{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1486/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1486","id":"gutenberg_1486","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1486","summary":null,"tags":["American essays","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Science - Physics"],"text":"Produced by Charles Keller\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE UNSEEN WORLD AND OTHER ESSAYS\n\nBy John Fiske\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: This reviews Draper's Science and Religion and\ncontrasts two Dante translations.\n\n\n\n  TO\n  JAMES SIME.\n\n  MY DEAR SIME:\n\n  Life has now and then some supreme moments of pure happiness,\n  which in reminiscence give to single days the value of months\n  or years. Two or three such moments it has been my good fortune\n  to enjoy with you, in talking over the mysteries which forever\n  fascinate while they forever baffle us. It was our midnight talks\n  in Great Russell Street and the Addison Road, and our bright May\n  holiday on the Thames, that led me to write this scanty essay on\n  the \"Unseen World,\" and to whom could I so heartily dedicate it\n  as to you? I only wish it were more worthy of its origin. As for\n  the dozen papers which I have appended to it, by way of clearing\n  out my workshop, I hope you will read them indulgently, and\n  believe\n  me\n\n  Ever faithfully yours,\n  JOHN\n  FISKE.\n\n  HARVARD UNIVERSITY, February 3, 1876.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n     I.   THE UNSEEN WORLD\n     II.  \"THE TO-MORROW OF DEATH\"\n     III. THE JESUS OF HISTORY\n     IV.  THE CHRIST OF DOGMA\n     V.   A WORD ABOUT MIRACLES\n     VI.  DRAPER ON SCIENCE AND RELIGION\n     VII. NATHAN THE WISE\n     VIII. HISTORICAL DIFFICULTIES\n     IX.  THE FAMINE OF 1770 IN BENGAL\n     X.   SPAIN AND THE NETHERLANDS\n     XI.  LONGFELLOW'S DANTE\n     XII. PAINE'S \"ST. PETER\"\n     XIII. A PHILOSOPHY OF ART\n     XIV. ATHENIAN AND AMERICAN LIFE\n\n\n\n\nESSAYS.\n\n\n\n\nI. THE UNSEEN WORLD.\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\n\"What are you, where did you come from, and whither are you bound?\"--the\nquestion which from Homer's days has been put to the wayfarer in strange\nlands--is likewise the all-absorbing question which man is ever asking\nof the universe of which he is himself so tiny yet so wondrous a part.\nFrom the earliest times the ultimate purpose of all scientific research\nhas been to elicit fragmentary or partial responses to this question,\nand philosophy has ever busied itself in piecing together these several\nbits of information according to the best methods at its disposal, in\norder to make up something like a satisfactory answer. In old times the\nbest methods which philosophy had at its disposal for this purpose\nwere such as now seem very crude, and accordingly ancient philosophers\nbungled considerably in their task, though now and then they came\nsurprisingly near what would to-day be called the truth. It was natural\nthat their methods should be crude, for scientific inquiry had as yet\nsupplied but scanty materials for them to work with, and it was only\nafter a very long course of speculation and criticism that men could\nfind out what ways of going to work are likely to prove successful and\nwhat are not. The earliest thinkers, indeed, were further hindered from\naccomplishing much by the imperfections of the language by the aid of\nwhich their thinking was done; for science and philosophy have had to\nmake a serviceable terminology by dint of long and arduous trial\nand practice, and linguistic processes fit for expressing general or\nabstract notions accurately grew up only through numberless failures and\nat the expense of much inaccurate thinking and loose talking. As in most\nof nature's processes, there was a great waste of energy before a good\nresult could be secured. Accordingly primitive men were very wide of the\nmark in their views of nature. To them the world was a sort of enchanted\nground, peopled with sprites and goblins; the quaint notions with which\nwe now amuse our children in fairy tales represent a style of thinking\nwhich once was current among grown men and women, and which is still\ncurrent wherever men remain in a savage condition. The theories of the\nworld wrought out by early priest-philosophers were in great part made\nup of such grotesque notions; and having become variously implicated\nwith ethical opinions as to the nature and consequences of right and\nwrong behaviour, they acquired a kind of sanctity, so that any thinker\nwho in the light of a wider experience ventured to alter or amend the\nprimitive theory was likely to be vituperated as an irreligious man or\natheist. This sort of inference has not yet been wholly abandoned,\neven in civilized communities. Even to-day books are written about \"the\nconflict between religion and science,\" and other books are written\nwith intent to reconcile the two presumed antagonists. But when we look\nbeneath the surface of things, we see that in reality there has\nnever been any conflict between religion and science, nor is any\nreconciliation called for where harmony has always existed. The real\nhistorical conflict, which has been thus curiously misnamed, has been\nthe conflict between the more-crude opinions belonging to the science of\nan earlier age and the less-crude opinions belonging to the science of\na later age. In the course of this contest the more-crude opinions\nhave usually been defended in the name of religion, and the less-crude\nopinions have invariably won the victory; but religion itself, which is\nnot concerned with opinion, but with the aspiration which leads us to\nstrive after a purer and holier life, has seldom or never been attacked.\nOn the contrary, the scientific men who have conducted the battle on\nbehalf of the less-crude opinions have generally been influenced by\nthis religious aspiration quite as strongly as the apologists of the\nmore-crude opinions, and so far from religious feeling having been\nweakened by their perennial series of victories, it has apparently been\ngrowing deeper and stronger all the time. The religious sense is as yet\ntoo feebly developed in most of us; but certainly in no preceding age\nhave men taken up the work of life with more earnestness or with more\nreal faith in the unseen than at the present day, when so much of what\nwas once deemed all-important knowledge has been consigned to the limbo\nof mythology.\n\nThe more-crude theories of early times are to be chiefly distinguished\nfrom the less-crude theories of to-day as being largely the products\nof random guesswork. Hypothesis, or guesswork, indeed, lies at the\nfoundation of all scientific knowledge. The riddle of the universe, like\nless important riddles, is unravelled only by approximative trials, and\nthe most brilliant discoverers have usually been the bravest guessers.\nKepler's laws were the result of indefatigable guessing, and so, in\na somewhat different sense, was the wave-theory of light. But the\nguesswork of scientific inquirers is very different now from what it was\nin older times. In the first place, we have slowly learned that a guess\nmust be verified before it can be accepted as a sound theory; and,\nsecondly, so many truths have been established beyond contravention,\nthat the latitude for hypothesis is much less than it once was.\nNine tenths of the guesses which might have occurred to a mediaeval\nphilosopher would now be ruled out as inadmissible, because they would\nnot harmonize with the knowledge which has been acquired since the\nMiddle Ages. There is one direction especially in which this continuous\nlimitation of guesswork by ever-accumulating experience has manifested\nitself. From first to last, all our speculative successes and failures\nhave agreed in teaching us that the most general principles of action\nwhich prevail to-day, and in our own corner of the universe, have always\nprevailed throughout as much of the universe as is accessible to our\nresearch. They have taught us that for the deciphering of the past and\nthe predicting of the future, no hypotheses are admissible which are not\nbased upon the actual behaviour of things in the present. Once there was\nunlimited facility for guessing as to how the solar system might have\ncome into existence; now the origin of the sun and planets is adequately\nexplained when we have unfolded all that is implied in the processes\nwhich are still going on in the solar system. Formerly appeals were made\nto all manner of violent agencies to account for the changes which the\nearth's surface has undergone since our planet began its independent\ncareer; now it is seen that the same slow working of rain and tide, of\nwind and wave and frost, of secular contraction and of earthquake pulse,\nwhich is visible to-day, will account for the whole. It is not long\nsince it was supposed that a species of animals or plants could be swept\naway only by some unusual catastrophe, while for the origination of new\nspecies something called an act of \"special creation\" was necessary; and\nas to the nature of such extraordinary events there was endless room for\nguesswork; but the discovery of natural selection was the discovery of a\nprocess, going on perpetually under our very eyes, which must inevitably\nof itself extinguish some species and bring new ones into being. In\nthese and countless other ways we have learned that all the rich variety\nof nature is pervaded by unity of action, such as we might expect to\nfind if nature is the manifestation of an infinite God who is without\nvariableness or shadow of turning, but quite incompatible with the\nfitful behaviour of the anthropomorphic deities of the old mythologies.\nBy thus abstaining from all appeal to agencies that are extra-cosmic,\nor not involved in the orderly system of events that we see occurring\naround us, we have at last succeeded in eliminating from philosophic\nspeculation the character of random guesswork which at first of\nnecessity belonged to it. Modern scientific hypothesis is so far from\nbeing a haphazard mental proceeding that it is perhaps hardly fair to\nclassify it with guesses. It is lifted out of the plane of guesswork,\nin so far as it has acquired the character of inevitable inference from\nthat which now is to that which has been or will be. Instead of the\ninnumerable particular assumptions which were once admitted into cosmic\nphilosophy, we are now reduced to the one universal assumption which\nhas been variously described as the \"principle of continuity,\" the\n\"uniformity of nature,\" the \"persistence of force,\" or the \"law of\ncausation,\" and which has been variously explained as a necessary datum\nfor scientific thinking or as a net result of all induction. I am not\nunwilling, however, to adopt the language of a book which has furnished\nthe occasion for the present discussion, and to say that this grand\nassumption is a supreme act of faith, the definite expression of a\ntrust that the infinite Sustainer of the universe \"will not put us to\npermanent intellectual confusion.\" For in this mode of statement the\nharmony between the scientific and the religious points of view is\nwell brought out. It is as affording the only outlet from permanent\nintellectual confusion that inquirers have been driven to appeal to\nthe principle of continuity; and it is by unswerving reliance upon this\nprinciple that we have obtained such insight into the past, present, and\nfuture of the world as we now possess.\n\nThe work just mentioned [1] is especially interesting as an attempt to\nbring the probable destiny of the human soul into connection with the\nmodern theories which explain the past and future career of the physical\nuniverse in accordance with the principle of continuity. Its authorship\nis as yet unknown, but it is believed to be the joint production of\ntwo of the most eminent physicists in Great Britain, and certainly the\naccurate knowledge and the ingenuity and subtlety of thought displayed\nin it are such as to lend great probability to this conjecture. Some\naccount of the argument it contains may well precede the suggestions\npresently to be set forth concerning the Unseen World; and we shall find\nit most convenient to begin, like our authors, with a brief statement of\nwhat the principle of continuity teaches as to the proximate beginning\nand end of the visible universe. I shall in the main set down only\nresults, having elsewhere [2] given a simple exposition of the arguments\nupon which these results are founded.\n\n [1] The Unseen Universe; or, Physical Speculations on a Future\nState. [Attributed to Professors TAIT and BALFOUR STEWART.] New York:\nMacmillan & Co. 1875. 8vo. pp. 212.\n\n [2] Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, based on the Doctrine of\nEvolution. Boston: J. R. Osgood & Co. 1875. 2 vols. 8vo.\n\n\nThe first great cosmological speculation which has been raised quite\nabove the plane of guesswork by making no other assumption than that of\nthe uniformity of nature, is the well-known Nebular Hypothesis. Every\nastronomer knows that the earth, like all other cosmical bodies\nwhich are flattened at the poles, was formerly a mass of fluid, and\nconsequently filled a much larger space than at present. It is further\nagreed, on all hands, that the sun is a contracting body, since there\nis no other possible way of accounting for the enormous quantity of heat\nwhich he generates. The so-called primeval nebula follows as a necessary\ninference from these facts. There was once a time when the earth was\ndistended on all sides away out to the moon and beyond it, so that the\nmatter now contained in the moon was then a part of our equatorial\nzone. And at a still remoter date in the past, the mass of the sun was\ndiffused in every direction beyond the orbit of Neptune, and no planet\nhad an individual existence, for all were indistinguishable parts of the\nsolar mass. When the great mass of the sun, increased by the relatively\nsmall mass of all the planets put together, was spread out in this way,\nit was a rare vapour or gas. At the period where the question is taken\nup in Laplace's treatment of the nebular theory, the shape of this mass\nis regarded as spheroidal; but at an earlier period its shape may well\nhave been as irregular as that of any of the nebulae which we now see\nin distant parts of the heavens, for, whatever its primitive shape, the\nequalization of its rotation would in time make it spheroidal. That the\nQUANTITY of rotation was the same then as now is unquestionable; for no\nsystem of particles, great or small, can acquire or lose rotation by any\naction going on within itself, any more than a man could pick himself\nup by his waistband and lift himself over a stone wale So that\nthe primitive rotating spheroidal solar nebula is not a matter of\nassumption, but is just what must once have existed, provided there has\nbeen no breach of continuity in nature's operations. Now proceeding to\nreason back from the past to the present, it has been shown that the\nabandonment of successive equatorial belts by the contracting solar\nmass must have ensued in accordance with known mechanical laws; and in\nsimilar wise, under ordinary circumstances each belt must have parted\ninto fragments, and the fragments chasing each other around the same\norbit, must have at last coalesced into a spheroidal planet. Not only\nthis, but it has also been shown that as the result of such a process\nthe relative sizes of the planets would be likely to take the order\nwhich they now follow; that the ring immediately succeeding that of\nJupiter would be likely to abort and produce a great number of tiny\nplanets instead of one good-sized one; that the outer planets would be\nlikely to have many moons, and that Saturn, besides having the greatest\nnumber of moons, would be likely to retain some of his inner rings\nunbroken; that the earth would be likely to have a long day and Jupiter\na short one; that the extreme outer planets would be not unlikely to\nrotate in a retrograde direction; and so on, through a long list of\ninteresting and striking details. Not only, therefore, are we driven to\nthe inference that our solar system was once a vaporous nebula, but we\nfind that the mere contraction of such a nebula, under the influence of\nthe enormous mutual gravitation of its particles, carries with it the\nexplanation of both the more general and the more particular features of\nthe present system. So that we may fairly regard this stupendous process\nas veritable matter of history, while we proceed to study it under some\nfurther aspects and to consider what consequences are likely to follow.\n\nOur attention should first be directed to the enormous waste of energy\nwhich has accompanied this contraction of the solar nebula. The first\nresult of such a contraction is the generation of a great quantity of\nheat, and when the heat thus generated has been lost by radiation into\nsurrounding space it becomes possible for the contraction to continue.\nThus, as concentration goes on, heat is incessantly generated and\nincessantly dissipated. How long this process is to endure depends\nchiefly on the size of the contracting mass, as small bodies radiate\nheat much faster than large ones. The moon seems to be already\nthoroughly refrigerated, while Jupiter and Saturn are very much hotter\nthan the earth, as is shown by the tremendous atmospheric phenomena\nwhich occur on their surfaces. The sun, again, generates heat so\nrapidly, owing to his great energy of contraction, and loses it so\nslowly, owing to his great size, that his surface is always kept in a\nstate of incandescence. His surface-temperature is estimated at some\nthree million degrees of Fahrenheit, and a diminution of his diameter\nfar too small to be detected by the finest existing instruments would\nsuffice to maintain the present supply of heat for more than fifty\ncenturies. These facts point to a very long future during which the sun\nwill continue to warm the earth and its companion planets, but at the\nsame time they carry on their face the story of inevitable ultimate\ndoom. If things continue to go on as they have all along gone on, the\nsun must by and by grow black and cold, and all life whatever throughout\nthe solar system must come to an end. Long before this consummation,\nhowever, life will probably have become extinct through the\nrefrigeration of each of the planets into a state like the present state\nof the moon, in which the atmosphere and oceans have disappeared from\nthe surface. No doubt the sun will continue to give out heat a long time\nafter heat has ceased to be needed for the support of living organisms.\nFor the final refrigeration of the sun will long be postponed by the\nfate of the planets themselves. The separation of the planets from their\nparent solar mass seems to be after all but a temporary separation. So\nnicely balanced are they now in their orbits that they may well seem\ncapable of rolling on in their present courses forever. But this is not\nthe case. Two sets of circumstances are all the while striving, the one\nto drive the planets farther away from the sun, the other to draw them\nall into it. On the one hand, every body in our system which contains\nfluid matter has tides raised upon its surface by the attraction of\nneighbouring bodies. All the planets raise tides upon the surface of the\nsun and the periodicity of sun-spots (or solar cyclones) depends upon\nthis fact. These tidal waves act as a drag or brake upon the rotation\nof the sun, somewhat diminishing its rapidity. But, in conformity with a\nprinciple of mechanics well known to astronomers, though not familiar to\nthe general reader, all the motion of rotation thus lost by the sun is\nadded to the planets in the shape of annual motion of revolution, and\nthus their orbits all tend to enlarge,--they all tend to recede somewhat\nfrom the sun. But this state of things, though long-enduring enough, is\nafter all only temporary, and will at any rate come to an end when\nthe sun and planets have become solid. Meanwhile another set of\ncircumstances is all the time tending to bring the planets nearer to the\nsun, and in the long run must gain the mastery. The space through which\nthe planets move is filled with a kind of matter which serves as a\nmedium for the transmission of heat and light, and this kind of matter,\nthough different in some respects from ordinary ponderable matter, is\nyet like it in exerting friction. This friction is almost infinitely\nlittle, yet it has a wellnigh infinite length of time to work in, and\nduring all this wellnigh infinite length of time it is slowly eating up\nthe momentum of the planets and diminishing their ability to maintain\ntheir distances from the sun. Hence in course of time the planets will\nall fall into the sun, one after another, so that the solar system will\nend, as it began, by consisting of a single mass of matter.\n\nBut this is by no means the end of the story. When two bodies rush\ntogether, each parts with some of its energy of motion, and this lost\nenergy of motion reappears as heat. In the concussion of two cosmical\nbodies, like the sun and the earth, an enormous quantity of motion is\nthus converted into heat. Now heat, when not allowed to radiate, or when\ngenerated faster than it can be radiated, is transformed into motion of\nexpansion. Hence the shock of sun and planet would at once result in the\nvaporization of both bodies; and there can be no doubt that by the time\nthe sun has absorbed the outermost of his attendant planets, he will\nhave resumed something like his original nebulous condition. He will\nhave been dilated into a huge mass of vapour, and will have become\nfit for a new process of contraction and for a new production of\nlife-bearing planets.\n\nWe are now, however, confronted by an interesting but difficult\nquestion. Throughout all this grand past and future career of the solar\nsystem which we have just briefly traced, we have been witnessing a\nmost prodigal dissipation of energy in the shape of radiant heat. At\nthe outset we had an enormous quantity of what is called \"energy of\nposition,\" that is, the outer parts of our primitive nebula had a very\nlong distance through which to travel towards one another in the slow\nprocess of concentration; and this distance was the measure of the\nquantity of work possible to our system. As the particles of our nebula\ndrew nearer and nearer together, the energy of position continually lost\nreappeared continually as heat, of which the greater part was radiated\noff, but of which a certain amount was retained. All the gigantic\namount of work achieved in the geologic development of our earth and\nits companion planets, and in the development of life wherever life may\nexist in our system, has been the product of this retained heat. At the\npresent day the same wasteful process is going on. Each moment the sun's\nparticles are losing energy of position as they draw closer and closer\ntogether, and the heat into which this lost energy is metamorphosed is\npoured out most prodigally in every direction. Let us consider for a\nmoment how little of it gets used in our system. The earth's orbit is\na nearly circular figure more than five hundred million miles in\ncircumference, while only eight thousand miles of this path are at any\none time occupied by the earth's mass. Through these eight thousand\nmiles the sun's radiated energy is doing work, but through the remainder\nof the five hundred million it is idle and wasted. But the case is far\nmore striking when we reflect that it is not in the plane of the earth's\norbit only that the sun's radiance is being poured out. It is not an\naffair of a circle, but of a sphere. In order to utilize all the solar\nrays, we should need to have an immense number of earths arranged so as\nto touch each other, forming a hollow sphere around the sun, with the\npresent radius of the earth's orbit. We may well believe Professor\nTyndall, therefore, when he tells us that all the solar radiance we\nreceive is less than a two-billionth part of what is sent flying through\nthe desert regions of space. Some of the immense residue of course hits\nother planets stationed in the way of it, and is utilized upon their\nsurfaces; but the planets, all put together, stop so little of the total\nquantity that our startling illustration is not materially altered by\ntaking them into the account. Now this two-billionth part of the solar\nradiance poured out from moment to moment suffices to blow every wind,\nto raise every cloud, to drive every engine, to build up the tissue of\nevery plant, to sustain the activity of every animal, including man,\nupon the surface of our vast and stately globe. Considering the wondrous\nrichness and variety of the terrestrial life wrought out by the few\nsunbeams which we catch in our career through space, we may well\npause overwhelmed and stupefied at the thought of the incalculable\npossibilities of existence which are thrown away with the potent\nactinism that darts unceasingly into the unfathomed abysms of immensity.\nWhere it goes to or what becomes of it, no one of us can surmise.\n\nNow when, in the remote future, our sun is reduced to vapour by the\nimpact of the several planets upon his surface, the resulting nebulous\nmass must be a very insignificant affair compared with the nebulous mass\nwith which we started. In order to make a second nebula equal in size\nand potential energy to the first one, all the energy of position at\nfirst existing should have been retained in some form or other. But\nnearly all of it has been lost, and only an insignificant fraction\nremains with which to endow a new system. In order to reproduce, in\nfuture ages, anything like that cosmical development which is now\ngoing on in the solar system, aid must be sought from without. We must\nendeavour to frame some valid hypothesis as to the relation of our solar\nsystem to other systems.\n\nThus far our view has been confined to the career of a single star,--our\nsun,--with the tiny, easily-cooling balls which it has cast off in the\ncourse of its development. Thus far, too, our inferences have been\nvery secure, for we have been dealing with a circumscribed group of\nphenomena, the beginning and end of which have been brought pretty well\nwithin the compass of our imagination. It is quite another thing to deal\nwith the actual or probable career of the stars in general, inasmuch\nas we do not even know how many stars there are, which form parts of\na common system, or what are their precise dynamic relations to one\nanother. Nevertheless we have knowledge of a few facts which may support\nsome cautious inferences. All the stars which we can see are undoubtedly\nbound together by relations of gravitation. No doubt our sun attracts\nall the other stars within our ken, and is reciprocally attracted by\nthem. The stars, too, lie mostly in or around one great plane, as is the\ncase with the members of the solar system. Moreover, the stars are shown\nby the spectroscope to consist of chemical elements identical with\nthose which are found in the solar system. Such facts as these make it\nprobable that the career of other stars, when adequately inquired\ninto, would be found to be like that of our own sun. Observation daily\nenhances this probability, for our study of the sidereal universe is\ncontinually showing us stars in all stages of development. We find\nirregular nebulae, for example; we find spiral and spheroidal nebulae;\nwe find stars which have got beyond the nebulous stage, but are still at\na whiter heat than our sun; and we also find many stars which yield the\nsame sort of spectrum as our sun. The inference seems forced upon us\nthat the same process of concentration which has gone on in the case\nof our solar nebula has been going on in the case of other nebulae. The\nhistory of the sun is but a type of the history of stars in general. And\nwhen we consider that all other visible stars and nebulae are cooling\nand contracting bodies, like our sun, to what other conclusion could we\nvery well come? When we look at Sirius, for instance, we do not see\nhim surrounded by planets, for at such a distance no planet could be\nvisible, even Sirius himself, though fourteen times larger than our sun,\nappearing only as a \"twinkling little star.\" But a comparative survey\nof the heavens assures us that Sirius can hardly have arrived at his\npresent stage of concentration without detaching, planet-forming rings,\nfor there is no reason for supposing that mechanical laws out there are\nat all different from what they are in our own system. And the same kind\nof inference must apply to all the matured stars which we see in the\nheavens.\n\nWhen we duly take all these things into the account, the case of our\nsolar system will appear as only one of a thousand cases of evolution\nand dissolution with which the heavens furnish us. Other stars, like our\nsun, have undoubtedly started as vaporous masses, and have thrown off\nplanets in contracting. The inference may seem a bold one, but it after\nall involves no other assumption than that of the continuity of natural\nphenomena. It is not likely, therefore, that the solar system will\nforever be left to itself. Stars which strongly gravitate toward each\nother, while moving through a perennially resisting medium, must in\ntime be drawn together. The collision of our extinct sun with one of the\nPleiades, after this manner, would very likely suffice to generate even\na grander nebula than the one with which we started. Possibly the entire\ngalactic system may, in an inconceivably remote future, remodel itself\nin this way; and possibly the nebula from which our own group of planets\nhas been formed may have owed its origin to the disintegration of\nsystems which had accomplished their career in the depths of the bygone\neternity.\n\nWhen the problem is extended to these huge dimensions, the prospect of\nan ultimate cessation of cosmical work is indefinitely postponed, but\nat the same time it becomes impossible for us to deal very securely\nwith the questions we have raised. The magnitudes and periods we have\nintroduced are so nearly infinite as to baffle speculation itself: One\npoint, however, we seem dimly to discern. Supposing the stellar universe\nnot to be absolutely infinite in extent, we may hold that the day of\ndoom, so often postponed, must come at last. The concentration of matter\nand dissipation of energy, so often checked, must in the end prevail,\nso that, as the final outcome of things, the entire universe will be\nreduced to a single enormous ball, dead and frozen, solid and black,\nits potential energy of motion having been all transformed into heat\nand radiated away. Such a conclusion has been suggested by Sir William\nThomson, and it is quite forcibly stated by the authors of \"The Unseen\nUniverse.\" They remind us that \"if there be any one form of energy\nless readily or less completely transformable than the others, and if\ntransformations constantly go on, more and more of the whole energy\nof the universe will inevitably sink into this lower grade as time\nadvances.\" Now radiant heat, as we have seen, is such a lower grade\nof energy. \"At each transformation of heat-energy into work, a large\nportion is degraded, while only a small portion is transformed into\nwork. So that while it is very easy to change all of our mechanical or\nuseful energy into heat, it is only possible to transform a portion of\nthis heat-energy back again into work. After each change, too, the\nheat becomes more and more dissipated or degraded, and less and less\navailable for any future transformation. In other words,\" our authors\ncontinue, \"the tendency of heat is towards equalization; heat is\npar excellence the communist of our universe, and it will no doubt\nultimately bring the system to an end..... It is absolutely certain that\nlife, so far as it is physical, depends essentially upon transformations\nof energy; it is also absolutely certain that age after age the\npossibility of such transformations is becoming less and less; and, so\nfar as we yet know, the final state of the present universe must be an\naggregation (into one mass) of all the matter it contains, i. e. the\npotential energy gone, and a practically useless state of kinetic\nenergy, i. e. uniform temperature throughout that mass.\" Thus our\nauthors conclude that the visible universe began in time and will in\ntime come to an end; and they add that under the physical conditions of\nsuch a universe \"immortality is impossible.\"\n\nConcerning the latter inference we shall by and by have something to\nsay. Meanwhile this whole speculation as to the final cessation of\ncosmical work seems to me--as it does to my friend, Professor Clifford\n[3]--by no means trustworthy. The conditions of the problem so\nfar transcend our grasp that any such speculation must remain an\nunverifiable guess. I do not go with Professor Clifford in doubting\nwhether the laws of mechanics are absolutely the same throughout\neternity; I cannot quite reconcile such a doubt with faith in the\nprinciple of continuity. But it does seem to me needful, before we\nconclude that radiated energy is absolutely and forever wasted, that we\nshould find out what becomes of it. What we call radiant heat is simply\ntransverse wave-motion, propagated with enormous velocity through an\nocean of subtle ethereal matter which bathes the atoms of all visible\nor palpable bodies and fills the whole of space, extending beyond the\nremotest star which the telescope can reach. Whether there are any\nbounds at all to this ethereal ocean, or whether it is as infinite\nas space itself, we cannot surmise. If it be limited, the possible\ndispersion of radiant energy is limited by its extent. Heat and light\ncannot travel through emptiness. If the ether is bounded by surrounding\nemptiness, then a ray of heat, on arriving at this limiting emptiness,\nwould be reflected back as surely as a ball is sent back when thrown\nagainst a solid wall. If this be the case, it will not affect our\nconclusions concerning such a tiny region of space as is occupied by\nthe solar system, but it will seriously modify Sir William Thomson's\nsuggestion as to the fate of the universe as a whole. The radiance\nthrown away by the sun is indeed lost so far as the future of our system\nis concerned, but not a single unit of it is lost from the universe.\nSooner or later, reflected back in all directions, it must do work in\none quarter or another, so that ultimate stagnation be comes impossible.\nIt is true that no such return of radiant energy has been detected in\nour corner of the world; but we have not yet so far disentangled all the\nforce-relations of the universe that we are entitled to regard such a\nreturn as impossible. This is one way of escape from the consummation\nof things depicted by our authors. Another way of escape is equally\navailable, if we suppose that while the ether is without bounds\nthe stellar universe also extends to infinity. For in this case the\nreproduction of nebulous masses fit for generating new systems of worlds\nmust go on through space that is endless, and consequently the process\ncan never come to an end and can never have had a beginning. We have,\ntherefore, three alternatives: either the visible universe is finite,\nwhile the ether is infinite; or both are finite; or both are infinite.\nOnly on the first supposition, I think, do we get a universe which began\nin time and must end in time. Between such stupendous alternatives we\nhave no grounds for choosing. But it would seem that the third, whether\nstrictly true or not, best represents the state of the case relatively\nto our feeble capacity of comprehension. Whether absolutely infinite\nor not, the dimensions of the universe must be taken as practically\ninfinite, so far as human thought is concerned. They immeasurably\ntranscend the capabilities of any gauge we can bring to bear on them.\nAccordingly all that we are really entitled to hold, as the outcome of\nsound speculation, is the conception of innumerable systems of worlds\nconcentrating out of nebulous masses, and then rushing together and\ndissolving into similar masses, as bubbles unite and break up--now\nhere, now there--in their play on the surface of a pool, and to this\ntremendous series of events we can assign neither a beginning nor an\nend.\n\n [3] Fortnightly Review, April, 1875.\n\n\nWe must now make some more explicit mention of the ether which carries\nthrough space the rays of heat and light. In closest connection with\nthe visible stellar universe, the vicissitudes of which we have briefly\ntraced, the all-pervading ether constitutes a sort of unseen world\nremarkable enough from any point of view, but to which the theory of our\nauthors ascribes capacities hitherto unsuspected by science. The very\nexistence of an ocean of ether enveloping the molecules of material\nbodies has been doubted or denied by many eminent physicists, though of\ncourse none have called in question the necessity for some interstellar\nmedium for the transmission of thermal and luminous vibrations.\nThis scepticism has been, I think, partially justified by the many\ndifficulties encompassing the conception, into which, however, we need\nnot here enter. That light and heat cannot be conveyed by any of the\nordinary sensible forms of matter is unquestionable. None of the forms\nof sensible matter can be imagined sufficiently elastic to propagate\nwave-motion at the rate of one hundred and eighty-eight thousand miles\nper second. Yet a ray of light is a series of waves, and implies some\nsubstance in which the waves occur. The substance required is one which\nseems to possess strangely contradictory properties. It is commonly\nregarded as an \"ether\" or infinitely rare substance; but, as Professor\nJevons observes, we might as well regard it as an infinitely solid\n\"adamant.\" \"Sir John Herschel has calculated the amount of force which\nmay be supposed, according to the undulatory theory of light, to be\nexerted at each point in space, and finds it to be 1,148,000,000,000\ntimes the elastic force of ordinary air at the earth's surface, so that\nthe pressure of the ether upon a square inch of surface must be about\n17,000,000,000,000, or seventeen billions of pounds.\" [4] Yet at the\nsame time the resistance offered by the ether to the planetary motions\nis too minute to be appreciable. \"All our ordinary notions,\" says\nProfessor Jevons, \"must be laid aside in contemplating such an\nhypothesis; yet [it is] no more than the observed phenomena of light and\nheat force us to accept. We cannot deny even the strange suggestion of\nDr. Young, that there may be independent worlds, some possibly existing\nin different parts of space, but others perhaps pervading each other,\nunseen and unknown, in the same space. For if we are bound to admit the\nconception of this adamantine firmament, it is equally easy to admit a\nplurality of such.\"\n\n [4] Jevons's Principles of Science, Vol. II. p. 145. The figures,\nwhich in the English system of numeration read as seventeen billions,\nwould in the American system read as seventeen trillions.\n\n\nThe ether, therefore, is unlike any of the forms of matter which we\ncan weigh and measure. In some respects it resembles a fluid, in some\nrespects a solid. It is both hard and elastic to an almost inconceivable\ndegree. It fills all material bodies like a sea in which the atoms of\nthe material bodies are as islands, and it occupies the whole of what we\ncall empty space. It is so sensitive that a disturbance in any part of\nit causes a \"tremour which is felt on the surface of countless worlds.\"\nOur old experiences of matter give us no account of any substance like\nthis; yet the undulatory theory of light obliges us to admit such a\nsubstance, and that theory is as well established as the theory of\ngravitation. Obviously we have here an enlargement of our experience\nof matter. The analysis of the phenomena of light and radiant heat has\nbrought us into mental relations with matter in a different state from\nany in which we previously knew it. For the supposition that the ether\nmay be something essentially different from matter is contradicted by\nall the terms we have used in describing it. Strange and contradictory\nas its properties may seem, are they any more strange than the\nproperties of a gas would seem if we were for the first time to discover\na gas after heretofore knowing nothing but solids and liquids? I think\nnot; and the conclusion implied by our authors seems to me eminently\nprobable, that in the so-called ether we have simply a state of matter\nmore primitive than what we know as the gaseous state. Indeed, the\nconceptions of matter now current, and inherited from barbarous ages,\nare likely enough to be crude in the extreme. It is not strange that\nthe study of such subtle agencies as heat and light should oblige us\nto modify them; and it will not be strange if the study of electricity\nshould entail still further revision of our ideas.\n\nWe are now brought to one of the profoundest speculations of modern\ntimes, the vortex-atom theory of Helmholtz and Thomson, in which the\nevolution of ordinary matter from ether is plainly indicated. The\nreader first needs to know what vortex-motion is; and this has been\nso beautifully explained by Professor Clifford, that I quote his\ndescription entire: \"Imagine a ring of india-rubber, made by joining\ntogether the ends of a cylindrical piece (like a lead-pencil before\nit is cut), to be put upon a round stick which it will just fit with a\nlittle stretching. Let the stick be now pulled through the ring while\nthe latter is kept in its place by being pulled the other way on the\noutside. The india-rubber has then what is called vortex-motion. Before\nthe ends were joined together, while it was straight, it might have been\nmade to turn around without changing position, by rolling it between the\nhands. Just the same motion of rotation it has on the stick, only that\nthe ends are now joined together. All the inside surface of the ring is\ngoing one way, namely, the way the stick is pulled; and all the outside\nis going the other way. Such a vortex-ring is made by the smoker who\npurses his lips into a round hole and sends out a puff of smoke. The\noutside of the ring is kept back by the friction of his lips while\nthe inside is going forwards; thus a rotation is set up all round the\nsmoke-ring as it travels out into the air.\" In these cases, and in\nothers as we commonly find it, vortex-motion owes its origin to friction\nand is after a while brought to an end by friction. But in 1858 the\nequations of motion of an incompressible frictionless fluid were first\nsuccessfully solved by Helmholtz, and among other things he proved\nthat, though vortex-motion could not be originated in such a fluid, yet\nsupposing it once to exist, it would exist to all eternity and could\nnot be diminished by any mechanical action whatever. A vortex-ring, for\nexample, in such a fluid, would forever preserve its own rotation, and\nwould thus forever retain its peculiar individuality, being, as it were,\nmarked off from its neighbour vortex-rings. Upon this mechanical truth\nSir William Thomson based his wonderfully suggestive theory of the\nconstitution of matter. That which is permanent or indestructible in\nmatter is the ultimate homogeneous atom; and this is probably all that\nis permanent, since chemists now almost unanimously hold that so-called\nelementary molecules are not really simple, but owe their sensible\ndifferences to the various groupings of an ultimate atom which is alike\nfor all. Relatively to our powers of comprehension the atom endures\neternally; that is, it retains forever unalterable its definite mass\nand its definite rate of vibration. Now this is just what a vortex-ring\nwould do in an incompressible frictionless fluid. Thus the startling\nquestion is suggested, Why may not the ultimate atoms of matter be\nvortex-rings forever existing in such a frictionless fluid filling the\nwhole of space? Such a hypothesis is not less brilliant than Huyghens's\nconjectural identification of light with undulatory motion; and it is\nmoreover a legitimate hypothesis, since it can be brought to the test\nof verification. Sir William Thomson has shown that it explains a great\nmany of the physical properties of matter: it remains to be seen whether\nit can explain them all.\n\nOf course the ether which conveys thermal and luminous undulations is\nnot the frictionless fluid postulated by Sir William Thomson. The most\nconspicuous property of the ether is its enormous elasticity, a property\nwhich we should not find in a frictionless fluid. \"To account for such\nelasticity,\" says Professor Clifford (whose exposition of the subject is\nstill more lucid than that of our authors), \"it has to be supposed that\neven where there are no material molecules the universal fluid is full\nof vortex-motion, but that the vortices are smaller and more closely\npacked than those of [ordinary] matter, forming altogether a more finely\ngrained structure. So that the difference between matter and ether\nis reduced to a mere difference in the size and arrangement of the\ncomponent vortex-rings. Now, whatever may turn out to be the ultimate\nnature of the ether and of molecules, we know that to some extent\nat least they obey the same dynamic laws, and that they act upon\none another in accordance with these laws. Until, therefore, it is\nabsolutely disproved, it must remain the simplest and most probable\nassumption that they are finally made of the same stuff, that the\nmaterial molecule is some kind of knot or coagulation of ether.\" [5]\n\n [5] Fortnightly Review, June, 1875, p. 784.\n\n\nAnother interesting consequence of Sir William Thomson's pregnant\nhypothesis is that the absolute hardness which has been attributed to\nmaterial atoms from the time of Lucretius downward may be dispensed\nwith. Somewhat in the same way that a loosely suspended chain\nbecomes rigid with rapid rotation, the hardness and elasticity of the\nvortex-atom are explained as due to the swift rotary motion of a soft\nand yielding fluid. So that the vortex-atom is really indivisible,\nnot by reason of its hardness or solidity, but by reason of the\nindestructibleness of its motion.\n\nSupposing, now, that we adopt provisionally the vortex theory,--the\ngreat power of which is well shown by the consideration just\nmentioned,--we must not forget that it is absolutely essential to the\nindestructibleness of the material atom that the universal fluid in\nwhich it has an existence as a vortex-ring should be entirely destitute\nof friction. Once admit even the most infinitesimal amount of friction,\nwhile retaining the conception of vortex-motion in a universal fluid,\nand the whole case is so far altered that the material atom can\nno longer be regarded as absolutely indestructible, but only as\nindefinitely enduring. It may have been generated, in bygone eternity,\nby a natural process of evolution, and in future eternity may come to an\nend. Relatively to our powers of comprehension the practical difference\nis perhaps not great. Scientifically speaking, Helmholtz and Thomson\nare as well entitled to reason upon the assumption of a perfectly\nfrictionless fluid as geometers in general are entitled to assume\nperfect lines without breadth and perfect surfaces without thickness.\nPerfect lines and surfaces do not exist within the region of our\nexperience; yet the conclusions of geometry are none the less true\nideally, though in any particular concrete instance they are only\napproximately realized. Just so with the conception of a frictionless\nfluid. So far as experience goes, such a thing has no more real\nexistence than a line without breadth; and hence an atomic theory based\nupon such an assumption may be as true ideally as any of the theorems\nof Euclid, but it can give only an approximatively true account of\nthe actual universe. These considerations do not at all affect the\nscientific value of the theory; but they will modify the tenour of\nsuch transcendental inferences as may be drawn from it regarding, the\nprobable origin and destiny of the universe.\n\nThe conclusions reached in the first part of this paper, while we were\ndealing only with gross visible matter, may have seemed bold enough; but\nthey are far surpassed by the inference which our authors draw from the\nvortex theory as they interpret it. Our authors exhibit various reasons,\nmore or less sound, for attributing to the primordial fluid some slight\namount of friction; and in support of this view they adduce Le Sage's\nexplanation of gravitation as a differential result of pressure,\nand Struve's theory of the partial absorption of light-rays by the\nether,--questions with which our present purpose does not require us\nto meddle. Apart from such questions it is every way probable that the\nprimary assumption of Helmholtz and Thomson is only an approximation\nto the truth. But if we accredit the primordial fluid with even an\ninfinitesimal amount of friction, then we are required to conceive of\nthe visible universe as developed from the invisible and as destined to\nreturn into the invisible. The vortex-atom, produced by infinitesimal\nfriction operating through wellnigh infinite time, is to be ultimately\nabolished by the agency which produced it. In the words of our authors,\n\"If the visible universe be developed from an invisible which is not\na perfect fluid, then the argument deduced by Sir William Thomson\nin favour of the eternity of ordinary matter disappears, since this\neternity depends upon the perfect fluidity of the invisible. In fine,\nif we suppose the material universe to be composed of a series of\nvortex-rings developed from an invisible universe which is not a perfect\nfluid, it will be ephemeral, just as the smoke-ring which we develop\nfrom air, or that which we develop from water, is ephemeral, the only\ndifference being in duration, these lasting only for a few seconds,\nand the others it may be for billions of years.\" Thus, as our authors\nsuppose that \"the available energy of the visible universe will\nultimately be appropriated by the invisible,\" they go on to imagine,\n\"at least as a possibility, that the separate existence of the visible\nuniverse will share the same fate, so that we shall have no huge,\nuseless, inert mass existing in after ages to remind the passer-by of\na form of energy and a species of matter that is long since out of date\nand functionally effete. Why should not the universe bury its dead out\nof sight?\"\n\nIn one respect perhaps no more stupendous subject of contemplation than\nthis has ever been offered to the mind of man. In comparison with the\nlength of time thus required to efface the tiny individual atom, the\nentire cosmical career of our solar system, or even that of the whole\nstarry galaxy, shrinks into utter nothingness. Whether we shall adopt\nthe conclusion suggested must depend on the extent of our speculative\naudacity. We have seen wherein its probability consists, but in\nreasoning upon such a scale we may fitly be cautious and modest in\naccepting inferences, and our authors, we may be sure, would be the\nfirst to recommend such modesty and caution. Even at the dimensions to\nwhich our theorizing has here grown, we may for instance discern the\npossible alternative of a simultaneous or rhythmically successive\ngeneration and destruction of vortex-atoms which would go far to modify\nthe conclusion just suggested. But here we must pause for a moment,\nreserving for a second paper the weightier thoughts as to futurity\nwhich our authors have sought to enwrap in these sublime physical\nspeculations.\n\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\n\nUP to this point, however remote from ordinary every-day thoughts may be\nthe region of speculation which we have been called upon to traverse, we\nhave still kept within the limits of legitimate scientific hypothesis.\nThough we have ventured for a goodly distance into the unknown, we have\nnot yet been required to abandon our base of operations in the known. Of\nthe views presented in the preceding paper, some are wellnigh certainly\nestablished, some are probable, some have a sort of plausibility,\nothers--to which we have refrained from giving assent--may possibly be\ntrue; but none are irretrievably beyond the jurisdiction of scientific\ntests. No suggestion has so far been broached which a very little\nfurther increase of our scientific knowledge may not show to be either\neminently probable or eminently improbable. We have kept pretty clear of\nmere subjective guesses, such as men may wrangle about forever without\ncoming to any conclusion. The theory of the nebular origin of our\nplanetary system has come to command the assent of all persons qualified\nto appreciate the evidence on which it is based; and the more immediate\nconclusions which we have drawn from that theory are only such as\nare commonly drawn by astronomers and physicists. The doctrine of\nan intermolecular and interstellar ether is wrapped up in the\nwell-established undulatory theory of light. Such is by no means the\ncase with Sir William Thomson's vortex-atom theory, which to-day is in\nsomewhat the same condition as the undulatory theory of Huyghens two\ncenturies ago. This, however, is none the less a hypothesis truly\nscientific in conception, and in the speculations to which it leads us\nwe are still sure of dealing with views that admit at least of definite\nexpression and treatment. In other words, though our study of the\nvisible universe has led us to the recognition of a kind of unseen world\nunderlying the world of things that are seen, yet concerning the economy\nof this unseen world we have not been led to entertain any hypothesis\nthat has not its possible justification in our experiences of visible\nphenomena.\n\nWe are now called upon, following in the wake of our esteemed authors,\nto venture on a different sort of exploration, in which we must cut\nloose altogether from our moorings in the world of which we have\ndefinite experience. We are invited to entertain suggestions concerning\nthe peculiar economy of the invisible portion of the universe which we\nhave no means of subjecting to any sort of test of probability, either\nexperimental or deductive. These suggestions are, therefore, not to be\nregarded as properly scientific; but, with this word of caution, we may\nproceed to show what they are.\n\nCompared with the life and death of cosmical systems which we have\nheretofore contemplated, the life and death of individuals of the human\nrace may perhaps seem a small matter; yet because we are ourselves the\nmen who live and die, the small event is of vastly greater interest to\nus than the grand series of events of which it is part and parcel. It\nis natural that we should be more interested in the ultimate fate of\nhumanity than in the fate of a world which is of no account to us save\nas our present dwelling-place. Whether the human soul is to come to an\nend or not is to us a more important question than whether the visible\nuniverse, with its matter and energy, is to be absorbed in an invisible\nether. It is indeed only because we are interested in the former\nquestion that we are so curious about the latter. If we could dissociate\nourselves from the material universe, our habitat, we should probably\nspeculate much less about its past and future. We care very little what\nbecomes of the black ball of the earth, after all life has vanished\nfrom its surface; or, if we care at all about it, it is only because our\nthoughts about the career of the earth are necessarily mixed up with our\nthoughts about life. Hence in considering the probable ultimate destiny\nof the physical universe, our innermost purpose must be to know what\nis to become of all this rich and wonderful life of which the physical\nuniverse is the theatre. Has it all been developed, apparently at almost\ninfinite waste of effort, only to be abolished again before it\nhas attained to completeness, or does it contain or shelter some\nindestructible element which having drawn sustenance for a while from\nthe senseless turmoil of physical phenomena shall still survive their\nfinal decay? This question is closely connected with the time-honoured\nquestion of the meaning, purpose, or tendency of the world. In the\ncareer of the world is life an end, or a means toward an end, or only an\nincidental phenomenon in which we can discover no meaning? Contemporary\ntheologians seem generally to believe that one necessary result of\nmodern scientific inquiry must be the destruction of the belief in\nimmortal life, since against every thoroughgoing expounder of scientific\nknowledge they seek to hurl the charge of \"materialism.\" Their doubts,\nhowever, are not shared by our authors, thorough men of science as they\nare, though their mode of dealing with the question may not be such as\nwe can well adopt. While upholding the doctrine of evolution, and all\nthe so-called \"materialistic\" views of modern science, they not only\nregard the hypothesis of a future life as admissible, but they even go\nso far as to propound a physical theory as to the nature of existence\nafter death. Let us see what this physical theory is.\n\nAs far as the visible universe is concerned, we do not find in it any\nevidence of immortality or of permanence of any sort, unless it be in\nthe sum of potential and kinetic energies on the persistency of which\ndepends our principle of continuity. In ordinary language \"the stars in\ntheir courses\" serve as symbols of permanence, yet we have found reason\nto regard them as but temporary phenomena. So, in the language of our\nauthors, \"if we take the individual man, we find that he lives his short\ntale of years, and that then the visible machinery which connects him\nwith the past, as well as that which enables him to act in the present,\nfalls into ruin and is brought to an end. If any germ or potentiality\nremains, it is certainly not connected with the visible order of\nthings.\" In like manner our race is pretty sure to come to an end\nlong before the destruction of the planet from which it now gets its\nsustenance. And in our authors opinion even the universe will by and\nby become \"old and effete, no less truly than the individual: it is a\nglorious garment this visible universe, but not an immortal one; we\nmust look elsewhere if we are to be clothed with immortality as with a\ngarment.\"\n\nIt is at this point that our authors call attention to \"the apparently\nwasteful character of the arrangements of the visible universe.\" The\nfact is one which we have already sufficiently described, but we shall\ndo well to quote the words in which our authors recur to it: \"All but a\nvery small portion of the sun's heat goes day by day into what we call\nempty space, and it is only this very small remainder that is made use\nof by the various planets for purposes of their own. Can anything be\nmore perplexing than this seemingly frightful expenditure of the very\nlife and essence of the system? That this vast store of high-class\nenergy should be doing nothing but travelling outwards in space at the\nrate of 188,000 miles per second is hardly conceivable, especially when\nthe result of it is the inevitable destruction of the visible universe.\"\n\nPursuing this teleological argument, it is suggested that perhaps this\napparent waste of energy is \"only an arrangement in virtue of which our\nuniverse keeps up a memory of the past at the expense of the present,\ninasmuch as all memory consists in an investiture of present resources\nin order to keep a hold upon the past.\" Recourse is had to the ingenious\nargument in which Mr. Babbage showed that \"if we had power to follow\nand detect the minutest effects of any disturbance, each particle of\nexisting matter must be a register of all that has happened. The track\nof every canoe, of every vessel that has yet disturbed the surface of\nthe ocean, whether impelled by manual force or elemental power, remains\nforever registered in the future movement of all succeeding particles\nwhich may occupy its place. The furrow which is left is, indeed,\ninstantly filled up by the closing waters; but they draw after them\nother and larger portions of the surrounding element, and these again,\nonce moved, communicate motion to others in endless succession.\" In like\nmanner, \"the air itself is one vast library, on whose pages are forever\nwritten all that man has ever said or even whispered. There in their\nmutable but unerring characters, mixed with the earliest as well as\nthe latest sighs of mortality, stand forever recorded vows unredeemed,\npromises unfulfilled, perpetuating in the united movements of each\nparticle the testimony of man's changeful will.\" [6] In some such way as\nthis, records of every movement that takes place in the world are each\nmoment transmitted, with the speed of light, through the invisible\nocean of ether with which the world is surrounded. Even the molecular\ndisplacements which occur in our brains when we feel and think are thus\npropagated in their effects into the unseen world. The world of ether is\nthus regarded by our authors as in some sort the obverse or complement\nof the world of sensible matter, so that whatever energy is dissipated\nin the one is by the same act accumulated in the other. It is like the\nnegative plate in photography, where light answers to shadow and shadow\nto light. Or, still better, it is like the case of an equation in which\nwhatever quantity you take from one side is added to the other with a\ncontrary sign, while the relation of equality remains undisturbed. Thus,\nit will be noticed, from the ingenious and subtle, but quite defensible\nsuggestion of Mr. Babbage, a leap is made to an assumption which cannot\nbe defended scientifically, but only teleologically. It is one thing\nto say that every movement in the visible world transmits a record of\nitself to the surrounding ether, in such a way that from the undulation\nof the ether a sufficiently powerful intelligence might infer the\ncharacter of the generating movement in the visible world. It is quite\nanother thing to say that the ether is organized in such a complex and\ndelicate way as to be like a negative image or counterpart of the world\nof sensible matter. The latter view is no doubt ingenious, but it is\ngratuitous. It is sustained not by scientific analogy, but by the desire\nto find some assignable use for the energy which is constantly escaping\nfrom visible matter into invisible ether. The moment we ask how do we\nknow that this energy is not really wasted, or that it is not put to\nsome use wholly undiscoverable by human intelligence, this assumption of\nan organized ether is at once seen to be groundless. It belongs not to\nthe region of science, but to that of pure mythology.\n\n [6] Babbage, Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, p. 115; Jevons,\nPrinciples of Science, Vol. II. p. 455.\n\n\nIn justice to our authors, however, it should be remembered that this\nassumption is put forth not as something scientifically probable, but as\nsomething which for aught we know to the contrary may possibly be true.\nThis, to be sure, we need not deny; nor if we once allow this prodigious\nleap of inference, shall we find much difficulty in reaching the famous\nconclusion that \"thought conceived to affect the matter of another\nuniverse simultaneously with this may explain a future state.\" This\nproposition, quaintly couched in an anagram, like the discoveries of old\nastronomers, was published last year in \"Nature,\" as containing the gist\nof the forthcoming book. On the negative-image hypothesis it is not hard\nto see how thought is conceived to affect the seen and the unseen worlds\nsimultaneously. Every act of consciousness is accompanied by molecular\ndisplacements in the brain, and these are of course responded to by\nmovements in the ethereal world. Thus as a series of conscious states\nbuild up a continuous memory in strict accordance with physical laws of\nmotion, [7] so a correlative memory is simultaneously built up in\nthe ethereal world out of the ethereal correlatives of the molecular\ndisplacements which go on in our brains. And as there is a continual\ntransfer of energy from the visible world to the ether, the extinction\nof vital energy which we call death must coincide in some way with\nthe awakening of vital energy in the correlative world; so that the\ndarkening of consciousness here is coincident with its dawning there.\nIn this way death is for the individual but a transfer from one physical\nstate of existence to another; and so, on the largest scale, the\ndeath or final loss of energy by the whole visible universe has its\ncounterpart in the acquirement of a maximum of life by the correlative\nunseen world.\n\nThere seems to be a certain sort of rigorous logical consistency in this\ndaring speculation; but really the propositions of which it consists are\nso far from answering to anything within the domain of human experience\nthat we are unable to tell whether any one of them logically follows\nfrom its predecessor or not. It is evident that we are quite out of the\nregion of scientific tests, and to whatever view our authors may urge we\ncan only languidly assent that it is out of our power to disprove it.\n\n [7] See my Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, Vol. II. pp. 142-148.\n\n\nThe essential weakness of such a theory as this lies in the fact that it\nis thoroughly materialistic in character. It is currently assumed that\nthe doctrine of a life after death cannot be defended on materialistic\ngrounds, but this is altogether too hasty an assumption. Our authors,\nindeed, are not philosophical materialists, like Dr. Priestley,--who\nnevertheless believed in a future life,--but one of the primary\ndoctrines of materialism lies at the bottom of their argument.\nMaterialism holds for one thing that consciousness is a product of\na peculiar organization of matter, and for another thing that\nconsciousness cannot survive the disorganization of the material body\nwith which it is associated. As held by philosophical materialists, like\nBuchner and Moleschott, these two opinions are strictly consistent with\neach other; nay, the latter seems to be the inevitable inference from\nthe former, though Priestley did not so regard it. Now our authors very\nproperly refuse to commit themselves to the opinion that mind is the\nproduct of matter, but their argument nevertheless implies that some\nsort of material vehicle is necessary for the continuance of mind in a\nfuture state of existence. This material vehicle they seek to supply in\nthe theory which connects by invisible bonds of transmitted energy the\nperishable material body with its counterpart in the world of ether. The\nmaterialism of the argument is indeed partly veiled by the terminology\nin which this counterpart is called a \"spiritual body,\" but in this\nnovel use or abuse of scriptural language there seems to me to be a\nstrange confusion of ideas. Bear in mind that the \"invisible universe\"\ninto which energy is constantly passing is simply the luminiferous\nether, which our authors, to suit the requirements of their hypothesis,\nhave gratuitously endowed with a complexity and variety of structure\nanalogous to that of the visible world of matter. Their language is not\nalways quite so precise as one could desire, for while they sometimes\nspeak of the ether itself as the \"unseen universe,\" they sometimes\nallude to a primordial medium yet subtler in constitution and presumably\nmore immaterial. Herein lies the confusion. Why should the luminiferous\nether, or any primordial medium in which it may have been generated, be\nregarded as in any way \"spiritual\"? Great physicists, like less trained\nthinkers, are sometimes liable to be unconsciously influenced by old\nassociations of ideas which, ostensibly repudiated, still lurk under\ncover of the words we use. I fear that the old associations which led\nthe ancients to describe the soul as a breath or a shadow, and which\naccount for the etymologies of such words as \"ghost\" and \"spirit,\"\nhave had something to do with this spiritualization of the interstellar\nether. Some share may also have been contributed by the Platonic notion\nof the \"grossness\" or \"bruteness\" of tangible matter,--a notion which\nhas survived in Christian theology, and which educated men of the\npresent day have by no means universally outgrown. Save for some such\nold associations as these, why should it be supposed that matter becomes\n\"spriritualized\" as it diminishes in apparent substantiality? Why should\nmatter be pronounced respectable in the inverse ratio of its density\nor ponderability? Why is a diamond any more chargeable with \"grossness\"\nthan a cubic centimetre of hydrogen? Obviously such fancies are purely\nof mythologic parentage. Now the luminiferous ether, upon which our\nauthors make such extensive demands, may be physically \"ethereal\"\nenough, in spite of the enormous elasticity which leads Professor Jevons\nto characterize it as \"adamantine\"; but most assuredly we have not the\nslightest reason for speaking of it as \"immaterial\" or \"spiritual.\"\nThough we are unable to weigh it in the balance, we at least know it as\na transmitter of undulatory movements, the size and shape of which we\ncan accurately measure. Its force-relations with ponderable matter are\nnot only universally and incessantly maintained, but they have that\nprecisely quantitative character which implies an essential identity\nbetween the innermost natures of the two substances. We have seen\nreason for thinking it probable that ether and ordinary matter are alike\ncomposed of vortex-rings in a quasi-frictionless fluid; but whatever be\nthe fate of this subtle hypothesis, we may be sure that no theory\nwill ever be entertained in which the analysis of ether shall require\ndifferent symbols from that of ordinary matter. In our authors' theory,\ntherefore, the putting on of immortality is in no wise the passage from\na material to a spiritual state. It is the passage from one kind\nof materially conditioned state to another. The theory thus appeals\ndirectly to our experiences of the behaviour of matter; and in deriving\nso little support as it does from these experiences, it remains an\nessentially weak speculation, whatever we may think of its ingenuity.\nFor so long as we are asked to accept conclusions drawn from our\nexperiences of the material world, we are justified in demanding\nsomething more than mere unconditioned possibility. We require some\npositive evidence, be it ever so little in amount; and no theory which\ncannot furnish such positive evidence is likely to carry to our minds\nmuch practical conviction.\n\nThis is what I meant by saying that the great weakness of the hypothesis\nhere criticized lies in its materialistic character. In contrast with\nthis we shall presently see that the assertion of a future life which is\nnot materially conditioned, though unsupported by any item of experience\nwhatever, may nevertheless be an impregnable assertion. But first I\nwould conclude the foregoing criticism by ruling out altogether the\nsense in which our authors use the expression \"Unseen Universe.\"\nScientific inference, however remote, is connected by such insensible\ngradations with ordinary perception, that one may well question the\npropriety of applying the term \"unseen\" to that which is presented to\n\"the mind's eye\" as inevitable matter of inference. It is true that we\ncannot see the ocean of ether in which visible matter floats; but there\nare many other invisible things which yet we do not regard as part of\nthe \"unseen world.\" I do not see the air which I am now breathing within\nthe four walls of my study, yet its existence is sufficiently a matter\nof sense-perception as it fills my lungs and fans my cheek. The atoms\nwhich compose a drop of water are not only invisible, but cannot in any\nway be made the objects of sense-perception; yet by proper inferences\nfrom their behaviour we can single them out for measurement, so that Sir\nWilliam Thomson can tell us that if the drop of water were magnified to\nthe size of the earth, the constituent atoms would be larger than peas,\nbut not so large as billiard-balls. If we do not see such atoms with our\neyes, we have one adequate reason in their tiny dimensions, though\nthere are further reasons than this. It would be hard to say why the\nluminiferous ether should be relegated to the \"unseen world\" any more\nthan the material atom. Whatever we know as possessing resistance\nand extension, whatever we can subject to mathematical processes of\nmeasurement, we also conceive as existing in such shape that, with\nappropriate eyes and under proper visual conditions, we MIGHT see it,\nand we are not entitled to draw any line of demarcation between such\nan object of inference and others which may be made objects of\nsense-perception. To set apart the ether as constituting an \"unseen\nuniverse\" is therefore illegitimate and confusing. It introduces\na distinction where there is none, and obscures the fact that both\ninvisible ether and visible matter form but one grand universe in which\nthe sum of energy remains constant, though the order of its distribution\nendlessly varies.\n\nVery different would be the logical position of a theory which should\nassume the existence of an \"Unseen World\" entirely spiritual in\nconstitution, and in which material conditions like those of the visible\nworld should have neither place nor meaning. Such a world would not\nconsist of ethers or gases or ghosts, but of purely psychical relations\nakin to such as constitute thoughts and feelings when our minds are\nleast solicited by sense-perceptions. In thus marking off the \"Unseen\nWorld\" from the objective universe of which we have knowledge, our\nline of demarcation would at least be drawn in the right place. The\ndistinction between psychical and material phenomena is a distinction of\na different order from all other distinctions known to philosophy, and\nit immeasurably transcends all others. The progress of modern discovery\nhas in no respect weakened the force of Descartes's remark, that between\nthat of which the differential attribute is Thought and that of which\nthe differential attribute is Extension, there can be no similarity, no\ncommunity of nature whatever. By no scientific cunning of experiment or\ndeduction can Thought be weighed or measured or in any way assimilated\nto such things as may be made the actual or possible objects of\nsense-perception. Modern discovery, so far from bridging over the chasm\nbetween Mind and Matter, tends rather to exhibit the distinction between\nthem as absolute. It has, indeed, been rendered highly probable that\nevery act of consciousness is accompanied by a molecular motion in the\ncells and fibres of the brain; and materialists have found great comfort\nin this fact, while theologians and persons of little faith have been\nvery much frightened by it. But since no one ever pretended that thought\ncan go on, under the conditions of the present life, without a\nbrain, one finds it rather hard to sympathize either with the\nself-congratulations of Dr. Buchner's disciples [8] or with the terrors\nof their opponents. But what has been less commonly remarked is the\nfact that when the thought and the molecular movement thus occur\nsimultaneously, in no scientific sense is the thought the product of the\nmolecular movement. The sun-derived energy of motion latent in the food\nwe eat is variously transformed within the organism, until some of\nit appears as the motion of the molecules of a little globule of\nnerve-matter in the brain. In a rough way we might thus say that the\nchemical energy of the food indirectly produces the motion of these\nlittle nerve-molecules. But does this motion of nerve-molecules now\nproduce a thought or state of consciousness? By no means. It simply\nproduces some other motion of nerve-molecules, and this in turn\nproduces motion of contraction or expansion in some muscle, or becomes\ntransformed into the chemical energy of some secreting gland. At no\npoint in the whole circuit does a unit of motion disappear as motion to\nreappear as a unit of consciousness. The physical process is complete in\nitself, and the thought does not enter into it. All that we can say is,\nthat the occurrence of the thought is simultaneous with that part of the\nphysical process which consists of a molecular movement in the brain.\n[9] To be sure, the thought is always there when summoned, but it\nstands outside the dynamic circuit, as something utterly alien from and\nincomparable with the events which summon it. No doubt, as Professor\nTyndall observes, if we knew exhaustively the physical state of the\nbrain, \"the corresponding thought or feeling might be inferred; or,\ngiven the thought or feeling, the corresponding state of the brain\nmight be inferred. But how inferred? It would be at bottom not a case\nof logical inference at all, but of empirical association. You may\nreply that many of the inferences of science are of this character; the\ninference, for example, that an electric current of a given direction\nwill deflect a magnetic needle in a definite way; but the cases differ\nin this, that the passage from the current to the needle, if not\ndemonstrable, is thinkable, and that we entertain no doubt as to the\nfinal mechanical solution of the problem. But the passage from the\nphysics of the brain to the corresponding facts of consciousness is\nunthinkable. Granted that a definite thought and a definite molecular\naction in the brain occur simultaneously; we do not possess the\nintellectual organ, nor apparently any rudiment of the organ, which\nwould enable us to pass by a process of reasoning from the one to the\nother. They appear together, but we do not know why.\" [10]\n\n [8] The Nation once wittily described these people as \"people who\nbelieve that they are going to die like the beasts, and who congratulate\nthemselves that they are going to die like the beasts.\"\n\n [9] For a fuller exposition of this point, see my Outlines of\nCosmic Philosophy, Vol. II. pp. 436-445.\n\n [10] Fragments of Science, p. 119.\n\n\nAn unseen world consisting of purely psychical or spiritual phenomena\nwould accordingly be demarcated by an absolute gulf from what we call\nthe material universe, but would not necessarily be discontinuous with\nthe psychical phenomena which we find manifested in connection with the\nworld of matter. The transfer of matter, or physical energy, or anything\nelse that is quantitatively measurable, into such an unseen world, may\nbe set down as impossible, by reason of the very definition of such a\nworld. Any hypothesis which should assume such a transfer would involve\na contradiction in terms. But the hypothesis of a survival of present\npsychical phenomena in such a world, after being denuded of material\nconditions, is not in itself absurd or self-contradictory, though it may\nbe impossible to support it by any arguments drawn from the domain of\nhuman experience. Such is the shape which it seems to me that, in\nthe present state of philosophy, the hypothesis of a future life must\nassume. We have nothing to say to gross materialistic notions of ghosts\nand bogies, and spirits that upset tables and whisper to ignorant vulgar\nwomen the wonderful information that you once had an aunt Susan. The\nunseen world imagined in our hypothesis is not connected with the\npresent material universe by any such \"invisible bonds\" as would allow\nBacon and Addison to come to Boston and write the silliest twaddle in\nthe most ungrammatical English before a roomful of people who have never\nlearned how to test what they are pleased to call the \"evidence of\ntheir senses.\" Our hypothesis is expressly framed so as to exclude all\nintercourse whatever between the unseen world of spirit unconditioned\nby matter and the present world of spirit conditioned by matter in which\nall our experiences have been gathered. The hypothesis being framed in\nsuch a way, the question is, What has philosophy to say to it? Can\nwe, by searching our experiences, find any reason for adopting such an\nhypothesis? Or, on the other hand, supposing we can find no such reason,\nwould the total failure of experimental evidence justify us in rejecting\nit?\n\nThe question is so important that I will restate it. I have imagined a\nworld made up of psychical phenomena, freed from the material conditions\nunder which alone we know such phenomena. Can we adduce any proof of the\npossibility of such a world? Or if we cannot, does our failure raise the\nslightest presumption that such a world is impossible?\n\nThe reply to the first clause of the question is sufficiently obvious.\nWe have no experience whatever of psychical phenomena save as manifested\nin connection with material phenomena. We know of Mind only as a group\nof activities which are never exhibited to us except through the medium\nof motions of matter. In all our experience we have never encountered\nsuch activities save in connection with certain very complicated\ngroupings of highly mobile material particles into aggregates which we\ncall living organisms. And we have never found them manifested to a\nvery conspicuous extent save in connection with some of those specially\norganized aggregates which have vertebrate skeletons and mammary glands.\nNay, more, when we survey the net results of our experience up to the\npresent time, we find indisputable evidence that in the past history\nof the visible universe psychical phenomena have only begun to be\nmanifested in connection with certain complex aggregates of material\nphenomena. As these material aggregates have age by age become more\ncomplex in structure, more complex psychical phenomena have been\nexhibited. The development of Mind has from the outset been associated\nwith the development of Matter. And to-day, though none of us has any\nknowledge of the end of psychical phenomena in his own case, yet\nfrom all the marks by which we recognize such phenomena in our\nfellow-creatures, whether brute or human, we are taught that when\ncertain material processes have been gradually or suddenly brought to an\nend, psychical phenomena are no longer manifested. From first to last,\ntherefore, our appeal to experience gets but one response. We have not\nthe faintest shadow of evidence wherewith to make it seem probable that\nMind can exist except in connection with a material body. Viewed from\nthis standpoint of terrestrial experience, there is no more reason for\nsupposing that consciousness survives the dissolution of the brain\nthan for supposing that the pungent flavour of table-salt survives its\ndecomposition into metallic sodium and gaseous chlorine.\n\nOur answer from this side is thus unequivocal enough. Indeed, so uniform\nhas been the teaching of experience in this respect that even in their\nattempts to depict a life after death, men have always found themselves\nobliged to have recourse to materialistic symbols. To the mind of a\nsavage the future world is a mere reproduction of the present, with its\neverlasting huntings and fightings. The early Christians looked forward\nto a renovation of the earth and the bodily resurrection from Sheol of\nthe righteous. The pictures of hell and purgatory, and even of paradise,\nin Dante's great poem, are so intensely materialistic as to seem\ngrotesque in this more spiritual age. But even to-day the popular\nconceptions of heaven are by no means freed from the notion of matter;\nand persons of high culture, who realize the inadequacy of these popular\nconceptions, are wont to avoid the difficulty by refraining from putting\ntheir hopes and beliefs into any definite or describable form. Not\nunfrequently one sees a smile raised at the assumption of knowledge or\ninsight by preachers who describe in eloquent terms the joys of a future\nstate; yet the smile does not necessarily imply any scepticism as to the\nabstract probability of the soul's survival. The scepticism is aimed at\nthe character of the description rather than at the reality of the thing\ndescribed. It implies a tacit agreement, among cultivated people, that\nthe unseen world must be purely spiritual in constitution. The agreement\nis not habitually expressed in definite formulas, for the reason that no\nmental image of a purely spiritual world can be formed. Much stress\nis commonly laid upon the recognition of friends in a future life; and\nhowever deep a meaning may be given to the phrase \"the love of God,\"\none does not easily realize that a heavenly existence could be worth the\nlonging that is felt for it, if it were to afford no further scope for\nthe pure and tender household affections which give to the present life\nits powerful though indefinable charm. Yet the recognition of friends\nin a purely spiritual world is something of which we can frame no\nconception whatever. We may look with unspeakable reverence on the\nfeatures of wife or child, less because of their physical beauty than\nbecause of the beauty of soul to which they give expression, but to\nimagine the perception of soul by soul apart from the material structure\nand activities in which soul is manifested, is something utterly beyond\nour power. Nay, even when we try to represent to ourselves the psychical\nactivity of any single soul by itself as continuing without the aid\nof the physical machinery of sensation, we get into unmanageable\ndifficulties. A great part of the contents of our minds consists of\nsensuous (chiefly visual) images, and though we may imagine reflection\nto go on without further images supplied by vision or hearing, touch or\ntaste or smell, yet we cannot well see how fresh experiences could be\ngained in such a state. The reader, if he require further illustrations,\ncan easily follow out this line of thought. Enough has no doubt been\nsaid to convince him that our hypothesis of the survival of conscious\nactivity apart from material conditions is not only utterly unsupported\nby any evidence that can be gathered from the world of which we have\nexperience, but is utterly and hopelessly inconceivable.\n\nIt is inconceivable BECAUSE it is entirely without foundation in\nexperience. Our powers of conception are closely determined by the\nlimits of our experience. When a proposition, or combination of ideas,\nis suggested, for which there has never been any precedent in human\nexperience, we find it to be UNTHINKABLE,--the ideas will not combine.\nThe proposition remains one which we may utter and defend, and perhaps\nvituperate our neighbours for not accepting, but it remains none the\nless an unthinkable proposition. It takes terms which severally have\nmeanings and puts them together into a phrase which has no meaning.\n[11] Now when we try to combine the idea of the continuance of conscious\nactivity with the idea of the entire cessation of material conditions,\nand thereby to assert the existence of a purely spiritual world, we\nfind that we have made an unthinkable proposition. We may defend our\nhypothesis as passionately as we like, but when we strive coolly to\nrealize it in thought we find ourselves baulked at every step.\n\n [11] See my Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, Vol. I. pp. 64-67.\n\n\nBut now we have to ask, How much does this inconceivability signify?\nIn most cases, when we say that a statement is inconceivable, we\npractically declare it to be untrue; when we say that a statement is\nwithout warrant in experience, we plainly indicate that we consider it\nunworthy of our acceptance. This is legitimate in the majority of cases\nwith which we have to deal in the course of life, because experience,\nand the capacities of thought called out and limited by experience, are\nour only guides in the conduct of life. But every one will admit that\nour experience is not infinite, and that our capacity of conception\nis not coextensive with the possibilities of existence. It is not only\npossible, but in the very highest degree probable, that there are\nmany things in heaven, if not on earth, which are undreamed of in our\nphilosophy. Since our ability to conceive anything is limited by the\nextent of our experience, and since human experience is very far from\nbeing infinite, it follows that there may be, and in all probability is,\nan immense region of existence in every way as real as the region which\nwe know, yet concerning which we cannot form the faintest rudiment of a\nconception. Any hypothesis relating to such a region of existence is not\nonly not disproved by the total failure of evidence in its favour, but\nthe total failure of evidence does not raise even the slightest prima\nfacie presumption against its validity.\n\nThese considerations apply with great force to the hypothesis of an\nunseen world in which psychical phenomena persist in the absence of\nmaterial conditions. It is true, on the one hand, that we can bring\nup no scientific evidence in support of such an hypothesis. But on the\nother hand it is equally true that in the very nature of things no\nsuch evidence could be expected to be forthcoming: even were there such\nevidence in abundance, it could not be accessible to us. The existence\nof a single soul, or congeries of psychical phenomena, unaccompanied\nby a material body, would be evidence sufficient to demonstrate the\nhypothesis. But in the nature of things, even were there a million such\nsouls round about us, we could not become aware of the existence of\none of them, for we have no organ or faculty for the perception of soul\napart from the material structure and activities in which it has been\nmanifested throughout the whole course of our experience. Even our own\nself-consciousness involves the consciousness of ourselves as partly\nmaterial bodies. These considerations show that our hypothesis is very\ndifferent from the ordinary hypotheses with which science deals. The\nentire absence of testimony does not raise a negative presumption except\nin cases where testimony is accessible. In the hypotheses with which\nscientific men are occupied, testimony is always accessible; and if we\ndo not find any, the presumption is raised that there is none. When Dr.\nBastian tells us that he has found living organisms to be generated in\nsealed flasks from which all living germs had been excluded, we demand\nthe evidence for his assertion. The testimony of facts is in this case\nhard to elicit, and only skilful reasoners can properly estimate its\nworth. But still it is all accessible. With more or less labour it can\nbe got at; and if we find that Dr. Bastian has produced no evidence save\nsuch as may equally well receive a different interpretation from that\nwhich he has given it, we rightly feel that a strong presumption\nhas been raised against his hypothesis. It is a case in which we are\nentitled to expect to find the favouring facts if there are any, and\nso long as we do not find such, we are justified in doubting their\nexistence. So when our authors propound the hypothesis of an unseen\nuniverse consisting of phenomena which occur in the interstellar ether,\nor even in some primordial fluid with which the ether has physical\nrelations, we are entitled to demand their proofs. It is not enough to\ntell us that we cannot disprove such a theory. The burden of proof lies\nwith them. The interstellar ether is something concerning the physical\nproperties of which we have some knowledge; and surely, if all the\nthings are going on which they suppose in a medium so closely related\nto ordinary matter, there ought to be some traceable indications of\nthe fact. At least, until the contrary can be shown, we must refuse\nto believe that all the testimony in a case like this is utterly\ninaccessible; and accordingly, so long as none is found, especially\nso long as none is even alleged, we feel that a presumption is raised\nagainst their theory.\n\nThese illustrations will show, by sheer contrast, how different it is\nwith the hypothesis of an unseen world that is purely spiritual. The\ntestimony in such a case must, under the conditions of the present life,\nbe forever inaccessible. It lies wholly outside the range of experience.\nHowever abundant it may be, we cannot expect to meet with it. And\naccordingly our failure to produce it does not raise even the slightest\npresumption against our theory. When conceived in this way, the belief\nin a future life is without scientific support; but at the same time it\nis placed beyond the need of scientific support and beyond the range of\nscientific criticism. It is a belief which no imaginable future advance\nin physical discovery can in any way impugn. It is a belief which is in\nno sense irrational, and which may be logically entertained without\nin the least affecting our scientific habit of mind or influencing our\nscientific conclusions.\n\nTo take a brief illustration: we have alluded to the fact that in the\nhistory of our present world the development of mental phenomena has\ngone on hand in hand with the development of organic life, while at the\nsame time we have found it impossible to explain mental phenomena as in\nany sense the product of material phenomena. Now there is another side\nto all this. The great lesson which Berkeley taught mankind was that\nwhat we call material phenomena are really the products of consciousness\nco-operating with some Unknown Power (not material) existing beyond\nconsciousness. We do very well to speak of \"matter\" in common parlance,\nbut all that the word really means is a group of qualities which have no\nexistence apart from our minds. Modern philosophers have quite generally\naccepted this conclusion, and every attempt to overturn Berkeley's\nreasoning has hitherto resulted in complete and disastrous failure. In\nadmitting this, we do not admit the conclusion of Absolute Idealism,\nthat nothing exists outside of consciousness. What we admit as existing\nindependently of our own consciousness is the Power that causes in\nus those conscious states which we call the perception of material\nqualities. We have no reason for regarding this Power as in itself\nmaterial: indeed, we cannot do so, since by the theory material\nqualities have no existence apart from our minds. I have elsewhere\nsought to show that less difficulty is involved in regarding this Power\noutside of us as quasi-psychical, or in some measure similar to the\nmental part of ourselves; and I have gone on to conclude that this Power\nmay be identical with what men have, in all times and by the aid of\nvarious imperfect symbols, endeavoured to apprehend as Deity. [12] We\nare thus led to a view of things not very unlike the views entertained\nby Spinoza and Berkeley. We are led to the inference that what we call\nthe material universe is but the manifestation of infinite Deity to our\nfinite minds. Obviously, on this view, Matter--the only thing to\nwhich materialists concede real existence--is simply an orderly\nphantasmagoria; and God and the Soul--which materialists regard as mere\nfictions of the imagination--are the only conceptions that answer to\nreal existences.\n\n [12] See my Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, Part I. Chap. IV.;\nPart III. Chaps. III., IV.\n\n\nIn the foregoing paragraph I have been setting down opinions with which\nI am prepared to agree, and which are not in conflict with anything that\nour study of the development of the objective world has taught us. In\nso far as that study may be supposed to bear on the question of a future\nlife, two conclusions are open to us. First we may say that since\nthe phenomena of mind appear and run their course along with certain\nspecialized groups of material phenomena, so, too, they must disappear\nwhen these specialized groups are broken up. Or, in other words, we may\nsay that every living person is an organized whole; consciousness is\nsomething which pertains to this organized whole, as music belongs to\nthe harp that is entire; but when the harp is broken it is silent, and\nwhen the organized whole of personality falls to pieces consciousness\nceases forever. To many well-disciplined minds this conclusion seems\nirresistible; and doubtless it would be a sound one--a good Baconian\nconclusion--if we were to admit, with the materialists, that the\npossibilities of existence are limited by our tiny and ephemeral\nexperience.\n\nBut now, supposing some Platonic speculator were to come along and\ninsist upon our leaving room for an alternative conclusion; suppose he\nwere to urge upon us that all this process of material development, with\nthe discovery of which our patient study has been rewarded, may be\nbut the temporary manifestation of relations otherwise unknown between\nourselves and the infinite Deity; suppose he were to argue that\npsychical qualities may be inherent in a spiritual substance which\nunder certain conditions becomes incarnated in matter, to wear it as a\nperishable garment for a brief season, but presently to cast it off and\nenter upon the freedom of a larger existence;--what reply should we be\nbound to make, bearing in mind that the possibilities of existence are\nin no wise limited by our experience? Obviously we should be bound to\nadmit that in sound philosophy this conclusion is just as likely to be\ntrue as the other. We should, indeed, warn him not to call on us to help\nhim to establish it by scientific arguments; and we should remind him\nthat he must not make illicit use of his extra-experiential hypotheses\nby bringing them into the treatment of scientific questions that lie\nwithin the range of experience. In science, for example, we make no\nuse of the conception of a \"spiritual substance\" (or of a \"material\nsubstance\" either), because we can get along sufficiently well by\ndealing solely with qualities. But with this general understanding we\nshould feel bound to concede the impregnableness of his main position.\n\nI have supposed this theory only as an illustration, not as a theory\nwhich I am prepared to adopt. My present purpose is not to treat as an\nadvocate the question of a future life, but to endeavour to point\nout what conditions should be observed in treating the question\nphilosophically. It seems to me that a great deal is gained when we have\ndistinctly set before us what are the peculiar conditions of proof in\nthe case of such transcendental questions. We have gained a great deal\nwhen we have learned how thoroughly impotent, how truly irrelevant, is\nphysical investigation in the presence of such a question. If we get not\nmuch positive satisfaction for our unquiet yearnings, we occupy at any\nrate a sounder philosophic position when we recognize the limits within\nwhich our conclusions, whether positive or negative, are valid.\n\nIt seems not improbable that Mr. Mill may have had in mind something\nlike the foregoing considerations when he suggested that there is no\nreason why one should not entertain the belief in a future life if the\nbelief be necessary to one's spiritual comfort. Perhaps no suggestion\nin Mr. Mill's richly suggestive posthumous work has been more generally\ncondemned as unphilosophical, on the ground that in matters of belief we\nmust be guided, not by our likes and dislikes, but by the evidence\nthat is accessible. The objection is certainly a sound one so far as\nit relates to scientific questions where evidence is accessible.\nTo hesitate to adopt a well-supported theory because of some vague\npreference for a different view is in scientific matters the one\nunpardonable sin,--a sin which has been only too often committed. Even\nin matters which lie beyond the range of experience, where evidence\nis inaccessible, desire is not to be regarded as by itself an adequate\nbasis for belief. But it seems to me that Mr. Mill showed a deeper\nknowledge of the limitations of scientific method than his critics, when\nhe thus hinted at the possibility of entertaining a belief not amenable\nto scientific tests. The hypothesis of a purely spiritual unseen\nworld, as above described, is entirely removed from the jurisdiction of\nphysical inquiry, and can only be judged on general considerations of\nwhat has been called \"moral probability\"; and considerations of this\nsort are likely, in the future as in the past, to possess different\nvalues for different minds. He who, on such considerations, entertains\na belief in a future life may not demand that his sceptical neighbour\nshall be convinced by the same considerations; but his neighbour is at\nthe same time estopped from stigmatizing his belief as unphilosophical.\n\nThe consideration which must influence most minds in their attitude\ntoward this question, is the craving, almost universally felt, for some\nteleological solution to the problem of existence. Why we are here now\nis a question of even profounder interest than whether we are to live\nhereafter. Unfortunately its solution carries us no less completely\nbeyond the range of experience! The belief that all things are working\ntogether for some good end is the most essential expression of religious\nfaith: of all intellectual propositions it is the one most closely\nrelated to that emotional yearning for a higher and better life which\nis the sum and substance of religion. Yet all the treatises on\nnatural theology that have ever been written have barely succeeded in\nestablishing a low degree of scientific probability for this belief.\nIn spite of the eight Bridgewater Treatises, and the \"Ninth\" beside,\ndysteleology still holds full half the field as against teleology. Most\nof this difficulty, however, results from the crude anthropomorphic\nviews which theologians have held concerning God. Once admitting that\nthe Divine attributes may be (as they must be) incommensurably greater\nthan human attributes, our faith that all things are working together\nfor good may remain unimpugned.\n\nTo many minds such a faith will seem incompatible with belief in the\nultimate destruction of sentiency amid the general doom of the material\nuniverse. A good end can have no meaning to us save in relation to\nconsciousness that distinguishes and knows the good from the evil. There\ncould be no better illustration of how we are hemmed in than the very\ninadequacy of the words with which we try to discuss this subject. Such\nwords have all gained their meanings from human experience, and hence of\nnecessity carry anthropomorphic implications. But we cannot help this.\nWe must think with the symbols with which experience has furnished\nus; and when we so think, there does seem to be little that is even\nintellectually satisfying in the awful picture which science shows us,\nof giant worlds concentrating out of nebulous vapour, developing with\nprodigious waste of energy into theatres of all that is grand and\nsacred in spiritual endeavour, clashing and exploding again into dead\nvapour-balls, only to renew the same toilful process without end,--a\nsenseless bubble-play of Titan forces, with life, love, and aspiration\nbrought forth only to be extinguished. The human mind, however\n\"scientific\" its training, must often recoil from the conclusion that\nthis is all; and there are moments when one passionately feels that this\ncannot be all. On warm June mornings in green country lanes, with sweet\npine-odours wafted in the breeze which sighs through the branches, and\ncloud-shadows flitting over far-off blue mountains, while little birds\nsing their love-songs, and golden-haired children weave garlands of wild\nroses; or when in the solemn twilight we listen to wondrous harmonies\nof Beethoven and Chopin that stir the heart like voices from an unseen\nworld; at such times one feels that the profoundest answer which science\ncan give to our questionings is but a superficial answer after all. At\nthese moments, when the world seems fullest of beauty, one feels most\nstrongly that it is but the harbinger of something else,--that the\nceaseless play of phenomena is no mere sport of Titans, but an orderly\nscene, with its reason for existing, its\n\n          \"One divine far-off event\n      To which the whole creation moves.\"\n\n\nDifficult as it is to disentangle the elements of reasoning that enter\ninto these complex groups of feeling, one may still see, I think, that\nit is speculative interest in the world, rather than anxious interest in\nself, that predominates. The desire for immortality in its lowest phase\nis merely the outcome of the repugnance we feel toward thinking of the\nfinal cessation of vigorous vital activity. Such a feeling is naturally\nstrong with healthy people. But in the mood which I have above tried to\ndepict, this feeling, or any other which is merely self-regarding, is\nlost sight of in the feeling which associates a future life with some\nsolution of the burdensome problem of existence. Had we but faith enough\nto lighten the burden of this problem, the inferior question would\nperhaps be less absorbing. Could we but know that our present lives\nare working together toward some good end, even an end in no wise\nanthropomorphic, it would be of less consequence whether we were\nindividually to endure. To the dog under the knife of the experimenter,\nthe world is a world of pure evil; yet could the poor beast but\nunderstand the alleviation of human suffering to which he is\ncontributing, he would be forced to own that this is not quite true;\nand if he were also a heroic or Christian dog, the thought would perhaps\ntake away from death its sting. The analogy may be a crude one; but\nthe reasonableness of the universe is at least as far above our\ncomprehension as the purposes of man surpass the understanding of the\ndog. Believing, however, though as a simple act of trust, that the end\nwill crown the work, we may rise superior to the question which has here\nconcerned us, and exclaim, in the supreme language of faith, \"Though He\nslay me, yet will I trust in Him!\"\n\n     July, 1875.\n\n\n\n\nII. \"THE TO-MORROW OF DEATH.\"\n\nFew of those who find pleasure in frequenting bookstores can have failed\nto come across one or more of the profusely illustrated volumes in which\nM. Louis Figuier has sought to render dry science entertaining to the\nmultitude. And of those who may have casually turned over their pages,\nthere are probably none, competent to form an opinion, who have not\nspeedily perceived that these pretentious books belong to the class of\npests and unmitigated nuisances in literature. Antiquated views,\nutter lack of comprehension of the subjects treated, and shameless\nunscrupulousness as to accuracy of statement, are faults but ill atoned\nfor by sensational pictures of the \"dragons of the prime that tare each\nother in their slime,\" or of the Newton-like brow and silken curls of\nthat primitive man in contrast with whom the said dragons have been\nlikened to \"mellow music.\"\n\nNevertheless, the sort of scientific reputation which these\ndiscreditable performances have gained for M. Figuier among an\nuncritical public is such as to justify us in devoting a few paragraphs\nto a book [13] which, on its own merits, is unworthy of any notice\nwhatever. \"The To-morrow of Death\"--if one were to put his trust in the\ntranslator's prefatory note--discusses a grave question upon \"purely\nscientific methods.\" We are glad to see this remark, because it shows\nwhat notions may be entertained by persons of average intelligence with\nreference to \"scientific methods.\" Those--and they are many--who vaguely\nthink that science is something different from common-sense, and that\nany book is scientific which talks about perihelia and asymptotes and\ncetacea, will find their vague notions here well corroborated. Quite\ndifferent will be the impression made upon those--and they are yet too\nfew--who have learned that the method of science is the common-sense\nmethod of cautiously weighing evidence and withholding judgment where\nevidence is not forthcoming. If talking about remote and difficult\nsubjects suffice to make one scientific, then is M. Figuier scientific\nto a quite terrible degree. He writes about the starry heavens as if he\nhad been present at the hour of creation, or had at least accompanied\nthe Arabian prophet on his famous night-journey. Nor is his knowledge of\nphysiology and other abstruse sciences at all less remarkable. But these\nthings will cease to surprise us when we learn the sources, hitherto\nsuspected only in mythology, from which favoured mortals can obtain a\nknowledge of what is going on outside of our planet.\n\n [13] The To-morrow of Death; or, The Future Life according to\nScience. By Louis Figuier. Translated from the French by S. R. Crocker.\nBoston: Roberts Brothers. 1872.\n\n\nThe four inner planets being nearly alike in size (?) and in length of\nday, M. Figuier infers, by strictly scientific methods, that whatever is\ntrue of one of them, as our earth, will be true of the others (p. 34).\nHence, they are all inhabited by human beings. It is true that human\nbeings must find Venus rather warm, and are not unlikely to be seriously\nincommoded by the tropical climate of Mercury. But we must remember\nthat \"the men of Venus and Mercury are made by nature to resist heat,\nas those of Jupiter and Saturn are made to endure cold, and those of the\nEarth and Mars to live in a mean temperature: OTHERWISE THEY COULD NOT\nEXIST\" (p. 72). In view of this charming specimen of a truly scientific\ninference, it is almost too bad to call attention to the fact that M.\nFiguier is quite behind the age in his statement of facts. So far from\nJupiter and Saturn being cold, observation plainly indicates that they\nare prodigiously hot, if not even incandescent and partly self-luminous;\nthe explanation being that, by reason of their huge bulk, they still\nretain much of the primitive heat which smaller planets have more\nquickly radiated away. As for M. Figuier's statement, that polar snows\nhave been witnessed on these planets, it is simply untrue; no such thing\nhas ever been seen there. Mars, on the other hand, has been observed\nto resemble in many important respects its near neighbour, the Earth;\nwhence our author declares that if an aeronaut were to shoot clear of\nterrestrial gravitation and land upon Mars, he would unquestionably\nsuppose himself to be still upon the earth. For aerolites, it seems, are\nsomehow fired down upon our planet both from Mars and from Venus; and\naerolites sometimes contain vegetable matter (?). Therefore, Mars has\na vegetation, and very likely its red colour is caused by its luxuriant\nautumnal foliage! (p. 47.) To return to Jupiter: this planet, indeed,\nhas inconveniently short days. \"In his 'Picture of the Heavens,'\nthe German astronomer, Littrow (these Germans think of nothing but\ngormandizing), asks how the people of Jupiter order their meals in the\nshort interval of five hours.\" Nevertheless, says our author, the\ngreat planet is compensated for this inconvenience by its equable and\ndelicious climate.\n\nIn view, however, of our author's more striking and original\ndisclosures, one would suppose that all this discussion of the physical\nconditions of existence on the various planets might have been passed\nover without detriment to the argument. After these efforts at proving\n(for M. Figuier presumably regards this rigmarole as proof) that all the\nmembers of our solar system are habitable, the interplanetary ether is\nforthwith peopled thickly with \"souls,\" without any resort to argument.\nThis, we suppose, is one of those scientific truths which as M. Figuier\ntells us, precede and underlie demonstration. Upon this impregnable\nbasis is reared the scientific theory of a future life. When we die our\nsoul passes into some other terrestrial body, unless we have been very\ngood, in which case we at once soar aloft and join the noble fraternity\nof the ether-folk. Bad men and young children, on dying, must undergo\nrenewed probation here below, but ultimately all pass away into the\ninterplanetary ether. The dweller in ether is chiefly distinguished\nfrom the mundane mortal by his acute senses and his ability to subsist\nwithout food. He can see as if through a telescope and microscope\ncombined. His intelligence is so great that in comparison an Aristotle\nwould seem idiotic. It should not be forgotten, too, that he possesses\neighty-five per cent of soul to fifteen per cent of body, whereas in\nterrestrial man the two elements are mixed in equal proportions. There\nis no sex among the ether-folk, their numbers being kept up by the\ninflux of souls from the various planets. \"Alimentation, that necessity\nwhich tyrannizes over men and animals, is not imposed upon the\ninhabitants of ether. Their bodies must be repaired and sustained by the\nsimple respiration of the fluid in which they are immersed, that is, of\nether.\" Most likely, continues our scientific author, the physiological\nfunctions of the ether-folk are confined to respiration, and that it is\npossible to breathe \"without numerous organs is proved by the fact that\nin all of a whole class of animals--the batrachians--the mere bare skin\nconstitutes the whole machinery of respiration\" (p. 95). Allowing for\nthe unfortunate slip of the pen by which \"batrachians\" are substituted\nfor \"fresh-water polyps,\" how can we fail to admire the severity of the\nscientific method employed in reaching these interesting conclusions?\n\nBut the King of Serendib must die, nor will the relentless scythe of\nTime spare our Etherians, with all their exalted attributes. They will\ndie repeatedly; and after having through sundry periods of probation\nattained spiritual perfection, they will all pour into the sun. Since\nit is the sun which originates life and feeling and thought upon the\nsurface of our earth, \"why may we not declare that the rays transmitted\nby the sun to the earth and the other planets are nothing more nor less\nthan the emanations of these souls?\" And now we may begin to form an\nadequate conception, of the rigorously scientific character of our\nauthor's method. There have been many hypotheses by which to account for\nthe supply of solar radiance. One of the most ingenious and probable\nof these hypotheses is that of Helmholtz, according to which the\nsolar radiance is due to the arrested motion of the sun's constituent\nparticles toward their common centre of gravity. But this is too\nfanciful to satisfy M. Figuier. The speculations of Helmholtz \"have\nthe disadvantage of resting on the idea of the sun's nebulosity,--an\nhypothesis which would need to be more closely examined before serving\nas a basis for so important a deduction.\" Accordingly, M. Figuier\npropounds an explanation which possesses the signal advantage that there\nis nothing hypothetical in it. \"In our opinion, the solar radiation is\nsustained by the continual influx of souls into the sun.\" This, as the\nreader will perceive, is the well-known theory of Mayer, that the solar\nheat is due to a perennial bombardment of the sun by meteors, save that,\nin place of gross materialistic meteors, M. Figuier puts ethereal souls.\nThe ether-folk are daily raining into the solar orb in untold millions,\nand to the unceasing concussion is due the radiation which maintains\nlife in the planets, and thus the circle is complete.\n\nIn spite of their exalted position, the ether-folk do not disdain to\nmingle with the affairs of terrestrial mortals. They give us counsel\nin dreams, and it is from this source, we presume, that our author has\nderived his rigid notions as to scientific method. In evidence of this\ndream-theory we have the usual array of cases, \"a celebrated journalist,\nM. R----,\" \"M. L----, a lawyer,\" etc., etc., as in most books of this\nkind.\n\nM. Figuier is not a Darwinian: the derivation of our bodies from the\nbodies of apes is a conception too grossly materialistic for him. Our\nsouls, however, he is quite willing to derive from the souls of lower\nanimals. Obviously we have pre-existed; how are we to account for\nMozart's precocity save by supposing his pre-existence? He brought with\nhim the musical skill acquired in a previous life. In general, the souls\nof musical children come from nightingales, while the souls of great\narchitects have passed into them from beavers (p. 247). We do not\nremember these past existences, it is true; but when we become\nether-folk, we shall be able to look back in recollection over the whole\nseries.\n\nAmid these sublime inquiries, M. Figuier is sometimes notably oblivious\nof humbler truths, as might indeed be expected. Thus he repeatedly\nalludes to Locke as the author of the doctrine of innate ideas (!!),\n[14] and he informs us that Kepler never quitted Protestant England (p.\n336), though we believe that the nearest Kepler ever came to living in\nEngland was the refusing of Sir Henry Wotton's request that he should\nmove thither.\n\n [14] Pages 251, 252, 287. So in the twenty-first century some\navatar of M. Figuier will perhaps describe the late professor Agassiz as\nthe author of the Darwinian theory.\n\n\nAnd lastly, we are treated to a real dialogue, with quite a dramatic\nmise en scene. The author's imaginary friend, Theophilus, enters, \"seats\nhimself in a comfortable chair, places an ottoman under his feet, a\nbook under his elbow to support it, and a cigarette of Turkish tobacco\nbetween his lips, and sets himself to the task of listening with a\ngrave air of collectedness, relieved by a certain touch of suspicious\nseverity, as becomes the arbiter in a literary and philosophic matter.\"\n\"And so,\" begins our author, \"you wish to know, my dear Theophilus,\nWHERE I LOCATE GOD? I locate him in the centre of the universe, or, in\nbetter phrase, at the central focus, which must exist somewhere, of all\nthe stars that make the universe, and which, borne onward in a common\nmovement, gravitate together around this focus.\"\n\nMuch more, of an equally scientific character, follows; but in fairness\nto the reader, who is already blaming us for wasting the precious\nmoments over such sorry trash, we may as well conclude our sketch of\nthis new line of speculation.\n\n     May, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nIII. THE JESUS OF HISTORY. [15]\n\n [15] The Jesus of History. Anonymous. 8vo. pp. 426. London:\nWilliams & Norgate, 1869.\n\nVie de Jesus, par Ernest Renan. Paris, 1867. (Thirteenth edition,\nrevised and partly rewritten.)\n\nIn republishing this and the following article on \"The Christ of Dogma,\"\nI am aware that they do but scanty justice to their very interesting\nsubjects. So much ground is covered that it would be impossible to treat\nit satisfactorily in a pair of review-articles; and in particular the\nviews adopted with regard to the New Testament literature are rather\nindicated than justified. These defects I hope to remedy in a future\nwork on \"Jesus of Nazareth, and the Founding of Christianity,\" for\nwhich the present articles must be regarded as furnishing only a few\nintroductory hints. This work has been for several years on my mind,\nbut as it may still be long before I can find the leisure needful for\nwriting it out, it seemed best to republish these preliminary sketches\nwhich have been some time out of print. The projected work, however,\nwhile covering all the points here treated, will have a much wider\nscope, dealing on the one hand with the natural genesis of the complex\naggregate of beliefs and aspirations known as Christianity, and on\nthe other hand with the metamorphoses which are being wrought in this\naggregate by modern knowledge and modern theories of the world.\n\nThe views adopted in the present essay as to the date of the Synoptic\nGospels may seem over-conservative to those who accept the ably-argued\nconclusions of \"Supernatural Religion.\" Quite possibly in a more\ndetailed discussion these briefly-indicated data may require revision;\nbut for the present it seems best to let the article stand as it was\nwritten. The author of \"Supernatural Religion\" would no doubt admit\nthat, even if the synoptic gospels had not assumed their present form\nbefore the end of the second century, nevertheless the body of tradition\ncontained in them had been committed to writing very early in that\ncentury. So much appears to be proved by the very variations of text\nupon which his argument relies. And if this be granted, the value of the\nsynoptics as HISTORICAL evidence is not materially altered. With their\nvalue as testimony to so-called SUPERNATURAL events, the present essay\nis in no way concerned.\n\n\nOf all the great founders of religions, Jesus is at once the best known\nand the least known to the modern scholar. From the dogmatic point of\nview he is the best known, from the historic point of view he is the\nleast known. The Christ of dogma is in every lineament familiar to us\nfrom early childhood; but concerning the Jesus of history we possess\nbut few facts resting upon trustworthy evidence, and in order to form\na picture of him at once consistent, probable, and distinct in\nits outlines, it is necessary to enter upon a long and difficult\ninvestigation, in the course of which some of the most delicate\napparatus of modern criticism is required. This circumstance is\nsufficiently singular to require especial explanation. The case of\nSakyamuni, the founder of Buddhism, which may perhaps be cited as\nparallel, is in reality wholly different. Not only did Sakyamuni live\nfive centuries earlier than Jesus, among a people that have at no time\npossessed the art of insuring authenticity in their records of events,\nand at an era which is at best but dimly discerned through the mists of\nfable and legend, but the work which he achieved lies wholly out of\nthe course of European history, and it is only in recent times that his\ncareer has presented itself to us as a problem needing to be solved.\nJesus, on the other hand, appeared in an age which is familiarly and in\nmany respects minutely known to us, and among a people whose fortunes we\ncan trace with historic certainty for at least seven centuries previous\nto his birth; while his life and achievements have probably had a\nlarger share in directing the entire subsequent intellectual and moral\ndevelopment of Europe than those of any other man who has ever lived.\nNevertheless, the details of his personal career are shrouded in an\nobscurity almost as dense as that which envelops the life of the remote\nfounder of Buddhism.\n\nThis phenomenon, however, appears less strange and paradoxical when we\ncome to examine it more closely. A little reflection will disclose to\nus several good reasons why the historical records of the life of Jesus\nshould be so scanty as they are. In the first place, the activity of\nJesus was private rather than public. Confined within exceedingly narrow\nlimits, both of space and of duration, it made no impression whatever\nupon the politics or the literature of the time. His name does not\noccur in the pages of any contemporary writer, Roman, Greek, or Jewish.\nDoubtless the case would have been wholly different, had he, like\nMohammed, lived to a ripe age, and had the exigencies of his peculiar\nposition as the Messiah of the Jewish people brought him into relations\nwith the Empire; though whether, in such case, the success of his grand\nundertaking would have been as complete as it has actually been, may\nwell be doubted.\n\nSecondly, Jesus did not, like Mohammed and Paul, leave behind him\nauthentic writings which might serve to throw light upon his mental\ndevelopment as well as upon the external facts of his career. Without\nthe Koran and the four genuine Epistles of Paul, we should be nearly as\nmuch in the dark concerning these great men as we now are concerning the\nhistorical Jesus. We should be compelled to rely, in the one case, upon\nthe untrustworthy gossip of Mussulman chroniclers, and in the other\ncase upon the garbled statements of the \"Acts of the Apostles,\" a book\nwritten with a distinct dogmatic purpose, sixty or seventy years after\nthe occurrence of the events which it professes to record.\n\nIt is true, many of the words of Jesus, preserved by hearsay tradition\nthrough the generation immediately succeeding his death, have come\ndown to us, probably with little alteration, in the pages of the three\nearlier evangelists. These are priceless data, since, as we shall see,\nthey are almost the only materials at our command for forming even a\npartial conception of the character of Jesus' work. Nevertheless, even\nhere the cautious inquirer has only too often to pause in face of the\ndifficulty of distinguishing the authentic utterances of the great\nteacher from the later interpolations suggested by the dogmatic\nnecessities of the narrators. Bitterly must the historian regret\nthat Jesus had no philosophic disciple, like Xenophon, to record his\nMemorabilia. Of the various writings included in the New Testament, the\nApocalypse alone (and possibly the Epistle of Jude) is from the pen of\na personal acquaintance of Jesus; and besides this, the four epistles of\nPaul, to the Galatians, Corinthians, and Romans, make up the sum of the\nwritings from which we may expect contemporary testimony. Yet from these\nwe obtain absolutely nothing of that for which we are seeking. The brief\nwritings of Paul are occupied exclusively with the internal significance\nof Jesus' work. The epistle of Jude--if it be really written by Jesus'\nbrother of that name, which is doubtful--is solely a polemic directed\nagainst the innovations of Paul. And the Apocalypse, the work of\nthe fiery and imaginative disciple John, is confined to a prophetic\ndescription of the Messiah's anticipated return, and tells us nothing\nconcerning the deeds of that Messiah while on the earth.\n\nHere we touch upon our third consideration,--the consideration which\nbest enables us to see why the historic notices of Jesus are so meagre.\nRightly considered, the statement with which we opened this article\nis its own explanation. The Jesus of history is so little known just\nbecause the Christ of dogma is so well known. [16] Other teachers--Paul,\nMohammed, Sakyamuni--have come merely as preachers of righteousness,\nspeaking in the name of general principles with which their own\npersonalities were not directly implicated. But Jesus, as we shall see,\nbefore the close of his life, proclaimed himself to be something more\nthan a preacher of righteousness. He announced himself--and justly, from\nhis own point of view--as the long-expected Messiah sent by Jehovah to\nliberate the Jewish race. Thus the success of his religious teachings\nbecame at once implicated with the question of his personal nature and\ncharacter. After the sudden and violent termination of his career, it\nimmediately became all-important with his followers to prove that he\nwas really the Messiah, and to insist upon the certainty of his speedy\nreturn to the earth. Thus the first generation of disciples dogmatized\nabout him, instead of narrating his life,--a task which to them would\nhave seemed of little profit. For them the all-absorbing object of\ncontemplation was the immediate future rather than the immediate past.\nAs all the earlier Christian literature informs us, for nearly a century\nafter the death of Jesus, his followers lived in daily anticipation of\nhis triumphant return to the earth. The end of all things being so near\nat hand, no attempt was made to insure accurate and complete memoirs\nfor the use of a posterity which was destined, in Christian imagination,\nnever to arrive. The first Christians wrote but little; even Papias,\nat the end of a century, preferring second-hand or third-hand oral\ntradition to the written gospels which were then beginning to come into\ncirculation. [17] Memoirs of the life and teachings of Jesus were called\nforth by the necessity of having a written standard of doctrine to which\nto appeal amid the growing differences of opinion which disturbed the\nChurch. Thus the earlier gospels exhibit, though in different degrees,\nthe indications of a modifying, sometimes of an overruling dogmatic\npurpose. There is, indeed, no conscious violation of historic truth, but\nfrom the varied mass of material supplied by tradition, such incidents\nare selected as are fit to support the views of the writers concerning\nthe personality of Jesus. Accordingly, while the early gospels throw a\nstrong light upon the state of Christian opinion at the dates when they\nwere successively composed, the information which they give concerning\nJesus himself is, for that very reason, often vague, uncritical, and\ncontradictory. Still more is this true of the fourth gospel, written\nlate in the second century, in which historic tradition is moulded in\nthe interests of dogma until it becomes no longer recognizable, and\nin the place of the human Messiah of the earlier accounts, we have a\nsemi-divine Logos or Aeon, detached from God, and incarnate for a brief\nseason in the likeness of man.\n\n [16] \"Wer einmal vergottert worden ist, der hat seine Mensetheit\nunwiederbringlich eingebusst.\"--Strauss, Der alte und der neue Glaube,\np. 76.\n\n [17] \"Roger was the attendant of Thomas  [Becket] during his\nsojourn at Pontigny. We might have expected him to be very full on that\npart of his history; but, writing doubtless mainly for the monks of\nPontigny, he says that HE WILL NOT ENLARGE UPON WHAT EVERY ONE KNOWS,\nand cuts that part very short.\"--Freeman, Historical Essays, 1st series,\np. 90.\n\n\nNot only was history subordinated to dogma by the writers of the\ngospel-narratives, but in the minds of the Fathers of the Church who\nassisted in determining what writings should be considered canonical,\ndogmatic prepossession went very much further than critical acumen.\nNor is this strange when we reflect that critical discrimination in\nquestions of literary authenticity is one of the latest acquisitions of\nthe cultivated human mind. In the early ages of the Church the evidence\nof the genuineness of any literary production was never weighed\ncritically; writings containing doctrines acceptable to the majority of\nChristians were quoted as authoritative while writings which supplied\nno dogmatic want were overlooked, or perhaps condemned as apocryphal.\nA striking instance of this is furnished by the fortunes of the\nApocalypse. Although perhaps the best authenticated work in the New\nTestament collection, its millenarian doctrines caused it to become\nunpopular as the Church gradually ceased to look for the speedy return\nof the Messiah, and, accordingly, as the canon assumed a definite shape,\nit was placed among the \"Antilegomena,\" or doubtful books, and continued\nto hold a precarious position until after the time of the Protestant\nReformation. On the other hand, the fourth gospel, which was quite\nunknown and probably did not exist at the time of the Quartodeciman\ncontroversy (A. D. 168), was accepted with little hesitation, and at the\nbeginning of the third century is mentioned by Irenaeus, Clement, and\nTertullian, as the work of the Apostle John. To this uncritical spirit,\nleading to the neglect of such books as failed to answer the dogmatic\nrequirements of the Church, may probably be attributed the loss of so\nmany of the earlier gospels. It is doubtless for this reason that we\ndo not possess the Aramaean original of the \"Logia\" of Matthew, or\nthe \"Memorabilia\" of Mark, the companion of Peter,--two works to which\nPapias (A. D. 120) alludes as containing authentic reports of the\nutterances of Jesus.\n\nThese considerations will, we believe, sufficiently explain the curious\ncircumstance that, while we know the Christ of dogma so intimately,\nwe know the Jesus of history so slightly. The literature of early\nChristianity enables us to trace with tolerable completeness the\nprogress of opinion concerning the nature of Jesus, from the time of\nPaul's early missions to the time of the Nicene Council; but upon the\nactual words and deeds of Jesus it throws a very unsteady light. The\ndogmatic purpose everywhere obscures the historic basis.\n\nThis same dogmatic prepossession which has rendered the data for\na biography of Jesus so scanty and untrustworthy, has also until\ncomparatively recent times prevented any unbiassed critical examination\nof such data as we actually possess. Previous to the eighteenth century\nany attempt to deal with the life of Jesus upon purely historical\nmethods would have been not only contemned as irrational, but\nstigmatized as impious. And even in the eighteenth century, those\nwriters who had become wholly emancipated from ecclesiastic tradition\nwere so destitute of all historic sympathy and so unskilled in\nscientific methods of criticism, that they utterly failed to comprehend\nthe requirements of the problem. Their aims were in the main polemic,\nnot historical. They thought more of overthrowing current dogmas than of\nimpartially examining the earliest Christian literature with a view of\neliciting its historic contents; and, accordingly, they accomplished but\nlittle. Two brilliant exceptions must, however, be noticed. Spinoza, in\nthe seventeenth century, and Lessing, in the eighteenth, were men far\nin advance of their age. They are the fathers of modern historical\ncriticism; and to Lessing in particular, with his enormous erudition and\nincomparable sagacity, belongs the honour of initiating that method of\ninquiry which, in the hands of the so-called Tubingen School, has led to\nsuch striking and valuable conclusions concerning, the age and character\nof all the New Testament literature. But it was long before any one\ncould be found fit to bend the bow which Lessing and Spinoza had\nwielded. A succession of able scholars--Semler, Eichhorn, Paulus,\nSchleiermacher Bretschneider, and De Wette--were required to examine,\nwith German patience and accuracy, the details of the subject, and\nto propound various untenable hypotheses, before such a work could be\nperformed as that of Strauss. The \"Life of Jesus,\" published by Strauss\nwhen only twenty-six years of age, is one of the monumental works of the\nnineteenth century, worthy to rank, as a historical effort, along with\nsuch books as Niebuhr's \"History of Rome,\" Wolf's \"Prolegomena,\" or\nBentley's \"Dissertations on Phalaris.\" It instantly superseded and\nrendered antiquated everything which had preceded it; nor has any work\non early Christianity been written in Germany for the past thirty years\nwhich has not been dominated by the recollection of that marvellous\nbook. Nevertheless, the labours of another generation of scholars have\ncarried our knowledge of the New Testament literature far beyond the\npoint which it had reached when Strauss first wrote. At that time the\ndates of but few of the New Testament writings had been fixed with any\napproach to certainty; the age and character of the fourth gospel, the\ngenuineness of the Pauline epistles, even the mutual relations of the\nthree synoptics, were still undetermined; and, as a natural result of\nthis uncertainty, the progress of dogma during the first century was ill\nunderstood. At the present day it is impossible to read the early work\nof Strauss without being impressed with the necessity of obtaining\npositive data as to the origin and dogmatic character of the New\nTestament writings, before attempting to reach any conclusions as to the\nprobable career of Jesus. These positive data we owe to the genius\nand diligence of the Tubingen School, and, above all, to its founder,\nFerdinand Christian Baur. Beginning with the epistles of Paul, of which\nhe distinguished four as genuine, Baur gradually worked his way through\nthe entire New Testament collection, detecting--with that inspired\ninsight which only unflinching diligence can impart to original\ngenius--the age at which each book was written, and the circumstances\nwhich called it forth. To give any account of Baur's detailed\nconclusions, or of the method by which he reached them, would require\na volume. They are very scantily presented in Mr. Mackay's work on the\n\"Tubingen School and its Antecedents,\" to which we may refer the reader\ndesirous of further information. We can here merely say that twenty\nyears of energetic controversy have only served to establish most of\nBaur's leading conclusions more firmly than ever. The priority of the\nso-called gospel of Matthew, the Pauline purpose of \"Luke,\" the second\nin date of our gospels, the derivative and second-hand character of\n\"Mark,\" and the unapostolic origin of the fourth gospel, are points\nwhich may for the future be regarded as wellnigh established by\ncircumstantial evidence. So with respect to the pseudo-Pauline epistles,\nBaur's work was done so thoroughly that the only question still left\nopen for much discussion is that concerning the date and authorship\nof the first and second \"Thessalonians,\"--a point of quite inferior\nimportance, so far as our present subject is concerned. Seldom have such\nvast results been achieved by the labour of a single scholar. Seldom has\nany historical critic possessed such a combination of analytic and\nof co-ordinating powers as Baur. His keen criticism and his wonderful\nflashes of insight exercise upon the reader a truly poetic effect like\nthat which is felt in contemplating the marvels of physical discovery.\n\nThe comprehensive labours of Baur were followed up by Zeller's able work\non the \"Acts of the Apostles,\" in which that book was shown to have been\npartly founded upon documents written by Luke, or some other companion\nof Paul, and expanded and modified by a much later writer with the\npurpose of covering up the traces of the early schism between the\nPauline and the Petrine sections of the Church. Along with this,\nSchwegler's work on the \"Post-Apostolic Times\" deserves mention as\nclearing up many obscure points relating to the early development\nof dogma. Finally, the \"New Life of Jesus,\" by Strauss, adopting and\nutilizing the principal discoveries of Baur and his followers, and\ncombining all into one grand historical picture, worthily completes the\ntask which the earlier work of the same author had inaugurated.\n\nThe reader will have noticed that, with the exception of Spinoza, every\none of the names above cited in connection with the literary analysis\nand criticism of the New Testament is the name of a German. Until\nwithin the last decade, Germany has indeed possessed almost an absolute\nmonopoly of the science of Biblical criticism; other countries having\nremained not only unfamiliar with its methods, but even grossly ignorant\nof its conspicuous results, save when some German treatise of more than\nordinary popularity has now and then been translated. But during\nthe past ten years France has entered the lists; and the writings of\nReville, Reuss, Nicolas, D'Eichthal, Scherer, and Colani testify to the\nrapidity with which the German seed has fructified upon her soil. [18]\n\n [18] But now, in annexing Alsace, Germany has \"annexed\" pretty\nmuch the whole of this department of French scholarship,--a curious\nincidental consequence of the late war.\n\n\nNone of these books, however, has achieved such wide-spread celebrity,\nor done so much toward interesting the general public in this class\nof historical inquiries, as the \"Life of Jesus,\" by Renan. This\npre-eminence of fame is partly, but not wholly, deserved. From a purely\nliterary point of view, Renan's work doubtless merits all the celebrity\nit has gained. Its author writes a style such as is perhaps surpassed by\nthat of no other living Frenchman. It is by far the most readable book\nwhich has ever been written concerning the life of Jesus. And no doubt\nsome of its popularity is due to its very faults, which, from a critical\npoint of view, are neither few nor small. For Renan is certainly very\nfaulty, as a historical critic, when he practically ignores the extreme\nmeagreness of our positive knowledge of the career of Jesus, and\ndescribes scene after scene in his life as minutely and with as much\nconfidence as if he had himself been present to witness it all. Again\nand again the critical reader feels prompted to ask, How do you know all\nthis? or why, out of two or three conflicting accounts, do you\nquietly adopt some particular one, as if its superior authority were\nself-evident? But in the eye of the uncritical reader, these defects are\nexcellences; for it is unpleasant to be kept in ignorance when we are\nseeking after definite knowledge, and it is disheartening to read page\nafter page of an elaborate discussion which ends in convincing us that\ndefinite knowledge cannot be gained.\n\nIn the thirteenth edition of the \"Vie de Jesus,\" Renan has corrected\nsome of the most striking errors of the original work, and in particular\nhas, with praiseworthy candour, abandoned his untenable position with\nregard to the age and character of the fourth gospel. As is well known,\nRenan, in his earlier editions, ascribed to this gospel a historical\nvalue superior to that of the synoptics, believing it to have been\nwritten by an eyewitness of the events which it relates; and from this\nsource, accordingly, he drew the larger share of his materials. Now,\nif there is any one conclusion concerning the New Testament literature\nwhich must be regarded as incontrovertibly established by the labours of\na whole generation of scholars, it is this, that the fourth gospel was\nutterly unknown until about A. D. 170, that it was written by some\none who possessed very little direct knowledge of Palestine, that its\npurpose was rather to expound a dogma than to give an accurate record of\nevents, and that as a guide to the comprehension of the career of\nJesus it is of far less value than the three synoptic gospels. It\nis impossible, in a brief review like the present, to epitomize the\nevidence upon which this conclusion rests, which may more profitably\nbe sought in the Rev. J. J. Tayler's work on \"The Fourth Gospel,\" or\nin Davidson's \"Introduction to the New Testament.\" It must suffice to\nmention that this gospel is not cited by Papias; that Justin, Marcion,\nand Valentinus make no allusion to it, though, since it furnishes so\nmuch that is germane to their views, they would gladly have appealed\nto it, had it been in existence, when those views were as yet under\ndiscussion; and that, finally, in the great Quartodeciman controversy,\nA. D. 168, the gospel is not only not mentioned, but the authority of\nJohn is cited by Polycarp in flat contradiction of the view afterwards\ntaken by this evangelist. Still more, the assumption of Renan led at\nonce into complicated difficulties with reference to the Apocalypse. The\nfourth gospel, if it does not unmistakably announce itself as the work\nof John, at least professes to be Johannine; and it cannot for a moment\nbe supposed that such a book, making such claims, could have gained\ncurrency during John's lifetime without calling forth his indignant\nprotest. For, in reality, no book in the New Testament collection would\nso completely have shocked the prejudices of the Johannine party. John's\nown views are well known to us from the Apocalypse. John was the most\nenthusiastic of millenarians and the most narrow and rigid of Judaizers.\nIn his antagonism to the Pauline innovations he went farther than Peter\nhimself. Intense hatred of Paul and his followers appears in several\npassages of the Apocalypse, where they are stigmatized as \"Nicolaitans,\"\n\"deceivers of the people,\" \"those who say they are apostles and are\nnot,\" \"eaters of meat offered to idols,\" \"fornicators,\" \"pretended\nJews,\" \"liars,\" \"synagogue of Satan,\" etc. (Chap. II.). On the other\nhand, the fourth gospel contains nothing millenarian or Judaical; it\ncarries Pauline universalism to a far greater extent than Paul himself\nventured to carry it, even condemning the Jews as children of darkness,\nand by implication contrasting them unfavourably with the Gentiles;\nand it contains a theory of the nature of Jesus which the Ebionitish\nChristians, to whom John belonged, rejected to the last.\n\nIn his present edition Renan admits the insuperable force of these\nobjections, and abandons his theory of the apostolic origin of the\nfourth gospel. And as this has necessitated the omission or alteration\nof all such passages as rested upon the authority of that gospel, the\nbook is to a considerable extent rewritten, and the changes are such as\ngreatly to increase its value as a history of Jesus. Nevertheless, the\nauthor has so long been in the habit of shaping his conceptions of the\ncareer of Jesus by the aid of the fourth gospel, that it has become\nvery difficult for him to pass freely to another point of view. He still\nclings to the hypothesis that there is an element of historic tradition\ncontained in the book, drawn from memorial writings which had perhaps\nbeen handed down from John, and which were inaccessible to the\nsynoptists. In a very interesting appendix, he collects the evidence\nin favour of this hypothesis, which indeed is not without plausibility,\nsince there is every reason for supposing that the gospel was written at\nEphesus, which a century before had been John's place of residence. But\neven granting most of Renan's assumptions, it must still follow that the\nauthority of this gospel is far inferior to that of the synoptics, and\ncan in no case be very confidently appealed to. The question is one\nof the first importance to the historian of early Christianity. In\ninquiring into the life of Jesus, the very first thing to do is to\nestablish firmly in the mind the true relations of the fourth gospel to\nthe first three. Until this has been done, no one is competent to write\non the subject; and it is because he has done this so imperfectly,\nthat Renan's work is, from a critical point of view, so imperfectly\nsuccessful.\n\nThe anonymous work entitled \"The Jesus of History,\" which we have placed\nat the head of this article, is in every respect noteworthy as the first\nsystematic attempt made in England to follow in the footsteps of German\ncriticism in writing a life of Jesus. We know of no good reason why\nthe book should be published anonymously; for as a historical essay it\npossesses extraordinary merit, and does great credit not only to its\nauthor, but to English scholarship and acumen. [19] It is not, indeed,\na book calculated to captivate the imagination of the reading public.\nThough written in a clear, forcible, and often elegant style, it\npossesses no such wonderful rhetorical charm as the work of Renan;\nand it will probably never find half a dozen readers where the \"Vie de\nJesus\" has found a hundred. But the success of a book of this sort is\nnot to be measured by its rhetorical excellence, or by its adaptation to\nthe literary tastes of an uncritical and uninstructed public, but rather\nby the amount of critical sagacity which it brings to bear upon the\nelucidation of the many difficult and disputed points in the subject of\nwhich it treats. Measured by this standard, \"The Jesus of History\" must\nrank very high indeed. To say that it throws more light upon the career\nof Jesus than any work which has ever before been written in English\nwould be very inadequate praise, since the English language has been\nsingularly deficient in this branch of historical literature. We shall\nconvey a more just idea of its merits if we say that it will bear\ncomparison with anything which even Germany has produced, save only the\nworks of Strauss, Baur, and Zeller.\n\n [19] \"The Jesus of History\" is now known to have been written by\nSir Richard Hanson, Chief Justice of South Australia.\n\n\nThe fitness of our author for the task which he has undertaken is shown\nat the outset by his choice of materials. In basing his conclusions\nalmost exclusively upon the statements contained in the first gospel, he\nis upheld by every sound principle of criticism. The times and places\nat which our three synoptic gospels were written have been, through the\nlabours of the Tubingen critics, determined almost to a certainty. Of\nthe three, \"Mark\" is unquestionably the latest; with the exception of\nabout twenty verses, it is entirely made up from \"Matthew\" and \"Luke,\"\nthe diverse Petrine and Pauline tendencies of which it strives to\nneutralize in conformity to the conciliatory disposition of the Church\nat Rome, at the epoch at which this gospel was written, about A. D. 130.\nThe third gospel was also written at Rome, some fifteen years earlier.\nIn the preface, its author describes it as a compilation from previously\nexisting written materials. Among these materials was certainly the\nfirst gospel, several passages of which are adopted word for word by the\nauthor of \"Luke.\" Yet the narrative varies materially from that of the\nfirst gospel in many essential points. The arrangement of events is\nless natural, and, as in the \"Acts of the Apostles,\" by the same author,\nthere is apparent throughout the design of suppressing the old\ndiscord between Paul and the Judaizing disciples, and of representing\nChristianity as essentially Pauline from the outset. How far Paul was\ncorrect in his interpretation of the teachings of Jesus, it is difficult\nto decide. It is, no doubt, possible that the first gospel may have lent\nto the words of Jesus an Ebionite colouring in some instances, and that\nnow and then the third gospel may present us with a truer account.\nTo this supremely important point we shall by and by return. For the\npresent it must suffice to observe that the evidences of an overruling\ndogmatic purpose are generally much more conspicuous in the third\nsynoptist than in the first; and that the very loose manner in which\nthis writer has handled his materials in the \"Acts\" is not calculated to\ninspire us with confidence in the historical accuracy of his gospel.\nThe writer who, in spite of the direct testimony of Paul himself could\nrepresent the apostle to the Gentiles as acting under the direction of\nthe disciples at Jerusalem, and who puts Pauline sentiments into the\nmouth of Peter, would certainly have been capable of unwarrantably\ngiving a Pauline turn to the teachings of Jesus himself. We are\ntherefore, as a last resort, brought back to the first gospel, which we\nfind to possess, as a historical narrative, far stronger claims upon our\nattention than the second and third. In all probability it had assumed\nnearly its present shape before A. D. 100, its origin is unmistakably\nPalestinian; it betrays comparatively few indications of dogmatic\npurpose; and there are strong reasons for believing that the speeches of\nJesus recorded in it are in substance taken from the genuine \"Logia\" of\nMatthew mentioned by Papias, which must have been written as early as A.\nD. 60-70, before the destruction of Jerusalem. Indeed, we are inclined\nto agree with our author that the gospel, even in its present shape\n(save only a few interpolated passages), may have existed as early as\nA. D. 80, since it places the time of Jesus' second coming immediately\nafter the destruction of Jerusalem; whereas the third evangelist, who\nwrote forty-five years after that event, is careful to tell us, \"The\nend is NOT immediately.\" Moreover, it must have been written while the\nPaulo-Petrine controversy was still raging, as is shown by the parable\nof the \"enemy who sowed the tares,\" which manifestly refers to Paul, and\nalso by the allusions to \"false prophets\" (vii. 15), to those who say\n\"Lord, Lord,\" and who \"cast out demons in the name of the Lord\" (vii.\n21-23), teaching men to break the commandments (v. 17-20). There is,\ntherefore, good reason for believing that we have here a narrative\nwritten not much more than fifty years after the death of Jesus,\nbased partly upon the written memorials of an apostle, and in the main\ntrustworthy, save where it relates occurrences of a marvellous and\nlegendary character. Such is our author's conclusion, and in describing\nthe career of the Jesus of history, he relies almost exclusively upon\nthe statements contained in the first gospel. Let us now after this long\nbut inadequate introduction, give a brief sketch of the life of Jesus,\nas it is to be found in our author.\n\n\nConcerning the time and place of the birth of Jesus, we know next to\nnothing. According to uniform tradition, based upon a statement of the\nthird gospel, he was about thirty years of age at the time when he began\nteaching. The same gospel states, with elaborate precision, that\nthe public career of John the Baptist began in the fifteenth year of\nTiberius, or A. D. 28. In the winter of A. D. 35-36, Pontius Pilate was\nrecalled from Judaea, so that the crucifixion could not have taken place\nlater than in the spring of 35. Thus we have a period of about six years\nduring which the ministry of Jesus must have begun and ended; and if the\ntradition with respect to his age be trustworthy, we shall not be far\nout of the way in supposing him to have been born somewhere between B.\nC. 5 and A. D. 5. He is everywhere alluded to in the gospels as Jesus\nof Nazareth in Galilee, where lived also his father, mother brothers and\nsisters, and where very likely he was born. His parents' names are\nsaid to have been Joseph and Mary. His own name is a Hellenized form of\nJoshua, a name very common among the Jews. According to the first gospel\n(xiii. 55), he had four brothers,--Joseph and Simon; James, who was\nafterwards one of the heads of the church at Jerusalem, and the most\nformidable enemy of Paul; and Judas or Jude, who is perhaps the author\nof the anti-Pauline epistle commonly ascribed to him.\n\nOf the early youth of Jesus, and of the circumstances which guided his\nintellectual development, we know absolutely nothing, nor have we the\ndata requisite for forming any plausible hypothesis. He first appears\nin history about A. D. 29 or 30, in connection with a very remarkable\nperson whom the third evangelist describes as his cousin, and who\nseems, from his mode of life, to have been in some way connected with or\ninfluenced by the Hellenizing sect of Essenes. Here we obtain our first\nclew to guide us in forming a consecutive theory of the development of\nJesus' opinions. The sect of Essenes took its rise in the time of the\nMaccabees, about B. C. 170. Upon the fundamental doctrines of Judaism it\nhad engrafted many Pythagorean notions, and was doubtless in the time of\nJesus instrumental in spreading Greek ideas among the people of Galilee,\nwhere Judaism was far from being so narrow and rigid as at Jerusalem.\nThe Essenes attached but little importance to the Messianic expectations\nof the Pharisees, and mingled scarcely at all in national politics.\nThey lived for the most part a strictly ascetic life, being indeed the\nlegitimate predecessors of the early Christian hermits and monks. But\nwhile pre-eminent for sanctity of life, they heaped ridicule upon the\nentire sacrificial service of the Temple, despised the Pharisees as\nhypocrites, and insisted upon charity toward all men instead of the old\nJewish exclusiveness.\n\nIt was once a favourite theory that both John the Baptist and Jesus were\nmembers of the Essenian brotherhood; but that theory is now generally\nabandoned. Whatever may have been the case with John, who is said to\nhave lived like an anchorite in the desert, there seems to have been but\nlittle practical Essenism in Jesus, who is almost uniformly represented\nas cheerful and social in demeanour, and against whom it was expressly\nurged that he came eating and drinking, making no presence of\npuritanical holiness. He was neither a puritan, like the Essenes, nor a\nritualist, like the Pharisees. Besides which, both John and Jesus seem\nto have begun their careers by preaching the un-Essene doctrine of the\nspeedy advent of the \"kingdom of heaven,\" by which is meant the reign of\nthe Messiah upon the earth. Nevertheless, though we cannot regard Jesus\nas actually a member of the Essenian community or sect, we can hardly\navoid the conclusion that he, as well as John the Baptist, had been at\nsome time strongly influenced by Essenian doctrines. The spiritualized\nconception of the \"kingdom of heaven\" proclaimed by him was just what\nwould naturally and logically arise from a remodelling of the Messianic\ntheories of the Pharisees in conformity to advanced Essenian notions. It\nseems highly probable that some such refined conception of the functions\nof the Messiah was reached by John, who, stigmatizing the Pharisees and\nSadducees as a \"generation of vipers,\" called aloud to the people to\nrepent of their sins, in view of the speedy advent of the Messiah, and\nto testify to their repentance by submitting to the Essenian rite of\nbaptism. There is no positive evidence that Jesus was ever a disciple\nof John; yet the account of the baptism, in spite of the legendary\ncharacter of its details, seems to rest upon a historical basis; and\nperhaps the most plausible hypothesis which can be framed is, that Jesus\nreceived baptism at John's hands, became for a while his disciple, and\nacquired from him a knowledge of Essenian doctrines.\n\nThe career of John seems to have been very brief. His stern puritanism\nbrought him soon into disgrace with the government of Galilee. He was\nseized by Herod, thrown into prison, and beheaded. After the brief hints\ngiven as to the intercourse between Jesus and John, we next hear of\nJesus alone in the desert, where, like Sakyamuni and Mohammed, he may\nhave brooded in solitude over his great project. Yet we do not find that\nhe had as yet formed any distinct conception of his own Messiahship.\nThe total neglect of chronology by our authorities [20] renders it\nimpossible to trace the development of his thoughts step by step; but\nfor some time after John's catastrophe we find him calling upon the\npeople to repent, in view of the speedy approach of the Messiah,\nspeaking with great and commanding personal authority, but using no\nlanguage which would indicate that he was striving to do more than\nworthily fill the place and add to the good work of his late master. The\nSermon on the Mount, which the first gospel inserts in this place, was\nperhaps never spoken as a continuous discourse; but it no doubt for the\nmost part contains the very words of Jesus, and represents the general\nspirit of his teaching during this earlier portion of his career. In\nthis is contained nearly all that has made Christianity so powerful in\nthe domain of ethics. If all the rest of the gospel were taken away,\nor destroyed in the night of some future barbarian invasion, we should\nstill here possess the secret of the wonderful impression which Jesus\nmade upon those who heard him speak. Added to the Essenian scorn of\nPharisaic formalism, and the spiritualized conception of the Messianic\nkingdom, which Jesus may probably have shared with John the Baptist, we\nhave here for the first time the distinctively Christian conception\nof the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of men, which ultimately\ninsured the success of the new religion. The special point of\noriginality in Jesus was his conception of Deity. As Strauss well says,\n\"He conceived of God, in a moral point of view, as being identical in\ncharacter with himself in the most exalted moments of his religious\nlife, and strengthened in turn his own religious life by this ideal. But\nthe most exalted religious tendency in his own consciousness was exactly\nthat comprehensive love, overpowering the evil only by the good, which\nhe therefore transferred to God as the fundamental tendency of His\nnature.\" From this conception of God, observes Zeller, flowed naturally\nall the moral teaching of Jesus, the insistence upon spiritual\nrighteousness instead of the mere mechanical observance of Mosaic\nprecepts, the call to be perfect even as the Father is perfect, the\nprinciple of the spiritual equality of men before God, and the equal\nduties of all men toward each other.\n\n [20] \"The biographers  [of Becket] are commonly rather careless as\nto the order of time. Each.... recorded what struck him most or what\nhe best knew, one set down one event and another; and none of them paid\nmuch regard to the order of details.\"--Freeman, Historical Essays, 1st\nseries, p. 94.\n\n\nHow far, in addition to these vitally important lessons, Jesus may have\ntaught doctrines of an ephemeral or visionary character, it is very\ndifficult to decide. We are inclined to regard the third gospel as\nof some importance in settling this point. The author of that gospel\nrepresents Jesus as decidedly hostile to the rich. Where Matthew has\n\"Blessed are the poor in spirit,\" Luke has \"Blessed are ye poor.\" In\nthe first gospel we read, \"Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after\nrighteousness, for they will be filled\"; but in the third gospel we\nfind, \"Blessed are ye that hunger now, for ye will be filled\"; and this\nassurance is immediately followed by the denunciation, \"Woe to you that\nare rich, for ye have received your consolation! Woe to you that\nare full now, for ye will hunger.\" The parable of Dives and Lazarus\nillustrates concretely this view of the case, which is still further\ncorroborated by the account, given in both the first and the third\ngospels, of the young man who came to seek everlasting life. Jesus here\nmaintains that righteousness is insufficient unless voluntary poverty be\nsuperadded. Though the young man has strictly fulfilled the greatest of\nthe commandments,--to love his neighbour as himself,--he is required, as\na needful proof of his sincerity, to distribute all his vast possessions\namong the poor. And when he naturally manifests a reluctance to perform\nso superfluous a sacrifice, Jesus observes that it will be easier for a\ncamel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to share\nin the glories of the anticipated Messianic kingdom. It is difficult to\nescape the conclusion that we have here a very primitive and probably\nauthentic tradition; and when we remember the importance which,\naccording to the \"Acts,\" the earliest disciples attached to the\nprinciple of communism, as illustrated in the legend of Ananias and\nSapphira, we must admit strong reasons for believing that Jesus himself\nheld views which tended toward the abolition of private property.\nOn this point, the testimony of the third evangelist singly is of\nconsiderable weight; since at the time when he wrote, the communistic\ntheories of the first generation of Christians had been generally\nabandoned, and in the absence of any dogmatic motives, he could only\nhave inserted these particular traditions because he believed them to\npossess historical value. But we are not dependent on the third gospel\nalone. The story just cited is attested by both our authorities, and is\nin perfect keeping with the general views of Jesus as reported by the\nfirst evangelist. Thus his disciples are enjoined to leave all, and\nfollow him; to take no thought for the morrow; to think no more of\nlaying up treasures on the earth, for in the Messianic kingdom they\nshall have treasures in abundance, which can neither be wasted nor\nstolen. On making their journeys, they are to provide neither money,\nnor clothes, nor food, but are to live at the expense of those whom\nthey visit; and if any town refuse to harbour them, the Messiah, on his\narrival, will deal with that town more severely than Jehovah dealt with\nthe cities of the plain. Indeed, since the end of the world was to come\nbefore the end of the generation then living (Matt. xxiv. 34; 1 Cor. xv.\n51-56, vii. 29), there could be no need for acquiring property or making\narrangements for the future; even marriage became unnecessary. These\nteachings of Jesus have a marked Essenian character, as well as his\ndeclaration that in the Messianic kingdom there was to be no more\nmarriage, perhaps no distinction of sex (Matt. xxii. 30). The sect\nof Ebionites, who represented the earliest doctrine and practice of\nChristianity before it had been modified by Paul, differed from the\nEssenes in no essential respect save in the acknowledgment of Jesus as\nthe Messiah, and the expectation of his speedy return to the earth.\n\nHow long, or with what success, Jesus continued to preach the coming\nof the Messiah in Galilee, it is impossible to conjecture. His\nfellow-townsmen of Nazareth appear to have ridiculed him in his\nprophetical capacity; or, if we may trust the third evangelist, to have\narisen against him with indignation, and made an attempt upon his life.\nTo them he was but a carpenter, the son of a carpenter (Matt. xiii. 55;\nMark vi. 3), who told them disagreeable truths. Our author represents\nhis teaching in Galilee to have produced but little result, but the\ngospel narratives afford no definite data for deciding this point. We\nbelieve the most probable conclusion to be that Jesus did attract many\nfollowers, and became famous throughout Galilee; for Herod is said to\nhave regarded him as John the Baptist risen from the grave. To escape\nthe malice of Herod, Jesus then retired to Syro-Phoenicia, and during\nthis eventful journey the consciousness of his own Messiahship seems for\nthe first time to have distinctly dawned upon him (Matt. xiv. 1, 13; xv.\n21; xvi. 13-20). Already, it appears, speculations were rife as to\nthe character of this wonderful preacher. Some thought he was John the\nBaptist, or perhaps one of the prophets of the Assyrian period returned\nto the earth. Some, in accordance with a generally-received tradition,\nsupposed him to be Elijah, who had never seen death, and had now at last\nreturned from the regions above the firmament to announce the coming of\nthe Messiah in the clouds. It was generally admitted, among enthusiastic\nhearers, that he who spake as never man spake before must have some\ndivine commission to execute. These speculations, coming to the ears of\nJesus during his preaching in Galilee, could not fail to excite in him\na train of self-conscious reflections. To him also must have been\npresented the query as to his own proper character and functions;\nand, as our author acutely demonstrates, his only choice lay between a\nprofitless life of exile in Syro-Phoenicia, and a bold return to\nJewish territory in some pronounced character. The problem being thus\npropounded, there could hardly be a doubt as to what that character\nshould be. Jesus knew well that he was not John the Baptist; nor,\nhowever completely he may have been dominated by his sublime enthusiasm,\nwas it likely that he could mistake himself for an ancient prophet\narisen from the lower world of shades, or for Elijah descended from\nthe sky. But the Messiah himself he might well be. Such indeed was the\nalmost inevitable corollary from his own conception of Messiahship.\nWe have seen that he had, probably from the very outset, discarded the\ntraditional notion of a political Messiah, and recognized the truth that\nthe happiness of a people lies not so much in political autonomy as in\nthe love of God and the sincere practice of righteousness. The people\nwere to be freed from the bondage of sin, of meaningless formalism, of\nconsecrated hypocrisy,--a bondage more degrading than the payment of\ntribute to the emperor. The true business of the Messiah, then, was to\ndeliver his people from the former bondage; it might be left to Jehovah,\nin his own good time, to deliver them from the latter. Holding these\nviews, it was hardly possible that it should not sooner or later occur\nto Jesus that he himself was the person destined to discharge this\nglorious function, to liberate his countrymen from the thraldom of\nPharisaic ritualism, and to inaugurate the real Messianic kingdom of\nspiritual righteousness. Had he not already preached the advent of this\nspiritual kingdom, and been instrumental in raising many to loftier\nconceptions of duty, and to a higher and purer life? And might he\nnot now, by a grand attack upon Pharisaism in its central stronghold,\ndestroy its prestige in the eyes of the people, and cause Israel to\nadopt a nobler religious and ethical doctrine? The temerity of such a\npurpose detracts nothing from its sublimity. And if that purpose should\nbe accomplished, Jesus would really have performed the legitimate work\nof the Messiah. Thus, from his own point of view, Jesus was thoroughly\nconsistent and rational in announcing himself as the expected Deliverer;\nand in the eyes of the impartial historian his course is fully\njustified.\n\n\"From that time,\" says the first evangelist, \"Jesus began to show to his\ndisciples that he must go to Jerusalem, and suffer many things from\nthe elders and chief priests and scribes, and be put to death, and rise\nagain on the third day.\" Here we have, obviously, the knowledge of the\nwriter, after the event, reflected back and attributed to Jesus. It\nis of course impossible that Jesus should have predicted with such\ndefiniteness his approaching death; nor is it very likely that he\nentertained any hope of being raised from the grave \"on the third day.\"\nTo a man in that age and country, the conception of a return from the\nlower world of shades was not a difficult one to frame; and it may well\nbe that Jesus' sense of his own exalted position was sufficiently great\nto inspire him with the confidence that, even in case of temporary\nfailure, Jehovah would rescue him from the grave and send him back\nwith larger powers to carry out the purpose of his mission. But\nthe difficulty of distinguishing between his own words and the\ninterpretation put upon them by his disciples becomes here insuperable;\nand there will always be room for the hypothesis that Jesus had in\nview no posthumous career of his own, but only expressed his unshaken\nconfidence in the success of his enterprise, even after and in spite of\nhis death.\n\nAt all events, the possibility of his death must now have been often in\nhis mind. He was undertaking a wellnigh desperate task,--to overthrow\nthe Pharisees in Jerusalem itself. No other alternative was left him.\nAnd here we believe Mr. F. W. Newman to be singularly at fault in\npronouncing this attempt of Jesus upon Jerusalem a foolhardy attempt.\nAccording to Mr. Newman, no man has any business to rush upon certain\ndeath, and it is only a crazy fanatic who will do so. [21] But such\n\"glittering generalizations\" will here help us but little. The historic\ndata show that to go to Jerusalem, even at the risk of death, was\nabsolutely necessary to the realization of Jesus' Messianic project.\nMr. Newman certainly would not have had him drag out an inglorious and\nbaffled existence in Syro-Phoenicia. If the Messianic kingdom was to be\nfairly inaugurated, there was work to be done in Jerusalem, and Jesus\nmust go there as one in authority, cost what it might. We believe him to\nhave gone there in a spirit of grand and careless bravery, yet seriously\nand soberly, and under the influence of no fanatical delusion. He\nknew the risks, but deliberately chose to incur them, that the will of\nJehovah might be accomplished.\n\nWe next hear of Jesus travelling down to Jerusalem by way of Jericho,\nand entering the sacred city in his character of Messiah, attended by a\ngreat multitude. It was near the time of the Passover, when people from\nall parts of Galilee and Judaea were sure to be at Jerusalem, and the\nnature of his reception seems to indicate that he had already secured a\nconsiderable number of followers upon whose assistance he might hope\nto rely, though it nowhere appears that he intended to use other than\npurely moral weapons to insure a favourable reception. We must remember\nthat for half a century many of the Jewish people had been constantly\nlooking for the arrival of the Messiah, and there can be little doubt\nthat the entry of Jesus riding upon an ass in literal fulfilment of\nprophecy must have wrought powerfully upon the imagination of the\nmultitude. That the believers in him were very numerous must be\ninferred from the cautious, not to say timid, behaviour of the rulers\nat Jerusalem, who are represented as desiring to arrest him, but as\ndeterred from taking active steps through fear of the people. We are\nled to the same conclusion by his driving the money-changers out of the\nTemple; an act upon which he could hardly have ventured, had not the\npopular enthusiasm in his favour been for the moment overwhelming. But\nthe enthusiasm of a mob is short-lived, and needs to be fed upon the\nexcitement of brilliant and dramatically arranged events. The calm\npreacher of righteousness, or even the fiery denouncer of the scribes\nand Pharisees, could not hope to retain undiminished authority save by\nthe display of extraordinary powers to which, so far as we know, Jesus\n(like Mohammed) made no presence (Matt. xvi. 1-4). The ignorant and\nmaterialistic populace could not understand the exalted conception of\nMessiahship which had been formed by Jesus, and as day after day elapsed\nwithout the appearance of any marvellous sign from Jehovah, their\nenthusiasm must naturally have cooled down. Then the Pharisees appear\ncautiously endeavouring to entrap him into admissions which might\nrender him obnoxious to the Roman governor. He saw through their design,\nhowever, and foiled them by the magnificent repartee, \"Render unto\nCaesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that\nare God's.\" Nothing could more forcibly illustrate the completely\nnon-political character of his Messianic doctrines. Nevertheless, we\nare told that, failing in this attempt, the chief priests suborned false\nwitnesses to testify against him: this Sabbath-breaker, this derider of\nMosaic formalism, who with his Messianic pretensions excited the people\nagainst their hereditary teachers, must at all events be put out of the\nway. Jesus must suffer the fate which society has too often had in store\nfor the reformer; the fate which Sokrates and Savonarola, Vanini\nand Bruno, have suffered for being wiser than their own generation.\nMessianic adventurers had already given much trouble to the Roman\nauthorities, who were not likely to scrutinize critically the peculiar\nclaims of Jesus. And when the chief priests accused him before Pilate\nof professing to be \"King of the Jews,\" this claim could in Roman\napprehension bear but one interpretation. The offence was treason,\npunishable, save in the case of Roman citizens, by crucifixion.\n\n [21] Phases of Faith, pp. 158-164.\n\n\nSuch in its main outlines is the historic career of Jesus, as\nconstructed by our author from data furnished chiefly by the first\ngospel. Connected with the narrative there are many interesting topics\nof discussion, of which our rapidly diminishing space will allow us to\nselect only one for comment. That one is perhaps the most important of\nall, namely, the question as to how far Jesus anticipated the views of\nPaul in admitting Gentiles to share in the privileges of the Messianic\nkingdom. Our author argues, with much force, that the designs of Jesus\nwere entirely confined to the Jewish people, and that it was Paul who\nfirst, by admitting Gentiles to the Christian fold without requiring\nthem to live like Jews, gave to Christianity the character of a\nuniversal religion. Our author reminds us that the third gospel is not\nto be depended upon in determining this point, since it manifestly puts\nPauline sentiments into the mouth of Jesus, and in particular attributes\nto Jesus an acquaintance with heretical Samaria which the first gospel\ndisclaims. He argues that the apostles were in every respect Jews, save\nin their belief that Jesus was the Messiah; and he pertinently asks, if\nJames, who was the brother of Jesus, and Peter and John, who were his\nnearest friends, unanimously opposed Paul and stigmatized him as a\nliar and heretic, is it at all likely that Jesus had ever distinctly\nsanctioned such views as Paul maintained?\n\nIn the course of many years' reflection upon this point, we have several\ntimes been inclined to accept the narrow interpretation of Jesus'\nteaching here indicated; yet, on the whole, we do not believe it\ncan ever be conclusively established. In the first place it must be\nremembered that if the third gospel throws a Pauline colouring over\nthe events which it describes, the first gospel also shows a decidedly\nanti-Pauline bias, and the one party was as likely as the other to\nattribute its own views to Jesus himself. One striking instance of this\ntendency has been pointed out by Strauss, who has shown that the verses\nMatt. v. 17-20 are an interpolation. The person who teaches men to break\nthe commandments is undoubtedly Paul, and in order to furnish a text\nagainst Paul's followers, the \"Nicolaitans,\" Jesus is made to declare\nthat he came not to destroy one tittle of the law, but to fulfil\nthe whole in every particular. Such an utterance is in manifest\ncontradiction to the spirit of Jesus' teaching, as shown in the very\nsame chapter, and throughout a great part of the same gospel. He who\ntaught in his own name and not as the scribes, who proclaimed himself\nLord over the Sabbath, and who manifested from first to last a more than\nEssenian contempt for rites and ceremonies, did not come to fulfil the\nlaw of Mosaism, but to supersede it. Nor can any inference adverse to\nthis conclusion be drawn from the injunction to the disciples (Matt.\nx. 5-7) not to preach to Gentiles and Samaritans, but only \"to the lost\nsheep of the house of Israel\"; for this remark is placed before the\nbeginning of Jesus' Messianic career, and the reason assigned for the\nrestriction is merely that the disciples will not have time even to\npreach to all the Jews before the coming of the Messiah, whose approach\nJesus was announcing (Matt. x. 23)\n\nThese examples show that we must use caution in weighing the testimony\neven of the first gospel, and must not too hastily cite it as proof that\nJesus supposed his mission to be restricted to the Jews. When we come to\nconsider what happened a few years after the death of Jesus, we shall\nbe still less ready to insist upon the view defended by our anonymous\nauthor. Paul, according to his own confession, persecuted the Christians\nunto death. Now what, in the theories or in the practice of the Jewish\ndisciples of Jesus, could have moved Paul to such fanatic behaviour?\nCertainly not their spiritual interpretation of Mosaism, for Paul\nhimself belonged to the liberal school of Gamaliel, to the views of\nwhich the teachings and practices of Peter, James, and John might easily\nbe accommodated. Probably not their belief in Jesus as the Messiah,\nfor at the riot in which Stephen was murdered and all the Hellenist\ndisciples driven from Jerusalem, the Jewish disciples were allowed\nto remain in the city unmolested. (See Acts viii. 1, 14.) This marked\ndifference of treatment indicates that Paul regarded Stephen and his\nfriends as decidedly more heretical and obnoxious than Peter, James, and\nJohn, whom, indeed, Paul's own master Gamaliel had recently (Acts v. 34)\ndefended before the council. And this inference is fully confirmed by\nthe account of Stephen's death, where his murderers charge him with\nmaintaining that Jesus had founded a new religion which was destined\nentirely to supersede and replace Judaism (Acts vi. 14). The Petrine\ndisciples never held this view of the mission of Jesus; and to this\ndifference it is undoubtedly owing that Paul and his companions forbore\nto disturb them. It would thus appear that even previous to Paul's\nconversion, within five or six years after the death of Jesus, there was\na prominent party among the disciples which held that the new religion\nwas not a modification but an abrogation of Judaism; and their name\n\"Hellenists\" sufficiently shows either that there were Gentiles among\nthem or that they held fellowship with Gentiles. It was this which\naroused Paul to persecution, and upon his sudden conversion it was with\nthese Hellenistic doctrines that he fraternized, taking little heed of\nthe Petrine disciples (Galatians i. 17), who were hardly more than a\nJewish sect.\n\nNow the existence of these Hellenists at Jerusalem so soon after\nthe death of Jesus is clear proof that he had never distinctly and\nirrevocably pronounced against the admission of Gentiles to the\nMessianic kingdom, and it makes it very probable that the downfall of\nMosaism as a result of his preaching was by no means unpremeditated.\nWhile, on the other hand, the obstinacy of the Petrine party in adhering\nto Jewish customs shows equally that Jesus could not have unequivocally\ncommitted himself in favour of a new gospel for the Gentiles. Probably\nJesus was seldom brought into direct contact with others than Jews, so\nthat the questions concerning the admission of Gentile converts did\nnot come up during his lifetime; and thus the way was left open for the\ncontroversy which soon broke out between the Petrine party and Paul.\nNevertheless, though Jesus may never have definitely pronounced upon\nthis point, it will hardly be denied that his teaching, even as reported\nin the first gospel, is in its utter condemnation of formalism far more\nclosely allied to the Pauline than to the Petrine doctrines. In his\nhands Mosaism became spiritualized until it really lost its identity,\nand was transformed into a code fit for the whole Roman world. And we do\nnot doubt that if any one had asked Jesus whether circumcision were an\nessential prerequisite for admission to the Messianic kingdom, he would\nhave given the same answer which Paul afterwards gave. We agree with\nZeller and Strauss that, \"as Luther was a more liberal spirit than\nthe Lutheran divines of the succeeding generation, and Sokrates a more\nprofound thinker than Xenophon or Antisthenes, so also Jesus must\nbe credited with having raised himself far higher above the narrow\nprejudices of his nation than those of his disciples who could scarcely\nunderstand the spread of Christianity among the heathen when it had\nbecome an accomplished fact.\"\n\n            January, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nIV. THE CHRIST OF DOGMA. [22]\n\n [22] Saint-Paul, par Ernest Renan. Paris, 1869.\n\nHistoire du Dogme de la Divinite de Jesus-Christ, par Albert Reville.\nParis, 1869.\n\nThe End of the World and the Day of Judgment. Two Discourses by the Rev.\nW. R. Alger. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1870.\n\n\nThe meagreness of our information concerning the historic career of\nJesus stands in striking contrast with the mass of information which\nlies within our reach concerning the primitive character of Christologic\nspeculation. First we have the four epistles of Paul, written from\ntwenty to thirty years after the crucifixion, which, although they tell\nus next to nothing about what Jesus did, nevertheless give us very\nplain information as to the impression which he made. Then we have the\nApocalypse, written by John, A. D. 68, which exhibits the Messianic\ntheory entertained by the earliest disciples. Next we have the epistles\nto the Hebrews, Philippians, Colossians, and Ephesians, besides the four\ngospels, constituting altogether a connected chain of testimony to the\nprogress of Christian doctrine from the destruction of Jerusalem to the\ntime of the Quartodeciman controversy (A. D. 70-170). Finally, there is\nthe vast collection of apocryphal, heretical, and patristic literature,\nfrom the writings of Justin Martyr, the pseudo-Clement, and the\npseudo-Ignatius, down to the time of the Council of Nikaia, when the\nofficial theories of Christ's person assumed very nearly the shape which\nthey have retained, within the orthodox churches of Christendom, down\nto the present day. As we pointed out in the foregoing essay, while all\nthis voluminous literature throws but an uncertain light upon the life\nand teachings of the founder of Christianity, it nevertheless furnishes\nnearly all the data which we could desire for knowing what the early\nChristians thought of the master of their faith. Having given a brief\naccount of the historic career of Jesus, so far as it can now be\ndetermined, we propose here to sketch the rise and progress of\nChristologic doctrine, in its most striking features, during the first\nthree centuries. Beginning with the apostolic view of the human Messiah\nsent to deliver Judaism from its spiritual torpor, and prepare it\nfor the millennial kingdom, we shall briefly trace the progressive\nmetamorphosis of this conception until it completely loses its identity\nin the Athanasian theory, according to which Jesus was God himself, the\nCreator of the universe, incarnate in human flesh.\n\nThe earliest dogma held by the apostles concerning Jesus was that of his\nresurrection from the grave after death. It was not only the earliest,\nbut the most essential to the success of the new religion. Christianity\nmight have overspread the Roman Empire, and maintained its hold upon\nmen's faith until to-day, without the dogmas of the incarnation and the\nTrinity; but without the dogma of the resurrection it would probably\nhave failed at the very outset. Its lofty morality would not alone have\nsufficed to insure its success. For what men needed then, as indeed they\nstill need, and will always need, was not merely a rule of life and a\nmirror to the heart, but also a comprehensive and satisfactory theory\nof things, a philosophy or theosophy. The times demanded intellectual as\nwell as moral consolation; and the disintegration of ancient theologies\nneeded to be repaired, that the new ethical impulse imparted by\nChristianity might rest upon a plausible speculative basis. The doctrine\nof the resurrection was but the beginning of a series of speculative\ninnovations which prepared the way for the new religion to emancipate\nitself from Judaism, and achieve the conquest of the Empire. Even the\nfaith of the apostles in the speedy return of their master the Messiah\nmust have somewhat lost ground, had it not been supported by their\nbelief in his resurrection from the grave and his consequent transfer\nfrom Sheol, the gloomy land of shadows, to the regions above the sky.\n\nThe origin of the dogma of the resurrection cannot be determined with\ncertainty. The question has, during the past century, been the subject\nof much discussion, upon which it is not necessary for us here to\ncomment. Such apparent evidence as there is in favour of the old theory\nof Jesus' natural recovery from the effects of the crucifixion may be\nfound in Salvador's \"Jesus-Christ et sa Doctrine\"; but, as Zeller has\nshown, the theory is utterly unsatisfactory. The natural return of\nJesus to his disciples never could have given rise to the notion of his\nresurrection, since the natural explanation would have been the more\nobvious one; besides which, if we were to adopt this hypothesis, we\nshould be obliged to account for the fact that the historic career of\nJesus ends with the crucifixion. The most probable explanation, on the\nwhole, is the one suggested by the accounts in the gospels, that the\ndogma of the resurrection is due originally to the excited imagination\nof Mary of Magdala. [23] The testimony of Paul may also be cited in\nfavour of this view, since he always alludes to earlier Christophanies\nin just the same language which he uses in describing his own vision on\nthe road to Damascus.\n\n [23] See Taine, De l'Intelligence, II. 192.\n\n\nBut the question as to how the belief in the resurrection of Jesus\noriginated is of less importance than the question as to how it should\nhave produced the effect that it did. The dogma of the resurrection has,\nuntil recent times, been so rarely treated from the historical point\nof view, that the student of history at first finds some difficulty\nin thoroughly realizing its import to the minds of those who first\nproclaimed it. We cannot hope to understand it without bearing in mind\nthe theories of the Jews and early Christians concerning the structure\nof the world and the cosmic location of departed souls. Since the time\nof Copernicus modern Christians no longer attempt to locate heaven and\nhell; they are conceived merely as mysterious places remote from the\nearth. The theological universe no longer corresponds to that which\nphysical science presents for our contemplation. It was quite different\nwith the Jew. His conception of the abode of Jehovah and the angels, and\nof departed souls, was exceedingly simple and definite. In the Jewish\ntheory the universe is like a sort of three-story house. The flat earth\nrests upon the waters, and under the earth's surface is the land of\ngraves, called Sheol, where after death the souls of all men go, the\nrighteous as well as the wicked, for the Jew had not arrived at the\ndoctrine of heaven and hell. The Hebrew Sheol corresponds strictly to\nthe Greek Hades, before the notions of Elysium and Tartarus were added\nto it,--a land peopled with flitting shadows, suffering no torment, but\nexperiencing no pleasure, like those whom Dante met in one of the upper\ncircles of his Inferno. Sheol is the first story of the cosmic house;\nthe earth is the second. Above the earth is the firmament or sky, which,\naccording to the book of Genesis (chap. i. v. 6, Hebrew text), is a vast\nplate hammered out by the gods, and supports a great ocean like that\nupon which the earth rests. Rain is caused by the opening of little\nwindows or trap-doors in the firmament, through which pours the water\nof this upper ocean. Upon this water rests the land of heaven, where\nJehovah reigns, surrounded by hosts of angels. To this blessed land two\nonly of the human race had ever been admitted,--Enoch and Elijah, the\nlatter of whom had ascended in a chariot of fire, and was destined to\nreturn to earth as the herald and forerunner of the Messiah. Heaven\nforms the third story of the cosmic house. Between the firmament and the\nearth is the air, which is the habitation of evil demons ruled by Satan,\nthe \"prince of the powers of the air.\"\n\nSuch was the cosmology of the ancient Jew; and his theology was equally\nsimple. Sheol was the destined abode of all men after death, and no\ntheory of moral retribution was attached to the conception. The rewards\nand punishments known to the authors of the Pentateuch and the early\nPsalms are all earthly rewards and punishments. But in course of\ntime the prosperity of the wicked and the misfortunes of the good man\nfurnished a troublesome problem for the Jewish thinker; and after the\nBabylonish Captivity, we find the doctrine of a resurrection from Sheol\ndevised in order to meet this case. According to this doctrine--which\nwas borrowed from the Zarathustrian theology of Persia--the Messiah\non his arrival was to free from Sheol all the souls of the righteous,\ncausing them to ascend reinvested in their bodies to a renewed and\nbeautiful earth, while on the other hand the wicked were to be punished\nwith tortures like those of the valley of Hinnom, or were to be immersed\nin liquid brimstone, like that which had rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah.\nHere we get the first announcement of a future state of retribution. The\ndoctrine was peculiarly Pharisaic, and the Sadducees, who were strict\nadherents to the letter of Mosaism, rejected it to the last. By\ndegrees this doctrine became coupled with the Messianic theories of\nthe Pharisees. The loss of Jewish independence under the dominion of\nPersians, Macedonians, and Romans, caused the people to look ever more\nearnestly toward the expected time when the Messiah should appear in\nJerusalem to deliver them from their oppressors. The moral doctrines\nof the Psalms and earlier prophets assumed an increasingly political\naspect. The Jews were the righteous \"under a cloud,\" whose sufferings\nwere symbolically depicted by the younger Isaiah as the afflictions of\nthe \"servant of Jehovah\"; while on the other hand, the \"wicked\" were the\nGentile oppressors of the holy people. Accordingly the Messiah, on his\narrival, was to sit in judgment in the valley of Jehoshaphat, rectifying\nthe wrongs of his chosen ones, condemning the Gentile tyrants to the\ntorments of Gehenna, and raising from Sheol all those Jews who had lived\nand died during the evil times before his coming. These were to find\nin the Messianic kingdom the compensation for the ills which they had\nsuffered in their first earthly existence. Such are the main outlines of\nthe theory found in the Book of Enoch, written about B. C. 100, and it\nis adopted in the Johannine Apocalypse, with little variation, save in\nthe recognition of Jesus as the Messiah, and in the transferrence to\nhis second coming of all these wonderful proceedings. The manner of the\nMessiah's coming had been variously imagined. According to an earlier\nview, he was to enter Jerusalem as a King of the house of David, and\ntherefore of human lineage. According to a later view, presented in the\nBook of Daniel, he was to descend from the sky, and appear among the\nclouds. Both these views were adopted by the disciples of Jesus, who\nharmonized them by referring the one to his first and the other to his\nsecond appearance.\n\nNow to the imaginations of these earliest disciples the belief in the\nresurrection of Jesus presented itself as a needful guarantee of his\nMessiahship. Their faith, which must have been shaken by his execution\nand descent into Sheol, received welcome confirmation by the springing\nup of the belief that he had been again seen upon the face of the earth.\nApplying the imagery of Daniel, it became a logical conclusion that he\nmust have ascended into the sky, whence he might shortly be expected to\nmake his appearance, to enact the scenes foretold in prophecy. That\nsuch was the actual process of inference is shown by the legend of the\nAscension in the first chapter of the \"Acts,\" and especially by the\nwords, \"This Jesus who hath been taken up from you into heaven, will\ncome in the same manner in which ye beheld him going into heaven.\" In\nthe Apocalypse, written A. D. 68, just after the death of Nero, this\nsecond coming is described as something immediately to happen, and\nthe colours in which it is depicted show how closely allied were the\nJohannine notions to those of the Pharisees. The glories of the New\nJerusalem are to be reserved for Jews, while for the Roman tyrants\nof Judaea is reserved a fearful retribution. They are to be trodden\nunderfoot by the Messiah, like grapes in a wine-press, until the gushing\nblood shall rise to the height of the horse's bridle.\n\nIn the writings of Paul the dogma of the resurrection assumes a very\ndifferent aspect. Though Paul, like the older apostles, held that Jesus,\nas the Messiah, was to return to the earth within a few years, yet to\nhis catholic mind this anticipated event had become divested of its\nnarrow Jewish significance. In the eyes of Paul, the religion preached\nby Jesus was an abrogation of Mosaism, and the truths contained in\nit were a free gift to the Gentile as well as to the Jewish world.\nAccording to Paul, death came into the world as a punishment for the\nsin of Adam. By this he meant that, had it not been for the original\ntransgression, all men escaping death would either have remained\nupon earth or have been conveyed to heaven, like Enoch and Elijah, in\nincorruptible bodies. But in reality as a penance for disobedience, all\nmen, with these two exceptions, had suffered death, and been exiled to\nthe gloomy caverns of Sheol. The Mosaic ritual was powerless to free men\nfrom this repulsive doom, but it had nevertheless served a good purpose\nin keeping men's minds directed toward holiness, preparing them, as a\nschoolmaster would prepare his pupils, to receive the vitalizing truths\nof Christ. Now, at last, the Messiah or Christ had come as a second\nAdam, and being without sin had been raised by Jehovah out of Sheol\nand taken up into heaven, as testimony to men that the power of sin and\ndeath was at last defeated. The way henceforth to avoid death and escape\nthe exile to Sheol was to live spiritually like Jesus, and with him to\nbe dead to sensual requirements. Faith, in Paul's apprehension, was not\nan intellectual assent to definitely prescribed dogmas, but, as\nMatthew Arnold has well pointed out, it was an emotional striving after\nrighteousness, a developing consciousness of God in the soul, such as\nJesus had possessed, or, in Paul's phraseology, a subjugation of the\nflesh by the spirit. All those who should thus seek spiritual perfection\nshould escape the original curse. The Messiah was destined to return to\nthe earth to establish the reign of spiritual holiness, probably during\nPaul's own lifetime (1 Cor. xv. 51). Then the true followers of Jesus\nshould be clothed in ethereal bodies, free from the imperfections of\n\"the flesh,\" and should ascend to heaven without suffering death, while\nthe righteous dead should at the same time be released from Sheol, even\nas Jesus himself had been released.\n\nTo the doctrine of the resurrection, in which ethical and speculative\nelements are thus happily blended by Paul, the new religion doubtless\nowed in great part its rapid success. Into an account of the causes\nwhich favoured the spreading of Christianity, it is not our purpose\nto enter at present. But we may note that the local religions of\nthe ancient pagan world had partly destroyed each other by mutual\nintermingling, and had lost their hold upon people from the circumstance\nthat their ethical teaching no longer corresponded to the advanced\nethical feeling of the age. Polytheism, in short, was outgrown. It was\noutgrown both intellectually and morally. People were ceasing to believe\nin its doctrines, and were ceasing to respect its precepts. The learned\nwere taking refuge in philosophy, the ignorant in mystical superstitions\nimported from Asia. The commanding ethical motive of ancient republican\ntimes had been patriotism,--devotion to the interests of the community.\nBut Roman dominion had destroyed patriotism as a guiding principle of\nlife, and thus in every way the minds of men were left in a sceptical,\nunsatisfied state,--craving after a new theory of life, and craving\nafter a new stimulus to right action. Obviously the only theology which\ncould now be satisfactory to philosophy or to common-sense was some form\nof monotheism;--some system of doctrines which should represent all men\nas spiritually subjected to the will of a single God, just as they were\nsubjected to the temporal authority of the Emperor. And similarly the\nonly system of ethics which could have a chance of prevailing must be\nsome system which should clearly prescribe the mutual duties of all men\nwithout distinction of race or locality. Thus the spiritual morality of\nJesus, and his conception of God as a father and of all men as brothers,\nappeared at once to meet the ethical and speculative demands of the\ntime.\n\nYet whatever effect these teachings might have produced, if unaided\nby further doctrinal elaboration, was enhanced myriadfold by the\nelaboration which they received at the hands of Paul. Philosophic Stoics\nand Epicureans had arrived at the conception of the brotherhood of men,\nand the Greek hymn of Kleanthes had exhibited a deep spiritual sense of\nthe fatherhood of God. The originality of Christianity lay not so\nmuch in its enunciation of new ethical precepts as in the fact that it\nfurnished a new ethical sanction,--a commanding incentive to holiness\nof living. That it might accomplish this result, it was absolutely\nnecessary that it should begin by discarding both the ritualism and the\nnarrow theories of Judaism. The mere desire for a monotheistic creed\nhad led many pagans, in Paul's time, to embrace Judaism, in spite of\nits requirements, which to Romans and Greeks were meaningless, and often\ndisgusting; but such conversions could never have been numerous. Judaism\ncould never have conquered the Roman world; nor is it likely that the\nJudaical Christianity of Peter, James, and John would have been any more\nsuccessful. The doctrine of the resurrection, in particular, was not\nlikely to prove attractive when accompanied by the picture of the\nMessiah treading the Gentiles in the wine-press of his righteous\nindignation. But here Paul showed his profound originality The\ncondemnation of Jewish formalism which Jesus had pronounced, Paul\nturned against the older apostles, who insisted upon circumcision. With\nmarvellous flexibility of mind, Paul placed circumcision and the Mosaic\ninjunctions about meats upon a level with the ritual observances of\npagan nations, allowing each feeble brother to perform such works as\nmight tickle his fancy, but bidding all take heed that salvation was not\nto be obtained after any such mechanical method, but only by devoting\nthe whole soul to righteousness, after the example of Jesus.\n\nThis was the negative part of Paul's work. This was the knocking down of\nthe barriers which had kept men, and would always have kept them, from\nentering into the kingdom of heaven. But the positive part of Paul's\nwork is contained in his theory of the salvation of men from death\nthrough the second Adam, whom Jehovah rescued from Sheol for his\nsinlessness. The resurrection of Jesus was the visible token of the\nescape from death which might be achieved by all men who, with God's\naid, should succeed in freeing themselves from the burden of sin which\nhad encumbered all the children of Adam. The end of the world was at\nhand, and they who would live with Christ must figuratively die with\nChrist, must become dead to sin. Thus to the pure and spiritual ethics\ncontained in the teachings of Jesus, Paul added an incalculably powerful\nincentive to right action, and a theory of life calculated to satisfy\nthe speculative necessities of the pagan or Gentile world. To the\neducated and sceptical Athenian, as to the critical scholar of modern\ntimes, the physical resurrection of Jesus from the grave, and his ascent\nthrough the vaulted floor of heaven, might seem foolishness or naivete.\nBut to the average Greek or Roman the conception presented no serious\ndifficulty. The cosmical theories upon which the conception was founded\nwere essentially the same among Jews and Gentiles, and indeed were but\nlittle modified until the establishment of the Copernican astronomy.\nThe doctrine of the Messiah's second coming was also received without\nopposition, and for about a century men lived in continual anticipation\nof that event, until hope long deferred produced its usual results;\nthe writings in which that event was predicted were gradually explained\naway, ignored, or stigmatized as uncanonical; and the Church ended by\ncondemning as a heresy the very doctrine which Paul and the Judaizing\napostles, who agreed in little else, had alike made the basis of\ntheir speculative teachings. Nevertheless, by the dint of allegorical\ninterpretation, the belief has maintained an obscure existence even down\nto the present time; the Antiochus of the Book of Daniel and the Nero of\nthe Apocalypse having given place to the Roman Pontiff or to the Emperor\nof the French.\n\nBut as the millenarism of the primitive Church gradually died out during\nthe second century, the essential principles involved in it lost none of\ntheir hold on men's minds. As the generation contemporary with Paul died\naway and was gathered into Sheol, it became apparent that the original\ntheory must be somewhat modified, and to this question the author of\nthe second epistle to the Thessalonians addresses himself. Instead of\nliteral preservation from death, the doctrine of a resurrection from the\ngrave was gradually extended to the case of the new believers, who were\nto share in the same glorious revival with the righteous of ancient\ntimes. And thus by slow degrees the victory over death, of which the\nresurrection of Jesus was a symbol and a witness, became metamorphosed\ninto the comparatively modern doctrine of the rest of the saints in\nheaven, while the banishment of the unrighteous to Sheol was made\nstill more dreadful by coupling with the vague conception of a gloomy\nsubterranean cavern the horrible imagery of the lake of fire and\nbrimstone borrowed from the apocalyptic descriptions of Gehenna. But\nin this modification of the original theory, the fundamental idea of\na future state of retribution was only the more distinctly emphasized;\nalthough, in course of time, the original incentive to righteousness\nsupplied by Paul was more and more subordinated to the comparatively\ndegrading incentive involved in the fear of damnation. There can hardly\nbe a doubt that the definiteness and vividness of the Pauline theory\nof a future life contributed very largely to the rapid spread of the\nChristian religion; nor can it be doubted that to the desire to be holy\nlike Jesus, in order to escape death and live with Jesus, is due\nthe elevating ethical influence which, even in the worst times of\necclesiastic degeneracy, Christianity has never failed to exert.\nDoubtless, as Lessing long, ago observed, the notion of future reward\nand punishment needs to be eliminated in order that the incentive to\nholiness may be a perfectly pure one. The highest virtue is that which\ntakes no thought of reward or punishment; but for a conception of this\nsort the mind of antiquity was not ready, nor is the average mind\nof to-day yet ready; and the sudden or premature dissolution of the\nChristian theory--which is fortunately impossible--might perhaps entail\na moral retrogradation.\n\nThe above is by no means intended as a complete outline of the religious\nphilosophy of Paul. We have aimed only at a clear definition of the\ncharacter and scope of the doctrine of the resurrection of Jesus, at the\ntime when it was first elaborated. We have now to notice the influence\nof that doctrine upon the development of Christologic speculation.\n\nIn neither or the four genuine epistles of Paul is Jesus described\nas superhuman, or as differing in nature from other men, save in his\nfreedom from sin. As Baur has shown, \"the proper nature of the Pauline\nChrist is human. He is a man, but a spiritual man, one in whom spirit\nor pneuma was the essential principle, so that he was spirit as well\nas man. The principle of an ideal humanity existed before Christ in\nthe bright form of a typical man, but was manifested to mankind in the\nperson of Christ.\" Such, according to Baur, is Paul's interpretation\nof the Messianic idea. Paul knows nothing of the miracles, of the\nsupernatural conception, of the incarnation, or of the Logos. The Christ\nwhom he preaches is the man Jesus, the founder of a new and spiritual\norder of humanity, as Adam was the father of humanity after the flesh.\nThe resurrection is uniformly described by him as a manifestation of the\npower of Jehovah, not of Jesus himself. The later conception of Christ\nbursting the barred gates of Sheol, and arising by his own might to\nheaven, finds no warrant in the expressions of Paul. Indeed, it was\nessential to Paul's theory of the Messiah as a new Adam, that he should\nbe human and not divine; for the escape of a divine being from Sheol\ncould afford no precedent and furnish no assurance of the future escape\nof human beings. It was expressly because the man Jesus had been rescued\nfrom the grave because of his spirituality, that other men might hope,\nby becoming spiritual like him, to be rescued also. Accordingly Paul is\ncareful to state that \"since through man came death, through man came\nalso the resurrection of the dead\" (1 Cor. xv. 21); a passage which\nwould look like an express denial of Christ's superhuman character,\nwere it probable that any of Paul's contemporaries had ever conceived of\nJesus as other than essentially human.\n\nBut though Paul's Christology remained in this primitive stage, it\ncontained the germs of a more advanced theory. For even Paul conceived\nof Jesus as a man wholly exceptional in spiritual character; or, in the\nphraseology of the time, as consisting to a larger extent of pneuma than\nany man who had lived before him. The question was sure to arise,\nWhence came this pneuma or spiritual quality? Whether the question\never distinctly presented itself to Paul's mind cannot be determined.\nProbably it did not. In those writings of his which have come down to\nus, he shows himself careless of metaphysical considerations. He is\nmainly concerned with exhibiting the unsatisfactory character of Jewish\nChristianity, and with inculcating a spiritual morality, to which the\ndoctrine of Christ's resurrection is made to supply a surpassingly\npowerful sanction. But attempts to solve the problem were not long\nin coming. According to a very early tradition, of which the obscured\ntraces remain in the synoptic gospels, Jesus received the pneuma at the\ntime of his baptism, when the Holy Spirit, or visible manifestation of\nthe essence of Jehovah, descended upon him and became incarnate in him.\nThis theory, however, was exposed to the objection that it implied\na sudden and entire transformation of an ordinary man into a person\ninspired or possessed by the Deity. Though long maintained by the\nEbionites or primitive Christians, it was very soon rejected by the\ngreat body of the Church, which asserted instead that Jesus had been\ninspired by the Holy Spirit from the moment of his conception. From this\nit was but a step to the theory that Jesus was actually begotten by or\nof the Holy Spirit; a notion which the Hellenic mind, accustomed to\nthe myths of Leda, Anchises, and others, found no difficulty in\nentertaining. According to the Gospel of the Hebrews, as cited by\nOrigen, the Holy Spirit was the mother of Jesus, and Joseph was his\nfather. But according to the prevailing opinion, as represented in the\nfirst and third synoptists, the relationship was just the other way.\nWith greater apparent plausibility, the divine aeon was substituted\nfor the human father, and a myth sprang up, of which the materialistic\ndetails furnished to the opponents of the new religion an opportunity\nfor making the most gross and exasperating insinuations. The dominance\nof this theory marks the era at which our first and third synoptic\ngospels were composed,--from sixty to ninety years after the death of\nJesus. In the luxuriant mythologic growth there exhibited, we may yet\ntrace the various successive phases of Christologic speculation but\nimperfectly blended. In \"Matthew\" and \"Luke\" we find the original\nMessianic theory exemplified in the genealogies of Jesus, in which,\ncontrary to historic probability (cf. Matt. xxii. 41-46), but in\naccordance with a time-honoured tradition, his pedigree is traced back\nto David; \"Matthew\" referring him to the royal line of Judah, while\n\"Luke\" more cautiously has recourse to an assumed younger branch.\nSuperposed upon this primitive mythologic stratum, we find, in the same\nnarratives, the account of the descent of the pneuma at the time of\nthe baptism; and crowning the whole, there are the two accounts of the\nnativity which, though conflicting in nearly all their details, agree\nin representing the divine pneuma as the father of Jesus. Of these three\nstages of Christology, the last becomes entirely irreconcilable with the\nfirst; and nothing can better illustrate the uncritical character of the\nsynoptists than the fact that the assumed descent of Jesus from David\nthrough his father Joseph is allowed to stand side by side with the\naccount of the miraculous conception which completely negatives it.\nOf this difficulty \"Matthew\" is quite unconscious, and \"Luke,\" while\nvaguely noticing it (iii. 23), proposes no solution, and appears\nundisturbed by the contradiction.\n\nThus far the Christology with which we have been dealing is\npredominantly Jewish, though to some extent influenced by Hellenic\nconceptions. None of the successive doctrines presented in Paul,\n\"Matthew,\" and \"Luke\" assert or imply the pre-existence of Jesus.\nAt this early period he was regarded as a human being raised to\nparticipation in certain attributes of divinity; and this was as far as\nthe dogma could be carried by the Jewish metaphysics. But soon after the\ndate of our third gospel, a Hellenic system of Christology arose into\nprominence, in which the problem was reversed, and Jesus was regarded\nas a semi-divine being temporarily lowered to participation in certain\nattributes of humanity. For such a doctrine Jewish mythology supplied no\nprecedents; but the Indo-European mind was familiar with the conception\nof deity incarnate in human form, as in the avatars of Vishnu, or\neven suffering III the interests of humanity, as in the noble myth of\nPrometheus. The elements of Christology pre-existing in the religious\nconceptions of Greece, India, and Persia, are too rich and numerous to\nbe discussed here. A very full account of them is given in Mr. R. W.\nMackay's acute and learned treatise on the \"Religious Development of the\nGreeks and Hebrews{.}\"\n\nIt was in Alexandria, where Jewish theology first came into contact with\nHellenic and Oriental ideas, that the way was prepared for the dogma\nof Christ's pre-existence. The attempt to rationalize the conception of\ndeity as embodied in the Jehovah of the Old Testament gave rise to the\nclass of opinions described as Gnosis, or Gnosticism. The signification\nof Gnosis is simply \"rationalism,\"--the endeavour to harmonize the\nmaterialistic statements of an old mythology with the more advanced\nspiritualistic philosophy of the time. The Gnostics rejected the\nconception of an anthropomorphic deity who had appeared visibly and\naudibly to the patriarchs; and they were the authors of the doctrine,\nvery widely spread during the second and third centuries, that God could\nnot in person have been the creator of the world. According to them,\nGod, as pure spirit, could not act directly upon vile and gross matter.\nThe difficulty which troubled them was curiously analogous to that\nwhich disturbed the Cartesians and the followers of Leibnitz in the\nseventeenth century; how was spirit to act upon matter, without\nceasing, pro tanto, to be spirit? To evade this difficulty, the Gnostics\npostulated a series of emanations from God, becoming successively less\nand less spiritual and more and more material, until at the lowest end\nof the scale was reached the Demiurgus or Jehovah of the Old Testament,\nwho created the world and appeared, clothed in material form, to the\npatriarchs. According to some of the Gnostics this lowest aeon or\nemanation was identical with the Jewish Satan, or the Ahriman of the\nPersians, who is called \"the prince of this world,\" and the creation of\nthe world was an essentially evil act. But all did not share in these\nextreme opinions. In the prevailing, theory, this last of the divine\nemanations was identified with the \"Sophia,\" or personified \"Wisdom,\" of\nthe Book of Proverbs (viii. 22-30), who is described as present with\nGod before the foundation of the world. The totality of these aeons\nconstituted the pleroma, or \"fulness of God\" (Coloss. i. 20; Eph. i.\n23), and in a corollary which bears unmistakable marks of Buddhist\ninfluence, it was argued that, in the final consummation of things,\nmatter should be eliminated and all spirit reunited with God, from whom\nit had primarily flowed.\n\nIt was impossible that such views as these should not soon be taken up\nand applied to the fluctuating Christology of the time. According to the\n\"Shepherd of Hermas,\" an apocalyptic writing nearly contemporary with\nthe gospel of \"Mark,\" the aeon or son of God who existed previous to\nthe creation was not the Christ, or the Sophia, but the Pneuma or Holy\nSpirit, represented in the Old Testament as the \"angel of Jehovah.\"\nJesus, in reward for his perfect goodness, was admitted to a share in\nthe privileges of this Pneuma (Reville, p. 39). Here, as M. Reville\nobserves, though a Gnostic idea is adopted, Jesus is nevertheless viewed\nas ascending humanity, and not as descending divinity. The author of the\n\"Clementine Homilies\" advances a step farther, and clearly assumes the\npre-existence of Jesus, who, in his opinion, was the pure, primitive\nman, successively incarnate in Adam, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob,\nMoses, and finally in the Messiah or Christ. The author protests,\nin vehement language, against those Hellenists who, misled by their\npolytheistic associations, would elevate Jesus into a god. Nevertheless,\nhis own hypothesis of pre-existence supplied at once the requisite\nfulcrum for those Gnostics who wished to reconcile a strict monotheism\nwith the ascription of divine attributes to Jesus. Combining with this\nnotion of pre-existence the pneumatic or spiritual quality attributed\nto Jesus in the writings of Paul, the Gnosticizing Christians maintained\nthat Christ was an aeon or emanation from God, redeeming men from the\nconsequences entailed by their imprisonment in matter. At this stage\nof Christologic speculation appeared the anonymous epistle to the\n\"Hebrews,\" and the pseudo-Pauline epistles to the \"Colossians,\"\n\"Ephesians,\" and \"Philippians\" (A. D. 130). In these epistles, which\noriginated among the Pauline Christians, the Gnostic theosophy is\nskilfully applied to the Pauline conception of the scope and purposes of\nChristianity. Jesus is described as the creator of the world (Coloss. i.\n16), the visible image of the invisible God, the chief and ruler of the\n\"throues, dominions, principalities, and powers,\" into which, in Gnostic\nphraseology, the emanations of God were classified. Or, according to\n\"Colossians\" and \"Philippians,\" all the aeons are summed up in him, in\nwhom dwells the pleroma, or \"fulness of God.\" Thus Jesus is elevated\nquite above ordinary humanity, and a close approach is made to ditheism,\nalthough he is still emphatically subordinated to God by being made\nthe creator of the world,--an office then regarded as incompatible with\nabsolute divine perfection. In the celebrated passage, \"Philippians\"\nii. 6-11, the aeon Jesus is described as being the form or visible\nmanifestation of God, yet as humbling himself by taking on the form or\nsemblance of humanity, and suffering death, in return for which he is\nto be exalted even above the archangels. A similar view is taken in\n\"Hebrews\"; and it is probable that to the growing favour with which\nthese doctrines were received, we owe the omission of the miraculous\nconception from the gospel of \"Mark,\"--a circumstance which has misled\nsome critics into assigning to that gospel an earlier date than\nto \"Matthew\" and \"Luke.\" Yet the fact that in this gospel Jesus is\nimplicitly ranked above the angels (Mark xiii. 32), reveals a later\nstage of Christologic doctrine than that reached by the first and third\nsynoptists; and it is altogether probable that, in accordance with the\nnoticeable conciliatory disposition of this evangelist, the supernatural\nconception is omitted out of deference to the Gnosticizing theories of\n\"Colossians\" and \"Philippians,\" in which this materialistic doctrine\nseems to have had no assignable place. In \"Philippians\" especially, many\nexpressions seem to verge upon Docetism, the extreme form of Gnosticism,\naccording to which the human body of Jesus was only a phantom.\nValentinus, who was contemporary with the Pauline writers of the second\ncentury, maintained that Jesus was not born of Mary by any process\nof conception, but merely passed through her, as light traverses a\ntranslucent substance. And finally Marcion (A. D. 140) carried the\ntheory to its extreme limits by declaring that Jesus was the pure Pneuma\nor Spirit, who contained nothing in common with carnal humanity.\n\nThe pseudo-Pauline writers steered clear of this extravagant doctrine,\nwhich erred by breaking entirely with historic tradition, and was\nconsequently soon condemned as heretical. Their language, though\nunmistakably Gnostic, was sufficiently neutral and indefinite to allow\nof their combination with earlier and later expositions of dogma, and\nthey were therefore eventually received into the canon, where they\nexhibit a stage of opinion midway between that of Paul and that of the\nfourth gospel.\n\nFor the construction of a durable system of Christology, still further\nelaboration was necessary. The pre-existence of Jesus, as an emanation\nfrom God, in whom were summed up the attributes of the pleroma or full\nscale of Gnostic aeons, was now generally conceded. But the relation of\nthis pleroqma to the Godhead of which it was the visible manifestation,\nneeded to be more accurately defined. And here recourse was had to\nthe conception of the \"Logos,\"--a notion which Philo had borrowed\nfrom Plato, lending to it a theosophic significance. In the Platonic\nmetaphysics objective existence was attributed to general terms, the\nsigns of general notions. Besides each particular man, horse, or tree,\nand besides all men, horses, and trees, in the aggregate, there was\nsupposed to exist an ideal Man, Horse, and Tree. Each particular man,\nhorse, or tree consisted of abstract existence plus a portion of\nthe ideal man, horse, or tree. Sokrates, for instance, consisted of\nExistence, plus Animality, plus Humanity, plus Sokraticity. The visible\nworld of particulars thus existed only by virtue of its participation in\nthe attributes of the ideal world of universals. God created the world\nby encumbering each idea with an envelopment or clothing of visible\nmatter; and since matter is vile or imperfect, all things are more or\nless perfect as they partake more or less fully of the idea. The pure\nunencumbered idea, the \"Idea of ideas,\" is the Logos, or divine Reason,\nwhich represents the sum-total of the activities which sustain the\nworld, and serves as a mediator between the absolutely ideal God and\nthe absolutely non-ideal matter. Here we arrive at a Gnostic conception,\nwhich the Philonists of Alexandria were not slow to appropriate. The\nLogos, or divine Reason, was identified with the Sophia, or divine\nWisdom of the Jewish Gnostics, which had dwelt with God before the\ncreation of the world. By a subtle play upon the double meaning of the\nGreek term (logos = \"reason\" or \"word\"), a distinction was drawn between\nthe divine Reason and the divine Word. The former was the archctypal\nidea or thought of God, existing from all eternity; the latter was the\nexternal manifestation or realization of that idea which occurred at the\nmoment of creation, when, according to Genesis, God SPOKE, and the world\nwas.\n\nIn the middle of the second century, this Philonian theory was the one\nthing needful to add metaphysical precision to the Gnostic and Pauline\nspeculations concerning the nature of Jesus. In the writings of Justin\nMartyr (A. D. 150-166), Jesus is for the first time identified with the\nPhilonian Logos or \"Word of God.\" According to Justin, an impassable\nabyss exists between the Infinite Deity and the Finite World; the one\ncannot act upon the other; pure spirit cannot contaminate itself by\ncontact with impure matter. To meet this difficulty, God evolves from\nhimself a secondary God, the Logos,--yet without diminishing himself any\nmore than a flame is diminished when it gives birth to a second flame.\nThus generated, like light begotten of light (lumen de lumine), the\nLogos creates the world, inspires the ancient prophets with their divine\nrevelations, and finally reveals himself to mankind in the person of\nChrist. Yet Justin sedulously guards himself against ditheism, insisting\nfrequently and emphatically upon the immeasurable inferiority of the\nLogos as compared with the actual God (gr o ontws qeos).\n\nWe have here reached very nearly the ultimate phase of New Testament\nspeculation concerning Jesus. The doctrines enunciated by Justin became\neventually, with slight modification, the official doctrines of the\nChurch; yet before they could thus be received, some further elaboration\nwas needed. The pre-existing Logos-Christ of Justin was no longer the\nhuman Messiah of the first and third gospels, born of a woman, inspired\nby the divine Pneuma, and tempted by the Devil. There was danger\nthat Christologic speculation might break quite loose from historic\ntradition, and pass into the metaphysical extreme of Docetism. Had\nthis come to pass, there might perhaps have been a fatal schism in the\nChurch. Tradition still remained Ebionitish; dogma had become decidedly\nGnostic; how were the two to be moulded into harmony with each other?\nSuch was the problem which presented itself to the author of the fourth\ngospel (A. D. 170-180). As M. Reville observes, \"if the doctrine of the\nLogos were really to be applied to the person of Jesus, it was necessary\nto remodel the evangelical history.\" Tradition must be moulded so as\nto fit the dogma, but the dogma must be restrained by tradition from\nrunning into Docetic extravagance. It must be shown historically how\n\"the Word became flesh\" and dwelt on earth (John i. 14), how the deeds\nof Jesus of Nazareth were the deeds of the incarnate Logos, in whom was\nexhibited the pleroma or fulness of the divine attributes. The author of\nthe fourth gospel is, like Justin, a Philonian Gnostic; but he differs\nfrom Justin in his bold and skilful treatment of the traditional\nmaterials supplied by the earlier gospels. The process of development in\nthe theories and purposes of Jesus, which can be traced throughout the\nMessianic descriptions of the first gospel, is entirely obliterated\nin the fourth. Here Jesus appears at the outset as the creator of the\nworld, descended from his glory, but destined soon to be reinstated.\nThe title \"Son of Man\" has lost its original significance, and become\nsynonymous with \"Son of God.\" The temptation, the transfiguration, the\nscene in Gethsemane, are omitted, and for the latter is substituted a\nPhilonian prayer. Nevertheless, the author carefully avoids the extremes\nof Docetism or ditheism. Not only does he represent the human life\nof Jesus as real, and his death as a truly physical death, but he\ndistinctly asserts the inferiority of the Son to the Father (John xiv.\n28). Indeed, as M. Reville well observes, it is part of the very notion\nof the Logos that it should be imperfect relatively to the absolute God;\nsince it is only its relative imperfection which allows it to sustain\nrelations to the world and to men which are incompatible with absolute\nperfection, from the Philonian point of view. The Athanasian doctrine of\nthe Trinity finds no support in the fourth gospel, any more than in the\nearlier books collected in the New Testament.\n\nThe fourth gospel completes the speculative revolution by which the\nconception of a divine being lowered to humanity was substituted for\nthat of a human being raised to divinity. We have here travelled a long\ndistance from the risen Messiah of the genuine Pauline epistles, or\nthe preacher of righteousness in the first gospel. Yet it does not seem\nprobable that the Church of the third century was thoroughly aware of\nthe discrepancy. The authors of the later Christology did not regard\nthemselves as adding new truths to Christianity, but merely as giving a\nfuller and more consistent interpretation to what must have been known\nfrom the outset. They were so completely destitute of the historic\nsense, and so strictly confined to the dogmatic point of view, that\nthey projected their own theories back into the past, and vituperated as\nheretics those who adhered to tradition in its earlier and simpler form.\nExamples from more recent times are not wanting, which show that we are\ndealing here with an inveterate tendency of the human mind. New facts\nand new theories are at first condemned as heretical or ridiculous; but\nwhen once firmly established, it is immediately maintained that every\none knew them before. After the Copernican astronomy had won the day,\nit was tacitly assumed that the ancient Hebrew astronomy was Copernican,\nand the Biblical conception of the universe as a kind of three-story\nhouse was ignored, and has been, except by scholars, quite forgotten.\nWhen the geologic evidence of the earth's immense antiquity could no\nlonger be gainsaid, it was suddenly ascertained that the Bible had from\nthe outset asserted that antiquity; and in our own day we have seen\nan elegant popular writer perverting the testimony of the rocks and\ndistorting the Elohistic cosmogony of the Pentateuch, until the twain\nhave been made to furnish what Bacon long ago described as \"a heretical\nreligion and a false philosophy.\" Now just as in the popular thought of\nthe present day the ancient Elohist is accredited with a knowledge of\nmodern geology and astronomy, so in the opinion of the fourth evangelist\nand his contemporaries the doctrine of the Logos-Christ was implicitly\ncontained in the Old Testament and in the early traditions concerning\nJesus, and needed only to be brought into prominence by a fresh\ninterpretation. Hence arose the fourth gospel, which was no more a\nconscious violation of historic data than Hugh Miller's imaginative\ndescription of the \"Mosaic Vision of Creation.\" Its metaphysical\ndiscourses were readily accepted as equally authentic with the Sermon\non the Mount. Its Philonian doctrines were imputed to Paul and the\napostles, the pseudo-Pauline epistles furnishing the needful texts. The\nEbionites--who were simply Judaizing Christians, holding in nearly its\noriginal form the doctrine of Peter, James, and John--were ejected from\nthe Church as the most pernicious of heretics; and so completely was\ntheir historic position misunderstood and forgotten, that, in order to\naccount for their existence, it became necessary to invent an eponymous\nheresiarch, Ebion, who was supposed to have led them astray from the\ntrue faith!\n\nThe Christology of the fourth gospel is substantially the same as that\nwhich was held in the next two centuries by Tertullian, Clement of\nAlexandria, Origen, and Arius. When the doctrine of the Trinity was\nfirst announced by Sabellius (A. D. 250-260), it was formally condemned\nas heretical, the Church being not yet quite prepared to receive it.\nIn 269 the Council of Antioch solemnly declared that the Son was NOT\nconsubstantial with the Father,--a declaration which, within sixty\nyears, the Council of Nikaia was destined as solemnly to contradict.\nThe Trinitarian Christology struggled long for acceptance, and did not\nfinally win the victory until the end of the fourth century. Yet from\nthe outset its ultimate victory was hardly doubtful. The peculiar\ndoctrines of the fourth gospel could retain their integrity only so long\nas Gnostic ideas were prevalent. When Gnosticism declined in importance,\nand its theories faded out of recollection, its peculiar phraseology\nreceived of necessity a new interpretation. The doctrine that God could\nnot act directly upon the world sank gradually into oblivion as the\nChurch grew more and more hostile to the Neo-Platonic philosophy. And\nwhen this theory was once forgotten, it was inevitable that the Logos,\nas the creator of the world, should be raised to an equality or identity\nwith God himself. In the view of the fourth evangelist, the Creator\nwas necessarily inferior to God; in the view of later ages, the Creator\ncould be none other than God. And so the very phrases which had most\nemphatically asserted the subordination of the Son were afterward\ninterpreted as asserting his absolute divinity. To the Gnostic formula,\nlumen de lumine, was added the Athanasian scholium, Deum verum de Deo\nvero; and the Trinitarian dogma of the union of persons in a single\nGodhead became thus the only available logical device for preserving the\npurity of monotheism.\n\n    February, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nV. A WORD ABOUT MIRACLES. [24]\n\n [24] These comments on Mr. Henry Rogers's review of M. Renan's\nLes Apotres, contained in a letter to Mr. Lewes, were shortly afterwards\npublished by him in the Fortnightly Review, September 15, 1866.\n\n\nIt is the lot of every book which attempts to treat the origin and\nprogress of Christianity in a sober and scientific spirit, to meet\nwith unsparing attacks. Critics in plenty are always to be found, who,\npossessed with the idea that the entire significance and value of the\nChristian religion are demolished unless we regard it as a sort of\nhistorical monstrosity, are only too eager to subject the offending\nwork to a scathing scrutiny, displaying withal a modicum of righteous\nindignation at the unblushing heresy of the author, not unmixed with\na little scornful pity at his inability to believe very preposterous\nstories upon very meagre evidence. \"Conservative\" polemics of this sort\nhave doubtless their function. They serve to purge scientific literature\nof the awkward and careless statements too often made by writers not\nsufficiently instructed or cautious, which in the absence of hostile\ncriticism might get accepted by the unthinking reader along with the\ntruths which they accompany. Most scientific and philosophical works\nhave their defects; and it is fortunate that there is such a thing as\ndogmatic ardour in the world, ever sharpening its wits to the utmost,\nthat it may spy each lurking inaccuracy and ruthlessly drag it to light.\nBut this useful spirit is wont to lead those who are inspired by it to\nshoot beyond the mark, and after pointing out the errors of others,\nto commit fresh mistakes of their own. In the skilful criticism of M.\nRenan's work on the Apostles, in No. 29 of the \"Fortnightly Review\"\nthere is now and then a vulnerable spot through which a controversial\nshaft may perhaps be made to pierce.\n\nIt may be true that Lord Lyttelton's tract on the Conversion of St.\nPaul, as Dr. Johnson and Dr. Rogers have said, has never yet been\nrefuted; but if I may judge from my own recollection of the work, I\nshould say that this must be because no competent writer ever thought\nit worth his pains to criticize it. Its argument contains about as much\nsolid consistency as a distended balloon, and collapses as readily at\nthe first puncture. It attempts to prove, first, that the conversion of\nSt. Paul cannot be made intelligible except on the assumption that there\nwas a miracle in the case; and secondly, that if Paul was converted by a\nmiracle, the truth of Christianity is impregnable. Now, if the first of\nthese points be established, the demonstration is not yet complete, for\nthe second point must be proved independently. But if the first point be\noverthrown, the second loses its prop, and falls likewise.\n\nGreat efforts are therefore made to show that no natural influences\ncould have intervened to bring about a change in the feelings of\nPaul. He was violent, \"thorough,\" unaffected by pity or remorse; and\naccordingly he could not have been so completely altered as he was, had\nhe not actually beheld the risen Christ: such is the argument which Mr.\nRogers deems so conclusive. I do not know that from any of Paul's own\nassertions we are entitled to affirm that no shade of remorse had ever\ncrossed his mind previous to the vision near Damascus. But waiving this\npoint, I do maintain that, granting Paul's feelings to have been as Mr.\nRogers thinks they were, his conversion is inexplicable, even on the\nhypothesis of a miracle. He that is determined not to believe, will not\nbelieve, though one should rise from the dead. To make Paul a believer,\nit was not enough that he should meet his Lord face to face he must have\nbeen already prepared to believe. Otherwise he would have easily found\nmeans of explaining the miracle from his own point of view. He would\ncertainly have attributed it to the wiles of the demon, even as the\nPharisees are said to have done with regard to the miraculous cures\nperformed by Jesus. A \"miraculous\" occurrence in those days did not\nastonish as it would at present. \"Miracles\" were rather the order of the\nday, and in fact were lavished with such extreme bounty on all hands,\nthat their convincing power was very slight. Neither side ever thought\nof disputing the reality of the miracles supposed to be performed on the\nother; but each side considered the miracles of its antagonist to be the\nwork of diabolic agencies. Such being the case, it is useless to suppose\nthat Paul could have distinguished between a true and a false miracle,\nor that a real miracle could of itself have had any effect in inducing\nhim to depart from his habitual course of belief and action. As far\nas Paul's mental operations were concerned, it could have made no\ndifference whether he met with his future Master in person, or merely\nencountered him in a vision. The sole point to be considered is whether\nor not he BELIEVED in the Divine character and authority of the event\nwhich had happened. What the event might have really been was of no\npractical consequence to him or to any one else. What he believed it\nto be was of the first importance. And since he did believe that he had\nbeen divinely summoned to cease persecuting, and commence preaching the\nnew faith, it follows that his state of mind must have been more or less\naffected by circumstances other than the mere vision. Had he not been\nripe for change, neither shadow nor substance could have changed him.\n\nThis view of the case is by no means so extravagant as Mr. Rogers would\nhave us suppose. There is no reason for believing that Paul's character\nwas essentially different afterwards from what it had been before.\nThe very fervour which caused him, as a Pharisee, to exclude all\nbut orthodox Jews from the hope of salvation, would lead him, as a\nChristian, to carry the Christian idea to its extreme development, and\nadmit all persons whatever to the privileges of the Church. The same\nzeal for the truth which had urged him to persecute the Christians unto\nthe death afterwards led him to spare no toil and shun no danger which\nmight bring about the triumph of their cause. It must not be forgotten\nthat the persecutor and the martyr are but one and the same man under\ndifferent circumstances. He who is ready to die for his own faith will\nsometimes think it fair to make other men die for theirs. Men of\na vehement and fiery temperament, moreover,--such as Paul always\nwas,--never change their opinions slowly, never rest in philosophic\ndoubt, never take a middle course. If they leave one extreme for an\ninstant, they are drawn irresistibly to the other; and usually very\nlittle is needed to work the change. The conversion of Omar is a\nstriking instance in point, and has been cited by M. Renan himself. The\ncharacter of Omar bears a strong likeness to that of Paul. Previous\nto his conversion, he was a conscientious and virulent persecutor\nof Mohammedanism. [25] After his conversion, he was Mohammed's\nmost efficient disciple, and it may be safely asserted that for\ndisinterestedness and self-abnegation he was not inferior to the Apostle\nof the Gentiles. The change in his case was, moreover, quite as sudden\nand unexpected as it was with Paul; it was neither more nor less\nincomprehensible; and if Paul's conversion needs a miracle to explain\nit, Omar's must need one likewise. But in truth, there is no difficulty\nin the case, save that which stupid dogmatism has created. The\nconversions of Paul and Omar are paralleled by innumerable events which\noccur in every period of religious or political excitement. Far from\nbeing extraordinary, or inexplicable on natural grounds, such phenomena\nare just what might occasionally be looked for.\n\n [25] Saint-Hilaire: Mahomet et le Coran, p. 109.\n\n\nBut, says Mr. Rogers, \"is it possible for a moment to imagine the\ndoting and dreaming victim of hallucinations (which M. Renan's theory\nrepresents Paul) to be the man whose masculine sense, strong logic,\npractical prudence, and high administrative talent appear in the\nachievements of his life, and in the Epistles he has left behind him?\"\nM. Renan's theory does not, however, represent Paul as the \"victim of\nhallucinations\" to a greater degree than Mohammed. The latter, as\nevery one knows, laboured during much of his life under almost constant\n\"hallucination\"; yet \"masculine sense, strong logic,\" etc., were\nqualities quite as conspicuous in him as in St. Paul.\n\nHere, as throughout his essay, Mr. Rogers shows himself totally unable\nto comprehend the mental condition of men in past ages. If an Apostle\nhas a dream or sees a vision, and interprets it according to the ideas\nof his time and country, instead of according to the ideas of scientific\nEngland in the nineteenth century Mr. Rogers thinks he must needs be\nmad: and when according to the well-known law that mental excitement\nis contagious, [26] several persons are said to have concurred in\ninterpreting some phenomenon supernaturally, Mr. Rogers cannot see why\nso many people should all go mad at once! \"To go mad,\" in fact is his\nfavourite designation for a mental act, which nearly all the human race\nhave habitually performed in all ages; the act of mistaking subjective\nimpressions for outward realities. The disposition to regard all strange\nphenomena as manifestations of supernatural power was universally\nprevalent in the first century of Christianity, and long after. Neither\ngreatness of intellect nor thoroughness of scepticism gave exemption.\nEven Julius Caesar, the greatest practical genius that ever lived,\nwas somewhat superstitious, despite his atheism and his Vigorous\ncommon-sense. It is too often argued that the prevalence of scepticism\nin the Roman Empire must have made men scrupulous about accepting\nmiracles. By no means. Nothing but physical science ever drives out\nmiracles: mere doctrinal scepticism is powerless to do it. In the age\nof the Apostles, little if any radical distinction was drawn between a\nmiracle and an ordinary occurrence. No one supposed a miracle to be an\ninfraction of the laws of nature, for no one had a clear idea that\nthere were such things as laws of nature. A miracle was simply an\nextraordinary act, exhibiting the power of the person who performed it.\nBlank, indeed, would the evangelists have looked, had any one told them\nwhat an enormous theory of systematic meddling with nature was destined\nto grow out of their beautiful and artless narratives.\n\n [26] Hecker's Epidemics of the Middle Ages, pp. 87-152.\n\n\nThe incapacity to appreciate this frame of mind renders the current\narguments in behalf of miracles utterly worthless. From the fact that\nCelsus and others never denied the reality of the Christian miracles,\nit is commonly inferred that those miracles must have actually happened.\nThe same argument would, however, equally apply to the miracles of\nApollonius and Simon Magus, for the Christians never denied the reality\nof these. What these facts really prove is that the state of human\nintelligence was as I have just described it: and the inference to be\ndrawn from them is that no miraculous account emanating from an author\nof such a period is worthy of serious attention. When Mr. Rogers\nsupposes that if the miracles had not really happened they would have\nbeen challenged, he is assuming that a state of mind existed in which\nit was possible for miracles to be challenged; and thus commits an\nanachronism as monstrous as if he had attributed the knowledge of some\nmodern invention, such as steamboats, to those early ages.\n\nMr. Rogers seems to complain of M. Renan for \"quietly assuming\" that\nmiracles are invariably to be rejected. Certainly a historian of the\npresent day who should not make such an assumption would betray his lack\nof the proper qualifications for his profession. It is not considered\nnecessary for every writer to begin his work by setting out to prove the\nfirst principles of historical criticism. They are taken for granted.\nAnd, as M. Renan justly says, a miracle is one of those things which\nmust be disbelieved until it is proved. The onus probandi lies on\nthe assertor of a fact which conflicts with universal experience.\nNevertheless, the great number of intelligent persons who, even now,\nfrom dogmatic reasons, accept the New Testament miracles, forbids that\nthey should be passed over in silence like similar phenomena elsewhere\nnarrated. But, in the present state of historical science, the arguing\nagainst miracles is, as Colet remarked of his friend Erasmus's warfare\nagainst the Thomists and Scotists of Cambridge, \"a contest more\nnecessary than glorious or difficult.\" To be satisfactorily established,\na miracle needs at least to be recorded by an eyewitness; and the mental\nattainments of the witness need to be thoroughly known besides. Unless\nhe has a clear conception of the difference between the natural and the\nunnatural order of events, his testimony, however unimpeachable on the\nscore of honesty, is still worthless. To say that this condition was\nfulfilled by those who described the New Testament miracles, would be\nabsurd. And in the face of what German criticism has done for the early\nChristian documents, it would be an excess of temerity to assert\nthat any one of the supernatural accounts contained in them rests on\ncontemporary authority. Of all history, the miraculous part should be\nattested by the strongest testimony, whereas it is invariably\nattested by the weakest. And the paucity of miracles wherever we have\ncontemporary records, as in the case of primitive Islamism, is a most\nsignificant fact.\n\nIn attempting to defend his principle of never accepting a miracle,\nM. Renan has indeed got into a sorry plight, and Mr. Rogers, in\ncontroverting him, has not greatly helped the matter. By stirring M.\nRenan's bemuddled pool, Mr. Rogers has only bemuddled it the more.\nNeither of these excellent writers seems to suspect that transmutation\nof species, the geologic development of the earth, and other like\nphenomena do not present features conflicting with ordinary experience.\nSir Charles Lyell and Mr. Darwin would be greatly astonished to be told\nthat their theories of inorganic and organic evolution involved any\nagencies not known to exist in the present course of nature. The great\nachievement of these writers has been to show that all past changes of\nthe earth and its inhabitants are to be explained as resulting from\nthe continuous action of causes like those now in operation, and that\nthroughout there has been nothing even faintly resembling a miracle.\nM. Renan may feel perfectly safe in extending his principle back to the\nbeginning of things; and Mr. Rogers's argument, even if valid against M.\nRenan, does not help his own case in the least.\n\nOn some points, indeed, M. Renan has laid himself open to severe\ncriticism, and on other points he has furnished good handles for his\northodox opponents. His views in regard to the authorship of the Fourth\nGospel and the Acts are not likely to be endorsed by many scholars; and\nhis revival of the rationalistic absurdities of Paulus merits in most\ninstances all that Mr. Rogers has said about it. As was said at the\noutset, orthodox criticisms upon heterodox books are always welcome.\nThey do excellent service. And with the feeling which impels their\nauthors to defend their favourite dogmas with every available weapon of\ncontroversy I for one can heartily sympathize. Their zeal in upholding\nwhat they consider the truth is greatly to be respected and admired. But\nso much cannot always be said for the mode of argumentation they\nadopt, which too often justifies M. Renan's description, when he says,\n\"Raisonnements triomphants sur des choses que l'adversaire n'a pas\ndites, cris de victoire sur des erreurs qu'il n'a pas commises, rien ne\nparait deloyal a celui qui croft tenir en main les interets de la verite\nabsolue.\"\n\n     August, 1866.\n\n\n\n\nVI. DRAPER ON SCIENCE AND RELIGION. [27]\n\n [27] History of the Conflict between Religion and Science, by\nJohn William Draper, M. D., LL. D. Fourth edition. New York: D. Appleton\n& Co. 1875. 12mo, pp. xxii., 373. (International Scientific Series,\nXII.)\n\n\nSome twelve years ago, Dr. Draper published a bulky volume entitled\n\"A History of the Intellectual Development of Europe,\" in which his\nprofessed purpose was to show that nations or races pass through certain\ndefinable epochs of development, analogous to the periods of infancy,\nchildhood, youth, manhood, and old age in individuals. But while\nannounced with due formality, the carrying out of the argument was left\nfor the most part to the headings and running-titles of the several\nchapters, while in the text the author peacefully meandered along down\nthe stream of time, giving us a succession of pleasant though somewhat\nthreadbare anecdotes, as well as a superabundance of detached and\nfragmentary opinions on divers historical events, having apparently\nquite forgotten that he had started with a thesis to prove. In the\narrangement of his \"running heads,\" some points were sufficiently\ncurious to require a word of explanation, as, for example, when the\nearly ages of Christianity were at one time labelled as an epoch\nof progress and at another time as an epoch of decrepitude. But the\nargument and the contents never got so far en rapport with each other as\nto clear up such points as this. On the contrary, each kept on the even\ntenour of its way without much regard to the other. From the titles of\nthe chapters one was led to expect some comprehensive theory of European\ncivilization continuously expounded. But the text merely showed a\ngreat quantity of superficial and second-hand information, serving\nto illustrate the mental idiosyncrasies of the author. Among these\nidiosyncrasies might be noted a very inadequate understanding of the\npart played by Rome in the work of civilization, a singular lack of\nappreciation of the political and philosophical achievements of Greece\nunder Athenian leadership, a strong hostility to the Catholic Church,\na curious disposition to overrate semi-barbarous, or abortive\ncivilizations, such as those of the old Asiatic and native\nAmerican communities, at the expense of Europe, and, above all, an\nundiscriminating admiration for everything, great or small, that has\never worn the garb of Islam or been associated with the career of the\nSaracens. The discovery that in some respects the Mussulmans of\nthe Middle Ages were more highly cultivated than their Christian\ncontemporaries, has made such an impression on Dr. Draper's mind that it\nseems to be as hard for him to get rid of it as it was for Mr. Dick to\nkeep the execution of Charles I. out of his \"Memorial.\" Even in an\nessay on the \"Civil Policy of America,\" the turbaned sage figures quite\nprominently; and it is needless to add that he reappears, as large as\nlife, when the subject of discussion is the attitude of science toward\nreligion.\n\nSpeaking briefly with regard to this matter, we may freely admit that\nthe work done by the Arabs, in scientific inquiry as well as in the\nmaking of events, was very considerable. It was a work, too, the value\nof which is not commonly appreciated in the accounts of European history\nwritten for the general reader, and we have no disposition to find fault\nwith Dr. Draper for describing it with enthusiasm. The philosophers of\nBagdad and Cordova did excellent service in keeping alive the traditions\nof Greek physical inquiry at a time when Christian thinkers were too\nexclusively occupied with transcendental speculations in theology and\nlogic. In some departments, as in chemistry and astronomy, they made\noriginal discoveries of considerable value; and if we turn from abstract\nknowledge to the arts of life, it cannot be denied that the mediaeval\nMussulmans had reached a higher plane of material comfort than their\nChristian contemporaries. In short, the work of all kinds done by these\npeople would furnish the judicious advocate of the claims of the Semitic\nrace with materials for a pleasing and instructive picture. Dr. Draper,\nhowever, errs, though no doubt unintentionally, by so presenting the\ncase as to leave upon the reader's mind the impression that all this\nscientific and practical achievement was the work of Islamism, and that\nthe Mohammedan civilization was of a higher type than the Christian. It\nis with an apparent feeling of regret that he looks upon the ousting\nof the Moors from dominion in Spain; but this is a mistaken view. As\nregards the first point, it is a patent fact that scientific inquiry was\nconducted at the cost of as much theological obloquy in the Mohammedan\nas in the Christian world. It is true there was more actual tolerance of\nheresy on the part of Moslem governments than was customary in Europe in\nthose days; but this is a superficial fact, which does not indicate any\nsuperiority in Moslem popular sentiment. The caliphate or emirate was\na truly absolute despotism, such as the Papacy has never been, and the\nconduct of a sceptical emir in encouraging scientific inquiry goes\nbut little way toward proving anything like a general prevalence\nof tolerance or of free-thinking. And this brings us to the second\npoint,--that Mohammedan civilization was, on the whole, rather a\nskin-deep affair. It was superficial because of that extreme severance\nbetween government and people which has never existed in European\nnations within historic times, but which has always existed among the\nprincipal races that have professed Moslemism. Nowhere in the Mohammedan\nworld has there ever been what we call a national life, and nowhere\ndo we find in its records any trace of such an intellectual impulse,\nthrilling through every fibre of the people and begetting prodigious\nachievements in art, poetry, and philosophy, as was awakened in Europe\nin the thirteenth century and again in the fifteenth. Under the peculiar\nform of unlimited material and spiritual despotism exemplified in the\ncaliphate, a few men may discover gases or comment on Aristotle, but no\ngeneral movement toward political progress or philosophical inquiry\nis possible. Such a society is rigid and inorganic at bottom, whatever\nscanty signs of flexibility and life it may show at the surface. There\nis no better illustration of this, when well considered, than the fact\nthat Moorish civilization remained, politically and intellectually, a\nmere excrescence in Spain, after having been fastened down over half the\ncountry for nearly eight centuries.\n\nBut we are in danger of forgetting our main theme, as Dr. Draper seems\nto do, while we linger with him over these interesting wayside topics.\nWe may perhaps be excused, however, if we have not yet made any very\nexplicit allusion to the \"Conflict between Religion and Science,\"\nbecause this work seems to be in the main a repetition en petit of the\n\"Intellectual Development of Europe,\" and what we have said will apply\nas well to one as to the other. In the little book, as in the big one,\nwe hear a great deal about the Arabs, and something about Columbus and\nGalileo, who made men accept sundry truths in the teeth of clerical\nopposition; and, as before, we float gently down the current of history\nwithout being over well-informed as to the precise didactic purpose of\nour voyage. Here, indeed, even our headings and running-titles do not\nmaterially help us, for though we are supposed to be witnessing,\nor mayhap assisting in, a perennial conflict between \"science\" and\n\"religion,\" we are nowhere enlightened as to what the cause or character\nof this conflict is, nor are we enabled to get a good look at either of\nthe parties to the strife. With regard to it \"religion\" especially are\nwe left in the dark. What this dreadful thing is towards which \"science\"\nis always playing the part of Herakles towards the Lernaean Hydra, we\nare left to gather from the course of the narrative. Yet, in a book with\nany valid claim to clearsightedness, one would think such a point as\nthis ought to receive very explicit preliminary treatment.\n\nThe course of the narrative, however, leaves us in little doubt as to\nwhat Dr. Draper means by a conflict between science and religion. When\nhe enlarges on the trite story of Galileo, and alludes to the more\nmodern quarrel between the Church and the geologists, and does this\nin the belief that he is thereby illustrating an antagonism between\nreligion and science, it is obvious that he identifies the cause of\nthe anti-geologists and the persecutors of Galileo with the cause\nof religion. The word \"religion\" is to him a symbol which stands for\nunenlightened bigotry or narrow-minded unwillingness to look facts in\nthe face. Such a conception of religion is common enough, and unhappily\na great deal has been done to strengthen it by the very persons to whom\nthe interests of religion are presumed to be a professional care. It\nis nevertheless a very superficial conception, and no book which is\nvitiated by it can have much philosophic value. It is simply the crude\nimpression which, in minds unaccustomed to analysis, is left by the fact\nthat theologians and other persons interested in religion are usually\nalarmed at new scientific truths, and resist them with emotions so\nhighly wrought that they are not only incapable of estimating evidence,\nbut often also have their moral sense impaired, and fight with foul\nmeans when fair ones fail. If we reflect carefully on this class of\nphenomena, we shall see that something besides mere pride of opinion is\ninvolved in the struggle. At the bottom of changing theological beliefs\nthere lies something which men perennially value, and for the sake of\nwhich they cling to the beliefs as long as possible. That which they\nvalue is not itself a matter of belief, but it is a matter of conduct;\nit is the searching after goodness,--after a higher life than the mere\nsatisfaction of individual desires. All animals seek for fulness\nof life; but in civilized man this craving has acquired a moral\nsignificance, and has become a spiritual aspiration; and this emotional\ntendency, more or less strong in the human race, we call religious\nfeeling or religion. Viewed in this light, religion is not only\nsomething that mankind is never likely to get rid of, but it is\nincomparably the most noble as well as the most useful attribute of\nhumanity.\n\nNow, this emotional prompting toward completeness of life requires, of\ncourse, that conduct should be guided, as far as possible, in accordance\nwith a true theory of the relations of man to the world in which he\nlives. Hence, at any given era the religious feeling will always be\nfound enlisted in behalf of some theory of the universe. At any time,\nwhatever may be their shortcomings in practice, religious men will aim\nat doing right according to their conceptions of the order of the\nworld. If men's conceptions of the order of nature remained constant, no\napparent conflict between their religious feelings and their knowledge\nneed ever arise. But with the first advance in our knowledge of nature\nthe case is altered. New and strange theories are naturally regarded\nwith fear and dislike by persons who have always been accustomed to\nfind the sanction and justification of their emotional prompting toward\nrighteousness in old familiar theories which the new ones are seeking to\nsupplant. Such persons oppose the new doctrine because their engrained\nmental habits compel them to believe that its establishment will in some\nway lower men's standard of life, and make them less careful of their\nspiritual welfare. This is the case, at all events, when theologians\noppose scientific conclusions on religious grounds, and not simply from\nmental dulness or rigidity. And, in so far as it is religious feeling\nwhich thus prompts resistance to scientific innovation, it may be said,\nwith some appearance of truth, that there is a conflict between religion\nand science.\n\nBut there must always be two parties to a quarrel, and our statement\nhas to be modified as soon as we consider what the scientific innovator\nimpugns. It is not the emotional prompting toward righteousness, it\nis not the yearning to live im Guten, Ganzen, Wahren, that he seeks to\nweaken; quite likely he has all this as much at heart as the theologian\nwho vituperates him. Nor is it true that his discoveries, in spite of\nhim, tend to destroy this all-important mental attitude. It would be\nridiculous to say that the fate of religious feeling is really involved\nin the fate of grotesque cosmogonies and theosophies framed in the\ninfancy of men's knowledge of nature; for history shows us quite the\ncontrary. Religious feeling has survived the heliocentric theory and\nthe discoveries of geologists; and it will be none the worse for the\nestablishment of Darwinism. It is the merest truism to say that religion\nstrikes its roots deeper down into human nature than speculative\nopinion, and is accordingly independent of any particular set of\nbeliefs. Since, then, the scientific innovator does not, either\nvoluntarily or involuntarily, attack religion, it follows that there\ncan be no such \"conflict\" as that of which Dr. Draper has undertaken to\nwrite the history. The real contest is between one phase of science\nand another; between the more-crude knowledge of yesterday and the\nless-crude knowledge of to-day. The contest, indeed, as presented in\nhistory, is simply the measure of the difficulty which men find in\nexchanging old views for new ones. All along, the practical question has\nbeen, whether we should passively acquiesce in the crude generalizations\nof our ancestors or venture actively to revise them. But as for the\nreligious sentiment, the perennial struggle in which it has been engaged\nhas not been with scientific inquiry, but with the selfish propensities\nwhose tendency is to make men lead the lives of brutes.\n\nThe time is at hand when the interests of religion can no longer be\nsupposed to be subserved by obstinate adherence to crude speculations\nbequeathed to us from pre-scientific antiquity. One good result of the\ndoctrine of evolution, which is now gaining sway in all departments of\nthought, is the lesson that all our opinions must be held subject\nto continual revision, and that with none of them can our religious\ninterests be regarded as irretrievably implicated. To any one who\nhas once learned this lesson, a book like Dr. Draper's can be neither\ninteresting nor useful. He who has not learned it can derive little\nbenefit from a work which in its very title keeps open an old and\nbaneful source of error and confusion.\n\n      November. 1875.\n\n\n\n\nVII. NATHAN THE WISE. [28]\n\n [28] Nathan the Wise: A Dramatic Poem, by Gotthold Ephraim\nLessing. Translated by Ellen Frothingham. Preceded by a brief account\nof the poet and his works, and followed by an essay on the poem by Kuno\nFischer. Second edition. New York: Leypoldt & Holt. 1868.\n\nLe Christianisme Moderne, etude sur Lessing. Par Ernest Fontanes. Paris:\nBailliere. 1867.\n\nThe fame of Lessing is steadily growing. Year by year he is valued more\nhighly, and valued by a greater number of people. And he is destined,\nlike his master and forerunner Spinoza, to receive a yet larger share of\nmen's reverence and gratitude when the philosophic spirit which he lived\nto illustrate shall have become in some measure the general possession\nof the civilized part of mankind. In his own day, Lessing, though widely\nknown and greatly admired, was little understood or appreciated. He was\nknown to be a learned antiquarian, a terrible controversialist, and an\nincomparable writer. He was regarded as a brilliant ornament to Germany;\nand a paltry Duke of Brunswick thought a few hundred thalers well spent\nin securing the glory of having such a man to reside at his provincial\ncourt. But the majority of Lessing's contemporaries understood him as\nlittle perhaps as did the Duke of Brunswick. If anything were needed to\nprove this, it would be the uproar which was made over the publication\nof the \"Wolfenbuttel Fragments,\" and the curious exegesis which was\napplied to the poem of \"Nathan\" on its first appearance. In order to\nunderstand the true character of this great poem, and of Lessing's\nreligious opinions as embodied in it, it will be necessary first to\nconsider the memorable theological controversy which preceded it.\n\nDuring Lessing's residence at Hamburg, he had come into possession of\na most important manuscript, written by Hermann Samuel Reimarus, a\nprofessor of Oriental languages, and bearing the title of an \"Apology\nfor the Rational Worshippers of God.\" Struck with the rigorous logic\ndisplayed in its arguments, and with the quiet dignity of its style,\nwhile yet unable to accept its most general conclusions, Lessing\nresolved to publish the manuscript, accompanying it with his own\ncomments and strictures. Accordingly in 1774, availing himself of the\nfreedom from censorship enjoyed by publications drawn from manuscripts\ndeposited in the Ducal Library at Wolfenbuttel, of which he was\nlibrarian, Lessing published the first portion of this work, under the\ntitle of \"Fragments drawn from the Papers of an Anonymous Writer.\"\nThis first Fragment, on the \"Toleration of Deists,\" awakened but little\nopposition; for the eighteenth century, though intolerant enough, did\nnot parade its bigotry, but rather saw fit to disclaim it. A hundred\nyears before, Rutherford, in his \"Free Disputation,\" had declared\n\"toleration of alle religions to bee not farre removed from blasphemie.\"\nIntolerance was then a thing to be proud of, but in Lessing's time some\nprogress had been achieved, and men began to think it a good thing to\nseem tolerant. The succeeding Fragments were to test this liberality\nand reveal the flimsiness of the stuff of which it was made. When the\nunknown disputant began to declare \"the impossibility of a revelation\nupon which all men can rest a solid faith,\" and when he began to\ncriticize the evidences of Christ's resurrection, such a storm burst out\nin the theological world of Germany as had not been witnessed since\nthe time of Luther. The recent Colenso controversy in England was but\na gentle breeze compared to it. Press and pulpit swarmed with\n\"refutations,\" in which weakness of argument and scantiness of erudition\nwere compensated by strength of acrimony and unscrupulousness of\nslander. Pamphlets and sermons, says M. Fontanes, \"were multiplied, to\ndenounce the impious blasphemer, who, destitute alike of shame and of\ncourage, had sheltered himself behind a paltry fiction, in order to let\nloose upon society an evil spirit of unbelief.\" But Lessing's artifice\nhad been intended to screen the memory of Reimarus, rather than his\nown reputation. He was not the man to quail before any amount of human\nopposition; and it was when the tempest of invective was just at its\nheight that he published the last and boldest Fragment of all,--on \"the\nDesigns of Jesus and his Disciples.\"\n\nThe publication of these Fragments led to a mighty controversy. The most\neminent, both for uncompromising zeal and for worldly position, of those\nwho had attacked Lessing, was Melchior Goetze, \"pastor primarius\" at the\nHamburg Cathedral. Though his name is now remembered only because of\nhis connection with Lessing, Goetze was not destitute of learning and\nability. He was a collector of rare books, an amateur in numismatics,\nand an antiquarian of the narrow-minded sort. Lessing had known him\nwhile at Hamburg, and had visited him so constantly as to draw forth\nfrom his friends malicious insinuations as to the excellence of\nthe pastor's white wine. Doubtless Lessing, as a wise man, was not\ninsensible to the attractions of good Moselle; but that which he chiefly\nliked in this theologian was his logical and rigorously consistent turn\nof mind. \"He always,\" says M. Fontanes, \"cherished a holy horror of\nloose, inconsequent thinkers; and the man of the past, the inexorable\nguardian of tradition, appeared to him far more worthy of respect than\nthe heterodox innovator who stops in mid-course, and is faithful neither\nto reason nor to faith.\"\n\nBut when Lessing published these unhallowed Fragments, the hour of\nconflict had sounded, and Goetze cast himself into the arena with a\nboldness and impetuosity which Lessing, in his artistic capacity, could\nnot fail to admire. He spared no possible means of reducing his enemy to\nsubmission. He aroused against him all the constituted authorities,\nthe consistories, and even the Aulic Council of the Empire, and he\neven succeeded in drawing along with him the chief of contemporary\nrationalists, Semler, who so far forgot himself as to declare that\nLessing, for what he had done, deserved to be sent to the madhouse. But\nwith all Goetze's orthodox valour, he was no match for the antagonist\nwhom he had excited to activity. The great critic replied with pamphlet\nafter pamphlet, invincible in logic and erudition, sparkling with wit,\nand irritating in their utter coolness. Such pamphlets had not been seen\nsince Pascal published the \"Provincial Letters.\" Goetze found that\nhe had taken up arms against a master in the arts of controversy, and\nbefore long he became well aware that he was worsted. Having brought\nthe case before the Aulic Council, which consisted in great part of\nCatholics, the stout pastor, forgetting that judgment had not yet been\nrendered, allowed himself to proclaim that all who do not recognize\nthe Bible as the only source of Christianity are not fit to be called\nChristians at all. Lessing was not slow to profit by this unlucky\ndeclaration. Questioned, with all manner of ferocious vituperation, by\nGoetze, as to what sort of Christianity might have existed prior to\nand independently of the New Testament canon, Lessing imperturbably\nanswered: \"By the Christian religion I mean all the confessions of faith\ncontained in the collection of creeds of the first four centuries of the\nChristian Church, including, if you wish it, the so-called creed of\nthe apostles, as well as the creed of Athanasius. The content of these\nconfessions is called by the earlier Fathers the regula fidei, or rule\nof faith. This rule of faith is not drawn from the writings of the New\nTestament. It existed before any of the books in the New Testament were\nwritten. It sufficed not only for the first Christians of the age of the\napostles, but for their descendants during four centuries. And it is,\ntherefore, the veritable foundation upon which the Church of Christ is\nbuilt; a foundation not based upon Scripture.\" Thus, by a master-stroke,\nLessing secured the adherence of the Catholics constituting a majority\nof the Aulic Council of the Empire. Like Paul before him, he divided the\nSanhedrim. So that Goetze, foiled in his attempts at using violence, and\ndisconcerted by the patristic learning of one whom he had taken to be a\nmere connoisseur in art and writer of plays for the theatre, concluded\nthat discretion was the surest kind of valour, and desisted from further\nattacks.\n\nLessing's triumph came opportunely; for already the ministry of\nBrunswick had not only confiscated the Fragments, but had prohibited\nhim from publishing anything more on the subject without first obtaining\nexpress authority to do so. His last replies to Goetze were published\nat Hamburg; and as he held himself in readiness to depart from\nWolfenbuttel, he wrote to several friends that he had conceived the\ndesign of a drama, with which he would tear the theologians in pieces\nmore than with a dozen Fragments. \"I will try and see,\" said he, \"if\nthey will let me preach in peace from my old pulpit, the theatre.\" In\nthis way originated \"Nathan the Wise.\" But it in no way answered to the\nexpectations either of Lessing's friends or of his enemies. Both the one\nand the other expected to see the controversy with Goetze carried on,\ndeveloped, and generalized in the poem. They looked for a satirical\ncomedy, in which orthodoxy should be held up for scathing ridicule, or\nat least for a direful tragedy, the moral of which, like that of the\ngreat poem of Lucretius, should be\n\n          \"Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum.\"\n\nHad Lessing produced such a poem, he would doubtless have gratified\nhis free-thinking friends and wreaked due literary vengeance upon\nhis theological persecutors. He would, perhaps, have given articulate\nexpression to the radicalism of his own time, and, like Voltaire, might\nhave constituted himself the leader of the age, the incarnation of its\nmost conspicuous tendencies. But Lessing did nothing of the kind; and\nthe expectations formed of him by friends and enemies alike show how\nlittle he was understood by either. \"Nathan the Wise\" was, as we shall\nsee, in the eighteenth century an entirely new phenomenon; and its\nauthor was the pioneer of a quite new religious philosophy.\n\nReimarus, the able author of the Fragments, in his attack upon the\nevidences of revealed religion, had taken the same ground as Voltaire\nand the old English deists. And when we have said this, we have\nsufficiently defined his position, for the tenets of the deists are at\nthe present day pretty well known, and are, moreover, of very little\nvital importance, having long since been supplanted by a more just\nand comprehensive philosophy. Reimarus accepted neither miracles nor\nrevelation; but in accordance with the rudimentary state of criticism in\nhis time, he admitted the historical character of the earliest Christian\nrecords, and was thus driven to the conclusion that those writings must\nhave been fraudulently composed. How such a set of impostors as the\napostles must on this hypothesis have been, should have succeeded in\ninspiring large numbers of their contemporaries with higher and grander\nreligious notions than had ever before been conceived; how they should\nhave laid the foundations of a theological system destined to hold\ntogether the most enlightened and progressive portion of human society\nfor seventeen or eighteen centuries,--does not seem to have entered his\nmind. Against such attacks as this, orthodoxy was comparatively safe;\nfor whatever doubt might be thrown upon some of its leading dogmas,\nthe system as a whole was more consistent and rational than any of\nthe theories which were endeavouring to supplant it. And the fact that\nnearly all the great thinkers of the eighteenth century adopted this\ndeistic hypothesis, shows, more than anything else, the crudeness of\ntheir psychological knowledge, and their utter lack of what is called\n\"the historical sense.\"\n\nLessing at once saw the weak point in Reimarus's argument, but his\nmethod of disposing of it differed signally from that adopted by his\northodox contemporaries. The more advanced German theologians of that\nday, while accepting the New Testament records as literally historical,\nwere disposed to rationalize the accounts of miracles contained in them,\nin such a way as to get rid of any presumed infractions of the laws of\nnature. This method of exegesis, which reached its perfection in Paulus,\nis too well known to need describing. Its unsatisfactory character was\nclearly shown, thirty years ago, by Strauss, and it is now generally\nabandoned, though some traces of it may still be seen in the recent\nworks of Renan. Lessing steadily avoided this method of interpretation.\nHe had studied Spinoza to some purpose, and the outlines of Biblical\ncriticism laid down by that remarkable thinker Lessing developed into\na system wonderfully like that now adopted by the Tubingen school. The\ncardinal results which Baur has reached within the past generation were\nnearly all hinted at by Lessing, in his commentaries on the Fragments.\nThe distinction between the first three, or synoptic gospels, and the\nfourth, the later age of the fourth, and the method of composition of\nthe first three, from earlier documents and from oral tradition, are\nall clearly laid down by him. The distinct points of view from which\nthe four accounts were composed, are also indicated,--the Judaizing\ndisposition of \"Matthew,\" the Pauline sympathies of \"Luke,\" the\ncompromising or Petrine tendencies of \"Mark,\" and the advanced Hellenic\ncharacter of \"John.\" Those best acquainted with the results of modern\ncriticism in Germany will perhaps be most surprised at finding such\nspeculations in a book written many years before either Strauss or Baur\nwere born.\n\nBut such results, as might have been expected, did not satisfy the\npastor Goetze or the public which sympathized with him. The valiant\npastor unhesitatingly declared that he read the objections which\nLessing opposed to the Fragmentist with more horror and disgust than\nthe Fragments themselves; and in the teeth of the printed comments\nhe declared that the editor was craftily upholding his author in his\ndeistical assault upon Christian theology. The accusation was unjust,\nbecause untrue. There could be no genuine cooperation between a mere\niconoclast like Reimarus, and a constructive critic like Lessing. But\nthe confusion was not an unnatural one on Goetze's part, and I cannot\nagree with M. Fontanes in taking it as convincing proof of the pastor's\nwrong-headed perversity. It appears to me that Goetze interpreted\nLessing's position quite as accurately as M. Fontanes. The latter\nwriter thinks that Lessing was a Christian of the liberal school since\nrepresented by Theodore Parker in this country and by M. Reville in\nFrance; that his real object was to defend and strengthen the Christian\nreligion by relieving it of those peculiar doctrines which to the\nfreethinkers of his time were a stumbling-block and an offence. And, in\nspite of Lessing's own declarations, he endeavours to show that he was\nan ordinary theist,--a follower of Leibnitz rather than of Spinoza. But\nI do not think he has made out his case. Lessing's own confession to\nJacobi is unequivocal enough, and cannot well be argued away. In that\nremarkable conversation, held toward the close of his life, he indicates\nclearly enough that his faith was neither that of the ordinary theist,\nthe atheist, nor the pantheist, but that his religious theory of the\nuniverse was identical with that suggested by Spinoza, adopted by\nGoethe, and recently elaborated in the first part of the \"First\nPrinciples\" of Mr. Herbert Spencer. Moreover, while Lessing cannot be\nconsidered an antagonist of Christianity, neither did he assume the\nattitude of a defender. He remained outside the theological arena;\nlooking at theological questions from the point of view of a layman, or\nrather, as M. Cherbuliez has happily expressed it, of a Pagan. His mind\nwas of decidedly antique structure. He had the virtues of paganism:\nits sanity, its calmness, and its probity; but of the tenderness of\nChristianity, and its quenchless aspirations after an indefinable ideal,\nof that feeling which has incarnated itself in Gothic cathedrals, masses\nand oratorios, he exhibited but scanty traces. His intellect was above\nall things self-consistent and incorruptible. He had that imperial\ngood-sense which might have formed the ideal alike of Horace and of\nEpictetus. No clandestine preference for certain conclusions could make\nhis reason swerve from the straight paths of logic. And he examined and\nrejected the conclusions of Reimarus in the same imperturbable spirit\nwith which he examined and rejected the current theories of the French\nclassic drama.\n\nSuch a man can have had but little in common with a preacher like\nTheodore Parker, or with a writer like M. Fontanes, whose whole book is\na noble specimen of lofty Christian eloquence. His attribute was light,\nnot warmth. He scrutinized, but did not attack or defend. He recognized\nthe transcendent merits of the Christian faith, but made no attempt to\nreinstate it where it had seemed to suffer shock. It was therefore with\nthe surest of instincts, with that same instinct of self-preservation\nwhich had once led the Church to anathematize Galileo, that Goetze.\nproclaimed Lessing a more dangerous foe to orthodoxy than the deists\nwho had preceded him. Controversy, he doubtless thought, may be kept\nup indefinitely, and blows given and returned forever; but before the\nsteady gaze of that scrutinizing eye which one of us shall find himself\nable to stand erect? It has become fashionable to heap blame and\nridicule upon those who violently defend an antiquated order of things;\nand Goetze has received at the hands of posterity his full share of\nabuse. His wrath contrasted unfavourably with Lessing's calmness; and it\nwas his misfortune to have taken up arms against an opponent who always\nknew how to keep the laugh upon his own side. For my own part I am\nconstrained to admire the militant pastor, as Lessing himself admired\nhim. From an artistic point of view he is not an uninteresting figure\nto contemplate. And although his attempts to awaken persecution were\nreprehensible, yet his ardour in defending what he believed to be vital\ntruth is none the less to be respected. He had the acuteness to see that\nLessing's refutation of deism did not make him a Christian, while the\nnew views proposed as a substitute for those of Reimarus were such as\nGoetze and his age could in no wise comprehend.\n\nLessing's own views of dogmatic religion are to be found in his work\nentitled, \"The Education of the Human Race.\" These views have since so\nfar become the veriest commonplaces of criticism, that one can hardly\nrealize that, only ninety years ago, they should have been regarded as\ndangerous paradoxes. They may be summed up in the statement that all\ngreat religions are good in their time and place; that, \"as there is\na soul of goodness in things evil, so also there is a soul of truth\nin things erroneous.\" According to Lessing, the successive phases of\nreligious belief constitute epochs in the mental evolution of the human\nrace. So that the crudest forms of theology, even fetishism, now to\nall appearance so utterly revolting, and polytheism, so completely\ninadequate, have once been the best, the natural and inevitable results\nof man's reasoning powers and appliances for attaining truth. The\nmere fact that a system of religious thought has received the willing\nallegiance of large masses of men shows that it must have supplied some\nconsciously felt want, some moral or intellectual craving. And the\nmere fact that knowledge and morality are progressive implies that each\nsuccessive system may in due course of time be essentially modified or\nfinally supplanted. The absence of any reference to a future state of\nretribution, in the Pentateuch and generally in the sacred writings\nof the Jews, and the continual appeal to hopes and fears of a worldly\ncharacter, have been pronounced by deists an irremediable defect in\nthe Jewish religion. It is precisely this, however, says Lessing, which\nconstitutes one of its signal excellences. \"That thy days may be long\nin the land which Jehovah thy God giveth thee,\" was an appeal which the\nuncivilized Jew could understand, and which could arouse him to action;\nwhile the need of a future world, to rectify the injustices of this, not\nyet being felt, the doctrine would have been of but little service.\nBut in later Hebrew literature, many magnificent passages revealed the\ndespair felt by prophet and thinker over the insoluble problem presented\nby the evil fate of the good and the triumphant success of the wicked;\nand a solution was sought in the doctrine of a Messianic kingdom, until\nChristianity with its proclamation of a future life set the\nquestion entirely aside. By its appeal to what has been aptly termed\n\"other-worldliness,\" Christianity immeasurably intensified human\nresponsibility, besides rendering clearer its nature and limits. But\naccording to Lessing, yet another step remains to be taken; and here we\ncome upon the gulf which separates him from men of the stamp of\nTheodore Parker. For, says Lessing, the appeal to unearthly rewards\nand punishments is after all an appeal to our lower feelings;\nother-worldliness is but a refined selfishness; and we are to cherish\nvirtue for its own sake not because it will lead us to heaven. Here is\nthe grand principle of Stoicism. Lessing believed, with Mr. Mill, that\nthe less we think about getting rewarded either on earth or in heaven\nthe better. He was cast in the same heroic mould as Muhamad Efendi, who\nwhen led to the stake exclaimed: \"Though I have no hope of recompense\nhereafter, yet the love of truth constraineth me to die in its defence!\"\n\nWith the truth or completeness of these views of Lessing we are not here\nconcerned; our business being not to expound our own opinions, but\nto indicate as clearly as possible Lessing's position. Those who are\nfamiliar with the general philosophical spirit of the present age,\nas represented by writers otherwise so different as Littre and\nSainte-Beuve, will best appreciate the power and originality of these\nspeculations. Coming in the last century, amid the crudities of deism,\nthey made a well-defined epoch. They inaugurated the historical method\nof criticism, and they robbed the spirit of intolerance of its only\nphilosophical excuse for existing. Hitherto the orthodox had been\nintolerant toward the philosophers because they considered them\nheretics; and the philosophers had been intolerant toward the orthodox\nbecause they considered them fools. To Voltaire it naturally seemed\nthat a man who could believe in the reality of miracles must be what in\nFrench is expressively termed a sot. But henceforth, to the disciple of\nLessing, men of all shade of opinion were but the representatives\nand exponents of different phases in the general evolution of human\nintelligence, not necessarily to be disliked or despised if they did not\nhappen to represent the maturest phase.\n\nReligion, therefore, from this point of view, becomes clearly demarcated\nfrom theology. It consists no longer in the mental assent to certain\nprescribed formulas, but in the moral obedience to the great rule of\nlife; the great commandment laid down and illustrated by the Founder\nof the Christian religion, and concerning which the profoundest modern\nphilosophy informs us that the extent to which a society has learned\nto conform to it is the test and gauge of the progress in civilization\nwhich that society has achieved. The command \"to love one another,\" to\ncheck the barbarous impulses inherited from the pre-social state, while\ngiving free play to the beneficent impulses needful for the ultimate\nattainment of social equilibrium,--or as Tennyson phrases it, to \"move\nupward, working out the beast, and letting the ape and tiger die,\"--was,\nin Lessing's view, the task set before us by religion. The true\nreligious feeling was thus, in his opinion, what the author of \"Ecce\nHomo\" has finely termed \"the enthusiasm of humanity.\" And we shall find\nno better language than that of the writer just mentioned, in which to\ndescribe Lessing's conception of faith:--\n\n\"He who, when goodness is impressively put before him, exhibits an\ninstinctive loyalty to it, starts forward to take its side, trusts\nhimself to it, such a man has faith, and the root of the matter is\nin such a man. He may have habits of vice, but the loyal and faithful\ninstinct in him will place him above many that practice virtue. He may\nbe rude in thought and character, but he will unconsciously gravitate\ntoward what is right. Other virtues can scarcely thrive without a fine\nnatural organization and a happy training. But the most neglected and\nungifted of men may make a beginning with faith. Other virtues want\ncivilization, a certain amount of knowledge, a few books; but in\nhalf-brutal countenances faith will light up a glimmer of nobleness.\nThe savage, who can do little else, can wonder and worship and\nenthusiastically obey. He who cannot know what is right can know that\nsome one else knows; he who has no law may still have a master; he who\nis incapable of justice may be capable of fidelity; he who understands\nlittle may have his sins forgiven because he loves much.\"\n\nSuch was Lessing's religion, so far as it can be ascertained from the\nfragmentary writings which he has left on the subject. Undoubtedly it\nlacked completeness. The opinions which we have here set down, though\nconstituting something more than a mere theory of morality, certainly\ndo not constitute a complete theory of religion. Our valiant knight has\nexamined but one side of the shield,--the bright side, turned toward us,\nwhose marvellous inscriptions the human reason can by dint of unwearied\neffort decipher. But the dark side, looking out upon infinity, and\ncovered with hieroglyphics the meaning of which we can never know,\nhe has quite forgotten to consider. Yet it is this side which genuine\nreligious feeling ever seeks to contemplate. It is the consciousness\nthat there is about us an omnipresent Power, in which we live and move\nand have our being, eternally manifesting itself throughout the whole\nrange of natural phenomena, which has ever disposed men to be religious,\nand lured them on in the vain effort to construct adequate theological\nsystems. We may, getting rid of the last traces of fetishism, eliminate\narbitrary volition as much as we will or can. But there still remains\nthe consciousness of a divine Life in the universe, of a Power which is\nbeyond and above our comprehension, whose goings out and comings in no\nman can follow. The more we know, the more we reach out for that which\nwe cannot know. And who can realize this so vividly as the scientific\nphilosopher? For our knowledge being, according to the familiar\ncomparison, like a brilliant sphere, the more we increase it the greater\nbecomes the number of peripheral points at which we are confronted\nby the impenetrable darkness beyond. I believe that this restless\nyearning,--vague enough in the description, yet recognizable by all who,\ncommuning with themselves or with nature, have felt it,--this constant\nseeking for what cannot be found, this persistent knocking at gates\nwhich, when opened, but reveal others yet to be passed, constitutes an\nelement which no adequate theory of religion can overlook. But of this\nwe find nothing in Lessing. With him all is sunny, serene, and pagan.\nNot the dim aisle of a vast cathedral, but the symmetrical portico of an\nantique temple, is the worshipping-place into which he would lead us.\n\nBut if Lessing's theology must be considered imperfect, it is none the\nless admirable as far as it goes. With its peculiar doctrines of love\nand faith, it teaches a morality far higher than any that Puritanism\never dreamed of. And with its theory of development it cuts away every\npossible logical basis for intolerance. It is this theology to which\nLessing has given concrete expression in his immortal poem of \"Nathan.\"\n\nThe central idea of \"Nathan\" was suggested to Lessing by Boccaccio's\nstory of \"The Three Rings,\" which is supposed to have had a Jewish\norigin. Saladin, pretending to be inspired by a sudden, imperious whim,\nsuch as is \"not unbecoming in a Sultan,\" demands that Nathan shall\nanswer him on the spur of the moment which of the three great religions\nthen known--Judaism, Mohammedanism, Christianity--is adjudged by reason\nto be the true one. For a moment the philosopher is in a quandary. If he\ndoes not pronounce in favour of his own religion, Judaism, he stultifies\nhimself; but if he does not award the precedence to Mohammedanism, he\nwill apparently insult his sovereign. With true Oriental tact he escapes\nfrom the dilemma by means of a parable. There was once a man, says\nNathan, who possessed a ring of inestimable value. Not only was the\nstone which it contained incomparably fine, but it possessed the\nmarvellous property of rendering its owner agreeable both to God and to\nmen. The old man bequeathed this ring to that one of his sons whom he\nloved the most; and the son, in turn, made a similar disposition of\nit. So that, passing from hand to hand, the ring finally came into the\npossession of a father who loved his three sons equally well. Unto which\none should he leave it? To get rid of the perplexity, he had two other\nrings made by a jeweller, exactly like the original, and to each of his\nthree sons he bequeathed one. Each then thinking that he had obtained\nthe true talisman, they began violently to quarrel, and after long\ncontention agreed to carry their dispute before the judge. But the judge\nsaid: \"Quarrelsome fellows! You are all three of you cheated cheats.\nYour three rings are alike counterfeit. For the genuine ring is lost,\nand to conceal the loss, your father had made these three substitutes.\"\nAt this unexpected denouement the Sultan breaks out in exclamations of\ndelight; and it is interesting to learn that when the play was brought\nupon the stage at Constantinople a few years ago, the Turkish audience\nwas similarly affected. There is in the story that quiet, stealthy\nhumour which is characteristic of many mediaeval apologues, and in which\nLessing himself loved to deal. It is humour of the kind which hits\nthe mark, and reveals the truth. In a note upon this passage, Lessing\nhimself said: \"The opinion of Nathan upon all positive religions has for\na long time been my own.\" Let him who has the genuine ring show it by\nmaking himself loved of God and man. This is the central idea of the\npoem. It is wholly unlike the iconoclasm of the deists, and, coming in\nthe eighteenth century, it was like a veritable evangel.\n\n\"Nathan\" was not brought out until three years after Lessing's death,\nand it kept possession of the stage for but a short time. In a dramatic\npoint of view, it has hardly any merits. Whatever plot there is in it is\nweak and improbable. The decisive incidents seem to be brought in like\nthe deus ex machina of the later Greek drama. There is no movement,\nno action, no development. The characters are poetically but not\ndramatically conceived. Considered as a tragedy, \"Nathan\" would be weak;\nconsidered as a comedy, it would be heavy. With full knowledge of these\ncircumstances, Lessing called it not a drama, but a dramatic poem; and\nhe might have called it still more accurately a didactic poem, for\nthe only feature which it has in common with the drama is that the\npersonages use the oratio directa.\n\n\"Nathan\" is a didactic poem: it is not a mere philosophic treatise\nwritten in verse, like the fragments of Xenophanes. Its lessons are\nconveyed concretely and not abstractly; and its characters are not mere\nlay figures, but living poetical conceptions. Considered as a poem among\nclassic German poems, it must rank next to, though immeasurably below,\nGoethe's \"Faust.\"\n\nThere are two contrasted kinds of genius, the poetical and the\nphilosophical; or, to speak yet more generally, the artistic and the\ncritical. The former is distinguished by a concrete, the latter by an\nabstract, imagination. The former sees things synthetically, in\nall their natural complexity; the latter pulls things to pieces\nanalytically, and scrutinizes their relations. The former sees a tree\nin all its glory, where the latter sees an exogen with a pair of\ncotyledons. The former sees wholes, where the latter sees aggregates.\n\nCorresponding with these two kinds of genius there are two classes of\nartistic productions. When the critical genius writes a poem or a\nnovel, he constructs his plot and his characters in conformity to\nsome prearranged theory, or with a view to illustrate some favourite\ndoctrine. When he paints a picture, he first thinks how certain\npersons would look under certain given circumstances, and paints them\naccordingly. When he writes a piece of music, he first decides that\nthis phrase expresses joy, and that phrase disappointment, and the other\nphrase disgust, and he composes accordingly. We therefore say ordinarily\nthat he does not create, but only constructs and combines. It is far\ndifferent with the artistic genius, who, without stopping to think,\nsees the picture and hears the symphony with the eyes and ears of\nimagination, and paints and plays merely what he has seen and heard.\nWhen Dante, in imagination, arrived at the lowest circle of hell, where\ntraitors like Judas and Brutus are punished, he came upon a terrible\nfrozen lake, which, he says,--\n\n     \"Ever makes me shudder at the sight of frozen pools.\"\n\nI have always considered this line a marvellous instance of the\nintensity of Dante's imagination. It shows, too, how Dante composed\nhis poem. He did not take counsel of himself and say: \"Go to, let us\ndescribe the traitors frozen up to their necks in a dismal lake, for\nthat will be most terrible.\" But the picture of the lake, in all its\niciness, with the haggard faces staring out from its glassy crust, came\nunbidden before his mind with such intense reality that, for the rest\nof his life, he could not look at a frozen pool without a shudder of\nhorror. He described it exactly as he saw it; and his description makes\nus shudder who read it after all the centuries that have intervened.\nSo Michael Angelo, a kindred genius, did not keep cutting and chipping\naway, thinking how Moses ought to look, and what sort of a nose he\nought to have, and in what position his head might best rest upon his\nshoulders. But, he looked at the rectangular block of Carrara marble,\nand beholding Moses grand and lifelike within it, knocked away the\nenvironing stone, that others also might see the mighty figure. And so\nBeethoven, an artist of the same colossal order, wrote out for us those\nmysterious harmonies which his ear had for the first time heard; and\nwhich, in his mournful old age, it heard none the less plainly because\nof its complete physical deafness. And in this way Shakespeare wrote\nhis \"Othello\"; spinning out no abstract thoughts about jealousy and its\nfearful effects upon a proud and ardent nature, but revealing to us\nthe living concrete man, as his imperial imagination had spontaneously\nfashioned him.\n\nModern psychology has demonstrated that this is the way in which the\ncreative artistic imagination proceeds. It has proved that a vast\nportion of all our thinking goes on unconsciously; and that the results\nmay arise into consciousness piecemeal and gradually, checking each\nother as they come; or that they may come all at once, with all the\ncompleteness and definiteness of perceptions presented from without. The\nformer is the case with the critical, and the latter with the artistic\nintellect. And this we recognize imperfectly when we talk of a genius\nbeing \"inspired.\" All of us probably have these two kinds of imagination\nto a certain extent. It is only given to a few supremely endowed persons\nlike Goethe to possess them both to an eminent degree. Perhaps of no\nother man can it be said that he was a poet of the first order, and as\ngreat a critic as poet.\n\nIt is therefore apt to be a barren criticism which studies the works of\ncreative geniuses in order to ascertain what theory lies beneath them.\nHow many systems of philosophy, how many subtle speculations, have we\nnot seen fathered upon Dante, Cervantes, Shakespeare, and Goethe! Yet\ntheir works are, in a certain sense, greater than any systems. They\npartake of the infinite complexity and variety of nature, and no more\nthan nature itself can they be narrowed down to the limits of a precise\nformula.\n\nLessing was wont to disclaim the title of poet; but, as Goethe said,\nhis immortal works refute him. He had not only poetical, but dramatic\ngenius; and his \"Emilia Galotti\" has kept the stage until to-day.\nNevertheless, he knew well what he meant when he said that he was more\nof a critic than a poet. His genius was mainly of the critical order;\nand his great work, \"Nathan the Wise,\" was certainly constructed rather\nthan created. It was intended to convey a doctrine, and was carefully\nshaped for the purpose. And when we have pronounced it the greatest of\nall poems that have been written for a set purpose, and admit of being\nexpressed in a definite formula, we have classified it with sufficient\naccuracy.\n\nFor an analysis of the characters in the poem, nothing can be better\nthan the essay by Kuno Fischer, appended to the present volume. The\nwork of translation has been admirably done; and thanks are due to Miss\nFrothingham for her reproduction of this beautiful poem.\n\n      June, 1868.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. HISTORICAL DIFFICULTIES. [29]\n\n [29] Historical Difficulties and Contested Events. By Octave\nDelepierre, LL. D., F. S. A., Secretary of Legation to the King of the\nBelgians. 8vo. London: Murray. 1868.\n\n\nHistory, says Sainte-Beuve, is in great part a set of fables which\npeople agree to believe in. And, on reading books like the present,\none certainly needs a good deal of that discipline acquired by long\nfamiliarity with vexed historical questions, in order to check the\ndisposition to accept the great critic's ironical remark in sober\nearnest. Much of what is currently accredited as authentic history is in\nfact a mixture of flattery and calumny, myth and fable. Yet in this set\nof fables, whatever may have been the case in past times, people will\nno longer agree to believe. During the present century the criticism\nof recorded events has gone far toward assuming the developed and\nsystematized aspect of a science, and canons of belief have been\nestablished, which it is not safe to disregard. Great occurrences,\nsuch as the Trojan War and the Siege of Thebes, not long ago faithfully\ndescribed by all historians of Greece, have been found to be part of\nthe common mythical heritage of the Aryan nations. Achilleus and Helena,\nOidipous and Iokasta, Oinone and Paris, have been discovered in India\nand again in Scandinavia, and so on, until their nonentity has become\nthe legitimate inference from their very ubiquity. Legislators\nlike Romulus and Numa, inventors like Kadmos, have evaporated\ninto etymologies. Whole legions of heroes, dynasties of kings, and\nadulteresses as many as Dante saw borne on the whirlwind, have vanished\nfrom the face of history, and terrible has been the havoc in the opening\npages of our chronological tables. Nor is it primitive history alone\nwhich has been thus metamorphosed. Characters unduly exalted or defamed\nby party spirit are daily being set before us in their true, or at least\nin a truer, light. What Mr. Froude has done for Henry VIII. we know; and\nhe might have done more if he had not tried to do so much. Humpbacked\nRichard turns out to have been one of the handsomest kings that ever sat\non the throne of England. Edward I., in his dealings with Scotland, is\nseen to have been scrupulously just; while the dignity of the patriot\nhero Wallace has been somewhat impaired. Elizabeth is proved to have\nbefriended the false Mary Stuart much longer than was consistent with\nher personal safety. Eloquent Cicero has been held up as an object of\ncontempt; and even weighty Tacitus has been said to owe much of his\nreputation to his ability to give false testimony with a grave face.\nIt has lately been suspected that gloomy Tiberius, apart from his\ngloominess, may have been rather a good fellow; not so licentious\nas puritanical, not cruel so much as exceptionally merciful,--a rare\ngeneral, a sagacious statesman, and popular to boot with all his\nsubjects save the malignant oligarchy which he consistently snubbed, and\nwhich took revenge on him by writing his life. And, to crown all, even\nCatiline, abuser of our patience, seducer of vestal nuns, and drinker\nof children's blood,--whose very name suggests murder, incest, and\nrobbery,--even Catiline has found an able defender in Professor Beesly.\nIt is claimed that Catiline was a man of great abilities and average\ngood character, a well-calumniated leader of the Marian party which\nCaesar afterwards led to victory, and that his famous plot for burning\nRome never existed save in the unscrupulous Ciceronian fancy. And those\nwho think it easy to refute these conclusions of Professor Beesly\nhad better set to work and try it. Such are a few of the surprising\nquestions opened by recent historical research; and in the face of them\nthe public is quite excusable if it declares itself at a loss what to\nbelieve.\n\nThese, however, are cases in which criticism has at least made some\nshow of ascertaining the truth and detecting the causes of the prevalent\nmisconception. That men like Catiline and Tiberius should have had their\ncharacters blackened is quite easily explicable. President Johnson\nwould have little better chance of obtaining justice at the hands of\nposterity, if the most widely read history of his administration should\nhappen to be written by a radical member of the Rump Congress. But the\ncases which Mr. Delepierre invites us to contemplate are of a different\ncharacter. They come neither under the head of myths nor under that of\nmisrepresentations. Some of them are truly vexed questions which it\nmay perhaps always be impossible satisfactorily to solve. Others may\nbe dealt with more easily, but afford no clew to the origin of\nthe popularly received error. Let us briefly examine a few of Mr.\nDelepierre's \"difficulties.\" And first, because simplest, we will take\nthe case of the Alexandrian Library.\n\nEvery one has heard how Amrou, after his conquest of Egypt, sent to\nCaliph Omar to know what should be done with the Alexandrian Library.\n\"If the books agree with the Koran,\" said the Caliph, \"they are\nsuperfluous; if they contradict it, they are damnable; in either case,\ndestroy them.\" So the books were taken and used to light the fires which\nheated water for the baths; and so vast was the number that, used in\nthis way, they lasted six months! All this happened because John the\nGrammarian was over-anxious enough to request that the books might be\npreserved, and thus drew Amrou's attention to them. Great has been the\nobloquy poured upon Omar for this piece of vandalism, and loud has\nbeen the mourning over the treasures of ancient science and literature\nsupposed to have been irrecoverably lost in this ignominious\nconflagration Theologians, Catholic and Protestant, have been fond of\nquoting it as an instance of the hostility of Mahometanism to knowledge,\nand we have even heard an edifying sermon preached about it. On seeing\nthe story put to such uses, one feels sometimes like using the ad\nhominem argument, and quoting the wholesale destruction of pagan\nlibraries under Valens, the burning of books by the Latin stormers of\nConstantinople, the alleged annihilation of 100,000 volumes by Genoese\ncrusaders at Tripoli, the book-burning exploits of Torquemada, the\nbonfire of 80,000 valuable Arabic manuscripts, lighted up in the square\nof Granada by order of Cardinal Ximenes, and the irreparable cremation\nof Aztec writings by the first Christian bishops of Mexico. These\nexamples, with perhaps others which do not now occur to us, might be\napplied in just though ungentle retort by Mahometan doctors. Yet the\nmost direct rejoinder would probably not occur to them: the Alexandrian\nLibrary was NOT destroyed by the orders of Omar, and the whole story is\na figment!\n\nThe very pithiness of it, so characteristic of the excellent but bigoted\nOmar, is enough to cast suspicion upon it. De Quincey tells us that \"if\na saying has a proverbial fame, the probability is that it was never\nsaid.\" How many amusing stories stand a chance of going down\nto posterity as the inventions of President Lincoln, of which,\nnevertheless, he is doubtless wholly innocent! How characteristic was\nCaesar's reply to the frightened pilot! Yet in all probability Caesar\nnever made it.\n\nNow for the evidence. Alexandria was captured by Armrou in 640. The\nstory of the burning of the library occurs for the first time in the\nworks of Abulpharagius, who flourished in 1264. Six hundred years had\nelapsed. It is as if a story about the crusades of Louis IX. were to be\nfound for the first time in the writings of Mr. Bancroft. The Byzantine\nhistorians were furiously angry with the Saracens; why did they, one\nand all, neglect to mention such an outrageous piece of vandalism? Their\nsilence must be considered quite conclusive. Moreover we know \"that the\ncaliphs had forbidden under severe penalties the destruction\" of Jewish\nand Christian books, a circumstance wholly inconsistent with this famous\nstory. And finally, what a mediaeval recklessness of dates is shown\nin lugging into the story John the Grammarian, who was dead and in his\ngrave when Alexandria was taken by Amrou!\n\nBut the chief item of proof remains to be mentioned. The Saracens did\nnot burn the library, because there was no library there for them to\nburn! It had been destroyed just two hundred and fifty years before by a\nrabble of monks, incited by the patriarch Theophilus, who saw in such\na vast collection of pagan literature a perpetual insult and menace\nto religion. In the year 390 this turbulent bigot sacked the temple of\nSerapis, where the books were kept, and drove out the philosophers who\nlodged there. Of this violent deed we have contemporary evidence, for\nOrosius tells us that less than fifteen years afterwards, while passing\nthrough Alexandria, he saw the empty shelves. This fact disposes of the\nstory.\n\nPassing from Egypt to France, and from the seventh century to the\nfifteenth, we meet with a much more difficult problem. That Jeanne d'Arc\nwas burnt at the stake, at Rouen, on the 30th of May, 1431, and her\nbones and ashes thrown into the Seine, is generally supposed to be as\nindisputable as any event in modern history. Such is, however, hardly\nthe case. Plausible evidence has been brought to prove that Jeanne d'Arc\nwas never burnt at the stake, but lived to a ripe age, and was even\nhappily married to a nobleman of high rank and reputation. We shall\nabridge Mr. Delepierre's statement of this curious case.\n\nIn the archives of Metz, Father Vignier discovered the following\nremarkable entry: \"In the year 1436, Messire Phlin Marcou was Sheriff\nof Metz, and on the 20th day of May of the aforesaid year came the maid\nJeanne, who had been in France, to La Grange of Ormes, near St. Prive,\nand was taken there to confer with any one of the sieurs of Metz, and\nshe called herself Claude; and on the same day there came to see her\nthere her two brothers, one of whom was a knight, and was called Messire\nPierre, and the other 'petit Jehan,' a squire, and they thought that she\nhad been burnt, but as soon as they saw her they recognized her and she\nthem. And on Monday, the 21st day of the said month, they took their\nsister with them to Boquelon, and the sieur Nicole, being a knight,\ngave her a stout stallion of the value of thirty francs, and a pair of\nsaddle-cloths; the sieur Aubert Boulle, a riding-hood, the sieur Nicole\nGroguet, a sword; and the said maiden mounted the said horse nimbly, and\nsaid several things to the sieur Nicole by which he well understood that\nit was she who had been in France; and she was recognized by many tokens\nto be the maid Jeanne of France who escorted King Charles to Rheims,\nand several declared that she had been burnt in Normandy, and she spoke\nmostly in parables. She afterwards returned to the town of Marnelle for\nthe feast of Pentecost, and remained there about three weeks, and then\nset off to go to Notre Dame d'Alliance. And when she wished to leave,\nseveral of Metz went to see her at the said Marnelle and gave her\nseveral jewels, and they knew well that she was the maid Jeanne of\nFrance; and she then went to Erlon, in the Duchy of Luxembourg, where\nshe was thronged,.... and there was solemnized the marriage of Monsieur\nde Hermoise, knight, and the said maid Jeanne, and afterwards the said\nsieur Hermoise, with his wife, the Maid, came to live at Metz, in the\nhouse the said sieur had, opposite St. Seglenne, and remained there\nuntil it pleased them to depart.\"\n\nThis is surprising enough; but more remains behind. Dining shortly\nafterwards with M. des Armoises, member of one of the oldest families in\nLorraine, Father Vignier was invited to look over the family archives,\nthat he might satisfy his curiosity regarding certain ancestors of his\nhost. And on looking over the family register, what was his astonishment\nat finding a contract of marriage between Robert des Armoises, Knight,\nand Jeanne d'Arcy, the so-called Maid of Orleans!\n\nIn 1740, some time after these occurrences, there was found, in the town\nhall of Orleans, a bill of one Jacques l'Argentier, of the year 1436, in\nwhich mention is made of a small sum paid for refreshments furnished\nto a messenger who had brought letters from the Maid of Orleans, and of\ntwelve livres given to Jean du Lis, brother of Jeanne d'Arc, to help\nhim pay the expenses of his journey back to his sister. Then come two\ncharges which we shall translate literally. \"To the sieur de Lis, 18th\nOctober, 1436, for a journey which he made through the said city while\non his way to the Maid, who was then at Erlon in Luxembourg, and for\ncarrying letters from Jeanne the Maid to the King at Loicher, where he\nwas then staying, six livres.\" And again: \"To Renard Brune, 25th July,\n1435, at evening, for paying the hire of a messenger who was carrying\nletters from Jeanne the Maid, and was on his way to William Beliers,\nbailiff of Troyes, two livres.\"\n\nAs no doubt has been thrown upon the genuineness of these documents, it\nmust be considered established that in 1436, five years after the public\nexecution at Rouen, a young woman, believed to be the real Jeanne d'Arc,\nwas alive in Lorraine and was married to a M. Hermoises or Armoises. She\nmay, of course, have been an impostor; but in this case it is difficult\nto believe that her brothers, Jean and Pierre, and the people of\nLorraine, where she was well known, would not have detected the\nimposture at once. And that Jean du Lis, during a familiar intercourse\nof at least several months, as indicated in the above extracts, should\nhave continued to mistake a stranger for his own sister, with whom he\nhad lived from childhood, seems a very absurd supposition. Nor is it\nlikely that an impostor would have exposed herself to such a formidable\ntest. If it had been a bold charlatan who, taking advantage of the\nquite general belief, to which we have ample testimony, that there was\nsomething more in the execution at Rouen than was allowed to come to the\nsurface, had resolved to usurp for herself the honours due to the woman\nwho had saved France, she would hardly have gone at the outset to a part\nof the country where the real Maid had spent nearly all her life. Her\ninstant detection and exposure, perhaps a disgraceful punishment, would\nhave been inevitable. But if this person were the real Jeanne, escaped\nfrom prison or returning from an exile dictated by prudence, what should\nshe have done but go straightway to the haunts of her childhood, where\nshe might meet once more her own friends and family?\n\nBut the account does not end here. M. Wallon, in his elaborate history\nof Jeanne d'Arc, states that in 1436 the supposed Maid visited France,\nand appears to have met some of the men-at-arms with whom she had\nfought. In 1439 she came to Orleans, for in the accounts of the town we\nread, \"July 28, for ten pints of wine presented to Jeanne des Armoises,\n14 sous.\" And on the day of her departure, the citizens of Orleans, by a\nspecial decree of the town-council, presented her with 210 livres, \"for\nthe services which she had rendered to the said city during the siege.\"\nAt the same time the annual ceremonies for the repose of her soul were,\nquite naturally, suppressed. Now we may ask if it is at all probable\nthat the people of Orleans, who, ten years before, during the siege,\nmust have seen the Maid day after day, and to whom her whole appearance\nmust have been perfectly familiar, would have been likely to show such\nattentions as these to an impostor? \"In 1440,\" says Mr. Delepierre, \"the\npeople so firmly believed that Jeanne d'Arc was still alive, and that\nanother had been sacrificed in her place, that an adventuress who\nendeavoured to pass herself off as the Maid of Orleans was ordered by\nthe government to be exposed before the public on the marble stone of\nthe palace hall, in order to prove that she was an impostor. Why\nwere not such measures taken against the real Maid of Orleans, who is\nmentioned in so many public documents, and who took no pains to hide\nherself?\"\n\nThere is yet another document bearing on this case, drawn from the\naccounts of the auditor of the Orleans estate, in the year 1444, which\nwe will here translate. \"An island on the River Loire is restored to\nPierre du Lis, knight, 'on account of the supplication of the said\nPierre, alleging that for the acquittal of his debt of loyalty toward\nour Lord the King and M. the Duke of Orleans, he left his country to\ncome to the service of the King and M. the Duke, accompanied by his\nsister, Jeanne the Maid, with whom, down to the time of her departure,\nand since, unto the present time, he has exposed his body and goods in\nthe said service, and in the King's wars, both in resisting the former\nenemies of the kingdom who were besieging the town of Orleans, and since\nthen in divers enterprises,' &c., &c.\" Upon this Mr. Delepierre justly\nremarks that the brother might have presented his claims in a much\nstronger light, \"if in 1444, instead of saying 'up to the time of\nher departure,' he had brought forward the martyrdom of his sister, as\nhaving been the means of saving France from the yoke of England.\" The\nexpression here cited and italicized in the above translation, may\nindeed be held to refer delicately to her death, but the particular\nFrench phrase employed, \"jusques a son absentement,\" apparently excludes\nsuch an interpretation. The expression, on the other hand, might well\nrefer to Jeanne's departure for Lorraine, and her marriage, after which\nthere is no evidence that she returned to France, except for brief\nvisits. Thus a notable amount of evidence goes to show that Jeanne was\nnot put to death in 1431, as usually supposed, but was alive, married,\nand flourishing in 1444. Upon this supposition, certain alleged\ndifficulties in the traditional account are easily disposed of. Mr.\nDelepierre urges upon the testimony of Perceval de Cagny, that at the\nexecution in Rouen \"the victim's face was covered when walking to the\nstake, while at the same time a spot had been chosen for the execution\nthat permitted the populace to have a good view. Why this contradiction?\nA place is chosen to enable the people to see everything, but the victim\nis carefully hidden from their sight.\" Whether otherwise explicable or\nnot, this fact is certainly consistent with the hypothesis that\nsome other victim was secretly substituted for Jeanne by the English\nauthorities.\n\nWe have thus far contented ourselves with presenting and re-enforcing\nMr. Delepierre's statement of the case. It is now time to interpose a\nlittle criticism. We must examine our data somewhat more closely, for\nvagueness of conception allows a latitude to belief which accuracy of\nconception considerably restricts.\n\nOn the hypothesis of her survival, where was Jeanne, and what was she\ndoing all the time from her capture before Compiegne, May 24, 1430,\nuntil her appearance at Metz, May 20, 1436? Mr. Delepierre reminds us\nthat the Duke of Bedford, regent of France for the English king, died\nin 1435, and \"that most probably Jeanne d'Arc was released from prison\nafter this event.\" Now this supposition lands us in a fatally absurd\nconclusion. We are, in fact, asked to believe that the English, while\nholding Jeanne fast in their clutches, gratuitously went through the\nhorrid farce of burning some one else in her stead; and that, after\nhaving thus inexplicably behaved, they further stultified themselves by\nletting her go scot-free, that their foolishness might be duly exposed\nand confuted. Such a theory is childish. If Jeanne d'Arc ever survived\nthe 30th May, 1431, it was because she escaped from prison and succeeded\nin hiding herself until safer times. When could she have done this? In a\nsortie from Compiegne, May 24, 1430, she was thrown from her horse by a\nPicard archer and taken prisoner by the Bastard of Vendome, who sold her\nto John of Luxembourg. John kept her in close custody at Beaulieu until\nAugust. While there, she made two attempts to escape; first, apparently,\nby running out through a door, when she was at once caught by the\nguards; secondly, by jumping from a high window, when the shock of\nthe fall was so great that she lay insensible on the ground until\ndiscovered. She was then removed to Beaurevoir, where she remained until\nthe beginning of November. By this time, Philip \"the Good,\" Duke of\nBurgundy, had made up his mind to sell her to the English for 10,000\nfrancs; and Jeanne was accordingly taken to Arras, and thence to Cotoy,\nwhere she was delivered to the English by Philip's officers. So far,\nall is clear; but here it may be asked, WAS she really delivered to the\nEnglish, or did Philip, pocketing his 10,000 francs, cheat and defraud\nhis allies with a counterfeit Jeanne? Such crooked dealing would have\nbeen in perfect keeping with his character. Though a far more agreeable\nand gentlemanly person, he was almost as consummate and artistic a\nrascal as his great-great-great-grandson and namesake, Philip II. of\nSpain. His duplicity was so unfathomable and his policy so obscure,\nthat it would be hardly safe to affirm a priori that he might not, for\nreasons best known to himself, have played a double game with his friend\nthe Duke of Bedford. On this hypothesis, he would of course keep\nJeanne in close custody so long as there was any reason for keeping his\ntreachery secret. But in 1436, after the death of Bedford and the final\nexpulsion of the English from France, no harm could come from setting\nher at liberty.\n\nBut as soon as we cease to reason a priori, this is seen to be, after\nall, a lame hypothesis. No one can read the trial of Jeanne at Rouen,\nthe questions that were put to her and the answers which she made,\nwithout being convinced that we are here dealing with the genuine Maid\nand not with a substitute. The first step of a counterfeit Jeanne would\nhave naturally been to save herself from the flames by revealing her\ntrue character. Moreover, among the multitudes who saw her during her\ncruel trial, it is not likely that none were acquainted with the true\nJeanne's voice and features. We must therefore conclude that Jeanne\nd'Arc was really consigned to the tender mercies of the English. About\nthe 21st of November she was taken on horseback, strongly guarded, from\nCotoy to Rouen, where the trial began January 9, 1431. On the 21st of\nFebruary she appeared before the court; on the 13th of March she was\nexamined in the prison by an inquisitor; and on May 24, the Thursday\nafter Pentecost, upon a scaffold conspicuously placed in the Cemetery of\nSt. Ouen, she publicly recanted, abjuring her \"heresies\" and asking the\nChurch's pardon for her \"witchcraft.\" We may be sure that the Church\ndignitaries would not knowingly have made such public display of a\ncounterfeit Jeanne; nor could they well have been deceived themselves\nunder such circumstances. It may indeed be said, to exhaust all possible\nsuppositions, that a young girl wonderfully similar in feature and voice\nto Jeanne d'Arc was palmed off upon the English by Duke Philip, and\nafterwards, on her trial, comported herself like the Maid, trusting\nin this recantation to effect her release. But we consider such an\nhypothesis extremely far-fetched, nor does it accord with the events\nwhich immediately followed. It seems hardly questionable that it was the\nreal Jeanne who publicly recanted on the 24th of May. This was only six\ndays before the execution. Four days after, on Monday the 28th, it was\nreported that Jeanne had relapsed, that she had, in defiance of the\nChurch's prohibition, clothed herself in male attire, which had been\nleft in a convenient place by the authorities, expressly to test her\nsincerity. On the next day but one, the woman purporting to be the Maid\nof Orleans was led out, with her face carefully covered, and burnt at\nthe stake.\n\nHere is the first combination of circumstances which bears a suspicious\nlook. It disposes of our Burgundy hypothesis, for a false Jeanne, after\nrecanting to secure her safety, would never have stultified herself by\nsuch a barefaced relapse. But the true Jeanne, after recanting, might\ncertainly have escaped. Some compassionate guard, who before would have\nscrupled to assist her while under the ban of the Church, might have\ndeemed himself excusable for lending her his aid after she had been\nabsolved. Postulating, then, that Jeanne escaped from Rouen between\nthe 24th and the 28th, how shall we explain what happened immediately\nafterward?\n\nThe English feared Jeanne d'Arc as much as they hated her. She had, by\nher mere presence at the head of the French army, turned their apparent\ntriumph into ignominious defeat. In those days the true psychological\nexplanation of such an event was by no means obvious. While the French\nattributed the result to celestial interposition in their behalf, the\nEnglish, equally ready to admit its supernatural character, considered\nthe powers of hell rather than those of heaven to have been the prime\ninstigators. In their eyes Jeanne was a witch, and it was at least their\ncue to exhibit her as such. They might have put her to death when she\nfirst reached Rouen. Some persons, indeed, went so far as to advise that\nshe should be sewed up in a sack and thrown at once into the Seine; but\nthis was not what the authorities wanted. The whole elaborate trial, and\nthe extorted recantation, were devised for the purpose of demonstrating\nher to be a witch, and thus destroying her credit with the common\npeople. That they intended afterwards to burn her cannot for an instant\nbe doubted; that was the only fit consummation for their evil work.\n\nNow when, at the end of the week after Pentecost, the bishops and\ninquisitors at Rouen learned, to their dismay, that their victim had\nescaped, what were they to do? Confess that they had been foiled, and\ncreate a panic in the army by the news that their dreaded enemy was at\nliberty? Or boldly carry out their purposes by a fictitious execution,\ntrusting in the authority which official statements always carry, and\nshrewdly foreseeing that, after her recantation, the disgraced Maid\nwould no more venture to claim for herself the leadership of the French\nforces? Clearly, the latter would have been the wiser course. We may\nassume, then, that, by the afternoon of the 28th, the story of the\nrelapse was promulgated, as a suitable preparation for what was to come;\nand that on the 30th the poor creature who had been hastily chosen to\nfigure as the condemned Maid was led out, with face closely veiled, to\nperish by a slow fire in the old market-place. Meanwhile the true Jeanne\nwould have made her way, doubtless, in what to her was the effectual\ndisguise of a woman's apparel, to some obscure place of safety, outside\nof doubtful France and treacherous Burgundy, perhaps in Alsace or the\nVosges. Here she would remain, until the final expulsion of the English\nand the conclusion of a treaty of peace in 1436 made it safe for her to\nshow herself; when she would naturally return to Lorraine to seek her\nfamily.\n\nThe comparative obscurity in which she must have remained for the rest\nof her life, otherwise quite inexplicable on any hypothesis of\nher survival, is in harmony with the above-given explanation. The\ningratitude of King Charles towards the heroine who had won him his\ncrown is the subject of common historical remark. M. Wallon insists upon\nthe circumstance that, after her capture at Compiegne, no attempts were\nmade by the French Court to ransom her or to liberate her by a bold coup\nde main. And when, at Rouen, she appealed in the name of the Church to\nthe Pope to grant her a fair trial, not a single letter was written by\nthe Archbishop of Rheims, High Chancellor of France, to his suffragan,\nthe Bishop of Beauvais, demanding cognizance of the proceedings. Nor did\nthe King make any appeal to the Pope, to prevent the consummation of the\njudicial murder. The Maid was deliberately left to her fate. It is upon\nher enemies at court, La Tremouille and Regnault de Chartres, that we\nmust lay part of the blame for this wicked negligence. But it is also\nprobable that the King, and especially his clerical advisers, were at\ntimes almost disposed to acquiesce in the theory of Jeanne's witchcraft.\nAdmire her as they might, they could not help feeling that in her whole\nbehaviour there was something uncanny; and, after having reaped the\nbenefits of her assistance, they were content to let her shift for\nherself. This affords the clew to the King's inconsistencies. It may\nbe thought sufficient to explain the fact that Jeanne is said to have\nreceived public testimonials at Orleans, while we have no reason to\nsuppose that she visited Paris. It may help to dispose of the objection\nthat she virtually disappears from history after the date of the tragedy\nat Rouen.\n\nNevertheless, this last objection is a weighty one, and cannot easily\nbe got rid of. It appears to me utterly incredible that, if Jeanne d'Arc\nhad really survived, we should find no further mention of her than\nsuch as haply occurs in one or two town-records and dilapidated\naccount-books. If she was alive in 1436, and corresponding with the\nKing, some of her friends at court must have got an inkling of the\ntrue state of things. Why did they not parade their knowledge, to the\nmanifest discomfiture of La Tremouille and his company? Or why did not\nPierre du Lis cause it to be proclaimed that the English were liars, his\nsister being safely housed in Metz?\n\nIn the mere interests of historical criticism, we have said all that we\ncould in behalf of Mr. Delepierre's hypothesis. But as to the facts upon\nwhich it rests, we may remark, in the first place, that the surname Arc\nor \"Bow\" was not uncommon in those days, while the Christian name Jeanne\nwas and now is the very commonest of French names. There might have been\na hundred Jeanne d'Arcs, all definable as pucelle or maid, just as we\nsay \"spinster\": we even read of one in the time of the Revolution. We\nhave, therefore, no doubt that Robert des Hermoises married a Jeanne\nd'Arc, who may also have been a maid of Orleans; but this does not prove\nher to have been the historic Jeanne. Secondly, as to the covering of\nthe face, we may mention the fact, hitherto withheld, that it was by no\nmeans an uncommon circumstance: the victims of the Spanish Inquisition\nwere usually led to the stake with veiled faces. Thirdly, the phrase\n\"jusques a son absentement\" is hopelessly ambiguous, and may as well\nrefer to Pierre du Lis himself as to his sister.\n\nThese brief considerations seem to knock away all the main props of Mr.\nDelepierre's hypothesis, save that furnished by the apparent testimony\nof Jeanne's brothers, given at second hand in the Metz archives. And\nthose who are familiar with the phenomena of mediaeval delusions will\nbe unwilling to draw too hasty an inference from this alone. From\nthe Emperor Nero to Don Sebastian of Portugal, there have been many\ninstances of the supposed reappearance of persons generally believed to\nbe dead. For my own part, therefore, I am by no means inclined to adopt\nthe hypothesis of Jeanne's survival, although I have endeavoured to give\nit tangible shape and plausible consistency. But the fact that so much\ncan be said in behalf of a theory running counter not only to universal\ntradition, but also to such a vast body of contemporaneous testimony,\nshould teach us to be circumspect in holding our opinions, and\ncharitable in our treatment of those who dissent from them. For those\nwho can discover in the historian Renan and the critic Strauss nothing\nbut the malevolence of incredulity, the case of Jeanne d'Arc, duly\ncontemplated, may serve as a wholesome lesson.\n\nWe have devoted so much space to this problem, by far the most\nconsiderable of those treated in Mr. Delepierre's book, that we have\nhardly room for any of the others. But a false legend concerning Solomon\nde Caus, the supposed original inventor of the steam-engine, is so\ninstructive that we must give a brief account of it.\n\nIn 1834 \"there appeared in the Musee des Familles a letter from the\ncelebrated Marion Delorme, supposed to have been written on the 3d\nFebruary, 1641, to her lover Cinq-Mars.\" In this letter it is stated\nthat De Caus came four years ago [1637] from Normandy, to inform the\nKing concerning a marvellous invention which he had made, being nothing\nless than the application of steam to the propulsion of carriages. \"The\nCardinal [Richelieu] dismissed this fool without giving him a hearing.\"\nBut De Caus, nowise discouraged, followed close upon the autocrat's\nheels wherever he went, and so teased him, that the Cardinal, out of\npatience, sent him off to a madhouse, where he passed the remainder\nof his days behind a grated window, proclaiming his invention to the\npassengers in the street, and calling upon them to release him. Marion\ngives a graphic account of her visit, accompanied by the famous Lord\nWorcester, to the asylum at Bicetre, where they saw De Caus at his\nwindow; and Worcester, in whose mind the conception of the steam-engine\nwas already taking shape, informed her that the raving prisoner was\nnot a madman, but a genius. A great stir was made by this letter. The\nanecdote was copied into standard works, and represented in engravings.\nYet it was a complete hoax. De Caus was not only never confined in a\nmadhouse, but he was architect to Louis XIII. up to the time of his\ndeath, in 1630, just eleven years BEFORE Marion Delorme was said to have\nseen him at his grated window!\n\n\"On tracing this hoax to its source,\" says Mr. Delepierre, \"we find\nthat M. Henri Berthoud, a literary man of some repute, and a constant\ncontributor to the Musee des Familles, confesses that the letter\nattributed to Marion was in fact written by himself. The editor of this\njournal had requested Gavarni to furnish him with a drawing for a tale\nin which a madman was introduced looking through the bars of his cell.\nThe drawing was executed and engraved, but arrived too late; and the\ntale, which could not wait, appeared without the illustration. However,\nas the wood-engraving was effective, and, moreover, was paid for, the\neditor was unwilling that it should be useless. Berthoud was, therefore,\ncommissioned to look for a subject and to invent a story to which the\nengraving might be applied. Strangely enough, the world refused to\nbelieve in M. Berthoud's confession, so great a hold had the anecdote\ntaken on the public mind; and a Paris newspaper went so far even as to\ndeclare that the original autograph of this letter was to be seen in a\nlibrary in Normandy! M. Berthoud wrote again, denying its existence, and\noffered a million francs to any one who would produce the said letter.\"\n\nFrom this we may learn two lessons, the first being that utterly\nbaseless but plausible stories may arise in queer ways. In the above\ncase, the most far-fetched hypothesis to account for the origin of the\nlegend could hardly have been as apparently improbable as the reality.\nSecondly, we may learn that if a myth once gets into the popular\nmind, it is next to impossible to get it out again. In the Castle of\nHeidelberg there is a portrait of De Caus, and a folio volume of his\nworks, accompanied by a note, in which this letter of Marion Delorme is\nunsuspectingly cited as genuine. And only three years ago, at a public\nbanquet at Limoges, a well-known French Senator and man of letters\nmade a speech, in which he retailed the story of the madhouse for the\nedification of his hearers. Truly a popular error has as many lives as\na cat; it comes walking in long after you have imagined it effectually\nstrangled.\n\nIn conclusion, we may remark that Mr. Delepierre does very scant justice\nto many of the interesting questions which he discusses. It is to be\nregretted that he has not thought it worth while to argue his points\nmore thoroughly, and that he has not been more careful in making\nstatements of fact. He sometimes makes strange blunders, the worst of\nwhich, perhaps, is contained in his article on Petrarch and Laura. He\nthinks Laura was merely a poetical allegory, and such was the case, he\ngoes on to say, \"with Dante himself, whose Beatrice was a child who died\nat nine years of age.\" Dante's Beatrice died on the 9th of June, 1290,\nat the age of twenty-four, having been the wife of Simone dei Bardi\nrather more than three years.\n\n     October, 1868.\n\n\n\n\nIX. THE FAMINE OF 1770 IN BENGAL. [30]\n\n [30] The Annals of Rural Bengal. By W. W. Hunter. Vol. I. The\nEthnical Frontier of Lower Bengal, with the Ancient Principalities of\nBeerbhoom and Bishenpore. Second Edition. New York: Leypoldt and Holt.\n1868. 8vo., pp. xvi., 475.\n\nNo intelligent reader can advance fifty pages in this volume without\nbecoming aware that he has got hold of a very remarkable book. Mr.\nHunter's style, to begin with, is such as is written only by men of\nlarge calibre and high culture. No words are wasted. The narrative flows\ncalmly and powerfully along, like a geometrical demonstration, omitting\nnothing which is significant, admitting nothing which is irrelevant,\nglowing with all the warmth of rich imagination and sympathetic genius,\nyet never allowing any overt manifestation of feeling, ever concealing\nthe author's personality beneath the unswerving exposition of the\nsubject-matter. That highest art, which conceals art, Mr. Hunter appears\nto have learned well. With him, the curtain is the picture.\n\nSuch a style as this would suffice to make any book interesting, in\nspite of the remoteness of the subject. But the \"Annals of Rural\nBengal\" do not concern us so remotely as one might at first imagine.\nThe phenomena of the moral and industrial growth or stagnation of a\nhighly-endowed people must ever possess the interest of fascination for\nthose who take heed of the maxim that \"history is philosophy teaching\nby example.\" National prosperity depends upon circumstances sufficiently\ngeneral to make the experience of one country of great value to another,\nthough ignorant Bourbon dynasties and Rump Congresses refuse to learn\nthe lesson. It is of the intimate every-day life of rural Bengal that\nMr. Hunter treats. He does not, like old historians, try our patience\nwith a bead-roll of names that have earned no just title to remembrance,\nor dazzle us with a bountiful display of \"barbaric pearls and gold,\" or\nlead us in the gondolas of Buddhist kings down sacred rivers, amid\n\"a summer fanned with spice\"; but he describes the labours and the\nsufferings, the mishaps and the good fortune, of thirty millions of\npeople, who, however dusky may be their hue, tanned by the tropical suns\nof fifty centuries, are nevertheless members of the imperial Aryan race,\ndescended from the cool highlands eastward of the Caspian, where, long\nbefore the beginning of recorded history, their ancestors and those of\nthe Anglo-American were indistinguishably united in the same primitive\ncommunity.\n\nThe narrative portion of the present volume is concerned mainly with\nthe social and economical disorganization wrought by the great famine\nof 1770, and with the attempts of the English government to remedy the\nsame. The remainder of the book is occupied with inquiries into the\nethnic character of the population of Bengal, and particularly with an\nexposition of the peculiarities of the language, religion, customs, and\ninstitutions of the Santals, or hill-tribes of Beerbhoom. A few remarks\non the first of these topics may not be uninteresting.\n\nThroughout the entire course of recorded European history, from the\nremote times of which the Homeric poems preserve the dim tradition down\nto the present moment, there has occurred no calamity at once so sudden\nand of such appalling magnitude as the famine which in the spring and\nsummer of 1770 nearly exterminated the ancient civilization of Bengal.\nIt presents that aspect of preternatural vastness which characterizes\nthe continent of Asia and all that concerns it. The Black Death of the\nfourteenth century was, perhaps, the most fearful visitation which has\never afflicted the Western world. But in the concentrated misery which\nit occasioned the Bengal famine surpassed it, even as the Himalayas\ndwarf by comparison the highest peaks of Switzerland. It is, moreover,\nthe key to the history of Bengal during the next forty years; and as\nsuch, merits, from an economical point of view, closer attention than it\nhas hitherto received.\n\nLower Bengal gathers in three harvests each year; in the spring, in the\nearly autumn, and in December, the last being the great rice-crop, the\nharvest on which the sustenance of the people depends. Through the year\n1769 there was great scarcity, owing to the partial failure of the crops\nof 1768, but the spring rains appeared to promise relief, and in spite\nof the warning appeals of provincial officers, the government was slow\nto take alarm, and continued rigorously to enforce the land-tax. But in\nSeptember the rains suddenly ceased. Throughout the autumn there ruled a\nparching drought; and the rice-fields, according to the description of\na native superintendent of Bishenpore, \"became like fields of dried\nstraw.\" Nevertheless, the government at Calcutta made--with one\nlamentable exception, hereafter to be noticed--no legislative attempt\nto meet the consequences of this dangerous condition of things. The\nadministration of local affairs was still, at that date, intrusted to\nnative officials. The whole internal regulation was in the hands of the\nfamous Muhamad Reza Ehan. Hindu or Mussulman assessors pried into every\nbarn and shrewdly estimated the probable dimensions of the crops on\nevery field; and the courts, as well as the police, were still in\nnative hands. \"These men,\" says our author, \"knew the country, its\ncapabilities, its average yield, and its average requirements, with an\naccuracy that the most painstaking English official can seldom hope to\nattain to. They had a strong interest in representing things to be worse\nthan they were; for the more intense the scarcity, the greater the merit\nin collecting the land-tax. Every consultation is filled with their\napprehensions and highly-coloured accounts of the public distress; but\nit does not appear that the conviction entered the minds of the Council\nduring the previous winter months, that the question was not so much one\nof revenue as of depopulation.\" In fact, the local officers had cried\n\"Wolf!\" too often. Government was slow to believe them, and announced\nthat nothing better could be expected than the adoption of a generous\npolicy toward those landholders whom the loss of harvest had rendered\nunable to pay their land-tax. But very few indulgences were granted,\nand the tax was not diminished, but on the contrary was, in the month\nof April, 1770, increased by ten per cent for the following year. The\ncharacter of the Bengali people must also be taken into the account in\nexplaining this strange action on the part of the government.\n\n\"From the first appearance of Lower Bengal in history, its inhabitants\nhave been reticent, self-contained, distrustful of foreign observation,\nin a degree without parallel among other equally civilized nations. The\ncause of this taciturnity will afterwards be clearly explained; but no\none who is acquainted either with the past experiences or the present\ncondition of the people can be ignorant of its results. Local officials\nmay write alarming reports, but their apprehensions seem to be\ncontradicted by the apparent quiet that prevails. Outward, palpable\nproofs of suffering are often wholly wanting; and even when, as in 1770,\nsuch proofs abound, there is generally no lack of evidence on the other\nside. The Bengali bears existence with a composure that neither accident\nnor chance can ruffle. He becomes silently rich or uncomplainingly poor.\nThe emotional part of his nature is in strict subjection, his resentment\nenduring but unspoken, his gratitude of the sort that silently descends\nfrom generation to generation. The passion for privacy reaches its\nclimax in the domestic relations. An outer apartment, in even the\nhumblest households, is set apart for strangers and the transaction\nof business, but everything behind it is a mystery. The most intimate\nfriend does not venture to make those commonplace kindly inquiries about\na neighbour's wife or daughter which European courtesy demands from mere\nacquaintances. This family privacy is maintained at any price. During\nthe famine of 1866 it was found impossible to render public charity\navailable to the female members of the respectable classes, and many a\nrural household starved slowly to death without uttering a complaint or\nmaking a sign.\n\n\"All through the stifling summer of 1770 the people went on dying. The\nhusbandmen sold their cattle; they sold their implements of agriculture;\nthey devoured their seed-grain; they sold their sons and daughters, till\nat length no buyer of children could be found; they ate the leaves of\ntrees and the grass of the field; and in June, 1770, the Resident at the\nDurbar affirmed that the living were feeding on the dead. Day and night\na torrent of famished and disease-stricken wretches poured into the\ngreat cities. At an early period of the year pestilence had broken out.\nIn March we find small-pox at Moorshedabad, where it glided through\nthe vice-regal mutes, and cut off the Prince Syfut in his palace. The\nstreets were blocked up with promiscuous heaps of the dying and dead.\nInterment could not do its work quick enough; even the dogs and jackals,\nthe public scavengers of the East, became unable to accomplish their\nrevolting work, and the multitude of mangled and festering corpses at\nlength threatened the existence of the citizens..... In 1770, the rainy\nseason brought relief, and before the end of September the province\nreaped an abundant harvest. But the relief came too late to avert\ndepopulation. Starving and shelterless crowds crawled despairingly\nfrom one deserted village to another in a vain search for food, or a\nresting-place in which to hide themselves from the rain. The epidemics\nincident to the season were thus spread over the whole country; and,\nuntil the close of the year, disease continued so prevalent as to form\na subject of communication from the government in Bengal to the Court\nof Directors. Millions of famished wretches died in the struggle to live\nthrough the few intervening weeks that separated them from the harvest,\ntheir last gaze being probably fixed on the densely-covered fields that\nwould ripen only a little too late for them..... Three months later,\nanother bountiful harvest, the great rice-crop of the year, was gathered\nin. Abundance returned to Bengal as suddenly as famine had swooped down\nupon it, and in reading some of the manuscript records of December it\nis difficult to realize that the scenes of the preceding ten months have\nnot been hideous phantasmagoria or a long, troubled dream. On Christmas\neve, the Council in Calcutta wrote home to the Court of Directors that\nthe scarcity had entirely ceased, and, incredible as it may seem, that\nunusual plenty had returned..... So generous had been the harvest that\nthe government proposed at once to lay in its military stores for the\nensuing year, and expected to obtain them at a very cheap rate.\"\n\nSuch sudden transitions from the depths of misery to the most exuberant\nplenty are by no means rare in the history of Asia, where the various\ncentres of civilization are, in an economical sense, so isolated\nfrom each other that the welfare of the population is nearly always\nabsolutely dependent on the irregular: and apparently capricious bounty\nof nature. For the three years following the dreadful misery above\ndescribed, harvests of unprecedented abundance were gathered in. Yet how\ninadequate they were to repair the fearful damage wrought by six months\nof starvation, the history of the next quarter of a century too plainly\nreveals. \"Plenty had indeed returned,\" says our annalist, \"but it\nhad returned to a silent and deserted province.\" The extent of the\ndepopulation is to our Western imaginations almost incredible. During\nthose six months of horror, more than TEN MILLIONS of people had\nperished! It was as if the entire population of our three or four\nlargest States--man, woman, and child--were to be utterly swept away\nbetween now and next August, leaving the region between the Hudson and\nLake Michigan as quiet and deathlike as the buried streets of Pompeii.\nYet the estimate is based upon most accurate and trustworthy official\nreturns; and Mr. Hunter may well say that \"it represents an aggregate\nof individual suffering which no European nation has been called upon to\ncontemplate within historic times.\"\n\nThis unparalleled calamity struck down impartially the rich and the\npoor. The old, aristocratic families of Lower Bengal were irretrievably\nruined. The Rajah of Burdwan, whose possessions were so vast that,\ntravel as far as he would, he always slept under a roof of his own and\nwithin his own jurisdiction, died in such indigence that his son had to\nmelt down the family plate and beg a loan from the government in order\nto discharge his father's funeral expenses. And our author gives other\nsimilar instances. The wealthy natives who were appointed to assess and\ncollect the internal revenue, being unable to raise the sums required\nby the government, were in many cases imprisoned, or their estates were\nconfiscated and re-let in order to discharge the debt.\n\nFor fifteen years the depopulation went on increasing. The children in\na community, requiring most nourishment to sustain their activity, are\nthose who soonest succumb to famine. \"Until 1785,\" says our author,\n\"the old died off without there being any rising generation to step into\ntheir places.\" From lack of cultivators, one third of the surface of\nBengal fell out of tillage and became waste land. The landed proprietors\nbegan each \"to entice away the tenants of his neighbour, by offering\nprotection against judicial proceedings, and farms at very low rents.\"\nThe disputes and deadly feuds which arose from this practice were,\nperhaps, the least fatal of the evil results which flowed from it. For\nthe competition went on until, the tenants obtaining their holdings at\nhalf-rates, the resident cultivators--who had once been the wealthiest\nfarmers in the country--were no longer able to complete on such terms.\nThey began to sell, lease, or desert their property, migrating to less\nafflicted regions, or flying to the hills on the frontier to adopt a\nsavage life. But, in a climate like that of Northeastern India, it takes\nbut little time to transform a tract of untilled land into formidable\nwilderness. When the functions of society are impeded, nature is swift\nto assert its claims. And accordingly, in 1789, \"Lord Cornwallis after\nthree years' vigilant inquiry, pronounced one third of the company's\nterritories in Bengal to be a jungle, inhabited only by wild beasts.\"\n\nOn the Western frontier of Beerbhoom the state of affairs was, perhaps,\nmost calamitous. In 1776, four acres out of every seven remained\nuntilled. Though in earlier times this district had been a favourite\nhighway for armies, by the year 1780 it had become an almost impassable\njungle. A small company of Sepoys, which in that year by heroic\nexertions forced its way through, was obliged to traverse 120 miles of\ntrackless forest, swarming with tigers and black shaggy bears. In 1789\nthis jungle \"continued so dense as to shut off all communication between\nthe two most important towns, and to cause the mails to be carried by a\ncircuit of fifty miles through another district.\"\n\nSuch a state of things it is difficult for us to realize; but the\nmonotonous tale of disaster and suffering is not yet complete. Beerbhoom\nwas, to all intents and purposes, given over to tigers. \"A belt\nof jungle, filled with wild beasts, formed round each village.\" At\nnightfall the hungry animals made their dreaded incursions carrying away\ncattle, and even women and children, and devouring them. \"The official\nrecords frequently speak of the mail-bag being carried off by wild\nbeasts.\" So great was the damage done by these depredations, that \"the\ncompany offered a reward for each tiger's head, sufficient to maintain a\npeasant's family in comfort for three months; an item of expenditure it\ndeemed so necessary, that, when under extraordinary pressure it had to\nsuspend all payments, the tiger-money and diet allowance for prisoners\nwere the sole exceptions to the rule.\" Still more formidable foes were\nfound in the herds of wild elephants, which came trooping along in the\nrear of the devastation caused by the famine. In the course of a few\nyears fifty-six villages were reported as destroyed by elephants, and as\nhaving lapsed into jungle in consequence; \"and an official return states\nthat forty market-towns throughout the district had been deserted from\nthe same cause. In many parts of the country the peasantry did not dare\nto sleep in their houses, lest they should be buried beneath them during\nthe night.\" These terrible beasts continued to infest the province as\nlate as 1810.\n\nBut society during these dark days had even worse enemies than tigers\nand elephants. The barbarous highlanders, of a lower type of mankind,\nnourishing for forty centuries a hatred of their Hindu supplanters, like\nthat which the Apache bears against the white frontiersman, seized the\noccasion to renew their inroads upon the lowland country. Year by year\nthey descended from their mountain fastnesses, plundering and burning.\nMany noble Hindu families, ousted by the tax-collectors from their\nestates, began to seek subsistence from robbery. Others, consulting\ntheir selfish interests amid the general distress, \"found it more\nprofitable to shelter banditti on their estates, levying blackmail from\nthe surrounding villages as the price of immunity from depredation, and\nsharing in the plunder of such as would not come to terms. Their country\nhouses were robber strongholds, and the early English administrators of\nBengal have left it on record that a gang-robbery never occurred without\na landed proprietor being at the bottom of it.\" The peasants were not\nslow to follow suit, and those who were robbed of their winter's store\nhad no alternative left but to become robbers themselves. The thieveries\nof the Fakeers, or religious mendicants, and the bold, though stealthy\nattacks of Thugs and Dacoits--members of Masonic brotherhoods, which at\nall times have lived by robbery and assassination--added to the general\nturmoil. In the cold weather of 1772 the province was ravaged far and\nwide by bands of armed freebooters, fifty thousand strong; and to such\na pass did things arrive that the regular forces sent by Warren Hastings\nto preserve order were twice disastrously routed; while, in Mr. Hunter's\ngraphic language, \"villages high up the Ganges lived by housebreaking in\nCalcutta.\" In English mansions \"it was the invariable practice for the\nporter to shut the outer door at the commencement of each meal, and not\nto open it till the butler brought him word that the plate was safely\nlocked up.\" And for a long time nearly all traffic ceased upon the\nimperial roads.\n\nThis state of things, which amounted to chronic civil war, induced\nLord Cornwallis in 1788 to place the province under the direct military\ncontrol of an English officer. The administration of Mr. Keating--the\nfirst hardy gentleman to whom this arduous office was assigned--is\nminutely described by our author. For our present purpose it is enough\nto note that two years of severe campaigning, attended and followed by\nrelentless punishment of all transgressors, was required to put an end\nto the disorders.\n\nSuch was the appalling misery, throughout a community of thirty million\npersons, occasioned by the failure of the winter rice-crop in 1769.\nIn abridging Mr. Hunter's account we have adhered as closely to our\noriginal as possible, but he who would obtain adequate knowledge of\nthis tale of woe must seek it in the ever memorable description of the\nhistorian himself. The first question which naturally occurs to the\nreader--though, as Mr. Hunter observes, it would have been one of\nthe last to occur to the Oriental mind--is, Who was to blame? To\nwhat culpable negligence was it due that such a dire calamity was not\nforeseen, and at least partially warded off? We shall find reason to\nbelieve that it could not have been adequately foreseen, and that\nno legislative measures could in that state of society have entirely\nprevented it. Yet it will appear that the government, with the best of\nintentions, did all in its power to make matters worse; and that to its\nblundering ignorance the distress which followed is largely due.\n\nThe first duty incumbent upon the government in a case like that of\nthe failure of the winter rice-crop of 1769, was to do away with all\nhindrance to the importation of food into the province. One chief cause\nof the far-reaching distress wrought by great Asiatic famines has been\nthe almost complete commercial isolation of Asiatic communities. In the\nMiddle Ages the European communities were also, though to a far less\nextent, isolated from each other, and in those days periods of famine\nwere comparatively frequent and severe. And one of the chief causes\nwhich now render the occurrence of a famine on a great scale almost\nimpossible in any part of the civilized world is the increased\ncommercial solidarity of civilized nations. Increased facility of\ndistribution has operated no less effectively than improved methods of\nproduction.\n\nNow, in 1770 the province of Lower Bengal was in a state of almost\ncomplete commercial isolation from other communities. Importation of\nfood on an adequate scale was hardly possible. \"A single fact speaks\nvolumes as to the isolation of each district. An abundant harvest, we\nare repeatedly told, was as disastrous to the revenues as a bad one;\nfor, when a large quantity of grain had to be carried to market, the\ncost of carriage swallowed up the price obtained. Indeed, even if the\nmeans of intercommunication and transport had rendered importation\npracticable, the province had at that time no money to give in exchange\nfor food. Not only had its various divisions a separate currency which\nwould pass nowhere else except at a ruinous exchange, but in that\nunfortunate year Bengal seems to have been utterly drained of its\nspecie..... The absence of the means of importation was the more to\nbe deplored, as the neighbouring districts could easily have supplied\ngrain. In the southeast a fair harvest had been reaped, except, in\ncircumscribed spots; and we are assured that, during the famine, this\npart of Bengal was enabled to export without having to complain of any\ndeficiency in consequence..... INDEED, NO MATTER HOW LOCAL A FAMINE\nMIGHT BE IN THE LAST CENTURY, THE EFFECTS WERE EQUALLY DISASTROUS.\nSylhet, a district in the northeast of Bengal, had reaped unusually\nplentiful harvests in 1780 and 1781, but the next crop was destroyed by\na local inundation, and, notwithstanding the facilities for importation\nafforded by water-carriage, one third of the people died.\"\n\nHere we have a vivid representation of the economic condition of a\nsociety which, however highly civilized in many important respects,\nstill retained, at the epoch treated of, its aboriginal type of\norganization. Here we see each community brought face to face with the\nimpossible task of supplying, unaided, the deficiencies of nature. We\nsee one petty district a prey to the most frightful destitution, even\nwhile profuse plenty reigns in the districts round about it. We find an\nalmost complete absence of the commercial machinery which, by enabling\nthe starving region to be fed out of the surplus of more favoured\nlocalities, has in the most advanced countries rendered a great famine\npractically impossible.\n\nNow this state of things the government of 1770 was indeed powerless to\nremedy. Legislative power and wisdom could not anticipate the invention\nof railroads; nor could it introduce throughout the length and breadth\nof Bengal a system of coaches, canals, and caravans; nor could it all at\nonce do away with the time-honoured brigandage, which increased the cost\nof transport by decreasing the security of it; nor could it in a\ntrice remove the curse of a heterogeneous coinage. None, save those\nuninstructed agitators who believe that governments can make water run\nup-hill, would be disposed to find fault with the authorities in Bengal\nfor failing to cope with these difficulties. But what we are to\nblame them for--though it was an error of the judgment and not of the\nintentions--is their mischievous interference with the natural course of\ntrade, by which, instead of helping matters, they but added another\nto the many powerful causes which were conspiring to bring about the\neconomic ruin of Bengal. We refer to the act which in 1770 prohibited\nunder penalties all speculation in rice.\n\nThis disastrous piece of legislation was due to the universal prevalence\nof a prejudice from which so-called enlightened communities are not yet\nwholly free. It is even now customary to heap abuse upon those persons\nwho in a season of scarcity, when prices are rapidly rising, buy up the\n\"necessaries of life,\" thereby still increasing for a time the cost of\nliving. Such persons are commonly assailed with specious generalities to\nthe effect that they are enemies of society. People whose only ideas\nare \"moral ideas\" regard them as heartless sharpers who fatten upon the\nmisery of their fellow-creatures. And it is sometimes hinted that such\n\"practices\" ought to be stopped by legislation.\n\nNow, so far is this prejudice, which is a very old one, from being\njustified by facts, that, instead of being an evil, speculation in\nbreadstuffs and other necessaries is one of the chief agencies by which\nin modern times and civilized countries a real famine is rendered almost\nimpossible. This natural monopoly operates in two ways. In the first\nplace, by raising prices, it checks consumption, putting every one\non shorter allowance until the season of scarcity is over, and thus\nprevents the scarcity from growing into famine. In the second place, by\nraising prices, it stimulates importation from those localities where\nabundance reigns and prices are low. It thus in the long run does much\nto equalize the pressure of a time of dearth and diminish those extreme\noscillations of prices which interfere with the even, healthy course of\ntrade. A government which, in a season of high prices, does anything to\ncheck such speculation, acts about as sagely as the skipper of a wrecked\nvessel who should refuse to put his crew upon half rations.\n\nThe turning-point of the great Dutch Revolution, so far as it concerned\nthe provinces which now constitute Belgium, was the famous siege and\ncapture of Antwerp by Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma. The siege was a\nlong one, and the resistance obstinate, and the city would probably\nnot have been captured if famine had not come to the assistance of the\nbesiegers. It is interesting, therefore, to inquire what steps the civic\nauthorities had taken to prevent such a calamity. They knew that the\nstruggle before them was likely to be the life-and-death struggle of\nthe Southern Netherlands; they knew that there was risk of their being\nsurrounded so that relief from without would be impossible; they knew\nthat their assailant was one of the most astute and unconquerable of\nmen, by far the greatest general of the sixteenth century. Therefore\nthey proceeded to do just what our Republican Congress, under such\ncircumstances, would probably have done, and just what the New York\nTribune, if it had existed in those days, would have advised them to\ndo. Finding that sundry speculators were accumulating and hoarding up\nprovisions in anticipation of a season of high prices, they hastily\ndecided, first of all to put a stop to such \"selfish iniquity.\" In their\neyes the great thing to be done was to make things cheap. They therefore\naffixed a very low maximum price to everything which could be eaten, and\nprescribed severe penalties for all who should attempt to take more than\nthe sum by law decreed. If a baker refused to sell his bread for a price\nwhich would have been adequate only in a time of great plenty, his shop\nwas to be broken open, and his loaves distributed among the populace.\nThe consequences of this idiotic policy were twofold.\n\nIn the first place, the enforced lowness of prices prevented any\nbreadstuffs or other provisions from being brought into the city. It was\na long time before Farnese succeeded in so blockading the Scheldt as\nto prevent ships laden with eatables from coming in below. Corn and\npreserved meats might have been hurried by thousands of tons into the\nbeleaguered city. Friendly Dutch vessels, freighted with abundance, were\nwaiting at the mouth of the river. But all to no purpose. No merchant\nwould expose his valuable ship, with its cargo, to the risk of being\nsunk by Farnese's batteries, merely for the sake of finding a market no\nbetter than a hundred others which could be entered without incurring\ndanger. No doubt if the merchants of Holland had followed out the maxim\nVivre pour autrui, they would have braved ruin and destruction rather\nthan behold their neighbours of Antwerp enslaved. No doubt if they could\nhave risen to a broad philosophic view of the future interests of the\nNetherlands, they would have seen that Antwerp must be saved, no matter\nif some of them were to lose money by it. But men do not yet sacrifice\nthemselves for their fellows, nor do they as a rule look far beyond the\npresent moment and its emergencies. And the business of government is to\nlegislate for men as they are, not as it is supposed they ought to be.\nIf provisions had brought a high price in Antwerp, they would have been\ncarried thither. As it was, the city, by its own stupidity, blockaded\nitself far more effectually than Farnese could have done it.\n\nIn the second place, the enforced lowness of prices prevented any\ngeneral retrenchment on the part of the citizens. Nobody felt it\nnecessary to economize. Every one bought as much bread, and ate it as\nfreely, as if the government by insuring its cheapness had insured its\nabundance. So the city lived in high spirits and in gleeful defiance of\nits besiegers, until all at once provisions gave out, and the government\nhad to step in again to palliate the distress which it had wrought. It\nconstituted itself quartermaster-general to the community, and doled\nout stinted rations alike to rich and poor, with that stern democratic\nimpartiality peculiar to times of mortal peril. But this served only,\nlike most artificial palliatives, to lengthen out the misery. At the\ntime of the surrender, not a loaf of bread could be obtained for love or\nmoney.\n\nIn this way a bungling act of legislation helped to decide for the worse\na campaign which involved the territorial integrity and future welfare\nof what might have become a great nation performing a valuable function\nin the system of European communities.\n\nThe striking character of this instructive example must be our excuse\nfor presenting it at such length. At the beginning of the famine in\nBengal the authorities legislated in very much the same spirit as the\nburghers who had to defend Antwerp against Parma.\n\n\"By interdicting what it was pleased to term the monopoly of grain,\nit prevented prices from rising at once to their natural rates. The\nProvince had a certain amount of food in it, and this food had to last\nabout nine months. Private enterprise if left to itself would have\nstored up the general supply at the harvest, with a view to realizing\na larger profit at a later period in the scarcity. Prices would in\nconsequence have immediately risen, compelling the population to reduce\ntheir consumption from the very beginning of the dearth. The general\nstock would thus have been husbanded, and the pressure equally spread\nover the whole nine months, instead of being concentrated upon the last\nsix. The price of grain, in place of promptly rising to three half-pence\na pound as in 1865-66, continued at three farthings during the earlier\nmonths of the famine. During the latter ones it advanced to twopence,\nand in certain localities reached fourpence.\"\n\nThe course taken by the great famine of 1866 well illustrates the\nabove views. This famine, also, was caused by the total failure of the\nDecember rice-crop, and it was brought to a close by an abundant harvest\nin the succeeding year.\n\n\"Even as regards the maximum price reached, the analogy holds good,\nin each case rice having risen in general to nearly twopence, and in\nparticular places to fourpence, a pound; and in each the quoted rates\nbeing for a brief period in several isolated localities merely nominal,\nno food existing in the market, and money altogether losing its\ninterchangeable value. In both the people endured silently to the end,\nwith a fortitude that casual observers of a different temperament and\nwidely dissimilar race may easily mistake for apathy, but which those\nwho lived among the sufferers are unable to distinguish from qualities\nthat generally pass under a more honourable name. During 1866, when the\nfamine was severest, I superintended public instruction throughout the\nsouthwestern division of Lower Bengal, including Orissa. The subordinate\nnative officers, about eight hundred in number, behaved with a\nsteadiness, and when called upon, with a self-abnegation, beyond praise.\nMany of them ruined their health. The touching scenes of self-sacrifice\nand humble heroism which I witnessed among the poor villagers on my\ntours of inspection will remain in my memory till my latest day.\"\n\nBut to meet the famine of 1866 Bengal was equipped with railroads and\ncanals, and better than all, with an intelligent government. Far from\ntrying to check speculation, as in 1770, the government did all in its\npower to stimulate it. In the earlier famine one could hardly engage\nin the grain trade without becoming amenable to the law. \"In 1866\nrespectable men in vast numbers went into the trade; for government, by\npublishing weekly returns of the rates in every district, rendered the\ntraffic both easy and safe. Every one knew where to buy grain cheapest,\nand where to sell it dearest, and food was accordingly brought from\nthe districts that could best spare it, and carried to those which most\nurgently needed it. Not only were prices equalized so far as possible\nthroughout the stricken parts, but the publicity given to the high rates\nin Lower Bengal induced large shipments from the upper provinces, and\nthe chief seat of the trade became unable to afford accommodation for\nlanding the vast stores of grain brought down the river. Rice poured\ninto the affected districts from all parts,--railways, canals, and roads\nvigorously doing their duty.\"\n\nThe result of this wise policy was that scarcity was heightened into\nfamine only in one remote corner of Bengal. Orissa was commercially\nisolated in 1866, as the whole country had been in 1770. \"As far back as\nthe records extend, Orissa has produced more grain than it can use. It\nis an exporting, not an importing province, sending away its surplus\ngrain by sea, and neither requiring nor seeking any communication with\nLower Bengal by land.\" Long after the rest of the province had begun to\nprepare for a year of famine, Orissa kept on exporting. In March, when\nthe alarm was first raised, the southwest monsoon had set in, rendering\nthe harbours inaccessible. Thus the district was isolated. It was\nno longer possible to apply the wholesome policy which was operating\nthroughout the rest of the country. The doomed population of Orissa,\nlike passengers in a ship without provisions, were called upon to suffer\nthe extremities of famine; and in the course of the spring and summer of\n1866, some seven hundred thousand people perished.\n\n     January, 1869.\n\n\n\n\nX. SPAIN AND THE NETHERLANDS. [31]\n\n [31] History of the United Netherlands: from the Death of William\nthe Silent to the Twelve Years' Truce, 1609. By John Lothrop Motley, D.\nC. L. In four volumes. Vols. III. and IV. New York. 1868.\n\n\nTandem fit surculus arbor: the twig which Mr. Motley in his earlier\nvolumes has described as slowly putting forth its leaves and rootless,\nwhile painfully struggling for existence in a hostile soil, has at last\ngrown into a mighty tree of liberty, drawing sustenance from all\nlands, and protecting all civilized peoples with its pleasant shade.\nWe congratulate Mr. Motley upon the successful completion of the second\nportion of his great work; and we think that the Netherlanders of our\ntime have reason to be grateful to the writer who has so faithfully and\neloquently told the story of their country's fearful struggle against\ncivil and ecclesiastical tyranny, and its manifold contributions to the\nadvancement of European civilization.\n\nMr. Motley has been fortunate in his selection of a subject upon which\nto write. Probably no century of modern times lends itself to the\npurposes of the descriptive historian so well as the sixteenth. While on\nthe one hand the problems which it presents are sufficiently near for\nus to understand them without too great an effort of the imagination, on\nthe other hand they are sufficiently remote for us to study them without\npassionate and warping prejudice. The contest between Catholicism and\nthe reformed religion--between ecclesiastical autocracy and the right of\nprivate investigation--has become a thing of the past, and constitutes\na closed chapter in human history. The epoch which begins where Mr.\nMotley's history is designed to close--at the peace of Westphalia--is\nfar more complicated. Since the middle of the seventeenth century a\ndouble movement has been going on in religion and philosophy, society\nand politics,--a movement of destruction typified by Voltaire and\nRousseau, and a constructive movement represented by Diderot and\nLessing. We are still living in the midst of this great epoch: the\nquestions which it presents are liable to disturb our prejudices as well\nas to stimulate our reason; the results to which it must sooner or\nlater attain can now be only partially foreseen; and even its present\ntendencies are generally misunderstood, and in many quarters wholly\nignored. With the sixteenth century, as we have said, the case is far\ndifferent. The historical problem is far less complex. The issues at\nstake are comparatively simple, and the historian has before him a\nstraightforward story.\n\nFrom the dramatic, or rather from the epic, point of view, the sixteenth\ncentury is pre-eminent. The essentially transitional character of modern\nhistory since the breaking up of the papal and feudal systems is at no\nperiod more distinctly marked. In traversing the sixteenth century we\nrealize that we have fairly got out of one state of things and into\nanother. At the outset, events like the challenge of Barletta may make\nus doubt whether we have yet quite left behind the Middle Ages. The\nbelief in the central position of the earth is still universal, and the\nbelief in its rotundity not yet, until the voyage of Magellan, generally\naccepted. We find England--owing partly to the introduction of gunpowder\nand the consequent disuse of archery, partly to the results of the\nrecent integration of France under Louis XI.--fallen back from the\nhigh relative position which it had occupied under the rule of\nthe Plantagenets; and its policy still directed in accordance with\nreminiscences of Agincourt, and garnet, and Burgundian alliances. We\nfind France just beginning her ill-fated career of intervention in the\naffairs of Italy; and Spain, with her Moors finally vanquished and a new\nworld beyond the ocean just added to her domain, rapidly developing\ninto the greatest empire which had been seen since the days of the first\nCaesars. But at the close of the century we find feudal life in castles\nchanged into modern life in towns; chivalric defiances exchanged for\nover-subtle diplomacy; Maurices instead of Bayards; a Henry IV. instead\nof a Gaston de Foix. We find the old theory of man's central position in\nthe universe--the foundation of the doctrine of final causes and of the\nwhole theological method of interpreting nature--finally overthrown\nby Copernicus. Instead of the circumnavigability of the earth, the\ndiscovery of a Northwest passage--as instanced by the heroic voyage of\nBarendz, so nobly described by Mr. Motley--is now the chief geographical\nproblem. East India Companies, in place of petty guilds of weavers and\nbakers, bear witness to the vast commercial progress. We find England,\nfresh from her stupendous victory over the whole power of Spain, again\nin the front rank of nations; France, under the most astute of modern\nsovereigns, taking her place for a time as the political leader of the\ncivilized world; Spain, with her evil schemes baffled in every quarter,\nsinking into that terrible death-like lethargy, from which she has\nhardly yet awakened, and which must needs call forth our pity, though it\nis but the deserved retribution for her past behaviour. While the little\nrealm of the Netherlands, filched and cozened from the unfortunate\nJacqueline by the \"good\" Duke of Burgundy, carried over to Austria as\nthe marriage-portion of Lady Mary, sent down to Spain as the personal\ninheritance of the \"prudent\" Philip, and by him intolerably tormented\nwith an Inquisition, a Blood-Council, and a Duke of Alva, has after a\nforty years' war of independence taken its position for a time as the\ngreatest of commercial nations, with the most formidable navy and one of\nthe best disciplined armies yet seen upon the earth.\n\nBut the central phenomenon of the sixteenth century is the culmination\nof the Protestant movement in its decisive proclamation by Luther. For\nnearly three hundred years already the power of the Church had been\ndeclining, and its function as a civilizing agency had been growing\nmore and more obsolete. The first great blow at its supremacy had been\ndirected with partial success in the thirteenth century by the Emperor\nFrederick II. Coincident with this attack from without, we find a\nreformation begun within, as exemplified in the Dominican and Franciscan\nmovements. The second great blow was aimed by Philip IV. of France, and\nthis time it struck with terrible force. The removal of the Papacy to\nAvignon, in 1305, was the virtual though unrecognized abdication of its\nbeneficent supremacy. Bereft of its dignity and independence, from\nthat time forth it ceased to be the defender of national unity against\nbaronial anarchy, of popular rights against monarchical usurpation, and\nbecame a formidable instrument of despotism and oppression. Through\nthe vicissitudes of the great schism in the fourteenth century, and the\nrefractory councils in the fifteenth, its position became rapidly more\nand more retrograde and demoralized. And when, in 1530, it joined\nits forces with those of Charles V., in crushing the liberties of the\nworthiest of mediaeval republics, it became evident that the cause of\nfreedom and progress must henceforth be intrusted to some more faithful\nchampion. The revolt of Northern Europe, led by Luther and Henry VIII.\nwas but the articulate announcement of this altered state of affairs.\nSo long as the Roman Church had been felt to be the enemy of tyrannical\nmonarchs and the steadfast friend of the people, its encroachments, as\nrepresented by men like Dunstan and Becket, were regarded with popular\nfavour. The strength of the Church lay ever in its democratic instincts;\nand when these were found to have abandoned it, the indignant protest of\nLuther sufficed to tear away half of Europe from its allegiance.\n\nBy the end of the sixteenth century, we find the territorial struggle\nbetween the Church and the reformed religion substantially decided.\nProtestantism and Catholicism occupied then the same respective areas\nwhich they now occupy. Since 1600 there has been no instance of a nation\npassing from one form of worship to the other; and in all probability\nthere never will be. Since the wholesale dissolution of religious\nbeliefs wrought in the last century, the whole issue between Romanism\nand Protestantism, regarded as dogmatic systems, is practically dead. M.\nRenan is giving expression to an almost self-evident truth, when he says\nthat religious development is no longer to proceed by way of sectarian\nproselytism, but by way of harmonious internal development. The contest\nis no longer between one theology and another, but it is between\nthe theological and the scientific methods of interpreting natural\nphenomena. The sixteenth century has to us therefore the interest\nbelonging to a rounded and completed tale. It contains within itself\nsubstantially the entire history of the final stage of the theological\nreformation.\n\nThis great period falls naturally into two divisions, the first\ncorresponding very nearly with the reigns of Charles V. and Henry VIII.,\nand the second with the age of Philip II. and Elizabeth. The first of\nthese periods was filled with the skirmishes which were to open the\ngreat battle of the Reformation. At first the strength and extent of the\nnew revolution were not altogether apparent. While the Inquisition was\nvigorously crushing out the first symptoms of disaffection in Spain, it\nat one time seemed as if the Reformers were about to gain the whole of\nthe Empire, besides acquiring an excellent foothold in France. Again,\nwhile England was wavering between the old and the new faith, the last\nhopes of the Reform in Germany seemed likely to be destroyed by the\nmilitary genius of Charles. But in Maurice, the red-bearded hero of\nSaxony, Charles found more than his match. The picture of the rapid\nand desperate march of Maurice upon Innspruck, and of the great Emperor\nflying for his life at the very hour of his imagined triumph, has still\nfor us an intenser interest than almost any other scene of that age; for\nit was the event which proved that Protestantism was not a mere local\ninsurrection which a monarch like Charles could easily put down, but a\ngigantic revolution against which all the powers in the world might well\nstrive in vain.\n\nWith the abdication of Charles in 1556 the new period may be said\nto begin, and it is here that Mr. Motley's history commences. Events\ncrowded thick and fast. In 1556 Philip II., a prince bred and educated\nfor the distinct purpose of suppressing heresy, succeeded to the rule\nof the most powerful empire which had been seen since the days of the\nAntonines. In the previous year a new era had begun at the court of\nRome. The old race of pagan pontiffs, the Borgias, the Farneses, and the\nMedicis, had come to an end, and the papal throne was occupied by the\npuritanical Caraffa, as violent a fanatic as Robespierre, and a foe of\nfreedom as uncompromising as Philip II. himself. Under his auspices\ntook place the great reform in the Church signalized by the rise of the\nJesuits, as the reform in the thirteenth century had been attended\nby the rise of the Cordeliers and Dominicans. His name should not be\nforgotten, for it is mainly owing to the policy inaugurated by him that\nCatholicism was enabled to hold its ground as well as it did. In 1557\nthe next year, the strength of France was broken at St. Quentin, and\nSpain was left with her hands free to deal with the Protestant powers.\nIn 1558, by the accession of Elizabeth, England became committed to the\ncause of Reform. In 1559 the stormy administration of Margaret began in\nthe Netherlands. In 1560 the Scotch nobles achieved the destruction of\nCatholicism in North Britain. By this time every nation except France,\nhad taken sides in the conflict which was to last, with hardly any\ncessation, during two generations.\n\nMr. Motley, therefore, in describing the rise and progress of the united\nrepublic of the Netherlands, is writing not Dutch but European history.\nOn his pages France, Spain, and England make almost as large a figure as\nHolland itself. He is writing the history of the Reformation during its\nconcluding epoch, and he chooses the Netherlands as his main subject,\nbecause during that period the Netherlands were the centre of the\nmovement. They constituted the great bulwark of freedom, and upon the\nsuccess or failure of their cause the future prospect of Europe and of\nmankind depended. Spain and the Netherlands, Philip II. and William the\nSilent, were the two leading antagonists and were felt to be such by\nthe other nations and rulers that came to mingle in the strife. It is\ntherefore a stupid criticism which we have seen made upon Mr. Motley,\nthat, having brought his narrative down to the truce of 1609, he ought,\ninstead of describing the Thirty Years' War, to keep on with Dutch\nhistory, and pourtray the wars against Cromwell and Charles II., and the\nstruggle of the second William of Orange against Louis XIV. By so doing\nhe would only violate the unity of his narrative. The wars of the Dutch\nagainst England and France belong to an entirely different epoch in\nEuropean history,--a modern epoch, in which political and commercial\ninterests were of prime importance, and theological interests distinctly\nsubsidiary. The natural terminus of Mr. Motley's work is the Peace\nof Westphalia. After bringing down his history to the time when the\nindependence of the Netherlands was virtually acknowledged, after\ndescribing the principal stages of the struggle against Catholicism and\nuniversal monarchy, as carried on in the first generation by Elizabeth\nand William, and in the second by Maurice and Henry, he will naturally\ngo on to treat of the epilogue as conducted by Richelieu and Gustavus,\nending in the final cessation of religious wars throughout Europe.\n\nThe conflict in the Netherlands was indeed far more than a mere\nreligious struggle. In its course was distinctly brought into prominence\nthe fact which we have above signalized, that since the Roman Church had\nabandoned the liberties of the people they had found a new defender in\nthe reformed religion. The Dutch rebellion is peculiarly interesting,\nbecause it was a revolt not merely against the Inquisition, but also\nagainst the temporal sovereignty of Philip. Besides changing their\nreligion, the sturdy Netherlanders saw fit to throw off the sway of\ntheir legitimate ruler, and to proclaim the thrice heretical doctrine\nof the sovereignty of the people. In this one respect their views were\ndecidedly more modern than those of Elizabeth and Henry IV. These great\nmonarchs apparently neither understood nor relished the republican\ntheories of the Hollanders; though it is hardly necessary for Mr. Motley\nto sneer at them quite so often because they were not to an impossible\ndegree in advance of their age. The proclamation of a republic in the\nNetherlands marked of itself the beginning of a new era,--an era when\nflourishing communities of men were no longer to be bought and sold,\ntransferred and bequeathed like real estate and chattels, but were to\nhave and maintain the right of choosing with whom and under whom they\nshould transact their affairs. The interminable negotiations for a\ntruce, which fill nearly one third of Mr. Motley's concluding volume,\nexhibit with striking distinctness the difference between the old and\nnew points of view. Here again we think Mr. Motley errs slightly, in\ncalling too much attention to the prevaricating diplomacy of the Spanish\ncourt, and too little to its manifest inability to comprehend the\ndemands of the Netherlanders. How should statesmen brought up under\nPhilip II. and kept under the eye of the Inquisition be expected to\nunderstand a claim for liberty originating in the rights of the common\npeople and not in the gracious benevolence or intelligent policy of the\nKing? The very idea must have been practically inconceivable by them.\nAccordingly, they strove by every available device of chicanery to\nwheedle the Netherlanders into accepting their independence as a gift\nfrom the King of Spain. But to such a piece of self-stultification the\nclear-sighted Dutchmen could by no persuasion be brought to consent.\nTheir independence, they argued, was not the King's to give. They had\nwon it from him and his father, in a war of forty years, during which\nthey had suffered atrocious miseries, and all that the King of Spain\ncould do was to acknowledge it as their right, and cease to molest them\nin future. Over this point, so simple to us but knotty enough in those\ndays, the commissioners wrangled for nearly two years. And when the\nSpanish government, unable to carry on the war any longer without risk\nof utter bankruptcy, and daily crippled in its resources by the attacks\nof the Dutch navy, grudgingly a reed to a truce upon the Netherlanders'\nterms, it virtually acknowledged its own defeat and the downfall of the\nprinciples for which it had so obstinately fought. By the truce of\n1609 the republican principle was admitted by the most despotic of\ngovernments.\n\nHere was the first great triumph of republicanism over monarchy; and it\nwas not long in bearing fruits. For the Dutch revolution, the settlement\nof America by English Puritans, the great rebellion of the Commons, the\nRevolution of 1688, the revolt of the American Colonies, and the general\noverthrow of feudalism in 1789, are but successive acts in the same\ndrama William the Silent was the worthy forerunner of Cromwell and\nWashington; and but for the victory which he won, during his life and\nafter his untimely death, the subsequent triumphs of civil liberty might\nhave been long, postponed.\n\nOver the sublime figure of William--saevis tranquillus in undis--we\nshould be glad to dwell, but we are not reviewing the \"Rise of the Dutch\nRepublic,\" and in Mr. Motley's present volumes the hero of toleration\nappears no longer. His antagonist, however,--the Philip whom God for\nsome inscrutable purpose permitted to afflict Europe during a reign of\nforty-two years,--accompanies us nearly to the end of the present work,\ndying just in time for the historian to sum up the case against him,\nand pronounce final judgment. For the memory of Philip II. Mr. Motley\ncherishes no weak pity. He rarely alludes to him without commenting upon\nhis total depravity, and he dismisses him with the remark that \"if\nthere are vices--as possibly there are--from which he was exempt, it\nis because it is not permitted to human nature to attain perfection in\nevil.\" The verdict is none the less just because of its conciseness. If\nthere ever was a strife between Hercules and Cacus, between Ormuzd and\nAhriman, between the Power of Light and the Power of Darkness, it\nwas certainly the strife between the Prince of Orange and the Spanish\nMonarch. They are contrasted like the light and shade in one of Dore's\npictures. And yet it is perhaps unnecessary for Mr. Motley to say that\nif Philip had been alive when Spinola won for him the great victory of\nOstend, \"he would have felt it his duty to make immediate arrangements\nfor poisoning him.\" Doubtless the imputation is sufficiently justified\nby what we know of Philip; but it is uncalled for. We do not care to\nhear about what the despot might have done. We know what he did do, and\nthe record is sufficiently damning. There is no harm in our giving the\nDevil his due, or as Llorente wittily says, \"Il ne faut pas calomnier\nmeme l'Inquisition.\"\n\nPhilip inherited all his father's bad qualities, without any of his good\nones; and so it is much easier to judge him than his father. Charles,\nindeed, is one of those characters whom one hardly knows whether to love\nor hate, to admire or despise. He had much bad blood in him. Charles the\nBold and Ferdinand of Aragon were not grandparents to be proud of. Yet\nwith all this he inherited from his grandmother Isabella much that one\ncan like, and his face, as preserved by Titian, in spite of its frowning\nbrow and thick Burgundian lip, is rather prepossessing, while the face\nof Philip is simply odious. In intellect he must probably be called\ngreat, though his policy often betrayed the pettiness of selfishness.\nIf, in comparison with the mediaeval emperor whose fame he envied, he\nmay justly be called Charles the Little, he may still, when compared to\na more modern emulator of Charlemagne,--the first of the Bonapartes,--be\nconsidered great and enlightened. If he could lie and cheat more\nconsummately than any contemporary monarch, not excepting his rival,\nFrancis, he could still be grandly magnanimous, while the generosity of\nFrancis flowed only from the shallow surface of a maudlin good-nature.\nHe spoke many languages and had the tastes of a scholar, while his son\nhad only the inclinations of an unfeeling pedagogue. He had an inkling\nof urbanity, and could in a measure become all things to all men, while\nPhilip could never show himself except as a gloomy, impracticable bigot.\nIt is for some such reasons as these, I suppose, that Mr. Buckle--no\nfriend to despots--speaks well of Charles, and that Mr. Froude is moved\nto tell the following anecdote: While standing by the grave of Luther,\nand musing over the strange career of the giant monk whose teachings had\ngone so far to wreck his most cherished schemes and render his life a\nfailure, some fanatical bystander advised the Emperor to have the body\ntaken up and burned in the market-place. \"There was nothing,\" says Mr.\nFroude, \"unusual in the proposal; it was the common practice of the\nCatholic Church with the remains of heretics, who were held unworthy\nto be left in repose in hallowed ground. There was scarcely, perhaps\nanother Catholic prince who would have hesitated to comply. But Charles\nwas one of nature's gentlemen. He answered, 'I war not with the dead.'\"\nMr. Motley takes a less charitable view of the great Emperor. His\ngenerous indignation against all persecutors makes him severe; and in\none of his earlier volumes, while speaking of the famous edicts for the\nsuppression of heresy in the Netherlands, he somewhere uses the word\n\"murder.\" Without attempting to palliate the crime of persecution, I\ndoubt if it is quite fair to Charles to call him a murderer. We must not\nforget that persecution, now rightly deemed an atrocious crime, was once\nreally considered by some people a sacred duty; that it was none other\nthan the compassionate Isabella who established the Spanish Inquisition;\nand that the \"bloody\" Mary Tudor was a woman who would not wilfully have\ndone wrong. With the progress of civilization the time will doubtless\ncome when warfare, having ceased to be necessary, will be thought highly\ncriminal; yet it will not then be fair to hold Marlborough or Wellington\naccountable for the lives lost in their great battles. We still live in\nan age when war is, to the imagination of some persons, surrounded with\nfalse glories; and the greatest of modern generals [32] has still many\nundiscriminating admirers. Yet the day is no less certainly at hand\nwhen the edicts of Charles V. will be deemed a more pardonable offence\nagainst humanity than the wanton march to Moscow.\n\n [32] This was written before the deeds of Moltke had eclipsed\nthose of Napoleon.\n\n\nPhilip II. was different from his father in capacity as a drudging\nclerk, like Boutwell, is different from a brilliant financier like\nGladstone. In organization he differed from him as a boor differs from a\ngentleman. He seemed made of a coarser clay. The difference between\nthem is well indicated by their tastes at the table. Both were terrible\ngluttons, a fact which puritanic criticism might set down as equally\nto the discredit of each of them. But even in intemperance there are\ndegrees of refinement, and the impartial critic of life and manners will\nno doubt say that if one must get drunk, let it be on Chateau Margaux\nrather than on commissary whiskey. Pickled partridges, plump capons,\nsyrups of fruits, delicate pastry, and rare fish went to make up the\ndiet of Charles in his last days at Yuste. But the beastly Philip would\nmake himself sick with a surfeit of underdone pork.\n\nWhatever may be said of the father, we can hardly go far wrong in\nascribing the instincts of a murderer to the son. He not only\nburned heretics, but he burned them with an air of enjoyment and\nself-complacency. His nuptials with Elizabeth of France were celebrated\nby a vast auto-da-fe. He studied murder as a fine art, and was as\nskilful in private assassinations as Cellini was in engraving on gems.\nThe secret execution of Montigny, never brought to light until the\npresent century, was a veritable chef d'oeuvre of this sort. The\ncases of Escobedo and Antonio Perez may also be cited in point. Dark\nsuspicions hung around the premature death of Don John of Austria, his\ntoo brilliant and popular half-brother. He planned the murder of William\nthe Silent, and rewarded the assassin with an annuity furnished by\nthe revenues of the victim's confiscated estates. He kept a staff of\nruffians constantly in service for the purpose of taking off Elizabeth,\nHenry IV., Prince Maurice, Olden-Barneveldt, and St. Aldegonde. He\ninstructed Alva to execute sentence of death upon the whole population\nof the Netherlands. He is partly responsible for the martyrdoms of\nRidley and Latimer, and the judicial murder of Cranmer. He first\nconceived the idea of the wholesale massacre of St. Bartholomew,\nmany years before Catharine de' Medici carried it into operation. His\ningratitude was as dangerous as his revengeful fanaticism. Those who\nhad best served his interests were the least likely to escape the\nconsequences of his jealousy. He destroyed Egmont, who had won for him\nthe splendid victories of St. Quentin and Gravelines; and \"with minute\nand artistic treachery\" he plotted \"the disgrace and ruin\" of Farnese,\n\"the man who was his near blood-relation, and who had served him most\nfaithfully from earliest youth.\" Contemporary opinion even held him\naccountable for the obscure deaths of his wife Elizabeth and his son\nCarlos; but M. Gachard has shown that this suspicion is unfounded.\nPhilip appears perhaps to better advantage in his domestic than in his\npolitical relations. Yet he was addicted to vulgar and miscellaneous\nincontinence; toward the close of his life he seriously contemplated\nmarrying his own daughter Isabella; and he ended by taking for his\nfourth wife his niece, Anne of Austria, who became the mother of his\nhalf-idiotic son and successor. We know of no royal family, unless it\nmay be the Claudians of Rome, in which the transmission of moral and\nintellectual qualities is more thoroughly illustrated than in this\nBurgundian race which for two centuries held the sceptre of Spain. The\nson Philip and the grandmother Isabella are both needful in order to\ncomprehend the strange mixture of good and evil in Charles. But the\ndescendants of Philip--two generations of idiocy, and a third of\nutter impotence--are a sufficient commentary upon the organization and\ncharacter of their progenitor.\n\nSuch was the man who for two generations had been considered the bulwark\nof the Catholic Church; who, having been at the bottom of nearly all the\nvillany that had been wrought in Europe for half a century, was yet\nable to declare upon his death-bed that \"in all his life he had never\nconsciously done wrong to any one.\" At a ripe old age he died of a\nfearful disease. Under the influence of a typhus fever, supervening upon\ngout, he had begun to decompose while yet alive. \"His sufferings,\" says\nMr. Motley, \"were horrible, but no saint could have manifested in\nthem more gentle resignation or angelic patience. He moralized on the\ncondition to which the greatest princes might thus be brought at last by\nthe hand of God, and bade the Prince observe well his father's present\ncondition, in order that when he too should be laid thus low, he might\nlikewise be sustained by a conscience void of offence.\" What more is\nneeded to complete the disgusting picture? Philip was fanatical up to\nthe point where fanaticism borders upon hypocrisy. He was possessed with\na \"great moral idea,\" the idea of making Catholicism the ruler of the\nworld, that he might be the ruler of Catholicism. Why, it may be said,\nshall the charge of fanaticism be allowed to absolve Isabella and\nextenuate the guilt of Charles, while it only strengthens the case\nagainst Philip? Because Isabella persecuted heretics in order to save\ntheir souls from a worse fate, while Philip burnt them in order to\nget them out of his way. Isabella would perhaps have gone to the stake\nherself, if thereby she might have put an end to heresy. Philip would\nhave seen every soul in Europe consigned to eternal perdition before he\nwould have yielded up an iota of his claims to universal dominion.\nHe could send Alva to browbeat the Pope, as well as to oppress the\nNetherlanders. He could compass the destruction of the orthodox Egmont\nand Farnese, as well as of the heretical William. His unctuous piety\nonly adds to the abhorrence with which we regard him; and his humility\nin face of death is neither better nor worse than the assumed humility\nwhich had become second nature to Uriah Heep. In short, take him for\nall in all, he was probably the most loathsome character in all European\nhistory. He has frequently been called, by Protestant historians,\nan incarnate devil; but we do not think that Mephistopheles would\nacknowledge him. He should rather be classed among those creatures\ndescribed by Dante as \"a Dio spiacenti ed ai nemici sui.\"\n\nThe abdication of Charles V. left Philip ruler over wider dominions than\nhad ever before been brought together under the sway of one man. In his\nown right Philip was master not only of Spain, but of the Netherlands,\nFranche Comte, Lombardy, Naples, and Sicily, with the whole of North and\nSouth America; besides which he was married to the Queen of England. In\nthe course of his reign he became possessed of Portugal, with all its\nvast domains in the East Indies. His revenues were greater than those of\nany other contemporary monarch; his navy was considered invincible, and\nhis army was the best disciplined in Europe. All these great advantages\nhe was destined to throw to the winds. In the strife for universal\nmonarchy, in the mad endeavour to subject England, Scotland, and\nFrance to his own dominion and the tyranny of the Inquisition, besides\nre-conquering the Netherlands, all his vast resources were wasted. The\nDutch war alone, like a bottomless pit, absorbed all that he could pour\ninto it. Long before the war was over, or showed signs of drawing to an\nend, his revenues were wasted, and his troops in Flanders were mutinous\nfor want of pay. He had to rely upon energetic viceroys like Farnese and\nthe Spinolas to furnish funds out of their own pockets. Finally, he was\nobliged to repudiate all his debts; and when he died the Spanish empire\nwas in such a beggarly condition that it quaked at every approach of a\nhostile Dutch fleet. Such a result is not evidence of a statesmanlike\nability; but Philip's fanatical selfishness was incompatible with\nstatesmanship. He never could be made to believe that his projects had\nsuffered defeat. No sooner had the Invincible Armada been sent to the\nbottom by the guns of the English fleet and the gales of the German\nOcean, than he sent orders to Farnese to invade England at once with the\nland force under his command! He thought to obtain Scotland, when, after\nthe death of Mary, it had passed under the undisputed control of the\nProtestant noblemen. He dreamed of securing for his family the crown of\nFrance, even after Henry, with free consent of the Pope, had made his\ntriumphal entry into Paris. He asserted complete and entire sovereignty\nover the Netherlands, even after Prince Maurice had won back from him\nthe last square foot of Dutch territory. Such obstinacy as this can\nonly be called fatuity. If Philip had lived in Pagan times, he would\ndoubtless, like Caligula, have demanded recognition of his own divinity.\n\nThe miserable condition of the Spanish people under this terrible reign,\nand the causes of their subsequent degeneracy, have been well treated by\nMr. Motley. The causes of the failure of Spanish civilization are partly\nsocial and partly economical; and they had been operating for eight\nhundred years when Philip succeeded to the throne. The Moorish conquest\nin 711 had practically isolated Spain from the rest of Europe. In the\nCrusades she took no part, and reaped none of the signal advantages\nresulting from that great movement. Her whole energies were directed\ntoward throwing off the yoke of her civilized but \"unbelieving\"\noppressors. For a longer time than has now elapsed since the Norman\nConquest of England, the entire Gothic population of Spain was engaged\nin unceasing religious and patriotic warfare. The unlimited power thus\nacquired by an unscrupulous clergy, and the spirit of uncompromising\nbigotry thus imparted to the whole nation, are in this way readily\naccounted for. But in spite of this, the affairs of Spain at the\naccession of Charles V. were not in an unpromising condition. The\nSpanish Visigoths had been the least barbarous of the Teutonic\nsettlers within the limits of the Empire; their civil institutions were\nexcellent; their cities had obtained municipal liberties at an earlier\ndate than those of England; and their Parliaments indulged in a liberty\nof speech which would have seemed extravagant even to De Montfort. So\nlate as the time of Ferdinand, the Spaniards were still justly proud of\ntheir freedom; and the chivalrous ambition which inspired the marvellous\nexpedition of Cortes to Mexico, and covered the soil of Italy with\nSpanish armies, was probably in the main a healthy one. But the forces\nof Spanish freedom were united at too late an epoch; in 1492, the power\nof despotism was already in the ascendant. In England the case was\ndifferent. The barons were enabled to combine and wrest permanent\nprivileges from the crown, at a time when feudalism was strong. But the\nSpanish communes waited for combined action until feudalism had become\nweak, and modern despotism, with its standing armies and its control of\nthe spiritual power, was arrayed in the ranks against them. The War of\nthe Communes, early in the reign of Charles V., irrevocably decided the\ncase in favour of despotism, and from that date the internal decline of\nSpain may be said to have begun.\n\nBut the triumphant consolidation of the spiritual and temporal powers of\ndespotism, and the abnormal development of loyalty and bigotry, were not\nthe only evil results of the chronic struggle in which Spain had been\nengaged. For many centuries, while Christian Spain had been but a fringe\nof debatable border-land on the skirts of the Moorish kingdom,\nperpetual guerilla warfare had rendered consecutive labour difficult or\nimpracticable; and the physical configuration of the country contributed\nin bringing about this result. To plunder the Moors across the border\nwas easier than to till the ground at home. Then as the Spaniards,\nexemplifying the military superiority of the feudal over the sultanic\nform of social organization, proceeded steadily to recover dominion over\nthe land, the industrious Moors, instead of migrating backward before\nthe advance of their conquerors, remained at home and submitted to them.\nThus Spanish society became compounded of two distinct castes,--the\nMoorish Spaniards, who were skilled labourers, and the Gothic Spaniards,\nby whom all labour, crude or skilful, was deemed the stigma of a\nconquered race, and unworthy the attention of respectable people. As Mr.\nMotley concisely says:--\n\n\"The highest industrial and scientific civilization that had been\nexhibited upon Spanish territory was that of Moors and Jews. When in\nthe course of time those races had been subjugated, massacred, or driven\ninto exile, not only was Spain deprived of its highest intellectual\nculture and its most productive labour, but intelligence, science, and\nindustry were accounted degrading, because the mark of inferior and\ndetested peoples.\"\n\nThis is the key to the whole subsequent history of Spain. Bigotry,\nloyalty, and consecrated idleness are the three factors which have\nmade that great country what it is to-day,--the most backward region in\nEurope. In view of the circumstances just narrated, it is not surprising\nto learn that in Philip II.'s time a vast portion of the real estate of\nthe country was held by the Church in mortmain; that forty-nine noble\nfamilies owned all the rest; that all great estates were held in tail;\nand that the property of the aristocracy and the clergy was completely\nexempt from taxation. Thus the accumulation and the diffusion of capital\nwere alike prevented; and the few possessors of property wasted it\nin unproductive expenditure. Hence the fundamental error of Spanish\npolitical economy, that wealth is represented solely by the precious\nmetals; an error which well enough explains the total failure, in spite\nof her magnificent opportunities, of Spain's attempts to colonize the\nNew World. Such was the frightful condition of Spanish society under\nPhilip II.; and as if this state of things were not bad enough, the next\nking, Philip III., at the instigation of the clergy, decided to drive\ninto banishment the only class of productive labourers yet remaining in\nthe country. In 1610, this stupendous crime and blunder--unparalleled\neven in Spanish history--was perpetrated. The entire Moorish population\nwere expelled from their homes and driven into the deserts of Africa.\nFor the awful consequences of this mad action no remedy was possible. No\nsystem of native industry could be created on demand, to take the place\nof that which had been thus wantonly crushed forever. From this epoch\ndates the social ruin of Spain. In less than a century her people were\nriotous with famine; and every sequestered glen and mountain pathway\nthroughout the country had become a lurking-place for robbers. Whoever\nwould duly realize to what a lamentable condition this beautiful\npeninsula had in the seventeenth century been reduced, let him study\nthe immortal pages of Lesage. He will learn afresh the lesson, not yet\nsufficiently regarded in the discussion of social problems, that the\nlaws of nature cannot be violated without entailing a penalty fearful\nin proportion to the extent of the violation. But let him carefully\nremember also that the Spaniards are not and never have been a\ndespicable people. If Spain has produced one of the lowest characters\nin history, she has also produced one of the highest. That man was every\ninch a Spaniard who, maimed, diseased, and poor, broken down by long\ncaptivity, and harassed by malignant persecution, lived nevertheless\na life of grandeur and beauty fit to be a pattern for coming\ngenerations,--the author of a book which has had a wider fame than any\nother in the whole range of secular literature, and which for delicate\nhumour, exquisite pathos, and deep ethical sentiment, remains to-day\nwithout a peer or a rival. If Philip II. was a Spaniard, so, too, was\nCervantes.\n\nSpain could not be free, for she violated every condition by which\nfreedom is secured to a people. \"Acuteness of intellect, wealth of\nimagination, heroic qualities of heart and hand and brain, rarely\nsurpassed in any race and manifested on a thousand battle-fields, and in\nthe triumphs of a magnificent and most original literature, had not been\nable to save a whole nation from the disasters and the degradation which\nthe mere words Philip II. and the Holy Inquisition suggest to every\neducated mind.\" Nor could Spain possibly become rich, for, as Mr. Motley\ncontinues, \"nearly every law, according to which the prosperity of a\ncountry becomes progressive, was habitually violated.\" On turning to\nthe Netherlands we find the most complete contrast, both in historical\nconditions and in social results; and the success of the Netherlands in\ntheir long struggle becomes easily intelligible. The Dutch and Flemish\nprovinces had formed a part of the renovated Roman Empire of Charles\nthe Great and the Othos. Taking advantage of the perennial contest for\nsupremacy between the popes and the Roman emperors, the constituent\nbaronies and municipalities of the Empire succeeded in acquiring and\nmaintaining a practical though unrecognized independence; and this is\nthe original reason why Italy and Germany, unlike the three western\nEuropean communities, have remained fragmentary until our own time.\nBy reason of the practical freedom of action thus secured, the Italian\ncivic republics, the Hanse towns, and the cities of Holland and\nFlanders, were enabled gradually to develop a vast commerce. The\noutlying position of the Netherlands, remote from the imperial\nauthorities, and on the direct line of commerce between Italy and\nEngland, was another and a peculiar advantage. Throughout the Middle\nAges the Flemish and Dutch cities were of considerable political\nimportance, and in the fifteenth century the Netherland provinces were\nthe most highly civilized portion of Europe north of the Alps. For\nseveral generations they had enjoyed, and had known how to maintain,\ncivic liberties, and when Charles and Philip attempted to fasten upon\nthem their \"peculiar institution,\" the Spanish Inquisition, they were\nripe for political as well as theological revolt. Natural laws were\nfound to operate on the Rhine as well as on the Tagus, and at the end of\nthe great war of independence, Holland was not only better equipped than\nSpain for a European conflict, but was rapidly ousting her from the East\nIndian countries which she had in vain attempted to colonize.\n\nBut if we were to take up all the interesting and instructive themes\nsuggested by Mr. Motley's work, we should never come to an end. We\nmust pass over the exciting events narrated in these last volumes;\nthe victory of Nieuport, the siege of Ostend, the marvellous career of\nMaurice, the surprising exploits of Spinola. We have attempted not so\nmuch to describe Mr. Motley's book as to indulge in sundry reflections\nsuggested by the perusal of it. But we cannot close without some remarks\nupon a great man, whose character Mr. Motley seems to have somewhat\nmisconceived.\n\nIf Mr. Motley exhibits any serious fault, it is perhaps the natural\ntendency to TAKE SIDES in the events which he is describing, which\nsometimes operates as a drawback to complete and thoroughgoing\ncriticism. With every intention to do justice to the Catholics, Mr.\nMotley still writes as a Protestant, viewing all questions from the\nProtestant side. He praises and condemns like a very fair-minded\nHuguenot, but still like a Huguenot. It is for this reason that he\nfails to interpret correctly the very complex character of Henry IV.,\nregarding him as a sort of selfish renegade whom he cannot quite forgive\nfor accepting the crown of France at the hands of the Pope. Now this\nvery action of Henry, in the eye of an impartial criticism, must seem to\nbe one of his chief claims to the admiration and gratitude of posterity.\nHenry was more than a mere Huguenot: he was a far-seeing statesman. He\nsaw clearly what no ruler before him, save William the Silent, had\neven dimly discerned, that not Catholicism and not Protestantism,\nbut absolute spiritual freedom was the true end to be aimed at by a\nrighteous leader of opinion. It was as a Catholic sovereign that he\ncould be most useful even to his Huguenot subjects; and he shaped\nhis course accordingly. It was as an orthodox sovereign, holding his\nposition by the general consent of Europe, that he could best subserve\nthe interests of universal toleration. This principle he embodied in his\nadmirable edict of Nantes. What a Huguenot prince might have done, may\nbe seen from the shameful way in which the French Calvinists abused\nthe favour which Henry--and Richelieu afterwards--accorded to them.\nRemembering how Calvin himself \"dragooned\" Geneva, let us be thankful\nfor the fortune which, in one of the most critical periods of history,\nraised to the highest position in Christendom a man who was something\nmore than a sectarian.\n\nWith this brief criticism, we must regretfully take leave of Mr.\nMotley's work. Much more remains to be said about a historical treatise\nwhich is, on the whole, the most valuable and important one yet produced\nby an American; but we have already exceeded our limits. We trust that\nour author will be as successful in the future as he has been in the\npast; and that we shall soon have an opportunity of welcoming the first\ninstalment of his \"History of the Thirty Years' War.\"\n\n     March, 1868.\n\n\n\n\nXI. LONGFELLOW'S DANTE. [33]\n\n [33] The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri. Translated by Henry\nWadsworth Longfellow. 3 vols. Boston: Ticknor & Fields, 1867.\n\nTHE task of a translator is a thankless one at best. Be he never so\nskilful and accurate, be he never so amply endowed with the divine\nqualifications of the poet, it is still questionable if he can ever\nsucceed in saying satisfactorily with new words that which has once been\ninimitably said--said for all time--with the old words. \"Psychologically,\nthere is perhaps nothing more complex than an elaborate poem. The\nsources of its effect upon our minds may be likened to a system of\nforces which is in the highest degree unstable; and the slightest\ndisplacement of phrases, by disturbing the delicate rhythmical\nequilibrium of the whole, must inevitably awaken a jarring sensation.\"\nMatthew Arnold has given us an excellent series of lectures upon\ntranslating Homer, in which he doubtless succeeds in showing that some\nmethods of translation are preferable to others, but in which he proves\nnothing so forcibly as that the simplicity and grace, the rapidity,\ndignity, and fire, of Homer are quite incommunicable, save by the very\nwords in which they first found expression. And what is thus said of\nHomer will apply to Dante with perhaps even greater force. With nearly\nall of Homer's grandeur and rapidity, though not with nearly all\nhis simplicity, the poem of Dante manifests a peculiar intensity of\nsubjective feeling which was foreign to the age of Homer, as indeed to\nall pre-Christian antiquity. But concerning this we need not dilate,\nas it has often been duly remarked upon, and notably by Carlyle, in\nhis \"Lectures on Hero-Worship.\" Who that has once heard the wail of\nunutterable despair sounding in the line\n\n          \"Ahi, dura terra, perche non t' apristi?\"\n\ncan rest satisfied with the interpretation\n\n          \"Ah, obdurate earth, wherefore didst thou not open?\"\n\nyet this rendering is literally exact.\n\nA second obstacle, hardly less formidable, hardly less fatal to a\nsatisfactory translation, is presented by the highly complicated system\nof triple rhyme upon which Dante's poem is constructed. This, which must\never be a stumbling-block to the translator, seems rarely to interfere\nwith the free and graceful movement of the original work. The mighty\nthought of the master felt no impediment from the elaborate artistic\npanoply which must needs obstruct and harass the interpretation of the\ndisciple. Dante's terza rima is a bow of Odysseus which weaker mortals\ncannot bend with any amount of tugging, and which Mr. Longfellow has\njudiciously refrained from trying to bend. Yet no one can fail to remark\nthe prodigious loss entailed by this necessary sacrifice of one of the\nmost striking characteristics of the original poem. Let any one who has\nduly reflected upon the strange and subtle effect produced on him by\nthe peculiar rhyme of Tennyson's \"In Memoriam,\" endeavour to realize the\nvery different effect which would be produced if the verses were to\nbe alternated or coupled in successive pairs, or if rhyme were to be\nabandoned for blank verse. The exquisite melody of the poem would be\nsilenced. The rhyme-system of the \"Divine Comedy\" refuses equally to be\ntampered with or ignored. Its effect upon the ear and the mind is quite\nas remarkable as that of the rhyme-system of \"In Memoriam\"; and the\nimpossibility of reproducing it is one good reason why Dante must always\nsuffer even more from translation than most poets.\n\nSomething, too, must be said of the difficulties inevitably arising from\nthe diverse structure and genius of the Italian and English languages.\nNone will deny that many of them are insurmountable. Take the third line\nof the first canto,--\n\n          \"Che la diritta via era smarrita,\"\n\nwhich Mr. Longfellow translates\n\n          \"For the straightforward pathway had been lost.\"\n\nPerhaps there is no better word than \"lost\" by which to translate\nsmarrita in this place; yet the two words are far from equivalent\nin force. About the word smarrita there is thrown a wide penumbra of\nmeaning which does not belong to the word lost. [35] By its diffuse\nconnotations the word smarrita calls up in our minds an adequate picture\nof the bewilderment and perplexity of one who is lost in a trackless\nforest. The high-road with out, beaten hard by incessant overpassing\nof men and beasts and wheeled vehicles, gradually becomes metamorphosed\ninto the shady lane, where grass sprouts up rankly between the ruts,\nwhere bushes encroach upon the roadside, where fallen trunks now and\nthen intercept the traveller; and this in turn is lost in crooked\nby-ways, amid brambles and underbrush and tangled vines, growing\nfantastically athwart the path, shooting up on all sides of the\nbewildered wanderer, and rendering advance and retreat alike hopeless.\nNo one who in childhood has wandered alone in the woods can help feeling\nall this suggested by the word smarrita in this passage. How bald\nin comparison is the word lost, which might equally be applied to a\npathway, a reputation, and a pocket-book! [36] The English is no doubt\nthe most copious and variously expressive of all living languages, yet\nI doubt if it can furnish any word capable by itself of calling up the\ncomplex images here suggested by smarrita. [37] And this is but one\nexample, out of many that might be cited, in which the lack of exact\nparallelism between the two languages employed causes every translation\nto suffer.\n\n [35] See Diez, Romance Dictionary, s. v. \"Marrir.\"\n\n [36] On literally retranslating lost into Italian, we should get\nthe quite different word perduta.\n\n [37] The more flexible method of Dr. Parsons leads to a more\nsatisfactory but still inadequate result:--\n\n    \"Half-way on our life's Journey, in a wood,\n      From the right path I found myself astray.\"\n\n\nAll these, however, are difficulties which lie in the nature of\nthings,--difficulties for which the translator is not responsible; of\nwhich he must try to make the best that can be made, but which he can\nnever expect wholly to surmount. We have now to inquire whether there\nare not other difficulties, avoidable by one method of translation,\nthough not by another; and in criticizing Mr. Longfellow, we\nhave chiefly to ask whether he has chosen the best method of\ntranslation,--that which most surely and readily awakens in the reader's\nmind the ideas and feelings awakened by the original.\n\nThe translator of a poem may proceed upon either of two distinct\nprinciples. In the first case, he may render the text of his original\ninto English, line for line and word for word, preserving as far as\npossible its exact verbal sequences, and translating each individual\nword into an English word as nearly as possible equivalent in its\netymological force. In the second case, disregarding mere syntactic and\netymologic equivalence, his aim will be to reproduce the inner meaning\nand power of the original, so far as the constitutional difference of\nthe two languages will permit him.\n\nIt is the first of these methods that Mr. Longfellow has followed in his\ntranslation of Dante. Fidelity to the text of the original has been his\nguiding principle; and every one must admit that, in carrying out that\nprinciple, he has achieved a degree of success alike delightful and\nsurprising. The method of literal translation is not likely to receive\nany more splendid illustration. It is indeed put to the test in such\na way that the shortcomings now to be noticed bear not upon Mr.\nLongfellow's own style of work so much as upon the method itself with\nwhich they are necessarily implicated. These defects are, first, the\ntoo frequent use of syntactic inversion, and secondly, the too manifest\npreference extended to words of Romanic over words of Saxon origin.\n\nTo illustrate the first point, let me give a few examples. In Canto I.\nwe have:--\n\n     \"So bitter is it, death is little more;\n      But of the good to treat which there I found,\n      Speak will I of the other things I saw there\";\n\nwhich is thus rendered by Mr. Cary,--\n\n     \"Which to remember only, my dismay\n      Renews, in bitterness not far from death.\n      Yet to discourse of what there good befell,\n      All else will I relate discovered there\";\n\nand by Dr. Parsons,--\n\n     \"Its very thought is almost death to me;\n      Yet, having found some good there, I will tell\n      Of other things which there I chanced to see.\" [38]\n\n [38] \"Tanto e amara, che poco e piu morte:\n      Ma per trattar del teen ch' i' vi trovai,\n      Diro dell' altre Bose, ch' io v' ho scorte.\"\n\nInferno, I. 7-10.\n\n\nAgain in Canto X. we find:--\n\n     \"Their cemetery have upon this side\n      With Epicurus all his followers,\n      Who with the body mortal make the soul\";--\n\nan inversion which is perhaps not more unidiomatic than Mr. Cary's,--\n\n     \"The cemetery on this part obtain\n      With Epicurus all his followers,\n      Who with the body make the spirit die\";\n\nbut which is advantageously avoided by Mr. Wright,--\n\n     \"Here Epicurus hath his fiery tomb,\n      And with him all his followers, who maintain\n      That soul and body share one common doom\";\n\nand is still better rendered by Dr. Parsons,--\n\n     \"Here in their cemetery on this side,\n      With his whole sect, is Epicurus pent,\n      Who thought the spirit with its body died.\" [39]\n\n [39] \"Suo cimitero da questa parte hanno\n      Con Epieuro tutti i suoi seguaci,\n      Che l'anima col corpo morta fanno.\"\n     Inferno, X. 13-15.\n\nAnd here my eyes, reverting to the end of Canto IX.,\n\nfall upon a similar contrast between Mr. Longfellow's lines,--\n\n     \"For flames between the sepulchres were scattered,\n      By which they so intensely heated were,\n      That iron more so asks not any art,\"--\n\nand those of Dr. Parsons,--\n\n     \"For here mid sepulchres were sprinkled fires,\n      Wherewith the enkindled tombs all-burning gleamed;\n      Metal more fiercely hot no art requires.\" [40]\n\n [40] \"Che tra gli avelli flamme erano sparte,\n      Per le quali eran si del tutto accesi,\n      Che ferro piu non chiede verun' arte.\"\n      Inferno, IX. 118-120.\n\nDoes it not seem that in all these cases Mr. Longfellow, and to a\nslightly less extent Mr. Cary, by their strict adherence to the letter,\ntransgress the ordinary rules of English construction; and that Dr.\nParsons, by his comparative freedom of movement, produces better\npoetry as well as better English? In the last example especially, Mr.\nLongfellow's inversions are so violent that to a reader ignorant of the\noriginal Italian, his sentence might be hardly intelligible. In Italian\nsuch inversions are permissible; in English they are not; and Mr.\nLongfellow, by transplanting them into English, sacrifices the spirit\nto the letter, and creates an obscurity in the translation where all is\nlucidity in the original. Does not this show that the theory of absolute\nliterality, in the case of two languages so widely different as English\nand Italian, is not the true one?\n\nSecondly, Mr. Longfellow's theory of translation leads him in most\ncases to choose words of Romanic origin in preference to those of Saxon\ndescent, and in many cases to choose an unfamiliar instead of a familiar\nRomanic word, because the former happens to be etymologically identical\nwith the word in the original. Let me cite as an example the opening of\nCanto III.:--\n\n     \"Per me si va nella eitti dolente,\n      Per me si va nell' eterno dolore,\n      Per me si va tra la perduta gente.\"\n\nHere are three lines which, in their matchless simplicity and grandeur,\nmight well excite despair in the breast of any translator. Let us\ncontrast Mr. Longfellow's version.--\n\n     \"Through me the way is to the city dolent;\n      Through me the way is to eternal dole;\n      Through me the way among the people lost,\"--\n\nwith that of Dr. Parsons,--,\n\n     \"Through me you reach the city of despair;\n      Through me eternal wretchedness ye find;\n      Through me among perdition's race ye fare.\"\n\nI do not think any one will deny that Dr. Parsons's version, while far\nmore remote than Mr. Longfellow's from the diction of the original, is\nsomewhat nearer its spirit. It remains to seek the explanation of this\nphenomenon. It remains to be seen why words the exact counterpart of\nDante's are unfit to call up in our minds the feelings which Dante's own\nwords call up in the mind of an Italian. And this inquiry leads to\nsome general considerations respecting the relation of English to other\nEuropean languages.\n\nEvery one is aware that French poetry, as compared with German poetry,\nseems to the English reader very tame and insipid; but the cause of this\nfact is by no means so apparent as the fact itself. That the poetry of\nGermany is actually and intrinsically superior to that of France, may\nreadily be admitted; but this is not enough to account for all the\ncircumstances of the case. It does not explain why some of the very\npassages in Corneille and Racine, which to us appear dull and prosaic,\nare to the Frenchman's apprehension instinct with poetic fervour. It\ndoes not explain the undoubted fact that we, who speak English, are\nprone to underrate French poetry, while we are equally disposed to\nrender to German poetry even more than its due share of merit. The\nreason is to be sought in the verbal associations established in\nour minds by the peculiar composition of the English language. Our\nvocabulary is chiefly made up on the one hand of indigenous Saxon words,\nand on the other hand of words derived from Latin or French. It is\nmostly words of the first class that we learn in childhood, and that are\nassociated with our homeliest and deepest emotions; while words of the\nsecond class--usually acquired somewhat later in life and employed in\nsedate abstract discourse--have an intellectual rather than an emotional\nfunction to fulfil. Their original significations, the physical\nmetaphors involved in them, which are perhaps still somewhat apparent to\nthe Frenchman, are to us wholly non-existent. Nothing but the derivative\nor metaphysical signification remains. No physical image of a man\nstepping over a boundary is presented to our minds by the word\ntransgress, nor in using the word comprehension do we picture to\nourselves any manual act of grasping. It is to this double structure\nof the English language that it owes its superiority over every other\ntongue, ancient or modern, for philosophical and scientific purposes.\nAlbeit there are numerous exceptions, it may still be safely said, in\na general way, that we possess and habitually use two kinds of\nlanguage,--one that is physical, for our ordinary purposes, and one that\nis metaphysical, for purposes of abstract reasoning and discussion. We\ndo not say like the Germans, that we \"begripe\" (begreifen) an idea, but\nwe say that we \"conceive\" it. We use a word which once had the very same\nmaterial meaning as begreifen, but which has in our language utterly\nlost it. We are accordingly able to carry on philosophical inquiries\nby means of words which are nearly or quite free from those shadows\nof original concrete meaning which, in German, too often obscure the\nacquired abstract signification. Whoever has dealt in English and German\nmetaphysics will not fail to recognize the prodigious superiority of\nEnglish in force and perspicuity, arising mainly from the causes here\nstated. But while this homogeneity of structure in German injures it for\nphilosophical purposes, it is the very thing which makes it so excellent\nas an organ for poetical expression, in the opinion of those who speak\nEnglish. German being nearly allied to Anglo-Saxon, not only do its\nsimple words strike us with all the force of our own homely Saxon terms,\nbut its compounds also, preserving their physical significations\nalmost unimpaired, call up in our minds concrete images of the greatest\ndefiniteness and liveliness. It is thus that German seems to us\npre-eminently a poetical language, and it is thus that we are naturally\ninclined to overrate rather than to depreciate the poetry that is\nwritten in it.\n\nWith regard to French, the case is just the reverse. The Frenchman has\nno Saxon words, but he has, on the other hand, an indigenous stock of\nLatin words, which he learns in early childhood, which give outlet\nto his most intimate feelings, and which retain to some extent their\nprimitive concrete picturesqueness. They are to him just as good as our\nSaxon words are to us. Though cold and merely intellectual to us, they\nare to him warm with emotion; and this is one reason why we cannot do\njustice to his poetry, or appreciate it as he appreciates it. To make\nthis perfectly clear, let us take two or three lines from Shakespeare:--\n\n     \"Blow, blow, thou winter wind!\n      Thou art not so unkind\n      As man's ingratitude,\n      Thy tooth is not so keen,\" etc., etc.;\n\nwhich I have somewhere seen thus rendered into French:\n\n     \"Souffle, souffle, vent d'hiver!\n      Tu n'es pas si cruel\n      Que l'ingratitude de l'homme.\n      Ta dent n'est pas si penetrante,\" etc., etc.\n\nWhy are we inclined to laugh as we read this? Because it excites in us\nan undercurrent of consciousness which, if put into words, might run\nsomething like this:--\n\n     \"Insufflate, insufflate, wind hibernal!\n      Thou art not so cruel\n      As human ingratitude.\n      Thy dentition is not so penetrating,\" etc., etc.\n\nNo such effect would be produced upon a Frenchman. The translation would\nstrike him as excellent, which it really is. The last line in particular\nwould seem poetical to us, did we not happen to have in our language\nwords closely akin to dent and penetrante, and familiarly employed in\nsenses that are not poetical.\n\nApplying these considerations to Mr. Longfellow's choice of words in his\ntranslation of Dante, we see at once the unsoundness of the principle\nthat Italian words should be rendered by their Romanic equivalents\nin English. Words that are etymologically identical with those in the\noriginal are often, for that very reason, the worst words that could be\nused. They are harsh and foreign to the English ear, however homelike\nand musical they may be to the ear of an Italian. Their connotations are\nunlike in the two languages; and the translation which is made literally\nexact by using them is at the same time made actually inaccurate, or at\nleast inadequate. Dole and dolent are doubtless the exact counterparts\nof dolore and dolente, so far as mere etymology can go. But when we\nconsider the effect that is to be produced upon the mind of the reader,\nwretchedness and despairing are fat better equivalents. The former may\ncompel our intellectual assent, but the latter awaken our emotional\nsympathy.\n\nDoubtless by long familiarity with the Romanic languages, the scholar\nbecomes to a great degree emancipated from the conditions imposed upon\nhim by the peculiar composition of his native English. The concrete\nsignificance of the Romanic words becomes apparent to him, and they\nacquire energy and vitality. The expression dolent may thus satisfy the\nstudent familiar with Italian, because it calls up in his mind, through\nthe medium of its equivalent dolente, the same associations which the\nlatter calls up in the mind of the Italian himself. [41] But this power\nof appreciating thoroughly the beauties of a foreign tongue is in the\nlast degree an acquired taste,--as much so as the taste for olives and\nkirschenwasser to the carnal palate. It is only by long and profound\nstudy that we can thus temporarily vest ourselves, so to speak, with\na French or Italian consciousness in exchange for our English one. The\nliterary epicure may keenly relish such epithets as dolent; but the\ncommon English reader, who loves plain fare, can hardly fail to be\nstartled by it. To him it savours of the grotesque; and if there is any\none thing especially to be avoided in the interpretation of Dante, it is\ngrotesqueness.\n\n [41] A consummate Italian scholar, the delicacy of whose taste is\nquestioned by no one, and whose knowledge of Dante's diction is probably\nnot inferior to Mr. Longfellow's, has told me that he regards the\nexpression as a noble and effective one, full of dignity and solemnity.\n\n\nThose who have read over Dante without reading into him, and those who\nhave derived their impressions of his poem from M. Dore's memorable\nillustrations, will here probably demur. What! Dante not grotesque! That\ntunnel-shaped structure of the infernal pit; Minos passing sentence on\nthe damned by coiling his tail; Charon beating the lagging shades with\nhis oar; Antaios picking up the poets with his fingers and lowering them\nin the hollow of his hand into the Ninth Circle; Satan crunching in his\nmonstrous jaws the arch-traitors, Judas, Brutus and Cassius; Ugolino\nappeasing his famine upon the tough nape of Ruggieri; Bertrand de Born\nlooking (if I may be allowed the expression) at his own dissevered head;\nthe robbers exchanging form with serpents; the whole demoniac troop of\nMalebolge,--are not all these things grotesque beyond everything else\nin poetry? To us, nurtured in this scientific nineteenth century, they\ndoubtless seem so; and by Leigh Hunt, who had the eighteenth-century way\nof appreciating other ages than his own, they were uniformly treated\nas such. To us they are at first sight grotesque, because they are no\nlonger real to us. We have ceased to believe in such things, and they no\nlonger awaken any feeling akin to terror. But in the thirteenth century,\nin the minds of Dante and his readers, they were living, terrible\nrealities. That Dante believed literally in all this unearthly world,\nand described it with such wonderful minuteness because he believed\nin it, admits of little doubt. As he walked the streets of Verona the\npeople whispered, \"See, there is the man who has been in hell!\" Truly,\nhe had been in hell, and described it as he had seen it, with the keen\neyes of imagination and faith. With all its weird unearthliness, there\nis hardly another book in the whole range of human literature which is\nmarked with such unswerving veracity as the \"Divine Comedy.\" Nothing\nis there set down arbitrarily, out of wanton caprice or for the sake of\npoetic effect, but because to Dante's imagination it had so imposingly\nshown itself that he could not but describe it as he saw it. In reading\nhis cantos we forget the poet, and have before us only the veracious\ntraveller in strange realms, from whom the shrewdest cross-examination\ncan elicit but one consistent account. To his mind, and to the\nmediaeval mind generally, this outer kingdom, with its wards of Despair,\nExpiation, and Beatitude, was as real as the Holy Roman Empire itself.\nIts extraordinary phenomena were not to be looked on with critical eyes\nand called grotesque, but were to be seen with eyes of faith, and to be\nworshipped, loved, or shuddered at. Rightly viewed, therefore, the poem\nof Dante is not grotesque, but unspeakably awful and solemn; and the\nstatement is justified that all grotesqueness and bizarrerie in its\ninterpretation is to be sedulously avoided.\n\nTherefore, while acknowledging the accuracy with which Mr. Longfellow\nhas kept pace with his original through line after line, following the\n\"footing of its feet,\" according to the motto quoted on his title-page,\nI cannot but think that his accuracy would have been of a somewhat\nhigher kind if he had now and then allowed himself a little more liberty\nof choice between English and Romanic words and idioms.\n\nA few examples will perhaps serve to strengthen as well as to elucidate\nstill further this position.\n\n\"Inferno,\" Canto III., line 22, according to Longfellow:--\n\n     \"There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud\n      Resounded through the air without a star,\n      Whence I at the beginning wept thereat.\"\n\nAccording to Cary:--\n\n     \"Here sighs, with lamentations and loud moans\n      Resounded through the air pierced by no star,\n      That e'en I wept at entering.\"\n\nAccording to Parsons:--\n\n     \"Mid sighs, laments, and hollow howls of woe,\n      Which, loud resounding through the starless air,\n      Forced tears of pity from mine eyes at first.\" [42]\n\n [42] \"Quivi sospiri, pianti ed alti guai\n      Risonavan per l' ner senza stelle,\n      Perch' io al cominciar ne lagrimai.\"\n\nCanto V., line 84:--\n\n     LONGFELLOW.--\"Fly through the air by their volition borne.\"\n     CARY.--\"Cleave the air, wafted by their will along.\"\n     PARSONS.--\"Sped ever onward by their wish alone.\" [43]\n\n [43] \"Volan per l' aer dal voler portate.\"\n\n\nCanto XVII., line 42:--\n\n     LONGFELLOW.--\"That he concede to us his stalwart shoulders.\"\n     CARY--\"That to us he may vouchsafe\n           The aid of his strong shoulders.\"\n     PARSONS.--\"And ask for us his shoulders' strong support.\" [44]\n\n [44] \"Che ne conceda i suoi omeri forti.\"\n\n\nCanto XVII., line 25:--\n\n     LONGFELLOW.--\n     \"His tail was wholly quivering in the void,\n                Contorting upwards the envenomed fork\n                That in the guise of scorpion armed its point.\"\n     CARY.--\n     \"In the void\n     Glancing, his tail upturned its venomous fork,\n     With sting like scorpions armed.\"\n\n     PARSONS.--\"In the void chasm his trembling tail he showed,\n     As up the envenomed, forked point he swung,      Which, as in\n     scorpions, armed its tapering end.\" [45]\n\n [45] \"Nel vano tutta sue coda guizzava,\n  Torcendo in su la venenosa forca,\n  Che, a guisa di scorpion, la punta armava.\"\n\nCanto V., line 51:--\n\n     LONGFELLOW.--\"People whom the black air so castigates.\n     CARY.--\"By the black air so scourged.\" [46]\n\n [46] \"Genti che l' aura nera si gastiga.\"\n\nLine 136:--\n\n     LONGFELLOW.--\"Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.\"\n     CARY.--\"My lips all trembling kissed.\" [47]\n\n [47] \"La bocca mi bacio tutto tremante.\"\n\n\"Purgatorio,\" Canto XV., line 139:--\n\n     LONGFELLOW.--\n     \"We passed along, athwart the twilight peering\n      Forward as far as ever eye could stretch\n      Against the sunbeams serotine and lucent.\" [48]\n\n [48] \"Noi andavam per lo vespero attenti\n  Oltre, quanto potean gli occhi allungarsi,\n  Contra i raggi serotini e lucenti.\"\n\n\nMr. Cary's \"bright vespertine ray\" is only a trifle better; but Mr.\nWright's \"splendour of the evening ray\" is, in its simplicity, far\npreferable.\n\nCanto XXXI., line 131:--\n\n     LONGFELLOW.--\"Did the other three advance Singing to their\n     angelic saraband.\"\n\n     CARY.--\"To their own carol on they came Dancing, in festive ring\n     angelical \"\n\n     WRIGHT.--\"And songs accompanied their angel dance.\"\n\n\nHere Mr. Longfellow has apparently followed the authority of the Crusca,\nreading\n\n          \"Cantando al loro angelico carribo,\"\n\nand translating carribo by saraband, a kind of Moorish dance. The best\nmanuscripts, however, sanction M. Witte's reading:--\n\n          \"Danzando al loro angelico carribo.\"\n\nIf this be correct, carribo cannot signify \"a dance,\" but rather \"the\nsong which accompanies the dance\"; and the true sense of the passage\nwill have been best rendered by Mr. Cary. [49]\n\n [49] See Blanc, Vocabolario Dantesco, s. v. \"caribo.\"\n\n\nWhenever Mr. Longfellow's translation is kept free from oddities of\ndiction and construction, it is very animated and vigorous. Nothing can\nbe finer than his rendering of \"Purgatorio,\" Canto VI., lines 97-117:--\n\n \"O German Albert! who abandonest\n      Her that has grown recalcitrant and savage,\n      And oughtest to bestride her saddle-bow,\n\n May a just judgment from the stars down fall\n      Upon thy blood, and be it new and open,\n      That thy successor may have fear thereof:\n\n Because thy father and thyself have suffered,\n      By greed of those transalpine lands distrained,\n      The garden of the empire to be waste.\n\n Come and behold Montecchi and Cappelletti,\n      Monaldi and Filippeschi, careless man!\n      Those sad already, and these doubt-depressed!\n\n Come, cruel one! come and behold the oppression\n      Of thy nobility, and cure their wounds,\n      And thou shalt see how safe  [?] is Santafiore.\n\n Come and behold thy Rome that is lamenting,\n      Widowed, alone, and day and night exclaims\n      'My Caesar, why hast thou forsaken me?'\n\n Come and behold how loving are the people;\n      And if for us no pity moveth thee,\n      Come and be made ashamed of thy renown.\" [50]\n\n [50] \"O Alberto Tedesco, che abbandoni\n      Costei ch' e fatta indomita e selvaggia,\n      E dovresti inforcar li suoi arcioni,\n\n Giusto gindizio dalle stelle caggia\n      Sopra il tuo sangue, e sia nuovo ed aperto,\n      Tal che il tuo successor temenza n' aggia:\n  Cheavete tu e il tuo padre sofferto,\n      Per cupidigia di costa distretti,\n      Che il giardin dell' imperio sia diserto.\n\n Vieni a veder Montecchi e Cappelletti,\n      Monaldi e Filippeschi, uom senza cura:\n      Color gia tristi, e questi con sospetti.\n  Vien, crudel, vieni, e vedi la pressura\n      De' tuoi gentili, e cure lor magagne,\n      E vedrai Santafior com' e oscura  [secura?].\n  Vieni a veder la tua Roma che piagne,\n      Vedova e sola, e di e notte chiama:\n      Cesare mio, perche non m' accompagne?\n  Vieni a veder la gente quanto s' ama;\n      E se nulla di noi pieta ti move,\n      A vergognar ti vien della tua fama.\"\n\n\n\nSo, too, Canto III., lines 79-84:--\n\n     \"As sheep come issuing forth from out the fold\n      By ones, and twos, and threes, and the others stand\nTimidly holding down their eyes and nostrils,\n\n And what the foremost does the others do\n      Huddling themselves against her if she stop,\n      Simple and quiet, and the wherefore know not.\" [51]\n\n [51] \"Come le pecorelle escon del chiuso\n      Ad una, a due, a tre, e l' altre stanno\n      Timidette atterrando l' occhio e il muso;\n\n E cio che fa la prima, e l' altre sanno,\n      Addossandosi a lei s' ella s' arresta,\n      Semplici e quete, e lo 'mperche non sanno.\"\n\n\nFrancesca's exclamation to Dante is thus rendered by Mr. Longfellow:--\n\n     \"And she to me: There is no greater sorrow\n      Than to be mindful of the happy time\n      In misery.\" [52]\n\n [52] \"Ed ella a me: Nessun maggior dolore\n  Che ricordarsi del tempo felice  Nella miseria.\"\nInferno, V. 121-123.\n\n\n\nThis is admirable,--full of the true poetic glow, which would have been\nutterly quenched if some Romanic equivalent of dolore had been used\ninstead of our good Saxon sorrow. [53] So, too, the \"Paradiso,\" Canto\nI., line 100:--\n\n     \"Whereupon she, after a pitying sigh,\n      Her eyes directed toward me with that look\n      A mother casts on a delirious child.\" [54]\n\n [53] Yet admirable as it is, I am not quite sure that Dr.\nParsons, by taking further liberty with the original, has not surpassed\nit:--\n\n    \"And she to me: The mightiest of all woes\n      Is in the midst of misery to be cursed\n      With bliss remembered.\"\n\n [54] \"Ond' ella, appresso d'un pio sospiro,\n  Gli occhi drizzo ver me con quel sembiante,\n  Che madre fa sopra figlinol deliro.\"\n\n\nAnd, finally, the beginning of the eighth canto of the \"Purgatorio\":--\n\n     \"'T was now the hour that turneth back desire\n      In those who sail the sea, and melts the heart,\n      The day they've said to their sweet friends farewell;\n  And the new pilgrim penetrates with love,\n      If he doth hear from far away a bell\n      That seemeth to deplore the dying day.\" [55]\n\n [55] \"Era gia l' ora che volge il disio\n      Ai naviganti, e intenerisce il core\n      Lo di ch' hen detto ai dolci amici addio;\n  E che lo nuovo peregrin d' amore\n      Punge, se ode squilla di lontano,\n      Che paia il giorno pianger che si more.\"\n\nThis passage affords an excellent example of what the method of literal\ntranslation can do at its best. Except in the second line, where \"those\nwho sail the sea\" is wisely preferred to any Romanic equivalent of\nnaviganti the version is utterly literal; as literal as the one the\nschool-boy makes, when he opens his Virgil at the Fourth Eclogue,\nand lumberingly reads, \"Sicilian Muses, let us sing things a little\ngreater.\" But there is nothing clumsy, nothing which smacks of the\nrecitation-room, in these lines of Mr. Longfellow. For easy grace and\nexquisite beauty it would be difficult to surpass them. They may well\nbear comparison with the beautiful lines into which Lord Byron has\nrendered the same thought:--\n\n     \"Soft hour which wakes the wish, and melts the heart,\n          Of those who sail the seas, on the first day\n      When they from their sweet friends are torn apart;\n          Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way,\n      As the far bell of vesper makes him start,\n          Seeming to weep the dying day's decay.\n      Is this a fancy which our reason scorns?\n      Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns!\" [56]\n\n [56] Don Juan, III. 108.\n\nSetting aside the concluding sentimental generalization,--which is much\nmore Byronic than Dantesque,--one hardly knows which version to call\nmore truly poetical; but for a faithful rendering of the original\nconception one can hardly hesitate to give the palm to Mr. Longfellow.\n\nThus we see what may be achieved by the most highly gifted of\ntranslators who contents himself with passively reproducing the diction\nof his original, who constitutes himself, as it were, a conduit through\nwhich the meaning of the original may flow. Where the differences\ninherent in the languages employed do not intervene to alloy the result,\nthe stream of the original may, as in the verses just cited, come out\npure and unweakened. Too often, however, such is the subtle chemistry of\nthought, it will come out diminished in its integrity, or will appear,\nbereft of its primitive properties as a mere element in some new\ncombination. Our channel is a trifle too alkaline perhaps; and that the\ntransferred material may preserve its pleasant sharpness, we may need\nto throw in a little extra acid. Too often the mere differences between\nEnglish and Italian prevent Dante's expressions from coming out in Mr.\nLongfellow's version so pure and unimpaired as in the instance just\ncited. But these differences cannot be ignored. They lie deep in the\nvery structure of human speech, and are narrowly implicated with equally\nprofound nuances in the composition of human thought. The causes which\nmake dolente a solemn word to the Italian ear, and dolent a queer word\nto the English ear, are causes which have been slowly operating ever\nsince the Italian and the Teuton parted company on their way from\nCentral Asia. They have brought about a state of things which no cunning\nof the translator can essentially alter, but to the emergencies of which\nhe must graciously conform his proceedings. Here, then, is the sole\npoint on which we disagree with Mr. Longfellow, the sole reason we have\nfor thinking that he has not attained the fullest possible measure of\nsuccess. Not that he has made a \"realistic\" translation,--so far we\nconceive him to be entirely right; but that, by dint of pushing sheer\nliteralism beyond its proper limits, he has too often failed to be truly\nrealistic. Let us here explain what is meant by realistic translation.\n\nEvery thoroughly conceived and adequately executed translation of\nan ancient author must be founded upon some conscious theory or some\nunconscious instinct of literary criticism. As is the critical spirit of\nan age, so among other things will be its translations. Now the critical\nspirit of every age previous to our own has been characterized by its\ninability to appreciate sympathetically the spirit of past and bygone\ntimes. In the seventeenth century criticism made idols of its ancient\nmodels; it acknowledged no serious imperfections in them; it set them\nup as exemplars for the present and all future times to copy. Let the\ngenial Epicurean henceforth write like Horace, let the epic narrator\nimitate the supreme elegance of Virgil,--that was the conspicuous idea,\nthe conspicuous error, of seventeenth-century criticism. It overlooked\nthe differences between one age and another. Conversely, when it brought\nRoman patricians and Greek oligarchs on to the stage, it made them\nbehave like French courtiers or Castilian grandees or English peers.\nWhen it had to deal with ancient heroes, it clothed them in the garb\nand imputed to them the sentiments of knights-errant. Then came the\nrevolutionary criticism of the eighteenth century, which assumed that\neverything old was wrong, while everything new was right. It recognized\ncrudely the differences between one age and another, but it had a way\nof looking down upon all ages except the present. This intolerance shown\ntoward the past was indeed a measure of the crudeness with which it was\ncomprehended. Because Mohammed, if he had done what he did, in France\nand in the eighteenth century, would have been called an impostor,\nVoltaire, the great mouthpiece and representative of this style of\ncriticism, portrays him as an impostor. Recognition of the fact that\ndifferent ages are different, together with inability to perceive that\nthey ought to be different, that their differences lie in the nature of\nprogress,--this was the prominent characteristic of eighteenth-century\ncriticism. Of all the great men of that century, Lessing was perhaps the\nonly one who outgrew this narrow critical habit.\n\nNow nineteenth-century criticism not only knows that in no preceding age\nhave men thought and behaved as they now think and behave, but it also\nunderstands that old-fashioned thinking and behaviour was in its way\njust as natural and sensible as that which is now new-fashioned. It does\nnot flippantly sneer at an ancient custom because we no longer cherish\nit; but with an enlightened regard for everything human, it inquires\ninto its origin, traces its effects, and endeavours to explain its\ndecay. It is slow to characterize Mohammed as an impostor, because it\nhas come to feel that Arabia in the seventh century is one thing and\nEurope in the nineteenth another. It is scrupulous about branding\nCaesar as an usurper, because it has discovered that what Mr. Mill calls\nrepublican liberty and what Cicero called republican liberty are widely\ndifferent notions. It does not tell us to bow down before Lucretius\nand Virgil as unapproachable models, while lamenting our own hopeless\ninferiority; nor does it tell us to set them down as half-skilled\napprentices, while congratulating ourselves on our own comfortable\nsuperiority; but it tells us to study them as the exponents of an age\nforever gone, from which we have still many lessons to learn, though\nwe no longer think as it thought or feel as it felt. The eighteenth\ncentury, as represented by the characteristic passage from Voltaire,\ncited by Mr. Longfellow, failed utterly to understand Dante. To the\nminds of Voltaire and his contemporaries the great mediaeval poet was\nlittle else than a Titanic monstrosity,--a maniac, whose ravings found\nrhythmical expression; his poem a grotesque medley, wherein a few\nbeautiful verses were buried under the weight of whole cantos of\nnonsensical scholastic quibbling. This view, somewhat softened, we\nfind also in Leigh Hunt, whose whole account of Dante is an excellent\nspecimen of this sort of criticism. Mr. Hunt's fine moral nature was\nshocked and horrified by the terrible punishments described in the\n\"Inferno.\" He did not duly consider that in Dante's time these fearful\nthings were an indispensable part of every man's theory of the world;\nand, blinded by his kindly prejudices, he does not seem to have\nperceived that Dante, in accepting eternal torments as part and parcel\nof the system of nature, was nevertheless, in describing them, inspired\nwith that ineffable tenderness of pity which, in the episodes of\nFrancesca and of Brunetto Latini, has melted the hearts of men in past\ntimes, and will continue to do so in times to come. \"Infinite pity,\nyet infinite rigour of law! It is so Nature is made: it is so Dante\ndiscerned that she was made.\" [57] This remark of the great seer of our\ntime is what the eighteenth century could in no wise comprehend. The men\nof that day failed to appreciate Dante, just as they were oppressed or\ndisgusted at the sight of Gothic architecture; just as they pronounced\nthe scholastic philosophy an unmeaning jargon; just as they considered\nmediaeval Christianity a gigantic system of charlatanry, and were wont\nunreservedly to characterize the Papacy as a blighting despotism. In\nour time cultivated men think differently. We have learned that the\ninterminable hair-splitting of Aquinas and Abelard has added precision\nto modern thinking. [58] We do not curse Gregory VII. and Innocent III.\nas enemies of the human race, but revere them as benefactors. We can\nspare a morsel of hearty admiration for Becket, however strongly we may\nsympathize with the stalwart king who did penance for his foul murder;\nand we can appreciate Dante's poor opinion of Philip the Fair no less\nthan his denunciation of Boniface VIII. The contemplation of Gothic\narchitecture, as we stand entranced in the sublime cathedrals of York\nor Rouen, awakens in our breasts a genuine response to the mighty\naspirations which thus became incarnate in enduring stone. And the\npoem of Dante--which has been well likened to a great cathedral--we\nreverently accept, with all its quaint carvings and hieroglyphic\nsymbols, as the authentic utterance of feelings which still exist,\nthough they no longer choose the same form of expression.\n\n [57] Carlyle, Heroes and Hero-Worship, p. 84.\n\n [58] See my Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, Vol. I. p. 123.\n\n\nA century ago, therefore, a translation of Dante such as Mr.\nLongfellow's would have been impossible. The criticism of that time\nwas in no mood for realistic reproductions of the antique. It either\nsuperciliously neglected the antique, or else dressed it up to suit\nits own notions of propriety. It was not like a seven-league boot which\ncould fit everybody, but it was like a Procrustes-bed which everybody\nmust be made to fit. Its great exponent was not a Sainte-Beuve, but a\nBoileau. Its typical sample of a reproduction of the antique was Pope's\ntranslation of the Iliad. That book, we presume, everybody has read;\nand many of those who have read it know that, though an excellent and\nspirited poem, it is no more Homer than the age of Queen Anne was the\nage of Peisistratos. Of the translations of Dante made during this\nperiod, the chief was unquestionably Mr. Cary's. [59] For a man born and\nbrought up in the most unpoetical of centuries, Mr. Cary certainly made\na very good poem, though not so good as Pope's. But it fell far short\nof being a reproduction of Dante. The eighteenth-century note rings out\nloudly on every page of it. Like much other poetry of the time, it\nis laboured and artificial. Its sentences are often involved and\noccasionally obscure. Take, for instance, Canto IV. 25-36 of the\n\"Paradiso\":\n\n [59] This work comes at the end of the eighteenth-century period,\nas Pope's translation of Homer comes at the beginning.\n\n     \"These are the questions which they will\n      Urge equally; and therefore I the first\n      Of that will treat which hath the more of gall.\n      Of seraphim he who is most enskied,\n      Moses, and Samuel, and either John,\n      Choose which thou wilt, nor even Mary's self,\n      Have not in any other heaven their seats,\n      Than have those spirits which so late thou saw'st;\n      Nor more or fewer years exist; but all\n      Make the first circle beauteous, diversely\n      Partaking of sweet life, as more or less\n      Afflation of eternal bliss pervades them.\"\n\n\nHere Mr. Cary not only fails to catch Dante's grand style; he does\nnot even write a style at all. It is too constrained and awkward to be\ndignified, and dignity is an indispensable element of style. Without\ndignity we may write clearly, or nervously, or racily, but we have\nnot attained to a style. This is the second shortcoming of Mr. Cary's\ntranslation. Like Pope's, it fails to catch the grand style of its\noriginal. Unlike Pope's, it frequently fails to exhibit any style.\n\nIt is hardly necessary to spend much time in proving that Mr.\nLongfellow's version is far superior to Mr. Cary's. It is usually easy\nand flowing, and save in the occasional use of violent inversions,\nalways dignified. Sometimes, as in the episode of Ugolino, it even rises\nto something like the grandeur of the original:\n\n     \"When he had said this, with his eyes distorted,\n      The wretched skull resumed he with his teeth,\n      Which, as a dog's, upon the bone were strong.\" [60]\n\n [60] \"Quand' ebbe detto cio, eon gli occhi torti\n  Riprese il teschio misero coi denti,\n  Che furo all' osso, come d'un can, forti.\"\n   Inferno, XXXIII. 76.\n\n\nThat is in the grand style, and so is the following, which describes\nthose sinners locked in the frozen lake below Malebolge:--\n\n     \"Weeping itself there does not let them weep,\n      And grief that finds a barrier in the eyes\n      Turns itself inward to increase the anguish. [61]\n\n [61] \"Lo pianto stesso li pianger non lascia,\n  E il duol, che trova in sugli occhi rintoppo,\n  Si volve in entro a far crescer l' ambascia.\"\n Inferno, XXXIII. 94.\n\n\nAnd the exclamation of one of these poor \"wretches of the frozen crust\"\nis an exclamation that Shakespeare might have written:--\n\n     \"Lift from mine eyes the rigid veils, that I\n      May vent the sorrow which impregns my heart.\" [62]\n\n [62] \"Levatemi dal viso i duri veli,\n  Si ch' io sfoghi il dolor che il cor m' impregna.\"\n                Ib. 112.\n\n\nThere is nothing in Mr. Cary's translation which can stand a comparison\nwith that. The eighteenth century could not translate like that.\nFor here at last we have a real reproduction of the antique. In the\nShakespearian ring of these lines we recognize the authentic rendering\nof the tones of the only man since the Christian era who could speak\nlike Shakespeare.\n\nIn this way Mr. Longfellow's translation is, to an eminent degree,\nrealistic. It is a work conceived and executed in entire accordance\nwith the spirit of our time. Mr. Longfellow has set about making a\nreconstructive translation, and he has succeeded in the attempt. In view\nof what he has done, no one can ever wish to see the old methods of\nPope and Cary again resorted to. It is only where he fails to be truly\nrealistic that he comes short of success. And, as already hinted, it\nis oftenest through sheer excess of LITERALISM that he ceases to be\nrealistic, and departs from the spirit of his author instead of coming\nnearer to it. In the \"Paradiso,\" Canto X. 1-6, his method leads him into\nawkwardness:--\n\n     \"Looking into His Son with all the love\n      Which each of them eternally breathes forth,\n      The primal and unutterable Power\n      Whate'er before the mind or eye revolves\n      With so much order made, there can be none\n      Who this beholds without enjoying Him.\"\n\n\nThis seems clumsy and halting, yet it is an extremely literal paraphrase\nof a graceful and flowing original:--\n\n     \"Guardando nel suo figlio con l' amore\n           Che l' uno e l' altro eternalmente spire,\n           Lo primo ed ineffabile Valore,\n      Quanto per mente o per loco si gira\n           Con tanto ordine fe', ch' esser non puote\n           Senza gustar di lui ehi cio rimira \"\n\nNow to turn a graceful and flowing sentence into one that is clumsy\nand halting is certainly not to reproduce it, no matter how exactly the\nseparate words are rendered, or how closely the syntactic constructions\nmatch each other. And this consideration seems conclusive as against\nthe adequacy of the literalist method. That method is inadequate, not\nbecause it is too REALISTIC, but because it runs continual risk of being\ntoo VERBALISTIC. It has recently been applied to the translation of\nDante by Mr. Rossetti, and it has sometimes led him to write curious\nverses. For instance, he makes Francesca say to Dante,--\n\n     \"O gracious and benignant ANIMAL!\"\n\nfor\n\n     \"O animal grazioso e benigno!\"\n\nMr. Longfellow's good taste has prevented his doing anything like this,\nyet Mr. Rossetti's extravagance is due to an unswerving adherence to the\nvery rules by which Mr. Longfellow has been guided.\n\nGood taste and poetic genius are, however, better than the best of\nrules, and so, after all said and done, we can only conclude that Mr.\nLongfellow has given us a great and noble work not likely soon to\nbe equalled. Leopardi somewhere, in speaking of the early Italian\ntranslators of the classics and their well-earned popularity, says, who\nknows but Caro will live in men's remembrance as long as Virgil? \"La\nbelie destinee,\" adds Sainte-Beuve, \"de ne pouvoir plus mourir, sinon\navec un immortel!\" Apart from Mr. Longfellow's other titles to undying\nfame, such a destiny is surely marked out for him, and throughout the\nEnglish portions of the world his name will always be associated with\nthat of the great Florentine.\n\n     June, 1867.\n\n\n\n\nXII. PAINE'S \"ST. PETER.\"\n\nFor music-lovers in America the great event of the season has been the\nperformance of Mr. Paine's oratorio, \"St. Peter,\" at Portland, June 3.\nThis event is important, not only as the first appearance of an\nAmerican oratorio, but also as the first direct proof we have had of the\nexistence of creative musical genius in this country. For Mr. Paine's\nMass in D--a work which was brought out with great success several years\nago in Berlin--has, for some reason or other, never been performed here.\nAnd, with the exception of Mr. Paine, we know of no American hitherto\nwho has shown either the genius or the culture requisite for writing\nmusic in the grand style, although there is some of the Kapellmeister\nmusic, written by our leading organists and choristers, which deserves\nhonourable mention. Concerning the rank likely to be assigned by\nposterity to \"St. Peter,\" it would be foolish now to speculate; and\nit would be equally unwise to bring it into direct comparison with\nmasterpieces like the \"Messiah,\" \"Elijah,\" and \"St. Paul,\" the greatness\nof which has been so long acknowledged. Longer familiarity with the work\nis needed before such comparisons, always of somewhat doubtful value,\ncan be profitably undertaken. But it must at least be said, as the net\nresult of our impressions derived both from previous study of the score\nand from hearing, the performance at Portland, that Mr. Paine's oratorio\nhas fairly earned for itself the right to be judged by the same high\nstandard which we apply to these noble works of Mendelssohn and Handel.\n\nIn our limited space we can give only the briefest description of\nthe general structure of the work. The founding of Christianity, as\nillustrated in four principal scenes of the life of St. Peter, supplies\nthe material for the dramatic development of the subject. The overture,\nbeginning with an adagio movement in B-flat minor, gives expression\nto the vague yearnings of that time of doubt and hesitancy when the\n\"oracles were dumb,\" and the dawning of a new era of stronger and\ndiviner faith was matter of presentiment rather than of definite hope or\nexpectation. Though the tonality is at first firmly established, yet\nas the movement becomes more agitated, the final tendency of the\nmodulations also becomes uncertain, and for a few bars it would seem as\nif the key of F-sharp minor might be the point of destination. But after\na short melody by the wind instruments, accompanied by a rapid upward\nmovement of strings, the dominant chord of C major asserts itself, being\nrepeated, with sundry inversions, through a dozen bars, and leading\ndirectly into the triumphant and majestic chorus, \"The time is\nfulfilled, and the kingdom of heaven is at hand.\" The second subject,\nintroduced by the word \"repent\" descending through the interval of a\ndiminished seventh and contrasted with the florid counterpoint of the\nphrase, \"and believe the glad tidings of God,\" is a masterpiece of\ncontrapuntal writing, and, if performed by a choir of three or four\nhundred voices, would produce an overpowering effect. The divine call\nof Simon Peter and his brethren is next described in a tenor recitative;\nand the acceptance of the glad tidings is expressed in an aria, \"The\nspirit of the Lord is upon me,\" which, by an original but appropriate\nconception, is given to the soprano voice. In the next number, the\ndisciples are dramatically represented by twelve basses and tenors,\nsinging in four-part harmony, and alternating or combining with the full\nchorus in description of the aims of the new religion. The poem ends\nwith the choral, \"How lovely shines the Morning Star!\" Then follows the\nsublime scene from Matthew xvi. 14-18, where Peter declares his\nmaster to be \"the Christ, the Son of the living God,\"--one of the most\nimpressive scenes, we have always thought, in the gospel history, and\nhere not inadequately treated. The feeling of mysterious and awful\ngrandeur awakened by Peter's bold exclamation, \"Thou art the Christ,\" is\npowerfully rendered by the entrance of the trombones upon the inverted\nsubdominant triad of C-sharp minor, and their pause upon the dominant of\nthe same key. Throughout this scene the characteristic contrast between\nthe ardent vigour of Peter and the sweet serenity of Jesus is well\ndelineated in the music. After Peter's stirring aria, \"My heart is\nglad,\" the dramatic climax is reached in the C-major chorus, \"The Church\nis built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets.\"\n\nThe second scene is carried out to somewhat greater length,\ncorresponding nearly to the last half of the first part of \"Elijah,\"\nfrom the point where the challenge is given to the prophets of Baal.\nIn the opening passages of mingled recitative and arioso, Peter is\nforewarned that he shall deny his Master, and his half-indignant\nremonstrance is sustained, with added emphasis, by the voices of the\ntwelve disciples, pitched a fourth higher. Then Judas comes, with\na great multitude, and Jesus is carried before the high-priest. The\nbeautiful F-minor chorus, \"We hid our faces from him,\" furnishes the\nmusical comment upon the statement that \"the disciples all forsook him\nand fled.\" We hardly dare to give full expression to our feelings about\nthis chorus (which during the past month has been continually singing\nitself over and over again in our recollection), lest it should be\nsupposed that our enthusiasm has got the better of our sober judgment.\nThe second theme, \"He was brought as a lamb to the slaughter, yet\nhe opened not his mouth,\" is quite Handel-like in the simplicity and\nmassiveness of its magnificent harmonic progressions. With the scene\nof the denial, for which we are thus prepared, the dramatic movement\nbecomes exceedingly rapid, and the rendering of the events in the\nhigh-priest's hall--Peter's bass recitative alternating its craven\nprotestations with the clamorous agitato chorus of the servants--is\nstirring in the extreme. The contralto aria describing the Lord's\nturning and looking upon Peter is followed by the orchestra with a\nlament in B-flat minor, introducing the bass aria of the repentant and\nremorse-stricken disciple, \"O God, my God, forsake me not.\" As the last\nstrains of the lamentation die away, a choir of angels is heard, of\nsopranos and contraltos divided, singing, \"Remember from whence thou\nart fallen,\" to an accompaniment of harps. The second theme, \"He that\novercometh shall receive a crown of life,\" is introduced in full chorus,\nin a cheering allegro movement, preparing the way for a climax higher\nthan any yet reached in the course of the work. This climax--delayed\nfor a few moments by an andante aria for a contralto voice, \"The Lord is\nfaithful and righteous\"--at last bursts upon us with a superb crescendo\nof strings, and the words, \"Awake, thou that sleepest, arise from the\ndead, and Christ shall give thee light.\" This chorus, which for\nreasons presently to be given was heard at considerable disadvantage at\nPortland, contains some of the best fugue-writing in the work, and is\nespecially rich and powerful in its instrumentation.\n\nThe second part of the oratorio begins with the crucifixion and\nascension of Jesus. Here we must note especially the deeply pathetic\nopening chorus, \"The Son of Man was delivered into the hands of sinful\nmen,\" the joyous allegro, \"And on the third day he rose again,\" the\nchoral, \"Jesus, my Redeemer, lives,\" and the quartet, \"Feed the flock\nof God,\" commenting upon the command of Jesus, \"Feed my lambs.\" This\nquartet has all the heavenly sweetness of Handel's \"He shall feed\nhis flock,\" which it suggests by similarity of subject, though not by\nsimilarity of treatment; but in a certain quality of inwardness, or\nreligious meditativeness, it reminds one more of Mr. Paine's favourite\nmaster, Bach. The choral, like the one in the first part and the one\nwhich follows the scene of Pentecost, is taken from the Lutheran\nChoral Book, and arranged with original harmony and instrumentation, in\naccordance with the custom of Bach, Mendelssohn, and other composers,\n\"of introducing into their sacred compositions the old popular choral\nmelodies which are the peculiar offspring of a religious age.\" Thus the\nnoblest choral ever written, the \"Sleepers, wake,\" in \"St. Paul,\" was\ncomposed in 1604 by Praetorius, the harmonization and accompaniment only\nbeing the work of Mendelssohn.\n\nIn \"St. Peter,\" as in \"Elijah,\" the second part, while forming the true\nmusical climax of the oratorio, admits of a briefer description than\nthe first part. The wave of emotion answering to the sensuously dramatic\nelement having partly spent itself, the wave of lyric emotion gathers\nfresh strength, and one feels that one has reached the height of\nspiritual exaltation, while, nevertheless, there is not so much which\none can describe to others who may not happen to have gone through with\nthe same experience. Something of the same feeling one gets in studying\nDante's \"Paradiso,\" after finishing the preceding divisions of his poem:\nthere is less which can be pictured to the eye of sense, or left to\nbe supplied by the concrete imagination. Nevertheless, in the scene\nof Pentecost, which follows that of the Ascension, there is no lack of\ndramatic vividness. Indeed, there is nothing in the work more striking\nthan the orchestration of the introductory tenor recitative, the\nmysterious chorus, \"The voice of the Lord divideth the flames of fire,\"\nor the amazed query which follows, \"Behold, are not all these who speak\nGalileans? and how is it that we every one hear them in our own tongue\nwherein we were born?\" We have heard the opinion expressed that Mr.\nPaine's oratorio must be lacking in originality, since it suggests such\nstrong reminiscences of \"St. Paul.\" Now, this suggestion, it seems to\nus, is due partly to the similarity of the subjects, independently of\nany likeness in the modes of treatment, and partly, perhaps, to the fact\nthat Mr. Paine, as well as Mendelssohn, has been a devoted student of\nBach, whose characteristics are so strong that they may well have left\ntheir mark upon the works of both composers. But especially it would\nseem that there is some real, though very general resemblance between\nthis colloquial chorus, \"Behold,\" etc., and some choruses in \"St. Paul,\"\nas, for example Nos. 29 and 36-38. In the same way the scene in the\nhigh-priest's hall might distantly suggest either of these passages, or\nothers in \"Elijah;\" These resemblances, however, are very superficial,\npertaining not to the musical but to the dramatic treatment of\nsituations which are generically similar in so far, and only in so far,\nas they represent conversational passages between an apostle or prophet\nand an ignorant multitude, whether amazed or hostile, under the sway of\nviolent excitement. As regards the musical elaboration of these terse\nand striking alternations of chorus and recitative, its originality can\nbe questioned only after we have decided to refer all originality on\nsuch matters to Bach, or, indeed, even behind him, into the Middle Ages.\n\nAfter the preaching of Peter, and the sweet contralto aria, \"As for\nman, his days are as grass,\" the culmination of this scene comes in the\nD-major chorus, \"This is the witness of God.\" What follows, beginning\nwith the choral, \"Praise to the Father,\" is to be regarded as an\nepilogue or peroration to the whole work. It is in accordance with\na sound tradition that the grand sacred drama of an oratorio should\nconclude with a lyric outburst of thanksgiving, a psalm of praise to the\nGiver of every good and perfect gift. Thus, after Peter's labours\nare ended in the aria, \"Now as ye were redeemed,\" in which the twelve\ndisciples and the full chorus join, a duet for tenor and soprano, \"Sing\nunto God,\" brings us to the grand final chorus in C major, \"Great and\nmarvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty.\"\n\nThe cadence of this concluding chorus reminds us that one of the\nnoteworthy points in the oratorio is the character of its cadences.\nThe cadence prepared by the 6/4 chord, now become so hackneyed from its\nperpetual and wearisome repetition in popular church music, seems to be\nespecially disliked by Mr. Paine, as it occurs but once or twice in the\ncourse of the work. In the great choruses the cadence is usually reached\neither by a pedal on the tonic, as in the chorus, \"Awake, thou that\nsleepest,\" or by a pedal on the dominant culminating in a chord of the\nmajor ninth, as in the final chorus; or there is a plagal cadence, as in\nthe first chorus of the second part; or, if the 6/4 chord is introduced,\nas it is in the chorus, \"He that overcometh,\" its ordinary effect is\ncovered and obscured by the movement of the divided sopranos. We do not\nremember noticing anywhere such a decided use of the 6/4 chord as is\nmade, for example, by Mendelssohn, in \"Thanks be to God,\" or in the\nfinal chorus of \"St. Paul.\" Perhaps if we were to confess our lingering\nfondness for the cadence prepared by the 6/4 chord, when not too\nfrequently introduced, it might only show that we retain a liking for\nNew England \"psalm-tunes\"; but it does seem to us that a sense of final\nrepose, of entire cessation of movement, is more effectually secured\nby this cadence than by any other. Yet while the 6/4 cadence most\ncompletely expresses finality and rest, it would seem that the plagal\nand other cadences above enumerated as preferred by Mr. Paine have a\ncertain sort of superiority by reason of the very incompleteness with\nwhich they express finality. There is no sense of finality whatever\nabout the Phrygian cadence; it leaves the mind occupied with the feeling\nof a boundless region beyond, into which one would fain penetrate; and\nfor this reason it has, in sacred music, a great value. Something of\nthe same feeling, too, attaches to those cadences in which an unexpected\nmajor third usurps the place of the minor which the ear was expecting,\nas in the \"Incarnatus\" of Mozart's \"Twelfth Mass,\" or in Bach's sublime\n\"Prelude,\" Part I., No. 22 of the \"Well-tempered Clavichord.\" In a less\ndegree, an analogous effect was produced upon us by the cadence with a\npedal on the tonic in the choruses, \"The Church is built,\" and \"Awake,\nthou that sleepest.\" On these considerations it may become intelligible\nthat to some hearers Mr. Paine's cadences have seemed unsatisfactory,\ntheir ears having missed the positive categorical assertion of finality\nwhich the 6/4 cadence alone can give. To go further into this subject\nwould take us far beyond our limits.\n\nThe pleasant little town of Portland has reason to congratulate\nitself, first, on being the birthplace of such a composer as Mr. Paine;\nsecondly, on having been the place where the first great work of America\nin the domain of music was brought out; and thirdly, on possessing\nwhat is probably the most thoroughly disciplined choral society in this\ncountry. Our New York friends, after their recent experiences, will\nperhaps be slow to believe us when we say that the Portland choir sang\nthis new work even better, in many respects, than the Handel and Haydn\nSociety sing the old and familiar \"Elijah\"; but it is true. In their\ncommand of the pianissimo and the gradual crescendo, and in the\nprecision of their attack, the Portland singers can easily teach the\nHandel and Haydn a quarter's lessons. And, besides all this, they know\nhow to preserve their equanimity under the gravest persecutions of the\norchestra; keeping the even tenour of their way where a less disciplined\nchoir, incited by the excessive blare of the trombones and the undue\nscraping of the second violins, would be likely to lose its presence of\nmind and break out into an untimely fortissimo.\n\nNo doubt it is easier to achieve perfect chorus-singing with a choir of\none hundred and twenty-five voices than with a choir of six hundred.\nBut this diminutive size, which was an advantage so far as concerned the\ntechnical excellence of the Portland choir, was decidedly a disadvantage\nso far as concerned the proper rendering of the more massive choruses in\n\"St. Peter.\" All the greatest choruses--such as Nos. 1, 8, 19, 20, 28,\n35, and 39--were seriously impaired in the rendering by the lack of\nmassiveness in the voices. For example, the grand chorus, \"Awake, thou\nthat sleepest,\" begins with a rapid crescendo of strings, introducing\nthe full chorus on the word \"Awake,\" upon the dominant triad of D major;\nand after a couple of beats the voices are reinforced by the trombones,\nproducing the most tremendous effect possible in such a crescendo.\nUnfortunately, however, the brass asserted itself at this point so much\nmore emphatically than the voices that the effect was almost to disjoin\nthe latter portion of the chord from its beginning, and thus to\ndwarf the utterance of the word \"Awake.\" To us this effect was very\ndisagreeable; and it was obviously contrary to the effect intended by\nthe composer. But with a weight of four or five hundred voices, the\neffect would be entirely different. Instead of entering upon the scene\nas intruders, the mighty trombones would only serve to swell and enrich\nthe ponderous chord which opens this noble chorus. Given greater weight\nonly, and the performance of the admirable Portland choir would have\nleft nothing to be desired.\n\nWe cannot speak with so much satisfaction of the performance of the\norchestra. The instrumentation of \"St. Peter\" is remarkably fine. But\nthis instrumentation was rather clumsily rendered by the orchestra,\nwhose doings constituted the least enjoyable part of the performance.\nThere was too much blare of brass, whine of hautboy, and scraping of\nstrings. But in condonation of this serious defect, one must admit that\nthe requisite amount of rehearsal is out of the question when one's\nchoir is in Portland and one's orchestra in Boston; besides which the\nparts had been inaccurately copied. For a moment, at the beginning of\nthe orchestral lament, there was risk of disaster, the wind instruments\nfailing to come in at the right time, when Mr. Paine, with fortunate\npresence of mind, stopped the players, and the movement was begun over\nagain,--the whole occurring so quickly and quietly as hardly to attract\nattention.\n\nIn conclusion we would say a few words suggested by a recent critical\nnotice of Mr. Paine's work in the \"Nation.\" While acknowledging the\nimportance of the publication of this oratorio, as an event in the\nart-history of America, the writer betrays manifest disappointment that\nthis work should not rather have been a symphony, [63] and thus have\nbelonged to what he calls the \"domain of absolute music.\" Now with\nregard to the assumption that the oratorio is not so high a form of\nmusic as the symphony, or, in other words, that vocal music in general\nis artistically inferior to instrumental music, we may observe, first,\nthat Ambros and Dommer--two of the most profound musical critics now\nliving--do not sustain it. It is Beanquier, we think, who suggests that\ninstrumental music should rank above vocal, because it is \"pure\nmusic,\" bereft of the fictitious aids of language and of the emotional\nassociations which are grouped about the peculiar timbre of the human\nvoice. [64] At first the suggestion seems plausible; but on analogous\ngrounds we might set the piano above the orchestra, because the piano\ngives us pure harmony and counterpoint, without the adventitious aid of\nvariety in timbre. And it is indeed true that, for some such reason as\nthis, musicians delight in piano-sonatas, which are above all things\ntedious and unintelligible to the mind untrained in music. Nevertheless,\nin spite of its great and peculiar prerogatives, it would be absurd\nto prefer the piano to the orchestra; and there is a kindred absurdity\ninvolved in setting the orchestra above that mighty union of orchestra,\norgan, and voices which we get in the oratorio. When the reason alleged\nfor ranking the symphony above the oratorio leads us likewise to rank\nthe sonata above the symphony, we seem to have reached a reductio ad\nabsurdum.\n\n [63] Now within two years, Mr. Paine's C-minor symphony has\nfollowed the completion of his oratorio.\n\n [64] These peculiar associations are no doubt what is chiefly\nenjoyed in music, antecedent to a properly musical culture. Persons of\nslight acquaintance with music invariably prefer the voice to the piano.\n\n\nRightly considered, the question between vocal and instrumental music\namounts to this, What does music express? This is a great psychological\nquestion, and we have not now the space or the leisure requisite for\ndiscussing it, even in the most summary way. We will say, however, that\nwe do not see how music can in any way express ideas, or anything but\nmoods or emotional states to which the ideas given in language may add\ndetermination and precision. The pure symphony gives utterance to moods,\nand will be a satisfactory work of art or not, according as the composer\nhas been actuated by a legitimate sequence of emotional states, like\nBeethoven, or by a desire to produce novel and startling effects, like\nLiszt. But the danger in purely instrumental music is that it may run\nriot in the extravagant utterance of emotional states which are not\nproperly concatenated by any normal sequence of ideas associated with\nthem. This is sometimes exemplified in the most modern instrumental\nmusic.\n\nNow, as in real life our sequent clusters of emotional states are in\ngeneral determined by their association with our sequent groups of\nintellectual ideas, it would seem that music, regarded as an exponent of\npsychical life, reaches its fullest expressiveness when the sequence of\nthe moods which it incarnates in sound is determined by some sequence\nof ideas, such as is furnished by the words of a libretto. Not that the\nwords should have predominance over the music, or even coequal sway with\nit, but that they should serve to give direction to the succession of\nfeelings expressed by the music. \"Lift up your heads\" and \"Hallelujah\"\ndo not owe their glory to the text, but to that tremendous energy\nof rhythmic and contrapuntal progression which the text serves to\nconcentrate and justify. When precision and definiteness of direction\nare thus added to the powerful physical means of expression which we get\nin the combination of chorus, orchestra, and organ, we have attained\nthe greatest sureness as well as the greatest wealth of musical\nexpressiveness. And thus we may see the reasonableness of Dommer's\nopinion that in order to restrain instrumental music from ruining itself\nby meaningless extravagance, it is desirable that there should be\na renaissance of vocal music, such as it was in the golden age of\nPalestrina and Orlando Lasso.\n\nWe are not inclined to deny that in structural beauty--in the\nsymmetrical disposition and elaboration of musical themes--the symphony\nhas the advantage. The words, which in the oratorio serve to give\ndefinite direction to the currents of emotion, may also sometimes\nhamper the free development of the pure musical conception, just as in\npsychical life the obtrusive entrance of ideas linked by association may\nhinder the full fruition of some emotional state. Nevertheless, in spite\nof this possible drawback, it may be doubted if the higher forms\nof polyphonic composition fall so very far short of the symphony in\ncapability of giving full elaboration to the musical idea. The practical\ntestimony of Beethoven, in his Ninth Symphony, is decidedly adverse to\nany such supposition.\n\nBut to pursue this interesting question would carry us far beyond our\nlimits. Whatever may be the decision as to the respective claims of\nvocal and instrumental music, we have every reason for welcoming the\nappearance, in our own country, of an original work in the highest\nform of vocal music. It is to be hoped that we shall often have the\nopportunity to \"hear with our ears\" this interesting work; for as a rule\ngreat musical compositions are peculiarly unfortunate among works of\nart, in being known at first hand by comparatively few persons. In this\nway is rendered possible that pretentious kind of dilettante criticism\nwhich is so common in musical matters, and which is often positively\ninjurious, as substituting a factitious public opinion for one that is\ngenuine. We hope that the favour with which the new oratorio has already\nbeen received will encourage the author to pursue the enviable career\nupon which he has entered. Even restricting ourselves to vocal music,\nthere is still a broad field left open for original work. The secular\ncantata--attempted in recent times by Schumann, as well as by English\ncomposers of smaller calibre--is a very high form of vocal music; and\nif founded on an adequate libretto, dealing with some supremely grand\nor tragical situation, is capable of being carried to an unprecedented\nheight of musical elaboration. Here is an opportunity for original\nachievement, of which it is to be hoped that some gifted and\nwell-trained composer, like the author of \"St. Peter,\" may find it worth\nwhile to avail himself.\n\n June, 1873.\n\n\n\n\nXIII. A PHILOSOPHY OF ART. [65]\n\n [65] The Philosophy of Art. By H. Taine. New York: Leypoldt &\nHolt. 1867.\n\nWe are glad of a chance to introduce to our readers one of the works\nof a great writer. Though not yet [66] widely known in this country, M.\nTaine has obtained a very high reputation in Europe. He is still quite\na young man, but is nevertheless the author of nineteen goodly volumes,\nwitty, acute, and learned; and already he is often ranked with Renan,\nLittre, and Sainte-Beuve, the greatest living French writers.\n\n [66] That is, in 1868.\n\n\nHippolyte Adolphe Taine was born at Vouziers, among the grand forests\nof Ardennes, in 1828, and is therefore about forty years old. His family\nwas simple in habits and tastes, and entertained a steadfast belief\nin culture, along with the possession of a fair amount of it. His\ngrandfather was sub-prefect at Rocroi, in 1814 and 1815, under the first\nrestoration of the Bourbons. His father, a lawyer by profession, was the\nfirst instructor of his son, and taught him Latin, and from an uncle,\nwho had been in America, he learned English, while still a mere child.\nHaving gone to Paris with his mother in 1842, he began his studies\nat the College Bourbon and in 1848 was promoted to the ecole Normale.\nWeiss, About, and Prevost-Paradol were his contemporaries at this\ninstitution. At that time great liberty was enjoyed in regard to\nthe order and the details of the exercises; so that Taine, with his\nsurprising rapidity, would do in one week the work laid out for a month,\nand would spend the remainder of the time in private reading. In 1851\nhe left college, and after two or three unsatisfactory attempts at\nteaching, in Paris and in the provinces, he settled down at Paris as a\nprivate student. He gave himself the very best elementary preparation\nwhich a literary man can have,--a thorough course in mathematics and the\nphysical sciences. His studies in anatomy and physiology were especially\nelaborate and minute. He attended the School of Medicine as regularly as\nif he expected to make his daily bread in the profession. In this way,\nwhen at the age of twenty-five he began to write books, M. Taine was a\nreally educated man; and his books show it. The day is past when a man\ncould write securely, with a knowledge of the classics alone. We doubt\nif a philosophical critic is perfectly educated for his task, unless he\ncan read, for instance, Donaldson's \"New Cratylus\" on the one hand, and\nRokitansky's \"Pathological Anatomy\" on the other, for the sheer pleasure\nof the thing. At any rate, it was an education of this sort which M.\nTaine, at the outset of his literary career, had secured. By this solid\ndiscipline of mathematics, chemistry, and medicine, M. Taine became\nthat which above all things he now is,--a man possessed of a central\nphilosophy, of an exact, categorical, well-defined system, which\naccompanies and supports him in his most distant literary excursions.\nHe does not keep throwing out ideas at random, like too many literary\ncritics, but attaches all his criticisms to a common fundamental\nprinciple; in short, he is not a dilettante, but a savant.\n\nHis treatise on La Fontaine, in 1853, attracted much attention, both the\nstyle and the matter being singularly fresh and original. He has since\nrepublished it, with alterations which serve to show that he can be\ndocile toward intelligent criticisms. About the same time he prepared\nfor the French Academy his work upon the historian Livy, which was\ncrowned in 1855. Suffering then from overwork, he was obliged to make\na short journey to the Pyrenees, which he has since described in a\ncharming little volume, illustrated by Dore.\n\nHis subsequent works are a treatise on the French philosophers of\nthe present century, in which the vapid charlatanism of M. Cousin is\nsatisfactorily dealt with; a history of English literature in five\nvolumes; a humorous book on Paris; three volumes upon the general theory\nof art; and two volumes of travels in Italy; besides a considerable\ncollection of historical and critical essays. We think that several\nof these works would be interesting to the American public, and might\nprofitably be translated.\n\nSome three or four years ago, M. Taine was appointed Professor in the\necole des Beaux Arts, and we suppose his journey to Italy must have been\nundertaken partly with a view to qualify himself for his new position.\nHe visited the four cities which may be considered the artistic centres\nof Italy,--Rome, Naples, Florence, and Venice,--and a large part of his\naccount of his journey is taken up with descriptions and criticisms of\npictures, statues, and buildings.\n\nThis is a department of criticism which, we may as well frankly\nacknowledge, is far better appreciated on the continent of Europe than\nin England or America. Over the English race there passed, about two\ncenturies ago, a deluge of Puritanism, which for a time almost drowned\nout its artistic tastes and propensities. The Puritan movement, in\nproportion to its success, was nearly as destructive to art in the West,\nas Mohammedanism had long before been in the East. In its intense and\none-sided regard for morality, Puritanism not only relegated the love\nfor beauty to an inferior place, but contemned and spat upon it, as\nsomething sinful and degrading. Hence, the utter architectural impotence\nwhich characterizes the Americans and the modern English; and hence the\nbewildered ignorant way in which we ordinarily contemplate pictures\nand statues. For two centuries we have been removed from an artistic\nenvironment, and consequently can with difficulty enter into the\nfeelings of those who have all this time been nurtured in love for art,\nand belief in art for its own sake. These peculiarities, as Mr. Mill has\nably pointed out, have entered deep into our ethnic character. Even in\npure morals there is a radical difference between the Englishman and\nthe inhabitant of the continent of Europe. The Englishman follows virtue\nfrom a sense of duty, the Frenchman from an emotional aspiration toward\nthe beautiful The one admires a noble action because it is right, the\nother because it is attractive. And this difference underlies the moral\njudgments upon men and events which are to be found respectively in\nEnglish and in continental literature. By keeping it constantly in view,\nwe shall be enabled to understand many things which might otherwise\nsurprise us in the writings of French authors.\n\nWe are now slowly outgrowing the extravagances of Puritanism. It has\ngiven us an earnestness and sobriety of character, to which much of our\nreal greatness is owing, both here and in the mother country. It has\nmade us stronger and steadier, but it has at the same time narrowed\nus in many respects, and rendered our lives incomplete. This\nincompleteness, entailed by Puritanism, we are gradually getting rid\nof; and we are learning to admire and respect many things upon which\nPuritanism set its mark of contempt. We are beginning, for instance, to\nrecognize the transcendent merits of that great civilizing agency, the\ndrama; we no longer think it necessary that our temples for worshipping\nGod should be constructed like hideous barracks; we are gradually\npermitting our choirs to discard the droning and sentimental modern\n\"psalm-tune\" for the inspiring harmonies of Beethoven and Mozart; and we\nadmit the classical picture and the undraped statue to a high place\nin our esteem. Yet with all this it will probably be some time before\ngenuine art ceases to be an exotic among us, and becomes a plant of\nunhindered native growth. It will be some time before we cease to regard\npictures and statues as a higher species of upholstery, and place them\nin the same category with poems and dramas, duly reverencing them as\nauthentic revelations of the beauty which is to be found in nature. It\nwill be some time before we realize that art is a thing to be studied,\nas well as literature, and before we can be quite reconciled to the\nfamiliar way in which a Frenchman quotes a picture as we would quote a\npoem or novel.\n\nArtistic genius, as M. Taine has shown, is something which will develop\nitself only under peculiar social circumstances; and, therefore, if we\nhave not art, we can perhaps only wait for it, trusting that when the\ntime comes it will arise among us. But without originating, we may at\nleast intelligently appreciate. The nature of a work of art, and the\nmode in which it is produced, are subjects well worthy of careful study.\nArchitecture and music, poetry, painting and sculpture, have in times\npast constituted a vast portion of human activity; and without knowing\nsomething of the philosophy of art, we need not hope to understand\nthoroughly the philosophy of history.\n\nIn entering upon the study of art in general, one may find many\nsuggestive hints in the little books of M. Taine, reprinted from the\nlectures which he has been delivering at the ecole des Beaux Arts. The\nfirst, on the Philosophy of Art, designated at the head of this paper,\nis already accessible to the American reader; and translations of the\nothers are probably soon to follow. We shall for the present give a mere\nsynopsis of M. Taine's general views.\n\nAnd first it must be determined what a work of art is. Leaving for a\nwhile music and architecture out of consideration, it will be admitted\nthat poetry, painting, and sculpture have one obvious character in\ncommon: they are arts of IMITATION. This, says Taine, appears at first\nsight to be their essential character. It would appear that their great\nobject is to IMITATE as closely as possible. It is obvious that a statue\nis intended to imitate a living man, that a picture is designed to\nrepresent real persons in real attitudes, or the interior of a house, or\na landscape, such as it exists in nature. And it is no less clear that\na novel or drama endeavours to represent with accuracy real characters,\nactions, and words, giving as precise and faithful an image of them as\npossible. And when the imitation is incomplete, we say to the painter,\n\"Your people are too largely proportioned, and the colour of your trees\nis false\"; we tell the sculptor that his leg or arm is incorrectly\nmodelled; and we say to the dramatist, \"Never has a man felt or thought\nas your hero is supposed to have felt and thought.\"\n\nThis truth, moreover, is seen both in the careers of individual\nartists, and in the general history of art. According to Taine, the\nlife of an artist may generally be divided into two parts. In the\nfirst period, that of natural growth, he studies nature anxiously and\nminutely, he keeps the objects themselves before his eyes, and strives\nto represent them with scrupulous fidelity. But when the time for mental\ngrowth ends, as it does with every man, and the crystallization of ideas\nand impressions commences, then the mind of the artist is no longer\nso susceptible to new impressions from without. He begins to nourish\nhimself from his own substance. He abandons the living model, and\nwith recipes which he has gathered in the course of his experience, he\nproceeds to construct a drama or novel, a picture or statue. Now, the\nfirst period, says Taine, is that of genuine art; the second is that of\nmannerism. Our author cites the case of Michael Angelo, a man who was\none of the most colossal embodiments of physical and mental energy that\nthe world has ever seen. In Michael Angelo's case, the period of growth,\nof genuine art, may be said to have lasted until after his sixtieth\nyear. But look, says Taine, at the works which he executed in his old\nage; consider the Conversion of St. Paul, and the Last Judgment, painted\nwhen he was nearly seventy. Even those who are not connoisseurs can see\nthat these frescos are painted by rule, that the artist, having stocked\nhis memory with a certain set of forms, is making use of them to\nfill out his tableau; that he wantonly multiplies queer attitudes and\ningenious foreshortenings; that the lively invention, the grand\noutburst of feeling, the perfect truth, by which his earlier works are\ndistinguished, have disappeared; and that, if he is still superior\nto all others, he is nevertheless inferior to himself. The careers of\nScott, of Goethe, and of Voltaire will furnish parallel examples. In\nevery school of art, too, the flourishing period is followed by one of\ndecline; and in every case the decline is due to a failure to imitate\nthe living models. In painting, we have the exaggerated foreshorteners\nand muscle-makers who copied Michael Angelo; the lovers of theatrical\ndecorations who succeeded Titian and Giorgione and the degenerate\nboudoir-painters who followed Claucle and Poussin. In literature, we\nhave the versifiers, epigrammatists, and rhetors of the Latin decadence;\nthe sensual and declamatory dramatists who represent the last stages\nof old English comedy; and the makers of sonnets and madrigals, or\nconceited euphemists of the Gongora school, in the decline of Italian\nand Spanish poetry. Briefly it may be said, that the masters copy\nnature and the pupils copy the masters. In this way are explained the\nconstantly recurring phenomena of decline in art, and thus, also, it\nis seen that art is perfect in proportion as it successfully imitates\nnature.\n\nBut we are not to conclude that absolute imitation is the sole and\nentire object of art. Were this the case, the finest works would be\nthose which most minutely correspond to their external prototypes. In\nsculpture, a mould taken from the living features is that which gives\nthe most faithful representation of the model; but a well-moulded\nbust is far from being equal to a good statue. Photography is in\nmany respects more accurate than painting; but no one would rank a\nphotograph, however exquisitely executed, with an original picture. And\nfinally, if exact imitation were the supreme object of art, the best\ntragedy, the best comedy, and the best drama would be a stenographic\nreport of the proceedings in a court of justice, in a family gathering,\nin a popular meeting, in the Rump Congress. Even the works of artists\nare not rated in proportion to their minute exactness. Neither in\npainting nor in any other art do we give the precedence to that which\ndeceives the eye simply. Every one remembers how Zeuxis was said to have\npainted grapes so faithfully that the birds came and pecked at them;\nand how, Parrhasios, his rival, surpassed even this feat by painting a\ncurtain so natural in its appearance that Zeuxis asked him to pull it\naside and show the picture behind it. All this is not art, but mere\nknack and trickery. Perhaps no painter was ever so minute as Denner.\nIt used to take him four years to make one portrait. He would omit\nnothing,--neither the bluish lines made by the veins under the skin, nor\nthe little black points scattered over the nose, nor the bright spots\nin the eye where neighbouring objects are reflected; the head seems to\nstart out from the canvas, it is so like flesh and blood. Yet who cares\nfor Denner's portraits? And who would not give ten times as much for one\nwhich Van Dyck or Tintoretto might have painted in a few hours? So in\nthe churches of Naples and Spain we find statues coloured and draped,\nsaints clothed in real coats, with their skin yellow and bloodless,\ntheir hands bleeding, and their feet bruised; and beside them Madonnas\nin royal habiliments, in gala dresses of lustrous silk, adorned with\ndiadems, precious necklaces, bright ribbons, and elegant laces, with\ntheir cheeks rosy, their eyes brilliant, their eyelashes sweeping. And\nby this excess of literal imitation, there is awakened a feeling, not of\npleasure, but always of repugnance, often of disgust, and sometimes of\nhorror So in literature, the ancient Greek theatre, and the best Spanish\nand English dramatists, alter on purpose the natural current of human\nspeech, and make their characters talk under all the restraints of rhyme\nand rhythm. But we pronounce this departure from literal truth a merit\nand not a defect. We consider Goethe's second \"Iphigenie,\" written in\nverse, far preferable to the first one written in prose; nay, it is the\nrhythm or metre itself which communicates to the work its incomparable\nbeauty. In a review of Longfellow's \"Dante,\" published last year, we\nargued this very point in one of its special applications; the artist\nmust copy his original, but he must not copy it too literally.\n\nWhat then must he copy? He must copy, says Taine, the mutual relations\nand interdependences of the parts of his model. And more than this,\nhe must render the essential characteristic of the object--that\ncharacteristic upon which all the minor qualities depend--as salient\nand conspicuous as possible. He must put into the background the\ntraits which conceal it, and bring into the foreground the traits which\nmanifest it. If he is sculpturing a group like the Laocoon, he must\nstrike upon the supreme moment, that in which the whole tragedy reveals\nitself, and he must pass over those insignificant details of position\nand movement which serve only to distract our attention and weaken our\nemotions by dividing them. If he is writing a drama, he must not attempt\nto give us the complete biography of his character; he must depict only\nthose situations which stand in direct subordination to the grand climax\nor denoument. As a final result, therefore. Taine concludes that a work\nof art is a concrete representation of the relations existing between\nthe parts of an object, with the intent to bring the essential or\ndominating character thereof into prominence.\n\nWe should overrun our limits if we were to follow out the admirable\ndiscussion in which M. Taine extends this definition to architecture\nand music. These closely allied arts are distinguished from poetry,\npainting, and sculpture, by appealing far less directly to the\nintelligence, and far more exclusively to the emotions. Yet these arts\nlikewise aim, by bringing into prominence certain relations of symmetry\nin form as perceived by the eye, or in aerial vibrations as perceived by\nthe ear, to excite in us the states of feeling with which these species\nof symmetry are by subtle laws of association connected. They, too,\nimitate, not literally, but under the guidance of a predominating\nsentiment or emotion, relations which really exist among the phenomena\nof nature. And here, too, we estimate excellence, not in proportion to\nthe direct, but to the indirect imitation. A Gothic cathedral is not,\nas has been supposed, directly imitated from the towering vegetation of\nNorthern forests; but it may well be the expression of the dim sentiment\nof an unseen, all-pervading Power, generated by centuries of primeval\nlife amid such forests. So the sounds which in a symphony of Beethoven\nare woven into a web of such amazing complexity may exist in different\ncombinations in nature; but when a musician steps out of his way to\nimitate the crowing of cocks or the roar of the tempest, we regard\nhis achievement merely as a graceful conceit. Art is, therefore, an\nimitation of nature; but it is an intellectual and not a mechanical\nimitation; and the performances of the camera and the music-box are\nnot to be classed with those of the violinist's bow or the sculptor's\nchisel.\n\nAnd lastly, in distinguishing art from science, Taine remarks, that\nin disengaging from their complexity the causes which are at work in\nnature, and the fundamental laws according to which they work, science\ndescribes them in abstract formulas conveyed in technical language. But\nart reveals these operative causes and these dominant laws, not in arid\ndefinitions, inaccessible to most people, intelligible only to specially\ninstructed men, but in a concrete symbol, addressing itself not only to\nthe understanding, but still more to the sentiments of the ordinary man.\nArt has, therefore, this peculiarity, that it is at once elevated and\npopular, that it manifests that which is often most recondite, and that\nit manifests it to all.\n\nHaving determined what a work of art is, our author goes on to study\nthe social conditions under which works of art are produced; and he\nconcludes that the general character of a work of art is determined\nby the state of intellect and morals in the society in which it is\nexecuted. There is, in fact, a sort of moral temperature which acts\nupon mental development much as physical temperature acts upon organic\ndevelopment. The condition of society does not produce the artist's\ntalent; but it assists or checks its efforts to display itself; it\ndecides whether or not it shall be successful And it exerts a \"natural\nselection\" between different kinds of talents, stimulating some and\nstarving others. To make this perfectly clear, we will cite at some\nlength Taine's brilliant illustration.\n\nThe case chosen for illustration is a very simple one,--that of a state\nof society in which one of the predominant feelings is melancholy. This\nis not an arbitrary supposition, for such a time has occurred more than\nonce in human history; in Asia, in the sixth century before Christ, and\nespecially in Europe, from the fourth to the tenth centuries of our\nera. To produce such a state of feeling, five or six generations of\ndecadence, accompanied with diminution of population, foreign invasions,\nfamines, pestilences, and increasing difficulty in procuring the\nnecessaries of life, are amply sufficient. It then happens that men lose\ncourage and hope, and consider life an evil. Now, admitting that among\nthe artists who live in such a time, there are likely to be the same\nrelative numbers of melancholy, joyous, or indifferent temperaments\nas at other times, let us see how they will be affected by reigning\ncircumstances.\n\nLet us first remember, says Taine, that the evils which depress the\npublic will also depress the artist. His risks are no less than those of\nless gifted people. He is liable to suffer from plague or famine, to\nbe ruined by unfair taxation or conscription, or to see his children\nmassacred and his wife led into captivity by barbarians. And if these\nills do not reach him personally, he must at least behold those around\nhim affected by them. In this way, if he is joyous by temperament, he\nmust inevitably become less joyous; if he is melancholy, he must become\nmore melancholy.\n\nSecondly, having been reared among melancholy contemporaries, his\neducation will have exerted upon him a corresponding influence. The\nprevailing religious doctrine, accommodated to the state of affairs,\nwill tell him that the earth is a place of exile, life an evil, gayety\na snare, and his most profitable occupation will be to get ready to\ndie. Philosophy, constructing its system of morals in conformity to the\nexisting phenomena of decadence, will tell him that he had better never\nhave been born. Daily conversation will inform him of horrible events,\nof the devastation of a province, the sack of a town by the Goths, the\noppression of the neighbouring peasants by the imperial tax-collectors,\nor the civil war that has just burst out between half a dozen pretenders\nto the throne. As he travels about, he beholds signs of mourning and\ndespair, crowds of beggars, people dying of hunger, a broken bridge\nwhich no one is mending, an abandoned suburb which is going to ruin,\nfields choked with weeds, the blackened walls of burned houses. Such\nsights and impressions, repeated from childhood to old age (and we must\nremember that this has actually been the state of things in what are now\nthe fairest parts of the globe), cannot fail to deepen whatever elements\nof melancholy there may be already in the artist's disposition.\n\nThe operation of all these causes will be enhanced by that very\npeculiarity of the artist which constitutes his talent. For, according\nto the definitions above given, that which makes him an artist is his\ncapacity for seizing upon the essential characteristics and the salient\ntraits of surrounding objects and events. Other men see things in part\nfragmentarily; he catches the spirit of the ensemble. And in this way\nhe will very likely exaggerate in his works the general average of\ncontemporary feeling.\n\nLastly, our author reminds us that a man who writes or paints does not\nremain alone before his easel or his writing-desk. He goes out, looks\nabout him, receives suggestions from friends, from rivals, from books,\nand works of art whenever accessible, and hears the criticisms of the\npublic upon his own productions and those of his contemporaries. In\norder to succeed, he must not only satisfy to some extent the popular\ntaste, but he must feel that the public is in sympathy with him. If in\nthis period of social decadence and gloom he endeavours to represent\ngay, brilliant, or triumphant ideas, he will find himself left to his\nown resources; and, as Taine rightly says, the power of an isolated man\nis always insignificant. His work will be likely to be mediocre. If\nhe attempts to write like Rabelais or paint like Rubens, he will get\nneither assistance nor sympathy from a public which prefers the pictures\nof Rembrandt, the melodies of Chopin, and the poetry of Heine.\n\nHaving thus explained his position by this extreme instance, signified\nfor the sake of clearness, Taine goes on to apply such general\nconsiderations to four historic epochs, taken in all their complexity.\nHe discusses the aspect presented by art in ancient Greece, in the\nfeudal and Catholic Middle Ages, in the centralized monarchies of the\nseventeenth century, and in the scientific, industrial democracy\nin which we now live. Out of these we shall select, as perhaps the\nsimplest, the case of ancient Greece, still following our author\nclosely, though necessarily omitting many interesting details.\n\nThe ancient Greeks, observes Taine, understood life in a new and\noriginal manner. Their energies were neither absorbed by a great\nreligious conception, as in the case of the Hindus and Egyptians, nor\nby a vast social organization, as in the case of the Assyrians and\nPersians, nor by a purely industrial and commercial regime, as in the\ncase of the Phoenicians and Carthaginians. Instead of a theocracy or a\nrigid system of castes, instead of a monarchy with a hierarchy of civil\nofficials, the men of this race invented a peculiar institution, the\nCity, each city giving rise to others like itself, and from colony\nto colony reproducing itself indefinitely. A single Greek city, for\ninstance, Miletos, produced three hundred other cities, colonizing with\nthem the entire coast of the Black Sea. Each city was substantially\nself-ruling; and the idea of a coalescence of several cities into a\nnation was one which the Greek mind rarely conceived, and never was able\nto put into operation.\n\nIn these cities, labour was for the most part carried on by slaves.\nIn Athens there were four or five for each citizen, and in places like\nKorinth and Aigina the slave population is said to have numbered four\nor five hundred thousand. Besides, the Greek citizen had little need of\npersonal service. He lived out of doors, and, like most Southern people,\nwas comparatively abstemious in his habits. His dinners were slight, his\nclothing was simple, his house was scantily furnished, being intended\nchiefly for a den to sleep in.\n\nServing neither king nor priest, the citizen was free and sovereign in\nhis own city. He elected his own magistrates, and might himself serve\nas city-ruler, as juror, or as judge. Representation was unknown.\nLegislation was carried on by all the citizens assembled in mass.\nTherefore politics and war were the sole or chief employments of the\ncitizen. War, indeed, came in for no slight share of his attention. For\nsociety was not so well protected as in these modern days. Most of these\nGreek cities, scattered over the coasts of the Aigeian, the Black\nSea, and the Mediterranean, were surrounded by tribes of barbarians,\nScythians, Gauls Spaniards, and Africans. The citizen must therefore\nkeep on his guard, like the Englishman of to-day in New Zealand, or\nlike the inhabitant of a Massachusetts town in the seventeenth century.\nOtherwise Gauls Samnites, or Bithynians, as savage as North American\nIndians, would be sure to encamp upon the blackened ruins of his town.\nMoreover, the Greek cities had their quarrels with each other, and their\nlaws of war were very barbarous. A conquered city was liable to be razed\nto the ground, its male inhabitants put to the sword, its women sold as\nslaves. Under such circumstances, according to Taine's happy expression,\na citizen must be a politician and warrior, on pain of death. And not\nonly fear, but ambition also tended to make him so. For each city strove\nto subject or to humiliate its neighbours, to acquire tribute, or to\nexact homage from its rivals. Thus the citizen passed his life in\nthe public square, discussing alliances, treaties, and constitutions,\nhearing speeches, or speaking himself, and finally going aboard of his\nship to fight his neighbour Greeks, or to sail against Egypt or Persia.\n\nWar (and politics as subsidiary to it) was then the chief pursuit of\nlife. But as there was no organized industry, so there were no machines\nof warfare. All fighting was done hand to hand. Therefore, the great\nthing in preparing for war was not to transform the soldiers into\nprecisely-acting automata, as in a modern army, but to make each\nseparate soldier as vigorous and active as possible. The leading object\nof Greek education was to make men physically perfect. In this respect,\nSparta may be taken as the typical Greek community, for nowhere else was\nphysical development so entirely made the great end of social life. In\nthese matters Sparta was always regarded by the other cities as taking\nthe lead,--as having attained the ideal after which all alike were\nstriving. Now Sparta, situated in the midst of a numerous conquered\npopulation of Messenians and Helots, was partly a great gymnasium and\npartly a perpetual camp. Her citizens were always in training. The\nentire social constitution of Sparta was shaped with a view to the\nbreeding and bringing up of a strong and beautiful race. Feeble or\nill-formed infants were put to death. The age at which citizens might\nmarry was prescribed by law; and the State paired off men and women as\nthe modern breeder pairs off horses, with a sole view to the excellence\nof the off-spring. A wife was not a helpmate, but a bearer of athletes.\nWomen boxed, wrestled, and raced; a circumstance referred to in the\nfollowing passage of Aristophanes, as rendered by Mr. Felton:--\n\n\n                    LYSISTRATA.\n\n      Hail! Lampito, dearest of Lakonian women.\n      How shines thy beauty, O my sweetest friend!\n      How fair thy colour, full of life thy frame!\n      Why, thou couldst choke a bull.\n\n                           LAMPITO.\n                   Yes, by the Twain;\n     For I do practice the gymnastic art,\n     And, leaping, strike my backbone with my heels.\n\n                        LYSISTRATA.\n     In sooth, thy bust is lovely to behold.\n\n\nThe young men lived together, like soldiers in a camp. They ate\nout-of-doors, at a public table. Their fare was as simple as that of a\nmodern university boat-crew before a race. They slept in the open\nair, and spent their waking hours in wrestling, boxing, running races,\nthrowing quoits, and engaging in mock battles. This was the way in which\nthe Spartans lived; and though no other city carried this discipline to\nsuch an extent, yet in all a very large portion of the citizen's life\nwas spent in making himself hardy and robust.\n\nThe ideal man, in the eyes of a Greek, was, therefore not the\ncontemplative or delicately susceptible thinker but the naked athlete,\nwith firm flesh and swelling muscles. Most of their barbarian neighbours\nwere ashamed to be seen undressed, but the Greeks seem to have felt\nlittle embarrassment in appearing naked in public. Their gymnastic\nhabits entirely transformed their sense of shame. Their Olympic\nand other public games were a triumphant display of naked physical\nperfection. Young men of the noblest families and from the farthest\nGreek colonies came to them, and wrestled and ran, undraped, before\ncountless multitudes of admiring spectators. Note, too, as significant,\nthat the Greek era began with the Olympic games, and that time was\nreckoned by the intervals between them; as well as the fact that the\ngrandest lyric poetry of antiquity was written in celebration of these\ngymnastic contests. The victor in the foot-race gave his name to\nthe current Olympiad; and on reaching home, was received by his\nfellow-citizens as if he had been a general returning from a successful\ncampaign. To be the most beautiful man in Greece was in the eyes of\na Greek the height of human felicity; and with the Greeks, beauty\nnecessarily included strength. So ardently did this gifted people admire\ncorporeal perfection that they actually worshipped it. According to\nHerodotos, a young Sicilian was deified on account of his beauty, and\nafter his death altars were raised to him. The vast intellectual power\nof Plato and Sokrates did not prevent them from sharing this universal\nenthusiasm. Poets like Sophokles, and statesmen like Alexander, thought\nit not beneath their dignity to engage publicly in gymnastic sports.\n\nTheir conceptions of divinity were framed in accordance with these\ngeneral habits. Though sometimes, as in the case of Hephaistos, the\nexigencies of the particular myth required the deity to be physically\nimperfect, yet ordinarily the Greek god was simply an immortal man,\ncomplete in strength and beauty. The deity was not invested with the\nhuman form as a mere symbol. They could conceive no loftier way of\nrepresenting him. The grandest statue, expressing most adequately the\ncalmness of absolutely unfettered strength, might well, in their eyes,\nbe a veritable portrait of divinity. To a Greek, beauty of form was\na consecrated thing. More than once a culprit got off with his life\nbecause it would have been thought sacrilegious to put an end to such\na symmetrical creature. And for a similar reason, the Greeks, though\nperhaps not more humane than the Europeans of the Middle Ages, rarely\nallowed the human body to be mutilated or tortured. The condemned\ncriminal must be marred as little as possible; and he was, therefore,\nquietly poisoned, instead of being hung, beheaded, or broken on the\nwheel.\n\nIs not the unapproachable excellence of Greek statuary--that art never\nsince equalled, and most likely, from the absence of the needful social\nstimulus, destined never to be equalled--already sufficiently\nexplained? Consider, says our author, the nature of the Greek sculptor's\npreparation. These men have observed the human body naked and in\nmovement, in the bath and the gymnasium, in sacred dances and public\ngames. They have noted those forms and attitudes in which are revealed\nvigour, health, and activity. And during three or four hundred years\nthey have thus modified, corrected and developed their notions of\ncorporeal beauty. There is, therefore, nothing surprising in the fact\nthat Greek sculpture finally arrived at the ideal model, the perfect\ntype, as it was, of the human body. Our highest notions of physical\nbeauty, down to the present day, have been bequeathed to us by the\nGreeks. The earliest modern sculptors who abandoned the bony, hideous,\nstarveling figures of the monkish Middle Ages, learned their first\nlessons in better things from Greek bas-reliefs. And if, to-day,\nforgetting our half-developed bodies, inefficiently nourished, because\nof our excessive brain-work, and with their muscles weak and flabby from\nwant of strenuous exercise, we wish to contemplate the human form in its\ngrandest perfection, we must go to Hellenic art for our models.\n\nThe Greeks were, in the highest sense of the word, an intellectual race;\nbut they never allowed the mind to tyrannize over the body. Spiritual\nperfection, accompanied by corporeal feebleness, was the invention of\nasceticism; and the Greeks were never ascetics. Diogenes might scorn\nsuperfluous luxuries, but if he ever rolled and tumbled his tub about as\nRabelais says he did, it is clear that the victory of spirit over body\nformed no part of his theory of things. Such an idea would have been\nincomprehensible to a Greek in Plato's time. Their consciences were not\nover active. They were not burdened with a sense of sinfulness. Their\naspirations were decidedly finite; and they believed in securing the\nmaximum completeness of this terrestrial life. Consequently they never\nset the physical below the intellectual. To return to our author, they\nnever, in their statues, subordinated symmetry to expression, the body\nto the head. They were interested not only in the prominence of the\nbrows, the width of the forehead, and the curvature of the lips, but\nquite as much in the massiveness of the chest, the compactness of the\nthighs, and the solidity of the arms and legs. Not only the face, but\nthe whole body, had for them its physiognomy. They left picturesqueness\nto the painter, and dramatic fervour to the poet; and keeping strictly\nbefore their eyes the narrow but exalted problem of representing the\nbeauty of symmetry, they filled their sanctuaries and public places with\nthose grand motionless people of brass, gold, ivory, copper, and marble,\nin whom humanity recognizes its highest artistic types. Statuary was\nthe central art of Greece. No other art was so popular, or so completely\nexpressed the national life. The number of statues was enormous. In\nlater days, when Rome had spoiled the Greek world of its treasures, the\nImperial City possessed a population of statues almost equal in number\nto its population of human beings. And at the present day, after all the\ndestructive accidents of so many intervening centuries, it is estimated\nthat more than sixty thousand statues have been obtained from Rome and\nits suburbs alone.\n\nIn citing this admirable exposition as a specimen of M. Taine's method\nof dealing with his subject, we have refrained from disturbing the\npellucid current of thought by criticisms of our own. We think the\nforegoing explanation correct enough, so far as it goes, though it deals\nwith the merest rudiments of the subject, and really does nothing toward\nelucidating the deeper mysteries of artistic production. For this there\nis needed a profounder psychology than M. Taine's. But whether his\ntheory of art be adequate or not, there can be but one opinion as to the\nbrilliant eloquence with which it is set forth.      June, 1868.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. ATHENIAN AND AMERICAN LIFE.\n\nIN a very interesting essay on British and Foreign Characteristics,\npublished a few years ago, Mr. W. R. Greg quotes the famous letter of\nthe Turkish cadi to Mr. Layard, with the comment that \"it contains the\ngerm and element of a wisdom to which our busy and bustling existence is\na stranger\"; and he uses it as a text for an instructive sermon on the\n\"gospel of leisure.\" He urges, with justice, that the too eager and\nrestless modern man, absorbed in problems of industrial development, may\nlearn a wholesome lesson from the contemplation of his Oriental brother,\nwho cares not to say, \"Behold, this star spinneth round that star, and\nthis other star with a tail cometh and goeth in so many years\"; who\naspires not after a \"double stomach,\" nor hopes to attain to Paradise by\n\"seeking with his eyes.\" If any one may be thought to stand in need of\nsome such lesson, it is the American of to-day. Just as far as the Turk\ncarries his apathy to excess, does the American carry to excess his\nrestlessness. But just because the incurious idleness of the Turk is\nexcessive, so as to be detrimental to completeness of living, it\nis unfit to supply us with the hints we need concerning the causes,\ncharacter, and effects of our over-activity. A sermon of leisure, if it\nis to be of practical use to us, must not be a sermon of laziness. The\nOriental state of mind is incompatible with progressive improvement of\nany sort, physical, intellectual, or moral. It is one of the phenomena\nattendant upon the arrival of a community at a stationary condition\nbefore it has acquired a complex civilization. And it appears\nserviceable rather as a background upon which to exhibit in relief our\nmodern turmoil, than by reason of any lesson which it is itself\nlikely to convey. Let us in preference study one of the most eminently\nprogressive of all the communities that have existed. Let us take an\nexample quite different from any that can be drawn from Oriental\nlife, but almost equally contrasted with any that can be found among\nourselves; and let us, with the aid of it, examine the respective\neffects of leisure and of hurry upon the culture of the community.\n\nWhat do modern critics mean by the \"healthy completeness\" of ancient\nlife, which they are so fond of contrasting with the \"heated,\"\n\"discontented,\" or imperfect and one-sided existence of modern\ncommunities? Is this a mere set of phrases, suited to some imaginary\nwant of the literary critic, but answering to nothing real? Are they to\nbe summarily disposed of as resting upon some tacit assumption of that\nold-grannyism which delights in asseverating that times are not what\nthey used to be? Is the contrast an imaginary one, due to the softened,\ncheerful light with which we are wont to contemplate classic antiquity\nthrough the charmed medium of its incomparable literature? Or is it a\nreal contrast, worthy of the attention and analysis of the historical\ninquirer? The answer to these queries will lead us far into the\ndiscussion of the subject which we have propounded, and we shall best\nreach it by considering some aspects of the social condition of ancient\nGreece. The lessons to be learned from that wonderful country are not\nyet exhausted Each time that we return to that richest of historic\nmines, and delve faithfully and carefully, we shall be sure to dig up\nsome jewel worth carrying away.\n\nAnd in considering ancient Greece, we shall do well to confine our\nattention, for the sake of definiteness of conception, to a single\ncity. Comparatively homogeneous as Greek civilization was, there was\nnevertheless a great deal of difference between the social circumstances\nof sundry of its civic communities. What was true of Athens was\nfrequently not true of Sparta or Thebes, and general assertions about\nancient Greece are often likely to be collect only in a loose and\ngeneral way. In speaking, therefore, of Greece, I must be understood\nin the main as referring to Athens, the eye and light of Greece, the\nnucleus and centre of Hellenic culture.\n\nLet us note first that Athens was a large city surrounded by pleasant\nvillage-suburbs,--the demes of Attika,--very much as Boston is closely\ngirdled by rural places like Brookline, Jamaica Plain, and the rest,\nvillage after village rather thickly covering a circuit of from ten\nto twenty miles' radius. The population of Athens with its suburbs may\nperhaps have exceeded half a million; but the number of adult freemen\nbearing arms did not exceed twenty-five thousand. [67] For every one\nof these freemen there were four or five slaves; not ignorant, degraded\nlabourers, belonging to an inferior type of humanity, and bearing the\nmarks of a lower caste in their very personal formation and in the\ncolour of their skin, like our lately-enslaved negroes; but intelligent,\nskilled labourers, belonging usually to the Hellenic, and at any rate\nto the Aryan race, as fair and perhaps as handsome as their masters, and\nnot subjected to especial ignominy or hardship. These slaves, of whom\nthere were at least one hundred thousand adult males, relieved the\ntwenty-five thousand freemen of nearly all the severe drudgery of life;\nand the result was an amount of leisure perhaps never since known on an\nequal scale in history.\n\n [67] See Herod. V. 97; Aristoph. Ekkl. 432; Thukyd. II. 13;\nPlutarch, Perikl. 37.\n\n\nThe relations of master and slave in ancient Athens constituted, of\ncourse, a very different phenomenon from anything which the history of\nour own Southern States has to offer us. Our Southern slaveholders lived\nin an age of industrial development; they were money-makers: they had\ntheir full share of business in managing the operations for which their\nlabourers supplied the crude physical force. It was not so in Athens.\nThe era of civilization founded upon organized industry had not begun;\nmoney-making had not come to be, with the Greeks, the one all-important\nend of life; and mere subsistence, which is now difficult, was then\neasy. The Athenian lived in a mild, genial, healthy climate, in a\ncountry which has always been notable for the activity and longevity\nof its inhabitants. He was frugal in his habits,--a wine-drinker and\nan eater of meat, but rarely addicted to gluttony or intemperance. His\ndress was inexpensive, for the Greek climate made but little protection\nnecessary, and the gymnastic habits of the Greeks led them to esteem\nmore highly the beauty of the body than that of its covering. His house\nwas simple, not being intended for social purposes, while of what we\nshould call home-life the Greeks had none. The house was a shelter at\nnight, a place where the frugal meal might be taken, a place where the\nwife might stay, and look after the household slaves or attend to the\nchildren. And this brings us to another notable feature of Athenian\nlife. The wife having no position in society, being nothing, indeed,\nbut a sort of household utensil, how greatly was life simplified! What a\ndoor for expenditure was there, as yet securely closed, and which no one\nhad thought of opening! No milliner's or dressmaker's bills, no evening\nparties, no Protean fashions, no elegant furniture, no imperious\nnecessity for Kleanthes to outshine Kleon, no coaches, no Chateau\nMargaux, no journeys to Arkadia in the summer! In such a state of\nsociety, as one may easily see, the labour of one man would support half\na dozen. It cost the Athenian but a few cents daily to live, and even\nthese few cents might be earned by his slaves. We need not, therefore,\nbe surprised to learn that in ancient Athens there were no paupers or\nbeggars. There might be poverty, but indigence was unknown; and because\nof the absence of fashion, style, and display, even poverty entailed\nno uncomfortable loss of social position. The Athenians valued wealth\nhighly, no doubt, as a source of contributions to public festivals and\nto the necessities of the state. But as far as the circumstances of\ndaily life go, the difference between the rich man and the poor man was\nimmeasurably less than in any modern community, and the incentives to\nthe acquirement of wealth were, as a consequence, comparatively slight.\n\nI do not mean to say that the Athenians did not engage in business.\nTheir city was a commercial city, and their ships covered the\nMediterranean. They had agencies and factories at Marseilles, on the\nremote coasts of Spain, and along the shores of the Black Sea. They\nwere in many respects the greatest commercial people of antiquity,\nand doubtless knew, as well as other people, the keen delights of\nacquisition. But my point is, that with them the acquiring of property\nhad not become the chief or only end of life. Production was carried\non almost entirely by slave-labour; interchange of commodities was the\nbusiness of the masters, and commerce was in those days simple. Banks,\ninsurance companies, brokers' boards,--all these complex instruments\nof Mammon were as yet unthought of. There was no Wall Street in\nancient Athens; there were no great failures, no commercial panics,\nno over-issues of stock. Commerce, in short, was a quite subordinate\nmatter, and the art of money-making was in its infancy.\n\nThe twenty-five thousand Athenian freemen thus enjoyed, on the whole,\nmore undisturbed leisure, more freedom from petty harassing cares,\nthan any other community known to history. Nowhere else can we find,\non careful study, so little of the hurry and anxiety which destroys the\neven tenour of modern life,--nowhere else so few of the circumstances\nwhich tend to make men insane, inebriate, or phthisical, or prematurely\nold.\n\nThis being granted, it remains only to state and illustrate the obverse\nfact. It is not only true that Athens has produced and educated a\nrelatively larger number of men of the highest calibre and most complete\nculture than any other community of like dimensions which has ever\nexisted; but it is also true that there has been no other community, of\nwhich the members have, as a general rule, been so highly cultivated,\nor have attained individually such completeness of life. In proof of\nthe first assertion it will be enough to mention such names as those of\nSolon, Themistokles, Perikles, and Demosthenes; Isokrates and Lysias;\nAristophanes and Menander; Aischylos, Sophokles, and Euripides; Pheidias\nand Praxiteles; Sokrates and Plato; Thukydides and Xenophon: remembering\nthat these men, distinguished for such different kinds of achievement,\nbut like each other in consummateness of culture, were all produced\nwithin one town in the course of three centuries. At no other time and\nplace in human history has there been even an approach to such a fact as\nthis.\n\nMy other assertion, about the general culture of the community in which\nsuch men were reared, will need a more detailed explanation. When I say\nthat the Athenian public was, on the whole, the most highly cultivated\npublic that has ever existed, I refer of course to something more than\nwhat is now known as literary culture. Of this there was relatively\nlittle in the days of Athenian greatness; and this was because there was\nnot yet need for it or room for it. Greece did not until a later time\nbegin to produce scholars and savants; for the function of scholarship\ndoes not begin until there has been an accumulation of bygone literature\nto be interpreted for the benefit of those who live in a later time.\nGrecian greatness was already becoming a thing of the past, when\nscholarship and literary culture of the modern type began at Rome and\nAlexandria. The culture of the ancient Athenians was largely derived\nfrom direct intercourse with facts of nature and of life, and with the\nthoughts of rich and powerful minds orally expressed. The value of this\nmust not be underrated. We moderns are accustomed to get so large a\nportion of our knowledge and of our theories of life out of books,\nour taste and judgment are so largely educated by intercourse with the\nprinted page, that we are apt to confound culture with book-knowledge;\nwe are apt to forget the innumerable ways in which the highest\nintellectual faculties may be disciplined without the aid of literature.\nWe must study antiquity to realize how thoroughly this could be done.\nBut even in our day, how much more fruitful is the direct influence of\nan original mind over us, in the rare cases when it can be enjoyed, than\nany indirect influence which the same mind may exert through the\nmedium of printed books! What fellow of a college, placed amid the most\nabundant and efficient implements of study, ever gets such a stimulus to\nthe highest and richest intellectual life as was afforded to Eckermann\nby his daily intercourse with Goethe? The breadth of culture and the\nperfection of training exhibited by John Stuart Mill need not surprise\nus when we recollect that his earlier days were spent in the society of\nJames Mill and Jeremy Bentham. And the remarkable extent of view, the\ncommand of facts, and the astonishing productiveness of such modern\nFrenchmen as Sainte-Beuve and Littre become explicable when we reflect\nupon the circumstance that so many able and brilliant men are collected\nin one city, where their minds may continually and directly react upon\neach other. It is from the lack of such personal stimulus that it is\ndifficult or indeed wellnigh impossible, even for those whose resources\nare such as to give them an extensive command of books, to keep up to\nthe highest level of contemporary culture while living in a village or\nprovincial town. And it is mainly because of the personal stimulus\nwhich it affords to its students, that a great university, as a seat of\nculture, is immeasurably superior to a small one.\n\nNevertheless, the small community in any age possesses one signal\nadvantage over the large one, in its greater simplicity of life and its\nconsequent relative leisure. It was the prerogative of ancient Athens\nthat it united the advantages of the large to those of the small\ncommunity. In relative simplicity of life it was not unlike the modern\nvillage, while at the same time it was the metropolis where the foremost\nminds of the time were enabled to react directly upon one another.\nIn yet another respect these opposite advantages were combined. The\ntwenty-five thousand free inhabitants might perhaps all know something\nof each other. In this respect Athens was doubtless much like a New\nEngland country town, with the all-important difference that the sordid\ntone due to continual struggle for money was absent. It was like the\nsmall town in the chance which it afforded for publicity and community\nof pursuits among its inhabitants. Continuous and unrestrained social\nintercourse was accordingly a distinctive feature of Athenian life.\nAnd, as already hinted, this intercourse did not consist in evening\nflirtations, with the eating of indigestible food at unseasonable hours,\nand the dancing of \"the German.\" It was carried on out-of-doors in\nthe brightest sunlight; it brooked no effeminacy; its amusements were\nathletic games, or dramatic entertainments, such as have hardly since\nbeen equalled. Its arena was a town whose streets were filled with\nstatues and adorned with buildings, merely to behold which was in itself\nan education. The participators in it were not men with minds so dwarfed\nby exclusive devotion to special pursuits that after \"talking shop\" they\ncould find nothing else save wine and cookery to converse about. They\nwere men with minds fresh and open for the discussion of topics which\nare not for a day only.\n\nA man like Sokrates, living in such a community, did not need to write\ndown his wisdom. He had no such vast public as the modern philosopher\nhas to reach. He could hail any one he happened to pass in the street,\nbegin an argument with him forthwith, and set a whole crowd thinking\nand inquiring about subjects the mere contemplation of which would raise\nthem for the moment above matters of transient concern. For more\nthan half a century any citizen might have gratis the benefit of oral\ninstruction from such a man as he. And I sometimes think, by the way,\nthat--curtailed as it is to literary proportions in the dialogues of\nPlato, bereft of all that personal potency which it had when it flowed,\ninstinct with earnestness, from the lips of the teacher--even to this\nday the wit of man has perhaps devised no better general gymnastics for\nthe understanding than the Sokratic dialectic. I am far from saying that\nall Athens listened to Sokrates or understood him: had it been so, the\ncaricature of Aristophanes would have been pointless, and the sublime\nyet mournful trilogy of dialogues which pourtray the closing scenes of\nthe greatest life of antiquity would never have been written. But the\nmere fact that such a man lived and taught in the way that he did\ngoes far in proof of the deep culture of the Athenian public. Further\nconfirmation is to be found in the fact that such tragedies as the\nAntigone, the Oidipous, and the Prometheus were written to suit the\npopular taste of the time; not to be read by literary people, or to be\nperformed before select audiences such as in our day listen to Ristori\nor Janauschek, but to hold spell-bound that vast concourse of all kinds\nof people which assembled at the Dionysiac festivals.\n\nStill further proof is furnished by the exquisite literary perfection\nof Greek writings. One of the common arguments in favour of the study\nof Greek at the present day is based upon the opinion that in the best\nworks extant in that language the art of literary expression has reached\nwellnigh absolute perfection. I fully concur in this opinion, so far\nas to doubt if even the greatest modern writers, even a Pascal or a\nVoltaire, can fairly sustain a comparison with such Athenians as Plato\nor Lysias. This excellence of the ancient books is in part immediately\ndue to the fact that they were not written in a hurry, or amid the\nanxieties of an over-busy existence; but it is in greater part due to\nthe indirect consequences of a leisurely life. These books were written\nfor a public which knew well how to appreciate the finer beauties of\nexpression; and, what is still more to the point, their authors lived\nin a community where an elegant style was habitual. Before a matchless\nstyle can be written, there must be a good style \"in the air,\" as the\nFrench say. Probably the most finished talking and writing of modern\ntimes has been done in and about the French court in the seventeenth\ncentury; and it is accordingly there that we find men like Pascal and\nBossuet writing a prose which for precision, purity, and dignity has\nnever since been surpassed. It is thus that the unapproachable literary\nexcellence of ancient Greek books speaks for the genuine culture of the\npeople who were expected to read them, or to hear them read. For one of\nthe surest indices of true culture, whether professedly literary or not,\nis the power to express one's self in precise, rhythmical, and dignified\nlanguage. We hardly need a better evidence than this of the superiority\nof the ancient community in the general elevation of its tastes and\nperceptions. Recollecting how Herodotos read his history at the Olympic\ngames, let us try to imagine even so picturesque a writer as Mr. Parkman\nreading a few chapters of his \"Jesuits in North America\" before the\nspectators assembled at the Jerome Park races, and we shall the better\nrealize how deep-seated was Hellenic culture.\n\nAs yet, however, I have referred to but one side of Athenian life.\nThough \"seekers after wisdom,\" the cultivated people of Athens did not\nspend all their valuable leisure in dialectics or in connoisseurship.\nThey were not a set of dilettanti or dreamy philosophers, and they were\nfar from subordinating the material side of life to the intellectual.\nAlso, though they dealt not in money-making after the eager fashion of\nmodern men, they had still concerns of immediate practical interest with\nwhich to busy themselves. Each one of these twenty-five thousand free\nAthenians was not only a free voter, but an office-holder, a legislator,\na judge. They did not control the government through a representative\nbody, but they were themselves the government. They were, one and all,\nin turn liable to be called upon to make laws, and to execute them after\nthey were made, as well as to administer justice in civil and criminal\nsuits. The affairs and interests, not only of their own city, but of a\nscore or two of scattered dependencies, were more or less closely to be\nlooked after by them. It lay with them to declare war, to carry it on\nafter declaring it, and to pay the expenses of it. Actually and not by\ndeputy they administered the government of their own city, both in its\nlocal and in its imperial relations. All this implies a more thorough,\nmore constant, and more vital political training than that which is\nimplied by the modern duties of casting a ballot and serving on a jury.\nThe life of the Athenian was emphatically a political life. From early\nmanhood onward, it was part of his duty to hear legal questions argued\nby powerful advocates, and to utter a decision upon law and fact; or to\nmix in debate upon questions of public policy, arguing, listening, and\npondering. It is customary to compare the political talent of the Greeks\nunfavourably with that displayed by the Romans, and I have no wish to\ndispute this estimate. But on a careful study it will appear that the\nAthenians, at least, in a higher degree than any other community of\nancient times, exhibited parliamentary tact, or the ability to sit still\nwhile both sides of a question are getting discussed,--that sort of\npolitical talent for which the English races are distinguished, and to\nthe lack of which so many of the political failures of the French are\negregiously due. One would suppose that a judicature of the whole town\nwould be likely to execute a sorry parody of justice; yet justice was\nby no means ill-administered at Athens. Even the most unfortunate and\ndisgraceful scenes,--as where the proposed massacre of the Mytilenaians\nwas discussed, and where summary retribution was dealt out to the\ngenerals who had neglected their duty at Arginusai,--even these scenes\nfurnish, when thoroughly examined, as by Mr. Grote, only the more\nconvincing proof that the Athenian was usually swayed by sound reason\nand good sense to an extraordinary degree. All great points in fact,\nwere settled rather by sober appeals to reason than by intrigue or\nlobbying; and one cannot help thinking that an Athenian of the time\nof Perikles would have regarded with pitying contempt the trick of the\n\"previous question.\" And this explains the undoubted pre-eminence\nof Athenian oratory. This accounts for the fact that we find in the\nforensic annals of a single city, and within the compass of a single\ncentury, such names as Lysias, Isokrates, Andokides, Hypereides,\nAischines, and Demosthenes. The art of oratory, like the art of\nsculpture, shone forth more brilliantly then than ever since, because\nthen the conditions favouring its development were more perfectly\ncombined than they have since been. Now, a condition of society in\nwhich the multitude can always be made to stand quietly and listen to a\nlogical discourse is a condition of high culture. Readers of Xenophon's\nAnabasis will remember the frequency of the speeches in that charming\nbook. Whenever some terrible emergency arose, or some alarming quarrel\nor disheartening panic occurred, in the course of the retreat of the\nTen Thousand, an oration from one of the commanders--not a demagogue's\nappeal to the lower passions, but a calm exposition of circumstances\naddressed to the sober judgment--usually sufficed to set all things in\norder. To my mind this is one of the most impressive historical lessons\nconveyed in Xenophon's book. And this peculiar kind of self-control,\nindicative of intellectual sobriety and high moral training, which was\nmore or less characteristic of all Greeks, was especially characteristic\nof the Athenians.\n\nThese illustrations will, I hope, suffice to show that there is nothing\nextravagant in the high estimate which I have made of Athenian culture.\nI have barely indicated the causes of this singular perfection of\nindividual training in the social circumstances amid which the Athenians\nlived. I have alleged it as an instance of what may be accomplished by\na well-directed leisure and in the absence or very scanty development of\nsuch a complex industrial life as that which surrounds us to-day. But I\nhave not yet quite done with the Athenians. Before leaving this part of\nthe subject, I must mention one further circumstance which tends to\nmake ancient life appear in our eyes more sunny and healthy and less\ndistressed, than the life of modern times. And in this instance, too,\nthough we are not dealing with any immediate or remote effects of\nleisureliness, we still have to note the peculiar advantage gained by\nthe absence of a great complexity of interests in the ancient community.\n\nWith respect to religion, the Athenians were peculiarly situated. They\nhad for the most part outgrown the primitive terrorism of fetishistic\nbelief. Save in cases of public distress, as in the mutilation of the\nHermai, or in the refusal of Nikias to retreat from Syracuse because of\nan eclipse of the moon, they were no longer, like savages, afraid of the\ndark. Their keen aesthetic sense had prevailed to turn the horrors of\na primeval nature-worship into beauties. Their springs and groves were\npeopled by their fancy with naiads and dryads, not with trolls and\ngrotesque goblins. Their feelings toward the unseen powers at work\nabout them were in the main pleasant; as witness the little story about\nPheidippides meeting the god Pan as he was making with hot haste toward\nSparta to announce the arrival of the Persians. Now, while this original\nsource of mental discomfort, which afflicts the uncivilized man, had\nceased materially to affect the Athenians, they on the other hand\nlived at a time when the vague sense of sin and self-reproof which was\ncharacteristic of the early ages of Christianity, had not yet invaded\nsociety. The vast complication of life brought about by the extension of\nthe Roman Empire led to a great development of human sympathies,\nunknown in earlier times, and called forth unquiet yearnings, desire for\namelioration, a sense of short-coming, and a morbid self-consciousness.\nIt is accordingly under Roman sway that we first come across characters\napproximating to the modern type, like Cicero, Seneca, Epictetus, and\nMarcus Aurelius. It is then that we find the idea of social progress\nfirst clearly expressed, that we discover some glimmerings of a\nconscious philanthropy, and that we detect the earliest symptoms of that\nunhealthy tendency to subordinate too entirely the physical to the moral\nlife, which reached its culmination in the Middle Ages. In the palmy\ndays of the Athenians it was different. When we hint that they were not\nconsciously philanthropists, we do not mean that they were not humane;\nwhen we accredit them with no idea of progress, we do not forget how\nmuch they did to render both the idea and the reality possible; when we\nsay that they had not a distressing sense of spiritual unworthiness, we\ndo not mean that they had no conscience. We mean that their moral and\nreligious life sat easily on them, like their own graceful drapery,--did\nnot gall and worry them, like the hair-cloth garment of the monk. They\nwere free from that dark conception of a devil which lent terror to\nlife in the Middle Ages; and the morbid self-consciousness which led\nmediaeval women to immure themselves in convents would have been to an\nAthenian quite inexplicable. They had, in short, an open and childlike\nconception of religion; and, as such, it was a sunny conception. Any one\nwho will take the trouble to compare an idyl of Theokritos with a modern\npastoral, or the poem of Kleanthes with a modern hymn, or the Aphrodite\nof Melos with a modern Madonna, will realize most effectually what I\nmean.\n\nAnd, finally, the religion of the Athenians was in the main symbolized\nin a fluctuating mythology, and had never been hardened into dogmas. The\nAthenian was subject to no priest, nor was he obliged to pin his faith\nto any formulated creed. His hospitable polytheism left little room\nfor theological persecution, and none for any heresy short of virtual\natheism. The feverish doubts which rack the modern mind left him\nundisturbed. Though he might sink to any depth of scepticism in\nphilosophy, yet the eternal welfare of his soul was not supposed to hang\nupon the issue of his doubts. Accordingly Athenian society was not\nonly characterized in the main by freedom of opinion, in spite of the\nexceptional cases of Anaxagoras and Sokrates; but there was also none of\nthat Gothic gloom with which the deep-seated Christian sense of infinite\nresponsibility for opinion has saddened modern religious life.\n\nIn these reflections I have wandered a little way from my principal\ntheme, in order more fully to show why the old Greek life impresses us\nas so cheerful. Returning now to the keynote with which we started,\nlet us state succinctly the net result of what has been said about the\nAthenians. As a people we have seen that they enjoyed an unparalleled\namount of leisure, living through life with but little turmoil and\nclatter. Their life was more spontaneous and unrestrained, less\nrigorously marked out by uncontrollable circumstances, than the life\nof moderns. They did not run so much in grooves. And along with this\nwe have seen reason to believe that they were the most profoundly\ncultivated of all peoples; that a larger proportion of men lived\ncomplete, well-rounded, harmonious lives in ancient Athens than in\nany other known community. Keen, nimble-minded, and self-possessed;\naudacious speculators, but temperate and averse to extravagance;\nemotionally healthy, and endowed with an unequalled sense of beauty and\npropriety; how admirable and wonderful they seem when looked at across\nthe gulf of ages intervening,--and what a priceless possession to\nhumanity, of what noble augury for the distant future, is the fact that\nsuch a society has once existed!\n\nThe lesson to be drawn from the study of this antique life will impress\nitself more deeply upon us after we have briefly contemplated the\nstriking contrast to it which is afforded by the phase of civilization\namid which we live to-day. Ever since Greek civilization was merged\nin Roman imperialism, there has been a slowly growing tendency toward\ncomplexity of social life,--toward the widening of sympathies, the\nmultiplying of interests, the increase of the number of things to\nbe done. Through the later Middle Ages, after Roman civilization had\nabsorbed and disciplined the incoming barbarism which had threatened to\ndestroy it, there was a steadily increasing complication of society, a\nmultiplication of the wants of life, and a consequent enhancement of the\ndifficulty of self-maintenance. The ultimate causes of this phenomenon\nlie so far beneath the surface that they could be satisfactorily\ndiscussed only in a technical essay on the evolution of society. It will\nbe enough for us here to observe that the great geographical discoveries\nof the sixteenth century and the somewhat later achievements of physical\nscience have, during the past two hundred years, aided powerfully\nin determining the entrance of the Western world upon an industrial\nepoch,--an epoch which has for its final object the complete subjection\nof the powers of nature to purposes of individual comfort and happiness.\nWe have now to trace some of the effects of this lately-begun industrial\ndevelopment upon social life and individual culture. And as we studied\nthe leisureliness of antiquity where its effects were most conspicuous,\nin the city of Athens, we shall now do well to study the opposite\ncharacteristics of modern society where they are most conspicuously\nexemplified, in our own country. The attributes of American life which\nit will be necessary to signalize will be seen to be only the attributes\nof modern life in their most exaggerated phase.\n\nTo begin with, in studying the United States, we are no longer dealing\nwith a single city, or with small groups of cities. The city as a\npolitical unit, in the antique sense, has never existed among us, and\nindeed can hardly be said now to exist anywhere. The modern city is\nhardly more than a great emporium of trade, or a place where large\nnumbers of people find it convenient to live huddled together; not a\nsacred fatherland to which its inhabitants owe their highest allegiance,\nand by the requirements of which their political activity is limited.\nWhat strikes us here is that our modern life is diffused or spread out,\nnot concentrated like the ancient civic life. If the Athenian had been\nthe member of an integral community, comprising all peninsular Greece\nand the mainland of Asia Minor, he could not have taken life so easily\nas he did.\n\nNow our country is not only a very large one, but compared to its vast\nterritorial extent it contains a very small population. If we go on\nincreasing at the present rate, so that a century hence we number four\nor five hundred millions, our country will be hardly more crowded than\nChina is to-day. Or if our whole population were now to be brought east\nof Niagara Falls, and confined on the south by the Potomac, we should\nstill have as much elbow-room as they have in France. Political\neconomists can show the effects of this high ratio of land to\ninhabitants, in increasing wages, raising the interest of money, and\nstimulating production. We are thus living amid circumstances which\nare goading the industrial activity characteristic of the last two\ncenturies, and notably of the English race, into an almost feverish\nenergy. The vast extent of our unwrought territory is constantly\ndraining fresh life from our older districts, to aid in the\nestablishment of new frontier communities of a somewhat lower or less\nhighly organized type. And these younger communities, daily springing\nup, are constantly striving to take on the higher structure,--to\nbecome as highly civilized and to enjoy as many of the prerogatives of\ncivilization as the rest. All this calls forth an enormous quantity\nof activity, and causes American life to assume the aspect of a\nlife-and-death struggle for mastery over the material forces of that\npart of the earth's surface upon which it thrives.\n\nIt is thus that we are traversing what may properly be called the\nBARBAROUS epoch of our history,--the epoch at which the predominant\nintellectual activity is employed in achievements which are mainly of a\nmaterial character. Military barbarism, or the inability of communities\nto live together without frequent warfare, has been nearly outgrown\nby the whole Western world. Private wars, long since made everywhere\nillegal, have nearly ceased; and public wars, once continual, have\nbecome infrequent. But industrial barbarism, by which I mean the\ninability of a community to direct a portion of its time to purposes of\nspiritual life, after providing for its physical maintenance,--this\nkind of barbarism the modern world has by no means outgrown. To-day, the\ngreat work of life is to live; while the amount of labour consumed\nin living has throughout the present century been rapidly increasing.\nNearly the whole of this American community toils from youth to old\nage in merely procuring the means for satisfying the transient wants of\nlife. Our time and energies, our spirit and buoyancy, are quite used up\nin what is called \"getting on.\"\n\nAnother point of difference between the structure of American and of\nAthenian society must not be left out of the account. The time has gone\nby in which the energies of a hundred thousand men and women could be\nemployed in ministering to the individual perfection of twenty-five\nthousand. Slavery, in the antique sense,--an absolute command of brain\nas well as of muscle, a slave-system of skilled labour,--we have never\nhad. In our day it is for each man to earn his own bread; so that the\nstruggle for existence has become universal. The work of one class does\nnot furnish leisure for another class. The exceptional circumstances\nwhich freed the Athenian from industrial barbarism, and enabled him to\nbecome the great teacher and model of culture for the human race, have\ndisappeared forever.\n\nThen the general standard of comfortable living, as already hinted, has\nbeen greatly raised, and is still rising. What would have satisfied the\nancient would seem to us like penury. We have a domestic life of which\nthe Greek knew nothing. We live during a large part of the year in the\nhouse. Our social life goes on under the roof. Our houses are not mere\nplaces for eating and sleeping, like the houses of the ancients. It\ntherefore costs us a large amount of toil to get what is called shelter\nfor our heads. The sum which a young married man, in \"good society,\"\nhas to pay for his house and the furniture contained in it, would have\nenabled an Athenian to live in princely leisure from youth to old age.\nThe sum which he has to pay out each year, to meet the complicated\nexpense of living in such a house, would have more than sufficed to\nbring up an Athenian family. If worthy Strepsiades could have got an\nAsmodean glimpse of Fifth Avenue, or even of some unpretending street in\nCambridge, he might have gone back to his aristocratic wife a sadder but\na more contented man.\n\nWealth--or at least what would until lately have been called wealth--has\nbecome essential to comfort; while the opportunities for acquiring\nit have in recent times been immensely multiplied. To get money is,\ntherefore, the chief end of life in our time and country. \"Success\nin life\" has become synonymous with \"becoming wealthy.\" A man who is\nsuccessful in what he undertakes is a man who makes his employment\npay him in money. Our normal type of character is that of the shrewd,\ncircumspect business man; as in the Middle Ages it was that of the hardy\nwarrior. And as in those days when fighting was a constant necessity,\nand when the only honourable way for a gentleman of high rank to\nmake money was by freebooting, fighting came to be regarded as an end\ndesirable in itself; so in these days the mere effort to accumulate has\nbecome a source of enjoyment rather than a means to it. The same truth\nis to be witnessed in aberrant types of character. The infatuated\nspeculator and the close-fisted millionaire are our substitutes for the\nmediaeval berserkir,--the man who loved the pell-mell of a contest so\nwell that he would make war on his neighbour, just to keep his hand in.\nIn like manner, while such crimes as murder and violent robbery have\ndiminished in frequency during the past century, on the other hand such\ncrimes as embezzlement, gambling in stocks, adulteration of goods, and\nusing of false weights and measures, have probably increased. If Dick\nTurpin were now to be brought back to life, he would find the New York\nCustom-House a more congenial and profitable working-place than the\nking's highway.\n\nThe result of this universal quest for money is that we are always in a\nhurry. Our lives pass by in a whirl. It is all labour and no fruition.\nWe work till we are weary; we carry our work home with us; it haunts our\nevenings, and disturbs our sleep as well as our digestion. Our minds are\nso burdened with it that our conversation, when serious, can dwell upon\nlittle else. If we step into a railway-car, or the smoking-room of\na hotel, or any other place where a dozen or two of men are gathered\ntogether, we shall hear them talking of stocks, of investments, of\ncommercial paper, as if there were really nothing in this universe worth\nthinking of, save only the interchange of dollars and commodities. So\nconstant and unremitted is our forced application, that our minds are\ndwarfed for everything except the prosecution of the one universal\npursuit.\n\nAre we now prepared for the completing of the contrast? Must we say\nthat, as Athens was the most leisurely and the United States is the\nmost hurried community known in history, so the Americans are, as a\nconsequence of their hurry, lacking in thoroughness of culture? Or,\nsince it is difficult to bring our modern culture directly into contrast\nwith that of an ancient community, let me state the case after a\ndifferent but equivalent fashion. Since the United States present\nonly an exaggerated type of the modern industrial community, since the\nturmoil of incessant money-getting, which affects all modern communities\nin large measure, affects us most seriously of all, shall it be\nsaid that we are, on the whole, less highly cultivated than our\ncontemporaries in Western Europe? To a certain extent we must confess\nthat this is the case. In the higher culture--in the culture of the\nwhole man, according to the antique idea--we are undoubtedly behind all\nother nations with which it would be fair to compare ourselves. It\nwill not do to decide a question like this merely by counting literary\ncelebrities, although even thus we should by no means get a verdict in\nour favour. Since the beginning of this century, England has produced\nas many great writers and thinkers as France or Germany; yet the general\nstatus of culture in England is said--perhaps with truth--to be lower\nthan it is in these countries. It is said that the average Englishman is\nless ready than the average German or Frenchman to sympathize with ideas\nwhich have no obvious market-value. Yet in England there is an amount of\nhigh culture among those not professionally scholars, which it would\nbe vain to seek among ourselves. The purposes of my argument, however,\nrequire that the comparison should be made between our own country and\nWestern Europe in general. Compare, then, our best magazines--not solely\nwith regard to their intrinsic excellence, but also with regard to the\nway in which they are sustained--with the Revue des Deux Mondes or the\nJournal des Debats. Or compare our leading politicians with men like\nGladstone, Disraeli, or Sir G. C. Lewis; or even with such men as\nBrougham or Thiers. Or compare the slovenly style of our newspaper\narticles, I will not say with the exquisite prose of the lamented\nPrevost-Paradol, but with the ordinary prose of the French or English\nnewspaper. But a far better illustration--for it goes down to the root\nof things--is suggested by the recent work of Matthew Arnold on the\nschools of the continent of Europe. The country of our time where\nthe general culture is unquestionably the highest is Prussia. Now, in\nPrussia, they are able to have a Minister of Education, who is a member\nof the Cabinet. They are sure that this minister will not appoint or\nremove even an assistant professor for political reasons. Only once,\nas Arnold tells us, has such a thing been done; and then public opinion\nexpressed itself in such an emphatic tone of disapproval that the\ndisplaced teacher was instantly appointed to another position. Nothing\nof this sort, says Arnold, could have occurred in England; but still\nless could it occur in America. Had we such an educational system,\nthere would presently be an \"Education Ring\" to control it. Nor can this\ndifference be ascribed to the less eager political activity of Germany.\nThe Prussian state of things would have been possible in ancient Athens,\nwhere political life was as absorbing and nearly as turbulent as in the\nUnited States. The difference is due to our lack of faith in culture, a\nlack of faith in that of which we have not had adequate experience.\n\nWe lack culture because we live in a hurry, and because our attention is\ngiven up to pursuits which call into activity and develop but one side\nof us. On the one hand contemplate Sokrates quietly entertaining a crowd\nin the Athenian market-place, and on the other hand consider Broadway\nwith its eternal clatter, and its throngs of hurrying people elbowing\nand treading on each other's heels, and you will get a lively notion of\nthe difference between the extreme phases of ancient and modern life. By\nthe time we have thus rushed through our day, we have no strength left\nto devote to things spiritual. To-day finds us no nearer fruition than\nyesterday. And if perhaps the time at last arrives when fruition is\npracticable, our minds have run so long in the ruts that they cannot be\ntwisted out.\n\nAs it is impossible for any person living in a given state of society\nto keep himself exempt from its influences, detrimental as well as\nbeneficial, we find that even those who strive to make a literary\noccupation subservient to purposes of culture are not, save in rare\ncases, spared by the general turmoil. Those who have at once the\nability, the taste, and the wealth needful for training themselves to\nthe accomplishment of some many-sided and permanent work are of course\nvery few. Nor have our universities yet provided themselves with the\nmeans for securing to literary talent the leisure which is essential\nto complete mental development, or to a high order of productiveness.\nAlthough in most industrial enterprises we know how to work together so\nsuccessfully, in literature we have as yet no co-operation. We have not\nonly no Paris, but we have not even a Tubingen, a Leipsic, or a Jena, or\nanything corresponding to the fellowships in the English universities.\nOur literary workers have no choice but to fall into the ranks, and\nmake merchandise of their half-formed ideas. They must work without\nco-operation, they must write in a hurry, and they must write for those\nwho have no leisure for aught but hasty and superficial reading.\n\nBursting boilers and custom-house frauds may have at first sight nothing\nto do with each other or with my subject. It is indisputable, however,\nthat the horrible massacres perpetrated every few weeks or mouths by our\ncommon carriers, and the disgraceful peculation in which we allow\nour public servants to indulge with hardly ever an effective word of\nprotest, are alike to be ascribed to the same causes which interfere\nwith our higher culture. It is by no means a mere accidental coincidence\nthat for every dollar stolen by government officials in Prussia, at\nleast fifty or a hundred are stolen in the United States. This does not\nshow that the Germans are our superiors in average honesty, but it\nshows that they are our superiors in thoroughness. It is with them an\nimperative demand that any official whatever shall be qualified for his\npost; a principle of public economy which in our country is not simply\nignored in practice, but often openly laughed at. But in a country where\nhigh intelligence and thorough training are imperatively demanded, it\nfollows of necessity that these qualifications must insure for their\npossessors a permanent career in which the temptations to malfeasance or\ndishonesty are reduced to the minimum. On the other hand, in a country\nwhere intelligence and training have no surety that they are to\ncarry the day against stupidity and inefficiency, the incentives to\ndishonourable conduct are overpowering. The result in our own political\nlife is that the best men are driven in disgust from politics, and thus\none of the noblest fields for the culture of the whole man is given\nover to be worked by swindlers and charlatans. To an Athenian such a\nseverance of the highest culture from political life would have been\nutterly inconceivable. Obviously the deepest explanation of all this\nlies in our lack of belief in the necessity for high and thorough\ntraining. We do not value culture enough to keep it in our employ or to\npay it for its services; and what is this short-sighted negligence but\nthe outcome of the universal shiftlessness begotten of the habit of\ndoing everything in a hurry? On every hand we may see the fruits of\nthis shiftlessness, from buildings that tumble in, switches that are\nmisplaced, furnaces that are ill-protected, fire-brigades that are\nwithout discipline, up to unauthorized meddlings with the currency, and\nrevenue laws which defeat their own purpose.\n\nI said above that the attributes of American life which we should find\nit necessary for our purpose to signalize are simply the attributes\nof modern life in their most exaggerated phase. Is there not a certain\nsense in which all modern handiwork is hastily and imperfectly done?\nTo begin with common household arts, does not every one know that old\nthings are more durable than new things? Our grandfathers wore better\nshoes than we wear, because there was leisure enough to cure the leather\nproperly. In old times a chair was made of seasoned wood, and its joints\ncarefully fitted; its maker had leisure to see that it was well put\ntogether. Now a thousand are turned off at once by machinery, out of\ngreen wood, and, with their backs glued on, are hurried off to their\nevil fate,--destined to drop in pieces if they happen to stand near the\nfireplace, and liable to collapse under the weight of a heavy man.\nSome of us still preserve, as heirlooms, old tables and bedsteads of\nCromwellian times: in the twenty-first century what will have become of\nour machine-made bedsteads and tables?\n\nPerhaps it may seem odd to talk about tanning and joinery in connection\nwith culture, but indeed there is a subtle bond of union holding\ntogether all these things. Any phase of life can be understood only by\nassociating with it some different phase. Sokrates himself has taught us\nhow the homely things illustrate the grand things. If we turn to the art\nof musical composition and inquire into some of the differences between\nour recent music and that of Handel's time, we shall alight upon the\nvery criticism which Mr. Mill somewhere makes in comparing ancient with\nmodern literature: the substance has improved, but the form has in\nsome respects deteriorated. The modern music expresses the results of a\nricher and more varied emotional experience, and in wealth of harmonic\nresources, to say nothing of increased skill in orchestration, it is\nnotably superior to the old music. Along with this advance, however,\nthere is a perceptible falling off in symmetry and completeness of\ndesign, and in what I would call spontaneousness of composition. I\nbelieve that this is because modern composers, as a rule, do not drudge\npatiently enough upon counterpoint. They do not get that absolute\nmastery over technical difficulties of figuration which was the great\nsecret of the incredible facility and spontaneity of composition\ndisplayed by Handel and Bach. Among recent musicians Mendelssohn is the\nmost thoroughly disciplined in the elements of counterpoint; and it is\nthis perfect mastery of the technique of his art which has enabled him\nto outrank Schubert and Schumann, neither of whom would one venture to\npronounce inferior to him in native wealth of musical ideas. May we\nnot partly attribute to rudimentary deficiency in counterpoint the\nirregularity of structure which so often disfigures the works of the\ngreat Wagner and the lesser Liszt, and which the more ardent admirers of\nthese composers are inclined to regard as a symptom of progress?\n\nI am told that a similar illustration might be drawn from the modern\nhistory of painting; that, however noble the conceptions of the great\npainters of the present century, there are none who have gained such a\ncomplete mastery over the technicalities of drawing and the handling of\nthe brush as was required in the times of Raphael, Titian, and Rubens.\nBut on this point I can only speak from hearsay, and am quite willing\nto end here my series of illustrations, fearing that I may already\nhave been wrongly set down as a lavulator temporis acti. Not the idle\npraising of times gone by, but the getting a lesson from them which may\nbe of use to us, has been my object. And I believe enough has been said\nto show that the great complexity of modern life, with its multiplicity\nof demands upon our energy, has got us into a state of chronic hurry,\nthe results of which are everywhere to be seen in the shape of less\nthorough workmanship and less rounded culture.\n\nFor one moment let me stop to note a further source of the relative\nimperfection of modern culture, which is best illustrated in the case of\nliterature. I allude to the immense, unorganized mass of literature in\nall departments, representing the accumulated acquisitions of past ages,\nwhich must form the basis of our own achievement, but with which our\npresent methods of education seem inadequate to deal properly. Speaking\nroughly, modern literature may be said to be getting into the state\nwhich Roman jurisprudence was in before it was reformed by Justinian.\nPhilosophic criticism has not yet reached the point at which it may\nserve as a natural codifier. We must read laboriously and expend a\ndisproportionate amount of time and pains in winnowing the chaff from\nthe wheat. This tends to make us \"digs\" or literary drudges; but I\ndoubt if the \"dig\" is a thoroughly developed man. Goethe, with all his\nboundless knowledge, his universal curiosity, and his admirable capacity\nfor work, was not a \"dig.\" But this matter can only be hinted at: it is\ntoo large to be well discussed at the fag end of an essay while other\npoints are pressing for consideration.\n\nA state of chronic hurry not only directly hinders the performance of\nthorough work, but it has an indirect tendency to blunt the enjoyment of\nlife. Let us consider for a moment one of the psychological consequences\nentailed by the strain of a too complex and rapid activity. Every one\nmust have observed that in going off for a vacation of two or three\nweeks, or in getting freed in any way from the ruts of every-day life,\ntime slackens its gait somewhat, and the events which occur are apt\na few years later to cover a disproportionately large area in our\nrecollections. This is because the human organism is a natural timepiece\nin which the ticks are conscious sensations. The greater the number of\nsensations which occupy the foreground of consciousness during the day,\nthe longer the day seems in the retrospect. But the various groups of\nsensations which accompany our daily work tend to become automatic from\ncontinual repetition, and to sink into the background of consciousness;\nand in a very complex and busied life the number of sensations or states\nof consciousness which can struggle up to the front and get attended to,\nis comparatively small It is thus that the days seem so short when we\nare busy about every-day matters, and that they get blurred together,\nand as it were individually annihilated in recollection. When we travel,\na comparatively large number of fresh sensations occupy attention, there\nis a maximum of consciousness, and a distinct image is left to loom up\nin memory. For the same reason the weeks and years are much longer to\nthe child than to the grown man. The life is simpler and less hurried,\nso that there is time to attend to a great many sensations. Now this\nfact lies at the bottom of that keen enjoyment of existence which is the\nprerogative of childhood and early youth. The day is not rushed through\nby the automatic discharge of certain psychical functions, but each\nsensation stays long enough to make itself recognized. Now when once we\nunderstand the psychology of this matter, it becomes evident that the\nsame contrast that holds between the child and the man must hold also\nbetween the ancient and the modern. The number of elements entering into\nancient life were so few relatively, that there must have been far\nmore than there is now of that intense realization of life which we can\nobserve in children and remember of our own childhood. Space permitting,\nit would be easy to show from Greek literature how intense was this\nrealization of life. But my point will already have been sufficiently\napprehended. Already we cannot fail to see how difficult it is to get\nmore than a minimum of conscious fruition out of a too complex and rapid\nactivity.\n\nOne other point is worth noticing before we close. How is this turmoil\nof modern existence impressing itself upon the physical constitutions\nof modern men and women? When an individual man engages in furious\nproductive activity, his friends warn him that he will break down. Does\nthe collective man of our time need some such friendly warning? Let\nus first get a hint from what foreigners think of us ultra-modernized\nAmericans. Wandering journalists, of an ethnological turn of mind,\nwho visit these shores, profess to be struck with the slenderness,\nthe apparent lack of toughness, the dyspeptic look, of the American\nphysique. And from such observations it has been seriously argued that\nthe stalwart English race is suffering inevitable degeneracy in this\nforeign climate. I have even seen it doubted whether a race of men can\never become thoroughly naturalized in a locality to which it is not\nindigenous. To such vagaries it is a sufficient answer that the English\nare no more indigenous to England than to America. They are indigenous\nto Central Asia, and as they have survived the first transplantation,\nthey may be safely counted on to survive the second. A more careful\nsurvey will teach us that the slow alteration of physique which is\ngoing on in this country is only an exaggeration of that which modern\ncivilization is tending to bring about everywhere. It is caused by the\npremature and excessive strain upon the mental powers requisite to meet\nthe emergencies of our complex life. The progress of events has thrown\nthe work of sustaining life so largely upon the brain that we are\nbeginning to sacrifice the physical to the intellectual. We are growing\nspirituelle in appearance at the expense of robustness. Compare any\ntypical Greek face, with its firm muscles, its symmetry of feature, and\nits serenity of expression, to a typical modern portrait, with its more\ndelicate contour, its exaggerated forehead, its thoughtful, perhaps\njaded look. Or consider in what respects the grand faces of the\nPlantagenet monarchs differ from the refined countenances of the leading\nEnglish statesmen of to-day. Or again, consider the familiar pictures of\nthe Oxford and Harvard crews which rowed a race on the Thames in 1869,\nand observe how much less youthful are the faces of the Americans. By\ncontrast they almost look careworn. The summing up of countless such\nfacts is that modern civilization is making us nervous. Our most\nformidable diseases are of nervous origin. We seem to have got rid of\nthe mediaeval plague and many of its typhoid congeners; but instead\nwe have an increased amount of insanity, methomania, consumption,\ndyspepsia, and paralysis. In this fact it is plainly written that we are\nsuffering physically from the over-work and over-excitement entailed by\nexcessive hurry.\n\nIn view of these various but nearly related points of difference between\nancient and modern life as studied in their extreme manifestations, it\ncannot be denied that while we have gained much, we have also lost a\ngood deal that is valuable, in our progress. We cannot but suspect that\nwe are not in all points more highly favoured than the ancients. And it\nbecomes probable that Athens, at all events, which I have chosen as my\nexample, may have exhibited an adumbration of a state of things which,\nfor the world at large, is still in the future,--still to be remotely\nhoped for. The rich complexity of modern social achievement is attained\nat the cost of individual many-sidedness. As Tennyson puts it, \"The\nindividual withers and the world is more and more.\" Yet the individual\ndoes not exist for the sake of society, as the positivists would have us\nbelieve, but society exists for the sake of the individual. And the test\nof complete social life is the opportunity which it affords for complete\nindividual life. Tried by this test, our contemporary civilization\nwill appear seriously defective,--excellent only as a preparation for\nsomething better.\n\nThis is the true light in which to regard it. This incessant turmoil,\nthis rage for accumulation of wealth, this crowding, jostling, and\ntrampling upon one another, cannot be regarded as permanent, or\nas anything more than the accompaniment of a transitional stage of\ncivilization. There must be a limit to the extent to which the standard\nof comfortable living can be raised. The industrial organization of\nsociety, which is now but beginning, must culminate in a state of things\nin which the means of expense will exceed the demand for expense, in\nwhich the human race will have some surplus capital. The incessant\nmanual labour which the ancients relegated to slaves will in course\nof time be more and more largely performed by inanimate machinery.\nUnskilled labour will for the most part disappear. Skilled labour will\nconsist in the guiding of implements contrived with versatile cunning\nfor the relief of human nerve and muscle. Ultimately there will be\nno unsettled land to fill, no frontier life, no savage races to be\nassimilated or extirpated, no extensive migration. Thus life will again\nbecome comparatively stationary. The chances for making great fortunes\nquickly will be diminished, while the facilities for acquiring a\ncompetence by steady labour will be increased. When every one is able\nto reach the normal standard of comfortable living, we must suppose\nthat the exaggerated appetite for wealth and display will gradually\ndisappear. We shall be more easily satisfied, and thus enjoy more\nleisure. It may be that there will ultimately exist, over the civilized\nworld, conditions as favourable to the complete fruition of life as\nthose which formerly existed within the narrow circuit of Attika;\nsave that the part once played by enslaved human brain and muscle will\nfinally be played by the enslaved forces of insentient nature. Society\nwill at last bear the test of providing for the complete development of\nits individual members.\n\nSo, at least, we may hope; such is the probability which the progress of\nevents, when carefully questioned, sketches out for us. \"Need we fear,\"\nasks Mr. Greg, \"that the world would stagnate under such a change?\nNeed we guard ourselves against the misconstruction of being held to\nrecommend a life of complacent and inglorious inaction? We think not. We\nwould only substitute a nobler for a meaner strife,--a rational for an\nexcessive toil,--an enjoyment that springs from serenity, for one that\nsprings from excitement only..... To each time its own preacher, to each\nexcess its own counteraction. In an age of dissipation, languor, and\nstagnation, we should join with Mr. Carlyle in preaching the 'Evangel\nof Work,' and say with him, 'Blessed is the man who has found his\nwork,--let him ask no other blessedness.' In an age of strenuous,\nfrenzied,.... and often utterly irrational and objectless exertion,\nwe join Mr. Mill in preaching the milder and more needed 'Evangel of\nLeisure.'\"\n\nBearing all these things in mind, we may understand the remark of\nthe supremely cultivated Goethe, when asked who were his masters: Die\nGriechen, die Griechen, und immer die Griechen. We may appreciate the\nsignificance of Mr. Mill's argument in favour of the study of antiquity,\nthat it preserves the tradition of an era of individual completeness.\nThere is a disposition growing among us to remodel our methods of\neducation in conformity with the temporary requirements of the age\nin which we live. In this endeavour there is much that is wise and\npractical; but in so far as it tends to the neglect of antiquity, I\ncannot think it well-timed. Our education should not only enhance the\nvalue of what we possess; is should also supply the consciousness of\nwhat we lack. And while, for generations to come, we pass toilfully\nthrough an era of exorbitant industrialism, some fragment of our time\nwill not be misspent in keeping alive the tradition of a state of things\nwhich was once briefly enjoyed by a little community, but which, in the\ndistant future, will, as it is hoped, become the permanent possession of\nall mankind.\n\nJanuary, 1873.","title":"The Unseen World, and Other Essays","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":99159}