
tellect in its search after truth, impel our reason towards
certain conclusions, viz.: That the former state of the
solar atmosphere, myriads of ages ago, was that of a vast
zone of nebulous or gaseous matter in a state of extreme
heat, extending to the utmost limits of the system, under
going a gradual process of progressive cooling, contrac
tion, and condensation, and that the present state of the
system is simply the necessary physical result of such
natural process of cooling, contracting, and condensing .
by virtue of which the nebulous mass broke up, or sepa
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rated into its several component moving bodies, at first
liquid, then becoming solid and such as we now see them.
The entire system, which, as you have seen, is but a
fragment of the starry cosmos, is yet of a size almost
beyond the grasp of our understanding. Thus, the central
Sun is a body 883,000 miles in diameter and is at a dis
tance from our Earth of 93 millions of miles. The Sun’s
distance from the planet Jupiter is 496 millions of miles,
and its distance from the planet Neptune is more than
2,800 millions of miles. These figures help to give us
some idea of the immense magnitude of this relatively
small system.
Now the points to which I wish to draw your attention
are that science has further discovered that this system
and every portion of it is governed by, as well as being
the result of the operation of, fixed natural laws, especially
the laws of gravitation, of motion, of light, and of heat.
That these laws operate uniformly and continuously upon
each one of the bodies of this system as a part of the
whole, and that, with regard to some of these laws—the
law of gravitation for example, it could not possibly be
suspended or altered (physically speaking) in reference to
any one of these bodies, without affecting the relation
subsisting between it and all the other bodies of the
system, so as to perturb, probably annihilate its cosmic,
harmony, as we have it mathematically demonstrated in
the immortal “ Principia ” of Sir Isaac Newton.
You need not then be startled to hear that some of the
greatest astronomers the world has seen, men who have
made the laws of this stupendous system their profoundest
study, notably the illustrious Laplace and Lalande, have
declared that they had been unable to detect in the recon
dite mechanism of its invariable order any indication what
ever of the God of theology.
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The system, so far as human knowledge of it extends,
may be described as a realm of Natural invariable law,
Such as we see it now, it has existed through countless
ages, and such it must continue to exist for countless
ages to come!
Therefore, whilst theologians for the last 1800 years
have been perpetually preaching the approaching end of
the World, astronomers have only recently calculated the
coming variations in the eccentricity of the Earth’s orbit
for a million years following the year 1800 I
Hence Science teaches us that the general laws of the
astronomical phenomena of our solar system constitute
the basis of all our real knowledge.
So a venerated philosopher has said—•
“ Two things I contemplate with ceaseles awe;
The Stars of Heaven, and man’s sense of Law.”
Turning now from the system, we must concentrate
our attention upon a very small, but integral portion of
it, a body scarcely 8000 miles in diameter, that globe
which we call the Earth; for obviously we can form no
scientific theory of human existence without knowing the
scientific elements that characterise the planet which is
the home of that existence. The sciences then of As
tronomy and Geology, which together give us the space
scale and the time scale of our world, armed with the
knowledge of the natural laws already referred to, have
been able to trace the formation, the shape, and the his
tory of the Earth for ages before man appeared upon it,
and to tell us that plants and animals came into existence
by slow degrees, and that the condition to which they
had severally attained at the time of man’s appearance
was the result of variation or natural selection progress
ing by means of the physiological interaction of adapta
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21
tion, and inheritance and survival of the fittest operating
throughout, not six days, but enormously long periods of
time. In fact, as to the progress or change in every
thing taking place on our planet, including the seemingly
capricious phenomena of human actions, and even, (as
Dr. Maudesley put it to us so clearly last Sunday), the
apparent freedom of the will, Science has discovered that
all is regulated by the operation of invariable natural law,
linked together, that is, in a chain of secondary causation,
whose only modification is brought about by the interven
tion of human intelligence.
Thus Science is assured that the law of gravitation
would annihilate in an instant the most pious person in
the kingdom, if he lost his footing on a mountain without
having first placed himself in circumstances to counteract
the inexorable operation of such law, or, that if he inno
cently swallowed what the laws of physiology have shown
to be a fatal dose of prussic acid, not all the prayers of
Christendom could avail to save his life.
We are thus according to Science living under the reign
of invariable natural law, and not according to Theology
under the reign of arbitrary supernatural will, and there
fore the aim of the human mind should be to find out and
to study Natural Law, rather than to keep on seeking by
perpetual entreaty to influence Supernatural Will.
These few facts, which for our present purpose may be
accepted as sufficiently representing an outline of the
theory of the Universe derived from Science, are no longer
questioned by competent minds, and I should hardly think
that anyone capable of giving them unprejudiced con
sideration could fail to perceive, that they are contradictory
to, and incompatible with the theory derived from Super-?
stition, which I commenced by describing.
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Now, with reference to the first appearance or creation
of man, Science can at present furnish us only with proba
bilities. These are however the logical outcome of an ap
paratus of evidence almost irresistable.
The scientific view of the origin of the human species
is that which has been made more or less familiar to us
by the works of our illustrious countryman Charles Darwin.
The logic of his argument is really very clear, as well as
cogent, and the result of it may, I think, be thus in
telligibly stated. Due regard being had to what is now
known geologically, zoologically, and embryologically of
the ascending gradations of animal life, especially in the
vertebrate series, and regard being also had to the known
continuity of Nature, it is highly probable that man is the
evolution or development of some lower animal form of
the simian or ape species, from the individuals of which
he is found to differ organically less than the higher and
lower apes differ from each other.
Observe—Darwin does not say that Man came from a
monkey. No one capable of comprehending his great
argument would give utterance to such an absurdity; but,
if Darwin’s biological theory embodies the truth, then
there must have been some ancestral link in the pedigree
of man which has not yet been discovered.
Man, observes Darwin, must be included with other
organic beings in any general conclusion respecting the
manner of his appearance on this earth. And Professor
Huxley, in his treatise on Man’s place in Nature, has
clearly shown from exhaustive observation of biological
phenomena, that the mode of origin and the early stages
of the development of man are identical with those of the
animals below him in the scale.
But, be man’s origin what it may, that with which we
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are more immediately concerned is a scientifically estab
lished fact, viz., his unity of organization with the higher
animals, which again are scientifically found to be organi
cally co-ordinated with the entire series of life below them.
So that it may be said all the organisms on our planet are
related through their structural and functional resem
blances—the human being similar to the animal organism,
only higher in degree.
Such then is the conception of the origin and nature of
Human Life derived from the discoveries of Science.
Now it is remarkable that with regard to the scientific
theory of the Universe, and of the origin and nature of
Man, there is an almost total absence of proselyting
societies for diffusing knowledge of the theory and bringing
about belief in it. There is no Sunday Science School
Society. There is no gratuitous distribution of scientific
tracts or texts.
Indeed, with the exception of the British Association
for the Advancement of Science, and the Society under
whose auspices I am now addressing you, I can scarcely
call to mind a single Society whose main object it is to
circulate the knowledge of scientific truth amongst the
people at large, and not only so, but we may call to mind
that on this day of the week at this very hour there are
being delivered from thousands of pulpits exciting exhor
tations to persuade or to frighten men and women (chiefly
I suspect the latter) still to go on, supinely acquiescing
in the theological theory; whilst, with reference to our
Society’s Lectures delivered here, they have, on the part
of the public press, been simply welcomed ■with the con
spiracy of silence.
Yet I do not think the people, if encouraging oppor
tunities were affored them, would be found generally
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indifferent to the acquisition of scientific truth, insensible
to its sublimity, or regardless of its utility.
The Archbishop of York, in his sermon preached on
the occasion of the meeting of the British Association in
August last, declared that “ he did not know how it
would fare with them if none but scientific theories were
to guide them, for ” (said his Grace) “ the great majority
of men did not take an interest in scientific generalisa
tions, they could not appreciate them.” Well, 1 think it
might fairly be replied to these observations that the
majority of men are simply kept in ignorance of science,
and have really at present no available means provided
for their gaining scientific knowledge; but, if they had, I
will venture to say most advisedly that they would soon
be found to prefer Science to Superstition, quickly become
able to distinguish the light of nature from the darkness
of dogma, and eager to guide themselves by scientific
authority.
The scientific theory, having then explained to us the
probable origin, and the physiological nature of man#
proceeds to enlighten us concerning the conditions under
which he is found to increase and multiply.
Now the fundamental natural law discovered by science
in relation to the multiplication of living organisms is
simply this,—that they are everywhere, and under purely
physical conditions, produced in excess of their means of
subsistence. In other words, many more are born than
can possibly survive. Hence the great struggle for exist
ence, so graphically described, especially in relation to
plants and animals, in Haeckel’s “ History of the
Creation,” and in Darwin’s great works.
But this primordial natural law is proved to apply
equally to the production of human beings, and our
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. interest at the present moment is the consideration of the
effect of its operation and consequent struggle for exist
ence on the human race.
If we carry our minds to the populations of the East
we can have no difficulty in realising this problem. In
Cornelius Walford’s instructive book on “the Famines of
the World,” we read accounts of “Nature’s terrible cor
rectives of redundancy ” in all their unmitigated horror.
The recent famine in India has destroyed in one Presidency
alone more than 500,000 people by starvation! and has
thrown a million and a half more upon charity. It has
indeed been recently stated on authority that 1,250,000
persons have perished of this famine. Such is the
appalling result of the people recklessly multiplying
beyond their means of subsistence.
We are blind however to the operation of the law of
population amongst ourselves. We fail to see its working
in the premature deaths of the forty per cent, of all that
are born under five years of age, in the 42,000 deaths
under twenty years of age out of the 83,000 annual
deaths in this metropolis, so blinded are we to the
warnings of Nature through our biassed belief in the
theological theory. Yet the great majority of our un
timely deaths are truly traceable to the very causes that
in uncivilised countries terminate in actual starvation!
The first canon of scientific culture of life therefore
requires that reckless or irrational multiplication should
be restrained, and that man should apply his intelligence
towards controlling the purely physical and mechanical
conditions of reproduction.
We see this canon systematically carried out by the
florist in his culture of flowers. Seeds are sown, but
when they come up they are carefully thinned out, in
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order that, there - being no overcrowding, healthy and
beautiful flowers may be produced by those that are left.
We see the same principle in operation where fine fruit
is desired. The buds are thinned out upon the trees, in
order that the diminished number that are left may attain
perfection of size and maturity. The agriculturist follows
precisely the same course. He is careful, as regards his
stock, that only a limited number of offspring shall be
produced or allowed to survive, and, moreover, that their
parentage shall be the result of careful selection.
Some idea may be gained of the value and importance
of such selective breeding from a case recently decided in
our Law Courts, in which a well known grazier recovered
a sum of =£750 damages for the injury inflicted on his
herd by the fraudulent introduction of an animal with a
false pedigree, but guaranteed, when he purchased it, to
be thorough bred.
Can we doubt what might be the improvement of the
human race, if even the slightest similar care were taken
with our own marriages ?
“ Man’s natural qualities,” observes Francis Gallon, in
his masterly work on Hereditary Genius, “are derived
by inheritance under exactly the same conditions as are
the form and the physical features of the whole organic
world.” “ Man,” says Darwin, “ scans with scrupulous
care the character and pedigree of his horses, cattle, and
dogs before he matches them, but when he comes to his
own marriage, he rarely or never takes any such care.
Yet he might by selection do something, not only for the
bodily constitution and frame of his offspring, but for
their intellectual and moral qualities.”
Now the continuity of structure and function, that
has been traced by biological science to exist between
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human, animal, and vegetal organisms, has enabled
Science by comparative research, that is, by observation
and experiment upon the lower animals, and even upon
individuals of the vegetable kingdom, to acquire remark
ably useful knowledge of the organic nature and constitu
tion of the human being, and, through these means, to
suggest most important rules for its treatment and pro
gressive improvement.
This is no new idea even in this country. Sir Richard
Steele, writing in the “ Tatler ” 150 years ago, told his
readers that “ one might wear any passion out of a family
by culture, as skilful gardeners blot a colour out of a
tulip that hurts its beauty.”
Science in short shows us that the life of man, like
that of all other living organisms on our planet, is
governed by fixed natural laws, and that by the use of his
understanding man can improve his life through the dis
covery of these laws, and by regulating his. conduct in
obedience to their dictates. That all his faculties are
adapted to his existence in this world of Nature; that
they do not inform him of any Super-natural world,
thereby suggesting that prosperity and enjoyment on
earth are the real moral ends to be desired, and that his
noblest aspirations should be transmuted into good and
useful actions for mankind, and not consumed in senseless
supplications addressed to Supernatural Power.
Thus Science shows us that the discovery by man of
the physiological laws will enable him to enjoy health and
good spirits—of the intellectual laws to acquire know
ledge and mental power—of the economic laws to gain
wealth or competency—of the social and moral laws to
practice virtue, to delight in duty, and to attain to
happiness.
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Therefore Science, which yearns to see mankind re
joicing in life and action, counsels us that one great object
of education should be the study of these laws—to in
culcate obedience to them, and to train our understandings
so that we may conform our lives to their unalterable
nature.
In illustration of these propositions I observe, for
example, that Science has established beyond controversy
that the qualities, whether good or bad, of the parent are
transmitted to, or are inherited by the offspring, and that
this result is as certainly true of the human being as it is
of the lower animal. Hence we are taught what grave
responsibility does in reality rest upon us in becoming
the factors of posterity—in other words, in bringing
children into the world, for we are thus shown that the
future of human life will be what we make it. So true is
what our late friend Professor Clifford told us, “ that man
has made himself,” to which therefore let us add, “ man
can make himself better.”
The theological theory indeed assumes a supernatural
mystery in the matter. Its favourite text, “Be fruitful
and multiply,” addressed, you remember, to Noah, when
nearly all the inhabitants of the earth had been destroyed,
is supposed to be applicable to the teeming millions of
the crowded cities of this nineteenth century! and it is
correspondingly asserted by the theological theory that
“ when God sends mouths he sends meat to fill them.”
But Science reads us a very different lesson, and I will
quote, as pointedly expressing its salutary teaching, what
Professor Matthew Arnold, in his remarkable book
“ Culture and Anarchy,” has said upon that subject.
“ A man’s children ” (he declares) “ are not sent any
more than the pictures upon his walls or the-horses in
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his stable are sent, and to bring people into the world
when one cannot afford to keep them and oneself
decently .... or to bring more of them into the world
than one can offord so to keep.... is by no means an
accomplishment of the divine will, or a fulfilment of
Nature’s simplest laws, but is just as wrong, just as con
trary to the will of God, as for a man to have horses, or
carriages, or pictures when he cannot afford them, or to
have more of them than he can afford.”
This extract from Matthew Arnold’s writings, you may
think is very plain speaking, but, as J. Stuart Mill has
remarked, no one would guess from ordinary talk, that
man had any voice or choice in the matter, so complete is
the confusion of ideas on the whole subject, owing to the
mystery in which it is shrouded by a spurious delicacy,
and that the diseases of society can no more than corporal
maladies be prevented or cured without being spoken
about in plain language.
Now I think we may observe amongst our men of
science, especially those whose minds are most free from
the taint of that inherited mental malady Superstition,
a growing tendency towards advocating the application
to the culture of the Human Being of those scientific me
thods that have proved so successful in producing the ex
quisite growth, maturity, and beauty of cultivated Flowers
and Fruit, and the joyousuess, hilarity, and perfection of
form, temper, and disposition of the thorough - bred
Animal.
Such methods can of course only be applied to man by
way of analogy—that is to say, in reference for instance
to overpopulation, human beings cannot, like flowers, be
destroyed after they are once born, nor can they be
treated by mechanical methods as the lower animals are,
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The Science of Life Worth Living.
but man’s intelligence can be appealed to in his own
behalf, his reason can be aroused, and his moral senti
ments interested, and the mode by which the reckless
increase of his numbers should be diminished will un
doubtedly be by inducing fewer births, so as to put a stop
to premature deaths, and the diseases by which premature
deaths are ushered in, diseases, which should plainly in
struct us that, somehow the laws of Nature are being
outraged.
Now, if this were to any appreciable extent accomp
lished it can hardly be doubted that a vast amount of
human misery, that, viz., which is scientifically attribu
table to overpopulation, might be gradually eliminated.
Even war could eventually be deprived of its victims, and
the hideous vice that haunts the public places of our
cities, so reproachful to our boasted civilization and the
moral spirit of our age, might to a great extent be got rid
of; so too the large amount of crime that results from
temptation, so sorely pressing upon the indigent, made
indigent by the competition of the overwhelming numbers
that throng the labour market and depress the rate of
wages, would almost disappear; the savagery of personal
assaults especially upon wives, so often traceable to the
irritability arising from overcrowding, and the demora
lising effect of its vitiated atmosphere, would be found to
vanish; and thus in fine our low-toned morality, which is
the despair of the theologian, would in many respects be
purified and elevated, the course of our existence tend to
become converted into a career of virtuous enjoyment, and
earthly Life, whose inborn delight is at present so em
bittered to all of us by its blendings, or surroundings of
suffering, sorrow, and sin, might, not merely in theory,
but really, and practically be made worth Living.
�
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The science of life worth living: a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society on Sunday afternoon, 22nd February, 1880
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Finch, A. Elley
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 30, [2] p. : ill. (diag.) ; 18 cm
Series: no 29
Notes: Publisher's series list on unnumbered pages at the end. A list of published pamphlets by the same author listed on title page verso.
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THE PHYSIOLOGICAL UNITY
OF
■ PLANTS AND ANIMALS.
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
ox
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 30th JANUARY, 1881,
BY
Q. S. BOULGER, F.L.S., F.G.S.
bonbon:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1881.
PRICE THREEPENCE.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and to
encourage the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on Science,—physical,
intellectual, and moral,—History, Literature, and Art; especially
on their bearing upon the improvement and social well-being of
mankind.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
ARE DELIVERED AT
ST. GEORGE'S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On Sunday Afternoons at FOUR o’clock precisely.
('Annually—from November to May.)
Twenty-four Lectures (in three series) are given in each year.
Members’ annual subscription, £1.
For Tickets and the printed Lectures, and for lists of all the
Lectures published by the Society, apply (by letter) to the Hon.
Treasurer, Wm. Henry Domville, Esq., 15, Gloucester Crescent,
Hyde Park.
SYLLABUS OF THIS LECTURE.
The progress of science consists in the connection of phe
nomena previously considered isolated.
The old Three Kingdoms of Nature now seen to be in many
points one, in most essential characteristics only two: the
Organic and the Inorganic, or Living and Not-Living.
Plants and animals identical in their ultimate chemical con
stituents; Carbon, Hydrogen, Oxygen, Nitrogen, Phosphorus,
Sulphur, Potassium, Iron: in most of their proximate principles;
Water, Carbonic acid, Sugar, Starch, Cellulose, Fibrin, Casein,
Chlorophyll, Protoplasm.
Structural identity of the lower groups—Hackel’s Protista.
Functions of living beings.
Identity in Respiration.
Identity in Nutrition, the presence of ferments, pepsin, diges
tive acid and peptones—The Chlorophyllian property—The
Conversion of starch into sugar.
The functions of Relation; Sensation, Nervous action and
Motion—The nerve-like action of protoplasm in Drosera—Motion
by pseudopodia or cilia.
Reproduction by fission, gemmation and ovulation—Ova and
Spermatozoa.
�THE PHYSIOLOGICAL UNITY OF
PLANTS AND ANIMALS.
NE of the cardinal laws of the modern philosophy
of evolution is that the history of the development
of the race is summarised in that of the individual. This
is exemplified in the growth of human knowledge, es
pecially of accurate knowledge or science: as a child
learns a number of detached words, chiefly nouns, before
it can frame a connected train of thought, and notices
with unreasoning surprise each phenomenon of nature
which it encounters, so in the progress of science the
human race learns to trace the general laws which govern
phenomena that it once looked upon as isolated and
marvellous.
Thus mankind were for ages content to talk of the
“Three Kingdoms of Nature,” and to look upon minerals,
plants, and animals, as three distinct categories having
little or nothing in common. We now know, however,
that in many respects these three are one, and that in
all essential characteristics they can only be considered
as two. They are subject to the same physical and
chemical laws: plants and animals contain no chemical
element not existing in inorganic minerals, even carbon
occurring in meteoric stones; their mode of growth is
not so radically unlike that of a collection of small crys
tals in a nutrient fluid as has been supposed; nor are the
simple geometrical beginnings of organic structure wholly
unlike crystallisation. The words “ inorganic ” or “ un
organised ” are as applicable to the lowest animals as to
the starch manufactured by chemical synthesis from its
elements in the laboratory; for it is a mere contradiction
in terms to term that an organism which is absolutely
destitute of organs. It would be extremely difficult to
show that in life we have more than an assemblage of
forces possessed individually, at least in some degree, by
the inorganic world ; and we still look upon the dead
body of plant or animal as being plant or animal when
not only is the individual dead, but even when no single
O
�4
The Physiological Unity of
tissue evinces lingering vitality by responding to stimu
lation. Thus the distinction between living and notliving is scarcely more precise than that between organic
and inorganic.
Still, however, though the boundary-line be not easily
definable, there are distinctions readily perceptible be
tween nearly all things that either do live or have lived
and those that have not.
Living beings have curved outlines ; they have much
of their structure in a soft condition; if alive, they ex
hibit numerous functions; they consist chiefly of complex
carbon compounds.
Between plants and animals, at first sight, there may
seem to be distinctions equally simple ; but this seeming
only arises from our thinking of types rather than of the
whole groups, and even popular natural history recog
nises the difficulty in detail in terming one group of
animals “ zoophytes,” or animal plants.
Plants and animals are identical in their ultimate
chemical constituents, i.e., in the elements or simple sub
stances, of which they are composed, the chief of which
are carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus,
sulphur, potassium, and iron. The proportion in which
these elements occur varies, however, to some extent in
the two groups, carbon being relatively more abundant in
the vegetable, and nitrogen, sulphur, and phosphorus in
the animal kingdom. These elements occur probably,
however, in every plant and in every animal. Oxygen
and hydrogen form water (H2 O), which constitutes from
14 to 94 per cent, of plants, 67 per cent, of the human
body, and far more in some other animals. Carbon and
oxygen form carbonic acid (C O2), and nitrogen and
hydrogen form ammonia (N H3), invariable products of
the disintegration of the bodies of plants and animals.
All vital actions in both plants and animals—growth,
assimilation, reproduction, nervous action, &c.—are con
ducted by the complex substances known as albuminoids,
which have an average pei’ centage composition of 53 of
carbon, 22 of oxygen, 16 of nitrogen, 7 of hydrogen, 1 of
sulphur, and a trace of phosphorus. Iron, the great
colouring matter of nature, necessary alike to the produc
tion of the green chlorophyll of leaves and of red blood, is
probably universally present; and potassium, which seems
�Plants and Animals.
5
in some way essential to the formation of starch and cellu
lose—those carbo-hydrates, so abundant in most plants,
so rare in animals—occurs, though in small quantities,
probably in all animals.
Many of the chief compounds or proximate principles
are also common to the two groups. Not to mention
further such products of decomposition as carbonic acid
and ammonia, or water, in the absence of which vitality is
impossible; starch (C6 H10 O5) has been detected in the
human brain and elsewhere; cellulose (C61I1O O5) occurs
in the “ mantle ” of the Tunicata, or marine Ascidians ;
fibrin, the chief ingredient of blood and meat, is all but
identical with the gluten of cereal grains ; casein, the
curd of milk, it represented most closely in those most
concentrated of vegetable foods, the seeds of peas and
lentils; chlorophyll even, that green colouring matter
which we look upon as so characteristic of the vegetable
world, not only exists in a score of animals belonging to
most varied groups,1 but in them has the same marked
effect upon the atmosphere that it exerts in plants; and
lastly, that protoplasm, or sarcode, which Professor
Huxley has so well termed “ the physical basis of life,”
appears absolutely identical in both divisions of the
organic kingdom. In either case it would seem to be
very probably a combination of a phosphamide and a sulphamide of some highly complex base containing carbon,
hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen.
If we leave composition and pass on to structure,
looking, as rational philosophy teaches us, at the base of
the diverging branches rather than at their summits, we
find the identity so close that the shrewdest naturalists
are baffled in their attempts to draw a boundary line; so
that Professor Hackel has been led to cut the gordian
1 The following list of these chlorophyllian animals has been
drawn up by Professor Ray Lankester:—
Foramimfera.
Ccelentera.
Radiolaria.
Hydra viridis.
Anthea smaragdina.
Rhaphiophrys viridis.
Heterophrys myriapoda.
Vermes.
Mesostomum viride.
Infusoria.
Stentor Mulleri, &c.
Boneilia viridis.
Chsetopterus Valenciennesii.
Spongida.
Crustacea (Isopoda).
Spongilla fluviatilis.
Idotsea viridis.
�6
The Physiological Unity of
knot by establishing the intermediate group of Protista,
neither plants nor animals, thus simply doubling the
difficulty.
I hope to show to-day that, without confining our
attention to these lowly forms, we may see an identity
in function superadded to these identities in composi
tion and structure, each leading physiological function
of the animal being represented among plants, and vice
versa.
Now the functions may be classified into three main
groups : those of nutrition, of primary importance, and
co-extensive in time with life, as being necessary to the
support of the individual; those of relation, useful in
bringing the organism into relation with its environment
(primarily evolved, no doubt, as aids to nutrition and selfdefence) ; and lastly, those of reproduction developed
when a mature size has been reached, or, as it has been
well put, when nutrition becomes discontinuous and
secures the permanence of the race.
Subsidiary to nutrition is the important function of
respiration, by which the body is supplied with atmos
pheric oxygen which is utilised in the breaking up or
waste of effete complex compounds in the body, and by
which also the resulting carbonic acid is exhaled. This
function, which it is convenient to discuss first, is univer
sally identical in plants and animals.
We are not concerned with the mechanism of respira
tion whether it be lungs, as in our own bodies, or gills,
or the general surface, as in many of the lower animals.
In both plants and animals oxygen is taken from the
inhaled air, and carbonic acid is exhaled. This breathing
continues as long as life lasts, by night as well as by
day, and even under the influence of anaesthetics, such as
chloroform. Among plants it is clearly observed in the
case of germinating seeds, as in the evolution of carbonic
acid in the artificially-produced sprouting of corn, known
as “ maltingin the action of fungi (which it would be
absurd to class as other than plants) upon the air, as
seen in the like evolution from brewers’ yeast; in the
effect on the atmosphere of any ordinary green plants
during the night or in the dark; and lastly, as we learn
from the luminous experiments due to the marvellous
acumen of the lamented Claude Bernard, in the effect on
�Plants and Animals.
7
their atmosphere of such ordinary green plants when put
under the influence of anaesthetics.
Green plants in the daylight, not under anaesthetics,
have an effect upon the atmosphere the converse of that
of animals, and have accordingly been said to inhale car
bonic acid, and to exhale oxygen.2 This is, however, to
render the physiological term “respiration” meaningless;
and is moreover conclusively disproved by Claude Ber
nard’s experiments, which show that a true respiration is
continually going on in these plants, and polluting the
air with additional carbonic acid, though the effects on
the atmosphere of this function are masked by the more
powerful chlorophyllian property which has a diametri
cally opposite effect. This remarkable action of the green
colouring-matter of leaves, under the influence of sun
light, in causing the removal of carbonic acid from the
air, is part of the nutritive functions properly so-called,
and, though more general among them, is by no means
confined to plants, as shown by the table of animals
belonging to most distant groups which contain chloro
phyll, as evidenced in several cases by the specific name
of “viridis.” (See note 1 p. 5.) This animal chloro
phyll has, moreover, been recently shown to produce the
same effect upon the air as does that of the plants. Many
plants, too—namely, the whole of the fungi—are without
chlorophyll.
This leads us to the functions of nutrition, to which
respiration is merely subsidiary. Most plants derive
their food from two sources : water, and saline substances
dissolved in it, from the soil, through their roots, and
carbon, from the carbonic acid of the atmosphere, ab
sorbed by their green leaves. Their nitrogen they un
doubtedly derive chiefly from nitrates in the soil; their
phosphorus from phosphates. Most animals, on the other
hand, are unable to build up the complex compounds of
which they consist from inorganic materials, subsisting
entirely on food previously assimilated by plants or other
2 I cannot at all agree with Dr. J. H. Gilbert, when he says
(Presidential Address to the Chemical Section of the British
Association at Swansea): “ It may, I think, be a question
whether there is any advantage in thus attempting to establish
a parallelism between animal and vegetable processes.”
See Mr. Corenwinder’s researches in “Revue Scientifique,” 1874.
�8
The Physiological Unity of
animals. This apparent contrast will not, however, hold
universally. Fungi and all parasitic plants depend, either
wholly or in a great measure, on food already assimilated;
whilst, on the other hand, those animals which contain
chlorophyll appear to be able to assimilate inorganic
matter.
The identity of the nutritive processes can, however, be
shown in much greater detail if we describe that even of
one of the higher animals, such as man, and refer in the
comparison partly to those plants which have been termed
“ carnivorous.”3 The food of a man, consisting of pre
viously elaborated animal and vegetable matter, is first
ingested or taken into the alimentary tract. In the mouth
it is masticated and mixed with saliva, a neutral or alkaline
watery fluid, containing a small quantity of ptyalin, a
nitrogenous substance, which, acting as a zymase, i.e., in
a manner similar to that of yeast and other ferments,
converts the insoluble starch into soluble glucose or grape
sugar (C6 H12 O6). The food than passes into the closed
stomach, the glands of which secrete an acid gastric
3 This term may be applied more or less fully to the following
plants belonging to widely different groups:—
Accidentally.
e.g. Lychnis (Campion). Caryophyllacese.
Saxifraga tridactylites. Saxifragacese.
Saprophagous, i.e., only absorbing the products
of decomposition ’? Dipsacus (.Teazle). Dipsacese.
With pitchers - Sarracenia.
Darlingtonia.
>Sarraceniacese.
.Heliamphora.
J
Utricularia.
1
With utricles Polypompholyx. }• Lentibulariacese.
Genlisea.
J
Digesting.
? Helleborus. Eanunculaceae.
? Parnassia. Saxifragacese.
Coelenterate.
Cephalotus. Saxifragacese.
Nepenthes. Nepenthacese.
Motile.
Pinguicula. Lentibulariacese.
Drosera (Sundew).
)
Drosopliyllum.
|
Dionsea (Venus’ Fly-trap). |
Aldxo vanda.
)
�Plants and Animals.
9
juice, containing pepsin, another nitrogenous ferment or
zymase, which acts upon the albuminoid constituents of
the food, rendering them soluble, or digesting them, when
they are known as peptones—substances that readily ooze
through a membrane. The entrance of food into the
stomach stimulates the nerves in its walls, and the neigh
bouring arteries swell so as to produce a blushing of the
surface. After quitting the stomach the conversion of
starch into sugar is completed by the pancreatin in the
intestinal juice of the small intestine, which is neutralised
by the alkaline bile. At the same time, the fatty portions
of the food are emulsionised, i.e.; separated into fine
particles suspended in the fluid, and to some extent sapo
nified, i.e., rendered more soluble by a conversion into
soap by the alkaline bile, just as animal and vegetable fats
and oils are converted into soap, in the_arts, by treatment
with caustic alkali; whilst any remaining albuminoids are
also digested.
The nutrient matter passes through the membranes of
the alimentary canal into the capillaries, or finest blood
vessels, and by the blood, the vehicle of circulation, it is
conveyed to every part of the body to be assimilated, or
taken up, by any organs requiring repair. Any subse
quent changes it may undergo are comprehended under
the term “ metastasis.”
In making this comparison we must not lose sight of
the fact that in the lowest animals we have no specialised
organs or structures to perform these varied functions.
Now, if we turn to plants in general, we find that the
watery solution taken in by the roots penetrates through
the cell-membranes, as the peptones do through those of
the alimentary canal in the animal, and that it is caused
to ascend to the leaves and growing parts by the evapora
tion from the surface. The air enters the stomata, or
pores, in the epidermis, and penetrates the cell-mem
branes, as it does in the air-cells of the bronchial tubes
in our own lungs. The primary product of the union of
this gaseous with this watery food seems to be the forma
tion of protoplasm, that complex albuminoid containing
not only carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, but
also sulphur and phosphorus. Only plants that contain
chlorophyll are able to utilise the carbon of the air in
forming protoplasm or assimilation, others must obtain
�10
The Physiological Unity of
it elsewhere. Chlorophyll is formed in the protoplasm,
only in the presence of iron, and generally in daylight;
plants grown in the dark being bleached by its imperfect
formation. The presence of chlorophyll is necessary to
the formation of starch, though the latter is a very simple
substance.
Starch is therefore absent from the fungi.
Recent researches4 point to the conclusion that starch
is formed by the protoplasm under the influence of light
filtered, so to speak, through chlorophyll. Though in
soluble, starch seems to be readily rendered soluble, as,
though chiefly formed in the leaves, it is rapidly trans
ferred to the stem, the seeds and other parts, where it
is stored up as a food-reserve. It is from these stores
that man obtains some of the most important of his
food-stuffs—the flour of wheat, the sago from the stem
of the sago-palm, and the starchy tuber of the potato.
Agricultural chemists have come to the conclusion that
animals derive their fat from the carbo-hydrates of their
food,5* i.e., from cellulose, starch, and sugar—more es
8
pecially from the two lattei’; and it would seem highly
probable that the similar fatty oils in fruits and seeds,
such as the olive and the oil-palm, are due to the
transformation of starch. A more important change is
that into glucose and soluble starch in germination, in the
spring sap, and such cases, which is brought about by a
ferment or zymase, known as diastase, all but identical
with the similarly acting ptyalin of our own saliva.
While starch is formed by day, by night the proto
plasm originates cellulose, the cells divide and the plant
grows.
Assimilation thus proceeds mainly by day;
growth by night. Some new evidence on this part of
the subject has been educed by Dr. Siemens’s experiments
on plants under the electric light.
In germinating seeds the albuminoids are converted
into substances closely resembling the peptones of animal
4 Those of Pringsheim, remarkably confirmed by Mr. George
Murray, of the British Museum, who has shown that lichenine, a
form of starch occurring in lichens, is formed not in the chloro
phyll-containing “ gonidial layer,” but in the subjacent cells.
8 See Dr. J. H. Gilbert’s Presidential Address to the Chemical
Section of the British Association at Swansea.
�Plants and Animals.
11
digestion ; and in the transfer of these, of soluble starch,
dextrine, and sugar, to the growing parts, we have a close
analogy to animal circulation.6
In the various complex processes of change, known as
metastasis, acid-salts and free acids are formed in plants,
with instances of which we are all familiar, such as the
rhubarb, apple, gooseberry, and orange. Now free acids
are nearly always deleterious to organic tissues. These
acids are therefore either metamorphosed or neutralised,
or to some extent excreted by being stored up in glands
near the surface, as in the orange. Such embedded glands
are very common, as are also the thin-skinned glandular
hairs, which often have a viscid secretion, as in the catch
flies or campions of the genus Lychnis in Saxifraga tri
dactylites, in Pinguicula and in most Droseracec/e. Mr.
Darwin has shown7 that these hairs in Saxifrages,
Droseras, Primula, and Pelargonium, will absorb am
monia from a solution; hence they might obtain it from
dew, in which it occurs in small quantities. It is also
probable that they derive some benefit from the nitro
genous matter in the bodies of flies, with which Saxifraga tridactylites is always covered.
Flies are constantly drowned in the pitcher formed by
the two united leaves of the common teazle, into which
Dr. Francis Darwin thinks he has detected delicate pro
toplasmic threads protruded from the cells of the stem,
like the pseudopodia of a Foraminifer.8
Several plants, belonging to widely separated orders,
have their leaves modified into pitchers, or utricles, in
which insects get drowned and decay, the products of
decay being absorbed by glands on the inner surface of6
8
*
6 The presence of a pepsin-like ferment, or peptogene, which
might have been inferred from the transference of albuminoids
from one part of the plant to another, has been shown in the seeds
of Vetch by Gorup-Besanez. A similar substance occurs in the
milky juice of the papaw (Carica Papaya), which, like the gastric
juice of animals and the secretion from the leaves of the sundew
(Drosera), has the two-fold property of acting as an antiseptic by
destroying the microzymes, or organisms that induce putrefaction,
and of acting as a solvent or peptogene on albuminoids.
“Insectivorous Plants.” London, 1875.
8 Quarterly Journal of Microscopical Science, 1878.
�12
The Physiological Unity of
the organ? Such is the case with the Sarracenias and
their allies, an order related to the water-lilies, and with
the Utricularias or bladder worts, which are related to
the butterwort, Pinguicula, and less closely to the prim
rose tribe. In the true pitcher-plants, however, the
Cephdlotus and the Nepenthes, plants in no way related
morphologically, we reach a much higher physiological
grade. The leaves in this case develope pitchers strictly
comparable to the animal stomach. The glands on the
inner surface of these pitchers secrete a watery fluid
which is slightly acid. Albuminoid matter, whether ani
mal or vegetable, immersed in this fluid, even when
removed from the pitcher, is converted into soluble pep
tones, as in the gastric juice, and this change occurs so
rapidly that we naturally infer the presence of some
pepsin-like ferment. Mere acidulated water, without a
ferment, takes several days to digest albuminoid matter ;
though Professor Frankland has shown that, though dif
fering in the intensity of their action, nearly all acids
will effect such a digestion. After absorbing albuminoid
matter the glands of these pitchers become a bright red
colour, strangely reminding us of the blushing of the walls
of the stomach.
In Pinguicula and in the Droseracece, though we have no
stomach-like pitchers, we have a somewhat higher grade
in the introduction of motion to aid in the nutritive
processes.
The simple leaves of the butterwort are
covered with viscid, glandular hairs, the secretion from
which exerts a remarkable effect upon milk, coagulating
it; whence the name butterwort. When flies stick to
the hairs the leaves roll up at their margins, the secretion
becomes acid, and the albuminoid matter is digested and
absorbed. The absorption is shown by the fact that the
protoplasm in the cells of the glands becomes aggregated
or contracted. If milk is left on the leaves it is first
coagulated, and then its casein is absorbed.
We then come to a most interesting group, the Droseraceoe—a group not represented by any considerable
number of forms, but of world-wide distribution.
A
9 See, on the subject generally, Dr. (now Sir Joseph) Hooker’s
Address to the British Association at Belfast, in 1874, in “ Nature,”
vol. X., and Mr. Darwin’s work before referred to; on Cephalo
tus, Dr. Dickson, in the “Journal of Botany ” for 1878.
�• \ *«* * • r>.Y *.’••’• *
Plants and Animals.
’.• ’.':> '*} ’• »"^
,v? ';/<</ F v’A .\
13
large proportion of the species are natives of Australia;
but they occur also in Patagonia, whilst our British
species range throughout Europe, Siberia, to the Hima
layas, in Kamschatka and in America, from the'Arctic
Circle to Florida and Brazils.
So we may safely say
that they have been successful in the struggle for ex
istence. It affords a strong confirmation to our views as
to the source of their main food-supply that Sarracenias,
Utricularias, Pinguiculas, Nepenthes, and the Droseracece
are in all cases either submerged aquatic plants, or in
habitants of marshes, where they are often seen growing
on pure sand which can only yield them pure water.
Their roots are very small; in Aldrovanda they are
altogether absent.
The round-leaved sundew of our own marshes, which
grows under the protection of the Board of Works on
Hampstead Heath, in Epping Forest, and on Keston
Common, whence Mr. Darwin has procured his specimens,
has its leaves prolonged into glandular hairs or tentacles,
each surmounted by a drop of viscid secretion to which
they owe their name of sundew. The stickiness of this
secretion will amply suffice to detain a small fly by the leg.
On doing so, not only does that particular drop become acid,
but all the other glands instantaneously become aware of
the capture of some nitrogenous matter; their secretions
become acid, and they bend forward till the fly is carried
to the centre of the leaf, covered by the glands. Com
plete digestion then ensues, occupying a time which
varies according to the size of the prey, and the peptones
and other soluble results are absorbed by the glands of
the leaf, the protoplasm of which becomes aggregated.
A substance analogous to pepsin has been detected in the
secretion by Dr. Lawson Tait, who terms it droserin, and
the acid has been determined to be either propionic
(C3 H6 O2), or a mixture of acetic (C2 H4 O2), and butyric
(C4 H8 O2). It is noteworthy that the secretion has also
antiseptic properties, herein also resembling gastric juice.
Chlorophyll is but scantily developed in the mature leaves,
suggesting that organised food renders that derived di
rectly from the atmosphere to a large degree unnecessary.
That the plant derives a decided advantage from this
leaf-absorbed nitrogen is conclusively proved by Dr.
Francis Darwin’s comparative experiment, in which he
�14
The Physiological Unity of
grew some hundred meat-fed plants side by side with a
like number of others not so fed, the former proving
the superior in weight, number of off-sets, of flower
stalks, of flowers, and of seeds, and in the weight of their
seeds.
It is, however, in the exotic ally of our sundew, the
Venus’s fly-trap (Dioncea muscipula) of North Carolina,
perhaps, that we have the highest degree of specialisation
for nutrition in the direction we are considering. In this
plant, rapid movement produced by an electro-magnetic
change in the condition of the blade of the leaf on stim
ulation, takes the place of a viscid secretion. The blade
of the leaf is orbicular, divided by a hinge-like midrib,
and surrounded by spinous prolongations corresponding
to the tentacles of Drosera. Its upper surface is covered
with glands, and bears long sensitive hairs, generally three
on each lobe. These, from their action, I think I may
venture to term vibrissce, i.e., rudimentary sense-organs.
These vibrissae are extremely sensitive to the touch, the
two halves of the leaf instantly closing, their spinous
tentacles becoming interlocked like the teeth of a gin.
Dr. Burdon Sanderson has shown 10 the existence in the
leaf of a normal electric current precisely similar to that
of animal muscle; and that, on the vibrissae being touched,
a deflection of this current, which can be observed with
the galvanometer, is produced, precisely as in the con
traction of muscle under nervous stimulation. Though it
is an anticipation of the next division of my subject, I
must here call your attention also to the remarkable
analogy we have here presented with that deflection of a
normal electric current in the optic nerve which has been
recently shown by Professors McKendrick and Dewar to
be produced by the action of light on the eye in most
animals. The motor impulse, both in this plant and in
Prosera, is transmitted not only by the vascular tissue,
but also by the cellular. The glands are both secretive
and absorptive, but do not secrete until stimulated by
absorption. The acid secretion in the temporarily-formed
stomach acts like that of Drosera. In neither case is fat
absorbed, nor — which is rather remarkable — casein,
though cheese produces an abundant flow of the acid
10 Proc. Royal Society, vol. xxi., and. ‘Nature,’ vol. x.
�Plants and Animals.
15
secretion. In digesting this albuminoid, the butterwort
(Pinguicula) is more active; but perhaps we should look
upon the leaf-digestion in plants as a recently-acquired
function—geologically speaking—so their digestive powers
may as yet be weak. Over-feeding seems to have a fatal
effect either on leaves or on whole plants.
In leaving the subject of nutrition, I hope it will not
be supposed that in dwelling thus at length upon these
plants, I look upon their functions as exceptional. They
are well exhibited for purposes of experiment and com
parison in these so-called “ carnivorous ” plants; but
they are represented in the processes of assimilation and
metastasis throughout the plant-world.11
The functions of relation are motion, sensation, and
nervosity. Some few animals lose the power of moving
from place to place, a power possessed only by the very
lowest plants. Higher plants, however, are carried as
winged fruits or seeds to a distance, and in many cases
possess as much power of relative movement, i.e., the
movement of certain of their parts as do many animals,
e.g., the circum-nutation, as Mr. Darwin has termed it, or
revolving motion of tendrils, twining plants and shoots,
and the irritability of stamens, as in the barberry, or of
carpels as in the balsam. Motion is effected
pseudo
podia in the Myxomycetes and some other Thallophytes,
as much as in the lowest animals, and by cilia in some
what higher members of both groups, whilst muscles are,
of course, as absent in the Protozoa as in plants.
The definitions of sensation, given in most manuals of
physiology, presuppose the existence of nerves and nerve
ganglia. These occur in no animals lower than the
Jellyfishes; yet, I think, most naturalists would rather
look upon protoplasm as a diffused nerve-matter, as
suggested by the late Dr. Bowerbank, than deny sensation
altogether to the Protozoa. Leaving out of consideration
the remarkably rapid action of the sensitive-plant (Mimosa
pudica) and the related movements in various compound
leaves, known as “ sleep,” as being still problematical, I
would ask whether the instantaneous reaction of the
secretion in Drosera (its becoming acid) on stimulation, or
11 I endeavoured to elucidate this point in an article on ‘ Plant
Nutrition ’ in the Gardenerd Chronicle for 1878, vol. ix., p. 202.
�16 The Physiological Unity of Plants and Animals.
the electric action of Dioncea, is not entitled to be con
sidered as the same in kind with animal sensation.
The function of reproduction is performed in three
different ways: by fission, by budding or gemmation, or
by ovulation. Each of these processes is represented both
among plants and among animals, though fission and gem
mation are termed vegetative functions—functions, that is,
of mere discontinuous growth as distinguished from ovu
lation or sexual reproduction. Eission, or cell-division,
is the normal method of reproduction among the lowest
cellular plants (Protophyta), and even a sea-anemone,
when cut in half, has healed to form two perfect indi
viduals. Gemmation, or the production of off-sets more
or less distinct, familiar to us in ferns, bulbs, and straw
berry runners, occurs also in the freshwater polyp {Hydra)
and other animals higher in the scale.
In the processes of sexual reproduction we have, how
ever, perhaps the most striking of all the parallelisms
beween plants and animals. In both we have the im
pregnation of a germ-cell or ovum by a sperm-cell, the
male element: in Cryptogamic plants, and in animals,
this male element is a minute body furnished with one or
more cilia, known as a,spermatozoid: in both kingdoms the
ovum is a single cell originated within its parent cell by
what is termed free-cell formation: in both this ovum
subdivides to form the embryo ; and in the egg of the one,
as in the seed of the other, there is often, in addition to
the embryo, a food-supply for its early nourishment. In
fairness it must be noticed that the animal ovum is seg
mented into four, eight, sixteen or more segments, whilst
that of the plant forms in general a filament (hypha or
suspensor), at the end of which the embryo originates;
and secondly, that flowering plants have perhaps advanced
a grade beyond animals in substituting the fovilla of
pollen for the spermatozoid.
I have thus in detail endeavoured to trace a funda
mental identity, in nutrition, in relation, and in repro
duction, in plants and animals. My object in so doing
has been to extend, as far as our knowledge permits us,
the reign of law and uniformity; and to show that the
study of the physiology even of plants may not be with
out its practical lessons to so exalted an animal as Man.
Kenny & CO., Printers, 25, Camden Road, N.W.
�
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The physiological unity of plants and animals: a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, on Sunday afternoon, 30th January, 1881
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l-ITS
C(
THE
PHYSICAL BASIS OF WILL.
jKite
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
ON
EUNBAY AFTERNOON, FEBRUARY 15th, 1880,
BY
HENRY MAUDSLEY, M.D.
Honban:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1880.
PRICE THREEPENCE.
�The Society’s Lectures by the same Author,
now printed, are—
“ Lessons of Materialism.” (Price 3d., or 3jd. by Post.)
“The Physical Basis
of
Will.” (Same Price.)
Can be obtained (on remittance by letter of postage stamps or
order) of the Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry Domville, Esq,., 15,
Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W., or at the Hall on the days
of Lecture; or of Mr. John Bumpus, 158, Oxford Street, W.
Works by the same Author:
“ The Pathology of Minh.” Being the Third Edition of the
Second Part of the “ Physiology and Pathology of Mind,” re
cast, much enlarged and re-written. In 8vo, price 18s.
“ The Physiology of Mind.” Being the First Part of a
Third Edition, revised, enlarged, and re-written, of “The
Physiology and Pathology of Mind.” Crown 8vo, 10s. 6d.
“ Body and Mind
An Inquiry into their Connection and
Mutual Influence, specially with reference to Mental Dis
orders. Second Edition, enlarged and revised, with Psycho
logical Essays added. Crown 8vo, 6s. 6d.
Macmillan & Co., London.
�SYLLABUS.
Is there a physical basis of will ?
Statement of the doctrine of free will.
The difficulties of the doctrine—(1) In its relation to universal
causation; (2) In its relation to supernatural workings on the
mind.
The practical life of mankind always in conformity with the
theory that the will is not outside causation, but is determined
by motives.
What are the grounds of the conviction of a free will ?
The value of the testimony of consciousness as a witness;
what it does say, and does not say.
The physiological basis of will: nervous functions which go
along with its functions and may be its material equivalents.
Observed dependence of will upon organization; impairment
of will accompanying the beginnings of physical derangement.
The formation of will is the formation of character by means
of good training on a sound physical basis.
The apprehension of the reign of law in mind as in matter not
inconsistent with moral feeling and responsibility, but necessary
in order to infix and develop a rational sense of responsibility.
The limited range of all human knowledge.
��THE
PHYSICAL BASIS OF WILL.
N a lecture which I gave here last year, and published
afterwards in the Fortnightly Review * I pointed out
that moral feeling is just as closely dependent upon
organization as is the meanest function of mind, and
asserted broadly “that there was not an argument to
prove the so-called materialism of one part of mind which
did not apply with equal force to the whole mind.” For
this statement I was taken to task in an article in the
Spectator, the critic in that journal summoning up to
confront and confound me the alleged self-determining
power of human will—the freedom of the will. I pro
pose, then, to make this lecture supplementary to the
former one in some respects, by considering now whether
we are entitled to assume, as I hold, a Physical Basis of
Will, or whether, as my critic thinks, we have in the Will
a self-sustained spiritual entity, which owns no cause,
obeys not law, and has no sort of affinity with matter.
’Tis not a discussion of much lively or fruitful promise,
but inasmuch as those who engage in the Freewill con
troversy, ■while repeating the old and trite arguments, for
the most part leave out of sight the physical aspect of the
subject, it may be instructive to bring that more into
notice, and to show that those who uphold a material
basis of will have some plain facts to go upon.
They who maintain that the will is not determined
I
* “ Materialism and its Lessons.”
�6
The Physical Basis of Will.
by motives, but is self-determined, free, do not for the
most part go so far as to imply that motives are not at
work in the mind, and that the will takes no account of
them; they affirm that there is not the uniform, in
separable connection between motive and will which
there is between cause and effect in physical nature. The
will is not the unconditionally necessary consequent of
its antecedent motives. It, or some other mysterious
entity in the individual which, having virtually abstracted
from the actual individual, they call his non-bodily self, has,
they allege, an independent, perfectly spontaneous, arbi
trary power to make this or that motive predominate as
it pleases ; to chose this or that one among motives and
make it the motive; in doing which this self-determining
principle is presumed by some, I believe, to act without
motive, of its own pure motion, without cause or reason;
by others to act from motives so high and fine, that they
constrain it instantly, without weighing at all upon its
*
freedom.
Clearly then we have here a very singular
power in nature, which we might call supernatural were
* “The noumenon, ding-an-sich, real self,” “is unknowable,
inscrutable,” “ exists outside Time, Space, and Causality, is ab
solutely free,” “ in itself, per se, is unchangeable; ” “ and, as it is
my only real being, my primitive and inborn self, it must be
present as a factor in every change and every action of which
my phenomenal Self, my empirical character, is capable.” That
is to say, itself outside Time, Space, and Causality, it is the
moving principle of every change in Time, Space, and Causality
which takes place through me. Of a truth a wonderful power
which can thus be actually and not be theoretically at the same
time in and outside Time, Space, and Causality! But more.
Why does a truthful man who has told a falsehood feel a remorse ?
Because “his conscience tells him that he is responsible,not indeed
for this particular act— since this he could not help—but for not
being a better man.” “ Blame not the action, then, but the man
for being capable of such an action. Whip him, not for telling
this particular lie, but for being a liar at heart, in his inmost
nature. For this inmost nature, his real Self, his ding-an-sich,
which, as a noumenon, is in some inscrutable manner emanci
pated from the laws of Time and Causality, from the operation
of motives, is absolutely free.” But surely it will be, on the
one hand, a singularly hard matter to lay hold of and whip the
inmost nature, the real self, the noumenon, when “ it exists out-
�The Physical Basis of Will.
7
it not that it is allowed to be a part of nature acting in
and upon it, although coming from a mysterious source
outside it; but being thus an important agent in nature,
without being of the same kind or having anything in
common with anything else there—any sympathy, affinity,
or relationship whatever with the things which it works
in and upon—-we may fairly call it unnatural.
If there be a power of this kind in the Universe, the
reflection which occurs instantly is that causation is not
universal, as people are in the habit of assuming, but that
there is a large region of human events which is exempt
from the otherwise uniform law of cause and effect, the
region, that is to say, of man’s highei’ mental operations.
A great deal of the force which works in them and by
which they work on the external world obeys not the
law of conservation of energy. Now this is a rather
startling reflection, seeing that the great natural argu
ment for the existence of God is that everything must
have a cause, and that for cause of all things, therefore,
there must be a cause of causes, a great First Cause. At
the outset, then, we come to a perplexing dilemma—to
the obligation of concluding either that the will, like
other things, must have a cause, or that a great first cause
is not a necessity of human thought.
side of Time, Space, and Causality,” and, on the other hand,
rather unfair to whip vicariously the empirical character which
cannot help itself, when the real culprit escapes. How whip it,
too, in any case, seeing that it is a thing-in-itself, incorporeal,
spiritual, “as the air invulnerable”? The foregoing extracts are
taken from, an account of Kant’s Philosophy, by Professor Bowen,
of Harvard College, U.S., in his work on Modern Philosophy.
At the end of his exposition and comments, he says: “ And thus
the deep and dark problem of fixed fate and freewill is solved,
the two contradictories being reconciled with each other.” No
doubt they are reconciled in the minds of those who, like Pro
fessor Bowen, can believe at the same instant two contradictories.
Sir W. Hamilton laid it down that one of two inconceivable con
tradictories must be true, and it passed for a long time for high
philosophy that a man should be able so to conceive inconceivables as to know them to be contradictory. Here we have
a step farther in philosophy, since we have two conceivable con
tradictories which are both true.
�8
The Physical Basis of Will.
But this is only a first difficulty. We are taught by
those who uphold the freedom of the will that although it
is not governed by motives, but is a self-determining
principle in us, it is wrought upon continually and most
powerfully by supernatural agency. A Divine grace is
ever near to help it in time of need, strengthening it to
do well, weakening it to do ill. It is God’s good purpose
to “master our will,” and to make us “surrender and
resign it to his just, wise, and gracious will; ” and to
make good his right, says that eloquent divine, Dr. I.
Barrow, “ God bendeth all his forces and applieth all his
means both of sweetness and severity, persuading us by
arguments, soliciting us by entreaties, alluring us by fair
promises, scaring us by fierce menaces, indulging ample
benefits to us, inflicting sore corrections on us, working
in and upon us by secret influences of grace, by visible
dispensations of providence.” A stupendous array of
motives this, which it is a wonder any one ever withstands,
especially when it is borne in mind that they are worked
by the unlimited power of Omnipotence, which has fore
known and fore-ordained the result from all eternity I
However, we are not to suppose that these mighty agencies
are anywise incompatible with the freedom of will; indeed,
when it has surrendered itself to entire obedience it is
enjoying the most perfect freedom'; when it is in the
grasp of Omnipotence it is most free. Hard sayings no
doubt for reason, but not at all hard to faith seemingly,
since many persons persuade themselves that they have
intelligent apprehension of them.
The will is assailed very powerfully in a second super
natural way—namely, by the Devil, if the Devil, that is
to say, be not defunct. Bor it seems to be an open
question now whether he has not undergone by evolution
such a transformation of kind as to have lost all his per
sonality and much of his power. At the time when he
paid Luther a memorable visit he was a distinct being
enough, with great horns and a tail and cloven hoofs;
later on, when Milton described him, he had lost these
appendages, and become the great Archfiend, above his
fellows “ in shape and gesture proudly eminent,” who
�The Physical Basis of Will.
9
amid the torments of a new-found Hell still flung defiance
at the Omnipotent, with unconquered will declaring it
better to “reign in Hell than serve in Heaven;” still
later he underwent philosophic transformation into the
polished, cultivated, intellectually subtile, but mocking,
doubting, cynical, Mephistopheles of Faust. What form
and substance has he now, if form and substance he has
any ? Those whose professional work it is to do battle
with him, and to frustrate his ever active wiles and malice,
and who ought therefore to know him best, do not tell us
clearly what their exact ideas on the subject are, if they
have clear and exact ideas ; they apparently like to believe
in him as much in a vague and cloudy way as they dislike
to believe in him in any precise and definite way, or at
any rate dislike to be asked to define precisely their belief;
but although they may not be very sure of his present
form and dwelling-place, they have no doubt in a general
way of the evil desires and passions with which he inspires
poor human hearts, and of his open and insidious assaults
on the higher aspirations of human will, which he, un
tiring enemy, besets, besieges, beleaguers, bombards con
tinually. Again then we have a large region of human
events—a region the limits of which it is impossible to
define or to get defined—which is outside the natural
law of causation, and cannot ever be made matter of
scientific study. For as it is plain that we have no means
by which we can measure and register the quantity and
kind of energy which the Devil thus exerts continually
upon the will—no Satanometer or Diabolometer so to
speak—human events, so far as they are effects of his
counsels and instigations, must lie outside the range of
positive knowledge. But once more we are not to suppose
that these supernatural workings upon the will abridge in
the least degree its perfect freedom.
These are difficulties one might suppose great enough
to make even the theologico-metaphysical theorist pause,
but they have no effect to shake his faith in his dogma,
or to lessen his scorn of the profane persons who
doubt and dispute the freedom of the will. He is bold
enough in the last resort to affirm that man’s thoughts,
B
�10
The Physical Basis of Will.
feelings, and doings on earth are not proper subjects of
enquiry by a scientific method, and to avow that true
knowledge of them must come either by an extraordinary
metaphysical intuition or by revelation and faith. The
last key to the problem for him is indeed not “Search and
know,” but “God spake these words and said;” not know
ledge by the well-tried paths of observation and reason,
but “ He that believeth not shall be damned.” Of which
text 1 hope it is not irreverent to sav here that whosoever
believeth, whether it be on the authority of Holy Church
or of Holy Scripture, that which contradicts reason abso
lutely needs no further damnation; he has done himself
damage enough already as a rational being.
Meanwhile mankind has lived always and still lives in
conformity with quite an opposite theory of human will—
namely, that it is governed by natural motives. The
problem of freewill is a problem of the study, it never
has been a problem of practical life; a theoretical dogma
of faith, not a working belief, the doctrine has flourished
in an atmosphere of vague and cloudy phrases, and all
discussions about it have been in the air; it has shifted
its ground too and changed its form so often that it is
not possible to know where and how to seize and hold it.
Laws have been systematically made and punishments
inflicted upon those who broke them under a very deflnite
conviction that the will is not an uncaused power, but
does move in obedience to motive, and may be fashioned
to act in this way or that. The execution of a murderer
does not fail to influence his likeminded fellow, who cer
tainly has not the freedom of will to be unaffected thereby;
the aim and use of the punishment are to determine his
will, and it could not be of the least use if the will were
self-determined. We observe historically the past actions
of men in different situations and circumstances in order
to gain a knowledge of the springs of human action which
shall be of use to us in our present and future dealings.
The person who has had much experience, whether in
politics, business, or any other special department of
human labour, is esteemed a wiser guide than a new
comer, because of the certainty that the thoughts and
�The Physical Basis of Will.
11
acts of men are not in any respect chance-events, but
that what they have done before, that they will do again
when actuated by similar motives.
Prudence and forethought in the conduct of affairs, the
provisions made for education, social institutions and
usages, all the operations of daily life in the intercourse
of sane men are based upon the tacit implication that acts
of will are never motiveless, but conform to law and may
be counted upon. There is not a single department of
practical life which is not an implicit denial of a free self
determining power in each individual, and an implicit
recognition of a common nature in men affected by common
influences, and taking a common development in conse
quence. The only person who answers at all to the
metaphysical definition of a self-determining will is the
madman, since he exults in the most vivid consciousness
of freedom and power, sets reason at naught, and often
does things which no one can predict, because he acts
without motives, or at any rate from motives which no
one can penetrate. Did sane men possess freewill they,
like the madman, would be free from responsibility, since
their wills would act independently of their characters,
just as they listed, not otherwise than as men used to
declare, before they knew better, that “• the wind bloweth
where it listeth,” and no one would have much, if any,
motive left to try to improve his character.
We may take it then to be true that the explicit setting
forth, in formal knowledge, of what is implicit in the
course of human life would be a system of philosophy in
which a self-determining principle had no part nor place,
in which freewill would be a wrnrd void of meaning—
nonsense. But true knowledge has its foundation in
experience, and is really the conscious exposition of what
is implicit in human progress ; it is implicit in action
before it is explicit in thought. Men do not divine
truth and then work to it consciously; it is instinct in
them before it is understanding; and when in mature
time the unconscious breaks forth into consciousness, it
is the man of genius who is the organ through which the
expansion takes place; he is the interpreter of its blind
�12
The Physical Basis of Will.
impulses to the age, and gives them thenceforth clear
utterance and definite aim. The truth then, as testified
practically by the experience of the whole world from the
beginning until now, is that will is a power which does
not stand outside the range of natural causation, but one
which is moved habitually by motive in every man from
his cradle to his grave. The freewill problem might be
compared well to that great logical puzzle which so long
and so much perplexed the philosophers : I mean the
race between Achilles and the tortoise, where the tortoise
being allowed a certain start, and Achilles supposed to
run ten times as fast, it was proved that he never could
logically overtake it. For if we suppose the tortoise to
have a thousand yards’ start, it would have run a hundred
yards when Achilles had run the thousand yards; when
Achilles again had run the hundred yards, the tortoise
would be ten yards ahead; when Achilles had run the
ten yards, the tortoise would have gone one yard; when
Achilles had done the one yard, the tortoise would lead it
by the tenth of a yard; when Achilles had got over the
tenth of a yard, he would still be the hundredth of a yard
behind; and so on by successive subdivisions of the
diminishing space for ever. Clearly then Achilles never
could logically overtake the tortoise, whatever he might
do actually. So it has been with the freewill puzzle : the
philosophers, confusing themselves and others with a
juggling statement of the problem, have applied the word
free to the will instead of to the man, who has always
known himself to be free, not to will, but to do what he
willed when not hindered from doing it by internal or
external causes, just as they proved that Achilles would
not overtake the tortoise, by treating a finite space which
was infinitely divisible as if it were infinite.
*
Put the
race problem in a plain way, without ambiguous use of
words, and the result is plain enough : when Achilles had
run one thousand yards, the tortoise would have run one
* One is required to go on subdividing a unit indefinitely, and
to be surprised that the sum of the diminishing fractions never
can reach 1.
�The Physical Basis of Will.
13
hundred, but when Achilles had run two thousand yards,
where would the tortoise be ? Why, it would have run
two hundred yards altogether, and would of course be
eight hundred yards behind.
So much then for the facts in their relation to freewill.
Now what are the grounds of the metaphysician’s clear
conviction that he has a will and that it is free ? His
consciousness tells him so, he says, and all the arguments
in the world will not invalidate its direct and positive
testimony. But does it really tell him so ? One may
meet that statement truly by affirming that his conscious
ness does not tell him anything like that which he is in
the easy habit of supposing and declaring it to do.
Certainly it is not true that we know immediately by
consciousness that we have such a power as the meta
physician means by will. One-tenth only of that con
fident dogma is the direct deliverance of consciousness,
the other nine-tenths are pure and gratuitous hypothesis.
Consciousness tells us nothing whatever of an abstract
will-entity; it makes known a particular volition when
we have it and no more; the creation of an abstract will
which is supposed to execute the particular volition on
each occasion, and its further fashioning into a spiritual
entity, is an assumption as unwarranted as any that has
ever been made by the crudest materialism. It would be
no whit more absurd to make a spiritual entity of sensa
tion and to maintain that this abstract entity was
necessary to produce each sensation; or to postulate a
special emotional entity which operates in each emotion;
or to create a spirit of greenness and to detect it at work
in each green thing; or to discover the spirit of stoneness
in every stone by the roadside. What the metaphysician
has done has been to convert into an entity the abstract
word which embraces the multitude of particular volitions,
varying infinitely in degree and quality, just as at an
earlier period of thought, when the metaphysical spirit
had more life and sway than it has now, he explained the
sleep-producing properties of opium by a soporific essence
in it, and the difficulty of getting a vacuum by Nature’s
abhorrence of a vacuum; or as at a still earlier period of
�14
The Physical Basis of Will.
thought he put a Naiad in the fountain, a Dryad in the
tree, a Sun-god in the sun.
But, in the second place, while consciousness does not
tell him that he has a will such as he supposes, no more
has it the authority to tell him that his will is free.
Consciousness only illumines directly the mental state of
the moment; it reveals nothing of the long train of
antecedent states of which that state is the outcome—all
is dark beyond where its light directly falls; and it
cannot testify anything as an eyewitness concerning what
is happening there, any more than a person in the light
can testify of what is taking place in the dark. Let
there be a solitary gas-lamp lit in a large square on a
pitchdark night, it enables you to see immediately around
it, but it does not show what is going on in any other
part of the square; and if any one standing near it
chanced to get a severe blow on the head from a stone
coming out of the darkness, he would think it small
satisfaction to be told that the blow was by a selfdetermined stone. So it is with consciousness ; it makes
known the present volition, it does not make known its
causes; and that, as Spinoza pointed out long ago, is the
origin of the illusion of Freewill. How, indeed, could a
present state of consciousness reveal immediately another
state of consciousness; in other words, how could it be
itself and a formei' state of consciousness at the same
time ? But whosoever will be at the pains to carry his
self-inspection patiently back from the present state of
consciousness to that state which went before it, and
from that again to its antecedent state, and so backwards
along the train of activity which has issued in the latest
mental outcome, lighting up in succession as well as he
can each link in an intricate chain of many-junctioned
associations, may easily assure himself that he would never
have present states of feeling were it not for past states of
feeling. Let the will be as free as any one chooses to sup
pose, it is certainly as impotent to will without previous
acts of will, as a child is to walk before it has learned to
step: the present volition contains the abstracts, so to
speak, of a multitude of former volitions: by them it is in
�The Physical Basis of Will.
15
formed. The most eager metaphysician, when he is not
thinking of his abstract dogma of freewill, or of an equally
abstract reason whose supreme dominion over will is sup
posed to constitute its singular freedom, will not deny
*
that an individual’s thinking, feeling, or acting as he does at
any moment of his life is the outcome of his nature and
training, the expression of his character; that his present
being is the organic development of his past being ; that
he is fast linked in a chain of causation which does not
suffer him ever to get out of himself. It is a chain, too,
which, if he reflects, he must perceive to reach a long
way farther back in an ancestral past than he can
estimate. We see plainly how a person inherits a father’s,
grandfather’s, or more remote ancestor’s tricks of speech,
of walk, of handwriting, and the like, without imitation
on his part, since the father or grandfather may have
died before he was born; and in the same way he inherits
moods of feeling, modes of thought, impulses of will, and
exhibits them in thoughts, feelings and acts which seem
essentially spontaneous, most his own. Has he done
well in some great and urgent emergency of life in which
he knew not what he did at the instant, he may justly
give thanks to the dead father or grandfather who en
dowed him with the actuating impulse or the happy
aptitude which served him so well on the critical occasion.
We little think, for the most part, how much we owe
to those who have gone before us. There is not a word
which I have used, or shall use, in this lecture which does
not attest by its origin and growth countless generations
of human culture extending from our far distant Aryan
forefathers of the Indian plains down to us ; in like
manner there is not a thought or feeling or volition
which any one in this room can have which he could have,
had not countless generations of human beings thought
and felt and willed before him, and had not he himself
been thinking, feeling, and willing ever since he left his
cradle. It is in vain we attempt by self-inspection to
make plain all the links of causation of any feeling or
* See note at the end of the lecture.
�16
The Physical Basis of Will.
volition; the impossibility is to seize and weigh each
minute and remote operative element—to bring all the
contributory factors into the light of consciousness. So
much is unconscious agency—temperament, character,
instinct, habit, potential thought and feeling, what you
will—something which lies deeper than direct self-obser
vation or even the utmost labours of self-analysis can
reach. Hence spring the illusions into which men often
times fall with regard to their motives on particular
occasions, the remarkable self-deceptions of which they
are capable. They think, perhaps, that they have acted
in their freedom from certain high motives of which
they were conscious when these were not the real
motives which actuated them.
*
From the unlit depths
of his being, the deep and silent stream of the indi
vidual’s nature, rise the forces which break on the sur
face in the currents and eddies of consciousness. One
may get a truer explanation • sometimes of a person’s
conduct on a particular occasion by a knowledge of the
characters of his near relations than by his own expla
nation of his motives or one’s own speculations about
them ; for in their traits we may see displayed in full
detail what is potential mainly and of occasional out
comein him. When acts appear to be quite incommen
surate with motives, or when the same motive appears to
produce different acts, the just conclusion is not that an
arbitrary freewill has capriciously meddled and upset
calculation, but that the motives which we discover are
only a part of the complex causation, and that the most
important part thereof lies in the dark. Self-conscious
ness is a very incompetent witness in that matter: you
might as well try to illuminate the interior of St. Paul’s
with a rushlight. A motiveless will may be compared,
* A desire or motive does not generally go the direct way to
its issue in action any more than a person necessarily goes the
direct way from London to Edinburgh. He may go two or three
ways, or he might go all round by Exeter, and still get there.
So with desire, which goes a roundabout and very intricate way
sometimes, carrying with it, so to speak, something from each
place at which it has stopped on its journey.
�The Physical Basis of Will.
17
perhaps, to a foundling baby; respecting which wise men
conclude, not that it had no parents and came by chance,
but that they do not know who its parents are.
The metaphysicians have yet another argument of
which they make much. They lay great stress upon
their assertion that there is nothing in the operations of
the body which is in the least like the energy we are
conscious of as will, and that we cannot put a finger on
anything in all the functions of the nervous system which
can conceivably serve as a physical basis of will. Let us
enquire then if that be so. The simplest nervous opera
tion, that which is the elemental type of which the more
complex functions are built up, as a great house is built
up of simple bricks, is what we call a reflex act: an
impression is made upon some part of the body, the
molecular change produced thereby is conducted along a
sensory nerve to a nerve-centre and arouses the energy
thereof, and that energy is thereupon transmitted or
reflected along a connected motor nerve and accomplishes
a particular movement, which may be purposive or not.
Tor example, a strong light falls upon the retina and the
pupil instantly contracts in order to exclude the excess of
light; a blow is threatened to the eye and the eyelids
wink involuntary to protect it : a lump of food gets to
the back of the throat and as soon as it is felt there the
muscles contract and push it on. These are operations
of the body in which, although they accomplish a purpose,
the will has no part whatever; they take place in spile of
the will, as everybody knows, and one of them even
when a person is completely unconscious.
A more
striking instance of an instructive reflex act is afforded
by a well-known experiment on the frog : if its right
thigh is irritated by a drop of acid it rubs it off with the
foot of that side, but if it is prevented from using that
foot for the purpose it makes use of the opposite leg.
Intelligent purpose and deliberate will, one would natur
ally say; but when the frog’s head is cut off and the
experiment made then the result is the same; it tries
first to use its right foot, and that being impossible bends
the other leg across and wipes off the acid with it. As
�18
The Physical Basis of Will.
its head has been cut off it is certain that it has not
conscious intelligence and will in any definite and proper
signification of those terms ; it does not know what it is
doing although it acts with admirable purpose, any more
than the pupil does when it contracts in a strong light or
than the steam engine does when it performs its useful
*
work.
The concluson which we must come to and
emphasize is that the nervous system has the power,
instinct in its constitution or acquired by training, to
execute mechanically acts which have the semblance
of being designed and voluntary, without there being
the least consciousness or will in them. Have we not
here then a pretty fair physical foundation of a rudi
mentary will ?
Let us now go a step further. The will, as we know,
has not the power to execute only, but it has the power
to prevent execution, to hold impulses in check; indeed,
its higher energies are most tasked, and its highest
qualities shown, in the exercise of this controlling function.
Our appetites and passions urge us to immediate gratifica
tions ; it is the noble function of will to curb these lowei
*
* A critic of my book on the “ Physiology of Mind,” in the
“Journal of Mental Science.” of January last, defines the theory
of. freewill thus: “ that in every determination to act which con
stitutes a volition the determinant is not a mere datum of nerves,
or seuse, or passion, but?s an idea actively taken up, formulated
as an adecpiate end, and stamped as an element of happiness by
that noubodily entity which we call self. . . . This is the
simple key to the whole problem of Responsibility.” The italics
are his. We may take notice here how admirably the acts of
the. decapitated frog fit this definiton. It evidently takes up
actively the idea of getting rid of the pain, formulates it as an
adequate end, and stamps it as an element of happiness by that
nonbodily entity (clearly very much, if not entirely, non-bodily
seeing that it is headless) which we call self! Thus it gives
us the key to the whole problem of Responsibility. It were
well, perhaps, if all those who write about mind would follow
Spinoza’s advice—first study sufficiently the functions of the
body, so as to “ learn by experience what the body can do and
what it cannot do by the simple laws of its corporeal nature and
without receiving any determination from the mind.” They
might then, perhaps, as Schopenhauer thought, “ leave many
German scribblers unread.”
�The Physical Basis of Will.
19.
impulses of our nature. Is there anything, then, in the
operations of the nervous system which can possibly be
the basis of this exalted governing function? Let us
take preliminary note here that there are reflex actions
going on in the body which are essential to life, but over
which this mighty despot of the mind, the will, has no
authority whatever—the movements of the heart and of
the intestines, for example; they go on regularly night
and day; if they did not we should die; bat we cannot
slacken or quicken or stop them by any exertion of will
which we can make. The movements of breathing, which
are also reflex, we can control partially; we can breathe
quickly or slowly as we please, or even stop breathing for
a time, but not for long, since no one can kill himself
by simply holding his breath. The physiologist, however,
can easily quicken or retard the beatings of an animal’s
heart at will, by stimulating directly the proper nerves.
By irritating a nerve which goes to it—the so-called vagus
nerve—he can retard them, and by irritating another
nerve connected with it—the so-called sympathetic—he
can quicken them. He can do with its pulsations as the
coachman can with his horses, pull them in to go slowly
or send them on quickly. But more—and this is the
point I wish to come to—he can affect them not only in
the direct way which I have mentioned, but also indirectly
by a sharp impression on some part of the body. Bor
example, if he suspends a frog by its legs and then taps
sharply on its belly, he instantly stops its heart for a
time. What happens is that the stimulus of the tap is
carried by a nerve to a nerve-centre in the brain near
that centre from which a controlling nerve of the heart
proceeds, and so acts upon it as in the result to prevent
or inhibit the action of the heart; in other words, what
we have to apprehend and perpend in the experiment is
that the physiological sympathy of nerve-centres in the
organization of the nervous system is such that one
centre, when stimulated to function, has the power to
inhibit physically the function of another centre, just as
the will inhibits the movements of breathing.
This
temporary arrest of the heart’s beats by an intercurrent
�20
The Physical Basis of Will.
stimulus somewhere into its reflex arc is after all not
very unlike to temporary arrest of respiration by an in
tercurrent volition into its reflex arc.
Did time permit, I might bring forward many more,
and more striking, instances of this kind of inhibitory
action, selecting them from the operations of the human
body both in health and in disease; but it must suffice
for the present to set down and emphasize the broad con
clusion which they warrant, namely, that one nervous
centre, when stimulated into activity, may so act upon
another centre as either to help, or to hinder, or to suspend
its function by pure physiological mechanism. Have we
not here, then, a physical basis of the inhibitory power of
will ? Place the fact by the side of the fact on which I
laid emphatic stress just now—namely, that the nervous
system has the power of executing purposive acts without
any intervention of consciousness or will; and it is plain
we have in the two physical functions something which
runs closely parallel with the rudiments of volition and
may well be their material equivalents—that is to say,
power to command execution of a purpose and power to
stop execution.
Metaphysicians * get their theories of will by considering
its highest displays in a much cultivated self-conscious
ness, where the difficulties of satisfactory analysis are
insuperable; but a complete and sincere study of it must
deal with its small beginnings as well as with its finest
displays—ought, in fact, to commence with them; for to
ignore the facts of its genesis and development is to make
an artificial philosophy which may serve well for intel
lectual gymnastics in scholastic exercises, but has no
practical bearing on the concerns of real life. Let us
then examine the simplest instances of primitive volition
in the animal and in the infant. When a dog, in obedi
ence to its natural instinct, seizes a piece of meat which
* They appear to be desirous of abandoning their old name of
metaphysicians in favour of the new name of idealists. But they
have no right to that term, which is properly applicable only to
one who upholds the Berkleian theory.
�The Physical Basis of Will.
21
lies near it and is punished for the theft, the memory of
what it was made to suffer intervenes on another occasion
between the impression on sight and the ensuing impulse,
and checks or inhibits it; in like manner when an infant
grasps something bright which attracts its gaze and is
burnt, its memory of the pain which it suffered checks
or inhibits a similar hasty movement on another occasion.
Here then we have the simplest instance of will; the
animal or infant voluntarily refrains from doing what its
first impulse is to do—of two courses chooses the best.
But what is the probable physical side of the process ?
In the first case, where the dog seized the meat, an im
pression upon the sense of sight, the conduction of the
molecular change to the nerve-centre, and the production
of a special sensation, as the ingoing process; after which,
as the outgoing process, the transmission of the energy
along a motor nerve to muscle and a consequent adaptive
movement—a sensorimotor process; in the second event,
when a punishment was inflicted, the association of this
sensorimotor process with the painful stimulation of
another nerve-centre : and in the third case, when the
dog seeing the meat refrained from touching it, instead
of the instant reflexion of the sensation into movement,
there was the stimulation by it of the associated centre in
which the memory of the pain was registered, the conse
quence of which was the inhibition of the movement.
One of two catenated physiological centres was in fact
excited to inhibit the other. If we multiply in an endless
complexity this simple scheme of nerves and nerve-centres
we get the constitution of the brain, indeed of the whole
nervous system, which contains an innumerable multitude
of interconnected nerve-centres ready to be awakened into
action by suitable stimulation to increase, to combine, to
modify, to restrain one another’s functions. As counter
part on the mental side to this exceeding complexity of
physical structure, we have very complex deliberation
going before the formation of will, which comes out at
last from the intricate interactions of so many hopes,
fears, inclinations, promptings, desires, reflections, and
the like, of so many constituent elements of character,
�22
The Physical Basis of Will.
that we are unable to analyze them and so to specify the
exact factors in its complex causation : it is the resultant
of a very intricate composition of forces. To me it seems
then a fair conclusion that in the inhibitory action of one
nerve-centre upon another, as disclosed by physiological
observation, and in the simplest instance of volition, as
known by consciousness, we have two processes which go
along together parallel, and not unfair therefore to main
tain that we have as good authority to believe in a physical
basis of will as in a physical basis of any mental state
whatever.
The plain truth is, when we look the facts fairly in the
face, that we never meet with will except in connection
with a certain organization of matter, varying with its
variations, and exhibiting every proof of being dependent
upon it. It is notably infantile in the child, imbecile in
the idiot, grows in power, range, and quality as the
mental powers grow by education, is mature in the adult,
falls sick with the body’s sicknesses, and becomes decrepit
in the decrepitude of age. However free and independent
in theory, it never shows its power in fact except from a
good physical basis. The aim, the use, and the result of
a sound moral training are to fashion a strong will; and
assuredly all training acts through the intimate develop
ment of the nervous system which it produces. Good
moral habits, like other habits, are formed by the structure
growing to the modes of its exercise. When the physical
basis is congenitally defective, as in the idiot, no excellence
of training will succeed in developing a normal will, any
more than much thought will add one cubit to the stature
of a dwarf. And when we make a survey of the various
forms of mental derangement, which we know to be the
deranged functions of disordered brain, we observe that
a first symptom of mischief is always a loss of power of
will over the thoughts and feelings : that is the sad sign
which portends the coming calamity. The person who is
about to fall into acute mania has ideas and feelings surge
up in his mind in the most irregular and tumultuous
fashion, and is impelled by them to strange and disorderly
acts. It is painfully interesting to watch the .struggle
�The Physical Basis of Will.
23
which goes on sometimes at the beginning of the attack
before the failing will undergoes complete dissolution :
the patient will succeed by a strong effort in controlling
himself for a few moments when he knows that some one
is looking at him, or when he is spoken to, and in acting
and answering calmly and coherently, but the enfeebled
will cannot hold on to the reins, and he relapses soon into
incoherent thought, speech and conduct, becoming, as the
disease makes progress, incapable of even an instant’s
real self-control. The person who is falling melancholic
is tormented with painful thoughts and feelings, blasphe
mous or otherwise afflicting, which come into his mind
against his most earnest wish, cause him unspeakable
distress, and cannot be repressed or expelled by all the
efforts of his agitated will; so hateful are they to him, so
independent do they seem of his true self, that he ends
perhaps by thinking them the direct inspiration of Satan
and himself given over to eternal damnation. The mono
maniac broods upon some idea of greatness or of suspicion,
rooted in its congenial feeling of exaltation or of distrust,
until the weakened will looses all hold of it and it grows
to the height of an insane delusion; then he imagines
himself to be emperor, prophet, or some other great per
sonage, or believes all the world to be in a conspiracy
against him. The sufferer who is afflicted with a frequently
upstarting impulse to do harm to himself or to others,
conscious all the while of the horrible nature of the im
pulse, which he fights against with frenzied energy, goes
through agonies of distress in the struggles to prevent his
true will being mastered by it. Everywhere we observe
impaired will to go along with the beginnings of physical
derangement. And if we look to the last term of the
mental degeneration, as we have it in the demented
person in whom all traces of mind are well-nigh extin
guished, who must be fed, clothed, cared for in every way,
whose existence is little more than vegetative, we find an
almost complete abolition of rational will accompanying
extreme disorganization of special structure.
The lessons of mental pathology admit of no misread
ing ; they make known everywhere an entire dependence
�24
The Physical Basis of Will.
of will on physical organization. Bnt there is an im
portant aspect of the matter which I ought not to pass
by altogether, although my allusion to it now must
necessarily be the briefest.
It is this converse and
weighty truth—that actual derangement of the structure
of an organ can be brought about by the continuance of
excessive or disordered function ; that the habitual indul
gence of evil passions, ill-regulated thoughts, and de
praved will does lead to corresponding physical changes
in the brain ; and that every person has thus in the patient
fashioning and timely exercise of will no mean power
over himself to prevent insanity. For the praises of such
a well-fashioned will, I cannot do better than borrow the
lines of Tennyson :—
Oh ! well for him whose will is strong !
He suffers, but he will not suffer long;
He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong:
For him nor moves the loud world’s random mock,
Nor all calamities hugest waves confound,
Who seems a promontory of rock
That, compassed round with turbulent sound,
In middle ocean meets the surging shock,
Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crowned.
But assuredly we shall not have a will of that kind
formed by treating it as a free, independent, arbitrary entity
which has no affinities, is not moved by motive, and owns no
law but self-caprice; it can be formed only by painful
degrees, in conformity with stern laws of moral develop
ment, by one who is solicitous uniformly to use motives
and make good use of them, patiently watchful to with
stand and check the earliest invasion of his mind by low
motives, earnest to cultivate good feelings and noble aspi
rations, steadfast always to strengthen the will by habitual
practice in right doing—who aims, indeed, to make it, as
it should be, the highest and fullest expression of a wellformed character.
The acknowledgment that human
will is included within the law of causation—the appre
hension of the universal reign of law in mind and in
matter—so far from tending to dishearten men and to
�The Physical Basis of Will,
25
paralyze their highest efforts by driving them into a dreary
fatalism, seems to me to be essential in ordei’ to infix and
develop in their minds a vital sense of responsibility to
search out intelligently and to pursue deliberately the right
path of human progress; a responsibility, be it said, which
the metaphysical dogma of free-will not merely weakens
but logically destroys. Men have not been paralyzed in
intelligence or effort, but have gained in both immeasur
ably, by perceiving and comprehending the law of gravita
tion ; and in like manner by apprehending the reign of law
in mind they will lose only the freedom to make ignorant
blunders and to waste their forces unintelligently : they
will obey the law whose service is their best freedom.
Knowing that their efforts rest securely upon eternal law,
they will know that their labours cannot be in vain: that
they have the power of the universe at their backs, “ the
everlasting arms ” beneath them.
It is unfortunate that people, scared by a horror of
materialism, the “uncreating word” before which freedom
of will and responsibility die, as a writer has described
it lately, cannot see that the application of a scientific
method of enquiry to human thoughts, feelings, and
doings in no way touches injuriously the supreme autho
rity of moral law and the power and wish to obey it.
Neither moral feeling nor responsibility would be taken
out of life were a purely materialistic evolution proved
doctrine ; on the contrary, the course of that evolution in
the past would remain the best guarantee and yield the
strongest assurance of a further moral and intellectual
progress in the future. If it be true that men have risen
by a gradual evolution from a pre-moral state of barbarism
to their present height of intelligence and moral feeling,
and if it be, as it certainly is, the essential principle of
evolution to pass upwards from more simple and general
to more complex and special organisation, it is surely a
rational inference and a sound expectation that intelli
gence and moral feeling will reach a still higher develop
ment in the future. Science is only organised knowledge
and does not pretend to do more than find out and set
forth how things are as they are, and by help of what it
�26
The Physical Basis of Will.
thus learns to forecast what they will be in the future; it
perceives clearly how inexorably its range is limited by
the limitations of our few and feeble senses, and how
impossible it is that it should ever discover anything about
the primal origin of things—about the why and whence, of
the mysterious universe of its observations. Evolution,
the modern name of that conception which the old Greek
philosophers, when they first formed it, called nature or
the becoming of things (</>v<ns), is only a more exact and
true exposition of how things have become, not in the
least an explanation of the mystery of their why. By
the help of knowledge slowly widening we can look back
in retrospective imagination to the time and manner in
which our planet and the other planets of our solar
system took form by nebular condensation and started
on their several orbits; we can trace with patient
thought the successive changes which have taken place on
the surface of the earth and have culminated in man and
his achievements ; we may foresee, perhaps, a time when
a few miserable human beings, living degraded lives in
snow huts near the equator, shall represent all that is
left of the vanished myriads of the human race, or a still
later period when the earth, fallen to the condition in
which the moon now is, rolls on its solitary way through
space, a frozen and barren globe, the tomb of a Dead
Humanity ;—we may, if we look far enough before and
after, do all that, but we can never tell what minute frac
tion our solar system may be—what a vortex-molecule,
so to speak—of countless other systems in the inconceiv
able immensities of space which lie beyond our utmost
ken, and what essential relations it may have to them;
we cannot tell why matter on earth has formed an ascend
ing series of more and more complex compounds, why
having reached a certain complexity of composition it
became living, why organic evolution have gone on to
higher and ever higher achievements until it reached the
complexity of human organization and gave birth to con
sciousness ; and we cannot tell in the least what will
happen in the long long time to come, when all the
operations of our solar system are ended, past as com
�The Physical Basis of Will.
27
pletely as the light of the first human eyes that gazed on
them in wonder. Science is confined to a finite space
between two infinities—the eternal past and eternity to
come; it measures only a single pulsation, so to speak,
in the working of a power whose source and end are
past finding out, which was and is, and is to come, from
everlasting to everlasting; beyond that range, narrow it
is true, but more than wide enough to give full scope to
all human affections and to occupy usefully all human
energies, there is absolute nescience—agnosticism if you
will. Organised as we are we can no more know about
it than the oyster in its narrow home and with its very
limited sentiency can know of the events of the human
world—of the noise and turmoil, say, of an English electior,
or of the interesting chronicles of the “ Court Circular.”
What science repudiates and condemns, I believe, is the
presumptuous pretence on the part of theology to know
and tell all about the inscrutable, to put forward as
truths, not ever to be questioned, childish explanations
which are an insult to the understanding and would be
its suicide if really accepted, to demand reverent assent
to doctrines which sometimes outrage moral feeling, and
to declare solemnly that whosoever believeth not the
fables which it proclaims “ shall without doubt perish
everlastingly.”
What it may furthermore well repudiate and condemn
is the evident want of sincerity of heart and veracity of
thought shown by those who proffer and accept these
explanations, by reason of which they do not honestly
sound their beliefs and pursue them rigidly to their
logical issues, but suffer themselves to use words habitu
ally in a non-natural sense, and to hold side by side
inconsistent and even directly contradictory doctrines,
without being troubled by their manifest inconsistencies.
The scientific spirit claims entire veracity of thought,
whatever the result, knows that truth does not depend
upon our sympathies and antipathies, is resolute to follow
it to the end even at the sacrifice of the most cherished
beliefs. It cannot but think it to be as demoralizing in
tendency as it is insincere in fact, to profess to hold a
�•28
The Physical Basis of Will.
faith in entire reverence after having given up most of
what is characteristic of it, and as certain in the end to lead
to grossly inconsistent conduct. Such disingenuous deal
ing with momentous matters marks indeed an unveracity
of thought which would be lamentable hypocrisy were it
not more often intellectual timidity and unconscious
self-deception. But whether the insincerity be conscious
or unconscious, it is incompatible with that rigid, hearty,
and entire devotion to truth in thought, feeling, and ex
pression which is the aim and at the same time the
strength of a good understanding.
Note to Page 15.—Kant's doctrine is that there is a determi
nation of the will by pure reason, that so reason gets practical
reality, and that in this absolute obedience the will has absolute
assurance of its freedom. The moral law is a law spontaneously
imposed on the will by pure reason: it stands high above all the
motives, sensuous and their like, which determine the empirical
will; it pays no respect to them, but with an inward, irresistible
necessity, orders us, in independence of them, to follow it abso
lutely and unconditionally—’tis a categorical imperative, universal,
and binding on every rational will. A happy thing, certainly, that
a will determined to unconditional obedience by so absolute an
authority retains nevertheless the absolute assurance of its free
dom. But then comes the not unimportant question—What is
it that practical reason categorically commands ? How are we
to know what the moral law dictates and forbids ? The easiest
thing in the world, thinks Kant: let only those maxims of con
duct derived from experience be adopted as motives which are
susceptible of being made of universal validity—which are fit to
be regarded as universal laws of reason to govern the actions of
all mankind. I do right when I do what all persons would
think right in similar circumstances. Very good, without doubt,
although very like the common-place maxim of every ethical
system ; but my difficulty has been to know in a particular case
what all intelligent beings would think right. How am I to get
at the universal standard or precept and apply it to my particu
lar occasion, so as to know absolutely what I ought then to do?
Kant helps me by means of two remarkable illustrations. Suicide
is one. Is suicide, under the strongest temptation conceivable,
ever right ? I must ask myself then, “ Is the principle of the
admission that suicide is ever right fit to become a universal
law ?” No, says Kant, it is not fit, since the universal practice
�fhe Physical Basis of Will.
29
of suicide would reduce the world to chaos. Very true, but it is
sadly disappointing to perceive that the sublime and supreme
reason has, in order to become practical reality, found it neces
sary to come down from its supersensuous heights and to be no
better than gross Utilitarianism. All that it can tell me, panting
for its supreme utterance, is that suicide is inexpedient as a
universal principle of conduct—in fact, it makes use of the
common motives of an experience which is nowise supersen
suous, and instead of helping me to an absolute precept or
standard to measure them by, actually comes to them for its
authority. Kant’s philosophy, of which the metaphysical mind
is getting re-enamoured in some quarters at the present day, has
its head high in the clouds and dreams there sublimely; but
it finds it necessary to have its feet on the ground when the time
comes for it to march.
The second instance is no more helpful. May a person in the
greatest need of a loan, which he knows he will not get unless
he makes a solemn promise to repay what he is perfectly certain
he never will be able to repay, make the promise? No, says
Kant, for if it were a universal law, all faith in promises would
be destroyed, and nobody would lend money. In other words,
in the long run it would be very bad for society that faith in
promises should be destroyed. An excellent truth, which no
body can deny, but it evidently smacks much of the earth
earthy; indeed, it would seem that those who discover the
basis of morality in the social sanction may claim Kant, when
he is not in the clouds, as an out-and-out supporter. It is dif
ferent when he is busy spinning empty supersensuous theories
which have no relation to actual life, and amusing his disciples
with the magnificent dissolving views of his metaphysical magic
lantern. First he presents a splendid view of supreme reason
to the spectator who, as he admires it, sees the picture dissolve
gradually and in its place appear the grand features of Moral
Law, which shared with the Starry Heaven Kant’s ever new
and rising admiration and reverence; as the gaze is fixed in ad
miration upon this view it melts into indistinctness, and. as it
does so, there comes by degrees into clear definition the mighty
figure of freewill. Thereupon, informing his enthusiastic audience
that there are not really three pictures, as they might suppose,
but one picture, the three being one and the one being three,
Reason being Will and Will Reason, and that they cannot fail
to perceive, when they reflect properly upon what they have
seen, that the belief in God and immortality have now been
made safe for ever, he retires amidst unbounded applause.
Meanwhile, the critic who has not been blinded by the magnificent
metaphysical display, and who feels that he does not live, move,
and have his being in an abstract land beyond physics, asks him
self with regard to the philosophy—Will it march ?—and is not
�30
The Physical Basis of Will.
much surprised to find that when it begins to march it can only
do so on well-worn Utilitarian tracks.
All theories of freewill seem to come to this—that the will
which is swayed by low motives is not free, that the will which
is swayed by the higher motives is more free, and that the will
which is swayed by the highest motives is most free; conse
quently, when a person is blamed for having done ill, he is not
blamed for not having acted without motives, but for not having
been actuated by the highest motives. Create an artificial world
of names apart from the real world of facts—a world which shall
simply be made up of negations of all qualities of which we have
actual experience—and let the highest motives be known in it
as the Will of God or abstract Supreme Reason, you will get
your service which you may please yourself to call perfect
freedom. And there does not appear to be any reason why you
may not create and take refuge in another still more ideal world
beyond that, if persons of a positive spirit should show any dis
position to invade ideal word No. 1 with inconvenient enquiries.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
The Society's Lectures now printed arer—
Miss Mary E. Seed y. On “ J oint Education of Young Men and Women
in the American Schools and Colleges.”
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Professor Clifford, On “ The bearing of Morals on Religion.”
On “Right and Wrong; the scientific ground of their distinction.”
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to their children’s religious education and beliefs.” With notes.
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future prospects.”
On “ The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the Development of
the Human Mind.” With woodcut illustrations.
Cta “The Principles of Political Economy; their scientific basis, and
practical application to Social Well-being.”
On “The English Freethinkers of the Eighteenth Century.”
On “ The Science of Life Worth Living.”
Professor W. A. Hunter. On “A sketch of the English Law of
Heresy, past and present.”
Mr. M. Macfie. On “ The impending contact of Turanian and Aryan
Races the Physical and Economic results of Chinese migrations
to the West.”
On “ Religious Parallelisms and Symbolisms, Ancient and Modern.”
Br. H. Maudsley. On “ Lessons of Materialism.”
On “ The Physical Basis of Will.”
Mrs. Fenwick Miller. “ The Lessons of a Life:—Harriet Martineau.”
Dr. Andrew Wilson. On “ The Origin of Nerves.”
Di. G. G. Zerffi. On “ The spontaneous dissolution of Ancient Creeds.”
Ofi“ Ethics & ^Esthetics; or, Art in its influence on our Social Progress.”
On “ Dogma and Science.”
On “ The Eastern Question; from a Religious and Social point of view.’
On “Jesuitism, and the Priest in Absolution.”
On “ Pre-Adamites ; or, Prejudice and Science.”
On “ Long and short Chronologists.” .
The price of each of the above Lectures is 3d., or post-free 3£d.
Professor Clifford. On “Atoms; being an Explanation of what is
Definitely known about them.” Price Id. Two, post free, 2^d.
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in the Principles of Evidence —- Theological, Scientific, and
Judicial.” With Notes and Authorities. Cloth 8vo., pp. 106.
**The Inductive Philosophy: including a parallel between Lord Bacon
and A. Comte.” With Notes and Authorities. Cloth 8vo., pp. 100.77ze price of each of these Lectures is 5s., or post-free 5s. 3d.
Mr. Edward Maitland. On “ Jewish Literature and Modern Educa
tion; or the use and misuse of the Bible in the Schoolroom.”
7%e price of these two Lectures is Is. 6d., or post-free Is. 8d.
Three vols. of Lectures (1st, 2nd, and 3rd Selection), cloth-bound,
Iprice 5s. each, or post-free 5s. 6d., contain Lectures otherwise out of
print, viz.; by the late Mr. Geo. Browning, and Professor Clifford,
and by Mr. Clodd, Mr. Elley Finch, Mr. Plumptre, and Dr. Zerffi.
Table of contents of these vols. sent on application.
Can be obtained (on remittance, by letter, of postage stamps or order) of
the Hon, Treasurer, Wm, Henry Domville, Esq., 15, Gloucester
Crescent, Hyde Park, W., or at the Hall on the days of Lecture;
or of Mr. J. Bumpus, Bookseller. 158, Oxford Street, W.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
T tn
f 5.e c],el,lvery °? Sundays in the Metropolis, and
to encourage the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on Science
-physical, intellectual, and moral,-History, Literature, and
Ait; especially m their bearing upon the improvement and
social well-being of mankind.
PRESIDENT.
W. B. Carpenter, Esq., C.B., LL.D., M.D., F.R.S., &c.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
Professor Alexander
Bain.
James Booth, Esq., C.B.
Charles Darwin, Esq
F.R.S,, F.L.S.
Edward Frankland, Esq
D.C.L., Ph.D., F.B.S.
James Heywood, Esq., F.R.S.
F.S.A.
Sir Arthur Hobhouse,
K.C.S.I.
Thomas Henry Huxley
Esq., LL.D., F.R.S., F.L.S.
Herbert Spencer, Esq.
W. Spottiswoode,
Esq.,
LL.D., Pres.R.S.
John Tyndall, Esq., LL.D.,
F.R.S.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
are delivered at
ST. GEORCE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On SUNDAY Afternoons, at FOUR o’clock precisely,
(Annually—from November to May).
Lectures (in three series), ending 25th April,
looU, will be given.
Members £1 subscription entitles them to an annual ticket
transferable (and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight
ie i eserved-seat tickets, available for any lecture.
lickets for each series (one for each lecture) as below, —
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pence each lecture.
For tickets, and for list of the Lectures published by the
Society, apply (by letter) to the Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry
Domville, Esq., 15, Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W.
Payment at the door:—One Shilling (Reserved Seats);—
Sixpence ;—and One Penny.
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�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The physical basis of will : a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society on Sunday afternoon, February 15th, 1880
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Maudsley, Henry [1835-1918]
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Place of Publication: London
Collation: 30, [2] p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Presented in Memory of Dr. Moncure D. Conway by his children, July Nineteen hundred & eight. Includes bibliographical references. List of the Society's Sunday Lectures on unnumbered pages at the end.
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Sunday Lecture Society
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1880
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Free Will
Determinism
Conway Tracts
Free Will and Determinism
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
THE
PAST AND PRESENT
OF THE
HERESY LAWS.
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 1st DECEMBER, 1878,
BY
‘ W. A. HUNTER, M.A.,
Barrister-at-Law, Professor of Jurisprudence, University College
London.
’
Hontian:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
1878.
PRICE THREEPENCE.
�SYLLABUS.
Mr. Lecky’s views on the causes of Persecution.
Dogma and Persecution arose from the struggle of the clergy
for political supremacy.
I. Punishment of Heresy as a crime.
1. By the Ecclesiastical Courts.
2. By judge and law.
3. By statute.
4. Proposed article in the New Criminal Code.
II. Deprivation of Civil Rights of Heretics.
1. Nullification of contracts tainted with heresy.
2. Illegality of heretical trusts.
3. Guardianship of children.
4. The refusal of evidence. Oaths. Witnesses.
III. Heresy in morals.
IV. The Persecuting Spirit as perverting the administration
of justice.
�HISTORY OF THE HERESY LAWS.
HE History of Persecution presents to the philosophic
mind a strange problem. Why should men cruelly
maltreat and murder their fellow-men, who do them no
harm, because of a mere difference of opinion regarding
super-terrestrial objects ? The question is not easy to
answer. It implies, on the part of the persecuting sects,
intellectual blindness and moral callousness. For surely
—from a mere intellectual standpoint—nothing can be
more absurd than to punish a man for his belief. To
inflict evil upon a man because his reason does not
recommend a popular creed may make him a hypocrite,
but by no possibility a believer. It implies not less moral
obliquity. For the simplest rule of morals is that we
should do unto others as we would have others do unto
us. But the persecutor never admits that it is right to
punish him for his opinions. His opinions, he tells us,
are right opinions, and it would be highly criminal to
punish a man for holding right opinions. Thus reasons
the bigot with himself. Sometimes indeed he tries to
evade this difficulty. He will tell us, with engaging
candour, that persecution is always right in principle,
however unfortunate it may sometimes be in its applica
tion. He will assure us that he persecutes because he
believes it right to suppress error; and he admits that if
his party is the weaker it would be right to persecute
him in turn. By this ingenuous admission he hopes to
shelter himself under the golden rule; but it is to be
observed that such a confession is never made when there
is any opportunity of testing his sincerity. If this candid
gentleman were to find himself among the persecuted, he
would be the first to call out most lustily against the
wickedness of his persecutors. When, therefore, we
take a persecutor and calmly examine him, we find his
moral sense as much at fault as his intellect; both his
T
�4
The Past and Present
intelligence and his conscience are clouded; in a word, he
is both a rogue and a fool.
In putting the issue on that broad and simple basis I
make an assumption. I assume that the bigot is sincere
according to his light. I assume that he reverences
truth; that he wishes to see truth prevail among man
kind, and that error be driven away. It is from this
point of view that Mr. Lecky, the distinguished historian
of Rationalism in Europe, discusses that most melancholy
chapter in the history of the human race, the rise and
progress of persecution. He ascribes the tremendous
energy of the spirit of persecution to the doctrine of
eternal punishment for religious error, and in a vigorous
passage he thus denounces a cause of untold suffering to
the human race:—*
“If men believe with an intense and realising faith
that their own view of a disputed question is true beyond
all possibility of mistake, if they further believe that those
who adopt other views will be doomed by the Almighty
to an eternity of misery which, with the same moral dis
position but with a different belief, they would have
escaped, these men will, sooner or later, persecute to the
full extent of their power. If you speak to them of the
physical and mental suffering which persecution produces,
or of the sincerity and unselfish heroism of its victims,
they will reply that such arguments rest altogether on the
inadequacy of your realisation of the doctrine they believe.
What suffering that man can inflict can be comparable to
the eternal misery of all who embrace the doctrine of the
heretic? What claim can human virtues have to our
forbearance, if the Almighty punishes the mere profession
of error as a crime of the deepest turpitude ? If you en
countered a lunatic who, in his frenzy, was inflicting on
multitudes around him a death of the most prolonged and
excruciating agony, would you not feel justified in arrest
ing his career by every means in your power—by taking
his life if you could not otherwise attain your object?
But if you knew that this man was inflicting not temporal
but eternal death, if he was not a guiltless though danger* “ Rationalism in Europe,” Lecky, vol. ii. page 1.
�of the Heresy Laws.
5
ous madman, but one whose conduct you believed to involve
the most heinous criminality, would you not act with still
less compunction or hesitation ? ”
Mr. Lecky enforces his argument by a short and
striking sentence from Thomas Aquinas, the great orthodox
logician of mediaeval Catholicism. “If dealers in false
money or other malefactors are forthwith justly delivered
to death by secular princes, much more ought heretics,
the moment they are convicted of heresy, to be at once,
not merely excommunicated, but justly put to death.”
This sentence is worthy a moment’s consideration. It
has the appearance of an argument; in form it professes
to be reasoning; but even a glance is sufficient to show
that it possesses merely the form and not in any degree the
substance of reasoning. The premiss is that dealers in
false money are justly put to death; the conclusion is that
heretics ought to be put to death. But, heretics are not
coiners of bad money; and it would just be as logical to
say—because murderers are justly executed, therefore
those who eat meat on Fridays ought to be executed.
The conclusion has simply no relation to the premiss
whatever. Viewed as a logical proposition, which it pro
fesses in form to be, the saying of St. Thomas Aquinas is
a rank and childish absurdity. But, if we are to under
stand it aright, we must discard the pretentious form of
logic in which it is enveloped. What it really means is
that the writer, and those whom he addressed, considered
heresy to be a worse crime than coining false money or
murder, and upon that assumption St. Thomas Aquinas
is logical enough in saying it ought to be visited with the
penalty of death. If it be a greater crime to doubt or
deny any proposition which the Church of Borne puts
forward as true—for that is the meaning of “ heresy ” in
the mouth of St. Thomas Aquinas—if that be a greater
crime than forgery or murder, then truly it is difficult to
say that heretics ought not to be slain.
But, is heresy a crime worse than murder ? In the
days of Thomas Aquinas this was a question that
admitted neither denial nor doubt. To have said a
word for the heretic would have been to incur imminent
risk of the fate of the heretic. At the present day, so
�6
The Past and Present
deep, so wide, is the revolt from the Church of Borne,
that a person who should gravely maintain the thesis of
the saintly doctor would incur universal ridicule. The
greatest spiritual dominion which Europe has ever known
has been broken up. The sceptre has departed from
Borne, and the Pope has no longer the power of killing
those whom he calls rebels; he can do no more than
brandish the empty thunderbolts of excommunication.
That is why heresy is no longer a crime. Heresy was to
the spiritual jurisdiction of the Pope what treason is to
the secular authority of kings. Heresy denied the right
of the priesthood to lord it over the consciences of men.
By denying the dogmas which the priests promulgated
the heretic assailed them in their tenderest point. If
their dogmas were not true, then were they downright
impostors, and the very bread they ate was got by false
pretences. The most cursory examination of the history
of the Christian Church shows that dogma w’as the bond
by which the priesthood reared the extraordinary fabric
of the papacy, an institution which claimed to over-ride
sovereigns, and to exercise the power, without incurring
the responsibility, of secular government. To support
dogma the crime of heresy was invented. The aggrandise
ment of the priesthood was the end to be accomplished;
the punishment of heretics was the means. To achieve
so holy an end the priests had no scruple in recommending
the destruction of those who stood in the way. The end
not merely justified but sanctified and glorified the means.
Is it a marvel, when the clergy had preached for
some hundreds of years the sacred doctrine of the murder
of their enemies and illustrated it, whenever they had
the chance, by practical example, that in the days of
St. Thomas Aquinas every voice in Christendom acknow
ledged the guilt of heresy ?
It seems to me, therefore, that Mr. Lecky, in tracing
the practice of persecution up to the doctrine of eternal
punishment for erroneous belief, misses a most important
element in the problem. Without grave confusion of
ideas mankind could never have fallen into the horrible
crime of persecution; but, even under the narrowest
doctrine of eternal punishment, men would have stopped
�oj- the Heresy Laws.
7
short of murdering heretics, but that their hatred was
inflamed by the sinister ambition of an insatiable priest
hood. The ghastly catalogue of crime would not have
been so long had there been no dupes; but it never
would have existed at all if there had not been a design
ing oligarchy of churchmen building up for themselves
a throne higher than that of the oldest and proudest
monarchies of Europe. Worldly ambition, using as its
tools the fears and passions of its dupes, is the real
parent of persecution. Jesus Christ said, my kingdom
is not of this world; but the priests, who pretended to
be His followers, resolved that their kingdom should be
of this world, and that they should sit on the necks of
kings, and they pursued this scheme of universal dominion
with pitiless cruelty. The tortures of the inquisition
will be remembered with a shudder when the blackest
crimes perpetrated by individual ambition have fallen into
oblivion. It is well to bear this in mind. The true
source of persecution is not erroneous religious opinion,
but priestcraft. Heresy, it is asserted, is disloyalty to
truth. But not for that reason was it punished with
death. It was disloyalty to the priests that fired their
bitter indignation, and rooted out of their breasts those
feelings of tenderness and humanity which we may
believe they shared at their birth with the generality of
mankind.
This sad story in the history of our race is well illustrated
by the relation of Christianity to the Roman Empire. Books
have been written to show the benign influence which
Christianity is alleged to have exercised on Roman
Civilization and Roman Law. It was under Constantine,
and by his help, that in the year a.d. 312, Christianity
was adopted as the religion of the Roman Empire. I have
carefully read the jurisprudence of Rome before Christi
anity was introduced and afterwards. And what do
I find? That a spirit of humanity and justice was
breathed into the dry bones of heathen law ? Nothing of
the sort. Humanity and justice reached their highest
development under such heathens as Antoninus Pius and
Marcus Aurelius. You will search in vain through the
Law of Rome for any traces of reform under Christianity;
�8
The Past and Present
but, there are two things of which you will get more than
enough. You will get laws intended to aggrandise the
priests, to shield them from civil and criminal responsibility,
and to enable them to extort money with ease and hoard
it with safety. You will, also, find many statutes passed
to despoil of their property, to banish, and even to kill,
all those sects of Christians who did not bow the knee
to Rome, but were guilty of the crime of understanding
the teaching of Christ differently from the Roman Bishops.
Rew people are aware of the ruthless violence with which
all dissent from the Church of Rome was stamped out.
Before a century had passed under the Christian emperors,
the catalogue of Rome’s victims were to be reckoned by hun
dreds of thousands. In a statute passed in the year a.d. 428
against heretics we have a curious enumeration of sects,
as regards some of whom even ecclesiastical antiquaries
are silent. They were:—Arians and Macedonians,
Pneumatomachi and Apollinariani and Novatiani or
Sabbatiani, Eunomiani, Tetraditae, Valenteniani, Papianistse, Montanists or Priscillianists, Marcianists, Borboriani, Messaliani, Eutychitse or Enthusiastse, Donatists,
Audiani, Hydroparastatae, Tascodrogitae, Batrachitae, Hermeieciani, Photiniani, Pauliani, Marcelliani, Ophitae,
Encratitae, Apotactitae, Saccophori, and worst of all
Manichaeans and Nestorians. Here is a list of about
thirty sects who were broken up and destroyed by the
criminal law. That is how the marvellous unity of the
Catholic Church was obtained. It won its conquests by
blood and iron; by the same means it maintained them ;
but it lasted long enough to show that truth is stronger
than tyranny, and that the sword of the Spirit can cut
deeper than any weapons of steel.
In the course of time the priests invented an ingenious
plan for perpetuating their dominion. Owing to the pro
found ignorance of the population, it was easy to teach
the people that the principal calamities that affected them
were due to the prevalence of heresy. In one of the
enactments of the Christian Emperor, Justinian, we find
the philosophy of heresy, from the priestly point of view,
stated with the most naive absurdity. The reason for
killing heretics was that famines, earthquakes, and pesti-
�of the Heresy Laws.
17
deprivation of civil rights in respect of contract or trusts
seriously interferes with or even hampers the propaganda
of heretical opinions. While, however, such a state of the
law does nothing to protect orthodoxy, it does act as an
encouragement to immorality, and enables a few persons,
on rare occasions, to break their promise with impunity.
But the portion of the law which we have now to consider
does not possess this harmless character. The law, when
ever it operates at all, works with the cruellest injustice..
The law as to the guardianship of children may be
summed-up in a sentence—it sacrifices the mother to the
father, and it sacrifices both father and mother to religious
bigotry. The rule of law is almost inexorable that a
child must be brought up in the religion of its father,
even after he is dead, and when he has never expressed
even the slightest wish that the widowed mother should
be robbed of the care of her offspring. A Protestant
widow will be compelled to bring up her infant daughter
in the Roman Catholic faith, if the father was a Roman
Catholic in profession merely, and was really indifferent
as to the religion his children should be taught. I cannot
use more forcible language to describe this law than that
which was employed by V. C. Wickens in a case where
he was obliged to give judgment against a mother:—
“To direct that this ward shall be brought up in the
Roman Catholic faith will be to create a barrier between a
widowed mother and her only child; to annul the mother’s
influence over her daughter on the most important of
all subjects with the almost inevitable effect of weakening
it on all others; to introduce a disturbing element into a
union which ought to be as close, as warm, and as abso
lute, as any known to man; and lastly, to inflict severe
pain on both mother and child. But it is clear that no
argument which would recognize any right in the widowed
mother to bring up her child in a religion different from
the father’s can be allowed to weigh with me at all.
According to the law of this court a mother has no such
right.” (Hawksworth v. Hawksworth, 6 L.R. Ch.).
The recent Agar-Ellis case still more illustrates the
strength of the father’s legal position. Even an express
antenuptial promise, without which the marriage would
�18
The Past and Present
never have taken place, that the children should be brought
up in the religion of the mother, had not, in a Court of
Equity, so much as the weight of a feather to outweigh
the father’s claims. So strong is the father’s power, that
he cannot legally divest himself of it by such a contract
as would suffice to settle ten million pounds. By the
law as it stands, a man may induce a woman to marry
him by promising her the enjoyment of what she may
regard as a particular boon — the preparation of her
infant children for eternity—and when the marriage
takes place, he can cast his promise to the winds, and
bring up the children in principles which, according to the
mother’s belief, will assign them to everlasting torments.
But the rights of the father, while strong as a band of
iron to crush the mother, snap like a reed when they come
into collision with the interests of orthodoxy. Charity,
parental affection, the sweet influences of home—all must
give way to the paramount object of stuffing the child with
a particular set of theological opinions. Even eccentric,
although not blasphemous, opinions on religion have been
held sufficient to rob a father of his children. In giving
judgment in Thomas v. Roberts (3 D.Gr. & S. 758), Lord
Justice Knight Bruce, then Vice-Chancellor, is reported
as distinguishing the degree of eccentricity which might
not be absolutely fatal from that which in law disqualifies
a man from having the custody of his own children.
“ I doubt whether a man, who, having been ordained a
minister of religion, as a Christian in a Christian com
munity, has designedly and systematically given up
attending any place of worship (whatever his private
feelings and whatever hymns he may sing) ought in any
condition of circumstances to be permitted in this country
to have the guardianship or care of an English child, for
whose maintenance and education there exist any other
means of providing, though the child be his own. But
that particular question I think it not, in the present
instance, necessary to decide, and I wish to be understood
as giving no opinion upon it.”
“ However this may be, I apprehend that in England a
man who holds the opinion that prayer—I mean prayer
in the sense of entreaty and supplication to the Almighty
�of the Heresy Laws.
19
—is no part of duty; who considers moreover that there
is not any day of the week which ought to be observed
as a Sabbath, as a day of peculiar rest, or as one of
peculiar holiness, or in a manner distinct from other
days, must be deemed to entertain opinions noxious to
society, adverse to civilization, opposed to the usages of
Christendom, contrary (in the case of prayer at least) to
the express command of the New Testament, and, finally,
pernicious necessarily in the highest degree to any young
person unhappy enough to be imbued with them. I say
in England.”
This passage needs no remark, for the final limitation
converts the whole reasoning into absurdity; but I may
observe that the Vice-Chancellor is a good deal more
straightlaced in his orthodoxy than Saint Paul. We read
in Romans (xiv. 5), “ One man esteemeth one day above
another ; another esteemeth every day alike. Let every
man be fully persuaded in his own mind.”
4. Refused of the Evidence of Heretics—Oaths.—The
confusion of ideas that so long covered the question
of admissibility of witnesses with deep darkness attests in
a remarkable degree the weakness of the human under
standing when it is swayed by strong passion. Eirst of
all, our judges and writers on law have uniformily assigned,
as one of the conclusive and irresistible arguments for
religious persecution, that the administration of justice
rests upon oaths, and oaths rest upon religion, therefore,
to weaken religion is to shake the administration of justice.
With more truth it might be urged that it is only the
power to punish false evidence with imprisonment that
prevents oaths degenerating into an unmeaning farce; for
experience shows that men will habitually take oaths which
they never mean to observe, as in the case of so many
official oaths, when no temporal punishment is annexed to
the perjury.
To refuse the testimony of an unbeliever involved even
a more glaring solecism. If an unbeliever dissembled or
denied his opinion, the English law accepted his testimony
without hesitation or scruple; but if he openly avowed
his opinions, and thereby showed his conscientiousness,
honesty, and courage, he was dismissed from the witness
�20
The Past and Present
box as unworthy of credence. At last, in the years 1869
and 1870, the grave reproach on our law was removed,
and now, in England, although not in Scotland, a solemn
affirmation is to be taken instead of an oath by those who
were formerly disqualified from giving evidence through
defect of religious belief.
III.—Resteiction on Feeedom oe Discussion
in
Mosals.
Recent events in Germany have attracted notice to a
subject akin to religious heresy, namely, social or
moral heresy. Under the influence of a disgraceful
panic, the German Parliament has allowed itself to be
come the author of a political inquisition. It has sanc
tioned a law bad in principle, and still worse in respect
of the authority by which it is to be carried out. Power
has been given to the Executive Government to rob and
maltreat all persons guilty of the heresy of Socialism, by
which is understood opinions hostile to the existing
social institutions, and aiming at a reconstruction of
human society in respect of its deepest foundations.
The teaching of experience has been ignored, for, if one
thing is certain, it is that persecution of Socialist heretics
will increase their power, and add to the danger of their
error. It may be a gross error to say with Proudhon,
for example, that property is theft, or to say, with Mr.
Noyes, that the institution of the family is a relic of bar
barism ; but surely the proper way to deal with their
errors is to exhibit the fallacy of their reasoning, and not
to knock them down by brute force. Just as improve
ment in the art of government is impossible without free
and unsparing discussion of proposed and actual legisla
tion ; just as true views regarding the constitution of the
universe and the destiny of man are impossible under a
regime of clerical terrorism ; just as a scientific knowledge
of nature is only possible in a country which freely
handles even the most revered names, so progress in
morals, an improvement in the conduct of mankind, can
only be attained by unqualified freedom in discussing
every moral question. If, in a country where polygamy
is sanctioned, it is a crime to condemn polygamy, or in a
�of the Heresy Laws.
21
country where monogamy is established, it is a crime to
say anything against monogamy, how is it possible for
mankind to change for the better? Whatever reasons
exist in favour of political or religious liberty apply with
equal force for freedom in the sphere of human conduct
or morals.
Yet it is a strange fact, and one not generally known,
that so far as the law is concerned, England has the
unenviable distinction of anticipating the recent fanatical
legislation of Germany. Until within the last year most
Englishmen supposed that to preach a moral heresy in
this country was even less a crime than to doubt the
infallible truth of the XXXIX. Articles. Yet, at the
present moment, it is undoubtedly law that any one who
publishes a book on any subject that can be comprehended
in the vague designation of “ morality ” does so with a
halter round his neck, for if his opinions are unpopular,
or if they should happen to differ from those of twelve
men picked up by chance and put in a jury box, he is
liable to two years’ imprisonment with hard labour. The
way in which this has come about inspires us with a pro
found sense of the mystery of the law. The case of
blasphemy helps us partially to understand it. Blasphemy,
in its popular acceptation, means language insulting to
the Deity; by a process of judicial interpretation it was
held that it meant any opinions contrary to the generally
accepted doctrines of Christianity. The word “ obscene,”
one should think, had a perfectly distinct, not to say a
“ pungent ” meaning; but, inasmuch as all obscenity is
contrary to morality, it has been decided by a process of
logic, which the students of Aristotle will find it difficult
to follow, that whatever is contrary to morality is
obscenity. In this way it has now been established
that any publication of opinions which a jury may
be pleased to regard as contrary to their notions of
morality is an indictable offence. We have all great
respect for English juries in their right place ; but it is
hardly the right place for a jury to sit on the chair of
infallibility and ape the ridiculous pretensions of the Pope
of Rome. It is a subject, I think, of unqualified regret
that the new Criminal Code aggravates the mischief of
�22
The Past and Present
recent decisions If that code should become law, the
advocates of what may be considered moral heresy may
say with truth, that whereas the Common Law whipped
them with cords the Criminal Code lashes them Sith
scorpions.
IV-—Bervertino
Administration-
or
Justice.
Heresy may be struck out of the Criminal Law, it may
cease to deny to the citizen his civil rights, and there is
sp .
re lgious antipathies to cause a miscarriage
of justice. I may mention, by way of illustration, the
IRBI °f Tha<?ai?gh V‘ Edwards’in the Common Pleas, in
cm ?! rCtS we^e simple- Mr- Bradlaugh had hired
a fieid to deliver a lecture in Devonport, as the public
halls m the town had been forbidden to him. The
superintendent of the police interfered to prevent the
meeting, and finally arrested Mr. Bradlaugh and put him
in prison. The next day, Mr. Bradlaugh was brought
before the magistrates, and, as there was not even a
pretence for the charge of assault trumped-up against him,
he was discharged. He then brought an action against
the superintendent of police for false imprisonment. The
tacts were notorious, and even the prejudiced jury
who tried the case could not refuse a verdict for Mr.
Bradlaugh; but they gave only a farthing of damages,
and so compelled him to pay his own costs. Upon that
ground Mr. Bradlaugh moved in the Court of Common
- ea® . a n®w
as the damages were ridiculously
insufficient. Lord Chief Justice Erie, in giving judgment,
Finsing a new trial, expressed the somewhat strange
Ï idea that it was a real blessing to a freethought lecturer
to deprive him of his liberty without excuse. Upon the
same ground a jury of farmers might think that a ducking
m a horse pond was a real benefit to the misguided secthe ^pourers’ Union. The Chief Justice
®ai^’ d.re.are opinions which are in law a crime. .
H the plaintiff wanted to use his liberty for the purpose
ot disseminating opinions which were in reality of that
pernicious description, and the defendant prevented him
from doing that which might be a very pernicious act to
those who heard him, it might be that thé jury thought
�of the Heresy Laws.
23
the act of imprisonment was in reality not an injury,
but, on the contrary, an act which, in its real substantial
result, was beneficial to the plaintiff, and so the nominal
wrong would be abundantly compensated by the small
sum given.”
This brief sketch of the Heresy Laws brings before us
one of the most melancholy aberrations of legislation.
These laws have caused prodigious suffering, but they
never conferred on the human race one iota of counter
vailing advantage. They represent a dead loss to the
credit side of human happiness, and the passions which
gave rise to them are an unmitigated and unredeemed
evil. Black is the guilt of those who have abused their
position as the guides and instructors of mankind to
pl a,nt in the infant mind the seeds of unfounded and
irrational hatred, and so have helped to pile up that great
mountain of persecution of man’s inhumanity to man,
which has made countless thousands mourn.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis,
and to encourage the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on
Science,—physical, intellectual, and moral,—History, Literatuie, and Art; especially in their bearing upon the
impiovement and social well-being of mankind.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
ARB DELIVERED AT
ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On SUNDAY Afternoons, at FOUR o’clock precisely.
(Annually—from November to May).
i o?YE^??YKOrrR lectures (in three series), ending 20th April,
lo/y, will be given.
Members £1 subscription entitles them to an annual ticket
transferable (and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight
single reserved-seat tickets, available for any lecture.
Tickets for each series (one for each lecture) as below,—
To the Shilling- Reserved Seats—5s. 6d.
To the Sixpenny Seats—2s., being at the rate of Three
each lecture.
pence
For tickets, and for list of the Lectures published by the
Society, apply (by letter) to the Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry
Domville, Esq., 15, Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W.
Payment at the door:—One Penny;—Sixpence;—and
(Reserved Seats) One Shilling.
Kenny & Co., Printers, 25, Camden Road, London, N.W.
�
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The past and present of the heresy laws : a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society [.....]1st December, 1878
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Hunter, W.A.
Sunday Lecture Society
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 23 p. ; 17 cm.
Notes: Publisher's advertisements on back page. Includes Mr Lecky's views on the causes of persecution. Includes bibliographical references. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Heresy
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Heresy
Heresy-Great Britain-Law and Legislation
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nationalsecularsociety
,
J i
THE LESSONS OF A LIFE;
HARRIET
MARTINEAU.
51 tnta
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE
SOCIETY,
ST, GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM ELACE,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON,
lltft
MARCH, 1877.
FLORENCE FENWICK MILLER.
■
------------------ - ------ _ \
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
Price Threepence.
�LONDON:
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET
HAYMARKET, W,
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and
to encourage the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on Science,
—physical, intellectual, and moral,—History, Literature,
and Art; especially in their bearing upon the improvement
and social well-being of mankind.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
ARE DELIVERED AT
ST GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On SUNDAY Afternoons, at FOUR o’clock precisely.
(Annually—from November to May). '
Twenty-Four Lectures (in three series), ending April, 1877,
will be given.
Members’ £1 subscription entitles them to an annual ticket
(transferable and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight
single reserved-seat tickets available for any lecture.
Tickets for each series (one for each lecture) as below,—
To the Shilling Reserved Seats—5s. 6d.
To the Sixpenny Seats—2sej being at the rate of Threepence:
each lecture.
For tickets and the published lectures apply (by letter, enclos
ing postage-stamps, order, or cheque), to the Hon. Treasurer, Wm.
Henry Domville, Esq., 15 Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W.
Payment at the door:—One Penny ;—Sixpence ;—and
(Reserved Seats) One Shilling.
�tYTef
H 3<UT9M YA<1W3
SYLLAB US.
The lessons to be drawn from this Life are partly direct
partly indirect.
A lesson for the Lecturer.
Indirect lessons from the moulding influences of Harriet
Martineau’s career:
a. Her relationships—of birth and affection.
Z>. Her religious growth.
c. Her work, and the criticism it received.
Some of the direct lessons taught by her writings.
political work, and its lesson for men.
and its lesson for women.
Posthumous fame and influence.
Her
Her work for her sex,
�THE LESSONS OF A LIFE:
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
N a summery evening in the month of June, in last year,
there was quenched one of the shining lights of our
time. After such a lifetime as falls to the lot of but few
human beings—still more of but few women ; after a long life
of physical suffering, and of such torture as could be inflicted
on such a mind by misrepresentation, slander, and abuse of
her convictions ; but withal a life full of work, full of thought,
full of purpose, and crowned with result—on that day Harriet
Martineau ended her labours, and entered into eternal rest.
All England felt that one of the most remarkable women
that ever lived had departed from amidst us. Perhaps she
has had really no predecessor in history, if we except Deborah,
who dispensed judgment from her seat under the palm-tree to
all Israel. Other women have had an equal and a greater
influence upon the course of events in their own time, but not
under anything like analogous circumstances. Aspasia ruled
by the impress of her great mind upon the great men who
sat at her feet, and Madame de Pompadour and not a few others
have ruled by the power which passion lent them over men who
swayed the destinies of states; while Elizabeth of England and
Catherine of Russia were placed by birth in a position which
gave scope for the exercise of their natural powers of govern
ment. But Harriet Martineau was born to no high station;
her influence was not the backstairs influence of the beautiful
and intriguing favourite ; she was not even hidden from view,
while the credit of her thoughts and deeds was usurped, by
any man whatever. She was a political power in our land;
our highest statesmen asked and followed her wise counsel;
O
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The Lessons of a Life :
thinking for herself, and uttering her thoughts fearlessly, she
gained respect for her opinions when she gave them her name,
and wrote words winged with power to find their way straight
to men’s hearts even when they were not known as her utter
ances. Taking into account the effect of her acknowledged
writings (such as her 1 Tales in Political Economy/ and her
‘ Illustrations of Taxation’), the direct influence which she
had with various leaders of politics, and the unknown extent
to which she educated men as a leader-writer and reviewer, it
will be seen how much she has impressed herself upon her
time, and what political power she has exercised.
The story of such a life cannot fail to be fraught with both
the keenest interest and the highest and most important
lessons, over and above those which may be gained from every
good biography. Probably no life, even the most insignificant,
could be truthfully delineated without conveying some new
thought, some fresh lesson, to the wise and careful student
of human nature. But if this is so with even the careers which
are as commonplace as the story of any one blade of grass,
or any one grain of sand upon the sea-shore, how much more
must it not be so when the subject of study is a life
so full of variety and of individuality as that of Harriet
Martineau ?
The lessons which we may learn here, and carry away with
us to our daily task, are of a twofold character. First, there
are the lessons which are given indirectly by the moulding
influences of her life. There is a keen interest in watching
the growth of a flower, of a fish, or any other mere physical
development; but there is far more in tracing the processes
by which a mind has increased to its full strength and beauty.
We cannot but eagerly strive to see how this one particular
mind became greater than its fellows ; what are the conditions
which seem to have aided and what those which have trammelled
its progress ? Secondly, there are the direct lessons which
this teacher of men spent her life in enforcing; the lessons
taught in her written words, and living in the printed page
upon which the eyes of so many have rested, and have yet to
rest.
And foremost among these lessons is one for me in my
present position—one which Harriet Martineau taught both
by precept and example—that of complete candour in speaking
�Harriet Martineau.
7
■of the impressions produced upon me by her works and the
record of her life. In the preface to her ‘Biographical
Sketches/ reprinted from the Daily News, she says:
“ The true principle of biographical delineation . . . is to tell, in
the spirit of justice, the whole truth about the characters of persons im
portant enough to have their lives publicly treated at all. . . In old
age, and on the borders of the grave, what do distinguished persons
desire for themselves ? How do they like the prospect of sickly praise,
of the magnifying of the trifles of their days, of any playing fast and
loose with right and wrong for the sake of their repute, of any cheating
of society of its rights in their experience of mistake and failure, as well
as of gain and achievement ? Do they not claim to be measured with
the same measure with which they mete their fellows,—to leave the world,
not under any sort of disguise, but delivering over their lives, if at all,
in their genuine aspect and condition,—to be known hereafter, if at all,
for what they are ? ”
After these words of precept for those who, in any way,
shall speak of her life after she has ceased to be, there comes
the example of her own biographical sketches. These short
essays, which treat of a large proportion of the eminent
statesmen, philosophers, and scientific and literary men and
women who have died within the last fifteen years, are truly
noteworthy for their candour, and a lesson in that respect to
all future memoir writers. They are candid not only in
blaming—candour which is all verjuice is only spite called by
another name; but praise and appreciation are given to the
worthy works and the noble qualities of even those who had
proved incapable of reaching a high standard of moral and
mental excellence in every respect. Two of these short
memoirs are those of Lockhart and John Wilson Croker. A
reference to the autobiography will show how bitterly Harriet
Martineau felt the treatment which she received at the hands
of these men (of which I must speak again farther on). But
no reader of the notices of their lives would guess that the
writer who gives them all the credit which was their due for
wit and ability was a woman whom they had joined them
selves together to pursue for years with insult, slander, and
misrepresentation. On the other hand, her dearest friends,
as Lord Durham, are treated with a calm, dispassionate con
sideration, answering that requirement of honesty laid down
in the words which I have quoted.
The first lesson, therefore, which meets me is one for
�8
The Lessons of a Life :
myself—one given by my illustrious subject both in words
and in deeds; to say honestly the truth which I see, not to
yield to the natural inclination to speak only of that which
we must all reverence—her greatness of mind and. life, but if
there be spots upon the sun which has lightened so much
darkness, to recognise their presence, though it be half
concealed by the glory, and account for them as best we
may.
First, then, let me say that I am somewhat disappointed in
the autobiography. In parts, it wins the reader completely;
one rejoices with her in her successes, and sympathises in her
disappointments and annoyances. Then there will come some
arrogant expression about the people around her, some glori
fying of others simply because they were her friends, some
scorn, or some other unpleasant egotistical feature, which
breaks the spell for pages.
The pleasantest parts of the book are those in which she
treats of hei’ own inner experiences—where the interest is so
strong that she forgets that she is revealing herself, and talks
naturally, openly, boldly, without self-consciousness. The
least pleasant parts are those in which she speaks of the inci
dents of her life, and the people who were connected, with her
in them.
It must not be imagined that there is in the book any undue
laudation of her own works—any of what would be commonly
called “ conceit.” The reverse is even unpleasantly the case.
It is not agreeable to hear that Miss Martineau thought
Margaret Fuller a “ gorgeous pedant,” that she never had any
respect for Lord Brougham, and that she believed Macaulay
to have “ no heart,” “ honesty,” or “ capacity for philosophy;”
it is not agreeable to contrast with this and very much more
of the same kind, her opinion of Mr. Atkinson, and of some of
her servants; it is even less pleasant to read of the petty per
sonal insults offered her by Mrs. A. and Lady Dash, which she
might well have ignored, or at all events forgotten; but least
pleasant of all is it to read her depreciation of her own works,
her declaration about first one and then another, that she
“dares not read it over now”—she “knows she should des
pise it now,” and so on.
All these drawbacks to the reader’s satisfaction seem to me
to arise from (certainly not “ conceit,” but) the self-conscious-
�Harriet Martineau.
9
ness which is almost inevitable during the writing of a memoir
of one’s self. Could any one of you, my hearers, write out your
whole heart and life unmoved by the knowledge that thousands
of ears are open to receive the story, and that friends and
enemies will sit in judgment upon it, coldly canvassing your
tenderest emotions ? It is impossible; and the very effort
which has to be made to be candid under such circumstances
is in itself the destruction of naturalness and subjective
individuality.
For this reason it is that I never read the autobiography of
any person of whom I had already formed an opinion, from
published writings or public works, without some feeling of
disappointment, except in the single case of Leigh Hunt. This
exception I imagine to arise from the fact that Leigh Hunt
wrote always—poems and essays alike—with his individuality
in his own mind, and brought before the mind of his reader.
Probably Thomas Carlyle would write an autobiography
equally true to the idea of him gained from a perusal of his
Writings, and for the same reason—that all his works are
written with the desire that his readers shall think about the
writer as they read.
In almost every other case, however, the aim of the author
is to keep his personality out of sight, and remembrance of
himself merges in his subject. The result is that he writes
with a freedom and unconsciousness of self which make him
reveal the true inner man far more honestly and unaffectedly
than he can possibly do when he sits down for the express
purpose of telling the world all about his own life.
For this reason, I shall consider Harriet Martineau’s works
as throwing light upon her life to as full an extent as the
autobiography itself, and even more satisfactorily.
Passing on to consider the indirect lessons which may be
gathered from the moulding influences of her career, I come
first to those which acted upon her through the affections—her
relationships of birth or of emotion. Let us see the con
ditions which surrounded this great mind in its early years.
Harriet Martineau might almost be considered as a proof of
the correctness of the doctrine that suffering is necessary to
mental excellence. Born in 1802, the sixth child of a wellto-do Norwich manufacturer, she passed a childhood and youth
of wretchedness both of body and mind; and her misfortunes, to
B
�io
The Lessons of a Life:
all appearance, culminated in early womanhood in the total
loss of fortune. Her deafness was known before her death by
almost every one acquainted with her name, as adding to the
marvel of her accomplishments; but she was not deprived of
this sense during her earliest years. She did not begin to
become deaf until she was twelve years old. She now records,
however, that she never had the sense of smell ; and as this
and taste are most intimately joined together, neither could
she taste. The senses are our only methods of communication
with the outer world; they are the gates by which pleasure as
well as pain enter into the citadel where consciousness resides.
Of all the senses, those which most frequently give entrance
to pleasure and seldomest to pain, were those which she had
lost. Here, then, were two, and soon three, of the avenues of
enjoyment shut. To this physical deprivation was .added the
misery of want of tenderness in family life. Her mother was
a woman of, apparently, much intellect, but deficient in the
gentler qualities, and wanting in the wisdom of the heart.
Miss Martineau speaks of this parent always with the utmost
respect, and indeed affection ; but she does not attempt to dis
guise the melancholy truth that, throughout her childhood, she
was as desolate a little soul as ever felt the burden of life with
out love in workhouse or orphan asylum. She had but small
natural talent for housewifely work, and what she had was
turned into awkwardness by her fear of displeasing her mother.
She remembers once upsetting a basin of sugar into a gibletpie from sheer nervousness ; and she was always so anxious
when sent to look for anything that she never could find it, and
“ her heart sank” when she received an order to fetch a thing.
“ I had,” she says, “ a devouring passion for justice,—justice
first to my own precious self, and then to other oppressed
people. Justice was precisely what was least understood in
our house in regard to servants and children. . . . Toward
one person I was habitually untruthful, from fear. To my
mother I would in childhood assert or deny anything that
would bring me through most easily. I remember denying
various harmless things, and often without any apparent
reason : and this was so exclusively to one person that, though
there was remonstrance and punishment, I was never regarded
as a liar in the family. When I left home all temptation to
untruth ceased.”
�Harriet Martineau.
ii
And this was the “mothering ” of a singularly affectionate
xjhild—‘of one who treasured up in her memory every kind word,
and was so grateful for a little loving gentleness as to prove
how cruel was the deprivation of it! “The least word of
tenderness,” she says, melted me instantly, in spite of the
strongest predeterminations to be hard and offensive. I really
think if I had once conceived that anybody cared for me,
nearly all the sins and sorrows of my anxious childhood
would have been spared me.” She was devotedly attached
to the children who were younger than herself—a sister, and
the brother who has grown up to be known to so wide a public
as Dr. James Martineau. When, at the age of fifteen, she was
sent away to stay with an aunt at Bristol—the first person of
whom she was never afraid—she says, “ My home affections
seem to have been all the stronger for having been repressed
and baulked. Certainly, I passionately loved my family, each
and all, from the very hour that parted us ; and I was physic
ally ill with expectation when their letters were due,—letters
which I could hardly read when they came, between my dread
•of something wrong and the beating heart and swimming eyes
with which I received letters in those days.”
Can one hope that the lesson for parents taught in this por
tion of the story will have effect upon those who are erring
in their treatment of their children in the same way; who are
feeding and caring for the body while neglecting the affections,
and leaving them to pine and grow savage under starvation ;
who are ignoring and neglecting one child of their family,
and filling it with a bitter sense of injustice and desolation ?
Ah, the lesSon has been preached many a time—never more
impressively than in Hans Andersen’s fable of the ugly duck
ling—and with yet little effect. Would that parents would
remember that “ Parents, provoke not your children to wrath,”
■is as urgent a moral command as “ Children, obey your
parents.”
One good, however, this hard discipline doubtless worked in
Harriet Martineau’s character. It gave her endurance under
coldness from those whom she loved. Out of the fear of her
mother’s wrath she grew to that fearlessness which distin
guished her whole after life—she learnt how to suffer and be
still when the cause of right demanded her sacrifice.
I have dwelt thus upon her passionately emotional childhood,
�12
The Lessons of a Life:
however, as being necessary for the due appreciation of the
fact that she lived solitary, and died unfettered and unhelped
by marriage. The suffering which want of love caused her in
her childhood is a token of how capable she was of affection.
The commonplace supposition that the emotions are crowded
out of a mind by the development of the intellect is an utterly
false one, founded upon ignorance of both physiology and
facts.
Before there came the great awakening of the heart in
Harriet Martineau, came her first appearance in print. In
1821, when she was 19 years of age, she wrote a paper upon
“Female Writers of Divinity,” which appeared in a Unitarian
paper conducted by Mr. Moncure Conway’s predecessor at
South-place. She wrote this essay at her brother James’s
suggestion, to console herself upon his departure for
College.
*
When she was two years older than this, she saw for the
first time the man who drew forth her love. Their union was
prevented at the time “ by one who had much to answer for
in what he did.” Then came a failure in her father’s busi
ness, and his heart-broken sinking into the grave ; and when
she was in trouble and difficulties, her lover returned to her.
The cloud which had kept him away was dispelled by this
storm, and he went back and asked her to marry him. She
was in a state of great uncertainty of mind, between her fears
that she would not make him happy, and her love for him;
between her duty to others and to the one to whom her affec
tion was given. “ Many a time,” she says, “ did I wish, in
my fear that I should fail, that I had never seen him. But
just when I was growing happy, surmounting my fears and
doubts, and enjoying his attachment, the consequences of his
long struggle and suspense overtook him. He became sud
denly insane; and after months of illness of body and mind,
he died.”
If we had to rely upon the autobiography for information
as to how this affected Miss Martineau’s character, we should
learn but little about it. It is a proof of what I before said
about the almost impossibility of any person consciously baring
his inner self to the careless gaze of the whole world. One
or two essays published at the time tell us far more both what
love and its loss were to her than she has consented to deli-
�Harriet Martineau.
ij
berately inform the world. These essays bear the general
title of 1 Sabbath. Musings.’ In the preface to the volume in
which they were published, in 1836, she said that the majority
of the pieces therein contained were purely impersonal, de
scriptive of states of thought as she imagined them; but that
a few (which she would not be expected to indicate) were
truly drawn from her own experience. Read with her
autobiography, there is no difficulty in discovering these
latter.
As works of literary art alone, the quotations which I pur
pose giving would be worth listening to; for these are poems.
Her Daily News leaders long after had that term applied to
them ; but here it is more justly used. If, as Mr. Mill said,
“Whoeverwrites out truly any human feeling,writes poetry,”
then these are poems for that reason; but when added to this
there is a wealth of language and of imagery, no one will
venture to deny their right to the title.
But I quote them for a far more important reason than their
poetic beauty. I quote them to show that Harriet Martineau
had a heart—and that she knew she had a heart. I am not
sure but that the most fatal mistake made by the party who
would free mankind from superstition and priestcraft is not
the very fact that they neglect and skim over such subjects.
Priestcraft has its most unassailable stronghold in the inter
mixing of its rites and ceremonies with human interests. The
birth of the child, the union of the life, the burial of the dead,
are the events which appeal to every sympathy—which touch
the coldest hearts, and make them impressible for the moment.
All systems of religion, accordingly, and the Christian (espe
cially the Roman Catholic) religion before all others, have
bound up these moments with sacred observances, so that the
mind may be impressed as the priest desires at its most
ductile moments. Human nature remains and must remain
the same in all ages and climes. If there is any reason to
suppose that development of the intellect means crushing of
the affections; if there is an impression abroad that the Reli
gion of Humanity is the blasphemy of individual emotion; if
it is believed by the masses that only priestcraft recognises
and hallows the most solemn occasions of life ; then, indeed,
Will priestcraft flourish. For human affections will assert
their sway. Every man or woman who loves knows' that his
�14
The Lessons of a Life :
emotion makes him higher and better; every parent who leans1
over the couch of his first child feels that the existence of that
little creature is almost as a new birth to his own spirit; every
human being who lays in the grave the object of his dearest
love, gone for ever from his sight, knows that sorrow is not
to be reasoned away, and if lightened at all is to be lightened
only by the sympathy of the great heart of the race and the
universe with his bleeding soul.
Therefore, I feel that I am doing good service in showing:
that the development of reason means the simultaneous increase
of the power of loving; that to be possessed of mental power
and capacity for breaking away from early-implanted super
stitions does not mean to be incapable for affection and sharing
in the highest and deepest of human emotions. It was much
that John Stuart Mill showed for men the compatibility of
the highest order of intellect and the deepest and most pro
found studies, with a singularly devoted, earnest, and faithful
attachment. Now, let Harriet Martineau show the same for
women; let her show how a woman with an intellect of the
highest order, and occupying it upon the most abstruse sub
jects within the range of human comprehension, could appre
ciate love, and could suffer for the very strength of her
affections. The first passage which I quote seems to have
been written before her bereavement. The marriage to which
she refers is, doubtless, that of her elder sister. The .essay is
entitled^ “ In a Hermit’s Cave.”
“ . . . The altar of the human heart, on which alone a fire is
kindled from above to shine in the faces of all true worshippers for ever.
Where this flame, the glow of human love, is burning, there is the temple
of worship, be it only beside the humblest village hearth: where it has
not been kindled there is no sanctuary; and the loftiest amphitheatre of
mountains, lighted up by the ever-burning stars, is no more the dwelling
place of Jehovah than the Temple of Solomon before it was filled with,
the glory of the Presence.
“ Yes, Love is worship, authorised and approved........................... Many
are the gradations through which this service rises until it has reached
that on which God has bestowed His most manifest benediction, on
which Jesus smiled at Cana, but which the devotee presumed to
decline. Not more express were the ordinances of Sinai than the
Divine provisions for wedded love ; never was it more certain that
Jehovah benignantly regarded the festivals of His people than
it is daily that He appointed those mutual rejoicings of the affec
tions, which need but to be referred to Him to become a holy homage.
....................Would that all could know how from the first flow of
�Harriet Martineau^
T5
the affections, until they are shed abroad in their plenitude, the purposes
of creation become fulfilled. Would that all could know how, by
this mighty impulse, new strength is given to every power; how the
intellect is vivified and enlarged; how the spirit .becomes bold to explore
the path of life, and clear-sighted to discern its issues. .... For
that piety which has humanity for its object—must not that heart feel
most of which tenderness has become the element? must not the spirit
which is most exercised in hope and fear be most familiar with hope
and fear wherever found ?
“ How distinctly I saw all this in those who are .now sanctifying their
first, Sabbath of wedded love....................... To those who know them as
I know them, they appear already possessed of an experience in com
parison with which it would appear little fo have looked abroad from,
the Andes, or explored the treasure-caves of the deep, or to have con
versed with every nation under the sun. If they could see all that the
eyes of the firmament look upon, and hear all the whispered secrets that
the roving winds bear in their bosoms, they could learn but little new I
for the deepest mysteries are those of human love, and the vastest
knowledge is that of the human heart.”
The next quotation is a very small portion of an essay
entitled, “ A Death Chamber.” This was obviously written
immediately after the death of her lover. The piece is,
to a certain extent, spoiled by being mutilated; but I
have no option but to give only the following few lines
from it:—
“All is dull, cold, and dreary before me, until I also can escape to
the region where there is no bereavement, no blasting root and branch,
no rending of the heart-strings. What is aught to me, in the midst of this
all-pervading thrilling torture, when all I want is to be dead? The
future is loathsome, and I will not look upon it—the past, too, which it
breaks my heart to think about—what has it been? It might have been
happy, if there is such a thing as happiness ; but I myself embittered it
at the time, and for ever. What a folly has mine been! Multitudes
of sins now rise up in the shape of besetting griefs. Looks of rebuke
from those now in the grave: thoughts which they would have rebuked
if. they had known them: moments of anger, of coldness; sympathy
withheld when looked for; repression of its signs through selfish pride ;
and worse, far worse even than this .... all comes over me
now. O 1 if there be pity, if there be pardon, let it come in the form
of insensibility; for these long echoes of condemnation will make me
desperate.
“But was there ever human love unwithered by crime—by crime of
which no human law takes cognisance, but the unwritten, everlasting
laws of the affections? Many will call me thus innocent. The departed
breathed out thanks and blessing, and I felt them not then as reproaches.
If, indeed, I am only as others, shame, shame on the impurity of human
affections ; or rather, alas! for the infirmity of the human heart! Fori
know not that I could love more than I have loved.
�16
The Lessons of a Life :
“ Since the love itself is wrecked, let me gather up its relics, and
guard them more tenderly, more steadily, more gratefully. 0 grant me
power to retain them—the light and music of emotion, the flow of
domestic wisdom and chastened mirth, the life-long watchfulness of
benevolence, the thousand thoughts—are these gone in their reality ?
Must I forget them as others forget ?”
And for this Harriet Martineau lived her life alone—a happy
life, one full of all human interests; doing good to her ser
vants, her animals, and her poorer neighbours, for her domestic
pleasures, and for relief from cares of state and thoughts sub
lime. Thus she saved herself from that degenerating into
selfishness which is the special danger of an independent
single life for either men or women. Whether she might not
have been better and happier in marriage, had her lover been
spared to her, it is impossible to imagine. “ When I see,”
she writes, “what conjugal love is, in the extremely rare cases
in which it is seen in its perfection, I feel that there is a power
of attachment in me that has never been touched. When I
am among little children, it frightens me to think what my
idolatry of my own children would have been. But . . the
older I have grown, the more serious and irremediable have
seemed to me the evils and disadvantages of married life as it
exists among us at this time.” And here, no doubt, she is
right. The vicious state of the marriage laws and social
arrangements, the consequence of the imperfect system by
which regulations have been made for both sexes and their
mutual interests by the partial knowledge and wisdom of one
sex alone, does make marriage a terribly dangerous step for a
woman. And she was probably wise when she added, “ Thus,
I am not only entirely satisfied with my lot, but think it the
very best for me.”
As regards the cultivation which Harriet Martineau’s intel
lect received in her childhood, there is a very significant
fact to be noted: that she adds one more to the long list of
illustrious women who have, through some happy accident,
'1been educated “ like boys.” When one remembers that this
phrase means nothing more than that the education has been
thorough in its method, and has included careful mathematical
and classical teaching, no surprise can be felt at the frequency
with which eminent women are found to have shared in the
tutorial advantages of their brothers. The moral is obvious.
Now for her religious growth. Miss Martineau was born
�Harriet Martineau.
17
<of Unitarian parents, and educated theologically in the tenets
of that sect. When she was twenty-eight years old, she dis
tinguished herself among the members of the Unitarian body
fey gaining three prizes, which had been offered for public
competition, for essays designed to convert Jews, Mahommedans, and Roman Catholics respectively, to the more
advanced faith. Although she was still, at that period,
sufficiently an orthodox Unitarian to perform this argumenta
tive exploit to the satisfaction and admiration of the leaders of
the sect, yet she had long before emancipated her mind, to some
extent, from even the comparatively light chains of that faith.
So early as when she was but eleven years old, she remembers
asking her elder brother Thomas that question which has
been the first stumbling-block in the path of faith to so many.
She asked—If God foreknew from eternity all the evil deeds
that every one of us should do in our lives, how can He justly
punish us for those actions, when the time comes that we are
born, and in due course commit them ? And her brother replied
that she was not yet old enough to understand the point.
Whether she ever did become old enough to understand, the
course of her mental history will show.
By-and-by, under the guidance of Dr. Carpenter, of
Bristol, she became a student of the philosophy of Locke and
Hartley; and in time she raised herself to the reception of the
philosophical doctrine of Necessity. But she had a terrible
season of doubt and struggle with early-implanted impressions
to encounter, before she could permit herself to let go one
fraction of her theology. C’est le premier pas qui coute;
and she probably suffered more in this first step onward than
in all her future progress. Her description of her agonies of
doubt is most forcible; but it is only the experience which all
who have equally cut themselves loose from their early belief
have felt, and I quote it for the benefit of the persons who
are so constituted as to be incapable of ever knowing it
in their own lives, and who are apt to believe that the
rejection of belief is a pleasant process, wilfully entered on
by those who are guilty of it, and affording to them great
present delights.
“What can be the retribution of guilt if the horrors of doubt are
what I have felt them? What can be the penalties of vice if those of
mere ignorance are so agonising? While in my childhood I ignorantly
�I&
The Lessons of a Life :
believed what men had told me of God, much that was true, mixed with
much that I now see to be puerile, or absurd, or superstitious, or impious
I was at peace with men, and, as I then believed, with God. But when
an experience over which I had no control shook my confidence in that
which I held; when I had discovered and rejected some of the falsehoods,
of my creed, and when I was really wiser than before the torment
began which was destined to well nigh wrench life from my bosom
or reason from my brain ... I could not divest myself of the
conviction that my doubts were so many sins. Men told me, and I
could not but believe, that to want faith was a crime ; that misery like
mine was but a qualification for punishment, and that every evil of
which I now complained would be aggravated hereafter. Alas! what
was to become of me if I could find no rest even in my grave ?—if the
death I longed for was to be only apparent—if the brightness which I
found so oppressive here should prove only like the day-spring in com
parison with the glow of the eternal fires, amidst which my spirit must
stand hereafter ? In such moments, feeling that there was no return to
the ignorance of the child or the apathy of common men, I prayed, to
whom I know not, for madness!
“Yet I would not that the cup had passed from me. Far nobler is
the most humiliating depression of doubt than the false security of
acquiescence in human delusion. Far safer are the wanderings of a
mind which by original vigour has freed itself from the shackles of
human authority, than the apathy of weak minds which makes them
content to be led blindfold wheresoever their priestly guides shall choose.
The happiest lot of all is to be born into the way of truth . . . but
where, as in my case, it is not so ordained, the next best privilege is to
be roused to a conflict with human opinions (provided there is strength
to carry it through), though it be fought in darkness, in horror, in
despair.”
At length, as the final words of this passage convey, she made
her way to her first definite standpoint, and settled by her
reason the question which her faith had never been able to
solve satisfactorily. She fully accepted the Necessitarian doc
trine that we are what we are, we do what we do, because of
the impulses given by our previous training and circum
stances ; and that the way to improve any human beings or all
humanity is to improve their education, and to give them good
surroundings and influences, and mental associations: in
short, that . physical and psychological phenomena alike
depend upon antecedent phenomena, called causes. She
writes:—
“I fairly laid hold of the conception of general laws, while still far
from being. prepared to let go the notion of a special Providence.
Though at times almost overwhelmed by the vastness of the view opened
to me, and by the prodigious change requisite in my moral views and
self-management, the revolution was safely gone through. My labouring
�Harriet Martineau.
19
brain and beating heart grew quiet, and something more like peace than
I had ever yet known settled down upon my anxious mind. ....
I am bound to add that the moral effect of this process was most salu
tary and cheering. From the time when I became convinced of the
certainty of the action of laws, of the importance of good influences and
good habits—of the firmness, in short, of the ground I was treading, and.
of the security of the results which I should take the right means to
attain, a new vigour pervaded my whole life, a new light spread through
my mind, and I began to experience a steady growth in self-command,,
courage, and consequent integrity and disinterestedness. I was feeble
and selfish enough at best; but yet I was like a new creature in the
strength of a sound conviction. Life also was something fresh and won
derfully interesting now that I held in my hand this key whereby toi
interpret some of the most conspicuous of its mysteries.
“ . . . For above thirty years I have seen more and more clearly
how awful, and how irremediable except by the spread of a true philo
sophy, are the evils which arise from that monstrous remnant of old
superstition—the supposition of a self-determining power, independent
of laws, in the human will; and I can truly say that if I have had the
blessing of any available strength under sorrow, perplexity, sickness and
toil, during a life which has been anything but easy, it is owing to my.
repose upon eternal and irreversible laws, working in every department
of the universe, without any interference from any random will, humanor Divine.”
When her mind became fairly settled in the doctrine of
necessity, she could not but perceive the uselessness of prayer ;
since to petition the Supreme Power for any given thing is to
imply a belief that It can or will set aside the action of fixed
laws. First, therefore, she ceased supplicating for benefits;
and, in time, she came to feel that even the expression of
desires for spiritual goods was “ demoralising.” “ I found
myself,” she says, “ best, according to all trustworthy tests of
goodness, when I thought least about the matter.” As to
praise, she soon “ drew back in shame from offering to a
Divine Being a homage which would be offensive to an
earthly one.” And at last, when “prayer” in the ordinary
sense had become quite impossible to her—
“My devotions consisted of aspiration—very frequent and heartfelt—
under all circumstances and influences, and much as I meditate now,,
almost hourly, on the mysteries of life and the universe, and the great
science and art of human duty. In proportion as the taint of fear and
desire and self-regard fell off, and the meditation had fact instead of
passion for its subject, the aspiration became freer and sweeter, till at
length, when the selfish superstition had wholly gone out of it, it spread
its charm through every change of every waking hour—and does now,
when life itself is expiring.”
• ask 4-- -’
�20
The Lessons of a Life :
Gradation by gradation she went on : not willing altogether
to give up belief in Christianity, in the Divine authorisation
of the mission of Jesus, she “ lingered long in the regions of
speculation and taste.” At last came the illness to which I
have already referred; and in it, with leisure for contempla
tion, she rose by degrees to the highest religious state of all—
rejecting theological figments, refusing to believe in a God of
love and mercy who yet made a world with evil in it, and con
demned the creatures whom he exposed to its irresistible
temptations, to eternal torment—an infinite punishment for
finite sins. She saw that all conception of the mode of origin,
or the scheme or nature of the universe, is above and beyond
the comprehension of man ; she saw that our work here is to
*
‘do our best for the improvement of ourselves and those who
shall come after us; that all our “ looking before and after,”
all our attempts to pierce the veil which is around us, all our
foolish vain imaginings, based upon the ridiculous assumption
that this world is the centre of the universe, and man its
highest product—all are but vanity and vexation of spirit,
and must be discarded at the dictates of reason and scientific
fact.
This state of conviction was farther strengthened and con
firmed by a visit which she paid in 1846 to the East—the
birthplace of the Christian religion, and its progenitors, the
Hebrew and Egyptian. In connection with the book which
she wrote upon her return home, she seriously considered
whether she should avow her dissent, which by this time was
■complete, from all theologies. Finally, she decided that this
book was not the proper place for it.
In 1850 appeared ‘ Letters between H. Martineau and
H. G. Atkinson, on Man’s Nature and Development.’ I am
not criticising Mr. Henry G. Atkinson, or I should find it neces
* “ I began to see that we, with our mere human faculty, are nnt in
the least likely to understand it, anymore than the minnow in the creek,
as Carlyle has it, can comprehend the perturbations caused in his world
of existence by the tides. I saw that no revelation can by possibility
set men right on these matters, for want of faculty in man to understand
anything beyond human ken ; as all instruction whatever offered to the
minnow mnst fail to make it comprehend the actions of the moon on
the. oceans of the earth, or receive the barest conception of any such
action.”—‘ Autobiography,' vol. ii., p. 185.
�Harriet Martineau.
21
sary to say a great deal about this book. Fortunately, I am
not called upon to say anything about it more than this—that,
as both Mr. Atkinson and Miss Martineau avow several times
over, the book is really his work. She did the literary arrange
ment and supervision; and she wrote short letters to serve as
a groundwork for Mr. Atkinson’s disquisitions.
The only important connection which Miss Martineau
had with this book was giving it her name, and thus
announcing to the world her total disbelief in all theologies.
It is hardly necessary to say that she never stepped back
from this advanced position. It is one of the special excel
lences which persuasions grounded upon reason have over
beliefs resting upon unreasoning faith, that any alterations in
them (provided the logical apparatus remains sound), must of
necessity be changes in the direction of still farther throwing
off shackles upon thought.
Intellectual fearlessness is one of the great lessons taught
by this branch of Harriet Martineau’s life history. She
carried the powerful reason which she possessed into every
question; and having found that which satisfied her mind
of its truth, she never hesitated to avow it. Stand
ing, as she believed, on the very brink of the grave
when she wrote her autobiography, she contemplated death
with happy calmness, content with having done her share for
the advancement of her age, and fully convinced that others
would rise to take up the work which she laid down. Satis
fied to hope for rest in the grave instead of a personal immor
tality, rejoicing in the belief that the human race is slowly
but surely progressing toward higher things, and that the
greatest privilege that any man or woman can have had is to
have aided that progress if but one fraction of a step, she
was ready to spend the remainder of her life in workingfor her fellows, and in enjoying the sympathy and love of her
associates.
Singularly enough, twenty years of life remained to her after
she wrote the closing words of her autobiography. The heart
disease which then threatened to kill her every day did not
do so for twenty years longer. And so well did she employ
that time, that those who could not see with her clearness
were constrained to believe that God helped her against her own
will to be happy and holy; that some of hei’ friends rejoiced
�22
The Lessons of a Life :
■when she died that heaven itself was now her habitation;
and that her Christian relatives could not omit the bad taste
-of having a Christian religious service, full of that hope of
immortality which she had not, read over the grave where
they laid her.
It were to be wished that the lesson hereby taught of the
-complete compatibility of a most truly moral and holy life
with a total disbelief in any future and eternal punishments
would be laid to heart by the persons who need it most. There
is small hope that it will be ; for the same fact has been shown
by many a noble life before, as well as by a priori reasoning
upon the small practical effect which far-distant punishments,
rendered likewise uncertain by a scheme of redemption through
faith, not works, can ever have on the mind; but still its
possibility is denied ! “ Dogmatic faith compels the best minds
and hearts to narrowness and insolence. Even such as these
cannot conceive lof being happy in any way but theirs, or
that there may be views whose operation they do not under
stand.”* There the lesson is, however, be it received or
rejected.
It is an interesting inquiry whether Miss Martineau herself
would have sanctioned the use in this connection of the word
^‘religious.” In a chapter in which Mrs. Chapman gives
recollections of conversations with her (and in which there
are several things that might better have been omitted, since
no authorisation for their publicity can have been given by
Miss Martineau), her biographer says that she objected to such
a use of the term “ religion.” My own judgment is the reverse.
I cannot see how we are to avoid the word so long as we wish
to express the idea. By the word religion, we mean always
all those impulses to good and right, all that seeking for holi
ness, all that desire for the best in living, all that longing for
truth, purity, and strength in righteousness as we see these
things, which are our highest and sweetest emotions. What
other word can we use to express all this, except the one which
always has been used ? It is therefore a satisfaction to me to
be able to place against Mrs. Chapman’s report from memory
Harriet Martineau’s own words in the Daily News autobio
graphical memoir. ■“ Her latest opinions were, in her own
* ‘ Autobiography,’ vol. ii., p. 442.
�Harriet Martineau.
23
view, the most religious, the most congenial with the
emotional as well as the rational department of human
■nature.”*
I have purposely given the story of her religious growth in
her own words, without unnecessary interpolation of my own
expressions, and without criticising any of her opinions from
■an individual point of view.
Harriet Martineau never shrank from giving any work to
the world for fear of the criticism it might receive. In 1829,
she, with her mother and sister, was reduced to utter destitu
tion by the failure of the concern in which all their property
was invested. Two years later appeared the first of the
works which made her fame, but in relation to one of which
she was most bitterly attacked—her ‘ Tales in Political
Economy.’
During this two years she supported herself by her needle ;
and when she first made known that she intended to exchange
that little implement for the pen, there were not wanting
several persons to tell her that such a course would be both
unwise and improper, that needle-work was her proper sphere
as a woman, and that she should confine her efforts to doing
what it was certain she could do. Had she taken this orthodox
counsel she would have bent over her stitches from morning
to night for a miserable pittance, and the world would have
lost all she has given it.
Unknown outside the despised and small sect to which she
then belonged, she had great difficulty in getting a •publisher
to undertake her books; and they were at last issued upon
terms which gave her all the risk, and her publisher about
seventy per cent, of the profits. When this arrangement was
settled, she was in such poverty that she could not afford to
ride even part of the way from the publisher’s office to the
* And again. . . . . “ The best state of mind was to be found,
however it might be accounted for, in those who were called philoso
phical atheists....................I told her that I knew several of that class
—some avowed, and some not; and that I had for several years felt
that they were among my most honoured acquaintances and friends;
and that now I knew them more deeply and thoroughly, I must say that,
for conscientiousness, sincerity, integrity, seriousness, effective intellect,
and the. true religious spirit I knew nothing like them.”—‘ Autobio
graphy,’ yo\. ii., p. 188.
�24
The Lessons of a Life:
house of the relative with whom she was staying in London ;
and she relates that she became so weary and faint as she
walked, that she leant to rest upon a railing somewhere near
Shoreditch, apparently contemplating a cabbage-bed, but
really saying to herself, with shut eyes, “ My books will do
yet 1 ”
And they did “ do.” No sooner had the first volume ap
peared than the poor little deaf Unitarian was famous, and
hailed as a new light among men. As she went on, illus
trating with scientific precision and clearness first one and
then another of the principal doctrines of Political Economy,
the attention of the great men of her day was drawn to her
work. She went through a course of flattery and attempts
at “ lionising ” which would have ruined a weaker character ;
and the chief political men of her time, from the Ministry
downwards, made overtures for her valuable co-operation in
preparing the public mind for their schemes.
But popularity could not spoil her. She knew the dangers
she would have to encounter in treating some subjects ; but, she
said, what was influence worth except to be used in propa
gating truth
Accordingly, when she came to the proper
point for illustrating the population doctrine, she unhesitat
ingly treated it, as she had done all preceding parts of her
subject. Her book was called 1 Weal and Woe in Garveloch.’ The story showed how the inhabitants of a small
island had gone on recklessly increasing their numbers, and
how a temporary failure in some of their sources of food
supply reduced them immediately to the utmost destitution.
The scientific moral was taught that it is dangerous and wrong
to multiply the population even up to the extreme limit of its
food-supply, and that sickness and famine will eventually step
in, in such a case, to do that which prudence should have done
before—equalise the food and its consumers.
Mr. Malthus’s name has become so associated among us
with a doctrine, has been so much used to express a scientific
principle, that he is to us quite an impersonal being; and it is
interesting to read Miss Martineau’s account of him as an
individual. She describes him as one of the mildest and most
benignant of men, full of domestic affections.
Upon the issue of this number she was attacked by Lock
hart and John Wilson Croker, in the Quarterly Review, in the
�Harriet Martineau, i.
>25
most violent and scandalous manner. One cannot but wonder
that such expressions and insinuations should have been tole
rated by the readers of such a periodical. Seldom has so
malicious and cruel a personal attack disfigured the pages of
a respectable review. Croker openly said that he expected
to lose his pension very shortly, and being wishful to make
himself a literary position before that event happened
he had begun by “ tomahawking Miss Martineau.” All that
could be painful to her as a woman, and injurious to her
as a writer, was said, or attempted to be conveyed, in this
article.
It pained her intensely, but it eventually did her good.
She had one of those temperaments which belong to all
leaders of men, whether in physical or moral warfare ; danger
was to her a stimulus, and her courage rose the higher the
greater the demand upon it.
The lesson which we are to learn from it is the one already
impressed upon us by this life of fearless speaking the truth,
as we may see it, irrespective of its consequences to ourselves.
Our eyes are weak, and cannot pierce the veil which covers
the future. The only safe course for any one of us to pursue
is to do that which we see and know to be right at the
moment, leaving our future to take care of itself; to act up
to our principles, assured that a policy of unprincipled tem
porary expediency must end at last in failure and dismay.
Encouragement, too, for speaking our truth, whatever it
be, we may get from this history; though it must be acknow
ledged that those who require such encouragement will
seldom be the ones to utter dangerous truths. Five times in
her literary history did Harriet Martineau, print that which
she had cause to believe might ruin her prospects, close her
career, and silence her voice for ever; yet she died honoured
and respected by all classes and conditions of people, and
having had her words listened to always with the fullest
respect and readiness.
Another of the subjects upon which she wrote, and fer
which she was severely criticised, was Mesmerism. From
1839 to 1844, Miss Martineau was a confirmed invalid, con
fined to her couch, unable to stand upright, constantly sick,
and full of pain. She was pronounced incurable by Sir
Charles Clarke in 1841. For three years she took iodide of
�o6
The Lessons of a Life ;
iron, and was continually under the influence of opiates. There
was no improvement in her condition in the summer of 1844,
when she consented to be mesmerised, first by Mr. Spencer
Hall, and later by Mrs. Wynyard, the widow of a clergyman.
In five months she was well enough to start off to the English
lakes, and visiting among her relatives, and presently even to
go away upon her fatiguing tour in the East.
I have neither time this afternoon, nor inclination at present,
to offer any comment upon this case. There were the
remarkable facts, whatever their explanation; and Harriet
Martineau was not one to shrink from the public avowal of
what she knew, for fear of the abuse or pain it might bring
to her. As a swimmer grows stronger with breasting the
waves, so did her mind gain in strength every time it was
necessary for her to come into direct collision with popular
opinion.
Her writings contain many direct lessons, some of which have
been already referred to, that the world either has learnt or
yet must learn. Prominent among the latter are the lessons
which her works ever taught to men as to the estimation in
which they have to hold the sex to which the writer belonged.
There has been far too much heard in past time of men’s
opinions both of women and of themselves; now we must
begin to hear the reverse—both what women think of men,
and what women know and think about women.
Miss Martineau, in common with every other woman of
intellect and courage in this age, of necessity most earnestly
desired the success of what is known as “ the woman move
ment,” and did her best for its advancement. Long before
the claim for suffrage for women became a “ movement
before the women who desire its concession had banded them
selves together to obtain it, she had lifted up her voice as one
crying in the wilderness. In her early years, she wrote, in an
essay upon Walter Scott, a noble protest against the crushing
of women’s capacities, the condemning them to waste their
energies upon petty trifles and ignoble ends, the frittering
away of their existence, and then the presumptuous reproach
of them for not doing great things, of which men have
dared to be guilty. In the book which she published about
* Society in America,’ in 1837, she wrote:—
“ The Emperor of Russia discovers when a eoat-of-arms and title do
�Harriet Martineau.
27
not agree with a subject prince: the King of France early discovers that
the air of Paris does not agree with a free-thinking foreigner. The
English Tories feel the hardship that it would be to impose the franchise
■on every artisan, busy as he is in getting bread. The Georgian Planter
perceives the hardship that freedom would be to his slaves. And the
best friends of half the human race peremptorily decide for them as to
their rights, their duties, their feelings, and their powers. In all these
cases, the persons thus cared for feel that the abstract decision rests
with themselves, that though they may be compelled to submit they need
not acquiesce.
It is pleaded that half the human race does acquiesce in the decision
of the other half as to their rights and duties. . . . Such acquies
cence proves nothing but the degradation of the injured party. It
inspires the same emotions of pity as the supplication of the freed slave
\to his master to restore him to slavery that he may have his animal
wants supplied, without being troubled with human rights and duties.
Acquiescence like this is an argument which cuts the wrong way for
those who use it.
“ But this acquiescence is only partial; and to give any semblance of
strength to the plea, the acquiescence must be complete. I for one do
not acquiesce. I declare that whatever obedience I yield to the laws of
society is a matter between, not the community and myself, but my
judgment and my will: any punishment inflicted upon me for the breach
of thbse laws I should regard as so much gratuitous injury : for to those
laws I have never, actually or virtually, assented. I know that there
are women in England, I know that there are women in America, who
agree with me in this. The plea of acquiescence is invalidated by us.”
But this same lesson of the right and the duty of women to
participate in the public work for the public weal, Harriet
Martineau taught to men far more emphatically by what she
did than by what she said. No words, however eloquent, no
pleadings, however forcible, could have the effect which the
story of her life’s work must have. Bor this member of a sex
“ which loves personal government,” was the author of some
of the most emphatic warnings against meddling legislation
that ever were penned.
*
This member of a sex “ by nature
slaves to superstition,” did as much as any one living in this
century to clear away the dust from men’s eyes, and encourage
freedom of thought. This member of a sex “ opposed to all
liberal movements,” was a shining light of the most Radical
of Radical parties. This member of a sex “ incapable of un
derstanding politics,” was secretly provided by the Ministry
with facts in the hope that she would use them to instruct the
‘ The Factory Controversy,’ 1855.—‘ Autobiography,’ vol. ii., p. 449.
�28
The Lessons of a Life :
people upon the forthcoming budget; was implored by the
Excise Commissioners to use their facts for the same end :
was entreated by Oscar of Sweden to make the world ac
quainted with the politics and position of his country—by
Daniel O’Connell to plead the cause of Ireland as none other
had done or could do, calmly, truthfully, understanding^, and
without fear or favour—and by Count Porro to lend the
strength of her exposition to Lombardy against Austria : nay,
was even the source of a great part of the political education and
opinions of the very men who presume to make such asser
tions, through her one thousand six hundred and forty-two
leading articles in the principal Liberal newspaper, the Daily
News.
Yes, Harriet Martineau’s life teaches a most valuable lesson
to men—both to those who oppose and to those who support
the giving a political existence to women. To those who
oppose it, she has shown the fallacy of their confidentlyexpressed belief about women; she has shown them that it is
impossible to predict the action of others in a position in which
they never yet have been seen; she has shown them that their
audacious certainties about the necessary influence of sex upon
thought are so many ignorant and contemptible assumptions;
she has shown them—what general history might have shown
them, had they been capable of reading its lessons—that to
give liberty is the only way to procure the virtues of freedom,
and that the course of human beings in emancipation must in
the nature of things be other than their course in subjection.
And to the men who have already determined that right and
justice must be done, irrespective of any minor considerations,
this life’s work gives encouragement: it gives them faith in
the principle of justice ; it helps them to see the good which
their efforts will at last produce—the improvement in women
and the aid to progress; it assists them to despise the fore
bodings of the politically ignorant who now echo those fears
which have always preceded reforms, and always been falsified ;
it makes them believe more firmly that all women will dis
prove the prophets’ declamations when the thing comes
which must come, as Harriet Martineau has disproved them
already.
To women she teaches a similar lesson, both directly and
indirectly. She teaches us to do something. Her purse and
�Harriet Martineau.
29
her pea alike were ever ready to aid women’s causes ; but far
more than these could do she has done by her whole life’s work.
And every woman who does any one thing well, humble though
it may appear; every woman who dares to think, to speak, and
to act for herself, has learnt the great lesson, and does more for
her sex than the most eloquent words or the most untiring
effort of the greatest of men can do for us. We must help
ourselves ; and we must do it by proving our capacity in our
varied spheres, from housekeeping up to leader-writing, and
by our mental vigour and independence.
Posthumous fame was as nought to Harriet Martineau. She
knew that, as the poet of our era, Tennyson, has it:
“The fame that follows death is nothing to us.”
And as the whole of her life shows, she never did anything so
unworthy, and so sure to result in disgrace, as following any
•course for the sake of the reputation and influence it would
bring her. Nevertheless, she must ever stand prominent in
the history of this wonderful century. For it is a wonderful
century, though we may be too close to it to recognise its
greatness, and though it must be left for the children of our
children’s children to compare it with other epochs, and mark
its wondrousness. In an earlier age, a Harriet Martineau
would have been impossible. Her existence, and the work she
did, are at once tokens and results of civilisation and progress.
The development of mind has brought the moment for the exer
cise of the power which resides in the physically weak. The
age which has the telescope wherewith to explore the distant
universe; the age which has the microscope, to reveal undreamt
of life and hidden mysteries; which has the electric telegraph
and the steam-engine to carry thought around the globe; which
has the printing-press to multiply the words of the thinker until
they can reach all who are ready to hear them; is an age such
as the world never knew before, and for which new provisions
and social arrangements must be made. This century has
either discovered or applied to practical use all these marvels ;
this century has repealed the Corn Laws, recognising in free
trade the brotherhood of all mankind,—has freed the slave in
civilised lands,—has emancipated other slaves from the serfdom
in which wealth had so long held them,—and now only needs to
cast aside for ever the slavery of sex to give it immortal pre-
�30
The Lessons of a Life : Harriet Martineau.
eminence. Yes, although we are too close to the achievements
of onr time to see all its glories, as
“King Arthur’s self to Lady Guinevere was flat,”
yet it is a glorious age, one worth the living in, worth the
working in. And she who has shared in so many of its great
nesses, who has wrought in so many of its nobly-successful
struggles, must live with it, so that future ages shall honour
the name of Harriet Martineau.
FEINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET, HAYMARKET.
�The Society’s Lectures now Printed are—
Miss MARY E. BEE DY. On “Joint Education of Young
Men and Women in the American Schools and Colleges.”
Mr. G. BROWNING. “ The Edda Songs and Sagas of Iceland.”
Dr. W. B. CARPENTER. On “ The Doctrine of Human Au
tomatism.”
Professor CLIFFORD. On “ Body and Mind.”
On “ The first and the last Catastrophe : A criticism on some
recent speculations about the duration of the Universe.”
On “ Right and Wrong ; the scientific ground of their distinction.”
Mr. EDWARD CLODD. On “The birth and growth of
Myth, and its survival in Folk Lore, Legend and Dogma.”
Mr. WM. HENRY DOMVILLE. On “The Rights and
Duties of Parents in regard to their children’s religious
education and beliefs.” With notes.
Mr. A. ELLEY FINCH. On “ Erasmus, his Life, Works, and
Influence upon the Spirit of the Reformation.”
On “Civilization; its modern safeguardsand future prospects.”On “ The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the Develop
ment of the Human Mind.” With Woodcut Illustrations.
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The lessons of a life : Harriet Martineau. A lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, St George's Hall, Langham Place, on Sunday afternoon, 11th March, 1877
Creator
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Miller, Florence Fenwick
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 30 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. Publisher's list inside back cover. Printed by C.W. Reynell, Little Pulteney Street, London. Harriet Martineau was a British social theorist and Whig writer, often cited as the first female sociologist. Florence Fenwick Miller (sometimes Fenwick-Miller, 1854–1935) was an English journalist, author and social reformer of the late 19th and early 20th century. She was for four years the editor and proprietor of The Woman's Signal, an early and influential feminist journal. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Sunday Lecture Society
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1877
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N488
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Harriet Martineau
Women's rights
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (The lessons of a life : Harriet Martineau. A lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, St George's Hall, Langham Place, on Sunday afternoon, 11th March, 1877), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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Harriet Martineau
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Text
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
kJ 05^
THE
JOINT EDUCATION
OF
YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN
IN THE
AMERICAN SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES.
BEING A LECTURE DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
On 27th
of
April, 1873,
BY
MARY E. BEEDY, M.A.,
Graduate of Antioch College, U.S.
LONDON:PUBLISHED
by the
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1873.
Price Threepence.
�SUifoerttsentent.
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and
to encourage the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on Science,
—physical, intellectual, and moral,—History, Literature,
and Art; especially in their bearing upon the improve
ment and social well-being of mankind.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
ARE DELIVERED AT
ST GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On SUNDAY Afternoons, at FOUR o’clock precisely
(Annually—from November to May).
Twenty-four Lectures (in three series), ending 3rd May,
1874, will be given.
Members’ LI subscription entitles them to an annual ticket
(transferable and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight
single reserved-seat tickets available for any lecture.
Tickets for each series (one for each lecture), or for any
eight consecutive lectures, as below :
To the Shilling Reserved Seats—5s. 6d.
To the Sixpenny Seats—2s. being at the rate of Three
pence each lecture.
For tickets apply (by letter) to the Hon. Treasurer,
Wm. Henry Domville, Esq., 15 Gloucester Crescent, Hyde
Park, W.
Payment at the door
One Penny
Sixpence ■—and
(Reserved Seats) One Shilling.
�JOINT EDUCATION
OF
YOUNG MEM AND WOMEN.
HE American colonists carried with them their
practical English tendencies.
They were
impressed with a deep sense of the advantages of
education, but it had to be got at the least expense.
In the towns and cities they could have schools
for boys and schools for girls, but in the sparselypopulated rural districts separate schools were
impossible. It was almost more than the farmp.rs
could do to pay the cost of one. All the boys and
girls within a radius of two or three miles met
together in the same school. They were companions
and rivals in their pastimes, and it probably did not
occur to any one to consider whether there could
be any danger in continuing this rivalry in their
lessons. In the rapid growth of the population
some of these rural centres gradually became vil
lages and towns, but the joint education of the
girls and boys went on.
Iwo leading principles in school economy are, to
secure the smallest number of classes, and the
greatest equality of attainment between the pupils
in each class; and these principles favour large
schools rather than numerous schools. Schools
affording a higher grade of instruction, and known
T
�4
"Joint Education of
as academies, sprang up here and there. These
were private enterprises, and the commercial aim
was to furnish the best educational advantages
for the largest number of pupils at the least ex
pense. The teacher wanted to make as much money
as he could, and the parents had in general but little
to spend for the education of their sons and daughters.
The same economical views made these joint schools :
fewer teachers were required. These academies,
with the district schools I have before mentioned,
met almost the entire educational demands of the
rural and village population. A few of the more
ambitious boys went from these academies to the
universities, and a few of the girls went to young
ladies’ boarding-schools; but these were exceptional
cases.
You probably know that we have no men of
wealth and leisure living in the country. The soil
is owned by the men who work it, and the rich
men live in the cities. And I suppose you also know
that in any generation of American men the large
majority of those who lead in commerce, in politics,
and in the professions are the sons of farmers^
who in their boyhood worked on the farms and'
went to these rural schools in the leisure season;
the wives of these men having had for the most
part the same rural training. You can readily
see from this that the peculiarities of our rural
life, the circumstances that gave these men and
women the energy to bring themselves to the front
Tank of society, were likely to mefit with approval.
However, joint education was simply looked upon
as one of the necessities of our youthful life till
about twenty years ago. Men who rose to positions
of wealth and honour upon the basis of the educa
�Young Men and Women.
5
tion received in these schools did not praise joint
education any more than they praised the other
natural and frugal habits that attended their rural
life. No one had philosophised upon this system,
and there was no occasion to think of it. It had
simply been the most natural means of meeting a
great need. In both the district schools and in the
academies the boys and girls did about the same
work. They liked. to keep together. Now and
then a boy went a little farther in mathematics
than the girls did, in the prospect of a business
career and a life in the city; or he learned more Latin
and Greek in preparation for the university. There
was no question about difference of capacity or
difference of tastes between boys and girls; there
was nothing to suggest it. They liked to do the
same things, and the one did as well as the other.
Forty years ago, in one of the academies near Bos
ton, a number of girls went with a set of their school
boy-friends through the entire preparation for Har
vard University. The girls knew mathematics and
Greek as well as the boys did, and formed a plan for
going to the university with them. I cannot say
whether the plan grew out of a keen zest forknow
ledge, or out of an unwillingness to break off the
very pleasant companionship. Probably from both.
The girls did not think there could be much objection
to admitting them at the university. They thought
the reason there were no girls at the universities
was that none had wanted to go, or had been pre
pared to go. They proposed to live at home; so there
would be no difficulty on the score of college resi
dence. However, as their request was new, it
occurred to them that a little diplomacy might be
required in presenting it; so they deputed the most
�6
J
’ oint Education of
prudent of the party to do the talking, and imposed
strict silenee upon the youngest and most impulsive
one, from whom I have the story. The girls called
upon old President Quincy ; they told him what they
had done in their studies,—that they had passed
the examinations with the boys, and wished to be
admitted to the university. He listened'to their
story, and evinced so much admiration for their
work and aims that they at first felt sure of success.
But President Quincy seemed slow in coming to the
point. He talked of the newness and difficulties of
the scheme, and proposed other opportunities of
study for them, till at length this youngest one,
forgetting in her impatience her promise to keep
silent, said, “Well, President Quincy, you feel sure
the trustees will let us come, don’t you ? ”
0, by
no means,” was the reply :“ this is a place only for
men.”' The girl of sixteen burst into tears, and
exclaimed with vehemence, “ I wish I could anni
hilate the women, and let the men have every
thing to themselves! ”
This, so far as I know, was the first effort made
by women to get into an American university, but
the incident was too trifling to make any impression,
and I narrate it only as marking the beginning of
the demand for university advantages for women.
About the same time Oberlin College was founded
in Northern Ohio. It grew out of a great practical
everyday-life demand. There was a wide-spread
desire on the part of well-to-do people for larger
educational advantages than the ordinary rural
schools provided. They could not afford the expense
of the city schools : besides, they wanted their sons
and daughters to go on together in their school work ;
they were unwilling to subject either to the dangers
�Young Men and Women.
7
of boarding-school life without the companionship
and guardianship of the other. Oberlin College was
founded on the strictest principles of economy. It
was located in a rural village in the West, where the
habits were simple and the living inexpensive. In
the third year of its existence it had 500 students,
and since the first ten years it has averaged nearly
1,200, the proportion of young women varying from
one-third to one-half. There was a university
course of study for the young men, and a shorter
ladies’ course for the young women, which omitted
all the Greek, most of the Latin, and the higher
mathematics. It was not anticipated that the
young women would desire the extended university
course, but so far as the two courses accorded the
instruction was given to the young men and the
young women in common. But the young women
were allowed to attend any of the classes they chose,
and at the end of six years a few of them had pre
pared themselves for the B.A. examination, and
were allowed upon passing it to receive the degree.
The college authorities did not seem to consider
that B.A. and M.A. were especially masculine
designations. They regarded them only as marks of
scholastic attainments, which belonged equally to
men and women when they had reached a certain
standard of scholarship. Not many Women could
stay, or cared to stay, long enough to get these
degrees. The “ ladies’ course ” required nearly two
years’ less-time, and contained a larger proportion of
the subjects that women are expected to know. The
number of women who have received the university
degrees from Oberlin is still less than a hundred,
making an average of only two or three for each
year. Oberlin sent out staunch men and women.
�"8
"Joint Education of
Wherever these men and women went it was ob
served that they worked with a will and with effect.
The eminent success of Oberlin led many parents
in different parts of the country to desire its advan
tages for their sons and daughters. But Oberlin was
a long way off from New England and from many
other parts of the country; besides some thought
it an uncomfortably religious place; negroes were
admitted, and it was altogether very democratic,
much more so than many people liked. So parents
began to say, 11 Why can’t we have other colleges
that shall provide all the advantages of Oberlin and
omit the peculiarities we dislike.” Now began the
discussion upon the real merits of this economical
system of joint education. It had sprung up like
an indigenous plant. It had met a necessity remark
ably . well, and it was only when, its advantages
becoming recognised, it began to press itself into
the cities and among people where it was not a ne
cessity, that it evoked any discussion. This was a
little more than twenty years ago. People who had
observed the working of the joint schools were alto
gether in favour of them. The wealthier people in
the towns and cities, who were accustomed to having
boys and girls educated apart, preferred separate
schools, and thought joint education would be a dan
gerous innovation ; that in the institution adopting
it the girls would lose their modesty and refinement,
and the boys would waste their time. Leading edu
cators were divided upon this question: „ those who
were familiar with the joint schools were the most
uncompromising advocates of that system; those
who had known only the schools where girls and
boys were educated apart for the most part preferred
separate education, where it could be afforded. Not
�Young Men and Women.
9
all, however, for many had developed the theory of
joint education out of an opposite experience. In
girls’ schools they had felt the want of adequate
stimulants for thorough work. They had seen the
strong tendency in girls to fit themselves for society
rather than for the severer duties of life ; they be
lieved that if girls were associated with boys and
young men in their studies, they would not only be
better scholars, but that they would remain longer
in school, that they would have less eagerness to
get out of school into society. And many who
were familiar with boys’ schools felt the dangers
attendant upon the absence of domestic influence,
and saw that it might be very largely supplied by
the presence of sisters and schoolfellows’ sisters.
They saw too that the tendencies to a coarse
physical development, which are found in an ex
clusive- society of men, might be counteracted by
the presence of women. In short, all who were
acquainted with joint education gave it their most
unqualified approval; while those who knew only
the system of separate education were for the most
part disposed to favour that, though many of these
saw the need of something in girls’ schools which the
presence of boys would introduce, and something in
boys’ schools which the presence of girls would sup
ply. The advocacy of joint education was valiantly
led by Horace Mann, the greatest American educator,
the man who stands with us where Dr Arnold
stands in the hearts of English people.
About this time Antioch College was founded in
Southern Ohio, and Mr Mann was invited to take
charge of it. Its object was to provide educational
facilities as nearly equal to those found at the best
New England universities as possible, and it
was
�io
Joint Education of
founded avowedly upon the principle that joint
education per se was a good thing; that it was
natural; that it was a great advantage to have
brothers and sisters in the same school; that girls
were both more scholarly and more womanly when
associated with boys, and boys were more gentle
manly and more moral when associated with girls ;
and that both girls and boys come out of joint
schools with juster views of life, and a larger sense
of moral obligation.
Other new colleges followed the example of
Antioch, and some of the old ones began to open their
doors to women. To-day the national free schools
and public schools in most of the cities of the North
educate boys and girls together. In some of the older
cities, particularly Boston, New York, and Phila
delphia, the schools are for the most part conducted
on the original plan of separate schools. The school
buildings are not arranged for the accommodation of
boys and girls together, and there is still a strong
sentiment against the plan, though it is gradually,
and I may say rapidly, giving way. In tire Western
cities, Cincinnati, Chicago, and St Louis, the boys
and girls study together throughout the entire
course, that is, till they are ready to go to the
universities ; though in St Louis, and perhaps in
the other two cities, there are a few of the grammar
schools where they are still apart, the buildings not
being arranged for the accommodation of both.
The system prevails in the rural schools almost
without exception, and almost as generally in the
public schools' of the towns and cities, with the
exceptions that I have mentioned ; there are now
over thirty colleges and universities that offer univer
sity degrees to women on the same conditions as
�Young Men and Women.
11
to men. On the other hand, there is still a large
number of private schools in the towns and cities
which are generally either boys’ schools or girls’
schools. They are for the most part schools esta
blished for teaching the children of some pai-ticular
religious denomination, for fitting boys for a com
mercial career, or for giving especial drill for the
universities; or, in the case of girls’ schools, for
giving especial training for society: but the public
schools are rapidly drawing into them the children
of the best educated families, for the simple reason
that they are the best schools of the country.
The oldest universities and colleges still keep
their doors shut against women. Harvard, within
the last year, has appointed a committee to consider
the demand made by women, but their report was
adverse. The committee recognised the success of
the system elsewhere, but thought it not wise to
attempt the change in Harvard.
Michigan University, a free state university,
which stands second to none in educational advan
tages, except Harvard and Yale, and has double the
number of students of either of these, admitted
women three years ago. And Cornell University,
which has as good prospects as any in the country,
has just received its first class of women.
I heard it announced with great gravity in the
British Association a year-and-a-half ago in Edin
burgh, that girls had no difficulty in learning arith
metic, and no one smiled. So completely is this
question settled with us, that I think such .an
announcement would have been received by a
public assembly in America with a derisive laugh.
Joint schools and colleges have settled the question
whether girls can learn not only arithmetic, but
�12
'Joint Education of
also the higher mathematics, logic, and metaphysics;
and have established beyond a doubt in the minds
of American educators, that in acute perception,
in the ability to grasp abstruse principles, the
feminine mind is in no wise inferior to the mascu
line. But the question is still open, whether
women have the physical strength to endure the
continuous mental work requisite for the greatest
breadth and completeness of comprehension. This
can be determined only by experiments which shall
extend through a longer series of years devoted to
study. The records at Oberlin indicate that the
young women are no more likely to break down in
health than the young men are. The records of
the city schools do not seem to be quite the same
upon this point, but the same difference would
doubtless appear if the girls were not in school; and
this failure in health cannot be attributed to the
school work, but rather to the more indoor life of the
girls. The Oberlin statistics also indicate that the
women who have taken the university degrees have
not diminished their chance of longevity by this
severe work in their youth. Women have less phy
sical strength than men have, but there seems to be
in them a tendency to a more economical expendi
ture of strength. Their energy is less driving, and
there is, in consequence, less waste from friction.
In regard to the social morality at these schools
the results are equally satisfactory. At the rural
schools boys and girls. have almost unrestricted
companionship; they have just the same freedom
in their home intercourse, but improper or even
objectionable conduct is a'thing unknown at the
schools, and almost equally unknown in the associa
tion outside the schools. Brothers and brothers’
�Young Men and Women.
13
friends guard the sister, and sisters and their friends
o-uard the brother. In cases where it is necessary
for the pupils to reside at the school there is more
love-making, but it is mostly repressed by want of
time; besides, there are few occasions for meeting,
except in the presence of the class, and where there
is an acquaintance with so many on about equal
terms an especial regard for one is less likely to be
formed. The admiration of the boys is suie to
centre upon the girls who are nearest the head
of the class; but these girls have not time to return
it and keep their position, and to lose their position
would be to lose the admiration; and the same is
true with the boys.
I am sure it would be surprising to any one who
is not familiar with these schools to observe to what
very practical and common-sense principles all these
otherwise romantic and illusory relations are sub
jected. In this mutual intellectual rivalship the
conjectural differences between the sexes, and the
fancied charms of the one over the other, are sub
mitted to very practical tests. A disagreeable boy
is not likely to be considered a hero in virtue of his
assumed bearing and physical strength; nor is a
silly girl, by* dint of her coquettish airs likely to
be thought a fairy with magical gifts. Girls know
boys as boys know each other; and boys know girls
as girls know each other. Hence the subtle charms
that evade human logic find little opportunity to
blind and mislead in the constant presence of unmistakeable facts.
In all the time I was at Antioch College no word
of disreputable scandal ever came to my ears, and
in recent years I have repeatedly heard from young
men who were there when I was, that in their whole
�14
Joint Education of
five or six years they never heard the faintest shadow
of imputation against any young woman in the
institution. And so stern was the morality, that
smoking, beer-drinking, and card-playing were
all considered crimes,, and banished from the
premises.
You have now heard my statement respecting the
effectiveness of joint education, and, though it is
made from a very extended and thorough acquaint
ance with the system, I shall not ask you to accept
it without the support of other and authoritative
testimony. Abundant confirmation of my state
ment will be found in all Official Reports and in
treatises that review this system, while no testi
mony of a contrary character is anywhere to be
found. I will first quote from the published
. Report of Mr Harris, Superintendent of the Public
Schools in St Louis. He is well known to the
leading students of German philosophy in all the
countries of Europe, and I think I may say in
his own country is recognised as standing in the
front rank of American educators. No other man
has brought so much philosophical insight to the
study of dur public school system. I quote from
Mr Harris’s Report of 1871 a condensed summary
of the results- of this system of joint education as
they have developed themselves under his observa
tion and direction. He says :—
- “ Within the last fifteen years the schools of St Louis have
been remodelled upon the plan of the joint education of the
sexes, and the results have proved so admirable that a few
remarks may be ventured on the experience which they
furnish.
. “ I-—Economy has been secured, for, unless pupils of widely
different attainments are brought together in the same classes,
�Young Men and Women.
15
the separation of the boys and girls requires a great increase
in the number of teachers.
“II.—Discipline has improved continually by the adoption
of joint schools ; our change in St Louis has been so gradual
that we have been able to weigh with great exactness every
point of comparison between the two systems. The joining
of the male and female departments of a school has always
been followed by an improvement in discipline ; not merely
on the part of the boys, but with the girls as well. The rude
ness and abandon which prevails among boys when separate
at once gives place to self-restraint in the presence of girls,
and the sentimentality engendered in girls when educated
apart from boys disappears in these joint schools, and in its
place there comes a dignified self-possession. The few schools
that have given examples of efforts to secure clandestine asso
ciation are those few where there are as yet only girls.
“ HI.—The quality of instruction is improved. Where the
boys and girls are separate, methods of instruction tend to
extremes, that may be called masculine and feminine. Each
needs the other as a counter-check. We find in these joint
schools a prevalent healthy tone which our schools on the
separate system lack—more rapid progress is the conse
quence.
“ IV.—The development of individual character is, as
already indicated, far more sound and healthy. . It has been
found that schools composed exclusively of girls or boys
require a much more strict surveillance on the part of the
teachers. Confined by themselves and shut off from inter
course with society in its normal form, morbid fancies and
interests are developed which this daily association in the
class-room prevents. Here boys and girls test themselves
with each other on an intellectual plane. Each sees the
strength and weakness of the other, and learns to esteem
those qualities that are of true value. Sudden likes, capri
cious fancies, and romantic ideas give way to sober judgments
not easily deceived by mere externals. This is the basis of
the dignified self-possession before alluded to, and it forms a
striking point of contrast between the girls and boys edu
cated in joint schools and those educated in schools exclu
sively for one sex. Our experience in St Louis has been
entirely in favour of the joint education of the sexes, in all
the respects mentioned and in many minor ones.”
�16
Joint Education of
I give Mr Harris’s statement as representative of
the sentiment of those who are engaged in public
school instruction in America. As I said before, in
some of the older cities, where the public schools
were earliest organised, the joint system has been
accepted as yet only partially, and the teachers, who
are only familiar with the separate system, gene
rally prefer it. But a very large proportion of
the public schools of the country are joint schools,
and a still larger proportion of the instructors and
managers of public schools favour the system of
joint education. Mr Harris’s testimony applies to
city schools, when the pupils reside at home.
I now quote to you from another authority, addi
tionally valuable inasmuch as it represents the
results of this system of education upon young men
and women who reside at the school and away from
the guardianship of parents.
In 1868 a meeting was called of all the College
Presidents of the country, to discuss questions
relating to college discipline and instruction. As
Oberlin was the oldest college that had adopted
the system of joint instruction, a strong desire
was felt to secure a critical and comprehensive
statement of the results of the system there. Dr
Fairchild, the present President of Oberlin, was
deputed to make the Report. He had at that
time been connected with Oberlin seven years
as a student and twenty-five years as professor,
and has long had the reputation of being the most
accomplished scholar and acute thinkei' among the
Oberlin professors. His statements may therefore
be accepted as absolute in point of fact, and as
wholly representative of the opinion of those who
have conducted the instruction and discipline at
�Young Men and Women.
!7
Oberlin. But my chief reason for selecting this out
of the accumulated published testimony is that it
.seems to me the best digest of the subject that I
have seen.
Dr Fairchild says :—
“ 1st.—On the point of economy In the higher depart
ments of instruction, where the chief expense is involved,
the. expense is no greater on account of the presence of the
ladies.
“ 2nd.—Convenience to the patrons of the school:—It is a
matter of interest to notice the number of cases where a
brother is followed by a sister, or a sister by a brother. This
is an interesting and prominent feature in our work. Each is
safer in the presence of the other.
“3rd.—The wholesome incitements to study, which the
system affords :—The social influence arising from the consti
tution of our classes operates continuously and upon all.
Each desires for himself the best standing he is capable of,
and there is no lack of motive to exertion. It will be observed,
too, that the stimulus is of the same kind as will operate in
after life. The young man going out into the world does
not leave behind him the forces that have helped him on.
They are the ordinary forces of society.
“ 4th.-—The tendency to good order that we find in the
system :—The ease with which the discipline of so large a
school is conducted has not ceased to be a matter of wonder
to ourselves. More than one thousand students are gathered
from every State in the Union, from every class in society, of
every grade of culture, the great mass of them bent on im
provement, but numbers are sent by anxious friends with the
hope that they may be saved or reclaimed from every evil
tendency. Yet the disorders incident to such gatherings are
essentially unknown among us. Our streets are as quiet
by day and by night as in any other country town. This
result we attribute greatly to the wholesome influence of the
system of joint education. College tricks lose their attrac
tiveness in a community thus constituted. They scarcely
appear among us. We have had no difficulty in reference to
the conduct and manners in the college dining-hall. There is
an entire absence of the irregularities and roughness so often
complained of in the college commons.
“ 5th.—Another manifest advantage is the relation of the
B
�18
Joint Education of
school to the community. A cordial feeling of goodwill and
the absence of that antagonism between town and college
which in general belongs to the history of universities and
colleges. The constitution of the school is so similar to that
of the community that any conflict is unnatural; the usual
provocation seems to be wanting,
“ 6th.—It can hardly be doubted that people educated
under such conditions are kept in harmony with society at
large, and are prepared to appreciate the responsibilities of
life, and to enter upon its work. If we are not utterly de
ceived in our position, our students naturally and readily find
their position in the world, because they have been trained in
sympathy with the world. These are among the advantages
of the system that have forced themselves upon our attention.
The list might be extended and expanded, but you will wish
especially to know whether'we have not encountered disad
vantages and difficulties which more than counterbalance
these advantages.
“ As to the question whether young ladies have the mental
vigour and physical health to maintain a fair standing in a
class with voung men, I must say, where there has been the
same preparatory training, we find no difference in ability to
maintain themselves in the class-room and at the examina
tions. The strong and the weak scholars are equally distri
buted between the sexes.
“ Whether ladies need a course of study especially adapted
to their nature and prospective work ?—The theory of our
school has never been that men and women are alike in
mental constitution, or that they naturally and properly
occupy the same position in their work of life. The educa
tion furnished is general, not professional, designed to fit men
and women for any position or work to which they may pro
perly be called. The womanly nature will appropriate the
material to its own necessities under its own laws.' Young
men and women sit at the same table and parta.ke of the
same food, and we have no apprehension that the vital forces
will fail to elaborate from the common material the osseous,
fibrous, and nervous tissues adapted to each frame and
constitution.
.
<£ Apprehension is felt that character will deteriorate on
the one side or the other,—that young men will become
frivolous or effeminate, and young women coarse and mas
culine.
�Toung Men and Women.
T9
“ That young men should lose their manly attributes and
character from proper association with, cultivated young
women is antecedently improbable and false in fact. It is
the natural atmosphere for the development of the higher
qualities of manhood—magnanimity, generosity, true chivalry,
and earnestness. The animal man is kept subordinate in the
prevalence of these higher qualities.
“We have found it the surest way to make men of boys
and gentlemen of rowdies.
“ On the other hand, will not the young woman, pursuing
her studies with young men, take on their manners, and
aspirations, and aims, and be turned aside from the true ideal
of womanly life and character ? The thing is scarcely con
ceivable. The natural response of woman to the exhibition
of manly traits is in the correlative qualities of gentleness,
delicacy, and grace.
“ It might better be questioned whether, the finer shadings
of woman’s character can be developed without this natural
stimulus ; but it is my duty not to reason, but to speak from
the limited historical view assigned me.
“You wish to know whether the result with us has been a
large accession to the number of coarse, strong-minded women,
in the disagreeable sense of the word; and I say, without
hesitation, that I do not know a single instance of such a
product as the result of our system of education.
“ Is there not danger that young men and young women
thus brought together in the critical period of fife, when the
distinctive social tendencies act with greatest intensity, will
fail of the necessary regulative force, and fall into undesirable
and unprofitable relations ? Will not such association result
in weak and foolish love affairs ? It is not strange that such
apprehension is felt, nor would it be easy to give an a priori
answer to such difficulties ; but if we may judge from our
experience, the difficulties are without foundation. The
danger in this direction results from excited imagination,
from the glowing exaggerations of youthful fancy, and the
best remedy is to displace these fancies by every-day facts
and realities.
“Theyoung man shut out from the society of ladies, with
the help of the high-wrought representations of life which
poets and novelists afford, with only a distant vision of the
reality, is the one who is in danger. The women whom he
sees are glorified by his fancy, and are wrought into his day
�io
Joint Education of
dreams and night dreams as beings of supernatural loveliness.
It would be different if he met them day by day in the class
room, in a common encounter with a mathematical problem,
or at a table sharing in the common want of bread and butter.
There is still room for the fancy to work, but the materials
for the picture are more reliable and enduring. Such associa
tion does not take all the romance out of life, but it gives as
favourable conditions for sensible views and actions upon
these delicate questions as can be afforded to human nature.
“ But is this method adapted to schools in general, or is the
success attained at Oberlin due to peculiar features of the
place, which can rarely be found or reproduced elsewhere,
and can it be introduced into men’s colleges with their tradi
tional customs and habits of action and thought ? Might not
the changes required occasion difficulty at the outset and
peril the experiment ? On this point I have no experience,
but I have such confidence in the inherent vitality and
adaptability of the system that I should be entirely willing to
see it subjected to this test.”
I am sorry not to give you a more lengthened
account of Dr Fairchild’s Report, but the time warns
me to hasten.
Respecting economy, school discipline, social
order, and the improved character of both young
men and young women, and the high scholar
ship attained by young women, you see that Dr
Fairchild’s statement fully corroborates my own
and that of Mr Harris. He agrees with us that
the grade of scholarship of the young men is in no
wise lowered by this joint work, but, on the con
trary, that the average is higher.
To be definite upon this point, my own opinion
is that those marvellous feats of scholarship that
sometimes occur in boys’ schools are not so likely to
occur in a joint school, where a little more of the
domestic and social element is found. On the other
hand, from a long and close observation, I feel fully
justified in saying the average scholarship is higher.
�Young Men and 'Women.
21
There is a more general stimulus for good scholar
ship. The standard of respectability is somewhat
different from what it is in a school exclusively for
boys. A boy may secure the respect of his boy
associates by being an adept on the playground or
generally a good fellow, but as he is known to the
girls only through his class work, he feels more
especially bound to make this creditable.
I should like to accumulate authority upon these
points, but I must ask you to accept my statement
that the opinions I have' given you are those held
by the very large majority of the educators of the
country.
In this system of joint education you see that
the difficulty of getting funds to establish schools
scarcely appears as an obstacle to the higher edu
cation of women. It requires so little more to edu
cate girls along with boys than it does to educate
boys alone, and lack of the masculine incentive to
study is largely supplied to the girls by class
rivalry. The girls like to remain at school, and
they like to do as much work and as good work as
the boys do; and the boys are equally eager to keep
the companionship of the girls, and to keep up the
competition in all the departments of the work.
There is a mutual rivalry which both enjoy, and
the girls work with zest, without thinking whether
there is to be any reward beyond the simple enjoy
ment of their work, without considering whether it
will ever bring them any farther returns.
The work of the girls in the joint schools has
done much to force up the standard in the exclu
sively girls’ schools. These schools could not afford
the disparaging comparison. So the teachers intro
duce the same studies as are found in the joint
�22
Joint Education of
schools, and do the best they can to get as good
work from their girls. But in most of the girls’
schools I have ever visited, the work will not com
pare with the work of girls in the joint schools.
When Dr Fairchild says he does not know a '
single instance in which a coarse, strong-minded
woman, in the disagreeable sense, has been the pro
duct of the Oberlin system of education, it must not
be understood that there have been no women of that
type at Oberlin, for there have been, and Oberlin
lias done much to soften them and refine them,
but it could not wholly change their natures and
previously-acquired habits. Upon this point there
is a pernicious popular delusion, and I am at a loss
to account for its origin. It is not association with
men that developes this type of character. The
reverse of this is the case, as Dr Fairchild has
indicated. It is true that many highly-intellectual
and highly-educated women have been peculiar,
have developed peculiarities or idiosyncrasies of
character or habit which lessened their companion
able and womanly attractiveness, but these women
have generally worked by themselves, away from
society, apart from the companionship of men.
Joint schools are the most complete corrective of
these tendencies. Whatever elevates women in the
eyes of men they are disposed to cultivate in the
presence of men, and whatever elevates men in the
eyes of women they cultivate in the presence of
women. There is little danger of careless toilet
with young women who are constantly meeting
young men; little danger of angular movement, of
unamiable sharpness, of egotism, and pronounced
self-assertion.
The disagreeable women, the women contemp-
�Toung Men and Women.
23
tuously called strong-minded, are women who have
not known a genial social atmosphere. Crotchety
men and crotchety women are the product of isola
tion from society, and formerly women could not
mount the heights of knowledge except in isolation.
The attractive women, the women who seem to have
a genius for womanliness, are the women who have
been much in the society of men,—women at court,
women in political and diplomatic circles, women
who are familiar with the thought and’ experience
of men, women who talk with men and work with
men.
Social intercourse at these joint schools is not of
course left to chance. Girls and boys need and get
as careful attention at school as in their homes.
Usually they enter and leave the school building
by different doors, and indeed meet only when they
are receiving instruction from the teachers, where
they occupy separate forms on different sides of the
room. Among the older pupils, at all times, except
at the lecture hours, the girls usually have their own
rooms and the boys theirs,'and no communication
between them is possible, except as the teachers
choose to grant permission, which is not asked with
out explaining the occasion. The boys do not
appear to care very much to talk to the girls, at
least they would not be willing to have it seen that
they did. At the boarding-schools the young men
and young women usually have their private apart
ments in different buildings, but meet in a common
dining-hall in the building occupied by the young
■ women. Here they arrange themselves as they
like, the size of the company and the presence of
teachers being quite sufficient to exclude objection
able manners. At the times allowed for recreation
�24
.•
Joint Education of
the arrangements are such as to preclude for the
most part opportunities for young men and young
women to meet, though there are very frequent
receptions at .the homes of the professors or at the
general parlours, when they meet as they would at
any ordinary social party. At a few of the smaller
boarding-schools much more freedom, of intercourse
has been allowed, and with very admirable results ;
but this requires great wisdom and care on the part
of the teachers, more than they are generally able
to give in a large school. Where the pupils live at
home no very especial care is required on the part
of the teachers, further than would under any
circumstances be necessary to secure general good
order.
This system of education developes self-reliance
and a sense of responsibility, to such a degree that,
as I quoted from Dr Fairchild, it is a constant sur
prise to see how little direction they need. A good
many times while I was at Antioch College, young
men who had got into disgrace, or had been dis
missed from young men’s colleges, were sent there
to be reclaimed from their bad habits, and it is
surprising what effect this home-like association
had upon them.
I have already mentioned Michigan University
as the best institution that has as yet opened its
doors to women. This was done three years ago.
For ten years the question had been pending before
the trustees. A letter was addressed to Horace
Mann, asking for minute information concerning
the working of Antioch, and seeking counsel in
reference to the advisability of attempting the
tame plan at the Michigan University. Mr Mann
replied, that though he was an ardent advocate
�Toung Men and Women. '
25
of joint education and was satisfied with the
results achieved at Antioch, he should be afraid
to attempt the plan in a large town, where college
residence was not required. This ‘letter settled
the matter for the time. The trustees said:—
“ We cannot, endanger the morality of our students,
and the reputation of our institution, to accommo
date the few women who wish to come. We give
them our sympathy, but can at present do nothing
more.” But every now and then, with the change
of trustees, the question was revived. The men of
this new rich State felt ashamed to do so much less
for their daughters than for their sons, and they
were particularly sensitive to the argument that the
privileges of the institution could be extended to
the young women with almost no increase in the
expenses. Three years ago the opposition found
itself in the minority, and a resolution was passed
admitting women to all the classes of the university.
The dangers Horace Mann feared have not, and
in all probability will not come. Even the young
men, who in anticipation dreaded an invasion of
women into their realm of free-and-easy habits,
now unite in the most cordial approval of the plan.
They find a genial element added to their college
life in place of a chafing restraint.
The first year only one woman came into the
Arts-classes. This bold venturer was the daughter
of a deceased professor, by whom she had been
trained up to a point a good deal in advance of the
requisites for entrance. This enabled her to step at
once into the front rank of the class of two hundred
young men, who had been in the university a year
before her. No sooner was she there than the
dread and anticipated restraint on the part of the
�26
*
'Joint Education of
young men were forgotten, and the most chivalric
feeling sprang up in its place.
For a whole year Miss Stockwell was alone in
the Arts-classes among seven or eight hundred young
men, yet nothing ever occurred to make her feel in
the slightest degree uncomfortable. She took her
B.A. degree last summer as the first Greek scholar
in the university. There are now a hundred young
women or more in the various departments of
the university. The Professor of Civil Engineer
ing has been in the habit of giving to his class
every year a particular mathematical problem,
a sort of pons asinorum, as a test of their
ability. Not once during fifteen years had any
member of the class solved it, though the professor
states that during that time he has propounded it
to fifteen hundred young men. Last year, as usual,
the old problem was again presented to the class.
A Miss White alone, of all the class, brought in the
solution. The best student in the Law school last
year was a woman.
I could tell you many other stories of the suc
cesses of women in these joint schools, but it would
not be safe to conclude from these accounts that the
young women in America are superior to the young
men ; for, as you would naturally suppose, the few
women who at present avail themselves of university
training, in opposition to the popular notion of what
is wise and becoming, are for the most part above
the average of the women of the country. I think
I may say, however, that girls are a little more
likely to lead the classes in the schools than boys
are. They are, perhaps, a little more conscientious
in doing the work assigned them, and have a little
more school ambition.
�Toung Men and Women.
27
I quote the following from the Annual Report of
the Michigan University for the year ending 1872 :—
■ “ In the Medical Department the women receive instruc
tion by themselves. In the other departments all instruction
is given to both sexes in common.
“ It is manifestly not wise to leap to hasty generalisations
from our short experience in furnishing education to both
sexes in our university. But I think all w’ho have been
familiar with the inner life of the university for the past
three years will admit that, thus far, no reason for doubting
the wisdom of the action of the trustees in opening the uni
versity to women has appeared.
“Hardly one of the many embarrassments which some
have feared have confronted us. The young women have
addressed themselves to their work with great zeal, and have
shown themselves quite capable of meeting the demands of
severe studies as successfully as their classmates of the other
sex. Their work, so far, does not evince less variety of apti
tude or less power of grappling even with the higher mathe
matics than we find in the young men. They receive no
favour, and desire none. They are subjected to precisely the
same tests as the men. Nor does their work seem to put a
dangerous strain upon their physical powers. Their absences
by reason of illness do not proportionably exceed those of the
men. Their presence has not called for the enactment of a
single new law, nor for the slightest change in our methods of
government or grade of work.
“If we are asked still to regard the reception of women
into our classes as an experiment, it must certainly be deemed
a most hopeful experiment. The numerous inquiries that
have been sent to us from various parts of this country, and
even from England, concerning the results of their admission
to the university, show that a profound and wide-spread
interest in the subject has been awakened.”
I can say for myself, that I have never known
any one who has spent a few days at one of these
colleges who has not become a convert to the
scheme.
There is in America a strong and constantly
growing conviction, that the best plan for educating
.
�28
"Joint Education of
both boys and girls is for them to reside at home
and attend day schools; that this avoids the defects
attendant upon the system of governesses and
tutors, and also the dangers that are inherent in
the congregated life of boarding-schools; and as
American families seldom leave home for, at most,
more than a few weeks in midsummer, this plan is
easily carried out. In accordance with this con
viction, the citizens of Boston have recently erected
and endowed a large university in the centre of
their city, although the time-honoured Harvard
stands scarcely two miles beyond their precincts.
The Boston University, which starts with larger
available funds than those of Harvard, will be
opened this autumn, and as a second step in the
direction of the popular educational sentiment, the
trustees have decided to offer its advantages and
honours to young women on the same conditions as
to young men.
There is evidently a disposition in America to
open all lines of study to women, and a few women
have entered each of the three learned professions,
but the time is too short and the number too small
for us to be able as yet to generalise upon the fitness
of women for professions, or their inclination to
choose them.
Most of our women—I think I may almost say
all of our women—expect to marry, and most of
them do marry. We have not that redundancy of
women to trouble and puzzle the advocates of
domesticity that you have here; and as fortunes are
more easily made, men are not timid in incurring
domestic responsibilities. As a consequence of this,
the industrial occupations that women seek, other
than domestic, are expected to be only temporary,
�Young Men and Women.
ig
and are such as may be entered upon without
much especial professional training, and may be
given up without involving much sacrifice of pre
vious study or discipline. I think I may say there
is a very general disposition to seek those that will
especially contribute to their fitness for domestic
life.
This brings me to a peculiar feature of American
education—the prevalence of women teachers. In
the public schools of St Louis there are forty men
teachers and over four hundred women teachers;
only about one-twelfth of the whole number are
men, and this I think would be about the general
average for the cities of the north. The primary
schools are taught exclusively by women—most of
the grammar schools have only a man at the head of
them, and in the high schools there is about an
equal number of men and women.
In two of the most successful grammar schools in
St Louis there are only women teachers. Recent
experiments in placing women at the head of several
of the grammar schools in Cleveland, Ohio, give
still stronger confirmation of the marked governing
power of women as contrasted with men.
Women teachers have been employed in the
schools in preference to men as a matter of economy,
but underneath this cloak of economy an unex
pected virtue has been found. It is now pretty
well settled that with equal experience and scholarly
attainments women teach better than men do, and
that they manage the pupils with more tact; that
is, they succeed in getting from the pupils what
they want, with more ease and less disturbance of
temper.
Where women do precisely the, same work as
�jo
Joint Education of
men in teaching, they get less pay. Wages have
followed the law of supply and demand. The guar
dians of the public school treasures have generally
not felt at liberty to offer more than the regular
market prices for work. But I am glad to say the
more enlightened public feeling is beginning to make
a change in this respect. A few women are paid
men’s wages—are paid what they ought to have,
rather than what they could command in an open
market.
Teaching in America, as I have indicated, is for
the most part a temporary occupation ; it is chiefly
done by young people between the ages of eighteen
and thirty who have no intention of making it a
profession. The women marry and the men enter
other occupations. How much the schools lose by
the immaturity and inexperience of the teachers it
is difficult to estimate accurately; but that they
gain much by the freshness and enthusiasm of these
young minds is unquestionable. Young teachers
get into closer sympathy with pupils, and can more
readily understand the movements of their minds
and apprehend their difficulties.
The plan of teaching for a few years is very
popular among young people, from the general
belief that it furnishes the best possible discipline
for a successful life. This experience in teaching is
considered valuable for young men, but still more
valuable for young women, and many young women
who have no need to earn money teach for a few
years .after leaving school, sometimes from their
own choice, but much oftener from the choice of
their parents, who wish to supplement the daughter’s
education with the more varied discipline that
teaching affords.
�Toung Men and Women.
31
Thus the teaching of women is encouraged from
four considerations :—
First. According to the present arrangement of
wages it is economical.
Second. Women seem to have an especial natural
aptitude for the work as compared with men.
Third. The general welfare of society demands
that wage-giving industries shall be provided for
women.
Fourth. Of all the employments offered to women,
teaching seems the best suited to fit them for
domestic life, the life that lies before the most of
them, and so positive are its claims in this direction
that it is being sought as an employment with that
single end in view.
A few years of teaching forms so prominent a
feature in the education of leading American
women, that I could not omit it in any general
consideration of this subject.
Note.—The Times of' January 3rd, 1874, gives the following
extracts from “Circulars of Information,” just published by the
United States Bureau of Education:—The total number of
degrees conferred in 1873 by the Higher Colleges was 4,493, and
376 honorary. One hundred and ninety-one ladies received
degrees. Illinois has thirteen Colleges, in which women have
the same or equal facilities with men ; Wisconsin has four, Iowa
three, Missouri four, Ohio ten, and Indiana nine; New York has
seven, and Pennsylvania, seven.
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET, HAYMARKET.
��
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The joint education of young men and women in the American schools and colleges : being a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, on 27th of April, 1873
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Beedy, Mary E.
Sunday Lecture Society
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 31 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Advertisement for Sunday Lecture Society on p.[2], delivered at St George's Hall, Langham Place. Printed by C.W. Reynell, Haymarket, London. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Education
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Coeducation-United States
Education
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Women
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Text
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
THE INFLUENCE OF
ASTRONOMICAL DISCOVERY
IN THE
DEVELOPMENT OF THE HUMAN MIED
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
ON
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 25th FEBRUARY, 1877,
By
A. ELLEY
FINCH.
ISanUcm :
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1877.
PRICE THREEPENCE.
�The Society’s Lectures by the same Author,
now printed, are—on
“ Erasmus ; his Life, Works, and Influence upon the Spirit of the Refor
mation.” (Price 3d.)
“ Civilization : a Sketch of its Rise and Progress, its Modern Safe-guards,
and Future Prospects.” (Price 3d.)
“ The Inductive Philosophy : including a Parallel between Lord Bacon
and A. Comte as Philosophers.” With Notes and Authorities, (pp. 100,
cloth 8vo., price 5s.)
“ The Pursuit oe Truth ; as Exemplified in the Principles of Evidence
—Theological, Scientific, and Judicial.” With Notes and Authorities,
(pp. 106, cloth 8vo., price 5s.)
Can be obtained of the Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry Domville, Esq.,
15, Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W., or at the Hall on the days of
Lecture; or of Mr. John Bumpus, 158, Oxford Street.
�SYLLABUS.
Earliest notions respecting the Stars. Genesis. Socrates.
Astronomy as Science is the result of mental calculation based on exact
observation of the Heavenly Bodies, by aid of the Telescope and other
modern scientific instruments.
The Human Understanding previously to the growth of Astronomical
Science was under the dominion of the Imagination.
Illustration of the pre-scientific type of mind—Plato.
The conception of the size and nature of the World was imaginary.
Illustration from their description by Cosmas.
The destiny of the Universe, and man’s position in it were also imaginary.
Illustration from the works of the Fathers and Schoolmen.
Sketch of the true System of the World as made known through the
great Astronomical Discoveries. Hipparchus (160 a.c.)—Ptolemy (140 a.d.)
—Copernicus (1542)—Invention of the Telescope (1609)—Kepler (1619)—
Galileo (1632)—Sir Isaac Newton (1687)—Lagrange and Laplace (1776—
1825)—Adams (1846), and others.
Astronomical Discovery has displaced the theological scheme of existence
by the substitution of a scientific platform; correcting, enlarging, and
elevating men’s views by transferring the intellectual position of the
observer from the Earth to the Sun.
In demonstrating the stability of our Solar System it has destroyed the
theological dogma of the approaching end of the World, with all its
demoralizing influences.
It reveals the Universe as a realm of Law, and Laws of Nature as Laws
of Reason.
It proves a Reign of Reason to be paramount the Dominion of the
Imagination. Illustration from astronomical measurements, magnitudes,
and distances beyond the realization of the Imagination.
It exhibits the reason of man as part of the universal reason, and both
as correlated with a material basis. Illustration from the discovery and
connection of Conic Sections, the curvature of the Planetary Orbits, and
the Law of Gravitation.
It unfolds an Order of Nature as the criterion of Truth, the area of
Knowledge, and the standard of Proportion.
In displaying a real power of Prediction, it has rescued Science from
Theology and Metaphysics.
. It has sapped Superstition, i.e., Belief inconsistent with the unbiassed
dictates of Reason and the verified course of Nature.
In encom-aging a love of inquiry in the spirit of Truth, it has invigorated
Culture and reformed Education.
In eradicating vicious views and false beliefs, it has purified Moral
Principles and augmented Human Happiness.
Illustration of the scientific type of mind—J. S. Mill.
’ Plato and Mill—a parallel.
ILLUSTRATIVE DIAGRAMS.
1. Conic Sections.—2. The Orbit of a Planet round the Sun.—3. Phases of
the Planet Venus as shown by the Telescope.—4. Our Solar System.
��IN THE
DEVELOPMENT OF THE HUMAN MIND.
HE earliest astronomical sentiments of the human race find
their simplest expression in our
nursery
Tdating back probably to those primevalfamiliarwhen, in therhyme,
times
cloudless
serenity of an oriental night, Shepherd-priests of the Chaldean
plains, awe-subdued and silent, intently watch the star-studded
expanse, glittering so mysteriously above and around them—
“ Twinkle, twinkle little Star,
How I wonder what you are ! ”
That the stars were very small bodies, that they could never
be more to man than objects of wonder, were the intellectual beliefs
of ages—even in the time of the cultured Greeks, we find the great
Athenian Socrates pronouncing Astronomy (that science which now
exhibits the highest perfection, and most exact power of prediction
to which the human mind has ever attained) to be a Divine mystery,
impossible to understand, and impious to investigate ; whilst their
illustrious Philosopher, Anaxagoras, was accused of blasphemy,
for daring to dispersonify their Sun-God Helios, in attempting to
assign invariable laws to the Solar phenomena !
But a writer, more ancient than Socrates, perhaps no less
illustrious than the Grecian Sage, has ventured to narrate to us,
as a fact, the Creation of the little Stars. Thus, he writes—“ And
God made two great Lights .... He made the Stars also. And
God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon
the earth.” Those twinkling points of light are thus regarded as
�6
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
some small addition to the Sun and Moon, without the least
suspicion that each one of their glorious host was itself a mighty
Sun, in comparison with whose bulk that of our earth shrinks to
insignificance !
Now, one of the most certain, as well as important, of the
discoveries of modern Critical Research, has shown us that the
Pentateuch is the composition of several writers, put together
out of different sources, prior documents or legends; and it may, I
trust, be said without improperly shocking the prejudices of any
intelligent person, that the statement I have cited from the book
of Genesis, as to the inferior size, and apparent purpose of the
Stars, is entirely contradicted by the discoveries of Astronomical
Science, and that the fact of such a statement having for so long
a period retained its hold over human beliefs, as supernaturallyinspired truth, must now be attributed mainly to its sublime
audacity.
Mere observation of the Heavens, or Star-gazing, however long
continued, could never have created a Science of Astronomy. The
Chinese, the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Phoenicians, all in
ancient times, made and recorded numerous observations of the
Heavenly bodies, but they seldom arrived at scientific conceptions.
Physical Science indeed is not of Asiatic descent, its parentage is
European.
Astronomical Science, that knowledge which enables us to com
prehend the past and future state of the system of the World, has
resulted from a series of marvellous discoveries made by the
intellect of European Man. As Science, Astronomy is even yet
the youthful offspring of the unprejudiced reason, being the result
of mental calculation, based upon an accurate observation of the
Heavenly bodies, by aid of the Telescope, and other modern
scientific Instruments.
The discovery of the real motions of the Earth ; and the other
Planets revolving round the Sun; of the laws which regulate these
motions; of the principle of universal gravitation, as the cause of
these laws; of the actual form of the planetary orbits, and the rate
of speed at which they are traversed; so that the future position of
the vast celestial orbs, rolling incessantly through space, can be
accurately predicted; has been work accomplished, not so much by
the human eye, as by the human brain.
If, when surveying the history of human opinion, we attempt
�Development of the Human Mind.
7
to range its several schools on one side or the other of a single
line of demarcation, we find that the minds of men seem separable
into two almost opposite types. The one being that in which the
Imagination is found to predominate as the ruling intellectual
faculty, the other type being that in which the Beason is regarded
as the ultimate arbiter of both what is true and what is right.
This remarkable mental distinction appears to have prevailed from
very early times. In reference to its organic source, the poet
Coleridge has, in one of his writings, remarked, that all men are
born to be disciples either of Plato or of Aristotle; these
intellectual chiefs of classical antiquity, showing throughout their
writings the very marked mental distinction to which I am
alluding.
With respect to the bearing of this two-fold intellectual organi
zation upon the times in which we are living, and the subjects that
are being so passionately discussed in our day, I will venture to
designate the one, which looks to Imagination as its supreme and
ruling mental power, The theological type of mind: and the other,
which relies on Beason as its ultimate appeal and last resort,
The scientific type of mind. Both types do indeed make use of
reason and imagination too, but they are distinguished by this
peculiarity, that the theological type reasons from premises which
the exalted imagination supplies, under various specious disguises,
such as intuitions, facts of consciousness, innate ideas, and the
like; whilst the scientific type of mind controls the imagination by
the reason, and reasons from premises, directly or indirectly,
derived from experience of the facts of Nature.
Of the theological type of mind, Plato is perhaps the most
memorable example with which history supplies us. One of the
most brilliant thinkers the world has ever produced, he may be
said to be the father of that Metaphysical Philosophy which
constitutes the body of doctrine that the mind builds up by means
of abstract ideas, largely evolved from its inner consciousness, or,
at least, based upon its own intuitions and emotions. Hence it is
the Philosophy of Plato that has been the great secular authority
with Theologians ; its abstractedness from the visible or natural
world recommending it strongly to their imaginations and feelings.
This theological type of mind not only characterised the culture
of antiquity, it coloured deeply the thoughts of men throughout
the middle ages, continuing its overshadowing influence, until, as
�8
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
I am about to show you, it was, to a great extent, displaced by the
development of Astronomical Discovery. Meanwhile, however,
so paramount was its spirit, that the historian of “ Civilization
in Europe,” Monsieur Guizot,- has declared that, previously to
the 17th century, all opinions were saturated with it; that
questions philosophical, political, historical, were all regarded
from a theological point of view ; that even the mathematical and
physical sciences were subordinated to the dogmas of theology.
We cannot wonder that, in such an intellectual condition of
Society, man’s conception of the size and nature of the globe he
inhabited should be purely imaginary. Passing over the views of
heathen antiquity, embodied for the most part in the fascinating
fables of the Greeks, and selecting an illustration from times
believed to be illuminated on the subject by the teaching of inspired
Scriptures, I will cite a work of acknowledged ability, and un
deniable authority at the time when it was published, viz., the
treatise of Cosmas on the Nature of the World.
In the reign of the Emperor Justinian, about the year 535, there
was living at Alexandria a monk named Cosmas, noted for his
inquisitive mind, his scientific attainments, and his knowledge of
the relation between Science and Scripture. At the request of
some learned men he composed and published a considerable work,
entitled “ Christian Opinion concerning the World.” According
to this authority the World was a flat parallelogram or plain. In
the centre is the Earth we inhabit, surrounded by the Ocean, and
encircled by another Earth. To the north is a high conical
mountain, around which the Sun and Moon revolve. When the
Sun is behind the mountain, it is Night, when the Sun is in front
of the mountain, it is Day. The Sky is fixed to the edges of the
outer Earth. It consists of four high walls rising to a great
height, and then meeting in a vast concave roof. The whole is
an immense edifice, of which the World is the floor. The idea that
the World could possibly be inhabited on any other side than its
flat upper surface was treated generally with incredulous scorn.
The great Fathers Augustin and Lactantius especially deriding it,
as the preposterous notion that men could exist hanging down
wards with their feet higher than their heads !
Such being the generally received opinion, even amongst the
learned, of the nature of the Earth and Sky, we must not be
surprised to find that their opinions of the destiny of the World,
�Development of the Haman Mind..
9
and man’s position in it, were also purely imaginary. In fact
their whole system of theological belief rested on the notion that
the Universe was ordained for Man!
Of course, if our Earth were the great central object of the
Universe, man, being the highest existing object on Earth, would
be, apparently, the centre of all things. Accordingly, every
startling phenomenon was believed to have some bearing upon his
proceedings. The darkness of the Eclipse, the Comet’s fiery tail,
the dazzling Meteor, were all pointed at as preternatural portents,
manifestations of Divine Displeasure, intended to operate on the
mind of man, as threatenings, or warnings to him. His whole
career is linked with them—
“ The warrior’s fate is blazon’d, in the skies !
A world is darken’d when a hero dies ! ”
Turning from the ideal World and its phantoms, which the
imaginations of men have created, to the consideration of that real
Universe which Astronomical Science has revealed to us, we find
that from the earliest ages the scientific type of mind has existed
along with the theological type, although, owing to the want of
material in the shape of ascertained physical facts and laws of
nature (which have been of slow, and comparatively recent,
discovery), there were no means for its discipline, or scope for its
growth. Still, its nature being to require facts as the basis of
reasoning, and to draw its conclusions from real premises, it has
ever been the great instrument of scientific discovery. The
scientific type of mind was conspicuous in Plato’s great disciple,
Aristotle, whose method of arriving at real knowledge contrasts
very remarkably with that of his illustrious master. Aristotle’s
method was not to begin with ideas furnished by the mind, but,
with the facts of sense derived from observation of Nature. A
thingy with him was not to be regarded as true, because the
Imagination had suggested it, or because it was amenable to
dialectical treatment, but, because the Reason could verify it
inductively by an appeal to experience.
The Astronomers have been from a very early period the chief
exemplars of the scientific type of mind, showing how (in the
words of Professor Tyndall) “ Imagination, bounded and con
ditioned by co-operant Reason, becomes the mightiest instrument
of the physical discoverer.” Observations of the Heavenly bodies,
�10
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
as accurate as could be made by means of the unassisted senses, or
with such rude instruments as at the time could be constructed;
carefully, continuously, and systematically recorded, built up by
degrees a body of ascertained celestial facts; and, so far back as
about 200 years before Christ, we recognise Astronomy (which
chiefly then consisted of such observed facts) developing into
Science, by virtue of the early Greek geometers applying to it
mathematical calculations, whereby they were enabled to detect
the principle of uniformity, or law, which regulates the motions of
the Heavenly bodies, and so became enabled to predict, to a certain
extent, what would be the state of the sky at a future time.
It was during the reign of the Ptolemies (descendants of Philip
of Macedon), commenced at Alexandria, some 300 years before the
Christian era, that Astronomy, under the munificent patronage of
those princes, began to be cultivated as a science of combined
observation and theory.
The History, Method, and Instruments of Ancient Astronomy
formed the subject of an interesting lecture delivered here in the
month of April last by our friend Mr. Seabroke. I can now only
refer to a few leading names, but, I may single out Hipparchus,
who flourished at Alexandria about 160 years before Christ. It is
to him that the origin of Astronomy, as a science of mental calcula
tion, is chiefly to be attributed. He, being a mathematician as
well as an observer, well knew that mere observation cannot
constitute Science, and the mode in which he applied, his reasoning
faculty to obtain theoretical results is in the highest degree
interesting. One of his many discoveries I will mention, since it
is the earliest known example, in the history of Astronomy, of the
correction of an apparent fact of sense, by the intellectual com
parison of two distant observations. In the days of Hipparchus,
the length of the tropical year (an important astronomical datum)
was supposed to consist of exactly 365 days and a quarter of a day.
Hipparchus approached this problem with doubt and enquiry.
Hr first himself observed a solstice (that is the position of the sun
on the longest day), and then proceeded to compare it with a
solstice observed by the astronomer Aristarchus 147 years earlier,
and thereby he found that the Sun arrived at the same place
twelve hours sooner than it should have done if the year were of
the length I have mentioned. Hipparchus thereupon worked out
mentally the correction, viz., that the true length of the year
�Development of the Human Mind.
11
was less than 365 days and a quarter by -j^oth part, and that is
now known: to be almost exactly the true length of the tropical
year. But the great importance of this mental calculation of
Hipparchus is not so much its result, as its having inaugurated
the scientific method of obtaining real astronomical knowledge.
The works of this illustrious man have not come down to us.
They perished, along with many other priceless relics of the past,
in that great calamity for the human race, the conflagration of the
Alexandrian Library. Hence our knowledge of the discoveries of
Hipparchus is derived from the work of his celebrated successor,
the Astronomer and Geographer, Ptolemseus, or Ptolemy, who
flourished about the year 140. He is the author of one of the
greatest astronomical books in existence, the Syntaxis, as it is
called in Greek, more generally known by its Arabian name of the
Almagest—a most valuable monument of antiquity, since it con
tains nearly all the knowledge we possess of the Astronomy of the
Ancients.
Many of you know that Ptolemy adopted, as the basis of his
theory, that system of the world which places the Earth immovable
in the centre of the Universe. The Sun, the Moon, and the
Planets being supposed to revolve severally in orbits of different
magnitudes ; the entire Heavens turning round the earth in every
twenty-four hours. It had, of course, been matter of very early
observation that some few of the more brilliant of the stars move
continually about in a very erratic manner. Hence was given to
them the name of Planets (from the Greek verb 7rXavaw, to wander).
To account for the irregular motions of the Planets, Ptolemy, and
his astronomical precursors, had invented an ingenious theory of
epicycles and eccentrics, based upon imaginary circular orbits,
which was considered sufficient to explain them.
Such in brief was the supposed nature of the Universe that
became so well known as the Ptolemaic System, and which, in the
long conflict between Science and Theology, maintained its ground
for upwards of thirteen centuries !
Now, the Ptolemaic System did sufficiently account for all the
appearances that the Heavens presented to the ordinary observer.
With reference to the Stars, for instance, it is the same thing to
the spectator whether the Heavens, that is all space with its
contents, revolve round him in one direction, or the earth on which
he stands revolve within them in the opposite direction, that is,
�12
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
the diurnal phenomena would be in no way different. To believe,
however, that the fixed Stars really revolved round the Earth in
twenty-four hours required the most enormous stretch of credulity,
for, it was generally conceded, what indeed it had become impossible
rationally to doubt, that the fixed Stars must be bodies immensely
distant from the Earth, as it had been also matter of observation
that these Stars, no matter from what point they were viewed, mani
fested not the slightest variation of position amongst themselves.
The nicest measurement of the apparent angular distance of any
two Stars from each other, at whatever point of the Earth’s surface
(I might almost say the Earth’s orbit) it is performed, gives
results actually identical; that is, the fixed Stars present to the
spectator no parallax (the astronomical name for any variation of
such angular distance when found to exist). In other words,
the dimensions of the Earth, large as it is, are simply imperceptible
when compared with the vast distance which separates the Stars
from the Earth.
If, then, the Stars were so immensely distant, and of such
enormous size, as they were thus shown to be, to suppose that
they could nevertheless revolve round the Earth in twenty-four
hours is rationally inconceivable. To the theological type of mind
this difficulty of conception was of course as nothing, but, to the
scientific type of mind, the difficulty is insuperable; for science,
being based on the conviction of the uniformity of Nature, views
the Heavenly bodies and their movements, not as without, but, as
within the pale of analogy and experience, and regards Astronomy,
not as a mystery, but as a Science of cause and effect.
When, therefore, about the year 1537, Copernicus (adopting the
opinion of Pythagoras) propounded his geometrical conception,
based upon the supposition of the Earth’s double motion, its
rotation on its axis, and its translation through space in an orbit
round the Sun, a rationally conceivable account was given of every
motion that the Heavens presented to the Astronomer; an
account showing that they could all intelligibly cohere without
contradicting each other, and without any violation of the nature
of things as concluded from human experience. It was, indeed,
though not altogether original, a marvellous conception, for
Copernicus neither did nor could, in the then state of science,
explain the mechanical origin of the movements he supposed, or
assign them any dependence on physical causes. That, however,
�Development of the Human Mind.
13
was subsequently done, as we shall presently see when glancing at
the discoveries of Kepler, of Galileo, and of Newton.
*This is an ordinary representation of the chief features of the
Copernican or Solar System, showing the Sun in the centre, and
the several principal Planets in their respective orbits 'round the
Sun. It represents what the eye would see if looking down on
the system from a great elevation on the north side. It has,
however, one misleading feature, to which I beg your particular
attention. It shows the orbits of the several Planets as Circles.
Such is not the real fact. It was indeed long supposed that the
Planets moved in circles round the Sun. It was strenously
argued that they must do so. It was, however, discovered that
they don’t—that they move not in circles, but in ovals of peculiar
mathematical form.
Many were the objections raised against the startling theory of
Copernicus, The chief of them was that it contradicted Scripture,
which had taught people that it was the Sun, and not the Earth,
that moved. Amongst others, it was urged, with regard to the
Planets that are nearer to the Sun than the Earth—Venus for
example—that if she so revolved round the Sun, she would show,
when looked at from the Earth, various phases as our Moon does,
that is, she would be seen at times partly in shadow, and so exhibit
a broken, or crescent-like shape; whereas, in point of fact, nothing
of the kind, as respects the Planet Venus, had ever been observed.
Many of you have probably often gazed upon this brilliant and
singularly dazzling star without ever having observed any peculiarity
of shape about it. In truth, the objection was, at the time, un
answerable, and was by many accepted as fatal to the truth of the
theory. But, the year 1609 saw the production of one of the
most wonderful instruments ever invented by human ingenuity,
which may be said virtually to have connected the eye of the mind
with the eye of the body by means of a new sense, enabling the
observer to see the Heavens with a precision, and to an extent,
hitherto undreamt of, and, when the Telescope, in the grasp of
Galileo, was turned towards the Planet Venus, the phases attri
buted to her by the Copernican theory appeared, actually as
the testimony of the Heavens themselves, in attestation of its
accuracy!
* See Diagram, page 14.
�14
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
�Development of the Human Mind.
Here you see the phases of the
Planet as the Telescope shows
them. They are photographic as
well as telescopic appearances, but
they show clearly the various opti
Ld
cal sizes and shapes of the Planet Q_
resulting from her moving in an O
orbit round the Sun interior to o
CO
that of our Earth.
Lil
Still several important details _l
remained unexplained. For in Ld
stance—the observed motions of Ithe Planets seemed still so erratic, Ld
that the complicated scheme of I
cycles and epicycles had been H
retained by Copernicus to account >
for them. At length the actual CD
form of the orbits of the Planets
was discovered by the Astronomer Z
£
Kepler, and subsequently eluci
o
dated in a manner that proves I
a most remarkable coincidence, not co
to say identity, between the reason
co
of man and the reason that regu <
lates the movements of the Uni
co
verse !
Now, some 1800 years before D
Z
the Astronomer Kepler discovered id
the precise form of the planetary >
orbits round the Sun, and the Ll
beautiful laws which regulate them, O
the Mathematicians of Ancient
Greece had acutely divined, that if co
Ld
a right-angled triangle be made co
to revolve round one of its sides <
containing the right angle, there I
will be described a figure having 0very remarkable properties, des
tined (though undesigned by them)
to lead eventually to very sur
prising results.
15
�16
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
K
This is a right-angled triangle
and, if I were to make it
revolve round its vertical side as _ a fixed axis, the figure so
described would obviously be> this. A This figure, in its solid
this,
sugar-loaf shape, is termed a Cone, / \ and, if it be intersected
C
or cut by a plane in certain particular -- directions, there are pro- .
duced several distinct forms of Curves.
This is the figure of a right Cone.* If it be intersected in a line
parallel to its base, the resulting closed curve is a Circle. If cut
through at an angle to its base, the resulting closed curve is an
Ellipse. If cut parallel to one of its sloping sides, the resulting
curve is a Parabola, and if the plane cut only one side of the
cone, and not parallel to the other, the curve produced is the
Hyperbola.
Now these Curves, or Conic Sections, are susceptible of mathe
matical treatment of a singularly interesting and elegant character,
and the ancient Greek Geometers, particularly Apollonius and
Archimedes, have left us mathematical works showing that they
took intense delight in following out such speculations.
Why they should have been thus fascinated cannot be doubtful
to us, for the vast development of physico-mathematical science in
our day has shown conclusively that the intellect of man is so
constituted as to be ever in affinity with scientific truth, to have a
natural relish and love for it; and the Greek Geometers, in their
invention of Conic Sections, had lighted upon a truth of Nature of
the most expansive and recondite character, although they neither
knew nor suspected what they led to, and what the illustrious
Kepler, by their assistance, discovered, viz.: That the Planets
actually move round the Sun in that one of these Conic Sections
termed an Ellipse (the Ellipse and a planet’s Orbit are, you observe,
in form identicalt); and, moreover (as was demonstrated by Sir
Isaac Newton), regard being had to the laws of motion (discovered
by Galileo), and the principle of universal Gravitation (discovered
by Newton himself), it would be physically impossible for the
Heavenly bodies to move in any other orbit than one or other of
the Conic Sections !
Thus then there became revealed the immense chain of truths
that connects geometrical propositions conceived by the reason
of man with the most sublime and majestic phenomena of Universal
See Diagram, page 17. + See Ibid, and Diagram, p. 23.
�C O N IC
17
HYPERBOLA
SECTIONS.
Development of the Human Mind.
�18
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
Nature, showing them to be the unerring results of the operation
of mathematical, that is, intellectual, Laws I
As our argument particularly regards Astronomical Discovery
as resulting chiefly from the exercise* of the human reason, I will
try to show you somewhat more distinctly some of the great
intellectual truths that the genius of Kepler, of Galileo, and of
Newton, combined, succeeded in establishing.
Copernicus had not in reality attacked the principle of the
Ptolemaic or Epicyclical theory. He had rather sought to render
it more simple; and, though he had correctly pointed out that the
Sun was the centre of the planetary system, he had not discovered
that the Sun had any physical connection with the Planets as the
centre of their motions. Now, Kepler, in the course of his con
summate researches, demonstrated the important fact, that the
planes of the orbits of all the Planets, and the lines of force
joining their apsides (the points of their orbital extremities) passed
through the Sun; thereby establishing a most important relation
between the Sun and the Planets. This family connection (as it
has been called) Kepler further demonstrated by discovering the
three remarkable laws which regulate all the planetary motions.
The first of these celebrated Laws is : That a Planet moves in
the Conic Section termed an Ellipse, having the Sun, not in the
centre, but in one of its foci. The second law is : That the
Planet’s radius vector (an imaginary line joining the Planet to the
Sun*) will, as it moves, describe about its centre equal areas in
equal times. A full explanation of these two laws would involve
us in mathematics, but presently I will give you an illustration
showing the peculiar combination of force by which the elliptic
orbit is formed, and equal areas swept out by the Planet’s vector
in equal times. Kepler’s third law applies to all the Planets
considered in conjunction with the Sun as their common focus,
and may be expressed thus : That the squares of the times of the
planetary revolutions are proportional to the cubes of their mean
distances from the Sun; which is a result of the Sun and the whole
of the Planets reciprocally affecting one another.
It is a necessary inference from this law that it must be one and
the same force (subsequently discovered, as we shall see, by Sir
Isaac Newton), modified only by distance from the Sun, that
retains all the Planets in their respective orbits round about the
Sun.
See Diagram, p. 23.
�Development of the Human Mind.
19
Such were the three remarkable Laws whose discovery we owe
to the sagacity of Kepler. Their immutable truth may be taken as
conclusively proved, inasmuch as, since Kepler’s time, the number
of discovered bodies in our Solar System has more than trebled,
and all have in turn verified these laws.
Upon these propositions of Kepler it was reserved for Sir Isaac
Newton to bring to bear those matchless powers of generalization
which enabled him to discover the cause of the whole of them,
aided, however, by the acute discoveries of the laws of motion by
Galileo (Galileo, whose persecution by the infallible Church, on
account of his scientific verification of the Earth’s motion, is at last
becoming a common place of history !).
Galileo then discovered the first great Law of motion or inertia,
viz.: That all motion is rectilinear and uniform—that is, a body
impelled by a single force will move in a right line, and with an
invariable velocity. He also discovered the Law of acceleration,
which regulates the motion of a falling body, viz.: That the
velocity and the space traversed are proportioned—the one to the
time and the other to its square. He also discovered that most
important law of the co-existence of force, viz.: That any motion
common to all the bodies of any system whatever does not affect
the particular motions of such bodies with regard to each other.
At length came the grand discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton, up
to which I have desired to lead you through the discoveries of
his predecessors, because it is commonly supposed that Newton’s
discoveries were something immeasurably superior to, and utterly
unlike, everything that had gone before—That in short
“ Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night;
God said—‘ Let Newton be!’—and all was Light! ”
This, however, is more of a poetic fancy than a scientific truth.
The magnificent genius of Newton required no such flattery at the
hands of his countryman. In point of fact Newton’s illustrious
precursors, whose discoveries we have been considering, and other
Astronomers, especially Huyghens, Borelli, Halley, and Hooke,
whom I can now only name, had approached exceedingly near to
what Newton accomplished, so that his grand discoveries, though
going further, really supplement and harmonise with their previous
labours, illustrating clearly the law of continuity that regulates, by
successive steps, the graduated progress of human intelligence.
�20
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
It should be remarked too, because it has been often thought other
wise, that though Newton, in the propositions of the “ Principia,”
has described his discoveries through the medium of a singularly con
cise mathematical synthesis, yet (as pointed out by Laplace in his
“ Systéme du Monde”) Newton actually made those discoveries
by following the analytical method of Induction, so luminously ex
pounded by Lord Bacon in the aphorisms of the “Novum Organum.”
The great discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton, as mathematically
developed in his immortal “ Principia” (published in the year 1687),
were mainly these. His chief discovery was that of the Law or
Principle of Universal Gravitation, viz.: That every particle of
matter in existence attracts every other particle with a force, vary
ing inversely as the square of their mutual distances, and directly
as the mass of the attracting particle. It is related that Newton
was led to arrive at the knowledge of this fundamental law of the
Universe by observing an apple fall from a tree before him, and,
though the anecdote is not well authenticated, there seems nothing
improbable in conceiving that, though a common incident to
common minds, it should have roused such a mind as Newton’s to
reflect upon it. It is certain, however, that he first tested his
discovery by applying it to the observed motions of the Moon, and
it is an attested fact, that, on finding his calculations were about
to show results verifying his hypothesis, he became so agitated as
to require the assistance of a friend to complete them. Thus
Newton developed his grand thought, that the movements of the
Heavenly bodies occur according to the same laws as the move
ments here on Earth!
Newton’s second great discovery consisted in demonstrating as
mathematical truths the laws of the planetary motions discovered
by Kepler, showing that they are the result of the attraction of
gravitation, a centripetal (or centre-seeking) force varying inversely
as the square of the distance of the Planets from the Sun as their
focus, and proving mathematically that no curve can be the
trajectory of a body moving in obedience to such a force other than
the curve of one or other of the Conic Sections !
These amazing discoveries enabled Newton to ascertain that the
most mysterious Comets are members of our Solar System, moving
periodically round the Sun in elongated ellipses.
Now, as soon as it is ascertained that a Comet moves in an
ellipse, it is known that the Comet must return to us—the ellipse
�Development of the Human Mind.
21
being a closed curve.* Hence Newton was able to calculate and
define precisely the elliptic orbit which takes the great Comet,
whose reappearance has been recorded but four times within the
period of human memory, exactly 575 years to go away and come
back to us again !
Thus became established the fundamental truths of the Coper
nican system; the Ptolemaic theory of eccentrics and epicycles
completely overthrown; the elliptical theory established in its
stead; and the motions of the Heavenly Bodies, especially the
Planets, shown to be the effects of mathematical laws. The elliptic
elements of the Planetary Orbits I will now very briefly try to
explain.
The orbital motion of a Planet round the Sun is the resultant of
two forces. The one is a force, which, by itself, would simply
cause the Planet to move in a right line and with constant velocity.
How such a force originated, or what the cause of it, is, at present,
unknown. It may be, as Mary Somerville defined it, an impulse
or momentum imparted to the Planet when it was first projected
into space. The other force is one, whose nature as we have seen,
was discovered by Sir Isaac Newton, viz.: The attraction of
Gravitation. By itself, it would simply cause the Planet to fall or
be drawn into the Sun, by reason of the Sun’s vastly superior re
lative size. This latter force, combined with the former, deflects
the right line of the Planet’s motion into a curve.
I will give you a simple illustration of the combination of these
forces :—
Suppose this small ball to represent a Planet, and this large ball
the Sun, my hand as imparting to the Planet its momentum, or
force of projection, and this string, connecting the two, to represent
the force of gravitation attracting the Planet to the Sun. Now, if
the force of the Planet’s projection were perpendicular to the force
of gravitation, and if the two forces acted simply in balanced
combination, the velocity of the Planet would be constant, and its
Orbit round the Sun would be exactly the Conic Section termed a
circle. (The small ball is whirled round.)
Now, if the force of gravitation were to cease, that is, if my
string were to break, the Planet would not continue a curved
motion, but would fly off its orbit at a tangent. (Marked on the
* See Diagram, page 17.
�22
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
diagram.*) If the Planet’s momentum were destroyed, the Planet,
yielding to the force of gravitation, would fall, or be drawn into
the Sun.
The two forces, however, do not affect the Planet equally; the
direction of its momentum not being perpendicular but oblique to
the force of gravitation, and the force of gravitation varying
inversely as the square of the distance of the Planet from the Sun.
Hence the Planet moves, not with a constant, but with an ever
varying velocity, and in an Orbit, which is not circular but elliptic,
or oval.
A B C D show the elliptic path of P a planet round S the Sunt.
The Planet moves from C to D in the same time that it moves
from A to B, although the distances differ, by reason of the area
C S D being equal to the area A S B.
Now this equal movement is thus effected. Bear in mind that
the force of gravitation varies inversely as the square of the
distance of the Planet from the Sun; so that when this varying
force of gravitation (represented again by this string) is increased,
which of course it is as the Planet approaches the Sun, there is an
increase of its angular and linear velocity, and a rapid quickening
of its periodic time, showing the compensation by which its equable
description of areas is maintained under a constantly diminishing
distance. Thus (as the small ball is whirled round, the string is
wound upon the handle), you observe that as the distance of the
Planet from the Sun decreases, its motion becomes more rapid. Now,
such is the nature of the Planet’s motion taking place in one part of
its orbit, viz., from C to D, where it is being drawn nearer to the
Sun.
On the other hand, when the varying force of gravitation is
diminished, which of course it is as the Planet passes away from
the Sun, then the Planet’s time is slower, whilst the velocity is
lessened. Thus (as the small ball is whirled round, the string is
unwound from the handle), you observe, that as the distance of
the Planet from the Sun increases, its motion becomes slower.
Now, such is the nature of the Planet’s motion taking place in
another part of its orbit, viz., from A to B, where it is receding
further off from the Sun.
The combination then of the oblique direction of the Planet’s
* See Diagram, page 23.
t Ibid.
�Development of the Human Mind.
ORBIT OF A PLANET ROUND THE SUN.
Slowest in Aphelion.
Fastest in Perihelion.
23
�24
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
momentum, with the ever-varying force of gravitation, compels the
Planet to move in the Conic Section, termed an Ellipse, and causes
the radius vector of the Planet to sweep out equal areas in equal times.
Such is the rationale of the astonishing phenomena first dis
covered to be Physical Laws by Kepler, and afterwards demon
strated as mathematical truths by Newton !
Remarkable corollaries have since been dedueed from the Coper
nican System, especially by the Astronomers Clairaut, Lagrange,
and Laplace.
We owe to the Astronomer Lagrange the demonstration of the
stability of the system. The conclusion he arrived at was indeed
most astounding. He discovered that the mean distances of the
several planets are really not subject to any variation whatever.
They are merely affected by a series of inequalities and inclinations
that in successive periods mutually compensate themselves ; so
that, throughout an indefinite lapse of ages the mean motions of „
the planets, including our Earth, must have remained, and must
still remain, unaltered—a striking proof of the unerring order
which reigns among the vast bodies of the Universe, and of the
immutable laws by which they are controlled in their courses.
The great geometer Laplace supplemented his abstruse astrono
mical researches by the composition of a work (Traité de Méchanique Céleste), showing that the entire mechanism of the celestial
bodies is strictly in accordance with the principles and laws of
mathematical science. This profound and luminous treatise of
Laplace is the most wonderful performance perhaps (Newton’s
immortal “ Principia ” excepted) that has ever proceeded from the
human pen. In it, all that had been perceptible to the eye of
scientific analogy, or could be theoretically deduced from the
great Newtonian principle of Cosmical order, is so fully developed
and mathematically demonstrated, that at length this material
mechanism of the Heavens comes to strike the astonished student
as being, in itself, the very highest exponent of mind !
I cannot conclude this rapid and imperfect sketch without some
reference, however slight, to the brilliant discovery of the Planet
N eptune by the Astronomers Leverrier and Adams, in the year
1846. The Planet Uranus* showed such perturbations of its orbit as
made it appear a conspicuous exception to the laws of Kepler.
The cause of these perturbations was surmised by Adams to be
See Diagram, p. 14.
�Development of the Human Mind.
25
the attraction of some undiscovered body in the Heavens, at such
a distance, and of such a mass, as would exhibit an attractive force
sufficient to account for them.
On this hypothesis Adams proceeded to calculate from the •
irregularities in the motions of Uranus, as data, what should be
the mass and the elements of the orbit of the disturbing body, and
what therefore would be the exact spot in the sky in which it
should be found, and he forwarded his calculations to the Astro
nomer Royal. The disturbing body, thus pointed at, was soon
afterwards found (by Dr. Galle) in the place indicated, being the
planet to which the name of Neptune* has been given.
The amazing difficulty of working out such a recondite mathe
matical problem can be conceived. Indeed, the intellectual
grandeur of this discovery surpasses probably everything preceding
it, and, by the test of resolving the inverse problem of perturbations
—that is, “ given the disturbance, to find, as unknown quantities,
the orbit of the disturbing body, and its place in that orbit,”
corroborates conclusively the truth of the theoretical views of
Copernicus, of Kepler, and of Newton.
Thus have I essayed to lead you to the threshold of the
Sanctuary of Astronomical Science. Time does not permit, even
if I possessed the power, to lift the veil, that we might behold the
intellectual treasures of the Shrine within !
Here then we may pause; to contemplate with more intelligence
than the Chaldean of old, but, with none the less reverence, the
glorious splendours of the starry host! “Heaven’s golden alphabet,
emblazed to seize the sight!
“ The prospect vast, what is it ? viewed aright,
’Tis Nature’s system of Divinity;
*********
’Tis elder Scripture, writ by God’s own hand,
Scripture authentic, uncorrupt by man.
*********
’Tis unconfined
To Christian Land or Jewry; fairly writ,
In Language universal to Mankind,
A Language worthy the Great Mind that Speaks ! ”
Though my sketch of so lofty a theme has necessarily been of
the slightest character, I hope I have succeeded in showing you
that the noble Study of Astronomy, though, by reason of the
* See Diagram, p. 14.
�26
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
stupendous phenomena with which it deals, does not, like Chem
istry, permit of experiment, yet presents to us the purest type of
true scientific method, viz., the free and unbiassed exercise of the
■highest powers of Reason upon the most carefully observed facts
and phenomena of Nature; proving that these are subject to
invariable Laws, and imparting to man, whose life, even whose
species, occupies a mere point in the duration of the World,
knowledge that embraces myriads of ages.
And now let us endeavour to realise the more striking eifects of
the marvellous Astronomical Discoveries that have revealed to us
the true system of our Universe.
The first idea that must occur to us is, that our point of outward
view should be the surface of the Sun. Taking our intellectual
stand at the Sun,* the Heavenly bodies of our system appear before
us in all the Majesty of the Divine Order of their due proportions.
Our Earth is seen, as it really is, not the world, but comparatively
a very small globular star, not the centre of anything, but, circula
ting in its place and season, among the other planets, round the
Sun.f The petty theological schemes, that were composed by men
when they believed the earth to be a flat plain, the centre of the
Universe, disappear altogether, like ghosts before the rising light
of dawn!
Our views then, whether religious or otherwise, are at once
corrected, expanded, and elevated, to a degree that must convince
us that not only are isolated statements in the Hebrew Scriptures
discredited, but that the whole Theology of the Christian Lathers
is deprived of its fundamental basis.
Our knowledge, derived from Astronomy, of the small size, and
double motion, of the Planet we inhabit, has, in truth, destroyed
intellectually every system of theological belief that has been based
on the notion that the entire Universe was ordained for man.
But, more than this, Astronomical discovery has proved to us
that the order maintained on Earth, and throughout our System,
is not dependent upon theological dogma, however much belief in
it be backed up by authority and tradition, but, results from the
universal simple gravitation of its parts. Eor gravitation not only
regulates every physical efiect; there can be no mental calculation,
no moral feeling, no social custom into which the law of gravita
tion has not, in some shape, at some time, entered as a factor.
See Diagram, p. 14. t Ibid.
�Development of the Human Mind.
27
Another most important consequence has been this. Previously
to the proof obtained through Astronomical discovery of the per
manence of the surrounding physical conditions of life (so con
clusively demonstrated by Lagrange), the very conception of
stability in human association was inadmissable. Anything like a
social science was impossible. Even attempts at social improve
ment seemed waste of energy, for, in the ignorance of its astro
nomical conditions, it was believed that the World was shortly
coming to an end ! and, indeed, as a device designed by Priestcraft
for exciting terror, the notion that the World was shortly coming
to an end was assiduously asserted, and as credulously accepted.
In the early ages of Christianity this terrorising conception was
thoroughly believed in. The Christian Gospels were interpreted
as being saturated with its spirit. John the Baptist and Christ
himself were understood to be clear and emphatic that the end of
all earthly things was at hand! Of course such a prospect com
pletely paralysed all attempts to improve the conditions of social
life. To retreat from the World to a monastery or a nunnery,
there to await the awful event, seemed the only wise and holy course.
In the 10th century the minds of men were- so impregnated
with this appalling opinion that people of wealth and intelligence
actually commenced their last Wills and solemn documents with
language such as this: “In the expectation of the approaching
end of the World I devise and bequeath,” so and so.
In the 16th century the inhabitants of Europe were nearly
driven mad with fright by a theological prediction of a second
Deluge being about to happen. The people of Toulouse in Erance
building themselves a huge vessel, after the pattern of Noah’s
Ark, to save themselves from the expected impending destruction!
But the predicted day came and passed, and still the Seasons run
their appointed courses.
The disastrous influence of this demoralising dogma can of course
be imagined. Astronomical discovery, in showing the permanent
stability of our Solar System, has at length, in the minds of
nearly all rational persons, utterly exploded it.
Another scarcely less important deduction from Astronomical
Science is this : it exhibits the Universe as a region of uniformity
or realm of Law, and the Laws of Nature as Laws of Beason.
Eor, it is obvious, from the regidarity of its grand disclosures, that
our World is ruled by Natural Law, and not by Supernatural
�28
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
Will. That one reason pervades and governs all Nature, and that,
unless the laws of our Reason and the laws of Nature were
identical, it would be impossible to comprehend the latter to the
extent Astronomers have done. It has proved to us also that the
reign of Reason dominates the dominion of the Imagination; for
Astronomical Science, fathoming the abysses of space, has measured
magnitudes, computed distances, and calculated results (proved in
verified predictions) that are utterly beyond the realisation of the
human Imagination.
Astronomical discovery also shows (I know not why we should
shrink from its avowal) that the Reason pervading the Universe,
and the Reason of man flow from, or are correlated with, a mate
rial source.
The Astronomer, who has weighed the worlds, penetrated space
to the depths of infinity, and learnt the laws that rule every
motion of the heavenly bodies, still finds himself in presence of a
mystery, and, reflecting upon the material brain that produces
thought, the material cone that yields its curve, the material globes
of heaven winging their measured flight in orbits, whose curvature
thought has formulated, the material principle of universal gravi
tation, that human thought has unveiled, the material energy that
brings us light from the remotest stars, feels impelled to ask (and,
like the physicist, he asks in vain)—divorced from Matter, where
is Mind to be found ?
Astronomical discovery has also revealed to us an Order of
Nature, as the Criterion of objective Truth, and the Area of real
Knowledge. It has also supplied us with a just Standard of Pro
portion—as regards external Nature, in proving to us that our
Earth is not the World, but only a very small proportionate part
of it—as respects the Human Mind, in proving to us, that the
Imagination cannot rightfully be the dominating intellectual
faculty, since the Reason is shown to excel it.
Astronomical discovery has also armed man with a real power
of Prediction, that is, a power enabling him to foretell beforehand
events that will happen, and to indicate clearly the precise time
and place at which they will appear. All of you know that, either
in the Nautical Almanac, or the periodical press, it is pointed out
long previously when there will occur an eclipse of the Sun or
Moon, or an occultation or transit of a Planet, or an extraordinary
high Tide, even the return of a Comet, and you know, by your own
�Development of the Human Mind.
29
experience more or less, that such prediction is exactly fulfilled to
the day and hour. In this precise power of prediction, Science,
whose great object is prevision, savoir pour prévoir—-to see in order
to foresee-—has effectually rescued herself from all Theology and
Metaphysics, whose mystifying and interminable controversies,
now continued through more than 2,000 years, have never been
able to prophecy accurately anything. The whole compass of
sacred literature does not contain a single undisputed instance of
a theological prophecy being even so much as intelligible until after
the happening of the event, which then indeed, but not until then,
is alleged to have been predicted.
Another most ennobling influence on the human mind of Astro
nomical Science has been its extirpation of Superstitions, or Beliefs
inconsistent with the unbiassed dictates of Beason, and the expe
rienced course of Nature. This it has accomplished in showing
that the basis of all our real knowledge may be traced by our
Beason to the laws of Astronomical phenomena, and so accounted
for, without any necessity of resorting to the supposition of super
natural interference, or the intrusion into the course of life of
any providential power contrary to the order of Beason.
Again, Astronomical discovery, in encouraging a love of enquiry
in the spirit of Truth, has both invigorated Culture and reformed
Education. Previously to the growth of Astronomical Science and
the subsidiary sciences to which it led, especially biological science,
with which Astronomy is closely connected (it being impossible to
form a scientific conception of the conditions of vital existence
without taking into account the Astronomical elements that charac
terise the planet which is the home of that existence), the principle
branches of the higher Academical Culture consisted in the study
of the Mythology, the History, and the Literature of Classical
Antiquity, the verbal Logic of Aristotle, and the Theology and
Metaphysics of the early Christian and Middle Ages, usually
accompanied by a course of Mathematics, though, respecting the
utility of mathematics, a difference of opinion actually prevailed.
That intellectual refinement and fastidious taste were produced by
the discipline of these studies is undoubted. They were, however,
not rarely accompanied by a want of appreciation of the Truths of
Nature, by a tendency to believe whatever was inculcated by
authority, and by an inordinate reverence for whatever was old':
and the result was sometimes seen in an emasculation of mind, or
�30
The Influence of Astronomical Discovery in the
atrophy of the investigating and sceptical faculties. The essence
of such a curriculum might almost be distilled into a single phrase
—The Cultivation of Credulity !
Science has very considerably improved all this, and if we look
at the course of studies now pursued at our academies,-even at the
old conservative Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, we per
ceive that an attempt is honestly being made to impart to Youth
some portion of that positive or scientific knowledge which forms
the backbone of our European Civilization; and that the object in
view, in the training of the mind, is no longer to impress upon the
scholar—“ To acquiesce, to remember, and to believe ”—but,- “ To
doubt, to enquire, and to compare.” In one important study, that
of Mathematics, their transition, through the advance of physical
science, from pure to applied—that is, their alliance with, or appli
cation to, the facts and processes of Nature, has converted mathe
matics, from being used as a basis of mere dialectics, into the most
powerful deductive instrument for the discovery of the Laws of
Natural Phenomena, and for the verification of scientific knowledge.
Lastly, I will add, that, when we call to mind the false theolo
gical views of the nature of the World we inhabit, the spurious
theological beliefs respecting its method of government, which
Astronomical discovery has exorcised, setting free the mind from
the fear which they inspired, we cannot doubt how greatly it has
aided in the purifying of Moral Principles, and in the increasing of
Human Happiness.
Human happiness, the greatest good of social man. Virtuous
happiness was the goal which the speculations of Plato were
intended to reach, and it was the ethical standard at which were
aimed the lifelong studies of one whom I am now going to name
in contrast with Plato,—John Stuart Mill.
If the occasion permitted, willingly would I dwell on the many
points in common that characterised and adorned the genius of
these greatly-gifted men; each of whom was endowed with an
order of mind the loftiest which our species has ever exhibited.
But the one, Plato, as we have seen, lived before the rise of
Astronomical Science, and those subsidiary sciences that have
followed its lead; whilst the other, Mill, presents to us the ripest
results of scientific culture. Both were enthusiasts in their love
of right and hatred of wrong; but Plato was a visionary, Mill an
utilitarian. To summarise the Philosophy of Plato has ever been
�Development of the Human Mind.
31
a logical impossibility, for he never seems to have had any steady
convictions to guide him. Though the most influential thinker of
antiquity, it is difficult to point out any real important truths
that he can be said to have established. His subjective method of
enquiry accounts for this. He thought that the source of know
ledge was Reflection, which gives us ideas—and not Experience,
which gives us facts. Hence there is a shadowy unsubstantial
vein pervading his writings, which, when deprived of the halo of
their exquisite style and language, so charming to the lover of
literature, leave a void in the mind of the student seeking to
attain some solid foothold for support and counsel in the battle ot
actual life. How different is this from Mill, who has taught us
that all real knowledge is derived from Experience, and that the
grand sources of human suffering are conquerable by human
energy and scientific effort.
I will mention, by way of further contrast, but a single work
of each—-Plato’s “Republic”—Mill’s “Political Economy.” The
college recluse may indeed continue to prefer the former, and
scornfully smile at the simplicity of our juxtaposition of these
celebrated Treatises ; but, to the man of common sense and common
humanity, whose pulse beats strongly with the desire of doing
something practical towards elevating the moral and material con
dition of the humblest of his fellow creatures, and who fain would
leave his little corner of the world better and happier than he
found it—the superiority, in solid truth, in moral worth, in social
utility, of the great work of Mill, does not admit of the shadow
of a doubt.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and to encourage
the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on Science,—physical, intellectual,
and moral,—History, Literature, and Art; especially in their bearing
upon the improvement and social well-being of mankind.
THE SOCIETY’S LECTURES
ARE DELIVERED AT
ST. GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On SUNDAY Afternoons, at FOUR o'clock precisely
(Annually—from November to May).
Twenty-Four Lectures (in three series), ending 29th April, 1877, will
be given.
Members’ £1 subscription entitles them to an annual ticket transfer
able (and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight single reservedseat tickets available for any lecture.
Tickets for each series (one for each lecture) as below,—
To the Shilling Reserved Seats—5s. 6d.
To the Sixpenny Seats—2s., being at the rate of Threepence each
lecture.
For tickets apply (by letter) to the Hon Treasurer, Wm. Henry
Domville, Esq., 15, Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W.
Payment at the door:—One Penny;—Sixpence;—and (Reserved Seats)
One Shilling.
Kenny & Co., Printers, 25, Camden Road, London, N.W.
�
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The influence of astronomical discovery in the development of the human mind : a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society on Sunday afternoon, 25th February, 1877
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
THE
FIRST & THE LAST CATASTROPHE ;
A CRITICISM
ON SOME RECENT SPECULATIONS ABOUT THE
DURATION OF THE UNIVERSE.
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
SUNDAY LECTURE
SOCIETY,
ON
SUNDAY
AFTERNOON,
12 th
APRIL,
1874.
BY
Professor W. K. CLIFFORD, F.R.S.
Reprinted from the ‘ Fortnightly Review,' by hind permission of the Editor.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY THE SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY.
1875.
Price Threepence.
�SYLLABUS.
Professor Clerk Maxwell, in his lecture on
“ Molecules,” delivered to the British Association at
Bradford, argued from the absolute similarity of
certain molecules in the Sun and Stars and upon
the earth’s surface, that they can neither have been
evolved by any natural process nor have existed
from all eternity. In the first part of the lecture it
will be argued that we have no evidence of such
absolute exactness as would warrant the first con
clusion, and that a theory of the evolution of matter
may yet be looked upon as a possibility.
Sir William Thomson has remarked that if,
assuming Fourier’s laws of the conduction of heat,
we endeavoui’ to calculate the past history of any
portion of matter, this calculation is only successful
for a limited time, and that at a certain date this
portion of matter must have been in a state which
cannot have resulted by the conduction of heat from
any previous state. Some writers (Mr. Murphy,
'Scientific Bases of Faith;’ Professor Jevons,
' Principles of Science,’ p. 438) have inferred from
this that we have evidence either of a beginning of
the universe or of a change in the laws of nature at
a distant date. The Second Part of the Lecture will
be devoted to showing that this inference is not a
valid one, and that we have no such evidence of a
beginning of the present order of things.
Finally, it will be pointed out that the field of
healthy human interest is limited to so much of the
past as can serve as guide to our actions, and so
much of the future as may be appreciably affected
by them.
�THE
FIRST & THE LAST CATASTROPHE;
A CRITICISM
ON SOME RECENT SPECULATIONS ABOUT THE
DURATION OF THE UNIVERSE.
PROPOSE in this lecture to consider speculations of
quite recent days about the beginning and the end of
the world. The world is a very interesting thing, and I
suppose that from the earliest times that men began to form
any coherent idea of it at all, they began to guess in some
way or other how it was that it all began, and how it was
all going to end. But there is one peculiarity about these
speculations which I wish now to consider, that makes them
quite different from the early guesses of which we read in
many ancient books. These modern speculations are
attempts to find out how things began, and how they are
to end, by consideration of the way in which they are
going on now. And it is just that character of these
speculations that gives them their interest for you and for
me; for we have only to consider these questions from the
scientific point of view. By the scientific point of view,
I mean one which attempts to apply past experience to new
circumstances according to an observed order of nature.
So that we shall only consider the way in which things
began, and the way in which they are to end, in so far as
we seem able to draw inferences about those questions
from facts which we know about the way in which things
are going on now. And, in fact, the great interest of the
subject to me lies in the amount of illustration which it
offers of the degree of knowledge which we have now
attained of the way in which the universe is going on.
I
�4
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
The first of these speculations is one set forth by Pro
fessor Clerk Maxwell, in a lecture on Molecules, delivered
before the British Association at Bradford. By a coinci
dence, which to me is a happy one, at this moment Pro
fessor Maxwell is lecturing to the Chemical Society of
London upon the evidences of the molecular constitution
of matter.
*
Now, this argument of his, which he put
before the British Association at Bradford, depends entirely
upon the modern theory of the molecular constitution of
matter. I think this the more important, because a great
number of people appear to have been led to the conclusion
that this theory is very similar to the guesses which we
find in ancient writers—Democritus and Lucretius. It so
happens that these ancient writers did hold a view of the
constitution of things which in many striking respects
agrees with the view which we hold in modern times.
This parallelism has been brought recently before the
public by Professor Tyndall in his excellent address at
Belfast. And it is perhaps on account of the parallelism,
which he pointed out at that place, between the theories
held amongst the ancients and the theory now held amongst
the moderns, that many people who are acquainted with
classic literature have thought that a knowledge of the
views of Democritus and Lucretius would enable them to
understand and criticise the modern theory of matter.
That, however, is a mistake. The difference between the
two is mainly this : the atomic theory of Democritus was
a guess, and no more than a guess. Everybody around
him was guessing about the origin of things, and they
guessed in a great number of ways ; but he happened to
make a guess which was more near the right thing than
any of the others. This view was right in its main hypo
thesis, that all things are made up of elementary parts,
and that the different properties of different things depend
rather upon difference of arrangement than upon ultimate
difference in the substance of which they are composed.
* See Nature, vol. viii., pp. 441, and vol. xi., pp. 357,374.
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
$
Although this was contained in the atomic theory of
Democritus, as expounded by Lucretius, yet it will be
found by any one who examines further the consequences
which are drawn from it, that it very soon diverges from
the truth of things, as we might naturally expect it
would. On the contrary, the view of the constitution of
matter which is held by scientific men in the present day
is not a guess at all.
In the first place I will endeavour to explain what are
the main points in this theory. First of all we must take
the simplest form of matter, which turns out to be a gas,
—such, for example, as the air in this room. The belief
of scientific men in the present day is that this air is not
a continuous thing, that it does not fill the whole of th®
space in the room, but is made up of an enormous num
ber of exceedingly small particles. There are two sorts of
particles : one sort of particle is oxygen, and another sort
of particle nitrogen. All the particles of oxygen are as
near as possible alike in these two respects ; first in weighty
and secondly in certain peculiarities of mechanical struc
ture. These small molecules are not at rest in the room,
but are flying about in all directions with a mean velocity
of seventeen miles a minute. They do not fly far in one
direction ; but any particular molecule, after going over an
incredibly short distance—the measure of which has been
made—meets another, not exactly plump, but a little on
one side, so that they behave to one another somewhat in
the same way as two people do who are dancing Sir Roger
de Coverley; they join hands, swing round, and then fly
away in different directions. All these molecules are con
stantly changing the direction of each other’s motion;
they are flying about with very different velocities, although,
as I have said, their mean velocity is about seventeen miles
a minute. If the velocities were all marked off on a scale,
they would be found distributed about the mean velocity
just as shots are distributed about a mark. If a great
many shots are fired at a target, the hits will be found
thickest at the bull’s-eye, and they will gradually diminish
�6
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
as we go away from that, according to a certain law, which
is called the law of error. It was first stated clearly by
La Place ; and it is one of the most remarkable conse
quences of theory that the molecules of a gas have
their velocities distributed amongst them precisely accord
ing to this law of error. In the case of a liquid, it is
believed that the state of things is quite different. We
said that in the gas the molecules are moved in straight
lines, and that it is only during a small portion of their
motion that they are deflected by other molecules ; but in
a liquid we may say that the molecules go about as if they
were dancing the grand chain in the Lancers. Every mole
cule after parting company with one finds another, and so
is constantly going about in a curved path, and never gets
quite clear away from the sphere of action of the surround
ing molecules. But notwithstanding that, all molecules in
a liquid are constantly changing their places, and it is for
that reason that diffusion takes place in the liquid. Take
a large tank of water and drop a little iodine into it, and
you will find after a certain time all the water turned
slightly blue. That is because all the iodine molecules
have changed like the others and spread themselves over
the whole of the tank. Because, however, you cannot see
this, except where you use different colours, you must not
suppose that it does not take place where the colours are
the same. In every liquid all the molecules are running
about and continually changing and mixing themselves up
in fresh forms. In the case of a solid quite a different
thing takes place. In a solid every molecule has a place
which it keeps ; that is to say, it is not at rest any more
than a molecule of a liquid or a gas, but it has a certain
mean position which it is always vibrating about and keep
ing fairly near to, and it is kept from losing that position
by the action of the surrounding molecules. These are
the main points of the theory of the constitution of matter
as at present believed.
It differs from the theory of Democritus in this way.
There is no doubt that in the first origin of it, when
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
7
it was suggested to the mind of Daniel Bernouilli as an
explanation of the pressure of gases, or to. the mind of
Dalton as an explanation of chemical reactions, it was a
guess; that is to say, it was a supposition which would
explain these facts of physics and chemistry,.but which was
not known to be true. Some theories are still in that posi
tion ; other theories are known to be true, because they
can be argued back to from the facts. In order to make
out that your supposition is true, it is necessary to show,
not merely that that particular supposition will explain the
facts, but also that no other one will. Now, by the efforts
of Clausius and Clerk Maxwell, the molecular theory or
matter has been put in this other position. Namely,.instead
no.w of saying, Let us suppose that such and such things are
true, and then deducing from that supposition what the con
sequences ought to be, and showing that these consequences
are just the facts which we observe ; instead of doing that, I
say, we make-certain experiments, we show that certain facts
are’undoubtedly true, and from these facts we go back by a
direct chain of logical reasoning, which there is. no way of
getting out of, to the statement that all matter is made up
of separate pieces or molecules, and that in matter of a
given kind, in oxygen, or in hydrogen, or in nitrogen, these
molecules are of very nearly the same weight, and have
certain mechanical properties which are common to all of
them. In order to show you something of the kind of
■evidence for that statement, I must mention another theory
which, as it seems to me, is in the same position; namely,
the doctrine of the luminiferous ether, or that wonderful
substance which is distributed all over space, and which
carries light and radiant heat. By means of certain experi
ments upon interference of light, we can show, not by any
hypothesis, not by any guess at all, but by a pure interpre
tation of the experiment—we can show that in every ray
of light there is some change or other, whatever it is,
which is periodic in time and in place. By saying it is
periodic in time, I mean that at a given point of the ray
of light, this change increases up to a certain instant, then
�8
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
decreases, then increases in the opposite direction, and
then decreases again, and so on alternately. That is
shown by experiments of interference; it is not a theory
which will explain the facts, but it is a fact which is
got out of observation. By saying that this pheno
menon is periodic in space, I mean that, if at any given
instant you could examine the ray of light, you would
find that some change or disturbance, whatever it is
has taken place all along it in different degrees.
It
vanishes at certain points, and between these it increases
gradually to a maximum on one side and the other alter
nately. That is to say, in travelling along a ray of light
there. is a certain change (which can be observed by
experiments, by operating upon a ray of light with other
rays of light), which goes through a periodic variation in
amount. The height of the sea, as you know if you travel
along it, goes through certain periodic changes ; it increases
and decreases, and increases and decreases again at definite
intervals. And if you take the case of waves travelling
over the sea, and place yourself at a given point, say you
put a cork upon the surface, you will find that the cork
will rise up and down, that is to say, there will be a change
or displacement of the cork s position, which is periodic in
time, .which increases and decreases, then increases in the
opposite direction, and decreases again. Now, this fact,
which is established by experiment, and which is not a
guess at all, the fact that light is a phenomenon, periodic
in time and space, is what we call the wave theory of
light. The word theory here does not mean a guess; it
means an organised account of the facts, such that from
it you may deduce results which are applicable to future
experiments, the like of which have not yet been made.
But we can see more than this. So far we say that
light consists of waves, merely in the sense that it consists
of some phenomenon or other which is periodic in time
and in place ; but we know that a ray of light or heat is
capable of doing work. Radiant heat, for example, striking
on a body, will warm it and enable it to do work by ex*
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
9
pansion; therefore this periodic phenomenon which takes
place in a ray of light is something or other which possesses
mechanical energy, which is capable of doing work. We
may make it, if you like, a mere matter of definition, and
say: Any change which possesses energy is a motion of
matter; and this is perhaps the most intelligible definition
of matter that we can frame. In that sense, and in that
sense only, it is a matter of demonstration, and not a
matter of guess, that light consists of the periodic motion
of matter, of something which is between the luminous
object and our eyes.
But that something is not matter in the ordinary
sense of the term, it is not made up of such molecules
as gases and liquids and solids are made up of. This
last statement again is no guess, but a proved fact.
There are people who ask, Why is it necessary to
suppose a luminiferous ether to be anything else except
molecules of matter in space, in order to carry light
about ? The answer is a very simple one. In order that
separate molecules may carry about a disturbance, it is
necessary that they should travel at least as fast as the
disturbance travels. Now we know by means that I shall
afterwards come to, that the molecules of gas travel at a
very ordinary rate, about twenty times as fast as a good
train. But, on the contrary, we know by the most certain
of all evidence, by five or six different means, that the velo
city of light is 200,000 miles a second. By that very simple
consideration we are able to tell that it is quite impossible
for light to be carried by the molecules of ordinary matter,
and that it wants something else that lies between those
molecules to carry the light. Now remembering the
evidence which we have for the existence of this ether,
let us consider another piece of evidence, let us now
consider what evidence we have that the molecules of ~a
gas are separate from one another and have something
between them. We find out, by experiment again, that the
different colours of light depend upon the various rapidity
of these waves, depend upon the size and upon the length
�io
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
of the waves that travel through the ether, and that when
we send light through glass or any transparent medium
except a vacuum, the waves of different lengths travel
with different velocities. That is the case with the sea;
we find that long waves travel faster than short ones. In
much the same way, when light comes out of a vacuum
and impinges upon any transparent medium, say upon
glass, we find that the rate of transmission of all the light
is diminished, that it goes slower when it gets inside of
a material body ; and that this change is greater in the
case of small waves than of large ones. The small waves
correspond to blue light and the large waves correspond to
red light. The waves of red light are not .made to travel
so slowly as the waves of blue light, but, as in the case of
waves travelling over the sea, when light moves in the
interior of a transparent body the largest waves travel
most quickly. Well, then, by using such a body as will
separate out the different colours—a prism—we are able
to affirm what are the constituents of the light which
strikes upon it. The light that comes from the sun is
made up of waves of various lengths; but making it pass
through a prism we can separate it out into a spectrum,
and in that way we find a band of light instead of a spot
coming from the sun, and to every band in the spectrum
corresponds a wave of a certain definite length and definite
time in vibration. Now we come to a very singular
phenomenon. If you take a gas such as chlorine and
interpose it in the path of that light, you will find that
certain particular rays of the spectrum are absorbed, while
others are not. Now how is it that certain particular rates
of vibration can be absorbed by this chlorine gas while
others are not ? That happens in this way, that the
chlorine gas consists of a great number of very small struc
tures, each of which is capable of vibrating internally.
Each of these structures is complicated, and is capable of a
change of relative position amongst its parts of a vibratory
character. We know that molecules are capable of such
internal vibrations, for this reason, that if we heat any
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
11
solid body sufficiently it will in time give out light; that
is to say, the molecules are got into such a state of vibration
that they start the ether vibrating, and they start the
ether vibrating at the same rate at which they vibrate
themselves. So that what we learn from the absorption of
certain particular rays of light by chlorine gas, is that the
molecules of that gas are structures which have certain
natural rates of vibration which they absorb, precisely those
rates of vibration which belong to the molecules naturally.
If you sing a certain note to a string of a piano, that string if
in tune will vibrate. If, therefore, a screen of such strings
were put across a room, and you sang a note on one side,
a person on the other side would hear the note very weakly
or not at all, because it would be absorbed by the strings ;
but if you sang another note, not one to which the strings
naturally vibrated, then it would pass through, and would
not be eaten up by setting the strings vibrating. Now this
question arises. Let us put the molecules aside for a
moment. Suppose we do not know of their existence, and
say, is this rate of vibration which naturally belongs to the
gas, a thing which belongs to it as a whole, or does it
belong -to separate parts of it ? You might suppose that it
belongs to the gas as a whole. A jar of water if you shake
it has a perfectly definite time in which it oscillates, and
that is very easily measured. That time of oscillation
belongs to the jar of water as a whole. It depends upon
the weight of the water and the shape of the jar. But
now, by a very certain method, we know that the time of
vibration which corresponds to a certain definite gas, does
not belong to it as a whole, but belongs to the separate
parts of it, for this reason : that if you squeeze the gas you
do not alter the time of vibration. Let us suppose that we
have a great number of fiddles in a room which are all in
contact, and have strings accurately tuned to vibrate to
certain notes. If you sang one of those notes all the fiddles
would answer ; but if you compress them you clearly put
them all out of tune. They are all in contact, and they will
not answer to the note with the same precision as before.
�12
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
But if you have a room which is full of fiddles, placed at a
certain distance from one another, then if you bring them
within shorter distances of one another, so that they still
don’t touch, they will not be put out of tune, they will answer
exactly to the same note as before. We see, therefore, that
since compression of a gas within certain limits does not alter
the rate of vibration which belongs to it, that rate of vibra
tion cannot belong to the body of gas as a whole, but it must
belong to the individual parts of it. Now, by such reason
ing as this it seems to me that the modern theory of the
constitution of matter is put upon a basis which is abso
lutely independent of hypothesis. The theory is simply an
organised statement of the facts, a statement, that is, which
is rather different from the experiments, being made out
from them in just such a way as to be most convenient for
finding out from them what will be the results of other
experiments. That is all we mean at present by scientific
theory.
Upon this theory Professor Clerk Maxwell founded a
certain argument in his lecture before the British Associa
tion at Bradford. It is a consequence of the molecular
theory, as I said before, that all the molecules of a certain
given substance, say oxygen, are as near as possible alike
in two respects—first in weight, and secondly in their times
of vibration. Now Professor Clerk Maxwell’s argument
was this. He first of all said that the theory required us
to believe not that these molecules were as near as may be
alike, but that they were exactly alike in these two respects—
at least the argument appeared to me to require that. Then
he said all the oxygen we know of, whatever processes it
has gone through—whether it is got out of the atmosphere,
or out of some oxide of iron or carbon, or whether it belongs
to the sun or the fixed stars or the planets or the nebulae—
all this oxygen is alike. And all these molecules of oxygen
we find upon the earth must have existed unaltered, or
appreciably unaltered, during the whole of the time the
earth has been evolved. Whatever vicissitudes they have
gone through, how many times they have entered into
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
13
combination with iron or carbon and been carried down
beneath the crust of the earth, or set free and sent up
again through the atmosphere, they have remained stead
fast to their original form unaltered, the monuments of
what they were when the world began. Now Professor
Clerk Maxwell argues that things which are unalterable,
and are exactly alike, cannot have been formed by any
natural process. Moreover, being exactly alike, they cannot
have existed for ever, and therefore they must have been
made. As Sir John Herschell said, “they bear the stamp
of the manufactured article.”
Now, into these further deductions I do not propose to
enter at all. I confine myself strictly to the first of the
deductions which Professor Clerk Maxwell made from the
molecular theory. He said that because these molecules
are exactly alike, and because they have not been in the
least altered since the beginning of time, therefore they
cannot have been produced by any process of evolution.
It is just that question which I want to discuss. I want
to consider whether the evidence that we have to prove
that these molecules are exactly alike is sufficient to make
it impossible that they can have been produced by any
process of evolution.
The position, that this evidence is not sufficient, is
evidently by far the easier to defend; because the negative
iS proverbially hard to prove ; and if any one should
prove that a process of evolution was impossible, it would
be an entirely unique thing in science and philosophy.
In fact, we may see from this example precisely how
great is the influence of authority in matters of science.
If there is any name among contemporary natural philo
sophers to whom is due the reverence of all true students
of science, it is that of Professor Clerk Maxwell. But if
any one, not possessing his great authority, had put
forward an argument founded apparently upon a scientific
basis, in which there occurred assumptions about what
things can and what things cannot have existed from
eternity, and about the exact similarity of two or more
�14
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
things established by experiment, we should say, “ Past
eternity; absolute exactness; this won’t do; ” and we should
pass on to another book. The experience of all scientific
culture for all ages during which it has been a light to men,
has shown us that we never do get at any conclusions of that
sort. We do not get at conclusions about infinite time or
infinite exactness. We get at conclusions which are as
nearly true as experiment can show, and sometimes which
are a great deal more- correct than direct experiment can
be, so that we are able actually to correct one experiment
by deductions from another ; but we never get at con
clusions which we have a right to say are absolutely exact;
so that even if we find a man of the highest powers
saying that he had reason to believe a certain statement to
be exactly true, or that he believed a certain thing to have
existed from the beginning exactly as it is now, we must
say, “It is quite possible that a man of so great eminence
may have found out something which is entirely different
from the whole of our previous knowledge, and the thing
must be inquired into.- But, notwithstanding that, it
remains a fact that this piece of knowledge will be abso
lutely of a different kind from anything that We knew
before.”
Now let us examine the evidence by which we know
that the molecules of the same gas are as near as may be
• alike in weight and in rates of vibration. There were
experiments made by Dr. Graham, late Master of the
Mint, upon the rate at which different gases were mixed
together. He found that if he divided a vessel by a thin
partition made of black-lead or graphite, and put different
gases on the two opposite sides, they would mix together
nearly as fast as though there was nothing between them.
The difference was that the plate of graphite made it
more easy to measure the rate of mixture; and Dr.
Graham made measurements and came to conclusions
which are exactly such as are required by the molecular
theory. It is found by a process of mathematical calcula
tion that the rate of diffusion of different gases depends
�The First and the Fast Catastrophe.
15
upon the weight of the molecules. A molecule of oxygen
is sixteen times as heavy as a molecule of hydrogen,
and it is found upon experiment that hydrogen goes
through a septum or wall of graphite four times as fast as
oxygen does. Four times four are sixteen. We express
that rule in mathematics by saying that the rate of diffu
sion of gas is inversely as the square root of the mass of
its molecules. If one molecule is-thirty-six times as heavy
as another—the molecule of chlorine is nearly that multi
ple of hydrogen—it- will diffuse itself at one-sixth of
the rate.
This rule is a deduction from the molecular theory, and
it is found, like innumerable other such deductions, to come
right in practice. But now observe what is the conse
quence of this. Suppose that, instead of taking one gas and
making it diffuse itself through a wall, we take a mixture of
two gases. Suppose we put oxygen and hydrogen into one
side of a vessel which is divided into two parte by a wall of
graphite, and we exhaust the air from the other side, then the
hydrogen will go through this wall four times as fast as the
oxygen will. Consequently, as soon as the other side is full
there will be a great deal more hydrogen in it than oxygen
•—that is to say, that we shall have sifted the oxygen from
the hydrogen, not.completely, but in a great measure, pre
cisely as by means of a screen we can sift large coals from
small ones. Now, suppose when we have oxygen gas
unmixed with any other, the molecules are of two sorts
and of two different weights. Then you see that if we
make that gas pass through a porous wall, the lighter par
ticles would pass through first, and we should get two dif
ferent specimens of oxygen gas, in one of which the mole
cules would be lighter than in the other. The properties
of one of these specimens of oxygen gas would necessarily
be different from those of the other, and that difference
might be found by very easy processes. If there were any
perceptible difference between the average weight of the
molecules on the two sides of the septum, there would be
no difficulty in finding that out. No such difference has
�16
The First and the Last Catastrophe,
ever been observed. If we put any single gas into a
vessel, and we filter it through a septum of black-lead into
another vessel, we find no difference between the gas on
one side of the wall and the gas on the other side. That
is to say, if there is any difference it is too small to be
perceived by our present means of observation. It is
upon that sort of evidence that the statement rests that
the molecules of a given gas are all very nearly of the
same weight. Why do I say very nearly ? Because evi
dence of that sort can never prove that they are exactly
of the same weight. The means of measurement we have
may be exceedingly correct, but a certain limit must
always be allowed for deviation ; and if the deviation of
molecules of oxygen from a certain standard of weight
were very small, and restricted within small limits, it would
be quite possible for our experiments to give us the results
which they do now. Suppose, for example, the variation
in the size of «the oxygen atoms was as great as that in the
weight of different men, then it would be very difficult
indeed to tell by such a process of sifting what that dif
ference was, or in fact to establish that it existed at all.
But, on the other hand, if we suppose the forces which
originally caused all those molecules to be so nearly alike
as they are, to be constantly acting and setting the thing
right as soon as by any sort of experiment we set it wrong,
then the small oxygen atoms on one side would be made
up to their right size, and it would be impossible to test
the difference by any experiment which was not quicker
than the processes by which they were made right again.
There is another reason why we are obliged to regard
that experiment as only approximate, and as not giving us
any exact results. There is very strong evidence, although
it is not conclusive, that in a given gas—say in a vessel
full of carbonic acid—the molecules are not all of the
same weight. If we compress the gas, we find that when
in the state of a perfect gas, or nearly so, the pressure
increases just in the ratio that the volume diminishes.
That law is entirely explained by means of the molecular
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
iy
It is what ought to exist if the molecular theoryIf we compress the gas further, we find that the •
pressure is smaller than it ought to be according to this law..
This can be explained in two ways. First of all we may sup
pose that the molecules are so crowded that the time during
which they are sufficiently near to attract each other sensibly
becomes too large a proportion of the whole time to be
neglected; and this will account for the change in the
law. There is, however, another explanation. We may
suppose, for illustration, that two molecules approach one
another, and that the speed at which one is going relatively
to the other is very small, and then that they so direct one
another that they get caught together, and go on circling,
making only one molecule. This, on scientific principles,
will account for our fact, that the pressure in a gas which
is near a liquid state is too small—that instead of the
molecules going about singly, some are hung together in
couples and some in larger numbers, and making still larger
molecules. This supposition is confirmed very strikingly
by the spectroscope. If we take the case of chlorine gas,
we find that it changes colour—that it gets darker as it
approaches the liquid condition. This change of colour
means that there is a change in the rate of vibration which
belongs to its -component parts; and it is a very simple
mechanical deduction that the larger molecules will, as a
rule, have a slower rate of vibration than the smaller ones
—very much in the same way as a short string gives a
higher note than a long one. The colour of chlorine
changes just in the way we should expect if the molecules
instead of going about separately, were hanging together
m couples; and the same thing is true of a great number
of the metals. Mr. Lockyer, in his admirable researches
has shown that several of the metals and metalloids have
various spectra, according to the temperature and the
pressure to which they are exposed; and he has made it
exceedingly probable that these various spectra, that is,
the rates of vibration of the molecules, depend upon the
molecules being actually of different sizes. Dr. Roscoe
theory.
is true.
B
�18
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
has, a few months ago, shown an entirely new spectrum of
the metal sodium, whereby it appears that this metal exists
in a gaseous state in four different degrees of aggregation,
as a simple molecule, and as three or four or eight mole
cules together. Every increase in the complication of the
molecules—every extra molecule you hang on to the aggre
gate that goes about together, will make a difference in
the rate of the vibration of that system, and so will make
a difference in the colour of the substance.
So then we have an evidence, you see, of an entirely
extraneous character, that in a given gas the actual mole
cules that exist are not all of the same weight. Any
experiment which failed to detect this would fail to detect
any smaller difference. And here also we can see a reason
why, although a difference in the size of the molecules
does exist, yet we do not find that out by sifting. Suppose
you take oxygen gas consisting of single molecules and
double molecules, and you sift it through a plate ; the
single molecules get through first, but when they get
through, some of them join themselves together as double
molecules; and although more double molecules are left on
the other side, yet some of them separate up and make
single molecules ; so the process of sifting, which ought to
give you single molecules on the one side anti double on the
other, merely gives you a mixture of single and double on
both sides ; because the reasons which originally decided
that there should be just those two forms are always at
work, and continually setting things right.
Now let us take the other point in which molecules
are very nearly alike; viz., that they have very nearly the
same rate of vibration. The metal sodium in the common
salt upon the earth has two rates of vibration ; it sounds
two notes as it were, which are very near to each other.
They form the well-known double line D, in the yellow
part of the spectrum. These two bright yellow lines
are very easy to observe. They occur in the spectra
of a great number of stars. They occur in the solar
spectrum as dark lines, showing that there is sodium in
�The First and the Fast Catastrophe.
i9
the outer rim of the sun, which is stopping and shutting
off the light of the bright parts behind. All these
lines of sodium are just in the same position in the
spectrum, showing that the rates of vibration of all these
molecules of sodium all over the universe, so far as we
know, are as near as possible alike. That implies a
similarity of molecular structure, which is a great deal
more delicate than, mere test of weight. You may weigh
two fiddles until you are tired, and you will never find out
whether they are in tune; the one test is a great deal more
■delicate than the other, Let us see how delicate this test
is. Lord Eayleigh has remarked that there is a natural
limit for the precise position of a given line in the spec
trum, and for this reason. If a body which is emitting a
sound comes towards you, you will find that the pitch of
the sound is altered. Suppose that omnibuses run every
ten minutes in the streets, and you walk in a direction *
opposite to that in which they are coming, you will
obviously pass more omnibuses in an hour °than if you
walked in an opposite direction. If a body emitting light
is coming towards you, you will find more waves in a
certain direction than if it was going from you; conse
quently, if you are approaching a body emitting light, the
waves will come at shorter intervals, the vibration will be
of shorter period, and the light will be higher up in the
spectrum—it will be more blue. If you are going away
from the body, then the rate is slower, the light is lower
down on the spectrum, and consequently more red. By
means of such variations in the positions of certain known
lines, the actual rate of approach of certain fixed stars to
the earth has been measured, and the rate of going away
of certain other fixed stars has also been measured. Suppose
we have a gas which is glowing in a state of incandescence,
all the molecules are giving out light at a certain
specified rate of V.bration; but some of these are
coming towards us at a rate much greater than seven
teen miles a minute, because the temperature is higher
when the gas is glowing, and others are also going
�20
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
away at a much higher rate than that. The consequence is,
that instead of having one sharply defined line on the spec
trum, instead of having light of exactly one bright colour,
we have light which varies between certain limits. If
the actual rate of the vibration of the molecules of the
gas were marked down upon the spectrum, we should not
get that single bright line there, but we should get a
bright band overlapping it on each side. Lord Eayleigh
calculated that, in the most favourable circumstances, the
breadth of this band would not be less than one-hundredth
of the distance between the sodium lines. It is precisely
upon that experiment that the evidence of the exact
similarity of molecules rests. We see, therefore, from the
nature of the experiment, that we should get exactly the
same results if the rates of vibration of all the molecules
were not exactly equal, but varied within certain very
small limits.
If, for example, the rates of vibration
varied in the same way as the heads of different men,
then we should get very much what we get now from the
experiment.
From the evidence of these two facts, then, the evidence
that molecules are of the same weight and degree of
vibration, all that we can conclude is that whatever
differences there are in their weights, and whatever differ
ences there are in their degrees of vibration, these
differences are too small to be found out by our present
modes of measurement. And that is precisely all that we
can conclude in every similar question of science.
Now, how does this apply to the question whether it is
possible for molecules to have been evolved by natural
processes ? I do not understand, myself, how, even sup
posing we knew that they were 'exactly alike, we could
infer, for certain, that they had not been evolved;
because there is only one case of evolution that we know
anything at all about—and that we know very little about
yet__namely, the evolution of organised beings.
The
processes by which that evolution takes place are long,
cumbrous, and wasteful processes of natural selection and
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
21
hereditary descent. They are processes which act slowly,
which take a great lapse of ages to produce their natural
effects. But it seems to me quite possible to conceive, in
our entire ignorance of the subject, that there may be
other processes of evolution which result in a definite
number of forms,—those of the chemical elements,—just
as these processess of the evolution of organised beings
have resulted in a greater number of forms. All that we
know of the ether shows that its actions are of a rapidity
very much exceeding anything we know of the motions
of visible matter. It is a possible thing, for example,
that mechanical conditions should exist, according to
which all bodies must be made of regular solids, that
molecules should all have flat sides, and that these sides
should all be of the same shape. I suppose that it is just
conceivable that it might be impossible for a molecule to
exist with two of its faces different. In that case we
know there would be just five shapes for a molecule to exist
in, and these would be produced by process of evolution.
Now the forms of various matter that we know, and that
chemists call elements, seem to be related one to another
very much in that sort of way; that is, as if they rose out
of mechanical conditions which only rendered it possible
for a certain definite number of forms to exist, and which,
whenever any molecule deviates slightly from one of these
forms, would immediately operate to set it right again. I
do not know at all—we have nothing definite to go upon
—what the shape of a molecule is, or what is the nature
of the vibration it undergoes, or what its condition is com
pared with the ether; and in our absolute ignorance
it would be impossible to make any conception of the
mode in which it grew up. When we know as much about
the shape of a molecule as we do about the solar system,
for example, we may be as sure of its mode of evolution
as we are of the way in which the solar system came
about; but in our present ignorance all we have to do is to
show that such experiments as we can make do not give us
.evidence that it is absolutely impossible for molecules of
�22
The First and the .Last Catastrophe.
matter to have been evolved out of ether by natural
processes.
The evidence which tells us that the molecules of a
given substance are alike, is only approximate. The theory
leaves room for certain small deviations, and consequently
if there are any conditions at work in the nature of the
ether, which render it impossible for other forms of matter
than those we know of to exist, the great probability is,
that when by any process we contrive to sift molecules of
one. kind from molecules of another, these very conditions
at once bring them back and restore to us a mass of gas
consisting of molecules whose average type is a normal one.
Now I want to consider a speculation of an entirely dif
ferent character. A remark was made about thirty years ago,
by Sir William Thomson, upon the nature of certain pro
blems in the conduction of heat. These problems had been
solved by Fourier, many years before, in a beautiful
treatise. The theory was that if you knew the degree of
warmth of a body, then you could find what would happen
to it afterwards, you would find how the body would
gradually cool. Suppose you put the end of a poker in
the fire and make it red hot, that end is very much hotter
than the other end, and if you take it out and let it cool,
you will find that heat is travelling from the hot end to
the cool end, and the amount of this travelling, and the
temperature at either end of the poker can be calculated
with great accuracy. This, comes out of Fourier’s theory.
Now suppose you try to go backwards in time, and take the
poker at any instant when it is about half cool, and say,
“ this equation,—does it give me the means of finding out
what was happening to it before this time, in so far as the
present state of things has been produced by cooling?”
You will find the equation will give you an account of the
state of the poker before the time when it came into your
hands, with great accuracy up to a certain point, but beyond
that point it refuses to give you any more information, and
it begins to talk nonsense. It is in the nature of a problem
of the conduction of heat, that it allows you to trace the
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
23
forward history of it to any extent you like ; but it will
not allow you to trace the history of it backward, beyond
a certain point. There is another case in which a similar
thing happens. There is an experiment in the excellent
manual, ‘ The Boy’s Own Book,’ which tells you that if you
half fill a glass with beer, and put some paper on it, and
then pour in water carefully, and draw the paper out
without disturbing the two liquids, the water will rest on
the beer. The problem then is to drink the beer without
drinking the water, and it is accomplished by means of a
straw. Let us suppose these two liquids resting in contact ;
we shall find they begin to mix, and it is possible to write
down an equation which is exactly of the same form as
the equation for the conduction of heat, which would tell
you how much water had passed into the beer at any given
time after the mixture began. So that given the water and
the beer half mixed, you could trace forward the process of
mixing, and measure it with accuracy, and give a perfect
*
account of it; but if you attempt to trace that back you
will have a point where the equation will stop, and will
begin to talk nonsense. That is the point where you took
away the paper, and allowed the mixing to begin. If we
apply that same consideration to the case of the poker,
and try to trace back its history, you will find that the
point where the equation begins to talk nonsense is the
point where you took it out of the fire. The mathematical
theory supposes that the process of conduction of heat has
gone on in a quiet manner, according to certain defined
laws, and that if at any time there was a catastrophe, one
not included in the laws of the conduction of heat, then
the equation could give you no account of it. There is
another thing which is of the same kind, namely, the
transmission of fluid friction. If you take your tea in
your cup, and stir it round with a spoon, it won’t go on
circulating round for ever, but will come to a stop ; and
the reason is that there is a certain friction of the liquid
against the sides of the cup, and of the different parts of
the liquid with one another. Now the friction of the
�24
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
different parts of a liquid or a gas is precisely a matter of
mixing. The particles which are going fast, and are in
the middle, not having been stopped by the side, get mixed,
and the particles at the side going slow, get mixed with
the particles in the middle. This process of mixing can
be calculated, and it leads to an equation of exactly the
same sort as that which applies to the conduction of heat.
We have, therefore, in these problems a natural process
which consists in mixing things together, and this always
has the propei’ty that you can go on mixing them for ever,
without coming to anything impossible ; but if you attempt
to trace the history of the thing backward, you must
always come to a state which could not have been produced
by mixing, namely, a state of complete separation.
Now upon this remark of Sir W. Thomson’s, the true
consequences of which you will find correctly stated in
Mr. Balfour Stewart’s book on the ‘ Conservation of
Energy,’ a most singular doctrine has been founded.
These writers have been speaking of a particular pro
blem, on which they were employed at the moment.
Sir W. Thomson was speaking of the conduction of
heat, and he said this heat problem leads you back
to a state which could not have been produced by the
conduction of heat. And so Professor Clerk Maxwell,
speaking of the same problem, and also of the diffusion of
gases, said there was evidence of a limit in past time to
the existing order of things, when something else than
mixing took place. But a most eminent man, who has
done a great deal of service to mankind, Professor Stanley
Jevons, in his very admirable book, the ‘ Principles of
Science,’ which is simply marvellous for the number of
examples illustrating logical principles which he has drawn
from all kinds of regions of science, and for the small
number of mistakes that occur in it, takes this remark of
Sir W. Thomson’s, and takes out two very important
words, and puts in two other very important words. He
says, “We have here evidence of a limit of a state of
things which could not have been produced by the previous
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
2.5
state of things according to the known laws of nature.’’
It is not according to the known laws of nature, it is
according to the known laws of conduction of heat, that
Sir William Thomson is speaking; and from this . we
may see the fallacy of concluding, that if we consider
the case of the whole universe we should be able, suppose
we had paper and ink enough, to write down an equation
which would enable us to make out the history of the
world forward, as far forward as we liked to go, but if we
attempted to calculate the history of the world backward,
we should come to a point where the equation would begin
to talk nonsense, we should come to a state of things which
could not have been produced from any previous state of
things, by any known natural laws. You will see at once
that that is an entirely different statement. The same
doctrine has been used by Mr. Murphy, in a very able
book, 1 The Scientific Basis of Faith,’ to build upon it an
enormous superstructure—I think the restoration of the
Irish Church was one of the results of it. But this doctrine
is founded, as I think, upon a pure misconception. It is
founded entirely upon forgetfulness of the condition
under which the remark was originally made. All these
physical writers, knowing what they were writing about,
simply drew such conclusions from the facts which were
before them as could be reasonably drawn. They say
*
here is a state of things which could not have been pro
duced by the circumstances we are at present investigating.
Then your speculator comes, he reads a sentence and says,
Here is an opportunity for me to have my fling. And he
has his fling and makes a purely baseless theory about the
necessary origin of the present order of nature at some
definite point of time which might "be calculated. But if
we consider the matter, we shall see that this is not in any
way a consequence of the theory of the conduction of heat;
because the conduction of heat is not the only process that
goes on in the universe.
If we apply that theory to the case of the earth, we find
that at present there is evidence of a certain distribution of
�26
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
temperature in the interior of it; there is a certain rate at
which the temperature increases as we go down, and no
doubt if we made further investigations, we should find that
if we went deeper an accurate law would be found, accord
ing to which the temperature increases in the interior.
Now, assuming this to be so, taking this as the basis of
our problem, we might endeavour to find out what was the
history of the earth in past times, and when it began
cooling down. That is exactly what Sir William Thom
son has done. When we attempt it, we find that there is a
definite point to which we can go, and at which our equa
tion talks nonsense. But we do not conclude that at that point
the laws of nature began to be what they are; we only
conclude that the earth began to solidify. Now solidifica
tion is not a process of the conduction of heat, and so the
thing cannot be given by our equation. That point is
given definitely as a point of time, not with great accuracy
but still as near as we can expect to get it with such means
of measuring as we have, and Sir William Thomson has
calculated that the earth must have solidified at some time
a hundred millions or two hundred millions of years ago;
and there we arrive at the beginning of the present state
of things; the process of cooling the earth which is
going on now. Before that it was cooling as a liquid, and
in passing from the liquid to the solid state there was a
catastrophe which introduced a new rate of cooling. So
that by means of that law we do come to a time when the
earth began to assume its present' state. We do not find
the time of the commencement of the universe, but simply
of the present structure of the earth. If we went farther
back, we might make more calculations and find how
long the earth had been in a liquid state. We should
come to another catastrophe, and say at that time, not that
the universe began to exist, but that the present earth
passed from the gaseous to the liquid state.. And if we
went farther back still we should probably find the earth
falling together out of a great ring of matter surrounding
the sun and distributed over its orbit. The same thing is
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
27
true of every body of matter : if we trace its history back,
we come to a certain time at which a catastrophe took
place, and if we were to trace back the history of all the
bodies of the universe in that way we should continually
see them separating up into smaller parts. What t ey
have actually done is to fall together and get solid. If we
could reverse the process we should see them separating
and getting fluid, and, as a limit to that, at an indefinite
distance in past time, we should find that all these Jodies
would be resolved into molecules, and all these would be
flying away from each other. There would be no limit to »
that process, and we could trace it as far back as ever we
liked to trace it. So that on the assumption, a very large
assumption, that the present constitution of the laws of
geometry and mechanics has held good during the whole ot
past time, we should be led to the conclusion that at an
inconceivably long time ago the universe did consist of
ultimate molecules, all separate from one another, and
approaching one another. Then they would meet together
and form a great number of small hot bodies. Then you
would have the process of cooling going on in these bodies,
exactly as we find it going on now. But you will observe
that we have no evidence of such a catastrophe as implies
a beginning of the laws of nature. We do not come to
something of which we cannot make any further calcula
tion- we find that however far we like to go back, we
approximate to a certain state of things, but never actually
get to it.
„
Here, then, we have a doctrine about the beginning ot
things. ' First, we have a probability, about as great as
science can make it, of the beginning of the present state
of things on the earth, of the fitness of the earth for habi
tation ; and then we have a probability about the beginning
of the universe as a whole which is so small, that it is
better put in this form, that we do not know anything at
all about it. The reason why I say that we do not know
anything at all of the beginning of the universe, is that
we have no reason whatever fob believing that what we
�28
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
at present know of the laws of geometry and mechanics
are exactly and absolutely true at present, or that they have
been even approximately true for any period of time,
further than we have direct evidence of. The evidence we
have of them is founded on experience, and we should have
exactly the same experience of them now, if those laws
were not exactly and absolutely true, but were only so
nearly true that we could not observe the difference. So
that in making the assumption we may argue upon the
absolute uniformity of nature, and "suppose these laws to
e have remained exactly as they are, we are assuming some
thing we know nothing about. My conclusion then is, that
we do know, with great probability, of the beginning of
the habitability of the earth about one hundred or two
hundred millions of years back, but that of a beginning of
the universe we know nothing at all.
Now let us consider what we can find out about the end
of things. The life which exists upon the earth is made
by the sun’s action, and it depends upon the sun for its
continuance. We know that the sun is wearing out, that
it is cooling, and although this heat which it loses day by
day is made up in some measure, perhaps completely at
present, by the contraction of its mass, yet that process
cannot go on for ever. There is only a certain amount of
energy in the present constitution of the sun, and when
that has been used up, the sun cannot go on giving out
any more heat. Supposing, therefore, the earth remains
in her present orbit about the sun, seeing that the sun
must be cooled down at some time, we shall all be frozen
out. On the other hand, we have no reason to believe
that the orbit of the earth about the sun is an absolutely
stable thing. It has been maintained for a long time that
there is a certain resisting medium which the planets have
to move through, and it may be argued from that, that in
time all the planets must be gradually made to move
in smaller orbits, and so to fall in towards the sun.
But, on the other hand, the evidences upon which this
assertion was based, the movement of Encke’s comet and
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
<1$
others, has been quite recently entirely overturned by
Professor Tait. He supposes that these comets consist of
bodies of meteors. Now, it was proved a long time ago,
that a mass of small bodies travelling together m an orbit
about a central body, will always tend to fall in towards it,
and that is the case with the rings of Saturn. So that,
in fact, the movement of Encke’s comet is entirely accounted
for on the supposition that it is a swarm , of meteors, with
out regarding the assumption of a resisting medium. On
the other hand, it seems exceedingly natural to suppme
that some matter in a very thin state is diffused about the
planetary spaces. Then we have another consideration,
just as the sun and moon make tides upon the sea, so the
planets make tides upon the sun. If we consider the ti e
which the earth makes upon the sun, instead of being a
great wave lifting the mass of the sun up directly under
the earth, it is carried forward by the sun’s rotation ; the
result is, that the earth instead of being attracted to tha
sun’s centre, is attracted to a point before the centre. The
immediate tendency is to accelerate the earth s motion,
and the final effect of this upon the planet is to make
its orbit larger. That planet disturbing all the other
planets, the consequence is that we have the earth gradually
going away from the sun, instead of falling into it.
*
In any case, all we know is that the sun is going out.
If we fall into the sun then we shall be fried; if we go
away from the sun, or the sun goes out, then we shall be
frozen. So that, so far as the earth is concerned, we have
no means of determining what will be the character of the
end, but we know that one of these two things must take
place in time: But in regard to the whole universe, if we
were to travel forward as we have travelled backward in
time, consider things as falling together, we should come
finally to a great central mass, all in one piece, which
would send out waves of heat through a perfectly empty
* I learn from Sir W Thomson that the ultimate effect of tidal defor
mation ona number of bodies is to reduce them to two, which move as if
they were rigidly connected.
�jo
The First and the Last Catastrophe.
ether, and gradually cool itself down. As this mass got
cool it would be deprived of all life or motion ; it would
be just a mere enormous frozen block in the middle of the
ether. But that conclusion, which is like the one that we
discussed about the beginning of the world, is one which
we have no right whatever to rest upon. It depends upon
the same assumption that the laws of geometry and
mechanics are exactly and absolutely true ; and that they
will continue exactly and absolutely true for ever and
ever. Such an assumption we have no right whatever to
make. We may therefore, I think, conclude about the
end of things that so far as the earth is concerned, an end
of life upon it is as probable as science can make any
thing ; but that in regard to the universe we have no right
to draw any conclusion at all.
So far, we have considered simply the material existence
of the earth; but of course our greatest interest lies
not so much with the material life upon it, the organised
beings, as with another fact which goes along with that,
and which is an entirely different one—the fact of the
consciousness that exists upon the earth. We find very
good reason indeed to believe that this consciousness
in the case of any organism is itself a very complex
thing, and that it corresponds part for part to the action
of the nervous system, and more particularly of the
brain of that organised thing. There are some whom
such evidence has led to the conclusion that the destruc
tion which we have seen reason to think probable of all
organised beings upon the earth, will lead also to the final
destruction of the consciousness that goes with them.
Upon this point I know there is great difference of opinion
amongst those who have a right to speak. But to those
who do see the cogency of the evidences of modern physio
logy and’ modern psychology in this direction, it is a very
serious thing to consider that not only the earth itself
and all that beautiful face of nature we see, but also the
living things upon it, and all the consciousness of men,
and the ideas of society, which have grown up upon the
�The First and the Last Catastrophe.
3i
surface, must come to an end. We who hold that belief
must just face the fact and make the best of it; and 1
think we are helped in this by the words of that Jew
philosopher, who was himself a worthy crown to the
splendid achievements of his race in the cause of progress
during the Middle Ages, Benedict Spinoza. He said
“ The free man thinks of nothing so little as of death, and
his wisdom is a meditation not of death but of life.
ur
interest lies with so much of the past as may serve
to guide our actions in the present, and to intensify our
pious allegiance to the fathers who' have gone before us
and the brethren who are with us ; and our interest lies
with so much of the future as we may hope will be
appreciably affected by our good actions now. Beyond
that, as it seems to me, we do not know, and we ought no
to care. Do I seem to say, “ Let us eat and drink, for
to-morrow we die ? ” Far from it; on. the contrary I say,
“ Let us take hands and help, for this day we are alive
together.”
PRINTED BY C. IV. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENBY STREET, HAYMARKET.
�SUNDAY LECTURE SOCIETY,
To provide for the delivery on Sundays in the Metropolis, and
to encourage the delivery elsewhere, of Lectures on Science,
physical, intellectual, and moral,—History, Literature,
and Art; especially in their bearing upon the improvement
and social well-being of mankind.
THE SOCIETYS LECTURES
AKE DELIVERED AT
ST GEORGE’S HALL, LANGHAM PLACE,
On SUNDAY Afternoons, at FOUR o'clock precisely.
(Annually—from November to May).
Twenty-Four Lectures (in three series), ending 23rd April,
1876, will be given.
Members’ £1 subscription entitles them to an annual ticket
(transferable and admitting to the reserved seats), and to eight
single reserved-seat tickets available for any lecture.
Tickets for each series (one for each lecture) as below,_
To the Shilling Reserved Seats—5s.
6d.
To the Sixpenny Seats—2s., being at the rate of Threepence
each lecture.
For tickets apply (by letter) to the Hon. Treasurer, Wm. Henry
Domville, Esq., 15 Gloucester Crescent, Hyde Park, W.
Payment at the door:—One
(Reserved Seats) One Shilling.
Penny ;—Sixpence ;—and
�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The first & the last catastrophe : a criticism on some recent speculations about the duration of the universe : a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, on Sunday afternoon, 12th April, 1874
Creator
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Clifford, William Kingdon [1845-1879]
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 31 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Printed by C.W. Reynell, Little Pulteney Street, London. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Sunday Lecture Society
Date
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1875
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N092
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Cosmology
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (The first & the last catastrophe : a criticism on some recent speculations about the duration of the universe : a lecture delivered before the Sunday Lecture Society, on Sunday afternoon, 12th April, 1874), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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application/pdf
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Text
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English
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Universe