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LIFE
AND
MIND:
THEIR
UNITY AND MATERIALITY.
•
BY
EOBERT LEWINS, M.D. '
x
“ If it be possible to perfect mankind, the means of doing so will be found
in the Medical Sciences.”
Descartes.
“ For that which befalls men befalls beasts ; as the one dies so does the
other; they have all one breath; all go unto one place; all are of the dust, and
all turn to dust again.”
Ecclesiastes, 3rd Chap., Verses 18, 19.
GEO. P. BACON, STEAM PRINTING OFFICES.
1873.
��LIFE
AND
MIND:
THEIR UNITY AND MATERIALITY.
By Robert Lewins, M.D.
The design of this short contribution to the philosophy of
Modern Science is one, the execution of which I have felt for
many years past, ever since the collapse of the European
equilibrium signalized by the outbreak of the Erench revolu
tion of 1848, to be a great desideratum in the current distracted
state of public opinion, especially in Great Britain, as to
the claims upon our belief of Divine Revelation at the existing
standpoint of science.
*
My present purpose is to attempt,
in quite popular and intelligible language, divested of all
technicality which is not familiar to all fairly educated persons,
to ascertain the verdict of modern physiology and pathology
on the real nature of life. Upon this physical basis, disre
garding all metaphysical systems, from Plato to Comte, as so
many ignesfatui, which have only served during thousands of
years of misdirected activity, to perplex and mislead the
human mind, I propose to formulate, in a few sentences, a
consistent and rational theory of human existence, in which
everything super-natural and exceptional to familiar, every
day observation and experience, is removed from the domain
of sense and fact into that of fancy and fable.f
I have chiefly at heart to bring to bear, in a purely scientific
and judicial spirit, on the so-called inspiration and infallibility
of our own Bible, one single, well-established physiological
canon, the non-existence of a vital or spiritual principle as an
entity apart from the inherent energy of the material organism.
* Volumes could not better illustrate the irreconcilable antagonism between
Revelation and Science, than the statement of so thoughtful a scholar as the
Archbishop of Canterbury, in his sermon on the text “Jesus wept,” at Tam,
beth Church on Hospital Sunday, 15th June, 1873, respecting Death. His Grace
seriously advocated.the untenable hypothesis now so thoroughly refuted by
Paleontology and Biology, that “ Death was a frightful thing, the memento
of Sin, for Sin gave it birth,” evidently under the conviction that the myth
in the Hebrew Scriptures of the Creation and Fall of Adam is a matter of fact.
t No dcubt both the poetical and metaphysical faculties are most essential
and important elements in human nature, but the legitimate end of imagination and philosophical speculation is to lead us to the possession of positive
facts practically useful in vulgar life. All records of intellectual processes
that stop short of this result, are—except during the brief period of our
education—impediments of right conduct, and only serve to cheat and beonile
us of our time. Action, not contemplation, is the true vocation of Man,
�4
This one fact alone, I am fully satisfied in my own mind,
proves conclusively that all super-naturalism, alike “ sacred
and profane,” is explicable by quite familiar phenomena of
deranged cerebration and innervation, and that, as a corollary,
the pretended “ fundamental truths of Christianity ” are pal
pable fallacies, ill-analysed and mis-interpreted signs of disordered functions of the brain and cranial nerve-centres, of no
more authority or claim to especial sanctity than analogous
pretensions in the case of the Koran, or other extinct or extant
idolatry. Mahomet, indeed, from being subject to epilepsy,
must be considered by modern pathology as labouring, during
his whole public career, which was much more extended than
that of the Prophet of Nazareth, under actual organic brain
disease, and the wide-spread religion of Islam may therefore be
dismissed at once, as a purely medical question, from the serious
notice of all who are not Pathologists. The Grecian Oracles,
also reverenced by the most civilized nation of antiquity as
superhuman utterances of Divine Wisdom, were merely the
ravings of women temporarily insane from the inhalation of
gases which disturbed, by poisoning the blood, their cerebral
functions. Insanity and Idiocy, to this day, are still venerated
in the native lands of Jesus and Mahomet as the manifestation
of divine inspiration.
*
Christianity will thus be found, when
examinedby the light of the 19th, to be simply what the impar
tial Greeks and Romans described it in the 1st century—a
Syrian superstition. Syria, the “ Holy Land” of the Bible and
Koran (as if in sound philosophy any one place or thing can
be holier than another) seems in all ages—doubtless from
geological and meteorological peculiarities!—to have been
notorious for the mysticism of its inhabitants ; by which term
I mean such excess of the idealising over the reflective faculties
that sober reason and observation, the seeing things as they
are in the open day-light of fact and nature, become quite
disguised and obscured by the phantasmagoria of illusion.
This radical defect, which necessitates the intellect to revolve
perpetually in a vieious circle, fatal to all real progress, is
characteristic of the human mind throughout all the East,
* Epilepsy, doubtless from its striking and imposing physiological symp
toms, was in ancient times regarded as the “Holy Disease,” par excellence.
Hippocrates no doubt incurred the odium attached to “Impiety,” when he
taught that no disease was more or less holy than another—all being alike
the result of impaired bodily organs.
f The scenery round Jerusalem and through the wilderness of Judea to
wards the Jordan, is exceedingly weird and hideous, well fitted to be the
nursery of an ascetic creed, “ whose Kingdom is not of this World.”
�5
as every impartial traveller perceives on a very cursory ac
quaintance.
An Oriental must mystify and “ fable/’ not necessarily by
intention, but because, from the structural arrangement of his
intellectual organs, exaggeration, hyperbole, and the prefer
ence of fiction to fact, is his natural element. To him Lord
Bacon’s aphorism is peculiarly applicable, “ A mixture of
a lie doth ever add pleasure.” In the whole texture of his
mind he displays the impulsive, visionary imaginativeness and
incapacity for patient and sustained impersonal research of
women and children, swayed by every fluctuating breath of
sentiment and passion. To minds of this class plain truth ap
pears insipid, displeasing, and unsatisfactory,in direct contrast
with that disciplined virile European intellect, which, in com
paratively recent times, by strict adherence to the investiga
tion of what really exists, has so immeasurably extended, for the
benefit of mankind, the range of mental vision. In the signal
triumphs of civilization during the last two centuries the
Orient, and the traditional methods of the Orient, have no part
whatever.
To return from this digression to my more immediate pur
pose. The single and simple cardinal principle of modern
science, above italicised, to which I would direct atten
tion, and to which I shall confine myself on the present
occasion—as subversive of all spiritualism and mysticism
whatever—is a plant of English growth, and cannot pro
perly be considered older, in its definite shape, than the
publication of Newton’s “ Principles of Natural Philosophy,”
the year before the revolution of 1688, though in a vague, in
definite form its spirit was awake in Europe from the time of
the Reformation. Our Royal Society was established, as
stated in its charter, at the Restoration of Charles II., as a
protest against “ supernatural ” methods, the Puritan Revolt
being the last sincere and earnest abortive attempt to govern
mankind on Christian principles, or to take au serieux in
political life, the truth of the Jewish Dispensation. Modern
Physical and Mental Science, dating from the English Revo
lution—the era of Newton and Locke—may thus justly be
considered the real Anti-Christ.
This radical principle of true knowledge, which the
human mind has only reached after persevering for
thousands of years in false methods, is the confidence,
based on fixed scientific data, and not merely on conjec
ture, in the all-sufficiency of Matter to carry on its own
operations, and the consequent absurdity, uselessness, non
�6
necessity of any hypothesis which assumes, that from outside
the sphere of sensible, material phenomena, there intrudes
an immaterial, spiritual, or supernatural factor, to perform
functions, which Matter, by virtue of its own in-dwelling
energy, really performs for and by itself. I confidently sub
mit to the judgment of my readers the assertion that the
whole hypothesis of Immaterialism, of an over-ruling of matter
by “ Spirit” (in the transcendental, not etymological sense of
the word), the former the passive instrument, the latter the
active agent, received its death-blow on the fall of the Car
tesian, and establishment of the Newtonian, Philosophy.
Our great English astronomer, by his discovery of universal
gravitation, was the real founder, in Christian times, of scien
tific, common sense materialism, though, from prejudices of his
own education in the scholastic methods of his age, he himself
failed to carry out his own data, to their legitimate conclu
sions, in the domain of Biology. The tremendous revolution in
European thought, at the close of the 17th century, can even yet
be well appreciated by comparing the mystical idealism of
Milton’s “ Paradise Lost” with the common sense realism of
Pope’s “Essay on Man.” Erom the awe-struck manner in which
the intellectual representative of Puritanism hails Light as
too sacred even to be named, we recognise the fatal tendency
of that primeval mysticism which renders free thought, free
investigation, and real progress, an impossibility. There is no
room for doubt, from his cosmological and psychological stand
point, that had Milton been aware of the prismatic exjferiments and cosmical demonstrations of Newton, he would have
turned from them with abhorrence and proud contempt.
*
To
* Socrates, who has been considered by not a few orthodox • authorities to
have had a quasi Divine Mission, as a forerunner of Christ, protested against
the impudence and profanity of Anaxagoras, when he degraded the divine
Helios and Selene into a Sun and Moon of calculable motions and magni
tudes. Astronomy was pronounced by him to be among the “ Divine Mys
teries,” which it was impossible to understand and madness to investigate, as
the above-named physicist had presumptuously pretended to do. He held,
indeed, that the Gods did not intend that man should pry into cosmical
arrangements, that they managed such things so as to be beyond bis ken,
and therefore logically discarded General Physics, or the study of Nature al
together as impious madness. “ Moral Philosophy ” he considered alone fit
for Humanity. Natural Science he taught to be Celestial Arcana, that would
for ever remain inscrutable secrets to mankind. And, as far as we can see,
that remained the mediaeval standpoint only fully displaced, spite of the ad
mirable but incomplete labours of Copernicus, Tycho Brahe, Kepler, and
Galileo, by the discovery of Universal Gravitation. Both Bacon and Milton,
scholars at the high water mark of the knowledge of their respective epochs,
disbelieved the true system of the universe.—See Grote’s “ History of Greece,”
chap. Ixviii.
�us, at all events, a century and a half later, it seems perfectly
patent, whatever may have been the doubts and quibbles of
Newton, Locke, and their learned and unlearned contemporaries, that as soon as it became a demonstrated fact thatMatter
was active, not passive, and that its every particle was in
motion itself, and the cause of motion in every other particle
—the belief in an energising principle as a separate entity,
apart and distinct from Matter itself, became an untenable
fallacy. The whole fabric of Immaterialism, the idea of the
necessity of supernatural influence in inorganic matter, was
annihilated at once.
And the generalization cannot be restricted to “brute”
matter, but is equally applicable to the organic kingdom
of nature, to plants, animals, and man. Sensibility and
voluntary motion (animal life), just as in the case of the selfacting cosmos, is not the outcome of a vital or senso-motor
principle, spiritual or immaterial—animating, vivifying or
vitalising the material organization, but just as in the simpler,
though not less wonderful (for in an infinite scale there are
no absolute degrees) case of inanimate matter—animal vitality
or conscious existence, with all its marvellous and complicated
processes of body and mind, is merely the active expression of
the material machinery of the microcosm. In this microcosm
special anatomical structures or tissues manifest special func
tions, one of them being consciousness—egoistic and altruistic
— of which mentation or cerebration is only a mode. Thought
and Moral Feeling is thus only localised sensation, the special
life of the hemispheres of the brain, organs familiarly known
to be exceptionally developed in the human, as compared with
all other animals. Modern physiology, just as in the case of
modern physics, has been compelled entirely to discard the
Oriental, classical, mediaeval, metaphysical, ante-Newtonian
speculation that organic function has for its factor a spiritual
or immaterial entity or soul. The question of the anima
mundi and anima humana (using the term in the sense of
soul) is at bottom one and the same. The speculation, ex
plicable and excusable even so late as the prevalence of the
Cartesian system, while the erroneous idea of the inertness of
matter vitiated Philosophy, had no longer a locus standi after
its refutation by Newton. If matter acts by means of its own
vis insita, and depends on no extraneous “influx” or im
pulse, the whole problem of Immaterialism and Materialism
is solved in favour of the latter. No modern physiologist has
any difficulty in realising what seemed so insuperable a
stumbling block to the Ancients and Locke—that sensation
�8
and thought is due to matter (nerve substance). The whole
difficulty seems to us purely imaginary, depending on precon
ceived fancies as to the twofold existence of spirit and
matter in the universe, and the inferiority of the latter to
the former — ideas of no greater value than the old
prejudice of mathematicians as to the “ perfection” of the
circle, so mischievous in astronomical discovery—or the fanci
ful notion of peculiar sanctity attached to the numbers 3 and
7. We know nerves feel or sensate. We know equally well,
both from physiology and pathology, that a special portion of
the nervous system (the hemispheres of the brain) thinks. From
*
the medical or natural stand-point, the metaphysical notion
that man is a dual being, compounded of soul and body, is in
reality only the last lingering relic of the vicious, obsolete
School-Physiology—the parent of occult therapeutical prac
tice in the middle ages, and familiar in medical literature as
the system of Van Helmont, a Flemish physician, who died
about the time of Sir Isaac Newton’s birth. This system was
based on the fallacy of the essential passivity of matter,
and pre-supposed that in every organ of the body there is an
Archeus, a ruling spirit, an Eu-demon in health, a kako-demon
in disease—the active agent in function, whose sole raison
d'etre is the presumed incapacity of matter, “ living or dead,”
to exhibit, proprio motu, energy of any kind. This theory,
* “ That the hemispheres of the Brain are the seats of the intellectual
faculties—viz., Emotion, Passion, Volition, and at the same time essential
to Consciousness—may be considered proved by these established facts:—
(1.) In the Animal Kingdom a correspondence is observed between the
quantity of grey matter, the depth of the convolutions, and the sagacity of
the animal.
(2.) At birth the grey matter in those parts is very defective, the convolu
tions being only superficial fissures confined to the surface of the Brain; and
as the grey matter increases intelligence develops.
(3.) Vivisection shows that on slicing away the Brain the animal becomes
more dull and stupid in proportion to the quantity of grey matter removed.
(4.) Clinical experience points out that in cases where disease has been
found to commence at the circumference of the Brain (that is at the hemi
spherical convolutions) and proceeds towards the centre, the mental faculties
are affected first; whereas in those diseases which commence at the central
parts and proceed towards the circumference, the mental faculties are affected
last.”—See Dr. Aitkin’s “Science and Practice of Medicine.”
To my mind the whole question at issue between Spiritualism and
Materialism, is solved in favour of Hylozoism, by the fact stated in No. 3 of
the a bove quotation from Dr. Aitkin’s invaluable Text Book of Medicine.
Slicing the hemispherical ganglia of the Encephalon induces insensibility
and stupidity, which is equivalent to stating it impairs the mind and moral
feelings. No physical pain, no paralysis is the result, a fact dwelt on by early
vivisectors with astonishment; only a purely mental one, which surely de
monstrates that the organ injured is the primary seat of the mind—the “ Dome
of Thought, the Palace of the Soul.” We should certainly conclude that such
was the case from similar experimental results in any other organ.—R. L.
�9
identical with that of Divine and Demoniac possession in the
Bible, which is quite incompatible with rational, theoretical
and practical Physic, has long since fallen even into popular
contempt as regards every other organ or series of organs
in the body, except the Sensorium.
*
The radical antithesis between the old dual doctrine of
Body animated by Spirit and modern Physiology, may be well
illustrated by reference to the different views as to the
rationale of “ suspended animation” in the two systems. In
the one, where matter is held to be essentially inert—a vital
principle—an animating spirit—must be assumed, which in
syncope, asphyxia, &c., deserts its material tenement to
emigrate as an indestructible, veritable entity elsewhere. In
*
the other modern scientific one we have with complete reason,
and on sufficient grounds, abandoned this separation of soul
and body, this emigration, during periods of insensibility and
immobility, of the former to other spheres of activity. We now
know, as certainly as we know any other demonstrated fact of
science, to mention no other grounds for our certainty than
the mechanical means of treatment successfully employed for
the restoration of the apparently dead, that life resides in
tissue as an immanent energy, with its corollary, that suspen
sion of life is the consequence of the derangement, the arrest
of those material conditions (the ultimate link in the chain of
which is the contact of the oxygen of the atmosphere through
the arterial circulation with the tissues), exactly as takes
place in the case of a watch which ceases to “ go” from
derangement of its works.f
The bearing of this unity, and not duality of nature in man
on what are called the “ fundamental truths of Divine Revela
tion,” must be apparent at a glance. What has been mistaken
for supernatural interference resolves itself into Hypereesthesia or Anaesthesia, dependent on increased or diminished
nervous and cerebral action. It is quite unnecessary, from
this physiological vantage ground, to allude seriously to the
portents, miracles, prophecies, &c., claimed by mystagogues,
successful or unsuccessful, which sanction their pretensions, as
exceptionally privileged beings, to dictate authoritatively to
their fellow creatures the behests of Heaven, from Moses to
* Error dies hard. In a modified form this old fallacy again reared its
head, during the chloroform controversy in 1848.—See Dfemoir of Sir James Y.
Simpson, by Professor Puns, P.D. Edinburgh: Edmonston and Douglas, 1873.
f The discredit into which Exorcism has fallen shows, that even in the un
scientific mind, material force has been substituted for “ vagrant spirit,”
now “in” now “ out of the body,” as the active agent in vitality.
�10
Pius IX., and the author of the Book of Mormon. All such
must be uncompromisingly negatived by science in the 19th
century as impostures—conscious or unconscious—the pro
mulgator of an untruth not being, of course, less an im
postor from being his own first dupe, even though he be
the victim of circumstances beyond his own direct control.
It were an impertinence in the present state of physiology
and physics, to argue in refutation of the incredible assertion
that human beings can arrest the motions of sun and moon,
change water into wine, lay the winds and waves by a word,
cure old standing or congenital organic disease or deformity
instantaneously by a touch, by the invocation of any name
under Heaven, or in any other way alter or suspend the re
gular order of the universe by means corresponding with the
idea of a miracle in theology. When we eliminate from matter
the vital principle we nullify entirely the venerable hypothesis
of Divine or diabolic inspiration and possession, and give
scientific sanction to the Sadducean doctrine that all reported
visions of angels and spirits, good or evil, are spectral appear
ances—-symptoms of disturbed bodily function of organs with
in the skull, “ coinages of the brain, bodiless creations,” like
the apparition in Hamlet and apparitions everywhere else.
Such assumed supernatural visitations as the “ descent of
the Holy Ghost” at Pentecost, and the conversion of Paul, to
whom, and not directly to Jesus Christ or any of his immediate companions and disciples, Protestantism is chiefly
indebted for its Evangelical doctrines, on his journey to
Damascus—phenomena lying at the very root of the alleged
Divine origin of Christianity—belong to the very alphabet of
medical science, and may be confidently diagnosed as not pre
ternatural occurrences at all, but merely symptoms of over
excitement—the result either of Anaemia or Hyperaemia—of the
nervous centres in the head. “ The sound from Heaven as of
a rushing, mighty wind, the cloven tongues of fire,” are symp
toms familiar to every clinical tyro of morbid action in the en
cephalic sensory ganglia connected with the auditory and
optic nerves, and are, indeed, only exaggerations of that
“ singing in the ears” and “ floating of motes” before the
eyes, which every one who reads this must have himself ex
perienced from the most trifling derangement, centric or
eccentric, of the circulation of the blood within the brain, or
from over-tension of the brain, eye, or ear nerve-tissue itself.
The exaltation of the faculty of speech—a parallel case to
which is well known as the Irvingite epidemic of “ Unknown
tongues”—is also the external sign of excited function at the
�origin in the brain of another cranial nerve, the lingual or
motor nerve of the tongue. The mental tumult, panic, and
metamorphosis of ideas, feelings, and character, are also quite
ordinary symptoms consequent on the participation of the
cerebral hemispheres—seat of the moral feelings, ideas, and
character—in the excited condition of the adjacent sensory
ganglia. Identical symptoms, affecting both the organs of
sense and the mental and moral faculties, are now quite
familiar to us as exhibited by fanatics in “ camp meetings,”
a,nd religious revivals, not uncommon since Whitfield and
Wesley’s time, in Great Britain, North America, and Protes
tant Ireland. All such occurrences, whether they happened
1800 years ago in Palestine, or yesterday at our own doors,
have no connection whatever with supra-mundane agency,
but are simply the usual, constantly recurring, every-day
indications of abnormal states of the sensorium.
The conversion of Paul falls under the same category, and
resolves itself into an apoplectiform attack of the nature of
sun-stroke with temporary amaurosis—a very common sequel
to protracted cerebral tension and excitement, the probable
proximate cause of the paroxysm, the active symptoms of
which only lasted three days, though, as often happens in
illness of this character, it revolutionized the whole future
life of the sufferer, being exposure to the noon-day blaze of an
Eastern sun. Such instances of mistaken diagnosis merit as
little notice, other than professional, from contemporary
medicine, as do the tales of witchcraft in former ages, or the
shameful spiritualistic delusion of to-day. All such supposed
evidences of supernatural power are merely indications of
natural bodily infirmity.
*
* The conversion of Colonel Gardiner, a well known cavalry officer, killed
at the battle of Preston Pans, described by Dr. Doddridge, is another instance
of the same kind, identical in its leading features with that of Paul. It was
attended by similar ocular and acoustic hallucinations, and instantaneous
life-long change of character and conduct, clearly traceable to recent con
cussion of the brain from an accident—a fall from his horse. It may also be
mentioned that two famous mystagogues who have recently aspired to found
new religions, Swedenborg and Comte, were in like manner the subjects of
Brain affection. The case of the former has been most exhaustively treated by
Dr. Maudsley in the “ Journal of Mental Science,” in a series of articles, which
I have vainly attempted to induce him to make more accessible to the general
public than they can be in the pages of a professional journal. The medical
history of Swedenborg is, wiutatis mutandis, that of all successful
“ Madmen who have made men mad
By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings,
Pounders of Sects and Systems.”
Comte’s natural history is still a desideratum. Ordinary biographies of the
founder of the “ Religion of Humanity,” with all its extravagances and anach
ronisms, lacking physiological and pathological elucidation, are worthless
and misleading.
�12
As a necessary part of my argument, however, lam anxious
to bring to bear upon the doctrine of a personal immortality—
a doctrine which still seems to flourish amid the present
wreck (at least on the Continents of Europe and America,
and to a greater extent even in Great Britain than easy
going people and their supporters, either from sentiment or
interest), of time-honoured creeds are willing to allow—the
above fact of the unity, and not duality of nature in man.
This belief, from the premises that there is in the human
being, just as in inorganic and the lower animal creation, no
such thing as a soul at all, must be dismissed to the limbo
of other exploded superstitions. No doubt every mind capable
of abstract thought has within itself, as the reflex, minister
and interpreter of nature, which is in itself endless and
eternal, the sense or feeling of immortality, of endlessness in
time and space. Without that feeling we should be, indeed,
strangers and aliens on this planet, itself only an atom in
the infinite abyss of Immensity. Time and space are, in
deed, not natural verities at all, but merely artificial, braincreated segments and analyses of eternity and immensity.
Nature herself ignores all such limitations. Her only realities
and syntheses are eternity as regards time, and immensity as
regards space. All that has been said or sung, in prescientific ages, of God or Gods, may be predicated in this our
age of the material universe, beyond which it is impossible for
the human mind to range. Higher than himself no man can
think. And this idea, this sensation of endless duration in
time and extension in space—a sensation never absent
for weal or woe in minds capable of high abstract power
—but in the average mind only paroxysmally present—forced,
too often horribly, on the attention in moments of exalted
feeling, pain, terror, suspense, actual or anticipated tor
ture, sleeplessness, dreams, nightmare, or under the
action of certain narcotics, as opium, haschiz, and al
cohol, has been confounded by precipitate theorists with
the literal idea of resurrection from the dead, and a
future eternal life of happiness or misery, apart from our
present bodies, or with those bodies in a “ glorified” form. '
*
* I need surely waste no words, at the present day, in pointing out the fatal
fallacies and inconsistencies contained in the apology for this theory, in the
15th chap. 1st Corinthians, and elsewhere in the New Testament. No doubt
it is a beautiful dream, looked at from the elect point of view, as there
represented; but the truth is more beautiful still. Fruition is better than
expectation, performance than promise, actual experience than faith or
hope.
�13
The apparently different ideas of ante-natal existence which.
I forms part of most Oriental creeds, and is known to Occi
dental scholars a.s the Pythagorean doctrine of the Me
tempsychosis, and the modern Christian one of a post-mortem
individual immortality, are really one and the same chimerical
notion. Both are relegated, by sober, scientific analysis, from
the domain of the actual into th it of the ideal. Both are
alike the ill-analysed, empirical conception, the cerebral
function, untrained by scientific discipline, frames to itself of
the infinite, the eternal—in the one case as applied to the
past, in the other to the future. An actual, veritable im
mortality is perfectly superfluous, seeing we have already, in
our present state of being, an ideal one in the sense of it.
“ Heirs of immortality’’ we certainly are, but not in the
theological sense of the phrase. Only in so far as during
every pulse beat between the cradle and the grave our minds
have an instinctive sense, more or less definite, of endless
duration and extension. Man, then, as a sentient being, is
launched into eternity, not when he dies, for at death he
returns to the same condition of nothingness, as far as
consciousness is concerned, as was the case prior to his
embryonic existence, but when the first stirrings of life,
including the life of the brain or ideation, begin. Healthy
sensation, or perfect life in every organ, including the cerebral
hemispheres, is thus our only heaven, morbid sensation, vary
ing as it does from ennui or general malaise to mental and
corporeal agony and anguish, our only hell. Earth is paradise,
if the healthy operation of every anatomical structure could be
preserved ; perpetual sunshine of body and mind is the blessed
result— a beatitude implied in the physiological aphorism, “ the
normal exercise of every organic function is pleasurable.”
Wherever, therefore, malaise of body or mind is present, its
cause must be sought for in deranged bodily function, and in
no “ higher ” or more recondite region. All that is fabled
by poets, saints, martyrs, founders of sects and systems',
under the term Saturnian or Golden Age, Kingdom of
Heaven, Paradise, &c., is comprehended in that supreme
bien aise which results from the equilibrium of the bodily
functions. That state, and that alone, in which, as in
healthy infancy, no portion of the nervous system, indicating
loss of general balance of the organism, obtrudes itself
on our attention, is the true palingenesia, whether of
mythology, philosophy, or Christianity. To attain and
preserve that state of normal and material well being—
�14
discarding all more transcendental aspirations as a mis
chievous and vainglorious Utopia and fool’.s paradise, •
ought all our efforts to be exclusively directed. It will be
found, on experience, to have nothing in common with the
“ Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die ” principle of
the degenerate Epicurean, but to require for its attainment
and preservation Herculean labours, taxing to their utmost
legitimate limits, the vaunted intellectual and moral capacity
of our race.
The following twelve theses—partly taken from the German
—summarise the chief points contended for in this paper:—
1st. The genuine disciple of Nature and Life, which are one and in
divisible, takes nothing on trust, but only believes what is known
with positive certainty—that is, on data which can be universally
verified.
2nd. Doubt is not, as Fiction pretends, the herald of dismay and
despair, but the necessary preliminary of all order and progress ; as
without it there cannot be any inquiry, clear insight, or settled
convictions whatever.
3rd. Natural Science is bound in conscience to divulge all her
results, however much they may conflict with contemporary prejudices,
in order to satisfy the human mind and leave it free for the further
pursuit and enjoyment of truth. Mental Reservation and Prevarica
tion, as habitually practised by contemporary English thinkers and
savans, is disloyalty to humanity | and reason; dangerous alike to their
*
country, and to the cause of civilization throughout the world.
4th. Natural Philosophy in recent times has rendered trite the
axiom, that everything in the universe proceeds by unalterable law.
5th. The sum total of Natural Law constitutes the system of the
world (axiomatic truths of logic and mathematics).
6th. The world is from eternity to eternity. Nothing is ever
created, nothing lost. Beginning or ending there is alike none. Only
the form and condition of things is perishable. Everything that exists
dates from eternity.
7th. The Universeis boundless in space and time. The divisibility
* England, as represented by her influential and cultured classes, from her
pre-eminent adherence to the obsolete cause of traditional Supernaturalism,
and consequent inaccessibility to the new order of ideas resulting from the
light thrown on Nature and Human Nature by Science—presents in the 19th
century a striking analogy to the brandy of Spain during the struggles of
the Reformation. Lord Shaftesbury’s inhuman dictum at Exeter Hall, on the
30th June, as chairman of the meeting, convened by the Church Association,
to protest against the confessional in the English Church: “ Perish all things
so that Christ be magnified,” is identical in spirit with that of the Grand
InquisitiZffe'in “Don Carlos:” “The voice of Nature avails not over Faith.”
Truly, as Milton says: “ Presbyter is only Priest writ large.” Absit omen.
�15
of matter is infinite. The Universe can have no limits, eternity in
time and immensity in space being correlative.
Sth. As the logical inference from the above, millions and millions
of millennia are before ns, in which new worlds and systems of worlds
shall flourish and decay ; at their lapse the Universe can be no nearer
its dissolution than at the present or any former period.
9th. Cosmical space is not a vacuum. Our atmosphere has no
limits. The first living being had its germ in eternity, which is equi
valent to negativing Creation altogether. The present human being
is only a link in an endless series—the goal of a past—the startingpoint of a future developmental form in the Animal Kingdom,
10th. The so-called “ Personal God ” is merely an idol of the
human brain—a pseudo-organism of pre-scientific man endowed with
man’s attributes and passions, a remnant of Fetichism. Jehovah,
Jove, or the “ Lord and Father” of the New Testament, are alike
anthropomorphic inventions. Absolute Atheism is, however, no pos
tulate of Science, which does not venture to impugn the evidence of
Cosmical Design, or the existence of an unknown, inconceivable, in
telligent First Cause, of whose Eternal Mind, the Eternal Universe
may be a hypostasis. Some such belief is indeed a necessity during the
earlier stages of our life, while, even in the soundest intellect, imagmation is dominant over judgment.
11th. The further development of our race in intellect and moral
feeling depends chiefly on education—the disuse of a priori, in
tuitive methods, and the systematic practice of rational habits of
thought based on actual experience. At bottom this is equivalent to
saying, superior enlightenment depends on proper exercise, in every
possible direction, of the cerebral hemispheres.
12th. No satisfactory progress in virtue or happiness can he hoped
for till the present supernatural theory of existence is overthrown,
and the docile study of the great Book of Nature and Life, with its
invariable sequences of cause and effect, supersedes the arbitrary, anarchic authority of falsely called “ Divine Revelation.”
��
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Life and mind: their unity and materiality
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Lewins, Robert
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Place of publication: Lewes
Collation: 15 p. ; 22 cm.
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Geo. P. Bacon, printers
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1873
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Materialism
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Conway Tracts
Materialism
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
BEN
E L M Y.
LONDON:
FREETHOUGHT PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28, Stonecutter Street, E.C.
PRICE FOURPENCE.
�LONDON :
PRINTED BY ANNIE BESANT AND CHARLES BRADLAUGII,
28, STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�tJX°7
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
CHAPTER I.
THE
DAWN OF LIFE.
All things on this earth may be roughly divided into two
classes : things which have motion, and things which have
not; in other words, things which are living, and things
which are dead. The first constitute the animal and vege
table kingdoms, and the mineral kingdom contains all the
inanimate class. Motion and life seem at once to be in
timately connected ; we recognise the vitality of any living
thing, animal or vegetable, by its power of motion; whether
from place to place, as in an animal, or in simple changes of
form or aspect, as in both animal and vegetable.
Yet we must not confound motion and life. We see
motion in even the class of inanimate things. Steam will
rise in the air, a stone will fall to the ground ; both these
are instances of motion, yet even a child scarcely considers
them as any sign of life. I propose to myself the project
of pondering how far life and motion may be assumed to be
indeed one and the same element, though they may differ in
degree as much or more than a man differs from a jelly-fish.
It will be necessary first to think what phases of motion are
readily perceptible to our senses, and then to follow up that
chain till we approach forms of motion almost as little to be
rendered account of to our senses as is the ultimate mystery,
life itself. We may at any rate prove that there is a path
advancing step by step into the unknown; we may even go
along some part of the road, and we may form a just notion
as to where that road will ultimately lead us.
I have already instanced the simplest form of motion with
which we are acquainted—the falling of a stone or other
body towards the earth. This action or motion is so gene
ral or, as it were, natural, that countless generations of men
had witnessed it and it did not even occur to them to think
of rendering a reason for it. Some of the old Greek phi
losophers gave a feeble consideration to the matter, but did
�2
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
not or could not follow the question out; and there it rested till
an English philosopher, Isaac Newton, had the remembrance
of their difficulties brought to his mind by observing an
apple fall from a tree, and set himself to think why the .
apple should fall to the earth, and whether that motion
was in the apple or in the earth. The result of longthought and calculation on his part was the ascertained,
truth that every substance in the universe is attracted, or
drawn towards, or seeks to approach every other substance *
and that it will so approach if there be not forces acting in
other directions to prevent it. This attraction is called the
force of gravitation, or weight-force; and it is so called
because it is greater in proportion to the weight and density
of the body exercising that attraction.
It is this same force that accounts for the second form of
motion that I mentioned—the rising of steam through the.
air; for the particles of steam are lighter in proportion to
their size or bulk than the particles of the air; the particles
of the air are, therefore, more forcibly attracted to the earth,
and squeeze out of place or force away the steam higher up. '
into the air, i.e., farther away from the earth.
If instead of air we take water for an example, we shall
see the same series of motions repeated, for a piece of iron
will sink or drop through the water, because iron is heavier
or denser, bulk for bulk, than water; and a bubble of air or
a piece of cork will rise through water (just as steam does
through the air) because both air and cork are lighter or
less dense, bulk for bulk, than water. And now, if instead
of water we take mercury, which is also a fluid, we shall find
that a piece of gold will sink in it, but a piece of iron will
float in it; and this again for the same reason, because gold
is denser than mercury, and iron is not so dense as
mercury.
Here we may learn two things : firstly, that some solids
may be less dense than other fluids; and, secondly, that
density is after all but a comparative and conditional term,
and is proportional to the medium or atmosphere in which
the action takes place, for both iron and gold will sink in
water, or drop through the air, yet only one of them will
sink in mercury.
We all know that what is called an empty bucket, that is,
a bucket full of air, is not so heavy as a bucket full of water,
and that this again is not so heavy as a lump of iron the
same size, and this lump of iron will not be so heavy as a
�THE DAWN OF LIFE.
3
bucket full of mercury, nor this again so heavy as a similar
mass of gold.
Now the real meaning of the weight or heaviness of all
these is simply the greater or less force with which they are
•attracted towards the earth ; that force being in exact pro
portion to their density as compared with their bulk. For
'the earth is the great mass towards which all substances on
the earth are attracted, and as far as earthly things are con
sidered we may call it the centre of gravitation. It is our
. greatest and heaviest mass, and hence all earthly things pro
gress or fall towards it when not prevented by other forces
■ or obstacles. It is true that what we call celestial objects
have also an attraction for each other and the earth, and for
.all things on the earth; but distance is also an element in
..the calculation of gravitation, and the earth is so much nearer
that a stone let go at the distance of 1000 or 100,000 feet
.-.above the earth is attracted more powerfully by the earth
which is near than by the sun which is so far off, though the
sun is 1,300,000 times larger than the earth, and its attrac
tion proportionately great.
And the planets and our earth and the sun would all rush
^together but for their motion in their orbits—a circular motion
•which they have that counterbalances this attraction or
motion of gravitation and keeps them hovering at a distance.
What is the secret or cause of this circular or orbital motion
may be discovered by another Newton, but it will certainly
• be found to be but a phase of this universal force of
gravitation.
Indeed all motions and conditions seem to be but phases
or consequences of phases of this universal law. Next in
order to gravitation as generally defined, we might place
what is called the attraction of cohesion—an attraction that
does not seem quite so dependent on density, and that might
be defined as the greater attraction that substances of the
same nature have for each other under favourable circum
stances than for substances of a dissimilar nature. It is this
^attraction that causes the homogeneousness or consistency
• of t metals, or stone, or wood, &c. This attraction gives
. as its evidence the two qualities known as hardness and
tenacity. It may be exemplified by the cutting of a piece
of wood or lead with a steel knife, whereas a piece of steel
could not be cut with a wooden or leaden knife. The
mechanical explanation of this fact is that the particles of
steel have a greater attraction Of cohesion for each other
�4
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM
than have the particles of wood or lead; the particles off
wood or lead may be easily separated, but the particles of
steel are separable with difficulty.
This attraction of cohesion may seem to be but a passiveor defensive attraction, while gravitation is an active or
offensive power; yet the seemingly passive force of cohesion
is always really in action, for it must not be forgotten that
it is this force which at every instant holds bodies together
in resistance to the active force of gravitation which might
otherwise cause an indiscriminate mingling of their atoms,
with those of all the other bodies composing the mass of'
the earth. And some phases of this form of attraction are
palpably active, for under this head may be classed the
force of chemical affinity, and the force which produces and.
guides crystallization.
The force, chemical affinity, bears a very close resemblance?
to the attraction of cohesion, and may be roughly defined,
as the attraction which the particles of one clearly defined,
chemical clement or substance have for another of those
elements. At present these elements are known to have
certain affinities or combining powers with each other, and.
these attractions or affinities vary in each case, so that an.
element will leave one with which it is already combined to
join another for which it has a greater affinity, and will
again leave that, if one for which it has a still greater affinity
be presented to it.
And now we come to the force of crystallization, and must
give our earnest attention to this force ; for we get here the
first glimpse of a force or motion that in some of its actionsclosely resembles life. For we have here introduced de
fined growth towards a defined form. Crystals are of vary
ing sizes and shapes according to their substance, the same
substance generally following fixed and certain rules as to form. .
The growth of crystals is sometimes so rapid or vivid that
with some substances, and a strong magnifying glass, the
crystals may be seen forming themselves. In some instancesthis action of growth might well be mistaken for some part,
of the action that is seen in vegetable life. On ancient:
flint implements accretions of iron and manganese havebeen found which bear more than a casual resemblance to
various cryptogamous plants, mosses, lichens, and algae orseaweed. An example familiar to us all is that of the moss
like appearance of a frozen window-pane, the “ moss ” being,
simply water in a state of crystallization..
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
5
This last example brings us face to face with another
series of forces or attractions; the force by which bodies
may be brought to, and held in, any one of the three con
ditions : the solid, the fluid, and the gaseous—in a word,
how water may exist as ice, water, or steam, each of the
three conditions giving powers of combination, or altered
force, which would not be possible in any other condition.
As far as we know, all elements are capable of these conditions
under given circumstances, and there is, as just said, a con
siderable intrinsic difference in the conditions. Fluids seem
only compressible with intense force, while solids have a con
siderable and gases an excessive amount of compressibility.
Fluids and solids, again, have the attraction of cohesion, so
that solids retain their form, and fluids their equilibrium; yet
in gases the force of cohesion seems to be almost, if not
altogether, absent. A pound of any solid substance, or a
pint of any fluid, would retain their simple appearance in
a vacuum; but it would seem that the same measure of gas
would permeate and fill up (though in a rarefied or attenu
ated form) any vacuum however great.
Now, each of these conditions is distinctly defined and
separate, and the change from one to another seems to be
effected by some form of the most living force we have yet
spoken of—heat. And as we consider this force of heat we
find it to be as universal as gravitation, every substance
having specific, or intrinsic, or self-contained heat, just as
it has specific or self-contained weight. And specific heat
varies in different bodies just in a similar manner to what
specific weight or gravity does. And just as we may not
perceive the weight of a body till some displacement occurs
which allows the force of gravitation to come into perceptible
action, so specific heat may only become manifest or percep
tible when certain changes are brought about in the condition
of the substance containing it. When heat is thus manifest
or active, it does to the evidence of our senses change some
substances from the solid into the fluid state, and from that
again into the gaseous state, and a deprivation of heat will
act in just the reverse direction.
Chemical action or affinity, which has already been
spoken of, is very frequently attended by the evolution or
absorption of heat, and for the reason already given, z>., a
disturbance in the molecular conditions of elements which
makes manifest their specific heat. Chemical action, indeed,
is the main source of the heat with which we are acquainted,
�6
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
for the heat of the sun itself is but the result of chemical
action or combustion in or on the sun.
As with the other forms of force or motion or attraction
spoken of, heat is but a comparative condition, and our ex
perience of it on this earth has but a very limited range.
We may readily imagine a planet or world where the heat
was so great that water was only known in a gaseous state,
and their rivers might be of molten metal; or, on the other
hand, one so cold that ice might be their usual building
material, roofed with sheets of hydrogen, an element that we
only know in a gaseous state. And any bodily organism of
living creatures would have to be proportionately altered ;
yet there is nothing repugnant to the idea of a similar con
dition to mind, or soul, or life, call it what we will, existing
under the changed circumstances.
And I think this may be taken as a probable solution of
the question whether there is life on other planets or worlds;
for wherever there exist the forces that we have knowledge of
on this earth, there will life follow as a natural consequence.
I spoke just now of combustion. This word simply means
chemical action or combination so intense that heat and
light result. And in light we have reached almost the last
of the series of forces of which we have yet any clear con
ception. We have seen by now that the word force is to be
used in a somewhat different sense from that generally as
cribed to it. It is too generally confounded with “strength”
or “motion yet we see it may be existing where we have
only pictured inactivity, or rest, or death. We may see a
soldier standing “at ease.” He too is resting, yet the
muscles of his legs and back are all in action, or the man
would fall to the earth. And in speaking of light as a force
it might be thought that I was applying a false word. In
giving an instance or two of the power of light, we may
recognize that it is literally a force.
We know that a plant in comparative darkness will
hardly grow, and will at best be but pale and sickly. It is
light that gives the green colour to all vegetation, simply
because it is the initial force which gives the chemical
elements in vegetation the impulse to unite and form
healthy green flesh necessary for the plant’s full life. Again,
light is the force that draws all our photographic pictures.
In taking those pictures, where the light falls strongest the
chemical salts are destroyed or decomposed ; where the
light does not fall those salts are left untouched.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
7
It must need force to do this, and light is that force,
light is certainly the initial force of a vast amount of
chemical action, and again it seems sometimes to be the
conseqtience of chemical action ; as with heat, which is in
turn the origin or result of such action. Some time we may
have knowledge of latent or specific light as well as of
specific heat or specific gravity.
As yet we know but little of the vast force involved in light.
George Stephenson said that a railway engine was driven by
the rays of bottled sunshine contained in the coals that fed the
furnace, and there seems no doubt that he was correct.
Coal is the buried vegetation of forests of millions of years ago.
The sun shone on those trees and on their leaves and branches
day by day in their growth, the light and warmth was
effective in working the chemical change that formed their
vegetable tissue, and when the trees fell, century by century,
their dead bodies contained and preserved the results of this
action ; this absorbed or latent light and heat lay buried in
them, is in them when they are mined and dug up, and when
they are put into the fire-box of the engine. The fire is lit,
and by combustion, the bottled sunbeams, developed into
the form of heat, are transmitted to the water in the boiler,
this heat turns the water from fluid into the gaseous state of
steam; the steam occupies vastly more space than water, and
in endeavouring to get room to spread itself to its natural
bulk is allowed to force out a piston, this piston moves a
crank which turns the wheel on which the engine rests, and
the whole engine moves on.
In this brief story we see what permutations or
changes may take place in the same force; now it appears
to us as light, now as heat, now as chemical action, now as
mechanical motion overcoming the attraction of gravitation.
Indeed there seems but one force, and the changes in it are
but changes in that they are more clearly perceived by some
one of our imperfect senses than by the others.
I have used the words initial force once or twice and
shall need to explain this somewhat, for the ultimate pur
poses of our argument. Initial force, then, is the impulse
which once given to matter or force is carried on in the
matter or force itself without need for repetition of the original
impulse. For instance, the mechanical action involved in
the striking of a match is the initial force which gives rise to
its combustion, and this combustion may be conveyed to
things innumerable without need for any repetition of
�8
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM
mechanical action. With a slight knowledge of chemistry,
we may remember where a single drop of sulphuric acid is
capable of initializing the same process of combustion.
In some cases the force of crystallization maybe initialized
in a similar way. A mass of salts may be in a condition
ready for crystallization, and continue in that preparatory
stage till some tiny initial mechanical impulse, such as even
the prick of a needle, is given, when the mass will at once
rush into crystals. We all know too that nitro-glycerine
may. by a slight mechanical force be driven into gas, and
possibly a frightful explosion ensue.
Any slight amount
of one kind of force may, under favourable circumstances,
be the initializer of a vastly increased mass of some widely
different phase.
And now I will only call attention to one other form of
force before endeavouring to show how all these forces, or
some combination of them, may have given the initial impulse
to the wondrous force of life. This last force to which I shall
draw attention is electricity, a force of whose knowledge we
are but yet in the infancy; and a force that seems, even as
far as our present knowledge goes, to be capable of a con
siderable number of phases. This is the force by which, to
give a simple example, a man’s words may be conveyed
almost without lapse of time from one place to another (the
electric telegraph) ; it is also the force that causes the
attraction of a magnet for iron.
Whether electricity be the cause of some of the various forms
of force already named, or simply a resultant of them, is
more than can be said at present: it sometimes appears in
the one character and sometimes in the other. It seems in
this way to add greater strength to the presumption that all
force is but some different and convertible phase of some
great and ultimate property:—the very property of being or
existing; for existence and movement or force are inalienable
and interchangeable terms. But be electricity what it may,
it is already known that all things are subject to its influence,
and that it is therefore presumably as universal and great in
its results as gravitation itself.
With all this well weighed and considered—bearing in mind the different possibilities of matter in its known con
ditions of solid, fluid, and gaseous—bearing in mind the
powers of chemical combination and the novel substances
engendered thereby—bearing in mind the power of definite
form and growth of which the force of crystallisation is an
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
9
.example—bearing in mind that an initial impulse however
slight, once communicated, may give rise to a condition so
widely differing from itself that the change is to our present
powers utterly inexplicable; and that this condition will be
perpetuated as long as there is matter favourably situated to
be affected by it—bearing in mind all this, I ask if there
is anything very inconceivable in the idea that matter has been
so acted upon by some initial impulse that has given rise to
the phase of force which we call life, with all its attendant
phenomena ?
For, after all, what is life ? Animated beings may be
traced down to a type wherein they seem little more than
inert masses of matter—masses of gelatinous substance,
or of vegetable growth scarce differing from rust—and with
little more than the power of growth or assimilation of
similar matter to that of their own substance, which they
have in common with many substances that we hold to be
but minerals with the chemical properties of cohesion and
combination.
To such a view as this the continual objection made is :
“Yes, but you never show us what is the initial force by
which inanimate matter is endowed with the property of
life.” To this I can but say: Can we yet explain any initial
impulse ? And why do you call rtvzy matter inanimate ? Is
not chemical Action itself a phase of life, just as we reason
ably presume all these other forces to be but phases of some
universal ruling principle ? And indeed to me thefe seems a
less distance between the crudest forms of living organisms
and simple chemical action, than between those same
organisnjjjRind intellectual man. This difference and pro
gress I shall make an attempt to follow in my next study,
the “ Dawn of Humanity.” And as to the question of defin
ing or pointing out the initial force which institutes the
beginning of life, that initial force is just as easy or as
difficult to point out as any other initial force of which I
have spoken : we see the results, and it is a simple matter
of comparative result on which we have arbitrarily made the
distinction of calling one phenomenon animate action, while
we stigmatize the other as inanimate.
■ Yes : the greater our power of observation, the less do wfe
see to be the distinction between life and death, between
force and matter ; death (f.e. inanimation} is but hidden life,
matter is but hidden force. Change, or rather motion, is
the one constant rule of all things; and as our senses grow,
�IO
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
and fresh capacities or organs of sensibility are developed, ,
we shall grasp at higher and still more intangible phenomena..
It is not that Nature’s workings are so mysterious, but that:
our own faculties are so small, our own eyesight so dim.
Yet if we will carefully consult and ever strive to improvethe faculties we have, and follow out and strengthen in ourbeing the perceptions of justice and truth which Nature- everywhere shows us, we shall grow to know her better, and.
to have fuller, stronger sight—we shall be worthy to know
more of the at present mysterious meaning of life. When
we are so worthy the knowledge cannot be hidden from us,.
we may become intelligent co-operators in Nature’s work
and with power in our eyes and love in our hearts weshall fulfil the poet’s golden prophecy, and become in very
deed
“ the crowning race
Of those that, eye to eye, shall look
On knowledge ; under whose command
Is earth and earth’s, and in their hand
Is Nature like an open book.”
CHAPTER II.
THE
DAWN
OF
HUMANITY.
In the previous study, I have presumed or asserted that:
matter, under certain conditions, may become a living
organism, such active life being the sequence of an initial
impulse which we may hope eventually to trace and solve..
I have further asserted that matter to which such an im
pulse has been once conveyed, may continue or even
increase that impulse under suitable conditions. . Theseassertions cover two of the most advanced theories yet
deduced from our knowledge of to-day—viz., Spontaneous.
Generation, and the Development or Origin of Species. In
plain words, the theory of Spontaneous Generation declares,
that, under certain conditions of matter, life will be initiated
and living organisms will be evolved or spontaneously geneja.ted ; and the theory of Development is that these
organisms once evolved will not only have the power of
continuing the impulse, i.e. of propagating themselves, but
also of developing further and higher capabilities under
favouring conditions, and thereby of becoming higher
organisms—organisms, in fact, such that we could no longer
j
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
II
'readily accept the supposition of their being in that condition
-spontaneously generated.
The theory of Spontaneous Generation has as yet but a
'limited acceptance, owing to the difficulty at present of
producing positive argument and irrefutable experiment in
its support, and owing, moreover, to its entire antagonism
to any biblical or other revelation, or to belief in any super
natural power. But it seems to me that the position may be
conclusively proved and justified even by negative argument;
,and it may be useful so to justify it before going further.
Evidently all primary generation (or initiation of life)
must either be spontaneous, or else the act of some creative
power foreign to the organism itself. In other words, life
is either the natural, innate, and inevitable result of certain
• conditions of matter, or it is the act of a creator external to
■ the matter. Such a presumed creator is usually styled God,
.-.and we may therefore conveniently use this term in the
1 sense specified. Nor shall we in so using the word be
-doing any wrong to the somewhat numerous class who seem
disinclined to accept the theory of spontaneity of life, while
yet rejecting the inconsistencies which become every day
more palpable in the theory of God and his creation of life.
For indeed there is no logical halting-place between the
■ two conclusions. Either all phenomena (life included) are
attributable to certain natural properties and sequences, or
■ they are due to an extra-natural power, a God.
Let us shift our questioning, then, from matter to its pre■sumed “Creator.” .Let us inquire into the origin of God.
How came he into existence? Did he' create himself? If
. so, we have a notable instance of the spontaneous generation
which his believers deny. Had God himself a creator
outside himself? If so, we may apply the same questioning
as to his creator. We only get the elephant and tortoise
fable over again.
There is but one resource left, and that is the assertion
- that God has existed for ever. This is but a begging of the
question, for no proof is given of the truth 6f the assertion ;
. and being unverified and unverifiable, it has not the least
: tangible claim to assent from our intellect.
The God theory is then placed in this dilemma: that it
' must either acknowledge spontaneity of life (which renders
i the God theory itself unnecessary), or take refuge in an
unverified assertion utterly beyond the ken of our senses
• and intellect.
�12
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
Against such a course of argument as this the constant,
objection of Theists or supernaturalists is, that there are
more things existent than can be brought to the evidence of
our senses ; but on that perfectly allowable position they
base the startling affirmation that therefore we must not
reason about God, or, at any rate, must not accept any con
clusion of our reason which leads to his rejection ! Yet in all
the assertions that they make in support of the God theory,
it is to these very senses of ours that they ultimately appeal
they have recourse with confidence to our senses and our
reason for acknowledgment of what they call the works of a
God, and thereby of a God himself, and yet they deny t(A
our senses and reason any right to evidence of, or faculty tocriticise, the hypothetical being whom they expect our reason j
to recognise !
The words reason and senses may in this connection ho
used as of the same meaning, for reason is but the collected
and developed experience of our senses. Now, if thisreason and these senses may be safely appealed to, and.
their evidence be received in the case of results, materialists
hold that the questionings of reason may be and must be
extended to causes, and that indeed the conclusions of'
reason are the only ones that can validly be accepted by the
organism that has given birth to it, and, as it were, dele
gated to it the care and power of the guidance and govern- ment of the organism.
It is to this reason and to these senses that Materialism ,
appeals, for it sees in man’s being no evidence of any
higher tribunal. Nor need it care to do so, since it also ■<
sees in the reason and the senses, and the self-responsibility of man, a faculty of development, of power, and of harmony
with nature, far beyond the feeble dreams and dulcet
cajoleries of any God theory, ancient or modern.
And Materialism claims for itself and for its evidence a ■
higher character and a greater worth of acceptance than it
holds due to any religious or supernatural or ultra-intel
lectual theory And this on several grounds. For Mate
rialism appeals to no select few, but to senses and faculties
which all possess. It does not recognise that any special
clique or class of man has received a supernatural revelation
of things in which all men have a joint and equal concern.
Its evidences are facts which have been gathered with careand painstaking by close observers and lovers of nature, not
dark fancies evolved from the tortured and ascetic brains of ‘
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
13
men who have begun their system with the assumption that
nature is an abhorrent and unholy thing. Materialism
claims the higher character, because it comes into the light
and courts the examination and aid of all, not shrouding
and hiding itself in impenetrable unintelligibleness, and
hurling threats and cursings and thunderings at those who
shall dare to deny its infallibility, analyse its inconsistency,
or despise its degrading sycophancy and terrorism.
Though I have spoken of Spontaneous Generation as not
having been to the consent of all irrefutably proved, it must
not be forgotten that there are men who decisively affirm
that they have to the evidence of the senses produced organic
life where it was previously non-existent.
The evidence
of Bastian and others is convincing that living organisms
are constantly evolved in liquids which have been her
metically sealed in flasks while boiling, or submitted to still
greater heat, and carefully preserved from all extraneous
influence of the atmosphere.
The arguments used by opponents to explain or contra
dict these experiments, is what is known as the “ germ '*
theory—an assertion that there are countless seeds of living
organisms floating in the air, and ever ready to develop
themselves into active life when favourable conditions of
matter are presented. It is true that these germs may be
invisible in even the most powerful microscope, and so im
perceptible as to elude the subtlest chemical test, yet the
theory has the convenient property of continuing to refer the
initiation of life to some primary act on the part of a creator. ’
It is to such germs, also, that many forms of disease, epi
demic or otherwise, are attributed ; so that if the theory of
the creation of germs be correct, it will follow that the ap
pearance of certain new and previously unknown forms of
disease, such as diphtheria or rinderpest, is an evidence that
the creation was not an act once accomplished and done'
with, but that the Creator still busies himself from time to
time with doubtful benefits to his creatures.
Let it be understood that Materialists do not deny that low,
organisms may propagate themselves by germs, as well as byj
other means more clearly visible to our senses. Materialism,
simply denies any extra-natural creation or origin of these'
germs, and the materialistic explanation of a new form of
parasitic disease would be that certain novel conditions of
matter had evolved or developed into a new form some low,
type of organism, which, once generated, might propagate.
�14
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM. .
itself either by cell-growth or by germs. The Germ theorists
would say, that if all the germs or spprules of small-pox,
typhoid fever, &c., could once be destroyed, we should never
see those diseases more ; the Evolutionist says that similar
unsanitary conditions to those that now exist where those dis
eases are rife, would again evolve them.
It must not be forgotten that it would be no refutation of
spontaneous generation even if men had not yet succeeded
in producing it. It is the action of nature that is in ques
tion, rather than man’s power, to evoke that action. And
certainly, whether by spontaneous generation or other
wise primitive and extremely simple organisms are,
under favourable circumstances, everywhere readily and
plentifully generated, and in an ascending scale from them
we have a series of ever higher developments.
As instances of fairly lowr (though not the lowest) animal
and vegetable organisms, I may take the amoeba and the
algae, previously referred to as “masses of gelatinous sub
stance, or of vegetable growth, scarce differing from rust.”
The amoeba is but a floating speck of jelly that absorbs or
covers other floating particles of matter which can afford
sustenance to it. It has no defined organs of nutrition, or
of any other function ; it simply lets the floating particle
sink into its jelly-like substance, and then, by a process no
more vital than chemical affinity, or even simple attraction
4|f cohesion, it absorbs what there may be in the floating
particles analogous to its own substance, and lets the re
mainder Jgain sink or drop through. Its action seems no
more a living one than is the action of the isinglass used in
“ fining ” beer. The isinglass that is there introduced falls
gradually to the bottom of the cask, enfolding in its own
substance, and bearing down with it, every floating speck of
turbid matter, and leaving the beer clear. And, undoubt
edly, any particle of isinglass or other gelatinous matter
that might previously have existed in the floating specks
would be absorbed from out them into the homogeneous
mass of the isinglass itself. Why this action of the isinglass
is to be set down as mechanical action, while that of the
amceba is to be exalted to the dignity of living action, it is
not for me to say, since I do not believer in the dis
tinction.
Some forms of the alga, are a sort of grey-green mould or
rust : they “ vegetate exclusively in water or in damp situa
tions ; they I cquire no nutriment, but such as is supplied by
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
“water and the air dissolved in it, which they absorb equally
by every part of their surface.'” These are the words of one
•of the most strenuous advocates of the God theory. Yet if
' for alga we substitute the word rust, how perfect a descrip
tion we get of .the action of moisture or water on iron. And
what is the difference between the two actions ? As far as
I can see, it is simply this, that the alga form a compound
•of three lements, oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon, while the
iron merely absorbs oxygen from the air or water, and so
forms a compound of only two elements, oxygen and iron.
No one disputes the spontaneous evolution of rust, that is,
■ of a compound of iron and oxygen : strange that men should
find it so hard to credit the spontaneous evolution of a
• compound of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen !
Two objections may here be raised : firstly, that rust will
• only appear or propagate itself where there is iron or some
other metal to feed it; and, secondly, that the action of
algae, or, at any rate, of other living organisms, is more vivid
than that of rust. To the first objection it is a sufficient
^answer that neither will algae nor any other organisms appear
■or propagate themselves where there is not suitable food for
them; and to the second, I would reply that I am not
asserting an equal degree of vital action in both the cases,
but simply that both instances are but different degrees of
the same natural and spontaneous action ; the dragging of
•one stick across another may seem to be action remote
-enough from that of combustion, yet we know that combus
tion is but an enhanced form of such action, and is, under
given circumstances, educible thereby.
In the lower living organisms, the distinction between
animal and vegetable is frequently so confused as to render
the organisms incapable of being classified with certainty;
■some motionless and apparently vegetable growths having
■ other well-defined animal properties, whilst some actively
moving organisms are, in other respects, as undoubtedly
1 vegetable. One would almost say, that on the threshold of
life the organisms are debating and undecided as to which
1 -of the two great channels they will follow. When this
choice is made, the same indecision seems extended again
somewhat to choice of species ; the mass of the primitive
■ organisms being involved in a hazy mist, to which only a
•very self-confident man could venture to assign defined
•limits and arbitrary classifications.
In these lower forms of life, the methods of extension or
�iU
STUDIES IN MATEfWCCTSSt
spreading, or repetition of both animal and vegetable,
organisms are, as might be presumed, identical; and are
visibly effected by either gemmation, or fissure, or both.
Gemmation is only another word for budding; buds form
on the original organism, which break off and become inde
pendent organisms. Fissure means that the original organ
ism, when grown, splits into two or more independent,
organisms. Some of the lowest organisms are asserted to
consist of single cells of animated organic matter, and it is,
of course, the development of further cells that renders,
practicable either gemmation or fissure. Yet we may soon
find organisms with a considerable accretion of cells not.
separating from each other, but remaining with the parent
organism, and, as it were, helping in the mutual and better
development of each; and we then begin to find special
groupings of these cells fulfilling certain definite functions,
in the economy of the organism, becoming, in point of fact,,
the organs for the support and growth and propagation of
the organism.
Here, too, we begin to come on clearer distinctions
between animal and vegetable; whose main difference has
been roughly, but fairly well-defined in the observation,
that with a vegetable the food is mainly applied to con
tinually increasing its fabric throughout its life, whereas,
with the animal, the food is only applied to growth till the
adult form is attained, and is then simply used to maintain,
that condition in efficiency.
We then go on to find special and peculiar formations,
and growths of cells for various purposes in the structure of
the organism; so that, eventually, we have cells whose
special purpose is to form the tissue or flesh of a plant,,
while others of different structure form the bark or fruit;.
and in animals we have cells which form the fibres of the
muscle, somewhat different ones forming the bone, and
others yet different forming the brain or nerve matter,.
&c., &c.
This development of different cells and functions is but
one form of the variations which are taking place, of which,
perhaps, the most important is the adaptation of the organisms
themselves to altered circumstances in which they may find
it convenient or necessary to live, and the development of
varied forms and poweis which will render that life more
acceptable and enjoyable to them. And it may fairly
be said that this variation or development is a fact in which
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
"7
»aZZ classes of observers agree, though not all are willing to
lallow to it the same great ultimate results. It is the reason
ing out of such of these results as we have undoubted
cognizance of to their possible and logical conclusions, and
the acceptance of those conclusions, that constitutes the
theory already referred to of development or origin of
species.
In the lower forms of organisms this development or
variation is, as I have previously intimated, very conspicuous,
so that fructification or generation has frequently to be
waited for and observed before the organisms can with any
certainty be assigned to a definite class. And this question
of fructification or generation brings us to one of the most
vexed and evaded questions in the whole history of physio
logy or development—that of alternate generation, which
will be presently discussed.
For a further phenomenon has manifested itself in the
< course of these developments—the difference of sexes ; and to
this I shall need to draw your careful attention, since in his
• own case man has based on that difference a series of arti
ficial and arbitrary, and therefore unjust, distinctions which
. have done more than any other act to retard the progress
. and hinder the happiness of the human race.
We noticed that in the extension or propagation of the
lower forms of life, the growth or birth of further cells was
■followed by a constant budding or splitting off from the
•parent organism, but that in somewhat higher forms we find
' cells remaining and allotting themselves to various special
functions, and forming special organs for those purposes.
As might naturally be supposed, a substitute is at once pro
vided for the superseded actions of gemmation or fissure ;
-so that among the first definite organs we find those for
the extension or propagation of the species, and with such a
• specialized function we also find, as we might anticipate, a
-more methodical manner of fulfilling that function. The cells
•or germs which will form the infant organisms are no longer
■indiscriminately severed as soon as formed ; but are stored in
■• •assigned receptacles to await what shall seem to the organism
. a fitting time for their evolvement and extrusion. To con■wey this fitness and impulse for extrusion is the function of
a further organ, which in its turn has secreted special cells.
In these two sets of organs and their difference of cells
;-We have the first glimpse of separate male and female func
tions. To distinguish the two classes of cells, the latter are
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
usually called germ cells, and the former sperm cells. Thesecretion of sperm cells, and their application, in due time,
to the germ cells, is the function of the male organs ; the
secretion of the germ cells, and the care of their develop
ment after impregnation, is the female function. For a
long time we find both these organs existing in the same
creature ; and this arrangement is very general throughout
vegetable life, from the lowest forms to the very highest. It
also extends into some fairly high grades of animal life, the
oyster being a notable instance of hermaphroditism, as this
union of the two organs in one being is termed.
At first, too, both these functions may be performed
within the one being without any extraneous aid; but pre
sently it would seem that a better result is attained by some
intermingling of possible slight variations, and we find two
individual organisms uniting in a mutual and utterly reciprocatory act of parentage, each being having fulfilled the
functions of father, and accepted the responsibilities of
mother, to an ensuing progeny. But this intermingling
does not seem an inevitable necessity, for there is evidence
that many such organisms have the capacity of both self and
reciprocal impregnation. Here, too, the strange fact may’
be noted that in some organisms the co-operation of threeindividuals is necessary to effect the generative act.
The change from gemmation to sexual generation is by
no means an invariable or fixed one, for we have here inter* vening the strange phenomenon of alternate generation just,
referred to. Various organisms may propagate a progeny by
means of sexual organs, and the members of this progenywill be of a totally different type to their parents in nature,,
appearance, and capabilities, and having no sexual organs,
but giving birth to their progeny by the primitive methods,
of gemmation or fissure; yet this further progeny will befully developed like the first set of parents, having sexual
organs, yet giving birth in turn to organisms that differ in
type, and only propagate by gemmation. It is, as it were,
an inheritance from grandparent to grandchild, with an in
tervening generation of an utterly different and inferiororganism. In some instances this descent seems to run.
through three forms of organisms before reverting to the
original type.
This phenomenon is affected to be made somewhat light
of and readily explained away by the holders of the God.
theory; apparently because it militates somewhat against.
�STUDIES in mateulwism,
I?
their idea of a creation, and is equally strong evidence in
&VOUr of the materialistic theory of development or origin
of species. If, as is the case, a stationary and, in so far,
vegetable-like polyp can give birth to an independent and
totally different swimming creature (a form of medusa),
which lives its life and gives birth again to stationary polyps,
it is easy enough to say that the one is but a latent or inter
vening form of the other; but this does not explain the
difference, nor destroy the evident fact that some organisms
under certain circumstances do evolve an utterly different
form of being. It were perhaps to “consider too curiously
to ask the God theorists which of the types was the one
originally created, and whence came the other ?
It is too much the habit of the God theorists to play fast
and loose with species ; holding, when it suits their purpose,,
to the idea of the special creation of each individual species,
and dropping that idea when the conclusions become at all
inconvenient. Yet there are only two possible ways of
accounting for species. Either they are the results of the
development of accidental or beneficial natural variations ;
or they must be the result of distinct creative acts. In the
first case the materialistic theory of development must be
accepted with all its consequent inductions (summarized
towards the end of this paper); in the second case all the
logical consequences of special creation must be accepted,,
of which consequences we may readily find an exemplifica
tion.
It is a definite and accepted fact, for instance, that
there are various species of entozoa or internal parasites find
ing a congenial habitat in the flesh and organs of special
animals and incapable of existence elsewhere. There are
also varied species of external parasites which make their
dwelling-place on the skin of animals, and live by extract
ing the grateful juices from within, nor can they exist on
other than specified animals. In the case of man, we may
instance psoriasis (as the itch is technically called), the
presence of exceedingly small but irritating animalculse,.
without troubling to refer to larger easily remembered in
sects. With the creation theory, or with the germ theory as.
propounded by non-evolutionists, we must accept the conclu
sion that the first man and animals had within and without
them all the various types of the parasitic organisms with which
their descendants are still troubled.
�20
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
II.--- THE DAWN OF HUMANITY.
Surely, none but a fabled God, the dark imagination of
•an ignorant and uncultured mind, could look upon poor
Adam or any other man, afflicted inwardly with tcenia and
ascarides, busied externally with the prolific pediculi that
enliven the solitude of the primitive savage, and having
the monotony of his consequent reflections diversified by
the chigo of the West Indies and the guinea-worm of torrid
Africa; could look too upon the sheep with a diseased liver,
owing to the fasciolae or “ flukes” therein existent; could gaze
on the pig evincing more than a suspicion of trichinae or
“ measles,” and upon the potato for the food of the same
pig already bearing the germs of the dreaded “disease,”
and pronounce such a sample of his creative powers as
“ very good 1”
Let it not be thought that these conclusions are only
ludicrous ; they are very serious indeed—for Bibliolaters
and the germ theorists. Nor let it be said that I am speak
ing of repulsive things : the man who believes that God
made all these things and called them good, must also
believe that God made what repulsiveness they have ; and it
is not my fault if the theory of creation is capable of a
reductio ad absurdam.
To return to the gradations and developments of func
tions, we find, at the stage at which we had just arrived,
individual organisms with only one set of generative organs
and functions—those of the male or those of the female
respectively; though, again, it does not follow that this is
an instant and unvarying result, since we may find forms of
the same organisms in which some individuals have only
male or female organs or functions, while others have both,
powerfully developed. This is even the case in some of the
orchids, plants bearing a very high rank in vegetable life.
In some species of gregarious insects, as ants or bees, we
find a further variation, for there are a very small number
with female organs, a larger number with male organs, and
a vast majority without any sexual organs at all; yet the
grubs, which would otherwise have become non-sexual in
sects or working bees, can be, in case of need, developed
by the other working bees themselves into perfect females or
queens.
Difference of sex is, as we all know, the rule in the
higher grades of animal life. We find, too, an increasing
�STUDIES IN MATKKIJIXIKI.
21
importance and responsibility attaching to the female func
tions. In some cases, as in fishes (which are classed very
high in animal life, being vertebrated}, the functions of both
male and female may continue to be as simple or even more
simple than in some of the primitive forms already men
tioned ; for with most fishes no congress of the sexes is
needed for the act of generation. The ova of the female
are simply extruded in some convenient locality, and the
secretion of the male is extruded in the water near by.
But with birds, and with the mammalia upwards to man,
the maternal function is one of increasing burden and
responsibility; no longer limited to the simple formation
and extrusion of germs or ova containing, as it were, latent
life, but now nourishing and cherishing the impregnated
cell or cells within their own body or otherwise, till even
tually an almost perfectly developed progeny is put forth
into the world. In this natural function and adaptability
we have a link which stretches through all remaining types
of life, in very deed “ one touch of nature ” that “ makes
the whole world kin;for in the system of development
that I have roughly sketched we have, in the incident of
separation of sex, arrived at or passed through all the phases
of living organisms of which we have any knowledge—the
lowest organisms as well as articulata, crustacese, insects,
fishes, reptiles, birds and mammalia—all therein included.
At the head of these as intelligent beings may be probably
placed the insect the ant, and the mammal zwzw.
I cannot attempt to explain in brief words all the evidence
that is adduced by materialists in favour of the assertion
that man has been eventually developed by simple natural
laws from lower organisms somewhat such as now surround
us. I will only draw attention to two inevitable conclu
sions : firstly, that if we verify any one instance in an
organism of development or adaptation to an altered con
dition of surroundings, there is no logical bar to such a
series of developments as would eventually result in man,
and might through him go on to still higher beings; and
secondly, that if we concede the spontaneous generation of
any one living organism we at once lay a sufficient basis for
such a series of developments as is just suggested.
Both these conclusions are antagonistic to and utterly do
away with any necessity for recourse to imaginary forces
outside the natural properties of matter. And this is, in brief,
the essential point of Materialism. In matter, ?.<?., in that which
�22
BTUbllS in MATERIALISM.
is perceptible to our senses, we find the basis of, and the
potentiality for, all of which those senses and their resultant
reason can give us any knowledge. We find, for example,
in the fact of man’s mind or intellect, simply a high instance
of this potentiality of matter; mind or intellect being but an
empty phrase, without the existence of brain and reason
{i.e., experience of the senses) to evolve and contain it.
Materialism does not, as is falsely assumed, degrade the
vital forces of life and thought to the level of the inert and
inanimate conditions usually attributed to matter; on the
contrary it elevates ignorantly despised matter to the capa
bilities and possibilities of the highest existence and most
subtle energies; materialism is no adding of death unto
death, but a resurrection of all things unto life. It does not
hold matter as alien or foreign to spirit, it sees in the one
but a capacity or phase of the other ; it does not say
matter is a vice, it finds no vice resultant anywhere but from
the want of knowledge of the laws of matter; it does not
look on matter as a foe to virtue and high intelligence, it sees
in matter the noble mother of all living.
I have wronged my argument somewhat by seeming to
assume that an hypothesis was necessary for the first of the
conclusions given above. But development is already more
than a theory, it has established itself in the region of in
disputable fact.
One of the most recent observations on
this point is that concerning the axolotl, a Mexican lizard,
furnished with gills, and living only in the water; but which
by accidental natural circumstances, or by such circumstances
artificially imitated, may be developed into a perfect land
salamander (hitherto considered of an entirely different genus,
which is a greater distinction than a species), breathing only
by lungs and being incapable of a life in the water; its gills
having disappeared together with the tail-fin, dorsal ridge and
other especially aquatic adaptations, and corresponding
capacities for a life on land having been developed.
Now if the variation from a life only possible in water to
one only possible in air,—if such a variation or adaptation
or development can be brought about during the brief period
of existence of one little reptile, who shall dare to assign a
limit to the variations and developments that may be
evolved in untold myriads of years ? This factor of time
is one of the most difficult to realize and grasp the full
import of, since we have but such a tiny experience of it
in our own life, or even in all the centuries during which
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
23
man has left any written or graven record of his life and
.acts. Thirty or forty centuries would seem to be the limit
of the period during which we have anything like historical
record of man, though we may grasp that there were then
many and diverse races of men, some of which had at
tained a high state of civilization. Nor does there seem to
be any indubitable change traceable in the actual bodily
framework of man during that time. But sufficient expla: nations of this at once suggest themselves. In the first
place, that, as has been already noticed, it is in the lowest
and simplest organisms that cardinal changes are most
readily evolved, and we may expect in the case of so high
.an organism as man that many generations may pass away
before any distinct and palpable development may have
manifested itself; and that indeed no change would be neces. sitated in such organs as had, during all that period, been, suffi
ciently adapted to the circumstances ; secondly, that in tracing
the record of man through prehistoric times, in such evi
dence as is afforded us by fossil implements and bones of
man himself, we do get irrefutable evidence of development
since that more distant period ; and, lastly, that if we will
consider the case of organs or faculties which have ?z<7/been
.sufficiently adapted to the circumstances, we shall get here,
too, distinct and indubitable evidence of development.
Somewhat of such development it will be my effort to
trace in the next study—the Progress of Civilization ; the
■development of the faculties by which we have reached
from the material into that which has been usually, and, we
hold, incorrectly, styled and considered the immaterial.
With more highly developed faculties we may find how all
things are material : i.e., ultimately reducible to the cogni.zance of the senses; we shall find in materialism the even
tual explanation of all that lay outside the ken of duller
senses, and was therefore attributed to ultra-intelligible and
extra-natural agency; we shall find in materialism the sure
basis and touchstone for both the outward and inward
conduct of- man—all true work, all true science, all true
morality being therefrom deducible and provable. Nought
of despondency, nought of untrust is there in Materialism,
no dark, cold, fanciful belief, but simple knowledge, full of
Nature’s warmth and life and light. Not ours
“to seek
If any golden harbour be for men
In seas of Death and sunless gulfs of Doubt,”
�24
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
for to us Doubt is not sunless, it is the very bright and'
bracing air in which we grow ever more strong, more
humble, more confident,—and we trouble about no poetical
fictions as to Death ; for we hold that, as far as man is con
cerned, Death is but the condition of non-existence, and it
is manifestly absurd to endow the sheer absence of existence
with either charms or terrors.
in.—THE PROGRESS OF CIVILISATION.
In tracing the progress of man from a simple animal condi
tion to one of high intellectual power or civilisation, twomethods of inquiry are available; firstly, such historical
record as is afforded by writings and monuments, together
with what pre-historic evidence we may gather from fossil
bones or implements, or other evidences of man; and,
secondly, such knowledge as we may deduce from the con
ditions and characteristics of existing uncivilised races. To
my mind the evidence resultant from the comparison of
present existing conditions is less open to difference of
opinion than the historic or pre-historic source. It is on this
account that I have preferred to exemplify the development
theory by reference to now existing types and conditions
from the lowest organisms up to man, and by showing a
power and action of development in those which infer a
previous course of development ere reaching their present
condition, rather than to base my position more specially on
fossil forms and types which indubitably establish such
development, according to some observers, whilst others
dispute the conclusions thus arrived at. In man, however,
with both these sources of inquiry at our command we may
adduce evidence of development which it is impossible to
controvert, and I think we may further prove that such pro
gressive development has been incessant, and will, under
given circumstances, continue to be so.
In considering man and the higher organisms by com
parison with the lower and primitive types, we may take the
greatest acquired difference as that of sex. And for this
diversity of sex the Materialist may find a ready and natural
explanation. In the lowest types of life, as we have already
seen, the beings have the powers and functions of both sexes
(?.<?., impregnation and conception) united in one body, and
these functions may presently be exercised either indepen
dently of another being, or reciprocally with another being.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
2$
Now, it is a natural fact, and resultant from obvious reasons,
that liability to conception may and does exist before the
power of impregnation is existent. For impregnation can
only be effected by an animal already arrived at puberty,
while the capacity for reception and retention of the sperm
cells exists, and may come into operation before the actual
capacity for conception, which is also an attribute of puberty.
If, therefore, we presume a double-sexed animal at just
this stage of its existence taking part with, or being forced
to submit to an older and fully developed animal in what
should virtually be a reciprocal act, we shall find as the result
that the immature animal will receive and retain sperm cells,
with which its germ cells will in due time be vivified, while
the mature animal will have received no sperm cells from,
its partner, and its own germ cells will, therefore, remain
unimpregnated and unvivified. In plain words the first
animal will have found exercise for its female organs alone,
and the second for its male organs alone. And, supposing
no further intercourse or exercise of the organs to take place,
it is evident that the one animal will have fulfilled the func
tion of a mother only, and the other that of a father only.
It will also be seen, and I call special attention to this fact,,
that an animal might be forced or coaxed into the position
of maternity before its own impulses or capabilities would,
have prompted any such responsibility.
Another singular natural feature now comes into play.
Where an act is susceptible of repetition, the use of the
necessary organ has a tendency to cause an increased ability,
of that organ ; and the disuse of an organ has a corre
sponding tendency to produce debility or atrophy of that
organ. So that in the next acts of intercourse of the two
individuals we have presumed, there will be a tendency to?the uni-sexual function alone being exercised. Taught by
experience, too, the older individual may have learnt that by
being careful always to select young and scarcely mature
individuals it may secure what amount of gratification is
afforded by the sexual act, without any resultant burden or
incommodity of maternity to itself. It might, in fact, readily
act as a male being, with the tendency to masculinity con
tinually increasing throughout its life. And some of its progeny would inherit this tendency to be of the male sex
only; as also others of the progeny would, from the mother's
induced habit, have a corresponding tendency to be of the
female sex only. With these tendencies once developed into.-
�26
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
■fixed habits, and they certainly will so develop, the fact of
•division into separate sexes is accomplished.
Upon thp incidents mentioned in the earlier part of the
preceding paragraph two others follow almost as corollaries;
firstly, that with the idea of the evasion of the incommodity of
maternity once conceded, it would need the exercise or develop
ment of but a very slight amount of cunning or instinct to lead
an experienced mature animal to evade the maternal function
when trafficking with even a matured animal of less experi
ence ; and, secondly, that in addition to the induced
femininity of the younger animal, there would be developed
and perpetuated a sort of habit of juvenility which might
explain the seeming secondariness of development or immatury in some aspects of females generally; and further, the
general earlier capacity of parentage on the part of the female
than of the male which is now existent.
And I think it may easily be shown that maternity is an
incommodity sufficiently great to prompt to its evasion in
the manner I have suggested. For in even the lowest or
ganisms the fact of the organism being gravid, or heavy
with young, will necessarily restrain its liberty of action or
locomotion, and yet will entail on it a necessity for increased
action in order to find the extra food for the formation of its
• coming progeny.
The habit of unisexuality on the part of either male or
female, would be further established by the fact that with
many of the lower types, both of animals and vegetables, the
act of fructification once fulfilled the being dies. Those of my
readers who have kept silkworms may have noticed how the
male moth will live even for several days, should not a female
moth be present, but that the sexual act once accomplished
the male forthwith dies. And the fact of the female receiv
ing and retaining the male secretion may be well seen in the
female moth who does not begin laying eggs till two or three
days afterwards, and who has within her body, in common
with many other insects, a special cavity, called the sper■motheca, for the storing up till time of need of the secretion
received from the male. In the ant also, the instant death
of the male after the sexual act, and the long-continued
impregnation of the female, is a prominent example of this
phenomenon.
I instance these things to show that I am not drawing on
hypothesis alone, but also on facts and parallels for the
theory as to origin of sex. I hope, at least, to have shown
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
27
that there may be a perfectly intelligible and natural way of
accounting for difference in sex, and of refuting the super
natural fiction that “ male and female created he them.”
It is but one contradiction the more of the fable of creation
that primitive and even some advanced forms of animal life
are not of divided sex.
Among the evidences that can be adduced in proof of the
some time general hermaphroditism of the progenitors of
animals that are now of clearly defined sexes, is the fact that
the rudiments or survivals of the organs and characteristics
of either sex are found in animals of the opposite sex;
rudiments of specially male organs or characteristics being
traceable in every woman, as are likewise rudiments
of the female organs in every man. Man, with other
male mammals, has nipples, and there are known cases
in which a perfectly developed man has given milk in
sufficient quantity to suckle a child. It would even seem
from recent observations in Germany that this faculty and
power may be somewhat readily called into activity. In
women, when the specially female functions have lapsed
through age, the male characteristics more or less assert
themselves; there is a distinct tendency to a more masculine
type in feature, voice, &c., and not unfrequently some ap
pearance of hair on the lips or chin. In the domestic fowl,
a hen past laying will acquire spurs and comb like the male,
and the habit of crowing. Again in the human being, if
accidentally or purposely the specially sexual organs are
removed, there is an instant and persistent tendency to the
development of the stirviving organs and characteristics of
the opposite sex (as though these organs had only been
kept in a state of dormancy by the predominances of the
previous set) ; thus male eunuchs are beardless, their
muscles less firm in texture, and their breasts grow and
soften; and, conversely, in women from whom the ovaries
have been removed, the breasts shrink and disappear, and
masculinity of voice and bearing supervene.
A still stronger exemplification of this survival of double
sexuality remains. As it is in the generative organs that the
main departure from the stage of hermaphroditism has
been made, so also is it there that we must be prepared to
furnish crucial proofs if we would maintain a still existing
identity of being in male and female; such an identity, I
mean, as should do away with all distinctions other than those
really existing in Nature. And it is precisely in those organs
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
that survival can most clearly be evidenced, most celebrated
anatomists and physiologists asserting that precise analogues
or rudiments of every portion of the female economy are
to be found in the man, and vice versa.
I am calling attention at this length to the present and
real identities and differences of male and female, becau-se
in the case of the human being the natural difference has
been very much over-rated, and, as I have already said, man
has based a series of artificial and arbitrary and unjust distinc
tions on that difference. I wish it to be clearly understood
that I am but relating what seems to me a very probable
history of the origin of sex. Whether my theory be alto
gether correct or not, we shall undoubtedly, by searching,
■eventually find out that division of sex has been as simply
and naturally induced as any other phenomenon which was
at one time a mystery, but is now clear. Such a mode of
natural action as I have suggested would go far to account
for all the good and evil of existing civilisation. For the
difference of sex is certainly at the very base of civilisation
as far as man is concerned : from this difference (as I shall
-endeavour to show) have arisen all the conditions of social
and political life, all the working of men together for mutual
and common interests, all the good that has been en
gendered by reciprocity of action and sharing of benefits,
and all the social evil from which the world still groans,
and which is but the resultant of selfishness or non
reciprocity.
For I take civilisation* to mean the banding of many to
gether to do that which could not be done by one, and the more
entirely mutual and reciprocal the benefits received from
such union are, the higher and truer is the civilisation. It is
the custom to credit man alone with being civilised, but it
will be seen that under the definition I have adopted many
other animals may be included, some sorts of ants, bees
and wasps among insects, while perhaps the beaver is the
only other among mammals. It will be seen that intelligence
alone does not imply civilisation, for though the elephant, the
dog, and other animals have a high degree of intelligence,
yet the cases are rare in which they seem to combine for a
general good. And when such instances do occur, they
seem but temporary and transitory conditions, whereas, in the
beaver and the insects named the union is a permanent
one, insomuch that fixed habitations are erected for the
general welfare of the community. Indeed the word civis
�STUD IE S IN MATERIALISM.
29
means a denizen of a city or State, and in all the animals I
have classed as civilised the construction of cities or com
monwealths is an essential feature. Yet the art of building
.alone does not constitute civilisation: birds, squirrels, and
.sticklebacks build nests, though generally only for temporary
purposes ; moles dig passages and chambers, spiders make
webs, and catapillars spin cocoons.
It is in the fact of community that we find civilisation ; it
.is in what tends to and ensures the general benefit of that
community that we find the good of civilisation : it is where
the personal acts or interests of an individual are selfish,
.and, therefore, irrelevant or inimical to the general well
being that we have evil resultant. I know it is asserted by
some sophists that all actions of man spring from a selfish
motive, but we need not trouble much about such a defini
tion ; it will be sufficient for our purpose to distinguish
.between the acts in which a man may believe that his own
well-being or happiness will be an eventual result of benefitting others, and the acts in which he seeks a personal
advantage utterly irrespective of any evil consequences of
such acts to others. Few of my readers will hesitate to
call the former acts good and unselfish, and the latter
.selfish and evil.
Now, it would seem that the class of actions confined to
•.self-interest alone had their origin as a natural consequence
■ of the primitive unisexual and self-sufficient condition, and
that the wider class of feelings and actions have been the
eventual outcome of separation into sex—i.e., of the render,
ing each individual reciprocally helpful to, and more or less
•dependent on, the well-being and full life of some other.
For in looking for the primitive origin of man’s power of
feeling, passion, idea, thought, and reason, we must be ready
to recognize and accept beginnings utterly small and infini
tesimal as compared with his present powers; we must be
prepared to find that the love of a mother for her child had
.as rudimentary and material an origin as the breast and the
milk with which she suckles the babe. As we may already
.ascribe back the wondrous delicacy of finger of a Benve
nuto Cellini or a Michael Angelo to slow development
from such power as lies in the vague changes of form of the
amoeba, so may we look for the birthplace of all the pas
sions that a Shakespeare pourtrays, of all the wisdom with
* which a Socrates and a Bacon enrich the world, in the
^cravings of hunger and the sensations of heat and cold on
�the unisexual being, and then, with wonderfully increased'
impetus, in the fresh set of feelings evolved when quest for
love was added to the quest for food. For many of the
capabilities evolved and developed in either quest would
become of avail in the other, the mutual action and reaction
giving to the organs an acceleration and extent of develop
ment which they might not otherwise have attained.
In speaking of sensations of heat, cold, and hunger in the
lowest organisms, no further intellectual action is implied on
their part than is involved in the simple chemical, or even
mechanical, effects of heat and cold, moisture and dryness
some such action, for instance, as is seen in the rotifer, a
fairly advanced organism, which, in the absence of moisture,
dries up, and will lie, to all intents and purposes, as dead
matter, even for years, but will instantly revive and resume
full activity with the advent of a few drops of water.
A distinct tendency of animated matter is to accept suchconditions as are favourable to animation, the distinguishing
power of locomotion being developed and constantly exerted
to this end. Nor can it be doubted that constantly
recurring experiences of things inimical to the organism’s
well-being will cause even a mechanical tendency to the
avoidance of such evil things, and will develop a pro
vision from the remembrances of experiences, which is the step
ping-stone to an intellect. We see the pimpernel flowerclose itself when rain is coming, that its pollen may not be
injured by the moisture. Doubtless the mechanical causeof this is that some condition of the atmosphere previous
to rain causes a relaxation, and therefore a closing, as in sleep,,
of the flower. We see men and women, when rain is coming,
take an umbrella, that their clothes or their health may not
be injured. They are warned by some evidence of theirsenses: a dark cloud in the sky causes a mechanical relaxation,
in the retina of their eye analogous to the relaxation of the
corolla of the pimpernel, or they see a change in that furthermechanical contrivance, the barometer. Why are we to call,
the carrying of an umbrella an intellectual act, and the closing
ota flower a mechanical act ? Men only use a further de
veloped set of experiences and remembrances and mecha
nisms ; the base of the action and the resultant are essen
tially the same, the avoidance of a condition hurtful to thewell-being of the organism. Man’s intellectual chain may
be longer than that of the pimpernel, but the links are forged,
of the same metal.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
31
The fact is that every experience of an organism is in
some way duly registered in the organism, just as truly as
every touch of a sculptor’s chisel has its effect in the image
he produces. One result of this law—a result that will at
some time be as clear to our understanding as it is now in
many instances to our vision—is that the accretion of experi
ences produces, as might be expected, some definite change
or growth in the organism itself, such change being, in point
of fact, an organ ; and so truly is this the case that it is by
examining the organs of any living thing that we arrive at
the knowledge of the conditions and experiences of its life.
Indeed, we should not greatly err in calling organs materi
alized experiences. In such a way we may not only clearly
explain the necessarily slow progress of development, but
we may also show the very how and why of its existence.
And so the varied necessities of food and love induced
the gradual evolution and development of the organs and
faculties of touch, sight, hearing, smell, taste, locomotion,
prehension, speech; and from the experiences and remem
brances attendant on their continual use arose by similar
slow evolution all the powers that we call intelligence, or
mind, or soul. For we may find a fully sufficient basis for
mind and all its phenomena in such experiences and
remembrances, such impressions, inherited or acquiredimpressions inherited from countless ages of progenitors as
unconsciously, but just as tangibly, as our limbs are in
herited—impressions from our own smaller experiences—-im
pressions which we acquire from others by living converse,
or by bookly intercourse with the mighty dead.
It is the quest for food and the quest for love that are at
the bottom of the two laws so clearly enunciated by Charles
Darwin—Sexual Selection and the Survival of the Fittest.
It must be borne in mind that this survival of the fittest
simply means the survival of the types or animals best
capable of living under certain conditions and contingencies ;
it does not mean the survival of the animals which man
might have considered the most fitting denizens of the earth
as far as his ideas were concerned. For further considera
tion as to these two laws, I must refer the reader to the
works of the author just mentioned. I simply wish here to
note that the quest for food, coincident with the survival of
the fittest, and the quest for love, which evolved the prin
ciple of sexual selection, opened out two separate and widely
varying vistas of impulse and action.
�32
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
As already estimated, the quest of food involved feelings
mainly concerning the self of the organism, and affecting
only the inward personality of the individual; while from
the quest for love, for intercourse and companionship with
fellow-beings, have arisen the feelings concerning the larger
world outside the individual—the feelings which have their
outcome in parental affection, social relations, and civilisation.
And in the commingling and interaction of these inward and'
outer interests we may find the source of all intellectual action.
For, indeed, the reaction of these two sets of feelings on
each other has been so incessant and so multitudinous that
it is difficult, if not impossible, now to classify some of the
many varied passions of man according to their original
incentive. And the organs naturally bear evidence to this
intermingling of causes and events, for the gentle murmur
ing of words of love is as delicious to the lips and tongue as
is the most delicate fruit, and “ the warmth of hand in hand
is more tender and delightful than the sunniest glow of
summer skies.
In man, as in the male of many other animals, this inter
changeability of usage of the organs has been temporarily
used to evil ends, for the organs of prehension acquired in
the quest for food have been in some instances developed
by the quest for love into instruments of outrage; so that, as
already said, the young of the opposite sex have continually
had enforced on them the function of maternity before their
own strength or inclination would have suggested any such
burden or responsibility. In looking at the means of pre
hension used for amatory purposes by male animals gene
rally, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that the maternal
office has been a matter of compulsion rather than of equal
and voluntary acceptance. In some beetles, the cruellooking specially-developed organs of prehension are repul
sively suggestive of the idea that conquest and not endear
ment is their purpose, and that it must have been a great re
pugnance on the part of the female which has necessitated
such implements of brute force in the male.
It is true that in the course of time a habit of tolerance,
or even of perfect acquiescence, has been acquired by some
females, yet the habit is far from universal, and, perhaps,
never will be so, so long as the female remains exposed to
the capacity of having maternity forced upon her despite
her own will, while the male is incapable of having the office
of paternity enforced by outrage on him.
�TUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
33;
In the primitive and savage condition of mankind we
have such evidence of the abominable treatment and out
rage of the young females as to leave us without wonder
that the result has been to make woman of a generally
more feeble type than man, and to have induced in her an
utterly abnormal and unnatural phenomenon from which
men and even female animals are exempt. At the first
glance it is pitiful to reflect that man’s vaunted superiority
over the brute, the greater activity of his brain, and thesubtler cunning of his hand have for so long lent them
selves to the oppression that has resulted in such pernicious,
consequences and in the still existent slavery, social and
physical, of the female of his own species. The function
of child-bearing has been exaggerated to an utterly dispropor
tionate degree in her life; it has been made her almost sole
claim to existence. Yet it is not the true purpose of any
intellectual organism to live solely to give birth to succeed
ing organisms; its duty is also to live for its own happiness
and well-being. Indeed, in so doing, it will be acting in
one of the most certain ways to ensure that faculty and
possession of happiness that it aims to secure for its pro
geny. But up to the present woman has scarcely been
treated as an intellectual being. In earlier history her fate
was entirely subordinated to the passions of man, nor has
our civilization yet sufficiently advanced to leave her to
choose her own life, or to develop the powers, the inclina
tions, or the individuality which lie within her nature; and
in our still feeble intellectual powers, in our narrow sym
pathies, and in our stunted capacities, we men are reaping
the natural consequences of our blindness and injustice.
Truly the tale of man’s ignorant injustice will be a bitter
one when unfolded; yet there is the bright hope and con
fidence that to know the wrong will be to redress it. And
it is by intelligent materialistic research that we can alone
assure such knowledge, and by the destruction of all reli
gions and priestcrafts. For a main basis and element in
the constitution of these is the subjugation of woman,
enunciated in tacit and open assumptions and assertions of'
her inferiority and secondariness to man, or in hideous and
insulting fables proclamatory of her innate baseness, and
exculpatory of the condition to which the wrong and selfish
ness of man has alone reduced her.
Further and very conclusive evidence in favour of develop
ment by interaction of these sets of motives and quests is.
�34
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
offered by the nervous system in organised beings. This
system comprises the organs of intellect and of action, and
divides into two main conditions having these specific func
tions. In the lowest organisms little evidence of nervous
structure is presented beyond disjected filaments, but with
■organisms of more experiences (and, therefore, develop
ment) the nervous system becomes an apparatus of filaments
combined with knots or ganglia. And with division into
sets we have the accession of a cephalic ganglion or brain,
at any rate in the more advanced organisms. The minute
ness of many intelligent organisms (such as ants, bees,
wasps, beetles, &c.) throws greater difficulty in the way of
obtaining precise statistics concerning their nervous struc
ture, but in the vertebrata we have greater facilities. That
the brain seems to be a special outcome of wider experiences
■and motives is evidenced by its greater bulk in proportion to
Average Proportion of Weight of Brain to Body :
Fishes ........................... I to 5568
Reptiles ........................ 1 ,, 1321
Birds ........................... 1 ,, 212
Mammals....................... I ,, 186
Man............................... I „ 35
The spinal system, which we are assuming to be more
-specially developed by, and connected with, the narrower
series of motives implicated in self-preservation alone, offers
a similar confirmatory result in its proportion to the amount
of brain, as in the ensuing fairly accurate table :—
Proportion of Weight of Brain to Spinal Marrow :
Fishes ............. • i£, or 2 to 1
Reptiles ......... • 2, „ 2% „ 1
Birds .............
,, 1
Mammals......... • 3> „ 4 „ 1
Man ................. • 23, >, 24 „ 1
This proportion ot brain or mental power to spinal or
active power shall be noted with the coincident sexual,
parental, and social conditions, as follows :—
Fishes.—In general there is no approach of the sexes,
and no indication of parental feeling, except in very rare
instances.
Reptiles.—Approach of the sexes, and sometimes (as in
the viper) fairly developed parental care.
Birds.—In general a greatly increased degree of parental
care, with, in some cases, a steady companionship of two
individuals of opposite sex, which may even endure through
out life.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
35
Mammals.—Parental, or rather maternal, care has here
evolved a special organ, affording food to the young; the
degrees and conditions of parentage, and of sexual affection
and companionship, vary greatly. In many birds and mam- .
mals a power of affection, outside sexual or parental feeling,
has been developed. In animals which have been much
cared for by man, and become domesticated, this affection
may be so prominent as sometimes to override both the
quest for food, and sexual or parental affection. Instances
are not rare o*f the dog or the horse who willingly refuses a
meal in order to be with his master, or who will leave puppy
or colt at the sound of the same dear voice.
Man.—The office and issues of parentage have been ex
tended through simple paternal brute force, with subjugation
of wife and child; patriarchism, with attendant slavery ■
autocracy, with attendant servitude; limited monarchy, with
attendant subjection; to Republicanism, with recognition of
equality of individual right. And from some phase of these
have arisen the vast majority of the existent relations
between man and man. These form the subject of the
further science of materialism called Sociology, and to that
branch of the subject we must leave them, as also the wider
discussion of the development of love in man to its grand
phases of conjugal love, parental and filial affection,
patriotism, and general humanity.
I need only draw attention to one further incident before
bringing these papers to a close ; the fact that the superiority
of man’s primitive culture over that of animals is mainly
evidenced in three things—agriculture, the use of tools, and
the use of fire, each of these having contributed its quota to
the development of man’s intellect. Agriculture would seem
to be an outcome of the habit, common to many animals, of
hiding a superfluity of food till a time of need, though there
is, of course, a vast distance between the simple hiding of
food and the sowing of seeds and the preparing of land for
the purpose, yet it is not difficult to imagine that the acci
dental growth of a store of nuts or roots hidden in the
ground gave to man the idea of providing for food in that
manner.
Evidence of the origin of the use of tools is to be found
in the habit of some birds in carrying to a height and
dropping shell-fish which they have not the strength to
break or open ; monkeys, too, are known to break cocoa-nuts
by dropping them. In these cases the earth itself is used as
�36
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
a hammer, and the unintentional dropping of a shell or a
cocoa-nut offers an easy solution for the origin of the habit,
which would readily spread by imitation and inheritance.
The next step in the scale of mechanical progress is evi
denced in some monkeys, who use a stone as a hammer, or
a stick as a lever. Then follows man, with the adaptation
of the lever (or handle) to the stone, and the use of sharp-edged stones (knives and axes), and with the advent of fire
•and the smelting of metals we gradually arrive at the whole
series of tools and machines that may be found in an inter
national exhibition.
There seems no glimpse of any approach to the creation
■of fire in any animal but man, though many animals willingly
accept its artificial warmth, and prefer the food that is
cooked by its aid. In primitive times the chipping of his
flint implements must have afforded man many instances of
sparks of fire, and possibly of undesigned conflagration, with
•attendant flame and heat. The observation of this may
well have led some thoughtful man to turn the unexpected
discovery to profit and to imitate it; and the evolution by
friction of a heat similar to that caused by fire might suggest
to him or to others the continuance and increase of that
friction till flame would be the reward of their curiosity and
perseverance. And all this would be the consequence of as
clear and simple a train of reasoning as that which led
Columbus to discover land to the west of the Atlantic, or
James Watt to foresee that the force which could raise the
lid of a teakettle could also drive mighty engines.
We do not now dignify either of these men with the title
■of gods, or suppose that they stole their knowledge from
heaven, our times are already too materialistic for that; yet in
n preceding age we have the invention of fire attributed to
■such agency, and the shrewd and patient woman who
evolved the primitive art of the culture of corn and fruit
figured as a goddess, whose name we still use when
speaking of our cereal productions.
Yet, though we no longer dream of referring such inven
tions or knowledge to supernatural power, though we no
longer place faith in fictions of the divinity of the inventors,
we, as a majority, present the pitiable spectacle of still
accepting such primitive and infantile explanations of all the
phenomena that man’s intellect has not yet had the per
severance or the opportunity to solve. The inquisitiveness
and habit of research evolved in man’s natural quests have
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
led him to continually inquire into the origin and sequence
-of all the circumstances that he sees around him, and, where
-want of true knowledge has supervened there have not been
wanting those who have offered all sorts of fictitious and
baneful explanations. It is the evil of all religions, from
that of Confucius to that of Comte, that they are, in the
main, a compound of unverified assertions concerning man’s
physical and social condition, together with a series of selfstyled moral aphorisms deduced from such assertions. It is
only when the spirit of materialistic inquiry shall be carried
into the region of ethics, when every action and idea and
sequence of man’s intellect and mind shall be accredited
solely on the same terms as any other physical fact, that we
shall arrive at any true morality, at any assured knowledge
■of living to the best for ourselves and for each other. Pro
ceeding in this way we shall find that man’s intellect will
have power to find the solution of all that that intellect can
suggest, and to speak of anything further is simply to speak
■of what is for man non-existent.
It has been my purpose to indicate somewhat of the line
.and method of thought which 'may be available in this
further research, but each man must be left to travel by
himself along that road. Sect and name-following can find
no place there; open eyes for Nature’s facts, open hearts
for Nature’s love, these will be our unerring guides to the
■ever-increasing knowledge, the ever-growing happiness, the
-ever-higher potentiality of life, and love, and humanity.
Farewell.
��
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Studies in materialism
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Elmy, Ben
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Place of publication: London
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Materialism
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Text
THE PRACTICAL IDEALIST.
I.—Worship—(converse
with the supreme.)
1. The Idealist gives his worship and contemplation to the Eternal-Essence,
—to the beautiful Power and Law that underlies all phenomena, of which these
are but the sensuous appearances, or garment.
2. On strictly scientific grounds he has the full assurance that neither Evil
nor Chance, but Good is the mainspring of Nature. He is intensely conscious
of the omnipotent omnipresence of the Universal Spirit, and of his own parti
cipation in the vast Unity of Spiritual Life, but he does not dogmatise con
cerning the personality of the Deity.—“ We distinguish the announcements of
the soul, its manifestations of its own nature by the term Revelation. These
are always attended by the emotion of the sublime. For this communication
is an influx of the Divine Mind into our mind. It is an ebb of the individual
rivulet before the flowing surges of the sea of life. Every distinct apprehen
sion of this central commandment agitates men with awe and delight. A
thrill passes through all men at the reception of new truth, or at the perform
ance of a great action which comes out of the heart of nature.— Ths Over
Soul.
Trust your emotion. Tn your metaphysics you have denied personality
to the Deity; yet when the devout motions of the soul come, yield to them heart
and life, though they should clothe God with shape and colour.—Self-reliance.
3. For the Idealist there can be nothing Supernatural in Creed and History
He is as a mountain climber who has the clouds beneath him, and is face to
face with God’s blue of Heaven. Nature and the natural to him are more
miraculous than the most monstrous prodigy, and infinitely more beautiful.
�$3
The Idealist's Code of Tatilt.
•4. The Idealist worships in the Divine Being the Ideal of Truth, Beauty,
arid' Good, and the recognition of His attributes is the central force, and fount
fof power in moral dynamics. Prayer for worldly and material good or success,
;appears to him an arrogant assumption that God will not order things for the
'best, and a selfish intrusion of our own interests that must most frequently be
■at the expense of those of our fellow creatures. But Spiritual prayer, com
prehended in contemplation, and passionate aspiration yearning for communion
■with the Highest, is the natural function of the soul.
II.—Duties.—(Intercourse
with our neighbour.)
The idea of Justice proclaiming that every individual in his pursuit of
enjoyments, and in the development of his life, shall not interfere with the free
exercise of all their faculties by his fellows, inculcates as the duties of all
men,—
1. That they regard all forms of religious and other opinions, that do not
themselves violate the law, in the purest spirit of toleration, and strenuously
resist the monopoly of state protection and other privileges by any one body of
sectarians.
2. That the fullest liberty be acceded to women to exercise their faculties
in any occupation to which those faculties may impel them.
3. That they ever recognise the indefeasible right of all men to the use of
the earth’s surface, and to the opportunity of labouring, and earnestly promote
the achieving of such social organization as shall secure to all men the oppor
tunity of attaining to the most perfect development possible to them.
That
•they pilot their charitable enterprises with discriminating wisdom, and realise
the fact that unthinking well-mindedness is immoral.
4. That they promote the spread of knowledge, and the establishment of a
new system of education that shall render it possible to form the characters of
■children, to more radically influence their lives, and give effect to the special
¿aptitudes with which nature may have endowed them.
The Law of Charity, or Universal Love commands:—
1. That every man have a lively anxiety for the happiness and well-being
•of his fellow men, and abstain from any self-gratification that is injurious to
the general community, or that inflicts pain on another normally constituted
mind.
2. That he vehemently persuade them of the folly of appealing to the
arbitration of the sword; and advocate the establishment of a wise inter
national organisation and code for the settlement of differences.
3. To advocate the principle of friendly association as opposed to selfinterested, aud dis-united isolation, for purposes of social economy, social re
finement, and social happiness.
�jpRNiNA
Pardon.
A PATCHED SOCIETY.
{DigestContinued!)
IO.—Competition.—It would be erroneous to infer that it is proposed to
dispense with the wholesome stimulus of normal and legitimate competition as
•an element of Society. In all that concerns the commerce, or wholesale dealing
■of the country, in contra-distinction to retail distribution, the laws of supply
and demand would continue their unimpeded action. If any are disposed to
attribute inconsistency to such a distinction, they are reminded that whilst
commerce is directly creative of wealth, the unproductive competings of the
retailers are little better than a lawless wrangling for wealth already created,
attended with the consequent waste and destruction to be anticipated from such
chaotic and non-industria] busyness.
The system of allied industries, then, is not Socialism, that would eliminate
competition from human affairs,—that contemplating an ideal conception of
man overlooks his proneness to sloth and to physical and mental inaction; it
would, on the contrary, attempt, for the first time, to free competitive human
works and endeavours, from the clogs and drawbacks that choke its action. It
is precisely because competition is so useful an agency for production that we
would not waste its energies on barren objects.
11-—Associated Industry.—To facilitate the guarantee of employment which
Society is morally bound to provide for all its members, by means of the wisest
regulations tending to this end, the Committees of Public Welfare in order,
afford further security from the variations of the demand in the labour market,
will encourage the establishment of firms of co-operative industry. There
should be at least one estate divided into allotments, and farmed on the best
principles by small tenants, the necessary machinery being supplied by a union
of their capitals ; and the cultivation of a second by labourers who will share
�Ernina Landon.
in the produce in proportion to their contributions of labour and capital, will
be superintended by the Committee, h manufactory, also, of the description
best calculated to succeed under the economical conditions of the locality, will
be established on the same principles.
12. —Administration of Justice, and Arbitration of differences.—The com
munity will obtain, when possible, the nomination of the members of the
Committee as Justices of the Peace, and they, from their knowledge of the
antecedents and character of all the members, be enabled to'treat some of the
‘criminals that may be brought before them in a way that will be calculated to
remove the defects in character, instead of hardening them in offences by de- grading punishments.
Every member of the community will agree to refer any disputes in which
he may become involved, and that at present, are the subjects of actions-atlaw, to the friendly arbitration of one of the members of the Committee ; and
failing a settlement by this means, to submit them to the decision of the Com
mittee as a final court of arbitration.
13. —Education.—How futile are the existing educational systems in influ
encing and forming the characters of the young, the results best show, and it
seems incredibly ludicrous that the mere imparting of the rudiments of know
ledge should be denominated education. In the new organisation, all the
children of the district will pass -the whole of their time in the school-house
and its adjacent gardens and grounds ; which it will be the first effort of the
reformed community to provide on as magnificent a scale as possible. The
masters will be in the proportion of one, to from ten to fifteen children, and
will be fitted by special training on a new system, as well as by natural superi
ority, carefully tested, for the important work of training the young in all
senses. They will, each one attach to himself a manageable number of the
children of poorer parents, to whom they will act stand as parents and educational
guardians, making their characters their constant study and care. The children
instead of wandering wildly in a semi-savage state, as at present, when school
hours are over, will be pleasantly employed in alternately studying and working
in the gardens, or in other light labours with occasional organised recreation,
so that each one, according to the future before him, be instructed to play his
.part in life with intelligence. The industrial-school principle will also be com
bined with the instruction of the girls, who will be similarly provided with
teachers, and the market-garden, laundry, &c., properly superintended, will
render the school partially self-supporting.
14. —The Social Mansion.—The leisure hours of the inhabitants will be
spent in this, the central building, and heart of the town. It will contain besides
reading, conversation, and lecture-rooms—club-rooms, provided with the
different means of amusement, and a concert-room furnished with musical
instruments, and will be situated in an ornamental garden, with pleasure
grounds as extensive as possible. Attached to the Mansion and resident in it,
will be the Lecturer and Public Teacher ; the duty of whose important office
will be to provide for the delight and instruction of the community, by lectures,
�The Practical Idealist.
83
But more especially by directing the tastes and talents of the different members,
and turning them to the advantage and profit of all, and by promoting spon
taneous social assemblies, in which refinement may spread its garlands over all
classes.
We have seen that the town of three thousand inhabitants will effect an
economy of many thousand pounds by adopting the associative principle; this
sum representing the profit obtained by the joint-stock transactions of the
community will be thus- acquired, and school-masters and gardeners will be a
profitable exchange for superfluous and useless shopkeepers.
15. —The Selection of Capacities—The learned professions still be paid by
fixed stipends in the new communities, instead of by a system of fees that
tend to encourage deception, and that make the interest of lawyers and medical
men to consist in the increase of dishonesty and bad faith, and diseases in the
community. It will be at once objected by some, as it has been, that such' a
plan would but universalise the notorious inefficiency of parish doctors. But
it surely must be apparent enough that the young surgeon who accepts the
meagre official pay of the parish doctor, does so only whilst striving to gain
practice of a more remunerative kind, and sharing in the universal game of
money-making, and following, the laws of its code, metes out attention to the
paupers proportionate to the pay, eager to throw up the ungrateful office as soon
as he can afford to. It may be presumed, also, that professional zeal of this
mercenary sort is scarcely of the kind likeliest to advance the interests of
science. On the other hand, when the election of medical men is guided by
the best judgment of the Members of the Committee of Public Welfare, —
subject to the rate of the majority of the community,—who will have also the
power of dismissing those guilty of neglect, a more wholesome stimulus to
conscientious diligence and zeal is provided. It will follow, as a consequence
of this arrangement, that of all social abuses the most prolific in chaotic and
deathful consequences will be extinguished—the placing brainless incapacity
in a profession which is chosen because of a patron’s living, or. a father’s practice.
In the community no mere dictum of parental partiality shall suffice to afflict
society with a misplaced incapable, but the verdict of greatest aptitude from
Teachers and from the Committee of Public Welfare, shall decide on the proper
sphere for a young man.
16. —The New Order af Nobility.—In the commencement of a new society
which involves a higher moral condition of mankind, and turns man’s aspira?tions to the higher still, the noblest will set the example of preferring the
public good and the happiness of all, to selfish considerations, and of substi
tuting for private splendour public magnificence that will help to. lead man
kind along the road of progress.
These noblest,, therefore, will take
upon them a vow of renunciation, binding themselves to satisfy their pri
vate wants with a limited and fixed income, and to devote the surplus of their
incomes and earnings to the promotion of public welfare,-—this with the object
of assuaging the insane rage for wealth and appearances that is driving society
into a whirlwind of well merited disaster; a volcanic upheaval of the downcrushed, under miseries that will no longer be borne.
�87
Emina Landon.
This new and noble Aristocracy will be of three ranks, accord
ing to the surplus of wealth devoted to the service of the community,.
They will receive all the honours that are at present undeservedly paid
to rank, and in order that they may not suffer the loss of the greatest boon
that wealth confers, the community will defray the cost of educating their
children in the best universities. Were this purchasing of honour to become a
fashion even, it would not impair the wholesome desire for wealth that has so
strong an influence in creating it; for the riches that were renounced as far as
private employment of them goes, would be at their disposal for public
purposes, and so be still desirable as conferring power. If it is pretended that
in this nineteenth century the honours and rank of this new nobility would be
had in derision and contempt by an irreverent age, it is replied that if this is so,—
to be contemptible to a people that reverence lying shams, and the ignoble only
is the only true honour, and there is tenfold more need for a fresh fashion of
nobility.
17.—Lastly—because it appears a ludicrous, but melancholy and altogether
intolerable violation of the divine law, that men who chance to be possessed
of wealth should be freed from all compulsory social duties and responsibilities,
producing as we see, a state of things in which such wealth becomes unwhole
some heaps of decomposition, prolific of turf parasites, black-legs, Anonymas,
men in women’s clothes, and similar maggot-births, the Committee of Public
Welfare will assign duties to all such unemployed persons suitable to their
respective capacities.
General Objections Answered.—The sceptic will pertinently enough observe
of this Scheme of a New Society,—‘ it is all very admirable, and would doubtless
work charmingly, if in our community the rather large proportion of Socrates
and infallible wise men were forthcoming for our Committee of Public Welfare,
not to say our regiment of school-masters. As it is the world is suffering pre
cisely from the want of more of these wise men.’ We reply, that the world can
well furnish the brain-power that is requisite for a few experimental communi
ties, and when the fundamental principles have been once laid down and tested, it
will require no supreme amount of initiatory and creative wisdom. The growth
in morality and unselfishness is the grand desideratum, and chief of all the
difference between the two Societies, is the difference between one in which
starving labourers and competing speculators and tradesmen are compelled into
crime, knavery, and bestial low-mindedness by the resistless influence of circum
stances, and one which sets man free for the first time to assert himself human
and heaven’s noblest work.
The first objection that is offered by practical persons, is of this sort,—‘But
you who pretend to be effecting so much good for all men are proposing to
wantonly deprive of their means of livelihood the immense body of tradesmen
who form the great majority of the middle classes,—whilst you yourself admitted
but now, that in wealthy countries the essential point of economical policy is
to distribute the wealth so as to produce comfortable and well-to-do classes,
and it seems that retail trading, if it does nothing more, provides a large body
of persons with the comforts of life, and moreover fills up, as with social
�The Practical Idealist.
99
Buffers, the gap between the otherwise too distinct classes of brain-workers and»
gentry, and the manual labourers.
It is an unfortunate fact, that arguments as exasperatingly irrational as this,
—the desirability of providing for tradesmen even employment that is utterly
useless to the community—are only too abundantly employed by persons who
pride themselves on their common sense. Although it may be that the supply
of mere material wealth that has been accumulated in some old countries, is
almost adequate for the wants of all, can it be necessary to remind anyone that
the essential wealth of all countries is the capacity for work and the labour of
all their inhabitants,—'that the gross sum of this cannot by any ever so multi
plied powers of production be too great,—that this wealth expends itself in com
passing comfortable, happy, intellectual and noble lives for all human beings,
and that to squander any of this work-power is to wantonly cast into the mire
God’s purest gold, to mar His design, and to thwart His purposes.. As for the
services of the tradesman class by way of padding to fill out the gaunt form of
society into a false show of comeliness, and to cover up the hollows of degra
dation and ignorance—the sooner we can tear away this stuffing and reveal the
naked truth, we quicker may hope that the condition of the labouring classes
will have serious consideration. To return to the practical point of the question,
however, it is true that were the new system adopted suddenly in all parts of
the country simultaneously, some confusion and distress would result. But it
is only too certain that the process of transition will be a long and gradual one,
and in the first of the new communities the displaced tradesmen will be pro
vided with such other employment as they will willingly accept, or be compen
sated for any loss sustained. It is equally apparent that in the course of a
gradual transition the condemned class would spontaneously disappoar, and
who will question the fact that a community organised on the proposed system
Could provide useful and productive employment for as many persons in the'Same rank of life as it had discarded, if not the same individuals.
Our opponent would probably continue;—£ supposing your plan of appoint
ing medical men by the Committee already adopted in such a town as you have
been speaking of, do you pretend to hope that we should not see the sons and
relatives of the members of the said Committee filling the posts you are so
anxious to she wisely filled, just as the patronage system in the church gives
us younger sons for our divinely anointed rectors. In any imperfect condition,
of mankind let not a few fallible persons be so heavily laden with responsi
bilities, and depend on it, it is best for everyman to choose his surgeon, and-hisschoolmaster, &c., and be taught wisdom by the consequences, if his choicehappens to be an unwise one.’ It must be replied that this last seems at first
sight very wholesome in theory, but experience shows that a number of persons
are not capable of judging of the merits of a professional adviser, as is abun
dantly proved by the number of successful charlatans; yet, on the other hand,
their faculty of judging will be fostered by their power of expressing discontent
with any such public person, and by nominating the person who shall make the
selection for them. Respecting what might have been the result had the system
been already adopted, we reply that the novel plan is only proposed as a portion of
�1
89
Emina Landon.
an integral system, which by its provisions, requires the improved moral corr*
dition of the whole community, or itself effects it.
Ever foremost in the remembrance of all earnest reformers, should be the
consideration that no perfectest machinery for the distributing and feeding of
men can be of permanent value, if it permit them to remain for the most part
what we see them, a race of ignoble beings. It has been no part of the present
endeavour to create a complicated pattern of theoretical modes of life by
which all the details of human existence and effort are to be regulated. The
genius of any community and of every race will shape their surroundings accord
ing to the degree of nobleness that animates their collective aspirations. The
fundamental principles of Association, therefore, upon which the new institutions
are to be based have been alone indicated. But on the other hand, if the
individualities of the members of the community are all in all, how imperative
is it for this very reason to modify the force of circumstances that irresistably
re-act upon human nature, and give the ineffaceable impress of their good or
evil influence. The characters and lives of men are the produet of the twofactors, natural constitution and circumstance, of which the latter is the greater
and more important. Nine out of ten men if influenced by the best circum
stances-—education, and opportunities for the exercise of their faculties, will
become more or less noble members of society, and the bad propensities of the
other small portion can be pretty well neutralised by such influences, but it
should be needless to repeat that the education alluded to here is no confection
or compound of the three B’s by a National or any other existing school
master.
O many and earnest-hearted brothers, see ye not that these some thousand years
past the wonderful magic of the eternal mind that flows through a hundred
ages, has woven mysterious harmonies into thoughts and sounds of surpassing
delight,—Shakespeares, Angelos, and Mozarts,—helping to make man well
nigh divine; and now, too, that our eyes are opening to the mysteries of the
spheres, and we are glad in the strength of growing science, shall we con
tinue beasts in feeling only, and watch complacently how the sorely afflic ed
labourers who are bound for us, go vilely still on their bellies by reason of
their burdens ? Surely we may open their ears with some scanty visitations of
sweet sounds, and unfold their brains in some sort of life not wholly brutish.
Certainly we may fling off the hot blush that proclaims us conscious oppressors
and monopolisers of the sunshine. Truly we can live honest, and they shall
live men.
Such meaning as this Ernina hastily, greedily tore from the closely printed
volume, and when the early morning light peered into the room, it found its
white robed tenant still pacing up and down with happy unquenchable resolve
in deep, eloquent eyes. “Thank heaven, I am rich, thank heaven for that;”
were the words with which she turned at length to rest.
To be continued.
�Jarge Uhrhe,
m
if c
VERSUS
Cease we then, Loved Ones ;
Cease this hard strainful stress,—
Seeking that mirage—Truth,
Yearning for good unknown,
Seeking to ripen
With our hot painful sighs
Fruitage of world-schemes,
Ere the time destined,—
Seeking to force men’s souls—
Still all beneath the clod—
Swift into golden bloom,
Into large-mindedness,
Open-eyed lovingness,
Into the better life,—
Quenching the acridness
Of their green juices,
Quenching their hatreds,
Their selfish injustice
In love universal
From the unequal war
Cease we and rest we;
And of a larger love
Larglier quaff we.
Then lap me, ye Loved Ones
Enwrapped by your beauties,
Drunk with your beaming eyes,
Awed by your loveliness,
Soothed by your tenderness
My Ideal Maidens.
*
�The Practical Idealist
’Tis not one soul alone
Pouring responses
Back to my thirsting heart,
Prinks from mine perfect love
Knows all love’s fulness.
Maude, my grave Empress love,
Great browed and large eyed,
Thou giv’st me thought for thought
Erom thy imperial soul
Seeking all knowledge.
Swells thy round swelling breast
Echoing lovely
Impulses noble.
Perfect thy perfect form
As large Minerva’s.
Clara, small shrinking fawn
Tenderly clinging
With thy deep hazel eyes
To my down bending face
Feeding upon thee,
Knowledge thou car’st not for,.
Nor Science lov’st greatly
Save for the beautiful
Chance twineth around them.
Thy purest, flawless soul,
Delicate poised
Taste’s pure embodiment
Serves me for magnet,
Testing all things by thee
Testing all thought by thee
For fleck in their beauties.
Helen, sweet Crown of Love
Thou are just beautiful,
Womanly wholly r—
’Tis the soft perfectness
Of thy pure womanhood
Bows my heart down to thee
In willingness unwilled
With the light melody
Of thy bright girlishness
Each resting pause of thought
Fillest thou gracefully
Piecing our four lives
Into a vision bright
Into bright oneness.
�Large Love.
92
So of full largest love
Largliest quaff we,
Four souls inpouring
Brightness convergent
All their quadruple love
All their quadruple life
All their quadruple thought
Into-one Eden..
Turn me mayhap thenBack to the fight again
Teaching with- open eyes
Preaching such largest love
Unto all mortals;—
Quelling the beast in man,
Quelling base self in man
Teaching to quail before
Love’s fearful glances
Unto the higher life
Leading man onwards.
ON PRAYER.
Men take their texts from Bibles, but wheresoever truth is spoken we have a
Bible to hand. Inspiration is in Truth. God himself cannot speak more
than that. To think otherwise is not religion but superstition ; to think that
inspiration is locked up within the covers of one book, and is not the eternal
characteristic of veracity; that it was exhausted some eighteen hundred odd
years ago, and not reserved in an inexhaustible fund to be spent upon the
world, carrying its own sanctity, and founting always
Within the arteries of a man,
that truth can be anything else but inspired, or inspiration anything but truth
is a fetishism only different in quality, not in substance, to that of the idolator
and the savage.
Let us take a text from Emerson; if he does not speak the truth, he speaks
honesty, which is the next thing to it, but that he does speak the truth (and
consequently is equally inspired for us with any Scriptures whatsoever,) I need
not say is the writer’s religion.
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The Practical Idealist.
The preamble to the passage runs thus :—
_ “ It is easy to see that a greater self-reliance,—a new respect for thedivinity in man,—must work a revolution in all the offices and relations of
men ; in their religion; in their education; in their pursuits ; their modes of
living; their associations ; in their property; in their speculative views.
In what prayers do men allow themselves ? That which they call a holy»
office is not so much as brave and manly. Prayer looks abroad, and asks for
some foreign addition to come through some foreign virtue, and loses itself in
endless mazes of natural and supernatural, and mediatorial and miraculous.
Prayer that craves a particular commodity—anything less than all good, is
vicious.
Prayer is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest*
point of view. It is the soliloquy of a beholding and jubilant soul. It is
the Spirit of God pronouncing His works good. But prayer as a means to
effect a private end, is theft and meanness. It supposes dualism and not
unity iD nature and consciousness. As soon as the man is at one with God, he
will not be. He will then see prayer in all action. The prayer of the farmer*
kneeling in his field to weed it, the prayer of the rower kneeling with the stroke
of his oar, are true prayers heard throughout all nature, though for cheap
ends.”
This extract is from the noble essay on “Self-Reliance,” against passages
of which I was impelled to write,—Read me these pages on my death bed.
By a melancholy mistake, truly, is common prayer called holy. Instead of
cultivating manliness, self-help, and fortitude, it feebly whines for subsidy and
indulgence. It forgets the proverb, men in their wiser (if secular) momenta
have invented,—“ God helps those who help themselves.” It is lazy and
luxurious, and essentially immoral. I have for years shrunk from praying for
temporal blessings; I have instinctively and intimately felt that it is so selfish,
or as Emerson says, “mean;” and further that it is, in truth, a piece of
profanity, for it indirectly imputes to God that He will not order things for the
best; it impugns His dispensation.
I have felt that I hardly dared to petition
in this selfish way; that it was a piece of presumption and temerity; that I
was not justified; that I had no standing-point. I, a microscopic creature on
a speck of the Rolling Universe, to lift up my voice to the King without a
a Name to ask him to interfere in my puny affairs for my personal,—nay, my
pecuniary benefit ! Not that anything is too small to be out of God’s Provi
dence; the atom is the focus of stupendous laws; the object of the solar
system ; abstractly, great and little are alike with God; but relatively,—that
God should arrest or modify the progress of the whole to gratify the ephemeral
appetite of an atom is a melancholy superstition, as illogical as it is selfish.
The welfare of the atom, we must learn, is bound up with that of the whole;
we must abandon ourselves to the laws, not pitiably beg that the laws may be
altered.
The theory of materialistic prayer must be either that God will interfere speci
ally to accommodate our lilliputian petitions,—the selfish fancies of a shallow
moment,—morally certain to clash with the true demands of things,—or that
he is pleased with a little lip-service.
�On Prayer.
94
The latter need only be mentioned not to be noticed; the former is almost
■a§ unworthy.
; Is it not seen that prayer is a superfluity as well as an impertinence ; that
God will order all things for the best. It is our duty to accept, and not to
ask; our attitude should be receptivity; it pleases God best that we help ourselves,
—and not ask Him to help us ; He leaves us to answer our own prayers ; forti
tude aud work are what He admires—not petitions; to do and bear, that is
■our duty; not to presume to-ask, which is, indirectly to dictate. God Almighty,
indeed, must look upon such unmanly practices as utterly contemptible, and
one would have thought men would have learnt their futility, if not their
ignobleness, from the systematic way in which they have been disregarded.
The world goes singing the same tune,
And whirls her living and her dead.
God does not put us here to ask Him to help us, but to learn His laws; to
be healthy and clever; and the veteran Premier’s remark to the scandalized
Scotch corporation,—that sanitary measures, and not prayers, were the remedy,
exhausted the truth.
’
To help ourselves appears to be our raison d’etre,—what have we to do with
grayer ?
In the expression—“ Prayer -is the contemplation of the facts of life from
the highest point of view ”—I imagine Emerson meant praise rather than
prayer,—laudatory prayer, not solicitous. Prayer, he says, (in his splendid
eloquence) “is the soliloquy of a beholding and jubilant” soul; the spirit of
God pronouncing his works good.”
Silent .Praise is this; and it is the spirit of God because in its living appre
hension. it becomes one in identity; as Emerson elsewhere asks—“ Jesus’
virtue, is not that mine ? If it cannot be made mine it is not virtue.”
In the same way as this spirit pronouncing God’s works to be good is a
tacit Te Deum; so laborare est orare,—as Carlyle translates it,—work is
woiship.. The way to praise God is to work; every furrow turned over is an
ode; it is testimony to His genius and obedience to His laws.
Appreciation, too, is the deepest form of praise. When I walk into the
fields and feel helpless with delight, that is the sincerest psalm, and more in
tense than the most throbbing hymn. My son, says the Lord, ever,—give me
thine. Heart; not thy Voice, but thy tumultuous, unfathomable Feeling; the
glowing spirit within you.
To conclude; the beauty, the ineffableness, even, of spiritual prayer is not to
be concealed, though it is singular how the idea of even spiritual prayer seems
to shiink before that of work. After all, it seems somewhat of an indulgence,
or a supeifluity. The man who rises at six o’clock with a hard day’s work
before him, seems to have little to do with prayer; he seems to be independent
of .it, and even of that exquisite relation of docility before God, which the
spiritual pray-er knows in all its sweetness.
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The beauty of spiritual prayer consists in the attitude of humility and con«
versation it establishes before God; and if we will only observe the rule—
Pray,—pouring thanks and asking grace.
I own T can conceive little more lovely. Surely it is a sweet preparation for
the day ; from such prayer we seem to come out as from a sanctuary ; invested
as with a radiant atmosphere ; explaining the parable of Moses of old.
The depth and sweetness of true prayer I have not failed to experience;
and yet, alas, such is the meanness of human nature, I must confess their
greatest intensity was in a moment of disappointment and trouble. And yet
it is an intense delight, and an inexprsssible balm to find after the chills and
vanities of the world that we have in our heart-of-hearts the invisible Almighty
God to fall back upon, ever at the bottom and the centre, the Illimitable
Father, the incorporation of all that is Ideal, the Ideal of ail that is loving and
kind, majestic and pure.
A prayer of the spiritual sort, might not, perhaps, improperly, run as
follows :—
O Lord Father, who hast poured upon me so many blessings, and granted
me so many privileges, 1 thank Thee with inexpressible thanks for Thy mercies,
impossible to enumerate. My words can make Thee no return, let my feelings
praise Thee. Make me great, which is making me good; fortify me against
my last day, and reconcile me beyond,—for Thy Fatherhood’s sake, Amen!
Alex. Teetgen.
�By H. L. M.
I must again trespass on the Editor’s courtesy,—already conspicuously dis
played, by disputing the interpretation put upon the argument of my former
■article, as follows :—
“ When the writer speaks of what Christ might have done had He not been
despised and rejected, it is equivalent to saying that He was mistaken and
disappointed in calculations which it seems the insight of modern thinkers
would have been equal to ; and in this case, where the omniscience of God
head ?”—Idealist, p. 66, 67.
I reply, that this omniscience of God-head was “ equal to ” foresee the
result of Israel’s probation, is shown—1st, by the prophecies which speak of
Messiah’s rejection, and 2ndly, by many words of Christ on Earth, proving
that he was by no means “ dissapointed,” however grieved thereat.
I. I alluded in the previous paper to the pathetic 53rd of Isaiah, as sup
plying a strong additional support to the claims of Jesus to the Messiahship.
Eor this is a wondrously fulfilled inspired prophecy ; and one of such a nature
as neither a vain glorious deluding pretender, nor a fondly dreaming, self
deluded enthusiast, would have been particularly desirous to attempt to get
fulfilled in his own person. Let all readers, however well they know the pas
sage, read it once more, from the 13th verse of the 52nd chapter, to the end
of the 53rd, and note its remarkable correspondence with the facts and doctrine
of Christ’s Passion. Then observe how, after the closing notes of this mournful
strain, inwhich the prophet seems to lament his people’s rejection and ill-treatment
of their Messiah—he changes his key, and in the opening of the 54th chapter
salutes with a joyful welcome the new Gentile Church, called in to supply the
place of the unfaithful nation, and promised more numerous children, and a
wider habitation. Similar in spirit are prophecies in chaps, xlviii and xlix.
�The Practical Idealist.
■97
4
i
i
'
Here the Messiah, the “ Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel,” v. 17, seeifts
himself to speak, and thus break forth, (though uic passage had a more
immediate application,) i'nto a lament over his rejection, not for his own
sake, but the nation’s;—“ 0 that thou had’st hearkened to my command-"
ments 1 then had thy peace been as a river, and thy righteousness as
the waves of the sea: thy seed also had been as the sand,” &c.—-surely the
very voice which long afterwards exclaimed in the same accents, “ If thou
had’st known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong
unto thy peace ! but now they are hid from thine eyes 1 ” &c.—Luke xix, 42.
In the 49th chapter, as if turning away in sorrow from Israel, he thus addresses
the Gentiles :—“ Listen 0 isles, unto me, and hearken ye people, from far ; ’*
then after announcing his birth and mission, he sCems to relate a colloquy be
tween himself and his father. “ he said I have laboured in vain, I have spent
my strength for nought, and in vain; yet surely my judgment is with the Lord,
and my work with my God: ” and' the reply is, “ Though Israel be not
gathered,” &c. “ It is a light thing that thou shouldest be my servant to
raise up the tribes of Jacob;—I will also give thee for a light to the Gentiles,
that thou mayest be my salvation unto the end of the earth.”—Lev. i. 12.
Daniel announces that “ Messiah should be cut off, but not for himself; ”
ix. 25 ; and Zechariah has some remarkable prophecies;—of the thirty pieces
of silver, assigned to the potter in the house of the Lord •; “ a goodly price
that I was priced at of them.” He said—xi, 12-13, “Awake O sword,
against my shepherd and against the man that is my fellow saith the Lord of
hosts.”—xiii, 7 ; and “They shall look upon me whom they have pierced.”—
xii, 10.
These predictions were for several centuries “ unfulfilled inspired prophecies; ”
but now for above 18 have stood forth as fulfilled ones; (the last indeed, as far
as regards the piercing, if not yet the looking,) the more remarkably because
they predict the nation’s own shame and blindness, and the preference of others
in its place; a situation which no nation would be likely to “ aspire ” or
“ sigh after,” or seek to fulfill for itself. It is remarkable that that part of
Handel’s Messiah which depicts the rejection and sufferings of Christ, is taken
exclusively from the Old Testament: indeed the whole work affords a curious
illustration, (by no means an exhaustive one,) of the fulness with which his
storv can be related out of that Testament, and those who recognise the fulfil
ment of some of its testimonies concerning him, find no difficulty in believing
that all will be fulfilled in the end. In the Messianic prophecies, the predic
tions relating to the first and to the second advents, appear contiguously
mingled together, as different chains of mountains sometimes do in a distant
view; but as in journeying nearer and through them, these open and separate,
showing how far they lie one beyond another, and what long stretches of plain
land intervene,—so from our present position between the two advents, we now
behold the long centuries which divide them. That this interval was not clearly
visible in prospect is not surprising when we reflect that before Christ’s coming
it was open to Israel to accept him at his first advent, and then all might have
been fulfilled without a break. Doubtless, he could have found means to accom-
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98
plisli his great sacrifice for the redemption of the world without their wicked
hands; and then having thrown off the guise of humiliation which befitted it,
might for anything we know, have stepped on at once to David’s throne. In
like manner, when the Israelites were in Egypt, God’s promise to bring them
out thence, and to bring them into Canaan was given all in one, and but for
their own fault might have been fulfilled all in one; but through their unbelief
when on the border of the promised land, a long interval was interposed of 40
years.
It may be asked why, if the conduct of the Jews in refusing Christ was so
plainly foreseen by God, as to find place in the prophecies, did He nevertheless
put them to the test? But the same question might be asked concerning every
probation to which God has ever subjected man with a like result; for when
was there any of which He did not see the result ? But it is nevertheless,
morally necessary that such probations should take place. And though those
who fail rightly to endure them suffer loss themselves, they will not in the end
defeat the purposes of God.
II. Nor was Christ’s treatment by the Jews any matter of surprise or dis
appointment to Himself? No, surely no. Not only were the circumstances of
His death and resurrection before Him at the beginning of His public career,
the pulling down and raising up again of the temple of His body, and His
lifting up on the cross, like the serpent in the wilderness, John ii, 19-22, iii, 14,
but His rejection by the leaders of the people with its issue, and many atten
dant circumstances, were the subject of frequent prophecy during the last year
of His life on earth, (Mark, viii, 31-33, ix, 33-34), with reference to the
prophets and the scriptures (Luke, xviii, 31, Matt, xxvi, 54). While confi
dently prophesying His second coming into glory, He interposed the prelimi
nary, that “ first must He suffer many things, and be rejected of this genera
tion,” Luke, xvii, 25. When the whole company of the disciples greeted Him
with acclamations on His entry into Jerusalem, thinking that now’ the Son of
David was surely about to take possession of his kingdom, his own thoughts
rested rather on the more proximate events which would postpone that dav,
Jerusalem’s crime and punishment ; over which he wept, not for his own sake,
but for the city’s; seeing in anticipation the Roman armies compassing it
around, and laying it even with the ground, because it knew not the time of
its visitation. When James and John asked to be foremost in sharing the
honours of the kingdom, he told them of a bitter cup to be drunk first, a cold
baptism to be undergone. And it was not without a Divine eagerness that he
looked forward to this, for the sake of the great issues beyond it. “ I have a
baptism to be baptised with,”—a cold plunge into, and rising again from death,
—and how am I straitened till it be accomplished ? ” As the time drew near
the simple-request of certain Greeks to see Ilim, seems to have brought before
His mind the thought of all nations presently drawing near to worship and
afresh stimulated Him to the endurance of the approaching sacrifice which vas
to redeem them. “ Except a corn of wheat” He said ‘ fall into the ground
and die, it abideth alor.e ; but if it die, it bringvlh forth much fruit. And 1,
if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.” Should He then
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pray to be saved from this coming hour of pain and death ? No ; it was for
this cause He had come to this hour; “ to give His life,” as He said at another
time, “a ransom for many.” John xii, 20-33, Matt, xxi, 28. Jesus stood
alone at this time in these thoughts ; without any sympathy or comprehension
from His disciples. Peter rebuked Him when first He began to speak to them
of His future sufferings and death, and afterwards we are told “they under
stood none of these things.”—Matt, xvi, 22, Luke xviii, 34), having so fixed
their eyes on the more numerous prophecies of the Messiah’s kingdom and
glory as to overlook the occasional ones which spoke of his sufferings and
hnmiliation. Not till after His resurrection did they learn to connect them,
when to the disappointed sigh of Cleopas. “ We trusted that it had been He
who should have redeemed Israel,” Jesus himself replied “ 0 fools, and slow of
heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken ! Ought not Christ to have
suffered these things,” (according to these prophets) “ and to enter into His
glory ?” Then first to these two pedestrians, and afterwards to the assembled
apostles, Me expounded in all the scriptures, the law of Moses, and the Psalms,
as well as the Prophets, the things concerning Himself—Luke, xxiv, 25-27,
44-47. A wondrous exposition that must have been ! would that it had been
preserved for us! But the Christian student is at no great loss, in the face of
the great facts and doctrines of the Gospel, to trace the many anticipations in
earlier scripture which foreshadowed and led up to them—far more numerous,
taking the whole body of it into account, than could be touched on here. AU
the scriptures looking forward to Christ, catch on their faces the coming dawn,
as those written after His appearance throw back the full light.
As to the effects of the invention of printing, the greatest work which that
did was to liberate the Bible, which had been hidden in convents, shut up in
dead languages and costly illuminated manuscripts, and send it abroad to pro
duce by its influence the reformation of religion, and the regeneration of society.
During the dark centuries of its seclusion, the name of Christ may have been
indeed over rated, but his spirit and doctrine were behind a cloud, overlaid and
encrusted with mediaeval superstition. But how pregnant is true Christianity
with right law-making principles, if not definite laws, for social government, is
manifest in the improvement of legislation, as well as spiritual life, wherever it
has free scope to operate. And how living are those waters which, the seal
being removed from the fountain, could gush forth again so fresh, revivifying
the face of aU lands through which they flow !
H. L. M.
Any mind not irrevocably given up to foregone conclusions in studying the Book of
Isaiah must surely peroeive that only a vague and brief passage here and there, in the midst
of ten chapters of wholly inapplicable matter, oan be strained into any sort of reference
to Jesus. Compared with the general vagueness of the Hebrew prophecies, the Delphian,
oracles might rationally be styled miraculous, and given such a mass of poetic utter
ance, or so-called prophecies, it may be assumed that the circumstances of the life of any
illustrious Jew, in the course of the latter half of the nation’s history, would have tallied
more closely with them. Taking the much vaunted 53rd chap. Isaiah, whilst the whole
�“Despised and Rejected'
100
that is so rashly deemed conclusive, is only the natural portrait of a future ideal person
age that would naturally occur to the prophetic Poet of a country that’was wont to place
its faith in its prophets, and jet amongst a people who usually rejected and ill-used, like
the
their great men, it contains no single direct and unmistakeable allusion, and
the passages in the 10th and 12th verses are distinctly contradictory of such allusion to
Jesus, unless contorted in a manner by which anything might be made to mean any
thing.
It would be idle to answer arguments founded upon the prophecies recorded along with
miracles in the very narrative whose authenticity is the question at issue. But any dis
passionate mind should have its doubts at once set at rest by the consideration that it is
altogether incredible that the Deity in making a revelation that should save man the
trouble of solving “ the painful riddle of the earth,” would involve it in such mysteries as
to render it the only incredible and inscrutable thing in His Universe to the greater part
Of thoso acknowledged to be the most earnest, reverent and enlightened minds on the
earth.
The following words of Emerson irradiate the subject.—
“ Jesus saw that God incarnates himself in man, and evermore goes forth anew to take
possession of his world- He said, in this jubilee of sublime emotion, ‘I am divine.
Through me, God acts; through me, speaks. Would you see God, see me ; or, see thee,
when thou also thinkest as I now think.’ The understanding caught this high chant from
the poet’s lips, and said, in the next age, ' This was Jehovah come down out of heaven.
I will kill you if you say he was a man.’ The idioms of his language, and the figures of
his rhetoric, have usurped the place of his truth; and churches are not built on his principtes, but on his tropes. Christianity became a mythus, as the poetic teaching of Greece
and of Egypt, before.”—
The Author of “The Christian Hypothesis.”
ONE YEAR IN HIS LIFE (CONCLUDED.)
Had she forgotten how 1 prayed her love ?
1 could not tell; she was so frank and sweet,
Had no embarrassment in talking just
In the old strain. I watched her every hour,
As doth a prisoner watch his jailer’s face
To catch the faintest forecast of his doom;
But 1 could learn nought from her bonnie eyes,
Save kindness, and a somewhat frightened glance,
Were we by chance left separate from the rest,
A pretty plaintive look, that seemed to ask
For yet a little longer, e’er I spoke.
Oh that I could have taken from iny life
Some of these weary hours, and added them
To that short week ; it was so short, oh God !
And life now is so long ! so long, so void.
But now I must not rave 1 my deepest grief
Forbids a questioning, I can only wait
For an hereafter that may teach them all,
Or leave me quiet in a silent grave
Beside my darling ; let it come, oh Lord 1
We talked one night, the night before the end,
�The Practical Idealist.
Just as we used at Holme; the August eve
Lay purple round us, and the great white moon
Shone glorious o’er the hills that slept in shade
All flecked by silver arrows from her bow,
The silence kept us silent, neither spake
Till Mary sang most quietly and sweet
Half to herself, the following little song:—
“ The birds have done their pairing and are wed,
The lovers whisper where the blooms are shed,
Upon their clasped hands, his love-bowed head.
The birds have done their pairing; yet I stay
And weary of the loneliness each day,
That I go quite alone upon my way.
The birds have done their pairing; say oh heart,
Is lonely grief for aye thy bitter part ? ’
Death is a friend 1 Oh may he heal the smart!
“ How sad your song is,” said I, “ but ’tis fit
For August surely, when the hopes of spring
Find their fulfilment or their emptiness.
The autumn’s turning, and the winter wind
Will try us all, unless we’re safely housed,
Most blessed in the warmth and love of home.”
“ Which of us three,” said Lady Mildred then,
Will have the warmest winter ? Mary, you,
And you, Sir Wilfrid will have empty nests,
And I my husband, and a home, yet void
As yours are; could three lonelier souls have met
Than we are ? Oh for comfort, oh for love!
“ Oh Lady Mildred,” said I, “you have love,
All love, love of your husband, of your friends,
And sure Miss Stanton could have love enough
If she had but needed it; I am all alone.”
“ Shall we dispute,” said Mary—“ half in sport.”
Which of us has the largest share of woe?—
Ah no ! life is too short, 1’11 change my note
And sing instead of light and love and flowers,
And quite forget the echo of the song
That caused your talk to take that bitter tone,
To-morrow we go home, to-morrow morn;
I have a fancy to explore your coast
With you, Sir Wilfred, you can teach me much,
And we’ll go early e’er the morn is high,
Aye, even watch the sun rise o’er the sea.”
“Agreed,” I answered, “only just that word,
�One Year in his Life concluded.
My heart leaped high and beat against my breast,
And questions crowded quiekly thro’ my brain,
Can she have learned at last to love my soul,
Or will she in her mercy gently crush
The hopes and longings that the summer nursed?
Or has she quite forgotten how I loved ?
Here do I pause, here shrink in actual pain,
At putting the last touches to the tale
Of this my living, yet oh, heart, be strong,
Tell all thy story and then close the book,
And let the past lay it within its breast,
And glide away into its shadowy home,—
The morning came, not clear and calmly bright,
But wild and glowring: still she kept the tryst,
And we walked towards the coast. I did not speak
Until we reached the shore; th’ uneasy waves
Moaned greyly ’mid the shadows, and the rocks
Loomed blackly o’er our heads, straight, sharp, and steep :
We wandered on, until a tiny cove,
Lit with the coming day, enticed our steps
To stay themselves, and so we rested there,
And watched the fitful wavelets come and go,—
“ Gloriously wild,” I said, half to myself,
“ Yet miserable, for it tells of winter’s hand,
That summer’s passing, all the sweets will go,
And I shall weary of the wiuter time,
And wonder in the gloom why things are so,
And cavil at the God who made them thus.
Miss Stanton ; all this week I’ve watched your face,
Yearning for sign or word to shew to me
That you are still remembring what I said
Before I left the river in the spring.—
Mary, I pause again ; my very soul
Sickens with aprehensión; nay, my dear,
l)o not be crying; I should hold my peace,
But hope is hard in dying—will not die
Till hell’s own touch makes us abandon it.
Child, I am happy but to see you, feel
Your presence round me, if I try once more
To keep you here regardless of the pain,—
You have in hearing me, forgive me then ?”
She answered not, but gazed away, and I
Cared not to break the silence, so we sat,
An hour or more, until the gathering light
Showed us the day—was here, and showed us more,—
102
�103
The Practical I dealist.
Here is the climax ; but I cannot paint
E’en for your eyes our agony, my pain:
A natural pain at losing sight of life
And facing fully all the facts of death,
For as we sat there, round had crept the waves
And hemmed us in, and we had scarce an hour
That we could call our own; God only knows
Why this was done; we climbed the steep black rocks
Until we could not climb another step,
A.nd then she spoke quiet quietly and slow,
“ Sir Wilfred, we are dead ! so I may speak
May tell you now, what never in this life
I fear me I’d have told you, face to face,
I love you 1—do not start and press me close,
Remember death knows neither bliss nor pain,
Nought but oblivion or a higher sphere
Where kisses do not come, or clasping arms,
But, chance, a fuller knowledge; now they creep
About us here, those cruel curling waves,
So soon to crush us in their deadly grasp.”—
“I can’t beliwe we’re dead! is there no hope?
“ Oh God,” I cried, “ is their no hope indeed,
Can we not live now I have won her soul
To love mine own, despite the cursed form
That hangs a burden on my feeble life ?
Oh God be merciful, nor dash the cup
I yearned so long for, from my thirsting lip,
Oh! Mary, if we die, and die we must—
Watch how those cruel waves grow at our feet,—
Meet death within mine arms; perchance, perchance
You’ll feel them round you; I may feel your form
Within them in the silence of the grave.—
These arms! oh God, misshapen as they are
It is impossible to know that swift
They’ll be all nerveless, that our tongues that speak
And call each other by our names to-day
Will never whisper more;—oh Mary, love,
Tell me you love me, once before we die.”
“ I love you,” said she, and she took my hands
And placed them round her, leaning down her head,
And blushing tenderly ; ay, even then ;
God has His purpose, “ let us hope, in this,”
She added slowly, “better thus to die
Than to live on a useless, loveless life,
I would have been loveless, for my soul I fear
Has not the nobleness to love yours quite
As ’twill when unencumbered by the mark
�One Year in his Life concluded.
You bear about you, of mishapenness,
Dear Wilfred, I shall love you when we’re dead,
It will be nought, if death is only sleep,
To sleep within your arms, but death is more,
’Tis painful, oh! 1 shudder, see the waves
Curl now about our feet, oh hold me fast 1
’Tis the unraveller sure of all our doubts,
The soother of our puzzled weary brain,”
She murmured, as she watched the rising tide,
“ How near death is, yet seems it Wondrous far,
Wondrous unreal, that we are standing here,
Quivering with life, yet trembling into death,
And Mildred waits and wonders why we stay.”
I held her to my breast, and clasped her close
And murmured little sentences of love
And death crept nearer, o’er our trembling feet,
Up to our knees it came, I had small strength,
—Due to my cursed shape,—to hold her there,
Yet we clung on, and hoped until the last,
A boat might come and take us from death’s jaws :
“ I’m trying hard,” said Mary, “ to be good,
To say the prayers our lips have ever prayed
But they are not for dying, parting 8ouls,
Our Father hangs in utterance, and my soul
Can but resign itself because it must,
With just a hope that God is over us,
To take us gently now our work is done,
To somewhere, where our living is not just
A groping after shadows, but a guest
For answers to the questions that have pressed
Since childhood wearily upon our hearts.”
“ Let it come quickly,” groaned I. “ Oh, my love,
My little love, kiss me upon the lips
And let your kiss baptise my soul anew;
In mercy kiss me.”—“ Oh good bye my dear,
Good bye but for a moment, whispered she,
Thank God we go together, here is death.”
E’en as she spoke, our lips met in one kiss,
And I remember nothing, save a shock,
A parting of my hold upon the cliff,
Until I came to life here,—save the mark !
To life, nay unto death—the bitterness
Had passed, the wrenching of the mental part
From the more sense of life that is such pain;
The real Death,—felt when I saw Mildred’s face
Looking upon me, turning into pain,
104
�1.05
The Practical Idealist.
When with a gasp, I asked for Mary’s hands
To smoothe my pillow, cool my throbbing brow.
“ Dead ! dead ! ” I whispered as my mera’ry came
Back from that dim mysterious shore, where none
Can trace the footsteps that oblivion made,
Or follow where sleep led at evening’s tide
When one returns one does return for aye
Without one fact traced on the dreaming brain,
Will it be thus I wonder when we’re dead?
Shall we awake as from a troubled dream,
With no remembrance, nothing save a thought,
That somewhere in the darkness we have met
With such a one, or somewhere else, one knew
What ’twas to love?’—God keep my memory clear,
And save me here from madness in the pause
That lies before me me till I meet my love.
I saw her dead, laid in her coffined peace
Smiling with upturned face; I realized
That she was gone, and yet I lived, and live.
(Some boat had come into the little cove
And rescued me, the first wave kdled my love;
She had no pain,—that all is left for me,
I had forgot to tell you how I lived.)
Here is my story, Arthur! read it o’er
Then mark it with a query, nought is solved,
Not one thing answered; here i3 this and that,
Facts upon facts, each laid in due array,
Such suffring, so much death, so little cause,
Yet people who are pious, simply sigh,
When they are asked the reason of this thing,
And think I take the comfort when they say,
With untried faith, “ Sure, God is very good.”
S. Panton.
Correction, In our May No.—Muriel's Story,
Author's copy runs—Up steep Parnassus, &c.
line 11,
page 62, the
NOTICE!
Competition for tiie Lavreatesiiip of tiie Association. 1870-1871.—The Author of
the best poem on the subject—Social Progress, shall be the Laureate for the ensuing year.
The Judges will be the Members of the Council, who will not be debarred from compet
ing, (present Laureates excepted). No limits are imposed as regards the length of the
Poems. They should be sent before the 1st of September, to the Hon. Assist. Secretary,
Augustus Villa, 90, Richmond Road, Hackney, N.
Erratum. Page 92. line 9. For—Turn me—read—turn we.
�
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The Practical Idealist
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Place of publication: [s.l.]
Collation: [82] -105 p. ; 23 cm.
Notes: Possibly from the journal of the Social Progress Association. {from KVK]. Contents: The idealist's code of faith -- A patched society (Digest:-continued) / Ernina Landon -- Large lobe, or Eros versus Aphrodite -- On prayer /Alex Teegen -- "Despised and dejected" / H.L.M. -- One year in his life (concluded) S. Panton.
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THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
BY FREDERIC HARRISON.
HE interest which the system known as Positivism awakens
in public attention is so vastly in excess of any knowledge
of the writings of Comte, and of any attempts at propagandism made by his followers, that it may afford matter
for some curious reflection. On the one hand, we have one of the most
voluminous if not the most elaborate of all modern philosophies, com
posed in a foreign language and a highly technical style. Those who
have honestly studied, or even actually read, these difficult works may
be numbered on the hand; and no methodical exposition of them exists
in this country. The full adherents of this system in England are
known to be few; and they but very rarely address the public. Among
the regular students of Comte two or three alone find means occasion
ally to express their views, and that for the most part on special sub
jects. Such is the only medium through which the ideas of Comte are
promulgated—a mass of writings practically unread; a handful of
disciples for the most part silent.
On the other hand, the press and society, platform and pulpit, are
continually resounding with criticism, invective, and moral reflection
arrayed against this system. Reviews devote article after article to
demonstrate anew the absurdity or the enormity of these views. The
critics cut and thrust at will, well knowing that there is no one to re
taliate ; secure of the field to themselves, they fight the battle o’er again;
thrice have they routed all their foes, and thrice they slay the slain.
Religious journalism, too, delights to use the name of Comte as a sort
of dark relief to the glowing colors of the Scarlet Woman. Semi-re
ligious journals detect his subtle influence in everything, from the last
poem to the coming revolution. Drowsy congregations are warned
against doctrines from which they run as little risk as they do from
that of Parthenogenesis, and which they are yet less likely to under
stand. Society even knows all about it, and chirrups the last gossip or
jest at afternoon tea-tables. Yet even under this the philosophy of
Comte survives; for criticism of this kind, it need hardly be said, is
not for the most part according to knowledge.
Some such impression is left by the glaring inconsistencies which
appear among the critics themselves. They have so easy a time of it in
T
�50
THE
POSITIVIST PBOBLEM.
piling up charges against Positivism, that they, in a great degree, dis
pose of each other. According to some, for instance, it would promote
a perfect pandemonium of anarchy. With others it means only the
“paralyzing and iron rule of law.” With some it is the concentration
of all human energy on self; with others, an Utopia which is to elimi
nate self from human nature. Now it is to crush out of man every
instinct of veneration for a superior being; now it is to enthrall him in
a superstitious devotion. The followers of Comte are at once the vota
ries of disorder and of arbitrary power; of the coldest materialism and
the most ideal sentimentalism; they are blind to everything but the
facts of sensation, yet they foster the most visionary of hopes; they
execrate all that is noble in man, and yet dream of human perfectibility.
In a word, they are anarchists or absolutists; pitiless or maudlin; ma
terialists or transcendentalists, as it may suit the palette of the artist to
depict them.
Now all of these things cannot be true together. If it is proved to
the satisfaction of a thousand critics that Positivism is a mass of absur
dity, why need we hear so much about it ? How can that still be
dangerous which is hardly ever heard of but in professed refutations,
and known only through adverse critics ? It is strange that a writer,
as they tell us, of obscure French, such as no one can make sense of,
who finds in this country but an occasional student, should need such
an army to annihilate him. If he were responsible for one-tenth of the
contradictory views which are put into his mouth, he is self-condemned
already. No house so divided against itself could stand, to say nothing
of the critical batteries which thunder on it night and day—religious,
scientific, literary champions without stint, warning an intelligent
public against a new mystery of abominations. “ Dearly beloved,” cries
the priest, “beware of this soul-destroying doctrine of Humanity!”
“ Science has not a good word for it,” cries the man of physics, “ to say
nothing of its irreligion! ” and so makes a truce with the man of God.
“ And literature has a thousand ill names for it,” cry out the brazen
tongues of the press through all its hundred throats of brass. Yet,
withal, the thoughts of Comte seem still to live and grow, to flourish
without adherents, and to increase without apostles. They must be in
some way in the air; for all that men see is the refutation of that
which none study, the smiting of those who do not contend. Epur si
muove !
Those to whom the system of Comte is of serious moment would be
but of a poor spirit if they lost heart under such a combination of
assaults, or took pleasure in the signs of so wide-spread an interest. A
perpetual buzzing about a new system of thought can as little do it
good as it can do it harm. The students of Comte would be foolishly
sanguine if they set this down to real study or serious interest in his
system. They would be culpably weak if they supposed it was due to
any efforts of their own to extend it.
�THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
51
However much Positivism may desire the fullest discussion, little can
come of criticism which does not pretend to start with effective study.
As a system it demands far too much both in the way of sustained
thought and of practical action, to gain by becoming merely a subject
of social or literary causerie. The platoon firing of the professional
critics, and the buzz of the world, may become fatiguing; but both in
the main are harmless, and in any case appear to be inevitable.
But when we look below the surface a different view will appear.
However few are they who avow Positivism completely, its spirit per
meates all modem thought. Those who teach the world have all learnt
something from it. The awe-struck interest it arouses in truly relig
ious minds shows how it can touch the springs of human feeling. Men
of the world are conscious that it is a power clearly organic, and that it
is bent on results. And even the curiosity of society bears witness that
its ideas can probe our social instincts to the root.
It cannot, indeed, be denied that so general an interest in this subject
is itself a significant fact; and though it be not due to anything like a
study of Comte, and most certainly to nothing that is done by his
adherents, it has beyond question a cause. This cause is that the age
is one of Construction—and Positivism is essentially constructive.
Men in these times crave something organic and systematic. Ideas are
gaining a slow but certain ascendency. There is abroad a strange consciousne*ss of doubt, instability, and incoherence; and, withal, a secret
yearning after certainty and reorganization in thought and in life.
Even the special merits of this time, its candor, tolerance, and spirit of
inquiry, exaggerate our consciousness of mental anarchy, and give a
strange fascination to anything that promises to end it.
We have passed that stage of thought in which men hate or despise
the religious and social beliefs they have outgrown—their articles of
religion, constitutions of State, and orders of society. We feel the need
of something to replace them more and more sadly, and day by day we
grow more honestly and yet tenderly ashamed of the old faiths we once
had. At bottom mankind really longs for something like a rule of
life, something that shall embody all the phases of our multiform
knowledge, and yet slake our thirst for organic order. Now there is, it
may be said without fear, absolutely nothing which pretends to meet
all these conditions—but one thing, and that is Positivism. There are,
no doubt, religions in plenty, systems of science, theories of politics,
and the like; but there is only one system which takes as its subject
all sides of human thought, feeling, and action, and then builds these
up into a practical system of life. Hence it is that, however imperfectly
known, Positivism is continually presenting itself; and though but
little studied, and even less preached, it ceases not to work. It proposes
some solution to the problem which is silently calling for an answer in
the depths of every vigorous mind that has ceased to be satisfied with
the past. It states the problem at least, and nothing else does even
�52
THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
this. Thus, in spite of every distortion from ignorance or design, the
scheme of Positivism has such affinity for the situation that it is ever
returning to men’s view. For whilst mankind, in the building of the
mighty tower of Civilization, seem for the time struck as if with a con
fusion of purpose, and the plan of the majestic edifice for the time
seems lost or forgotten, ever and anon there grows visible to the eye of
imagination the outline of an edifice in the future, of harmonious de
sign and just proportion, filling the mind with a sense of completeness
and symmetry.
An interest thus wide and increasing in a system so very imperfectly
known, proves that it strikes a chord in modern thought. And as
among those who sit in judgment on it there must be some who hon
estly desire to give it a fair hearing, a few words may not be out of
place to point out some of the postulates, as it were, of the subject, and
some of the causes which may account for criticisms so incessant and
so contradictory. It need hardly be said that these words are offered
not as by authority, or ex cathedrd, from one who pretends to speak in
the name of any body or any person whatever. They are some of the
questions which have beset the path of one who is himself a disciple
and not an apostle, and the answers which he offers are simple sugges
tions proposed only to such as may care to be fellow-hearers with him.
It is of the first importance for any serious consideration of Posi
tivism to know what is the task it proposes to itself. For the grounds
on which it is attacked are so strangely remote, and appear to be so
little connected, that perhaps no very definite conception exists of what
its true scope is. There is much discussion now as to its scientific
dogmas, now as to its forms of worship, now as to its political prin
ciples. But Positivism is not simply a new system of thought. It is
not simply a religion—much less is it a political system. It is at once
a philosophy and a polity; a system of thought and a system of life;
the aim of which is to bring all our intellectual powers and our social
sympathies into close correlation. The problem which it proposes is
twofold: to harmonize our conceptions and to systematize human life;
and furthermore, to do the first only for the sake of the second.
Now this primary notion stands at the very root of the matter, and
if well kept in view it may spare much useless discussion and many
hard words. Thus viewed, Positivism is really not in competition with
any other existing system. It is hardly in contrast with any, because
none is in pari materid—none claims the same sphere. No extant re
ligion professes to cover the same ground, and therefore with none can
Positivism be placed in contrast. Christianity, whatever it may have
claimed in the age of Aquinas and Dante, certainly in our day does not
profess to harmonize the results of science and methodize thought. On
the contrary, it is one of the boasts of Christianity that its work is ac
complished in the human heart, whatever be the forms of thought and
even of society. It cannot therefore be properly contrasted with Posi
�THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
53
tivism, for they are essentially disparate, and the function claimed by
the one is not that claimed by the other.
So, too, Positivism is hardly capable of comparison with any existing
philosophy. There are many systems of science and methods of thought
before the world, but they insist on being heard simply as such, and
not as being also religions, or schemes of life. They stand before the
judgment-seat of the intellect, and they call for sentence from it accord
ing to its law. Such social or moral motive as they rest on is ade
quately supplied in the love of truth and the general bearing of knowl
edge on human happiness. Their doctrines ask to stand or fall on
their own absolute strength, and are not put forward as a mere intro
duction to a form of life. Not but what, of course, philosophers,
ancient and modern, have elaborated practical applications of their
teaching to life. But no modern philosophy, as such, puts itself forth
as a part of a larger system, as a mere foundation on which to build the
society, as a major premise only in a strict syllogism of which the con
clusion is action. Now this the Positive philosophy does. Positivism
therefore is not a religion, for its first task was to found a complete
system of philosophy: nor is it á philosophy, for its doctrines are but
the intellectual basis of a definite scheme of life: nor a polity, for it
makes political progress but the corollary of moral and intellectual
movements. But, though being itself none of these three, it professes
to comprehend them all, and that in their fullest sense. Thus it
stands essentially alone, a system in antagonism strictly with none, the
function and sphere of which is claimed by no other as its own.
Criticism which ignores this primary point, which deals with a sys
tem as if its end were something other than it is, can hardly be worth
much. And thus viewed, a mass of popular objections fall to the
ground. For instance, a continual stumbling-block is found in politi
cal institutions and reforms which Positivism proposes—institutions
which are wholly alien, it is true, to our existing political atmosphere,
and which could hardly exist in it, or would be actively noxious. But
these are proposed by Positivism only on the assumption that they fol
low on and complete an intellectual, social, and moral reorganization
by which society would be previously transformed, and for which an
adequate machinery is provided. No value can attach therefore to any
judgment on the political institutions per se, tom from the soil in
which they are to be planted, crudely judged by the political tone of
the hour. No serious judgment is possible until the social and intel
lectual basis on which they are to be built has been comprehended and
weighed, and found to be inadequate or impossible. But this is what
he who criticises the system from a special point of view is unwilling
or unable to do.
So with the philosophy—we often hear indignant protests against
the attempt made by Comte to organize the investigation of nature.
Nothing is easier than to show that the organization proposed might
�54
THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
check the discovery of some curious facts, or the pursuits of certain
seekers after truth. But the same would be true of any organization
whatever. The problem of human life is not to secure the greatest ac
cumulation of knowledge, or the vastest body of truth, but that which
is most valuable to man; not to stimulate to the utmost the exercise
of the intelligence, but to make it practically subservient to the happi
ness of the race. The charge therefore that the Positive philosophy
would set boundaries to the intellect by setting it a task, is not to the
purpose, even if it were true. This might be said of almost every re
ligion and any system of morality. The very point in issue is whether
the true welfare of mankind is best secured by the absolute independ
ence of the mind, going to and fro like the wind which bloweth
whither it listeth.
Thus, too, in criticising the religious side of Positivism, it is argued
that it fails to provide for this or that emotion or yearning of the re
ligious spirit; that it leaves many a solemn question unanswered, and
many a hope unsatisfied, and has no place for the mystical and the In
finite, for absolute goodness, or power, or eternity. Be it so. The
objection might have weight if Positivism were offering a new form of
theology, or came forward simply as a new sort of religion. But the
problem before us is this—whether these ideas can find a place in any
religion which is to be in living harmony with a scientific philosophy.
We are called on to decide whether, since these notions are repugnant
to rational philosophy, religion and thought must forever be divorced,
and whether we must choose thought without religion, or religion
without thought. Positivism, if it has no place for the mystical or su
pernatural, has the Widest field for the Ideal and the Abstract. It
holds out the utmost reach for any intensity of sentiment. Nor could
its believers fail in a boundless vista of hope; of hope which, while it
is substantial and real, is not less ardent, and far more unselfish, than
the ideals of' older faiths. Positivism maintains that supposing estab
lished such a scientific and moral philosophy as it conceives, inspiring
a community so full of practical energies and social sympathies as that
which it creates, a rational religion is possible, but such hopes and
yearnings would be practically obsolete, supplanted by deeper and yet
purer aspirations. They would perish of inanition in a mind or a so
ciety really imbued with the relative and social spirit. They had -no
place under the practical morality and social life of past ages. They
would have none, it argues, under the scientific philosophy and the
public activity of the future. The truth of this expectation cannot
possibly be estimated without a thorough weighing both of the philos
ophy and of the polity which it is proposed to found, and a very sys
tematic comparison of their combined effects.
To treat philosophy, religion, or polity without regard to the place
each holds in the general synthesis, is simply to beg the question. It is
much more to the purpose to argue that the general synthesis which
�THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
55
Positivism proposes to create is not needed at all, or even if needed, is
perfectly chimerical. Certainly it is a question which cannot be dis
cussed here; and perhaps it is one which cannot be settled by any dis
cussion at all. It seems one of those ultimate questions which can only
be determined by the practical issue, and which no a, priori argument
can touch. Solvetur ambulando. It has been most vigorously treated
by Mr. Mill in his estimate of Positivism, and, like all that he has said
on this subject, deserves the most diligent thought. After all, it may
be the truth that this question of questions—if human life be or be not
reducible to one harmony—is one of those highest generalizations
which the future alone can decide, and which no man can decide to be
impossible until it has been proved so.
In any case, those who have no mind to busy themselves with any
system of life or synthesis of social existence whatever—and they are
the great bulk of rqankind—may well be asked to spare themselves
many needless protestations. Positivism most certainly will not
trouble them; and the world is wide enough for them all. Still less
need of passionate disclaimers and attacks have all they who are hon
estly satisfied with their religious and social faith as it is. Positivism
looks on their convictions with the most sincere respect, and shrinks from
wounding or disturbing the very least of them. How much waste of
energy and serenity might be spared to many conscientious persons if
these simple conditions were observed! Positivism is in its very essence
unaggressive and non-destructive; for it seeks only to build up, and to
build up step by step. It must appeal to very few at present, for the first of
its conditions—the need of a new System of Life—is as yet admitted only
by a few. It must progress but slowly as yet, for its scheme is too wide
to be compatible with haste. If all of those who are alien to anything
like a new order of human life, and all those who are satisfied with the
* order they have lived under would go their own way and leave Posi
tivism to those who seek it, a great deal of needless irritation and agi
tation would be happily averted. The idea that thought and life may
some day on this earth be reduced to organic order and harmony may
be Utopian, but is it one so grotesque that it need arouse the tiresome
horseplay of every literary trifler? And though there be men so un
wise as to search after this Sangreal in a moral and intellectual re
form, is their dream so anti-social as to justify an organized hostility
which amounts to oppression? Incessant attempts to crush by the
weight of invective, fair or unfair, a new system of philosophy, which
appeals solely to opinion, and which numbers but a handful of adher
ents for the most part engaged in study, are not the highest forms of
intelligent criticism. Positivism as a system has nothing to say to any
but the very few who are at once disbelievers in the actual systems of
faith and life, and are believers in the possibility of such a system in
the future. To the few who seek it, it presents a task, as it fairly warns
them, requiring prolonged patience and labor. The rest it will scarcely
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THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
trouble unless they seek it; and perhaps it will be better that they
should leave it alone. Little can come of eternally discussing the solu
tion of a problem which men have no wish to see solved, or of multi
plying objections to what they have no mind to investigate.
Positivism, then, consists of a philosophy, a religion, and a polity;
and to regard it as being any one of these three singly, or to criticise
any one of them separately, is simple waste of time. Its first axiom is,
that all of these spheres of life suffer from their present disorder, because
hitherto no true synthesis has been found to harmonize them. This
axiom is obviously one which must meet with opposition, and in any
case be very slowly accepted. The very notion of system and organiza
tion implies subordination in the parts, submission to control, and
mutual concession. The unbounded activity, independence, and free
dom of the present age, not to say its anarchy and incoherence, quiver,
it seems, in every nerve at the least show of discipline. Yet any species
of organization involve discipline, and any discipline involves some re
straint. Of course, therefore, any scheme to organize thought and life
presented in an age of boundless liberty and individualism meets oppo
sition at every point. To show that Positivism involves a systematic
control over thought and life is not an adequate answer to it. To prove
of a new system that it is a system is not a final settling the question
until you have first proved that no system can be good. All civilizartion and every religion, all morality and every kind of society, imply
some restraint and subordination. The question—and it is a question
which cannot be decided off-hand—is whether more is implied in the
system of Positivism than is involved in the very notion of a synthesis,
or a harmony co-extensive with human life.
It is worthy of notice how entirely new to modern thought is this
cardinal idea of Positivism—that of religion, science, and industry
working in one common life—how little such an idea can be grasped *
in the light of the spirit of the day! Yet so far is it from being an
extravagant vision, that it sleeps silently in the depths of every brain
which ever looks into the future of the race. None but they who dwell
with regret on the past, or are engrossed in the cares of the present,
doubt but what the time will come when the riddle of social life will be
read, and the powers of man work in unison together; when thought
shall be the prelude only to action or to art, and action and art be but
the realization of affection and emotion; when brain, heart, and will
have but one end, and that end be the happiness of man on earth.
And thus while priest, professor, and politician forswear the scheme
which Positivism offers, and society resounds with criticism and refu
tation, none believe it overcome or doubt its vitality; for it remains
the only conception which pretends to satisfy an undying aspiration
of the soul.
Whether the pursuit of system or harmony be carried out by Comte
extravagantly or not is, no doubt, a question of the first importance.
�t
THE
ii a
pa
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B
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
57
It is certainly one which there is no intention of discussing here. But
in any case it is not to be decided lightly. Mr. Mill, as has been said,
has argued this question-with all that power which in him is exceeded
only by his candor. But which of the other critics have done the
like ? A criticism like that of Mr. Mill is a totally different thing,
and worthy of all attention. Nor must it be forgotten how largely, in
criticising Positivism, he accepts its substantial bases. Nothing can
be more disingenuous than to appeal to the authority of Mr. Mill as
finally disposing of the social philosophy of Comte, when Mr. Mill has
adhered to so much of the chief bases of that philosophy in general,
and has warmly justified some of the most vital features of the social
system. A system may be false, but it is not false solely because it is a
system. It might very possibly be that harmony had only been
attained by Positivism at the expense of truth or life, by doing violence
to the facts of Nature, or by destroying liberty of action. But this is
a matter depending so much on a multitude of combined arguments
and on such general considerations, that it can be decided only after
long and patient study. It clearly cannot be done piecemeal or at first
sight. And of all questions is the one in which haste and exaggeration
are most certain to mislead.
Let us follow a little further each of the three sides of Positivism—
the Philosophy, the Religion, the Polity—in order, but not independ
ently, so as to put before us the goal they propose to win and the main
obstacles in their path. The grand end which it proposes to philosophy
is to give organic unity to the whole field of our conceptions, whether
in the material or in the moral world, to order all branches of knowl
edge into their due relations, and hence to classify the sciences. Even
if the unthinking were to regard this project as idle or extravagant,
every instructed mind well knows that it is involved in the very nature
of philosophy, and has been its dream from the first. Can it be neces
sary to argue that the very meaning of philosophy is to give system to
our thoughts ? What are laws of nature but generalizations ? what
are generalizations but a multitude of facts referred to a common
idea ? what is science but the bringing the manifold under the one ?
Knowledge itself is but the study of relations; and the highest knowl
edge, the study of the ultimate relations.
And as science has no meaning but the systematizing of separate
ideas, so the grand systematizing of all ideas has been the ceaseless aim
of philosophy. What else were the strange but luminous hypotheses
of the early Greeks? what else was the colossal task of Aristotle?
what else that of the elder Bacon and his coevals, of the other Bacon,
of Descartes, of Leibnitz, of the Encyclopaedists, of Hegel ?
That order is the ultimate destiny of all our knowledge is so ob
vious that the effort to found it at once can be met only by one objec
tion worthy of an answer, and that is that the aim is premature. It is
very easy to see that the earlier attempts, when even astronomy was in
�58
THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
complete and the moral sciences outside the pale of law, were utterly
premature. But whether the task is premature now is entirely dif
ferent. After all, it is one of those questions which no a priori argu
ment can affect. It is not premature if it can be even approximately
done. Yet the mere suggestion of it arouses a myriad-headed oppo
sition. In every science and every sub-section of a science a specialist
starts forth to tell us that generations of observers are needed to ex
haust even his own particular corner in the field of knowledge. And
if one science is to become but the instrument of another, if one kind
of inquiry is to be subordinated to another, we should fetter, they tell
us, the freedom which has led to so many brilliant discoveries, and
leave unsolved many a curious problem.
The answer of Positivism is simply this: If the systematizing of
knowledge will be premature before all this is accomplished, it will
always be premature. The end for which we are to wait is one utterly
chimerical. No doubt there are no bounds to knowledge, any more
than there are bounds to the universe. As Aristotle says, thus one
would go on for ever without result; so that the search will be fruitless
and vain. Nay, if we go by quantity, estimate our knowledge now as
compared with the facts of the universe, we are but children still play
ing on the shore of an infinite sea. If, before philosophy can be
formed into a systematic whole, every phenomenon which the mind
can grasp in the inorganic or in the organic world has to be first ex
amined—every atom which microscope can detect, every nebula which
telescope can reach—if every living thing has to be analyzed down to
the minutest variation of its tissues, from infinitesimal protozoa to
palaeontologic monsters—if every recorded act, word, or thought of
men has to be first exhausted before the science of sciences can begin
—the task is hopeless, for the subject is infinite. A life of toil may
be baffled by the problems to be found in one drop of turbid water.
Ten generations of thinkers might perish before they had succeeded in
explaining all that it is conceivable science might detect on a withered
leaf. And whole academies of historians would not suffice fully to
raise the veil that shrouds a single human life.
Were science pursued indefinitely on this scale, not only would the
earth not contain all the books that should be written, but no conceivable
brain could grasp, much less organize, the infinite maze. The task of
organization would thus be made more hopeless each day, and philos
ophy would be as helpless as Xerxes in the midst of his countless
hosts. The radical difference between the point of view of the positive
and the current philosophy, that which feeds the internecine conflict
between them, is that between the relative and the absolute. Looked
at from the absolute point of view—that is, as the phenomena of mat
ter and life present themselves from without—the task of exhausting
I he knowledge of them is truly infinite, and that of systematizing them
is truly hopeless. From the relative point of view philosophy is called
�THE P OSITIVIST PROBLEM.
59
on to exist, not for its own sake, but as the immediate minister of life.
To utilize it, and to organize in order to utilize it, is of far higher im
portance than to extend it. It judges the value of truths, not by the
degree of intellectual brilliancy they exhibit, or the delight they afford
to the imagination, but by their relation, in a broad sense, to the prob
lem of human happiness. Till this great problem is nearer its solution,
Positivism is content to leave many a problem yet unsolved and many
a discovery unrevealed. It sees life to be surrounded by such problems
as by an atmosphere “ measureless to man; ” for life rests ever like an
island girt by an ocean of the Insoluble, and hangs like our own planet,
a firm and solid spot suspended in impenetrable space.
What is the test of true knowledge, when phenomena, facts, and
therefore truths, are actually infinite? The fact that this or that gas
has been detected in a fixed star is, no doubt, a brilliant discovery in
the absolute point of view; but, in the relative, it might possibly turn
out to be a mere feat of scientific gymnastic—the answer to a scientific
puzzle. The discoverer of many a subtle problem may be, absolutely
speaking, entitled to the honor of mankind; but relatively, if his
problem is valueless, he may have been wasting his time and his
powers. Hence the special professors of every science are the first to
resent the principles and the judgments of the relative mode of
thought. They cannot endure that their intellectual achievements
should be judged by any but scientific standards, or their inquiries
directed by any but scientific motives. The whole conception of the
relative method differs from theirs. It calls for the solution first of
those problems in each science which a systematic philosophy of them
all indicates as the most fruitful sources of inquiry: it enjoins the fol
lowing of one study and science for the sake of and as minister to
another, and of all for the sake of establishing a rational basis for human
life and activity. And this not in the vague general spirit that all
knowledge is good, and all discoveries useful to man, and no one can
tell which or how. The same objection was brought against Aristotle
and Bacon when they proposed their Organa, or clues to inquiry. All
truths may have some value, but they are not equally valuable. The
claim of the relative is to test their value by a system of referring them
to human necessities. It sees the life of man stumbling and wander
ing for the want of a foundation and guide of certain and organized
knowledge. Each hour the want of a rational philosophy to direct and
control our social activity is more pressing, yet the absolute spirit in
science, vain-glorious and unmindful of its function, shakes off the idea
of a yoke-fellow, and widens the gulf between thought and life by soli
tary flights amidst worlds of infinite phenomena.
It is sometimes pretended—it must be said rather perversely—that
this relative conception of science is akin to the stifling of thought by
the Catholic Church. It is of course true that the Holy Inquisition,
like most dominant religions, did claim the right, in virtue of its
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THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
divine mission, of dictating to the intellect certain subjects as forbid
den ground, and warning it off from these limits; it dictated to the
intellect the conclusions which it was required to establish, and the
methods it was permitted to use—and this not on intellectual, but on
religious and supernatural grounds. Positivism neither dictates to the
intellect nor hampers its activity. It calls on it on grounds of philos
ophy, and on demonstrable principles, to work in its own free light;
but by that light, and at its own discretion, to choose those spheres and
to follow those methods that shall combine harmoniously with a scheme
of active life as systematic as itself. This is utterly distinct from the
slavery of the mind, according to the Catholic or any other religious
notion. The comparison is as simple a sophistry as to argue that it is
slavery in the will deliberately to follow the dictates of conscience.
No one who has given the subject a second thought can suppose
that Positivism, in bringing the intellect into intimate union with the
other sides of human nature for the direct object of human happiness,
intends thereby to confine it to the material uses of life, or to refer
every thought to some immediate practical end. The former is mere
materialism ; the second simple empiricism; and both utterly unphilosophical. On the contrary, by far the noblest part of the task of the
mind is to minister to moral and spiritual needs. And by far the most
of its efforts are employed in strengthening its own powers, and amass
ing the materials for long series of deductions. Philosophy, as Positiv
ism conceives it, would annihilate itself by becoming either material
or empirical. Its business is to systematize the highest results of
thought; but those results are the highest which are most essential
to, and can be assimilated best by, human life as a whole.
And
no system can be the true one but as it orders all thoughts in rela
tion, first to each other, and, secondly, in relation to every power of
man.
Can it be needful again to say that the attempt of Positivism to
systematize the sciences is very far from implying that there is but one
science and one method, or that it would reduce all knowledge to one
set of laws. Its chief task has been to show the boundaries of the
sciences, to classify the different methods appropriate to each, and to
point out how visionary are all attempts at ultimate generalizations.
When men of science tell us that processes of reasoning are used indis
criminately in all sciences, and that all scientific questions are ulti
mately referable to one set of laws, they are going back to the infancy
of philosophy, effacing all that has been done to analyze reasoning, and
attempting, as of old, to reach some chimerical, because universal,
principle. It is but the materialist phase of the metaphysical problem.
Supposing all questions of science, including all social questions, as has
been proposed, not apparently in jest, could be reduced to questions of
molecular physics, how would this serve human life more than if they
were reduced to air, water, or fire ? The end of specialism is at hand
�THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
61
if science is looking for some ultimate principle of the universe. The
search is equally unpractical, whether it be pursued by crude guessing
or by microscopes and retorts. It would not help us if we knew it;
and as Aristotle says of Plato’s idea, the highest principle would
contain none under it. It would be so general as to support no prac
tical derivatives. Like all extreme abstractions, it would bear no fruit.
Turn on whichever side we will, we meet this conflict between the
relative and the absolute point of view. The absolute burns for new
worlds to conquer; the relative insists that the empire already won,
before all things, be reduced to order, and knowledge systematized in
order to be applied. The absolute calls us to admire its brilliant dis
coveries ; the relative regrets that such efforts were not spent in dis
covering the needful thing. The absolute claims entire freedom for
itself; the relative asks that its labors be directed to a systematic end.
It is the old question between individual and associated effort—the
spontaneous and the disciplined—the special and the general point of
view'. We might imagine the case of a general with a genius for war,
such as Hannibal or Napoleon, carrying on a campaign with a hetero
geneous host and a staff of specialist subordinates. He desires to learn
the shape of a country, the powers of his artillery, the fortification of
his camp, or the engineering of his works. He seeks to master each
of these arts himself, so far as he has means, and for his ultimate end.
But with his specialists he wages a constant struggle. His geographer
has a thousand points still to observe to complete his survey. His en
gineers start curious problems in physics, and each science has its own
work, as each captain of irregulars may have his pet plan. It may be
true that much may be needed before any of the branches can be
thoroughly done ; and the scheme of some subordinate officer might
possibly destroy a certain number of the enemy. But the true general
knows that all these things are good only in a relative manner. His
end is victory, or rather conquest.
Thus it is not only intelligible, but quite inevitable, that Positivism
should meet the stoutest opposition from the science of the day, not
only in details and in estimates, but even in general conceptions, and
yet not be unscientific. The strictures of men even really eminent in
special departments are precisely what every system must encounter
which undertakes the same task. That all such should make them,
more especially if they be inclined to theology, or devotees of individ
ualism, is so entirely natural that any answer in detail must be an end
less task. By their fruits you shall know them. Let us see them pro
duce a system of thought more harmonious in itself and more applica
ble to the whole of human life. Every new philosophy which proposes to
change the very point of view of thought has always incurred fierce oppo
sition. Every new religion and social system has seemed to its predeces
sors an evil and cruel dream. How much more a system which involves
at once a new philosophy, a new religion, and a new society; which brings
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THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
to thought a change greater than that wrought by Bacon or Descartes;
which draws a spiritual bond vaster and deeper than that which was
conceived by Paul, and founds a social system that differs from our own
more than the modern differs from the ancient world.
Whether the actual solution of the problem of systematizing thought
as worked out by Comte in all its sides, his statement of natural laws,
and his classification of the sciences, be adequate or true, is a matter
which it is far from our present purpose to discuss. It would be for
eign to our immediate aim, and impossible within our present limits.
But there is a stronger reason. It would be simple charlatanry in one
without due scientific education to undertake such a task as that of
examining and reviewing a complete encyclopaedia of science. The
natural philosophy of Comte is a matter which no one could undertake
to justify in all its bearings without a systematic study of each science
in turn. Looking at it from the point of view of philosophy, and with
that relative spirit which the sense of social necessities involves, a dili
gent student of the system, who seeks to satisfy his mind on it as a
whole, can form a sufficient opinion, at least so far as to compare its
results with any other before us. After very carefully considering the
strictures passed on Comte’s classification of the sciences and his state
ment of the principal laws, it does not appear to the writer that one of
them will hold. If we are to shelter ourselves under authority, we may
be content with that of M. Littré, Mr. Mill, and Mr. Lewes. We are
too apt to forget the great distinction between philosophy and science,
and the paramount title of the former. Men of science are far too
ready to decide matters of philosophy by their own lights, matters
which depend far less on knowledge of special facts than on the gen
eral laws and history of thought, and even of society. Nor does there
appear to be any weight in some strictures which have recently been
published in this Review on the positive law of the three stages and the
classification of the sciences, the greater part of which objections have
been already anticipated and refuted by Mr. Mill—part of which are
obvious misconceptions of Comte, and part are transparent sophisms.
On the whole, it may be fairly left to any one who seriously seeks for a
philosophy of science, and is prepared to seek it with that patience
and breadth of view which such a purpose requires, to decide for him
self if he can discover any other solution of the problem, the general
co-ordination of knowledge as a basis of action.
Let us now for a moment turn to the system viewed as a religion,
not with the slightest intention of reviewing it, much less of advocating
it, but simply to see what it is, and what it proposes to do. Its funda
mental notion is that no body of truth, however complete, can effect
ually enlighten human life; no system of society can be stable or
sound without a regular power of acting on the higher emotions.
There are in human nature capacities which will not be second, and
cannot be dispensed with. There are instincts of self-devotion and of
�THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
63
sympathy, love, veneration, and beneficence, which ultimately control
human life, and alone can give it harmony. Though not the most
active either in the individual character, or even in the social, these
powers are in the long run supreme, because they are those only to
which the rest can permanently and harmoniously submit. Each sepa
rate soul requires, to give unity to the exercise of its powers, a motive
force outside of itself: for the highest of its powers are instinctively
turned to objects without. The joint action of every society is in the
long run due to sympathy, and to common devotion to some power on
which the whole depends. There thus arises a threefold work to be
accomplished—to give unity to the individual powers; to bind up the
individuals into harmonious action ; to keep that action true and per
manent—unity, association, discipline. Without this the most elabo
rate philosophy might become purely unpractical or essentially im
moral, the most active of societies thoroughly corrupt or oppressive,
and the result throughout the whole sphere of life—discord. Nothing
but the emotions remain as the original motive force of life in all its
sides; and none of the emotions but one can bring all the rest and all
other powers into harmony, and that is the devotion of all to a power
recognized as supreme. To moralize both Thought and Action, by
inspiring Thought with an ever-present social motive, by making
Action the embodiment only of benevolence—such is the aim of reli
gion as Positivism conceives it.
Now, without debating whether the mode in which Positivism
would affect this be true or not, adequate or not, it is plainly what
every system of religion in its higher forms has aimed at. And accord
ingly we see the singular attraction which this side of Positivism pos
sesses for many orthodox Christians. It is entirely their own claim;
and, indeed, there nowhere exists in the whole range of theological phil
osophy an argument on the necessity for and nature of religion in the
abstract at all to be compared with that in the second volume of the
“ Politique Positive.” Passing over the question whether Positivism
has carried out this aim by methods either arbitrary or excessive, it is
plain that every system which can claim to be an organized religion at
all, has had a body of doctrine, a living object of devotion, observances
of some kind, and an associated band of teachers. It is not easy to see
how there could be anything to be rightly called a religion without them,
or something with equivalent effect. A mere idea is not a religion,
such as that of the various neo-Christian and Deist schools.
The hostility, therefore, which the religious scheme of Positivism
awakens is one involved of necessity in the undertaking, and should
count for very little until it is seen that its critics are prepared fairly
to consider any such scheme at all. Those who are most disposed to
feel any interest in the scientific or political doctrines of Positivism
are just those who almost to a man reject worship, Church, and religion
altogether. This, for the most part, they have done, not on any gen
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THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
eral philosophical reasons, but simply from antipathy to those forms of
devotion they find extant. Whether, in rejecting the actual forms of
them now or hitherto presented, the very spirit of these institutions
can be eliminated from human nature and from society, is a question
which they care neither to ask nor to answer. But in treating of the
Positive, or any scheme of religion, this is the question at issue. Nor
must it be forgotten that so much is the vital spirit of all religious
institutions extinct in modern thought, that even if the doctrines and
ceremonies of existing churches escape ridicule by virtue of habit and
association, forms less familiar, however rational in themselves, would
be certain to appear ridiculous, as doctrines far more intelligible and
capable of proof would appear chimerical to men accustomed to listen
calmly even to the Athanasian Creed.
Fully to conceive the task which Positivism as a religion has set
itself to accomplish, much more fairly to judge how its task has been
done, requires the mind to be placed in a point of view very different
from that of the actual moment. How little could the most cultivated
men of antiquity, who never looked into the inner life of their time,
estimate the force of early Christianity, or the most religious minds of
the middle ages accept the results of modern enlightenment! What
an effort of candor and patience would it have proved to any of these
men to do justice to the system which was to supersede theirs, even if
presented to their minds in its entirety and its highest form 1 It is
inherent in the nature of every scheme which involves a great social
change that it should bring into play or into new life powers of man
kind hitherto dormant or otherwise directed. Whether it be right in
so doing, or whether it do so to any purpose, is the question to decide;
but it is a question the most arduous which can be put to the intelligence,
and involves protracted labor and inexhaustible candor. Random criti
cism of any new scheme of religious union is of all things the most
easy and the most worthless. It can only amuse the leisure of a trifler,
but it deserves neither thought nor answer. Positivism in the plainest
way announces what is its religious aim and basis. The partisans of
the actual creeds may of course resist it by any means they think best.
But as it certainly does not seek them, nor address any who are at rest
within their folds, they cannot fairly complain of being scandalized by
what they may find in it for themselves. Those who attack it from
independent grounds show but small self-respect if they do so without
accepting the first condition of their own good faith, which is patiently
to weigh it as a whole. And those who fairly intend to consider it to
any purpose may be assured that they are undertaking a very long and
perplexing task; that much of it must necessarily seem repugnant to
our intellectual tone. A system which professes to be co-extensive
with life and based upon proof would be mere imposture if it could be
accepted off-hand as true or false, if it did more than assert and illus
trate general principles, or if it ended in closing the mind and leaving
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POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
65
man but a machine. The real point in issue is whether it be possible
to direct mankind by a religion of social duty, if humanity as a whole—
past, present, and to come—can inspire a living devotion, capable of
permanently concentrating the highest forces of the soul; whether it
be possible to maintain such a religion by appropriate observances and
an organized education. This is the true problem for any serious
inquirer, and not whether a number of provisions admittedly sub
ordinate approve themselves to the first glance. To travestie a new
system by exaggerating or isolating its details is a task as easy as it
is shallow.
In its third aspect—that is, as a polity—what is it that Positivism
proposes ? It is a political system in harmony with a corresponding
social and industrial system, tempered by a practical religion, and based
upon a popular education. The leading conception is to subordinate
politics to morals by bringing the practical life into accord with the
intellectual and the emotional. The first axiom, therefore, is this—
that permanent political changes cannot be effected without previous
social and moral changes. This is a scheme which may be said to be
wholly new in political philosophy. Every political system of modern
times hitherto has proposed to produce its results by legislative, or at
all events by practical changes, and has started from the point of view
that the desired end could be obtained if the true political machinery
could be hit upon. It is the starting-point of Positivism that no machinery whatever can effect' the end without a thorough regeneration
of the social system; and when that is done, the machinery becomes
of less importance. The principal thing, then, will be to have the ma
chinery as simple and as efficient as possible. Political action, like all
practical affairs, must in the main depend on the practical instinct.
And the chief care will be to give the greatest scope for the rise and
activity of such powers. But as the social system is to be recast, not
by the light of the opinion of the hour, but by a study of the human
powers as shown over their widest field, so the leading principles in
politics will find their rational basis in no corner of modern civilization,
but in the history of the human l’ace as a whole and a complete analy
sis of the human capacities.
Let us see what this involves. From the nature of its aim it can
not be revolutionary in the ordinary sense. The very meaning of revo
lution is a radical and sudden change in the constitution of the state.
Now, apart from its condemnation of all revolutionary methods, Posi
tivism insists that all political changes so made must prove abortive.
But, besides this, it repudiates disorder as invariably evil, and insists
that every healthy movement is nothing but the development of the
past. But at the same time the change to which it looks is of the
greatest extent and importance. It is thus the only systematic attempt
to conciliate progress and order, one which effects revolutionary ends by
a truly conservative spirit. Of all charges, therefore, that could be
�66
THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
made against Positivism, that of being anarchical is the most super
ficial. The attempt to connect it with disorder and sedition is scan
dalously unjust. To the charge of being reactionary the best answer is
a simple statement of the future to which it looks forward. That it
contemplates a benevolent despotism is an idle sneer, for it conceives
the normal condition of public life as one in which the influence of
public opinion is at its maximum, and the sphere of government at
its minimum.
But just in proportion to the width of the system on which Positive
politics rest is the degree of opposition which it awakens. Adapting to
itself portions from each of the rival systems, it alienates each of them
in turn. It is impossible to do justice to the greatness o£*past ages, and
still more to revive anything from them, without offering a rock of
offence to all the revolutionary schools. And it.is impossible to pro
pose a reorganization of society at all without alarming the conserva
tive. These alternations of interest in and antipathy towards Positivist
politics, these bitter attacks, these contradictory charges, belong of
necessity to the undertaking, and need surprise no one. But those who
profess to know what they undertake to criticise, those to whom all
matters human and divine are open questions, who spend their time
but to hear or to tell some new thing, such, one would think, would be
careful that they understand the conditions on which a new system of
thought is based.
This hasty outline of the task which Positivism undertakes—the
mere statement of its problem—may suffice to explain the continual
interest it excites, and also the incessant hostility it meets. Let any
one fairly ask himself—if it be possible to accomplish such a task at all
without necessarily provoking a storm of opposition, and if the success
of the system as a whole could possibly be estimated without a patience
which, it may be said, it almost never receives. The mere variety of
the objects which it attempts to combine, while interesting men of the
most opposite views, of necessity presents to each some which utterly
repel him. It is impossible to reconcile a Babel of ideas without for
cing on each hearer many which he is accustomed to repudiate. The
man of science, who is attracted by the importance given to the physi
cal laws, starts back when it is proposed to extend these laws to the
science of society. The student of history, who sees the profound truth
of the philosophy of history, is scandalized by the very idea of a creed
of scientific proof. The politician foi* a time is held by the vision it
presents of social reforms, but he is disgusted at hearing that he must
take lessons from the past. The conservative delights to find his an
cient institutions so truly honored, to be shocked when he finds that
they are honored only that they may be the more thoroughly trans
formed. The man of religion is touched to find in such a quarter a
profound defence of worship and devotion, only to be struck dumb
with horror at a religion of mere humanity. The democrat, who hails
�THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
67
the picture of a regenerated society, turns with scorn from an attempt
to lay the bases of temporal and spiritual „authority. The reactionist
fares no better; for if he finds some comfort in the new importance
given to order, he dreads the results of an unqualified trust in popular
education and the constant appeal to public opinion. Those whom the
philosophy attracts, the religion repels. Those whom the moral the
ories strike shrink back from the science. Those who believe in the
forces of religion are no friends of scientific laws. Those who care most
for the progress of science are the first to be jealous of moral control.
It is simply impossible, therefore, to address with effect all of these
simultaneously without in turn wounding prejudices dear to each. It
could not be that the sciences could be organized without hurting the
susceptibilities of specialists everywhere, and it is the spirit of our time
to create specialists. To bridge over the vast chasm between the Past and
the Future, to co-ordinate the opinions and the emotions, to satisfy the
heart as well as the brain, to reconcile truth with feeling, duty with
happiness, the individual with society, fact and hope, order with
progress, religion with science, is no simple task. The task may be
looked on as hopeless, the solution of it may be derided as extravagant;
but if it were presented to men “ by an angel from heaven,” it would
sound strange to the bulk of hearers, men to whom such a notion is
alien, who have sympathy neither with the object nor the mode of pur
suing it. Hence the unthinking clamor which Positivism excites. To
the pure conservative it offers a fair mark for fierce denunciation. To
the jester it offers an opening for easy ridicule, for it offers to him
many things on which he has never thought. But by a critic of any
self-respect or intelligence it must be treated thoroughly, or not at all.
There are persons devoid of any solid knowledge, of the very shreds of
intellectual convictions, of any germ of social or religious sympathies,—
specialists ex hypothesis—to whom a serious effort to grapple with the
great problem of Man on earth is but the occasion for a cultivated
sneer, or a cynical appeal to the prejudices of the bigot. Non ragioniam di lor.
It must be plain to any one who gives all this a fair judgment that
the students of Comte could not possibly suffice for all such contro
versies, were they ten times as numerous as they are. The critics of
Positivism attack on a hundred quarters, and with every weapon, at
once. Only those who seriously interest themselves in the progress of
thought must remember that they are continually listening to mere
travesties, which it is worth no man’s while to expose, and to criticisms
which no one cares to answer. They would have only themselves to
blame if they choose to suppose that no answer could be given. Now
and then some striking case of misrepresentation has to be dealt with ;
but, as a rule, the students of Comte are of necessity otherwise engaged.
Controversy is alien to the whole genius of Positivism, for the range
of objections in detail is entirely infinite. Positivism must make way,
�68
THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
if at all, like all efforts at construction, by its synthetic force, by its co
herence, and its fitness for the situation. If it has this, it can be
neither hindered nor promoted by any controversy, however brilliant as
a performance.
It is not an infrequent comment that the points of the Positive sys
tem are so widely remote and heterogeneous, that it appears somewhat
discursive. They are no doubt far apart from each other, and appar
ently, perhaps, disconnected. But it would be a most superficial view
to regard them as desultory. Now and then these principles are heard
of m matters of practical politics,—now in pure science, in religion, in
industry, in history, or in philosophy. But this is a necessity of the
case, and is a consequence of the connection between all these, which it
is the aim of Positivism to enforce, and of their general dependence on
common intellectual foundations. Its great principle is, that the errors
hitherto committed are due to the separate treatment of these cognate
phases of life and thought. And if it treats in turn very different sub
jects, it is by virtue of this very doctrine that each must be viewed in
its relation to the other. That individuals defending these principles
wander out of their course, and fall into inconsistencies, is their weak
ness, not that of the system. Positivism itself stands like an intrenched
camp, presenting a continuous chain of works to the beleaguring forces
around. Within its own circle the system of defence communicates
immediately to, and radiates from, its centre, while the attack, being
unorganized and ranged in a circle without, is spread over a vastly
greater area. It stands as yet almost entirely by the strength of its own
walls and the completeness of its works, and not by that of its defenders
within.
Metaphor apart, let any one in common fairness consider what stu
dents of Comte have to meet. The philosophical basis alone covers a
ground far apart from the ordinary education so wide that nothing but
general views of it can be possible. To be intelligently convinced of
the truth of the Positive Philosophy in a body in such a way as to be a
capable exponent, requires, first, a previous preparation which very few
have gained; and, secondly, a weighing of the system by that knowl
edge step by step, in bulk and in detail, which perhaps not five men in
this country have chosen to give. It need not be said that the present
writer has as little pretension to belong to one class as to the other.
But there is no reason why men, positivist in spirit and in general aim,
should feel bound to defend every point in turn in a vast body of phil
osophy for which they are not responsible, and which in its entirety
they do not pretend to teach. A student of Positivism may hold that
which he believes to be true without being concerned to maintain every
suggestion of Comte’s, which to the infinite wisdom of some critics
may appear ridiculous. Deductions of the kind they are fond of treat
ing are just what a serious student bent on mastering a body of prin
ciples leaves as open or indifferent matters, and trusts to the future to
�THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
69
decide. Besides, even on the assumption that many of these deduc
tions, and even some of these principles, were preposterous or false, still,
as Mr. Mill has well pointed out, the same might be said of every known
philosopher. Aristotle, Bacon, and Descartes have sown their whole
works broadcast'with the wildest blunders. What a flood of cheap rid
icule their contemporary critics had at their command I What a mass
of absurdity might not a smart reader discover who for the first time
were to glance through the Ethics of Aristotle, or the Organum of
Bacon 1 Yet even if the system of Comte were as full of absurdities as
those of these philosophers—which I am far from conceding—this
would not prevent his philosophy from being as valuable a step in
thought as any of the three. There seems a disposition to force men
who become students of Comte and accept generally the Positive sys
tem, as they might in their day have accepted the Aristotelian or the
Baconian philosophy, to defend every statement of Comte’s, as if it were
a question of verbal inspiration. It seems that men in this country
are at liberty to profess themselves adherents of every system of thought
but one. A man may—one or two do—study and uphold the princi
ples of Hegel. Benthamism is a creed with living disciples. Mr. Mill
may be called the chief of a school. A fair field is open to all of these,
at least in any field which is open to freedom of thought. But if a
man ventures to treat a public question avowedly from the Positive
point of view, he is assailed by professed friends to free inquiry as if he
were an enemy of the human race, to whom the ordinary courtesies are
denied; and some of the commonest names that he will hear for him
self are atheist, fanatic, and conspirator.
Respecting the actual adherents of Comte, perhaps a few words
may be permitted, and, indeed, a few are required. It is not usual in
this country to “ picket ” the ordinary doings of a school in politics or
opinion, even though you do happen to differ from them. But in the
case of Positivism it seems to be thought allowable to dispense with
such scruples. Accordingly, the most ordinary utterance of one of
those whom they dub as a member of the school is at once set down by
anonymous persons as some fresh act of what they are pleased to call
" this malignant sect.” The mode in use is a very old, a very simple,
but not a very candid plan: it consists only in this—the describing
every one who has adopted any Positivist principle as a professed disci
ple of Comte; next, of attributing to each of such persons everything
that any of them or that Comte has at any time countenanced; and
lastly, of ascribing to Positivism and to Comte, every act and almost
every word of any of these persons. And the world seems to relish
any preposterous bit of gossip about Positivist churches and ceremo
nies, schemes, plots, and what not 1 One can hardly keep one’s coun
tenance in doing it, but it seems necessary to state that all this illnatured gossip is the childish stuff such gossip invariably is. As to
telling the world anything about the “ sect ”—“ malignant ” or other
�70
THE POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
wise—there is nothing to tell. Whatever else may be true about Posi
tivism, publicity is its very essence—vivre au grand jour—in thought,
word, and deed, according to the motto of Comte; and every act and
statement it makes is open to any one who cares to look. The utmost
publicity about persons, congregations, rites, and preaching, by all
means. But the gossip need not be untrue as well as impertinent. As
is well known, Dr. Richard Congreve, who has adopted the system and
practice of Comte in its entirety, has occasionally made an address to
a small audience, and has subsequently published his discourse. He
has also from time to time given a course of lectures open to the
public. Those who like himself definitely accept Positivism as a re
ligion, and regard themselves as a community, of whom it should be
said the present writer is not one, occasionally have met together. But
the various observances instituted by Comte are scarcely practicable
here. It is obvious that it must be so. A religion, a worship, and an
education such as Comte conceived them, are not possible in all their
completeness without a body of persons and families steadily desirous
of observing them. It need hardly be said that the materials for this
do not as yet exist in this country. A system like Positivism does not
easily receive complete adherents. It is not like any of the religious,
political, or socialist systems—like Swedenborgianism or CornmnuiRm
—a simple doctrine capable of awakening a dominant fanaticism. It
cannot possibly be preached beside a hedge or in a workshop, and gain
converts by the score, like Methodism or Chartism. To promulgate it
duly requires a fresh education, followed by a long course of systematic
meditation. To form an honest and solid conviction upon a body of
philosophy thus encyclopedic requires years of study. Accordingly,
the number of those who have completely accepted the system of
Comte as a religion, among whom it has been said the present writer
cannot count himself, is small. To treat every student of Positivism
and avowed adherent of Comte’s system as a member of a sort of
secret society, and then to pretend that this supposed society is engaged
in a series of religious and political plots, the amusement of some
busybodies, is an idle impertinence. These tales are worthy only of an
imperialist journal describing an apparition of the Spectre Rouge.
The fact that there are men not so nervously afraid of being associated
with an unpopular cause as to be engaging in constant controversy or
defence, is no honest ground for including them in a body to which
they do not belong, for fastening on them any design, whether they
have countenanced it or not, and any opinion,whether they adopt it or
not. That there are men who think it their duty to say plainly what
they think, and to say it always under the guarantee of their own
names, is no good cause, though it makes it easy for masked opponents,
to eke out the argumentum ad rationem by a free use of the argumen
tum ad hominem. If all such attacks, which are the portion of any
man who dares to treat a question from the Positivist point of view,
�THE
POSITIV IST PROBLEM.
are for the most part unanswered and unnoticed, the reason most as
suredly is, not that they are true, but- that they are unworthy of
answer.
But enough of such matters. These petty questions of an hour
are but dust in the balance by which this question must be weighed.
However little it may be thought that Positivism has solved its
problem, it can hardly be said that the time is not ripe for its task,
that there is nothing that calls for solution. Into what a chaos and
deadlock is opinion reduced in spiritual as in practical things! Who
seriously looks for harmony to arise out of the Babel of sects which
have arisen amid the debris of the Catholic Church ? Or are any of
the Pantheist or Deist dreams more likely to give unity to the human
race ? The 'dogmas of Christianity have been by some refined and
adapted away until nothing is left of them but an aspiration. Qan an
aspiration master the wild confusion of brain and will ? And has even
the most unsparing of adaptations brought the ancient faith really
more near to true science or to active life ? To science, that which
cannot be reduced to law is that which cannot be known, and the un
knowable is a thing of naught. Activity on earth can be regulated
only by a real not a fictitious, a natural not a supernatural standard.
By their very terms, then, the various forms of spiritualism shut them
selves off from the world of knowledge and the world of action; and,
more or less distinctly, they assume an attitude of antagonism to
both.
And yet, on the other hand, is there any better prospect of harmony
in the ignoring of religion altogether? The men of science and of
action from time to time form desperate hopes for the triumph of their
own ideas and the ultimate extinction of religious sentiment. With
them it is a morbid growth of the human mind—a weakness bred of
ignorance or inaction. They chafe under the grossness of an age which
will not be content with the pure love of truth or with the fruits of
material success. Yet to how shallow and slight a hope do they trust!
Human nature under the influence of its deepest sentiments- venera-.
tion, adoration, and devotion—rises up from time to time, and snaps
their thin webs like tow. Errors a thousand times refuted spring up
again with new life. The instinct of religious feeling is paramount as
well as indestructible, and philosophy and politics are in turn con
founded by its force. It is an internecine struggle, in which they seem
fated eternally to contend, but in which neither can crush its op
ponent.
In political matters is there any foundation more sure ? Constitu
tions, suffrages, and governments are alike discredited. Some cry for
one reform, some for another; but where is the prospect of agreement ?
The best institutions of the age men cling to at most as stop-gaps, as
the practical solution of a shifting problem. But useful as they may
be, who believes in them as things of the future, destined to guide
�72
THE
POSITIVIST PROBLEM.
man’s course as a social being ? What a chaos of plans, nostrums, and
watch-cries ?—how little trust, or hope, or rest I
In things social is the prospect brighter? Is the question of rich
and poor, of labor and capital, of health and industry, of personal free
dom and public well-being, so much nearer to its answer than it was ?
With our great cities decimated by disease, famine, pauperism—with
the war of master and servant growing louder and deeper—the corrup
tion of industry increasing—and the whole world of commerce and
manufactures swept from time to time by hurricanes of ruin and
fraud,—is it a time tb indulge in visions of content? We all have
hope, it is true, in the force of civilization, in the noble elements of
progress, and in the destiny of the human race ; but by what patl^or
course they may arrive at the goal, what man shall say ?
In such a state of things Positivism comes forward with its system
of ideas, which, at the least, is comprehensive as well as uniform. To
some its solution may appear premature, to some incomplete, to others
erroneous. But what thoughtful mind, among those to whom the
social and religious forms of the past are no longer a living thing, can
honestly assert that no such problem as it attempts to solve exists at
all, or that this problem is already solved ?
�
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The positivist problem
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Philosophy
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Conway Tracts
Positivism
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Text
A
PHILOSOPHICAL CONVERSATION.
TRANSLATED •
FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT.
■ !
*
• By E. N. -
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,'
NO. II THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD, UPPER NORWOOD,
LONDON, S.E.
----1875.
v
Price Sixpence. '
z.
■
'
‘
�LONDON :
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET,
HAYMARKET, W.
�PREFACE.
This dialogue, entitled ‘ Entretien d’un Philosophe avec la Marcchale de * * * ’ was originally
published in Italian and French, professing to be
translated from a posthumous work of the poet
Crudeli. It is written in the most natural style,
and few dialogues in the French language give
such a perfect illusion of two persons conversing.
But, under a style worthy of the best writers of
comedy, the most powerful arguments are to be
seen, and a volume might be written in develop
ment of the points touched upon in these few
pages. Except in a few instances where expla
nation or reference seemed desirable, I have
refrained from adding notes ; the thinking reader
will be able to apprehend the arguments, even
those which, latent in the dialogue, would
develop most brilliantly under dramatic inter
pretation.
Diderot’s writings are too little known in
England; he is hardly ever mentioned; but his
thoughts may be traced in more than one modern
work. Apart from the errors common to all
social philosophy before Malthus wrote, and a
�4
Preface.
style perhaps too much seasoned with Gallic salt
for English taste in the present day, Diderot
stands in the first rank of philosophers and lite
rary men. To none does Humanity owe more.
As a writer, he excelled in lifelike dialogue ; an
admirable specimen of it, 1 Le Neveu de Rameau ’
was recently translated in the Fortnightly
Review; his ‘ Paradoxe sur le Comedien,’ a most
artistic production, will, I hope, soon find a
translator capable of doing justice to it. In the
piece now translated, the nature of the subject
compels rather strict adherence to the letter of
the author, and prevents his spirit from being
conveyed as well as it might be in a purely lite
rary compositiom
�DIDEROT’S
PHILOSOPHICAL
CONVERSATION.
AVING some business with the marechai de
* * * I called on him one morning ; he was
,
out, but I waited for him and was shown in to the
marechale. She is a charming woman, an angel of
beauty and piety; sweet temper is depicted on her
countenance, the tone of her voice and the simplicity
of her conversation agree perfectly with the expres
sion of her features. She was still at her toilet table;
I was asked to sit down, and we began to talk. At
some remark of mine which edified and surprised her
(for she believed that a man who denies the Holy
Trinity is a rogue who will end at the gallows), she
said:—
La Marechale. Are you not Monsieur Crudeli ?
Crudeli.—Yes, Madam.
L. M.—Then you are the man who believes in
nothing ?
Cr.—The same.
L. M.—Nevertheless you profess the same moral
principles as a believer.
Cr.—Why should I not, if I am an honest man ?
L. M.—And do you put these principles in prac
tice ?
Cr.—As well as I can.
L. M.—What! you never steal; you are neither a
murderer nor a robber ?
H
�6
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
Cr.—Very rarely.
L. M.—Then what do you gain by your unbelief ?
• Cr.—Nothing ; is one to believe because of some
thing to be gained thereby ?
L. M.—That I can hardly say ; but the motive of
personal interest is not amiss in the business either
of this world or of the next. I am rather sorry for
the credit of poor humanity; it is not saying much
for us. But, really ! do you never steal ?
Cr.—Never, on my word.
L. M.—If you are neither a murderer nor a thief,
you must own that your conduct is unreasonable and
inconsistent.
Cr.—How so ?
L. M.—Because it seems to me that if I had
nothing to hope or to fear when I am out of this
world, there are many little indulgences which I
should not deprive myself of now that I am in it. I
own to investing my good works in expectation of
repayment with enormous interest.
Cr.—You think you do.
L. M.—I do not merely think so; it is a fact.
Cr.—And might I ask you what things you would
permit yourself if you were an unbeliever ?
L. M.—If you please, no ; I keep that subject for
the confessional.
Cr.—My investment of good works is a poor specu
lation ; I shall never see my capital again.
L. M.—That is an unthrifty investment.
Cr.—Would you rather I should be a usurer ?
L. M.—Well, yes; you may practise usury to any
extent in your dealings with God, you cannot ruin
him. I know that it is a rather shabby proceeding,
but what does that matter ? The point is to get into
heaven by hook or by crook ; we must make the best
of everything and neglect nothing which can bring
us in a return. Alas ! whatever we do, our invest
ment will always be pitifully small in comparison with
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
7
the handsome return we expect for it. And so you
expect no return ?
Cr.—Nothing.
L. M.—How sad! You must own that you are
either very wicked or very foolish ?
Cr.—Indeed I cannot say which.
L. M.—What motive for being good can an unbeliever
have if he is in his right mind ? Please tell me that.
Cr.—I can tell you.
L. M.—I shall be glad to know.
Cr.—Do you not think it possible that one may be
so fortunately born as to find a natural pleasure in
doing good ?
L. M.—I think it is possible.
Cr.—That one may have received an excellent
education which strengthens the natural inclination
towards good deeds ?
L. M.—Certainly.
Cr.—And that in after-life experience may have
convinced us that, taking everything into considera
tion, it is better for one’s happiness in this world to
be an honest man than a rogue ?
L. M.—Yes indeed; but can one be honest sup
posing that bad principles combine with the passions
to lead us towards evil ?
Cr.—One may not act in consequence ; and what
do we more commonly see than actions at variance
with principles ?
L. M.—Alas ! it is unfortunately so ; believers con
stantly act as if they did not believe.
Cr.—And without believing one may act nearly as
well as if one believed.
L. M.—I am glad to hear you say so; but what
inconvenience would there be in having a reason the
more, religion, for doing good, and a reason the less,
unbelief, for doing evil ?
Cr.—None, if religion were a motive for doing
good and unbelief a motive for doing evil.
�8
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
L. M.—Can there be any doubt on that point ?
Does not the spirit of religion incessantly thwart the
promptings of this vile corrupted human nature, and
does not the spirit of unbelief abandon it to its evil
ways by relieving it from all fear ?
Cb.—Madame la marechale, this will lead us into
a long discussion.
L. M.—And what if it does ? The Marshal will
not be back for some time, and we are better em
ployed talking sense than taking away our neigh
bours’ good names.
Cr.—You see that I shall have to take up the
subject rather far back.
. L. M.—As far back as you like, provided I under
stand you.
Cr.—If you do not understand me it will certainly
be my fault.
L. M.—I thank you for the compliment; but you
must know that I have never read anything but my
prayer-book, and that my occupations have been
exclusively confined to putting the gospel in practice
and looking after my children.
Cr.—Two duties that you have well fulfilled.
L. M.—Yes, as regards the children. But begin.
Cr.—Madame la marechale, is there in this world
any good without some drawback ?
L. M.—Kone.
Cr.—What, then, do you call good and evil ?
L. M.—Evil must be that in which the drawbacks
are greater than the advantages, while good must,
on the contrary, be that which has advantages
greater than the drawbacks.
Cr.—Will you please to bear in mind your defini
tion of good and evil ?
L. M.—I will remember it. Do you call that a
definition ?
Cr.—Yes.
L. M.—This is philosophy, then ?
�Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
9
Cr.—Excellent philosophy.
L. M.—The last thing I should have thought
myself capable of.
Cr.—So you are persuaded that religion has more
advantages than drawbacks, and that for this reason
you call it good ?
L. M.—Yes.
Cr.—For my own part I do not doubt that your
steward robs you somewhat less on Good Friday than
on Easter Monday; and that now and then religion
prevents a number of little evils and produces a num
ber of' little benefits.
L. M.—Little by little, the sum mounts up.
Cr.—But do you believe that such wretched little
advantages can sufficiently compensate the terrible
ravages which religion has caused in past times, and
which it will still cause in times to come ? Consider
the violent antipathy which it has created between
nations, and which it still keeps up.
There is
not a Mussulman who would not imagine he was
doing an act agreeable to God and the holy
prophet in exterminating all the Christians, who, on
their side, are hardly more tolerant. Consider the
dissensions which it has created and perpetuated in
the midst of nearly every nation, dissensions which
have rarely been stifled without bloodshed. Our own
history offers us examples which are only too recent
and too disastrous. Consider that it has created, and
still keeps up the most violent and undying hatred
between the members of society, between the indi
viduals of a family. Christ said he had come to
divide the man from his wife, the mother from her
children, the brother from his sister, the friend from
the friend, and his prediction has only been too com
pletely fulfilled.
L. M.—That may be the abuse of the thing without
being the thing itself.
Cr.—It is the thing itself, if the abuses are insepar
able from it.
B
�io
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
L. M.—And how can yon show me that the abuses
of religion are inseparable from religion ?
Cb.—Very easily. Tell me this : supposing a manhater had desired to render the human race as unhappy
as possible, what could he have invented for the pur
pose better than belief in an incomprehensible being
about whom men could never be able to agree, and
whom they should regard as more important than
their own lives ? * And is it possible to form a con
ception of a deity without attaching to it the deepest
incomprehensibility and the highest importance ?
L. M.—No.
Cr.—Then draw your conclusion.
L. M.—I conclude that it is an idea not without
serious consequence in the mind of fools.
Cr.—And add that fools always have been and
always will be the majority of mankind, that the
most dangerous fools are those rendered so by
religion, and that these are the men whom the dis
turbers of society know how to work when they have
need of them.
L. M.—But we must have something to frighten
men from such bad actions as escape the severity of
the law; and, if you destroy religion, what can you
substitute for it ?
Or.—Even if I had nothing to substitute for it,
there would be always a terrible prejudice the less,
without counting that in no age and in no country
have religious opinions formed the basis of national
manners. The gods adored by the old Greeks and
Romans, the finest people on earth,f were a most
dissolute set of rascals; a Jupiter who deserved the
faggot and the stake, a Venus worthy of the House
of Correction, a Mercury whose proper place was
in jail.
L. M.—And so you think that it is quite a matter
* See Appendix, Note I.
t See Note II.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation,
11
of indifference whether we be Christians or Pagans ;
that as Pagans we should be equally good and that as
'Christians we are no better ?
Cb.—Indeed I am convinced of it; excepting that
as Pagans we should be rather merrier.
L. M.—It is impossible.
Cr.—But, Madame la marechale, are there any
Christians ? I have never seen any.
L. M.—That is a nice thing to say to me.
Cr.—I am not saying it to you: I was thinking of
a lady who is a neighbour of mine, good and pious
as you are, and who believed herself in all sincerity
to be a Christian, just as you do.
L. M.—And you showed her that she was mis
taken ?
Cr.—At once.
L. M.—How did you manage that ?
Cr.—I opened a New Testament, a well-read one,
for it was considerably worn. I read her the Sermon
on the Mount, and at each article of it I asked
her:—“ Do you act up to this ? ” I went on
further. She is a beautiful woman, and although
very pious she is not unconscious of her attraction;
she has a most delicate fair complexion, and although
she does not attach much value to this perishable
charm, she is not displeased if it excites admira
tion ; her bust is perfect, and, although very modest,
she is not averse to its beauty being observed.
L. M.—Provided, of course, that she and her
husband should alone be aware of this.
Cr.—I believe that her husband knows it much
better than any one else; but for a woman who
prides herself on high Christian principles that is
not enough. I said to her :—“ Is it not written
in the gospel that he who has coveted his neigh
bour’s wife has committed adultery already in his
heart?”
L. M.— I suppose she answered yes ?
�12
Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
Cr. I said to her:—“And does not adultery
committed in the heart damn as surely as a more
complete adultery ? ”
R- M.—I suppose she answered yes ?
Cb. I said, “ And if the man is damned for
adultery committed in heart, what will be the fate of
the woman who invites all those who come near her
to commit that crime?
This last question rather
embarrassed her.
C. M.—I understand ; she did not cover up that
perfect bust as completely as she might.
Cr.—Not quite. She answered that it was a
custom, as if nothing was more customary than to call
oneself Christian and yet not to be so; that it was
wrong to dress in a ridiculous manner, as if there
could be any comparison between a petty ridiculous
act and the eternal damnation of one’s self and one’s
neighbours ; that she did not interfere with her dress
maker, as if it were not better to change one’s dress
maker than to be false to one’s religion ; that it was
her husband’s fancy, as if a husband could be mad
enough to demand that his wife should push obedi
ence to a wrong-headed husband so far as to disobey
the will of God and to contemn the threats of her
Redeemer I
L. M.—I was well aware of all those childish
reasons; I might even have answered as your neigh
bour did; but both she and I would have been taken
at a disadvantage. However, what conduct did she
adopt, after your remonstrance ?
Cr.—-The day after this conversation was a holy
day ; I was going upstairs to my room, when my
neighbour was coming downstairs on her way to
mass.
L. M.—Dressed as usual ?
Cr.—Dressed as usual. I smiled, she smiled ; and
we passed one another without speaking. This was
a good woman ! a Christian ! a pious woman ! After
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
13
this example and a hundred thousand others of the
same sort, what real influence on conduct can I grant
religion, to have ? Hardly any: and so much the
better.
L. M.—How so much the better ?
Cr.—Yes, I mean it. Supposing that twenty
thousand of the inhabitants of Paris took it into
their heads to conform strictly to the precepts of the
Sermon on the Mount. . . .
L. M.—There would be some ladies’ shoulders
better covered than at present.
Cr.—And so many lunatics that the police would
be at their wits’ end to find room for them all in the
madhouses. In all inspired books there are two kinds
of morality; one general and common to every
nation, to every religion, and which is followed pretty
nearly ; another peculiar to each nation and to each
religion, in which men believe, which they preach in
their churches, which they teach in their homes, and
which they do not follow at all.
*
L. M.—What is the reason of this contradiction ?
Cr.—In the impossibility of subjecting a people to
a rule which only agrees with a few melancholy men
who have diawn it from a model found in their own
character. Religions are like monastic rules; all
become relaxed in time. They are follies which can
not hold ground against the constant efforts of nature
to bring us back to her laws. Let the statesman take
care that the welfare of individuals should be so
bound up with the common weal that a citizen can
hardly harm society without hurting himself; let
virtue be rewarded as certainly as wickedness is
punished; let merit, in whatever position it exist,
and without distinction of sect, be eligible for state
employment, and only count as wicked the small
number of men whom an incorrigible perversity of
* * See Note III.
�14
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
nature has dragged into vice. Temptation is too
near and hell is too far off; it is not worth the while
of a legislator to take in hand a system of crooked
opinions which can only keep children under its yoke,
which encourages crime by the facility of its expia
tion ; which sends the culprit to ask pardon from
*
God for the injuries inflicted on man, and which
degrades the order of natural and moral duties by
making it subordinate to an order of chimerical
duties.
L. M.—I do not understand you.
Cr.—I will explain ; but I think I hear the Mar
shal’s carriage coming, just in time to prevent me
from saying something which you might think
impudent.
L. M.—If what you are about to say is impudent, I
shall not hear it; I have a good habit of only hearing
what I choose.
Cr.—Madame la marecliale, ask the curate of your
parish which is the more atrocious crime : to defile
one of the eucharistic vessels or to blacken the good
name of an honest woman ? He will shudder with
horror at the first, he will cry sacrilege ; and the
civil law which takes hardly any notice of calumny
while it punishes sacrilege by the stake,f will finish the
confusion of moral ideas and the corruption of the
public ’mind.
L. M.—I know more than one woman who would
scruple to eat meat on a Friday, and yet would . . .
I was also going to say my piece of impudence.
Continue.
Cr.-—But, Madam, I must really go and see the
Marshal.
L. M.—Another minute, and then we will go
together and see him. I don’t know how to answer
you, and yet you do not persuade me.
* See Note IV.
t See Note V.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation,
15
Cr.—I had no intention of persuading you. It is
the same with religion as with marriage. Although
marriage has caused misery to so many others, it has
given happiness to you and the Marshal. Religion
which has made, which still makes, and will yet
make so many men wicked, has rendered you better
than before ; you do well in keeping to it. It pleases
you to imagine, above your head, a great and power
ful being, who 'watches your journey through life ;
this idea strengthens your steps. Continue, Madam,
to enjoy the thought of this august keeper of your
mind, at once a spectator and a sublime model of
your actions.
L. M.—I see that you are not possessed by the
mania of proselytism.
Cr.—By no means.
L. M.—And I esteem you the more for it.
Cr.—I permit every one to think in his way, pro
vided he does not interfere with mine ; and, besides,
those who are destined to deliver themselves from
these prejudices have no need of being catechized.
L. M.—Do you think that man can do "without
superstition F
Cr.—No ; not as long as he remains ignorant and
timorous.
L- M.—Well then, superstition for superstition, as
well ours as another.
Cr.—I do not think so.
L. M.—Tell me truly, have you no repugnance for
the idea of being nothing after death F
Cr.—I would prefer to retain my existence'; not
withstanding that I see no reason why a Being who
has already been able to render me unhappy without
any reason, might not amuse himself again in the
same way.
*
L- M.—If, notwithstanding that drawback, the
* See Note VL
�16
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
hope of a life to come appears sweet and consoling,
even to you, why teai’ it from us F
Cr.—I have no such hope, for my desire does not
imply an expectation which I know to be vain; but
I take it away from no one.
*
If any person can
believe that he will see when he has no eyes, that he
will hear when he has no ears, that he will think when
he has no brain, that he will love when he has no heart,
that he will feel when he has no sensation, that he
will exist when he will be nowhere, that he will be
a something without measure or place,—I have no
objection.
L. M.—But this world, who made it ?
Cr.—Perhaps you can inform me.
L. M.—God.
Cr.—And what is God ?
L. M.—A spirit.
Cr.—If a spirit can make matter, why should not
matter make a spirit ?
L. M.—And why should itp
Cr.—Because I see it do so every day. Do you
believe that animals have souls ?
L- M.—Certainly I believe so.
Cr. And could you tell me what becomes, for
instance, of the soul of the Peruvian serpent which
is hung up in a chimney to dry, and remains in the
smoke for one or two years ?
L. M.—Let it go where it pleases ; what does that
matter to me ?
Cr.—You are probably not aware that this serpent,
smoked and dried, revives, and comes to life again.f
L. M.—I don’t believe it.
Cr.—Nevertheless, a clever man, Bouguer, asserts
that it is so.
>
’
, ,
* The terseness of the original deservesnotice. “Je n’ai pas cet
,e,sP°\r> Parceclue le desir ne m’en a point donne la vanite; mais je ne
lote a personne.” Another reading gives “derobe” instead of “ donne
the translation would then be, “for my desire has not deceived me as
to its vanity.”
t See Note VII.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
17
L. M.—Your clever man has told a story.
Cr.—Suppose what he says were true ?
L. M.—Well, I should have to believe that animals
are machines.
Cr.—’Remembering that man is only a rather more
perfect animal than the rest. . . . But I think
the Marshal is . . .
L. M.—One more question; the last. Are you at
ease in your unbelief F
Cr.—-Impossible to be more so.
L. M.—Yet, if it turned out that you were mis
taken ?
Cr.—Well, and if I were mistaken ?
L. M.—All that you believe to be false would come
true, and you would be cast amongst the damned.
Monsieur Crudeli, it is a terrible thing to be con
demned to.hell, to burn there for all eternity I
*
Cr.—La Fontaine believed that we should be as
comfortable there as fish in the water.
L. M.—You may laugh now ; but remember that
La Fontaine became very serious at his last moments ;
and this is the point where I make my stand against
you.
Cr.—I answer for nothing when my head will be
no longer right; but if I die from one of those
diseases which leave the expiring man his whole
reason, I shall not be more disturbed at the moment
you mention than I am at present.
L. M.—I am confounded at your boldness.
Cr.—I think there is much more boldness in the
man who dies believing in a severe judge who weighs
our most secret thoughts and in whose scales the
most upright man would be lost through vanity, did
he not tremble through fear of being found wanting;
if this dying man had then the choice either of anni
hilation or of judgment, his boldness would impress
* See Note VIII.
3
* v
�18
Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
me more should he hesitate to choose the former
alternative; unless he were more insane than the
companion of St. Bruno, or more intoxicated with
his own merits than Bohola.
L. M.—I have read the story of St. Bruno’s com
panion, but I have never heard of Bohola.
Cr.—He was a Jesuit of the college of Pinsk in
Lithuania, who left at his death a coffer full of money,
with a memorandum which he had written and
signed.
L. M.—And what was the memorandum about ?
Cr.—It ran thus : “ I request the dear brother to
whom I have confided this coffer, to open it when I
shall have performed miracles.' The money which it
contains will pay the expenses of my canonization.
I have left some authentic memoirs for the confirma
tion of my virtues and the guidance of those who
undertake to write my life.”
L. M.—What a ridiculous story !
Cr.—It may be so to me, Madam, but in your case
a joke on such a subject may offend God.
L. M.—Indeed, you are right.
Cr.—It is so easy to sin grievously against your
law.
L. M.'—I admit that it is.
Cr.—The justice which will decide your fate is
very rigorous.
L. M.—True.
Cr.—And if you believe the oracles of your religion
on the number of the elect, it will be very small.
L. M.— Oh ! but I am not a Jansenist; I only look
at the consoling side of the question; the blood of
Jesus Christ covers, in my eyes, a multitude of sins ;
and it would seem to me very singular if the Devil
had the best share of mankind, although he did not
give up a son to death.
Cr.-—Do you damn Socrates, Phocion, Aristides,
Cato, Trajan, Marcus Aurelius ?
�Diderofs Philosophical Conversation.
19
L. M.—Certainly not; no one but a wild beast
could think of such a thing. St. Paul says that
every man shall be judged by the law which he has
known, and St. Paul is right.
Cjb.—'And by what law is the unbeliever to be
judged ?
L. M.—Your case is rather different. You are one
of the accursed inhabitants of Chorazin and Bethsaida, who shut their eyes to the light which shone
on them and stopped their ears so as not to hear the
voice of truth speaking to them.
Cr.—The people of Chorazin and Bethsaida were
men such as never existed elsewhere, if they were
free to believe or not to believe.
L. M.—They saw mighty works which would have
made sackcloth and ashes more valuable than gold,
had they been done in Tyre and Sidon,
Cr.—Well, you see, the inhabitants of Tyre and
Sidon were clever people, while those of Chorazin
and Bethsaida were fools. I told you a story just
now, I should like to tell you another. Once upon a
time, a young Mexican . . . But, the Marshal . . .
L. M.—I will send and find out if he is disengaged.
*
Well what about the young Mexican ?
Cr.—Peeling weary of his work, was walking one
day along the sea-shore. He saw a plank, one end
of which was floating while the other was aground.
He sat down on the plank, and then, gazing over the
vast expanse of sea, said to himself:11 My grandmother
must be doting when she tells that story about those
people, who at some long time ago landed here from
somewhere or other beyond the seas. What nonsense I
is it not plain that the sea and the sky join in the
distance ? Can I believe, against the evidence of my
senses, an old story the date of which is unknown,
which every one tells in his own fashion, and which
is nothing but a tissue of absurd traditions about
which people tear their own hearts and one another’s
�20
Diderot's Pkilosophical Conversation.
eyes ?” While he was thus meditating, the rippling
waters were rocking him as he lay on the plank and
he soon fell asleep. The wind rose and the tide
carried the plank out to sea with our young reasoner
still lying asleep on it.
L. M.—Alas1 that is a true image of mankind :
we are each of us floating on a plank, the wind rises
and the tide carries us out to sea.
Cr.—When he awoke he was already far from the
land. Much as he was surprised to find himself out
at sea, he was still more surprised when the land dis
appeared and the sea joined with the sky over the
place where he had not long ago been walking. Then
he began to suspect that he might very possibly have
been mistaken in his incredulity, and that if the wind
continued from the same point, he might perhaps be
carried to the coast inhabited by the people of whom
his grandmother had so often spoken to him.
L. M.—You say nothing about the anxiety he
must have felt.
Cr. He had none. He said to himself:—“ What
does it matter provided I get to land. I have
reasoned rather clumsily, I must own; but I was
sincere, and that is all that can be expected of me.
If cleverness is not a virtue, stupidity cannot be a
crime.” In the meantime the wind continued to
blow, the plank and its freight floated on, the
unknown shore soon began to appear, and before
very long he arrived there and landed.
L. M.—We shall meet on that shore one day,
Monsieur Crudeli.
Cr.—I hope so, Mhdcwne la marechdle; wherever
it be I shall always be delighted at an opportunity of
paying my respects to you. Scarcely had he left the
plank and set foot on shore, when he perceived a
venerable old man standing at his side. He asked
where he was and to whom he had the honour of
speaking. “I am the sovereign of this country,”
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
21
replied the old man. “ You denied my existence ? ”
—“True, I did.”—“And that of my empire ? ”—“ True, I did.”—“ I pardon you, because I am He
who sees to the bottom of hearts, and I have read in
yours that you were in good faith; but all your
thoughts and deeds have not been so innocent.”
Whereupon the old man took him gently by the ear,
recalled to him all the faults of his life, and at each
one the young Mexican bowed down, beat his breast,
and asked forgiveness. How, Madame la marechale,
put yourself for a moment in the place of the old
man and tell me what you would have done ? Would
you have seized this young fool and taken a pleasure
in dragging him round the beach by the hair for all
eternity P
L. M.—Indeed, no.
Cr.—If one of those pretty children of yours had
escaped from the house, and after doing all sorts of
foolish things, came back repentant ?
L. M.—I should rush to meet him, I should take
him in my arms and embrace him with tears. But
his father, the Marshal, would not take things so gently.
Cr.—The Marshal is not exactly a tiger.
L. M.—Not by any means.
Cr.—He would require a little persuasion, but he
would certainly end by forgiving.
L. M.—Certainly.
Cr.—Especially if he came to think that, before
causing the birth of this child, he knew its whole life,
and that the punishment of its faults would be use
less, either for himself, for the culprit, or for the
other children.
L. M.—But the old man and the Marshal are two
very different persons.
Cr.—Do you mean that the Marshal is kinder
than the old man ?
L. M.— God forbid ! I only mean that if my jus
tice is not the same as the Marshal’s, his may not be
the same as the old man’s.
�22
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
Ce.—Ah ! Madam, you do not foresee the conse
quences of that answer. Either the general defini
tion of justice is equally applicable to you, to the
Marshal, to me, to the young Mexican and to the old
man, or else I don’t know what justice is and am
totally in the dark as to the means by which the old
man is pleased or displeased.
At this point of our conversation, we were told
that the Marshal was waiting for us. As I shook
hands with the marechale, she said :—It is enough to
make one giddy, isn’t it ?
Ce.—Why should it, if the head is firm ?
L. M.—After all, the shortest way is to behave as
if the old man existed.
Ce.—Even if one doesn’t believe it.
L. M.—And if you do believe it, not to count on
his goodness.
Oe.—If that is not the politest conduct, at least it
is the safest.
L. M.—By the way, suppose you were taken before
the magistrates to give an account of your religious
principles, would you confess them ?
Ce.—I should do my best to save the authorities
from committing an atrocious act.
*
L. M.—Ah! you are a coward ! And if you were
at the point of death, would you submit to receive
the sacraments of the church ?
Ce.—I would not fail to do so.
L. M.—Eor shame! you wicked hypocrite !
* See Note IN.
�APPENDIX.
Note I., page 10.
Compare the opinions of James Mill, as recorded in his
son’s Autobiography, Chapter II. “His aversion to religion,
in the sense usually attached to the term, was of the same
kind with that of Lucretius ; he regarded it with the feelings
due, not to a mere mental delusion, but to a great moral
evil. He looked upon it as the greatest enemy of morality ;
first, by setting up fictitious excellences—belief in creeds,
■devotional feelings and ceremonies, not connected with the
good of human kind,—and causing these to be accepted as
substitutes for genuine virtues : but above all, by radically
vitiating the standard of morals. . . . He was as well
aware as any one that Christians do not in general undergo
the demoralising consequences which seem inherent in such a
creed, in the manner, or to the extent which might have been
expected from it. The same slovenliness of thought, and
subjection of the reason to fears, wishes, and affections, which
enable them to accept a theory involving a _ contradiction in
terms, prevents them from perceiving the logical consequences
of the theory.”
Note II., page 10.
Exception may possibly be taken to the Greeks and Romans
being called “ les plus honnetes gens de la terre.'’ I apprehend
that°Diderot’s meaning will be understood from the following
remarks of John Stuart Mill. “We greatly doubt if most of
"the positive virtues were not better conceived and more highly
prized by the public opinion of Greece than by that of Great
Britain . . . and it may be questioned, if even private
duties are, on the whole, better understood, while duties to
the public, unless in cases of special trust, have almost
dropped out of the catalogue ; that idea, so powerful in the
free states of Greece, has faded into a mere rhetorical
ornament.”—(Review of Grote's ‘History of Greece.’)
Speaking on the use of the Greek and Roman literatures,
Mill also says, “They exhibit, in the military and agri
cultural commonwealths of antiquity, precisely that order of
virtues in which commercial society is apt to be deficient; and
�24
Appendix.
they altogether show human nature on a grander scale ; with
less benevolence but more patriotism ; less sentiment but more
self-control; if a lower average of virtue, more striking
individual examples of it; fewer small goodnesses, but more
greatness and appreciation of greatness ; more which tends to
exalt the imagination and inspire high conceptions of the
capabilities of human nature.”—(Review of De Tocqueville on
‘ Democracy in America. ’)
It is possible that European society may have become more
honest since the middle of the eighteenth century, but at that
time Diderot might with reason regret the ancient standard
of virtue.
Note III., page 13.
This passage is developed by John Stuart Mill, in his Essay
‘On Liberty’:—“Towhat an extent doctrines intrinsically
fitted to make the deepest impression upon the mind may
remain in it as dead beliefs, without being ever realised in the
imagination, the feelings or the understanding, is exemplified
by the manner in which the majority of believers hold the
doctrines of Christianity. By Christianity, I here mean what
is accounted such by all churches and sects—the maxims and
precepts contained in the New Testament. These are con
sidered sacred, and accepted as laws, by all professing Chris
tians. Yet it is scarcely too much to say that not one Christian
in a thousand guides or tests his individual conduct by
reference to those laws. The standard to which he does refer
it is the custom of his nation, his class, or his religious pro
fession. He has thus, on the one hand, a collection of ethical
maxims, which he believes to have been vouchsafed to him
by infallible wisdom as rules for his government; and on the
other a set of every day judgments and practices, which go a
certain length with some of those maxims, not so great a
length with others, stand in direct opposition to some, and
are, on the whole, a compromise between the Christian creed
and the interests and suggestions of worldly life. To the
first of these standards he gives his homage ; to the other his
real allegiance. All Christians believe that the blessed are
the poor and humble, and those who are ill-used by the
world ; that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of
a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven ;
that they should judge not, lest they be judged: that they
should swear not at all; that they should love their neigh
bour as themselves ; that if one take their cloak, they should
give him their coat also ; that they should take no thought
�15
Appendix:
for the morrow ; that if they would be perfect they should
sell all that they have and give it to the poor. They are not
insincere when they say that they believe these things. They
do believe them, as people believe what they have always
heard lauded, and never discussed. But in the sense of that
living belief which regulates conduct, they believe these doc
trines just up to the point to which it is usual to act upon
them. The doctrines, in their integrity, are serviceable to
pelt adversaries with ; and it is understood that they are to
be put forward (when possible), as the reasons for whatever
people do that they think laudable. But any one who
reminded them that the maxims require an infinity of things
which they never even think of doing, would gain nothing
but to be classed among those very unpopular characters who
affect to be better than other people. The doctrines have no
hold on ordinary believers—are not a power in their minds.
They have an habitual respect for the sound of them, but no
feeling which spreads from the words to the things signified,
and forces the mind to take them in, and make them conform
to the formula. Whenever conduct is concerned they look
round for Mr A. and B., to direct them how far to go in
obeying Christ. ”
Note IV., page 14.
See in Voltaire’s ‘Philosophical Dictionary’ the article
“Kavaillac.” It is in the form of a dialogue between a
doctor in theology and a page of the Duke of Sully. The
dialogue begins thus : ‘ ‘ Thank God, my dear boy, JRavaillac
died in holiness. He made his confession to me ; he repented
of his sin, and made a firm resolve not to fall into it again.
He wished to receive the holy communion, but that is not
allowed here as at Borne; his repentance stood in place of it,
and it is certain that he is now in paradise. . . . He was
most contrite, and contrition, combined with the sacrament of
confession, effects salvation, which leads straight to paradise,
where he is now praying to God for you.”
Note V., page 14.
This dialogue was written within a few years of the con
demnation of La Barre and D’Etallonde for sacrilege. They
were accused of having insulted a crucifix set up in a public
thoroughfare; the alleged offence was committed at night, and
the evidence was far from satisfactory. D’Etallonde fled, and
was provided for by Frederick the Great at Voltaire’s request;
La Barre was condemned by the Parliament of Abbeville ; he
was racked, his tongue was torn out, and he was then be
headed.
C
�26
Appendix.
Note VI., page 15.
The desirability of a future life is well treated in the West
minster Review for April, 1873 (Mr Gladstone’s “Defence of
the Faith.”) I will only quote the following sentence for
comparison with Diderot: “No doubt the prospect of future
non-existence may not be an altogether pleasant element to
mingle with our ideas for a few short years to come ; but by
no ingenuity can non-existence itself be represented as
unpleasant.” Compare also Mill’s ‘Three Essays,’ page 118.
Note VII., page 16.
The serpent was adored in Peru, as it is in other parts of
the world, as an emblem of eternity and of resurrection, as
well as of destruction and of regeneration. This incident in
the dialogue is evidently an allusion to the idea of resurrec
tion; Diderot, without entering into the hopeless labyrinth of
a discussion on the soul, contents himself with leading his
interlocutor into a dilemma and leaving her there.
Metaphysicians have successively given animals souls, de
graded them to machines (as compared with soul-possessing
man), and finally, perceiving the awkwardness of either posi
tion, decided on allowing them a compromise called instinct.
Note VIII., page 17.
The expediency of “hedging,” so frequently urged on
waverers in faith, is apparently an argument not confined to
modern Evangelical Christians.
Note IX., page 22.
It must not be thought that Diderot was himself so cautious
as he represents his philosopher. Although he had. with the
tolerance which was his characteristic, confided the article
Soul in his Encyclopaedia to a theologian of well-known ortho
doxy, he was attacked for the materialistic tendencies of this
very article, and the work was proscribed. His prospects
were looking gloomy ; Voltaire begged him to leave his un
grateful country, and to accept the noble hospitality offered
by Catherine of Russia; he was in vain reminded of the fate
of the Chevalier La Barre. But Diderot scorned to seek safety
in flight, and, with the scaffold before his eyes, answered Vol
taire in the following terms : “I know that when a wild beast
has tasted human blood it can no longer do without it; I know
that this beast, having devoured the Jesuits, is about to spring
on the philosophers ; I know that it has cast eyes on me, and
that I shall perhaps be the first devoured. . . I know that
one of them has had the atrocity to say that nothing will be
done as long as only books are burnt. ... I know that
before the end of the year I may remember your advice, and
�Appendix.
27
cry Solon! Solon! . . . What is existence to me if I can
only preserve it by renouncing all that is dear to me ? And
then, I rise every morning with the hope that the wicked have
repented during the night, that there are no more fanatics. . .
If I meet the fate of Socrates, remember that it is not enough
to die like him in order to merit comparison with him. . .
Illustrious and tender-hearted friend of humanity, I salute
and embrace you. No man with a spark of generosity but
would pardon fanaticism for cutting a few years off his life if
those years could be added to yours. If we do not join in
your efforts to crush the beast, it is because we are within
*
reach of its claws, and if, knowing its ferocity, we yet hesitate
to retreat, it is from considerations of which the supremacy
influences every upright and sensitive nature.”
P08TCRIPTUM.
Since writing these notes I have observed some remarkable
coincidences between the opening of the argument in Diderot’s
‘ Conversation ’ (page 8) with that in Philip Beauchamp’s
‘ Analysis of the Influence of Natural Religion on the Tem
poral Happiness of Mankind.’ The latter, published in 18221
*
under an assumed name, is generally understood to be the
work of George Grote, and it is acknowledged by John Stuart
Mill to have had great influence on his intellectual develop
ment. At pages 1 and 2 are the following passages :—
‘ ‘ The warmest partisan of natural religion cannot deny that
by the influence of it (occasionally at least) bad effects have
been produced; nor can any one, on the other hand, venture to
deny that it has, on other occasions, brought about good effects.
The question, therefore, is throughout only as to the compara
tive magnitude, number, and proportion of each.”
“The injurious effects have avowedly been thrown aside
under the pretence that they are abuses of religion; that the
abuse of a thing cannot be urged against its use, since the
most beneficent preparations may be erroneously or criminally
applied. ”
‘ ‘ By the use of a thing is meant the good which it produces;
by the abuse, the evil which it occasions. To pronounce upon
the merits of the thing under discusssion, previously erasing
from the reckoning all the evil which it occasions, is most
preposterous and unwarrantable. ”
Chapter VI. is a development of Diderot’s argument at
page 14—“Temptation is too near,” &c.
. * The bete was fanaticism, that referred to in Voltaire’s watchword J
“ Ecrasez I'infame."
t It has recently been reprinted by Truelove, 256 High Holborn.
��“ADDITION
TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL
THOUGHTS”
OF
DIDEROT.
A very rare little work has fallen into my hands,
entitled ‘ Various Objections to the Writings of dif
ferent Theologians.’ Curtailed, and written with a
little more vivacity, it would form a very good sequel
to the ‘ Philosophical Thoughts.’ I give here a few
of the best ideas of the anonymous author in ques
tion :—
1.
Doubts, in matters of religion, far from being acts
of impiety, should be looked upon as good works,
when they are those of a man who humbly acknow
ledges his ignorance and when they arise from the
fear of displeasing God by the abuse of reason.
2.
To admit some conformity between the reason of
man and eternal reason, which is God, and to pretend
that God exacts the sacrifice of human reason, is to
lay down that He at once will and will not.
3.
When God, from whom we have our reason, re
quires the sacrifice of it, He becomes a juggler who
artfully takes away what he has given.
4.
If I give up my reason, I have no longer any guide.
�30
a Addition to The Philosophical
I must blindly adopt a secondary principle and suppose
what is in question.
5.
If reason is a gift of heaven, and if we can say
the same thing of faith, heaven has made us two pre
sents which are incompatible and contradictory.
6.
To remove this difficulty, we must say that faith is
a chimerical principle, and that it does not exist in
nature.
7.
Pascal Nicole, and others have said, “ That a God
should punish with eternal torments the fault of a
guilty father in his innocent children, is a proposition
above and not contrary to reason.” But what then
is a proposition contrary to reason if that which evi
dently asserts a blasphemy is not so ?
8.
Wandering about an immense forest during the
night, I have but a feeble light to guide me. A
stranger approaches and says to me, “ Blow out thy
candle, my friend, in order better to find thy way.”
This stranger is a theologian.
9.
If my reason comes from on high, it is the voice of
heaven which speaks to me through it; I am bound
to listen to it.
10.
Merit and demerit cannot apply to the use of
reason, because all the goodwill in the world cannot
avail a blind man to discern colours. I am forced to
perceive evidence where it is, and the want of evi
dence where it is not, unless I be an imbecile,—now
imbecility is a misfortune and not a vice.
11.
The author of nature, who will not reward me for
�thoughts ” of Diderot.
31
having been a man of sense, said M. Diderot, will
not damn me for having been a fool.
12.
And He will not damn thee even for having been
a wicked man, for hast thou not already been suffi
ciently unhappy in having been wicked ?
13.
Every virtuous action is accompanied by inward
satisfaction, every criminal action by remorse ; now
the mind owns without shame and without remorse
its repugnance to such and such propositions; there
is then neither virtue nor guilt either in believing or
in rejecting them.
14.
If we still need grace in order to do well, what
was the use of the death of Jesus Christ ?
15.
If there are a hundred thousand damned for one
saved, the devil has still the advantage without having
abandoned his son to death.
16.
The God of the Christians is a father who sets
great store by his apples and very little by his chil
dren.
17.
Take away from a Christian the fear of Hell and
you will take from him his faith.
18.
A true religion interesting all men in all times and
in all places must have been eternal, universal, and
evident; none has these characteristics ; all then are
thrice demonstrated false.
19.
The facts of which some men only can be witnesses
are insufficient to demonstrate a religion which ought
to be equally believed by the whole world.
�32
“Addition to The Philosophical
20.
The facts by which religions are supported are
ancient and marvellous; that is, the most doubtful
possible to prove the most incredible thing.
21.
To prove the Gospel by a miracle is to prove an
absurdity by a thing against nature.
22.
But what will God do to those who have never
heard speak of His Son ? Will He punish the deaf
for not having heard ?
23.
What will He do to those who, having heard tell
of His religion, have not been able to comprehend
it ? Will he punish pigmies for not having been
able to walk with the steps of a giant ?
24.
Why are the miracles of Jesus Christ true, and
those of Esculapius, of Apollonius and of Mahomet
false ?
25.
But all the Jews who were at Jerusalem were pro
bably converted at the sight of the miracles of Jesus
Christ ? Not at all. Ear from believing in him^
they crucified him. We must agree that these Jews
are unlike all other men; everywhere we have seen
people carried away by a single false miracle and
Jesus Christ was unable to make anything of the
Jewish people with an infinity of true miracles.
26.
It is this miracle of incredulity on the part of the
Jews which should be placed in the strongest light,
and not that of his resurrection.
27.
It is as true as that two and two make four that
Caesar existed ; it is as sure that Jesus Christ existed as
�Thoughts” of Diderot.
33
Csesar. It is then, as sure that Jesus Christ rose again
as that he or Csesar existed. What logic! The
existence of Jesus and of Cassar is not a miracle.
28.
We read in the life of M. de Turenne, that a house
having caught fire, the presence of the Blessed Holy
Sacrament suddenly arrested the flames. Well, but
we read also in history that a monk having poisoned
a consecrated host, an Emperor of Germany had no
sooner swallowed it than he expired.
’29.
There was something more there than the appear
ances of the bread and wine, or we must say that the
poison had incorporated itself with the body and the
blood of Jesus Christ.
30.
This body becomes mouldy, this wine becomes
sour, this God is devoured by mites upon his altar.
Blind people, imbecile Egyptians open your eyes !
31.
The religion of Jesus Christ announced by ignorant
persons made the first Christians. The same religion
preached by the learned and by doctors now only
makes sceptics.
32.
It is objected that submission to a legislative
authority dispenses one from reasoning; but where on
the surface of the earth is the religion without such
an authority?
33.
It js the education of his childhood which pre
vents a Mahometan from being baptized; it is the
education of his childhood which prevents a Chris
tian from being circumcised; it is the reason of the
grown man which equally despises baptism and
circumcision.
�34
“Addition to Phe Philosophical
34.
It is said in Saint Luke, that God the Father is
greater than God the Son. Pater major me est. Yet,
in spite of a passage so express, the Church pro
nounces anathema on any scrupulous believer who
adheres literally to the words of his father’s testament.
35.
If authority has been able to dispose at its pleasure
of the sense of this passage, and as there is not one
in all the Scriptures more precise, neither is there
one that we can flatter oursfelves we understand, and
of which the Church may not make what it pleases
in future.
36.
“ Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram cedificaho ecclesiam mean.” Is that the language of a God, or a
medley worthy of the Seigneur des accords ?
37.
ilIn dolore paries.” “Thou shalt bring forth in
pain ” said God to the prevaricating woman; and
what have the females of animals done to offend
Him which also bring forth in pain ?
38.
If we are to understand literally Pater major me
est, Jesus Christ is not God. If we are to under
stand literally hoc est corpus meum, he gave himself
to his apostles with his own hands, which is as absurd
as to say that Saint Denis kissed his head after it had
been cut off!
39.
It is said that he retired to the Mount of Olives,
and that he.prayed, and to whom did he pray ? He
prayed to himself!
40.
This God who causes God to die in order to
appease God is an excellent saying of Baron de la
�Thoughts’" of Diderot.
11
35
Houtan. Less evidence results from a hundred folio
volumes written for or against Christianity than from
the absurdity of these two lines.
41.
To say that man is a compound of strength and
weakness, of light and blindness, of littleness and of
greatness, is not to state his case, it is to define it.
42.
Man is as God or nature has made him, and God
or nature makes nothing evil.
43.
What we call original sin, Ninon de Lenclos
called Ze pecihe original.
'
*
44.
It is unexampled impudence to cite the conformity
of the Evangelists, since in some of them there are
very important facts of which not a word is said in
the others.
45.
Plato considered the Divinity under three aspects,
goodness, wisdom, and power. One’s eyes must be
closed not to see in this the Trinity of the Christians.
It was nearly three thousand years since the philo
sopher of Athens called Logos what we call the
Word.
46.
The divine persons are either three accidents or
three substances. There is no medium. If they are
three accidents, we are Atheists or Deists; if they
are three substances, we are Pagans.
47.
God the Father judges man worthy of His eternal
vengeance ; God the Son judges them worthy of His
* There is a pun here ; originel is the French for ‘‘ original,” while
original means “ queer.”
�36
“Addition to The Philosophical
infinite mercy; the Holy Ghost remains nenter.
How can this senseless Catholic verbiage be recon
ciled with the unity of the divine will ?
48.
Theologians have long been asked to reconcile the
dogma of eternal torture with the infinite mercy of
God, and they are just where they were.
49.
And why punish a culprit when there is no longer
any good to be derived from his chastisement ?
50.
He who punishes for his own sake alone is very
cruel and very wicked.
51.
There is no good father who would wish to resemble
our heavenly Father.
52.
What proportion is there between the offender and
the offended ? what proportion between the offence
and the punishment ? What a heap of absurdities
and atrocities!
53.
And at what is this God so angry ? Would not
one say that Zcould do something for or against His
glory, for or against His peace, for or against His
happiness ?
54.
It is asserted that God causes the wicked man,
who is powerless against Him, to burn in a fire
which will endure everlastingly, yet scarcely would a
father be permitted to give temporary death to a
son who should compromise his life, his honour, and
his fortune !
55.
0 Christians! you have, then, two different ideas
�Thoughts ” of Diderot.
37
of goodness and of wickedness, of truth and of false
hood. You are, then, the most absurd of dogmatists
or the most outrageous of Pyrrhonists.
56.
All the evil of which one is capable is not all the
evil possible ; no it is only he who could commit all
the evil possible who could also deserve eternal
punishment. To make of God an infinitely vindic
tive being, you transform a worm of the earth into
an infinitely powerful being.
57.
That which these atrocious Christians have trans
lated by eternal, signifies in Hebrew only durable.
It is from the ignorance of a Hebrewism and from
the ferocious disposition of an interpreter that the
dogma of the eternity of torment proceeds.
58.
Pascal has said, “ If your religion is false, you risk
nothing in believing it true; if it is true, you risk
everything in believing it false.” An Imaun can say
just as much as Pascal.
59.
That Jesus Christ, who is God, should have been
tempted by the Devil, is a tale worthy the Thousandand-one Nights.
60.
I should be very glad if a Christian, particularly a
Jansenist, would make me feel the cui bono of the
incarnation. Again, would it not need to swell to
infinity the number of the damned if one desires to
turn this dogma to any advantage.
61.
But why do Leda’s swan and the little flames of
Castor and Pollux make us laugh ? and why do we
not laugh at the dove and the tongues of fire of the
Gospel ?
�38
“Addition to The Philosophical
62.
In the first centuries there were sixty Gospels
almost equally believed. "Fifty-six of them have been
rejected as containing puerilities and folly. Does
there remain nothing of all that in those which have
been preserved F
63.
God gives a first law to men; he then abolishes
this law. Is not such conduct a little like that of a
legislator who has been mistaken and discovers it in
time ? Is it like a perfect Being to change his
mind ?
64.
There are as many kinds of faith as there are
religions in the world.
65.
All the Sectarians in the world are but heretical
deists.
66.
If man is unhappy without having been born guilty,
may it not be that he is destined to enjoy eternal
happiness without being able, by his nature, ever to
make himself worthy of it ?
67.
What I think of the Christian dogma, and saying
but one word of its morality, is this: that for a
Catholic father of a family, convinced that the
maxims of the Gospel must be carried out to the
letter, under pain of what is called Hell, seeing the
extreme difficulty of attaining to that degree of per
fection of which human weakness is incapable, I see
no other expedient than to take his child by the foot
and to dash him to the earth, or to stifle him at birth.
By this act he saves him from the danger of damna
tion, and insures him eternal felicity; and I maintain
that such an act, far from being criminal, should be
esteemed infinitely praiseworthy, since it is founded
�Thoughts ” of Diderot.
j9
on the motive of paternal love, 'which demands that
every good father should do for his children all the
good possible.
68.
I ask whether the precept of religion and the law
of. society, which forbid the murder of the innocent,
are not in reality very absurd and very cruel, when,
by killing them, we insure to them infinite happiness,
whereas, in suffering them to live, we devote them
almost certainly to eternal misery ?
69.
How! Monsieur de la Condamine. Can it be allow
able to inoculate one’s son to save him from the small
pox, and not allowable to kill him in order to save
him from Hell ? You are jesting.
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY-STREET, HAYMARKET.
�
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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The origin of man: being a paper read before the Victoria Institute, or Philosophical Society of Great Britain
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Bardsley, John W.
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 28,4, p. ; 22 cm.
Notes: Information on the Society and an application form on numbered pages at the end. John Bardsley was the Archdeacon of Warrington. Tentative date of publication from KVK (OCLC WorldCat).
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E. Stanford
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[1884]
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DIALOGUES
CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION.
No. II.
BY
DAVID HUME, Esq.
4 nezo Edition, with a Preface and Notes, which bring the Subject
do wn to the present time.
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,
NO. 11, THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD,
UPPER NORWOOD, LONDON, S.E,
Price One Shilling.
��DIALOGUES
CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION.
PART VII.
DUT here, continued Philo, in examining the ancient
system of the soul of the world, there strikes me, all
on a sudden, a new idea, which, if just, must go near
to subvert all your reasoning, and destroy even your
first inferences, on which you repose such confidence.
If the universe bears a greater likeness to animal bodies
and to vegetables, than to the works of human art, it
is more probable, that its cause resembles the cause
of the former than that of the latter, and its origin
ought rather to be ascribed to generation or vegetation
than to reason or design. Your conclusion, even
according to your own principles, is therefore lame and
defective.
Pray open up this argument a little farther, said
Demea. For I do not rightly apprehend it, in that
concise manner in which you have expressed it.
Our friend Cleanthes, replied Philo, as you have
heard, asserts, that since no question of fact can be
proved otherwise than by experience, the existence of
a Deity admits not of proof from any other medium.
The world, says he, resembles the works of human
contrivance : Therefore its cause must also resemble
that of the other. Here I we may remark, that the
operation of one very small part of nature, to wit man,
upon another very small part, to wit that inanimate
E
�64 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
matter lying within his reach, is the rule hy which
Cleanthes judges of the origin of the whole, and he
measures objects, so widely disproportioned, by the
same individual standard. But to waive all objections
drawn from this topic; I affirm, that there are other
parts of the universe (besides the machines of human
invention) which bear still a greater resemblance to
the fabric of the world, and which therefore afford a
better conjecture concerning the universal origin of this
system. These parts are animals and vegetables. The
world plainly resembles more an animal or a vegetable,
than it does a watch or a knitting-loom. Its cause,
therefore, it is more probable, resembles the cause of the
former. The cause of the former is generation or vege
tation. The cause, therefore, of the world, we may
infer to be something similar or analogous to generation
or vegetation.
But how is it conceivable, said Demea, that the
world can arise from anything similar to vegetation or
generation ?
Very easily, replied Philo. In like manner as a tree
sheds its seed into the neighbouring fields, and produces
other trees ; so the great vegetable, the world, or this
planetary system, produces within itself certain seeds,
which, being scattered into the surrounding chaos,
vegetate into new worlds. A comet, for instance, is
the seed of a world ; and after it has been fully ripened,
by passing from sun to sun, and star to star, it is at last
tossed into the unformed elements which everywhere
surround this universe, and immediately sprouts up
into a new system.
Or if, for the sake of variety (for I see no other
advantage), we should suppose this world to be an
animal; a comet is the egg of this animal : and in
like manner as an ostrich lays its egg in the sand,
which, without any further care, hatches the egg, and
produces a new animal; so.................I understand
you, says Demea: But what wild, arbitrary suppositions
�Part VII.
65
are these ? What data have you for such extraordinary
conclusions ? And is the slight, imaginary resemblance
of the world to a vegetable or an animal sufficient to
establish the same inference with regard to both ?
Objects, which are in general so widely different;
ought they to be a standard for each other?
Right cries Philo : This is the topic on which I have
all along insisted. I have still asserted, that we have
no data to establish any system of cosmogony. Our
experience, so imperfect in itself, and so limited both
in extent and duration, can afford us no probable
conjecture concerning the whole of things. But if we
must needs fix on some hypothesis; by what rule,
pray, ought we to determine our choice ? Is there any
other rule than the greater similarity of the objects
compared ? And does not a plant or an animal, which
springs from vegetation or generation, bear a stronger
resemblance to the world, than does any artificial
machine, which arises from reason and design ?
But what is this vegetation and generation of which
you talk, said Demea ? Can you explain their opera
tions, and anatomize that fine internal structure on
which they depend 1
As much, at least, replied Philo, as Cleanthes can
explain the operations of reason, or anatomize that in
ternal structure on which it depends. But without
any such elaborate disquisitions, when I see an animal,
I infer that it sprang from generation ; and that with
as great certainty as you conclude a house to have been
reared by design. These words, generation, reason,
mark only certain powers and energies in nature,
whose effects are known, but whose essence is incom
prehensible ; and one of these principles, more than
the other, has no privilege for being made a standard
to the whole of nature.
In reality, Demea, it may reasonably be expected,
that the larger the views are which we take of things,
the better will they conduct us in our conclusions
�66 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
concerning such, extraordinary and such magnificent
subjects. In this little corner of the world alone, there
are four principles, Reason, Instinct, Generation,
Vegetation, which are similar to each other, and are
the causes of similar effects. What a number of other
principles may we naturally suppose in the immense
extent and variety of the universe, could we travel
from planet to planet and from system to system, in
order to examine each part of this mighty fabric ?
Any one of these four principles above mentioned (and
a hundred others, which lie open to our conjecture)
may afford us a theory, by which to judge of the
origin of the world ; and it is a palpable and egregious
partiality, to confine our view entirely to that principle
by which our own minds operate. Were this principle
more intelligible on that account, such a partiality
might be somewhat excusable: but reason, in its
internal fabric and structure, is really as little known
to us as instinct or vegetation ; and perhaps even that
vague, undeterminate word, Nature, to which the
vulgar refer everything, is not at the bottom more
inexplicable. The effects of these principles are
all known to us from experience: but the principles
themselves, and their manner of operation, are totally
unknown : nor is it less intelligible, or less conformable
to experience, to say, that the world arose by vegetation
from a seed shed by another world, than to say that it
arose from a divine reason or contrivance, according to
the sense in which Cleanthes understands it.
But methinks, said Demea, if the world had a
vegetative quality, and could sow the seeds of new
worlds into the infinite chaos, this power would be
still an additional argument for design in its author.
For whence could arise so wonderful a faculty but
from design ? Or how can order spring from any
thing which perceives not that order which it bestows ?
You need only look around you, replied Philo, to
satisfy yourself with regard to this question. A tree
�Part VII.
6y
bestows order and organization on that tree which
springs from it, without knowing the order : an animal,
in the same manner, on its offspring; a bird, on its
nest: and instances of this kind are even more
frequent in the world than those of order, which arise
from reason and contrivance. To say that all this
order in animals and vegetables proceeds ultimately
from design, is begging the question : nor can that
great point be ascertained otherwise than by proving,
a priori, both that order is, from its nature, inseparably
attached to thought; and that it can never, of itself,
or from original unknown principles, belong to matter.
But further, Demea ; this objection, which you urge,
can never be made use of by Cleanthes, without
renouncing a defence which he has already made
against one of my objections. When I inquired con
cerning the cause of that supreme reason and
intelligence, into which he resolves everything; he
told me, that the impossibility of satisfying such
inquiries could never be admitted as an objection in
any species of philosophy. “ We must stop somewhere,”
says he; “ nor is it ever within the reach of human
capacity to explain ultimate causes, or show the last
connections of any objects. It is sufficient, if the steps,
so far as we go, are supported by experience and
observation.” Now, that vegetation and generation,
as well as reason, are experienced to be principles of
order in nature, is undeniable. If I rest my system of
cosmogony on the former, preferably to the latter, it is
at my choice. The matter seems entirely arbitrary.
And when Cleanthes asks me what is the cause of my
great vegetative or generative faculty, I am equally
entitled to ask him the cause of his great reasoning
principle. These questions we have agreed to forbear on
both sides; and it is chiefly his interest on the present
occasion to stick to this agreement. Judging by our
limited and imperfect experience, generation has some
privileges above reason : for we see every day the latter
arise from the former, never the former from the latter.
�68 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
Compare, I beseech you, the consequences on both
sides. The world, say I, resembles an animal; there
fore it is an animal, therefore it arose from generation.
The steps, I confess, are wide ; yet there is some small
appearance of analogy in each step. The world, says
Cleanthes, resembles a machine • therefore it is a
machine, therefore it arose from design. The steps
here are equally wide, and the analogy less striking.
And if he pretends to carry on my hypothesis a step
farther, and to infer design or reason from the great
principle of generation, on which I insist; I may, with
better authority, use the same freedom to push farther
lus hypothesis, and infer a divine generation or
theogony from his principle of reason. I have at least
some faint shadow of experience, which is the utmost
that can ever be attained in the present subject.
.Beason, in innumerable instances, is observed to arise
from the principle of generation, and never to arise
from any other principle.
Hesiod, and all the ancient Mythologists, were so
struck with this analogy, that they universally explained
the origin of nature from an animal birth, and copula
tion. Plato too, so far as he is intelligible, seems to
have adopted some such notion in his Timaeus.
The Bramins assert, that the world arose from an
infinite spider, who spun this whole complicated mass
from his bowels, and annihilates afterwards the whole or
any part of it, by absorbing it again, and resolving it into
his own essence. Here is a species of cosmogony,
which appears to us ridiculous; because a spider is a
little contemptible animal, whose operations we are
never likely to take for a model of the whole universe.
But still here is a new species of analogy, even in our
globe. And were there a planet wholly inhabited by
spiders, (which is very possible), this inference would
there appear as natural and irrefragable as that which
in our planet ascribes the origin of all things to design
and intelligence, as explained by Cleanthes. Why an
�Part VIII.
69
orderly system may not be spun from the belly as well
as from the brain, it will be difficult for him to give a
satisfactory reason.
I must confess, Philo, replied Cleanthes, that of all
men living, the task which you have undertaken, of
raising doubts and objections, suits you best, and
seems, in a manner, natural and unavoidable to you.
So great is your fertility of invention, that I am not
ashamed to acknowledge myself unable, on a sudden,
to solve regularly such out-of-the-way difficulties as you
incessantly start upon me : though I clearly see, in
general, their fallacy and error. And I question not,
but you are yourself, at present, in the same case, and
have not the solution so ready as the objection : while
you must be sensible, that common sense and reason
are entirely against you ; and that such whimsies as you
have delivered, may puzzle, but never can convince us.
PART VIII.
What you ascribe to the fertility of my invention
replied Philo, is entirely owing to the nature of the
subject. In subjects, adapted to the narrow compass
of human reason, there is commonly but one deter
mination, which carries probability or conviction with it;
■and to a man of sound judgment, all other suppositions,
but that one, appear entirely absurd and chimerical.
But in such questions as the present, a hundred
contradictory views may preserve a kind of imperfect
analogy ; and invention has here full scope to exert
itself. Without any great effort of thought, I believe
that I could, in an instant, propose other systems
of cosmogony, which would have some faint appearance
of truth; though it is a thousand, a million to one,
if either yours or any one of mine be the true system.
For instance; what if I should revive the old
Epicurean hypothesis ? This is commonly, and I believe
�7° Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
justly, esteemed the most absurd system that has yet
been proposed ; yet, I know not, whether, with a few
alterations, it might_ not be brought to bear a faint
appearance of probability. Instead of supposing matter
infinite, as Epicurus did ; let us suppose it finite. A
finite number of particles'is only susceptible of finite
transpositions j and it must happen, in an eternal
duration, that every possible order or position must be
tried an infinite number of times. This world, there
fore, with all its events, even the most minute, has
before been produced and destroyed, and will again be
produced and destroyed, without any bounds and
limitations. No one, who has a conception of the
powers of infinite, in comparison of finite, will ever
scruple this determination.
But this supposes, said Demea, that matter can
acquire motion, without any voluntary agent or first
mover.
And where is the difficulty, replied Philo, of that
supposition ? Every event, before experience, is equally
difficult and incomprehensible; and every event, after
experience, is equally easy and intelligible. Motion,
in many instances, from gravity, from elasticity, from
electricity, begins in matter, without any known
voluntary agent: and to suppose always, in these cases,
an unknown voluntary agent, is mere hypothesis ; and
hypothesis attended with no advantages. The beginning
of motion in matter itself is as conceivable a priori as
its communication from mind and intelligence.
Besides ; why may not motion have been propagated
by impulse through all eternity; and the same stock
of it, or nearly the same, be still upheld in the
universe ? As much as is lost by the composition of
motion, as much is gained by its resolution. And
whatever the causes are, the fact is certain, that matter
is, and always has been, in continual agitation, as far
as human experience or tradition reaches. There is not
probably, at present, in the whole universe, one particle
of matter at absolute rest.
�Part VIII.
71
And this very consideration too, continued Philo,
which we have stumbled on in the course of the argu
ment, suggests a new hypothesis of cosmogony, that is
not absolutely absurd and improbable. Is there a system,
an order, an economy of things, by which matter can
preserve that perpetual agitation which seems essential
to it, and yet maintain a constancy in the forms which
it produces ? There certainly is such an economy : for
this is actually the case with the present world. The
continual motion of matter, therefore, in less than in
finite transpositions, must produce this economy or
order; and by its very nature, that order, when once
established, supports itself for many ages, if not to
eternity. But wherever matter is so poised, arranged,
and adjusted, as to continue in perpetual motion, and
yet preserve a constancy in the forms, its situation must,
of necessity, have all the same appearance of art and
contrivance which we observe at present. All the
parts of each form must have a relation to each other,
and to the whole: and the whole itself must have a
relation to the other parts of the universe; to the
element, in which the form subsists ; to the materials,
with which it repairs its waste and decay; and to
every other form, which is hostile or friendly. A
defect in any of these particulars destroys the form;
and the matter, of which it is composed, is again let
loose, and is thrown into irregular motions and fermen
tations, till it unite itself to some other regular form.
If no such form be prepared to receive it, and if there
be a great quantity of this corrupted matter in the
universe, the universe itself is entirely disordered;
whether it be the feeble embryo of a world in its first
beginnings that is thus destroyed, or the rotten carcase
of one languishing in old age and infirmity. In
either case, a chaos ensues; till finite, though in
numerable revolutions produce at last some forms,
whose parts and organs are so adjusted as to support
the forms amidst a continued succession of matter.
�Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
Suppose, (for we shall endeavour to vary the ex
pression) that matter were thrown into any position,
by a blind, unguided force ; it is evident, that this
first position must in all probability be the most
confused and most disorderly imaginable, without any
resemblance to those works of human contrivance, which,
along with a symmetry of parts discover an adjustment
of means to ends, and a tendency to self-preservation.
If the actuating force cease after this operation, matter
must remain for ever in disorder, and continue an
immense chaos, without any proportion or activity.
But suppose, that the actuating force, whatever it be,
still continues in matter, this first position will
immediately give place to a second, which will likewise
in all probability be as disorderly as the first, and so on
through many successions of changes and revolutions.
No particular order or position ever continues a
moment unaltered.
The original force, still remain
ing in activity, gives a perpetual restlessness to matter.
Every possible situation is produced, and instantly
destroyed. If a glimpse or dawn of order appears for
a moment, it is instantly hurried away, and confounded
by that never-ceasing force which actuates every part of
matter.
Thus the universe goes on for many ages in a con
tinued succession of chaos and disorder. But is it not
possible that it may settle at last, so as not to lose its
motion and active force (for that we have supposed
inherent in it), yet so as to preserve a uniformity of
appearance, amidst the continual motion and fluctuation
of its parts ? This we find to be the case with the
universe at present. Every individual is perpetually
changing, and every part of every individual; and yet
the whole remains, in appearance, the same. May we
not hope for such a position, or rather be assured of it,
from the eternal revolutions of unguided matter; and
may not this account for all the appearing wisdom
and contrivance which is in the universe ? Let us
�Part VIII.
73
contemplate the subject a little, and we shall find that
this adjustment, if attained by matter, of a seeming
stability in the forms, with a real and perpetual
revolution or motion of parts, affords a plausible, if not
a true solution of the difficulty.
It is in vain, therefore, to insist upon the uses of the
parts in animals or vegetables, and their curious
adjustment to each other. I would fain know how an
animal could subsist, unless its parts were so adjusted ?
Do we not find, that it immediately perishes whenever
this adjustment ceases, and that its matter, corrupting,
tries some new form ? It happens, indeed, that the
parts of the world are so well adjusted, that some
regular form immediately lays claim to this corrupted
matter: and if it were not so, could the world subsist ?
Must it not dissolve as well as the animal, and pass
through new positions and situations; till in a great,
but finite succession, it fall at last into the present
or some such order.
. It is well, replied Cleanthes, you told us, that this
hypothesis was suggested on a sudden, in the course of
the argument. Had you had leisure to examine it, you
would soon have perceived the insuperable objections
to which it is exposed. No form, you say, can subsist
unless it possess those powers and organs requisite for
its subsistence : some new order or economy must be
tried, and so on, without intermission ; till at last some'
order, which can support and maintain itself, is fallen
upon. But according to this hypothesis, whence arise
the many conveniences and advantages which men and
all animals possess ? Two eyes, two ears, are not
absolutely necessary for the subsistence of the species.
Human race might have been propagated and preserved,
without horses, dogs, cows, sheep, and those innumer
able fruits and products which serve to our satisfaction
and enjoyment. If no camels had been created for the
use of man in the sandy deserts of Africa and Arabia
would the world have been dissolved ? If no loadstone
�74 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
had been framed to give that wonderful and useful
direction to the needle, would human society and the
human kind have been immediately extinguished ?
Though the maxims of Nature be in general very
frugal, yet instances of this kind are far from being
rare; and any one of them is a sufficient proof of
design, and of a benevolent design, which gave rise to
the order and arrangement of the universe.
At least, you may safely infer, said Philo, that the
foregoing hypothesis is so far incomplete and imperfect;
which I shall not scruple to allow. But can we ever
reasonably expect greater success in any attempts of
this nature 1 Or can we ever hope to erect a system of
cosmogony, that will be liable to no exceptions, and
will contain no circumstance repugnant to our limited
and imperfect experience of the analogy of Nature 1
Your theory itself cannot surely pretend to any such
advantage; even though you have run into Anthropo
morphism, the better to preserve a conformity to
common experience. Let us once more put it to trial.
In all instances which we have ever seen, ideas are
copied from real objects, and are ectypal, not
archetypal, to express myself in learned terms : You
reverse this order, and give thought the precedence.
In all instances which we have ever seen, thought has
no influence upon matter, except where that matter is
so conjoined with it as to have an equal reciprocal
influence upon it. No animal can move immediately
anything but the members of its own body ; and
indeed, the equality of action and reaction seem to be
a universal law of Nature. But your theory implies a
contradiction to this experience. These instances, with
many more, which it were easy to collect, (particularly
the supposition of a mind or system of thought that is
eternal, or, in other words, an animal ingenerable and
immortal); these instances, I say, may teach all of us
sobriety in condemning each other ; and let us see, that
as no system of this kind ought ever to be received
�Part IX.
75
from a slight analogy, so neither ought any to he
rejected on account of a small incongruity. For that
is an inconvenience from which we can justly pronounce
no one to he exempted.
All religious systems, it is confessed, are subject to
great and insuperable difficulties.
Each disputant
triumphs in histurn; while he carries on an offensive war,
and exposes the absurdities, barbarities, and pernicious
tenets of his antagonist. But all of them, on the whole,
prepare a complete triumph for the Sceptic ; who tells
them that no system ought ever to be embraced with
regard to such subjects : for this plain reason, that no
absurdity ought ever to be assented to with regard to
any subject. A total suspense of judgment is here
our only reasonable resource. And if every attack, as
is commonly observed, and no defence, among Theolo
gians, is successful; how complete must be his victory,
who remains always, with all mankind, on the
offensive, and has himself no fixed station or abiding
city,* which he is ever, on any occasion, obliged to
defend ?
PART IX.
But if so many difficulties attend the argument a pos
teriori, said Demea; had we not better adhere to that
simple and sublime argument a priori, which, by offer
ing to us infallible demonstration, cuts off at once all
doubt and difficulty ? By this argument, too, we may
prove the Infinity of the divine attributes ; which, I
am afraid, can never be ascertained with certainty from
any other topic. For how can an effect, which either
is finite, or, for aught we know, may be so; how can
such an effect, I say, prove an infinite cause ? The
unity too of the Divine Nature, it is very difficult, if
not absolutely impossible, to deduce merely from con
templating the works of nature; nor will the uni* Hebrews xiii. 14.
�7 6 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
formity alone of the plan, even were it allowed, give
us any assurance of that attribute. Whereas the argu
ment a priori ....
You seem to reason, Demea, interposed Cleanthes, as
if those advantages and conveniences in the abstract
argument were full proofs of its solidity. But it is
first proper, in my opinion, to determine what argument
of this nature you choose to insist on; and we shall
afterwards, from itself, better than from its useful con
sequences, endeavour to determine what value we ought
to put upon it.
The argument, replied Demea, which I would insist
on, is the common one. Whatever exists, must have
a cause or reason of its existence; it being absolutely
impossible for anything to produce itself, or be the
cause of its own existence. In mounting up, therefore,
from effects to causes, we must either go on in tracing
an infinite succession, without any ultimate cause at all;
or must at last have recourse to some ultimate cause,
that is necessarily existent: now that the first supposi
tion is absurd, may be thus proved. In the infinite
chain or succession of cause and effect, each single effect
is determined to exist by the power and efficacy of that
cause which immediately preceded; but the whole
eternal chain or succession, taken together, is not
determined or caused by anything; and yet it is
evident that it requires a cause or reason, as much
as any particular object which begins to exist in time.
The question is still reasonable, why this particular
succession of causes existed from eternity, and not
any other succession, or no succession at all. If
there be no necessarily-existent being, any supposi
tion which can be formed is equally possible; nor is
there any more absurdity in Nothing’s having existed
from eternity, than there is in that succession of causes
which constitutes the universe. What was it, then,
which determined Something to exist rather than
Nothing, and bestowed being on a particular possibility,
�Part IX.
77
exclusive of the rest ? External causes, there are
supposed to he none. Chance is a word without a
meaning. Was it Nothing ? But that can never pro
duce anything. We must, therefore, have recourse to
a necessarily-existent Being, who carries the Reason of
his existence in himself; and who cannot be supposed
not to exist, without an express contradiction. There
is consequently such a Being ; that is, there is a Deity.
I shall not leave it to Philo, said Cleanthes, (though
I know that the starting objections is his chief delight)
to point out the weakness of this metaphysical reason
ing. It seems to me so obviously ill-grounded, and at
the same time of so little consequence to the cause of
true piety and religion, that I shall myself venture to
show the fallacy of it.
I shall begin with observing, that there is an evident
absurdity in pretending to demonstrate a matter of fact,
or to prove it by any arguments a priori. Nothing is
demonstrable, unless the contrary implies a contra
diction. Nothing, that is distinctly conceivable, im
plies a contradiction. Whatever we conceive as
existent, we can also conceive as non-existent. There
is no being, therefore, whose non-existence implies a
contradiction. Consequently there is no being, whose
existence is demonstrable. I propose this argument as
entirely decisive, and am willing to rest the whole
controversy upon it.
It is pretended that the Deity is a necessarilyexistent being; and this necessity of his existence is
attempted to be explained by asserting, that if we knew
his whole essence or nature, we should perceive it to
be as impossible for him not to exist as for twice two
not to be four. But it is evident, that this can never
happen, while our faculties remain the same as at
present. It will still be possible for us, at any time,
to conceive the non-existence of what we formerly con
ceived to exist; nor can the mind ever lie under a
necessity of supposing any object to remain always
�7 8 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
in. being j in the same manner as we lie under a
necessity of always conceiving twice two to be four.
The words, therefore, necessary existence, have no
meaning; or, which is the same thing, none that is
■consistent.
But farther : why may not the material universe be
the necessarily-existent Being, according to this pre
tended explication of necessity? We dare not affirm
that we know all the qualities of matterj and for aught
we can determine, it may contain some qualities, which,
were they known, would make its non-existence appear
as great a contradiction as that twice two is five. I
find only one argument employed to prove that the
material world is not the necessarily-existent Being;
.and this argument is derived from the contingency
both of the matter and the form of the world. “ Any
particle of matter,” it is said *, “ may be conceived to
be annihilated; and any form may be conceived to be
altered. Such an annihilation or alteration, therefore,
is not impossible.” But it seems a great partiality not
to perceive, that the same argument extends equally to
the Deity, so far as we have any conception of him;
and that the mind can at least imagine him to be non
existent, or his attributes to be altered. It must be
some unknown, inconceivable qualities, which can
make his non-existence appear impossible, or his attri
butes unalterable : and no reason can be assigned, why
these qualities may not belong to matter. As they are
altogether unknown and inconceivable, they can never
be proved incompatible with it.
Add to this, that in tracing an eternal succession of
objects, it seems absurd to inquire for a general cause
or first author. How can anything that exists from
eternity, have a cause; since that relation implies a
priority in time, and a beginning of existence ?
In such a chain, too, or succession of objects, each
part is caused by that which preceded it, and causes
* Dr Clarke.
�Part IX.
79
that which succeeds it. Where then is the difficulty ?
But the whole, you say, wants a cause. I answer, that
the uniting of these parts into a whole, like the
uniting of several distinct counties into one king
dom, or several distinct members into one body, is
performed merely by an arbitrary act of the mind, and
has no influence on the nature of things. Did I show
you the particular causes of each individual in a collec
tion of twenty particles of matter, I should think it
very unreasonable, should you afterwards ask me, what
was the cause of the whole twenty. That is suffi
ciently explained in explaining the cause of the parts.
Though the reasonings which you have urged,
Cleanthes, may well excuse me, said Philo, from start
ing any farther difficulties; yet I cannot forbear
insisting still upon another topic. It is observed by
arithmeticians, that the products of 9 compose always
either 9, or some lesser product of 9 ; if you add to
gether all the characters, of which any of the former
products is composed. Thus, of 18, 27, 36, which are
products of 9, you make 9 by adding 1 to 8, 2 to 7, 3
to 6. Thus, of 369 is a product also of 9 ; and if you
add 3, 6, and 9, you make 18, a lesser product of 9 *.
To a superficial observer, so wonderful a regularity may
be admired as the effect either of chance or design:
but a skilful algebraist immediately concludes it to be
the work of necessity; and demonstrates, that it must
for ever result from the nature of these numbers. Is it
not probable, I ask, that the whole economy of the
universe is conducted by a like necessity, though no
human algebra can furnish a key which solves the diffi
culty ? And instead of admiring the order of natural
beings, may it not happen, that, could we penetrate into
the intimate nature of bodies, we should clearly see
why it was absolutely impossible they could ever admit
of any other disposition ? So dangerous is it to intro
duce this idea of necessity into the present question 1
* Republique des Lettres, Aout, 1685.
F
�80
Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
and so naturally does it afford an inference directly
opposite to the religious hypothesis !
But dropping all these abstractions, continued Philo ;
and confining ourselves to more familiar topics ; I shall
venture to add an observation, that the argument a
priori has seldom been found very convincing, except
to people of a metaphysical head, who have accustomed
themselves to abstract reasoning, and who, finding from
mathematics, that the understanding frequently leads
to truth, through obscurity, and contrary to first appear
ances, have transferred the same habit of thinking to
subjects where it ought not to have place. Other
people, even of good sense and the best inclined to
religion, feel always some deficiency in such argu
ments, though they are not perhaps able to explain dis
tinctly where it lies. A certain proof, that men ever
did, and ever will, derive their religion from other
sources than from this species of reasoning.
P A R T X.
It is my opinion, I own, replied Demea, that each man
feels, in a manner, the truth of religion within his own
breast; and from a consciousness of his imbecility and
misery, rather than from any reasoning, is led to
seek protection from that being, on whom he and
all nature is dependent. So anxious or so tedious are
even the best scenes of life, that futurity is still the
object of all our hopes and fears. We incessantly look
forward, and endeavour, by prayers, adoration and
sacrifice, to appease those unknown powers, whom we
find, by experience, so able to afflict and oppress us.
Wretched creatures that we are ! what resource for us
amidst the innumerable ills of life, did not religion sug
gest some methods of atonement, and appease those
terrors with which we are incessantly agitated and
tormented ?
�Part X.
81
I am indeed persuaded, said Philo, that the best, and
indeed the only, method of bringing every one to a due
sense of religion, is by just representations of the
misery and wickedness of men. And for that purpose
a talent of eloquence and strong imagery is more
requisite than that of reasoning and argument. For is
it necessary to prove, what every one feels within bimself? It is only necessary to make us feel it, if
possible, more intimately and sensibly.
The people, indeed, replied Demea, are sufficiently
convinced of this great and melancholy truth. The
miseries of life; the unhappiness of man; the general
corruptions of our nature; the unsatisfactory enjoyment
of pleasures, riches, honours; these phrases have
become almost proverbial in all languages. And who
can doubt of what all men declare from their own
immediate feeling and experience ?
In this point, said Philo, the learned are perfectly
agreed with the vulgar; and in all letters, sacred and
profane, the topic of human misery has been insisted
on with the most pathetic eloquence that sorrow and
melancholy could inspire. The poets, who speak from
sentiment, without a system, and whose testimony has
therefore the more authority, abound in images of this
nature. From Homer down to Dr Young, the whole
inspired tribe have ever been sensible, that no other re
presentation of things would suit the feeling and
observation of each individual.
As to authorities, replied Demea, you need not seek
them. Look round this library of Cleanthes. I shall
venture to affirm, that, except authors of particular
sciences, such as chemistry or botany, who have no
occasion to treat of human life, there is scarce one of
those innumerable writers, from whom the sense of
human misery has not, in some passage or other, extorted
a complaint and confession of it. At least, the chance
is entirely on that side; and no one author has ever, so
far as I can recollect, been so extravagant as to deny it.
�82 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
There you must excuse me, said Philo : Leibnitz has
denied it; and is perhaps the first * who ventured upon
so bold and paradoxical an opinion; at least, the first
who made it essential to his philosophical system.
And by being the first, replied Demea, might he not
have been sensible of his error ? For is this a subject
in which philosophers can propose to make discoveries,
especially in so late an age ? And can any man hope
by a simple denial (for the subject scarcely admits of
reasoning) to bear down the united testimony of man
kind, founded on sense and consciousness 2
And why should man, added he, pretend to an
exemption from the lot of all other animals ? The whole
earth, believe me, Philo, is cursed and polluted. + A
perpetual war is kindled amongst all living creatures.
Necessity, hunger, want, stimulate the strong and
courageous: Fear, anxiety, terror, agitate the weak and
infirm. The first entrance into life gives anguish to the
new-born infant and to its wretched parent: weakness,
impotence, distress, attend each stage of that life: and
it is at last finished in agony and horror.
Observe too, says Philo, the curious artifices of Nature
in order to embitter the life of every living being. The
stronger prey upon the weaker, .and keep them in per
petual terror and anxiety. The weaker too, in their
turn, often prey upon the stronger, and vex and molest
them without relaxation. Consider that innumerable
race of insects, which either are bred on the body of
each animal, or flying about infix their stings in him,
These insects have others still less than themselves,
which torment them. And thus on each hand, before
and behind, above and below, every animal is surround
ed with enemies, which incessantly seek his misery and
destruction.
Man alone, said Demea, seems to be, in part, an
That sentiment had been maintained by Dr King*, and some few
others, before Leibnitz; though by none of so great fame as that
German philosopher.
t Romans viii. 22.
�Part X.
exception to this rule. For by combination in society,
he can easily master lions, tigers, and bears, whose
greater strength and agility naturally enable them to
prey upon him.
On the contrary, it is here chiefly, cried Philo, that
the uniform and equal maxims of Nature are most ap
parent. Man, it is true, can, by combination, surmount
all his real enemies, and become master of the whole
animal creation : but does he not immediately raise up
to himself imaginary enemies, the daemons of his fancy,
who haunt him with superstitious terrors, and blast
every enjoyment of life ? His pleasure, as he imagines,
becomes, in their eyes, a crime: his food and repose give
them umbrage and offence : his very sleep and dreams
furnish new materials to anxious fear: and even death,
his refuge from every other ill, presents only the dread
of endless and innumerable woes. Nor does the wolf
molest more the timid flock, than superstition does the
anxious breast of wretched mortals.
Besides, consider, Demea: This very society, by which
we surmount those wild beasts, our natural enemies;
what new enemies does it not raise to us ? What woe and
misery does it not occasion 1 Man is the greatest enemy
of man. Oppression, injustice, contempt, contumely,
violence, sedition, war, calumny, treachery, fraud; by
these they mutually torment each other: and they would
soon dissolve that society which they had formed, were
it not for the dread of still greater ills, which must
attend their separation.
But though these external insults, said Demea, from
animals, from men, from all the elements, which assault
us, form a frightful catalogue of woes, they are nothing
in comparison of those which arise within ourselves,
from the distempered condition of our mind and body.
How many lie under the lingering torment of diseases ?
Hear the pathetic enumeration of the great poet—
Intestine stone and ulcer, colic-pangs,
Daemoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,
�84 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence.
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans : Despair
Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch.
And over them triumphant Death his dart
Shook ; but delay’d to strike, tho’ oft invok’d
With vows, as their chief good and final hope.*
The disorders of the mind, continued Demea, though
more secret, are not perhaps less dismal and vexatious.
Remorse, shame, anguish, rage, disappointment, anxiety,
fear, dejection, despair; who has ever passed through
life without cruel inroads from these tormentors ?
How many have scarcely ever felt any better sensa
tions ? Labour and poverty, so abhorred by every one,
are the certain lot of the far greater number : and
those few privileged persons, who enjoy ease and
opulence, never reach contentment or true felicity.
All the goods of life united would not make a very
happy man : but all the ills united would make a
wretch indeed ; and any one of them almost (and who
can be free from every one ?) nay often the absence of
one good (and who can possess all ?) is sufficient to
render life ineligible.
Were a stranger to drop, on a sudden, into this world,
I would show him, as a specimen of its ills, an hospital
full of diseases, a prison crowded with malefactors
and debtors, a field of battle strewed with carcases, a
fleet foundering in the ocean, a nation languishing under
tyranny, famine, or pestilence. To turn the gay side
of life to him and give him a notion of its pleasures ;
whither should I conduct him ? to a ball, to an opera,
to court 1 He might justly think, that I was only
showing him a diversity of distress and sorrow.
There is no evading such striking instances, said
Philo, but by apologies, which still farther aggravate
the charge. Why have all men, I ask, in all ages,
complained incessantly of the miseries of life ? . . .
They have no just reason, says one : these complaints
* Paradise Lost, xi. 484— 493.
�Part X.
85
proceed only from their discontented, repining, anxious
disposition. . . . And can there possibly, I reply, be a
more certain foundation of misery, than such a
wretched temper ?
But if they were really as unhappy as they pretend,
•says my antagonist, why do they remain in life 1 . . .
Not satisfied with life, afraid of death.
This is the secret chain, say I, that holds us. We are
terrified, not bribed to the continuance of our ex
istence.
It is only a false delicacy, he may insist, which a
few refined spirits indulge, and which has spread these
■complaints among the whole race ? of mankind. . . .
And what is this delicacy, I ask, which you blame ?
Is it anything but a greater sensibility to all the
pleasures and pains of life ? and if the man of a
delicate, refined temper, by being so much more alive
than the rest of the world, is only so much more
unhappy; what judgment must we form in general of
human life ?
Let men remain at rest, says our adversary; and
they will be easy. They are willing artificers of their
own misery. . . . No ! reply I: an anxious languor
follows their repose; disappointment, vexation, trouble
their activity and ambition.
I can observe something like what you mention in
some others, replied Cleanthes : but I confess, I feel
little or nothing of it in myself; and hope that it is
not so common as you represent it.
If you feel not human misery yourself, cried Demea,
I congratulate you on so happy a singularity. Others,
seemingly the most prosperous, have not been ashamed
to vent their complaints in the most melancholy
strains. Let us attend to the great, the fortunate
-emperor, Charles V. when, tired with human grandeur,
he resigned all his extensive dominions into the hands
of his son. In the last harangue, which he made on
�86 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
that memorable occasion, he publicly avowed, “ that
the greatest prosperities which he had ever enjoyed, had
been mixed with so many adversities, that he might
truly say he had never enjoyed any satisfaction or
contentmentBut did the retired life, in which he
sought for shelter, afford him any greater happiness 1
If we may credit his son’s account, his repentance
commenced the very day of his resignation.
Cicero’s fortune, from small beginnings, rose to the
greatest lustre and renown; yet what pathetic com
plaints of the ills of life do his familiar letters, as well
as philosophical discourses, contain ? And suitably to
his own experience, he introduces Cato, the great, the
fortunate Cato, protesting in his old age, that had he
a new life in his offer, he would reject the present.
Ask yourself, ask any of your acquaintance, whether
they would live over again the last ten or twenty years
of their life. No ! but the next twenty, they say, will
be better :
And from the dregs of life, think to receive
What the first sprightly running could not give. *
Thus at last they find (such is the greatness of human
misery; it reconciles even contradictions) that they
complain, at once of the shortness of life, and of its
vanity and sorrow.
And is it possible, Cleanthes, said Philo, that after
all these reflections, and infinitely more, which might
be suggested, you can still persevere in your Anthro
pomorphism, and assert the moral attributes of the
Deity, his justice, benevolence, mercy, and rectitude,
to be of the same nature with these virtues in human
creatures ? His power we allow infinite : whatever
he wills is executed: but neither man nor any other
animal is happy: therefore he does not will their
happiness. His wisdom is infinite: he is never
mistaken in choosing the means to any end : but the
course of Nature tends not to human or animal felicity :
* From Dryden’s “ Aurengzebe. ”
�Part X.
87
therefore it is not established for that purpose.
Through the whole compass of human knowledge,
there are no inferences more certain and infallible than
these. In what respect, then, do his benevolence and
mercy resemble the benevolence and mercy of men ?
Epicurus’ old questions are yet unanswered.
Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able 1 then ishe impotent. Is he able, but not willing ? then is he
malevolent. Is he both able and willing 1 whence
then is evil 1
You ascribe, Cleanthes, (and I believe justly) a
purpose and intention to Nature. But what, I beseech
you, is the object of that curious artifice and machinery,
which she has displayed in all animals ? The preserva
tion alone of individuals, and propagation of the species.
It seems enough for her purpose, if such a rank be
barely upheld in the universe, without any care or con
cern for the happiness of the members that compose it.
No resource for this purpose : no machinery, in order
merely to give pleasure or ease : no fund of pure joy
and contentment: no indulgence, without some want
or necessity accompanying it.
At least, the few .
phenomena of this nature are overbalanced by opposite
phenomena of still greater importance.
Our sense of music, harmony, and indeed beauty of
all kinds, gives satisfaction, without being absolutely
necessary to the preservation and propagation of the
species. But what racking pains, on the other hand,
arise from gouts, gravels, megrims, toothaches, rheu
matisms ; where the injury to the animal-machinery
is either small or incurable ? Mirth, laughter, play,
frolic, seem gratuitous satisfactions, which have no
farther tendency : spleen, melancholy, discontent,
superstition, are pains of the same nature. How then
does the divine benevolence display itself, in the sense
of you Anthropomorphites ? None but we Mystics, asyou were pleased to call us, can account for this strange
mixture of phenomena, by deriving it from attributes,
infinitely perfect, but incomprehensible.
�88 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
And have you at last, said Cleanthes smiling,
betrayed your intentions, Philo ? Your long agreement
with Demea did indeed a little surprise me; but I find
you were all the while erecting a concealed battery
against me. And I must confess, that you have now fallen
upon a subject worthy of your noble spirit of opposition
and controversy. If you can make out the present
point, and prove mankind to be unhappy or corrupted,
there is an end at once of all religion. Por to what
purpose establish the natural attributes of the Deity,
while the moral are still doubtful and uncertain ?
You take umbrage very easily, replied Demea, at
opinions the most innocent, and the most generally re
ceived even amongst the religious and devout themselves:
and nothing can be more surprising than to find a topic
like this, concerning the wickedness and misery of
man, charged with no less than Atheism and profane
ness. Have not all pious divines and preachers, who
have indulged their rhetoric on so fertile a subject;
have they not easily, I say, given a solution of any
difficulties which may attend it! This world is but a
. point in comparison of the universe; this life but a
moment in comparison of eternity. The present evil
phenomena, therefore, are rectified in other regions,
and in some future period of existence. And the eyes
of men, being then opened to larger views of things,
see the whole connection of general laws; and trace,
with adoration, the benevolence and rectitude of the
Deity, through all the maze and intricacies of his
providence.
No 1 replied Cleanthes, No ! These arbitrary sup
positions can never be admitted, contrary to matter of
fact, visible and uncontroverted. Whence can any
cause be known but from its known effects ? Whence
can any hypothesis be proved but from the apparent
phenomena ? To establish one hypothesis upon
another, is building entirely in the air ; and the utmost
we ever attain, by these conjectures and fictions, is to
�Part X.
89
ascertain the bare possibility of our opinion; but never
can we, upon such terms, establish its reality.
The only method of supporting divine benevolence
(and it is what I willingly embrace) is to deny ab
solutely the misery and wickedness of man. Your
representations are exaggerated; your melancholy views
mostly fictitious ; your inferences contrary to fact and
experience. Health is more common than sickness;
pleasure than pain ; happiness than misery. And for
one vexation which we meet with, we attain, upon
computation, a hundred enjoyments.
Admitting your position, replied Philo, which yet is
extremely doubtful; you must, at the same time, allow,
that, if pain be less frequent than pleasure, it is in
finitely more violent and durable. One hour of it is
often able to outweigh a day, a week, a month of our
common insipid enjoyments. And how many days,
weeks, and months, are passed by several in the most
acute torments ? Pleasure, scarcely in one instance, is
ever able to reach ecstasy and rapture : and in no one in
stance can it continue for any time at its highest pitch
and altitude. The spirits evaporate ; the nerves relax;
the fabric is disordered • and the enjoyment quickly de
generates into fatigue and uneasiness. But pain often,
how often ! rises to torture and agony ? and the longer
it continues, it becomes still more genuine agony and
torture. Patience is exhausted; courage languishes ;
melancholy seizes us ; and nothing terminates our
misery but the removal of its cause, or another event,
which is the sole cure of all evil, but which, from our
natural folly, we regard with still greater horror and
consternation.
But not to insist upon these topics, continued Philo,
though most obvious, certain, and important; I must
use the freedom to admonish you, Cleanthes, that you
have put the controversy upon a most dangerous issue,
and are unawares introducing a total Scepticism into the
most essential articles of natural and revealed theology.
�90 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
What! no method of fixing a just foundation for
religion, unless we allow the happiness of human life,
and maintain a continued existence even in this world,
with all our present pains, infirmities, vexations, and
follies, to he eligible and desirable! But this is con
trary to every one’s feeling and experience : It is con
trary to an authority so established as nothing can
subvert. No decisive proofs can ever be produced
against this authority; nor is it possible for you to
compute, estimate, and compare, all the pains and all
the pleasures in the lives of all men and of all animals
and thus by your resting the whole system of religion
on a point, which, from its very nature, must for ever
be uncertain, you tacitly confess, that that system is
equally uncertain.
But allowing you, what never will be believed; at
least, what you never possibly can prove; that animal,
or at least human happiness, in this life, exceeds its
misery; you have yet done nothing : For this is not,
by any means, what we expect from infinite power,
infinite wisdom, and infinite goodness. Why is there
any misery at all in the world 1 Not by chance surely.
From some cause then. Is it from the intention
of the Deity ? But he is perfectly benevolent. Is it
contrary to his intention? But he is almighty.
Nothing can shake the solidity of this reasoning, so
short, so clear, so decisive : except we assert, that these
subjects exceed all human capacity, and that our
common measures of truth and falsehood are not
applicable to them; a topic, which I have all along
insisted on, but which you have from the beginning
rejected with scorn and indignation.
But I will be contented to retire still from this
intrenchment, for I deny that you can ever force me in
it: I will allow, that pain or misery in man is com
patible with infinite power and goodness in the Deity,
even in your sense of these attributes : What are you
advanced by all these concessions? A mere possible
�Part XI.
91
■compatibility is not sufficient. You must prove these
pure, unmixed, and uncontrollable attributes from the
present mixed and confused phenomena and from these
alone. A hopeful undertaking ! Were the phenomena
ever so pure and unmixed, yet being finite, they would
be insufficient for that purpose. How much more,
where they are also so jarring and discordant?
Here, Cleanthes, I find myself at ease in my argu
ment. Here I triumph. Formerly, when we argued
concerning the natural attributes of intelligence and
design, I needed all my sceptical and metaphysical
subtlety to elude your grasp. In many views of the
universe, and of its parts, particularly the latter, the
beauty and fitness of final causes strike us with such
irresistible force, that all objections appear (what I
believe they really are) mere cavils and sophisms; nor
can we then imagine how it was ever possible for us to
repose any weight on them. But there is no view of
human life, or of the condition of mankind, from which,
without the greatest violence, we can infer the moral
attributes, or learn that infinite benevolence, conjoined
with infinite power and infinite wisdom, which we must
discover by the eyes of faith alone. It is your turn
now to tug the labouring oar, and to support your
philosophical subtleties against the dictates of plain
reason and experience.
PAET XI.
I
scruple not to allow, said Cleanthes, that I have
been apt to suspect the frequent repetition of the word
infinite, which we meet with in all theological writers,
to savour more of panegyric than of philosophy; and
that any purposes of reasoning, and even of religion,
would be better served, were we to rest contented with
more accurate and more moderate expressions. The
�92 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
terms admirable, excellent, superlatively great, wise,
and holy; these sufficiently fill the imaginations of
men; and anything beyond, besides that it leads into
absurdities, has no influence on the affections or senti
ments. Thus, in the present subject, if we abandon all
human analogy, as seems your intention, Demea, I am
afraid we abandon all religion, and retain no conception
of the great object of our adoration. If we preserve
human analogy, we must for ever find it impossible to
reconcile any mixture of evil in the universe with
infinite attributes ; much less can we ever prove the
latter from the former. But supposing the Author of
Nature to be finitely perfect, though far exceeding
mankind ; a satisfactory account may then be given of
natural and moral evil, and every untoward phenome
non be explained and adjusted. A less evil may then
be chosen, in order to avoid a greater: Inconveniencies be submitted to, in order to reach a desirable
end. And, in a word, benevolence, regulated by
wisdom, and limited by necessity, may produce just
such a world as the present. You, Philo, who are so
prompt at starting views, and reflections, and analogies;
I would gladly hear, at length, without interruption,
your opinion of this new theory • and if it deserve our
attention, we may afterwards, at more leisure, reduce it
into form.
My sentiments, replied Philo, are not worth being
made a mystery of; and therefore, without any cere
mony, I shall deliver what occurs to me with regard to
the present subject. It must, I think, be allowed,
that if a very limited intelligence, whom we shall suppose
utterly unacquainted with the universe, were assured,
that it were the production of a very good, wise, and
powerful Being, however finite, he would, from .his
conjectures, form beforehand a different notion of it
from what we find it to be by experience; nor would
he ever imagine, merely from these attributes of the
cause, of which he is informed, that the effect could be
�Part XI.
93
so full of vice, and misery, and disorder, as it appears
in this life. Supposing now, that this person were
brought into the world, still assured that it was the
workmanship of such a sublime and benevolent Being ;
he might, perhaps, be surprised at the disappointment;
But would never retract his former belief, if founded on
any very solid argument; since such a limited intelli
gence must be sensible of his own blindness and
ignorance, and must allow, that there may be many
solutions of those phenomena, which will for ever
escape his comprehension. But supposing, which is
the real case with regard to man, that' 'this creature is
not antecedently convinced of a supreme intelligence,
benevolent and powerful, but is left to gather such a
belief from the appearances of things; this entirely
alters the case, nor will he ever find any reason for such a
conclusion. He may be fully convinced of the narrow
limits of his understanding ■ but this will not help him
in forming an inference concerning the goodness of
superior powers, since he must form that inference
from what he knows, not from what he is ignorant of.
The more you exaggerate his weakness and ignorance,
the more diffident you render him, and give him the
greater suspicion that such subjects are beyond the reach
of his faculties. You are obliged, therefore, to reason
with him merely from the known phenomena, and to
drop every arbitrary supposition or conjecture.
Bid I show you a house or palace, where there was
not one apartment convenient or agreeable ; where the
windows, doors, fires, passages, stairs, and the whole
economy of the building, were the source of noise, con
fusion, fatigue, darkness, and the extremes of heat and
cold; you would certainly blame the contrivance, with
out any farther examination. The architect would in
vain display his subtlety, and prove to you, that if this
door or that window were altered, greater ills would
ensue. What he says may be strictly true: The
alteration of one particular, while the other parts of the
�94 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
building remain, may only augment the inconveniences.
But still you would assert in general, that, if the archi
tect had had skill and good intentions, he might have
formed such a plan of the whole, and might have
adjusted the parts in such a manner, as would have
remedied all or most of these inconveniences. His
ignorance, or even your own ignorance, of such a plan,
will never convince you of the impossibility of it.
If you find many inconveniencies and deformities in
the building, you will always, without entering into
any detail, condemn the architect.
In short, I repeat the question. Is the world, con
sidered in general, and as it appears to us in this life,
different from what a man, or such a limited being,
would, beforehand, expect from a very powerful, wise,
and benevolent Deity ? It must be strange prejudice to
assert the contrary. And from thence I conclude, that,
however consistent the world may be, allowing certain
suppositions and conjectures, with the idea of such a
Deity, it can never afford us an inference concerning his
existence. The consistence is not absolutely denied,
only the inference.
Conjectures, especially where
infinity is excluded from the divine attributes, may
perhaps, be sufficient to prove a consistence; but can
never be foundations for any inference.
There seem to be four circumstances, on which
depend all, or the greatest part of the ills, that molest
sensible creatures j and it is not impossible but all these
circumstances may be necessary and unavoidable. We
know so little beyond common life, or even of common
life, that, with regard to the economy of a universe,
there is no conjecture, however wild, which may not be
just; nor any one, however plausible, which may not be
erroneous. All that belongs to human understanding,
in this deep ignorance and obscurity, is to be sceptical,
or at least cautious; and not to admit of any hypothesis
whatever; much less, of any which is supported by no
appearance of probability. Now, this I assert to be the
�Part XI.
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case with regard, to all the causes of evil, and the cir
cumstances on which it depends.
None of them
appear to human reason, in the least degree, necessary
or unavoidable; nor can we suppose them such, without
the utmost license of imagination.
The first circumstance which introduces evil, is that
contrivance or economy of the animal creation, by
which pains, as well as pleasures, are employed to
excite all creatures to action, and make them vigilant
in the great work of self-preservation. Now pleasure
alone, in its various degrees, seems to human understanding sufficient for this purpose. All animals might
be constantly in a state of enjoyment; but when urged
by any of the necessities of nature, such as thirst,
hunger, weariness; instead of pain, they might feel
a diminution of pleasure, by which they might be
prompted to seek that object which is necessary to
their subsistence. Men who pursue pleasure as
eagerly as they avoid pain ; at least, might have been
so constituted. It seems, therefore, plainly possible
to carry on the business of life without any pain.
Why then is any animal ever rendered susceptible of
such a sensation 1 If animals can be free from it an
hour, they might enjoy a perpetual exemption from
it • and it required as particular a contrivance of their
organs to produce that feeling, as to endow them with
sight, hearing, or any of the senses. Shall we con
jecture that such a contrivance was necessary, without
any appearance of reason ? and shall we build on that
conjecture, as on the most certain truth ?
But a capacity of pain would not alone produce,
pain, were it not for the second circumstance, viz., the
conducting of the world by general laws; and this
seems nowise necessary to a very perfect Being. It is
true ; if everything were conducted by particular voli
tions, the course of nature would be perpetually
broken, and no man could employ his reason in the
conduct of life. But might not other particular voliG
�g6 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
tions remedy this inconvenience ? In short, might
not the Deity exterminate all ill, wherever it were to
be found ; and produce all good, without any prepara
tion or long progress of causes and effects ?
Besides, we must consider, that, according to the
present economy of the world, the course of nature,
though supposed exactly regular, yet to us appears
not so, and many events are uncertain, and many dis
appoint our expectations. Health and sickness, calm
and tempest, with an infinite number of other accidents,
whose causes are unknown and variable, have a great
influence both on the fortunes of particular persons,
and on the prosperity of public societies ; and indeed
all human life, in a manner, depends on such accidents.
A being, therefore, who knows the secret springs of
the universe, might easily, by particular volitions,
turn all these accidents to the good of mankind, and
render the whole world happy, without discovering
himself in any operation. A fleet, whose purposes
were salutary to society, might always meet with a
fair wind; good princes enjoy sound health and long
life; persons born to power and authority, be framed
with good tempers and virtuous dispositions. A few
such events as these, regularly and wisely conducted,
would change the face of the world, and yet would no
more seem to disturb the course of nature, or confound
human conduct, than the present economy of things,
where the causes are secret, and variable, and com
pounded. Some small touches given to Caligula’s
brain in his infancy, might Lave converted him into
a Trajan; one wave, a little higher than the rest, by
burying Caesar and his fortune in the bottom of the
ocean, might have restored liberty to a considerable
part of mankind. There may, for aught we know, be
good reasons, why Providence interposes not in this
manner; but they are unknown to us; and though
the mere supposition, that such reasons exist, may be
sufficient to save the conclusion concerning the divine
�Part XI.
97
attributes, yet surely it can never be sufficient to
establish that conclusion.
If everything in the universe be conducted by
general laws, and if animals be rendered susceptible of
pain, it scarcely seems possible but some ill must arise
in the various shocks of matter, and the various con
currence and opposition of general laws. But this ill
would be very rare, were it not for the third circum
stance, which I proposed to mention, viz., the great
frugality with which all powers and faculties are dis
tributed to every particular being. So well adjusted
are the organs and capacities of all animals, and so
well fitted to their preservation, that, as far as history
or tradition reaches, there appears not to be any single
species which has yet been extinguished in the
universe.* Every animal has the requisite endow
ments ; but these endowments are bestowed with so
scrupulous an economy, that any considerable diminu
tion must entirely destroy the creature. Wherever
one power is increased, there is a proportional abate
ment in the others, Animals, which excel in swift* Here Hume was quite in error, and consequently made an
admission against himself by thinking that no race of animals has
ever become extinct. The truth is that the very reverse is the.
case. A whole animal and vegetable creation have become
extinct, as the fossil remains of gigantic animals and gigantic
trees abundantly testify. Even tropical climates in parts of the
earth have been, as it were, extinguished, and their places
occupied in some cases by arctic, and in others by temperate
climates. It was probably a change of climate which came on
in places whence the now extinct animals could not get away,
that caused their destruction. At Maidstone, in England, there
have been found the fossil remains of a ’ saurian reptile, called
iguanodon. From these remains naturalists have calculated that
the animal was seventy feet (or more) in length. Therefore these
facts strengthen Hume’s position. They shew at least that this
part of creation is imperfect. They shew that the present order
of things on earth may be as mortal and perishable as that which
preceded it. The fossil remains of the human race may prove a
puzzle to a superior order of animals four hundred thousand years
hence.
But in the days of Hume, geology was not among the sciences
then known. Fossils were an insoluble riddle. It was not until
a long time after Hume’s death, and after the pioneers of
�98 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
ness, are commonly defective in force. Those which
possess both, are either imperfect in some of their
senses, or are oppressed with the most craving wants.
The human species, whose chief excellency is reason
and sagacity, is of all others the most necessitous, and
the most deficient in bodily advantages; without
clothes, without arms, without food, without lodging,
without any convenience of life, except what they owe
to their own skill and industry. In short, nature
seems to have formed an exact calculation of the
necessities of her creatures; and, like a rigid master,
has afforded them little more powers or endowments
than what are strictly sufficient to supply those
necessities. An indulgent parent would have bestowed
a large stock, in order to guard against accidents, and
secure the happiness and welfare of the creature in the
most unfortunate concurrence of circumstances. Every
course of life would not have been so surrounded with
precipices, that the least departure from the true path,
by mistake or necessity, must involve us in misery and
ruin. Some reserve, some fund, would have been
provided to ensure happiness; nor would the powers
and the necessities have been adjusted with so rigid
an economy. The author of nature is inconceivably
• powerful; his force is supposed great, if not altogether
inexhaustible: nor is there any reason, as far as we
can judge, to make him observe this strict frugality in
Geology had groped and lost their way through numbers of
Noachian, and other equally absurd theories by which they tried
to account for the origin and existence of fossil organisms, that
the true theories of geological science were discovered.
There is scarcely any thing in the history of human enlighten
ment, that is more strange and interesting than the steady advance
and triumph of scientific geology over the fables of the Hebrew
and other nonsensical cosmogonies. Only at rare intervals, and
in remote corners of civilization, can there be found even a
Christian priest who has the stupidity, ignorance, and audacity
to question the completeness of this triumph. Religion has fre
quently led men astray, when seeking moral and scientific Truth ;
but religion has never taught men anything worth knowing,
except the knowledge of its own immorality and worthlessness.
�Part XI.
99
his dealings with his creatures. It would have been
better, were his power extremely limited, to have
created fewer animals, and to have endowed these with
more faculties for their happiness and preservation.
A builder is never esteemed prudent, who undertakes
a plan beyond what his stock will enable him to
finish.
In order to cure most of the ills of human life, I
require not that man should have the wings of the
eagle, the swiftness of the stag, the force of the ox,
the arms of the lion, the scales of the crocodile or
rhinoceros ; much less do I demand the sagacity of an
angel or cherubim. I am contented to take an increase
in one single power or faculty of his soul. Let him be
endowed with a greater propensity to industry and
labour ; a more vigorous spring and activity of mind;
a more constant bent to business and application.
Let the whole species possess naturally an equal
diligence with that which many individuals are able
to attain by habit and reflection; and the most bene
ficial consequences, without any alloy of ill, is the
immediate and necessary result of this endowment.
Almost all the moral, as well as natural evils of human
life arise from idleness ; and were our species, by the
original constitution of their frame, exempt from this
vice or infirmity, the perfect cultivation of land, the
improvement of arts and manufactures, the exact
execution of every office and duty, immediately follow ;
and men at once may fully reach that state of society,
which is so imperfectly attained by the best regulated
government. But as industry is a power, and the
most valuable of any, nature seems determined, suitably
to her usual maxims, to bestow it on men with a very
sparing hand; and rather to punish him severely for
his deficiency in it, than to reward him for his attain
ments. She has so contrived his frame, that nothing
but the most violent necessity can oblige him to
labour; and she employs all his other wants to over-
�ioo Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
come, at least in part, the want of diligence, and to
endow him with some share of a faculty of which she
has thought fit naturally to bereave him. Here our
demands may be allowed very humble, and therefore
the more reasonable. If we required the endowments
of superior penetration and judgment, of a more
delicate taste of beauty, of a nicer sensibility to bene
volence and friendship; we might be told, that we
impiously pretend to break the order of nature; that
we want to exalt ourselves into a higher rank of
being; that the presents which we require, not being
suitable to our state and condition, would only be
pernicious to us. But it is hard ; I dare to repeat it,
it is hard, that being placed in a world so full of wants
and necessities, where almost every being and element
is either our foe, or refuses its assistance . . . we
should also have our own temper to struggle with, and
should be deprived of that faculty which can alone
fence against these multiplied evils.
The fourth circumstance, whence arises the misery
and ill of the universe, is the inaccurate workmanship
of all the springs and principles of the great machine of
nature. It must be acknowledged, that there are few
parts of the universe, which seem not to serve some
purpose, and whose removal would not produce a visible
defect and disorder in the whole. The parts hang all
together ; nor can one be touched without affecting the
rest, in a greater or less degree. But at the same time,
it must be observed, that none of these parts or prin
ciples, however useful, are so accurately adjusted, as to
keep precisely within those bounds in which their
utility consists ; but they are, all of them, apt, on every
occasion, to run into the one extreme or the other.
One would imagine, that this grand production had not
received the last hand of the maker; so little finished is
every part, and so coarse are the strokes with which it is
executed. Thus, the winds are requisite to convey the
vapours along the surface of the globe, and to assist
�Part XI.
IOI
Bien in navigation : bnt how oft, rising up to tempests
and hurricanes, do they become pernicious ? Rains are
necessary to nourish all the plants and animals of the
earth: but how often are they defective, how often ex
cessive ? Heat is requisite to all life and vegetation; but
is not always found in the due proportion. On the mix
ture and secretion of the humours and juices of the body
depend the health and prosperity of the animal: but the
parts perform not regularly their proper function. What
more useful than all the passions of the mind, ambition,
vanity, love, anger ? But how oft do they break their
bounds, and cause the greatest convulsions in society 1
There is nothing so advantageous in the universe, but
what frequently becomes pernicious, by its excess or
defect; nor has Nature guarded, with the requisite
accuracy, against all disorder or confusion. The irregu
larity is never, perhaps, so great as to destroy any
species; * but is often sufficient to involve the in
dividuals in ruin and misery.
On the concurrence, then, of these four circumstances,
does all or the greatest part of natural evil depend.
Were all living creatures incapable of pain, or were the
world administered by particular volitions, evil never
could have found access into the universe : and were ani
mals endowed with a large stock of powers and faculties,
beyond what strict necessity requires; or were the
several springs and principles of the universe so accur
ately framed as to preserve always the just temperament
and medium; there must have been very little ill in
comparison of what we feel at present. What then
shall we pronounce on this occasion ? Shall we say,
that these circumstances are not necessary, and that
they might easily have been altered in the contrivance
of the universe ? This decision seems too presump
tuous for creatures so blind and ignorant. Let us be
more modest in our conclusions. Let us allow, that if
the goodness of the deity (I mean a goodness like the
* See the Note at page 97.
�102 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
human) could be established on any tolerable reasons a
priori, these phenomena, however untoward, would not
be sufficient to subvert that principle; but might easily,
in some unknown manner, be reconcilable to it. But
let us still assert, that as this goodness is not antece
dently established, but must be inferred from the phe
nomena, there can be no grounds for such an inference,
while there are so many ills in the universe, and while
these ills might so easily have been remedied, as far as
human understanding can be allowed to judge on such
a subject. I am sceptic enough to allow, that the bad
appearances, notwithstanding all my reasonings, may
be compatible with such attributes as you suppose :
But surely they can never prove these attributes. Such
a conclusion cannot result from scepticism; but must
arise from the phenomena, and from our confidence in
the reasonings which we deduce from these phenomena.
Look round this universe. What an immense pro
fusion of beings, animated and organized, sensible and
active 1 You admire this prodigious variety and
fecundity. But inspect a little more narrowly these
living existences, the only beings worth regarding.
How hostile and destructive to each other! How
insufficient all of them for their own happiness I How
contemptible or odious to the spectator 1 The whole
presents nothing but the idea of a blind Nature,
impregnated by a great vivifying principle, and pouring
forth from her lap, without discernment or parental
care, her maimed and abortive children.*
Here the Manichaean system occurs as a proper
hypothesis to solve the difficulty : and no doubt, in
some respects, it is very specious, and has more probabil
ity than the common hypothesis, by giving a plausible
account of the strange mixture of good and ill which
* “As is the race of leaves, even such is the race of men.
Leaves, some indeed the wind sheds on the ground, but the bud
ding wood produces others when the season of spring comes on ;
thus does the race of men, one produce, another cease [produc
ing].”—Iliad vi. 146-9.
�Part XL
Io3
appears in life. But if we consider, on the other hand,
the perfect uniformity and agreement of the parts of
the universe, we shall not discover in it any marks of
the combat of a malevolent with a benevolent being.
There is indeed an opposition of pains and pleasures
in the feelings of sensible creatures : but are not all
the operations of Nature carried on by an opposition of
principles, of hot and cold, moist and dry, light and
heavy? The true conclusion is, that the original
Source of all things is entirely indifferent to all these
principles ; and has no more regard to good above ill,
than to heat above cold, or to drought above moisture,
or to light above heavy*
There may four hypotheses be framed concerning the
first causes of the universe : that they are endowed
with perfect goodness ; that they have perfect malice ;
that they are opposite, and have both goodness and
malice; that they have neither goodness nor malice.
Mixed phenomena can never prove the two former un
mixed principles. And the uniformity and steadiness of
general laws seem to oppose the third. The fourth,
therefore, seems by far the most probable.
What I have said concerning natural evil will apply
to moral, with little or no variation; and we have no
more reason to infer, that the rectitude of the Supreme
Being resembles human rectitude, than that his
benevolence resembles the human. Nay, it will be
thought, that we have still greater cause to exclude
from him moral sentiments, such as we feel them;
since moral evil, in the opinion of many, is much more
predominant above moral good than natural evil
above natural good.
* A remarkable passage in Tacitus (Annals xvi. 33,) contains a
similar idea. He says, “ The same day furnished a bright ex
ample of virtue in the person of Cassus Asclepiodotus, a man con
spicuous among the Bithynians for the extent of his wealth, who
continued to treat Soranus in his decline with the same respect he
had constantly shewn him in the meridian of his fortune. The
consequence was, that he was stripped of all his property and
driven into exile: thus exemplifying the indifference of the Gods
towards patterns of virtue and of vice ! ”
�104 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
But even though, this should not he allowed; and
though the virtue, which is in mankind, should be
acknowledged much superior to the vice; yet so long
as there is any vice at all in the universe, it will very
much puzzle you Anthropomorphites, how to account for
it. You must assign a cause for it, without having
recourse to the first cause. But as every effect must have
a cause, and that cause another; you must either carry
on the progression in infinitum, or rest on that
original principle, who is the ultimate cause of all
things.............
Hold ! Hold! cried Demea: Whither does your
imagination hurry you ? I joined in alliance with you,
in order to prove the incomprehensible nature of the
Divine Being, and refute the principles of Cleanthes,
who would measure everything by a human rule and
standard. But I now find you running into all the
topics of the greatest libertines and infidels; and
betraying that holy cause, which you seemingly
espoused. Are you secretly, then, a more dangerous
enemy than Cleanthes himself ?
And are you so late in perceiving it 1 replied
Cleanthes. Believe me, Demea; your friend Philo,
from the beginning, has been amusing himself at both
our expense; and it must be confessed, that the
injudicious reasoning of our vulgar theology has
given him but too just a handle of ridicule. The
total infirmity of human reason, the absolute incom
prehensibility of the Divine Nature, the great and
universal misery and still greater wickedness of
men; these are strange topics, surely, to be so
fondly cherished by orthodox divines and doctors. In
ages of stupidity and ignorance, indeed, these
principles may safely be espoused; and, perhaps, no
views of things are more proper to promote
superstition, than such as encourage the blind amaze
ment, the diffidence, and melancholy of mankind.
But at present ....
�Part Xll.
105
Blame not so much, interposed Philo, the ignorance
of these reverend gentlemen. They know how to
change their style with the times. Formerly it was a
most popular theological topic to maintain, that human
life was vanity and misery, and to exaggerate all the
ills and pains which are incident to men. But of late
years, divines, we find, begin to retract this position ;
and maintain, though still with some hesitation, that
there are more goods than evils, more pleasures than,
pains, even in this life. When religion stood entirely
upon temper and education, it was thought proper to
encourage melancholy; as indeed, mankind never have
recourse to superior powers so readily as in that dis
position. But as men have now learned to form
principles, and to draw consequences, it is necessary to
change the batteries, and to make use of such argu
ments as will endure at least some scrutiny and
examination. This variation is the same (and from the
same causes) with that which 1 formerly remarked
with regard to Scepticism.
Thus Philo continued to the last his spirit of
opposition, and his censure of established opinions.
But I could observe, that Demea did not at all relish
the latter part of the discourse; and he took occasion
soon after, on some pretence or other, to leave the
company.
PART XII.
After Demea’s departure, Cleanthes and Philo con
tinued the conversation in the following manner. Our
friend, I am afraid, said Cleanthes, will have little
inclination to revive this topic of discourse, while you
are in company; and to tell truth, Philo, I should rather
wish to reason with either of you apart on a subject so
sublime and interesting. Your spirit of controversy,
�io6 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
joined to your abhorrence of vulgar superstition, carries
you strange lengths, when engaged in an argument;
and there is nothing so sacred and venerable, even in
your own eyes, which you spare on that occasion.
I must confess, replied Philo, that I am less cautious
on the subject of Natural Religion than on any other;
both because I know that I can never, on that head,
corrupt the principles of any man of common sense;
and because no one, I am confident, in whose eyes I
appear a man of common sense, will ever mistake my
intentions. You in particular, Cleanthes, with whom
I live in unreserved intimacy; you are sensible, that not
withstanding the freedom of my conversation, and my
love of singular arguments, no one has a deeper sense
of religion impressed on his mind, or pays more profound
adoration to the Divine Being, as he discovers himself
to reason, in the inexplicable contrivance and artifice
of Nature. A purpose, an intention, a design, strikes
everywhere the most careless, the most stupid thinker;
and no man can be so hardened in absurd systems, as
at all times to reject it. That Nature does nothing in
vain, is a maxim established in all the schools, merely
from the contemplation of the works of Nature, without
any religious purpose; and, from a firm conviction of
its truth, an anatomist, who had observed a new organ
or canal, would never be satisfied till he had also dis
covered its use and intention. One great foundation of
the Copernican system is the maxim, That Nature acts
by the simplest methods, and chooses the most proper
means to any end; and astronomers often, without
thinking of it, lay this strong foundation of piety and
religion. The same thing is observable in other parts
of philosophy; And thus all the sciences almost lead
us insensibly to acknowledge a first intelligent Author;
and their authority is often so much the greater, as they
do not directly profess that intention.
It is with pleasure I hear Galen reason concerning
the structure of the human body. The anatomy of a
�Part XII.
1O7
man, says he, * discovers above 600 different muscles ;
and whoever duly considers these, will find, that in
each of them Nature must have adjusted at least ten
different circumstances, in order to attain the end which
she proposed; proper figure, j ust magnitude, right
disposition of the several ends, upper and lower position
of the whole, the due insertion of the several nerves,
veins, and arteries: So that, in the muscles alone, above
6000 several views and intentions must have been
formed and executed. The bones he calculates to be
284 : The distinct purposes, aimed at in the structure
of each, above forty. What a prodigious display of
artifice, even in these simple and homogeneous parts ?
But if we consider the skin, ligaments, vessels, glandules,
humours, the several limbs and members of the body;
how must our astonishment rise upon us, in proportion
to the number and intricacy of the parts so artificially
adjusted 1 The farther we advance in these researches,
we discover new scenes of art and wisdom: But descry
still, at a distance, farther scenes beyond our reach ; in
the fine internal structure of the parts, in the economy
of the brain, in the fabric of the seminal vessels. All
these artifices are repeated in every different species of
animal, with wonderful variety, and with exact propriety
suited to the different intentions of Nature in fra,mi ng
each species. And if the infidelity of Galen, even when
these natural sciences were still imperfect, could not
withstand such striking appearances • to what pitch of
pertinacious obstinacy must a philosopher in this age
have attained, who can now doubt of a Supreme
Intelligence ? f
* De formations foetus.
t Without denying the truth of what Hume says here, to the effect,
that the human frame shews clear and unmistakable proofs of
design ; yet it is doubtful whether his eminently philosophical mind
would have allowed him to state the fact in such very decided
terms as these, if he had been acquainted with even a glimpse of
the evolution theory. But Oken was not born until three years
after Hume’s death. And Darwin’s “Descent of Man” was not
published until more than a century after Hume had ceased to
�io8 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
Could I meet with one of this species, I would ask
him: Supposing there were a God, who did not dis
cover himself immediately to our senses; were it
possible for him to give stronger proofs of his exist
ence, than what appear on the whole face of nature ?
What indeed could such a divine being do but copy
the present economy of things ; render many of his
artifices so plain, that no stupidity could mistake
them; afford glimpses of still greater artifices, which
demonstrate his prodigious superiority above our
narrow apprehensions; and conceal altogether a great
many from such imperfect creatures? Now, according
to all rules of just reasoning, every fact must pass for
undisputed, when it is supported by all the arguments
write. Oken and his followers discovered that the skull and limbs
of vertebrate animals are merely modified forms. And Darwin
discovered that the human animal is merely a development from an
inferior one. Oken has left on record how the light first dawned
on his mind ; and a knowledge of the circumstance is of importance
to the thinker.
In August 1806, while Oken was among the Hartz mountains, he
unexpectedly saw the well-preserved skull of a hind. From the
appearance which the skull accidentally presented to him, he
exclaimed “ a vertebral column ! ” This was a piece of reasoning
a priori. Nevertheless, by thinking over this suggestion he
ultimately discovered that, in all vertebrate animals, the bones of the
skull are only modified vertebrae.
Perhaps he who thinks on Probability will perceive that although
arguments grounded on a priori reasoning are utterly barren of
proof and consequently of result, yet, so far as we know, all the
important discoveries, hitherto made, have been generated from
suggestions arising from a priori considerations. “ Nature does
nothing in vain.” As yet, it is on such suggestions that the
evolution theory is grounded. From considerations such as this
the true thinker will be on his guard, and will not give way to that
prevalent weakness of the human mind, when, upon a comparison
of two important things relating to the same subject, one is found
to be of less importance than the other,To consider the less important
as_ of scarcely any value whatever. “ The Cyclic Poems ” are a
fair sample of an important matter which was despised unphilosophically. During twenty-one centuries they were regarded as
nearly beneath contempt. Yet from Mr F. A. Paley’s “ Introduction ”
to his first volume of the Iliad, we know, in his skilful hands,
how almost invaluable the remains of the “ Cyclic Poems ” proved
towards ascertaining the correct date of our “ Homer.”
�Part XII.
109
which, its nature admits of; even though these
arguments be not, in themselves, very numerous or
forcible. How much more, in the present case, where
no human imagination can compute their number,
and no understanding estimate their cogency ?
I shall farther add, said Cleanthes, to what you
have so well urged, that one great advantage of the
principle of theism, is, that it is the only system of
cosmogony which can be rendered intelligible and
complete, and yet can throughout preserve a strong
analogy to what we every day see and experience in
the world. The comparison of the universe to a
machine of human contrivance, is so obvious and
natural, and is justified by so many instances of order
and design in nature, that it must immediately strike
all unprejudiced apprehensions, and procure universal
approbation. Whoever attempts to weaken this theory,
cannot pretend to succeed by establishing in its place
any other that is precise and determinate. It is
sufficient for him, if he start doubts and difficulties,
and by remote and abstract views of things, reach
that suspense of judgment, which is here the utmost
boundary of his wishes. But besides that this state
of mind is in itself unsatisfactory, it can never be
steadily maintained against such striking appearances
as continually engage us into the religious hypothesis.
From the force of prejudice, human nature is capable
of adhering, with obstinacy and perseverance, to a false
absurd system. But I think it absolutely impossible,
by valid argument, to maintain or defend any system
at all, inculcated by natural propensity and by early
education, in opposition to a theory supported by
strong and obvious reason.
So little, replied Philo, do I esteem this suspense
of judgment in the present case to be possible, that
I am apt to suspect there enters somewhat of a dispute
of words into this controversy, more than is usually
imagined. That the works of nature bear a great
analogy to the productions of art, is evident; and
�11 o Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
according to all the rules of good reasoning, we ought
to infer, if we argue at all concerning them, that their
causes have a proportional analogy. But as there are
also considerable differences, we have reason to suppose
a proportional difference in the causes, and in par
ticular ought to attribute a much higher degree of
power and energy to the supreme cause, than any we
have ever observed in mankind. Here then the
existence of a Deity is plainly ascertained by reason;
and if we make it a question, whether on account of
these analogies, we can properly call him a mind or
intelligence, notwithstanding the vast difference which
may reasonably be supposed between him and human
minds ; what is this but a mere verbal controversy ?
No man can deny the analogies between the effects.
To restrain ourselves from inquiring concerning the
causes, is scarcely possible. From this inquiry, the
legitimate conclusion is, that the causes have also an
analogy, and if we are not contented with calling the
first and supreme cause a God or Deity, but desire to
vary the expression ; what can we call him but Mind
or Thought, to which he is justly supposed to bear a
considerable resemblance ?
All men of sound reason are disgusted with verbal
disputes, which abound so much in philosophical and
theological inquiries ; and it is found, that the only
remedy for this abuse must arise from clear definitions,
from the precision of those ideas which enter into any
argument, and from the strict and uniform use of
those terms which are employed. But there is a
species of controversy, which, from the very nature
of language and of human ideas, is involved in
perpetual ambiguity, and can never, by any precaution
or any definitions, be able to reach a reasonable
certainty or precision. These are the controversies
concerning the degrees of any quality or circumstance.
Men may argue to all eternity, whether Hannibal be
a great, or a very great, or a superlatively great man;
�Part XII.
111
what degree of beauty Cleopatra possessed; what
epithet of praise Livy or Thucidydes is entitled to,
without bringing the controversy to any determination.
The disputants may here agree in their sense, and
differ in the terms, or vice versa ; yet never be able
to define their terms, so as to enter into each other’s
meaning: Because the degrees of these qualities are
not, like quantity or number, susceptible of any exact
mensuration, which may be the standard in the con
troversy. That the dispute concerning theism is of
this nature, and consequently is merely verbal, or
perhaps, if possible, still more incurably ambiguous,
will appear upon the slightest inquiry. I ask the
theist if he does not allow, that there is a great
and immeasurable, because incomprehensible, difference
between the human and the divine mind. The more
pious he is, the more readily will he assent to the
affirmative, and the more will he be disposed to
magnify the difference. He will even assert that the
difference is of a nature which cannot be too much
magnified. I next turn to the atheist, who, I assert,
is only nominally so, and can never possibly be in
earnest; and I ask him, whether, from the coherence
and apparent sympathy in all the parts of this world,
there be not a certain degree of analogy among all the
operations of nature, in every situation and in every
age, whether the rotting of a turnip, the generation of
an animal, and the structure of human thought, be
not energies that probably bear some remote analogy
to each other. It is impossible he can deny it. He
will readily acknowledge it. Having obtained this
concession, I push him still farther in his retreat; and
I ask him, if it be not probable, that the principle
which first arranged, and still maintains, order in this
universe, bears not also some remote inconceivable
analogy to the other operations of nature, and among
the rest to the economy of human mind and thought.
However reluctant, he must give his assent. Where
H
�112 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
then, cry I to both these antagonists, is the subject
of your dispute ? The Theist allows that the original
intelligence is very different from human reason. The
atheist allows, that the original principle of order bears
some remote analogy to it. Will you quarrel, gentle
men, about the degrees ; and enter into a controversy
which admits not of any precise meaning, nor conse
quently of any determination ? If you should be so
obstinate, I should not be surprised to find you
insensibly change sides; while the theist, on the one
hand exaggerates the dissimilarity between the supreme
Being, and frail, imperfect, variable, fleeting, and
mortal creatures; and the atheist, on the other, magni
fies the analogy among all the operations of nature,
in every period, every situation, and every position.
Consider then, where the real point of controversy lies,
and if you cannot lay aside your disputes, endeavour,
at least, to cure yourselves of your animosity.
And here I must also acknowledge, Cleanthes, that,
as the works of Nature have a much greater analogy to
the effects of our art and contrivance, than to those of
our benevolence and j ustice ; we have reason to infer,
that the natural attributes of the Deity have a greater
resemblance to’those of men, than his moral have to
human virtues. But what is the consequence ?
Nothing but this, that the moral qualities of man are
more defective in their kind than his natural abilities.
For as the Supreme Being is allowed to be absolutely
and entirely perfect; whatever differs most from him,
departs the farthest from the supreme standard of recti
tude and perfection.*
* It seems evident, that the dispute between the Sceptics and
Dogmatists is entirely verbal; or at least regards only the degrees
of doubt and assurance, which we ought to indulge with regard to all
reasoning : and such disputes are commonly, at the bottom, verbal,
and admit not of any precise determination. No philosophical
Dogmatist denies, that there are difficulties both with regard to
the senses and to all science ; and that these difficulties are in a
regular, logical method, absolutely insolvable. No Sceptic denies
�Part XII.
1T3
These, Cleanthes, are my unfeigned sentiments on
this subject; and these sentiments, you know, I have
ever cherished and maintained. But in proportion to
my veneration for true religion, is my abhorrence of
vulgar superstitions ; and I indulge a peculiar pleasure,
I confess, in pushing such principles, sometimes into
absurdity, sometimes into impiety.
And you are
sensible, that all bigots, notwithstanding their great
aversion to the latter above the former, are commonly
equally guilty of both.
My inclination, replied Cleanthes, lies, I own, a con
trary way. Religion, however corrupted, is still better
than no religion at all. The doctrine of a future state
is so strong and necessary a security to morals, that we
never ought to abandon or neglect it. For if finite and
temporary rewards and punishments have so great an
effect, as we daily find: how much greater must be
expected from such as are infinite and eternal ?
How happens it then, said Philo, if vulgar super
stition be so salutary to society, that all history
abounds so much with accounts of its pernicious
consequences on public affairs ? Factions, civil wars, •
persecutions, subversions of government, oppression,
slavery ; these are the dismal consequences which always
attend its prevalency over the minds of men. If the
religious spirit be ever mentioned in any historical
narration, we are sure to meet afterwards with a detail
of the miseries which attend it. And no period of time
can be happier or more prosperous, than those in which
it is never regarded or heard of.
The reason of this observation, replied Cleanthes, is
obvious. The proper office of religion is to regulate
that we lie under an absolute necessity, notwithstanding these
difficulties, of thinking, and believing, and reasoning, with regard
to all kinds of subjects, and even of frequently assenting with
confidence and security. The only difference, then, between these
facts, if they merit that name, is, that the Sceptic, from habit,
caprice, or inclination, insists most on the difficulties; the Dog
matist, for like reasons, on the necessity.
�114 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
*
the heart of men, humanize their conduct, infuse the
spirit of temperance, order, and obedience : and as its
operation is silent, and only enforces the motives of
morality and justice, it is in danger of being overlooked,
and confounded with these other motives. When it
distinguishes itself, and acts as a separate principle
oyer men, it has departed from its proper sphere, and
has become only a cover to faction and ambition.
And so will all religion, said Philo, except the
philosophical and rational kind. Your reasonings are
more easily eluded than my facts. The inference is
not just, because finite and temporary rewards and
punishments have so great influence, that therefore
such as are infinite and eternal must have so much
greater.
Consider, I beseech you, the attachment
which we have to present things, and the little concern
which we discover for objects so remote and uncertain.
When divines are declaiming against the common be
haviour and conduct of the world, they always represent
this principle as the strongest imaginable, (which
indeed it is); and {describe almost all human kind as
lying under the influence of it, and sunk into the deepest
lethargy and unconcern about their religious interests.
Yet these same divines, when they refute their specu
lative antagonists, suppose the motives of religion to
be so powerful, that, without them, it were impossible
for civil society to subsist; nor are they ashamed of so
palpable a contradiction. It is certain, from experience,
that the smallest grain of natural honesty and benevo
lence has more effect on men’s conduct, than the most
pompous views suggested by theological theories and
systems. A man’s natural inclination works incessantly
upon him ; it is for ever present to the mind; and
■ mingles itself with every view and consideration :
whereas religious motives, where they act at all, operate
only by starts and bounds ; and it is scarcely possible
4'or them to become altogether habitual to the mind.
The force of the greatest gravity, say the philosophers,
�Part XII.
JI5
is infinitely small, in comparison of that of the least
impulse : yet it is certain, that the smallest gravity will,
in the end, prevail above a great impulse ; because no
strokes or blows can be repeated with such constancy
as attraction and gravitation.
Another advantage of inclination : it engages on its
side all the wit and ingenuity of the mind : and when
get in opposition to religious principles, seeks every
method and art of eluding them : in which it is almost
always successful. Who can explain the heart of man,
or account for those strange salvos and excuses, with
which people satisfy themselves, when they follow their
inclinations in opposition to their religious duty ? This
is well understood in the world; and none but fools
ever repose less trust in a man, because they hear, that,
from study and philosophy, he has entertained some
speculative doubts with regard to theological subjects.
And when we have to do with a man, who makes a
great profession of religion and devotion ; has this any
other effect upon several, who pass for prudent, than
to put them on their guard, lest they be cheated and
deceived by him ?
We must farther consider, that philosophers, who-.
♦
cultivate reason and reflection, stand less in need of
such motives to keep them under the restraint of
morals : and that the vulgar, who alone may need
them, are utterly incapable of so pure a religion as
- *
represents the Deity to be pleased with nothing but
virtue in human behaviour. The recommendations to
the Divinity are generally supposed to be either
frivolous observances, or rapturous ecstasies, or a
bigoted credulity.
We need not run back into
antiquity, or wander into remote regions, to find
instances of this degeneracy. Amongst ourselves, soniehave been guilty of that atrociousness, unknown to the '*
Egyptian and Grecian superstitions, of declaiming, in
express terms, against morality ; and representing it as,
a sure forfeiture of the divine favour, if the least trust
•or reliance be laid upon it.
�116 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
But even though superstition or enthusiasm should
not put itself in direct opposition to morality; the
very diverting of the attention, the raising up a new
and frivolous species of merit, the preposterous distri
bution which it makes of praise and blame, must have
the most pernicious consequences, and weaken ex
tremely men’s attachment to the natural motives of
justice and humanity.
Such a principle of action likewise, not being any of
the familiar motives of human conduct, acts only by
intervals on the temper; and must be roused by
continual efforts, in order to render the pious zealot
satisfied with his own conduct, and make him fulfil
his devotional task. Many religious exercises are entered
into with seeming fervour, where the heart, at the time,
feels cold and languid. A habit of dissimulation is by
degrees contracted: and fraud and falsehood become
the predominant principle. Hence the reason of that
vulgar observation, that the highest zeal in religion
and the deepest hypocrisy, so far from being incon
sistent, are often or commonly united in the same
individual character.
The bad effects of such habits, even in common life, '
are easily imagined : but where the interests of religion
are concerned, no morality can be forcible enough to
bind the enthusiastic zealot. The sacredness of the
cause sanctifies every measure which can be made use
of to promote it.
The steady attention alone to so important an
interest as that of eternal salvation, is apt to extinguish
the benevolent affections, and beget a narrow, con
tracted selfishness. And when such a temper is
encouraged, it easily eludes all the general precepts of
charity and benevolence.
Thus the motives of vulgar superstition have no
great influence on general conduct; nor is their opera
tion very favourable to morality, in the instances where
they predominate.
�Part Xll.
117
Is there any maxim in politics more certain and
infallible, than that both the number and authority of
priests should be confined within very narrow limits;
and that the civil magistrate ought, for ever, to keep
his fasces and axes from such dangerous hands ? But
if the spirit of popular religion were so salutary to
society, a contrary maxim ought to prevail. The
greater number of priests, and their greater authority
and riches, will always augment the religious spirit.
And though the priests have the guidance of this spirit,
why may we not expect a superior sanctity of life, and
greater benevolence and moderation, from persons who
are set apart for religion, who are continually inculcat
ing it upon others, and who must themselves imbibe a
greater share of it ? Whence comes it then, that, in
fact, the utmost a wise magistrate can propose with
regard to popular religions, is, as far as possible, to
make a saving game of it, and to prevent their
pernicious consequences with regard to society ? Every
expedient which he tries for so humble a purpose is
surrounded with inconveniences. If he admits only
one religion among his subjects, he must sacrifice, to
an uncertain prospect of tranquillity, every considera
tion of public liberty, science, reason, industry, and
even his own independency. If he gives indulgence to
several sects, which is the wiser maxim, he must pre
serve a very philosophical indifference to all of them,
and carefully restrain the pretensions of the prevailing
sect; otherwise he can expect nothing but endless
disputes, quarrels, factions, persecutions, and civil
commotions.
True religion, I allow, has no such pernicious con
sequences : but we must treat of religion, as it has
commonly been found in the world ; nor -have I any
thing to do with that speculative tenet of Theism,
which, as it is a species of philosophy, must partake of
the beneficial influence of that principle, and at the
same time must lie under a like inconvenience, of being
always confined to a very few persons.
�118 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
Oaths are requisite in all courts of judicature ; but
it is a question whether their authority arises from any
popular religion. It is the solemnity and importance
of the occasion, the regard to reputation, and the
reflecting on the general interest of society, which are
the chief restraints upon mankind. Custom-house
oaths and political oaths are but little regarded even by
some who pretend to principles of honesty and
religion ; and a Quaker’s asseveration is with us justly
put upon the same footing with the oath of any other
person. I know, that Polybius * ascribes the infamy
of Greek faith to the prevalency of the Epicurean
philosophy : but I know also, that Punic faith had as
bad a reputation in ancient times, as Irish evidence has
in modern ; though we cannot account for these vulgar
observations by the same reason. Not to mention,
that Greek faith was infamous before the rise of the
Epicurean philosophy; and Euripides f, in a passage
which I shall point out to you, has glanced a remark
able stroke of satire against his nation, with regard to
this circumstance.
Take care, Philo, replied Cleanthes, take care : push
not matters too far : allow not your zeal against false
religion to undermine your veneration for the true.
Forfeit not this principle, the chief, the only great
comfort in life; and our principal support amidst all
the attacks of adverse fortune. The most agreeable
reflection, which it is possible for human imagination
to suggest, is that of genuine Theism, which represents
us as the workmanship of a Being perfectly good, wise,
and powerful; who created us for happiness ; and who,
having implanted in us immeasurable desires of good,
will prolong our existence to all eternity, and will trans
fer us into an infinite variety of scenes, in order to satisfy
those desires, and render our felicity complete and
* Lib. vi. cap. 54.
+ Iphigenia in Tauride, 1206.
Triarov 'EXXas ol8ei> ovSev.
“ The Greeks are ignorant of good faith. ”
�Part XII.
119
durable. Next to such a Being himself (if the
comparison be allowed), the happiest lot which we can
imagine, is that of being under his guardianship and
protection.
These appearances, said Philo, are most engaging
and alluring; and with regard to the true philosopher,
they are more than appearances. But it happens here,
as in the former case, that, with regard to the greater
part of mankind, the appearances are deceitful, and that
the terrors of religion commonly prevail above its
comforts.
It is allowed, that men never have recourse to de
votion so readily as when dejected with grief or
depressed with sickness. Is not [this a proof, that the
religious spirit is not so nearly allied to joy as to
sorrow 1
But men, when afflicted, find consolation in religion,
replied Cleanthes. Sometimes, said Philo : but it is
natural to imagine, that they will form a notion of
those unknown beings, suitably to the present gloom
and melancholy of their temper, when they betake
themselves to the contemplation of them. Accordingly,
we find the tremendous images to predominate in all
religions ; and we ourselves, after having employed the
most exalted expression in our descriptions of the Deity,
fall into the flattest contradiction, in affirming, that the
damned are infinitely superior in number to the elect.
I shall venture to affirm, that there never was a
popular religion, which represented the state of
departed souls in such a light, as would render it
eligible for human kind, that there should be such a
state. These fine models of religion are the mere
product of philosophy. Eor as death lies between the
eye and the prospect of futurity, that event is so shock
ing to Nature, that it must throw a gloom on all the
regions which lie beyond it; and suggest to the
generality of mankind the idea of Cerberus and Furies ;
devils, and torrents of fire and brimstone.
�120 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
It is true, both, fear and hope enter into religion ;
because both these passions, at different times, agitate
the human mind, and each of them forms a species of
divinity suitable to itself. But when a man is in a
cheerful disposition, he is fit for business, or company,
or entertainment of any kind; and he naturally
applies himself to these, and thinks not of religion.
When melancholy and dejected, he has nothing to do
but brood upon the terrors of the invisible world, and
to plunge himself still deeper in affliction. It may,
indeed, happen, that after he has, in this manner,
engraved the religious opinions deep into his thought
and imagination, there may arrive a change of health
or circumstances, which may restore his good-humour,
and raising cheerful prospects of futurity, make him
run into the other extreme of joy and triumph. But
still it must be acknowledged, that, as terror is the
primary principle of religion, it is the passion which
always predominates in it, and admits but of short
intervals of pleasure.
Not to mention, that these fits of excessive, enthusi
astic joy, by exhausting the spirits, always prepare the
way for equal fits of superstitious terror and dejection ;
nor is there any state of mind so happy as the calm
and equable. But this state it is impossible to support,
where a man thinks, that he lies, in such profound
darkness and uncertainty, between an eternity of
happiness and an eternity of misery. No wonder, that
such an opinion disjoints the ordinary frame of the
mind, and throws it into the utmost confusion. Ard
though that opinion is seldom so steady in its operation
as to influence all the actions; yet is it apt to make a
considerable breach in the temper, and to produce that
gloom and melancholy so remarkable in all devout people.
It is contrary to common sense to entertain appre
hensions or terrors upon account of any opinion what
soever, or to imagine that we run any risk hereafter, by
the freest use of our reason. Such a sentiment implies
�Part XII.
I2I
both, an absurdity and an inconsistency. It is an
absurdity to believe that the Deity has human passions,
and one of the lowest of human passions, a restless
appetite for applause. It is an inconsistency to believe,
that, since the Deity has this human passion, he has
not others also • and in particular, a disregard to the
opinions of creatures so much inferior.
“ To know God,” says Seneca, “ is to worship him.”
All other worship is indeed absurd, superstitious, and
even impious. It degrades him to the low condition of
mankind, who are delighted with intreaty, solicitation,
presents, and flattery. Yet is this impiety the smallest
of which superstition is guilty. Commonly, it de
presses the Deity far below the condition of mankind;
and represents him as a capricious demon, who exercises
his power without reason and without humanity!
And were that Divine Being disposed to be offended
at the vices and follies of silly mortals, who are his own
workmanship ; ill would it surely fare with the votaries
of most popular superstitions. Nor would any of
human race merit his favour, but a very few, the
philosophical Theists, who entertain, or rather indeed
endeavour to entertain, suitable notions of his divine
perfections : as the only persons, entitled to his com
passion and indulgence, would be the philosophical
Sceptics, a set almost equally rare, who, from a
natural diffidence of their own capacity, suspend, or
endeavour to suspend, all judgment with regard to
such sublime and such extraordinary subjects.
If the whole of Natural Theology, as some' people
seem to maintain, resolves itself into one simple,
though somewhat ambiguous, at least undefined pro
position, That the cause or causes of order in the
universe probably bears some remote analogy to human
intelligence : if this proposition be not capable of ex
tension, variation, or more particular explication : if it
affords no inference that affects human life, or can be
the source of any action or forbearance: and if the
analogy, imperfect as it is, can be carried no farther
�122 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion,,
than to the human intelligence; and cannot be trans
ferred, with any appearance of probability, to the other
qualities of the mind: if this really be the case, what
can the most inquisitive, contemplative, and religious
man do more than give a plain, philosophical assent to
the proposition, as often as it occurs ; and believe that
the arguments on which it is established, exceed the
objections which lie against it ? Some astonishment
indeed will naturally arise from the greatness of the
object; some melancholy from its obscurity; some
contempt of human reason, that it cannot give any
solution more satisfactory with regard to so extraordin
ary and magnificent a question. But, believe me,
Cleanthes, the most natural sentiment, which a welldisposed mind will feel on this occasion, is a longing
desire and expectation that heaven would be pleased to
dissipate, or at least alleviate this profound ignorance
by affording some more particular revelation to man
kind, and making discoveries of the nature, attributes,
and operations of the divine Object of our faith. A
person seized with a just sense of the imperfections of
natural reason, will fly to revealed truth with the
greatest avidity: while the haughty dogmatist, per
suaded that he can erect a complete system of theology
by the mere light of philosophy, disdains any further
aid, and rejects this adventitious instructor. To be a
philosophical sceptic, in a man of letters, is the first and
most essential step towards being a sound, believing
Christian ; a proposition which I will willingly re
commend to the attention of Pamphilus; and I hope
Cleanthes will forgive me for interposing so far in the
education and instruction’of his pupil.
Cleanthes and Philo pursued not this conversation
much further; and as nothing ever made greater
impression on me than all the reasonings of that day;
so, I confess, that upon a serious review of the whole I
cannot but think that Philo’s principles are more
probable than Demea’s ; but that those of Cleanthes
approach still nearer to the truth.
�POSTSCRIPT.
A short account of the “ Dialogues ” will probably be
acceptable to the reader.
It has been stated, in the Preface to this edition of
them, that they were laid in manuscript before Sir
Gilbert Elliott in the year 1751. Hume was most
anxious to publish them, but his friends always dis
suaded him from doing so, knowing how dangerous to
his personal and social peace the experiment might
prove. So, by his will, he appointed his friend Dr.
« -Adam Smith his literary executor, with full power
over all his papers except the “ Dialogues,” which,
however, Dr. Smith was directed to publish. As an
inducement to Dr. Smith to comply with this direction,
Hume added the following clause :—“ Though I can
trust to that intimate and sincere friendship which has
ever subsisted between us for his faithful execution
of this part of my will, yet as a small recompense of
his pains in correcting and publishing this work, I
leave him £200 to be paid immediately after the
publication of it.”
Although there is not the least reason to call in
question the sincerity of the friendship above referred
to, yet Hume foresaw that Dr. Smith would not com
ply with the direction, couched in such affectionate
language, and followed by a substantial legacy; for
by a codicil bearing date the 7 th’ August 1776, only
a few days before Hume’s death, he made the following
provision :—“ I do ordain that if my Dialogues, from
whatever cause, be not published within two years
and a half after my death, as also an account of my
�124 Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.
life, the property shall return to my nephew, David,
whose duty in publishing them, as the last request of
his uncle, must be approved of by all the world/’
Almost immediately after Hume’s death, his friend,
Dr. Smith, edited the autobiography, “ My own Life,”
alluded to in the codicil; and in a letter addressed to
William Strahan, Esq., dated 9 Nov. 1776, Dr. Smith
gave an account “ of the behaviour of our late excellent
friend, Mr Hume, during his last illness.” That
letter concludes thus :—“ Upon the whole, I have
always considered him, (Hume) both in his lifetime,
and since his death, as approaching as nearly to the
idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man, as perhaps
the nature of human frailty will permit.” But Dr.
Smith was afraid to publish the “ Dialogues,” and,
although both they and the legacy of <£200 were
offered to him independently of any condition that
might be implied in the terms of the bequest, he
refused both. So it was left to be seen what “ my
nephew, David,” would do.
This David Hume was an advocate at the Scotch
bar, and subsequently a baron in the Court of
Exchequer. He was a true Christian, a very bad
writer, a staunch supporter of terrorism, and a bigoted
upholder of all the arbitrary oppressions exercised by
the English government during the period from 1793
to 1830. He was very unwilling to publish the
“ Dialogues.” However, in the year 1779, he printed
them, but without the name of any publisher, printer,
or even place of printing attached to the volume. The
editor has in his possession a copy of this first and
merely printed edition of the “ Dialogues.” Its title
page stands thus:—“Dialogues concerning Natural Reli
gion, by David Hume, Esq.; Printed in 1779.”—On
the fly leaf there is written, “From the Author’s
Nephew,” indicating that the merely printed copies
were not exposed -for sale, and were circulated only
privately. But as delivery of any written or printed
�Postscript.
125
matter to only one person is “publication ” in the eye
of the law, perhaps the baron persuaded himself that
he had complied with “ the last request of his uncle ”—
in the eye of the law.
So intense was Baron Hume’s dread of the social
persecution which hitherto has always been suffered
by those persons who have sided with the plaintiff in
the good old cause of “ Truth v. Christianity. ” A
cause not yet decided against the plaintiff, notwith
standing the atrocities which the defendant inflicts,
almost every year on those who side with the plaintiff.
The late Dr. John P. Nichol of Glasgow University,
says, “It is at once unjust and unwise to consider
errors and crimes of this sort (persecutions) as ex
clusive attributes of the Romish Church; on the
contrary, their root lies deep in the heart of man.
The domain of physical inquiry is now wholly safe
from the disorders of intolerance; but there are large
departments of knowledge within which Reason is
not yet free; where authority abides on its throne,
and popular prejudice stores its thunderbolts’’
TURNBULL AND SPEAKS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
�
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Dialogues concerning natural religion No. II
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 64-125 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: New edition. Includes bibliographical references. From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. "A new edition, with a Preface and Notes..."[Title page]. Printed by Turnbull and Spears, Edinburgh.
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Thomas Scott
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
ORATION
ON
VOLTAIRE
COLONEL H. G. INGERSOLL.
Price Threepence.
LONDON :
R. FORDER, 28 STONECUTTER STREET, E.CL
1892.
�On Saturday evening, October 8, Colonel K. Gr. Ingersoll
delivered his new lecture on “Voltaire” before the Chicago
Press Club, the audience numbering six thousand persons.
The delivery of the lecture occupied two hours and a half, and
from boginning to end the orator held the attention of the
audience completely, and was most vociferously cheered
throughout.
�B X73 V
Oration on Voltaire.
O
Ladies and Gentlemen,—The infidels of one age have often
been the aureoled saints of the next. The destroyers of the
old are the creators of the new. (Applause.)
As time sweeps on, the old passes away and the new in its
turn becomes old. There is in the intellectual world, as in
the physical, decay and growth, and ever by the grave of
buried age stand youth and joy. (Applause.)
The history of intellectual progress is written in the lives
of infidels. Political rights have been preserved by traitors;
liberty of mind by heretics. (Applause.)
To attack the king was treason; to dispute the priest was
blasphemy. For many centuries the sword and the cross
were allies. Together they attacked the rights of man. They
defended each other. The throne and the altar were twins—
two vultures from the same egg. (Applause.)
James I. said, “No Bishop, no King.” He might have
added, No cross, no crown. The king owned the bodies of
men; the priest the souls. One lived on taxes collected by
force, the other on alms collected by fear. Both robbers—
both beggars.
These robbers and these beggars controlled two worlds.
The king made laws, the priest made creeds. Both obtained
their authority from God; both were the agents of the
infinite. With bowed backs the people carried the burdens
of the one, and with Wonder’s open mouth received the
dogmas of the other. If the people aspired to be free, they
were crushed by the king; and every priest was a Herod
who slaughtered the children of the brain. (Applause)
�( 4 )
The king ruled by force, the priest by fear, and each sup
ported the other. The king said to the people, “ God made
you peasants, and he made me to be king; he made you to
labor and me to enjoy; he made rags and hovels for you,
robes and palaces for me. He made you to obey, and me to
command. Such is the justice of God.” And the priest
said, “ God made you ignorant and vile; he made me holy
and wise. You are the sheep and I am the shepherd; your
fleeces belong to me. If you do not obey me here, God will
punish you now and torment you for ever in another world.
Such is the mercy of God. You must not reason. Reason
is a rebel. You must not contradict; contradiction is born
of egotism. You must believe. ‘ He that hath ears to ear,
let him hear.’ Heaven is a question of ears.” (Laughter
and applause.)
Fortunately for us, there have been traitors and there have
been heretics, blasphemers, thinkers, investigators, lovers of
liberty, men of genius, who have given theii’ lives to better
the condition of their fellow-men.
It may be well enough here to ask the question, “ What is
greatness ?” A great man adds to the sum of knowledge,
extends the horizon of thought, releases souls from the
Bastille of fear, crosses unknown and mysterious seas, gives
new islands and new continents to the domain of thought,
new constellations to the firmament of mind. A great man
does not seek applause or place; he seeks for truth; he seeks
the road to happiness, and what he ascertains he gives to
others. (Applause.)
A great man throws pearls before swine, and the swine are
sometimes changed to men. (Applause.) If the great men
had always kept their pearls, vast multitudes would be bar
barians now. (Applause.)
A great man is a torch in the darkness, a beacon in super
stition’s night, an inspiration and a prophecy. Greatness is
�( 5 )
not the gift of majorities; it cannot be thrust upon any man;
men cannot give it to another; they can give place and
power, but not greatness. The place does not make the
man nor the sceptre the king. Greatness is from within.
(Applause.)
The great men are the heroes who have freed the bodies
of men; they are the philosophers and thinkers who have
given liberty to the soul; they are the poets who have trans
figured the common, and filled the lives of many millions
with love and song. (Great applause.) They are the artists
who have covered the bare walls of weary life with triumphs
of genius. They are the heroes who have slain the monsters
of ignorance and fear, who have outgazed the Gorgon and
driven the cruel gods from their thrones. They are the
inventors, the discoverers, the great mechanics, the kings of
the useful who have civilised this world. (Applause.)
At the head of this heroic army—foremost of all—stands
Voltaire, whose memory we are honoring to-night. (Great
applause.) Voltaire! A name that excites the admiration
of men, the malignity of priests. Pronounce that name in
the presence of a clergyman, and you will find that you have
made a declaration of war. Pronounce that name, and from
the face of the priest the mask of meekness will fall, and from
the mouth of forgiveness will pour a Niagara of vituperation
and calumny. And yet Voltaire was the greatest man of his
century, and did more for the human race than any other of
the sons of men.
VOLTAIRE COMES TO “THIS GREAT STAGE OE TOOLS.”
On Sunday, Nov. 21, 1694, a babe was born—a babe exceed
ingly frail, whose breath hesitated about remaining. This
babe became the greatest man of the eighteenth century.
When Voltaire came to “this great stage of fools,” his
country had been Christianised—not civilised—for about
fourteen hundred years. For a thousand years the religion of
�( 6 )
peace and goodwill had been supreme. The laws had been
given by Christian kings and sanctioned by “ wise and holy
men.” (Laughter.)
Under the benign reign of universal love, every court had
its chamber of torture, and every priest relied on the thumb
screw and rack. (Laughter and applause.) Such had been
the success of the blessed gospel that every science was an
outcast. To speak your honest thoughts, to teach your
fellow men, to investigate for yourself, to seek the truth—
these were all crimes; and the “ Holy Mother Church ”
pursued the criminals with sword and flame. (Great
applause.)
The believers in a God of love—an infinite father—punished
hundreds of offences with torture and death. Suspected
persons were tortured to make them confess. Convicted
persons were tortured to make them give the names of their
accomplices. Under the leadership of the Church, cruelty
had become the only reforming power. In this blessed year
1694 all authors were at the mercy of king and priest. The
most of them were cast into prisons, impoverished by fines
and costs, exiled or executed. The little timejthat hangmen
could snatch from professional duties was occupied in
burning books. (Laughter and applause.) The courts of
justice were traps in which the innocent were caught. The
judges were almost as malicious and cruel as though they
had been bishops or saints. There was no trial by jury, and
the rules of evidence allowed the conviction of the supposed
criminal by the proof of suspicion or hearsay. The witnesses,
being liable to be tortured, generally told what the judges
wished to hear. (Laughter.)
ALMOST UNIVERSAL CORRUPTION.
When Voltaire was born, the Church ruled and owned
France. It was a period of almost universal corruption. The
priests were mostly libertines, the judges cruel and venal.
�( 7 )
The royal palace was a house of prostitution. The nobles
were heartless, arrogant, proud, and cruel to the last degree.
The common people were treated as beasts. It took the
Church a thousand years to bring about this happy condition
of things. (Applause and laughter.)
The seeds of the Revolution were being scattered uncon
sciously by every noble and by every priest. They were
germinating slowly in the hearts of the wretched ; they were
being watered by the tears of agony ; blows began to bear
interest. There was a faint longing for blood. Workmen,
blackened by the sun, bowed by labor, deformed by want,
looked at the white throats of scornful ladies and thought
about cutting them. In those days, witnesses were crossexamined with instruments of torture ; the Church was the
arsenal of superstition; miracles, relics, angels and devils
were as common as lies.
Voltaire was of the people. In the language of that day,
he had no ancestors. His real name was François Marie
Arouet. His mother was Marguerite d’Aumard. This
mother died when he was seven years of age. He had an
elder brother, Armand, who was a devotee, very religious,
and exceedingly disagreeable. This elder brother used to
present offerings to the Church, hoping to make amends for
the unbelief of his brother. So far as we know, none of his
ancestors were literary people. The Arouets had never
written a line. The Abbé de Chaulieu was his godfather,
and, although an abbé, was a Deist who cared nothing about
his religion except in connection with his salary. (Laughter.)
Voltaire’s father wanted to make a lawyer of him, but he
had no taste for law. At the age of ten he entered the
College of Louis le Grand. This was a Jesuit school, and
here he remained for seven years, leaving at seventeen, and
never attending any other school. According to Voltaire,
�he learned nothing at this school but a little Greek, a good
deal of Latin, and a vast amount of nonsense.
TORTURE BEHIND THE CREED.
In this College of Louis le Grand they did not teach geo
graphy, history, mathematics, or any science. This was a
Catholic institution, controlled by the Jesuits. In that day
the religion was defended, was protected, or supported by
the State. Behind the entire creed was the bayonet, the
axe, the wheel, the faggot, and the torture-chamber. While
Voltaire was attending the College of Louis le Grand, the
soldiers of the king were hunting Protestants in the moun
tains of Cevennes for magistrates to hang on gibbets, to put
to torture, to break on the wheel, or to burn at the stake.
There is but one use for law, but one excuse for govern
ment—the preservation of liberty, to give to each man his
own ; to secure to the farmer what he produces from the
soil, to the mechanic what he invents and makes, to the
artist what he creates, to the thinker the right to express his
thoughts. Liberty is the breath of progress. In France the
people were the sport of a king’s caprice. Everywhere was
the shadow of the Bastille. It fell upon the sunniest field,
upon the happiest home. With the king walked the heads
man, and back of the throne was the torture-chamber. The
Church appealed to the rack; faith relied on the faggot.
Science was an outcast, and philosophy, so-called, was the
pander of superstition. Nobles and priests were sacred;
peasants were vermin. Idleness sat at the banquet, and
industry gathered the crusts and crumbs. (Applause.)
At seventeen Voltaire determined to devote his life to
literature. The father said, speaking of his two sons Armand
and François : “ I have a pair of fools for sons, one in verse,
the other in prose.” (Laughter and applause.) In 1713,
Voltaire in a small way became a diplomat. He went to the
�( 9 )
Hague attached to the French Minister. There he fell in
love. The girl’s mother objected. Voltaire sent his clothes
to the young lady that she might visit him. Everything was
discovered and he was dismissed. To this girl he wrote a
letter, and in it you will find the key-note of Voltaire :
“ Do not expose yourself to the fury of your mother. You
know what she is capable of. You have experienced it too
well. Dissemble; it is your only chance. Tell her that you
have forgotten me, that you hate me. Then, after telling
her, love me all the more.”
On account of this episode, Voltaire was formally disin
herited by his father, who procured an order of arrest and
gave his son the choice of going to prison or beyond the seas.
Voltaire finally consented to become a lawyer, and says: “I
have already been a week at work in the office of a solicitor,
learning the trade of a pettifogger.” (Laughter.) About
this time he competed for a prize, writing a poem on the
king’s generosity in building the new choir in the Oathedral
of Notre Dame. He did not win it. After being with the
solicitor but a little while, he learnt to hate the law. He
began to write poetry and the outlines of tragedy. Great
questions were then agitating the public mind—questions
that throw a flood of light upon this epoch.
IN PRISON NOT KNOWING WHY.
Louis XIV. having died, the Regent took possession, and
then the prisons were opened. The Regent called for a list
of all persons then in the prisons sent there at the will of the
king, and he found that, as to many prisoners, nobody knew
any cause Why they had been in prison. They had been for
gotten. Many of the prisoners did not know themselves, and
could not guess why they had been arrested. One Italian had
been in the Bastille thirty-three years without ever knowing
why. On his arrival in Paris thirty-three years before, he was
�( 10 )
arrested and sent to prison. He had grown old. He had
survived his family and friends. When the rest were liberated,
he asked to remain where he was, and lived there the rest of
his life. The old prisoners were pardoned, but in a little while
their places were taken by new ones. At this time Voltaire
was not interested in the great world—knew very little of
religion or of government. He was busy writing poetry,
busy thinking of comedies and tragedies. He was full
of life. All his fancies were winged like moths. He was
charged with having written some cutting epigrams. He
was exiled to Tulle, three hundred miles away. From this
place he wrote in the true vein : “ I am at a chateau, a place
that would be the most agreeable in the world if I had not
been exiled to it, and where there is nothing wanting to my
perfect happiness except the liberty of leaving. It would be
delicious to remain if I only were allowed to go.” At last
the exile was allowed to return. Again he was arrested;
this time sent to the ¡Bastille, where he remained for nearly
a year. While in prison he changed his name from Francois
Marie Arouet to Voltaire, and by that name he has since been
known. Voltaire began to think, to doubt, to inquire. He
studied the history of the Church and of the creed. He found
that the religion of his time rested on the inspiration of the
scriptures—the infallibility of the Church—the dreams of
insane hermits—the absurdities of the fathers—the mistakes
and falsehoods of saints—the hysteria of nuns—the cunning
of priests and the stupidity of the people. He found that the
Emperor Constantine, who lifted Christianity into power,
murdered his wife Fausta and his eldest son Crispus the
same year that he convened the Council of Nice to decide
whether Christ was a man or the son of God. The Council
decided in the year 325, that Christ was consubstantial with
the Father. He found that the Church was indebted to a
husband who assassinated his wife—a father who murdered
�( 11 )
his son—for settling the vexed question of the divinity of the
Savior. He found that Theodosius called a council at Con
stantinople m 381 by which it was decided that the Holy Ghost
proceeded from the Father—that Theodosius, the younger,
assembled a council at Ephesus in 431 that declared the Virgin
Mary to be the mother of God—that the Emperor Marcian
called another council at Ohalcedon in 451 that decided that
Christ had two wills — that Pognatius called another
in 680, that declared that Christ had two natu'res to go with
his two wills—and that in 1274, at the Council of Lyons, the
important fact was found that the Holy Ghost “ proceeded ”
not only from the Father,, but also from the Son at the same
time. (Laughter and applause.)
WHAT THE GREAT EBENCHMAN MOCKED.
So Voltaire has been called a mocker ! What did he mopk P
He mocked kings that were unjust ; kings who cared nothing
for the sufferings of their subjects. He mocked the titled
fools of his day. He mocked the corruption of courts; the
meanness, the tyranny, and the brutality of judges. He
mocked the absurd and cruel laws, the barbarous customs.
He mocked popes and cardinals, bishops and priests, and all
the hypocrites on the earth. He mocked historians who filled
their books with lies, and philosophers who defended super
stition. He mocked the haters of liberty, the persecutors of
their fellow men. He mocked the arrogance, the cruelty the impudence, and the unspeakable baseness of his time.
(Applause.)
He has been blamed because he used the weapon of ridicule.
Hypocrisy has always hated laughter, and always will. Ab
surdity detests humor and stupidity despises wit. Voltaire
was the master of ridicule. He ridiculed the absurd, the
impossible. He ridiculed the mythologies and the miracles,
the stupid lives and lies of saints. He found pretence and
�( 12 )
mendacity crowned by credulity. He found the ignorant
many controlled by the cunning and cruel few. He found the
historian, saturated with superstition, filling his volumes with
the details of the impossible, and he found the scientists
satisfied with “ they say.” (Laughter.) Voltaire had the
instinct of the probable. He knew the law of average; the
sea level; he had the idea of proportion, and so he ridiculed
the mental monstrosities—the non sequiturs—of his day.
Aristotle said women had more teeth than men. This was
repeated again and again by the Catholic scientists of the
eighteenth century. Voltaire counted the teeth. The rest
were satisfied with “ they say.” (Laughter.)
THE APOSTLE OE COMMON SENSE.
We may, however, get an idea of the condition of France
from the fact that Voltaire regarded England as the land of
liberty. While he was in England he saw the body of Sir
Isaac Newton deposited in Westminster Abbey. He read the
works of this great man and afterwards gave to France the
philosophy of this great Englishman. (Applause.) Voltaire
was the apostle of common sense. He knew that there could
have been no primitive or first language from which all
human languages had been formed. He knew that every
language had been influenced by the surroundings of the
people. He knew that the language of snow and ice was not
the language of palm and flower. (Applause.) He knew also
that there had been no miracle in language. He knew it was
impossible that the story of the Tower of Babel should be
true. That everything in the whole world should be natural.
He was the enemy of alchemy, not only in language but in
science. One passage from him is enough to show his philo
sophy in this regard. He says: “To transmute iron into
gold two things are necessary. First, the annihilation of
iron; second, the creation of gold.” Voltaire was a man of
�( 13 )
humor, of good nature, of cheerfulness. He despised with
all his heart the philosophy of Calvin, the creed of the sombre,
of the severe, of the unnatural. He pitied those who needed
the aid of religion to be honest, to be cheerful. He had
the courage to enjoy the present and the philosophy to bear
what the future might bring. And yet for more than a
hundred and fifty years the Christian world has fought this
man and has maligned his memory. In every Christian
pulpit his name has been pronounced with scorn, and every
pulpit has been an arsenal of slander. He is one man of
whom no orthodox minister has ever told the truth. He has
been denounced equally by Catholics and Protestants.
Priests and ministers, bishops and exhorters, presiding
elders and popes have filled the world with slanders, with
calumnies about Voltaire. I am amazed that ministers will
not or cannot tell the truth about an enemy of the church.
As a matter of fact, for more than one thousand years
almost every pulpit has been a mint in which slanders were
coined.
PILLED EUROPE WITH HIS THOUGHTS.
For many years this restless man filled Europe with the
products of his brain. Essays, epigrams, epics, comedies,
tragedies, histories, poems, novels, representing every phase
and every faculty of the human mind. At the same time
engrossed in business, full of speculation, making money like
a millionaire, busy with the gossip of courts, and even with
scandals of priests. At the same time alive to all the dis
coveries of science and the theories of philosophers, and in
this babel never forgetting for a moment to assail the monster
of superstition. Sleeping and waking he hated the Church.
With the eyes of Argus he watched, and with the arms of
Briareius he struck. For sixty years he waged continuous
and unrelenting war, sometimes in the open field, sometimes
striking from the hedges of opportunity, taking care during
�( 14 )
all this time to remain independent of all men. He was in
the highest sense successful. He lived like a prince, became
one of the powers of Europe, and in him, for the first time,
literature was crowned. (Applause.) Voltaire, in spite of
his surroundings, in spite of almost universal tyranny and
oppression, was a believer in God and in what he was pleased
to call the religion of nature. He attacked the creed of his
time because it was dishonorable to his God. He thought of
the Deity as a father, as the fountain of justice, intelligence,
and mercy, and the creed of the Catholic Church made him a
monster of cruelty and stupidity. He attacked the Bible
with all the weapons at his command. He assailed its
geology, its astronomy, its idea of justice, its laws and cus
toms, its absurd and useless miracles, its foolish wonders, its
ignorance on all subjects, its insane prophecies, its cruel
threats, and its extravagant promises. At the same time he
praised the God of nature, the God who gives us rain and
light, and food and flowers, and health and happiness—
he who fills the world with youth and beauty. (Applause.)
LISBON EARTHQUAKE CHANGES VOLTAIRE.
In 1755 came the earthquake of Lisbon. This frightful
disaster became an immense interrogation. The optimist
was compelled to ask, “ What was my God doing? Why did
the Universal Father crush to shapelessness thousands of his
poor children, even at the moment when they were upon their
knees returning thanks to him ?” What could be done with
this horror P If earthquake there must be, why did it not
occur in some uninhabited desert, on some wide waste of
sea ? This frightful fact changed the theology of Voltaire.
He became convinced that this is not the best possible of all
worlds. He became convinced that evil is evil here now and
for ever. (Applause.)
Who can establish the existence of an infinite being ? It
is beyond the conception—the reason—the imagination of
�( 15 )
man—probably or possibly—where the zenith and nadir meet
this God can be found. (Applause.)
Voltaire, attacked on every side, fought with every weapon
that wit, logic, reason, scorn, contempt, laughter, pathos, and
indignation could sharpen, form, devise, or use. He often
apologised, and the apology was an insult. He often recanted,
and the recantation was a thousand times worse than the
thing recanted. He took it back by giving more. In the
name of eulogy he flayed his victim. In his praise there was
poison. He often advanced by retreating, and asserted by
retraction. He did not intend to give priests the satisfaction
of seeing him burn or suffer. Upon this very point of
recanting he wrote:
“ They say I must retract. Very willingly. I will declare
that Pascal is always right. That if St. Luke and St. Mark
contradict one another it is only anothei’ proof of the truth
of religion to those who know how to understand such things ;
and that another lovely proof of religion is that it is unintel
ligible. I will even avow that all priests are gentle and dis
interested; that Jesuits are honest people; that monks are
neither proud nor given to intrigue, and that their odor is
agreeable; that the Holy Inquisition is the triumph of
humanity and tolerance. In a word, I will say all that may
be desired of me, provided they leave me in repose, and wi’l
not prosecute a man who has done harm to none.”
He gave the best years of his wonderous life to succor
the oppressed, to shield the defenceless, to reverse infamous
decrees, to rescue the innocent, to reform the laws of France,
to do way with torture, to soften the hearts of priests,
to enlighten judges, to instruct kings, to civilise the people,
and to banish from the heart of man the love and lust
of war. (Applause.)
THE RELIGION OP HUMANITY.
Voltaire was not a saint.
He was educated by the
�( IB )
Jesuits. He was never troubled about the salvation of
his soul. All the theological disputes excited his laughter,
the creeds his pity, and the conduct of bigots his contempt.
He was much better than a saint. (Applause.) Most of
the Christians in his day kept their religion not for everyday
use but for disaster, as ships carry lifeboats to be used
only in the stress of storm. (Applause.)
Voltaire believed in the religion of humanity—of good
and generous deeds. For many centuries the Church had
painted virtue so ugly, sour, and cold, that vice was regarded
as beautiful. Voltaire taught the beauty of the useful,
the hatefulness and hideousness of superstition. He was
not the greatest of poets, or of dramatists, but he was the
greatest man in his time, the greatest friend of freedom,
and the deadliest foe of superstition.
(Applause.) He
wrote the best French plays—but they were not wonderful.
He wrote verses polished and perfect in their way. He
filled the air with painted moths—but not with Shakespeare
eagles.
You may think that I have said too much; that I have
placed this man too high. Let me tell you what Goethe,
the great German, said of this man: “ If you wish depth,
genius, imagination, taste, reason, sensibility, philosophy,
elevation, originality, nature, intellect, fancy, rectitude,
facility, flexibility, precision, art, abundance, variety, fertility,
warmth, magic, charm, grace, force, an eagle sweep of
vision, vast understanding, instruction rich, tone excellent,
urbanity, suavity, delicacy, correctness, purity, cleanliness,
eloquence, harmony, brilliancy, rapidity, gaiety, pathos,
sublimity, and universality, perfection indeed, behold
Voltaire.” (Applause.)
Even Carlyle, that old Scotch-terrier, with the growl
of a grizzly bear, who attacked shams, as I have sometimes
thought, because he hated rivals, was forced to admit that
�( 17 )
Voltaire gave the death-stab to modern superstition. It
was the hand of Voltaire that sowed the seeds of liberty
in the heart and brain of Franklin, of Jefferson, and of
Thomas Paine. (Applause.)
IN IGNORANT TOULOUSE.
Toulouse was a favored town. It was rich in relics.
The people were as ignorant as wooden images—(laughter)—
but they had in their possession the dried bones of seven
apostles—the bones of many of the infants slain by Herod—
part of a dress of the Virgin Mary, and lots of skulls and
skeletons of the infallible idiots known as saints. (Laughter
and applause.)
In this city the people celebrated every year with great
joy two holy events: The expulsion of the Huguenots and
the blessed massacre of Sb. Bartholomew. (Laughter.) The
citizens of Toulouse had been educated and civilised by
the Church. (Laughter.) A few Protestants, mild because
they were in the minority, lived among these jackals and
tigers. One of these Protestants was Jean Galas—a small
dealer in dry goods. For forty years he had been in this
business, and his character was without a stain. He was
honest, kind and agreeable. He had a wife and six children—
four sons and two daughters. One of his sons became a Catholic.
The eldest son, Marc Antoine, disliked his father’s business
and studied law. He could not be allowed to practise unless
he became a Catholic. He tried to get his license by conceal
ing that he was a Protestant. He was discovered—grew
morose. Finally he became discouraged and committed
suicide by hanging himself in his father’s store. The bigots
of Toulouse started the story that his parents had killed him
to prevent his becoming a Catholic. On this frightful charge
the father, mother, one son, one servant, and one guest at
their house were arrested. The dead son was considered a
B
�( 18 )
martyr, the Church taking possession of the body. This hap
pened in 1761. There was what was called a trial. There was
no evidence, not the slightest, except hearsay. All the facts
were in favor of the accused. The united strength of the
defendants could not have done the deed.
DOOMED TO DEATH UPON THE WHEEL.
Jean Calas was doomed to torture and to ^death upon the
wheel. This was on March 9, 1762, and the sentence was to
be carried out the next day. On the morning of the 10th the
father was to be taken to the toi’ture-room. The executioner
and his assistants were sworn on the cross to administer the
torture according to the judgment of the court. They bound
him by the wrists to an iron ring in the stone wall four feet
from the ground, and his feet to another ring in the floor.
Then they shortened the l’opes and chains until every joint
in his arms and legs were dislocated. Then he was ques
tioned. He declared that he was innocent. Then the ropes
were again shortened until life fluttered in the torn body;
but he remained firm. This was called the question ordinaire.
(Laughter.) Again the magistrates exhorted the victim to
confess, and again he refused, saying there was nothing to
confess. Then came the question extraordinaire. (Laughter.)
Into the mouth of the victim was placed a horn holding three
pints of water. In this way thirty pints of water were forced
into the body of the sufferer. The pain was beyond descrip
tion, and yet Jean Calas remained firm. He was then carried
to the scaffold in a tumbril. He was bound to a wooden cross
that lay on the scaffold. The executioner then took a bar of
iron, broke each arm and leg in two places, striking eleven
blows in all. He was then left to die if he could. He lived
for two hours, declaring his innocence to the last. He was
slow to die, and so the executioner strangled him. Then his
poor lacerated, bleeding and broken body was chained to a
�( 19 )
y
stake and burned. All this was a spectacle—a festival for
the savages of Toulouse. What would they have done if their
hearts had not been softened by the glad tidings of great joy,
peace on earth, goodwill to men ? (Laughter and applause.)
But this was not all. The property of the family was con
fiscated ; the son was released on condition that he became a
Catholic; the servant if she would enter a convent. The two
daughters were consigned to a convent, and the heart-broken
widow was allowed to wander where she would.
Voltaire heard of this case. In a moment his soul was on
fire. He took one of the sons under his roof. He wrote a
history of the case; he corresponded with Kings and Queens,
with chancellors and lawyers. If money was needed he
advanced it. For years he filled Europe with the echoes and
the groans of Jean Calas. He succeeded. The horrible judg
ment was annulled, the poor victim declared innocent and
thousands of dollars raised to support the mother and family.
(Applause.) This was the work of Voltaire.
Sirven, a Protestant, lived in Languedoc with his wife and
three daughters. The housekeeper of the Bishop wanted to
make one of the daughters a Catholic. The law allowed the
Bishop to take the child of Protestants from its parents for
the sake of its soul. This little girl was so taken and placed
in a convent. She ran away and came back to her parents.
Her poor little body was covered with marks of the convent
whip. “ Suffer little children to come unto me.” (Laughter
and applause.) The child was out of her mind. Suddenly
she disappeared, and a few days after her little body was
found in a well, three miles from home. The cry was raised
that her folks had murdered her to keep her from becoming
a Catholic. This happened only a little way from the
Christian city of Toulouse while Jean Calas was in prison.
The Sirvens knew that a trial would end in conviction. They
fled. In their absence they were convicted, theii’ property
�( 20 )
confiscated, the parents sentenced to die by the hangman,
the daughters to be under the gallows during the execution
of their mother, and then to be exiled. The family fled in
the midst of winter; the married daughter gave birth to a
child in the snows of the Alps; the mother died, and at last
the father, reaching Switzerland, found himself without
means of support. They went to Voltaire; he espoused their
cause; he took care of them, gave them the means to live,
and labored to annul the sentence that had been pronounced
against them for nine long and weary years. He appealed
to kings for money, to Catherine II. of Russia, and to
hundreds of others. He was successful. He said of this
case: The Sirvens were tried and condemned in two hours
in January, 1762; and now in January, 1772, after ten years
of effort, they have been restored to their rights. (Applause.)
This was the work of Voltaire. Why should the wor
shippers of God hate the lovers of men ? (Applause.)
THE ESPENASSE CASE.
Espenasse was a Protestant of good estate. In 1740 he
received into his house a Protestant clergyman, to whom he
gave supper and lodging. In a country where priests
repeated the parable of the “ Good Samaritan ” this was a
crime. (Laughter.) For this crime Espenasse was tried,
convicted, and sentenced to the galleys for life. When he
had been imprisoned for twenty-three years his case came
to the knowledge of Voltaire, and he was, through the
efforts of Voltaire, released and restored to his family,
(Applause.)
This was the work of Voltaire. There is not time to tell
of the case of General Lally, of the English General Byng,
of the niece of Corneille, of the Jesuit Adam, of the writers,
dramatists, actors, widows, and orphans for whose benefit he
gave his influence, his money, and his time.
But I will tell another case. In 1765, at the town of Abbe-
�( 21 )
ville, an old wooden cross on a bridge had been mutilated—
whittled with a knife—a terrible crime. (Laughter.) Sticks,
when crossing each other, were far more sacred than flesh
and blood. Two young men were suspected-—the Chevalier
de la Barre and d’Etallonde. D’Etallonde fled to Prussia and
enlisted as a common soldier.
La Barre remained and stood his trial. He was convicted
without the slightest evidence, and he and D’Etallonde were
both sentenced : First, to endure the torture, ordinary and
extraordinary; second, to have their tongues torn out by the
roots with pincers of iron; third, to have their right hands
cut off at the door of the church; and fourth, to be bound to
stakes by chains of iron and burned to death by a slow fire.
“ Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass
against ils.” (Laughter.) Remembering this, the judges
mitigated the sentence by providing that their heads should
be cut off before their bodies were given to the flames.
(Laughter.) The case was appealed to Paris; heard by a
court composed of twenty-five judges learned in law, and
the judgment was confirmed. The sentence was carried out
the 1st day of July, 1776.
WITH EVERY WEAPON OP GENIUS.
L
Voltaire had fought with every weapon that genius could
devise or use. He was the greatest of all caricaturists, and
he used this wonderful gift without mercy. Foi’ pure crystal
lised wit he had no equal. The art of flattery was carried by
him to the height of an exact science. He knew and practised
every subterfuge. He fought the army of hypocrisy and
pretence, the army of faith and falsehood. Voltaire was
annoyed by the meaner and baser spirits of his time, by the
cringers and crawlers, by the fawners and pretenders, by
those who wished to gain the favor of the priests, the
patronage of nobles. Sometimes he allowed himself to be
annoyed by these scorpions; sometimes he attacked them.
�( 22 )
And but for these attacks, long ago they would have been
forgotten. In the amber of his genius Voltaire preserved
these insects, these tarantulas, these scorpions. (Applause.)
It is fashionable to say that he was not profound. This
is because he was not stupid. In the presence of absurdity
he laughed, and was called irreverent. He thought God
would not damn even a priest forever. (Laughter.) This
was regarded as blasphemy. He endeavored to prevent
Christians from murdering each other, and did what he
could to civilise the disciples of Christ. (Laughter.) Had
he founded a sect, obtained control of some country, and
burned a few heretics at slow fires, he would have won
the admiration, respect, and love of the Christian world.
Had he only pretended to believe all the fables of antiquity,
had he mumbled Latin prayers, counted beads, crossed
himself, devoured now and then the flesh of God, and
carried faggots to the feet of Philosophy in the name of
Christ, he might have been in heaven this moment enjoying
a sight of the damned. (Laughter and applause.)
If he had only adopted the creed of his time—if he had
asserted that a God of infinite power and mercy had created
millions and billions of human beings to suffer eternal
pain, and all for the sake of his glorious justice—(laughter)—
that he had given his power of attorney to a cunning
and cruel Italian Pope, authorising him to save the soul
of his mistress and send honest wives to hell—if he had
given to the nostrils of this God the odor of burning
flesh—the incense of the faggot—if he had filled his ears
with the shrieks of the tortured—the music of the rack,
he would now be known as St. Voltaire. (Laughter and
applause.)
ALL RELIGIONS PRACTISE PERSECUTION.
Instead of doing these things he wilfully closed his eyes to
the light of the gospel, examined the Bible for himself,
�( 23 )
advocated intellectual liberty, struck from the brain the
fetters of an arrogant faith, assisted the weak, cried out
against the torture of man, appealed to reason, endeavored
to establish universal toleration, succored the indigent, and
defended the oppressed. (Applause.) He demonstrated that
the origin of all religions is the same, the same mysteries—
the same miracles—the same imposture—the same temples
and ceremonies—the same kind of founders, apostles and
dupes—the same promises and threats—the same pretence of
goodness and forgiveness and the practice of the same perse
cution and murder. He proved that religion made enemies
—philosophy, friends—and that above the rights of gods
were the rights of man. (Applause.) These were his crimes.
(Laughter.) Such a man God would not suffer to die in
peace. If allowed to meet death with a smile, others might
follow his example, until none would be left to light the holy
fires of the auto da fe. (Laughter.) It would not do for so
great, so successful an enemy of the Church to die without
leaving some shriek of fear, some shudder of remorse, some
ghastly prayer of shattered horror, uttered by lips covered
with blood and foam. For many centuries the theologians
have taught that an unbeliever—an infidel—one who spoke
or wrote against their creed, could not meet death with com
posure ; that in his last moment God would fill his conscience
with the serpents of remorse. For a thousand years the
clergy have manufactured the facts to fit this theory—this
infamous conception of the duty of man and the justice of
God. (Applause.) The theologians have insisted that crimes
against men were, and are, as nothing compared with crimes
against God. That, while kings and priestB did nothing
worse than to make their fellows wretched, that so long as
they only butchered and burnt the innocent and helpless,
God would maintain the strictest neutrality—(laughter)—but
when some honest man, some great and tender soul, expressed
�a doubt as to the truth of the scriptures, or prayed to the
wrong God, or to the right one by the wrong name, then the
real God leaped like a wounded tiger upon his victim, and
from his quiver-flesh tore his wretched soul. (Applause.)
CRUELTIES IN THE WORLD.
There is no recorded instance where the uplifted hand of
murder has been paralysed—no truthful account in all the
literature of the world of the innocent child being shielded
by God. Thousands of crimes are committed every day
men are at this moment lying in wait for their human prey
—wives are whipped and crushed, driven to insanity and
death—little children begging for mercy, lifting imploring,
tear-filled eyes to the brutal faces of fathers and mothers—
sweet girls are deceived, lured and outraged, but God has no
time to prevent these things—no time to defend the good and
protect the pure. He is too busy numbering hairs and
watching sparrows. (Laughter.) He listens for blasphemy;
looks for persons who laugh at priests; examines baptismal
registers; watches professors in college who begin to doubt
the geology of Moses and the astronomy of Joshua. (Laughter
and applause.) He does not particularly object to stealing
if you don’t swear. (Laughter.)
A great many persons have fallen dead in the act of taking
God’s name in vain, but millions of men, women and children
have been stolen from their homes and used as beasts of
burden, but no one engaged in this infamy has ever been
touched by the wrathful hand of God. All kinds of criminals,
except infidels, meet death with reasonable serenity. As a
rule, there is nothing in the death of a pirate to cast any
discredit on his profession. (Laughter.) The murderer upon
the scaffold, with a priest on either side, smilingly exhorts
the multitude to meet him in heaven. The man who has
succeeded in making his home a hell meets death without a
�( 25 )
quiver, provided he has never expressed any doubt as to the
divinity of Christ or the eternal “ procession ” of the Holy
Ghost. (Laughter and applause.)
KILLED E0R SPEAKING THE TRUTH.
Now and then a man of genius, of sense, of intellectual
honesty, has appeared. Such men have denounced the
superstitions of their day. They have pitied the multitude
To see priests devour the substance of the people—priests
who made begging one of the learned professions—filled
them with loathing and contempt. These men were honest
enough to tell their thoughts, brave enough to speak the
truth. Then they were denounced, tried, tortured, killed by
rack or flame. But some escaped the fury of the fiends who
loved their enemies and died naturally ,in their beds. It
would not do for the Church to admit that they died peace
fully. That would never do. That would show that religion
was not essential at the last moment. Superstition gets its
power from the terror of death. It would not do to have the
common people understand that a man could deny the Bible,
refuse to kiss the cross, contend that humanity was greater
than Christ, and then die as sweetly as Torquemada did
after pouring molten lead into the ears of an honest man—
(laughter)—or as calmly as Calvin after he had burned Servetus, or as peacefully as King David after advising, with his
last breath, one son to assassinate another. (Laughter and
applause.)
The Church has taken great pains to show that the last
moments of all infidels (that Christians did not succeed in
burning)—(laughter)—were infinitely wretched and despair
ing. It was alleged that words could not paint the horrors
that were endured by a dying infidel. Every good Christian
was expected to, and generally did, believe these accounts.
(Laughter.) They have been told and retold in every pulpit
�( 26 )
of the world. Protestant ministers have repeated the lies
invented by Catholic priests, and Catholic, by a kind of
theological comity, have sworn to the lies told by the Protes
tants. (Laughter and applause.) Upon this point they
have always stood together, and will as long as the same
falsehood can be used by both. Upon the death-bed subject
the clergy grow eloquent. When describing the shudderings
and shrieks of the dying unbeliever their eyes glitter with
delight. It is a festival. (Laughter.) They are no longer
men; they become hyenas; they dig open graves; they
devour the dead. (Laughter.) It is a banquet. Unsatisfied
still, they paint the terrors of hell. ¿They gaze at the souls
of the infidels writhing in the coils of the worm that never
dies. They see them in flames—in oceans of fire—in abysses
of despair. They shout with joy; they applaud.
“let
me die in peace.”
It is an auto da fe, presided over by God. But let us come
back to Voltaire—to the dying philosopher. He was an old
man of 84. He had been surrounded with the comforts, the
luxuries of life. He was a man of great wealth, the richest
writer that the world bad known. Among the literary men
of the earth he stood first. He was an intellectual monarch
—one who had built his own throne and woven the purple of
his own power. He was a man of genius. The Catholic God
had allowed him the appearance of success. (Laughter.) His
last years were filled with the intoxication of flattery—of
almost worship. He stood at the summit of his age. The
priests became anxious. (Laughter.) They began to fear
that God would forget, in a multiplicity of business, to make
a terrible example of Voltaire. (Laughter and applause.)
Towards the last of May, 1778, it was whispered in Paris that
Voltaire was dying. Upon the fences of expectation gathered
the unclean birds of superstition, impatiently waiting for
�( 27 )
their prey. Two days before his death, his nephew went to
seek the curé of St. Sulplice and the Abbé Gautier, and
brought thorn to his uncle’s sick chamber, who being informed
that they were there, said : “ Ah, well, give them my compli
ments and my thanks.” The abbé spoke some words to him,
exhorting him to patience. The curé of St. Sulplice then
came forward, having announced himself, and asked of
Voltaire, elevating his voice, if he acknowledged the divinity
of our Lord Jesus Christ. (Laughter.) The sick man pushed
one of his hands against the curé’s coif, shoving him back,
and cried, turning abruptly to the other side, “ Let me die in *
peace.” The curé seemingly considered his person soiled and
his coif dishonored by the touch of a philosopher. He made
the nurse give him a little brushing and went out with the
Abbé Gautier. He expired, says Wagniere, on May 30, 1778,
at about a quarter past eleven at night, with the most perfeet
tranquillity. A few moments before his last breath he took
the hand of Morand, his valet de chambre, who was watching
by him« pressed it, and said : “ Adieu, my dear Morand, I am
gone.” These were his last words. Like a peaceful river,
with green and shaded banks, he flowed without a murmur
into the waveless sea, where life is rest. (Applause.)
“ SHAMELESS LIES ” ABOUT HIS DEATH.
From this death, so simple and serere, so kind, so
philosophic and tender, so natural and peaceful ; from these
words so utterly destitute of cant or dramatic touch, all
the frightful pictures, all the despairing utterances have
been drawn and made. From these materials, and from
these alone, or rather, in spite of these facts, have been
constructed by priests and clergymen and their dupes,
all the shameless lies about the death of that great and
wonderful man. A man, compared with whom all of his
calumniators, dead and living, were, and are, but dust and
�( 28 )
vermin. (Applause.) Let us be honest. Did all the priests
of Rome increase the mental wealth of man as much as
BrunoP Did all the priests of France do as great a work
for the civilisation of the world as Voltaire or Diderot ? Did
all the ministers of Scotland add as much to the sum of
human knowledge as David Hume ? Have all the clergymen,
monks, friars, ministers, priests, bishops, cardinals, and
popes, from the day of Pentecost to the last election, done
as much for human liberty as Thomas Paine ? (Applause.)
What would the world be if infidels had never been P The
infidels have been the brave and thoughtful men; the flower
of the world; the pioneers and heralds of the blessed day
of liberty and love; the generous spirits of an unworthy
past; the seers and prophets of our race; the great chivalric
souls, proud victors on the battle-fields of thought, the
creditors of all the years to be. (Applause.)
VOLTAIRE’S SECRET BURIAL.
In those days the philosophers—that is to say, the thinkers
—were not buried in holy ground. It was feared that
their principles might contaminate the ashes of the just.
(Laughter.) And it was also feared that on the morning of
the Resurrection they might, in a moment of confusion, slip
into heaven. (Laughter.) Some were burned and their
ashes scattered, and the bodies of some were thrown naked to
beasts, and others were buried in unholy earth. Voltaire
knew the history of Adrienne De Oouvreur, a beautiful
actress denied burial. After all, we do feel an interest in
what is to become of our bodies. There is a modesty that
belongs to death. Upon this subject Voltaire was very
sensitive, and it was that he might be buried that he went
through the farce of confession, of absolution, and of the last
sacrament. The priests knew that he was not in earnest,
and Voltaire knew that they would not allow him to be
buried in any of the cemeteries of Paris. His death was kept
�( 29 )
a secret. The Abbé Mignot made arrangements for the
burial at Romilli-on-the-Seine, more than one hundred miles
from Paris. Sunday evening, on the last day of May, 177&,
the body of Voltaire, clad in a dressing-gown, clothed to
resemble an invalid, posed to simulate life, was placed in a
carriage ; at its side was a servant, whose business it was to
keep it in position. To this carriage were attached six
horses, so that people might think a great lord was going to
his estates. Another carriage followed, in which were a
grand-nephew and two cousins of Voltaire. All night they
travelled, and on the following day arrived at the court-yard
of the abbey. The necessary papers were shown, the mass
was performed in the presence of the body, and Voltaire
found burial. A few moments afterwards the Prior, who
« for charity had given a little earth,” received from his
bishop a menacing letter forbidding the burial of Voltaire.
It was too late. He could not then be removed, and he was
allowed to remain in peace until 1791.
LABOR AND THOUGHT BECAME FRIENDS.
Voltaire was dead. The foundations of State and throne
had been sapped. The people were becoming acquainted
with the real kings and with the actual priests. Unknown
men born in misery and want, men whose fathers and
mothers had been pavement for the rich, were rising towards
the light and their shadowy faces were emerging from
darkness. Labor and thought became friends. That
is, the gutter and the attic fraternised. The monsters
of the night and the angels of dawn—the first thinking of
revenge and the others dreaming of equality, liberty and
fraternity. (Applause.) For 400 years the Bastille had been
the outward symbol of oppression. Within its walls the
noblest had perished. It was a perpetual threat. It was the
last and often the first argument of king and priest. Its
�( 30 )
dungeons, damp and rayless, its massive towers, its secret
cells, its instruments of torture, denied the existence of God.
In 1789, on the 14th of July, the people, the multitude,
frenzied by suffering, stormed and captured the Bastille.
(Applause.) The battle-cry was “ Vive le Voltaire.” (Ap
plause.)
In 1791 permission was given to place in the Pantheon the
ashes of Voltaire. He had been buried 110 miles from Paris.
Buried by stealth, he was to be removed by a nation. A
funeral procession of a hundred miles; every village with its
flags and arches in his honor; all the people anxious to honor
the philosopher of France—the savior of Calas—the destroyer
of superstition! On reaching Paris the great procession
moved along the B>ue St. Antoine. Here it paused, and for
one night upon the ruins of the Bastille rested the body of
Voltaire—rested in triumph, in glory—rested on fallen wall
and broken arch, on crumbling stone still damp with tears,
on rusting chain, and bar, and useless bolt—above the
dungeons dark and deep, where light had faded from the
lives of men and hope had died in breaking hearts. (Ap
plause.) The conqueror resting upon the conquered. Throned
upon the Bastille, the fallen fortress of night, the body of
Voltaire, from whose brain had issued the dawn. (Applause.)
For a moment his ashes must have felt the Promethean fire,
and the old smile must have illumined once more the face of
the dead. (Applause.)
While the vast multitude were trembling with love and
awe, a priest was heard to cry : “ God shall be avenged 1”
voltaire’s grave violated.'
The grave of Voltaire was violated. The cry of the priest
“ God shall be avenged !” had borne its fruit. Priests, skulking
in the shadows, with faces sinister as night—ghouls—in the
name of the Gospel, desecrated the grave. They carried away
�( 31 )
the body of Voltaire. The tomb was empty. God was
avenged! The tomb is empty, but the world is filled with
Voltaire’s fame. Man has conquered!
What cardinal, what bishop, what priest raised his voice
for the rights of men ? What ecclesiastic, what nobleman,
took the side of the oppressed—of the peasant? Who
denounced the frightful criminal code—the torture of sus
pect ed persons ? What priest pleaded for the liberty of the
citizen? What bishop pitied the victims of the rack? Is
there the grave of a priest in France on which a lover of
liberty would now drop a flower or a tear ? Is there a tomb
holding the ashes of a saint from which emerges one ray of
light ? (Applause.) If there be another life, a day of judg
ment, no God can afford to torture in anothei’ world a man
who abolished torture in this. (Applause.) If God be the
keeper of an eternal penitentiary—(laughter)—he should not
imprison there those who broke the chains of slavery here.
(Applause.) He cannot afford to make eternal convicts of
Franklin, of Jefferson, of Paine, of Voltaire. (Applause.)
PERFECT EQUIPMENT FOR HIS WORK.
Voltaire was perfectly equipped for his work. A perfect
master of the French language, knowing all its moods,
tens es, and declinations—in fact and in feeling playing upon
it as skilfully as Paganini on his violin, finding expression
for every thought and fancy, writing on the most serious
subjects with the gaiety of a harlequin, plucking jests from
the mouth of death, graceful as the waving of willows,
dealing in double meanings that covered the asp with
flowers and flattery, master of satire and compliment,
mingling them often in the same line, always interested
himself, therefore interesting others, handling thoughts,
questions, subjects as a juggler does balls, keeping them in
the air with perfect ease, dressing old words in new meanings,
�( 32 )
charming, grotesque, pathetic, mingling mirth with tears,
wit and wisdom, and sometimes wickedness, logic and
laughter. (Applause.) With a woman’s instinct, knowing
the sensitive nerves—just where to touch—hating arrogance
of place, the stupidity of the solemn, snatching masks from
priest and king, knowing the springs of action and ambi
tion s ends, perfectly familiar with the great world, the inti
mate of kings and their favorites, sympathising with the
oppressed and imprisoned, with the unfortunate and poor,
hating tyranny, despising superstition, and loving liberty
with all his heart. Such was Voltaire writing “ CEdipus ” at
seventeen, “ Irene ” at eighty-three, and crowding between
these two tragedies the accomplishment of a thousand lives
(Long-continued applause.)
Printed and Published by G-. W. Foote, at 28 Stonecutter-street,
London, E.C.
�
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Oration on Voltaire
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Ingersoll, Robert Green [1833-1899]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 32 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Lecture delivered before the Chicago Press Club on 8 October [189?]. Printed and published by G.W. Foote. No. 88d in Stein checklist. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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R. Forder
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1892
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Voltaire
Philosophy
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French Philosophy
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Voltaire
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ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
, NXHONALSECUlMaötU^
COLONEL ROBERT G. INGERSOLL.
LONDON:
FREETHOUGHT PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28, Stonecutter Street, E.C.
PRICE TWOPENCE.
�LONDON:
PRINTED BY ANNIE BESANT AND CHARLES BRADLAUGH
28, STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�6 0.73S
Kl 3.77
ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
The Universe is Governed by Law.
Great men seem to be part of the infinite, brothers of the
mountains and the seas. Humboldt was one of these. He
was one of those serene men, in some respects like our own
Franklin, whose names have all the lustre of a star. He was
one of the few great enough to rise above the superstition
and prejudice of his time, and to know that experience,
observation, and reason are the only basis of knowledge.
He became one of the greatest of men, in spite of having
been born rich and noble—in spite of position. I say in
spite of these things, because wealth and position are gene
rally the enemies of genius, and the destroyers of talent.
It is often said of this or that man, that he is a self-made
man—that he was born of the poorest and humblest of
parents, and that, with every obstacle to overcome, he became
great. This is a mistake. Poverty is generally an advan
tage. Most of the intellectual giants of the world have been
nursed at the sad and loving breast of poverty. Most of
those who have climbed highest on the shining ladder of
fame commenced at the lowest round. They were reared
in the straw-thatched cottages of Europe ; in the log-houses
of America; in the factories of the great cities ; in the
midst of toil; in the smoke and din of labour, and on the
verge of want. They were rocked by the feet of mothers
whose hands, at the same time, were busy with the needle
or the wheel.
It is hard for the rich to resist the thousand allurements
of pleasure, and so I say, that Humboldt, in spite of having
�4
ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
been born to wealth and high social position, became truly
and grandly great.
. In the antiquated and romantic castle of Tegel by the
side of the pine forest, on the shore of the charming lake
near the beautiful city of Berlin, the great Humboldt, one
hundred years ago, was born, and there he was educated
after the method suggested by Rousseau,—Campe, the
philologist and critic, and the intellectual Kunth being his
tutors. There he received the impressions that determined
his career; there the great idea that the Universe is governed
by law took possession of his mind, and there he dedicated
his life to the demonstration of this sublime truth.
He came to the conclusion that the source of man’s un
happiness is his ignorance of nature.
After having received the most thorough education at that
time possible, and having determined to what end he would
devote the labours of his life, he turned his attention to the
sciences of geology, mining, mineralogy, botany and distri
bution of plants, the distribution of animals, and the effect
of climate upon man. All grand physical phenomena were
investigated and explained. From his youth he had felt a
great desire for travel. He felt, as he says, a violent passion
for the sea, and longed to look upon Nature in her wildest
and most rugged forms. He longed to give a physical de
scription of the Universe—a grand picture of Nature; to
account for all phenomena ; to discover the laws governing
the world ; to do away with that splendid delusion called
special providence, and to establish the fact that the Universe
is governed by law.
To establish this truth was, and is, of infinite importance
to mankind. That fact is the death-knell of superstition ; it
gives liberty to every soul, annihilates fear, and ushers in the
age of reason.
The object of this illustrious man was to comprehend the
phenomena of physical objects in their general connection,
and to represent Nature as one great whole, moved and
animated by internal forces.
For this purpose he turned his attention to descriptive
botany, traversing distant lands and mountain ranges to
ascertain definitely the geographical distribution of plants.
He investigated the laws regulating the differences of
temperature and climate, and the changes of the atmo
sphere. He studied the formation of the earth’s crust,
explored the deepest mines, ascended the highest moun
�ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
5
tains, and wandered through the craters of extinct vol
canoes.
He became thoroughly acquainted with chemistry, with
astronomy, with terrestrial magnetism ; and as the investiga
tion of one subject leads to all others, for the reason that
there is a mutual dependence and a necessary connection
between all facts, so Humboldt became acquainted with all
the known sciences.
His fame does not depend so much upon his discoveries
(although he discovered enough to make hundreds of repu
tations), as upon his vast and splendid generalization.
He was to Science what Shakespeare was to the drama.
He found, so to speak, the world full of unconnected
facts—all portions of a vast system—parts of a great
machine. He discovered the connection which each bears
to all, put them together, and demonstrated beyond all con
tradiction that the earth is governed by law.
He knew that to discover the connection of phenomena
is the primary aim of all natural investigation. He was in
finitely practical.
Origin and destiny were questions with which he had
nothing to do.
His surroundings made him what he was.
In accordance with a law not fully comprehended he was
a production of his time.
Great men do not live alone; they are surrounded by the
great; they are the instruments used to accomplish the ten
dencies of their generation; they fulfil the prophecies of
their age.
Nearly all the scientific men of the eighteenth century
had the same idea entertained by Humboldt, but most of
them in a dim and confused way. There was, however, a
general belief among the intelligent that the world is
governed by law, and that there really exists a connection
between all facts, or that all facts are simply the different
aspects of a general fact, and that the task of science is to
discover this connection, to comprehend this general fact, or
to announce the laws of things.
Germany was full of thought, and her universities swarmed
with philosophers and grand thinkers in every department of
knowledge.
Humboldt was the friend and companion of the greatest
poets, historians, philologists, artists, statesmen, critics, and
logicians of his time.
�6
ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
. _ He was the companion of Schiller, who believed that man
would be regenerated through the influence of the Beautiful;
of Goethe, the grand patriarch of German literature; of
Weiland, who has been called the Voltaire of Germany; of
Herder, who wrote the outlines of a philosophical history of
man of Kotzebue, who lived in the world of romance; of
Schleiermacher, the pantheist; of Schlegel, who gave to his
countrymen the enchanted realm of Shakespeare; of the
sublime Kant, author of the first work published in Germany
on Pure Reason; of Fichte, the infinite idealist; of
Schopenhauer, the European Buddhist, who followed the
great Gautama to the painless and dreamless Nirwana, and
of hundreds of others, whose names are familiar to, and
honoured by, the scientific world.
The German mind had been grandly roused from the long
lethargy of the dark ages of ignorance, fear, and faith.
Guided by the holy light of reason, every department of
knowledge was investigated, enriched, and illustrated.
Humboldt breathed the atmosphere of investigation• old
ideas were abandoned; old creeds, hallowed by centuries,
were thrown aside ; thought became courageous; the athlete,
Reason, challenged to mortal combat the monsters of
superstition.
No wonder that, under these influences, Humboldt
formed the great purpose of presenting to the world a picture
of Nature, in order that men might, for the first time, behold
the face of their mother.
Europe became too small for his genius; he visited the
tropics in the New World, where, in the most circumscribed
limits, he could find the greatest number of plants, of
animals, and the greatest diversity of climate, that he might
ascertain the laws governing the production and distribution
or plants, animals, and men, and the effects of climate upon
them all.
He sailed along the gigantic Amazon; the
mysterious Oronoco; traversed the Pampas; climbed the
Andes until he stood upon the crags of Chimborazo, more
than eighteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, and
climbed on until blood flowed from his eyes and lips. For
nearly five years he pursued his investigations in the New
World, accompanied by the intrepid Bonpland. Nothing
escaped his attention. He was the best intellectual organ
of these new revelations of science. He was calm, reflective
and eloquent; filled with the sense of the beautiful and the
love of truth. His collections were immense, and valuable
�ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
7
beyond calculation to every science. He endured innume
rable hardships, braved countless dangers in unknown savage
lands, and exhausted his fortune for the advancement of
true learning.
Upon his return to Europe, he was hailed as toe second
'Columbus ; as the scientific discoverer of America ; as the
revealer of a New World; as the great demonstrator of the
sublime truth, that the Universe is governed by law.
I have seen a picture of the old man, sitting upon the
•mountain side, above him the eternal snow, below, the
smiling valley of the tropics filled with vine and palm, his
chin upon his breast, his eyes deep, thoughtful, and calm,
his forehead majestic—grander than the mountain upon
which he sat—-crowned with the snow of his whitened hair,
he looked the intellectual autocrat of this world.
Not satisfied with his discoveries in America, he crossed
the steppes of Asia, the wastes of Siberia, the great Ural
wange, adding to the knowledge of mankind at every step.
His energy acknowledged no obstacle, his life knew no
leisure ; every day was filled with labour and with thought..
He was one of the apostles of Science, and he served his
divine Master with a self-sacrificing zeal that knew no
abatement; with an ardour that constantly increased, and
with a devotion unwavering and constant as the polar
star.
In order that the people at large might have the benefit
of his numerous discoveries and his vast knowledge, he
delivered, at Berlin, a course of lectures, consisting of sixtyone free addresses upon the following subjects:
Five, upon the nature and limits of physical geography.
Three were devoted to a history of Science.
Two, to inducements to a study of natural science.
Sixteen, on the heavens.
Five, on the form, density, latent heat and magnetic power
of the earth, and the polar light.
Four were on the nature of the crust of the earth, on hot
springs, earthquakes and volcanoes.
Two, on mountains and the type of their formation.
Two, on the form of the earth’s surface, on the connection
of continent, and the elevation of soil over ravines.
Three, on the sea as a globular fluid surrounding the
earth.
Ten, on the atmosphere as an elastic fluid surrounding the
earth, and on the distribution of heat.
�ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
One, on the geographic distribution- of organized matter
in general.
Three, on the geography of plants.
Three, on the geography of animals, and
Two, on the races of men.
These lectures are what is known as the Cosmos, and
present a scientific picture of the world, of infinite diversity
and unity, of ceaseless motion in the eternal grasp of law.
These lectures contain the result of his investigation,,
observation and experience; they furnish the connection;
between phenomena; they disclose some of the changes,
through which the earth has passed in the countless ages;
the history of vegetation, animals, and men; the effects of
climate upon individuals and nations, the relation we sustain
to other worlds, and demonstrate that all phenomena, whether
insignificant or grand, exist in accordance with inexorable
law.
There are some truths, however, that we never should
forget. Superstition has always been the relentless enemy
of science; faith has been a hater of demonstration;
hypocrisy has been sincere only in its dread of truth, and all
religions are inconsistent with mental freedom.
Since the murder of Hypatia, in the fifth century, when
the polished blade of Greek philosophy was broken by the
club of ignorant Catholicism, until to-day, superstition has
detested every effort of reason.
It is almost impossible to conceive of the completeness of
the victory that the Church achieved over philosophy. For
ages science was utterly ignored; thought was a poor slave;
an ignorant priest was the master of the world; faith put out
the eyes of the soul; the reason was a trembling coward;
the imagination was set on fire of hell; every human feeling;
was sought to be suppressed ; love was considered infinitely
sinful, pleasure was the road to eternal fire, and God was
supposed to be happy only when his children were miserable.
The world was governed by an Almighty’s whim ; prayers
could change the order of things, halt the grand procession
of Nature; could produce rain, avert pestilence, famine, and
death in all its forms. There was no idea of the certain ;
all depended upon divine pleasure, or displeasure rather;
heaven was full of inconsistent malevolence, and earth of
ignorance. Everything was done to appease the divine
wrath; every public calamity was caused by the sins of the
people ; by a failure to pay tithes, or for having, even in.
�ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
9
secret, felt a disrespect for a priest. To the poor multitude,
the earth was a kind of enchanted forest, full of demons,
ready to devour, and theological serpents lurking with infinite
power to fascinate and torture the unhappy and impotent
soul. Life to them was a dim and mysterious labyrinth, in
which they wandered weary and lost, guided by priests as.
bewildered as themselves, without knowing that at every step
the Ariadne of reason offered them the long lost clue.
The very heavens were full of death ; the lightning was.
regarded as the glittering vengeance of God, and the earth
was thick with snares for the unwary feet of man. The soul
was supposed to be crowded with the wild beasts of desire;,
the heart to be totally corrupt, prompting only to crime;
virtues were regarded as only deadly sins in disguise; therewas a continual warfare being waged between the Deity and
the Devil, for the possession of every soul; the latter being;
generally considered victorious. The flood, the tornado, the
volcano, were all evidences of the displeasure of heaven and
the sinfulness of man. The blight that withered, the frost
that blackened, the earthquake that devoured, were the
messengers of the Creator.
The world was governed by fear.
Against all the evils of nature, there was known only the
defence of prayer, of fasting, of credulity, and devotion.
Man in his helplessness endeavoured to soften the heart of God.
The faces of the multitude were blanched with fear and wet
with tears; they were the prey of hypocrites, kings, andpriests.
My heart bleeds when I contemplate the sufferings endured
by the millions now dead; of those who lived when the
» .-world appeared to be insane; when the heavens were filled
with an infinite Horror, who snatched babes with dimpled
hands and rosy cheeks from the white breasts of mothers, and
dashed them into an abyss of eternal flame.
Slowly, beautifully, like the coming of the dawn, came the
grand truth that the Universe is governed by law; that
disease fastens itself upon the good and upon the bad; that
the tornado cannot be stopped by counting beads; that the
rushing lava pauses not for bended knees; the lightning for
clasped and uplifted hands ; nor the cruel waves of the sea
for prayer; that paying tithes causes, rather than prevents,
famine; that pleasure is not sin ; that happiness is the only
good; that demons and gods exist only in the imagination;
that faith is a lullaby sung to put the soul to sleep; that
devotion is a bride that fear offers to supposed power; that
�IO
ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
offering rewards in another world for obedience in this, is
simply buying a soul on credit; that knowledge consists in
ascertaining the laws of nature, and that wisdom is the science
of happiness. Slowly, grandly, beautifully, these truths are
dawning upon mankind.
From Copernicus we learn that this earth is only a grain
of sand on the infinite shore of the Universe; that every
where we are surrounded by shining worlds, vastly greater
than our own, all moving and existing in accordance with
law. True, the earth began to grow small, but man began
to grow great.
The moment the fact was established that other worlds
are governed by law, it was only natural to conclude that
our little world was also under its dominion.
The old
theological method of accounting for physical phenomena
by the pleasure and displeasure of the Deity was, by the
intellectual, abandoned. They found that disease, death,
life, thought, heat, cold, the seasons, the winds, the dreams
of man, the instinct of animals—in short, that all physical
and mental phenomena are governed by law, absolute, eternal
and inexorable.
Let it be understood, that by the term law is meant the
same invariable relations of succession and resemblance
predicated of all facts springing from like conditions. Law
is a fact—not a cause. It is a fact, that like conditions
produce like results; this fact is Law. When we say that the
Universe is governed by law, we mean that this fact, called
law, is incapable of change—that it has been, and forever
will be, the same inexorable, immutable Fact, inseparable
from all phenomena. Law, in this sense, was not enacted
or made. It eould not have been otherwise than as it is.
That which necessarily exists has no creator.
Only a few years ago this earth was considered the real
centre of the universe; all the stars were supposed to revolve
•around this insignificant atom. The German mind, more
than any other, has done away with this piece of egotism.
Purbach and Mulleras, in the fifteenth century, contributed
most to the advancement of astronomy in their day. To
the latter, the world is indebted for the introduction of
decimal fractions, which completed our arithmetical no
tation and formed the second of the three steps, by
which, in modern times, the science of numbers has been
so greatly improved; and yet both of these men believed
in the most childish absurdities, at least in enough of
�ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
11
them, to die without their orthodoxy having ever been
suspected.
Next came the great Copernicus, and he stands at the head
of the heroic thinkers of his time who had the courage and
the mental strength to break the chains of prejudice, custom,
and authority, and to establish truth on the basis of ex
perience, observation, and reason. He removed the earth,
so to speak, from the centre of the Universe, and ascribed
to it a two-fold motion, and demonstrated the true position
which it occupies in the solar system.
At his bidding the earth began to revolve, at the command
of his genius it commenced its grand flight ’mid the eternal
constellations round the sun.
For fifty years his discoveries were disregarded. All at
once, by the exertions of Galileo, they were kindled into so
grand a conflagration as to consume the philosophy of
Aristotle, to alarm the hierarchy of Rome, and to threaten
the existence of every opinion not founded upon experience,
observation, and reason.
The earth was no longer considered a Universe, governed
by the caprices of some revengeful deity, who had made the
stars out of what he had left after completing the world, and
had stuck them in the sky, simply to adorn the night.
I have said this much concerning astronomy because it
was the first splendid step forward ; the first sublime blow
that shattered the lance and shivered the shield of super
stition ; the first real help that man received from heaven,
because it was the first great lever placed beneath the altar
of a false religion ; the first revelation of the infinite to man ;
the first authoritative declaration that the Universe is
governed by law ; the first science that gave the lie direct
to the cosmogony of barbarism, and because it is the sublimest
victory that the reason has achieved.
In speaking of astronomy, I have confined myself to the
discoveries made since the revival of learning. Long ago,
on the banks of the Ganges, ages before Copernicus lived,
Aryabhatta taught that the earth is a sphere, and revolves on
its own axis. This, however, does not detract from the
glory of the great German. The discovery of the Hindoo
had been lost in the midnight of Europe—in the age of
faith, and Copernicus was as much a discoverer as though
Aryabhatta had never lived.
In this short address there is no time to speak of other
sciences, and to point out the particular evidence furnished
�12
ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
by each, to establish the dominion of law, nor to more than
mention the name of Descartes, the first who undertook to
give an explanation of the celestial motions, or who formed
the vast and philosophic conception of reducing all the
phenomena of the Universe to the same law; of Montaigne,
one of the heroes of common sense; of Galvani, whose
experiments gave the telegraph to the world ; of Voltaire,
who contributed more than any other of the sons of men to
the destruction of religious intolerance; of Auguste Comte,
whose genius erected to itself a monument that still touches
the stars; of Gutenburg, Watt, Stephenson, Arkwright, all
soldiers of science in the grand army of the dead kings.
The glory of science is, that it is freeing the soul—break
ing the mental manacles—getting the brain out of bondage—•
giving courage to thought—filling the world with mercy,
justice, and joy.
Science found agriculture ploughing with a stick—reaping
with a sickle—commerce at the mercy of the treacherous
waves and the inconstant winds—a world without books—
without schools—man denying the authority of reason,
employing his ingenuity in the manufacture of instruments
of torture, in building inquisitions and cathedrals. It found
the land filled wtth malicious monks—with persecuting
Protestants and the burners of men. It found a world full
of fear; ignorance upon its knees; credulity the greatest
virtue; women treated like beasts of burden; cruelty the
only means of reformation. It found the world at the
mercy of disease and famine; men trying to read their fates
in the stars, and to tell their fortunes by signs and wonders;
generals thinking to conquer their enemies by making the
sign of the cross, or by telling a rosary. It found all history
full of petty and ridiculous falsehood, and the Almighty was
supposed to spend most of his time turning sticks into
snakes, drowning boys for swimming on Sunday, and killing
little children for the purpose of converting their parents.
It found the earth filled with slaves and tyrants, the people
in all countries down-trodden, half naked, half starved,
without hope, and without reason in the world.
Such was the condition of man when the morning of
science dawned upon his brain, and before he had heard the
sublime declaration that the Universe is governed by law.
For the change that has taken place we are indebted solely
to science—the only lever capable of raising mankind.
Abject faith is barbarism ; reason is civilization. To obey
�ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
13
is slavish; to act from a sense of obligation perceived by the
reason is noble. Ignorance worships mystery; reason ex
plains it: the one grovels, the other soars.
No wonder that fable is the enemy of knowledge. A man
with a false diamond shuns the society of lapidaries, and it
is upon this principle that superstition abhors science.
In all ages the people have honoured those who dis
honoured them. They have worshipped their destroyers,
they have canonized the most gigantic liars and ouried the
great thieves in marble and gold. Under the loftiest monu
ment sleeps the dust of murder.
Imposture has always won a crown.
The world is beginning to change because the people are
beginning to think. To think is to advance. Everywhere
the great minds are investigating the creeds and superstitions
of men, the phenomena of nature, and the laws of things.
At the head of this great army of investigators stood
Humboldt—the serene leader of an intellectual host—-a king
by the suffrage of science and the divine right of Genius.
And to-day we are not honouring some butcher called a
soldier, some wily politician called a statesman, some robber
called a king, nor some malicious metaphysician called a
saint. We are honouring the grand Humboldt, whose vic
tories were all achieved in the arena of thought; who
destroyed prejudice, ignorance, and error—not men; who
shed light—not blood, and who contributed to the know
ledge, the wealth and the happiness of all mankind.
His life was pure, his aims lofty, his learning varied and
profound, and his achievements vast.
We honour him because he has ennobled our race, be
cause he has contributed as much as any man living or dead
to the real prosperity of the world. We honour him because
he honoured us; because he laboured for others ; because he
was the most learned man of the most learned nation; be
cause he left a legacy of glory to every human being. For
these reasons he is honoured throughout the world.
Millions are doing- homage to his genius at this moment,
and millions are pronouncing his name with reverence and
recounting what he accomplished.
We associate the name of Humboldt with oceans, palms;
the wide deserts ; the snow-tipped craters of the Andes ; with
primeval forests and European capitals; wildernesses
and universities; with savages and savans; with the
lonely rivers of unpeopled wastes; with peaks and
�14
ORATION ON HUMBOLDT.
pampas, and. steppes, and cliffs, and crags j with the progress
of the world; with every science known to man, and with
every star glittering in the immensity of space.
. Humboldt adopted none of the soul-shrinking creeds of
his day ; wasted none of his time in the stupiditieSj inanities,
and contradiction of theological metaphysics; he did not
endeavour to harmonize the astronomy and geology of a
barbarous people with the science of the nineteenth century.
Never, for one moment, did he abandon the sublime
standard of truth; he investigated, he studied, he thought,
he separated the gold from the dross in the crucible of his
grand brain. He was never found on his knees before the
altar of superstition. He stood erect by the grand tranquil
column of reason. He was an admirer, a lover, and adorer
of nature, and at the age of ninety, bowed by the weight of
nearly a century, covered with the insignia of honour, loved
by a nation, respected by a world, with kings for his servants,
he laid his weary head upon her bosom—upon the bosom of
the Universal mother—and with her loving arms around him,
sank, into that slumber called death.
History added another name to the starry scroll of the
immortals.
The world is his monument; upon the eternal granite of
her hills he inscribed his name, and there upon everlasting
stone his genius wrote this, the sublimest of truths :
“ The Universe is Governed by Law.”
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
Creator
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
Publisher
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
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Original Format
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Pamphlet
Dublin Core
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Title
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Oration on Humboldt
Creator
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Ingersoll, Robert Green [1833-1899]
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 14 p. ; 17 cm.
Notes: Friedrich Wilhelm Heinrich Alexander von Humboldt was a Prussian polymath, geographer, naturalist, explorer, and influential proponent of Romantic philosophy and science. Printed by Annie Besant and Charles Bradlaugh. Date of publication from Stein's checklist (Item 37f). Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
Publisher
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Freethought Publishing Company
Date
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[1877]
Identifier
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N377
Subject
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Philosophy
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Oration on Humboldt), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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application/pdf
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Text
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English
Alexander Von Humboldt
NSS
-
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PDF Text
Text
PROFESSOR TYNDALL’S
INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
[From The Inquirer of September 5, 1874.]
HE Inaugural Address delivered at Belfast, on
August 19, by Professor Tyndall, President of
the British Association, has probably come like a
thunder-clap to thousands who have read it or heard
of it. For here is one of the strongest, one of the
most generally acknowledged, representatives of
science, the chief, indeed, of the highest scientific
society in the world, from the very throne of science
—the presidential chair—speaking what will seem to
multitudes no other, than the most undisguised
Materialism, which to them will also be the blankest
Atheism. For it will seem the burden of the Address,
that matter alone is the mother and cause of all things,
and that beside it there is no other cause. No God,
no human soul.
When so intelligent a journal as the Spectator thus
interprets the Address in the issue immediately after
its delivery, we may be sure that thousands of persons
will thus interpret it also. And this word of Tyndall,
coming from such a source, supported by such pres
tige and such authority, will make the hearts of many
quail and sicken with fear and sadness. They will
feel a great darkness falling on them. The same
doctrine they will no doubt have often heard before,
but not from such a quarter, with such distinctness,
and coming with such terrible weight. They have
T
�2
thought of it hitherto as the craze of individual and
eccentric scientists, but now it comes as the testimony
of the whole spirit of science, past and present,
spoken through the mouthpiece of one of her latest
and greatest sons. And the thought cannot but
whisper itself: “ Is it, then, really true, or, if not
true, is science going to be all-powerful and make it
seem true, and so make it ultimately prevail ? If so,
then hope and faith must fade. Religion will have
no place. Prayer and preaching will cease. All the
various creeds through which we believe and about
which we contend will equally vanish. Religious
societies will be dissolved, and the whole spirit of
our civilisation must be changed, so that it is terribleto think what the future ages may be.”
We cannot wonder that already the tocsin of alarm
has resounded from many a pulpit. We may be sure
that for months, perhaps years to come, there will be
heard from thousands of pulpits protests, arguments,
denunciations, pleadings, intended to lay the terrible
ghosts which this memorable Address has raised.
But what is it that Dr Tyndall has really said to
cause such sensation and such fear ? He has simply
said out boldly what science has been really saying,
though often with timid, hesitating speech, for many a
year, we may say for many an age. It is this : that
matter, as we become more and more acquainted with it,
shows itself to us as capable, by its own inherent laws
and forces, of developing into all the forms and causing
all the phenomena in the universe that we witness or
experience. And so with matter given to begin with,
existing it may be in its crudest form, but still with
all its inherent laws and forces, there is no need of
any other Being, any Creator, any God to mould it,
for it will infallibly mould itself. It is but the same
thought with a wider extension which Laplace
uttered : “ I ask no more than the laws of motion,
heat, and gravitation, and I will write you the
nativity and biography of the solar system.”
�3
Yet do not let us be alarmed through mistaking
the real force and bearing of this apparently most
materialistic affirmation. Observe at the outset the
expression, that matter being given with its inherent
laws and forces, no other creator is necessary to
mould it. Surely not, we, too, say, because the
Creator, the eternal former and sustainer, is in the
laws and forces : they are but the expression of his
action. It is not, then, against the idea of God
Himself that the hostility of science, as represented
by the President of the British Association, is
directed, but against a form of thought in which
men in general have clothed God and presented him
to their minds. They have thought of Him under
the image of a Great Artificer, one who, using matter
as his raw material, worked it up by his power and
skill into the forms which we behold. It is this
thought of an Almighty Artificer, separate from
matter, that science cannot tolerate. But the de
struction of this form of thought, instead of plunging
us into the darkness of Atheism, opens upon us the
light of true Theism. It leaves us free to form
another far grander and worthier thought of God,
that of the In-dwelling, all-forming, and all-sustaining
Spirit of the Universe, which it is clear that Dr Tyndall
recognises under what he calls a Cosmical life—that
is, a life of the Universe.
The truth is, that this conception of God as the
Great Artificer has been inadequate and erroneous
from the beginning. We can now see that it was an
idol, because not the highest conception that we can
form, though perhaps inevitable to the times of
ignorance at which God has winked. And science,
like a young Abraham, has sought from its very
youth to break the idol in pieces. This is why
science has seemed so Atheistic in its tendencies.
The legend of Abraham preserved in the Koran is,
that when he was a young man he went into one of
the temples of his people in their absence and broke
�in pieces all the idols except the biggest there.
Abraham’s hostile feeling towards the idols was
known. He was arrested and brought before the
Assembly. “ Hast thou done this unto our gods,
O Abraham ? ” they inquired. “Nay, that biggest
of them has done the deed : ask them, if they can
speak.” For a time the people were confounded
with his reply, but soon recovered to say to oneanother, “Burn him, and avenge your gods.” The
young Abraham, science, conceived from the first a
hostility to the idol of an artificer God set up in the
temple of man’s mind, and sought to destroy it.
Dr Tyndall’s Address is partly a history of these
endeavours of science to break in pieces the idol.
He tells how in the infancy of Greek science Demo
critus, the laughing philosopher, declared his uncom
promising antagonism to those who deduced the
phenomena of nature from the gods. Empedocles,
who probably met death in his zeal for science in the
burning crater of Etna, and then Epicurus, followed
in the footsteps of Democritus. In the century
before Christ the Roman poet Lucretius boldly
announced the doctrine that Nature was sufficient for
herself. “If,” said he, “you will apprehend and
keep in mind these things, Nature, free at once and
rid of her high lords (the gods and demons), is seen
to do all things spontaneously of herself without the
meddling of the gods.” Whilst science slept, during
the Middle Ages, the voice of protest was not heard;
but when she awoke again, in the era of the Refor
mation, Giordano Bruno, once an Italian monk, again
raised the old witness, and declared that the infinity
of forms under which matter appears were not
imposed upon it by an external artificer. “ By its
own intrinsic force and virtue f he said, “ it brings
these forms forth. Matter is not the mere naked,
empty capacity which philosophers have pictured it,
but the universal mother who brings forth all things
as the fruit of her womb.” And the devotees of the
�5
idol, an artificer god, which he sought to break in
pieces, said, “Burn him, and avenge your god.” And
the Venetian Inquisitors did burn him at the stake.
Taking up Tyndall’s thought, we can now see that
the whole progress of science has seemed to strengthen
the protest and to give more strength to the doctrine
of Lucretius and Bruno, that “ matter, by its own
intrinsic force and virtue, brings these forms (of
nature) forth.”
Newton’s “Principia” went to show that, given,
in matter, the force and law of gravitation and the
laws of motion, there needed no artificer now to
conduct the solar system. The nebular hypothesis
of Kant and Laplace set forth that matter originally
needed no artificer to mould it into worlds, if we
suppose its particles scattered abroad in space
endowed with repulsion and attraction. They would
of themselves form rings, planets, satellites, and sun.
Dalton’s Chemistry showed that if we suppose a few
kinds of primordial atoms of different magnitudes, or
endowed with different forces and possessing certain
laws of attractive affinity, no artificer is necessary to
combine them into the innumerable compounds and
endow them with the qualities with which we are
familiar.
Darwin’s “ Origin of Species ” and
“ Descent of Man ” suggested that, given certain
organic forms of lowly type, no artificer was needed
to construct all the countless forms of organic nature.
For there were in these lowly forms intrinsic force and
virtue, by which they develop into higher forms, and
these into higher, until the ascidian becomes the man.
Herbert Spencer, and now Tyndall, suggest that even
in the inorganic forms of air, water, phosphorus, and
a few other elements, there are intrinsic force and
virtue to make them at some period or other of the
world’s history—Bastian says to make them now—of
themselves combine and form organisms of low type,
which develop, according to Darwin’s idea, even into
higher type ; therefore these inorganic atoms possess
�6
a latent life. Huxley would persuade us not only
that these inorganic atoms come in organic forms to
live, but that in the human brain they think and feel
and will. Thus every line of scientific inquiry seems
to have led to larger and larger belief in Bruno’s
intrinsic force and virtue of matter, making more
and more needless the conception of a Supreme
Artificer.
But we shall be mistaken if we suppose that this
antagonism between matter and God—that is, God
as the Artificer—has been felt only in the world of
science. It has been felt, too, though with less open
confession, in the world of religion. It has been
felt, it may be, where ignorance was bliss. As long
as science was unknown or ignored in the Church,
as during the Middle Ages, religions minds could
hold the belief in an artificer God without misgiving.
But as soon as science began to creep into the Church,
the paralysis of faith began. From that moment was
acted over again the story which the Greek poets
give us of the Theban Sphinx, the beautiful monster,
half-maid, half-lion, who, sitting on a rock, proposed
enigmas to the passers-by, and those who could not
answer them destroyed.
Beautiful but terrible science became the Sphinx.
She was always proposing to those who came near
her the enigma, “How can matter, which seems to
have force and virtue in it sufficient to account for
all things, have any need for an artificer Creator ? ”
And those who could not answer the question were
lost as to their faith in God. This, we believe, is
partly the explanation of the coldness and deadness
that came upon our Churches, especially our Pres
byterian Churches, during the last century. Ministers
and people had become more educated, they had
learnt something of the new science that was rising;
and then they heard the enigma of the Sphinx and
were troubled. Thenceforth it was a struggle with
them to believe. They had lost the child-like faith of
�7
their fathers. The old heartiness of prayer was gone.
Ministers and people began to be shy of strictly reli
gious topics, and to fall back on these ethical common
places of which they were more sure. And if this
same coldness and deadness has lasted on in some of
our churches till our own day, we suspect it has been
because there the old conception of God as the Arti
ficer has been maintained, whilst all the while the
Sphinx has been putting the question which has made
it unbelievable ; and that it is chiefly where the new
conception of the In-dwelling God has been introduced
through the influence of men like Dr Channing,
Martineau, and Theodore Parker, that the devotional
life has been again quickened and deepened.
Truly, then, men like Tyndall and Huxley, Spencer
and Darwin, with the terrible weapons of their
materialism, do but break down an old and much
battered idol which has long been the cause of dread
ful doubts, even to its own devotees, and has set
religion and science at bitter variance. But in
breaking down the idol they are doing us the greatest
service. They are letting in the light; they are
leaving us face to face with a conception of God
before hidden from us by our idol, but which presents
him to us not only in a form which science will allow
—before which, indeed, science and religion become
one—but in a form which is immeasurably grander,
more beautiful, and every way worthier of God than
that which has been broken down. Let us clearly
recognise that, when Tyndall claims for matter that
it is sufficient for everything, he is not thinking of
matter as that dead brute thing which the mass of
men suppose it. To him, as to Herbert Spencer,
matter is but the manifestation of a Great Entity, in
itself unknown and unknowable. It is but the
garment of what Tyndall calls the great cosmical
life—the great life of the cosmos—the Universe.
What is this Great Entity, what is this Great
Cosmical Life, but the Eternal God Himself, of whom,
�8
and through whom, and to whom are all things, who
“besets us behind and before,” and “ in whom we
live and move and have our being ” ? What is this
■conception suggested of the relation of God to the
world but that of the Psalmist—“The heavens shall
wax old as doth a garment, and as a vesture shalt
thou change them ” ? And what is this doctrine of
the unknown and unknowable life but that of Job?
“Lo ! these are parts of his ways, but how little a
portion is heard of him ! but the thunder of his power
who can understand ? ”
T. E. P.
FRITTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTEKEY STREET, HAYMARKET.
�
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
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
Creator
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018
Publisher
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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
Professor Tyndall's inaugural address
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 4 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Signed 'T.E.P.'; possibly Thomas Elford Poynting. The Address was given in Belfast to the British Association for the Advancement of Science on August 19, 1874. Reprinted from 'The Inquirer', September 5, 1874. Printed by C.W. Reynell, Little Pulteney Street, London. "The address before the annual meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science was an occasion to state the aims and concerns of the premiere body of elite men of Victorian science. It was consequently one of the most prestigious places from which to pronounce on what men of science should be doing. John Tyndall famously used his address in 1874 to argue for the superior authority of science over religious or non-rationalist explanations. By the time of this address the Association had largely been taken over by the young guard, men like T.H. Huxley and Tyndall. Nevertheless, Tyndall's bold statement for rationalism and natural law was made in Belfast, a stronghold of religious belief then as now and so it was taken as an aggressive attack on religion. The address was popularly believed to advocate materialism as the true philosophy of science. It remains a powerful call for rationalism, consistency and scepticism." From Victorianweb: http://www.victorianweb.org/science/science_texts/belfast.html [accessed 12/2017].
Publisher
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[Thomas Scott]
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
[1874]
Identifier
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G5529
Creator
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[Unknown]
Subject
The topic of the resource
Philosophy
Rationalism
Rights
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Professor Tyndall's inaugural address), 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
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Conway Tracts
Materialism
Natural Law
Philosophy and Science
Rationalism
Science and Religion