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diff --git a/10427-h/10427-h.htm b/10427-h/10427-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aacd50f --- /dev/null +++ b/10427-h/10427-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4679 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Scientific Essays and Lectures</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Scientific Essays and Lectures, by Charles Kingsley</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Scientific Essays and Lectures, by Charles +Kingsley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Scientific Essays and Lectures + +Author: Charles Kingsley + +Release Date: December 9, 2003 [eBook #10427] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCIENTIFIC ESSAYS AND LECTURES*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>Scientific Lectures and Essays</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Contents: <a name="citation0"></a><a href="#footnote0">{0}</a><br /> On +Bio-Geology<br /> The Study of Natural History<br /> Superstition<br /> Science<br /> Thoughts +in a Gravel-Pit<br /> How to Study Natural History<br /> The +Natural Theology of the Future</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>ON BIO-GEOLOGY <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a></h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I am not sure that the subject of my address is rightly chosen. +I am not sure that I ought not to have postponed a question of mere +natural history, to speak to you as scientific men, on the questions +of life and death, which have been forced upon us by the awful warning +of an illustrious personage’s illness; of preventible disease, +its frightful prevalency; of the 200,000 persons who are said to have +died of fever alone since the Prince Consort’s death, ten years +ago; of the remedies; of drainage; of sewage disinfection and utilisation; +and of the assistance which you, as a body of scientific men, can give +to any effort towards saving the lives and health of our fellow-citizens +from those unseen poisons which lurk like wild beasts couched in the +jungle, ready to spring at any moment on the unsuspecting, the innocent, +the helpless. Of all this I longed to speak; but I thought it +best only to hint at it, and leave the question to your common sense +and your humanity; taking for granted that your minds, like the minds +of all right-minded Englishmen, have been of late painfully awakened +to its importance. It seemed to me almost an impertinence to say +more in a city of whose local circumstances I know little or nothing. +As an old sanitary reformer, practical, as well as theoretical, I am +but too well aware of the difficulties which beset any complete scheme +of drainage, especially in an ancient city like this; where men are +paying the penalty of their predecessors’ ignorance; and dwelling, +whether they choose or not, over fifteen centuries of accumulated dirt.</p> +<p>And, therefore, taking for granted that there is energy and intellect +enough in Winchester to conquer these difficulties in due time, I go +on to ask you to consider, for a time, a subject which is growing more +and more important and interesting, a subject the study of which will +do much towards raising the field naturalist from a mere collector of +specimens—as he was twenty years ago—to a philosopher elucidating +some of the grandest problems. I mean the infant science of Bio-geology—the +science which treats of the distribution of plants and animals over +the globe, and the cause of that distribution.</p> +<p>I doubt not that there are many here who know far more about the +subject than I; who are far better read than I am in the works of Forbes, +Darwin, Wallace, Hooker, Moritz Wagner, and the other illustrious men +who have written on it. But I may, perhaps, give a few hints which +will be of use to the younger members of this Society, and will point +out to them how to get a new relish for the pursuit of field science.</p> +<p>Bio-geology, then, begins with asking every plant or animal you meet, +large or small, not merely—What is your name? That is the +collector and classifier’s duty; and a most necessary duty it +is, and one to be performed with the most conscientious patience and +accuracy, so that a sound foundation may be built for future speculations. +But young naturalists should act not merely as Nature’s registrars +and census-takers, but as her policemen and gamekeepers; and ask everything +they meet—How did you get there? By what road did you come? +What was your last place of abode? And now you are here, how do +you get your living? Are you and your children thriving, like +decent people who can take care of themselves, or growing pauperised +and degraded, and dying out? Not that we have a fear of your becoming +a dangerous class. Madame Nature allows no dangerous classes, +in the modern sense. She has, doubtless for some wise reason, +no mercy for the weak. She rewards each organism according to +its works; and if anything grows too weak or stupid to take care of +itself, she gives it its due deserts by letting it die and disappear. +So, you plant or you animal, are you among the strong, the successful, +the multiplying, the colonising? Or are you among the weak, the +failing, the dwindling, the doomed?</p> +<p>These questions may seem somewhat rude: but you may comfort yourself +by the thought that plants and animals, though they deserve all kindness, +all admiration, deserve no courtesy—at least in this respect. +For they are, one and all, wherever you find them, vagrants and landlopers, +intruders and conquerors, who have got where they happen to be simply +by the law of the strongest—generally not without a little robbery +and murder. They have no right save that of possession; the same +by which the puffin turns out the old rabbits, eats the young ones, +and then lays her eggs in the rabbit-burrow—simply because she +can.</p> +<p>Now, you will see at once that such a course of questioning will +call out a great many curious and interesting answers, if you can only +get the things to tell you their story; as you always may if you will +cross-examine them long enough; and will lead you into many subjects +beside mere botany or entomology. So various, indeed, are the +subjects which you will thus start, that I can only hint at them now +in the most cursory fashion.</p> +<p>At the outset you will soon find yourself involved in chemical and +meteorological questions; as, for instance, when you ask—How is +it that I find one flora on the sea-shore, another on the sandstone, +another on the chalk, and another on the peat-making gravelly strata? +The usual answer would be, I presume—if we could work it out by +twenty years’ experiment, such as Mr. Lawes, of Rothampsted, has +been making on the growth of grasses and leguminous plants in different +soils and under different manures—the usual answer, I say, would +be—Because we plants want such and such mineral constituents in +our woody fibre; again, because we want a certain amount of moisture +at a certain period of the year: or, perhaps, simply because the mechanical +arrangement of the particles of a certain soil happens to suit the shape +of our roots and of their stomata. Sometimes you will get an answer +quickly enough; sometimes not. If you ask, for instance, <i>Asplenium +viride</i> how it contrives to grow plentifully in the Craven of Yorkshire +down to 600 or 800 feet above the sea, while in Snowdon it dislikes +growing lower than 2000 feet, and is not plentiful even there?—it +will reply—Because in the Craven I can get as much carbonic acid +as I want from the decomposing limestone; while on the Snowdon Silurian +I get very little; and I have to make it up by clinging to the mountain +tops, for the sake of the greater rainfall. But if you ask <i>Polypodium +calcareum</i>—How is it you choose only to grow on limestone, +while <i>Polypodium Dryopteris</i>, of which, I suspect, you are only +a variety, is ready to grow anywhere?—<i>Polypodium calcareum</i> +will refuse, as yet, to answer a word.</p> +<p>Again—I can only give you the merest string of hints—you +will find in your questionings that many plants and animals have no +reason at all to show why they should be in one place and not in another, +save the very sound reason for the latter which was suggested to me +once by a great naturalist. I was asking—Why don’t +I find such and such a species in my parish, while it is plentiful a +few miles off in exactly the same soil?—and he answered—For +the same reason that you are not in America. Because you have +not got there. Which answer threw to me a flood of light on this +whole science. Things are often where they are, simply because +they happen to have got there, and not elsewhere. But they must +have got there by some means, and those means I want young naturalists +to discover; at least, to guess at.</p> +<p>A species, for instance—and I suspect it is a common case with +insects—may abound in a single spot, simply because, long years +ago, a single brood of eggs happened to hatch at a time when eggs of +other species, who would have competed against them for food, did not +hatch; and they may remain confined to that spot, though there is plenty +of food for them outside it, simply because they do not increase fast +enough to require to spread out in search of more food. Thus I +should explain a case which I heard of lately of <i>Anthocera trifolii</i>, +abundant for years in one corner of a certain field, and only there; +while there was just as much trefoil all round for its larvæ as +there was in the selected spot. I can, I say, only give hints: +but they will suffice, I hope, to show the path of thought into which +I want young naturalists to turn their minds.</p> +<p>Or, again, you will have to inquire whether the species has not been +prevented from spreading by some natural barrier. Mr. Wallace, +whom you all of course know, has shown in his “Malay Archipelago” +that a strait of deep sea can act as such a barrier between species. +Moritz Wagner has shown that, in the case of insects, a moderately-broad +river may divide two closely-allied species of beetles, or a very narrow +snow-range, two closely-allied species of moths.</p> +<p>Again, another cause, and a most common one, is: that the plants +cannot spread because they find the ground beyond them already occupied +by other plants, who will not tolerate a fresh mouth, having only just +enough to feed themselves. Take the case of <i>Saxifraga hypnoides</i> +and <i>S. umbrosa</i>, “London pride.” They are two +especially strong species. They show that, <i>S. hypnoides</i> +especially, by their power of sporting, of diverging into varieties; +they show it equally by their power of thriving anywhere, if they can +only get there. They will grow both in my sandy garden, under +a rainfall of only 23 inches, more luxuriantly than in their native +mountains under a rainfall of 50 or 60 inches. Then how is it +that <i>S. hypnoides</i> cannot get down off the mountains; and that +<i>S. umbrosa</i>, though in Kerry it has got off the mountains and +down to the sea-level, exterminating, I suspect, many species in its +progress, yet cannot get across County Cork? The only answer is, +I believe, that both species are continually trying to go ahead; but +that the other plants already in front of them are too strong for them, +and massacre their infants as soon as born.</p> +<p>And this brings us to another curious question: the sudden and abundant +appearance of plants, like the foxglove and <i>Epilobium angustifolium</i>, +in spots where they have never been seen before. Are there seeds, +as some think, dormant in the ground; or are the seeds which have germinated, +fresh ones wafted thither by wind or otherwise, and only able to germinate +in that one spot because there the soil is clear? General Monro, +now famous for his unequalled memoir on the bamboos, holds to the latter +theory. He pointed out to me that the <i>Epilobium</i> seeds, +being feathered could travel with the wind; that the plant always made +its appearance first on new banks, landslips, clearings, where it had +nothing to compete against; and that the foxglove did the same. +True, and most painfully true, in the case of thistles and groundsels: +but foxglove seeds, though minute, would hardly be carried by the wind +any more than those of the white clover, which comes up so abundantly +in drained fens. Adhuc sub judice lis est, and I wish some young +naturalists would work carefully at the solution; by experiment, which +is the most sure way to find out anything.</p> +<p>But in researches in this direction they will find puzzles enough. +I will give them one which I shall be most thankful to hear they have +solved within the next seven years—How is it that we find certain +plants, namely, the thrift and the scurvy grass, abundant on the sea-shore +and common on certain mountain-tops, but nowhere between the two? +Answer me that. For I have looked at the fact for years—before, +behind, sideways, upside down, and inside out—and I cannot understand +it.</p> +<p>But all these questions, and especially, I suspect, that last one, +ought to lead the young student up to the great and complex question—How +were these islands re-peopled with plants and animals, after the long +and wholesale catastrophe of the glacial epoch?</p> +<p>I presume you all know, and will agree, that the whole of these islands, +north of the Thames, save certain ice-clad mountain-tops, were buried +for long ages under an icy sea. From whence did vegetable and +animal life crawl back to the land, as it rose again; and cover its +mantle of glacial drift with fresh life and verdure?</p> +<p>Now let me give you a few prolegomena on this matter. You must +study the plants of course, species by species. Take Watson’s +“Cybele Britannica” and Moore’s “Cybele Hibernica;” +and let—as Mr. Matthew Arnold would say—“your thought +play freely about them.” Look carefully, too, in the case +of each species, at the note on its distribution, which you will find +appended in Bentham’s “Handbook,” and in Hooker’s +“Student’s Flora.” Get all the help you can, +if you wish to work the subject out, from foreign botanists, both European +and American; and I think that, on the whole, you will come to some +such theory as this for a general starling platform. We do not +owe our flora—I must keep to the flora just now—to so many +different regions, or types, as Mr. Watson conceives, but to three, +namely, an European or Germanic flora, from the south-east; an Atlantic +flora, from the south-east; a Northern flora, from the north. +These three invaded us after the glacial epoch; and our general flora +is their result.</p> +<p>But this will cause you much trouble. Before you go a step +farther you will have to eliminate from all your calculations most of +the plants which Watson calls glareal, <i>i.e</i>. found in cultivated +ground about habitations. And what their limit may be I think +we never shall know. But of this we may be sure; that just as +invading armies always bring with them, in forage or otherwise, some +plants from their own country—just as the Cossacks, in 1815, brought +more than one Russian plant through Germany into France—just as +you have already a crop of North German plants upon the battle-fields +of France—thus do conquering races bring new plants. The +Romans, during their 300 or 400 years of occupation and civilisation, +must have brought more species, I believe, than I dare mention. +I suspect them of having brought, not merely the common hedge elm of +the south, not merely the three species of nettle, but all our red poppies, +and a great number of the weeds which are common in our cornfields; +and when we add to them the plants which may have been brought by returning +crusaders and pilgrims; by monks from every part of Europe, by Flemings +or other dealers in foreign wool—we have to cut a huge cantle +out of our indigenous flora: only, having no records, we hardly know +where and what to cut out; and can only, we elder ones, recommend the +subject to the notice of the younger botanists, that they may work it +out after our work is done.</p> +<p>Of course these plants introduced by man, if they are cut out, must +be cut out of only one of the floras, namely, the European; for they, +probably, came from the south-east, by whatever means they came.</p> +<p>That European flora invaded us, I presume, immediately after the +glacial epoch, at a time when France and England were united, and the +German Ocean a mere network of rivers, which emptied into the deep sea +between Scotland and Scandinavia. And here I must add, that endless +questions of interest will arise to those who will study, not merely +the invasion of that truly European flora, but the invasion of reptiles, +insects, and birds, especially birds of passage, which must have followed +it as soon as the land was sufficiently covered with vegetation to support +life. Whole volumes remain to be written on this subject. +I trust that some of your younger members may live to write one of them. +The way to begin will be; to compare the flora and fauna of this part +of England very carefully with that of the southern and eastern counties; +and then to compare them again with the fauna and flora of France, Belgium, +and Holland.</p> +<p>As for the Atlantic flora, you will have to decide for yourselves +whether you accept or not the theory of a sunken Atlantic continent. +I confess that all objections to that theory, however astounding it +may seem, are outweighed in my mind by a host of facts which I can explain +by no other theory. But you must judge for yourselves; and to +do so you must study carefully the distribution of heaths both in Europe +and at the Cape, and their non-appearance beyond the Ural Mountains, +and in America, save in Labrador, where the common ling, an older and +less specialised form, exists. You must consider, too, the plants +common to the Azores, Portugal, the West of England, Ireland, and the +Western Hebrides. In so doing young naturalists will at least +find proofs of a change in the distribution of land and water, which +will utterly astound them when they face it for the first time.</p> +<p>As for the Northern flora, the question whence it came is puzzling +enough. It seems difficult to conceive how any plants could have +survived when Scotland was an archipelago in the same ice-covered condition +as Greenland is now; and we have no proof that there existed after the +glacial epoch any northern continent from which the plants and animals +could have come back to us. The species of plants and animals +common to Britain, Scandinavia, and North America, must have spread +in pre-glacial times when a continent joining them did exist.</p> +<p>But some light has been thrown on this question by an article, as +charming as it is able, on “The Physics of the Arctic Ice,” +by Dr. Brown of Campster. You will find it in the “Quarterly +Journal of the Geological Society” for February, 1870. He +shows there that even in Greenland peaks and crags are left free enough +from ice to support a vegetation of between three hundred or four hundred +species of flowering plants; and, therefore, he well says, we must be +careful to avoid concluding that the plant and animal life on the dreary +shores or mountain-tops of the old glacial Scotland was poor. +The same would hold good of our mountains; and, if so, we may look with +respect, even awe, on the Alpine plants of Wales, Scotland, and the +Lake mountains, as organisms, stunted it may be, and even degraded by +their long battle with the elements, but venerable from their age, historic +from their endurance. Relics of an older temperate world, they +have lived through thousands of centuries of frost and fog, to sun themselves +in a temperate climate once more. I can never pick one of them +without a tinge of shame; and to exterminate one of them is to destroy, +for the mere pleasure of collecting, the last of a family which God +has taken the trouble to preserve for thousands of centuries.</p> +<p>I trust that these hints—for I can call them nothing more—will +at least awaken any young naturalist who has hitherto only collected +natural objects, to study the really important and interesting question—How +did these things get here?</p> +<p>Now hence arise questions which may puzzle the mind of a Hampshire +naturalist. You have in this neighbourhood, as you well know, +two, or rather three, soils, each carrying its peculiar vegetation. +First, you have the clay lying on the chalk, and carrying vast woodlands, +seemingly primeval. Next, you have the chalk, with its peculiar, +delicate, and often fragrant crop of lime-loving plants; and next, you +have the poor sands and clays of the New Forest basin, saturated with +iron, and therefore carrying a moorland or peat-loving vegetation, in +many respects quite different from the others. And this moorland +soil, and this vegetation, with a few singular exceptions, repeats itself, +as I daresay you know, in the north of the county, in the Bagshot basin, +as it is called—the moors of Aldershot, Hartford Bridge, and Windsor +Forest.</p> +<p>Now what a variety of interesting questions are opened up by these +simple facts. How did these three floras get each to its present +place? Where did each come from? How did it get past or +through the other, till each set of plants, after long internecine competition, +settled itself down in the sheet of land most congenial to it? +And when did each come hither? Which is the oldest? Will +any one tell me whether the healthy floras of the moors, or the thymy +flora of the chalk downs, were the earlier inhabitants of these isles? +To these questions I cannot get any answer; and they cannot be answered +without, first—a very careful study of the range of each species +of plant on the continent of Europe; and next, without careful study +of those stupendous changes in the shape of this island which have taken +place at a very late geological epoch. The composition of the +flora of our moorlands is as yet to me an utter puzzle. We have +Lycopodiums—three species—enormously ancient forms which +have survived the age of ice: but did they crawl downward hither from +the northern mountains or upward hither from the Pyrenees? We +have the beautiful bog asphodel again—an enormously ancient form; +for it is, strange to say, common to North America and to Northern Europe, +but does not enter Asia—almost an unique instance. It must, +surely, have come from the north; and points—as do many species +of plants and animals—to the time when North Europe and North +America were joined. We have, sparingly, in North Hampshire, though, +strangely, not on the Bagshot moors, the Common or Northern Butterwort +(<i>Pinguicula vulgaris</i>); and also, in the south, the New Forest +part of the county, the delicate little <i>Pinguicula lusitanica</i>, +the only species now found in Devon and Cornwall, marking the New Forest +as the extreme eastern limit of the Atlantic flora. We have again +the heaths, which, as I have just said, are found neither in America +nor in Asia, and must, I believe, have come from some south-western +land long since submerged beneath the sea. But more, we have in +the New Forest two plants which are members of the South Europe, or +properly, the Atlantic flora; which must have come from the south and +south-east; and which are found in no other spots in these islands. +I mean the lovely <i>Gladiolus</i>, which grows abundantly under the +ferns near Lyndhurst, certainly wild, but it does not approach England +elsewhere nearer than the Loire and the Rhine; and next, that delicate +orchid, the <i>Spiranthes æstivalis</i>, which is known only in +a bog near Lyndhurst and in the Channel Islands, while on the Continent +it extends from Southern Europe all through France. Now, what +do these two plants mark? They give us a point in botany, though +not in time, to determine when the south of England was parted from +the opposite shores of France; and whenever that was, it was just after +the Gladiolus and Spiranthes got hither. Two little colonies of +these lovely flowers arrived just before their retreat was cut off. +They found the country already occupied with other plants; and, not +being reinforced by fresh colonists from the south, have not been able +to spread farther north than Lyndhurst. Thus, in the New Forest, +and, I may say in the Bagshot moors, you find plants which you do not +expect, and do not find plants which you do expect; and you are, or +ought to be, puzzled, and I hope also interested, and stirred up to +find out more.</p> +<p>I spoke just now of the time when England was joined to France, as +bearing on Hampshire botany. It bears no less on Hampshire zoology. +In insects, for instance, the presence of the purple emperor and the +white admiral in our Hampshire woods, as well as the abundance of the +great stag-beetle, point to a time when the two countries were joined, +at least as far west as Hampshire; while the absence of these insects +farther to the westward shows that the countries, if ever joined, were +already parted; and that those insects have not yet had time to spread +westward. The presence of these two butterflies, and partly of +the stag-beetle, along the south-east coast of England as far as the +primeval forests of South Lincolnshire, points, as do a hundred other +facts, to a time when the Straits of Dover either did not exist, or +were the bed of a river running from the west; and when, as I told you +just now, all the rivers which now run into the German Ocean, from the +Humber on the west to the Elbe on the east, discharged themselves into +the sea between Scotland and Norway, after wandering through a vast +lowland, covered with countless herds of mammoth, rhinoceros, gigantic +ox, and other mammals now extinct; while the birds, as far as we know, +the insects, the fresh-water fish, and even, as my friend Mr. Brady +has proved, the <i>Entomostraca</i> of the rivers, were the same in +what is now Holland as in what is now our Eastern counties. I +could dwell long on this matter. I could talk long about how certain +species of <i>Lepidoptera</i>—moths and butterflies—like +<i>Papilio Machaon</i> and <i>P. Podalirius</i>, swarm through France, +reach up to the British Channel, and have not crossed it, with the exception +of one colony of <i>Machaon</i> in the Cambridgeshire fens. I +could talk long about a similar phenomenon in the case of our migratory +and singing birds; how many exquisite species—notably those two +glorious songsters, the Orphean Warbler and Hippolais, which delight +our ears everywhere on the other side of the Channel—follow our +nightingales, blackcaps, and warblers northward every spring almost +to the Straits of Dover, but dare not cross, simply because they have +been, as it were, created since the gulf was opened, and have never +learnt from their parents how to fly over it.</p> +<p>In the case of fishes, again, I might say much on the curious fact +that the Cyprinidæ, or white fish—carp, etc.—and their +natural enemy, the pike, are indigenous, I believe, only to the rivers, +English or continental, on the eastern side of the Straits of Dover; +while the rivers on the western side were originally tenanted, like +our Hampshire streams, as now, almost entirely by trout, their only +Cyprinoid being the minnow—if it, too, be not an interloper; and +I might ask you to consider the bearing of this curious fact on the +former junction of England and France.</p> +<p>But I have only time to point out to you a few curious facts with +regard to reptiles, which should be specially interesting to a Hampshire +bio-geologist. You know, of course, that in Ireland there are +no reptiles, save the little common lizard, <i>Lacerta agilis</i>, and +a few frogs on the mountain-tops—how they got there I cannot conceive. +And you will, of course, guess, and rightly, that the reason of the +absence of reptiles is: that Ireland was parted off from England before +the creatures, which certainly spread from southern and warmer climates, +had time to get there. You know, of course, that we have a few +reptiles in England. But you may not be aware that, as soon as +you cross the Channel, you find many more species of reptiles than here, +as well as those which you find here. The magnificent green lizard +which rattles about like a rabbit in a French forest, is never found +here; simply because it had not worked northward till after the Channel +was formed. But there are three reptiles peculiar to this part +of England which should be most interesting to a Hampshire zoologist. +The one is the sand lizard (<i>L. stirpium</i>), found on Bourne-heath, +and, I suspect, in the South Hampshire moors likewise—a North +European and French species. Another, the <i>Coronella lævis</i>, +a harmless French and Austrian snake, which has been found about me, +in North Hants and South Berks, now about fifteen or twenty times. +I have had three specimens from my own parish. I believe it not +to be uncommon; and most probably to be found, by those who will look, +both in the New Forest and Woolmer. The third is the Natterjack, +or running toad (<i>Bufo Rubeta</i>), a most beautifully-spotted animal, +with a yellow stripe down his back, which is common with us at Eversley, +and common also in many moorlands of Hants and Surrey; and, according +to Fleming, on heaths near London, and as far north-east as Lincolnshire; +in which case it will belong to the Germanic fauna. Now, here +again we have cases of animals which have just been able to get hither +before the severance of England and France; and which, not being reinforced +from the rear, have been forced to stop, in small and probably decreasing +colonies, on the spots nearest the coast which were fit for them.</p> +<p>I trust that I have not kept you too long over these details. +What I wish to impress upon you is that Hampshire is a country specially +fitted for the study of important bio-geological questions.</p> +<p>To work them out, you must trace the geology of Hampshire, and indeed, +of East Dorset. You must try to form a conception of how the land +was shaped in miocene times, before that tremendous upheaval which reared +the chalk cliffs at Freshwater upright, lifting the tertiary beds upon +their northern slopes. You must ask—Was there not land to +the south of the Isle of Wight in those ages, and for ages after; and +what was its extent and shape? You must ask—When was the +gap between the Isle of Wight and the Isle of Purbeck sawn through, +leaving the Needles as remnants on one side, and Old Harry on the opposite? +And was it sawn asunder merely by the age-long gnawing of the waves? +You must ask—Where did the great river which ran from the west, +where Poole Harbour is now, and probably through what is now the Solent, +depositing brackish water-beds right and left—where, I say, did +it run into the sea? Where the Straits of Dover are now? +Or, if not there, where? What, too, is become of the land to the +Westward, composed of ancient metamorphic rocks, out of which it ran, +and deposited on what are now the Haggerstone Moors of Poole, vast beds +of grit? What was the climate on its banks when it washed down +the delicate leaves of broad-leaved trees, akin to our modern English +ones, which are found in the fine mud-sand strata of Bournemouth? +When, finally, did it dwindle down to the brook which now runs through +Wareham town? Was its bed, sea or dry land, or under an ice sheet, +during the long ages of the glacial epoch? And if you say—Who +is sufficient for these things?—Who can answer these questions? +I answer—Who but you, or your pupils after you, if you will but +try?</p> +<p>And if any shall reply—And what use if I do try? What +use, if I do try? What use if I succeed in answering every question +which you have propounded to-night? Shall I be the happier for +it? Shall I be the wiser?</p> +<p>My friends, whether you will be the happier for it, or for any knowledge +of physical science, or for any other knowledge whatsoever, I cannot +tell: that lies in the decision of a Higher Power than I; and, indeed, +to speak honestly, I do not think that bio-geology or any other branch +of physical science is likely, at first at least, to make you happy. +Neither is the study of your fellow-men. Neither is religion itself. +We were not sent into the world to be happy, but to be right; at least, +poor creatures that we are, as right as we can be; and we must be content +with being right, and not happy. For I fear, or rather I hope, +that most of us are not capable of carrying out Talleyrand’s recipe +for perfect happiness on earth—namely, a hard heart and a good +digestion. Therefore, as our hearts are, happily, not always hard, +and our digestions, unhappily, not always good, we will be content to +be made wise by physical science, even though we be not made happy.</p> +<p>And we shall be made truly wise if we be made content; content, too, +not only with what we can understand, but, content with what we do not +understand—the habit of mind which theologians call—and +rightly—faith in God; the true and solid faith, which comes often +out of sadness, and out of doubt, such as bio-geology may well stir +in us at first sight. For our first feeling will be—I know +mine was when I began to look into these matters—one somewhat +of dread and of horror.</p> +<p>Here were all these creatures, animal and vegetable, competing against +each other. And their competition was so earnest and complete, +that it did not mean—as it does among honest shopkeepers in a +civilised country—I will make a little more money than you; but—I +will crush you, enslave you, exterminate you, eat you up. “Woe +to the weak,” seems to be Nature’s watchword. The +Psalmist says: “The righteous shall inherit the land.” +If you go to a tropical forest, or, indeed, if you observe carefully +a square acre of any English land, cultivated or uncultivated, you will +find that Nature’s text at first sight looks a very different +one. She seems to say: Not the righteous, but the strong, shall +inherit the land. Plant, insect, bird, what not—Find a weaker +plant, insect, bird, than yourself, and kill it, and take possession +of its little vineyard, and no Naboth’s curse shall follow you: +but you shall inherit, and thrive therein, you, and your children after +you, if they will be only as strong and as cruel as you are. That +is Nature’s law: and is it not at first sight a fearful law? +Internecine competition, ruthless selfishness, so internecine and so +ruthless that, as I have wandered in tropic forests, where this temper +is shown more quickly and fiercely, though not in the least more evilly, +than in our slow and cold temperate one, I have said: Really these trees +and plants are as wicked as so many human beings.</p> +<p>Throughout the great republic of the organic world the motto of the +majority is, and always has been as far back as we can see, what it +is, and always has been, with the majority of human beings: “Everyone +for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.” Overreaching +tyranny; the temper which fawns, and clings, and plays the parasite +as long as it is down, and when it has risen, fattens on its patron’s +blood and life—these, and the other works of the flesh, are the +works of average plants and animals, as far as they can practise them. +At least, so says at first sight the science of bio-geology; till the +naturalist, if he be also human and humane, is glad to escape from the +confusion and darkness of the universal battle-field of selfishness +into the order and light of Christmas-tide.</p> +<p>For then there comes to him the thought—And are these all the +facts? And is this all which the facts mean? That mutual +competition is one law of Nature, we see too plainly. But is there +not, besides that law, a law of mutual help? True it is, as the +wise man has said, that the very hyssop on the wall grows there because +all the forces of the universe could not prevent its growing. +All honour to the hyssop. A brave plant, it has fought a brave +fight, and has its just deserts—as everything in Nature has—and +so has won. But did all the powers of the universe combine to +prevent it growing? Is not that a one-sided statement of facts? +Did not all the powers of the universe also combine to make it grow, +if only it had valour and worth wherewith to grow? Did not the +rains feed it, the very mortar in the wall give lime to its roots? +Were not electricity, gravitation, and I know not what of chemical and +mechanical forces, busy about the little plant, and every cell of it, +kindly and patiently ready to help it if it would only help itself? +Surely this is true; true of every organic thing, animal and vegetable, +and mineral too, for aught I know: and so we must soften our sadness +at the sight of the universal mutual war by the sight of an equally +universal mutual help.</p> +<p>But more. It is true—too true if you will—that +all things live on each other. But is it not, therefore, equally +true that all things live for each other?—that self-sacrifice, +and not selfishness, is at the bottom the law of Nature, as it is the +law of Grace; and the law of bio-geology, as it is the law of all religion +and virtue worthy of the name? Is it not true that everything +has to help something else to live, whether it knows it or not?—that +not a plant or an animal can turn again to its dust without giving food +and existence to other plants, other animals?—that the very tiger, +seemingly the most useless tyrant of all tyrants, is still of use, when, +after sending out of the world suddenly, and all but painlessly, many +an animal which would without him have starved in misery through a diseased +old age, he himself dies, and, in dying, gives, by his own carcase, +the means of life and of enjoyment to a thousandfold more living creatures +than ever his paws destroyed?</p> +<p>And so, the longer one watches the great struggle for existence, +the more charitable, the more hopeful, one becomes; as one sees that, +consciously or unconsciously, the law of Nature is, after all self-sacrifice: +unconscious in plants and animals, as far as we know; save always those +magnificent instances of true self-sacrifice shown by the social insects, +by ants, bees, and others, which put to shame by a civilisation truly +noble—why should I not say divine, for God ordained it?—the +selfishness and barbarism of man. But be that as it may, in man +the law of self-sacrifice—whether unconscious or not in the animals—rises +into consciousness just as far as he is a man; and the crowning lesson +of bio-geology may be, when we have worked it out after all, the lesson +of Christmas-tide—of the infinite self-sacrifice of God for man; +and Nature as well as religion may say to us:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Ah, could you crush that ever craving lust<br />For bliss, which +kills all bliss, and lose your life,<br />Your barren unit life, to +find again<br />A thousand times in those for whom you die—<br />So +were you men and women, and should hold<br />Your rightful rank in God’s +great universe,<br />Wherein, in heaven or earth, by will or nature,<br />Naught +lives for self. All, all, from crown to base—<br />The Lamb, +before the world’s foundation slain—<br />The angels, ministers +to God’s elect—<br />The sun, who only shines to light the +worlds—<br />The clouds, whose glory is to die in showers—<br />The +fleeting streams, who in their ocean graves<br />Flee the decay of stagnant +self-content—<br />The oak, ennobled by the shipwright’s +axe—<br />The soil, which yields its marrow to the flower—<br />The +flower, which feeds a thousand velvet worms<br />Born only to be prey +to every bird—<br />All spend themselves on others: and shall +man,<br />Whose twofold being is the mystic knot<br />Which couples +earth with heaven, doubly bound,<br />As being both, worm and angel, +to that service<br />By which both worms and angels hold their life,<br />Shall +he, whose every breath is debt on debt,<br />Refuse, forsooth, to be +what God has made him?<br />No; let him show himself the creatures’ +Lord<br />By free-will gift of that self-sacrifice<br />Which they, +perforce, by Nature’s law’s endure.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>My friends, scientific and others, if the study of bio-geology shall +help to teach you this, or anything like this, I think that though it +may not make you more happy, it may yet make you more wise; and, therefore, +what is better than being more happy, namely, more blessed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE STUDY OF NATURAL HISTORY FOR SOLDIERS <a name="citation181"></a><a href="#footnote181">{181}</a></h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Gentlemen: When I accepted the honour of lecturing here, I took for +granted that so select an audience would expect from me not mere amusement, +but somewhat of instruction; or, if that be too ambitious a word for +me to use, at least some fresh hint—if I were able to give one—as +to how they should fulfil the ideal of military men in such an age as +this.</p> +<p>To touch on military matters, even had I been conversant with them, +seemed to me an impertinence. I am bound to take for granted that +every man knows his own business best; and I incline more and more to +the opinion that military men should be left to work out the problems +of their art for themselves, without the advice or criticism of civilians. +But I hold—and I am sure that you will agree with me—that +if the soldier is to be thus trusted by the nation, and left to himself +to do his own work his own way, he must be educated in all practical +matters as highly as the average of educated civilians. He must +know all that they know, and his own art besides. Just as a clergyman, +being a man plus a priest, is bound to be a man, and a good man; over +and above his priesthood, so is the soldier bound to be a civilian, +and a highly-educated civilian, plus his soldierly qualities and acquirements.</p> +<p>It seemed to me, therefore, that I might, without impertinence, ask +you to consider a branch of knowledge which is becoming yearly more +and more important in the eyes of well-educated civilians; of which, +therefore, the soldier ought at least to know something, in order to +put him on a par with the general intelligence of the nation. +I do not say that he is to devote much time to it, or to follow it up +into specialities: but that he ought to be well grounded in its principles +and methods; that he ought to be aware of its importance and its usefulness; +that so, if he comes into contact—as he will more and more—with +scientific men, he may understand them, respect them, befriend them, +and be befriended by them in turn; and how desirable this last result +is, I shall tell you hereafter.</p> +<p>There are those, I doubt not, among my audience who do not need the +advice which I shall presume to give to-night; who belong to that fast-increasing +class among officers of whom I have often said—and I have found +scientific men cordially agree with me—that they are the most +modest and the most teachable of men. But even in their case there +can be no harm in going over deliberately a question of such importance; +in putting it, as it were, into shape; and insisting on arguments which +may perhaps not have occurred to some of them.</p> +<p>Let me, in the first place, reassure those—if any such there +be—who may suppose, from the title of my lecture, that I am only +going to recommend them to collect weeds and butterflies, “rats +and mice, and such small deer.” Far from it. The honourable +title of Natural History has, and unwisely, been restricted too much +of late years to the mere study of plants and animals. I desire +to restore the words to their original and proper meaning—the +History of Nature; that is, of all that is born, and grows in time; +in short, of all natural objects.</p> +<p>If any one shall say—By that definition you make not only geology +and chemistry branches of natural history, but meteorology and astronomy +likewise—I cannot deny it. They deal each of them, with +realms of Nature. Geology is, literally, the natural history of +soils and lands; chemistry the natural history of compounds, organic +and inorganic; meteorology the natural history of climates; astronomy +the natural history of planetary and solar bodies. And more, you +cannot now study deeply any branch of what is popularly called Natural +History—that is, plants and animals—without finding it necessary +to learn something, and more and more as you go deeper, of those very +sciences. As the marvellous interdependence of all natural objects +and forces unfolds itself more and more, so the once separate sciences, +which treated of different classes of natural objects, are forced to +interpenetrate, as it were; and to supplement themselves by knowledge +borrowed from each other. Thus—to give a single instance—no +man can now be a first-rate botanist unless he be also no mean meteorologist, +no mean geologist, and—as Mr. Darwin has shown in his extraordinary +discoveries about the fertilisation of plants by insects—no mean +entomologist likewise.</p> +<p>It is difficult, therefore, and indeed somewhat unwise and unfair, +to put any limit to the term Natural History, save that it shall deal +only with nature and with matter; and shall not pretend—as some +would have it to do just now—to go out of its own sphere to meddle +with moral and spiritual matters. But, for practical purposes, +we may define the natural history of the causes which have made it what +it is, and filled it with the natural objects which it holds. +And if any one would know how to study the natural history of any given +spot as the history of the causes which have made it what it is, and +filled it with the natural objects which it holds. And if any +one would know how to study the natural history of a place, and how +to write it, let him read—and if he has read its delightful pages +in youth, read once again—that hitherto unrivalled little monograph, +White’s “Natural History of Selborne;” and let him +then try, by the light of improved science, to do for any district where +he may be stationed, what White did for Selborne nearly one hundred +years ago. Let him study its plants, its animals, its soils and +rocks; and last, but not least, its scenery, as the total outcome of +what the soils, and plants, and animals, have made it. I say, +have made it. How far the nature of the soils, and the rocks will +affect the scenery of a district may be well learnt from a very clever +and interesting little book of Professor Geikie’s, on “The +Scenery of Scotland as affected by its Geological Structure.” +How far the plants, and trees affect not merely the general beauty, +the richness or barrenness of a country, but also its very shape; the +rate at which the hills are destroyed and washed into the lowland; the +rate at which the seaboard is being removed by the action of waves—all +these are branches of study which is becoming more and more important.</p> +<p>And even in the study of animals and their effects on the vegetation, +questions of really deep interest will arise. You will find that +certain plants and trees cannot thrive in a district, while others can, +because the former are browsed down by cattle, or their seeds eaten +by birds, and the latter are not; that certain seeds are carried in +the coats of animals, or wafted abroad by winds—others are not; +certain trees destroyed wholesale by insects, while others are not; +that in a hundred ways the animal and vegetable life of a district act +and react upon each other, and that the climate, the average temperature, +the maximum and minimum temperatures, the rainfall, act on them, and +in the case of the vegetation, are reacted on again by them. The +diminution of rainfall by the destruction of forests, its increase by +replanting them, and the effect of both on the healthiness or unhealthiness +of a place—as in the case of the Mauritius, where a once healthy +island has become pestilential, seemingly from the clearing away of +the vegetation on the banks of streams—all this, though to study +it deeply requires a fair knowledge of meteorology, and even of a science +or two more, is surely well worth the attention of any educated man +who is put in charge of the health and lives of human beings.</p> +<p>You will surely agree with me that the habit of mind required for +such a study as this, is the very same as is required for successful +military study. In fact, I should say that the same intellect +which would develop into a great military man, would develop also into +a great naturalist. I say, intellect. The military man would +require—what the naturalist would not—over and above his +intellect, a special force of will, in order to translate his theories +into fact, and make his campaigns in the field and not merely on paper. +But I am speaking only of the habit of mind required for study; of that +inductive habit of mind which works, steadily and by rule, from the +known to the unknown; that habit of mind of which it has been said: +“The habit of seeing; the habit of knowing what we see; the habit +of discerning differences and likenesses; the habit of classifying accordingly; +the habit of searching for hypotheses which shall connect and explain +those classified facts; the habit of verifying these hypotheses by applying +them to fresh facts; the habit of throwing them away bravely if they +will not fit; the habit of general patience, diligence, accuracy, reverence +for facts for their own sake, and love of truth for its own sake; in +one word, the habit of reverent and implicit obedience to the laws of +Nature, whatever they may be—these are not merely intellectual, +but also moral habits, which will stand men in practical good stead +in every affair of life, and in every question, even the most awful, +which may come before them as rational and social beings.” +And specially valuable are they, surely, to the military man, the very +essence of whose study, to be successful, lies first in continuous and +accurate observation, and then in calm and judicious arrangement.</p> +<p>Therefore it is that I hold, and hold strongly, that the study of +physical science, far from interfering with an officer’s studies, +much less unfitting for them, must assist him in them, by keeping his +mind always in the very attitude and the very temper which they require.</p> +<p>If any smile at this theory of mine, let them recollect one curious +fact: that perhaps the greatest captain of the old world was trained +by perhaps the greatest philosopher of the old world—the father +of Natural History; that Aristotle was the tutor of Alexander of Macedon. +I do not fancy, of course, that Aristotle taught Alexander any Natural +History. But this we know, that he taught him to use those very +faculties by which Aristotle became a natural historian, and many things +besides; that he called out in his pupil somewhat of his own extraordinary +powers of observation, extraordinary powers of arrangement. He +helped to make him a great general: but he helped to make him more—a +great politician, coloniser, discoverer. He instilled into him +such a sense of the importance of Natural History, that Alexander helped +him nobly in his researches; and, if Athenæus is to be believed, +gave him eight hundred talents towards perfecting his history of animals. +Surely it is not too much to say that this close friendship between +the natural philosopher and the soldier has changed the whole course +of civilisation to this very day. Do not consider me Utopian when +I tell you, that I should like to see the study of physical science +an integral part of the curriculum of every military school. I +would train the mind of the lad who was to become hereafter an officer +in the army—and in the navy likewise—by accustoming him +to careful observation of, and sound thought about, the face of nature; +of the commonest objects under his feet, just as much as the stars above +his head; provided always that he learnt, not at second-hand from books, +but where alone ho can really learn either war or nature—in the +field; by actual observation, actual experiment. A laboratory +for chemical experiment is a good thing, it is true, as far as it goes; +but I should prefer to the laboratory a naturalists’ field-club, +such as are prospering now at several of the best public schools, certain +that the boys would get more of sound inductive habits of mind, as well +as more health, manliness, and cheerfulness, amid scenes to remember +which will be a joy for ever, than they ever can by bending over retorts +and crucibles, amid smells even to remember which is a pain for ever.</p> +<p>But I would, whether a field-club existed or not, require of every +young man entering the army or navy—indeed of every young man +entering any liberal profession whatsoever—a fair knowledge, such +as would enable him to pass an examination, in what the Germans call +<i>Erd-kunde</i>—earth-lore—in that knowledge of the face +of the earth and of its products, for which we English have as yet cared +so little that we have actually no English name for it, save the clumsy +and questionable one of physical geography; and, I am sorry to say, +hardly any readable school books about it, save Keith Johnston’s +“Physical Atlas”—an acquaintance with which last I +should certainly require of young men.</p> +<p>It does seem most strange—or rather will seem most strange +a hundred years hence—that we, the nation of colonists, the nation +of sailors, the nation of foreign commerce, the nation of foreign military +stations, the nation of travellers for travelling’s sake, the +nation of which one man here and another there—as Schleiden sets +forth in his book, “The Plant,” in a charming ideal conversation +at the Travellers’ Club—has seen and enjoyed more of the +wonders and beauties of this planet than the men of any nation, not +even excepting the Germans—that this nation, I say, should as +yet have done nothing, or all but nothing, to teach in her schools a +knowledge of that planet, of which she needs to know more, and can if +she will know more, than any other nation upon it.</p> +<p>As for the practical utility of such studies to a soldier, I only +need, I trust, to hint at it to such an assembly as this. All +must see of what advantage a rough knowledge of the botany of a district +would be to an officer leading an exploring party, or engaged in bush +warfare. To know what plants are poisonous; what plants, too, +are eatable—and many more are eatable than is usually supposed; +what plants yield oleaginous substances, whether for food or for other +uses; what plants yield vegetable acids, as preventives of scurvy; what +timbers are available for each of many different purposes; what will +resist wet, salt-water, and the attacks of insects; what, again, can +be used, at a pinch, for medicine or for styptics—and be sure, +as a wise West Indian doctor once said to me, that there is more good +medicine wild in the bush than there is in all the druggists’ +shops—surely all this is a knowledge not beneath the notice of +any enterprising officer, above all of an officer of engineers. +I only ask any one who thinks that I may be in the right, to glance +through the lists of useful vegetable products given in Lindley’s +“Vegetable Kingdom”—a miracle of learning—and +see the vast field open still to a thoughtful and observant man, even +while on service; and not to forget that such knowledge, if he should +hereafter leave the service and settle, as many do, in a distant land, +may be a solid help to his future prosperity. So strongly do I +feel on this matter, that I should like to see some knowledge at least +of Dr. Oliver’s excellent little “First Book of Indian Botany” +required of all officers going to our Indian Empire: but as that will +not be, at least for many a year to come, I recommend any gentlemen +going to India to get that book, and while away the hours of the outward +voyage by acquiring knowledge which will be a continual source of interest, +and it may be now and then of profit, to them during their stay abroad.</p> +<p>And for geology, again. As I do not expect you all, or perhaps +any of you, to become such botanists as General Monro, whose recent +“Monograph of the Bamboos” is an honour to British botanists, +and a proof of the scientific power which is to be found here and there +among British officers: so I do not expect you to become such geologists +as Sir Roderick Murchison, or even to add such a grand chapter to the +history of extinct animals as Major Cautley did by his discoveries in +the Sewalik Hills. Nevertheless, you can learn—and I should +earnestly advise you to learn—geology and mineralogy enough to +be of great use to you in your profession, and of use, too, should you +relinquish your profession hereafter. It must be profitable for +any man, and specially for you, to know how and where to find good limestone, +building stone, road metal; it must be good to be able to distinguish +ores and mineral products; it must be good to know—as a geologist +will usually know, even in a country which he sees for the first time—where +water is likely to be found, and at what probable depth; it must be +good to know whether the water is fit for drinking or not, whether it +is unwholesome or merely muddy; it must be good to know what spots are +likely to be healthy, and what unhealthy, for encamping. The two +last questions depend, doubtless, on meteorological as well as geological +accidents: but the answers to them will be most surely found out by +the scientific man, because the facts connected with them are, like +all other facts, determined by natural laws. After what one has +heard, in past years, of barracks built in spots plainly pestilential; +of soldiers encamped in ruined cities, reeking with the dirt and poison +of centuries; of—but it is not my place to find fault; all I will +say is, that the wise and humane officer, when once his eyes are opened +to the practical value of physical science, will surely try to acquaint +himself somewhat with those laws of drainage and of climate, geological, +meteorological, chemical, which influence, often with terrible suddenness +and fury, the health of whole armies. He will not find it beyond +his province to ascertain the amount and period of rainfalls, the maxima +of heat and of cold which his troops may have to endure, and many another +point on which their health and efficiency—nay, their very life +may depend, but which are now too exclusively delegated to the doctor, +to whose province they do not really belong. For cure, I take +the liberty of believing, is the duty of the medical officer; prevention, +that of the military.</p> +<p>Thus much I can say just now—and there is much more to be said—on +the practical uses of the study of Natural History. But let me +remind you, on the other side, if Natural History will help you, you +in return can help her; and would, I doubt not, help her and help scientific +men at home, if once you looked fairly and steadily at the immense importance +of Natural History—of the knowledge of the “face of the +earth.” I believe that all will one day feel, more or less, +that to know the earth <i>on</i> which we live, and the laws of it <i>by</i> +which we live, is a sacred duty to ourselves, to our children after +us, and to all whom we may have to command and to influence; ay, and +a duty to God likewise. For is it not a duty of common reverence +and faith towards Him, if He has put us into a beautiful and wonderful +place, and given us faculties by which we can see, and enjoy, and use +that place—is it not a duty of reverence and faith towards Him +to use these faculties, and to learn the lessons which He has laid open +for us? If you feel that, as I think you all will some day feel, +then you will surely feel likewise that it will be a good deed—I +do not say a necessary duty, but still a good deed and praiseworthy—to +help physical science forward; and to add your contributions, however +small, to our general knowledge of the earth. And how much may +be done for science by British officers, especially on foreign stations, +I need not point out. I know that much has been done, chivalrously +and well, by officers; and that men of science owe them and give them +hearty thanks for their labours. But I should like, I confess, +to see more done still. I should like to see every foreign station +what one or two highly-educated officers might easily make it, an advanced +post of physical science, in regular communication with our scientific +societies at home, sending to them accurate and methodic details of +the natural history of each district—details ninety-nine hundredths +of which might seem worthless in the eyes of the public, but which would +all be precious in the eyes of scientific men, who know that no fact +is really unimportant; and more, that while plodding patiently through +seemingly unimportant facts, you may stumble on one of infinite importance, +both scientific and practical. For the student of nature, gentlemen, +if he will be but patient, diligent, methodical, is liable at any moment +to the same good fortune as befell Saul of old, when he went out to +seek his father’s asses, and found a kingdom.</p> +<p>There are those, lastly, who have neither time nor taste for the +technicalities and nice distinctions of formal Natural History; who +enjoy Nature, but as artists or as sportsmen, and not as men of science. +Let them follow their bent freely: but let them not suppose that in +following it they can do nothing towards enlarging our knowledge of +Nature, especially when on foreign stations. So far from it, drawings +ought always to be valuable, whether of plants, animals, or scenery, +provided only they are accurate; and the more spirited and full of genius +they are, the more accurate they are certain to be; for Nature being +alive, a lifeless copy of her is necessarily an untrue copy. Most +thankful to any officer for a mere sight of sketches will be the closest +botanist, who, to his own sorrow, knows three-fourths of his plants +only from dried specimens; or the closest zoologist, who knows his animals +from skins and bones. And if any one answers—But I cannot +draw. I rejoin. You can at least photograph. If a +young officer, going out to foreign parts, and knowing nothing at all +about physical science, did me the honour to ask me what he could do +for science, I should tell him—Learn to photograph; take photographs +of every strange bit of rock-formation which strikes your fancy, and +of every widely-extended view which may give a notion of the general +lie of the country. Append, if you can, a note or two, saying +whether a plain is rich or barren; whether the rock is sandstone, limestone, +granitic, metamorphic, or volcanic lava; and if there be more rocks +than one, which of them lies on the other; and send them to be exhibited +at a meeting of the Geological Society. I doubt not that the learned +gentlemen there will find in your photographs a valuable hint or two, +for which they will be much obliged. I learnt, for instance, what +seemed to me most valuable geological lessons from mere glances at drawings—I +believe from photographs—of the Abyssinian ranges about Magdala.</p> +<p>Or again, let a man, if he knows nothing of botany, not trouble himself +with collecting and drying specimens; let him simply photograph every +strange and new tree or plant he sees, to give a general notion of its +species, its look; let him append, where he can, a photograph of its +leafage, flower, fruit; and send them to Dr. Hooker, or any distinguished +botanist: and he will find that, though he may know nothing of botany, +he will have pretty certainly increased the knowledge of those who do +know.</p> +<p>The sportsman, again—I mean the sportsman of that type which +seems peculiar to these islands, who loves toil and danger for their +own sakes; he surely is a naturalist, ipso facto, though he knows it +not. He has those very habits of keen observation on which all +sound knowledge of nature is based; and he, if he will—as he may +do without interfering with his sport—can study the habits of +the animals among whom he spends wholesome and exciting days. +You have only to look over such good old books as Williams’s “Wild +Sports of the East,” Campbell’s “Old Forest Ranger,” +Lloyd’s “Scandinavian Adventures,” and last, but not +least, Waterton’s “Wanderings,” to see what valuable +additions to true zoology—the knowledge of live creatures, not +merely dead ones—British sportsmen have made, and still can make. +And as for the employment of time, which often hangs so heavily on a +soldier’s hands, really I am ready to say, if you are neither +men of science, nor draughtsmen, nor sportsmen, why, go and collect +beetles. It is not very dignified, I know, nor exciting: but it +will be something to do. It cannot harm you, if you take, as beetle-hunters +do, an indiarubber sheet to lie on; and it will certainly benefit science. +Moreover, there will be a noble humility in the act. You will +confess to the public that you consider yourself only fit to catch beetles; +by which very confession you will prove yourself fit for much finer +things than catching beetles; and meanwhile, as I said before, you will +be at least out of harm’s way. At a foreign barrack once, +the happiest officer I met, because the most regularly employed, was +one who spent his time in collecting butterflies. He knew nothing +about them scientifically—not even their names. He took +them simply for their wonderful beauty and variety; and in the hope, +too—in which he was really scientific—that if he carefully +kept every form which he saw, his collection might be of use some day +to entomologists at home. A most pleasant gentleman he was; and, +I doubt not, none the worse soldier for his butterfly catching. +Commendable, also, in my eyes, was another officer—whom I have +not the pleasure of knowing—who, on a remote foreign station, +used wisely to escape from the temptations of the world into an entirely +original and most pleasant hermitage. For finding—so the +story went—that many of the finest insects kept to the tree-tops, +and never came to ground at all, he used to settle himself among the +boughs of some tree in the tropic forests, with a long-handled net and +plenty of cigars, and pass his hours in that airy flower-garden, making +dashes every now and then at some splendid monster as it fluttered round +his head. His example need not be followed by every one; but it +must be allowed that—at least as long as he was in his tree—he +was neither dawdling, grumbling, spending money, nor otherwise harming +himself, and perhaps his fellow-creatures, from sheer want of employment.</p> +<p>One word more, and I have done. If I was allowed to give one +special piece of advice to a young officer, whether of the army or navy, +I would say: Respect scientific men; associate with them; learn from +them; find them to be, as you will usually, the most pleasant and instructive +of companions—but always respect them. Allow them chivalrously, +you who have an acknowledged rank, their yet unacknowledged rank; and +treat them as all the world will treat them in a higher and truer state +of civilisation. They do not yet wear the Queen’s uniform; +they are not yet accepted servants of the State; as they will be in +some more perfectly organised and civilised land: but they are soldiers +nevertheless, and good soldiers and chivalrous, fighting their nation’s +battle, often on even less pay than you, and with still less chance +of promotion and of fame, against most real and fatal enemies—against +ignorance of the laws of this planet, and all the miseries which that +ignorance begets. Honour them for their work; sympathise in it; +give them a helping hand in it whenever you have an opportunity—and +what opportunities you have, I have been trying to sketch for you to-night; +and more, work at it yourselves whenever and wherever you can. +Show them that the spirit which animates them—the hatred of ignorance +and disorder, and of their bestial consequences—animates you likewise; +show them that the habit of mind which they value in themselves—the +habit of accurate observation and careful judgment—is your habit +likewise; show them that you value science, not merely because it gives +better weapons of destruction and of defence, but because it helps you +to become clear-headed, large-minded, able to take a just and accurate +view of any subject which comes before you, and to cast away every old +prejudice and every hasty judgment in the face of truth and of duty: +and it will be better for you and for them.</p> +<p>But why? What need for the soldier and the man of science to +fraternise just now? This need: the two classes which will have +an increasing, it may be a preponderating, influence on the fate of +the human race for some time, will be the pupils of Aristotle and those +of Alexander—the men of science and the soldiers. In spite +of all appearances, and all declamations to the contrary, that is my +firm conviction. They, and they alone, will be left to rule; because +they alone, each in his own sphere, have learnt to obey. It is +therefore most needful for the welfare of society that they should pull +with, and not against each other; that they should understand each other, +respect each other, take counsel with each other, supplement each other’s +defects, bring out each other’s higher tendencies, counteract +each other’s lower ones. The scientific man has something +to learn of you, gentlemen, which I doubt not that he will learn in +good time. You, again, have—as I have been hinting to you +to-night—something to learn of him, which you, I doubt not, will +learn in good time likewise. Repeat, each of you according to +his powers, the old friendship between Aristotle and Alexander; and +so, from your mutual sympathy and co-operation, a class of thinkers +and actors may yet arise which can save this nation, and the other civilised +nations of the world, from that of which I had rather not speak, and +wish that I did not think too often and too earnestly.</p> +<p>I may be a dreamer; and I may consider, in my turn, as wilder dreamers +than myself, certain persons who fancy that their only business in life +is to make money, the scientific man’s only business is to show +them how to make money, and the soldier’s only business to guard +their money for them. Be that as it may, the finest type of civilised +man which we are likely to see for some generations to come, will be +produced by a combination of the truly military with the truly scientific +man. I say—I may be a dreamer; but you at least, as well +as my scientific friends, will bear with me; for my dream is to your +honour.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SUPERSTITION <a name="citation201"></a><a href="#footnote201">{201}</a></h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Having accepted the very great honour of being allowed to deliver +here two lectures, I have chosen as my subject Superstition and Science. +It is with Superstition that this first lecture will deal.</p> +<p>The subject seems to me especially fit for a clergyman; for he should, +more than other men, be able to avoid trenching on two subjects rightly +excluded from this Institution; namely, Theology—that is, the +knowledge of God; and Religion—that is, the knowledge of Duty. +If he knows, as he should, what is Theology, and what is Religion, then +he should best know what is not Theology, and what is not Religion.</p> +<p>For my own part, I entreat you at the outset to keep in mind that +these lectures treat of matters entirely physical; which have in reality, +and ought to have in our minds, no more to do with Theology and Religion +than the proposition that theft is wrong, has to do with the proposition +that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles.</p> +<p>It is necessary to premise this, because many are of opinion that +superstition is a corruption of religion; and though they would agree +that as such, “corruptio optimi pessima,” yet they would +look on religion as the state of spiritual health, and superstition +as one of spiritual disease.</p> +<p>Others again, holding the same notion, but not considering that “corruptio +optimi pessima,” have been in all ages somewhat inclined to be +merciful to superstition, as a child of reverence; as a mere accidental +misdirection of one of the noblest and most wholesome faculties of man.</p> +<p>This is not the place wherein to argue with either of these parties: +and I shall simply say that superstition seems to me altogether a physical +affection, as thoroughly material and corporeal as those of eating or +sleeping, remembering or dreaming.</p> +<p>After this, it will be necessary to define superstition, in order +to have some tolerably clear understanding of what we are talking about. +I beg leave to define it as—Fear of the unknown.</p> +<p>Johnson, who was no dialectician, and, moreover, superstitious enough +himself, gives eight different definitions of the word; which is equivalent +to confessing his inability to define it at all:</p> +<p>“1. Unnecessary fear or scruples in religion; observance +of unnecessary and uncommanded rites or practices; religion without +morality.</p> +<p>“2. False religion; reverence of beings not proper objects +of reverence; false worship.</p> +<p>“ 3. Over nicety; exactness too scrupulous.”</p> +<p>Eight meanings; which, on the principle that eight eighths, or indeed +eight hundred, do not make one whole, may be considered as no definition. +His first thought, as often happens, is the best—“Unnecessary +fear.” But after that he wanders. The root-meaning +of the word is still to seek. But, indeed, the popular meaning, +thanks to popular common sense, will generally be found to contain in +itself the root-meaning.</p> +<p>Let us go back to the Latin word Superstitio. Cicero says that +the superstitious element consists in “a certain empty dread of +the gods”—a purely physical affection, if you will remember +three things:</p> +<p>1. That dread is in itself a physical affection.</p> +<p>2. That the gods who were dreaded were, with the vulgar, who +alone dreaded them, merely impersonations of the powers of nature.</p> +<p>3. That it was physical injury which these gods were expected +to inflict.</p> +<p>But he himself agrees with this theory of mine; for he says shortly +after, that not only philosophers, but even the ancient Romans, had +separated superstition from religion; and that the word was first applied +to those who prayed all day <i>ut liberi sui sibi superstites essent</i>, +might survive them. On the etymology no one will depend who knows +the remarkable absence of any etymological instinct in the ancients, +in consequence of their weak grasp of that sound inductive method which +has created modern criticism. But if it be correct, it is a natural +and pathetic form for superstition to take in the minds of men who saw +their children fade and die; probably the greater number of them beneath +diseases which mankind could neither comprehend nor cure.</p> +<p>The best exemplification of what the ancients meant by superstition +is to be found in the lively and dramatic words of Aristotle’s +great pupil Theophrastus.</p> +<p>The superstitious man, according to him, after having washed his +hands with lustral water—that is, water in which a torch from +the altar had been quenched—goes about with a laurel-leaf in his +mouth, to keep off evil influences, as the pigs in Devonshire used, +in my youth, to go about with a withe of mountain ash round their necks +to keep off the evil eye. If a weasel crosses his path, he stops, +and either throws three pebbles into the road, or, with the innate selfishness +of fear, lets someone else go before him, and attract to himself the +harm which may ensue. He has a similar dread of a screech-owl, +whom he compliments in the name of its mistress, Pallas Athene. +If he finds a serpent in his house, he sets up an altar to it. +If he pass at a four-cross-way an anointed stone, he pours oil on it, +kneels down, and adores it. If a rat has nibbled one of his sacks +he takes it for a fearful portent—a superstition which Cicero +also mentions. He dare not sit on a tomb, because it would be +assisting at his own funeral. He purifies endlessly his house, +saying that Hecate—that is, the moon—has exercised some +malign influence on it; and many other purifications he observes, of +which I shall only say that they are by their nature plainly, like the +last, meant as preservatives against unseen malarias or contagions, +possible or impossible. He assists every month with his children +at the mysteries of the Orphic priests; and finally, whenever he sees +an epileptic patient, he spits in his own bosom to avert the evil omen.</p> +<p>I have quoted, I believe, every fact given by Theophrastus; and you +will agree, I am sure, that the moving and inspiring element of such +a character is mere bodily fear of unknown evil. The only superstition +attributed to him which does not at first sight seem to have its root +in dread is that of the Orphic mysteries. But of them Müller +says that the Dionusos whom they worshipped “was an infernal deity, +connected with Hades, and was the personification, not merely of rapturous +pleasure, but of a deep sorrow for the miseries of human life.” +The Orphic societies of Greece seem to have been peculiarly ascetic, +taking no animal food save raw flesh from the sacrificed ox of Dionusos. +And Plato speaks of a lower grade of Orphic priests, Orpheotelestai, +“who used to come before the doors of the rich, and promise, by +sacrifices and expiatory songs, to release them from their own sins, +and those of their forefathers;” and such would be but too likely +to get a hearing from the man who was afraid of a weasel or an owl.</p> +<p>Now, this same bodily fear, I verily believe, will be found at the +root of all superstition whatsoever.</p> +<p>But be it so. Fear is a natural passion, and a wholesome one. +Without the instinct of self-preservation, which causes the sea-anemone +to contract its tentacles, or the fish to dash into its hover, species +would be extermined wholesale by involuntary suicide.</p> +<p>Yes; fear is wholesome enough, like all other faculties, as long +as it is controlled by reason. But what if the fear be not rational, +but irrational? What if it be, in plain homely English, blind +fear; fear of the unknown, simply because it is unknown? Is it +not likely, then, to be afraid of the wrong object? to be hurtful, ruinous +to animals as well as to man? Any one will confess that, who has +ever seen, a horse inflict on himself mortal injuries, in his frantic +attempts to escape from a quite imaginary danger. I have good +reasons for believing that not only animals here and there, but whole +flocks and swarms of them, are often destroyed, even in the wild state, +by mistaken fear; by such panics, for instance, as cause a whole herd +of buffaloes to rush over a bluff, and be dashed to pieces. And +remark that this capacity of panic, fear—of superstition, as I +should call it—is greatest in those animals, the dog and the horse +for instance, which have the most rapid and vivid fancy. Does +not the unlettered Highlander say all that I want to say, when he attributes +to his dog and his horse, on the strength of these very manifestations +of fear, the capacity of seeing ghosts and fairies before he can see +them himself?</p> +<p>But blind fear not only causes evil to the coward himself: it makes +him a source of evil to others; for it is the cruellest of all human +states. It transforms the man into the likeness of the cat, who, +when she is caught in a trap, or shut up in a room, has too low an intellect +to understand that you wish to release her: and, in the madness of terror, +bites and tears at the hand which tries to do her good. Yes; very +cruel is blind fear. When a man dreads he knows not what, he will +do he cares not what. When he dreads desperately, he will act +desperately. When he dreads beyond all reason, he will behave +beyond all reason. He has no law of guidance left, save the lowest +selfishness. No law of guidance: and yet his intellect, left unguided, +may be rapid and acute enough to lead him into terrible follies. +Infinitely more imaginative than the lowest animals, he is for that +very reason capable of being infinitely more foolish, more cowardly, +more superstitious. He can—what the lower animals, happily +for them, cannot—organise his folly; erect his superstitions into +a science; and create a whole mythology out of his blind fear of the +unknown. And when he has done that—Woe to the weak! +For when he has reduced his superstition to a science, then he will +reduce his cruelty to a science likewise, and write books like the “Malleus +Maleficarum,” and the rest of the witch literature of the fifteenth, +sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries; of which Mr. Lecky has of late +told the world so much, and told it most faithfully and most fairly.</p> +<p>But, fear of the unknown? Is not that fear of the unseen world? +And is not that fear of the spiritual world? Pardon me: a great +deal of that fear—all of it, indeed, which is superstition—is +simply not fear of the spiritual, but of the material; and of nothing +else.</p> +<p>The spiritual world—I beg you to fix this in your minds—is +not merely an invisible world which may become visible, but an invisible +world which is by its essence invisible; a moral world, a world of right +and wrong. And spiritual fear—which is one of the noblest +of all affections, as bodily fear is one of the basest—is, if +properly defined, nothing less or more than the fear of doing wrong; +of becoming a worse man.</p> +<p>But what has that to do with mere fear of the unseen? The fancy +which conceives the fear is physical, not spiritual. Think for +yourselves. What difference is there between a savage’s +fear of a demon, and a hunter’s fear of a fall? The hunter +sees a fence. He does not know what is on the other side, but +he has seen fences like it with a great ditch on the other side, and +suspects one here likewise. He has seen horses fall at such, and +men hurt thereby. He pictures to himself his horse falling at +that fence, himself rolling in the ditch, with possibly a broken limb; +and he recoils from the picture he himself has made; and perhaps with +very good reason. His picture may have its counterpart in fact; +and he may break his leg. But his picture, like the previous pictures +from which it was compounded, is simply a physical impression on the +brain, just as much as those in dreams.</p> +<p>Now, does the fact of the ditch, the fall, and the broken leg, being +unseen and unknown, make them a spiritual ditch, a spiritual fall, a +spiritual broken leg? And does the fact of the demon and his doings, +being as yet unseen and unknown, make them spiritual, or the harm that +he may do, a spiritual harm? What does the savage fear? +Lest the demon should appear; that is, become obvious to his physical +senses, and produce an unpleasant physical effect on them. He +fears lest the fiend should entice him into the bog, break the hand-bridge +over the brook, turn into a horse and ride away with him, or jump out +from behind a tree and wring his neck—tolerably hard physical +facts, all of them; the children of physical fancy, regarded with physical +dread. Even if the superstition proved true; even if the demon +did appear; even if he wrung the traveller’s neck in sound earnest, +there would be no more spiritual agency or phenomenon in the whole tragedy +than there is in the parlour-table, when spiritual somethings make spiritual +raps upon spiritual wood; and human beings, who are really spirits—and +would to heaven they would remember that fact, and what it means—believe +that anything has happened beyond a clumsy juggler’s trick.</p> +<p>You demur? Do you not see that the demon, by the mere fact +of having produced physical consequences, would have become himself +a physical agent, a member of physical Nature, and therefore to be explained, +he and his doings, by physical laws? If you do not see that conclusion +at first sight, think over it till you do.</p> +<p>It may seem to some that I have founded my theory on a very narrow +basis; that I am building up an inverted pyramid; or that, considering +the numberless, complex, fantastic shapes which superstition has assumed, +bodily fear is too simple to explain them all.</p> +<p>But if those persons will think a second time, they must agree that +my base is as broad as the phenomena which it explains; for every man +is capable of fear. And they will see, too, that the cause of +superstition must be something like fear, which is common to all men: +for all, at least as children, are capable of superstition; and that +it must be something which, like fear, is of a most simple, rudimentary, +barbaric kind; for the lowest savage, of whatever he is not capable, +is still superstitious, often to a very ugly degree. Superstition +seems, indeed, to be, next to the making of stone-weapons, the earliest +method of asserting his superiority to the brutes which has occurred +to that utterly abnormal and fantastic <i>lusus naturæ</i> called +man.</p> +<p>Now let us put ourselves awhile, as far as we can, in the place of +that same savage; and try whether my theory will not justify itself; +whether or not superstition, with all its vagaries, may have been, indeed +must have been, the result of that ignorance and fear which he carried +about with him, every time he prowled for food through the primeval +forest.</p> +<p>A savage’s first division of nature would be, I should say, +into things which he can eat and things which can eat him: including, +of course, his most formidable enemy, and most savoury food—his +fellow-man. In finding out what he can eat, we must remember, +he will have gone through much experience which will have inspired him +with a serious respect for the hidden wrath of nature; like those Himalayan +folk, of whom Hooker says, that as they know every poisonous plant, +they must have tried them all—not always with impunity.</p> +<p>So he gets at a third class of objects—things which he cannot +eat, and which will not eat him; but will only do him harm, as it seems +to him, out of pure malice, like poisonous plants and serpents. +There are natural accidents, too, which fall into the same category, +stones, floods, fires, avalanches. They hurt him or kill him, +surely for ends of their own. If a rock falls from the cliff above +him, what more natural than to suppose that there is some giant up there +who threw it at him? If he had been up there, and strong enough, +and had seen a man walking underneath, he would certainly have thrown +the stone at him and killed him. For first, he might have eaten +the man after; and even if he were not hungry, the man might have done +him a mischief; and it was prudent to prevent that by doing him a mischief +first. Besides, the man might have a wife; and if he killed the +man, then the wife would, by a very ancient law common to man and animals, +become the prize of the victor. Such is the natural man, the carnal +man, the soulish man, the ανθρωπος +φυχικος of St. Paul, with +five tolerably acute senses, which are ruled by five very acute animal +passions—hunger, sex, rage, vanity, fear. It is with the +working of the last passion, fear, that this lecture has to do.</p> +<p>So the savage concludes that there must be a giant living in the +cliff, who threw stones at him, with evil intent; and he concludes in +like wise concerning most other natural phenomena. There is something +in them which will hurt him, and therefore likes to hurt him; and if +he cannot destroy them, and so deliver himself, his fear of them grows +quite boundless. There are hundreds of natural objects on which +he learns to look with the same eyes as the little boys of Teneriffe +look on the useless and poisonous <i>Euphorbia canariensis</i>. +It is to them—according to Mr. Piazzi Smyth—a demon who +would kill them, if it could only run after them; but as it cannot, +they shout Spanish curses at it, and pelt it with volleys of stones, +“screeching with elfin joy, and using worse names than ever, when +the poisonous milk spurts out from its bruised stalks.”</p> +<p>And if such be the attitude of the uneducated man towards the permanent +terrors of nature, what will it be towards those which are sudden and +seemingly capricious?—towards storms, earthquakes, floods, blights, +pestilences? We know too well what it has been—one of blind, +and therefore often cruel, fear. How could it be otherwise? +Was Theophrastus’s superstitious man so very foolish for pouring +oil on every round stone? I think there was a great deal to be +said for him. This worship of Bætyli was rational enough. +They were aerolites, fallen from heaven. Was it not as well to +be civil to such messengers from above?—to testify by homage to +them due awe of the being who had thrown them at men, and who though +he had missed his shot that time might not miss it the next? I +think if we, knowing nothing of either gunpowder, astronomy, or Christianity, +saw an Armstrong bolt fall within five miles of London, we should be +inclined to be very respectful to it indeed. So the aerolites, +or glacial boulders, or polished stone weapons of an extinct race, which +looked like aerolites, were the children of Ouranos the heaven, and +had souls in them. One, by one of those strange transformations +in which the logic of unreason indulges, the image of Diana of the Ephesians, +which fell down from Jupiter; another was the Ancile, the holy shield +which fell from the same place in the days of Numa Pompilius, and was +the guardian genius of Rome; and several more became notable for ages.</p> +<p>Why not? The uneducated man of genius, unacquainted alike with +metaphysics and with biology, sees, like a child, a personality in every +strange and sharply-defined object. A cloud like an angel may +be an angel; a bit of crooked root like a man may be a man turned into +wood—perhaps to be turned back again at its own will. An +erratic block has arrived where it is by strange unknown means. +Is not that an evidence of its personality? Either it has flown +hither itself, or some one has thrown it. In the former case, +it has life, and is proportionally formidable; in the latter, he who +had thrown it is formidable.</p> +<p>I know two erratic blocks of porphyry—I believe there are three—in +Cornwall, lying one on serpentine, one, I think, on slate, which—so +I was always informed as a boy—were the stones which St. Kevern +threw after St. Just when the latter stole his host’s chalice +and paten, and ran away with them to the Land’s End. Why +not? Before we knew anything about the action of icebergs and +glaciers, that is, until the last eighty years, that was as good a story +as any other; while how lifelike these boulders are, let a great poet +testify; for the fact has not escaped the delicate eye of Wordsworth:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie<br />Couched on the bald +top of an eminence;<br />Wonder to all who do the same espy,<br />By +what means it could thither come, and whence,<br />So that it seems +a thing endued with sense;<br />Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that +on a shelf<br />Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>To the civilised poet, the fancy becomes a beautiful simile; to a +savage poet, it would have become a material and a very formidable fact. +He stands in the valley, and looks up at the boulder on the far-off +fells. He is puzzled by it. He fears it. At last he +makes up his mind. It is alive. As the shadows move over +it, he sees it move. May it not sleep there all day, and prowl +for prey all night? He had been always afraid of going up those +fells; now he will never go. There is a monster there.</p> +<p>Childish enough, no doubt. But remember that the savage is +always a child. So, indeed, are millions, as well clothed, housed, +and policed as ourselves—children from the cradle to the grave. +But of them I do not talk; because, happily for the world, their childishness +is so overlaid by the result of other men’s manhood; by an atmosphere +of civilisation and Christianity which they have accepted at second-hand +as the conclusions of minds wiser than their own, that they do all manner +of reasonable things for bad reasons, or for no reason at all, save +the passion of imitation. Not in them, but in the savage, can +we see man as he is by nature, the puppet of his senses and his passions, +the natural slave of his own fears.</p> +<p>But has the savage no other faculties, save his five senses and five +passions? I do not say that. I should be most unphilosophical +if I said it; for the history of mankind proves that he has infinitely +more in him than that. Yes: but in him that infinite more, which +is not only the noblest part of humanity, but, it may be, humanity itself, +is not to be counted as one of the roots of superstition. For +in the savage man, in whom superstition certainly originates, that infinite +more is still merely in him; inside him; a faculty: but not yet a fact. +It has not come out of him into consciousness, purpose, and act; and +is to be treated as non-existent: while what has come out, his passions +and senses, is enough to explain all the vagaries of superstition; a +<i>vera causa</i> for all its phenomena. And if we seem to have +found a sufficient explanation already, it is unphilosophical to look +farther, at least till we have tried whether our explanation fits the +facts.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, there is another faculty in the savage, to which I +have already alluded, common to him and to at least the higher vertebrates—fancy; +the power of reproducing internal images of external objects, whether +in its waking form of physical memory—if, indeed, all memory be +not physical—or in its sleeping form of dreaming. Upon this +last, which has played so very important a part in superstition in all +ages, I beg you to think a moment. Recollect your own dreams during +childhood; and recollect again that the savage is always a child. +Recollect how difficult it was for you in childhood, how difficult it +must be always for the savage, to decide whether dreams are phantasms +or realities. To the savage, I doubt not, the food he eats, the +foes he grapples with, in dreams, are as real as any waking impressions. +But, moreover, these dreams will be very often, as children’s +dreams are wont to be, of a painful and terrible kind. Perhaps +they will be always painful; perhaps his dull brain will never dream, +save under the influence of indigestion, or hunger, or an uncomfortable +attitude. And so, in addition to his waking experience of the +terrors of nature, he will have a whole dream-experience besides, of +a still more terrific kind. He walks by day past a black cavern +mouth, and thinks, with a shudder—Something ugly may live in that +ugly hole: what if it jumped out upon me? He broods over the thought +with the intensity of a narrow and unoccupied mind; and a few nights +after, he has eaten—but let us draw a veil before the larder of +a savage—his chin is pinned down on his chest, a slight congestion +of the brain comes on; and behold he finds himself again at that cavern’s +mouth, and something ugly does jump out upon him: and the cavern is +a haunted spot henceforth to him and to all his tribe. It is in +vain that his family tell him that he has been lying asleep at home +all the while. He has the evidence of his senses to prove the +contrary. He must have got out of himself, and gone into the woods. +When we remember that certain wise Greek philosophers could find no +better explanation of dreaming than that the soul left the body, and +wandered free, we cannot condemn the savage for his theory.</p> +<p>Now, I submit that in these simple facts we have a group of “true +causes” which are the roots of all the superstitions of the world.</p> +<p>And if any one shall complain that I am talking materialism: I shall +answer, that I am doing exactly the opposite. I am trying to eliminate +and get rid of that which is material, animal, and base; in order that +that which is truly spiritual may stand out, distinct and clear, in +its divine and eternal beauty.</p> +<p>To explain, and at the same time, as I think, to verify my hypothesis, +let me give you an example—fictitious, it is true, but probable +fact nevertheless; because it is patched up of many fragments of actual +fact: and let us see how, in following it out, we shall pass through +almost every possible form of superstition.</p> +<p>Suppose a great hollow tree, in which the formidable wasps of the +tropics have built for ages. The average savage hurries past the +spot in mere bodily fear; for if they come out against him, they will +sting him to death; till at last there comes by a savage wiser than +the rest, with more observation, reflection, imagination, independence +of will—the genius of his tribe.</p> +<p>The awful shade of the great tree, added to his terror of the wasps, +weighs on him, and excites his brain. Perhaps, too, he has had +a wife or a child stung to death by these same wasps. These wasps, +so small, yet so wise, far wiser than he: they fly, and they sting. +Ah, if he could fly and sting; how he would kill and eat, and live right +merrily. They build great towns; they rob far and wide; they never +quarrel with each other: they must have some one to teach them, to lead +them—they must have a king. And so he gets the fancy of +a Wasp-King; as the western Irish still believe in the Master Otter; +as the Red Men believe in the King of the Buffaloes, and find the bones +of his ancestors in the Mammoth remains of Big-bone Lick; as the Philistines +of Ekron—to quote a notorious instance—actually worshipped +Baal-zebub, lord of the flies.</p> +<p>If they have a king, he must be inside that tree, of course. +If he, the savage, were a king, he would not work for his bread, but +sit at home and make others feed him; and so, no doubt, does the wasp-king.</p> +<p>And when he goes home he will brood over this wonderful discovery +of the wasp-king; till, like a child, he can think of nothing else. +He will go to the tree, and watch for him to come out. The wasps +will get accustomed to his motionless figure, and leave him unhurt; +till the new fancy will rise in his mind that he is a favourite of this +wasp-king: and at last he will find himself grovelling before the tree, +saying—“Oh great wasp-king, pity me, and tell your children +not to sting me, and I will bring you honey, and fruit, and flowers +to eat, and I will flatter you, and worship you, and you shall be my +king.”</p> +<p>And then he would gradually boast of his discovery; of the new mysterious +bond between him and the wasp-king; and his tribe would believe him, +and fear him; and fear him still more when he began to say, as he surely +would, not merely—“I can ask the wasp-king, and he will +tell his children not to sting you:” but—“I can ask +the wasp-king, and he will send his children, and sting you all to death.” +Vanity and ambition will have prompted the threat: but it will not be +altogether a lie. The man will more than half believe his own +words; he will quite believe them when he has repeated them a dozen +times.</p> +<p>And so he will become a great man, and a king, under the protection +of the king of the wasps; and he will become, and it may be his children +after him, priest of the wasp-king, who will be their fetish, and the +fetish of their tribe.</p> +<p>And they will prosper, under the protection of the wasp-king. +The wasp will become their moral ideal, whose virtues they must copy. +The new chief will preach to them wild eloquent words. They must +sting like wasps, revenge like wasps, hold altogether like wasps, build +like wasps, work hard like wasps, rob like wasps; then, like the wasps, +they will be the terror of all around, and kill and eat all their enemies. +Soon they will call themselves The Wasps. They will boast that +their king’s father or grandfather, and soon that the ancestor +of the whole tribe was an actual wasp; and the wasp will become at once +their <i>eponym</i> hero, their deity, their ideal, their civiliser; +who has taught them to build a kraal of huts, as he taught his children +to build a hive.</p> +<p>Now, if there should come to any thinking man of this tribe, at this +epoch, the new thought—Who made the world? he will be sorely puzzled. +The conception of a world has never crossed his mind before. He +never pictured to himself anything beyond the nearest ridge of mountains; +and as for a Maker, that will be a greater puzzle still. What +makers or builders more cunning than those wasps of whom his foolish +head is full? Of course, he sees it now. A Wasp made the +world; which to him entirely new guess might become an integral part +of his tribe’s creed. That would be their cosmogony. +And if, a generation or two after, another savage genius should guess +that the world was a globe hanging in the heavens, he would, if he had +imagination enough to take the thought in at all, put it to himself +in a form suited to his previous knowledge and conceptions. It +would seem to him that The Wasp flew about the skies with the world +in his mouth, as he carries a bluebottle fly; and that would be the +astronomy of his tribe henceforth. Absurd enough: but—as +every man who is acquainted with old mythical cosmogonies must know—no +more absurd than twenty similar guesses on record. Try to imagine +the gradual genesis of such myths as the Egyptian scarabæus and +egg, or the Hindoo theory that the world stood on an elephant, the elephant +on a tortoise, the tortoise on that infinite note of interrogation which, +as some one expresses it, underlies all physical speculations, and judge: +must they not have arisen in some such fashion as that which I have +pointed out?</p> +<p>This, I say, would be the culminating point of the wasp-worship, +which had sprung up out of bodily fear of being stung.</p> +<p>But times might come for it in which it would go through various +changes, through which every superstition in the world, I suppose, has +passed or is doomed to pass.</p> +<p>The wasp-men might be conquered, and possibly eaten, by a stronger +tribe than themselves. What would be the result? They would +fight valiantly at first, like wasps. But what if they began to +fail? Was not the wasp-king angry with them? Had not he +deserted them? He must be appeased; he must have his revenge. +They would take a captive, and offer him to the wasps. So did +a North American tribe, in their need, some forty years ago; when, because +their maize-crops failed, they roasted alive a captive girl, cut her +to pieces, and sowed her with their corn. I would not tell the +story, for the horror of it, did it not bear with such fearful force +on my argument. What were those Red Men thinking of? What +chain of misreasoning had they in their heads when they hit on that +as a device for making the crops grow? Who can tell? Who +can make the crooked straight, or number that which is wanting? +As said Solomon of old, so must we—“The foolishness of fools +is folly.” One thing only we can say of them, that they +were horribly afraid of famine, and took that means of ridding themselves +of their fear.</p> +<p>But what if the wasp tribe had no captives? They would offer +slaves. What if the agony and death of slaves did not appease +the wasps? They would offer their fairest, their dearest, their +sons and their daughters, to the wasps; as the Carthaginians, in like +strait, offered in one day 200 noble boys to Moloch, the volcano-god, +whose worship they had brought out of Syria; whose original meaning +they had probably forgotten; of whom they only knew that he was a dark +and devouring being, who must be appeased with the burning bodies of +their sons and daughters. And so the veil of fancy would be lifted +again, and the whole superstition stand forth revealed as the mere offspring +of bodily fear.</p> +<p>But more: the survivors of the conquest might, perhaps, escape, and +carry their wasp-fetish into a new land. But if they became poor +and weakly, their brains and imagination, degenerating with their bodies, +would degrade their wasp-worship till they knew not what it meant. +Away from the sacred tree, in a country the wasps of which were not +so large or formidable, they would require a remembrancer of the wasp-king; +and they would make one—a wasp of wood, or what not. After +a while, according to that strange law of fancy, the root of all idolatry, +which you may see at work in every child who plays with a doll, the +symbol would become identified with the thing symbolised; they would +invest the wooden wasp with all the terrible attributes which had belonged +to the live wasps of the tree; and after a few centuries, when all remembrance +of the tree, the wasp-prophet and chieftain, and his descent from the +divine wasp—ay, even of their defeat and flight—had vanished +from their songs and legends, they would be found bowing down in fear +and trembling to a little ancient wooden wasp, which came from they +knew not whence, and meant they knew not what, save that it was a very +“old fetish,” a “great medicine,” or some such +other formula for expressing their own ignorance and dread. Just +so do the half-savage natives of Thibet, and the Irishwomen of Kerry, +by a strange coincidence—unless the ancient Irish were Buddhists, +like the Himalayans—tie just the same scraps of rag on the bushes +round just the same holy wells, as do the Negros of Central Africa upon +their “Devil’s Trees;” they know not why, save that +their ancestors did it, and it is a charm against ill-luck and danger.</p> +<p>And the sacred tree? That, too, might undergo a metamorphosis +in the minds of men. The conquerors would see their aboriginal +slaves of the old race still haunting the tree, making stealthy offerings +to it by night: and they would ask the reason. But they would +not be told. The secret would be guarded; such secrets were guarded, +in Greece, in Italy, in medieval France, by the superstitious awe, the +cunning, even the hidden self-conceit, of the conquered race. +Then the conquerors would wish to imitate their own slaves. They +might be in the right. There might be something magical, uncanny, +in the hollow tree, which might hurt them; might be jealous of them +as intruders. They, too, would invest the place with sacred awe. +If they were gloomy, like the Teutonic conquerors of Europe and the +Arabian conquerors of the East, they would invest it with unseen terrors. +They would say, like them, a devil lives in the tree. If they +were of a sunny temper, like the Hellenes, they would invest it with +unseen graces. What a noble tree! What a fair fountain hard +by its roots! Surely some fair and graceful being must dwell therein, +and come out to bathe by night in that clear wave. What meant +the fruit, the flowers, the honey, which the slaves left there by night? +Pure food for some pure nymph. The wasp-gods would be forgotten; +probably smoked out as sacrilegious intruders. The lucky seer +or poet who struck out the fancy would soon find imitators; and it would +become, after a while, a common and popular superstition that Hamadryads +haunted the hollow forest trees, Naiads the wells, and Oreads the lawns. +Somewhat thus, I presume, did the more cheerful Hellenic myths displace +the darker superstitions of the Pelasgis and those rude Arcadian tribes +who offered, even as late as the Roman Empire, human sacrifices to gods +whose original names were forgotten.</p> +<p>But even the cultus of nymphs would be defiled after awhile by a +darker element. However fair, they might be capricious and revengeful, +like other women. Why not? And soon, men going out into +the forest would be missed for awhile. They had eaten narcotic +berries, got sun-strokes, wandered till they lost their wits. +At all events, their wits were gone. Who had done it? Who +but the nymphs? The men had seen something they should not have +seen; done something they would not have done; and the nymphs had punished +the unconscious rudeness by that frenzy. Fear, everywhere fear, +of Nature—the spotted panther as some one calls her, as fair as +cruel, as playful as treacherous. Always fear of Nature, till +a Divine light arise, and show men that they are not the puppets of +Nature, but her lords; and that they are to fear God, and fear naught +else.</p> +<p>And so ends my true myth of the wasp-tree. No, it need not +end there; it may develop into a yet darker and more hideous form of +superstition, which Europe has often seen; which is common now among +the Negros; <a name="citation223"></a><a href="#footnote223">{223}</a> +which we may hope, will soon be exterminated.</p> +<p>This might happen. For it, or something like it, has happened +too many times already.</p> +<p>That to the ancient women who still kept up the irrational remnant +of the wasp-worship, beneath the sacred tree, other women might resort; +not merely from curiosity, or an excited imagination, but from jealousy +and revenge. Oppressed, as woman has always been under the reign +of brute force; beaten, outraged, deserted, at best married against +her will, she has too often gone for comfort and help—and those +of the very darkest kind—to the works of darkness; and there never +were wanting—there are not wanting, even now, in remote parts +of these isles—wicked old women who would, by help of the old +superstitions, do for her what she wished. Soon would follow mysterious +deaths of rivals, of husbands, of babes; then rumours of dark rites +connected with the sacred tree, with poison, with the wasp and his sting, +with human sacrifices; lies mingled with truth, more and more confused +and frantic, the more they were misinvestigated by men mad with fear: +till there would arise one of those witch-manias, which are too common +still among the African Negros, which were too common of old among the +men of our race.</p> +<p>I say, among the men. To comprehend a witch-mania, you must +look at it as—what the witch-literature confesses it unblushingly +to be—man’s dread of Nature excited to its highest form, +as dread of woman.</p> +<p>She is to the barbarous man—she should be more and more to +the civilised man—not only the most beautiful and precious, but +the most wonderful and mysterious of all natural objects, if it be only +as the author of his physical being. She is to the savage a miracle +to be alternately adored and dreaded. He dreads her more delicate +nervous organisation, which often takes shapes to him demoniacal and +miraculous; her quicker instincts, her readier wit, which seem to him +to have in them somewhat prophetic and superhuman, which entangled him +as in an invisible net, and rule him against his will. He dreads +her very tongue, more crushing than his heaviest club, more keen than +his poisoned arrows. He dreads those habits of secrecy and falsehood, +the weapons of the weak, to which savage and degraded woman always has +recourse. He dreads the very medicinal skill which she has learnt +to exercise, as nurse, comforter, and slave. He dreads those secret +ceremonies, those mysterious initiations which no man may witness, which +he has permitted to her in all ages, in so many—if not all—barbarous +and semi-barbarous races, whether Negro, American, Syrian, Greek, or +Roman, as a homage to the mysterious importance of her who brings him +into the world. If she turns against him—she, with all her +unknown powers, she who is the sharer of his deepest secrets, who prepares +his very food day by day—what harm can she not, may she not, do? +And that she has good reason to turn against him, he knows too well. +What deliverance is there from this mysterious house-fiend, save brute +force? Terror, torture, murder, must be the order of the day. +Woman must be crushed, at all price, by the blind fear of the man.</p> +<p>I shall say no more. I shall draw a veil, for very pity and +shame, over the most important and most significant facts of this, the +most hideous of all human follies. I have, I think, given you +hints enough to show that it, like all other superstitions, is the child—the +last born and the ugliest child—of blind dread of the unknown.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SCIENCE <a name="citation229"></a><a href="#footnote229">{229}</a></h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I said, that Superstition was the child of Fear, and Fear the child +of Ignorance; and you might expect me to say antithetically, that Science +was the child of Courage, and Courage the child of Knowledge.</p> +<p>But these genealogies—like most metaphors—do not fit +exactly, as you may see for yourselves.</p> +<p>If fear be the child of ignorance, ignorance is also the child of +fear; the two react on, and produce each other. The more men dread +Nature, the less they wish to know about her. Why pry into her +awful secrets? It is dangerous; perhaps impious. She says +to them, as in the Egyptian temple of old—“I am Isis, and +my veil no mortal yet hath lifted.” And why should they +try or wish to lift it? If she will leave them in peace, they +will leave her in peace. It is enough that she does not destroy +them. So as ignorance bred fear, fear breeds fresh and willing +ignorance.</p> +<p>And courage? We may say, and truly, that courage is the child +of knowledge. But we may say as truly, that knowledge is the child +of courage. Those Egyptian priests in the temple of Isis would +have told you that knowledge was the child of mystery, of special illumination, +of reverence, and what not; hiding under grand words their purpose of +keeping the masses ignorant, that they might be their slaves. +Reverence? I will yield to none in reverence for reverence. +I will all but agree with the wise man who said that reverence is the +root of all virtues. But which child reverences his father most? +He who comes joyfully and trustfully to meet him, that he may learn +his father’s mind, and do his will; or he who at his father’s +coming runs away and hides, lest he should be beaten for he knows not +what? There is a scientific reverence, a reverence of courage, +which is surely one of the highest forms of reverence. That, namely, +which so reveres every fact, that it dare not overlook or falsify it, +seem it never so minute; which feels that because it is a fact it cannot +be minute, cannot be unimportant; that it must be a fact of God; a message +from God; a voice of God, as Bacon has it, revealed in things; and which +therefore, just because it stands in solemn awe of such paltry facts +as the Scolopax feather in a snipe’s pinion, or the jagged leaves +which appear capriciously in certain honeysuckles, believes that there +is likely to be some deep and wide secret underlying them, which is +worth years of thought to solve. That is reverence; a reverence +which is growing, thank God, more and more common; which will produce, +as it grows more common still, fruit which generations yet unborn shall +bless.</p> +<p>But as for that other reverence, which shuts its eyes and ears in +pious awe—what is it but cowardice decked out in state robes, +putting on the sacred Urim and Thummim, not that men may ask counsel +of the Deity, but that they may not? What is it but cowardice, +very pitiable when unmasked; and what is its child but ignorance as +pitiable, which would be ludicrous were it not so injurious? If +a man comes up to Nature as to a parrot or a monkey, with this prevailing +thought in his head—Will it bite me?—will he not be pretty +certain to make up his mind that it may bite him, and had therefore +best be left alone? It is only the man of courage—few and +far between—who will stand the chance of a first bite, in the +hope of teaching the parrot to talk, or the monkey to fire off a gun. +And it is only the man of courage—few and far between—who +will stand the chance of a first bite from Nature, which may kill him +for aught he knows—for her teeth, though clumsy, are very strong—in +order that he may tame her and break her in to his use by the very same +method by which that admirable inductive philosopher, Mr. Rarey, used +to break in his horses; first, by not being afraid of them; and next, +by trying to find out what they were thinking of. But after all, +as with animals, so with Nature; cowardice is dangerous. The surest +method of getting bitten by an animal is to be afraid of it; and the +surest method of being injured by Nature is to be afraid of it. +Only as far as we understand Nature are we safe from it; and those who +in any age counsel mankind not to pry into the secrets of the universe, +counsel them not to provide for their own life and well-being, or for +their children after them.</p> +<p>But how few there have been in any age who have not been afraid of +Nature. How few have set themselves, like Rarey, to tame her by +finding out what she is thinking of. The mass are glad to have +the results of science, as they are to buy Mr. Rarey’s horses +after they are tamed; but for want of courage or of wit, they had rather +leave the taming process to someone else. And therefore we may +say that what knowledge of Nature we have—and we have very little—we +owe to the courage of those men—and they have been very few—who +have been inspired to face Nature boldly; and say—or, what is +better, act as if they were saying—“I find something in +me which I do not find in you; which gives me the hope that I can grow +to understand you, though you may not understand me; that I may become +your master, and not as now, you mine. And if not, I will know; +or die in the search.”</p> +<p>It is to those men, the few and far between, in a very few ages and +very few countries, who have thus risen in rebellion against Nature, +and looked it in the face with an unquailing glance, that we owe what +we call Physical Science.</p> +<p>There have been four races—or rather a very few men of each +four races—who have faced Nature after this gallant wise.</p> +<p>First, the old Jews. I speak of them, be it remembered, exclusively +from an historical, and not a religious point of view.</p> +<p>These people, at a very remote epoch, emerged from a country highly +civilised, but sunk in the superstitions of nature-worship. They +invaded and mingled with tribes whose superstitions were even more debased, +silly, and foul than those of the Egyptians from whom they escaped. +Their own masses were for centuries given up to nature-worship. +Now, among those Jews arose men—a very few—sages—prophets—call +them what you will, the men were inspired heroes and philosophers—who +assumed towards nature an attitude utterly different from the rest of +their countrymen and the rest of the then world; who denounced superstition +and the dread of nature as the parent of all manner of vice and misery; +who for themselves said boldly that they discerned in the universe an +order, a unity, a permanence of law, which gave them courage instead +of fear. They found delight and not dread in the thought that +the universe obeyed a law which could not be broken; that all things +continued to that day according to a certain ordinance. They took +a view of Nature totally new in that age; healthy, human, cheerful, +loving, trustful, and yet reverent—identical with that which happily +is beginning to prevail in our own day. They defied those very +volcanic and meteoric phenomena of their land, to which their countrymen +were slaying their own children in the clefts of the rocks, and, like +Theophrastus’s superstitious man, pouring their drink-offerings +on the smooth stones of the valley; and declared that, for their part, +they would not fear, though the earth was moved, and though the hills +were carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters raged and +swelled, and the mountains shook at the tempest.</p> +<p>The fact is indisputable. And you must pardon me if I express +my belief that these men, if they had felt it their business to found +a school of inductive physical science, would, owing to that temper +of mind, have achieved a very signal success. I ground that opinion +on the remarkable, but equally indisputable fact, that no nation has +ever succeeded in perpetuating a school of inductive physical science, +save those whose minds have been saturated with this same view of Nature, +which they have—as an historic fact—slowly but thoroughly +learnt from the writings of these Jewish sages.</p> +<p>Such is the fact. The founders of inductive physical science +were not the Jews; but first the Chaldæans, next the Greeks, next +their pupils the Romans—or rather a few sages among each race. +But what success had they? The Chaldæan astronomers made +a few discoveries concerning the motions of the heavenly bodies, which, +rudimentary as they were, still prove them to have been men of rare +intellect. For a great and a patient genius must he have been, +who first distinguished the planets from the fixed stars, or worked +out the earliest astronomical calculation. But they seem to have +been crushed, as it were, by their own discoveries. They stopped +short. They gave way again to the primeval fear of Nature. +They sank into planet-worship. They invented, it would seem, that +fantastic pseudo-science of astrology, which lay for ages after as an +incubus on the human intellect and conscience. They became the +magicians and quacks of the old world; and mankind owed them thenceforth +nothing but evil. Among the Greeks and Romans, again, those sages +who dared face Nature like reasonable men, were accused by the superstitious +mob as irreverent impious atheists. The wisest of them all, Socrates, +was actually put to death on that charge; and finally, they failed. +School after school, in Greece and Rome, struggled to discover, and +to get a hearing for, some theory of the universe which was founded +on something like experience, reason, common sense. They were +not allowed to prosecute their attempt. The mud-ocean of ignorance +and fear in which they struggled so manfully was too strong for them; +the mud-waves closed over their heads finally, as the age of the Antonines +expired; and the last effort of Græco-Roman thought to explain +the universe was Neoplatonism—the muddiest of the muddy—an +attempt to apologise for, and organise into a system, all the nature-dreading +superstitions of the Roman world. Porphyry, Plotinus, Proclus, +poor Hypatia herself, and all her school—they may have had themselves +no bodily fear of Nature; for they were noble souls. Yet they +spent their time in justifying those who had; in apologising for the +superstitions of the very mob which they despised: just as—it +sometimes seems to me—some folk in these days are like to end +in doing; begging that the masses might be allowed to believe in anything, +however false, lest they should believe in nothing at all: as if believing +in lies could do anything but harm to any human being. And so +died the science of the old world, in a true second childhood, just +where it began.</p> +<p>The Jewish sages, I hold, taught that science was probable; the Greeks +and Romans proved that it was possible. It remained for our race, +under the teaching of both, to bring science into act and fact.</p> +<p>Many causes contributed to give them this power. They were +a personally courageous race. This earth has yet seen no braver +men than the forefathers of Christian Europe, whether Scandinavian or +Teuton, Angle or Frank. They were a practical hard-headed race, +with a strong appreciation of facts, and a strong determination to act +on them. Their laws, their society, their commerce, their colonisation, +their migrations by land and sea, proved that they were such. +They were favoured, moreover, by circumstances, or—as I should +rather put it—by that divine Providence which determined their +times, and the bounds of their habitation. They came in as the +heritors of the decaying civilisation of Greece and Rome; they colonised +territories which gave to man special fair play, but no more, in the +struggle for existence, the battle with the powers of Nature; tolerably +fertile, tolerably temperate; with boundless means of water communication; +freer than most parts of the world from those terrible natural phenomena, +like the earthquake and the hurricane, before which man lies helpless +and astounded, a child beneath the foot of a giant. Nature was +to them not so inhospitable as to starve their brains and limbs, as +it has done for the Esquimaux or Fuegian; and not so bountiful as to +crush them by its very luxuriance, as it has crushed the savages of +the tropics. They saw enough of its strength to respect it; not +enough to cower before it: and they and it have fought it out; and it +seems to me, standing either on London Bridge or on a Holland fen-dyke, +that they are winning at last.</p> +<p>But they had a sore battle: a battle against their own fear of the +unseen. They brought with them, out of the heart of Asia, dark +and sad nature-superstitions, some of which linger among our peasantry +till this day, of elves, trolls, nixes, and what not. Their Thor +and Odin were at first, probably, only the thunder and the wind: but +they had to be appeased in the dark marches of the forest, where hung +rotting on the sacred oaks, amid carcases of goat and horse, the carcases +of human victims. No one acquainted with the early legends and +ballads of our race, but must perceive throughout them all the prevailing +tone of fear and sadness. And to their own superstitions they +added those of the Rome which they conquered. They dreaded the +Roman she-poisoners and witches, who, like Horace’s Canidia, still +performed horrid rites in graveyards and dark places of the earth. +They dreaded as magical the delicate images engraved on old Greek gems. +They dreaded the very Roman cities they had destroyed. They were +the work of enchanters. Like the ruins of St. Albans here in England, +they were all full of devils, guarding the treasures which the Romans +had hidden. The Cæsars became to them magical man-gods. +The poet Virgil became the prince of necromancers. If the secrets +of Nature were to be known, they were to be known by unlawful means, +by prying into the mysteries of the old heathen magicians, or of the +Mohammedan doctors of Cordova and Seville; and those who dared to do +so were respected and feared, and often came to evil ends. It +needed moral courage, then, to face and interpret fact. Such brave +men as Pope Gerbert, Roger Bacon, Galileo, even Kepler, did not lead +happy lives; some of them found themselves in prison. All the +medieval sages—even Albertus Magnus—were stigmatised as +magicians. One wonders that more of them did not imitate poor +Paracelsus, who, unable to get a hearing for his coarse common sense, +took—vain and sensual—to drinking the laudanum which he +himself had discovered, and vaunted as a priceless boon to men; and +died as the fool dieth, in spite of all his wisdom. For the “Romani +nominis umbra,” the shadow of the mighty race whom they had conquered, +lay heavy on our forefathers for centuries. And their dread of +the great heathens was really a dread of Nature, and of the powers thereof. +For when the authority of great names has reigned unquestioned for many +centuries, those names become, to the human mind, integral and necessary +parts of Nature itself. They are, as it were, absorbed into it; +they become its laws, its canons, its demiurges, and guardian spirits; +their words become regarded as actual facts; in one word, they become +a superstition, and are feared as parts of the vast unknown; and to +deny what they have said is, in the minds of the many, not merely to +fly in the face of reverent wisdom, but to fly in the face of facts. +During a great part of the Middle Ages, for instance, it was impossible +for an educated man to think of nature itself, without thinking first +of what Aristotle had said of her. Aristotle’s dicta were +Nature; and when Benedetti, at Venice, opposed in 1585 Aristotle’s +opinions on violent and natural motion, there were hundreds, perhaps, +in the universities of Europe—as there certainly were in the days +of the immortal “Epistolæ Obscurorum Virorum”—who +were ready, in spite of all Benedetti’s professed reverence for +Aristotle, to accuse him of outraging not only the father of philosophy, +but Nature itself and its palpable and notorious facts. For the +restoration of letters in the fifteenth century had not at first mended +matters, so strong was the dread of Nature in the minds of the masses. +The minds of men had sported forth, not toward any sound investigation +of facts, but toward an eclectic resuscitation of Neoplatonism; which +endured, not without a certain beauty and use—as let Spenser’s +“Faërie Queen” bear witness—till the latter half +of the seventeenth century.</p> +<p>After that time a rapid change began. It is marked by—it +has been notably assisted by—the foundation of our own Royal Society. +Its causes I will not enter into; they are so inextricably mixed, I +hold, with theological questions, that they cannot be discussed here. +I will only point out to you these facts: that, from the latter part +of the seventeenth century, the noblest heads and the noblest hearts +of Europe concentrated themselves more and more on the brave and patient +investigation of physical facts, as the source of priceless future blessings +to mankind; that the eighteenth century which it has been the fashion +of late to depreciate, did more for the welfare of mankind, in every +conceivable direction, than the whole fifteen centuries before it; that +it did this good work by boldly observing and analysing facts; that +this boldness towards facts increased in proportion as Europe became +indoctrinated with the Jewish literature; and that, notably, such men +as Kepler, Newton, Berkeley, Spinoza, Leibnitz, Descartes, in whatsoever +else they differed, agreed in this, that their attitude towards Nature +was derived from the teaching of the Jewish sages. I believe that +we are not yet fully aware how much we owe to the Jewish mind, in the +gradual emancipation of the human intellect. The connection may +not, of course, be one of cause and effect; it may be a mere coincidence. +I believe it to be a cause; one of course of very many causes: but still +an integral cause. At least the coincidence is too remarkable +a fact not to be worthy of investigation.</p> +<p>I said, just now—The emancipation of the human intellect. +I did not say—Of science or of the scientific intellect; and for +this reason:</p> +<p>That the emancipation of science is the emancipation of the common +mind of all men. All men can partake of the gains of free scientific +thought, not merely by enjoying its physical results, but by becoming +more scientific men themselves.</p> +<p>Therefore it was, that though I began my first lecture by defining +superstition, I did not begin my second by defining its antagonist, +science. For the word “science” defines itself. +It means simply knowledge; that is, of course, right knowledge, or such +an approximation as can be obtained; knowledge of any natural object, +its classification, its causes, its effects; or in plain English, what +it is, how it came where it is, and what can be done with it.</p> +<p>And scientific method, likewise, needs no definition; for it is simply +the exercise of common sense. It is not a peculiar, unique, professional, +or mysterious process of the understanding: but the same which all men +employ, from the cradle to the grave, in forming correct conclusions.</p> +<p>Every one who knows the philosophic writings of Mr. John Stuart Mill, +will be familiar with this opinion. But to those who have no leisure +to study him, I should recommend the reading of Professor Huxley’s +third lecture on the origin of species.</p> +<p>In that he shows, with great logical skill, as well as with some +humour, how the man who, on rising in the morning finds the parlour-window +open, the spoons and teapot gone, the mark of a dirty hand on the window-sill, +and that of a hob-nailed boot outside, and comes to the conclusion that +someone has broken open the window, and stolen the plate, arrives at +that hypothesis—for it is nothing more—by a long and complex +train of inductions and deductions of just the same kind as those which, +according to the Baconian philosophy, are to be used for investigating +the deepest secrets of Nature.</p> +<p>This is true, even of those sciences which involve long mathematical +calculations. In fact, the stating of the problem to be solved +is the most important element in the calculation; and that is so thoroughly +a labour of common sense that an utterly uneducated mart may, and often +does, state an abstruse problem clearly and correctly; seeing what ought +to be proved, and perhaps how to prove it, though he may be unable to +work the problem out for want of mathematical knowledge.</p> +<p>But that mathematical knowledge is not—as all Cambridge men +are surely aware—the result of any special gift. It is merely +the development of those conceptions of form and number which every +human being possesses; and any person of average intellect can make +himself a fair mathematician if he will only pay continuous attention; +in plain English, think enough about the subject.</p> +<p>There are sciences, again, which do not involve mathematical calculation; +for instance, botany, zoology, geology, which are just now passing from +their old stage of classificatory sciences into the rank of organic +ones. These are, without doubt, altogether within the scope of +the merest common sense. Any man or woman of average intellect, +if they will but observe and think for themselves, freely, boldly, patiently, +accurately, may judge for themselves of the conclusions of these sciences, +may add to these conclusions fresh and important discoveries; and if +I am asked for a proof of what I assert, I point to “Rain and +Rivers,” written by no professed scientific man, but by a colonel +in the Guards, known to fame only as one of the most perfect horsemen +in the world.</p> +<p>Let me illustrate my meaning by an example. A man—I do +not say a geologist, but simply a man, squire or ploughman—sees +a small valley, say one of the side-glens which open into the larger +valleys in the Windsor forest district. He wishes to ascertain +its age.</p> +<p>He has, at first sight, a very simple measure—that of denudation. +He sees that the glen is now being eaten out by a little stream, the +product of innumerable springs which arise along its sides, and which +are fed entirely by the rain on the moors above. He finds, on +observation, that this stream brings down some ten cubic yards of sand +and gravel, on an average, every year. The actual quantity of +earth which has been removed to make the glen may be several million +cubic yards. Here is an easy sum in arithmetic. At the rate +of ten cubic yards a-year, the stream has taken several hundred thousand +years to make the glen.</p> +<p>You will observe that this result is obtained by mere common sense. +He has a right to assume that the stream originally began the glen, +because he finds it in the act of enlarging it; just as much right as +he has to assume, if he find a hole in his pocket, and his last coin +in the act of falling through it, that the rest of his money has fallen +through the same hole. It is a sufficient cause, and the simplest. +A number of observations as to the present rate of denudation, and a +sum which any railroad contractor can do in his head, to determine the +solid contents of the valley, are all that are needed. The method +is that of science: but it is also that of simple common sense. +You will remember, therefore, that this is no mere theory or hypothesis, +but a pretty fair and simple conclusion from palpable facts; that the +probability lies with the belief that the glen is some hundreds of thousands +of years old; that it is not the observer’s business to prove +it further, but other persons’ to disprove it, if they can.</p> +<p>But does the matter end here? No. And, for certain reasons, +it is good that it should not end here.</p> +<p>The observer, if he be a cautious man, begins to see if he can disprove +his own conclusions; moreover, being human, he is probably somewhat +awed, if not appalled, by his own conclusion. Hundreds of thousands +of years spent in making that little glen! Common sense would +say that the longer it took to make, the less wonder there was in its +being made at last: but the instinctive human feeling is the opposite. +There is in men, and there remains in them, even after they are civilised, +and all other forms of the dread of Nature have died out in them, a +dread of size, of vast space, of vast time; that latter, mind, being +always imagined as space, as we confess when we speak instinctively +of a space of time. They will not understand that size is merely +a relative, not an absolute term; that if we were a thousand times larger +than we are, the universe would be a thousand times smaller than it +is; that if we could think a thousand times faster than we do, time +would be a thousand times longer than it is; that there is One in whom +we live, and move, and have our being, to whom one day is as a thousand +years, and a thousand years as one day. I believe this dread of +size to be merely, like all other superstitions, a result of bodily +fear; a development of the instinct which makes a little dog run away +from a big dog. Be that as it may, every observer has it; and +so the man’s conclusion seems to him strange, doubtful: he will +reconsider it.</p> +<p>Moreover, if he be an experienced man, he is well aware that first +guesses, first hypotheses, are not always the right ones; and if he +be a modest man, he will consider the fact that many thousands of thoughtful +men in all ages, and many thousands still, would say, that the glen +can only be a few thousand, or possibly a few hundred, years old. +And he will feel bound to consider their opinion; as far as it is, like +his own, drawn from facts, but no further.</p> +<p>So he casts about for all other methods by which the glen may have +been produced, to see if any one of them will account for it in a shorter +time.</p> +<p>1. Was it made by an earthquake? No; for the strata on +both sides are identical, at the same level, and in the same plane.</p> +<p>2. Or by a mighty current? If so, the flood must have +run in at the upper end, before it ran out at the lower. But nothing +has run in at the upper end. All round above are the undisturbed +gravel-beds of the horizontal moor, without channel or depression.</p> +<p>3. Or by water draining off a vast flat as it was upheaved +out of the sea? That is a likely guess. The valley at its +upper end spreads out like the fingers of a hand, as the gullies in +tide-muds do.</p> +<p>But that hypothesis will not stand. There is no vast unbroken +flat behind the glen. Right and left of it are other similar glens, +parted from it by long narrow ridges: these also must be explained on +the same hypothesis; but they cannot. For there could not have +been surface-drainage to make them all, or a tenth of them. There +are no other possible hypotheses; and so he must fall back on the original +theory—the rain, the springs, the brook; they have done it all, +even as they are doing it this day.</p> +<p>But is not that still a hasty assumption? May not their denuding +power have been far greater in old times than now?</p> +<p>Why should it? Because there was more rain then than now? +That he must put out of court; there is no evidence of it whatsoever.</p> +<p>Because the land was more friable originally? Well, there is +a great deal to be said for that. The experience of every countryman +tells him that bare or fallow land is more easily washed away than land +under vegetation. And no doubt, when these gravels and sands rose +from the sea, they were barren for hundreds of years. He has some +measure of the time required, because he can tell roughly how long it +takes for sands and shingles left by the sea to become covered with +vegetation. But he must allow that the friability of the land +must have been originally much greater than now, for hundreds of years.</p> +<p>But again, does that fact really cut off any great space of time +from his hundreds of thousands of years? For when the land first +rose from the sea, that glen was not there. Some slight bay or +bend in the shore determined its site. That stream was not there. +It was split up into a million little springs, oozing side by side from +the shore, and having each a very minute denuding power, which kept +continually increasing by combination as the glen ate its way inwards, +and the rainfall drained by all these little springs was collected into +the one central stream. So that when the ground being bare was +most liable to be denuded, the water was least able to do it; and as +the denuding power of the water increased, the land, being covered with +vegetation, became more and more able to resist it. All this he +has seen, going on at the present day in the similar gullies worn in +the soft strata of the South Hampshire coast; especially round Bournemouth.</p> +<p>So the two disturbing elements in the calculation may be fairly set +off against each other, as making a difference of only a few thousands +or tens of thousands of years either way; and the age of the glen may +fairly be, if not a million years, yet such a length of years as mankind +still speak of with bated breath, as if forsooth it would do them some +harm.</p> +<p>I trust that every scientific man in this room will agree with me, +that the imaginary squire or ploughman would have been conducting his +investigation strictly according to the laws of the Baconian philosophy. +You will remark, meanwhile, that he has not used a single scientific +term, or referred to a single scientific investigation; and has observed +nothing and thought nothing, which might not have been observed and +thought by any one who chose to use his common sense, and not to be +afraid.</p> +<p>But because he has come round, after all this further investigation, +to something very like his first conclusion, was all that further investigation +useless? No—a thousand times, no. It is this very +verification of hypotheses which makes the sound ones safe, and destroys +the unsound. It is this struggle with all sorts of superstitions +which makes science strong and sure, and her march irresistible, winning +ground slowly, but never receding from it. It is this buffeting +of adversity which compels her not to rest dangerously upon the shallow +sand of first guesses, and single observations; but to strike her roots +down, deep, wide, and interlaced, into the solid ground of actual facts.</p> +<p>It is very necessary to insist on this point. For there have +been men in all past ages—I do not say whether there are any such +now, but I am inclined to think that there will be hereafter—men +who have tried to represent scientific method as something difficult, +mysterious, peculiar, unique, not to be attained by the unscientific +mass; and this not for the purpose of exalting science, but rather of +discrediting her. For as long as the masses, educated or uneducated, +are ignorant of what scientific method is, they will look on scientific +men, as the middle age looked on necromancers, as a privileged, but +awful and uncanny caste, possessed of mighty secrets; who may do them +great good, but may also do them great harm. Which belief on the +part of the masses will enable these persons to instal themselves as +the critics of science, though not scientific men themselves: and—as +Shakespeare has it—to talk of Robin Hood, though they never shot +in his bow. Thus they become mediators to the masses between the +scientific and the unscientific worlds. They tell them—You +are not to trust the conclusions of men of science at first hand. +You are not fit judges of their facts or of their methods. It +is we who will, by a cautious eclecticism, choose out for you such of +their conclusions as are safe for you; and them we will advise you to +believe. To the scientific man, on the other hand, as often as +anything is discovered unpleasing to them, they will say, imperiously +and e cathedrâ—Your new theory contradicts the established +facts of science. For they will know well that whatever the men +of science think of their assertion, the masses will believe it; totally +unaware that the speakers are by their very terms showing their ignorance +of science; and that what they call established facts scientific men +call merely provisional conclusions, which they would throw away to-morrow +without a pang were the known facts explained better by a fresh theory, +or did fresh facts require one.</p> +<p>This has happened too often. It is in the interest of superstition +that it should happen again; and the best way to prevent it surely is +to tell the masses—Scientific method is no peculiar mystery, requiring +a peculiar initiation. It is simply common sense, combined with +uncommon courage, which includes uncommon honesty and uncommon patience; +and if you will be brave, honest, patient, and rational, you will need +no mystagogues to tell you what in science to believe and what not to +believe; for you will be just as good judges of scientific facts and +theories as those who assume the right of guiding your convictions. +You are men and women: and more than that you need not be.</p> +<p>And let me say that the man of our days whose writings exemplify +most thoroughly what I am going to say is the justly revered Mr. Thomas +Carlyle.</p> +<p>As far as I know he has never written on any scientific subject. +For aught I am aware of, he may know nothing of mathematics or chemistry, +of comparative anatomy or geology. For aught I am aware of, he +may know a great deal about them all, and, like a wise man, hold his +tongue, and give the world merely the results in the form of general +thought. But this I know: that his writings are instinct with +the very spirit of science; that he has taught men, more than any living +man, the meaning and end of science; that he has taught men moral and +intellectual courage; to face facts boldly, while they confess the divineness +of facts; not to be afraid of Nature, and not to worship Nature; to +believe that man can know truth; and that only in as far as he knows +truth can he live worthily on this earth. And thus he has vindicated, +as no other man in our days has done, at once the dignity of Nature +and the dignity of spirit. That he would have made a distinguished +scientific man, we may be as certain from his writings as we may be +certain, when we see a fine old horse of a certain stamp, that he would +have made a first-class hunter, though he has been unfortunately all +his life in harness. Therefore, did I try to train a young man +of science to be true, devout, and earnest, accurate and daring, I should +say—Read what you will: but at least read Carlyle. It is +a small matter to me—and I doubt not to him—whether you +will agree with his special conclusions: but his premises and his method +are irrefragable; for they stand on the “voluntatem Dei in rebus +revelatam”—on fact and common sense.</p> +<p>And Mr. Carlyle’s writings, if I am correct in my estimate +of them, will afford a very sufficient answer to those who think that +the scientific habit of mind tends to irreverence.</p> +<p>Doubtless this accusation will always be brought against science +by those who confound reverence with fear. For from blind fear +of the unknown, science does certainly deliver man. She does by +man as he does by an unbroken colt. The colt sees by the road +side some quite new object—a cast-away boot, an old kettle, or +what not. What a fearful monster! What unknown terrific +powers may it not possess! And the colt shies across the road, +runs up the bank, rears on end; putting itself thereby, as many a man +does, in real danger. What cure is there? But one: experience. +So science takes us, as we should take the colt, gently by the halter; +and makes us simply smell at the new monster; till after a few trembling +sniffs, we discover, like the colt, that it is not a monster, but a +kettle. Yet I think, if we sum up the loss and gain, we shall +find the colt’s character has gained, rather than lost, by being +thus disabused. He learns to substitute a very rational reverence +for the man who is breaking him in, for a totally irrational reverence +for the kettle; and becomes thereby a much wiser and more useful member +of society, as does the man when disabused of his superstitions.</p> +<p>From which follows one result. That if science proposes—as +she does—to make men brave, wise, and independent, she must needs +excite unpleasant feelings in all who desire to keep men cowardly, ignorant, +and slavish. And that too many such persons have existed in all +ages is but too notorious. There have been from all time, goëtai, +quacks, powwow men, rain-makers, and necromancers of various sorts, +who having for their own purposes set forth partial, ill-grounded, fantastic, +and frightful interpretations of nature, have no love for those who +search after a true, exact, brave, and hopeful one. And therefore +it is to be feared, or hoped, that science and superstition will to +the world’s end remain irreconcilable and internecine foes.</p> +<p>Conceive the feelings of an old Lapland witch, who has had for the +last fifty years all the winds in a sealskin bag, and has been selling +fair breezes to northern skippers at so much a puff, asserting her powers +so often, poor old soul, that she has got to half believe them herself—conceive, +I say, her feelings at seeing her customers watch the Admiralty storm-signals, +and con the weather reports in <i>The Times</i>. Conceive the +feelings of Sir Samuel Baker’s African friend, Katchiba, the rain-making +chief, who possessed a whole houseful of thunder and lightning—though +he did not, he confessed, keep it in a bottle as they do in England—if +Sir Samuel had had the means, and the will, of giving to Katchiba’s +Negros a course of lectures on electricity, with appropriate experiments, +and a real bottle full of real lightning among the foremost.</p> +<p>It is clear that only two methods of self-defence would have been +open to the rain-maker: namely, either to kill Sir Samuel, or to buy +his real secret of bottling the lightning, that he might use it for +his own ends. The former method—that of killing the man +of science—was found more easy in ancient times; the latter in +these modern ones. And there have been always those who, too good-natured +to kill the scientific man, have patronised knowledge, not for its own +sake, but for the use which may be made of it; who would like to keep +a tame man of science, as they would a tame poet, or a tame parrot; +who say—Let us have science by all means, but not too much of +it. It is a dangerous thing; to be doled out to the world, like +medicine, in small and cautious doses. You, the scientific man, +will of course freely discover what you choose. Only do not talk +too loudly about it: leave that to us. We understand the world, +and are meant to guide and govern it. So discover freely: and +meanwhile hand over your discoveries to us, that we may instruct and +edify the populace with so much of them as we think safe, while we keep +our position thereby, and in many cases make much money by your science. +Do that, and we will patronise you, applaud you, ask you to our houses; +and you shall be clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously +with us every day. I know not whether these latter are not the +worst enemies which science has. They are often such excellent, +respectable, orderly, well-meaning persons. They desire so sincerely +that everyone should be wise: only not too wise. They are so utterly +unaware of the mischief they are doing. They would recoil with +horror if they were told they were so many Iscariots, betraying Truth +with a kiss.</p> +<p>But science, as yet, has withstood both terrors and blandishments. +In old times she endured being imprisoned and slain. She came +to life again. Perhaps it was the will of Him in whom all things +live, that she should live. Perhaps it was His spirit which gave +her life.</p> +<p>She can endure, too, being starved. Her votaries have not as +yet cared much for purple and fine linen, and sumptuous fare. +There are a very few among them who, joining brilliant talents to solid +learning, have risen to deserved popularity, to titles, and to wealth. +But even their labours, it seems to me, are never rewarded in any proportion +to the time and the intellect spent on them, nor to the benefits which +they bring to mankind; while the great majority, unpaid and unknown, +toil on, and have to find in science her own reward. Better, perhaps, +that it should be so. Better for science that she should be free, +in holy poverty, to go where she will and say what she knows, than that +she should be hired out at so much a year to say things pleasing to +the many, and to those who guide the many. And so, I verily believe, +the majority of scientific men think. There are those among them +who have obeyed very faithfully St. Paul’s precept: “No +man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life.” +For they have discovered that they are engaged in a war—a veritable +war—against the rulers of darkness, against ignorance and its +twin children, fear and cruelty. Of that war they see neither +the end nor even the plan. But they are ready to go on; ready, +with Socrates, “to follow reason whithersoever it leads;” +and content, meanwhile, like good soldiers in a campaign, if they can +keep tolerably in a line, and use their weapons, and see a few yards +ahead of them through the smoke and the woods. They will come +out somewhere at last; they know not where nor when: but they will come +out at last, into the daylight and the open field; and be told then—perhaps +to their own astonishment—as many a gallant soldier has been told, +that by simply walking straight on, and doing the duty which lay nearest +them, they have helped to win a great battle, and slay great giants, +earning the thanks of their country and of mankind.</p> +<p>And, meanwhile, if they get their shilling a-day of fighting-pay, +they are content. I had almost said, they ought to be content. +For science is, I verily believe, like virtue, its own exceeding great +reward. I can conceive few human states more enviable than that +of the man to whom, panting in the foul laboratory, or watching for +his life under the tropic forest, Isis shall for a moment lift her sacred +veil, and show him, once and for ever, the thing he dreamed not of; +some law, or even mere hint of a law, explaining one fact; but explaining +with it a thousand more, connecting them all with each other and with +the mighty whole, till order and meaning shoots through some old Chaos +of scattered observations.</p> +<p>Is not that a joy, a prize, which wealth cannot give, nor poverty +take away? What it may lead to, he knows not. Of what use +it may become, he knows not. But this he knows, that somewhere +it must lead; of some use it will be. For it is a truth; and having +found a truth, he has exorcised one more of the ghosts which haunt humanity. +He has left one object less for man to fear; one object more for man +to use. Yes, the scientific man may have this comfort, that whatever +he has done, he has done good; that he is following a mistress who has +never yet conferred aught but benefits on the human race.</p> +<p>What physical science may do hereafter I know not; but as yet she +has done this:</p> +<p>She has enormously increased the wealth of the human race; and has +therefore given employment, food, existence, to millions who, without +science, would either have starved or have never been born. She +has shown that the dictum of the early political economists, that population +has a tendency to increase faster than the means of subsistence, is +no law of humanity, but merely a tendency of the barbaric and ignorant +man, which can be counteracted by increasing manifold by scientific +means his powers of producing food. She has taught men, during +the last few years, to foresee and elude the most destructive storms; +and there is no reason for doubting, and many reasons for hoping, that +she will gradually teach men to elude other terrific forces of nature, +too powerful and too seemingly capricious for them to conquer. +She has discovered innumerable remedies and alleviations for pains and +disease. She has thrown such light on the causes of epidemics, +that we are able to say now that the presence of cholera—and probably +of all zymotic diseases—in any place, is usually a sin and a shame, +for which the owners and authorities of that place ought to be punishable +by law, as destroyers of their fellow-men; while for the weak, for those +who, in the barbarous and semi-barbarous state—and out of that +last we are only just emerging—how much has she done; an earnest +of much more which she will do? She has delivered the insane—I +may say by the scientific insight of one man, more worthy of titles +and pensions than nine-tenths of those who earn them—I mean the +great and good Pinel—from hopeless misery and torture into comparative +peace and comfort, and at least the possibility of cure. For children, +she has done much, or rather might do, would parents read and perpend +such books as Andrew Combe’s and those of other writers on physical +education. We should not then see the children, even of the rich, +done to death piecemeal by improper food, improper clothes, neglect +of ventilation and the commonest measures for preserving health. +We should not see their intellects stunted by Procrustean attempts to +teach them all the same accomplishments, to the neglect, most often, +of any sound practical training of their faculties. We should +not see slight indigestion, or temporary rushes of blood to the head, +condemned and punished as sins against Him who took up little children +in His arms and blessed them.</p> +<p>But we may have hope. When we compare education now with what +it was even forty years ago, much more with the stupid brutality of +the monastic system, we may hail for children, as well as for grown +people, the advent of the reign of common sense.</p> +<p>And for woman—What might I not say on that point? But +most of it would be fitly discussed only among physicians and biologists: +here I will say only this: Science has exterminated, at least among +civilised nations, witch-manias. Women—at least white women—are +no longer tortured or burnt alive from man’s blind fear of the +unknown. If science had done no more than that, she would deserve +the perpetual thanks and the perpetual trust, not only of the women +whom she has preserved from agony, but the men whom she has preserved +from crime.</p> +<p>These benefits have already accrued to civilised men, because they +have lately allowed a very few of their number peaceably to imitate +Mr. Rarey, and find out what nature—or rather, to speak at once +reverently and accurately, He who made nature—is thinking of, +and obey the “voluntatem Dei in rebus revelatam.” +This science has done, while yet in her infancy. What she will +do in her maturity, who dare predict? At least, in the face of +such facts as these, those who bid us fear, or restrain, or mutilate +science, bid us commit an act of folly, as well as of ingratitude, which +can only harm ourselves. For science has as yet done nothing but +good. Will any one tell me what harm it has ever done? When +any one will show me a single result of science, of the knowledge of +and use of physical facts, which has not tended directly to the benefit +of mankind, moral and spiritual, as well as physical and economic—then +I shall be tempted to believe that Solomon was wrong when he said that +the one thing to be sought after on earth, more precious than all treasure, +she who has length of days in her right hand, and in her left hand riches +and honour, whose ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are +peace, who is a tree of life to all who lay hold on her, and makes happy +every one who retains her, is—as you will see if you will yourselves +consult the passage—that very Wisdom—by which God has founded +the earth; and that very Understanding—by which He has established +the heavens.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THOUGHTS IN A GRAVEL-PIT <a name="citation262"></a><a href="#footnote262">{262}</a></h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Ladies and gentlemen, we may of course think of anything which we +choose in a gravel-pit, as we may anywhere else. Thought is free: +at least so we fancy.</p> +<p>But the most right sort of thought, after all, is thought about what +lies nearest us; not always, but surely once in a way, that we may understand +something of everyday objects. And therefore it may be well worth +our while to go once into a gravel-pit, and think about it, till we +have learnt what a gravel-pit is.</p> +<p>Learnt what a gravel-pit is? Everybody knows.</p> +<p>If it be so, everybody knows more than I know. We all know +a gravel-pit when we see one; but we do not all know what we see. +I do not know. I know a little; a few scraps of fact about these +pits round here, though about no others. Were I to go into a pit +a hundred miles, even fifty miles off, I could tell you nothing certain +about it; perhaps might make a dozen mistakes. But what I know, +with tolerable certainty, about the pits round here, I wish to tell +you to-night.</p> +<p>But why? You do not need, one in ten of you, to know anything +about gravel, unless you be highway surveyor, or have a garden-walk +to make; and then someone will easily tell you where the best gravel +is to be got, at so much a load.</p> +<p>Very true; but you come here to-night to instruct yourselves; that +is, to learn, if you can, something more about the world you live in; +something more about God who made the world.</p> +<p>And you come here to educate yourselves; to educe and bring out your +own powers of perceiving, judging, reasoning; to improve yourselves +in the art of all arts, which is, the art of learning. That is +mental education.</p> +<p>Now if a gravel-pit will teach you a little about these things, you +will surely call it a rich gravel-pit. If it helps you to wisdom, +which is worth more than gold; which is the only way to get gold wisely, +and spend it wisely; then we will call our pit no more a gravel-pit, +but a wisdom-pit, a mine of wisdom.</p> +<p>Let us go out, then, in fancy (for it is too cold to go out in person) +to Hook Common, scramble down into the first gravel-pit we come to, +and see what we can see.</p> +<p>The first thing we see is a quantity of stones, more or less rounded, +lying in gravel and poor clay.</p> +<p>Well—what do those stones tell us?</p> +<p>These stones, as I told you when I addressed you last, are ancient +and venerable worthies. They have seen a great deal in their time. +They have had a great deal of knocking about, and have stood it manfully. +They have stood the knocking about of three worlds already; and have +done their duty therein; and they are ready (if you choose to mend the +road with them) to stand the knocking about of this fourth world, and +being most excellent gravel, to do their duty in this world likewise; +which is more, I fear, than either you or I can say for ourselves.</p> +<p>Three worlds?</p> +<p>Yes. Standing there in the gravel-pit, I see three old worlds, +in each of which these stones played their part; and this world of man +for the fourth, and the best of all—for man if not for the stones. +I speak sober truth. Let me explain it step by step.</p> +<p>You know the chalk-hills to the south; and the sands of Crooksbury +and the Hind Head beyond them. There is one world.</p> +<p>You know the clays and sands of Hook and Newnham, Dogmersfield and +Shapley Heath, and all the country to the north as far as Reading. +There is a second world.</p> +<p>You know the gravel-pit itself; and all the upper soils and gravels, +which are spread over the length and breadth of the country to the north. +There is a third world.</p> +<p>Let us take them one by one.</p> +<p>First, the chalk.</p> +<p>The chalk-hills rise much higher than the surrounding country; but +you must not therefore suppose that they were made after it, and laid +on the top of it. That guess would be true, if you went south-east +from here toward the Hind Head. The chalk lies on the top of the +sands of Crooksbury Hill, and the clays of Holt Forest; but it dips +underneath the sands of Shapley Heath, and the clays of Dogmersfield, +and reappears from underneath them again at Reading.</p> +<p>Thus you at Odiham stand on the edge of a chalk basin; of what was +once a sea, or estuary, with shores of chalk, which begins at the foot +of the High Clere Hills, and runs eastward, widening as it goes, past +London, into the Eastern Sea. Everywhere under this great basin +is the floor of chalk, covered with clays and sands, which, for certain +reasons, are called by geologists Tertiary strata.</p> +<p>But what has this to do with a gravel-pit?</p> +<p>This first. That all the flints in this pit have come out of +the chalk. They are coloured, most of them, with iron, which has +turned them brown; but they are exactly the same flints as those gray +ones in the chalk-pit on the other side of the town.</p> +<p>How do I know that?</p> +<p>I think our own eyes will prove it: they are the same shapes, and +of the same substance; but as a still surer proof, we find exactly the +same fossils in them; sponges, choanites (which were something like +our modern sea-anemones), corals, and “shepherds’ crowns” +as the boys call the fossil sea-urchins. The species of all these, +and of other fossils, in the chalk-pit and in the gravel-pit, are absolutely +identical. The natural conclusion is, then, that the gravel has +been formed from the washings of the chalk. The white lime of +the chalk has been carried away in water by some flood or floods; the +heavier flints have been left behind.</p> +<p>Stop now one moment, and think. You all know how very few flints +there are in the chalk-pit, in proportion to the mass of chalk. +You all know what vast gravel-beds cover the country to the north, and +often to the thickness of many feet. Try and conceive, then, what +a much more vast mass of chalk must have been washed away, to leave +that vast mass of gravel behind it.—Conceive? It is past +conception. I will but give you two hints as to its probable size.</p> +<p>The chalk to the eastward, between here and Farnham, is a far narrower +and shallower band than anywhere else in England. Its narrowest +point is, I believe, beneath the bishop’s palace at Farnham, where +it may be a hundred feet thick, instead of several hundred, as it usually +is in other parts of England. The cause of this is, that the whole +of the upper chalk has been washed away, to form the gravel-beds to +the north and east of us.</p> +<p>Again. Some of you may have been on the Hind Head or on Leith +Hill, and have looked southward over the glorious prospect of the rich +Weald, spread out five hundred feet below—a sight to make an Englishman +proud of his native land. Now, the mass of chalk which has been +carried away began behind you, at the Hogsback, and the line of chalk-hills +which runs to Boxhill, and stretched hundreds of feet above your head +as you stand on Hind Head or Leith Hill, right over the old Weald of +Sussex to the chalk of the South Downs. And out of the scourings +of that vast mass of chalk was our gravel-pit made.</p> +<p>Of that, and also of the Hind Head sands below it.</p> +<p>For you will find a great deal of sharp sand in our gravel-pits, +which has not, I believe, come from the grinding of chalk flints; for +if it had been ground, it would not be the sharp sand it is; the particles +would be rounded off at the edges. This is probably sand from +the Hind Head; from what geologists term the greensands, below the chalk.</p> +<p>And I have a better proof of this—at least I should have in +every gravel-pit at Eversley—in a few pieces of a stone which +is not chalk-flint at all; flattish and oblong, not more than two or +three inches in diameter; of a grayish colour, and a porous worm-eaten +surface, which no chalk-flint ever has. They are chert, which +abound in the greensand formation; and insignificant as they look, are +a great token of a most important fact; that the currents which formed +our sands and gravels set from the south during a long series of ages, +first till they had washed away all the chalk off the Weald, and next +till they had washed away a great part of the sands, which then became +exposed, the remains whereof form great commons over a wide tract of +Surrey.</p> +<p>Now let me pause, and ask you to observe one thing. How, in +inductive science, we arrive, by patient and simple observation of the +things around us, at the most grand and surprising results. Of +course I am not giving you the whole of the facts which have made this +argument certain. I am only giving you enough to make it probable +to you. Its certainty has been proved by many different men, labouring +in many different parts of England, and of the Continent also, and then +comparing their discoveries together; often, of course, making mistakes; +but each working on patiently, and correcting their early mistakes by +fresh facts, till they have at last got hold of the true key to the +mystery, and are as certain of the existence of the great island of +the Weald, and its gradual destruction by the waves and currents of +an ancient sea, as if they had seen it with their bodily eyes. +You must take all this, of course, as truth from me to-night; but you +may go and examine for yourselves; and see how far your own common sense +and observations agree with those of learned geologists.</p> +<p>The history of this great Wealden island to the south-east of us +is obscure enough; but a few general facts, which bear upon our gravel-pit, +I can give you.</p> +<p>I must begin, however, ages before the Wealden island existed; when +the chalk of which its mass was composed was at the bottom of a deep +ocean.</p> +<p>We know now what chalk is, and how it was made. We know that +it was deposited as white lime mud, at a vast sea-depth, seemingly undisturbed +by winds or currents. We know that not only the flint, but the +chalk itself, is made up of shells; the shell of little microscopic +animalcules smaller than a needle’s point, in millions of millions, +some whole, some broken, some in powder, which lived, and died, and +decayed for ages in the great chalk sea.</p> +<p>We know this, I say. We had suspected it long ago, and become +more and more certain of it as the years went on. But now we seem +to have a proof of it which is past gainsaying.</p> +<p>In the late survey of the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, with a view +to laying down the electric telegraph between England and America, by +Lieutenant Maury of the American navy, a great discovery was made. +It was found that the floor of the Atlantic Ocean, after you have left +the land a few hundred miles, is one vast plain of mud, of some thirteen +hundred miles in breadth. But here is the wonder; it was found +that at a depth, averaging 1,600 fathoms—9,600 feet—in utter +darkness, the sea floor is covered with countless millions of animalcule-shells, +of the same families, though not of the same species, as those which +compose the chalk.</p> +<p>At the bottom of a still ocean, then, the chalk was deposited. +But it took many an age to raise it to where Odiham chalk-pit now stands.</p> +<p>But how was it raised?</p> +<p>By the upheaving force of earthquakes. Or rather, by the upheaving +force which causes earthquakes, when it acts in a single shock, cracking +the earth’s crust by an explosion; but which acts, too, slowly +and quietly, uplifting day by day, and year by year, some portions of +the earth’s surface, and letting others sink down; as in the case +of the valley of the Jordan and the Dead Sea, which is now 1,300 feet +below the level of the Mediterranean.</p> +<p>That these upheaving forces were much more violent than now, in the +earlier epochs of our planet, we have some reason to believe: but the +subject is too long a one to enter on now; and all I can say is, that +you must conceive for yourself the chalk gradually brought up to the +surface, worn away along a shifting shoreline by the waves of the sea, +and covered in shallow water by the clays and sands on which Odiham +stands; and which compose the earliest part of our second world.</p> +<p>A second world; a new world. We can use no weaker expression. +When we compare the chalk with the strata which lie upon it, we can +only call them a complete new creation.</p> +<p>For not only were they deposited in shallow water; a great deal of +them, probably, near river-mouths, and by the force of violent currents, +as the irregularity of their lower bed proves: but there is hardly a +plant or animal found in the chalk itself, which is found in the gravels, +sands, or clays above it. The shells are all new species; unseen +before in this planet. The vegetables, as far as we know them, +are all different from anything found in the chalk, or in the beds below +it. God Almighty, for His own good pleasure, has made all things +new. It is a very awful fact; but it is a very certain one. +Several times, in the history of our planet, has the Lord God fulfilled +the words of the Psalmist:</p> +<p>“Thou takest away their breath, they die, and return again +to their dust.</p> +<p>“Thou sendest forth thy breath, they are made: and thou renewest +the face of the earth.”</p> +<p>But in no instance, perhaps, is the gulf so vast; is the leap from +one world to another so sheer, as that between the chalk and the London +clay above it.</p> +<p>But how do I know that there was a shore-line here? And how +do I know that the chalk was covered with sand-beds?</p> +<p>I know that there was a shore-line here, from this fact. If +you will look at the surface of the chalk, where the sands and clays +lie on it, you will find that it is not smooth; that the beds do not +rest conformably on each other, as if they had been laid down quietly +by successive tides, while the chalk below was still soft mud. +So far from it, the chalk must have become hard rock, and have been +exposed to the action of the sea waves, for centuries, perhaps, before +the sands began to cover it. For you find the surface of the chalk +furrowed, worn into deep pits, which are often filled with sand, and +gravel, and rounded lumps of chalk. You may see this for yourselves, +in the topmost layer of any chalk-pit round here. You may see, +even, in some places, the holes which boring shells, such as work now +close to the tide-level, have made in it; all the signs, in fact, of +the chalk having been a rocky sea-beach for ages.</p> +<p>The first bed which you will generally find upon the water-worn surface +of the chalk is a layer of green-sand and green-coated flints. +Among these are met with in many places beds of a great oyster, now +unknown in life. I cannot say whether there are any here; but +at Reading, to the east of Farnham, at Croydon, and under London, they +are abundant. There must have been miles and miles of oyster-bed +at the bottom of that Eocene sea; among the oyster-beds, beds of a peculiar +pebble, which we shall see in our gravel-pit.</p> +<p>They are flints; but very small, dark, often almost black, and quite +round and polished. Compare them with the average flints of the +pit, and you see that while the average flints are fresh from the chalk, +these have plainly been rolled and rounded for years. They are +(except in their dark colour) exactly such shingle as forms the south-coast +beach about Hastings and Brighton. They are the shingle beaches +of the Eocene sea, part of which are preserved under the London clay. +To the north a vast bed of them remains in its original place, on Blackheath +near London; while part, in the district to the south, which the London +clay has not covered, have been washed away, and carried into our gravel-pit, +to mingle with other flints fresh from the chalk.</p> +<p>I said just now that I had proof that a great tract of the chalk-hills +which are now bare, was once covered with sand and gravel. Here, +in the presence of these dark pebbles, is a proof. But I have +another, and a yet more curious one.</p> +<p>For our gravel-pit, if it be, will possibly yield us another, and +a more curious object. You most of you have seen, I dare say, +large stones, several feet long, taken out of these pits. In the +gravels and sands at Pirbright they are so plentiful that they are quarried +for building-stone. And good building-stone they make; being exceedingly +hard, so that no weather will wear them away. They are what is +called saccharine (that is, sugary) sandstone. If you chip off +a bit, you find it exactly like fine whity-brown sugar, only intensely +hard. Now these stones have become very famous; for two reasons. +First, the old Druids used them to build their temples. Second, +it is a most puzzling question where they came from.</p> +<p>First. They were used to build Druid temples.</p> +<p>If you go to the further lodge of Dogmersfield Park, which opens +close to the Barley-mow Inn, you will see there several of them, about +five feet high each, set up on end. They run in a line through +the plantation past the lodge, along the park palings; one or two are +in an adjoining field. They are the remains of a double line; +an avenue of stones, which has formed part of an ancient British temple.</p> +<p>I know no more than that: of that I am certain.</p> +<p>But if you go to the Chalk Downs of Wiltshire, you see these temples +in their true grandeur. You have all heard of Stonehenge on Salisbury +Plain. Some of you may have heard of the great Druid temple at +Abury in Wilts, which, were it not all but destroyed, would be even +grander than Stonehenge. These are made of this same sugar-sandstone.</p> +<p>But where did the sandstone come from? You may say, it “grew” +of itself in our sands and gravels; but it certainly did not “grow” +on the top of a bare chalk down. The Druids must have brought +the stones thither, then, from neighbouring gravel-pits. They +brought them, no doubt: but not from gravel-pits. The stones are +found loose on the downs on the top of the bare chalk, in places where +they plainly have not been put by man.</p> +<p>For instance, near Marlborough is a long valley in the chalk, which, +for perhaps half a mile, is full of huge blocks of this sandstone, lying +about on the turf. The “gray wethers” the shepherds +call them. One look at them would show you that no man’s +hand had put them there. They look like a river of stone, if I +may so speak; as if some mighty flood had rolled them along down the +valley, and there left them behind as it sunk.</p> +<p>Now, whence did they come?</p> +<p>Many answers have been given to that question. It was supposed +by many learned men that they had been brought from the sandstone mountains +of Wales, like the rolled pebbles of which I spoke just now. But +the answer to that was, that these great stones are not rolled: they +are all squarish, more or less; their edges are often sharp and fresh, +instead of being polished almost into balls, as they would have been +in rolling two hundred miles along a sea-bottom, before such a tremendous +current as would have been needed to carry them.</p> +<p>Then rose a very clever guess. They must have been carried +by icebergs, as much silt and stones (we know) has been carried, and +have dropped, like them, to the bottom, when the icebergs melted.</p> +<p>There is great reason in that; but we have cause now to be certain +that they did not come from Wales. That they are not pieces of +a rock older than the chalk, but much younger; that they were very probably +formed close to where they now lie.</p> +<p>Now—how do we know that?</p> +<p>If you are not tired with all this close reasoning, I will tell you.—If +you are, say so: but as I said at first, I want to show you what steady +and sharp head-work this same geology requires, even in the nearest +gravel-pit.</p> +<p>Well, then. I do not think our gravel-pit will tell us what +we want: but I know one which will.</p> +<p>You have all heard of Lady Grenville’s lovely place, Dropmore, +beyond Maidenhead; where the taste of that good and great man, the late +Lord Grenville, converted into a paradise of landscape-gardening art +a barren common, full of clay and gravel-pits. Lord Grenville +wanted stones for rockwork; in those pits he found some blocks, of the +same substance as those of Stonehenge or Pirbright. And they contain +the answer. The upper surface of most of them is the usual clear +sugar-sandstone: but the under surface of many has round pebbles imbedded +in it, looking just like plums in a pudding; the smaller above and the +larger below, as if they had sunk slowly through the fluid sand, before +the whole mass froze, as it were, suddenly together. And these +pebbles are nothing else than rolled chalk flints.</p> +<p>That settles the matter. The pebbles could not come from Wales; +there are no flints there. They could not have been made before +the chalk; for out of the chalk they came; and the only explanation +which is left to us, I believe, is, that over the tops of the chalk +downs; over our heads where we stand now, there once stretched layers +of sand and gravel, “Tertiary strata” as I have been calling +them to you; and among them layers of this same hard sandstone.</p> +<p>When the floods came they must have swept away all these soft sands +and gravels (possibly to make the Bagshot sands, of which I shall speak +presently), and left the chalk downs bare; but while they had strength +to move the finer particles, they had not generally strength to move +these sandstone blocks, but let them drop through, and remain upon the +freshly-bared floor of chalk, as the only relics of a tertiary land +long since swept away; while some were carried off, possibly by icebergs, +as far as Pirbright, and dropped, as the icebergs melted, both there, +at Dogmersfield, and also, though few and small, in Eversley and the +neighbourhood.</p> +<p>But how came these tertiary sandstones to be so very hard, while +the strata around them are so soft?</p> +<p>Ladies and gentlemen, I know no more than you. Experience seems +to say that stone will not harden into that sugary crystalline state, +save under the influence of great heat: but I do not know how the heat +should have got to that layer in particular. Possibly there may +have been eruptions of steam, of boiling water holding silex (flint) +in solution—a very rare occurrence: but something similar is still +going on in the famous Geysers or boiling springs of Iceland. +However, I have no proof that this was the cause. I suppose we +shall find out some day how it happened; for we must never despair of +finding out anything which depends on facts.</p> +<p>Part of the town of Odiham, and of North Warnborough, stands, I believe, +upon these lower beds, which are called by geologists the Woolwich and +Reading beds, and the Plastic clays, from the good brick earth which +is so often found among them. But as soon as you get to Hook Common, +and to Dogmersfield Park, you enter on a fresh deposit; the great bed +of the London clay.</p> +<p>I give you a rough section, from a deep well at Dogmersfield House; +from which you may see how steeply the chalk dips down here under the +clay, so that Odiham stands, as it were, on the chalk beach of the clay +sea.</p> +<p>In boring that well there were pierced:</p> +<p>Forty feet of the upper sands (the Bagshot sands), of which I shall +speak presently.</p> +<p>Three hundred and thirty feet of London clay.</p> +<p>Then about forty feet of mottled clays and sands.</p> +<p>Whether the chalk was then reached, I do not know. It must +have been close below. But these mottled clays and sands abound +in water (being indeed the layer which supplies the great breweries +in London, and those soda-water bottles on dumb-waiters which squirt +in Trafalgar Square); and (I suppose) the water being reached, the boring +ceased.</p> +<p>Now, this great bed of London clay, even more than the sands below +it, deserves the title of a new creation.</p> +<p>As a proof—some of you may recollect, when the South-Western +Railway was in making, seeing shells—some of them large and handsome +ones—Nautili, taken out of the London clay cutting near Winchfield.</p> +<p>Nautili similar to them (but not the same) are now only found in +the hottest parts of the Indian seas; and what is more, not one of those +shells is the same as the shells you find in the chalk. Throughout +this great bed of London clay, the shells, the remains of plants and +animals, are altogether a new creation. If you look carefully +at the London clay shells, you will be struck with their general likeness +to fresh East Indian shells; and rightly so. They do approach +our modern live shells in form, far more than any which preceded them; +and indeed, a few of the London clay shells exist still in foreign seas; +in the beds, again, above the clay, you will meet with still more species +which are yet alive; while in the chalk, and below the chalk, you never +meet, I believe, with a single recent shell. It is for this reason +that the London clay is said to be Eocene, that is, the dawn of the +new creation.</p> +<p>The chalk, I told you, seems to have been deposited at the bottom +of a still and deep ocean. But the London clay, we shall find, +was deposited in a comparatively shallow sea, least in depth toward +High Clere on the west, and deepening towards London and the mouth of +the Thames.</p> +<p>For not only is the clay deeper as you travel eastward, but—and +this is a matter to which geologists attach great importance—the +character of the shells differs in different parts of the clay.</p> +<p>You must know that certain sorts of shells live in deep water, and +certain in shallow. You may prove this to yourselves, on a small +scale, whenever you go to the seaside. You will find that the +shell which crawl on the rocks about high-water mark are different from +those which you find at low-tide mark; and those again different from +the shells which are brought up by the oyster-dredgers from the sea +outside. Now, the lower part of the clay, near here, contains +shallow-water shells: but if you went forty miles to the eastward, you +would find in the corresponding lower beds of the clay, deep-water shells, +and far above them, shallow-water shells such as you find here: a fact +which shows plainly that this end of the clay sea was shallowest, and +therefore first filled up.</p> +<p>But again—and this is a very curious fact—between the +time of the Plastic clays and sands, with their oyster-beds and black +pebbles, and that of the London clay, great changes had taken place. +The Plastic clay and sands were deposited during a period of earthquake, +of upheaval and subsidence of ancient lands; and therefore of violent +currents and flood waves, seemingly rushing down from, or round the +shores of that Wealden island to the south of us, on the shore of which +island Odiham once stood. We know this from the great irregularity +of the beds: while the absence of that irregularity proves to us that +the London clay was deposited in a quiet sea.</p> +<p>But more. A great change in the climate of this country had +taken place meanwhile; slowly perhaps: but still it had taken place.</p> +<p>In the lowest clay above the chalk are found at Reading many leaves, +and buds, and seeds of trees, showing that there was dry land near; +and these trees, as far as the best botanists can guess, were trees +like those we have in England now. Not of the same species, of +course: but still trees belonging to a temperate climate, which had +its regular warm summer and cold winter.</p> +<p>But before the London clay had been all deposited, this temperate +climate had changed to a tropical one; and the plants and animals of +the upper part of the London clay had begun to resemble rather those +of the mouths of the African slave-rivers.</p> +<p>Extraordinary as this is, it is certainly true.</p> +<p>We know that the country near the mouth of the Thames, and probably +the land round us here, was low rich soil, some half under water, some +overflowed by rivers; some by fresh or brackish pools. We know +all this; for we find the shells which belong to a shallow sea, mixed +with fresh-water ones. We know, too, that the climate of this +rich lowland was a tropical one. We know that the neighbourhood +of the Isle of Sheppey, at the mouth of the Thames, was covered with +rich tropic vegetation; with screw pines and acacias, canes and gourds, +tenanted by opossums, bats, and vultures: that huge snakes twined themselves +along the ground, tortoises dived in the pools, and crocodiles basked +on the muds, while the neighbouring seas swarmed with sharks as huge +and terrible as those of a West Indian shore.</p> +<p>It is all very wonderful, ladies and gentlemen: but be it is: and +all we can say is, with the Mussulman—“God is great.”</p> +<p>And then—when, none knows but God—there came a time in +which some convulsion of nature changed the course of the sea currents, +and probably destroyed a vast tract of land between England and France, +and probably also, that sunken island of Atlantis of which old Plato +dreamed—the vast tract which connected for ages Ireland, Cornwall, +Brittany, and Portugal. That convulsion covered up the rich clays +with those barren sands and gravels, which now rise in flat and dreary +steppes, on the Beacon Hill, Aldershot Moors, Hartford Bridge Flat, +Frimley ridges, and Windsor Forest. That rich old world was all +swept away, and instead of it desolation and barrenness, piling up slowly +on its ruins a desert of sand and shingle, rising inch by inch out of +a lifeless sea. There is something very awful to me in the barrenness +of those Bagshot sands, after the rich tropic life of the London clay. +Not a fossil is to be found in them for miles. Save a few shells, +I believe, near Pirbright, there is not a hint that a living being inhabited +that doleful sea.</p> +<p>But do not suppose, gentlemen and ladies, that we have yet got our +gravel-pit made, or that the way-worn pebbles of which it is composed +are near the end of their weary journey. Poor old stones! +Driven out of their native chalk, rolled for ages on a sea-beach, they +have tried to get a few centuries’ sleep in the Eocene sands on +the top of the chalk hills behind us, while the London clay was being +deposited peacefully in the tropic sea below; and behold, they are swept +out, once more, and hurled pell-mell upon the clay, two hundred feet +over our heads.</p> +<p>Over our heads, remember. We have come now to a time when Hartford +Bridge Flats stretched away to the Beacon Hill, and many a mile to the +south-eastward—even down into Kent, and stretched also over Winchfield +and Dogmersfield hither.</p> +<p>What broke them up? What furrowed out their steep side-valleys? +What formed the magnificent escarpment of the Beacon Hill, or the lesser +one of Finchamstead Ridges? What swept away all but a thin cap +of them on the upper part of Dogmersfield Park, another under Winchfield +House; another at Bearwood, and so forth?</p> +<p>The convulsions of a third world; more fertile in animal life than +those which preceded it: but also, more terrible and rapid, if possible, +in its changes.</p> +<p>Of this third world, the one which (so to speak) immediately preceded +our own, we know little yet. Its changes are so complicated that +geologists have as yet hardly arranged them. But what we can see, +I will sketch for you shortly.</p> +<p>A great continent to the south—England, probably an island +at the beginning of the period, united to the continent by new beds—the +Mammoth ranging up to where we now stand.</p> +<p>Then a period of upheaval. The German Ocean becomes dry land. +The Thames, a far larger river than now, runs far eastward to join the +Seine, and the Rhine, and other rivers, which altogether flow northward, +in one enormous stream, toward the open sea between Scotland and Norway.</p> +<p>And with this, a new creation of enormous quadrupeds, as yet unknown. +Countless herds of elephants pastured by the side of that mighty river, +where now the Norfolk fisherman dredges their teeth and bones far out +in open sea. The hippopotamus floundered in the Severn, the rhinoceros +ranged over the south-western counties; enormous elk and oxen, of species +now extinct, inhabited the vast fir and larch forests which stretched +from Norfolk to the farthest part of Wales; hyenas and bears double +the size of our modern ones, and here and there the sabre-toothed tiger, +now extinct, prowled out of the caverns in the limestone hills, to seek +their bulky prey.</p> +<p>We see, too, a period—whether the same as this, or after it, +I know not yet—in which the mountains of Wales and Cumberland +rose to the limits of eternal frost, and Snowdon was indeed Snowdon, +an alp down whose valleys vast glaciers spread far and wide; while the +reindeer of Lapland, the marmot of the Alps, and the musk ox of Hudson’s +Bay, fed upon alpine plants, a few of whose descendants still survive, +as tokens of the long past age of ice. And at every successive +upheaval of the western mountains the displaced waters of the ocean +swept over the lower lands, filling the valley of the Thames and of +the Wey with vast beds of drift gravel, containing among its chalk flints, +fragments of stone from every rock between here and Wales, teeth of +elephants, skulls of ox and musk ox; while icebergs, breaking away from +the glaciers of the Welsh Alps, sailed down over the spot where we now +are, dropping their imbedded stones and silt, to confuse more utterly +than before the records of a world rocking and throbbing above the shocks +of the nether fire.</p> +<p>At last the convulsions get weak. The German Ocean becomes +sea once more; the north-western Alps sink again to a level far lower +even than their present one; only to rise again, but not so high as +before; sea-beaches and sea-shells fill many of our lower valleys; whales +by hundreds are stranded (as in the Farnham vale) where is now dry land. +Gradually the sunken land begins to rise again, and falls perhaps again, +and rises again after that, more and more gently each time, till as +it were the panting earth, worn out with the fierce passions of her +fiery youth, has sobbed herself to sleep once more, and this new world +of man is made. And among it, I know not when, or by what diluvial +wave out of hundreds which swept the Pleistocene earth, was deposited +our little gravel-pit, from which we started on our journey through +three worlds.</p> +<p>When?</p> +<p>Enough for us that He knows when, in whose hand are the times and +the seasons—God the Father of the spirits of all flesh.</p> +<p>And now, ladies and gentlemen, take from hence a lesson. I +have brought you a long and a strange road. Starting from this +seemingly uninteresting pit, we have come upon the records of three +older worlds, and on hints of worlds far older yet. We have come +to them by no theories, no dreams of the fancy, but by plain honest +reasoning, from plain honest facts. That wonderful things had +happened, we could see: but why they had happened, we saw not. +When we began to ask the reason of this thing or of that, remember how +we had to stop, and laying our hands upon our mouths, only say with +the Mussulman: “God is great.” We pick our steps, +by lanthorn light indeed, and slowly, but still surely and safely, along +a dark and difficult road: but just as we are beginning to pride ourselves +on having found our way so cleverly, we come to an edge of darkness; +and see before our feet a bottomless abyss, down which our feeble lanthorn +will not throw its light a yard.</p> +<p>Such is true science. Is it a study to make men conceited and +self-sufficient? Believe it not. If a scientific man, or +one who calls himself so, be conceited, the conceit was there before +the science; part of his natural defects: and if it stays there long +after he has really given himself to the patient study of nature, then +is he one of those of whom Solomon has said: “Though you pound +a fool in a mortar among wheat with a pestle, yet will not his folly +depart from him.”</p> +<p>For what more fit to knock the conceit out of a student, than being +pounded by these same hard facts—which tell him just enough to +let him know—how little he knows? What more fit to make +a man patient, humble, reverent, than being stopped short, as every +man of science is, after each half-dozen steps, by some tremendous riddle +which he cannot explain—which he may have to wait years to get +explained—which as far as he can see will never be explained at +all?</p> +<p>The poet says: “An undevout astronomer is mad,” and he +says truth. It is only those who know a little of nature, who +fancy that they know much. I have heard a young man say, after +hearing a few popular chemical lectures, and seeing a few bottle and +squirt experiments: Oh, water—water is only oxygen and hydrogen!—as +if he knew all about it. While the true chemist would smile sadly +enough at the youth’s hasty conceit, and say in his heart: “Well, +he is a lucky fellow. If he knows all about it, it is more than +I do. I don’t know what oxygen <i>is</i>, or hydrogen, either. +I don’t even know whether there are any such things at all. +I see certain effects in my experiments which I must attribute to some +cause, and I call that cause oxygen, because I must call it something; +and other effects which I must attribute to another cause, and I call +that hydrogen. But as for oxygen, I don’t know whether it +really exists. I think it very possible that it is only an effect +of something else—another form of a something, which seems to +make phosphorus, iodine, bromine, and certain other substances: and +as for hydrogen—I know as little about it. I don’t +know but what all the metals, gold, silver, iron, tin, sodium, potassium, +and so forth, are not different forms of hydrogen, or of something else +which is the parent of hydrogen. In fact, I know but very little +about the matter; except this, that I do know very little; and that +the more I experiment, and the more I analyse, the more unexpected puzzles +and wonders I find, and the more I expect to find till my dying day. +True, I know a vast number of facts and laws, thank God; and some very +useful ones among them: but as to the ultimate and first causes of those +facts and laws, I know no more than the shepherd-boy outside; and can +say no more than he does, when he reads in the Psalms at school: “I, +and all around me, are fearfully and wonderfully made; marvellous are +Thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well.”</p> +<p>And so, my friends, though I have seemed to talk to you of great +matters this night; of the making and the destruction of world after +world: yet what does all I have said come to? I have not got one +step beyond what the old Psalmist learnt amid the earthquakes and volcanoes +of the pastures and the forests of Palestine, three thousand years ago. +I have not added to his words; I have only given you new facts to prove +that he had exhausted the moral lesson of the subject, when he said:</p> +<p>These all wait upon thee, that thou mayest give them their meat in +due season.</p> +<p>Thou givest, and they gather: thou openest thy hand, and they are +filled with good.</p> +<p>Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled; thou takest away their breath; +they die and return to their dust.</p> +<p>Thou sendest forth thy spirit, they are created; and thou renewest +the face of the earth.</p> +<p>But—The glory of the Lord shall endure for ever. The +Lord shall rejoice in his works. Amen.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>HOW TO STUDY NATURAL HISTORY <a name="citation290"></a><a href="#footnote290">{290}</a></h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Ladies and gentlemen, I speak to you to-night as to persons assembled, +somewhat, no doubt, for amusement, but still more for instruction. +Institutions such as this were originally founded for the purpose of +instruction; to supply to those who wish to educate themselves some +of the advantages of a regular course of scholastic or scientific training, +by means of classes and of lectures.</p> +<p>I myself prize classes far higher than I do lectures. From +my own experience, a lecture is often a very dangerous method of teaching; +it is apt to engender in the mind of men ungrounded conceit and sciolism, +or the bad habit of knowing about subjects without really knowing the +subject itself. A young man hears an interesting lecture, and +carries away from it doubtless a great many new facts and results: but +he really must not go home fancying himself a much wiser man; and why? +Because he has only heard the lecturer’s side of the story. +He has been forced to take the facts and the results on trust. +He has not examined the facts for himself. He has had no share +in the process by which the results were arrived at. In short, +he has not gone into the real scientia, that is, the “knowing” +of the matter. He has gained a certain quantity of second-hand +information: but he has gained nothing in mental training, nothing in +the great “art of learning,” the art of finding out things +for himself, and of discerning truth from falsehood. Of course, +where the lecture is a scientific one, illustrated by diagrams, this +defect is not so extreme: but still the lecturer who shows you experiments, +is forced to choose those which shall be startling and amusing, rather +than important; he is seldom or never able, unless he is a man of at +once the deepest science and the most extraordinary powers of amusing, +to give you those experiments in the proper order which will unfold +the subject to you step by step; and after all, an experiment is worth +very little to you, unless you perform it yourself, ask questions about +it, or vary it a little to solve difficulties which arise in your own +mind.</p> +<p>Now mind—I do not say all this to make you give up attending +lectures. Heaven forbid. They amuse, that is, they turn +the mind off from business; they relax it, and as it were bathe and +refresh it with new thoughts, after the day’s drudgery or the +day’s commonplaces; they fill it with pleasant and healthful images +for afterthought. Above all, they make one feel what a fair, wide, +wonderful world one lives in; how much there is to be known, and how +little one knows; and to the earnest man suggest future subjects of +study. I only ask you not to expect from lectures what they can +never give; but as to what they can give, I consider, I assure you, +the lecturer’s vocation a most honourable one in the present day, +even if we look on him as on a mere advertiser of nature’s wonders. +As such I appear here to-night; not to teach you natural history; for +that you can only teach yourselves: but to set before you the subject +and its value, and if possible, allure some of you to the study of it.</p> +<p>I have said that lectures do not supply mental training; that only +personal study can do that. The next question is, What study? +And that is a question which I do not answer in a hurry, when I say, +The study of natural history. It is not, certainly, a study which +a young man entering on the business of self-education would be likely +to take up. To him, naturally, man is the most important subject. +His first wish is to know the human world; to know what men are, what +they have thought, what they have done. And therefore, you find +that poetry, history, politics, and philosophy are the matters which +most attract the self-guided student. I do not blame him, but +he seems to me to be beginning at the middle, rather than at the beginning. +I fell into the same fault myself more than once, when I was younger, +and meddled in matters too high for me, instead of refraining my soul, +and keeping it low; so I can sympathise with others who do so. +But I can assure them that they will find such lofty studies do them +good only in proportion as they have first learnt the art of learning. +Unless they have learnt to face facts manfully, to discriminate between +them skilfully, to draw conclusions from them rigidly; unless they have +learnt in all things to look, not for what they would like to be true, +but for what is true, because God has done it, and it cannot be undone—then +they will be in danger of taking up only the books which suit their +own prejudices—and every one has his prejudices—and using +them, not to correct their own notions, but to corroborate and pamper +them; to confirm themselves in their first narrow guesses, instead of +enlarging those guesses into certainty. The son of a Tory turn +will read Tory books, the son of a Radical turn Radical books; and the +green spectacles of party and prejudice will be deepened in hue as he +reads on, instead of being thrown away for the clear white glass of +truth, which will show him reason in all honest sides, and good in all +honest men.</p> +<p>But, says the young man, I wish to be wide-minded and wide-hearted—I +study for that very purpose. I will be fair, I will be patient, +I will hear all sides ere I judge. And I doubt not that he speaks +honestly. But (I quote with all reverence) though the spirit be +willing, the flesh is weak. Studies which have to do with man’s +history, man’s thoughts, man’s feelings, are too exciting, +too personal, often, alas, too tragical, to allow us to read them calmly +at first. The men and women of whom we read are so like ourselves +(for the human heart is the same in every age), that we unconsciously +begin to love or hate them in the first five minutes, and read history +as we do a novel, hurrying on to see when the supposed hero and heroine +get safely married, and the supposed villain safely hanged, at the end +of the chapter, having forgotten all the while, in our haste, to ascertain +which is the hero and which is the villain. Mary Queen of Scots +was “beautiful and unfortunate”—what heart would not +bleed for a beautiful woman in trouble? Why stop to ask whether +she brought it on herself? She was seventeen years in prison. +Why stop to ascertain what sort of a prison it was? And as for +her guilt, the famous Casket Letters were, of course, a vile forgery. +Impossible that they could be true. Hoot down the cold-hearted, +and disagreeable, and troublesome man of facts, who will persist in +his stupid attempt to disenchant you, and repeat—But the Casket +Letters were not a forgery, and we can prove it, if you will but listen +to the facts. Her prison, as we will show you (if you will be +patient and listen to facts), consisted in greater pomp and luxury than +that of most noblemen, with horses, hounds, books, music, liberty to +hunt and amuse herself in every way, even in intriguing with every court +of Europe, as we can show you again, if you will be patient and listen +to facts. And she herself was a very wicked and false woman, an +adulteress and a murderess (though fearfully ill-trained in early youth), +who sowed the wind, poor wretch, from girlhood to old age, and therefore +reaped the whirlwind, receiving the just reward of her deeds. +Catherine of Russia, meanwhile, instead of being beautiful and unfortunate, +was only handsome and successful. Brand her as a disgrace to human +nature. The morals and ways of the two were pretty much on a par, +with these exceptions in Catherine’s favour—that she had +strong passions, Mary none; that she lived in outer darkness and practical +heathendom, while Mary had the light shining all round her, and refused +it deliberately again and again. What matter to the sentimentalist? +Hiss the stupid hard-hearted man of facts, by all means. What +if he be right? He has no business to be right; we will consider +him wrong accordingly, of our own sovereign will and pleasure. +For after all, if we had the facts put before us (says the conscience +of many a hearer), we could not judge of them; we read to be amused +and instructed, not to study cases like so many barristers. So +is history read. And so, alas, is history written, too often, +for want of a steady and severe training which would enable people to +judge dispassionately of facts. In politics the case is the same. +In poetry, which appeals more directly to the feelings, it must needs +be still worse; as has been shown sadly enough of late by the success +of several poems, in which every possible form of bad taste has only +met with unbounded admiration from the many who have not had their senses +exercised to discern between good and evil.</p> +<p>Now what seems to me to be wanted for young minds, is a study in +which no personal likes or dislikes shall tempt them out of the path +of mental honesty; a study in which they shall be free to look at facts +exactly as they are, and draw their conclusions patiently and dispassionately. +And such a study I have found in that of natural history.</p> +<p>Do not fancy it, I beg you, an easy thing to judge fairly of facts; +even to discover the facts at all, when they are staring you in the +face; and to see what it is that you do see. Any lawyer will tell +you, that if you ask three honest men to bear testimony concerning an +event which happened but yesterday, none of them, if he be at all an +interested party, will give you exactly the same account of it: not +that he wishes to say what is untrue; but that different parts of the +whole matter having struck each man with different force, a different +picture has been left on each man’s memory. I have been +utterly astounded of late, in investigating these strange stories of +table-turning and spirit-rapping, to find how even clear-headed and +well-instructed persons (as one had fancied them) become unable to examine +fairly into a thing, the moment the desire to believe has entered the +heart; and how no amount of mere cultivation, if the scientific habit +of mind be wanting, can prevent people from finding (as in table-turning) +miracles in the most simple mechanical accidents; or from becoming (as +in spirit-rapping) the dupes of the most clumsy, palpable, and degrading +impostures, even after they have been exposed over and over again in +print. Humiliating, indeed, it is, in this so self-confident and +boastful nineteenth century, amid steam-engines, railroads, electric +telegraphs, and all the wonders of our inductive science, to find exploded +superstitions leaping back into life even more monstrous and irrational +than in past ages, and to see our modern Pharisees and Sadducees, like +those in Judea of old, seeking after a sign of an unseen world; and +being unable to find one either in the heaven above or in the earth +beneath, discovering it at last (I am almost ashamed to speak the words) +under the parlour-table.</p> +<p>Against such extravagances, and against the loose sentimental tone +of mind which begets them, hardly anything would be a better safeguard +than the habitual study of nature. The chemist, the geologist, +the botanist, the zoologist, has to deal with facts which will make +him master of them, and of himself, only in proportion as he obeys them. +Many of you doubtless know Lord Bacon’s famous apothegm, Nature +is only conquered by obeying her; and will understand me when I say, +that you cannot understand, much less use for scientific purposes, the +meanest pebble, unless you first obey that pebble. Paradoxical; +but true.</p> +<p>See this pebble which I hold in my hand, picked up out of the street +as I came along; it shall be my only object to-night. There the +thing is; and is as it is, and in no other way; and such it will be, +and so it will behave and act, in spite of me, and all my fancies about +it, and notions of what it ought to have been like, and what it ought +to have done. It is a thought of God’s; and strong by the +eternal laws of matter, which are the will of God. It has the +whole universe, sun, and stars, and all, backing it by God’s appointment, +to keep it where it is and what it is; and till (as Lord Bacon has it) +I have discovered and obeyed the will of God revealed in that pebble, +it is to me a riddle more insoluble than the Sphinx’s, a fortress +more impregnable than Sevastopol. I may crush it: but destroying +is not conquering: but I cannot even mend the road with it prudently, +until I have discovered whether Almighty God has made it fit to mend +roads with. I may have the genius of a Plato or of a Shakespeare, +but all my genius will not avail to penetrate that pebble, or see anything +in it but a little round dirty stone, until I have treated the pebble +with reverence, as a thing independent of my likes and dislikes, fancies, +and aspirations; and have asked it humbly to tell me its story, taking +counsel meanwhile of hundreds of kindred pebbles, each as silent and +reserved as this one; and watched and listened patiently, through many +mistakes and misreadings, to what it has to say for itself, and what +God has made it to be. And then at last that little black rounded +pebble, from the street outside, may, and will surely, if I be patient +and honest enough, tell me a tale wilder and grander than any which +I could have dreamed for myself; will shame the meanness of my imagination, +by the awful magnificence of God’s facts, and say to me:</p> +<p>“Ages and Æons since, thousands on thousands of years +before there was a man to till the ground, I the little pebble was a +living sponge, in the milky depths of the great chalk ocean; and hundreds +of living atomies, each more fantastic than a ghost-painter’s +dreams, swam round me, and grew on me, and multiplied, till I became +a tiny hive of wonders, each one of which would take you a life to understand. +And then, I cannot yet tell you how, and till I tell you you will never +know, the delicate flint-needles in my skin gathered other particles +of flint to them, and I and all my inhabitants became a stone; and the +chalk-mud settled round us, I know not how, and covered us in; and for +ages on ages I lay buried in the nether dark, and felt the glow of the +nether fires, and was cracked and tossed by a hundred earthquakes. +Again and again I have been part of an island, and then again sunk beneath +the sea, to be upheaved again after long centuries, till I saw the light +once more, and dropped from the face of some chalk cliff far away among +high hills which have long since been swept off the face of the earth, +and was tossed by currents till I became a pebble on the beach, while +Reading was a sand-bank in a shallow sea. There I lay and rolled +till I was rounded, for many a century more; till flood after flood +past over me, and a new earth was made; and I was mixed up with fresh +flints from wasting chalk-hills, and with freestones from the Gloucestershire +wolds, and with quartz-boulders from the mountains of Wales, while over +me swept the carcases of drowned elephants and bisons, and many a monstrous +beast; and above me floated uprooted palms, and tropic fruits and seeds, +and the wrecks of a dying world. And then there came another age—</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>And it grew wondrous cold;<br />And ice mast-high came floating by,<br />As +green as emerald;</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>and as the icebergs melted in the sun, the stones and the silt fell +out of them, and covered me up; and I was in darkness once more, vexed +by many an earthquake, till I became part of this brave English land. +And now I am a pebble here in Reading street, to be ground beneath the +wheels of busy men: and yet you cannot kill me, or hinder my fulfilling +the law which cannot be broken. This year I am a pebble in the +street; and next year I shall be dust upon the fields above; and the +year after that I shall be alive again, and rise from the ground as +fair green wheat-stems, bearing up food for the use of man. And +even after that you cannot kill me. The trampled and sodden straw +will rot only to enter into a new life; and I shall pass through a fresh +cycle of strange adventures, age after age, till time shall be no more; +doing my work in my generation, and fulfilling to the last the will +of God, as faithfully as when I was the water-breathing sponge in the +abysses of the old chalk sea.” All this and more, gentlemen +and ladies, the pebble could tell to you, and will: but he is old and +venerable, and like old men, he wishes to be approached with respect, +and does not like to be questioned too much or too rapidly; so that +you must not be offended if you meet with more than one rebuff from +him; or if he keeps stubborn silence, till he has seen that you are +a modest and attentive person, to whom it is worth while to open a little +of his forty or fifty thousand years’ experience.</p> +<p>Second only to the good effect of this study on the logical faculty, +seems to me to be its effect on the imagination. Not merely in +such objects as the pebble, whose history I have so hastily, but I must +add faithfully, sketched; but in the tiniest piece of mould on a decayed +fruit, the tiniest animalcule from the stagnant pool, will imagination +find inexhaustible wonders, and fancy a fairy-land. And I beg +my elder hearers not to look on this as light praise. Imagination +is a valuable thing; and even if it were not, it is a thing, a real +thing, a faculty which every one has, and with which you must do something. +You cannot ignore it; it will assert its own existence. You will +be wise not to neglect it in young children; for if you do not provide +wholesome food for it, it will find unwholesome food for itself. +I know that many, especially men of business, are inclined to sneer +at it, and ask what is the use of it? The simple answer is, God +has made it; and He has made nothing in vain. But you will find +that in practice, in action, in business, imagination is a most useful +faculty, and is so much mental capital, whensoever it is properly trained. +Consider but this one thing, that without imagination no man can possibly +invent even the pettiest object; that it is one of the faculties which +essentially raises man above the brutes, by enabling him to create for +himself; that the first savage who ever made a hatchet must have imagined +that hatchet to himself ere he began it; that every new article of commerce, +every new opening for trade, must be arrived at by acts of imagination; +by the very same faculty which the poet or the painter employs, only +on a different class of objects; remember that this faculty is present +in some strength in every mind of any power, in every mind which can +do more than follow helplessly in the beaten track, and do nothing but +what it has seen others do already: and then see whether it be not worth +while to give the young a study which above all others is fitted to +keep this important and universal faculty in health. Now, from +fifty to five-and-twenty years ago, under the influence of the Franklin +and Edgeworth school of education, imagination was at a discount. +That school was a good school enough: but here was one of its faults. +It taught people to look on imagination as quite a useless, dangerous, +unpractical, bad thing, a sort of mental disease. And now, as +is usual after an unfair depreciation of anything, has come a revolution; +and an equally unfair glorifying of the imagination; the present generation +have found out suddenly that the despised faculty is worth something, +and therefore are ready to believe it worth everything; so that nowadays, +to judge from the praise heaped on some poets, the mere possession of +imagination, however ill regulated, will atone for every error of false +taste, bad English, carelessness for truth; and even for coarseness, +blasphemy, and want of common morality; and it is no longer charity, +but fancy, which is to cover the multitude of sins.</p> +<p>The fact is, that youth will always be the period of imagination; +and the business of a good education will always be to prevent that +imagination from being thrown inward, and producing a mental fever, +diseasing itself and the whole character by feeding on its own fancies, +its own day dreams, its own morbid feelings, its likes and dislikes; +even if it do not take at last to viler food, to French novels, and +lawless thoughts, which are but too common, alas! though we will not +speak of them here.</p> +<p>To turn the imagination not inwards, but outwards; to give it a class +of objects which may excite wonder, reverence, the love of novelty and +of discovering, without heating the brain or exciting the passions—this +is one of the great problems of education; and I believe from experience +that the study of natural history supplies in great part what we want. +The earnest naturalist is pretty sure to have obtained that great need +of all men, to get rid of self. He who, after the hours of business, +finds himself with a mind relaxed and wearied, will not be tempted to +sit at home dreaming over impossible scenes of pleasure, or to go for +amusement to haunts of coarse excitement, if he have in every hedge-bank, +and wood land, and running stream, in every bird among the boughs, and +every cloud above his head, stores of interest which will enable him +to forget awhile himself, and man, and all the cares, even all the hopes +of life, and to be alone with the inexhaustible beauty and glory of +Nature, and of God who made her. An hour or two every day spent +after business-hours in botany, geology, entomology, at the telescope +or the microscope, is so much refreshment gained for the mind for to-morrow’s +labour, so much rest for irritated or anxious feelings, often so much +saved from frivolity or sin. And how easy this pursuit. +How abundant the subjects of it! Look round you here. Within +the reach of every one of you are wonders beyond all poets’ dreams. +Not a hedge-bank but has its hundred species of plants, each different +and each beautiful; and when you tire of them—if you ever can +tire—a trip into the meadows by the Thames, with the rich vegetation +of their dikes, floating flower-beds of every hue, will bring you as +it were into a new world, new forms, new colours, new delight. +You ask why this is? And you find yourself at once involved in +questions of soil and climate, which lead you onward, step by step, +into the deepest problems of geology and chemistry. In entomology, +too, if you have any taste for the beauties of form and colour, any +fondness for mechanical and dynamical science, the insects, even to +the smallest, will supply endless food for such likings; while their +instincts and their transformations, as well as the equally wondrous +chemical transformation of salts and gases into living plants, which +agricultural chemistry teaches you, will tempt you to echo every day +Mephistopheles’s magic song, when he draws wine out of the table +in Auersbach’s cellar:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Wine is grapes, and grapes are wood—<br />The wooden board +yields wine as good:<br />It is but a deeper glance<br />Into Nature’s +countenance.<br />All is plain to him who seeth;<br />Lift the veil +and look beneath,<br />And behold, the wise man saith,<br />Miracles, +if you have faith.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Believe me you need not go so far to find more than you will ever +understand. An hour’s summer walk, in the company of some +one who knows what to look for and how to look for it, by the side of +one of those stagnant dikes in the meadows below, would furnish you +with subjects for a month’s investigation, in the form of plants, +shells, and animalcules, on each of which a whole volume might be written. +And even at this seemingly dead season of the year, fancy not that nature +is dead—not even that she sleeps awhile. Every leaf which +drops from the bough, to return again into its gases and its dust, is +working out chemical problems which have puzzled a Boyle and a Lavoisier, +and about which a Liebig and a Faraday will now tell you that they have +but some dim guess, and that they stand upon the threshold of knowledge +like (as Newton said of himself) children gathering a few pebbles, upon +the shore of an illimitable sea. In every woodland, too, innumerable +fungi are at work, raising from the lower soil rich substances, which, +strewed on the surface by quick decay, will form food for plants higher +than themselves; while they, by their variety and beauty, both of form +and colour, might well form studies for any painter, and by the obscure +laws of their reproduction, studies for any philosopher. Why, +there is not a heap of dead leaves among which by picking it through +carefully you might not find some twenty species of delicate and elegant +land-shells; hardly a tree-foot at which, among the moss and mould, +you might not find the chrysalides of beautiful moths, where caterpillars +have crawled down the trunk in autumn, to lie there self-buried and +die to live again next spring in a new and fairer shape. And if +you cannot reach even there, go to the water-but in the nearest yard, +and there, in one pinch of green scum, in one spoonful of water, behold +a whole “Divina Commedia” of living forms, more fantastic +a thousand times than those with which Dante peopled his unseen world: +and then feel, as you should feel, abashed at the ignorance and weakness +of mortal man; abashed still more at that rash conceit of his, which +makes him fancy himself the measure of all things; and say with me: +“Oh Lord, thy works are manifold; thy ways are very deep. +In wisdom hast thou made them all, the earth is full of thy riches. +Thou openest thy hand, and fillest all things living with plenteousness; +they continue this day according to thine ordinance, for all things +serve thee. Thou hast made them fast for ever and ever; thou hast +given them a law which shall not be broken. Let them praise the +name of the Lord; for he spake the word and they were made, he commanded, +and they were created.”</p> +<p>This I shall say, but little more than this, on the religious effect +of the study of natural history. I do not wish to preach a sermon +to you. I can trust God’s world to bear better witness than +I can, of the Loving Father who made it. I thank him from my own +experience for the testimony of His Creation, only next to the testimony +of His Bible. I have watched scientific discoveries which were +supposed in my boyhood to be contrary to revelation, found out one by +one to confirm and explain revelation, as crude and hasty theories were +corrected by more abundant facts, and men saw more clearly what both +the Bible and Nature really did say; and I can trust that the same process +will go on for ever, and that God’s earth and God’s word +will never contradict each other. I have found the average of +scientific men, not less, but more, godly and righteous men than the +average of their neighbours; and I can trust that this will be more +and more the case as science deepens and widens. And therefore +I can trust that every patient, truthful, and healthful mind will, the +more it contemplates the works of God, re-echo St. Paul’s great +declaration that the Invisible things of God are clearly seen from the +foundation of the world, being understood by the things which are made, +even His eternal power and Godhead. And so trusting, I pass on +to a lower view of the subject, and yet not an unnecessary one.</p> +<p>In an industrial country like this, the practical utility of any +study must needs be always thrown into the scale; and natural history +seems at first sight somewhat unpractical. What money will it +earn for a man in after life?—is a question which will be asked; +and which it is folly to despise. For if the only answer be: “None +at all,” a man has a right to rejoin: “Then let me take +up some pursuit which will train and refresh my mind as much as this +one, and yet be of pecuniary benefit to me some day.” If +you can find such a study, by all means follow it: but I say that this +study too may be of great practical benefit in after life. How +much money have I, young as I am, seen wasted for want of a little knowledge +of botany, geology, or chemistry. How many a clever man becomes +the dupe of empirics for want of a little science. How many a +mine is sought for where no mine could be; or crop attempted to be grown, +where no such crop could grow. How many a hidden treasure, on +the other hand, do men walk over unheeding. How many a new material, +how many an improved process in manufacture is possible, yet is passed +over, for want of a little science. And for the man who emigrates, +and comes in contact with rude nature teeming with unsuspected wealth, +of what incalculable advantage to have if it be but the rudiments of +those sciences, which will tell him the properties, and therefore the +value, of the plants, the animals, the minerals, the climates with which +he meets? True—home-learnt natural history will not altogether +teach him about these things, because most of them must needs be new: +but it will teach him to compare and classify them as he finds them, +and so by analogy with things already known to him, to discover their +intrinsic worth.</p> +<p>For natural history stands to man’s power over Nature, that +is, to his power of being useful to himself and to mankind, in the same +relation as do geography, grammar, arithmetic, geometry, political economy; +none of them, perhaps, bearing directly on his future business in life; +but all training his mind for his business, all giving him the rudiments +of laws which he will hereafter work out and apply to his profession. +And even at home, be sure that such studies will bear fruit in after +life. The productive wealth of England is not exhausted, doubt +it not; our grandchildren may find treasures in this our noble island +of which we never dreamed, even as we have found things of which our +forefathers dreamed not. Recollect always that a great market +town like this is not merely a commercial centre; not perhaps even a +commercial centre at all: but that she is an agricultural centre, and +one of the most important in England; that the increase of science here +will be sure more or less to extend itself to the neighbourhood: and +then lay to heart this one fact. A friend of mine, and one whom +I am proud to call my friend, succeeding to an estate, thought good +to cultivate it himself. And being a man of common sense, he thought +good to know something of what he was doing. And he said to himself: +The soil, and the rain, and the air are my raw materials. I ought +surely then to find out what soil, and rain, and air are; so I must +become a geologist and a meteorologist. Vegetable substances are +what I am to make. And I ought surely to know what it is that +I am making; so I must become a botanist. The raw material does +somehow or other become manufactured into the produce; the soil into +the vegetable. I ought surely to know a little about the processes +of my own manufacture; so I must learn chemistry. Chance and blind +custom are not enough for me. At best they can but leave me where +they found me, at their mercy. Science I need; and science I will +acquire. What was the result? After many a mistake and disappointment, +he succeeded in discovering on his own estate a mine of unsuspected +wealth—not of gold indeed, but of gold’s worth—the +elements of human food. He discovered why some parts of his estate +were fertile, while others were barren; and by applying the knowledge +thus gained, he converted some of his most barren fields into his most +fertile ones; he preserved again and again his crops from blight, while +those of others perished all around him; he won for himself wealth, +and the respect and honour of men of science; while those around him, +slowly opening their eyes to his improvements, followed his lessons +at second-hand, till the whole agriculture of an important district +has become gradually but permanently improved, under the auspices of +one patient and brave man, who knew that knowledge was power, and that +only by obeying nature can man conquer her.</p> +<p>Bear in mind both these last great proverbs; and combine them in +your mind. Remember that while England is, and ever will be, behindhand +in metaphysical and scholastic science, she is the nation which above +all others has conquered nature by obeying her; that as it pleased God +that the author of that proverb, the father of inductive science, Bacon +Lord Verulam, should have been an Englishman, so it has pleased Him +that we, Lord Bacon’s countrymen, should improve that precious +heirloom of science, inventing, producing, exporting, importing, till +it seems as if the whole human race, and every land from the equator +to the pole must henceforth bear the indelible impress and sign manual +of English science.</p> +<p>And bear in mind, as I said just now, that this study of natural +history is the grammar of that very physical science which has enabled +England thus to replenish the earth and subdue it. Do you not +see, then, that by following these studies you are walking in the very +path to which England owes her wealth; that you are training in yourselves +that habit of mind which God has approved as the one which He has ordained +for Englishmen, and are doing what in you lies toward carrying out, +in after life, the glorious work which God seems to have laid on the +English race, to replenish the earth and subdue it?</p> +<p>One word more, and I have done. Unless you are already tired +of hearing me, I would suggest a few practical hints before we part. +The best way of learning these matters is by classes, in which men may +combine and interchange their thoughts and observations. The greatest +savants find this; and have their Microscopic Society, Linnæan, +Royal, Geological Societies, British Associations, and what not, in +which all may know what each has done, and each share in the learning +of all; for as iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpens the face of his +friend. I have nothing to say against debating societies: perhaps +it was my own fault that whenever I belonged to one as a young man, +I found them inclined to make me conceited, dictatorial, hasty in my +judgments, trying to state a case before I had investigated it, to teach +others before I had taught myself, to make a fine speech, not to find +out the truth; till in, I think, a wise moment for me, I vowed at twenty +never to set foot in one again, and kept my vow. Be that as it +may, I wish that side by side with the debating society, I could see +young men joining in natural history societies; going out in company +on pleasant evenings to search together after the hidden treasures of +God’s world, and read the great green book which lies open alike +to peasant and to peer; and then meeting, say once a week, to debate, +not of opinions but of facts; to show each what they had found, to classify +and explain, to learn and to wonder together. In such a class +many appliances would be possible. A microscope, for instance, +or chemical apparatus, might belong to the society, which each individual +by himself would not be able to afford; while as for books—books +on these subjects are now published at a marvellous cheapness, which +puts them within the reach of every one, and of an excellence which +twenty years ago was impossible. Any working man in this town +might now, especially in a class, consult scientific books, for which +I, as a lad, twenty years ago, was sighing in vain; nay, many of which, +twenty years ago, the richest nobleman could not have purchased; for +the simple reason, that, dear or cheap, they did not exist. Such +classes, too, would be the easiest, cheapest, and pleasantest way of +establishing what ought to exist, I think, in connection with every +institution like this, namely, a museum. If the young men were +really ready and willing to collect objects of interest, I doubt not +that public-spirited men would be found, who would undertake the expense +of mounting them in a museum. And you cannot imagine, I assure +you, how large and how interesting a museum might be formed of the natural +curiosities of a neighbourhood like this, I may say, indeed, of any +neighbourhood or of any parish: but your museum need not be confined +to the neighbourhood. Societies now exist in every part of England, +who will be happy to exchange their duplicates for yours. As your +collection increased in importance, old members abroad would gladly +contribute foreign curiosities to your stock. Neighbouring gentlemen +would send you valuable objects which had been lumbering their houses, +uncared for, because they stood alone, and formed no part of a collection; +and I, for one, would be happy to add something from the fauna and flora +of those moorlands, where I have so long enjoyed the wonders of nature; +never, I can honestly say, alone; because when man was not with me, +I had companions in every bee, and flower, and pebble; and never idle, +because I could not pass a swamp, or a tuft of heather, without finding +in it a fairy tale of which I could but decipher here and there a line +or two, and yet found them more interesting than all the books, save +one, which were ever written upon earth.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE NATURAL THEOLOGY OF THE FUTURE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Read at Sion College, January 10th, 1871.</p> +<p>When I accepted the unexpected and undeserved honour of being allowed +to lecture here, the first subject which suggested itself to me was +Natural Theology.</p> +<p>It is one which has taken up much of my thought for some years past, +<a name="citation313"></a><a href="#footnote313">{313}</a> which seems +to me more and more important, and which is just now somewhat forgotten; +I therefore determined to say a few words on it to-night. I do +not pretend to teach but only to suggest; to point out certain problems +of Natural Theology, the further solution of which ought, I think, to +be soon attempted.</p> +<p>I wish to speak, remember, not on natural religion, but on natural +theology. By the first, I understand what can be learned from +the physical universe of man’s duty to God and to his neighbour; +by the latter, I understand what can be learned concerning God Himself. +Of natural religion I shall say nothing. I do not even affirm +that a natural religion is possible: but I do very earnestly believe +that a natural theology is possible; and I earnestly believe also that +it is most important that natural theology should, in every age, keep +pace with doctrinal or ecclesiastical theology.</p> +<p>Bishop Butler certainly held this belief. His “Analogy +of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of +Nature”—a book for which I entertain the most profound respect—is +based on a belief that the God of Nature and the God of Grace are one; +and that, therefore, the God who satisfies our conscience ought more +or less to satisfy our reason also. To teach that was Butler’s +mission, and he fulfilled it well. But it is a mission which has +to be re-filled again and again, as human thought changes and human +science develops; for if in any age or country the God who seems to +be revealed by Nature seems different from the God who is revealed by +the then popular religion, then that God, and the religion which tells +of that God, will gradually cease to be believed in.</p> +<p>For the demands of Reason (as none knew better than good Bishop Butler) +must be and ought to be satisfied. And when a popular war arises +between the reason of a generation and its theology, it behoves the +ministers of religion to inquire, with all humility and godly fear, +on which side lies the fault: whether the theology which they expound +is all that it should be, or whether the reason of those who impugn +it is all that it should be.</p> +<p>For me, as (I trust) an orthodox priest of the Church of England, +I believe the theology of the National Church of England, as by law +established, to be eminently rational as well as scriptural. It +is not, therefore, surprising to me that the clergy of the Church of +England, since the foundation of the Royal Society in the seventeenth +century, have done more for sound physical science than the clergy of +any other denomination; or that the three greatest natural theologians +with which I, at least, am acquainted—Berkeley, Butler, and Paley—should +have belonged to our Church. I am not unaware of what the Germans +of the eighteenth century have done. I consider Goethe’s +claims to have advanced natural theology very much over-rated: but I +do recommend to young clergymen Herder’s “Outlines of the +Philosophy of the History of Man” as a book (in spite of certain +defects) full of sound and precious wisdom. But it seems to me +that English natural theology in the eighteenth century stood more secure +than that of any other nation, on the foundation which Berkeley, Butler, +and Paley had laid; and that if our orthodox thinkers for the last hundred +years had followed steadily in their steps, we should not be deploring +now a wide, and as some think increasing, divorce between Science and +Christianity.</p> +<p>But it was not so to be. The impulse given by Wesley and Whitfield +turned (and not before it was needed) the earnest mind of England almost +exclusively to questions of personal religion; and that impulse, under +many unexpected forms, has continued ever since. I only state +the fact—I do not deplore it; God forbid! Wisdom is justified +of all her children, and as, according to the wise American, “it +takes all sorts to make a world,” so it takes all sorts to make +a living Church. But that the religious temper of England for +the last two or three generations has been unfavourable to a sound and +scientific development of natural theology, there can be no doubt.</p> +<p>We have only, if we need proof, to look at the hymns—many of +them very pure, pious, and beautiful—which are used at this day +in churches and chapels by persons of every shade of opinion. +How often is the tone in which they speak of the natural world one of +dissatisfaction, distrust, almost contempt. “Disease, decay, +and death around I see,” is their key-note, rather than “O +all ye works of the Lord, bless Him, praise Him, and magnify Him together.” +There lingers about them a savour of the old monastic theory, that this +earth is the devil’s planet, fallen, accursed, goblin-haunted, +needing to be exorcised at every turn before it is useful or even safe +for man. An age which has adopted as its most popular hymn a paraphrase +of the mediæval monk’s “Hic breve vivitur,” +and in which stalwart public-school boys are bidden in their chapel +worship to tell the Almighty God of Truth that they lie awake weeping +at night for joy at the thought that they will die and see Jerusalem +the Golden—is doubtless, a pious and devout age; but not—at +least as yet—an age in which natural theology is likely to attain +a high, a healthy, or a scriptural development.</p> +<p>Not a scriptural development. Let me press on you, my clerical +brethren, most earnestly this one point. It is time that we should +make up our minds what tone Scripture does take toward Nature, natural +science, natural theology. Most of you, I doubt not, have made +up your minds already, and in consequence have no fear of natural science, +no fear for natural theology. But I cannot deny that I find still +lingering here and there certain of the old views of nature of which +I used to hear but too much here in London some five-and-thirty years +ago; not from my own father, thank God! for he, to his honour, was one +of those few London clergy who then faced and defended advanced physical +science; but from others—better men too than I shall ever hope +to be—who used to consider natural theology as useless, fallacious, +impossible, on the ground that this Earth did not reveal the will and +character of God, because it was cursed and fallen; and that its facts, +in consequence, were not to be respected or relied on. This, I +was told, was the doctrine of Scripture, and was therefore true. +But when, longing to reconcile my conscience and my reason on a question +so awful to a young student of natural science, I went to my Bible, +what did I find? No word of all this. Much—thank God, +I may say one continuous undercurrent—of the very opposite of +all this. I pray you bear with me, even though I may seem impertinent. +But what do we find in the Bible, with the exception of that first curse? +That, remember, cannot mean any alteration in the laws of nature by +which man’s labour should only produce for him henceforth thorns +and thistles. For, in the first place, any such curse is formally +abrogated in the eighth chapter and twenty-first verse of the very same +document—“I will not again curse the earth any more for +man’s sake. While the earth remaineth, seed-time and harvest, +cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night shall not cease.” +And next, the fact is not so; for if you root up the thorns and thistles, +and keep your land clean, then assuredly you will grow fruit-trees and +not thorns, wheat and not thistles, according to those laws of Nature +which are the voice of God expressed in facts.</p> +<p>And yet the words are true. There is a curse upon the earth, +though not one which, by altering the laws of nature, has made natural +facts untrustworthy. There is a curse on the earth; such a curse +as is expressed, I believe, in the old Hebrew text, where the word “adamah” +(correctly translated in our version “the ground”) signifies, +as I am told, not this planet; but simply the soil from whence we get +our food; such a curse as certainly is expressed by the Septuagint and +the Vulgate versions: “Cursed is the earth”— εν +τοις ερyοις +σου; “in opere tuo,” as the Vulgate +has it—“in thy works.” Man’s work is too +often the curse of the very planet which he misuses. None should +know that better than the botanist, who sees whole regions desolate, +and given up to sterility and literal thorns and thistles, on account +of man’s sin and folly, ignorance and greedy waste. Well +said that veteran botanist, the venerable Elias Fries, of Lund:</p> +<p>“A broad band of waste land follows gradually in the steps +of cultivation. If it expands, its centre and its cradle dies, +and on the outer borders only do we find green shoots. But it +is not impossible, only difficult, for man, without renouncing the advantage +of culture itself, one day to make reparation for the injury which he +has inflicted: he is appointed lord of creation. True it is that +thorns and thistles, ill-favoured and poisonous plants, well named by +botanists rubbish plants, mark the track which man has proudly traversed +through the earth. Before him lay original Nature in her wild +but sublime beauty. Behind him he leaves the desert, a deformed +and ruined land; for childish desire of destruction, or thoughtless +squandering of vegetable treasures, has destroyed the character of nature; +and, terrified, man himself flies from the arena of his actions, leaving +the impoverished earth to barbarous races or to animals, so long as +yet another spot in virgin beauty smiles before him. Here again, +in selfish pursuit of profit, and consciously or unconsciously following +the abominable principle of the great moral vileness which one man has +expressed—‘Après nous le Déluge’—he +begins anew the work of destruction. Thus did cultivation, driven +out, leave the East, and perhaps the deserts formerly robbed of their +coverings; like the wild hordes of old over beautiful Greece, thus rolls +this conquest with fearful rapidity from East to West through America; +and the planter now often leaves the already exhausted land, and the +eastern climate, become infertile through the demolition of the forests, +to introduce a similar revolution into the Far West.” <a name="citation320"></a><a href="#footnote320">{320}</a></p> +<p>As we proceed, we find nothing in the general tone of Scripture which +can hinder our natural theology being at once scriptural and scientific.</p> +<p>If it is to be scientific, it must begin by approaching Nature at +once with a cheerful and reverent spirit, as a noble, healthy, and trustworthy +thing: and what is that, save the spirit of those who wrote the 104th, +147th, and 148th Psalms—the spirit, too, of him who wrote that +Song of the Three Children, which is, as it were, the flower and crown +of the Old Testament, the summing up of all that is most true and eternal +in the old Jewish faith; and which, as long as it is sung in our churches, +is the charter and title-deed of all Christian students of those works +of the Lord, which it calls on to bless Him, praise Him, and magnify +Him for ever?</p> +<p>What next will be demanded of us by physical science? Belief, +certainly, just now, in the permanence of natural laws. Why, that +is taken for granted, I hold, throughout the Bible. I cannot see +how our Lord’s parables, drawn from the birds and the flowers, +the seasons and the weather, have any logical weight, or can be considered +as aught but capricious and fanciful illustrations—which God forbid—unless +we look at them as instances of laws of the natural world, which find +their analogues in the laws of the spiritual world, the kingdom of God. +I cannot conceive a man’s writing that 104th Psalm who had not +the most deep, the most earnest sense of the permanence of natural law. +But more: the fact is expressly asserted again and again. “They +continue this day according to Thine ordinance, for all things serve +Thee.” “Thou hast made them fast for ever and ever. +Thou hast given them a law which shall not be broken—”</p> +<p>Let us pass on, gentlemen. There is no more to be said about +this matter.</p> +<p>But next, it will be demanded of us that natural theology shall set +forth a God whose character is consistent with all the facts of nature, +and not only with those which are pleasant and beautiful. That +challenge was accepted, and I think victoriously, by Bishop Butler as +far as the Christian religion is concerned. As far as the Scripture +is concerned, we may answer thus:</p> +<p>It is said to us—I know that it is said: You tell us of a God +of love, a God of flowers and sunshine, of singing birds and little +children. But there are more facts in nature than these. +There is premature death, pestilence, famine. And if you answer: +Man has control over these; they are caused by man’s ignorance +and sin, and by his breaking of natural laws—what will you make +of those destructive powers over which he has no control; of the hurricane +and the earthquake; of poisons, vegetable and mineral; of those parasitic +Entozoa whose awful abundance, and awful destructiveness in man and +beast, science is just revealing—a new page of danger and loathsomeness? +How does that suit your conception of a God of love?</p> +<p>We can answer: Whether or not it suits our conception of a God of +love, it suits Scripture’s conception of Him. For nothing +is more clear—nay, is it not urged again and again, as a blot +on Scripture?—that it reveals a God not merely of love, but of +sternness—a God in whose eyes physical pain is not the worst of +evils, nor animal life (too often miscalled human life) the most precious +of objects—a God who destroys, when it seems fit to Him, and that +wholesale, and seemingly without either pity or discrimination, man, +woman and child, visiting the sins of the fathers on the children, making +the land empty and bare, and destroying from off it man and beast! +This is the God of the Old Testament. And if any say (as is often +too rashly said): This is not the God of the New: I answer, but have +you read your New Testament? Have you read the latter chapters +of St. Matthew? Have you read the opening of the Epistle to the +Romans? Have you read the Book of Revelations? If so, will +you say that the God of the New Testament is, compared with the God +of the Old, less awful, less destructive, and therefore less like the +Being—granting always that there is such a Being—who presides +over nature and her destructive powers? It is an awful problem. +But the writers of the Bible have faced it valiantly. Physical +science is facing it valiantly now. Therefore natural theology +may face it likewise. Remember Carlyle’s great words about +poor Francesca in the Inferno: “Infinite pity, yet also infinite +rigour of law. It is so Nature is made. It is so Dante discerned +that she was made.”</p> +<p>There are two other points on which I must beg leave to say a few +words. Physical science will demand of our natural theologians +that they should be aware of their importance, and let (as Mr. Matthew +Arnold would say) their thoughts play freely round them. I mean +questions of Embryology and questions of Race.</p> +<p>On the first there may be much to be said, which is for the present +best left unsaid, even here. I only ask you to recollect how often +in Scripture those two plain old words, beget and bring forth, occur, +and in what important passages. And I ask you to remember that +marvellous essay on Natural Theology, if I may so call it in all reverence, +the 139th Psalm, and judge for yourself whether he who wrote that did +not consider the study of Embryology as important, as significant, as +worthy of his deepest attention, as an Owen, a Huxley, or a Darwin. +Nay, I will go farther still, and say, that in those great words—“Thine +eyes did see my substance, yet being imperfect; and in Thy book all +my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as +yet there was none of them,”—in those words, I say, the +Psalmist has anticipated that realistic view of embryological questions +to which our most modern philosophers are, it seems to me, slowly, half +unconsciously, but still inevitably, returning.</p> +<p>Next, as to Race. Some persons now have a nervous fear of that +word, and of allowing any importance to difference of races. Some +dislike it, because they think that it endangers the modern notions +of democratic equality. Others because they fear that it may be +proved that the negro is not a man and a brother. I think the +fears of both parties groundless. As for the negro, I not only +believe him to be of the same race as myself, but that—if Mr. +Darwin’s theories are true—science has proved that he must +be such. I should have thought, as a humble student of such questions, +that the one fact of the unique distribution of the hair in all races +of human beings, was full moral proof that they had all had one common +ancestor. But this is not matter of natural theology. What +is matter thereof, is this:</p> +<p>Physical science is proving more and more the immense importance +of Race; the importance of hereditary powers, hereditary organs, hereditary +habits, in all organised beings, from the lowest plant to the highest +animal. She is proving more and more the omnipresent action of +the differences between races; how the more favoured race (she cannot +avoid using the epithet) exterminates the less favoured, or at least +expels it, and forces it, under penalty of death, to adapt itself to +new circumstances; and, in a word, that competition between every race +and every individual of that race, and reward according to deserts, +is (as far as we can see) an universal law of living things. And +she says—for the facts of history prove it—that as it is +among the races of plants and animals, so it has been unto this day +among the races of men.</p> +<p>The natural theology of the future must take count of these tremendous +and even painful facts: and she may take count of them. For Scripture +has taken count of them already. It talks continually—it +has been blamed for talking so much—of races, of families; of +their wars, their struggles, their exterminations; of races favoured, +of races rejected, of remnants being saved to continue the race; of +hereditary tendencies, hereditary excellences, hereditary guilt. +Its sense of the reality and importance of descent is so intense, that +it speaks of a whole tribe or a whole family by the name of its common +ancestor, and the whole nation of the Jews is Israel, to the end. +And if I be told this is true of the Old Testament, but not of the New, +I must answer: What! does not St. Paul hold the identity of the whole +Jewish race with Israel their forefather, as strongly as any prophet +of the Old Testament? And what is the central historic fact, save +One, of the New Testament, but the conquest of Jerusalem—the dispersion, +all but destruction of a race, not by miracle, but by invasion, because +found wanting when weighed in the stern balances of natural and social +law?</p> +<p>Gentlemen, think of this. I only suggest the thought; but I +do not suggest it in haste. Think over it—by the light which +our Lord’s parables, His analogies between the physical and social +constitution of the world, afford—and consider whether those awful +words, fulfilled then and fulfilled so often since—“The +kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and given to a nation bringing +forth the fruits hereof”—may not be the supreme instance, +the most complex development of a law which runs through all created +things, down to the moss which struggles for existence on the rock!</p> +<p>Do I say that this is all? That man is merely a part of Nature, +the puppet of circumstances and hereditary tendencies? That brute +competition is the one law of his life? That he is doomed for +ever to be the slave of his own needs, enforced by an internecine struggle +for existence? God forbid. I believe not only in Nature, +but in Grace. I believe that this is man’s fate only as +long as he sows to the flesh, and of the flesh reaps corruption. +I believe that if he will</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Strive upward, working out the beast,<br />And let the ape and tiger +die;</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>if he will be even as wise as the social animals; as the ant and +the bee, who have risen, if not to the virtue of all-embracing charity, +at least to the virtues of self-sacrifice and patriotism, <a name="citation326"></a><a href="#footnote326">{326}</a> +then he will rise towards a higher sphere; toward that kingdom of God +of which it is written: “He that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in +God, and God in him.”</p> +<p>Whether that be matter of natural theology, I cannot tell as yet. +But as for all the former questions—all that St. Paul means when +he talks of the law, and how the works of the flesh bring men under +the law, stern and terrible and destructive, though holy and just and +good,—they are matter of natural theology; and I believe that +on them, as elsewhere, Scripture and science will be ultimately found +to coincide.</p> +<p>But here we have to face an objection which you will often hear now +from scientific men, and still oftener from non-scientific men; who +will say: It matters not to us whether Scripture contradicts or does +not contradict a scientific natural theology; for we hold such a science +to be impossible and naught. The old Jews put a God into Nature, +and therefore of course they could see, as you see, what they had already +put there. But we see no God in Nature. We do not deny the +existence of a God; we merely say that scientific research does not +reveal Him to us. We see no marks of design in physical phenomena. +What used to be considered as marks of design can be better explained +by considering them as the results of evolution according to necessary +laws; and you and Scripture make a mere assumption when you ascribe +them to the operation of a mind like the human mind.</p> +<p>Now, on this point I believe we may answer fearlessly: If you cannot +see it we cannot help you. If the heavens do not declare to you +the glory of God, nor the firmament show you His handy-work, then our +poor arguments about them will not show it. “The eye can +only see that which it brings with it the power of seeing.” +We can only reassert that we see design everywhere, and that the vast +majority of the human race in every age and clime has seen it. +Analogy from experience, sound induction (as we hold) from the works +not only of men but of animals, has made it an all but self-evident +truth to us, that wherever there is arrangement, there must be an arranger; +wherever there is adaptation of means to an end, there must be an adapter; +wherever an organisation, there must be an organiser. The existence +of a designing God is no more demonstrable from Nature than the existence +of other human beings independent of ourselves, or, indeed, the existence +of our own bodies. But, like the belief in them, the belief in +Him has become an article of our common sense. And that this designing +mind is, in some respects, similar to the human mind, is proved to us +(as Sir John Herschel well puts it) by the mere fact that we can discover +and comprehend the processes of Nature.</p> +<p>But here again, if we be contradicted, we can only reassert. +If the old words, “He that made the eye, shall He not see? +He that planted the ear, shall He not hear?” do not at once commend +themselves to the intellect of any person, we shall never convince that +person by any arguments drawn from the absurdity of conceiving the invention +of optics by a blind race, or of music by a deaf one.</p> +<p>So we will assert our own old-fashioned notion boldly; and more: +we will say, in spite of ridicule, that if such a God exists, final +causes must exist also. That the whole universe must be one chain +of final causes. That if there be a Supreme Reason, He must have +a reason, and that a good reason, for every physical phenomenon.</p> +<p>We will tell the modern scientific man—You are nervously afraid +of the mention of final causes. You quote against them Bacon’s +saying, that they are barren virgins; that no physical fact was ever +discovered or explained by them. You are right as far as regards +yourselves; you have no business with final causes, because final causes +are moral causes, and you are physical students only. We, the +natural theologians, have business with them. Your duty is to +find out the How of things; ours, to find out the Why. If you +rejoin that we shall never find out the Why, unless we first learn something +of the How, we shall not deny that. It may be most useful, I had +almost said necessary, that the clergy should have some scientific training. +It may be most useful, I sometimes dream of a day when it will be considered +necessary, that every candidate for ordination should be required to +have passed creditably in at least one branch of physical science, if +it be only to teach him the method of sound scientific thought. +But our having learnt the How, will not make it needless, much less +impossible, for us to study the Why. It will merely make more +clear to us the things of which we have to study the Why; and enable +us to keep the How and the Why more religiously apart from each other.</p> +<p>But if it be said: After all, there is no Why; the doctrine of evolution, +by doing away with the theory of creation, does away with that of final +causes—let us answer, boldly: Not in the least. We might +accept all that Mr. Darwin, all that Professor Huxley, has so learnedly +and so acutely written on physical science, and yet preserve our natural +theology on exactly the same basis as that on which Butler and Paley +left it. That we should have to develop it, I do not deny. +That we should have to relinquish it, I do.</p> +<p>Let me press this thought earnestly on you. I know that many +wiser and better men than I have fears on this point. I cannot +share in them.</p> +<p>All, it seems to me, that the new doctrines of Evolution demand is +this. We all agree, for the fact is patent, that our own bodies, +and indeed the body of every living creature, are evolved from a seemingly +simple germ by natural laws, without visible action of any designing +will or mind, into the full organisation of a human or other creature. +Yet we do not say, on that account: God did not create me; I only grew. +We hold in this case to our old idea, and say: If there be evolution, +there must be an evolver. Now the new physical theories only ask +us, it seems to me, to extend this conception to the whole universe: +to believe that not individuals merely, but whole varieties and races, +the total organised life on this planet, and it may be the total organisation +of the universe, have been evolved just as our bodies are, by natural +laws acting through circumstance. This may be true, or may be +false. But all its truth can do to the natural theologian will +be to make him believe that the Creator bears the same relation to the +whole universe as that Creator undeniably bears to every individual +human body.</p> +<p>I entreat you to weigh these words, which have not been written in +haste; and I entreat you also, if you wish to see how little the new +theory, that species may have been gradually created by variation, natural +selection, and so forth, interferes with the old theory of design, contrivance, +and adaptation, nay, with the fullest admission of benevolent final +causes—I entreat you, I say, to study Darwin’s “Fertilisation +of Orchids”—a book which (whether his main theory be true +or not) will still remain a most valuable addition to natural theology.</p> +<p>For suppose, gentlemen, that all the species of Orchids, and not +only they, but their congeners—the Gingers, the Arrowroots, the +Bananas—are all the descendants of one original form, which was +most probably nearly allied to the Snowdrop and the Iris. What +then? Would that be one whit more wonderful, more unworthy of +the wisdom and power of God, than if they were, as most believe, created +each and all at once, with their minute and often imaginary shades of +difference? What would the natural theologian have to say, were +the first theory true, save that God’s works are even more wonderful +than he always believed them to be? As for the theory being impossible: +we must leave the discussion of that to physical students. It +is not for us clergymen to limit the power of God. “Is anything +too hard for the Lord?” asked the prophet of old: and we have +a right to ask it as long as time shall last. If it be said that +natural selection is too simple a cause to produce such fantastic variety: +that, again, is a question to be settled exclusively by physical students. +All we have to say on the matter is, that we always knew that God works +by very simple, or seemingly simple, means; that the whole universe, +as far as we could discern it, was one concatenation of the most simple +means; that it was wonderful, yea, miraculous in our eyes, that a child +should resemble its parents, that the raindrops should make the grass +grow, that the grass should become flesh, and the flesh sustenance for +the thinking brain of man. Ought God to seem less or more august +in our eyes, when we are told that His means are even more simple than +we supposed? We held Him to be Almighty and Allwise. Are +we to reverence Him less or more, if we hear that His might is greater, +His wisdom deeper, than we ever dreamed? We believed that His +care was over all His works; that His Providence watched perpetually +over the whole universe. We were taught—some of us at least—by +Holy Scripture, to believe that the whole history of the universe was +made up of special Providences. If, then, that should be true +which Mr. Darwin writes: “It may be metaphorically said that natural +selection is daily and hourly scrutinising throughout the world, every +variation, even the slightest; rejecting that which is bad, preserving +and adding up that which is good, silently and incessantly working whenever +and wherever opportunity offers at the improvement of every organic +being”—if that, I say, were proven to be true, ought God’s +care and God’s providence to seem less or more magnificent in +our eyes? Of old it was said by Him without whom nothing is made: +“My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.” Shall we +quarrel with Science if she should show how those words are true? +What, in one word, should we have to say but this?—We knew of +old that God was so wise that He could make all things; but behold, +He is so much wiser than even that, that He can make all things make +themselves.</p> +<p>But it may be said: These notions are contrary to Scripture. +I must beg very humbly, but very firmly, to demur to that opinion. +Scripture says that God created. But it nowhere defines that term. +The means, the How of Creation, is nowhere specified. Scripture, +again, says that organised beings were produced each according to their +kind. But it nowhere defines that term. What a kind includes, +whether it includes or not the capacity of varying (which is just the +question in point), is nowhere specified. And I think it a most +important rule in scriptural exegesis, to be most cautious as to limiting +the meaning of any term which Scripture itself has not limited, lest +we find ourselves putting into the teaching of Scripture our own human +theories or prejudices. And consider, Is not man a kind? +And has not mankind varied, physically, intellectually, spiritually? +Is not the Bible, from beginning to end, a history of the variations +of mankind, for worse or for better, from their original type?</p> +<p>Let us rather look with calmness, and even with hope and good will, +on these new theories; for, correct or incorrect, they surely mark a +tendency toward a more, not a less, scriptural view of nature. +Are they not attempts, whether successful or unsuccessful, to escape +from that shallow mechanical notion of the universe and its Creator +which was too much in vogue in the eighteenth century among divines +as well as philosophers; the theory which Goethe (to do him justice), +and after him Mr. Thomas Carlyle, have treated with such noble scorn; +the theory, I mean, that God has wound up the universe like a clock, +and left it to tick by itself till it runs down, never troubling Himself +with it, save possibly—for even that was only half believed—by +rare miraculous interferences with the laws which He Himself had made? +Out of that chilling dream of a dead universe ungoverned by an absent +God, the human mind, in Germany especially, tried during the early part +of this century to escape by strange roads; roads by which there was +no escape, because they were not laid down on the firm ground of scientific +facts. Then, in despair, men turned to the facts which they had +neglected, and said: We are weary of philosophy; we will study you, +and you alone. As for God, who can find Him? And they have +worked at the facts like gallant and honest men; and their work, like +all good work, has produced, in the last fifty years, results more enormous +than they even dreamed. But what are they finding, more and more, +below their facts, below all phenomena which the scalpel and the microscope +can show? A something nameless, invisible, imponderable, yet seemingly +omnipresent and omnipotent, retreating before them deeper and deeper, +the deeper they delve: namely, the life which shapes and makes—that +which the old school-men called “forma formativa,” which +they call vital force and what not—metaphors all, or rather counters +to mark an unknown quantity, as if they should call it <i>x</i> or <i>y</i>. +One says: It is all vibrations; but his reason, unsatisfied, asks: And +what makes the vibrations vibrate? Another: It is all physiological +units; but his reason asks: What is the “physis,” the nature +and “innate tendency” of the units? A third: It may +be all caused by infinitely numerous “gemmules;” but his +reason asks him: What puts infinite order into those gemmules, instead +of infinite anarchy? I mention these theories not to laugh at +them. No man has a deeper respect for those who have put them +forth. Nor would it interfere with my theological creed, if any +or all of them were proven to be true to-morrow. I mention them +only to show that beneath all these theories—true or false—still +lies the unknown <i>x</i>. Scientific men are becoming more and +more aware of it; I had almost said ready to worship it. More +and more the noblest-minded of them are engrossed by the mystery of +that unknown and truly miraculous element in Nature, which is always +escaping them, though they cannot escape it. How should they escape +it? Was it not written of old: “Whither shall I go from +Thy presence, or whither shall I flee from Thy spirit?”</p> +<p>Ah that we clergy would summon up courage to tell them that! +Courage to tell them—what need not hamper for a moment the freedom +of their investigations, what will add to them a sanction, I may say +a sanctity—that the unknown <i>x</i> which lies below all phenomena, +which is for ever at work on all phenomena, on the whole and on every +part of the whole, down to the colouring of every leaf and the curdling +of every cell of protoplasm, is none other than that which the old Hebrews +called—(by a metaphor, no doubt—for how can man speak of +the unseen, save in metaphors drawn from the seen?—but by the +only metaphor adequate to express the perpetual and omnipresent miracle)—The +Breath of God; The Spirit who is The Lord and Giver of Life.</p> +<p>In the rest, gentlemen, let us think, and let us observe. For +if we are ignorant, not merely of the results of experimental science, +but of the methods thereof, then we and the men of science shall have +no common ground whereon to stretch out kindly hands to each other.</p> +<p>But let us have patience and faith; and not suppose in haste, that +when those hands are stretched out it will be needful for us to leave +our standing-ground, or to cast ourselves down from the pinnacle of +the temple to earn popularity; above all, from earnest students who +are too high-minded to care for popularity themselves.</p> +<p>True, if we have an intelligent belief in those Creeds and those +Scriptures which are committed to our keeping, then our philosophy cannot +be that which is just now in vogue. But all we have to do, I believe, +is to wait. Nominalism, and that “Sensationalism” +which has sprung from nominalism, are running fast to seed; Comtism +seems to me its supreme effort: after which the whirligig of Time may +bring round its revenges; and Realism, and we who own the Realist creeds, +may have our turn. Only wait. When a grave, able, and authoritative +philosopher explains a mother’s love of her newborn babe, as Professor +Bain has done, in a really eloquent passage of his book on the “Emotions +and the Will” (Second Edition, pp. 78, 79), then the end of that +philosophy is very near; and an older, simpler, more human, and, as +I hold, more philosophic explanation of that natural phenomenon, and +of all others, may get a hearing.</p> +<p>Only wait; and fret not yourselves, else shall you be moved to do +evil. Remember the saying of the wise man: “Go not after +the world. She turns on her axis; and if thou stand still long +enough she will turn round to thee.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<p><a name="footnote0"></a><a href="#citation0">{0}</a> The Macmillan +and Co. book from which this eBook was transcribed (“Scientific +Lectures and Essays”) also contains “Town Geology”. +However, as Charles Kingsley published that as a separate book it is +not included here. It is available from Project Gutenberg. - DP.</p> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> An Address +given to the Scientific Society of Winchester, 1871.</p> +<p><a name="footnote181"></a><a href="#citation181">{181}</a> +A Lecture delivered to the Officers of the Royal Artillery, Woolwich, +1872.</p> +<p><a name="footnote201"></a><a href="#citation201">{201}</a> +A Lecture delivered at the Royal Institution, London, 1867.</p> +<p><a name="footnote223"></a><a href="#citation223">{223}</a> +For an account of Sorcery and Fetishism among the African Negros, see +Burton’s “Lake Regions of Central Africa,” vol. ii. +pp. 341-60.</p> +<p><a name="footnote229"></a><a href="#citation229">{229}</a> +A Lecture delivered at the Royal Institution.</p> +<p><a name="footnote262"></a><a href="#citation262">{262}</a> +A Lecture delivered at the Mechanics’ Institute, Odiham, 1857.</p> +<p><a name="footnote290"></a><a href="#citation290">{290}</a> +Lecture delivered at Reading, 1846.</p> +<p><a name="footnote313"></a><a href="#citation313">{313}</a> +Novalis, I think, says that one’s own thought gains quite infinitely +in value as soon as one finds it shared by even one other human being. +The saying has proved true, at least, to me. The morning after +this paper was read, I received a book, “The Genesis of Species, +by St. George Mivart, F.R.S.” The name of the author demanded +all attention and respect; and as I read on, I found him, to my exceeding +pleasure, advocating views which I had long held, with a learning and +ability to which I have no pretensions. The book will, doubtless, +excite much useful criticism and discussion in the scientific world. +I hope that it may do the same in the clerical world; and I earnestly +beg those clergymen who heard me with so much patience and courtesy +at Sion College, to ponder well Mr. Mivart’s last chapter, on +“Theology and Evolution.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote320"></a><a href="#citation320">{320}</a> +Quoted from Schleiden’s “The Plant, a Biography.”—Lecture +XI. <i>in fine.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote326"></a><a href="#citation326">{326}</a> +I am well aware what a serious question is opened up in these words. +The fact that the great majority of workers among the social insects +are barren females or nuns, devoting themselves to the care of other +individuals’ offspring, by an act of self-sacrifice, and that +by means of that self-sacrifice these communities grow large and prosperous, +ought to be well weighed just now; both by those who hold that morality +has been evolved from perceptions of what was useful or pleasurable, +and by those who hold as I do that morality is one, immutable and eternal. +Those who take the former view (confounding, as Mr. Mivart well points +out in his Genesis of Species, “material” and “formal” +morality) have no difficulty in tracing the germs of the highest human +morality in animals; for self-interest is, in their eyes, the ultimate +ground of morality, and the average animal is utterly selfish. +But certain animals perform acts, as in the case of working bees and +ants, and (as I hold) in the case of mothers working for and protecting +their offspring, which at least seem formally moral; because they seem +founded on self-sacrifice. I am well aware, I say again, of the +very serious admissions which we clergymen should have to make if we +confessed that these acts really are that which they seem to be. +But I do not see why we should not be as just to an ant as to a human +being; I am ready, with Socrates, to follow the Logos whithersoever +it leads; and I hope that Mr. Mivart will reconsider the two latter +paragraphs of p. 196, and let his “thoughts play freely” +round this curious subject. Perhaps, in so doing, he may lay his +hand on an even sharper weapon than those which he has already used +against the sensationalist theory of morals.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCIENTIFIC ESSAYS AND LECTURES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 10427-h.htm or 10427-h.zip ****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/2/10427 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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