1 10 28 https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/bd7476f1dfcd5742ab857e7c57fabf5e.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=XM7%7Er1ZJ3bmjoDNlzY80jDt7nvhctF6e3mAhQAJKKMLg5Sb6iGtGN8aAlxzJFxQofhuKFfetLNsXYvT4AP%7EeO4iB6-3e6IzZs6Il9BNS75OrTbmQ6A4TCXg-a-Rsq3EjfJ9zKNXtTuTPyKgK9xLPGCbRdEuqMJOw7dYi5zUGXpx5U4ztm-i6ZWk%7EWixtEjQKfE2xUJKf-6R7ba-MbQcONuhY37U7rA%7EtMuB2IF3zW2Pb4fM9fU%7E-77lfUAGttFtRfHJSCYeznshYU5pH4PzeVhMxoVM1xxtvTQ6A3rXWvWiLA0l%7E3HsYfno%7EEIoEd%7E4ZWRjgWUtz0WAV52McnaTr%7Eg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 7faabb94e01617967c32587c91d457fd PDF Text Text 171.4 LVE —...... = The Pleasures of Life BY THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN LUBBOCK, BART., M.P. F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D. Volition MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited 1899 Price Sixpence �9omp. ‘ Give me Health and a Day, and I will make the Pomp of Emperors Ridiculous.’—Emerson. “ As an illustration of the BENEFICIAL EFFECTS of Eno’s ‘ Fruit Salt,’ I give you particulars of the case of one of my friends. His whole life was clouded by the want of vigorous health, and SLUGGISH LIVER and its concomitant BILIOUS HEADACHES so affected him, that he was obliged to live upon only a few articles of diet, and to be most sparing in their use. This did nothing in effecting a cure, although persevered in for some twenty-five years, and also consulting very eminent members of the faculty. By the use of your simple ‘Fruit Salt,’ however, he now ENJOYS VIGOROUS HEALTH, has NEVER had HEADACHE or CONSTI­ PATION since he commenced it, and can partake of his food in such a hearty manner as to afford great satisfac­ tion to himself and friends. There are others to whom your remedy has been SO BENEFICIAL in various kinds of complaints that I think you may very well extend its use pro bono publico. I find that it makes a VERY REFRESHING and INVIGORATING drink.—I remain, dear Sir, yours faithfully, Veritas.” {From the late Rev. J. TV. Neil, Holy Trinity Church, North Shields.} Experience! ‘ Vie Gather the Honey of Wisdom From Thorns, not from Flowers.’—Lytton. HOW TO AVOID The INJURIOUS EFFECTS OF STIMULANTS. THE PRESENT SYSTEM OF LIVING— partaking of too rich foods, as pastry, saccharine and fatty substances, alcoholic drinks, and an insufficient amount of exercise—FREQUENTLY DERANGES THE LIVER. I would ADVISE all BILIOUS PEOPLE, unless they are careful to keep the liver acting freely, to exercise great care in the use of alcoholic drinks; avoid sugar, and always dilute largely with water. EXPERIENCE SHOWS that porter, mild ales, port wine, dark sherries, sweet champagne, liqueurs and brandies, are ALL very APT to DISAGREE; while light white wines, and gin or old whisky largely diluted with pure mineral water, will be found the least objectionable. ENO’S ‘ FRUIT SALT ’ is PECULIARLY ADAPTED for any CONSTITUTIONAL WEAKNESS of the LIVER; it possesses the power of reparation when digestion has been disturbed or lost, and PLACES the INVALID on the RIGHT TRACK to HEALTH. A WORLD of WOES is avoided by those who KEEP and USE ENO’S ‘FRUIT SALT.’ Therefore NO FAMILY SHOULD EVER BE WITHOUT IT. THE VALUE OF ENO’S ‘FRUIT SALT’ CANNOT BE TOLD. Its Success in Europe, Asia, Africa, America, and Australia proves it. The effect of ENO’S ‘ FRUIT SALT ’ upon any DISORDERED, SLEEPLESS, and FEVERISH condition of the system is SIMPLY MARVELLOUS. It is, in fact, NATURE’S OWN REMEDY, and AN UNSURPASSED ONE. CAUTION.—See Capsule marked ENO'S 1 FRUIT SALT.' Without it you have a WORTHLESS IMITATION. Prepared only by J. C. ENO, Ltd., at the1 FRUIT SALT ’ WORKS, London, by J. C. ENO’S Patent. �1 If you want to preserve your hair and prevent baldness YOU MUST USE ROWLANDS’ MACASSAR OIL some kind of grease ; cold water ruins the hair, and most hair restorers dry up and wither it. All doctors will tell you that: is the most perfect restorer, preserver, and strengthener of the hair you can use, and being specially refined and purified, does not have the greasy effect of pomades o’- other oils. It prevents baldness and eradicates scurf, and is also sold in a GOLDEN COLOUR for fair and grey hair. Bottles, 3s. 6d., 7s., and 10s. 6d. Sold by Stores and Chemists. NATIONAL PROVIDENT. — INSTITUTION. FOR MUTUAL LIFE ASSURANCE. PROFITS.—The whole are divided amongst the Assured; already divided, £5,400,000. At the division in 1897 there were nearly 1000 Policies, in respect of which not only were the Premiums entirely extinguished, but Cash Bonuses were also paid, whilst in the case of many Policies the original sums assured are now more than doubled by the Bonus Additions. ENDOWMENT-ASSURANCE POLICIES ARE ISSUED, COMBINING LIFE ASSURANCE AT MINIMUM COST, WITH PROVISION FOR OLD AGE. The practical effect of these Policies in the National Provident Institution 48 is that the Member’s life is assured until he reaches the age agreed upon, and on his reaching that age the whole of the Premiums paid are returned to him, and a considerable sum in addition, representing a by no means insignificant rate of interest on his payments. Applications for Agencies invited. Gracechurch 8t., London, E.C. Arthur smither, Actuary and secretary. BOOKS OF ^Liberal IReligion. PHILIP GREEN, 5 Essex Street, Strand, W.C., will forward, post free, on application, a NEW CATALOGUE of BOOKS of LIBERAL RELIGION and ^THEOLOGY, containing Works by Dr. >hartineau, Stopford A. Brooke, R. A. Armstrong, J. Estlin Carpenter, Dr. Brooke Herford, J. W. Chadwick, M. J. Savage, and other English and American Unitarian and Liberal Religious Teachers. NO HOUSEHOLD BE Philip Green, 5 Essex St., Strand, W.C. WITHOUT SHOULD IT. THE CHEAP EDITIONS OF MRS. HENRY WOOD’S NOVELS. Crown 8vo. in green cloth, 2s. each, or in red cloth, gilt lettered, 2s. 6d. each. SALE OVER TWO MILLION AND A HALF COPIES. Trevlyn Hold. 65th Thousand. Court Netherleigh. 46 th Thousand. East Lynne. 480th Thousand. The Channings. 180th Thousand. Mrs. Halliburton’s Troubles. 150th Thousand. v."’he Shadow of Ashlydyat. 100th Thousand. Lord Oakbum’s Daughters. 105th Thousand. Verner’s Pride. 85th Thousand. Roland Yorke. 130th Thousand. | Johnny Ludlow. First Series. 50th Thousand. Mildred Arkell. 80th Thousand. 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MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON. 70th Thousand. ��PREFACE Those who have the pleasure of attending the opening meetings of schools and colleges, and of giving away prizes and certificates, are generally expected at the same time to offer such words of counsel and encouragement as the ex­ perience of the world might enable them to give to those who are entering life. Having been myself when young rather prone to suffer from low spirits, I have at several of these gatherings taken the opportunity of dwelling on the privileges and blessings we enjoy, and I reprint here the substance of some of these addresses (omitting what was special to the circumstances of each case, and freely making any alterations and additions which have since occurred to me), hoping that the thoughts and quotations in which I have myself found most comfort may perhaps be of use to others also. - It is hardly necessary to say that I have not by any means referred to all the sources of happiness open to us, some indeed of the greatest pleasures and blessings being altogether omitted. In reading over the proofs I feel that some sentences may appear too dogmatic, but I hope that allowance will be made for the circumstances under which they were delivered. High Elms, Down, Kent, January 1887. �PREFACE TO THE TWENTIETH EDITION A lecture which I delivered three years ago at the Working Men’s College, and which forms the fourth chapter of this book, has given rise to a good deal of discussion. The Pall Mall Gazette took up the subject and issued a circular to many of those best qualified to express an opinion. This elicited many interesting replies, and some other lists of books were drawn up. When my book was translated, a similar discussion took place in Germany. The result has been very gratifying, and after carefully considering the suggestions which have been made, I see no reason for any material change in the first list. I had not presumed to form a list of my own, nor did I profess to give my own favourites. My attempt was to give those most generally recommended by previous writers on the subject. In the various criticisms on my list, while large additions, amounting to several hundred works in all, have been proposed, very few omissions have been suggested. As regards those v orks with reference to which some doubts have been expressed—namely, the few Oriental books, Wake’s Apostolic Fathers, etc.—I may observe that I drew up the list, not as that of the hundred best books, but, which is very different, of those which have been most frequently recommended as best worth reading. For instance as regards the Shelving and the Analects of Confucius°I must-humbly confess that I do not greatly admire either ; but I recommended them because they are held in the most profound veneration by the Chinese race, containing 400,000,000 of our fellow-men. I may add that both works are quite short. The Ramayana and Maha Bliarata (as epitomised by Wheeler) and St. Hilaire’s Bouddha are not only very interesting in themselves, but very important in reference to our great oriental Empire. The authentic writings of the Apostolic Fathers are very short, being indeed comprised in one small volume, and as the only works (which have come down to us) of those who lived with and knew the Apostles, they are certainly well worth reading. I have been surprised at the great divergence of opinion which has been expressed. Nine lists of some length have been published. These lists contain some three hundred works not mentioned by me (without, however, any corresponding omissions), and yet there is not one single book which occurs in every list, or even in half of them, and only about half a dozen which appear in more than one of the nine. If these authorities, or even a majority of them, had concurred in their recom­ mendations, I would have availed myself of them ; but as they differ so greatly I will allow my list to remain almost as I first proposed it. I have, however, added Kalidasa’s Safomfato or The Lost Ring, and Schiller’s Wilhelm Tell, omitting, in consequence, Lucretius and Miss Austen : Lucretius because though his work is most remarkable, it is perhaps too difficult and therefore less generally suitable than most of the others in the list; and Miss Austen because English novelists were somewhat over-represented. High Elms, Down, Kent, August 1890. �CONTENTS PART I CHAP. * PAGE I. The Duty of II. The Happiness III. A Song of of V. The Blessing VI.The . . Friends . Value of Time VII. The Pleasures VIII. The Pleasures IX.Science . . Books of 1 ... Duty ...... of Books IV. The Choice . Happiness of of . . .13 . . . 17 . . . . .22 . . . . .25 - . 28 Travel . . . . . Home . . . . .32 ........ X. Education 7 . . . . . 36 .42 �‘ All places that the eye of Heaven visits Are to the wise man ports and happy havens.” Shakespeare. “ Some murmur, when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue. And some with thankful love are fill’d If but one streak of light, One ray of God’s good mercy gild The darkness of their night. ‘ ‘ In palaces are hearts that ask, In discontent and pride, Why life is such a dreary task, And all good things denied. And hearts in poorest huts admire How love has in their aid (Love that not ever seems to tire) Such rich provision made.” Trench. �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART I CHAPTER I THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS1 “ If a man is unhappy, this must be his own fault; for God made all men to be happy.”— Epictetus. Life is a great gift, and as we reach years of discretion, we most of us natur­ ally ask ourselves what should be the main object of our existence. Even those who do not accept “the greatest good of the greatest number” as an absolute rule, will yet admit that we should all endeavour to contribute as far as we may to the happiness of others. There are many, however, who seem to doubt whether it is right that we should try to be happy ourselves. Our own happiness ought not, of course, to be our main object, nor indeed will it ever be secured if selfishly sought. We may have many pleasures in life, but must not let them have rule over us, or they will soon hand us over to sorrow; and “ into jvhat dangerous and miserable servitude doth he fall who suffereth pleasures and sorrows (two unfaithful and cruel com­ manders) to possess him successively 1” 2 I cannot, however, but think that the world would be better and brighter if our teachers would dwell on the Duty of Happiness as well as on the Happiness of Duty; for we ought to be as cheerful as we can, if only because to be happy our­ selves, is a most effectual contribution to the happiness of others. 1 The substance of this was delivered at the Harris Institute, Preston. 2 Seneca. B Every one must have felt that a cheer­ ful friend is like a sunny day, shedding brightness on all around ; and most of us can, as we choose, make of this world either a palace or a prison. There is no doubt some selfish satisfac­ tion in yielding to melancholy, and fancy­ ing that we are victims of fate ; in brood­ ing over grievances, especially if more or less imaginary. To be bright and cheer­ ful often requires an effort; there is a certain art in keeping ourselves happy : and in this respect, as in others, we re­ quire to watch over and manage ourselves, almost as if we were somebody else. Sorrow and joy, indeed, are strangely interwoven. Too often “We look before and after, And pine for wliat is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught ; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. ”1 As a nation we are prone to melancholy. It has been said of our countrymen that they take even their pleasures sadly. But this, if it be true at all, will, I hope, prove a transitory characteristic. “ Merry England ” was the old saying ; let us hope it may become true again. We must look to the East for real melancholy. What can be sadder than the lines with which Omar Khayyam opens his quatrains : 2 “ We sojourn here for one short day or two, And all the gain we get is grief and woe ; And then, leaving life’s problems all unsolved And harassed by regrets, we have to go ; ” 1 Shelley. 2 I quote from Whinfield’s translation. IE �2 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART I or the Devas’ song to Prince Siddartha, inherit ; the glories and beauties of the in Edwin Arnold’s beautiful version : Universe, which is our own if we choose to have it so ; the extent to which we can ‘ ‘ We are the voices of tlie wandering wind, Which moan for rest, and rest can never find. make ourselves what we wish to be ; or Lo ! as the wind is, so is mortal life— the power we possess of securing peace, of A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife. ” triumphing over pain and sorrow. If this indeed be true, if mortal life Dante pointed to the neglect of oppor­ be so sad and full of suffering, no wonder tunities as a serious fault: that Nirvana—the cessation of sorrow— “Man can do violence should be welcomed even at the sacrifice To himself and his own blessings, and for this of consciousness. He, in the second round, must aye deplore, With unavailing penitence, his crime. But ought we not to place before our­ Whoe’er deprives himself of life and light selves a very different ideal—a healthier, In reckless lavishment his talent wastes, manlier, and nobler hope ? And sorrows then when he should dwell in joy.” Life is not to live merely, but to live Ruskin has expressed this with special well. There are some “ who live without any design at all, and only pass in the allusion to the marvellous beauty of this world like straws on a river : they do not glorious world, too often taken as a matter go ; they are carried,”1—-but as Homer of course, and remembered, if at all, al­ makes Ulysses say, “ How dull it is to most without gratitude. “ Holy men,” he pause, to make an end, to rest un­ complains, “in the recommending of the burnished ; not to shine in use — as love of God to us, refer but seldom to those things in which it is most abundantly and though to breathe were life ! ” Goethe tells us that at thirty he resolved immediately shown; though they insist “ to work out life no longer by halves, much on His giving of bread, and raiment, and health (which He gives to all inferior but in all its beauty and totality.” creatures): they require us not to thank “Im Ganzen, Guten, Schonen Him for that glory of His works which Resolut zu leben.” He has permitted us alone to perceive : Life indeed must be measured by they tell us often to meditate in the closet, thought and action, not by time. It but they send us not, like Isaac, into the certainly may be, and ought to be, bright, fields at even : they dwell on the duty of interesting, and happy ; for, according to self-denial, but they exhibit not the duty the Italian proverb, “ if all cannot live on of delight: ” and yet, as he justly says the Piazza, every one may feel the sun.” elsewhere, “ each of us, as we travel the If we do our best; if we do not mag­ way of life, has the choice, according to nify trifling troubles ; if we look resolutely, our working, of turning all the voices of I do not say at the bright side of things, Nature into one song of rejoicing ; or of but at things as they really are ; if we withering and quenching her sympathy avail ourselves of the manifold blessings into a fearful withdrawn silence of con­ which surround us ; we cannot but feel demnation,—into a crying out of her that life is indeed a glorious inheritance. stones and a shaking of her dust against “ More servants wait on man us.” Than he’ll take notice of. In every path Must we not all admit, with Sir Henry lie treads down that which doth befriend Taylor, that “the retrospect of life swarms him When sickness makes him pale and wan. with lost opportunities ” ? “ Whoever en­ Oh mighty Love ! Man is one world, and hath joys not life,” says Sir T. Browne, “ I Another to attend him.” 2 count him but an apparition, though he Few of us, however, realise the wonder­ wears about him the visible affections of ful privilege of living, or the blessings we flesh.” St. Bernard, indeed, goes so far as to 1 Seneca. 2 Herbert. �CHAP. I THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS 3 and that “ rather than follow a multitude to do evil,” one should “ stand like Pom­ pey’s pillar, conspicuous by oneself, and single in integrity.” 1 But to many this isolation would be itself most painful, for the heart is “ no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them.”2 If we separate ourselves so much from the interests of those around us that we do not sympathise with them in their sufferings, we shut ourselves out from sharing their happiness, and lose far more than we gain. If we avoid sympathy and wrap ourselves round in a cold chain armour of selfishness, we exclude ourselves from many of the greatest and purest joys of life. To render ourselves insensible to pain we must forfeit also the possibility of happiness. Moreover, much of what we call evil is really good in disguise, and we should not “ quarrel rashly with adversities not yet understood, nor overlook the mercies often bound up in them.” 3 Pleasure and pain are, as Plutarch says, the nails which fasten body and soul together. Pain is a signal of danger, a very necessity of existence. But for it, but for the warnings which our feelings give us, the very bless­ ings by ■which we are surrounded would soon and inevitably prove fatal. Many of those who have not studied the question are under the impression that the more deeply-seated portions of the body must be most sensitive. The very reverse is the case. The skin is a continuous and ever-watchful sentinel, always on guard to give us notice of any approaching danger ; while the flesh and inner organs, where pain would be without purpose, “ Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, are, so long as they are in health, com­ These demand not that the things without paratively without sensation. them “We talk,” says Helps, “of the origin Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. of evil ; . . . but what is evil ? We mostly Bounded by themselves, and unobservant speak of sufferings and trials as good, per­ In what state God’s other works may be, haps, in their result ; but we hardly In their own tasks all their powers pouring, These attain the mighty life you see.” admit that they may be good in them­ selves. Yet they are knowledge—how It is true that else to be acquired, unless by making “ A man is his own star ; maintain that “nothing can work me damage except myself; the harm that I sustain I carry about with me, and never am a real sufferer but by my own fault.” Some Heathen moralists also have taught very much the same lesson. “ The gods,” says Marcus Aurelius, “ have put all the means in man’s power to enable him not to fall into real evils. Now that which does not make a man worse, how can it make his life worse ? ” Epictetus takes the same line : “ If a man is unhappy, remember that his un­ happiness is his own fault; for God has made all men to be happy.” “ I am,” he elsewhere says, “ always content with that which happens ; for I think that what God chooses is better than what I choose.” And again : “ Seek not that things should happen as you wish ; but wish the things which happen to be as they are, and you will have a tranquil flow of life. ... If you wish for anything which belongs to another, you lose that which is your own.” Few, however, if any, can I think go as far as St. Bernard. We cannot but suffer from pain, sickness, and anxiety; from the loss, the unkindness, the faults, even the coldness of those we love. How many a day has been damped and dark­ ened by an angry word ! Hegel is said to have calmly finished his Phaenomenologie des Geistes at Jena, on the 14th October 1806, not knowing any­ thing whatever of the battle that was raging round him. Matthew Arnold has suggested that we might take a lesson from the heavenly bodies. Our acts our angels are For good or ill,” 1 Sir T. Browne. 2 Bacon. 3 Sir T. Browne. �4 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE men. as gods, enabling them to understand without experience. All that men go through may be absolutely the best for them—no such thing as evil, at least in our customary meaning of the word.” Indeed, “ the vale best discovereth the hill,” 1 and “ pour sentir les grands biens, il faut qu’il connoisse les petits maux.” 2 But even if we do not seem to get all that we should wish, many will feel, as in Leigh Hunt’s beautiful translation of Filicaja’s sonnet, that — “ So Providence for us, high, infinite, Makes our necessities its watchful task, Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants, And e’en if it denies what seems our right, Either denies because ’twould have us ask, Or seems but to deny, and in denying grants.” Those on the other hand who do not accept the idea of continual interferences, will rejoice in the belief that on the whole the laws of the Universe work out for the general happiness. And if it does come— “ Grief should be Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate, Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free : Strong to consume small troubles; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts last­ ing to the end.” 3 If, however, we cannot hope that life will be all happiness, we may at least secure a heavy balance on the right side ; and even events which look like mis­ fortune, if boldly faced, may often be turned to good. Oftentimes, says Seneca, “calamity turns to our advantage; and great ruins make way for greater glories.” Helmholtz dates his start in science to an attack of illness. This led to his acquisition of a microscope, which he was enabled to purchase, owing to his having spent his autumn vacation of 1841 in the hospital, prostrated by typhoid fever ; being a pupil, he was nursed without expense, and on his recovery he found himself in possession of the savings of his small resources. “ Savonarola,” says Castelar, “ would, 1 Bacon. 2 Rousseau. 3 Aubrey de Vere. PART I under different circumstances, undoubtedly have been a good husband, a tender father; a man unknown to history, utterly powerless to print upon the sands of time and upon the human soul the deep trace which he has left : but mis­ fortune came to visit him, to crush his heart, and to impart that marked melan­ choly which characterises a soul in grief; and the grief that circled his brows with a crown of thorns was also that which wreathed them with the splendour of immortality. His hopes were centred in the woman he loved, his life was set upon the possession of her, and when her family finally rejected him, partly on account of his profession, and partly on account of his person, he believed that it was death that had come upon him, when in truth it was immortality.” It is, however, impossible to deny the existence of ewl, and the reason for it has long exercised the human intellect. The Savage solves it by the supposition of evil Spirits. Even the Greeks attributed the misfortunes of men in great measure to the antipathies and jealousies of gods and goddesses. Others have imagined two Celestial Beings, opposite and an­ tagonistic—the one friendly, the other hostile, to men. Freedom of action, however, seems to involve the existence of evil. If any power of selection be left us, much must depend on the choice we make. In the very nature of things, two and two cannot make five. Epictetus imagines Jupiter addressing man as follows : “ If it had been possible to make your body and your property free from liability to injury, I would have done so. As this could not be, I have given you a small portion of myself.” This divine gift it is for us to use wisely. It is, in fact, our most valuable treasure. “ The soul is a much better thing than all the others which you possess. Can you then show me in what way you have taken care of it ? For it is not likely that you, who are so wise a man, inconsiderately and carelessly allow �THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS CHAP. I the most valuable thing that you possess to be neglected and to perish.” 1 Moreover, even if evil cannot be alto­ gether avoided, it is no doubt true that not only whether the life we lead be good and useful, or evil and useless, but also whether it be happy or unhappy, is very much in our own power, and depends greatly on ourselves. “ Time alone re­ lieves the foolish from sorrow, but reason the wise,”2 and no one was ever yet made utterly miserable excepting by him­ self. We are, if not the masters, at any rate almost the creators of ourselves. With most of us it is not so much great sorrows, disease, or death, but rather the little “daily dyings” which cloud over the sunshine of life. Many of our troubles are insignificant in themselves, and might easily be avoided L How happy home might generally be made but for foolish quarrels, or mis­ understandings, as they are well named ! It is our own fault if we are querulous or ill-humoured ; nor need we, though this is less easy, allow ourselves to be made unhappy by the querulousness or illhumours of others. Much of what we suffer we have brought on ourselves, if not by actual fault, at least by ignorance or thought­ lessness. Too often we think only of the happiness of the moment, and sacrifice that of the life. Troubles comparatively seldom come to us, it is we who go to them. Many of us fritter our life away. La Bruyere says that “ most men spend much of their lives in making the rest miserable • ” or, as Goethe puts it: “ Careworn man has, in all ages, Sown vanity to reap despair.” Not only do we suffer much in the anticipation of evil, as “ Noah lived many years under the affliction of a flood, and Jerusalem was taken unto Jeremy before it was besieged,” but we often distress ourselves greatly in the apprehension of misfortunes which after all never happen at all. We should do our best and wait 1 Epictetus. 2 Ibid. 5 calmly the result. We often hear of people breaking down from overwork, but in nine cases out of ten they are really suffering from worry or anxiety. “Nos maux moraux,” says Rousseau, “ sont tous dans 1’opinion, hors un seul, qui est le crime ; et celui-la depend de nous : nos maux physiques nous detruisent, ou se detruisent. Le temps, ou la mort, sont nos remedes.” “ Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven.” 1 This, however, applies to the grown up. With children of course it is different. It is customary, but I think it is a mistake, to speak of happy childhood. Children are often over-anxious and acutely sensi­ tive. Man ought to be man and master of his fate ; but children are at the mercy of those around them. Mr. Rarey, the great horse-tamer, has told us that he has known an angry word raise the pulse of a horse ten beats in a minute. Think then how it must affect a child ! It is small blame to the young if they are over-anxious ; but it is a danger to be striven against. “ The terrors of the storm are chiefly felt in the parlour or the cabin.” 2 To save ourselves from imaginary, or at any rate problematical, evils, we often incur real suffering. “The man,” said Epicurus, “who is not content with little is content with nothing.” How often do we “ labour for that which satisfieth not.” More than we use is more than we need, and only a burden to the bearer.3 We most of us give ourselves an immense amount of useless trouble ; encumber our­ selves, as it were, on the journey of life with a dead weight of unnecessary bag­ gage ; and as “a man maketh his train longer, he makes his wings shorter.” 4 In that delightful fairy tale, Alice through the Looking-Glass, the “ White Knight ” is described as having loaded himself on starting for a journey with a variety of odds and ends, including a mousetrap, lest 1 Shakespeare. 3 Seneca. 2 Emerson. 4 Bacon. �6 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART I he should be troubled by mice at night, “ How is it possible,” he says, “ that a and a bee-hive in case he came across a Inan who has nothing, who is naked, swarm of bees. houseless, without a hearth, squalid, with­ Hearne, in his Journey to the Mouth of out a slave, without a city, can pass a life the Coppermine River, tells us that a few that flows easily ? See, God has sent you days after starting on his expedition he a man to show you that it is possible. met a party of Indians, who annexed a Look at me, who am without a city, great deal of his property, and all Hearne without a house, without possessions, says is, “ The weight of our baggage being without a slave ; I sleep on the ground ; so much lightened, our next day’s journey I have no wife, no children, no prsetorium, was much pleasanter.” I ought, however, but only the earth and heavens, and one to add that the Indians broke up the poor cloak. And what do I want ? Am philosophical instruments, which,no doubt, I not without sorrow ? Am I not with­ were rather an encumbrance. out fear ? Am I not free ? When did When troubles do come, Marcus Aur­ any of you see me failing in the object of elius wisely tells us to “ remember on my desire ? or ever falling into that which every occasion which leads thee to vex­ I would avoid ? Did I ever blame God ation to apply this principle, that this is or man ? Did I ever accuse any man ? not a misfortune, but that to bear it nobly Did any of you ever see me with a is good fortune.” Our own anger indeed sorrowful countenance ? And how do I does us more harm than the thing which meet with those whom you are afraid of makes us angry; and we suffer much and admire ? Do not I treat them like more from the anger and vexation which slaves ? Who, when he sees me, does not we allow acts to rouse in us, than we do think that he sees his king and master ? ” from the acts themselves at which we are Think how much we have to be angry and vexed. How much most people, thankful for. Few of us appreciate the for instance, allow themselves to be dis­ number of our everyday blessings; we tracted and disturbed by quarrels and look on them as trifles, and yet “ trifles family disputes. Yet in nine cases out make perfection, and perfection is no of ten one ought not to suffer from being trifle,” as Michael Angelo said. We for­ found fault with. If the condemnation is get them because they are always with just, it should be welcome as a warning ; us ; and yet for each of us, as Mr. Pater if it is undeserved, why should we allow well observes, “ these simple gifts, and it to distress us 1 others equally trivial, bread and wine, Moreover, if misfortunes happen we do fruit and milk, might regain that poetic but make them worse by grieving over and, as it were, moral significance which them. surely belongs to all the means of our “ I must die,” says Epictetus. “ But daily life, could we but break through the must I then die sorrowing ? I must be veil of our familiarity with things by no put in chains. Must I then also lament? means vulgar in themselves.” I must go into exile. Can I be prevented “Let not,” says Isaak Walton, “the from going with cheerfulness and con­ blessings we receive daily from God make tentment ? But I will put you in prison. us not to value or not praise Him because Man, what are you saying ? You may they be common; let us not forget to put my body in prison, but my mind not praise Him for the innocent mirth and even Zeus himself can overpower.” pleasure we have met with since we met If, indeed, we cannot be happy, the together. What would a blind man give fault is generally in ourselves. Socrates to see the pleasant rivers and meadows lived under the Thirty Tyrants. Epic­ and flowers and fountains ; and this and tetus was a poor slave, and yet how much many other like blessings we enjoy daily.” we owe him ! Contentment, we have been told by �CHAP. I THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY Epicurus, consists not in great wealth, but in few wants. In this fortunate country, however, we may have many wants, and yet, if they are only reasonable, we may gratify them all. Nature indeed provides without stint the main requisites of human happiness. “.To watch the corn grow, or the blossoms set; to draw hard breath over plough­ share or spade ; to read, to think, to love, to pray,” these, says Ruskin, “ are the things that make men happy.” “ I have fallen into the hands of thieves,” says Jeremy Taylor ; “ what then ? They have left me the sun and moon, fire and water, a loving wife and many friends to pity me, and some to relieve me, and I can still discourse ; and, unless I list, they have not taken away my merry countenance and my cheerful spirit and a good conscience. . . . And he that hath so many causes of joy, and so great, is very much in love with sorrow and peevishness who loses all these pleasures, and chooses to sit down on his little handful of thorns.” “ When a man has such things to think on, and sees the sun, the moon, and stars, and enjoys earth and sea, he is not solitary or even helpless.” 1 “ Paradise indeed might,” as Luther said, “apply to the whole world.” What more is there we could ask for ourselves ? “Every sort of beauty,” says Mr. Greg,2 “has been lavished on our allotted home ; beauties to enrapture every sense, beauties to satisfy every taste • forms the noblest and the loveliest, colours the most gorgeous and the most delicate, odours the sweetest and subtlest, harmonies the most soothing and the most stirring : the sunny glories of the day; the pale Elysian grace of moonlight; the lake, the mountain, the primeval forest, and the boundless ocean; ‘ silent pinnacles of aged snow ’ in one hemisphere, the marvels of tropical luxuriance in another ; the serenity of sunsets; the sublimity of storms ; everything is bestowed in bound­ less profusion on the scene of our exist1 Epictetus, ? The Enigmas of Life. 7 ence ; we can conceive or desire nothing more exquisite or perfect than what is round us every hour; and our percep­ tions are so framed as to be consciously alive to all. The provision made for our sensuous enjoyment is in overflowing abundance ; so is that for the other elements of our complex nature. Who that has revelled in the opening ecstasies of a young Imagination, or the rich marvels of the world of Thought, does not confess that the Intelligence has been dowered at least with as profuse a benefi­ cence as the Senses ? Who that has truly tasted and fathomed human Love in its dawning and crowning joys has not thanked God for a felicity which indeed ‘passeth understanding.’ If we had set our fancy to picture a Creator occupied solely in devising delight for children whom he loved, we could not conceive one single element of bliss which is not here.” CHAPTER II THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY1 “I am always content with that which happens ; for I think that what God chooses is better than what I choose.” Epictetus. “ 0 God, All conquering ! this lower earth Would be for men the blest abode of mirth If they were strong in Thee As other things of this world well are seen ; Oh then, far other than they yet have been, How happy would men be.” King Alfred’s ed. of Boethius’s Consolations of Philosophy. We ought not to picture Duty to our­ selves, or to others, as a stern taskmistress. She is rather a kind and sympathetic mother, ever ready to shelter us from the cares and anxieties of this world, and to guide us in the paths of peace. To shut oneself up from mankind i°, in most cases, to lead a dull, as well as a selfish life. Our duty is to make ourselves useful, and thus life may be made most 1 The substance of this was delivered at the Harris Institute, Preston. �8 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART I interesting, while yet comparatively free if we have done our best to make others from anxiety. happy; to promote “ peace on earth and But how can we fill our lives with life, goodwill amongst men.” Nothing, again, energy, and interest, and yet keep care can do more to release us from the cares outside ? of this world, which consume so much of Many great men have made shipwreck our time, and embitter so much of our in the attempt. “ Anthony sought for life. When we have done our best, we happiness in love ; Brutus in glory; Cfesar should wait the result in peace ; content, in dominion : the first found disgrace, the as Epictetus says, “with that which second disgust, the last ingratitude, and happens, for what God chooses is better each destruction.” 1 Riches, again, often than what I choose.” bring danger, trouble, and temptation ■ At any rate, if we have not effected all they require care to keep, though they we wished, we shall have influenced our­ may give much happiness if wisely spent. selves. It may be true that one cannot How then is this great object to be do much. “You are not Hercules, and secured ? What, says Marcus Aurelius, you are not able to purge away the wicked­ “ What is that which is able to conduct ness of others ; nor yet are you Theseus, a man ? One thing and only one—philo­ able to drive away the evil things of sophy. But this consists in keeping the Attica. But you may clear away your daemon 2 within a man free from violence own. From yourself, from your own and unharmed, superior to pains and thoughts, cast away, instead of Procrustes pleasures, doing nothing without a pur­ and Sciron,1 sadness, fear, desire, envy, pose, yet not falsely and with hypocrisy, malevolence, avarice, effeminacy, intem­ not feeling the need of another man’s perance. But it is not possible to eject doing or not doing anything ; and besides, these things otherwise than by looking to accepting all that happens, and all that God only, by fixing your affections on is allotted, as coming from thence, where- Him only, by being consecrated by His ever it is, from whence he himself came ; commands.” 2 and, finally, waiting for death with a Duty does not imply restraint. People ’ cheerful mind, as being nothing else than sometimes think how delightful it would a dissolution of the elements of which be to be quite free. But a fish, as Ruskin every living being is compounded.” I con­ says, is freer than a man, and as for a fly, fess I do not feel the force of these last few it is “a black incarnation of freedom.” words, which indeed scarcely seem requisite A life of so-called pleasure and self-indul­ for his argument. The thought of death, gence is not a life of real happiness or however, certainly influences the conduct true freedom. Far from it, if we once of life less than might have been expected. begin to give way to ourselves, we fall Bacon truly points out that “there is under a most intolerable tyranny. Other no passion in the mind of man so weak, temptations are in some respects like that but it mates and masters the fear of of drink. At first, perhaps, it seems death. . . . Revenge triumphs over death, delightful, but there is bitterness at the love slights it, honour aspireth to it, grief bottom of the cup. Men drink to satisfy flieth to it.” the desire created by previous indulgence. So it is in other things. Repetition soon “Think not I dread to see my spirit fly Through the dark gates of fell mortality; becomes a craving, not a pleasure. Re­ Death has no terrors when the life is true ; sistance grows more and more painful; ’Tis living ill that makes us fear to die.” 3 yielding, which at first, perhaps, afforded We need certainly have no such fear some slight and temporary gratification, 1 Colton, Lacon, or Many Things in Few soon ceases to give pleasure, and even if JFotyZs. 2 J.e. spirit. I 3 Omar Khayyam. 1 Two robbers destroyed by Theseus. 2 Epictetus. �CHAP. II THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY 9 for a time it procures relief, ere long have of the Universe must in some measure damp personal ambition. What it is to be becomes odious itself. To resist is difficult, to give way is pain­ king, sheikh, tetrarch, or emperor over a ful ; until at length the wretched victim ‘ bit of a bit ’ of this little earth ? ” “ All to himself can only purchase, or thinks rising to great place,” says Bacon, “ is by he can only purchase, temporary relief from a winding stair; ” and “ princes are like intolerable craving and depression, at the heavenly bodies, which have much vener­ expense of even greater suffering in the ation, but no rest.” Plato in the Republic mentions an old future. On the other hand, self-control, how­ myth that after death every soul has to ever difficult at first, becomes step by step choose a lot in life for the existence in the easier and more delightful. We possess next world ; and he tells us that the wise mysteriously a sort of dual nature, and Ulysses searched for a considerable time there are few truer triumphs, or more for the lot of a private man. He had delightful sensations, than to obtain some difficulty in finding it, as it was lying neglected in a corner, but when he had thorough command of oneself. How much pleasanter it is to ride a secured it he was delighted ; the recollec­ spirited horse, even perhaps though requir­ tion of all he had gone through on earth ing some strength and skill, than to creep having disenchanted him of ambition. along upon a jaded hack. In the one Moreover, there is a great deal of case you feel under you the free, re­ drudgery in the lives of courts. Cere­ sponsive spring of a living and willing monials may be important, but they take force ; in the other you have to spur a up much time and are terribly tedious. dull and lifeless slave. A man then is his own best kingdom. To rule oneself is in reality the greatest “ He that ruleth his spirit,” says triumph. “ He who is his own monarch,” Solomon, “ is better than he that taketh says Sir T. Browne, “ contentedly sways a city.” But self-control, this truest and the sceptre of himself, not envying the greatest monarchy, rarely comes by in­ glory to crowned heads and Elohim of the heritance. Every one of us must conquer earth ; ” for those are really highest who himself; and we may do so, if we take are nearest to heaven, and those are low­ conscience for our guide and general. est who are farthest from it. No one really fails who does his best. True greatness has little, if anything, Seneca observes that “no one saith the to do with rank or power. “ Eurystheus three hundred Fabii were defeated, but being what he was,” says Epictetus, “ was that they were slain,” and if you have not really king of Argos nor of Mycenee, done your best, you will, in the words of for he could not even rule himself ; while an old Norse ballad, have gained Hercules purged lawlessness and intro­ “ Success in thyself, which is best of all.” duced justice, though he was both naked and alone.” Being myself engaged in business, I was We are told that Cineas the philosopher rather startled to find it laid down by no once asked Pyrrhus what he would do less an authority than Aristotle (almost as when he had conquered Italy. “ I will if it were a self-evident proposition) that conquer Sicily.” “And after Sicily?” commerce “ is incompatible with that “ Then Africa.” “ And after you have dignified life which it is to be wished that conquered the world ? ” “I will take my our citizens should lead, and totally ad­ ease and be merry.” “ Then,” asked verse to that generous elevation of mind Cineas, “ why can you not take your ease with which it is our ambition to inspire and be merry now ? ” them.” I know not how far that may Moreover, as Sir Arthur Helps has really have been the spirit and tendency wisely pointed out, “ the enlarged view we of commerce among the ancient Greeks; �IO THE PLEASURES OF LIFE but if so, I do not wonder that it was not more successful. I may, indeed, quote Aristotle against himself, for he has elsewhere told us that “business should be chosen for the sake of leisure ; and things necessary and useful for the sake of the beautiful in conduct.” It is not true that the ordinary duties of life in a country like ours—agriculture, manufactures, and commerce,—the pur­ suits to which the vast majority are and must be devoted—are incompatible with the dignity or nobility of life. Whether a life is noble or ignoble depends, not on the calling which is adopted, but on the spirit in which it is followed. The humblest life may be noble, while that of the most powerful monarch or the greatest genius may be contemptible. Commerce, indeed, is not only compatible, but I would almost go further and say that it will be most successful, if carried on in happy union with noble aims and generous aspirations. What Ruskin says of art is, with due modification, true of life gener­ ally. It does not matter whether a man “ paint the petal of a rose or the chasms of a precipice, so that love and admiration attend on him as he labours, and wait for ever on his work. It does not matter whether he toil for months on a few inches of his canvas, or cover a palace front with colour in a day ; so only that it be with a solemn purpose, that he have filled his heart with patience, or urged his hand to haste.’’ It is true that in a subsequent volume he refers to this passage, and adds, “ But though all is good for study, and all is beautiful, some is better than the rest for the help and pleasure of others ; and this it is our duty always to choose if we have opportunity,” adding, however, “ being quite happy with what is within our reach if we have not.” We read of and admire the heroes of old, but every one of us has to fight his ow’n Marathon and ThermopyIse ; every one meets the Sphinx sitting by the road he has to pass ; to each of us, as to Hercules, is offered the choice of Vice or PART I Virtue; we may, like Paris, give the apple of life to Venus, or Juno, or Minerva. There are many who seem to think that we have fallen on an age in the world when life is especially difficult and anxious, when there is less leisure than of yore, and the struggle for existence is keener than ever. On the other hand, we must remember how much we have gained in security? It may be an age of hard work, but -when this is not carried to an extreme, it is by no means an evil. If we have less leisure, one reason is because life is so full of interest. Cheerfulness is the daughter of employment, and on the whole I believe there never was a time when modest merit and patient industry were more sure of reward. We must not, indeed, be discouraged if success be slow in coming, nor puffed up if it comes quickly. We often complain of the nature of things when the fault is all in ourselves. Seneca, in one of his letters, mentions that his wife’s maid, Harpaste, had nearly lost her eyesight, but “ she knoweth not she is blind, she saith the house is dark. This that seemeth ridiculous unto us in her, happeneth unto us all. No man understandeth that he is covetous, or avaricious. He saith, I am not ambitious, but no man can otherwise live in Rome ; I am not sumptuous, but the city requireth great expense.” Newman, in perhaps the most beautiful of his hymns, “ Lead, kindly light,” says : “ Keep thou my feet, I do not ask to see The distant scene ; one step enough for me. ” But we must be sure that we are really following some trustworthy guide, and not out of mere laziness allowing ourselves to drift. We have a guide within us which will generally lead us straight enough. Religion, no doubt, is full of difficulties, but if we are often puzzled what to think, we need seldom be in doubt what to do. “ To say well is good, but to do well is better ; Do well is the spirit, and say well the letter ; If do well and say well were fitted in one frame, All were won, all were done, and. got were all the gain.” �THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY CHAP. II il Cleanthes, who appears to have well every fourth. But if you have inter­ merited the statue erected to him at mitted thirty days, make a sacrifice to God. For the habit at first begins to be Assos, says : weakened, and then is completely de­ “ Lead me, 0 Zeus, and thou, 0 Destiny, stroyed. When you can say, ‘ I have not The way that I am bid by you to go : To follow I am ready. If I choose not, been vexed to-day, nor the .day before, nor I make myself a wretch ;—and still must yet on any succeeding day during two or follow.” three months ; but I took care when some If we are ever in doubt what to do, it exciting things happened,’ be assured that is a good rule to ask ourselves what we you are in a good way.” 1 Emerson closes his Conduct of Life shall wish on the morrow that we had with a striking allegory. The young done. Moreover, the result in the long run Mortal enters the Hall of the Firmament. will depend not so much on some single The Gods are sitting there, and he is resolution, or on our action in a special alone with them. They pour on him case, but rather on the preparation of gifts and blessings, and beckon him to daily life. Battles are often won before their thrones. But between him and they are fought. To control our passions them suddenly appear snow-storms of we must govern our habits, and keep illusions. He imagines himself in a vast watch over ourselves in the small details crowd, whose behests he fancies he must obey. The mad crowd drives hither and of everyday life. The importance of small things has thither, and sways this way and that. been pointed out by philosophers over What is he that he should resist ? He and over again from jEsop downwards. lets himself be«carried about. How can “ Great without small makes a bad wall,” he think or act for himself? But the says a quaint Greek proverb, which seems clouds lift, and there are the Gods still to go back to cyclopean times. In an old sitting on their thrones ; they alone with Hindoo story Ammi says to his son, him alone. “ The great man,” he elsewhere says, “ Bring me a fruit of that tree and break it open. What is there ? ” The son said, “is he who in the midst of the crowd “ Some small seeds.” “ Break one of keeps with perfect sweetness the serenity them and what do you see ? ” “ Nothing, of solitude.” We may all, indeed, if we will, secure my lord.” “ My child,” said Ammi, “where you see nothing there dwells a peace of mind for ourselves. “ Men seek retreats,” says Marcus Au­ mighty tree.” It may almost be questioned whether anything can be truly called relius, “ houses in the country, sea-shores, and mountains ; and thou too art wont small. to desire such things very much. But “ There is no great and no small this is altogether a mark of the most To the soul that maketh all ; common sort of men ; for it is in thv And where it cometh all things are, And it cometh everywhere.” 1 power whenever thou shalt choose, to We should therefore watch ourselves in retire into thyself. For nowhere either small things. If “ you wish not to be of with more quiet or more freedom from an angry temper, do not feed the habit: trouble does a man retire, than into his throw nothing on it which will increase own soul, particularly when he has within it: at first keep quiet, and count the days him such thoughts that by looking into on which you have not been angry. I them he is immediately in perfect tran­ used to be in a passion every day ; now quillity.” Happy indeed is he who has such a every second day ; then every third ; then sanctuary in his own soul. “He who is 1 Emerson. 1 Epictetus. �12 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE virtuous is wise ; and he who is wise is good ; and he who is good is happy.” 1 But we cannot expect to be happy if we do not lead pure and useful lives. To be good company for ourselves we must store our minds well ; fill them with pure and peaceful thoughts ; with pleasant memories of the past, and reasonable hopes for the future. We must, as far as may be, protect ourselves from selfreproach, from care, and from anxiety. We shall make our lives pure and peaceful, by resisting evil, by placing restraint upon our appetites, and perhaps even more by strengthening and developing our tend­ encies to good. We must be careful, then, on what we allow our minds to dwell. The soul is dyed by its thoughts; we cannot keep our minds pure if we allow them to be sullied by detailed accounts of crime and sin. Peace of mind, as Ruskin beautifully observes, “ must come in its own time, as the waters settle themselves into clearness as well as quiet­ ness ; you can no more filter your mind into purity than you can compress it into calmness ; you must keep it pure if you would have it pure, and throw no stones into it if you would have it quiet.” The penalty of injustice, said Socrates, is not death or stripes, but the fatal neces­ sity of becoming more and more unjust. Few men have led a wiser or more virtuous life than Socrates himself, of whom Xenophon gives us the following description :—“ To me, being such as I have described him, so pious that he did nothing without the sanction of the gods; so just, that he wronged no man even in the most trifling affair, but was of service in the most important matters to those who enjoyed his society ; so temperate that he never preferred pleasure to virtue; so wise, that he never erred in distinguish­ ing better from worse ; needing no counsel from others, but being sufficient in himself to discriminate between them ; so able to explain and settle such questions by argu­ ment ; and so capable of discerning the character of others, of confuting those 1 King Alfred’s Boethius. PART I who were in error, and of exhorting them to virtue and honour, he seemed to be such as the best and happiest of men would be. But if any one disapproves of my opinion let him compare the con­ duct of others with that of Socrates, and determine accordingly.” Marcus Aurelius again has drawn for us a most instructive lesson in his character of Antoninus:—“Remember his constancy in every act which was conformable to reason, his evenness in all things, his piety, the serenity of his countenance, his sweetness, his disregard of empty fame, and his efforts to understand things ; how he would never let anything pass without having first most carefully ex­ amined it and clearly understood it ; how he bore with those who blamed him unjustly without blaming them in return; how he did nothing in a hurry; how he listened not to calumnies, and how exact an examiner of manners and actions he was ; not given to reproach people, nor timid, nor suspicious, nor a sophist; with how little he was satisfied, such as lodging, bed, dress, food, servants ; how laborious and patient ; how sparing he was in his diet; his firmness and uniformity in his friendships ; how he tolerated freedom of speech in those who opposed his opinions; the pleasure that he had when any man showed him anything better ; and how pious he was without superstition. Imi­ tate all this that thou mayest have as good a conscience, when thy last hour comes, as he had.” Such peace of mind is indeed an in­ estimable boon, a rich reward of duty fulfilled. Well then does Epictetus ask, “Is there no reward? Do you seek a reward greater than that of doing what is good and just ? At Olympia you wish for nothing more, but it seems to you enough to be crowned at the games. Does it then seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be good and happy?” In Bernard of Morlaix’s beautiful lines — “ Pax erit ilia fidelibus, ilia beata Irrevocabilis, Invariabilis, Intemerata. �A SONG OF BOOKS CHAP. Ill . 13 Pax sine crimine, pax sine turbine, pax sine himself to-be a zealous follower of truth, rixa, of happiness, of wisdom, of science, or Meta Laboribus, inque tumultibus anchora even of the faith, must of necessity make fixa ; Pax erit omnibus unica. Sed quibus ? Im- himself a lover of books.” But if the maculatis debt were great then, how much more Pectore niitibus, ordine stantibus, ore sacratis.” now. What greater reward can we have than this ; than the “peace which passeth all understanding,” which “ cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof.” 1 CHAPTER III A SONG OF BOOKS2 “ Oil for a booke and a sliadie nooke, Eyther in doore or out; With the grene leaves whispering overhead Or the streete cryes all about. Where I maie reade all at my ease, Both of the newe and old ; For a jollie goode booke whereon to looke, Is better to me than golde.” Old English Song. Of all the privileges we enjoy in this nineteenth century there is none, perhaps, for which we ought to be more thankful than for the easier access to books. The debt we owe to books -was well expressed by Richard de Bury, Bishop of Durham, author of Philobiblon, written as long ago as 1344, published in 1473, and the earliest English treatise on the delights of literature :—“ These,” he says, “ are the masters who instruct us without rods and ferules, without hard words and anger, without clothes or money. If you approach them, they are not asleep; if investigating you interrogate them, they conceal nothing ; if you mistake them, they never grumble ; if you are ignorant, they cannot laugh at you. The library, therefore, of wisdom is more precious than all riches, and nothing that can be wished for is worthy to be compared with it. Whosoever therefore acknowledges 1 Job. 2 Delivered at the Working Men’s College. This feeling that books are real friends is constantly present to all who love read­ ing. “ I have friends,” said Petrarch, “ whose society is extremely agreeable to me ; they are of all ages, and of every country. They have distinguished them­ selves both in the cabinet and in the field, and obtained high honours for their knowledge of the sciences. It is easy to gain access to them, for they are always at my service, and I admit them to my company, and dismiss them from it, whenever I please. They are never troublesome, but immediately answer every question I ask them. Some relate to me the events of past ages, while others reveal to me the secrets of Nature. Some teach me how to live, and others how to die. Some, by their vivacity, drive away my cares and exhilarate my spirits ; while others give fortitude to my mind, and teach me the important lesson how to restrain my desires, and to depend wholly on myself. They open to me, in short, the various avenues of all the arts and sciences, and upon their information I may safely rely in all emergencies. In return for all their services, they only ask me to accommodate them with a con­ venient chamber in some corner of my humble habitation, where they may repose in peace; for these friends are more delighted by the tranquillity of retirement than with the tumults of society.” “ He that loveth a book,” says Isaac Barrow, “ will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counsellor, a cheer­ ful companion, an effectual comforter. By study, by reading, by thinking, one may innocently divert and pleasantly entertain himself, as in all weathers, so in all fortunes.” Southey took a rather more melancholy view : �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE “My days among the dead are pass’d, Around me I_beliold, Where’er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old; My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.” Imagine, in the words of Aikin, “ that we had it in our power to call up the shades of the greatest and wisest men that ever existed, and oblige them to con­ verse with us on the most interesting topics—what an inestimable privilege should we think it !—how superior to all common enjoyments! But in a wellfurnished library we, in fact, possess this power. We can question Xenophon and Csesar on their campaigns, make Demos­ thenes and Cicero plead before us, join in the audiences of Socrates and Plato, and receive demonstrations from Euclid and Newton. In books we have the choicest thoughts of the ablest men in their best dress.” “Books,” says Jeremy Collier, “are a guide in youth and an entertainment for age. They support us under solitude, and keep us from being a burthen to ourselves. They help us to forget the crossness of men and things ; compose our cares and our passions ; and lay our disappointments asleep. When we are weary of the living, we may repair to the dead, who have nothing of peevish­ ness, pride, or design in their conversa­ tion.” Sir John Herschel tells an amusing anecdote illustrating the pleasure derived from a book, not assuredly of the first order. In a certain village the black­ smith having got hold of Richardson’s novel, Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, used to sit on his anvil in the long summer evenings and read it aloud to a large and attentive audience. It is by no means a short book, but they fairly listened to it alL At length, when the happy turn of fortune arrived, which brings the hero and heroine together, and sets them living long and happily together according to the most approved rules, the congregation were so delighted as to raise a great shout, PART I and procuring the church keys, actually set the parish bells a-ringing. “The lover of reading,” says Leigh Hunt, “will derive agreeable terror from Sir Bertram and the Haunted Chamber; will assent with delighted reason to every sentence in Mrs. Barbauld’s Essay; will feel himself wandering into solitudes with Gray; shake honest hands with Sir Roger de Coverley; be ready to embrace Parson Adams, and to chuck Pounce out of the window instead of the hat ; will travel with Marco Polo and Mungo Parle; stay at home with Thomson; retire with Cowley; be industrious with Hutton; sympathising with Gay and Mrs. Inch­ bald; laughing with (and at) Buncle; melancholy, and forlorn, and self-restored with the shipwrecked mariner of De Foe.” Carlyle has wisely said that a collection of books is a real university. The importance of books has been appreciated in many quarters where we might least expect it. Among the hardy Norsemen runes were supposed to be endowed with miraculous power. There is an Arabic proverb, that “a wise man’s day is worth a fool’s life,” and another— though it reflects, perhaps, rather the spirit of the Califs than of the Sultans,— that “ the ink of science is more precious than the blood of the martyrs.” Confucius is said to have described himself as a man who “ in his eager pur­ suit of knowledge forgot his food, who in the joy of its attainment forgot his sorrows, and did not even perceive that old age was coming on.” Yet, if this could be said by the Arabs and the Chinese, what language can be strong enough to express the gratitude we ought to feel for the advantages we enjoy ! We do not appreciate, I think, our good fortune in belonging to the nineteenth century. Sometimes, indeed, one may even be inclined to wish that one had not lived quite so soon, and to long for a glimpse of the books, even the school­ books, of one hundred years hence. A hundred years ago not only were books extremely expensive and cumbrous, but �CHAP .III A SONG OF BOOKS many of the most delightful were still uncreated—such as the works of Scott, Thackeray, Dickens, Shelley, and Byron, not to mention living authors. How much more interesting science has become especially, if I were to mention only one name, through the genius of Darwin! Renan has characterised this as a most amusing century; I should rather have described it as most interesting : present­ ing us as it does with an endless vista of absorbing problems ; with infinite oppor­ tunities ; with more interest and less danger than surrounded our less fortunate ancestors. Cicero described a room without books, as a body without a soul. But it is by no means necessary to be a philosopher to love reading. Reading, indeed, is by no means neces­ sarily study. Far from it. “ I put,” says Mr. Frederic Harrison, in his excellent article on the “ Choice of Books,” “ I put the poetic and emotional side of literature as the most needed for daily use.” In the prologue to the Legende of Goode Women, Chaucer says : “ And as for me, though that I konne but lyte, On bokes for to rede I me delyte, And to him give I feyth and ful credence, And in myn herte have him in reverence, So hertely, that tlier is game noon, That fro my bokes maketh me to goon, But yt be seidome on the holy day, Save, certynly, when that the monthe of May Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, Farwel my boke and my devocion.” But I doubt whether, if he had enjoyed our advantages, he could have been so certain of tearing himself away, even in the month of May. Macaulay, who had all that wealth and fame, rank and talents could give, yet, we are told, derived his greatest happiness from books. Sir G. Trevelyan, in his charming biography, says that—“of the feelings which Macaulay entertained to­ wards the great minds of bygone ages it is not for any one except himself to speak. He has told us how his debt to them was IS incalculable; how they guided him to truth; how they filled his mind with noble and graceful images ; how they stood by him in all vicissitudes—comforters in sorrow, nurses in sickness, companions in solitude, the old friends who are never seen with new faces ; who are the same in wealth and in poverty, in glory and in obscurity. Great as were the honours and possessions which Macaulay acquired by his pen, all who knew him were well aware that the titles and rewards which he gained by his own works were as nothing in the balance compared with the pleasure he derived from the works of others.” There was no society in London so agree­ able that Macaulay would have preferred it at breakfast or at dinner “ to the com­ pany of Sterne or Fielding, Horace Wal­ pole or Boswell.” The love of reading which Gibbon declared he would not ex­ change for all the treasures of India was, in fact, with Macaulay “ a main element of happiness in one of the happiest lives that it has ever fallen to the lot of the bio­ grapher to record.” “History,” says Fuller, “maketh a young man to be old without either wrinkles or gray hair, privileging him with the experience of age without either the infirmities or the inconveniences thereof.” So delightful indeed are books that we must be careful not to forget other duties for them; in cultivating the mind we must not neglect the body. To the lover of literature or science, exercise often presents itself as an irksome duty, and many a one has felt like “ the fair pupil of Ascham (Lady Jane Grey), who, while the horns were sounding and dogs in full cry, sat in the lonely oriel, with eyes riveted to that immortal page which tells how meekly and bravely (Socrates) the first martyr of intellectual liberty took the cup from his weeping jailer.” 1 Still, as the late Lord Derby justly ob­ served,2 those who do not find time for 1 Macaulay. 2 Address, Liverpool College, 1873. �i6 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE exercise will have to find time for ill­ ness. Books, again, are now so cheap as to be within the reach of almost every one. This was not always so. It is quite a recent blessing. Mr. Ireland, to whose charming little Book Lover's Enchiridion, in common with every lover of reading, I am greatly indebted, tells us that when a boy he was so delighted with White’s Natural History of Selborne, that in order to possess a copy of his own he actually copied out the whole work. Mary Lamb gives a pathetic description of a studious boy lingering at a bookstall : “ I saw a boy with eager eye Open a book upon a stall, And read, as he’d devour it all; Which, when the*stall man did espy, Soon to the boy I heard him call, ‘ You, sir, you never buy a book, Therefore in one you shall not look.’ The boy passed slowly on, and with a sigh He wished he never had been taught to read, Then of the old churl’s books he should have had no need.” Such snatches of literature have, indeed, a special and peculiar charm. This is, I believe, partly due to the very fact of their being brief. Many readers miss much of the pleasure of reading by forceing themselves to dwell too long con­ tinuously on one subject. In a long railway journey, for instance, many persons take only a single book. The consequence is that, unless it is a story, after half an hour or an hour they are quite tired of it. Whereas, if they had two, or still better three books, on different subjects, and one of them of an amusing character, they would probably find that, by changing as soon as they felt at all weary, they would come back again and again to each with renewed zest, and hour after hour would pass pleasantly away. Every one, of course, must judge for himself, but such at least is my experience. I quite agree, therefore, with Lord Iddesleigh as to the charm of desultory reading, but the wider the field the more important that we should benefit by the very best books in each class. Not that we PART I need confine ourselves to them, but that we should commence with them, and they will certainly lead us on to others. There are of course some books which we must read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. But these are exceptions. As regards by far the larger number, it is probably better to read them quickly, dwelling only on the best and most important passages. In this way, no doubt, we shall lose much, but we gain more by ranging over a wider field. We may, in fact, I think, apply to reading Lord Brougham’s wise dictum as regards education, and say that it is well to read everything of something, and something of everything. In this way only we can ascertain the bent of our own tastes, for it is a general, though not of course an invariable, rule, that we profit little by books which we do not enjoy. Every one, however, may suit himself. The variety is endless. Not only does a library contain “in­ finite riches in a little room,” 1 but we may sit at home and yet be in all quarters of the earth. We may travel round the world with Captain Cook or Darwin, with Kingsley or Ruskin, who will show us much more perhaps than ever we should see for ourselves. The world itself has no limits for us ; Humboldt and Herschel will carry us far away to the mysterious nebulas, beyond the sun and even the stars : time has no more bounds than space; history stretches out behind us, and geology will carry us back for millions of years before the creation of man, even to the origin of the material Universe itself. Nor are we limited to one plane of thought. Aristotle and Plato will transport us into a sphere none the less delightful because we cannot appreciate it without some training. Comfort and consolation, peace and happiness, may indeed be found in his library by any one “ who shall bring the golden key that unlocks its silent door.” 2 A library is true fairyland, a very palace of delight, a haven of repose from the storms and troubles of the world. Rich 1 Marlowe. 2 Matthews. �THE CHOICE OF BOOKS CHAP. IV and poor can enjoy it alike, for here, at least, wealth gives no advantage. We may make a library, if we do but rightly use it, a true paradise on earth, a garden of Eden without its one drawback ; for all is open to us, including, and especially, the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, for which we are told that our first mother sacrificed all the Pleasures of Paradise. Here we may read the most important histories, the most exciting volumes of travels and adventures, the most interest­ ing stories, the most beautiful poems ; we may meet the most eminent statesmen, poets, and philosophers, benefit by the ideas of the greatest thinkers, and enjoy the grandest creations of human genius. CHAPTER IV THE CHOICE OF BOOKS 1 “ All round the room my silent servants wait— My friends in every season, bright and dim, Angels and Seraphim Come down and murmur to me, sweet and low, And spirits of the skies all come and go Early and Late.” Proctor. And yet too often they wait in vain. One reason for this is, I think, that people are overwhelmed by the crowd of books offered to them. In old days books were rare and dear. Now on the contrary, it may be said with greater truth than ever that “Words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.”2 Our ancestors had great difficulty in pro­ curing books. Ours now is what to select. We must be careful what we read, and not, like the sailors of Ulysses, take bags of wind for sacks of treasure—not only lest we should even now fall into the error of the Greeks, and suppose that 1 Delivered at the London Working Men’s College. 2 Byron. c 17 language and definitions can be instru­ ments of investigation as well as of thought, but lest, as too often happens, we should waste time over trash. There are many books to which one may apply, in the sarcastic sense, the ambiguous remark which Lord Beaconsfield made to an unfortunate author, “ I will lose no time in reading your book.” There are, indeed, books and books ; and there are books which, as Lamb said, are not books at all. It is wonderful how much innocent happiness we thought­ lessly throw away. An Eastern proverb says that calamities sent by heaven may be avoided, but from those we bring on ourselves there is no escape. Many, I believe, are deterred from attempting what are called stiff books for fear they should not understand them ; but there are few* who need complain of the narrowness of their minds, if only they would do their best with them. In reading, however, it is most im­ portant to select subjects in which one is interested. I remember years ago con­ sulting Mr. Darwin as to the selection of a course of study. He asked me what interested me most, and advised me to choose that subject. This, indeed, applies to the work of life generally. I am sometimes disposed to think that the great readers of the next generation will be, not our lawyers and doctors, shopkeepers and manufacturers, but the labourers and mechanics. Does not this seem natural1? The former work mainly with their head ; when their daily duties are over, the brain is often exhausted, and of their leisure time much must be de­ voted to air and exercise. The labourer and mechanic, on the contrary, besides working often for much shorter hours, have in their work-time taken sufficient bodily exercise, and could therefore give any leisure they might have to reading and study. They have not done so as yet, it is true ; but this has been for obvious reasons. Now, however, in the first place, they receive an excellent edu­ cation in elementary schools, and in the �i8 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE second have more easy access to the best books. Ruskin has observed that he is not sur­ prised at what men suffer, but he often wonders at what they lose. We suffer much, no doubt, from the faults of others, but we lose much more by our own ignorance. “ If,” says Sir John Herschel, “ I were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead under every variety of cir­ cumstances, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield against its ills, however things might go amiss and the world frown upon me, it would be a taste for reading. I speak of it of course only as a worldly advantage, and not in the slightest degree as superseding or derogating from the higher office and surer and stronger panoply of religious principles—but as a taste, an instrument, and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Give a man this taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making a happy man, unless, indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse selection of books.” It is one thing to own a library ; it is quite another to use it wisely. I have often been astonished how little care people devote to the selection of ■what they read. Books, we know, are almost innumerable ; our hours for reading are, alas ! very few. And yet many people read almost by hazard. They will take any book they chance to find in a room at a friend’s house ; they will buy a novel at a railway-stall if it has an attractive title ; indeed, I believe in some cases even the binding affects their choice. The selection is, no doubt, far from easy. I have often wished some one would re­ commend a list of a hundred good books. If we had such lists drawn up by a few good guides they would be most useful. I have indeed sometimes heard it said that in reading every one must choose for himself, but this reminds me of the re­ commendation not to go into the water till you can swim. PART I In the absence of such lists I have picked out the books most frequently mentioned with approval by those who have referred directly or indirectly to the pleasure of reading, and have ventured to include some which, though less frequently mentioned, are especial favourites of my own. Every one who looks at the list will wish to suggest other books, as indeed I should myself, but in that case the number would soon run up.1 I have abstained, for obvious reasons, from mentioning works by living authors, though from many of them I have myself derived the keenest enjoyment; and I have omitted works on science, with one or two exceptions, because the subject is so progressive. I feel that the attempt is over bold, and I must beg for indulgence, while hoping for criticism ; indeed one object which I have had in view is to stimu­ late others more competent than I am to give us the advantage of their opinions. Moreover, I must repeat that I suggest these works rather as those which, as far as I have seen, have been most frequently recommended, than as suggestions of my own, though I have slipped in a few of my own special favourites. In any such selection much weight should, I think, be attached to the general verdict of mankind. There is a “ struggle for existence ” and a “ survival of the fittest” among books, as well as among animals and plants. As Alonzo of Aragon said, “Age is a recommendation in four things—old wood to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old books to read.” Still, this cannot be accepted without important qualifications. The most recent books of history and science contain, or ought to contain, the most accurate information and the most trust­ worthy conclusions. Moreover, while the 1 Several longer lists have been given ; for instance, by Comte, Catechism of Positive Philo­ sophy ; Pycroft, Course of English Pleading; Baldwin, The, Book Lover; Perkins, The Best Reading ; and by Ireland, Books for General Readers. �CHAP. IV THE CHOICE OF BOOKS books of other races and times have an interest from their very distance, it must be admitted that many will still more enjoy, and feel more at home with, those of our own century and people. Yet the oldest books of the world are remarkable and interesting on account of their very age; and the works which have influenced the opinions, or charmed the leisure hours, of millions of men in distant times and far-away regions are well worth reading on that very account, even if to us they seem scarcely to deserve their reputation. It is true that to many, such works are accessible only in translations ; but translations, though they can never perhaps do justice to the original, may yet be admirable in them­ selves. The Bible itself, which must stand first in the list, is a conclusive case. At the head of all non- Christian moralists, I must place the Enchiridion of Epictetus and the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, certainly two of the noblest books in the whole of literature ; and which, moreover, have both been admir­ ably translated. The Analects of Con­ fucius will, I believe, prove disappointing to most English readers, but the effect it has produced on the most numerous race of men constitutes in itself a peculiar interest. The Ethics of Aristotle, per­ haps, appear to some disadvantage from the very fact that they have so profoundly influenced our views of morality. The Koran, like the Analects of Confucius, will to most of us derive its principal interest from the effect it has exercised, and still exercises, on so many millions of our fellow-men. I doubt whether in any other respect it will seem to repay per­ usal, and to most persons probably certain extracts, not too numerous, would appear sufficient. The writings of the Apostolic Fathers have been collected in one volume by Wake. It is but a small one, and though I must humbly confess that I vas dis­ appointed, they are perhaps all the more curious from the contrast they afford to 19 those of the Apostles themselves. Of the later Fathers I have included only the Confessions of St. Augustine, which Dr. Pusey selected for the commencement of the Library of the Fathers, and which, as he observes, has “ been translated again and again into almost every European language, and in all loved ; ” though Luther was of opinion that St. Augustine “ wrote nothing to the purpose concerning faith.” But then Luther was no great admirer of the Fathers. St. Jerome, he says, “ writes, alas ! very coldly ; ” Chrys­ ostom “ digresses from the chief points ; ” St. Jerome is “very poor;” and in fact, he says, “ the more I read the. books of the Fathers the more I find myself offended ; ” while Renan, in his interesting auto­ biography, compared theology to a Gothic Cathedral, “ elle a la grandeur, les vides immenses, et le peu de solidite.” Among other devotional works most frequently recommended are Thomas a Kempis’s Imitation of Christ, Pascal’s Pensees, Spinoza’s Tractatus TheologicoPoliticus, Butler’s Analogy of Religion, Jeremy Taylor’s Holy Living and Dying, Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, and last, not least, Keble’s beautiful Christian Year. Aristotle and Plato stand at the head of another class. The Politics of Aristotle, and Plato’s Dialogues, if not the whole, at any rate the Phcedo, the Apology, and the Republic, will be of course read by all who wish to know anything of the history of human thought, though I am heretical enough to doubt whether the latter repays the minute and laborious study often devoted to it. Aristotle being the father, if not the creator, of the modern scientific method, it has followed naturally—indeed, almost inevitably—that his principles have be­ come part of our very intellectual being, so that they seem now almost self-evident while his actual observations, though very remarkable—as, for instance, when he observes that bees on one journey confine themselves to one kind of flower—still have been in many cases superseded by others, carried on under more favourable �20 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE conditions. We must not be ungrateful to the great master, because his own lessons have taught us how to advance. Plato, on the other hand, I say so with all respect, seems to me in some cases to play on words : his arguments are very able, very philosophical, often very noble ; but not always conclusive ; in a language differently constructed they might some­ times tell in exactly the opposite sense. If his method has proved less fruitful, if in metaphysics we have made but little advance, that very fact in one point of view leaves the Dialogues of Socrates as instructive now as ever they were; while the problems with which they deal will always rouse our interest, as the calm and lofty spirit which inspires them must command our admiration. Of the Apology and the Phcedo especially it would be impossible to speak too grate­ fully. I would also mention Demosthenes’s De Corona, which Lord Brougham pro­ nounced the greatest oration of the greatest of orators ; Lucretius, Plutarch’s Lives, Horace, and at least the De Officiis, De Amicitia, and De Senectute of Cicero. The great epics of the world have always constituted one of the most popu­ lar branches of literature. Yet how few, comparatively, ever read Homer or Virgil after leaving school. The Nibelungenlied, our great AngloSaxon epic, is perhaps too much neglected, no doubt on account of its painful char­ acter. Brunhild and Kriemhild, indeed, are far from perfect, but we meet with few such “ live ” women in Greek or Roman literature. Nor must I omit to mention Sir T. Malory’s Morte d’A rthur, though I confess I do so mainly in deference to the judgment of others. Among the Greek tragedians I include zEschylus, if not all his works, at any rate Prometheus, perhaps the sublimest poem in Greek literature, and the Trilogy (Mr. Symonds in his Greek Poets speaks of the “ unrivalled majesty ” of the Agamemnon, and Mark Pattison considered it “the grandest work of creative genius in the PART I whole range of literature”); or, as Sir M. E. Grant Duff recommends, the Persce; Sophocles (CEdipus Tyrannus), Euripides (Medea), and Aristophanes (The Knights and Clouds') ; unfortunately, as Schlegel says, probably even the greatest scholar does not understand half his jokes ; and I think most modern readers will prefer our own poets. I should like, moreover, to say a word for Eastern poetry, such as portions of the Maha Bharata and Ramayana (too long probably to be read through, but of which Taiboys Wheeler has given a most interest­ ing epitome in the first two volumes of his History of India); the Shali-nameh, the work of the great Persian poet Firdusi; Kalidasa’s Sakuntala, and the Sheking, the classical collection of ancient Chinese odes. Many I know, will think I ought to have included Omar Khayyam. In history we are beginning to feel that the vices and vicissitudes of kings and queens, the dates of battles and wars, are far less important than the development of human thought, the progress of art, of science, and of law, and the subject is on that very account even more interesting than ever. I will, however, only mention, and that rather from a literary than a his­ torical point of view, Herodotus, Xenophon (the Anabasis), Thucydides, and Tacitus (Germania); and of modern historians, Gibbon’s Decline and Fall (“ the splendid bridge from the old world to the new ”), Hume’s History of England, Carlyle’s French Revolution, Grote’s History of Greece, and Green’s Short History of the English People. Science is so rapidly progressive that, though to many minds it is the most fruitful and interesting subject of all, I cannot here rest on that agreement which, rather than my own opinion, I take as the basis of my list. I will therefore only mention Bacon’s Novum Organum, Mill’s Logic, and Darwin’s Origin of Species; in Political Economy, which some of our rulers do not now sufficiently value, Mill, and parts of Smith’s Wealth of Nations, for probably those who do not intend to �CHAP. IV THE CHOICE OF BOOKS make a special study of political economy would scarcely read the whole. Among voyages and travels, perhaps those most frequently suggested are Cook’s Voyages, Humboldt’s Travels, and Darwin’s Naturalist’s Journal; though I confess I should like to have added many more. Mr. Bright not long ago specially re­ commended the less known American poets, but he probably assumed that every one would have read Shakespeare, Milton (Paradise Lost, Lycidas, Comus and minor poems), Chaucer, Dante, Spenser, Dryden, Scott, Wordsworth, Pope, Byron, and others, before embarking on more doubtful adventures. Among other books most frequently re­ commended are Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield, Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, The Arabian Nights, Don Quixote, Boswell’s Life of Johnson, White’s Natural History of Selborne, Burke’s Select Works (Payne), the Essays of Bacon, Addison, Hume, Montaigne, Macaulay, and Emerson, Carlyle’s Past and Present, Smiles’s Self-Help, and Goethe’s Faust and Autobiography. Nor can one go wrong in recommending Berkeley’s Human Knowledge, Descartes’s Discours sur la Methode, Locke’s Conduct of the Understanding Lewes’s History of Philosophy ; while, in order to keep within the number one hundred, I can only mention Moliere ,and Sheridan among dramatists. Macaulay considered Mari­ vaux’s La Vice de Marianne the best novel in any language, but my number is so nearly complete that I must content my­ self with English: and will suggest Thackeray (Vanity Fair and Pendennis'), Dickens (Pickwick and David Copperfield), G. Eliot (Adam Bede or The Mill on the Floss), Kingsley (Westward Ho!), Lytton (Last Days of Pompeii), and last, not least, those of Scott, which indeed constitute a library in themselves, but which I must ask, in return for my trouble, to be allowed, as a special favour, to count as one. To any lover of books the very mention of these names brings back a crowd of de­ licious memories, grateful recollections of 21 peaceful home hours, after the labours and anxieties of the day. How thankful we ought to be for these inestimable blessings, for this numberless host of friends who never weary, betray, or forsake us ! LIST OF 100 BOOKS Works by Living Authors are omitted The Bible The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius Epictetus Aristotle’s Ethics Analects of Confucius St. Hilaire’s “Le Bouddha et sa religion” Wake’s Apostolic Fathers Thos. a Kempis’s Imitation of Christ Confessions of St. Augustine (Dr. Pusey) The Koran (portions of) Spinoza’s Tractatus Theologico-Politicus Pascal’s Pensees Butler’s Analogy of Religion Taylor’s Holy Living and Dying Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress Keble’s Christian Year Plato’s Dialogues ; at any rate, the Apology, Crito, and Pheedo Xenophon’s Memorabilia Aristotle’s Politics Demosthenes’s De Corona Cicero’s De Officiis, De Amicitia, and De Senectute Plutarch’s Lives Berkeley’s Human Knowledge Descartes’s Discours sur la Methode Locke s On the Conduct of the Understanding Homer Hesiod Virgil Maha Bliarata Ramayana Epitomised in Taiboys Wheeler’s History of India, vols. i. and ii. The Shahnameh The Nibelungenlied Malory’s Morte d’Arthur The Sheking Kalidasa’s Sakuntala or The Lost Ring Alschylus’s Prometheus Trilogy of Orestes Sophocles’s (Edipus Euripides’s Medea Aristophanes’s The Knights and Clouds Horace Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales (perhaps in Morris’s edition ; or, if expurgated, in C. Clarke’s, or Mrs. Haweis’s) �22 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE Shakespeare * Milton’s Paradise Lost, Lycidas, Comus, and the shorter poems Dante’s Divina Commedia Spenser’s Fairie Queen Dryden’s Poems Scott’s Poems Wordsworth (Mr. Arnold’s selection) Pope’s Essay on Criticism Essay on Man Rape of the Lock Burns Byron’s Childe Harold Gray’s Poems Tennyson’s Idylls and smaller poems PART I Thackeray’s Vanity Fair Pendennis Dickens’s Pickwick David Copperfield Lytton’s Last Days of Pompeii George Eliot’s Adam Bede Kingsley’s Westward Ho >. Scott’s Novels CHAPTER V THE BLESSING OF FRIENDS1 Herodotus Xenophon’s Anabasis Thucydides Tacitus’s Germania Livy Gibbon’s Decline and Fall Hume’s History of England Grote’s History of Greece Carlyle’s French Revolution Green’s Short History of England Lewes’s History of Philosophy “They seem to take away the sun from the world who withdraw friendship from life ; for we have received nothing better from the Im­ mortal Gods, nothing more delightful.”—Cicero. Most of those who have written in praise of books have thought they could say nothing more conclusive than to compare them to friends. All men, said Socrates, have their different objects of ambition—horses, dogs, Arabian Nights money, honour, as the case may be ; but Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe for his own part he would rather have a Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield good friend than all these put together. Cervantes’s Don Quixote And again, men know “ the number of Boswell’s Life of Johnson their other possessions, although they Moliere Schiller’s William Tell might be very numerous, but of their Sheridan’s The Critic, School for Scandal, and friends, though but few, they were not The Rivals only ignorant of the number, but even Carlyle’s Past and Present when they attempted to reckon it to such as asked them, they set aside again some Bacon’s Novum Organum that they had previously counted among Smith’s Wealth of Nations (part of) Mill’s Political Economy their friends; so little did they allow Cook’s Voyages their friends to occupy their thoughts. Humboldt’s Travels Yet in comparison with what possession, White’s Natural History of Selborne of all others, would not a good friend Darwin’s Origin of Species Naturalist’s Voyage appear far more valuable ? ” Mill’s Logic “ As to the value of other things,” says Cicero, “most men differ; concerning Bacon’s Essays friendship all have the same opinion. Montaigne’s Essays What can be more foolish than, when Hume’s Essays Macaulay’s Essays men are possessed of great influence by Addison’s Essays their wealth, power, and resources, to Emerson’s Essays procure other things which are bought Burke’s Select Works by money—horses, slaves, rich apparel, Smiles’s Self-Help costly vases—and not to procure friends, Voltaire’s Zadig and Micromegas Goethe’s Faust, and Autobiography 1 The substance of this was delivered at the London Working Men’s College. �CHAP. V THE BLESSING OF. EE ZENDS the most valuable and fairest furniture of life?” And yet, he continues, “every man can tell how many goats or sheep he possesses, but not how many friends.” In the choice, moreover, of a dog or of a horse, we exercise the greatest care : we inquire into its pedigree, its training and character, and yet we too often leave the selection of our friends, which is of in­ finitely greater importance—by whom our whole life will be more or less influenced either for good or evil—almost to chance. It is no doubt true, as the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table says, that all men are bores except when we want them. And Sir Thomas Browne quaintly observes that “ unthinking heads who have not learnt to be alone, are a prison to them­ selves if they be not with others ; whereas, on the contrary, those whose thoughts are in a fair and hurry within, are sometimes fain to retire into company to be out of the crowd of themselves.” Still I do not quite understand Emerson’s idea that “men descend to meet.” In another place, indeed, he qualifies the statement, and says, “ Almost all people descend to meet.” Even so I should venture to question it, especially considering the context. “ All association,” he adds, “must be a compromise, and, what is worse, the very flower and aroma of the flower of each of the beautiful natures disappears as they approach each other.” What a sad thought! Is it really so ; Need it be so ? And if it were, would friends be any real advantage ? I should have thought that the influence of friends was exactly the reverse : that the flower of a beautiful nature would expand, and the colours grow brighter, when stimu­ lated by the warmth and sunshine of friendship. It has been said that it is wise always to treat a friend, remembering that he may become an enemy, and an enemy, remembering that he may become a friend ; and whatever may be thought of the first part of the adage, there is certainly much wisdom in the latter. Many people seem to take more pains 23 and more pleasure in making enemies, than in making friends. Plutarch, in­ deed, quotes with approbation the. advice of Pythagoras “ not to shake hands with too many,” but as long as friends are well chosen, it is true rather that “ He who has a thousand friends, Has never a one to spare, And he who has one enemy, Will meet him everywhere,” and unfortunately, while there are few great friends there is no little enemy. I guard myself, however, by saying again—As long as they are well chosen. One is thrown in life with a great many people who, though not actively bad, though they may not wilfully lead us astray, yet take no pains with themselves, neglect their own minds, and direct the conversation to petty puerilities or mere gossip ; who do not seem to realise that conversation may by a little effort be made instructive and delightful, without being in any way pedantic ; or, on the other hand, in ay be allowed to drift into a mere morass of muddy thought and weedy words. There are few from ■whom we may not learn something, if only they will trouble themselves to tell us. Nay, even if they teach us nothing, they may help us by the stimulus of intelligent questions, or the warmth of sympathy. But if they do neither, then indeed their companionship, if companionship it can be called, is mere waste of time, and of such we may well say, “ I do desire that we be better strangers.” Much certainly of the happiness and purity of our lives depends on our making a wise choice of our companions and friends. If badly chosen they will in­ evitably drag us down ; if well they will raise us up. Yet many people seem to trust in this matter to the chapter of accident. It is well and right, indeed, to be courteous and considerate to every one with whom we are brought into contact, but to choose them as real friends is an­ other matter. Some seem to make a man a friend, or try to do so, because he lives near, because he is in the same business, �24 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE travels on the same line of railway, or for some other trivial reason. There cannot be a greater mistake. These are only, in the words of Plutarch “ the idols and images of friendship.” To be friendly with every one is another matter ; we must remember that there is no little enemy, and those who have ever really loved any one will have some tenderness for all. There is indeed some good in most men. “ I have heard much,” says Mr. Nasmyth in his charming autobiography, “ about the ingratitude and selfishness of the world. It may have been ray good fortune, but I have never experienced either of these unfeel­ ing conditions.” Such also has been my own experience. “ Men talk of unkind hearts, kind deeds With coldness still returning. Alas ! the gratitude of men Has ofteuer left me mourning.” I cannot, then, agree with Emerson when he says that “we walk alone in the world. Friends such as we desire are dreams and fables. But a sublime hope cheers ever the faithful heart, that else­ where in other regions of the universal power souls are now acting, enduring, and daring, which can love us, and which we can love.” No doubt, much as worthy friends add to the happiness and value of life, we must in the main depend on ourselves, and every one is his own best friend or worst enemy. Sad, indeed, is Bacon’s assertion that “ there is little friendship in the world, and least of all between equals, which was wont to be magnified. That that is, is between superior and inferior, whose fortunes may comprehend the one to the other.” But this can hardly be taken as his deliberate opinion, for he elsewhere says, “ but we may go farther, and affirm most truly, that it is a mere and miser­ able solitude to want true friends, without which the world is but a wilderness.” Not only, he adds, does friendship intro­ duce “ daylight in the understanding out of darkness and confusion of thoughts;” PART I it “ maketh a fair day in the affections from storm and tempests:” in consultation with a friend a man “ tosseth his thoughts more easily; he marshalleth them more orderly ; he seeth how they look when they are turned into words ; finally, he waxeth wiser than himself, and that more by an hour’s discourse than by a day’s meditation.” . . . “ But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth, for a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love.” With this last assertion I cannot alto­ gether concur. Surely even strangers may be most interesting ! and many will agree with Dr. Johnson when, describing a pleasant evening, he summed it up—“ Sir, we had a good talk.” Epictetus gives excellent advice when he dissuades from conversation on the very subjects most commonly chosen, and advises that it should be on “ none of the common subjects—not about gladi­ ators, nor horse-races, nor about athletes, nor about eating or drinking, which are the usual subjects ; and especially not about men, as blaming them ; ” but when he adds, “or praising them,” the injunction seems to me of doubtful value. Surely Marcus Aurelius more wisely advises that “when thou wishest to delight thyself, think of the virtues of those who live with thee ; for instance, the activity of one, and the modesty of another, and the liberality of a third, and some other good quality of a fourth. For nothing delights so much as the examples of the virtues, when they are exhibited in the morals of those who live with us and present them­ selves in abundance, as far as is possible. Wherefore we must keep them before us.” Yet how often we know merely the sight of those we call our friends, or the sound of their voices, but nothing whatever of their mind or soul. We must, moreover, be as careful to keep friends as to make them. If every one knew what one said of the other, Pascal assures us that “ there would not �THE VALUE OF TIME CHAP. V be four friends in the world.” This I hope and think is too strong, but at any rate try to be one of the four. And when you have made a friend, keep him. Hast thou a friend, says an Eastern proverb, “ visit him often, for thorns and brushwood obstruct the road which no one treads.” The affections should not be mere “tents of a night.” Still less does Friendship confer any privilege to make ourselves disagreeable. Some people never seem to appreciate their friends till they have lost them. Anaxagoras described the Mausoleum as the ghost of wealth turned into stone. “ But he who has once stood beside the grave to look back on the companionship which has been for ever closed, feeling how impotent then are the wild love and the keen sorrow, to give one instant’s pleasure to the pulseless heart, or atone in the lowest measure to the departed spirit for the hour of unkindness, will scarcely for the future incur that debt to the heart which can only be discharged to the dust.” 1 Death, indeed, cannot sever friendship. “Friends,” says Cicero, “though absent, are still present ; though in poverty they are rich ; though weak, yet in the enjoy­ ment of health ; and, what is still more difficult to assert, though dead they are alive.” This seems a paradox, yet is there not much truth in his explanation ? “ To me, indeed, Scipio still lives, and will always live ; for I love the virtue of that man, and that worth is not yet ex­ tinguished. . . . Assuredly of all things that either fortune or time has bestowed on me, I have none which I can compare with the friendship of Scipio.” If, then, we choose our friends for what they are, not for what they have, and if we deserve so great a blessing, then they will be always with us, preserved in absence, and even after death, in the amber of memory. 25 CHAPTER VI THE VALUE OF TIME1 Each day is a little life All other good gifts depend on time for their value. What are friends, books, or health, the interest of travel or the de­ lights of home, if we have not time for their enjoyment ? Time is often said to be money, but it is more—it is life ; and yet many who would cling desperately to life, think nothing of wasting time. Ask of the wise, says Schiller in Lord Sherbrooke’s translation, ‘ ‘ The moments we forego Eternity itself cannot retrieve. ” And, in the words of Dante, “ For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves.” Not that a life of drudgery should be our ideal. Far from it. Time spent in innocent and rational enjoyments, in healthy games, in social and family inter­ course, is well and wisely spent. Games not only keep the body in health, but give a command over the muscles and limbs which cannot be over-valued. Moreover, there are temptations which strong exercise best enables us to resist. It is the idle who complain they cannot find time to do that which they fancy they wish. In truth, people can generally make time for what they choose to do ; it is not really the time but the will that is wanting: and the advantage of leisure is mainly that we may have the power of choosing our own wTork, not certainly that it confers any privilege of idleness. “ Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.” 2 1 Ruskin. 1 The substance of this was delivered at the Polytechnic Institution. 2 Shakespeare. �26 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART I For it is not so much the hours that Devil tempts the busy man, but the idle tell, as the way we use them. man tempts the Devil. I remember, says Hillard, “a satirical poem, in which the “ Circles are praised, not that excel In largeness, but th’ exactly framed ; Devil is represented as fishing for men, So life we praise, that does excel and adapting his bait to the tastes and Not in much time, but acting well.” 1 temperaments of his prey ; but the idlers “Idleness,” says Jeremy Taylor, “is were the easiest victims, for they swallowed the greatest prodigality in the world ; it even the naked hook.” throws away that which is invaluable in The mind of the idler indeed preys upon respect of its present use, and irreparable itself. “ The human heart is like a mill­ when it is past, being to be recovered by stone in a mill; when you put wheat no power of art or nature.” under it, it turns and grinds and bruises Life must be measured rather by depth the wheat to flour ; if you put no wheat, than by length, by thought and action it still grinds on—and grinds itself away.” 1 rather than by time. “ A counted number It is not work, but care, that kills, and of pulses only,” says Pater, “is given to us it is in this sense, I suppose, that we are of a variegated, aromatic, life. How may told to “ take no thought for the morrow.” we see in them all that is to be seen by To “ consider the lilies of the field, how the finest senses 1 How can we pass most they grow ; they toil not, neither do they swiftly from point to point, and be present spin : and yet even Solomon, in all his always at the focus where the greatest glory, was not arrayed like one of these. number of vital forces unite in their Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of purest energy ? To burn always with this the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow hard gem-like flame, to maintain this is cast into the oven, shall he not much ecstasy, is success in life. Failure is to more clothe you, O ye of little faith 1 ” It form habits, for habit is relation to a would indeed be a mistake to suppose that stereotyped world ; . . . while all melts lilies are idle or imprudent. On the under our feet, we may well catch at any contrary, plants are most industrious, and exquisite passion, or any contribution to lilies store up in their complex bulbs a knowledge, that seems, by a lifted horizon, great part of the nourishment of one year to to set the spirit free for a moment.” quicken the growth of the next. Care, on I would not quote Lord Chesterfield as the other hand, they certainly know not.2 generally a safe guide, but there is certainly “ Hours have wings, fly up to the author much shrewd wisdom in his advice to his of time, and carry news of our usage. son with reference to time. “ Every All our prayers cannot entreat one of them moment you now lose, is so much character either to return or slacken his pace. The and advantage lost ; as, on the other hand, misspents of every minute are a new record every moment you now employ usefully, against us in heaven. Sure if we thought is so much time wisely laid out, at pro­ thus, we should dismiss them with better digious interest.” reports, and not suffer them to fly away And again, “ It is astonishing that any empty, or laden with dangerous intelli­ one can squander away in absolute idleness gence. How happy is it when they carry one single moment of that small portion up not only the message, but the fruits of of time which is allotted to us in the world. good, and stay with the Ancient of Days . . . Know the true value of time ; snatch, to speak for us before His glorious seize, and enjoy every moment of it.” throne! ” 3 ‘ Are you in earnest ? seize this very minute, What you can do, or think you can, begin it.” 2 There is a Turkish proverb that 1 Waller. 2 Faust. 1 Luther. 2 The word used iiepifiv-qa-qTe is translated in the Liddell and Scott “to be anxious about, to be distressed in mind, to be cumbered with many cares.” 3 Milton. �CHAP. VI THE VALUE OF TIME Time is often said to fly : but it is not so much the time that flies ; as we that waste it, and wasted time is worse than no time at all; “ I wasted time,” Shake­ speare makes Richard II. say, “and now doth time waste me.” “He that is choice of his time,” says Jeremy Taylor, “ will also be choice of his company, and choice of his actions ; lest the first engage him in vanity and loss, and the latter, by being criminal, be a throwing his time and himself away, and a going back in the accounts of eternity.” The life of man is seventy years, but how little of this is actually our own. We must deduct the time required for sleep, for meals, for dressing and undress­ ing, for exercise, etc., and then how little remains really at our own disposal! “ I have lived,” said Lamb, “ nominally fifty years, but deduct from them the hours I have lived for other people, and not for myself, anct you will find me still a young fellow.” The hours we live for other people, however, are not those which should be deducted, but rather those which benefit neither oneself nor any one else ; and these, alas 1 are often very numerous. “ There are some hours which are taken from us, some which are stolen from us, and some which slip from us.”1 But however we may lose them, we can never get them back. It is wonderful, indeed, how much innocent happiness we thought­ lessly throw away. An Eastern proverb says that calamities sent by heaven may be avoided, but from those we bring on ourselves there is no escape. Some years ago I paid a visit to the sites of the ancient lake villages of Switzer­ land in company with a distinguished archseologist, M. Morlot. To my surprise I found that his whole income was £100 a year, part of which, moreover, he spent in making a small museum. I asked him whether he contemplated accepting any post or office, but he said certainly not. He valued his leisure and opportunities 1 Seneca. 27 as priceless possessions far more than silver or gold, and would not waste any of his time in making money. Time, indeed, is a sacred gift, and each day is a little life. Just think of our advantages here in London ! We have access to the whole literature of the world ; we may see in our National Gallery the most beautiful productions of former generations, and in the Royal Academy and other galleries the works of the greatest living artists. Perhaps there is no one who has ever found time to see the British Museum thoroughly. Yet consider what it contains ; or rather, what does it not contain ? The most perfect collection of living and extinct animals; the marvellous monsters of geological ages ; the most beautiful birds, shells, and minerals ; precious stones and fragments from other worlds ; the most interesting antiquities ; curious and fantastic speci­ mens illustrating different races of men ; exquisite gems, coins, glass, and china ; the Elgin marbles; the remains of the Mausoleum ; of the temple of Diana of Ephesus; ancient monuments of Egypt and Assyria ; the rude implements of our predecessors in England, who were coeval with the hippopotamus and rhinoceros, the musk-ox, and the mammoth ; and beauti­ ful specimens of Greek and Roman art. Suffering may be unavoidable, but no one has any excuse for being dull. And yet some people are dull. They talk of a better world to come, while whatever dulness there may be here is all their own. Sir Arthur Helps has well said : “ What! dull, when you do not know what gives its loveliness of form to the lily, its depth of colour to the violet, its fragrance to the rose; when you do not know in what consists the venom of the adder, any more than you can imitate the glad movements of the dove. What ! <jull, when earth, air, and water are all alike mysteries to you, and when as you stretch out your hand you do not touch anything the properties of which you have mastered ; while all the time Nature is inviting you to talk earnestly with her, �28 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE part I to understand her, to subdue be blessed by her 1 Go away, something, do something, something, and let me hear your dulness.” her, and to Surely no one who has the opportunity man ; learn should omit to travel. The world belongs understand to him who has seen it. “ But he that no more of would make his travels delightful must first make himself delightful.” 1 According to the old proverb, “ the fool wanders, the wise man travels.” Bacon tells us that “the things to be seen and observed are the courts of princes, especi­ CHAPTER VII ally when they give audience to ambas­ THE PLEASURES OF TRAVEL 1 sadors ; the courts of justice while they sit and hear causes ; and so of consistories “I ain a part of all that I have seen.” ecclesiastic • the churches and monasteries, with the monuments which are therein I AM sometimes disposed to think that extant; the walls and fortifications of there are few things in which we of this cities and towns ; and so the havens and generation enjoy greater advantages over harbours, antiquities and ruins, libraries, our ancestors than in the increased facili­ colleges, disputations and lectures, when ties of travel; but I hesitate to say this, any are; shipping and navies ; houses not because our advantages are not great, and gardens of state and pleasure near but because I have already made the same great cities; armouries, arsenals, maga­ remark with reference to several other zines, exchanges, burses, warehouses, exer­ aspects of life. cises of horsemanship, fencing, training of The very word “ travel ” is suggestive. soldiers, and the like; comedies, such It is a form of “travail”—excessive labour; whereunto the better sort of persons do and, as Skeat observes, it forcibly recalls resort; treasuries of jewels and robes; the toil of travel in olden days. How cabinets and rarities ; and, to conclude, different things are now ! whatsoever is memorable in the places It is sometimes said that every one where they go.” should travel on foot “ like Thales, Plato, But this depends on the time at our and Pythagoras ” ; we are told that in disposal, and the object with which we these days of railroads people rush through travel. If we are long enough in any countries and see nothing. It may be so, one place Bacon’s advice is no doubt but that is not the fault of the railways. excellent; but for the moment I am They confer upon us the inestimable ad­ thinking rather of an annual holiday, vantage of being able, so rapidly and with taken for the sake of rest and health ; so little fatigue, to visit countries which for fresh air and exercise rather than for were much less accessible to our ancestors. study. Yet even so, if we have eyes to What a blessing it is that not our own see, we cannot fail to lay in a stock of islands only—our smiling fields and rich new ideas as well as a store of health. woods, the mountains that are full of We may have read the most vivid and peace and the rivers of joy, the lakes and accurate description, we may have pored heaths and hills, castles and cathedrals, over maps and plans and pictures, and yet and many a spot immortalised in the the reality will burst on us like a revela­ history of our country :—not these only, tion. This is true not only of mountains but the sun and scenery of the South, and glaciers, of palaces and cathedrals, the Alps the palaces of Nature, the blue but even of the simplest examples. Mediterranean, and the cities of Europe, For instance, like every one else, I had with all their memories and treasures, are read descriptions and seen photographs now brought within a few hours of us. and pictures of the Pyramids. Their 1 The substance of this was delivered at Oldham. 1 Seneca. �CHAP. VII THE PLEASURES OF TRAVEL form is simplicity itself. I do not know that I could put into words any character­ istic of the original for -which I was not prepared. It was not that they were larger ; it was not that they differed in form, in colour, or situation. And yet, the moment I saw them, I felt that my previous impression had been but a faint shadow of the reality. The actual sight seemed to give life to the idea. Every one who has been in the East will agree that a -week of oriental travel brings out, with more than stereoscopic effect, the pictures of patriarchal life as given us in the Old Testament. And what is true of the Old Testament is true of history generally. To those who have been in Athens or Rome, the history of Greece or Italy becomes far more interest­ ing ; -while, on the other hand, some knowledge of the history and literature enormously enhances the interest of the scenes themselves. Good descriptions and pictures, how­ ever, help us to see much more than we should perhaps perceive for ourselves. It may even be doubted whether some persons do not derive a more correct im­ pression from a good drawing or descrip­ tion, which brings out the salient points, than they would from actual, but unaided, inspection. The idea may gain in ac­ curacy, in character, and even in detail, more than it misses in vividness. But, however this may be, for those who cannot travel, descriptions and pictures have an immense interest; while to those who have travelled, they will afford an inex­ haustible delight in reviving the memories of beautiful scenes and interesting expedi­ tions. It is really astonishing how little most of us see of the beautiful world in which we live. Mr. Norman Lockyer tells me that while travelling on a scientific mission in the Rocky Mountains, he w’as astonished to meet an aged French Abbe, and could not help showing his surprise. The Abbd observed this, and in the course of con­ versation explained his presence in that distant region. 29 “You were,” he said, “I easily saw, surprised to find me here. The fact is, that some months ago I was very ill. My physicians gave me up : one morning I seemed to faint and thought that I was already in the arms of the Bon Dieu. I fancied one of the angels came and asked me, ‘Well, M. l’Abbe, and how did you like the beautiful world you have just left?’ And then it occurred to me that I who had been all my life preaching about heaven, had seen almost nothing of the world in which I was living. I determined therefore, if it pleased Provi­ dence to spare me, to see something of this world ; and so here I am.” Few of us are free, however much we might wish it, to follow the example of the worthy Abbe. But although it may not be possible for us to reach the Rocky Mountains, there are other countries nearer home which most of us might find time to visit. Though it is true that no descriptions can come near the reality, they may at least persuade us to give ourselves this great advantage. Let me then try to illustrate this by pictures in words, as realised by some of our most illustrious countrymen; I will select references to foreign countries only, not that we have not equal beauties here, but because every­ where in England one feels oneself at home. The following passage from Tyndall’s Hours of Exercise in the Alps, is almost as good as an hour in the Alps themselves : “ I looked over this wondrous scene towards Mont Blanc, the Grand Combin, the Dent Blanche, the Weissliorn, the Dom, and the thousand lesser peaks which seemed to join in the celebration of the risen day. I asked myself, as on previous occasions, How was this colossal work performed ? Who chiselled these mighty and picturesque masses out of a mere protuberance of the earth ? And the answer was at hand. Ever young, ever mighty—with the vigour of a thousand worlds still within him—the real sculptor was even then climbing up the eastern �30 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART I i sky. It was lie wlio raised aloft the waters which cut out these ravines; it was he who planted the glaciers on the mountain-slopes, thus giving gravity a plough to open out the valleys ; and it is he who, acting through the ages, will finally lay low these mighty monuments, rolling them gradually seaward, sowing the seeds of continents to be ; so that the people of an older earth may see mould spread, and corn wave over the hidden rocks which at this moment bear the weight of the Jungfrau.” And the Alps lie within twenty-four hours of London ! Tyndall’s writings also contain many vivid descriptions of glaciers ; those “ silent and solemn causeways . . . broad enough for the march of an army in line of battle and quiet as a street of tombs in a buried city.” 1 I do not, however, borrow from him or from any one else any descrip­ tion of glaciers, for they are so unlike any­ thing else, that no one who has not seen, can possibly visualise them. The history of European rivers yet remains to be written, and is most inter­ esting. They did not always run in their present courses. The Rhone, for instance, appears to have been itself a great traveller. At least there seems reason to believe that the upper waters of the Valais fell at first into the Danube, and so into the Black Sea ; subsequently joined the Rhine and the Thames, and so ran far north over the plains which once connected the mountains of Scotland and of Norway —to the Arctic Ocean ; and have only comparatively of late years adopted their present course into the Mediterranean. But, however this may be, the Rhine of Germany and the Rhine of Switzerland are very unlike. The catastrophe of Schaff­ hausen seems to alter the whole character of the river, and no wonder. “ Stand for half an hour,” says Ruskin, “beside the Fall of Schaffhausen, on the north side where the rapids are long, and watch how ' the vault of water first bends, unbroken, in pure polished velocity, over the arching rocks at the brow of the cataract, covering , 1 Ruskin. ' them with a dome of crystal twenty feet j thick, so swift that its motion is unseen i except when a foam globe from above , darts over it like a falling star ; . . . and , how ever and anon, startling you with its white flash, a jet of spray leaps hissing out of the fall, like a rocket, bursting in the wind and driven away in dust, filling the air with light; and how, through the curdling wreaths of the restless crushing abyss below, the blue of the water, paled by the foam in its body, shows purer than the sky through white rain-cloud • . . . their dripping masses lifted at inter­ vals, like sheaves of loaded corn, by some stronger gush from the cataract, and bowed again upon the mossy rocks as its roar dies away.” But much as we may admire the majestic grandeur of a mighty river, either in its eager rush or its calmer moments, there is something which fascinates even more in the free life, the young energy, the sparkling transparence, and merry music of smaller streams. “ The upper Swiss valleys,” as the same great Seer says, “ are sweet with perpetual streamlets, that seem always to have chosen the steepest places to come down, for the sake of the leaps, scattering their handfuls of crystal this way and that, as the wind takes them, with all the grace, but with none of the formalism, of fountains . . . until at last . . . they find their way down to the turf, and lose themselves in that, silently ; with quiet depth of clear water furrowing among the grass blades, and looking only like their shadow, but presently emerging again in little startled gushes and laughing hurries, as if they had remembered suddenly that the day was too short for them to get down the hill.” How vividly does Symonds bring before us the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, which he loves so well, and the contrast between the scenery of the North and the South. “ In northern landscapes the eye travels through vistas of leafy boughs to still, secluded crofts and pastures, where slow- �CHAP. VII THE PLEASURES OF TRA VEL moving oxen graze. The mystery of dreams and the repose of meditation haunt our massive bowers. But in the South, the lattice-work of olive boughs and foliage scarcely veils the laughing sea and bright blue sky, while the hues of the landscape find their climax in the dazzling radiance of the sun upon the waves, and the pure light of the horizon. There is no conceal­ ment and no melancholy here. Nature seems to hold a never-ending festival and dance, in which the waves and sunbeams and shadows join. Again, in northern scenery, the rounded forms of full-foliaged trees suit the undulating country, with its gentle hills and brooding clouds ; but in the South the spiky leaves and sharp branches of the olive carry out the defined outlines which are everywhere observable through the broader beauties of mountain and valley and sea-shore. Serenity and intelligence characterise this southern landscape, in which a race of splendid men and women lived beneath the pure light of Phoebus, their ancestral god. Pallas protected them, and golden Aphrodite favoured them with beauty. Olives are not, however, by any means the only trees which play a part in idyllic scenery. The tall stone pine is even more important. . . . Near Massa, by Sorrento, there are two gigantic pines so placed that, lying on the grass beneath them, one looks on Capri rising from the sea, Baiae, and all the bay of Naples sweeping round to the base of Vesuvius. Tangled growths of olives, oranges, and rose-trees fill the garden­ ground along the shore, while far away in the distance pale Inarime sleeps, with her exquisite Greek name, a virgin island on the deep. “ On the wilder hills you find patches of ilex and arbutus glowing with crimson berries and white waxen bells, sweet myrtle rods and shafts of bay, frail tamarisk and tall tree-heaths that wave their frosted houghs above your head. Nearer the shore the lentisk grows, a savoury shrub, with cytisus and aromatic rosemary. Clematis and polished garlands of tough sarsaparilla wed the shrubs with clinging, 3i climbing arms ; and here and there in sheltered nooks the vine shoots forth luxuriant tendrils bowed with grapes, stretching from branch to branch of mul­ berry or elm, flinging festoons on which young loves might sit and swing, or weaving a lattice-work of leaves across the open shed. Nor must the sounds of this landscape be forgotten,—sounds of bleat­ ing flocks, and murmuring bees, and nightingales, and doves that moan, and running streams, and shrill cicadas, and hoarse frogs, and whispering pines. There is not a single detail which a patient student may not verify from Theocritus. “ Then too it is a landscape in which sea and country are never sundered. The higher we climb upon the mountain-side the more marvellousis the beauty of the sea, which seems to rise as we ascend, and stretch into the sky. Sometimes a little flake of blue is framed by olive boughs, sometimes a turning in the road reveals the whole broad azure calm below. Or, after toiling up a steep ascent we fall upon the undergrowth of juniper, and lo ! a double sea, this way and that, divided by the sharp spine of the jutting hill, jewelled with villages along its shore, and smiling with fair islands and silver sails.” To many of us the mere warmth of the South is a blessing and a delight. The very thought of it is delicious. I have read over again and again Wallace’s graphic description of a tropical sunrise—of the sun of the early morning that turneth all into gold. “ Up to about a quarter past five o’clock,” he says, “ the darkness is complete ; but about that time a few cries of birds begin to break the silence of night, perhaps indicating that signs of dawn are percept­ ible in the eastern horizon. A little later the melancholy voices of the goatsuckers are heard, varied croakings of frogs, the plaintive whistle of mountain thrushes, and strange cries of birds or mammals peculiar to each locality. About half-past five the first glimmer of light becomes perceptible ; it slowly becomes lighter, and �32 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE then, increases so rapidly that at about a quarter to six it seems full daylight. For the next quarter of an hour this changes very little in character ; when, suddenly, the sun’s rim appears above the horizon, decking the dew-laden foliage with glitter­ ing gems, sending gleams of golden light far into the woods, and waking up all nature to life and activity. Birds chirp and flutter about, parrots scream, monkeys chatter, bees hum among the flowers, and gorgeous butterflies flutter lazily along or sit with full expanded wings exposed to the warm and invigorating rays. The first hour of morning in the equatorial regions possesses a charm and a beauty that can never be forgotten. All nature seems refreshed and strengthened by the coolness and moisture of the past night, new leaves and buds unfold almost before the eye, and fresh shoots may often be observed to have grown many inches since the preceding day. The temperature is the most delicious conceivable. The slight chill of early dawn, which was itself agreeable, is succeeded by an invigorating warmth ; and the intense sunshine lights up the glorious vegetation of the tropics, and realises all that the magic art of the painter or the glowing words of the poet have pictured as their ideals of terrestrial beauty.” Or take Dean Stanley’s description of the colossal statues of Amenophis III., the Memnon of the Greeks, at Thebes—“The sun was setting, the African range glowed red behind them ; the green plain was dyed with a deeper green beneath them, and the shades of evening veiled the vast rents and fissures in their aged frames. As I looked back at them in the sunset, and they rose up in front of the background of the mountain, they seemed, indeed, as if they were part of it,—as if they belonged to some natural creation.” But I must not indulge myself in more quotations, though it is difficult to stop. Such pictures recall the memory of many glorious days : for the advantages of travels last through life ; and often, as we sit at home, “some bright and perfect view of PART I Venice, of Genoa, or of Monte Rosa comes back on you, as full of repose as a day wisely spent in travel.” 1 So far is a thorough love and enjoyment of travel from interfering with the love of home, that perhaps no one can thoroughly enjoy his home who does not sometimes wander away. They are like exertion and rest, each the complement of the other ; so that, though it may seem paradoxical, one of the greatest pleasures of travel is the return ; and no one who has not roamed abroad, can realise the devotion which the wanderer feels for Domiduca—the sweet and gentle goddess who watches over our coming home. CHAPTER VIII THE PLEASURES OF HOME “There’s no place like Home.”— Old English Song. It may ■well be doubted which is more delightful,—to start for a holiday which has been fully earned, or to return home from one which has been thoroughly enjoyed ; to find oneself, with renewed vigour, with a fresh store of memories and ideas, back once more by one’s own fireside, with one’s family, friends, and books. “ To sit at home,” says Leigh Hunt, “with an old folio (?) book of romantic yet credible voyages and travels to read, an old bearded traveller for its hero, a fireside in an old country house to read it by, curtains drawn, and just wind enough stirring out of doors to make an accom­ paniment to the billows or forests we are reading of—this surely is one of the perfect moments of existence.” It is no doubt a great privilege to visit foreign countries; to travel say in Mexico or Peru, or to cruise among the Pacific Islands ; but in some respects the narratives of early travellers, the histories of Prescott or the voyages of 1 Helps. �CHAP. VIII THE PLEASURES OF HOME Captain Cook, are even more interesting ; describing to us, as they do, a state of society which was then so unlike ours, but which has now been much changed and Europeanised. Thus we may make our daily travels interesting, even though, like those of the Vicar of Wakefield, all 'our adventures are by our own fireside, and all our migra­ tions from one room to another. Moreover, even if the beauties of home are humble, they are still infinite, and a man “ may lie in his bed, like Pompey and his sons, in all quarters of the earth.” 1 It is, then, wise to “ cultivate a talent very fortunate for a man of my dis­ position, that of travelling in my easy chair ; of transporting myself, without stirring from my parlour, to distant places and to absent friends ; of drawing scenes in my mind’s eye ; and of peopling them with the groups of fancy, or the society of remembrance.” 2 We may indeed secure for ourselves endless variety without leaving our own firesides. In the first place, the succession of seasons multiplies every home. How different is the view from our windows as we look on the tender green of spring, the rich foliage of summer, the glorious tints of autumn, or the delicate tracery of winter. Our climate is so happy, that even in the worst months of the year, “ calm mornings of sunshine visit us at times, appearing like glimpses of departed spring amid the wilderness of wet and windy days that lead to winter. It is pleasant, when these interludes of silvery light occur, to ride into the woods and see how wonderful are all the colours of decay. Overhead, the elms and chestnuts hang their wealth of golden leaves, while the beeches darken into russet tones, and the wild cherry glows like blood-red wine. In the hedges crimson haws and scarlet hips are wreathed with hoary clematis or 1 Sir T. Browne. 2 Mackenzie, The Lounger. D 33 necklaces of coral briony-berries ; the brambles burn with many-coloured flames ; the dog-wood is bronzed to purple ; and here and there the ’ spindle-wood puts forth its fruit, like knots of rosy buds, on delicate frail twigs. Underneath lie fallen leaves, and the brown bracken rises to our knees as we thread the forest paths.”1 Nay, every day gives us a succession of glorious pictures in never-ending variety. It is remarkable how few people seem to derive any pleasure from the beauty of the sky. Gray, after describing a sunrise —how it began, with a slight whitening, just tinged with gold and blue, lit up all at once by a little line of insufferable brightness which rapidly grew to half an orb, and so to a whole one too glorious to be distinctly seen—adds, “ I wonder whether any one ever saw it before. I hardly believe it.” 2 No doubt from the dawn of poetry, the splendours of the morning and evening skies have delighted all those who have eyes to see. But we are especially indebted to Ruskin for enabling us more vividly to realise these glorious sky pictures. As he says, in language almost as brilliant as the sky itself, the whole heaven, “from the zenith to the horizon, becomes one molten, mantling sea of color and fire ; every black bar turns into massy gold, every ripple and wave into unsullied, shadowless crimson, and purple, and scarlet, and colors for which there are no words in language, and no ideas in the mind—things which can only be conceived while they are visible ; the intense hollow blue of the upper sky melting through it all, showing here deep and pure, and lightness ; there, modulated by the filmy, formless body of the trans­ parent vapour, till it is lost imperceptibly in its crimson and gold.” ' It is in some cases indeed “ not color but conflagration,” and though the tints are richer and more varied towards morn­ ing and at sunset, the glorious kaleidoscope goes on all day long. Yet “ it is a strange 1 J. A. Symonds. 2 Gray’s Letters. �THE PLEASURES OE LIRE 34 thing how little in general people know about the sky. It is the part of creation in which Nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man, more for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him, than in any other of her works, and it is just the part in which we least attend to her. There are not many of her other works in which some more material or essential purpose than the mere pleasing of man is not answered by every part of their organisation ; but every essential purpose of the sky might, so far as we know, be answered, if once in three days, or thereabouts, a great, ugly, black rain-cloud were brought up over the blue, and everything well watered, and so all left blue again till next time, with perhaps a film of morning and evening mist for dew. And instead of this, there is-not a moment of any day of our lives when Nature is not producing scene after scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and working still upon such exquisite and constant principles of the most perfect beauty, that it is quite certain it is all done for us, and intended for our perpetual pleasure.” 1 Nor does the beauty end with the day. “ Is it nothing to sleep under the canopy of heaven, where we have the globe of the earth for our place of repose, and the glories of the heavens for our spectacle? ”2 For my part I always regret the custom of shutting up our rooms in the evening, as though there was nothing worth seeing outside. What, however, can be more beautiful than to “ look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold,” or to watch the moon journeying in calm and silver glory through the night. And even if we do not feel that “ the man who has seen the rising moon break out of the clouds at midnight, has been present like an Arch­ angel at the creation of light and of the world,”3 still “ the stars say something significant to all of us : and each man has a whole hemisphere of them, if he r Ruskin. 2 Seneca. 3 Emerson. PART I will but look up, to counsel and befriend him ” ;1 for it is not so much, as Helps elsewhere observes, “in guiding us over the seas of our little planet, but out of the dark waters of'our own perturbed minds, that we may make to ourselves the most of their significance.” Indeed, “ How beautiful is night ! A dewy freshness fills the silent air ; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven : In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths ; Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky ; How beautiful is night ! ” 2 I have never wondered at those who worshipped the sun and moon. On the other hand, when all outside is dark and cold ; when perhaps “ Outside fall the snowflakes lightly ; Through the night loud raves the storm ; In my room the fire glows brightly, And ’tis cosy, silent, warm. Musing sit I on the settle By the firelight’s cheerful blaze, Listening to the busy kettle Humming long-forgotten lays.” 3 For after all the true pleasures of home are not without, but within ; and “ the domestic man who loves no music so well as his -own kitchen clock and the airs which the logs sing to him as they burn on the hearth, has solaces which others never dream of.” 4 We love the ticking of the clock, and the flicker of the fire, like the sound of the cawing of rooks, not so much for any beauty of their own as for their associations. It is a great truth that when we re­ tire into ourselves we can call up what memories we please. “ How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection recalls them to view.— The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood And every lov’d spot which my infancy knew.” 5 1 Helps. 2 Southey. 3 Heine, trans, by E. A. Bowring. 4 Emerson, 8 Woodworth. �THE PLEASURES OF HOME CHAP. VIII It is not so much the “ Fireside enjoyments, And all the comforts of the lowly roof,” 1 but rather, according to the higher and better ideal of Keble, “ Sweet is the smile of home ; the mutual look, When hearts are of each other sure ; Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook, The haunt of all affections pure.” In ancient times, not only among savage races, but even among the Greeks themselves, there seems to have been but little family life. What a contrast was the home life of the Greeks, as it seems to have been, to that, for instance, described by Cowley— a home happy “ in books and gardens,” and above all, in a “ Virtuous wife, where thou dost meet Both pleasures more refined and sweet; The fairest garden in her looks And in her mind the wisest books.” No one who has ever loved mother or wife, sister or daughter, can read without astonishment and pity St. Chrysostom’s description of woman as “a necessary evil, a natural temptation, a desirable calamity, a domestic peril, a deadly fascina­ tion, and a painted ill.” In few respects has mankind made a greater advance than in the relations of men and women. It is terrible to think how women suffer in savage life; and even among the intellectual Greeks, with rare exceptions, they seem to have been treated rather as housekeepers or play­ things than as the Angels who make a Heaven of home. The Hindoo proverb that you should “ never strike a wife, even with a flower,” though a considerable advance, tells a melancholy tale of what must previously have been. In The Origin of Civilisation I have given many cases showing how small a part family affection plays in savage life. Here I will only mention one case in illustration. The Algonquin (North i 1 Cowper. | 35 America) language contained no word for “ love,” so that when the missionaries translated the Bible into it they were obliged to invent one. What a life, and what a language, without love. Yet in marriage even the rough passion of a savage may contrast favourably with any cold calculation, which, like the en­ chanted hoard of the Nibelungs, is almost sure to bring misfortune. In the Kalevala, the Finnish epic, the divine smith, Ilmarinnen, forges a bride of gold and silver for Wainamoinen, who was pleased at first to have so rich a wife, but soon found her intolerably cold, for, in spite of fires and furs, whenever he touched her she froze him. Moreover, apart from mere coldness, how much we suffer from foolish quarrels about trifles ; from mere misunderstand­ ings ; from hasty words thoughtlessly repeated, sometimes without the context or tone which would have deprived them of any sting. How much would that charity which “beareth all things, believeth all things, bopeth all things, endureth all things,” effect to smooth away the sorrows of life and add to the happiness of home. Home indeed may be a sure haven of repose from the storms and perils of the world. But to secure this we must not be content to pave it with good intentions, but must make it bright and cheerful. If our life be one of toil and of suffer­ ing, if the world outside be cold and dreary, what a pleasure to return to the sunshine of happy faces and the warmth of hearts we love. �36 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE ’Twas she discovered that the world was young, And taught a language to its lisping tongue.” CHAPTER IX SCIENCE 1 “Happy is he that findeth wisdom, And the man that getteth understanding : For the merchandise of it is better than silver, And the gain thereof than fine gold. She is more precious than rubies : And all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her. Length of days is in her right hand, And in her left hand riches and honour. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, And all her paths are peace.” Proverbs of PART I Solomon. Those who have not tried for themselves can hardly imagine how much Science adds to the interest and variety of life. It is altogether a mistake to regard it as dry, difficult, or prosaic—-much of it is as easy as it is interesting. A wise in­ stinct of old united the prophet and the “ seer.” “ The wise man’s eyes are in his head, but the fool walketh in dark­ ness.” Technical works, descriptions of species, etc., bear the same relation to science as dictionaries do to literature. Occasionally, indeed, Science may de­ stroy some poetical myth of antiquity, such as the ancient Hindoo explanation of rivers, that “ Indra dug out their beds with his thunderbolts, and sent them forth by long continuous paths ; ” but the real causes of natural phenomena are far more striking, and contain more true poetry, than those which have occurred to the untrained imagination of mankind. In endless aspects science is as wonder­ ful and interesting as a fairy tale. ‘ ‘ There are things whose strong reality Outshines our fairyland ; in shape and hues More beautiful than our fantastic sky, And the strange constellations which the Muse O’er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse.” 2 Mackay justly exclaims : “Blessings on Science! When the earth seemed old, When Faith grew doting, and our reason cold, 1 The substance of this was delivered at Mason College, Birmingham. 2 Byron. Botany, for instance, is by many re­ garded as a dry science. Yet though without it we may admire flowers and trees, it is only as strangers, only as one may admire a great man or a beautiful woman in a crowd. The botanist, on the contrary—nay, I will not say the botanist, but one with even a slight knowledge of that delightful science—when he goes out into the woods, or into one of those fairy forests which we call fields, finds himself welcomed by a glad company of friends, every one with something inter­ esting to tell. Dr. Johnson said that, in his opinion, when you had seen one green field you had seen them all; and a greater even than Johnson—Socrates— the very type of intellect without science, said he was always anxious to learn, and from fields and trees he could learn nothing. It has, I know, been said that botanists “Love not the flower they pluck and know it not, And all their botany is but Latin names. ” Contrast this, however, with the language of one who would hardly claim to be a master in botany, though he is certainly a loving student. “Consider,” says Ruskin, “ what we owe to the meadow grass, to the covering of the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by the companies of those soft, countless, and peaceful spears of the field ! Follow but for a little time the thought of all that we ought to recognise in those words. All spring and summer is in them—the walks by silent scented paths, the rest in noonday heat, the joy of the herds and flocks, the power of all shepherd life and meditation; the life of the sunlight upon the world, fall­ ing in emerald streaks and soft blue shadows, when else it would have struck on the dark mould or scorching dust; pastures beside the pacing brooks, soft banks and knolls of lowly hills, thymy slopes of down overlooked by the blue �CHAP. IX SCIENCE line of lifted sea ; crisp lawns all dim with early dew, or smooth in evening warmth of barred sunshine, dinted by happy feet, softening in their fall the sound of loving voices.” My own tastes and studies have led me mainly in the direction of Natural History and Archaeology ; but if you love one science, you cannot but feel in­ tense interest in them all. How grand are the truths of Astronomy ! Prudhomme, in a sonnet, beautifully trans­ lated by Arthur O’Shaugnessy, has pictured an Observatory. He says— “ ’Tis late ; the astronomer in his lonely height, Exploring all the dark, descries afar Orbs that like distant isles of splendour are.” He notices a comet, and calculating its orbit, finds that it will return in a thousand years— “ The star will come. It dare not by one hour Cheat Science, or falsify her calculation ; Men will have passed, but, watchful in the tower, Man shall remain in sleepless contemplation ; And should all men have perished in their turn, Truth in their place would watch that star’s return.” Ernest Rhys well says of a student’s chamber— “ Strange things pass nightly in this little room, All dreary as it looks by light of day ; Enchantment reigns here when at evening play Red fire-light glimpses through the pallid gloom.” And the true student, in Ruskin’s words, stands on an eminence from which he looks back on the universe of God and forward over the generations of men. Even if it be true that science was dry when it was buried in huge folios, that is certainly no longer the case now ; and Lord Chesterfield’s wise wish, that Minerva might have three Graces as well as Venus, has been amply fulfilled. The study of natural history indeed seems destined to replace the loss of what is, not very happily I think, termed “ sport; ” engraven in us as it is by the 37 operation of thousands of years, during which man lived greatly on the produce of the chase. Game is gradually becoming “small by degrees and beautifully less.” Our prehistoric ancestors hunted the Mammoth, the woolly-haired Rhinoceros, and the Irish Elk ; the ancient Britons had the wild ox, the deer, and the wolf. We have still the pheasant, the partridge, the fox, and the hare; but even these are becoming scarcer, and must be preserved first, in order that they may be killed afterwards. Some of us even now—and more, no doubt, will hereafter—satisfy instincts, essentially of the same origin, by the study of birds, or insects, or even infusoria—of creatures which more than make up by their variety what they want in size. Emerson avers that when a naturalist has “got all snakes and lizards in his phials, science has done for him also, and has put the man into a bottle.” I do not deny that there are such cases, but they are quite exceptional. The true naturalist is no mere dry collector. I cannot resist, although it is rather long, quoting the following description from Hudson and Gosse’s beautiful work on the Rotifera :— “ On the Somersetshire side of the Avon, and not far from Clifton, is a little combe, at the bottom of which lies an old fish-pond, Its slopes are covered with plantations of beech and fir, so as to shelter the pond on three sides, and yet leave it open to the soft south-western breezes, and to the afternoon sun. At the head of the combe wells up a clear spring, which sends a thread of water, trickling through a bed of osiers, into the upper end of the pond. A stout stone wall has been drawn across the combe from side to side, so as to dam up the stream ; and there is a gap in one corner through which the overflow finds its way in a miniature cascade, down into the lower plantation. “ If we approach the pond by the game­ keeper’s path from the cottage above, we shall pass through the plantation, and come unseen right on the corner of the �38 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE wall; so that one quiet step will enable us to see at a glance its whole surface, without disturbing any living thing that may be there. “Far off at the upper end a water-hen is leading her little brood among the willows ; on the fallen trunk of an old beech, lying half way across the pond, a vole is sitting erect, rubbing his right ear, and the splash of a beech husk just at our feet tells of a squirrel who is dining some­ where in the leafy crown above us. “ But see, the water-rat has spied us out, and is making straight for his hole in the bank, while the ripple above him is the only thing that tells of his silent flight. The water-hen has long ago got under cover, and the squirrel drops no more husks. It is a true Silent Pond, and without a sign of life. “But if, retaining sense and sight, we could shrink into living atoms and plunge under the water, of what a world of wonders should we then form part ! We should find this fairy kingdom peopled with the strangest creatures—creatures that swim with their hair, that have ruby eyes blazing deep in their necks, with telescopic limbs that now are withdrawn wholly within their bodies and now stretched out to many times their own length. Here are some riding at anchor, moored by delicate threads spun out from their toes ; and there are others flashing by in glass armour, bristling with sharp spikes or ornamented with bosses and flowing curves ; while fastened to a green stem is an animal convolvulus that, by some invisible power, draws a neverceasing stream of victims into its gaping cup, and tears them to death with hooked jaws deep down within its body. “ Close by it, on the same stem, is some­ thing that looks like a filmy heart’s-ease. A curious wheelwork runs round its four outspread petals ; and a chain of minute things, living and dead, is winding in and out of their curves into a gulf at the back of the flower. What happens to them there we cannot see ; for round the stem is raised a tube of golden-brown balls, all j PART I regularly piled on each other. Some creature dashes by, and like a flash the flower vanishes within its tube. “We sink still lower, and now see on the bottom slow gliding lumps of jelly that thrust a shapeless arm out where they will, and grasping their prey with these chance limbs, wrap themselves round their food to get a meal; for they creep without feet, seize without hands, eat without mouths, and digest without stomachs.” Too many, however, still feel only in Nature that which we share “ with the weed and the worm ; ” they love birds as boys do—that is, they love throwing stones at them ; or wonder if they are good to eat, as the Esquimaux asked about the watch ; or treat them as certain devout Afreedee villagers are said to have treated a descendant of the Prophet—killed him in order to worship at his tomb: but gradually we may hope that the love of Science—the notes “we sound upon the strings of nature ”1—-will become to more and more, as already it is to many, a “ faithful and sacred element of human feeling.” Science summons us “ To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply ; Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky.” 2 Where the untrained eye will see nothing but mire and dirt, Science will often reveal exquisite possibilities. The mud we tread under our feet in the street is a grimy mixture of clay and sand, soot and water. Separate the sand, however, as Ruskin observes—-let the atoms arrange themselves in peace according to their nature—and you have the opal. Separate the clay, and it becomes a white earth, fit for the finest porcelain; or if it still further purifies itself, you have a sapphire. Take the soot, and if properly treated it will give you a diamond. While, lastly, the water, purified and distilled, will become a dew-drop, or crystallise into a lovely star. Or, again, you may see as 1 Emerson. 2 H. Smith. �CHAP. IX SCIENCE 39 you will in any shallow pool either the many years ago by Professor Huxley to mud lying at the bottom, or the image the South London Working Men’s College of the heavens above. which struck me very much at the time, Nay, even if we imagine beauties and and which puts this in language more charms which do not really exist ; still if forcible than any which I could use. we err at all, it is better to do so on the “Suppose,” he said, “it were perfectly side of charity; like Nasmyth, who tells certain that the life and fortune of every us in his delightful autobiography, that one of us would, one day or other, depend he used to think one of his friends had a upon his winning or losing a game of charming and kindly twinkle, and was chess. Don’t you think that we should one day surprised to discover that he all consider it to be a primary duty to had a glass eye. learn at least the names and the moves of But I should err indeed were I to the pieces ? Do you not think that we dwell exclusively on science as lending should look with a disapprobation amount­ interest and charm to our leisure hours. ing to scorn upon the father who allowed Far from this, it would be impossible his son, or the State which allowed its to overrate the importance of scientific members, to grow up without knowing a training on the wise conduct of life. pawn from a knight ? Yet it is a very “ Science,” said the Royal Commission plain and elementary truth that the life, of 1861, “quickens and cultivates directly the fortune, and the happiness of every the faculty of observation, which in very one of us, and more or less of those who many persons lies almost dormant through are connected with us, do depend upon life, the power of accurate and rapid our knowing something of the rules of a generalisation, and the mental habit of game infinitely more difficult and compli­ method and arrangement; it accustoms cated than chess. It is a game which young persons to trace the sequence of has been played for untold ages, every cause and effect; it familiarises them with man and woman of us being one of the a kind of reasoning which interests them, two players in a game of his or her own. and which they can promptly compre­ The chessboard is the world, the pieces hend • and it is perhaps the best correc­ are the phenomena of the Universe, the tive for that indolence which is the vice rules of the game are what we call the of half-awakened minds, and which shrinks laws of Nature. The player on the other from any exertion that is not, like an side is hidden from us. We know that effort of memory, merely mechanical.” his play is always fair, just, and patient. Again, when we contemplate the gran­ But also we know to our cost that he deur of science, if we transport ourselves never overlooks a mistake or makes the in imagination back into primeval times, smallest allowance for ignorance. To the or away into the immensity of space, man who plays well the highest stakes our little troubles and sorrows seem to are paid, with that sort of overflowing shrink into insignificance. “ Ah, beautiful generosity which with the strong shows creations ! ” says Helps, speaking of the delight in strength. And one who plays stars, “it is not in guiding us over the ill is checkmated—without haste, but seas of our little planet, but out of the without remorse.” dark waters of our own perturbed minds, I have elsewhere1 endeavoured to show that we may make to ourselves the most the purifying and ennobling influence of of your significance.” They teach, he tells science upon religion ; how it has assisted, us elsewhere, “something significant to if indeed it may not claim the main share, all of us; and each man has a whole in sweeping away the dark superstitions, hemisphere of them, if he will but look the degrading belief in sorcery and witch­ up, to counsel and befriend him.” craft, and the cruel, however well-intenThere is a passage in an address given 1 The, Origin of Civilisation. �40 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE tioned, intolerance which embittered the Christian world almost from the very days of the Apostles themselves. In this she has surely performed no mean service to religion itself. As Canon Fremantle has well and justly said, men of science, and not the clergy only, are ministers of religion. Again, the national necessity for scientific education is imperative. We are apt to forget how much we owe to science, because so many of its wonderful gifts have become familiar parts of our everyday life, that their very value makes us forget their origin. At the recent celebration of the sexcentenary of Peterhouse College, near the close of a long dinner, Sir Frederick Bramwell was called on, some time after midnight, to return thanks for Applied Science. He excused himself from making a long speech on the ground that, though the subject was almost inexhaustible, the only illustration which struck him as appropriate under the circumstances was “ the application of the domestic lucifer to the bedroom candle.” One cannot but feel how un­ fortunate was the saying of the poet that “The light-outspeeding telegraph Bears nothing on its beam.” The report of the Royal Commission on Technical Instruction, which has recently been issued, teems with illustra­ tions of the advantages afforded by technical instruction. At the same time, technical training ought not to begin too soon, for, as Bain truly observes, “ in a right view of scientific education the first principles and leading examples, with select details, of all the great sciences, are the proper basis of the complete and exhaustive study of any single science.” Indeed, in the words of Sir John Herschel, “it can hardly be pressed forcibly enough on the attention of the student of Nature, that there is scarcely any natural pheno­ menon which can be fully and completely explained in all its circumstances, with­ out a union of several, perhaps of all, the sciences.” The most important secrets of Nature are often hidden away in unex­ pected places. Many valuable substances PART I have been discovered in the refuse of manufactories ; and it was a happy thought of Glauber to examine what everybody else threw away. There is perhaps no nation the future happiness and prosperity of which depend more on science than our own. Our population is over 35,000,000, and is rapidly increas­ ing. Even at present it is far larger than our acreage can support. Few people whose business does not lie in the study of statistics realise that we have to pay foreign countries no less than £150,000,000 a year for food. This, of course, we purchase mainly by manu­ factured articles. We hear even now a great deal about depression of trade, and foreign, especially American, competition ; but let us look forward a hundred years —no long time in the history of a nation. Our coal supplies will then be greatly diminished. The population of Great Britain doubles at the present rate of increase in about fifty years, so that we should, if the present rate continues, require to import over £400,000,000 a year in food. How, then, is this to be paid for ? We have before us, as usual, three courses. The natural rate of increase may be stopped, which means suffering and outrage ; or the population may increase, only to vegetate in misery and destitution; or, lastly, by the de­ velopment of scientific training and appliances, they may probably be main­ tained in happiness and comfort. We have, in fact, to make our choice between science and suffering. It is only by wisely utilising the gifts of science that we have any hope of maintaining our population in plenty and comfort. Science, however, will do this for us if we will only let her. She may be no Fairy Godmother indeed, but she will richly endow those who love her. That discoveries, innumerable, marvel­ lous, and fruitful, await the successful explorers of Nature no one can doubt. “We are so far,” says Locke, “from being admitted into the secrets of Nature, that we scarce so much as approach the �CHAP. IX SCIENCE first entrance towards them.” What would one not give for a Science primer of the next century ? for, to paraphrase a well-known saying, even the boy at the plough will then, know more of science than the wisest of our philosophers do now. Boyle entitled one of his essays “ Of Man’s great Ignorance of the Uses of Natural Things; or that there is no one thing in Nature whereof the uses to human life are yet thoroughly under­ stood ”—a saying which is still as true now as when it was written. And, lest I should be supposed to be taking too sanguine a view, let me give the authority of Sir John Herschel, who says : “Since it cannot but be that innumerable and most important uses remain to be dis­ covered among the materials and objects already known to us, as well as among those which the progress of science must hereafter disclose, we may hence conceive a well-grounded expectation, not only of constant increase in the physical resources of mankind, and the consequent improve­ ment of their condition, but of continual accession to our power of penetrating into the arcana of Nature and becoming acquainted with her highest laws.” Nor is it merely in a material point of view that science would thus benefit the nation. She will raise and strengthen the national, as surely as the individual, character. The great gift which Minerva offered to Paris is now freely tendered to all, for we may apply to the nation, as well as to the individual, Tennyson’s noble lines :— “ Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control: These three alone lead life to sovereign power, Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncalled for), but to live bylaw ; Acting the law we live by without fear.” “ In the vain and foolish exultation of the heart,” said John Quincey Adams, at the close of his final lecture on resigning his chair at Boston, “ which the brighter prospects of life will sometimes excite, the pensive portress of Science shall call you to the sober pleasures of her holy cell. In the mortification of disappoint­ 4i ment, her soothing voice shall whisper serenity and peace. In social converse with the mighty dead of ancient days, you will never smart under the galling sense of dependence upon the mighty living of the present age. And in your struggles with the world, should a crisis ever occur, when even friendship may deem it prudent to desert you, when priest and Levite shall come and look on you and pass by on the other side, seek refuge, my unfailing friends, and be assured you shall find it, in the friend­ ship of Laelius and Scipio, in the patriotism of Cicero, Demosthenes, and Burke, as well as in the precepts and example of Him whose law is love, and who taught us to remember injuries only to forgive them.” Let me in conclusion quote the glow­ ing description of our debt to science given by Archdeacon Farrar in his address at Liverpool College-—-testimony, more­ over, all the more valuable, considering the source from which it comes. “In this great commercial city,” he said, “ where you are surrounded by the triumphs of science and of mechanism— you, whose river is ploughed by the great steamships whose white wake has been called the fittest avenue to the palace front of a mercantile people—you know well that in the achievements of science there is not only beauty and wonder, but also beneficence and power. It is not only that she has revealed to us infinite space crowded with unnumbered worlds ; infinite time peopled by unnumbered existences ; infinite organisms hitherto in­ visible but full of delicate and irridescent loveliness ; but also that she has been, as a great Archangel of Mercy, devoting herself to the service of man. She has laboured, her votaries have laboured, not to increase the power of despots or add to the magnificence of courts, but to extend human happiness, to economise human effort, to extinguish human pain. Where of old, men toiled, half blinded and half naked, in the mouth of the glowing furnace to mix the white-hot iron, she �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE 42 now substitutes the mechanical action of the viewless air. She has enlisted the sunbeam in her service to limn for us, with absolute fidelity, the faces of the friends we love. She has shown the poor miner how he may work in safety, even amid the explosive fire-damp of the mine. She has, by her anaesthetics, enabled the sufferer to be hushed and unconscious while the delicate hand of some skilled operator cuts a fragment from the nervous circle of the unquiver­ ing eye. She points not to pyramids built during weary centuries by the sweat of miserable nations, but to the lighthouse and the steamship, to the rail­ road and the telegraph. She has restored eyes to the blind and hearing to the deaf. She has lengthened life, she has minimised danger, she has controlled madness, she has trampled on disease. And on all these grounds, I think that none of our sons should grow up wholly ignorant of studies which at once train the reason and fire the imagination, which fashion as well as forge, which can feed as well as fill the mind.” CHAPTER X EDUCATION “No pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth.”—Bacon. ‘ ‘ Divine Philosophy ! Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo’s lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets Where no crude surfeit reigns.”—Milton. It may seem rather surprising to include education among the pleasures of life ; for in too many cases it is made odious to the young, and is supposed to cease with school; while, on the contrary, if it is to be really successful it must be suit­ able, and therefore interesting, to children, and must last through life. The very process of acquiring knowledge is a privilege and a blessing. It used to be PART I said that there was no royal road to learn­ ing : it would be more true to say that the avenues leading to it are all royal. “It is not,” says Jeremy Taylor, “the eye that sees the beauties of heaven, nor the ear that hears the sweetness of music, or the glad tidings of a prosperous accident; but the soul that perceives all the relishes of sensual and intellectual perceptions: and the more noble and excellent the soul is, the greater and more savoury are its perceptions. And if a child behold the rich ermine, or the diamonds of a starry night, or the order of the world, or hears the discourses of an apostle ; because he makes no reflex act on himself and sees not what he sees, he can have but the pleasure of a fool or the deliciousness of a mule.” Herein lies the importance of educa­ tion. I say education rather than in-, struction, because it is far more important to cultivate the mind than to store the memory. Instruction is only a part of education : the true teacher has been well described by Montgomery : ‘ ’ And while in tones of sportive tenderness, He answer’d all its questions, and ask’d others As simple as its own, yet wisely framed To wake and prove an infant’s faculties ; As though its mind were some sweet instru­ ment, And he, with breath and touch, were finding out What stops or keys would yield the richest music.” Studies are a means and not an end. “To spend too much time in studies is sloth ; to use them too much for orna­ ment is affectation ; to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholar : they perfect nature, and are per­ fected by experience. . . . Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them.” 1 Moreover, though, as Mill says, “in the comparatively early state of human development in which we now live, a person cannot indeed feel that entireness of sympathy with all others which would make any real discordance in the general 1 Bacon. �EDUCATION CHAP. X direction of tlieir conduct in life impos­ sible,” yet education might surely do more to root in us the feeling of unity with our fellow-creatures. At any rate, if we do not study in this spirit, all our learning will but leave us as weak and sad as Faust. Our studies should be neither “a couch on which to rest; nor a cloister in which to promenade alone ; nor a tower from which to look down on others; nor a fortress whence we may resist them ; nor a workshop for gain and merchandise ; but a rich armoury and treasury for the glory of the creator and the ennoblement of life.” 1 For in the noble words of Epictetus, “ you will do the greatest service to the state if you shall raise, not the roofs of the houses, but the souls of the citizens : for it is better that great souls should dwell in small houses rather than for mean slaves to lurk in great houses.” It is then of great importance to con­ sider whether our present system of education is the one best calculated to fulfil these great objects. Does it really give that love of learning which is better than learning itself ? Does all the study of the classics to which our sons devote so many years give any just appreciation of them; or do they not on leaving college too often feel with Byron— “ Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated so ! ” Too much concentration on any one subject is a great mistake, especially in early life. Nature herself indicates the true system, if we would but listen to her. Our instincts are good guides, though not infallible, and children will profit little by lessons which do not interest them. In cheerfulness, says Pliny, is the success of our studies— “ studia hilaritate proveniunt ”—and we may with advantage take a lesson from Theognis, who, in his Ode on the Marriage of Cadmus and Harmonia, makes the Muses sing — 1 Bacon. 43 ‘ ‘ What is good and fair, Shall ever be our care ; Thus the burden of it rang, That shall never be our care, Which is neither good nor fair. Such were the words your lips immortal sang.” There are some who seem to think that our educational system is as good as possible, and that the only remaining points of importance are the number of schools and scholars, the question of fees, the relation of voluntary and board schools, etc. “No doubt,” says Mr. Symonds, in his Sketches in Italy and Greece, “ there are many who think that when we not only advocate education but discuss the best system we are simply beating the air ; that our population is as happy and cultivated as can be, and that no substantial advance is really possible. Mr. Galton, however, has ex­ pressed the opinion, and most of those who have written on the social condition of Athens seem to agree with him, that the population of Athens, taken as a whole, was as superior to us as we are to Australian savages.” That there is, indeed, some truth in this, probably no student of Greek history will deny. Why, then, should this be so ? I cannot but think that our system of education is partly responsible. Manual and science teaching need not in any way interfere with instruction in other subjects. Though so much has been said about the importance of science and the value of technical instruction, or of hand-training, as I should prefer to call it, it is unfortunately true that in our system of education, from the highest schools downwards, both of them are sadly neglected, and the study of language reigns supreme. This is no new complaint. Ascham, in The Schoolmaster, long ago lamented it; Milton, in his letter to Mr. Samuel Hartlib, complained “ that our children are forced to stick unreasonably in these grammatick flats and shallows ; ” and observes that, “though a linguist should pride himself to have all the tongues �44 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE Babel cleft tlie world into, yet, if he have not studied the solid things in them as well as the words and lexicons, he were nothing so much to be esteemed a learned man as any yeoman or tradesman com­ petently wise in his mother dialect only ; ” and Locke said that “ schools fit us for the university rather than for the world.” Commission after commission, committee after committee, have reiterated the same complaint. How then do we stand now ? I see it indeed constantly stated that, even if the improvement is not so rapid as could be desired, still we are making considerable progress. But is this so ? I fear not. I fear that our present system does not really train the mind, or cultivate the power of observation, or even give the amount of information which we may reasonably expect from the time devoted to it. Sir M. E. Grant-Duff has expressed the opinion that a boy or girl of fourteen might reasonably be expected to “read aloud clearly and agreeably, to write a large distinct round hand, and to know the ordinary rules of arithmetic, especially compound addition — a by no cneans universal accomplishment; to speak and write French with ease and correctness, and have some slight acquaintance with French literature ; to translate ad aperturam libri from an ordinary French or German book ; to have a thoroughly good elementary knowledge of geography, under which are comprehended some notions of astronomy—enough to excite his curiosity ; a knowledge of the very broadest facts of geology and history— enough to make him understand, in a clear but perfectly general way, how the larger features of the world he lives in, physical and political, came to be like what they are ; to have been trained from earliest infancy to use his powers of observation on plants, or animals, or rocks, or other natural objects; and to have gathered a general acquaintance with what is most supremely good in that portion of the more important English classics which is suitable to his time of life; to PART I have some rudimentary acquaintance with drawing and music.” To effect this, no doubt, “industiy must be our oracle, and reason our Apollo,” as Sir T. Browne says ; but surely it is no unreasonable estimate; yet how far do we fall short of it ? General culture is often deprecated because it is said that smatterings are useless. But there is all the difference in the world between having a smattering of, or being well grounded in, a subject. It is the latter which we advocate-—to try to know, as Lord Brougham well said, “ every­ thing of something, and something of everything.” “It can hardly,” says Sir John Her­ schel, “ be pressed forcibly enough on the attention of the student of nature, that there is scarcely any natural phe­ nomenon which can be fully and com­ pletely explained, in all its circumstances, without a union of several, perhaps of all, the sciences.” The present system in most of our public schools and colleges sacrifices everything else to classics and arithmetic. They are most important subjects, but ought not to exclude science and modern languages. Moreover, after all, our sons leave college unable to speak either Latin or Greek, and too often absolutely with­ out any interest in classical history or literature. But the boy who has been educated without any training in science has grave reason to complain of “ wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.” By concentrating the attention, indeed, so much on one or two subjects, we defeat our own object, and produce a feeling of distaste where we wish to create an interest. Our great mistake in education is, as it seems to me, the worship of book­ learning—the confusion of instruction and education. We strain the memory instead of cultivating the mind. The children in our elementary schools are wearied by the mehanical act of wilting, and the interminable intricacies of spelling; they are oppressed by columns of dates �CHAP. X EDUCATION 45 by lists of kings and places, which convey man he was. I doubt, however, whether no definite idea to their minds, and have the boys were deceived by the hat ; and no near relation to their daily wants am very sceptical about Dr. Busby’s and occupations; while in our public theory of education. schools the same unfortunate results are Master John of Basingstoke, who was produced by the weary monotony of Latin Archdeacon of Leicester in 1252, learnt and Greek grammar. We ought to follow Greek during a visit to Athens, from exactly the opposite course with children Constantina, daughter of the Archbishop —to give them a wholesome variety of of Athens, and used to say afterwards mental food, and endeavour to cultivate that though he had studied well and their tastes, rather than to fill their minds diligently at the University of Paris, yet with dry facts. The important thing is he learnt more from an Athenian maiden not so much that every child should be of twenty. We cannot all study so taught, as that every child should be pleasantly as this, but the main fault given the wish to learn. What does it I find with Dr. Busby’s system is that matter if the pupil knows a little more or it keeps out of sight the great fact of a little less ? A boy who leaves school human ignorance. knowing much, but hating his lessons, Boys are given the impression that will soon have forgotten almost all he the masters know everything. If, on the ever learnt; while another who had contrary, the great lesson impressed on acquired a thirst for knowledge, even if them was that what we know is as nothing he had learnt little, would soon teach to what we do not know, that the “great himself more than the first ever knew. ocean of truth lies all undiscovered before Children are by nature eager for informa­ us,” surely this would prove a great tion. They are always putting questions. stimulus, and many would be nobly This ought to be encouraged. In fact, anxious to enlarge the boundaries of we may to a great extent trust to their human knowledge, and extend the in­ instincts, and in that case they will do I tellectual kingdom of man. Philosophy, much to educate themselves. Too often, says Aristotle, begins in wonder, for Iris however, the acquirement of knowledge is the child of Thaumas. is placed before them in a form so irk­ Education ought not to cease w’hen we some and fatiguing that all desire for leave school; but if well begun there, information is choked, or even crushed will continue through life. out; so that our schools, in fact, become Moreover, whatever our occupation places for the discouragement of learning, or profession in life may be, it is most and thus produce the very opposite effect desirable to create for ourselves some from that at which we aim. In short, other special interest. In the choice of children should be trained to observe and a subject every one should consult his to think, for in that way there would own instincts and interests. I will not be opened out to them a source of the attempt to suggest whether it is better to purest enjoyment for leisure hours, and pursue art or science ; whether we should the wisest judgment in the work of study the motes in the sunbeam, or the life. heavenly bodies themselves. Whatever Another point in which I venture to may be the subject of our choice, we shall think that our system of education might find enough, and more than enough, to be amended, is that it tends at present repay the devotion of a lifetime. to give the impression that everything is Life no doubt is paved with enjoyments, known. but we must all expect times of anxiety, Dr. Busby is said to have kept his of suffering, and of sorrow ; and when hat on in the presence of King Charles, these come it is an inestimable comfort to that the boys might see what a great have some deep interest which will, at �46 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE any rate to some extent, enable us to escape from ourselves. “ A cultivated mind,” says Mill—“ I do not mean that of a philosopher, but any mind to which the fountains of knowledge have been opened, and which has been taught in any tolerable degree to exercise its faculties—will find sources of inex­ haustible interest in all that surrounds it; in the objects of nature, the achieve­ ments of art, the imaginations of poetry, the incidents of history, the ways of man­ kind, past and present, and their prospects in the future. It is possible, indeed, to become indifferent to all this, and that too without having exhausted a thousandth part of it ; but only when one has had from the beginning no moral or human interest in these things, and has sought in them only the gratification of curiosity.” I have been subjected to some goodnatured banter for having said that I looked forward to a time when our artizans and mechanics would be great readers. But it is surely not unreasonable to regard our social condition as susceptible of great im­ provement. The spread of schools, the cheapness of books, the establishment of free libraries will, it may be hoped, exercise a civilising and ennobling influence. They will even, I believe, do much to diminish poverty and suffering, so much of which is due to ignorance and to the want of interest and brightness in uneducated life. So far as our elementary schools are con­ cerned, there is no doubt much difficulty in apportioning the National Grant without unduly stimulating mere mechanical in­ struction. But this is not the place to dis­ PART I cuss the subject of religious or moral train­ ing, or the system of apportioning the grant. If we succeed in giving the love of learn­ ing, the learning itself is sure to follow. We should therefore endeavour to edu­ cate our children so that every country walk may be a pleasure ; that the dis­ coveries of science may be a living interest; that our national history and poetry may be sources of legitimate pride and rational enjoyment. In short, our schools, if they are to be worthy of the name—if they are to fulfil their high function—must be something more than mere places of dry study ; they must train the children edu­ cated in them so that they may be able to appreciate and enjoy those intellectual gifts which might be, and ought to be, a source of interest and of happiness, alike to the high and to the low, to the rich and to the poor. A wise system of education will at least teach us how little man yet knows, how much he has still to learn ; it will enable us to realise that those ■who com­ plain of the tiresome monotony of life have only themselves to' blame ; and that knowledge is pleasure as well as power. It will lead us all to try with Milton “ to behold the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of study,” and to feel with Bacon that “no pleasure is com­ parable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth.” We should then indeed realise in part, for as yet we cannot do so fully, the “ sacred trusts of health, strength, and time,” and how thankful we ought to be for the inestimable gift of life. �PAET II ��PREFACE “ And what is writ, is writ— Would it were worthier.” Byron. Herewith I launch the conclusion of my subject. Perhaps I am unwise in publishing a second part. The first was so kindly received that I am running a risk in attempting to add to it. In the preface, however, to the first part I have expressed the hope that the thoughts and quotations in which I have found most comfort and delight, might be of use to others also. In this my most sanguine hopes have been more than realised. Not only has the book passed through twenty editions in less than three years, but the many letters which I have received have been most gratifying. Two criticisms have been repeated by several of those who have done me the honor, of noticing my previous volume. It has been said in the first place that my life has been exceptionally bright and full, and that I cannot therefore judge for others. Nor do I attempt to do so. I do not forget, I hope I am not ungrateful for, all that has been bestowed on me. But if I have been greatly favoured, ought I not to be on that very account especially qualified to write on such a theme 1 Moreover, I have had,—who has not,— my own sorrows. Again, some have complained that there is too much quotation—too little of my own. This I take to be in reality a great compliment. I have not striven to be original. If, as I have been assured by many, my book has added to their power of enjoying life, and has proved a comfort in the hours of darkness, that is indeed an ample reward and is the utmost I have ever hoped. High Elms, Down, Kent, April 1889. E �CONTENTS PART II CHAP. I. Ambition .... 51 II. Wealth .... 54 III. Health .... IV. Love .... V. Art .... 65 .... 70 .... 74 VI. Poetry •VII. Music VIII. The Beauties of Nature IX. The Troubles of Life . X. Labour and Rest XI. Religion . XII. The Hope of Progress . XIII. The Destiny of Man 56 61 79 86 89 92 98 102 �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART II CHAPTER I I know, says Morris, “ How far high failure overleaps the bound Of low successes.” AMBITION “ Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days.” Milton. If fame be the last infirmity of noble minds, ambition is often the first ; though, when properly directed, it may be no feeble aid to virtue. Had not my youthful mind, says Cicero, “ from many precepts, from many writings, drunk in this truth, that glory and virtue ought to be the darling, nay, the only wish in life; that, to attain these, the torments of the flesh, with the perils of death and exile, are to be despised ; never had I exposed my person in so many encounters, and to these daily conflicts with the worst of men, for your deliverance. But, on this head, books are full; the voice of the wise is full; the examples of antiquity are full: and all these the night of barbarism had still enveloped, had it not been enlightened by the sun of science.” The poet tells us that “The many fail: the one succeeds.”1 And Bacon assures us that “ if a man look sharp and attentively he shall see fortune; for though she is blind, she is not invisible.” To give ourselves a reasonable prospect of success, we must realise what we hope to achieve ; and then make the most of our opportunities. Of these the use of time is one of the most important. What have we to do with time, asks Oliver Wendell Holmes, but to fill it up with labour. “At the battle of Montebello,” said Napoleon, “I ordered Kellermann to attack with 800 horse, and with these he separated the 6000 Hungarian grenadiers before the very eyes of the Austrian cavalry. This cavalry was half a league off, and required a quarter of an hour to arrive on the field of action ; and I have observed that it is always these quarters of an hour that decide the fate of a battle,” including, we may add, the battle of life. Nor must we spare ourselves in other ways, for “ He who thinks in strife To earn a deathless fame, must do, nor ever care for life.” 1 But this is scarcely true. All succeed who deserve, though not perhaps as they hoped. An honourable defeat is better than a mean victory, and no one is really the worse for being beaten, unless he loses heart. Though we may not be able to attain, that is no reason why we should not aspire. In the excitement of the struggle, moreover, he will suffer comparatively little from wounds and blows which would otherwise cause intense pain. It is well to weigh scrupulously the object in view, to run as little risk as may be, to count the cost with care. 1 Tennyson. 1 Beowulf. �52 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE But when the mind is once made up, there must be no looking back, you must spare yourself no labour, nor shrink from danger. “ He either fears his fate too much Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all.” 1 Glory, says Renan, “is after all the thing which has the best chance of not being altogether vanity.” But what is glory ? Marcus Aurelius observes that “ a spider is proud when it has caught a fly, a man when he has caught a hare, another when he has taken a little fish in a net, another when he has taken wild boars, another when he has taken bears, and another when he has taken Sarmatians ; ”2 but this, if from one point of view it shows the vanity of lame, also encourages us with the evidence that every one may succeed if his objects are but reasonable. Alexander may be taken as almost a type of Ambition in its usual form, though carried to an extreme. His desire was to conquer, not to in­ herit or to rule. When news was brought that his father Philip had taken some town, or won some battle, instead of being delighted, he used to say to his companions, “ My father will go on con­ quering, till there be nothing extra­ ordinary left for you and me to do.”3 He is said even to have been mortified at the number of the stars, considering that he had not been able to conquer one world. Such ambition is justly fore­ doomed to disappointment. The remarks of Philosophers on the vanity of ambition refer generally to that unworthy form of which Alexander may be taken as the type—the idea of self­ exaltation, not only without any reference to the happiness, but even regardless of the sufferings, of others. “A continual and restless search after 1 Montrose. 2 He is referring here to one of his expeditions. 3 Plutarch. PART II fortune,” says Bacon, “ takes up too much of their time who have nobler things to observe.” Indeed he elsewhere extends this, and adds that “No man’s private fortune can be an end in any way worthy of his existence.” Goethe well observes that man “ exists for culture; not for what he can accom­ plish, but for what can be accomplished in him.” 1 As regards fame, we must not confuse name and essence. To be remembered is not necessarily to be famous. There is infamy as well as fame; and unhappily almost as many are remembered for the one as for the other, and not a few for a mixture of both. Who would not, however, rather be forgotten, than recollected as Ahab or Jezebel, Nero or Commodus, Messalina or Heliogabalus, King John or Richard III.? “To be nameless in worthy deeds ex­ ceeds an infamous history. The Canaanitish woman lives more happily without a name than Herodias with one ; and ■who would not rather have been the good thief than Pilate ? ” 2 Kings and Generals are often remem­ bered as much- for their misfortunes as for their successes, for their deaths as for their lives. The Hero of Thermopylae was Leonidas, not Xerxes. Alexander’s Empire fell to pieces at his death. Napoleon was a great genius, though no Hero. But what came of all his victories ? They passed away like the smoke of his guns and he left France weaker, poorer, and smaller than he found her. The most lasting result of his genius is no military glory, but the Code Napoleon. A surer and more glorious title to fame is that of those who are remembered for some act of justice or self-devotion: the self-sacrifice of Leonidas, the good faith of Regulus, are the glories of history. In some cases where men have been called after places, the men are remem­ bered, while the places are forgotten. When we speak of Palestrina or Perugino, 1 Emerson. 2 Sir T. Browne. �CHAP. I AMBITION of Nelson or Wellington, of Newton or Darwin, who remembers the towns ? We think only of the men. Goethe has been called the soul of his century. We have but meagre biographies of Shakespeare or of Plato • yet how’ much we know about them. Statesmen and Generals enjoy great celebrity during their lives. The news­ papers chronicle every word and move­ ment. But the fame of the Philosopher and Poet is more enduring. Wordsworth deprecates monuments to Poets, with some exceptions, on this very account. The case of Statesmen, he says, is different. It is right to commemorate them because they might otherwise be forgotten ; but Poets live in their books for ever. The real conquerors of the world in­ deed are not the generals but the thinkers ; not Genghis Khan and Akbar, Barneses, or Alexander, but Confucius and Buddha, Aristotle, Plato, and Christ. The rulers and kings wrho reigned over our ancestors have for the most part long since sunk into oblivion—they are for­ gotten for want of some sacred bard to give them life—or are remembered, like Suddhodana and Pilate, from their associ­ ation with higher spirits. Such men’s lives cannot be compressed into any biography. They lived not merely in their own generation, but for all time. When we speak of the Eliza­ bethan period we think of Shakespeare and Bacon, Raleigh and Spenser. The ministers and secretaries of state, with one or two exceptions, we scarcely re­ member, and Bacon himself is recollected less as the Judge than as the Philosopher. Moreover, to what do Generals and Statesmen owe their fame? They were celebrated for their deeds, but to the Poet and the Historian they are indebted for their immortality, and to the Poet and Historian we owe their glorious memories and the example of their virtues. ‘ ‘ Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Multi; sed omnes illacrimabiles 53 Urgentur ignotique Tonga Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.” Montrose happily combined the tw*o, when in “ My dear and only love ” he promises, “ I’ll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword.” It is remarkable, and encouraging, how many of the greatest men have risen from the lowest rank, and triumphed over obstacles which might well have seemed insurmountable; nay, even ob­ scurity itself may be a source of honour. The very doubts as to Homer’s birthplace have contributed to his glory, seven cities as we all know laying claim to the great poet— “Smyrna, Rhodos, Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, Athenaj.” Take men of Science only. Ray was the son of a blacksmith, Watt of a ship­ wright, Franklin of a tallow-chandler, Dalton of a handloom weaver, Fraunhofer of a glazier, Laplace of a farmer, Linnseus of a poor curate, Faraday of a blacksmith, Lamarck of a banker’s clerk ; George Stephenson wras a working collier, Davy an apothecary’s assistant, Wheatstone a musicalinstrumentmaker; Galileo, Kepler, Sprengel, Cuvier, and Sir W. Herschel were all children of very poor parents. It is, on the other hand, sad to think how many of our greatest benefactors are unknown even by name. Who discovered the art of procuring fire ? Prometheus is merely the personification of forethought. Who invented letters ? Cadmus is a mere name. These inventions, indeed, are lost in the mists of antiquity, but even as re­ gards recent progress the steps are often so gradual, and so numerous, that few in­ ventions can be attributed entirely, or even mainly, to any one person. Columbus is said, and truly said, to have discovered America, though the Northmen were there before him. We Englishmen have every reason to be proud of our fellow-countrymen. To �54 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART II take Philosophers and men of Science what as the years roll on, does add to the only, Bacon and Hobbes, Locke and comfort of life. But this is of course on Berkeley, Hume and Hamilton, will the supposition that you are master of always be associated with the progress of your money, that the money is not master human thought; Newton with gravita­ of you. tion, Adam Smith with Political Economy, Unquestionably the possession of wealth Young with the undulatory theory of is attended by many drawbacks. Money light, Herschel with the discovery of and the love of money often go together. Uranus and the study of the star depths, The poor man, as Emerson says, is the Lord Worcester, Trevethick, and Watt man who wishes to be rich ; and the more with the steam-engine, Wheatstone with a man has, the more he often longs to the electric telegraph, Jenner with the be richer. Just as drinking often does banishment of smallpox, Simpson with but increase thirst; so in many cases the the practical application of anaesthetics, craving for riches grows with wealth and Darwin with the creation of modern This is, of course, especially the case Natural History. when money is sought for its own sake. These men, and such as these, have Moreover, it is often easier to make money made our history and moulded our than to keep or to enjoy it. Keeping it opinions ; and though during life they is dull and anxious drudgery. The dread may have occupied, comparatively, an of loss may hang like a dark cloud over insignificant space in the eyes of their life. Seneca tells us that when Apicius countrymen, they became at length an had squandered most of his patrimony, irresistible power, and have now justly but had still 250,000 crowns left, he grown to a glorious memory. committed suicide, for fear he should die of hunger. Wealth is certainly no sinecure. More­ over, the value of money depends partly CHAPTER II on knowing what to do with it, partly WEALTH on the manner in which it is acquired. “ Acquire money, thy friends say, that “ The rich and poor meet together : the Lord is the maker of them all.” — Proverbs of we also may have some. If I can acquire money and also keep myself modest, and Solomon. faithful, and magnanimous, point out the Ambition often takes the form of a love way, and I will acquire it. But if you of money. There are many who have ask me to lose the things which are good never attempted Art or Music, Poetry or and my own, in order that you may gain Science ; but most people do something things that are not good, see how unfair for a livelihood, and consequently an and unwise you are. For which would increase of income is not only acceptable you rather have? Money, or a faithful in itself, but gives a pleasant feeling of and modest friend. . . . success. ■“What hinders a man, who has clearly Doubt is indeed often expressed whether comprehended these things, from living wealth is any advantage. I do not my­ with a light heart, and bearing easily the self believe that those who are born, as reins, quietly expecting everything which the saying is, with a silver spoon in their can happen, and enduring that which has mouth, are necessarily any the happier for already happened ? Would you have me it. No doubt wealth entails almost more to bear poverty ? Come, and you will labour than poverty, and certainly more know what poverty is when it has found anxiety. Still it must, I think, be con­ one who can act well the part of a poor fessed that the possession of an income, man.” 1 whatever it may be, which increases some­ 1 Epictetus. �CHAP. II WEALTH We must bear in mind Solon’s answer to Croesus, “ Sir, if any other come that hath better iron than you, he will be master of all this gold.” Midas is another case in point. He prayed that everything he touched might be turned into gold, and this prayer was granted. His wine turned to gold, his bread turned to gold, his clothes, his very bed. “Attonitus novitate mali, divesque miserque, Effugere optat opes, et quse modo voverat, odit.” He is by no means the only man who has suffered from too much gold. The real truth I take to be that wealth is not necessarily an advantage, but that whether it is so or not depends on the use we make of it. The same, however, might be said of most other opportunities and privileges ; Knowledge and Strength, Beauty and Skill, may all be abused ; if we neglect or misuse them we are worse off than if we had never had them. Wealth is only a disadvantage in the hands of those who do not know how to use it. It gives the command of so many other things—leisure, the power of helping others, books, works of art, opportunities and means of travel. It would, however, be easy to exagger­ ate the advantages of money. It is well worth having, and worth working for, but it does not requite too great a sacri­ fice ; not indeed so great as is often offered up to it. A wise proverb tells us that gold may be bought too dear. If wealth is to be valued because it gives leisure, clearly it would be a mistake to sacrifice leisure in the struggle for wealth. Money has no doubt also a tendency to make men poor in spirit. But, on the other hand, what gift is there which is without danger ? Euripides said that money finds friends for men, and has great (he said the greatest) power among Mankind, cynically adding, “ Mighty indeed is a rich man, especially if his heir be unknown.” Bossuet tells us that “he had no attachment to riches, still if he had only 55 what was barely necessary, he felt him­ self narrowed, and would lose more than half his talents.” Shelley was certainly not an avaricious man, and yet “ I desire money,” he said, “ because I think I know the use of it. It commands labour, it gives leisure ; and to give leisure to those who will employ it in the forwarding of truth is the noblest present an individual can make to the whole.” Many will have felt with Pepys when he quaintly and piously says, “ Abroad with my wife, the first time that ever I rode in my own coach ; which do make my heart rejoice and praise God, and pray him to bless it to me, and continue it.” This, indeed, was a somewhat selfish satisfaction. Yet the merchant need not quit nor be ashamed of his profession, bearing in mind only the inscription on the Church of St. Giacomo de Bialto at Venice: “ Around this temple let the merchant’s law be just, his weights true, and his covenants faithful.” 1 If, however, life has been sacrificed to the rolling up of money for its own sake, the very means by which it was acquired will prevent its being enjoyed ; the chill of poverty will have entered into the very bones. The miser deprives himself of everything, for fear lest some day he should be deprived of something. The term Miser was happily chosen for such persons ; they are essentially miserable. “ A collector peeps into all the picture shops of Europe for a landscape of Poussin, a crayon sketch of Salvator; but the Transfiguration, the Last Judgment, the Communion of St. Jerome, and what are as transcendent as these, are on the walls of the Vatican, the Uffizi, or the Louvre, where every footman may see them ; to say nothing of Nature’s pictures in every street, of sunsets and sunrises every day, and the sculpture of the human body never absent. A collector recently bought at public auction in London, for one hundred and fifty-seven guineas, an auto­ graph of Shakespeare : but for nothing a 1 Ruskin. �56 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE schoolboy can read Hamlet, and can detect secrets of highest concernment yet un­ published therein.”1 And yet “What hath the owner but the sight of it with his eyes.” 2 We are really richer than we think. We often hear of Earth hunger. People envy a great Landlord, and fancy how delightful it must be to possess a large estate. But, too often, as Emerson says, “if you own land, the land owns you.” Moreover, have we not all, in a better sense—have we not all thousands of acres of our own ? The commons, and roads, and footpaths, and the seashore, our grand and varied coast—these are all ours. The sea-coast has, moreover, two great advantages. In the first place, it is for the most part but little interfered with by man, and in the second it exhibits most instructively the forces of Nature. We are, indeed, all great landed pro­ prietors, if we only knew it. What we lack is not land, but the power to enjoy it. This great inheritance has the additional advantage that it entails no labour, requires no management. The landlord has the trouble, but the landscape belongs to every one who has eyes to see it. Thus Kingsley called the heaths round Eversley his “ winter garden ” ; not because they were his in the eye of the law, but in that higher sense in which ten thousand persons may own the same thing. CHAPTER III HEALTH “ Health is best for mortal man ; next beauty ; thirdly, well gotten wealth ; fourthly, the pleasure of youth among friends.” Simonides. But if there has been some difference of opinion as to the advantage of wealth, with reference to health all are agreed. “Health,” said Simonides long ago, “is best for mortal man ; next beauty ; thirdly, well gotten wealth ; fourthly, the pleasure 1 Emerson. 2 Solomon. PART II of youth among friends.” “Life, ’ says Longfellow, “ without health is a burden, with health is a joy and gladness.” Em­ pedocles delivered the people of Selinus from a pestilence by draining a marsh, and was hailed as a Demigod. We are told that a coin was struck in his honour, re­ presenting the Philosopher in the act of staying the hand of Phoebus. We scarcely realise, I think, how much we owe to Doctors. Our system of Medi­ cine seems so natural and obvious that it hardly occurs to us as something new and exceptional. When we are ill we send for a Physician ; he prescribes some medicine ; we take it, and pay his fee. But among the lower races of men pain and illness are often attributed to the presence of evil spirits. The Medicine Man is a Priest, or rather a Sorcerer, more than a true Doctor, and his effort is to exorcise the evil Spirit. In other countries where some advance has been made, a charm is written on a board, washed off, and drunk. In some cases the medicine is taken, not by the patient, but by the Doctor. Such a sys­ tem, however, is generally transient; it is naturally discouraged by the Profession, and is indeed incompatible with a large practice. Even as regards the payment we find very different- systems. The Chinese pay their medical man as long as they are well, and stop his salary as soon as they are ill. In ancient Egypt we are told that the patient feed the Doctor for the first few days, after which the Doctor paid the patient until he made him well. This is a fascinating system, but might afford too much temptation to heroic remedies. On the whole our plan seems the best, though it does not offer adequate encour­ agement to discovery and research. There is probably some cure for cancer if we did but know it. If, however, the substantial rewards of discovery are inadequate, we ought to be all the more grateful to such men as Hunter and Jenner, Simpson and Lister. And yet in the matter of health we can generally do more for ourselves than the greatest Doctors can for us. But if all are agreed as to the blessing �CHAP. Ill HEALTH of health, there are many who will not take the little trouble, or submit to the slight sacrifices, necessary to maintain it. Many, indeed, deliberately ruin their own health, and incur the certainty of an early grave, or an old age of suffering. No doubt some inherit a constitution which renders health almost unattainable. Pope spoke of that long disease, his life. Many indeed may say, 111 suffer, therefore I am.” But happily these cases are excep­ tional. Most of us might be well, if we would. It is very much our own fault that we are ill. We do those things which we ought not to do, and we leave undone those things which we ought to have done, and then we wonder that there is no health in us. Like Naaman, we expect our health to be the subject of some miraculous interfer­ ence, and neglect the homely precautions by which it might be secured. We all know that we can make ourselves ill, but few perhaps realise how much we can do to keep ourselves well. Much of our suffering is self-inflicted. It has been observed that among the ancient Egyptians it seemed the chief aim of life to be well buried. Many, however, live even now as if this were the principal object of their existence. I am inclined to doubt whether the study of health is sufficiently impressed on the minds of those entering life. Not that it is desirable to potter over minor ailments, to con over books on illnesses, or experiment on ourselves with medicine. Far from it. The less we fancy ourselves ill, or bother about little bodily discom­ forts, the more likely perhaps we are to preserve our health. It is, however, a different matter to study the general conditions of health. A well-known proverb tells us that, by the time he is forty, every one is either a fool or a physician. Unfortunately, however, many persons are invalids at forty as well as physicians. Ill-health, however, is no excuse for moroseness. If we have one disease we may at least congratulate ourselves that 57 we are escaping all the rest. Sydney Smith, ever ready to look on the bright side of things even when borne down by suffering, wrote to a friend that he had gout, asthma, and seven other maladies, but was “otherwise very well”; and many of the greatest invalids have borne their sufferings with cheerfulness and good spirits. It is said that the celebrated physiog­ nomist, Campanella, could so abstract his attention from any sufferings of his body, that he was even able to endure the rack without much pain ; and whoever has the power of concentrating his attention and controlling his will, can emancipate him­ self from most of the minor miseries of life. He may have much cause for anxiety, his body may be the seat of severe suffer­ ing, and yet his mind will remain serene and unaffected ; he may triumph over care and pain. It is sad to think how much unnecessary suffering has been caused, and how many valuable lives have been lost, through ignorance or carelessness. We cannot but fancy that the lives of many great men might have been much prolonged by the exercise of a little ordinary care. If we take musicians only, what a grievous loss to the world it is that Pergolesi should have died at twenty-six, Schubert at thirty-one, Mozart at thirtyfive, Purcell at thirty-seven, and Mendels­ sohn at thirty-eight. In the old Greek myth the life of Meleager was indissolubly connected by fate with the existence of a particular log of wood. As long as this was kept safe by Althaea, his mother, Meleager bore a charmed life. It seems wonderful that we do not watch with equal care over our body, on the state of which happiness so much depends. The requisites of health are plain enough: regular habits, daily exercise, cleanliness, and moderation in all things —in eating as well as in drinking—would keep most people well. I need not here dwell on the evils of alcohol, but we perhaps scarcely realise �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE how much of the suffering and ill-humour of life is due to over-eating. Dyspepsia, for instance, from which so many suffer, is in nine cases out of ten their own fault, and arises from the combination of too much food with too little exercise. To lengthen your life, says an old proverb, shorten your meals. Plain living and high thinking will secure health for most of us, though it matters, perhaps, com­ paratively little what a healthy man eats, so long as he does not eat too much# “ Go to your banquet then, but use delight, So as to rise still with an appetite.”1 Mr. Gladstone has told us that the splendid health he enjoys is greatly due to his having early learnt one simple physiological maxim, and laid it down as a rule for himself always to make twentyfive bites at every bit of meat. No doubt, however, though the rule not to eat or drink too much is simple enough in theory, it is not quite so easy in applica­ tion. There have been many Esaus who have sold their birthright of health for a mess of pottage. Yet, though it may seem paradoxical, it is certainly true, that in the long run the moderate man will derive more enjoy­ ment even from eating and drinking, than the glutton or the drunkard will ever obtain. They know not what it is to enjoy “the exquisite taste of common dry bread.” 2 Even then if we were to consider merely the pleasure to be derived from eating and drinking, the same rule would hold good. A lunch of bread and cheese after a good walk is more enjoyable than a Lord Mayor’s feast. Without wishing, like Apicius, for the neck of a stork, so as to enjoy our dinner longer, we must not be ungrateful for the enjoyment we derive from eating and drinking, even though they be amongst the least aesthetic of our pleasures. They are homely, no doubt, but they come morning, noon, and night, and are not the less real Herrick, 2 Hamerton. PART II because they have reference to the body rather than the soul. We speak truly of a healthy appetite, for it is a good test of our bodily condi­ tion ; and indeed in some cases of our mental state also. That “ There cometh no good thing Apart from toil to mortals,” is especially true with reference to appe­ tite ; to sit down to a dinner, however simple, after a walk with a friend among the mountains or along the shore, is a pleasure not to be despised. Cheerfulness and good humour, more­ over, during meals are not only pleasant in themselves, but conduce greatly to health. It has been said that hunger is the best sauce, but most would prefer some good stories at a feast even to a good appetite; and who would not like to have it said of him, as of Biron by Rosaline— “A merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour’s talk withal.” In the three great “Banquets” of Plato, Xenophon, and Plutarch, the food is not even mentioned. In the words of the old Lambeth adage— “ What is a merry man ? Let him do all he can To entertain his guests With wine and pleasant jests, Yet if his wife do frown All merryment goes down.” What salt is to food, wit and humour are to conversation and literature. “You do not,” an amusing writer in the Cornhill has said, “expect humour in Thomas a Kempis or the Hebrew Prophets”; but we have Solomon’s authority that there is a time to laugh, as well as to weep. “ To read a good comedy is to keep the best company in the world, when the best things are said,* and the most amus­ ing things happen.” 1 It is not without reason that every one 1 Hazlitt. �HEALTH CHAP. Ill resents the imputation of being unable to see a joke. Laughter appears to be the special prerogative of man. The higher animals present us with proofs of evident, if not highly-developed reasoning power, but it is more than doubtful whether they are capable of appreciating a joke. Wit, moreover, has solved many diffi­ culties and decided many controversies. “ Ridicule shall frequently prevail, And cut the knot when graver reasons fail.” 1 The most wasted of all days, says Chamfort, is that on which one has not laughed. A careless song, says Walpole, “with a little nonsense in it now and then, does not misbecome a monarch ; ” but it is difficult now to realise that James I. should have regarded skill in punning in his selection of bishops and privy coun­ cillors. It is no small merit of laughter that it is quite spontaneous. “You cannot force people to laugh ; you cannot give a reason why they should laugh; they must laugh of themselves or not at all. . . . If we think we must not laugh, this makes our temptation to laugh the greater.”2 Humour is, moreover, con­ tagious. A witty man may say, as Falstaff does of himself, “ I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.” One may paraphrase the well-known remark about port wine and say that some jokes may be better than others, but anything which makes one laugh is good. “After all,” says Dryden, “it is a good thing to laugh at any rate ; and if a straw can tickle a man, it is an instrument of happiness,” and I may add, of health. I have been told that in omitting any mention of smoking I was overlooking one of the real pleasures of life. Not being a smoker myself I cannot perhaps judge ; much must depend on the in­ dividual temperament ; to some nervous natures it certainly appears to be a great 1 Francis. 2 Hazlitt. 59 comfort; but I have my doubts whether smoking, as a general rule, does add to the pleasures of life. It must, at any rate, detract somewhat from the sensitive­ ness of taste and of smell. Those who live in cities may almost lay it down as a rule that no time spent out of doors is ever wasted. Fresh air is a cordial of incredible virtue ; old families are in all senses county families, not town families ; and those who prefer Homer and Plato and Shakespeare to rivers and forests and mountains must beware that they are not tempted to neglect this great requisite of our nature. An Oriental traveller, having been taken to watch a game of cricket, was astonished at hearing that many of those playing were rich men. He asked why they did not pay some poor people to do it for them. Most Englishmen, however, love open air, and it is probably true that most of us enjoy a game at cricket or golf more than looking at any of the old masters. The love of sport is engraven in the English character. As was said of William Rufus, “ he loves the tall deer as if he had been their father.” Wordsworth made it a rule to go out every day, and used to say that as he never consulted the weather, he never had to consult the physicians. It always seems to be raining harder than it really is when you look at the weather through the window. Even in winter, though the landscape often seems cheerless and bare enough when you look at it from the fireside, still it is far better to go out, even if you have to brave the storm : when you are once out of doors the touch of earth and the breath of the fresh air will give you new life and energy. Men, like trees, live in great part on air. After a gallop over the downs, a row on the river, a sea voyage, a walk by the seashore or in the woods, “ The blue above, the music in the air, The flowers upon the ground,” 1 1 Trench. �6o THE PLEASURES OF LIFE one feels as if one could say with Henry IV., “ Je me porte comme le Pont Neuf.” The Roman proverb that a child should be taught nothing which he cannot learn standing up, went no doubt into one extreme, but surely we fall into another when we act as if games were the only thing which boys could learn upon their feet. The love of games among boys is indeed a healthy instinct, and though carried too far in some of our great schools, there can be no question that cricket and football, fives and hockey, bathing and boating, are not only among the greatest pleasures, but the best medi­ cines, for boys. We cannot always secure sleep. When important decisions have to be taken, the natural anxiety to come to a right decision will often keep us awake. Nothing, however, is more conducive to healthy sleep than plenty of open air. Then in­ deed we can enjoy the fresh life of the early morning : “ the breezy call of in­ cense-breathing mom.”1 “ At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing, ’Tis morning prompts the linnet’s blithest lay,, All Nature’s children feel the matin spring Of life reviving, with reviving day.” Epictetus described himself as “ a spirit bearing about a corpse.” That seems to me an ungrateful description. Surely we ought to cherish the body, even if it be but a frail and humble companion. Do we not owe to the eye our enjoyment of the beauties of this world and the glories of the Heavens ; to the ear the voices of friends and all the delights of music ; are not the hands most faithful and invaluable instruments, ever ready in case of need, ever willing to do our bidding ? and even the feet bear us with­ out a murmur along the roughest and stoniest paths of life. With reasonable care, most of us may hope to enjoy good health. And yet what a marvellous and complex organisa­ tion we have! 1 Gray. PART II We are indeed fearfully and wonder­ fully made. It is “ Strange that a harp of a thousand strings Should keep in tune so long.” When we consider the marvellous com­ plexity of our bodily organisation, it seems a miracle that we should live at all; much more that the innumerable organs and processes should continue day after day and year after year with so much regularity and so little friction that we are sometimes scarcely conscious of having a body at all. And yet in that body we have more than 200 bones, of complex and varied forms, any irregularity in, or injury to, which would of course grievously inter­ fere with our movements. We have over 500 muscles ; each nourished by almost innumerable blood­ vessels, and regulated by nerves. One of our muscles, the heart, beats over 30,000,000 times in a year, and if it once stops, all is over. In the skin are wonderfully varied and complex organs—for instance, over 2,000,000 perspiration glands, which regulate the temperature, communicating with the surface by ducts which have a total length of some ten miles. Think of the miles of arteries and veins, of capillaries and nerves ; of the blood, with the millions of millions of blood corpuscles, each a microcosm in itself. Think of the organs of sense,—the eye with its cornea and lens, vitreous humour, aqueous humour, and choroid, culminating in the retina, no thicker than a sheet of paper, and yet consisting of nine distinct layers, the innermost composed of rods and cones, supposed to be the immediate recipients of the undulations of light, and so numerous that in each eye the cones are estimated at over 3,000,000, the rods at over 30,000,000. Above all, and most wonderful of all, the brain itself. Meinert has calculated that the gray matter alone contains no less than 600,000,000 cells ; each cell consists of several thousand visible mole- �LOVE CHAP. IV cules, and each molecule again of many millions of atoms. And yet, with reasonable care, we can most of us keep this wonderful organisa­ tion in health, so that it will work with­ out causing us pain, or even discomfort, for many years ; and we may hope that even when old age comes “ Time may lay his hand Upon your heart gently, not smiting it, But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.” 61 To this a look, to that a word, dispenses, And, whether stern or smiling, loves them still;— So Providence for us, high, infinite, Makes our necessities its watchful task, Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants, And e’en if it denies what seems our right, Either denies because ’twould have us ask, Or seems but to deny, and in denying grants.”1 Sir Walter Scott well says— “And if there be a human tear From passion’s dross 2 refined and clear, ’Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter’s head.” Epaminondas is said to have given as his main reason for rejoicing at the victory of Leuctra, that it would give so much LOVE pleasure to his father and mother. “ £)tre avec ceux qu’on aime, cela suffit.” Nor must the love of animals be La Bruy1:re. altogether omitted. It is impossible not Love is the light and sunshine of life. to sympathise with the Savage when he We cannot fully enjoy ourselves, or any­ believes in their immortality, and thinks thing else, unless some one we love enjoys that after death it with us. Even if we are alone, w’e “Admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.” 3 store up our enjoyment in hope of shar­ ing it hereafter with those wre love. In the Mahabharata, the great Indian Love lasts through life, and adapts Epic, when the family of Pandavas, the itself to every age and circumstance ; in heroes, at length reach the gates of childhood for father and mother, in man­ heaven, they are welcomed themselves, hood for wife, in age for children, and but are told that their dog cannot come throughout for brothers and sisters, re­ in. Having pleaded in vain, they turn lations and friends. The strength of to depart, as they say they can never friendship is indeed proverbial, and in leave their faithful companion. Then at some cases, as in that of David and the last moment the Angel at the door Jonathan, is described as surpassing the relents, and their Dog is allowed to enter love of women. But I need not now with them. refer to it, having spoken already of what We may hope the time will come when we owe to friends. we shall learn The goodness of Providefice to man has to blend or our pride, been often compared to that of fathers “Never sorrow of our pleasure thing that feels.” 4 With the meanest and mothers for their children. But at the present moment I am speak­ “ Just as a mother, with sweet, pious face, ing rather of the love which leads to mar­ Yearns towards her little children from her riage. Such love is the music of life, nay, seat, Gives one a kiss, another an embrace, “there is music in the beauty, and the Takes this upon her knees, that on her silent note of love, far sweeter than the feet; sound of any instrument.” 5 And while from actions, looks, complaints, CHAPTER IV pretences, She learns their feelings and their various will, 1 Filicaja. Translated by Leigh Hunt. 2 Not from passion itself. 3 Pope. 4 Wor ds worth. 5 Browne. �62 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE The Symposium of Plato contains an in­ teresting and amusing disquisition on Love. “ Love,” Ph sod r us is made to say, “ will make men dare to die for their beloved— love alone ; and women as well as men. Of this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias, is a monument to all Hellas ; for she was willing to lay down her life on behalf of her husband, when no one else would, although he had a father and mother ; but the tenderness of her love so far ex­ ceeded theirs, that she made them seem to be strangers in blood to their own son, and in name only related to him ; and so noble did this action of hers appear to the gods, as well as to men, that among the many who have done virtuously she is one of the very few to whom they have granted the privilege of returning to earth, in admiration of her virtue ; such exceed­ ing honour is paid by them to the devo­ tion and virtue of love.” Agathon is even more eloquent— Love “fills men with affection, and takes away their disaffection, making them meet together at such banquets as these. In sacrifices, feasts, dances, he is our lord —supplying kindness and banishing un­ kindness, giving friendship and forgiving enmity, the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods, desired by those who have no part in him, and precious to those who have the better part in him ; parent of delicacy, luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace, regardful of the good, regardless of the evil. In every word, work, wish, fear—pilot, com­ rade, helper, saviour ; glory of gods and men, leader best and brightest: in whose footsteps let every man follow, sweetly singing in his honour that sweet strain with which love charms the souls of gods and men.” No doubt, even so there are two Loves, “one, the daughter of Uranus, who has no mother, and is the elder and wiser goddess ; and the other, the daughter of Zeus and Dione, who is popular and common,”—but let us not examine too closely. Charity tells us even of Guine­ vere, “ that while she lived, she was a PART II good lover and therefore she had a good end.” 1 The origin of love has exercised philo­ sophers almost as much as the origin of evil. The Symposium continues with a speech which Plato attributes in joke to Aristophanes, and of which Jowett ob­ serves that nothing in Aristophanes is more truly Aristophanic. The original human nature, he says, was not like the present. The Primeval Man “ was round,2 his back and sides form­ ing a circle ; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, look­ ing opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike. He could walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at a great rate, whirling round on his four hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air ; this was when he wanted to run fast. Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods ; of them is told the tale of Otys and Epliialtes, who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them ; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained. At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way. He said : ‘ Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and mend their manners ; they shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two, which will have a double advantage, for it will halve their strength and we shall have twice as many sacrifices. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop on a single leg.’ He spoke and cut men in two, ‘ as you might 1 Malory, Morte eVArthur. 2 I avail myself of Dr. Jowett’s translation. �LOVE CHAP. IV split an egg with a hair.’ . . . After the division the two parts of man, each de­ siring his other half, came together. . . . So ancient is the desire for one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man. Each of us when separated is but the indenture of a man, having one side only, like a flat-fish, and he is always looking for his other half. “ And when one of them finds his other half, the pair are lost in amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other’s sight, as I may say, even for a minute : they will pass their whole lives together ; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearn­ ing which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lovers’ intercourse, but of something else, which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.” However this may be, there is such in­ stinctive insight in the human heart that we often form our opinion almost instantaneously, and such impressions seldom change, I might even say, they are seldom wrong. Love at first sight sounds like an imprudence, and yet is almost a revelation. It seems as if we were but renewing the relations of a previous existence. ‘ But to see her were to love her, Love but her, and love for ever."1 Yet though experience seldom falsifies such a feeling, happily the reverse does not hold good. Deep affection is often of slow growth. Many a warm love has been won by faithful devotion. Montaigne indeed declares that “ Few have married for love without repenting it.” Dr. Johnson also maintained that marriages would generally be happier if they were arranged by the Lord Chan­ cellor ; but I do not think either Mon­ taigne or Johnson were good judges. As 1 Burns. 63 Lancelot said to the unfortunate Maid of Astolat, “ I love not to be forced to love, for love must arise of the heart and not by constraint.” 1 Love defies distance and the elements ; Sestos and Abydos are divided by the sea, “ but Love joined them by an arrow from his bow.” 2 Love can be happy anywhere. Byron wished “ 0 that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair Spirit for my minister, That I might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her.” And many will doubtless have felt “ 0 Love ! what hours were thine and mine In lands of palm and southern pine, In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine.” What is true of space holds good equally of time. “ In peace, Love tunes the shepherd’s reed ; In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed ; In halls, in gay attire is seen ; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above ; For love is heaven, and heaven is love.”3 Even when, as among some Eastern races, Religion and Philosophy have com­ bined to depress Love, truth reasserts itself in popular sayings, as for instance in the Turkish proverb, “ All women are perfection, especially she who loves you.” A French lady having once quoted to Abd-el-Kader the Polish proverb, “ A woman draws more with a hair of her head than a yoke of oxen well harnessed ; ” he answered with a smile, “ The hair is unnecessary, woman is powerful as fate.” But we like to think of Love rather as the Angel of Happiness than as a ruling force : of the joy of home when “hearts are of each other sure.” “ It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind In body and in soul can bind.” 4 1 Malory, Morte. d’Arthur. 2 Symonds. 3 Scott. 4 Ibid. �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE 64 What Bacon says of a friend is even truer of a wife ; there is “ no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more ; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less.” Let some one we love come near us and “ At once it seems that something new or strange Has passed upon the flowers, the trees, the ground ; Some slight but unintelligible change On everything around.” 1 PART II Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming-on Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train. But neither breath of morn when she ascends With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers ; Nor grateful evening mild ; nor silent night, With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.” Moreover, no one need despair of an ideal marriage. We fortunately differ so much in our tastes ; love does so much to create love, that even the humblest may hope for the happiest marriage if only he deserves it; and Shakespeare speaks, as 11 Her feet are tender, for she sets her steps Not on the ground, but on the heads of men.” he does so often, for thousands when he says Love and Reason divide the life of man. “ She is mine own, We must give to each its due. If it is And I as rich in having such a jewel impossible to attain to virtue by the aid As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearls, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.” of Love without Reason, neither can we do so by means of Reason alone without True love indeed will not be unreason­ Love. able or exacting. Love, said Melanippides, “ sowing in “ Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind the heart of man the sweet harvest of That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind desire, mixes the sweetest and most To war and arms I fly. beautiful things together.” How true is the saying of La Bruyere, “ Etre avec ceux qu’on aime, cela suffit.” We might, I think, apply to Love what Homer says of Fate : “ Love is kind, and suffers long, Love is meek, and thinks no wrong, Love than death itself more strong— Therefore give us Love.” True ! a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field, And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore, I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.”1 No one indeed could complain now, with Phaedrus in Plato’s Symposium, And yet that Love has had no worshippers among the Poets. On the contrary, Love has 1 ‘ Alas ! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! brought them many of their sweetest in­ Hearts that the world in vain had tried, spirations : none perhaps nobler or more but more beautiful than Milton’s description of And sorrowthe storm, closely tied, were rough, That stood when waves Paradise : Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, ‘ With thee conversing, I forget all time, When heaven was all tranquillity.” 2 All seasons, and their change ; all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet For love is brittle. Do not risk even With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the any little jar ; it may be sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads “The little rift within the lute, His orient beams, on herb, treo, fruit, and That by and by will make the music mute, flower, And ever widening slowly silence all.”3 1 Trench. 1 Lovelace. 2 Moore. 3 Tennyson. �ART CHAP. V Love is delicate; “ Love is hurt with jar and fret,” and you might as well ex­ pect a violin to remain in tune if roughly used, as Love to survive if chilled or driven into itself. But what a pleasure to keep it alive by “ Little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.” 1 “ She whom you loved and chose,” says Bondi, “ Is now your bride, • The gift of heaven, and to your trust consigned; Honour her still, though not with passion blind; And in her virtue, though you watch, confide. Be to her youth a comfort, guardian, guide, In whose experience she may safety find ; And whether sweet or bitter be assigned, The joy with her, as well as pain, divide. Yield not too much if reason disapprove ; Nor too much force ; the partner of your life Should neither victim be, nor tyrant prove. Thus shall that rein, which often mars the bliss Of wedlock, scarce be felt; and thus your wife Ne’er in the husband shall the lover miss.” 2 65 Earthly these passions of the Earth, They perish where they have their birth, But Love is indestructible ; Its holy flame for ever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven retumeth ; Too oft on Earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest, It here is tried and purified, Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest: It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest time of Love is there. “ The Mother when she meets on high The Babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight ? ”1 As life wears on the love of husband or wife, of friends and of children, becomes the great solace and delight of age. The one recalls the past, the other gives in­ terest to the future ; and in our children we live our lives again. Every one is ennobled by true love— “ ’Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.” 3 Perhaps no one ever praised a woman more gracefully in a sentence than Steele when he said of Lady Elizabeth Hastings that “ to know her was a liberal educa­ tion ” ; but every woman may feel as she improves herself that she is not only laying in a store of happiness for herself, but also raising and blessing those whom she would most wish to- see happy and good. Love, true love, grows and deepens with time. Husband and wife, who are married indeed, live CHAPTER V ART “ High art consists neither in altering, nor in improving nature ; but in seeking throughout nature for ‘whatsoever things are lovely, what­ soever things are pure ’ ; in loving these, in dis­ playing to the utmost of the painter’s power such loveliness as is in them, and directing the thoughts of others to them by winning art, or gentle emphasis. Art (caeteris paribus) is great in exact proportion to the love of beauty shown by the painter, provided that love of beauty forfeit no atom of truth.”—Ruskin. The most ancient works of Art which we possess, are representations of animals, rude indeed, but often strikingly charac­ teristic, engraved on, or carved in, stag’s“ By each other, till to love and live Be one.” 4 horn or bone ; and found in English, Nor does it end with life. A mother’s French, and German caves, with stone and other rude implements, and the re­ love knows no bounds. mains of mammalia, belonging apparently “ They err who tell us Love can die, to the close of the glacial epoch: not With life all other passions fly, only of the deer, bear, and other animals All others are but vanity. In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell, now inhabiting temperate Europe, but Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell ; of some, such as the reindeer, the musk 4 Wordsworth. 2 Bondi. Tr. by Glassford. sheep, the mammoth, and the woolly- 3 Tennyson. K 4 Swinburne. 1 Southey. �66 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE haired rhinoceros, which have either re­ treated north or become altogether ex­ tinct. We may even, I think, venture to hope that other designs may hereafter be found, which will give us additional in­ formation as to the manners and customs of our ancestors in those remote ages. Next to these in point of antiquity come the sculptures and paintings on Egyptian and Assyrian tombs, temples, and palaces. These ancient scenes, considered as works of art, have no doubt many faults, and yet how graphically they tell their story ! As a matter of fact a king is not, as a rule, bigger than his soldiers, but in these battle-scenes he is always so repre­ sented. We must, however, remember that in ancient warfare the greater part of the fighting was done by the chiefs. In this respect the Homeric poems re­ semble the Assyrian and Egyptian repre­ sentations. At any rate, we see at a glance which is the king, which are officers, which side is victorious, the struggles and sufferings of the wounded, the flight of the enemy, the city of refuge —so that he who runs may read ; while in modern battle-pictures the story is much less clear, and, indeed, the untrained eye sees for some time little but scarlet and smoke. These works assuredly possess a grandeur and dignity of their own, even though they have not the beauty of later art. In Greece Art reached a perfection which has never been excelled, and it was more appreciated than perhaps it has ever been since. At the time when Demetrius attacked the city of Rhodes, Protogenes was paint­ ing a picture of Ialysus. “ This,” says Pliny, “hindered King Demetrius from taking Rhodes, out of fear lest he should burn the picture; and not being able to fire the town on any other side, he was pleased rather to spare the painting than to take the victory, which was already in his hands. Protogenes, at that time, had his painting-room in a garden out of the town, and very near the camp of the PART II enemies, where he was daily finishing those pieces which he had already begun, the noise of soldiers not being capable of interrupting his studies. But Demetrius causing him to be brought into his pre­ sence, and asking him what made him so bold as to work in the midst of enemies, he answered the king, ‘That he under­ stood the war which he made was against the Rhodians, and not against the Arts.’ ” With the decay of Greece, Art sank too, until it was revived in the thirteenth century by Cimabue, since whose time its progress has been triumphal. Art is unquestionably one of the purest and highest elements in human happiness. It trains the mind through the eye, and the eye through the mind. As the sun colors flowers, so does art color life. “In true Art,” says Ruskin, “the hand, the head, and the heart of man go together. But Art is no recreation : it cannot be learned at spare moments, nor pursued when we have nothing better to do.” It is not only in the East that great works, really due to study and labour, have been attributed to magic. Study and labour cannot make every man an artist, but no one can succeed in art without them. In Art two and two do not make four, and no number of little things will make a great one. It has been said, and on high authority, that the end of all art is to please. But this is a very imperfect definition. It might as well be said that a library is only intended for pleasure and ornament. Art has the advantage of nature, in so far as it introduces a human element, which is in some respects superior even to nature. “If,” says Plato, “you take a man as he is made by nature and com­ pare him with another who is the effect of art, the work of nature will always appear the less beautiful, because art is more accurate than nature.” Bacon also, in The Advancement of Learning, speaks of “ the world being in­ ferior to the soul, by reason whereof there is agreeable to the spirit of man a more �CHAP. V ART ample greatness, a more exact goodness, and a more absolute variety than can be found in the nature of things.” The poets tell us that, Prometheus having made a beautiful statue of Minerva, the goddess was so delighted that she offered to bring down anything from Heaven which could add. to its perfection. Prometheus on this prudently asked her to take him there, so that he might choose for himself. This Minerva did, and Pro­ metheus, finding that in heaven all things were animated by fire, brought back a spark, with which he gave life to his work. In fact, Imitation is the means and not the end of Art. The story of Zeuxis and Parrhasius is a pretty tale ; but to deceive birds, or even man himself, is but a trifling matter compared with the higher functions of Art. To imitate the Iliad, says Dr. Young, is not imitating Homer ; though, as Sir J. Reynolds adds, the more the artist studies nature “the nearer he approaches to the true and perfect idea of art.” Art, indeed, must create as well as copy. As Victor Cousin well says, “ The ideal without the real lacks life ; but the real without the ideal lacks pure beauty. Both need to unite; to join hands and enter into alliance. In this way the best work may be achieved. Thus beauty is an absolute idea, and not a mere copy of imperfect Nature.” The grouping of the picture is of course of the utmost importance. Sir Joshua Reynolds gives two remarkable cases to show how much any given figure in a picture is affected by its surroundings. Tintoret in one of his pictures has taken the Samson of Michael Angelo, put an eagle under him, placed thunder and lightning in his right hand instead of the jawbone of an ass, and thus turned him into a Jupiter. The second instance is even more striking. Titian has copied the figure in the vault of the Sistine Chapel which represents the Deity divid­ ing light from darkness, and has intro­ duced it into his picture of the battle of 67 Cadore, to represent a general falling from his horse. We must remember that so far as the eye is concerned, the object of the artist is to train, not to deceive, and that his higher function has reference rather to the mind than to the eye. Those who love beauty will see beauty everywhere. No doubt “ To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful aud ridiculous excess.”1 But all is not gold that glitters, flowers are not all arrayed like the lily, and there is room for selection as well as representation. “The true, the good, and the beautiful,” says Cousin, “ are but forms of the in­ finite : what then do we really love in truth, beauty, and virtue1? We love the infinite himself. The love of the infinite substance is hidden under the love of its forms. It is so truly the infinite which charms in the true, the good, and the beautiful, that its manifestations alone do not suffice. The artist is dissatisfied at the sight even of his greatest works ; he aspires still higher.” It is indeed sometimes objected that Landscape painting is not true to nature; but we must ask, What is truth ? Is the object to produce the same impression on the mind as that created by the scene itself? If so, let any one try to draw from memory a group of mountains, and he will probably find that in the impres­ sion produced on his mind the mountains are loftier and steeper, the valleys deeper and narrower, than in the actual reality. A drawing, then, which was literally exact would not be true, in the sense of conveying the same impression as Nature herself. In fact, Art, says Goethe, is called Art simply because it is not Nature. It is not sufficient for the artist to choose beautiful scenery, and delineate 1 Shakespeare. �68 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE tART ii it with accuracy. He must not be a mere copyist. Something higher and more subtle is required. He must create, or at any rate interpret, as well as copy. Turner was never satisfied merely to copy even the most glorious scenery. He moved, and even suppressed, mountains. A certain nobleman, we are told, was very anxious to see the model from whom Guido painted his lovely female faces. Guido placed his color-grinder, a big coarse man, in an attitude, and then drew a beautiful Magdalen. “ My dear Count,” he said, “ the beautiful and pure idea must be in the mind, and then it is no matter what the model is.” When painting St. Michael for the Church of the Capuchins at Rome, Guido wished that he “ had the wings of an angel, to have ascended unto Paradise, and there to have beheld the forms of those beautiful spirits, from which I might have copied my Archangel. But not being able to mount so high, it was in vain for me to seek for his resemblance here below; so that I was forced to look into mine own mind, and into that idea of beauty which I have formed in my own imagina­ tion.” 1 Science attempts, as far as the limited powers of Man permit, to reproduce the actual facts in a manner which, however bald, is true in itself, irrespective of time and scene. To do this she must submit to many limitations ; not altogether unvexatious, and not without serious draw­ backs. Art, on the contrary, endeavours to convey the impression of the original under some especial aspect. In some respects, Art gives a clearer and more vivid idea of an unknown country than any description can convey. In literature rock may be rock, but in painting it must be granite, slate, or some other special kind, and not merely rock in general. It is remarkable that while artists have long recognised the necessity of studying anatomy, and there has been from the commencement a professor of anatomy in the Royal Academy, it is only of late years that any knowledge of botany or geology has been considered desirable, and even now their importance is by no means generally recognised. Much has been written as to the rela­ tive merits of painting, sculpture, and architecture. This, if it be not a some­ what unprofitable inquiry, would at any rate be out of place here. Architecture not only gives intense pleasure, but even the impression of something ethereal and superhuman. Madame de Stael described it as “ frozen music ”; and a cathedral is a glorious specimen of “ thought in stone,” whose very windows are transparent walls of gorgeous hues. Caracci said that poets paint in their words and artists speak in their works. The latter have indeed one great advan­ tage, for a glance at a statue or a painting, will convey a more vivid idea than a long, and minute description. Another advantage possessed by Art is that it is understood by all civilised nations, whilst each has a separate language. Again, from a material point of view Art is most important. In a recent address Sir F. Leighton has observed that the study of Art “ is every day becoming more important in relation to certain sides of the waning material prosperity of the country. For the industrial compe­ tition between this and other countries —a competition, keen and eager, which means to certain industries almost a race for life—runs, in many cases, no longer exclusively or mainly on the lines of excellence of material and solidity of workmanship, but greatly nowadays on the lines of artistic charm and beauty of design.” The highest service, however, that Art can accomplish for man is to become “ at once the voice of his nobler aspirations, and the steady disciplinarian of his emotions ; and it is with this mission, rather than with any eesthetic perfection, that we are at present concerned.” 1 1 Dryden. 1 Haweis. �CHAI’. V ART 69 Science and Art are sisters, or rather story, that the picture was sold for a pot perhaps they are like brother and sister. of porter and a cheese, which, however, The mission of Art is in some respects does not give a higher idea of the ap­ like that of woman. It is not Hers preciation of the art of landscape at that so much to do the hard toil and moil date. Until very recently the general feeling of the world, as to surround it with a halo of beauty, to convert work into with reference to mountain scenery has been that expressed by Tacitus. “ Who pleasure. In Science we naturally expect pro­ would leave Asia or Africa or Italy to go gress, but in Art the case is not so clear : to Germany, a shapeless and unformed and yet Sir Joshua Reynolds did not country, a harsh sky, and melancholy hesitate to express his conviction that in aspect, unless indeed it was his native the future “ so much will painting im­ land?” It is amusing to read the opinion of prove, that the best we can now achieve will appear like the work of children,” Dr. Beattie, in a special treatise on Truth., and we may hope that our power of Poetry, and Music, written at the close enjoying it may increase in an equal of last century, that “ The Highlands of ratio. Wordsworth says that poets have Scotland are in general a melancholy to create the taste for their own works, country. ■ Long tracts of mountainous and the same is, in some degree at any country, covered with dark heath, and often obscured by misty weather ; narrow rate, true of artists. In one respect especially modern painters valleys thinly inhabited, and bounded by appear to have made a marked advance, precipices resounding with the fall of and one great blessing which in fact we torrents ; a soil so rugged, and a climate owe to them is a more vivid enjoyment so dreary, as in many parts to admit neither the amenities of pasturage, nor of scenery. I have of course no pretensions to speak the labours of agriculture ; the mournful with authority, but even in the case of the dashing of waves along the firths and greatest masters before Turner, the land­ lakes ; the portentous noises which every scapes seem to me singularly inferior to the change of the wind is apt to raise in a figures. Sir Joshua Reynolds tells us that ' lonely region, full of echoes, and rocks, Gainsborough framed a kind of model of a and caverns ; the grotesque and ghastly landscape on his table, composed of broken appearance of such a landscape by the stones, dried herbs, and pieces of looking- light of the moon: objects like these glass, which he “ magnified and improved diffuse a gloom over the fancy,” etc.1 Even Goldsmith regarded the scenery into rocks, trees, and water” ; and Sir Joshua solemnly discusses the wisdom of of the Highlands as dismal and hideous. such a proceeding. “ How far it may be Johnson, we know, laid it down as an useful in giving hints,” he gravely says, axiom that “ the noblest prospect which “ the professors of landscape can best a Scotchman ever sees is the high road determine,” but he does not recommend that leads him to England ”—a saying it, and is disposed to think, on the whole, which throws much doubt on his dis­ the practice may be more likely to do tinction that the Giant’s Causeway was “ worth seeing but not worth going to harm than good ! In the picture of Ceyx and Alcyone, by see.” 2 Madame de Stael declared, that though Wilson, of whom Cunningham said that, with Gainsborough, he laid the foundation she would go 500 leagues to meet a clever of our School of Landscape, the castle is man, she would not care to open her said to have been painted from a pot of window to see the Bay of Naples. porter, and the rock from a Stilton cheese. Nor was the ancient absence of apThere is indeed another version of the 1 Beattie. 1776. 2 Boswell. �70 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE preciation confined to scenery. Burke, speaking of Stonehenge, even says, “ Stone­ henge, neither for disposition nor ornament, has in it anything admirable.” Ugly scenery may well in some cases have an injurious effect on the human system. It has been ingeniously sug­ gested that what really drove Don Quixote out of his mind was not the study of his books of chivalry, so much as the mono­ tonous scenery of La Mancha. The love of landscape is not indeed due to Art alone. It has been the happy combination of art and science which has trained us to perceive the beauty which surrounds us. Art helps us-to see, and “hundreds of people can talk for one who can think ; but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion all in one. . . . Remember­ ing always that there are two characters in which all greatness of Art consists— first, the earnest and intense seizing of natural facts ; then the ordering those facts by strength of human intellect, so as to make them, for all who look upon them, to the utmost serviceable, memor­ able, and beautiful. And thus great Art is nothing else than the type of strong and noble life ; for as the ignoble person, in his dealings w’ith all that occurs in the world about him, first sees nothing clearly, looks nothing fairly in the face, and then allows himself to be swept away by the trampling torrent and unescapable force of the things that he would not foresee and could not understand : so the noble person, looking the facts of the world full in the face, and fathoming them with deep faculty, then deals with them in unalarmed intelligence and unhurried strength, and becomes, with his human intellect and will, no unconscious nor insignificant agent in consummating their good and restraining their evil.” 1 May we not also hope that in this respect also still further progress may be made, that beauties may be revealed, and pleasures may be in store for those who 1 Ruskin. PART JI come after us, which we cannot appreciate, or at least can but faintly feel ? Even now there is scarcely a cottage without something more or less success­ fully claiming to rank as Art,—a picture, a photograph, or a statuette; and we may fairly hope that much as Art even now contributes to the happiness of life, it will do so even more effectively in the future. CHAPTER VI POETRY “ And here the singer for his Art Not all in vain may plead ‘ The song that nerves a nation’s heart Is in itself a deed.’ ” Tennyson. After the disastrous defeat of the Athen­ ians before Syracuse, Plutarch tells us that the Sicilians spared those who could repeat any of the poetry of Euripides. “ Some there were,” he says, “ who owed their preservation to Euripides. Of all the Grecians, his was the muse with whom the Sicilians were most in love. From the strangers who landed in their island they gleaned every small specimen or portion of his works, and communicated it with pleasure to each other. It is said that upon this occasion a number of Athenians on their return home went to Euripides, and thanked him in the most grateful manner for their obligations to his pen ; some having been enfranchised for teaching their masters what they re­ membered of his poems, and others having procured refreshments, when they were wandering about after the battle, by sing­ ing a few of his verses.” Nowadays we are not likely to owe our lives to Poetry in this sense, yet in another we many of us owe to it a similar debt. How often, when worn with overwork, sorrow, or anxiety, have we taken down Homer or Horace, Shakespeare or Mil ton, and felt the clouds gradually roll away, the jar of nerves subside, the con- �POETRY CHAP. VI sciousness of power replace physical exhaustion, and the darkness of despond­ ency brighten once more into the light of life. “And yet Plato/’ says Jowett, “expels the poets from his Republic because they are allied to sense; because they stimulate the emotions ; because they are thrice re­ moved from the ideal truth.” In that respect, as in some others, few would accept Plato’s Republic as being an ideal Commonwealth, and most would agree with Sir Philip Sidney that “ if you cannot bear the planet-like music of poetry ... I must send you in the be­ half of all poets, that while you live, you live in love, and never get favour for lacking skill of a sonnet; and when you die, your memory die from the earth, for want of an epitaph.” Poetry has often been compared with painting and sculpture. Simonides long ago said that Poetry is a speaking picture, and painting is mute Poetry. “ Poetry,” says Cousin, “ is the first of the Arts because it best represents the infinite.” And again, “Though the arts are in some respects isolated, yet there is one which seems to profit by the resources of all, and that is Poetry. With words, Poetry can paint and sculpture ; she can build edifices like an architect; she unites, to some extent, melody and music. She is, so to say, the centre in which all arts unite.” A true poem is a gallery of pictures. It must, Tthink, be admitted that paint­ ing and sculpture can give us a clearer and more vivid idea of an object we have never seen than any description can convey. But when we have once seen it, then on the contrary there are many points which the poet brings before us, and which perhaps neither in the repre­ sentation, nor even in nature, should we perceive for ourselves. Objects can be most vividly brought before us by the artist, actions by the poet; space is the domain of Art, time of Poetry.1 1 See Lessing’s Tmocooh. 71 Take, for instance, as a typical instance, female beauty. How laboured and how cold any description appears, The great­ est poets recognise this ; as, for instance, when Scott wishes us to realise the Lady of the Lake he does not attempt any de­ scription, but just mentions her attitude and then adds— “ And ne’er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form or lovelier face ! ” A great poet must be inspired ; he must possess an exquisite sense of beauty, with feelings deeper than those of most men, and yet well under control. “The Milton of poetry is the man, in his own magnifi­ cent phrase, of devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit that can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases.” 1 And if from one point of view Poetry brings home to us the im­ measurable inequalities of different minds, on the other hand it teaches us that genius is no affair of rank or wealth. “ I think of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul, that perish’d in his pride ; Of Burns, that walk’d in glory and in joy Behind his plough upon the mountain-side.” 2 A man may be a poet and yet write no verse, but not if he writes bad or poor ones. “ Mediocribus esse poetis Non homines, non Di, non concessere column a?.”3 Poetry will not live unless it be alive, “ that which comes from the head goes to the heart ”;4 and Milton truly said that “ he who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem.” For “ he who, having no touch of the Muses’ madness in his soul, comes to the door and thinks he will get into the temple by the help of Art—he, I say, and his Poetry are not admitted.” 5 Secondrate poets, like secondrate writers 1 Arnold. 3 Horace. 2 Wordsworth. 4 Coleridge. 5 Plato. �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE 72 PART II generally, fade gradually into dreamland; The works of our greatest Poets are all but the work of the true poet is immortal. episodes in that one great poem which “ For have not the verses of Homer the genius of man has created since the continued 2500 years or more without commencement of human history. the loss of a syllable or a letter, during A distinguished mathematician is said which time infinite palaces, temples, once to have inquired what was proved castles, cities, have been decayed and by Milton in his Paradise Lost; and there demolished ? It is not possible to have are no doubt still some who ask them­ the true pictures or statues of Cyrus, selves, even if they shrink from putting Alexander, or Ciesar ; no, nor of the kings the question to others, whether Poetry or great personages of much later years ; is of any use, just as if to give pleasure for the originals cannot last, and the were not useful in itself. No true Utili­ copies cannot but lose of the life and tarian, however, would feel this doubt, truth. But the images of men’s wits and since the greatest happiness of the greatest knowledge remain in books, exempted number is the rule of his philosophy. from the wrong of time and capable of We must not however “ estimate the perpetual renovation. Neither are they works of genius merely with reference fitly to be called images, because they to the pleasure they afford, even when generate still and cast their seeds in the pleasure was their principal object. We minds of others, provoking and causing must also regard the intelligence which infinite actions and opinions in succeeding they presuppose and exercise.”1 ages ; so that if the invention of the ship Thoroughly to enjoy Poetry we must was thought so noble, which carrietli riches not limit ourselves, but must rise to a and commodities from place to place, and high ideal. consociateth the most remote regions in “ Yes ; constantly in reading poetry, a participation of their fruits, how much sense for the best, the really excellent, more are letters to be magnified, which, and of the strength and joy to be drawn as ships, pass through the vast seas of time from it, should be present in our minds, and make ages so distant to participate of and should govern our estimate of what the wisdom, illuminations, and inventions, we read.” 2 the one of the other 1 ” 1 Cicero, in his oration for Archias, well The poet requires many qualifications. asked, “ Has not this man then a right to “ Who has traced,” says Cousin, “ the plan my love, to my admiration, to all the of this poem ? Reason. Who has given means which I can employ in his defence ? it life and charm ? Love. And who has For we are instructed by all the greatest guided reason and love ? The Will.” All and most learned of mankind, that educa­ men have some imagination, but the lover tion, precepts, and practice, can in every and the poet other branch of learning produce excel­ “ Are of imagination all compact. lence. But a poet is formed by the hand of nature ; he is aroused by mental vigour, The Poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, and inspired by what we may call the Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth spirit of divinity itself. Therefore our to heaven, And as imagination bodies forth Ennius has a right to give to poets the The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen epithet of Holy,3 because they are, as it Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing ! were, lent to mankind by the indulgent A local habitation and a name.” 2 bounty of the gods.” Poetry is the fruit of genius; but it “Poetry,” says Shelley, “awakens and cannot be produced without labour. Moore, enlarges the mind itself by rendering it one of the airiest of poets, tells us that he 1 St. Hilaire. 2 Arnold. was a slow and painstaking workman. 1 Bacon. 2 Shakespeare. 3 Plato styles poets the sons and interpreters of the gods, �CHAP. VI POETRY 73 The man who has a love for Poetry can scarcely fail to derive intense pleasure from Nature, which to those who love it is all “ beauty to the eye and music to the ear.” “Yet Nature never set forth the earth in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done ; neither with so pleasant rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flow’ers, nor whatsoever else may make the too-muchloved earth more lovely.”1 In the smokiest city the poet will transport us, as if by enchantment, to the fresh air and bright sun, to the murmur of woods and leaves and water, to the ripple of waves upon sand ; and enable us, as in some delightful dream, to cast off the cares and troubles of life. The poet, indeed, must have more true knowledge, not only of human nature, but of all Nature, than other men are gifted with. Crabbe Robinson tells us that when a “ Higher still and higher stranger once asked permission to see From the earth thou springest Wordsworth’s study, the maid said, “ This Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, is master’s Library, but he studies in the And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever fields.” No wonder then that Nature singest. has been said to return the poet’s love. the receptacle of a thousand unappre­ hended combinations of thought. Poetry­ lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar ; it repro­ duces all that it represents, and the im­ personations clothed in its Elysian light stand thenceforward in the minds of those who have once contemplated them, as memorials of that gentle and exalted content which extends itself over all thoughts and actions with which it co­ exists.” And again, “All high Poetry is infinite; it is as the first acorn, which contained all oaks potentially. Veil after veil may be undrawn, and the inmost naked beauty of the meaning never exposed. A great poem is a fountain for ever overflowing with the waters of wisdom and delight.” Or, as he has expressed himself in his Ode to a Skylark : “ Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: “ Call it not vain ;—they do not err Who say that, when the poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.” 2 Swinburne says of Blake, and I feel “ Like a glow-worm golden entirely with him, though in my case the In a dell of dew, application would have been different, Scattering unbeholden that “The sweetness of sky and leaf, of Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it grass and water—the bright light life of from the view.” bird, child, and beast—is, so to speak, We speak now of the poet as the Maker or Creator—•ttoitjtt/s ; the origin of the word “ bard ” seems doubtful. The Hebrews well called their poets “ Seers,” for they not only perceive more than others, but also help other men to see much which would otherwise be lost to us. The old Greek word was aoiSos —the Bard or Singer. Poetry lifts the veil from the beauty of the world which would otherwise be hidden, and throws over the most familiar objects the glow and halo of imagination. kept fresh by some graver sense of faithful and mysterious love, explained and vivified by a conscience and purpose in the artist’s hand and mind. Such a fiery outbreak of spring, such an insurrec­ tion of fierce floral life and radiant riot of childish power and pleasure, no poet or painter ever gave before ; such lustre of green leaves and flushed limbs, kindled cloud and fervent fleece, was never wrought into speech or shape.” 1 Sydney, Defence of Poetry. 3 Scott. �74 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE To appreciate Poetry we must not merely glance at it, or rush through it, or read it in order to talk or write about it. One must compose oneself into the right frame of mind. Of course for one’s own sake one will read Poetry in times of agitation, sorrow, or anxiety, but that is another matter. The inestimable treasures of Poetry again are open to all of us. The best books are indeed the cheapest. For the price of a little beer, a little tobacco, we can buy Shakespeare or Milton—or indeed almost as many books as a man can read with profit in a year. Nor, in considering the advantage of Poetry to man, must we limit ourselves to its past or present influence. The future of Poetry, says Mr. Matthew Arnold, and no one was more qualified to speak, “ The future of Poetry is immense, because in Poetry, where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay. But for Poetry the idea is everything ; the rest is a world of illusion, of divine illusion. Poetry attaches its emotion to the idea; the idea is the fact. The strongest part of our religion to-day is its unconscious Poetry. We should conceive of Poetry worthily, and more highly than it has been the custom to conceive of it. We should conceive of it as capable of higher uses, and called to higher destinies than those which in general men have assigned to it hitherto.” Poetry has been well called the record “ of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds ” ; it is the light of life, the very “ image of life expressed in its eternal truth ” ; it immortalises all that is best and most beautiful in the world ; “ it purges from our inward sight the film of familiarity which obscures from us the wonder of our being” ; “it is the centre and circumference of know­ ledge ” ; and poets are “ mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.” Poetry, in effect, lengthens life ; it creates for us time, if time be realised as TART II the succession of ideas and not of minutes ; it is the “ breath and finer spirit of all knowledge ” ; it is bound neither by time nor space, but lives in the spirit of man. What greater praise can be given than the saying that life should be Poetry put into action ? CHAPTER VIT MUSIC “Music is a moral law. It gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything. It is the essence of order, and leads to all that is good, just, and beautiful, of which it is the invisible, but nevertheless dazzling, passionate, and eternal form.”—Plato. Music is in one sense far more ancient than man, and the voice was, from the very commencement of human existence, a source of melody. The early history of Music is, however, unfortunately wrapped in much obscurity. The use of letters long preceded the invention of notes, and tradition in such a matter can tell us but little. So far, however, as musical in­ struments are concerned, it is probable that percussion came first, then wind in­ struments, and lastly, those with strings : first the Drum, then the Flute, and thirdly, the Lyre. The contest between Marsyas and Apollo is supposed by some to typify the struggle between the Flute and the Lyre ; Marsyas representing the archaic Flute, Apollo the champion of the Lyre. The latter of course was victorious : it sets the voice free, and the sound “ Of music that is born of human breath Conies straighter to the soul than any strain The hand alone can make.” 1 Various myths have grown up to ex­ plain the origin of Music. One Greek tradition was to the effect that Grass­ hoppers were human beings themselves in a world before the Muses ; that when 1 L. Morris. �CHAP. VII MUSIC 75 the Muses came, being ravished with delight, they “sang and sang and forgot to eat, until they died of hunger for the love of song. And they carry to heaven the report of those who honour them on earth.” 1 The old writers and commentators tell us that Pythagoras, “ as he was one day meditating on the want of some rule to guide the ear, analogous to what had been used to help the other senses, chanced to pass by a blacksmith’s shop, and observing that the hammers, which were four in number, sounded very har­ moniously, he had them weighed, and found them to be in the proportion of six, eight, nine, and twelve. Upon this he suspended four strings of equal length and thickness, etc., fastened weights in the above-mentioned proportions to each of them respectively, and found that they gave the same sounds that the hammers had done; viz., the fourth, fifth, and octave to the gravest tone.”2 However this may be, it would appear that the lyre had at first four strings only; Terpander is said to have given it three more, and an eighth was subsequently added. The Chinese indicated the notes by words or their initials. The lowest was termed “ Koung,” or the Emperor, as being the Foundation on which all were supported ; the second was Tschang, the Prime Minister ; the third, the Subject; the fourth, Public Business ; the fifth, the Mirror of Heaven.3 The Greeks also had a name for each note. We have unfortunately no specimens of Greek 4 or Roman, or even of Early Christian music. The so-called Gregorian notes were not invented until six hundred years after Gregory’s death. The Monastery of St. Gall possesses a copy of Gregory’s Antiphonary, made about the year 780 by a chorister who was sent from Rome to Charlemagne to reform the Northern music, and in this the sounds are indi­ cated by “ pneumes,” from which our notes were gradually developed, being first arranged along one line, to which others were gradually added. The most ancient known piece-of music for several voices is an English four men’s song, “Summer is i-comen in,” which is considered to be at least as early as 1240, and is now in the British Museum. .In the matter of music Englishmen have certainly deserved well of the world. Even as long ago as 1185 Giraldus Cambrensis, Archdeacon of St. David’s, says, “ The Britons do not sing their tunes in unison like the inhabitants of other countries, but in different parts. So that when a company of singers meet to sing, as is usual in this country, as many different parts are heard as there are singers.”1 The Venetian ambassador in the time of Henry VIII. said of our English Church music : “ The mass was sung by His Majesty’s choristers, whose voices are more heavenly than human; they did not chaunt like men, but like angels.” Dr. Burney says that Purcell was “ as much the pride of an Englishman in music as Shakespeare in productions of the stage, Mil ton in epic poetry, Locke in metaphysics, or Sir Isaac Newton in philosophy and mathematics ” ; and yet Purcell’s music is unfortunately but little known to us now, as Macfarren says, “ to our great loss.” Purcell died early, and on his tomb is the celebrated epitaph— “ Here lies Henry Purcell, who left this life, and is gone to that blessed place, where, only, his harmony can be exceeded.” The authors of some of the loveliest music, and even in some cases that of comparatively recent times, are unknown to us. This is the case for instance with the exquisite song “Drink to me only with thine eyes,” the words of which were taken by Jonson from Philostratus, 1 Plato. 2 Crowest. and which has been considered as the 3 Rowbotliam, History of Music. 4 Since this was written some fragments of a most beautiful of all “people’s songs.” hymn to Apollo have been found at Delphi. 1 Wakefield. �76 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE The music of “ God save the Queen ” has been adopted in more than half a dozen other countries, and yet the author­ ship is a matter of doubt, being attributed by some to Dr. John Bull, by others to Carey. It was apparently first sung in a tavern in Cornhill. Both the music and words of “ O Death, rock me to sleep ” are said to be by Anne Boleyn : “ Stay, Corydon ” and “ Sweet Honey-sucking Bees ” by Wildye, “ the first of madrigal writers. ” “ Rule Britannia ” was composed by Arne, and originally formed part of his Masque of Alfred, first performed in 1740 at Cliefden, near Maidenhead. To Arne we are also indebted for the music of “ Where the Bee sucks, there lurk I.” “ The Vicar of Bray ” is set to a tune originally known as “ A Country Garden.” “ Come unto these yellow sands ” we owe to Purcell; “ Sigh no more, Ladies ” to Stevens ; “ Home, Sweet Home ” to Bishop. There is a curious melancholy in national music, which is generally in the minor key ; indeed this holds good with the music of savage races generally. They appear, moreover, to have no love songs. Herodotus tells us that during the whole time he was in Egypt he only heard one song, and that was a sad one. My own experience there was the same. Some tendency to melancholy seems in­ herent in music, and Jessica is not alone in the feeling Pz\RT II composed “ Il trillo del Diavolo,” con­ sidered to be his best work, in a dream. Rossini, speaking of the chorus in G minor in his “ Dal tuo stellato soglio,” tells us: “ While I was writing the chorus in G minor I suddenly dipped my pen into a medicine bottle instead of the ink. I made a blot, and when I dried this with the sand it took the form of a natural, which instantly gave me the idea of the effect the change from G minor to G major would make, and to this blot is all the effect, if any, due.” But these of course are exceptional cases. There are other forms of Music, which, though not strictly entitled to the name, are yet capable of giving intense pleasure. To the Sportsman what Music can excel that of the hounds themselves. The cawing of rooks has been often quoted as a sound which has no actual beauty of its own, and yet which is delightful from its associations. There is, moreover, a true Music of Nature,— the song of birds, the whisper of leaves, the ripple of waters upon a sandy shore, the wail of wind or sea. There was also an ancient impression that the Heavenly bodies give out sound as well as light: the Music of the Spheres has become proverbial. “There’s not the smallest orb which thou beholdest But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims ; Such harmony is in immortal souls. But while this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.” 1 Music indeed often seems as if it scarcely belonged to this material universe, The histories of music contain many but was curious anecdotes as to the circumstances “ A tone under w’hich different works have been Of some world far from ours, Where music, and moonlight, and feeling are composed. one.” 2 Rossini tells us that he wrote the over­ “ It is a language which is incapable ture to the “ Gazza Ladra ” on the very day of the first performance, in the upper of expressing anything impure.” There loft of the La Scala, where he had been is music in speech as well as in song. confined by the manager under the guard Not merely in the voice of those we love, of four scene-shifters, who threw the text and the charm of association, but in out of window to copyists bit by bit as it actual melody ; as when Milton says, was composed. Tartini is said to have 1 Shakespeare. 2 Swinburne. “ I am never merry when I hear sweet music.” �MUSIC CHAP. VII 77 “ The Angel ended, and in Adam’s ear As touching the human heart— So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed “ The soul of music slumbers in the shell, Till waked and kindled by the master’s spell ; to hear.” And feeling hearts—touch them but rightly— pour It is remarkable that more pains are A thousand melodies unheard before.”1 not taken with the voice in conversation As an education— as well as in singing, for “What plea so tainted and corrupt But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil.” As a general rule “ I have sent books and music there, and all Those instruments with which high spirits call The future from its cradle, and the past Out of its grave, and make the present last In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die, Folded within their own eternity.” 2 ‘ ‘ The man that hath no Music in himself Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ” ;1 As an aid to religion— “ As from the power of sacred lays but there are some notable exceptions. The spheres began to move, Dr. Johnson had. no love of music. On And sung the great Creator’s praise one occasion, hearing that a certain piece To all the blessed above, So when the last and dreadful hour of music was very difficult, he expressed This crumbling pageant shall devour, his regret that it was not impossible. The trumpet shall be heard on high, Poets, as( might have been expected, The dead shall live, the living die, have sung most sweetly in praise of song. And music shall untune the sky.” 3 They have, moreover, done so from the Or again— opposite points of view. “Hark how it falls ! and now it steals along, Milton invokes it as a luxury— “ And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs ; Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes -with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out ; With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running ; Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.” Like distant beHs upon the lake at eve, When all is still; and now it grows more strong As when the choral train their dirges weave Mellow and many voiced ; where every close O’er the old minster roof, in echoing waves reflows. Oh ! I am rapt aloft. My spirit soars Beyond the skies, and leaves the stars behind; Lo ! angels lead me to the happy shores. And floating paeans fill the buoyant wind. Farewell! base earth, farewell ! my soul is freed.” Sometimes it is used as a temptation : so The power of Music to sway the feel­ Spenser says of Phsedria, ings of Man has never been more cleverly “ And she, more sweet than any bird on bough, portrayed than by Dryden in “ The Would oftentimes amongst them bear a part, Feast of Alexander,” though the circum­ And strive to passe (as she could well enough) stances of the case precluded any reference Their native musicke by her skilful art.” to the influence of Music in its nobler Or as an element of pure happiness— aspects. Poets have always attributed to Music “There is in souls a sympathy with sounds ; And as the mind is pitched, the ear is pleased —and who can deny it—a power even With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave ; over the inanimate forces of Nature. Some chord in unison with what we hear Shakespeare accounts for shooting stars Is touched within us, and the heart replies. by the attraction of Music : How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the e.ar In cadence sweet, now dying all away, Now pealing loud again and louder still Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on.” 2 1 Shakespeare. 2 Cowper. “ The rude sea grew civil at her song, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres To hear the Sea-maid’s Music.” Prose writers have also been inspired 1 Rogers. 2 Shelley. 3 Dryden. �7« THE PLEASURES OF LIFE by Music to their highest eloquence. “ Music,” said Plato, “ is a moral law. It gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything. It is the essence of order, and leads to all that is good, just, and beautiful, of which it is the invisible, but nevertheless dazzling, passionate, and eternal form.” “Music,” said Luther, “is a fair and glorious gift from God. I would not for all the world renounce my humble share in music.” “Music,” said Halevy, “is an art that God has given us, in which the voices of all nations may unite their prayers in one harmoni­ ous rhythm.” And Carlyle, “ Music is a kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech, which leads us to the edge of the infinite, and lets us for moments gaze into it.” “ There are but seven notes in the scale; make them fourteen,” says Newman, “ yet what a slender outfit for so vast an enterprise ! What science brings so miicli out of so little ? Out of what poor elements does some great master in it create his new world ! Shall we say that all this exuberant inventiveness is a mere ingenuity or trick of art, like some game of fashion of the day, without reality, without meaning ? . . . Is it possible that that inexhaustible evolution and dis­ position of notes, so rich yet so simple, so intricate yet so regulated, so various yet so majestic, should be a mere sound, which is gone and perishes ? Can it be that those mysterious stirrings of the heart, and keen emotions, and strange yearnings after we know not what, and awful impressions from we know not whence, should be wrought in us by what is unsubstantial, and conies and goes, and begins and ends in itself ? it is not so ; it cannot be. No ; they have escaped from some higher sphere ; they are the outpourings of eter­ nal harmony in the medium of created sound ; they are echoes from our Home ; they are the voice of Angels, or the Mag­ nificat of Saints, or the living laws of Divine Governance, or the Divine Attri­ butes ; something are they besides them­ PART II selves, which we cannot compass, which we cannot utter, though mortal man, and he perhaps not otherwise distinguished above his fellows, has the gift of eliciting them.” Let me also quote Helmholtz, one of the. profoundest exponents of modern science. “Just as in the rolling ocean, this movement, rhythmically repeated, and yet ever-varying, rivets our attention and hurries us along. But whereas in the sea blind physical forces alone are at work, and hence the final impression on the spectator’s mind is nothing but solitude— in a musical work of art the movement follows the outflow of the artist’s own emotions. Now gently gliding, now grace­ fully leaping, now violently stirred, penetrated, or laboriously contending with the natural expression of passion, the stream of sound, in primitive vivacity, bears over into the hearer’s soul unimagined moods which the artist has overheard from his own, and finally raises him up to that repose of everlasting beauty of which God has allowed but few of his elect favourites to be the heralds.” Poetry and Music unite in song. From the earliest ages song has been the sweet companion of labour. The rude chant of the boatman floats upon the water, the shepherd sings upon the hill, the milk­ maid in the dairy, the ploughman in the field. Every trade, every occupation, every act and scene of life, has long had its own especial music. The bride went to 'her marriage, the labourer to his work, the old man to his last long rest, each with appropriate and immemorial music. Music has been truly described as the mother of sympathy, the handmaid of Religion, and will never exercise its full effect, as the Emperor Charles VI. said to Farinelli, unless it aims not merely to charm the ear, but to touch the heart. There are many who consider that our life at present is peculiarly prosaic and mercenary. I greatly doubt whether that be the case, but if so our need for Music is all the more imperative. �CHAP. VIII THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE Much indeed as Music has already done for man, we may hope even more from it in the future. It is, moreover, a joy for all. To ap­ preciate Science or Art requires some training, and no doubt the cultivated ear will more and more appreciate the beauties of Music ; but though there are exceptional individuals, and even races, almost devoid of any love of Music, still they are happily but rare. Good Music, moreover, does not neces­ sarily involve any considerable outlay ; it is even now no mere luxury of the rich, and we may hope that as time goes on, it will become more and more the comfort and solace of the poor. CHAPTER VIII THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE “ Speak to the earth and it shall teach thee.” Job. “ And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything.” Shakespeare. We are told in the first chapter of Genesis that at the close of the sixth day “ God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.” Not merely good, but very good. Yet how few of us appreciate the beautiful world in which we live 1 In preceding chapters I have incident­ ally, though only incidentally, referred to the Beauties of Nature ; but any attempt, however imperfect, to sketch the blessings of life must contain some special reference to this lovely world itself, which the Greeks happily called /cocr/ws—beauty. Hamerton, in his charming work on Landscape, says, “ There are, I believe, four new experiences for which no de­ scription ever adequately prepares us, the first sight of the sea, the first journey in the desert, the sight of flowing molten lava, 79 and a walk on a great glacier. We feel in each case that the strange thing is pure nature, as much nature as a familiar English moor, yet so extraordinary that we might be in another planet.” But it would, I think, be easier to enumerate the Wonders of Nature for which description can prepare us, than those which are beyond the power of language. Many of us, however, walk through the world like ghosts, as if we were in it, but not of it. We have “ eyes and see not, ears and hear not.” We must look before wre can expect to see. To look is indeed much less easy than to overlook, and to be able to see what we do see, is a great gift. Ruskin maintains that “ The greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something, and tell what it saw in a plain way.” . I do not suppose that his eyes are better than ours, but how much more he sees with them ! “ To the attentive eye,” says Emerson, “ each moment of the year has its own beauty ; and in the same field it beholds every hour a picture that was never seen before, and shall never be seen again. The heavens change every moment and reflect their glory or gloom on the plains beneath.” The love of Nature is a great gift, and if it is frozen or crushed out, the character can hardly fail to suffer from the loss. I will not, indeed, say that a person who does not love Nature is necessarily bad ; or that one who does, is necessarily good; but it is to most minds a great help. Many, as Miss Cobbe says, enter the Temple through the gate called Beautiful. There are doubtless some to whom none of the beautiful wonders of Nature; neither the glories of the rising or setting sun ; the magnificent spectacle of the boundless ocean, sometimes so grand in its peaceful tranquillity, at others so majestic in its mighty power ; the forests agitated by the storm, or alive with the song of birds; nor the glaciers and mountains—there are doubtless some whom none of these magnificent spectacles can move, w’hom �So THE PLEASURES OF LIFE l’ART II “ all the glories of heaven and earth else is illusion, or mere endurance. To may pass in daily succession without be beautiful and to be calm, without touching their hearts or elevating their mental fear, is the ideal of Nature.” minds.” 1 I must not, however, enlarge on the Such men are indeed pitiable. But, contrast and variety of the seasons, each happily, they are exceptions. If we can of which has its own special charm and noire of us as yet fully appreciate the i interest, as beauties of Nature, we are beginning to “ The daughters of the year do so more and more. Dance into light and die into the shade.” 1 For most of us the early summer has a Our countrymen derive great pleasure special charm. The very life is luxury. The air is full of scent, and sound, and from the animal kingdom, in hunting, sunshine, of the song of birds and the shooting, and fishing, thus obtaining fresh murmur of insects ; the meadows gleam 1 air and exercise, and being led into much with golden buttercups ; one can almost varied and beautiful scenery. Still it see the grass grow and the buds open ; will probably ere long be recognised that the bees hum for very joy, and the air even from a purely selfish point of view, is full of a thousand scents, above all killing animals is not the way to get the greatest enjoyment from them. How perhaps that of new-mown hay. The exquisite beauty and delight of much more interesting would every walk a fine summer’s day in the country has in the country be, if Man would but treat never perhaps been more truly, and there-I other animals with kindness, so that they fore more beautifully, described, than by might approach us without fear, and we Jefferies in his “Pageant of Summer.” I might have the constant pleasure of Their “ I linger,” he says, “ in the midst of the watching their winning ways. long grass, the luxury of the leaves, and origin and history, structure and habits, the song in the very air. I seem as if I senses and intelligence, offer an endless could feel all the glowing life the sunshine field of interest and wonder. The richness of life is marvellous. Any gives and the south wind calls to being. The endless grass, the endless leaves, the one who will sit down quietly on the immense strength of the oak expanding, grass and watch a little, will be indeed the unalloyed joy of finch and blackbird ; surprised at the number and variety of from all of them I receive a little. . . . living beings, every one with a special In the blackbird’s melody one note is history of its own, every one offering mine ; in the dance of the leaf shadows ' endless problems of great interest. “ If indeed thy heart were right, then the formed maze is for me, though the motion is theirs ; the flowers with a thou­ would every creature be to thee a rnirrox' sand faces have collected the kisses of the of life, and a book of holy doctrine.” 2 The study of Natural History has the morning. Feeling with them, I receive some, at least, of their fulness of life. special advantage of carrying us into the Never could I have enough ; never stay country and the open air. Not but what towns are beautiful too. long enough. . . . The hours when the mind is absorbed by beauty are the only They teem with human interest and his­ hours when we really live, so that the torical associations. Wordsworth was an intense lover of longer we can stay among these things so much the more is snatched from nature ; yet does he not tell us, in lines inevitable Time. . . . These are the which every Londoner will appreciate, only hours that are not wasted—these that he knew nothing in nature more hours that absorb the soul and fill it fair, no calm more deep, than the city of with beauty. This is real life, and all London at early dawn ? 1 Beattie. 1 Tennyson. Thomas a Kempis. �THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE CHAP. VIII “Earth has not anything to show more fair ; Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the igorning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still ! ” Milton also described London as 81 mountain-side up to the very edge of the eternal snow. And what an infinite variety they present. “Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim. But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes, Or Cytherea’s breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips and The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one.”1 Nor are they mere delights to the eye ; they are full of mystery and suggestions. Some of our streets indeed are lines of They almost seem like enchanted prin­ cesses waiting for some princely deliverer. loveliness, but yet, after being some time Wordsworth tells us that in a great city, one longs for the country. “Too blest abode, no loveliness we see In all the earth, but it abounds in thee.” “The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.”1 “ To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.” Here Gray justly places flowers in the first place, for whenever in any great town we think of the country, flowers seem first to suggest themselves. “ Flowers,” says Ruskin, “ seem in­ tended for the solace of ordinary humanity. Children love them; quiet, tender, con­ tented, ordinary people love them as they grow ; luxurious and disorderly people rejoice in them gathered. They are the cottager’s treasure ; and in the crowded town, mark, as with a little broken frag­ ment of rainbow, the windows of the workers in whose heart rests the covenant of peace.” But in the crowded street, or even in the formal garden, flowers always seem, to me at least, as if they were pining for the freedom of the woods and fields, where they can live and grow as they please. There are flowers for almost all seasons and all places,—flowers for spring, summer, and autumn ; while even in the very depth of winter here and there one makes its appearance. There are flowers of the fields and woods and hedgerows, of the seashore and the lake’s margin, of the Every color again, every variety of form, has some purpose and explanation. And yet, lovely as Flowers are, Leaves add even more to the Beauty of Nature. Trees in our northern latitudes seldom own large flowers; and though of course there are notable exceptions, such as the Horse-chestnut, still even in these cases the flowers live only a few days, while the leaves last for months. Every tree indeed is a picture in itself: The gnarled and rugged Oak, the symbol and source of our navy, sacred to the memory of the Druids, the type of strength, is the sovereign of British trees : the Chestnut has beautiful, tapering, and rich green, glossy leaves, delicious fruit, and wood so durable that to it we owe the grand and historic roof of Westminster Hall. The Birch is the queen of trees, with her feathery foliage, scarcely visible in spring but turning to gold in autumn; the pendulous twigs tinged with purple, and silver stems so brilliantly marked with black and white. The Beech enlivens the country by its tender green in spring, rich tints in summer, and glorious gold and orange in 1 Gray. 1 Shakespeare. G �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE 82 autumn, set off by the graceful gray stem ; and has, moreover, such a wealth of leaves that, as we see in autumn, there are enough not only to clothe the tree itself but to cover the grass underneath. If the Beech owes much to its delicate gray stem, quite as beautiful is the reddish crimson of the Scotch Pine, in such charming contrast with the rich green of the foliage, by which it is shown off rather than hidden. Pines, moreover, with the green spires of the Firs, keep the woods warm in winter. The Elm forms grand masses of foliage which turn a beautiful golden yellow in autumn ; and the Black Poplar with its perpendicular leaves, rustling and trem­ bling with every breath of wind, towers over most of our other forest trees. Nor must I overlook the smaller trees : the Yew with its thick green foliage ; the wild Guelder rose, which lights up the woods in autumn with translucent glossy berries and many-tinted leaves ; or the Bryonies, the Briar, the Traveller’s Joy, and many another plant, even humbler perhaps, and yet each with some exquisite beauty and grace of its own, so that we must all have sometimes felt our hearts overflowing with gladness and gratitude, as if the woods were full of music—as if “ The woods were filled so full with song There seemed no room for sense of wrong.”1 On the whole, no doubt, woodlands are most beautiful in the summer ; yet even in winter the delicate tracery of the branches, which cannot be so well seen when they are clothed with leaves, has a special beauty of its own ; while every now and then hoar frost or snow settles like silver on every branch and twig, lighting up the forest as if by enchant­ ment in preparation for some fairy festival. I feel with Jefferies that “by day or by night, summer or winter, beneath trees the heart feels nearer to that depth of life which the far sky means. The rest of spirit found only in beauty, ideal , 1 Tennyson. TART II and pure, comes there because the distance seems within touch of thought.” The general effect of forests in tropical regions must be very different from that of those in our latitudes. Kingsley describes it as one of helplessness, con­ fusion, awe, all but terror. The trunks are lofty and straight, rising to a great height without a branch, so that the wood seems at first comparatively open. In Brazilian forests, for instance, the trees struggle upwards, and the foliage forms an unbroken canopy, perhaps a hundred feet overheard. Here, indeed, high up in the air is the real life of the forest. Everything seems to climb to the light. The quadrupeds climb, birds climb, reptiles climb, and tlie variety of climb­ ing plants is far greater than anything to which we are accustomed. Many savage nations worship trees, and I really think my first feeling would be one of delight and interest rather than of surprise, if some day when I am alone in a wood one of the trees were to speak to me. Even by day there is something mysterious in a forest, and this is much more the case at night. With wood, Water seems to be natur­ ally associated. Without water no land­ scape is complete, while overhead the clouds add beauty to the heavens them­ selves. The spring and the rivulet, the brook, the river, and the lake, seem to give life to Nature, and were indeed re­ garded by our ancestors as living entities themselves. Water is beautiful in the morning mist, in the broad lake, in the glancing stream, in tlie river pool, or the wide ocean, beautiful in all its varied moods. Water nourishes vegetation ; it clothes the lowlands with green and the mountains with snow. It sculptures the rocks and excavates the valleys, in most cases acting mainly through the soft rain, though our harder rocks are still grooved by the ice-chisel of bygone ages. The refreshing power of water upon the earth is scarcely greater than that which it exercises on the mind of man. After a long spell of work how delightful �CHAP. VIII THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE 83 it is to sit by a lake or river, or on the and quarries and lines of stratification seashore, and enjoy the fresh air, the began to show themselves, though the glancing sunshine on the water, and the cliffs were still in shadow, and the more ripple of the waves upon sand. distant headlands still a mere succession Every Englishman loves the sight of of ghosts, each one fainter than the one the Sea. We feel that it is to us a second before it. As the morning advances the home. It seems to vivify the very at­ sea becomes blue, the dark woods, green mosphere, so that Sea air is proverbial as meadows, and golden cornfields of the a tonic, and the very thought of it makes opposite coast more distinct, the details the blood dance in our veins. The Ocean of the cliffs come gradually into view, gives an impression of freedom and and fishing-boats with dark sails begin to grandeur more intense perhaps even than appear. the aspect of the heavens themselves. A Gradually as the sun rises higher, a poor woman from Manchester, on being yellow line of shore appears under the taken to the seaside, is said to have ex­ opposite cliffs, and the sea changes its pressed her delight on seeing for the first color, mapping itself out as it were, the time something of which there was enough shallower parts turquoise blue, almost for everybody. The sea coast is always green ; the deeper ones violet. interesting. When we think of the cliff This does not last long—a thunderstorm sections with their histories of bygone comes up. The wind mutters overhead, ages ; the shore itself teeming with sea­ the rain patters on the leaves, the coast weeds and animals, waiting for the return opposite seems to shrink into itself, as if of the tide, or thrown up from deeper it would fly from the storm. The sea water by the waves; the weird cries of grows dark and rough, and white horses seabirds ; the delightful feeling that, with appear here and there. every breath, we are laying in a store of But the storm is soon over. The clouds fresh life, and health, and energy, it is break, the rain stops, the sun shines once impossible to over-estimate all we owe to more, the hills opposite come out again. the Sea. They are divided now not only into fields It is, moreover, always changing. We and woods, but into sunshine and shadow. went for our holiday last year to Lyme The sky clears, and as the sun begins to Regis. Let me attempt to describe the descend westwards the sea becomes one changes in the view from our windows beautiful clear uniform azure, changing during a single day. Our sitting-room again soon to pale blue in front and dark opened on to a little lawn, beyond which violet beyond; and once more, as clouds the ground dropped suddenly to the sea, begin to gather again, into an archipelago while over about two miles of water were of bright blue sea and islands of deep the hills of the Dorsetshire coast—-Golden ultramarine. As the sun travels west­ Cap, with its bright crest of yellow sand, ward, the opposite hills change again. and the dark blue Lias Cliff of Black Ven, They scarcely seem like the same country. When I came down early in the morning What was in sun is now in shade, and the sun was rising opposite, shining into what was in shade now lies bright in the the room over a calm sea, along an avenue sunshine. The sea once more becomes a of light; by degrees, as it rose, the whole uniform solid blue, only flecked in places sea glowed in the sunshine while the hills by scuds of wind, and becoming paler were bathed in a violet mist. By break­ towards evening as the sun sinks, the cliffs fast-time all color had faded from the which catch his setting rays losing their sea—it was like silver passing on each deep color and in some places looking side into gray ; the sky blue, flecked with almost as white as chalk ; while at sunset fleecy clouds ; while, on the gentler slopes they light up again for a moment with a of the coast opposite, fields and woods, | golden glow, the sea at the same time �84 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE sinking to a cold gray. But soon the hills grow cold too, Golden Cap holding out bravely to the last, and the shades of evening settle over cliff and wood, corn­ field and meadow. These are but a part, and a very small part, of the changes of a single day. And scarcely any two days are alike. At times a sea-fog covers everything. Again the sea which sleeps to-day so peacefully, sometimes rages, and the very existence of the bay itself bears witness to its force. The night, again, varies like the day. Sometimes shrouded by a canopy of dark­ ness, sometimes lit up by millions of brilliant worlds, sometimes bathed in the light of a moon, which never retains the same form for two nights together. If Lakes are less grand than the sea, they are in some respects even more lovely. The seashore is comparatively bare. The banks of Lakes are often richly clothed with vegetation which comes close down to the water’s edge, sometimes hanging even into the water itself. They are often studded with wellwooded islands. They are sometimes fringed with green meadows, sometimes bounded by rocky promontories rising directly from comparatively deep water ; while the calm bright surface is often fretted by a delicate pattern of interlacing ripples ; or reflects a second, softened, and inverted landscape. To water again we owe the marvellous spectacle of the rainbow—“ God’s bow in the clouds.” It is indeed truly a heavenly messenger, and so unlike anything else that it scarcely seems to belong to this world. Many things are colored, but the rain­ bow seems to be color itself. “ First the flaming red Sprang vivid forth ; the tawny orange next, And next delicious yellow ; by whose side Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing green. Then the pure blue that swells autumnal skies. Ethereal play’d ; and then, of sadder hue Emerged the deeper indigo (as when The heavy-skirted evening droops with frost), While the last gleamings of refracted light Died in the fainting violet away.”1 1 Thomson. PART II We do not, I think, sufficiently realise how wonderful is the blessing of color. It would have been possible, it would even seem more probable, that though light might have enabled us to perceive objects, this would only have been by shade and form. How we perceive color is not yet understood ; and yet when we speak of beauty, among the ideas which come to us most naturally are those of birds and butterflies, flowers and shells, precious stones, skies, and rainbows. Our minds might have been constituted exactly as they are, we might have been capable of comprehending the highest and sublimest truths, and yet, but for a small organ in the head, the world of sound would have been shut out from us ; we should have lost all the varied melody of nature, the charms of music, the conversa­ tion of friends, and have been condemned to perpetual silence: a slight alteration in the retina, which is not thicker than a sheet of paper, not larger than a finger­ nail,—and the glorious spectacle of this beautiful world, the exquisite variety of form, the glow and play of color, the variety of scenery, of woods and fields, and lakes and hills, seas and mountains, the beauty of the sky alike by day and night, would all have been lost to us. Mountains, again, “ seem to have been built for the human race, as at once their schools and cathedrals ; full of treasures of illuminated manuscript for the scholar, kindly in simple lessons for the worker, quiet in pale cloisters for the thinker, glorious in holiness for the worshipper.” They are “great cathedrals of the earth, with their gates of rock, pavements of cloud, choirs of stream and stone, altars of snow, and vaults of purple traversed by the continual stars.” 1 All these beauties are comprised in Tennyson’s exquisite description of (Enone’s vale—the city, flowers, trees, river, and mountains. “ There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. 1 Ruskin. �CHAP. VIII THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars The long brook falling thro’ the clov’n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea. Behind the valley topmost Gargarus Stands up and takes the morning; but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Ilion’s column’d citadel, The crown of Troas.” 85 The evening colors indeed soon fade away, but as night comes on, “ how glows the firmament With living sapphires ! Hesperus that led The starry host, rode brightest ; till the moon Rising in clouded majesty, at length, Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.” 1 We generally speak of a beautiful night when it is calm and clear, and the stars shine brightly overhead ; but how grand And when we raise our eyes from earth, also are the wild ways of Nature, how who has not sometimes felt “ the witchery magnificent when the lightning flashes, of the soft blue sky ” ? who has not “ between gloom and glory ” ; when watched a cloud floating upwards as if on ‘ ‘ From peak to peak, the rattling crags among its way to heaven ? Leaps the live thunder. ” 2 And yet “if, in our moments of utter In the words of Ossian— idleness and insipidity, we turn to the sky “ Ghosts ride in the tempest to-night; as a last resource, which of its phenomena Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind, do we speak of? One says, it has been Their songs are of other worlds.” wet; and another, it has been w'indy; Nor are the -wonders and beauties of the and another, it has been warm. Who, heavens limited by the clouds and the blue among the whole chattering crowd, can sky, lovely as they are. In the heavenly tell me of the forms and the precipices bodies we have before us the perpetual of the chain of tall white mountains that presence of the sublime. They-are so im­ girded the horizon at noon yesterday 1 mense and so far away, and yet on soft Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came summer nights “they seem leaning down out of the south, and smote upon their to whisper in the ear of our souls.” 3 summits until they melted and mouldered “ A man can hardly lift up his eyes to­ away in a dust of blue rain ? Who saw wards the heavens,” says Seneca, “ without the dance of the dead clouds when the sun­ wonder and veneration, to see so many light left them last night, and the west millions of radiant lights, and to observe wind blew them before it like withered their courses and revolutions, even with­ leaves ? All has passed, unregretted as out any respect to the common good of the unseen ; or if the apathy be ever shaken Universe.” off, even for an instant, it is only by -what Who does not sympathise with the is gross, or what is extraordinary ; and feelings of Dante as he rose from his visit yet it is not in the broad and fierce mani­ to the lower regions, until, he says, festations of the elemental energies, not in the clash of the hail, nor the drift of the “ On our view the beautiful lights of heaven Dawned through a circular opening in the cave, whirlwind, that the highest characters of Thence issuing, we again beheld the stars.” the sublime are developed.” 1 As we watch the stars at night they But exquisitely lovely as is the blue arch of the midday sky, with its inexhaust­ seem so still and motionless that we can ible variety of clouds, “ there is yet a light hardly realise that all the time they are which the eye invariably seeks with a rushing on with a velocity far far exceed­ deeper feeling of the beautiful, the light ing any that man has ever accomplished. Like the sands of the sea, the stars of of the declining or breaking day, and the flakes of scarlet cloud burning like heaven have ever been used as an appro­ watch-fires in thegreen sky ofthe horizon.” 2 priate symbol of number, and we know that therfe are more than 100,000,000 ; 1 Ruskin. 2 Ibid. 1 Milton. 2 Byron. 3 Symonds. �86 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE many, no doubt, with planets of their own. But this is by no means all. The floor of heaven is not only “ thick inlaid with patines of bright gold,” but is studded also with extinct stars, once probably as bril­ liant as our own sun, but now dead and cold, as Helmholtz thinks that our own sun will be some seventeen millions of years hence. Then, again, there are the comets, which, though but few are visible to the unaided eye, are even more numerous than the stars ; there are the nebulae, and the countless minor bodies circulating in space, and occasionally visible as meteors. Nor is it only the number of the heavenly bodies which is so overwhelm­ ing ; their magnitude and distances are almost more impressive. The ocean is so deep and broad as to be almost infinite, and indeed in so far as our imagination is the limit, so it may be. Yet what is the ocean compared to the sky ? Our globe is little compared to the giant orbs of Jupiter and Saturn, which again sink into insignificance by the side of the Sun. The Sun itself is almost as nothing com-, pared with the dimensions of the solar system. Sirius is a thousand times as great as the Sun, and a million times as far away. The solar system itself travels in one region of space, sailing between worlds and worlds ; and is surrounded by many other systems at least as great and complex; while we know that even then we have not reached the limits of the Universe itself. There are stars so distant that their light, though travelling 180,000 miles in a second, yet takes years to reach us ; and beyond all these are other systems of stars which are so far away that they cannot be perceived singly, but even in our most powerful telescopes appear only as minute clouds or nebulae. The velocities of the Heavenly bodies are equally astounding. We ourselves make our annual journey round the Sun at the rate of 1000 miles a minute ; of the so-called “ fixed ” stars Sirius moves at the same rate, and Arcturus no less than 22,000 miles a minute. And yet PART II the distances of the stars are so great that 1000 years makes hardly any differ­ ence in the appearance of the Heavens. It is, indeed, but a feeble expression of the truth to say that the infinities re­ vealed to us by Science,—the infinitely great in the one direction, and the in­ finitely small in the other,—go far beyond anything which had occurred to the un­ aided imagination of Man, and are not only a never-failing source of pleasure and interest, but lift us above the petty troubles, and help us to bear the greater sorrows, of life. CHAPTER IX THE TROUBLES OF LIFE “ Count each affliction, whether light or grave, God’s messenger sent down to thee ; Grief should be Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate ; Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free ; Strong to consume small troubles ; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.” Aubrey be Vere. We have in life many troubles, and troubles are of many kinds. Some sorrows, alas, are real enough, especially those we bring on ourselves, but others, and by no means the least numerous, are mere ghosts of troubles : if we face them boldly, we find that they have no sub­ stance or reality, but are mere creations of our own morbid imagination, and that it is as true now as in the time of David that “ Man disquieteth himself in a vain shadow.” Some, indeed, of our troubles are evils, but not real; while others are real, but not evils. “ And yet, into how unfathomable a gulf the mind rushes when the troubles of this world agitate it. If it then forget its own light, which is eternal joy, and rush into the outer darkness, which are the �CHAP. IX THE TROUBLES OF LIFE cares of this world, as the mind now does, it knows nothing else but lamentations.” 1 “Athens,” said Epictetus, “is a good place,—but happiness is much better ; to be free from passions, free from dis­ turbance.” We should endeavour to maintain our­ selves in “ that blessed mood In which the burden of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight, Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened.” 2 87 happen equally to good men and bad, being things which make us neither better nor worse.” “ The greatest evils,” observes Jeremy Taylor, “ are from within us ; and from ourselves also we must look for our greatest good.” “ The mind,” says Milton, “ is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.” Milton indeed in his blindness saw more beautiful visions, and Beethoven in his deafness heard more heavenly music, So shall we fear “neither the exile of than most of us can ever hope to enjoy. Aristides, nor the prison of Anaxagoras, We are all apt, when we know not nor the poverty of Socrates, nor the con­ what may happen, to fear the worst. demnation of Phocion, but think virtue When we know the full extent of any worthy our love even under such trials.” 3 : danger, it is half over. Hence, we dread We should then be, to a great extent, in-1 ghosts more than robbers, not only with­ dependent of external circumstanced, for out reason, but against reason ; for even if ghosts existed, how could they hurt us ? “ Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage, and in ghost stories, few, even of those Minds innocent and quiet take who say that they have seen ,a ghost, ever That for an hermitage. profess or pretend to have felt one. “ If I have freedom in my love, Milton, in his description of death, And in my soul am free ; dwells on this characteristic of obscurity : Angels alone that soar above Enjoy such liberty.” 4 In the wise words of Shakespeare, “ All places that the eye of Heaven visits Are to the wise man ports and happy havens.” “ The other shape— If shape it might be call’d that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; Or substance might be call’d that shadow seem’d, For each seem’d either—black he stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell. And shook a dreadful dart. What seem’d his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on.” Happiness indeed depends much more on what is within than without us. When Hamlet says that the world is “ a goodly prison ; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark The effect of darkness and night in being one of the worst,” and Rosencrantz enhancing terrors is dwelt on in one of differs from him, he rejoins wisely, “ Why the sublimest passages in Job— then, ’tis none to you : for there is “ In thoughts from the visions of the night, nothing either good or bad, but thinking When deep sleep falleth on men, makes it so : to me it is a prison.” Fear came upon me, and trembling, Which made all my bones to shake. “All is opinion,” said Marcus Aurelius. Then a spirit passed before my face ; “ That which does not make a man worse, The hair of my flesh stood up : how can it make his life worse ? But It stood still, but I could not discern the form death certainly, and life, honor and dis­ thereof: An image was before mine eyes, honor, pain and pleasure, all these things 1 King Alfred’s translation of the Consola­ tions of Boethius. 2 Wordsworth. 3 Plutarch. 4 Lovelace. There was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, Shall mortal man be more just than God ? ” Thus was the terror turned into a lesson of comfort and of mercy. �88 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE We often magnify troubles and diffi­ culties, and look at them till they seein much greater than they really are. Dangers are often “ light, if they once seem light; and more dangers have deceived men than forced them: nay, it were better to meet some dangers half way, though they come nothing near, than to keep too long a watch upon their approaches ; for if a man watch too long, it is odds he will fall asleep.” 1 Foresight is wise, but fore-sorrow is foolish ; and castles are at any rate better than dungeons, in the air. It happens, unfortunately too often, that by some false step, intentional or unintentional, we have missed the right road, and gone astray. Can we then retrace our steps ? can we recover what is lost ? This may be done. It is too gloomy a view to affirm that “ A sigh too much, or a kiss too long, And there comes a mist and a weeping rain, And life is never the same again.” 2 There are two noble sayings of Socrates, that to do evil is more to be avoided than to suffer it; and that when a man has done evil, it is better for him to be punished than to be unpunished. We generally speak of selfishness as a fault, and as if it interfered with the general happiness. But this is not alto­ gether correct. The pity is that so many people are foolishly selfish ; that they pursue a course of action which neither makes themselves nor any one else happy. Is there not some truth in Goethe’s saying, though I do not altogether agree with him, that “ every man ought to begin with himself, and make his own happiness first, from which the happiness of the whole world would at last unquestionably follow” ? This is perhaps too broadly stated, and of course exceptions might be pointed out : but assuredly if every one would avoid excess, and take care of his own health ; would keep himself strong and cheerful; would make his home 1 Bacon. 2 G. Macdonald. PART II happy, and’give no cause for the petty vexations which often embitter domestic life ; would attend to his own affairs and keep himself sober and solvent; would, in the words of the Chinese proverb, “sweep away the snow from before his own door, and never mind the frost upon his neighbour’s tiles”: even though it were not from the nobler motives, still, how well it would be for his family, relations, and friends. But, unfortunately, “ Look round the habitable world, how few Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue.”1 It would be a great thing if people could be brought to realise that they can never add to the sum of their happiness by doing wrong. In the case of children, indeed, we recognise this ; we perceive that a spoilt child is not a happy one; that it would have been far better for him to have been punished at first and thus saved from greater suffering in after life. The beautiful idea that every man has with him a Guardian Angel is true in­ deed : for Conscience is ever on the watch, | ever ready to warn us of danger. No doubt we often feel disposed to complain, and yet it is most ungrateful: ‘‘ For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through Eternity ; To perish rather, swallowed up, and lost In the wide womb of uncreated thought! ” 2 But perhaps it will be said that we are sent here in preparation for another and a better world. Well, then, why should we complain of what is but a preparation for future happiness ? We ought to “ Count each affliction, whether light or grave, God’s messenger sent down to thee ; do thou With courtesy receive him ; rise and bow ; And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave Permission first his heavenly feet to lave ; Then lay before him all thou hast; allow No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, Or mar thy hospitality ; no wave Of mortal tumult to obliterate 1 Dryden. 2 Milton. �LABOUR AND REST CHAP. X and joy”; and if properly understood, would enable us “ to acquiesce in the present without repining, to remember the past with thankfulness, and to meet the future hopefully and cheerfully with­ out fear or suspicion.” The soul’s marmoreal calmness : Grief should be Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate ; Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free ; Strong to consume small troubles ; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.” 1 Some persons are like the waters of Bethesda, and require to be troubled before they can exercise their virtue. “We shall get more contentedness,” CHAPTER X says Plutarch, “ from the presence of all LABOUR AND REST these blessings if we fancy them as absent, and remember from time to time how “ Through labour to rest, through combat to people when ill yearn for health, and victory.” Thomas a Kempis. people in war for peace, and strangers and unknown in a great city for reputa­ Among the troubles of life I do not, of tion and friends, and how painful it is to course, reckon the necessity of labour. Work indeed, and hard work too, if be deprived of all these when one has once had them. For then each of these only it be in moderation, is in itself a blessings will not appear to us only great rich source of happiness. We all know and valuable when it is lost, and of no how quickly time passes when we are value when we have it. . . . And yet it well employed, while the moments hang makes much for contentedness of mind to heavily on the hands of the idle. Occupa­ look for the most part at home and to our tion drives away care and all the small own condition ; or if not, to look at the troubles of life. The busy man has no case of people worse off than ourselves, time to brood or to fret. and not, as people do, to compare our­ “ From toil he wins his spirits light, selves with those who are better off. . . . From busy day the peaceful night ; But you will find others, Chians, or Rich, from the very want of wealth, Galatians, or Bithynians, not content In Heaven’s best treasures, peace, and health.” 1 with the share of glory or power they have among their fellow-citizens, but This applies especially to t^e labour of weeping because they do not wear sena­ the field and the workshop. Humble it tors’ shoes ; or, if they have them, that may be, but if it does not dazzle with the they cannot be praetors at Rome; or if promise of fame, it gives the satisfaction they get that office, that they are not of duty fulfilled, and the inestimable consuls ; or if they are consuls, that they blessing of health. As Emerson reminds are only proclaimed second and not first. those entering life, “ The angels that live . . . Whenever, then, you admire any one with them, and are weaving laurels of life carried by in his litter as a greater man for their youthful brows, are toil and truth than yourself, lower your eyes and look and mutual faith.” at those that bear the litter.” And again, Labour was truly said by the ancients “ I am very taken with Diogenes’ remark to be the price which the gods set upon to a stranger at Lacedaemon, who was everything worth having. We all admit, dressing with much display for a feast. though we often forget, the marvellous ‘ Does not a good man consider every day power of perseverance; and yet all Nature, a feast ? ’ . . . Seeing then that life is down to Bruce’s spider, is continually the most complete initiation into all these | impressing this lesson on us. things, it ought to be full of ease of mind J Hard writing makes easy reading ; 1 Aubrey de Vere. . 1 Gray. �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE 9° Plato is said to have rewritten the first page of the Aepit&Zic thirteen times ; and Carlo Maratti, we are told, made three hundred sketches of the head of Antinous before he brought it to his satisfaction. It is better to wear out than to rust out, and there is “ a dust which settles on the heart, as well as that which rests upon the ledge.”1 At the present time, though there may be some special drawbacks, we come to our work with many advantages which were not enjoyed in olden times. We live in much greater security ourselves, and are less liable to have the fruits of our labour torn violently from us. But though labour is good for man, it may be, and unfortunately often is, carried to excess. Many are wearily asking themselves “ All why Should life all labour be ? ” 2 There is a time for all things, says Solomon, a time to work and a time to play : we shall work all the better for reasonable change, and one reward of work is to secure leisure. It is a good saying that where there’s a will there’s a way ; but while it is all very well to wish, wishes must not take the place of work. In whatever sphere his duty lies, every man must rely mainly on himself. Others can help us, but we must make ourselves. No one else can see for us. To profit by our advantages we must learn to use for ourselves “The dark lantern of the spirit Which none can see by, but he who bears it. ” It is hardly an exaggeration to say that honest work is never thrown away. If we do not find the imaginary treasure, at any rate we enrich the vineyard. “Work,” says Nature to man, “in every hour, paid or unpaid; see only that thou work, and thou canst not escape the reward : whether thy work be fine or coarse, planting corn or writing 1 Jefferies. 2 Tennyson. part II epics, so only it be honest work, done to thine own approbation, it shall earn a reward to the senses as well as to the thought: no matter how often defeated, you are born to victory. The reward of a thing well done is to have done it.” 1 Nor can any work, however persever­ ing, or any success, however great, exhaust the prizes of life. The most studious, the most successful, must recognise that there yet remain “ So much to do that is not e’en begun, So much to hope for that we cannot see, So much to win, so many things to be.”2 In olden times the difficulties of study were far greater than they are now. Books were expensive and cumbersome, in many cases moreover chained to the desks on which they were kept. The greatest scholars have often been very poor. Erasmus used to read by moonlight because he could not afford a candle, and “ begged a penny, not for the love of charity, but for the love of learning.” 3 Want of time is no excuse for idleness. “ Our life,” says Jeremy Taylor, “ is too short to serve the ambition of a haughty prince or a usurping rebel; too little time to purchase great wealth, to satisfy the pride of a vainglorious fool, to trample upon all the enemies of our just or unjust interest: but for the obtaining virtue, for the purchase of sobriety and modesty, for the actions of religion, God gives us time sufficient, if we make the outgoings of the morning and evening, that is our infancy and old age, to be taken into the computations of a man.” Work is so much a necessity of exist­ ence, that it is less a question whether, than how, w’e shall work. An old saying tells us that the Devil finds work for those who do not make it for themselves and there is a Turkish proverb that the Devil tempts the busy man, but the idle man tempts the Devil. If we Englishmen have succeeded as a 2 W. Morris. 1 Emerson. 3 Coleridge. �LABOUR AND REST CHAP. X race, it has been due in no small measure to the fact that we have worked hard. Not only so, but we have induced the forces of Nature to work for us. “ Steam,” says Emerson, “ is almost an Englishman.” The power of work has especially characterised our greatest men. Cecil said of Sir W. Raleigh that he “ could toil terribly.” We are most of us proud of belonging to the greatest Empire the world has ever seen. It may be said of us with especial truth in Wordsworth’s words that “ The world is too much with us ; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.” Yes, but what world ? The world will be with us sure enough, and whether we please or not. But what sort of world it will be for us, will depend greatly on ourselves. We are told to pray not to be taken out of the world, but to be kept from the evil. There are various ways of working. Quickness may be good, but haste is bad. “Wie das Gestirn Ohne Hast . Ohne Rast Drehe sich Jeder Um die eigne Last.”1 “Like a star, without haste, without rest, let every one fulfil his own best.” Lastly, work secures the rich reward of rest ; we must rest to be able to work well, and work to be able to enjoy rest. “We must no doubt beware that our rest become not the rest of stones, which so long as they are torrent-tossed and thunder-stricken maintain their majesty ; but when the stream is silent, and the storm past, suffer the grass to cover them, and the lichen to feed on them, and are ploughed down into the dust. . . . The rest which is glorious is of the chamois couched breathless in its granite bed, not of the stalled ox over his fodder.” 2 When we have done our best we may wait the result without anxiety. “ What hinders a man, who has clearly 1 Goethe. 2 Ruskin. 9i comprehended these things, from living with a light heart and bearing easily the reins ; quietly expecting everything which can happen, and enduring that which has already happened ? Would you have me to bear poverty ? Come and you will know what poverty is when it has found one who can act well the part of a poor man. Would you have me to possess power1? Let me have power, and also the trouble of it. Well, banishment ? Wherever I shall go, there it will be well with me.” 1 “We complain,” says Ruskin, “of the want of many things—-we want votes, we want liberty, we want amusement, we want money. Which of us feels, or knows, that he wants peace ? “ There are two ways of getting it, if you do want it. The first is wholly in your own power; to make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts. . . . None of us yet know, for none of us have yet been taught in early youth, what fairy palaces we may build of beautiful thought—proof against all adversity. Bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble histories, faith­ ful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts ; which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away from us—houses built without hands, for our souls to live in.” The Buddhists believe in many forms of future punishment; but the highest reward of virtue is Nirvana—the final and eternal rest. Very touching is the appeal of Ashmanezer to be left in peace, which was engraved on his Sarcophagus at Sidon.2 “ In the month of Bui, the fourteenth year of my reign, I, King Ashmanezer, King of the Sidonians, son of King Tabuith, King of the Sidonians, spake, saying : ‘ I have been stolen away before my time—a son of the flood of days. The whilom great is dumb ; the son of gods is dead. And I rest in this grave, even in this tomb, in the place which I have built. My adjuration to all the Ruling Powers and all men : Let no one 1 Epictetus. 2 Now in Paris. �9* THE PLEASURES OF LIFE open this resting-place, nor search for treasure, for there is no treasure with us ; and let him not bear away the couch of my rest, and not trouble us in this resting-place by disturbing the couch of my slumbers. . . . For all men who should open the tomb of my rest, or any man who should carry away the couch of my rest, or any one who trouble me on this couch : unto them there shall be no rest with the departed : they shall not be buried in a grave, and there shall be to them neither son nor seed. . . . There shall be to them neither root below nor fruit above, nor honour among the living under the sun.’ ” 1 The idle man does not know what it is to enjoy rest, for he has not earned it. Hard work, moreover, tends not only to give us rest for the body, but, what is even more important, peace to the mind. If we have done our best to do, and to be, we can rest in peace. “ En la sua voluntade e nostra pace.” 2 In His will is our peace ; and in such peace the mind will find its truest delight, for “When, care sleeps, the soul wakes.” In youth, as is right enough, the idea of exertion, and of struggles, is inspiriting and delightful; but as years advance the hope and prospect of peace and of rest gain ground gradually, and “ When the last dawns are fallen on gray, And all life’s toils and ease complete, They know who work, not they who play If rest is sweet.” 3 1 From Sir M. E. Grant Duff’s A Winter in Syria. 2 Dante. 3 Symonds. PART II CHAPTER XT RELIGION “ And what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God ? ”—Micah. “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.”—James i. “The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” 2 Corinthians. It would be quite out of place here to enter into any discussion of theological problems or to advocate any particular doctrines. Nevertheless I could not omit what is to most so great a comfort and support in sorrow and suffering, and a source of the purest happiness. We commonly, however, bring together under the name of Religion two things which are yet very different: the religion of the heart, and that of the head. The first deals with conduct, and the duties of Man ; the second with the nature of the supernatural and the future of the Soul, being in fact a branch of knowledge. Religion should be a strength, guide, and comfort, not a source of intellectual anxiety or angry argument. To persecute for religion’s sake implies belief in a jealous, cruel, and unjust Deity. If we have done our best to arrive at the truth, to torment oneself about the result is to doubt the goodness of God, and, in the words of Bacon, “ to bring down the Holy Ghost, instead of the likeness of a dove, in the shape of a raven.” “ The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life,” and it is a primary duty to form the highest possible conception of God. Many, however, and especially many women, render themselves miserable on entering life by theological doubts and difficulties. These have reference, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, not to what we should do, but to what we should think. As regards action, con- �RELIGION CHAP. XI science is generally a ready guide; to follow it is the real difficulty. Theology, on the other hand, is a most abstruse science ; but as long as we honestly wish to arrive at truth we need not fear that we shall be punished for unintentional error. “For what,” says Micah, “doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.” There is very little theology in the Sermon on the Mount, or indeed in any part of the first three Gospels ; and the differences which keep us apart have their origin rather in the study than the Church. Religion was intended to bring peace on earth and goodwill towards men, and whatever tends to hatred and perse­ cution, however correct in the letter, must be utterly wrong in the spirit. How much misery would have been saved to Europe if Christians had been satisfied with the Sermon on the Mount! Bokhara is said to have contained more than three hundred colleges, all occupied with theology, but ignorant of everything else, and it was probably one of the most bigoted and uncharitable cities in the world. “ Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.” We must not forget that “ He prayeth best who lovetli best All things both great and small.” 1 Theologians too often appear to agree that “ The awful shadow of some unseen power Floats, though unseen, among us ” ; 2 and in the days of the Inquisition many must have sighed for the cheerful childlike religion of the Greeks, if they could but have had the Nymphs and Nereids, the Fays and Faeries, with Destiny and Fate, but without Jupiter and Mars. Sects are the work of Sectarians. No truly great religious teacher, as Carlyle said, ever intended to found a new Sect. Diversity of worship, says a Persian proverb, “ has divided the human race into seventy-two nations. From among all their dogmas I have selected one—‘ Di­ vine Love.’ ” And again, “ He needs no 1 Coleridge. 2 Shelley. 93 other rosary whose thread of life is struug with the beads of love and thought.” There is more true Christianity in some pagan Philosophers than in certain Chris­ tian theologians. Take, for instance, Plato, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, and Plutarch. “ Now I, Callicles,” says Socrates, “ am persuaded of the truth of these things, and I consider how I shall present my soul whole and undefiled before the judge in that day. Renouncing the honours at which the world aims, I desire only to know the truth, and to live as well as I can, and, when the time comes, to die. And, to the utmost of my power, I exhort all other men to do the same. And in return for your exhortation of me, I exhort you also to take part in the great combat, which is the combat of life, and greater than every other earthly conflict.” “As to piety towards the Gods,” says Epictetus, “you must know that this is the chief thing, to have right opinions about them, to think that they exist, and that they administer the All well and justly; and you must fix yourself in this principle (duty), to obey them, and to yield to them in everything which happens, and voluntarily to follow it as being accomplished by the wisest intelligence.” “ Do not act,” says Marcus Aurelius, “ as if thou wert going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over thee. While thou livest, while it is in thy power, be good. . . . “ Since it is possible that thou mayest depart from life this very moment, regu­ late every act and thought accordingly. But to go away from among men, if there be Gods, is not a thing to be afraid of, for the Gods will not involve thee in evil; but if indeed they do not exist, or if they have no concern about human affairs, what is it to me to live in a universe devoid of Gods, or without a Providence. But in truth they do exist, and they do care for human things, and they have put all the means in man’s power to enable him not to fall into real �94 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE evils. And as for the rest, if there was anything evil, they would have provided for this also, that it should be altogether in a man’s power not to fall into it.” And Plutarch : “ The Godhead is not blessed by reason of his silver and gold, nor yet Almighty through his thunder and lightnings, but on account of know­ ledge and intelligence.” It is no doubt very difficult to arrive at the exact teaching of Eastern Moralists, but the same spirit runs through Oriental Literature. For instance, in the Toy Cart of King Sudraka, the earliest Sanskrit drama with which we are ac­ quainted, when the wicked Prince tempts Vita to murder the Heroine, and says that no one would see him, Vita declares “ All nature would behold the crime— the Genii of the Grove, the Sun, the Moon, the Winds, the Vault of Heaven, the firm - set Earth, the mighty Yama who judges the dead, and the conscious Soul.” There is indeed a tone of doubting sad­ ness in Roman moralists, as in Hadrian’s dying lines to his soul— “Animula, vagula, blandula Hospes, comesque corporis Qua nunc abibis in loca : Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos.” PART II than to say that Plutarch is a man in­ constant, fickle, easily moved to anger, revengeful for trifling provocations, vexed at small things.” Many things have been mistaken for religion ; selfishness especially, but also fear, hope, love of music, of art, of pomp ; scruples often take the place of love, and the glory of heaven is sometimes made to depend upon precious stones and jewellery. Many, as has been well said, run after Christ, not for the miracles, but for the loaves. In many cases religious differences are mainly verbal. There is an Eastern tale of four men, an Arab, a Persian, a Turk, and a Greek, who agreed to club together for an evening meal, but when they had done so they quarrelled as to what it should be. The Turk proposed Azum, the Arab Aneb, the Persian Anghur, while the Greek insisted on Staphylion. While they were disputing “ Before their eyes did pass Laden with grapes, a gardener’s ass. Sprang to his feet each man, and showed, With eager hand, that purple load. ‘ See Azum,’ said the Turk ; and ‘ see Anghur,’ the Persian ; 1 what should be Better.’ ‘Nay Aneb, Aneb ’tis, ’ The Arab cried. The Greek said, 'This Is my Staphylion.’ Then they bought Their grapes in peace. Hence be ye taught.” 1 The same spirit is expressed in the It is said that on one occasion, when epitaph on the tomb of the Duke of Dean Stanley had been explaining his Buckingham in Westminster Abbey— views to Lord Beaconsfield, the latter replied, “ Ah 1 Mr. Dean, that is all very “ Dubins non improbus vixi Incertus morior, non perturbatus ; well, but you must remember,—No dog­ Humanum est nescire et errare, mas, no Deans.” To lose such Deans as Deo confido Stanley would indeed be a great misfor­ Omnipotent! benevolentissimo : tune ; but does it follow ? Religions, far Ens entium miserere mei.” from being really built on Dogmas, are Take even the most extreme type of too often weighed down and crushed by difference. Is the man, says Plutarch, them. No one can doubt that Stanley “ a criminal who holds there are no gods ; has done much to strengthen the Church and is not he that holds them to be such of England. as the superstitious believe them, is he We may not always agree with Spinoza, not possessed with notions infinitely more but is he not right when he says, “ The atrocious 1 I for my part would much first precept of the divine law, therefore, rather have men say of me that there indeed its sum and substance, is to love never was a Plutarch at all, nor is now, 1 Arnold. Pearls of the Faith. �RELIGION CHAP. XI God unconditionally as the supreme good —unconditionally, I say, and not from any love or fear of aught besides ” ? And again, that the very essence of religion is belief in “ a Supreme Being who delights in justice and mercy, whom all who would be saved are bound to obey, and whose worship consists in the practice of justice and charity towards our neighbours ” ? “ Theology,” says the Master of Balliol, “is full of undefined terms which have distracted the human mind for ages. Mankind have reasoned from them, but not to them; they have drawn out the conclusions without proving the premises ; they have asserted the premises without examining the terms. The passions of religious parties have been roused to the utmost about words of which they could have given no explanation, and which had really no distinct meaning.” 1 Doubt is of two natures, and we often confuse a wise suspension of judgment with the weakness of hesitation. To pro­ fess an opinion for which we have no sufficient reason is clearly illogical, but when it is necessary to act we must do so on the best evidence available, however slight that may be. Why should we expect Religion to solve questions with reference to the origin and destiny of the universe ? We do not expect the most elaborate treatise to tell us as yet the origin of electricity or of heat. Natural History throws no light on the origin of life. Has Biology ever professed to explain existence ? Simonides was asked at Syracuse by Hiero, who or what God was, when he requested a day’s time to think of his answer. On subsequent days he always doubled the period required for deliber­ ation ; and when Hiero inquired the reason, he replied that the longer he considered the subject, the more obscure it appeared. The Vedas say, “In the midst of the sun is the light, in the midst of light is truth, and in the midst of truth is the imperishable being.” Deity has been defined as a circle whose centre is every1 Jowett’s Plato, 95 where, and whose circumference is no­ where ; but the “ God is love ” of St. John appeals more forcibly to the human soul. “ Love suffereth long, and is kind ; Love envieth not; Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, Seeketh not her own, Is not easily provoked, Thinketh no evil; Rejoieeth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth ; Beareth all things, believeth all things, Hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth ; but whether there be pro­ phecies, they shall fail : whether there be tongues, they shall cease ; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. ... Now abideth Faith, Hope, Love, these three ; but the greatest of these is Love.” 1 The Church is not a place for study or speculation. Few but can sympathise with Eugenie de Guerin in her tender affection for the little Chapel at Cahuzac, where she tells us she freed herself from “ tant de miseres.” Doubt does not exclude faith. “ Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.” 2 Unfortunately many have attempted to compound for wickedness of life by purity of belief; a vain and fruitless effort. To do right is the sure ladder which leads up to Heaven, though the true faith will help us to find and to climb it. “ It was my duty to have loved the highest, It surely was my profit had I known, It would have been my pleasure had I seen.” 3 But though religious truth can justify no bitterness, it is well worth any amount of thought and study. If we must admit that many points are still, and probably long will be, involved in obscurity, we may be pardoned if we indulge ourselves in various speculations both as to our beginning and our end. 1 St. Paul, 2 Tennyson. 3 Ibid. �& THE PLEASURES OF LIFE ‘ ‘ Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar : Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home.” 1 I hope I shall not be supposed to depreciate any honest effort to arrive at truth, or to undervalue the devotion of those who have died for their religion. But surely it is a mistake to regard martyrdom as a merit, when from their own point of view it was in reality a privilege. Let every man be persuaded in his own mind “Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.” 2 It is impossible to overvalue the power “ which the soul has of loving truth and doing all things for the sake of truth. ” 3 To arrive at truth we should spare our­ selves no pains, but certainly inflict none on others. We may be sure that quarrels will never advance religion, and that to per­ secute is no way to convert. No doubt those who consider that all who do not agree with them will suffer eternal tor­ ments, seem logically justified in persecu­ tion even unto death. Such a course, if carried out consistently, might stamp out a particular sect, and any sufferings which could be inflicted here would on this hypothesis be as nothing in comparison with the pains of Hell. Only it must be admitted that such a view of religion is quite irreconcilable with the teaching of Christ, and incompatible with any faith in the goodness of God. Moreover, the Inquisition has even from its own point of view proved gener­ ally a failure. The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church. “ In obedience to the order of the Council of Constance (1415) the remains of Wickliffe were exhumed and burnt to 1 Wordsworth. 2 Chaucer. 3 Plato. TART II ashes, and these cast into the Swift, a neighbouring brook running hard by, and thus this brook hath conveyed his ashes into Avon ; Avon into Severn ; Severn into the narrow seas ; they into the main ocean. And thus the ashes of Wickliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now is dispersed all the world over?’1 The Talmud says that when a man once asked Shamai to teach him the Law in one lesson, Shamai drove him away in anger. He then went to Hillel with the same request. Hillel said, “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. This is the whole Law ; the rest, merely Commentaries upon it.” Collect from the Bible all that Christ thought necessary for His disciples, and how little Dogma there is. Christianity is based, not on Dogma, but on Charity and Love. “ By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” “ Suffer little children to come unto me.” And one lesson which little children have to teach us is that religion is an affair of the heart and not of the mind only. St. James sums up as the teaching of Christ that “Pure religion and undefiled is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.” The Religion of the lower races is almost as a rule one of terror and of dread. Their deities are jealous and revengeful, cruel, merciless, and selfish, hateful and yet childish. They require to be propitiated by feasts and offerings, often even by human sacrifices. They are not only exacting, but so capricious that, with the best intentions, it is often impossible to be sure of pleasing them. From the dread of such evil beings Sorcerers and Witches derived their hellish powers. No one was safe. No one knew where danger lurked. Actions apparently the most trifling might be fraught with serious risk : objects ap­ parently the most innocent might be fatal. In many cases there were supposed to 1 Fuller. �RELIGION CHAP. XI 97 be deities of Crime, of Misfortunes, of we were to show them a near, visible, Disease. These wicked Spirits naturally inevitable, but all-beneficent Deity, whose encouraged evil rather than good. An presence makes the earth itself a heaven, energetic friend of mine was sent to a I think there would be fewer deaf children district in India where smallpox was sitting in the market-place.” specially prevalent, and where one of the But it must not be supposed that those principal Temples was dedicated to the who doubt whether the ultimate truths of Goddess of that disease. He had the the Universe can be expressed in human people vaccinated, in spite of some opposi­ , words, or whether, even if they could, tion, and the disease disappeared, much we should be able to comprehend them, to the astonishment of the natives. But undervalue the importance of religious the priests of the Deity of Smallpox were ' study. Quite the contrary. Their doubts not disconcerted ; only they deposed the , arise not from pride, but from humility : Image of their discomfited Goddess, and ! not because they do not appreciate divine petitioned my friend for some emblem of . truth, but on the contrary because they himself which they might install in her doubt whether we can appreciate it stead. ' sufficiently, and are sceptical whether the We who are fortunate enough to live (infinite can be reduced to the finite. in this comparatively enlightened century We may be sure that whatever may be hardly realise how our ancestors suffered ■ right about religion, to quarrel over it from their belief in the existence of must be wrong. “ Let others wrangle,” mysterious and malevolent beings; how said St. Augustine, “I will wonder.” their life was embittered and overshadowed Those who suspend their judgment are by these awful apprehensions. not on that account sceptics, and it is As men, however, have risen in civilisa­ often those who think they know most, tion, their religion has risen with them; who are especially troubled by doubts they have by degrees acquired higher and anxiety. and purer conceptions of divine power. It was Wordsworth who wrote We are only just beginning to realise “ Great God, I had rather that a loving and merciful Father would A Pagan suckled in some ereed outworn ;he not resent honest error, not even perhaps So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, the attribution to him of such odious Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn.” injustice. Yet what can be clearer than In religion, as with children at night, it Christ’s teaching on this point. He is darkness and ignorance which create impressed over and over again on his disciples, that, as St. Paul expresses it, dread ; light and love cast out fear. In looking forward to the future we “ The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth may fairly hope with Ruskin that “the life.”1 “If,” says Ruskin, “for every rebuke charities of more and more widely ex­ that we utter of men’s vices, we put forth tended peace are preparing the way for a claim upon their hearts; if, for every a Christian Church which shall depend assertion of God’s demands from them, neither on ignorance for its continuance, we should substitute a display of His nor on controversy for its progress, but kindness to them; if side by side, with shall reign at once in light and love.” every warning of death, we could exhibit proofs and promises of immortality ; if, in fine, instead of assuming the being of an awful Deity, which men, though they cannot and dare not deny, are always unwilling, sometimes unable, to conceive : 1 2 Cor. in. 6. H �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART II because they fancied that pain was ordained under certain circumstances. CHAPTER XII We are told that in early Saxon days Edwin, King of Northumbria, called his THE HOPE OF PROGRESS nobles and his priests around him, to dis­ cuss whether a certain missionary should “ To what then may we not look forward, when a spirit of scientific inquiry shall have spread be heard or not. The result was doubtful. through those vast regions in which the progress But at last there rose an old chief, and said of civilisation, its sure precursor, is actually —“You know, 0 King, how, on a winter commenced and in active progress ? And what evening, when you are sitting at supper may we not expect from the exertions of powerful minds called into action under circumstances in your hall, with your company around totally different from any which have yet existed you, when the night is dark and dreary, in the world, and over an extent of territory far when the rain and the snow rage outside, surpassing that which has hitherto produced the when the hall inside is lighted and warm whole harvest of human intellect ?” with a blazing fire, sometimes it happens Herschel, that a sparrow flies into the bright hall There are two lines, if not more, in out of the dark night, flies through the which we may look forward with hope to hall and then out at the other end progress in the future. In the first place, into the dark night again. We see him increased knowledge of nature, of the for a few moments, but we know not properties of matter, and of the pheno­ whence he came nor whither he goes in mena which surround us, may afford to the blackness of the storm outside. So is our children advantages far greater even the life of man. It appears for a short than those which we ourselves enjoy. space in the warmth and brightness of Secondly, the extension and improvement this life, but what came before this life, of education, the increasing influence of or what is to follow this life, we know not. Science and Art, of Poetry and Music, If, therefore, these new teachers can en­ of Literature and Religion,—of all the lighten us as to the darkness that went powers which are tending to good, will, we before, and the darkness that is to come may reasonably hope, raise man and make after, let us hear what they have to teach him more master of himself, more able us.” It is often said, however, that great to appreciate and enjoy his advantages, and to realise the truth of the Italian and unexpected as recent discoveries proverb, that wherever light is, there is have been, there are certain ultimate problems which must ever remain un­ joy. One consideration which has greatly solved. For my part, I would prefer to tended to retard progress has been the abstain from laying down any such limita­ floating idea that there was some sort of tions. When Park asked the Arabs what ingratitude, and even impiety, in attempt­ became of the sun at night, and whether ing to improve on what Divine Providence the sun was always the same, or new each had arranged for us. Thus Prometheus day, they replied that such a question was was said to have incurred the wrath of foolish, being entirely beyond the reach Jove for bestowing on mortals the use of of human investigation. M. Comte, in his Cours de Philosophic fire ; and other discoveries only escaped similar punishment when the ingenuity of Positive, as recently as 1842, laid it down priests attributed them to the special as an axiom regarding the heavenly bodies, favour of some particular deity. This that’“we may hope to determine their feeling has not even yet quite died out. forms, distances, magnitude, and move­ Even I can remember tlie time when ments, but we shall never by any means be many excellent persons had a scruple or able to study their chemical composition prejudice against the use of chloroform, or mineralogical structure.” Yet within a �CHAP. XII THE HOPE OF PROGRESS few years this supposed impossibility has been actually accomplished, showing how unsafe it is to limit the possibilities of science.1 It is, indeed, as true now as in the time of Newton, that the great ocean of truth lies undiscovered before us. I often wish that some President of the Royal Society, or of the British Association, would take for the theme of his annual address “ The things we do not know.” Who can say on the verge of what discoveries we are perhaps even now standing ! It is extra­ ordinary how slight a barrier may stand for years between Man and some import­ ant improvement. Take the case of the electric light, for instance. It had been known for years that if a carbon rod be placed in an exhausted glass receiver, and a current of electricity be passed through it, the carbon glowed with an intense light, but on the other hand it became so hot that the glass burst. The light, there­ fore, was useless, because the lamp burst as soon as it was lit. Edison hit on the idea that if you made the carbon filament fine enough, you would get rid of the heat and yet have abundance of light. His right to a patent has been contested on this very ground. It has been said that the mere introduction of so small a difference as the replacement of a thin rod by a fine filament was so slight a change thaf it could not be patented. The improvements by LaneFox, Swan, and others, though so import­ ant as a whole, have been made step by step. Or take again the discovery of anaes­ thetics. At the beginning of the century Sir Humphry Davy discovered laughing gas, as it was then called. He found that it produced complete insensibility to pain and yet did not injure health. A tooth was actually taken out under its influence, and of course without suffering. These facts were known to our chemists, they were explained to the students in our jreat hospitals, and yet for half a century 1 Lubbock. Fifty Years of Science. 99 the obvious application occurred to no one. Operations continued to be per­ formed as before, patients suffered the same horrible tortures, and yet the bene­ ficent element was in our hands, its divine properties were known, but it never oc­ curred to any one to make use of it. I will only give one more illustration. Printing is generally said to have been discovered in the fifteenth century ; and so it was for all practical purposes. But in fact printing was known long before. The Romans used stamps; on the monu­ ments of the Assyrian kings the name of the reigning monarch may be found duly printed. What then is the difference ? One little, but all-important step. The real inventor of printing was the man into whose mind flashed the fruitful idea of having separate stamps for each letter, instead of for separate words. How slight seems the difference, and yet for 3000 years the thought occurred to no one. Who can tell what other discoveries, as simple and yet as farreaching, lie at this moment under our very eyes ! Archimedes said that if he had room to stand on, he would move the earth. One truth leads to another; each dis­ covery renders possible another, and, what is more, a higher. We are but beginning to realise the marvellous range and complexity of Na­ ture. I have elsewhere called attention to this with special reference to the prob­ lematical organs of sense possessed by many animals.1 There is every reason .to hope that future studies will throw much light on these interesting structures. We may, no doubt, expect much from the improve­ ment in our microscopes, the use of new reagents, and of mechanical appliances ; but the ultimate atoms of which matter is composed are so infinitesimally minute, that it is as yet difficult to foresee any manner in which we may hope for a final solution of these problems. 1 The Senses of A nimals. �ICO THE PLEASURES OF LIFE Loschmidt, who has since been con­ firmed by Stoney and Sir W. Thomson, calculates that each of the ultimate atoms of matter is at most •y0';b 00,000 °f an inch in diameter. Under these circum­ stances we cannot, it would seem, hope at present for any great increase of our knowledge of atoms by improvements in the microscope. With our present in­ struments we can perceive lines ruled on glass which are 90,000' °f an inch apart ; but owing to the properties of light itself, it would appear that we cannot hope to be able to perceive objects which are much less than y 0 q*0 0 0 °f an inch in diameter. Our microscopes may, no doubt, be improved, but the limitation lies not merely in the imperfection of our optical appliances, but in the nature of light itself. Now it has been calculated that a particle of albumen son) 00 an inch in diameter contains no less than 125,000,000 of molecules. In a simpler compound the number would be much greater ; in water, for instance, no less than 8,000,000,000. Even then, if wre could construct microscopes far more powerful than any which we now possess, they could not enable us to obtain by direct vision any idea of the ultimate organisation of matter. The smallest sphere of organic matter which could be clearly defined with our most powerful microscopes may be, and in all proba­ bility is, very complex ; it is built up of many millions of molecules, and it follows that there may be an almost infinite number of structural characters in organic tissues which we can at present foresee no mode of examining.1 Again, it has been shown that animals hear sounds which are beyond the range of our hearing, and I have proved that they can perceive the ultra-violet rays, which are invisible to our eyes.2 Now, as every ray of homogeneous 1 Lubbock. Fifty Years of Science. 2 Ants, Bees, and Wasps. PART II light which we can perceive at all, appears to us as a distinct color, it becomes probable that these ultra-violet rays must make themselves apparent to animals as a distinct and separate color (of which we can form no idea), but as different from the rest as red is from yellow, or green from violet. The question also arises whether white light to these creatures would differ from our white light in con­ taining this additional color. These considerations cannot but raise the reflection how different the world may—I was going to say must—appear to other animals from what it does to us. Sound is the sensation produced on us when the vibrations of the air strike on the drum of our ear. When they are few, the sound is deep; as they increase in number, it becomes shriller and shriller ; but before they reach 40,000 in a second, they cease to be audible. Light is the effect produced on us when waves of light strike on the eye. When 400 millions of millions of vibrations of ether strike the retina in a second, they give the sensation of red, and as the number increases the color passes into orange, then yellow, green, blue, and violet. But between 40,000 vibrations in a second and 400 millions of millions we have no organ of sense capable of receiving an impression. Yet between these limits any number of sensations may exist. We have five senses, and sometimes fancy that no others are possible. But it is obvious that we cannot measure the in­ finite by our own narrow limitations. Moreover, looking at the question from the other side, we find in animals complex organs of sense, richly supplied with nerves, but the function of which we are as yet powerless to explain. There may be fifty other senses as different from ours as sound is from sight; and even within the boundaries of our own senses there may be endless sounds which we cannot hear, and colors, as different as red from green, of which we have no conception. These and a thousand other questions remain for solution. The familiar world �CHAP. XII THE HOPE OF PROGRESS which surrounds us may be a totally different place to other animals. To them it may be full of music which we cannot hear, of color which we cannot see, of sensations which we cannot conceive. To place stuffed birds and beasts in glass cases, to arrange insects in cabinets, and dried plants in drawers, is merely the drudgery and preliminary of study ; to watch their habits, to understand their relations to one another, to study their instincts and intelligence, to ascertain their adaptations and their relations to the forces of Nature, to realise what the world appears to them ; these constitute, as it seems to me at least, the true interest of natural history, and may even give us the clue to senses and perceptions of which at present we have no conception.1 From this point of view the possi­ bilities of progress seem to me to be almost unlimited. So far again as the actual condition of man is concerned, the fact that there has been some advance cannot, I think, be questioned. In the Middle Ages, for instance, culture and refinement scarcely existed beyond the limits of courts, and by no means always there. The life in English, French, and German castles was rough and almost barbarous. Mr. Galton has expressed the opinion, which I am not prepared to question, that the population of Athens, taken as a whole, was as superior to us as we are to Australian savages. But even if that be so, our civilisation, such as it is, is more diffused, so that unquestionably the general Euro­ pean level is much higher. Much, no doubt, is owing to the greater facility of access to the literature of our country, to that literature, in the words of Macaulay, “ the brightest, the purest, the most durable of all the glories of our country ; to that Literature, so rich in precious truth and precious fiction; to that Literature which boasts of the prince of all poets, and of the prince of all 1 Lubbock. The, Senses of Animals. IOI philosophers; to that Literature which has exercised an influence wider than that of our commerce, and mightier than that of our arms.” Few of us, however, make the most of our minds. The body ceases to grow in a few years ; but the mind, if we will let it, may grow almost as long as life lasts. The onward progress of the future will not, we may be sure, be confined to mere material discoveries. We feel that we are on the road to higher mental powers ; that problems which now seem to us beyond the range of human thought will receive their solution, and open the way to still further advance. Progress, more­ over, wre may hope, will be not merely material, not merely mental, but moral also. It is natural that we should feel a pride in the beauty of England, in the size of our cities, the magnitude of our commerce, the wealth of our country, the vastness of our Empire. But the true glory of a nation does not consist in the extent of its dominion, in the fertility of the soil, or the beauty of Nature, but rather in the moral and intellectual pre­ eminence of the people. And yet how few of us, rich or poor, have made ourselves all we might be. If he does his best, as Shakespeare says, “ What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason ! How infinite in faculty ! in form and movement, how express and admirable ! ” Few indeed, as yet, can be said to reach this high ideal. The Hindoos have a theory that after death animals live again in a different form ; those that have done well in a higher, those that have done ill in a lower grade. To realise this is, they find, a powerful incentive to a virtuous life. But whether it be true of a future life or not, it is certainly true of our present existence. If we do our best for a day, the next morning we shall rise to a higher life ; while if we give way to our passions and temptations, we take with equal certainty a step downwards towards a lower nature. �y -y. #;■ ' u? UV ' “■ ■ ZAL? PLEASURES OF LIFE 102 It is an. interesting illustration, of the Unity of Man, and an encouragement to those of us who have no claims to genius, that, though of course there have been exceptions, still on the whole, periods of progress have generally been those when a nation has worked and felt together ; the advance has been due not entirely to the efforts of a few great men, but of their countrymen generally; not to a single genius, but to a national effort. Think, indeed, what might be. “All ! when shall all men’s good Be each man’s rule, and universal Peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro’ all the circle of the golden year ? ”1 Our life is surrounded with mystery, our very world is a speck in boundless space ; and not only the period of our own individual life, but that of the whole human race is, as it were, but a moment in the eternity of time. We cannot imagine any origin, nor foresee the con­ clusion. But though we may not as yet perceive any line of research which can give us a clue to the solution, in another sense we may hold that every addition to our knowledge is one small step towards the great revelation. Progress may be more slow, or more rapid. It may come to others and not to us. It will not come to us if we do not strive to deserve it. But come it surely will. “ Yet one thing is there that ye shall not slay, Even thought, that fire nor iron can affright?’2 The future of man is full of hope, and I who can foresee the limits of his destiny ?' 1 Tennyson. 2 Swinburne. PART II CHAPTER XIII THE DESTINY OF MAN “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”— Romans viii. 18. But though we have thus a sure and certain hope of progress for the race, still, as far as man is individually concerned, with advancing years we gradually care less and less for many things which gave us the keenest pleasure in youth. On the other hand, if our time has been well used, if we have warmed both hands wisely before the fire of life, we may gain even more than we lose. As our strength becomes less, we feel also the less necessity for exertion. Hope is gradually replaced by memory : and whether this adds to our happiness or not depends on what our life has been. There are of course some lives which diminish in value as old age advances ; in which one pleasure fades after another, and even those which remain gradually lose their zest; but there are others which gain in richness and in peace all, and more than, that of which time robs them. The pleasures of youth may excel in keenness and in zest, but they have at the best a tinge of anxiety and unrest ; they cannot have the fulness and depth which may accompany the consolations of age, and are amongst the richest rewards of an unselfish life. For as with the close of the day, so with that of life ; there may be clouds, and yet if the horizon is clear, the evening may be beautiful. Old age has a rich store of memories. Life is full of “Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.” 1 Swedenborg imagines that in heaven the angels are advancing continually to 1 Montgomery. �CHAP. XIII THE DESTINY OF MAN 103 Is it not extraordinary that many men will deliberately take a road which they , know is, to say the least, not that of happiness ? That they prefer to make others miserable, rather than themselves happy ? Plato, in the Phsedrus, explains this by describing Man as a Composite Being, “ Age cannot wither nor custom stale Their infinite variety.” having three natures, and compares him “ When I consider old age,” says Cicero, to a pair of winged horses and a charioteer. “I find four causes why it is thought “ Of the two horses one is noble and of miserable : one, that it calls us away from noble origin, the other ignoble and of the transaction of, affairs ; the second, ignoble origin ; and the driving, as might that it renders the body more feeble ; the be expected, is no easy matter.” The third, that it deprives us of almost all noble steed endeavours to raise the passions j the fourth, that it is not very chariot, but the ignoble one struggles to far from death. Of these causes let us drag it down. As time goes on, if the see, if you please, how great and how charioteer be wise and firm, the noble part of our nature will raise us more reasonable each of them is.” To be released from the absorbing and more. “Man,” says Shelley, “is an instru­ affairs of life, to feel that one has earned a claim to leisure and repose, is surely in ment over which a series of external and internal impressions are driven, like the itself no evil. To the second complaint against old alternations of an ever-changing wind age, I have already referred in speaking over an JEolian lyre, which move it by their motion to ever-changing melody.” of Health. The third is that it has no passions. Lastly, Cicero mentions the approach “ 0 noble privilege of age I if indeed it of death as the fourth drawback of old takes from us that which is in youth our age. To many minds the shadow of the greatest defect.” But our higher aspira­ end is ever present, like the coffin in the tions are not necessarily weakened ; or Egyptian feast, and overclouds all the rather, they may become all the brighter, sunshine of life. being purified from the grosser elements But ought we to regard death as an of our lower nature. evil ? Shelley’s beautiful lines, “Single,” says Manu, “is each man born into the world; single he dies j “ Life, like a Dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity ; single he receives the reward of his good Until death tramples it to fragments,” deeds ; and single the punishment of his sins. When he dies his body lies like a fallen tree upon the earth, but his virtue contain, as it seems to me at least, a accompanies his soul. Wherefore let Man double error. Life need not stain the harvest and garner Virtue, that so he white radiance of eternity ; nor does may have an inseparable companion in death necessarily trample it to fragments. Man has, says Coleridge, that gloom which all must pass through, and which it is so hard to traverse.” “Three treasures,—love and light Then, indeed, it might be said that And calm thoughts, regular as infants’ breath ; “ Man is the sun of the world ; more And three firm friends, more sure than day and than the real sun. The fire of his night, wonderful heart is the only light and Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death.’ heat worth gauge or measure.” 1 Death is “the end of all, the remedy 1 Emerson. the spring-time of their youth, so that those who have lived longest are really the youngest; and have we not all had friends who seem to fulfil this idea ? who are in reality—that is in mind—as fresh as a child : of whom it may be said with more truth than of Cleopatra that �THE PLEASURES OF LIFE 104 of many, the wish of divers men, deserv­ ing better of no men than of those to whom she came before she was called.” 1 After a stormy life, with death comes peace. ‘ ‘ Duncan is in his grave ; After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further.”'2 If death be final, then no one will ever know that he is dead. It is often, however, assumed that the journey to ‘ ‘ The undiscovered country from whose bourne No traveller returns ” must be one of pain and suffering. But this is not so. Death is often peaceful and almost painless. Bede during his last illness was trans­ lating St. John’s Gospel into AngloSaxon, and the morning of his death his secretary, observing his weakness, said, “ There remains now only one chapter, and it seems difficult to you to speak.” “It is easy,” said Bede ; “take your pen and write as fast as you can.” At the close of the chapter the scribe said, “ It is finished,” to which he replied, “ Thou hast said the truth, consummatum est.” He asked to be placed opposite to the place where he usually prayed, said “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,” and as he pronounced the last word he expired. Goethe died without any apparent suffering, having just prepared himself to write, and expressed his delight at the return of spring. We are told of Mozart’s death that “ the unfinished requiem lay upon the bed, and his last efforts were to imitate some peculiar instrumental effects, as he breathed out his life in the arms of his Wife and their friend Sussmaier.” Plato died in the act of writing; Lucan while reciting part of his book on the war of Pharsalus ; Blake died sing­ 1 Seneca. Shakespeare. PART II ing ; Wagner in sleep with his head on his wife’s shoulder. Many have passed away in their sleep. Various high medical authorities have expressed their surprise that the dying seldom feel either dismay or regret. And even those who perish by violence, as for instance in battle, feel, it is probable, but little suffering. But what of the future 1 There may be said to be now two principal views. Some believe in the immortality of the soul, but not of the individual soul: that our life is continued in that of our children would seem indeed to be the natural deduction from the simile of St. Paul, as that of the grain of wheat is carried on in the plant of the following year. So long as happiness exists, it is selfish to dwell too much on our own share in it. Admit that the soul is immortal, but that in the future state of existence there is a break in the continuity of memory, that one does not remember the present life ; will it in that case matter to us more what happens to the soul inhabiting our body, than what happens to any other soul ? And from this point of view is not the importance of identity involved in that of continuous memory ? But however this may be, according to the general view, the soul, though de­ tached from the body, will retain its conscious identity, and will awake from death, as it does from sleep ; so that if we cannot affirm that “ Millions of spiritual creatures walk the Earth, Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep,” 1 at any rate they exist somewhere else in space, and we are indeed looking at them when we gaze at the stars, though to our eyes they are as yet invisible. In neither case, however, can death be regarded as an evil. To wish that health and strength were unaffected by time might be a different matter. 1 Milton. �THE DESTINY OF MAN CHAP. XIII “But if we are not destined to be immortal, yet it is a desirable thing for a man to expire at his fit time. For, as nature prescribes a boundary to all other things, so does she also to life. Now old age is the consummation of life, just as of a play : from the fatigue of which we ought to escape, especially when satiety is superadded.” 1 From this point of view, then, we need “ Weep not for death, ’Tis but a fever stilled, A pain suppressed,—a fear at rest, A solemn hope fulfilled. The moonshine on the slumbering deep Is scarcely calmer. Wherefore weep ? 105 “ We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.” 1 According to the more general view death frees the soul from the encumbrance of the body, and summons us to the seat of judgment. In fact, “ There is no Death ! What seems so is transi­ tion ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of that life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.” 2 We have bodies, we are spirits. “ I am a soul,” said Epictetus, “ dragging about a corpse.” The body is the mere perish­ able form of the immortal essence. Plato “ Weep not for death ! ! concluded that if the ways of God are to The fount of tears is sealed, be justified, there must be a future life. Who knows how bright the inward light To those closed eyes revealed ? To the aged in either case death is a Who knows what holy love may fill release. The Bible dwells most forcibly The heart that seems so cold and still.” on the blessing of peace. “ My peace I Many a weary soul will have recurred give unto you : not as the ■world giveth, give I unto you.” Heaven is described with comfort to the thought that I as a place where the wicked cease from “ A few more years shall roll, | troubling, and the weary are at rest. A few more seasons come, But I suppose every one must have And we shall be with those that rest asked himself in what can the pleasures Asleep within the tomb. of heaven consist. “ A few more struggles here. A few more partings o’er, A few more toils, a few more tears, And we shall weep no more.” “ For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is that they sing, and that they love.” 3 By no one has this, however, been It would indeed accord with few men’s more grandly expressed than by Shelley. ideal that there should be any “struggle for existence ” in heaven. We should then “ Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not be little better off than we are now. This sleep 1 world is very beautiful, if we would only He hath awakened from the dream of life. enjoy it in peace. And yet mere passive ’Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, existence—mere vegetation—would in He has outsoared the shadows of our night. itself offer few attractions. It would Envy and calumny, and hate and pain, indeed be almost intolerable. And that unrest which men miscall delight, Again, the anxiety of change seems Can touch him not and torture not again. From the contagion of the world’s slow stain inconsistent with .perfect happiness ; and He is secure, and now can never mourn I yet a wearisome, interminable monotony, A heart grown cold, a head grown gray, in 1 the same thing over and over again for vain—” ever and ever without relief or variety, Most men, however, decline to believe I suggests dulness rather than delight. that 1 Cicero. 1 Shakespeare. 2 Longfellow. 3 Waller. �106 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART II “For still the doubt came back,—Can God misconceiving us, or being harassed by us : provide —of glorious work to do, and adequate For the large heart of man what shall not faculties to do it—-a world of solved pall, problems, as well as of realised ideals.” Nor through eternal ages’ endless tide On tired spirits fall ? | Cicero surely did not exaggerate when he said, “ 0 glorious day ! when I shall depart to that divine company and assem­ blage of spirits, and quit this troubled and polluted scene. For I shall go not only to those great men of whom I have spoken “ What shall the eyes that wait for him survey When his own presence gloriously appears before, but also to my dear Cato, than whom never was better man born, nor In worlds that were not founded for a day, But for eternal years ? ” 1 more distinguished for pious affection; whose body was burned by me, whereas, Here Science seems to suggest a on the contrary, it was fitting that mine possible answer : the solution of problems should be burned by him. But his soul which have puzzled us here; the acqui­ not deserting me, but oft looking back, no sition of new ideas ; the unrolling the doubt departed to these regions whither it history of the past; the world of animals saw that I myself was destined to come. and plants; the secrets of space; the Which, though a distress to me, I seemed wonders of the stars and of the regions patiently to endure : not that I bore it beyond the stars. To become acquainted with indifference, but I comforted myself with all the beautiful and interesting spots with the recollection that the separation of our own world would indeed be some­ and distance between us would not con­ thing to look forward to—and our world tinue long. For these reasons, O Scipio is but one of many millions. I some­ (since you said that you with Laelius were times ■wonder as I look away to the stars accustomed to wonder at this), old age is at night whether it will ever be my tolerable to me, and not only not irksome, privilege as a disembodied spirit to visit but even delightful. And if I am wrong and explore them. When we had made in this, that I believe the souls of men to the great tour fresh interests would have be immortal, I willingly delude myself: arisen, and we might well begin again. nor do I desire that this mistake, in Here then is an infinity of interest which I take pleasure, should be wrested without anxiety. So that at last the only from me as long as I live ; but if I, when doubt may be dead, shall have no consciousness, as some narrow-minded philosophers imagine, I do “ Lest an eternity should not suffice To take the measure and the breadth and not fear lest dead philosophers should height ridicule this my delusion.” Of what there is reserved in Paradise Nor can I omit the striking passage Its ever-new delight.”2 in the Apology, when, defending himself I feel that to me, said Greg, “ God has before the people of Athens, Socrates says, promised not the heaven of the ascetic “ Let us reflect in another way, and we temper, or the dogmatic theologian, or of shall see that there is great reason to hope the subtle mystic, or of the stern martyr that death is a good ; for one of two ready alike to inflict and bear ; but a things—either death is a state of nothing­ heaven of purified and permanent affec­ ness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men tions—of a book of knowledge with eternal say, there is a change and migration of leaves, and unbounded capacities to read the soul from this world to another. it—of those we love ever round us, never Now if you suppose that there is no con­ sciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by dreams, 1 Trench. 2 Ibid. “ These make him say,—If God has so arrayed A fading world that quickly passes by, Such rich provision of delight has made For every human eye, �CHAP. XIII THE DESTINY OF MAN 107 death will be an unspeakable gain. For' to death for asking questions1; assuredly if a person were to select the night in not. For besides being happier in that which his sleep was undisturbed by world than in this, they will be immortal, dreams, and were to compare with this if what is said be true. the other days and nights of his life, and ’ “ Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer then were to tell us how many days and about death, and know of a certainty nights he had passed in the course of his that no evil can happen to a good man, life better and more pleasantly than this either in life or after death. He and his one, I think that no man, I will not say a are not neglected by the gods ; nor has private man, but not even the Great my own approaching end happened by King, will find many such days or nights, mere chance. But I see clearly that to when compared with the others. Now, die and be released was better for me; if death is like this, I say that to die is and therefore the oracle gave no sign. gain ; for eternity is then only a single For which reason, also, I am not angry night. But if death is the journey to with my condemners, or with my accusers ; another place, and there, as men say, they have done me no harm, although all the dead are, what good, 0 my they did not mean to do me any good ; friends and judges, can be greater than and for this I may gently blame them. The hour of departure has arrived, and this ? “ If, indeed, when the pilgrim arrives in we go our ways—I to die and you to the world below, he is delivered from the live. Which is better God only knows.’’ professors of justice in this world, and , In the Wisdom of Solomon we are finds the true judges, who are said to promised that— give judgment there,—Minos, and Rhada“ The souls of the righteous are in the manthus, and yEacus, and Triptolemus, hand of God, and there shall no torment and other sons of God who were righteous touch them. in their own life,—that pilgrimage will “ In the sight of the unwise they indeed be worth making. What would seemed to die ; and their departure is not a man give if he might converse with taken for misery. Orpheus, and Musseus, and Hesiod, and “ And their going from us to be utter Homer ? Nay, if this be true, let me die destruction ; but they are in peace. again and again. I myself, too, shall have “ For though they be punished in the a wonderful interest in there meeting and sight of men, yet is their hope full of conversing with Palamedes, and Ajax the immortality. son of Telamon, and other heroes of old, “ And having been a little chastised, who have suffered death through an unjust they shall be greatly rewarded : for God judgment ; and there will be no small proved them, and found them worthy for pleasure, as I think, in comparing my own himself.” sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall And assuredly, if in the hour of death then be able to continue my search into the conscience is at peace, the mind need true and false knowledge ; as in this I not be troubled. The future is full of world, so also in that ; and I shall find doubt, indeed, but fuller still of hope. out who is wise, and who pretends to be If we are entering upon a rest after the wise, and is not. What would not a man struggles of life, give, O judges, to be able to examine the , leader of the great Trojan expedition; | “ Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest,” or Odysseus or Sisyphus, or numberless ; others, men and women too 1 What in­ that to many a weary soul will be a finite delight would there be in conversing with them and asking them questions. 1 Referring to the cause of his own condemna­ In another world they do not put a man tion. �108 THE PLEASURES OF LIFE PART II welcome bourne, and even then we may read and enjoyed, but those also whom say, we have loved and lost; when we shall “ 0 Death ! where is thy sting ? leave behind us the bonds of the flesh and 0 Grave ! where is thy victory ? ” the limitations of our earthly existence ; On the other hand, if, trusting humbly when we shall join the Angels, the Arch­ but confidently in the goodness of an angels, and all the company of Heaven,— Almighty and loving Father, we are then, indeed, we may cherish a sure and entering on a new sphere of existence, certain hope that the interests and where we may look forward to meet not pleasures of this world are as nothing, only those Great Men of whom we have compared to those of the life that awaits heard so much, those whose works we have us in our Eternal Home. 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Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. Is. (Swan Sonnenschein � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The pleasures of life Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 108, [4] p. ; 22 cm. Notes: Publisher's list and advertisements on unnumbered pages at the begining and end. Paper covers. Pictorial cover - portrait of author. Includes bibliographical references. Printed in double columns. Advertisements on preliminary pages and unnumbered pages at the end. Contents: Part 1: The duty of happiness -- The happiness of duty -- A song of books -- The choice of books -- The blessing of friends -- The value of time -- The pleasures of travel -- The pleasures of home -- Science -- Education. Part 2: Ambition -- Wealth -- Health -- Love -- Art -- Poetry -- Music -- The beauties of nature -- The troubles of life -- Labour and rest -- Religion -- The hope of progress -- The destiny of man. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Lubbock, John Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1899 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Macmillan and Co. Limited Subject The topic of the resource Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (The pleasures of life), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span> Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G2829 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conduct of life Education Health Life Work https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/7f7f24b89e9150fc424daa10ba05a02c.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=aO6WVJmYADpXfUknfX273oGuqT0QTa%7EBjT96griYquoJhmb3lhneL85H9uaq3NqKNEN2ivDDc%7EPig8kMnYzxY9iqMZs9%7EnK%7E-x-mQrokwtC4S8EUc-BHbgNK9FTA-Stkz6sqYh-CwoxVdxFP2WmAqkwxsKaPe63G6Xh%7E%7EwIViGCHxMbMCPs8RazSwn%7E4nUXfT6QQAPLsb9FQG1MEERR1ryolO28HNtgskYb-A7uC%7Ensrs9F0eZ1SjTLgv5DqclwHJnv5GZH88wuQBL%7EAlNDfAXU9QVwNrZskXpZYX1H7ZXmKnTkfxJ1TLczxDTu8yMncib%7EWFntDLEBpnysM7bNi1Q__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 74551aa0e2ca5907a96516870a093f8c PDF Text Text THE JOURNAL OF ' SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY. Vol. £ ~ 18 6 7. ■ No. 1. TO THE READER. For the reason that a journal devoted exclusively to the interests of Speculative Philosophy is a rare phenomenon in the English language, some words may reason­ ably be expected from the Editors upon the scope and design of the present under­ taking. There is no need, it is presumed, to speak of the immense religious movements now going on in this country and in Eng­ land. The tendency to break with the traditional, and to accept only what bears for the soul its own justification, is widely active, and can end only in the demand that Reason shall find and establish a phil­ osophical basis for all those great ideas which are taught as religious dogmas. Thus it is that side by side with the naturalism of such men as Renan, a school of mystics is beginning to spring up who prefer to ignore utterly all historical wrappages, and cleave only to the speculative kernel itself. The vortex between the traditional faith and the intellectual conviction cannot be closed by renouncing the latter, but only by deepen­ ing it to speculative insight. Likewise it will be acknowledged that the national consciousness has moved for­ ward on to a new platform during the last few years. The idea underlying our form of government had hitherto developed only one of its essential phases—that of brittle individualism—in which national unity seemed an external mechanism, soon to be entirely dispensed with, and the enterprise of the private man or of the corporation substituted for it. Now we have arrived at the consciousness of the other essential phase, and each individual recognizes his substantial side to be the State as such. The freedom of the citizen does not consist in the mere Arbitrary, but in the realization of the rational convic­ tion tvhich finds expression in established law. That this new phase of national life demands to be digested and comprehended, is a further occasion for the cultivation of the Speculative. More ’significant still is the scientific revolution, working out especially in the domain of physics. The day of simple empiricism is past, and with the doctrine of “ Correlation of forces ” there has arisen a stage of reflection that deepens rapidly into the purely speculative. For the fur­ ther elucidation of this important point the two following articles have been prepared. It is hoped that the first one will answer more definitely the question now arising in the mind of the reader, “ What is this Speculative Knowing of which you speak ?” and that the second one will show whither Natural Science is fast hastening. With regard to the pretensions of this Journal, its editors know well how much its literary conduct will deserve censure and need apology. They hope that the substance will make up in some degree for deficiencies in form; and, moreover, they expect to improve in this respect through experience and the kind criticisms of friends. �2 The Speculative. THE SPECULATIVE. “ We need what Genius is unconsciously seeking, and, by some daring generalization of the universe, shall assuredly discover, a spiritual calculus, a Novum Organon, whereby nature shall be divined in the soul, the soul in God, matter in spirit, polarity resolved into unity; and that power which pulsates in all life, animates and builds all organizations, shall manifest itself as one universal deific energy, present alike at the outskirts and centre of the universe, whose centre ana circumference are one; omniscient, omnipotent, self-subsisting, uncontained, yet containing all things in the unbroken synthesis of its being.”—(“Calculus,” one of Alcott’s “Orphic Sayings.”) At the end of the sixth book of Plato’s Republic, after a characterization of the two grades of sensuous knowing and the grade of the understanding, (i which is obliged to set out from hypotheses, for the reason that it does not deal with principles but only with results,” we find the specu­ lative grade of knowing characterized as <£ that in which the soul, setting out from an hypothesis, proceeds to an unhypothetical principle, and makes its way without the aid of [sensuous] images, but solely through ideas themselves.” The mathe­ matical procedure which begins by hy­ pothecating definitions, axioms, postulates, and the like, which it never examines nor attempts to deduce or prove, is the exam­ ple given by Plato of the method of theUnderstanding, while he makes the specula­ tive Reason “ to posit hypotheses by the Dialectic, not as fixed principles, but only as starting points, in order that, by remov­ ing them, it may arrive at the unhypothetical—the principle of the universe.” This most admirable description is fully endorsed by Aristotle, and firmly estab­ lished in a two-fold manner : 1. In the Metaphysics (xi. 7) he shows ontologically, starting with motion as an hypothesis, that the self-moved is the first principle ; and this he identifies with the speculative, and the being of God. 2. In the De Anima (iii. 5-8) he dis­ tinguishes psychologically the “ active in­ tellect” as the highest form of knowing, as that which is its own object, (subject and object,) and hence as containing its own end and aim in itself—as being infin­ ite. He identifies this with the Specula­ tive result, which he found ontologically as the Absolute. Spinoza in his Ethics (Prop. xl. Scbol. ii., and Prop, xliv., Cor. ii. of Part II.) has well described the Speculative, which he names C{ Scienlia intuiliva,” as the thinking of things under the form of eter­ nity, (De natura rationis est res sub quadam specie ceternitatis percipere.) Though great diversity is found in re­ spect to form and systematic exposition among the great philosophers, yet there is the most complete unanimity, not only with respect to the transcendency of the Speculative, but also with reference to the content of its knowing. If the reader of different systems of Philosophy has in himself achieved some degree of Specula­ tive culture, he will at every step be de­ lighted and confirmed at the agreement of what, to the ordinary reader, seem irrecon­ cilable statements. Not only do speculative writers agree among themselves as to the nature of things, and the destiny of man and the world, but their results furnish us in the form of pure thought what the artist has wrought out in the form of beauty. Whether one tests architecture, sculpture, painting, music or poetry, it is all the same. Goethe has said: “As all Nature’s thousand changes But one changeless God proclaim ; So in Art’s wide kingdoms ranges One sole meaning, still the same: This is Truth, eternal Reason, Which from Beautj' takes its dress, And serene, through time and season, Stands for aye in loveliness.” While Art presents this content to the senses, Religion offers it to the conception in the form of a dogma to be held by faith ; the deepest Speculative truth is allegori­ cally typified in a historical form, so that it acts upon the mind partly through fan­ tasy and partly through the understand­ ing. Thus Religion presents the same content as Art and Philosophy, but stands between them, and forms a kind of middle �The Speculative. ground upon which the purification takes place. “ It is the purgatory between the Inferno of Sense and the Paradise of Rea­ son.” Its function is mediation ; a contin­ ual degrading of the sensuous and exter­ nal, and an elevation to the supersensual and internal. The transition of Religion into Speculative Philosophy is found in the mystics. Filled with the profound significance of religious symbolism, and seeing in it the explanation of the uni­ verse, they essay to communicate their in­ sights. But the form of Science is not yet attained by them. They express themselves, not in those universal catego­ ries that the Spirit of the Race has formed in language for its utterance, but they <have recourse to symbols more or less in­ adequate because ambiguous, and of insuf­ ficient universality to stand for the arche­ types themselves. Thus “ Becoming ” is the most pure germinal archetype, and be­ longs therefore to logic, or the system of pure thought, and it has correspondences on concrete planes, as e. g., time, motion, life, fyc. Now if one o^. these concrete terms is used for the pure logical category, we have mysticism. The alchemists, as shown by a genial writer of our day, use the technique of their craft to express the profound mysteries of spirit and its regen­ eration. The Eleusinian and other mys­ teries do the like. While it is one of the most inspiring things connected with Speculative Philo­ sophy to discover that the “ Open Secret of the Universe” has been read by so many, and to see, under various expres­ sions, the same meaning ; yet it is the highest problem of Speculative Philoso­ phy to seize a method that is adequate to the expression of the “ Secret;” for its (the content’s) own method of genetic de­ velopment must be the only adequate one. Hence it is that we can classify philosophic systems by their success in seizing the content which is common to Art and Re­ ligion, as well as to Philosophy, in such a manner as to allow its free evolution ; to have as little in the method that is merely formal or extraneous to the idea itself. The rigid formalism of Spinoza—though manipulated by a clear speculative spirit— 3 is inadequate to the unfolding of its con­ tent ; for how could the mathematical method, which is that of quantity or ex­ ternal determinations alone, ever suffice to unfold those first principles which attain to the quantitative only in their result? In this, the profoundest of subjects, we always find in Plato light for the way. Al­ though he has not given us complete ex­ amples, yet he has pointed out the road of the true Speculative method in a way not to be mistaken. Instead of setting out with first principles presupposed as true, by which all is to be established, (as math­ ematics and 6uch sciences do), he asserts that the first starting points must be re­ moved as inadequate. We begin with the immediate, which is utterly insufficient, and exhibits itself as such. We ascend to a more adequate, by removing the first hypothesis ; and this process repeats itself until we come to the first principle, which of course bears its own evidence in this, that it is absolutely universal and abso­ lutely determined at the same time; in other words it is the self-determining, the “self-moved,” as Plato and Aristotle call it. It is its own other, and hence it is the true infinite, for it is not limited but con­ tinued by its other. From this peculiarity results the difficul­ ty of Speculative Philosophy. The unused mind, accepting with naivete' the first pro­ position as settled, finds itself brought, into confusion when this is contradicted, and condemns the whole procedure. The irony of Socrates, that always begins by positing the ground of his adversary, and reducing it through its own inadequateness to contradict itself, is of this character, and the unsophisticated might say, and do say: “ See how illogical is Socrates, for he sets out to establish something, and ar­ rives rather at the destruction of it.” The reductio ad absardum is a faint imita­ tion of the same method. It is not suffi­ cient to prove your own system by itself, for each of the opposing systems can do that; but you must show that any and all counter-hypotheses result in your own. God makes the wrath of men to praise Him, and all imperfect things must con­ tinually demonstrate the perfect, for the �4 The. Speculative. reason that they do not exist by reason of their defects, but through what of truth there is in them, and the imperfection is continually manifesting the want of the perfect. ££ Spirit,” says Hegel, ££ is selfcontained being. But matter, which is spirit outside of itself, [turned inside out,] continually manifests this, its inadequacy, through gravity—attraction to a central point beyond each particle. (If it could get at this central point, it would have no extension, and hence would be anni­ hilated.)” The soul of this method lies in the com­ prehension of the negative. In that won­ derful expose of the importance of the negative, which Plato gives in the Par­ menides and Sophist, we see how justly he appreciated its true place in Philoso­ phic Method. Spinoza’s “ omnis determinatio est negatio ” is the most famous of modern statements respecting the nega­ tive, and has been very fruitful in re­ sults. One would greatly misunderstand the Speculative view of the negative should he take it to mean, as some have done, ee that the negative is as essential as the positive.” For if they are two indepen­ dent somewhats over against each other, having equal validity, then all unity of system is absolutely impossible—we can have only the Persian Ahriman and Ormuzd ; nay, not even these—for unless there is a primal unity, a “ Zeruane-Akerene”—the uncreated one, these are im­ possible as opposites, for there can be no tension from which the strife should pro­ ceed. The Speculative has insight into the constitution of the positive out of the negative. “ That which has the form of Being,” says Hegel, £‘ is the self-related ;” but relation of all kinds is negation, and hence whatever has the form of being and is a positive somewhat, is a self-related negative. Those three stages of culture in knowing, talked of by Plato and Spinoza, may be characterized in a new way by their relation to this concept. The first stage of consciousness—that of immediate or sensuous knowing—seizes objects by themselves—isolatedly—without their relations ; each seems to have valid­ ity in and for itself, and to be wholly pos­ itive and real. The negative is the mere absence of the real thing ; and it utterly ignores it in its scientific activity. But the second stage traces relations, and finds that things do not exist in imme­ diate independence, but that each is re­ lated to others, and it comes to say that ££ Were a grain of sand to be destroyed, the universe would collapse.” It is a necessary consequent to the previous stage, for the reason that so soon as the first stage gets over its childish engrossment with the novelty of variety, and attempts to seize the individual thing, it finds its characteristic marks or properties. But these consist invariably of relations to other things, and it learns that these prop­ erties, without which the thing could have no distinct existence, are the very destruction of its independence, since they are its complications with other things. In this stage the negative has entered and has full sway. For all that was before firm and fixed, is now seen to be, not through itself, but through others, and hence the being of everything is its nega­ tion. For if this stone exists only through its relations to the sun, which is not the stone but something else, then the being of this stone is its own negation. But the second stage only reduces all to depend­ ence and finitude, and does net show us how any real, true, or independent being can be found to exist. It holds fast to the stage of mediation alone, just as the first stage held by the immediate. But the dialectic of this position forces it over into the third. If things exist only in their relations, and relations are the negatives of things, then all that appears positive—all being— must rest upon negation. How is this? The negative is essentially a relative, but since it is the only substrate (for all is relative), it can relate only to itself. But self-relation is always identity, and here we have the solution of the previous diffi­ culty. All positive forms, all forms of im­ mediateness or being, all forms of identity, are self-relatiops, consisting of a negative �The Speculative, or relative, relating to itself. But the most wonderful side of this, is the fact that since this relation is that of the negative, it negates itself in its very relation, and hence its identity is a producing of non­ identity. Identity and distinction are produced by the self-same process, and thus self-determination is the origin of all identity and distinction likewise. This is the speculative stand-point in its com­ pleteness. It not only possesses specula­ tive content, but is able to evolve a spec­ ulative system likewise. It is not only conscious of the principles, but of their method, and thus all is transparent. To suppose that this may be made so plain that one shall see it at first sight, would be the height of absurdity. Doubt­ less far clearer expositions can be made of this than those found in Plato or Proclus, or even in Fichte and Ilegel; but any and every exposition must incur the same difficulty, viz : The one who masters it must undergo a thorough change in his innermost. The í( Palingenesia” of the intellect is as essential as the “ regenera­ tion of the heart,” and is at bottom the same thing, as the mystics teach us. But this great difference is obvious su­ perficially : In religious regeneration it seems the yielding up of the self to an alien, though beneficent, power, while in philosophy it seems the complete identifi­ cation of one’s self with it. He, then, who would ascend into the thought of the best thinkers the world has seen, must spare no pains to elevate his thinking to the plane of pure thought. •The completest discipline for this may be found in Hegel’s Logic. Let one not de­ spair, though he seem to be baffled seventy and seven times; his earnest and vigorous assault is repaid by surprisingly increased strength of mental acumen which he will be assured of, if he tries his powers on lower planes after his attack has failed on the highest thought. These desultory remarks on the Specu­ lative, may be closed with a few illustra­ tions of whSt has been said of the negative. I. Everything must have limits that mark it off from other things, and these limits are its negations, in which it ceases. 5 II. It must likewise have qualities which distinguish it from others, but these likewise are negatives in the sense that they exclude it from them. Its determin­ ing by means of qualities is the making it not this and not that, but exactly what it is. Thus the affirmation of anything is at the same time the negation of others. III. Not only is the negative manifest in the above general and abstract form, but its penetration is more specific. Ev­ erything has distinctions from others in general, but also from its other. Sweet is opposed not only to other properties in general, as white, round, soft, etc.,s but to its other, or sour. So, too, white is opposed to black, soft to hard, heat to cold, etc., and in general a positive thing to a negative thing. In this kind of rela­ tive, the negative is more essential, for it seems to constitute the intimate nature of the opposites, so that each is reflected in the other. IV. More remarkable are the appear­ ances of the negative in nature. The elementyire is a negative which destroys the form of the combustible. It reduces or­ ganic substances to inorganic elements, and is that which negates the organic. Air is another negative element. It acts upon all terrestrial elements ; upon water, converting it into invisible vapor; upon metals, reducing them to earths through corrosion—eating up iron to form rust, rotting wood into mould—destructive or negative alike to the mineral and vegetable world, like fire, to which it has a speculative affinity. The grand type of all negatives in nature, such as air and fire, is Time, the great devourer, and archetype of all changes and movements in nature. Attraction is another appearance of the negative. It is a manifestation in some body of an es­ sential connection with another which is not it; or rather it is an embodied selfcontradiction : “that other (the sun) which is not me (the earth) is my true being.” Of course its own being is its own negation, then. Thus, too, the plant is negative to the inorganic—it assimilates it; the animal is negative to the vegetable world. �6 Herbert Spencer. As we approach these higher forms of negation, we see the negative acting against itself, and this constitutes a pro­ cess. The food that life requires, which it negates in the process of digestion, and assimilates, is, in the life process, again negated, eliminated from the organism, and replaced by new elements. A nega­ tion is made, and this is again negated. But the higher form of negation appears in the generic ; “ The species lives and the individual dies.” The generic continually transcends the individual—going forth to new individuals and deserting the old— a process of birth and decay, both nega­ HERBERT CHAPTER I. THE CRISIS IN NATURAL SCIENCE. During the past twenty years a revolu­ tion has been working in physical science. Within the last ten it has come to the sur­ face, and is now rapidly spreading into all departments of mental activity. Although its centre is to be found in the doctrine of the £-'Correlation of Forces,” it would be a narrow view that counted only the expounders of this doctrine, numerous as they are; the spirit of this movement inspires a heterogeneous multitude—Car­ penter, Grove, Mayer, Faraday, Thompson, Tyndall and Helmholtz ; Herbert Spencer, Stuart Mill, Buckle, Draper, Lewes, Lecky, Max Muller, Marsh, Liebig, Darwin and Agassiz ; these names, selected at random, are suggested on account of the extensive circulation of their books. Every day the press announces some new name in this field of research. What is the character of the old which is displaced, and of the new which gets established ? By way of preliminary, it must be re­ marked that there are observable in mod­ ern times three general phases of culture, more or less historic. The first phase is thoroughly dogmatic: it accepts as of like validity metaphysical tive processes. In conscious Spirit both are united in one movement. The generic here enters the individual as pure ego— the undetermined possibility of all deter­ minations. Since it is. undetermined, it is negative to all special deter­ minations. But this ego not only exists as subject, but also as objeet—a process of self-determination or self-negation. And this negation or particularization contin­ ually proceeds from one object to another, and remains conscious under the whole, not dying, as the mere animal does, in the transition from individual to individual. This is the aperçu of Immortality. SPENCER. abstractions, and empirical observations. It has not arrived at such a degree of clearness as to perceive contradictions be­ tween form and content. For the most part, it is characterized by a reverence for external authority. With the revival of learning commences the protest of spirit against this phase. Descartes and Lord Bacon begin the contest, and are followed by the many — Locke, Newton, Leibnitz, Clark, and the rest. All are animated with the spirit of that time — to come to the matter in hand without so much mediation. Thought wishes to rid itself of its fetterB ; religious sentiment, to get rid of forms. This reaction against the former stage, which has been called by Hegel the meta­ physical, finds a kind of climax in the in­ tellectual movement just preceding the French revolution. Thought no longer is contented to say “ Cogito, ergo sum,” ab­ stractly, but applies the doctrine in all di­ rections, “I think; in that deed, I am.” “ I am a man only in so far as I think. In so far as I think, I am an essence. What I get from others is not mine. What I can comprehend, or dissolve in my reason, that is mine.” It looks around and spies insti­ tutions—“ clothes of spirit,” as Herr Tcufelsdroeck calls them. “ What are you doing here, you sniveling priest ?” says Voltaire: “you are imposing delusions �Herbert Spencer. upon society for your own aggrandizement. I had no part or lot in making the church ; cogito, ergo sum; I will only have over me what I put there !” “ I see that all these complications of society are artificial,” adds Rousseau; “man has made them ; they are not good, and let us tear them down and make anew.” These utterances echo all over France and Europe. “ The state is merely a machine by which the few exploiter the many”—“ off with crowns !” Thereupon they snatch off the crown of poor Louis, and his head follows with it. “Reason” is enthroned and dethroned. Thirty years of war satiates at length this negative sec­ ond period, and the third phase begins. Its characteristic is to be constructive, not to accept the heritage of the past with pas­ sivity, noi’ wantonly to destroy, but to realize itself in the world of objectivity— the world of laws and institutions. The first appearance of the second phase of consciousness is characterized by the grossest inconsistencies. It says in gene­ ral, (see D’Holbach’s “ Systeme de la Na­ ture”: “The immediate, only, is true; what we know by our senses, alone has reality ; all is matter and force.” But in this utterance it is unconscious that matter and force are purely general concepts, and not objects of immediate consciousness. What we see and feel is not matter or force in general, but only some special form. The self-refutation of this phase may be exhibited as follows : I. “What is known is known through the senses : it is matter and force.” II. But by the senses, the particular only is perceived, and this can never be matter, but merely a form. The general is a medi­ ated result, and not an object of the senses. III. Hence, in positing matter and force as the content of sensuous knowing, they unwittingly assert mediation to be the content of immediateness. The decline of this period of science re­ sults from the perception of the contradic­ tion involved. Kant was the first to show this; his labors in this field may be summed up thus; The universal and necessary is not an empirical result. (General laws cannot be 7 sensuously perceived.) The constitution of the mind itself, furnishes the ground for it :—first, we have an a priori basis (time and space) necessarily presupposed as the condition of all sensuous perception ; and then we have categories presupposed as the basis of every generalization whatever. Utter any general proposition : for example the one above quoted—“ all is matter and force”—and you merely posit two cate­ gories— Inherence and Causality — as ob­ jectively valid. In all universal and neces­ sary propositions we announce only the subjective conditions of experience, and not anything in and for itself true (i. e. applicable to things in themselves). At once the popular side of this doctrine began to take effect. il We know only phe­ nomena; the true object in itself we do not know.” This doctrine of phenomenal knowing was outgrown in Germany at the com­ mencement of the present century. In 1791—ten years after the publication of the Critique of Pure Reason—the deep spirit of Fichte began to generalize Kant’s labors, and soon he announced the legiti­ mate results of the doctrine. Schelling and Hegel completed the work of trans­ forming what Kant had left in a negative state, into an affirmative system of truth. The following is an outline of the refuta­ tion of Kantian scepticism : I. Kant reduces all objective knowledge to phenomenal : we furnish the form of knowing, and hence whatever we announce in general concerning it—and all that we call science has, of course, the form of generality—is merely our subjective forms, and does not belong to the thing in itself. II. This granted, say the later philoso­ phers, it follows that the subjective swal­ lows up all and becomes itself the univer­ sal (subject and object of itself), and hence Reason is the true substance of the universe. Spinoza’s substance is thus seen to become subject. We partake of God as intellectually seeing, and we see only God as object, which Malebranche and Berkeley held with other Platonists. 1. The categories (e. g. Unity, Reality, Causality, Existence, etc.) being merely subjective, or given by the constitution of �8 Herbert Spencer. the mind itself—for such universals are presupposed by all experience, and hence not derived from it—it follows : 2. If we abstract what we know to be subjective, that we abstract all possibility of a thing in itself, too. For “ existence” is a category, and hence if subjective, we may reasonably conclude that nothing ob­ jective can have existence. 3. Hence, since one category has no pre­ ference over another, and we cannot give one of them objectivity without granting it to all others, it follows that there can be no talk of noumena, or of things in them­ selves, existing beyond the reach of the mind, for such talk merely applies what it pronounces to be subjective categories, (existence) while at the same time it de­ nies the validity of their application. III. But since we remove the supposed “ noumena,” the so-called phenomena are not opposed any longer to a correlate be­ yond the intelligence, and the noumenon proves to be mind itself. An obvious corollary from this is, that by the self-determination of mind in pure thinking we shall find the fundamental laws of all phenomena. Though the Kantian doctrine soon gave place in Germany to deeper insights, it found its way slowly to other countries. Comte and Sir Wm. Hamilton have made the negative results very widely known— the former, in natural science ; the latter, in literature and philosophy. Most of the writers named at the beginning are more or less imbued with Comte’s doctrines, while a few follow Hamilton. For rhetorical purposes, the Hamiltonian statement is far superior to all others; for practical pur­ poses, the Comtian. The physicist wishing to give his undivided attention to empiri­ cal observation, desires an excuse for neg­ lecting pure thinking ; he therefore refers to the well-known result of philosophy, that we cannot know anything of ultimate causes—we are limited to phenomena and laws. Although it must be conceded that this consolation is somewhat similar to that of the ostrich, who cunningly con­ ceals his head in the sand when annoyed by the hunters, yet great benefit has thereby accrued to science through the undivided zeal of the investigators thus consoled. When, however, a sufficiently large col­ lection has been made, and the laws are sought for in the chaotic mass of observa­ tions, then thought must be had. Thought is the only crucible capable of dissolving “ the many into the one.” Tycho Brahe served a good purpose in collecting obser­ vations, but a Kepler was required to dis­ cern the celestial harmony involved therein. This discovery of laws and relations, or of relative unities, proceeds to the final stage of science, which is that of the abso­ lute comprehension. Thus modern science, commencing with the close of the metaphysical epoch, has three stages or phases : I. The first rests on mere isolated facts of experience ; accepts the first phase of things, or that which comes directly before it, and hence may be termed the Btage of immediateness. II. The second relates its thoughts to one another and compares them ; it developes inequalities; tests one through an­ other, and discovers dependencies every­ where ; since it learns that the first phase of objects is phenomenal, and depends up­ on somewhat lying beyond it; since it de­ nies truth to the immediate, it may be termed the stage of mediation. III. A final stage which considers a phe­ nomenon in its totality, and thus seizes it in its noumenon, and is the stage of the comprehension. To resume: the first is that of sensuous knowing; the second, that of reflection (the understanding); the third, that of the rea­ son (or the speculative stage). In the sensuous knowing, we have crude, undigested masses all co-ordinated; each is in and for itself, and perfectly valid without the others. But as soon as re­ flection enters, dissolution is at work. Each is thought in sharp contrast with the rest; contradictions arise on every hand. The third stage finds its way out of these quarrelsome abstractions, and arrives at a synthetic unity, at a system, wherein the antagonisms are seen to form an organism. The first stage of the development closes with attempts on all hands to put the re­ �9 Herbert Spencer. suits in an encyclopaediacal form. Hum­ boldt’s Cosmos is a good example of this tendency, manifested so ■widely. Matter, masses, and functions are the subjects of investigation. Reflection investigates functions and seizes the abstract category of force, and straightway we are in the second stage. Matter, as such, loses its interest, and “cor­ relation of forces” absorbs all attention. Force is an arrogant category and will not be co-ordinated with matter; if ad­ mitted, we are led to a pure dynamism. This will become evident as follows : I. Force implies confinement (to give it direction) ; it demands, likewise, an “ oc­ casion,” or soliciting force to call it into activity. II. But it cannot be confined except by force; its occasion must be a force like­ wise. III. Thus, since its confinement and “oc­ casion” are forces, force can only act upon forces—upon matter only in so far as that is a force. Its nature requires confinement in order to manifest it, and hence it can­ not act or exist except in unity with other forces which likewise have the same de­ pendence upon it that it has upon them. Hence a force has no independent subsist­ ence, but is only an element of a combination of opposed forces, which combination is a unity existing in an opposed manner (or composed of forces in a Btate of tension). This deeper unity which we come upon as the ground of force is properly named law. From this, two corollaries are to be drawn : (I.) That matter is merely a name for various forces, as resistance, attraction and repulsion, etc. (2.) That force is no ultimate category, but, upon reflection, is seen to rest upon law as a deeper category (not law as a mere similarity of phe­ nomena, but as a true unity underlying phenomenal multiplicity). From the nature of the category of force we see that whoever adopts it as the ulti­ mate, embarks on an ocean of dualism, and instead of “ seeing everywhere the one and all” as did Xenophanes, he will see every­ where the self opposed, the contradictory. The crisis which science has now reached is of this nature. The second stage is at its commencement with the great bulk of scientific men. To illustrate the self-nugatory character ascribed to this stage we shall adduce some of the most prominent positions of Herbert Spencer, whom we regard as the ablest exponent of this movement. These contradictions are not to be deprecated, as though they indicated a decline of thought ; on the contrary, they show an increased ac­ tivity, (though in the stage of mere reflec­ tion,) and give us good omens for the future. The era of .stupid mechanical thinkers is over, and we have entered upon the active, chemical stage of thought, wherein the thinker is trained to consciousness con­ cerning his abstract categories, which, as Hegel says, “ drive him around in their whirling circle.” Now that the body of scientific men are turned in this direction, we behold a vast upheaval towards philosophic thought ; and this is entirely unlike the isolated pheno­ menon (hitherto observed in history) of a single group of men lifted above the sur­ rounding darkness of their age into clear­ ness. We do not have such a phenomenon in our time ; it is the spirit of the nine­ teenth century to move by masses. CHAPTER II. THE “ FIRST PRINCIPLES5’ OF THE “UNKNOW­ ABLE.” The British Quarterly speaking of Spen­ cer, says : “ These i First Principles ’ are merely the foundation of a system of Phil­ osophy, bolder, more elaborate and com­ prehensive, perhaps, than any other which has been hitherto designed in England.” The persistence and sincerity, so gener­ allyprevailing among these correlationists, we have occasion to admire in Herbert Spencer. He seems to be always ready to sacrifice his individual interest for truth, and is bold and fearless in uttering what he believes it to be. For critical consideration no better divi­ sion can be found than that adopted in the “ First Principles” by Mr. Spencer himself, to wit: 1st, the unknowable, 2nd, the know­ �10 Herbert Spencer. able. Accordingly, let us examine first his theory of for the scepticism can only legitimately conclude that the objective which we do THE UNKNOWABLE. know is of a nature kindred with reason: When Mr. Spencer announces the con­ and that by an a priori necessity we can tent of the “ unknowable” to be(e ultimate affirm that not only all knowable must religious and scientific ideas,” we are re­ have this nature, but also all possible ex­ minded at once of the old adage in juris­ istence must. prudence—“ Ornnis definitio in jure civili In this we discover that the mistake on est periculosa the definition is liable to the part of the sceptic consists in taking prove self-contradictory in practice. So self-conscious intelligence as something when we have a content assigned to the one-sided or subjective, whereas it must unknowable we at once inquire, whence be, according to its very definition, subject come the distinctions in the unknowable? and object in one, and thus universal. If unknown they are not distinct to us. The difficulty underlying this stage of When we are told that Time, Space, Force, consciousness is that the mind has not Matter, God, Creation, etc., are unknow- been cultivated to a clear separation of ables, we must regard these words as cor­ the imagination from the thinking. As responding to no distinct objects, but Sir Wm. Hamilton remarks, (Metaphysics, rather as all of the same import to us. It p. 487,) “Vagueness and confusion are should be always borne in mind that all produced by the confounding of objects so universal negatives are self-contradictory. different as the images of sense and the Moreover, since all judgments are made by unpicturable notions of intelligence.” subjective intelligences, it follows that all Indeed the great “law of the condition­ general assertions concerning the nature ed” so much boasted of by that philoso­ of the intellect affect the judgment itself. pher himself and his disciples, vanishes at The naïveté with which certain writers once when the mentioned confusion is wield these double-edged weapons is a avoided. Applied to space it results as source of solicitude to the spectator. follows : When one says that he knows that he I.— Thought, of Space. knows nothing, he asserts knowledge and 1. Space, if finite, must be limited from denies it in the same sentence. If one without; says il all knowledge is relative,” as Spen­ 2. But such external limitations would cer does, (p. 68, et seq., of First Principles,) require space to exist in ; he of course asserts that his knowledge of 3. And hence the supposed limits of the fact is relative and not absolute. If a space that were to make it finite do in fact distinct content is asserted of ignorance, continue it. the same contradiction occurs. It appears, therefore, that space is of The perception of this principle by the such a nature that it can only end in, or be later German philosophers at once led limited by itself, and thus is universally them out of the Kantian nightmare, into continuous or infinite. positive truth. The principle may be ap­ II.—Imagination of Space. plied in general to any subjective scepti­ cism. The following is a general scheme If the result attained by pure thought is that will apply to all particular instances : correct, space is infinite, and if so, it can­ I. “We cannot know things in them­ not be imagined. If, however, it should selves; all our knowledge is subjective ; it be found possible to compass it by imagi­ is confined to our own states and changes.” nation, it must be conceded that there II. If this is so, then still more is what really is a contradiction in the intelligence. we name the ‘objective” only a state or That the result of such an attempt coin­ change of us as subjective; it is a mere cides with our anticipations we have Ham­ fiction of the mind so far as it is regarded ilton’s testimony—“ imagination sinks ex­ as a “beyond” or thing in itself. hausted.” III. Hence we do know the objective ; Therefore, instead of this result contra­ �Herbert Spencer. dieting the first, as Hamilton supposes, it really confirms it. In fact if the mind is disciplined to separate pure thinking from mere imagin­ ing, the infinite is not difficult to think. Spinoza saw and expressed this by making a distinction between “ infinitum actu (or rationis),” and “infinitum imaginationis,” and his first and second axioms are the immediate results of thought ele­ vated to this clearness. This distinction and his “ omnis determinatio est negatio,” together with the development of the third stage of thinking (according to reason), (e sub quadam specie ceternitatis,”—these distinctions are the priceless legacy of the clearest-minded thinker of modern times; and it behooves the critic of “human knowing” to consider well the results that the “human mind” has produced through those great masters — Plato and Aristotle, Spinoza and Hegel. Herbert Spencer, however, not only be­ trays unconsciousness of this distinction, but employs it in far grosser and self­ destructive applications. On page 25, (“ First Principles,”) he says : When on the sea shore we note how the hulls of dis­ tant vessels are hidden below the horizon, and how of still remoter vessels only the uppermost sails are visible, we realize with tolerable clearness the slight curvature of that portion of the sea’s surface which lies before us. But when we seek in imagina­ tion to follow out this curved surface as it actually exists, slowly bending round until all its meridians meet in a point eight thousand miles below our feet, we find ourselves utterly baffled. We cannot con­ ceive in its real form and magnitude even that small segment of our globe which ex­ tends a hundred miles on every side of us, much less the globe as a whole. The piece of rock on which we stand can be mentally represented with something like complete­ ness ; we find ourselves able to think of its top,"its sides, and its under surface at the same time, or so nearly at the same time that they seem all present in con­ sciousness together; and so we can form what we call a conception of the rock, but to do the like with the earth we find im­ possible.” “We form of the earth not a 11 conception properly so-called, but only a symbolic conception.” Conception here is held to be adequate when it is formed of an object of a given size; when the object is above that size the conception thereof becomes symbolical. Here we do not have the exact limit stated, though we have an example given (a rock) which is conceivable, and another (the earth) which is not. “ We must predicate nothing of objects too great or too multitudinous to be men­ tally represented, or we must make our predications by means of extremely inade­ quate representations of such objects, mere symbols of them.” (27 page.) But not only is the earth an indefinitely multiple object, but so is the rock; nay, even the smallest grain of sand. Suppose the rock to be a rod in diameter; a micro­ scope magnifying two and a half millions of diameters would make its apparent mag­ nitude as large as the earth. It is thus only a question of relative distance from the person conceiving, and this reduces it to the mere sensuous image of the retina. Remove the earth to the distance of the moon, and our conception of it would, upon these principles, become quite adequate. But if our conception of the moon be held inadequate, then must that of the rock or the grain of sand be equally inadequate. Whatever occupies space is continuous and discrete ; i. e., may be divided into parts. It is hence a question of relativity whether the image or picture of it corre­ spond to it. The legitimate conclusion is that all our conceptions are symbolic, and if that pro­ perty invalidates their reliability, it fol­ lows that we have no reliable knowledge of things perceived, whether great or small. Mathematical knowledge is conversant with pure lines, points, and surfaces ; hence it must rest on inconceivables. But Mr. Spencer would by no means con­ cede that we do not know the shape of the earth, its size, and many other inconceiv­ able things about it. Conception is thus no criterion of knowledge, and all built upon this doctrine (i. e. depending upon the conceivability of a somewhat) falls to the ground. �12 Herbert Spencer. But he applies it to the questions of the says : “ no other result would happen if I divisibility of matter (page 50): “ If we went on forever.’") say that matter is infinitely divisible, we III. Pure thought, however, grasps this commit ourselves to a supposition not process as a totality, and sees that it only realizable in thought. We can bisect and arises through a self-relation. The “ pro­ rebisect a body, and continually repeating gress ” is nothing but a return to itself, the act until we reduce its parts to a size the same monotonous round. It would be no longer physically divisible, may then a similar attempt to seek the end of a cir­ mentally continue the process without cle by travelling round it, and one might limit.” make the profound remark : “ If mv pow­ Setting aside conceivability as indiffer­ ers were equal to the task, I should doubt­ ent to our knowledge or thinking, we have less come to the end.” This difficulty the following solution of this point: vanishes as soon as the experience is made I. That which is extended may be bi­ that the line returns into itself. “ It is the sected (i. e. has two halves). same thing whether said once or repeated II. Thus two extensions arise, which, in forever,” says Simplicius, treating of this turn, have the same property of divisibil­ paradox. ity that the first one had. The “Infinite Progress” is the most III. Since, then, bisection is a process stubborn fortress of Scepticism. By it entirely indifferent to the nature of exten­ our negative writers establish the imposion (i. e. does not change an extension tency of Reason for various ulterior pur­ into two non-extendeds), it follows that poses. Some wish to use it as a lubrica­ body is infinitely divisible. ting fluid upon certain religious dogmas We do not have to test this in imagina­ that cannot otherwise be swallowed. Oth­ tion to verify it; and this very truth must ers wish to save themselves the trouble of be evident to him who says that the pro­ thinking out the solutions to the Problem gress must be Ci continued without limit.” of Life. But the Sphinx devours him who For if we examine the general conditions does not faithfully grapple with, and solve under which any such “ infinite progress ” her enigmas. is possible, we find them to rest upon the Mephistopheles (a good authority on this presupposition of a real infinite, thus : subject) says of Faust, whom he finds grumbling at the littleness of man’s mind: Infinite Progress. “ Verachte nur Vernunft und Wissenchaft, I. Certain attributes are found to be­ Des Menschen allerhöchste Kraft! long to an object, and are not affected by Und hätt’ er sich auch nicht dem Teufel übergehen, Er müsste doch zu Grunde gehen.” a certain process. (For example, divisi­ bility as a process in space does not affect Only prove that there is a large field of the continuity of space, which makes that the unknowable and one has at once the process possible. Or again, the process of vade mecum for stupidity. Crude reflec­ limiting space does not interfere with its tion can pour in its distinctions into a sub­ continuity, for space will not permit any ject, and save itself from the consequences limit except space itself.) by pronouncing the basis incomprehensi­ II. When the untutored reflection en­ ble. It also removes all possibility of deavors to apprehend a relation of this Theology, or of the Piety of the Intellect, nature, it seizes one side of the dualism and leaves a very narrow margin for re­ and is hurled to the other. (It bisects ligious sentiment, or the Piety of the space, and then finds itself before two ob­ Heart. jects identical in nature with the first; it The stage of Science represented by the has effected nothing; it repeats the pro­ French Encyclopaedists was immediately cess, and, by and by getting exhausted, hostile to each and every form of religion. wonders whether it could meet a different This second stage, however, has a choice. result if its powers of endurance were It can, like Hamilton or Mansel, let re­ greater. Or else suspecting the true case, ligious belief alone, as pertaining to the �Herbert Spencer. unknown and unknowable—which may be believed in as much as one likes ; or it may 44 strip off,” as Spencer does, u determina­ tions from a religion,” by which it is dis­ tinguished from other religions, and show their truth to consist in a common doc­ trine held by all, to-wit : 41 The truth of things is unknowable.” Thus the scientific man can baffle all at­ tacks from the religious standpoint ; nay, he can even elicit the most unbounded ap­ proval, while he saps the entire structure of Christianity. Says Spencer (p. 4G) : 44 Science and Re­ ligion agree in this, that the power which the Universe manifests to us is utterly in­ scrutable.” He goes on to show that though this harmony exists, yet it is broken by the inconsistency of Religion : 44 For every religion, setting out with the tacit assertion of a mystery, forthwith proceeds to give some solution of this mystery, and so asserts that it is not a mystery passing human comprehension.” In this confession he admits that all relig­ ions agree in professing to reveal the solu­ tion of the Mystery of the Universe to man ; and they agree, moreover, that man, as simply a being of sense and reflection, can­ not comprehend the revelation ; but that he must first pass through a profound me­ diation—be regenerated, not merely in his heart, but in intellect also. The misty limitations (4<vagueness and confusion”) of the imagination must give way to the purifying dialectic of pure thought before one can see the Eternal Verities. These revelations profess to make known the nature of the Absolute. They call the Absolute 44 Him,” 44 Infinite,” 44 Self-cre­ ated,” 44 Self-existent,” 44 Personal,” and ascribe to this 44 Him” attributes implying profound mediation. All definite forms of religion, all definite theology, must at once be discarded according to Spencer’s principle. Self-consciousness, even, is re­ garded as impossible by him (p. 65) : 44 Clearly a true cognition of self implies a state in which the knowing and known are one, in which subject and object are iden­ tified ; and this Mr. Mansel rightly holds to be the annihilation of both.” He con­ siders it a degradation (p. 109) to apply 13 personality to God: 44 Is it not possible that there is a mode of being as much transcending intelligence and will as these transcend mechanical motion ?” And again (p. 112) he holds that the mere 44 negation of absolute knowing contains more religion than all dogmatic theology.” (P. 121,) 4<A11 religions-are envelopes of truth, which reveal to the lower and con­ ceal to the higher.” (P. 66,) 44 Objective and subjective things are alike inscrutable in their substance and genesis.” 44 Ulti­ mate religious and scientific ideas (p. 68) alike turn out to be mere symbols of the actual, and not cognitions of it.” (P. 69,) 44 We come to the negative result that the reality existing behind all appearances must ever be unknown.” In these passages we see a dualism pos­ ited in this form : “ Everything immediate is phenomenal, a manifestation of the hid­ den and inscrutable essence.” This es­ sence is the unknown and unknowable ; yet it manifests itself in the immediate or phenomenal. The first stage of thought was uncon­ scious that it dealt all the time with a mediated result (a dualism) while it as­ sumed an immediate ; that it asserted all truth to lie in the sensuous object, while it named at the same time “matter and/orce,” categories of reflection. The second stage has got over that dif­ ficulty, but has fallen into another. For if the phenomenon manifested the essence, it could not be said to be 44 unknowable, hidden, and inscrutable.” But if the es­ sence is not manifested by the phenome­ non, then we have the so-called phenome­ non as a self-existent, and therefore inde­ pendent of the so-called essence, which stands coordinated to it as another exist­ ent, which cannot be known because it does not manifest itself to us. Hence the 44 phenomenon ” is no phenomenon, or manifestation of aught but itself, and the 44 essence” is simply a fiction of the phil­ osopher. Hence his talk about essence is purely gratuitous, for there is not shown the need of one. A dialectical consideration of essence and phenomenon will result as follows : �14 Herbert Spencer. Essence and PhenomenonI. If essence is seized as independent or absolute being, it may be taken in two senses: a. As entirely unaffected by “ other­ ness” (or limitation) and entirely unde­ termined ; and this would be pure nothing, for it cannot distinguish itself or be dis­ tinguished from pure nothing. b. As relating to itself, and hence making itself a duality—becoming its own other; in this case the “other” is a van­ ishing one, for it is at the same time iden­ tical and non-identical — a process in which the essence may be said to appear or become phenomenal. The entire pro­ cess is the absolute or self-related (and hence independent). It is determined, but by itself, and hence not in a finite man­ ner. II. The Phenomenon is thus seen to arise through the self-determination of essence, and has obviously the following characteristics: a. It is the “ other ” of the essence, and yet the own self of the essence existing in this opposed manner, and thus self-nuga­ tory; and this non-abiding character gives it the name of phenomenon (or that which merely appears, but is no permanent es­ sence). b. If this were simply another to the essence, and not the eelf-opposition of the same, then it would be through itself, and itself the essence in its first (or immediate) phase. But this is the essence only as ne­ gated, or as returned from the otherness. c. This self-nugatoriness is seen to arise from the contradiction involved in its be­ ing other to itself, i. e. outside of its true being. Without this self-nugatoriness it would be an abiding, an essence itself, and hence no phenomenon ; with this self-nu­ gatoriness the phenomenon simply exhib­ its or “ manifests ” the essence ; in fact, with the appearance and its negation taken together, we have before us a totality of essence and phenomenon. III. Therefore : a. The phenomenal is such because it is not an abiding some­ what. It is dependent upon other or es­ sence. b. Whatever it posesses belongs to that upon which it depends, i. e. be­ longs to essence, c. In the self-nugatoriness of the phenomenal we have the entire essence manifested. This latter point is the important result, and may be stated in a less strict and more popular form thus : The real world (socalled) is said to be in a state of change­ origination and decay. Things pass away and others come in their places. Under this change, however, there is a permanent called Essence. The imaginative thinking finds it impos­ sible to realize such an abiding as exists through the decay of all external form, and hence pronounces it unknowable. But pure thought seizes it, and finds it a pure self-relation or process of return to itself, which accordingly has duality, thus: a. The positing or producing of a some­ what or an immediate, and, b. The cancel­ ling of the same. In this duality of be­ ginning and ceasing, this self-relation completes its circle, and is thus, c. the en­ tire movement. All categories of the understanding (cause and effect, matter and form, possi­ bility, etc.) are found to contain this movement when dissolved. And hence they have self-determination for their pre­ supposition and explanation. It is un­ necessary to add that unless one gives up trying to imagine truth, that this is all very absurd reasoning. (At the end of the sixth book of Plato’s Republic, ch. xxi., and in the seventh book, ch.xiii., one may see how clearly this matter was understood two thousand, and more, years ago.) To manifest or reveal is to make known ; and hence to speak of the “manifestation of a hidden and inscrutable essence” is to speak of the making known of an unknow­ able. Mr. Spencer goes on; no hypothesis of the universe is possible—creation not con­ ceivable, for that would be something out of nothing—self-existence not conceivable, for that involves unlimited past time. He holds that “all knowledge is rela­ tive,'” for all explanation is the reducing of a cognition to a more general. He says, (p. G9,) “ Of necessity, therefore, explana­ tion must eventually bring us down to the inexplicable—the deepest truth which we �Herbert Spencer. 15 can get at must be unaccountable.” This will prove a confused affair; especially much valued insight has a positive side as since to the above-mentioned “inscruta­ well as the negative one usually developed : bility” of the absolute, he adds the doc­ I. (a.) To explain something we sub­ trine of an “ obscure consciousness of it,” holding, in fact, that the knowable is only sume it under a more general. (6.) The ee summum genus” cannot be a relative, and that it cannot be known without at the same time possessing a subsumed, and knowledge of the unknowable. (c.) Hence is inexplicable. (P. 82) he says : “ A thought involves II. But those who conclude from this that we base our knowledge ultimately relation, difference and likeness; what­ upon faiih (from the supposed fact that we ever does not present each of them does not admit of cognition. And hence we cannot prove our premises) forget that— (a.) If the subsuming process ends in an may say that the unconditioned as present­ unknown, then all the subsuming has re­ ing none of these, is trebly unthinkable.” sulted in nothing; for to subsume some­ And yet he says, (p. 96): “ The relative is thing under an unknown does not explain itself inconceivable except as related to a it. (Plato’s Republic, Book VII, chap, xiii.) real non-relative.” We will leave this infinite self-contradic­ (&.) The more general, however, is the more simple, and hence the summum tion thus developed, and turn to the posi­ genus” is the purely simple—it is Being. tions established concerning the knowable. But the simpler the clearer, and the pure They concern the nature of Force, Matter and Motion, and the predicates set up are simple is the absolutely clear. (c.) At the i( summum genus” subsump­ “persistence,” “indestructibility” and tion becomes the principle of identity— similar. THE KNOWABLE. being is being; and thus stated we have Although in the first part “ conceivabil­ simple self-relation as the origin of all ity” was shown to be utterly inadequate clearness and knowing whatsoever. III. Hence it is seen that it is not the as a test of truth ; that with it we could not mere fact of subsumption that makes some­ even establish that the earth is round, or thing clear, but rather it is the reduction that space is infinitely continuous, yet here Mr. Spencer finds that inconceivability is of it to identity. In pure being as the summum genus, the the most convenient of all positive proofs. The first example to be noticed is his mind contemplates the pure form of know­ ing—“ a is a,” or “ a subject is a predi­ proof of the compressibility of matter (p. cate”—(a is b). The pure “is” is the 51): “It is an established mechanical empty form of mental affirmation, the pure truth that if a body moving at a given ve­ copula; and thus in the summum genus locity, strikes an equal body at rest in the mind recognizes the pure form of itself. such wise that the two move on together, All objectivity is at this point dissolved their joint velocity will be but half that of into the thinking, and hence the subsump­ the striking body. Now it is a law of tion becomes identity—(being=e</o, or “co- which the negative is inconceivable, that gito, ergo sum” the process turns round in passing from any one degree of magni­ and becomes synthetic, (“dialectic” or tude to another all intermediate degrees ‘‘genetic,” as called by some). From this must be passed through. Or in the case it is evident that self-consciousness is the before us, a body moving at velocity 4, cannot, by collision, be reduced-to velocity basis of all knowledge. 2, without passing through all velocities between 4 and 2. But were matter truly CHAPTER III. solid — were its units absolutely incom­ THE “ FIRST PRINCIPLES” OF THE “ KNOWpressible fand in unbroken contact — this ABLE.” “ law of continuity,” as it is called, would As might be expected from Spencer’s be broken in every case of collision. For treatment of the unknowable, the knowable when, of two such units, one moving at ve­ �16 Herbert Spencer. locity 4 strikes another at rest, the striking unit must have its velocity 4 instantane­ ously reduced to velocity 2; must pass from velocity 4 tq velocity 2 without any lapse of time, and without passing through intermediate velocities; must be moving with velocities 4 and 2 at the same instant, which is impossible.” On page 57 he ac­ knowledges that any transition from one rate of motion to another is inconceivable ; hence it does not help the matter to “pass through intermediate velocities.” It is just as great a contradiction and just as inconceivable that velocity 4 should be­ come velocity 3.9999-f-, as it is that it should become velocity 2; for no change whatever of the motion can be thought (as he cofifesses) without having two motions in one time. Motion, in fact, is the syn­ thesis of place and time, and cannot be comprehended except as their unity. The argument here quoted is only adduced by Mr. S. for the purpose of antithesis to other arguments on the other side as weak as itself. On page 241, Mr. Spencer deals with the question of the destructibility of matter: “The annihilation of matter is unthink­ able for the same reason that the creation of matter is unthinkable.” (P. 54): “ Mat­ ter in its ultimate nature is as absolutely incomprehensible as space and time.” The nature of matter is unthinkable, its crea­ tion or destructibility is unthinkable, and in this style of reasoning we can add that its indestructibility is likewise unthinkable; in fact the argument concerning self-exis­ tence will apply here. (P. 31) : “ Self­ existence necessarily means existence with­ out a beginning; and to form a conception of self-existence is to form a conception of existence without a beginning. Now by no mental effort can we do this. To con­ ceive existence through infinite past time, implies the conception of infinite past time, which is an impossibility.” Thus, too, we might argue in a strain identical; in­ destructibility implies existence through infinite future time, but by no mental effort can infinite time be conceived. ^And thus, too, we prove and disprove the persistence of force and motion. When occasion re­ quires, the cver-convenient argument of ££ inconceivability” enters. It reminds one of Sir Wm. Hamilton’s “imbecility” upon which are based “ sundry of the most important phenomena of intelligence,” among which he mentions the category of causality. If causality is founded upon imbecility, and all experience upon it, it follows that all empirical knowledge rests upon imbecility. On page 247, our author asserts that the first law of motion “ is in our flay being merged in the more general one, that mo­ tion, like matter, is indestructible.” It is interesting t<5 observe that this so-called “ First law of motion” rests on no better basis than very crude reflection. “When not influenced by external forces, a moving body will go on in a straight line with a uniform velocity,” is Spencer’s statement of it. This abstract, supposed law has neces­ sitated much scaffolding in Natural Phil­ osophy that is otherwise entirely unneces­ sary; it contradicts the idea of momen­ tum, and is thus refuted : I. A body set in motion continues in motion after the impulse’ has ceased from without, for the reason that it retains mo­ mentum. II. Momentum is the product of weight by velocity, and weight is the attraction of the body in question to another body exter­ nal to it. If all bodies external to the moving body were entirely removed, the latter would have no weight, and hence the product of weight by velocity would be zero. III. The “ external influences” referred to in the so-called “ law,” mean chiefly attraction. Since no body could have mo­ mentum except through weight, another name for attraction, it follows that all free motion has reference to another body, and hence is curvilinear; thus we are rid of that embarrassing ££ straight line motion” which gives so much trouble in mechanics. It has all to be reduced back again through various processes to curvilinear movement. We come, finally, to consider the central point of this system ; THE CORRELATION OF FORCES. Speaking of persistence of force, Mr. Spencer concedes (p. 252) that this doc­ �Herbert Spencer. trine is not demonstrable from experience. He says (p. 254): “Clearly the persistence of force is an ultimate truth of which no inductive proof is possible.” (P. 255) : “By the persistence of force we really mean the persistence of some power which transcends our knowledge and conception.” (P. 257): “The indestructibility of matter and the continuity of motion we saw to be really .corollaries from the impossibility of establishing in thought a relation between something and nothing.” (Thus what was established as a mental impotence is now made to have objective validity.) “Our inability to conceive matter and motion destroyed is our inability to sup­ press consciousness itself.” (P. 258) : “ Whoever alleges that the inability to con­ ceive a beginning or end of the universe is a negative result of our mental struc­ ture, cannot deny that our consciousness of the universe as persistent is a positive result of our mental structure. And this persistence of the universe is the persist­ ence of that unknown cause, power, or force, which is manifested to us through all phenomena.” This “ positive result of our mental structure” is said to rest on our ££ inability to conceive the limitation of consciousness” which is ££ simply the obverse of our inability to put an end to the thinking subject while still continuing to think.” (P. 257) : “To think of some­ thing becoming nothing, would involve that this substance of consciousness having just existed under a given form, should next assume no form, or should cease to be consciousness.” It will be observed here that he is en­ deavoring te solve the First Antinomy of Kant, and that his argument in this place differs from Kant’s proof of the “ Antithe­ sis” in this, that while Kant proves that “The world [or universe] has no begin­ ning,” etc., by the impossibility of the origination of anything in a ££ void time,” that Mr. Spencer proves the same thing by asserting it to be a “positive result of our mental structure,” and then proceeds to show that this is a sort of “inability” which has a subjective explanation ; it is, according to him, merely the “ substance 17 of consciousness” objectified and regarded as the law of reality. But how is it with the “Thesis” to that Antinomy, “The world has a beginning in time ?” Kant proves this apagogically by showing the absurdity of an “ in­ finite series already elapsed.” That our author did not escape the contradiction has already been shown in our remarks upon the “indestructibility of matter.” While he was treating of the unknowable it was his special province to prove that self-existence is unthinkable. (P. 31) : He says it means ££ existence without a begin­ ning,” and “to conceive existence through infinite past time, implies the conception of infinite past time, which is an impos­ sibility.” Thus we have the Thesis of the Antinomy supported in his doctrine of the “ unknowable,” and the antithesis of the same proved in the doctrine of the know­ able. We shall next find him involved with Kant’s Third Antinomy. The doctrine of the correlation is stated in the following passages : (P. 280): “ Those modes of the un­ knowable, which we call motion, heat, light, chemical affinity, etc., are alike transformable into each other, and into those modes of the unknowable which we distinguish as sensation, emotion, thought: these, in their turns, being directly or in­ directly re-transformable into the original shapes. That no idea or feeling arises, save as a result of some physical force ex­ pended in producing it, is fast becoming a common-place of science; and whoever duly weighs the evidence, will see that nothing but an overwhelming bias in favor of a preconceived theory can explain its non-acceptance. How this metamorphosis takes place—how a force existing as mo­ tion, heat, or light, can become a mode of consciousness—how it is possible for aerial vibrations to generate the sensation we call sound, or for the forces liberated by chemical changes in the brain to give rise to emotion—these are mysteries which it is impossible to fathom.” (P. 284): “Each manifestation of force can be interpreted only as the effect of some antecedent force ; �18 Herbert Spencer. no matter whether it be an inorganic ac­ tion, an animal movement, a thought, or a feeling. Either this must be conceded, or else it must be asserted that our successive states of consciousness are self-created.” “ Either mental energies as well as bodily ones are quantitatively correlated to cer­ tain energies expended in their production, and to certain other energies they initiate ; or else nothing must become something and something, nothing. Since persistence of force, being a datum of consciousness, cannot be denied, its unavoidable corol­ lary must be accepted.” On p. 294 he supports the doctrine that “ motion takes the direction of the least resistance,” mentally as well as physically. Here are some of the inferences to be drawn from the passages quoted : 1. Every act is determined from with­ out, and hence does not belong to the sub­ ject in which it manifests itself. " 2. To change the course of a force, is to make another direction “ that of the least resistance,” or to remove or diminish a resistance. 3. But to change a resistance requires force, which (in motion) must act in “ the direction of the least resistance,” and hence it is entirely determined from with­ out, and governed by the disposition of the forces it meets. 4. Hence, of will, it is an absurdity to talk; freedom or moral agency is an im­ possible phantom. 5. That there is self-determination in self-consciousness—that it is “self-cre­ ated ”—is to Mr. Spencer the absurd al­ ternative which at once turns the scale in favor of the doctrine that mental phenom­ ena are the productions of external forces. After this, what are we to Bay of the following ? (P. 501): “ Notwithstanding all evidence to the contrary, there will probably have arisen in not a few minds the conviction that the solutions which have been given, along with those to be derived from them, are essentially mate­ rialistic. Let none persist in these mis­ conceptions.” (P. 502): “Their implica­ tions are no more materialistic than they are spiritualistic, and no more spiritual­ istic than they are materialistic.” If we hold these positions by the side of Kant’s Third Antinomy, we shall see that they all belong to the proof of the “ Anti­ thesis,” viz : “ There is no freedom, but everything in the world happens accord­ ing to the laws of nature.” The “Thesis,” viz : “ That a causality of freedom is nec­ essary to account fully for the phenomena of the world,” he has not anywhere sup­ ported. We find, in fact, only those thinkers who have in some measure mas­ tered the third phase of culture in thought, standing upon the basis presented by Kant in the Thesis. The chief point in the Thesis maybe stated as follows: 1. If everything that happens presupposes a previous condition, (which the law of causality states,) 2. This previous condi­ tion cannot be a permanent (or have been always in existence); for, if so, its conse­ quence, or the effect, would have always existed. Thus the previous condition must be a thing which has happened. 3. With this the whole law of causality collapses'; for (a) since each cause is an effect, (5) its determining power escapes into a higher member of the series, and, (c) unless the law changes, wholly vanishes ; there result an indefinite series of effects with no cause ; each member of the series is a de­ pendent, has its being in another, which again has its being in another, and hence cannot support the subsequent term. Hence it is evident that this Antinomy consists, first: in the setting up of the law of causality as having absolute validity, which is the antithesis. Secondly, the experience is made that such absolute law of causality is a self-nugatory one, and thus it is to be inferred that causality, to be at all, presupposes an origination in a “ self­ moved.” as Plato calls it. Aristotle (Meta­ physics, xi. 6-7, and ix. 8) exhibits this ul­ timate as the “ self-active,” and the Schol­ astics take the same, under the designation <( actus purus,” for the definition of God. The Antinomy thus reduced gives : I. Thesis : Self-determination must lie at the basis of all causality, otherwise causality cannot be at all. �Herbert Spencer. II. Antithesis : If there is self-determin­ ation, “ the unity of experience (which leads us to look for a cause) is destroyed, and hence no such case could arise in ex­ perience.” In comparing the two proofs it is at once seen that they are of different degrees of universality. The argument of the Thesis is based upon the nature of the thing itself, i. e. a pure thought; while that of the Antithesis loses sight of the idea of “ efficient ” cause, and seeks mere contin­ uity in the sequence of time, and thus ex­ hibits itself as the second stage of thought, which leans on the staff of fancy, i. e. mere representative thinking. This “ unity of experience,” as Kant calls it, is the same thing, stated in other words, that Spencer refers to as the “ positive result of our mental structure.” In one sense those are true antinomies—those of Kant, Hamilton, et al.—viz. in this : that the “ representa­ tive” stage of thinking finds itself unable to shake off the sensuouB picture, and think “ sub quadani specie ceternitatis.” To the mind disciplined to the third stage of thought, these are no antinomies; Spinoza, Leibnitz, Plato and Aristotle are not con­ fused by them. The Thesis, properly stated, is a true universal, and exhibits its own truth, as that upon which the law of causality rests; and hence the antithesis itself—less universal—resting upon the law of causality, is based upon the Thesis. Moreover, the Thesis does not deny an in­ finite succession in time and space, it only states that there must be an efficient cause —-just what the law of causalty states, but shows, in addition, that this efficient cause must be a “ self-determined.” On page 282 we learn that, “The solar heat is the final source of the force mani­ fested by society.” “ It (the force of so­ ciety) is based on animal and vegetable products, and these in turn are dependent on the light and heat of the sun.” As an episode in this somewhat abstract discussion, it may be diverting to notice the question of priority of discovery, touched upon in the following note (p. 454): “Until I recently consulted his ‘ Outlines of Astronomy’ on another ques­ tion, I was not aware that, so far back as 19 1833, Sir John Herschel had enunciated the doctrine that ‘ the sun’s rays are the ultimate source of almost every motion which takes place on the surface of the earth.’ He expressly includes all geologic, meteorologic, and vital actions; as also those which we produce by the combus­ tion of coal. The late George Stephenson appears to have been wrongly credited with this last idea.” In order to add to the thorough discus­ sion of this important question, we wish to suggest the claims of Thomas Carlyle, who, as far back as 1830, wrote the foling passage in his Sartor Resartus (Am. ed. pp. 55-6): “ Well sang the Hebrew Psalmist: ‘If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the Universe, God is there.’ Thou, too, 0 cultivated reader, who too probably art no psalmist, but a prosaist, knowing God only by tradition, knowest thou any corner of the world where at least force is not ? The drop which thou shakest from thy wet hand, rests not where it falls, but to-mor­ row thou findest it swept away ; already, on the wings of the north wind, it is near­ ing the tropic of Cancer. How it came to evaporate and not lie motionless ? Thinkest thou there is aught motionless, without force, and dead ? “ As I rode through the Schwartzwald, I said to myself: That little fire which glows starlike across the dark-growing (nachtende) moor, where the sooty smith bends over his anvil, and thou hopest to replace thy lost horseshoe—is it a detach­ ed, separated speck, cut off from the whole universe, or indissolubly joined to the whole ? Thou fool, that smithy-fire was primarily kindled at the sun ; is fed by air that circulates from beyond Noah’s deluge, from beyond the Dog star; it is a little ganglion, or nervous centre in the great vital system of immensity.” We have, finally, to consider the correl­ ation theory in connection with equilib­ rium. I. Motion results from destroyed equi­ librium. The whole totality does not cor­ respond to itself, its ideal and real contra­ dict each other. The movement is the re­ storing of the equilibrium, or the bringing �20 Herbert Spencer. into unity of the ideal and real. To illus­ trate : a spring (made of steel, rubber, or any elastic material) has a certain form in which it may exist without tension ; this may be called the ideal shape, or simply the ideal. If the spring is forced to as­ sume another shape, its real shape becomes different from the ideal; its equilibrium is destroyed, and force is manifested as a tendency to restore the equilibrium (or unity of the ideal and real). Generalize this : all forces have the same nature; (a) expansive forces arise from the ideal existing without—a gas, steam, for ex­ ample, ideally takes up a more extended space than it has really; it expands to fill it. Or (6) contractive forces : the multi­ plicity ideally exists within; e. g. attrac­ tion of gravitation; matter trying to find the centre of the earth, its ideal. The will acts in this way: The ideal is changed first, and draws the real after it. I first destroy, in thought and will, the identity of ideal and real; the tension resulting is force. Thinking, since it deals with the universal (or the potential and the actual) is an original source of force, and, as will result in the sequel from a reverse analysis (see below, V. 3, c) the only source of force. II. Persistence of force requires an unrestorable equilibrium ; in moving to re­ store one equilibrium, it must destroy another—its equivalent. III. But this contradicts the above de­ veloped conception of force as follows : (a) Since force results from destroyed equilibrium, it follows (Z>) that it requires as much force to destroy the equilibrium as is developed in the restoring of it (and this notion is the basis of the correlation theory). But (c) if the first equilibrium (already destroyed) can only be restored by the destroying of another equal to the same, it has already formed an equilibrium with the second, and the occasion of the motion is removed. If two forces are equal and opposed, which will give way ? By this dialectic consideration of force, we learn the insufficiency of the theory of correlation as the ultimate truth. Instead of being “ the sole truth, which transcends experience by underlying it ” (p. 258), we are obliged to confess that this “ persist­ ence of force” rests on the category of causality; its thin disguise consists in the substitution of other words for the meta­ physical expression, “Every effect must be equal to its cause.” And this, when tortured in the crucible, confesses that the only efficient cause is “ causi sui hence the effect is equal to its cause, be­ cause it is the cause. And the correlation theory results in showing that force cannot be, unless self­ originated. That self-determination is the inevitable result, no matter what hypothesis be as­ sumed, is also evident. Taking all counter­ hypotheses and generalizing them, we have this analysis: I. Any and every being is determined from without through another. (This theo­ rem includes all anti-self-determination doctrines.) II. It results from this that any and every being is dependent upon another and is a finite one ; it cannot be isolated with­ out destroying it. Hence it results that every being is an element of a whole that includes it as a subordinate moment. III. Dependent being, as a subordinate element, cannot be said to support any thing attached to it, for its own support is not in itself but in another, namely, the whole that includes it. From this it re­ sults that no dependent being can depend upon another dependent being, but rather upon the including whole. The including whole is therefore not a dependent; since it is for itself, and each element is determined through it, and for it, it may be called the negative unity (or the unity which negates the independence of the elements). Remark.—A chain of dependent beings collapses into one dependent being. De­ pendence is not converted into independ­ ence by simple multiplication. All de­ pendence is thus an element of an inde­ pendent whole. IV. What is the character of this inde­ pendent w’hole, this negative “unity I “Char­ acter” means determination, and we are prepared to sav that its determination can­ not be through another, for then it would �Herbert Spencer. be a dependent, and we should be referred again to the whole, including it. Its de­ termination by which the multiplicity of elements arises is hence its own self-deter­ mination. Thus all finitude and depend­ ence presupposes as its condition, selfdetermination. V. Self-determination more closely ex­ amined exhibits some remarkable results, (which -will throw light on the discussion of “ Essence and Phenomena” above): (1.) It is “causa sui;” active and pas­ sive; existing dually as determining and determined ; this self-diremption produces a distinction in itself which is again can­ celled. (2.) As determiner (or active, or cause), it is the pure universal—the possibility of any determinations. But as determined (passive or effect) it is the special, the par­ ticular, the one-sided reality that enters into change. (3.) But it is “ negative unity” of these two sides, and hence an individual. The pure universal w’hose negative relation to itself as determiner makes the particular, completes itself to individuality through this act. (a.) Since its pure universality is the substrate of its determination, and at the same time a self-related activity (or nega­ tivity), it at once becomes its own object. (6.) Its activity (limiting or determin­ ing)— a pure negativity — turned to itself as object, dissolves the particular in the universal, and thus continually realizes its subjectivity. (c.) Hence these two sides of the nega­ tive unity are more properly subject and object, and since they are identical (causa sui} we may name the result “ self-con­ sciousness.” The absolute truth of all truths, then, is that self-consciousness is the form of the Total. God is a Person, or rather the Person. Through His self-consciousness (thought of Himself) he makes Himself an object to Himself (Nature), and in the same act cancels it again into Ilis own image (finite spirit), and thus comprehends Himself in this self-revelation. Two remarks must be made here: (1.) This is not “Pantheism;” for it results 21 that God is a Person; and secondly Nature is a self-cancelling side in the process; thirdly, the so-called “finite spirit,” or man, is immortal, since otherwise he would not be the last link of the chain; but such he is, because he can develop out of his sensuous life to pure thought, uncondition­ ed by time and space, and hence he can surpass any fixed “higher intelligence,” no matter how high created. (2.) It is the result that all profound thinkers have arrived at. Aristotle (Metaphysics XI. 6 & 7) car­ ries this whole question of motion back to its presupposition in a mode of treatment, “ sub quadam specie aternitatis” He concludes thus : “ The thinking, however, of that which is purely for itself, is a think­ ing'of that which is most excellent in and for itself. “ The thinking thinks itself, however, through participation in that which is thought by it; it becomes this object in its own activity, in such a manner that the subject and object are identical. For the apprehending of thought and essence is what constitutes reason. The activity of thinking produces that which is perceived ; so that the activity is rather that which Beason seems to have of a divine nature; speculation [pure thinking] is the most ex­ cellent employment; if, then, God is al­ ways engaged in this, as we are at times, lie is admirable, and if in a higher degree, more admirable. But He is in this pure thinking, and life too belongs to Him; for the activity of thought is life. He is this activity. The activity, returning into it­ self, is the most excellent and eternal life. We say, therefore, that God is an eternal and the best living being. So that life and duration are uninterrupted and eternal; for this is God.” When one gets rid of those “images of sense” called by Spencer “ conceivables,” and arrives at the “ unpicturable notions of intelligence,” he will find it easy to re­ duce the vexed antinomies of force, matter, motion, time, space and causality; arriv­ ing at the fundamental principle — selfdetermination—he will be able to make a science of Biology. The organic realm will not yield to dualistic Reflection. �22 Herbert Spencer. Goethe is the great pioneer of the school of physicists that will spring out of the pre­ sent activity of Reflection when it shall have arrived at a perception of its method. Résumé'.—Mr. Spencer’s results, so far as philosophy is concerned, may be briefly summed up under four general heads : I. Psychology. 2. Ontology. 3. Theology. 4. Cosmology. PSYCHOLOGY. (1.) Conception is a mere picture in the mind; therefore what cannot be pictured cannot be conceived; therefore the Infinite, the Absolute, God, Essence,Matter, Motion, Force—anything, in short, that involves mediation—cannot be conceived ; hence they are unknowable. (2.) Consciousness is self-knowing; but that subject and object are one, is impos­ sible. We can neither know ourselves nor any real being. (3.) All reasoning or explaining is the subsuming of a somewhat under a more general category; hence the highest cate­ gory is unsubsumed, and hence inexpli­ cable. (4.) Our intellectual faculties may be improved to a certain extent, and beyond this, no amount of training can avail any­ thing. (Biology, vol. I, p. 188.) (5.) The ££ substance of consciousness” is the basis of our ideas of persistence of Force, Matter, etc. (6.) All knowing is relative ; our knowl­ edge of this fact, however, is not relative but absolute. the hidden and inscrutable essence of the correlate of our knowledge of phenomena. We know that it exists. (3.) Though what is inconceivable is for that reason unknowable, yet we know that persistence belongs to force, motion and matter ; it is a positive result of our “ men­ tal structure,” although we cannot con­ ceive either destructibility or indestructi­ bility. (4.) Though self-consciousness is an impossibility, yet it sometimes occurs,since the ££ substance of consciousness” is the object of consciousness when it decides upon the persistence of the Universe, and of Force, Matter, etc. THEOLOGY. ONTOLOGY. The Supreme Being is unknown and un­ knowable ; unrevealed and unrevealable, either naturally or supernaturally : for to reveal, requires that some one shall com­ prehend what is revealed. The sole doc­ trine of Religion of great value is the doc­ trine that God transcends the human intel­ lect. When Religion professes to reveal Him to man and declare His attributes, then it is irreligious. Though God is the unknown, yet personality, reason, con­ sciousness, etc., are degrading when ap­ plied to Him. The t£ Thirty-nine Arti­ cles” should be condensed into one, thus : There is an Unknown which I know that I cannot know.” ££ Religions are envelopes of truth which reveal to the lower, and conceal to the higher.” “They are modes of manifesta­ tion of the unknowable.” (1.) All that we know is phenomenal. The reality passes all understanding. In the phenomenon the essence is “ manifest­ ed,” but still it is not revealed thereby; it remains hidden behind it, inscrutable to our perception, (2.) And yet, since all our knowledge is relative, we have an obscure knowledge of “ Evolution is a change from an indefi­ nite, incoherent homogeneity, to a definite, coherent heterogeneity ; through continu­ ous differentiations and integrations.” This is the law of the Universe. All pro­ gresses to an equilibration—to a moving equilibrium. COSMOLOGY. �23 Fichtes Science of Knowledge. INTRODUCTION TO FICHTE’S SCIENCE OF KNOWLEDGE. TRANSLATED BY A. E. KROEGER. [Note.—Tn presenting this "Introduction” to the readers of the Journal of Speculative Philosophy, we believe we afford them the easiest means of gaining an insight into Fichte’s great work on the Science of Knowledge. The present introduction was written by Fichte in 1797, three years after the first publication of his full system. It is certainly written in a remarkably clear and vigorous style, so as to be likely to arrest the attention even of those who have but little acquaintance with the rudiments of the Science of Philosophy. This led us to give it the preference over other essays, also written by Fichte, as Introductions to his Science of Knowledge. A translation of the Science of Knowledge, by Mr. Kroeger, is at present in course of publication in New York. This article is, moreover, interesting as being a more complete un­ folding of the doctrine of Plato upon Method, heretofore announced.—Ed.] PRELIMINARY REMARKS. Do re, quae agitur, petimus, ut homines, earn non opinionem, sed opus esse, cogitent ac pro certo habeant, non sectae nos alicujus, ant placiti, sed utilitatis et amplitudinis humanae fundamenta moliri. Deinde, ut, suis commodis aequi, in commune consulant, et ipsi in partem veniant.—Baco de Verulamio. The author of the Science of Knowledge was soon convinced, through a slight ac­ quaintance with the philosophical literature since the appearance of Kant’s Critiques, that the object of this great man—to ef­ fect a total reform in the study of philoso­ phy, and hence of all science—had result­ ed in a failure, Bince not one of his numerous successors appeared to under­ stand what he had really spoken of. The author believed that he had understood the latter; he resolved 'to devote his life to a representation—totally independ­ ent from Kant’s—of that great discovery, and he will not give up this resolve. Whether he will succeed better in making himself understood to his age, time alone can show. At all events, he knows that nothing true and useful, which has once been given to mankind, is lost, though only remote posterity should learn how to use it. Determined by my academical vocation, I wrote, in the first instance, for my hear­ ers, with whom it was in my power to ex­ plain myself in words until I was under­ stood. This is not the place to testify how much cause I have to be satisfied with my efforts, and to entertain, of some of my students, the best hopes for science. That book of mine has also become known else­ where, and there are various opinions afloat concerning it amongst the learned. A judgment, which even pretended to bring forth arguments, I have neither read nor heard, except from my students; but I have both heard and read a vast amount of derision, denunciation, and the general assurance that everybody is heartily op­ posed to this doctrine, and the confession that no one can understand it. As far as the latter is concerned, I will cheerfully assume all the blame, until others shall rep­ resent it so as to make it comprehensible, when students will doubtless discover that my representation was not so very bad after all; or I will assume it altogether and unconditionally, if the reader thereby should be encouraged to study the present representation, in which I shall endeavor to be as clear as possible. I shall con­ tinue these representations so long as I am convinced that I do not write altogether in vain. But I write in vain when nobody examines my argument. I still owe my readers the following ex­ planations : I have always said, and say again, that my system is the same ag Kant’s. That is to say, it contains the same view of the subject, but is totally in­ dependent of Kant’s mode of representa­ tion. I have said this, not to cover myself by a great authority, or to support my doctrine except by itself, but in order to say the truth and to be just. Perhaps it may be proven after twenty years. Kant is as yet a sealed book, and what he has been understood to teach, is exactly what he intended to eradicate. My writings are neither to explain Kant, nor to be explained by his ; they must stand by themselves, and Kant must not be counted in the game at all. My object is— I / �24 Fichtes Science of Knowledge, let me say it frankly—not to correct or amplify such philosophical reflections as may be current, be they called anti­ Kant or Kant, but to totally eradicate them, and to effect a complete revolution in the mode of thinking regarding these subjects, so that hereafter the Object will be posited and determined by Knowledge (Reason), and not vice versa-, and this seriously, not merely in words. Let no one object: “If this system is true, certain axioms cannot be upheld,” for I do not intend that anything should be upheld which this system refutes. Again : “Ido not understand this book,” is to me a very uninteresting and insignifi­ cant confession. No one can and shall understand my writings, without having studied them ; for they do not contain a lesson heretofore taught, but something— since Kant has not been understood—alto­ gether new to the age. Censure without argument tells me simply that my doctrine does not please ; and this confession is again very unim­ portant; for the question is not at all, whether it pleases you or not, but whether it has been proven. In the present sketch I write only for those, in whom there still dwells an inner sense of love for truth; who still value science and con­ viction, and who are impelled by a lively zeal to seek truth. With those, who, by long spiritual slavery, have lost with the faith in their own conviction their faith in the conviction of others; who consider it folly if anybody attempts to seek truth for himself ; who see nothing in sci­ ence but a comfortable mode of subsist­ ence ; who are horrified at every proposi­ tion to enlarge its boundaries involving as a new labor, and who consider no means disgraceful by which they can hope to sup­ press him who makes such a proposition,— with those I have nothing to do. I should be sorry if they understood me. Hitherto this wish of mine has been real­ ized; and I hope, even now, that these present lines will so confuse them that they can perceive nothing more in them than mere words, while that which represents their mind is torn hither and thither by their ill-concealed rage. INTRODUCTION. I. Attend to thyself; turn thine eye away from all that surrounds thee and into thine own inner self! Such is the first task im­ posed upon the student by Philosophy. We speak of nothing that is without thee, but merely of thyself. The slightest self-observation must show every one a remarkable difference between the various immediate conditions of his consciousness, which we may also call representations. For some of them appear altogether dependent upon our freedom, and we cannot possibly believe that there is without us anything corresponding to them. Our imagination, our will, appears to us as free. Others, however, we refer to a Truth as their model, which is held to be firmly fixed, independent of us; and in determining such representations, we find ourselves conditioned by the necessity of their harmony with this Truth. In the knowledge of them we do not consider ourselves free, as far as their contents are concerned. In short: while some of our representations are accompanied by the feeling of freedom, others are accompanied by the feeling of necessity. Reasonably the question cannot arise— why are the representations dependent upon our freedom determined in precisely this manner, and not otherwise? For in supposing them to be dependent upon our freedom, all application of the conception of a ground is rejected; they are thus, be­ cause I so fashioned them, and if I had fashioned them differently, they would be otherwise. But it is certainly a question worthy of reflection—what is the ground of the sys­ tem of those representations which are ac­ companied by the feeling of necessity and of that feeling of necessity itself? To answer this question is the object of phil­ osophy ; and, in my opinion, nothing is philosophy but the Science which solves this problem. The system of those repre­ sentations, which are accompanied by the feeling of necessity, is also called Experi­ ence—internal as well as external experi­ ence. Philosophy, therefore, to say the same thing in other words, has to find the ground of all Experience. �Fichte’s Science of Knowledge. Only three objections can be raised against this. Somebody might deny that representations, accompanied by the feel­ ing of necessity, and referred to a Truth determined without any action of ours, do ever occur in our consciousness. Such a person would either deny his own know­ ledge, or be altogether differently con­ structed from other men ; in which latter case his denial would be of no concern to us. Or somebody might say : the question is completely unanswerable, we are in ir­ removable ignorance concerning it, and must remain so. To enter into argument with such a person is altogether superflu­ ous. The best reply he can receive is an actual answer to the question, and then all he can do is to examine our answer, and tell us why and in what matters it does not appear satisfactory to him. Finally, somebody might quarrel about the desig­ nation, and assert: “Philosophy is some­ thing else than what you have stated above, or at least something else besides.” It might be easily shown to such a one, that scholars have at all times designated exactly what we have just stated to be Philosophy, and that whatever else he might assert to be Philosophy, has already another name, and that if this word signi­ fies anything at all, it must mean exactly this Science. But as we are not inclined to enter upon any dispute about words, we, for our part, have already given up the name of Philosophy, and have called the Science which has the solution of this problem for its object, the Science of Knowledge. II. Only when speaking of something, which we’consider accidental, i. e. which we suppose might also have been other­ wise, though it was not determined by free­ dom, can we ask for its ground ; and by this very asking for its ground does it be­ come accidental to the questioner. To find the ground of anything accidental means, to find something else, from the determinedness of which it can be seen why the accidental, amongst the various conditions it might have assumed, assumed precisely the one it did. The ground lies —by the very thinking of a ground—be­ yond its Grounded, and both are, in so far 25 as they are Ground and Grounded, opposed to each other, related to each other, and thus the latter is explained from the former. Now Philosophy is to discover the ground of all experience; hence its object lies necessarily beyond all Experience. This sentence applies to all Philosophy, and has been so applied always heretofore, if we except these latter days of Kant’s miconstruers and their facts of conscious­ ness, i. e. of inner experience. No objection can be raised to this para­ graph ; for the premise of our conclusion is a mere analysis of the above-stated con­ ception of Philosophy, and from the prem­ ise the conclusion is drawn. If some­ body should wish to remind us that the conception of a ground must be differently explained, we can, to be sure, not prevent him from forming another conception of it, if he so chooses ; but we declare, on the strength of our good right, that we, in the above description of Philosophy, wish to have nothing else understood by that word. Hence, if it is not to be so under­ stood, the possibility of Philosophy, as we have described it, must be altogether de­ nied, and such a denial we have replied to in our first section. III. The finite intelligence has nothing beyond experience ; experience contains the whole substance of its thinking. The philosopher stands necessarily under thé same conditions, and hence it seems impos­ sible that he can elevate himself beyond experience. But he can abstract; i. e. he can separate by the freedom of thinking what in experi­ ence is united. In Experience, the Thing —that which is to be determined in itself independent of our freedom, and in ac­ cordance with which our knowledge is to shape itself—and the Intelligence—which is to obtain a knowledge of it—are in­ separably united. The philosopher may abstract from both, and if he does, he bas abstracted from Experience and elevated, himself above it. If he abstracts from the first, he retains an intelligence in itself, i. e. abstracted from its relation to experi­ ence ; if he abstract from the latter, he re­ tains the Thing in itself, i. e. abstracted from the fact that it occurs in experience; �26 Fichte's Science of Knowledge. and thus retains the Intelligence in it­ self, or the “Thing in itself,” as the explanatory ground of Experience. The former mode of proceeding is called Ideal­ ism, the latter Dogmatism. Only these two philosophical systems— and of that these remarks should convince everybody—are possible. According to the first system the representations, which are accompanied by the feeling of neces­ sity, are productions of the Intelligence, which must be presupposed in their ex­ planation ; according to the latter system they are the productions of a thing in itself which must be presupposed to explain them. If anybody desired to deny this, he would have to prove that there is still another way to go beyond experience than the one by means of abstraction, or that the consciousness of experience contains more than the two components just men­ tioned. Now in regard to the first, it will appear below, it is true, that what we have here called Intelligence does, indeed, occur in consciousness under another name, and hence is not altogether produced by ab­ straction ; but it will at the same time be shown that the consciousness of it is con­ ditioned by an abstraction, which, how­ ever, occurs naturally to mankind. We do not at all deny that it is possible to compose a whole system from fragments of these incongruous systems, and that this illogical labor has often been under­ taken ; but we do deny that more than these two systems are possible in a logical course of proceeding. IV. Between the object—(we shall call the explanatory ground of experience, which a philosophy asserts, the object of that philosophy, since it appears to be only through and for such philosophy) — be­ tween the object of Idealism and that of Dogmatism there is a remarkable distinc­ tion in regard to their relation to con­ sciousness generally. All whereof I am con­ scious is called object of consciousness. There are three ways in which the object can be related to consciousness. Either it appears to have been produced by the representation, or as existing without any action of ours; and in the latter case, as either also determined in regard to its qualitativeness, or as existing merely in regard to its existence, while determinable in regard to its qualitativeness by the free intelligence. The first relation applies merely to an imaginary object; the second merely to an object of Experience; the third applies only to an object, which we shall at once proceed to describe. I can determine myself by freedom to think, for instance, the Thing in itself of the Dogmatists. Now if I am to abstract from the thought and look simply upon myself, I myself become the object of a particular representation. That I appear to myself as determined in precisely this manner, and none other, e. g. as thinking, and as thinking of all possible thoughts— precisely this Thing in itself, is to depend exclusively upon my own freedom of selfdetermination ; I have made myself such a particular object out of my own free will. 1 have not made myself; on the contrary, I am forced to think myself in advance as determinable through this self-determina­ tion. Hence I am myself my own object, the determinateness of which, under cer­ tain conditions, depends altogether upon the intelligence, but the existence of which must always be presupposed. Now this very “I” is the object of Idealism. The object of this system does not occur actu­ ally as something real in consciousness, not as a Thing in itself—for then Idealism would cease to be what it is, and become Dogmatism—but as “Z” in itself-, not as an object of Experience—for it is not de­ termined, but is exclusively determinable through my freedom, and without this de­ termination it would be nothing, and is really not at all—but as something beyond all Experience. The object of Dogmatism, on the con­ trary, belongs to the objects of the first class, which are produced solely by free Thinking. The Thing in itself is a mere invention, and has no reality at all. It does not occur in Experience, for the sys­ tem of Experience is nothing else than Thinking accompanied by the feeling of necessity, and can not even be said to be anything else by the dogmatist, who, like �Fichte's Science of Knowledge. every philosopher, has to explain its cause. True, the dogmatist wants to obtain re­ ality for it through the necessity of think­ ing it as ground of all experience, and would succeed, if he could prove that ex­ perience can be, and can be explained only by means of it. But this is the very thing in dispute, and he cannot presuppose what must first be proven. Hence the object of Idealism has this advantage over the object of Dogmatism, that it is not to be deduced as the explana­ tory ground of Experience—which would be a contradiction, and change this system itself into a part of Experience—but that it is, nevertheless, to be pointed out as a part of consciousness ; whereas, the object of Dogmatism can pass for nothing but a mere invention, which obtains validity only through the success of the system. This we have said merely to promote a clearer insight into the distinction between the two systems, but not to draw from it conclusions against the latter system. That the object of every philosophy, as explanatory ground of Experience, must lie beyond all experience, is required by the very nature of Philosophy, and is far from being derogotary to a system. But we have as yet discovered no reasons why that object should also occur in a particu­ lar manner within consciousness. If anybody should not be able to convince himself of the truth of what we have just said, this would not make his conviction of the truth of the whole system an impos­ sibility, since what we have just said was only intended as a passing remark. Still in conformity to our plan we will also here take possible objections into consideration. Somebody might deny the asserted im­ mediate self-consciousness in a free act of the mind. Such a one we should refer to the conditions stated above. This selfconsciousness does not obtrude itself upon us, and comes not of its own accord; it is necessary first to act free, and next to ab­ stract from the object, and attend to one’s self. Nobody can be forced to do this, and though he may say he has done it, it is impossible to say whether he has done it correctly. In one word, this conscious­ ness cannot be proven to any one, but 27 everybody must freely produce it within himself. Against the second assertion, that the “Thing in itself” is a mere in­ vention, an objection could only be raised, because it were misunderstood. V. Neither of these two systems can di­ rectly refute the other ; for their dispute is a dispute about the first principle; each system—if you only admit its first axiom— proves the other one wrong; each denies all to the opposite, and these« two systems have no point in common from which they might bring about a mutual understanding and reconciliation. Though they may agree on the words of a sentence, they will sure­ ly attach a different meaning to the words. (Hence the reason why Kant has not been understood and why the Science of Knowledge can find no friends. The sys­ tems of Kant and of the Science of Knowl­ edge are idealistic—not in the general in­ definite, but in the just described definite sense of the word; but the modern phil­ osophers are all of them dogmatists, and are firmly resolved to remain so. Kant was merely tolerated, because it was possi­ ble to make a dogmatist out of him; but the Science of Knowledge, which cannot be thus construed, is insupportable to these wise men. The rapid extension of Kant’s philosophy—when it'was thus misunder­ stood— is not a proof of the profundity, but rather of the shallowness of the age. For in this shape it is the most wonderful abortion ever created by human imagina­ tion, and it does little honor to its defend­ ers that they do not perceive this. It can also be shown that this philosophy was accepted so greedily only because people thought it would put a stop to all serious speculation, and continue the era of shal­ low Empiricism.) First. Idealism cannot refute Dogma­ tism. True, the former system has the ad­ vantage, as we have already said, of being enabled to point out its explanatory ground of all experience—the free acting intelli­ gence—as a fact of consciousness. This fact the dogmatist must also admit, for otherwise he would render himself incapa­ ble of maintaining the argument with his opponent; but he at the same time, by a cor­ rect conclusion from his principle, changes �2S Fichte's Science of Knowledge. this explanatory ground into a deception and appearance, and thus renders it inca­ pable of being the explanatory ground of anything else, since it cannot maintain its own existence in its own philosophy. Ac­ cording to the Dogmatist, all phenomena of our consciousness are productions of a Thing in itself, even our pretended deter­ minations by freedom, and the belief that we are free. This belief is produced by the effect of the Thing upon ourselves, and the determinations, which we deduced from freedom, are also produced by it. The only difference is, that we are not aware of it in these cases, and hence ascribe it to no cause, i. e. to our freed-om. Every logical dogmatist is necsssarily a Fatalist; he does not deny the fact of consciousness, that we consider ourselves free—for this would be against reason ;—but he proves from his principle that this is a false view. He de­ nies the independence of the Ego, which is the basis of the Idealist, in toto, makes it merely a production of the Thing, an acci­ dence of the World; and hence the logical dogmatist is necessarily also materialist. He can only be refuted from the postulate of the freedom and independence of the Ego ; but this is precisely what he denies. Neither can the dogmatist refute the Ideal­ ist. The principle of the former, the Thing in itself, is nothing, and has no reality, as its defenders themselves must admit, ex­ cept that which it is to receive from the fact that experience can only be explained by it. But this proof the Idealist annihi­ lates by explaining experience in another manner, hence by denying precisely what dogmatism assumes. Thus the Thing in itself becomes a complete Chimera; there is no further reason why it should be as­ sumed; and with it the whole edifice of dogmatism tumbles down. ♦ From what we have just stated, is more­ over evident the complete irreconcilability of both systems; since the results of the one destroy those of the other. Wherever their union has been attempted the mem­ bers would not fit together, and somewhere an immense gulf appeared which could not be spanned. If any one were to deny this he would have to prove the possibility of such a union—of a union which consists in an everlasting composition of Matter and Spirit, or, which is the same, of Necessity and Liberty. Now since, as far as we can see at pres­ ent, both systems appear to have the same speculative value, but since both cannot stand together, nor yet either convince the other, it occurs as a very interesting ques­ tion : What can possibly tempt persons who comprehend this—and to comprehend it is so very easy a matter—to prefer the one over the other ; and why skepticism, as the total renunciation of an answer to this problem, does not become universal? The dispute between the Idealist and the Dogmatist is, in reality, the question, whether the independence of the Ego is to be sacrificed to that of the Thing, or vice versa? What, then, is it, which induces sensible men to decide in favor of the one or the other ? The philosopher discovers from this point of view—in which he must necessarily place himself, if he wants to pass for a philos­ opher, and which, in the progress of Think­ ing, every man necessarily occupies sooner or later, — nothing farther than that he is forced to represent to himself both: that he is free, and that there are de­ termined things outside of him. But it is impossible for man to stop at this thought; the thought of a representation is but a half-thought, a broken off frag­ ment of a thought; something must be thought and added to it, as corresponding with the representation independent of it. In other words : the representation cannot exist alone by itself, it is only something in connection with something else, and in itself it is nothing. This necessity of think­ ing it is, which forces one from that point of view to the question : What is the ground of the representations ? or, which is exact­ ly the same, What is that which corresponds with them ? Now the representation of the independ­ ence of the Ego and that of the Thing can very well exist together; but not the inde­ pendence itself of both. Only one can be the first, the beginning, the independent; the second, by the very fact of being the �Fichte's Science of Knowledge. second, becomes necessarily dependent upon the first, with which it is to be con­ nected—now, which of the two is to be made the first ? Reason furnishes no ground for a decision ; since the question concerns not the connecting of one link with an­ other, but the commencement of the first link, which as an absolute first act is al­ together conditional upon the freedom of Thinking. Hence the decision is arbitra­ ry ; and since this arbitrariness is never­ theless to have a cause, the decision is de­ pendent upon inclination and interest. The last ground, therefore, of the differ­ ence between the Dogmatist and the Ideal­ ist is the difference of their interest. The highest interest, and hence the ground of all other interest, is that which we feel for ourselves. Thus with the Phil­ osopher. Not to lose his Self in his argu­ mentation, but to retain and assert it, this is the interest which unconsciously guides all his Thinking. Now, there are two grades of mankind ; and in the progress of our race, before the last grade has been universally attained, two chief kinds of men. The one kind is composed of those who have not yet elevated themselves to the full feeling of their freedom and abso­ lute independence, who are merely con­ scious of themselves in the representation of outward things. These men have only a desultory consciousness, linked together with the outward objects, and put together out of their manifoldness. They receive a picture of their Self only from the Things, as from a mirror; for their own sake they cannot renounce their faith in the inde­ pendence of those things, since they exist only together with these things. What­ ever they are they have become through the outer World. Whosoever is only a production of the Things will never view himself in any other manner; and he is perfectly correct, so long as he speaks merely for himself and for those like him. The principle of the dogmatist is : Faith in the things, for their own sake ; hence, mediated Faith in their own desultory self, as simply the result of the Things. But whosoever becomes conscious of his self-existence and independence from all outward things—and this men can only be­ 29 come by making something of themselves, through their own Self, independently of all outward things—needs no longer the Things as supports of his Self, and cannot use them, because they annihilate his inde­ pendence and turn it into an empty appear­ ance. The Ego which he possesses, and which interests him, destroys that Faith in the Things; he believes in his independ­ ence, from inclination, and seizes it with affection. His Faith in himself is imme­ diate. From this interest the various passions are explicable, which mix generally with the defence of these philosophical systems. The dogmatist is in danger of losing his Self when his system is attacked ; and yet he is not armed against this attack, because there is something within him which takes part with the aggressor ; hence, he defends himself with bitterness and heat. The ideal­ ist, on the contrary, cannot well refrain from looking down upon his opponent with a certain carelessness, since the latter can tell him nothing which he has not known long ago and has cast away as useless. The dogmatist gets angry, misconstrues, and would persecute, if he had the power; the idealist is cold and in danger of ridiculing his antagonist. Hence, what philosophy a man chooses depends entirely upon what kind of man he is; for a philosophical system is not a piece of dead household furniture, which you may use or not use, but is animated by the soul of the man who has it. Men of a naturally weak-minded character, or who have become weak-minded and crooked through intellectual slavery, scholarly lux­ ury and vanity, will never elevate them­ selves to idealism. You can show the dogmatist the insuffi­ ciency and inconsequence of bis system, of which we shall speak directly; you can confuse and terrify him from all sides ; but you cannot convince him, because he is un­ able to listen to and examine with calm­ ness what he cannot tolerate. If Idealism should prove to be the only real Philosophy, it will also appear that a man must be born a philosopher, be educated to be one, and educate himself to be one; but that no human art (no external force) can make a �30 Fichte’s Science of Knowledge. philosopher out of him. Hence, this Sci­ ence expects few proselytes from men who have already formed their character; if our Philosophy has any hopes at all, it en­ tertains them rather from the young gene­ ration, the natural vigor of which has not yet been submerged in the weak-mindednessof the age. VI. But dogmatism is totally incapable of explaining what it should explain, and this is decisive in regard to its insufficien­ cy. It is to explain the representation of things, and proposes to explain them as an effect of the Things. Now, the dogmatist cannot deny what immediate conscious­ ness asserts of this representation. What, then, does it assert thereof? It is not my purpose here to put in a conception what can only be gathered in immediate contem­ plation, nor to exhaust that which forms a great portion of the Science of Knowledge. I will merely recall to memory what every one, who has but firmly looked within him­ self, must long since have discovered. The Intelligence, as such, sees itself, and this seeing of its self is immediately con­ nected with all that appertains to the Intel­ ligence ; and in this immediate uniting of Being and Seeing the nature of the Intel­ ligence consists. Whatever is in the In­ telligence, whatever the Intelligence is itself, the Intelligence is for itself, and only in so far as it is this for itself is it this, as Intelligence. I think this or that object! Now what does this mean, and how do I appear to myself in this Thinking ? Not otherwise than thus : I produce certain conditions within myself, if the object is a mere in­ vention ; but if the objects are real and exist without my invention, I simply con­ template, as a spectator, the production of those conditions within me. They are within me only in so far as I contemplate them; my contemplation and their Being are inseparably united. A Thing, on the contrary, is to be this or that; but as soon as the question is put: For whom is it this? Nobody, who but comprehends the word, will reply : For itself! But he will have to add the thought of an Intelligence, for which the Thing is to be; while, on the contrary, the Intelligence is self-sufficient and requires no additional thought. By thinking it as the Intelligence you include already that for which it is to be. Hence, there is in the Intelligence, to express myself figura­ tively, a twofold—Being and Seeing, the Real and the Ideal; and in the inseparabil­ ity of th is twofold the nature of the Intelli­ gence consists, while the Thing is simply a unit—the Real. Hence Intelligence and Thing are directly opposed to each other; they move in two worlds, between which there is no bridge. The nature of the Intelligence and its particular determinations Dogmatism en­ deavors to explain by the principle of Causality ; the Intelligence is to be a pro­ duction, the second link in a series. But the principle of causality applies to a real series, and not to a double one. The power of the cause goes over into an Other opposed to it, and produces therein a Be­ ing, and nothing further; a Being for a possible outside Intelligence, but not for the thing itself. You may give this Other even a mechanical power, and it will trans­ fer the received impression to the next link, and thus the movement proceeding from the first may be transferred through as long a series as you choose to make; but nowhere will you find a link which re­ acts back upon itself. Or give the Other the highest quality which you can give a thing—Sensibility—whereby it will follow the laws of its own inner nature, and not the law given to it by the cause—and it will, to be sure, react upon the outward cause ; but it will, nevertheless, remain a mere simple Being, a Being for a possible intelligence outside of it. The Intelligence you will not get, unless you add it in think­ ing as the primary and absolute, the con­ nection of which, with this your independ­ ent Being, you will find it very difficult to explain. The series is and remains a simple one; and you have not at all explained what was to be explained. You were to prove the connection betweeen Being and Represen­ tation ; but this you do not, nor can you do it; for your principle contains merely the ground of a Being, and not of a Repre ■ sentation, totally opposed to Being. You �Fichtes Science of Knowledge. take an immense leap into a world, totally removed from your principle. This leap they seek to hide in various ways. Rig­ orously— and this is the course of con­ sistent dogmatism, which thus becomes materialism ;—the soul is to them no Thing at all, and indeed nothing at all, but merely a production, the result of the reciprocal ac­ tion of Things amongst themselves. But this reciprocal action produces merely a change in the Things, and by no means anything apart from the Things, unless you add an observing intelligence. The similes which they adduce to make their system comprehensible, for instance, that of the harmony resulting from sounds of different instruments, make its irrationality only more apparent. For the harmony is not in the instruments, but merely in the mind of the hearer, who combines within himself the manifold into One; and unless you have such a hearer there is no harmony at all. But who can prevent Dogmatism from assuming the Soul as one of the Things, per se? The soul would thus belong to what it has postulated for the solution of its problem, and, indeed, would thereby be made the category of cause and effect applicable to the Soul and the Things— materialism only permitting a reciprocal action of the Things amongst themselves— and thoughts might now be produced. To make the Unthinkable thinkable, Dogma­ tism has, indeed, attempted to presuppose Thing or the Soul, or both, in such a man­ ner, that the effect of the Thing was to produce a representation. The Thing, as influencing the Soul, is to be such, as to make its influences representations; God, for instance, in Berkley’s system, was such a thing. (Ilis system is dogmatic, not idealistic.) But this does not better mat­ ters ; we understand only mechanical effects, and it is impossible for us to under­ stand any other kind of effects. Hence, that presupposition contains merely words, but there is no sense in it. Or the soul is to be of such a nature that every effect upon the Soul turns into a representation. But this also we find it impossible to understand. In this manner Dogmatism proceeds 31 everywhere, whatever phase it may assume. In the immense gulf, which in that system remains always open between Things and Representations, it places a few empty words instead of an explanation, which words may certainly be committed to mem­ ory, but in saying which nobody has ever yet thought, nor ever will think, anything. For whenever one attempts to think the manner in which is accomplished what Dogmatism asserts to be accomplished, the whole idea vanishes into empty foam. Hence Dogmatism can only repeat its principle, and repeat it in different forms; can only assert and re-assert the same thing; but it cannot proceed from what it asserts to what is to be explained, nor ever deduce the one from the other. But in this deduction Philosophy consists. Hence Dogmatism, even when viewed from a speculative stand-point, is no Philosophy at all, but merely an impotent assertion. Idealism iB the only possible remaining Philosophy. What we have here said can meet with no objection ; but it may -well meet with incapability of understanding it. That all influences are of a mechanical nature, and that no mechanism can pro­ duce a representation, nobody will deny, who but understands the words. But this is the very difficulty. It requires a certain degree of independence and freedom of spirit to comprehend the nature of the in­ telligence, which we have described, and upon which our whole refutation of Dog­ matism is founded. Many persons have not advanced further with their Thinking than to comprehend the simple chain of na­ tural mechanism; and very naturally,there­ fore, the Representation, if they choose to think it at all, belongs, in their eyes, to the same chain of-which alone they have any knowledge. The Representation thus becomes to them a sort of Thing of which we have divers examples in some of the most celebrated philosophical writers. For such persons Dogmatism is sufficient; for them there is no gulf,since the opposite does not exist for them at all. Hence you can­ not convince the Dogmatist by the proof just stated, however clear it may be, for you cannot bring the proof to his knowledge, since he lacks the power to comprehend it. �32 Fichte’s Science of Knovdedge. Moreover, the manner in which Dogma­ tism is treated here, is opposed to the mild way of thinking which characterizes our age, and which, though it has been exten­ sively accepted in all ages, has never been converted to an express principle except in ours; i. e. that philosophers must not be so strict in their logic; in philosophy one should not be so particular as, for instance, in Mathematics. If persons of this mode of thinking see but a few links of the chain and the rule, according to which conclusions are drawn, they at once fill up the remaining part through their imagina­ tion, never investigating further of what they may consist. If, for instance, an Alexander Von loch tells them: “All things are determined by natural neces­ sity ; now our representations depend upon the condition of Things, and our will depends upon our representations : hence all our will is determined by natural necessity, and our opinion of a free will is mere deception !”—then these people think it mightily comprehensible and clear, al­ though there is no sense in it; and they go away convinced and satisfied at the strin­ gency of this his demonstration. I must call to mind, that the Science of Knowledge does not proceed from this mild way of thinking, nor calculate upon it. If only a single link in the long chain it has to draw does not fit closely to the following, this Science does not pretend to have established anything. VII. Idealism, as we have said above? explains the determinations of conscious­ ness from the activity of the Intelligence, which, in its view, is only active and abso­ lute, not passive ; since it is postulated as the first and highest, preceded by noth­ ing, which might explain its passivity. From the same reason actual Existence can­ not well be ascribed to the Intelligence, since such Existence is the result of re­ ciprocal causality, but there is nothing wherewith the Intelligence might be placed in reciprocal causality. From the view of Idealism, the Intelligence is a Doing, and absolutely nothing else; it is even wrong to call it an Active, since this expression points to something existing, in which the activity is inherent. But to assume anything of this kind is against the principle of Idealism, which proposes to deduce all other things from the Intelligence. Now certain determined representations—as, for instance, of a world, of a material world in space, exist­ ing without any work of our own—are to be deduced from the action of the Intelli­ gence; but you cannot deduce anything determined from an undetermined; the form of all deductions, the category of ground and sequence, is not applicable here. Hence the action of the Intelligence, which is made the ground, must be a de­ termined action, and since the action of the Intelligence itself is the highest ground of explanation, that action must be so de­ termined by the Intelligence itself, and not by anything foreign to it. Hence the pre­ supposition of Idealism will be this : the In­ telligence acts, but by its very essence it can only act in a certain manner. If this necessary manner of its action is considered apart from the action, it may properly be called Laws of Action. Hence, there are necessary laws of the Intelligence. This explains also, at the same time, the feeling of necessity which accompanies the determined representations ; the Intel­ ligence experiences in those cases, not an impression from without, but feels in its action the limits of its own Essence. In so far as Idealism makes this only reason­ able and really explanatory presupposition of necessary laws of the Intelligence, it is called Critical or Transcendental Idealism. A transcendent Idealism would be a sys­ tem w’hich were to undertake a deduction of determined representations from the free and perfectly lawless action of the Intelligence: an altogether contradictory presupposition, since, as we have said above, the category of ground and sequence is not applicable in that case. The laws of action of the Intelligence, as sure as they are to be founded in the one nature of the Intelligence, constitute in themselves a system ; that is to say, the fact that the Intelligence acts in this par­ ticular manner under this particular condition is explainable, and explainable be­ cause under a condition it has always a determined mode of action, which again is �Fichte's Science of Knowledge. explainable from one highest fundamental law. In the course of its action the Intel­ ligence gives itself its own laws ; and this legislation itself is done by virtue of a higher necessary action or Representation. For instance : the law of Causality is not a first original law, but only one of the many modes of combining the manifold, and to be deduced from the fundamental law of this combination ; this law of combining the manifold is again, like the manifold itself, to be deduced from higher laws. Hence, even Critical Idealism can pro­ ceed in a twofold manner. Either it de­ duces this system of necessary modes of action, and together with it the objective representations arising therefrom, really from the fundamental laws of the Intelli­ gence, and thus causes gradually to arise under the very eyes of the reader or hearer the whole extent of our representations ; or it gathers these laws—perhaps as they are already immediately applied to objects ; Hence, in a lower condition, and then they are called categories—gathers these laws somewhere, and now asserts, that the ob­ jects are determined and regulated by them. I ask the critic who follows the l&stmentioned method, and who does not de­ duce the assumed laws of the Intelligence from the Essence of the Intelligence, where he gets the material knowledge of these laws, the knowledge that they are just these very same laws ; for instance, that of Substantiality or Causality ? For I do not want to trouble him yet with the question, how he knows that they are mere immanent laws of the Intelligence. They are the laws which are immediately applied to objects, and he can only have obtained them by abstraction from these objects, i. e. from Experience. It is of no avail if he takes them, by a roundabout way, from logic, for logic is to him only the result of abstraction from the objects, and hence he would do indirectly, what directly might appear too clearly in its true nature. Hence he can prove by nothing that his postulated Laws of Thinking are really Laws of Thinking, are really nothing but immanent laws of the Intelligence. The Dogmatist asserts in opposition, that they 3 33 are not, but that they are general quali­ ties of Things, founded on the nature of Things, and there is no reason why we should place more faith in the unproved assertion of the one than in the unproved assertion of the other. This course of pro­ ceeding, indeed, furnishes no understand­ ing that and why the Intelligence should act just in this particular manner. To produce such an understanding, it would be neces­ sary to premise something which can only appertain to the Intelligence, and from those premises to deduce before our eyes the laws of Thinking. By such a course of proceeding it is above all incomprehensible how the object itself is obtained: for although you may admit the unproved postulates of the critic, they explain nothing further than the qualities and relations of the Thing : (that it is, for instance, in space, manifested in time, with accidences which must be re­ ferred to a substance, &c.) But whence that which has these relations and quali­ ties ? whence then the substance which is clothed in these forms ? This substance Dogmatism takes refuge in, and you have but increased the evil. We know very well: the Thing arises only from an act done in accordance with these laws, and is, indeed, nothing else than all th°se relations gathered together by the power of imagination; and all these rela­ tions together are the Thing. The Object is the original Synthesis of all these con­ ceptions. Form and Substance are not separates ; the whole formness is the sub­ stance, and only in the analysis do we ar­ rive at separate forms. But this the critic, who follows the above method, can only assert, and it is even a secret whence he knows it, if he does know it. Until you cause the whole Thing to arise before the eyes of the thinker, you have not pursued Dogmatism into its last hiding places. But this is only possible by letting the Intelligence act in its whole, and not in its partial, lawfulness. Hence, an Idealism of this character is unproven and unprovable. Against Dog­ matism it has no other weapon than the assertion that it is in the right; and against the more perfected criticism no other wea­ �31 Fichte's Science of Knowledge, pon than impotent anger, and the assu­ rance that you can go no further than itself goes. Finally a system of this character puts forth only those laws, according to which the objects of external experience are de­ termined. But these constitute by far the smallest portion of the laws of the Intelli­ gence. Hence, on the field of Practical Rea­ son and of Reflective Judgment, this half criticism, lacking the insight into the whole procedure of reason, gropes about as in total darkness. The method of complete transcendental Idealism, which the Science of Knowledge pursues, I have explained once before in my Essay, On the conception of the Science of Knowledge. I cannot understand why that Essay has not been understood; but suffice it to say, that I am assured it has not been understood. I am therefore com­ pelled to repeat what I have said, and to recall to mind that everything depends upon the correct understanding thereof. This Idealism proceeds from a single fundamental Law of Reason, which is im­ mediately shown as contained in con­ sciousness. This is done in the following manner : The teacher of that Science re­ quests his reader or hearer to think freely a certain conception. If he does so, he will find himself forced to proceed in a partic­ ular manner. Two things are to be distin­ guished here : the act of Thinking,which is required—the realization of which depends upon each individual’s freedom,—and un­ less he realizes it thus, he will not under­ stand anything which the Science of Knowledge teaches; and the necessary manner in which it alone can be realized, which manner is grounded in the Essence of the Intelligence, and does not depend upon freedom; it is something necessary, but which is only discovered in and to­ gether with a free action; it is something discovered, but the discovery of which de­ pends upon an act of freedom. So far as this goes, the teacher of Ideal­ ism shows his assertion to be contained in immediate consciousness, But that this necessary manner is the fundamental law of all reason, that from it the whole sys­ tem of our necessary representations, not only of a world and the determinedness and relations of objects, but also of ourselves, as free and practical beings acting under laws, can be deduced. All this is a mere presupposition, which can only be proven by the actual deduction, which deduction is therefore the real business of the teacher. In realizing this deduction, he proceeds as follows : He shows that the first funda­ mental law which was discovered in im­ mediate consciousness, is not possible, unless a second action is combined with it, which again is not possible without a third action; and so on, until the conditions of the First are completely exhausted, and itself is now made perfectly comprehensible in its possi­ bility. The teacher’s method is a contin­ ual progression from the conditioned to the condition. The condition becomes again conditioned, and its condition is next to be discovered. If the presupposition of Idealism is cor­ rect, and if no errors have been made in the deduction, the last result, as containing all the conditions of the first act, must con­ tain the system of all necessary representa­ tions, or the total experience;—a compari­ son, however, which is not instituted in Philosophy itself, but only after that sci­ ence has finished its work. For Idealism has not kept this experi­ ence in sight, as the preknown object and result, which it should arrive at; in its course of proceeding it knows nothing at all of experience, and does not look upon it; it proceeds from its starting point ac­ cording to its rules, careless as to what the result of its investigations might turn out to be. The right angle, from which it has to draw its straight line, is given to it; is there any need of another point to which the line should be drawn ? Surely not; for all the points of its line arc already given to it with the angle. A certain number is given to you. You suppose that it is the product of certain factors. All you have to do is to search for the product of these factors according to the well-known rules. Whether that product will agree with the given number, you will find out, without any difficulty, as soon as you have obtained it. The given number is the total experience ; those factors are : the part of �Fichte’s Science of Knowledge. immediate consciousness which was dis­ covered, and the laws of Thinking; the multiplication is the Philosophizing. Those who advise you, while philosophizing, also to keep an eye upon experience, advise you to change the factors a little, and to multiply falsely, so as to obtain by all means corresponding numbers ; a course of proceeding as dishonest as it is shallow. In so far as those final results of Idealism are viewed as such, as consequences of our reasoning, they are what is called the a priori of the human mind ; and in so far as they are viewed, also—if they should agree with experience—as given in expe­ rience, they are called a posteriori. Hence the a priori and the a posteriori are, in a true Philosophy, not two, but one and the same, only viewed in two different ways, and distinguished only by the manner in which they are obtained. Philosophy an­ ticipates the whole experience, thinks it only as necessary ; and, in so far, Philoso­ phy is, in comparison with real experience, a priori. The number is a posteriori, if re­ garded as given ; the same number is a priori, if regarded as product of the fac­ tors. Whosoever says otherwise knows not what he talks about. If the results of a Philosophy do not agree with experience, that Philosophy is surely wrong; for it has not fulfilled its promise of deducing the whole experience from the necessary action of the intelli­ gence. In that case, either the presuppo­ sition of transcendental Idealism is alto­ gether incorrect, or it has merely been in­ correctly treated in the particular repre­ sentation of that science. Now, since the problem, to explain experience from its ground, is a problem contained in human reason, and as no rational man will ad­ mit that human reason contains any prob­ lem the solution of which is altogether im­ possible; and since, moreover, there are only two ways of solving it, the dogmatic system (which, as we have shown, cannot accomplish what it promises) and the Ideal­ istic system, every resolute Thinker will always declare that the latter has been the case; that the presupposition in itself is correct enough, and that no failure in at­ tempts to represent it should deter men 85 from attempting it again until finally it must succeed. The course of this Ideal­ ism proceeds, as we have seen, from a fact of consciousness—but which is only obtain­ ed by a free act of Thinking—to the total experience. Its peculiar ground is be­ tween these two. It is not a fact of con­ sciousness and does not belong within the sphere of experience; and, indeed, how could it be called Philosophy if it did, since Philosophy has to discover the ground of experience, and since the ground lies, of course, beyond the sequence. It is the production of free Thinking, but proceed­ ing according to laws. This will be at once clear, if we look a little closer at the funda­ mental assertion of Idealism. It proves that the Postulated is not possible without a second, this not without a third, &c., &c.; hence none of all its conditions is possible alone and by itself, but each one is only possible in its union with all the rest. Hence, according to its own assertion, only the Whole is found in consciousness, and this Whole is the experience. You want to obtain a better knowledge of it; hence you must analyze it, not by blindly groping about, but according to the fixed rule of composition, so that it arises under your eyes as a Whole. You are enabled to do this because you have the power of ab­ straction ; because in free Thinking you can certainly take hold of each single condi­ tion. For consciousness contains not only necessity of Representations, but also free­ dom thereof ; and this freedom again may proceed according to rules. The Whole is given to you from the point of view of ne­ cessary consciousness ; you find it just as you find yourself. But the composition of this Whole, the order of its arrangement, is produced by freedom. Whosoever un­ dertakes this act of freedom, becomes con­ scious of freedom, and thus establishes, as it were, a new field within his conscious­ ness ; whosoever does not undertake it, for him this new field, dependent thereupon, does not exist. The chemist composes a body, a metal for instance, from its ele­ ments. The common beholder sees the metal well known to him ; the chemist be­ holds, moreover, the composition thereof and the elements which it comprises. Do �36 Hegel's Philosophy of Art. both now see different objects? I should think not! Both see the same, only in a different manner. The chemist’s sight is a priori; he sees the separates ; the ordi­ nary beholder’s sight is a posteriori; he sees the Whole. The only distinction is this : the chemist must first analyze the Whole before he can compose it, because he works upon an object of which he can­ not know the rule of composition before he has analyzed it ; while the philosopher can compose without a foregoing analysis, because he knows already the rule of his object, of reason. Hence the content of Philosophy can claim no other reality than that of neces­ sary Thinking, on the condition that you desire to think of the ground of Expe­ rience. The Intelligence can only be thought as active, and can only be thought active in this particular manner ! Such is the assertion of Philosophy. And this reality is perfectly sufficient for Philosophy, since it is evident from the development of that science that there is no other reality. This now described complete critical Idealism, the Science of Kn owledge intends to establish. What I have said just now contains the conception of that science, and I shall listen to no objections which may touch this conception, since no one can know better than myself what I intend to accomplish, and to demonstrate the impos­ sibility of a thing which is already rea­ lized, is ridiculous. Objections, to be legitimate, should only be raised against the elaboration of that conception, and should only consider whether it has fulfilled what it promised to accomplish or not. ANALYTICAL AND CRITICAL ESSAY UPON THE ÆSTHETICS OF HEGEL. [Translated from the French of M. Ch. Bénard by J. A. Martling.j of architecture, sculpture, painting, music, ANALYSIS. Having undertaken to translate into our and poetry. language the ./Esthetics of Hegel, we hope PART I. to render a new service to our readers, by OF THE BEAUTIFUL IN ART. presenting, in an analysis at once cursory In an extended introduction, Hegel lays and detailed the outline of the ideas which form the basis of that vast work. The the foundations of the science of the Beau­ thought of the author will appear shorn of tiful : he defines its object, demonstrates its rich developments ; but it will be more its legitimacy, and indicates its method; easy to seize the general spirit, the connec­ he then undertakes to determine the nature tion of the various parts of the work, and and the end of art. Upon each of these to appreciate their value. In order not to points let us endeavor to state, in a brief mar the clearness of our work, we shall manner, his thought, and, if it is neces­ abstain from mingling criticism with expo­ sary, explain it. Aesthetics is the science of the Beautiful. sition; but reserve for the conclusion a general judgment upon this book, which The Beautiful manifests itself in nature and represents even to-day the state of the in art; but the variety and multiplicity of forms under which beauty presents philosophy of art in Germany. The work is divided into three parts ; itself in the real world, does not permit the first treats of the beautiful in art in their description and systematic classifi­ general; the second, of the general forms of cation. The science of the Beautiful has art in its historic development; the third then as its principal object, art and its Contains the system of the arts—the theory works; it is the philosophy oj the fine arts. �Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri. Is art a proper object of science? No, undoubtedly, if we consider it only as an amusement or a frivolous relaxation. But it has a nobler purpose. It will even be a misconception of its true aim to regard it simply as an auxiliary of morals and re­ ligion. Although it often serves as inter­ preter of moral and religious ideas, it pre­ serves its independence. Its proper object is to reveal truth under sensuous forms. Nor is it allowable to say that it pro­ duces its effects by illusion. Appearance, here, is truer than reality. The images which it places under our eyes are more ideal, more transparent, and also more du­ rable than the mobile and fugitive existen­ ces of the real world. The world of art is truer than that of nature and of history. Can science subject to its formulas the free creations of the imagination ? Art and science, it is true, differ in their meth­ ods ; but imagination, also, has its laws; though free, it has not the right to be law­ less. In art, nothing is arbitrary.; its ground is the essence of things', its form is borrowed from the real world, and the Beautiful is the accord, the harmony of the two terms. Philosophy recognizes in works of art the eternal content of its meditations, the lofty conceptions of in­ telligence, the passions of man, and the motives of his volition. Philosophy does not pretend to furnish prescriptions to art, but is able to give useful advice; it fol­ lows it in its procedures, it points out to it the paths whereon it may go astray; it alone can furnish to criticism a solid basis and fixed principles. As to the method to be followed, two exclusive and opposite courses present themselves. The one, empiric and historic, seeks to draw from the study of the master­ pieces of art, the laws of criticism and the principles of taste. The other, rational and a priori, rises immediately to the idea of the beautiful, and deduces from it cer­ tain general rules. Aristotle and Plato re­ present these two methods. The first reaches only a narrow theory, incapable of comprehending art in its universality ; the other, isolating itself on the heights of metaphysics, knows not how to descend therefrom to apply itself to particular arts, 37 and to appreciate their works. The true method consists in the union of these two methods, in their reconciliation and simul­ taneous employment. To a positive ac­ quaintance with works of art, to the dis­ crimination and delicacy of taste neces­ sary to appreciate them, there should be joined philosophic reflection, and the ca­ pacity of seizing the Beautiful in itself, and of comprehending its characteristics and immutable laws. What is the nature of art? The answer to this question can only be the philosophy of art itself ; and, furthermore, this again can be perfectly understood only in its con­ nection with the other philosophic sciences. One is here compelled to limit himself to general reflections, and to the discussion of received opinions. In the first place, art is a product of hu­ man activity, a creation of the mind. What distinguishes it from science is this, that it is the fruit of inspiration, not of reflec­ tion. On this account it can not be learned or transmitted; it is a gift of genius. Nothing can possibly supply a lack of tal­ ent in the arts. Let us guard ourselves meanwhile from supposing that, like the blind forces of nature, the artist does not know what he does, that reflection has no part in his works. There is, in the first place, in the arts a technical part which must be learned, and a skill which is acquired by practice. Furthermore, the more elevated art be­ comes, the more it demands an extended and varied culture, a study of the objects of nature, and a profound knowledge of the human heart. This is eminently true of the higher spheres of art, especially in Poetry. If works of art are creations of the hu­ man spirit, they are not on that account inferior to those of nature. They are, it is true, living, only in appearance ; but the aim of art is not to create living beings; it seeks to offer to the spirit an image of life clearer than the reality. In this, it surpasses nature. There is also something divine in man, and God derives no less honor from the works of human intelligence than from the works of nature. Now what is the cause which incites mai �38 Hegel’s Philosophy of Jlrt. to the production of such works ? Is it a caprice, a freak, or an earnest, fundamen­ tal inclination of his nature ? It is the same principle which causes him to seek in science food for his mind, in public life a theatre for his activity. In science he endeavors to cognize the truth, pure and unveiled; in art, truth appears to him not in its pure form, but expressed by images which strike his sense at the same time that they speak to his intelligence. This is the principle in which art originates, and which assigns to it a rank so high among the creations of the human mind. Although art is addressed to the sensi­ bility, nevertheless its direct aim is not to excite sensation, and to give birth to pleas­ ure. Sensation is changeful, varied, con­ tradictory. It represents only the various states or modifications of the soul. If then we consider only the impressions which art produces upon us, we make abstrac­ tion of the truth which it reveals to us. It becomes even impossible to comprehend its grand effects ; for the sentiments which it excites in us, are explicable only through the ideas which attach to them. The sensuous element, nevertheless, oc­ cupies a large place in art. What part must be assigned to it? There are two modes of considering sensuous objects in their connection with our mind. The first is that of simple perception of objects by the senses. The mind then knows only their individual side, their particular and concrete form; the essence, the law, the substance of things escapes it. At the same time the desire which is awakened in us, is a desire to appropriate them to our use, to consume them, to destroy them. The soul, in the presence of these objects, feels its dependence; it cannot contem­ plate them with a free and disinterested eye. Another relation of sensuous objects with spirit, is that of speculative thought or science. Here the intelligence is not content to perceive the object in its con­ crete form and its individuality; it dis­ cards the individual side in order to ab­ stract and disengage from it the law, the universal, the essence. Reason thus lifts itself above the individual form perceived by sense, in order to conceive the pure idea in its universality. Art differs both from the one and from the other of these modes; it holds the mean between sensuous perception and rational abstraction. It is distinguished from the first in that it does not attach itself to the real but to the appearance, to the form of the object, and in that it does not feel any selfish longing to consume it, to cause it to serve a purpose, to utilize it. It differs from science in that it is interest­ ed in this particular object, and in its sen­ suous form. What it loves to see in it, is neither its materiality, nor the pure idea in its generality, but an appearance, an image of the truth, something ideal which appears in it; it seizes the connective of the two terms, their accord and their inner harmony. Thus the want which it feels is wholly contemplative. In the presence of this vision the soul feels itself freed from all selfish desire. In a word, art purposely creates images, appearances, designed to represent ideas, to show to us the truth under sensuous forms. Thereby it has the power of stir­ ring the soul in its profoundest depths, of causing it to experience the pure delight springing from the sight and contempla­ tion of the Beautiful. The two principles are found equally combined in the artist. The sensuous side is included in the faculty which creates— the imagination. It is not by mechanical toil, directed by rules learned by heart that he executes his works; nor is it by a process of reflection like that of the philos­ opher who is seeking the truth. The mind has a consciousness of itself, but it cannot seize in an abstract manner the idea which it conceives; it can represent it only under sensuous forms. The image and the idea coexist in thought, and cannot be separat­ ed. Thus the imagination is itself a gift of nature. Scientific genius is rather a general capacity than an innate and spe­ cial talent. To succeed in the arts, there is necessary a determinate talent which reveals itself early under the form of an active and irresistible longing, and a certain facility in the manipulation of the materials of art. It is this which �Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt. makes the painter, th§ sculptor, the musi­ cian. Such is the nature of art. If it be asked, what is its end, here we encounter the most diverse opinions. The most common is that which gives imitation as its object. This is the foundation of nearly all the theories upon art. Now of what use to re­ produce that which nature already offers to our view? This puerile talk, unworthy of spirit to which it is addressed, unworthy of man who produces it, would only end in the revelation of its impotency and the vanity of its efforts ; for the copy will always remain inferior to the original. Besides, the more exact the imitation, the less vivid is the pleasure. That which pleases us is not imitation, but creation. The very least invention surpasses all the masterpieces of imitation. In vain is it said that art ought to imi­ tate beautiful Nature. To select is no longer to imitate. Perfection in imitation is exactness ; moreover, choice supposes a rule; where find the criterion ? What signifies, in fine, imitation in architecture, in music, and even in poetry ? At most, one can thus explain descriptive poetry, that is to say, the most prosaic kind. We must conclude, therefore, that if, in its compositions, art employs the forms of Nature, and must study them, its aim iB not to copy and to reproduce them. Its mis­ sion is higher—its procedure freer. Ri­ val of nature, it represents ideas as well as she, and even better ; it uses her forms as symbols to express them ; and it fashions even these, remodels them upon a type more perfect and more pure. It is not without significance that its works are styled the creations of the genius of man. A second system substitutes expression for imitation. Art accordingly has for its aim, not to represent the external form of things, but their internal and living prin­ ciple, particularly the ideas, sentiments, passions, and conditions of the soul. Less gross than the preceding, this theory is no less false and dangerous. Let us here distinguish two things: the idea and the expression—the content and the form. Now, if Art is designed for ex­ pression solely—if expression is its essen­ 39 tial object—its content is indifferent. Provided that the picture be faithful, the expression lively and animated, the good and the bad, the vicious, the hideous, the ugly, have the same right to figure here as the Beautiful. Immoral, licentious, impi­ ous, the artist will have fulfilled his obli­ gation and reached perfection, when he has succeeded in faithfully rendering a situation, a passion, an idea, be it true or false. It is clear that if in this system the object of imitation is changed, the procedure is the same. Art would be only an echo, a harmonious language; a liv­ ing mirror, where all sentiments and all passions would find themselves reflected, the base part and the noble part of the soul contending here for the same place. The true, here, would be the real, would include objects the most diverse and the most con­ tradictory. Indifferent as to the content, the artist seeks only to represent it well. He troubles himself little concerning truth in itself. Skeptic or enthusiast indifferently, he makes us partake of the delirium of the Bacchanals, or the unconcern of the Sophist. Such is the system which takes for a motto the maxim, Art is for art; that is to say, mere expression for its own sake. Its consequences, and the fatal tendency which it has at all times pressed upon the arts, are well known. A third system sets up moral perfection as the aim of art. It cannot be denied that one of the effects of art is to soften and purify manners (emollit mores'). In mirroring man to himself, it tempers the rudeness of his appetites and his passions ; it disposes him to contemplation and re­ flection ; it elevates his thought and sen­ timents, by leading them to an ideal which it suggests,—to ideas of a superior order. Art has, from all time, been regarded as a powerful instrument of civilization, as an auxiliary of religion. It is, together with religion, the earliest instructor of nations ; it is besides a means of instruc­ tion for minds incapable of comprehending truth otherwise than under the veil of a symbol, and by images that address them­ selves to the sense as well as to the spirit. But this theory, although much superior to the preceding, is no more exact. Its �40 Hegel's Philosophy of Art. defect consists in confounding the moral effect of art with its real aim. This con­ fusion has inconveniences which do not appear at the first glance. Let care be taken, meanwhile, lest, in thus assigning to aft a foreign aim, it be not robbed of its liberty, which is its essence, and with­ out which it has no inspiration—that thereby it be not prevented from produ­ cing the effects which are to be expected from it. Between religion, morals and art, there exists an eternal and intimate harmony; but they are, none the less, es­ sentially diverse forms of truth, and, while preserving entire the bonds which unite them, they claim a complete inde­ pendence. Art has its peculiar laws, methods and jurisdiction; though it ought not to wound the moral sense, yet it is the sense of the Beautiful to which it is ad­ dressed. When its works are pure, its effect on the soul is salutary, but its direct and immediate aim is not this result. Seeking it, it risks losing it, and does lose its own end. Suppose, indeed, that the aim of art should be to instruct, under the veil of allegory; the idea, the abstract and general thought, must be present in the spirit of the artist at the very moment of composition. It seeks, then, a form which is adapted to that idea, and furn­ ishes drapery for it. Who does not see that this procedure is the very opposite of inspiration ? There can be born of it only frigid and lifeless works; its effect will thus be neither moral nor religious ; it will produce only ennui. Another consequence of the opinion which makes moral perfection the object of art and its creations, is that this end is imposed so completely upon art, and con­ trols it to such a degree, that it has no longer even a choice of subjects. The severe moralist would have it represent moral subjects alone. Art is then undone. This system led Plato to banish poets from his republic. If, then, it is necessary to maintain the agreement of morality and art, and the harmony of their laws, their distinct bases and independence must also be recognized. In order to understand thoroughly this distinction between morals and art, it is necessary to have solved the moral problem. Morality is the realiza­ tion of the. <c ought” by the free will; it is the conflict between passion and'reason, inclination and law, the flesh and the spirit. It hinges upon an opposition. Antagonism is, indeed, the very law of the physical and moral universe. But this opposition ought to be cancelled. This is the destiny of beings who by their devel­ opment and progress continually realize themselves. Now, in morals, this harmony of the powers of our being, which should restore peace and happiness, does not exist. Morality proposes it as an end to the free will. The aim and the realization are dis­ tinct. Duty consists in an incessant striv­ ing. Thus, in one respect, morals and art have the same principle and the same aim; the harmony of rectitude, and hap­ piness of actions and law. But that wherein they differ is, that in morals the end is never wholly attained. It appears separated from the means ; the con­ sequence is equally separated from the principle. The harmony of rectitude and happiness ought to be the result of the efforts of virtue. In order to conceive the identity of the two terms, it is neces­ sary to elevate one’s self to a superior point of view, which is not that of morals. In empirical science equally, the law ap­ pears distinct from the phenomenon, the essence separated from its form. In order that this distinction may be cancelled, there is necessary a mode of thinking which is superior to that of reflection, or of empirical science. Art, on the contrary, offers to us in a visible image, the realized harmony of the two terms of existence, of the law of be­ ings and their manifestation, of essence and form, of rectitude and happiness. The beautiful is essence realized, ac­ tivity in conformity with its end, and identified with it; it is the force which iB harmoniously developed under our eyes, in the innermost of existences, and which cancels the contradictions of its nature : happy, free, full of serenity in the very midst of suffering and of sorrow. The problem of art is then distinct from the moral problem. The good is harmony �Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri. sought for; beauty is harmony realized. So must we understand the thought of Hegel; he here only intimates it, but it will be fully developed in the sequel. The true aim of art is then to represent the Beautiful, to reveal this harmony. This is its only purpose. Every other aim, purification, moral amelioration, edifica­ tion, are accessories or consequences. The effect of the contemplation of the Beautiful is to produce in us a calm and pure joy, in­ compatible with the gross pleasures of sense ; it lifts the soul above the ordinary sphere of its thoughts ; it disposes to noble resolutions and generous actions by the close affinity which exists between the three sentiments and the three ideas of the Good, the Beautiful, and the Divine. Such are the principal ideas which this remarkable introduction contains. The re­ mainder, devoted to the examination of works which have marked the development of aesthetic science in Germany since Kant, is scarcely susceptible of analysis, and does not so much deserve our atten­ tion. The first part of the science of aesthetics, which might be called the Metaphysics of the Beautiful, contains, together with the analysis of the idea of the Beautiful, the general principles common to all the arts. Thus Hegel here treats : First, of the ab­ stract idea of the Beautiful; second, of the Beautiful in nature; third, of the Beautiful in art, or of the ideal. He concludes with an examination of the qualities of the art­ ist. But before entering upon these ques­ tions, he thought it necessary to point out the place of art in human life, and espe­ cially its connections with religion and philosophy. The destination of man, the law of his nature, is to develop himself incessantly, to stretch unceasingly towards the infinite. He ought, at the same time, to put an end to the opposition which he finds in himself between the elements and powers of his be­ ing ; to place them in accord by realizing and developing them externally. Physical life is a struggle between opposing forces, and the living being can sustain itself only through the conflict and the triumph of the force which constitutes it. With man, and 41 in the moral sphere, this conflict and pro­ gressive enfranchisement are manifested under the form of freedom, which is the highest destination of spirit. Freedom consists in surmounting the obstacles which it encounters within and without, in re­ moving the limits, in effacing all contra­ diction, in vanquishing evil and sorrow, in order to attain to harmony with the world and with itself. In actual life, man seeks to destroy that opposition by the satisfac­ tion of his physical wants. He calls to his aid, industry and the useful arts ; but he obtains thus only limited, relative, and transient enjoyments. He finds a nobler pleasure in science, which furnishes food for his ardent curiosity, and piomises to reveal to h’m the laws of nature and to unveil the secrets of the universe. Civil life opens another channel to his activity; he burns to realize his conceptions ; he marches to the conquest of the right, and pursues the ideal of justice which he bears within him. He endeavors to realize in civil society his instinct of sociability, which is also the law of his being, and one of the fundamental inclinations of his mor­ al nature. But here, again, he attains an imperfect felicity ; he encounters limits and obstacles which he cannot surmount, and against which, his will is broken. He cannot ob­ tain the perfect realization of his ideas, nor attain the ideal which his spirit con­ ceives and toward which it aspires. He then feels the necessity of elevating him­ self to a higher sphere where all contradic­ tions are cancelled ; where the idea of the good and of happiness in their perfect ac­ cord and their enduring harmony is real­ ized. This profound want of the soul is satisfied in three ways : in art, in religion, and in philosophy. The function of art is to lead us to the contemplation of the true, the infinite, under sensuous forms ; for the beautiful is the unity, the realized harmo­ ny of two principles of existence, of the idea and the form, of the infinite and the finite. This is the principle and the hid­ den essence of things, beaming through their visible form. Art presents us, in its works, the image of this happy accord where all opposition ceases, and where all �42 Hegel's Philosophy of Art. contradiction is Cancelled. Such is the aim of art: to represent the divine, the in­ finite, under sensuous forms. This is its mission; it has no other and this it alone can fulfil. By this title it takes its place by the side of religion, and preserves its independence. It takes its rank also with philosophy, whose object is the knowledge of the true, of absolute truth. Alike then as to their general ground and aims, these three spheres are distin­ guished by the form under which they be­ come revealed to the spirit and conscious­ ness of man. Art is addressed to sensuous perception and to the imagination; reli­ gion is addressed to the soul, to the con­ science, and to sentiment; philosophy is addressed to pure thought or to the reason, which conceives the truth in an abstract manner. Art, which offers us truth under sensu­ ous forms, does not, however, respond to the profoundest needs of the soul. The spirit is possessed of the desire of entering into itself, of contemplating the truth in the inner recesses of consciousness. Above the domain of art, then, religion is placed, which reveals the infinite, and by medita­ tion conveys to the depths of the heart, to the centre of the soul, that which in art we contemplate externally. As to philosophy, its peculiar aim is to conceive and to com­ prehend, by the intellect alone, under an abstract form, that which is given as sen­ timent or as sensuous representation. I. Of the Idea of the Beautiful. After these preliminaries, Ilegel enters upon the questions which form the object of this first part. He treats, in the first place, of the idea of the beautiful in itself, in its abstract nature. Freeing his thought from the metaphysical forms which render it difficult of comprehension to minds not familiar with his system, we arrive at this definition, already contained in the fore­ going : the Beautiful is the true, that is to say, the essence, the inmost substance of things ; the true, not such as the mind con­ ceives it in its abstract and pure nature, but as manifested to the senses under visi­ ble forms. It is the sensuous manifesta­ tion of the idea, which is the soul and principle of things. This definition recalls that of Plato : the Beautiful is the splendor of the true. What are the characteristics of the beau­ tiful ? First, it is infinite in this sense, that it is the divine principle itself which is revealed and manifested, and that the form which expresses it, in place of limit­ ing it, realizes it and confounds itself with it; second, it is free, for true freedom is not the absence of rule and measure, it is force which develops itself easily and har­ moniously. It appears in the bosom of the existences of the sensuous world, as their principle of life, of unity, and of harmony, whether free from all obstacle, or victorious and triumphant in conflict, always calm and serene. The spectator who contemplates beauty feels himself equally free, and has a con­ sciousness of his infinite nature. He tastes a pure pleasure, resulting from the felt ac­ cord of the powers of his being ; a celestial and divine joy, which has nothing in com­ mon with material pleasures, and does not suffer to exist in the soul a single impure or gross desire. The contemplation of the Beautiful awakens no such craving; it is self-suf­ ficing, and is not accompanied by any re­ turn of the me upon itself. It suffers the object to preserve its independence for its own sake. The soul experiences some­ thing analogous to divine felicity; it is transported into a sphere foreign to the miseries of life and terrestrial existence. This theory, it is apparent, would need only to be developed to return wholly to the Platonic theory. Hegel limits himself to referring to it. We recognize here, also, the results of the Kantian analysis. II. Of the Beautiful in Nature. Although science cannot pause to de­ scribe the beauties of nature, it ought, nevertheless, to study, in a general man­ ner, the characteristics of the Beautiful, as it appears to us in the physical world and in the beings which it contains. This is the subject of a somewhat extended chap­ ter, with the following title : Of the Beau­ tiful in Nature. Hegel herein considers the question from the particular point of �Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri. view of his philosophy, and he applies his theory of the Idea. Nevertheless, the re­ sults at which he arrives, and the manner in which he describes the forms of physical beauty, can be comprehended and accepted independently of his system, little adapt­ ed, it must be confessed, to cast light upon this subject. The Beautiful in nature is the first mani­ festation of the Idea. The successive de­ grees of beauty correspond to the develop­ ment of life and organization in beings. Unity is an essential characteristic of it. Thus, in the mineral, beauty consists in the arrangement or disposition of the parts, in the force which resides in them, and which reveals itself in this unity. The so­ lar system offers us a more perfect unity and a higher beauty. The bodies in that system, while preserving entire their indi­ vidual existence, co-ordinate themselves into a whole, the parts of which are inde­ pendent, although attached to a common centre, the sun. Beauty of this order strikes us by the regularity of the move­ ments of the celestial bodies. A unity more real and true is that which is mani­ fested in organized and living beings. The unity here consists in a relation of re-* ciprocity and of mutual dependence be­ tween the organs, so that each of them loses its independent existence in order to give place to a wholly ideal unity which reveals itself as the principle of life ani­ mating them. Life is beautiful in nature : for it is es­ sence, force, the idea realized under its firs'- form. Nevertheless, beauty in nature is still wholly external; it has no conscious­ ness of itself; it is beautiful solely for an intelligence which sees and contem­ plates it. How do we perceive beauty in natural beings? Beauty, with living and animate beings, is neither accidental and capricious movements, nor simple conformity of those movements to an end—the uniform and mutual connection of parts. This point of view is that of the naturalist, of the man of science ; it is not that of the Beautiful. Beauty is total form in so far as it reveals the force which animates it; it is this force itself, manifested by a totality of 43 forms, of independent and free move­ ments ; it is the internal harmony which reveals itself in this secret accord of mem­ bers, and which betrays itself outwardly, without the eye’s pausing to consider the relation of the parts to the whole, and their functions or reciprocal connection, as sci­ ence does. The unity exhibits itself mere­ ly externally as the principle which binds the members together. It manifests itself especially through the sensibility. The point of view of beauty is then that of pure contemplation, not that of reflection, which analyzes, compares and seizes the connection of parts and their destination. This internal and visible unity, this ac­ cord, and this harmony, are not distinct from the material element; they are its very form. This is the principle which « serves to determine beauty in its inferior grades, the beauty of the crystal with its regular forms, forms produced by an in­ ternal and free force. A similar activity is developed in a more perfect manner in the living organism, its outlines, the dispo­ sition of its members, the movements, and the expression of sensibility. Such is beauty in individual beings. It is otherwise with it when we consider na­ ture in its totality, the beauty of a land­ scape, for example. There is no longer question here about an organic disposition of parts and of the life which animates them ; we have under our eyes a rich mul­ tiplicity of objects which form a whole, mountains, trees, rivers, etc. In this di­ versity there appears an external unity which interests us by its agreeable or im­ posing character. To this aspect there is added that property of the objects of na­ ture through which they awaken in us, sympathetically, certain sentiments, by the secret analogy which exists between them and the situations of the human soul. Such is the effect produced by the silence of the night, the calm of a still valley, the sublime aspect of a vast sea in tumult, and the imposing grandeur of the starry heavens. The significance of these objects is not in themselves ; they are only sym­ bols of the sentiments of the soul which they excite. It is thus we attribute to an­ imals the qualities which belong only to �44 Hegel's Philosophy of Art. man, courage, fortitude, cunning. Physi­ consists in a totality of elements essen­ cal beauty is a reflex of moral beauty. tially distinct, but whose opposition is To recapitulate, physical beauty, viewed destroyed and reduced to unity by a secret in its ground or essence, consists in the accord, a reciprocal adaptation. Such is manifestation of the concealed principle, the harmony of forms and colors, that of of the force which is developed in the bo­ sounds and movements, Here the unity is som of matter. This force reveals itself stronger, more prononce, precisely be­ in a manner more or less perfect, by unity cause the differences and the oppositions in inert matter, and in living beings by the are more marked. Harmony, however, is different modes of organization. not as yet true unity, spiritual unity, Hegel then devotes a special examination that of the soul, although the latter pos­ to the external side, or to beauty of form sesses within it a principle of harmony. in natural objects. Physical beauty, con­ Harmony alone, as yet, reveals neither the sidered externally, presents itself succes­ soul nor the spirit, as one may see in music sively under the aspects of regularity and and dancing. symmetry, of conformity to law and of har­ Beauty exists also in matter itself, mony ; lastly, of purity and simplicity of abstraction being made of its form; it matter. consists, then, in the unity and simplicity 1. Regularity, which is only the repeti­ which constitutes purity. Such is the tion of a form equal to itself, is the most purity of the sky and of the atmosphere, elementary and simple form. In symmetry the purity of colors and of sounds ; that of there already appears a diversity which certain substances—of precious stones, of breaks the uniformity. These two forms gold, and of the diamond. Pure and sim­ of beauty pertain to quantity, and consti­ ple colors are also the most agreeable. tute mathematical beauty ; they are found After having described the beautiful in in organic and inorganic bodies, minerals nature, in order that the necessity of a and crystals. In plants are presented less beauty more exalted and more ideal, shall regular, and freer forms. In the organiza- be comprehended, Hegel sets forth the im­ ation of animals, this regular and sym­ perfections of real beauty. He begins with metrical disposition becomes more and animal life, which is the most elevated more subordinated in proportion as we as­ point we have reached, and he dwells upon cend to higher degrees of the animal scale. the characteristics and causes of that im­ 2. Conformity to a law marks a degree perfection. still more elevated, and serves as a transi­ Thus, first in the animal, although the tion to freer forms. Here there appears organism is more perfect than that of the an accord more real and more profound, plant, what we see is not the central point which begins to transcend mathematical of life; the special seat of the operations rigor. It is no longer a simple numerical of the force which animates the whole, re­ relation, where quantity plays the princi­ mains concealed from us. We see only pal role ; we discover a relation of quality the outlines of the external form, covered between different terms. A law rules with hairs, scales, feathers, skin; second­ the whole, but it cannot be calcu­ ly, the human body, it is true, exhibits lated; it remains a hidden bond, which more beautiful proportions, and a more reveals itself to the spectator. Such is perfect form, because in it, life and sensi­ the oval line, and above all, the undulating bility are everywhere manifested—in the line, which Hogarth has given as the line color, the flesh, the freer movements, of beauty. These lines determine, in fact, nobler attitudes, &c. Yet here, besides the beautiful forms of organic nature in the imperfections in details, the sensibil­ living beings of a high order, and, above ity does not appear equally distributed. all, the beautiful forms of the human body, Certain parts are appropriated to animal of man and of woman. functions, and exhibit their destination in 3. Harmony is a degree still superior’to their form. Further, individuals in nature, the preceding, and it includes them. It placed as they are under a dependence �Hegels Philosophy of Jiri. upon external causes, and under the in­ fluence of the elements, are under the dominion of necessity and want. Under the continual action of these causes, phy­ sical being is exposed to losing the fulness of its forms and the flower of its beauty; rarely do these causes permit it to attain to its complete, free and regular develop­ ment. The human body is placed under a like dependence upon external agents. If we pass from the physical to the moral world, that dependence appears still more clearly. Everywhere there is manifested diver­ sity, and opposition of tendencies and interests. The individual, in the pleni­ tude of his life and beauty, cannot pre­ serve the appearance of a free force. Each individual being is limited and particular­ ized in his excellence. His life flows in a narrow circle of space and time; he be­ longs to a determinate species ; his type is given, his form defined, and the condi­ tions of his development fixed. The hu­ man body itself offers, in respect to beauty, a progression of forms dependent on the diversity of races. Then come hereditary qualities, the peculiarities which are due to temperament, profession, age, and sex. All these causes alter and disfigure the purest and most perfect primitive type. All these imperfections are summed up in a word: the finite. Human life and animal life realize their idea only imper­ fectly. Moreover, spirit—not being able to find, in the limits of the real, the sight and the enjoyment of its proper freedom— seeks to satisfy itself in a region more ele­ vated, that of ari, or of the ideal. III. Of the beautiful in Art or of the Ideal. Art has as its end and aim the repre­ sentation of the ideal. Now what is the ideal7. It is beauty in a degree of perfec­ tion superior to real beauty. It is force, life, spirit, the essence of things, develop­ ing themselves harmoniously in a sensu­ ous reality, which is its resplendent image, its faithful expression ; it is beauty dis­ engaged and purified from the accidents which veil and disfigure it, and which alter its purity in the real world. The ideal, in art, is not then the con­ 45 trary of the real, but the real idealized, purified, rendered conformable to its idea, and perfectly expressing it. In a word, it is the perfect accord of the idea and the sensuous form. On the other hand, the true ideal is not life in its inferior degrees—blind, unde­ veloped force—but the soul arrived at the consciousness of itself, free, and in the full enjoyment of its faculties; it is life, but spiritual life—in a word, spirit. The representation of the spiritual principle, in the plenitude of its life and freedom, with its high conceptions, its profound and no­ ble sentiments, its joys and its sufferings : this is the true aim of art, the true ideal. Finally, the ideal is not a lifeless ab­ straction, a frigid generality; it is the spiritual principle under the form of the living individual, freed from the bonds of the finite, and developing itself in its per­ fect harmony with its inmost nature and essence. We see, thus, what are the characteris­ tics of the ideal. It is evident that in all its degrees it is calmness, serenity, felici­ ty, happy existence, freed from the mis­ eries and wants of life. This serenity does not exclude earnestness ; for the ideal appears in the midst of the conflicts of life ; but even in the roughest experiences, in the midst of intense suffering, the soul preserves an evident calmness as a funda­ mental trait. It is felicity in suffering, the glorification of sorrow, smiling in tears. The echo of this felicity resounds in all the spheres of the ideal. It is important to determine, with still more precision, the relations of the ideal and the real. The opposition of the ideal and the real has given rise to two conflicting opinions. Some conceive of the ideal as something vague, an abstract, lifeless generality, without individuality. Others extol the natural, the imitation of the real in the most minute and prosaic details. Equal exaggeration I The truth lies between the two extremes. In the first place, the ideal may be, in fact, something external and accidental, an insignificant form or appearance, a common existence. But that which con­ �4G Hegel's Philosophy of Art. stitutes the ideal, in this inferior degree, is the fact that this reality, imitated by art, is a creation of spirit, and becomes then something artificial, not real. It is an image and a metamorphosis. This image, moreover, is more permanent than its model, more durable than the real ob­ ject. In fixing that which is mobile and transient, in eternizing that which is mo­ mentary and fugitive—a flower, a smile— art surpasses nature and idealizes it. But it does not stop here. Instead of simply reproducing these objects, while preserving their natural form, it seizeB their internal and deepest character, it extends their signification, and gives to them a more elevated and .more general significance; for it must manifest the uni­ versal in the individual, and render visible the idea which they represent, their eter­ nal and fixed type. It allows this charac­ ter of generality to penetrate everywhere, without reducing it to an abstraction. Thus the artist does not slavishly repro­ duce all the features of the object, and its accidents, but only the true traits, those conformable to its idea. If, then, he takes nature as a model, he still surpasses and idealizes it. Naturalness, faithfulness, truth, these are not exact imitation, but the perfect conformity of the form to the idea; they are the creation of a more perfect form, whose essential traits repre­ sent the idea more faithfully and more clearly than it is expressed in nature itself. To know how to disengage the operative, energetic, essential and significant ele­ ments in objects,—this is the task of the artist. The ideal, then, is not the real; the latter contains many elements insignifi­ cant, useless, confused and foreign, or op­ posed to the idea. The natural here loses its vulgar significance. By this word must be understood the more exalted expression of spirit. The ideal is a transfigured, glo­ rified nature. As to vulgar and common nature, if art takes it also for its object, it is not for its own sake, but because of what in it is true, excellent, interesting, ingenuous or gay, as in genre painting, in Dutch paint­ ing particularly. It occupies, neverthe­ less, an inferior rank, and cannot make pretensions to a place beside the grand compositions of art. But there are other subjects—a nature more elevated and more ideal. Art, at its culminating stage, represents the develop­ ment of the internal powers of the soul, its grand passions, profound sentiments, and lofty destinies. Now, it is clear that the artist does not find in the real world, forms so pure and ideal that he may safely confine himself to imitating and copying. Moreover, if the form itself be given, ex­ pression must be added. Besides, he ought to secure, in a just measure, the union of the individual and the universal, of the form and the idea; to create a living ideal, penetrated with the idea, and in which it animates the sensuous form and appearance throughout, so that there shall be nothing in it empty or insig­ nificant, nothing that is not alive with ex­ pression itself. Where shall he find in the real world, this just measure, this animation, and this exact correspondence of all the parts and of all the details con­ spiring to the same end, to the same effect ? To say that he will succeed in conceiving and realizing the ideal, by making a feli­ citous selection of ideas and forms, is to ignore the secret of artistic composition ; it is to misconceive the entirely sponta­ neous method of genius,—inspiration which creates at a single effort,—to replace it by a reflective drudgery, which only results in the production of frigid and lifeless works. It does not suffice to define the ideal in an abstract manner; the ideal is exhibited to us in the works of art under very va­ rious and diverse forms. Thus sculpture represents it under the motionless features of its figures. In the other arts it assumes the form of movement and of action ; in poetry, particularly, it manifests itself in the midst of most varied situations and events, of conflicts between persons ani­ mated by diverse passions. IIow, and under what conditions, is each art in par­ ticular’ called upon to represent thus the ideal ? This will be the object of the theory of the arts. In the general expo­ sition of the principles of art, we may, nevertheless, attempt to define the degrees �Hegel's Philosophy of Art. of this development, to study the princi­ pal aspects under which it manifests it­ self. Such is the object of those con­ siderations, the title of which is, Of the Determination of the Ideal, and which the author develops iu this first part of the work. We can trace only summarily the principal ideas, devoting ourselves to marking their order and con­ nection. The gradation which the author estab­ lishes between the progressively determ­ ined forms of the ideal is as follows : 1. The ideal, under the most elevated form, is the divine idea, the divine such as the imagination can represent it under sensuous forms; such is the Greek ideal of the divinities of Polytheism ; such the Christian ideal in its highest purity, under the form of God the Father, of Christ, of the Virgin, of the Apostles, etc. It is given above all to sculpture and painting, to present us the image of it. Its essen­ tial characteristics are calmness, majesty, serenity. 2. In a degree less elevated, but more determined, in the circle of human life, the ideal appears to us, with man, as the victory of the eternal principles which fill the human heart, the triumph of the noble part of the soul over the inferior and passionate. The noble, the excellent, the perfect, in the human soul, is the moral and divine principle which is mani­ fested in it, which governs its will, and causes it to accomplish grand actions; this is the true source of self-sacrifice and of heroism. 3. But the idea, when it is manifested in the real world, can be developed only under the form of action. Now, action itself has for its condition a conflict be­ tween principles and persons, divided as to interests, ideas, passions, and charac­ ters. It is this especially that is repre­ sented by poetry—the art par excellence, the only art which can reproduce an action in its successive phases, with its complica­ tions, its sudden turns of fortune, its catastrophe and its denouement. Action, if one considers it more closely, includes the following conditions : 1st. A world which serves it as a basis and thea­ 47 tre, a form of society which renders it pos­ sible, and is favorable to the development of ideal figures. 2d. A determinate situa­ tion, in which the personages are placed who render necessary the conflict between opposing interests and passions, whence a collision may arise. 3d. An action, prop­ erly so called, which develops itself in its essential moments, which has a begin­ ning, a middle, and an end. This action, in order to afford a high interest, should revolve upon ideas of an elevated order, which inspire and sustain the personages, ennobling their passions, and farming the basis of their character. Hegel treats, in a general manner, each of these points, which will appear anew, under a more special form, in the study of poetry, and particularly of epic and dra­ matic poetry. 1. The state of society most favorable to the ideal is that which allows the char­ acters to act with most freedom, to reveal a lofty and powerful personality. This cannot be a social order, where all is fixed and regulated by laws and a constitution. Nor can it be the savage state, where all is subject to caprice and violence, and where man is dependent upon a thousand external causes, which render his existence precarious. Now the state intermediate between the barbarous state and an ad­ vanced civilization, is the heroic age, that in which the epic poets locate their action, and from which the tragic poets them­ selves have often borrowed their subjects and their personages. That which char­ acterizes heroes in this epoch is, above all, the independence which is manifested in their characters and acts. On the other hand, the hero is all of a piece; he as­ sumes not only the responsibility of his acts and their consequences, but the re­ sults of actions he has not perpetrated, of the faults or crimes of his race; he bears in his person an entire race. Another reason why the ideal existences of art belong to the mythologic ages, and to remote epochs of history, is that the artist or the poet, in representing or re­ counting events, has a freer scope in his ideal creations. Art, also, for the same reason, has a predilection for the higher �48 Hegel's Philosophy of Jiri. conditions of society, those of princes par ticularly, because of the perfect indepen­ dence of will and action which character­ izes them. In this respect, our actual society, with its civil and political organi­ zation, its manners, administration,police, etc., is prosaic. The sphere of activity of the individual is too restricted ; he en­ counters everywhere limits and shackles to his will. Our monarchs themselves are subject to these conditions ; their power is limited by institutions, laws and customs. War, peace, and treaties are determined by political relations independent of their will. The greatest poets have not been able to escape these conditions ; and when they have desired to represent personages nearer to us, as Charles Moor, or Wallen­ stein, they have been obliged to place them in revolt against society or against their sovereign. Moreover, these heroes rush on to an inevitable ruin, or they fall into the ridiculous situation, of which the Don Quixote of Cervantes gives us the most striking example. 2. To represent the ideal in personages or in an action, there is necessary not only a favorable world from which the subject is to be borrowed, but a situation. This situation can be either indeterminate, like that of many of the immobile personages of antique or religious sculpture, or de­ terminate, but yet of little earnestness. Such are also the greater number of the situations of the personages of antique sculpture. Finally, it may be earnest, and furnish material for a veritable action. It supposes, then, an opposition, an action and a reaction, a conflict, a collision. The beauty of the ideal consists in absolute serenity and perfection. Now, collision destroys this harmony. The problem of art consists, then, in so managing that the harmony reappears in the denouement. Po­ etry alone is capable of developing this op­ position upon which the interest, particu­ larly, of tragic art turns. Without examining here the nature of the different collisions, the study of which belongs to the theory of dramatic art, we must already have remarked that the collis­ ions of the highest order are those in which the conflict takes place between moral forces, as in the ancient tragedies. This is the subject of true classic tragedy, moral as well as religious, as will be seen from what follows. Thus the ideal, in this superior degree, is the manifestation of moral powers and of the ideas of spirit, of the grand move­ ments of the soul, and of the characters which appear and are revealed in the de­ velopment of the representation. 3. In action, properly so-called, three things are to be considered which consti­ tute its ideal object: 1. The general inter­ ests, the ideas, the universal principles, whose opposition forms the very foundation of the action ; 2. The personages; 3. Their character and their passions, or the mo­ tives which impel them to act. In the first place, the eternal principles of religion, of morality, of the family, of the state—the grand sentiments of the soul, love, honor, etc.—these constitute the basis, the true interest of the action. These are the grand and true motives of art, the eternal theme of exalted poetry. To these legitimate and true powers oth­ ers are, without doubt, added ; the powers of evil; but they ought not to be repre­ sented as forming the real foundation and end of the action. ciIf the idea, the end and aim, be something false in itself, the hideousness of the ground will allow still less beauty of form. The sophistry of the passions may, indeed, by a true picture, attempt to represent the false under the colors of the true, but it places under our eyes only a whited sepulchre. Cruelty and the violent employment of force can be en­ dured in representation, but only when they are relieved by the grandeur of the character and ennobled by the aim which is pursued by the dramatis personae. Per­ versity, envy, cowardice, baseness, are only repulsive. “ Evil, in itself, is stripped of real in­ terest, because nothing but the false can spring from what is false ; it produces on­ ly misfortune, while art should present to us order and harmony. The great artists, the great poets of antiquity, never give us the spectacle of pure wickedness and per­ versity.” �Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt. We cite this passage because it exhibits the character and high moral tone which prevails in the entire work, as we shall have occasion to observe more than once hereafter. If the ideas and interests of human life form the ground of the action, the latter is accomplished by the characters upon whom the interest is fastened. General ideas may, indeed, be personated by beings su­ perior to man, by certain divinities like those which figure in ancient epic poetry and tragedy. But it is to man that action, properly so-called, returns; it is he who occupies the scene. Now, how reconcile divine action and human action, the will of the gods and that of man ? Such is the problem which has made shipwreck of so many poets and artists. To maintain a proper equipoise it is necessary that the gods have supreme direction, and that man preserve his freedom and his independence without which he is no more than the pas­ sive instrument of the will of the gods; fa­ tality weighs upon all his acts. The true solution consists in maintaining the ident­ ity of the two terms, in spite of their dif­ ference ; in so acting that what is attributed to the gods shall appear at the same time to emanate from the inner nature of the dramatis personce and from their character. The talent of the artist must reconcile the two aspects’. “ The heart of man must be revealed in his gods, personifications of the grand motives which allure him and govern him within.” This is the problem resolved by the great poets of antiquity, Homer, .¿Eschylus, and Sophocles. The general principles, those grand mo­ tives which are the basis of the action, by the fact that they are living in the soul of the characters, form, also, the very ground of the passions; this is the essence of true pathos. Passion, here, in the elevated ideal sense, is, in fact, not an arbitrary, capri­ cious, irregular movement of the soul ; it is a noble principle, which blends itself with a great idea, with^ne of the eternal veri­ ties of moral or religious order. Such is the passion of Antigone, the holy love for her brother ; such, the vengeance of Orestes. It is an essentially legitimate power of the soul which contains one of the eternal 4 49 principles of the reason and the will. This is still the ideal, the true ideal, although it appears under the form of a passion. It relieves, ennobles and purifies it; it thus gives to the action a serious and profound interest. It is in this sense that passion consti­ tutes the centre and true domain of art ; it is the principle of emotion, the source of true pathos. Now, this moral verity, this eternal principle which descends into the heart of man and there takes the form of great and noble passion, identifying itself with the will of ^ie dramatis persona., constitutes, also, their character. Without this high idea which serves as support and as basis to passion, there is no true character. Character is the culminating point of ideal representation. It is the embodiment of all that precedes. It is in the creation of the characters, that the genius of the art­ ist or of the poet is displayed. Three principal elements must be united to form the ideal character, richness, vital­ ity, and stability. Richness consists in not being limited to a single quality, which would make of the person an abstraction, an allegoric being. To a single dominant quality there should be added all those which make of the personage or hero a real and complete man, capable of be­ ing developed in diverse situations and under varying aspects. Such a multiplici­ ty alone can give vitality to the character. This is not sufficient, however; it is neces­ sary that the qualities be moulded together in such a manner as to form not a simple assemblage and a complex whole, but one and the same individual, having peculiar and original physiognomy. This is the case when a particular sentiment, a ruling passion, presents the salient trait of the character of a person, and gives to him a fixed aim, to which all his resolutions and his acts, refer. Unity and variety, sim­ plicity and completeness of detail, these are presented to us in the characters of Sophocles, Shakspeare, and others. Lastly, what constitutes essentially the ideal in character is consistency and stabil­ ity. An inconsistent, undecided, irresolute character, is the utter want of character. �50 Hegel's Philosophy of Jlrt. Contradictions, without doubt, exist in hu­ man nature, but unity should be maintain­ ed in spite of these fluctuations. Some­ thing identical ought to be found through­ out, as a fundamental trait. To be self-de­ termining, to follow a design, to embrace a resolution and persist in it, constitute the very foundation of personality; to suffer one’s self to be determined by another, to hesitate, to vacillate, this is to surrender one’s will, to cease to be one's self, to lack character; this is, in all cases, the oppo­ site of the ideal character. Hegel on this subject strongly protests against the characters which figure in mod­ ern pieces and romances, and of which Werthcr is the type. These pretended characters, says he, rep­ resent only unhealthiness of spirit, and feebleness of soul. Now true and healthy art does not represent what is false and sickly, what lacks consistency and de­ cision, but that which is true, healthy and strong. The ideal, in a word, is the idea realized ; man can realize it only as a free person, that is to say, by displaying all the energy and constancy which can make it triumph. We shall find more than once, in the course of the work, the same ideas de­ veloped with the same force and precision. That which constitutes the very ground of the ideal is the inmost essence of things, especially the lofty conceptions of the spirit, and the development of the powers of the soul. These ideas are manifest in an action in which are placed upon the scene the grand interests of life, the pas­ sions of the human heart, the will and the character of actors. But this action is itself developed in the midst of an external nature which, moreover, lends to the ideal, colors and a determinate form. These external surroundings must also be con­ ceived and fashioned in the meaning of the ideal, according to the laws of regularity, symmetry, and harmony, of which mention has been made above. How-ought man to be represented in his relations with external nature ? How ought this prose of life to be idealized? If art, in fact, frees man from the wants of material life, it cannot, how­ ever, elevate him above the conditions of human existence, and suppress these con­ nections. Hegel devotes a special examination to this new phase of the question of the ideal, which he designates by this title—Of the external determination of the ideal. In our days we have given an exaggerated importance to this external side, which we have made the principal object. We are too unmindful that art should repre­ sent the ideas and sentiments of the hu­ man soul, that this is the true ground of its works. Hence all these minute de­ scriptions, this external care given to the picturesque element or to the local color, to furniture, to costumes, to all those arti­ ficial means employed to disguise the emptiness and insignificance of the sub­ ject, the absence of ideas, the falsity of the situations, the feebleness of the char­ acters, and the improbability of the action. Nevertheless, this side has its place in art, and should not be neglected. It gives clearness, truthfulness, life, and interest to its works, by the secret sympathy which exists between man and nature. It is Characteristic of the great masters to rep­ resent nature with perfect truthfulness. Homer is an example of this. Without forgetting the content for the form, pic­ ture for the frame, he presents to us a faultless and precise image of the theatre of action. The arts differ much in this respect. Sculpture limits itself to certain symbolic indications ; painting, which has at its disposal means more extended, en­ riches with these objects the content of its pictures. Among the varieties of poetry, the epic is more circumstantial in its descrip­ tions than the drama or lyric poetry. But this external fidelity should not, in any art, extend to the representation of insig­ nificant details, to the making of them an object of predeliction, and to subordinat­ ing to them the developments which the subject itself claims. The grand point in these descriptions is that we perceive a secret harmony between man and nature, between the action and the theatre on which it occurs. Another species of accord is established between man and the objects of physical �Hegel's Philosophy of Art. nature, when, through his free activity, he impresses upon them his intelligence and will, and appropriates them to his own use; the ideal consists in causing misery and necessity to disappear from the do­ main of art, in revealing the freedom which develops itself without effort under our eyes, and easily surmounts obstacles. Such is the ideal considered under this aspect. Thus the gods of polytheism themselves have garments and arms ; they drink nectar and are nourished by ambro­ sia. The garment is an ornament designed to heighten the glory of the features, to give nobleness to the countenance, to fa­ cilitate movement, or to indicate force and agility. The most brilliant objects, the metals, precious stones, purple and ivory, are employed for the same end. All con­ cur to produce the effect of grace and beauty. In the satisfaction of physical wants the ideal consists, above all, in the simplicity of the means. Instead of being artificial, factitious, complex, the latter emanate directly from the activity of man, and free­ dom. The heroes of Homer themselves slay the oxen which are to serve for the feast, and roast them; they forge their arms, and prepare their couches. This is not, as one might think, a relic of barbar­ ous manners, something prosaic; but we see, penetrating everywhere the delight of invention, the pleasure of easy toil and free activity exercised on material objects. Everything is peculiar to and inherent in his character, and a means for the hero of revealing the force of his arm and the skill of his hand ; while, in civilized so­ ciety, these objects depend on a thousand foreign causes, on a complex adjustment in which man is converted into a machine subordinated to other machines. Things have lost their freshness and vitality; they remain inanimate, and are no longer proper, direct creations of the human per­ son, in which the man loves to solace and contemplate himself. A final point relative to the external form of the ideal is that which concerns the relation of works of art to the public, that is to say, to the nation and epoch for which the artist or the poet composes his 51 works. Ought the artist, when he treats a subject, to consult, above all, the spirit, taste and manners of the people whom he addresses, and conform himself to their ideas ? This is the means of exciting in­ terest in fabulous and imaginary or even historic persons. But then there is a lia­ bility to distort history and tradition. Ought he, on the other hand, to repro­ duce with scrupulous exactness the man­ ners and customs of another time, to give to the facts and the characters their proper coloring and their original and primitive costume? This is the problem. Hence arise two schools and two opposite modes of representation. In the age of Louis XIV., for example, the Greeks and Romans are conceived in the likeness of French­ men. Since then, by a natural reaction, the contrary tendency has prevailed. • To­ day the poet must have the knowledge of an archeologist, and possess his scrupu­ lous exactness, and pay close attention, above all, to local color, and historic verity has become the principal and essential aim of art. Truth here, as always, lies between the two extremes. It is necessary to maintain, at the same time, the rights of art and those of the public, to have a proper re­ gard for the spirit of the epoch, and to satisfy the exigencies of the subject treated. These are the very judicious rules which the author states upon this delicate point. The subject should be intelligible and interesting to the public to which it is ad­ dressed. But this end the poet or the artist will attain only so far as, by his general spirit, his work responds to some one of the essential ideas of the human spirit and to the general interests of hu­ manity. The particularities of an epoch are not of true and enduring interest to us. If, then, the subject is borrowed from re­ mote epochs of history, or from some faroff tradition, it is necessary that, by our general culture, we should be familiarized with it. It is thus only that we can sym­ pathize with an epoch and with manners that are no more. Hence the two essen­ tial conditions ; that the subject present �52 Hegel's Philosophy of Art. the general human character, then that it be in relation with our ideas. Art is not designed for a small number of scholars and men of science; it is ad­ dressed to the entire nation. Its works should be comprehended and relished of themselves, and not after a course of diffi­ cult research. Thus national subjects are the most favorable. All great poems are national poems. The Bible histories have for us a particular charm, because we are familiar with them from our infancy. Nev­ ertheless, in the measure that relations are multiplied between peoples, art can bor­ row its subjects from all latitudes and from all epochs. It should, indeed, as to the principal features, preserve, to the tradi­ tions, events, and personages, to manners and institutions, their historic or tradi­ tional character ; but the duty of the artist, above all, is to place the idea which consti­ tutes its content in harmony with the spirit of his own age, and the peculiar genius of his nation. In this necessity lies the reason and ex­ cuse for what is called anachronism in art. When the anachronism bears only upon external circumstances it is unimportant. It becomes a matter of more moment if we attribute to the characters, the ideas, and sentiments of another epoch. Re­ spect must be paid to historic truth, but regard must also be had to the manners and intellectual culture of one’s own time. The heroes of Homer themselves are more than were the real personages of the epoch which he presents ; and the characters of Sophocles are brought still nearer to us. To violate thus the rules of historic reali­ ty, is a necessary anachronism in art. Fi­ nally, another form of anachronism, which the utmost moderation and genius can alone make pardonable, is that which transfers the religious or moral ideas of a more advanced civilization to an anterior epoch; when one attributes, for example, to the ancients the ideas of the mod­ erns. Some great poets have ventured up­ on this intentionally ; few have been suc­ cessful in it. The general conclusion is this: “ The artist should be required to make himself the cotemporary of past ages, and become penetrated himself with their spirit. For if the substance of those ideas be true, it re­ mains clear for all time. But to undertake to reproduce with a scrupulous exactness the external element of history, with all its details and particulars,—in a word, all the rust of antiquity, is the work of a puerile erudition, which attaches itself only to a superficial aim. We should not wrest from art the right which it has to float between reality and fiction.” This first part concludes with an exam­ ination of the qualities necessary to an artist, such as imagination, genius, inspi­ ration, originality, etc. The author does not deem it obligatory to treat at much length this subject, which appears to him to allow only a small number of general rules or psychological observations. The manner in which he treats of many points, and particularly of the imagination, causes us to regret that he has not thought it worth while to give a larger space to these questions, which occupy the principal place in the majority of aesthetical treati­ ses; we shall find them again under an­ other form in the theory of the arts. [The next number will continue this trans­ lation through the treatment of the Sym­ bolic, Classic, and Romantic forms of art.] �Raphael's Transfiguration. 53 NOTES ON RAPHAEL’S “ TRANSFIGURATION.” [Bead before the St. Louis Art Society in November, 1866.] I. THE ENGRAVING. He who studies the ei Transfiguration ” of Raphael is fortunate if he has access to the engraving of it by Raphael Morghen. This engraver, as one learns from the En­ cyclopaedia, was a Florentine, and executed this—his most elaborate work—in 1795, from a drawing of Tofanelli, after having discovered that a copy he had partly fin­ ished from another drawing, was very in­ adequate when compared with the origi­ nal. Upon comparison with engravings by other artists, it seems to me that this en­ graving has not received all the praise it deserves ; I refer especially to the seizing of the “motives” of the picture, which are so essential in a work of great scope, to give it the requisite unity. What the engraver has achieved in the present instance, I hope to be able to show in some degree. But one will not be able to verify my results if he takes up an engraving by a less fortunate artist; e. g. : one by Pavoni, of recent origin. IL HISTORICAL. It is currently reported that Raphael painted the “ Transfiguration ” at the in­ stance of Cardinal Giulio de Medici, and that in honor of the latter he introduced the two saints—Julian and Lawrence—on the mount; St. Julian suggesting the illfated Giuliano de Medici, the Cardinal’s father, and St. Lawrence representing his uncle, “Lorenzo the Magnificent,” the greatest of the Medici line, and greatest man of his time in Italy. (( The haughty Michael Angelo refused to enter the lists in person against Raphael, but put forward as a fitting rival Sebastian del Piombo, a Venetian.” Raphael painted, as his mas­ terpiece, the “ Transfiguration,” and Se­ bastian, with the help of Michael Angelo, painted the “ Raising of Lazarus.” In 1520, before the picture was quite finished, Raphael died. His favorite disciple, Giu­ lio Romano, finished the lower part of the picture (especially the demoniac) in the spirit of Raphael, who had completed the upper portion and most of the lower. III. LEGEND. The Legend portrayed here—slightly va­ rying from the one in the New Testament, but not contradicting it—is as follows : Christ goes out with his twelve disciples to Mount Tabor, (?) and, leaving the nine others at the foot, ascends with the favor­ ed three to the summit, where the scene of the Transfiguration takes place. While this transpires, the family group approach with the demoniac, seeking help from a miraculous source. Raphael has added to this legend the circumstance that two sympathetic strang­ ers, passing that way up the mount, carry to the Beatified One the intelligence of the event below, and solicit his immediate and gracious interference. The Testament account leads us to sup­ pose the scene to be Mount Tabor, south­ east of Nazareth, at whose base he had healed many, a few days before, and where he had held many conversations with his disciples. “ On the following day, when they were come down, they met the family,” says Luke ; but Matthew and Mark do not fix so precisely the day. IV. CHARACTERIZATION. It may be safely affirmed that there is scarcely a picture in existence in which the individualities are more strongly mark­ ed by internal essential characteristics. Above, there is no figure to be mistaken : Christ floats toward the source of light— the Invisible Father, by whom all is made visible that is visible. On the right, Moses appears in strong contrast to Elias on the left—the former the law-giver, and the latter the spontaneous, fiery, eagle-eyed prophet. On the mountain top—prostrate beneath, are the three disciples—one recognizes on the right hand, John, gracefully bending his face down from the overpowering light, while on the left James buries his face in �54 Raphaels Transfiguration. his humility. But Peter, the bold one, is fain to gaze directly on the splendor. He turns his face up in the act, but is, as on another occasion, mistaken in his estimate of his own endurance, and is obliged to cover his eyes, involuntarily, with his hand. Below the mount, are two opposed groups. On the right, coming from the hamlet in the distance, is the family group, of which a demoniac boy forms the centre. They, without doubt, saw Christ pass on his way to this solitude, and, at length, concluded to follow him and test his might which had been c£ noised abroad” in that region. It is easy to see the relationship of the whole group. First the boy, actually “ possess­ ed,” or a maniac ; then his father—a man evidently predisposed to insanity—support­ ing and restraining him. Kneeling at the right of the boy is his mother, whose fair Grecian face has become haggard with the trials she has endured from her son. Just beyond her is her brother, and in the shade of the mountain, is her father. In the fore­ ground is her sister. Back of the father, to the right, is seen an uncle (on the fa­ ther’s side) of the demoniac boy, whose features and gestures show him to be a sim­ pleton, and near him is seen the face of the father’s sister, also a weak-minded person. The parents of the father are not to be seen, for the obvious reason that old age is not a characteristic of persons predis­ posed to insanity. Again, it is marked that in a family thus predisposed, some will be brilliant to a degree resembling ge­ nius, and others will be simpletons. The whole group at the right are supplicating the nine disciples, in the most earnest manner, for relief. The disciples, group­ ed on the left, are full of sympathy, but their looks tell plainly that they can do nothing. One, at the left and near the front, holds the books of the Law in his right hand, but the letter needs the spirit to give life, and the mere Law of Moses does not help the demoniac, and only ex­ cites the sorrowful indignation of the beautiful sister in the foreground. The curious student of the New Testa­ ment may succeed in identifying the differ­ ent disciples : Andrew, holding the books of the Law, is Peter’s brother, and bears a family resemblance. Judas, at the extreme left, cannot be mistaken. Matthew looks over the shoulder of Bartholomew, who is pointing to the demoniac ; while Thomas— distinguished by his youthful appearance— bends over toward the boy with a look of intense interest. Simon (?), kneeling be­ tween Thomas and Bartholomew, is indi­ cating to the mother, by the gesture with his left hand, the absence of the Master. Philip, whose face is turned towards Ju­ das, is pointing to the scene on the mount, and apparently suggesting the propriety of going for the absent one. James, the son of Alpheus, resembles Christ in features, and stands behind Jude, his brother, who points up to the mount while looking at the father. V. ORGANIC UNITY. (а) Doubtless every true work of art should have what is called an ‘‘organic uni­ ty.” That is to say, all the parts of the work should be related to each other in such a way that a harmony of design arises. Two entirely unrelated things brought into the piece would form two centres of attraction and hence divide the work into two differ­ ent works. It should be so constituted that the study of one part leads to all the other parts as being necessarily implied in it. This common life of the whole work is the central idea which necessitates all the parts, and hence makes the work an or­ ganism instead of a mare conglomerate or mechanical aggregate,—a fortuitous con­ course of atoms which would make a chaos only. (б) This central idea, however, cannot be represented in a work of art without contrasts, and hence there must be antithe­ ses present. (c) And these antitheses must be again reduced to unity by the manifest depend­ ence of each side upon the central idea. What is the central idea of this picture 2 (a) Almost every thoughtful person that has examined it, has said : “ Here is the Divine in contrast with the Human, and the dependence of the latter upon the former.” This may be stated in a variety of ways. The Infinite is there above, and the Finite here below seeking it. (Z>) The grandest antithesis iB that be­ �Raphael's Transfiguration, tween the two parts of the Picture, the above and the below. The transfigured Christ, there,dazzling with light; below, the shadow of mortal life, only illuminated by such rays as come from above. There, se­ renity ; and here, rending calamity. Then there are minor antitheses. (1) Above we have a Twofold. The three celestial light-seekers who soar rap­ turously to the invisible source of light, and below them, the three disciples swoon­ ing beneath the power of the celestial vis­ ion. (2) Then below the mountain we have a similar contrast in the two groups ; the one broken in spirit by the calamity that “ pierces their own souls,” and the other group powerfully affected by sympa­ thy, and feeling keenly their impotence during the absence of their Lord. Again even, there appear other anti­ theses. So completely does the idea pen­ etrate the material in this work of art, that everywhere we see the mirror of the whole. In the highest and most celestial we have the antithesis of Christ and the twain ; Moses the law or letter, Elias the spirit or the prophet, and Christ the living unity. Even Christ himself, though comparative­ ly the point of repose of the whole picture, is a contrast of soul striving against the visible body. So, too, the antitheses of the three disciples, John, Peter, James,— grace, strength, and humility. Everywhere the subject is exhaustively treated; the family in its different members, the disci­ ples with the different shades of sympa­ thy and concern. (The maniac boy is a perfect picture of a being, torn asunder by violent internal contradiction.) (c) The unity is no less remarkable. First, the absolute unity of the piece, is the transfigured Christ. To it, mediately or immediately, everything refers. All the light in the picture streams thence. All the action in the piece has its motive power in Him;—first, the two celestials soar to gaze in his light ; then the three disciples are expressing, by the posture of every limb, the intense effect of the same light. On the left, the mediating strangers stand im­ ploring Christ to descend and be merciful to the miserable of this life. Below, the disciples are painfully reminded of Him 55 absent, by the present need of his all-heal­ ing power, and their gestures refer to his stay on the mountain top ; while the group at the right, are frantic in supplications for his assistance. Besides the central unity, we find minor unities that do not contradict the higher unity, for the reason that they are only re­ flections of it, and each one carries us, of its own accord, to the higher unity, and loses itself in it. Toillustrate: Below, the immediate unity of all (centre of interest) is the maniac boy, and yet he convulsively points to the miraculous scene above, and the perfect unrest exhibited in his attitude repels the soul irresistibly to seek another unity. The Christ above, gives^us a com­ paratively serene point of repose, while the unity of the Below or finite side of the picture is an absolute antagonism, hurling us beyond to the higher unity. Before the approach of the distressed family, the others were intently listening to the grave and elderly disciple, Andrew, who was reading and expounding the Scriptures to them. This was a different unity, and would have clashed with the organic unity of the piece; the approach of the boy brings in a new unity, which im­ mediately reflects all to the higher unity. VI. SENSE AND REASON VS. UNDERSTANDING. At this point a few reflections are sug­ gested to render more obvious, certain higher phases in the unity of this work of art, which must now be considered. A work of art, it will be conceded, must, first of all, appeal to the senses. Equally, too, its content must be an idea of the Rea­ son, and this is not so readily granted by every one. But if there were no idea of the Reason in it, there would be no unity to the work, and it could not be distin­ guished from any other work not a work of art. Between the Reason and the Senses there lies a broad realm, called the “ Un­ derstanding” by modern speculative wri­ ters. It was formerly called the ‘‘discur­ sive intellect.” The Understanding applies the criterion “use.” It does not know beauty, or, indeed, anything which is for itself-, it knows only what is good for something else. In a work of art, after it �56 Raphael's Transfiguration. has asked what it is good for, it proceeds to construe it all into prose, for it is the prose faculty. It must have the picture tell us what is the external fact in nature, and not trouble us with any transcendental imaginative products. It wants imitation of nature merely. But the artist frequently neglects this faculty, and shocks it to the uttermost by such things as the abridged mountain in this picture, or the shadow cast toward the sun, that Eckermann tells of. The artist must never violate the sensu­ ous harmony, nor fail to have*the deeper unity of the Idea. It is evident that the sensuous side is always cared for by Ra­ phael. Here are some of the effects in the pic­ ture that are purely sensuous and yet of such a kind that they immediately call up the idea. The source of light in the picture is Christ’s form; below, it is re­ flected in the garments of the conspicuous figure in the foreground. Above, is Christ; opposite and below, a female that suggests the Madonna. In the same manner Elias, or the inspired prophet, is the opposite to the maniac boy ; the former inspired by the celestial', the latter, by the demonic. So Moses, the law-giver, is antithetic to the old disciple that has the roll of the Law in his hand. So, too, in the posture, Elias floats freely, while Moses is brought against the tree, and mars the impression of free self-support. The heavy tables of the Law seem to draw him down, while Elias seems to have difficulty in descending sufficiently to place himself in subordination to Christ. Even the contradiction that the under­ standing finds in the abridgment of the mountain, is corrected sensuously by the perspective at the right, and the shade that the edge of the rock casts which isolates the above so completely from the below. We see that Raphael has brought them to a secluded spot just near the top of the mountain. The view of the distant vale tells us as effectually that this is ar moun­ tain top as could be done by a full length painting of it. Hence the criticism rests upon a misunderstanding of the fact Ra­ phael has portrayed. VII. ROMANTIC VS. CLASSIC. Finally, we must recur to those distinc­ tions so much talked of, in order to intro­ duce the consideration of the grandest strokes of genius which Raphael has dis­ played in this work. The distinction of Classic and Romantic Art, of Greek Art from Christian : the form­ er is characterized by a complete repose, or equilibrium between the Sense and Rea­ son—or between matter and form. The idea seems completely expressed, and the expression completely adequate to the idea. But in Christian Art we do not find this equilibrium; but everywhere we find an intimation that the idea is too transcend­ ent for the matter to express. Hence, Ro­ mantic Art is self contradictory—it ex­ presses the inadequacy of expression. “ I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.” In Gothic Architecture, all strives up­ ward and seems to derive its support from above (i. e. the Spiritual, light). All Ro­ mantic Art points to a beyond. The Ma­ donnas seem to say : "'lama beyond which cannot be represented in a sensuous form;” “a saintly contempt for the flesh hovers about their features.” as some one has ex­ pressed it. But in this picture, Christ himself, no more a child in the Madonna’s arms, but even in his meridian glory, looks beyond, and expresses dependence on a Being who is not and cannot be represented. His face is serene, beatific ; he is at unity with this Absolute Being, but the unity is an inter­ nal one, and his upraised gaze towards the source of light is a plain statement that the True which supports him is not a sensuous one. <£ God dwelleth not in temples made with hands; but those who would ap­ proach Him must do it in spirit and in truth.” This is the idea which belongs to the method of all modern Art; but Raphael has not left this as the general spirit of the picture merely, but has emphasized it in a way that exhibits the happy temper of his genius in dealing with refractory sub­ jects. And this last point has proved too much for his critics. Reference is made �Introduction to Philosophy. to the two saints painted at the left. How fine it would be, thought the Cardinal de Medici, to have St. Lawrence and St. Ju­ lian painted in there, to commemorate my father and uncle! They can represent mediators, and thereby connect the two parts of the picture more closely ! Of course, Raphael put them in there ! “Alas 1” say his critics, “ what a fatal mis­ take ! What have those two figures to do there but to mar the work! All for the gratification of a selfish pride!” Always trust an Artist to dispose of the Finite ; he, of all men, knows how to digest it and subordinate it to the idea. Raphael wanted just such figures in just that place. Of course, the most natural thing in the world that could happen, would be the ascent of some one to bear the mes­ sage to Christ that there was need of him below. But what is the effect of that upon the work as a piece of Romantic Art? It would destroy that characteristic- if per­ mitted in certain forms. Raphael, how­ ever, seizes upon this incident to show the entire spiritual character of the upper part of the picture. The disciples are dazzled so, that even the firm Peter cannot endure the light at all. Is this a physical light? Look at the messengers that have come up the mountain ! Do their eyes indicate any­ thing bright, not to say dazzling? They stand there with supplicating looks and gestures, but see no transfiguration. It must be confessed, Cardinal de Medici, 57 that your uncle and father are not much complimented, after all; they are merely natural men, and have no inner sense by which to see the Eternal Verities that il­ lume the mystery of existence! Even if you are Cardinal, and they were Popes’ counselors, they never saw anything higher in Religion than what should add comfort to us here below! No! The transfiguration, as Raphael clearly tells us, was a Spiritual one : Christ, on the mountain with his favored three disciples, opened up such celestial clear­ ness in his exposition of the truth, that they saw Moses and Elias, as it were, com­ bined in one Person, and a new Heaven and a new Earth arose before them, and they were lost in that revelation of infinite splendor. In closing, a remark forces itself upon us with reference to the comparative mer­ its of Raphael and Michael Angelo. Raphael is the perfection of Romantic Art. Michael Angelo is almost a Greek. His paintings all seem to bei pictures of statuary. In his grandest—The Last Judg­ ment—we have the visible presence as the highest. Art with him could represent the Absolute. With Raphael it could only, in its loftiest flights, express its own impo­ tence. Whether we are to consider Raphael or Michael Angelo as the higher artist, must be decided by an investigation of the mer­ its of the “Last Judgment.” INTRODUCTION TO PHILOSOPHY. CHAPTER I. The object of this series is to furnish, in as popular a form as possible, a course of discipline for those who are beginning the study of philosophy. Strictly popular, in the sense the word is used—i. e. sig­ nifying that which holds fast to the ordi­ nary consciousness of men, and does not take flights beyond—I am well aware, no philosophy can be. The nearest approach to it that can be made, consists in starting from the common external views, and 1 drawing them into the speculative, stepbv step. For this purpose the method of defi­ nitions and axioms, with deductions there­ from, as employed by Spinoza, is more ap­ propriate at first, and afterwards a gradual approach to the Dialectic, or true philoso­ phic method. In the mathematical method (that of Spinoza just alluded to) the con­ tent may be speculative, but its form, never. Hence the student of philosophy needs only to turn his attention to the content at first ; when that becomes in a �58 Introduction to Philosophy. measure familiar, he can then the more others put into ordinary phrases. He readily pass over to the true form of the does not seem to think that the concepts speculative content, and thus achieve com­ likewise are new. It is just as though an plete insight. A course of discipline in Indian were to say to the carpenter, “I the speculative content, though under an could make as good work as you, if I only inadequate form, would make a grand had the secret of using my finger-nails and preparation for the study of Hegel or teeth as you do the plane and saw.” Spec­ Plato; while a study of these, or, in short, ulative philosophy—it cannot be too early of any writers who employ speculative inculcated—does not “ conceal under cum­ methods in treating speculative content— brous terminology views which men ordin­ a study of these without previous ac­ arily hold.” The ordinary reflection would quaintance with the content is well nigh say that Being is the ground of thought, fruitless. One needs only to read the while speculative philosophy would say comments of translators of Plato upon his that thought is the ground of Being; speculative passages, or the prevailing whether of other being, or of itself as verdicts upon Hegel, to be satisfied on this being—for it is causa sui. point. Let us now address ourselves to the task The course that I shall here present will of elaborating our technique—the tools of embody my own experience, to a great ex­ thought—and see what new worlds become tent, in the chronological order of its de­ accessible through our mental telescopes velopment. Each lesson will endeavor to and microscopes, our analytical scalpels present an aperçu derived from some great and psychological plummets. philosopher. Those coming later will pre­ I.---- A PRIORI AND A POSTERIORI. suppose the earlier ones, and frequently throw new light upon them. A priori, as applied to knowledge, signi­ As one who undertakes the manufacture fies that which belongs to the nature of' the of an elegant piece of furniture needs mind itself. Knowledge which is before carefully elaborated tools for that end, so experience, or not dependent on it, is a must the thinker who wishes to compre­ priori. hend the universe be equipped with the A posteriori or empirical knowledge is tools of thought, or else he will come off derived from experience. as poorly as he who should undertake to A criterion to be applied in order to test make a carved mahogany chair with no the application of these categories to any tools except his teeth and finger nails. knowledge in question, is to be found in What complicated machinery is required universality and necessity. If the truth ex­ to transmute the rough ores into an Ameri­ pressed has universal and necessary valid­ can watch! And yet how common is the ity it must be a priori, for it could not have delusion that no elaboration of tools of been derived from experience. Of empir­ thought is required to enable the common­ ical knowledge we can only say: “ It is est mind to manipulate the highest sub­ true so far as experience has extended.” jects of investigation. The alchemy that Of a priori knowledge, on the contrary, we turned base metal into gold is only a sym­ affirm: “ It is universally and necessarily bol of that cunning alchemy of thought true and no experience of its opposite can that by means of the philosopher’s stone possibly occur; from the very nature of (scientific method) dissolves the base/ac/s things it must be so.” of experience into universal truths. II.---- ANALYTICAL AND SYNTHETICAL. The uninitiated regards the philosophic treatment of a theme as difficult solely by A judgment which, in the predicate, reason of its technical terms. “If I only adds nothing new to the subject, is said to understood your use of words, I think I be analytical, as e. g. “ Horse is an ani­ should find no difficulty in your thought.” mal;”—the concept “animal” is already He supposes that under those bizarre terms contained in that of “horse.” there lurks only the meaning that he and Synthetical judgments, on the contrary, �59 Introduction to Philosophy. add in the predicate something new to the conception of the subject, as e. g. “This rose is red,” or “ The shortest distance between two points is a straight line ;”—in the first judgment we have “red” added to the general concept “rose;” while in the second example we have straightness, which is quality, added to shortest, which is quantity. III.—APODEICTICAL. Omitting the consideration of aposteriori knowledge for the present, let us investi­ gate the a priori in order to learn some­ thing of the constitution of the intelligence which knows—always a proper subject for philosophy. Since, moreover, the a priori analytical (“ A horse is an animal ”) adds nothing to our knowledge, we may con­ fine ourselves, as Kant does, to a priori synthetical knowledge. The axioms of mathematics are of this character. They are universal and necessary in their appli­ cation, and we know this without milking a single practical experiment. “Only one straight line can be drawn between two points,” or the proposition : “The sum of the three angles of a triangle is equal to two right angles,”—these are true in all possible experiences, and hence transcend any actual experience. Take any a poste­ riori judgment, e. g. “All bodies are heavy,” and we see at once that it im­ plies the restriction, “ So far as we have experienced,” or else is a mere analytical judgment. The universal and necessary is sometimes called the apodeictical. The conception of the apodeictical lies at the basis of all true philosophical thinking. He who does not distinguish between apodeictic and contingent judgments must pause here until he can do so. IV. SPACE AND TIME. In order to give a more exhaustive appli­ cation to our technique, let us seek the universal conditions of experience. The mathematical truths that we quoted re­ late to Space, and similar ones relate to Time. No experience would be possible without presupposing Time and Space as its logical condition. Indeed, we should never conceive our sensations to have an origin outside of ourselves and in distinct objects, unless we had the conception of Space a priori by which to render it pos­ sible. Instead, therefore, of our being able to generalize particular experiences, and collect therefrom the idea of Space and Time in general, we must have added the idea of Space and Time to our sensa­ tion before it could possibly become an experience at all. This becomes more clear when we recur to the apodeictic nature of Space and Time. Time and Space are thought as infinites, i. e. they can only be limited by themselves, and hence are uni­ versally continuous. But no 6uch concep­ tion as infinite can be derived analytically from an object of experience, for it does not contain it. All objects of experience must be within Time and Space, and not vice versa. All that is limited in extent and duration presupposes Time and Space as its logical condition, and this we know, not from the senses but from the constitu­ tion of Reason itself. “ The third side of a triangle is less than the sum of the two other sides.” This we never measured, and yet we are certain that we cannot be mis­ taken about it. It is so in all triangles, present, past, future, actual, or possible. If this was an inference a posteriori, we could only say : “ It has been found to be so in all cases that have been measured and reported to us.” v. MIND. Mind has a certain a priori constitution ; this is our inference. It must be so, or else we could never have any experience whatever. It is the only way in which the possibility of apodeictic knowledge can be accounted for. What I do not get from without I must get from within, if I have it at all. Mind, it would seem from this, cannot be, according to its nature, a finite affair—a thing with properties. Were it limited in Time or Space, it could never (without transcending itself) conceive Time and Space as universally continuous or in­ finite. Mind is not within Time and Space, it is as universal and necessary as the apodeictic judgments it forms, and hence it is the substantial essence of all that ex­ ists. Time and Space are the logical con­ ditions of finite existences, and Mind is �60 Seed Life. the logical condition of Time and Space. Hence it is ridiculous to speak of my mind and your mind, for mind is rather the uni­ versal substrate of all individuality than owned by any particular individual. These results are so startling to the one who first begins to think, that he is tempt­ ed to reject the whole. If he does not do this, but scrutinizes the whole fabric keen­ ly, he will discover wThat he supposes to be fallacies. We cannot anticipate the an­ swer to his objections here, for his objec­ tions arise from his inability to distinguish between his imagination and his thinking and this must be treated of in the next chapter. Here, we can only interpose an earnest request to the reader to persevere and thoroughly refute the whole argument before he leaves it. But this is only one and the most elementary position from which the philosophic traveller sees the Eternal Verities. Every perfect analysis —no matter what the subject be—will bring us to the same result, though the degrees of concreteness will vary,—some leaving the solution in an abstract and vague form, —others again arriving at a complete and satisfactory view of the matter in detail. SEED LIFE. BY E. V. Ah ! woe for the endless stirring, The hunger for air and light, The fire of the blazing noonday Wrapped round in a chilling night! The muffled throb of an instinct That is kin to the mystic To Be ; Strong muscles, cut with their fetters, As they writhe with claim to be free. A voice that cries out in the silence, And is choked in a stifling air; Arms full of an endless reaching, While the “Nay” stands everywhere. The burning of conscious selfhood, That fights with pitiless fate ! God grant that deliverance stay not, Till it come at last too late ; Till the crushed out instinct waver, And fainter and fainter grow, And by suicide, through unusing, Seek freedom from its woe. Oh ! despair of constant losing The life that is clutched in vain! Is it death or a joyous growing That shall put an end to pain ? �Dialogue on Immortality. 61 A DIALOGUE ON IMMORTALITY. BY ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER. (Translated from the German, by Chas. L. Bernays.) Philalethes.—I could tell you that, after your death, you will be what you were pre­ vious to your birth; I could tell you that we are never born, and that we only seem to die—that we have always been precisely the same that we are now, and that we shall always remain the same—that Time is the apparatus which prevents us from being aware of all this; I could tell you that our consciousness stands always in the centre of Time — never on one of its termini; and that any one among us, therefore, has the immovable centre of the whole infinite Time in himself. I then could tell you that those who, by that knowledge, are assured that the present time always originates in ourselves, can never doubt the indestructibility of their own essence. Thrasymachus.—All of that is too long and too ambiguous for me. Tell me, briefly, what I shall be after death. Phil.—All and nothing. Thras.—There we are ! Instead of a so­ lution to the problem you give me a con­ tradiction ; that is an old trick. Phil.—To answer transcendental ques­ tions in language that is only made for immanent perceptions, may in fact lead us into contradictions. Thras.—What do you mean by “ trans­ cendental” and “immanent” perceptions? Phil.—Well! Transcendental perception is rather the knowledge, which, by exceed­ ing any possibility of experience, tends to discover the essence of things as they are by themselves ; immanent perception it is, if it keeps inside of the limits of experi­ ence. In this case, it can only speak of appearances. You, as an individual, end with your death. Yet individuality is not your true and final essence, but only a mere appearance of it. It is not the thing in itself, but only its appearance, estab­ lished in the form of time, thereby having a beginning and an end. That which is es­ sential in you, knows neither of beginning nor ending, nor of Time itself; it knows no limits such as belong to a given indi­ viduality, but exists in all and in each. In the first sense, therefore, you will become nothing after your death; in the second sense, you are and remain all. For that reason I said you would be all and nothing. You desired a short answer, and I believe that hardly a more correct answer could be given briefly. No wonder, too, that it con­ tains a contradiction; for your life is in Time, while your immortality is in Eter­ nity. Thras. — Without the continuation of my individuality, I would not give a far­ thing for all youi- “immortality/’ Phil.—Perhaps you could have it even cheaper. Suppose that I warrant to you the continuation of your individuality, but under the condition that a perfectly un­ conscious slumber of death for three months should precede its resuscitation. Thras.—Well, I accept the condition. Phil. — Now, in an absolutely uncon­ scious condition, we have no measure of time; hence it is perfectly indifferent whether, whilst we lie asleep in death in the unconscious world, three months or ten thousand years are passing away. We do not know either of the one or of the other, and have to accept some one’s word with regard to the duration of our sleep, when we awake. Hence it is indifferent to you whether your individuality is given back to you after three months or after ten thousand years. Thras.—That I cannot deny. Phil. — Now, suppose that after ten thousand years, one had' forgotten to awake you at all, then I believe that the long, long state of non-being would be­ come so habitual to you that your mis­ fortune could hardly be very great. Cer­ tain it is, any way, that you would know nothing of it; nay, you would even console yourself very easily, if you were aware that the secret mechanism which now keeps �62 Dialogue on Immortality. your actual appearance in motion, had not ceased during all the ten thousand years for a single moment to establish and to move other beings of the same kind. Thras.—In that manner you mean to cheat me out of my individuality, do you? I will not be fooled in that way. I have bargained for the continuation of my in­ dividuality, and none of your motives can console me for the loss of that; I have it at heart, and I never will abandon it. Phil.—It seems that you hold individu­ ality to be so noble, so perfect, so incom­ parable, that there can be nothing superior to it; you therefore would not like to ex­ change it for another one, though in that, you could live with greater ease and per­ fection. Thras.—Let my individuality be as it' may, it is always myself. It is I—I my­ self—who want to be. That is the indi­ viduality which I insist upon, and not such a one as needs argument to convince me that it may be my own or a better one. Phil. — Only look about you! That which cries out—{CI, I myself, wish to ex­ ist”—that is not yourself alone, but all that has the least vestige of consciousness. Hence this desire of yours, is just that which is not individual, but common rather to all without exception; it does not originate in individuality, but in the very nature of existence itself; it is es­ sential to anybody who lives, nay, it is that through which it is at all; it seems to belong only to the individual because it can become conscious only in the indi­ vidual. What cries in us so loud for ex­ istence, does so only through the media­ tion of the individual; immediately and essentially it is the will to exist or to live, and this will is one and the same in all of us. Our existence being only the free work of the will, existence can never fail to belong to it, as far, at least, as that eternally dissatisfied will, can be satisfied. The individualities are indifferent to the will; it never speaks of them; though it seems to the individual, who, in himself is the immediate percipient of it, as if it spoke only of his own individuality. The consequence is, that the individual cares for his own existence with so great anxiety, and that he thereby secures the preservation of his kind. Hence it fol­ lows that individuality is no perfection, but rather a restriction or imperfection ; to get rid of it is not a loss but a gain. Hence, if you would not appeal at once childish and ridiculous, you should aban­ don that care for mere individuality; for childish and ridiculous it will appear when you perceive your own essence to be the universal will to live. Thras.—You yourself and all philoso­ phers are childish and ridiculous, and in fact it is only for a momentary diversion that a man of good common sense ever consents to squander away an idle hour with the like of you. I leave your talk for weightier matters. [The reader will perceive by the posi­ tions here assumed that Schopenhauer has a truly speculative stand-point; that he holds self-determination to be the only substantial (or abiding) reality. But while Aristotle and those like him have seized this more definitely as the selfconscious thinking, it is evident that Schopenhauer seizes it only from its im­ mediate side, i. e. as the will. On this account he meets with some difficulty in solving the problem of immortality, and leaves the question of conscious identity hereafter, not a little obscure. Ilegel, on the contrary, for whom Schopenhauer everywhere evinces a hearty contempt, does not leave the individual in any doubt as to his destiny, but shows how individu­ ality and universality coincide in self-con­ sciousness, so that the desire for eternal existence is fully satisfied. This is the legitimate result that Philalethes arrives at in his last speech, when he makes the individuality a product of the will; for if the will is the essential that he holds it to be, and the product of its activity is indi­ viduality, of course individuality belongs eternally to it. At the close of his Philos­ ophy of Nature, (Encyclopaedia, vol. II.,) Ilegel shows how death which follows life in the mere animal—and in man as mere animal—enters consciousness as one of its necessary elements, and hence does not stand opposed to it as it does to animal life. Conscious being (Spirit or Mind as it may be called,) is therefore immortal because it contains already, within itself, its limits or determinations, and thus can­ not, like finite things, encounter dissolu­ tion through external ones.—Ed.] �Goethes Theory oj Colors. 63 GOETHE’S THEORY OF COLORS. Krom an exposition given before the St. Louis Philosophical Society, Nov. 2nd, 1866. I. —Color arises through the reciprocal action of light and darkness. (a.) When a light object is seen through a medium that dims it, it appears of differ­ ent degrees of yellow; if the medium is dark or dense, the color is orange, or ap­ proaches red. Examples : the sun seen in the morning through a slightly hazy atmos­ phere appears yellow, but if the air is thick with mist or smoke the sun looks red. (&.) On the other hand a dark object, seen through a medium slightly illuminat­ ed, looks blue. If the medium is very strongly illuminated, the blue approaches a light blue; if less so, then indigo; if still less, the deep violet appears. Ex­ amples: a mountain situated at a great distance, from which very few rays of light come, looks blue, because we see it through a light medium, the air illuminated by the sun. The sky at high altitudes appears of a deep violet; at still higher ones, almost perfectly black; at lower ones, of a faint blue. Smoke—an illuminated medium— appears blue against a dark ground, but yellow or fiery against a light ground. (c.) The process of bluing steel is a fine illustration of Goethe’s theory. The steel is polished so that it reflects light like a mirror. On placing it in the char­ coal furnace a film of oxydization begins to form so that the light is reflected through this dimming medium; this gives a straw color. Then, as the film thickens, the color deepens, passing through red to blue and indigo. (d.) The prism is the grand instrument in the experimental field of research into light. The current theory that light, when pure, is composed of seven colors, is de­ rived from supposed actual verifications with this instrument. The Goethean ex­ planation is by far the simplest, and, in the end, it propounds a question which the Newtonian theory cannot answer with­ out admitting the truth of Goethe’s theory. II. —The phenomenon of refraction is produced by interposing different trans­ parent media between the luminous object and the illuminated one, in such a manner that there arises an apparent displacement of one of the objects as viewed from the other. By means of a prism the displace­ ment is caused to lack uniformity; one part of the light image is displaced more than another part; several images, as it were, being formed with different de­ grees of displacement, so that they to­ gether make an image whose edges are blurred in the line of displacement. If the displacement were perfectly uniform, no color would arise, as is’demonstrated by the achromatic prism or lens. The difference of degrees of refraction causes the elongation of the image into a spec­ trum, and hence a mingling of the edges of the image with the outlying dark sur­ face of the wall, (which dark surface is essential to the production of the ordinary spectrum). Its rationale is the following : (a) The light image refracted by the prism is extended over the dark on one side, while the dark on the other side is extended over it. (Z>) The bright over the dark produces the blue in different degrees. The side nearest the dark being the deepest or vio­ let, and the side nearest the light image being the lightest blue. (c) On the other side, the dark over light produces yellow in different degrees; near­ est the dark we have the deepest color, (orange approaching to red) and on the side nearest the light, the light yellow or saffron tint. (d) If the image is large and but little refracted (as with a water prism) there will appear between the two opposite colored edges a colorless image, proving that the colors arise from the mingling of the light and dark edges, and not from any peculiar property of the prism which should “ de­ compose the ray of light,” as the current theory expresses it. If the latter theory �64 Goethe's Theory of Colors. were correct the decomposition would be throughout, and the whole image be col­ ored. fe) If the image is a small one, or it is very strongly refracted, the colored edges come together in the middle, and the ming­ ling of the light yellow with the light blue produces green—a new color which did not appear so long as the light ground appeared in the middle. (/) If the refraction is still stronger, the edges of the opposite colors lap still more, and the green vanishes. The New­ tonian theory cannot explain this, but it is to be expected according to Goethe’s the­ ory. (<7) According to Goethe’s theory, if the object were a dark one instead of a light one, and were refracted on a light surface, the order of colors would be reversed on each edge of the image. This is the same experiment as one makes by looking through a prism at the bar of a window appearing against the sky. Where in the light image we had the yellow colors we should now expect the blue, for now it is dark over light where before it was light over dark. So, also, where we had blue we should now have yellow. This experi­ ment may be so conducted that the cur­ rent doctrine that violet is refracted the most, and red the least, shall be refuted^ (h) This constitutes the experimentum crucis. If the prism be a large water prism, and a black strip be pasted across the mid­ dle of it, parallel with its axis, so that in the midst of the image a dark shadow in­ tervenes, the spectrum appears inverted in the middle, so that the red is seen where the green would otherwise appear, and those rays supposed to be the least re­ frangible are found refracted the most. (i) When the two colored edges do not meet in this latter experiment, we have blue, indigo, violet, as the ordQf on one side; and on the other, orange, yellow, saffron ; the deeper colors being next to the dark image. If the two colored edges come together the union of the orange with the violet produces the perfect red (called by Goethe (f purpur (J) The best method of making experi­ ments is not the one that Newton employ­ ed—that of a dark room and a pencil of light—but it is better to look at dark and bright stripes on grounds of the opposite hue, or at the bars of a window, the prism being held in the hand of the investigator. In the Newtonian form of the experiment one is apt to forget the importance of the dark edge where it meets the light. [For further information on this inter­ esting subject the English reader is refer­ red to Eastlake’s translation of Goethe’s Philosophy of Colors, published in Lon­ don.] � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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. 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Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Journal of Speculative Philosophy. Vol. 1, No. 1, 1867 Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [St. Louis, Miss.] Collation: [1]-64 p. ; 25 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Journal edited by William Torrey Harris. Printed in double columns. Complete issue: Contents include an article on Herbert Spencer -- Introduction to Fichte's science of knowledge / trans. A.E. Kroeger -- Analytical and critical essay upon the aesthetics of Hegel / M. Ch. Bebards, trans. J.A. Martling -- Notes on Raphael's 'Transfiguration' -- A dialogue on immortality / Arthur Schopenhauer -- Goethe's theory of colours. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1867 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [Pennsylvania State University Press] Subject The topic of the resource Philosophy Periodicals Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <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 Journal of Speculative Philosophy. Vol. 1, No. 1, 1867), 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> Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5429 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts Philosophy https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/506365bfd993ae330dbb7a7db58c8a4c.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=GSzmT47cp6Fe8iddkFQrOOQQdqY8aTjshiQRW8iCwA4oNdzwOUAl28Y-TF1BvDkUO84J975b2ee9pRqQ096q5vtGuQb7CM0ALc5mVIHeWhT8cCgvA4xbF7cd3ER-Im%7EiMcpNTqUUhSB7BlEDf5zVnZmD3HwpPMKDIiRcotrKqkazmPfF-zox1CEaEvjXCFGvh%7EnFiLbruXWd1XF3Pa9MQZBGXgslY2p6e4BiqXI7ucelWYuqgYMDUEAVNZzELP6W6cMAOCql2%7EhDOgzIXvxfB495zGIpHtD2W9sB2X1oovIwlYhmmPAlMt%7EBFTgGi9dDRk7E1%7EA9o4EKO-Jksnq9mw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM df43c61f976e091e5638ddbfc8d09491 PDF Text Text Theories of Mental Genesis. 197 8. Under the process of correlation, wherein real forces lose lheir individuality, only abstract or general force abides. Iriris may be called ideal force when contrasted with par­ ticular real forces; it is cognized only by inference, and not By immediate sensuous perception. It is a really-existent Universal or generic entity — an Actuality whose manifesta­ tion is the correlation of forces. The particular forces are ^its reality, but not their own; for their manifestation is their S destruction, but both phases give evidence of the reality of the Universal. In the entire round from one force through all -the others back to the same force again, we have the succes­ sive annulment of all the characteristic distinctions of the several forces, and thus we have left force in general as the pure negative might whose constitution or nature is self-made by its activity in the play of forces. Its universal nature — its ascent out of particularity — refusing to be limited to a special form—appears in the negative side of the process, wherein it perpetually annuls special characteristics. Its positive affirmative side appears in the perpetual production ..of the special out of the negation of (old forms of) the same. 9. Wherein this Universal force, which is a self-determined, .'differs from the thinking activity or Mind is a profitable inquiry. But the sole point we had in view here was simply to show the new doctrine of Realism now arising in place of the dismal nominalism and stifling conceptualism in vogue. THEORIES OF MENTAL GENESIS. By John Weiss. The later scientific method derives the conscience from Selected experiences of the useful and agreeable. In the finest minds the moral sense is only the clarified residue of the experiences of people in learning to live safely and com­ fortably with each other. It sums them up, but can add nothing to them. It becomes, like a family resemblance, a permanent trait acquired by inheritance. A fresh experience may compel a fresh adjustment, and the moral sense can be �198 Theories of Mental Genesis. modified from without by a social exigency, but it has attained to no independent power to force its own adjust­ ment upon experience. It is never conscious of an exigency of its own, which may transcend experience, and dictate to it; such a faculty is as inconceivable as that a fountain should rise higher than its source. Acts of moral heroism are suggestions of an ultimate utility which persuade the individual to sacrifice himself. But what is the origin of such suggestions which contradict the average sense derived from human experience ? The scientific method insists upon its derivation of conscience from empirical observation, yet proceeds to explain transcendent morals which reform the race and abolish any wrong that average experience has incorporated in its social system, by endowing certain indi­ viduals with the capacity to conceive of a more beneficent system, to anticipate the future, to sacrifice peace, the feel­ ing of approbation, the immediate security of society, life itself, for the sake of a finer idea of Right. These individuals are moved thereto, perhaps, by seeing outrages, or by suffer­ ing from them. But what impels a man who suffers from a wrong which is upheld by society, to increase his suffering by protesting against it in behalf of other men ? Every feeling of the useful and the agreeable would counsel him to keep his suffering and that of his fellows at a minimum. Expe­ rience has gradually founded the system which surrounds him: it can no more furnish him with the seeds of his revolt than the nut of a beech can provide the acorn for an oak. When the empirical method is held strictly to its own logic, this absurdity is perceived, of something resulting from objective experience different from all the objects which coni stituted that experience. A state of morals at any epoch is only the state of comfort, happiness, usefulness, and mutual approbation of the majority; it is an average attained by the exigencies of the people who are forced to live together. Logically that average is insurmountable; but practically it is constantly surmounted, and society is compelled to assume a higher average by men of a forlorn hope who propose a conception of religion, of worship, of human rights and happi­ ness, which nowhere exists, and which could not therefore be suggested by empirical sensations. They are frequently men �j Theories of Mental Genesis. 199 | who conceive these things from afar, without the stimulus of | personal suffering, quite removed from that into calm regions I of meditation. They emerge from the solitudes of thought | to proclaim the advent of a fresher and more just society: i but the sense of justice, the instinct of order, devastates the things that men hold dearest, and, if the thinkers are obsti­ nate, demands their life as a sacrifice to existing order. One thing is “ said by them of olden time ” ; but these men, the products of no time at all, step out of a purer conception, and ■are heard, “ But I say unto you.” What an unaccountable I j phrase if morals are nothing but the silt which time brings -down and deposits. There must be somewhere existing an 11 Absolute Righteousness, the inspirer of every more righteous future, as there must exist a Plan of Absolute Intelligence, the continuous cause of every developing epoch of creation. The hero of Right and Absolute Religion is not maddened by suffering into forgetfulness of self, but possessed by a higher Self which his fortunate structure invites into him and to which he responds. Or, shall we suppose that his struc­ ture develops an exceptional Self? At any rate, the empirical method does not account for him, because he is essentially different from all the materials and sensations which it has to work with to produce notions of utility and social appro­ bation. We may concede that such results may be derived from such materials; but the burden of showing the genesis ■of prophets and reformers rests with those who would restrict us to these materials alone. \ In Mr. Huxley’s book, entitled “ More Criticisms on Dar­ win,” I find the following paragraph: “ Assuming the posi­ tion of the absolute moralists, let it be granted that there is w *a perception of right and wrong innate in every man. This means simply, that when certain ideas are presented to his mind the feeling of approbation arises, and when certain �200 Theories of Mental Genesis. duty is to earn the approbation of your conscience, or moral sense; to fail in your duty is to feel its disapprobation.” Of course: but the question is of simple perception of an idea of a right act and of a wrong act; the idea of doing either personally is not involved. So that there can be an absolute perception of an act as right or as wrong, pure and simple, without any mixture of personal satisfaction or pain. The un­ biased moral sense can simply recognize right and wrong, as the mind perceives that two and two make four; both recog­ nitions are an organic necessity. If the recognition of a right thing is reflected on, then approval of it arises: a feeling closely bordering upon the mental satisfaction which accompanies the perception of truths and facts of the exact sciences. But the pleasure and pain of self-approbation and disappro­ bation cannot arise until the Self transfers or fails to transfer its moral perception into private action. So that there is something in man besides the “ something which enables him to be conscious of these particular pleas­ ures and pains.” Now the origin of this moral Something is a distinct question. It may have descended from obscure traits of anticipatory moral action which reign in the animal world. Transferred into human and social circumstances, they may have filtered through a developing sense of the useful and the salutary, till they were deposited in average habits of behavior. But these traits reach at length in the finest brains a capacity of being self-perceived as immutable morality, dis­ tinct from motives of utility, or of pleasure and pain, whether they travelled manward by those routes or not. There is no objection to the theory that they did, until it undertakes to insist that they have not emerged from those routes upon a broad land of a Conscience which transcends all selfish feelings, to sacrifice them to a more arduous Right yet unattained, whose attainment may involve the hero of Conscience in ruin. The latest scientific method derives the Imagination, as it does the Conscience, from accumulated sensations. But its language here struggles painfully to bring its phrases up to the level of the whole function of Imagination. It is quite inadequate to say that a brain well compacted with images X jl <i J | V’j X g |j S J f.| 'M I ! j �Theories of Mental Genesis. 201 derived from natural objects, spontaneously creates the asso­ ciations between them and human moods, passions, and emotions; that a sense of symmetry and beauty, a feeling for landscapes, a power to evolve them out of the crude assem­ blage of natural features, a gift of constructing all the sensa­ tions derived from life and nature into the sublimity of poetry and song, results from the number and variety of these sen­ sations taken into a temperament of sensibility, where they are moulded, fused by personal passion, and express cerebral felicity of structure. These phrases mix up the raw mate­ rial in which the poet, artist and composer work with other phrases which are assumptions that it also generates their working faculty. That is the very point involved. No doubt the poet has received a multiplicity and variety of sensa­ tions. The difference between him and other men is first a capacity to receive them ; second, a capacity to transform them into his own personality; third, a capacity to express them, thus transmuted, with a rhythmical flow that involves the whole of Nature and man in its course, and converts Na­ ture into a metaphor of his private vitality. No number of empirical sensations derived from Nature, no experience of mankind, no recollection of its history, can account for this result. A brain of rare structure incorporates a world, but gives it back to us another world; or, rather, the world’s secret is fathomed and betrayed: we see it not as it always seemed to us, but lifted into a passionate and symmetrical vitality, which transcends every empirical sensation, and is, in fact, its reason for being: and that is something which nere sensation cannot supply. Held to strict logic, the mate‘ialist has no right even to the phrases he employs in speakng of this subject. j H. Taine says that there is a fixed rule “for converting into ne another the ideas of a positivist, a pantheist, a spiritualit, a mystic, a poet, a head given to images, and a head given to formulas. We may mark all the steps which lead simple philosophical conception to its extreme or violent state,” as in the passage which he quotes from Sartor Resartus, begin­ ning, “generation after generation takes to itself the Form of a Body, and, forth issuing from Cimmerian Night, on Heav­ en’s mission appears.” “ Take the world as science shows �202 Theories of Mental Genesis. it,” continues Taine, “ it is a regular group, or, if you will, a series which has a law; according to science it is nothing more. As from the law we deduce the series, you may say that the law engenders it, and consider this law as a force. If you are an artist, you will seize in the aggregate the force, the series of effects, and the fine regular manner in which the force produces the series.” In this connection Taine evi­ dently recalls the novels of Balzac, who develops the charac­ ter of various human passions as primitive forces, which appear in objective facts of men and women, who are to be observed, without praise or dispraise, as beings who develop organically their whole moral disposition, and whose joy or grief may be inferred according to the judicious rule laid down by Hegel, that every work of art depends for its moral upon the person who is studying it. Elsewhere Taine shows how Thackeray, for instance, violates this rule. “To my ■mind,” continues Taine, “this sympathetic representation is of all the most exact and complete; knowledge is limited as long as it does not arrive at this, and it is complete when it has arrived there. But beyond, there commence the phan­ toms which the mind creates, and by which it dupes itself. If you have a little imagination, you will make of this force a distinct existence, situated beyond the reach of experience, spiritual, the principle and the substance of concrete things.” By the simple intensification of this quality, the metaphysi­ cian and the mystic are evolved. But notice here how Taine has smuggled in the phrase, “ if you have a little imagina­ tion,” as if that faculty were something excrementitious, whose products are what alimentation abandons and expels. It occurs to us to inquire, at the lowest, if imagination may not be a mode of force: if so, it must be taken into the account of mental development, where it appears to be some­ thing quite as positive as any passion which Balzac describes. It is then a legitimate object whose products cannot be re­ jected merely because they deposit in the mind a sense of Spirit. They push out a horizon filled with images and cor­ respondences which are different from visible things, and which those things, left to themselves, could not procreate, any more than a garden of flowers could impregnate itself. A viewless wind must stir the celibate stalks—a ranging bee �Theories of Mental Genesis. 203 must make its geometric cell an excuse for these promiscuous Carriages. Here is the point where the scientific method, which is complemented by Taine’s artistic method, fails to account for all the facts that a universe provides. As soon as the word Spirit appears, or phrases hinting at the Invisi­ ble put in their claim, or a capacity that transcends inherited effects is supposed, the empirical method disclaims it all, as Conscience is explained to be the cumulative result of expe­ riences of utility. Yet the scientific method itself is indebted to the faculty of imagination. That is a twofold faculty: it performs two functions. First, it anticipates subsequent epochs of scientific inter­ pretation by incessant proclamations of the essential unity of all things. Its instinct is for similarities; it floats at so great a height that objects appear blended, but the horizon from that height is so enlarged that a hemisphere of objects is spread out. It selects on one meridian the counterpart of an object upon another, though it may skulk, and imitate the color of its neighborhood, hoping not to be swooped upon and assimilated. Its prey runs in forests and multiplies in all seas. The ocean is a saucer, and its bottom scarce skin deep. And the distances which lie within the galaxy are sanded with the gold dust of its imagery. The firmament is a solid floor on which this sense of unity can walk. This instinct appears first in poetry, where Nature is rifled of all the features that can correspond to our emotions, or serve as symbols of our thought. ‘•The forest is my loyal friend; Like God it useth me.” And like God we use the forest. Its million leaves dance in the anticipation which our mind has that this “sense sublime of something interfused” will turn out to be the ^identity of law and object, of the creature and the Creator, of the scenery and the seer. And all the images of the Poet, so far from being the bastards of an irresponsible impulse rwhich ravishes an idiotic universe, are the healthy children I of the only realism that dare aspire to his feathered hand. See it tremble in moments of conception ! God remembers His rapture. There is not an object which is not a passion— �204 Theories of Mental Genesis. not a passion which does not overtake itself in objects. What is my thought like ? Whatever it be like, that is my thought, or else it could not be like it. How irrational and fantastic seems this conclusion to which the imagination leaps with the faith of a child in his “ make believe” ! How futile this hysteric passion which mounts to the eyelid and inundates the cheek at the happy rashness of some image that abol­ ishes time and space, and makes the dirty earth a lens' We put our eye to it. Thou Deity, our eyes have met! There is no sense in this transubstantiation of poetry, ex­ cept to the senseless communicants, until the epoch of scien­ tific Synthesis arrives, and the imagination is justified in ransacking the' universe for symbols. Synthesis is imagina­ tion secularized. I mean that every one of the old symbols * the old confidences with Nature, the old obscure sympathies, the artless pretences that objects are personal and vital, and all related through the observer, are now proved to be the mind’s expectation that there is but one kind of intellect, but one object, and but one law or mode of divine manifestation. Synthesis builds a hive for imagination to dwell in ; the structures planned by the original Geometer are filled with myriad meadows of sweets distilled to sweetness. This leads me to say that, secondly, the imagination some­ times anticipates, at any existing epoch of information, a subsequent epoch, when all the facts collected up to that date justify the anticipation. They are interpreted by a law, or by a mode of Force which put them forth. They arrive at length in sufficient number, and in relations obvious enough, to vindicate the previous divining of the imagination. Hardly a great man, from Pythagoras downward, can be mentioned', who did not have fore-feelings of the genuine scientific direc» tion, in Number and mathematical relation, in the qualities of Motion and their application to planetary phenomena, in the sphericity of the earth and stars, in the law of musical intervals, in the applications of the arc and conic sections, in the position of the earth in the solar system. Before the facts were in, the method was surmised; sometimes the law itselF was hinted at, and imperfectly formulated. Now, no uncon­ scious cerebration, or automatic sorting of impressions de­ rived from the number and similarity of facts, can promulgate �Theories of Mental Genesis. 205 or anticipate a law, because that is something essentially dis­ tinct from Object. There may be simultaneousness in the Lppearance of law and object; we may admit that the two are really one, a moment in which identity appears, a focus of correlation. But there is not any feature of this intimacy which can proclaim itself; that is not done for a long time, nor until an independent mental faculty appears of such a divining nature that it is not at any epoch a common human faculty. It is the result of rare structural qualifications, which recur to Creation with the gift that made creation possible, with a power to repeat by a sense of Cause the logic that caused, to create a mental synthesis that sweeps all observa­ tion into the unity of a Law, to show that all the sciences are Protean moods of one eternal moment of correlation, to speak at length in human language the plan which without speak­ ing planned. That ineffable creative word becomes flesh in the divinings of imagination. They precede any collection or arrangements of objects, just as infinite Will must have pre­ ceded its own going into objects. Or, if Will and Object be continually identical, it is not in consequence of Object. We cannot eradicate or explain away that aboriginal habit of the scientific imagination to ask Why ? as the child does; and to answer, Because! as the child does. “ Of such is the king­ dom of Heaven.” Object cannot ask nor answer, because it cannot originate. But the intellect does not wait till all the facts are in, any more than the divine Mind did in order that the facts might be created. Luther said, “ the principle of marriage runs through all creation, and flowers as well as animals are male and female,” before botany was dreamed of, or the principle of vegetable life divined. This was an anticipation as remarkable as that of Swedenborg, who clearly posited the nebular hypothesis before he or any other man had an inch of standing ground to show for it. Now, if at any epoch the finest brains—those, namely, whose synthetic method is rarefied by imagination—are only deposited by empirical contact with the world, so that their state of intelligence is nothing but juxtaposition of facts, and their structure nothing but a result of microscopic packing of sensations, such brains could not discharge the functions of �206 Theories of Mental Genesis. which they are conscious. The problem is to build a brain. Let us build it after the fashion of the materialist. The animal kingdom slowly elaborated the cerebral matter, and roughly mapped out the relation of its parts. Nature, cautiously feeling her way from species to species, from simple to com­ plex forms, from a dot of plasma to the complicated lobes which respond to external circumstances and record them, contributes the whole of the process to the progenitors of man­ kind. What had their brain become by that time ? It was an agglutination of sensations. What must have been the re­ sult of the first sensible impression which was made upon the earliest rudimental nerve-matter? That question is answered by the discovery that the nerve-matter was a part of the ob­ jective world which produced the impression. It did not lose or modify its character by being eliminated from that world ; it was still one of its discrete forms, and identical in sub­ stance. Then the object which impressed it and the impres­ sion were identical. The object was the sensation. There is no infinitesimal rift into which you can thrust your surmise of a difference and pry apart a sameness into duality; that is, into the supposition of an object to impress and an object to be impressed—one to become by means of that impression something different in kind from the object that impresses. Brood upon that primitive relation of plasma to all the rest of elemental matter. You cannot hatch it into a different kind of vitality by merely saying that plasma was a more highly organized matter. You cannot establish a schism in matter by determining grades of organization. Every grade preserves, prolongs, embodies the original identity in which it was contained; just as oxygen by aerating the blood im­ presses it with the character of oxygen, but does not liberate it from the materiality which they both share. A nerve­ sensation is not a leap from Object into Subject. If it is not, as.the materialist alleges, then it makes no dif­ ference how many sensations the accumulating brain receives and registers. Their number cannot change their quality. On the long route of developing mankind there is no station where independent mentality may step on board. The train stops for refreshment, wood, and water. But the food and the fuel still correspond to their own motive power and digestive �Theories of Mental Genesis. 207 ability. Stomach and food, brain and object, are convertible expressions. All objective circumstances remain unaltered; nerve-matter accumulates because sensations do. The first word of human speech, the first musical cadence, the first J smatter of the natural language of human emotions on the [ face, the first prattling of social intercourse, the first fumbling | for a tool of bone or flint, the first sparkle kindled in the dry pith of the fennel — all these rudiments of society were only the sensations of Sensation, the objectivity of Objects. The brain was but another object set up by the concurrence of objects, a self-registering world in the compass of a skulk Even if the cerebral capacity should cease to expand, while the perceptions continued to accumulate, it never can be filled; for the method of packing them is economical of room. If a drop of water is capable of containing 500,000,000 ani­ malcules endowed with locomotive limbs, there must be room > enough in any brain for any number of objective residues. But so long as the world does not swerve from its own objeci tivity and change its climate, so long does the human brain continue to be its odometer, or automatic tally. “ The Holothuriae living in the South Sea, which feed upon coral sand, spontaneously eject their lungs and intestine (through the anus when they are transferred to clear sea­ water ; then they construct new bowels corresponding to the new conditions.” But Object does not transfer the human brain into the element of Subject, so that it can void its assi­ milative structure, and set up the liver, lungs and lights of Subjectivity. I think this is a correct presentation of the latest materialJ Ism, which derives all mental functions from an automatic | /system of storage of objective impressions. But its advocates fl Yhave not yet looked in the glass of their own theory. I have tried to reduce it to the absurdity which lies latent in it. It . . is this. It has nothing but objects to start from, nothing but Ji them to accumulate, and yet it assumes to arrive at somep thing which is not object; for instance, its own capacity to is make any assumption at all, and to deny that the capacity * i, demonstrates independent mentality. It will deduce and preFrfi" sume; something which a skull commensurate with the sky, i and crammed with objectivity, could never do. It will refuse | �208 Theories of Mental Genesis. to a human being an independent personality: something which nothing but such a personality could do. It started with speechlessness, and had, of course, nothing but aggluti­ nated dumbness to end with: yet it invents words, and com­ mits to them its affirmations and denials; lends them to the poet, who makes whole landscapes share the breath of their life; turns them over to the prophet, who puts them in his thwarts, casts loose from actual states, and pulls into the possible and the desirable; yields them to the synthetic imagination, and hears its own best guesses before it has pro­ claimed them, and its own experimental method suggested before objects could muster strong enough to raise a whim­ per; consigns them to the moral sense, and is refuted by a style of speech which transcends the latest moment of utility and social advantage, pronounces in divine men their own death-warrant, and sighs out selfishness upon a million crosses. Was that bit of plasma, then, nothing but one object more in a world full? or, was it an anvil upon which objective impact flew into a spark? Now a myriad hammers of the many-handed Cosmos crash through our skull, and we see stars —abysses full of them! Is it an optical illusion? They appear to attain orbits—they move in definite and har­ monious relations—they create distance, deepen it with per­ spective: flat objectivity is broken up as a thinkable Uni­ verse comes pondering through. Let me have recourse to an illustration. A planetary motion is the result of two causes : first, a force that acts in the direction of a tangent; second, a force that attracts. What happens when the mind has observed that there are these two forces? Something which discovers their'laws. This may be an inductive process, derived from prolonged and numerous calculations, adjustments, and cor­ rections, based upon as many planetary directions as can be observed. Then suppose we wish to ascertain the motion of a planet which is submitted to the influence of these laws. That is a deduction based upon calculation. There is an astronomical duplication of the planetary facts, a mental re­ hearsing of orbital motions. The facts recur to their Cause through our intellect. Their mere objectivity is not compej tent to achieve this result, which is something causative, and �Theories of Mental Genesis. 209 therefore essentially different from themselves, which are caused. They are occasions for addressing, stimulating and developing in us a quality which is not themselves, not their counterpart, but which is identical with the quality which caused them. They stand between, and could as soon have originated cause behind them as our causality beyond them. What is the mental fact which takes place when this medi­ ate Object recurs to Subject? Something besides cerebral registering of the succession of sensations produced by the phenomena. That only succeeds in confirming succession or simultaneousness. We call the mental fact Deduction. But that is only a word, and not an explanation. It does not put us into possession of the actual occurrence when objects are mentally fitted with the laws of their causes. It does not explain the nature of that mental moment. To say that it is the result of cerebral movement and waste, of changes in the grey matter in the brain, does not explain it. That is only a dynamical accessory. In like manner, what happens when an imaginative per­ son, seeing some features of a landscape, or some combina­ tions of light, sky, sea, color, at morn or sunset, invests the scene with his own personality ? In fact, the combination called a landscape exists nowhere; it is a pure ideal con­ struction of his own. The scene without is only a palette or a pot of paint. A poetic symbol, a simile which encloses a trait of nature in the amber of thought or emotion, is a men­ tal process unaccountable on any theory of empirical accu­ mulation of sensations. But we seldom find a materialist who is willing to accept a statement of his method which shows that it really starts with a term that is incapable of starting. Bald matter is im­ potent to proceed except into fresh forms of matter; and even that process requires that Force should be assumed. And something has to make that assumption. That assuming faculty cannot be merely a form of matter, for no thing can step outside of itself and become what is not Thing. No number of things can do that, though the sensations pro­ duced by them accumulate for centuries. They may be irri­ tants, as a drop of acid on a frog’s bare muscle after his head is cut off; but they cannot conceive that they irritate, any Vol. vi.—14 �210 Theories of Mental Genesis. more than the frog can conceive that he is irritated. They cannot formulate ■ their unconscious function of exciting our senses. What does the materialist say when his empirical method is boned in this way, and sinks on the floor of creation a help­ less huddle of Object, every articulation and vertebra of his own mentality withdrawn from it? He disclaims the result, cannot tolerate being defrauded of his own analytic and clas­ sifying skill, and declares against materialism in that sense. But it has no other sense. The moment he declares against it, he declares in favor of an intellectual perception of an ob­ jective sensation, that is, in favor of something which Object cannot generate. His own idealism rises against its jailer, and breaks out of prison in this declaration. This ought to startle him into making a more distinct defini­ tion of the word Matter than he has yet undertaken. He uses that, and the word Object, in the ordinary sense; but he will not recognize all that it connotes when it is pressed to ultimates. And it is astonishing that he can invent such >\ ords as Vitality, Force, Correlation, to account for phases of ob­ jects, elemental modes, conditions of existence, without feel­ ing compromised. He is obliged to assume something which is anterior to objects and their phenomena, anterior to the sensations produced by them; he speaks of correlation, but says nothing about something previous which does the corre­ lating. If that something be another objective condition, a more tenuous tenuity, it involves the necessity of something still beyond, since mere condition cannot conditionate itself, and no thing can do itself. So that, sooner or later, the words employed by the empirical observer justify an ulti­ mate ground of Being, an absolute Cause; and that, too, jus­ tifies Cause in the observer, for Being goes into Object, and not Object into Being. Perhaps the materialist will take refuge in the Hegelian phrase, “Matter is Being outside of Itself,” in order to endow Matter with a causative capacity, and secure perpetual vital­ ity to its plastic germs. Then he may suppose that objective phenomena, in their gradual achievement of the human brain, lent it their primitive endowment as Being outside of Itself, and made of it another animate object. But what becomes �Theories of Mental Genesis. 211 of Being outside of Itself when this object disappears, is dis­ integrated, ceases to be a focus of Being ? It either must re­ cur to Being in Itself, or must be correlated in some mode of Force. Both suppositions make the human intellect only a phenomenal phase of Absolute Being; it is only caused mat­ ter, it is on the footing of every other object, its root imbibes the identity of Object and Being, its self-consciousness is only an increase of animateness, but not a differentiation of it into Person. It invents the phrase, to be sure—claims to have or be a self—and that the unconscious animal, reaching man’s estate, comes to the line where consciousness begins; man separates to that extent from the world of Object, be­ cause Object has been Being all the time. But if it has been Being all the time, one of two things must be true, either that self-consciousness resided all along the route in organic ob­ jects, or at no point of it at all; the reputed consciousness of Self is only a phenomenon of Object. Perhaps the materialist will thank us for such a reduction of the Hegelian phrase to another form of Matter, because it makes Soul and Person impossible on any terms; and per­ haps the idealist, discontented with any style of the doctrine of Evolution, will be driven to the notion that there is outside of us an ocean of germinal soul-monads which become allied with human structures. There are insuperable objections, lying mainly in the direc­ tion of the facts of inheritance, to this attempt at spiritual­ ism. In the meantime, the Doctrine of Evolution cannot be dispensed with. The burden does not rest upon us to in­ dicate the point in time and the method of appearing of independent mentality. But we can show that Object can propagate only Object; nor that without something assumed which Object cannot propagate. Let us take, however, a word which the materialist is com­ petent to invent and is obliged to use—Vitality. He must assume it in spite of the objectivity of every point of his empirical method. Then, in the interest of Idealism, we suggest, taking a statement used by us in another place, “whether there can be any germinal soul-substance except the mysterious force which we call Vitality wherever we see it in the human state. It went into creation allied with �212 Theories of Mental Genesis. all the germs which have subsequently taken form. It carried everywhere a latent sensibility for the creative law out of which it came. It swept along with a dim drift of the Personality that first conceived and then put it on the way to self-expression.. It mounted thus by the ascending scale of animals, and its improvements in structure were prepara« tions to reach and repeat Personality, to report the original consciousness of the Creator that He was independent of structure. At length it became detached from the walls of the womb of creation, held only for nourishment by the cord of structure till it could have a birth into individualism. Then the interplay of mind and organism began, with an in­ herited advantage in favor of Vitality. Now Vitality, thus developed and crystallized into personality, tends constantly back towards its origin. The centrifugal movement through all the animals is rectified by the centripetal movement in man. The whole series of effects musters in him to recur to an effecting Cause.” Prof. Haeckel of Jena, in his Biological Studies, makes the * following statement: “ Protoplasm, or germinal matter, also nailed cell-substance or primitive slime, is the single material basis to which, without exception and absolutely, all so-called vital phenomena ’ are radically bound. If the latter are re­ garded as the result of a peculiar vital force independent of the protoplasm, then necessarily also must the physical and •chemical properties of every inorganic natural body be re­ garded as the result of a peculiar force not bound up with its .substance.” Very well, why not? Even the vague motions, like the incoherent simmer of a crowd of people on a great sqm re, which take place in the molecules of the densest sub ance, are dumb gropings of some Force, arrested for the present in the substance, and not to be detected transgressing its. lim­ its. But something is there which shares and testifies to a universal tendency towards evolution into other substances and into organic forms. Physical and chemical forces attest the presence of Vitality, as well as the mental functions which use the structural results of those forces. Something * See Toledo Index, April 29, 1871. �Theories of Mental Genesis. fit, [ ift ft! 1'1 b » Tfj í| 213 independent of the material basis must have endowed it with its movements and qualities. It certainly could not have originated itself or its forces. Something anterior to the ma­ lerial basis must include and transmit a tendency of Vitality towards mental and moral functions, which are at once inde­ pendent of the basis and yet closely allied to it. Let us observe now if any contribution may be made to idealism from another quarter. The empirical method has not busied itself much with the phenomena of musical sensi­ bility, though, to be consistent after including the imagina­ tion in its genesis of mind from external sensations, it ought to construct the sense of Harmony and the inventive genius of the composer in the same way, since imagination plays so large a part therein. Some physical facts which at first threaten to support a pure empiric origin for mental func­ tions, turn out upon cross-questioning to belong to the other side of the case, and to contribute toward some more ideal statement. The German Helmholtz, who has made some profound studies of the laws of Harmony, in his examination of the structure of the human ear, found that the cochlea, or snailformed cavity, contained a fluid, across which three membranes were thrown — an upper, middle, and under. In the middle compartment he discovered innumerable microscopic disks, lying next each other • like the keys of a piano : one end of each of them is attached to the vessels of the auditory nerve, the other end to the outstretched membranes. These disks are the sensitive points which receive the vibrations of musi­ cal instruments, and transmit them to the brain in the form of notes and tones. A single string will give off different vibrations from its upper and its middle section. Does the ear solve the sound of a complex vibration made by these waves of different length, or does it receive the sound as a whole ? Answering this, Helmholtz says that the physical ear funds the wave-forms into a sum of simple waves, which is the result of their concurrence; since any wave-form you please can be constructed out of a combination of simple waves of different lengths. And as in the instruments, so in the ear, the ground tone wakes the corresponding upper tone. When vibrations play upon the disks in the ear, it is as if �214 Theories of Mental Genesis. they played upon banks of keys; and the first physical im­ pressions are produced, sorted, combined, and then transmit­ ted as so much seasoned material to be used in manufacturing music. Then occurs the wonderful moment when Something beyond these microscopic feelers digests the prey they catch into human moods and emotions. What leaps the genius takes, through and across what an unbridged abyss, upon these stepping-stones of disks, to gather the waifs and strays that float upon the manifold sea of Harmony! There is no such startling proof that Nature has at length developed a transcending Person in mankind; perhaps whole races died for it, dissonances and partial chords, or constructed upon vicious intervals, before Harmony could respond to its own laws. At length an essential differentiation seems to have taken place, an abstraction which compels sensations to subserve its subtlest emotions. For at one end of this process is nothing but the disks vibrating in their fluid: at the other end is something rarely and radically different—the gamut of the human heart, the symphony upreared by intellect and feeling, the song exhaling into the mist that sheathes the eye, the lyric whose silvery trumpets summon bravery and nobleness from every drop of blood. Now, atmospheric vibrations and the structure of the ear enclosing the microscopic disks are the objects which provide empirical sensations. The temperament, culture and inher­ ited susceptibility of the musical composer’s brain collect and organize these, sensations into the modes of harmony, and reject all dissonance. But when, and by which of the two parties in this transaction, was the earliest step taken toward such a complicated result ? There was a time when there was nothing but an atmosphere capable of vibrating, and nothing but an ear capable of receiving the accidental throng of natu­ ral noises. There was a time when the first fibre of a plant, the first tense string of some creeping vine, twanged to some chance touch: when the wood of the forest first revealed its resonant capacity, when the dried reeds first sighed and whis­ tled in the wind. This was all the appeal which Nature had to make. Did it originate the sequence of melodies and con­ struct the theory of harmony ? What is a dissonance ? Is it merely a physical repugnance of the disks for interfering and �Theories of Mental Genesis. 215 •contrarious vibrations ? Whence, then, the repugnance of the «disks ? There are tribes of men whose ears have not been furnished with it. There are civilized Indo-Germanic peo­ ple who cannot tell a chord from a discord. It is not credible that the crude objectivity of natural vibrations gradually ■selected out of Nature a harmonious ear. Nature has no harmony which could effect such a selection ; she has never ¿sorted and combined and weeded out her noises. She is uni­ sonous, monotonous, or full of jar and clash; she has no art to reconcile the voices of the sea, the air, the birds of the for­ est: each creature has its note and its key, and the air itself is a Babel of cross-purposes. The empirical sensations pro­ duced by modern music are drawn from things which vibrate by a law that the things do not possess, and never could have •suggested. Harmony has been imposed from within upon their isolated qualities ; and an orchestra, so far from being ■an induction, is an intuition. The Composer listens to its combinations before they are played. His subjectivity has imparted to every instrument its peculiar quality by gradual selection among the woods, reeds and metals of Nature, and by discovery of the isolated shapes which correspond best to .atmospheric conditions. His inductive experiments have been presided over by a sense which no induction could have fur­ nished. What, for instance, is the temperament of a piano but a metaphysical compromise between the imperfections of the material and the law of intervals ? Harmony, in short, is a refutation which the materialist himself might welcome; but it kills his theory as effectually as the poison poured into the auditory tube, which made a ghost of Hamlet’s father. It is much easier to tolerate the doctrine that a slice of meat, well-assimilated, becomes the poet’s happy thought, than to understand how wafts of common air could be transformed into the mighty uplifting of the soul when the orb of music passes over our fiat life, and draws emotion into every barren •creek, and dashes its tonic against the heart. Physics must allow an essential difference between a vibration and a welli cooked mutton chop; and it is in favor of the stimulating and edifying quality of the chop. Music has been called the image of motion. But when the ear is struck, something else than a wave is propagated. It would be more just to say that Music is imagination set in motion. �216 Anti-Materialism. The sea-tide writes its diary accurately enough in the sand­ ripples. But air did not imprint these footsteps so massive and deep that our own are lost as we try to follow ; yet there is no dismay, for in the bosom of each trace lies home’s direc­ tion,—by which we know that a Beethoven had just passed. I claim, then, against a strictly logical empirical method, three classes of facts. First, the authentic facts of the moral sense whenever it appears as the transcender of the ripest average utility. Second, the facts of the Imagination as the anticipator of mental methods by pervading everything with personality, by imputing Life to Object, or by occasional direct suggestion. Third, the facts of the harmonic sense as the reconciler of discrete and apparently sundered objects, as the prophet and artist of Number and mathematical ratio, as the unifier of all the contents of the soul into the acclaim which rises when the law of Unity fills the scene. ■ Upon these facts I chiefly sustain myself against the the­ ory, consistently explained, which derives all possible men­ tal functions from the impacts of Objectivity. * ANTI-MATERIALISM By G. S. Hall. To a concise though popular restatement of the younger * Fichte’s, Fontlage’s, and Leopold Schmidt’s construction of' the ego as person, modified as he believes it to have been by Lazarus and Lotze, the author joins a vigorous and original polemic against “ materialism in natural science and theol­ ogy” which he calls an “ absurd and therefore impossible form of subjective idealism.” This he does in the interest of speculative philosophy, which he would rescue from present discredit and neglect, and to which he would restore an ulti­ mate character as the mediating unity of theology and natu­ ral science. The barren abstractions of the absolute philosophy carried thought into so rare an atmosphere that its utmost effort was * Five Lectures on Philosophical Subjects, by Ludwig Weis. Berlin, 1871. & � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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. 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Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Theories of mental genesis Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Weiss, John Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [St Louis] Collation: 197-216 p. ; 24 cm. Notes: From the Journal of Speculative Philosophy (Vol. VI, no. 3, 1872). From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [The R.P. Studley Company] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1872] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5353 Subject The topic of the resource Objectivism Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <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 (Theories of mental genesis), 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> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts Objectivism (Philosophy) Philosophy and Religion Science and Religion https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/471b3430b1f86f7b9086fe0d9b1da163.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=lIFsyx46yDblt6y-MHRbvr2kU5XFsX-AiHl5azIRG036h0kethccthGRptWRoIqMAra0pBqUPQJqHUtz8a4PUIekfA6Udb7NC-ZludzKu0v53qJkKv3MpvjmmiS427EPqlPZfUU5Cr-Q0QLK1QHUNZo5d0Omo26rjxBBv3-FUzqDC0gBoUfvFGLMwLYOKocG%7EIRiyCp-y0D0w0ltKIR9soPyji8CCkJIi3WWBRec71krL7%7ENPCh4R19goTRCui3LAprRoMnx1dVvf9YFVL7lsJE3qCZkh-Ahe9eDscfTxhjEgjq4G8C5ULvY-5PaQ2wsOpVcbhp9zK40kuLKtuJTow__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM c0655f3570d5905e36cc5961f2940f38 PDF Text Text B« N1? 3 NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY Old Thoughts FOR I «fi -0 BEING SELECTIONS From the “ Pensees Philosophiques ” of Diderot, TRANSLATED WILLIAM AND ARRANGED BY HARDAKER. “ Neither do men light a candle, and pnt it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.” —St. Matthew v., 15. •*0*1 L0ND0N:PUBLISHING COMPANY, 28 Stonecutter Street, E.C. PROGRESSIVE fbice ozestze zpzEzcsrzisrzx’- �DIDEROT Was born in the town of Langres, France, in October, 1718. The illustrious creator of the “ French Encyclo­ pedia” commenced his education at the Jesuits’ College in his native town, where the sagacity of the priests of that astute order soon discovered his rare talents, and persuaded him to leave home without the knowledge of his parents, in order to qualify in Paris for the priesthood. But, like Voltaire, Denis Diderot was not destined to render the order of Loyala illustrious. At Harcourt College he received one of those solid educations which the reverend fathers knew so well how to give. In the office of the lawyer, Clement de Ris, he learned everything of law except its chicanery. In 1743 he married against the wish of his father, and indeed of his mother-in-law, who knew him to be without means save a golden tongue. His married life was not happy. The first money he earned by literature was the translation of the History of Greece from the English. Being advanced in years, and still poor, he resolved to sell his library so that he might assure the future of his daughter, which was bought, without his solici­ tation, by the Empress of Russia, who also supplied him with the means to live in comfort for the short remainder of his days. Diderot died on the 30th July, 1784, on the threshold of the Great Revolution, which he, with Rousseau and Voltaire, helped so materially to hasten. �OLD THOUGHTS FOR NEW THINKERS. BEING Selections from the “ Pensees Philosophiques ” of Diderot. TRANSLATED AND ARRANGED BY WILLIAM HARDAKEK. ---------- »---------- “I of God; I count on but few readers, and small approval. If these thoughts find favor with none, they may possibly be simply crass; but I hold them detest­ able if they please everyone.” write I know the bigots : they are prompt to take alarm. If for a moment they judged that this book contained something con­ trary to their ideas, I should expect to hear all the calumnies they have spread abroad against a thousand men of greater worth than myself. If I am only a Deist; and only a scoundrel, I shall get off cheaply. They long ago damned Descartes, Montaigne, Locke, and Bayle, and I hope they will yet damn a great many others. I, however, declare to them that I do not count myself to be either a more honest man, or a better Christian, than the greater part of these philosophers. I was born in the Roman Catholic Apostolic Church, and I submit, with all my might, to her decisions. I wish to die in the religion of my fathers, and I believe in it as much as it is possible for anyone who has never had direct intercourse with the Divinity, and who has never been eye-witness to any miracle. This is my profession of faith ; I am almost certain they will be dissatisfied with it, although they have not, perhaps, one among them in a condition to make a better. You present to an unbeliever a volume of writings which you profess to demonstrate are of divine origin. But before enter­ �4 ing upon an examination of your proofs, he will not fail to ask you : Has it always been the same ? Why is it at present less ample than it was some centuries ago? By what authority have you banished such and such a work, revered by another sect, and retained such and such another which it has rejected? On what foundation have you given the preference to this manuscript? . Who has directed you in the choice you have made between so many differing copies ? What are the incon­ testable proofs that these sacred authors have been transmitted to you in their pristine purity ? But if the ignorance of copyists, or the malice of heretics, has corrupted them, as you may easily imagine is possible, you will be obliged to restore them to their natural state before proving their divinity; for it is not from a collection of mutilated writings that proofs will fall with which to establish my faith; therefore to whom will you entrust this restorat on ? To the Church. But I am not able to believe in the infallibility of the Church until the divinity of the scriptures is proved. You see me, then, in an inevitable state of scepticism. There is no answer to this difficulty, except by acknowledging that the first foundations of the faithare purely human ; that the choice between the manuscripts^ that the restitution of passages, in fact, that the collection is made ..by the rules of criticism, and I do not refuse to allow to the divinity of the sacred books a degree of faith in proportion to their consonance with the canons of criticism. —' I tell you there is no God; that the creation is a chimera ; that the eternity of the universe is no more inconceivable than the eternity of a spirit; that because I do not know how motion has been able to engender this universe, which it knows so well to con­ serve, it is ridiculous to remove this difficulty by the suppositious existence of a being that I know still less ; thatif the brilliant mar­ vels of the physical world discover an intelligence, the disturbances so rife in the moral world, wipe out providence. I say to you that if all is the work of a God, all should be the best possible ; therefore, if all is not the best possible, God is either incapable or malevolent. This being so, of what good are your revelations ? Even were it as well demonstrated as it is not, that all evil is the source of a good ; that it was good that a Britannicus, one of the best of princes, perish ; that a Nero, the worst of men, reign. How will it prove that it was impossible to attain the same end by other means ? To permit vice in order that virtue may shine with greater lustre by contrast, is but a frivolous advantage to set against so serious an evil. This, says the Atheist, is what I object; what have you to say ? . . . “ That I am a wretch; and �i&rf if I had nothing to fear of God, I should not dispute his existence." Let us leave this phrase to the bigots; it may be untrue, politeness proscribes it, and is besides uncharitable. Because a man is wrong not to believe in God, shall we revile him ? Invective is resorted to only in default of proofs. Between two disputants it is a hundred to one that he who is in the wrong will grow angry. “Thou layest hold of thy thunder-bolts instead of replying, said Menippus to Jupiter; “thou art then in the wrong.” I open the book of a celebrated professor, and I read : “ Atheists, I grant you that movement is essential to matter; what can you make of it ? ... . That the world is the outcome of a fortuitous aggregation of atoms? You may as well tell me that Homer’s Iliad or la Henriade of Voltaire are the result of fortuitous combinations of accidents.” I should be very care­ ful not to offer such reasoning to an Atheist. The illustration would give him fine play. According to the laws of the analysis of chances, he would say to me, I have no right to be surprised that a thing happens so long as it is possible, and that the difficulty of the event is compensated by the quantity of throws. In a certain number of throws I will wager, with the odds in my favor, that I turn up a hundred thousand sixes at a time with a hundred thousand dice. Whatever might be the definite number of characters with which it might be proposed I should fortuitously engender the Iliad, there is a possible sum of throws, which renders the proposition advantageous; my advantage would be infinite even, if the number of throws granted were infinite. You will, no doubt, agree with me, he would continue, that matter existed from all eternity, and that movement is essential to it. In return for this favor, I shall suppose, with you, that the world is boundless, that the multitude of atoms are infinite, and the marvellous order which fills you with astonishment does not belie the supposition. Then, from these reciprocal concessions, there results nothing more than that the possibility of engendering the universe by accident is very small, but that the number of chances is infinite ; that is to say, that the difficulty of the event is more than sufficiently compensated by the multitude of throws. Therefore, if anything should be repugnant to reason, it should be the supposition that matter being self moved from all eternity, and that their being perchance, in the infinite number possible of combinations of forms, an infinite number of admirable arrangements, there should not be any of these suit­ able arrangements encountered in the infinite number of those �6 she has taken successively. Therefore, the hypothetic duration of chaos is more astounding than the real birth of the universe. I divide Atheists into three classes. There are some who would tell you distinctly that there is no God, and would believe " what they said; these are true Atheists. Another numerous class, who do not know what to think, and who would willingly decide the question by tossing heads or tails; these are sceptics Atheistic. There are many more who would like very much that there should not be a God, who seem to persuade themselves there is not, and who live as if they were so persuaded ; these are blusterers, humbugs. I detest them ; they are false. I pity the true Atheists. To me all consolation seems dead for them and I pray to God for the sceptics that they may be enlightened’. , ! Scepticism is not possible for everyone: It supposes pro­ found and disinterested examination; he who doubts only be­ cause he does not understand the reasons for believing is simply one of the ignorant. The true sceptic has counted and weighed the reasons; but to weigh reasons is no small affair. Who among us knows exactly the value of reasoning ? Bring a hun­ dred proofs of the same truth, each one will have its partisans ; each mind looking through its own telescope in its own fashion’ An objection, which to my view appears a colossus, will diminish to the vanishing point in yours. You find a reason light, which crushes me under its weight. If we are divided on the question of intrinsic value, how can we hope to be agreed on the relative value ? Tell me, how many moral proofs does it take to'counter­ balance a metaphysical conclusion? Are they my spectacles which sin, or yours ? If then, it is so difficult to weigh reasons, and if there are no questions in which there is not a pro and a con’ and almost always in equal measure why are we so peremptory? From whence comes this tone of decision? What is more revolting than a dogmatic self-sufficiency ? “ I am made to hate the things which appear true,” said the author of the Essais “when they are forced upon me as infallible.” I love words which soften and moderate the boldness of our propositions, such as, “Perhaps it maybe so,” “Let us see,” “ It is so said,” “ I think,” and others similar; and if I had the care of children, I would put into their mouths the habit of replying by questions and not by affirmation; as, “I do not understand,” “ It may possibly be so,” “ Is it true,” so that they should rather use the manner of students at sixty than seem to be professors at sixteen. ___ Men of passionate temperament, of ardent imagination, cannot reconcile themselves to the indolence of the sceptic. They �7 will choose at hazard rather than not make a choice at all; deceive themselves rather than live in uncertainty. Whether it be that they mistrust their strength, or that they fear the depth of the flood, we see them for ever hanging to the branches of which they feel all the frailty, and to which they cling in preference to abandoning themselves to the torrent. They are sure in all things although nothing have they examined with care. They doubt of nothing, because they lack both the patience and the courage. Deciding by emotion, if by chance they encounter truth, it is not hesitatingly, but with a shock, and as a revelation. They are, amongst the dogmatic, such as were in the religious world styled the Illuminati. I have seen individuals of this uneasy species who could not conceive it possible to ally tran­ quillity of mind with indecision. To be able to live happy without knowing what we are, from whence we came, where we go, why we are here! I pride myself on ignoring all that without being more un­ happy, coldly replies the sceptic. It is not my fault if I have found my reason mute when I have questioned it on these things. I shall never make myself unhappy over that which it is impossible for me to know. Why should I regret the want of a knowledge I am unable to procure, and which, doubtless, is not very necessary since I am deprived of it ? “I would as soon,” said one of the first genuises of our age, “seriously afflict myself because I have not four eyes, four feet, and a pair of wings.” It may be required that I seek for truth, but not that I find it. May not, possibly, a sophism be to me more forcible than a solid proof ? I am in the necessity to consent to the false which I take for truth, and to reject the truth which I take for false ; but what have I to fear if I deceive myself innocently ? Since we are not rewarded in the next world for having had a brilliant intellect in this, should we be punished for our lack of under­ standing ? To damn a man for being a bad reasoner, is to forget that he is a fool in order to punish him for wickedness. What is a sceptic ? A philosopher who has doubted of all which he believes, and believes that which a legitimate use of his reason and his senses have demonstrated true. If you wish a more precise definition, render the pyrrhonian sincere and you will have the sceptic. IA sem2 <'5epticism is the mark of a weak mind; it shows a �8 pusillanimous reasoner who allows himself to be. afraid of the consequences ; a superstitions person who fears to unmask to himself even; for if the truth has nothing to lose by examination, as the semi-sceptic is convinced, what does he think at the bottom of his heart of those concealed speculations, which he is afraid to bring to the light, and which are shrouded in a corner of his brain as in a sanctuary which he dare not approach ? That which has never been questioned has not been proved; that which has never been examined without prejudice has never been thoroughly examined. Scepticism is then the first step towards truth. It ought to be general, for it is the touchstone of truth. If, to assure himself of the existence of God, the philosopher commences by doubting his existence, is there any proposition which ought to be withheld from proof ? We risk as much by believing too much as by believing too little. There is neither more nor less danger by being polytheist as Atheist, hence scepticism alone can guarantee equally, in all times and all places, from those two opposed excesses. When the religious cry out against scepticism, it seems to me that they understand their interest badly, or that they contra­ dict themselves. If it is certain that a true religion in order to be embraced, and a false religion in order to be abandoned, has need only to be well known, it ought to be wished that a universal doubt should spread over the whole surface of the earth, and that all the world should earnestly question the truth of their religions; our missionaries would thus find the better half of their great labors spared them. Reasoning which may be used equally by opposite parties proves nothing; either for the one or the other. If fanaticism has its martyrs as well as true religion ; and if among those who have died for the true religion there were fanatics, we must either believe in proportion to the number of martyrs, or seek other motives for belief. Nothing is more calculated to confirm irreligious ideas than loose reasons for conversion. Sceptics are eternally taunted with— “ Who are you, to venture to attack a religion defended so courageously by a Paul, a Tertullian, an Athanasius, a Chry­ �9 sostom, an Augustine, a Cyprian, and so many other illustrious personages ? You have, no doubt, perceived some difficulty which had escaped these great men; show us,then, how much you know more than they, or sacrifice your doubts to their decisions, if you are agreed that they were wiser than yourself.” Most frivolous reasoning. The profound learning of ministers is not a proof of the truth of a religion. What cult could be more absurd than that of the Egyptians, and what ministers more en­ lightened? . . . No, I cannot adore an onion; w’hat merit has it over other vegetables ? I should be idiotic to prostitute my homage to things destined for my nourishment. The plant I water and tend, and which grows and dies in my garden-plot, is a droll sort of divinity ! “Hold, wretch, thy blasphemies make me tremble. Wno art thou to set thy reason against the sacred college ? Who art thou to attack the gods and give lessons to their ministers ? Art thou more enlightened than those oracles who were consulted by the entire universe ? Whatsoever thy reply, I am astounded at thy impertinence and temerity.” . . . Will Christians never abandon these miserable sophistries? Moral: Prodigies and dogmatic authority may make dupes or hypocrites; reason alone can make believers. It is allowed to be of the last importance not to employ other than solid reasons in the defence of religion, and yet those who expose its weaknesses are assailed with virulence. What! is not enough to be a Christian ?—must one be so illogically ? It was in the search for -proofs that I found the difficulties. The books which held the motives for my belief offered at the same time reasons for being incredulous ; they are a common arsenal. There I saw the Deist arm against the Atheist; the Deist and the Atheist contend with the Jew; the Atheist, the Deist, and the Jew league against the Christian; the Christian, the Jew, the Deist, and the Atheist take sides against the Mussulman; the Atheist, the Deist, the Jew, the Mussulman, and the multi­ tudinous sects of Christianity come down upon the Christian, and the sceptic alone against all. I was judge of the blows ; I held the balance between the combatants ; the beam went up and dowu according to the weight of their respective argument. After long oscillations, the balance trembled almost imperceptibly on the side of the Christian. I will answer for my equity: it was not my fault if the difference were not greater; I call God to witness my sincerity. This diversity of opinion has evolved an argument for the �10 Deists more singular perhaps than solid. Cicero, having io prove the Romans the most bellicose people in the world, adroitly extracted this avowal from the mouths of their rivals:— “ Gauls, to whom would you yield in courage if you yielded to any ?—To the Romans. Parthians, after you, who are the most courageous?—The Romans. Africans, whom would you fear, if fear could enter your minds ?—The Romans.” Let us, following his example, interrogate the rest of the religions, say the Deists:— “ Chinese, what religion would be the best, if it were not yours? —Natural religion. Mussulmans, what cult would you embrace if you abjured Mahomet?—Naturalism. Christians, which is the true religion, if perchance it is not Christianity?—The Jewish religion. But, you Jews, what is the true religion, if Judaism be false ?—Naturalism.” Therefore, continued Cicero, that which is by unanimous consent accorded the second place, and which itself concedes the first to none, merits incontestably to hold that position. “I had imagined,” said Julian [called the Apostate], “ that the chiefs of the Galileans would appreciate how greatly my pro­ ceedings are different from those of my predecessor, and that they would therefore bear me good will. Under his reign they suffered exile and imprisonment, and a multitude of those they deemed heretics among them were put to the sword. . . . Under mine the exiles have been recalled, the prisoners set at liberty, and the proscribed re-established in the possession of their estates. But such is the restlessness and the fury of this sort of men that, since they have lost the privilege of devouring each other, of tormenting both those who are attached to their dogmas, and those who follow the authorised religion; they spare no pains, they allow no occasion to escape of exciting revolts; fellows without regard for true piety, and without respect for our constitutions. . . . Nevertheless, we do not hear that they are dragged to the feet of our altars, or that they suffer violence. . . With respect to the common people, it appears to be their chiefs who foment among them a seditious spirit, furious at the limits we have fixed to their powers; for we have banished them from our tribunals, and they have not now facilities to dispose of testaments, to supplant the legitimate heirs, and gobble up the succession. . . . This is why we prohibit this people to create tumultuous assemblies and cabal at the houses of their seditious priests. . . . This ordinance is for the security of our magistrates, whom the rascals have insulted more than once and put in danger of being stoned. . . . That they go peaceably to their meetings, to pray, to be instructed, and to satisfy their desires in the culture of their religion, we permit; but they �11 must renounce their factious designs. ... If these assemblies are made an occasion for revolt, it will be at their risk and peril; I warn them beforehand. . . . Infidel people, live in peace. . . . And you who have remained faithful to the religion of your country and to the gods of your fathers, do not persecute your neighbors, your fellow-citizens, whose ignorance is more to be pitied than their wickedness is to be blamed. ... It is by reason, and not by violence, that men should be brought back to the truth. We enjoin, then, on you all, our faithful subjects, to leave the Galileans in peace.” Such were the sentiments of this prince, against whom we may bring the charge of paganism, but not of apostacy. I am astonished at one thing, that is, that the works of this wise emperor have come down to our times. They contain passages which do no violence to the truth of Christianity, but which are disadvantageous enough to some Christians of his time, inasmuch as they show glimpses of the singular care which the fathers of the Church had taken to suppress the works oftheir enemies. It is from these predecessors apparently that St. Gregory the Great had inherited the barbarous zeal which ani­ mated him against letters and the arts, so that, had it rested with this pontiff, we should be in the case of the Mohammedans, who are reduced for all their reading to that of their Koran. For what had been the fate of these ancient writers in the hands of a man who ignored critical rules from religious principle ; who imagined that to observe the rules of grammar was to submit Jesus Christ to Donat, and who believed himself obliged in con­ science to increase the heaped up ruins of antiquity. The divin ity of the scriptures is not, however, a characteristic so clearly imprinted on the face of them that the authority of the sacred historians is absolutely independent of the testimony of profane authors. Where should we be if it was necessary to recognise the finger of God in the style of our Bible ? How wretched is the Latin version! The originals even are not masterpieces of composition. The prophets, apostles, and evangelists wrote according to their capacity. Were it permitted to us to regard the history of the Jews as a simple human pro­ ductions, Moses and his successors would not bear away the palm from Titus Livy, Sallust, Caesar, and Josephus, all of them writers of whom no one assuredly suspects that they wrote by inspiration. “What is God?” is a question asked of children, and to which philosophers cannot give an answer. The age at X �which children should begin to learn to read, to write, to dance, and to sing is pretty well understood. It is only in religious matters that the capacity of the child is not considered. Almost before he can speak he is asked, “ What is God ?” At the same time, and from the same lips, he learns that there are goblins, ghosts, vampires, and a God. The most important truths are inculcated in a manner to render them liable to be discredited at the tribunal of reason. It cannot be surprising if, finding, on reaching manhood, the existence of God mixed up in his head with a crowd of absurd and superstitious ideas, he should treat God as the magistrate treats an honest man discovered in the company of rogues. From the picture which is drawn of the supreme being, from his liking to be angry, from the rigor of his vengeance, from certain comparisons which show us the difference in number between those he leaves to perish and those to whom he deigns to offer the hand of salvation, the most pious soul would be tempted to wish that he did not exist. People would be com­ fortable enough in this world were they well assured they had nothing to fear in the other ; the thought that there is no God at all has never yet affrighted mortal, but that there is such a God as he is painted has affrighted many. There are those who desire that God burn the wicked, who are powerless against him, in an everlasting fire ; and it is not permitted a father to slay his son, who, perhaps, imperils his life, his honor, and his fortune ! O Christians! you have, then, two differing ideas of goodness and of wickedness, of the truth and lies. You are either the most absurd dogmatists, or the most outrageous pyhrronians. All the evil of which one is capable is not all the evil possible i therefore, it is only he who is able to commit all the wickedness possible who can merit an eternal chastisement. To make Goda being infinitely vindictive, you transform an earth-worm into a being infinitely powerful [to suffer]. The word these atrocious Christians have translated by eternal signifies in Hebrew only durable. It is from ignorance of a Hebraism! and the ferocious humor of a translator whence comes the eternity of punishment. �The time of revelations, of prodigies, and of extraordinary missions is passed. Christianity has no longer any need of this kind of scaffolding. A man taking a fancy to play amongst us the character of Jonah ; to run about the streets crying, “ Yea, three days, and London will be destroyed; Cockneys, repent of your sins, cover yourselves with sackcloth and ashes, or in three days you will perish,” would be incontinently collared by the first policeman he might fall in with, who would bring him before the police-magistrate of his district, who, in his turn, would not fail to have him dispatched to the county lunatic asylum. He might shout himself hoarse crying, “Are you less wicked than the men of Nineveh?” No one would trouble to reply to him ; and to treat him as a madman, would not wait for the term of his prediction. Elie may come from the other world whenever he may take the fancy. Men are so, in these days, that he will be compelled to .perform stupendous miracles ere he be well received in this. A person was asked if there were any true Atheists. “Do you believe,” replied he, “ that there are any true Christians p” I hear an outcry from all sides against impiety. The Chris­ tian is impious in Asia, the Mussulman in Europe, the Papist in London, and the Calvinist in Paris. Who, then, is impious ? All the world, or no one ? When God, of whom we hold our reason, requires its sacrifice, he is like a mountebank who conjures away the gifts he pretends to confer. If my reason comes from on high, it is the voice of heaven which speaks by it. It is my duty to be guided by its counsels If reason is a gift of God, and if faith is also a gift of God, he has endowed us with two gifts, incompatible and contradictory. Bewildered in an immense forest in the night time, I have only a feeble lantern to light my path. Comes a stranger, who says to me: “Blow out thy candle to better find thy way.” This stranger is the theologian. It is as sure as that two and two make four that Caesar existed; it i3 also as sure that Jesus Christ existed as Caesar. Then, it is also as sure that Jesus Christ was raised ftom the �14 dead as that he existed. What logic ! The existence of Jesus Christ and of Csesar is not a miracle. Man is as God or nature made him, and God or nature make nothing bad. Shade of Jenner! Iam compelled to vaccinate my child to preserve it from the small-pox, and I am not allowed to kill it in order to save it from eternal hell ? It is monstrous mockery! The precepts of religion and the law of society, which prohibit the murder of innocent children, are both absurd and cruel, when, in killing them, they are assured of an infinite happiness, and that, in leaving them to live, they are devoted almost surely to eternal damnation. The God of the Christians is a father who sets great store by his apples, but precious little by his children. No good father would wish to resemble our heavenly father, t' And why does he get so mad, this God ? Are we not told that we cannot add to or detract from his glory, do anything for or against his repose, for or against his serene majesty ? If it is necessary to believe in order to be saved, why was Christ crucified? If there are a hundred thousand damned for one saved, the devil has always the advantage, notwithstanding the death of Christ. A true religion would compel the attention of all men, in all times, in all conditions ; would be eternal, universal, and evident. No religion has these three characteristics. All are therefore thrice demonstrated false. Facts of which only a few persons were witnesses are insuffi­ cient to prove a religion which is required to be believed by all the world. \ �15 .The evidence in support of religion is ancient and marvellous; that is to say, the most suspicious possible; in proof of things the most incredible. To prove the gospel by a miracle is to prove an absurdity by an act contrary to nature. Why are the miracles of Christ true, and those of Esculapius, of Appollonius, of Tyanseus and of Mahomet false ? The Jews living in Jerusalem at the time of Christ were no doubt converted on seeing his miracles? Not at all. So far from believing, they crucified him. It must be conceded that the Jews are a peculiar people ; everywhere may be seen people carried away by a single false miracle; and yet Jesus Christ could not convert the Jews with a multitude of real miracles! “ This God, who crucified God, to appease the wrath of God ” ; is an antithesis of more force in its pithy ridicule than a hundred folio volumes of grave controversy. It is said that he retired to the Mount of Olives to pray. And to whom prayed he ? To himself! God the father judges all men worthy of eternal vengeance’* God the son, worthy of infinite mercy; God the Holy Ghost remains neutral. How is this to be reconciled with the unity of the divine will. The question has been put to the theologians an infinite number of times—How can the dogma of eternal damnation be reconciled with the infinite mercy of God ? They are still struggling with it! Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petrum cedifioabo ecclesiam meam Is this the language of a God or of a Cogers’ Hall punster ? In dolores paries (Genes).—“ Thou shalt engender in sorrow ” said God to the prevaricating apple-eating woman. And what fault had the females of other animals committed that they also bring forth in pain ? �If we must take literally the words, “Pater major me est,” Jesus Christ is not God. If we must take literally, “Hoc est corpus meum,” he gave his body to his apostles with his own. hands—which is just as absurd as to say that Saint Denis kissed his head after it was cut from his shoulders. It is matchless impudence to cite the conformity of the gospels, while there are in some,.very important statements of which not one word is said in the others. In the first centuries there were sixty gospels of almost equal authority. Fifty-six have been rejected for puerility and absurdity. Is there nothing of these in the four which have been retained ? Pascal said: “If our religion is false, we risk nothing in believing it to be true; if it be true, we risk all in believing it false.” A Mohammedan might say the same as Pascal. That Jesus Christ, who is God, was tempted of the devil, is a story worthy of the “ Thousand and One Nights.” A young woman who lived a very secluded life was one day visited by a young man, who brought a bird. She became enceinte, and it was asked how it happened ? Ridiculous! It was the bird. Why do the stories of Leda and the swan excite a smile, and the little flames of Castor and Pollux risibility, when we accept in all seriousness the pigeon and the tongues of fire of the gospels ? Printed and Published by W J. Ramsey, at 28 Stonecutter Street, London. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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. 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Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Old thoughts for new thinkers : being selections from the "Pensees philosophiques" of Diderot Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Diderot, Denis [1713-1784] Hardaker, William (tr) Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 16 p. ; 18 cm. Notes: Annotations in pencil. Printed and published by W.J. Ramsay, Stonecutter Street, London. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Progressive Publishing Company Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [n.d.] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context N193 Subject The topic of the resource Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <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 (Old thoughts for new thinkers : being selections from the "Pensees philosophiques" of Diderot), 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> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Denis Diderot French NSS Philosophers-France Philosophy https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/62589b550c08c8f4a727690f5b6896ee.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=mISnCXwUxfVGZCl5tgbZ50th7wSZUzFhwTkqE2FsmcH47izysDPXg0vL4Q9Hs3zkmFuilTrxlJMuD2QNv3v0N7klZSosoXCiOvhO4Ecw8BBKaBmzx0Yv0xuiYhhRoRH8uZTUevYjKkkynfBCTroA2LDFvFvHgjRHe7QCuoK7c8KOa1C%7Elez%7EtpjOAjVIYP3oKnLm0Zx1iCKNkBe0D5H52vG2TWHR9hcYA-7wp3gfdd9%7EiaKVkzdQWGAFy94WizdP8F85xtGFI8J-rX7CWNUNoCD20aX6S81kugtF67Qtjf4pb9pwMl%7EHvSUbFqTiKKS6Keko3M3cSxYsYC7CS8Hyhg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM ebd53f890b8daad1738956098278fe3c PDF Text Text IMMANUEL KANT IN HIS RELATION TO MODERN HISTORY. PAPER READ BEFORE THE FELLOWS OF THE ROYAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY ON THE lUh MARCH 1875, BY Dr G. G. ZERFFI, F.R.S.L., F.RHist.S., ONB OF THE LECTURERS IN H.M. DEPARTMENT OF SCIENCE AND ART. PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT, NO. 11, THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD, UPPER NORWOOD, LONDON, 8.E. Price Sixpence. ��IMMANUEL KANT. INGLE individuals stand to the general historical in the Sdo development of humanity corbels, same relation as ­ detached stones, statues, spires, or weather cocks to a building. The individual, in the eyes of the philosophical historian, has only so far an interest as he forms a link in the great chain of human activi­ ties, or one stone in the historical dome. The indivi­ dual is the outgrowth of his times, his dwelling-place or country, the intellectual and social atmosphere in which he has been reared and nourished. In propos­ ing to read a paper on Immanuel Kant I did not intend to take up your time with his private life, little biographical notices of his character, but to place before you my objective views as to his influence on our modern mode of thinking, as the basis of our modern history. I purpose to keep to the general principles which I laid down before you in my paper “ On the possibility of a strictly scientific treatment of Universal History ” (see vol. III. Transactions of the E. H. S., page 380) ; and shall try to apply those principles in sketching the development of an indivi­ dual in whom the static and dynamic forces w’orking in humanity were well balanced. Kant, as philoso­ pher, is merely a link in a long chain of mighty spe­ culative and empirical, or deductive and inductive thinkers, who serve to illustrate, that from the earliest times of the awakening consciousness of humanity man tried to bring about an understanding of the natural �6 Immanuel Kant and intellectual phenomena surrounding him. The method which these thinkers pursued was either a priori or a posteriori ; they either started with general principles, and reasoned from them down to particu­ lars ; or they followed the more thorny path of arguing from particulars in order to come to general conclu­ sions. Finally, Kant stands by himself in founding a system which succeeded in bringing harmony into these two conflicting methods. He may be said to have been the only “ deducto-inductive ” philosopher ; he was a genius, able to grasp mind and matter, the noumenal and phenomenal in their innermost connec­ tion, and succeeded in destroying a one-sidedness in philosophy which often had been detrimental to the real progress of science. Bacon and Descartes opposed the old methods of philosophy, and endeavoured to explain the various phenomena of nature on a merely mechanical basis. But Bacon, after all, was a reviver of the atomistic theory of Demokritos, whilst Leibnitz, in opposing Bacon, Descartes, and Spinoza, and their teleological principles, turned back to Plato and Aristotle, in order to unite d priori the conflicting elements of the two Greek philosophers in his theory of monads. Kant is neither exclusively empirical nor teleological, he is the creator of an entirely new mode of thinking and study­ ing. All philosophy before Kant was more or less theology. The circle of experience was extremely narrow ; and theology bore all before it : no one could gainsay it. Explanations and hypotheses drawn from the fertile sources of imagination and intuition, pro­ ductive of surmises and conjecture, had full play and ruled supreme. Free-will, the senses, perception, matter, spirit, body, soul, nature, God, and universe, were settled as entities out of the inner consciousness of poets, prophets, or philosophers. By degrees and slowly, experience tried to collect and heap up obser­ vations ; which were at first isolated; often in con­ �In his Relation to Modern History. 7 tradiction to certain d priori settled assumptions, but subsequently they were arranged and brought into mutual relation, and we see natural sciences take a position apparently opposed to theology, philosophy, and metaphysics. Matter affecting and impressing our senses, acting and reacting on them, was pronounced to be the only thing we could grasp, or know anything of. The experimentalist grew angry with the metaphy­ sicians or theologians, and blamed the efforts of those who argued on matters which he was trying to dis­ cover by means of scientific observation. “ Either the theologians come to the same final results as we men of science, then they are entirely superfluous ; or they persist in opposing us with false assumptions, propa­ gating thus errors which are detrimental to the progress of knowledge, and then they are worse than super­ fluous ; they are altogether pernicious.” From this conflict also a division in the scientific world arose. Some devoted themselves exclusively to “ realism,” others to “ idealism.” Everywhere at this period we see strife and warfare. In ancient times, as in the Middle Ages, the experi­ mental sciences were but unruly and undisciplined children, continually finding fault with their mother, speculation; history was yet unknown, mere chronicles, or at the most biographies, existed. The knowledge of connecting laws was wanting, all was guess work, all was a disconnected heap of facts in sciences as well as in history. The discovery of America and the Refor­ mation suddenly changed the very mode of thinking. Without the Reformation, no philosopher of the stamp of Bacon could have been possible. Philosophy detached itself through Bacon from theology, and entered the lists of experimental sciences ; so intimate was the connection between philosophy and experiment, that we in England speak of a microscope as a philo­ sophical instrument, and might even call a new method of dyeing silk, or a new way of manuring, a philoso­ �8 Immanuel Kant phical invention. In consequence of this one-sided­ ness, inagurated by Bacon, we became more and more devoted to a realistic, or as some people have it, matejealistic and practical philosophy, and failed to see that there was a power in us which has to arrange, to system­ atize, and even to apply what has been gathered on the fields of experience. Opposed to this realistic school were first Descartes and Leibnitz. The pure intellect was to be the source of all knowledge; nothing was worth studying, except what could be reduced to an algebraic formula. Spinoza brought this theory to perfection. Not only nature, but all human life, with all its fluctuating passions, was to be explained by mathematical rules. Man’s sufferings, actions, intentions, and motives were to be treated as planes, triangles, spheres, cubes, squares, pyramids, or polyhedrons, &c. Leibnitz tried to save philosophy from these matter-of-fact tendencies. He discovered in mathematics the differential and infinitesimal “ cal­ culus ; ” and in physics a new law—motion. He strove to establish a union between primitive and final causes. He had an idea that the contrast between inorganic and organic, natural and spiritual, mechanical and moral elements must cease through the notion of continuity in the unity of gradually progressive, selfacting forces. His system reached its climax in his “ Theodicy,” altogether beyond the comprehension of human intellect. He dimly felt that there ought to be a union between metaphysics and experience, but the solution of this problem was beyond his powers. Professor Christian Wolf was a thorough dogmatist. Philosophy was to him the knowledge of everything possible. Anything was possible that could be brought under a strict logical law, according to the “principium, identitatis,” “ contradictionis,” and “ rationis sufficientis.” We were taken back by him to the categories of Aristotle. Experimental philosophy and meta­ physics were again separated; the latter was to make �In his Relation to Modern History. 9 us acquainted with the essence of things from a specu­ lative point of view, this was treated of by Wolf in his Ontology, under the heading “ De Entitate ; ” compris­ ing the simple, compound, final, infinite, perfect, im­ perfect, accidental, and necessary substances. The universe, soul, and God were discussed according to these ontological categories, as subjects of Wolf’s cos­ mology, pneumatology, and theology. Dogmatism in philosophy celebrated its greatest triumphs before the dazzled eyes of Europe. Dialectics ruled supreme. Explanations were given, and the unfathomable was again fathomed — of course only in words. Kant stepped on the philosophical platform when the dog­ matism of Wolf was in its zenith ; he was himself a pupil of this mighty metaphysician. The struggle between the sciences, a priori and those a posteriori, was recommenced. The foundations of metaphysics un­ dermined by Bacon, Descartes, Leibnitz, and Spinoza, stood propped up by Wolf’s ingenuity, but his system was terribly shaken again by the mighty sceptical philosophers of England and Scotland. Bacon already denied that metaphysics, treating of the supernatural, could be a science. Locke went further ; he set down experience and perceptions as the basis upon which to build up a system of philosophy. Sensation and reflection were to be the leading elements. Bacon declared the supernatural to be an impossibility, and Locke pronounced even the supersensual a mere fiction, opposing Descartes as the latter opposed Bacon. Locke’s final dogma was, that experience cannot make us acquainted with the essence of things, but merely with their impressions on our senses. Berkeley, in analys­ ing sensual impressions, found them producing per­ ceptions, and therefore turned upon the realists and proclaimed triumphantly that after all everything is “ idea.” He thus confounded effect and cause, and pronounced them to be identical. All observations are mere impressions on our senses, but these produce B �IO Immanuel Kant perceptions, perceptions are ideas, therefore everything is mere idea. All material things if deprived of our perception are nothing. There are only perceiving and perceived elements or ideas in us, which take their origin in God. Berkeley's dogma may he summed up thus : God has endowed us with the faculty of percep­ tion through impression, all knowledge is therefore of divine origin. His dogmatism led to Hume’s scepticism. Hume started by endeavouring to find out, whether we may become conscious of the impressions made by perceptions on our senses, and whether knowledge were possible beyond such perceptions. He assumes only one possible science—mathematics—the conclusions of which are analytic (according to him) by means of equations. Empirical conclusions he wishes only to be based on the law of causation (the nexus causalis), and the whole of his philosophy may be reduced to the question : is a cognisable causal “ nexus ” between the objects of experience and their impressions on our senses, possible ? He denies this most peremptorily. Reason cannot connect different impressions, and at the same time trace their causes with certainty; her conclusions are only analytic but never synthetic. All conclusions drawn by experience can therefore never be strictly demonstrated, as we can only recognise the effect but never the necessary cause. Neither reason nor experience can give us real insight into causality, and this very causality is one of the essential factors of science. What we are capable of attaining is a con­ tinuation of facts and impressions. The post hoc becomes a propter hoc, or the “after” a “therefore.” This change is performed through our reasoning faculty. The causal nexus is a mere assumption, it is a faith, a belief, like any other, and not a reality. This will suffice to characterise the philosophical stand-point at the period when Kant began his career. Glancing at the political and social condition of his times, we find him entering the University when Wolf �In his Relation to Modern History. 11 returned, to Halle, and Frederic II. ascended the throne. The seven years’ war interrupted his academical studies. He finished his great work at the time when Frederic the Great ended his glorious life. He was attacked and persecuted under the government of Frederic William II., but ended his career, once more allowed to breathe a free and independent thinker under Frederic William III. Kant was born on the 22nd of April 1724 at Konigsberg. His ancestors were of Scotch origin, thus Kant indirectly is a countryman of the great Scotchman David Hume, from whom he descended in a direct spiritual line as philosopher. It is often interesting to trace the general law of action and reaction in single individuals. The most influential agents have been educated by those who were to fall a sacrifice to the destructive intellectual powers of their pupils. Bacon was educated by Scholastics; Descartes by Jesuits; Spinoza by Rabbis; and Kant by Pietists. Kant never could understand the unhealthy and deadening principles of his pietistic masters; he learned from them a certain discipline of the mind for which he was always grateful. He was a stern moralist in thought and deed all his life. Seven years, from 1733 to 1740 he frequented the “Collegium Fredericianum”—nine years (from 17461755) he was tutor in three different families ; and on the 12th of June 1755 he took his degree with a dissertation “on fire.” In April 1756 he was made a private teacher at the University, and he had to spend fifteen years of his life in that position till he was at last appointed “Professor Ordinarius” at the University at Konigsberg. In the year 1756 he delivered his first Lecture; he was so nervous that his voice nearly failed him, and he was scarcely heard—but the next Lecture was better, and at last he became famous for his learning and the amiability of his delivery. He continually asserted that his intention was not to teach what had been �12 Immanuel Kant taught, but to suggest and to rouse the minds of his hearers to self-thought and self-reasoning. He declared publicly that his students would not learn philosophy from him—but how to think for themselves. From the year 1760 he took up various subjects besides Philosophy. He lectured to the theological faculty on “ Natural Theology ; ” to large audiences on “ An­ thropology” and “Physical Geography.” In 1763 and 1764 he published his “ Only possible means to prove the existence of the Divinity,” and his “ Observations on the Beautiful and Sublime ”—and gave Lectures on these two subjects. In 1781 appeared his greatest work under the title “ Critique of pure reason,” 1783 he published his “ Prolegomena of any possible Meta­ physics,” 1785 his “Principles of a Metaphysic of Morals,” 1786 his “Metaphysical Introduction to Natural Sciences,” 1788 his “Critique of Practical Reason,” and 1790 his “ Critique of our Reasoning Faculty,” 1793 his “ Religion within the limits of Pure Reason.” He died on the 12th of February 1804. What a period—what a life from 1724-1804 ! He witnessed the Seven Years’ war, the French Revolution, the establishment of the American Republic; the fall of the convention, the rise of Napoleon—the political and social change of everything in Europe. Schiller and Goethe were inspired by him—-he saw action and reaction, flux and reflux in human thoughts and achievements—Sciences of unknown subjects sprang up—Geology under Werner began hypothetically to step forward with uncertainty and timidity—Oken proclaimed his theory of evolution in unintelligible alchemistic phrases. Everything appeared to assume new phases. Men were either inclined to Voltairian incredulity, to Rousseau’s fanaticism; Hume’s scep­ ticism; or Jesuitic bigotry. Mysticism went hand in hand with a negation of all things. Swedenborg stood in the foreground with his supernatural epileptic fits ; �In his Relation to Modern History. 13 whilst Holbach, Grimm, and D’Alembert denied even our spiritual faculty of “ negation.” The intellectual state of Europe was but a reflex of the social and political condition of those times. Old mediaeval Erance, with her centralised organization grown out of the grossest feudalism, was in dissolution; Germany sighed under 240 major and minor despots, and a childish, almost Chinese, over-regulation in public matters ; England was at least parliamentarily free, the abode of the greatest orators that ever raised their voices for the public welfare. America possessed a Washington; France a Robespierre and Napoleon; England a Chatham and Burke; and Germany a Kant, a Hamann, Herder, and Jacobi. Like a bright sun shedding lustre around, the Teuton philosopher stands high above his times witnessing in serene splendour the intellectual, religious, and political chaos beneath him, out of which grew our 19th Century. Not without meaning has he been placed on the monument of Frederic the Great as the first amongst the mighty generals of the still mightier king. Socially and politically Frederic II., and intellectually and philosophically Immanuel Kant understood the pro­ gressively advancing spirit of their times. And therein consists the real merit of a historical character. No glorious battles, no victories, no extensions of territory, no artificially embellished towns, no momentary prosperity in commercial enterprises, can make up for a misunderstanding, or according to my theory for an untimely disturbance of the acting and reacting moral and intellectual forces in humanity. He who in history or sciences dares to touch that balance and disturb its equilibrium, can but bring trouble on humanity, for he forces generation after generation to readjust that balance. Kant’s private as well as public life was one great and successful effort to keep our morals and our intellect within the boundaries of the possible. �14 Immanuel Kant Independence and the most punctual legality were to be the basis of the individual and of the state, as but an aggregate of individuals; Pure moral principles, without any admixture of dogmatic dross, were to be the moving springs of humanity; our knowledge ' was to be based on a full consciousness of the possibility and certainty of our conclusions. The most important step to attain this was to trace in the phenomena of human thoughts and actions a certain law. To show how far we, as finite beings, endowed with intellect, might grasp space and time, the infinite, the invisible, the transcendental, and the supersensual, so as not to waste our faculties on matters which must remain for ever unapproachable in the dominion of science, was to render the very greatest service to humanity. Kant achieved this task. His “Critique of Pure Season” was partly misunderstood, or rather generally not understood at all, or was distorted because some felt it to be a death-warrant of all speculative efforts, meta­ physical verbiage and dogmatic quarrels. The book was decried as unintelligible transcendentalism and incomprehensible dialecticism. Kant’s interpretation of transcendentalism was one which some people would not like to admit; by this expression he meant simply, to transcend, “ to step over ” the boundaries of dogmatism, and to ascertain after having shaken off this dead weight, how far we might proceed in the regions of the Supersensual. His great merit was to prove that our transcending certain limits leads to -nothing but to mere assumptions; whether such assumptions and surmises are necessary for certain emotional purposes, he does not decide. He affirms our capacity of becoming conscious of perceptions and tries to trace the conditions under which perceptions may be systematized and thus increase our scientific acquirements. His philosophy is therefore not sceptic, but criti­ cal. His very first principle in starting on the thorny �In his Relation to Modern History. 15 path of philosophy was 11 never to take an assertion for granted, without having carefully examined it.” “ Neither affirm nor deny without the most minute in­ vestigation.” Who does not see in these propositions the germ, of our modern mode of thinking ? who does not perceive that the intellectual development of humanity was to be based on principles differing totally from those of antiquated authority or blind faith ? He was by no means an anti-dogmatist; he only looked on dogmatic metaphysics and experimental philosophy as two un­ known quantities. The more the latter increased, the more the former decreased in value; till, when experi­ mental philosophy went over into scepticism, the stand­ point of metaphysics was brought down to Zero; at this point Kant pronounced it not only valueless, but utterly useless. The mere playing with words on words, dialectical contortions and distortions, metaphysical writhings and grimaces were utterly repulsive to his noble, straightforward nature. The power that thought in us and was conscious of the process, namely, mind, he not only recognised, but tried to discipline. He began his philosophical studies in 1740, and thirty years later, he founded his new system. The first work with which he inaugurated his new method of reasoning was published in 1768, and his last ap­ peared in 1798, again, after exactly thirty years of mature reflection. Each decennary had its task. Dur­ ing the first three, he approaches step by step the solu­ tion of his system, whilst during the last three, we see him applying his discovery, and bringing his system to perfection. During the first two decennaries (17401760), Kant investigates and follows up the postulates of the Leibnitz-Wolf philosophy ; during the third (1760-1770), he is occupied withan analysis of the leading English philosophers, especially with Hume’s scepticism; and in 1770 he raises himself far above the dogmatic metaphysicians and the dry experimentalists, and takes his own lofty position. During the fourth �16 Immanuel Kant decennary, he is silent; during the fifth, he publishes his “Critique of Pure Reason,” (1780-1790), and de­ fines the extent to which we may trust our power to draw conclusions, and tries in the last decennary to apply his well-founded system to solve the positive problems of universal history. During the first period, he enters into an inquiry on the moving forces of the universe; and endeavours to establish a nexus between cause and effect. During the second period, he traces the possibility or impossibility of proving a first cause. If cause, why first, and how so first ? He then comes to the only possible mode of proving the existence of a first cause, namely, the ontological. Out of the mere notion, “God,” the existence of God cannot be proved; but, taking all the attributes necessary to form the concep­ tion of God, such a being may not only be assumed to exist, but must necessarily exist. In following up Kant’s critical reasoning, we arrive at a mathematical conviction of the existence of God, which is of greater value than the mere dogmatic assumption. Anything not in itself contradictory, is cognisable, say the ideal­ ists ; only that is cognisable which exists, say the real­ ists. Supposing nothing existed, then we could think nothing. In denying these two conditions, we should deny every intellectual and material possibility. As­ suming that something is possible, we must look upon it as the sequence of something that existed previously. There must be for everything a final cause. This final cause cannot be denied ; its existence, on the contrary, must be assumed. There must be a something before anything is possible without which nothing could be possible. This necessary existence may be con­ ceived as indivisible in its essence, simple in its ele­ ment, spiritual in its being, eternal in its duration, un­ changeable in its condition—in one word, it must be God 1 This once enunciated and assumed, he went on a step farther and examined the modus operand! of our mind, with its intellectual and reasoning faculties. �In his Relation to Modern History. What, he asked, is within the range of real cognition ? He compares metaphysics and mathematics, and finds, that whilst the former is entirely based on analysis, the latter is founded on synthesis. By drawing a strict distinction between analytic and synthetic conclusions, Kant created an entirely new stand-point for all our studies. He distinguishes be­ tween the emotional, as our moral and sesthetical, and -between the intellectual as our reasoning and scientific faculties. As morals and beauty, so are strict reason­ ing and science analogous elements. Here he is at issue with Hume, who assumes analysis as the basis in mathematics. Kant asserts the very opposite. Quan­ tities and forms are the objects of mathematics—but these quantities and forms are not given, but,constructed, they are combined, built up synthetically. To become conscious of a triangle, is to construct the required for­ mal conditions, enabling us to perceive in them a tri­ angle. Metaphysicians, however, have only analysis at their command. Analytic judgments or conclusions are those in which the predicate is already contained in the subject, by which a part of a whole is merely detached. In the assertion, “ God is omnipotent,” I detach an attribute of the subject God, and assert in reality nothing but that God is God. For, if I have a conception of God, I have also a knowledge of his omnipotence. Such conclusions as these may be very ingenious, but they do not contribute to a widening of our knowledge,. Synthetic conclusions are those in which a predicate is joined to a subject which is altogether extraneous to, and often apparently in contradiction with, it. As “ water freezes,” I have to prove how, under what conditions, and why water freezes. I have to know what water and what freezing is ; whether in such a condition water ceases to be a fluid, and if it cease, what is its condi­ tion in a state of crystallisation, what are crystals ; does water in a frozen condition still contain heat; what is heat; how can heat be latent in ice; does water freeze �i8 Immanuel Kant if mixed with salt, why should it freeze with greater difficulty if so mixed. The amount of knowledge ac­ quired through synthetic conclusions is ever increasing —analysis is a mere repetition of the same things. Kant took a mediating position between Descartes and Leibnitz, between Leibnitz and Newton, be­ tween Wolf and Crusius, and between Crusius and Hume. Between the English experimentalists and German metaphysicians there appeared always to be an insurmountable gulf. Kant tried to bridge over this gulf. Metaphysics was to be turned into an experimental science. He establishes the principles of natural theology and morals, out of the very properties of things, though we may for ever remain ignorant of their real essence. With reference to the existence of the divinity, he tried this with his ontological proof. With reference to morals, he proceeded in the same way. Every moral action must have an aim or pur­ pose—either an aim for another secondary aim, or for its own final purpose. In both instances, the action is caused and necessary ; but, in the first instance, it is conditional, and in the second, unconditional. An action done for a secondary purpose, for hope of re­ ward or for fear of punishment, is at the utmost right, clever, or reasonable, but it is not absolutely moral. In order to become moral, it must be done unconditionally, for its own sake. This led him to the contemplation of the beautiful which Hutcheson and Shaftsbury be­ fore him closely connected with our moral feelings. Morals and aesthetics are so closely allied, that our moral feelings are but a taste for right action ; Shafts­ bury calls morals the beautiful in our emotions, the harmony in our sentiments, the right proportion be­ tween our self-love and benevolence. Virtue is beauty of action ; our sense of virtue is but our aesthetical feel­ ing put into practice; whilst art puts it into forms. Virtue and taste are innate forces in human nature, like any other faculty of our mind, but they have to be �In his- Relation to Modern History. 19 developed, cultivated and fostered. For morals and aesthetics have one common root, they complete one an­ other. Art was thus elevated to its very highest stan­ dard. How Kant’s lofty and sublime ideas influenced poetry may be best studied in the works of the im­ mortal Schiller, whose writings are permeated with Kant’s theories and principles. To suggest was the principal aim of all his writings of this period. The student was not to be filled with given thoughts, .he was to be excited to think ; he was neither to be carried or led, he was to be made to walk for himself. “ In inverting this method of teaching, the students pick up some kind of reasoning before ever their intellect has been cultivated, and they carry about a mere bor­ rowed science. This is the cause that we meet with learned men, who have so little intellect, and why our academies send so many more muddled (abgeschmackte) heads into the world than any other state of the com­ munity.” During the third period of his mental evolution Kant occupied himself with a close investigation of our mental functions. Psychology and physiology are with him not separated but closely united studies. The workings of the brain and the mind were in his eyes in close relation, and he attributed all visions, fanaticism, melancholy and sentimental amativeness to a greater or lesser degree of mental aberration ; the cause of which must be sought in the derangement of our cerebral organs. If the phantoms of our imagination turn into visions ; if our inner sensations become outwardly perceptible, our senses are in a state of dream. If our reason assumes certain conceptions of its own as realities our reason is in a state of dream. “ There are emotional dreams, and there are dreams of our intellec­ tual faculty. Visions belong to the first class; metaphysics, undoubtedly, to the second.” He thus arrives at a point when metaphysics and madness are �20 Immanuel Kant treated as equal aberrations of our emotional and mental nature, though their origin is distinct, according to our different organization. Dogmatists and Meta­ physicians, visionaries and ghost-seers are declared to be but “airy architects of imaginary worlds.” Let them dream on as long as they like—that they but dream, becomes day by day clearer. Metaphysics were developed by Kant’s inquiries into a study to make ourselves acquainted with the limitation of human reason. We may, with its aid, as Goethe says in a Kantian sense “ There see that you can clearly explain What fits not into the human brain. ” This slow and gradual destruction of all hollow knowledge led us to a greater culture of those sciences which are possible, and have become an ever-growing barrier to false and credulous sentimentalism, and emotional dogmatism. The “ supersensual ” is not within the boundaries of human reason. Transcendental philosophy has to deal with experience, and not to ignore it. No knowledge is possible beyond the domains of our direct perception; of the essence of things we know nothing; the noumenal is and must remain to us a mystery ; the phenomenal is within our grasp. An absolute psychology, cosmology, or theology is impossible. Kant thus does not deny the existence of the “ supersensual,” he only denies our faculty of becoming cognisant of it. What an immense stride towards a really human, and, at the same time, humane investigation of all those elements, which ought to form the basis of our possible studies. Kant then goes farther and proves with his trenchant power of criticism that morals are independent of metaphysics, that humanity in general and every individual in particular carry the regulating force of morals already in their very organization. He distinguishes between opinion, faith, and knowledge. We may have reasons to make �In.his Relation to Modern History. 21 a statement, but these reasons may be based on an utterly subjective conviction, such a conviction is but an opinion and does not exclude doubt; if, however, our convic­ tions are based on objective observation, our opinion rises into the reliable domain of knowledge; if again our convictions are based on subjective elements supported by doubtful objective proofs, we may, individually, be convinced of certain assumed facts, we may believe in them, but we do not know. In applying these important distinctions to the whole sphere of our intellectual and material world, we were induced by Kant to draw more definite distinc­ tions between the possible and impossible, the necessary and merely accidental. In the mighty circle of religion we have to bear three points in view. 1. If all faith in a supernatural world be based on morals (Ethic actions) religion cannot have any other essential and real object than a purely moral one; all elements that do not foster pure morality will be secondary, strange, indifferent, or even dangerous. Religion, in fact, with Kant becomes pure Ethics. 2. Ethics are not based on a strictly scientific cognition, or theoretical convic­ tion but on moral actions and practical necessity. Not theoretical assumption, but practical reason becomes thus the basis of religious faith. 3. Granting this, it follows that our practical reason is independent of mere logical operations, that it discards as will and moral force all such boundaries as are erected by speculation, and drives us to conform to laws which must be common to the whole of humanity. During the fourth period he is silent. The storm of sceptic doubt was conquered. In this period we best perceive the positive results of the convulsions which brought forth Criticism instead of Scepticism—for, though we acknowledge the force of doubt, we think it should be subject to a regulating higher power—viz. : Criticism. During the fifth period he shakes off the fetters of idealism and materialism, and defines in his �22 Immanuel Kant a Critique of Pure Reason ” the boundaries of man’s understanding. In accomplishing this he assumes two principles upon which all knowledge and philosophy must rest. The one is idealistic—subjective, and the other empirical—objective. The inborn intellectual faculty—mind—can as little be neglected as the outer world with its impressions acting on our idealistic subjectivity. He thus founded cosmology—worked out by Alex. v. Humboldt—Geology by Leopold Buch, and Sir Charles Lyell,* and then he paved the way to the grand theory of Darwinism, or the theory of the gradual development of matter; he excited to Anthro­ pology and Ethnology, for he strove, through exper­ ience, to trace law in all the phenomena surrounding us, in nature as well as in the subtle regions of our mental operations. These principles changed the whole system of our philosophical and historical studies. Creation was not assumed as having taken place according to a certain dictum, but we had to investigate the earth’s crust to see how far we might trace the gradual formation of our globe. Kant’s method produced compara­ tive philology and mythology. Language was not to be a settled gift, but was to be traced back to its first origin ; this was the case with the different religions of ancient times. We were not to suppose that millions were left without religious comfort, but to investigate and ascertain how far the religious systems are rooted in the impressions of nature, how far they represent the moral and social condition of certain groups of mankind. This distinction led to a closer study of the nature of man, leading to biology and sociology, but above all to a deeper and systematic study of history. There is no branch of learning which should be culti­ vated with greater care than history, that is history * Whose recent death we must all deeply regret—though he left us his immortal works as the most glorious monument of his earthly existence. �In his Relation to Modern History. 23 from a scientific point of view. What appears in single individuals as mere chance, or the result of coincidence might perhaps be looked upon as subject to law like any other natural phenomenon j though, in the latter case, unconscious material particles are the elements, whilst in history, man with his consciousness, his as­ sumed free will, passions, intellectual and bodily facul­ ties, is the complicated agent. Kant affirmed, (and he can claim the honour of having been the first to do so,) in 1784, when statistical tables were still in their in­ fancy, that in looking on humanity as a whole, appa­ rently disconnected incidents may be brought under the sway of certain laws acting with stern regularity. He drew attention to the complicated phenomena of the changes in the weather, the growth of plants under certain climatological conditions, the course of streams and their influences on the progress of civilization. Individuals, like whole nations, are entirely unconsci­ ous of the fact, that whilst they appear to work against one another, or have only their own egotistic aims in view, they are working according to certain laws to accomplish the grand destiny of mankind. If it may be assumed as an axiom, “ that the natural capacities of a creature have to develop according to a purpose,” we may assert that this must be the case with man too. Applied to animals, we find this law obeyed, and pro­ ducing natural selection. Any organ not wanted is thrown off. Taking man, we find, that though he is the only consciously reasoning creature on earth, his natural capacities are destined to be developed in the genus, and not in the individual. Thus, the study of a single individual is like the analysis of a single in­ sect without any cognisance of the different varieties of animals. Historical progress is not only not the result of the exertions of single individuals, but those very individuals are but the outgrowths of generations after generations, inheriting their mode of thinking and acting, and finally maturing the innate intellectual �24 Immanuel Kant germ to a fruit which in its turn is again the seed of further developments. For the first cause has willed that man, if we except the automatic function of his animal nature, should evolve everything necessary for his happiness and perfection, in opposition to his natu­ ral instincts, out of his own reason, or rather out of the sum total of reason, existing in humanity. “The means which nature employs to attain this aim,” is, according to Kant, “ antagonism,” which, in its turn, becomes the very basis of legal order and social com­ fort. History is but one long series of wars, murders, conquests, intrigues, opposition of individuals against individuals, of families against families, of tribes against tribes, and of nations against nations, as if man only delighted in destruction and ruin. But is this so ? On the contrary, what unphilosophical minds bewail, is but a process in operation to attain in the end the greatest amount of happiness for mankind. Man was not destined to be idle, but he has to learn how to use his bodily and intellectual faculties. Wars, controversies, passions, and strife lead to activity, and activity is life. Wars engender peace; controversies, truth ; covetousness, commercial enter­ prise ; passion, virtue; and strife, brotherly love and good will. Antagonism drives us to seek the solution of the only problem that should occupy humanity, to form one grand community, ruled by the laws of right. The most ingenious institutions, all our philosophical systems, all our religious efforts, are but continuous pro­ gressive attempts to lead humanity from a savage state to that of civilization. To further the solution of this difficult problem, we want a guide, a leader, and this we find in the consciousness of our nature and knowledge of the past, enabling us to make ourselves acquainted with our destiny. We have not to look to an indi­ vidual for guidance, but to the supreme principles of right. Individual rulers are only instruments to watch over these principles and see them practised. This �In his Relation to Modern History. 25 problem of a perfect constitution of humanity will only be attained when man will form a grand international tribunal which will settle the disputes of nations ac­ cording to just laws binding on humanity at large. As Kant saw in his mind’s eye the necessity for the existence of a planet beyond Saturn, the then last known planet of our solar system (1754), which planet, “ Uranus,” was discovered twenty-six years later, by Herschel (1781); so he foresaw in 1784, that which America and England inaugurated in Geneva nearly ninety years later. An international tribunal settling the disputes of two of the greatest nations of the world at a table covered with green baize, by means of quiet arguments, and not on blood-stained battlefields with the sacrifice of wealth, happiness, and the lives of in­ numerable human beings. Kant clearly saw that history is but the outer garb of inward forces working in humanity according to a pre-arranged law, which law must be assumed to be as fixed as that by which the solar systems are brought into order and cohesion. The endeavours of modern historians should be to trace this law. Law has to deal with forces, producing as causes— effects, and these forces must act and react, because a stationary force would be lifeless. The two forces working in antagonism and conflict can but be our moral and intellectual faculties, which, in their disturbed balances explain all the phenomena of history. Kant must be looked upon as the real founder of modern thought, for his ideas, like those of every powerful mind, pervade our whole intellectual and social atmosphere. The writers following Kant, whether in England or Erance, consciously or unconsciously continue in the path which he began to hew out for coming generations. Eichte, his antagonist, really strengthened the position he attacked. Schelling worked out, like Comte, with copious verbosity, Kant’s principles. Their terminology differs from that of Kant, but in �26 Immanuel Kant essence they add nothing to his first principles. Schelling proclaims his immanence of spirit in nature, which immanence we can only trace in law. In assert­ ing that the universe has its ground in what in God is not God, Schelling deviates from Kant, and leads us to the Pythagorean Monad and Dyad, a severance of mind and matter, or of God and creation, which is mere verbiage. Hegel built on Kant with the difference, that with him the subjective becomes the absolute; whilst the objective is turned into the differentiation of the abso­ lute • adding to these phenomena a third one when the absolute turns from its externality back into itself. Schoppenhauer and Hartmann continued to develope Kant’s principles in an idealistic direction, whilst the host of naturalists, geologists, physiologists, biologists, psychologists, ethnologists, and comparative gramma­ rians follow him, cured of all cravings after the super­ sensual, and try to ascertain what we may learn in the ever varying empire of the phenomenal. Kant did not destroy thrones, he made no kings or kinglets, he did not brandish a blood-stained sword, command armies, hold levees, create marshalls, com­ manders-in-chief, shoot free-thinking men, or trample under foot the rights of nations and individuals, like so many a phantom of glory, that could only be reared in the chaotic disorder of our ill-balanced moral and intellectual forces. Unlike these he did not vanish like a thunder-storm, which purifies the air but leaves wreck and ruin behind. The mighty warriors often are like swollen mountain streams after a violent shower ; bubbling noisily, these streams rush down in torrents, tear down fences and houses, inundate plains and fields—carrying devastation in every one of their waves, and then disappear; whilst the philosopher, of the stamp of the great and immortal Kant, resembles a broad and majestic intellectual river, cutting deeply through mountains, meadows, fields, �In his Relation to Modern History. 27 villages, and towns, flowing slowly and noiselessly, but spreading happiness, fertility, and abundance around, serving as a mighty high-road to connect nations through their most noble outgrowths, their philosophers and searchers for truth into one grand progressively advanc­ ing community. The great and inexhaustible means for furthering this union is an indefatigable study of history. For is it not a calumny of the Creator, whose wisdom we continually praise in a thousand tongues, to assume, that we ought to study only certain of his works, and neglect altogether the Creator’s fairest product, man in his gradual development 1 In the unconscious regions of the empire of nature, in stars and nebulae, solar systems, crystallisations and chemical combina­ tions we trace wisdom, law, and order; only the stages of man’s intellectual activity, as they present them­ selves in history, are looked upon as an eternal re­ proach to the Creator, who is’ assumed to have acted on firm principles in the minutest of his inorganic or organic creatures, but who is thought to have left humanity without aim, law, or purpose on this globe, so that we are forced to turn our eyes despairingly from this world and to hope for the fulfilment of our destiny in unknown regions. History treated from a scientific point of view teaches us, that this is not the case. History as it is usually written without the basis of a general principle or merely as an accumulation of disconnected facts, state-enactments, or copied docu­ ments collected in musty archives, is only very useful building material, out of which we have to construct an intelligible and comprehensive system of history. It is distressing to contemplate what later generations may do 'with history if details grow at the ratio of the last twenty or seventy years. Unfortunately, professed historians, ignorant as they too often are, assert that “ history is a mere child’s box of letters out of which �28 Immanuel Kant. the historian picks what he wants to spell out; ” but this is the view of a narrow-minded state-paper copyist; and not of a philosophical historian, whose aim can never be to glorify individuals or to distort facts according to the wants of a party or the fashion of a period, but to look upon humanity as one great whole, and to trace in its complicated actions, order based on law. The historical world is as little barred as the ideal world—both are open; it is our faculty of seeing blinded by details, it is our mind confused by isolated facts, that will or cannot comprehend the stern law that drives man towards his real destiny : the greatest possible happiness of all united into one common brotherhood. TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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. 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Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Immanuel Kant in his relation to modern history: paper read before the Fellows of the Royal Historical Society on the 11th March 1875 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Zerffi, G. G. (Gustavus George) Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 28 p. ; 18 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed by Turnbull and Spears, Edinburgh. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Thomas Scott Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1875] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5515 Subject The topic of the resource Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <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 (Immanuel Kant in his relation to modern history: paper read before the Fellows of the Royal Historical Society on the 11th March 1875), 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> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conway Tracts History Immanuel Kant https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/580970c220aa802444c0a837c51d7e5b.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=RSmLSketxV7Xk1%7EQ4a5iDhOxj3Sf2KDWhjecpNBpTSMzY6q4B0hUJjWKx78GKwkkgD42wcbOUQNVdOcN23k3waxQYvCzNNv%7EoqnbwP8Rt6Ptx9GD4f-Ft-auCBrdRfluNOLpXjxB11jxFDQRLk4Vfunr8QnV1xIL1BOQzXS3m3sC6HwYj8lL5Zc4zfIri31c5Erjughw4iE5lQBDsAHBDMwuYUsETB0%7EgDFnf7WNOT8b1E28u9nxEr5brcZ%7EO5jBoPDz581y1A5rzaFcpUAjP1JIdjJMoSAV5RqIZGMGmF6CgALeX4nL-ECJUGyzBx%7EUN7N6yLScZkGzn7yL1-f%7EhQ__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 1d01cd321b6bda9cf4e3654a2ff937de PDF Text Text Association for the Harmonious Development of Faculties. CONFUCIUS Ibis 'life anb bis HJoctrine BY MARIUS DESHUMBERT TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY CAPTAIN E. M. PERCEVAL, R.A. WILLIAMS AND NORGATE 14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON 20, SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, EDINBURGH and 7, BROAD STREET, OXFORD 1897 PRICE SIXPENCE �Association for the Harmonious Development of Faculties. COMMON-SENSE ETHICS. BY “ THE COMMITTEE ” Copies of the above Pamphlet will be forwarded by PROF. DESHUMBERT, Hon. Secretary, Camberley, Surrey (on application). CONFUCIUS: HIS LIFE AND DOCTRINE. PRICE SIXPENCE. To be had from the Publishers, Messrs. WILLIAMS AND NORGATE, 14, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London, Or from the Hon. Secretary, �B 23?21^2- NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY CONFUCIUS. HIS LIFE. ONFUCIUS was born in the year 550 or 551 B.c. at Shan-ping, in the province now known as Shan-tung, the ancient province of Lu, bathed on the east by the Yellow Sea, and on the north by the Gulf of Pechili. Confucius counted among his ancestors the em­ peror Hoang-ti, whose reign is placed by historians of the Celestial Empire 2637 years before the Christian era. The name of his clan was Kung, and missionaries, in calling him Confucius, have merely latinized his real name, “ Kung-Fu-tze,” which means “ the philosopher Kung.” Confucius was only three years old when he lost his father, who was Governor �2 of Tse-u. According to tradition, at the age of six he showed signs which gave promise of extraordinary wisdom. He despised games familiar to childhood, and preferred to offer sacrifices to the gods with his little comrades, on whom he already exercised a marked influence. He would not eat without offering part of his food to heaven, according to the custom of the ancients. This custom he practised during the whole of his life, even though the repast might only consist of rice. He was married at the age of nineteen, as was then usual. At about this time, the fame of his intelligence and virtues having reached the Prime Minister of the kingdom of Lu, his native land, the latter en­ trusted him first with the superintendence of the granaries, and later with that of cattle and parks, or public markets. He accepted these offices on account of his poverty, but without any thought of becoming rich. At the age of twenty-two he commenced to teach. He wished to revive ancient usages, which, in his opinion, contained all the moral, social, and political virtues. He made it his mission to re-establish the rites, customs, beliefs and institutions which time had made sacred. �3 To gain his end, it was not sufficient to teach only by example; he required disciples, who should receive from him careful instruction, should go forth to spread it throughout the empire, and should succeed him after his death. The intelligent young men, who wished to learn to rule justly, soon crowded to him in numbers. He accepted the honorariums which his disciples offered him, being, however, always content with what was given to him, no matter how insignificant the amount might be. On the other hand, he sent away imme­ diately those who did not show sufficient ardour for study, or such as were not sufficiently intelligent to understand him. “ When,” said he, “ I have shown a pupil one corner of the subject, and he is unable to discover the other three, I do not repeat my lesson.” At the age of twenty-four he lost his mother. To obey the ancient law, he withdrew from the public life of superintendent in order to mourn the custom­ ary period of twenty-seven months, then considered the equivalent of “ three years.” We now come to a gap, for we hardly know any­ thing of the life of Confucius for several years after this date. Let us consider here the political state of China at this time. �4 China was then but a sixth part of the present empire. The population was only ten to fifteen millions. The nobility was divided into six orders, which corresponded in many respects to those of feudal Europe. The governors of provinces succeeded from father to son. They are often called by historians “kings,” and their provinces “kingdoms,” and in fact they were almost independent. In theory the governors received from each new emperor a new investiture. They were bound, in theory, to present themselves at court, at certain times, to show their submission. They also paid to the sovereign fixed tributes, and had to supply him with soldiers when they were required for the security of the empire. When, in a feudal state, the sovereign is not sufficiently energetic or sufficiently powerful to make his rights respected, the nobles are not slow to show their independence and to make efforts to extend the frontiers of their states at the expense of others. F At the time of which we speak, the dynasty of Chow, which lasted from 1122 to 256 B.C., had passed its zenith. The independence of the sub-kingdoms was complete. From this it results that the history of China during the seventh, sixth, and fifth cen­ turies B.c. is an unbroken account of great battles, �5 of hard-fought actions, of heroism, of tried friend­ ships, and of atrocious crimes. This reminds us of the state of England and of France in the Middle Ages, but China 600 years B.c. was far more civilized than was Europe during the time of the Plantagenets, that is to say during the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (a.d. 1154-1399). Numerous schools existed then in China. Each nobleman had collected around him historians, musicians and other men of learning. The savants expounded ancient history and com­ mented on ancient poems and laws. Instruction then was carried on brilliantly, but justice and probity, in a word morality in all its forms, was trampled under foot. Mencius, the grandson and continuer of the teaching of Confucius, tells us that decadence was complete. Justice had disappeared. One only heard discourse that was debasing and only saw acts of violence. Ministers murdered the princes who had called them to power, and children took the life of those who had given them birth. Confucius, terrified with what he saw, resolved to reform the world; a grand ideal to which he consecrated his whole life. At the age of thirty-three Confucius visited the capital of the empire, where he admired the treasures �6 of the imperial library. He also studied music, which was held in great honour at Court. He had also several interviews with Lao-tze, the father of Taoism. On his return the same year to Lu, the prince of that State was forced by his ministers to flee to the neighbouring province of Tse. Confucius accompanied him, not wishing to appear to support, by his presence, the rebels who had driven out their legitimate sovereign. But the king of Tse did not treat Confucius with the honour his wisdom, virtue and renown merited. The latter soon returned to his native land, where during fifteen years he con­ tinued his studies. During this period the number of his disciples increased considerably. It is said that there were as many as three thousand, and of these seventy or eighty were distinguished for their great intelligence. Several became statesmen of mark. The disciples were young men of all classes, but the majority were mandarins, public officials, or governors of towns. All these men of letters showed the greatest admiration and sincere respect for Confucius, a fact which goes to prove the moral and intellectual value of his philosophy. At the age of fifty-two Confucius was appointed first magistrate of Chung-too. Immediately, so the historians assure us, a marvellous change appeared �7 in the behaviour of the inhabitants. He was ap­ pointed Minister of Justice, and crimes disappeared. He showed his energy and his wisdom in awarding punishment without distinction of rank, and in start­ ing negotiations with the neighbouring State of Tse. He strengthened the authority of his prince, the king of Ln, while he weakened that of the nobles. In order to do this he dismantled the fortified towns where the chiefs of the principal clans could resist the king’s authority, as did the barons of feudal Europe. Finally he became the idol of the people, whose welfare was his chief interest. In them he saw the source of the wealth and prosperity of the State. He improved their W'ell-being by all means in his power, especially by putting down the aristocracy, who were everywhere hostile to those institutions which he wished to found. He accomplished many excellent reforms during the two years he was in power. The king of Tse, however, saw that if Confucius were permitted to continue his reforms, the influence of the king of Lu would soon make itself felt throughout the whole empire. He determined, therefore, to deprive this king of his minister. He �8 showed a profound knowledge of the human heart by sending to the king of Lu eighty dancing girls of great beauty, and one hundred and twenty-five mag­ nificent horses. These gifts were joyfully accepted by the prince, who now not only neglected Confucius completely, but was greatly annoyed at his remon­ strances. The philosopher felt that it was not compatible with his dignity to remain at this Court, where his counsel was no longer accepted. He withdrew with slow steps and with regret, hoping that his sovereign would repent and would send a messenger to pray him to return. Alas ! no messen­ ger appeared, so Confucius sadly continued his way. The philosopher was then fifty-six. During thirteen years he went from province to province, and was everywhere received with great honour, but no prince would take counsel of him. He saw that although men have always good maxims on their lips still they are slow to practise virtue. “ Alas,” he cried, “ virtue is not cherished, and study is not pursued with care. Though one hears the principles of justice and equity professed, they are not followed. The wicked and wrong-doers do not wish to mend their ways. It is this which is �9 the cause of my sadness.” He knew also what it was to suffer from ingratitude, but he said, “ What matters to me the ingratitude of men. It will not prevent me doing them all the good that may be in my power. If my teaching remains fruitless, I shall at least have the consolation of having faithfully fulfilled my task.” Thirteen years later he returned for good to his native land. The king was dead and his son occupied the throne. The philosopher refused to accept of him honours and power. He had only a few years to live, and these he wished to consecrate to his literary work and to the teaching of his doctrine in the midst of his numerous disciples. The year after his return, Confucius was then seventy, his only son died. This left only one offspring to perpetuate the race of the philosopher. But what he felt still more was the loss of his two favourite disciples, Yen-Hue, who died a year before this, and Tze-lu, who died some months later. The end of the philosopher was now approaching rapidly, hastened no doubt by sorrows. Early one morning, not being able to sleep, he got up, and with his hands behind his back he dragged his stick along as he walked towards the door, �10 saying, “ The great mountain must crumble away, the strong pillar must break, the sage must wither and disappeai’ like a blade of grass.” He then went back to his bed, and eight days later he died at the age of seventy-two or seventy-three, in the year 478 b.c. The funeral rites were performed with great ceremony by his disciples. A great number of them built huts close to his tomb and stayed there twenty-seven months, wearing such mourning as they would for a father. His third favourite disciple, Tze-Kung, remained five years close to the tomb mourning the sage. The news of the death of the philosopher spread throughout the empire with marvellous rapidity. He who, during his lifetime, had been neglected, became immediately after his death the object of unbounded admiration; and this admiration has lasted nearly 2400 years. The tomb of Confucius is situated on a vast rectangle outside the town of Kiuh-fow. On passing through a magnificent gateway, one finds before one a long avenue of cypress trees which leads to the enormous tumulus which has been raised over the tomb. A little in front to the right �Il and. left are two smaller hillocks which mark the tombs of the son and grandson of the philosopher. Finally to the right of the last one sees a small house which is said to stand on the ground once occupied by the hut of Tze-Kung, in which he passed his five years of mourning. On all sides are to be seen tablets on which the emperors have had engraved enthusiastic eulogies of the defunct. The neighbouring town is still the home of the Kung family, and it is asserted that from forty to fifty thousand descendants of the sage inhabit it at the present time. The chief of the family is the head of the seventy-fifth generation. He possesses vast domains, given by the emperor, as well as a title which corresponds to that of duke. The dynasty of Chow disappeared 225 years after the death of the philosopher, and was replaced by that of Ts’in. The first emperor of the new dynasty wished to lay the foundations of that despotic government which still exists. The numerous men of learning who acknowledged Confucius as their teacher opposed this innovation. The emperor was therefore anxious to destroy the posthumous influence of the sage, and burned all the ancient books to which Confucius had referred and from which he had drawn his rules and examples. �12 Finally he buried alive hundreds of men of learning who regarded Confucius as their master. But no persecution could destroy or even diminish the influence exercised by the philosopher after his death. All the sovereigns who reigned after the Ts’in dynasty lost no opportunity of honouring his memory. At the present time there are tablets bearing his name in every school and in all examination halls, and before them the pupils and candidates bow as they enter. No prayers are said to Confucius, but great honour is rendered to him. �HIS DOCTRINE. Let us pass now to the study of the philosopher’s teaching. His moral and political doctrines are intimately connected, but, to make our task more simple, we shall examine them separately. Confucius collected and placed in order all the religious, philosophic, moral and political documents which existed at his time. Of these he and his disciples formed a set of doctrines under the follow­ ing titles : Yi-King (the sacred book of changes). Shu-King (the book of historical documents). Shi-King (the book of verses). Li-Ki (the book of rites). Tze-Shu (the four classic books). Space will not permit of a complete study of all of these. It will be sufficient for our purpose to �14 examine briefly the first three of “ the four classic books.” The quotations are taken from the excellent French translation by Pauthier. * The sixth phrase of the first classic book gives the key of the whole philosophy of Confucius. The sage wrote these words : “ From the man of highest rank down to the most humble and obscure of men, each has the same duty to perform : to correct and better himself. The perfecting of oneself is the fundamental base of all progress and of all moral development.” Confucius returns continually to this great duty of perfecting oneself. He says, that “he (the sage) develops to the highest degree the lofty and pure faculties of his intelligence and makes it a rule to follow always the principles of right judgment.” Later on we find, “ Make yourselves complete masters of that which you have learnt, and always continue to learn. You then may become a teacher of men.” “ The superior man should apply his whole energy to educate himself, to acquire knowledge.” Lastly : * Confucius et Mencius : Les quatre livres, &c. Traduit du chinois par M. G. Pauthier. (Charpentier, Paris.) �15 “ He who endeavours constantly to perfect himself is the sage, who knows how to distinguish good from bad, who chooses the good and holds firmly to it, never letting it go.” “He should strive hard to learn all that is good. He should question others with discernment, seeking to enlighten himself in all that is good. He should guard carefully all that is good lest he should lose it, and should meditate on it in his heart. He should always try to discern what is good, taking care to distinguish it from what is bad. He should then steadfastly and constantly practise that which is good.” But the perfecting of oneself is not sufficient, one must also think of the perfecting of others. “ The perfect man does not limit himself to his own perfection, then to rest. He strives to perfect others also. The perfecting of oneself is undoubtedly a virtue, but to improve others is a high science.” Confucius does not forget that the perfect state must include purity, and so we find this maxim, “ Be watchful of yourself, even in your own home. Take care, even in the most secret place, to do nothing which could make you blush.” Elsewhere he says : “ The meaning of the three hundred odes �16 of the book of verses is contained in one of its phrases :—Do not let your thoughts be wicked.” His altruism shows itself continually. The philosopher having said one day, “ My doctrine is simple and easy to comprehend,” one of his disciples, Tsen-Tze, replied “ that is certain.” The philosopher having gone out, the other disciples asked what the master meant. Tsen-Tze replied, “ The doctrine of our master consists solely in having uprightness of heart and in loving one’s neighbour as oneself.” Elsewhere Confucius says : “ I would procure for the aged, quiet rest, for friends and those among whom one is thrown, constant fidelity, for children and the weak, motherly care.” “ The superior man in his dealings with men is deferential as becomes him. He is polite and kindly mannered, regarding as brothers all men who live within the boundaries of the four seas.” By which he meant the whole universe. “ Reflect carefully and do not ever tire of doing good nor of being just in all your actions.” One day a disciple asked a question in these �17 words : “ Can one express in a single word all that one should practise steadfastly throughout one’s life ? ” The philosopher said: “ There is one word, ‘ Shu,’ the meaning of which is ‘ Do not do unto others what you would not like them to do unto you.’ ” We may perhaps translate this by the single word reciprocity or altruism. Confucius returns continually to the importance of this doctrine of reciprocity, which we wrongly call “ charity,” for it is not so much charity as justice. He persistently 'repeats this doctrine, in order that all who hear him may become impregnated with it. The philosopher often spoke of the “ virtue of humanity.” One of his disciples having asked what he meant by this, he replied: “ He who is able to accomplish five things on earth, is endowed with the virtue of humanity: respect for himself and for others, generosity, fidelity or sincerity, diligence in doing good, and love of all men.” Later on, he adds : “ Have sufficient self-control, even to judge of others in comparison with yourself, and to act towards them as you would wish them to act to you. This �18 is what one may call “the doctrine of humanity, and there is nothing beyond this.” After the perfecting of oneself and of others, after the love of humanity, that which should be cultivated is justice. Here are two maxims on this subject. “The superior man, in all the circumstances of life, is exempt from prejudice and stubbornness. Justice alone is his guide. He employs all his power to do that which is just and proper and for the good of mankind.” His justice extended even to animals. He used to fish with hooks, but not with nets, he shot birds with bow and arrow, but would not use a snare. Practical moral counsels abound in his works, but it is only necessary to quote some of them. “ That which you condemn in those who are above you, do not practise towards those below you. That which you condemn in your inferiors do not practise towards your superiors.” “ If there are people who do not study, or, if they do study, do not profit by it, let them not be �19 discouraged, and let them, not desist. If there are people who do not distinguish good from bad, or, if they do distinguish it, have not a clear and distinct perception of it, let them not be discouraged ! If there are people who do not practise what is right, or who, if they practise it, cannot devote all their powers to it, let them not be discouraged ! That which others may do at the first attempt, they may do at the tenth. That which others may do at the hundredth, they may do at the thousandth. He who will truly follow this rule of perseverance, however ignorant he may be, he will certainly become enlightened; however weak he may be, he will certainly become strong.” “ When you see a wise man, think whether you have the same virtues as he. When you see a wicked man, look to yourself and examine attentively your own conduct.” “ If we are three who travel together, I shall certainly find two teachers (in my companions). I shall choose the good man to imitate, and use the wicked man to correct myself.” “ In your dealings with men, be true and faithful to your engagements ! Let your words be sincere and true ! Let your acts be always honourable and �20 worthy ! Even if you were in the land of barbarians of the south, or of the north, your conduct should be faultless.” “ Be true to yourself and indulgent to others and so prevent feelings of resentment.” He did not forget to give children his counsel. “ Children should have filial piety in their father’s house and brotherly love outside it. They should be careful in their actions, sincere and truthful in their speech to all men, whom they should love with all their heart, attaching themselves particu­ larly to the virtuous. If after having accomplished their duties they still have energy left, they should try to improve their minds by study and by acquiring knowledge and wisdom.” The advice which Confucius gives to sovereigns is admirable. “ A prince should select his ministers according to the promptings of his conscience, having always the public good in view. “ He must conform to the great law of duty, and this great law of duty must be sought for in the ‘virtue of humanity,’ which is the source of love for all men. This is why even a prince cannot �21 dispense with the duty of correcting and perfecting himself.” “ All who govern empires or kingdoms have nine invariable rules to know and to follow: to control or perfect themselves, to revere the wise, to love their parents, to honour the leading officials or ministers of the State, to be in perfect harmony with all other officials and magistrates, to treat and protect the people as their children, to collect about them the wise and skilful, to receive kindly those who come from distant lands, and to treat as friends all rulers under them.” Confucius realized the power of doing good which riches give. He says, however, “ Riches and honour are the desires of men. Tf one cannot obtain them by honest and fair means, they must be renounced. Poverty and humble positions are what men hate and despise. If one cannot escape these by honest and fair means, one must submit to them.” The expressions “the superior man” and “the common man” occur repeatedly in the four classic books. The definitions of them which Confucius gives are clear, “ The superior man is he who has equal goodwill �22 towards all, and who is without egotism and prejudice. “ The common man is he who has only feelings of egotism and is without a disposition kindly to all men. “ The superior man has equanimity and tranquility of soul. The common man experiences continually trouble and anxiety. “ The superior man raises himself continually in intelligence and in power of judgment, the man without merit descends continually into further ignorance and vice. “ The superior man is influenced by a sense of justice ; the common man by the love of gain. “The superior man places equity and justice above all else.” As to the opinion which Confucius had of himself, this is what he said on the subject. “If I think of a man who unites saintliness to the virtue of humanity, how can I dare to compare myself with him 1 I only know that I strive to practise these virtues without being disheartened �23 and to teach, them to others without being dis­ couraged or despondent.” And elsewhere: “ The straight ways or principal virtues of the superior man are three in number, and these I have not yet been able to attain completely ; the virtue of humanity which drives away sadness, science which clears all doubts from the mind, and manly courage which drives away fear.” His disciples affirm that Confucius was completely exempt from four things. He was without selfconceit, without prejudice, without obstinacy, and without egotism. Confucius, in spite of his profound love of humanity, did not show towards the wicked that excessive kindness which was taught by Lao-Tze, his contemporary. The latter recommended the doing of kindness to the good and to the wicked without distinction. The good man, he said, should be always the good man, no matter what the cir­ cumstances may be. Apropos of this, someone, remembering the doctrine of Lao-Tze, said to Confucius, “What should one think of a man who returns kindness for injuries ? ” The philosopher replied, “ If one acts �24 thus, how can one repay kindness itself ? One must repay hatred and injuries by equity; and kindness by kindness.” This reply appeals certainly to our sense of justice. Confucius, as a thoroughly practical man, only occupied himself with what human intelligence is capable of understanding, and always refused to discuss metaphysics. Still, he approved of rendering homage to Heaven, but, perhaps, only because this was an ancient custom. One of his disciples asked one day how one should serve the spirits and genii. The philosopher replied, “ When one is not yet in a fit state to serve men, how should one be able to serve the spirits and genii ? ” “ Let me ask you,” continued the disciple, “what is death ?” Confucius replied, “When one does not yet know what life is, how should one know what death is ?” Let us now make a rapid examination of the political doctrines of Confucius, of which there is a �25 form of resume in the Hiao-King (the sacred book of filial piety), as translated by Leon de Rosny. In the Hiao-King the predominant idea is the omnipotence of the father. It requires the emperor to give to his people an example of submission to his mother, before whom he kneels publicly on certain dates fixed by sacred rites. However low and obscure may be the condition of the father of a family, the son, even if promoted to the highest office in the empire, is required to show to him the respect due to a superior. A simple peasant should be able without fear of the slightest reprimand to box the ears of his son, even if the latter should occupy the highest legal position, if he should neglect to prostrate himself on meeting him. A great mandarin so punished should also suffer the penalty of being degraded. At the present time it happens every day that the son of a peasant fills important offices, for State employment is to be obtained by examinations in which everyone may compete. A son who has deserved well of his country may obtain honorary titles for his ancestors. �26 The fulfilment of the duties of filial piety is so indispensable that in a family where all the sons have been condemned to death, the youngest is allowed to live in order that someone may be left to tend the parents of the criminals. Confucius said, “ Filial piety is the foundation of virtue, from which springs all knowledge.” And elsewhere, “ Do not fail to think of your ancestors, and strive to copy their virtues.” The legislation of China has always had as its foundation the Confucian doctrine of filial pity. One may add that the whole Chinese social life since the time of the great moralist has had but this one pervading sentiment. To recapitulate, then, according to the political doctrine of Confucius, the State is one great family, of which the emperor is the head. The sovereign claims the same rights from, and performs the same duties towards the people as a father in regard to his children. This conception has given to China a political stability, the equal of which one would search for in vain elsewhere. That China has sometimes forgot­ ten the words of its great teacher has been the cause of the greatest part of its troubles. �27 It happens in China, as elsewhere, that people do not always conform strictly in practice to the philosophic teaching or religion they accept. There, as indeed everywhere, beautiful maxims are more often on the lips than in the heart. It must be remembered also that Buddhism and Taoism, both much degenerated and full of superstitious practices, unfortunately exercise great influence. This is especially the case with the ignorant, and they are numerous. The pure philosophy of Confucius does not satisfy them because they are incapable of understanding all its beauty. The extent to which the Chinese venerate their ancestors is generally considered absurd by other nations. But this sentiment is to be found more or less developed in all nations, and it is well that this should be so. The comforts we enjoy, as well as our most pure and keen intellectual pleasures, we owe, almost entirely, to those who have preceded us. It is not we who have thought of building houses, of making clothes, of extracting from the hidden depths of the earth coals and minerals. All, even to the fruits which we eat, to the flowers which we admire, has been invented, discovered, or perfected by our ancestors more or less distant. Without the persistent work �28 of generations who have preceded, us, we should still live in a savage state, for our entire covering we should have but hideous tattooing. If famine should make itself felt we should offer to fiendish gods disgusting human sacrifices, if, indeed, we did not devour open-mouthed the still palpitating flesh of vanquished enemies. As regards things purely intellectual, for example, the eternal principles of truth, of beauty, of good­ ness, it is still to the philosophers of antiquity that we owe the knowledge of them. It is then but right that we should experience for these bygone generations respect and gratitude. Lastly, let us observe the complete difference which exists between the doctrines of Confucius and those of Buddha. The degenerate Buddhism invites us to repose in an eternal state of unconsciousness. Confucius tells us to think above all of the present life, and to minimize its sorrows and misery by family respect and affection. The following quotation is from Pauthier:— “ If one may judge of the quality of a man and of �29 the power of his doctrines by the influence they have exercised on humanity, then one may, with the Chinese, call Confucius the greatest teacher of men which time has ever produced. In fact, never has human reason been more worthily represented. One is truly astonished to find in the writings of Confucius the expression of such a high and virtuous intelligence, and at the same time that of a civiliza­ tion so advanced.” We have seen that the political system of Confucius is very simple. It rests entirely on filial piety, and the State is but a great family whose head is the sovereign. We know also that his moral doctrine consisted solely in perfecting oneself, in perfecting others, in uprightness, in treating one’s enemies with justice, and in loving all men as oneself. This doctrine he did not expound as new, but as the traditional opinion of the sages of antiquity, which he had made it his mission to transmit to posterity. This mission he accomplished with resolution, dignity, and perseverance, but not without experiencing profound discouragement and sadness beyond endurance. “ This mission of teacher of the human race the �Chinese philosopher accomplished, we say, to its full extent, and in a manner very different from that of any other philosopher of classic antiquity. His philosophy did not consist in speculations more or less vain, but was a philosophy above all things practical, which extended to all conditions of life, to all phases of social existence. “ There is no doubt that one of the most noble and gentle impressions of the soul is to be got from the contemplation of this teaching, so distant in time and yet so pure, of which humanity, whatever may be its boasted civilization, may justly be proud. “One cannot read the works of the two first Chinese philosophers (Confucius and Mencius) with­ out feeling oneself better, or at least strengthened in the principles of truth and the practice of good, without having a higher idea of the dignity of our nature.” �Association For The Harmonious Development of Faculties. 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Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Confucius : his life and doctrine Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Deshumbert, Marius Perceval, E.M. (tr) Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London; Edinburgh; Oxford Collation: 30 p. ; 19 cm. Notes: Translated from the French. At head of title: Association for the Harmonious Development of Faculties. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Williams and Norgate Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1897 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context N192 Subject The topic of the resource Confucianism Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <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 (Confucius : his life and doctrine), 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> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Ancient Chinese Confucianism Confucius NSS Philosophers Philosophy https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/69073d62a631cc467bb93cbb71b92fec.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=DYbgvZk6jOliHBpRgVQveh6OsjOmVbjei7uD-7TuBgsc92Ln6BYXbrTPwLnH4HXChoJSdAKO9fyxxN3sq0WBnGoBcarnfDmPLKSMw0u90djgekcqeKDXuap1GbzVuXDdO3WgaTv%7EsUfIy2Su6tEEx2NB0Bb30VTWMCS4gvdA2RoDDNCQQkKUzexIrL2X3jTKJRq3nuPeZodBerRi72bFQ2G7Ax0jk6-ipOl1yFdZxIGGN1r70d9UQFHhYzAnJkjpi4OuzPtNWwf6FuOv43Hsz%7EJec-3jvpgFEn3CSFLYol86RzKGI2K1WdHeCKJX9R-MWZwuRk4FO6SDQ5fGv6yilw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM cdde3232213db53cd2dd96b8dad0605d PDF Text Text Haeckels Coptributicp To Religiop A. S. MORIES, Author of “A Religion that Will Wear” [issued for the rationalist press association, limited] WATTS & CO., 17, JOHNSON’S COURT, FLEET STREET. LONDON, E.C. 1904 ��* ■ **■■* CONTRIBUTION RELIGION S. MORIES Author of “ A Religion that Will Wear [ISSUED FOB TSE RATIONALIST PRESS ASSOCIATION.> limited] Al A/, WATTS & co., 17, JOHNSON’S COURT, FLEET STREET, LONDON, E.C. 1904 4. ��♦ « ftt r > ft •* •* t ♦ * % • -1 TO THE MEMORY OF e WILLIAM HASTIE, D.D., PROFESSOR OF DIVINITY, UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW, SCHOLAR, THINKER, AND POET, WHOSE GENEROUS AND STIMULATING FRIENDSHIP I DESIRE THUS TO ACKNOWLEDGE. «T «* V • > ♦ < * ♦ ft ft ■ .* <» 4 • \ 9 • . « * 4 * ft ♦* ♦ * ft « * * * /• 1 > * ♦ �CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I. What is the Essence of Religion? 7 CHAPTER II. Haeckel’s Contribution of Science to Religion—The Contribution ------ 13 CHAPTER III. Herbert Spencer’s Contribution to Religion—The Con­ tribution of Agnosticism - - * 27 CHAPTER IV. Hegel’s Contribution to Religion—The Contribution of Psychology - - - *. . * 48 CHAPTER V. The Mystics’ Contribution ’uo Religion—The Contribu­ tion of Spiritual Insight . . - . 59 CHAPTER VI. Wanted—A New Butler 69 �PREFACE “ Too far East is West ” is a proverb which has its counterpart even in philosophy. One object of this little volume is t® show, however inadequately, that a rigorously applied Materialism ends of necessity in Idealism—that, however they may seem to differ in their methods, Science and Religion are in the end inseparable. The title adopted does not cover the full scope of the argument, but it draws the reader’s attention to its most important illustration. Professor Loofs, in his Anti-Haeckel (English edition), makes it plain that he does not deal at all with Haeckel’s “standpoint,” nor with his “view of the world,” but merely with “ the audacious statements he has made regard­ ing Christianity and its history.’1 My purpose is exactly the reverse. It is of Haeckel’s “ view of the world ” that I propose to treat. For that is the one essential matter in his whole argument. It is there that he has to be met, not in his incursions into theology, a subject which he frankly admits “in the strict sense is quite out of my line.” I aim here at supplying a corrective to the anti-religious interpre­ tations that have been put on Haeckel’s main thesis, and at supplying that corrective in his own words, as well as 5 �6 PREFACE by means of the analogous and most deliberate declarations of Herbert Spencer. While I take the contention here expounded to be Haeckel’s own contention, I desire to make it clear that for the opinions here expressed the Rationalist Press Association is to be held in no way responsible. That Association has justified its title to the name Rationalist by its catholicity in allowing this expression of opinion to be published under its auspices. A. S. Mories. �Chapter I. WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF RELIGION? “ Philosophy is life’s one match for Fate.”—Meredith. Withes u ch an object before us as is indicated in the following pages, it might seem more fitting to post­ pone the attempt to answer this question to the close than to deal with it at this early stage. But while it is clear that the answer we propose to suggest cannot have its full force at the outset, it is almost necessary to indicate here the line we propose to follow, so that the leading illustrations of which the various succeeding chapters consist may be the more intelligible and their force be the better appreciated. These illustrations, as will be seen, are taken from types of thought and methods of investigation widely separated, some of them being often regarded as mutually exclusive. But as the religious instinct is, in one form or another, inherent in the human mind, and can be met with at its best in the strongest minds of each age, we take these extreme illustrations designedly. We have endeavoured to reduce their hard-won con­ victions to what may be called their common denomi­ nator—to the conceptions, that is to say, which are vital and common to them all; and these we claim as the essence of religion—that of which all its historical forms are more or less refracted images. There is nothing new, of course, in the idea of the simplification and condensing of religious belief. The process is a familiar one in the history of the Church. There is Jiardly a doctrine of the ancient creed that 7 �8 WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF RELIGION ? has not been eviscerated of that which its pious holders once regarded as sacred and essential. In the days of the first Apostles themselves the process was already in full force. The “ Second Coming,” which for a time was looked for at any moment, and in the most realistic form, had, perforce, to merge itself in the larger, and to them more prosaic, movement of human history The story of the Final Judgment, the “ Dies iron dies ilia,” with all its lurid realism, has overpowered the imagination of the Church for ages in a way that no attempt to unfold the eternal issues of human character will perhaps ever do, so that the minds of the diplomatists of Church dogma may remain com­ paratively easy. And yet the story is a parable from beginning to end. Anselm’s “ Cztr Deus Homo ?” with its forensic exactitude and logical presumption, so long dominating the Church’s thought, has been superseded by the more searching question, “ Quomodo Deus Homo?” the answer to which is really the crux of modern Christianity. This revolution, however, has. been intramural. But the course of modern thought has carried us far beyond the internal controversies of Church or creed. The Churches have always been the home of miracle. And nothing so characterises the whole course of modern thought as the decay and steady disappear­ ance of miracle. Outside the bounds of the Church no well-educated person dreams of accepting any miraculous narrative. He is convinced that “whatever happens or ever happened happens naturally.” This difficulty in Scripture is steadily growing. It covers not merely the miraculous narratives themselves, but the “ in­ spiration” of the books which contain those narra­ tives. Thus the very “ seat of authority” in religion �WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF RELIGION? 9 has been undermined, and we are driven to look else­ where for the essence and foundation of the faith. Religion, we are compelled to admit, is one of the natural outcomes of the human spirit. From the point of view of ordered thought, then, where is the essence, not merely of Christianity, but of religion itself to be found, and in what does it consist ? Many have been the attempts to define the essence of religion. That essence, we believe, can only be found in some conception or conceptions that are perfectly consistent with reason and in harmony with observed facts, and are at the same time the most universal expression of the religious instinct. Such observed facts, explanatory of and illustrated in the various historical and traditional religions, and expressed in their most condensed form, we find to be these :— (1) The perception of the intelligibility, and finally of the unity, of the universe—“ The One.” (2) The consciousness, more or less vivid, of man’s own kinship with this “ Unity ” or “ One.” These two conceptions will be found to form a touchstone for the classification of the various phases of religious belief. Those forms which the religious instinct has assumed, and which are known as Fetichism, Poly­ theism, and finally Monotheism, will be found to resolve themselves, from the speculative point, of view, into more or less effective and consistent modes of realising the first of these. This great series of religions which culminate in Judaism and Moham­ medanism have as their common feature the tendency towards the worship of an objective and transcendent God—a God external to the worshipper, and exercising an authority kin to that of a lawgiver. For examples of the second we turn to Brahmanism, �10 WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF RELIGION? Buddhism, and all the various forms of ancient and modern mysticism. Their predominating thought has been the more or less vivid consciousness of the soul’s own kinship with the eternal—with God. The strength of Christianity lies in its combination of both, and especially in the firmergrasp and the bolder assertion of the latter of these two truths. The feelings which gave birth to these two complementary forms of the religious instinct seem to be, as it were, engrained in the nature of man. For we find them in very early stages of his development. Their appearance in history does not seem to be a question merely of time. We cannot say that either is the precursor or the resultant of the other. And though classifications of national or racial thought are elastic, not mechanical, the one is no doubt more characteristic of certain great divisions of the human race, and the other of others. But both satisfy profound aspirations and answer constant demands of the human spirit. Both are undoubted manifestations of the Divine through the human heart. If we are to give each its place in the hierarchy of ideas, we cannot hesitate to accord the place of honour to the latter of the two—npt as a matter of mere individual preference, but as its spiritual and even philosophical right. For immanence is more profound and commanding than transcendence. Kinship and sonship are more purely spiritual conceptions than mere acknowledged dependence on a creator. The human heart yearns for that which it long since learned to call a Divine Fatherhood. That Fatherhood is the pictorial and most endearing name for a kinship which is dynamic and fundamental. And even though the thought of it should be veiled �WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF RELIGION? 11 under the cold philosophical garb of “ Unity,” the warrant for all that we mean by Fatherhood is still there- Science, and even philosophy, may know nothing directly of a Divine Fatherhood ; but science and philosophy combine to establish a principle of what they call “cosmic unity,” which not only covers it, but in some respects may be said to bring it nearer still to our hearts than any but the most saintly mystic has ever dared to conceive. For it represents us as not only kin with the Divine, but one with it. In doing so, Science certainly raises other and serious questions. To these we shall refer later. The one thing we desire to emphasise here is that these two main types of religious thought are not only not mutually incompatible, but are beginning to disclose their fundamental harmony, and to be seen as complementary aspects of a thought which is deeper than either and embraces both. The true Catholic religion is that which finds room for both. In doing so, it faithfully reflects the very texture of our innermost nature. For we ourselves are living epitomes of these two principles or forms of thought. We are both immanent in, and transcendent to, our­ selves. And the religion that is to satisfy the rounded thought of man inust assimilate and embody both. The conception of transcendence satisfies the indi­ vidualistic, objectivating element of our being. That of immanence ministers to a still deeper need, and witnesses to a still deeper truth—that of our conscious possession of, and kinship with, the Divine. In face of modern thought, the faith that embodies and balances both these principles is the faith of the future. Such a faith is entirely consonant with science, and, at the same time, expansive enough for the most devout believer. It consecrates science and makes faith rational. Further, we hope also to �12 WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF RELIGION ? show that these two conceptions are but the religious embodiments of two still more fundamental concep­ tions which have exercised, and still exercise, an equal command over philosophic thought. The cleavage which their application has caused in the sphere of religion is matched in the world of thought by a similar phenomenon. The earliest problem which presented itself to the minds of thinking men was how to explain the rela­ tion between nature and that which was recognised as above nature, between the visible and the invisible, between the objective world and the subjective ego. The philosophies of the world have oscillated age after age round this problem. Of this oscillation and steady evolution we shall give a rapid sketch in Chapter IV. The two main types of mental outlook there set forth are the very same types which are illustrated in the great divisions of religions which we have indi­ cated here. The world’s religious thinking and the world’s philosophic thinking are thus seen to be but the appropriate expressions, in their respective spheres, of the inherent, mental outlook. If this be so, it becomes evident that religion is an equally fit subject for analysis with philosophy ; and the religion that aims at expressing the highest reason of man is the ideal religion. Christianity, if it is permanently to hold the field, must fulfil this condition. In order to effect this, it must be purged of its non-essentials. Towards this consummation modern Rationalism and science have given valu­ able aid. The typical and leading examples of this aid we proceed to consider. �Chapter II. HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION— THE CONTRIBUTION OF SCIENCE “ Le philosophe doit tater toutes choses, meme les plus poetiques, avec les antennes de la pensee froide et curieuse.”—Nietzsche. Strong minds sum up in their own comprehensive and condensed experience the more scattered and timid thoughts of common men. It is this that con­ stitutes such men not only the result and expression of the generation they are born into, but the most dominant intellectual force of their day. In the scientific world there have been many such men, who not only stood for the prevailing thought of their time, but, by a happy exercise of the imagination, discounted the future, and set other and less venturesome minds on new and prolific lines of thought. Of this type Haeckel is probably to-day the most pronounced instance that could be cited. He has been a scien­ tific man all his days. He has lived through a time when the floodgates of scientific discovery have been wide open, and he has indulged the daring gift of generalisation to an extent which places him among the thinkers as wrell as the observers of his time. On what ground, however, do we speak of his “ Contribu­ tion to Religion ”? And what is the nature of that contribution, if any? To enable us to answer this question it is not necessary to give any resume of Haeckel’s scientific work. That is written at large in many well-known 13 �? i • #* 4 •■*'>.• <’. J'? . ' ‘ • :^-. •" ’. - '* . 14 . - • * ,•'■■• .>p;* \ ; ■ ■;1 ...'> * . HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION works, and spread over a long series of years. It is sufficient for our purpose to take up the parable at the point, or points, where his latest works begin to impinge, as is generally believed, on the central con­ ception of religion. The only proviso we make at this stage is that the man who insists on treating the current dogmatic tenets of the Church as the central conceptions of religion need proceed no further with us here. The conflict of the day is not with these, but with something far more vital. It is the citadel that is at stake, not the outworks. The “ miraculous ” outworks of religion are to-day, indeed, ignored. Like the German colonies, they cost more to defend than they are worth. They are a constant drain on the reserves of faith. Gradually scientific discovery and literary investigation have succeeded in banishing the miraculous from shelter after shelter. One of the most persistent refuges was the sphere of what is called organic nature. Here, at least, it was believed a divine intervention must be accepted as indispensable. Life must be a special creation, and the occasion of its first appearance a red-letter day in the annals of the divine. Alas ! even here Miracle found no rest for the sole of her foot. All clear demarcation between organic and inorganic disappeared, and we were thrown back on the all-embracing doctrine of evolution, which in its protean application covers everything, from the inanimate clod to the most perfect human frame. But even then there was one unques­ tioned reservation to which for long no one had dreamt that science could ever assert a claim. The soul of man was surely beyond the reach of physical science. Even the keenest scientific investigators were content at this point to accept the apparently inevitable. Mind, they seemed to agree, was sui generis. And a new genus such as this presupposed �HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 15 a new effort of the generator. Here again, however, latest science maintains, in the words of Haeckel, that “ Man has no single mental faculty which is his exclusive prerogative.” “ Man’s power of conceptual thought and of abstraction has been gradually evolved from the non-conceptual stages of thought and ideation in the nearest related mammals,” and differs from them “ only in degree and not in kind, quantitatively not qualitatively.” One of the last barriers for faith seems here to be broken down, and the very soul of man made continuous with the instincts of the brute creation, and all these in their turn merely the out­ come of a material combination. But the last word of Haeckel is more searching still. The hitherto undisputed assumption of science has been dualistic. The sharpest investigation and keenest criticism agreed on the two fundamental factors of the universe, matter and force, or matter and motion. Given these, science could construct the universe— matter as the raw material, and energy or force as the moving power. It is here that Haeckel comes in. With him any form of dualism is intolerable. Unity or Monism is his all-embracing principle. And his special contribution to the everlasting riddle of the universe is to transfer the whole ultimate issue down to one clear point, beneath even the accepted funda­ mentals of his scientific brethren. The way, indeed, has been to some extent prepared for the admission of a larger and more profound conception. Physicists themselves have declared that it is becoming more and more difficult to determine the supposed immutable boundary between matter and energy. The forms of matter are found to be so rarefied and impalpable that we pass insensibly from matter to energy, and from energy to matter. Haeckel combines the two prin­ ciples of the persistence of matter and the conservation �16 HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION of energy under a single generalisation, which he calls “ the law of substance.” The discovery and establishment of this law is, he maintains, “ the greatest intellectual triumph of the nineteenth century, in the sense that all other known laws of nature are subordinate to it.” “ Substance ” is thus defined by Haeckel to be that original unitary whole whose first differentiation is into what he declares are really but two phases or conditions of itself—viz., ponderable matter and ether. The difference between these two things is described as merely a difference in the intensity of the condensation of the original simple “ substance.” This point in his exposition is, to all appearance, an assumption. It is of essential importance to the argument, however, to note that this ponderable matter and ether “ are endowed with sensa­ tion and will,” though naturally of the lowest grade ; they “ experience,” they “ strive,” they “ struggle.” This definition is so far satisfactory, inasmuch as all that evolution afterwards shows to have been taken out of “ matter ” is here declared to be originally in it. And probably there is no part of his latest book so interesting, from the philosophical point of view, as that in which he sets forth with the keenest appreciation the remarkable anticipation of his funda­ mental conception of “substance” in the work of “ the great philosopher, Baruch Spinoza.” And the astonishing thing is that Mr. McCabe, his British champion, totally ignores this vital part of his teaching, and does not even name Spinoza. Now, Spinoza was a passionate Monist before the term was heard of. And the striking thing is that that powerful thinker had not had the advantage which the advance of modern science has given to the philosopher of to-day. What they are driven to by the steady com­ pulsion of wider and wider generalisation of physical �HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 17 laws Spikoza reached, we may say, through intuition, the sheer force of the higher reason. His phraseology for the two great phases of the world-substance is different from that of Haeckel and his school. Spinoza called matter and spirit but two comple­ mentary aspects or attributes of the one substance, which is identical with God. Material things and immaterial ideas are both but modes of the eternal substance, which is as close a paraphrase as possible of the philosophical position of Haeckel, while the phraseology is richer and warmer and more kin with our religious instincts. Both believe, though they express it a little differently, in “ the divine nature of the world.” Spinoza’s own words are strikingly in accord with the teaching of Haeckel. “ Nescio,” he writes, “ cur materia divina, natura indigna esset,” meaning by materia, of course, not the ponderable matter of the physicist, but that reality which may be regarded as the basis of the phenomenal world.1 And this agreement contains much that is of large promise fowthe future of modern thought. This is the point in the teaching of Haeckel which negatives entirely the charge of Materialism and Atheism so persistently hurled against him. Monism is neither Materialism nor Atheism. It is really the denial of both. And if any reader should doubt the fact as characteristic of Haeckel, let him read that 1 David Hume himself, the most unmystical of men, when labour­ ing with the cosmological argument, asks at one point, “ Why may not the material universe be the necessarily existent Being?”—surely the brightest flash of mystic feeling of which Hume’s severely analytical mind was capable. Or consider the strong, reverent language of the devout Lord Gifford in his own lecture on “ Sub­ stance “Said I not that the word Substance was perhaps the grandest word in any language ? There can be none grander. It is the true name of God. Do you not feel with me that it is almost profane to apply the word Substance to anything short of God ? God must be the very substance and essence of the human soul ” (quoted by Dr. Hutcheson Stirling in his Gifford Lectures, p. 207). C �18 HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION writer’s reference to Spinoza and note the un­ restrained enthusiasm with which he proclaims his agreement with the most spiritual of all our modern philosophers, the “ God-intoxicated” Spinoza. “ In his stately pantheistic system,” writes Haeckel, “ the notion of the world (the universe or the cosmos) is identical with the all-pervading notion of God—is at one and the same time the purest and most rational Monism and the clearest and most abstract Mono­ theism. This universal ‘ substance,’ this ‘ divine nature of the world,’ shows us two different aspects of its being, or two fundamental attributes—matter (in­ finitely extended substance) and spirit (the all-em­ bracing energy of thought). All the changes which have since come over the idea of substance are reduced on a logical analysis to this supreme thought of Spinoza’s. With Goethe, I take it to be the loftiest, profoundest, and truest thought of all ages” (p. 76). And he declares succinctly (p. 8), “We adhere firmly to the pure, unequivocal Monism of Spinoza.” The thinker who can speak in terms such as these, and can do so, as Haeckel does, in the name of the most advanced modern science, so far from being a Materialist or an Atheist, makes a contribution to religion that is of the highest importance to modern thought, and must prove to be of permanent value in helping to explain “ the riddle of the universe.” Haeckel, indeed, in one of the closing paragraphs of his book, plaiifly admits all this. 1 I must not, however,” he writes, “ take leave of my readers without pointing out in a conciliatory way that this strenuous opposition [of Monism to Dualism] may be toned down to a certain degree—may, indeed, even be con­ verted into a friendly harmony. In a thoroughly logical mind, applying the highest principles with equal force in the entire field of the cosmos—in �HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 19 both organic and inorganic nature—the antithetical positions of theism and pantheism, vitalism and mechanism, approaeh until they touch each other.” In almost the exact words of Herbert Spencer, he says (p. 134) : “ We must even grant that this essence of substance becomes more mysterious and enigmatic the deeper we penetrate into the knowledge of its attributes, matter and energy, and the more thoroughly we study its countless phenomenal forms and their evolution.” And his “ conclusion ” is a tacit admission that the “riddle” is, after all, more in name than in reality. “ Only one comprehensive riddle now remains,” he says “—the problem of ‘ sub­ stance.’ What is the real character of this mighty world-wonder that the realistic scientist calls Nature or the Universe, the idealist philosopher calls ‘ sub­ stance ’ or the Cosmos, the pious believer calls Creator or God?” Is anything further required to show how striking and valuable a defender Haeckel shows himself to be of the central conception of religion? Could a purely scientific writer, as such, possibly supply a more direct and unequivocal contri­ bution to religion than such a declaration ? But there is more involved in Haeckel’s teaching than even this. One of the most important bearings of this funda­ mental conception is on the nature and meaning of consciousness. And it is here where, it seems to us, Haeckel and his school do not rise to the level of their own doctrine. The question (of which so much is made) whether consciousness is a physiological or a transcendental problem is comparatively needless. Consciousness is both. Science shows that conscious­ ness is dependent for its appearance on “ the normal structure of the corresponding psychic organ, the brain.” But, whatever be the physiological method �20 HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION by which consciousness is enabled to appear, the content of consciousness is essentially transcendental. And to say so is not really inconsistent with the essence of the Haeckel doctrine. On the contrary, it seems to us to be its fitting and culminating expres­ sion. The physiological machinery of consciousness is but the frame of the telescope by which we see back and down into the infinite “ substance ” on which it and all things rest. The human consciousness is simply the divine “ substance ” of the world coming to self-consciousness. That of which our conscious­ ness is conscious is the divine “ substance ” itself. This is where the divinity of human nature, so con­ sonant with the teaching of Haeckel, is seen to be the true solvent of all such philosophic difficulty. We are touching the divine at every point, and whether we call it world-substance or cosmos, or by any other title which the advance of science may render more accurate and intelligible, the reality predicated is the same. We are not only in touch with the Divine ; we are divine. As has been well said, “ There are unfathom­ able depths in the human soul, because God himself is at the bottom of it.” The transcendental in this deep sense cannot be avoided. It is easy for the hard materialist to say that this is mere hallucination, for no human mind can actually come into conscious contact with the Infinite. But no more can Haeckel lay his scientific finger on that “ substance ” which he nevertheless regards as the underlying basis of all things. “ Substance,” so far as scientific objectivity is concerned, is a figment of the imagination ; but it is vital to his intellect, and we accept it at once as a sufficient name for that to which both science and philosophy point. On exactly similar lines we contend that the united, continuous, determinate conviction of the richest human minds as to the content of the �HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 21 higher consciousness is not to be lightly brushed aside. The “ ideas ” of the human mind are, on the showing of the Haeckel school themselves, literally the final efflorescence of the whole evolving cosmos. They are the culminating point, so far as known, of the one undivided “ substance ” from which sprang ultimately the whole sum of created ” things. How are they related to this substance ?—which, after all, is but Haeckel’s name for what we call God. We main­ tain that it is absolutely consistent with the line of the Haeckel teaching to hold that these “ ideas ” of ours are what we call divine—that self-consciousness is consciousness of that which is part and parcel of the divine “ substance.” And if this be so, we have a firm scientific basis for faith and for true idealism in all its outlets, untrammelled by “ dualism” of any kind. To Haeckel “ substance ” is the final, irreducible element of the universe, the fans et origo of all. And the name we may give to this final irreducible is a matter of very little moment. We call it God, and believe ourselves to be part of this divine element. Haeckel does the same under another name. Monism does not abolish, it only reaffirms, the continuous vital connection between the “ substance ” and its offshoots, between the human and the Divine. This is the only truth that can preserve to us our “ immortality.” To Haeckel, the immortality of the soul is “ the highest point of superstition.” To our thinking it is the direct suggestion of his own prin­ ciple. His doctrine of “ substance,” indeed, rather guarantees than weakens the doctrine of the immor­ tality of the soul. He himself, for example, accepts “ the idea of immortality in its widest sense.” “ The indestructibility and eternal duration of all that exists is not merely acceptable, but self-evident to the monistic philosopher ” (p. 68). �22 HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION His difficulty, of course, is with the immortality of the individual soul. But this, when analysed, simply means that the feeling of individuality or personality which we associate with the spiritual life is apparently lost at death.1 Now, there is no subject on which it is so rash to dogmatise as this. The scientific man deals admittedly with appearance only. Of un­ challengeable knowledge on the subject he is as destitute as anyone else. But, in the absence of any possible demonstration, it is surely a striking fact that this loss of conscious personality is the very thing which, as we shall see later, our great mystics declare to be characteristic of their ecstatic experience. They lose the consciousness of personality. They, in fact, scout the idea of its permanence in the con­ crete, individualistic sense in which we are accustomed to use the word “personality.” They seem to feel the clinging to individual personality to be a forfeiture of the highest bliss and a profanation of the beatific vision. The scientific mind, approaching the subject, of course, from the purely physical side, declares against such a thing as a continuous personal existence after death. The factors of personality, it declares, are dissolved and disappear. The spiritual mind professes to reach the subject from the other side, and, curiously, they meet each other half way, and find that in this thought of the disappearance of individual consciousness they are on common ground. May not the Haeckel doctrine on this point really connote just what the experience of the mystics of all time declares to be fact ? Even the changing forms of matter are redeemed from annihila­ tion by the doctrine of the conservation of energy. Similarly, the change which we call loss of conscious 1 All the monistic philosophers of the century are thanatists (Riddle of the Universe, p. 69). �HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 23 personality by no means invalidates the idea of persistence after death. With that change the mystics have long since made us familiar as matter of personal experience here and now. It is absolutely consistent with reason and science, we contend, to regard the scientific Monist’s absorption into the eternal “ sub­ stance ” as simply his way of describing what the spiritual Monist calls absorption into the Divine Spirit. Nirvana, in short, is the spiritual realisation of Monism. If a human spirit can so abstract itself from the purely physical condition of its ordinary life, and so enter into the unseen as to lose all sense of individuality and become one with the All, may this not be a perfectly natural anticipation and foretaste of the condition which the materialist perfers to speak of as dissolution and disappearance ? Involution, we must remember, not dissolution, is the true antithesis of evolution. And even if we were entitled to assume that this mysterious involution takes place at death, can any scientific man justly challenge the mystic’s unvarying personal experience when it is put forward as an indication of what the involution or re-absorption really is ? Such an involution may be called death, and is at least death in the ordinary sense of the word as we know it. But it may be death only in the sense in which the new-born babe dies to its previous state, that state being henceforth to it as if it had never been. In the Monist’s creed there can be no death in the sense which he endeavours to impose upon the word. Life is universal. The whole question is as to the particular form or character of that life at any particular stage of being. The old apothegm of Paul, “In Him we live and move and have our being,” was surely admirably suited to the scholarly audience he addressed at �24 HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION Athens. It is marvellously suited to the tendency of latest thought. It has a philosophical as well as a spiritual side, and is equally suited to express the faith of a Monist as of a mystic. “In water lives the fish, the plant in the earth, The bird in the air, in the firmament the sun, The Salamander resides in fire, And the heart of God is Jacob Bohme’s element.” If in the mystic’s case the loss of self-consciousness is found to be part and parcel of the soul’s experience, why should it be thought incredible in this other case? If not incredible, then surely in this respect extremes meet, and wisdom is justified of all her children. Besides, as Haeckel tells us (p. 94), “ the life of the animal and the plant bears the same universal char­ acter of incompleteness as the life of man. Evolution seems, on the whole, to be a progressive improvement in historical advance, from the simple to the complex, the lower to the higher, the imperfect to the perfect.” And as the merely physical evolution of man seems to be completed, it can only be to his psychical evolution that we must look for the further continuation of that great process. To such a continuation of evolution who will dare to set limits ? To trace the past development of the physical organisation of man, and even the efflorescence of mind as science does, is but one half of the task prescribed by the doctrine of evolution. The mystical phenomena of human nature are a necessary consequence of human nature. These phenomena point prophetically to the future. It is quite an arbitrary proceeding to accept the theory of evolution, but at the same time to detach from it its weightiest consequence. The field of man’s future evolution is the psychical. The materialistic scientists who make so much of man’s past evolution, but ignore his future evolution, resemble people who retail an �HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 25 anecdote, but forget the point (Carl du Prel, The Philo* sophy of Mysticism). One of the most slashing critics, and at the same time self-restrained thinkers (M. J. Guyau), says: “ If the unknown activity that lies at the basis of the natural world has produced in the human race a con­ sciousness of goodness and a deliberate desire for it, there is reason to hope and to believe that the last word of ethics and metaphysics is not a negative.” May we not with equally modest assurance say that, if the “ substance ” that lies at the basis of the natural world has produced in the human race the conscious­ ness of a condition of thought and feeling that rises far beyond the range of common experience, that is open to all, and of which the element of conscious time is no part, and has produced at the same time in the best minds everywhere a deliberate and passionate desire for, and delight in, that conscious­ ness, there is reason to hope and to believe that the last word of the most perfect evolutionary science does not negative the idea of the continuance of that life hereafter in some intensely real, though necessarily indefinable, manner? To such a life we may give what formal name we choose. The more we realise it here, the more indifferent we become to all attempts at defining it, the more catholic in welcoming every form of expressing it, that may commend itself to the medi­ tative soul. For such a union with the Divine immortality is quite an intelligible word. It is a word that attempts to describe, under the one category of endless time, a life and a condition of thought which in our own actual experience transcend time. Where demonstration is impossible, we must perforce be satisfied with the indications which our own highest ^experience gives us of the possibility and naturalness of �26 HAECKEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION a life for which such words as “ immortal ” and “ eter­ nal ” are as permissible and suggestive as any other. If religion, then, means essentially recognition of the unity of the universe, and of our kinship with that unity, even the “ materialist ” Haeckel makes a contribution to religion that, in the present state and direction of educated thought, is of high importance. His recent book, The Riddle of the Universe, may seem at first sight to give the lie to such an estimate of his teaching as is here put forward. And the orthodox world has certainly represented it as hopelessly inimical to religion. With some of his references to the origin of Christianity we have no sympathy. But while there is no denying that Haeckel’s teaching is quite incompatible with the authorised dogmatic faith of the Church, the fact remains that his fundamental position is essentially religious, and, as he says him­ self, identical with the teaching of the most spirituallyminded philosopher that ever lived—the God-intoxi­ cated Spinoza. �Chapter III. HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION—THE CONTRIBUTION OF AGNOSTICISM Agnosto Theo. “ I gazed on power till I grew blind. On power; I could not take my eyes from that.”—Paracelsus. Mr. Spencer was long the bete noire of a large proportion of our religiously-minded people. Indeed, many people, by no means ignorant, believe that the philosophy of Mr. Spencer boasts of giving the final quietus to everything that has hitherto been associated in the popular mind with religion. And there can be no question that the Synthetic Philosophy has per­ manently affected our conception of the basis of religion. Science and philosophy in the hands of Mr. Spencer lead us easily and unaided to the borderland of the unseen. But when we begin “ toiling in the presence of things which cannot be dealt with by any other power” than that higher imagination, intuitive faculty, call it what we will, which is the glory of our man­ hood, Mr. Spencer seems to leave us to our own resources, and to drop to earth again like a spent ball. This is the only faculty which Mr. Spencer almost refuses to cultivate. And yet even he cannot wholly escape its cautious exercise. His Synthetic Philosophy is a monument to individual genius such as the world has seldom seen. 27 �28 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION For, notwithstanding the prolonged labours of a host of trained scientific collaborators, the synthesis itself is the work of a single brain, and evinces a grasp of detail, a dovetailing of endless material, coupled with a comprehensiveness of generalisation, that stamp its author as one of the thinkers of the world. On the real issues, then, that are of never-failing vital interest to the human soul, what has Mr. Spencer to tell us ? What is his definite message to the world ? Probably the shortest form in which we can epitomise his philosophy is to say that it is the apotheosis of evolution. What in our more serious moments we want to know is, What or who is it that is evolving ? Why should there be—why, indeed, is there—such a process at all ? That there is not behind it all or underneath it “ some far-off divine event,” which sheds a meaning on it, the human spirit refuses permanently to believe. That there is at the heart of it all a presence and a purpose of which it is but the tangible expression is the instinctive feeling, if not the ineradicable con­ viction, of every calm, clear-thinking soul. Why, then, does not Mr. Spencer, with his massive intellect, acknowledge and entertain this conviction ? The truth is, that is exactly what he does, though naturally he uses a cautious phraseology of his own to express it. His apotheosis of evolution represents the universe, organic and inorganic, as self-contained and automatic. His successive “ integration and disintegration, ” “ evolution and involution,” are but his hard modern form of the truth long ages ago discovered by the Oriental thinkers, and taught by them more poetically as the “ outbreathing ” and “ inbreathing ” of God. It is often supposed by those who have not examined Mr. Spencer’s meta­ physical basis or First Principles that he leaves no �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 29 room whatever for faith. The very reverse is the case. If there is one thing which Mr. Spencer has made more clear than another in this connection, it is his unshakeable belief in a Power “ whose positive existence is a necessary datum of consciousness,” and which, though “not capable of being brought within limits, nevertheless remains as a consciousness that is positive and is not rendered negative by the nega­ tion of limits.” What Kant surrendered as knowledge he restored as belief. Spencer, strange though it may seem, would rather reverse the process. His never-resting analysis dissipates ordinary concrete and apparently positive conceptions. Conscience, “ stern daughter of the voice of God,” is but the ever-growing moral experience of the race. Its dictates, a priori to the individual, are a posteriori to the race. Authoritative “ revelation,” too, is but the symbolic representation of a purely natural process. Nothing is at first sight more spiritually disintegrating, more absolutely corrosive of all customary religious teaching, than this philosophy of evolution. But even analysis has its limits. And in the end synthesis is triumphant. For the man who is so eagle-eyed in tracking this universal symbolism pulls up at last before a “certainty” which even he declares, with intensest conviction, is “more profoundly true than any religion supposes ”:— Not only is the omnipresence of something which passes compre­ hension that most abstract belief which is corSmon to all religions, which becomes more distinct in proportion as they develop, and which remains after their discordant elements have been mutually cancelled ; but it is that belief which the most unsparing criticism of each leaves unquestionable, or, rather, makes ever clearer. It has nothing to fear from the most inexorable logic, but, on the contrary, is a belief which the most inexorable logic shows to be more pro­ foundly true than any religion supposes (First Principles, 5th ed., 1890, p. 45). Again :— Amid the mysteries which become the more mysterious the more �30 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION they are thought about, there will remain the one absolute certainty that we are ever in presence of an Infinite and Eternal Energy from which all things proceed (Nineteenth Century, January, 1884).1 Could more be asked from the metaphysics of a philosophy based, as Mr. Spencer’s is, on concrete facts, and not daring to launch the human spirit on that shoreless sea of unseen reality which, in spite of all castrated intellectualism, is its natural element and abiding home ? Even in this, his unmistakeable attitude, he is denounced as a renegade from the principles of his own philosophy. Some of his leading disciples have proclaimed themselves his defenders against himself— as, indeed, more Spencerian than Mr. Spencer himself. Mr. Frederic Harrison long since felt acutely the importance of Mr. Spencer’s contention, and how fatal it is to the arrogant pretensions of a superficial Positivism.2 1 As Mr. Spencer himself says in his Facts and Comments (chapter on Ultimate Questions), and apropos of a letter of Jowett’s, “ Con­ sidering what I have written, I might reasonably have thought that no one would call me a Materialist.” 2 And if Mr. Spencer’s doctrine of the existence of “ the Unknow­ able ” has been so condemned by the straiter sect of his own followers as supplying (to use M. Brunetiere’s words) “une base ou un fondement scientifique a la religion," how infinitely more pregnant with religious issues is his determined declaration of the identity of this unknowable Power with the power which we call ourselves ? If the one conception is the fondement, the other is surely the chief corner­ stone of the building itself, and is being recognised as such by discern­ ing minds everywhere. M. Brunetiere has gone into this subject more deliberately still in his article, “ La Metaphysique Positiviste ” (in Revue des Deux Mondes, October 1st, 1902). He there quotes the words “si souvent citees ” of Mr. Spencer to the effect that, “From the necessity of thinking en relation, it follows that the relative is itself inconceivable except as related to a real non-relative. If we do not postulate a non-relative reality—an absolute—the relative itself becomes absolute, which is a contradiction. And we see, by consider­ ing the trend of human thought, how impossible it is to rid oneself of the consciousness of une chose effective—an actuality—underlying appearances, and how from this impossibility results our indestruc­ tible belief in the existence of this thing.” _ And, as Brunettere puts it, “ the foundation of science is metaphysical, and we see without any effort of reflection or of reasoning, but without any contradiction, metaphysics re-established, if I may so say, in the very heart of Positivism.” �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 31 Mr. Macpherson, Mr. Spencer’s recent biographer, is evidently alive to the same fact, and seems to be almost equally disappointed with Mr. Harrison. What, then, are Mr. Spencer’s grounds for this most profound certainty which he champions so vigorously ? Nothing is more striking and suggestive in the annals of philosophical thinking than to observe its inevitable convergence on the one testing question: What is Consciousness, and what does it really tell us ? This is what is called technically the Theory of Knowledge. It is the Armageddon field of all intel­ lectual analysis. Aristotle’s “ nothi seauton ” was one of the profoundest directions ever given. For we may truly say of the human consciousness, as Tennyson says of the “Little flower—if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.” Mr. Spencer is characteristically careful in all that he says on this fundamental point, but his biographer is characteristically reluctant to give Mr. Spencer’s phraseology its full and natural weight. “It is idle,” Mr. Macpherson says, “ to inquire into the ultimate nature of consciousness.” This is not the view of Mr. Spencer. And though he is remarkably careful of the phraseology to which he commits himself, yet, where controversy has inter­ vened, we naturally get his meaning, if possible, more sharply defined still. This is the case on this very point. For hear him in his “Explanations” in the 1870 preface to his Principles of Psychology :— The aggregate of subjective states constituting the mental “I” have not in themselves the principle of cohesion holding them together as a whole. But the “I” which continuously survives in the subject of those changing states is that portion of the Unknowable Power which is statically conditioned in special nervous structures �32 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION that are pervaded by a dynamically conditioned portion of the Unknow­ able Power called Energy. The mind is thus not simply “ a power of recog­ nising and distinguishing feelings,” which power, so far as Mr. Macpherson’s version is concerned, may be merely a function of matter. It is “ the I which con­ tinuously survives.” It is “ a portion of the Unknow­ able Power,” or Substance, to use Haeckel’s word. The Problem of Personality, Mr. Macpherson rightly says, is “the great difficulty which faces Idealism.” It is here solved so far as Mr. Spencer’s conviction is concerned. And this passage is an express refutation of Mr. Macpherson’s contention, where he says:— Self-consciousness, according to the New Kantian and Hegelian, is impossible except on the assumption that in the mind there exists a unifying spiritual principle which, so to speak, sits at the loom of time and weaves the isolated, unrelated threads of experience into an organised and coherent whole. Have we not here an illustration of the tendency of the mind to personify the processes of Nature, and convert a final product into an initial, all-controlling agent ? This “ unifying spiritual principle ” is exactly what Mr. Spencer insists on—“the I which continuously survives.” And this “ I ” is directly linked on to the “ Eternal Energy.” Mr. Macpherson says “ the basis of the system [of Idealism] is the identity of the human with the divine self-consciousness,” an identity which is expressly asserted here by Mr. Spencer—if language has any meaning. And lest this assertion by Mr. Spencer, that “ the I is a portion of the Unknowable Power,” should be challenged as in this bald form a mere passing dictum, let us follow his reasoning a little more in detail, and we find the grounds of his “ dictum.” There are two great philosophical paths by which we are brought face to face with this riddle of the universe—those, namely, of psychology and objective science. By the former line of investigation Mr. Spencer �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 33 finds that the one thing the human mind is directly conscious of is will, force, our own will—that is to say, as the one form in which we directly experience force, “ Force as we are conscious of it when by our own efforts we produce changes.”1 By the method of objective science we reach a similar conclusion. The conservation of energy and the whole modern teaching of science compel us to believe in an Eternal Energy underlying all things. This Eternal Energy is that “ from which all things proceed.” This is the cul de sac into which all the wonderful unification of scientific thought lands us, and from which there is no escape. And when Mr. Spencer declares in most carefully-chosen language that “it is the same power which in ourselves wells up under the form of consciousness,” we do not require his formal imprimatur to assure us that in the most fundamental conception of all religion, in that truth which has made religion possible, he is not only “ not against us,” but “ for us.”2 Mr. Spencer says it wells up in us under the form of consciousness, and he calls this consciousness of force—and otherwise self-consciousness. Now, what does this familiar word “ self-consciousness ” really mean ? What can it mean but that we ourselves stand, as it were, outside of ourselves, beside and 1 It is interesting to notice how the same effort to define to the intellect the content of consciousness takes shape, in Schopenhauer’s case, in the definition of the world as will—the “ will to live,” in short, as the metaphysical substance of the world and of man. It is but the same idea as that which Spencer more vaguely describes as force. Schopenhauer approximates the force more nearly to every-day human experience. And this apparently slight difference in expres­ sion at the start leads him directly into moral considerations of the most searching kind, and ultimately into his pessimistic philosophy. 2 Haeckel, too (as his translator and champion says), “maintains that the forcS associated with the atom or the cell is the same funda­ mentally as that which reveals itself in our consciousness ” (Haeckel’s Critics Answered, p. 54). b �34 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION apart in some way from “ ourselves,” as we still call this “ object ” of consciousness, and feel its moving, throbbing life in our spirits ? Is it not, in short, a form of the God-consciousness? As T. H. Green says : “ It is the irreducibility of this self-objectifying consciousness to anything else that compels us to regard it as the presence in us of the mind for which the world exists.” As a French writer says : “For the old doctrine of a consciousness absolutely one, the new psychology substitutes the formula ‘ continuity of consciousness.’” How can we ourselves be both the subject and the object of consciousness at one and the same moment, except on the principle, as Mr. Spencer puts it, that our “I” is just a “portion of the Unknowable Power” which thus, as some writers express it, “ comes to self-consciousness in man ” ? Mr. Spencer himself deals thus elsewhere with the direct psychological evidence, and seems again to suggest, or at least imply, the same idea. He says, First Principles, p. 88 :— Besides that definite consciousness of which logic formulates the laws, there is also an indefinite consciousness which cannot be formulated. Besides complete thoughts, and besides thoughts which, though incomplete, admit of completion, there are thoughts which it is impossible to complete, and yet which are still real in the sense that that they are normal affections of the intellect. And it is specially interesting to turn to his own version of the actual historical origin of the religious consciousness as it slowly rises into clearness and definiteness. ‘ Unlike the ordinary consciousness,” he says, “the religious consciousness is concerned with that which lies beyond the sphere of sense”; and the rise of this religious consciousness, he contends, “ begins among primitive men with the belief in ‘ a double^ belong­ ing to each individual, which, capable of wandering �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 35 away from him during life, becomes his ghost or spirit after death ; and from this idea of a being eventually distinguished as supernatural there develop in course of time the ideas of supernatural beings of all orders up to the highest.” This conclusion is his reading of an immense number of facts gathered from the traditions of uncivilised peoples. It is, in short, an attempt to trace the natural history of the God-consciousness in man. And to challenge Mr. Spencer is, as usual, but to bring out his meaning more clearly. “ Surely,” exclaims Mr. Harrison, “ if the primitive belief [in a material double] was absolutely false, all derived beliefs must be absolutely false.” “ This objection looks fatal,” replies Mr. Spencer ; “ and it would be fatal were its premises valid. Unexpected as it will be to most readers, the answer here to be made is that at the outset a germ of truth was contained in the primitive conception—the truth, namely, that the Power which manifests itself in con­ sciousness is but a differently conditioned form of the Power which manifests itself beyond consciousness.” This shows Mr. Spencer’s view to be that the earliest form of what ultimately is seen to be God-conscious­ ness is simply the direct consciousness of our own spirits. In other words, it is through the narrow channel of our self-consciousness that we gradually become conscious of “ that which lies beyond the sphere of sense,” and which we call God. The latter consciousness is but the developed form of the earlier. What is this but an admission that it is practically impossible to draw a sharp line of demarcation between the one and the other ? The Inscrutable Power is the same in both cases. And Mr. Spencer, so far from denying or dissipating the fundamental ideas of religion, shows them to be stereotyped in all �36 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION nature and enthroned in the very citadel of our own being. Not only is the evolution philosophy thus robbed of its terrors for many devout souls, but it shows us philosophy and religion joining hands in a much more directly religious truth than that which Mr. Spencer seems formally to enunciate—in short, in a common declaration of the essential unity of the Divine and human natures.1 Indeed, Mr. Spencer, when he sums up his whole philosophy and defines its relation to the Unseen, strains his vocabulary to find the most unequivocal terms possible in which to assert its intensely religious basis. Passages to this effect might be quoted in abundance. Take this as a sample:— The spiritualist, setting out with the same data [as the materialist], may argue with equal cogency that, if the forces displayed by matter are cognisable only under the shape of those equivalent amounts of consciousness which they produce, it is to be inferred that these forces, when existing out of consciousness, are of the same intrinsic nature as when existing in consciousness. And that so is justified the spiritu­ alistic conception of the external world as consisting of something essentially identical with what we call mind. (First Principles, p. 558.) And though in this same passage he seems to accord equal validity to the materialist argument, he seems to us rather to overstretch his phi&seology in the latter connection. For when he says that “ what exists in consciousness under the form of feeling is transformable into an equivalent of mechanical motion, and, in consequence, into equivalents of all the other forces which matter exhibits,” the word “ transform­ able ” seems to connote more than is legitimately implied or required. It would surely be truer to his 1 As has been well said, “ Every man is in a very true sense essen­ tially of divine nature, even as Paul teaches, ‘ Theion genos but no man is conscious of himself as divine ; otherwise expressed, in no man does this divine energy directly identify itself in conscious­ ness with the source from which it proceeds. ‘ In fact, while we say and are compelled to say “I,’’while we speak and cannot but speak of our Self, in reality the essential content or nature of this Self, of this subjective noumenon, is veiled from us.’ ” �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 37 own teaching to say that what exists in consciousness is capable of being manifested in an equivalent of motion. And when he adds that the phenomena of consciousness are “therefore material phenomena,” would it not be more consistent with Mr. Spencer’s own positions elsewhere to say that these phenomena of consciousness in the form of feeling, when looked at from outside, are recognisable through, or suggested by, material phenomena ? Mr. Spencer, we submit, is fundamentally an Idealist. He links the human with the Divine; and this, as his biographer admits, is the “ basis of Idealism.” He is not an Idealist, of course, to the detailed extent to which such a thinker as Lotze and others of the German school are. Lotze deliberately professes to “reconstruct an idealistic philosophy on a materialistic basis.” And he and his school do so with very great power and on lines that are essentially Spencerian. They point out that the inseparable relationship of every material element to every other by the law of what is called causal connection pre­ supposes the inner unity of all material elements. “ The scientific interest,” Lotze declares, “is satisfied by the assumption of such elements or atoms as are actually indivisible in our experience. But the assumption of a plurality of extended elements, even if they are conceived as infinitely small, can never be a final assumption of thought. We must give up either the unity of the atoms or their extension. We must conceive atoms as centres of force, each of which is a starting-point for the working of the original sub­ stance.” This inter-relationship of the world accord­ ing to law is the objective basis of the philosophy of religion. This is the fact which, so far from making the idea of God superfluous, makes it a necessity of thought. �38 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION I For even the supposed mechanical conception of nature, if rigorously followed out, lands us in a perfect unity, whose only rational name is God. And Idealism thus, from this point of view, may be said to rest on and spring from Materialism. Nothing, however, is more persistently character­ istic of Mr. Spencer, once he lays down the all-impor­ tant position we have referred to, than his determined agnosticism as to all ’beyond. The Unknowable Power is to us—while the most absolute of certainties —utterly inscrutable. Our object here, presumptuous as it may seem, is to show, if we can, that the implications of this posi­ tion of Mr. Spencer are deeper and more commanding than at first sight appears. And we are the more convinced of this when we find a striking con­ vergence going on among Christian thinkers towards the form which this implication takes in Mr. Spencer’s teaching. Purely Christian thinkers, of course, start from quite a different standpoint. And the movement of their thought is, in form at least, a movement of surrender—in reality, a movement of retiral and con­ centration. But concentration always takes place round vital points. And the conception which is steadily being accepted by the strongest Christian thinkers as the most central, illuminating, and prolific of all is just that which, we maintain, is more than implied, is directly expressed in Mr. Spencer’s philosophy—the essential unity of the Divine and human natures. We have it in the well-known passage already cited, where he tells us that “it is this same Power which in ourselves wells up under the form of consciousness.”2* It is the same Power that is subjective as well as objective. And though he here interposes the word “form” of consciousness to indicate its subjective �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 39 form, we find elsewhere, as already cited, that “ the ‘14 is that portion of the Unknowable Power...... ” So that, making every allowance for the limitations of language (and in no case is there less need for this th^n in Mr. Spencer’s), the identity of the Divine and the human is here deliberately asserted. The importance of the fact is evident. In one form or other Mr. Spencer is constantly insisting on it. He speaks of the tendency towards the identifi­ cation of “Being as present to us in consciousness with Being as otherwise conditioned beyond con­ sciousness.’^ His own farewell word to us is to the same effect:— And then the consciousness itself, what is it during the time that it continues ? And what becomes of it when it ends ? We can only infer that it is a specialised and individualised form of that infinite and eternal energy which transcends both our knowledge and our imagination, and that at death its elements lapse into the infinite and eternal energy whence they were derived. (Facts and Comments, p. 203.) This contention of Mr. Spencer is one of the bravest things yet done by strictly analytical thought. Unfortunately, Mr. Spencer, after he discovers the existence of this great Power, refuses to turn his gaze on its face, or attempt to learn any more about it. Now, this function of the human spirit, called by metaphysicians consciousness, cannot be isolated and castrated in the way Mr. Spencer attempts to do. To say that the existence of this Power may be present to us in consciousness, but that His nature as he affects this same consciousness cannot by any possibility be present to us there, seems more an unconscious subterfuge of logic than a contribution to philosophy. Mr. Spencer’s declaration clearly implies that we are in some kind of conscious contact with God. But on what psychological principle can he justly contend that the only form in which this “ eternal energy from which all things proceed ” can well up in us is �40 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION » -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- J that of a bare consciousness of His existence ? Gera has no meaning to our minds as mere existence. /To speak of God’s existence apart from His Being is to be the slave of words, not the possessor of ideas./ And the question at this stage is not whether we can form a complete conception of the being of God in our minds. That is at all times impossible. The ques­ tion is: If God touches us at all, is it rational to suppose that He does so as “mere ” existence ? Our neighbour’s existence wells up in us as a fact in con­ sciousness. If we can attain to a knowledge of our neighbour’s being and character, whose existence is so apart from our own, and draws its life directly and independently from the same source as our own, shall we not much more be able to attain tp some knowledge of that eternal energy with which our own is so interfused, and in which at every moment it lives and moves and has its being ? On the contrary, with the windows of our souls clear, how can we escape that consciousness, avoid that knowledge ? Is “the categorical imperative” not an equally real “ welling-up ” in us of that eternal energy from which this, as “all things” else, “proceed”? If, as Mr. Spencer says, force in us is the “correlative” of the universal Power beyond us, is not the ideal in our minds the “correlative” of the ideal mind beyond us ? (First Principles, p. 579). No theory of the slow evolution of the human conscience from the interaction with our environment can remove God from the process. That environment is itself but a form of the eternal energy. Are we to measure the depth of that well which so fills our consciousness by the first trickle that reveals its presence ? Shall we not rather look for its measure in the highest moments of the highest types of our race, those in whom the unity of the Divine and human natures is all but a direct and �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 41> conscious experience ? The moral ideal in man is the correlative and counterpart of the Divine Ideal outside of man, and is as clearly and directly evidence of God as force, as we experience it in consciousness, is evidence of the Divine Power beyond conscious­ ness.1 Mill rightly contended that, if this Divine Power is to be understood as but the infinite degree of what we know in our human experience as power, we are entitled to do the same with the Divine Goodness and Justice. Infinite Goodness, in short, must still be goodness—which is the self-same conclusion as that more Platonicsflly maintained by Maurice. Thus is the essential kinship of God and man vindicated both by philosopher and theologian. Is the metaphysician’s cold conclusion to be taken as the measure of the attainment of man’s spirit towards the unseen^ and the rapt communion of the mystic to be treated as mere hallucination ? 1 Since writing the foregoing I find the following suggestion of a similar idea in the slashing critical work of Marie Jean Guyau, entitled The Non-Religion of the Future, p. 386: “ According to Spencer, the unknowable itself is not absolutely unknowable. Among the mysteries which become more mysterious as they are more deeply reflected upon there will remain, Spencer thinks, for man one absolute certitude—that he is in the presence of an infinite and eternal energy which is the source of all things. No religion can stop with the bare affirmation of the existence of an eternal energy or infinity of energies. It must maintain the existence of some relation between these energies and that of the moral impulse in mankind.” Is it not remarkable, too, to find among the earliest of the Greek thinkers, busy with the same irresistible search after God, so close an alter ego of Mr. Spencer as was Xenophanes ? The vivid description of that thinker given fifty years since may be read to-day, word for word, as a true portrait of our own great philosopher : “ Xenophanes was no atheist, but a very earnest theist. He asserted a Being*. If he had been asked, ‘ What Being ?’ he would have owned that he could not reply. He could only say what he was not. He approached the border of negation, but he approached it manfully and reverently; therefore he did not pass it. He pointed out a void which he could not fill. That alone would have been a reason for feeling gratitude to him. But he also saw the way to a radical truth.” (Maurice’s Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy, p. 110.) �42 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION If so, what a deliberate invitation and encourage­ ment to all revelation-mongers ! The human mind refuses to content itself with merely believing that “ He is.” As long as thinkers take up that attitude, so long will “ special revelations ” flourish and abound. But let thinkers declare, as they are entitled to do, that the mind of man is in real contact with God, even though it should legitimate every religion under the sun, and Christianity will then take its true place as the high-water mark of man’s vision of God. Ruskin had a metaphysical and analytical intellect as keen as any man’s. Listen to his criticism of Spencer in this connection thirty years since :— It will not, I trust, be thought violation of courtesy to a writer of Mr. Spencer’s extending influence if I urge on his attention the danger under which metaphysicians are always placed of supposing that investigation of the processes of thought will enable them to distinguish its forms. As well' might the chemist who had exhaus­ tively examined the conditions of vitreous fusion imagine himself therefore qualified to number or class the vases bent by the breath of Venice. Mr. Spencer has determined, I believe, to the satisfaction of his readers, in what manner thoughts and feelings are constructed ; it is time for him now to observe the results of the construction ; whether native in his own mind, or discoverable in other intellectual territories. That is to say, the true problem is not with what degree of consecutive exactness can we track the process of conscious thought, but what does conscious thought at its unmolested highest teach us ? What, as matter of historical fact, has it taught the best and strongest minds the world has known ? Turn to the highest stages of human imagination. The mystics were rarely metaphysicians. They had and have a gift before which mere metaphysical acumen is comparatively incompetent. Mr. Spencer’s statistics tell of the slow trend of human thought. The mystics read their own spirits. Mysticism discounts the intellectual labour of later generations and pierces straight to the truth itself. It is this �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 43 thought of the identity, in some sense, of the soul with God that has fed their souls, and lifted them into their rapt communion. Are we to be told that this spiritual ecstasy is but “ a bubble of the blood ”? The keenest analysis, we have seen, discloses at last truths which are enough to tax the powers and fire the imagination of the most exalted mystics. Are we to be told that just when man is at his highest he most misses the Divine ? On the contrary, by the actual pressure of modern thought, impelled alike by science, psychology, and religion, are we not beginning to see that this recognition of God in man is not only on all fours with the most advanced scientific teaching, but solves psychological problems and satisfies religious aspira­ tions with a completeness that nothing else can match ? Have not our philosophers and metaphysicians, from Plato to Kant and Spencer, from whatever point of view they try to answer the riddle of the universe, and after each exhausting the ingenuities of his intellect, found themselves driven at last “ in a mathematical necessity ” to fall back on the only Satisfying solution; found that if they calmly, as it wtere, place their open palm on the world’s breast, they feel the very heart of God beating through it, and at once arise and worship ? And although this satisfaction is only to be reached by the sacrifice of much phraseology that is naturally dear not only to the popular mind but to the devout Christian soul, that is a loss which is more than made good. The fact remains that we are capable of coming into a true consciousness of God, and, indeed, cannot escape from it. And as Mr. Spencer says :■— This inscrutable existence which science in the last resort is compelled to recognise as unreached by its deepest analysis of matter, motion, thought, and feeling, stands towards our general conception of things in substantially the same relation as does the creative power asserted by theology. And when theology, which has already dropped �44 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION many of the anthropomorphic traits, eventually drops the last of them, the foundation-beliefs of the two must become identical. We do not profess to be authorised expounders of Mr. Spencer’s definite but cautious pronouncements ; neither would his friends’ repudiation of such a com­ mentary as ours much trouble us. Mr. Spencer, in such utterances as these, is (and he takes no pains to hide that he is) what we Christians call “ feeling after God, if haply he may find him.” It is generally felt that he does not venture beyond the vestibule of the temple, but he is on holy ground. His striking declaration of the identity of our human con­ sciousness with the Divine Presence shows him to be very near to the centre of the deepest religious faith, and (with reverence be it said) is but a philosophical way of expressing the profoundest spiritual convic­ tion of Jesus himself. “ I am in the Father and the Father in me.” “ I am in my Father and ye in me, and I in you,” the divine element overshadowing, suffusing, and inspiring all nature. As one discerning writer says: “ This grand and comforting doctrine of the incarnate presence of God in each man’s con­ sciousness is rapidly becoming the dominant concep­ tion of God in all the greatest religious teachers.” And faith, which in spiritual things is open vision, may enter in and worship where philosophical intel­ lectualism declines to commit itself to anything so presumptuous. Even Comte’s Grande Etre, Humanity, in so far as it betokens reality at all, is but his objective method of reaching the realisation of this God-consciousness. It is the result of that instinctive yearning after some permanent object of affection that can only be satisfied by some form or other of the God-consciousness. For, as Mr. Spencer says, “it owes whatever there is in it of beauty to that Infinite Eternal Energy out of �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 45 which humanity has quite recently emerged, and into which it must in course of time subside.” As has been well said, “ In that newest phase of natural religion called Positivism there is a more real apprehension of the natural unity of humanity, both as to its rootage in the past and its progressive life in the future, than is possessed by many professing Christians; but its conception of humanity is closed in by the gates of Hades, on both sides of the gulf of time. Its Gospel of Humanity is wanting in the essential element of Divinity, in which alone can be found the reality, promise, and potency of eternal progressive life for the individual no less than for the race, as the Son of God. Christian faith takes nothing away from Positive conceptions; it compre­ hends, fulfils, and eternalises them.” To Spinoza this same conviction of the presence of God in the heart of man was irresistible. It swamped all else, and earned for him the title of the “ Godintoxicated ” man. Was this conception of the unity of the Divine and human natures not just the essence, too, of the famous early controversy over the person of Christ ? In the light of modern Christian development we come to see that Athanasius and his victorious allies digged deeper than they knew, and that (to change the metaphor) in the casket of their triumphant dogma they succeeded in preserving intact to later ages the symbol of a truth which nothing else could have so well preserved. The instinct of the Church’s strongest thinkers pre­ vailed, and they succeeded in stamping on the Church’s heart for the ensuing fifteen hundred years the tremendous truth that very God and very man had, in that unique form at least, come together. The God­ man became to believing souls the intelligible symbol of the Divine Presence in the race of which he and �46 HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION they were alike members; and that achievement was worth all the struggle it entailed. Mineralogists tell us that the most precious diamond is but a condensed globule of intensely heated vapour, thrown up in one of those wild eruptions to which our earth is subject; and they point us, in evidence, to the fact that very often, when transplanted from its native bed to the colder and more temperate regions, the diamond bursts into a thousand fragments, and merges itself with the circumambient air. So with the triumphant dogma of Athanasius. Called into being by the deep need of the human soul, it was cradled in wild controversy and matured on the field of battle. It has been the object of the Church’s passionate attachment ever since. Though it has assumed degraded forms in degraded times, it has survived intact, to become at last the object of the coolest and most unrelenting criticism, until now it begins to burst its limits and expand into a universal truth, revealing in our human nature an inherent glory else unseen, and lifting all humanity into Divine fellowship and communion. On Mr. Spencer’s own showing, then, and utilising his own deliberate admissions, we see no ground on which he can consistently object to the construction of earnest practical religious faith. For we are then merely following his own principle, and “interpret­ ing this great single induction deductively.” Subject always to the inevitable Spencerian rider that man is in no sense “ the measure of the Infinite,” or to the equally decisive declarations of Paul that He “ dwelleth in light which no man can approach unto,” “ whom no man hath seen or can see,” there is nothing theoretically inconsistent with a strong rational reli­ gious faith. The Spencerian faith, that final truth of the Spencerian philosophy, is really what is called �HERBERT SPENCER’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 47 Panentheism. It is a consciousness of God which, to use his own words, “ gives the religious sentiment the widest possible sphere of action.” “ Every man may properly consider himself as one of the myriad agencies through whom works the Unknown Cause. And when the Unknown Cause produces in him a certain belief, he is thereby authorised to profess and act out that belief.” Such a faith by no means banishes the thought of God’s transcendence, properly understood; but it brings God so near to us as to irradiate our whole life with his presence, and make us rejoice in his perpetual inspiration. To the man who holds this faith “ Earth’s crammed with heaven And every common bush afire with God.” Mr. Spencer would probably have scouted all asso­ ciation with so distinctly religious a conception as this. But the unity of the Divine and human natures is a religious as well as a philosophical idea. And the quotations here given, and the considerations naturally suggested by them, show, we submit, that to the pro­ mulgation of this doctrine Mr. Spencer must be acknowledged as directly contributory. His phrase­ ology is characteristically metaphysical, and his caution is consistently Agnostic. But the thing signified is essentially the same. And, if this conten­ tion be sound, Mr. Spencer has earned that which he neither wrought for nor hoped for—the lasting thanks of every Christian thinker. �Chapter IV. HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION— THE CONTRIBUTION OF PSYCHOLOGY “ The soul in some way—how, we know not—identical with God.” —Tennyson. In previous chapters we endeavoured to show that the great modern exponents of the purely scientific and materialistic attitude of mind had reached a conclusion so profound and suggestive as to constitute the basis of an idealistic philosophy. Spencer’s declaration of the identity of the power of which we are conscious in ourselves (as force, will, or energy) with the great Power or energy outside of us, strikes one, when we first encounter it in his writings, as a boulder from a higher latitude, a meteoric stone from a world beyond his philosophical range. Yet there it is—propounded and reiterated—though not, we venture to think, with his full customary realisa­ tion, or at least admission, of its philosophical import. The object of this chapter is to show that this same conclusion was reached long ago by minds equally powerful with that of Spencer, and on lines perfectly distinct from his, and at first sight apparently quite opposed in their direction. Purely psychological thinkers, occupying a position of perfect aloofness towards all schools of thought, and dealing directly with the elemental energies of human nature, have in their more abstract way been equally compelled to proclaim the same truth, which we cannot but regard, 48 �49' HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION therefore, as the greatest generalisation of modern times. The long, slow outcome of Western thought, from the days of Plato, and even Thales, to those of Kant and Hegel, and the whole modern schools of Western Europe, is just the slow but steadily growing appre­ hension of this same truth, veiled, no doubt, in the garb of metaphysics and psychology, but, when stripped of its technicalities and cleared from its haze, seen to be absolutely one with the truth discerned by Haeckel and Spencer. Nay, more. By the very necessity of the case, the purely psychological thinker, when he does reach his conclusion, states it in a form that is more comprehensive still than either of the others, and shows them to be but illus­ trations in their own sphere of a great dynamic fact that is part and parcel of the very being of man. It would be endless to attempt to trace in detail the long, slow movement of human thought which has finally culminated in this conclusion. But, in order to make the conclusion more intelligible, it is almost necessary to point out the two main lines on which the movement has proceeded, dealing, as they do, respectively with the objective and the subjective worlds —with the thinking being and the object thought. At one time, and among particular nations, and especially in the earlier stages of thought, the in­ fluence of the objective world naturally predominated, at another the subjective. In both cases the human spirit was searching for the same thing—seeking more or less consciously an access to the Divine Spirit. It is the generalisation which both have finally peached that now throws back a light that gives every step of the movement a meaning, and shows them all to have been directly or indirectly contributing to the slowly evolving conclusion. E �50 HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION In Egypt, for example, the objective world was fatally victorious. There was not sufficient intel­ lectual reaction in the Egyptian mind. The thinking spirit was dwarfed and intimidated by the terrors and immensities of Nature. Egypt, therefore, cannot be said in strictness to have left us any philosophy. In India it was exactly otherwise. The Indians pro­ duced no history. Their writings, which are psycho­ logical and religious, are really their history. Their spiritual passion, their joy in the soaring, seeing power of the human spirit, is the special and valuable contri­ bution of India to the world’s grasp of the Divine. In China, on the other hand, the sense of the invisible and ideal seems almost to have been absent. But this cannot really be the case. Laotse’s teaching was kin with Indian and later Western thought. But Confucius was the typical Chinese mind. And the teachings of Confucius are not a philosophy at all. They are but the hard-baked fossils from a soil on which a long anterior philosophy once flourished. Practical maxims and ceremonial directions are not philosophy ; neither are they religion. They are but—in Bacon’s phrase —its translation into the vulgar tongue. Confucius inculcated reverential forms. The ancient thinkers of China had more or less clearly discerned that, in whose presence reverence was the only fitting attitude of spirit. Confucius taught rules of conduct between man and man. The ancient thinkers had grasped the principle of reason and justice of which all rules of conduct are but working formulae. This reason was the divinest thing Confucius knew. This is not a large or very vitalising contribution to human thought. But it contained an element of the ideal. It sprang from the moral vision of that ancient people. A great nation has lived on it for ages. Even at the lowest estimate, it is an illustration on a large scale �HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 51 of the saying that “it is marvellous in what a com­ paratively exhausted receiver the Divine spark will continue to burn.” At the highest estimate, it was an illustration of astonishing devotion, not to the vivid conception of a Divine Being, but to what we may call the metaphysical principle (the idea, as Plato afterwards called it) of law, order, duty. And in so far it entitles Chinese thought to a humble place in the pantheon of Philosophy. To the Persian mind, again, the spiritual world seems to have been its native atmosphere. And it is surely striking to notice that it was through the exercise of their naturally keen moral sense that they rose to the conception of the Eternal Spirit. Is it not in reality a curious anticipation of one of the modern declarations of European philosophy, in which Kant acknowledges the Categorical Imperative as the most commanding evidence to man of the Eternal Spirit, of which our own is an abiding echo ? Was its highest spiritual conception, of which the most fitting symbols they could find were light and fire, not an anticipation even of the Christian con­ ception of Him “ Who is Light, and in Him is no darkness at all ” ? Yet Zoroaster failed to find a solution of the moral difficulty of the world. But who are we, with our Satan and our story of the Fall, that can afford to smile contempt at the Ahriman of the Persian theology ?x i<n a book on The Ideals of the East, just published by a Japanese author (London : John Murray; 5s. net; 1903), is to be found a very discerning confirmation of the general view here taken. The author, Kakasu Okakura, emphasises the unity of Asia," the love for the ultimate and universal which is the common thought and inheritance of every Asiatic race,” and finds in “Arab chivalry, Persian poetry, Chinese ethics, and Indian thought a common life, bearing in different regions different characteristic blossoms, but nowhere capable of a hard and fast dividing line.” Speaking of his own special subject, the art of Japan, he says: “The history of Japanese art becomes the history of �52 HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION Buddhism, again, was the great Protestantism of the East. And in its philosophical aspect our Western Protestantism pales its ineffectual fires before it altogether. Buddhism not only reasserted with a vehemence and passion that have astonished the world, the truth of which its ancient predecessor had been a great efflorescence—the truth, namely, that there was a Divine strength in the human spirit, a power of piercing to the unseen, and of true com­ munion with the Eternal Spirit. It carried that faith to a point not even yet dreamed of by the ordinary Western mind. As F. D. Maurice says :— European sages in the last century and in the present have cried out: “When will philosophy break loose from the fetters which priests have imposed upon it ?” Philosophy in Asia performed that task 2,000 years ago. It threw off the yoke which was become quite intolerable. It affirmed that man’s soul is capable of unlimited expansion. It claimed for that soul the homage due to a divinity. It made no mere idle boast of power. It actually won the allegiance of multitudes. (Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy, p. 53.) Or, to use the words of Professor Rhys Davids:— For the first time in the history of the world, Buddhism proclaimed a salvation which each man could gain for himself, by himself, in this world, during this life, without having the least reference to God or Gods, either great or small.1 This conviction was a tremendous advance on anything previously attained or attempted. The only thing that can give it a reasonable explanation to our minds is the belief that its founder, at least, and his Asiatic ideals—the beach where each successive wave of Eastern thought has left its sand and ripple as it beat against the national consciousness.” 1 Not only so, but, as M. Guyau says, “the Hindu books are the most extraordinary example of moral symbolism. The entire world appears to the Buddhist as the realisation of the moral law, sine© in his view beings take rank in the universe according to their virtues or vices, mount or descend on the ladder of life according to tbeir moral elevation or abasement. Buddhism is, in certain respects, an effort to find in morals a theory of the universe.” (Non-Religionof the Future, p. 170.) �HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 53 immediate followers, felt the passionate inspiration of this very principle, whose slow possession by the human spirit we are attempting to trace, the affinity of their own spirits with the Eternal Spirit. In this light what has often been called mere Atheism was but Mysticism become conscious of itself, and exer­ cising the spiritual strength which intense conscious­ ness of the Divine always supplies. Even when we come to Greece, the great forerunner and inspirer of the European intellect, what a long process of vacillating thought do we find ! The philo­ sophical and scientific and psychological instincts are all there. At all hazards the Greek felt that he must find the reason or cause or single idea (if there was one) that lay at the root of things. Water, air, earth, fire, even number, were successively set forth as the one secret of the visible universe. But these early Greek physicists were more poets than physicists. They looked, and dreamed, and allegorised; but the era of patient observation was not yet. By-and-bye, however, they began to be conscious of laws or an order which seemed to govern the inner world of their own minds. And this conception of the laws of thought is of interest here, not for its details, but because it was, so far as it went, a true intuition—a direct attempt at the analysis of human consciousness. As such, it was the opening of a new and most suggestive channel of inspiration as to the very Being that is at the centre of the universe. “ Know thyself ” contained the possibility of a true knowledge of the Divine. Plato was the first mediator between the two great factors of the world of thought. He set forth in the strength of his own spirit, and endeavoured to enter and breathe the atmosphere of the Divine. Plato the Seer came down from the Mount like Moses the �54 HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION Legislator, but not with tables of stone to be a work­ ing code for a hard-hearted people. Plato, too, felt the Spirit of the Eternal coursing through his own soul, and, with the instinct of the poet and the seer, he bodied it forth in thoughts that have ever since been the accepted foundation of all spiritual philo­ sophy. As has been well said of him, “ Plato’s abstractions seem to become for him not merely substantial things in themselves, but little short of living persons, and constituting together a sort of divine family or hierarchy with which the mind of the individual, so far as it is reasonable and really knows, is in communion and correspondence.” Plato faced the problem of duality, and minimised no side of the difficulties connected with it. He set all his suc­ cessors on the right track towards its solution. From Plato down, it would be a task too minute to attempt to follow the course of thought in detail. Enough to point out that from his time, with varying intensity, each side of this great antinomy came to the front. It was this double consciousness in its most intense form that was found in the pure, strong vision of Jesus, the profoundest and most practical of all the mystics. The truth which fuses these two sides of the human consciousness together into a great moral and spiritual force was not only implicit but even explicit in his teaching. Jesus was no speculator. But the intuitive mystical element in the Jewish nature had come to a climax in him. He saw and felt intensely this union of the Divine and human natures. It was this that he lived to teach and died to attest. “ I and my Father are one.’M “ That ye (His disciples) may be one, even as we are one.” And if this is the truth for which the religion of Jesus stands, and of which it was the first complete assertion, what a light it throws on the character and person of Jesus! �HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 55 How is it conceivable or consistent with any just notions we can form of a Divine economy, that an emanation of deity of a kind previously unheard of should have to appear among men, in order to teach us authoritatively a truth which lay in the direct line of human thought and investigation 1 Such an idea, instead of emphasising, tends rather to nullify the principle of the Divine self-manifestation. Paul could boldly speak of men as “ the temple of God,” and to very poor specimens of mankind did he address these pregnant words. Even uneducated Peter could describe the object of the Christian life in such mystical words as these: “ That ye might be partakers of the Divine nature.” But the Church for ages almost smothered this essential truth under a mass of dogmas and symbols and organisation such as the world has hardly seen matched elsewhere. The Reformation (to take a long leap forward) was essentially, so far as it went, a reassertion of this inherent dignity and glory of the human spirit. Descartes' “ I think, therefore I am,” and Schopen­ hauer's “ I will, and that is the essential element not only of my being, but of all spiritual existence,” were fresh reassertions of the inalienable force of the human spirit, and did much to hasten the inevitable conclusion. Spinoza's whole work was an unmatched expression of this great reassertion, but the pantheistic monism in which it culminated was, in his day, too absolute a diet for daily food. Kant's doctrine of the generative power of the human spirit as the creator and fashioner of all that can be called true knowledge was the nearest approach that had been made since the days of Plato to the solution of the riddle of philosophy. A dis­ cerning writer (Schwegler) says of Kant:— As regards the thing-in-itself that lies behind the appearance of �56 HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION sense, Kant, in the first edition of his work, expressed himself as if it were possible that it and the Ego might be one and the same thinking substance. This thought, which Kant only threw out as a conjecture, has been the source of the whole subsequent evolution of philosophy. But it is when we come to Hegel, and study his capacious grasp of the whole problem, that we find the master-mind able to gather up the separate threads of previous philosophic thought and bind them together by a piercing insight and bold generalisation that is nothing else than a reassertion of this intuitive conjecture of Kant, which we take to be the greatest generalisation of modern times. Now, we do not pretend to break down Hegel for popular consumption. The 1,200 somewhat verbose pages1 in which The Secret of Hegel has been disclosed to English readers are enough to deter any ordinary man from the attempt. But, after all, the secret, as it is called, is there. And, despite the caution as to the impracticability of attempting to convey a general idea of a modern philosophic system for the benefit of “ well-informed people,” we venture to see in this Secret of Hegel, the most commanding analysis of that very consciousness and self-conscious­ ness yet made by any philosopher, and the most daring transference of the results of that analysis to the curtain of the Infinite, to the very mind of God. As the author of The Secret of Hegel says, “ that process of self-consciousness strikes the keynote of the whole method and matter of Hegel ” (p. 78). 1 Dr. Stirling’s style, in its alliterative, accumulative, and accentuated ponderosity, is most irritating. It is not confined to The Secret of Hegel. Here is a passage taken at random from his Gifford Lectures, p. 279 : “ It is really very odd, but Hume is never for a brief instant aware that in that he has answered his own cardinal, crucial, and climacteric question. The immediate nexus, the express bond, the very tie which he challenged you and me and the whole world to produce, he actually at that very moment produces himself, holds up in his hand even, openly shows, expressly names, and emphatically insists upon. ’ ’ �HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 57 Kant had sounded the same depths before Hegel. Kant, indeed, had discerned and laid bare to ordinary thinking men the leading land-marks, the constitutive elements of human thought. He called these the “ Categories of Thought.” These categories (which we need not here refer to in detail) Hegel grasped, unified, and expanded, and declared them to be essential elements of that Pure Reason in man which is absolutely kin and identical with the Universal Reason which is God. Hegel, in fact, showed that what the Mystics knew to be the only satisfaction of their spiritual nature was also the only possible answer and satisfaction to the very laws of thought. A later expounder of Hegel (Professor Wallace, Prolegomena to the Logic of Hegel) says, emphasising the very point we here insist on:— The Hegelian was the first attempt to display the organisation of Thought pure and entire, as a whole and in its details. The organism of thought as the living reality and gist of the external world and the world within us is called the “ Idea ” (p. 174). The Idea is the reality and ideality of the world, the totality con­ sidered as a process beyond time. God reveals his absolute nature in the several relatives of the process. He is cognisable in those points where that process comes to self-perception or self-apprehension. They are the several forms under which the Absolute is cognisable to man. In logical language, these forms of the Absolute are the Categories of Thought. And he proceeds to comment thus on a well-known and vital philosophical controversy :— Spencer and Mansel, Hamilton and Mill, are nearly all at one in banishing God and religion to a world beyond the present sublunary sphere, to an inscrutable region beyond the scope of scientific inquiry. He is the Unknown Power, felt by what some of these writers call Intuition, and others call Experience. They do not, however, allow to knowledge any capacity for apprehending in detail the truths which belong to the Kingdom of God. The whole teaching of Hegel is the overthrow of the limits thus set to religious thought. To him, all thought and all actuality, when it is grasped by knowledge, is from man’s side, an exaltation of the mind towards God; while, when regarded from the Divine standpoint, it is the manifestation of His own nature in its infinite variety (p. 27). In short, we may say that God is cognisable by man �58 HEGEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION just because the very spiritual substance of man is a breath and true part of the Divine Spirit; and the highest forms in which the human mind can think, and according to which it is ultimately compelled to think, are just those features of the Divine mind which are irrevocably stamped on the human spirit. This embracing thought of Hegel, then, the unity of the thinking being and the object thought, of the subject and the object, of the Divine nature and our human nature, we take not only on its merits, but because we find it, as we have shown, to be the essential identical conclusion reached by quite inde­ pendent thinkers. In respect of their personal attitudes towards religion, no one would dream of linking together such men as Haeckel and Spencer with Hegel. Our sole object here is to show that on quite independent but analogous lines all three have reached what is essen­ tially the same conclusion. All three contribute their own characteristic corroboration to the teaching of the religious instinct. They confirm us in the possession of a solid rational foundation for that which the human heart demands, and the higher reason has always supplied. �Chapter V. THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION —THE CONTRIBUTION OE SPIRITUAL INSIGHT “Avicenna, the Philosopher, ‘ All that he sees I know. ’ Abu Said, the Mystic, ‘ All that he knows I see.’ ” Mysticism is often regarded as a transient and unim­ portant excrescence on the religious history of man. On the contrary, it is neither transient nor unim­ portant. It is found in active force and in developed form among some of the earliest peoples of whom we have any record. East and West, we find it in all climes and among all races. The peculiar feature of the mystics is that in their most characteristic moments and states they seem to ignore and overleap merely intellectual barriers, and fly straight to the apprehension of the very truth which we find so laboriously wrought out by more cautious and sceptical minds. The mystics, wherever we find them, profess to have reached the joyous con­ sciousness of a union with the Divine Spirit beyond any power of description which they themselves could command, or which others, however desirous to do so, could adequately understand. How is this to be explained ? How should one man feel himself com­ pelled by the hard necessity of his ratiocinative faculties to plod step by step, and with long oscillations, 59 �60 THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION towards a point which another man seems able to reach with almost lightning speed, and to leave little or no tatiocinative track to show his path ? Is there any/svidential value in the experience of such men towards understanding the great conclusion which they, in common with very different minds, arrive at ? What, in short, is the rationale of mysticism ? Those who have studied the writings and the lives of the mystics have not hesitated to declare them to be the most profoundly spiritual of the race. One of the most philosophical minds of our day (the Master of Balliol) has defined mysticism as “Religion in its most concentrated and exclusive form, that in which all other relations are swallowed up in the relation of the soul to God.” Another Gifford lecturer (Professor Wm. James, of Harvard) says to the same effect that “ all personal religious experience has its root and centre in mystical states of consciousness.” And mysticism is distinguished from all other phases of mental action in this—that it cannot be called the direct result of long intellectual processes. Intellectual differences have formed the perpetual element of division among ordinary religious people, and are much modified after every minor or major “reformation” that takes place. The essential ideas, and, generally speaking, even the language, of the mystic recur age after age with remarkable uniformity. The explanation lies on the surface—the thought of the mystic is nearer the centre, if we may so say, than that of any other student of divine things. And if mysticism be thus more deeply rooted than ordinary forms of faith, any fluctuation in the form of expres­ sion is so lit up by the vivid inner faith as to be seen as but the play of the intellect round that which is beyond its grasp. The true mystic thus finds himself as much at home in the spiritual apophthegms of �THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 61 ancient India or Persia as in those of modern Europe. The mysticism of the ancient Brahmanic faith is well known; and we refer to it here only to point out a characteristic feature of mysticism wherever we find it. One able writer says :— Mysticism as a genuine, progressive world-illuminating power began with the Greeks. The Indians, no doubt, asserted the I and the not I to be one. But they made nothing of this great truth, save to seek, each man for himself, absorption into the Absolute. The Absolute was real; the Phenomenal was illusion. The Greeks were more honest thinkers. 'In short, the Indians were merely mystics. The Greeks were mystics plus philosophers. There is undoubtedly truth in this statement. The mystical consciousness, unless it can be intellectualised—expressed, that is to say, in more or less definite and illuminating language—will never be of much spiritual value to other minds—though there is a most true sense in which the mystic consciousness is “ineffable”; its spiritual contents cannot be effectively conveyed from one to another, just as the sun’s rays may be reflected from one object to another, but the full strength of his influence must be received directly by each object for itself. But the form which this mysticism assumed in the ancient Indian mind was not the result of a mere unassisted imaginative tour de force. It had been preceded, we may be sure, by thought and experience. And though the actual entry into 4jhe mystic consciousness would no doubt be what is called an intuitive act, which at one bound rose above the level of the intellect, brooding meditation is the soil from which it grows. For the very perception of the phenomenal as Maya or Illusion was almost certainly the outcome of long meditation on the fleeting things of time and sense. And though they could not succeed in thinking this phenomenal into God, or conceiving it in terms of God, these mystical minds felt that there was no abiding city; that, on the contrary, their own spirits were greater �62 THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION than all these visible things; that this spirit of theirs must, in some deep sense, be an index to the meaning of the world; and they clasped to their hearts the belief that God was not only spirit, like themselves, but the only Spirit, the only Reality in the universe, and their own spirits but breaths and sparks of that Eternal Spirit with whom it was their highest spiritual satisfaction to feel themselves united. We may call this philosophy or not, as we choose. It was the profoundest philosophy the world had at that time heard of. And even European philosophers whose names no thinker can afford to despise have called these “ the loftiest heights of philosophy.” The correct definition of mysticism, however, is a minor question. The real point is that the mystic—that is, the charac­ teristically religious spirit—long since instinctively grasped the truth which we desire to emphasise : the union of the Divine with the human. The Platonic doctrine that the human soul is a portion of the Divine nature is as simple a digest of the mystic principle as any. And even Plato was long antici­ pated by the old Brahmanic philosophy. “ The kernel of the Vedantic philosophy—the great sentence, it is called—is ‘ Tat tv am asi ’—‘ That thou art.’ Thou, 0 neophyte, art thyself the Brahman whom thou seekest to know. Thou thyself art a part of the All.” And see how naturally this same thought finds itself reproduced in our latest modern philosophy. Hegel says, recognising the affinity to his own deepest thought, of the great Persian mystic lately introduced to English readers by Dr. Hastie :— In the excellent Jelaleddin Rumi in particular we find the unity of the soul with the One set forth, and that unity described as Love. And this spiritual unity is an exaltation above the finite and common, a transfiguration of the natural and spiritual in which the externalism and transitoriness of nature is surmounted. In this poetry, which soars above all that is external and sensuous,, who would recognise the prosaic ideas current about so-called Pantheism ? �THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 63 It is easy to see how such a faith might lead its possessors into many extravagancies. Modern illus­ trations will occur to every reader. Take Bohme, the German mystic. Bohme in early life felt so acutely the working and suggestions of his own spirit that he instinctively regarded the thoughts which thus came to him as Divine revelations. And he was nearer the truth in this than colder natures could imagine. His consciousness of the Divine was not at fault; it was no hallucination. But his efforts at exposition were often confused, and even unintelligible. Not only so ; his mind was so hampered and bound by an almost slavish adherence to the dogmas of his day that his writings. often suggest to the mind of the reader the wild flutterings of an eagle in the cage of a sparrow. There are, in fact, two classes of mystics. One, the more familiar, consists of such as Bohme, Blake, and even Swedenborg, whose forte, and at the same time weakness, was that they felt themselves overwhelmed by the Infinite—their spirits swayed helplessly beyond the control of the intellect, in a kind of hypnotic sleep of the spirit. Their mystical experience intoxicated them—made them all one as if they were insane. They often failed to grasp the mystic lesson that their reason is but universal reason. Hence it was not to the normal workings of their spirit that they attended. Voices, visions, ecstatic visitations—these only were to them messages from God. In the case of other mystic souls the mighty thought of their oneness with the All steadied rather than staggered their intellects. Tyndall, in a letter, recalls Tennyson saying of the mystical condition, with the passionate confidence of one who has experienced it, “ By God Almighty! there is no delusion in the matter! It is no nebulous ecstasy, but a state of �64 THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION transcendent wonder, associated with absolute clear­ ness of mind ” (Memoirs of TennysonfrNoX. ii., p. 473). The thought of their oneness "with the All freed them from “ the heresy of separateness,” and enabled them to say, “If we are one with the All, the thought that is in us is not our thought, but simply Thought. It follows that, if we cautiously yet boldly record the utterances of our own spirit, we shall be recording the everlasting oracles themselves.” Thus Plato, Wordsworth, Emerson, and a host of others. Plotinus, who has been called “ the only analytical mystic,” only twice or thrice in his life claimed to have had direct vision of the perfect and absolute One. His intellect was too active and critical to admit of its habitual surrender to the mystic passion. Inspiration has been called merely “ an intensified state of consciousness and he is but a poor specimen of our common human nature in whom the Divine does not find some more or less conscious flashpoint. The commonest experience of this, and fortunately the most valuable for the conduct of life, is that of our moral convictions. The man who has learned the force of the categorical imperative, as Kant called it, or the imperious dictate of a reasonably enlightened conscience, has learned the presence of the Divine in his inner nature, even if the thought of it strikes him as a kind of presumptuous familiarity. “ Stern daughter of the voice of God ” is not all a metaphor. We touch the Divine, or, rather, the Divine touches us, at many points. Who has not felt it ? Who has not experienced something of that overshadowing of his spirit that comes through what we appropriately call Communion—that conscious approach to the Divine which slowly, but at last instantaneously, passes into unconscious submersion of the spirit ? �THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 65 “Clear thought dies out in love’s absorbed delight.” “ With thy sweet soul this soul of mine Hath mixed as water doth with wine. Who can the wine and water part, Or me and thee when we combine ? Thou art become my greater self ; Small bounds no more can me confine. Thou hast my being taken on ; And shall not I now take on thine?” —Jelaleddin, X. When that stage of spiritual intensity is reached, the only language possible is that of symbol. And the symbols, being but the counters of the intellect, are but feeble illustrations of that which is the ineffable and incommunicable. They have their value up to a certain point. Beyond that, their light is lost in a brightness that is past their ken. And yet mysticism is not unrelated to ordered thought. There is no reason to suppose that it is in any way incompatible with the largest attainments of scientific and philosophic thought. On the contrary, it has nothing to fear from the encroachment of the scientific spirit. Latest science and latest philosophy alike point unmistakeably to the truth which is the core of mysticism. In the words of a careful French writer,1 “ It is my opinion that mysticism, pure of all alloy, will expand as much as science, and will expand with it.” The progress of scientific and philosophic thought, therefore, only confirms the mystic faith. Mysticism, in its exercise of what we call intuition, or deep spiritual passion, has thus all along dis­ counted the slow attainment of more prosaic powers. Spencer’s own conclusion is that mysticism underlies all knowledge. To-day it is the slow-footed scientific spirit that is at last coming into line with the swift, unquestioning faith of the mystic. All shades of the 1 E. Recejae, Essay on the Basis of the Mystic Knowledge, trans­ lated by S. C. Upton (Kegan Paul & Co., 1899). F �66 THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION orthodox faith, if they could recognise their true interest, would thank God, not merely for the strong, persistent faith of the mystic, which has borne per­ petual witness to that for which all religion stands, but for the latest outcome of modern thought, which, so far from weakening that faith, is rendering its essence more impregnable than ever. See, for example, how even the Agnostic may find himself fundamentally at one with the mystic. To Dionysius, the mystic, Negation and Affirmation were the two appropriate methods for knowledge of the Infinite. Vaughan says of him—and the words cannot fail to recall to memory the ever-recurring language of our modern Agnostics—“ To assert anything concern­ ing a God who is above all affirmation is to speak in a figure—to veil him. The more you deny concerning him, the more of such veils do you remove. By Nega­ tion we approach most nearly to a true apprehension of what he is.” Thus does the mystic avail himself of the Agnostic’s most cherished phrases as the fittest help in the expression of his own deepest faith. God is regarded as “ the Nameless,” “ the inscrutable Anonymous.” With all deference to Spencer’s favourite phrase, “ the Unknowable,” this of the Nameless and the inscrutable Anonymous is distinctly superior. It covers the whole difference between the Agnostic and the mystic. Of the existence of the eternal reality both are passionately convinced. Both are prepared to defend it against all shades of mate­ rialists. The Agnostic never gets or hopes to get any nearer to an apprehension of the Infinite Reality. All his phraseology is the phraseology of despair. When he has once satisfied himself of its reality, he im­ mediately turns his back and retires from its presence with a wail of hopeless denials. He thus feels himself for ever debarred from attempting to commune with �THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION 67 the Eternal. The mystic, on the contrary, even with a similar and reverent refrain of denials, feels himself drawn ever the nearer to the one object of his faith. “ I am what is and is not; I am the Soul in All. ”—Jelaleddin, XVI. Dionysius, with the mystic’s ready gift for similes, aptly compares his negative method of speaking con­ cerning the Supreme, to the operation of the sculptor who strikes off fragment after fragment of the marble, and progresses by diminishing. With such an issue as this before us we must beware of becoming entangled in the limitations and inadequacies of mere words. To the true mystic language is but noise. As one of them said ages ago :— So long as the bee is outside the petals of the flower it buzzes and emits sounds ; but when it is inside the flower the sweetness thereof has silenced and overpowered the bee. Forgetful of sounds and of itself, it drinks the nectar in quiet. Men of learning, you too are making a noise in the world; but know the moment you get the slightest enjoyment of the sweetness of the love of God you will be like the bee in the flower, inebriated with the nectar of Divine love. (“Ramakrishna,” Nineteenth Century, August, 1896.) ^hus do the mysticism of thousands of years ago and the latest generalisation of modern philosophy meet and join hands in one and the same truth. And as Professor Wm. James suggests (p. 389):— What reader of Hegel can doubt that that sense of a perfected Being, with all its otherness soaked up into itself, which dominates his whole philosophy, must have come from the prominence in his conscious­ ness of mystical moods in most persons kept subliminal ? Our union with the Divine, then, the truth which was clasped to their hearts by the mystics with the first appearance of developed thought, has been con­ tributed to directly or indirectly by every nation under the sun; has at last been slowly, and one might say almost unwillingly, confessed by the purely scientific men who were not searching for it; has been acknow­ ledged by discerning Christian theologians as the fundamental principle of their faith; has been finally �68 THE MYSTICS’ CONTRIBUTION TO RELIGION grasped and stated in its most comprehensive form by the legitimate heirs of all the slow deposits of human thought, and stands forth challenging the verdict, not only of philosophers, but of every human being who chooses to think seriously on the subject, and is destined, we believe, to provide ultimately a great eirenicon for all the creeds and cults of the human race. �Chapter VI. WANTED—A NEW BUTLER “ There is in progress a movement vastly more important than that which is the special concern of the higher criticism, and that is the total reconstruction of theological theory, in fearless logical accord with the truth of incarnation.”—“ The Christ of To-day” It would be interesting to trace the disintegrating and at the same time illuminating effect which the general naturalistic view expressed in the preceding pages has on Church dogma. That must be left for some future occasion. Meantime, it is distinctly suggestive to note the confusion and perplexity which the want of such a view creates in the minds of the more thoughtful adherents of the Church. The best minds, of course, feel this most. But it is not often that we find it so vividly illustrated, and even admitted, as in a recent work by a representative theologian. Dr. Fairbairn, of Mansfield College, has lately brought his proved ability and insight to bear on a Philosophy of the Christian Religion. It is one of many like attempts; and we call attention to this one here because it is an elaborate effort to apply anew, in the full light of modern science and criticism, the famous Analogy of Butler. So faithful is the attempt at reproduction that the good Bishop’s failures, too, have been carefully repeated, on a scale proportionate to the larger material now available for the treatment of the argument. For, as is well known, Butler attempted too much. In principle, his argument was 69 �70 WANTED—A NEW BUTLER irrefragable. It was a memorable tu quoque to the Deists of his time. But he accepted to the full the whole dogmatic framework of the Church, and deemed it to be his duty to show that even dogmas that have been quite discarded since were equally in line with his great analogy. Needless to say, that was an impossible and futile task. The Bishop’s natural cast of mind and his reveren­ tial study of “ the constitution and course of nature ” assure us that, in other circumstances and with larger light, he would have been the first man to hail the slow, orderly, self-manifestation of God as the one key to Nature and Religion alike. Unfortunately, the nearest approach he could make to this larger concep­ tion was to “prove,” as he endeavoured to do, that that special dispensation of Providence, the Christian Religion, being “ a scheme or system of things carried on by the mediation of a Divine person, the Messiah, in order to the recovery of the world,” is analogous to what is experienced in “ the constitution and course of Nature.” “ The whole analogy of Nature,” he says, p. 151, chap. v.,“ removes all imagined presump­ tion against the general notion of a Mediator between God and man. For we find all living creatures are brought into the world, and their life in infancy is pre­ served, by the instrumentality of others; and every satisfaction of it, in some way or other, is bestowed by the like means ” ! That is to say, the fact that we are brought into the world by means of the instrumentality and mediation of our parents is the good Bishop’s proof, by analogy, that the theological mediatorship ascribed to Christ, in the Church’s dogmatic system, is a truth consonant with all Nature. The Bishop dug from a rich quarry, and his ground­ plan was admirable ! But his architecture is �WANTED—A NEW BUTLER 71 antiquated, and many of his rooms are long since deserted. Dr. Fairbairn adjusts his effort to the new situation, and fortunately puts the crux of the matter plainly before his readers. “ The problem of the person of Christ,” he says, “ is exactly the point in the Christian religion where the intellect feels overweighted by mysteries it cannot resolve.” Another question arises—Is that mystery “ a thing of nature, or is it a made or manufactured article, a myth which the logical intellect has woven out of the material offered by a simple and beautiful story”? The theological mystery of the person of Christ is undoubtedly “ a made or manufactured article.” We accept Dr. Fairbairn’s description of the process of its pro­ duction :— The imaginations [of the early disciples and evangelists], touched by the enthusiasm of an all-believing love, became creative, and they saw Jesus as if he had been the Messiah they had hoped he was.... and it needed only the fearless logic of a metaphysical, unscientific age to identify him with Deity, and resolve his humanity by the incarnation of the Son of God. But that process of their imagination, and that logic of a metaphysical unscientific age, were really uncon­ scious vindications of that larger truth, that universal “ mystery ” in which there is nothing that is “ficti­ tious or artificial,” but which is, on the contrary,the full expression of that unity of the Divine and the human for which Jesus lived and died. Under the unconscious shelter of this deeper truth, the conflicting theological contentions of the Gnostics, the Arians, and the Athanasians find their explana­ tion and their historical justification. Without the hard-fought decision of the early Councils, this larger truth would have been lost for ages. Without this larger truth, waiting its full realisation, the deification would have remained in the region of pure dogma, �72 WANTED—A NEW BUTLER and lost its fertilising power altogether. At the present moment this is more apparent than ever before in the history of Christian theology. Scaf­ folding after scaffolding is being taken down, and the “ building not made with hands, eternal in the heavens,” and in the heart of man, is being laid bare to our view, and all the struggles of past ages justified and made intelligible. Dr. Fairbairn himself admits that it is not the Gospel records that supply him with the chief mystery of the person of Christ:— It is not Jesus of Nazareth who has so powerfully entered into history. It is the deified Christ, who has been believed, loved, and obeyed as the Saviour of the world. The act of apotheosis created the Christian religion (p. 15). The question as to the person of Christ is a problem directly raised by the place he holds and the functions he has fulfilled in the life of man collectively and individually. And so boldly does Dr. Fairbairn sum up his solution of the problem that he says :— The conception of Christ stands related to history, as the idea of God is related to nature—i.e., each is in its own sphere the factor of order and the constitutive condition of a rational system (p. 18). This is the point where a sober philosophy parts company with Dr. Fairbairn. For, needless to say, this is a tremendous contention to maintain. Here is how he attempts to base his analogy:— What do the theories of energy and evolution mean but the con­ tinuance of the creative process ? But if new forms in biology have emerged, if from however mean an origin, in a mode however low, mind once began to be, why may not new and higher types appear in the modes and forms of being known to history as politics, ethics, religion ? In other words, may not the very power which determined the appearance of the form, and the whole course of evolution from it, determine also the appearance of creative persons in history, and all the events which may follow from their appearance ? Might we not describe the failure of the fit or needed man to appear at some supreme moment as a failure which affects the whole creation ? And would not the work which he did for God be the measure of the degree of the Divine presence or quantity of the Divine energy immanent within him ? It seems fair, then, to conclude that, so far from the idea of a supernatural person being incompatible with the modern idea of nature, it is logically involved in it! �WANTED—A NEW BUTLER 73 Will any tyro in logic pretend that this attempted analogy from new forms in biology can by any strain of legitimate reasoning suggest a “ Divine Man,” a “ stupendous miracle,” as he elsewhere calls Christ ? The attempt made in this passage is quite unworthy of Dr. Fairbairn, and absolutely inconsistent with the profession of his preface. He shuffles and alters the cards in such a way that, beginning with the innocent phrase, “ new and higher types,” he passes on to “ creative persons then deliberately steps from the plural into the singular number, “ the fit or needed man,” which is still, however, conceivable as one of’ an orderly series; and at last boldly “ concludes ” for “ a supernatural person,” as being “ logically involved ” in the idea he started with. This is first to parade a philosophical attitude, and then repudiate it inch by inch. Supernatural man—that is to say, man conceived in terms of the invisible and transcendental—Dr. Fairbairn apparently cannot bring himself to treat seriously as an element in philosophy. And yet he speaks of “the incarnate reason we call man” (p. 291), and in many passages uses language which shows how willingly, if he dared, he would utilise this larger conception if only he could reconcile with it the idea of “ the ” supernatural person, the “ stupendous miracle.” Even his friendly reviewer, Dr. Orr, feels compelled to point out this inconsistency. Referring to Dr. Fairbairn’s contention for the perfect super­ natural personality of Christ (p. 92), Dr. Orr says:— This is finely put, and undeniably has truth in it. But language must not conceal from us the fact that this mode of interpreting the supernatural, however noble, leaves us still a long way from the kind of supernatural implied in the incarnation, as Dr. Fairbairn would have us understand it, or in miracles like those of the evangelical history, as Dr. Fairbairn in a later chapter (pp. 331-5) defends them. What we have reached so far is the supernatural as a spiritual principle in nature, but not a supernatural which transcends �74 WANTED—A NEW BUTLER nature, save in the sense in which every man as personal and ethical is supernatural. The formula applicable to the former—viz., that the supernatural is but the natural viewed under a changed aspect (pp. 56, 307, etc.)—can certainly not be stretched without amphiboly to cover the supernatural of the Gospel and the Creeds. Dr. Fairbairn’s idealistic friends will go with him his whole length in the one contention. They would probably not go with him a single step in the other.1 Dr. Fairbairn’s comparison of Christ and Buddha is remarkably well drawn out. We cannot deal with it here in detail. Sufficient to say, nothing could be more strained and inconsistent than the quite opposite conclusions he draws from two cases admittedly so similar. Here again, Dr. Orr (though, like all his confreres, without the full courage of his conviction) says:— Here we may begin to feel that we are getting on very slippery ground indeed. There must be interpretation and apotheosis by the community, but in the case of Buddha, at any rate, that apotheosis is purely imaginative—fictional. Is it to be presumed that it is the same with Christ ? Dr. Fairbairn would repel that inference with his whole soul, but in some of his parallels he comes perilously near suggesting it.2 And again, referring to Dr. Fairbairn’s appeal to history as the ultimate verification of the claims of Christ:— Might not the same argument, mutatis mutandis, be urged as estab­ lishing the truth of the conception of the idealised Buddha ? For our own part, we accept Dr. Fairbairn’s bracket­ ing of creation and incarnation. We are even pre­ pared to press the analogy. For, if truly applied, it is illuminating in the highest degree. But every analogy that can be consistently drawn from the idea of creation points not to a single historical event like the life of Christ, as Dr. Fairbairn contends, but to a fact as fundamental and universal as creation itself—the incarnation of God in humanity. If creation, as the rationale of the material universe, 1 Contemporary Review, September, 1902. 2 Ibid. �WANTED—A NEW BUTLER 75 be incarnation, as Dr. Fairbairn says—that is to say, an embodiment of the Divine so far as it goes —so, the analogy teaches us, incarnation, as the rationale of the moral and spiritual world, is the embodiment of the Divine in a sense and to a degree of which the material universe is only a pictorial suggestion. If the promise and potency of all organic life is enshrined in the germ which science has disclosed as its secret, so, if the analogy has any force at all, in that same germ there lies the promise and potency of all the moral and spiritual life of man. What the precise method of the Divine inhabitation may be neither science nor psychology will probably ever fathom. But in both respects the germ is possessed by the Divine energy, and all the wondrous life of man—body, soul, and spirit—lay latent in its insignificant folds. It is painfully evident that Dr. Fairbairn feels the inadequacy of his own attempt to apply the Bishop’s method to the problem which faces us to-day. It is this that explains his aspiration after something more effective than Butler’s Analogy. 11 The time is coming,” he says,“ and we shall hope the man is coming with it, which shall give us a new analogy, speaking a more generous and hopeful lan­ guage, breathing a nobler spirit, and aspiring to a larger day than Butler’s.” And the striking thing is that, feel­ ing this inadequacy so acutely, he was unable to grasp the larger analogy when it was put vividly before him. Dr. Fairbairn came into personal contact in India with men to whom the larger conception of incarnation is part of their spiritual being, and it is deeply inte­ resting to see how Dr. Fairbairn’s mind was affected by this contact. He admits frankly that he was both ‘ ‘ illuminated and perplexed ” by it. “It was not that his �76 WANTED—A NEW BUTLER previous knowledge of their religion was found to be in­ correct or false, but that it was mistaken in its emphasis.” This is a confession that does Dr. Fairbairn credit, and it expresses very correctly the exact position of his mind. He saw the larger truth, and was “ illumi­ nated.” He failed to see—or, rather, as we believe, he could not afford to admit—the radical importance, to a true philosophy of the Christian religion, of the great predominant doctrine of India, “ the community of Gods and men,” as Dr. Fairbairn calls it, or the in­ carnation of God in humanity, to give it its proper name. This is what “ perplexed ” him. “ The Jew,” he tells us, “ could not conceive how his God could become incarnate in any man. The Hindu cannot conceive how any man could be the sole and exclusive incarnation of God. He thinks of God as incarnate in every man and in all forms of life. In so thinking he makes incarnation in the Christian sense impos­ sible ; and, by deifying everything, he undeifies all.” Evidently, according to Dr. Fairbairn, we may have too much of the Divine! But “ what God hath cleansed, that call not thou common ”! So what God has glorified by his presence, that call not thou common or undeified, else you fly in the face of that very Scripture whose letter you so magnify. This truth requires no twisted or strained analogies to support it. Its perfect analogy with all Nature is complete. Dr. Fairbairn constantly flutters around it, but can never fling himself on it, or tear himself away from his great presupposition. He can say in one passage that “ the reason that is in man is one with the universal reason.” But for the practical purpose of his philosophy that is a forbidden fruit to him. He is afraid to pluck it, but cannot keep his eyes off it. Or, to change the metaphor, he is like the timid bather who cannot trust himself beyond the �WANTED—A NEW BUTLER 77 solid footing to which he has been accustomed, having no faith that the sea, the apparently yielding sea, can ever support him. ♦ The incarnation of God in all men, the manifestation of the Creator in the whole race he had created, might be an arguable position, but not its rigorous and exclusive individuation or restriction to a single person, out of all the infinite multitude of millions who have lived, are living, or are to live. In some such manner the understanding, by means of its keen, dexterous logic, might argue that “the ” incarnation was a mere fictitious and artificial mystery. , We feel, after reading such a passage, that the writer is really envying the “ arguable position ” and the “ keen dexterous logic ” to which he somewhat cynically refers. His dogmatic presupposition blinds him to the fact that this larger doctrine of incarnation is implicit, and in some places quite explicit, in his own faith, as that faith was taught by the Founder himself. To surrender what he has no better name for than “ the metaphysical conception of Christ,” and to hail in its place this great spiritual dynamic fact, would not only have fed his own spirit, but satisfied his intellect and proclaimed the essential truth of all religion. Dr. Fairbairn, when stating “ the problem,” in his opening chapter, speaks of the “mass of intricate complexities and incredibilities ” which surround the orthodox view of the person of Christ. And after letting “ the dexterous logician ” speak for himself, he says:— The dexterous logician is not the only strong intellect which has tried to handle the doctrine. The contradictions which he translates into rational incredibilities must either have escaped the analysis of men like Augustine or Aquinas, or have been by their thought transcended and reconciled in some higher synthesis. It is a whole­ some thing to remember that the men who elaborated our theologies were at least as rational as their critics, and that we owe it to historical truth to look at their beliefs with their eyes (p. 13). We accept the spirit of Dr. Fairbairn’s reference to these ancient authorities. There is a higher synthesis. ' * �78 WANTED—A NEW BUTLER It by no means follows that they had seized it. There is not necessarily any presumption in maintaining that these “ rational incredibilities,” of which Dr. Fairbairn speaks, have gradually forced modern thought towards a synthesis that, pin its simplicity, universality, and spiritual power, gives them all their due place, and preserves, for the higher life of man, all the truth which they contained. Illusion and tentative dogma have formed a large element in the moral and spiritual progress of man, Christian and pagan alike! We can only reconcile the confused attitude of Dr. Fairbairn in this whole book by suggesting that, to use a modern phrase, his subs liminal consciousness is loaded with the true higher synthesis which we here emphasise, but that his logical faculties are enlisted in the defence of the orthodox conceptions. He frequently writes as if under the influence of the former, but perpetually falls into the meshes of the latter. We commend to Dr. Fairbairn and his whole school the following from the Master of Balliol’s latest exposition. We know of no philosophical pronounce­ ment, in recent times, that means so much for the future of Christian thought, and that says what it means in plainer and less pugnacious language:— From the beginning Christianity involved a new conception of the relation of God to man. But this conception Was at first an unde­ veloped germ—a germ of which the whole history of thought from that time has been a development. It was the idea of God in man, and man, by a supreme act of self-surrender, finding the perfect realisation of himself as the son and servant of Go<t- It was this as embodied in an individual, to whom others might attach themselves, and by this attachment participate in the same life....... The issue of the contro­ versy (of the early centuries) at the moment was the assertion of the unity of Divinity and humanity in Christ, but this issue was deprived of a great part of its meaning, in so far as it was confined to Christ alone, and in so far as the unity was regarded, not as a unity realised in the process of the Christian life, but a unity that existed indepen­ dently of any process whatever. The imperfection of this result was explained by the necessity that the principle of unity of the human and the Divine should be asserted, ere it could be worked out to any �WANTED—A NEW BUTLER 79 further consequences. Christ was the one crucial instance, which, if it could be maintained as real, must inevitably determine the whole * issue. And if one man, living such a life of self-sacrifice for mankind, was in perfect unity with God, so that his consciousness of himself could be taken as the Divine self-consciousness, then must not the same be true of all who followed in the same road In that case, the highest goodness was shown to be only the realisation of an ideal which every human soul, as such, bears with it. There is the true philosophic ring. There is the true rationalising of the Christian religion, showing it to be, when rightly understood, in perfect harmony with the whole “ constitution and course of Nature.”1 If Dr. Fairbairn could have assimilated an inclusive principle, such as we have endeavoured to set forth, instead of the absolutely exclusive doctrine which forms the assumption of his book, he would not have been merely “ perplexed ” by what he saw and heard in India—he would have had his whole philosophy widened and rationalised, and would have been able to proclaim a far greater Analogy than Butler’s, in a ♦ universal truth which, once it is really seen, finds a response in the human spirit everywhere. He would have proved himself a pioneer in a movement which, sooner or later, must secure the spiritual sympathies, as *®ell as the philosophic acceptance, of Western « Europe. Dr. Fairbairn, in this great undertaking, has *lost his chance, and completely fails in the * * philosophical ” task to which he set himself. Will any candid reader maintain that such argument as Dr. ^Faii^irn’s book contains induces him to believe that human history, ancient and modern, “ has no meaning apart from Christa in the sense in which Nature is unintePljgible without God ” ? That is the demand which Dr. Fairbairn makes on our reason. We can only conclude by saying that, while he has adde$ yet another to the innumerable apologies for (rlasgow Gifford Lectures. * * �WANTE0—A NEW B%TLEE . the Christian dogmatic system, he has made more > patent than ever the impossibility of framing a con­ sistent “ philosophy ” of that dogmatic system as it at present stands. The larger Analogy he prays for is ready to our hand * and Dr. Fairbairn might have been the modern Butler. Hr #4 '♦fj, k '■4 •< > * 1& '*’ ■ ■A u» >■ ":?V '■ x .it W; ''''' ■ 4 .♦ .' I ■f i < ■< ■4- > ■£ * ■ ■ ■J ■ <* *'■' :,F’ ■/ $ • W ■'‘ 'W w if ■; W A* # '< I #- #■’ r? W’ w,c ' m .4 >' PRINTED BY WATTS AND CO., I7, JOHNSON’S COURT, FLEET STREET, LONDON, E.C �By the same Author. ■ “A RELIGION THAT WILL WEAR." SECOND EDITION. Some Personal Opinions. Professor MAX MULLER. “A book with most of which I fully agree, and from which I have learned a great deal. ” STOPFORD BROOKE, “I think it will do a great deal of good among laymen, more proI bably than any authorised preacher is likely to do. Things are faced not in the conventional manner, and without the catchwords of the mere theologian. I am glad to see the book, and wish it God-speed.” i PROTAP CHUNDER MOZOOMDAR, Leader of the Brahmo Somaj, Calcutta. “I must beg your forgiveness for writing to such length. Believe me, I have been unconsciously led to it by the inspiration of your book.” PRINCIPAL STORY. “Iam struck with its freshness and force and sincerely religious F tone. I do not think I should differ from you to any essential extent.” Mk L I E I Professor HASTIE. “The high-water mark of lay thought in theology.” Professor MENZIES, St. Andrews. “Able and most interesting; symptomatic of the position of the Presbyterian laity.” PRINCIPAL HODGSON, Edinburgh. “A remarkably interesting and significant little book,” Dr. JOHN GLASSE, Old Greyfriars, Edinburgh. “I am sure that it will do much good. The spirit of the book is. excellent. It is written with great intelligence, and every subject is treated with marked moderation. There is not a canting statement in it, from beginning to end.” Dr. STRONG, Melbourne. “ ‘ A Layman ’ shows an intimate knowledge of theology, such as many clergymen do not possess. It is an honest attempt to get down to the bed-rock of religion, and to show that religion and Christ abide in the deepest and truest elements of human life, though theology may change and critics re-write the Bible.” ROBERT BIRD, Author of Jesus the Carpenter, Joseph the Dreamer, etc. „ It is a valuable contribution to practical Christianity for thinking men, and should place some wavering feet on solid ground. I am delighted that a layman life myself should have read so widely and reflected so deeply about things over which the fogs of theology have hung for centuries.” London: JAMES CLARKE & CO. �By the same Author. “A RELIGION THAT WILL WEAR." SECOND EDITION. A Few Press Notices. GLASGOW HERALD. “ The writer reflects the attitude of many thoughtful and religious minds towards the Churches and the Christian Faith.” SCOTSMAN. “ It is a clearly-stated and interesting discourse, which meets the objections raised by philosophy and science to revealed religion, and offers an acutely reasoned and well-informed, if perhaps not definitely conclusive, intellectual justification of the message of Jesus." ABERDEEN FREE PRESS. “ It is a book fitted to make both believer and unbeliever think.” CHRISTIAN LEADER. “ An able book, strongly written, broad and reverent.” THE LITERARY WORLD. “ ..In both these instances we trace that discrimination between the essential and the dispensable which is a chief qualification for work of this kind. ” LIVERPOOL MERCURY. “Very able, thoughtful, devout, and scholarly.... .We do not remember having seen this line of thought put more persuasively or more forcibly.” CAMBRIDGE INDEPENDI^W***-. “ The case is stated with great argumentative power, much intel­ lectual penetration, and, at the same time, great clearness of expres­ sion.” THE OUTLOOK, New York. “ The book is an eirenicon, addressed to unbelievers. It should be read by believers also.” THE OUTLOOK (2nd Notice). “Thoroughly modern in spirit, and thoroughly religious also; wholly free from all bonds to theological formulas, it presents the simple faith that Jesus held as at once reconciling and rounding out the conflicting beliefs of men, and satisfying all the essential demands of our nature.” London: JAMES CLARKE & CO. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. 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Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1904 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context N494 Subject The topic of the resource Ernst Haeckel Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <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 (Haeckel's contribution to religion), 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> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Ernst Haeckel NSS Religion https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/38838516b6c75918ee4767857de30f43.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=uWSTwpt7G9zba9atBXKI%7EYQ4PjW1rIbrxgXVC66CM17JmgOvQ0A-1V7-K35tfubMVxla5hWzPqMg7ISDN9%7E7fQ4bimrEuQvzKfXhYjLpi1-YNiqrMNpMsjvOmaUT4YpbJ33W-DQgrmL96uuqM-kVFHNYHjr196k9lZRNdcua-bAPqRoDikXq%7EYPLfYMnUB%7EeKlkspBhydv1uTXEdfLWlFPXQSM0TmdhdgbS7r7EMQ7Ml8lHfqof1qiO0Tsj3rkaOWPHqYzqe9qly%7El3oe0cVg1TCxRqfgQDsqzB2Y9qRm3Sw4SV5rn%7E-cNi0zybbZuMwEhsY6siX2-bAJQgpRv1ZXA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 8d1938854582751e8a201fb13f1eff83 PDF Text Text ur2-4- NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY RALPH WALDO EMERSON, THE EMINENT AMERICAN PHILOSOPHER AND ESSAYIST. gesniptxcn anh (^sthnair nf ms WRITINGS. BY CHARLES C. CATTELL, Author of “The Martyrs of Progressf “A String of Pearls &=c., &e. “ That which befits us, embosomed in beauty and wonder as we are, is cheerfulness and courage, and the endeavour to realise our aspirations.” LONDON : WATTS & Co., 84, FLEET STREET, E.C. PRICE TWOPENCE. ��RALPH WALDO EMERSON: ut jng Writings. Emerson has been • called the Columbus of modern thought, the successor to Lord Bacon, with whom, as also Montaigne, there seems some affinity. He began when American literature was but a name, when writers worked for nothing and paid their printer. To-day Emerson’s influence is felt by all speakers and writers. As a philo­ sophic writer, I know none so charming. He is the Plato of modern times. Nature and science in his hand seem vivid : he animates all he sees; his wit and humour playfully enliven fossils and granite rocks. He is master of metaphorand phrases, so that definitions and formulas become a burden and he dispenses with them. He describes the order of nature, points out the distance from the rock to the oyster, and from thence to man, thinking and writing. This he does with as much distinct­ ness as though he had read the experience of explorers, and had had private interviews with Murchison, Lyell, and Darwin before the day of publication. In imagina­ tion he equals the writers to whom all men bow, and is one of the chief ornaments of the modern Saxon race. His philosophy is not only for boiling pots, it is to give joy and hope, to make society happy men and women. It is to develop the intellect of the race, and apply it to the promotion of the public good, the good of al!. Emerson has, strangely enough, been taken for the ghost of Carlyle, has been set down as a sort of moon to Carlyle’s sun. Nothing is more palpably absurd. Readers who cannot distinguish crystals from pine forests make poor critics, and should abandon the pro­ fession. The parallel to Emerson is unborn, or at least undeveloped. �4 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. In the Atlantic Monthly for 1880 there is an account of a party to Wendell Holmes, the founder, it being his 70th birthday. The chairman remarks that Emerson is with us, although silent by preference. I note it is Emerson’s 77th year, he having been born at Boston, May 25th, 1803. As arrangements have been made by my friend, Mr. David Kirkwood, to circulate in Boston what I write, a few words on Ralph Waldo Emerson will be well timed. I feel my indebtedness to Emerson, and express it in such unadorned style as my ability permits. He is an inspired man, rich in imagery, in poetry, in arts; I am but the poor beggar subsisting on the crumbs that fall from his table. But it is bad policy to let people know how poor we are. When equals meet there is no apology, no introduction, no preface. I approach Emerson : his ability, age, and influence, demand respec and a certain condescension from me. He is a giant, I a pigmy. A friend who once met him at breakfast in New York tells me he was surprised when the name Emerson was applied to the gentleman near him, who looked no better and no worse than others, and not different from other people. It is as Emerson says, you cannot see the mountain near. I noticed we could not see the Saxon emblems when on the spot; but twenty miles away the horse and the man stood out from the hill in bold relief. Ralph Waldo Emerson graduated at Harvard College in 1821. He was schoolmaster for five years; was ordained minister of the second Unitarian Church, Boston, 1829, resigning in 1832 ; and in 1832 and 1847he visited Europe. He was married in 1830; but his wife died five months after, and he married again in 1835. He speedily gave up his clerical profession, and retired to the village of Concord. Here he studied his favourite theme—the nature of man and his relations to the uni­ verse. In 1840 he became associated with Margaret Fuller in editing a magazine of literature, philosophy, and religion, entitled the Dial, which continued four years. In 1852, in connection with W. H. Channing, he published “ Memoirs of Margaret Fuller, Marchesa d’Ossoli.” His “ Representative Men ” was popular in England in 1850, in which he portrays, in his own inimit- �RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 5 .able manner, types of classes of men under the names of Plato, Swedenborg, Montaigne, Shakespeare, Napoleon, and Goethe. In 1856 another popular work appeared, .giving an account of his travels, entitled “ English Traits.” Between the years 1837 and 1844 he delivered addresses and wrote essays, which were circulated in a cheap form in England; and to these I was indebted for my introduction to this expositor of “ the divine laws.” Looking in a window full of selected books is one of .the delights which fade in the presence of the free public library. I often think what a debt we owe the old collectors of books, who made it the business of their lives to gather a variety for the public choice. The Church library is carefully selected, resembling a flower garden painted on a tea tray : Emerson never enters there. His living thoughts, full of fire, would dissolve any school collection of innocent Sunday serials. “ I am owner of the sphere, Of the seven stars and the solar year, Of Caesar’s hand and Plato’s brain, Of Lord Christ’s heart and Shakespeare’s strain.” Thus Emerson places every individual man on a common level, giving him a share in the whole estate of the intellect of the race; he thinks as Plato did, and there is no saint like whom he may not feel. Perse­ cutors and slanderers, to such a well-endowed man. appear as dwarfs acting under the hallucination that they are giants. The Bible to him is only a portion of the scriptures of mankind. Jesus is one of the many young men hanged or gibbetted at Tyburn. Socrates is no longer a poor benighted heathen, but a noble, heroic man, .and Jesus only a brother. After reading Emerson our idea is that the world is fair and beautiful, although there are sorrow and death. Before, it was on its last legs —creation a blunder—men and women had neither beauty nor dignity. It seemed a pity so much sin and ugliness were born, and only the long-suffering patience of their creator prevented their extinction. Everything pointed to an eternal collapse; but Emerson gives con­ fidence in the stability, the self-sustaining power of nature. We are consoled with the assurance that the sun and moon will last our time, and we leave the good �6 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. will to posterity, and transfer our anxiety to their holy’ keeping. It is, then, no longer a misfortune to be born, a misery to live, or a terror to die. We become cheerful, and revive our courage. We return to the battle of life —up again, old heart, and at them : we are yet neither foam nor wreck. In reading Emerson the mind acquires new habits of thought. The ideas generated are new and startling, and still founded on observation a thousand years old. The chatter of the theologians is as chaff and chips Emerson is as sweet and refreshing as a summer’s breeze. The words of the theologian are like a flickering candle in a widow’s window on a dark and stormy night; Emer­ son’s words are as the brilliant sun shining through the forest. Compared with Emerson, the doctrines, the parson, and even the Church itself, appear fossils, mere wrecks of a former world of beauty and of truth. Emerson speaks from the heart; he has seen nature,, and he interprets what he has seen ; everything appears living and full of purpose. The theologian sees nothing to-day ; he only reports that God and nature were seen ages back, when the world was young and innocent. He is a talking machine, he is a canal, not a river. Emer­ son is the waterfall, dashing and sparkling; the theolo­ gian a stagnant pool, fed by little brooks that flowed from the hills after the last flood. The theologian speaks of a God who died long centuries ago, who left his will, and appointed him executor to his children. One cannot help pitying the poor orphans ! Emerson says God is alive to-day; through me, through you,, through all pure souls, God speaks to-day. But the God of Emerson cannot be measured, cannot be put into a. box, nor be eaten. He does not reside in Judea, nor in Christendom. “ There is a soul in the centre of nature, and over the will of every man, so that none of us can wrong the universe.” “There is a power over and behind us, and we are the channels of its communica­ tions.” Again : “ When we have broken our god of tradition, and ceased from our god of rhetoric, then may God fire the heart with his presence.” Elsewhere he says : “ The baffled intellect must still kneel before ..his cause, which refuses to be named.” �RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 7 Our quaint names, fortune, muse, holy ghost, are too narrow to cover the unbounded substance. Every fine genius has tried to represent it by some symbol. Anaxi­ menes, by air; Thales, by water; Anaxagoras, by thought; Zoroaster, by fire; Jesus and the moderns, by love. Emerson says that in “ our more correct writing we give to these generalisations the name of Being, and thereby confess we have arrived as far as we can go. I do not believe that there is a soul in the centre of all things, or that a soul in man presides over and directs all the organs of his brain; still, I fondly cherish the remem­ brance of being lifted into the universal being, which had its centre everywhere, and its circumference no­ where. The bewilderments of metaphysics _ and the cobwebs of theology make the confused brain so hot that these words act like a gentle shower in sultry weather:— “ The rounded world is fair to see, Nine times folded in mystery ; Though baffled seer cannot impart The secret of its labouring heart, Throb thine with Nature’s throbbing breast, And all is clear from east to west. Spirit, that lurks each form within, Beckons to spirit of its kin ; Self-kindled every atom glows, And hints the future that it owes.” One thing is clear, that, if a man fails to find conso­ lation and peace in nature, he will find it nowhere. If he sees no beauty in a landscape, receives no pleasure from looking at a rose, a tree, or a simple weed ; if he sees no grandeur in a storm; if the rolling, tempestuous sea excites no feeling of admiration or of awe, of wonder or fear, he may rely upon it, either his mind or his body is out of health. Emerson says he knew a physician who believed that the religion a man accepted depended very much on the state of his liver. If diseased, he would be a Calvinist; if that organ was sound, a Uni­ tarian. No doubt the kind of religion adopted depends a great deal on the climate and the state of the blood. The great idea that Emerson teaches is self-reliance ; every heart vibrates to that iron string. Individualism �8 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. is encouraged by him in every chapter he writes. He delights in the man who sets up the strong present tense, does broad justice now, and makes progress a fact; to fill the hour, that is happiness, and leaves no room for repentance or approval. “ Work of his hand He nGr commends nor grieves ; Pleads for itself the fact; As unrepenting Nature leaves Her every act.” Thus men of character become the conscience of society, and unite with all that is just and true. Emer­ son teaches that the world exists for a noble purpose, the transformation of genius into practical power. The popular idea is that the world is in a state of liquidation, that the Grand Master of the Ceremonies is about to appear to wind up the whole concern, and only believers will share what may be realised from the estate. Emer­ son, on the contrary, encourages men to work on and hope on, believing that right and justice will ultimately triumph. There is one special feature in Emerson that is worthy the serious attention of students, and readers of who are not students. In his writings he shows an acquaintance with the literature of the Old and the New Worlds. He places within the reach of ordinary readers a mine of literary wealth. I have read a great variety of books during the past quarter of a century, but confess that, with few exceptions, Emerson knew all I ha' e since learnt. I know of no more economic method of gaining an insight into the literature of the Old World and the New than by reading the writings of this remarkable man. However practical a man may be, he needs some poetry to make life tolerable, and in Emerson the poetic side of life has sufficient attention, although mixed with science and philosophy. Emerson is called a visionary dreamer; but do not his words show that he sees life as it is, and has felt the dark side of life, been under the shadow of existence ? While he teaches Individualism, he is not mad, forAhe writes of love and friendship, and says :— �RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 9 “ All are needed by each one, Nothing is fair and good alone.” In his fable of the quarrel between the mountain and the squirrel, the squirrel says :— “ Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut.” In his “ Compensation ” he teaches that “ the world is dual, so is every one of its parts.” This chapter is unlike anything written in modern times. He desired, when a boy, to write this essay, for it seemed to him life was ahead of theology, and that the people knew more than the preachers taught. In politics he says nature is neither democratic nor Limited-Monarchical, but despotic. Persons having reason have equal rights—demand a democracy—but besides persons, the State undertakes to protect pro­ perty; and here is inequality—one man owns his clothes, another a county. He does not urge that the Republic is “better,” but that it is “fitter.” It suits them. He holds that the limitation of government, all govern ments, is the wisdom of men; all men being wise, the State would disappear. The tendency of the time favours self-government. The less government we have, the better. We think we get value for our money every­ where, except what we pay for taxes. In “ The Conduct of Life,” among the many questions discussed is wealth. He says: “ As soon as a stranger is introduced the question is, How does he get his living ? He should be able to answer. Every man is a consumer, and should be a producer. He fails to make his place good in the world who does not add something to the commonwealth.” In a chapter on Worship he mentions that some of the Indians and Pacific Islanders flog their gods when things take an unfavourable turn. Laomedon threat­ ened to cut the ears off Apollo and Neptune in his anger. King Olaf put a pan of glowing coals on the belly of Eyvind, which burst asunder, saying, “ Wilt thou now believe in Christ ?” In the romantic ages of Christianity, to marry a Pagan husband or wife was to �IO RALPH WALDO EMERSON. take a step backwards towards the baboon. To-day he says, religion is weak and childish; we have the rat-andmouse revelation, thumps in table drawers. To-day, he says men talk of 11 mere morality,” which is as if one should say, “ Poor God, with nobody to help him!” He prophesies that there will be a new Church, founded on moral science, that will gather science, music, beauty, picture, and poetry around it. “ Society and Solitude,” which contains a valuable chapter on Books, is written in language less angular and studied than his previous books—more like his “ English Traits,” which I suppose everybody has read. The great variety of Emerson’s writings prevents the notice of any special chapter at any considerable length. A few allusions sufficiently indicate his wide departure from the popular theology. The belief in the existence of God and the immortality of the soul is, with him, as natural to the soul of man as apples are to apple trees. Revelation, with him, is the disclosure of the soul—the popular idea is, that it is telling of fortunes. He would not believe any man who said the Holy Ghost told him the last day of Judgment occurred in the eighteenth century. His teaching seems to indicate that all opinions, beliefs, conjectures, and anticipations, to be of use to the individual, must come to him. He cannot learn from other men; there is nothing second­ hand in his divinity. Omniscience flows behind and through every man ; he is simply a medium. Holding these transcendental views, still he paints the Sceptic in his essay on Montaigne with marvellous fidelity. His description of the position of the believer, the unbeliever, and the disbeliever is so accurate that one often regrets the clergy and ministers of the Gospel do not devote one hour of their long and busy lives to the reading of this one chapter of Emerson; whatever they might have to say after might be understood by the persons holding the opinions they attempt to refute. Emerson shows that the Sceptic is not a fool; he is the considerer, the man who weighs evidence, and limits his statement by the assurance of facts. He does not allow that any Church or society of men have all the truth. He knows all knowledge is relative; all conclusions not �RALPH WALDO EMERSON. H based on ascertained facts are open to doubt. Perhaps as much can be said against as for any speculative opinion. Who then shall forbid a wise Scepticism ? In confirmation of my representation of Emerson’s views, I quote his approval of Spenser. He says:— “ The soul makes the body, as the wise Spenser teaches; For of the soul the body form doth take ; For soul is form, and doth the body make.” His description of man entering the world among the lords of life is— “ Little man, least of all, Among the legs of his guardians tall, Walked about with puzzled look.” He is born in a series of which the extremes are un­ known—there are stairs above and below, both beyond our vision ; no man knows how far they extend in either direction. “ Life is a string of beads, and as we pass through them, they prove to be many-coloured lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its own focus.” All martyrdoms look mean when they are suffered; every ship is a romantic object, except the one we sail in; our little life looks trivial, and we often wonder how any­ thing of use or beauty was produced by us; the land­ scape of our neighbour's farm is beautiful to look upon, but as to our field it only holds the world together. In 1876 he published “Letters and Social Aims,” in which we find the last chapter is on Immortality. Emerson was then in his 73rd year, and might be expected to tell us something of the life beyond life. But he knows nothing to impart to another; yet in our weakness we ask, does Emerson believe it? The mem- bers of the church ask their pastor, is there any resur­ rection ? Did Dr. Channing believe we should know each other ? “ Let any master simply recite to you the substantial laws of the intellect, and in the presence of the laws themselves you will never ask such primary­ school questions.” He says the Sceptic affirms the universe to be a nest of boxes with nothing in the last box. Montesquieu delighted in believing himself as im­ �12 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. mortal as God himself. Young children have a feeling of terror of a life without end. “What, will it never stop ? Never, never die ? It makes me feel so tired.” Penal servitude “ for life ” fills men with terror, but “for ever” makes them sing and rejoice. The thought that this poor frail being is never to end is overwhelming. Herodotus, in his second book, says : “The Egyptians were the first among mankind who have affirmed the immortality of the soul.” As the savage could not detach in his mind the life of the soul from the body, he took great care of his body. The great and chief end of man being to be buried well, the priesthood became a senate of sextons; and masonry and embalming the most popular of the arts. Sixty years ago we were all taught that we were born to die, and theology added all the terrors of savage nations, to increase the gloom. A wise man in our generation caused “ Think on Living ” to be inscribed on his tomb. Emerson says this shows a great change and describes a progress in opinion. He describes the soul as master. “A man of thought is willing to die, willing to live; I suppose because he has seen the thread on which the beads are strung, and perceived that it reaches up and down, existing quite independently of the present illusions.” Matter-of-fact people will pronounce these sentences nonsense, while they pretend to believe greater miracles on Sundays and holy days. “And what are these delights in the vast, permanent, and strong, but approximations and resemblances of what is entire and sufficing, creative and self-sustaining life? Eor the creator keeps his word with us.” He says, after making our children adepts in arts, we do not send for the soldiers to shoot them down. Nature does not, like the Empress Anne of Russia, employ all the genius of the empire to build a palace of snow. Emerson thinks the eternal, the vast, the power­ ful in nature indicates the permanence of living thought •—the perpetual promise of the creator. Goethe said : “ It is to a thinking being impossible to think himself non-existent; so far every one carries proof of immor­ tality.” Van Helmont wishes Atheists “ might taste, if only for a moment, what it is to intellectually under­ �RALPH WALDO EMERSON. IS stand; whereby they may feel the immortality of the mind, as it were, by touching.” “ The healthy state of mind is the love of life. What is so good? Let it endure.” This is the language of the inspired on the mount; but those who live in the valley inquire, JEzZZ it endure ? “ I think all sound minds rest on a certain preliminary conviction—namely, that if it be best that conscious per­ sonal life shall continue, it will continue ; if not best, then it will not.” Whatever it is, “ the future must be up tc> the style of our faculties—of memory, hope, and reason.” There is this drawback to all statements—hungry eyes close disappointed; listeners do not hear what they want. At last Emerson confesses that you cannot prove your faith by syllogisms : the reasons all vanish ; it is all flying ideal; conclusions are always hovering; no written theory or demonstration is possible : Jesus explained nothing. Emerson remarks that it is strange that Jesus is esteemed by mankind the bringer of the doctrine of immortality. “ He is never once weak or sentimental; he is very abstemious of explanation ; he never preaches the personal immortality ; while Plato and Cicero had both allowed themselves to overstep the stern limits of the spirit, and gratify the people with that picture.” Emerson compares the grandeur of the doctrine with frivolous populations : Will you build magnificently for mice ? Offer empires to such as cannot keep house ? Here are people on whose hands an hour hangs heavily—a day ! Will you offer them rolling ages without end ? At last all drop into the universal soul; each is as a bottle broken into the sea. Emerson quotes, “The soul is not born; it does not die.” This is the Hindoo faith. Another chapter in the 1876 volume is on “ Quotation and Originality.” Emerson has been reading and quot­ ing and thinking and writing all his long life; hence, what high value must we set on this chapter ! To the literary student it is simply invaluable. He is like the old mountain guide, who never misled a tourist, and never missed his way. Only those who wander extensively in new paths can appreciate one to whom all roads are known. Read Tasso, and you think of Virgil; read Virgil, and you think of Homer; read Plato, and you �14 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. find Christian dogma and Evangelical phrases. Rabelais is the source of many a proverb, story, and jest. “ Reynard the Fox,” a German poem of the thirteenth century, yielded to Grimm, who found fragments of another original a century older. M. le Grand showed the original tales of Moliere, La Fontaine, Boccaccio, and Voltaire in the old Fabliaux. Mythology is no man’s work. Religious literature psalms, liturgies, the Bible itself, is the growth of ages. Divines assumed revelations of Christianity, the exact parallelisms of which are found in the stoics and poets of Greece and Rome. After the modern researches, Confucius, the Indian Scriptures, and the history of Egypt show that “ no monopoly of ethical wisdom could be thought of.” Sayings reported of modern statesmen and literary men can be traced to Greek and Roman sources Baron Munchausen’s bugle, hung up by the kitchen fire till the frozen tune thawed out, is found in the time of Plato. Only recently England and America have discovered their nursery tales were old German and Scandinavian stories ; and now it appears that they came from India, and were warbled and babbled by nurses and children of all nations for unknown thousands of years. “Next to the originator of a good sentence is the first quoter of it. Many will read a book before one thinks of quoting a passage.” When Shakespeare is charged with debts, Landor replies : “ Yet he is more original than his originals. He breathed upon dead bodies, and brought them into life.” If De Quincey said to Wordsworth, “ That is what I told you,” he replied, as his habit was to reproduce all the good things: “No, that is mine— mine, and not yours.” Marraontel’s principle was : “ I pounce on what is mine, wherever Ifind it.” Poets, like bees, take from every flower that suits them, not con­ cerned where it originally grew. “ It is a familiar expe^ dient of brilliant writers and witty talkers, the device of ascribing their own sentence to some imaginary person in order to give it weight.” �ALL ABOUT THE ENGLISH LAND QUESTION, FROM ALL POINTS OF VIEW. BY PRICE ONE SHILLING. LONDON : WATTS & Co., 84, FLEET STREET. �NEW WORKS AND NEW EDITIONS BY CHARLES C. CATTELL. One Penny. RADICALISM AND IMPERIALISM : An Exposition and Impeachment. Twopence Each. WHAT IS A FREETHINKER ? His Distinctive Principles Stated. IN SEARCH OF A RELIGION, and Notes by the Way : its Relation to Students, Teachers, Free Inquiry Morality, and Nature. RALPH WALDO EMERSON, the American Philoso­ pher and Essayist. LAND NATIONAL PROPERTY. With a Criticism of the Views of Mr. Bright and Others. Third Edition. SHAKESPEARE: WHAT DID HE WRITE? Fourth Edition. THE BACON AND SHAKESPEARE CONTRO- Sixpence Each. THE MARTYRS OF PROGRESS. Being a History of the Perils and Persecutions of Past Genera­ tions. GEORGE DAWSON’S SPEECHES ON SHAKE­ SPEARE. One Shilling Each. A STRING OF PEARLS FROM THE MASTERS OF THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE. ALL ABOUT THE LAND QUESTION, from all Points of View. Two Shillings. GREAT MEN’S VIEWS ON SHAKESPEARE. London : 'WATTS & Co., 84 Fleet Street. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Ralph Waldo Emerson, the eminent American philosopher and essayist : description and estimation of his writings Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Cattell, Charles Cockbill Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 14, [2] p. ; 18 cm. Notes: Not dated. Internal evidence suggests 1880. Other works by Cattell advertised inside and on back cover. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Watts & Co. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1880] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context N124 Subject The topic of the resource Emerson, Ralph Waldo Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <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 (Ralph Waldo Emerson, the eminent American philosopher and essayist : description and estimation of his writings), 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> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English NSS Ralph Waldo Emerson https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/94c8f8e935162b7f6832827aa700ea8c.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=pjRBAfdYp0ZPJaUlNPPHYSOPmy8uiQSEOsuWoc2O4dad6bP39gWPEokfiAGN3GVq8vNL5q9lspfDsTY06JYxYPK-jSTP%7Ero7c%7Ekzb6N7H0zOeTc55ZBPw8mIRE7g4Ym4koDYezijy8Dh6H0fG-9C6KM9X07um4YqOfonadVX3BdV8NLMz4YDtPlEUdWSZJr%7EdssRKwK8CKBrMkLuJtZWhTVgVVNGYO3OzEXszbmJHSdsFhA2nXr8xbWYe3PKATr%7Era-pMwCpQn%7EE3P-XfXYuQHXyfEuW1gHIpxH-I0H-hsHb5T3%7EiIzx8PTAflLuYZ8WPqdJrU6xyJW4ZxPakH7OvQ__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 5208f16ad726b03b7ea1c1bd4747289c PDF Text Text rgj | fc • ’ . ■ ‘ * "f ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE PAR EMILE SAISSET. PREMIERE PARTIE.—ETUDES HISTORIQUES SIXlfiME fiTUDE. — LE SCEPTICISME DE KANT. Ai-je enfin trouve dans Leibnitz la verite complete et absolue sur Lieu, et ne me reste-t-il qu’a la conserver comme mon plus cher tresor et a la preserver des atteintes du scepticisme ? Je l’ai cru longtemps, et chaque fois que je relis les Essais de theodicee, je me reprends a le croire. Quelle admirable creation! Comme la pensee y est grande, et comme elle est simple! Que de genie et que de bon sens! Tous les besoins de Fame y sont satisfaits : le coeur est touche, la raison convaincue, et en meme temps l’imagination curieuse et bardie voit s’ouvrir devant elle des horizons sans limite. Je voudrais m’arreterla, mais c’est impossible. Plus je considere 1’enchainement des pensees de Leibnitz sur les choses divines, plus je vois que toutes ses vues se rattachent a un vaste systeme dont il est bien difficile de les separer. Et certes, ce systeme est d’une grandeur et d’une ricliesse merveilleuses. Il embrasse tous les objets que la curiosite humaine peut se proposer; il poursuit jusqu’aux dernieres limites de la raison l’explication de l’enigme des existences. C’est, je crois, le systeme le plus Vaste qu’aucune intelligence d’homme ait jamais concu; mais si vaste qu’il soit, est-il autre chose qu’un systeme ? Dieu" concu comme la monade supreme dont toutes les monades �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPIIIE RELIGIEUSE. 27 finies sont des fulgurations continuelles, est-ce la une pensee entierement exempte d’erreur et de peril? Je crains d’y trouver quelque analogie avec la nature naturante de Spinoza. Si Dieu en effet est defini la force absolue, puis-je concevoir cette force autrement qu’en acte? n’est-il pas de 1’essence d’une force de se developper? Mais alors que devient la notion de l’etre tout parfait, de ce principe immuable, accompli, qui se suffit pleinement a soi-meme et a’a besoin de rien autre que soi? Et puis ces monades qui emanent confinuellement du Createur, chacune renfermant en elle le germe de tous ses developpements, est-ce une conception qui satisfasse aux donnees de Texperience? N’y a-t-il pas dans cette evolution reglee par lla loi de continuity une espece de fatalisme universel? Et meme, a y regarder de pres, ces forces, qui ne sortent pas d’elles-memes, qui sont hermetiquement fermees a toute influence exterieure, ri’ay ant, point, comme dit Leib­ nitz, de fenetres sur le dehors, sont-ce des forces yeritables? Ne ressemblent-elles pas plutot a des abstractions mathematiques, telles, par exemple, que les points successifs d’une courbe rigoureusement continue dont l’equation serait ecrite de toute eternite? Je demande aussi a Leibnitz comment ces monades, qui sont par definition des unites simples, peuvent expliquer l’etendue et le mouvement? Il me dira que 1’etendue etie mouvement ne sont rien d’absolu, mais de simples phenomenes, des apparences fugitives, pareilles a l’arc-en-ciel. Dites le mot, Leibnitz. Ce sont pour vous de pures illusions. Or deja, a vous en croire, l’influence que je m’imagine exercer sur mes membresest une ilfSbilX gallon dt la reaction perpetuelles des etres de la nature les uns sur les autres, encore une illusion. J’habite doncun monde d’illusions! Et qui sait done si le Dieu que je me represente comme T© centr| vivanf et actif de ce monde, n’est pas, lui aussi, une illusion comme tout le reste? Voila done le terme ou me conduisent, par des chemins difierents, Descartes et Leibnitz, Malebranche ef Newton. L’un'me,presente ses tourbillons, l’autre ses monades; l’un estpour le plein, 1’autre pour le vide; l’un se declare mecaniste, l’aiitre dynamiste, Ils n’ont tous peut-etre qu’un trait commun, e’est d’habiter le pays des chimeres. Descartes me parle d’un Dieu dont la :toute-puissance est tellement absolue qu’elle fait a son gre non-seulement Ips etres, mais les verites. Point du tout, dit Malebranche, la volonte de Dieu est reglee par sa sagesse. Voici Newton qui se represente son Dieu comme re- ? �28 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. pandu dans la duree et dans l’espace, et bornant sa fecondite derisoire a disperser a travers les champs infinis de l’immensite quelques atomes dont l’economie fragile menace a chaque instant de se dissoudre. Leibnitz proteste et soutient que Dieu est en dehors et audessus de l’espace, et que, sans tomber dans le temps, il remplit les espaces et les siecles des fulgurations de sa puissance infinip. Quel amas de pensees contradictoires ! Si Descartes et Newton, si Malebranche et Leibnitz ne se sont pas entendus, la faute en est-elle ] a ces grands genies? Le seul coupable, c’est l’esprit humain. Car1 enfin pourquoi, en metaphysique, les systemes succedent-ils aux systemes, sans que jamais rien puisse durer et s’etablir? A quoi bon ces mouvements qui agitent la pensee sans la faire avancer d’un pas ? Ne serait-ce point que le probleme de la nature des choses surpasse l’homme, que les systemes exprjment tout simplement les formes de notre enfendement, c’est-a-dire les divers points de vue sous lesquels nous nous representons les choses, que nous n’avons de prise certaine que sur les objets de l’experience, et qu’il faut se resigner a explorer la surface des choses, dans une impuissance eternelle de percer le my stere de leur origine et de leur fin. Voila les impressions et le&dputes qui se glissent dans mon esprit aii-spectacle des contradictions du genie. Sont-ce la des pensees qui me soient propres? Non; elles sont venues a de grands esprits, a Voltaire, a Reid, a Locke, a Hume, a Kant; elles ont ete l’opinion commune de tout un siecle. Je me ferais scrupule de ne pas consulter a leur tour ces grands douteurs, et je veux leur donner ' pour interprete celui qui passe pour avoir le plus resolument embrasse et le plus, fortement congu et combine ce qui etait dans l’esprit de tous les autres. Cet homme est Kant. On dit que les formes de son systeme sont lourdes et pedantesques. Peu m’importe, pourvu que je puisse en comprendre le fond. Kant nous raconte, avec cette sincerite et cette candeur qui relevent en lui la force et l’originalite du genie par la beaute du caractere, que son initiateur en philosophic fut David Hume. Quand la lecture du philosophe ecossais l’eut, dit-il, reveille de son sommeil dogma- i tique, le premier fait qui frappa. son attention, ce fut la variete, la contradiction et le rapide declin de tous les systemes metaphysiques* | D’ou vient, se demanda le disciple desabuse de Leibnitz et de Wolf, d’ou vient que la philosophic, depuis deux mille ans, erre ainsi a l’aventure, a la merci de ces reveries steriles et changeantes qu’on �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 29 appelle des systemes, alors que d’autres sciences deploient une activite si reguliere en ses mouvements, si feconde en ses produits? Les mathematiques ont eminemment ce caractere : elles changent et se renouvellent, ilestvrai, mais pour s’accroitre et s’enrichir sans cesse. Descartes a surpasse Euclide, et tous deux ont ete surpasses par Newton; mais le calcul infinitesimal n’a pas detruit F analyse cartesienne, pas plus que celle-ci n’avait renverse la vieille geometric. En metaphysique, au contraire, les systemes renversent les systemes. Un philosophe ne peut croire qu’il a raison sans condamner tous les autres a 1’erreur, et 1’oeuvre incessamment reprise dans son entier est toujours a reprendre encore. Pour penetrer la cause de ce contraste extraordinaire, Kant soumet a une analyse profonde la constitution intime, des sciences., Il re­ marque, et c’est pour lui un trait de lumiere, que les mathematiques n’ont pas pour objet de connaitre les choses en elles-memes, mais seulement de developper certaines notions inherentes a l’esprit humain, les notions d’unite, de nombre, d’espace, et autres semblables. Par exemple, la geometrie s’inqui'ete peu de l’essence des corps de la nature; elle s’attache a la notion d’etendue, notion independante des sens, et avec cette don"ee toutJSleoout M^raite, llle developpe la serie de ses constructions et de peg L’objet du geometre, ce n’est pas une essciiqe, un etre en soi, c’est une idee. De meme, \ l’algebriste ne s’interesse en rien a ces objets changeants dont l’egaI lite n’est qu’apparente, dont l’uriite csrtouten?mative; ctest la quantite * ideale, le nombre abstrait, c’est-a-dire encore une idee, une notion, qui fait la matiere de ses equations. Telle est, suivant Kant, 1’explication de la solidite singuliere et de jl^B^i^u^iiBntestee des sciences mathematiques. Elles n’ont pas seules ce privilegeWle^sciences' phwques yantent avec raison leur caractere positif et leur regulierl developpement; mais depuis quand ont-elles prisle rang eleve qu’ejles occupent dans l’estime des hommes? depuis qu’elles'se sent separ&^de la meta­ physique et qu’elles ont abando'nnu la*chimere d’una,explication absolue des choses pour se reduire* a l’experience et au calcul : a ■’experience, quirecueille les faits, au calcui, qui leur’applique les lois de la pensee. La physique n’a rien a demeler avec l’essence im­ penetrable des choses. Les corps sont-ils ou non divisibles a l’infini? Le monde a-t-il eu ou non un commencement? Qu’importe a Ga­ lilee et a Kepler? Ils laissent les docteurs de l’ecole argumenter pour �30 ESSAI DE PIIILOS.OPHIE RELLGIEUSE. et contre ces fantomes opposes; il leur suffit d’explorer la nature etde mesurer les cieux. Interrogez l’histoire des sciences philosophiques elles-memes. Depuis Aristote, tout a change en philosophic, une seule chose exceptee, la logique. Ainsi la metaphysique varie avec les systemes, la logique leur survit. Pourquoicela? c’est que la logique ne s’occupe en aucune facon des objets de la pensee, mais seulement de la pensee en ellememe. Le premier qui s’est pose ce probleme : A quelles conditions la pensee peut-elle, ense developpant, rester toujours d’accord avec ses propres lois? celui-la a cree la logique. Que sont devenues les entelechies d’Aristote, et ses formes substantielles, et son premier ciel? Tout cela n’est plus,, mais Y Organon est reste; il est reste avec YHistoire des Animaux^ parce que. deux choses seules restent dans les sciences : les faits de la nature visible et les lois de la pensee. Telle m’apparait Fidee mere de la Critique de la Raison pure die est aussi simple que bardie. Des deux elements dont le rapport et. 1’harmonie composent la science, savoir, l’esprit humain, d’une part,, le sujet et; deFautre, les choses,, les etres, Vobjet, Kant se propose: de supprimer le seeond et de reduire la science au premier. Ecarter a jamais ^objectifi comme' absolument inaccessible et indetermi­ nable, wit resoudre dans le subjectify, voila son but, et de la les grandes lignes de son entreprise. Kant me fait suivre four a tour deux voies diverses et convergentes. Il m’enferme d’abord dans le sujet,c’est-a-dire dans l’analyse de l’es­ prit humain, et ramenant toutes les lois. qui gouvernent la pensee a mi certain nombre de concepts elementaires rigoureusement definis et classes* il s’efforce de me prouver que ces concepts n’ont qu’une valeur subjective et relative,, incapables qu’ils sont de me rien apprendre sur 1’essence des choses, et uiiles seulement a coordonner les phenomenes de Fexperience, ou, en.d’autres termes, a imprimer aux connaissances humaines le caractere de Fiinite. Cette oeuvre achevee,. Kant me propose de. soumettre a une grande epreuve dialectique les resultats de son analyse: il parcourt avec moi successivement les trois grands’objets des speculations metaphysiques, l’ame, l’univers et Dieu, et entreprend de me faire voir qu’il n’y a pas une seule asser­ tion dogmatique sur Fessence de Fame, sur l’origine et les elements de l’univers, enfin sur Fexistence de Dieu, qui ne puisse etre convairicue de s’appuyer sur un paralogisme, de couvrir une antinomie oude realiser arbitrairement une abstraction. �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 3£ Je vais suivre tour a tour la Critique de la Raison pure sur le ter­ rain de l’analyse et sur celui de la dialectique. Kant decompose tout le mecanisme de la connaissance humaine en trois fonctions intellect tuelles, savoir : la Sensibilite, l’Entendement et la Raison. Apercevoir les choses particulieres, ou en d’autres termes former des intui­ tions, voila l’acte propre de la Sensibilite; saisir les rapports des choses et former des jugements, voila Facte propre de l’Entendement; former enfin des raisonnements,, c’est-a-dire lier entre eux les juge­ ments et rattacher les consequences a leurs principes,./voila Facte propre de la liaison. Or, dans l’exercide de chacune de. ces. trois fonc­ tions intellectuelles, F analyse dccouvre deux elements, Fun qui est a priori, l’autre qui est a postw®ri.-Le premier constitue la matiere; de la connaissance, le second sa.forme,., Celui-la est domic * pour ainsi dire, du dehors; celui-ci sort.du propre fonds. de F esprit, de* son activite, de sa spontaneity natives..Par.. exemple v nul acte de la sensibilite ou nulle intuition'n’est:possible.qu’a.Kaide des notions d’espace et de temps. Kant soutient que ces notions sont a priori, et il les appelle formes pures de la sensibilite. De meme, nul acte de l’entendement ou nul jugement n’esfc possible quia* Fiaide, de eertaines notions d’unite, de realite,vde possibility, etc., lesquelles sont egalement a priori, et que Kant appelle les concepts purs de l’entendement. Enfin, nul acte de la raison ou nul raisonnement n’est possible qu’a l’aide de certaines notions de Fabsolu ou de: Finconditionnel.. Kant leur donne le nom d’idees pures de la raison. Il s’agit maintenant de recueillir ces formes, ces concepts, ces idees,,1014 supremes;, ressorts constitutifs de la. raison Kuniaine,. pour. en. approfondir la. nature et en mesurer la portee. L’analyse de la sensibilite est dans le systeme de Kant une affaire capitale. La sensibiliteH.effetestlasource des.intuitions,, lesquelles deviennent la matiere des jugements et par suite des raisonnements,, ‘ ce qui nous conduit jusqu’a l’idee de Fabsolu, forme supreme de toutes nos connaissances. Dans toute perception d’tin phenomena exMrieiir., /^ffljtWsiihgue. deux choses : d’une part,Je. phenomeneexemple tel; mouvement corporel; de l’autre, la condition de ce phenomene,. savoir l’espace, sans lequel aucun mouvemem ne saurait etre percu. Les phenomenes exterieurs varient.a l’infini; Jacondition.de ces phenomenes, l’espace, esttoujours la .meme. Liespace est done, suivant Kant, la forme pure des sens exterieurs. De meme, le tempsl est la �32 ESSAI DE PHIL0S0PH1E RELIGIEUSE. forme pure du sens intime, nulle sensation et en general nulle modi­ fication de nous-memes ne pouvant etre percue que sous la condition du temps. L’espace et le temps, voila done les deux formes pures de la sensibilite. Etant concus comme anterieurs aux phenomenes j| comme uns et infinis, l’espace et le temps ne sont pas des objets de l’experience, qui ne donne que des phenomenes toujours divers et toujours limites. Qu’est-ce done que l’espace et le temps? Voulezvous en faire des choses absolues, objectives? mais alors, soit que vous les eleviez au rang d’etres en soi, soit que vous en fassiez des attributs de Dieu, soit enfin que vous les reduisiez a des proprietes ou a des rapports des etres de la nature, vous tombez egalement dans l’absurde. Dans le premier cas, en effet, vous aboutissez a deux etres absolus qui sont des non-etres; dans le second, vous confondez le temps avec 1’eternitej l’espace avec l’immensite; dans le troisieme, comme vous ne donnez a l’espace et au temps qu’une valeur contingente, vous etes dans l’iinpossibilite d’expliquer le caractere absolu de deux sciences fondees sur les notions d’espace et de temps, savoir, la geometrie et la mecanique rationnelle. Il suit de la que l’espace et le temps n’ont aucune sorte de realite objective et ne peuvent etre autre chose que des formes de la connaissance: formes necessaires, univer­ selies, donnees a priori, mais n’ayant aucune portee au dela du sujet, n’exprimant que la nature de la pensee, ne servant qua rendre l’experience possible. Telle est en substance 1’esthetique transcendantale de Kant, et il faut convenir qu’elle est subtile, profonde, originale; mais est-elle exacte? il me semble que non, et si les principes manquent d’exac­ titude, comment les conclusions ne manqueraient-elles pas de rigueur? Toute cette ingenieuse theorie de Kant sur l’espace et le temps renferme une erreur qui se retrouve dans toute la suite de son oeuvre analytique et en corrompt tous les resultats; au lieu d’observer la realite, il tourmente des abstractions; au lieu de chercher dans la conscience l’origine des notions fondamentales, il les prend toutes formees, a l’etat ou une longue suite d’abstractions les a portees, et il s’imagine que ces notions abstraites sont anterieures a l’experience, sans laquelle pourtant elles seraient parfaitement vides et inintelli— gibles. • Kant considere l’espace et le temps sous leur forme la plus gene­ rale et la plus abstraite, anterieurement a toute notion d’etendue sen­ sible et de duree particuliere et determinee. Or, il est parfaitement �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 33 inexact que mon esprit debute par de telles conceptions. Avant l’abstrait, le concret; avant la notion d’espace, la notion d’etendue; avant la notion de temps, les notions de succession et d’identite personnelle. Je vois un corps ou je le touche, je le percois comme etendu; en le maniant, je passe d’une impression a une autre, je me sens identique dans la succession de ces deux etats, je me sens durer; il n’y a point encore dans mon esprit Fidee abstraite d’espace, Fidee abstraite du temps. Ce n’est qu’apres avoir percu bien des etendues et bien des durees que je formerai, par l’abstraction, l’idee generale d’espace et l’idee generale de temps, pour arriver enfin a concevoir, par la, rai­ son, au dela de tous les corps et de toutes les durees, un etre infini, absolu, pur des limitations de l’etendue, etranger aux vicissitudes du temps, en un mot, immense et eternel. Ainsi done, d’abord, par un acte d’in tuition, les notions concretes de telle etendue sensible, de telle duree delerminee; puis, par un acte d’abstraction, les nations generates -d’espace et de temps; puis, par un acte de raison, leS conceptions absolues d’eterriiteet d’immensite; voila la vraie histoire de mon esprit a la place de l’histdire fantastique tracee par Kant. Ayant une fois sepafe, isole l’espace et le temps de toute intuition concrete d’etendue et de duree, il n’est pas mervci’lleux qn’il trouve ces notions vides, creuses, insignifiantes; pour leur rendre leur rea­ lite et leur sens, il suffit de les rapporter a leun'^reritableorigine, de les replacer au sein de la conscience. Un kantien me demandera-t-il maintenant ce que -je pense de la nature objective'de l’espace et du temps? Je lui repondrai qu’il faut distinguefientre fl*etendue, l’espace et l’irnmensite, comme ilfaut distinguer entre-la duree, le temps et d’eternite. L’etendue est une propriety reelle des corps*, et 'la duree une propriety reelle de> tousBes etres qui| changent ;* l’immensite et l’eternite sont deux atfribuWMe Ffitre divin, lesquels expriment la permanence et l’omnipresence de son etre, profondement distinctes et independantes de toute succession et de toute forme finie; l’espace et le temps enfin sont de pures abstractions. Oui, j ’en conviens, faire de Fespace et du temps des etres en soi, cela est deraisonnable; concevoir Dietl Confine durant et etendupmeme a l’infini, cela n’est pas moins insoutenable^je l’accorde encore; mais je ne suis pas pour cela condamne a refuser a la science de l’etendue et a la science du mouvemdni leur caractere absolu. En effet, tout en reconnaissant que les propositions de la geometric sortt absolument Tome III. — 9* Livraison. 3 �34 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. necessaires, je puis expliquer autrement que Kant leur necessity. La geometrie repose sur l’idee de l’espace, idee abstraite a mon avis; mais cette idee abstraite etant donnee, toutes les consequences qui s’en deduisent sont necessaires, par la necessity inherente au principe meme du raisonnement, au principe d’identite. Le triangle, le cercle ne sont pas des choses reelles, ce sont de pures constructions de 1’esprit tracant pour ainsi dire au sein de Tidee abstraite de l’etendue' diverses limitations precises; mais le cercle etant une fois pose comme cercle, il est necessaire que ses rayons soient egaux, Voila la necessity inherente aux propositions geometriques; die n’a nul besoin d’une pretendue intuition a priori de l’espace un et infini; elle n’a besoin que de la necessity de ce principe : A est A, un cercle est un cercle, en general, une chose ne peut pas etre differente d’elle-meme, prin­ cipe evidemment necessaire et absolu, qui communique sa necessity a toutes ses consequences, L’analyse de l’entendement a, dans le systeme de Kant, les memes defauts que celle de la sensibilite : elle est artificielle et fausse, prenant des abstractions pour des realites, etrangere a l’observation vraie de la conscience. De quoi s’agit-il en definitive? de rendre compte d’un •certain nombre de notions premieres qui sont, en effet, presentes dans tous nos jugements, comme les notions de cause, de sub­ stance, d’unite, lesquelles deviennent la base de ces grands principes sur Lesquels repose le systeme tntier de nos connaissances. Que fait Kant? au lieu d’observer la conscience humaine et d’avoir l’oeil fixe sur ce principe reel et vivant qui dit moi, qui se saisit immediatement lui-meme, qui se sent vivre, agir, durer, qui s’apercoit, non comme une condition abstraite de la pensee, mais comme un sujet reel et vivant, comme une veritable cause, une veritable substance, une veritable unite, au lieu, dis-je, de contempler ce monde des rea­ lties interieures, Kant se perd dans un labyrinthe inextricable de conceptions abstraites et de distinctions arbitrages, Il dresse une table de tous les jugements possibles ; il en reconnait douze especes, reparties trois a trois dans quatre cadres distincts, suivant leur qua­ lity, leur relation et leur modalite. Ces douze especes de jugements, generaux, particuliers et singuliers, affirmatifs, negatifs et linaitatifs, categoriques, hypothetiques et disjonctifs, problematiques, assertoriques et apodictiques, representent a ses yeux douze fonctions logiques de I’entendement, douze procedes distincts pour ramener une variete donnee a 1’unite. Il conclut de la qu’il doit y avoir dans 1’entende- �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 35 ment douze concepts purs, qui seuls peuvent rendre possibles ces diverses formes du jugement. G’est ainsi que sont introduites les .fameuses categories : unite, pluralite et totalite; realite, negation et Limitation; inherence, dependance et reciprocite ; possibility, existence et necessity. Suivant Kant, tous ces concepts sont a priori, antgrieurs a toute experience, absolument necessaires a la formation du.moindre juge­ ment. Ge n’est pas tout, une nouvelle condition est nece^aire : audessus de ces douze formas pures de l’entqndement’, Kant place une forme generale qu’il appelle ljunite synthetique de l’aperception, ou ' encore Funi te trans^ndantale de la ^conscience. Etji’allez pas croire qu’il soit ici question, de la .conscience que chacun de nous a -de ses actes, de cette conscience qui se traduit par .des affirmations comme celles-ci: Je sens, je pense, je suis. Non, la.conscience de Kant est une conscience abstraite, un cogito logique, une forme generale de la pensee; en un mot, ce n’est pas un fait, une realite est une pure abstraction, arhitrairement erigee en condition necessaire ei a priori de tout jugement possible. Voila une analyse qui paraitdejabien compliquee, mais Kant n’est pas encore au bo.uE Il se flatte :|.uavdnf rendu compte des con­ cepts purs d’unite, d’inherence, de dependance, etc1. ; nicds 11 n’a pas encore atteint les notions de cause, de substance, d’activi^, ni les principes correspondants. G’est pourquoi4.il ajopite lei sa theorie du schematisme. Outre ses’douze concepts purs, il lui faut douze schemes, c’est-a-dire douze representations a priori du temps, schemes de quantite , scnemesi de qualite, schemes de relation , schemes de modalitd’ il lui faut ces representations pour vivifier ses concepts abstraits, pour ges rendre applicables aux donnees de Fexperience, pour leur donnejune valeur et un sens. J’ai epuise enfin la serie compliquee, ’subtile, laborieuse, des con­ ditions sous lesquelles Kant .croit parvenir a rendre compte des prin­ cipes de l’esprit humain, et par exemple des principes de causalite et de substance. Or, s’il faut dire tout ce que je pense, ,il n’y a rien de plus faux, rien de plus vain que cettepretendue deduction qui lui a coute tant d’eflorts. Kant altere 'essenticllement les notions de cause et de substance. La notion1 de cause se transforme pour lui en celle de succession con stante; la notion de substance en celle de perma­ nence. Ge sont la deux erreurs psychdlogiques de la deriiiere gravite. Quand je produis une actionvolontaire, un efiori des muscles, par �36 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. exemple, il n’y a pas entre ces deux termes, ma volonte et l’effortJ une simple relation de succession, comme entre le jour et la nuitl ou, si Kant aime mieux, entre le vent qui souffle et le roseau qui plie. Il y a une relation bien plus intime, bien plus profonde : ma volonte produit l’effort, ma volonte est une cause dont l’effort est un effet, cause fixe, une, identique, qui se manifeste par une variete indefinie de phenomenes. Plus j’approfondis la notion de cette acti—j vite, de ce moi qui fait le fond de ma conscience, plus je reconnaSi qu’il s’apercoit, non-seulement comme cause, mais comme sub­ stance, je veux dire comme un etre tour a tour ou simultanement actif et passif, mais toujours identique sous la succession de ses modifications diverses. Ce n’est point la une substance abstraite, comme celle de Kant, un je ne sais quoi concu comme permanent, en opposition avec un ecoulement de phenomenes dont ce terme per­ manent serait la condition abstraite et a priori; c’est une substance reelle, une substance determihee, une substance qui se sait et se sent exister et agir. Voila une analyse bien simple, bien facile a verifier; cependant elle suffit pour faire crouler tout l’echafaudage d’abstrac­ tions, symetrique, subtil, ingenieux, j’eii tombe d’accord, mais tout artificiel, eleve par la main de Kant.' A la place de ces concepts a priori, parfaitement vides et creux, il faut done substituer des intui­ tions immediates de la conscience, pleines de realite et de vie; a la place de ces principes arbitraires, sans usage et sans portee, de veritables principes tenant par leurs racines a 1’experience, et dans leurs amples developpements embrassant l’univers et portant jusqu’aDieu. Tels sont les vices essenliels qui me frappent dans l’oeuvre analytique de Kant, et cela suffit pour me mettre en garde contre les con­ sequences qu’il va tirer de ces faux principes dans la partie dialectique de son entreprise. Kaiit m’a explique tout a l’heure quel est, suivant lui, le role de la raison dans l’economie de nos connaissances. La raison prise en gene­ ral est la faculte de raisonner, e’est-a-dire de ramener le particulier au general^ Or, cette operation suppose un dernier principe general qui soit la condition de tous les autres et qui lui-meme soit inconditionnel. La conception de cet inconditionnel, tel est l’office de la rai­ son pure. Mais la raison pure ne se borne pas a concevoir l’inconditionnel; elle entend se servir de cette idee pour speculer a priori sur la nature des etres. De la, si j’en veux croire Kant, des illusions �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 37 necessaires. Pour les detruire a jamais, il entreprend d’en decouvrir I les sources psychologiques et de faire en quelque sorte la science des T erreurs naturelles de l’esprit humain. Le principe general de la raison pure est celui-ci : Le conditionnel etant donne, avec lui est donnee la serie entiere des conditions et par ( consequent l’inconditionnel lui-rneme. Ceprincipe revolt,trois grandes applications, l’une au sujet de la pensee, F autre aux^objet^sensibles, la troisieme aux choses en general. De la trois idees : Fidee psycho] ogique, l’idee cosmologique et l’idee theologique. La raison cherche dans la conscience un sujet qui ne soit pas l’attribut d’un autre sujet, un sujet absolu, l’ame ou la substance pensante. En presence des objets sensibles, elle remonteu&e phenomene en phenomene et concoit quelque chose de premier et de definitif comme servant de base et de ■principe aux phenomenes du ^^m>s J Egbragsarf renfip, U totality absolue des existences possfBlK elle pose, comme condition de cette totality, une unite absolue qui est Dieu. Ces trois idees, ces trois principes, Fame, le Cosm(^eLDieu,^&peuyen^te,-W3dgonature meme, ni demontres, ni peuvent gKp^^Bmfces, puisqu’ils sont ce qu’il y a d^Mnstration; ils ne peuvent etre realises, puisqu’ils representent ce qui est au dela de toute experience possible. Leur valeur est done purement subjective*, ils n’etendent pas la connaissance humaine, ils la circonscrivent et l’achevent, voila tout. La metaphysique a d’autres pretentions pretend faire la science de Fame, celle du Cosmos et celle meme de Dieu. De la conce|)tion abstraitedenotre e^e.pehsant, Jaquirie ®en de multiple, elle conclut a l’unite absolue de cet etre, ce qui est un ’ paralogisme. De F impossibility de s’arreter dans la serie regressive ' des phenomenes, elle..cqnfelut Jl uneSadition' cette condition se presente de deuxMccm^^^^dict^^il enresulte une antinomie; enfin, de la totalite desaiobi'et^.eEL' general, elle conclut a l’etre des etres comme condition de la possibi­ lity des choses et fondement deMie^^nceMniv^^lle.!S|n que cet etre nous soit absolument inconnu. De .la, un. ideal nuenous transformons arbitrairement en chose reelle et oil nous voyons meme le fondement de toute realitq. AinsjL l’lmel% runjfeJa|fDieu, tous les objets de notre pensee,, tout l’edifice de nos croyances, tombe Apiece a piece et s’ecroule sous la main de Kant, et la conclusion de cette dialectique negative, c’est que la nietaphysique entiere, avec les �38 • ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. trois sciences qui la constituent, psychologie rationnelle, cosmologid rationnelle, theologie rationnelle, est ruinee a jamais. J’entends dire autour de moi que ces objections de Kant sont absolument invincibles. Mais sans dissimuler ce qu’elles ont a quelques ogards de fort et de serieux, il me semble von? ici, comme dans son oeuvre analytique, beaucoup plus d’artifiee que de solidite. Kant reduit la psychologie .aux quatre theses suivantes : lame est une substance, lime est simple, Fame est une, Fame est spirituelle. Or, suivaut bailees quatre propositions reposent uniquement sur quatre; arguments vicicux ou se retrouve toujours le meme paralogisme. On pose, dit-il', dans les- premisses un moi purement subjectif, qui n’est1 autre chose1 qu’une condition logique de la perception des pheno— menes, et dans le passage des premisses a la conclusion, on trans­ form^ ce moi subjectif et logique ehJun moi objectif doue d’une realiteabsolue / Je repondrai a Kant que sa dialectique peut etre vietorieuse eontre Ja psychologie concue a la maniere de Wolf, je veux dire exclusivement fbndee sur Fabus des procedes logiques, mais qu’elle ne saurait atteindre la veritable science de Fame, celle qui prend son point d’appui, non dans des syllogismes, mais dah^’ttne analyse approfondie de la nature humaine. En effet, quelle est la veritable base de la psycho­ logie ?un fait permanent et tiniverseL le fait de conscience. Je sens vivre au dedans de moi un principe toujours present, qui ne se confond pas avec la seriede mes modifications, que je retrouve identique a lui-mfeme sous les vicissitudes de mon existence mobile, qui, sort en subissant Faction des choses exterieures, soit en reagissant art' dehors, soit en sei concentrant sur soi dans une action tout interieure, a chaque instant se connatt, a chaque instant Faffirme avee une darts et une certitude infaillibles. Est-ce la le moi dont parle Kant, ce sujet logique, cette forme abstraite* pure condition de la possibility de Fexperienee? non, evidemment non; Le moi de la conscience est une force en action, une Energie qui se deploiej quelque chose d’essentielI'ementreeT, contret, vivant. Maintenaht, pour etre reel et concret, ce moi n’a-t-il qu’une valeur empirique? n’esHT pas un veritable etre, une veritable substance?On refusera d’fen eonvenir, si: avee Kant! on fait de la substance un principe mysterieux, un je ne sais quoi, un X algebrique, si avee lui bn se plait a creuser un abime infranehis*sable entre la consdence et la Faison, ent re le monde des phenomenes ei le monde des etres. Mais- cette separation n’a aucun sens pour l’obr - % �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 30 ^TS^eur attentif. Dans l’acte de conscience en effet, le sujet se saisit lui-meme et s’affirme comme objet. Entre le moi qui agit et le moi qui se sent agir, l’analyse peut distinguer, mais la nature, le mouvement reel de la vie ne distinguent pas, Fobjectif et le’subjectif ne font qu’un. Et maintenant, pow; dfeblir Fwitei,, la simplicity lagubstotialite^ la spirituality de Fame, faudra-t-il faire appel au raisonnement, construire des syllogismes?Il est cl air qu'e cefe est parfaitement inutile; j’ajoute que cela m’a toujours paru tres-dangereux. En effet, raisonner pour trouver Famy^estadmettire que' Fame ne s’apercoit pas elle-meme, c’est eteblir une' distinction factice entrb' dJdtix moi,f le; moi de la conscience et fe mor dh la raison, c’est eiever enfre eiix une bstt’riere arbitraire que le raisonnement ne pourra pas franchir. A ce point de vue, Kant a raison. Il n’y a plus de psychologie, des qu’il n’y a plus une intuition de conscience qui atteigne 1’elre, Funite, la substance dans leur profondeur. C’en est fait de toute metaphysique, et I’esprit humain esl condamne aignererFunivers ef Dieu, arester enferme dans la region des phenomenes. Voila ce que Kant a supe— rieurement vu; voila pour moi la valeur et l’interet de sa dialectique.’ Mais ce qu’il n’a pas vu, c’est que la science de Fame a pour base, non pas un moi logitjue^ mats un moi reel, non pas un moi purernent phenomenal, mais un moi cause, un moi substance, un moi un, iden­ tique, vivant, objectif et subjectif tout ensemble. Retablir ce principe, c’est refuter Kant, et c’est du meme coup rendre a la psychologie rationnelle et a la mdtaphysiquq leur fondement. J’oserai maintenant jeter un coup d’oeil sur ces fameuses antino­ mies qui passent chez beau coup d’e sprits pourlede sespoiretern el‘ et l’insurmontable ecueil de la philosophic speculative. Elles resultent, dans le systeme de Kant, de l’application du principe fondamental de la raison, savoir que le conditionnel etant donne, aved fui ment donnee la serie entiere des conditions et partant l’inconditionnel lui-meme. Appliquez ce principe a l’idee du mbndb, considere comme un ensemble de phenomenes exterieurs, vous verrez se former quatre theses, contre lesquelles s’eleveront aussitot quatre antitheses, d’ou resultera une quadruple antinomie. Comment cela? c’est que, selon Kant, chaque fois que vous affirmez qu’un phenomene est subordonne a une serie de conditions, vous pouvez egalement concevoir cette serie comme finie ou comme infinie. Dans les deux cas, l’absolu semble donne, et Fabsolu JcVst fa chi’rtiefb’ que l’esprit �40 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. humain, en vertu des lois de sa nature, cherche sans cesse sans pouvoir jamais la saisir. Considerez-vous le monde suivant les categories de la quantite et de la qualite? vous le concevez avec un droit egal comme limite en extension et en duree, c’est-a-dire comme fini, ou comme illimite dans Fespace et dans le temps, c’est-a-dire comme infini; vous vous le representez tout aussi bien comme compose de parties simples que comme infiniment divisible. .£e sont la les antinomies que Kant appelle mathematiques. Concevez-vous le monde sous de nouveaux points de vue, ceux de la relation et de la modalite ? vous etes porte a rattacher tous les effets,a une cause premiere et libre, ou bien, tout aussi arbitrairement, a les concevoir comme une chaine infinie de phenomenes lies par une aveugle fatalite. De meme, vous etes egalement enclin a donner pour base a la serie des choses contingentes une existence necessaire et a concevoir cette serie comme indefinie. Ce sont la les antinomies dites dynamiques et qui completent ce systeme de .contradictions regulieres imposees par Kant a l’esprit humain. Je noterai ici une premiere reflexion, flont je suis frappe, c’est que Kant ne considere comme absolument insolubles que les antinomies mathematiques .; il admet pour les autres une solution, et il travaille meme a la decouvrir. Certes $ voila une concession qui est de la derniere importance. Car il est assez clair que les antinomies dynami­ ques sont les plus gravesde tputes, puisque l’existence de la liberte y est engageej et deja meme, par anticipation , ,Fexistcnce de Dieu, c’est-a-dire la morale et la religion. Kant accorde done que sur ces grands objets la raison n’est pas reduilev,au desesperant aveu d’une contradiction inevitable. La morale et la religion sont a couvert. D ne reste done plus de serieusement compromis que l’interet de curio­ site qui s’attache pour l’homme a ces questions purement metaphysi- ■ ques, qui restent pour la masse du genre humain parfaitement indif- ; ferentes et sur lesquelles l’ignorance est facile a supporter, meme au petit nombre d’esprits curieux qui les agitent, par exemple, la ques­ tion de savoir si la matiere est ou non divisible a l’infini. Voila done ou aboutit ce grand et solennel acte d’accusation si laborieusement dresse, ou le scepticisme a epuise toute sa force et tous ses artifices. Concentree sur ce terrain, j’avoue que la discussion perd de sa gran­ deur, mais elle perd aussi de ses perils. Si la morale et la religion sont hors de cause, qu’importe apres tout que, sur quelques points �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 41 de subtile metaphysique, mon esprit soit oblige de confesser son impuissance? • Mais meme dans cet ordre de problemes abstraits, il me semble que Kant n’aboutit pas a la conclusion oil il aspire. Je m’armerai contre lui de ses propres aveux. Il resout les antinomies dynamiques par une distinction fort juste entre le point de.vue de l’experience et le point de vue de la raison. De ce que pour les sens: il n’y .a que des phenomenes contingents,! on ne pent pas:conclure, ditsil,' qu’au dela des phenomenes, darisi une region?ou les sens, ne peuvent atteindre, il n’y ait pas un etre necessaire,iune cause, spontanee ebpremiere qui soit le principe de tous les phenomenes de l’univers. Fort bien; mais je dirai a Kant, ennui empruntant son moyien de s-solation &t en le poussant plus loin que lui, .que si les sens et ^imagination nous invitent a nous representer un monde fini,, cela ne prouve pas que la raison n’ait pas le droit.de co.riqp¥®ir,f.au.moip^ commeipossible, un univers sans bornes, dont l’etendue et la duree illimitees reflechissent en quelque sorte l’eternite et l’immensite incommunicables de Dieu. De meme, si les sens et l’imagination s’arretent avec com­ plaisance a la vieilleet grossiere hypothese des atomes, rien n’empeche la raison de detruire ces fausses‘apparences, de nousdaire comprendre l’impossibilite d’un atome etendu , c’est-a-dired’un indivisible divi­ sible ; rien ne l’empeche surtout de .saisiig.au dela d^l’etehdue et du mouvement, les causes invisibles dont Faction permanente anime la face du monde, et de concevoir ces, causes commo des principes doues d’unite, inferieurs sans doute, mais plus ou moins analogues a cettc cause simple et indivisible que.iiiousjsentons vivre; et .palpjter au dedans de nous. Ainsis’evanouit le fantastique assendjlage.de con­ tradictions imagine par le sceptieismp, et il.ne reste^deftanbdiefforts d’un genie fait pour unautre.usage^ qu’une leGpn. de modestie donnee a l’esprit humain. Sices vues sont justes, je puis aborder avec un peu plus de confiance les objections de Kant contre la possibility d’une theologie rationnelle. A ses yeux l’idee„de Dieu,ou de l’etre de^gOp^ estdajpluswhaute de la raison et la plus necessaire, puisquey e’est par elie que la raison Tonsomme son oeuvre synthetique en^ dormant aul’ensemble de la, connaissance liumaine sa derniere ignite; mais tout ce qui>resulte de la, dit-il, c’est que DieU est, non pas la realite supreme, mais seu­ lement le supreme ideal, rien de plus’. Or, il arrive que la curiosite �42 * • X (< g.scX J ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEHSEi humaine ne se peut satisfaire d’un simple ideal; emportee par le desir de penetrer jusqu’au fond des choses, elle transforme cet ideal tout subjectif et tout relatif en une realite absolue, et se flatte de pouvoir saisir, embrasser et decrire le principe de 1’existence. Cette illusion se produit, d^apres Kant, selon une marche reguliere. D’abord la raison, en contemplant co vaste et harmonieux univers, le>rattache a un principe invisible puis, elle conceit ce principe comme necessaire pour y trouver la raison, d’etre de l’ensemble des choses contingentes ; enfm, de 1’etre necessaire elle s’eleve a l’Ctre des etreSy c’est-a-dire a I’etre qui contient toutes- les realites et toutes les ptjssibilites , cet etre pouvant seul renfermer la. raison universelle et absolue de toute existence-. La theologie rationnelle exprime a sa maniere cette evolution spontanee de la raison speculative, en demontrant. [’’existence de Dieu par trois arguments 5 ^’argument, physico-theologique', qui s’appuie sur l’ordre de l’univers, 1’argument cosmologique, fonde sur la contingencedu monde, 1’argument ontologique,. qui deduit du concept de Fetre parfait son existence reelle. Je dois convenir d’une chose, c’est que Kant me semble avoir parfaitement reussi a mettre enlumiere les defauts de ces arguments, de meme qu’SL triomphaitaisement tout a.l’heure des; preuves syllogistiques de la spirituality de Fame. Mais qu’en faut-il conclure? que les bases de la theodicee sont detruites > nullement; mais que Kant n’a connu ^es veritables bases de la theodicee. lEadt a l’heure, il alterait et niait F intuition immediate du moi pair lui-meme; maintenant il altere et nie une autre intuition, moins claire peut-etre, mais egalement irrefragable, l’intuition de l’etre parfait et absolu. let encore, il n’y a pas, d’un cote, un concept abstrait, logique, le concept d’une existence absolue envisag^e commo purement possible; de l’autre, l’esprit humain se consumant en raisonnements steriles, entassant les syllogismes pour irouver, par dela ce concept parfaitement vide de toute reality un Dieu reel et vivant qui sans cesse lui echappe et semble se derober a ses efforts. G’est la une fausse image de la con­ science humaine, d’oil ne pent sortir qu’une fausse et sterile theolo­ gie. De meme que je ne saisis pas d’abord un moi abstrait, un moi i possible, pour arriver ensuite, a travers des raisonnements arbitraires, q a un moi reel, coneret, effectif, substantiel; de meme, quand je rat- \ tache mon existence fragile a cette source infinie d’etre, de pensee et ! de vie quu j’appelle Dieu, ce n est point la. un raisonnement fonde. j �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. i r: I 43 snr des conceptions abstraites, e’est une veritable intuition, ou l’Etre | desetres est saisi et affirme, non comme possible, mais comme reel; et present. > ri Vienne maintenant Kant; reduire1 la theologie rationnelle a trois syllogismesje lui dirai qu’il pent avoir raison con lire une theologie raisonneuse et nourrie deputes abstractions^ telle par exemple que la theologie toute scolastique de Wolf; mais qu’il n’atteini pas une theologie amie des faits et solidement appuyee sur les intuitions reelles et fecondes de; la conscience. Voici en effet le procede dont se sort Kant pour battre em br'eche la theologie rationnelle. Apres avoir aftaque 1’argument physico-theologique, fonde sur les causes finales,/tequel devient enlre ses mains une preuve purement empirique, etrangere a toute notion de perfec­ tion absolue,. incapable par consequentld’atteindre jusqu’au principe de l’existence, il ramene subtilementl’argument cosmologique tire de la contingenee du monde a l’argument ontologique sur'lequol il lui plait de concentrer tout le dehai. Or, quel est eet argument supreme T e’est la preuve inspireeva saint Anselmepar le genieisubtil de la sco­ lastique, et mal a propos ressuscitee. par le grand geometrefiqui a. fonde la philosophic moderne.. Elle cqnsiste a poser le concept d’une perfection possible pour en? fairs iojdir par fife dSisonnement »|Vxistence reelle et actuelle d’un etre parfait. Toute la subtilite ingenieuse de saint Ans.elw> tout© I’industrie geometriques de. Descartes sont impuissantesr il est Vraa f a operer cette deduction.. Je l’accorde a Kant, et voila le resuriat^mTde cette. partie de son entreprise, dialectique; mais a-t-il atteint son but? a-t-il prouve I’impuissance de l’esprit humain a saisir le principe premier de la pensee et de 1’etre ? il est clair que non. Telle est 1’impression que me laisse l’etude de la Critique de la Raison pure speculative, et il semblerait en resulter que les pro— blemes religieux n’ont idea avee Kaaatj si '6e n’esta titred’adversaire. Mais le grand ouvrage que. je viens de mediterne eon— tient qu’une m@itM.de I’entreprise philosophique' db> Kant Hl II y aft deux hommes en lui, le metaphy sicien et le moraliste. Le metaphysicien aboutit, comme je viens de le voir, au seepticisme absolu; mais le moraliste est profondement dogmatique^ et il ramene le metaphy— sicien a la certitude et a Dieu. Si la raison speculative etait la raison tout entiere, l’homme de Kant ne ^prtirait jamais-de sa propre. pen­ see; il y languirait comme dans une: etroite prison,, contemplant �44 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. sterilement ces ideaux, ces concepts, vaines images d’un monde intel­ ligible a jamais insaisissable a ses yeux. Mais, a cote de la raison speculative, il y a en nous la raison pratique. Les formes pures de l’intuition, les concepts de l’entendement, les ideaux de la raison n’epuisent pas l’analyse de la conscience humaine; elle renferme encore d’autres elements a priori, par exemple, ces deux grands con­ cepts du devoir .et de la liberte sur lesquels repose toute notre vie morale. L’homme de la raison speculative, c’est un etre purement intellectuel, n’ayant rien autre chose a tfaire qu’a penser; mais l’homme veritable n’est pas un pur esprit, c’est un etre actif, sen­ sible; il a des besoms, des desirs, des obligations,ail aspire au bonheur, a la.perfection, a rimmor.talite. He bien! le voila qui va retrouver au sein de la vie morale la certitude qui lui echappait dans ses recherches speculativesl L’ame spirituelle et Immortelle, Dieu, la Providence, s’etaient jusqu’a present derobes a tous ses efforts; appuye sur l’idee du devoir, ii saisit d’une main sure toutes ces verites desormais a l’abri de toute atteinte. L’idee du devoir est le Cogito ergo sum de Kant ; c’est le minimum quid inconcussum, invincible au doutequi sort a cenouveau Descartes a*consolider tout ce qu’il avait ebranle. Telle est 1’idee generate de la Critique de la Raison pratique, let c?est la pretention formelie de Kant, que ce second ouvrage, loin d’etre, une aite?ajoutee apres coup) I un edifice mal construitpar un architecte imprevoyant, ^ient au contraire concourir aved lai Critique de la Raison speculative a former un monument regulier, complet et harmonieux *. Comment la morale de Kant peut-elle servir de base a une theodicee? comment Dieu est-il, avec la liberte et la vie future, un des trois postulate dela Raison pratique? voila maintenant la question. Kant part du concept fondamental de la raison.pratique , c’est-adire^du. concept du devoir, et il.stattache a etablir que ce concept a uneveCtu objective que me possede aucun des concepts de la raison speculative ;lcela fait,jril< soutient que le concept du devoir commu­ nique immediatement sa vertu objective a un second concept, celui de liberte, tellement lie avec le premierqu’ils forment a eux deux un tout inseparable. 'Cela etabli, Kant .se flatte d’avoir deja fait un pas hors du cercle de la conscience ; .rear Jia liberte, . a l’en croire, ne se 1. Je ne disrifen d’une troisifeme’tritiqufe/laCritique duJugement, qui vient encore accroitre et compliipifer le syst&me de Kant. �E1SSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 45 sent point, elle se conclut. Les concepts de devoir et de liberte, avec la force d’objectivite qui leur est propre, ont done fait ce que n’avaient pu faire les speculations les plus puissantes de la metaphy­ sique: ils m’ont assure de l’existence reelle d’un etre en soi, d’un noumene.,.car ils m’ont fait saisir l’etre libre et moral, oblige de faire Son devoir et aspirant au meilleur usage, de sa liberte, c’est-a-dire au souverain bien. 0r^ maintenanl|4e concept du souverain bien, ou se resume la morale, est lie a deux nouveaux concepts, oil se resume la religion : de sontdes concepts., deilDieia>e.L de la vie future. Qu’arrive-t-il de la? e’est quelle' concept mo^al communique aux concepts religieux la vertu objective qui estleii lui^ et de la sorte, Dieu et;la vie future, qui n’etaient pour-liaison speculative t»e des ideaux' et des possibles, deviennent indirectement pour nous des realites certaines. Il faut reprendre, anneau par anneau, la chaine de cette deduction, afin d’en toucher au doigtple fort et lefaiole. K.ant commence*par le concept de devoir, et y appliquant.^analyse aveejune rigueur et une profondeur justement admirees, il en etablit l’existence et les caracteres. Il y a des devoirs, et tout devoir est absolu par son essence. Tu ne mentiras pas^ tu ne deroberas pas, ce sont des maximes evidentes par elles-memes. Or, l’obligation qu’ell es expriment est-elle particuliere a tel temps, a tel lieu, a tel individu, a telle circonstance? nullement; ces maximes sont universelies et necessaires; y supposer une seule exception, e’est les detruire. Partant de la, Kant pose comme criterium de la moralite cette fameuse regie : Agis toujours de telle sorte que la maxime de ta volonte puisse etre consideree comme un principe de legislation universelle, et il refute victorieusement tous les philosophesjqui pret‘dndenfr£expliquer»lc d&voir, soitipar 1’education, comme Montaigne, soit par la constitution civile, comme Mandeville, soit par le bonheur, comme Epicure, soit par le senti­ ment, comme Hutcheson, soit par la perfection, comme Wolf apres les stoiciens, soit enfin par la volonte divine, comme Grusius et d’autres theologiens et philosophes. Le devoir est done un principe absolu, cela est demontre; mais y a-t-il quelque raison pour accorder a ce concept une valeur objec: tive, quand on le refuse a une fonle d’autres concepts; egalement absolus, tels que ceux de la raison speculative? C’est ici que Kant epuise, mais bien vainement, toutes les ressources de son esprit inventif et subtil. Il pretend distinguer le concept du devoir d’avec les- notions d’es- �46 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELJGIEUSE. pace, de temps, de cause, de substance, et autres semblables, soit en ce que l’espace et le temps se rapportent aux objets de l’experience, tandis que le concept du devoir en est entierement independant, soit en ce que la cause et la substance, si Ton fait abstraction de leur | usage dans les, choses de I’experience, n’ont plus qu’un rapport loin-| tain et hypothetique avec les objets intelligibles auxquels on vent |' ■etendre arbitrairement .leur application, tandis. que le concept du devoir, reglant immediatement et absolument ce qui doit etre fait, ce qui oblige tout etre raisonnable, acquiert par cela inline une force d’objectivite incontestable, puisque 1’etre raisonnable ne peut nier la valeur objective du concept du devoir,*saus nier le devoir hdineme. Investi par Kant de ce privilege objectif,_le concept du devoir le communique a plusieurs autres, et d’abord, d’une facon immediate, a celui de la liberte . J e. touche <a un des paradoxes les plus extraordinaires de Kant. lout en reconnaissant hautement la liberty il pretend que nous n’en .avens pas conscience. La liberie n’est pas un fait a ses yeux; c’est sun concept a priori. Prise en elle-meme, ce n’est qu’un ideal, et eel ideal ne devient une realite quepar la force d’objectivite attribuee au concept du devoir.UDe sorte que nous ne connaissons pas immediatement que nous sornmes* fibres, nous le concluons. En verite, je ne puis m’expliquer cette artificielle et etrange deduction qu’en me disant que Kant etail condamne d’avance aux vains raffinements de 1’analyse et a toutes sortes d’eijreurs par son scepticisme -absolu en metaphysique; II. a voulu en effet, dans la Critique de la Raison speculative, etablir une pretendue antinomie entre les lois de la nature et les lois de 1’ordre moral. A l’entendre, dans la region des choses de I’experience (laquelle embrasse les faits du sens intime), I lout est sounds a une .fatalite absolue; un phenomene, quel qu’il soit,, extern® ou interne, est determine par les phenomenes anterieu^|, de sorte qu’il n’y a la aucune place pour la liberte. Au contraire, dans la region des choses du devoir, les phenomenes, qui sent des actions raisonnables, ont pour caractere propre de se rap­ porter a use cause libre. Voila la these d’une part, et l’antithese de 1’autre, d’ou -resulte une antinomie. -C’esl pour la resoudre et pour : sauver la morale, menacee d’etre emportee dans la ruine de l’ontologie, que Kant a imagine sa theorie de la liberte. Il veut que la liberte soit en dehors de 1’experieuce, en dehors meme du sens intime, afin �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 47 de la soustraire a la loi qui regit suivant lui le monde des faits; il la transporte done dans les regions des choses ideales, et se flatte ainsi de resoudre l’antinomie qu’il lui avait plu de supposer. Mais s’il suffisait, dans la Critique de la Raison pure, ■d’idealfeer la liberte pour la conserver, dans ^ Critique de la Raison pratique, cela no suffit plus. Il faut a Kaul, non pas une liberte ideate, line liberte abstraite et purement possible, mais une liberte reelle, pour avoir une morale reelle etdes devoirs effectifs^'Que fait-ilT il transforme l’ideal en reel, d’une maniere aussi ingenieuse et aussi vaine qu’il transformait tout a Theure le reel ctfjdeal. Nous; n’avons;^! est 4rai, si on veut s’en tier a lui, qu’un concept delnotre liberte, a la place d’un sentiment immediat et precis; mais, grace au concept du devoir et a la merveilleuse faculte objectivante dont il l’a gratifie, cette liberte possible et tout ideale se metamorphose en^triie liberte eHec— tive. En effet que signifierait, dit-il, le concept de devoir pour un etre qui serait depourvu de liberte ? Tu dois, done tu peux. Si nous avons des obligations, comme cela est evident de soi, nous sommes libres de les accomplir. Autrement nous ne connaitrions que le desir et la necessite. Le desir incline, la necessity contraint, le devoir seul oblige, parce qu^seuTiLsuppos^Ialibea’te.^ C’est a 1’aide de tous ces detours compliques et laborieux que Kant aboutit au premier postulat de Idraison pratique ^existence reelle de la liberte. S’imaginant avoir arrache la morale au scepticisme, par la morale il tente de lui arracher aussi la religion. Si la morale est vraid* la ‘morale telle que vientflde la constituer Kant, avec la loi dii devdih pour principe et la liberte pbntlMlfoquence, quelle est la fin de Fhomnte^ Kant# demande si We'fin est la vertu seute, la vertu se suffisant pleineriitmt a elle-meme, ainsi que Font enseigne les stoiciens. Il examine alors le principe fondamental de cette grande ecole *ieHle comparant avbe te principe contraire des epicuriens, il fait voir avec une force eirijbe iagejj ddulirV hies que ni la vertu, ni te bonheur ne constituent separement la fin de l’bomme, le souverain biefi". Sans meconnaitre la superiority du principe stoicien, Kant prouve qu’il est insuffisant et qu’il a besoin d’etre tempere pfe^fe priilcipe epicurien, qui a sorltour reduit a lui-meme, serait ^ansWtorite comffie sans dignite-ferales. ZJRduverain bien n’est done ni?Ta vertu seule, ni le seul bbfifeur,%iais l’harmonie du bonheur dtde la vertu. Br, maintenant, ce souverain bien, vers lequel la raison nous ordonne de lendre sansMHk, est-il �r ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSeSP realisable dans les conditions du monde sensible? Kant demontre superieurement le contraire. Sans aucun doute, la vertu est accessible a l’homme dans une certaine mesure, puisqu’elle depend de sa volonte; mais la vertu parfaite c’est la saintete, et la saintete est un ideal que la volonte ne peut atteindre ,. quoiqu’elle puisse et doive y tendre sans cesse. AinJI done, des deux elements du, sopverain >bien, le premier ne saurait etre realise dans l$s limites d’une existence bornee. D’ou il suit qu’il faut de deux choses,Funes: ou bien admettre que cet ideal est une . chimere trpjaipeuse, ce qui renyerse tout l’ordre moral, ou bien ' reconnaitre apres la vie presente une carriere indefinie de perfectionnements pour la moralite humaine. Cette derniere conclusion se confirme encore, si l’on considere le second element, du^ souverain bien, le bonheur. Non-seulement le bonheur n’est pas et ne peut pas etre de ce monde, ce qui acheve de prouver la vie future, mais le rapport du bonheur et de la vertu est completement independant de notre volonte, et ce rapport ne peut etre etabli selon les lois absolues de la justice que par une volonte superieure a-j,’p^^ers,f.et qui tienne en quelque sorte l’humanite et la nature dans sa main. C’cst ainsi- que le souverain bien, que la raison pratique nous,.fait.concevoir.comme l’objet necessaire de notre volonte, supposant lui-meme, dit Kant, un Souverain bienprimitif d’ou il puisse deriver, il est moralement necessaire d’admettre Fexis­ tence de Dieu., Wila.donc notre grand sceptique en possession d’une existence absolue, et certes ce resultat ^st deja ysingulierement surprenant. Mais ce qui est plus extraordinaire encore, c’est qu’apres avoir affirme Dieu, il entreprenne de determiner sa nature. Quoi! Fauteur de la Critique de la nation pyre construire jane dheologie rationnelle a la maniere de Wolf! Quoi^vous avez consume toute votre puis­ sance d’analyste?sltoute votre vigueur de dialecticien a prouver que la metaphvsique est impossible, et vous venez apres coup nous proposer la solution du probleme metaphysique le plus eleve! Votre circonspectipn systematique etait tellemue.vous ne vouliez rien affirmer de l’objet meme qui est le plus pres de nous, de ce principe qui en nous pense et agit sans,.cesse ,a.l|plumiere de la conscience, et maintenant vous vous flattez de penetrer legrand my stere de l’existence, d’atteindre Fabsolu et de le decrire! Que va devenir l’idee fondamentale ue votre reform e philosophique, cette idee qui devait �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 49 modifier si profondement le cours de l’esprit humain, et changer la face de toutes choses dans l’ordre philosophique, comme avait fait, tdans l’ordre physique, la decouverte de Copernic ? . Certes je ne puis douter que Kant, un des esprits les plus systematiques du monde, ne se soit propose, toutes ces objections et bien d’autres encore. Mais une fois resolu a sauver^le principe des verites religieuses, une fois entre dans la voie de la Critique de la Raison pratique, je comprends aussi qu’il lui etait bien difficile de ne pas aller au dela de la simple affirmation de Dieu. A quel titre, en effet, avons-nous le droit, sui\ant Kant, d’affirmer que Dieu existe ? c’est parce que le souverain bien, qui ^iLneces^^menl realise, ne peut l’etre qu’en supposant Dieu. Mais s’il en est ainsi, nous avons une methode pour determiner la nature de Dieu. Bien que saisi par nous indirectement, Dieu n’est na& poufegel^jM l^^^^CRiyniatique. Nous ne voyons pas digcGtement ce qu’il est, mais nous savons ce qu’il doit etre, car noiis savons qu’il doit avoir tous les gttributs sans lesquels il lui serait impossible d’etre ce qu’il est, c’est-a-dire le principe qui realise le souverain bien. Or, pour realiserle souverain bien, il faut d’abord le connaitre. Done, DieS est intemgwffl. Il ne suffit pas de le connaitre, il faut l’aimer et le vouloir. Done Dieu est bon et puissant. H Ainsi parle la logique; mais je JfaisTe parler Kant lui-meme: « Dieu doit etre omniscient, diL-jl, afin de penetrer nos plus secretes intentions dans toushles’cas possibles et dans tous les temps; omni­ potent, afin de departir a ma conduite les suites qu’elle rnerite, et de meme, omnipresent, eternel, etc.1 » Et c’est ainsi, ajoute Kant, que la loi morale determine, a l’aide de l’idee du souverain bien, la notion de l’Etre supreme, ce que ne pouvaient faire ni la physique, ni la metaphysique, nuen gen^Oltoute speculative. Arrive au terme de la Critique de la Raison pratique, Kant fait d’incroyables efforts pour se demontrer a lui-meme qu’elle est d’ac­ cord avec la Critique de la Raison* spjl&dMiA Pu. douter de Dieu dans celle-ci et l’affirmer dans celle-la sans aucune contra­ diction. La raison pratique, remarque=-t-il, n’etend point la connais­ sance speculative; elle nous fait seulement connaitre comme reel co que la raison speculative concevait comme problematique. La liberte, tt’immortalite, Dieu, ne son|tpas nou/Epsaisoii speculative des objets 3. Critique de la 'Raison pratique, traduction de M. Jules Barni, p. 358. Tome III.— 9" Livraison. 4 �50 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. nouveaux; la raison pratique se borne a nous assurer de leur realite; objective, que nous ignorions. Pour la liberte, cela se fait immediatoment: tu dois, done tu es libre; la liberte est la condition a priori de la loi morale. Et quant aux deux autres grandes verites religieuses, 1’immortalite et Dieu, lteur realite objective est liee a celle de la liberte , qui elle-meme est inseparable de la loi morale, dont nous avons l’immediate conscience. Lorsque la raison pratique affirme 1’immortalite et Dieu, ce n’est pas un simple besom speculatif, un simple moyen de donner a nos connaissances un plus haut degre d’unite et de perfection; e’est un besoin legitime d’admettre une chose sans laquelle ne pourrait avoir lieu ce que nous devons necessairement nous proposer pour but de nos actions. Ainsi done, la raison pratique ne contredit pas, elle confirme la raison speculative. Il y aurait contradiction entre elles si la raison pratique pretendait etendre le ehamp de nos speculations theoriques et donner aux idees un usage transcendantal. Mais non ; si la raison pratique donne a certains concepts une portee que la raison speculative ne pent leur attrfbuer, ce n’est pas une portee speculative* Dieu et 1’immortalite restent pour nous speculativement des choses impenetrables; nous savons seulement d’une maniere certaine qu’il y a un Dieu et une vie future. La raison speculative nous avait averti qu’au dela du phenomena il doit y avoir autre chose. Cette autre chose reste inconnue a la raison pratique en ce sens qu’elle ne peut le determiner speculativement, ou du meins qu’elle n’ajoute rien aux concepts speculatifs que nous en avions; mais ces concepts speculatifs nous presentaient l’idqal et l’absolu simplement possibles; la raison pratique noiis les donne comme certains. Que- faut-il penser de ces explications ingenieuses? A dire le vrai, je les trouve parfaitement vaines, et il me semble que toutes les tentatives de Kant pour donner au concept du devoir la portee objective ' qu’il refuse aux autres concepts de la raison, ont completemeni Lechoue. II dit que le concept du devoir a une force d’objectivite qui ■ lui est exclusivement propre, en ce qu’il exprime ce qui doit etre fait ’ par toute volonte raisonnable, abstraction faite des conditions de 1’experience, et realise ainsi lui-meme ses objets, puisqu’il depend toujours de la volbnte de Tester fidele au devoir. — Je reponds que le concept de la cause et eelui de la substance sont, tout aussi bien que la loi du devoir, independants des objets sensibles. Supposez, en effet, l’univers aneanti, ees concepts gardent une valeur propre; car �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE! 51 il reste vrai que tout effet suppose une cause et tout attribut une substance. — Ce sont la, dit Kant, des concepts vides. — Soit; mais quoi de plus vide aussi que la notion du devoir;, s’il n’y avait pas des etres doues de volonte? Le deyoir, ditej^yous, non-seul.ement regie le monde moralcomme la Joi de la causajite regie le monde physique, mais il leconstitue, Suhtije et fgusse distmetiond Otezles etres moraux, dont ^experience seule, no.us apprend I’exkten^ au x dedans et au dehors* de^ous^ le devoir n’est plus qu’une abstraction sans realite. Tous les raffinements et toutes les subtilites imaginees pour creer ici une difference ne prouvent qu’une chose, c’esf. que le ’ bon sens de Kant et sa bonne conscience ne peuvent tenir dans le , systeme d’abstractions et de doutes ou la peur de la metaphysique l’a ' conduit a s’emprisonner. Supposons maintenanWuele concept, du devoir,. tel que Kant le Mecrit, possede en effet une valeur objective,fc|e dis,qu’il ne pourra la communiquer ni aux concepts de la. vie future et.de Dieu,7m meme an concept de la liberte., C’est sans doute une maxirne tres-belleet tres-vraie que celle de Kant: tu dois,. done tu peux, et il est incon­ testable en soi que le devoir et la liherte sont inseparables; mais j’ose dfere que cela est yj» pour tout le monde excepfe pour Kant. Ek# effet, quiconque s’interroge saps pardi pris reconnaitra aisem,ent qu’aussitdt que la raisoa fait, (ii^tinguer a rh.omme le bieu du mal8, la conscience lui apprend qu’il est lihre dmchoisir J’un ou l’aufre. Ce qui est bien en soi^coneu comme obligafoire pour un etre libre, voila le devoir. Otez-moi la conscience de ma liberte, vous m’otez la notion du devoir tout ,missi s^omgnt quo si fvous m’blic^’idoe dir bien et du mal. Or, e’est la doctrine consfanle et systematique dp Kant, que la liberte ne tornbe pas sous la conscience.. A ses yeux, la liberte n’est pas un fait, e’est un concept a priori. Cette doctrine est etrange, j’en conviens, contraire au temoignage eclatant de la conscience, j’en suis convaincu, mais e’est la doctrine de Kant dans la Critique de la Raison,spsculaldv^r^ if.pretend y rester fidele dans. Id, Critique de la Raison pratique. ' 5 Supposons donq &vechii-g^n homme' fmaginaire qui n’aff pas* ; conscience de saliberte. Cet homme aura, je veux bien l’admettre un ■instant, le concept du devojj?,. Qu’Oil resultera4-il? ‘luiyant Kant? 10’ devoir supposant la liberte, gelubqui feconnait'le devoir doit concluru qu’il est libre. Entendons-nousrLe devoir, tant que j’ignore si je suis libre, n’est pour moi qu’un devoir possible et abstrait. Ce devoir �S2 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. suppose un etre libre, soit; mais un etre purement possible, une liberte tout abstraite et tout hypothetique. Je dis par exemple : c’est un devoir pour un etre libre de ne pas nuire a son semblable, mais ce devoir existe-t-il pour moi? oui, si je suis libre; si je ne le suis pas, non. Admettez, en effet, qu’au lieu d’une personne morale je lusse un pur esprit sans besoins et sans passions, ou bien un animal soumis dans ses actes au seul instinct, il est clair que le devoir de ne pas nuire n’existerait plus pour moi. Il suit de la que dans le systeme de Kant il n’y a que des devoirs conditionnels; l’homme de son sys­ teme connait les lois de la morale comme il connait les lois de la geometrie, c’est-a-dire comme des lois absolues, mais qui se rap­ portent a d’autres etres que lui. Reste a savoir s’il doit se les appliquer a lui-meme. Or, cette question de fait ne pourra etre resolue que par sa conscience, et sa conscience, selon Kant, etant muette sur la liberte, il en resulte que la question est pour lui insoluble. J’accorde maintenant pour un moment tout ce que Kant s’est vainement efforce d’etablir, et la force d’objectivite accordee au concept du devoir, et cette force communiquee au concept de liberte, et la morale sauvee du naufrage, je dis que Kant donne vainement la tor­ ture a son esprit pour tirer de la une theodicee. Dieu ne nous est connu, dans son systeme, qu’a titre de condition necessaire de la rea­ lisation du souverain bien. Mais, en verite, quoi de plus fragile et de plus etroit qu’une telle base, et comment un esprit ferme et vigoureux comme celui de Kant aurait-il pu se faire illusion sur ce point? Voici un philosophe qui s’est donne pour mission d’introduire dans la science un esprit de reserve et de rigueur jusqu’alors inconnu. Les affirmations absolues lui paraissent suspectes touchant les objets les plus familiers, du moment qu’on peut craindre que l’homme ne confonde les lois et les besoins de sa nature avec la verite des choses. Et maintenant, pour affirmer l’existence de l’etre le plus mysterieux, il lui suffit de cette raison que l’homme a besoin de cette affirmation, et que sans elle il ne pourrait comprendre le gouvernement moral de 1’univers. Mais qui vous dit que ce besoin de Dieu et cette impossibilite d’expliquer sans lui le monde moral ne sont pas une suite de la constitution de l’esprit humain ou seulement de ses limites! qui vous assure que Dieu est la seule hypothese legitime, et qu’il n’y a pas mille aulres explications ue cette enigme qui pese sur notre faiblesse! Cela est si evident que la bonne foi de Kant n’a pu s’empecher de �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 53 le reconnaitre en un passage remarquable de la Critique de la raison 1 ou il se demande si le jugement que nous portons sur T existence de Dieu, comme condition necessaire de la possibility du souverain bien, a veritablement une valeur objective La raison, dit-il, a-t-elle bien le droit de decider que l’harmonie ou reside le souverain bien ne pout absolument deriver de lois universelies sans le concours d’une cause sage qui y preside? non, elle ne le peut, et pour dire le vrai, cette impossibilite ou nous sommas de pqncevoir comme possible la parfaite harmonie (ju bonheuret de la moralite sans supposer une cause morale du monde, estpurement subjective. Il est inutile de rien ajouter apres un tel aveu 1* et l’on comprend maintenant sans peine que, du vivant meme de Kant, lorsque son disciple Fichte vint reprendre tout le systeme pour lui donner plus de rigueur et d’unite, un^de .ses premiers soins fut de le debarrasser de cette chancelante theodicee comme d’un appendice inutile, et de substituer a 1’idee d’un Dieu legislateur qui lui paraissait arbitraire et anthropomorphique, celle d’un ordre moral resul­ tant de la nature des choses, ordre necessaire et impersonnel par qui serealise eterncllementrharmonie legitime du bonheuret de la vertu. SEPT I £ ME ETUDE. — LE PANTHEISME DE HEGEL. Je n’en puis douter: l’idee que Kant s’est faite de la Divinite est en desaccord avec son systeme. Dois-je conclure delaquelekantisme est faux? non, car si. je prends ce systeme en lui-meme, apres l’avoir degage de tout element etranger, il semble formermn tout assez bien uni, et ce tout est peut-etre la verite. Voila un dernier doute que je veux: eclaircir. Ou aboutit en defi­ nitive le systeme de Kant? J’entends dire qu’il mene a l’idealisme de Fichte, et que cet idealisme lui-meme a conduit Fichte a un pantheisme subjectif d’ou est sorti le pantheisttie absolu de Schelling et de Hegel. Idealisme, pantheisme subjectif, pantheismeOsolu, que veulent dire ces formules? Qu’est-ce que cette etrange genealogie qui fait sortir Fichte de Kant, Schelling de Fichte,, Hegel de Schelling? Je 1. Critique de la raison pratique, liv. II, ch. n, § 8. �54 ?ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. voudrais comprendre tout cela, je voudrais surtout avoir la clef du systeme de Hegel, puisqu’il contient, a ce qu’on assure, le dernier mot de la philosophic allemande. Un premier point qui me parait clair, c’est que le mouvement d’idees suscite par Kant ne pouvait s’arreter avec lui. J’ai deja recoimu en effet que la Critique de la Raison pure et la Critique de la Raison pratique ne forment pas uhe philosophic homogene, mais, en quelqtie sorte, deux philosophies distinctes et contraires qu’aucun artifice de logique ou d’analyse ne saurait concilier, sans compter que Kant a ecrlt une troisieme critique, la Critique duJugement, qui, en s’ajoutant aux deux autres par d’ingenieuses combinaisons, enrichit sans doute, mais aussi complique a l’exces l’ensemble du systeme. * Mais je consens a m’enfermer dans Fenceinte de la Critique de la /Raison pure et a oublier tout le reste. Le systeme simplifie de la ’sorte a-t-il une rigueur parfaite et une parfaite unite? telle est la question que se posa Fichte, et qui le conduisit a substituer une doc­ trine nouvelle a celle de son maitre, tout en ne s’etant propose d’abord que de la perfeciionnet. Suivant Fichte en effet, le systeme developpe dans la Critique de la Raison pure manque essentiellement de cette severite logique qui est pour lui le caractere de la science. La premiere parole de Kant, c’est que rien ne se produit dans la pensee que.. par suite de l’cxperience et des phenomenes qui frappent nos sens. Or, ces phenomenes, que l’esprit rencontre et qu’il ne pro­ duit pas/supposent un principe etranger. TVoila des le debut une concession euorme, et qui’ d’avanee mine tout le systeme* de la philo­ sophic critique. Qcioi! la science a pour infranchissable enceinte l’esprit humain, le .sujet, et cependant il existe autre chose, et la premiere condition de la science est de supposer un objet qu’elle ne conMait pas, qu’elle ne peut atteindre et qui est l’unique origine de tout! elle debute done par une hypothese, et par une hypothese contradictoirea sa nature ; elle laisse son principe hors d elle, ou plutot elle n’a pas de principe, elle n’est pas. Donner a la science un principe, un vrai principe , e’est-a-dire un principe absolu, ne reposant que sur soi et servant de base a tout le reste, tel est le but que propose Fichte et qu’il essaye d atteindre dans sa Thdorie.de la Science. Ici, Tidealisme de Kant est embrasse dans toute sa rigueur; plus d’element objectif suppose arbitrairejnent, meme a titre de simple phenomene. Tout cst severement �r*. -rV-'-- ESSAI DE PIIILOS©PHIE RELIGIEUSE. 55 deduit du seul terme de la connaissance qu’admette l’idealisme, du sujet. Le probleme pour Fichte est celui-ci: tirer du moi la philoso­ phic tout entiere, et l’audacieux raisonneur pretend donner a cette deduction une rigueur superieure a celle des mathematiques. L’algebre s’appuie en effet sur la loi de l’identite qui s’exprime ainsi: A= A. Fichte soutient que'cette loi en suppose une autre, la.seule qu’un philosophe ait le droit d’admettre sang la prouver, et ,1a .seule aussi dont il ait besoinMOI =fc=MOI. Quand vous dites A = A,, vous n’entendez rien a ffirinersur Insis­ tence de A. Vous> affirmez seulement que si A est A, A tie peut pas etre autre chose que A. La proposition A=A n’esi done, dit Fichte, vraie absolument>que dans sa forme., et non dans sa matiere ou dans son contenu. Je ne safe si A existe effectivement, mateniellement, ou s’iln’existe pas; mais peu importe, j’ai la certitude d’ormelle queA 4tant pose, A ne peut differer de A, .et qu’il y a entre ces deux termes un rapport necessaire. G’est par 1’analyse de ce rapport que Fichte efftreprend de prouver l’exfetence du moi. En effet, dit-il, dans la proposition A = A, le premier A n’est pas considere sous le meme point de vue quele second A. Le premier A, nous l’avons reconnu, est pose conditionnellement.; le second est pose d’une maniere abso­ lue. Qu’est-ce qui ramene ces deux termes a l’unite? qu’est-ce qui les met en un certain rapport? qu’est-ce qui juge, affirme et constiiue ce rapport? evidemment, le moi. Otez le moi, vous otez lerapport, vous otez les deux termes, vous otez la proposition A = A. Ily a done au-dessus d’elle une write plus haute., plus immediate. Le principe del’identite n’est absolu que dans sa forme; le principe MOI == MOI est absolu dans sa tonne et dans sa matiere: il -est seul- waiment absolu. Je n’ai pas besoin de suivre Fichte dans le cours de sa deduction, la plus subtile et la plus artificielle qui se puisse concevoir. Il me suffit de savoir qu’il a pousse jusqu’au bout l’etrange idee de deduire ' tout un vaste systeme de philosophic de ce seul principe, le moi. C’est sur cette pointe aigue qu’il pretend faire reposer 1’edifice entier des croyances humaines. La nature et Dieu ne sont que des developpements du moi. Le moi seul est principe, expliquant tout, posant tout, creant tout, s’expliquant, se posant, se creant lui-meme. Je <ne safe ici ce que je dois admirer le plus, soit de l’exces d’extravagance ou peut s’emporter 1’esprit humain, soit de 1’etonnante feeondite de ses ressources. Le voila condamne par Kant a igtiorer 1’u.nivers et i, I �56 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE* Dieu et a s’emprisonner dans le moi; laissez-le faire: ce seul point conserve lui fera retrouver tout le reste. Il ira meme des dernieres limites du scepticisme au dogmatisme le plus absolu. Tout a l’heure, il doutait de tout; maintenantil se vante, non-seulement de connaitre la nature, mais de la creer; que dis-je? il se vante de creer Dieu. Ce sont les propres expressions de Fichte, a la fois absurdes et consequentes. Oui, Fichte tire du moi la nature et Dieu. Le moi en effet suppose le non-moi; il se limite soi-meme, il n’est soi-meme qu’en s’opposant un autre que soi, il ne se pose qu’en s’opposant son contraire, et Ini-meme est le lien de cette opposition , la synthese de cette anti­ nomie. Si en effet le moi n’est pour soi-meme qu’en se limitant, cette faculte qu’il a de se limiter suppose qu’en soi il est illimite, infini. 11 y a done au<dessus du moi relatif, du moi divisible, du moi oppose au non-moi, un moi absolu qui enveloppe w nature et l’homme. Ce moi absolu, c’est Dieu. Voila done la pensee en possession de ses trois objets essentiels, voila Fhomme, la nature et Dieu dans leurs rela­ tions necessaires, membres d'une meme pensee a trois termes, separes a la fois et reconcilies, voila une philosophie digne de ce nom, une science rigoureuse, demontree, homogene, partant d’un principe unique pour en suivre et en epuiser toutes les consequences. Telle est dans son principe general la metaphysique de Fichte; sa morale en est une suite, imprevue peut-etre, mais rigoureuse. Elle est fondee suf le moi.: Le caractere eminent du moi, c’est la liberte. Conserver sa liberte, son moi, c’est le devoir; respecter le moi, la liberte des autres, c’est le droit. De la ce noble stoicisme de Fichte et cette passion pour la liberte qui ont ete en si parfait accord avec la male vigueur de son caractere et le role genereux qu’il s’est donne dans les affaires politiques de l’Allemagne. Mais l’importance du systeme de Fichte n’est pas la. Sa grandeur et son originalite, je les ■ trouve dans cette extraordinaire metaphysique, si justement et si hardiment appelee par lui-meme l’idealisme subjectif absolu. Elle a ce ; caractere singulier qu’en poussant a ses plus extremes consequences le scepticisme de Kant, elle prepare le dogmatisme de Schelling et de Hegel. Et non-seulement elle le prepare, mais deja elle le com­ mence et meme le contient. Fichte en effet aspire ouvertement a la science absolue. Il explique toutes choses, l’homme, la nature et Dieu. 11 mene la philosophie allemande, si je puis dire ainsi, du subjectif a l’objectif par le subjectif meme. Du scepticisme absolu il �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 57 la jMte dans un dogmatisme eiiorme, et parti d’une doctrine tellement timide qu’elle ose a peine affirmer un 6tre effectif, «il prelude a r cette philosophie ambitieuse qui embrasse dans ses cadres immenses l’histoire de l’humanite et celle de la nature, et pretend sans mesure et sans reserve a l’explication universelle des choses, Schelling a commence sa carriere philosophique par accepter le ^ysteme de Fichte, comme Fichte avail d’abord adopte celui de Kant. Son premier ecrit, compose a vingt ans, porte ce titre expressif : Du I vgzoz comme principe de la philosophie. Mais il ne tarda pas a s’apercevoir de l’impossibilite absolute de maintenir fc philosophie dans cette etroite enceinte ou elle etouffait. Egaree sur les pas de Fichte, la pensee humaine avait perdu la nature; il s’agissait de la reconquerir. La nature existe en face du moi. Ce n’est la qu’un fait, mais c’est un fait que la science doit expliquer. Or toute tentative de deduire du moi la nature, du sujet l’objet, est radicalement impuissante, 1’exemple de Fichte Fa prouve, On ne reussirait pas mieux a deduire de l’objet le sujet, de lamdure le moi", de l’etre la pensee. Ainsi point d’etre sans pensee,, Joint de pensee sans etre, etgancun moyen de resoudre la pensee daiig 1’eire ou l’etre dans la pensee. C’est dans ces termes que se posait devant Schelling, le probleme philos^phique. Je m’explique assez simplement la solution ou il fut conduit. Sui­ vant lui, la pensdget l’etre, le sujet et l’objet, ne peuvent etre ala fois irreductibles et inseparables que s’il y a un .plincipe commun de l’un et de l’autre, principe a la fois subjectif et objectif, intelligent et intelligible, source unique de la pensee et de l’etre. Ce principe, ce sujet-objet absolu, comme l’appelle Schelmg, S Fiuee^mere de sa philosophie. Aussi bien c’est a peu pres de la meme maniere que Spinoza fut conduit a l’unite de la substance. Son'mait^Descartes. en effet, avait constate, au debut de kuscience, une dualite fdndamentale. En face de l’e® qui pense, il avait reconnu l’etre etendu. Com­ ment expliquer leur coexistence, bien plus, leur union? Malebranche, preludant a l’idealisme de Kant, ayait niegju’on piit connaitre les corps; Berkeley, devangant Fichte, ayait essaye d’expliquer l’etendue comme une creation.de la pensee. Spinoza^ sentantrd’avanceja vanite de ces tentatives, declare hardimeiltque«la coexistence de la pensee et de l’etendue n’etait possible que par une substance infinie, a la fois etend^ue et pensante,. a la fois nature et humanite. L’analogie est sensible, mais je dois prendre garde de l’exagerer. Le mouvement de la philosophie allemande a un caractere qui lumest propre et une �58 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELTGIEUSE. -originalite limitee, mais reelle. Schelling n’est point le plagiaire de Spinoza, bien qu’il l’ait connu et admire des sa jeunesse, bien que la polemique ardente qui divisa Mendelsohn et Jacobi, et a laquelle prit part toute l’Allemagne pensante, soit anterieure de quelques annees ■aux premiers ecrits de Schelling |t Fait de ‘bonne heure si vivement frappe cpill exprimait o’uvertement, dans son premier essai, l’esperance dgfeWM^r un'jour un systeme qui fut le'pendant de Vtdhique de Spinoza *."C’lesi justement ce qui est arrive. ' , Dans1’univers de Spinoza, il y a deux mondes, a la fois unis et opposes., le monde de la pensee bu des ames, etie monde de l’etendue ou des corps. Ces mondes se penetrant 1’un l’autre. Foute ame a un corps,’ tout corps a line ame. La pensee ’a ses Ibis, la nature a les sicnnes; mais ces lois se correspondent etroitement. Un des grands iheoremes de Spinoza est celui-ci: L’.ordre et la connexion des idees est le mime que •Tbrdre et la connexion des 'choses2. Quel est le secret de cette identite? .e’est que la pehsee bt Tetendue, les ames et les corps, ne sont que les deux faces d’une meme existence. La na­ ture, d’e^t Dieu daris Fetendue et lemoUvement; I’dme, e’est Dieu dans la pensee. Dieu etant un, les lots de son d’eveloppernent sont unes. Ainsi toutes les ’existences se penetrent, tout s’unit, tout s’identifie. ’’‘“ 'C'"' 1 *’'' ' Schelling part aussi de cette dualiie,_.la pensee on Je sujet, les ehoses ou l’objet, ou encore la nature et Thumanite. La nature a des lois•; mais une loi, e’est essentiellement quelque chose d’intellectuel, e’est une idee.1 La nature est done toute penetree d-intelligence; d’un autre cbte, 1’humanite a aussi seslois; elle est litre sans doute, mais elle n’est pas livree au hasard. Des reglef aibsolues gouvernent son developpeinent. 11 y a done parente entre l’humanite et la nature. D’ou vient leur distinction? e’est que la nature obeit a ses lois sans cunscience, tandis que rhuinanite a conscience des siennes. En d’autres termes, il y a de 1’ietredans lapensbe, del’ideal dans le reel, etil y a aussi de la pensee dans I’dtre, du reel dans I’ideal. La difference, e’est qu’ici la pensee et la l’etre dominent; mais au fond la pensee et Fetre sont inseparables. Il 'y a done un principe cornmun qui se developpe tantdt sans conscience et tantot avee’conscience de soimdme.-G’est le Dieu de Schelling|B 4. Schelling, Du moi con sidere comme principe de la philosophic. 2. Ethique, part, n, prop. 7. i. ; \ �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 59 Jusque-Ia le philosophe hollandais et le philosophe allemand ne different pas; voici le point ou ils se separent. Dans 1’univers de Spi­ noza, il y a un abime entre la pensee et l’etendue. La pensee et l’ertendue, c’est toujours Dieu sans douteJ, inaiS il ny'a aucune sorte d’union entre cesdeux parties de sonetre. Leflot des idees coule d’un, cote, le flot des corps coble de Taiitre. Dieu les cmbrass’e,’ it "fest vrai,| mais dans cet ocean infini, les ondes contraires ne s’unissent pas. De la au sein de la nature toe sblmion decbiffinhitd eternelle. Il ’en est tout autrement dans le systeme de Schelling. L’ensernble des etres compose une echelle continue ^t ndinogene du. chaque forme de l’existence conduitJ a une forme superieure' La hdttfteii’y esi pas, comme chez Spinoza, destituee d^n^ellige^cp,^ Uncobfant infini de pensee circule dans toutes ses parties; seulement cette pensee n’arrive pas du premier coup a la plenitude de son etre. G’est d’abord une pensee tellement' obscure, tellement Sourde, qu’elle s’edhappe absolument a elle-meine. Par degres, elle s*eclaircit et se replie sur soi; elle se sent d’abord, puis se distingue, enfin elle arrive a se reflechir, a se posseder, a se connaitre parfaitement. « La nature, dit Schelling, sommeille dans la pl ante, elle reve dans l’animal, elle se reveille dans l’homme. » Ge developpement merveilleux est ce que les Allemands appelleht le'pWgr^ ou le ^roce^^deTdtr’b^/’o^s), et s’il faut les en croire, l’idee du processus est la conquete propre et le grand titre d’honneur de’Schelling.^ C’est oublierque Leibnitz et, deux mille ans avant Leibnitz, Aristote, avaient honcu la nature comnle une serie de formes homogenes s’elevant de degre en degre, a une perfection toujours croissante; mais peu importe, il est ciair que Schelling n’a copie personne, ni Leibnitz, ni Spinoza; c’est le mouvement propre de sa pensee, c’est le courant de la philosophie kantienne qui l’a conduit ataphiloso^hie deridcntiVe. ’ ■ Le systeme de Schelling en effet, bien qtl’il soil' ’en 'nn^sens toe reaction extreme effio la doctrine de Fichte,' en un autre’sens la continue. Fichte'n’^Bwttait-il paoussi riddntlW a'bsoluccles3choses? ne resolvait-il pas l’opposition du moi et du non-moi dans uh prin­ cipe superieur? Seuwienf ce principe supbffeur'detail fftijours Ie moi, et de la le caractere idealiste et subjectif de tout le systeme. Cette identite admise par Fichte, Schelling la generalise et la transforme. Elle n’est plus pour lui renfermee dans cette etroite prison du moi, elle est le fond de touteschoses. On peut dire que Schelling a pris des mains de Fichte les cadres d’e's’a pfiilbSophie, trials qu’en le'S ’eiar- �^0 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIETOEM gissant, il leur a donne une ampleur infinie. Il a fait entrer dans le systeme de Fichte la nature proscrite, il y a repandu a pleines mains la realite. L’evolution de la philosophic allemande ne pouvait s’arreter a Schelling. Le systeme^de Schelling . §n effet, renfermait bien un I principe, mais elle ne fournissait aucun ■ moyen de le developper ! scientifiquement. Qu’avait fait Schelling? il avail concu l’ensemble , des choses comme la serie progressive des formes variees d’un prin-lI cipe identique. Or, comment saisir ce principe? comment atteindre ' la loi de son developpement? comment la demontrer? e’est. ce que Schelling nefaisait pas. Pourquqi ce principe se developpe-jd-il? pourquoL devient-il tour a tour pesanteur, lumiere, activile,-conscience ? Est-ce a l’experience qu’on le demandera? Mais 1’expprience constate les faits, elle ne les explique pas. Dira-t-on que le sujet-objet se developpe par sa nature? On demandera quelle est sa mature, et Schelling ne la determine en aucune fagon. Il faut done admetlre ici la qualite occulte d’un prin­ cipe inconnu. Que de mysteres et d’hypotheses! et a quoi tout cela sert-il? Otezl’experienge, nul moyen n’apparait de construire regulierement ou meme d’ebaucher la science. jC’est souslepoids de cette difficulty que Schelling avait imagine son intuition intellectuelle, faculte transcendante qui atteint l’absolu d’une prise immediate sans passer par les degres laborieux de l’analyse et de la reflexion; mais jamais Schelling n’a pu eclaircir la nature equivoque de cette intuiJ I tion pretendue. Est-ce un don naturel de l’esprit humain? est-ce un privilege? on ne jsait. Quoi de plus obscuqj de plus arbitraire, de plus incompatible avec les conditions de la science? Evidemment la philosophic allemande devait faire un pas de plus ou abandonner son principe, Ce dernierjpas^ Hegel le fit Hegel aicherche, il a cru trouver une methode pour construire la science absolue, pour la demon­ trer. Cette methode, e’est la logique. Rien ne/jparait au premier abord plus extraordinaire, et, pour trancher le mot, plus absurde que le systeme de Hegel. Non-seulement il pousse plus loin queue l’avait fait Schelling, etjusqu’a sa derniere limite, le/principe d£v lidentite,absolue de la pensee et de l’ytref mais * par une suite de cet exces meme, il introduit une loi qui est le renversement de toutes les idees-recues, savoir : que les contradictoires sont identiques, l’etre identique au neant, le fini a l’infini, la vie a la mort, la lumiere aux tenebres. La philosophic �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 61 consiste pour Hegel a trouver en tout 1’unite sous la contradiction, l’identite sous la difference. On se sent dispose tout d’abord en face d’une telle entreprise a la defiance et presque au dedain. Supposez que Kant, en 1820, fut sorti de son tombeau , nul doute qu’en voyant ce que la philoso­ phic etait dcvenue entre les mains de Hegel,4Ine se fut eerie, comme Malebranche en lisant Spinoza, que e’etait une epouvantable chimere. Et cependanf^a y regarder de*plus pres, ces deux principes si etranges et si dangereux, l’identite des contradictoires, -I’identite de la pensee et ^e I’etre^ sont deja dans le systeme de Kant. N’est-ce pas Kant, en effet, qui dans sa dialectique a donne 1’eXemple d’oppo­ ser les idees 1’une a l’autre et de prouver que les theses contradictoires sont egalement vraies? La logique de Hegel, sous ce point de vue, n’est-elle pas le developpement des antinomies? mais ce qui est plus evident encore et* d’une#plus grande consequence, e’est que Kant a prepare 1’identification absolue de la pensee et de d’etre. C’est une etude infiniment isurleuse a se proposes que-Thistoire de ce principe dont 1’Allemagne est si fiere , et ou elle fait consister son principal titre d’honneur. On le void. naitre aveg Kant, se developper dans Fichte, se transformer dans Schelling, et arriver enfin dans le systeme de Hegel a son pfein developpement. Suiya-fi^Kant, ce que nous appelons les lois de la nature, ce sont en realite les formes de notre intelligence que nous appliquons aux phenomenes. La grande erreur des philosophes, e’est de detacher ces lois de leur veritable principe, qui est 1’esprit humain ou*'le sujet,' pour les transporter dans les choses, pour les objectiver. Kagabaimait a rendre sensible 1’idee de sa reforme philosophique en la rapprochant de celle que son compatriote Copernic avait introduite dans l’astronomie. Le vulgaire croit que les astres tournent autour de la terre, ce qui ne peut K’accorder avec robservation exacte desjfaits. Changez l’hypothese, faites tourner la terre autour du soleil, toute contradiction disparait, tout s’explique et s’eclaircit. De meme on est accoutume a subordonner la pensee a l’etre, tandis qu’au vrai, suivant Kant, c est 1 etre qui est subordonne a la pensee. Jb De cette conception a celle de Fichte, il n’y a*qu’un pas-. Si-les choses ne sont que ce que lfes fait4a pensee, e’est la pensee qui coiistitue, qui cree les choses. Lqmoi1,; en se pensant, .en se posant , se cree lui-meme. Voila l’identite absolue de la pensee et de 1etre, egplicitement professee par Fichte et deduite avec hardiesse, mais �62 ESSAI DE PHdLOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE, avec rigueur, de l’idee fondamentale de Kant. Seidement cette iden­ tity absolue a le caractere particulier du systeme de Fichte; je veux dire qu’elle est purement psychologique et subjective; l’etre, pour Fichte, comme la penseec’est .toujours le moi ou un developpe­ ment du moi. Fichte ne pouvait donner a l’identitede la pensee et de l’etre un autre sens qu’a condition de sortie de son systeme. Schelling rcprit,en le transformant,radicalement,jlesysteme de Fichte. A ses yeux, le,moi et, le. non-moi out une egale rpalite * la nature et l’humanite, subsistent en face Tune deT’autre; elles trouvent leur union dans un principe a la fois ideal at reel, subjectif et objectif, qui les constitute et les. contient, Cette identity de la pensee et de FMre, du sujet et de Fobjet, concue comme reelle et objective, voila le principe commun de la philoso­ phie de Schelling et de celle de llegel^et par la elles se rattachent etroitement, l’une etl’autre, aux doctrines antejieures. Voici mainte­ nant la difference des deux systeme§> Schelling n’identifie la pensen et 1’etre que dans leur principe premier qui est Dieu; mais au-dessous de Dieu, la pensee etl’^tre, sans jamais seseparer, se distinguent, 11 y a^plus d’etre dans la nature, Uy a plus de: pensee dans 1’homme, S’il enest ainsi?.1’etre et la. pensee sent deux choses differentes, et le principe de Tidentite est en ddfaut. A la rigueur en effete si 1’etrent la pensec sont une seule et meme essence, non-seulement la pensee doit se trouver partout ou est L’etre, mais elle doit s’v rencontrer dans la meme proportion* Pourquoi pet equilibre,est-il rompu et comment est-il possible qu’il vienne a. so rompre?: pourquoi Dieu est-il pins dans, 1’humanite que dans la nature ? Question temeraire sans doute, mais a laquelle est tenu de repondre celui qui ose soutenir que la science absolue est possible a L’homme. Qr cette question 9 Schelling ne la reseat pas et ne peut pas la resoudre, Le voila convaineu d’inconsequence. Il a proclama le principe de l’identite de la pensee et de Tetre^il l’a degage du caractere relatif et subjectif qui le defigurait/dans Fichte et dans Kant, mais il n’a pas ose le developper avec rigueur; aussi sa philosophic ne s’est-elle soulcnue que par des hypotheses ou par des emprunts deguises qu’il a faits a 1’ex­ perience.; Hegel met sa gloir.e a etre, plus consequent et plus hardi que son devancier, et il pretend tirer du pifincipj^de L’jdentite ce que Schel­ ling ni aucun philosophe n’avaient jamais pu lui faire rendre, une science du developpement des choses. �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEI’SE. . 63 La pensee et 1’etre, e’est tout un. A quoi bon deux mots pour exprimer une essence unique ? Ne disons pas la pensee, l’etre, disons l’idee. L’idee, voila le Dieu de Hegel; le developpement de Tideer voila la realite; la connaissance de ce develqppement, voila la scienceLa science de i’idee s’appelle la. logique,. et ainsi la metaphysique et la logique se confondent.. . Grace a cette identite vraiment absolue, la science.devient possibleElle se reduit en effet a determiner les rapports necessaires des idees,Dans la theorie d<8chelling, on etait reduit, soit a s’appuyer sur I’experience pour decrire le mouvement de Petre dans la nature,, ce qui ne donnait pas une veritable science, soit a donner carriere a ■^’imagination et, a presenter des hypotheses deguisees sous le beau nom d’intuition intellectuelle. Cela tenait a Le que 1’essence du pre­ mier principe restait indeterminee, et a ce que Eon admettait une distinction arbitrage entre Ips objets de4jla pensee et la pensee elle— meme. Maintenant que^.nous savons que ce premie^ principe e’est l’idee, et que la nature et l’hnmanite ne sont autre chose que le developpement de 1’idee, quand les lois de 1’idee seront connues, la science sera trouvee. On demandera a Hegel comment les IdiT de l’idee peuvent letra determinees. H repond a cette question par sa logique. qui est la determination scientifique des lois de Tidee- Elies se deduisent tou­ tes d’une loi unique et fondamentale, laJ.oi de 1’identite des contra­ dictoires. Suivant Hegel, toute pensee, tout^etre,. toute. idee renferma une contradiction J et non-seulement cette contradiction existe dansles choses, mais'elle les constitue. La vie est essentiellemenf la synthese, Turnon de deux elements qui tout ensembl"s’excluent et s’appellent necessairement., Au premier abord^ dit. Hegel,,, cette doctrine revolte le Sens commun et parait favorable au scepticisme. Les Pyrrhoniens triomphent de l’opposition des ideesj,j mais cette opposition n’embarrasse en rien.. le vrai philosophy qui y volt la condition et le mouvement meme de, la vie. Aussi bien. le sens commun, loin de repousser le principe de» l’identite des contradictoires, luirend a chaque instant temoignage-. Ne maintient-il pas, fiermement de siecle en sieele la difference et; l’identite de Tame et du corps, la coexistence et I’opposition dela, prescience de Dieu et du. libre arbitre? C’esi manquer an sens? commun que d’abandonner une de ces verites pour l’autre^ sous le vain prptexte qu’elles se contredisent. Examine? le sens commun �64 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. sous sa forme la plus haute, la religion. L’ame religieuse n’adoret-elle pas un Dieu a la fois personnel et infini, un Dieu immobile et vivant, visible et invisible tout ensemble? Le sceptique croit triompher en opposant ces attrihuts; c’est que le raisonnement a etouffe en lui la raison. Pendant qu’il se tourmente a alter d’un de ces contraires a l’autre, un elan du coeur vers Dieu les unit. La plus raisonnable des religions, la religion chretienne, n’enseigne-t-elle pas au genre humain depuis dix-huit cents ans que Dieu a fait le monde de rien, que Dieu s’est fait homme? Et ne sont-ce pas la autantde contradictions, mais des contradictions pleines de raison, de vie et de verite? Les sciences nous offrent aussi mille exemples de l’identite des contradictoires. En physique, n’admet-on pas sans aucune difficulte que la lumiere suppose les tenebres? Imaginez une lumiere sans ombre. Les objets egalement eclaires ne se distinguent plus, et ce jour uniforme est en tout identique a la nuit. Ainsi la lumiere implique son contraire, l’obscurite. Non-seulement elle la suppose, mais elle la porte en soi, elle l’engendre; et d’un autre cote, en la produisant, elle se realise elle-meme. Le produit, c’est la lumiere effective, la couleur. Nous pouvons sur ces exemples tres-bizarres "mais tres-simples, prendre une idee generale du systeme de Hegel. Toute idee renferme trois elements, ou pour employer le langage consacre, trois mo­ ments. Vous pouvez'ia considerer ou en elle-meme, ou dans son opposition avec l’idee contraire qu’elle renferme, ou enfin dans l’union qui les concilie. Le premier momentest celui de l’idee en soi; le second, celui de l’idee hors de soi ; le troisieme enfin, celui de l’idee en soi et pour soi. L’idee existe d’abord d’une maniere simple et immediate, puis elle se divise et s’oppose a elle-meme; enfin, elle ramene ses deuxi membres a l’unite. Le moment de l’unite est celui de la vie, de la realite concrete et individuelle. Celui qui ne considere l’idee que dans les moments anterieurs ne connait que des abstractions, et voila la commune infirmite du vulgaire et de ces pMIosophes qui suivent la logique de l’ecole. Le vulgaire s’en tient aJ cette premiere vue des choses qui nous les fait connaitre dans un etat de melange et de con­ fusion1. C’est la perception des sens. L’entendement s’applique a cette matiere grossiere, la divise, la decompose. Ici eclatent les oppositions, toutes’choses paraissent coiitraires, la vie et la mort, le mouvement �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 6S et le repos, Fame et le corps, le fait et le droit, la societe et la nature, la philosophie et la religion. Les esprits qui s’attachent a ces opposi­ tions ne peuvent manquer de tomber dans le scepticisme, absurde extremite aussi eloignee du sens commun que de la yraie philoso­ phie; mais s’arreter au scepticisme, c’est bien mal connaitre la nature des choses et la puissance de la pensee; 1’entendement est au-dessus des sens, mais la raison est aii-dessus de Fentendement. Ce que Fentendement separe, la raison l’unit; les choses qui semblaient incompatible^ apparaissent comme inseparables; a la confu­ sion succede l’ordre, ® la guerre la paix, au doute. la foi,.aux r angoisses de Fame, auxhesitations du raisonnement la serenite ’ d’une affirmation sure dtelle-meme, la plenitude d’une comprehen­ sion parfaite. La vie et la mort ne sont que les deux moments de l’existence, le fait etle droit, les deux aspects d’une meme necessite, la societe un progres fait sur la nature, la philosophie un developpe­ ment de la religionM J’entrevois maintenant comment Hegeh< pwtreconduit au prin­ cipe de sa logique et de toute sa philosophie, Fidentite des contradic­ toires. Trouver dans chaque idee une idee contraire et les unir dans une troisierne idee, opposer a la these Far|tithese et les reunir dans la synthese, considerer successivement Fidee ensoi, hors de soi. efc pour soi, telle est sa methode constants, iffidee a. laq,uelle Hegel aboutit au terme de chaque opposition, n’est pas autre chose que l’idee premiere, mais vivifiee par cette opposition elle-meme, d’abstraite devenue concrete, de morte vivante. Cette meme idee ainsi transformee traverse une. nouvelle opposition, une nouvelle contradiction, pour en sortir victbrieuse, et ainsi de suite a l’infini, depuis Fidee la plus simple, qui contient le germc de toutes les autres, jusqu’a la plus composee, qui en exprime le plus complet developpement.,.La; chaine de ces oppositions, c’esMi*science. Elle consiste a faire voi® F universelie identite : partie d’une idee- primi­ tive au plus has degre de la pensee, felle la retrouve au faite,. et toutes. les idees intermediaires ne sont tousjburs qftie la meme idee qui se , deploie a l’infini. 1 Cette vue generate me permet de m’orienter au sein de ce vaste edifice d’abstractions accumulees ou se joue avec une fecondite et une subtilite inouies la pensee de Hegel. Rien ne resteen dehors de ce Isysteme, et il y a la, je ne son-ge pas a en disconvenir, un effort im­ mense pour tout embrasser et tout expliquer. Voici les grandes lignes Tome III. — 9e Livraison. v 5 �66 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. du monument. L’ceuvre de Hegel comprend trois parlies: la logi­ que proprement dite, la philosophie de la nature et la philosophic de 1’esprit. Le principe premier et dernier des choses, ce que Hegel appelle Vidte, doit d’abord etre envisage en lui-meme, dans les profondeurs de son essence non encore manifestee, dans ces lois necessaires et primitives qui la constituent et qui se reflechissent plus tard en toutes ses oeuvres. La science de l’idee en soi,. e’est la Logique pure, clef de voute de tout le systeme. Maintenant l’idee, par une suite necessaire de sa nature, telle que la logique 1’a decrite et expliquee, 1’idee se developpe, ou pour mieux dire, se brise et met a nu ^element de la contradiction qui etait renferme en son sein. Elle etait Dieu en soi, elle devient nature; eternelle, elle tombe dans le temps, iinmuab'le dans le changement. De la la Philosophie de la nature qui nous developpe la serie des mouvements necessaires de l’idee a travers tous les degres de l’echelle des etres sensibles. Les lois de la mecanique, de la chimie, de la physiologie, se resolvent dans une serie d’oppositions; mais le principe supreme qui preside a ce developpement vent que la contradiction, necessairement posee, soit necessairement detruite. L’idee, qui s’ignorait et se niait dans la nature, retourne a soi pour devenir esprit. La science du re­ tour de l’idee a elle-meme est la Philosophie de I'esprit. Les reli­ gions, les aits, les systemes, les institutions sociales, ne sont que les phases diverses de cette evolution que regie une eternelle et inflexible geometric. L’histoire de Thumanite reflechit celle de Dieu; e’est une logique vivante, e’est Dieu qui se realise, qui, parti de soi, revient a soi, refermant ainsi le cercle infini et eternel. Je reprends ces grandes divisions : la logique, dans le systeme de Hegel, tient la place qu’occupe la theodicee dans les systemes ordinaires; elle est la science de Dieu considere en soi, avant la creation, si toutefois les mots Dieu et creation ont ici un sens. Strange theo­ dicee en effet, ou, a la place de ces attributs sublimes de la justice eternelle, de la bonte infinie, de la beaute pure et sans melange, je trouve une seche enumeration d’idees abstraites, l’etre, le neant, la qualite, la quantite, la mesure, 1’identite, la difference. Rien de plus aride que cette algebre qui ajoute, a la monotonie de notions toujours indeterminees, l’insupportable uniformite du procede qui les oppose et les combine sous la loi d’une trichqtomie. toujours renaissante. La Somme de saint Thomas, qui comprend quelques milliers de syllo- �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGTEUSE, 67 gismes a la suite les uns des autres, ou pour choisir un plus conve­ nable exemple, les deux cents propositions, corollaires et scolies de XEthique, sont a cote de la logique de Hegel , des oeuvres pkines de charme et de vie. Ces abstractions et la loi qui les enchaine constituent pour Hegel le fond des choses. Le vulgaire y volt de vaines eombinaisons de l’esprit; ce sont les veritables realites. Quelle abstraction plus vide, a ce qu’il semble., que celle de l’etre? Tbut pour Hegel en va sortir. L’auteur de la Logique semble avoir voulu accumuler ici tous les sujets de defiance et d’etonnement, D’une idee abstraite, il pretend faire sortir la realite, et comment, je vous prie? par 1’intermediaire d’une idee encore plus vide, celle du meant. L’idee confondue avec, Fetre, l’etre avec le meant, le eoncret sortant de 1’abstrait, la contradiction placee a l’origine des choses, voilci l’epreuve ou Hegel ne craint pas de soumettre noire ben sens ei metre patience. L’idee de 1’etre est en effet la plus simply de toutes les idees; toutes les autres la supposent et elle n’en suppose aucune avant elle. Or, l’idee de l’etre ou l’etre, car Hegel identifie ici comme toujours ees deux choses, est identique au neant. Qu’est-ce en effet que Fetre considere en soi? e’estd’etre absolument indetermine, ce qui n’est ni fini, ni infini, ni esprit, ni matiere, ce qui n’a ni quantile, ni qualite, ni rapport. Tout cela peut s’affirmer du meant. Penser au neant, e’est faire-abstraction de toutes les formes de l’existence, e’est la mhme chose par consequent que penser a l’etre en soi. D’un autre cote, Hegel ne nie pas que l’Mre et le. meant, ee qui est et ce qui n’est pas, me soient deux termes contradictoires. Ils sont a lafois contradictoires et identiques. La contradiction dans 1’identite, voila la-souve.raine loi de la pensee et des choses. Ainsi du sein de 1’idee de l’etre, matiere primitive des choses, sort Fidee du neant; mais Fetre et le neant ne restent pas en face Fun de Fautre. L’etre exclut ef appelle le meant; ee double mouvement suscite une troisieme idee que Hegel appelle le devenir et qui reconcilie les deux autres. Le devenir, e’est Fidee du developpement par lequel un etre devient ce qu’il n’etait pas. Cette idee implique a la fois celle de l’etre et celle du meant; elle en est la synthese. Nous, voila sortis de cette abstraction confuse oil tout se mele et se perd;: nous mettons le pied sur le terrain de la realite; nous avons affaire a Fetre deter­ mine, a la qualite. �68 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. A travers cette deduction interminable, que je renonce a poursuivre en detail, l’idee dominante du systeme de Hegel se maintient avec une fermete singuliere. Partout l’idee traverse les trois moments necessaires; elle est d’abord l’identite confuse des contraires, puis elle se divise, pour rentrer finalement dans son identite primitive, eclaircie et vivifiee. Cette loi domine toutes les spheres de la pensee, non-seulement la physique, l’astronomie et les sciences naturelles, mais aussi la psychologie, la morale, le droit, l’histoire de la civilisa­ tion, celle des religions et des philosophies. Il y a trois facultes dans l’esprit humain: la sensibilite qui nous livre les idees dans leur confusion, l’entendement qui les debrouille et les oppose, la raison qui les unit. L’homme est d’abord pour lui-meme unite confuse d’une ame et d’uncorps: cetteunite se brise par la reflexion; Fame s’oppose le corps, mais elle s’apercoit que le corps, c’est encore elle-meme, et alors elle le ramene a soi comme un moment necessaire de son existence. Dansl’homme, tout est d’ahord mele: l’instinct, la volonte, la raison. L’homme existe deja sans doute dans l’enfant, mais d’une maniere abstraite et indeterminee; il est en soi, il n’est pas pour soi. L’age de la reflexion arrive; une opposition se declare entre l’instinct et la raison, entre la nature et la volonte. De la le mal, mais de la aussi le bien. Le bien suppose le mal; car celui qui fait le bien sans effort, sous la seule impulsion d’une nature excellente, n’est pas veritablement bon. Ici se verifie avec eclat, suivant Hegel, le principe de Sa logique. On ne peut concevoir le bien sans concevoir en meme temps le mal. Le bien en un sens implique done le mal, et cependant il l’exclut. Il l’exclut et il le suppose, voila la contradiction qu’il faut resoudre. Hegel y croit parvenir en demontrant qu’au fond l’instinct et la raison sont identiques. L’instinct, c’est la raison qui s’ignore : apres s’etre opposee a elle-mdme dans la lutte de la volonte et de la nature, elle reconnait leur identite, et des lors tout rentre dans l’ordre au sein de Fame pacifiee; l’instinct comprend qu’obeir a la raison, c’est etre fidele a lui-meme; la raison comprend qu’elle est faite, non pour etouffer ou comprimer l’instinct, mais pour le conduire, et cette harmonie intelligente et volontaire de l’instinct et de la raison, c’est la vertu, source du bonheur. On s’imagine que le bonheur et la vertu sont deux choses differentes: philosophie etroite, philosophie de Fen­ tendement ! La raison identifie ce que le coeur de .l’honnete homme �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 69 ne separe jamais, le bien-faire et le bien-etre, Taction vertueuse et la felicite. Partout a la surface, la contradiction, la difference; partout au fond, l’barmonie et l’identite. Quoi de plus oppose, a ce qu’il semble, que la philosophie et la religion? quoi de plus divers que les cultes? quoi de plus contraire que les systemes philosophiques? En realite, toutes ces institutions religieuses, dont la variete nous confond, dont l’opposition nous etonne, ne sont que les membres d’un meme corps, les moments d’une meme idee. Cette idee, qui se developpe dans la suite harmonieuse des religions, est la meme qui, sous des formes plus claires, deploie dans le mouvement regulier des systemes philo­ sophiques sa nature toujours diverse et toujours identique. Les lois de la logique, partout presentes, parce qu’elles sont le fond de tout, determinent et gouvernent souverainement cette double evo­ lution. Il y a trois grandes religions : la religion orientate, la religion grecque et la religion chretienne, lesquelles correspondent aux trois moments necessaires de l’idee logique. La religion orientale, cest l’idee de Dieu a son premier moment, celui qui comprend tous les autres dans leur unite confuse. L’homme adore Dieu, mais sans le connaitre et sans se connaitre soi-meme. Univers, homme, Dieu, tout cela ne forme encore qu’un tout indecis, la nature. La religion grecque, c’est l’idee de Dieu au moment de la diremption, de la con­ tradiction. Dieu se divise, pour ainsi dire, s’ebranche en mille rameaux, s’oppose a l’homme et a lui-meme; T infini se perd et se dissout dans le fini. La religion chretienne est par essence la religion de la reconciliation. Fille de l’Orient et de la Grece, elle les reproduit etles identifie. Dieu, qui s’ignorait dans les obscurs symboles de l’lnde, qui errait en quelque sorte hors de soi dans la prodigieuse variete des divinites contraires de la Grece et de Rome, revient a soi danS le christianisme pour prendre conscience claire et pleine posses­ sion de soi. Aussi, le christianisme est-il la seule religion complete, la seule vraie, la seule evidente par elle-meme: c’est Dieu se sachant et s’affirmant Dieu. Ce qu’on appelle les mysteres de la religion chretienne, ce sont les lois absolues des choses, obscures pour les sens, absurdes et contradictoires pour l’entendement, claires et harmonieuses pour la raison. Le premier de ces mysteres, n’est-ce point celui de la sainte Trinite? Or la sainte Trinite, c’est, sous la forme du symbole, le principe �70 ' ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. m&ne de la logique. Le Pere, e’est 1’idee en soi; le Fils, e’est Fide'e hors de soi, dans sa manifestation visible, sous la double forme de la nature et de l’humanrte; l’Esprit, e’est l’idee en soi et pour soi, parvenue au terme de son mouvement, se reconnaissant identique dans tous les degres qu’elle a parcourus. Au sein meme du Pere se retrouvent les trois moments de l’idee, mais sous une forme encore tout ideale: I’Etre ou la Puissance, objet de la pensee; le Verbe ou l’lntelligence, ou entore la Pensee, engendrde par FEtre; l’Amour enfin, qui procede de tous deux et qui les unit. Cette Trinity tout ideale se realise par la creation, royaume du Fils; mais, pour rattacher la creation & son principe, il faut que le fini se sache infini, que Fhomme se connaisse Dieu : e’est le royaume de l’Esprit. Il appartient eminemment & la philosophie de realiser sur la terre le royaume de 1’Esprit. C’est elle en efiet qui, en rattachant les symboles du christianisme aux lois de la pensee, demontre et explique ce que la religion ne faisait qu’affirmer, Funion intime de l’homme et de Dieu. La premiere forme de cette union se trouve dans la Communaute chr&ienne de l’eglise au berceau; la seconde, c’a et6 l’Eglise organisee; la derniere sera l’Etat, oh toutes les croyances religieuses sont appelees h s’allier un jour sous la loi de la raison et de la liberte. * Je 1’avouerai i mon premier sentiment, au sortir de ces specula­ tions Stranges de FAllemagne contemporaine, e’est de m’etonner que dans la patrie de Leibnitz elles aient pu captiver si longtemps les intelligences. Si jene me trompe, la philosophie allemande est depuis un deml-siecle sous l’empire et comme sous le charme d’une illu< sion, c’esl de croire que la science absolue est possible pour l’esprit humain. La science absolue, je veux dire l’explication universelle et adequate des choses, voila la chimere que poursuit depuis Fichte la philosophie allemande, et chacun des systemes qu’elle a tour a tour enfantes n’est qu’un effort pour saisir 1’insaisissable fantome. On dit que cette confiance demesuree dans la pure theorie tient au genie speculatif de la race germanique, et cette explication est vraie, mais elle ne suffit pas; car enfin cette terre de Fenthousiasme a porte de grands critiques, Wolf, Heyne, Paulus; cette race chimerique a prqduit Kant. Je croirais plutot que e’est 1’exces meme dti doute dans la doctrine de Kant qui a produit dans celle de Hegel l’exces de l’orgueil dogmatique. Il y a dans la philosophie a tenir �ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. , 71 compte de deux elements essentiels : d’un cote,, l’esprit humain avec, sa nature, ses limites, ses faiblesses de toute sorte; de l’autre, l’ensemble des choses, leur essence, leurs rapports. Reduire l’esprit humain a connaitre sa constitution dans l’oubli de la nature des choses, c’est nier la science; concevoir la science comme independante de la nature de l’esprit humain, de ses conditions, de ses lois, de ses limites, c’est la nier encore, car c’est la rendre impossible et contradictoire. La philosophie allemande me donne le spectacle de ces deux exces contraires. Kant commence par reconnaitre que dans la science les philosophes n’ont pas su faire la part de 1’esprit humain, la part du sujet: vue profonde autant que solide, d’ou est sortie une incom­ parable analyse de la raison; mais, bientot entraine par son prin­ cipe, ce sage esprit oublie sa sagesse au point d’interdire a 1’esprit humain tout acces dans la realite des choses, Hegel s’est jete a 1’extremite opposee. L’auteur de la Critique, de la Raison pwe osait a peine affirmer l’existence des objets exterieurs; l’auteur de la Logique en connait a fond, en explique, en deduit, en demontre 1’origine, l’essence et les lois. Le pare de la philosophie allemande reduisait la theodicee a soupgonner la possibilite de Dieu; pour le dernier heritier de cette philosophie, la nature divine n’a pas de mysteres; le nombre et 1’ordre de ses attributs se decouvrent avec la meme clarte que les proprietes des courbes geometriques. Kant enfermait la raison dans le cercle de l’experience; Hegel refuse a 1’experience toute autorite scientifique; tout doit etre demontre en philosophie, c’est-a-dire deduit des idees pures. Les plus hautes conceptions de l’esprit humain n’avaient pour le maitre qu’une valeur relative et subjective; rien de relatif et de subjectif, si l’on en croit le disciple, n’a de place dans les cadres de la science. Ainsi, des deux termes necessaires de toute connaissance, l’esprit humain et les choses, Kant supprime le second, Schelling et Hegel retranchent le premier. Fichte marque la transition d’un exces a l’autre. Fichte en effet, tout en exagerant le kantisme, poursuit la chimere de la science absolue; mais c’est dans le moi qu’il se flatte de la trouver. Il supprime comme Kant les choses, mais il en con­ serve les idees et prepare la transformation future qui, de ces idees, va faire les choses elles-memes. Ainsi, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, et on peut ajouter a ces noms �72 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. eminents ceux de tous les philosophes de la moderne Allemagne, ont ce point commun au sein des differences qui les separent: e’est de croire que la science absolue est possible, e’est de la chercher, e’est de la construire. De la leur methode commune, aussi chimerique, aussi vaine que l’objet qu’elle poursuit. Son trait distinctif, e’est la suppression de l’experience ou du moins la subordination com­ plete de l’experience aux donnees de la raison pure. L’Allema­ gne a le plus parfait mepris pour l’observation. Tenir compte des faits, e’est a ses yeux tomber dans l’empirisme, dernier degre de l’abaissement intellectuel. La science est essentiellement l’explication des choses; or, l’experience n’explique rien; la science en expliquant demontre, l’experience ne saurait rien demontrer. L’experience est enfermee dans des limites necessaires; elle sait ce qui arrive en tel temps, 'en tel lieu; la science veut des resultats universels et dura­ bles ; l’experience est l’ouvrage d’un esprit fini, et partant elle est toujours relative et toujours subjective; la science est absolue et objective par essence. Evidemment, si la philosophie poursuit la science absolue, la me­ thode philosophique, e’est la methode a priori, fondee sur les idees pures, suivant l’ordre des choses, expliquant tout, deduisant tout, meprisant l’experience, ne reconnaissant aucune limite, aucune con­ dition. A une telle science il faut une telle methode; ces deux chimeres sont faites l’une pour l’autre. Si je ne m’abuse, le secret de toutes les speculations allemandes est la : le principe de l’identite de la pensee et de l’etre, commun fondement du systeme de Schelling et de celui de Hegel, le principe plus dangereux encore de l’identite des contradictoires dont la logique hegelienne est une perpetuelle application, enfin cette idee eminemment pantheiste du processus des choses qui fait de l’esprit humain le terme supreme oil les developpements successifs de l’existence viennent se concentrer et se reflechir, tout cela m’apparait comme autant de suites necessaires de la double illusion que je viens de signaler. Pour que la science absolue soit construite, il ne suffit pas en effet que l’ordre des idees exprime l’ordre des choses, il faut que les idees embrassent, penetrent, constituent les choses; il faut que les idees soient les choses. Supposez que les choses soient separees ou seule­ ment distinctes des idees, un doute est possible sur la conformite parfaite des idees avec les choses; l’essence des etres est soupeonnee, entrevue, elle n’est pas saisie, atteinte dans son fond. C’en est done �/ ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. 73 fait He wteeuce absolue, s’il n’y a pas identite entre les idees et les choses. jLa science absolue doit partir d’une premiere idee et en deduire toutes les. autres. Quelle peut-etre cette idee? la plus comprehensive et la plus vague de toutes, l’idee de l’etre indetermine. Mais comment passer de 1’etre indetermine a l’etre reel, de l’abstrait au concret, du neant de l’existence a la vie? Il y a la une contradiction. Eh bien! au ytett de la dissimuler, acceptons-lahardiment. La contradiction est a I origine des choses : que cette contradiction primitive devienne la loi fondamentale de la pensee et de l’etre, qu’elle se retrouve dans toute la feature, qu’elle soit la force cachee par qui les idees sortent les unes Ides autres depuis la plus pauvre jusqu’a la plus riche, de sorte qu’en definitive le neant soit le prineipe, Dieu le terme, et que le lieant devienne Dieu. M^Wais comment l’esprit humain pourra-t-il connaitre et decrire cette vaste et merveilleuse evolution? a une seule condition, c’est que l’esprit humain soit le degre superieur oil tout aboutit, le dernier cercle qui enveloppe et penetre tous, les autres, a condition que l’esprit .humain soit tout, que l’homme.soit Dieu. L’homme divinise, voila le .dernier mot de la philosophie.allemande. ’ Schelling dit que Dieu, c’est le sujet-objet absolu; Hegel que c’est l’idee, l’esprit infini. Mais.il faut bien s’entendre. Le'sujet-objet, .considere avant son developpement, n’est qu’une abstraction, une identite vide. J’en dis autant de 1’espri.t infini, de 1’ideeen soi. Hegel lui-meme declare que l’idee en soi est identique au neant. Si c’est la Dieu, il faut s’expliquer avec franchise mais non, le Dieu de la philosophie allemande n’est pas au commencement des choses, il est a leur terme. Ce Dieu, c’est l’esprit humain, ou plutoi Dieu est a la foi&a l’origine, au terme et au milieu, ce qui revient a dire qu’il n’y a pas de Dieu distinct des choses. . - Ces etranges doctrines, a defaut de merite plus solide, ont-elles du moins celui de la nouveaute? c’est encore la une des illusions de la philosophie germanique. Rien de plus naif que les pretentions de nos voisins d’outre-Rhin en fait d’originalite. Dans l’ecole hegelienne en particulier, on les a portees a leur comble. Hegel ne reconnait en ses Lecons sur Vhistoire cfe la philosophie que deux grandes epoques, l’epoque grecque et l’epoque germanique. Or, il va sans dire que la philosophie germanique est comprise entre Kant et Hegel. C’est rayer d’pn trait de �74 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. plume des annales de la pensee humaine la scolastique et la philoso­ phie fran^aise, des noms, par exemple, comme ceux d’Abelard et de Descartes. Que 1’Allemagne traite avec ce mepris superbe des philosophes fran^ais, cela peut a la rigueur se concevoir; mais rabaisser aussi Leibnitz, n’est-ce pas l’exces de 1’ingratitude? EUe est d’autant plus choquante que ces altiers contempteurs de la philosophie du dix-septieme siecle n’ont pas dedaigne de lui emprunter ses vues les plus originales. Le principe de l’homogeneite universelie des sub­ stances, la loi de continuite suivant laquelle tous les etres s’enchainent et s’echelonnent, le dynamisme interieur qui se fait sentir dans toute la nature sous l’apparent mecanisme de ses phenomenes, l’analogie profonde des lois de l’univers physique et des lois de l’humanite, toutes ces grandes idees qui sont la force et la richesse du systeme de Schelling, ne viennent-elles pas de Leibnitz? Un autre cartesien, Spinoza, n’a-t-il pas aussi a revendiquer sa large part tJalt dans les speculations de 1’Allemagne? Le principe de l’identite de la pensee et de l’etre n’est-il pas, je viens de m’en assurer, le propre fonds du spinozisme? Hegel accuse le Juif d’Amsterdam d’avoir meconnu le principe occidental, le principe modeme de la personnalite, d’avoir fait de Dieu la necessity ou la chose absolue, sans reconnaitre en lui le sujet, la personne; mais est-ce bien a Hegel qu’il , « appartient d’elever contre le spinozisme une telle accusation, d’ailleurs I si legitime? Cette personnalite qu’il invoque, l’a-t-il respectee dans Lhomme et en Dieu, lui qui n’a vu partout, du sommet de 1’etre jusqu’a son plus bas degre, que la rigoureuse geometrie de l’idee? '9 Tout en se distinguant de Spinoza, Hegel reconnait pourtant a la philosophie germanique un grand precurseur. Lequel, je vous prie? fl ce n’est pas Spinoza, ce sera peut-etre Descartes? non; e’est un Allemand du seizieme siecle, le chimerique auteur de XAurore naissante, le cordonnier philosophe de Goerlitz, Jacob Boehme 1 Je laisse parler Hegel lui-meme : « Nous verrons, dit-il dans un discours celebre, que chez les autres nations de l’Europe ou les scien­ ces sont cultivees avec zele et autorite, il ne s’est plus conserve de la philosophie que le nom, 1’idee en a peri, et elle n’existe plus que chez la nation allemande. Nous avens re$u de la nature la mission d’etre les conservateurs de ce feu sacre, comme aux Eumolpides d’Athenes avait ete confiee la conservation des mysteres d’Eleusis, aux habitants de Samothrace celle d’un culte plus pur et plus eleve, de meme .que, plus anciennement encore, l’esprit universel avait �■ ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. -15. donnd a la nation juive la conscience que ce serait d’elle qu’il sortirait renouvele *. » Ce qui m’etonne dans l’exaltation naive de ces paroles, c’est que 1’histoire de la philosophic, qui a ete cultivee avec tant de patience et de profondeur par les compatriotes de Hegel etpar Hegel lui-meme, n’ait pas quelque peu altere la serenite de leur orgueil speculatif. Sans remonter aux temps reeules de la philosophie grecque, je trouve audeclin de la civilisation greeque et romaine un mouvement philosophique plein d’analogies frappantes avec celui qui agite depuis soixante ans l’Allemagne, je veux parler de la philosophie Alexan­ drine. Elle aussi avait ete precedee par un radical scepticisme, celui d’CEnesideme, d’Agrippa et de Sextus. Elle aussi s’elan^a a 1’extre­ mity contraire pour embrasser le fantdme de la science absolue. Comme Hegel, Plotin dedaigne l’experience; comme lui, il pretend saisir l’ordre absolu des choses, et non-seulement le saisir, mais le deduire et le demontrer; tous deux admettent dans l’etre un mouvement dialectique qui se reflechit dans la science et identifie la raison et 1 etre Eans l’idee. A Alexandrie comme a Berlin, on voit clair dans les mysteres de l’essence divine; on la decompose en trois elements a la fois distincts et inseparables, trinite primitive qui se retrouve au fond de toute chose et de toute pensee. Cette trinite devient pour les deux ecoles une baguette magique qui fait tomber tout voile, eclaircit toute obscurite, efface toute difference. Les systemes philosophiques se rapprochent, les symboles religieux se confondent, tout se penetre et s’unit. Au sommet de la trinite, par dela toutes les determinations de la pensee et de l’etre, regne l’Unite absolue, identite du neant et de S’ existence, abime ou la pensee humaine, apres avoir parcouru le cercle necessaire de ses revolutions, vient chercher le repos dans I’aneantissement de la conscience et de la personne. Ainsi meme principe, la recherche de la science absolue| meme methode, la speculation toute rationnelle; memes resultats, l’identite des contradictoires et l’homme s’unifiant avec Dieu. Je connais done le principe etle terme de la philosophie allemande: elle commence, par le scepticisme, elle finit par le pantheisme. Et voila les deux sources ou s’abreuvent les generations nouvelles : Kant leur verse le scepticisme, Hegel le pantheisme, et ces deux 1. Paroles prononc^es par Hegel, d Heidelberg, en octobre 1816, aFouverture de son cours d’histoire de la philosophie. �76 ESSAI DE PHILOSOPHIE RELIGIEUSE. courants d’idees se rencontrent dans la doctrine du Dieu impersonnel. Ainsi e’est vainement que Descartes et Malebranche, Newton et Leibnitz ont epuise leur genie a organiser en systeme la croyance universelle du genre humain. Le Dieu personnel, le Dieu du bon sens, le Dieu de la philosophie spiritualiste succombe, et a sa place le scepticisme et le pantheisme conjures introduisent la substance indeterminee des etres. Est-ce la que je dois aboutir? Ce resultat est-il le dernier mot de mes longues recherches historiques ? e’est ce que je veux me demander serieusement une fois dans ma vie. J’ai assez lu, j’ai assez discute, l’age mur arrive, il faut fermer les livres, me replier au dedans de moi et ne plus consulter que ma raison. (La suite a la prochaine Livraison.) � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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. 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Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Essai de philosophie religieuse. Premiere partie - Etudes historiques. Sixieme etude - Le scepticisme de Kant Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Saisset, Emile Description An account of the resource Place of publication: [Paris] Collation: [26]-76 p. ; 26 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From Le Megasin de Librairie: literature, histoire, philosophie, voyages, .... Vol. 3. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [s.n.] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1859] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5410 Subject The topic of the resource Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <p class="western">This work (Essai de philosophie religieuse. Premiere partie - Etudes historiques. Sixieme etude - Le scepticisme de Kant), identified by <a href="www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</p> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource French Conway Tracts Immanuel Kant Philosophy and Religion https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/4be1b9ebc8dfd4a9301d0e686ee10b51.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=ZTw6Hus-VUwb9B1%7EtyH2fc0TAp4KIXsLpuzctczMeRV4mJIZXWH-PQP4zcIU43vumQ89MURUSs2Ni1Uho25aDQAS1nRgcwFhnVs%7EC10tp81vsNsm4arb%7EGK5sg0PW33De%7Ejt1hogughUCjGY2ZMuMD3CfmRhiYSMwyZNOKBFJXbOjVbz-ulgF3gRViIqaGFXzIibc%7Ez22dAT1MoR3MaZu9EACALzbpavWkJLTmiLTPly9S2jEYC7yi3O0rvczfHDFPTDQvH-DMaLE-SVWn2YLOCodSdnojjvLDxQ0S68Ix22SdsUUnyQkcfKhacou8PKQrIvKkSQS6z1fxVW8Q4eQA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 896faf5fac55feafd3329a559bf428c6 PDF Text Text LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. BY JENNIE JUNE CKOLY. T is said that no man is a hero to his wife or his valet de chambre; and so inseparable, indeed, is some touch of weakness from poor human nature, that we are rather apt to expect from the excep­ tionally great in some respects, corresponding feebleness in others, and charitably excuse, or else hold them up to the light, as the excuse for our own shortcomings. The private, or emotional life of Auguste Comte is but little known in this country, and the impressions concerning it, derived mainly from John ^tuart Mill, is , not’of a character to encourage strict investiga­ tion. Even his disciples seem to consider his domestic relations as a subject to be avoided, and the second part of his great life-work, the “Politique Positive,” as more the result of the weakness of his heart than the strength of his head. * The aim of this brief and necessarily very imperfect sketch is sim­ ply to state, facts, to show what justification existed for departure from conventional standards, and who and what the remarkable woman was whose brief acquaintance exercised so singular an influence upon the mind of Comte, and inspired him with those ideas which form the basis of his ultimate system. Whatever the weakness or strength of its founder, there is little doubt that the “ Religion of Humanity ” will live and continue to attract, as heretofore, the respectful attention of the wisest and best among us, and with its growth will spring up an interest in that epi­ sode of the life of August Comte which unites his. name with that of Clotilde de Vaux, and accepting her . as the representative of the noblest attributes of humanity, will place her, toward its religion and its be­ lievers, as Laura to Petrarch, as Beatrice to Dante,-as Heloise to Abe­ lard, if not, with all reverence be it spoken, as the Virgin Mary to the Christian Church. “To-day,” Emerson says, “is king,” but we rarely recognize its royalty. Laura and Beatrice may have been very ordinary persons to their intimates, and it is possible that even Joseph saw nothing more in his wife than many a man believes of the woman he loves. Yet who would wish to lose the spiritual significance of the Virgin-Mother by confronting it with the common-place fact of her daily life. Clotilde T �186 THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. de Vaux may have realized to no other person the remarkable qualities with which Comte’s imagination invested her, but the evidence she has left of high intellectual ability, united with singular purity and devo­ tion, lifts her above the common-place, while, apart from any idealiza­ tion by Comte, her personal history is clothed with a strange, sad, and most romantic interest. Born of a respectable but obscure family, beautiful, delicate, and surrounded always by an air of touching sadness, which seemed a prophecy of her future destiny, Madame de Vaux became early the wife of a man who was subsequently convicted of a capital crime, impris­ oned, and finally sent to the galleys, yet, by the laws of France, still maintained his right and authority as her husband. It was in this position that Comte met her. Comte himself was born, as Robinet, his biographer, informs us, of an admirable mother, Mme. Rosalie Boyer, a strict Catholic however, who shared the monarchical tendencies of her husband. She is de­ scribed as a woman of great heart, great character, and Comte ascribes to her all his higher qualities. He admits also that it was through Clotilde de Vaux that he learned to fully know and appreciate his mother. His family were in moderate circumstances—his father being cashier in the department of the Receiver-General. He was born in a modest house, facing the church of Saint Eulalie, Montpellier; was sent to school at the age of nine years, and was so precocious that at ten he criticised with severity and judgment his teachers and their methods of instruction. In 1825, twenty years before he met Mme. de Vaux, he contracted a marriage of convenience, which proved, as he afterwards declared, the one “ serious ” fault of his life. His wife was a bookseller, an active, capable woman of business, intelligent, but worldly, as most Parisian women of the middle classes are, and utterly without sympathy in any new systems of philosophy or their results. She was proud in her own way of her husband’s ability, but wished it to be acknowledged by the world, and she could not forgive in him the unconscious egotisms of a powerful genius, or the loss of his material opportunities, by his obsti­ nate adherence to unpopular opinions and principles. For seventeen years they lived a life which must have been almost unendurable to both, for Comte, released as he considered himself by the greatness of his work from ordinary duties and obligations, was probably one of the most exigent, exacting, and intolerable of hus­ bands to a busy, ambitious, and practical wife, while she became to him every day more an object of indifference, and even of dread. Mahomet was happy in having for his first disciple his wife: Madame Comte realized nothing but the obstinacy which deprived her husband of honorable positions and material resources. She was quite willing to assist in building up an honorable home, quite capable of forming a sound, and even wise judgment on any of the ordinary affairs �THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 187 of every day; she had literary taste and talent of her own, but believed thoroughly in putting them to practical use, in employing them to achieve a recognized name, honor, position, money, and the good-will of mankind, and she considered Comte’s splendid generalizations as the chimeras of a distraught brain. It was unfortunate for both that no children resulted from this illstarred union. The existence of these ties, and the knowledge, through them, which they would have gained of each other, would undoubtedly have softened their feelings, and contributed to a better mutual under­ standing. But it was not to be. Day by day they drifted more and more widely apart, until, upon April 5,1842, seventeen years after their marriage, Mme. Comte left her husband never to return. 1 Although M. Comte had not at that time developed fully his social theory, his natural instincts, heightened by the respect and veneration with which his mother had always inspired him, would have compelled him to endure to the end his self-imposed yoke, and forbidden any sympathy with the anarchical ideas that were then becoming common in France. The defection of his wife he accepted with the dignity with which he had borne his matrimonial infelicity, and considered his condition of domestic isolation as complete and final. His noble nature, however, his truthful instincts, his affectionate disposition, . made this severance of home ties very painful; he realized all the pos­ sibilities of true marriage, all the difficulties resulting from a mistake in this most important act of human life, and his pain was augmented by the knowledge of the detrimental effect which his matrimonial blunder would be likely to exert upon his public career. Believing profoundly in the indissolubility of marriage, insisting with the whole strength of his powerful intellect on the perfectness and perpetuity of the marriage relation as the golden band which purifies and holds society together, his own experience at once justified and illustrated his theory in his own eyes, yet furnished to carping critics a choice morsel of gossip, which they were undoubtedly willing to make the most of. “Behold the teacher!” “Who lives in glass houses should not throw stones.” All this, and much more, must have made Comte feel that a mistaken marriage was the most serious mistake of a man’s life, and that the evils resulting from it must be borne by the individual, not thrust upon society. Of course his situation, isolated and stigma­ tized without direct act or fault of his own, enabled him more readily to appreciate the peculiarity of the woman’s position whose name was afterwards to be associated with his own—Madame Clotilde de Vaux. His first meeting with this still young and gifted lady took place in 1845, three years after his wife had left him. It is admitted by all that she possessed graces of person combined with remarkable purity, ten.derness, and dignity of character. The singular coincidence of their position attracted them all the more powerfully toward each other, �188 THE L O \r E - L IFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. and the admirable delicacy and consistency which had distinguished her conduct in her peculiarly trying and unfortunate position, estab­ lished at once a claim upon Auguste Comte’s sympathies. Moreover, Madame de Vaux, notwithstanding that she possessed a mind of the finest order, was as little, understood by her family circle as Comte by the rest of the world—a fact which, united with Madame de Vaux’s convictions in regard to the moral nature and duties of women, so different from those of her best-known contemporaries, but •in exact accordance with Comte’s predilections, created a new bond be­ tween them. Under th^se circumstances, it is not surprising that, Clotilde de Vaux became to Comte a revelation of the power, purity, genius, and suffering of woman, or that, having worked out his theory of Divine Humanity, he should recognize its highest development in her noble, self-sacrificing life. It is a fact worthy of particular remark that, notwithstanding the exceptional nature of their mutual positions, no breath of suspicion, even in France, ever attached to their relationship. Slander itself was dumb before the purity of her character, the modesty, and dignity of her life. Her intercourse with Comte was wholly that of master and pupil; and although he fully acknowledges that to her he was indebted for his entire knowledge and education of the heart, yet this was un­ conscious on her part, and she hardly realized that the chivalrous and reverential nature of his sentiments toward her, and all women, owed their development and expression mainly to herself. But with the real claims of Madame de Vaux to the moral and in­ tellectual height to which Comte elevated her, we have little to do. To Comte she gave the key to one half, and the diviner half, of the human race, and became at once the motive and the inspiration to that part of his work which had been left incomplete. His discovery of sociology, of a new philosophy of life based upon the laws of exact science, placed him upon a level with Aristotle and Bacon; his realization of the per­ fectness of moral quality, through Clotilde de Vaux, of its high uses, unfolded to him a new religion, a religion of Man, or Humanity, which can only be expressed by the homage paid to the moral qualities as em­ bodied in their acknowledged representative, Woman. What individ­ uals, Laura, Clotilde, or Beatrice, were in themselves, matters, we re­ peat it, very little. It is enough that they stand as the types of Woman, as the ideals of Mother, Daughter, Wife, Sister, Friend, or all of these —as the embodiment of the sentiments and qualities which men most venerate and admire, and which act upon them as the strongest incen­ tive to worthy deeds. In the preface to his Positive Catechism, which consists bf a series of imaginary questions and answers between himself and adopted daughter, which relation he had intended to legalize with Madame de Vaux, if she had lived. Comte says, in reference to her— “Through her I have at length become for Humanity, in the strict­ I �THE LOYK-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. IS 9 est sense, a twofold organ, as may any one who has reaped the full advantages of woman’s influence. My career had been that of Aris­ totle, I should have wanted energy for that of St. Paul, but for her. I had extracted sound philosophy from real science ;»I was enabled by her to found on the basis of that philosophy the universal religion.” If Clotilde de Vaux had left no other evidence than Comte’s com­ memoration of her worthiness, she would still stand in the niche of the Temple of Humanity as its first high-priestess—as the eternal mother of that ideal Woman whose image is enshrined in all good men’s hearts, and is dimly realized in the goodness, purity, and self-sacrific­ ing love of some every-day sister, wife, or mother. But young as Madame de Vaux was at the time of her death, un­ fortunately suppressed as the most important work of her life was by the interference of relatives, she still left enough behind to show that she was a woman true to all a woman’s best instincts, to all a man’s ' noblest ideals of Womanhood. Like Comte, her nature remained unwarped by the sad issue of her own conjugal relations. Her little work, “ Lucie,” written altogether from her own inspiration, and before her acquaintance with Comte, reveals at once a charming tenderness, allied with real strength. Individual unhappiness did not lead her, as it would a weaker nature, to denounce marriage, or seek in license the remedy for social ills. On the contrary, in this work she idealizes mar­ riage, accepts motherhood as the natural function of the mass of women, anticipates Comte’s theory of protection for women, and de­ mands governmental institutions for the aid and guardianship of un­ protected women. Moreover, her advocacy of a true home-life for women had more force in France than in this country, because there the doctrine of individualism in marriage had been to a certain extent conceded, and the relationship already assumed a business aspect almost unknown here. The women of the middle classes, it is well known, nearly control the retail trade of Paris, and their mercantile activity and preoccupation undoubtedly prevents the realization of the comfort and domesticity which belongs to the English acceptation of the word home ; and while it has developed shrewdness and business tact, certainly detracts somewhat from the reserve and delicacy which naturally belongs to women. In Comte’s theory of marriage, individual rights are not allowed a place. The institution he considered necessary to the happiness of in­ dividuals and the well-being of society, but the former he subordinates to the latter, and he exacts from all men and women who take upon themselves the obligations of marriage, a stern fulfilment of its re­ quirements. He quotes with great approval the remarks of Madame de Vaux, that “great natures will not involve others in their own sor­ rows and difficulties,” and insists that the mistake of an individual should be confined as much as possible to him or herself, and not hung as a load upon the back of society. �190 THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. It is for its singular truth, purity, and integrity, that Madame Clotilde de Vaux’s contribution to the literature of her day deserves preservation, and for this reason we reproduce it here. Her clear mind was alike uninfluenced by custom or the sophistical ideas of anarchists and so-called reformers. She did not give to woman all the scope that she must claim for herself while she possesses ability, but she fully recognized the fact that the home is the woman’s rightful domain, that the employment of her strength, talent and energies in other directions, and especially as a means of livelihood, should be exceptional; that the woman cannot be the mother and also the provider, and that no woman ever tries to fill the two positions without feeling that she is constantly sacrificing the greater to the less. A presentation of a theory of marriage which recognizes its full value, its sacredness, and its indissolubility, seems particularly desir­ able just now, and in this country, where individualism is making it­ self strongly felt, and social evils are seeking a remedy in the easy dis­ ruption of the marriage bond. The position which Comte assigns to Woman is clearly stated in the following extract from the general View of Positivism : “ The social mission of Woman, in the Positive system, follows as a natural consequence from the qualities peculiar to her nature. In the most essential attribute of the human race, the tendency to place social above personal feeling, she is undoubtedly superior to man. Morally, therefore, and apart from all material considerations, she merits always our loving veneration, as the purest and simplest im­ personation of Humanity who can never be adequately represented in any masculine form. But these qualities do not involve the possession of political power, which is sometimes claimed for women, with or without their own consent. In that which is the great object of life they are superior to men, but in the various means of obtaining that object they are undoubtedly inferior. In all kinds of force, whether physical, intellectual, or practical, it is certain than Man surpasses Woman in accordance with a general law which prevails throughout the animal kingdom. Now, practical life is necessarily governed by force rather than by affection, because it requires unremitting and laborious activity. If there were nothing else to do but to love, as in the Christian Utopia of a future life in which there are no material wants, Woman would be supreme. But life is surrounded with diffi­ culties, which it needs all our thoughts and energies to avoid; therefore Man takes the command notwithstanding his inferiority in goodness. Success in all great efforts depends more upon energy and talent than upon moral excellence, although this condition reacts strongly upon the others. Thus the three elements of our moral constitution do not act in perfect harmony. Force is naturally supreme, and all that women can do is to modify it by affection. Justly conscious of their superior­ ity in strength of feeling, they endeavor to assert their influence in a �THE LOPE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 191 way which is often attributed by superficial observers to the mere love of power. But experience always teaches them that in a world where the simplest necessaries of life are scarce and difficult to procure, power must belong to the strongest, though the latter may deserve it best. With all their efforts, they never can do more than modify the harsh­ ness with which men exercise their authority. And' men submit more readily to this modifying influence from feeling that in the highest at­ tributes of humanity women are their superiors. They see that their own supremacy is due principally to the material necessities of life, provision for which calls into play the self-regarding rather than the social instincts; hence we find it the case in every phase of human so­ ciety, that women’s life is essentially domestic, public life being prin­ cipally confined to men. Civilization, so far from effacing this natural distinction, tends, as I shall afterwards show, to develop it, while rem­ edying its abuses.” The following “ Complement of the Dedication ” to Mad. Clotilde de Vaux is from the pen of Auguste Comte, and will be found in his last great work. It is followed by her novelette of “ Lucie ” and her poem, “ Thoughts of the Flowers,” which Comte repeated every morn­ ing for the nine years preceding his death. COMPLEMENT OF THE DEDICATION. Paris, 12th Dante, 62. Saturday, July 27th, 1850. In order to complete this exceptional dedication, I think I should add to it the only composition published by my sacred colleague. This touching novel, of which the principal situation essentially characterizes the conjugal destiny of the unhappy Clotilde, was inserted in the columns of the “National ” on the 20th and 21st of June, 1845. In reproducing it here, I hope to furnish competent judges with a direct proof of the exalted nature, intellectual and moral, of the unknown angel who presides over my second life. Following this characteristic production, I publish my unedited letter on the social commemoration, which would have appeared with “ Lucie,” but for the ma­ levolence of a well-known journalist, who has proved himself unworthy of confi­ dence. This little composition offers a certain historical interest to all those who understand the Religion of Humanity. They -will see in it the first direct and dis­ tinct germs of an immense moral and social synthesis, spontaneously arrived at through a pure, private effusion. My normal reaction of the heart, on the mind, was thus manifested several years before I had constructed its definitive theory. I end this natural complement of my dedication with an unedited canzone, that Madame de Vaux wished to place in her “ Willelmine,” although she had composed it in 1843. These graceful strophes, of which Petrarch could have perhaps envied the sweetness, can indicate the facility and the versatility of a talent worthy of the highest commendation. The poetical tendency of this exalted soul showed itself involuntarily, in her most trifling inspirations. IKwould be, for example, suffi­ ciently characterized by this melancholy inscription, secretly written at the age of twenty-two, in an old “ Journal of a Christian,” which I preserve religiously. “ Precious souvenir of my youth, companion and guide of the holy hours which have lived for me, and which always recall to my heart the ceremonies, grand and sweet, of the convent chapel.” �192 THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. ’‘LUCIE.” A Novelette, by Clotilde De Vaux. A few years since, the little town of----- was stupefied by the commission of a crime complicated with extraordinary circumstances. A young man, belonging to a distinguished family, had disappeared under a terrible suspicion. He was accused of having assassinated a banker, his partner, and stolen from him a considerable amount of valuables. This double crime was attributed to the fatal passion for gaming. The culprit abandoned, after a few months of marriage, a young wife endowed with great beauty and the most emi­ nent qualities. An orphan, she remained, at twenty years of age, condemned to isolation, misery, and a position without hope. The laws granted her spontaneously the separation of person and wealth ; that is to say, of all that which she had already lost. Her husband’s family lent her a shelter and a pair of shoes. Rich men who admired her, added to her anguish of heart insulting offers of protection as disgraceful as they were humiliating. She was, happily, one of those noble women who accept misfortune more easily than disgrace. Her clear mind fully unveiled to her the position she was in ; she comprehended that she owed to her beauty the interest she excited in men ; she foresaw the dangers that professions of sympathy hide, and wished to draw from herself alone all mitigation of her fate. This courageous resolution having been taken, the young wife thought only of executing it. Possessing a remarkable talent, she proceeded to Paris to make use of it. After several trials, she was admitted as a teacher into the house of the Abbaye-awe-Bois, where she found an honorable asylum. During this time, justice took its course ; active steps sought everywhere for traces of the fugitive. Already the irritated creditors had divided the property of the unhappy wife, whose clothing and jewels, even to the little treasures of her girlhood, had been sold at auction. The interest she inspired was so great, that strangers voluntarily redeemed these pledges and returned them to her. One young girl purchased a medallion which contained her portrait, and wore it like that of her patron saint, and the priest of the place bought her weddingdress to decorate the altar of the Virgin. These details sensibly affected the unfortunate one. A noble pride became joined in her heart to a profound sensibility: she felt herself sustained by these proofs of interest that reached her from so many sources. Filled with terror at the remembrance of her first love, she considered her chain as a barrier that she had voluntarily placed between herself and men. The horror and peril of her position thus escaped her mind, and she accepted without a complaint the unjust decree of the laws. An indestructible sentiment, a sweet and holy friendship of childhood, at first saved this noble heart from the bitter griefs of solitude. Philosophy, so pitiful and so arid in egotistical souls, developed its magnificent proportions in that of the young woman. Poor, she found the means of doing good : if she rarely went into the churches, where frivolity sits side by side with sanctity, she was often met in the garrets of the poor, where, misfortune hides itself like shame. Two years slipped by without any event transpiring to change this strange and unhappy position. Time, which can only increase great sorrows, had impaired, little by little, the admirable organization of the orphan. To her heroic courage, to her persevering efforts to tread'the rough path marked out for her, there suc­ ceeded a profound dejection. Thirteen letters which have fallen into my hands paint better than I can the griefs of the weary heart. I ask permission to reproduce them, and thus finish this history. �TSE L OVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 193 FIRST LETTER. LUCIE TO MADAM M. I write to thee from Malzéville, where I intend to pass several months, my beloved. My lungs had need of country air, and country milk ; and our worthy friends have seized this pretext to invite me to share their pleasant solitude. How much I love these excellent people ! May I not resemble them, or at least allow my heart to share in the peace which reigns in the depths of theirs ? Meanwhile I feel better here : nothing is so healthy as the sight of beautiful nature, and of this laborious and uniform life which forces the mind to rule itself. The General awaits the near arrival of his neighbor, who is reputed the bene­ factor of all this little region. He is a young man of twenty-six, the possessor of a handsome fortune, and a sincere disciple of liberal ideas. He has with him his mother, whom he adores, and of whom they tell a great deal of good. Thou dost advise me to cultivate flowers so as to wean me from music and reading. Alas 1 my beloved, are not these the only pleasures that remain to me ? When I have paid my feeble tribute to friendship, when I have read to the General some passages in his memoirs, when we have together evoked great and sacred recollections, or when I have shared with my friend her little domestic cares, I resign myself to tins absorbing faculty of thinking and feeling, which has become the resource of my existence ; and yet, no woman loves a peaceful and simple life more than I. What brilliant pleasures would I not have sacrificed with joy to the duties and happiness of the family circle ! What successes would not have appeared silly compared with the caresses of my children ! 0. my friend, maternity, that is the sentiment whose phantom rises so strong and so impetuous in my heart. This love, which survives all others, is it not given to woman to purify and mitigate her her sorrows ? SECOND LETTER. MAURICE TO BOGER. Roger, I have at last seen this woman, so grand, and so unhappy, of whom thou didst speak to me with pride. Do not say that “ the die is cast,” if I avow to thee the deep impression that I have felt at the sight of this young and beautiful martyr to social injustice. The touching virtues of Lucie, her mind, her unconscious atti­ tudes, everything about her bears forever the imprint of a profound grief. One feels, in seeing her, that she will have need of generosity in order to love. How­ ever, is she not free in all honor and reason ? By what astonishing lack of .fore­ sight in the laws, may the pure and respected woman find herself chained by society to the branded being whom it casts from its bosom ? What do we call civil death ? Is it a phantom ? To what end does society bind a wife to a man who can no longer give birth but to outcasts ? By what right does it impose isolation and celibacy on one of its members ? From what motive does it force a living death, or irregularities which it condemns ? But I speak as if before judges. Roger, my blood is ready to boil when I see how the apathy of men produces and seems to sanction misfortune and oppression. I have just had a belvedere built in sight of Malzéville ; from there, with a tele­ scope, I see the whole of thé General’s pretty house. Yesterday, I perceived Lucie, who was seated on the edge of a small stream of water; her attitude was dejected. Shall I say it to thee, her looks seemed to me to be often directed toward the south. Alas ! in seeing her so graceful and so broken, I asked myself with disgust the secret of certain influences over our hearts. Why do we see vulgar women fasci­ nate superior intellects and become the objects of a true worship? How does it happen that the generosity and nobleness of certain women are seen so often in the �194 THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. power Ol selfishness and grossness? We must give up the explanation of this enigma. As thou dost wish a new description of Oneil, I shall tell you, my dear Roger, that, I have made of it one of the prettiest places in the department. They described to me lately a recent dispute on my account between the inhabitants of the neigh­ boring corporation and an old, decayed gentleman. They excited themselves with nothing less than a discussion as to whether they owed the title of Chateau to Oneil, and the first piece of consecrated bread to its proprietor. I have settled the ques­ tion by not going to mass, and by calling the whole country my valley. THIRD LETTER. MAURICE TO ROGER. Never, Roger, never will another woman excite in me the powerful and elevated sentiments with which the mere sight of Lucie inspires me. Friend, thou hast spoken truth ; it is in vain that the laws, opinion, and the world raise their triple barrier between us ; love will reunite us, I feel it. Who knows better than thou the needs of my heart and its insurmountable repugnance to vulgar joys ? Alas ! before meeting Lucie, I have often felt that it is dangerous to refine its sensations. A little while ago my mother made her visit to Malzeville. I was curious, I avow it to thee, to know the impression Lucie would produce upon her. On arriving before the grating of the little park, we saw her grafting a rose-tree. She was dressed in white ; a large garden-hat carelessly covered her head, a simple green ribbon defined her small and elegant waist. One would say, on seeing her, the sweetest ideal of Galatia. I was surprised to perceive no emotion on my mother’s face, she. ordinarily so kind, and who finds so much pleasure in admiring ; she was dignified and cold during our visit; the words duty and honor found a place in all her phrases. For the first time I had a glimpse of what is bitter and implacable in feminine rivalries. Guided by the delicate tact, that the habit of suffering gives, Lucie withdrew before we did, under some slight pretext. Would that I had dared to follow her, and throw my­ self at her feet to protest against my mother’s words. Roger, this moment settles my fate forever ! I comprehend that it is my duty to snatch this sweet victim from misfortune. Perish the chimeras that rise up between us ! I feel myself strong against the false faith of opinion and the blame of the envious ; may I also be so against the self-abnegation and grandeur of Lucie 1 FOURTH LETTER. MAURICE TO ROGER One could willingly curse civilization and enlightenment, when one sees the small number of just minds and upright hearts that there are in the world. I could not tell thee how many pitiful and odious insinuations I have to submit to every day on Lucie’s account. But, what is not the least shocking, all the honor rests with these corrupters of morality who stand proudly on their small proprieties as on a rock of impregnable virtue. It seems, in truth, that success only accompanies hypocrisy and deceit. I have just had a painful conversation with my mother, which has only more strongly confirmed my loyalty and devotion. The latter is a magnificent virtue : it lives, however, much more willingly on enjoyments than on sacrifices. I have lately met in the world the young Countess of -------- , whose husband is in the galleys. She was twenty-four years of age when this fatality overtook her; she was remarkably pretty and amiable. The worthy L-------- fell in love with her, and they are united. Well! she told me that what she has had to suffer from her �TH£ LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 195 own family is incalculable. When I expressed to her my astonishment, seeing their advanced ideas in everything, she answered me, “ Are you still in your cate­ chism in regard to men ? They authorize me to be an atheist, but not to do with­ out the sacraments.” So it is, my worthy Roger, that this admirable humanity is not yet well rid of its debt toward the monkeys, from whom several doctors insist that it is directly descended. FIFTH LETTER. MAURICE TO LUCIE. What have you done, Lucie ? What fatal thought have you obeyed in remov­ ing yourself from me ? Alas! it is in vain that I seek to justify your silence; it weighs on my heart like an icy burden. And meanwhile, only yesterday you made me cherish my life. Your soul seemed to open itself to hope. When a trifling danger menaced me on the border of the lake, you came to my assistance without appearing to fear the presence of those around us. How beautiful you were at that instant, and how womanly in your devotion ! Have you not read in every glance the enthusiasm of which you were the object? 0 Lucie, when it was only neces­ sary, perhaps, for you to show yourself as you are to soften my mother’s heart, by what inconceivable misfortune do we find ourselves separated ? But perhaps you are not the angelic woman that I thought I had discovered; perhaps a generous love is beyond your powers ? Perhaps !—But of what use are these doubts ? You alone can restore the peace that you have taken away ; I await a line from you, a word that may teach me what are your future plans. Think of it! I will not answer for myself if you continue to overwhelm me with your silence. Manuel is going post-haste to Paris : in ten hours I may have your reply. SIXTH LETTER. MAURICE TO ROGER. Must it then be so ? Roger, to have been acquainted with her, to know that which contains this exalted heart, this delicate mind, and perhaps, in a few hours, to have to deplore her loss! May my misery fall again on those who caused it! Alas! when 1 accused her with what I have suffered, she was struck down with the violence of her struggles and her love. I wander like a fool around the General’s house, interrogating his people unceasingly, and receiving from them only vague and unsatisfactory answers. Happily, the physician is ignorant of who I am, and three times a day he forces the truth on my heart. I have this moment quitted him ; he looked so sad, he seemed so overwhelmed that I conjured him not to hide the worst from me. He assured me that she still exists ; but he expects a terrible and inevitable crisis. P.S.-jShe is saved! One should love as I love to comprehend the magic of such news. I threw myself at the feet of the physician ; I asked him for his friendship. In vain he preserved a serious manner; I felt ready to perform any folly in his presence. He is a distinguished man ; he spoke of Lucie with an enthu­ siasm almost equal to my own. But, one thing struck me: he observed me often with thoughtfulness, and seemed ready to confide a secret to me. I have vainly endeavored several times to make him speak his mind. He always ends our con versations about Lucie with this phrase : Society is very culpable. I have often remarked that prudence is the vice of men in this profession, whose profound knowledge renders so capable of assisting the social movement. What important modifications could be produced in the laws by the sole authority of cer­ tain scientific facts which remain eternally hidden from the vulgar ! I wish that a great physician would publish his memoirs ; it would be, in my opinion, a very useful book to humanity. �196 THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE SEVENTH LETTER. MAURICE TO ROGER. x Friend, I have seen her again ! Alas ! one dares not think that she still belongs to earth, so much is her beauty invested with an ideal and celestial character. She has consented to take her first walk leaning on my arm, and I was astonished at. the simplicity with which she described to me her sufferings. If I do not deceive myself, a gleam of hope has crept into her heart; but I have not been able to explain to myself the meaning of several of her words. As we rested in the shade, of a little ruined chapel, a villager’s wedding party passed before us. There was so much happiness and freedom from care on their open countenances, that I could not suppress a bitter reflection in comparing our destinies. Lucie trembled as she heard me. “ 0, my friend I” she exclaimed, “ they are happy ; but it is because their good fortune neither afflicts nor offends any one.” I looked at her with surprise ; her face was slightly flushed; she placed my hand on her heart; then she resumed in a voice serious and moved : “ Maurice, it is in vain that our misfortune forees us to set ourselves against society ; its institu­ tions are great and venerable as the work of ages ; it is unworthy of great natures to inflict upon others the sorrows that they feel.” I would have answered her, but she made me a sign with her hand to indicate that she felt very feeble. It began to grow late. The worthy doctor, who was already anxious at not seeing Lucie return, came to meet us, and he assisted me in supporting her as far as the entrance to the park of Malzeville, where it was neces­ sary for us to separate. Roger, all the obstacles that surround me frighten me less than Lucie’s natural greatness. It is not to false prejudices, I feel it, that such a woman has been able thus far to immolate the sweetest desires of her heart EIGHTH LETTER. LUCIE TO MADAM M. My Cherished Friend:—Hope has overtaken me on my return to health; Maurice consents to raise his powerful voice in a protest against the terrible abuse that separates us. His mother has pressed me to her heart; I shall never forget the delicious sensations that were mingled at that moment with the bitterness of my recollections. O my beloved 1 the love of a pure and good man is a sentiment full of power. How much do I need courage and strength to resist it! But Maurice’s interests and honor are dearer to me than my own happiness can be ; and I am also sustained by the pride of seeing him attempt a noble enterprise ; for it seems to me, that in it I also shall have accomplished something for humanity. It was only yesterday that our fate was decided. We had spent the evening with the worthy physician, whose sentiments are at the same time so gentle and so elevated. Hardly had we left him, when Maurice impetuously seized my hand ; and, pressing it to his heart, he swore to protect me in spite of the world, and no longer permit me to forsake him. I collected my strength to struggle against these sweet yet terrible emotions. I represented to him that duty commanded him to endeavor to free me from my bonds, in claiming a wise and just law. I employed to affect him the arguments which have the most influence on his great heart. I described with ardor the advantages that society would receive from this courageous attempt. For him, it was not difficult to interest him in the fate of those beings, young, feeble, and defenceless, whom an odious bond consigns to despair. He agreed that the injurious effects of the laws result mainly from the apathy of men, and that it is always honorable and useful to struggle against oppression. �THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. 197 We considered then our position from all points of view. Maurice agreed that a tie like that which he was advising me to contract would suffice for happiness, and that he would renounce, without the least regret, a world which sacrifices true happiness to prejudices arrogantly adorned with the title of propriety. I confessed to him that I did not feel myself high enough or low enough to brave opinion, and that it would be sweet to me to be able to surround our love with the respect of honest families. He gently combated my ideas ; but the thought of his mother was joined in his heart with all the elevated sentiments that belong to him. He finished by prom­ ising me to address a petition to the Chamber of Deputies, and to await patiently the result. I threw myself at the feet of this man so dear, shedding tears of gratitude and love. The efforts that I had made to control myself had so exhausted my strength that it seemed to me that life was going to abandon me. I never felt its value so much as at that moment. O, my friend I thou who dost live calm and happy with the man of thy choice, thou wilt comprehend all that passes in my heart. Thou knowest if I share the ridicule poured upon those women who wish to be deputies, or who ride on horse­ back to demonstrate that they could be at need excellent colonels of dragoons. But thou knowest that I feel sensibly oppression where it is real. It is in striking a blow at the true and modest happiness of woman, that the laws force her out of her sphere, and make her at times forget her sublime destiny. Henrietta, what pleas­ ures can exceed those of devotion ? To surround with comfort the man whom we love, to be good and simple in the family, worthy and self-forgetting outside of it, is not this our sweetest office and the one which suits us best ? It seems to me that from the family circle radiates communities and the world, and is it not woman who is the inspiration of them ? NINTH LETTER. MAUBICE TO ROGER. . A new grief has just burst upon her ; the monster who chains her to himself lias been arrested on the frontier and conducted to the galleys at Toulon, where he goes to suffer his penalty. This event, which gives such great force to our demands, seems meanwhile to have weakened Lucie’s courage. This heart so tender has fainted with terror before the horrible denotement with which the laws associate her. The name that she still bears echoes within her, loaded with infamy, and re-awakens all her gloomy recollections. Her imperishable goodness has just added compassion to all her wrongs. May her strength not be exhausted in this cruel struggle I No, I feel it, laws cannot be voluntarily immoral and absurd. Evidence strikes men ; they will break this odious bond which chains the purest being to a galley-slave. Lucie will still suffer much ; but various circumstances have enlightened me on all her sentiments, and I shall not sacrifice one of them to love. This noble woman shall be a proud wife and mother, pure, true, and loving friend. The sacrifices that she would valiantly accept for herself, she cannot bear the thought of bequeathing to her children. May she find at last the reward of these sweet virtues ! I shall rally my strength and my courage to subdue my impatience. 0 Roger! life has hard trials. I send thee a copy of my petition to the Chamber. “ Gentlemen Deputies :—There exists in the bosom of the. laws an abuse of which the extent is frightful; permit me to signalize it by a striking example. "A woman of twenty-two years, whose heart is pure and full of honor, finds herself chained by marriage to a galley-slave. Fifteen years of imprisonment, infamy, scorn, all that which separates virtue from vice, materially annuls this odious bond. �198 th/: L(> rn-i.rPK o f augusth comte. " The man is civilly (lead; the woman, declared free by the tribunals, regains possession of his fortune, which she already manages. All her rights are evident; yet she must renounce the most precious of them, that of using the liberty of her heart. By an inconceivable lack of foresight in the laws, this woman finds herself " expelled from their protection, and placed by them between two abysses, misfor­ tune and immorality. Which choice dare we assign her ? To adorn herself with a barren heroism, shall she renounce love and motherhood, those beautiful and noble rights of the wife ? “ If isolation weighs like a sentence of death on her heart, and forces her to contract a tie hostile to society, who will protect her against the evil testimony of opinion, and against all the dangers attached to a false position ? “ Between these two, there is a third, into which falls many oppressed and fee­ ble natures—it is baseness. “ Gentlemen deputies, I call your attention to this question of high morals, and I solicit a law which establishes divorce for a single act of an infamous and criminal character.” TENTH LETTER. MAURICE TO ROGER. Our hearts are calmer. Lucie seems happy in seeing me submissive to the laws which govern society. May she reap the fruit of my patience ! Perhaps I have truly performed a duty. I have suffered so much for some time, that I can no longer be a very good’judge on matters of wisdom. Abuses shock me, and oppression inspires me with such horror that I would willingly flee before it instead of contending with it. It may be that Lucie, in her heroism, is much nearer than I to simple justice and morality. Few women unite as she does pene­ tration and sensibility ; she is eminently loyal and spiritual. The better I under­ stand this heart so tender, the more I feel that I could not too well repay her love. How slowly each day brings the moment that unites us ! I love to surprise her in the midst of the occupations which she invents for herself, while expecting me,, she tells me. Yesterday I found her very busy copying a large boo’k of insignifi­ cant music designed for schools. As I evinced my astonishment with much per­ sistency, she ended by confessing that this work was one of her means of living. I could not tell thee, Roger, the painful impression that this discovery made upon me. The true duty of woman, is it not to surround man with the joys and affections of the domestic hearth, and receive from him in exchange all the means of exist­ ence that labor procures ? I would rather see the mother of a poor family washing hei children s CiOthes, than see her earning a livelihood by her talents away from home. I except, let it be understood, the eminent woman whose genius forces her out of the family sphere. Such an one should find in society her free develop­ ment ; for other minds are kindled by the exhibition of their powers. I would not only that women might find in their fathers, their brothers, and their husbands natural support; but that these supports failing them, they should be sustained by governments. Institutions should be founded in which to unite them and make use ot their various talents. There are many kinds of work that can only be done by women. These labors could be performed in these establish­ ments, where feeble and desolate women would at least be assured of a resource against the wrongs which menace them in a struggle with the world without. Our- towns would then have vast bazars where wealthy women would go to choose their attire. We should no longer see poor girls attenuated by forced labor, often obliged to walk all day to dispose of their work. These means, or others analogous, would establish a slight proportion between the strength and the duties of women, which are often so little in harmony. �ELEVENTH LETTER. MAURICE TO ROGER. Where to find a remnant of zeal in this weary, money-loving society ? Money ! that is the key to their dictionary, the word which we must absolutely grasp to comprehend them. I had confided to Count J--------our present position and my proceeding with the Chamber. He thought he would benefit me by introducing me to several of the men whom they call wise, no doubt because they have sacrificed the heart for the good of the head. I did not believe that bluntness could go so far. The conversa­ tion of these men resembled a veritable operation in stocks. It was a curious thing to see their efforts to convert an unworldly person. The obliging manner in which Count J----- — had introduced me to his circle made me, in spite of myself, give my evidence. Forced to speak of my sentiments and my opinions, I became at once the target for the whole assembly. They defeated me in philosophy and morals. They were going to declare me sublime in order to get rid of me, when one of the most influential men of the period took me aside. “ You resemble,” said he to me, “ a crow which pulls down walnuts. Do not err thus. You have just offended men who were able and willing to serve you. Arrange your affairs quickly ; and believe that a hero with fifteen thousand livres rental is not strong enough to walk alone.” This language astonished me so much that I remained silent. “ You come,” he continued, “ to demand divorce; you are authorized by an example striking enough. Truly, justice and reason are with you. A law restricted like that which you demand, would pass without the least difficulty, and would be a real benefit. Very well ! nevertheless, this law, it is a hundred to one, that you will not obtain it.” “ It is my conviction,” added he, while I repressed with difficulty a painful im­ patience, “ the fault is yours, entirely yours. Wishing to play giant, foolishly despising the hierarchy, refusing it deference, and exploring for all support the arsenal of old words, is it not voluntarily taking the role of a dupe, and running, dagger in hand, into the midst of a pigeon match ? Listen,” said he, “ if you were not so young, you would be a fool. But that infirmity excuses everything. I offer you, then, my influence with the ambassador of-------- . You have some position, a noble figure ; you can advance yourself with him. You love a remarkable woman, you will give her a station worthy of her; and believe me, love does very well without marriage.” Finishing his period, my worthy mentor threw me a significant glance and left, me. I went to shake hands with Count J— , so superior to the men by whom he is surrounded, and I returned to Oneil with rage in my heart. Roger, I shall promptly investigate what this man has said to me, and see if there is no longer any trace of justice and honor in humanity. Lucie is too grand and too pure to stoop before it. TWELFTH LETTER. LUCIE TO MAURICE. Maurice, you are noble and good. What heart can be more capable than yours of comprehending justice and reason? 0 best and most generous of men, you to whom I could have sacrificed with joy the peace of my whole life, could you but know to what extent yours has been dear and sacred to me ! My beloved, it is in vain that we attempt to struggle any longer against destiny. My soul is completely broken under its blows. Alas ! when I gave myself up to the happiness of loving �200 THE LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE. you, I thought to be able, in my turn, to add a charm to your life. Let me collect my last powers in one consoling thought, hoping you will restore again to society and your mother that which they have lost by your devotion to me. How often have I seen your great soul incensed at the sight of the afflictions that fill the world ! 0 Maurice! it is delicious to experience all generous emotions. What destiny is at the same time greater and sweeter than that of the useful man ! Do you not remember having often envied poor artisans the glory of a trifling dis­ covery ? You who can do so much more than they, would you remain inactive ? Dear, very dear friend, live to imprint on the earth your noble steps. When a man like you appears in the midst of society, he should either bring to it his tribute of light and virtue, or condemn himself to the silence and coldness of selfishness. I know your soul; it is rich, and glowing as the clouds in a beautiful sky; never would you have found happiness in isolation. Do not renounce family joys ; chil­ dren will create great interests in your existence. You will find pleasure in devel­ oping in them the noble germs that they will inherit from you. You will make of their young hearts so many hearths in which the flame of yours will be diffused. They will surround you with respect and love. O Maurice 1 are not all the felici­ ties of life summed up in this single word ? . LAST LETTER. DR. L-------- TO DR. B--------. My old friend, I approve the means you take in caring for yourself in turn. For us. who believe in good, it is a painful spectacle that of society in disorder, where nothing that is noble and great can succeed any longer. I have just witnessed again one of those sacrifices which shock the heart and the reason. The unfortu­ nate young woman whose history I have written to you, expired yesterday in my arms, broken by sorrows that I refrain from describing to you. The man whom she loved survived her but a few moments ; it seems as if he could comprehend only his despair. In vain I tried to lead him to reason and calmness ; he blew out his brains beside the death-bed. before I was able to prevent his fatal design. Those who have known the interesting and unhappy woman whose loss I deplore, . will comprehend the fatal passion that she inspired. She had one of those rare organizations in which the heart and mind are equally balanced. No woman felt more than she the possibilities of her position. She might have been an accom­ plished mother and wife. Alas ! in seeing her die in my arms at the age when one should live, I have painfully appreciated how little power is given to man to repair the evil that he causes. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library &amp; 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> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Love-life of Auguste Comte Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Croly, Jennie June [1829-1901] Description An account of the resource Place of publication: New York Collation: [185]-201 p. ; 26 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From Modern Thinker, no. 1, 1870. Printed in red on pale yellow paper. The pseudonym of Jane Cunningham Croly, an English-born American journalist and clubwoman whose popular writings and socially conscious advocacy reflected her belief that equal rights and economic independence for women would allow them to become fully responsible, productive citizens. Includes a letter from Auguste Comte to Clothilde de Vaux, 'Lucie' a novelette by Vaux and her poem 'The Thoughts of a Flower'. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available [American News Company] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1890] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5423 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <p class="western"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br />This work (Love-life of Auguste Comte), identified by <span style="color:#0000ff;"><span lang="zxx"><u>Humanist Library and Archives</u></span></span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</p> Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Subject The topic of the resource Philosophy Auguste Comte Clothilde de Vaux Conway Tracts